«I’ll help you,» Caleb said.
«No.»
«Damn it —» began Caleb.
«Yes,» Willow interrupted bleakly. «Damn it. Damn it straight to Hell.»
Silently, both men watched as Willow walked into the night. When they could neither see nor hear her anymore, Reno let out a long breath.
«Good thing she wasn’t packing a gun,» he said. «She’d have gone for it.» Reno shook his head. «And it’s a good thing she thinks she loves you, Yuma man. Otherwise she’d cut your throat while you slept.»
Caleb shook his head. «If that’s what she wanted, Willow would take me head on and wide awake, even knowing she would lose. There’s no quit in her. I admire that, even though it would be a lot easier sometimes if she was meek.»
Reno shook his head in amazement. «She was such a sweet little girl, all smiles and mischief and golden hair.»
«Sweet little girls have to be packed in cotton and put on a high shelf if they’re going to stay sweet.» Caleb looked out into the darkness that had swallowed Willow. «I’d rather have a woman who won’t fold up the first time life gets hard. I’d rather have a woman who makes choices and doesn’t whine if things don’t turn out the way she expected. I’d rather have a woman’s passion than a little girl’s sweet smiles. I’d rather have…Willow.»
«You’ve got her.» Reno smiled slightly. «She’s mad as a cat in a bathtub right now, but she’ll come around and make the best of it. She doesn’t have any choice and she knows it.»
«I’d rather she came to me willingly.»
«From what I’ve gathered, lack of willingness on her part hasn’t been a problem for you,» Reno said sardonically.
Caleb turned so swiftly on Reno that he instinctively tensed.
«Preacher or no preacher, Willow ismywife,» Caleb said savagely. «She came to me as innocent as any woman ever came to a man. If you do anything to make her feel ashamed, you’ll get the fight you’ve been begging for. You’ve got my word on that.»
Reno’s left eyebrow climbed in a black arc as the flat promise in Caleb’s voice sank in. After a moment, Reno laughed softly and held out his hand. «Welcome to the family, brother. I’m glad Willow found herself a man she won’t have to apologize for when fighting time comes around.»
Grimly, Caleb smiled and he shook hands. «Don’t worry, Reno. If you ever need another gun, you just send word. I’ll be there come Hell or high water.»
«Well, there’s one fight coming I won’t have to send word on. Hope to Hell Wolfe is around somewhere. Two guns against Slater’s bunch isn’t enough.»
«It might be if you have a repeating rifle.»
«Wolfe told me about that fancy long gun of yours. Said you can load and fire damn near at the same time.»
Caleb nodded.
«Have to get me one of those,» Reno said. «Wish I had one now.»
«So do I. Is there another way out of here?»
«Maybe. Depends on the horses you’re riding. Look here…»
Reno hunkered down on his heels and began drawing in the ashes with a twig. The passage of the stick left a dim white line through the darker ashes on the surface of the fire as Reno talked in a low voice about the valley and the mountainside.
Across the small valley, Willow froze, listening as hard as she could. She hadn’t been able to hear the individual words while Caleb and Reno spoke, but she had been able to distinguish voices from the random whisper of wind and the rush of the creek. The abrupt lack of conversation made her fear it wouldn’t be long until Caleb came back to bed. She wanted to be somewhere else before that happened.
Hurriedly, Willow tore a blank page from Caleb’s journal and stuffed it into her jacket pocket with the pencil she had already taken. She kept the journal as well, for it had Caleb’s carefully drawn map of all the rugged country they had covered, as well as the easier passes they hadn’t taken. Between that and her ability to read the stars, she should be able to find her way back over the mountains, even though she would be traveling at night to avoid attracting attention.
Willow walked toward the horses, dragging her saddle and a hastily made bedroll behind her. One big jacket pocket was filled with venison jerky, which was all she would have to eat until she reached Canyon City. The prospect of short rations didn’t bother Willow nearly as much as the fact that she would have to leave her mares behind. She simply hadn’t the skill to hide them and herself as well. They would be better off with Caleb, who had cared enough for the Arabians to ignore his own exhaustion and go back over the divide to rescue the four mares.
