"Me?" Her voice squeaked, and her eyes went wide.
"You. There hasn't been trouble in Rock Creek for years—"
"Thanks to you and your friends."
He shrugged off the praise. They had cleaned up the town once upon a time. But these days, with the Rangers reenacted, soldier forts springing up like wildflowers, and the Indians confined... he gave a mental shrug. Texas was getting downright civilized. Still, he'd feel better if Jo was on guard.
"Sullivan left a kid in charge."
"Marlon Fitzwalter? He's the newspaperman's son and nearly as old as me."
"I rest my case."
"I'm not a kid."
"Uh-huh. At any rate, I'm sure Marlon is responsible and capable or Sullivan wouldn't have made him a deputy. Still, you're the best rifle shot next to me or one of the others."
"Mary and Eden can shoot. And Lily's got enough knives for a dinner party."
"Mary couldn't hit a buffalo at three paces." He snorted in disgust. "She's worse than Rico. Eden wouldn't hurt a fly, and knives are no damn good in a gunfight."
"You think there's going to be a gunfight?"
"I don't know." He rubbed his eyes, which were grainy from lack of sleep. "I'm not thinking very clearly these days." He hadn't been thinking clearly for thirteen years.
"You can't sleep, can you?"
He dropped his hand. "How did you know?"
"I'm not used to your beard and your hair, so that might be the reason you seem so pale. But those purple circles under your eyes don't lie. Do you remember what I used to do when you couldn't sleep?"
For a minute he saw again the image of bodies entwined. He'd slept mighty fine that last night in Soledad.
Nate shook his head, hard enough to hurt. Maybe the pain would kill the fantasies. Or the realities. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing any more.
"I'd sit by your bed and hold your hand," Jo continued, not noticing his lack of response or his dizzy behavior. Good. He couldn't let her know what he was beginning to see every time he gazed into her eyes. "We'd talk until you drifted off, then I'd go home."
He smiled as the memory surfaced out of so many others. He'd come here searching for friendship, figuring it was dead, but perhaps it was merely lost. Perhaps if they pretended the sex had never happened they could find the friendship again.
"I'll hold your hand until you sleep tonight, Nate. You can lie down in here." She pointed to a room just off the living area.
"Th-there?"
The sheets would smell like spring rain and Texas sun, like her. They'd be the same shade as her gown, the same texture as her flesh beneath the cotton. Soft, inviting, alluring.
Nate shook off the image. "I can't stay here all night, Jo. How will that look?"
"The same way it looked every time I spent hours alone in your room. I'm sure the gossip has already run rampant. As I said before, I don't care. You need the rest, and I don't want to be alone in this house anymore."
Temptation beckoned. Weariness washed over him in a wave so potent he wobbled.
Jo took his arm, picked up the lantern. "Come along. My father's room is empty."
Poof went temptation. Her father's room. Of course.
The breath Nate released was relief, not disappointment. Because what on earth could he have to be disappointed about?
The large bedroom had a deserted air, vacant ever since Clancy had died and his crazy wife had left town.
As she'd no doubt done many times before, Jo pushed Nate onto the bed, removed his boots, practically tucked him in, then pulled up a chair and reached for his hand. "What did you do today?"
The bed was soft and clean and big. For a change his feet didn't hang over the edge, his skin didn't itch, his head didn't hurt. The weariness returned, stronger, pulling at him so hard he could barely resist long enough to murmur, "You first."
She obliged, as she always did, telling him about the people she'd helped, the jobs she'd done, the day she'd had. Nate recollected how he had felt after he'd spent a day helping others. He had never found anything to rival the experience.
Angela had not understood his devotion to the downtrodden. The same devotion Nate had once cherished was as much a part of Jo as her short dark hair.
Her soothing voice continued. As she spoke, her thumb stroked his palm, and her fingers toyed with his. It was as if nothing had changed, even though everything had.
Nate's last thought before he couldn't think anymore was that for the short time she'd touched him, he hadn't longed for a drink even once.
