Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  Delaney stared off at the forest, his keen hearing picking out the sounds of Faith’s washing herself from those of the night moves caused by small animals and the slight breeze. The temperature was dropping. He couldn’t help but glance toward the wagon, wondering what was covering her skin besides goose bumps.

  He swore again, restless and trying to drag his thoughts away from where she tempted him. “Hurry up,” he called out to her. “I want to get some shut-eye before I relieve Keith.”

  Faith had the cloth pressed to the valley between her breasts. She held it there, feeling the sudden increased pounding of her heart. His voice still sounded rough, but there was an added edge to it. What had she done to anger him now? With a temper-driven motion she slapped the cloth into the basin and jerked the sleeves of her gown in place. Holding the basin in one hand, she used the other to clutch her gown together and marched out to where he was kneeling by the fire.

  Delaney rose and towered over her as she drew near him. Once again he eyed the basin where water was sloshing over the rim, adding to the dampness already causing her gown to cling to her breasts. It took an effort to raise his gaze up to her face, where color flagged her cheeks.

  “Did you want help getting rid of that, duchess?” he drawled, holding her damning gaze steady with his own.

  “Stop calling me duchess,” she hissed. “Stop having fun at my expense. I know what I am, what I look like, and I don’t need the likes of you reminding me at every turn.” Without thinking, Faith released her hold on the front of her gown to clutch the basin with both hands before it spilled.

  The hard glint in Delaney’s eyes was hidden by his dark, blunt lashes. His nostrils flared. Her scent surrounded him. Every one of his senses sprang to life as desire slammed into his gut. His mind replayed every word she had just spoken. He shook his head and pushed his hat back, wondering what kind of a game she was playing with him. And finally he answered her.

  “If you’re looking for pretty words, duchess, I’m not the man for them.”

  “I’m not looking for anything.”

  “Sure you are. You’re looking and asking right now, or you’d cover up what you’re flaunting.”

  Faith glanced down and tilted the basin at the same time. Water spilled and splashed over Delaney’s hips and thighs. The thin, wet cloth left nothing to her imagination, not even the fact that he was fully aroused. With a muffled cry Faith dragged her gaze upward.

  “Some things, duchess, a man can’t control. Don’t expect me to apologize. And Faith,” he warned, “that makes two.”

  Faith dropped the pan and backed away from him. In the dying firelight she saw the reckless slant of his lips and the dangerous, almost feral gleam of his eyes.

  “You’re as blind as Joey,” he whispered, pressing the water from his pants. He cleared the distance between them in two long strides and caught her by the shoulders.

  “Last warning,” he grated from between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to get my boots tangled with range calico like you. You’ll want sweet words and promises, and I have none to give. I’ve wanted a lot of things in my life, but got damn few of them. I’ll add you to the list.” He shook her roughly, determined to make her understand that she had to stay away from him.

  Faith heard him, but she felt a burst of heat inside when he touched her. Her lips parted, softening for the taste of his, and her lashes drifted down to hide her awareness.

  Delaney leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing hers, but he pulled back. “Don’t let feelings rule you, duchess. They can leave you wide open for hurt.” He released her with a slight backward shove, knowing he was right. It was a lesson he had learned and never intended to forget.

  Faith opened her eyes and saw him walk away. Again. That’s two, Delaney.

  Chapter 6

  The morning air was crisp when Faith saw Delaney ride out ahead of the wagons. Keith, impatient, called out for her to hurry up. The mules were balky and cantankerous in the mornings, and she was feeling a little of the same herself. She knew it would take her body a few days to adjust to muscles being strained, and the jolt and sway of the wagon. Plunking her hat on, Faith eyed the mules and climbed up, making sure that Pris and Joey were settled before she grabbed up the reins.

  The children were quiet, allowing her time to think, although she managed to avoid the subject of Delaney until he rode back as the sun climbed high. “Half hour, no more,” he ordered, riding past her.

  Shooting a glaring look at Delaney’s retreating back, she knew she was thankful they would stop for nooning.

