Chastity (18 page)

    He left the wagon without a word. They shared a cold and uncomfortable breakfast later. Mentally berating herself, she told herself    that she had responded foolishly to Reed's kindness. She told herself there was no anger in his silence, that he had merely dismissed those few moments between them as unwise and had moved ahead to contemplate the complications of the storm. And if he responded gruffly when she inquired if he thought the storm would end soon, she preferred to believe that his clipped response was due to annoyance at the delay the storm caused.

    A deafening clap of thunder interrupted Chastity's thoughts, stirring the anxieties she thought she'd conquered. Reed had erred. The storm had not ended as he predicted. The persistent downpour had not yet abated.

    A second thunderclap shook the earth beneath them, and Chastity gasped aloud. The wagon drew to a halt, and Chastity moved apprehensively to the front of it to peer out. The unrelenting downpour had shortened visibility to a scant few yards in front of the wagon. Reed was not in the driver's seat.

    Leaning forward, Chastity saw that he had dismounted from the wagon and was walking slowly along the trail. He halted and remained motionless for long moments. He turned back briefly toward the wagon, his eyes narrowing as an endless sheet of rain cascaded from his protective oilskins.

    Then she heard it.

    The sound was hardly discernable over the steady pounding of the rain.

    It turned her blood cold.

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    "You're crazy!" Turner's adamant statement twisted his bearded face into a tight snarl. Morgan's mood of the previous evening had changed abruptly with the storm that had hit overnight. He had awakened that morning on a rampage. Aware of the viciousness of which he was capable, Walker and Simmons remained silent as Turner concluded defiantly, "If you want somebody to go out brandin' in this rain, you can do it yourself!"

    "I ain't doin' it, neither." Quick to join Turner in his revolt, Bartell slapped his hand down on the table, unmindful of the remains of breakfast that had not yet been cleared. "I ain't goin' to get soaked to the skin and get my bones chilled when there ain't
no
need! If I wanted to do that, I would've stayed a drover! Hell…" He spat on the floor beside him. "
Them
days are gone forever.''

    Morgan responded with equal heat, "You would've been done with the brandin' if you'd have done what you were supposed to while I was in Sedalia! If you think I'm goin' to let you lay around on your lazy hides, waiting for the weather to change, you're wrong!"

    "I ain't lazy…" His mood as dark as the weather, Turner challenged Morgan softly, his barrel-shaped belly tightening as his gaze slanted toward his gun lying nearby. "… and I ain't about to let nobody call me lazy."

    "You think you can take me, Turner?" The sudden warmth of Morgan's smile was belied    by the deadly gleam in his eye as he continued softly, "Go ahead, strap on your gun and I'll do the same. I
haven't
had much action lately. You just might be able to beat me to the draw." His smile tightened. "But I think it's only fair to remind you about Abilene… and Kansas City. You were there, weren't you?"

    Turner's complexion paled.

    Morgan demanded, "Weren't you?"

    Turner's unshaven cheek twitched. "Yeah, I was there."

    "Of course, that was over six months ago. Things can change in six months. You might be faster than that fella who said he was the fastest gun in the territory."

    Turner shrugged.

    "Then there was that fella who said there wasn't
nobody
who could make him turn tail and run." Morgan paused. "There wasn't too much difference between them, though. They both bled just as red."

    Turner's hand fell limply to his side.

    Morgan turned toward the others with snakelike quickness. "Anybody else here think their trigger finger's faster than mine?"

    Morgan waited for the mumbled responses. "All right, I'm makin' things clear, once and for all. I've had enough of this place. I did my part. I made a good deal for this beef in Sedalia, and now it's time for you to do yours. And I'm tellin' you now, I'm not lettin' anybody or anything hold me back from the good time I got comin' to me. So that means we're goin' to brand those    steers. We're goin' to start now, rain or not, and we're goin' to keep brandin' until I say quit, is that understood?"

    A reluctant chorus of agreement turned Morgan toward the door. Shrugging on his oilskins, he paused with hat in hand. "I'm goin' out to start a fire in the shed firepit. Those brandin' irons will be hot right quick, and I expect every one of you to be right behind me. Those who aren't had better be ready to make some hard decisions."

    Slamming the door behind him, Morgan stomped across the muddy ground toward the shed without looking back.

    Staring after him, Turner growled, "Hell, he's crazy!"

    "Yeah, maybe he is." Walker walked slowly toward the rack beside the door. He picked up his rain gear and slipped it on. "But there's no changin' his mind when he's set on somethin'. And there ain't a one of us who could take him, and you know it."

    "What in hell's the matter with him, anyway?" Following Walker toward the door with obvious reluctance, Bartell ran a nervous hand over his balding head. "I ain't never seen his moods change
so
crazy as they've been doin' since he got back from Sedalia with you fellas."

    Simmons gave a knowing grunt that turned Bartell toward him. "What's that supposed to mean? Did somethin' happen in Sedalia?"

