Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  At the bank he turned to her. “Duchess, go get your drawers and petticoats and what-have-yous while I gather these.”

  Blushing beet-red, Faith stamped her foot. How could he know! “Must you always find something to poke fun at when it comes to me?”

  “Temper, duchess?” he queried in a rough voice. “Just understand that the last thing I want is to be alone with you. You’ve got yourself a mirror, don’t you? Look in it, calico. Only do your looking through a man’s eyes and not your own.”

  “You peevish—”

  He rounded on her, forcing her to back away. “Your skin’s peach-gold, and I’ve made no secret that I purely love the taste of peaches. Want more?”

  “No. No, I don’t want to hear more.” But she lied, and she knew that Delaney was well aware of that.

  “Ah, hell!” he muttered.

  “Delaney?” But he ignored her, gathering up shirts and pants from the branches and bushes. Faith knew he would say no more. Pressing her palms against her cheeks, she turned away. Peach-gold? Did he really think her skin was that pretty? The thought of Delaney tasting her skin sent a tremor of heat through her body. Did men enjoy gentle kissing and touching? Would Delaney? He called out a warning for her to hurry in such a harsh voice that Faith set aside her musings.

  Delaney Carmichael, she decided, had the disposition of a rattlesnake. Leave it to doze, and a body wouldn’t know it was there. Step too close and you were likely to get bit. And only a fool would provoke a rattlesnake!

  Faith was thankful the next few days passed without event. The trail they followed wound down through the trees along a steep switchback that would lead them to Peeples Valley. Keith asked questions, Joey asked his, and even Pris began to think of things to gain Delaney’s attention. He answered them all as best he could, making their stops a bright spot to look forward to, when it was measured against the boring dullness of the days. This morning dawn had arrived in a crimson wash over the mountains to flush the stones with flame. Faith longed to share the beauty she found in the land with Delaney but never did. If she stopped to count, she didn’t believe they had exchanged sixty words between them. It was a childish game that served to help her keep her distance from him. But the nights found her aching, restless, and going without needed sleep.

  Each time she reminded herself to stop thinking about him, Delaney did something to bring himself to her attention. She couldn’t help wonder if he did it deliberately.

  He would ride by, ignore her, and take either Pris or Joey up before him on his horse and ride off. The children would come back filled with giggles and smiles that pleased her, for she often found herself smiling with them.

  Keith now went out on his own to provide fresh game for supper, for Delaney had shown him new hunting skills. Her brother walked taller and spoke with a man’s authority, which she sometimes found annoying.

  There were no more challenges from her father, but she sensed he was building toward a showdown with Delaney about Keith’s growing talk about mining. Delaney’s manner toward her father remained somewhat puzzling. He would not confront him, but in his own quiet way he went about doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted it done.

  The nooning took place on a high point, and Keith eagerly questioned Delaney about the low desert and mountains that surrounded them. Faith heard bits and pieces, not really paying attention, until her father bellowed out Keith’s name.

  “Don’t want to hear another word about mining from you, boy!” Robert yelled, hobbling toward Keith. “We’re farm folk and don’t you forget that.”

  “Don’t be carrying on, Pa. I was just asking Del where Rich Hill was. Do you even know how much gold they found there? And now silver mines are making men rich.”

  “Rich? That all you ever think about, boy? Man owns his land, works and builds something solid to pass along to his sons. That’s being rich.” He glared at Faith. “It happens that way unless a man loses—”

  “No! Pa, don’t!” Faith cried out, running toward him, spilling the last of the milk from the tin jug she held. “Don’t say it!”

  “I’ll have my say, girl, when I want.”

  “Then be glad that Ma never lived to hear such meanness from you!” she screamed and fled.

  Delaney stopped Keith from going after her. He avoided looking at Becket, afraid of what he would do to the man. Without a second thought he went after Faith.

