ChasetheLightning (16 page)

Trey swung into the saddle. “You ready?”

“I guess so.”

“You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

“I’ve ridden.” She didn’t tell him it had been years ago.

“Good.”

Trey pulled twenty dollars out of his pocket and handed it
to Abe.

“What’s that for?” the livery man asked, looking surprised.

“If anyone asks, we were never here.”

Abe nodded. “Right.”

“This is serious business, Abe,” Trey said. “Anyone picks up
our trail tonight, I won’t take it kindly.”

Abe pocketed the money. “Don't worry.” He led the way to the
big double doors, and slid one back just enough for the two of them to leave
single-file. Before he rode through, Trey looked back at Amanda.

“Stay close,” he said. “If there’s any shooting, you take
off running, you hear? Don’t wait for me. Don’t look back. Just ride like hell.
I’ll catch up when I can.”

She nodded, her heart pounding as she followed him out into
the deepening night.

Amanda braced her Nikes carefully in the stirrups and stood
in the saddle, stretching her cramped legs and arching her back, rotating her
shoulders. Didn’t Trey ever get tired? They had been riding for what seemed
like forever. It was eerie, moving through the darkness, with only the muffled
sound of hoofbeats and the occasional chirp of a cricket to break the quiet of
the night. Back home, she had never noticed just how
dark
dark really
was. The cloud cover made it darker. Even she could smell the rain Trey had
told her was coming.

Trey rode ahead of her. He was nervous and on edge, and
because of that, so was she. She saw danger lurking in every passing shadow,
hiding behind every shrub that rose up out of the darkness. Every time her
horse twitched its ears, her hand tightened on the reins, and soon her
nervousness had transmitted itself to her horse.

She kept her gaze fixed on the stallion. Relámpago was easy
to follow. His coat shimmered like new-fallen snow even beneath the cloud
cover. A ghost horse, she mused, that was what the stallion looked like. A
ghost horse with a very special gift? Perhaps the ability to get her home
again?

Home—the very word made her ache with longing. She wondered
where Trey was headed, where he considered a safe haven. Her apprehension grew
with each passing mile. It seemed they were getting farther from that spot in
the desert where they had arrived in this time period. Was there some sort of
key, some kind of time portal or gate, there? She had never been a fan of
science fiction, considering it all too improbable to enjoy. But if there was a
place, one particular spot that was somehow the link between his time and hers,
then they needed to go there.

But what if the link wasn’t a place at all? What if the link
was the stallion?

She frowned thoughtfully, remembering how Relámpago had
mysteriously arrived in her corral, with no hoof prints leading in from the
desert. He had arrived in her front yard with his injured rider the same way.
Out of the blue, so to speak, with no tracks to indicate from which direction
he had come. Though she hadn't discussed it with Trey, she was pretty sure he
hadn’t been sitting in one spot between the stallion’s visits. So perhaps the
horse could take her home from just about anywhere.

If so, she was going to stay close to that white rump if it
killed her!

With thoughts of returning home filling her mind, she was
caught off guard when her horse stumbled. She grabbed the pommel, and jammed
her feet hard into the stirrups. The non-skid soles of her athletic shoes
gripped securely.

“Easy,” she murmured, leaning forward to pat the gelding’s
neck. Clucking to the horse, she rode up beside Trey. “I want to go back home,”
she said. “Now.”

“Are you crazy? We’re busy right now, just trying to stay
alive.”

“I understand that, and I want to get out of this crazy time
of yours just as fast as I can. I want to go home, and I need Relámpago to take
me.”

“So you figured that out, did you?” He patted the stallion’s
arched neck. “He’s the key to it all. I can’t say as I understand it, but it’s
the only answer that makes any sense.”

“I see that now. Can’t you make him do it?”

“Sweetheart, I didn’t even know he
could
do it. My
grandfather always said ‘Pago would carry me out of danger, and he has, on more
than one occasions, but never anything like that before. It was…” He shook his
head.

“Unbelievable,” she supplied.

“Yeah. Even though he’s done it twice now, I can’t credit my
own senses anymore.”

“I want to go home!” she said, her voice raising.

He shushed her. “Voices really carry on this still air,” he
said quietly. “There’s a man back there who’s looking to collect a reward on my
hide. Maybe a lot of men. Have you forgotten that?”

“I'm sorry— I…I’m not used to this.”

