Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  She stretched and yawned, slipping down to stand beside the wagon. Faith rubbed her eyes, then looked out again at the land. She had listened and learned when Delaney spoke to them about the rains coming to transform the land into one of incredible beauty. When the rains were hard, flowers bloomed, what appeared dead burst forth life, all that was barren flushed full with the seeds of new birth.

  She turned wildly, running a short way, and spinning around.

  There was no beauty. No spark of new green to ease the stark browns, no flower edged with more than the morning dew, no rivulets of water sparkled under the first sun. Nothing, nowhere she looked showed signs that the skies had opened in a wild downpour. The land, to her eyes, appeared as lifeless this morning as it had when they made camp last night.

  Had she dreamed? Or was this a nightmare?

  No. She refused to believe that. She had heard the thunder. She felt the shaking of the earth she stood upon. She had tasted the gentle rain and felt it on her skin. Her eyes had witnessed the tormented dance of lightning across the sky.

  Yet, even in her denial of what she now saw, she bent down to touch the earth. It was dry.

  “No! It can’t be.” She ran back to her wagon. Crawling, she reached out to wake Seanilzay. He would tell her the truth.

  But her hand closed over a bundled blanket, and as she drew the wool cloth toward her, Faith knew what she would find.

  His bed was empty. As if the blanket burned her hands, she shoved it away and scrambled free from the wagon’s underside. She forced herself to stand, a tremor starting inside until her body shook.

  The storm had not frightened her, but fear found its way into her mind now. A mere whisper of a breeze brushed her face, and she lifted her eyes to the sky.

  Believe what your heart tells you.

  She closed her eyes. Where had the words come from? She didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. They were an offer of sanity to cling to.

  A muttered swearing came from the other wagon, and Faith shook her head as if to clear it. Her father yelled for Keith to wake up and help him climb down from the wagon.

  She slowly walked over to where the fire was blackened ash and touched the wood. It, too, was dry. She simply stared at it.

  “Faith, you sick or something?” Keith asked, coming up behind her.

  “No. Why?”

  “You look funny standing there. And there’s no fire, no coffee…” Shrugging, his voice trailed off. “Need help?”

  A flash of surprise showed in her eyes. Keith never offered to help in the morning. “Yes, please. I didn’t sleep well, the—”

  “Yeah. I was kind of restless myself. Figure it might be ’cause we’re getting close. Del said we’re more than halfway.”

  Hiding her disappointment that he had not been kept awake by the storm, Faith set about her morning chores. She cast anxious glances toward the open land, hoping to see a sign of Seanilzay returning with Delaney. That is where the Apache had gone, she decided. There was nothing strange about his disappearing to find his friend. But they were nearly ready to break camp when Delaney returned, alone.

  Faith searched his face as he strode up to the fire she had been smothering and poured himself the last cup of coffee. His eyes were dark, without a hint of the flashes of gold and green she had once believed showed the promise of life and offered hope. His cheeks were drawn, the facial bones prominent, and the thick growth of dark beard stubble only enhanced the masculine contours of his face.

  He seemed to look right through her. Faith thought at first it was a trick of the light, but when she moved, his head angled as if he followed and watched her, but his eyes revealed no awareness that she was there. She had the presence not to cry out when she finally looked down at his bare chest and saw the wound that crossed from his heart to his side. A wedge of dark curling hair covered his chest, narrowing as it centered the washboard muscles of his torso. A blue stone, no bigger than a robin’s egg, was suspended from rawhide and nestled against the dark mat of hair. She felt pulled toward the stone, pulled toward Delaney, in spite of his forbidding manner, only to stop herself when he turned his back toward her.

  Faith raised her hand in a helpless gesture, unable to speak. She felt the wall of loneliness surrounding him and did not know how to break it. Turning, she saw that Pris, holding tight to Joey’s hand, stood near the back of the wagon. Both children were quiet, their faces appearing to reflect the sadness she felt for Delaney. She glanced at Keith, but he shook his head, as if he, too, sensed the wall and would not broach it. Faith saw that her father, standing with the aid of a forked limb, stood back and away from him. No one tried to speak to him.

  A roadrunner appeared, darting along, flipping its tail up and down before it ran off. She wanted to follow it. Faith took courage in hand and approached Delaney just as he spilled out the last of his coffee on the dying fire.

  “Seanilzay is gone. He bedded down under the wagon, and when I went to wake him this morning, he wasn’t there.”

  Delaney shrugged.

  “Don’t you care what happened to him? His wounds weren’t healed. I thought he might have gone looking for you.” She waited for him to answer, and waited in vain. She longed to ask where he had been. And the storm? No. She didn’t want to question him about that. “I was … we were worried about you. Please, before we leave, let me tend to that cut.”

  He shook his head, refusing to turn around. Delaney closed his mind to the softness in her voice, to that special husky, almost breathless way she had of talking to him. He did not want her pity or her compassion.

  Faith was undecided what to do. Once again she raised her hand to touch him, this time pulling it back when he suddenly spun around.

