by Janet Dailey
Protected by the poncho and warmed by the body heat of the man riding in front of her, she found the ride to be an exhilarating way to start the day. The cool of the morning was the time that the desert wildlife came out to forage for food. It was a challenge to try to catch a glimpse of them before they scurried out of sight.
They had traveled a couple of miles before Brandy noticed a change in the horse's gait. It had become less smooth as if offering resistance to the command of the reins. For a moment she thought the sorrel might have a rock lodged in his shoe. Tipping her head downward, she studied his stride for several feet, but couldn't see that he was favoring any hoof.
Glancing around Jim's shoulder, she saw the horse's ears pricked forward, his head held unnaturally high, tossing now and then as he champed to get control of the bit in his mouth. His gait remained joltingly stiff-legged.
"What's the matter with your horse?" Brandy leaned toward Jim's back to see the sternly tightlipped profile of her riding companion. "Has he suddenly decided he doesn't want us to ride double?"
"No," was the abrupt response.
But he must have agreed with Brandy that something was wrong, because at that moment he checked the horse to a halt. Still the muscular sorrel danced nervously in place, his neck arching higher. Brandy frowned and started to ask again what was wrong.
"Damn!" The softly muttered oath stopped her question.
At almost the same instant, a touch of the reins pivoted the horse on its haunches. Brandy had barely recovered her balance from that unexpected movement and the horse was bounding into a canter at a right angle to their former path. She had to clutch Jim's waist to stay on board.
They were obviously fleeing from something or someone—Brandy didn't have time to look, but she guessed it was someone. It was either the search party looking for her or some kind of legal authorities possibly investigating a report of cattle rustling.
Just as Brandy adjusted to the leaping rhythm of the canter, the horse slid to a stop near a rocky outcrop. Her left arm tried to circle Jim's waist for support, but it was seized by his.
"Get down!" he ordered, nearly pushing her off the side before she could coordinate her body to obey the command.
She moved quickly out of the way of the dancing hooves, expecting the horse and rider to gallop away and leave her there. Instead Jim was off the horse a split-second after her. She watched in wide-eyed amazement as he held the reins of the nearly panic-stricken horse and unsaddled him at the same time. The saddle and pads were dropped carelessly on to the ground as he moved to the horse's head.
"What's wrong?" Brandy raked a confused hand through her amber-gold hair.
"Sandstorm," Jim answered tersely.
Something, not someone. Looking to the north, Brandy realized the dark haze on the horizon was not a distant mountain range but a rapidly moving sandstorm. Her stomach twisted itself into knots of fear.
She had witnessed the unbelievable fury of such storms before, but her view had always been from the shelter of a sturdy, man-made structure. Never had she actually been in one, exposed and unprotected.
Her gaze darted in alarm to the tall, broad-shouldered man wrestling with the plunging, rearing horse. She saw that he was fighting to unbuckle the bridle.
"You aren't turning him loose?" she breathed.
At that moment the jaw strap came free of the buckle and the horse was tearing its head out of the bridle. Loose, the sorrel bolted away at a flat-out run.
"He's desert born and raised and knows more about surviving out here than we do." The tightly worded explanation was given as Jim moved swiftly to retrieve the saddle and pads. "Get over to the rocks."
The hand between her shoulder-blades didn't wait for her to obey and she was pushed roughly towards the outcropping of rocks. Once there, he scanned the uninviting expanse of jagged rocks, then handed her the saddle pads.
"Put these pads over there where those rocks come together in a vee," Jim instructed.
She didn't need to be told to hurry. The feeling of urgency was all around her. Jim planned for the rocks to take the force of the driving wind. While she jammed the thick pads into the tapering ragged corner, he was shaking out the groundsheet.
Casting an anxious eye at the approaching storm, Brandy turned to tell Jim that she was done. He was already there, wrapping part of the groundsheet around her and pulling her down with him to a half-sitting position against their rock wall.
