The Loner

by Geralyn Dawson

  "You, too, Logan."

  Dammit, did she have to lick her lips like that?

  The vision haunted him as he tossed and turned in his lonely bed the rest of the night. What little sleep he did get was haunted by dreams of Caroline, naked and lying amidst rumpled, pumpkin-colored sheets. He woke up hard and aching and tired—not an auspicious way to begin the next grueling part of this journey.

  Pulling on those damned orange britches only made him feel worse. Even though their destination was a hard two-and-a-half-days' ride away, he expected to run across others going to or coming from the canyon. From this moment on, both he and Caroline needed to be prepared to dive into character at a moment's notice. So he donned the white shirt and purple vest, tucked his medallion out of sight and looked into the mirror.

  "Holy crap." He couldn't go out in public like this. He'd die of embarrassment long before an outlaw's bullet reached him. Nope, a man could only be pushed so far.

  Half an hour later following a detour to the hotel kitchen where he did business with one of the cooks, he sat on a bench in the lobby waiting for Caroline to come downstairs. He didn't look up when he heard her door shut and her footsteps descend the staircase. When she walked right past him, he knew he'd made the right choice in costume.

  In Spanish, he said, "Señora, may I buy you breakfast?"

  "No, thank you," she said, turning with a smile. "I'm waiting for my hus—"

  Logan forgot all about his own costume as he lurched to his feet. "Where the hell is the rest of your dress?"

  She ignored the subject of the extreme low cut of her altered neckline as her gaze swept him from head to toe. "A serape and a sombrero? Excellent choice. It'll be hot, but—"

  "Better to die of a heatstroke than embarrassment."

  "Yes. I knew that with enough motivation you'd come up with an acceptable disguise."

  Enough motivation? Why, the little witch had manipulated him. Scowling, he grumbled, "While I'm having a heatstroke, you are liable to freeze to death, no more than you have on."

  She shrugged. "I did a few alterations. We need attention to be on me, not you."

  "Attention is one thing. If you start a riot, I'll be forced to pull my gun."

  She laughed. "Don't be silly. Sit down and have a cup of coffee. You'll feel better once you're good and awake."

  He was already good and awake. Any more awake and he'd have a helluva time riding a horse.

  The coffee, bacon and eggs the waitress brought over did ease his grouchiness somewhat. The shawl Caroline draped over her bountiful charms went a long way toward improving his mood. It wasn't exactly "out of sight, out of mind," but more "out of sight helps."

  By daybreak, they were mounted and ready to ride.

  Logan had purchased four horses upon their arrival in Van Horn the previous evening: two sorrel mares, a black and a bay gelding. One supply horse would have been enough, but he figured bringing along a mount for Will made a statement Caroline would appreciate.

  He had warned his wife that he intended to set a hard pace from the beginning, and he did just that, knowing their speed would slow once the desert heated up in the afternoon. The land between Van Horn and the Guadalupe Mountains was desolate and forbidding, at first glance barren, but in reality teeming with life. Agaves, prickly pear cacti, yuccas and walking-stick chollas grew in abundance, while lizards, snakes, coyotes and mule deer populated the desert. Caroline lived up to her word, traveling without complaint and not slowing him down. He was proud of her.

  Twice they met riders coming at them on the trail who barely spared him a glance. It was almost noon when a third rider approached riding a paint whose markings Logan knew well.

  Calvin Hornbeck had made a career of robbing banks, trains and stagecoaches. He was a killer wanted in two states and the Arizona territory. He had a three-thousand-dollar price on his head and enough bounty hunters after him to field a baseball team. He had busted out of jail in Kansas six months ago—the same jail where Logan plunked his ass three months before that.

  Logan's hand shifted toward his gun. He could— probably should—kill him outright. Heaven knew, he deserved it. It hadn't been three years ago that he'd ambushed a stage in South Texas and killed an eight-year-old girl.

