Rustler's Moon (33 page)

They heard footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment he held her tighter as if not willing to let her go, then he stepped away as one of the volunteers hurried in.

As she helped Miss Bees with her question, she looked up to see Wilkes in the doorway. He stared at her and for a blink she read something new in his gaze. She’d seen anger, and desire, but this was different.

Just for a moment Angie saw love.

* * *

W
ILKES
SPENT
THE
afternoon in the museum hallway staring at a journal he’d opened hours ago and had yet to read a page. What in the hell did he think he was doing? He should have never kissed or touched Angie like that last night. She wasn’t some girl he picked up at the Two Step. He had no plans for his future. She was definitely a woman who wanted to grow roots and he had no idea if he’d be any good at long-term loving.

He stared at the book remembering the way she’d fit so well beside him as they leaned back on the hay and watched the stars. It had been cold, and he’d told himself the first time he touched her that he was simply keeping her warm. But she felt so good in his arms, and when she kissed him just because he told her to, he lost any sense of reason.

She did look beautiful. He hadn’t lied about that. He could so get lost in those big eyes of hers. He loved the feel of her against him and the way she reacted when he touched her. It took him a while, but he finally figured out she wasn’t afraid of him. The feelings he was making her realize were frightening her.

He loved waking her up to passion. Each time they kissed, it was a fraction deeper, a little more. He could never remember feeling so alive. When he’d moved his hands over her hips, she stopped breathing for a moment. He froze, until he saw her slow smile and he knew he’d done something right... No, not just right, something prefect.

Later, when he pressed his full palm over her breast, she’d let out a little cry. When he pushed harder against her sensitive flesh, she’d gulped for air and the desire to do the same thing without clothes pounded in his whole body.

But he didn’t go too far. He’d kept control, he told himself. Only now he knew he’d gone too far for his own sanity. She deserved more than a man without a heart.

He’d been awake all night thinking about her. The way she’d known how to help Yancy. The way she worried about Uncle Vern. How all the volunteers loved her. She’d become one of the town.

Wilkes stood up from his makeshift guard post and began to walk around the museum, wondering how he’d be able to beat himself to a pulp if he hurt Angie. And of course, he’d hurt her. That’s what he’d done to every woman since Lexie.

Never get too close. Never care. And if they started to care about him, Wilkes walked away.

Only this time, when he walked away, he had a feeling they’d both be hurting.

What had he done?

CHAPTER THIRTY

Carter

T
HE
CANYON
HAD
a haze to it Saturday morning that Carter had never quite seen before. So beautiful, as it had been when he’d camped out by an open fire as a boy.

The air smelled of fall. The coffee in his tin cup tasted better than any cup he’d paid five dollars for in Dallas.

At times like this, where there were no mirrors or other people around to remind him of how old he was, Carter straightened tall, thinking himself still a young man. Inside he remained the soldier who went to war, and the father who carried his daughters on his shoulders and the husband who’d given one woman all his love and a lifetime of laughter.

He took a deep breath and realized how lucky he was.

This trip down into the canyon would be his last until next spring. And, for the first time since he’d gone down with his father, he wouldn’t be going alone. Jake Longbow and Vern Wagner were with him.

Jake had been up before dawn checking out the four-wheeler. Vern was frying up a dozen eggs. He’d dunked biscuits popped from a can into butter and cooked them in a Dutch oven. Not exactly the way cowboys of old did, but they’d taste great when they browned.

“Grub’s ready,” Vern yelled as if the camp held a hundred cowhands. Jake and Carter gathered round to fill their plates and sit in canvas folding chairs with holders on the arms for their coffee cups.

They’d found the rock corral last night before dark. While Vern made camp, Jake and Carter had circled around and found what could have been a road at one time. It was overgrown, but the ruts in the earth were still barely there. Then, just before dark, they spotted what looked like a trail leading down into the canyon. With their walking sticks, they figured it would be easy going.

It was all Carter could do to keep from heading down right that minute, but Jake said they’d go at full daylight.

Now Carter had to fight to stay still and eat breakfast. He knew the canyon wouldn’t be safe this early. They needed full light to see every step. But he was close. He could almost feel the stick figures near. They were waiting for him.

“Tell us again, everything you remember,” Jake said.

That was no problem, since Carter had gone over it in his head a million times. “We parked off the road by a pile of rocks that looked like they’d been stacked up into a square. Dad walked along the edge of the top of the canyon until he found a path going down. The plan was to climb down and make camp. Then he’d drink and I’d run around. But about the time we found a site for the camp, it started raining. My dad knew it would be dangerous climbing back up, so after we were soaked to the bone, he noticed a cave. The opening was long and narrow, just about right for a man to pass through.

“Dad built a small fire from branches and leaves that had blown into the opening. I think he must have passed out then. I took the only flashlight we had and went exploring. I slipped on wet rocks and the flashlight rolled. When it stopped, the light was pointing high on the wall. I saw these figures painted in white. Stick men with round heads and hollow eyes.”

Vern lifted an old pack that looked as though it had made it through at least one war. He stuffed it with water, then he finished off the eggs left in the skillet.

Jake’s pack looked new. It had the Double K brand on the flap. He packed flashlights and an emergency med kit. He also left most of his eggs for Watson.

Carter lifted his pack loaded with fruit and pulled out the map. “Now it’s light enough, let’s go over our route one more time.” Carter always marked his route and tried to follow it. Over the years he’d been lost a few times down in the canyon. He didn’t want that to happen today.

Finally, three old warriors stood as Carter whistled for Watson. The dog bounded out of the trees ready for an adventure.

They took the four-wheeler to the canyon edge. Jake planted an orange flag so they could see where the four-wheeler was even from the canyon floor.

