Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

Faith’s body arched as her hips lifted of their own volition, and she reveled in the wild rapture that shimmered through her with his every touch. She rocked against him, feeling him stretch her, returning the kisses and whispers that were as dark and potent as the flow of her blood. A coiling knot began to unravel inside her, and with a cry she melted against him.

  “Burning, Del,” she whispered, caressing his flesh as she drew her hand down his chest and closed it over the skystone. She felt the heat of the stone sear her palm, but she refused to let it go. She held nothing of herself back in the kisses they shared, reaching for his mouth every time he lifted it so they could breathe. She didn’t know herself, for every move seemed dictated by the tension that tightened her body until she thought she would go mad.

  The tiny, imploring whimpers she made sent him over the edge. He couldn’t fight her and himself. Cotton tore under the urgent moves of his hand. He lifted and brought her over him once again. His body shuddered as hers did with his hard, fast entry. The unbearable ache became unbearable pleasure as she took him fully with a raw cry. Pressing her legs against his thighs, she drew him deeper, her hands clawing his back, her teeth scoring his skin. If he was wild, she was more so.

  “Burning,” he breathed. “Give me your mouth,” he demanded, feeling the scald of heat they called from each other.

  His tongue drove into her sweet mouth with the same harsh rhythms as he took her body. Ecstasy waited. Faith held him against the spinning world around her as he buried himself so deep inside her that she felt every pulse beat before her senses exploded without warning.

  Her teeth bit into his lip to bury the scream that rose, and she had to tear her mouth free to sob his name as the force of his release ripped through her. With his head thrown back a guttural cry came from his throat, and she rolled her hips, holding him, knowing what it meant to burn, to die, and then come alive all at once.

  They were bathed in sweat. His lips caressed her bare shoulder, and she stroked his damp hair. The night chill forced him finally to move, drawing up the sleeves of her gown, kissing her flesh before he closed a button, refusing to talk, refusing to look into her eyes. With a last kiss to the furious pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, he found his shirt and drew that over her shoulders.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she answered softly, knowing she lied. There was hurt, but not of her body. It was for longing to hear some word of caring from him. But he said there were to be no promises, and she had not really believed him, not then, but she did now.

  Delaney helped her to stand. “I’ve got to take you back now, Faith.” She nodded and turned away. He rose, buttoning his fly impatiently, torn over what more to say. He sensed what she wanted from him, but he couldn’t say the words she wanted. He couldn’t admit them to himself. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. Fingers entwined, they walked back.

  As they neared the wagons, he drew her against him, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips before he released her. She took off his shirt and handed it to him without a word. Delaney stood, watching as she struggled to climb up into the wagon. Unable to stop himself from touching her once more, he hurried to lift her up, reluctantly releasing her once she was inside. Faith turned to him and, with tears glittering in her eyes, placed two fingers on his lips and then lifted them to hers.

  “Don’t cry.” The words were wrenched from him, for he deeply regretted what had happened. He could never walk away from her now. The only hope he had to cling to was that Faith was unaware of his feelings.

  Returning to his own bedroll cost him more strength of will then he believed he had. Delaney wanted to hold her all night. He dug out his makings and rolled a smoke, lit the cigarette, and drew deeply. Faith left behind a soothing balm that brought his soul deep peace after the intense passion they shared. Faith, all heat and softness, holding nothing of herself back. A woman for a man to love.

  The wind rose, filling the night with murmurs and whispers that echoed his thoughts. And his skystone seemed to beckon him to hold its shape, rubbing it, as he forced his mind to remember the promise that came with the stone’s giving.

  But with this remembrance came another. One beyond his finding a woman whose eyes would match the stone. The duklij was a stone of healing, of protection.

  Delaney knew he had to first heal the wounds left behind by his parents’ murders before he could keep his promise to protect. Then, if he lived, he would claim the bond he had made with Faith this night. Her sweet smiles and dark secrets belonged to him.

