by Sharon Ihle
"And when ye do," Patrick said as he shook the lieutenant's hand, "be sure to save 'em fer me."
Then the broken man turned a little unsteadily and ambled slowly out the door. He walked aimlessly through the dusty street for an hour, stopping only once at the depot to check on incoming wires, then found himself standing in front of Yuma's most notorious saloon, The Bucket. Not realizing or caring that the seedy establishment had become his home since the devastation of his family, Patrick Callahan crashed through the swinging doors and slumped onto the first empty bar stool he came to.
"Whiskey," he barked to the bartender, "and leave the bottle."
Then he turned his thoughts to the only bright spots left in his life. Did his children still glow with life's precious light, or had their flames also been extinguished by the harsh land in which they'd been sired?
Patrick closed his eyes, and swimming in an alcoholic haze, saw the image of his beautiful daughter, Sunflower. But the thought that she, alone and unprotected, might have met with the same fate as her mother was too much to bear. Groaning heavily, he rubbed at his eyelids as if he hoped he could wipe the terrible nightmare from his life, but when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.
He was alone with a bottle of whiskey. His wife and youngest son were dead. Sunflower was somewhere in the vast desert. And Sean was hot on her trail.
If the lad had somehow managed to find it.
If he hadn't already been murdered by the very men he sought.
CHAPTER FIVE
Just as Sean started up the wash, he spotted another set of hoofprints mingled with the others he'd been following. There were three riders, not two as he'd first assumed.
With a yank of the reins, Sean jerked Whiskey to a stop, then whirled the animal around and backtracked to the area where he'd picked up Paddy's trail. As the mule plodded slowly along, Sean kept a sharp eye out for the point where the pony's tracks originated, and where they were joined by the others. In the wash, all the prints seemed to blend into one, but just past a large clump of creosote bushes and barrel cactus, three clear sets of hoofprints gouged a winding path down the side of the mountain. Should he go up?
Realizing any clues about who or what he might be up against were better than what he had, Sean elected to scour the mountainside. And even though it appeared as if the riders had already left the area, he knew surprise would be his best weapon against two adversaries if they hadn't yet broken camp. He tied Whiskey to the bush where he'd discovered the bit of yellow cloth, then silently climbed up the side of the hill on foot. At the crest, he peered between the branches of a palo verde tree and discovered an abandoned campsite. A quick glance around showed him a hastily covered campfire, a couple of small clearings smoothed out as sleeping circles, and at the far edge of the plateau, a large pile of rocks.
Curious about the stones and what they might be concealing, but still cautious, Sean cut a wide circle around the campsite and quietly made his way to the spot. Once he recognized the mound as a crude grave, he quickly forgot about his own safety and crashed through the trees.
"Sunny?" Sean called as he reached the pile of rocks. But the only response was a hot breeze whistling through the trees. Swallowing his fears, he took another look around the campsite and walked over to the fire.
Squatting down beside it, Sean sifted through the ashes. They were at least two, maybe three days old. He rose and crossed over to the area where Paddy and the two horses had been tied to the trees. Three mounts added up to three riders, and yet there were only clearings for two bed rolls. Had the third horse carried not a man, but a corpse?
Sean took off his hat and ran his fingers through his sable hair as he walked back to the grave. Then another thought occurred to him. It was just possible the riders only required sleeping quarters for two because they passed Sunny from blanket to blanket during their nights on the trail.
Sean's nostrils flared and his fists curled into tight balls as he realized he'd come up with the most reasonable explanation. The only thing keeping him from screaming his rage while he contemplated her predicament was the knowledge Sunny wouldn't be making life easy for her captors. He knew she would fight their indignities with every ounce of her strength, would leave her mark on any man who tried to violate her. A horrifying thought suddenly cut off his reassurances.
His eyes wide, his stomach rolling like a pair of loaded dice, Sean looked down at the pile of rocks. Who had died on this spot—and why?
