Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  “Where is Adam now?”

  “Will you kill him, Del?”

  Her words were a throaty whisper edged with excitement. A chill shivered down his spine, and he found himself having to turn around and face her. There was a light flush on her cheeks. Her eyes were dilated, darkening even as he watched. Her lips parted and Delaney recognized the look. Elise was aroused by the mere thought of his killing her husband.

  For a moment he felt trapped, unable to move or to speak as she came to stand in front of him. Sipping her drink, she lowered the glass, tilting her head to the side, then smiling. “Will you kill him?” she repeated.

  “Where is he?” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Delaney wanted to move away from her, but something held sway over him.

  Elise arched her head back, staring at him through half-lidded eyes, trailing the fingers of her free hand down the slender column of her bare throat. Using only one finger, she traced the lace edge of her gown over skin that was as white and smooth as cream. Her laugh was soft, knowing, and so, so taunting.

  “You once loved to kiss me here, Del. And bite me … Remember how excited you could make me?”

  “I remember bedding an animal in heat.”

  “So rough. So damn impatient,” she went on in a dreamy voice. “We could share that all again. Here. Now.”

  “Where’s Adam?”

  “He can wait, Del. I don’t want to.”

  “Find another stud, Elise.” The force of her slap stung his cheek, but it served its purpose; she stepped away from him. “If I tell you where he is, will you come back?”

  “Tell me.”

  She finished her drink and glanced at him. “Adam set up a base camp on the mountain. He’s sure that this time he has found the mine. You could have had everything—me, the gold, all of it. You’ll end up with nothing, a loser.”

  “There’s no gold. There never was. And the only thing Adam’ll find up there is his death.”

  “And you,” she stated in a brittle voice, unable to bear the scorn in his eyes, “will make sure of that, won’t you?”

  “If you wanted Adam dead, why didn’t you kill him, Elise? Or have Ross do it for you. You’ve always known how to make a man do exactly what you wanted.”

  “Not quite. And never you, Delaney. Ross would not kill him, not even for me. You see,” she said, smiling again, “Adam is his cousin. He was willing to help Adam to get rid of you, but at heart he’s a coward. More of one than Adam ever was.”

  “Then you’re well matched this time, Elise.”

  “Perhaps.” She let him reach the courtyard doors and knew she couldn’t see him leave without another try. “Wait, Del, please. I made a terrible mistake that I’ll always regret. I was too young and thought I needed all that Adam could give me. I should have loved you. You were the only man I ever wanted.”

  “You didn’t make any mistakes, Elise. You don’t know how to love. But then, a whore never does.”

  Delaney was over the wall when the sound of glass breaking was followed by a woman’s scream. From his vantage point above the house, he watched men scrambling to saddle the horses milling in the corral. Minutes later they rode out.

  He would have little chance of catching Adam by surprise now. He should have expected Elise to make sure that she protected herself on the chance that Brodie was the one who lived.

  Lies and betrayal. He couldn’t wait to be done with them.

  Chapter 22

  Still guarded by the Apache, the trails Delaney followed wove through the Dragoon Mountains. As he rode, he kept remembering the two young Apache boys who had shown him all their secret places.

  Memories pulled at him, even as he sensed unseen Indians watching his progress to their sacred lands.

  Delaney stopped at Burnout Springs to wash himself and drink, knowing it would the last water he would take until he came out of the mountains.

  Taza. Naiche. Their names came with images into Delaney’s mind. They had shown him this spring. Tall, heavily built Taza, always smiling, his face nearly an exact replica of his grandfather, Mangas Coloradas. And Naiche, handsome, slender, his manner reserved like his father, Cochise. He heard the echo of their boyish, long-ago laughter and remembered their games. For here is where they had played together and later talked, learning each other’s beliefs.

