three
Tyler followed the hound from a distance. He had no doubt that the animal’s instincts had picked up on something out of the ordinary, but he also wasn’t fool enough to stick too close to the animal should the problem be bigger than one man could handle. He knew outlaws used the mountains and valleys as cover, places to elude capture, and he had no desire to walk into a hill of fire ants such as that. Shutting the mouths of anyone who would discover their whereabouts would be their first reaction, and the rocky ground and spring flowers would mark the site of his final resting place.
The dog halted and crouched. Tyler stopped as well, sighting up the hills on either side of him for any signs of wildlife, either the outlaw variety or the four-legged kind. Seeing nothing, he glanced back at the crouched dog just as the hound lunged forward and snapped his teeth. Tyler understood at once what the dog was doing. The long, limp body in the hound’s jaws didn’t surprise him at all. Long ago, he had learned of the animal’s prowess at killing rattlers, though he’d also almost lost that battle a number of times.
When the dog spit out the body and gave it a sniff as if to assure himself of the serpent’s death, he moved forward. At one point, he paused and glanced over his powerful shoulder, and Tyler knew the animal was making sure he was still keeping up. Interest piqued by the hound’s behavior, Tyler picked up his pace to close the distance between them.
He skirted a large boulder, his eyes roaming the landscape, when he became aware that the hound had stopped. Tyler’s eyes narrowed as he scanned up the hill. He immediately picked up on movement and raised his gun. His quick asses-sment determined the target to be a woman. He followed her path down the hill. The hound stood at his side, hackles raised, though he remained quiet.
Tyler flung himself behind the rock and readjusted his aim, his finger on the trigger, tense but loose. The woman kept coming. She lost her footing on the rocks and skidded, catching herself and pushing upward again. And that’s when it came.
A shot rang out and the woman went down, whether from fright or because she was hit, Tyler didn’t know. His gaze darted along the ridge of the hill, pinpointing a lone figure. He squinted down the barrel and returned fire, aiming low, his intention to maim rather than kill. The man jerked and disappeared, and Tyler set aside the gun and dashed up the hill to the fallen woman. She lay in a heap not two hundred feet away and began to move just as Tyler dropped down on his knees beside her. Seconds ticked by as he picked her up in his arms, knowing a bullet could crease him, or worse, at any given second.
He skidded to his knees a couple of feet from the boulder, the woman in his arms just beginning to thrash her protest. He released her and snapped up his Sharps, leveling it at the ridge again. He could see nothing. Satisfied, he scanned the woman from head to foot, searching for blood or signs of injury. “You hit?”
Her stormy eyes sparked of fear more than the bravado her crouched position and clawed hands threatened. Her chest heaved with the rapidness of her breaths. Tyler had seen that look more times than he wanted to count. It was the stance taken not by the hunters, but by the hunted.
❧
Unshed tears of panic filled Renee’s eyes. She tried to slow the quickened slam of her heart and ease the rush of fear as the strange man picked up his gun and fired. He had asked her something, but the words were lost to her in the cloud of gun smoke and fear as she waited for the moment when he would turn the gun on her. Truth fought to insert itself in her mind. Why would a man shoot at her after carrying her down the hill and away from danger?
He straightened, glancing her way. “I’ll take the fact you’re still on your feet as a no.”
Moisture bunched in her eyes, and she blinked to clear her vision.
He picked up the rifle and she flinched, wondering what such a long-reaching gun would do to her at close range. She stiffened and opened her mouth. He never raised the gun, instead holding it out to her.
“I’m going up the hill. Cover me.”
She wanted to tell him not to, that Rand waited up there, but the words knotted in her throat. He moved out fast and scampered up the hill even faster. A dog ran at his side and some vague familiarity scratched at her mind as she watched the tattered ears flop with every step.
The man slipped on the steep slope but caught himself, his hand catching in a nearby cactus. She winced for him. When he righted himself, he kept low to the ground. Renee raised her gaze to the place where she’d emerged, afraid Rand would appear at any moment, his gun aimed at the stranger.
