Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (24 page)

After spending a relatively comfortable night sleeping in a bed, Sky and Max awakened at dawn, refreshed. So many long, dangerous days of hard riding had left them exhausted. They rejoined True Dreamer at Baldy's, ready to continue on their quest. Unsurprisingly, the old livery owner was nowhere to be found. Reading the rates posted on the stable sign, Max left the proper amount of money for boarding four horses overnight and they set out.

Sky looked over her shoulder at the sun spreading red, gold and orange streaks across the horizon. As they rode southeast toward Fort Worth, she said, "That vile old wretch is probably suffering a monumental headache from overindulgence."

True Dreamer merely grunted agreement, but Max chuckled grimly. "No, I suspect he's still passed out dead drunk in that bloody saloon. It will probably take him three days to sober up and repent the cheap whiskey. Then he'll revert to being precisely the same flaming bastard he was before."

Remembering the way the hotel desk clerk had looked at her, then back at Max, before reluctantly handing over a key, she knew her husband was right. Only fear of the lethal-looking gunman had kept the clerk from refusing to allow her a bed in his establishment. "Hatred of red people is deeply ingrained in whites. At times, I wonder if that will ever change," she said pensively.

"Hatred of all people who are different from us is a peculiar gift of the white race," Max said bitterly.

Sky knew by the hard, distant expression on his face that he was recalling his life as a soldier...and the dark warriors he had killed in Africa. "That isn't entirely true. Many of my father's people fear and distrust those different from themselves. Within our village, my father became a great chief, but at gatherings of the Sioux Nations, there were others who hated him for his white blood."

Max nodded. "Your family has been torn between two worlds all of your life." He could not help wondering if part of her attraction to Father Brewster had been his willingness to be a bridge between red and white for her. Would she ever speak of him once Deuce was dead? He vowed not to let the priest's ghost haunt their marriage. Sky belonged to him now and he would never let her go.

But when are you going to tell her about that damned codicil?
The thought popped up suddenly, and he realized he'd pushed it to the back of his mind. Sooner or later he should share that devious provision of Harry's will with her, but if he did, would she ever believe he really loved her for herself alone?

The old Cheyenne interrupted his troubling reverie. "The Powers did not intend for people to hate. No tribe, red or white, lives in peace. We all have much to learn." As he spoke, his penetrating gaze moved from Max to Sky, as if reading what lay inside their hearts.

He knew them better than they knew themselves.

* * * *

They pushed hard for Fort Worth, no one speaking of what they would find when they arrived. Would Johnny Deuce really be there? And what of Fawn, True Dreamer's young granddaughter? By this time, Deuce might have traded her off to another perverted drunk. Or beaten her to death. If the old man knew, he chose not to share his counsel with Max and Sky. Yet his serenity appeared unshakable.

Considering all else that preyed on their minds, they took comfort in that.

The weather turned hot even for July on the Texas plains. Heat shimmered in undulating waves over the flat, treeless horizon and the vegetation appeared as desiccated as the bleached skulls of dead coyotes and other varmints they passed along the trail. After the third seemingly endless day, they saw a patch of true green, distinct from the gray green of mesquite and the yellow prairie grass surrounding them. The trees at the base of a rounded hill appeared like a mirage in the distance.

"Water ahead," True Dreamer said through cracked lips.

Shaking her canteen, which was almost empty, Sky breathed a sigh of relief Although they'd filled several extra containers before leaving Wichita Falls, the water tasted brackish. Not to mention that the supply was running low.

Consulting a rough map he'd purchased in the town, Max said, "It must be a small tributary of the Trinity." Removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm, he consulted the western sky, where the sun hung evilly like a malevolent yellow eye. "We're making good time, but there's no sense in pushing the horses until they drop."

True Dreamer grunted his agreement. Sky peered ahead, as if expecting the green promise to vanish in the hot desert wind. "Even if the water is alkaline or muddy, at least it will be running fresh," she said.

"Dreaming of a bath?" Max asked with a faint smile as she kneed her mount to move at a slightly faster pace and pulled ahead of them.

"She dreams of many things," the old man said.

Max's head turned toward his companion. "Oh, and what can you tell me about her dreams? I would dearly like to know."

"Every man wishes to understand women. No man does," was the enigmatic reply.

The stream was small and shallow, but the water was obviously spring fed, sweet, clear and cool. Sky jumped from her horse and knelt beside the edge, drinking eagerly once she'd tasted it carefully. The setting was lovely with the creek partly shielded by a dense copse of hackberry bushes. Overhead shinnery oaks and cottonwoods rustled in the hot wind as if inviting wayfarers to stop at the oasis.

"Watch you don't founder yourself," Max said to her as he led his horse to join hers where it drank greedily.

True Dreamer slid from his gruella and watched as it and the packhorse joined them. Then moving upstream, he joined Sky and Max in drinking from the stream.

She sat back on her heels and looked at Max with a smirk. "Watch out yourself," she said as he shoved his whole head beneath the water and then raised it up, shaking his hair as droplets flew around him. Sweaty and bearded, in severe need of a haircut, he looked so splendidly handsome that her heart skipped a beat. She was glad his eyes were closed so she could enjoy watching him for a moment without his being aware.

The old Cheyenne disappeared with his rifle after quenching his thirst. On foot, he walked into the thick vegetation downstream in search of game for their dinner. Beans and smoked pork became a tiresome diet after days on the trail. While their hunter was gone, Sky slipped away from Max, who was busy building a fire and setting up camp.

She walked upstream, carrying soap, her comb and a fresh change of clothes. After about fifteen minutes of following the twists and turns of the stream, she found it widened into a small pool at one sharp bend where the water was trapped by a rocky bank. "Perfect," she murmured to herself, stripping off her clothes and wading carefully into the icy cold.