  She was crying so hard she didn’t hear him come up behind her. When he put his hand on her shoulder, Faith turned blindly and took shelter against him. For a moment Delaney deliberated over touching her, and then his arms came up to enfold her. He had no comforting words to offer, but Faith wouldn’t have listened to him. She badly needed to cry, and he let her.

  But now he knew for sure there were secrets the Beckets hid, secrets that had something to do with Faith and their coming to buy land in hell.

  It was a long while before Faith lifted her head from where it rested on Delaney’s chest. She brushed the last tears from her eyes, then touched the damp dark spot on his shirt but refused to look up at his face.

  “I don’t cry,” she whispered, “not often.”

  “I know that,” he murmured in return, unable to stop himself from stroking the clean line of her back down to her waist, then up again. “You’re a strong woman, Faith, not the girl your father tries to make you.”

  “There are times when I’m tired of being strong, tired of—”

  “Sure you are, duchess.”

  “Don’t, please don’t mock me now,” she pleaded, trying to pull free from his arms.

  Delaney held her for a moment more, then reluctantly he released her. He started to walk away but couldn’t let her go on believing that he was mocking her.

  “Faith, calling you duchess has nothin’ to do with mockery.”

  She stared at the powerful set of his body, wishing he would face her, unable to ask him to do so. But that didn’t stop one burning question from being voiced. “Del, why do you call me duchess? And don’t be saying it has to do with the grand tilt of my nose. I won’t believe that.”

  “Maybe calling you duchess reminds me to keep my distance,” he answered.

  The lack of emotion in his voice made Faith step closer. “But why, Delaney? I’ve never asked—”

  “Don’t say more,” he grated, his body suddenly rigid.

  “…you to keep your distance from me,” she finished, ignoring his interruption.

  “You should have,” he shot back and walked away.

  Faith had no choice but to follow him. Keith looked at her askance, but Faith ignored him, too. Her stern look kept Pris quiet, and Joey, sensing his older sister’s anger, was silent.

  In the days that followed, Faith knew the tension between herself and her father had to break, but she refused to be the one to begin. She sat on the swaying wagon seat, her mind replaying every word she had exchanged with Delaney, fighting a growing need to know more about him that gnawed at her.

  They rode a narrow sandy trail up to Antelope Station, hemmed in by bitter barked greasewood and mesquite trees. Delaney continued his teaching of Joey, so Faith learned along with him that the mesquite trees sent roots deep into the earth in its search for water, but that finding the yellow-blossomed paloverde in a dry wash told a man that water was only a few feet from the surface.

  They camped for nooning along the road where the stage ran, and Faith replenished a few of their supplies along with trading for fresh peas at Wilson and Timmerman’s store. The scattered cabins were weathered, and most of the buildings were of adobe, clustered on the hills around them. While she was in the store, Delaney came in, and she overheard him talking with Mr. Wilson about Charles Stanton, the deputy county recorder.

  “He’s greedy, all right, and vicious,” Delaney agreed. “Heard he’s in league with the cutthroat Mexicans over in Weaverville.”

  “You heard that right enough. But he’
s more than that. Hires them to do his dirty work. Can’t expect much else from a man that was forced to leave off studying to be a priest. Threw him out of the monastery, they did, on charges of immorality.”

  “Keep a watch,” Delaney warned, then turned to Faith. “You near finished? We can cover some miles before dusk.”

  Rock wall corrals, stone houses, and saguaro cacti followed as they skirted the base of Rich Hill, and Delaney warned them all to keep their eyes open, for this was Weaverville. But Keith was too excited at being near the placer claims that had yielded almost a million dollars in gold. He fired questions at Delaney, asking where Antelope Creek was, and the peak just north of it, and was it true that a Mexican found the first nuggets before Peeples.

  With an unaccustomed abruptness Delaney answered him, but Faith noticed that he rode close to the wagons with his rifle held across his lap until they were well past Octave. Keith, while obeying Delaney’s orders to keep a watch out, persisted in wanting to know exactly where the Congress mine was located since it was the oldest producing mine in the territory.

