Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  “Float’s surface rock that shows some color. Old Ed had been prospecting out of Fort Huachuca into the mountains for a year or two before he traced that float back to the outcrop of ore that assayed out to about two thousand dollars a ton. Now he’s got the Graveyard, Lucky Cuss, Tough Nut, and Tombstone mines in his holdings.”

  “See, I told you, Pa, mining gold and silver can make a man richer than farming.” Keith leaned forward, his eyes alight with excitement. “Tolly and Opie told us how that old desert rat found a streak of pure silver that almost blinded him. He was ribbed by the soldiers that the only thing he’d find in those hills was his tombstone. But Opie said that strike was so rich that when he pressed his last coin into the shiny streak, Ed could read ‘In God We Trust’ on the ledge. And he named that first strike Tombstone.”

  “They also tell you that there’s near to two thousand moving in?” Delaney asked. “First came the prospectors like Ed and then the gamblers came, but right on their heels are the men with money to buy up claims and set up the stamp mills. A silver stampede is what they call it. And with them come the men running from the law. The land’s not safe. ’Pache are giving them trouble since it’s their land being carted off. You need to know what you’re getting into.”

  “Now, don’t be scaring the boy with talk of the Apache,” Robert warned. “The army promised us they would see to it that the Indians are kept on the reservations. They said there wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  “Well, they’re right. There wouldn’t be trouble if they kept their damn promises.” He caught a pleading look from Faith and stopped himself from saying more.

  Faith poured another cup of coffee for her father and then walked to Delaney. “There’s a bit left if you’d like another cup, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “I’m just fine.” Delaney thought about teasing her for calling him mister, but Faith shook her head in warning. A chill worked its way up his spine. How did she know what he was thinking? He watched her work around the fire, scraping off the supper plates, filling a basin with steaming water from the kettle, and found he was both soothed and unaccountably restless. When she lifted an empty bucket along with the coffeepot, he rose and crossed the clearing to her side.

  “Let me take those. It’s the least I can do after that fine supper.”

  Faith thanked him softly, conscious of her father’s brooding look directed at them. “There’s a small pool back up the stream a ways. Beyond that stand of willows,” she called out as he was lost to the shadows.

  “Faith, how much did you tell him about us?”

  “Just that we needed him to guide us, Pa. I wouldn’t think to say more.”

  “Keep that in mind, girl. I’ve seen the way you’re looking at him. He’s not a man like Martin.”

  “No, Pa, he’s not a man like my husband was.”

  “I kinda like him,” Keith said, gazing off to where Delaney disappeared.

  “Me, too,” piped a childish voice.

  Faith smiled at Pris. She sat on a three-legged milking stool, hugging her rag doll. “Why do you like him, sweetie?”

  “Oh, he said he loves peaches same as Joey and me. He even told me he could eat two whole cans all by hisself,” she confided with eyes wide. “Won’t he get a tummy ache like me?”

  “There you go, Pris, asking stupid questions again,” Keith said before Faith could answer her. “He’s a man and you’re just a dumb little girl.”

  “Keith, that’s enough,” Faith warned. She didn’t bother to look to her father for support—he wouldn’t give it—but at least this time he didn’t stop her from giving Keith a reprimand. “Pris, Mr. Carmichael won’t get a tummy ache ’cause he’s a full-grown man and your stomach is quite a bit smaller. But someday, I promise, you’ll be able to eat two cans of peaches and not get sick.”

  “I think you’re right,” Pris offered along with a shy smile that showed her dimples. “You know that Joey likes him, too.”

  “What makes you say that, sweetie?”

  “Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

  Faith crossed over to where Joey sat on the ground near the wagon wheel as far from his father as he could get. With a gentle touch Faith brushed aside the thick lock of light brown hair that constantly fell across his forehead.

  “You’ve been very quiet tonight, Joey. But since everyone else is venturing their opinion, what do you think of Mr. Carmichael?”

