Whispers In The Dark. Bj James
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With the speed of long habit, she unbuckled the cinch, lifting saddle and blanket from Black Jack.
“There’s daylight left. Plenty of it,” Rafe interjected. “We could make a number of miles before dark.”
“There is, and we could.” The saddle lay at the base of a stone. She flung the blanket over another to dry. “But this is it for the day.”
Rafe’s first inclination was to dispute the decision. But like her or not, he’d begun to respect Valentina O’Hara. The trail was a great leveler, a great teacher, and following in her path he’d learned every move had purpose. Every decision had been a judgment call. And each a sound one.
As she gathered grass to scrub the sweat from the stallion’s back, he nodded abruptly. “All right.”
Valentina stopped in mid-stroke, surprise showing through her guarded expression. “All right? You’re agreeing, just like that?”
“Just like that.” Rafe dispatched El Mirlo’s saddle with an expertise rivaling her own. Lifting the horse’s hooves he inspected for lodged pebbles or stone bruises. Then, running his hand from withers to hock, he checked for sprains or scrapes before gathering grass himself.
Val watched him in a mingling of approval and suspicion. “No argument?”
“No.”
“No questions?”
“No questions.” Rafe halted, regarding her thoughtfully before continuing his ministrations to El Mirlo. “I expect you’ll tell me your reasons for stopping,” he murmured almost silently. “In your own good time.”
Valentina had the grace to feel ashamed. Certainly, she didn’t want him here, but his reasons for coming were compelling. And, if she was honest, she had to admit she would have done the same. He was half out of his mind with worry for the little girl and his friends, and she was heckling him.
The urge to apologize nagged at her. But apologies to this man came harder than most, so she simply sidestepped the issue by turning from him. She was still busying herself with the care of the stallion when he walked away.
“Do we risk a fire?” Rafe tossed down an armful of wood gathered as he returned from tethering his mount in the shade of an aspen.
In the waning afternoon the temperature hovered between hot and hot as hell, but nightfall would bring drastic change. At this altitude and season they would be m no danger of freezing, but they would pass an uncomfortable night denied the warmth of fire.
Driving a needle through a length of leather, Valentina finished the minor repair of a bridle before she replied. “There’s no reason we shouldn’t, and every reason we should.”
Succinct, implicit, and he understood. “You still think we’re being watched, and a cold camp would be suspicious?”
“My gut feeling is there’s no one out there. From what we learned of the Apostles, its clear they’re smug and arrogant. The type who believe they’re infallible by divine right and, by that right, destined to strike fear in the influential and the mighty.”
“Paralyzing fear.”
“Exactly. And because it wouldn’t occur to them that Patrick McCallum would dare go against their demands and conditions, we have a certain degree of liberty.”
“For a while, until we’re closer to the cabin,” Rafe interpreted. “If you’re guessing right.”
“If. There’s always one.” Laying the bridle aside, she returned the needle to a small kit and snapped it shut. “In any case, precaution is always sensible. So, to avoid suspicion, we act natural, do as casual wanderers of the desert would.”
“Make camp for the night, build a fire, cook a meal,” he added to the list.
“A quick bath in the stream.” She was rising from the stone that served as her seat. “Before the temperature drops.”
“I’ll gather more wood and start the fire,” Rafe volunteered. “When you’ve finished, I’ll take a dip, as well.”
“Right.” A glance at the sky told Valentina they hadn’t long before the sun slipped behind a mountain and the temperature slide began. Stepping to her saddlebags, she took out a towel and soap and a change of clothes. “I won’t be long.” Hesitating, she added, “Leave the meal to me. If you insist that we travel together, we might as well be fair in the division of chores.”
“Sure.” With his agreement Rafe let the matter drop.
He was gathering wood from a deadfall, keeping a cautious eye for rattlesnakes, when she crossed the clearing to the edge of the stream. There was a startled instant when he wondered if she planned to bathe within view. As she followed the curve of the tumbling stream until she was beyond his sight, he was uncertain if he was pleased or disappointed. Refusing to dwell on this strange reaction to a woman who was everything he found distasteful, he let the quest for fuel take him in an opposite direction.
Fire blazed in a stone lined pit, and coffee steamed over a small iron grill, when she reappeared.
“Better?” With casual nonchalance he fed another broken limb to the flames.
“Much.” Crouching by the fire across from him, she let its heat dry her hair. “There’s a small pool beyond the first bend. Not deep or wide enough for a swim, but perfect for a bath. A cold one.” The warning was a peace offering as she gratefully accepted a cup of coffee. “Much colder than I expected.”
“The stream must come straight out of the mountain, then moves too quickly through the canyon to catch the heat of the day.” Heavy with resin, the last limb he tossed into the pit sent up a shower of sparks as it smoldered and seethed before erupting into flames.
Valentina leaned against a boulder, folding her hands about the cup. A small smile played over her lips. “Having second thoughts?”
“Not about the bath.”
He rose from his place as she regarded him steadily over the rim of the tin cup. “About me, then? About whether or not I can do what Simon and Patrick McCallum want from me?”
“About whether anyone can do what Simon expects and Patrick needs.” Tossing the last of his coffee onto the fire, Rafe watched it dance and sizzle and rise in steam, as the cup fell from lax fingers. His eyes were dark and shadowed when his gaze met hers. “Can anyone save Courtney?”
Saying no more, he left the fire. While he gathered clothing and supplies for his bath, she saw the weight of the burden he carried. If she failed, he would see it as his failure, as well. If he returned to his friend empty handed, without the child who had been given to him at birth to protect, it could destroy him.
Her concern for his intrusion remained constant, her need to work alone never lessened, but anger vanished. She wanted to save this child. Dear God! She wanted to save them all. As she’d wanted to save the one she’d failed. Blinking back sudden pain, she turned her gaze to the fire, surrendering to damning memories of fateful hesitation and loss.
“Not this time.” She roused and muttered only to herself. “Not again.”
Desperate words drifted away, lost in the crackle of fire. The past became the present, and seconds hours as she sat, held captive by the flames, yet hardly seeing them. She wasn’t sure what drew her from her mesmerized distraction. Perhaps it was a sound, or a thought. Or a need.
“Rafe.”
He stopped at the water’s edge, but didn’t face her.
“If there’s any way, any at all, I’ll give back Jordana and Patrick’s little girl.” But first I’ll give her to you. A promise made, but left unspoken. “I’ll do my best, I give you my word.”
“If!” The word was a snarl, softly savage. “As you said, there’s always the qualification. Every