Callahan's Gold (Southwest Desert Series Book 3) (10 page)

"That's absolutely ridiculous, Tory! You mean, everyone except you and me, don't you? Or aren't you so sure about me? Is that it?"

She moved forward on her knees and gripped his muscled arms. "No, of course not, Dodge! Not you!"

He tore away from her grasp. "Then don't accuse anyone here of murder, Tory. These people are my friends, even though you think they might be murder suspects. They were Sharkey's friends, too. I'll thank you not to look at us with suspicion."

"Oh, Dodge, I didn't mean to—"

"I know what you meant." He was on his feet and angry. She could tell by his tight, abrupt tone that she'd pushed too hard.

"Please, Dodge, listen to me." She zipped her jeans and followed him. "What if—"

"I don't want to hear your doubts about my friends."

She put her hand on his arm. "But, Dodge, even you said it could happen."

He wheeled around and grabbed her arms with both hands. "Listen to me, Tory. As far as we know, Sharkey wasn't murdered. Put that notion out of your head. I don't want to hear any more about it."

She looked at his furious countenance, glowering in the moonlight. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay, Dodge, sorry. I'll forget it." For now, she promised silently.

He held her gaze a moment longer, and released her with a jerk. "I think we'd better go to bed now. Alone."

Silently, she accompanied him back to the porch, longing for his kiss, for his love, yet knowing they would not be hers tonight. She had ignited his fury by revealing her distrust of his friends. And potentially, of him.

Not you, Dodge, she prayed when he left her in angry silence. Please, not you!

Tory scrambled into her sleeping bag.  Ramona was asleep, or pretended to be. Tory scooted inside the warm folds and lay there a long time, thinking about Yazzie and wondering what he did in the corral tonight. And what connection, if any, he had to Sharkey Carsen's death.

She shifted and snuggled drowsily against the tiny pillow, wishing it were Dodge's substantial shoulder. Her lips still tingled from the strength of his kisses and the power of his hand clamped across them. But her body ached with unsatisfied longing for the cowboy whose loving had become addictive in only one night.

And she prayed that her suspicions were wrong.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Early the next morning the string of mules headed out single file, taking the sun seekers deep into the Dragoon Mountains of southern Arizona. As they moved further from civilization Tory was engulfed with a feeling of isolation, of being away from any safe, familiar environment. There she was, alone in uncharted territory, perhaps to be a victim of the mountain, as was her father.

Whether or not he was murdered, she couldn't know. Not yet, anyway. However, Sharkey still was a victim of his search for gold. And there she was, searching for that same gold. She could only hope the sheer numbers of the group would keep them safe. But with her new suspicions, could she trust them? Only Dodge, maybe. . .

As the day wore on, Tory began to adapt to the slow-plodding surefootedness of the mule she was riding and settled into a comfortable rocking mo
tion. The sights and smells of the wilderness seemed to permeate her, and she grew to enjoy the constant rustle of wind through the pines and take delight in the occasional rabbit they sent scampering.

Yazzie led the way with one pack mule, followed by Rex, Ramona, and Tory. Dodge brought up the rear, adeptly managing two pack mules loaded with picks, camping equipment, and food. His mule carried the Indian jar with Sharkey's ashes. At first the group rode along in relative silence. Perhaps it was because they didn't know—or trust—one another very well. Tory assumed that, like her, each member carried the secret hope that on the return trip they'd be loaded with gold.

Dodge was conspicuously tight-lipped and non-communicative. He had very little to say to Tory, and she knew she had precipitated his actions. Ob
viously, he was still angry over her voiced suspicions, and with the alleged suspects in such close proximity, they had no chance to hash it out. Maybe she had been out of line in her doubts. Maybe she was totally wrong.

At any rate, she'd had no opportunity to apologize. But she intended to. She hadn't intended to alienate Dodge. Out here, he was her only ally.

Tory and Ramona rode together for most of the day. They talked sporadically about their individual careers and ambitions. Tory learned that Ramona was an avid amateur anthropologist, specializing in the Indian groups that lived in this area of southwestern Arizona. She spent all her spare time in the mountains searching for artifacts and remnants of ancient settlements and had documented many sites that were previously unknown to modern society. Tory found Ramona to be an intelligent, interesting person.

The sun seekers halted for a meager lunch of canned beans and sandwiches. Tory perched beside Ramona on a log. "It's just too good to be true," she muttered.

"What's that?"

"Oh, this crazy mission to find gold way up here."

