Desert Dreams (17 page)

His breathing quickened, his fervor growing. His fierceness
sent a thrill through her to her bones, a thrill tempered by fear.

Everything else in the world receded, ceased to exist. There
was only the circle of his arms, the strength of his body against hers.

She was on fire, as if all her life's blood had rushed to the
surface of her skin. Her legs trembled so that she had to lean against him to
keep from falling, even as she struggled to be free.

His mouth finally released hers, but he still held her in his
arms. His eyes bored into hers, his face only inches above her.

Loss, emptiness.

"Why do you ask so damn many questions?" he asked
on a breath.

"Please let me go," she murmured, her gaze fixed on
his mouth, her mind trying to sort through the sensations and emotions wrapped
up in that kiss.

She could hear his shallow, rapid breathing, feel it in the
rise and fall of his chest against hers. She tried with all her might to keep
her own body from picking up the rhythm. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably as
a war raged within her, a war of sense against sensation.

He dropped his arms and took a step back, and her relief was
tempered with a strange regret. Silence stretched between them, an unbearable
silence that she felt obliged to break.

"I... thank you for helping me last night," she
murmured.

"I did what I had to do."

"You... you saved my life again."

"He probably wouldn't have killed you. He'd have
convinced you to tell him where the gold was, but he probably wouldn't have
killed you."

"I wouldn't have told him," she said in a voice
that quivered slightly.

"Yes, you would have."

The implication that hung between them sent an army of
gooseflesh marching over her arms and down her spine. "No, I—"

“I need to know where we’re going, Annie.”

“So you can leave me behind?”

“No, as much as I’d like to leave you behind, I can’t leave
you here and I can’t take you back to San Antonio. I have to take you. Now, I
suspect you have the name of a town in Mexico. You’re heading toward Eagle
Pass, am I right?”

She said nothing, but he smiled and nodded knowingly.

“That’s enough for now, but you can’t make it on your own.
You know that now. You are going to have to decide who to trust. When you do,
let me know.”

With that, he turned and strode away, leading the horse
behind him.

Chapter 11

They remained in Hondo for three more days while Anne
continued to regain her strength and build her confidence and skill with the horse
she had named Treasure. She'd become accustomed to grooming him in his stall in
the public stable, feeding him carrots, putting the saddle and bridle on him,
even riding, though that was still a challenge, and she wasn't completely
confident she could handle him on her own.

They had hardly spoken during that time except when
necessary. He’d left her alone to ponder her situation and his demand that she
tell him the location of the gold. He’d said he wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her
behind, but she didn’t know if she believed him. She was caught between two
equally frightening choices: stay behind and put her trust in a man she hardly
knew to bring her share of the gold back or venture into the rugged,
unforgiving wilderness with him.

Looking around her now at the barren terrain that stretched
out as far as she could see, she hoped she'd made the right choice. It
overwhelmed her, as if she could be swallowed up by the vast sea of
nothingness, never to be found again. How had she ever believed she could traverse
this wilderness alone?

More than once since they left Hondo she’d been grateful for
the breeches Rafe had bought for her. It had taken days to get accustomed to
them, but now she fully embraced the freedom they gave her. And riding a horse
for hours on end was much more comfortable than she’d ever imagined, even
though she still ended each day in pain.

It was the hardest decision she’d ever had to make—trusting a
gunfighter, a man she hardly knew, with her life.

“It’s in a town near Chihuahua, Mexico. Is that good enough?”

Even now a shiver crawled over her skin at the way his face
had turned ashen, the clenching of his jaw before he asked low and soft, “Are
you sure?”

She’d assured him she had heard correctly.

“That’s a week and a half from here through the desert.”

The way he said it made her imagine the fires of hell.

She steered her mind away and studied her immediate
surroundings, the barren plains spreading out in every direction like a great
green and brown blanket. Small, scruffy trees, which Rafe identified as
mesquite were the tallest structures on the horizon, though some of the
wicked-looking brush grew taller than the horses.

The only animals they had encountered since they’d left Hondo
that morning were rattlesnakes and large, ugly lizards. Certainly no other
human beings had passed this way in a very long time—or maybe ever, Anne
thought, with a mixture of fear and awe.

