Twenty-eight

The night air moved through the tall grasses, whispering, warning of death. Such a silent message had often saved Houston’s life. Only a fool would ignore it now.

While he waited for Clay, he sat next to the campfire, unable to take his eyes from Lara—her serene look brought a lump to his throat. She and the other women had formed a circle across from him. The firelight flickered on his wife’s beautiful face, caressing her cheekbones and dancing in her fiery hair.

He envied her wide smile that came so easy with the women, her conversation relaxed in ways it rarely was with him. Despite having Caroline now, plainly she hungered for female companionship. But then with nothing but men at home and on the trail too, it was little wonder. She had to miss the woman who’d brought her into the world.

Even though his mother had died seventeen years ago, at times the sense of loss became so strong it strangled him and brought tears to his eyes. Mothers were irreplaceable.

But Rachel Boone’s death would still be fresh. Seemed he recalled Stoker telling him she’d passed a year or two before Lara’s attack, before Lara became a mother herself. There had to be things Lara wanted to talk about, things only women spoke of to each other.

Clay rode up, dismounted, and limped over to take a seat next to Houston. “Still thinking about hunting for Yuma’s camp?”

“Yep.” Houston dragged his attention away from Lara to look at his one-eyed drover.

“Good, I’m ready. What’re we gonna do when we find it, boss?”

“Depends. We’ll have to play it by ear and seize any opportunities that come our way.” Houston gulped the last of his coffee. “I’d like to take every drover and wipe those outlaws off the face of the earth.”

Force was the only language Yuma understood. Houston looked forward to meeting up with the murdering piece of ant dung.

Lara rose, drawing his notice. She motioned to Henry and walked to the chuck wagon. He admired the flare of her rounded hips and narrow waist. No one in the world moved with such fluid grace. She was a quiet stream with rippling sparkles, sauntering on its way. He watched, mesmerized by her natural grace.

Clay punched his arm.

“What?” With effort, Houston tugged his focus back to his drover.

From beneath his battered hat, Clay followed his gaze. Houston suspected they were about the same age, their faces equally weathered by their time outdoors.

Grinning, Clay shook his head. “You’ve got it awful bad, boss.”

Houston sighed. “I ’spect.”

Only that was a lie. No supposing to how he felt about Lara. He knew how firmly his wife had lodged in his heart and how he longed to sleep beside her in the privacy of a room. Even if he had to stay dressed to reassure her, he would. As long as he could touch her.

His thoughts returned to the days leading up to their marriage. He’d asked for nothing more than she be kind. Good Lord! That didn’t even begin to touch on all she was.

With a low chuckle, Clay stretched out his long legs. “I was saying that we’ll hunt ’em down an’ be done with it if you give the go-ahead.”

“If I knew where to find them, I would in a heartbeat. But I have more to consider. What if we miss them and they ride into our unprotected camp and put a bullet into the women or, God forbid, Gracie? Or if I lose more men? Or…” He had a million things keeping him from going off half-cocked.

“Get your point.” Clay blew out a frustrated sigh. The drover motioned to Frank Farley, sitting apart from them. “Reckon he knows more than he’s saying?”

Though they hadn’t tied him up, Houston had assigned a man to watch him at all times. Frank couldn’t even relieve himself in private, and he slept with a wrist bound to someone at night.

“I questioned him at length and I don’t think he can add anything more. My gut tells me he’s cooperating.”

Lara and Henry returned, carrying a large Dutch oven. “I made cherry cobbler for everyone,” she announced.

As people lined up, Houston turned to Clay. “Let me speak to Lara and we’ll ride out. That is, if you don’t want dessert.”

Clay chuckled. “And ruin my girlish figure?”

They rose and went separate directions. Houston weaved among the people in line, finally reaching Lara. He drew her away from the campfire into the deep shadows and told her of his and Clay’s plans.

Lara clutched his arm in panic. “Please be careful. You don’t know what Yuma is capable of.”

He ran his finger across her cheek, noticing the ridges weren’t raised as high. “That’s just it, darlin’. I do know.”

“Come back safe. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.” Her voice broke.

