by Nan Ryan
Directly behind the wagon was an overdressed, very excited Edmund Curtin, flanked by the two Mexican vaqueros. Each vaquero led a string of well-bunched Navajo ponies. Next came the mounted peasants leading the pack mules loaded with supplies.
Bringing up the very rear was the big Navajo, Taos, his flat, black eagle eyes trained and constantly at the ready to roam the changing countryside as he guarded their back trail.
Elizabeth, glad to be on the way at last, felt her anger quickly dissipating as she, too, got fully caught up in the excitement. The spoked wheels beneath her turned, the wagon lurched forward behind a team of strong-backed mules, and the white-bearded Grady Downs shouted loudly, “Yee-ha, we’re off!”
“Yee-ha!” Elizabeth mimicked, and smiled warmly when Grady looked around at her, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Missy, we’re gonna have us a good time!” he predicted happily, shouting to be heard.
“Yes, we are,” she agreed, shouting back.
Feeling suddenly lighthearted, Elizabeth raised her hand to wave to the crowds lining the streets. The growing throng—mostly men—were fully appreciative. Seeing the beautiful red-haired lady from New York City smiling and waving brought louder shouts, long, low whistles, and doffing of hats.
Warmed by all the male attention, Elizabeth decided it only fair to turn and wave to the gentlemen lining the other side of the street. Her face aglow, her lips parted in a genuine smile, she turned on the seat.
But she never waved to the stomping, shouting men calling to her from the south side of San Francisco. The swarm of gentlemen well-wishers was forgotten as her narrowed eyes zeroed in on the dark-haired man astride a gleaming sorrel mare directly ahead of her.
West Quarternight held, of all things, a bouquet of spring flowers in his tanned right hand. It took only a second for Elizabeth to learn where he had gotten them. As he rode the prancing mare along the broad central plaza, he was steadily pelted with colorful blossoms coming from both sides of San Francisco Street.
The flowers were tossed by women.
Elizabeth was astounded. And revolted. Attractive, handsomely dressed ladies in gleaming parked carriages were throwing flowers at West Quarternight as though he were a conquering hero off to do battle! They were blowing kisses to him and calling his name.
She couldn’t believe her eyes when a beautiful young woman bounded down out of a covered black victoria, lifted the skirts of her lush rose-hued dress, and dashed right out into the street, her hand outstretched, a lone pink rose clutched tightly in pale fingers.
The forward woman, whose long, loose hair was as black as West’s, ran straight to him, held out the pink rose, then coyly withdrew it when he reached for it. Holding it teasingly behind her back, she smiled up at West and said something to him.
In a flash he leaned low, put a long arm around the woman’s small waist, and swept her from the ground. Laughing happily, the woman clung to his neck while her feet dangled against the sorrel’s side. Then, whispering something to West, the laughing dark-haired woman broke the long stem off the pink rose and tucked the vivid blossom behind his right ear. She then clasped his tanned jaws between her palms and turned her pretty, expectant face up to his.
West kissed her fully on the mouth.
The crowd hooted and hollered.
Grady Downs laughed and slapped his thigh.
Elizabeth forced a smile. But it didn’t reach her blazing blue eyes.
22
ONCE THE GOLD-BROWN ADOBES of New Mexico’s capital city receded in the background, Elizabeth’s mood began to sweeten. The sun had climbed high, coloring the few puffy clouds hanging over the western hills a red, molten gold. The rest of the sky was a clear, cloudless blue.
It was a fine morning, despite Grady Downs’s unending monologue. Within minutes of boarding the wagon with the twinkly-eyed white-haired mountain man, Elizabeth had learned only to half listen, to nod at the appropriate intervals, and to smile when he went into howls of laughter, signaling he had just told a tale he thought hilarious. Later, perhaps, she might pay more attention to the talkative Grady’s stories, but for now she wanted to meditate quietly, to savor the freshness and beauty of the New Mexico morning.
