Paxton Pride (22 page)

Vance spread out a blanket for her and left to go to the fire. When he returned he carried a cup of coffee for himself and a pair of tin plates heaped with beans and bacon. Surprised at her hunger, Karen attacked the smoke-flavored simple fare with relish. In no way comparable to the food at Captain Beeman's table, much less what she was used to at her father's house, she finished it off gladly, for the food was wholesome and filling.

The rest of the light disappeared while they ate. The heat, oppressive during the day, faded and a slight breeze from across the river cooled the night and left her at ease and comfortable for the first time since morning. Night sounds filled the air with pleasant harmonies and she relaxed, enjoying the rustle of leaves in the cottonwood, the crackling of the fire, the quiet rumble of masculine voices beyond her circle of trunks. Vance kept up a steady stream of talk, explaining first this sound and then that, pointing out how the fire had been laid and why it was kept small, how she could tell from the stars what time it was. An hour passed and the men at the fire lazed around, now and again one going into the night to check the mules.

Karen was getting tired and Vance could tell it. “You'd better get some sleep,” he said. “Maybe think about what you're going to wear tomorrow. Going to be hot again.” He stood and stretched his legs.

Karen sat up, suddenly a little afraid. “Where are you going?”

“Just out to scout around. The boys know their business, but I'll feel better if I look around for myself. Don't worry. I'll be back, and sleep right on the other side of the trunk from you.”

Karen smiled, reassured. “I'll stay awake until you get back.”

“No need.” And he was gone, slipping away from the wagons toward the water. She didn't hear a sound, couldn't catch a glimpse of him. She stretched lazily, and suddenly realizing she was alone, undid some of the buttons on her dress and managed to wriggle out of the corset. Relief was immediate. She left the sweat-dampened article out to dry and sank down to the blankets, bones and muscles weary from the long day and jolting ride.
I can't remember being this tired. Everything is so strange, so new
.

A low laugh from around the fire drew her attention and she turned to see what was happening, studied the men gathered about the flames. They were a scruffy lot, all right. Ten grizzled, rough countenances. They talked little, some of them still eating, dipping full ladles of beans and bacon into their tin plates. Deep-throated voices, curt and to the point, talked of the weather, Indians, the epidemic and how far west it might have come, of gunfighters Karen had read of in the papers and dime novels her artist friends used to leave around on the tables of
Le Chien
. If only those friends could see her now. Now? No. Grimy and bedraggled, hiding behind a trunk and listening to the coarse voices of western men gathered around a campfire.

A thrill went through her. She had never been afraid of any man. Intimidated by men such as these? Not likely! She was Karen Hampton, was she not? The belle of Washington society, the most sought after young lady in a town full of beautiful women.

She buttoned her dress, brushed back her hair and strode haughtily from the barrier of trunks into the very center of the camp. Immediately all conversation stopped. A rugged looking man with a patch over one eye stood and removed his hat. A gun was thrust into the top of his trousers next to where his suspenders fastened to the cloth. She recognized him as one of the men on horseback who rode ahead of the wagons. Vance had called them outriders, whose job it was to check the countryside for any possible sign of trouble.

“Evenin', ma'am. Hope us boys ain't disturbin' you none.”

“Yes'm,” a portly man who drove the wagon immediately behind hers added. “You jus' say the word an' me an' the boys'll turn in.”

Karen turned to face the new speaker. “That's quite all right, Mister …?” She paused.

“Uh … Considine. Jersey Considine,” the portly man answered, blushing furiously. All the others stared in envy. She had asked his name, the lucky galoot, each man silently reflected.

“Actually, I thought I might impose on you for a little coffee.”

There was a near riot to see who would pour her a cup. The youngest of the lot produced a clean cup from his gear, but the burly man with the eyepatch, the one who had first spoken to her, unwisely grabbed the pot with his bare hand, wincing at the searing heat. The youngster grudgingly handed him the cup. Every eye watched as the coffee was poured and the cup handed to Karen, who smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

“My name is Roscoe Bodine,” the burly man said. He touched the patch over his eye. “I lost this at Chickamauga. Yer the prettiest little gal the other one's ever seen.”

Karen flashed a most entrancing smile. “That's very gallant of you, Mister Bodine. Thank you all for the coffee.” She curtsied slightly and returned to her wagon. Only when she was safely obscured by the trunks and kneeling by the fire did she allow an impish, naughty smile to cross her face. Tough, stolid westeners, indeed! They had all but fallen over themselves to fulfill her slightest wish. She did not feel so bedraggled now, rather more self-assured, for she had captivated them on the instant.

