Nan Ryan

by Written in the Stars

  “I think”—his voice was a caress—“it’s the other way around. You’re hiding something from me.”

  “Me? Never. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “I agree, my sweet.” Star grinned and tugged the wide lapels of Diane’s robe apart. His dark eyes touching the pale bare breasts he’d exposed, he murmured, “Absolutely nothing to hide.” He grinned devilishly and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

  Her face flushing, Diane pulled the robe together. “You’re totally shameless.” She laughingly accused him.

  “And you’re glad I am,” said Star. He rose with her in his arms and carried her out of the library, closing the door behind them.

  Laughing gaily, Diane completely forgot about the yellow Western Union message paper on which Star had been writing.

  In the high-altitude heat of the afternoon the pahtrekked up to Star’s private hot spring. Diane rode Black Star. Star walked ahead, muttering under his breath.

  Diane watched him, smiling. He was annoyed that she had so easily conquered his prized stallion. The big black had allowed her to climb up on his bare back without protest while Star stood there in the sun, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head and warning her she was courting danger.

  When she’d effortlessly settled herself astride the big beast and given Star a triumphant look, Star had frowned, cocked a finger at Black Star, and warned the horse, “Throw her and you’ll answer to me.”

  Now Diane smilingly studied Star as he walked up the trail just ahead. He had the restless way of a cat, a quick, soft step and a wildness like that of a stray bullet. His hair was lifting in the wind, and his shirt collar was open, his chest and throat exposed to the fresh air. The harsh planes of his handsome face were burned dark from the sun.

  Diane closed her eyes for a second and shuddered. It was still almost impossible to believe that this complex, exciting, beautiful man belonged to her. Would soon be her husband. She was afraid any second someone would shake her awake and she’d find it had all been a lovely dream.

  Not turning, Star called over his shoulder, “Diane, keep a tight rein on him. We’re heading into the craggy, creviced terrain where the footing’s tricky.”

  Diane grinned. And typically female, she promptly decided to torment the naturally arrogant, overly protective male. When she was in position, she called to him, “Look, darling, no hands!”

  Diane laughed at the worried expression that immediately hardened Star’s dark face when he turned to see her standing on the stallion’s bare back, her hands casually riding her hips, the long leather reins tucked into her waistband.

  “Damn it to hell, Diane”—Star’s voice was as hard as his face—“you trying to give me a heart attack? Jesus Christ!”

  He snapped his fingers and ordered her to sit down. Still laughing, Diane obeyed. Star then signaled Black Star to halt. The stallion also obeyed. His face set in dark fury, Star approached with sure, determined strides. Diane felt a stirring of unease when he stepped up to the horse, glowered at her, and said, “Okay, Miss Show-off Champion Trick Rider, let’s see you perform one more little trick.”

  “Name it,” said Diane with confidence.

  “Turn around atop the horse and face backward.”

  “No sooner said than done.” In one swift, fluid movement, Diane made the switch. Facing the wrong direction astride the big mount, she said, “That was easy. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Put both hands behind you on Black Star’s withers, brace yourself, lean back, and lift your legs straight up into the air.”

  “Like this?” she said, nimbly lying back and shooting both bare feet up into the air.

  “No,” said Star, who swung up onto the horse’s bare back, parted Diane’s legs with his hands, snatched them down, and wrapped them around his waist. He leaned forward, took her by the shoulders, and drew her up into his arms. “Like this, damn you,” he said, a muscle clenching in his jaw.

  “You mad at me?” Diane asked, looking into those sultry dark eyes and placing her hands on his chest.

  “I am,” said he coolly. “Better think of something to sweeten my mood.”

  Diane smiled at him. “I’ll do my best.”

  Staring into those dark, piercing eyes that not only looked but saw, Diane unbuttoned Star’s shirt down to his waist and lightly clawed her nails down his naked chest. She bent and slowly kissed the pink welts she had made. When she lifted her head, Star wore that dazzling smile which so easily disarmed and conquered.