* * *
"Nate? Wake up. It's morning."
He didn't want to wake up. He'd slept so well. During the night he'd dreamed that Angela had come, slipping in beside him and curling against his side.
He'd known the visitor was his angel face because she'd always had bricks of ice for feet, which she'd insisted on pressing against his legs in the wee hours.
Last night, the jolt of icy toes between his calves had almost brought him fully awake. But she'd murmured, "hush," and stroked his hair. Then the coldness that lived so deep within him it never seemed to thaw no matter how much firewater he poured on top, had. So he'd gathered her closer and slept ever deeper.
"Nate. Time to go." A woman's voice again, but different from the first one.
Confused, he turned toward the warmth and discovered only emptiness. He was alone in the bed.
"Angela?"
"Not an Angela in the bunch, cheri."
Nate opened his eyes to discover Lily, Mary, and Eden at the foot of the bed. Lily's black eyes snapped with amusement, while Eden's brimmed with exasperation and Mary's simmered with an annoyance bordering on anger.
Behind them, Jo hovered. The expression in her eyes hit him the hardest. Because in Jo's eyes he saw hurt, and he hated himself all over again.
"What do the three of you want?"
"The boys aren't home." Mary pressed her lips together, but not before Nate saw the lower one tremble.
He sat up carefully, but he needn't have bothered. These days the usual splitting headache wasn't there. It was almost enough to make a man give up booze forever.
Almost.
"I'd planned on leaving this morning."
"Then why are you still in bed?"
"Mary!" Jo admonished.
She was already dressed for the day. What time was it?
"Why are you here at all?" Eden asked. "I've been searching all over town for you."
"I fell asleep."
"Something wrong with your usual bed? What happened last night, Nate?"
"What do you think happened?" Mary asked.
Nate shot a quelling glance at Mary. What was eating her?
"Obviously nothing, mon ami. He's still got his pants on."
Nate glanced down. True enough. His shirt too. Thankful for small favors, Nate reached for his boots.
Mary sniffed. "Who's Angela?"
"None of your damn business."
Her eyes narrowed, but before she could say anything more, Eden, always the peacemaker, stepped between them. "Well, now that we've found him, let's get out of here so he can be on his way. I'm sure he'll meet the others a few miles down the trail, and by tonight we'll all be celebrating their homecoming together." She waddled out the door, expecting the others to follow.
Mary and Lily looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Eden was a bit on the cheery side sometimes.
Lily followed, pausing in the doorway when Mary did not. "Mary?"
"I'll be right there." Her gaze on Nate was still unfriendly. He couldn't recall what he'd done to make her mad, and he actually remembered all he'd done for a change.
"Mary," Lily said again. "Behave."
When Mary didn't bother to answer, Lily gave a Gallic shrug and left.
"Could you stand up?" Mary asked.
Since he had his boots on, Nate didn't mind. "Sure." He complied then moved out of her way.
Jo, who had remained in the background saying n
othing, stepped forward, reaching for Mary. But she wasn't in time.
Mary took a fistful of covers and flipped them to the foot of the bed. Figuring she meant to check the sheets for evidence of his perfidy, Nate was unconcerned. He'd already burned that.
But when Mary murmured, "Aha!" and glared first at Jo, then at him, he was confused.
He peered over her shoulder. Nothing seemed amiss. "What?" he asked.
Mary let out an exasperated growl and turned to Jo. "Be very careful, Josephine."
"It's not what you think—" Jo began.
"You have no idea what I think."
"I sure don't," Nate said.
Mary jabbed a finger at the bed. Nate followed her gesture toward the pillows and blinked. The indentation of his head was clear in the pillow on the right—almost as clear as the indentation of a smaller head on the left.
Nate lifted his gaze to Jo's as understanding dawned. Once again it had not been Angela he held in his dreams, but Jo he held in reality. The two of them barely noticed when Mary threw up her hands and quit the room.