"Please, not Sunny," he said as he dropped to his knees and began frantically tossing aside the large rocks as if they were pebbles. When the stones were all removed, Sean's hands became shovels, and sprays of loose dirt and sand fanned out behind him like a cloud, until his fingertips finally connected with something other than soil.
The sensation sickened him. Sean recoiled and sat staring at the object for a long moment before he could be certain his eyes hadn't deceived him. He gazed on two thick, gnarled fingers. When at last he was able to accept the body as that of a man, not the young beautiful woman fueled by the same blood as he, Sean breathed a long, hoarse sigh.
Sunny lived.
At least she'd lived through whatever happened here. Certain until now he'd been following only Paddy and one horse, Sean surmised the campsite had probably been a pre-arranged meeting site for the two outlaws who'd murdered half of his family. He could only guess that once the men joined up again something, possibly Sunny, had put them at each other's throats.
Now his sister rode towards Phoenix with the stronger of the two. Would she be able to hang on until he reached her? Or had her spirit already been irreparably broken?
Sean fingered the pistol he carried in the waistband of his trousers and made a deadly vow.
This man, this murderer who'd forced Sunflower to accompany him, would pay dearly for that atrocity.
More than a hundred miles to the east, Sunny and Cole crested the last red-rimmed ridge before the short ride into the town of Phoenix. Although the farther they traveled, the more the landscape changed from sandy browns and cloudy greens to terracotta and rich emeralds, she was unprepared for this oasis in the Sonoran desert. Marveling as the town and its lush valley came into view, Sunny said, "Your Phoenix is very beautiful. You must be so proud of it."
"Proud?" Cole shrugged and slowed Sage to a trot. "I don't know, it's not something I think about much. My father is the one who's so proud of this little city. Nearly twenty years ago, he was part of the citizen group which founded the town. He's been active in Arizona politics ever since."
"Then," she laughed, "you must be very proud of your father."
Again he shrugged. "I suppose so." He was proud in many ways, but in many others, more and more Cole found himself questioning Nathan's ethics and prejudices, his rules and his methods. How would the old man react when he learned Cole no longer shared his goals, and that his return to the Triple F ranch was only temporary?
Fascinated by the scenery, busy comparing the tree-lined town to the only home she'd ever known, Sunny didn't realize her escort was deep in thought or that she spoke only to herself.
"I cannot believe how much greener Phoenix is than Yuma. And the streets are so clean. Is that because you do not have a railroad yet? What about a fort? Does Phoenix have a fort? You know, the Army pulled out of Fort Yuma a few months ago. There is talk they might even turn the abandoned buildings over to the Yuma Indians. I think that is the least the Army can do for my people. Cole?"
"Huh?" He swiveled around in his saddle and looked at Sunny as if seeing her for the first time. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying much attention." He reined in Sage and caught Paddy's bridle. "Look, I think it'd be a good idea to fix you up a little before we go any farther."
"Fix me up?" she said with a raised brow. "I spent nearly an hour in the Gila River this morning. I do not know what else you expect me to do."
"I didn't mean that, I meant this." Cole reached over and pulled Mike's hat off her head. "I plan to take you righ
t to the general store for some decent clothing. I thought you might want to look a little more like a lady."
Sunflower cast her gaze to the ground and buried her hands in Paddy's mane. Cole was ashamed of her. Embarrassed to be seen with her in the town where his father was so highly regarded. She examined her torn shirt and dusty trousers and had to agree they were shabby, but that was all she'd admit to.
"I seem to have left my best dress behind during my hasty departure from home. Perhaps you will be more comfortable riding into town alone."
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. How could he make her see he was only thinking of her? Cole nudged Sage until he pressed up against the pony's shoulder.
"I just thought you might want to fix your hair before we go into the store. You look fine to me." Beautiful, in fact. And so damn desirable with that fire burning in her dark eyes, he felt paralyzed by a sudden all-over tension.
But Sunny could sense none of his thoughts, and remembered only the utter disdain in his voice when he first set eyes on her and thought her to be an Apache brave. There was no question about it. Her benefactor, the first man who'd ever made her curious about what it meant to be a woman, was repelled by her heritage.