  “Kiss me,” he said, slapping his hand against Black Star’s rump to put him back in motion. “Kiss me, you beautiful witch, and don’t stop kissing me till we reach the springs.”

  Diane did just that.

  When they reached their destination, they couldn’t stop kissing. They slid off the horse, fell to the grass beside the bubbling hot spring, and made hurried, ardent love, tearing off their clothes, murmuring endearments, totally mindless of the big stallion, blowing and snorting above them.

  Afterward they romped in the hot spring, purposely losing each other in the thick, vaporous mists just for the fun of the searching for and finding the other. When they were all played out, they lazily relaxed in the bubbling spring.

  Star chose a spot to sit where the hot, gurgling water reached the tops of his shoulders. Diane was behind him, her legs around him, feet hooked under his bent knees. She curled herself around Star’s back and began to rub his furrowed brow with both hands as they talked again about their lives before they met, learning about each other.

  Diane was far more talkative than Star. He listened with a smile as she told how she’d been indulged as a child. Despite the loss of her parents, she’d been cherished and cared for by everyone in the troupe. She’d met so many famous and important people. Had been a guest at the White House, at Buckingham Palace, had mingled with royalty.

  “I’ve been bounced on Victoria’s knee—the old queen herself,” she told him. Diane fell silent for a minute, then softly said, “Star, we came from two very different worlds, so I hope you’ll understand and forgive if—if at times I’m —umm—”

  “Spoiled rotten?”

  “I am not!” She twisted his left ear.

  He chuckled. “You are, sweetheart, but I don’t mind. I plan to finish the job myself.”

  “You already have,” said Diane. “I’ve never known such happiness.”

  “Same here,” said Star, his eyes closed, perspiration trickling down his face.

  Diane brushed his silver-streaked hair back and kissed the side of his slick brown throat. Her lips against his flesh, she said, “Darling, tell me. Tell me the truth about that day … about your first day at the Colorado School of Mines.”

  Star’s eyes slowly opened. “Are you asking about the white boys cutting off my braids?”

  “Yes.” She kissed his shoulder. “How did you stand it? I would have run home to Golden Star had I been you.”

  Star exhaled. “No, if you had been me, you’d have done exactly what I did.” He slid farther down into the water, laid his head gently back on her breasts. “That was the turning point in my life, Diane,” he said, his elocution slow and deliberate. “I was angry. I was hurt and confused. I had been held up to ridicule for the first time in my life, and I didn’t fully understand why.”

  Diane felt a lump rise to her throat as she listened, picturing the sweet, innocent Star being tortured by a gang of callous white students.

  “But I had been taught that a man has to exist in the present moment, to accept what turns up. I learned on that very first day at the university that I was alone. I would have no friends there. I accepted it. How did I actually feel? Lonely,” he said with touching honesty, “sad and unutterably lonely.”

  Tears filled Diane’s violet eyes. She tried to swallow the lump growing in her throat. Star waited for her to speak. She said nothing. Slowly he turned to face her.

  “You’re crying,” he said.

  “I never cry,” Diane said, l
ooking at him through her tears.

  “Ah, baby, baby,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand, “I shouldn’t have told you. Besides, that was a long time ago—and long since healed.”

  Nodding furiously, tears splashing down her cheeks, she said, “I—I … know, but I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

  “Sweetheart, listen to me.” Star pointed to a giant sequoia tree on the far distant western horizon. “See that redwood? It’s the largest and oldest living thing on earth. The secret of its size and longevity, despite thousands of years of storms and bad weather, is its thick bark. It’s fire-resistant and insect-proof.” He smiled at Diane and added, “It is the same with a human being. He can also have thick bark with which to protect himself. Believe me, my love. And I do have a thick bark. Don’t you think?”

  Diane nodded, dashed at her tears with the back of her hand, and said with a wide grin, “I think your thick bark’s worse than your bite.”

  Star threw back his head and laughed. Diane looped her arms around his neck and laughed with him.

  He hugged her close and said, “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter 40

  “Star.” Diane pointed languidly toward the flaming western sky. “An eagle.”

