Yellow Rock (5 page)

Willow climbed the stairs fighting with her mind. She passed a painting of a boy, and it reminded her of Tommy Parker and his terror-filled face. The wagon attack flashed before her eyes, drowning out all else, and rushed a hot adrenalin to scramble her thoughts again.

Willow forced the terrifying images away as she struggled to concentrate on the smooth wooden rail that slid under her fingers as she continued to climb. Right now, she knew she was above a saloon, heading for a room, and that a doctor was going to come tend to her. She’d need to see the doctor, and as long as she remained calm, maybe her mind would too.

“Here you go, Miss Blanford. Room Four Aces. Our gamblers call it our lucky room. You get a view of the main road out the windows right here and can see all the comings and goings of Hell’s Creek residents. You just get some rest. I heard Horace is trying to locate a doctor and get word sent to the Wiles for you, ma’am.”

Willow thanked him, then turned her attention out the window to where Dutch had led the mule out of the camp. Then she turned to survey the heavily wallpapered room, exhaling her relief. The bed appeared comfortable enough. She hadn’t slept in in so long. “Can you help me arrange a bath?” she asked, suddenly painfully aware of her appearance.

“Sure. I can do that,” Clem nodded.

“Maybe later you can tell me about that man that rescued me.”

“Who, Dutch? Yeah, he’s an interesting character. The ladies sure take a shine to him too. But he just keeps to himself. From what I’ve heard, that man has lived quite the life. He was a decorated hero in the war for acts of bravery, and then came out west. Now he just climbs that mountain looking for gold. People have tried to mine up there for years, but the Apaches kill them all. But not Dutch. Somehow, he manages to dodge their arrows. They call him Yellow Rock, and so far, he’s nary suffered a scratch. But I for one would sure like to find out where he’s digging for his gold. He’s always got plenty and talks about someday buying a cattle ranch.”

“Yellow Rock?” Willow knew she’d heard that before, but trying to remember just where, made her body tense and throat constrict. Yellow Rock…why is that familiar? She fanned herself with her hand.

“Does he have a wife?”

“Nah. He don’t even buy my whores. Ilene jokes that maybe his private parts were blown off in the war since he never makes use of …well, you get my meaning, I’m sure.”

Laughter filtered up the stairs interrupting the conversation. Then the sound of a man and woman trouncing along the hallway echoed inside Willow’s room.

“I’m gonna poke you so hard, you’ll see stars in your eyes, Ilene!”

“You better pay me first!”

“I’ll pay and then you’re gonna pay with your pretty bottom in my face!”

“Gee, let me take my clothes off first, cowboy. If you keep touching me like that you’re gonna burst before we even get the door opened!”

Willow’s hands covered her ears trying to drown out the lewd conversation and the images that came with them. The room began to blur while their laughter bled through her fingers. Her stomach rolled, rushing acid into her throat. Her breathing started laboring like it had done in the huts. Suddenly the wallpaper turned to the mud of the Indian’s huts. She moaned. Clem’s eyes widened at her response, and then he ran for the door.

“Are you alright, ma’am? Will you two shut the blazes up!” he shouted down the hall. Then he left the room and slamming the door closed behind him.

Willow laid on top of the bed, curling herself into a ball. She couldn’t slow her breathing. Her vision made the room appear to take a horrifying dip. When the Yankee entered her room she screamed.

“Holy… what the heck is wrong with you? It’s just me! It’s just me!” Clem announced. Tears blurred the room as she jumped from the bed. She walked passed the man, using her hands to push the Yankee out of the way. She ran through the door then back down the steps. There were a couple of men in the saloon who let out with a chorus of whistles. When she hit the bright morning sun, lost in a bout of confusion. Then those men in the saloon emerged from the swinging doors, to stare right at her.

“We want to talk to you! We’ve never seen your pretty face before, and we’d like to get to know it better! Come over here!” One of them stepped off the boardwalk coming toward her.

“Dutch!” she screamed, lifting her skirts. Willow saw the tracks in the dirt left by the mule. Before anyone could stop her, she started running. Running along the mule tracks in the sand and straight for the mountains.

***

Dutch had only made it partially up the mountain when he had to stop. The rain made the rock formations slick as snot, and he’d forgotten to purchase those boots. Not only that, the sky was turning pitch black, cracking lightening all around him, and making Fatty nervous to the point that the mule began to pace himself back and forth like an expectant father. Dutch hunkered down under a crude lean-to he’d hastily put together, and then lit his cigar to sit through whatever the Thunder God was going to lash out this time.

