The tall man was the first to see him approach, and his eyes widened at the expression on McLowry’s face. He hurried away.
Gabe kept her attention on the young fellow who was speaking, but she knew McLowry was near. Her senses were suddenly alive and tingling, and no one had that effect on her but Jess.
When she looked up, he stood before her.
A waltz began. He saw her glance toward the fiddlers, then back at him with a broad smile as if to acknowledge the perfection of his timing. He swore inwardly. He had only meant to get her away from that group and talk to her, then leave her, but the anticipation on her face was something he couldn't deny.
He held out his hand. "Might I have this dance?"
Maht ah have this dance? The sweet sound of his words was music to her. Their hands met and, as he stepped backwards, drawing her onto the dance floor, their grasp tightened. She felt as if she were floating toward him. He stopped, but she continued, closer and closer, until she stood a hair’s breath away.
As her hand lifted to his shoulder, she tilted her head back, and as his arm circled her waist, he bent his head forward. He stepped forward to start the dance. In that small instant before she followed his lead, she felt his leg brush against hers. Warmth shot through her. Her body strained toward him while her feet, her traitorous feet, stepped back and away from him in accordance with the pattern of the dance.
His arm tightened around her waist and he gazed at her lips, mere inches away. He tore his eyes away and looked out over the crowd, trying to pay attention only to the music. But his heart pounded from the force of wanting her.
And of hating himself for it.
He looked over the young men surrounding the dance floor, so eager to take his place in her arms. Gazing down at her, he feigned a nonchalant smile. "If you’d like to stop, I understand," he said. "You must be tired after so much dancing."
She cocked her head. "Some years ago," she said, "I discovered dancing with the right person could be one of the most wonderful experiences in the world. Do you remember, Jess?"
His footstep faltered. The things she said never ceased to surprise him. She hadn't learned the lies so common between men and women, and he prayed to God she never would. "I remember," he whispered. He whirled her around and around, lost in the sweetness of her words, her song, her music.
The dance ended, and he placed his hand against the back of her waist to lead her to the flock of young men who so sought her attention. They were all dressed in their black Sunday best, like hawks ready to pounce on a newborn lamb. Not yet, he thought, let me keep her near just a little while longer. He suddenly changed course, steering her toward the exit.
"Would you 1ike some fresh air?" he asked.
"Yes, please."
He took her hand and they walked out of the sweltering hall into the warm, night air. Then he let go. Self-consciously, he hooked his thumbs on his side pockets, feeling half-naked without his six-shooter and cartridge belt.
She clasped her hands behind her back. They strolled to the far side of the building, away from the noise of the dancers and merry-makers.
"It feels good out here," he said, moving toward the desert, "after so long indoors."
"Yes. But I couldn't come out here earlier."
He glanced at her questioningly. "Why not?"
She caught his eye. "I vowed I wouldn't leave until I had danced once more with you. As the evening went on, I feared I'd be stuck in that hall the rest of my life."
His brows furrowed. "There's nothing so special about dancing with me."
"That's what I needed to find out. I had to know if there would ever again be such magic as there was for me the first time we danced."
He knew better than to ask, but he couldn't stop himself. "And?" He found himself holding his breath waiting for her answer.
She stopped walking. "Yes," she whispered. "It was all there. And more."
He took hold of her upper arms, pulling her close. The clean fragrance of her perfumed soap filled his senses with lilacs.
She lay her hands against his waist. He breathed in her nearness, as turmoil raged within his soul. As she looked at his face, he was sure she recognized the struggle he fought.
Slowly, she slid her hands up his ribcage, to his chest, his shoulders, his neck. He couldn’t fight her. He let go of her arms and his hands inched down her back to her waist and lower, pressing her closer, feeling the warmth of her belly against him.
He didn't know which of them moved, which of them bridged the distance, but suddenly, their lips met. He felt like a dying man given new life. He had died a thousand deaths that night, watching her with other men, torturing himself with thoughts of who among them would be the one to walk with her in the moonlight, to hold her as he was, to kiss her.
