Dance With A Gunfighter (20 page)

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 kinda 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.