One by one they started down. Stopping often to study the walls and outcroppings where a cave might be. Carter remained in the lead. He might be moving slower than usual, but he now had three sets of eyes watching. If his cave was down this path, there was a good chance they’d find it today.

The old familiar excitement he always felt ran through his veins and whispered that maybe today would be the end of his quest.

Carter guessed they were probably moving at half the pace a younger man and his son might have moved, maybe even less. If this was the spot where they’d climbed down almost seventy years ago, the wind and rain may have changed it, but only slightly. These canyon walls had been here for thousands and thousands of years.

A rock slide could have covered the opening of the cave. The water could have eroded the opening making it wider. But some hint of what had been here might still show.

Step by step they moved down into the canyon. What looked like an animal trail was still visible, but rocks the size of bowling balls blocked the path now and then.

Jake spotted a rattler curled on a rock five feet from the path. The snake seemed to be enjoying the last warm day. They left him alone and moved on down.

Two hours into the descent, Carter spotted a clearing big enough to pitch a tent. That’s where his father would have picked for a campsite. Only that day seventy years ago, the rain had started before they’d reached the site or pitched a tent. They had been too far down to climb back up, and there was great danger if they stayed on the path.

Carter felt his heart pounding, remembering how frightened he’d been. What if this was it? He and his father must have made it to about this spot.

“Let’s stop here.” Carter raised his hand. “We can rest and study the walls.”

Vern and Jake lowered their packs, but Carter stood impatiently.

He was too excited to rest. For once, after all the years of searching, this spot felt right. He took one more step and then another. Three more, and he saw what he thought was a shadow on the rocks.

For a moment he just stared, then he made out the opening not much taller than a man.

“I think I found something,” he yelled and the other two joined him.

All three stared. Maybe thirty feet off the path, hidden from three sides by rock overhangs, was an opening to a cave. Exactly as Carter remembered it.

The men moved slowly toward it. Vern stumbled once over a rock, but he caught himself with his hand. He left a bloody print, but he didn’t stop. He simply pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and wrapped the hand.

When they were three feet away, Vern and Jake stopped.

Carter glanced back at them.

Jake spoke first. “Go on in, Carter. This is your quest. You should be the one to see it first.”

Vern nodded his agreement. “We’ll give you time to walk in and say hello to your friends, if the stick men are there. When you’re reacquainted, if you’ve no objections, Jake and I would like to be introduced.”

Carter clicked on a flashlight and started in. He was a little boy again, afraid of the dark, afraid of what he might find in the cave.

Two feet inside, the air turned cold, and he heard the wind whistling through the cave and swore there was almost a melody to the sound. He could hear water dripping off the ceiling of the cave one drop at a time and knew if he caught a drop, it would be cold in his hand.

He carefully took one step after another. His heart pounded so loud he had no doubt his friends could hear it outside the cave.

Deeper and deeper he moved into the darkness until he saw no light from the opening. There was a stillness here. As if all the world had vanished.

No turning back now.

He raised his flashlight knowing the stick men were waiting for him with their big heads and hollow eyes.

And they were.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Carter

“
W
E
NEED
TO
BE
starting back,” Vern called to Jake and his voice echoed through the cave.

Carter knew his friends were at the opening of the cave waiting for him. They’d walked inside and stared at the stick men, then they’d left, giving Carter time alone.

Carter wasn’t sure if he’d stayed an hour longer or more. But he didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t stop staring at the stick figures for which he’d searched for so long.

All the years he’d thought about this place. All the summers he’d walked over the canyon looking. How could he turn away from the drawings on the walls? They were exactly as they’d been seventy years ago when he’d first stumbled upon them. Still watching him with their hollow eyes.

Carter felt his heart slow. He could die happy now. Right here in the cave where he’d finished his quest. Maybe Vern and Jake would leave him here with the stick men? That would be all right.

He let his breathing grow shallow. This was a great day to die. He’d done what he set out to do more than ten years ago. He’d found the cave. Bethie would understand if he didn’t go back to Granbury to be buried next to her.

He thought of his daughters with their own lives. They’d miss him, but it was nature’s way that they’d outlive him. When they heard he was dead, they’d hold their children tight and cry.

Slowly, he leaned back on the cool rock floor and took one last breath. As he closed his eyes, he imagined the stick men moving closer, watching over him now, knowing that he’d be joining them in the forever world where time had no meaning.

His finger twitched and turned off the flashlight. He didn’t need to see now. He knew where he was and that he was not alone.

One more breath. One more thought and then he’d let go of this world.

Only, thoughts flooded in all wanting to be the last in his brain. The war when he’d seen his friends die. The first time he made love to Bethie and neither of them knew what they were doing. The sight of her nursing their first daughter. The day he walked his youngest down the aisle. The moment he knew Bethie no longer held his hand even though her fingers were still entwined in his. Last winter when his three-year-old granddaughter asked him if she could be a monkey when she grew up.

One more breath. More memories came. The day he killed a man in battle. The night he thought of killing his middle daughter’s husband. The pain of watching his children move away on their own and the joy of realizing he and Bethie had the house to themselves.

One more breath. A hundred more memories.

Carter could hear his two friends talking somewhere beyond the blackness. He knew the stick men were watching him in the dark with their empty eyes.

“It is time to let go,” he whispered, almost expecting the painted men to answer.

Silence. Then one drop of water plunked on the floor of the cave. Far into a dark corner of the cave he heard the wind whistling. Another drop fell.

Slowly, Carter sat up, feeling near his leg for the flashlight. One tired muscle at a time he straightened. Turned on the light and stood.

He took one deep breath taking in the cold damp air as though it was pure oxygen.

One step at a time he moved toward the opening. Just as he saw the afternoon light shining at the entrance, he turned for one last look at the stick figures. He’d have all winter to remember them.