She stood a few seconds more, then gingerly sat. “A hot bath…”
She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud until Luke’s murmur floated back to her.
“I can’t promise hot, but if you’re game for another hour in the saddle, I’ll take you to a waterfall-fed lake. Sun’ll be up by then. Should warm the water to about freezing.”
“Just freezing, Luke?”
“It’s spring, not summer, honey. An’ you’re lucky to find it that warm in these mountains. Two years ago we had snow higher up right into July.”
He didn’t sound angry but rather proud of the fact. Domini found herself substituting my for these, for there was pride of ownership in his voice. And none of the hostility as when he’d last spoken to her.
The thought of a bath, any kind of bath, was tempting. Not only for cleanliness, but she knew they would have to stop long enough to rest the horses. She was about ready to do anything to get out of this saddle before it grew attached to her sore bottom.
“All right, Luke. I’m game.”
“You and me both. Gettin’ to where I don’t want to stand downwind of myself.”
Domini responded with laughter. Luke teasing her lightened her mood. It seemed that dawn’s coming had done more than chase the night, it had lifted the dark shadows of the spirit as well.
If Luke wanted to pretend the night had never happened, she was more than willing to do the same. But the thought lingered that she had done more, much more than merely stand downwind of him. She had learned how arousing his scent was when he had held her against him.
Game? Domini shook her head. She didn’t think so. Not unless Luke had been referring not to his scent at all, but to another game … the one played out between hunter and prey.
Thoughtful now, she watched him lead the way around the meadow. He might have teased her, indicating a lighter mood, but he still held an animal-like wariness as he kept them well within the cover of the trees.
She groaned at the idea of another hour in the saddle. It wasn’t her buttocks that bothered her, but the thoughts running through her mind.
Where the hell was Luke? Seated at the opposite end of the long dining table from his father, Matt Colfax barely managed to refrain from asking the question out loud.
He drummed impatient fingers on the table. It was Monday morning, and Meta was serving breakfast. Not that he acknowledged the girl. She was as plain as a brown wren, a near twin for her older sister, Lucy, working within the house because Toma didn’t want to lose their father. Kip Lozier was more than a blacksmith, although with a ranch the enormous size of the Gold Bar C there was plenty of work for him. The man’s greater value came from his hobby. Kip was adept at repairing guns. With Toma employing an army of men to work cattle, horses, and mines, their guns were as important as the horses they rode. Those, too, were Gold Bar C stock, most of them coming from the wild horses that Luke had hunted and broken for them.
He wondered if Toma would lose his interest in the paper if he mentioned that Caully and Ramsey were out looking for Luke. Damn arrogant bastard. And for a moment Matt wasn’t sure if he meant Toma, Luke, or both.
At the girl’s approach with the gleaming silver coffeepot, Matt nodded for her to pour. The routine never varied. He and Toma breakfasted in silence until the Statesman had been read, and then Toma would discuss his orders for the week.
His mother, Amanda Clarice Colbere Colfax, never joined them before supper demanded her presence. Actually, it was Toma who had made the demand, and it was one of the few she gave in to. She ran his house, so he had no cause for complaint, but she kept to her own suite of rooms on the other side of the house.
Restless, Matt stared around the gracious home that his mother had created to remind herself of where she had been born and bred, a home only Toma’s wealth had made possible.
The sideboard beneath the four velvet-draped windows was crowded with ornate silver serving pieces from the finest silversmiths in Boston and New York. Pieces nearly a hundred years old from Paul Revere, John Coney, and Daniel Van Voorhis were displayed with Towle silver.
A wall cabinet of cherry wood, the height of a man, with its doors of small glass panes set in thin strips of gleaming wood, dominated the wall behind Toma. Arrayed on its shelves was delicate bone china thickly rimmed with gold, made to Toma’s specifications by the English Worcester Royal Porcelain Company to bear the addition of a scrolled C crossed by a miner’s pick on the service for twenty-four.