She stretched against the rock and lifted the weapon to her eye. She was no perfect shot, but maybe she could dampen Rand’s desire to nail her rescuer. Grateful for the steadying effect the boulder offered to her shaking hands, she continued to follow the line of the man’s advance up the hill. When he reached the ridge, he disappeared over the crest. She waited in silent expectation. Horror swelled as minutes passed and he didn’t reappear. Only the fact that she heard no gunfire kept her from giving in to her nerves. If Marv had heard the two gunshots, he would rush to the cave. The stranger would be ambushed. Killed. She would be alone again.
She kept her eyes hard on the place where the blue of the sky met the curve of the hilltop. She debated making a run for it. Here she was, again, hiding from the Loust Gang when an opportunity to flee was open to her. But she couldn’t leave the stranger. He had rescued her. He counted on her. Just as Pa had counted on her to stop her wild ways and become a lily-skinned do-gooder—a daughter he could be proud of.
Renee lifted her head and relaxed her hold on the rifle. If the stranger got caught, he at least had the hound. If she got caught, she had the gun. But she was more vulnerable to a gang of men than he was. They would hang him or shoot him dead, but they’d do far worse to her before finally putting a bullet into her heart. She couldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t. Instead she leaned forward against the rock. She would give him some time.
He would return.
He had to.
four
Tyler scanned the area at the top of the hill from right to left. A small fire struggled for lack of new fuel. He shifted his gaze to the hound that stood a few feet off staring at the empty campsite, frozen by duty, muscles tensed to bring down any enemy sighted. Only a soft breeze ruffled his fur. Tyler knew the animal’s senses were keen, probably much sharper than his own, so when the animal finally turned and trotted back down the hill, Tyler knew whoever had shot at the girl had disappeared.
He took his time gathering what little information he could from the signs left behind. Footprints circled the campfire. Boots. Narrow toes and deep heel marks gave clue to the man’s weight. He found, too, the place behind the boulder where the man had sprawled, the outline of his body deeper in the middle where his belly lay. Tyler also made note of the depressions where the man propped himself before raising to the rock. On the right, the blur wasn’t as deep and the indentation larger. Right handed. He had shifted weight to his left elbow to settle the gun or check the load.
Armed with enough information about the girl’s enemy, Tyler tried to make sense of it all. Outlaws? He’d not heard of a group hiding out in these mountains since rumors of Big Nose George and Frank Cassidy. He raised his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead as a sickening burn lanced his stomach. Could be nothing more than a lonesome band of drifters up to no good.
Tyler picked up a stick and used it to scatter the fire, waiting for the flames to dwindle, then kicked dirt on the remaining embers until the smoke dissipated. With one last sweeping glance, he took in the vacant area before starting down the hill. He wondered if the girl had taken off back toward her home, or if she’d waited for him as he’d suggested.
His foot skidded. His right hand skimmed the ground. Fire stabbed his already-raw palm as the rocks and gravel bit deep. He winced and pushed himself upright, swiping his hands against the rough wool of his trousers. His breath caught as the raw wound burned. He glanced behind him at the hills that gave way to
the Big Horns as his palm cooled, then to the relatively flat land spread out west and north of where he stood. In the distance he could see the hound, already on its way back to its duties. He marveled at the animal’s instinct and loyalty. With more cautious steps, Tyler continued down, pressed by the idea of the man returning to the camp, bent on vengeance.
As Tyler neared the bottom, the young woman’s head popped up from behind the boulder, her eyes huge. She held out the gun to him, and he noticed the tremor in her hand and the vacant glaze of her eyes. She was going to cry by the looks of it.
Tyler took the gun and broke it to check the load and to avoid watching the girl’s distress. Probably a reaction from what she’d just endured. He’d seen it all before, but it never ceased to churn nausea in his stomach.
“I’m Renee. Dover’s my last name.”
