Dog was sitting a few feet from the edge, his expression as bland as ever. The climb hadn't been a problem for him. If she'd had the strength, Sara would have slid from the saddle and kissed the sweet earth beneath them. But once down, she knew she'd never make it back onto the horse, so she contented herself with a shaky smile.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure. Never better. Piece of cake." The quick pressure of his hand over hers told her that he didn't believe her breezy reassurances for a moment, but it also conveyed his admiration. Sara's smile steadied a bit.
Though they rode side by side for the rest of the afternoon, their conversation was rather desultory. It was some time before Sara could even trust her voice to hold up. When she finally spoke, she didn't bring up the close call on the trail. That was too new, too fresh in her mind. She wanted to forget it.
"What kind of things do you do on your ranch?"
"Things?" Cody glanced at her, one dark brow hooking a question above his eyes.
"Things. You know. Do you raise cows or horses or gerbils, or what?"
One side of his mouth twisted in a half smile. "It's cattle, not cows. And I'd like to admit that I have the West's first gerbil ranch but I'm afraid it's nothing that innovative. I raise horses. Quarter horses. I'm trying to build a reputation as the best place to go to get a good working horse. And Dancer here is going to help with that." He leaned forward to pat the stallion's neck, and Dancer bobbed his head as if in acknowledgment of the words.
"Have you always lived on the ranch?"
"Not always. My grandfather left it to me. He lived there a good part of his life. I used to spend summers here, but my father wanted to fit in with the White Man's world so we lived in Denver, Cheyenne, Laramie, or wherever he could find work."
"You sound bitter."
"Bitter? No. I got over that a long time ago. He was never very happy. He was too much Comanche to deny his heritage completely and too afraid of it to accept it completely. It's not a comfortable way to live."
"What about you? Are you comfortable with your heritage?" He was silent for so long that Sara was afraid she'd overstepped some unseen bounds and offended him.
"Comfortable is not a word that I associate with myself. I've come to terms with what it means to be half Comanche, half white. I try to take some of the good from each and mold them into something workable. The army was one of the best things that happened to me."
"When were you in the army?" Her eyes skimmed over him, trying to imagine him in uniform, trying to imagine him conforming to someone else's rules.
His eyes met hers, and she read the faint amusement in them, as if he could read her thoughts. "I joined when I got out of high school. There didn't seem to be much else for me to do. No money for college, no money for anything else. My parents were both dead by then, and my grandfather could barely scrape a living for himself out of the ranch. I spent one summer living like a bum in Denver. I drank heavily and chainsmoked and generally made a fool of myself. I had a real chip on my shoulder about being a Native American. I got thrown into jail one night for stealing a car. I hadn't done it but I knew the guys who had. Luckily, they were stupid enough to get caught with the evidence and the police let me out.
"It sobered me up, though. Another couple of months and it could have been me who'd stolen the car. That was the direction I was headed. I hitchhiked from Denver to the ranch. I think I wanted some comfort, a shoulder to cry on, but my grandfather took one look at me and threw me in the horse tank." He laughed softly at the memory.
"He told me that I wasn't setting foot in the house until I smelled like a man and not a wine bottle. He made me sleep in the barn for a solid week and he worked my butt off every day. When he finally decided that I was fit to enter the house, he sat me down at the table and slapped an ad for the military down in front of me, and said that he was damned if he was going to see me become another statistic to add to the high rate of teen suicide and alcoholism among Indians."
"And you joined up, just like that?"
"I argued, but I knew he was right. What else could I do? I joined the army."
"I bet he was proud of you."
"I suppose so. He died while I was serving my second tour in Vietnam." He ignored her involuntary gasp. "He left me the ranch and just enough cash to pay the taxes."
"It must have been awful for you."
"Oh, I don't know. Grandfather always felt that the Great Spirit had a reason for everything he did. The army taught me how to work within the system, how to twist it to my own ends. I knew I wanted to raise horses, just as he and I had always talked about, but that would take money, and to get money I had to have an education. So I used the GI bill to go to college and get a business degree, and then I joined an investment firm."
"An investment firm?" If she'd had a hard time picturing him in a uniform, it was even more difficult to imagine him in a three-piece suit.
"You know—when E. F. Hutton talks, people listen—that kind of thing. I figured out how much money I'd have to have to get started, and then I began investing every dime I could lay my hands on. I lucked out and developed a flair for that kind of thing. It took about five years, but I gathered together what I needed and quit."
"Weren't you tempted to stay? I mean, you had all the comforts of civilization. If you were doing well, you probably could have made a fortune."
He was shaking his head even before she'd finished speaking. "I didn't want the comforts of civilization. Not if it meant giving up this." His hand swept out to encompass the mountains that surrounded them. "I think I'm too much the Comanche to ever be happy living in the city."
His eyes met hers, and she could read his burning love of freedom for an instant before he seemed to become aware of just how much he was revealing. Then that one glimpse into his soul was over, and the smile he gave her was slightly forced.
