Desperado

by Lisa Bingham

  “In this sequence, you will use only your pistols. Winter is falling and you need supplies for the cold weather. Beginning with the squirrel, shoot each of the animals, small to large. You will receive a thirty-second penalty for each target missed. If you hit them all on the first try, ten seconds will be subtracted from your score as a bonus.”

  Elam didn’t even bother with his boots and socks. Strapping on his holster and donning his shooting glasses and earplugs, he waited for P.D. to do the same, then adopted a shooting stance in front of the table.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “The range is hot!” the official shouted, holding up a small red flag. Then, “Go!”

  Elam swiftly loaded his revolver, then in a series of bangs and metal pings, he emptied both pistols. Within seconds, he’d finished, reholstered his last weapon, and held up his hands.

  “Clean course! Next,” the official barked.

  P.D. had only been given enough time to adjust her holsters before it was her turn. Remaining barefoot, she took her place next to the table, carefully counting out ten bullets and setting them on the surface.

  “Remember,” Elam said from behind, his voice muffled through her earplugs. “Take your time, aim, then squeeze. Don’t try to rush things. It’s better to hit your target by being methodical than to hurry and make mistakes.”

  P.D. nodded.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “The range is hot!” The official waved the flag, then lowered it again with a curt, “Go!”

  P.D.’s fingers were trembling as she opened the cylinders one by one, sliding the bullets into the chambers, then seating the hammer against the empty chamber as she’d been taught. Lifting the pistol, she pointed in the direction of the squirrel and squeezed the trigger.

  There was the bang of the gun, but no resulting ping of the target, indicating that she’d missed.

  “Remember to line up both sights,” Elam said calmly and quietly from behind.

  She nodded, moving the pistol to a target shaped like a rabbit.

  Bam … ping!

  She couldn’t prevent a tiny squeal of delight.

  “Great! Now do the others.”

  She honed in on the raccoon.

  Bam … ping!

  Gaining confidence, she moved to the goose, bobcat, mountain lion—ping … ping … ping—finally finishing with the deer and the moose.

  The last tinny ping faded away as the official wrote down her score. “One miss, nine hits. Go to the official at the hitching post and get your next challenge envelope.”

  ELEVEN

  REACH Miller’s Summit by nightfall. The distance must be completed on foot.

  When she read the note, P.D. resisted the urge to curse. Barely. She’d only been in her period garb for a few hours, but she could already feel the effects of the layers of clothing and the stricture of her corset. Granted, she hadn’t laced it too tightly, knowing that she would be required to perform a variety of physical activities. But she could feel the sweat pooling beneath her breasts, and the boning dug into her waist whenever she tried to bend.

  How on earth had pioneer women gotten anything done?

  But when the next pair of contestants moved on to the stream to pan for “gold,” she knew that she couldn’t spend her time wishing for a modern brassiere.

  Taking the envelope with their instructions, they hurried back to their mount. At least they weren’t forced to forfeit the horse. The animal was still available to carry their supplies.

  A huge plastic tub filled with ice had been loaded up with bottles of water. Elam handed two of them to P.D., then filled the saddlebags with as many as he could fit inside.

  “Drink,” he ordered as he also placed water bottles in the bag that held her clothing.

  P.D. didn’t need more urging than that. She drained the first bottle, not realizing until then how thirsty she’d become.

  As she began on the second bottle, Elam did the same. Then, checking the coordinates on the map with the compass from his pocket, he gestured to the north.

  “That way.”

  After dumping their empty bottles in a garbage can, they each grabbed another full bottle and hurried to put as much distance between themselves and the first station as they could.

  “Do you think the other contestants will have instructions to come this way as well?”

  Elam shook his head. “Doubt it. They’ve got to mix up the order of all our tasks or it would be too easy for one team to follow another.”

  For some reason, P.D. felt a small measure of comfort in that fact. It was disturbing enough to know that contest officials would be monitoring them. But to think that the other contestants would be within shouting distance as well seemed intrusive.

  Especially when she was entertaining some very carnal thoughts about her companion.

  Knowing that she needed to keep her mind away from that tempting track, P.D. asked, “So why’d you join the Navy? Seems to me, you couldn’t get much more landlocked than Bliss, Utah.”

  Elam grinned. He was nursing his water with one hand and holding the reins with the other.

  “I wanted to blow stuff up.”

  She blinked at him for a moment, then said, “Pardon?”

  Elam veered toward a faint track worn through the underbrush—probably the path left by deer or other animals looking for water.

  “Both of my grandfathers were veterans of World War Two. Grandpa Jackson fought in Europe, but Grandpa Taggart, who lived in the Big House with us, fought in the Pacific. I grew up listening to stories of his escapades in the Navy.” He shrugged. “Let’s just say that the seeds of a career at sea were planted pretty early.”

  “So why the EOD?”

  Again, Elam’s smile was all-knowing. “One summer, Grandpa Taggart decided to widen our service road leading up to one of the summer pastures. My grandfather was never a patient man.”

  Somehow, P.D. knew where this was heading.

  “So he decided to blast his way through with dynamite.”