As the raindrops fell from the sky nice and heavy, he inhaled the smoke then blew it upwards. Normally about now, his thoughts would turn to the gold, where he’d dig next, where he’d wasted his efforts, and then onto the ranch he was going to build. He’d wonder about the price of cattle in Texas and exactly how many head he’d have to purchase to turn a profit. But tonight, his thoughts took an unwanted turn. Instead of dreaming of cattle and the price of beef, Dutch’s mind raced back to the golden blonde with the haunted eyes that saw every enemy as a Yankee.

Something raw tugged at him. Something he didn’t expect and sure didn’t have time for. Not since he’d lost his wife to a bullet. After Birdie’s death, he’d sworn off any further thoughts of women. To heck with it. It was easier to keep to himself. Out here, there was plenty of yellow rock in the ground to buy the homestead he’d always wanted. It hadn’t been easy, but every day he was getting closer and he sure as hell didn’t need a woman to come around to screw it up. Dutch exhaled, batting his eyes against the loneliness that had been tugging on him since he met that crazy woman.

Two years. Two years since he’d wrapped his arms around a soft, feminine body, but he never remembered it feeling like it did when he held Miss Blanford.

Fatty stopped with the pacing and in the strobe of lightening, Dutch saw the mule lift his head and ears in the direction of Hell’s Creek. Dutch rested his cigar on a post and then wrapped his fingers around the trigger of his revolver. He listened, but didn’t hear anything but the rain tapping on rocks and the thunder rolling above. The mule spun himself in a quick circle and then resumed his pose. What was out there now?

***

Willow lifted her face when it started to rain. The water, cool and falling in heavy drops, eased her mind and washed away the dust, giving her a sense of renewal. Washed in the water, washed in the blood, she mused, as she continued over the rough terrain. Stopping for breath, and to spot more signs from Dutch’s mule, she snuck a look behind her. The lights of Hell’s Creek appeared as tiny dots on the horizon. When she turned back to the direction where Dutch had disappeared, it was nothing but endless country lit only by the intermittent lightening that cut through the night.

As she started out again, she eventually found a manure pile left by his mule, and quietly thanked her luck that the animal had ate so much at the hitching post earlier. The trail of manure piles made it so much easier to track him, and she knew she was close now.

The further she got into the desert, she guessed she’d really must be crazy for deciding to take this chance to find a man she hardly knew. However, there was no question that if she’d stayed in town and in that saloon, she’d never be able pull herself out of the darkness. There was something about the prospector that calmed her no matter where her brain wanted to take her. She might be crazy but she wasn’t stupid, she
needed
him.

She heard the mule and saw the tip of Dutch’s cigar glowing like a beacon in the night. She was heading straight for it when the sound of a cocking hammer and the tip of a gun against her temple stopped her cold.

“God help you, lady what in the world are you doing out here?” Dutch’s voice, melted into her ear. Thank god, she’d found him. “I wanted to be with you,” she explained. Realizing how childish she sounded, so she tried again. “I had to come find you. You can’t leave me in that awful place.”

“Jumpin’ Jehsophat, I don’t believe this. Does Everett know you came all the way out here? How did you even manage to find your way so far in the dark?”

“It’s not a big deal. I spent a great deal of my youth tracking game with my father. Besides, your mule left a manure pile straight to you,” she explained. Still, Dutch held the barrel of his gun against her head and at a time when she should have been crazy from fear, strangely, she felt very calm, relieved, actually. “Are you really going to shoot me? Just because I’d rather be with you than sleep at a whore house where the proprietor and his patrons can’t keep their hands to themselves?” The pressure from the gun barrel released from her skin, and she allowed herself a deep breath.

“No, I’m not gonna shoot you. But I have a good mind to whoop the tar out of Clem next time I’m in Hell’s Creek.”

Rain began to fall in earnest, bouncing off her head and his hat. She wished she could see Dutch’s expression through the darkness, but she could tell by the softening of his voice that maybe he understood why she’d fled and wasn’t as angry as he sounded.

“I have shelter over here,” he said with a tad of reluctance, lightly touching under her arm to guide her through a maze of boulders to his lean-to. She settled herself under the shelter while Dutch whispered out a long line of profanity, mostly to himself. Then he cut through the darkness with sharp tone. “You took an awful risk. You could have been killed trying to find me.”