The linens gracing the table had been imported from Ireland, soft and silky as the finest silk, the cutwork heavy-edged with handmade lace.
The room choked him, and he stared down with distaste at his plate. If he had had control of the fortune, he wouldn’t have wasted money to bring the rich offerings of Europe and the East to this godforsaken mountain.
But you don’t have control. You’ll never have control as long as Toma lives.
Matt rose abruptly and tossed his napkin down. The carpet muffled his leaving.
Toma finished reading the Washington Territory paper. As he took the time to carefully fold it, knowing that it would be passed from hand to hand until it fell apart, he realized that his son was gone.
“Meta, where’d that shiftless stallion take himself off to?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Colfax. Mr. Matt, he don’t say much to me.”
“Just as well, girl. The only talkin’ he’ll do is to get under your skirts. That boy’s useless as a fourcard flush. An’ you remember that.”
“Yes, Mr. Colfax. Only how come you still call Mr. Matt a boy?”
“Cuts himself a fine figure with his fancy duds that catches your eye, does he? Ain’t necessary to answer, girl. I see the truth of that myself. Your pa’d be the first to tell you there’s more to a man than the right hangin’ of bones an’ flesh an’ what’s coverin’ ’em.” Tapping his temple, where streaks of gray did not diminish but added to the hard cast of craggy features, he added, “It’s how a man thinks that tells he’d growed up. Matt’s got more growin’ to do. A hell of a lot more. Pour me some coffee, Meta, then fetch Madison for me.”
When she was gone, Toma glanced around the room, muttering to himself. “Damn devil’s pass it comes to when a man’s got to ask his hired hand what his own flesh and blood is up to.”
But he knew he would have his answers from Madison Grady. He was the straw boss of the Gold Bar C, and a rawhide Texan so tough few men would dare cross him. Matt sure as hell wouldn’t. Toma had never deluded himself about the strengths and weaknesses of his son. He left that to his wife.
He didn’t want to think about who not only dared to cross Madison once but repeatedly. And lived to tell about it.
Against his will, the name came to mind. Luke. A son of a bitch as wild as the horses he caught, who’d grown to a man before he’d had half a chance to be a boy.
“You sent for me, Mr. Colfax?”
Toma eyed Madison Grady’s deceptive rawbone frame. A number of men had been fooled by Grady’s leanness. Toma met a gaze of glacial blue and a wolfish smile that matched his own.
“Set yourself down, Grady. This is what I want you to do.”
Twenty minutes later, Grady exited the dining room. He didn’t linger in the hallway. The big, silent house made him uncomfortable. And he had a job to do.
Flattened against the wall between the corner and the grandfather clock, Amanda Colfax waited until he was gone before she stepped from her hiding place near the dining room. A cold rage settled over her. That bastard was going to ruin everything. And with this, as so many other times in her life, she was helpless to do anything about it.
Damn you to hell and beyond, Toma!
The curse was as silent as her retreat to her own suite of rooms.
The day stretched before her. Toma had told Grady to hurry. The man would push himself and his horse to get back from Florence before nightfall.
Chapter 8
&n
bsp; Domini swore she would crawl before she climbed up into a saddle again. She waited within the shelter of the massive trees for Luke to return.
The place where she waited was a crease in the land that rose ahead to the spot where Luke had disappeared. He’d ridden off with the warning that she was to remain here until he came for her.
The sorrel was as edgy as she was. The mare’s ears were pricked forward, alert to any noise above the moan of the wind. Her muscles beneath Domini’s hand were boiled. Her long tail nervously lashed from side to side. Domini trusted her instincts to warn of danger.
Very little sunlight filtered down through the lofty pillars that had to be at least a hundred feet overhead. The smell of the earth was rich with decay and damp loam.