"There's something about you that makes me say more than I intend to when I open my mouth."
"Maybe it's because you trust me." She was daring a lot, perhaps pushing too far, too fast, but the words were out before she could change her mind. She met his searching look openly, unable to read anything in the enigmatic green depths of his.
"Maybe." And that one word clearly closed the conversation.
They made camp just before dark. Cody pitched the tent in a corner formed where a low ridge met the bulk of the mountain, providing them with some shelter from the cold wind that had picked up in the afternoon. A fire was always welcome, but never more so than tonight. The temperature had dropped to a near bone-chilling level, and Sara found herself huddling as close to the fire as she could get without setting fire to her clothing. Even Dog seemed to welcome the extra warmth, and he stayed near the camp, graciously sharing their evening rations.
After the meal, Cody went to make one last check on the horses while Sara crawled into the tent. He'd placed their sleeping bags in the tent but he hadn't zipped them together, and she hesitated for a moment, surprised. Was he trying to tell her something, or was he just being careful not to assume too much? She tossed the question around in her mind for a few minutes before zipping the two bags together with a defiant toss of her head.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she told herself firmly. If Cody didn't want to sleep with her, he could come right out and say it. After what they'd shared the past few days, coy behavior had no part in their relationship.
Cody's footsteps slowed as he stepped into the firelight and realized that Sara was already in the tent. He banked the fire for the night, so that there would be hot coals to ease starting it again in the morning. He rubbed his hand over Dog's rough coat, murmuring a few quiet words to him. He was only putting off the inevitable.
When he ducked into the tent, he wasn't sure what he hoped to see. He wanted Sara. Last night had only whetted his appetite for her. But it would be safer to back off now while there was still time. He'd left the decision up to her. If she didn't want to sleep with him, she had only to
let the sleeping bags remain apart.
Sara looked up as he entered the tent. She'd lit a lantern and set it at the back of the small enclosure, and the clear light of it turned her fine hair into a halo. She was sitting up in the middle of the zipped-together sleeping bags, carefully rubbing lotion into her slender hands.
Cody hesitated a moment as their eyes met. Her eyes were lavender again tonight, reflecting the color of the flannel shirt she was wearing. He wanted to drag his gaze from hers and turn and leave the tent. He wanted to prove that he could walk away from her. He sank to his knees on one corner of the sleeping bag.
"Do you always take such good care of your hands?" He tried not to notice how hypnotic her motions were as she smoothed the cream into her arms.
"I have to. No one wants a hand model with red, chapped hands." She capped the bottle of lotion and set it aside. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him unbuttoning his shirt. If was appalling how that simple movement affected her pulse rate. She rose on her knees to set the lotion next to her clothing, giving herself a few seconds to steady her pulse. But when she turned back, he was right there.
He knelt in front of her, naked to the waist, tanned skin stretched over rippling muscles. She lifted her head slowly, meeting his eyes, half afraid that she might drown in the fiery green depths of them.
His fingers came up to tangle in the silk of her hair, and she melted against his chest, hungry for the feel of him. Her hands slid into the shaggy thickness of his hair, pulling his head down to hers. Their lips met.
His hands were impatient With the buttons on her shirt, and her fingers shook over the fastening of his jeans. There was so much heat. She would surely burn unless she could feel his skin against hers. But when the smooth coppery weight of him pressed her back onto their bed, she learned the true meaning of heat.
His mouth closed over her breast. Her fingers bit into the lean muscles of his hips. She twisted beneath him. And then the fire of him was deep within her. A half sob, a guttural moan. A completion.
As if she were a match and he was the flame, Sara burned for him. If his hands were bruising on her hips, her nails dug into his shoulders. The hunger was too intense, too explosive to last long. She arched beneath him, drawing a low groan from him as her body tightened around him, dragging him into the vortex of her climax.
The storm receded slowly, leaving them spent. Cody's hands shook as he shifted her awkwardly, easing both of them beneath the heavy weight of the upper sleeping bag. Sara had only enough strength left to snuggle up against him, throwing her arm across his sweat-dampened chest, her leg across the solid muscles of his thighs.
Somewhere a coyote howled, a long moaning wail that echoed off the mountains. Dog growled low in his throat but he didn't lift his head from his paws. An owl hooted mournfully and small creatures scurried for cover as the dark shadow passed over the ground.
Inside the tent Cody turned off the lantern, letting the darkness outside take over. Burying his face in the scented warmth of Sara's hair, he let himself drift to sleep. With her slight weight against him, it seemed as if all was right with the world.
❧
The Survivor
The coyote was getting more bold. He no longer bothered to skulk quite so far back. Cullen found that he even admired the animal's persistence in a funny way. He only wished that he weren't the object of its attention.
He settled back against the rock wall where he'd made camp and dug through his frighteningly empty pack for something to eat. Coming up with a can of sardines, he grimaced faintly. He hated sardines. A few minutes later he drank the oily juices from the empty can, feeling the fish ease the knot of hunger from his stomach.