  If he lived…

  Young as the morning was, Faith saw the heat waves dance and shimmer on the flat land, just as the heat had danced and shimmered in her blood last night. She could barely see where Delaney rode to the west of the party. Delaney. He had shown her the path to ecstasy, but now she was filled with despair. Last night she defied all she believed about herself. This morning she was not being rational, or logical. She was in love with a man who refused to share his love in return.

  Memories rushed over her. She could still taste his kiss, still feel the gentle tug of his mouth, and her body tensed as if his hands were touching her again. She had loved Martin, but the few times they had made love in the immediate days before their wedding had not unleashed the passion she shared with Delaney last night. Faith tried to turn her thoughts aside. Restlessly she shifted her seat, wishing for a cooling rain.

  The sun had risen hot and red. It grew steadily hotter as they rode across the barren land hour after hour. As they headed into the rising heat-haze, she thought the horizon seemed to disappear. Heat seeped into her, fresh sweat streaming from her skin. Trying to fill her lungs, she drew a deep breath just as the wind rose from the south and blasted all of them with more hot air. The animals’ steps lagged. Sweat shone on the flanks of the mules and horses and ran down their faces in grimy streaks. Faith wiped her face with her sleeve and saw that many of the soldiers were doing the same.

  “Here, Faith,” Pris said, offering the canteen.

  Faith took a sip and had to force herself to swallow it. The water was warm enough to be sickening.

  Joey tried to drink but spat his out over the wagon’s side.

  “No, Joey. You’ve got to swallow it,” Faith urged, wiping the gritty dust from her mouth with one hand. The effort to speak was costly. No one spoke. If it were not for the creak of saddle leather or the muffled jingle of the mules’ harness, there would be no sounds to mark their passing.

  “Hold up,” a soldier croaked, pointing toward the east.

  Faith squinted into the distance and saw a horseman riding out from a shadowed shelter of a giant sandstone. The mules needed no urging to stop. She let the reins fall from her hands and waited, unable to summon the strength needed to move. A quick look showed that her father and Keith didn’t fare any better. They sat on their wagon, the soft, floppy brims of their felt hats pulled low to shade their faces, and were still as one soldier and the sergeant rode to meet the nearing horseman.

  Faith couldn’t tell if the man was a soldier, too. His clothing was covered with reddish dust. From the wild gesturing he made with his hands, she thought he was excited about his news.

  Sergeant Krome seemed to be the same. He spurred his horse back toward the wagons and the rest of his patrol.

  “Mr. Becket, we’re leaving you. A band of Apache just ran off cattle from the Canoa ranch. If you’ll spare us a few of your supplies, I’ll see that you’re repaid.”

  “Faith, you give the sergeant whatever he needs,” Becket ordered.

  Believing that once the soldiers were gone Delaney would ride closer spurred Faith with new energy. She wasn’t sorry to see the last of them.

  Private Shellby distributed the small amount of foodstuffs among the soldiers. When he was finished, he came to her side.

  “I hope you’ll allow me to call once you’re settled, Miss Becket.”

  “No, that won’t be possible,” she a
nswered without a moment’s hesitation.

  “It’s Carmichael, isn’t it?” Shellby asked, gathering his reins and stepping up into his saddle.

  Faith looked up at him and smiled for the first time that day. “Yes,” she whispered, relieved to reveal her feelings.

  His expression became forbidding. “There’s lots that can happen to a man out here.”

  Alarmed, Faith stepped closer. “Are you threatening—”

  “No,” he answered, tugging his hat brim forward. “Just reminding you of a fact, Miss Becket. The man has enemies. Don’t forget that.”

  A light slap of his reins and the horse veered off at a walk around the wagon. Faith watched a moment more, then resumed her seat. With her father and Keith in the lead, she took up the leather and, without a word, urged the mules into a plodding walk.

  A few hours later Delaney rode up to them. He didn’t stop to talk to Faith but rode alongside Becket’s wagon. Faith had to assume that it was by Delaney’s order they changed direction to head for the buttes toward the west. She noticed the rising wind, longed for it to be cooler, but if anything, the air seemed heavier and hotter than before.

