Callahan's Gold (Southwest Desert Series Book 3) (8 page)

"Hmmm, I believe so. . ." She moved seductively against him, her silk pants sliding against the roughness of his jeans, her hips undulating with the basic need in her that he had aroused so quickly.

"Tory, my little fancy pants, I want you." Still, he made no move, except to hold her close.

"Me, too, Dodge," she whispered, and wriggled loose from his embrace. "Come on," she encouraged, guiding him to the wrecked bed. With one bold sweep of her hand, she made room for them by pushing away the contents of her suitcases. Boldly, she slipped off her shoes and lay back on the bare mattress. She was topless but still wore her beige silk slacks.

Her breasts heaved as she tried to temper her breathing by taking deep breaths. She felt as though she'd been running. And maybe she had. To Dodge.

With exaggerated, purposeful movements, she gripped the beige waistband, unbuttoning and slowly unzipping the slacks. Then, with gently undulating hips, she scooted her slacks over the curve of her hips and down the long length of her shapely legs.

Dodge gulped and stood watching her, spellbound and rooted to the spot at the edge of the bed.

She smiled tentatively. "Well . . . ?"

"Oh, God ..." Feverishly, he tugged at his boots, tossing them into the mess around them. His broad hands tore at the oversized belt buckle and his jeans zipper.

Like Tory, Dodge was aroused and ready and it was obvious as he discarded his jeans and briefs. He paused only momentarily to make their sex safe, then he was beside her, one leg draped over hers, kissing her until both of them were oblivious of anything except their desire for one another.

He had given her a brief but tantalizing look at his beautiful body, the form that Tory had known all along was there but until now had remained smoldering beneath jeans and western shirts. Last night had given her a tease when he'd appeared in those navy briefs. She'd wanted him then. Now she wanted him even more, buried deep inside her, wanted his complete satisfaction.

She returned his kisses, plunging her tongue to meet his, letting them tease and dance together, finally giving in to his strength. It was only an overture, an example of what was to come. And they both anticipated the culmination with raging eagerness.

Finally, with a low rumble in his chest, Dodge moved over her, raising and trapping her arms on either side of her head. Hovering, he murmured, "You're beautiful, Tory. You do things to me, more than you could know." Kissing the insides of her arms, his lips lighted a hot trail all the way down to her already-heated breasts, then back to her lips.

She arched upward as his lips circled the gentle mounds of her breasts and closed over each tight, aching nipple. "Ohh, Dodge . . . ohh . . ."

His legs wedged between hers, forcing them apart. "So soft and . . . ready. I . . . can't wait any longer."

"Yes, yes," she said without hesitation. She felt the hard pressure of him against her belly, then a firm, sure probing against the most feminine part of her. Eagerly, she rose to meet the throbbing heat, seeking to satisfy her own intense burning deep inside. With a small cry, she accepted him, and they merged, completely and thoroughly.

"Don't stop." She rocked beneath him, urging him, stroking his taut hips with eager hands. She allowed her spirit to flow free, allowed herself the ultimate pleasure Dodge promised her. She was like a bird, suddenly freed from a passionless cage.

Seeking the rhythm, creating a wild, hot friction, they undulated in unison, spinning and whirling out of control. Together they ascended to the summit of a frantically created desire. When finally, they both were quiet and still, only the sounds of crickets outside could be heard.

Just as they'd ridden to love's pinnacle together, they clung together for the slow journey down. Timeless floating, dozing, caressing, holding. Hours later, they woke in each other's arms.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she stirred and found herself pinioned. "Dodge, your arm's heavy."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry." He moaned as he struggled for consciousness and rolled to her side. "You okay, Tory?"

"Yes, fine," she mumbled, scooting off the bed. "I just have to go to the bathroom." She stumbled over the mess and remembered . . . Oh, how could she forget? Minutes later, she returned and surveyed the wrecked room in the semidarkness. "Dodge, we have a terrible mess to clean up."

