Reilly's Woman (10 page)

His mouth closed over hers warmly, masterfully firm in its possession. Her muscles melted closer to the lean hardness of his tapering length. His kiss ignited a slow-burning flame in her midsection that languidly trailed through her limbs.

Yet when the moment came for the embrace to deepen with passion, Reilly relaxed the pressure at the back of her neck that had drawn her on tiptoe to him. Weakened by his kiss, her legs couldn't support her in that precarious stance and lowered her away from the male lips.

The gold tips of her lashes fluttered partially open. Through their veil, she gazed unsteadily at him. Her breath was coming in uneven spurts. The look in his eyes was gentle and friendly yet seemingly masked.

"We're in this together all the way, Leah," Reilly said quietly. "We both leave in the morning."

"Yes," she nodded.

His hand uncurled from her neck, a finger trailing lightly over her cheek as he smiled, forming crinkling lines at the corners of his eyes. Leah couldn't help wondering if the kiss had been a means of persuading her to agree without more arguments.

Reilly moved a step away, reaching into the pocket of his shirt and taking out the pack of filtered cigarettes. He shook two out and lit them one at a time.

He handed one to Leah. "Shall we smoke the peacepipe?" A smile played with his mouth.

"Why not?" she smiled, and shook her head wryly, wishing she felt as normal and unmoved by the kiss as he did.

There was the barest tremor in her hand when she accepted the lit cigarette to betray the shaken state of her senses. Her lips still felt the warm imprint of his mouth as she inhaled deeply on the filtered end.
 

It was a good thing, she decided, that they were leaving in the morning. She was definitely attracted to Reilly physically. More days alone in their isolated camp and a few more expert kisses might increase the temptation of night. At least the exhaustion of the trail would dull her awareness of her virilely masculine companion.

A gauzy cloud drifted between them from Reilly's cigarette. "When we've finished smoking," he said idly, "you can go ahead with your dinner preparations while I organize what we'll need to take with us tomorrow."

The remaining daylight hours were filled with activity. The three-quarter moon had barely risen when Reilly announced that they should go to sleep early to rest up for the long walk ahead of them.

In his arms beneath the blanket, Leah felt the stirring of her pulse in response to the male length of him molded against her. Since the afternoon's kiss, she had expected him to attempt to make love to her tonight.

Expected was the wrong word. She had anticipated that he would make love to her, and with dangerous honesty, she admitted that she had been partly looking forward to it. The even rise and fall of his chest beneath her head was disappointing.

What manner of man was Reilly Smith, she asked herself? She knew she was an attractive woman, yet in three days he had kissed her once. Even then, although it had been an ardent kiss, it hadn't been exactly passionate.

Other men that she had dated would have quickly tried to take advantage of this situation she and Reilly were in—thrown together constantly by the isolation, forced to sleep together to endure the cold mountain desert night. Not that she had dated a lot of lecherous men. It was just that, under these circumstances, it would be easy for a man to take advantage of her.

Yet Reilly hadn't. It certainly wasn't because he lacked experience—the mastery of his kiss this afternoon wouldn't support that theory. When they had first met in the waiting lounge of the flying service, there had been admiration in his eyes when he looked at her.

Her own response to his kiss had indicated that she was not indifferent to him. So why hadn't he pursued her unwritten invitation?

Leah sighed angrily and shifted her throbbing left arm to lie across the muscular flatness of his stomach. She was being ridiculously feminine. She should be glad that she wasn't having to fight off his advances every second instead of wishing he would make one.

Forcing her lashes to close, Leah ordered herself to go to sleep. After last night's fitful dozing, she drifted off almost instantly.

Strong fingers pushed the hair away from her temples. "It's time to wake up," the male voice spoke insistently.

The cover was pulled away from their heads. Leah shivered at the intruding cold and tried to snuggle deeper into the curve of Reilly's shoulder. The same fingers curved under her chin.

"I said it's time to wake up," Reilly repeated with indulgent humor.

Moaning in protest, she peered through her lashes at the outside world. Except for the crackling fire, there was utter silence. Overhead sparkled the brightest stars Leah ever remembered seeing, thousands of them glittering with profound brilliance against a curtain of black.

"It's still dark," she grumbled.

"It won't be for long. Come on." His arm tightened around her side, drawing her up in a sitting position as he pushed himself up.

"We're honestly getting up at this hour?" Leah protested, barely stifling a yawn.

"It's nearly daybreak. You'd better get the water boiling so we can have what's left of that instant oatmeal," he ordered, pushing her the rest of the way out of the bed.

"Who's hungry?" she muttered.

"You will be when we start down the mountain if you don't eat something now."

Leah admitted silently that he was probably right, but she wasn't interested in food. What she really wanted was another couple of hours' sleep. Instead she poured water from the canteen into the metal pan and balanced it on the rocks beside the fire to boil.

The lonely wail of a faraway coyote echoed through the stillness. Leah huddled closer to the small fire, seeking its warmth. The eerie call drew her gaze to the landscape. The three-quarter moon frosted the ground with a silvery glow.

A ribbon of bubbles started to form in the pan of water, forcing her to leave the fire's circle for the oatmeal, bowls, and the two carved wooden spoons. A glance at Reilly saw him folding their stiff blanket into a small square, adding it to the other small items they would backpack with them.

When the water boiled, Leah stirred the oatmeal into it. It was difficult to gauge how much water was needed without a measuring cup, but this morning the oatmeal was neither lumpy nor runny. With the last portion, she had found the right mixture.