Her voice trembled, but a hard note showed the deter-mination with which she tried to hold on to her composure. Tyler snapped the gun shut and shoved it into the scabbard. Now that he’d done his duty by her. . . What now? He had to return to his flock, and he doubted very seriously she would be placated at the idea of going with him.
Bracing his arm against the saddle, he leaned against Sassy’s warm side and stroked her neck. “You live ’round here?”
“I did.”
Something in her tone made him straighten and pay attention. She turned her back to him and walked a few paces, hugging herself. Her head dipped, and quiet sobs grated against his need to put distance between them.
He stared up at Sassy as if the horse could offer a solution to his dilemma then took up the reins and mounted. “Needing to get back, ma’am.”
She spun with a gasp. “You can’t leave me here.”
Of course he couldn’t. But neither could he bring himself to offer to take her along. Wasn’t right for a single man to be gallivanting with a single woman. Especially a woman like her.
❧
Across the distance, Renee saw his gaze dip to his hands resting on the pommel. She didn’t care how it might look; he couldn’t leave her here. Alone. With only her burning anger to keep her warm, no food and no horse. Renee didn’t want to beg but she would if she had to. Surely he could see her problem and understand the precariousness of her position.
“I’ve got a flock of sheep to tend. You’ll have to stay in camp as I move them.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “With me. Alone.”
Were his words a challenge? If the man rescued her, surely it meant he had a healthy sense of honor.
“Your. . .flock?”
“I’m a shepherd. A sheepherder.”
She never would have guessed it by his looks, but then, what could one really discern by something so deceiving? Her pa had mentioned a rancher taking on sheep over by Sheridan. It had been a vague comment made many months ago, and she remembered little else other than her father’s contempt for any man trying to run anything other than cattle.
Renee wished she could see the man’s eyes, but they were shadowed by the brim of his hat. His angular jaw and the bristle of beard gave him a hard appearance, not unlike the men he’d just rescued her from. But a gentle face did not a gentleman make, although the reverse was also true. That much she knew.
Still, what choice did she have? She wished mightily that she had not surrendered the rifle to him—or that she still had her own weapon. The man swung the horse away. A chill swept over her at the thought of being alone. She stepped closer to him and reached a hand to stroke the horse’s nose. The animal stretched out her neck and nibbled Renee’s sleeve.
“I can walk,” she offered, not wanting to give overtaxing the horse as more reason for him to leave her behind.
The man didn’t argue and gave the horse a soft jab. Open mouthed at his quick dismissal of her, and his failure to even offer her a chance to ride, she could only watch as the horse put distance between them.
five
Surely she didn’t expect to be treated like a lady. What woman would wear pants and then expect preferential treatment? He still believed a woman should look like a woman and not gallivant around in trousers or buckskins or anything other than a dress. Besides, it was her idea to walk. Still, the dusty memory of gentlemanly ways and manners taught to him by his mama made him purse his lips and frown. He fought the silent battle for about half a mile, haunted by images of what the man might have done to her. The horrors she might have endured. It was the mental picture of his mother’s disapproving frown that goaded him. With a sigh that was more a moan, he stopped the horse and slid to the ground. “You ride.”
“I can walk.”
A burst of quick, hot anger shot through him. “Get on the horse.” Her horrified expression made him bite back the flash of his temper. He should know better than to speak so roughly. She was, no doubt, tired, and by the way she dressed, a bit willful. Commanding her to do anything would not hasten his return to his flock. “Please,” he added. “That man can still follow our trail. It’s best we move fast.”
“Men.”
He could only stare at her.
“There was four of them, maybe five. They’ll kill us.”
“Best get to it, then.” He patted the saddle.
“Shouldn’t you ride as well?”
