The Renegades: Nick (14 page)

On the second day, when the morning sickness came down on her again and she spent what seemed an hour doubled over, throwing up into the sand, she had to literally force herself to go on. It continued every day thereafter, even stronger than at the very beginning of her pregnancy.

She learned to endure it, though the sun was halfway up in the sky every morning before she managed to make much progress. She worked and tried to think of things to be thankful for, while she sweated and ached and watched her walls grow one or two levels of bricks in a day. It made her glad that she hadn’t let Nick help her and, therefore, find out about the baby. She was thankful she could keep her suppers down, and the meager snacks at noon, so the baby wouldn’t starve. And she was relieved Joe and Judy had been more tractable ever since the tornado. Joe was even pulling the plow to cut the soil!

She was grateful, too, that she still had strength left at night to cook Nick’s supper to
pay for the shelter he gave her. After the second day, he gave up protesting that she needn’t do that and she gave up feeling she would owe him her life before she ever got started proving up her claim.

So, every afternoon she drove up the draw back to his cabin before he quit working for the day—he hardly ever quit riding until dark. Each time, she found him astride a young horse in the shady catch pen or working with it from the ground. He had a half-dozen of them fenced with brush into a long, narrow meadow at the top of the canyon, horses he had taken from the wild and was starting.

Besides all those horses, he had a smokehouse full of curing venison and turkey strung from the beams, and a small herd of cattle grazing among the timber. Nick had been back here long enough to prepare so that he was already nearly self-sufficient for the winter.

She must get ready for winter
.

That had been the chant in her head that kept her cutting sod bricks and stacking them all morning and half the afternoon, but now it had lost its power. Her legs were shaking, her arms were going limp, and her stomach was roiling from the heat and no food because she hadn’t taken time to eat even a bit of jerky at noon time. She hadn’t rested then, either, not more than ten or fifteen minutes. There simply had not been time, for her walls were nowhere
near high enough to stand up in after the roof was on, though she’d been working steadily for almost a week.

Reality struck her in the heart. After all this pain and agony, all those hours in the sun, she had built only half-walls, breast-high to her short stature. She couldn’t afford to take time out to rest, no matter what.

Yet she had to, or fall face down on the ground. The heat shimmered off the rocks and hung in the dust like a curtain. It was pressing in on her from all directions, even through her hat. It was making her dizzy. She had to stop for a while and rest.

Yet she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She absolutely would not because winter would come and she and her baby could not survive without shelter. She would not depend on Nick any longer than necessary.

She swiped with her sleeve at the sweat running down beneath the handkerchief she’d rolled and tied around her forehead below her hat. Then, with a deep, shivery sigh to try to steady herself, she picked up her plow again and tried to stick it into the ground. To her dismay, when Joe started walking, it only slid along the surface and raised a cloud of dust.

It was taking too much of her precious water to soften the sod enough for cutting. She was trying to
save
water, for heaven’s sake—but she reached for the full dipper on the wall
anyway. The earth she hadn’t yet watered was simply too hard. She would haul some more water from Nick’s in the morning.

Her whole arm shook, but she ignored that.

“Callie!”

She stopped, the trembling dipper raised, and tilted her head to listen.

Hoofbeats.

Her heart clutched. Was it Nick? Had she really heard her name or not?

She poured the water and then straightened to shade her eyes and watch for whoever was coming. In truth, she should go get the gun from her wagon but her legs didn’t have the strength. Really, truly, she thought it was Nick.

“Hey, Callie!”

It was.

Nick rode over the horizon, astride a tan horse with black legs and mane and tail that he called ol’ Dim, in spite of the fact that the horse was only a three-year-old. Ol’ Dun’s training had just begun and he was jumping around, apparently trying to buck.

Nick sat him easily, his expression unconcerned, his eyes focused on her.

“No wonder he’s trying to throw you …” Callie said, but the words came out as a hoarse whisper that she herself could hardly hear.

The dizziness hit her again, and she leaned on the handles of her plow.

Nick rode up, swept one quick glance over her, and swung down out of the saddle. He had canteens and tools and bags of things tied across the horse, front and back, flopping against the animal’s sweaty sides, which was the point she’d been trying to make when she lost her voice.

