Stormwalker

by Dallas Schulze

  Her eyes swept to his back. She didn't have to close her eyes to remember the feel of those corded muscles beneath her fingers. It was just the situation, she told herself, refusing to acknowledge the doubtful note in her own thoughts. She'd been frightened half out of her wits and he'd been there to offer her a strong shoulder to lean on. Even now she shuddered when she remembered those minutes spent staring at the rattlesnake, wondering when he'd choose to strike.

  Propinquity. That was it. He'd been there when she was feeling weak and frightened. It had nothing to do with jewel-green eyes and long-fingered hands that teased along the muscles of her back as if she were made for his touch alone.

  She sighed, realizing the direction her thoughts were taking. She was just going to have to watch out and make sure that things didn't get out of hand. Cody Wolf was dangerously tempting.

  By the time they stopped for a simple lunch of cold beans and Spam, the hostility that had marked the beginning of the day's journey had faded away. Surrounded by the mountains, nature's magnificent handiwork, on all sides, it was impossible to hold on to petty hostilities. Something about the solidity of the land they traveled, the massive age of the peaks, made everything else seem unimportant.

  They ate their cold meal in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. If Sara found herself avoiding his eyes, she refused to admit it. He'd dismounted and walked back to help her off her perch before she could force her sore muscles into action. He hadn't said anything as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her easily, as if her weight meant nothing to him. Her skin still tingled with the imprint of his impersonal help.

  She'd been too angry this morning to concern herself with appearances, but when Cody glanced across the few feet that separated them, she was suddenly vividly aware that her hair was still tangled, her face unwashed, her shirt wrinkled from being slept in. She finished the last bite of her beans in a gulp before murmuring something incoherent and getting to her feet.

  She could feel his eyes following her as she pulled a few necessities out of her saddlebag and walked downstream until she was out of sight behind a huge boulder. When she returned, she felt much more human. She'd brushed her hair and cleaned her face, applying a thick layer of moisturizer and sunscreen. The sun felt gentle on her face, but at this altitude she couldn't afford to take it for granted. Sunburned models were not in great demand. There wasn't much she could do about her shirt because all her clothing was packed on the packhorses. But she had dampened a cloth and taken a rough sponge bath with cold stream water, and that plus fresh underwear went a long way toward making her feel cleaner.

  Cody lifted one brow in comment when she returned to the camp but he didn't say anything, and Sara couldn't decide whether that lifted brow was sardonic, approving or bored. His impassive features gave nothing away. He'd cleaned up their luncheon plates and she was guiltily aware that so far on this trip she hadn't exactly pulled her weight.

  He cupped his hands without a word, and she let him lift her into the saddle in matching silence. Starting when they stopped for the night to make camp, she'd show him that she could be an asset, not just another package to be hauled up the mountain. She watched him mount Dancer and start their small cavalcade in motion. She refused to ask herself why Cody Wolf's opinion of her was important. And, most of all, she refused to remember those explosive moments in his arms.

  If Sara wasn't exactly an equal partner in setting up camp that night, she did what she could. She didn't have his skill with the horses or in setting up the tent, but she managed to prepare a reasonably appetizing dinner using the packages of dried food Cody provided.

  They ate without speaking, both of them savoring the meal with appetites sharpened by the fresh air and a full day's riding. Night fell as they ate, easing the world outside their campfire into darkness. With Cody holding the flashlight, Sara washed their plates in the stream.

  When they settled back down beside the fire, there was a pleasant feeling of companionship between them. If tensions still shimmered beneath the placid surface, they were both fairly successful at ignoring them. Cody got out the silver flask and held it up questioningly. After a moment's hesitation Sara nodded, and he poured some cognac into one of the tiny silver cups that formed the lid of the flask.

  "Clever." She nodded to the flask as she accepted the drink from him, being careful that their fingers didn't touch. If Cody noticed her avoidance, he didn't comment.

  "It was my great-grandfather's. He got it from a traveling tinker in Oklahoma. He traded buffalo hides fork."

  Sara longed to ask questions about his heritage, but remembering his sensitivity this morning, she bit her lip, afraid of offending him. Cody's eyes swept across the fire to hers, seeing the curiosity there. His spine stiffened automatically, but he could read nothing beneath that interest except a genuine curiosity, just as he was curious about her. He hesitated, startled by the realization that he wasn't offended by her interest.

  "He was Comanche." He brought the word out with pride, watching for her reaction.

  Sara shook her head. "About the only thing I know about Native American peoples is prehistoric pottery. When you major in art, you don't get a whole lot else."

  Cody sipped the cognac, letting the rich taste of it lie on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He so rarely talked about his heritage, finding that it made many people uncomfortable. What was there about Sara Grant that made him want to talk to her?

  "The Comanche were never a large tribe. They were horsemen through and through. All the plains tribes used horses, but the Comanche wove them into their lives, more than perhaps any other tribe. The horse was central to their culture and most contemporary accounts agree that there were no better horsemen. On horseback, they ruled their world."

  "My family is typical American mongrel. It must be wonderful to know something about your ancestors."