  “There you go babying him again, Faith. He’s a boy, even if—”

  “A boy, Pa. A little boy, not a man. Joey’s real sensitive just like Ma was, and he sees things—”

  “Sees? He’ll never see! Stop dreaming like your ma. The boy ain’t never gonna see anything again.”

  Faith closed her eyes and bit her lower lip for the third time this day. Unspoken by her father, but just as painful, were the words he no longer added: because of you, Faith. Joey’s blindness was her fault.

  “Don’t be sad,” Joey whispered, reaching out with his hand until he touched the cloth of her skirt, and found her hand with his. Clutching it tightly, he pulled her closer. “His voice is real nice, Faith. I think he liked it best when he was talking about the land. He made Pris laugh. But he don’t know all about me, does he?”

  “I didn’t tell him yet. But I have a feeling that Mr. Carmichael is a man who sees and hears more than he lets on.”

  Joey squeezed her hand tighter. “You’ll have to tell him, Faith. He’ll be ’specting me to help with the stock and chores. He’s got to know I ain’t good for nothing but riding in the wagon.”

  “That’s not true. You know Beula won’t let anyone else milk her. There’s lots you can do.” Faith hugged him, taking as much comfort from his small arms holding her tight as she gave to him.

  The sound of a man whistling warned her, and she stood straight quickly and turned. Delaney called out before he walked into the light cast by the fire. Faith smoothed her skirt, her eyes darting to his face, wondering how much, if anything, he had heard. His features revealed nothing.

  Setting the full bucket near the fire, Delaney nodded toward Robert. “I’ll bid you all good night. Morning’ll give me time enough to check your supplies and wagons. And thank you again, Miz Becket, for that fine supper.”

  With no more than that he turned and left them. Faith found herself listening to the sound of him riding away. She imagined him sitting tall in the saddle on the barrel-chested bay mare that he claimed was part mustang and part blooded stock gone wild and wished that he had stayed.

  With an inward shrug for her foolish thought, she ignored her father’s scowl and set about getting Pris and Joey to bed in one of the wagons. The other wagon held most of their supplies. Privacy was sadly lacking, but Faith knew better than to complain. Keith was already spreading his bedroll near his father when she returned to the dying fire.

  “Best get to sleep when you’re done,” Robert called out as Faith washed and dried their supper plates. “I’ve got a feeling that Delaney will be here at first light.”

  With a weary sigh Faith nodded.

  “And you mind what I told you about him. Don’t be letting on more than he needs to know. Didn’t fool me none with his questions.”

  “Don’t you think being secretive will make him aware that something is wrong? He’s not stupid, Pa. He’ll figure it out sooner or later that we’re hiding something.”

  “Let him figure all he wants. Long as he don’t know about the reward, we’re safe. You owe me, you owe us all, girl. And don’t be forgetting that. Think of your poor ma, buried without a soul to care for her grave. And it’s all ’cause you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “I’m listening now, Pa. I’ll mind what you said. He won’t find out the truth from me.”

  Finished at last, Faith slipped behind the wagon, but she made no move to enter its canvas-shrouded body. She stood alone, arms wrapped around her waist, without tears, although pain encompassed her.

  Off to the
side a slight rustling noise in the brush made her spin around, one hand clutching her throat.

  “Who’s there?” she managed to demand in a whisper, frightened, yet certain that it was not a small animal.

  She stepped back and then moved again, until her body pressed against the solid side of the wagon. She was sure someone was out there, watching her.

  Long minutes passed. Her skin grew chilled. There were no other noises, no sound, not even the sigh of a breeze to disturb the silence.

  Lost to time, Faith stood there. Finally she roused herself to crawl into the wagon. But sleep did not offer her a soothing escape. Memories crowded forth.

  And the nightmare began again.

  Chapter 4

  Faith watched blue-gray light edge its way into the night sky, demanding retreat of its shadows to allow the sun to rise.

  Morning. Hope. Her talisman that the coming day would end in a night of dreamless sleep. Kneeling beside the stream, she leaned over to fill her cupped hands from its trickle of sweet water. The cold silver shower against her face snapped her awake with a gasp. Even as she shivered when the cold shock of water slid down the bare skin above her camisole and soaked the cloth, her smile and laughter came for having stolen a few minutes for herself.