How could he bear the thought of another man with her, touching her, teaching her what it meant to make love?
He broke off the kiss and stared down at her. A part of him had trusted that she wouldn't let anyone else have her, trusted that she wanted him and only him. The thought shook him. He hadn't believed there was another person in this world he trusted. Yet, he trusted her.
She ran her fingertips over his eyebrows, his nose, and his cheeks. "What's wrong, Jess?"
He eased against her once more, wrapping her in a cocoon of his arms as he trailed feathery kisses on her eyes and cheeks. "Nothing," he murmured.
He felt her arms tighten as her lips sought his. The kiss started gently, then rocked him in a fiery explosion.
God, but he wanted her. This little mite of an inexperienced tomboy had captured him so completely he could scarcely think straight.
His kisses traveled to her ear, her jaw, her neck, then he stopped, clutching her tight against his chest. "Ah, Gabe," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "whatever am I to do about you?"
He felt the wild pounding of her heart as he held her, but he knew she had no understanding of the devils that plagued him. "Tell me how to help, Jess."
"There’s nothing you can do," he said.
"There must be!"
He kissed her forehead. "In your arms I want to dream, but they're just dreams. Things that can never be in the real world."
"Dreams can come true."
He lightly cupped her face, disgusted with himself for the flights of fancy that led him to foolish thoughts. Too well he knew that with him, she'd be a widow before she was a wife.
He ached to make her his, but to do so would be purely selfish. If he didn't...care...so much about her, he could do all that his body wanted. But he cared too much to take the chance of destroying her future. The future she would thank him for someday, when he was gone from her life, when she had forgotten how it felt here and now.
He pressed his lips to hers once more, with aching tenderness, then started to pull away from her.
"No!" Her fingers clutched his arms. "Jess."
A rustling from behind the mesquite bushes caught their attention.
"Such a purtty scene. Raise your hands up high, now!"
McLowry, his hands up, peered into the darkness.
"Who's there?" he asked.
Gabe fumed at the rudeness of the people spying on them. She lifted her arms, while ready to give those barbarians a what-for. But her eyes widened and fear gripped her at the sight of three scruffy men, their guns drawn, stomping toward them.
"Sorry to break this up," the first gunman said. He wore a large, Mexican style sombrero, but his accent was pure Yankee. His hair was long and dirty and he was bearded. "It was gettin' inturstin'. Nothin' like watchin' a bitch in heat go after a man."
"Why don’t you put down that gun and we'll see who's a man," McLowry taunted.
Sombrero laughed. "I already know. I never say 'no' to a lady--or whatever in the hell she is."
"You've had your fun, now leave us alone. I’m putting my hands down--"
"No! Don’t try it. I know about them other guns you got hidden on you. You think I’m some ki
nda fool?"
Two other men closed ranks in front of them, guns pointed, blocking their path. One was medium height, heavy set, with a thick beard and red bandanna under his hat. The other was short and wiry. A long, skinny mustache snaked over his upper lip and down the sides of his mouth to his chin. Sombrero casually rested his gun against his shoulder. "Fun's just beginnin'. I thought you knew who we was. You should. You spent enough time askin' 'bout us. Or, leastwise, she has."
"I have?" Gabe looked carefully from one man to the other. She didn’t recognize any of them.
"Mr. Tanner’s heard you been askin’ ‘bout him all ‘round the Territory. He wants to save you the trouble of doin’ any more searchin’. We’re here to escort you to him."
Sombrero turned to McLowry. "An’ Mr. Tanner has a special welcome for the man who kept him away from that silver ore payoff. When he heard it was you helpin’ those miners, why hell, I ain’t never seen him so mad. Must be somethin’ personal between you two."
"Must be," McLowry said dryly.
The short one shifted uneasily. "Enough talk, Slim. Let’s grab ‘em and git."
McLowry glanced back toward the dance. They were far from the meeting hall and no one was around to help them. They were on their own.
"Sorry, fellas," he said. "But we aren’t going anywhere."
