The Texan (14 page)

And that was only six and a half miles of riding. They still hadn’t reached the rock cairn that marked the junction with Strawhouse Trail, which was more than two miles farther on.

Owen had stopped his horse and was surveying the terrain ahead of them.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“Not a damned thing. My guess is that we’ll find more tracks in the morning.”

“In the morning? You mean we’re stopping?”

“There’s no sense moving when we don’t know which direction to go.”

“That kid I bribed with candy said he saw those men head into this canyon with my brother. Doesn’t it stand to
reason they’d be in here somewhere? Why can’t we keep moving?”

“This trail disappears, crosses other trails, reappears, and runs through a maze of thick, thorny brush. We’re going to get lost if we can’t see exactly where we’re going, and we’re running out of daylight.”

“Don’t you have some military gadget that lets you see in the dark?”

He lifted a brow. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

She made a face. If he only knew. She saw every movie that came out. She
loved
the movies. Which is why she knew all about modern military gadgets. Infrared imaging wasn’t new, however. It had been around for aeons. “I know there’s gear you can use. Surely you brought something along.”

He sighed. “I have night-vision goggles, but I didn’t bring anything to help my horse see in the dark.”

“If you can see, why can’t you guide your horse?”

“I don’t want him bucking me off when he gets stabbed in the leg by some cactus and thinks he’s been bit by a snake.”

“What about when the moon rises?” Bay asked. “Couldn’t we move on then?”

“There’s only a quarter moon. It won’t give us enough light to see faint brushmarks.”

Bay felt a terrible foreboding that if she didn’t find Luke today, she might never see him again. “Can’t we at least keep searching now, while there’s still light to see?”

“We’re stopping while there’s still enough light to find ourselves a flat place to camp, here in the bottom of the canyon.”

Bay looked at the narrow trail and the sharp-thorned
lechuguilla and ocotillo that lined either side of it. “I think it’s already too late for that.”

“If I remember correctly from my trips here with Clay when we were teenagers, there’s a wide, flat space around the next bend. It’s got rock on three sides, so it’s a better spot to fight off an ambush.”

Bay’s heart began to pound in her chest, spiked by adrenaline. “You think we might get ambushed?”

“Better safe than sorry,” Owen said.

Bay reached for her canteen and took a long drink of water to calm her scattered nerves. “Why aren’t you drinking?” she asked irritably.

“If you didn’t talk so much, you wouldn’t get so thirsty.”

Bay pressed her lips flat. Well, if that was the way he was going to act, she’d keep her mouth shut and see how he liked the silence.

Obviously, he liked it fine. It was eerily silent. Only the crunch of their horses’ hooves in the sandy soil, the jangle of a bit, and the creak of saddle leather could be heard. There wasn’t a bird cry from what little blue sky she could see above her, nor the rustle of wind in any of the desert plants along the trail. Nothing from the outside world seemed to penetrate the depths of Telephone Canyon.

Bay searched for the compression—rather than
depression
—of sandy soil that Owen had taught her was evidence of a footprint, but she didn’t have the skill he’d developed over years of hunting down criminals. Everything looked compressed to her.

She was quiet for ten minutes. Which was a long time, really. She wanted to ask another question, but she didn’t want him snapping at her again. Too anxious to sit still,
she stood in the stirrups to stretch her legs, then moved her bottom back and forth in the saddle until she found a comfortable spot to settle.

She dallied her reins loosely around the saddle horn and reached up to unbutton the top two buttons of her blouse, then leaned over and shook the cotton cloth back and forth to cool herself. Her Stetson came off next. She settled it on the saddle horn while she lifted the hair off her neck with both hands, so what little breeze there was could reach the sweat on her nape.

“What the hell kind of strip show are you putting on?”

Bay nearly fell out of the saddle at Owen’s angry outburst. She jerked upright, knocking her hat off the horn and onto the ground. Her horse saw the shadow when it fell, figured it for a dangerous, horse-eating jackrabbit, and shied violently toward Owen’s mount.

