At first Bradley thought he was going to be ripped in two. The sand held fast until the suction popped both his knees and his ankles, but then he moved. The hardest part was keeping his boots on, but Bradley would be tarred and feathered before he traveled the rest of the way barefoot.
“It’s working,” he called. Ruby continued until he was free and skidding across the watery sand. “Whoa,” he hollered.
Ambrosia stopped the animal and ordered her to kneel.
Bradley lay in the sand and rotated his feet. He pressed his hand on his chest to slow his racing heart. Normally he enjoyed danger, but he didn’t like to take it standing still. But now his blood was flowing again, and Ambrosia was next to him.
“You’re a mess,” she said as she took the hem of her skirt and wiped the sand off his face. The skirt was wet, which made them both laugh.
“Thanks for coming back for me.”
“I would never leave someone behind,” she said. “Only the camels.”
But he wasn’t thinking about the camels. He got to his feet and offered Ambrosia his hand. When she pulled herself up, he took a step closer.
“You saved my life.”
“Nonsense. The sand wasn’t even up to your knees.”
“I owe you something.” And he knew what he wanted to give her. His eyes wandered to her lips. When she rested her hand on his dripping chest and leaned in, he nearly burst a button.
Her face brushed against his cheek as she moved forward and whispered in his ear, “Do I really have to keep the camels?”
Bradley took her by the waist and snuggled her against him. This had the makings of the most pleasurable argument of his life. “We’ve been over this before. It’s my mission.” But it would be an easy mission to forget with her in his arms.
With her finger, she traced a circle above his heart. “He hired you to get us home safely. Forget about the camels. Buy them, sell them, send them scattering to the four winds, for all I care, but we have no place for them.” She tilted her face up to him, her sweetness containing an edge of challenge that made her even more irresistible. “I saved your life. Can’t you do this for me?”
His heart pounded. He’d kiss her. Just one kiss, because she sure acted like she needed kissing. Her lashes fluttered down, and her chin tilted up, giving him a clear path.
But not a clear conscience. He took one muddy, sandy finger and drew a line on her cheek. “I can’t betray your pa.”
The sweetness melted into disappointment as she pulled away. “You aren’t betraying him. You’re helping him, and you’re helping me.”
“I have to complete this mission to your father’s satisfaction.”
“What about my satisfaction?” Her hands were on her hips while her wet skirt slapped in the wind.
Bradley groaned. She needed to be locked up somewhere safe until she was old enough to know better. Being the mature, responsible party went against his nature.
And he’d thought the quicksand had been hard to walk away from.
Chapter
8
No longer counting the steps toward home, Ambrosia had something else to occupy her thoughts. Bradley Willis had refused to kiss her. Stealing a kiss was unforgivable, but refusing a kiss ranked somewhere around criminal. And what was worse, he refused to help her.
She grabbed the frame of her saddle and held on as Ruby made it down another sharp embankment. The brutal sun hadn’t slacked, and Amber was paying the price. Without her parasol, she was baking, and her forearms were blistering. Although the heat was the same, the terrain had changed. The ground was broken and chopped up here. Often the smooth, grassy plain dropped off, exposing a red vein of dirt. Here at least was one place that the camels weren’t quite as nimble as the horses. True, they endured the heat better and could carry a heavier load, but their large padded feet did better on flat surfaces than steep drops.
She’d saved Bradley’s life. Not really, but didn’t he owe her one tiny favor? She bit her lip. What if Bradley was right? What if her father was getting better, and what if it was because of the camels? She’d never considered how her father might feel with a room full of awards but no challenges ahead. How had Bradley figured it out?
Her father dropped back to ride next to her. “They’ve handled the gullies pretty well, but I’m curious if we’ll find one too steep.”
“It seems like we’re crossing the same gully as it snakes back and forth. Couldn’t we avoid this?”
“What would be the fun in that? Besides, I want you to see what they can do. Let’s head over to that washout.”
Because they had nothing better to do in the blistering sun than zigzag around, looking for obstacles to cross. Dutifully, Amber followed him. Bradley shrugged a question at her, but she had no answer.
“This will do.” Her father sounded like a boy when he was this excited. “Let’s see if we’ve found one that Omar will balk at.”
Omar didn’t like what he was being asked to do. He extended his long neck to investigate the drop, and his head swung slowly from left to right, looking the situation over. Then, with a strained trumpeting, he began to drop to his knees.
“Hold on,” her father cheered. “He’s going to do it.”
Whatever he was going to do, Ruby was following. She knelt as well, but by now Ambrosia could avoid getting pitched around in the saddle. “I guess we’re getting down?” she said. But Ruby didn’t stop to let her off. Instead, she rocked and scooted forward on one knee, then on the other. “She’s crawling!”
So was Omar. Her father beamed. “They did this in Dog Canyon when we were going across the Guadalupe Mountains. When the way gets too treacherous, instead of slipping, they crawl. Aren’t they the most practical, amazing beasts?”
Amber had to admit it was clever.
Once they’d reached the bottom of the gully, up on their feet they went.
Bradley caught up with them. “I’ve never seen a horse handle a steep like that.”