The thin dry air was pleasantly cool and so clear that the distant peaks of the Sandias, far to the south, appeared to be within walking distance. Blankets of wildflowers covered the verdant valley, adding their vivid splashes of color to the usual greens, golds, and rusts. The dew-kissed blossoms swayed gently in a mild morning breeze and pleasantly perfumed the air with their subtle fragrance.
While the wagon followed the deeply rutted river road, Elizabeth examined the dramatic scenery surrounding her. She was suddenly struck by the idea that already she dreaded returning to New York. Shocked by the realization, she idly wondered if she might possibly persuade Dane to stay on here in this incredible land of towering mountains and extraordinary sunsets and peaceful solitude.
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek.
There was no chance of getting the sophisticated native New Yorker, Dane Curtin, to remain way out here in the Western wilderness. If he stayed, he would only be miserable. Dane loved the teeming city with all its bustle and excitement and varied culture. As grand as the Governor’s Santa Fe Spring Baile had been, it would not have been an affair that met with Dane’s approval.
The conversation at the baile had consisted of cattle prices, horse races, gold mines, and politics. Dane preferred discussing stock market rumors, art collections, the theater, trips to the Continent, and the latest gossip involving New York’s rich social set.
No, Dane Curtin would never be happy living in the remote New Mexico Territory. Well, no matter. Likely as not, by the time this expedition ended, she, too, would be more than anxious to get back to New York City.
For now, she would simply relax and enjoy the journey. And to think that she had dreaded it! Had been afraid it would be hard and taxing. How wrong she had been. It was wonderful to ride along, cool and comfortable, admiring the ever-changing countryside, communing with nature at its finest.
Elizabeth drew a long, refreshing breath and felt the too-tight leather strap cut into her belly. Her eyes dropped to the wide, restraining belt and she exhaled irritably. Such idiocy, binding her to the seat as if she were a wiggling child in danger of falling from the wagon. Well, she would remedy that soon enough.
Pushing her flat-crowned hat back, Elizabeth stripped the tight kid gloves from her hands, stuffed them into a large triangular suit pocket over her right breast, and unbuckled the large buckle cutting into her flesh.
“… and then by the time I found Taos, I was … was …” Grady’s white head swung around. “Now, missy, I don’t know as I’d unbuckle that, if I was you. Sonny won’t like it.”
“Then Sonny can lump it,” Elizabeth replied calmly.
Grady laughed, but his white eyebrows knitted together. “I know you don’t cotton much to Sonny and I can’t say as I blame you, considerin’ the way he was actin’ Saturday when me and Taos rode into Santa Fe.”
“Well, thank you, Grady. I had the distinct impression that both you and Taos were amused by his despicable behavior.”
“Naw, naw. Nothin’ like that. What tickled us was that you didn’t want no part of him.” Grady turned back to look straight ahead.
“Why should that tickle you?”
“No reason ’cept we ain’t never seen nothin’ like that happen before.” Grady cut his blue eyes at her, then back to the road. “I don’t know, there’s somethin’ about Sonny that makes him like catnip to all the ladies.”
“Oh, really?” Elizabeth said, as though surprised.
Her gaze lifted to the raven-haired man several yards ahead riding astride a cantering sorrel mare.
He rode the way he moved. The way he did everything. With a quiet sureness and power, handling his mount with the effortless grace of the born horseman.
Elizabeth’s mouth tightened with displeasure and she
wondered if there was anything West Quarternight did not do well. He was that rare man who was constantly relaxed and radiating a consistent confidence. He wore a casual and content smile that managed to be at once both warm and sardonic.
“What? I’m sorry.” Elizabeth suddenly realized that Grady had asked something, and was waiting for her answer.
“I was jest sayin’ that I think the reason all them women want him is ’cause they can’t have him. What do you think?”
“Perhaps that has something to do with it.”
“Yep, I seen lots of pretty gals set their caps for Sonny.” Grady reached up, stroked his long white beard thoughtfully. “Beats any goddamned … ah … excuse me, missy … beats anything I ever saw.” He shook his head. “All of ’em is wastin’ their time if they think they can catch him. I know him too well. Now, back when I first met Sonny over in—”
“Grady,” Elizabeth cut him, not wanting to hear anything more about West Quarternight, “what about you? How long have you been a guide? What did you do before?”