Sunny raised her chin and faced him. "And how would you have me fix my hair, Cole Fremont? Wound in a ball at the back of my neck like a white woman, or shall I braid it and be an Indian squaw?"
He stared at her a long moment, as irritated with himself as he was with her. His voice harsh, he finally said, "Do whatever pleases you." Then he kicked Sage in the side and continued into town.
Sunny picked up Paddy's reins as quickly as she picked up the rancor in Cole's tone, and she prepared to spin him around and ride as fast as she could back to Yuma, but her heart wouldn't let her move. She suddenly couldn't stand the thought of never seeing Cole again, of never understanding what it was that drew her to him, of not having another chance to feel his hot kisses.
Sunny nudged Paddy forward as she reached into one of her pouches. There she found the last strip of yellow cloth. Her original idea of marking a trail that wouldn't be searched for weeks had been a feeble one. She had a much better use for the colorful material now.
Glancing up at Cole's broad shoulders, Sunny grinned and urged her pony to catch up with him. Then she pulled a length from each side of her hair and fastened the strands with a cloth bow at the back of her head. She was in Cole's territory now. She would act and dress in the manner he expected. She would learn to curb her temper and keep her tongue in check. She would behave like a lady. At least she could try.
When Sunny rode up beside Cole, he gave her a sideways glance and a short nod of appreciation, then the trail-weary pair came to the end of their journey in strained silence.
They'd traveled only a few feet down the main street of Phoenix when Cole pulled up his mount and gestured for Sunny to do the same. After helping her down off Paddy, he quickly led her into Goldwater's Mercantile Store.
"Wait here a minute," Cole instructed as he hurried off to greet the distinguished looking gentleman approaching them.
"Cole. Good to see you. It's been a long time," the proprietor said as he extended his hand.
"Hello, Baron." Cole accepted the warm greeting and sighed, "It's good to be back."
"I would imagine so. Your father was in yesterday and told me you decided not to take the train to Maricopa, but that you chose to ride all the way back from Yuma."
"I had a few decisions to make and decided I could use some time alone." Cole glanced over his shoulder, wondering briefly how he would explain Sunny to Goldwater. "Right now," he continued quietly, "I need a few things. Is Mrs. Brown working today?"
"Why, yes, she is." Baron Goldwater looked beyond Cole to where Sunny stood, and frowned. "You need some clothing for ... her?"
"Er, yes, she—it's a long story. Have Mrs. Brown get her anything she wants and put it on my bill."
"Of course." Baron gave him a tight smile, then turned and disappeared into the storeroom.
"Everything's taken care of," Cole explained as he returned to Sunny. "The clerk, Mrs. Brown, will help you with whatever you need."
"But I have no money."
"I have credit here," he assured. "You can worry about paying me later. For now, just make sure you get outfitted from head to toe." At the sound of footsteps approaching, Cole added, "I'll take care of the horses and get us registered at the hotel. It's next door. When you're done shopping, meet me there in the lobby."
A quick nod was all she could manage before he spun around and hurried out the door.
"Excuse me?"
Sunny wheeled to meet the owner of the bird-like voice.
"Mr. Goldwater said—" The woman cut off her own words as she studied her customer. "Oh, my."
One look in Mrs. Brown's eyes told Sunny exactly what she was thinking. She'd seen that expression of disapproval all too often from the fine white ladies of Yuma—women who thought it disgusting to find the proof of this vile practice of cross-breeding walking around town for all to see.
Lifting her chin, Sunny also raised her brows and squared her shoulders. She ignored her vow to keep her tongue in line, and whispered conspiratorially, "Mr. Goldwater said, 'Oh, my'? Whatever do you think he meant?"
"No, no," the clerk sputtered, "he didn't say that, he, what I meant to say, I thought—"
"You thought what, Mrs. Brown?" Sunny demanded.