Jo looked away first. "I couldn't sleep, either. I didn't plan for you to know."
"She thinks we—"
"We did!"
"Do you think I've forgotten?"
"You don't remember to forget."
"I know what happened. It can't happen again."
"It won't." The surety in her voice gave him pause. She sounded as if she couldn't care less. And suddenly he couldn't care more.
Jo touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I was lonely, and I didn't think there'd be any harm if I just rested beside you."
Nate remembered how well he'd slept, how peacefully the night had passed. He covered her hand with his. "There wasn't."
He wanted to kiss her on the brow, like a father would kiss a child to impart comfort. But the moment she glanced into his eyes memories flickered, and he wanted to feel her mouth against his imparting anything but comfort.
"I need to go," he blurted and practically ran from the room.
Jo caught him at the door. "You're worried, aren't you?"
For a moment he thought she knew what worried him the most—that he'd touch her the way he wanted to and then be unable to stop.
She spoke again, and he understood that she had no idea just how depraved he was. "Where could they be?"
His friends. They were the issue at hand. And he was worried. It wasn't like them to run off and not return on time. Three out of the four, anyway, and those three would never worry their wives the way they had.
There was trouble. Nate could smell it. And for the first time in a very long time, he was going to face trouble alone. No one watching his back, no one leading the way.
He was more nervous than he cared to admit. He could really use a shot of old-fashioned courage. But he wasn't going to take it. There were too many lives depending on him.
How could Reese bear being in charge all the time? The responsibility weighed on Nate's chest like a brick.
"Nate?" Jo took his hand. Why did that feel so right when everything between them had gone so wrong? "Do you think something happened to them?"
The worry on her face brought a lie to the tip of his tongue, but the sweet innocence in her eyes made him unable to utter it.
"I have no idea," he admitted.
"But you're worried."
"Very." Nate opened the door and stared out at the empty, western horizon. "Where are those guys?"
Chapter 10
"I never thought it would end like this."
Staked to the ground beneath the burning sun, Reese could feel his brain cooking inside of his skull—when he could forget about the ants biting his ass.
Sullivan had heard the Comanches a mere instant before they'd sprung from the darkness. The rest of them had only heard the war cry before they were shoved from their horses, then knocked unconscious. They'd awakened spread eagled and tied all in a row. At least they had their clothes on and their private parts still attached. Reese had heard enough stories to know that was mighty unusual.
"I figured I'd get my head blown off in some saloon," Cash said. "If my heart wasn't pierced on a dusty street in some nameless town first. I'd much prefer either one."
"I'd planned on dying in my bed, muchachos, at the age of dirt, with Lily at my side."
"Side my foot," Cash muttered. "You couldn't be in bed without her underneath, or maybe on top."
Rico ignored him. Sometimes that helped.
As usual, Sullivan remained silent. He hadn't said much since they'd awakened to the sun with no Comanches to be had. Their weapons lay in a pile, useless since none of them could release the bonds. Their captors appeared adept at tying knots that only got tighter the more a person struggled against them.
"How did you think you'd die, Sullivan?"
"I hadn't thought of it much. Since I met Eden, I think more about living these days."
Reese sighed. "Me, too."
Had he actually been eager at the prospect of adventure? How could he have believed he missed the excitement, the danger, the thrill of skirting the edge? Right now all he wanted was to go home and stay there forever. But it was too late, and Reese had only himself to blame.
"I'm sorry for dragging y'all out here to die."
"I don't recall any dragging," Cash said. "And I ain't dead yet. Besides, Nate's missing. I'll be available for anything until we find him."
"Me, too."
"Si."
Trouble for one meant trouble for all. That hadn't changed in twelve years and was unlikely to change in thirty more—if they lived that long.
Nate was missing and so was Jo. That preyed on Reese's mind almost as much as the ants biting his butt.