"Not now. In the morning."

"Don't you want to fix the sheets on the bed?" She was neat to a point and couldn't believe she'd abandoned her usual for a night of wild and tumbled sex.

"Come here with me," he muttered.

Sighing, she clicked off the small hall light and, grabbing a sheet for cover, rejoined him.

"It'll be okay, Tory. Tomorrow is soon enough. Right now, come here." He reached for her.

She snuggled against him, "I trust you, Dodge. I trust you to take care of me. Of us."

"Yes, my beautiful lil' fancy pants. Trust me."

He turned her back to his chest and wrapped his huge arms around her. They lay curled together like two spoons. Two warm, very-much-alive spoons. His hand nestled between her legs, stroking gently, irregularly. She found sleep no insulation to her response to him as a heated path began to form deep inside her.

With some relief, she felt him grow hot and hard against her back, and she arched against his hand.

"Tory . . ."

"Dodge. . ." She held her breath.

"Lie very still while I . . ." He turned her and slid gently into her warmth, burning a fiery passion inside her.

She took a deep breath as he moved deeper and they started another erotic climb to an ecstasy-filled climax.

She smiled in the darkness. "Dodge. . . "

"Hummm?"

"Never better," she mumbled with a little laugh.

He kissed the back of her neck. "Me, too."

"Hold me, Dodge. Hold me close."

And he did, for the rest of the night.

Morning came, and with it the natural light that revealed the full extent of the wrecked room. Tory lay awake and watched Dodge sleeping. It was a very quiet, private time, a time to speculate over what had happened to them last night. And why.

Why had she lost control like that? And seduced him? Admittedly, she had encouraged what happened. For all his faults, Dodge was a gentleman and would never have imposed himself on her if she hadn't consented. But she had done more than consent. She had enticed.

Did she regret it?

She gazed at the boldly masculine figure next to her on the bed. His proud head was thrown back on the pillow, his profile straight and strong. His chest was broad and covered with a sprinkling of sandy hair, curly and cushiony. The wrinkled sheet met his flat belly halfway, covering rock-hard thighs and the exciting form of his package. How could she ever regret making love to this man?

She didn't.

In fact, she reveled in the joy he'd given her last night. More than sex, what they had experienced had been both gratifying and complete. Somehow, they seemed to reach each other on another plane than simply sexual. They had been drawn to each other from the start, attracted and needing each other. And wanting. So what was wrong with that?

Deep inside, Tory knew. She and Dodge were two very different people from two diverse pasts, heading for opposite futures. Dodge was not the kind of man she wanted to be attracted to. Her mother had proved how disastrous that could be, and she wanted no part of a life like that. She'd already had it and it was not good.

So, when this was all over, she'd head back to L.A. and forget Dodge Callahan, her handsome cowboy. And he could forget her intrusion into his wild, western world.

He stirred and opened his brown eyes to find her staring. Unsmiling, he reached for her, his huge hand catching her behind the neck and hauling her to him. "Morning."

Immediately, she forgot all her clever in-depth analysis about why they'd made love and relented to her feminine desires to snuggle against his chest. "Morning, Dodge. We have a huge mess to clean up in here."

"Hmm. And I have to report my gun missing." His hand traveled down her back and settled on the smooth, gentle curve of her hips. He continued to stroke the silky feminine skin, obviously relishing the way she felt beneath his rough hand.

"And finish getting supplies for the trip."

"And wash your jeans forty-seven times so they'll fit you well." He caressed her rear affectionately. "To make them soft and comfy, Miss Fancy Pants."

"I need to call home and see how things are at the shop."

He kissed her rumpled blue black hair. "All to be finished in the next twenty-four hours in time to head up the mountain and meet the others by three in the afternoon." He rolled back and pulled her over him, kissing her soundly. "But all of that can wait."

"Dodge!" she gasped as her body felt his boldness. And responded to it.