  “Faith, I gotta go,” Pris whispered at her side.

  “A few minutes more, honey. Delaney seems to be directing us toward those buttes.” She spared a glance down at Pris, reassuring her with a forced smile. Squirming in her seat, her little sister pressed her lips together and nodded.

  Keith was already down, giving the mules water, when Faith pulled her wagon alongside his. “What’s wrong?” she called out, coughing when she swallowed dust.

  “Delaney thinks we’re in for a blow,” her father answered.

  “Faith!” Pris whined.

  “All right,” she snapped, setting the brake. She reached out and lifted Pris over her lap so the little girl could climb down. “Joey, hold the reins until Keith comes. I’ve got to stay with Pris.”

  “Where are you going, Faith?” Keith yelled. “Get inside. I’ll water the mules while you fill the canteens.”

  “Back in a minute!” she shouted against the rising rush of the wind. Those few seconds that she had turned to look at Keith and then forward cost her sight of Pris. “Pris? Pris, where are you?”

  “Here,” came a faint answer.

  Faith ran toward straggly bushes at the base of the butte. Another strong gust buffeted her, tearing off her hat. Her skirt and petticoats lifted and twisted, and she tried holding them down as she chased after her hat. Within seconds dust swirled up and around her, stinging her eyes so she couldn’t see.

  “Pris!” she shouted again, choking when she took in another mouthful of dust. Blindly Faith spun around. She couldn’t find the wagons. She froze. Her hat was forgotten. Pris didn’t answer her. She tried to calm herself, but panic had a foothold inside her. If she couldn’t see the wagons, how would Pris find her way back?

  Stinging dust made her eyes water. She lifted her skirt to shield her face, and Delaney loomed up in front of her.

  He shoved the hat on her head, grabbing her hand to hold it in place. Tearing off the bandanna that covered his lower face, he yelled, “Get back to the wagons!”

  “Pris,” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  Faith couldn’t speak, she had no moisture left in her mouth. Shaking her head, she tried to turn, but Delaney cupped her cheek.

  “I’ll find her.”

  “No,” she croaked. “Me … too.”

  Delaney wasn’t going to argue. He grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her over his shoulder. If he wasn’t so worried about where Pris was, he would have smiled to remember carrying her like this once before. But Faith was struggling against his hold, and he staggered, barely recovering his balance. He dumped her unceremoniously inside the wagon.

  “Stuff the cracks and stay here.”

  If there had been moisture left in her body, Faith would have cried. “Find her, Del.”

  He nodded and said something, but the words were torn and carried off by the wind. Faith stared out at the red dust clouds that covered everything in sight, even his retreating body.

  “Please, let him find her quickly,” she prayed.

  “Faith, I’m scared.”

  She dropped the canvas over the opening. Joey was huddled on his bed, a quilt drawn up and around him so that only his eyes showed. Faith rushed to sit beside him and hold him tight.

  “Don’t be afraid. The storm will be over soon, and Del will find Pris. He won’t let anything happen to her.”

  But even as she reassured him, the wagon rocked as the force of the wind increased. Faith gave him a tight squeeze, then hurried to push what blankets she could to seal the wagon. The heat was stifling, and she drank greedily from the canteen, uncaring for the warmth of the water. It was wet, and that was all that mattered. Dust still lashed her skin inside the wagon. Returning to Joey’s side, she held him as they lay with the quilt covering them.

  Faith was desperate to know what was happening outside and just as desperate to shut out the wailing sound that rose but never abated.

  She wanted to believe that Delaney had found Pris and was sheltering her someplace until the storm ended. She had to repeat this belief like a litany as time dragged on and on and only the wind screamed out for her.

  It took Faith a while to realize that what she was listening to was silence. The storm was over. Joey slept, and she eased herself from his side. Dust filled the air inside the wagon, filled her lungs with every breath she drew. Tearing aside the canvas, Faith stared out at the land blanketed in quiet dusk.