Deciding to seize the moment, he heaved a sigh and toed his boot into the stirrup, sweeping back into the saddle. He kicked his foot out and reached out his hand to offer aid in her ascent. She grasped his hand and hauled herself up. For the first time he realized what a gift it was that she did not wear skirts. The saddle was crowded enough with her presence. When she placed a tentative hand at his waist as he wheeled the horse, the shift in wind direction brought a light, sweet scent to his nostrils. He frowned, the smell mocking somehow, evidence of what he’d missed by not settling down at a young age with a good girl like his mama had wanted.
Her slender hand gripped his shirt harder when he dug his heels hard into Sassy’s sides and took them to a ground-eating gallop. When he figured they’d gone a mile, he stopped, wheeled the horse, and studied the terrain behind him. No signs of dust rising into the air to indicate pursuit. Behind him, Renee remained quiet, yet he was more aware of her presence than he wanted to be every time he caught that sniff of sweetness.
An hour had passed when he relieved Sassy of the wicked pace he’d set and they began the climb up the eastern slope of the mountain. Within an hour the sheep finally came into view. All seemed well, though the sheep had scattered a bit, even under Teddy’s watchful eye. He stopped at a boulder. “This is where we stop. We’ve put a few miles between us. I’m moving the herd up this mountain. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maybe more, depending.” He did as much as he could to help her dismount smoothly, unsettled by the need to touch her hand, and the feel of her hand brushing his shoulder then gripping his forearms. “Stay here.”
He could tell by the stiffening of her spine and her dark frown that she resented his command. Tough. He had a herd to move, and that she got herself into trouble wasn’t his fault. He would protect her, even try to get her back home safe, but she’d have to wait. It might be a long wait, too, but if he told her that, she’d probably stomp her foot and pout.
He stole a look at her and wondered how she would feel about staying in a camp with nothing but sheep, nature, two dogs, and a horse to keep her company. No doubt she’d not like it too much. But he’d chosen his path for a reason, and he’d sooner stick to his reasons than leave the herd defenseless and let down Rich Morgan.
In the small camp, he let Sassy drink long from the bucket of water he’d fetched that morning. As the horse drank, he took down his tent. He rolled his coffee, sugar, flour, dry beans, and salt pork into two bundles and stuck them into his saddlebags. His pan, plate, fork, tin cup, and blanket were rolled up in the center of the tent, and the entire bundle covered with oilcloth. The familiarity of the work soothed him and made him forget the girl. At least until he glimpsed her movement along the perimeter of the campsite. When he motioned t
o her, she started his way. Teddy came to his side, as if sensing the tension. Tyler picked up the last thing left at the campsite, his Bible, and gripped it hard as he prepared for what he knew would be a verbal showdown.
❧
Renee could only think of home. Of Thomas. She wanted, no, needed, to go home. She set her jaw and moved forward, directly into the milling sheep that moved away as she drew near. The small dog beside Tyler came alert as she approached. Not unfriendly, but his tail didn’t wag either, and she wondered if getting too close might be a bad idea.
“If you’re heading higher into the mountains, then it’s best to get me home now.”
Tyler stared hard at her. “Should have stayed home then and not gotten caught by that band of brigands.”
“It wasn’t my fault, they—” Her oft-repeated phrase held no conviction. It was her fault. Adventure was something she always longed for and never failed to find. Her mouth turned sour at the realization that her wild imaginations had helped to lay Thomas out cold. He hadn’t wanted to go, butshe’d persisted and gotten her way. Again.
Renee closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Face to face with her hardheaded ways. Thomas’s words of caution rang in her ears. He often pleaded on behalf of their silent pa on the matter of her willfulness. Words she often chafed at and always ignored.
Now, when tears of repentance should come, she felt nothing but a dusty, arid emptiness.
six
Tyler’s hand sweat against the cover of the Bible as he watched her, captivated by the shifting emotions that at one moment pinched Renee’s features then shifted to stark vulnerability. She was a young woman. Alone. And he had been a man alone, too. For too long to deny the appeal of having another person to talk to and interact with, even if only for a few days.
Shepherd's Song Page 2
