Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

Holding her breath, she eased into the steaming pool, taking a seat on the sloping stone ledge a few feet below the water’s surface, the steamy water feeling much less hot the more she became accustomed to it.
 

After scrubbing her skin, washing and oiling her hair, then pounding and soaking the dirt out of her clothes, she sat up to her neck in the mineral pool. Sipping brandy and eating walnuts and apricots, she tried to think of what to do next besides just sit and enjoy the simple pleasure of smelling like a woman again.

As the sun changed position overhead, the light entering the cave through the crevasse glittered and sparkled off the crystal quartz in the wet granite, appearing like pink, black, and white diamonds embedded in the cave’s walls.
 

Barleigh climbed out of the pool and crept to the far side, running her hand along the warm surface of the sparkling wall. The idea of exploring further into the depths of the cavern piqued her curiosity, as she wondered how far back it might go.

Uh . . . ?
She drew a quick breath.
What was that?
She remained still, holding her breath, trying to discern if the noise she heard came from within the cave or from outside.

Pressing her back against the wall, she inched closer to where she remembered throwing her saddlebag and placing the shotgun next to it. She moved with slow, quiet, deliberate movements, stretching her arm, reaching out her hand, extending her fingers as far as they would go. She touched warm metal, wrapped her fingers around it, but the barrel was slick from the humidity of the cave and slipped from her grasp, clattering to the rocky floor.

Shit!

Dropping to all fours, she crouched on the ground. Then, reaching for the gun and crooking it in one arm, she crawled to the water, slipping into the hot bath. Like a silent snake, she floated to the opposite side, the gun in her hands and her eyes grazing just above the water’s surface. She sat perched on the submerged ledge with eyes and nose inches above the water line, the barrel of the gun resting on the edge of the pool, her finger on the trigger, waiting, watching, listening.

How long must she stay submerged? She felt like she was turning into a boiled prune. Maybe there was nothing—she just thought she heard something. She was being jumpy. Ten minutes must have passed. She would wait five more, then get dressed and get the hell out of the water, leave the cave, and get back to town.
 

Taking a deep breath, she eased out of the pool, gathering up the towel, wet clean clothes, the jars of soap and shampoo, her pistols, and shotgun, and then carried her belongings to the saddlebag laying against the side wall. She began repacking everything for the trip back up the trail, where she’d left her gelding tied not too far away.

The swaddling cloth laying on top of the clean, dry clothes, the binding that would turn Barleigh back into the boy Bar Flanders, would go on first. She began the wrapping process, but stopped. The feeling that she was missing or forgetting something toyed with her mind.

Ah, yes.
 

She put down the swaddling cloth and felt her way back to the water’s edge to retrieve Mario’s brandy flask that he’d loaned her. Barleigh had sworn an oath to guard it with her life. As she reached for the flask, the quiet darkness was pierced by the sound of a horse’s whinny very close to the entrance, the noise reverberating and echoing deep into the cave.

The sudden and loud whinny startled Barleigh, stopping her in her tracks.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but isn’t it unsafe for a woman to bathe way out here, all by herself?” The man’s voice was smooth and deep.

Leaping into the pool, Barleigh pressed flat against the ledge she’d had been sitting on earlier. She’d heard that voice before. It sounded like Mr. Lévesque, the nosy man from Saint Joe. Maybe it had been him purchasing tobacco in the mercantile.
 

“Have you drowned? Are you all right?” the deep voice asked.

“I haven’t drowned,” she said, the heat from the steaming pool no longer registering on her skin. She wished her guns were within reach.

“Drowning’s only one concern. There’re many reasons why a woman shouldn’t be out here bathing alone. It’s unsafe.” The smooth, deep voice moved closer into the cave.
 

“Perhaps it’s more unsafe with you here. I felt quite safe before.” Barleigh wondered how long he’d been watching. He’d clearly seen enough to call her ma’am and to know that she was a woman bathing alone.

“You’re safer than you were before. But, to show you that I mean no harm, I’ll turn my back and guard the entrance to make sure no one is watching while you towel off and get dressed. See? I’m turning around.” He turned his back to the pool.

