Paxton Pride (25 page)

There would be time for only one or two shots before his enemies were off their horses and well-hidden. The way station would be alerted, but every gun along the river would know his whereabouts, know he was entrenched across the mouth of the trail. The only way they could approach the way station from the rear and in any kind of time would be through Vance. So they would kill him. It didn't seem fair. To have found a woman, a fine proper lady around whom he might build a life, to come all the way from Washington only to find death.
Death never is fair. It simply is
. And wouldn't go away without its bounty, without its due. Vance cursed the thoughts. Since when had he ever given a damn? His way was always the reckless, the unexpected. To meet the devil head on and kick him in the teeth. The first man would clear the brush and come into his field of fire in seconds. The time was at hand.

Karen hurtled across the open ground and into the room to find the cabin quiet and undisturbed, with Cathy still sound asleep. She rushed to the older woman's bed and startled her awake. The two of them alerted the men in the outer room where there was an instantaneous, maddened scramble for hats, boots and guns. Billy ran outside to alert the men on guard around the corral and wagons. Freight drivers silently took up previously but unconsciously planned positions, dividing their number between the wagons and the firing ports in the walls of the way station. Karen returned to the bedroom, hastily garbed herself in her dress. Feeling not quite so naked, her confidence returned.
Vance!

She stumbled into Roscoe Bodine as he entered behind her. His hands gripped her briefly as he brushed past her. “Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but I'd better check that back door.” He released her and strode across the room.

“Vance! Vance is out there. Down by the river alone.”

Roscoe checked the bar on the door, dropped a chair under the knob. “Paxton's salty enough. Rode with him durin' the war. He can take care of himself.”

Ed Carter stuck his head into the room. “Hey, Roscoe, come out here. You oughta see this.”

Bodine gave one last telling look at Karen then checked the action on his rifle and walked into the outer room. Karen followed, noticing immediately the front door stood open and the men were gone. The leader went on outside but Karen stayed, content to watch from the doorway. The freight drivers were standing bunched around a small group of mounted horsemen. As she watched, they dismounted, joking with the drivers. Suddenly Cathy came into the room. “Karen, there you are. Come help me with coffee and sandwiches.”

“I don't understand. Who's out there? Where's Vance?”

Cathy laughed good-naturedly. “Dear, you certainly had us worried. Mr. Paxton is out front with the soldiers he brought in. Seems he nigh came close to shootin' one before he realized who they were. Sergeant Dekker and his men have put in some hard hours. I'm sure they could use a bit of food.”

She turned at the sound of footsteps. Vance entered the room followed by a short, broad-shouldered man who immediately on seeing Karen doffed his cap. She pointedly avoided looking at Vance, but smiled at the stranger in uniform.

“Sergeant Luther Dekker at your service, ma'am.”

Karen nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“This is Karen Hampton, my intended, Sergeant,” Vance said.

Dekker beamed at her, his eyes registering good-natured, unabashed envy. “You're a lucky man, Paxton. Wish you all the best, Miss Hampton.” He unbuttoned his army coat and a look of pure relief crossed his face. “Ma'am, it was fortunate for me your husband-to-be here don't like to shoot at strangers. He had me dead to rights.”

“Pure dumb luck I saw the chevron. You gave me a scare.”

“I give a whistle. Figgered anyone there who was supposed to be there would answer. Surprised a fella with your trail savvy didn't hear it.” He shot a wary look at Vance.

Vance almost blushed, turned aside to one of the tables, already pulled out from the wall and loaded with coffee cups. “Too busy washin' up, I guess,” he said uncomfortably. “Looks like coffee's ready.”

The sergeant poured himself a cup as his men came through the door and headed for the table. Karen, seeing Cathy had managed quite well without her, excused herself and retired to the back room, not wishing to face the verbal jibes of the drivers and soldiers for her part in the false warning. Vance followed her. “Karen …”

“I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Paxton.”

