Cowboys 08 - Luke (29 page)

"This will hurt," Luke said.

His warning came late. She cringed.

"You shouldn't let yourself get so out of shape," Luke said. Her shoulders didn't hurt quite as much now. "You'll have plenty of opportunity to ride at the ranch."

At the moment, she found the notion of never getting on a horse again appealing.

"Why didn't you tell me you were so miserable? I would have stopped to give you a chance to get down and work out the cramps."

"No, you wouldn't have," she managed to say through the pain. He'd moved to her back. She'd never known she had so many muscles there. "You'd have said I was a useless parasite and I should have been ready to ride fourteen hours over impossible country at the drop of hat."

She thought he laughed. She couldn't be sure through the haze of pain.

"I probably would have, but I won't today."

She doubted he'd be happy about breaking his trip once he got under way. "I think I'll walk the rest of the way," she muttered.

"It's not that bad. You'll be feeling fine in a few minutes."

He'd reached her thighs. The muscles ached, her nerves tingled like needles, and her skin had been chafed until it was sore. There was no way in this world she was going of be fine anytime soon. If ever.

He didn't spend very long on her calves before he said, "Now you can stand up."

She didn't have to fall on her face to know she wasn't

ready. "You'll have to give me a hand," she said. "Sure."

"Go slowly," she said, but he had already brought her to her feet in one swift movement. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest.

So did she.

It seemed all the wildlife in the canyon had gathered near their camp. A flock of birds flew up from the trees, squawking in protest. A doe and two fawns scampered up the far bank of the creek and disappeared. Dozens of little animals scurried around in the underbrush, probably snatching their young into dens for fear she would trample them in her desperate efforts to get her feet under her. She hoped any snakes or mountain lions were off doing other things. They'd know at a glance she was helpless to defend herself.

"Did that hurt?" Luke asked.

"No. I just screamed to clear the underbrush. I don't like being watched while I'm suffering the agonies of the damned."

Luke's lips twitched. "That bad?"

"I've never been damned before," Valeria said, "but I don't think it can get any worse."

"Remind me to tell you about a few Apache tortures." She intended to forget that reminder. If Luke thought what the Apaches did was bad, it must be truly inhuman. "I hope breakfast isn't overcooked," he said.

She found herself a boulder, hoped nothing disgusting was hiding under or behind it, and leaned against it. "You go ahead and eat," she said. "I'll stay here." "I'll bring your breakfast to you."

"I don't want anything."

"We won't stop to eat again until nightfall."

She wasn't sure she could force herself to eat anything, but she was sensible enough to know she had to eat to keep up her strength. "I'll be all right in a few minutes. Maybe I'll have some coffee."

"You'll have a full breakfast if I have to force it down you. I won't have you so weak from hunger, you fall out of the saddle before noon."

The old Luke was back. In all probability he'd never left. She'd just interpreted acts of necessity as acts of kindness. She'd be careful not to do that again. She pushed off from the boulder and took a tentative step. Her muscles burned, but she didn't collapse. If she could just keep putting one foot in front of the other, maybe she could learn to walk again.

"Be careful or you'll stumble over a rock."

He probably didn't want to have to haul her to her feet.

"I'll manage. Give me some coffee."

Despite being stronger than she liked, the coffee tasted good. The morning was mercifully cool. Her muscles gradually grew more pliant, the burning lessened, and she could walk without limping about. She ate her breakfast standing up. It tasted a lot better than she'd expected, but it still looked awful. She would ask her chef to teach these Americans something about food presentation. She could see no reason why her meals had to look like something that should have been thrown out.

She watched disbelievingly when Luke cleaned the dishes with sand. "Wouldn't water work better?"

"It won't get rid of the grease," Luke said. "Now I have to look at your wound before we leave."

He'd doused the fire, and it was still dark. He struck a match after he removed the bandage. Then he struck a second match.

"I don't like the way it's healing," he said.

"It's probably doing fine." It had started to hurt so much it had awakened her twice during the night. That hadn't frightened her. She expected a gunshot wound to hurt, but Luke's worry robbed her of that comfort. He didn't have to tell her they were beyond the reach of medical attention, and she knew enough about wounds to realize people could die of them.

"I see signs of infection."

He poured whiskey over it again. The burning pain convinced her maybe it wasn't doing as well as she'd thought.

"I'll check again tonight," he said.

"What if it's worse?" She didn't know what he could do. She couldn't imagine why a competent doctor would want to live west of San Antonio.

He began saddling the horses. "I'll have to do something about it."

Probably amputate her arm. It was just the kind of pragmatic solution a man like Luke Attmore would think of. He hadn't an ounce of sentiment in him. If something went wrong, he'd fix it in the quickest, most efficient way and move on. She supposed that was the smart thing to do. Her uncle would have done the same thing.

Her parents had been killed in a freak accident while she was still an infant. She had no idea what either of them had been like. It was odd that she should miss them now for the first time in years. She never thought of herself as an orphan. She'd been surrounded all her life by people anxious to take care of her, to cater to her every whim, but no one said much about love, not even her uncle's wife. It was all duty and responsibility. Personal emotion had to be set aside for the sake of the family or the state.