His arms were around her, cradling her against the solidness of his chest. The groundsheet he tucked the rest of the way around both of them and drew it over their heads. In the quiet darkness of the protective cocoon, Brandy was aware of his muscular body lying heavily against hers. There was no thought to the intimacy of their positions, their closeness that made both heartbeats sound as one. She was only conscious of the way he was shielding her from the coming storm.
With the suddenness of a striking rattler, it was on them. The howling wind seemed to try to suck them away from the shelter of the rock. Brandy's arm instinctively tightened around Jim's waist.
Fine dust penetrated, choking her nose and throat with its tiny grains. The blasting sand seemed to come from every direction, stinging bombardments of a thousand needles, and Brandy knew that Jim was taking the brunt of the punishment.
The roar was deafening. The air she breathed was stifling hot and laden with suffocating particles. She wanted to tear away the cover and gulp in clean, fresh air even though she knew the raging storm made it impossible.
"I . . . I can't breath," she murmured in a gasping, choking voice, her face buried alongside the strong column of his throat.
Jim drew her more tightly into his arms. "Hang in there, honey," he whispered forcefully. "We're going to make it. Just hang in."
Brandy closed her mind to everything except the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her head and the indomitable strength that seemed to flow from the male body that enveloped her.
A minute later became as long as an hour. And the storm raged, its hammering din of sand never seeming to abate. The heat, the noise, the suffocating dust, all combined to make it an unending nightmare. When Jim tried to turn her face away from the filtering sheepskin collar of his jacket, she resisted and tried to bury her head deeper.
"Brandy," his fingers slid gently through her curling hair, "Brandy, it's all right. You can come out now." His voice was warm and gently mocking.
When she still refused to move, he pulled away and pried her arms loose from around his waist. Then the quietness struck her and she opened her eyes to the sunlight. The groundsheet had been thrown back, its dark color indistinguishable with the thick film of sand that covered it.
"I can't believe it," Brandy sighed, sinking back against the saddle pads, slowly breathing in the air.
Tiny particles of dust remained in the air, but considerably less now that the storm had passed. Jim was leaning against the wall beside her.
"Can't believe what?" He glanced down at her, his dark eyes gentle yet mocking.
"I didn't think it was ever going to end." Brandy smiled at the blue sky above their heads.
She rolled her head to the side, lazily directing her smile to him. A dark light entered his eyes, mysterious and compelling. A finger reached out to touch the turned-up tip of her nose, then trailed a dusty path down her cheek. Something in his touch made her heart skip crazily.
"Your skin feels like sandpaper." His mouth quirked.
The gritty film was everywhere. "You should see your whiskers!" she told him with a breathless laugh.
He grinned lazily, his hand leaving her cheek as he pushed himself to his feet. Upright, he extended his hand to her to help her to her feet. Without hesitation, she placed her hands in his firm grip and was pulled easily to her feet.
Her hand was still warmly held by his, not that Brandy minded. The chest that she had been so protectively locked against only minutes before was only inches away. She tipped her head to one side.
> "Do you know," she said in a voice that was partly teasing and partly serious, "I haven't thanked you for all you've done? Last night and now?"
"I should claim my reward for rescuing you, shouldn't I?" Jim mocked huskily, the dark glitter of his eyes moving to her mouth.
They had been through too much together in less than twenty-four hours for Brandy to feel self-conscious. She raised herself up on tiptoes as Jim's hand cupped the back of her neck. Her fingers spread across his chest to balance herself.
With brown lashes fluttering down, she felt the rough brush of his whiskers first, then the warmness of his mouth closing over hers. The kiss was gently firm, nothing tentative or uncertain about it, just like the man who gave it.
When the kiss came to an end, Brandy blinked in wonder of the utter disappointment she felt that it was over. She gazed into his eyes, veiled by sooty lashes, their expression unreadable. The hand at the back of her neck slowly tightened, drawing her to him.