Houston drowned in her pretty green eyes. Putting a hand to her waist, he drew her against him and placed his lips on hers. That kiss was his undoing. The touch seared a path through him, leaving flames and hunger in its wake.

He slipped his tongue into her softly parted mouth and enjoyed the feel of her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest. He ran his palm lightly down her back and the flare of her hips before resting it at her waist.

His lips and hands did things his body wasn’t allowed to do yet. And all without removing a single stitch of clothing.

When he let her up for air, he found that her ragged, tortured breathing matched his own.

“What if I beg you not to go?” she asked.

“Is that what you want?” Houston asked quietly. “Would you rather we sit here and wait for the next person to die?”

“No.” She glanced away. “It’s just that this fear for you overcomes me sometimes. Often life is fleeting and…we haven’t begun to live as man and wife yet.” Her eyes returned to his and they glittered like broken glass in the dim light. “Almost losing Gracie, and then finding Emmett’s body, made me aware of how fast tragedy can strike.”

“Nothing’s going to happen. I’m just going to see if I can find their camp. I don’t want them sneaking up on us.”

“You’ll not take foolish chances? You promise?”

He lifted a tendril of hair from her cheek, searching for words to lighten the worry in her eyes. He chuckled. “I promise not to miss a big helping of your delicious cobbler or your biscuits at dawn. You’re not getting rid of me.” He kissed the tip of her nose, growing serious. “You know I’ll do anything in the world for you. If you wanted that moon up there, I’d do everything in my power to rope it and put it in your palm. So yes, I’ll even stay alive.” He lowered his mouth next to her ear. “I’ll do it for you if for no other reason.”

Lara traced the curve of his jaw with a fingertip. “You better, cowboy. And when you get back…”

Houston grinned. “I’ll kiss you silly, unbutton your dress, and show you how I feel about you, Mrs. Legend.” He nipped at her finger.

“I’ll stay up for you, no matter how late.”

Brushing her lips with another kiss, Houston said, “Clay’s waiting.”

He found pulling away from her was a little like dying. Lara was growing more comfortable and he loved seeing passion in her eyes. In light of her naivety, she probably didn’t even know she’d let her building hunger show. That made it doubly important to take it slow.

Lara needed to come to the decision on her own, not be hurried by him. He’d never force her into anything.

As he walked toward the palomino he’d chosen from the remuda, he turned for one last look. Just in case. Lara stood as he’d left her. She raised her hand to her mouth and blew him a kiss. His chest hurt with the need to go back, to crawl beneath the wagon, to curl up next to her and block out the world.

Houston’s eyes burned. He’d give the entire herd for one private night in her arms with no duties except satisfying her.

“Ready, boss?” Clay stuck his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and adjusted his black eye patch.

At last, with a ragged sigh, Houston turned. “Let’s ride.”

The sooner they got back, the better it would suit him. He had a date with his wife. He’d teach her the finer points of wooing.

In the midst of the summer rain, she’d asked him to show her how to please him.

“I’ll show you how a husband pleases his mate, my darling wife,” he murmured to himself. “You can count on that.”

* * *

Houston and Clay rode about a half mile from the herd before they got a break. At first Houston thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there it was again.

“See that, Clay?”

“What?”

“That faint flicker of light over there at the foot of that mesa. Campfire maybe?” Houston stood up in the stirrups.

“Damn, boss, I think you’re right.”

They got off their horses and looped the reins around the branch of a juniper. Slowly, they inched forward, not making a sound. Houston’s breath got lost somewhere in his chest.

A babel of angry voices reached them before they spotted their targets. The outlaws seemed to be arguing.

Keeping low in the brush, Houston kept moving. Finally, he saw the camp that butted up against the wall of a mesa. His stomach clenched tight. Their luck had run out.

There in front of them sat at least a dozen or more men around a campfire.

Yuma’s group of outlaws had grown.

One terrifying desperado, wearing twin revolvers strapped to his hips and cartridge belts crisscrossing his chest, leapt to his feet. “I say we mount up and ride into their camp with guns blazing. Kill ’em all an’ steal the cattle.”