  And Robert Becket, riding behind his oldest son in the wagon, listened to every word that fed his growing rage.

  Delaney pushed them to ride a little past dusk, until they were away from the occasional miner they saw, and made camp below Congress Junction. He hurried Faith through supper, smothered the fire, and then took one of the rifles to hand to her.

  “You sleep with this tonight.”

  “Why? You’ve never suggested I take a rifle to bed with me before, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “There’s gold. There’s men who’ll kill for it ’round here. You need more reason? I warned you to look at yourself. A woman like you makes a man remember gold ain’t the only thing worth having.”

  Faith took the rifle, secretly pleased that Delaney once again made her believe she was pretty, desirable, and someone he might want.

  In the next moment she was swearing under her breath at him.

  “Find your bush close by tonight, duchess. I don’t want to come looking for you.”

  Fuming every step of the way, Faith, dragging Pris along with her, finally found a thick-trunked mesquite tree to afford them privacy while they relieved themselves. But she found it took a great deal of courage to walk back to camp to face Delaney.

  Robert complained of an itch driving him crazy the next morning. Delaney offered him the choice of laying up for the day or going on. Robert chose to go on, but by midday, just within sight of an adobe mill on the Hassayampa River, he had to tell Keith to stop.

  Delaney had started to ride back when an old miner hailed him.

  “Del, you’re a long way from Tucson.”

  “Henry, didn’t think to see you here,” he greeted him, dismounting and walking toward the man.

  “I keep hoping that Mr. Phelps will do the right thing by me. All the money they gave me for the down payment is gone to fight this man and his New York interests that steal my mine.”

  Keith rushed to Delaney’s side, elbowing him in the side to be introduced. “Henry Wickenburg, this is Keith Becket. A young man with a taste for gold mining.”

  Henry’s eyes sparkled, and he pumped Keith’s hand up and down several times, smiling to hear the eager questions pouring forth from the boy as he led him a ways toward his adobe house.

  Delaney knew he wouldn’t see much of either one of them for a while. Henry had a tendency to talk someone’s ear clean off about his Vulture Mine and the smartest little burro a man had ever owned. He couldn’t blame Henry for a bit of prideful bragging. If that burro had not wandered off during the night, Henry would not have discovered surface gold at the base of the mountain west of the river. His mistake, if Delaney could call it that, was to build an arrastra to mill the crude ore while trying to work the mine at the same time. It was impossible, so Henry sold his mining interest but never got paid all he was promised.

  By the time he walked back to the wagons, he could hear Robert yelling at Faith.

  “Thinking about sending that man clear ’round hell’s half acre,” Delaney muttered to himself.

  “I don’t know what to do for you, Pa,” Faith protested, catching sight of Delaney coming near.

  “What’s the trouble?” he asked her, glancing into the wagon to where Robert lay with his leg propped up and a look of agony on his face.

  “His leg is itching something fierce. I—”

  “Becket, give me your hand,” Delaney cut in. “Let’s get you outside an’ strip off those bandages. Likely you need breathing room.”

  Much as he hated having to depend upon Delaney to help him, Robert stretched out his hand.

  Faith snatched up the quilt from the wagon and spread it on the ground while Delaney supported her father’s weight. Amid a great deal of groaning on her father’s part, Delaney settled Robert down. Faith eyed her father, believing that he made more of his being uncomfortable than he really was. She ignored his pleading look when Delaney took out his knife and began to cut away the wrappings and climbed into the wagon. After opening her mother’s trunk, Faith removed the top tray and searched below, where herbs and other dried roots, leaves and seeds were stored. She glanced out to see that Delaney had the wooden splints off and was slowly unwinding the bandages from her father’s leg.

  Delaney would never deliberately hurt him, but Faith shook her head, knowing her father thought as much. Finding the little blue bundle she wanted, she lifted it free, one finger tracing over her mother’s elegant copperplate handwriting that labeled this pokeweed. A tide of grief swept over her, one that she quickly buried. It wouldn’t do to have her father see the sadness in her eyes. He’d use it against her.