  “And you …”

  “I was his … helper of sorts.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How old were you?”

  Elam’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he thought. Lifting his hat from his head, he swiped away the sweat beading his brow, giving P.D. a tantalizing glimpse of his tousled hair.

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve! And you were handling dynamite?”

  Elam laughed at her horrified outburst. “I didn’t handle the dynamite itself—”

  “I should hope not,” she muttered.

  “I just set it off.”

  She gaped at him and he paused a moment, his eyes glinting with delight.

  “You should have seen it! Grandpa Taggart was sure that the hillside was mostly bedrock, so he set a few extra charges. As soon as I lowered the plunger, bam! Half of the mountain disappeared in a shower of dust and rocks. The shock wave threw me onto my ass and I was nearly buried in dirt.”

  She gasped. “Were you hurt?”

  “Just a few bumps and scrapes. Grandpa ended up with a black eye from a stray rock.” He chuckled softly. “One of the best days of my life. I couldn’t wait to blow something else up. But when we got home, my mother and my grandmother lit into Grandpa something fierce. It was clear that if either one of us was ever found in a similar predicament again, there would be hell to pay.” He shrugged. “So I figured that if Grandpa could learn stuff like that in the Navy, I was going to get the same kind of training. As soon as I could, I enlisted.”

  “And did you? Learn how to blow things up?”

  “Sure. But I soon found I liked ensuring that things didn’t blow up even more.”

  “Is that how … you were hurt?” she asked tentatively, hoping that he wouldn’t balk at the more personal question.

  He shook his head. “I was blown up having a beer.”

  Her brows rose.

  “I was in the Officers�
�� Club enjoying my time off and watching some football when a missile hit nearby.” He instantly sobered. “I was lucky—broke some ribs, suffered burns and lacerations from the shrapnel. Some of the other men were in much worse shape. But when I developed nerve damage, they eventually sent me home.”

  The climb was becoming steeper, robbing P.D. of her breath, so she allowed the conversation to lapse. Thankfully, after touching upon what must have been painful memories, Elam focused on the task at hand rather than the past.

  It didn’t take long for P.D. to see that Elam was in his element. While she fought to gulp air into her lungs, he could have been strolling down a country lane. As the course grew steeper, his leg muscles bunched against the dark twill of his trousers. If not for the patches of sweat beginning to form on his shirt, she might have thought that he expended no energy whatsoever.

  P.D., on the other hand, was beginning to struggle in earnest. The full skirts were hot and cumbersome—but even worse, they made traversing the uneven terrain awkward. The high-top boots she wore offered no real traction, so for each step she took, she slid a few inches back. But her pride pushed her forward. She couldn’t let Elam know that she was flagging. Not yet. Not when they only had a few hours of daylight to reach the summit.

  So when the ground momentarily leveled out and Elam led the horse into the shade of a stand of scrub oak, she didn’t realize at first that he meant to stop.

  Elam gestured to a large boulder just off the trail. “Have a seat there. I’ll just water the horse.”

  “No, I can go on. I—”

  Elam reached out to cup her cheek with his palm. “I know. You’d go on until you dropped. But the secret to this competition is pacing. If you expend all your energy the first day, you’ll have nothing left to run on but fumes. We’ll take a twenty-minute break, then we’ll get back on the trail.”

  Realizing he spoke from experience, she sank onto the rock.

  “Drain another bottle of water.”

  “But …”

  “We need to keep hydrated. There will be another water station at the top of the summit when we check in, so we can replenish our stock there.”

  He handed her a bottle from their saddle bags and she quickly twisted the lid, then began drinking with hungry gulps.

  Elam took another bottle and dragged the hat from his head. As she watched, he upended the liquid into his hat and offered it to their horse. After the animal had drunk its fill, he dumped what little remained in the bushes and set his hat in a patch of sunlight to dry. Then, he grabbed another bottle for himself.

  P.D. nearly forgot her own thirst as she watched him tip back his head and drain the bottle. Despite her weariness, the sight of his taut flesh and the bob of his Adam’s apple was enough to make her flush with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the day.

  After he’d finished drinking, she quickly looked away, not wanting Elam to catch her gawking at him. But he must have sensed her regard because he tucked the empty water bottle back into the saddle bags and retrieved another one. This time, however, after he twisted the cap, he dumped a small amount of water onto a bandanna that he’d shoved into his back pocket. Then he crouched in front of her and dabbed the wet cloth over her face.

  “You should have brought a hat.”

  “There’s a bonnet folded up in my pocket. Helen made it for me.”

  “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “It makes me look … dorky.”

  Elam draped the damp bandanna around the nape of her neck, maintaining his hold on either end. “You could never look dorky.” His voice deepened and he began to pull her inexorably closer by twisting the bandana corners around his fingers. His eyes centered on her lips and his tone dropped to a husky whisper. “You are so freakin’ beautiful.”

  Then his lips were on hers, softly, sweetly. But his gentle foray lasted only a few tantalizing seconds before she leaned into him, responding wholeheartedly. The embers of their attraction exploded between them and they strained to erase the scant distance between them.