She sank beneath the water and then reached for the soap, washing sand and red soil from her hair and body. The pool was too small for swimming, so she squeezed the excess water from her long tangle of hair, preparing to comb it dry while she sat on the edge of the bank.

Max watched her spine arch as she pulled all that dripping ebony splendor over one golden shoulder and twisted. Her raised arms revealed the sweet curve of a breast, its rose-brown nipple taut from the chill. He could warm it with his mouth. She stood waist deep in the shallow pool with water lapping at the navel in her flat belly. His breath caught when she started moving slowly toward the rocks at the edge of the pool, gradually revealing the curves of her hips and those long, luscious legs.

Shadows cast by the trees and bushes danced in mottled patterns over her skin. She intended to let the warm dry air do the work of the towel she'd brought. He stood frozen as she placed the white cotton over a rock and then sat on it to begin plying her comb. With every stroke, she raised her arm and arched her back. Sky was far more elegant and graceful than any noblewoman he had ever seen posing before a mirror in an English manor house...and over the years of his misspent youth, he'd observed more than his share of them. They posed. She was utterly without artifice, unaware of his presence.

Was he playing the voyeur? Most certainly. Max grinned and began stripping off his clothes as he called out, "Anyone there besides jackrabbits?"

She turned, a startled expression on her face. Just then a shot rang out from True Dreamer's rifle. "Well, one less jackrabbit to bother my tranquility here," she replied as he emerged from the cover of bushes and trees.

Another shot rang out in the distance. "I do believe dinner is on its way...but we have time. He'll not hurry back," he said as he walked into the pool and submerged himself. "Toss me that soap, love?" he asked.

"You'll smell like roses," she warned.

"I think I'll soon smell of you anyway. Better than you smelling of my sweat." She tossed the smooth soap and he caught it in one hand, watching her watch him as he lathered his upper body and head. Then he dunked beneath the water to finish his bath.

"You always assume I'll fall into your arms," she said, almost crossly. Were her feelings that transparent? Sky knew they must be, but his troubled expression surprised her.

"You are my wife, Sky," he said gently.

"But what's happened between us...it wasn't part of our agreement."

"No, only securing my inheritance and killing Deuce were," he said flatly. "I have yet to fulfill my end of the bargain."

Sky paused and moistened her lips. "Max...what if I said...what if I didn't want you to kill him anymore—that I only want to rescue True Dreamer's granddaughter?"

The soap slid from his nerveless fingers. He bought time scanning the clear water to retrieve it, then faced her as he walked to shore. "Are you saying you'll give up your vendetta?"
Will you give up the ghost of your priest?
He wanted to ask but did not quite dare yet.

"I'd be risking your life—and breaking my oath if I have him killed." Her eyes were hidden by her lashes, but he sat down beside her and took her chin in his hand, tipping her face up to his.

Max studied the depths of those huge blue eyes and what he saw robbed him of breath. "Oh, Sky, does it mean you can let go of the past and be my wife?"

She did not look away this time, her fingertips caressing the back of his hand. "I have so much guilt over Will...the way he died...that we couldn't have children, that I find you so...so..."

A wistful smile barely touched his lips. "So bloody irresistible? I'm not a saint, Sky. Far from it. I'm nothing like Father Will. At first I feared that might be the attraction."

"In some ways it was...but not how you think," she said hesitantly. "He was so large and self-conscious about his size, a great bear of a man, almost afraid to touch me..."

"Nightshirts in the dark?" he asked carefully, not wanting to know more than she was willing to share.

"Yes, but it was more than that...he was so afraid of hurting me that he held back...passion. I never knew passion before."

"And I made you feel as if you'd betrayed him a second time when you discovered it with me."

"How perceptive you can be. That's true, but there's more—things I've never told you about my past, things he knew."

Max held his breath, afraid to break the spell as he waited for her to continue.

"When I told you about the way Clint became my foster brother, I left out some painful memories. The soldiers he killed to earn his name, they raped me and my sister. I was a child...like Fawn."

Max took her in his arms and rocked her gently "So Will was afraid he would bring back that terror on your wedding night...and every time after?"

She nodded in his embrace. "He was too good for this world...for me."

"No, love, the finest man on earth isn't worthy of you, least of all me. I've done many things in my life that were selfish, bad, even cruel. But I do love you, God help me, I do."

She looked up into his eyes and felt the sting of tears. "I love you, too, Max."

"I've wanted to hear those words for so long, but I was afraid..."

She placed her fingertips over his lips. "You are a fine and honorable man, only in a different way than Will was. You're willing to defend an old man against his enemies and rescue a child—"

"Somehow, I doubt True Dreamer has ever required help he could not readily conjure up. But if we're going to save Fawn from her captor, I'll still probably have to kill Deuce to do it."

Sky shook her head. "Stop trying to paint yourself as a villain. If Deuce won't let her go, his death won't be on either of our consciences now. The important thing is that we aren't seeking revenge. You and I are free."

"Are we now?" he murmured as he bent down and took her lips in a soft kiss that quickly escalated into mutual passion as they sank to the ground by the side of the clear tranquil pool...

* * * *

The next morning, they rode with the dawn once more, watchful for another appearance by the mysterious Englishwoman and her companions, or more ominously, for any more killers hired by Cletus, McKerrish or whoever was behind the unsuccessful attempts on their lives. After a long day of hard riding, they easily crossed the narrow ribbon of brackish green water called the Trinity River and entered the cattle boomtown of Fort Worth.

Sky looked about as they rode down a dusty street. The various businesses along the way indicated that it must be Main Street. Although it was neither as large nor noisy as Leadville, it was still a good-sized place. But True Dreamer had said he would be able to sense Johnny Deuce's presence no matter how large the white man's village.