The Rogue (13 page)

“Guy, don’t.” She stared at his shirt, opened at the throat.

“I wanted to see you so badly last night,” he murmured.

“I explained about that,” Diana reminded him.

“I know you had to go to that party with your father, but I’d been wanting to see you, and talk to you, and hold you. And Holt kept finding all this work for me to do so I wouldn’t have time. Finally, I had a whole evening to spend with you, and you went to that party. It seemed like the last straw.”

“It couldn’t be helped.”

“I know, but last night I kept thinking about you. I’ve been thinking about you all the time, only last night it was worse, because I was alone and you were out having a good time with your friends. I had a beer, then another, and another. Pretty soon I started wondering if you—”

“Guy, stop it.” She began feeling suffocated by the jealous ring to his voice.

“I know,” he sighed. “You don’t want to get serious yet. But I can’t help the way I feel. I’ve loved you for so long, Diana. It’s a relief not to have to hide it anymore. I’d shout it from the highest mountain if you’d just say the word. When I’m with you, I’m the happiest man in the world.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“I know. I know.” His hands moved on her waist in a caressing manner. “We’re together now and that’s all that’s important. Diana”—there was a new urgency in his voice—“when we camp for the night, would you lay your bedroll next to mine? I know we can’t do anything, not with Holt and Rube there, but just to know you’re lying beside me would mean so much. I—”

In a strangled voice, she denied his sweetly touching appeal. “No, I can’t do that.” Diana twisted away from his hands, a wild knot of despair claiming her.

“Why?” He was bewildered by her agitated response.

“It isn’t wise,” she snapped.

There was a pulsebeat of silence. “What’s the matter?” Guy’s voice was taut, bitter at the rejection. “I’m not good enough for you, is that it? You are the Major’s daughter and I’m just some young punk who works for your father.”

Diana pivoted, staring at him. “Those aren’t your words,” she accused. “They came from Holt, didn’t they? That’s what he told you, and you believed him. That’s why you got drunk last night, isn’t it?”

“No, I didn’t believe him,” Guy denied, not quite meeting her sharply blue gaze.

“But he made you doubt. He made you wonder—”

“Forget I said that,” he broke in. “I didn’t mean it.”

Too late Diana realized she should have kept silent. But when her intuition had told her Holt had issued those disparaging comments about her, her reaction
had been automatic. In consequence, she had again permitted Guy to believe she cared more deeply than she did.
Damn!
she cursed inwardly. The mere thought of Holt was like a red flag waved before her eyes. She invariably charged without thinking.

“It’s all right, Guy. Consider it forgotten,” she offered with a stiff smile.

“Diana, I—” he began.

“The blanket has slipped under your saddle, Guy.” Holt was there to break up the conversation. “You’d better adjust it before you end up riding a horse with a sore back.”

Guy hesitated a fraction of a second. “I’ll take care of it,” he agreed before moving off to do so.

As he left, Diana met the metallic sheen of Holt’s gaze. He would see to it that she spent little time alone with Guy. The determination was there in the ruthless line of his mouth. Her chin tipped upward in defiance, but Holt seemed unimpressed as he walked to his own horse.

Ten minutes later, Diana was hauling her protesting body into the saddle, the others mounting as well to resume the trail. Two miles farther, they crested a knoll and a high mountain valley spread before them. Holt stopped his horse at the top of the rise and reached behind him to the saddle bags and the binocular case inside.

With the aid of the binoculars, he began a slow, searching sweep of the valley. Diana strained her eyes and saw nothing. Holt’s arc was half-completed when he stopped, adjusting the focus on the object that had caught his attention.

“D’ya see something?” asked Rube.

Holt lowered the glasses, his gaze remaining fixed on a distant point. He handed them to Rube, instructing, “Look straight down from that notch in the mountain.”

“Is it the stallion?” Diana asked, her vision not equal to the distance to see for herself.

It was several seconds before Rube answered and
her heart pounded in anticipation. “It sure enough is,” he said at last. “A goddamned white stallion. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. An’ you’re right, Holt. He looks big for a mustang. Fifteen hands if he’s an inch. Canny, too. He’s lookin’ straight at me.”

“We’re downwind of him. He’s probably caught our scent,” Holt said.

“Do you see the mares?” Guy asked. “Are they with him?”