“Time to go to the shade, Miss Sunshine,” he said, taking her by the arm before she could open her mouth to protest.

She shook her head.

“Not yet …”

This time, even less sound came out.

He looked at her sharply. When he saw that she really couldn’t speak above a wheezing whisper, a flicker of irritation showed in his eyes but he didn’t let it into his voice.

“Remember tomorrow’s the last day before registration day,” he said, “so you’ll need to quit early then. I just thought I’d ride over and help you make up for that lost time today.”

“What a pitiful excuse! You came because you thought I didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the sun,” she croaked painfully.

He raised one eyebrow.

“We-e-ll,” he drawled, giving her a significant look, “you said it. I didn’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but her throat felt like cotton and this time she couldn’t get out any more than a dry wheezing sound.

“Over here,” he said, speaking with cheerful authority as if she were a child for whom he was responsible. “You just sit right down here in the shade of this old cedar tree and let me get you a cool drink.”

He brought ol’ Dun into the shade with her, took down one of the canteens, removed the cap, sank onto his haunches beside her, and held it to her lips, although she reached for it.

“Let me,” he said, with irritating censure creeping into his voice. “I happened to notice you’re a little shaky right now.”

She let him tilt her head back into the palm of his big hand, and drank the cool water that slid down her throat as sweet as nectar. After a bit, he lowered the canteen and set it down on the ground beside him. Then he took off her hat and untied the handkerchief from around her head.

His touch was heavenly and, even in the state she was in, she wanted more. Wanted him to stroke her cheek with his long, strong fingers, wanted him to cup her face in both his huge hands … wanted him to kiss her now that he was so close …

But he was all business. He poured water on her handkerchief and washed her face, then wet it again and held it to her forehead.

“You nearly got your stubborn mountain self too hot out here on the prairie,” he said.

This time he didn’t even try to conceal his annoyance.

“How many times this week have I told you to go to the shade for a while at least twice, morning and afternoon?”

She wouldn’t take a chance on her voice quite yet, so she had to content herself with making a face at him.

“So,” he said disapprovingly, as if he were the teacher of the two of them, “you haven’t been following my orders. Have you?”

Callie couldn’t help but smile.

“I wouldn’t think of disobeying you, Nick,” she said in a whisper. “You know that.”

“Sure. That’s why I had to ride over here to see what you were doing. When you drove in last evening, your face was red as the sunset.”

“Only because Judy was misbehaving,” she rasped, holding out the handkerchief for him to wet it again. “I was red because I was embarrassed.”

“You’ll be dead if you don’t listen to me,” he snapped, with a worried frown. “Damn it, Callie …”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she soothed. “I’ve learned my lesson, Nick, really I have. I was getting woozy right before you came. I won’t do it again.”

He looked at her long and hard.

“I promise,” she said, lifting one still slightly shaky hand.

“All right,” he growled, his tone doubtful. “Sit here and rest awhile. Drink some more in a minute.”

She did as he said and didn’t even protest when he got up, took down another canteen, and strode to her plow with his long-reaching, free-flowing gait. Then he stripped off his shirt.

It was soaked with sweat and clinging to him, showing clearly how his big muscles rippled beneath it and how his broad shoulders tapered to his taut, slim waist and hips. He peeled it off and threw it over one of her pitifully short walls of sod.

“I don’t know why you want more bricks anyway,” he called in a teasing tone. “You’ve got four walls up. Why not slap on a roof?”

She laughed and managed to call back with her voice only slightly trembly now.

“That was my plan, until I realized I’d have to walk on my knees all the time.”

He laughed, too, then picked up the lines, threw them over his shoulders, and took hold of the handles of the plow. He called to Joe, and the mule pricked his ears and moved out as if he knew a masterful voice when he heard one.

Nick’s back gleamed with sweat in the sunlight, which turned his skin to such a rich copper color it looked as hot as his kiss had been.

That was the wrong line of thinking. She
could remember exactly how his lips felt and how they tasted, and the memory filled her with such deep longing that she couldn’t look away from him.

He was the most magnificent man she’d ever met.

Vance had been muscular and handsome, yes, but …

The disloyalty of the thought made her mind jerk away from it. She was friends with Nick. Friendship was all that would ever be between them; she didn’t want any more, and neither did he.

But Nick was the strongest man she’d ever met.