  Elam’s tongue bade entrance and she opened her mouth to his intimate caress, knowing that he was feeling his way back into his future as a single man. The thought that he would choose her to begin those forays, that he was “crazy” about her, was as heady as his touch. She leaned into him, eager to show him through her own response that she was just as crazy about him.

  His lips grew even more forceful against hers and his hands looped around her waist to pull her closer. P.D. wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the heat of his body, the strength of his arms. She’d never encountered anyone who could make her feel like this—giddy and excited and so instantly aroused that it was a wonder that she didn’t burst into flames.

  She drew back only when the need for air superseded her need for Elam. But he wasn’t dissuaded. His lips trailed down, down, past her jaw and lower to the edge of her high-neck blouse. Then, with one hand, he began releasing the buttons, one by one, his tongue blazing a trail with each inch that was revealed.

  It was only when he reached the ribbon woven through the eyelet beading of her chemise that he paused. His breathing was ragged, the warm puffs slipping into the hollow of her cleavage.

  Then, just when she wondered what Elam would do next, he rested his forehead against her breastbone. Unable to stop herself, she buried her fingers into the damp, tousled waves of his hair.

  “Much as I would like to continue this,” he whispered against her, “I think that our twenty minutes are up.”

  She made a soft mewl of distress and he chuckled, lifting his head.

  “We’ve got about an hour until sundown and only a few more miles to go. Then we can make camp for the night.”

  Much as she wanted to argue, to tell him that she no longer cared, the need for her share of the prize money loomed above her.

  “Only a few more miles,” he murmured, kissing her quickly, powerfully. Standing, he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get there as fast as we can.”

  *

  THEY reached the summit well before sundown. P.D. supposed their excellent progress had less to do with their will to win than their wish to camp for the night. After racing to the official charged with taking their time, they were told to bed down in a clearing a few hundred yards away. At six in the morning, their next task would be delivered to them.

  While P.D. gathered firewood, Elam removed the gelding’s saddle and bridle, and rubbed him down with a handful of grass. Then he led the animal to the trough of water provided for their use before tying the animal to a tree, where it could graze.

  When he returned, P.D. had stacked the firewood in a circle of stones she’d moved to the center of their camp. She was attempting to light the pile with a match when he intervened.

  “You need to start with some dried weeds and kindling first.” After gathering what he needed, Elam struck another precious match from their stash and touched it to a mound of foxtails. Patiently, he nursed the tiny flame into a small blaze, then began adding dried twigs and sticks until the fire had grown large enough for one of the smaller logs P.D. had found.

  Now that the sun had gone down, the temperature was falling and the breeze off the mountain was cool. P.D. wrapped her arms around her waist and huddled closer to the fire. Glancing her way, Elam took one of the blankets from their bedroll and wrapped it around her shoulders. He paused there, his hands firm and strong.

  P.D. glanced up the hill to where the timekeeper had pitched a pup tent and was settling in for the night. Thankfully, an outcropping of rocks and sumac offered them a small measure of privacy.

  “He can’t see us,” Elam murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, his breath warm against her ear.

  “It still makes me nervous.”

  Elam pressed a kiss against her neck. “Right now, the only thing he’s going to see is a pair of weary contestants rustling up something to eat.”

  “Like what?”

  “Rummage t
hrough our supplies. Use one of the cans of beans, and see if you can’t find something to go with it. I’ll be back.”

  He kissed the top of her head, then strode away, disappearing into the trees a few yards away. Figuring that he might be “answering the call of nature,” P.D. figured that she’d better take advantage of the few minutes she’d been left alone. Heading in the opposite direction, she hurriedly took care of her own needs. Then she returned to use some of the bottled water to wash her hands and face until she felt a little less grimy.

  Searching through the saddlebags, she withdrew the beans, the can opener, and then the pan. Then, frowning at the meagerness of their meal, she ran a quick eye through the rest of their supplies.

  After opening up the beans, she set the can on a flat rock in the fire to heat. She reconstituted some of the jerky with water and stirred it into the beans. Then she mixed a small amount of baking mix with sugar, water, and raisins to make drop biscuits, which she scooped, one by one, onto their single pan.

  Keeping one eye on the biscuits, she scouted the area, finding sorrel and dandelion greens, which she might be able to use to augment their meal.

  But where was Elam?

  As if hearing her thoughts, Elam stepped from the trees. Dangling from his fingers were a pair of speckled trout.

  “How in the world did you manage to get those so far up the summit?”

  He winked. “Easy. I headed back down to the stream where we were panning for gold.”

  P.D. stood with her mouth agape. She was more out of shape than she thought.

  Elam glanced at the food she’d already begun to cook. “Looks good.” He held up the fish. “What do you want me to do with these?”

  P.D. shuddered. “You’ll need to clean them.”

  He laughed. “What? You’re a big, bad gourmet cook and you’ve never cleaned a fish?”

  “I’ve cleaned plenty. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Still chuckling, he took the fish to a spot away from the camp and made quick work of cleaning them, then returned. P.D. seasoned the fish with a small amount of their precious salt and stuffed them with the greens for flavor, then removed the biscuits from the pan and replaced them with the fish.