She seemed to regain her composure. She flashed a confident smile and said, "When Mr. Goldwater asked me to help a lady friend of Cole Fremont's, I just naturally thought he was talking about Elizabeth Scott. Please forgive the mistake."
Sunny felt like a snake-bit rabbit. She couldn't breathe, talk, or move any of her limbs. Why hadn't she even considered the possibility of Cole and another woman? Men as handsome, and apparently well to do as he, probably never wanted for female companionship. Of course he had a sweetheart or fiancée waiting for him in his hometown. Any blitherin' fool should know that.
With a feeling akin to despair, an awareness she really didn't understand, Sunny turned away from the clerk and strolled over near the dresses. "That is all right, Mrs. Brown. Everybody makes mistakes."
She fingered a grey serge travelling dress, knowing it would be the proper garment to purchase, but a frothy calico frock emblazoned with tiny yellow roses seemed to cry out to her.
"Oh," Sunny breathed, "'tis perfectly lovely."
"We just got it in," Mrs. Brown proclaimed as she held the dress in front of Sunny. "And it looks like it's just your size, too. Wait until you see the matching bonnet."
But Sunny wasn't interested in bonnets, she was interested in fastenings. She turned the dress in a circle, relieved to see that it buttoned up the front, then said, "I would like just the dress and a length of yellow ribbon. Oh, that and some new drawers ..." Sunny paused and took a quick inventory of herself, then amended, "and a camisole, a petticoat, some stockings, and I guess I should have a pair of shoes."
Mrs. Brown lifted her nose. "No corset or bustles, dear?"
Sunny thought of making excuses, but looked her straight in the eye and said, "No corset. I have no one to lace it." The bustles were another matter, however, and an item she knew next to nothing about. Raising her chin level with Mrs. Brown's, Sunny sniffed and said, "I do not like bustles, dear."
"I see." Withholding further comment, the size of her commission reflected in the clerk's eyes as she suggested, "What about a reticule? I may have one in yellow."
Sunny hesitated a moment, more attracted to the color than the item, then shook her head. "I have no use for one. Please wrap those items. I must be on my way."
While she waited for her purchases, Sunny helped herself to a licorice drop and strolled around the store examining bolts of expensive imported yardage. When the clerk gave her the packages, Sunny added a pound of the delicious black candy to her bill then stepped out into the late afternoon sun
shine. More aware of her appearance than ever, she kept her head down as she made her way across the wooden planks to the next building and quietly slipped into the hotel lobby.
Only then did she lift her gaze to search the room for Cole. He was engaged in conversation with an older gentleman and a well-dressed woman. As she pondered whether to call out to announce her presence or simply approach the trio, Sunny noticed the desk clerk move out from behind his station and take several determined steps in her direction.
"The letters on the front of this building spell hotel," he began impatiently. "We don't allow injuns in this establishment. Skeedaddle on out of here," he finished with a wave of his hands.
His tone low and dangerous enough to strike fear in a wounded grizzly, Cole's voice sounded over the clerk's shoulder, "The lady has a room in this two-bit establishment." Cole circled the man and stepped between him and Sunny. "I just paid for it. Do you have a problem with that, mister?"
"Oh, Mr. Fremont, no, of course not. I thought she was, you know—"
Cole cut him off with a cold green gaze before he muttered, "I'm not interested in what you thought. Are those baths ready yet?"
"I'm sure they are, sir."
"Then if you have no further objections, we'll take our rooms now." Not waiting for or interested in a reply, Cole spun around and relieved Sunny of her burden. Then he extended the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?"
This time remembering her vow to curb her temper and tongue, Sunny settled for spearing the clerk with a scathing glance before she tossed her head and accepted Cole's arm.
When the pair reached the top of the stairs, Cole turned to her, his voice low and sincere. "I'm really sorry for the way that idiot behaved. It can't have been a very pleasant experience for you."
"It is an experience I have had many times in the past. I am very aware of the way white men look on me. You have no need to apologize."
"Well, just the same."
"Please," she said curtly. "I would like to forget it. Where is my room?"