To keep the plowpoint cutting in a straight line, which she was never able to do, he held the handles firmly in front of him and the point upright. That took considerable power, and made the muscles across his shoulders and back flex and tighten beneath his glistening skin.

Callie couldn’t take her eyes away. She couldn’t get her breath. She couldn’t think anymore.

If she couldn’t get up and go to him and run the palms of her hands over his shoulders, and follow that trickle of sweat down his spine with her fingertips, then she had to hear his voice, had to meet his eyes.

She took another drink of water and called to him.

“For somebody so scornful of farmers, you seem pretty handy with a plow.”

He laughed, turned Joe, and started back toward her.

“Careful with the insults,” he called back. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

At that moment she didn’t care that he was feeding her; she didn’t care that she was obligated to him for food and shelter and for this work. She was too mesmerized to tell him to stop. All she cared about was listening to the low, easy tone of his voice, and watching the way a lock of his hair fell across his forehead.

This would be a memory to warm her this winter.

T
he next day Callie did quit early—because of Nick’s suggestion, she told herself. Because she was excited that tomorrow would be registration day, a day free from this monotonous toil, this backbreaking work!

Or maybe, her little voice of truth said, it was because she wanted to get back to Nick.

Whatever the reason, she stopped stacking bricks when the sun was only halfway down the afternoon sky, put away her tools, hitched the team to the wagon again, climbed into it, and took the lines, hoping she wouldn’t have to pull on them much since she had new blisters on her hands. She got her wish. The drive back to Nick’s place was peaceful and more
enjoyable than usual, since she wasn’t quite so tired.

When she came into the yard and drove past his training pen into the barnlot, they exchanged waves but she didn’t linger. Last night and this morning she had made herself maintain her distance, although that incredible pull she felt toward him had grown stronger and stronger ever since he had come to see if she was working too hard in the heat.

She climbed down, unhitched her team, turned them out into what Nick called the pony pasture, and started toward the house. It’d be much better for them both if she kept up the routine they’d had all week, mainly spending time together only at meals.

But her feet felt leaden, her skin hot, and there was a pleasant, almost cooling breeze springing up. The shade of the trees surrounding his corral beckoned like an oasis in the desert, so she went in that direction, instead of the cabin.

But it wasn’t just the breeze. Right now she had to have the comfort of a little human companionship, or die. Right now she needed to talk to Nick.

He was riding with his head cocked to one side, looking down at the young yellow horse, completely absorbed in its movements—a random circle here, a figure-eight there. It must
be following Nick’s commands, but she couldn’t see him giving any.

Callie walked into the shade, sweeping her hat off to fan herself with the wide brim. The corral fence was old and stout, built of peeled logs. Nick’s father must have built it.

She climbed up and sat on the top log, unable to tear her gaze away from Nick. His pale blue shirt clung to him, the dark V of sweat between his shoulder blades showed the flexing of his muscles almost as clearly as no shirt at all. And the powerful way he sat, the proud way he held his head, made her breath catch in her throat.

His long legs held the colt and guided him, the muscles of his thighs controlling the thousand-pound animal with an easy strength that looked like magic. A new-old longing came over her, powerful as the waterfall on the north side of Sloane Mountain. It made her weak in the knees and the sweet spice of his mouth came onto her tongue. She let the hat fall.

She wanted him to ride over here, reach up and pull her down onto the horse with him; wanted him to hold her close, close, so she could turn her face up for his kiss …

But she might as well be back in Kentucky, for all he knew. He had the horse sauntering around the other side of the corral and they
were absorbed in each other as if they were the only two creatures on earth.

Sudden jealousy of an
animal
, of all things, shocked her to consciousness. What was she thinking? She still loved Vance, no matter how much she admired Nick. She did, didn’t she? She couldn’t be starting to love Nick.

He came around the circle of the fence, his head still cocked, still watching and listening for messages from the horse. While she watched, a sudden, terrible premonition that he was in danger made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A rifleman from the Nation, bent on revenge, could be in the trees anywhere. He could be within a stone’s throw and Nick wouldn’t know it, wrapped up in that horse as he was.