  Except, he hated to kill a man in cold blood in front of Caroline. He'd have to explain and that would waste time—as would burying the body in this hardscrabble ground. After that nightmare in Mexico, Logan had made an unbreakable personal rule about burying the bodies of the men he killed. Digging would be a pain in this dry dirt. Killing Calvin Hornbeck could easily cost him half a day.

  So he waited, his sombrero pulled low, watching alertly as the killer approached. "Beware, Caroline," he cautioned softly. "This bastard and I know each other."

  "Then keep your hat down," she warned.

  Damned if the woman didn't adjust her bodice so that it drooped a little lower.

  When they'd drawn within speaking distance to the other rider, she called out, "Hello! It's a beautiful day to ride, isn't it?"

  Hornbeck's gaze focused on Caroline, darted quickly toward Logan, then returned to Caroline where it remained locked on her cleavage. "Right beautiful, I'd agree," he said. "Lucky day, too. A fella doesn't often run into a pretty woman on this stretch of the road."

  "My name is Caroline Whitaker, and I'm on my way to meet my uncle Ben in Black Shadow Canyon. This is Pepe." She waved a dismissive hand toward Logan. "Are you coming from Black Shadow Canyon? Do you by chance know my uncle Ben?"

  "Ben Whitaker? You're Ben's kin?"

  "Yes."

  "I see. Well, yeah, I know him. Haven't seen him lately, though."

  "He and a number of his old friends are supposed to meet us near here.... Where is the spot, Pepe?"

  Hell. What is she doing? Picking the landmark closest to their present location, he said, "Chimney Rock in the Sierra Diablo."

  "Yes, Chimney Rock." She flashed a brilliant smile. "Well, we'd best be hurrying along, then. I don't want to keep Uncle Ben and his friends waiting. I understand they're not the most patient crowd of men. You have a nice afternoon, sir."

  She finger-waved, kicked her horse and rode off.

  Logan waited a moment and made sure Hornbeck rode in the opposite direction. Watching him go, Logan sighed. It went against the grain to let a cold-blooded killer with a bounty on his head ride away, but he had to keep his priorities in order. One of those priorities better put her damned shawl back on before she gets sunburned.

  Catching up with her, he said, "Remember those conditions and rules I mentioned? I have another one to add to the list."

  She arched a curious brow.

  "Don't you ever up and do something stupid like that again!"

  She blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "What were you thinking, Caroline? You don't get friendly with strangers you meet on the road. Especially not this road. That man was a killer. He could easily have taken your friendliness as an invitation to rape! Where we're headed.. .you need to understand just how dangerous these men are."

  "I recognized the risk, Logan. I also considered that this was a heaven-sent opportunity to test your disguise."

  "Nothing about Calvin Hornbeck is heaven-sent," he grumbled, removing his wide-brimmed sombrero and wiping his sweaty brow.

  "Maybe not, but it is good to know the disguise works, isn't it? I know I'll feel safer now when we ride into Black Shadow Canyon."

  "All right. All right. It's over and done. But from now on, Caroline, I want your word that you won't pull another stunt like that again."

  "So you'll trust my word?"

  Well, now. She'd certainly boxed him in with that, hadn't she? Trapped him like a possum up a tree. "Are you giving your word?"

  "I will if you'll agree to accept it."

  "Fine. From now on just keep your mouth shut and your top pulled up. Got it?"

  She rolled her eyes, sighed loudly, but nodded.

  They pressed forward toward Ch
imney Rock, arriving about an hour ahead of schedule. Logan asked Caroline how she was holding up. "I had intended to camp here tonight, but we made excellent time and have a few more hours of daylight left. The next water is an hour away. We can keep going or settle here. It's up to you."

  She smiled tiredly and lifted her gaze to the rugged peaks that rose abruptly from the desert floor. "How far are we from the canyon?"

  "About a day to the Guadalupes, another few hours to the canyon's entrance. The trail into the canyon to the settlement they call Devil's Rest will take half a day more. We will have some time to look around for Will and Whitaker, then after dark, I'll hit the saloons and see what I can learn."

  "Let's keep going. The sooner we can start looking for Will, the better."