They'd ridden all the way to Soledad only to learn upon arriving that Nate had ridden out the morning after Jo showed up. There'd been some sort of nonsense about a burned mattress that Reese couldn't quite figure. By then he'd been too twitchy to care. That Nate and Jo had left on schedule and pretty much disappeared into thin air made Reese turn right around and head back the way they had come. They hadn't come far before the Comanches struck.
"How are we going to get out of this, mi capitan?"
It had been a long time since Rico had called Reese my captain. Longer still since Reese had been required to act like one. He hoped he remembered how.
"We can't depend on Nate to ride to the rescue."
"Could we ever?" Cash said dryly.
Reese ignored him again. This time Rico did not.
"If you'd have kept an eye on him as you were supposed to, we wouldn't be here now, amigo."
"Don't amigo me. I'm not his mama."
"No, you are his friend."
"And the only one he's had since the rest of you got so interested in makin' babies. You've got no right to judge me. You haven't done shit for him lately."
"Boys," Reese interjected, and sometimes they were exactly that. "Let's have some suggestions on escape. We'll worry about Nate once we get out of this mess. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Cash muttered.
"Si."
Sullivan didn't answer because he hadn't been playing.
"Kid, you got any knives left on you?"
Rico sighed. "Not that I can tell."
Cash cursed. Reese wanted to do the same. Usually Rico had upward of eight knives concealed on his person. Trust the Comanche to find them all.
"Sullivan, any ideas?"
"Nothing comes to mind."
"We'd better have a plan before they come back," Cash pointed out.
"If they come back," Sullivan said. "They could easily just leave us here to rot."
A string of expletives from Cash covered all their opinions on that matter.
"Shh," Sullivan hissed. "I hear something."
Silence reigned, broken only by the shallow rasp of their breath until Cash whispered, "I don't hear nothin'."
"I can feel hoofbeats through the ground."
"Why couldn't you feel them snea
king up on us, then? Thought you were an Injun scout."
"Quiet," Reese snapped just as eight Comanche braves rode into the clearing and bounded from their horses.
One of them wore a bonnet of feathers that extended halfway down his bare back. Since he led the way and had the best hat, Reese figured he was in charge.
The man's flat, black eyes captured his. Reese saw death there. He'd seen it many times before, but never had he been so helpless when facing the end. He tugged on the bonds some more, wincing when they tightened and broke his skin.
"Son of a bitch!" Cash erupted. "He's wearing Nate's guns."
Reese had been too occupied gazing into those eyes to notice the oddity of a gun belt strapped around a naked waist. Cash was right. Those were Nate's pretty pearl pistols. Reese had never liked those guns. He liked them even less now.
"Sullivan, ask him where he got those," Cash demanded.
"What gave you the idea I can speak Comanche?"
"Because you are one?"
"You're a jackass, but I don't expect you to talk to a donkey."
"This is no time to be funny, breed."
"Then quit trying so hard."
Rico snorted. Reese just sighed. He'd be going into the great beyond with the sound of their bickering in his ears. Well, he could think of worse things.
"You know Nate would never let those guns out of his sight. He treats them like you guys treat your wives."
"Precious," Reese murmured.
"Damn right." Cash took a deep breath, which caught in the middle. Reese wished his hands weren't tied so he could touch his friend's shoulder.
Cash might be the roughest, toughest, meanest gunman in Texas. He might be the most sarcastic pain in the ass this side of the Mississippi. But he loved Nate. He'd left him in Soledad because Nate had asked him to, then picked a fight to ascertain that Cash went. But Reese knew the leaving weighed on the gunman's mind. Cash would never forgive himself if Nate had been killed when he could have been saved.
The sun glanced off a long, wicked looking knife in the Comanche's grip. At least Cash wouldn't have long to mourn.
The other Indians held similar weapons, but they hung back as their leader knelt next to Sullivan. He muttered something, low and guttural, a single syllable that sounded like an insult, then picked up a lock of Sullivan's hair. The knife descended toward his scalp.
Nate (The Rock Creek Six) Page 11