Ramona smiled knowingly. "It's here, all right. Men have been digging for it—and finding it—for hundreds of years. Now it's just a matter of us discovering the right place."

"You sound like Dodge," Tory chided. "What makes you so sure?"

"I know what I've always heard about these mountains. And I trust Sharkey."

"Well, that's more than I can say," Tory muttered.

"It's too bad you never knew your father. He was a man you could trust, Tory."

"My mother couldn't trust him. Neither could I. But you," she paused, thinking of years of struggling. "You had a different kind of relationship with him, Ramona. Obviously, you made no demands on him, not like a wife and child did."

Ramona lifted her dark head and smiled sadly. She had a certain kind of graceful, proud beauty, with a slight tilt to her brown eyes. "Oh, I tried, but Sharkey was an elusive man. I wanted security as much as any woman does. I loved him and wanted marriage, but Sharkey didn't want that kind of commitment. It just didn't work for him."

Tory looked at Ramona with new respect, and strangely, her heart went out to this "other woman." Ramona was another woman Sharkey had hurt, and Tory couldn't help wondering how many others there were. "How long did you go with my father?"

"You mean, how long were we lovers?" Ramona asked bluntly. She gazed into the distance and muttered, "Almost ten years. You'd think in that length of time that a person would know if he loved someone enough to make a commitment."

"Apparently, Sharkey wasn't the type of man who could make a commitment," Tory said with finality as she finished her sandwich. It was more painful than she realized to hear another woman talk about intimacy with her father. Secretly, she had wanted him to be as unhappy and lonely as her mother had been.

She realized that was foolish, the child in her crying out for fairness and revenge. Then it occurred to her that maybe the adult in her wanted a share of fairness and revenge, also. Undoubtedly, she was getting a different picture of Sharkey Carsen and his relationships with women.

After the brief lunch break, the string of mules moved out again, taking the small group higher above the desert floor. As the afternoon heat swelled, dark clouds formed a canopy overhead and a thunderstorm threatened. Finally, Yazzie called a halt. "We'll spread a tarp between those trees until the storm is over."

"Oh, no, not here!" Ramona objected, an unusual shrillness to her voice.

"What's wrong, Ramona?" Tory leaned forward in her saddle, concerned by the woman's sudden change. She looked visibly upset.

Yazzie answered for her. "Over there," he said, pointing through the trees to an abrupt cliff dangerously close to the path they followed. "That's where we found Sharkey." He slid off his mule and ambled to the edge, motioning to the others. Rex and Dodge quickly joined him, and the three men began discussing the location of Sharkey's demise.

Tory could see that Ramona was distraught and remained with her on the trail. Suddenly, the wind whipped vigorously around them, creating a high whining through the pines. A mournful whine, mourning a place of death.

Ramona reacted hysterically. "I can't go through this again. I have to get out of here!" She dropped the reins of the mule she was riding, slid off its back, and ran distractedly through the woods.

"Hey, Ramona!" Dodge yelled and started after her. "Come back here! It's going to rain soon!"

Tory grabbed his arm. "Let me try, Dodge. I think I can talk to her."

"She needs a friend right now," he rebuffed, emphasizing 'friend'.

Tory considered his curt comment for a moment. "Maybe I can qualify. I think she needs another woman right now."

"You may be right, but hurry. We're going to have a severe storm, and it isn't safe for either of you."

Tory nodded and dashed after Ramona through the pines. Not far away, she found the distraught woman slumped to the ground beneath the shelter of a pine tree.

"Ramona, it's just me," Tory began tentatively. "Are you all right?"

Ramona gazed up, a vacant expression on her still-pale face. "I'm okay, Tory. Just a little shaky, that's all."

The wind whipped around them and whined through the trees. The smell of moisture was in the air, warning of the pending rain.

Tory moved closer. "I know you're upset because of Sharkey. The others are worried about you."

Ramona clamped her arms tightly around her knees and rocked back and forth. "A strange sensation came over me, Tory. I could see him lying down there, just like it were real all over again. Total recall of the sights and feelings. God, it was strange. I wanted to scream and run, anything to get rid of those awful feelings."

"You've been through a lot, Ramona. It was quite a shock. Your feelings for Sharkey run deep —I can see that."

Ramona smiled wanly at Tory. "I was always taught to hide my feelings, not to let them show. To be stoic and strong. And I always have, until now."

"It's okay to let down, Ramona. I understand."

"I know. Intellectually, I realize it's okay. But my heritage teaches me to be strong, espe
cially at times like this."

"You are being strong, Ramona. Just returning here shows your strength."