“I hope you never do get used to it, sweetheart.”

She brightened. “But…but Relámpago took you away from the
posse before, right? And brought you to me?”

“He did that,” Trey admitted. “And he brought us back here
to get us away from those hard cases looking for your boyfriend. What if those
three had friends, or more relatives? What if they’re camped out at your place,
waiting for us? Somehow I don't think ’Pago will take us back there if they
are.”

She wanted to argue with him, assert that those men would be
long gone. But how could she? There was no way to know for sure. She might not
be happy here, but for now she appeared to be stuck, unless…

“What if we get chased again?” she said. “Would he take us
back then?”

“The only way to find that out is to let whoever’s after me
catch us,” Trey said. “You willing to risk it? I’m not! Langley might shoot
straighter this time. And you might find yourself in the way of a bullet.”

There wasn't anything she could say to that. They rode
silently for a while before she asked him where they were going.

“Diablo Springs.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not far from Tucson.”

“What’s in Diablo Springs?”

“Not much, but it’s a good place to hole up for awhile.”

“Is it very far?”

“Three, four days from here.”

Four days on horseback. She closed her eyes, thinking of her
Jag parked in the garage. If it was still there. If those creeps hadn't stolen
it or driven it off a cliff out of spite. She opened her eyes as a new thought
came to her. Four days on the trail, and probably not a rest stop the whole
way. “Where are we going to spend the night?”

“This is as good a place as any,” he said, and reined the
stallion to a halt.

“Here?” She glanced around.

“Yep.” Trey dismounted and dropped the stud’s reins.

Amanda stared at him as he walked toward her. “Here?” she
asked again.

He lifted her from the back of the gelding. “You wanted to
come.”

Reaching under the horse’s belly, he loosened the cinch and
lifted the saddle. Holding it up with one hand, he rubbed the horse’s back,
back and forth, with the saddle blanket, then smoothed the blanket back into
place and resettled the saddle without tightening the girth.

“Not a good idea to off-saddle, in case we have to leave
here quick,” he explained as he performed the same chores on the stallion.

He tied the gelding’s reins to a low-growing bush, close
enough to the ground so the horse could crop the grass. He left the stallion
free.

“What about Relámpago?” Amanda asked. “Aren’t you afraid
he’ll wander off?”

Trey shook his head.

She looked around. “Where are we going to sleep?”

“Right here.”

Amanda watched as he kicked the hardpan loose in several
places with his boot heels, then took his big knife and hacked off several
hands full of branches from the surrounding brush.

“You can use your bundle for a pillow,” he said.

“What about you?”

She could barely see his grin in the darkness. “I got me
these fancy new saddlebags. Not as soft as your bundle, but I’ve had lots worse
for a pillow. Best turn in. We’ll be moving out at sunrise.”

She couldn’t believe he meant to sleep out here, in the back
end of beyond. But he did. Sitting down on one side of the springy brush pile,
he tipped his hat over his eyes and rested his head on the saddlebags.

Amanda realized he’d prepared only one brush pile, and it
wasn’t nearly as wide as her queen size bed back home. She lowered herself
carefully on the other side, as far away from him as she could get. The brush
tickled her through the gingham, and released pungent odors. There was no way
she could sleep like this. She wanted to wash the dust out of her hair. She
wanted to brush her teeth. She wanted to go home.

With a sigh of despair, she lay down, her head pillowed on
her bundled jeans and shirt and stretched out on the crackling brush.
Carefully, she tucked her feet under her skirt, and steadfastly tried not to
think of creepy crawly things that might call the desert home.

It was going to be a long night.

She dreamed of horses running wild across a vast sunlit
prairie, of a tall man with copper-hued skin and long black hair astride a
white stallion. At first, she thought the man was Trey, but as he rode closer,
she realized it wasn’t Trey, though the resemblance was striking. The man wore
only a breechclout and moccasins. Two eagle feathers were tied in his
waist-length black hair; jagged streaks of black paint adorned both cheeks.

He rode toward her at a gallop, his black eyes fierce, the
lance in his hand held high overhead. Too frightened to move, she stood there
while he thundered toward her. A shrill cry rose on the warrior’s lips as he
closed the distance between them. He was going to run her down…

She woke with a start, her heart pounding.

Relámpago grazed nearby. The stallion lifted its head and
whinnied softly.