"First, us," he promised with a chuckle low in his chest, kissing her again.

"Dodge . . ." she gasped, giggling.

"Yes, Tory." He rolled her over and murmured between kisses, "I've never seen anyone like you, fancy pants. Never had anyone like you. Maybe you're my type, after all."

"I confess I always did like cowboys," she said breathlessly.

"I want to make love to you in the daylight and see your responses."

She shivered. Then she showed him once again exactly how much she liked this cowboy—from the tips of his toes to his earlobes, and everywhere in between.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tory and Dodge spent the day doing what was required before their trip up the mountain tomorrow. She was feeling especially lighthearted, and he responded in kind. They behaved like two teens, teasing and laughing their way through each chore, sharing the jobs and the fun. For lunch, they munched foot-long hotdogs and double-dip chocolate fudge ice cream cones.

"If I gain weight eating all this junk," she warned, pausing to flick a large chocolate chip into her mouth with her tongue, "I'll never forgive you."

"Don't worry," he told her. "We'll work it off with exercises of passion. But if that doesn't do the trick, there're always your barbells. You can exercise while I watch and count."

She pinched his waist, but all she grabbed was a handful of lean, trim masculinity. Tory had never felt younger and happier than she did with Dodge. He allowed her to laugh and have fun and forget her responsibilities for a little while. And she loved the freedom.

While Dodge went to report his missing weapon, Tory called home from a nearby phone booth.

"Megan, how are things going?"

"Tory! I can't wait until you get here! When are you coming home?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing much. I have the shop under control. It's, well, you know, the creditors. Mr. Koch, of Delta Products Unlimited, called to say if we didn't pay for that line of coordinated sportswear soon, his lawyer would be in touch."

"Now, Megan, don't despair," Tory said soothingly. "I explained everything to him before I left. He'll just have to wait."

"Well, he's not the only one, Tory."

"Who else?" Tory sighed.

"You know those fake leather pants ..."

"How well are they selling, Megan?"

"Not very. I haven't sold a one in ten days."

"Okay, send the whole shipment back."

"But, Tory—"

"Do as I say," Tory instructed firmly. "Explain the situation. Tell them to accept the returns or lose money. Remind them they can't get blood out of a turnip!"

"Okay." Megan's voice quivered tentatively. "When are you coming back, Tory?"

"Looks like it'll be a while, Megan." Tory paused and thought of her night with Dodge and wished—suddenly—that she never had to go back. But, of course, she did. "Maybe in a few weeks."

"Weeks?" Megan repeated shrilly.

"Now, hold on," Tory cautioned. "When I return, we'll be able to pay off everybody. Plus a bonus for you, Megan."

"What? You mean the gold mine has panned out, so to speak?"

"I think it's going to."

"You think? Don't you know? What are you up to, Tory?"

"Can't tell you everything, Megan. I'll be back in touch, so don't bother calling the motel number I gave you. I'm not there anymore."

"Then where are you staying?"

"I'll call you next chance I get."

"Tory, this isn't like you at all. You're sounding a little strange. Have you gone Wild West?"

"Don't worry about me, Megan. Everything's fine." Tory spotted Dodge and waved. "Got to go now. Keep up the good job. You're doing just great, Megan. Bye."

"Tory, wait—" The phone went dead.

Tory hurried back to the Blazer to wait for Dodge.

By noon the next day, Dodge's gleaming red and black Blazer was tackling the rugged route into the heart of the Dragoon Mountains. They rode in relaxed silence as Dodge concentrated on driving the rutted unpaved road.

Tory thought about how extremely happy and relaxed she felt, whether in Dodge's arms, like during the last two nights, or merely sitting beside him on the way to an unusual adventure. Just being with him set her heart soaring and her spirits aglow.