She didn't need the pressure of his hand to tip her head back to receive his kiss. The hard demand of his mouth ignited a wildfire that spread swiftly to her veins, melting her limbs to pliant pieces of molding clay. Expertly he shaped her malleable body to the muscular contours of his.
Whirling in a mindless world ruled only by sensations, Brandy felt them exploding around her. Her pulse hammered like a mad thing in her ears. The inescapable gritty taste of sand was on her lips that had parted under the irresistible command of his. The heady male scent of him enveloped her like the drugging scent of burning incense. Nearly every inch of her skin felt the imprint of his masculine body.
Then the passion-arousing kiss was ended, and his mouth moved in reluctant slowness away from hers. Unconsciously Brandy sighed her regret, letting her head dip to resting position against his chest while she re-orientated her jumbled senses.
There was an impersonal gentleness in the hands that held her shoulders. It was echoed by the distantly affectionate kiss he bestowed on the top of her head.
Puzzled by his obvious withdrawal, she tipped her head back to gaze into his impassive face. He used her motion away from him to release her completely.
"It would have been wiser if I hadn't done that," he murmured with a wry, self-derisive arch of his eyebrow as he turned away.
Brandy frowned, then laughed her confusion. "Why should you be sorry you kissed me? I'm not!"
Without glancing at her, Jim retrieved the saddle pads and laid them over the saddle. "Things have gone beyond the point where they can be easily explained,'' he answered cryptically. "That is my fault. But let's just say that I think it's best that we forget what happened a minute ago."
"Why?" she persisted.
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea." He gave the groundsheet an indifferent shake and draped it across the saddle, too.
It seemed as if she was lost in a maze and all his answers were leading her deeper into it, instead of a safe passage out.
"People kiss all the time. It's a very common practice between two people who find each other attractive,'' she reasoned with a confused shake of her head. "I may look young, but I'm not some blindly romantic teenager who's going to misinterpret a kiss as a declaration of love."
"You do look young and impressionable," Jim admitted with a faint twinkle in his eyes.
Anger burst suddenly inside her and she retorted scathingly, "Probably viewed from your advanced years, I do!" Immediately she was sorry she had lashed out at him when she had no cause. "I didn't mean to lose my temper," she apologized, but he was already smiling at her previous comment. "It's just that I don't understand what there is to regret in a kiss."
"I like you, Brandy. If I had known the type of person you were when you stumbled into my camp last night, all this talk now wouldn't be necessary."
Brandy sighed at the near helplessness of the conversation. "What's that supposed to mean, Jim?"
He studied her for a long moment before answering patiently. "There are quite a few things about me that you don't know, but I do."
Frustrated by his deliberately obscure answers, she turned away, lifting her hand in a helpless gesture. "I suppose you're married with three kids. Is that supposed to shock me or make me feel like a home-wrecker?"
A throaty chuckle rumbled mockingly. "I'm not married," he declared, with no attempt to conceal the amusement in his voice. He reached down and looped the canteen strap over his shoulder. "Come on, Brandy. We've got a long walk ahead of us."
For a few minutes Brandy had completely forgotten her predicament. Now she thought of her parents who were probably waiting anxiously for some word that she was all right. And here she was arguing with a cattle rustler who was being deliberately mysterious.
Taking a step forward to fall in beside him, she noticed his saddle and gear sitting on the ground. "Are you leaving your things behind?" she frowned.
"I can pick them up later."
Brandy supposed it would be foolish for him to carry the saddle over the same ground twice, considering how heavy it was. His long strides put Jim in the lead, although he did slacken his pace so that she could keep up.
Gazing over the vast expanse of rolling desert, dotted with shrubs and cactus, she was aware of the enormous size of it. A person could see for miles, yet there was nothing to be seen. "How are you ever going to find your horse?" She hurried to draw level with Jim as she asked the question.