  Star barely turned his head. Squinting into the brilliant sunset, he watched the majestic eagle soar gracefully across his line of vision.

  “Winged wolves, our Aztec brothers called them.”

  It was sunset.

  Star and Diane were outside on the broad front porch of the mansion. Diane was sitting at one end of a long, comfortable settee. Star was sprawled out on his back, his head resting in her lap. Totally relaxed and lazy from their afternoon at the hot spring, they chose to indulge in nothing more strenuous or exciting than watching the spectacular Nevada sunset.

  They’d said little to each other since they’d settled onto the porch. It was not a strained silence but a quietness, natural and easy on both sides. For long moments the only sound was the distant cough of the mountain lion.

  Ten minutes of silence.

  Finally: “Tomorrow’s our last day.”

  Diane sighed. “I know. I never knew time could pass so fast.” She sighed again, lifted her hand to Star’s face, and touched the tiny white scar beneath his dark left eyebrow. “How did you get this scar?”

  “A fight,” he said tonelessly.

  Diane made a face. She followed the contours of his less than perfect nose. “And this?”

  “Several fights.” He grinned lazily.

  Diane traced his sculpted lips with a finger until Star snapped at it, then kissed her hand. “You have a long lifeline,” he said, tracking it with his tongue.

  Diane took his palm and read it. “So have you.”

  Star withdrew his hand, hooked an arm around her back, and said, “It’s settled. We’ll both live a long time. But the fact remains we have only one more day here.”

  “Must we talk about it?” asked Diane.

  Star pressed his face against her ribs. “No, I guess not.. But I was thinking we might plan something special for tomorrow since it is—”

  “—our last day,” she finished for him. “What could be better than this?”

  “Nothing. Except perhaps a decent meal.”

  “Complain, complain,” Diane said, shaking her head, “when all I do is slave all day long over a hot stove.”

  Star chuckled and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “How about tomorrow evening we go into Virginia City, eat in a fancy restaurant, and then make a night of it at Piper’s Opera House?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m not about to share you with anyone else on our last night. So forget it.”

  “I like your answer.” Star grinned broadly. “I’ve another idea.”

  “Try me.”

  “I ride into town tomorrow afternoon, pick up our train tickets to San Francisco, buy you something decent to wear, and have the chef at the Timberline Hotel cater a meal I can bring back here.”

  “Yes! That’s it!” Diane was instantly enthusiastic. “We’ll have dinner by candlelight and drink champagne and—and … oh, Star, that’s a wonderful idea.” Her violet eyes were wide and sparkling, her busy brain already making plans for the big evening.

  Star’s arm slid up her slender back. His hand cupped the back of her neck. “And I’ll buy you an expensive, stylish evening gown.”

  Wide-eyed, Diane looked down at his dark face. “Don’t be foolish, darling. I doubt you’ll be able to find an expensive, stylish evening gown in Virginia City. And even if you do, how will you fit me? Unless I go along?”

  “You,” he said, looking up into her eyes, “worry too much. Leave everything to me. I promise that this time tomorrow evening you’ll be slipping into a gorgeous gown. And it will fit like a glove.”

  “I do like pretty clothes,” Diane charmingly confessed.

  “I do like pretty women,” he told her, “in and out of pretty clothes.”

  She laughed, leaned down, brushed a kiss to his mouth, and started to raise her head. But Star didn’t let her. His firm fingers on the nape of her neck urged her face back down to his. He gently bit on her bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.

  And so the kissing began.

  Had they not been totally lost in each other, they might have spotted the intruders riding up the mountain. But they were. And they didn’t.

  Neither Star nor Diane had any idea that they were no longer alone until the crunching of gravel under a heavy bootheel caused Star’s eyes to fly open in alarm. He instantly released Diane, leaped to his feet, and crossed the wide porch.

  Three men were walking toward him in the fading autumn sunlight. All were huge. All were heavily armed. One was the Cherokee Kid.

  “Get inside the house,” Star ordered, but Diane refused to go. Her heart in her throat, she defiantly came to stand at Star’s side.