  “Faith?” her father called out, limping up to the wagon. “Delaney’s come back.” He raised his hand in a helpless gesture.

  Faith could only mouth Pris’s name.

  Robert shook his head. But Delaney rushed forward to break Faith’s fall as she fainted.

  Chapter 14

  Faith came to. Her father was kneeling by her side, bathing her face with a cloth. She pushed his hand away, forcing herself to sit up. But when she opened her mouth to speak, all she could make was a croaking sound.

  “Here, drink,” Robert ordered, holding a cup of water to her lips.

  The water was sweet and cold. As soon as she drained the cup, she asked for more.

  Keith already had a fire going against the encroaching dark, and Joey sat close to him across from her. Faith did not see Delaney.

  “Del’s back out looking for Pris,” Keith said before she asked. “Don’t worry, he’ll find her.” He poked at the fire and then looked back, meeting her gaze with a pleading look. “He will, won’t he, Faith?”

  “If anyone can, Delaney will.” But she couldn’t meet his gaze any longer, hearing the lack of conviction in her own voice. She accepted another cup of water from her father and finished that, too, then struggled to stand.

  “Why don’t you rest, Faith?” Robert asked.

  “No. I want to help find Pris.”

  “Delaney said for us to stay here. Please,” he added, and then, with unaccustomed gentleness, took hold of her hand. “We need you here with us.”

  Before she could respond to her father, Faith heard the sound of horses. Keith grabbed his rifle, and Robert stepped in front of Faith to shield her.

  “Becket,” Delaney called out. “I’ve got Pris.”

  Faith ran forward only to stop herself when she saw the men with Delaney. Pris was seated before one of them. It wasn’t until they came closer to the light cast by the fire that she realized they were Indian for all that their clothes were those of white men.

  After swinging down from the saddle, Delaney stepped close and lifted Pris into his arms. In a whisper he spoke to Faith as he handed the little girl over. “They found her and kept her safe. Make them welcome.”

  Hiding her fear, Faith obeyed him. “Please, share our fire and our food.” When none of the three Indians moved, she looked at Delaney. “Do they understand—”<
br />
  “They understand you just fine, Faith. These men are Pima, not Apache. That should please your father no end. Dressed like white men, speak like white men and civilized by the nuns of Saint Joseph’s.”

  “I heard that, Carmichael,” Becket said, hurrying to stand in front of them. “I do thank them for finding my little girl and bringing her back.” Becket saw that they were dressed like white men, but for their long dark hair and braided earlocks. He forced himself to look away and touched Pris’s head. “You all right?”

  She nodded, tightening the grip she had on Faith’s neck.

  Faith murmured softly and walked back to the wagon with her little sister. She heard Delaney’s guttural voice and answers that came from one of the Indians.

  “Keith,” she called, setting Pris inside the wagon and taking up a bucket. “Fill this wherever Pa found that cold water. I want to bathe the dust off Pris and make sure for myself that she’s all right.”

  “Pa didn’t find the water. Del did.”

  “Just hurry, Keith.” After climbing into the wagon, Faith used a quilt to cover Pris and made her hold it while she undressed her. “You’ll feel better once we get you clean, honey.”

  “I was scared. I couldn’t see you. You didn’t answer me when I called. And I tried to come back, Faith. I really tried, only I couldn’t find you.”

  “I know,” she answered Pris, rummaging for clean clothes in the chest. “I tried to find you, too. Delaney—”

  “And then I saw them. But they didn’t hurt me. We all laid down with the horses and got covered up. It was so hard to breathe. They gave me their water and then Delaney found us.”

  “Here you are,” Keith said, handing in the bucket.

  “Start supper, Keith. It’s the least we can do. And never mind what Pa says. You make sure they eat.”

  Keith nodded and spun around only to crash into Delaney.

  “Take it easy, Keith.” Delaney looked up to see Faith watching them. “Pris all right?”

  “Yes … and you?” Her gaze met his.