His horse took exception to being bumped and kicked out with both hooves, striking Bay’s horse in the rump, which made him buck. Bay grabbed for the reins, but they fell loose from the horn, and she was helpless to restrain her mount when he began to run helter-skelter down the canyon, sunfishing and crowhopping.

Bay was thrown up onto her mount’s neck, where she held on for dear life. She heard Owen galloping behind her and knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up to her. But a narrow passage was coming up, and there wasn’t room for both her and her horse. She was going to be scraped off. Unless she jumped first.

From her precarious perch, Bay stared down at the rocky soil racing past her nose and thought of all the movies she’d seen where cowboys leaped from their horses and got up and walked away. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult.

In a moment, when they reached that narrow passage, the choice was going to be taken from her. Bay closed her eyes and launched herself as far as she could from her horse’s flashing hooves.

And landed like a sack of wet cement.

She skidded for maybe two feet along the rocky bed of the canyon. On her face. And her right hip. And her left hand.

When she stopped, she lay there stunned for a moment, then gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, that was not at all like it is in the movies.”

Owen reached her a moment later and dropped on one knee beside her. “You little fool! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Being called a fool hurt a lot. The rest of her was in serious pain. She lifted a trembling hand toward her scraped cheek.

“Don’t touch it,” Owen said, catching her wrist.

“It hurts.” Bay realized she was crying now, and her whole body was shivering. “I think I’m in shock.”

“No wonder. That was quite a fall.”

He ran his hands over her, checking for injuries in a way that did nothing to ease the strain on her racing pulse. Bay wanted to tell him she was fine, that nothing was broken, but her heart was in her throat.

“Why on earth didn’t you just hang on?” he demanded. “I’d nearly caught up to you!”

“I didn’t think my horse and I would both fit through that passage,” she croaked. “Cowboys are always leaping from their horses in the movies, and they never get hurt.”

“You forgot to roll.”

“Oh. I knew I did something wrong.”

Owen had already slid his hands under her knees and
behind her shoulders before she realized he intended to pick her up. “I can walk,” she protested.

“Sure you can. I’m just giving you a little helping hand. Guess we’re going to be camping here tonight.”

Bay looked around and realized the ground where she’d landed was as lopsided as the first birthday cake she’d ever baked. But she was willing to sleep on an angle, if it meant she didn’t have to get back in a saddle right away.

“If you put me down,” she said. “I’ll help you set up camp.”

He set her down in the shade of the canyon wall and went down on bended knee beside her. “Let me take a closer look at you.” He took her chin in his hand and gently tipped her face up so he could look into her eyes.

“You have really beautiful eyes,” she murmured, staring back at him. “Did you know they change color? Sometimes they’re silver and sometimes they’re pewter and sometimes they’re dark, like storm clouds.”

His lips quirked. “Yours turn violet when you get mad … or excited.”

She flushed and lowered her eyes.

“Your pupils look okay to me,” he said gruffly.

“I didn’t hit my head. I fell on my face.”

“I see that,” he said, catching her hand before she could touch her right cheek. “You’ve got some stones and sand in those scratches. They’ll need to be cleaned out. Where else are you hurt?”

She held out her left hand and realized as she did so that her sleeve was torn away all the way to her elbow. “Oh, God. I didn’t even realize I’d skinned my arm. My hand is what hurts.” She held out her hand to him. It looked raw. She tried to imagine what her cheek must look like.

She reached down and touched her hip. Her jeans were ripped, but they’d held up better than her cotton shirt. “I hurt my hip, too.”

“Let me see.”

She made a face at him and yelped when her cheek protested even that slight movement. “You don’t need to see my hip. It’s fine.”

“If the skin’s broken, it’ll need cleaning, too,” he said, unbuckling her belt.

“Stop that.”

“Think of me as your doctor,” he said, as he un-snapped and then unzipped her jeans.

“My doctor doesn’t usually undress me,” she snapped. “And my patients already come undressed.”

He laughed. “Lift your hips,” he said. “Up!” he ordered, when she hesitated.

She put her good hand on his shoulder to brace herself and lifted her hips as he pulled her torn jeans down. To her surprise, her bikini underwear was shredded, and the skin underneath was bloody. “Uh-oh.”