Ramona picked up a small stick and fiddled nervously with it. "I don't feel very strong. I'm feeling pretty guilty right now."

"Guilty? I don't understand."

"Guilty because I pushed him toward this."

"Pushed? You mean encouraged?"

"Yes, I guess." Ramona nodded and gentle tears formed in her dark eyes. "When I was a professor at a junior college in Sierra Vista I met Sharkey. He was a professor at the University of Arizona. But he hated teaching because he felt it was too confining. He was a man of action, and he had a dream. He'd always wanted to find gold. I encouraged him to quit his regular job and pursue his dream. But that was selfish. I thought if he could find this damn gold he'd been after all his life, he'd be willing to settle down. With me."

Tory slid her arm around Ramona's shoulders and murmured in a gentle tone, "You can't blame yourself for what happened to Sharkey."

"I'm trying not to, but it's hard when I think of what happened to him—"

"Ramona," Tory said firmly, "surely you realize that Sharkey Carsen had been pursuing that damned gold for years, long before he met you. When he died, he was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and it wasn't your fault at all." Tory couldn't believe what she was saying. She was actually absolving Ramona of guilt for Sharkey's death!

But how could this distraught, heartbroken woman have had anything to do with his death? She obviously loved him.

A wicked flash of lightning zigzagged to the ground, and thunder exploded from the dark clouds. They had to get back soon or be exposed to the viciousness and danger of the storm.

Tory squeezed Ramona's shoulder. "We'd better go if we don't want to get drenched."

Ramona nodded distractedly, as if unaware of the pending storm. She stood up. "Tory, thanks. I know this must be difficult for you, too."

"I can see how much you loved my father."

"I can't deny my love for him. But I must admit, I really feel strange telling you these things, Tory. I almost want to apologize, knowing what he did to you and your mother."

"Don't apologize. How can love be bad for anyone? I'm glad"—Tory paused wistfully, then continued firmly—"yes, I'm glad he had such a love as you in his life."

"I hope we can be friends. I think Sharkey has a very special daughter," Ramona said softly with tears still in her voice.

Thunder crackled loudly overhead again, and the two women grasped hands and ran back to the makeshift tent the men had constructed just as huge raindrops started to fall.

Tory concluded privately that Sharkey had been darned lucky to have had a woman like Ramona.

"You two okay?" Dodge asked, pulling them beneath the meager shelter and wrapping his arm around Ramona.

She lifted her proud head and responded with new-found courage, "I'm all right, Dodge. Tory and I are ready to go on, as soon as the storm's over."

Dodge looked at Tory curiously. She just smiled and nodded.

After the storm, the mules carried the sun seekers farther along the trail. It was almost dusk when Yazzie stopped to consult with Ramona. "Is the hidden springs somewhere near here?"

Ramona checked the small notebook she carried and pointed. "That way."

"You lead," Yazzie directed. "I don't know about these pictures on rocks where the water runs underground."

Following behind Ramona, the group climbed higher, rounded a bend, and came to a halt near a huge field of weathered boulders. Some were short and looked like stocky stone sentinels; other were large enough to hide men and horses. The place conjured images of renegade Apaches, hiding from the U.S. Army, making their lives in the wilderness.

"There's the overhang where the pictographs are," Ramona announced excitedly.

"I don't see any pictures," Rex commented sourly, dismounting with a loud groan. "
Dios mio
, I hope we're through for the day."

"This should be a good place to stop. It's where we're supposed to find the skull and the other half of the map," Dodge said. "But where's the spring?"

Ramona moved confidently toward the giant boulders. "The pictographs are hidden. You have to lie on your back and scoot under here in order to see them. And while you're there, you can hear the spring rushing. Underground." She proceeded to show them how to maneuver under the stone shelf and listen for the hidden water.

Tory watched curiously as Dodge, Yazzie, and finally Rex followed Ramona's lead and scooted under the rock. When Tory's turn came, she went eagerly, intrigued by the ancient drawings that still remained visible and the sounds of rushing waters beneath her body.

She emerged with blue eyes bright and a rush of questions. "Why, the pictures are in color!" she exclaimed, amazed. "How has the paint managed to remain so long? And why are they located here? Did the Indians lie on their backs to draw them? And why is the spring underground?"

Ramona laughed at Tory's eagerness. "I wish all my students had your enthusiasm, Tory. The ancient ones learned to use earth colors, made from clay or dirt or certain plants. And they're permanent, if not damaged or washed away by weather. These were protected by the ledge, so they remained for us to enjoy."