  Cody's mouth twisted. Wonderful. Yes, he was proud of his heritage, but he'd never have used the word "wonderful." He thought of his grandfather, clinging to the remnants of a culture that had all but died before he was born, and of his father desperately trying to deny his heritage. And his mother, trying to bridge the gap between her background and her husband's.

  No, "wonderful" was not quite the term he would have used.

  Sara leaned back against her saddle and stared into the fire, letting the husky words flow over her. She sensed that this was something he rarely spoke of, and it almost frightened her that he was willing to speak to her about it. It suggested ties she wasn't sure she was ready to face.

  "Your eyes don't look Indian." She wasn't even aware of speaking until the words left her mouth, and she held her breath, afraid that she might have offended him. Looking across the fire, she was entranced by the gentle smile that curved his mouth.

  "Sure, and don't you recognize the look of the Irish when you see it, lass?" His accent was respectable, but it was the glimpse of laughter that made it impossible to drag her eyes away.

  "Irish?"

  "My mother was a true daughter of the old country. Her grandparents immigrated at the turn of the century, and her mother married a man from Ireland. I got my eyes from her. She used to claim that she carried a shamrock with her until I was born and the green of it tinted my eyes."

  Sara could hardly believe the transformation that came over him when he spoke of his mother. There was an almost-boyish softness to his mouth that made her want to run her fingers across his lips just to make sure it was real.

  He seemed to suddenly realize how much he was revealing. His mouth firmed, not angrily, but as if making sure that the barriers were back in place. He swallowed the last of his cognac and replaced the little cup on the flask. Sara gave a sigh of regret but followed his example, letting the last sip of cognac warm her throat before handing him her cup. Their fingers brushed and her eyes swept to his, wondering if she had been the only one to feel that electrical charge. His gaze held hers for an instant, and she read in it an aware
ness that told her he felt the same pull.

  He looked away and the spell was broken. Broken but not forgotten. He moved out of the firelight to check on the horses, and Sara's eyes followed him until the darkness swallowed his lean form. Then her gaze was drawn inevitably to the tent he'd erected while it was still light. Tonight, they would share that small space. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched her mouth, remembering this morning.

  When he kissed her the terror she'd experienced when faced with the rattlesnake had evaporated like morning dew confronted by a hot summer sun. An apt comparison, because heat was exactly what she'd felt in Cody's arms. She'd been burning up, and had never experienced anything like the need she'd felt in his arms.

  With a broken sigh, she pulled her hand away from her mouth. It was just that the situation had been extraordinary. She'd been in fear for her life. It was natural for that emotional buildup to break loose when he kissed her. It was nothing really personal.

  She shook her head, unable to convince even herself that that was all it was.

  She jumped, startled, as Dog trotted into the firelight. With a laugh she relaxed, realizing how tense she'd become. Nothing was going to happen tonight. Nothing that she didn't choose to let happen, a sly little voice within her hinted. She wasn't going to choose to let anything happen, she told herself firmly. She and Cody would share the tent like two intelligent adults forced into an awkward situation.

  She reached for her hand lotion and began to smooth a quantity of it into her slender fingers. The habit of taking care of her hands was a long-established necessity. She couldn't afford to neglect them now. When she and Cullen got back to L.A., she was going to need all the work she could get to pay David back. Hopefully, she could avoid selling the house.

  Dog padded around the fire and flopped down on her feet, his heavy body all but smashing her toes. She'd taken off the boots she wore for riding and put on more-comfortable sneakers, and the canvas did little to protect her toes from his weight. She started to shove him off and then stopped. He wasn't really hurting her and there was a certain comfort to his presence.

  She finished spreading the lotion over her hands and arms, letting the familiar motion soothe her. Right after Evan died, Cullen had sometimes helped her rub lotion into her arms. She smiled tenderly, remembering his intense young face. He'd been so worried that taking care of him would be too much for her, so determined to do everything he could to help her. And so frightened. They'd helped each other get through that time, had become the best of friends. It wasn't possible that it was all going to end so soon.

  To Cody, stepping silently into the firelight, she was a madonna and a temptress in one slim form. Her expression was so tender that he knew she was thinking of her nephew, and yet the gentle motions of her hands seemed to beckon like a siren's song. He wanted to feel those fingers on his skin. He wanted to bury his hands in that golden fall of hair and feel her mouth soften beneath his.

  Sara glanced up, and he shook off his thoughts. He was becoming too wrapped up in this woman. There was a danger in that. He didn't want any involvement with a woman whose life ran along a path so far removed from his own. He'd spent too many years watching his parents try to bridge that gap in their marriage.

  The powdery scent of Sara's hand lotion was carried on the wood smoke, creating a not unpleasant combination. It made him think of how nice it would be to have a woman to come home to. Someone to share his triumphs and failures. Someone to lie beside him in bed at night.

  He muttered a curse and began putting out the fire with movements that reflected his anger. Dog stood up and moved out of the light, apparently deciding not to risk Cody's temper. Sara got to her feet uncertainly, wondering what had happened to upset him.

  "I want to get an early start in the morning. The sooner we get started, the sooner this damn trip will be over."