She laughed. Tracking him was the only part of her journey so far that hadn’t been so terrible. “Don’t be silly. A thousand times I should have already died. I’m not afraid of death anymore. I wanted to find you and I did.”

“Silly? Lady, haven’t you heard about this mountain?”

“No.”

He threw his cigar out into the rain. She watched the ember tip fade out once it hit the wet ground. “Well, why me?”

“Because, you’re a nice and decent man.”

It was his turn to laugh, only his was one of surprise. “I’m nice…decent…How do you know? And that’s not a good reason to follow a stranger into the dark wilderness. What if I was crazy?”

She snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Haven’t you heard? They call
me
crazy. Where are we anyway?”

“You mean to tell me you don’t even know where you are?”

“No. Not really.”

She heard him sigh. “Arizona territory, and I’m taking you back to Hell’s Creek and putting you on the first wagon to California so you can reunite with the Wiles. If you’re sane enough to track me like a sharp-nosed coon hound, then you’re sane enough to find the Wiles wherever they are in California.”

She gathered a piece of her skirt into her hands and then absent mindedly played with the tattered pieces. She had no idea the wagon train had gotten as far as Arizona. So Granny was right, and the Indians that attacked her and the rest of the Parkers were indeed, Apaches. Willow sucked in some air and held it. She’s lucky to be alive and she has only this man next to her to thank for it. But getting back into another wagon? Just the thought of putting one foot inside one of those contraptions made tiny beads of sweat form on her brow. What would stop the Apaches from attacking again? She knew she wouldn’t be able do it.

“Mister, I know we don’t know each other, and I know you don’t owe me, but you saved my life. If you put me on a wagon it will be the death of me. It will drive me further into madness and I’m terrified I won’t be able to pull myself back out. And If you send me back to that saloon where I’ll have to hear the whores, well, I can’t Dutch, I can’t go Hell’s Creek, and I can’t travel to California like this.”

He didn’t say anything, but he lit another cigar. Willow’s gut constricted with worry that she hadn’t said or done enough to convince him.

“I’ve been told that you’re a hero. A real hero, and I sure do need one of those.”

Chapter Five

There were times in Dutch’s life when things took such a turn, it challenged reality has he understood it. Having fought the war a celebrated hero, and then to come out west with hopes of grandeur only to wind up a lonesome prospector, made him understand that a human being is never truly in control. But the sudden and bizarre appearance of the daughter of a well-known confederate colonel, left out in the middle of nowhere, had to be God’s way of telling him to continue and expect the unexpected. The fact she saw him as her personal hero when she’s so afraid of Yankees…well that was about as hard to swallow as yesterday’s breakfast.

The more the thought about it, the more he found himself staring at her profile in the dark. This woman just climbed herself over dangerous slippery rocks in the dead of night straight into Apache sacred area, and all because she figured he was the best she could do. And she had no idea, the enemy was all around her in more ways than one.

Dutch held his cigar smoke deep in his lungs, thinking. She seemed content to sit quietly beside him while rain soaked the world and found its way through his duster he’d used to cover the lean-to. She’d have to stay with him now, at least for a couple of days. This rain was about to turn that dry creek bed, into a turbulent river. And what if she wants to talk? Don’t women like to talk? If he told her everything, all about who he really was, she’d slip back into her madness and there’s no telling how long it would take for him to straighten her out again.

“I apologize for the accommodations, ma’am. I have a small cabin barely nailed together where I’m usually holed up. It’s not much, but it’s a slight better than this.”

“I’m fine. Here or there. Someone once told me it’s all just sticks and stones anyway.”

Dutch chewed on that for a moment. Surely, a daughter of a well-to-do southern colonel probably knew a life beyond what he’d ever imagined. The sadness in her tone sparked his curiosity, and he had to chuckle to himself about the sheer irony of life then, because now it was him that had the urge to chatter about the past and for her to explain that notion. Who would tell her such a thing?

They’d spent the night tossing and turning under the shelter. And trying to sleep without making any physical contact, soon made for a lesson in hell. But sometime during the night, Dutch’s frustration shifted to one of concern. Willow whimpered even in her sleep.

Dutch cracked open an eye the next morning feeling more tired than the night before. The sun had already risen above the jagged horizon, letting him know the time for rest was over. The rain had passed, leaving the air with a sweet infusion of mesquite. He turned to see if she had awakened, only to find her gone. Dutch sat up so fast, he smacked his head against the hard wooden frame of the lean-to.