"Breakfast is ready," she called softly, spooning some into her bowl and giving Reilly the largest amount.

While they ate, a pink hue touched the eastern horizon as dawn began its silent appearance. The coppery pink pushed back the night, making way for a golden haze. By the time Leah had cleaned their dishes with sand, the entire sky was bathed in the half-light of sunrise.

Reilly handed her the canteen. "Drink all the water you can hold, then I'll go and fill it up."

After several swallows, she paused. "What are we going to do for water along the way? This canteen doesn't hold that much."

"We'll have to count on finding it." He waited for her to take another drink. "If there's water on the desert floor, it will probably be along the base of the mountains. Once we get down into the valley, we'll stay close to them."

After drinking as much as she could, she handed the canteen to him. While he disappeared up the slope, she changed into the clothes he had deemed suitable for the long walk. She was tucking in the tail of her blouse when he returned.

His green eyes swiftly appraised her appearance. "You don't have a hat, do you?" His mouth tightened grimly when she shook her head negatively. "A scarf?"

"Yes." She rummaged through her suitcase until she found the gold and brown silk scarf and held it up for him to see.

Reilly studied it for a considering moment. "It will have to do. Tie it around your head like a turban. At least it will protect your head from the sun."

Leah did as she was told. It was difficult with the searing pain in her arm. "I don't see what good it will do," she protested.

"If you'd ever had your scalp sunburned, you wouldn't say that," he replied dryly.

"What about your head?" She glanced at him pointedly, only to find he was tying a blue bandana around his jet-dark hair.

His was done more swiftly and more expertly than hers. When he had finished, Leah could see the inherent traces of his Indian ancestry. The inborn stamp of ruthless nobility was more striking than before.

He opened the jar of cold cream and offered it to her. "Put it on thick," he ordered.

"Why?" Leah frowned and scooped out a generous amount.

"To protect your face from the sun," he answered patiently, and did the same.

The white cream looked strange against his sunbrowned skin. "Since when did Indians need protection from the sun?" she teased.

"Everyone needs protection from the sun," Reilly grinned, "including Indians. One tribe of Plains Indians used to rub sunflower oil all over their bodies for that purpose." He watched Leah smear the cream over her face. "Your nose is already a little red. I'd leave a coating of cream on it for extra protection."

His carved features glistened like a bronzed statue in the soft morning light. There was nothing to wipe the excess cream from her hands, so Leah followed his suit and used her trouser legs.

"There isn't anything more you need out of the suitcase, is there?" Reilly questioned.

"No."

"I'm going to set them over by the rock slide, then we'll get loaded up."

While he walked to the slide area where the plane was buried, Leah carefully touched the area around the wound on her left arm. It was burning as if a hot knife was being held against it and sore nearly down to her elbow. Yet it didn't feel as if her arm was swollen. She wondered if she should ask Reilly to take a look at it.

His cautioning comment of yesterday morning that they didn't have much bandage left and his desire for an early start on the trail while it was still cool made her decide not to bother him. The wound was obviously healing, and it had been an ugly gash.

"Are you ready to load up?" His long supple strides had carried him back into the clearing, his gaze touching her briefly.

"Why not?" Leah shrugged.

He had fashioned two crude shoulder packs out of his shirts. The lighter one, containing the blanket and cooking utensils, he tied on her back. The heavier and more cumbersome one with the first-aid kit, food box, and flashlight, Reilly fastened on himself.

"Here." He handed her one of the sticks that had been used to support the lean-to.

"What's this for?" she frowned. "To chase the snakes out of my path?"

"It's a walking stick. It'll come in handy on some of the steeper stretches of the mountain." He walked over to the fire and stirred the ashes with the other stick, covering the remains with gravel and sand. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"I guess so." She shifted the pack on her shoulders to a more comfortable position, then laughed. "I feel like a squaw carrying a papoose on her back."

Reilly laughed softly, a dark glint in his jade eyes that was oddly disturbing. "Then let's hit the trail, squaw woman."
 

Waving her stick, Leah motioned for him to lead the way. Reilly started off, setting an easy pace, but one that could be maintained.

The level ridgetop gave way to the sloping mountainside. A lean jackrabbit darted swiftly out of their path while a lizard sunning himself on a rock stuck out his tongue as they passed. The sun was a yellow sphere above the horizon.

 

 

Chapter Six

 

RIVULETS OF PERSPIRATION ran down her neck to the hollow between her breasts. The straps of the crude backpack chafed at her shoulders, adding to her discomfort.

The blazing sun was nearing its noonday notch, the fiery rays beat relentlessly down. Leaning heavily on her stick, Leah paused, winded, to catch her breath. The backs of her legs achingly protested the sight of the downhill grade still before them. All morning long they had zigzagged down the mountain and there was farther yet to go.

"How much farther is it, for heaven's sake?" Leah cried in a tone of exasperated anger.

Reilly halted several yards ahead, squinting his eyes against the sun to look back at her. "Distances are deceiving in open country." He wiped the sweat from around his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're telling me," she muttered.

"Do you want to rest here or wait until we get to the bottom?"

When will that be—next year? Leah wondered tiredly. "How long has it been since we stopped last?" Since starting down the mountain, they had stopped every hour for a ten-minute rest.

"About twenty minutes ago," Reilly answered.

It seemed like a year, but Leah gritted her teeth and pushed onward with her stick. "Let's go down."

She wondered why they didn't just sit on their rumps and slide down to the bottom. The grade was certainly steep enough, but Reilly maintained his zigzag course, doubling the distance while lessening the severe downhill strain.