Layer upon layer the lace-like patterns of fallen pine needles had taken years to become the rich, dark loam. Luke was like that, rich and dark, shielded by layers. The loam was fertile planting soil, resting and waiting for a seed to find its nurturing richness. Domini sensed no peace in Luke, only a restlessness that would have him gone before the tiniest seed could find its way past his guard.
It saddened her to think that he might never find whatever it was that he searched for alone. She warned herself that she was spending too much time thinking about Luke.
Beneath her moccasins a green carpet of moss drew her eyes. She had become accustomed to the warblers and jays, listening to them and other bird calls. Her tension eased as they continued to flit overhead from branch to branch.
Once more she watched the place where Luke had disappeared. It was so cool in the green shadows. She still wore his wool shirt despite the added chill of the damp cloth.
The mare suddenly stilled, her ears swiveled to the side. Domini followed the mare’s move to turn her head.
For a moment she couldn’t see what had drawn the mare’s attention. With bated breath she sent a searching gaze over the massive tree trunks, quickly skimming the area, forcing herself not to panic as she made a complete turn. She began again, taking her time, probing the dark shadows beneath the thick, sweeping boughs of the fragrant pines.
The sorrel swung her head and lipped her arm. Domini wasn’t so quick to react to the mare’s signal that there was no danger. But seconds later she saw the flash of two white fluffy tails between the trees.
“Deer! I swear, girl, I’m getting as wary as Luke. Not that it’s a bad thing to be.” She lifted her hand to rub the mare’s muzzle. The hair on the back of her neck rose in alarm.
She would never forget the feeling of helplessness that had overcome her when Luke grabbed her from behind.
Domini rubbed the sorrel’s muzzle with the hand that held the reins. Moving slowly and murmuring, she bent as if to examine the mare’s foreleg. All she heard was the mare’s breathing and her own.
She ducked beneath the mare’s head, spinning around to see what alarmed her before she pulled her knife.
“Luke!”
“You were expecting someone else?”
“Don’t joke. You creep about so silently it’s a pure wonder my heart didn’t stop.” When he didn’t answer, she understood. Moving like a shadow over the land was so ingrained that he wasn’t even aware of it. She was bothered by the thought that he never relaxed his guard for a moment, not even with her.
“Did you really believe I’d leave you where someone else wandering around could find you?”
“No. But I watched for you.” Domini waved behind her, in the direction he had left, then walked around the front of the mare.
“I’d never go and come the same way. That kind of predictability can get a man killed.”
“Another lesson for me to remember.”
The underlying edge in her voice made him take a closer look at her. He tilted back the brim of his hat, his gaze slowly studying her drawn features. He’d pushed her damn hard. She was as finely strung as any wild mare cut from the herd for the first time.
It couldn’t be helped. The more wary she was, the better her chance of surviving Toma. And his wife. But he found himself disturbed that she referred to what had happened last night.
“You did good just now. No panic, just nice easy moves that put the mare between you and whatever was coming. If I was another man, I wouldn’t have had the chance to catch you unaware.” Unless I wasn’t alone.
His softly voiced approval brought a tentative smile to her lips. Domini glanced down at his outstretched hand.
“It’s all right? We can go up to the meadow?”
The eagerness in her voice and the hunger in her eyes as she threw a quick look over her shoulder at the rise, then back at him again, made him wonder what she hungered for the most. He didn’t need to ask himself. Even standing motionless next to her, he could feel the hot, heavy running of his blood.
“It’s safe enough. That’s why I was gone so long.”
“Safe enough?” The way he avoided her gaze made her think he wasn’t going to answer. “Is something wrong? Did you find—”
“A wild herd’s been through. I figure they grazed and watered sometime late yesterday afternoon before they ran off.”
“Ran off or were chased off, Luke?” She caught hold of his extended hand. “Tell me.”
“A band of Indian ponies ran them off.” The feel of her fingers tightening their hold around his own made him add, “They were moving hard and fast. It’s not likely they’ll be back this way.”
“What makes you so sure? And how could you know if they were Indian ponies and not another herd of wild horses?”