Furthest from her mind was going back home to the shop in L.A. Right now, she didn't want to think of it and all the debts and problems with the business she'd have to face when she arrived. She couldn't imagine saying good-bye to Dodge. Why, they'd just begun. Being with him was heaven! She smiled contentedly to herself. She felt like a girl with a first crush ... in love. Oh, no, not really love . . . Couldn't be this soon. Maybe she'd gone Wild West, after all.

"Can I interrupt?"

"Of course," she said softly, smiling across at him.

"You seemed a million miles away."

"Not quite."

"Thinking about home? Your business."

She nodded, and strangely, he didn't respond.

"I thought you might like to see Coronado's route into America in the sixteenth century." Dodge pulled the Blazer to a halt and pointed out a marvelous vista that seemed to stretch forever. "Coronado's conquistadors marched up through this valley looking for the Seven Cities of Cibola. When they reached the Zuni Indian village, up in New Mexico, they thought they'd found their treasure. Of course, the Indians had different ideas about the matter, and a major battle ensued."

"And I figured the old-time miners were the only ones who dared enter this wilderness."

"Far from it. Ancient Indians called Mimbres— and of course, Apaches like Geronimo and Cochise—used these mountains as their strongholds. The American miners came in the last hundred years or so looking for gold. Their stories fill volumes with tales of violence and bloody battles and hard-won success."

"My, my, I'm impressed. You're a regular history buff," she said.

He jerked the vehicle back into gear and they proceeded. "I don't often have such a captive audience."

"And one so ignorant of local history?"

"I'm trying to teach you about the real West, Miss Fancy Pants. Since you're Sharkey Carsen's daughter, you have quite a legacy to learn. He was a regular legend in his own time."

"What about you, Dodge? Are you a legend?"

"Naw," he said, grinning. "I'm just a simple old sun seeker, like dozens of men before me."

"Just men? No women sun seekers?"

"Oh, a few, I guess. But they usually came because of some man."

She settled back against the seat and studied the changes in foliage as they climbed deeper into the mountain's heart. "I guess I am, too," she admit
ted softly, "if you consider Sharkey."

Dodge smiled at her. "Because of him, you come by gold fever naturally. It's in your blood."

Tory pondered what Dodge had said about the bloody history in the search for gold. "From all the old tales, it seems that many—and we'll never know how many unknown ones—lost their lives searching for gold around here."

"You're right. We don't have records of them all. Sad, isn't it, to think of someone coming out West to seek his fortune and never being heard from again?"

"Kind of like Sharkey," she mused. "How . . . how did my father die, Dodge?"

"Accident. He fell off his mule and plunged to the bottom of a slate cliff. They found him there."

"How could he just fall off the mule he was riding?"

"Who knows? He was alone. But the mule he'd rented from Yazzie wandered back down the mountain and ended up unharmed back at the corral."

"You sure it was an accident?"

Dodge nodded tightly. "There wasn't much of an investigation. It was assumed that he suffered a heart attack and couldn't prevent the fall."

"Assumed, huh? Nothing proved? Autopsy?"

He shook his head. "What are you getting at, Tory?"

"Is it possible that my father was killed since he knew about this gold?"

Dodge sighed heavily. "Anything's possible out here, Tory. But I doubt it. Look, don't get started on something in the past like that. Sharkey's cause of death has been settled by the coroner's report. You probably received a copy."

"Was it settled to everyone's satisfaction?"

"Yes."

"To yours, Dodge?"

"Yes! Now, please, Tory—"

The subject of the conversation and Dodge's tight-lipped reaction put a damper on the light mood between them, and they continued in strained silence.

An hour and a half later, Dodge pulled off the road and stopped in a small clearing near some pines. "Well, we're here."

They had traveled from the cactus-growing desert floor of Tombstone through scrub brush to sparse pines. Yazzie's cabin was a rough-hewn building, half rock, half logs, in a small stand of pines. Behind it was an ocotillo fence corralling a dozen or so mules.

"Now, who is Yazzie, exactly?" Tory asked as she mentally noted the rugged terrain. "And why are we meeting the others here?"