“Karen, I …”

“Washing up!” she mimicked, the words icy with sarcasm. “There wasn't any danger. There was
never
any danger. I think you knew that all along. I suppose this was just another lesson to be learned. You let me.… Oh! I don't want to talk about it. Now everyone thinks how silly I am. All those stories about danger and guns and Indians.… I've never been so humiliated in my.… Don't touch me! Go eat a sandwich or something with your friends. I'm tired.”

“Karen, I admit I made a mistake, but I.…”

“Please go, Vance. Please?” Her voice choking, she turned away from him and sat on the edge of the bed.

Vance, utterly perplexed and unable to cope with tears, stared at her a moment longer, then shrugged uncertainly and left the room. Things weren't working the way he'd planned. If only they'd been able to disembark in Galveston. He shouldn't have let himself get carried away down at the river's edge. Shouldn't have—wouldn't have, if he'd kept his wits about him—missed the signal. They could have moved into the shrubbery and stayed hidden. No. They would have missed her at the house and still the harm would have been done. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

Been better to wait in any case. But how was a man to wait? Seeing her there and sensing her willingness … his nakedness … the moon and all those stars … Her breasts and thighs, the magic of her hands.… What the hell was a man supposed to do? He loved her, dammit. He wanted her. The moment had been right, there beneath the Texas night sky, the broad expanse of stars and the music of the river to lull them into a magic unreality where only the two of them lived and loved. The union would have been so perfect, would have been something for both of them to remember and cherish forever. Not some hotel room or the ranch house, with people all around. Just the two of them and the night.

If only the damned soldiers hadn't ridden in. Damn! Let them look for Jaco—or whoever the hell else they wanted—at some other time. After all he'd told her of Texas, only to end up behind a pair of mules for four days. First the Galveston bypass, then the arrival at Corpus Christi, and then this. For the fates to have chosen that one moment! He scowled at the thought. And Dekker had said he was lucky.

CHAPTER IV

Karen looked back and watched Three Rivers way station gradually disappear in the dim morning light. The lack of wind and the brassy ball of sun rising over the horizon presaged a day similar to the last two, the only kind she had known on Texas soil. Ahead of them the land assumed the look of a darkly-knobbed prairie, gradually rising. Other than themselves and three does standing quietly with a buck at their side on the top of a small knoll there was no sign of life on the featureless landscape. A few morning birds called, but they soon left the empty air alone.

The depot became a tiny speck and was then suddenly lost behind a mesquite, leaving naught but a thin trail of smoke barely visible against the brightening sky. She was not so angry at Vance as she had been, for after a tearful, hushed session with Cathy, the older woman had explained briefly he had been better off erring on the side of safety than taking chances. Men, she had said, died in this country if they weren't careful.
They all believe the stories they've made up. Even Cathy. Like a bunch of children playing at make believe
. But looking around she could see why. Any normal person would have to do something to relieve the boredom of the Godforsaken place, and when all was said and done, those she'd met in Texas probably weren't much different than the men and women she had known in Washington and New York. All made up their roles and played them to the hilt. She had to admit the incessant game playing made life more bearable. Even exciting. She smiled secretly, and deciding to keep Vance guessing, assumed an aloof posture despite the bumping, jostling progress of the wagon and the extreme heat. Her back stiff and unrelenting, she soon succumbed to the lulling pace of the mules, and before two hours had passed her resolve had withered and she found herself caught inextricably in a lethargic web of boredom, woven helpfully by the slow, lazy circles of distant carrion-eating vultures, their somber, stately forms outlined against the sky.

Vance decided any attempt at explanation was useless. Karen had been disappointed, he felt sure, but no more than he had. She would simply have to resolve the issue in her own mind. She had heard enough of this country to know there had been danger, and real danger at that. He was ashamed of his lame-brained excuse for missing the signal from Dekker, but couldn't for the life of him think of what else he might have said. He'd been caught in an unfortunate situation stemming from his own lust and had to live with the results. His course now was to concentrate on the mules and the path they traveled. Time would heal such a tiny wound.