  Faith was wet. Sweat trickled down her face and onto her neck and bodice. Damp patches spread down from her underarms to her sides. Even her legs were coated with moisture. Her arms were sore, and her shoulders didn’t bear thinking about at all. She longed to crawl into the back of the wagon and rest. More, she longed for a bath. What she did was to set the pole brake and watch as Pris, with Joey cautiously following, scrambled down from the wagon.

  “What’s to eat!” Keith yelled.

  She didn’t look at him, tempted to sit right where she was, but it was a moment’s foolishness. Everyone was hungry, and she the one expected to provide for them.

  Grumbling to herself, she stripped off her gloves and hat and climbed down. With both of her hands pressed to the small of her back, Faith bent forward, groaning, and then, very slowly leaned back in an arch to stretch out her sore muscles.

  Arrested by the wanton sight she presented, Delaney paused in the act of dismounting. Her skin was flushed, her hair dark where sweat had dampened it, her eyes half-closed, and her head arched back. The soft noises she made rubbed his nerve ends. His gaze tracked the clean line of her profile, the smooth upthrusting curves of her breasts, and a waist that he could almost span with both of his hands.

  She straightened up slowly, almost as if drawn up by her sudden awareness of him. For seconds her gaze locked with his.

  Delaney stepped down and turned to fully face her. Tipping his hat back, his hands came to rest on his hips. His eyes narrowed and he deliberately glanced down. The skirt and petticoats she wore, clung to her legs and had caught in the veed joining of her thighs. Sweat broke out on his brow. With a choked sound he licked his bottom lip.

  Faith watched him with a mixture of shock and sexual awareness. Heat shimmered through her body, her eyes widened, her lips parted as she exhaled a rush of air, and she could feel her breasts swell. Delaney was still staring at her, and she was forced to look down at herself. With a cry she plucked her skirt and petticoats free, nervously smoothing them down her legs. He moved toward her and she nearly tripped over her own feet trying to get out of his sight. She ran to bring fresh water to her father and set out their cold meal.

  Delaney turned away and took a few deep breaths while he loosened the cinch on his barrel-chested mare. Mirage threw up her head and snorted. With a gentle touch he rubbed her forelock, then stroked down to her velvet nose, warning himself to ignore what just happened with Faith. The mare nudged his shoulder, wanting more of his petting, but this was not the female Delaney longed to stroke. A devil beset him, and he left Mirage nickering after him. With every step that took him up behind Faith, he repeated his own warning.

  Reaching out for a cold, sour-milk biscuit, his arm brushed her shoulder. She jerked to the side, refusing to look up at him. If the sight of her had sent his blood rushing through his body, the touch, the scent of her, made his muscles clench with want and sent hunger prowling down to his bone marrow. That she could stand there, acting as if she were unaware of what she had done, was doing to him, setting him off so easily, made him forget and damn his own vow.

  “Duchess,” he leaned close to whisper, crowding her hips against the edge of the wagon’s tailgate, “I’ve seen fifty-cent whores with smoother moves.”

  Faith swallowed a cry. She gripped the knife until her knuckles showed white. Temptation that had nothing to do with the passion he
so effortlessly aroused in her gleamed in her eyes. His harsh words stung, but she held back a defense. Delaney Carmichael was not going to goad her into saying something foolish, then strip her hide over it!

  “But then, I’ve never had to pay a woman,” he remarked, knowing he was being a bastard and unable to stop himself. He did have the sense to keep a close watch on the knife she wielded.

  Faith’s teeth scored her lower lip. She licked her lip, her temper rising, hot and fast. So the devil wanted his due? “Somehow, Mr. Carmichael, that doesn’t surprise me. But for fifty cents a look is all the likes of you is going to get.” She slapped ham between the sliced biscuits and piled them together.

  Delaney’s hand hovered in front of her. Two silver quarter dollars plunked and rolled against the wood.

  “Since I’m paying in advance, duchess, I’ll pick the time and place to … look.”