  But even in play the Apache brothers had taught him their skills. Taza helped him make his first bow and arrows. They had raced their horses, run together for long distances, and Delaney smiled to recall the day Taza had come to show off the tips of his moccasins marked with the blood of his first kill. Delaney had been jealous. Taza gifted him with a pair of moccasins, then asked his father if Delaney could learn with them.

  Delaney roused himself and stripped off his shirt, splashing the cool water over his upper body. When the water stilled, he flattened himself on the ground and drank, then waited until he could see his reflection in the water. The skystone ground into the skin of his chest.

  He stood up quickly, fighting the images that came one after the other, time slipping away against his will, slipping back to the day Taza had challenged him to find his trail up the mountain on rocks that held no print.

  Pride wouldn’t let him refuse. Naiche had waited below, here at the spring with their horses, sure that his brother would win. He had taunted Delaney with pride in an older brother’s skill, that Delaney would never find him.

  Naiche had been right. Delaney never found Taza. He had discovered the cave and, curious, explored it. Once he had found the torches and lit one, Delaney followed the tunnel that led to the cavern, with other tunnels opening from it. The walls were greenish in one place, blue stone marked with white in another. Trickles of water echoed from deeper in the mountain.

  Delaney knew the sharp, wedge-shaped adz that he found was ancient in design. What he didn’t understand was why stone fragments littered the floor where he stood and whispers seemed to come to him. He had been holding the adz by its grooved handle when Taza found him.

  “What is this place?” he had asked the Apache boy.

  Taza had not answered but drew his knife, and Delaney knew that Taza would try to kill him.

  “Tell me what I have done!” he had cried out, fighting, knowing his skills were no match.

  He closed his eyes now, remembering the boy’s fear as he lay beneath his friend’s body, the cold blade against his throat, the unbelievable relief that Taza was pulled off him, the helplessness of not being able to move until Cochise had helped him to stand.

  He had learned the secrets that day, and to Cochise he had sworn never to tell what he knew. The skystone had been both a gift and a constant reminder that the Apache shamans had great power.

  Delaney cast aside the memories. He looked up at the mountain. He had promised to keep the secret safe then; now there was another to hold from all men.

  Unsaddling Mirage, he turned her loose and piled his gear together. A handful of dirt rubbed along his rifle barrel made sure that the sun would reveal no glint of metal and give his presence away.

  Filling his pockets with shells for the rifle, he slipped on his shirt and once again used his pants belt to make a sling for the rifle.

  Now he was ready to make the climb that would bring him to a spot overlooking the place he believed Brodie would have chosen for a camp.

  There were few sweet-water springs close by, and white men tended to camp near them, regardless of the animals and the Indians that would go thirsty.

  Within minutes of his working his way among the boulders, Delaney felt the heat of the sun, the air growing close, almost stifling.

  Nearly two hours later he was high enough to look out over the land. In the distance he saw heat waves dancing and thought of the many men who lost their lives believing in the mirage of water the heat caused when it shimmered against the sand.

  Delaney had to cross an open crest, and here he hesitated, surveying
the land around him and below him. He caught the faint whiff of tobacco smoke and dropped to the ground, flattening himself, not daring to breathe. Lying so still, he listened and heard a stone rattle, then one fell. There was the clink of metal on stone. A spur, he thought, forced to wait. Brodie must have had word that he was coming up here for him and already sent out men to search.

  “Any sign of him?” a man yelled from below.

  “Nothing. He’d need to be a goat to climb these rocks.”

  Delaney grinned. The man who answered was no more than fifteen yards to the right of where he lay. With a wave of his rifle to the man below, he moved off. Delaney eased himself backward until he was sure they couldn’t see him, and then stood up.

  Because they were watching for him, Delaney chose a different route, the climb harder, as the sun was intense and the rocks retained the heat. But with each minute that passed, each minute that brought him closer to his quarry, he found added strength. Ragged chasms that he was forced to jump, narrow ledges barely the width of his foot, nothing stopped him from what he needed to do.

  There were places where he had to turn away and find another path. Rocks had broken, walls had been scoured by the years, wind, and rain to become slick and smooth, allowing him no handholds.