  Within a thicket that grew to the stream’s edge, a horse moved restively at the sudden sound of her laughter. Delaney bent his dark head and murmured softly. The bay mare quieted instantly. He made no move, no other sound to spoil the unguarded moment of watching Faith’s innocent glory. And there was an innocence to her.

  She moved with the sleek grace of a wild creature, and yet, within seconds her face held the look of a woman enraptured with her pleasure. She arched her head back to bare her throat to the droplets of water slowly released by her hands. He thought he heard the sigh that escaped her lips and couldn’t help but wonder if the heat and slide of a man’s lips would bring her the same pleasure.

  The lush tumble of her hair appeared dark without the sun’s gleam to fire its rich color. The sight presented him with a stirring contrast of dark against the pale sheen of her skin and the thin white cloth that clung wetly to her slender waist and rib cage. His gaze caressed the intimate curves of her breasts. His duchess’s faded calico had hidden quite a bit. Delaney couldn’t help but respond to the sight of her as she stood and pushed her hair back before lifting her face to the brightening sky. Sweet laughter, dark and light shadows, and nothing held back.

  Would she come to a man the same way?

  He reached for his stone and held it clasped within the heat of his hand. It wasn’t a question he was going to have answered.

  As if his move had somehow communicated an ending to her private moments, Faith hurried to slip her arms into the dangling sleeves of her gown. The thin cotton was immediately soaked. She was annoyed and fumbled to get the cloth buttons fastened. A few minutes later she had managed to secure her hair into a tightly pinned bun, filled the coffeepot, and was gone.

  Delaney’s eyes lost their heat as he urged his horse forward at a walk to cross the stream. He slid from the saddle with an unconscious fluid grace and flattened himself in the same spot that Faith had knelt. His belly curled with the imagined warmth she had left behind in the earth.

  But his moves were quick, without any of the enjoyment Faith had displayed, as he slaked his thirst, then splashed cold water on his bare chest and arms.

  The mare’s warning nicker came too late. He was blinded and vulnerable the moment he tossed water on his face and started to rise.

  The click of a gun hammer being cocked close to his ear told him how vulnerable he was.

  The solid weight of a boot pressing down on the small of his back pointed out his blindness in letting the sight of Faith wipe out instinctive caution.

  And the lingering sound of her sweet laughter in his mind had deafened him to anyone’s approach.

  Delaney responded to the silent order and lowered himself to the ground. The rough gravel and sand of the bank cut into his chest. The mare snorted and sidestepped uneasily but remained close to the prone man at her feet.

  “Ah, the bay is well trained, amigo. But tell me, did you take the little farmer and train her as well last night?”

  “Maybe,” Delaney answered, turning his head so that his cheek rested on the damp earth. He couldn’t see the tip of Chelli’s boot, but he sensed that he was standing close to him.

  “Edna Mae waited and waited for you to return to have your drink with her. It saddened me much to see such a fine woman disappointed. I promised her I would come to find you after I consoled her.”

  Delaney listened, not to the goad, but to the pebbles that scraped together when Chelli shifted his weight.

  “You disappointed me, amigo. I had not thought you to be a selfish hombre. And the little one, she is like a new rose that would fetch a fine price for me in trade. It is hard for me to admit that I was wrong about you. Yet, I ask myself why you hid from her as I did? Was she not pleased with you?”

  “You figure to stand there jawing about her, Chelli, or shoot me?”

  “I have not made up my mind what to do with you. There are many who would pay me to see you dead. Maybe I should teach you what it means to cross me. I like you, amigo, even when you get in my way.”

  “It’s nothing personal.” Delaney inwardly gathered himself to move. He sensed the moment when Chelli made his decision.

  His hand snaked out, and he grabbed Chelli’s boot. Delaney had to twist his body tight, rolling hard against Chelli’s legs, throwing the man off-balance. The Mexican’s arm jerked high, and the shot went wide of its intended target. Delaney yanked on Chelli’s belt, the wet gravel aiding him in bringing Chelli down.