Rube let the glasses waver from the stallion. “Could be they’re grazin’ in that hollow. Can’t tell. Oh, oh, he’s movin’. Must not have liked our smell. Look at that! Look at that!” He excitedly shoved the glasses at Holt. He hardly waited for him to focus on the location before he was demanding, “Do ya’ see him?”

Diana saw the sudden frown furrowing Holt’s forehead. “What is it?”

“He’s a goddamned sidewheeler!”

“He’s pacing,” Holt inserted in explanation, a hint of astonishment in his voice.

“You saw him, too. Hot damn!” Rube slapped his thigh in satisfaction. “I thought m’eyes was goin’ funny on me. Whoo-ee!” Diana had never seen the grizzled cowboy so animated before. “Ain’t this something Wait ’til the others find out! Their mouths are gonna be droppin’ open.”

“He’s gone.” Holt lowered the glasses and replaced them in their leather case. “He only had three mares. Two were ours. He drove them up that canyon on the far side.” Gathering his reins, he glanced sideways at Guy. “I guess that explains why there were times when we were trailing him that his stride seemed so peculiar.”

“The stallion was actually pacing?” Guy frowned at Holt.

“Yes.”

“But how? Why?” Guy expressed the stunned thoughts that were running through Diana’s mind. “Where did he come from?”

“That’s easy,” Rube declared. “Ain’t you never heard the stories about the Pacing White Stallion?”

“No.” Guy gave the old cowboy a disparaging look. “This morning, before we started out, you swore there weren’t any white stallions in the area. Now you’re claiming to have heard stories about him,” he scoffed.

“Not about this one.” Rube was quick to deny. “No, I’m talkin’ about the most famous wild stallion that ever lived. It was back in the 1800s. He was white as snow, ’cept for his ears, which were ebony-black. Stories said his mane was two feet long an’ his tail was so long it touched the ground. His only gait out of a walk was a pace, an’ he could out-distance the fastest race horse an’ keep it up for days. This here stallion must be a throwback to him.”

“It sounds like a tall tale to me.”

“T’ain’t no story.” Rube bristled. “Leastwise, I didn’t make it up. Lotsa famous people saw him. Why, even that fella that wrote the book about the whale tells about the White Stallion in the book. Just ’cause you never heard about him don’t mean he didn’t exist.”

“Okay, Rube, I believe you,” Guy conceded.

After they had cantered across the mountain valley, they had been forced to slow their pace to resume tracking the stallion and mares. They didn’t get close enough again to see the small band before dusk came and they had to stop to camp for the night.

As they dismounted, Guy said, “I’ll get some firewood.”

“Rube can do that.” Holt walked to the pack horse. “You get the horses unsaddled and rubbed down.” Aloof gray eyes glanced Diana’s way. “Can you cook?”

“I said I could,” she reminded him.

“I know what you said,” he returned dryly.

“I guess you’ll just have to take a chance and find out.”

He lifted the pack off the horse and set it on the ground. “The food is in here. Get started.”

Concealing her irritation, Diana began unpacking the food and utensils she would need. Rube gathered enough wood to start a fire. Once it was going, he went back out to get more for the cool evening ahead. Using canned beef, Diana fixed a pot of stew and hung it over the fire. She was mixing bannock biscuits when Guy and Holt carried the saddles into the camp circle, the horses staked out for the night.

“Did that stallion really pace?” Guy asked, still skeptical.

“Yes.” Holt began shaking out the ground sheets.

“I wish I had seen him,” Diana remarked.

“You will, hopefully tomorrow,” Holt answered, his expression remote. “How long before the food is ready?”

“A few minutes.”

“Smells good,” Guy offered in encouragement.

Considering her primitive working conditions, Diana thought the food was delicious. Agreement with her opinion was evidenced by the stew pot, which had been empty when she had cleaned it, although the only one who voiced it was Guy.

“I’m stuffed,” he declared, leaning back and patting his full stomach. “That was great, Diana. Didn’t I tell you it was a good idea to bring her along to cook?” He tossed the challenge to Holt. “You wanted her to stay behind and make Rube and me eat your cooking. You aren’t a bad cook, but you sure can’t make biscuits like hers.”