  With patience and determination, he found his way up. Mountain goat was right, he repeated to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. Even the neckerchief he had tied around his forehead was drenched, and he squeezed it dry to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes and blinding him.

  He looked down at the twenty-foot drop that ended with a wide jutting ledge. Below it was Brodie’s camp.

  Delaney settled himself behind a boulder, counting four men. There was no sign of Brodie. If there were only two others searching for him, it added up to six men, but Delaney had a feeling there were more. He could expect no help from the Apache. If one of them killed a white man on Indian land, the army would sweep down on them.

  And this wasn’t their fight. It was his.

  Up the trail came a man making no effort to hide. Delaney directed his gaze down the path behind the man and was rewarded to see a flash of sun on metal. So, Brodie had another man watching below. Seven.

  But all he wanted was Brodie in his rifle sight. He heard the murmur of men’s voices, but not the one he most longed to hear. It was only now that he gave thought to the possibility that Elise had lied to him and that Brodie wasn’t there at all.

  There was only one way to find out. Cradling his rifle against his cheek, Delaney drew a bead on a rock ahead of one man standing in the open with his back toward him and fired.

  The man dropped, rolled, and disappeared in a crouching run beneath the ledge. His shouted warning was lost in the second shot Delaney fired. No one shot back. Delaney fired two more shots to make sure they stayed back of the ledge.

  When the shot echoes died, Delaney yelled, “Brodie! You’re the only one I want. Come out or I’ll pick them off one by one.”

  “Go to hell, Carmichael!”

  Delaney grinned. Brodie was here. But he had no time to gloat over this, for a volley of shots sent bullets whizzing up his way from far below the camp. Delaney edged back from the rim, unwilling to have a stray bullet hit him. From here he saw five more men concealed in the rocks below spread out in a half-moon with their rifles aimed at him.

  Twelve men plus Brodie. Not the best odds he could have wished for, but it didn’t matter. No one was going to cheat him of killing Brodie.

  A steady barrage of fire began from those five men, forcing Delaney to stay low and withhold return shots. He wormed his way back and to the side, lifting his rifle and sighting to the far right. Waiting, holding his breath, he aimed for the man who tended to raise his head with each shot that he fired.

  With a gentle squeeze of the trigger Delaney fired.

  There was a choked cry, and another man yelled, “Yancy’s dead! Brodie! You hear me!”

  The firing from the four remaining men intensified. Delaney sighted the next man on the right, a man who was cautious to stay down, for all that Delaney could see was the tip of the rifle barrel poking up each time he shot. The damn fool was shooting blind!

  Suddenly he realized that the other three guns had been silenced. Even as the knowledge came to him, the man he was sighting stopped shooting.

  “Del-a-ney!” Seanilzay shouted. “I have come with the Netdahee.”

  Delaney watched and saw a Netdahee warrior stand and hold one of Brodie’s men before him with a knife at his throat. If Delaney could see, the same scene was visible to Brodie and the men below with him. There was silence, then another warrior stood with his hostage, and lastly, the other two.

  “Seanilzay, Brodie is the only one I want!” Delaney yelled in Apache. “Don’t let them kill the men,” he continued in the native tongue. “There are troubles enough for the people. If these men die by Apache hands, the army will come out in force.”

  “These men have no honor!” Seanilzay declared. “You know they will not allow you to fight one alone.” He felt strong making his declaration in his own tongue, knowing that Brodie and his men would not understand. “I could not let you come to this place alone. For all that has passed, for all that I have withheld from you, the Netdahee are my gift. They stand ready to fight at your side.”

  “Brodie,” Delaney called down to him, “will you let these four men die for you?” Delaney no sooner finished speaking than a whisper of sound made him roll and aim his rifle.

  Up over the rim, coming from the same path he had used, were Netdahee warriors. Only one spoke to Delaney.

  “This is our place. It is not for you to fight alone.”