Dutch cursed as he touched his scalp while his gaze scanned the area. Fatty was nowhere to be seen, and that mule never left his side. “That crazy broad stole my god-blasted mule!”

He scrambled to his feet, then shoved his hat down over his sore head. He walked a few feet in several directions wondering where she’d taken off to. A melody reached his ears, rendering him frozen. A woman’s voice, lifting in song, carried on the breeze. Dutch leaned his head toward the sound wondering if he was just hearing things. It was soft as silk and as sweet as honey.

Dutch followed the sound until he saw Fatty’s speckled ass poking out of a thick growth of creosote brush, that little traitor.

“What are you staring at?” he whispered, as he moved some limbs to the side. The next of his words lodged in his throat right before his jaw dropped. Just a few yards below, the crazy woman was standing in a small pool of water that had collected in a shallow bed of granite, hanging her freshly washed dress on an over-hanging limb, stark-naked as a jay bird.

He took a couple steps back, allowing the foliage to close the view in front of him. Then he rubbed his face with his hands. Squeezing his brows together, he poked his head through the brush again.

“Fatty, I swear if you bray right now, I’m gonna to have mule for dinner.” The mule didn’t move.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a lot of women in his years. He’d seen his wife, a few whores that ran down the stairs at the Agave, and paintings in every saloon from Pennsylvania to Tucson. But he’d never seen anything like Willow Blanford washing her clothes in nothing but her birthday suit.

Guilt bit at him, but he hunkered down as low as he could. Fatty watched him with an accusatory squint to his eye. “Stay quiet,” he warned.

Willow dropped herself in the water to soak her hair. Then she stood facing away from him. Dutch couldn’t help himself. His gaze followed the lines of her flesh. She was soft, sleek, covered in creamy delicate skin and round in all the right places. Her freshly scrubbed hair darkened by the water, fell down her back and pointed straight towards her apple shaped bottom. Out of the blue, Fatty opened his mouth and brayed like a bull horn, causing Dutch to stumble backwards and fall right on his ass.

Damn squealer!

An hour later and she came climbing up the small embankment wearing only her petticoat and with her dress tossed over her shoulder. She had an expression on her face, clearly showing her annoyance with him. He didn’t need a mirror to see why, the skin on his face must have been as red as cranberries.

“A girl can’t take even take a bath and launder her clothes without those sneaky Yankees watching everything. What’s so interesting about my doing the weekly wash?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was just…wait. What are you talking about, Yankees?”

“Yeah, there were two or three of them that rode up on that ridge up there. They didn’t see me but I sure saw them. I’ve got an eye for those boys now. What I don’t understand, is where they’ve put their clothes. It’s not right the way they keep traipsing around the place bare chested and without saddles.” With her dress draped over her shoulder, she put her hands on her hips, unaware that the sun shone through the thin fabric of her petticoat showcasing an hour glass figure. Dutch tried to keep his gaze on her face. He tried, but he failed. “You know, Dutchman, the Union must be runnin’ broke if they can’t even afford proper uniforms.”

Dutch’s skin broke out in goosebumps and then heated over. She was mistaking the Apaches for Yankees, and he was trying to see through her petticoats. Of course, she had to be right about one thing, they must not have spotted her. If they’d seen her in that pool, she would have been recaptured and her nightmare would have started all over again. He’d have to set some rules for her, or just follow her everywhere she went from here on out—which might not be so bad.

“Willow, I checked the riverbed, and it’s still running. We’ll have to keep going toward my cabin. Like I explained last night, I can’t take you back to Hell’s Creek today.”

She twisted her lips from side to side, and then threw her dress over the lean-to.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Hell’s Creek?”

The expression on her face told him she was in that other dark place she talked about. She had no grip on reality at the moment. He’d just go along with it, why upset her any further.

“Never mind. You hungry?”

“Enough to eat the skin off a pole cat.”

***

Her stomach churned in knots the higher they climbed through the rocky terrain. When she realized those were Indians riding along the ridge, she knew there were Indians all over the hills. She escaped being seen this morning by slipping herself under the water until she’d thought she would pass out. And while she was under the water, she heard the mule bray to the Apache horses. When she’d finally come up for air, the mule was gone as well as the Apaches. But it was enough of a rotten experience to rattle her thoughts all morning. She knew she’d slipped back into her darkness, and she knew she’d spent a good deal of the day not making a lick of sense. But the Dutchman never corrected her, never made her feel crazy. He’d just listen and carry on like she said nothing unusual at all. She quickened her step to be closer to him.