"Yazzie's a man of the mountain, has always lived here, as far as I know. This is a good starting place, where trekkers usually converge for food and drink. Plus, we'll rent our mules from him and take him along as guide and cook."

Tory frowned. "Do we have to go with him?"

"If you're worried about sharing the diggings with him, don't be. We need his expertise. There have been whole teams of people lost forever in these mountains. Believe me, he'll be worth every cent we have to share with him."

"Sharing is not my worry, Dodge."

"Then what?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling, I guess. You were the one wanting to keep this excursion quiet in Tombstone, and now you're including someone else. I don't understand."

He clasped her hand and squeezed. "It'll be okay, Tory. Yazzie has always been a part of these mountains. Sharkey and I always rented our mules from him. He isn't exactly a stranger."

"Did you and Sharkey always take him along with you?"

He smiled at her perception. "Nope. But this is different. We have a group of people who are unfamiliar with conditions on the mountain, including you, my dear. Also, there's Rex. Even though he put money into the mining company, he's hardly ever been up here. Plus, we're searching for specific landmarks that I figure only Yazzie knows."

She nodded in silent agreement and looked over Yazzie's small, dilapidated spread. "What does he do up here? Just rent mules? How does he live?"

"Well, obviously it doesn't take much for him. I think he occasionally brings in a little gold dust or a few turquoise stones in exchange for bread and bacon."

"And he lives up here all alone?"

"Yep. Had an Indian wife, but she died years ago. According to Sharkey, Yazzie's mother was an Apache woman who ran off with a miner from Yuma. Because of his split heritage, Yazzie never really belonged anywhere. He's been here as long as anyone can remember."

She shook her head slowly. "It's like a story out of an old movie."

Dodge glanced at her with a curious grin. "This is the Old West, Tory. Some things are slow to change."

"So I see," she murmured, thinking her friends in Los Angeles wouldn't believe this when she got back home.

Dodge sensed her reluctance and knew he had to convince her it was okay. "Tory, you realize that Yazzie and Ramona searched for Sharkey together. And when they discovered him at the bottom of the ravine, they brought his body into town. Yazzie was a great help to her."

"Yes, I know about that."

"It'll be okay—believe me."

"I ... I trust you, Dodge." Her eyes met his, and she silently pledged her trust in his instincts. What else could she do?

Yazzie was an enigma from another era. His Indian heritage was blatantly evident in his appearance. His long black hair was bound by a red bandana, his skin was brown and leathery, his eyes were sharp and black above high cheekbones, and his gait was flawed by a slight limp. His tan pants were attached to black suspenders, and heavy work boots, not cowboy boots, were laced up to his calves. Tory stared in amazement at the ageless man who seemed to have stepped off the silver screen at the height of the cowboy-and-Indian movie craze.

"Yazzie, this is Sharkey's daughter, Tory Talbot."

The mountain man gave her a nodding glance, and Tory shuffled from foot to foot, trying to decide whether to extend her hand. She smiled tightly and folded her arms instead. There was something standoffish about him that thwarted any warmth.

Dodge explained their situation and how they needed his help going up the mountain. Could they leave as soon as tomorrow?

Tory held her breath. She could just see them hanging around this godforsaken place for days waiting on this old man to agree with their plan.

He studied Dodge's proposal for a moment, then spit out his abrupt reply. "Yep."

Tory's head shot up. This was his answer? A simple, short 'Yep'? No comments, no questions, no instructions regarding his part in the excursion? Dodge and Tory exchanged glances as the mountain man wheeled around and headed for the corral.

Dodge followed him, recounting the list of supplies they'd brought. Tory let the two men go alone. No one had included her in these negotiations, anyway. She was just a pilgrim on one of the strangest journeys she'd ever undertaken. An adventure ... to seek the sun. She walked around to the front of the log cabin and perched on a downed tree trunk in the yard. Her view took in a magnificent stretch of the desert floor several thousand feet below.