A Gown of Spanish Lace (24 page)

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?” she asked candidly.

“I’ve no idee.” He turned slightly toward her. “Never stopped to think about it, I guess. Maybe never cared. Should I?”

“Well…yes. Sort of. I mean…I’d want to know. Don’t you?”

“Never thought on it,” said Laramie as he swung the pan back and forth to dry it in the breeze.

“Didn’t your father tell you?” asked Ariana.

Laramie let his eyes look out over the hills wrapped comfortably in gathering twilight. “Birthdays don’t mean much in the camp,” he said casually.

“Do you…?” Ariana spoke hesitantly now. “Do you know…how old you are?”

Laramie turned back to her with seeming indifference. “I dunno. Somewhere around twenty, I guess.”

He seemed totally unconcerned.

Ariana found it hard to accept his attitude. She was about to speak again when Laramie turned his face toward the west.

“Looks like it could blow in a bit of a storm,” he observed. “We’ll need to be sure things are rainproof tonight.”

“There’s an outcroppin’ of rock up ahead. We’ll let the horses graze here and take our meal up there.”

Ariana welcomed the opportunity. The view would be spectacular. Inwardly she knew it was not the view that interested Laramie. He saw the rocks as a lookout point.

They ate slowly, savoring the intensity of the sun, allowing its fingers of warmth to ease the aches from wearied muscles. Ariana began to feel drowsy. She wished she could stretch out and sleep—maybe forever.

Laramie seemed content to let her rest. The horses needed a break as much as their riders. He leaned against the rock at his back and pulled his old Stetson downward over his eyes. The new one rode proudly on the slicker behind his saddle.

But along with her sleepiness, Ariana also felt restless. They were getter closer and closer to their destination. She felt both excitement and reluctance. She could not unscramble her own thoughts or feelings.

Nor could she untangle her thoughts concerning Laramie. He was an outlaw—yet why had she learned to feel so secure, so safe with him?

She longed to study him, but she did not dare lest her searching eyes cause him to stir in recognition of her interest. She decided instead to rouse herself and take a walk.

She had only taken a few steps when his voice reached her. “Don’t go far,” he said lazily.

She did not even answer. Just continued to scramble up over the warm surface of the rocks. It was amazing what the sun could do to cold stone.

She found a spot just above him where she could see out over the whole valley. It was a magnificent sight. First the tall timbers of pine and spruce, dotted here and there with patches of birch and aspen just barely unrolling fresh spring leaves. Then the valley floor with its sparkling ribbon of river that curled and twisted through the greenness, being lost time and again in the lushness of the forest. Way beyond was a slim column of smoke. Ariana could not tell if it came from some small cabin’s chimney or some wanderer’s open fire. It really did not matter. It added something—mysterious—romantic—to the scene before her.

“Should be movin’,” came Laramie’s soft call.

Ariana breathed deeply, took one more longing look at the vista before her, and began to scramble back down over rocks to join him.

She was almost there when she was startled by a sharp command. “Don’t move!”

Ariana jerked to a halt in unquestioned obedience, though she did not understand why.

Before she could even draw a breath, two shots rang out through the day’s stillness. Ariana was frozen to her spot. Only her eyes dared move. Laramie was standing, guns in hand, and they were pointed to the place where she stood. Smoke drifted lazily from each barrel. Laramie’s whole body was tensed as though ready for further action.

Ariana became conscious of movement at her feet. She let her gaze drop down and beheld the most hideous sight she had ever seen. A snake was writhing just beyond her moccasined foot. What was left of its head was ragged raw flesh, spurting blood. It splashed on the hem of her leather buckskin as it swished back and forth in the agony of death.

Ariana felt the world spinning round. She wanted to scream. Wished to run—but she could do neither.

“Don’t move,” came Laramie’s voice, but this time it was controlled and gentle, though still urgent. “Where there is one there is often more.”

Ariana had no intention of moving. She was vaguely aware that Laramie was moving toward her, the smoking guns still in his hands as his eyes darted back and forth among the rocks.

“Looks okay,” he said at her elbow. “I don’t see any more.”

Ariana closed her eyes and sucked in her breath—but it was too late. The whole world was quickly going black.