She opened her mouth to call to him, then shut it again, not knowing what to say that he wouldn’t ridicule. As he rode closer, she straddled the fence—awkwardly in her skirts—and thrust her feet in between two of its logs so she could stand up to scan the grove of trees and the sides of the canyon above and behind him. The feeling faded, though, instead of getting stronger. It must have meant nothing.

“You’ll fall off that fence if you’re not careful.”

He was directly in front of her, murmuring “Whoa,” to the horse, relaxing in the saddle to let his reins cross at the horn while he pushed
back his hat. But falling was all she wanted to do—right into his arms.

He stroked the horse’s shiny neck and she remembered the feel of his hard, calloused hand. Oh, how she longed to feel it again! It made her feel weak just to think of it, made her skin, her whole body ache for it.

She looked into his gray eyes, smiling at her with a twinkle she’d never seen before.

“You’re the one needs to be careful,” she said, trying to keep her tone light, yet warn him.

“See what happens when you read somebody else’s mail?” he said. “You start harping on somebody else’s worries. Carrying on like that’s liable to keep you from sleeping at night.”

“I’m not harping,” she said, sitting back down. “For it to be harping, I’d have to say it a dozen times or more.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. His eyes gleamed with a look that made her hot, hot as working in the sun all day.

“Have you, Callie?”

“Have I what?”

“Been sleeping.”

Warmth rushed into her cheeks and color with it, she knew.

“That’s a rather personal question,” she said.

“Not for a person sleeping in my bed.”

He held her gaze relentlessly. The heat spread all through her body just as mercilessly.

“If it’s your bed, you ought to know if it’s comfortable or not.”

“It is,” he said, nodding judiciously.

She managed to draw in a breath.

“Then why did you ask me that?”

They looked at each other for a long time.

“I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping, myself,” he drawled, “thought it might be something in the air.”

Her bones were melting, her whole body tilted toward him.

“Come here,” he said and reached up for her. “This filly needs to learn to carry double and you need to learn how to ride.”

He swung her down into his lap and she couldn’t find it in her to resist.

“Don’t worry, Yellow Girl’s some gentler than Judy,” he said. “But not gentle enough for me to sit behind and get out of the stirrups.”

“That’s … fine,” she said.

No, it wasn’t fine. It was downright dangerous, was what it was. Even through her clothes she could feel the hard bulge of his manhood against her.

“She’ll make a good mount. I’m pleased with her,” Nick said.

“So that’s why you’re in such a good
mood,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “I thought it was because we don’t have to work tomorrow and you’re excited about going into town and maybe seeing some of your neighbors.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “I’m just hoping my man’s still working at the Land Office in case there’s any question I’m Cherokee.”

“If you keep paying bribes, you’ll have paid a premium for your claim,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “That’s not fair.”

He held her gaze with his.

“Nothing is.”

She smiled.

“Probably not.”

“That first bribe was worth the money, though,” he said, in his low, sensual voice. “It got us out in open country in time for the storm.”

Her breath became too shallow for a laugh, too fast for her to speak. He, too, remembered that kiss, those caresses. He, too, had felt the hot thrills in his blood beneath the cold, slashing rain.

The next instant, the horse shied from a glimpse of Callie’s flapping skirt and nearly jumped out from under them. Callie screamed and grabbed the saddle horn, but Nick only tightened his arms around her and sat back a little. After another crowhop or two, the filly settled and fell into a long trot.

They floated around the pen.

“Now what do you think?” Nick said, and Callie smiled at the pride in his voice. “Isn’t she a smooth ride?”

“I hope she doesn’t take another fit of bucking and throw us,” Callie said.

Nick bent his head beside hers and tucked her into the curve of his body. He smelled of sweat and leather and horse and of his own man-scent. She would recognize the fragrance of him if he rode past her at a gallop on the blackest, windiest night.

“If she tries anything else, relax and hold onto me,” he said.

“Relax!”

She turned an indignant look on him. Their eyes locked. He was giving her that crooked grin that charmed her so. His lips came perilously close to brushing her cheek, his eyes came disastrously close to melting her where she sat.

Callie had to force herself to look away so she wouldn’t reach up and touch his face.

“Yellow Girl isn’t going to dump us in the dirt,” he said. “She’s only teasing. She’s come a long, long way in these last few days.”

His satisfaction-filled voice made Callie smile again. How curious that she was no longer jealous of the filly when she sat in Nick’s lap.