  Before Chelli could blink, Delaney straddled him. He obeyed the silent command of Delaney’s hard grip on his wrist and released the gun. Chelli wasn’t about to move, argue, or breathe deeply with the glittering knife blade pressed to his throat.

  “I don’t want to kill you, either, amigo. But you’re snake bait if I catch you sniffing my back trail.” There was no heat in Delaney’s piercing gaze, which made the softness of his voice all the more chilling. With a deliberate move Delaney drew the tip of the blade across Chelli’s throat. The line that appeared was as thin as thread. It was a measure of the fine control that he had exerted that not one drop of blood appeared. “For you to remember me, amigo.”

  “Stop it!” Faith shouted, holding her father’s rifle on them. “Don’t either one of you move.”

  From one breath to the next Delaney froze. Then, with a sudden, smooth, explosive turn, he lunged toward her. Gripping the knife, he used his forearm to knock the rifle barrel upward, and with his left hand he ripped the stock from her grasp.

  Faith was stunned by the violence she witnessed, stunned by the violence that seeped from Delaney’s body. She couldn’t look at his face. His skin glistened with sweat, sleek bronze skin on the powerful muscles of his shoulders, arms, and washboard stomach. Her gaze slid down to the knife he held.

  Chelli staggered to his feet, and Delaney stepped back to keep him in sight. “This loaded?” he asked her, bringing the rifle level with Chelli’s gut.

  “Yes,” she managed to choke out.

  Chelli raised his arms wide from his body and smiled. “It is over, for now.” But when he leaned down to get his gun, Delaney stopped him.

  “Leave it. I’ll get it back to you later, amigo.”

  “As you wish.” He backed away, turned, ducked beneath an overhanging branch, and was gone.

  Delaney’s breath shuddered out from him. He tossed the rifle down and lashed out at Faith. “You ever dare aim a gun at my back, duchess, an’ you’d better be ready to shoot first.”

  “No! I wouldn’t have shot at you. I was frightened. We all were when we heard that shot.” Faith stopped herself from saying more. Delaney turned his back toward her, his spine rigid with tension. She had to fight down the urg
e to go to him, to offer a woman’s soothing touch, to brush the bits of dirt from the broad expanse of his bare shoulders, to somehow tell him she had been afraid for him.

  His move toward his horse was dismissal, but Faith refused to leave. She envied the gentle strokes he offered his mare’s outstretched nose before he grabbed his shirt that was slung over the saddle. Couldn’t he see, didn’t he know that she wanted to be held, too? A trembling started inside her, and shivers racked her body.

  Delaney slid on his shirt and took his time buttoning it. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, could still see the shock in her gaze, and wanted to close his eyes to blot out the sight of her. Foolish thought. Impossible action. He wasn’t going to make what she saw go away. He certainly had no intention of explaining or apologizing. She’d take him as he was.

  “Go back to your camp, duchess.”

  “Stop calling me that ridiculous name!” Clasping her hands in a death grip, she managed to stop shaking. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” He sheathed his knife with a deft move, picked up Chelli’s gun, and hefted the near perfect balance of the Colt Frontier. The long-barreled revolver was a fairly new model, and Delaney estimated its cost before he emptied the chamber of bullets and put them along with the gun in his saddlebag. Not once had he looked at Faith.

  “What should I tell my father? He’ll want to know what happened.”

  “The truth. He’ll appreciate it, even if you can’t. He’s getting his money’s worth, duchess. I tried to tell you that.”

  “I’ve asked you, now I am demanding that you stop calling me duchess! I’m aware of what I look like, Mr. Carmichael, and it’s far from being a duchess.”

  “Oh, it ain’t your looks. It’s the grand tilt of your nose.”

  Faith refused to spar with him. She knew she was plain, had been told as much most of her life. Even Martin had never called her pretty. It didn’t matter a wit what this man thought of her. She wasn’t interested in the hardheaded Delaney Carmichael! But against her better judgment, she knew she wanted to understand him.