“You’re either brave, or imprudent, turning your back on an armed woman whom you’ve never met.” In principle, true, if this was Mr. Lévesque. He’d met Bar. Not Barleigh.
 

“Lady, if you
are
armed, I’d like to see where you’re hiding your weapon.”

“Well, sir, a knife I keep strapped to my thigh at all times, just in case.” She decided she should buy one of those, first chance she got.
 

She slipped out of the pool and tiptoed backward toward her guns, lifting the towel and rushing it over her body. Keeping one pistol in hand, she fumbled with her clothes with the other. Impossible to dress quickly using only one hand, she lay the pistol down at her feet.
 

“My pistol
was
in my towel—now it’s in my hand,” she said, knowing he couldn’t see in the dark and with his back turned. “My shotgun is at my side. Please keep your back turned while I finish dressing.”
 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And could you please step to your left into that beam of light so I can see you better? No surprises. Keep your back turned.”

“As you wish.” He sidestepped until he was centered under the small ray of light, his hands in a casual clasp behind his back as he whistled a soft tune. “Is this where you want me?”

“Yes. That will do.” She hurried with the binding, wrapping the swaddling tight around her breasts, then pulled on the long johns, pants, shirt, and boots. She pondered how she was going to explain a sudden transformation from female to male. A miracle? Something in the mineral water, like Mario said, that shrivels a man’s pecker?
 

“I’ll stand here as long as you say. It’s my personal philosophy to never argue with a woman who has a gun pointed at my back. Or with one who has a knife strapped to her thigh. Of course I’m just taking your word for it that you are indeed armed, as I didn’t witness said weapons. By the way, I’m Hughes Lévesque, Texas Ranger. And you are?”

“Dressed. You may turn around now.”

When he turned, the beam of sunlight under which he stood illuminated his face, sparkling off of the flecks of burnished gold in his deep amber eyes, and in that instant, Barleigh knew him.

My dream wolf
.

She sank back into the shadows, transfixed, watching as he blinked hard against the beam of light from the sun. He tilted back his black hat, and then cocked his head, listening. Scanning his eyes across the cave to the right, he settled upon the exact spot where Barleigh crouched in the shadows against the warm, wet wall.
 

His long buffalo coat was open, revealing polished Navy Colt revolvers at each hip. A burgundy and gold brocade vest and a crisp linen shirt more suitable for a dinner party in Saint Joseph than scouting out caves in Salt Lake City looked out of place.

“I’m standing in the light, but you’re hidden in the shadows. I prefer conversations face to face.” He waited for a reply. “It’s all right, miss. I won’t bite.”

Barleigh watched and listened in silence. She remembered that there was something about his eyes that disarmed her when they’d met in Saint Joseph. That she didn’t realize then that those eyes belonged to the wolf from her dreams surprised her. The intensity was unnerving.
 

“Would you feel better if I waited for you outside?” He began to back toward the entrance, gloved hands open, outstretched, his shiny spurs clinking against the wet stone floor.

“Yes. No. I . . . I don’t know,” she stammered, feeling foolish. “I’m . . . I’m embarrassed that you saw me naked.”

“The cave is dark. More dark than light. I had only the faintest idea that I was seeing anything more than a shadowy, shady silhouette.” He moved his hands, making an hourglass shape.

“You saw enough to know that I’m a woman bathing alone,” she said, embarrassment flushing her cheeks.

“It’s a trick I learned from an old Indian scout. Follow the heavy scent of lilac and lavender, and there’s a good chance you’ll find a woman at the end of your nose.” His gaze remained on where Barleigh still crouched against the wall in the shadows.

“Oh? Oh, the shampoo and soap. I, uh, I was just enjoying . . . I haven’t smelled like a woman in . . .”

“Now, would you please come out of the shadows?”

“No.”
 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what? By now you must know that I mean you no harm.”

“Yes, I know that. It’s just that, well, you see, I, uh, I’ve a secret, a significant secret, and once you know it, you must agree to keep it, too. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to take your weapons, bind your hands, blindfold you, and leave you in this cave until I’m a safe distance away.”
 