“That was Lieutenant Echols’s favorite trick. I wish he could’ve been here to see it one last time. He always rode Topsy, and he was the fastest crawler. I was at Lieutenant Hartz’s funeral when Echols passed away, so I couldn’t make it in time for his memorial.”
She’d heard this before, but . . . “I didn’t realize they both died at the same time.”
“Nearly. And then when Edward Beale died in that train wreck this spring, he was the last one to go.”
Bradley’s face had settled into unusually somber lines. “Your father is the only one left,” he reminded her.
She remembered there had been some funerals of people she didn’t know, but she hadn’t understood the significance.
Her father scratched Omar’s hump. “Just me and the camels.” He smiled weakly. “You know, I always thought the army turned out rough men, not fit for polite society, but then I realized it fostered a lot of character, too—loyalty, responsibility, the courage to see your friends through. If a man can claim those traits, he’s got a lot going for him.”
Amber looked at the dry ground passing beneath them. Loyalty? Bradley had proven that he possessed that trait in abundance. Could it be that he and her father understood something about devotion that she was missing? True, she was doing what she and her mother thought best for Father, but maybe they were measuring by a different yardstick.
When they stopped to camp that night, Amber was still bothered by her father’s words—that and the burning of her forearms. She hadn’t realized how much her little parasol had protected her. Her sunbonnet only shaded her face and neck.
As soon as they’d unloaded the camels, her father had taken them to search for grazing so they could preserve the oats for later. Because of their long, leathery lips, he claimed they could eat cactus with no problems. Amber would like to see it, but not tonight. If it weren’t for the burning on her arms, she could’ve fallen asleep immediately.
She sat next to a charred pile of sticks, evidence that this had been
someone else’s camping spot as well, and tried to untie her sunbonnet with shaking fingers.
Bradley, having fully recovered from his quicksand event, had kept his distance that day, preferring to ride mostly in silence. But watching her apparently had broken his resolve.
“Who ever heard of bringing a woman across the plains in August?” he said on her third attempt to pry the knot loose. He pushed her hands away and took up the ribbons in his own. He knelt, face-to-face with her. If he didn’t smell so much like camels, she might have found his thoughtful blue eyes irresistible.
She was tired. So tired that she’d almost forgotten she was irritated with him.
Bradley fussed like a mother hen as he carefully removed her hat and set it aside. “Hand me your canteen. I’m going to go refill them.”
Ambrosia handed it over, and he saw her arms.
“Oh, sweetheart . . .” he whispered. He caught her by the hand and pulled off her glove. A sharp hiss of breath was all the reply she could make as he took in the dry, reddened skin that began right where her gloves had ended. You could have fried eggs in the heat radiating from her skin.
“You should’ve said something.” His touch made her shiver, and not for the good reasons. “We have to get something on this. Do you have any creams? Witch hazel?”
“My father drinks a bit of vinegar every morning for his health. We brought a small flask.”
“Vinegar? That’s what’s in your father’s flask?”
“What did you think it was?”
Bradley wagged his eyebrows. “I’ll go get it. Don’t scratch. Whatever you do, don’t scratch.”
The heat hadn’t gone away, but she was almost too tired to care. She couldn’t wait to collapse on her mattress, but the thought of the stiff fabric rubbing her arms made her cringe.
Bradley returned, carrying her father’s flask. He started to sit, then paused to push her skirt aside so he wouldn’t crush it. He opened the flask and removed his bandanna.
“I’m too tired to mind that your bandanna has been out in the dust all day,” she said.
“So have your arms.” Carefully, he rolled up her dainty lace sleeves to her elbows.
“I should have been more careful,” she said.
He gritted his teeth. “And us here with nothing but another week’s worth of travel ahead of us.” He upended the vinegar into the hankie. “I’ll be gentle,” he said.
At the first contact, the cold vinegar on her arms left her lightheaded. Her skin tightened and burned, but then came a blessed coolness that spun the world around.
“That doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?” His blue eyes held concern, but also assurance that she was going to be just fine.
She let her eyes slide closed. “It feels heavenly.”
“Just relax. Let me take care of you,” he said as he swabbed the rest of her arm.
“I was worried about your smelling like a camel,” she said, “but now I smell like I climbed out of a pickle vat.”
“I love pickles,” he said.
“And I’m growing fond of camels.”
“Is that right?” He grinned slowly. “Only the camels?”
She didn’t have to wonder how she’d fallen under his spell. Of course he’d captured her heart. The real question was what he saw in her. Or was she just part of the job? Someone to humor while he completed his mission?
She looked nothing like the spotless, fresh miss he’d met at the farm earlier that week. Her flawless skin showed the effects of the harsh wind and sun. Her hair, although smooth every morning, had been teased out of her braid and now framed her face with dark tendrils. Her clothes were battered and stained. She might not think it was an improvement, but he was impressed. Now she was real. And she made his blood sing.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” She held out her other arm for him to swab. “You said a man needs someone to look after, and I’ve got to ask . . . who are you looking after?”