    "No, nothin' happened. We took care of what we had to do there, and then we left town." Simmons's small eyes narrowed into a squint. "The problem is that Morgan's been thinkin' about what
might've
happened if we had the time to stay."

    "What are you talkin' about?"

    Walker looked at Simmons and shook his head. "You're thinkin' the same thing I've been thinkin'. It's that red-haired woman, all right. I told him she'd be nothin' but trouble, but he
don't
listen to me."

    "What red-haired woman?"

    "You know Morgan when he's got a woman on his mind. He met this one the mornin' we left town. Hell, you should've seen him when she looked up at him with that smile like pure honey. He put on that act of his, charmin' her right out of her skin. He might've fooled her, but he didn't fool me. I knew what he was thinkin', and I knew it meant trouble.
Them
church types are all the same."

    
"Church types?"
Turner laughed harshly. "Since when did Morgan start lookin' at that kind?"

    "She was a good-lookin' woman, but I'm thinkin' it wasn't only her looks that heated Morgan up inside. Whatever it was, he waited outside that store where he met her, as itchy as a flea-bit cat. She came out lookin' for him, all right. And let me tell you, I knew then and there that he wasn't goin' to be satisfied with that being' the end of it."

    "I should've known a woman was at the bottom of it." Joining the others at the door, Turner    grabbed his oilskins, his sweaty face grim. "Hell, if I had known what Morgan was thinkin' with instead of his brain, I wouldn't have said nothin'." He sneered. "He's worse than a dog in heat, that one. I've seen him in action before. We'd better get out outside or we'll be in for trouble, all right."

    Another low chorus of agreement sounded as Turner jerked
open
the door and stepped out into the rain. The other men quickly followed.

    Silent in their wake, Conchita stood rigidly beside the fireplace. As was their practice, the men had conversed as if she did not exist. They had not even bothered to glance in her direction to see her reaction to their exchange.

    Conchita's face flamed. They considered her to be nothing not worth a moment's thought! They did not believe her capable of any true feeling, nor did they believe Morgan had any true feeling for her!

    
Puercos!
Pigs, every one of them!

    
Every one of them but Morgan.

    A heated rage suffusing her face, Conchita strode to the window. Trembling, she saw the men disappear into the shed just as the first white puffs of smoke rose from the chimney.

    Liars, that's what those men were! And cowards! Not a word of what Walker and Simmons said about what happened in Sedalia was true. They were so afraid of Morgan and what he would do if they tried to face him down that they would make up any story to stop him.

    Conchita stood staring blindly as the relentless rain continued. Morgan loved her. He had told her so many times. She gave him more pleasure than any other womanhe had told her that, too.

    The fury in Conchita's expression settled gradually into hard lines that drained the blush of youth from her cheeks. Her jaw tight, she slid her hand down her leg toward the sheath concealed on her thigh. The story that Walker had told about the red-haired woman was untrue. But even if it was not, it made little difference. Her blade had tasted blood before. If necessary, it would again. There was no woman who could take Morgan from her.

    Reed stared at the trail ahead of him, incredulous at what he saw. What had obviously been a crossing that Jenkins had not even felt worthy of marking on the map was now a roaring river. He had seen things like this happen beforea trickle of water in a harmless gully that was dry the greater part of the year swelling into a rush of churning currents after a prolonged storm.

    Reed glanced back at the wagon. His choices were few.

    He could remain here, hoping the storm would dwindle and the currents would slow, but that could take days. He would lose valuable time and he could lose Morgan as well.

    He could take the alternative route that Jenkins had mapped, but he would have to backtrack, and the result would be the same.

    Or he could ford the crossing now.

    Reed's strong jaw hardened. He had made a mistake in taking Chastity along with him. He had not thought the situation through. Watching Chastity as she slept, breathing in the scent of her skin, wanting her she had compromised his concentration so efficiently that even now, when his choice should be clear, he could not oust her from his thoughts.

    Damn it all, he had no time for this! Yet, Chastity's renewed shuddering with each flash of lightning and each roll of thunder through the long night remained with him. Her fear was real. The tormenting memories were scars that ran deep.

    Reed glanced up at the leaden sky. He cursed as the steady torrent beat down on his face,
then
adjusted his oilskins against the rain. Looking ahead, he studied the flow of the flooded gully. He was certain it wasn't deep. The water would barely reach the body of the wagon at the highest point. His team was strong and would have no trouble overcoming the currents. He would not hesitate for a minute if he
were
alone.

    But he was not alone.

    The scent of roses rose strongly in Reed's mind, flushing him with heat, and his decision was made. He could not afford to prolong the journey, as much for Chastity's sake as his own.

    Turning back toward the wagon, Reed was startled to see Chastity emerge from the rear and start toward him. Unprotected against the storm, she was soaked to the skin before she had taken more than a few steps.