She leaned against his hard-muscled arm.

“This filly is smarter than most people,” he bragged. “And she’s got the heart to try anything.”

“You should get a good price for her.”

He was silent for a minute, as if he hadn’t thought of that.

“I don’t know that I’ll sell her.”

It was her turn to laugh.

“Nick, how can you make a living out of horses if you don’t sell them?”

“I’ll sell most of them.”

His tone was so confiding, so leisurely, it was as if they were friends, all of a sudden. It felt strange and incredibly satisfying after seven days of avoiding each other, of eating their meals quickly so they could go about their separate tasks and be apart, so they could escape the pull of these feelings that were winding around their hearts.

Now, neither one of them was trying to escape. Her pulse quickened, her breath came shorter still.

What would happen? Would Nick kiss her again?

She wanted him to. She was afraid for him to. Oh, Lord, she should’ve clung to the fence with both hands—she should never have let him pull her down onto this horse with him!

Yellow Girl slowed and then stopped. Callie gasped as Nick tightened one arm around her and reached for the gate latch with the other.

“A trip to the pond and back ought to be about right,” he said, his voice low and rough.

He was feeling the same desire she was. It wasn’t just in his voice but in his body, in every inch that was touching her. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Oh, dear God, another kiss would only make them want a whole lot more.

He pressed his leg against the filly’s side, and she moved sideways through the gate. Nick left it open and turned her toward the pond, then pulled Callie closer against his chest.

“We’ll let her out a little,” he said, and Callie thought she felt his lips pressed briefly to her hair.

She was afraid to turn and look at him for fear of offering her mouth up for his kiss.

They began to fly instead of float above the ground, and she loved it. She wasn’t even afraid. She let her body melt against Nick’s.

He bent down and pressed his mouth to her ear.

“You could learn to ride this mare,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

She nodded. He laid his cheek against hers for the space of a heartbeat.

Soon, way too soon, she felt the filly begin to slow and realized that they were almost to the pond. They rode into the trees on its west side, and when they reached the water Nick
signaled Yellow Girl to stop. She stood quietly, blowing a little.

“Callie,” he said. “Look at me.”

Her blood raced as fast as Yellow Girl had carried them, but her breath came slow, too slow. She didn’t have enough air and she couldn’t seem to get any more. She turned and looked up into his burning gray eyes, powerful as stars against his coppery skin.

He tilted her face upward with the tip of one finger and started to lower his mouth for a kiss. Suddenly he stiffened.

“Listen!”

Dimly, she understood what the word meant; finally she managed to use one of her senses for something besides being with him. She could hear hooves striking rocks, branches breaking.

“Horses coming up the draw,” he said, speaking low but in a voice as hard as stone. “Get down, Callie, quick. Whoever it is, I’ve got to keep them from seeing my set-up.”

“No. I’ll go with you.”

He was already lifting her out of the saddle, though.

“Damn!” he muttered. “Double damn! And me without a weapon.”

He set her to the ground in an instant, at the side of the filly.

“Over there,” he said. “In that thicket of cottonwoods. Don’t make a sound. If they’re dangerous,
I can’t protect you against that many.”

Callie was as befuddled as if she’d just waked from sleep, with his arms gone from around her now and her blood roaring with wanting them back again.

“They’re close,” he said, his voice cracking like a whip. “Go!”

She turned and ran for the trees and he rode toward the mouth of the draw.

Nick rode out and stopped the intruders before they got to the pond. Callie watched through an opening in the brush and tried to catch her breath.

Nick had more nerve than anyone she’d ever known. He sat the yellow filly with the air of a king in an old story song and faced down six riders—to her best count, but there could be more behind them. The evening was growing dusky dark, so the yellow filly was the plainest thing she could see at this distance.

“You’re under arrest!” one of the strange men boomed.

“What the hell for?” Nick shot back, using his tone of voice as the only weapon he had.

“Robbing the bank in Santa Fe,” the man answered. “We done found the money where you dropped it at the edge of town, but I aim to make an example of you.”

“Who are you to make such a brag as that?”

“Sheriff Cap Williams, duly appointed until the e-lection.”

“When was the robbery?”

“This noon—as if you didn’t know. We got a witness seen you; he knowed where your claim was.”