There was no trail she could discern. Yet Rafe seemed to know
instinctively which way to go in this unchanging, monotonous landscape. They
would be harder to track if they went through the desert, he'd said, should
anyone wish to do so, and the route they were taking would get them to the
Nueces River at least half a day earlier.

"Every moment counts," he had told her. She didn't
doubt it.

The sun glared down on them like an angry god. The air dried
her skin and caused her already chapped lips to hurt and dry out. At least her
new hat shielded her face from further burning.

And the men’s pants she wore kept the saddle from chafing.
And while she appreciated the freedom of movement they afforded, they didn’t
allow her to hide her belongings as effectively as she could have in her
running bag.

Rafe had insisted on buying them after that first riding
lesson, and she couldn’t argue their necessity since a lady’s riding skirt was
out of the question.

Luckily he’d also bought her saddlebags which now carried all
of her worldly possessions slung across the horse behind her. She kept them
close, used them as a pillow when she slept.

But the most valuable thing slung over her saddle right now
was her canteen. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. Her teeth felt
gritty, her tongue so thick and dry she could hardly swallow. She had to have
water.

Rafe rode a few feet ahead of her, his back straight and
implacable. He'd been inching ahead all morning, ever since he'd refused her
request to stop and rest. She spurred her horse forward until she was riding
alongside him. Whether he liked it or not, she was still there, and he couldn't
ignore her.

He glanced over at her, his expression stern and unreadable,
then turned back to the terrain ahead.

"Please, I need a drink. Can't we stop—
"

"No. I told you, we'll stop at noon and not
before."

She stared at him, trying to formulate a rebuttal. He had no
reason to be so angry with her and no right to push her so hard. Every part of
her ached. Her back hurt so much she could hardly stay in the saddle. But he
didn't care.

Rafe nudged his horse into a faster walk, and Anne pulled
back on the reins, allowing him to move ahead once again. She stared daggers
into his back as she followed.

Damn him! Who did he think he was? He'd pushed all morning,
knowing she was unaccustomed to riding at all, let alone for such long periods
of time without a rest.

There was plenty of water in her canteen, but he wouldn't let
her drink. He kept saying, Wait a little longer, a little longer. Well, she was
tired of waiting. Did he want her to dehydrate again? Was that it? Would he
leave her behind this time if she did?

Damn him!

Of course it was irrational to blame him for her discomfort,
but it was much easier and much more enjoyable than blaming herself.

He grew smaller as he rode ahead into the monotonous
countryside. When he was far enough away that she felt safe, she pulled her
horse to a halt. Quickly she removed the holster he’d also bought for her gun
from the pommel and grabbed hold of the canteen that hung from a leather strap
under it.

The water was warm, but she couldn't get enough of it. Her
body seemed to soak it up like a sponge. It was almost as if she could feel the
liquid spread throughout every parched inch of her body.

A cry of alarm escaped her lips in the next instant as a hand
jerked the canteen out of her grip. She looked up and gazed into the angry eyes
of Rafe Montalvo.

Furiously he screwed the cap back on the canteen.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he lifted the
canteen's leather strap from the horn of her saddle and tied it around his own.

He said nothing, just stared at her in unbreakable silence.

"But what if we get separated?" she asked.

He was taking her water supply, her independence. Now she
truly needed him for everything. Her dark eyes asked for mercy, but not a
flicker of emotion glimmered in his gray ones.

"You'd better hope we don't," he said, his voice
soft.

Without another word, he wheeled his horse around and started
off at a sedate trot.

She took a firm grip on the reins and the saddle horn and
gently kicked her mount into a trot as well, trying to hold herself off the
animal's back to avoid the jarring contact with the saddle and at the same time
keep her seat.

Fear still pricked the edges of her mind, but since they'd
left town, she'd grown increasingly bolder in the saddle. She'd fallen enough
times during three days of lessons back in Hondo to know she could be unseated
without serious injury.

The longer she rode, the more her confidence grew. He
couldn't just ride off and leave her.

"You're still angry about the card game in Hondo, aren't
you?" Even though she'd assured him more than once that she hadn't planned
to run away, he remained unconvinced.

He turned to face her for the first time, his gaze sweeping
over her body in a way that sent a tremor racing through her.