“Well, let me see, missy, I guess I been at this for the last three or four years. Got started by …”
And Grady gladly filled her in on his adventurous past. In his time he had been, he proudly told her, a West Point cadet cashiered for drinking in his room, an Indian fighter, a scout for Frémont, a gunman, a mustanger, a trapper, a cowhand, a prospector, a drummer, a mountain man, and finally, a guide.
Elizabeth listened as he told of his many escapades. But when an hour had passed and still he regaled her with tales of his glory days, she relapsed into nodding occasionally, smiling now and then, and not really paying attention.
By late morning the sun had burned the fresh coolness from the air. Cocking her flat-crowned hat to the left in a vain effort to shade her face from the bright glare, Elizabeth felt beads of perspiration pooling between her breasts, behind her knees, and above her upper lip.
With each mile they traveled, the temperature climbed and Elizabeth began to wish she had worn something lighter than the heat-attracting dark maroon gabardine suit. She crooked her forefinger, curled it under the tight, high band of her blouse collar, and pulled the fabric away from her dewy throat.
The higher the sun rose, the lower they dropped in elevation. And the hotter it got. Not only had she become uncomfortably warm, Elizabeth had also grown tired. Her back had begun to ache, her bottom felt battered from being bounced about all morning, and her legs were stiff.
She twisted and turned and tried to get comfortable. It was impossible. She looked up at the sun and wondered when they would stop for lunch. She broke into Grady’s long-winded meanderings to ask and he told her that Sonny would pick a nice, cool spot when it got close to dinnertime.
Elizabeth looked up ahead at West. Slumped comfortably in the saddle, his feet out of the stirrups now and swinging with the sorrel’s easy gait, he didn’t appear to be the least bit tired. Or hot.
Frowning, placing a spread hand to the small of her aching back, Elizabeth turned in her seat and looked back to search for Edmund. She saw him bouncing along on the chestnut gelding, his new fringed suede jacket now shed and draped across the saddle. Large circles of perspiration stained his new red western shirt. His white felt hat was pulled low, but his fair face had now turned as red as his shirt. Wondering if hers had burned as well, she waved to him and smiled encouragingly, knowing he was likely even more miserable than she.
Minutes after she turned back around, West abruptly pulled up on the sorrel. He halted, looked about, and neck-reined the mare off the narrow dusty road. Grady immediately pulled up on the team. Behind the wagon, men and horses of the long caravan came to a stop.
West cantered down a slight incline toward a copse of tall cottonwoods. While Elizabeth and the rest of the procession watched and waited, West and the sorrel disappeared into the trees. In minutes he rode back into sight and headed directly toward the wagon.
He was hatless now and the sun, straight overhead, made his jet-black hair glisten like the sorrel’s shiny coat. The pale pink rose from the beauty back in Santa Fe was still tucked behind his right ear.
Dismounting when he was a short distance away, he dropped the long reins to the ground and signaled to the waiting riders to break ranks and take the horses down to the river for water. Grady pulled the wagon off to the side of the road, jumped down, and began unhitching the team.
Elizabeth took off her flat-crowned hat, dropped it to the seat, and lifted a hand to smooth back her damp, tousled red hair. West stepped up to the wagon, draped an arm along the splashboard in front of her, and said, “What about it? You ready to rest for a while?”
Elizabeth shrugged aching shoulders. “I’m not particularly tired, but if you want to stop here, you’re the guide.”
West shook his dark head. He could tell by looking at her that she was exhausted.
He said, “God, it must be hard, never saying what’s really on your mind.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Now, that’s what I mean exactly.”
Elizabeth’s jaw hardened. Levelly, she said, “All right. How’s this for saying what’s on my mind? I don’t much like you, Quarternight. In fact I dislike you intensely.”