He leaned his head back on the rock and closed his eyes. The weak sunshine lit the hollows and shadows of his face. Pain had drawn deep lines in his face, making him look much older than his eighteen years. He lifted one hand to explore the healing cut along the side of his face. It itched and he had to resist the urge to scratch.
Sensing that he was no longer alone, he opened his eyes and stared straight into yellow irises, watching him with the detached interest a researcher might show for a rat. For a long moment, the man and the coyote stared at each other. Barely ten yards separated them, and Cullen could see muscles shift beneath a shaggy winter coat as the animal moved.
For just an instant, there was a part of him that wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep and let the coyote win. He was so tired of struggling. It would be so pleasant to just fall asleep, to shut out the throbbing pain in his leg, to forget the sound of screaming metal and the rattle of Bill's breathing just before it stopped forever.
To just give up and sleep.
The thought was so frightening that he jerked himself upright, the movement sending a stabbing jolt of pain through his knee. But the pain was welcome. It made him realize that he was alive and determined to stay that way. The coyote's eyes met his again and the animal seemed to realize that his time had not yet come. He turned and trotted off, disappearing around a boulder. But Cullen knew he'd be back.
Chapter 10
The dreams continued to haunt Cody, but he found they were easier to deal with now that Sara knew about them. For the first time in his life, he had someone to share the terror with. The higher they climbed, the more vivid the images grew. Logic told him that the chance of there being any survivors was slim, but he continued to hope. And Sara never gave up her determination that Cullen was alive.
There was a feeling of companionship between them, which Sara had known only with her brother and her nephew, and Cody had never found before. Even with his grandfather, there had been an open gap between them. No matter how hard they had tried, nothing could change the fact that the world his grandfather had known was nothing like the world Cody faced. Love, respect, admiration—all these emotions had been there, but the two men hadn't been companions in the true sense of the word.
But if Cody's and Sara's days were spent as friends, their nights were spent as lovers. Cody taught Sara that her body could respond to the lightest touch of his finger, and she taught him that physical love was infinitely more satisfying when combined with mental rapport.
He worried about what was going to happen if nothing but death lay at the end of their journey, and despite her insistence that she'd know if Cullen were dead, he sometimes caught a lost, frightened look in her eyes and he knew she was afraid of what they might find.
He woke up one bitterly cold morning, his heart pounding from the aftermath of a dream. Sara slept against his side, her small hand curved into a soft fist on his chest. His arm tightened convulsively around her and she stirred, mumbling in her sleep before settling back into sleep.
Today they would reach the crash site. He knew that as clearly as if it were written on the walls of the tent. What would they find? What if it was like the others—nothing but death and ruin? How would Sara face that?
As if in answer to his mood, the weather was bitterly cold. Winter had been threatening for days, but it had arrived now. The clouds were heavy with snow, which fell in sullen fits and starts, making the footing miserable and slowing their pace to a crawl.
Sara watched Cody, trying to read his mood, but there was nothing to be seen in the impassive line of his profile. He met her occasional remarks with monosyllables, and several times he didn't seem to hear her at all. She had to force herself not to probe. When he wanted to tell her what was wrong, she would listen.
Late in the morning, the path they took began to climb higher, the horses laboring to find solid footing on the sloping trail. Their breath came in gusting clouds of white steam. Sara clung to the saddle, trying not to interfere with Satin's labor as the mare lunged up the steep path. They topped out on a narrow plateau, bordered along the opposite edge by a band of mournful-looking pines. The horses walked tiredly toward the trees.
"Sara..." Cody's voice was raw, and she turned in her saddle, feeling her heart stop at the agonized expression in his e
yes.
"What's wrong?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I..." Dancer came to a halt and Satin stopped beside him. Cody's eyes left hers, and his face tightened as he looked ahead of them.
Sara didn't dare to move. She didn't have to have dreams to know what she was going to see when she turned around. She felt as if she were made of wood, her whole body stiff with tension, as she slowly eased around in the saddle until she looked out over Satin's head.
Below them was a shallow slope, strewn with trees. Beyond that was a continuation of the plateau, mountains looming up around it and throwing dark shadows across the light coating of snow. Halfway across the valley was the plane. Silver and red gleamed through the powdery snow. The metal was twisted; the landing gear pointed up to the sky.
"Oh, my God." The words were half a prayer, half a curse. Her stomach clenched in agony. For the first time, she realized just how slim the chances were that Cullen had survived the crash. Nothing could have lived through the cataclysm that had crumpled the little plane like so much discarded foil.
She didn't even look at Cody as she dug her heels into Satin's side and started down the slope. He didn't speak until they were out of the trees and level with the crash. Then his hand came out to catch hers, drawing the mare to a halt. He had to shake her hand slightly to get her to look at him and his heart twisted at the broken look in her eyes.
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