Laramie had caught her just before she hit the rocks. Gently he carried the young woman down the slope of the hill toward the waiting horses. He eased her down to the softness of the new spring grass and went for the canteen that hung on his saddle. Taking the bandana from his neck, he wet it and began to sponge her pale face. She was so delicate—so vulnerable. Then again he marveled at her strength. A lesser person would have given in long ago under the horrible captivity, the dreadful wait in the cave, and the pressure of the rigorous ride.

Anger gripped him as he thought of the injustice done to her. Why had his father come up with such an unthinkable scheme? What had given him the right to so grossly interfere with the life of another?

He wet the kerchief again and ran the dampness over her forehead, smoothing back tendrils of wisping hair.

He had told Sam he would be willing to die for her. As he looked at her now, he knew he had spoken true words. She was something beautiful—precious. He wondered what his mother would have thought of her. Would she have loved her—like he did?

The unbidden acknowledgement startled him. What did he know about love? It was hate he had been raised to recognize and understand. Hate—and bitterness. Envy and greed. Those were the passions he had grown up with.

Yet as he bathed her face and ached for her to return to consciousness, he knew that what he was feeling was far from any of those emotions. Love her? Maybe. Maybe he did. But he had no right to love her—that much he knew. And the secret knowledge that he did was not going to make his job any easier, though it was certainly going to make it more intense.

He was relieved when she began to stir.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, seeming puzzled by the fact that he knelt over her, supporting her head with one hand.

“A rattler,” he explained to remind her. She looked as though she was about to faint again.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “He’s gone now.”

She shut her eyes tightly against the memory of the headless, writhing snake. He remembered the blood on her buckskin skirt and wished he had thought to try to wash it away.

He eased back from her, but she reached out a trembling hand and clasped the front of his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” she begged him.

“I won’t. I won’t,” he promised, and he pulled her close and held her until she stopped trembling.

“It was awful,” she whispered against him.

“It’s gone now,” he reminded her.

“Its head—”

“I know. I know.”

He patted her shoulder instinctively, pushed back the hair from her face. At last she opened her eyes. Her body still felt limp, but she had stopped shaking.

She pushed gently against him and he reluctantly released her. “We need to go,” she said in a trembling voice.

“Not ’til yer ready,” he assured her.

The color was returning to her cheeks. She swallowed hard. Then sat up.

“Could I have a drink of water, please?” she asked, her voice still trembling.

He reached for the canteen and held it for her. She drank, then reached a hand to brush a drop from her lips. He noticed the fullness of her mouth. He had never noticed it before.

“I think I’m okay now,” she said with a nod, then flushed. “I’m…I’m sorry…I…it just caught me by surprise.”

He longed to pull her close and hold her again. Instead, he reached out to help her to her feet. She stood shakily, still weak from the incident. She put out a hand to the trunk of the nearby birch for support. He moved back to hang the canteen on his saddle horn. He had to put some distance between them. He did not trust himself with his newfound knowledge.

“Whenever you feel ready,” he said, his voice sounding stiff and forced.

“I’m fine—now,” Ariana assured him.

He nodded. Perhaps. Perhaps she was. What about him? Would he ever be fine again?

He allowed the building of a fire when they stopped each evening. He knew they needed to be cautious, but he felt he could not deny her any small comfort that was within his means to provide.

It was homey around the fire. Ariana always got out her Bible and read portions for her evening devotions. Rather hesitantly, he asked if she’d mind reading aloud. She nodded her assent, hoping her rapidly beating heart was not heard in the quiet of the still evening. Inwardly she prayed, over and over, that the words from the Book would be understood. That he might respond to the Gospel as it was given. Carefully she selected the portions for reading, praying that Laramie’s heart would be responsive to the message.

As the evenings passed he seemed to be drawn in more and more. If he had questions, he asked, and she was patient as she explained her understanding of the passage. He began to look forward to those evenings and even thought of bringing out his mother’s Bible so he might follow along. He wondered if the notations in the margins might be helpful to both of them. But he never had the courage to make the suggestion.

He had never been this intimate with anyone before. Sharing thoughts and feelings—and on occasion wishing he could also share his dreams. But he held them in check, for no matter how he fought against it, he could not envision his future without Ariana—yet that dream was an impossibility.

He was sure Ariana understood nothing of his discomfort. Nothing of the struggle going on within him. But Laramie was very aware of the conflict he felt within. On the one hand he was most anxious to deliver her to the safety of the unknown uncle. On the other hand, once he did, he would have lost her forever. He knew that. It made him somber, moody. Something he had never been.