  “Hands up, Indian!” said the Kid, a rifle pointed directly at Star’s chest.

  Star lifted his hands.

  “You sure that’s him, Kid?” Davey Leatherwood asked. “I believe we’ve got the wrong man here.”

  The impeccably groomed man looked nothing like the wild-haired, breechclothed creature they’d brought down out of the Rockies that hot summer afternoon. Was it him? the Kid wondered. It had to be. Everyone in Virginia City seemed to know Ben Star. And knew just where to find him. All gave the same directions to this remote Sun Mountain mansion.

  “It’s him, all right,” the Kid replied. “Look at those mean eyes. And that damned silver bracelet”

  “I’m the man you’re looking for,” Star confirmed, as stoically resigned to his own death as a Shoshoni chieftain of old. But not to the death of the woman he loved. “I’m fair game, Kid. But take Miss Buchannan safely back to her family.”

  “Oh, I’m taking Miss Buchannan,” said the Kid, his glance shifting to Diane. “Come on out here, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

  Diane thought fast. And acted just as fast. Without hesitation, she stepped away from Star’s side and crossed to the Kid.

  “Kid,” she said breathlessly, “thank God you’ve come for me. I prayed you would.” She stood directly in the line of fire between the Kid’s raised Winchester and Star.

  “Stay out of this, Diane,” Star said in a low, commanding voice.

  The Kid lowered his rifle. “I’m here now, darlin’,” he told Diane. “And this bastard’s going to die.” He reached for Diane, drew her to his side, and again raised his rifle.

  “Well, then, shoot him and let’s get the hell out of here,” said Danny Leatherwood. “Want me to kill him?”

  “Holster your gun, brother,” ordered Davey Leatherwood. “This is between those two.”

  “Kid, don’t shoot him,” Diane said to the Kid. “You don’t need a gun to kill him.” She raised her hands and encircled his bulging biceps with slender fingers. “Do it with your hands.”

&nb
sp; The idea struck the Leatherwoods as a good one. “Yes! Go get him, Kid!” said Danny.

  “Give him hell,” urged Davey. “Beat his damned brains out!”

  The Kid looked at Diane. “Sure, honey, sure,” he said. “I need no weapon.”

  “Of course, you don’t,” Diane said, smiled, and slowly reached for his Winchester. But he still didn’t trust her quite enough to hand over the rifle. He released her, walked a few yards away, and carefully laid the rifle down. Hoping she’d done the right thing, Diane gave Star a worried, questioning look.

  But Star wasn’t looking at her.

  The minute the Kid laid down his weapon and turned back, Star came after him, navy eyes blazing. His speed was so amazing he caught the Kid off guard. His long arm shot out like a striking serpent, his fist connecting with the Kid’s left jaw.

  The vicious battle was on.

  Diane winced when the Kid’s huge fist caught Star’s chin and turned his head to the side, staggering him. The two men were evenly matched. They stood toe to toe and traded punishing blows for what seemed an eternity. Finally Star got in an uppercut that felled the Kid. On his back the Kid reached out and grabbed wildly for a rock.

  Diane’s hands flew to her mouth. She should have known the Kid wouldn’t fight fairly.

  She held her breath.

  The Kid came back up.

  Star moved in and threw a left cross. The Kid’s right fist shot forward, and he did his best to bash Star’s brains out with the rock. Star ducked aside. The rock struck him just above his right ear, a solid blow that knocked him backward to the ground.

  He lay there dazed and helpless. Diane was sick with fear. The Kid wiped his mouth on his forearm, spit, and got ready to move in for the kill.

  He was starting toward Star when a loud roar made his head snap around in surprise. He looked up to see a huge mountain cat leap agilely upon a close overturned boulder. The lion threw back its great head and roared again.

  The Kid’s heart pounded wildly.

  Recognition swiftly dawned as he spotted the dark diamond patch of fur beneath the lion’s raised head. The cat from the Colorado wilds! The same one he had beaten and caged. Dear God, did the cat remember?