by Janet Dailey
Benteen didn’t disagree. “Wake me before the others,” was his only reply.
“I will—unless the wagon’s rockin’,” Rusty murmured.
Instead of going directly to the wagon, he walked out to the picket line and had a smoke. Before the cigarette was half gone, Benteen was crushing it under the heel of his boot. A couple hundred miles up the trail when his tobacco ran low, he’d be wanting that wasted cigarette, but it wasn’t what he wanted now.
The wagon was dark and silent when he reached it. He climbed in and peeled off his clothes down to his underwear. Feeling his way to the mattress, his hand encountered Lorna’s quilt-covered form near the edge.
“Move over.” His voice was low, but the wagon springs creaked under her shifting weight.
When he slid beneath the quilt, he discovered that Lorna was hugging the side of the wagon, taking pains not to touch any part of him. For several long minutes he lay on his back and stared at the ribbed canvas roof. Then he reached over and ran his hand along her arm.
“Lorna.” It was a request for her to roll over to him.
“No.” She was rigid under his touch. “They’ll hear us,” she whispered.
Benteen shifted to his side and applied pressure to force her shoulders onto the mattress. Her hands came up to push at him, her face faintly outlined in the darkness.
“They’ll be thinking we’re doing it whether they hear us or not,” he reasoned, and curled an arm across her stomach to pull her more closely against him.
“No, I don’t want to.” She turned her head away from him when he bent to kiss her, so he nuzzled her throat instead. The little vein in her neck was pulsing madly, assuring him that she was lying.
“We’re going to be on the trail nearly six months, Lorna. That’s six months’ worth of nights.” His hands were moving over her, discovering her rounded shape despite the loose-fitting nightgown. Her hands were still between them, but she wasn’t fighting him. “There’s no way I’m not going to make love to you between now and trail’s end. And I don’t care who listens to us.”
“I do,” she whispered.
“Then we’d better start learning how to make love quietly,” he countered. “After last night, do you want to go that long without it?”
“No.” It was a reluctantly moaned answer.
A second later, her lips were under his. He felt that long rush of heat go through him—sweet and wild. There was that same immense shock, that same feeling of a deep need finally satisfied. Lorna could fill his emptiness in a different kind of union that was just as complete.
The nightgown went all the way to her feet. He tugged at the material to work it up around her hips so his hands could get under it and make contact with her woman flesh. It was a rude discovery to find more clothes.
“Do you always wear so many clothes to bed?” Benteen grumbled, and tried to find how her drawers were fastened. “Will you take these things off?”
“Not so loud,” she whispered.
“Take them off.” He breathed the words into her mouth.
By the time she was through, the nightgown was around her waist and his hands felt the silken heat of her bare skin. He warmed himself with it, letting his roaming hands wander over her rounded buttocks and hips to the source of the heat.
“Your body is hot,” he murmured.
“So is yours.” Her lips were open against his cheek, the moistness of her mouth turned to him.
When he shifted onto her, a soft sound trembled from her throat. “We’re supposed to do this quietly, remember?” Benteen liked the expression of desire she hadn’t been able to contain, and eased himself into her.
Instinctively her legs tightened around him. He took it slow, dragging it out to make it last, aware of her hips urging him. Her face was turned away from him, as if to hide the wild need her body was already showing him. His hand forced her face around, his thumb seeking her parted lips to open them more. As the first quivering spasm began to shake her, his kiss filled her opened mouth with his hard tongue. His own shudders drove him deeper into her.
Afterward he gathered her satisfying body into his arms and hugged her to his side. “You are a shameless woman,” he murmured against her dark hair.
“Don’t say that,” Lorna protested in an alarmed whisper.
“It’s true.” He breathed in the warm, musky smell of her. “You leave me with nothing.”
“I thought you meant …” She didn’t finish it, closing her mouth before the rest came out.
“Feel how small you’ve made me.” He took her hand and showed her.
She brought her hand quickly back to his chest. His chuckle was a silent one, amused by her persistent attempt at modesty when she had been anything but modest a few minutes ago.
“Did I do something wrong?” Lorna murmured.
“You pick the oddest times to be bashful about certain things. That’s all,” Benteen assured her, and kissed her temple. “You’d better close those dark eyes and try to sleep. We’re going to be rising with the sun.”
“Good night.” She snuggled against him, all soft and warm against his rock-hard frame.
11
They’d been on the trail over three weeks and still hadn’t left Texas. Monotony had set in. One day was little different from another as they traveled across a rolling prairie that seemed nonending. The only variation came from the weather. Most of the time it was clear and hot, with the sun making its glaring track across a cloudless sky. When there was a wind, it didn’t bring relief. Instead it whipped Lorna’s face, burning her cheeks and sending its particles of prairie dust through all her clothes.
The first time the gray clouds darkened the sky, she thought rain would be a blessing, but she soon learned it wasn’t. For four days it was dismal and wet, drizzle alternating with a steady downpour that saturated everything. She ate and rode in wet clothes, and shivered and slept in them, too. And the men were in the saddle almost around the clock, the night watches doubling, and on bad nights when the herd wouldn’t lie down, all of them rode.
