Dorothy Garlock (20 page)

Dumbfounded, Logan watched her walk into the room, her movements stiff and jerky, her face averted. He was still standing there, holding the package in his hand, when she came out with her extra dress over her arm and a cloth knapsack in her hand. She passed him, her head tilted in a proud, defiant way, and went down the ramp.

“Rosalee . . .” Her name was almost a groan as it left his lips. She ignored him and a worried frown covered his face. “Rosalee!” he called again, this time in sudden accusing anger. “Where the hell are you going?” She had reached the bottom of the ramp and whirled to look up at him. His words had struck up an answering fire in her.

“I’m not going to try to walk out of here, if that’s what you’re thinking. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a fool! I’m going down to the stream to bathe, and after that I’m going to sit and wait for Case Malone to come get me.”

“I don’t want you down there by yourself.”

“
You
don’t want?” His words caused her temper to run out of control. “Let me remind you, Mr. Horn, I’m entitled to the same consideration you give Brutus. I don’t belong to you and if I stay with you it’s because
I
want to. Right now, I
don’t
want to!”

Logan watched her mouth spilling out the angry words. She stood glaring up at him with eyes that looked like bits of blue-green ice. He could see the heaving of her breast, and the thought of the sweet softness he’d felt brush against him during the night being touched by another man made his skin grow icy and his heart throb with agony.

“Goddamnit, Rosalee! There’ll be all kind of vermin combing these canyons looking for me if Clayhill puts a price on my head. You could come across one of them, or a bear, or a cougar. If you insist on going I’ll have to go with you.”

“No!” She dug into the knapsack and brought out an old handgun. “I can protect myself, and . . . from you, if necessary.”

Her cold, blue-green eyes did battle with his smoldering dark ones. She was breathing deeply, erratically, like someone who had run too far, too fast. She knew her last words were unfair, but didn’t wish them back. They made up a little for the humiliation of being rejected after she had so blatantly shown her feelings for him. She tilted her chin haughtily and walked away with as much dignity as her trembling body would allow. It wasn’t until she’d rounded the boulder and was out of sight that she allowed her shoulders to slump and the tears of defeat to roll down her cheeks.

Rendered numb by the scene’s climax, Rosalee passed through the high boulders and down into the valley shaded by cottonwoods, box elder, ash, and into the willows that grew thickly along the stream. In deep despair, she stared dully at the ground and walked on, not noticing the small flocks of birds that took flight ahead of her, the buzzing june bugs, or the young deer that paused, head up, alert, then took off on the run, white tail high. She came to the stream and saw that walking would be easier if she went upstream, and followed the bank along a well-worn animal path.

One time she paused and looked back the way she had come. How could she have been so stupidly naive? How could she have fallen in love with a man who came in out of the night, out of the storm, and looked at her with great, dark, lonely eyes. She had simply handed him her heart. Logan had read her actions as clearly as if she had put them down on paper. He knew she had fallen in love with him and felt sorry for her! She groaned aloud at the humiliating prospect of going back to face him, but she would have to endure it. There was nothing else she could do. She fought an almost overpowering urge to take one of the bays and go home as she pictured that isolated haven. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of Clayhill’s raiders. If they killed her, Odell and Ben would have no one.

The small green valley lay still in the lazy afternoon sun, a faint heat emanating from the white rocks that lined the stream. She walked on, uncaring of the distance, and beads of sweat lined her forehead and dampened her armpits.

She came to a small waterfall that rustled faintly as it cascaded over the rocks and lost itself in widening ripples on its journey downstream. There she stopped and listened to the silence. Never had she felt such stillness, never had she felt so alone. All this land, she thought, was haunted by memories; memories of long-vanished people and of the Cheyenne, who thought this was a holy place—and hers.

She decided to bathe beside the waterfall rather than in the pool above. Her thoughts tormented her while she removed her shoes and stockings and slipped her dress over her head. She stood in her shift, then stepped out of it with a natural grace and with no shrinking at her nakedness. One of her greatest pleasures was bathing. Often she could wash the worries from her mind while she scrubbed her body and hair. From her knapsack she took a small bar of soap and went to the water’s edge.