"Alive or dead. It don’t matter no how," Slim said, moving back out of McLowry’s reach. "Take his guns, boys. And the knives in his boots."
Two men grabbed his arms, leaving Gabe to Slim. McLowry couldn’t help but grin. It was obvious Tanner’s men knew nothing about the woman they were after.
As the bandit reached for Gabe, she kneed him in the groin, then grabbed the hand with the gun, trying to pull it free as the man bent over in pain.
The distraction was enough that McLowry pushed the heavier of the two men who held him. The heavy one fell into the small man, and McLowry pulled out the small Remington he kept hidden under his vest. He spun toward Slim, ready to fire. Instead, he found a fourth man had suddenly appeared, and that he was now holding Gabe in front of him, the sharp blade of a Bowie knife pressed to her neck. She pushed her head back against his shoulder as far from the blade as she could get.
"Drop the gun, McLowry, or she’s dead," Slim said as he cautiously reached onto the ground for the gun Gabe had wrested from him.
There was nothing McLowry could do with a blade on Gabe’s throat that way. He tossed his gun aside. The other men grabbed him again and took his knives.
Slim leaned his face close to Gabe, and she could feel his hot breath against her cheek as he spoke. "Looks like you're gonna meet Tanner after all, little lady." Then he laughed.
Chapter 16
The men bound McLowry’s wrists in front of him so he could hold the reins, tied a gag to his mouth, and did the same to Gabe. Rifle barrels prodded the two of them deep into the desert until they reached a group of six horses--the two extra for Gabe and McLowry.
Throughout the long, chilly night they rode west with only starlight to guide them. Hours later, as an amber dawn lit the sky, they reached the foothills of the Dragoon Mountains, the jagged hills where Cochise had lived at the time of his death, and where some Apache returned when the peace fell apart. The Dragoons were a no-man's land where outlaws like Tanner could hole up and stay alive as long as he kept clear of the Apache.
Gabe's face and hands ached from blasts of cold night wind slapping against her. Her thin, once-lovely dress gave little warmth and the waist cinch made it hard to breathe. But she knew this discomfort would be nothing compared to the agony of traveling in daylight under a blazing desert sun.
Not until the early hours of the morning did sombrero-wearing Slim let them stop at a watering hole. The heavy-set one, Lefty, helped Gabe off the horse. She took a step toward the water.
"Forget it." Lefty grabbed her arm, stopping her.
She yanked free and with her eyes told him exactly how crazy she thought he was. As she sidestepped around him, his massive hand shoved her in the chest and sent her reeling, barely able to keep her balance.
McLowry, too, stood back from the water, watching the horses lap it up, and the men fill their canteens. Bastards, she thought, then stepped to McLowry’s side and angrily waited for the journey to begin again.
By late morning they had begun the ascent into the Dragoons. The horses slowed, nearly as exhausted as the riders. By mid-day, the trail grew steep and the hot sun beat relentlessly upon them.
Gabe slouched forward, gripping the pommel. Her lips were so dry and cracked it hurt to lick them, and her hands stung from the tightness of the ropes around her wrists. With only thin cotton pantaloons to protect her legs, the constant rubbing against the saddle had scrapped the skin on the inside of her thighs raw. But the worst was the sun. Her already tanned arms were turning a deep red, and the sunburn stiffened her shoulders and her face. Her head throbbed as if a tight binding circled it, making her eyesight blur. The chaparral, pinyon and mesquite looked hazy, and rock and landscape formations indistinct.
From time to time, she glanced over her shoulder at McLowry. He sat straight, and although she knew he had to be hurting from the sun and heat as badly as she, his expression showed no discomfort.
His strength helped her find her own.
Late that afternoon, they arrived at a high limestone wall.
Slim skirted the edge of the wall and suddenly disappeared. The small man behind him, Dawes, held the reins to Gabe's horse. As he continued forward, she found that the rock face was not flat across, but one wall ended and another started up about three feet behind it. The space between them formed a tunnel. Gabe's captor turned into it, and led her after him.