On the face of it, it was a ridiculous question. He was a part of the US Cavalry, a brotherhood that meant something. Krebs, Morris, Chandler—heck, even Major Adams—were who he was looking after. But she was right. Someday they would all go their own ways. He wasn’t planning the rest of his life around them.
But Ambrosia Herald was someone he could possibly find room for.
“Until this trip, I never knew that I wanted the responsibility of caring for someone else.” The tight feeling in his chest reminded him of the quicksand. He brushed back her tangled hair and anchored it behind her ear. “You don’t need me, but I wish you did.”
“How do you know what I need?”
Could she be telling the truth? Was there room in her life for a rascal like him? He took her hand and pressed it against his lips. If he’d misunderstood, she’d better set him straight fast.
“You know I’m helping your father.” Bradley turned her hand over and watched the thin, blue veins pulse beneath her pale skin. “No matter how sweet you act, you can’t persuade me otherwise.”
“Mmmm . . .” she purred as he planted his lips on her wrist. “I was wrong. I think the camels are good for him. Mother’s garden might get destroyed, but—” She stopped talking when he pressed another kiss higher on her arm.
“I hope that doesn’t hurt,” he said.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“A kiss to make it better, right?”
She dropped her gaze to his mouth. “My lips are sunburned, too,” she said.
The wind had died to a breeze, but Bradley felt like the earth had stopped completely. He leaned forward and, just before his lips touched hers, said, “At least they don’t taste like pickles.”
And then he kissed her good and solid, just to show her that he meant business. To show her she couldn’t tease him like that and not mean it. But, have mercy, she did mean it. Her lips softened, willing and inviting. It was easy to kiss her, easy to go forward, but Bradley knew there was no going back. This would change who he was and what he wanted out of life.
But for that moment, what he wanted out of life was pretty simple. More of Ambrosia.
“Private Willis!”
Bradley smiled, which threw off his kissing. He could just imagine Major Adams’s shock that he’d fallen in love on this crazy mission.
“Private Willis!”
But that wasn’t Major Adams. It was Captain Herald.
Bradley rocked away from Ambrosia and jumped to attention. His elbow bounced into her shoulder and nearly knocked her over. It was a messy affair. He was a mess. He was in a mess.
Captain Herald glared at both of them. “I don’t know who I should discipline first.”
“It’s my fault, sir. I instigated the kissing. Ambrosia had nothing to do with it.”
“What?” She stood. “I had everything to do with it.”
“As the gentleman, I was in the wrong,” Bradley insisted.
“As the lady, so was I. You finally kiss me, and now you want to act like I’m too immature to know what was going on?”
Her father held up his hand. “Fine, Ambrosia, you’re just as much to blame. Does that make you happy?”
She beamed at Bradley, and he couldn’t help but smile back.
“Best kiss of my life. I can’t let you take all the credit,” she whispered.
Stars above. What had he gotten himself into?
The captain marched between them. “What else have I missed? Do we need to form a firing squad out here?”
“Nothing else, sir,” Bradley said. “That was the first time I kissed her.”
But it wouldn’t be the last.
Chapter
9
The next morning, Ambrosia worried that the trip was passing too quickly. In a matter of days, they would be home, and what then? Bradley was a trooper. He had no control over where he was stationed or how long he stayed. She knew that, and she’d decided to love him anyway.
They hadn’t been riding very long when Bradley pointed out a Ch
eyenne settlement with its white tepees. The camel ensemble steered clear of them and Bradley kept an alert eye, but after half the day, they could no longer see the village and assumed they’d passed by undetected.
Ambrosia breathed a sigh of relief, but then she saw horsemen following them. At first she didn’t trust her eyes. Something was back there, but it was too far away to see clearly. But as the figures grew bigger and bigger, she didn’t think they were Indians, after all.
Bradley had wisely kept his distance from her, even though her father wasn’t nearly as mad as she’d expected. When he turned to scan the horizon, he spotted the horsemen for himself.
“Don’t worry.” Ambrosia scratched at her sunburnt arm. “I’ve been watching them, and I don’t think they’re Cheyenne.”
“How long have they been following us?” He didn’t act as relieved as he should.
“A half hour or so. They seem wary. If they’re afraid of us, then we’re safe, aren’t we?”
“Captain Herald!” Bradley shouted. He dug in his knapsack for a pair of field glasses while her father turned Omar and joined him.
“What is it?”
Bradley held the glasses to his face. Their small meal of canned beans felt heavy in Ambrosia’s stomach as she watched his mouth tighten and his lips go white.
“It’s the Gunther gang,” he said. “That’s Pete’s paint horse. They’ve been following us since the lodge, if not before.”
“How do you know?” her father asked.
“Because of this.” Bradley held up his canteen. “That dent is from the gunfight we had. The night we heard someone messing around our corral, I found this pulled from my stuff and sitting on a fence post. They know it’s me.”
The horsemen had stopped on a ridge. There were five of them, all men, just looking down at them from a distance.
Regret showed plainly on Bradley’s face. “You have nothing of value for them. They want me. I can keep them busy for a while.” He slapped his thigh. “What I wouldn’t give for a horse right now.”
“You can’t go,” Ambrosia said. “They tried to kill you before.”
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