Rosalee trailed her foot in the water, fully expecting it to be as cool as the mountain spring at home. The water was warm! In fact, it was almost hot! Was this the hot spring Case had mentioned? It had to be. The shock of her discovery sent a flood of excitement through her. Logan would be so pleased that it was on his land! She couldn’t help being glad for him.

She walked out into the warm stream and sat down. The water came up to cover her breasts and her thick braid floated behind her as the water swirled around. After awhile the warm moving water served to work off the tension and she stood to soap herself. Her body was lithe and strong, for since childhood she had worked alongside her father, and later, alone or with Ben. After lathering every part of her body she unbraided her hair and sank down again.

It was so pleasant in the water she stayed there until the skin on her fingers wrinkled. She came out of the pool and stopped at the edge to wring the water from her hair. Using her soiled dress for a towel, she dried herself, then dressed and sat down on a large rock to continue rubbing her hair and combing through it with her fingers. She felt wonderfully clean and sat absently pondering the miracle of the hot spring.

Abruptly, she was startled out of her lethargy by the scream of a wildcat. The sound was not especially close, so it didn’t put her in a panic, but it caused her heartbeat to quicken. She picked up the pistol and held it in her lap. Behind her was the cottonwood, the ash and the pines. To her left was the thick willows and across from her the red, rocky cliff. She shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the great, tilted slabs of rock for movement. She had heard the scream of a cat many times and had on occasion glimpsed one in the distance. It was reassuring to remember hearing Mr. Haywood say, the day her father was buried, that it was rare for a cat to attack a person unless cornered.

Minutes passed slowly without a sound or a movement and her uneasiness passed. She shook her hair vigorously to dry it and bent to put on her shoes. Thick, light brown tresses, shiny clean with sparkling highlights, fell to her hips like a shimmering curtain. Impatiently, she looped the strands behind her ears so she could see.

“Yeeeow!” The primitive cry of the cat came from across the stream and it was so close Rosalee jerked herself erect and gripped the pistol. Seconds—or was it hours?—passed while she scanned the rocky ledges. The silence pressed down on her. She reached for the knapsack and was about to get to her feet when a voice, low and calm, came from behind her.

“Don’t move. I don’t want to shoot if I don’t have to.”

Logan’s voice! Thank God! She sat ramrod straight, looking straight ahead. Apprehension squeezed her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.

“Where is it?” she whispered shakily when she could find the breath to speak.

“Across the stream and to the left about ten feet up, moving this way.”

“I see it. Oh!” She couldn’t hold back the low cry when the cat paused, facing her, its yellow eyes gleaming, and let out a piercing scream.

“Sit steady. I’ve got him in my sights, he’ll either spring when he’s directly opposite you or he’ll go on.”

The large, slick cat moved with effortless grace over the ridges and rims of the slanting cliff. It came to the ledge that hung over the water and made a sudden stop. The tawny brown cat froze in immobility with its head jutted forward. His long, sweeping tail hung close to the powerful hindquarters, his yellow eyes glared fixedly on the intruder beside the stream. A shattering blast exploded from its huge mouth the instant before it bunched its muscles and sprang. The body arched and stretched, front paws reaching out. The sharp crack of the rifle was no louder than a small pop to Rosalee’s stunned senses. The bullet found its mark and the cat plunged straight down into the water.

To Rosalee, it was like a dream played in slow motion. The only move she made was to lift her arm to her face and cringe. She was only vaguely aware when Logan rushed past her to go to the water’s edge. He held his rifle, cocked and ready. When he was sure the cougar was dead he turned to her.

“Oh, blessed God!” The words came from a stiff, dry throat. She jumped to her feet to run to him, but the stern disapproval on his face stopped her.

“Move,” he said harshly. “The sound of that shot will carry five miles in these canyons.” His words hit her like a blow between the shoulders.