“You can tell if a man’s riding any horse by the cut of the hoof print left behind. One of the first things you learn to read when tracking is who’s riding the horse. A skilled tracker can tell if it’s a man, woman, or child. An expert tracker will tell you more than that. You’ll know a man’s height, weight, if he walks straight or with a limp, what he’s packing, if he’s right- or left-handed—”
“Luke! I don’t think you’re lying to me, but I find that hard to believe.”
“Then I’ll show you. Leave the mare. She’ll stay as long as Devil is near.” Dropping the reins, he gave her hand a tug and walked back a ways into the woods, and stopped.
“Look down and tell me what you see.”
Amusement lit her eyes. “Moss and the decay of hundreds of years of falling pine needles.”
“You’re right. On the surface.” He hunkered down, and was pleased to see that she did want to know, for she followed his move. He pointed at the spot.
“What I see is that two horses stopped. One full of the devil because he scented water and grass and maybe wild kin close by.”
“No fair, Luke. You know there’s water and a meadow up ahead.”
A devilish smile curled his lips. “True. But then, I wouldn’t be much of a tracker if I didn’t know the land. There’s watersheds all over the mountains. It’s spring, bound to be runoffs close by. But there’s more. The horse was excited by something he scented. His front hooves tore the earth with pawing, like he wanted to run and his rider held him back. If he was frightened by bear or cougar, the horse would have reared or tried to, and the pivoting would have deeply dug his back hooves into the earth.
“That tells me the rider is skilled, the horse ain’t a green-broke bronc but one whose been ridden long and trusts his rider. It also tells me that the man is cautious. He waited here before he moved on.”
Domini remembered that Luke had done just that. And she recalled the soft, teasing murmur of his voice soothing Devil’s impatience. She watched him poke the leaves, so aware of his closeness that she had trouble breathing without his scent being a part of the air she drew inside. Coils of warmth uncurled. She had to force herself not to look at him. She wasn’t afraid of what she would see in his eyes, but what her own might reveal. Desire, she was fast learning, threw caution to the wind.
“Tell me why you keep saying it’s a man.”
“Big horse.
Takes a big man to control that kind of power. His weight cuts the prints deep in the earth. Measure the span of the forelegs, then the distance from the front hooves to the back ones. I’d estimate a horse sixteen or seventeen hands.”
“How does Devil measure?”
“Seventeen hands.” Pivoting, he pointed to another spot, trying to ignore her voice, which poured like hot honey over him. “The print is lighter there. Mare most likely. Smaller hoof, lighter rider’s weight. The man never dismounted, but this rider did. Now, if I was tracking them, I’d study the ground a little longer.”
“Why, Luke? You said the horse didn’t sense any danger. Odds are the man rode on.”
“And a woman waited behind.”
“Woman? You want me to believe you could tell it was me?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’d guess it was a woman. The puzzle is that the horse is shod, but there’s no boot heel print. Something else ripped up the moss over there. I’d figure, myself, the man. Cautious, remember? If I was riding with a woman, I’d leave her behind while I scouted ahead.”
Enthralled by both his knowledge and the fact that he was sharing something of himself in the telling, Domini looked at him. In the green shadows that defined and enhanced his rugged handsomeness, she thought again of fallen angels. He compelled her with the hidden fire burning in his dark eyes.
Compelled her with temptation to taste the forbidden passion that waited. She caught herself leaning toward him and pulled back. It took an effort to look away from him and back to where he pointed.
“Moccasins ripped up the moss,” he murmured, very aware that she was backing away, not physically but from the same small claws of need that were sinking deeper inside him.
“Trouble is, they’re not worn by any Indians I’ve had to track. Whoever wore these moccasins didn’t know that every minute standing in one spot left its mark. I’d guess the wait was close to an hour. Now, I’ll go with instinct and say it was a woman. She’s about five foot six—”
“Eight. I’m five feet eight inches tall.”
Whisper My Name Page 8