Lorna saw little of Benteen. He was always up and often in the saddle before she awakened, checking the herd. Sometimes a whole day would go by without her seeing him at all. Many nights she was asleep when he came to bed. She had not seen this compulsive side of him before. Benteen pushed himself harder than he pushed anyone else. She’d mentioned it to Mary once, when Rusty was within hearing—the crusty cook allowed them to help with some of the camp chores but not the cooking.
Rusty had supplied the explanation: “He’s the trail boss. It’s part of his job to be first up in the mornin’ and assign each drover his duty. He has to ride ahead and see where water is, know where to stop at noon and make camp at night. He’s gotta keep a tally of the cattle to know if any is lost. If there’s any dispute among the men, his word is law. A trail boss always rides three, four times the distance the herd covers.”
With Benteen absent so much of the time, Lorna doubted that she could have endured the loneliness if it weren’t for Mary Stanton. In such a short time, she had become closer to the woman, telling her things that she wouldn’t have dreamed of saying to her mother or Sue Ellen. But neither her mother nor Sue Ellen had experienced trail life. Having Mary for a friend was like having an older sister. Lorna felt free to discuss things that once she considered unmentionable. There were a lot of things she wanted to know about married life, which would make her sound too ignorant if she asked Benteen all of them. Most of the answers, Mary knew, and others they jointly speculated on. Mary was very frank and open—no subject was taboo.
Mounted on fresh horses, a trio of drovers rode out of camp to relieve the cowboys watching the nooning herd so they could come in to eat. Lorna paid scant attention. There were always comings-in and goingsout at camp. Soon there would be dishes to be done. In the meantime, she was busy moistening the cuttings from her mother’s roses. She didn’t even look around when she heard the pounding hooves of a cantering horse appro
ach the camp. It gave a blowing snort as it was reined in.
“What are you doing?” The voice belonged to Benteen, and Lorna turned, lighting up inside at the way he was studying her. He was leaning an arm on the saddle horn, mindless of his head-tossing horse.
“I’m watering my rose slips,” she said, and showed him the cuttings. “Do you see how well they’re doing? And you said they’d die,” Lorna reminded him.
Benteen didn’t comment. “I told Dollarhide to saddle your horse. I thought you might like to ride ahead with me this afternoon.”
It was a rare invitation which Lorna was silently delighted with. Feeling provocative, she tipped her head to the side and showed him a look of feigned surprise. “Do you mean that you’re actually going to spend some time with me? It’s so seldom that I see you for more than five minutes.”
His gaze narrowed, but a smile was showing. “You’re getting a bit saucy, aren’t you?”
“I don’t understand why you would say such a thing,” she declared innocently, then laughed.
“I’m going to grab a bite of food. I’ll see you later.” His tone indicated the subject would be brought up again, but with a certain bemusement in it that said he wasn’t upset. It was a reaction to the way she was flirting with him.
There was a gleam in her eye when Benteen reined his horse away from the wagon and walked it to the chuck wagon. Within seconds after he’d left, Lorna was hurrying over to tell Mary of the afternoon outing.
When Mary had expressed her pleasure for Lorna’s sake, Lorna asked the same question she’d asked before. “Are you sure you don’t want me to speak to Benteen about a horse for you?”
Mary’s answer was the same. “No, I’m sure. The only way I know how to ride a horse is astraddle. That was all right when I was a little girl on the farm, but it’s definitely not something a married woman should do.”
“But I could teach you to ride with a sidesaddle,” Lorna persuaded.
It was a tempting offer, because Mary fancied looking as ladylike as Lorna did, but it was for that very reason that she refused. She didn’t want to admit to envying Lorna. She doubted that she would ever be able to achieve Lorna’s skill or grace, and what good would it do her if she did? She had better things to do with her time, she convinced herself.
“No, thanks. I get enough bumps and bruises from the wagon seat. I don’t need to get more falling off a horse,” she refused firmly.
With a sigh, Lorna turned away. Even if she had been able to persuade Mary, there was still only one sidesaddle, which meant they wouldn’t be able to ride together, and that would have been half the fun.
Unless she was accompanied by Benteen on one of his forays in advance of the herd, her rides were restricted to staying with the wagons. The wind whipped her long skirts, spooking the cattle, so she wasn’t allowed to ride anywhere near the herd or to venture out of sight of the wagons. Despite the strict limits, just the change from driving the wagon all the time made it more than worthwhile.
Her mount was a buttermilk-colored buckskin. By nature, it was a calm, steady animal, but with plenty of life. There was nothing plodding or sedate about its way of going. He seemed more surprised than uneasy with the unusual saddle on his back and the many layers of skirt and petticoats constantly brushing his side, but he settled down to it quickly. Lorna named him Sandman because of his color and his gentlemanly ways.
As she cantered the buckskin alongside Benteen’s mount, the prairie gave way to rough, broken country that marked the Red River Valley and the Texas boundary. Lorna was awed by the wild land. There was certainly nothing like it around Fort Worth, but she’d never ventured more than a day’s drive from there in her life until now.