“Do you have a gun drawn on me now?” Hughes asked, a smile wrinkling the corners of his mouth.
 

“Yes. Two.”
 

“I heard quiet shuffling and I know that you just now picked your guns up off the floor. The scrape of metal against stone gave you away. And you need to see a cobbler about resoling your boots—the leather has somewhat worn thin. You tapped your toe against the wall, I’m guessing searching for your other gun. Although I can’t see you, I can hear you. As both of us know, I can smell you. I can sense you. You were crouching. Now you’re standing. If I had wanted to, I could have disarmed you. Or worse. But I didn’t. You can trust me. You know that you can.” His voice remained smooth, steady, deep, and calm.

Barleigh sighed a reluctant sigh, not convinced yet that she should give in. “Swear an oath on your Texas Ranger’s badge and give me your gentleman’s word that my secret is safe with you.”

 
“I’m the best keeper of secrets you’ll ever need,” he said.

“Swear on it,” Barleigh insisted.

“I don’t know which I value more, my gentleman’s word or an oath sworn on my badge, but I give you both. Whatever dark secret you reveal will go no further than the mouth of this cave.” He couldn’t tell her that he already knew her secret. He’d given his word to Leighselle that he’d follow her daughter to Utah Territory and keep an eye on her safety. A man of his word, he always kept his promises.

“I’m a boy. I’m Bar Flanders. We met in Saint Joseph a few weeks back.” She walked from the shadows and over to the beam of light where Hughes stood and stuck out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Lévesque.” She didn’t bother lowering her voice an octave.

Hughes removed his glove and took her hand. “I’ll be damned. The Pony Express rider. But you’re not a boy. Just pretending to be.”

“Yes, just pretending.”

Barleigh felt the weight of his intense amber eyes on hers, and she could not turn away from his gaze. Like in one of her dreams, when she was on the cloud circling around the mountain peak and spiraling back down to earth, and the wolf would silently command her to look at him and to not turn away, it was the same with this man.

She expected him to throw back his head and offer his howl to the moon and for the moon to accept his offering. But he wasn’t a dark sable wolf and the moon wasn’t out. Barleigh wasn’t hearing howling, she was hearing ringing in her ears—thin, metallic ringing—and the dark cave was spinning. She felt dizzy. She couldn’t blink away the fuzziness clouding her vision. She swayed as her knees grew weak.
 

“Are you all right, Bar? Here, sit down.” Hughes took her by both arms, steadying her.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong. I feel lightheaded and faint, all of a sudden,” she said, her voice a thin whisper.

“How long did you stay in the hot bath?” Hughes spread his thick buffalo coat on the ground and she sat down on it.

“A good while. An hour at least. And then some more when someone scared me and I had to jump back in.”

“Right. Sorry about that. Have you had anything to eat? Any water to drink?”

“Some watered brandy, and some apricots and walnuts.”

“Brandy and a long hot bath with not much to eat? Good God, woman, it’s no wonder you’re dizzy. I’ll be back in a minute.” And then he was gone.
 

Barleigh lay back and fought the urge to close her eyes and drift away to sleep. She rolled over on her side, drawing her knees up into a tight ball, and then pulled the arm of Hughes’s coat around her shoulders. His scent was strong on his garment, smoky and woodsy, with the smell of leather, horsehide, and saddle soap mingled together with something else. She breathed in again, smelling something tempting, something spicy, like cloves, cinnamon, or cardamom. The shorn lamb’s wool lining was soft against her face as she pressed into it and breathed, trying to identify the aroma.
 

Mmm. What is it?
 

“What is what?” Hughes walked back into the cave with a large, tooled leather duffle bag and knelt on the ground beside her. “You were asking ‘What is it?’ when I walked back in.”

“Oh. Private thoughts.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. A red-hot blush climbed up her neck and blossomed on her face. She was thankful for the darkness.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude into your private thoughts.” Hughes opened the bag and reached inside. He offered his canteen, then moistened his bandana and laid it across her brow.

“Thank you. I hope I didn’t sound rude.” She sipped from his canteen and took the cloth from his hand, washing her face with the cool water.