While she struggled to keep up with his enormous strides and fast pace, she eventually fell behind him and began to stare at the pair of revolvers holstered to his narrow hips. She wondered if she asked nicely, if he’d teach her how to shoot. She should have some sort of protection if she was going to live her life like a wild woman out in the middle of Yankee…
Indian
territory.

By the time the sun fell behind the other side of the canyon, putting everything in blessed shade, they’d took a sharp turn through a narrow passage way that opened up to a wide grassy flatland and creek. The place seemed like an oasis amongst all the rocks they’d just climbed. Never, would anyone expect something so flat and green amongst all the rough country they’d just passed through.

“Home sweet home,” Dutch said, as he immediately began to unpack his supplies from the mule. She went to the other side of the animal and started untying the ropes. She wanted him to know, that she was there to help and not be a burden. She also really wanted to ask him about the guns, but given her state of mind, she had a hunch he’d refuse her.

“It’s very pretty,” she said. as she looked past him to the one room cabin made from just about every material nature had to offer. Dutch smiled at that, his face widening to showcase dimples on his cheeks and a perfect row of straight white teeth. She stopped with the ropes long enough to stare at him.

“I’m sure you’ve seen a whole sight better,” he said, lifting a sack off the mule.

“Better than what? The last home I lived in, burnt to the ground taking everything I loved with it. As far as I’m concerned, that cabin is paradise.”

He stilled, his gaze diving into hers. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. That was just a few weeks ago. Right before I was placed on that stage only to have those Indians…” her gaze dropped to her hands that started shaking while her mind threatened to race away with her. Maybe she had taken her privileged life for granted, maybe she had spent most of her youth feeling sorry for herself for not having a mama. But she didn’t deserve to go through this new hell.

A warm hand covered hers and squeezed. She lifted her gaze to Dutch and his intent stare held her just as tightly as he held her hand.

“That ordeal is behind you now.”

“No it’s not. It’s right on top of me. Like a dark cloud that just won’t leave.”

“Give it some time, Willow. Nothing in this life stays the same for long. You plan on walking this way, and world shoves you in a whole new unexpected direction.”

She nodded in agreement, obviously she’d never planned to live out in the wilderness with a gun wielding prospector, but she knew now it was a blessing. This new, greener world where just a few sickly looking pine trees dotted the landscape, looked peaceful. Like a place where a person could take a deep breath and get a hold of themselves.

“Well, Dutchman, I guess if life is determined to shove me someplace else, this place is as good as any.”

***

Someone or something was inside his cabin oblivious to their arrival and making one heck of a racket. Willow’s eyes widened like a frightened doe, so Dutch pointed his finger at Fatty and whispered for her to stand behind the animal for protection. His blood pounded past his ears as he stepped on the porch with both guns drawn. Whoever was inside, he figured was drunk judging by the sounds of things falling off the walls. With a hard kick, he opened the cabin door, ready to fire.

In the dark, a snarl came toward him before a white raccoon bounded out between his legs and out the door like it’s tail was on fire. Dutch’s shoulders relaxed as he lowered his guns.

He walked inside hearing Willow’s footsteps quickly come up behind him.

“Everything’s alright, Willow. The little critter knocked the cans off the shelves. And look, he went and scattered all my flour across the floor. It looks like he might have rolled himself in it.”

“You should have just gone ahead and shot him. He’d already gone to the trouble to bread himself, the least we could have done is fried him up like Sunday’s chicken. Now we don’t have anything to serve the ladies from the Baptist Church when they come to gather peaches for their pies,” she said, looking around his cabin with disgust.

Her unexpected words and the serious sparkle to her eyes, struck him funny. Obviously, when he drew his guns on an unknown intruder, it had frightened her enough to shake her mind a little, but he couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled in his throat before he broke out in full fit of laughter. When he looked at her again, she was smiling too. A real smile that made his laughter die right then and there.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, oblivious to how for the second time, she rendered him stupid.

“Nothing. It’s just…”

“What?”

“You’re beautiful, and you should smile more.”

“That’s why I’m here Dutchman. To figure out how to do that.”

“Good.”

Dutch didn’t know what to do, having a woman hanging around. The last woman he was with, lived her life under the rule of men. This woman knew no such boundaries. If she noticed there wasn’t enough wood to cook with, she’d assigned herself the task of gathering kindling. Her enthusiasm to lend a hand, would’ve made any officer proud, and he wondered if her insistence to be helpful had anything to do with being raised by a military man.