The breeze shifted, bringing with it the murmur of male voices from the campsite. Willow relaxed slightly, knowing that she had a few more minutes before Caleb came after her. She wished she could be gone before Caleb sought her out, but that would be too dangerous. If only a few minutes separated them, he would come after her and catch her. She needed time to put enough distance between them that chasing her would be futile.
Ishmael scented Willow and nickered softly. She put down the saddle and quickly opened the bedroll as though she planned to sleep in the meadow with her horses. The blankets were lumpy with the various things she had between the layers, but she doubted Caleb would notice in the dark. Her carpetbag would have been too obvious, so she had left it behind.
Willow sat down and wrote quickly, saying what had to be said despite the pain it cost.
Matt, I’m sorry I’m not the innocent girl you remembered. Forcing Caleb to marry me won’t change what happened.
Don’t come after me. Let me shed the past and start all over again as a widow. I won’t be the first such widow, and I won’t be the last.
If you ever see our brothers, tell them I think of them often and remember them with love.
Willow paused, her courage faltering at the thought of what she had to say next. But it must be done. Caleb must understand that he had no duty to her.
Caleb, take your pick of the mares as payment for bringing me to my brother. Please take the other three to WolfeLonetree. He can have one if he’ll care for the other two until I can come for them.
If you do that, you have no other duty toward me. We are both free to begin over again.
After a few minutes, Willow went out among the horses, silently saying good-bye. The mares took the nighttime visitation with the same gentle spirit they took everything that came to them from their mistress. Tears burned behind Willow’s eyes as she felt the velvet muzzles snuffling over her, nudging her, asking to be petted and loved.
Caleb will take good care of you. Better than I could. He’s strong enough to get you to safe pastures.
Ishmael’s head came up and he nickered softly, looking into the night past Willow’s shoulder. She turned around slowly, knowing who would be there.
«It’s too late to start sleeping apart,» Caleb said, gesturing toward the place where Willow had left her bedroll and her saddle at its head as a pillow.
Willow shrugged, not trusting her voice.
«Come back to bed with me, honey. Nothing has changed.»
She shook her head with a weariness that was apparent even in the moon’s pale light.
Caleb’s hand shot out, catching Willow’s arm as she turned away. Willow made a startled sound. She had forgotten how quick he could be.
«Please don’t touch me.» Willow’s words were un-inflected, remote.
Caleb’s eyelids flickered at the distance in Willow’s voice, but he didn’t release her. «You’re my wife.»
«I’m your whore.»
His breath came in with a ripping sound. His other hand shot out. He pulled her close, imprisoning her in his arms, wishing there were sunlight so he could see her eyes.
And then Caleb saw Willow’s eyes, and wished the moon were less bright.
Her eyes were no more alive than her voice. A fine tremor moved through her body as she stood within his arms. Once that trembling would havesignalled the depth of her passion for him. Now itsignalled a terr
ible combination of shame and acceptance.
«You’re not my whore,» Caleb said in a savage voice. «You were never my whore!»
«Fancy lady. Whore. Call it what you will. It doesn’t change what happened, what I am.» Willow turned away as much as Caleb would allow her. «Let go of me.»
«No,» he said, and pulled her tight against his body.
Caleb’s flat refusal was unexpected, as was the arousal he made no effort to hide.
Willow was shocked. She hadn’t expected him to require her presence in his bed tonight. She hadn’t really believed that he thought of her as his whore.
She had been wrong. But then, she had been wrong about him before.
«I see,» Willow said. She forced her hands between their bodies and began unbuttoning her jacket with fingers that shook. «You want to rut between my legs again.»
His hand came down hard across her mouth. «Stopit. You’remy woman, not my whore, and you goddamned well know it!»
Caleb’s eyes were narrow slices of silver in the moonlight. His mouth was a black line. His face was utterly savage.