  She had never seen such a bleak look in anyone’s eyes. In a second it was gone from his. She forced herself to remember that Delaney was like the land, tough, hard, and dangerous. There was a stillness about him that stretched the moments of time, and she could not speak, could not move.

  Believe what your heart tells you. Once again the words came to her, and this time she listened to them. Her heart was crying out to her that she could heal this man’s wounds and ease the loss of all he held dear. She knew, without knowing how or why, that she could make him whole again.

  If he let her near him. If she could break the wall that surrounded him.

  “Delaney, please, I just want—”

  “If you don’t know what’s good for you, I do. Stay the hell away from me.”

  “Your voice!” she cried out, tears blurring her eyes. Pain lanced her as he left. Every word had been uttered in a raw, raspy tone. But as much as she grieved for him, anger came. She marched to the wagon and found the half-filled crock of honey. Bringing it to where he stood saddling his mare, she set it carefully on the saddle. “Use it. For all our sakes.”

  The glare in his eyes sent her scurrying. The small act used up her store of bravery, and she did as he ordered and stayed away from him. She really had no choice. He set a grueling pace that day, and the days that followed. Faith hardly saw him. He did not take his meals with them. She fretted over whether he ate at all, then called herself a fool for worrying. He had no more time to spend with Joey, less for Pris. Keith never attempted to talk to him, and only her father seemed pleased by the cold distance Delaney maintained.

  Faith went back to calling him Mr. Carmichael when she had to speak to him, if she found him, if he stayed and listened.

  They had little trouble crossing the Salt River, but when she braved his distant manner to ask if they could stop in Phoenix, he checked over their supplies and refused. It unsettled her to be left with the strong feeling that he couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

  Two days later they found a low spot to cross the Gila River and were stopped for nooning below a four-story-high mud-and-adobe ruin. Keith, too, braved Delaney’s wrath and approached him about the ruins. Faith listened, not because she was curious, but for the sat
isfaction of hearing Delaney’s voice return to normal. He answered Keith in the abrupt manner he had adopted, telling him it was the Casa Grande, the “big house,” built by Indians who had farmed this area. She smiled to herself when he added a warning for Keith to be careful as he climbed up for a closer look.

  Believing it was more than past time to mend the breach between them, Faith went to Delaney.

  “I will need your help to fill my wash kettle.”

  “Why?”

  “Since we plan to spend the night here, I intend to wash our clothes and bedding, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “No.”

  “Why?” she snapped, knowing it was foolish to argue with a man as thick-headed and hard-hearted as Delaney.

  “Said so.”

  “Let me be sure I understand. You said we can’t stop here for the night and that is that?”

  “Lady, you can be the—”

  “I know exactly what I can be, Mr. Carmichael. It is not important. We have a bargain between us, don’t we? You either give me a good reason why we must move on, or we are,” she stressed, with her hands on her hips, “staying. And what’s more, Mr. Carmichael, you are staying with us.” Faith stared him down, or up, depending on your view, she thought to herself, since he towered over her. But she did swear that for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifted as if he were going to smile.

  Setting aside his personal demon, Delaney rubbed the back of his neck. Feisty little sodbuster! But her confrontation made him consider his actions toward her and her family these last days. He had to admit, under close scrutiny, he didn’t measure high.

  “Well?” she prodded, willing to stand there all day if necessary to get him to respond to her on some level, any level, even anger.

  “There’s reason enough,” he admitted grudgingly. “Storms will be coming soon. I want us across the Santa Cruz before it floods, or we’ll have the devil’s own time.”

  “Thank you for a sensible reason, Mr. Carmichael,” she stated in a prim manner. “Keith, come down. We can’t be lingering here after all.”

  “There’s more. We should hit the stage road to Tucson with luck in the next day or two. Travel will be easier.” He finally looked at her and saw for himself that she was far from satisfied. He thought about walking away. The sudden realization that he had been doing that quite a bit lately made him stay. “We can rest up a day in Tucson.”

  “Your promise?”

  “Yeah, my promise.”

  It was reluctantly given, and she knew it. Faith took no pleasure in having won the concession. She smiled, hoping he realized that it was for his talking to her and not for a sense of victory. “Thank you, Delaney.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m glad your throat is better,” she said quickly, to keep him with her. “I guess the honey did help. My mother said—” She stopped herself, for the bleak look was back in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything that would hurt you.”

  Delaney glanced out over the land. “Seanilzay told you.”

  “Yes. I was with him the night you disappeared.”

  “Then you know it all.”

  Faith touched his arm, silently asking him to look at her. He didn’t turn, but he didn’t leave her. “I want you to know that I share your pain. My mother died on the trail. I can never see where we buried her, but I can keep the good memories and forget the bad.”

  “No one murdered your mother.”

  “No, but they killed my husband.” She lowered her lashes and dropped her hand from his arm. She couldn’t tell him that her father blamed her for her mother’s death. She could not explain that without revealing her secret. This time she walked away.

  But something had changed, for they made camp early that night, and Delaney gathered the mules to stake them, a chore that Keith usually tended to.