With some effort, she managed to gain her feet. Every muscle
in her body seemed to be complaining. Her teeth felt furry.

She went to stand beside the horse. “I dreamed about you
last night,” she said, stroking the stallion’s neck. “Did you know that?”

The stallion tossed its head.

“How about me?” Trey asked, coming up silently behind her.
“Did you dream about me, too?”

“No.”

“Damn the luck,” he muttered with a wry grin. “Here.” He
offered her a cup of coffee.

She sipped the hot, bitter brew. When she was finished, she
dug her hairbrush out of a saddlebag and brushed out her hair, then pinned it
back, out of her face.

By the time she felt halfway presentable, Trey had put out
the fire, scattered the ashes, and packed up the coffee pot and cup. “It’s time
we were moving on.”

“I’m hungry. I ache in places I didn't even know I had, and
I’m starving.”

“There’s a town a few miles ahead. We’ll get some grub
there.”

“Why didn’t we go there last night? We could have gotten a
room somewhere.”

He didn’t bother to answer her, just busied himself
tightening the cinches. She stared at him in exasperation. Impossible man, she
thought, making her sleep on the ground when there was a town ahead. As she
watched, he broke up the brush bedding, scattering it among the undergrowth.

She was putting her foot in the stirrup when she felt Trey’s
hands at her waist. He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle, checked the
cinch and the stirrups, then swung aboard Relámpago and clucked to the
stallion.

With a sigh, Amanda tapped her heels to her mount’s flanks.

They stopped near a quiet stream a short while later. Trey
held her horse while she knelt on the bank. Scooping water into her hands, she
rinsed out her mouth, then bent down and took a drink. The water was clear and
cool and even as she drank, she wondered if it was safe to do so. When she was
finished, she held the horses for Trey, and then they let the horses drink.
Finally, he went a few paces upstream and filled both canteens, looping one
around her saddle horn, and the other around his.

Her stomach growled loudly as Trey helped her remount. “You
did say there was a town ahead?”

He chuckled as her stomach growled again. “If you can’t wait
until we find a place to eat, I could let you nibble on me for a while.” He
looked up at her, grinning roguishly, one hand resting just above her knee.

Her stomach turned over, but it had nothing to do with hunger,
and everything to do with the heat of his hand on her leg, and the look in his
deep, brown eyes. It was sinful, she thought, what that man could do to her
with just a look. She couldn’t fall in love with him! She couldn’t! She didn’t
belong here, would never belong here. Not only that, she was engaged to Rob…but
somehow none of that seemed to matter, not when Trey was looking at her like
that, as if she were a tasty morsel herself.

His grin widened, as if he knew exactly what she was
thinking. Giving her knee a squeeze, he took up Relámpago’s reins, and swung
into the saddle.

“You can always chaw on some of that jerky you bought, if
you find that more to your taste.”

* * * * *

The weathered sign outside the town read, “Welcome to
Walker’s Well, population 235.”

Amanda grimaced as they rode side by side down the wide
dusty street that ran between two dozen or so ramshackle buildings. Calling the
dwellings that were scattered beyond the main street houses was paying them a
compliment. They were little more than hovels.

Trey reined his horse to a halt in front of a large, raw
plank building with a peaked roof and unpainted shutters at the windows. The
sign above the door read
Ma’s Place. Best food this side of the border
.

“You want to eat here?” she asked skeptically.

Dismounting, Trey jerked his thumb toward the sign. “Best
food this side of the border,” he said, reading aloud.

“Yeah, right.”

Chuckling softly, Trey lifted her from the saddle. Tossing
the gelding’s reins over the rack, he took her by the hand. “Come on.”

The inside of the restaurant was dim. There was sawdust on
the floor.
Faded red-and-white-checked curtains hung at the windows. Faded cloths covered
the tables, most of which were occupied by rough-looking men who didn't smell
much better than they looked.

Then, through the miasma of Bull Durham smoke, she got a
whiff of something wonderful emanating from the kitchen, and she knew why the
place was so crowded. No wonder they hadn’t eaten on the trail.

Trey sat down at a vacant table in the far corner of the
room, his back to the wall, and she sat across from him. “I take it you’ve been
here before?” she remarked.

He nodded. “Best grub this side of the border, just like the
sign says.”

Amanda nodded. “Whatever’s cooking in there smells heavenly.”

Trey lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Beef stew,” he
said. “Fresh biscuits. And apple pie.”