Willow could see the rage in Caleb, taste it, feel it. He was more angry than she had ever known any man to be. Without warning, he moved his hand and replaced it with his mouth. He was so quick that she had no chance. She was held within the fierce cage of his arms, no way to turn, no escape, nothing but the urgent pressure of his mouth breaking open hers, leaving her defenseless against his kiss.
Motionless, Willow waited for the intimate thrust of Caleb’s tongue. It didn’t come. Instead his mouth gentled and his tongue coaxed hers in a sweet seduction that was more threatening than any forced claiming would have been. It was the same with his hands sliding softly over her body, spreading pleasure in their wake, making her tremble.
Despair washed through Willow. Caleb knew her too well. Helplessly her nails bit into his upper arms as the wildness in her sensed the outlet he was offering and clamored for release.
«Yes,» Caleb said savagely, biting Willow’s neck with fierce restraint as he felt the sleek pain of her nails. «Come to me. You’re hurt and angry and don’t know what to do. Take it out on me, Willow. I’m not afraid of the passion in you. Let it free.»
The realization that Caleb knew about the wildness that seethed beneath her unnatural calm wrenched a sound of despair from Willow’s lips.
«Stop, please, stop,» she begged in a shaking voice. «Leave me some pride, Yuma man. Even a whore needs a little pride.»
A chill went over Caleb. «Stop staying that. Do you hearme? You’renot a whore.»
«Prove it! Let me sleep where I like. Let me sleep alone!»
There was a silence that stretched until Willow wanted to scream. The only signs of her turmoil were the tremors that shook her randomly. None of the emotion showed on her face. She simply watched Caleb with the eyes of a stranger as she waited to find out whether she was woman or whore.
And he knew it.
«Sleep where you please whenever you please,» he said coldly. «I’m damned sick of being treated like a conscienceless seducer by you and your brother.»
Abruptly, Caleb released Willow and stepped back.
«Let me know when you get over your sulking and want to be treated like my woman. Then I’ll let you know if I still feel like being your man.»
17
Not until Willow was miles beyond the valley’s narrow entrance did she dismount and remove the shreds of her riding habit from Ishmael’s feet. The stallion snorted as the last thong was taken off and the scraps of material fell away. He stamped impatiently.
«I know,» Willow said quietly, stroking Ishmael’s neck, soothing her edgy horse. «The rags bothered you, but they kept your hooves from making noise on the rocks.»
Unhappily, she looked at the sky. Dawn lay just over the eastern horizon, bleaching stars from the night. She wished she could simply go to ground and hide for the day, but that would be certain disaster. It was much too close to the valley for her to be safe. She had to ride fast and hard through the day and the next night as well.
Tomorrow at dawn she would be able to picket Ishmael in some secluded meadow and sleep at his feet. Tomorrow, but not today.
Willow got back in the saddle and rode on down the mountainside, leaving the hidden valley farther behind with each moment. Around her the land slowly condensed from the night, revealing the silhouettes of distant peaks against the pale sky, and a mixture of grassland and forest nearby. She kept Ishmael just on the margin of the forest, where there was enough open space for speedy travel and enough cover nearby if she needed it.
The heavy shotgun lay across Willow’s thighs. It made for awkward riding at times, but she had discovered during the long night that she liked the feel of the smooth wooden stock and the reassurance of the twin barrels loaded and ready to fire.
Ishmael’s head turned suddenly to the left as he looked across the grassland to a place where a brook flowed between ridges on the way to joining a larger creek. The stallion’s ears pricked forward and his nostrils flared deeply as he tested the wind.
Without hesitation, Willow turned the stallion hard to the right, fleeing whatever he had scented, heading for the cover of the forest. Heart beating double time, she guided the stallion deeper into cover. When the trees were so close around her that the horse had difficulty walking — and she had difficulty ducking branches — she turned and urged Ishmael on a track parallel to the one they had abandoned.