When they reached the Red River, its sluggish water was thick with the clay-red silt that gave it its name. Stopping on a knoll overlooking the river, Benteen studied the river like a general looking over a battlefield before the battle starts.
“Is something wrong?” Lorna asked.
She wasn’t aware how treacherous river crossings could be to cattle and men. So far, they had forded only tame streams that had offered them no trouble. Benteen didn’t enlighten her about the difference.
“No.” His gaze traveled beyond the river to the land on the opposite side. “Once we cross that, Texas will be behind us.”
The satisfaction in his voice sobered Lorna, because she didn’t share his desire to cut all ties with this country. There were many things she didn’t allow her mind to dwell on; missing her parents was one of them. She had tried so hard to get through each day without complaining, to show Benteen that she was game enough to take it. She kept telling herself that everything would be all right when they finally reached Montana and they had a real home instead of a covered wagon. But would it?
“Wait here,” Benteen ordered. “I’m going to ride down for a closer look.”
Checking the buckskin’s attempt to follow, Lorna watched Benteen ride down to the fording place. It seemed he was always thinking about the cattle and the trail ahead. There was hardly room for anything else. Even when he took her along, like this afternoon, it seemed to be a token gesture—just like when she was a little girl and her father used to let her come to his store as long as she promised to sit and be very quiet and not make a nuisance of herself. The only time she had Benteen’s undivided attention was at night—and that hadn’t been very often lately. In irritation, Lorna realized he was saving his strength and energy for the trail drive.
Benteen had swum his horse to the other side and was on his way back when she heard the sound of a horse and rider approaching the river. Lorna turned, not recognizing the burly man on the sorrel horse. It wasn’t anyone from their outfit. Lorna was more curious than alarmed by the sight of the stranger riding up to her. He was only one man, and Benteen was within shouting distance.
When he stopped his horse a few yards from her, he swept off his hat in a gallant gesture of respect and held it to his chest. He seemed to be all chest, shoulders, and neck. Lorna inclined her head in a silent acknowledgment of his action.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Calder,” the stranger said, taking her by surprise when he used her name. There was a boldness about him as he smiled. “We’ve never met, but you’ve been described to me, so I recognized you right off.”
“You have the advantage, sir,” she murmured.
“My name’s Giles. My friends call me Bull,” he introduced himself. “I’m bossin’ a herd a few miles back down the trail.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Giles.” Lorna had heard the men talking about one herd following them, although there were many ahead and behind. “Would you be driving Mr. Boston’s cattle?”
“That’s right enough, ma’am.” He was blatantly admiring. “You not only sit a horse pretty, but you got a bright mind, too.”
No one—not even Benteen—had complimented Lorna for her intelligence and ability to think. Ever since her marriage, she’d felt incredibly ignorant and naïve. But this man had just made her feel clever and smart. It did wonderful things for her self-esteem.
“You’re very kind, Mr. Giles.” She was glowing.
“How can a man be anything else in the company of a beautiful lady?” His gallant flattery seemed such a contradiction to his muscled, pugnacious appearance. Perhaps that’s what made it seem so sincere, Lorna thought.
Cantering hooves signaled Benteen’s approach. The man named Bull Giles gave a considering look in her husband’s direction and shoved his hat back onto his head. The smile went from his face as it took on that closed-in expression Lorna had noticed men wear when they met each other. When Benteen halted his horse, it was positioned between Lorna and the Ten Bar trail boss.
“Giles.” Benteen greeted the man with a nod of his head.
“How’s the river?”
“A little soft on the other bank, but otherwise it’s in good shape.” River water dripped from Benteen, and his horse was shiny wet with it.
&nb
sp; “When’re you figurin’ to cross?” the big man asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be all day at it,” Giles said. “Else I’ll have to push you aside to take my cows across.”
“I don’t push too easy,” Benteen replied. On the surface, the exchange seemed to be an idle one, holding no heat, yet Lorna sensed some undercurrent running between them.
“That’s the way I always had it figured,” the big man agreed. “’Course I had thought Boston would get some opposition over the Cee Bar.”
“It wasn’t my play, and Pa had already cashed in his chips before Boston picked up his winnings,” he stated.
“Yeah, I heard you was headed for Montana Territory.” Giles nodded. “Reckon I might take another look at that country after I deliver these cows in Dodge City.” But he was looking straight at Lorna when he said it, leaving the impression that she was what he’d be going to see.
Lorna blushed a little, feeling the sharpness of Benteen’s gaze upon her. She felt the fluttering of her pulse and didn’t know which man to blame for it. When Giles glanced at Benteen, there was something in his eyes that dared Benteen to object.
“Have you met my wife?” Again there was emphasis on the possessive word.
“Yes, I introduced myself when I rode up,” he admitted. “I hope you’re taking good care of her, ’cause there’s bound to be somebody else around willin’ to do the job.”
“Namely you?” Benteen challenged in a cool, smooth voice.
“An ugly brute like me?” Giles laughed.
Lorna failed to notice that he didn’t deny it, although Benteen did. “I’m sure you underrate your own worth, Mr. Giles,” she insisted. It reminded her too much of the way Sue Ellen was always putting herself down because of her plain looks.