She was still staring at the injury on her hip when she felt him pulling off her boots. She started to protest, saw the warning look in his eyes, and shut her mouth. He pulled her jeans off, leaving her legs bare above her white boot socks. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re decent,” he said, straightening the tails of her Western shirt over her shredded bikini underwear. “I can put your boots back on if you like.”

Bay shook her head and laughed. “Just get the first-aid kit, and let me take care of myself.”

He grimaced. “If I’m not mistaken, you packed the first-aid kit in your saddlebags.”

Bay winced. “You’re right.” She stared down the canyon
as far as she could see. There was no sign of her horse. “How long do you think it’ll take him to stop running?”

“He won’t have gone far. But I need to set up camp before it gets dark. And I’m not hunting for your horse in the dark, for the same reason I’m not hunting for your brother in the dark.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep? My bedroll and tent are with my horse.”

“You should have thought of that before you started that little striptease of yours.”

“You’re the one who shouted and scared me half to death. I was only trying to cool off.”

“And heating me up in the process!”

“I can’t help it if you have a vivid imagination.”

“It didn’t take much imagination to see your breasts,” he shot back. “You opened your blouse right up and bent over and flapped your shirt like you were waving a red flag at a bull!”

“I was getting some air!”

“You slid your butt around that saddle like you were sitting right on my lap.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Then you lifted your arms to hold your hair up and those perfect little breasts of yours—”

“That’s enough,” she interrupted. “You’re crazy if you think—”

“You mean you weren’t inviting me to kiss my way around those wispy curls at your nape?”

“I most certainly was not!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She searched for the worst insult she could think of to sling at him. “You—You—Bullying Blackthorne!”

“Damned contentious Creed!”

She glared at him, and he glared back.

“I’ve got a tent to set up and a camp to make,” he said through clenched teeth. “You sit there, and don’t get into any more trouble.”

“I can help,” she said, starting to get up. She cried out as she felt a sharp pain in her injured hip.

“I said stay put! As soon as I get the camp set up, I’ll clean you up. Bandages will have to wait till I can find your horse tomorrow.”

Her chin jutted. “I can take care of myself.”

He ignored her and set to work putting together their campsite. He set up the one-man tent in nothing flat and unrolled his sleeping bag inside. She didn’t say a word when he handed her a flashlight, picked her up, and moved her inside the tent. It was getting dark, and she knew the scorpions and centipedes would be coming out to hunt.

Owen unsaddled his horse, rubbed him down, watered him, and hobbled him with a ration of grain in a feedbag, then joined her in the tent with a handful of cloths and his canteen.

“With any luck, your horse will come back this way looking for food and water,” he said. “Otherwise, he’s going to get damned thirsty. There’s no
tinaja
in this canyon where he can get a drink.”

“Is it possible he can find his way out the other side?”

“Possible. Most likely, once it gets dark, he’ll stay put where he is until morning.”

Owen wet down a handkerchief with water from his canteen that had warmed in the sun. There wasn’t much room inside for the two of them. Bay edged backward and crossed her legs Indian style.

“You need to lie down, so I can lay this across your injured cheek.”

“I can lean my head back.”

“Lie down.”

“I don’t like being ordered around,” she said.

“Please lie down,” he amended.

“That’s better,” she muttered, as she uncrossed her legs and scooted forward so she could lie down. “Ouch,” she said, as he laid the damp cloth on her face.

“Sorry. If we don’t get all that sand out of there, you’re liable to get an infection. Let that soak a minute.” He wet another handkerchief and said, “Give me your hand.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak he said, “Please give me your hand.”

She held out her hand, and he laid the second handkerchief across her palm. “That stings.”

“Good.”

“Beast.”

“Brat.” Without asking permission, he lifted the tail of her shirt and gently pulled down what was left of her panties, exposing her bare hip. “I don’t like hurting you,” he said, as he laid a dampened strip of cotton he’d torn from one of his T-shirts on her wounded flesh. “But this has to be done.”