  By the time they finally stopped for the night, Caroline looked ready to drop. Logan chose a campsite beside a clear spring that bubbled at the base of a mountain. It was a pretty spot with cactus flowers in bloom and dotting the landscape. Soon, the crackle and scent of burning brush filled the air as Logan lit the fire. They ate beans and bacon with campfire coffee.

  "I wonder if Will has enough to eat and drink," Caroline said as she set her tin plate down beside her. "I imagine him out here in this scorching heat without enough water to drink and it tears me to pieces inside."

  "Don't think about it."

  "I can't help but think about it."

  "Then think about what a resourceful young man he is. He knows how to take care of himself." Then, in an effort to distract her, he said, "Look at the sky."

  She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her gaze to a brilliant sunset. "Oh, my. Isn't it beautiful?"

  "Yeah." Watching her, Logan got hungry all over again.

  "The sky at home is bigger than this, but there is something about being out away from town that just makes the colors seem brighter and richer."

  "Hmm," he said in a distracted response. The sunset— as gorgeous as it was—didn't hold anything on her. Her burnished-gold hair glistened in the dancing firelight, her eyes gleamed with the purple-blue hues of dusk. Her curves rose and fell like the mountains to the west, as intriguing and tempting as water to a thirsty man.

  She watched the sky without further comment until the last of the light faded away. Then she stood, stretched and said, "I'd like to wash up if you think it's safe."

  He had an instant, vivid image of Caroline walking naked into the spring which gave him an instant, vivid erection. Christ. Just the image he needed in his head. He'd get no more sleep tonight than last.

  "Sure. I'll keep an eye on things." The sharp look she shot his way made him realize how his words sounded, so he gestured toward the landscape away from camp. "That way."

  "Thank you," she said drily. She pulled soap and a towel from one of the saddlebags, then gave him a pointed look until Logan turned his back toward the creek.

  He heard the rustling of clothing. A splash. A sigh.

  Hell.

  He rolled to his feet. "Think I'll find a high spot and see if anything's moving."

  "I won't be long."

  "Neither will I." He couldn't get away from the spring fast enough.

  Logan hiked up a hill and stared out into the deepening night where stars popped out like freckles in the moonless sky. He saw no sign of other campfires, heard no sounds of human proximity. It was as if he were out here alone on a beautiful evening, under a star-filled sky, with his wife.

  His beautiful, naked wife.

  The wife who'd played him for a fool.

  Yet, he couldn't resist looking. He turned his head and sucked air past his teeth. Damn.

  Illuminated by starlight and firelight, she was something right off a grand master's canvas. He watched as she soaped herself, her hands stroking her neck, her breasts, her hips. Between her legs. His own fingers moved instinctively as he imagined that her hands were his hands.

  It was wrong for him to play the voyeur. He knew it. He didn't particularly care, however, except that it only made his own physical position more painful.

  He wondered just how cold that creek water was.

  When she finally dipped down to rinse, he managed to pull his attention away. He heard a coyote howl off in the distance, and when he turned toward the sound, something made him pause. That long-familiar sense of knowing filled him.

  Trouble was on its way.

  Logan went still and focused on his surroundings. There. Behind another hill a short distance away. Was that the faintest of glows coming from behind another rise?

  With urgency humming in his blood, Logan hurried down the hillside taking care to move as quietly as possible. By the time he reached the campsite, Caroline was out of the water and toweling herself dry. She gasped and covered herself with the towel when he appeared inside the circle of light. "Get dressed fast, honey. I'm getting a bad feeling. I need you stashed away somewhere safe while I check it out."

  "But—"

  "Please, Caroline."

  Thankfully, she did as he asked, moving quickly and efficiently while he gathered his pistol and extra ammunition. "Try to move quietly," he said, leading her away from camp. He'd chosen a spot about a hundred yards away from the campsite, a place he'd noted upon their arrival for just such a circumstance. Surrounded by tall walls of rock on three sides, it offered Caroline both concealment and security. "I'll call out when I come to get you. If you see any movement in the meantime, shoot first and ask questions later."