West cocked a dark eyebrow. “You sure it’s not yourself you dislike?” She blinked at him. He dropped his arm from the wagon’s splashboard, reached out, gripped her knees with both hands and turned her about on the seat to face him. “Maybe you’re mad at yourself because you like me too much. Could that be it, Mrs. Curtin? One time you liked me a lot. Liked me so much you—”
“Hush!” She glanced around to be sure nobody had heard. “You ever so much as hint at that night again and I’ll make you live to regret it.”
“Ah, well, one more regret at my age won’t make much difference,” he drawled. Firmly clasping the backs of her knees with long fingers, his thumbs made lazy circles atop her legs through the maroon gabardine. “Let’s make love now and regret it later.”
“Get your hands off me, Quarternight.”
“I will, but first let me see if … ah … there … I thought so.” His thumbs were skimming along the top edges of Elizabeth’s silk stockings. “This is where your stockings come to? It is, isn’t it?”
“Unless you want them broken,” Elizabeth warned, “you better get your thumbs off my knees!” Viciously she dug her long nails into the backs of his brown hands.
“Ouch! Jesus!” he swore, and quickly released her, but did not move away. Looking down at the tiny red half-moons decorating the backs of his hands, he said, “For a woman who’s been around, you still have a lot to learn.” His teasing gray gaze lifted to her snapping blue eyes. “It’s my back you’re supposed to claw, not my hands.”
“That’s it!” she hotly declared, pushing roughly on his chest. “Let me get down!”
West just laughed, reached out and spanned her narrow waist with his hands. “I’ll help you out of the carriage.”
“Thanks!” she snapped irritably, and avoiding his eyes, tentatively placed her hands on his muscular shoulders. Nervously she glanced about and saw that the others, including Edmund, had already gone down to the river. Her gaze returned to West and fell on the bright pink blossom tucked behind his right ear. The sight of it fueled her anger.
West lifted Elizabeth from the wagon deliberately slowly. His strong hands firmly gripping her waist, he plucked her from the seat, held her up before him, then turned slowly around with her in his arms.
He leaned back against the wagon and lifted Elizabeth higher. He tipped his head back and smiled up at her.
She didn’t smile back. Her hands frantically clutching the buckskin shirt stretching across his wide shoulders, she kicked violently at his knees and hissed, “Put me down! I mean it, put … me … down!”
“Well, sure, you want down,” he said, “I’ll put you down.”
Continuing to hold her high, West drew Elizabeth flush again
st his body. Held her there for a long moment with her pelvis pressing his chest. Then slowly, sensuously, he lowered her, feeling the soft, feminine curves of her slender body slide seductively against his hard-planed frame.
Elizabeth’s long skirts did not slither down with her. The maroon gabardine bunched and clung to West’s buckskin shirt and pants. The lower he allowed her to drop, the higher her skirts rose.
West was aware of her anger and frustration, but far more aware of the soft female breasts an inch from his face, of the fiery red hair ablaze in the noon sunshine, of the pale, slender legs bared by the trapped skirts.
Inhaling deeply, West felt the soft kid gloves stuffed into her breast pocket tickle his jaw.
Grinning, he told her, “I’m afraid the finger of your left glove might poke my eye out. Think you could move them?”
“It would serve you right,” Elizabeth said, but yanked the gloves from her pocket. And then wished she hadn’t.
“That’s better,” he said and leaned closer to her breasts.
Elizabeth slapped him on the head with the gloves. “Get your face out of my … my … way!”
His dark face stayed where it was, his warm, smooth lips pressing the pink blouse to her flesh. He blew a long, hot breath through the thin cotton and felt, against his chest and belly, her involuntary shuddering response.
Satisfied he could arouse her when time and place presented itself, he let her go, allowing her to slide all the way to the ground. But he bent his dark head to catch a pleasing glimpse of her shapely stockinged legs before he released her.
As soon as she felt her toes touch the earth, Elizabeth straightened her skirts, whirled around, and stalked off.
West called after her, “Aren’t you going to wait for me? Remember, I’m the guide here.”
Not even slowing, she called over her shoulder, “Then guide yourself to the nearest lunatic asylum!”
West bent and picked up her dropped kid gloves. He allowed Elizabeth to walk a little farther, then called, “Mrs. Curtin, you forgot something.”
