Cowboys 08 - Luke (11 page)

And not just because of the heat.

"Why did you take this job?" Zeke asked. "The money."

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"What else is there?"

"That these fools could get us killed."

"Their world is dying, and it's scared them to death.

They're trying to hold on as long as they can."

"When did you start getting sentimental?"

"I'm not. You can make a lot of money off people who're scared and rich."

"How? You planning to hold her for ransom?" "It's a possibility."

"It'll put the law on your tail again."

"I can handle it."

"Chet can't."

"He shouldn't look for what he doesn't want to find." Zeke cussed, got to his feet. "You don't deserve a brother like Chet."

"I didn't ask for one. Look, Zeke, I don't want anybody worrying about me. That includes Chet and Isabelle."

"You try and tell her that."

"There's no need to tell anybody anything."

"Why the hell did you ask Hawk and me to help you?"

"Because you two are the best."

"That's a lie. You wanted us because you knew we'd bust our asses for you."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Didn't Isabelle teach you anything?"

"What was I supposed to learn?"

"Nothing," Zeke said, then turned and stalked away. "Nothing at all."

Everybody expected him to be like his brother. Chet was perfect, or nearly so. He had inherited all the good qualities their parents had to give. When they got around to their second son, they had nothing left. He and Chet looked enough alike to be twins, but inside they were different. There was nothing inside Luke. He didn't feel love, hate, envy, or passion. Like a wild animal, he expected nothing, offered nothing, cared for nothing. It wasn't just that he didn't want to care. He couldn't. He didn't dare let himself.

That brought him back to V aleria.

It wasn't that he cared about her. How could he care about a silly woman who dined on gold plate in the desert? He was a realist. He never lay awake thinking of how he would change the world, never had attacks of conscience over things he'd done or things he'd left undone. He took life as it came, wrung out what he could for himself, and moved on. If the people around him got screwed, it was their fault for being stupid, cowardly, weak, whatever excuse they offered for their failure.

Which brought him back to Valeria.

In a few years her whole class would be gone. He ought to let them kill each other off. That would finish the job faster, make it easier for everyone. But he wouldn't let anybody kill her, and not just because he'd promised to protect her. This job had an entirely different feel about it, a difference that centered around Valeria. He'd let Hans convince him to wait, to make certain no one else would take the job. He'd even watched her hotel at night, convinced the miners to be quiet when they passed her window. He'd refused Otto's bribe as well.

He'd let Hans and Valeria get to him. How? Why?

Hawk came over to where Luke sat. "I don't like it," he said. "We got too much light. Banditos can see us from a hundred miles away."

Luke knew the light was bound to make people curious, but he doubted most people would attack such a large party. He had made certain the seven drivers were good, dependable men with guns. He could count on Valeria's party for additional help. They might be useless at most things, but aristocrats learned to handle guns practically at birth.

"They'll run out of fancy food, wine, and candles before we reach the Gila River," Luke said. "Then they'll eat the same as we do-beef, beans, and pork."

"Many people can hide in those mountains," Hawk said, indicating the mountains about thirty miles away.

"I've organized the drivers on one-hour watches," Luke said. "We'll sleep out from the camp."

He usually stayed in the camp, but this time he felt the need for separation. He would sleep the farthest out.

Hawk and Zeke were notoriously light sleepers. Luke had a sixth sense that warned him if anybody approached. They'd form a nearly impregnable perimeter.

"I still don't like it," Hawk said. "Indians could be in those mountains."

The Indian wars had ended a year earlier with the capture of Geronimo. The venerable chief had been sent to Oklahoma, others to Florida. Though some Indians remained in the area, they weren't likely to cause trouble. Luke was more worried about white men. Indians might steal the horses, but they would do it at night without waking anyone. White men wouldn't hesitate to kill to get what they wanted.

"I'm more worried about what'll happen after we cross the Gila," Luke said. "That's rough country."

"We got to get there first," Hawk said.

"We'll get there. You and Zeke find a good lookout."

"What about you?"

"I'll wait until they're done."

"You going to tuck them into bed?"

"Just make sure they don't stay up so late they keep the crickets awake."

He wanted to talk with Valeria. Or Hans. They needed to adapt to Arizona. Sitting down to a hot, heavy meal at eight-thirty wasn't the way to start.

"We leave at dawn tomorrow," Luke said.

Hawk looked at the group gathered at the table. "Do they know?"

"They will."

Still, he felt a reluctance to be hard on Valeria. She had been molded by a different culture, one that would make it difficult for her to understand the life that lay before her. She or her husband would squander their wealth in a fruitless effort to reproduce their former life. By the time they realized the impossibility of doing that, they'd have nothing left. Maybe he could talk with Hans. He knew Valeria wouldn't listen to him. She thought him beneath her.

He was.

Valeria put her fork down and leaned back in her chair. She'd eaten too much too fast. If she didn't stop now, she'd be awake half the night. She had made the same mistake as Otto and eaten almost nothing for breakfast. She'd compounded her error by having nothing at midday and no more water than absolutely necessary. She could hardly make herself swallow from Hans's canteen.