  She found the crock of lard and a clean bowl, then took them outside with her. Delaney had already filled a bucket with clean water, and she used it to wash the flakes of dry skin from the sickly pale thinness of her father’s injured leg. She even managed a smile when Robert’s groans turned to sighs of pleasure as she gently rubbed the leg dry and then spread a mixture of dried pokeweed root and lard over the skin to relieve the itching.

  “You rest out here in the shade, Pa,” she said, taking up the wrappings and bandages to put them to soak in the bucket. “I’ll wash these and tear up fresh linen for you.”

  “Where’s Pris and Joey?” Delaney demanded from behind her.

  Faith spun around. “What? I haven’t … oh, no! Where are they?”

  Chapter 8

  “Faith what—”

  “Nothing, Pa. Don’t worry. They can’t be far. I’ll find them and when I do—” She stopped herself from saying more, far from reassured. She hurried to Delaney’s side, her look at him conveying the fear that took hold.

  But he paid her no attention, busy studying the land. She found herself trying to follow his gaze, looking for a glimpse of bright cloth that would reveal where either child was. Shades of browns, rusts, and greens merged before her eyes as the earth, rocks, and bushes seemed to meld with the trees and man-size cactus into one empty, desolate view.

  Delaney’s gaze narrowed as he spotted three dark brown hawks perched for hunting on a sixty-foot-high saguaro. “Smart hunters,” he murmured, knowing their prey had no chance to escape, for the hawks worked as a team to circle and flush it out to the open. But the sight drew him forward, and Faith to follow after him.

  Delaney easily climbed a slope of sandstone rubble but turned when he heard Faith slide on the loose scree. She took hold of his hand, and he pulled her up beside him. About fifty feet away he spotted the children. “See them?” he asked, placing one hand on her shoulder to turn her.

  Pris and Joey stood with their backs toward them in a small dry wash. Faith sighed with relief, but then she realized how still they were. Crying out softly, she grabbed Delaney’s arm.

  “What’s wrong with them?” she demanded, sensing the lack of tension in his body, but absently dismissing it.

  “Nothing.” He
stopped her from rushing down toward them. “Leave them be,” he whispered. “There’s a hummer on Joey’s shoulder.”

  “A what?” Faith jerked free of his hold. “They could get hurt off by themselves. I know you’ve taught Joey a few things, but you can’t forget that he’s blind and Pris is just a little—”

  “Duchess.” Placing two fingers on her lips, he silenced her. “If there was danger to either one of them from a hummingbird, do you think I’d be standing here?”

  Faith scanned his beard-stubbled face, looking deep into his eyes to find the truth. “No,” she finally whispered.

  Delaney held her gaze with his own. Dragging one finger across her bottom lip, he saw her eyes widen and felt the warmth of her breath sigh over his finger. Her breath rushed in and out, and he guessed at the sudden race of her heart by the pulse visible in the hollow of her throat. He drew a small sound of surprise and pleasure from her when he used his thumb to stroke her lip again, then caress her cheek. “So damn soft,” he murmured, thinking about kissing her, deepening the kiss until hungry tongues slid and mated with the wild heat that flared between them.

  “The children?” she managed to whisper, closing her eyes to savor the subtle caress.

  Delaney allowed himself one more touch before he stepped away from her and gave a shrill whistle that made Faith open her eyes and look to see the children, Pris holding tight to Joey’s hand, running toward them.

  “Faith! Faith, did you see? It came right down on Joey’s arm and then went on his shoulder. That little bird stood still in front of us with nothing to hold it at all!” Pris shouted, dragging Joey up to where they stood. “It flew backward, I swear it did, and I tried to make Joey see it! Over and over it went right in the air! Did you see? Did you?”

  With a warning look Delaney stopped Faith from lacing into them. Tugging on Joey’s red neckerchief, he smiled down into Pris’s sparkling eyes. “The hummer thought Joey’s bandanna was a bright red flower. He was looking for food.”