  Tears smarted her eyes. Faith blinked them away. Hot color singed her cheeks. “You do that, Carmichael. And while you’re waiting, fill the water barrels. It might cool you off.” Gathering the biscuits up in a linen napkin, she called to Pris and Joey, wondering where the courage had come from to snap back in kind at him.

  Delaney swallowed his laugh. He glanced down to see that the breeze had whipped her skirt hem in a tangle around his boots. With a thoughtful look he shook it free and went to sit with Keith.

  “Del, we getting close to Rich Hill?”

  Nodding, Delaney chewed slowly, still watching Faith.

  “That’s what I really want to do,” Keith confessed, unaware that he did not have Delaney’s full attention. “My pa don’t understand the kind of riches a man could find for himself. He thinks breaking your back over a plow, and then standing to wait for rain or going hungry when your seed dies without coming up is all there is to life. I want more. A heck of a lot more!”

  There was an edge to Keith’s voice that forced Delaney to look at him. “You can’t believe that mining ain’t hard work?”

  “No. I’m no fool. But the reward—the money you can have to spend—is all worth it.”

  “There was a saying that if you washed your face in the Hassayampa, you could pan gold dust from your whiskers, Keith. An’ maybe that was true back in the fifties an’ sixties. Up on Rich Hill, they said a man could kick up gold nuggets with the toe of his boot or dig them out with the tip of a knife. Almost every creek ’round here, Granite, Lynx, Big Bug, Turkey, and more than I remember, were sites for placer mines.”

  “Placer? That’s all panning, no hard rock, and no digging?” Keith asked, his eyes intense.

  “That’s right. But the gold played out and the Cousin Jacks moved in an’ the jackass prospectors moved on. Now the silver mines are the rich ones. Places like the Tip Top and Silver Peck in the Bradshaws and the McCracken and Signal further west. But it ain’t easy picking. Man alone needs to be on watch. Goes to town to buy supplies and weigh in his poke at the assayer’s office, an’ he takes to worrying over who’s watching to see where his claim is at. Ain’t—”

  “A man could get himself a partner,” Keith cut in, taking a bite of his lunch.

  Delaney nodded. “Sure he could. But more partners end up sole owners than you could count.”

  “You don’t much like miners, do you, Del?”

  He closed his eyes wanting to answer Keith honestly. Memory brought forth the sight of himself, sitting with Taza and Naiche while he struggled to understand the Apache words that taught him about Yusen and the abomination they believed it was to take gold from the body of Mother Earth. Much as he respected their right to their beliefs and their spirits, he had come to see for himself what the hunt and greed for gold had done to the land.

  “Del?” Keith questioned, thinking there was something wrong.

  “Sorry, boy.” Delaney saw the flash of defiance in Keith’s eyes. “No, that was wrong of me. You ain’t a boy. But you’ve got growing years ahead of you. An’ no, I don’t much like miners.” Delaney got up from the downed log they were sitting on, and before Keith could say anything, he left him.

  When they were ready to pull out, Delaney tied his mare to the back of the wagon. Mirage didn’t much care for the company of Beula, but the cow offered what almost passed for a wink from her soulful brown eyes as if to thank Delaney for a companion. Shaking off his fanciful thoughts, he strode around to the front of the wagon and climbed aboard, crowding the children and Faith.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, taking the reins from her before she could move. “You take Pris and ride in back.”

  “Orders, Carmichael?”

  He didn’t turn to see her. “Yeah, duchess, orders.”

  Since she was getting her longed-for wish, Faith did not argue with him. She scrambled over the seat, taking Pris with her. How did Delaney know what she had been thinking about? Shrugging off a question she wasn’t going to have answered, she coaxed Pris into one bunk built on the side of the wagon and settled herself in the other one. If she had not still been smarting over his taunting, she would have thanked him.

  Delaney set himself back on the wagon’s seat, spreading his legs wide so that his boots were braced on the edges of the lower front box. “Joey, come sit with me and guide these mules.”

  Joey turned toward the sound of his voice. “You’re funning me. I can’t see.”