Without giving her a second glance he trotted off down the animal path that ran alongside the stream. Too shattered by what had just happened to be able to do anything, she obeyed without question. Her limbs came alive and she stumbled after him. He was angry! He was very angry, and regret for her inconsiderate action washed over her like an icy wave.

Swiftly and silently, Logan moved down the trail ahead of her and it took all her concentration and strength to keep the distance between them from widening. The dark stains on his shirt told her the wounds on his back had opened and she knew he was suffering from weakness, but his stride never faltered. Nor did he look back to see how she was faring.

Her head throbbed painfully, but the worse pain was in the back of her mind, reminding her that she had been foolish to disobey Logan. If he had not followed she would be dead now! He had followed to make sure she was safe, and by firing the rifle he might have revealed their hiding place to those who wanted to kill them.

Rosalee’s heart was racing. Blood rose in her face, burning her skin, beating at her throat by the time they turned to go up the incline to the cliff house. She held her soiled dress over the long, loose hair that fell down her back to keep it from snagging on the brush as they hurried through it.

Logan stopped behind a boulder to survey the valley before he strode out in plain sight, and Rosalee’s legs, being so long in motion, didn’t stop until she ran into him. Satisfied that their hideout hadn’t yet been discovered, he moved out again and she followed. Without looking back at her, he ran to where he had staked Mercury, jerked on the rope holding him, and led the stallion up the ramp.

“Brutus!” he called sharply. “Get the girls.” The dog leaped to obey.

Rosalee ran up the ramp behind the horses and reached the ledge in time to see Logan leading the stallion into the empty rooms. The mare and foal followed and Brutus stood at the doorway. Rosalee shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the opening they had passed through several days before. The only movement was a soaring hawk, white billowing clouds being pushed by a brisk wind, and the gentle waving of the high grass in the lowland.

“That blue dress is like a banner against this red rock,” Logan said from behind her. “You’ll have to put on the other dress or stay inside.” He was carrying adobe bricks from the ruins and piling them along the edge of the ledge.

Rosalee went inside, unbuttoning the front of her blue dress on the way. She changed dresses hurriedly, and without combing her hair, braided it in one long rope and tied the end with a string she took from her pocket. Knowing she was wrong to have wandered so far after Logan had warned her not to go to the stream was like a sharp pain in her heart. She owed him her life. If he’d not followed to make sure she was safe she’d now be a meal for the cougar! Reaction made her legs tremble violently and lights danced before her eyes. She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself, waited a moment, and went out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Brutus lay at the end of the ledge. Rosalee didn’t take time to wonder if he had been ordered to watch or if he was just resting there. She went into the ruins and carried brick after brick to the ledge where Logan was building a barrier to use in case they were fired on from the ground. He didn’t speak to her, but his eyes found her face each time he put a chunk of adobe in her hands before he picked up one in each of his and carried it to the ledge. The wall rose slowly. Finally, when it was large enough to crouch behind, Logan stopped and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you think they’ll come?” Rosalee asked, looking off toward the west where the sky was awash with crimson.

“They’ll come. They know we’re somewhere in the canyons and sooner or later they’ll stumble onto the opening and come into the valley.” He wiped his face again. “I want to be ready for them.”

They looked steadily at each other. He held her with his eyes as firmly as if he held her with his hands. A flush tinged her cheeks, but her wide, blue-green eyes never wavered.

“I’m sorry,” she said miserably, and tried to hold the frayed ends of her nerves together so she wouldn’t cry. For a space of a dozen heartbeats they regarded each other in utter silence.

“I think we both learned something,” he said with less than his customary stolid reserve.

“You had a right to be angry with me.”

“Enraged is a better word. It scared the living hell out of me when I saw that cat. All I could think of was what if the gun misfired.”

“I owe you my life. Thank you.” She dropped her eyes to her clasped hands, scratched and bleeding from carrying the bricks.

He reached out and took them in his, turned them palms up, and rubbed his crooked finger over a long, bloody scratch.