Soon, she was in complete darkness, unable to see the head of her horse. She heard the horses' steady hoof beats, the rolling of rocks and gravel as the horses stepped on them, and the low, constant chuckling of Slim.
A sliver of daylight appeared in the distance. They emerged on a rocky mountain path that led downward to a wide, box canyon. Paloverde and ironwood trees stood on the canyon floor. Gabe stared at the foliage, knowing it meant there was water nearby. Her thirst was unbearable. The gag tore at her mouth, her throat and tongue swollen and stinging with dryness.
They began the descent. The horses swayed precariously close to the edge of the trail. As they rounded a curve in the hillside, Gabe saw a tall, stocky man standing in wait. He held a rifle and wore a thick, black bandoleer across his broad chest. "Slim," he called. "What you got there?"
"We did it, Lomax!" Slim waved his big sombrero toward his captives and laughed. "Looky here!"
Lomax smiled a broad, half-toothless grin and patted the horses as Slim and the others rode past him, continuing down the narrow path to the canyon floor.
On the flat land ahead of them, Gabe saw a campsite. A wooden shack stood at one end, to the back was a small cook stove, and at the other end a rough-looking, makeshift corral. In the center of the camp stood four thin pillars with a tarp spread across the top of them for shade.
Beneath the tarp sat Tack Cramer.
Gabe felt as if her heart ceased beating. The world reeled then spun crazily around her. Her hands gripped the reins as she did all she could not to fall.
She’s almost forgotten how ugly he was--from his wide, bumpy forehead to his flat, crooked nose, to the long, stringy hair and scraggly beard the color of sun-bleached rawhide. Small brown eyes peered out at her with all the warmth of a horned toad.
He sat with his legs and spurred boots stretched out before him, his back resting against a barrel, and at his side was a half-empty bottle of whiskey. A soiled kerchief was tied loosely around his thin neck, the knot falling onto a hairless chest so thin and concave Gabe could practically count his ribs. Only the bottom two buttons of his shirt were fastened.
As the group approached, Cramer's mouth curved into a grin.
Gabe forgot all discomfort as she stared at one of her family’s murderers.
At Cramer's side, and a little to the back, a heap that looked like a pile of old clothes began to move, and Gabe saw a woman push some netting off her face and arms and slowly sit up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her red hair was matted and tangled, and her tattered, filthy dress clung far too tightly to her ample figure. Gabe could see the shock flicker across the woman's face as she spied McLowry.
She placed her hand on Cramer's thigh and raised her head defiantly, her eyes never leaving McLowry’s face.
Cramer's face twisted into a grimace as he glanced down at her hand. "I cain't b'lieve you woke up from yer beauty sleep, Melissa. It ain't even nighttime yet." He took a swig from his bottle then shambled on thin legs toward the riders.
"So you got 'um both, boys!" Laughing, he slapped his sides then thrust open his arms, his fingers waggling inward, precariously holding the neck of the whiskey bottle with his thumb and first finger. "Let's see her. Git her down fer me."
Slim and Dawes yanked Gabe off the horse. She began to crumble to the ground, her legs unable to support her after the unrelenting ride, but Slim caught her. He held her up as Dawes cut the ropes from her hands, causing shooting pains to run through her arms as the blood began to circulate again. When the gag was taken from her mouth, her jaw was so stiff it spasmed when she tried to close it.
The other two men, Lefty and Red, dragged McLowry from his horse and ripped off his gag, but kept his wrists bound.
Slim balanced Gabe before Cramer, then stepped aside. Despite the panic that filled her, she found herself unable to look away.
"I heard you been lookin' fer me, girl," he said, jerking her chin up as he peered down at her. "I wanna know why."
She recoiled at his touch, her lips drawn back in a snarl, but her throat was so dry she couldn't order him to take his filthy hands away from her. Her eyes said it, though.
"She wasn't looking for you," McLowry said, his voice harsh and croaked. "Where’s Tanner?"
Dance With A Gunfighter Page 15