  He stayed close by, and Faith, washing the supper dishes, wished he would call her duchess again, much as it annoyed her. She was filled with a restlessness she couldn’t explain. When she looked up across the fire to where he was sitting, cleaning his gun, she wondered if Delaney remembered the kisses they shared. She wanted those kisses again, and all that came after. But he had made it plain that he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Her gaze strayed to him again, this time to find he was watching her. Faith stilled. His gaze held hers with a tense look that was filled with hot promise. Her lips went dry. A shivery sensation began and built until heat spread inside her. She closed her eyes, imagining again the night his kisses had shown her a wild passion that they sparked off each other. She wanted it again. She wanted Delaney. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  The easing of the tension in Delaney continued the next day. It was something Faith sensed, but she was surprised that both Joey and Pris found plenty to smile about as the day wore on. She had been forced to explain Delaney’s anger had nothing to do with them but was for Seanilzay leaving before his wounds were healed. The children accepted it, but they had been careful to keep their distance from Delaney.

  When they camped late the next afternoon, Delaney and Keith had to repair one of the wagon wheels. Faith walked a ways with the children, telling Joey what they saw, Pris chattering with an excitement that had been missing. Faith was the first one to see the dust clouds, and she called out to Pris, taking her hand, leading them back to the wagons.

  “Delaney, there are riders coming.”

  He straightened and handed Keith the grease bucket. “Put it away and get your rifle. Stay close to the wagon. I’ll ride out.”

  He tightened the cinch, then swung up on Mirage’s back, seeing for himself the fine dust that rose under horses’ hooves. The sun was high, pouring down in blistering streams. He could see the jerky fall of the hooves, telling how tired the horses were. Flashes of light made him shake his head. Brass. Army brass. Without waiting to see more, he turned Mirage and headed back.

  Chapter 11

  “Delaney, who are they?” she asked as he rode back.

  “Army patrol.”

  “Will they want to eat with us?” Faith had to turn and ask this of his back, for he went by, keeping Mirage at a walk.

  “Reckon if you offer, they’ll accept.”

  “Where are you going?” she called, running to catch up with him.

  “Won’t be far. Don’t worry, duchess. They’ll mind their pretty manners.”

  Grabbing hold of his stirrup, she forced him to stop. “I’m not worried as long as I know you’re close.” Looking up at him, Faith felt the same excitement she had the night of the storm. She licked her lips as if she could taste the sweet rain and saw Delaney’s gaze target her mouth and narrow. The shadow of his beard intensified the male line of his jaw, but it was his mouth she stared at. His lips parted to show the edge of his teeth. Faith could feel the flow of her blood change, or so it seemed to her: It was slow, but flushing her from the inside out with heat.

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “Don’t care for the company.” He wanted to shake her hand free and ride. Only it wasn’t Mirage he wanted under him.

  “Delaney?”

  The way she murmured his name with an aching note made him tighten his grip on the leather. His control was stretched hair-thin.

  “You looking to burn me alive, duchess?”

  “B-burn y-you?” Faith couldn’t help but stutter. She was the one who felt burned. Slowly she shook her head. But she couldn’t shake free of the hot, vital look of his eyes. “Stop. You take my breath,” she whispered, feeling time and place spin away until there was nothing and no one near them.

  Delaney hunched to the side, leaning closer to her. He targeted her mouth. “Is that an invite, duchess?” he murmured, cursing himself for the hard response of his body to being this close to her. “Is it?” he repeated, his voice deep, his eyes coming back to search hers. He wouldn’t let her look away. He was tired of fighting against what he needed. Need that clawed
at him. Need that wiped out thought of revenge.

  Lightning arced between them. Faith had no other way to describe the feeling. She swayed and leaned against the warmth of Mirage. Without thought to what she was doing, her hand came to rest on his thigh. The scents of horse, leather, and Delaney melded together. She felt the muscles in his leg tighten. Her breath rushed in and out as if she had been running a long way. And Faith knew she had been doing just that from the day she first saw him. But she didn’t want to run anymore. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came.

  Delaney stopped himself from closing the short distance between them and taking her mouth. But he wanted to. He wanted to taste the tip of her tongue that peeked over the edge of her teeth. His gaze skimmed down to her bared throat; the top three buttons of her gown were open. The shadowed cleft between her breasts made his muscles clench with the memory of Faith kneeling by the stream. He didn’t need to close his eyes to see again the silver glide of water. He shifted restlessly in the saddle. A smart man would shake her free and move on.

  He guessed he wasn’t smart. The sight of her skin, soft, smooth, and peach-gold from the sun, tempted him to wonder how her breasts would feel under his open mouth. He knew without knowing how that she would want him gentle until the pleasure brought the wildness, then he could rake his teeth over sensitive flesh. He heard the change in her breathing, coming now as his own was, hard and fast. He looked into her eyes to see dark centers dilated, the blue darkening until the gold flecks brightened like lightning. Delaney felt his chest expand. His blood flowed to an insidious beat that caught every pulse point in his body.