"Miss Cameron, I don't think you understand the
situation. There's a two-year drought in this part of Texas. We'd have been all
right if that extra water bag hadn't sprung a leak. We may or may not find
water in the next couple of days. If you drink all your water today, you could
die tomorrow. I am trying to keep you alive. One mistake, and you'll end up
feeding the buzzards."

Everything he said made sense. He sounded completely
reasonable. But Anne was not in the mood for sense and reason. She was hot and
thirsty and saddle-sore, and spoiling for a fight.

"You have a lot in common with buzzards, don't you, Mr.
Montalvo?" Her voice shook from the jarring motion of the horse beneath
her. "Isn't that what you do? Wait for someone to make a mistake and then
move in for the kill?"

Rafe slowed his horse to a more sedate walk, and Anne's mount
followed suit.

"Buzzards don't kill," he said, smiling without
humor. "They live off what other animals kill and leave behind."

"Precious little difference. You both live off the dead.
Why do you do it?"

"Save your strength, Annie. That's how you got in
trouble the first time."

"What first time? What do you mean?"

"When the wagon turned over. You went running around in
the hot sun instead of conserving your energy."

"How could you possibly know that?" Had he been
hiding somewhere, watching her?

"I could tell by your footprints."

She gazed at him suspiciously. She'd read in dime novels
about men who could track like that. She'd always thought those stories were
greatly exaggerated.

"You must be very good at tracking," she said,
trying to still the irrational doubts roiling inside her. "Did you learn
that in the army?"

"Partly. Anything I didn't learn in the army, I learned
in the desert."

The desert. Everything seemed to go back to the desert. She
wondered about the woman Rafe had mentioned in the saloon, and her mind made a
connection.

"Tell me about Christina. Is she the one you rescued in
the desert from that man in Hondo?"

A taut silence stretched between them. She studied his
profile, wishing she could read his mind. The muscle in his jaw flexed, and she
sensed a war inside him, a war for control of his mind and emotions.

"What makes you think I rescued anyone?" he asked
quietly.

Anne swallowed hard, afraid she might be on the verge of
uncovering something really dreadful but unable to let it go.

"Well, I just assumed... I mean, I thought you
had."

Rafe pulled his horse to a stop and Anne did likewise. He turned
in the saddle to look at her with an expression of utter impatience.

"It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter. Nothing
matters right now but getting to the Nueces. If we don't make it in two days,
we'll run out of water, and without fresh
water..."

He let his words trail off, but his meaning was unmistakable.
Without fresh water, they would die. Anne held her horse back as Rafe spurred
his into a trot. She gazed skyward and prayed they would reach the river in
time.

* *

Rafe glanced over at Annie, barely able to make out her
silhouette in the growing darkness. He didn't have to see her. He had committed
her every feature to memory. Her dark eyes would be closed, her soft pink mouth
slack. She must be exhausted, but she hadn't complained once since he'd taken
her canteen from her.

They'd been riding hard all day. He'd pushed her beyond what
most
men
could endure, and she'd risen to the challenge. She'd lasted
far longer than he would have thought she could, and her courage and
determination tugged at his heart. She had no way of knowing what she was
getting into.

She had no business out here. H knew it, and if she didn't
know it yet, she soon would. Even though she'd kept up pretty well today, she'd
be even more tired tomorrow. The water they had in their canteens would last
another day, but that was all. He had to think about what would happen if they
weren't able to replenish their water supply. They might make it back to the
road. There might be a teamster with extra water willing to share it.

But as much as he disliked being out in the open like this,
at least he could see anyone who might be following them. On the crowded cotton
road, he might not see danger coming until it was too late. And then there were
the marauders who preyed on the wagons. The wagons would have guards, but they
were not safe from attack. The last thing he wanted was to borrow someone
else's trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Miss Cameron," he said, more harshly than he'd
intended, reaching his arm out to prevent her from slipping from the saddle.

She jerked to awareness, righting herself on the horse's
back.

"We'll be stopping soon," he told her. "Can
you hold on for a few more minutes?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

"Good. We'll be coming up on a stream soon. We'll make
camp there."

She nodded silently, unaware how important it was that this
stream have drinkable water in it – and how unlikely.