  “To kill all these men and have their blood spill on this place will mark it forever. I would not have it so.”

  “Then it is for us to guard your back.”

  At his gesture the warriors came forward, one by one, silently making the drop to the ledge below. Delaney counted fifteen. He crawled to the edge and saw them look toward Seanilzay, who stood with his hand raised. As he lowered it, the warriors went over the ledge as if they were one. A man’s cry was cut off, and Delaney knew how the men below must feel facing the fiercest of the elite Apache warriors.

  Angry murmurs rose from the men with Brodie when Delaney again demanded that he come out. A shot ricocheted off the ceiling of the overhang, and Brodie landed in a sprawl on his back out in the open. The Netdahee did not make a move to touch him.

  Delaney rose, pointing his rifle at his enemy. His hand clenched, holding the barrel steady. His finger locked on the trigger. One gentle squeeze. That was all he had to do. Delaney felt himself shake as he pit the force of his will against the strength of his need to shoot Brodie. He could not let him die this easily.

  “Get up,” Delaney ordered, watching him closely. Brodie was nearly his height, but heavier built, none of his weight coming from fat.

  Adam Brodie came to his feet slowly and pushed back the high-crowned black hat he wore. Shading his eyes, he looked up. The sun came from behind Delaney so that he appeared an armed menace. Lowering his hand, Adam fisted it at his side and waited.

  “On your left is a way up here, Brodie. Take it.”

  Adam looked behind him and saw the Apache warriors with their hostages coming toward him. In front of him were more of the savages, and within the overhang his men turned their backs on him. Even money, he suddenly realized, could not buy loyalty. There was no choice but to do what Delaney ordered. After stripping off his vest and tossing aside his hat, Brodie smoothed the short black leather gloves he always wore and started for the boulders that would bring him up on the rim with Delaney.

  “Take all their guns, Seanilzay,” Delaney called out. “As long as they don’t make a move to interfere, let them live.” He stepped back from the edge and waited for Brodie.

  Sweat glistened on Adam’s face as he pulled himself up and over the last rock. He stood panting, his g
reen eyes feral as they watched Delaney step closer, then stop.

  “Drop the gunbelt, Brodie. And take out the knife you sheath in your left boot.”

  “You’ll never get away with this, Carmichael. Those men down there aren’t going to keep quiet. Ross knows about you, too. He’ll make sure every one of these Apache hang.”

  “Only if someone lives to tell of it. If I ask, the Netdahee will slit their throats.”

  “You just said that they would live!”

  “You gettin’ a conscience now, Brodie, about other men’s lives? Just do what I told you. Nice and slow, unbuckle the belt and throw your weapons over the side to Seanilzay.” Delaney grinned to see the impotent fury in Brodie’s eyes. The man’s short, dark hair was already plastered to the shape of his head under the unrelenting force of the sun pouring down. But he finally did as Delaney ordered.

  “Now what? Do you think you could kill an unarmed man, Carmichael?”

  The taunt didn’t matter; it was his coolly superior look that Delaney hated. “Unarmed man? The same way you had my father killed? He was garroted. I’ve never tried strangling a man with my hands. Or did you mean unarmed the way you killed my mother? Yeah. I could easily kill an unarmed man like you, Brodie.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Shut the hell up! The lies are finished.” Delaney threw his rifle down to Seanilzay, then slowly unbuckled his own gunbelt and withdrew his knife. The knife he tossed down into the rocks on the other side. And he had to smile to see the way Brodie watched where it fell. “Just in case one of us makes it down that far.” He lifted the gun from the holster and tossed the belt down below. “Step back from the edge, Brodie. I don’t want you to fall and cheat me.” Delaney waited for him to move, patient now that he had his enemy within reach.

  “What the hell are you going to do?” Brodie demanded, eyeing the gun Delaney held.

  “This was my father’s gun. It might be fitting to kill you with it since you destroyed his name and took his life.”