They hadn't reached the campsite Zeke had chosen until just before dark. She had been thinking of food for the last several hours, her tastebuds watering at the thought of the delicacies the chef would have prepared for her dinner. It came as a cruel surprise to find he hadn't started cooking when they arrived. He was in a rage about having to find his own wood, start his own fire, do without enough assistants under these harrowing conditions. He stated flatly it would be impossible to prepare a dessert.

Luke had invited her to eat with him and the drivers. She had refused. Partly out of pique, but mostly because she didn't trust herself to be able to swallow what Zeke was cooking in that great big pot. It looked disgusting with everything cooked together. Still, she had to admit it smelled good.

Nothing about dinner went smoothly. The men took much longer to set up the tent than she expected. By the time they finally managed to drive the stakes into the rocky ground and drag the necessary trunks from the wagons, Valeria had lost patience with everyone. Despite a thick canvas covering, the rocky ground made the floor of the tent so uneven she stumbled every time she tried to take more than a few steps.

Dressing for dinner proved no easier. She had too little space inside the tent and no way to press out the creases in her dress. She emerged looking as if she'd slept in her clothes. It didn't make her feel any better that Hans and Otto looked no better.

And she felt dirty. An entire day's collection of dust had settled onto her hair and skin. She'd removed as much as she could with a damp cloth, but she still felt unclean. She wanted a bath with lots of hot water in a tub deep enough to soak in.

Luke had said she could bathe in the river! As if she would do anything so shocking, even though there wasn't a living soul within ten miles. There were actually fish in that water. And frogs, too.

"I feel much better now," she said as she laid down her napkin.

Elvira had remained silent during the meal, her gaze continually searching the night. Valeria knew the poor girl was petrified of what might be out there. Valeria had never been afraid of the dark, but she'd never been out in it without dozens of men to protect her.

"A full stomach tends to give one a different perspective on life," Hans said. He continued to be nervous and jumpy, but he'd stopped responding to Otto's jibes.

"Mine's not full yet," Otto complained. "And I'm not used to doing without dessert."

"You've eaten enough for two people," Hans observed. "Maybe we ought to eat less. Our supplies won't last forever."

"I didn't expect they would," Otto said. "We will acquire fresh supplies every third day. Luke and his men may be content to eat that goulash, but I am not."

"When you speak to Luke, ask about the distance to the next town," Valeria said. "I would love a bath." But she wasn't certain there would be
a next town
anytime soon. She remembered the vast, flat plains stretches of Texas when they had traveled hundreds of miles without seeing a living soul.

"We should have invited him to join us," Hans said. "He could have answered all our questions."

"When did you start inviting servants to join us at table?" Otto asked.

"I'm sure he wouldn't presume," Hans said.

"What do you expect him to do, stand quietly at the end of the table answering questions while we eat?" Valeria laughed. "He'd be more likely to sit down and help himself to the best bits of everything." "Exactly," Otto said.

"But we are depending on him to get us safely to Rudolf's ranch."

"We depend upon servants to attend to our safety all the time," Otto said, impatiently, "without asking them to sit at table with us. That's what we pay them for."

"Nevertheless, I think Hans is right," Valeria said. "Mr. Attmore is different."

"How?" Otto asked.

Valeria wasn't sure she wanted to answer that question. Her feelings for Luke disturbed her. He had the same ruthlessness, the same disregard for anything that got in his way, as her father and uncle, but there was something different about him. She couldn't explain it. Whenever she tried, she ended up deciding it didn't exist. But as soon as she did that, the feeling returned as strong as ever. Something about him struck an answering chord in her, touched a need. She was drawn to him as to no other man.

Could it be his disregard for her bloodlines, her title, her past? She didn't know why she should be attracted

to a man who felt nothing but scorn for everything that had been her life up until a few months ago. It made her furious, but something about him still wouldn't let go of her consciousness.

"I guess because he's American and doesn't consider himself a servant," Valeria said, answering Otto. "In his eyes, we're all equal. Neither my title nor my money qualifies me for more consideration than anyone else."

"That's absurd. Nobody worships money more than these Americans."

"Maybe. I just know he thinks he's as good as we are."

"What else could you expect of a country that lets every man vote," Otto said.

"Women will be able to vote soon, too," Valeria said.

"Where?" Otto looked so scandalized, one would have thought someone had proposed that women in Belgravia be allowed to vote.

"I don't remember."

"I still don't see how that makes him our equal," Otto said.

"I want him to join us," Valeria said. "Hans, would you ask him?"

"I don't want to talk to him," Otto said. "Then take your wine and go to your tent."

"I haven't finished eating." He served himself the last of the lamb and boiled potatoes. The other serving dishes were already empty.

"You can clear away and bring coffee and liqueurs," she said to one of the men hovering nearby.

"Yes, your highness."

"I guess you shouldn't call me that." "Yes, your highness."