But Luke's ruthless attitude didn't come from a sense of duty. It probably came from a totally utilitarian approach to problems. Drain the situation of all emotion, all prejudice, all preference, then do what works the best.

Valeria conceded that she ought to admire such an attitude, but she didn't. She'd been denied emotions her whole life. Now that she discovered she actually had likes and dislikes, could admit the presence of emotion, she'd decided she liked it.

She had no intention of letting Luke amputate her arm. It would certainly be scarred, but she wanted to keep it.

"Time to mount up," Luke said.

Valeria couldn't recall when she'd ever heard more ominous words. Her body ached at the mere thought of what was in store. But she was determined not to let Luke know how much she dreaded what lay ahead. She supposed she'd developed a cynical attitude, but she still had her pride. She might be a deposed princess, but she was still a princess. She was going to act like one if it killed her.

Faced with the prospect of getting into that saddle, she figured it probably would. "How about another cup of coffee?" she asked.

"You hate my coffee." "I never said that."

"When you acted like you'd swallowed alum water, I figured it out."

"It's just that it's so strong."

"You could have put some water in it."

She would have if she had been able to get used to the idea that she and the horses drank from the same stream. That shouldn't have bothered her. Luke's coffee was strong enough to kill and dissolve the bodies of any critters that might be in the water.

"I'll learn to drink it your way. It's probably the only way anybody in Arizona knows how to make it."

"It's time to stop stalling and mount up. It'll soon be daylight."

Maybe he considered that barely perceptible lightening in the deep blue velvet overhead a sign dawn was on its way, but as far as she was concerned a single candle could have been responsible for it.

Luke put his hands around her waist. "Wait!" she cried, but it was too late. She was in the air and settled on the saddle before the sound of her plea finished echoing down the canyon. Every muscle from the bottom of her feet to the back of her neck screamed its objection, but Luke had handed her the reins and walked over to his horse. He had already packed up the food and cooking pots.

"We have a long day ahead of us," he said as he swung into the saddle. "I was serious when I said I want you to let me know when you need to stop. If you're this sore when we stop tonight, you'll never get the saddle tomorrow."

That thought gladdened her soul until she realized Luke would probably leave her. No, he'd said he'd get her to Rudolf's ranch one way or the other. She wondered if that could include being slung over the saddle like a sack of flour. She didn't know where the ranch might be, but she wasn't going to set one foot off the property until Rudolf built a proper road to town. A couple more days of this, and a war would be a welcome relief.

She had landed in an incomprehensible, uncomfortable, uncompromising world. She still didn't know if she liked it, but she did know she didn't want to go back to Rudolf's kingdom or to Belgravia. She found it hard to believe, but this new land appealed to her.

She hoped Zeke didn't forget to tell Rudolf she didn't want to marry him. She really
didn't
want to marry Rudolf. Only Luke interested her, but that seemed like a recipe for disaster. Or hurt. He didn't want to get married.

He didn't even like her. He thought she was an idiot, a useless ornament.

She would prove him wrong even if it was the last thing she did.

Which was probably the reason she didn't tell him to stop until she fell out of the saddle.

Chapter Eighteen

Luke cussed long and loud. Only pure luck caused him to turn in time to see Valeria swaying in the saddle. He practically had to throw himself off his horse to catch her before she fell. Why hadn't she asked him to stop? He'd told her to before they left camp. He looked for a flat, shady place to lay her down. They had left the canyon to climb a series of low hills east of the San Pedro River. The midday sun was directly overhead. The best he could do was rocky ground and the partial shade of a juniper.

He didn't know much about a woman's constitution, but he thought Valeria looked sick rather than exhausted. Maybe she'd had a heat stroke. She couldn't be used to riding in heat above a hundred degrees. It never got above the middle eighties in her mountain country. Dammit, why hadn't she asked him to stop!

He removed his bandana, soaked it with water from his canteen, and bathed her forehead. She didn't respond. He put his hand inside her dress to make sure her heart was still beating. The feel of his hand on her bare skin caused his body to swell. He cussed himself. What kind of man was he when even his concern for Valeria's life couldn't outstrip his lust for her body? A man who'd lost his usual control and didn't know how to get it back.

He bathed her face and neck. When she still didn't stir, he opened her dress and bathed her chest and the tops of her breasts. He did his best to concentrate on figuring out what to do for her, but the sight of her soft, white skin made a mockery of his control. He couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to caress that soft flesh, to taste it with his mouth, with his tongue.

Much more of this, and he'd be the one having a heat stroke.

Fortunately, Valeria groaned and opened her eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, her words slurred.

"You fainted?" "Did I fall?"

"No. I managed to catch you."

She looked directly into his eyes and smiled. "I should have known you would."

He wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he did know its effect on him was unwelcome. His heart beat so fast he felt breathless. He attempted to counter the effect with anger. "Why didn't you tell me you needed to rest?"

She averted her gaze. "I didn't feel tired."

"You're lying. You looked so awful I thought for a minute you were dead."

Her gaze swung back. "Thanks for telling me. You don't know how much better than makes me feel." He'd known he had said the wrong thing the minute he opened his mouth, but he wasn't used to watching his tongue when he was upset, and he was definitely upset. "I'm not very good with words."

"So far you've managed to express yourself very well." She tried to sit up, but her strength failed her. "Don't move. You need rest."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."