  "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Go take care of the problem, Logan."

  "You'll stay here?"

  "Yes, Logan, I'm not a fool."

  He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a quick, hard kiss against her lips before turning away. "Neither am I."

  He took a route that angled away from both their campsite and the nook where he'd hidden Caroline, stopping every few minutes to listen and to concentrate. Nothing.

  Yet, his antennae continued to quiver. Something was out there. A threat.

  To the north, he again heard a coyote's howl. Was that the threat he sensed? A four-legged variety?

  Could be. His trouble sense didn't differentiate between species when it came to threats. But it also didn't thump on minor dangers, either. This was two-legged trouble and he needed to track it down.

  Moving like a ghost, Logan headed for the area where he'd detected the glow of firelight. The rising moon cast a silvery light across the desert landscape and made his passage both easier and more open to detection. He walked with his gun drawn and his senses alert.

  The coppery scent of blood stung his nostrils long before he reached the spot where dying campfire coals turned gray.

  Dear God. What if it was Will?

  His mouth went dry. His heart pounded. He braced himself to move forward. At first glance, all he could see was a prone shape, and he couldn't tell if the body was man or animal. He made a quick survey of the surrounding area. The site had an empty feel to it. Whoever—or whatever—had been there wasn't there now.

  Logan moved closer, summoned his courage and took a good look at the body. It was a man, thank God, not a boy. Not a boy. I don't have to go back and tell his mother...

  The poor bastard had been cut and stabbed dozens of times. For the first time since he'd begun this hunt, Logan was glad of the absence of strong light.

  It's possible that animals got to him after he was dead, but Logan considered that scenario doubtful due to the relatively undisturbed condition of the campsite. No, a human did this. A human animal. Sick. Just sick.

  So, just where had the depraved bastard gone and how long ago had he left?

  Then, to Logan's shock and surprise, the body on the ground let out a groan. Sweet Jesus. He's alive?

  Poor bastard. Logan took half a step forward just as the man's eyes opened. Glazed and glassy, the plea was obvious even in moonlight. Even as Logan debated his decision, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  The first gunshot hit the dying man right between the e
yes.

  The second spat up dirt at Logan's feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Caroline heard the gunshot and flinched. When she heard the second gunshot, she jumped. "Oh, Lord."

  She shifted her index finger onto the revolver's trigger and watched the area in front of her like a hawk even as she listened hard for any and every sound. Seconds ticked by...minutes ticked by....

  The third gunshot shocked an inadvertent squeal out of her.

  Her heart pounded, her mouth went dry as sand. The urge to move was strong but his words echoed in her mind. You'll stay here?

  She'd promised. She wouldn't go back on her word, not after everything that had happened.

  Come on, Logan. Call out to me. Let me know you are all right.

  She heard nothing. No scuffle of boots against rock. No voices. No horse's hoofbeats. Nothing.

  Oh dear, dear Lord.

  She tried to count the passage of time. One minute, two. Then five. Then six.

  Go to ten, Caroline. Get all the way to ten. If he hadn't reappeared ten minutes after the third gunshot, then she would leave here and go look for him. After all, she had also told him she would watch his back. Staying hidden away in her safe little hiding spot wasn't exactly doing the job, now was it? On reflection, she'd be breaking her word to him either way, wouldn't she?

  She made it to the eight-minute mark, then could wait no more. She took a deep breath, kept her gun up and her finger on the trigger, and eased out of her hiding place.

  She hadn't a clue of which way to go.

  "Oh dear," she whispered beneath her breath. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear."

  Make some noise, Grey. Unless it's a scream. I don't want you to scream.

  She decided to make a circle around their campsite. It took all her discipline not to call out for him, but better sense prevailed. If someone other than Logan had fired those shots, then she very well might need the element of surprise.

  She'd traveled almost halfway around her circle when she heard the sound. She halted midstep and listened hard. There. Again.

  Male laughter. Ugly male laughter. Not Logan's laughter at all.