  Sara bit her tongue on the questions that bubbled up. If he wanted to throw a tantrum, she wasn't going to encourage him by noticing it. Her tone was the very essence of polite acceptance.

  "Sounds good to me. The sooner we find Cullen and Bill, the better."

  Half an hour later, she was debating the possibilities of sleeping outside. Coyotes, mountain lions and bears seemed like a better risk than the tension that permeated the little tent. Cody had politely suggested that she could have the tent to herself while he finished securing the camp, and Sara had been grateful for the few moment's privacy. She used it to shimmy out of her jeans and quickly brush her hair before crawling into the thick protection of her sleeping bag. She'd actually been half dozing when he ducked in through the low entrance.

  All possibilities of sleep disappeared the moment he entered the small enclosure. Immediately, the tent seemed to shrink to a size that couldn't possibly hold both of them. Sara listened to the quiet rustle of cloth and tried not to imagine what he was doing. Was he taking off his jeans as she had done? What if he was going to sleep in the nude? What if he was? she demanded irritably, trying to slow her suddenly accelerated breathing. It was dark. If he wanted to strip buck naked, it had nothing to do with her. But the brisk mental admonition didn't stop her imagination from presenting her with amazingly detailed pictures.

  It was even worse when the rustling stopped and she knew he was in his sleeping bag. Less than a yard separated them. If he stretched out his arm, he would be able to touch her. Not that she wanted him to do that, of course.

  She lay flat on her back, eyes wide open and staring at the dark fabric over her head. Every little sound, every imagined move, added to her awareness of the man who lay such a short distance away. This was ridiculous. She had to get some sleep. But how could she sleep with him so close? Why didn't he do something? Say something? Was she the only one to feel this tension?

  Despite her thoughts, Sara jumped as if he'd shouted when he spoke from out of the darkness, even though his husky words were hardly above a murmur.

  "You can relax. The days when ignorant savages automatically raped helpless white women are long gone. I only attack when the moon is full, so you should be safe for a few more days."

  There was a wealth of weary bitterness in the words, and after a moment of shocked silence, Sara felt anger burn away her nervousness.

  "That chip on your shoulder may give you some kind of satisfaction, but I'm sick of your throwing it in my face. I wouldn't know about your background if you weren't so damn paranoid about it. And the next time you accuse me of prejudice, I'll.. .I'll..." she searched briefly for an appropriate threat "... I'll scalp you."

  Her breathless little speech left an echoing silence in the tent, and she suddenly realized that she could have mortally offended the only man who could help her get to Cullen. His quiet laugh shivered through her.

  "I stand corrected. Pardon my paranoia. I'll try to control it in the future."

  "Good." All the anger had drained out of her. She couldn't believe she'd actually scolded him like that.

  "Get some sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow. Good night."

  "Good night." Silence settled over the tent, but the small confrontation seemed to have cleared the air. Sara was still vividly aware of his presence, but she found that it wasn't that difficult to close her eyes. Once they were closed, it didn't take long for her to fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Cody listened to her breathing even out and steady. His mouth curved in the darkness. The problem with throwing up barriers between himself and Sara Grant was that he was finding he actually liked the woman. He couldn't even convince himself that it was only sexual attraction that drew him to her. He liked her. She'd made him smile in the few days since she'd shown up on his ranch—more than he'd smiled in years.

  He closed his eyes. It was all right to like her, but that was as far as he could let it go. He couldn't afford anything more.

  He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when the dream began to weave itself into his mind and he let himself be drawn into its pattern. He floated above the
mountains, seeing the path they were to take as if it were marked on a map. That was enough. It was all he needed. But the dream held him fast.

  The scar of the plane's landing was gouged out of dirt and rock, cut into the land as if by a giant's knife. Angry and violent. The plane was a crumpled mass of silver and red. Silver pain and red blood. Incongruously, mountain columbines suddenly sprouted beside the wreckage, covering it with healing purple. The purple flowers shifted and changed, and he was looking into Sara's thick-lashed eyes, their expression demanding, pleading, holding out a promise he was afraid to reach for.

  Sara roused sometime in the night. Outside, everything was still, but across the short space that separated them, Cody stirred restlessly. She raised her upper body on one elbow, squinting through the darkness. His body was only a darker shadow among shadows, but she could see movement as he twisted back and forth. He was muttering—that was what had awakened her.

  "Silver. Twisted silver." The words were barely au-dibleand she leaned closer, wondering if she should wake him. "Scars. Columbine eyes. Too late. Too late."

  The words snapped off abruptly, and obeying some instinct, Sara quickly huddled back down in her sleeping bag, eyes closed, forcing her breathing to steady. A second later, Cody sat up, his breathing ragged in the confined space. She could feel his eyes going over her as clearly as if he'd touched her. A moment later she heard the rustle of clothing, and then he ducked out of the tent.

  She opened her eyes and stared after him. What had he been dreaming about? It was a long time before he came back to bed, and Sara found that she couldn't go back to sleep until he returned. His presence was important in some way she couldn't quite define. Or perhaps she was afraid to try to define it, for fear of what she might find out about her feelings.