  “There’s lots of ways of seeing, boy. ’Sides, I’ve watched these mules. They’re a good settled team.” He held out his hand, hoping that Joey would sense how close to him it was. Delaney made no move to help Joey find his way over his leg to get settled on the seat between his legs. “You did fine, boy. Real fine.” Placing Joey’s hands on the leather, Delaney closed his own hands over them. “Now, we’ll keep these mules to a walk. One long pull on the jerk line will tell them to go left and a few short jerks mean to turn right. The leaders are real smart like I said, so you can shout ‘gee’ for right and ‘haw’ for left, too. But an old skinner taught me to let the mules pick their way. The leather will talk to you all on its own. Now, yell ‘stretch ’em out.’ ”

  “Stretch ’em out!” Joey yelled, gripping the reins with all his strength.

  Delaney smiled and absently rubbed the boy’s shoulder to ease some of the excited tension from him.

  Inside the wagon Faith listened to every word spoken by Delaney. The rough edge that was always present when he spoke to her was gone. His voice was soft, patient, and she swore she heard him chuckle at something Joey whispered that she couldn’t hear.

  The man, she decided, settling back against the pillow, was as twisted as some of the trails he set them to follow. As much as she longed to close her eyes and sleep, she found herself straining to catch Delaney’s words as he answered Joey’s questions.

  “We’re high in the Bradshaws. You can feel the sun on your skin, and when it cools fast, the shadows come from the tall stands of timber. Before long we’ll ride where there’s low desert. It’ll be hot during the day and chilled down at night. We’ll have buttes and mountains there, but water might be harder to find.”

  “But Faith said you know where water is. How come?”

  “I had good teachers, Joey. An’ it’s not all that hard for any man to figure where water is if you learn the land.”

  “The Apache taught you, didn’t they? That’s what pa says. He says you’re like one of them.”

  Faith held her breath, and sat up, leaning forward to hear his answer.

  Delaney hesitated. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he knew that Faith was awake. But he didn’t want to try and explain to Joey or anyone else the beliefs of a people that he admired and called friends and who honored him with their trust.

  “Well,” Joey prompted, “ain’t it true? ’Course, I don’t think you act like no savage. You’re real nice to me and Pris.”

  “Joey, even if I was Apache, that wouldn’t change the way I am with you or your sister. An’ for the ones I know, Apache love their children, s
ame as white folks.”

  Joey’s body was rigid. “They’re turning. I can tell!” he whispered, frightened.

  “Easy, boy. The leaders are just finding the best way. Lazy animals won’t do a lick more work than they can get by with.”

  Even Faith had to smile. When Joey began to laugh, she offered a prayer of thanks for Delaney’s caring and patience with her little brother. With a sigh she rested again on the pillow, her curiosity unappeased.

  As if her thought had flown to Joey, within minutes he persisted with his earlier questions. “So where will you find water?”

  “Tell you what. When we make camp tonight, I’ll show you how to tell what kind of trees are growing. You feel the leaves, smell them, smell and touch the bark. Learn the scent of the land when water is near. You can always use animal tracks to lead you to pozos or tinajas.”

  “You need to be able to see these things, Del,” Joey reminded him in a sullen voice.

  “No. You can use the sense of smell to find anything, boy. An’ there’s nothing wrong with your hands. You can crawl and feel with your fingers to measure the size of a track. Figure if it’s man or beast, though there’s times when they’re one an’ the same.”

  “Huh?”

  “Men, Joey. Sometimes they’re worse than animals. But to get back. If you find an animal track, I’ll show you some ways to tell what it is.”

  “You really know all that?”

  Delaney’s eyes darkened with memories. “Not all. No man, white or Indian, can lay claim to knowing all.”

  “What’s a pozo and a tin … that other thing?”

  “A pozo is a spring and tinajas are pools in the rocks. When the gully-washers come—that’s a hard, driving rain, which floods the land,” he quickly explained, before Joey interrupted him. “Well, the water collects in natural stone basins and can last for months. It ain’t agua fría—an’ that’s Spanish for cold water, which you’ll find in a spring—but when a man’s thirsty an’ his horse can’t go on, you’ll drink it.”