When Holt’s silence became heavy, Diana spoke up: “Thanks, Guy. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

“You know what they say.” There was a certain intensity to his smiling look. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You’ve found a place in mine,” Guy said, the tremor of his voice adding extra meaning to his words.

Holt leaned forward, a muscle flexing in his clenched jaw as he blocked Guy’s line of sight to Diana. “Is there more coffee?” he asked her, holding out his metal cup.

“One more cup for sure.” Using a handkerchief to protect her hand from the heat, Diana reached for the gray-speckled pot sitting near the edge of the fire and filled his cup.

“Might as well empty the rest of it into my cup,” Rube stated.

He sat on the other side of the fire from Diana. She
rose stiffly and walked around to pour all but the dregs into his cup. Guy observed how gingerly she moved.

“Still sore?” He smiled sympathetically.

“That’s putting it mildly. But I’m not complaining.” The last statement was directed to Holt.

“Come sit beside me and I’ll massage your shoulders,” Guy offered.

“That invitation is much too tempting to turn down.” She ignored the impaling thrust of Holt’s gaze to sit cross-legged in front of Guy, offering her back and shoulders to his ministrations.

His hands closed firmly on her shoulders and began to gently knead the constricted muscles. A mixture of pain and enjoyment drew a sigh from her lips. Lowering her head, she closed her eyes, a black curtain of hair falling forward. His fingers were working magic on her aching flesh. It struck her again how thoughtful and considerate he was.

“Mmmm, you are going to make some girl an excellent husband.” And she immediately regretted the remark and the construction Guy would make of it. “Too bad it’s my legs that are so sore instead of my back.”

“I’ll work my way down,” he murmured.

Beside them, Holt moved to add a dead limb to the fire. “We’re going to need more wood, Guy,” he said sharply.

“Why tell him?” Rube demanded. “He don’t know where I found that dead tree. He’d be wanderin’ around half the night lookin’ for it. It’s just as easy for me to go get it as it is to tell him where to look. ’Pears to me, you oughta be smart enough to figure that out for yourself, Holt. Be goddamned if I know why you didn’t. You just sit right there, Guy.” Rube uncurled his wizened frame and rose to his feet. “I’ll fetch the wood.”

The situation filled Diana with a sense of unease. “Which way are you going, Rube?”

“Over thisaway.” He waved a hand to his right. “Why?”

“As much as I hate to move”—she shifted onto her knees, out of Guy’s reach—“it’s time I made a nature call. I didn’t want to run into you out there in the dark.”

“Well, if you run into anything out there, it ain’t a-gonna be me,” he declared.

Rising to her feet, Diana said offhandedly, “I won’t be long,” before moving off into the night the opposite direction that Rube had taken. If Guy suspected she had a more urgent reason for leaving, it wasn’t revealed in his expression as he watched her go.

Desert nights were always cool. At this elevation, the temperature dropped even lower. Diana didn’t tarry long in the chilling air, but hurried back for the circle of warmth around the campfire. As she neared the light, Guy’s voice carried clearly to her.

“Why don’t you just shut up, Holt? I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. Besides, you don’t know Diana the way I do.”

The context of Holt’s low reply was lost to her, but she didn’t miss hearing the dry contempt in his tone. Diana stiffened, knowing his opinion of her and guessing he was trying to convince Guy of the same.

Whatever he said brought Guy to his feet. “That’s a lie.”

Holt rose to meet his son’s challenging stance. “You want to believe it’s a lie. Grow up and open your eyes.”

For all his relaxed air, Diana sensed his coiled alertness. The firelight outlined his rugged profile, playing over his cheekbones to hollow his cheeks and sharply define the slope of his jaw. Her gaze slid to Guy and the indignant anger displayed on his sensitive features. The son was no match for the father. He lacked the ruthless quality, the hard experience that glittered in the gray eyes.

“Take it back,” Guy demanded like an offended child. “You take back what you said about her, or . . .” The rest of his threat was contained in his clenched fists.

“She isn’t worth fighting over, Guy,” was Holt’s answer and he started to turn away.

Guy grabbed at his arm and forced him back. “I said take it back!”

His answer was a cold-eyed stare. A chill raced through Diana’s bones that had nothing to do with the weather. Holt’s silent refusal had backed Guy into a corner and he had tasted just enough manhood to feel obligated to fight his way out, to force his father to regard him as a man to be reckoned with and not ignored.