Before long she was asleep, her head on his shoulder and one hand on his thigh. They were following the Aransas River north, having left the westward-bound Nueces far behind. Karen dozed fitfully, more than once jolted half awake by the lurching backboard. When they stopped for the nooning she was left alone at the buckboard, barely able to choke down the dry bread and beef which passed for sandwiches. She ignored the men who gathered to one ride of the wagons to talk with Roscoe and Billy when they rode in, their horses lathered and blowing hard.

The pace picked up. Roscoe and Billy seemed worried, and no sooner had they eaten and changed horses than they rode out again, Bodine across the river to the west and Billy ranging far ahead. Vance reflected their concern, growing more taciturn with every passing mile.

The wagon swerved sharply and Karen clutched at the seat, her eyes open and her mind grasping for the present, startled by the sudden movement. The sun was low in the sky and the ground released its heat to dance in shimmering curtains under the frail tops of the mesquites.

“Did you sleep?” Vance inquired, his voice soft as the rustle of leaves.

“No … yes. I was daydreaming. It was Christmas a few years ago. A party. I was remembering the annual Christmas gala given by Ambassador Stone. He loved a party more than anyone.”

“There'll be parties here, Karen. Why, the shindig well throw for the … for
our
wedding.…”

“The what?”

“Shindig. You haven't seen a party until.…”

“Shindig. How funny.”

“A
fiesta
, the Mexicans call them. We do too, sometimes.”

“
Fiesta
is a pretty word. I like it better than shindig.”

“Whatever name you use it means a good time. Tomorrow night we'll be in San Antonio and stay over the Fourth. You'll see what a real
fiesta
is like. Texas style.”

The freight wagons circled once again for the night. Vance kept up a steady flow of speech, describing again the ranch, his father, mother and friends. Karen had never known him to carry on so. It was a change in him she had not expected. But conversation made the time pass quickly and night fell rapidly. At peace again with the world, she relaxed and let the night sounds wash over her and cleanse from her soul the remaining shreds of frustration left from the night before.

The freight drivers squatted around a bare mention of a fire and spoke in hushed tones. Karen noticed Vance had arranged her trunks further from the river and closer to the main campfire. They too spoke in whispers and gradually she realized something was out of sorts, a notion which gradually undermined her sense of euphoria and made her distinctly uneasy.

The men had finished their dinner when Bodine and Billy hailed the camp, rode in from the darkness and dismounted to sink to the ground by the fire, obviously near exhaustion. Two of the men led their horses off to be rubbed down and fed while the rest of the drivers sat quietly, waiting for the outriders to finish eating. Vance abruptly ceased the tale of how he met Ted Morning Sky and, barely excusing himself, went to the main fire, leaving Karen alone to anxiously peer from behind her trunks. She could hear nothing beyond a muted hum of voices, could see little more than broad gestures and an occasional flash of a face as the men turned to look into the night. All very dramatic, she thought, giving up and lying back on the blanket, irritated at being left out of the discussion.
Men. They always whisper and carry on as if to lend weight to whatever they discuss. And then they decry women for using their wiles when it's the only way they have to find out what is happening
.

Despite the day spent dozing and daydreaming, the numbing fatigue of heat and hypnotic movement, fresh air and the smell of wood burning accompanied by the rhythmic pulsing of a million insects began to take their toll. And as she drifted off to sleep, Karen had the disquieting notion she knew what was wrong. Something about the men around the fire. What was it? Yes. Counting Vance there should have been eleven. But there were only ten. Only ten …? Who? But she was asleep.

The night passed uneventfully. They breakfasted hastily on more of the beef and beans—the last she ever hoped to see, by that time—before light showed in the east. The men fell to their tasks with a minimum of talk and the usual efficiency. No one looked as if they had slept for more than a few hours. Even Vance's eyes looked puffy and red. Where they had made camp the Aransas flowed off to the west, and without the benefit of a nearby river the day's travel would be the worst yet. At least it was the last day, Karen rejoiced, thankful for any favor. She waited for Vance to come back to the buckboard before getting into her seat. Any minute she could remain on her feet she counted a blessing.