No matter how carefully Willow listened, she heard nothing but the creak of her saddle, the muffled rhythm of Ishmael’s hooves on evergreen needles, and the soft sighing of wind. Gradually, the forest thinned to scattered groves and then scattered trees, and finally nothing but meadow grass, wildflowers, and willows growing on the margins of the stream. The park was at least a mile across at its narrowest and went on for five miles. It was more a basin than a river valley.
The route the journal indicated took her the full length of the grassland. Part of it could be taken along the edge of the forest. Most of it could not. The beginning was the worst. There would be two miles without any real cover.
Willow tightened her grip on the shotgun and the reins as she listened intently and watched the grassland for signs of life. It was difficult to see much in the dim, featureless pre-dawn light. Several shadows that were the size of deer moved slowly along the margin of meadow and trees. Nothing else moved but grass stirred by the wind. It was so quiet she could hear the high, wild cry of an eagle as it flew toward dawn, searching for the first kill of the day. Willow inhaled deeply. There was no smoke in the air, no obvious sign of other people, nothing but an eerie prickling on the back of her neck.
Suddenly, Ishmael shied and snorted. Willow didn’t know whether the stallion was sensing her own uneasiness or if he scented some other horse on the wind.
«Easy, boy,» she murmured. «I don’t like that open space either, but there’s no other way. Let’s get it over with before the sun clears the peaks.»
A touch of Willow’s heels moved Ishmael into a canter. Though smaller than Caleb’s Montana horses, the Arabian had a long, hungry stride.
A shout came from the forest behind and to Willow’s left.
That can’t be Caleb. After what he said last night, he wouldn’t follow me. And even if Matt made Caleb come along, it’s barely dawn. He and Matt are just getting up. Besides, the shout came from the wrong direction for the valley.
Another shout came. Willow looked over her shoulder. Four riders were coming toward her. Their horses were big, dark, long-legged bays. They came closer to her with each stride.
Willow lifted the reins and spoke to the stallion. Instantly, his canter shifted into a gallop. After a few hundred yards she looked over her shoulder. The riders were following, their horses running hard.
Clutching the shotgun, Willow bent low over Ishmael’s neck and spoke to him again, asking for more speed. His stride lengthened as he began to gallop in earnest, running clos
e to the land, flattened out except for the elegant red banner of his raised tail.
Grass and bushes whipped by in a blur. Wind tore tears from Willow’s eyes and tried to drag the breath from her throat. Ishmael’s hooves made a continuousdrumroll of sound. The pace was far too fast for the uncertain light, and too demanding on the stallion’s strength, but there was no choice. She had to outrun the other horses.
Willow settled even closer to Ishmael’s neck, balancing her weight over his driving shoulders where she would be the least burden to him. The shotgun made the position awkward for horse and rider both. After several tries, Willow managed to jam the gun into its saddle scabbard.
When she judged that a mile had gone by, Willow looked over her shoulder. Fear squeezed her heart. The four horses had drawn closer. As she turned around, wind ripped her hat from her head and quicklyunravelled her hair until it streamed out behind like a ghostly flag. Blinking fiercely to clear her eyes of wind-caused tears, Willow leaned even farther toward, holding the reins only inches from the bit, burying her cheek against Ishmael’s hot neck.
As the second mile flew by, the Arabian slowly began pulling away from the pursuing horses. When the men realized it, they started firing.
The fierce pace and the vague light helped Willow. She heard the shots over Ishmael’s deep, hard breathing and the thunder of his hooves, but no bullets came close. Flattening against the stallion’s sweaty neck, Willow praised him and encouraged him while another mile raced by and dawn turned nearby peaks to burning gold.
The creek came out of nowhere, hidden by a fold in the grassland. Willow caught no more than a glimpse of the barrier of rock and water that had been thrown without warning across Ishmael’s path. She clung like a pale shadow as the horse’s whole body bunched in mid-stride, twisted, and then released in a gigantic spring that left the gully behind.
Caught off-stride by having to jump without warning, the stallion stumbled as he landed. Willow braced her feet in the stirrups and hauled up on the reins, lifting Ishmael’s head and literally pulling him back into balance. Catlike, he collected himself and within seconds was running flat out again.
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