"He'll probably head for the corral and water now that the storm is over," he replied.
The corral; Brandy guessed that was probably where he was holding the cattle he had stolen until his partners came to ship them out. She wondered if it was anywhere near the place that he had camped last night. Thinking back, she knew she had not heard any sound of cattle lowing close by. There had only been the rustle of the horse.
Covertly she studied his boldly chiseled profile. Curiosity returned as she tried to fathom his confusing answers of a few minutes ago. It was hopeless. Then she began wondering why a man who seemed capable of doing anything he wanted had chosen to be a cattle thief. It seemed such a shame.
"Jim?" Hesitantly she formed her question, the uneven ground beneath her feet demanding part of her attention. "Have you always stolen cattle? I mean, haven't you ever wanted to do something else?"
"I wondered how long it would take." He gave her an amused look.
"What?" she asked with a disgruntled sigh. He had avoided her question again with another ambiguous answer.
"I was talking about the female instinct to reform a man. Yours has finally surfaced." There was a definite sparkle of laughter in the dark eyes as the corners of his mouth deepened with suppressed amusement. "Were you going to give me a lecture in the error of my wicked ways?"
"I was just curious," she retorted defensively.
Although she waited for him to reply to her question, she waited in vain. Surrendering to the inevitable, she didn't bother to ask again.
Chapter Three
THEIR WEAVING, twisting trail through the cactus and sage-studded desert had taken them over two miles of ground. As the crow flies, they had only covered about a mile and a half. The sun was well up in the sky and no coolness from the night remained. Jim had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, while Brandy had removed the belt so that the poncho hung free and rebuckled it through the waist loops of her denims.
Halfway up the rock-strewn wall of a drywash, Brandy stopped to catch her breath. The honey-gold hair around her forehead had curled into damp ringlets from perspiration. At the top of the wash, Jim reached down to give her a hand up.
"You can rest up here," he insisted when she started to ignore his hand.
With a shrug of resignation she grabbed hold of his hand and scrambled with his help to the slanted rim of the wash. There she sat down, leaning back on one elbow in the scant shade of a palo verde.
"You can tell I'm used to riding and not walking," Brandy murmured with a self-deprecating smile.
"This sun can drain the
energy out of anyone." He opened the canteen and handed it to her.
The water was brackishly warm, but the liquid still soothed her dry throat. Taking another long drink, she handed it back to him. There was a whirring sound in her ears that she attributed to the heat and exhaustion of their trek through the desert; then it seemed to grow louder.
"Jim, I think I hear a helicopter." The minute she voiced the comment, Brandy became more positive that she was right. Shading her eyes against the glare of the sun, she searched the sky where she thought the sound was coming from. Sunlight flashed on a metallic object flying comparatively low to the ground. "There it is!" she pointed.
Turning, she saw that Jim was watching it, too, the brim of his dust-covered hat shading out the sun. His gaze had narrowed. It remained that way as it swung to her in a piercing regard.
"It's a search party," he said in unnecessary explanation.
The relief left her voice. "I know."
That meant that in a few short minutes she would be rescued and winging home to the welcoming arms of her parents. But if Jim was seen—Brandy knew she couldn't bear to see him arrested for stealing cattle, not after all he had done for her. He was a criminal, and liking him didn't change that. Regardless of whether it was wrong or not, she knew she had to help him get away.
"They haven't seen us yet." Her anxious turquoise eyes scanned his impassive features. "You can hide in that clump of mesquite over there. They'll never even know you were here, Jim, if you hide right now."
"You're not going to turn me in?" He smiled crookedly at her.
"I can't." She glanced over her shoulder at the slow-flying helicopter that was drawing steadily nearer their position on the rim of the drywash. "They're getting closer. Hurry, Jim, before they see you!"
As he slowly rose to his feet, she scrambled upright with him. The lazy smile was still making a curve in his beard as she gazed up at him. How she hated saying goodbye!
