He clambered up the rails until his head and shoulders poked over the top giving him a complete view of the cattle. Alison’s escape had been slowed by the necessity to force his way between the lumbering beasts, slapping at flanks in his urgency and dodging the scything horns. He was only thirty feet away across the packed earth. Morgan scowled as he aimed. He lined and squeezed with none of his former hesitation.
The first shot passed low over the cattle’s heads and they scattered across the pen. Abruptly, Alison was out in the open with nothing blocking his path. He began to sprint in an awkward limping gait, his boot heels kicking up little dust devils that faded behind him. Morgan lowered his aim a touch and fired again.
The shotgun pellets fanned out into a wide circle and tore into Alison, from the top of his bobbing head down to his worn boots. The force of the blast carried him forward, his coat and pants suddenly tattered in the still air. He was still running although he was dead and his momentum carried him on until his legs crashed into the timbers of the water trough. His body tipped like a rag doll and he sprawled head down into the water. Arms outspread, he lay motionless, his hair slowly waving with the fading ripples.
***
Morgan mumbled restlessly in his sleep. Anne Marie looked at his face and wondered at all the hate she had seen expressed there a few hours earlier. But then, she realized her own face had probably been even more grotesque. She had been amazed she had found it in herself to use a gun on a man. Then, she reflected, lately each day had brought new self discovery. She wondered too about the man who slept beside her. He had brought out many things she had never understood about herself; the joy and ecstasy she was capable of both giving and receiving with her body, and the real warmth of feeling when she knew she was needed, and knowing too she needed him.
Yet she could not allow herself to do so.
When the shooting was over they had collected the mule and deposited what was left of the gold at the bank. There was enough to live well for a time, at least until Morgan was fit enough to ride back out to the Double Mountains and clean out the rest of the vein he had told her about. He had not asked her to stay with him and enjoy the fruits of his labors, but he had hinted. All the I’s had suddenly become We’s. What “we” were going to do now, not what he was going to do.
He moved in his sleep and she stroked his cheek tenderly where the grey stubble was beginning to roughen his skin. They had made love for the first time that night since he had been shot by Alison. The lovemaking had been good, all consumingly powerful, and she had cried aloud at the climax. Even now, two hours later, she still felt good and warm and complete inside. It was a bond that tied her to this man who slept so innocently.
She could not stay with him. She would not allow herself the luxury. How could she, when he had been so good to her even from the day he met her, and all she had done in return had been to plot with Alison to steal his gold? She had even stood silently by, knowing when Alison followed him out of Redrock to the mountains he would kill him and leave him to rot out there. Only luck and the faithful dun gelding had brought him back alive. That was why she had dedicated herself to nursing him back to health. It was little enough repayment for all the wrongs she had done.
All in all, Morgan was a good man, and she was a bad woman. On reflection, it was plain why he had been unable to shoot Alison in cold blood. It was part of his goodness, and there was none of that in her. Morgan had done all the giving and she had done all the taking.
If she stayed she could only cause him trouble and eventually taint him with her own evil. No matter how much she loved him, and she knew now she did, she could not allow that to happen. The only way was to get out of his life altogether. The train of her thoughts broke and she idly examined the patterns made across the bedspread by the moonlight that had managed to penetrate the dusty windowpanes. It was beautiful. The thought that she could lay with him every night in such a bed as this, warm and secure, tore at her heart. To imagine it was to magnify her own pain at knowing what she must do.
She eased back the sheets and placed her bare feet on the cold floorboards. Before she stood she leaned over and touched his cheek once more, then began to dress silently. Apart from the clothes she had worn before going to bed, the rest of her belongings were already packed in an old carpetbag, ready. Her movements grew slower as she neared her leave-taking, and she could feel her resolve steadily weakening. But at last she was ready. She wanted to kiss him once more, a lingering embrace that perhaps he might know in his sleep how much he had come to mean to her, but she decided against it for fear he would wake. Instead, when she stood by the door she turned and blew him a kiss, smiling at him as he slept peacefully with the moonlight splashing on his face, then turned reluctantly away.
The doorknob turned, but the door was locked. In the semi-darkness she groped unsuccessfully for the key.
“If’n you’re looking for the key, it ain’t there,” a voice from the bed said.
Anne Marie sighed, a drawn out breath that was clearly audible in the still room. “Oh Hell, Morgan, let me go.”
“Nope.”
“You know I’ve got to go.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Look Morgan, I ain’t kidding.” He heard her foot stamp childishly in the darkness.
“Neither am I. Get undressed and come back to bed.”
“Mor-gan,” she drawled between clenched teeth. “I can’t stay with you, you know that.”
His voice sounded bored. “I know no such thing. Don’t start makin’ up all them reasons again. We’ve been through all that.”
“I’m bad. Evil.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a whore.”
It was Morgan’s turn to sigh. “You might have been but you ain’t any more.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you ain’t.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you ain’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my woman now, and I don’t reckon that’ll give you enough time to work the line,” he said dryly.
She smiled in the darkness. When he had said she was his woman a warm glow had flushed her cheeks. She felt like a silly young girl.
“Why should I be your woman?”
“Because you want to.”
“How do you know what I want?”
“Well, if you don’t know what you want, someone’s gotta make up your mind for you.” He paused, then continued. “And there’s another reason too.”
“What’s that?” she asked innocently.
“Well because I need you. And because…Aw dammit…I love you.”
“You do?”
He could hear the surprise in her voice. And for him, it was as though a big weight had been lifted off his chest. He had finally said it. The second time would be easier. He thought he might give it a try. “Yes, I do love you. Now quit foolin’ and get over here and into bed.”
“Morgan?” Her voice was tiny in the darkness. “I love you too.”
“I know,” he yawned. “Now are you coming back over here or do you still want the key?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“In fact,” she added with a soft laugh of relief, “for all I care you can throw it out the window.”
A chuckle reached her from the bed.
“What are you laughing about?”
“I threw it out when we came to bed.”
“Oh you did, did you?” she laughed, the torment of minutes before banished. Her place was now with him, she was sure of it. The relief was immense. Still laughing, she began to undress.
From where he lay, Morgan watched her. There was a lightness about her movements he had not seen since the first time she had shared his bed, and it brought a smile to his lips. He admired her smooth creamy skin, pale ivory in the moonlight, full breasts swaying heavily as she moved. When she was naked she stepped lightly to the old bedstead and when she reached him he put out a hand
to stop her so he could look at her perfection before the bedclothes hid her from his hungry eyes. She smiled her secretive woman’s smile, then the springs creaked a feeble protest as they took her weight. Her body was cool as she stretched out languidly along the length of him. He smiled and drew her gently to him.
Outside, the grey sky finally gave under the weight of the storm clouds and the first raindrops spattered the rooftops.
Within seconds, the downpour had become a deluge.
THE END
Double Mountain Crossing Page 18