Armed to the teeth with angry flames from the fire casting shadows around him, the man looked like a devil rising up from hell. That is if the devil wore guns. He stood nose to nose with a bald man who could only be Yuma Blackstone. Lara and Henry’s descriptions had proven true.

Only now, the man had a scalp hanging from his belt. The feathers attached said it’d come from a Cherokee.

The realization of the type of killer Yuma was made Houston’s blood run cold.

“I’m the boss of this gang and what I say goes!” Yuma yelled. “If you don’t like it, Digger Barnes, you’re welcome to leave. Make no mistake. I am in charge and I make the plans.”

Even at fifty yards, Houston could feel tension rippling between the two. Their hands hovered an inch above gleaming pistols. Houston expected to hear deafening blasts any moment.

A giant of enormous height stepped between the pair. “We’re all on the same side. We want the same thing—the women and the cattle, with the men lying to rot under the sun.”

“Move out of my way!” Yuma yelled. “We’d have every bit of that if Digger had just followed the damn instructions I left behind at that first campsite!”

“If you’d have left any note, I’d have found it!” Digger hollered back. “Crazy bastard.”

In a sudden move, Yuma streaked around the giant, grabbed Digger by the neck, and threw him to the ground. The two wrestled in the dirt, trading vicious blows as the rest cheered them on. Houston couldn’t tell who was winning. First one was on top and then the other—the pair well-matched in size and ruthlessness.

Suddenly Yuma landed in the flames and caught his shirt on fire. Someone tossed water on him to put it out. He flew into a rage, grabbed Digger by his cartridge belts, and flung him into the rocks.

Bleeding severely, Digger grabbed a whiskey bottle from one of the onlookers and broke it. With a slicing motion, he caught Yuma’s arm with the jagged glass, leaving a long gash.

The two continued to punch, kick, and throw each other for several more minutes. At last Yuma stood over Digger and hauled him up by the throat. He slammed a fist into him and the bandit went down, this time for good.

Yuma turned, wiping blood from his mouth. “Anyone else want to challenge me?”

Each gang member shook his head and slowly sat back down.

“We attack when I say,” Yuma said. “Not anyone else. We’ll wait until those Bible-toters have moved on. We need to keep whittling away at Legend’s drovers. One by one, we’ll gain the upper hand and then we’ll kill him, take the woman and the cattle. I want it all.”

Frank Farley had spoken the truth. Yuma Blackstone’s axle was severely bent and that made him more dangerous than anyone Houston had ever run across.

And Lara had faced the man all alone with no help. He closed his eyes to block out her horror.

“Any questions?” Yuma thundered. When no one spoke up, he ordered, “Someone pour water on Digger. Take him and ride to the fork in the trail a mile back. I’ll join you there.”

With a motion of Houston’s head to Clay, they carefully retraced their steps. When they reached the horses, Houston spoke low. “We know what we’re dealing with at least.”

“We’ve gotta do something, boss,” Clay whispered. “If we don’t, we’ll be at the bastards’ mercy.”

“I know.” Houston glanced up at the night sky as though hoping to see a message written among the stars. But he saw nothing except the fiery tail of a comet. “Ride back and gather the drovers. Get Hiram Ledbetter too, if he’ll come. We’ve got to stop them while we can. Leave a couple of men behind to guard Frank Farley and protect the women.”

“Now you’re talkin’. We’ll show ’em what a bunch of mad drovers can do.” Clay jumped on his horse and walked it out of earshot, then galloped toward the camp.

While Houston waited, he thought about the odds. The fight would be fierce. Yuma had fewer men, but they were by far more ruthless. After losing Emmett, Houston had fourteen seasoned men, plus the Boone twins and Nick Vincent. He scrubbed the back of his neck. That was all. It would have to do.

More would likely die. Hell! How many would he have to bury in the desolate expanse of Indian Territory? But wasn’t it better than letting Yuma pick them off one by one? He was sure every single drover would agree.

He squatted on his heels to wait, praying his men would soon return. Unless the gang knew of a back way, they’d have to pass by him.

Something suddenly crashed through the brush. He swiveled, but not fast enough.