At that moment Vance rounded the wagon, appearing silently and carrying an armload of firewood. He squatted near her and dropped the wood, tossed a few pieces onto the guttering flames.

“Vance,” she whispered, touching his arm. He turned to her and she set the coffee cup down and leaned toward him, her lips moist and eager, burning with the hunger of the flames. Vance was caught totally unprepared by the unabashed display of emotion, felt reason and control swept away by the fervent ardor of her embrace. Her body melted against his, her tongue a teasing dart of love, their lips bruised with the moment's passion. She felt his hands drawing her close. She did love him, loved him more than he could ever know. Moaning, she welcomed his hand stroking her thigh as they sank to the ground by the fire. Karen's breath came in hard, shallow gasps. Her resolve weakened by the exhaustion of travel and her body driven on by the aphrodisiac of the primitive land surrounding her, she pressed hungrily to him. Through the clothes separating their hungry flesh she could feel the throbbing strength of his manhood, found herself yearning for it sheathed inside her, thrusting fiercely again and again. Her whole body aching, she reached for his groin, sought the probing, pulsing flesh.…

Suddenly he was away from her, rolling back against the trunks, his eyes open and staring into the night, his breath ragged, his fingers clutching the blanket.

“Vance?” she whispered, feeling empty and afraid, embarrassed by her forwardness and unable to understand why he had left her. “I want you. I don't want to wait any longer.” She crawled to him, lay her head on his chest.

For a long moment neither spoke. When he did, his voice was low and hoarse, carrying no further than her ear. “Two reasons. First, I agreed to wait, and though I want you badly, I'll not break an agreement lightly.” He paused. “Listen.”

“I don't hear anything.”

“That's the other reason. You think they don't hear every sound in the night? I'll not leave you open for sly, winking looks from any man. And if we went on, they'd have cause enough.”

There was nothing to be said in protest. The moment was past Karen sat up, stared with empty eyes into the fire. Behind her Vance stood. “I'll get you set for the night,” he said, loud enough for all in the camp behind him to hear. Vance made a bed for Karen on the ground, the soft blankets cushioning the hard packed earth. Sleeping out was a great adventure for her, for this was the first night since she was a child she had not slept in a bed. Adding a few twigs to the fire, Vance came upon the coffee cup. “What's this?”

“Oh, I forgot. One of the men gave me some coffee.”

Vance's face clouded. “You mean someone came over here?”

“No, silly. I went out and asked for some. For such an intemperate looking group of men I must say they were extremely polite.” She took the cup and sipped some of the still warm dark liquid, almost gagging on the first swallow. Having tasted her father's coffee, Karen thought herself prepared for anything. But not this brew. “Good heavens, it tastes like … like bitter mud.”

Vance grinned and took the cup. “Serves you right. A lady shouldn't go wandering off to other men.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in my social endeavors. I have had ample practice.”

“But not out here.”

“Men are essentially the same everywhere, Mr. Paxton,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “If you would like to join your friends I think I'd like to sleep now.” Paying no attention to him, she lay down and pulled the rough blanket up to her chin, turning her back to him and looking into the remains of the fire. For a moment all was silent, then she heard Vance sigh perplexedly and leave. She stifled a little laugh and told herself she should be ashamed of carrying on so. But she simply had to make up for her earlier wanton behavior. She had literally flung herself at him, and his rejection, no matter what the stated reason, stung her to the quick.

She curled up in a little ball, wishing he were with her. Something had happened in that moment when he returned to the fire. She had known desire before, but never had love's ardor burned so brightly in her, never had she allowed mere physical passion to override all caution. She rolled over onto her back, staring at the stars and glad for the blanket, for the night had grown cool. Why had her resolve crumbled so? Somehow she seemed powerless to hold herself back. Why? Excitement coursed through her and she shivered despite the blanket. The day had started poorly but the night brought with it a renewed sense of adventure and romance. The fire, the stars above her and the feel of earth beneath her all contributed to the sense of being at one with nature. As never before she realized she was the female of the species, prey to the need for fulfillment, hungrily anticipating the ultimate act of an all consuming love. She fell asleep, missing the stupendous display of a full moon coursing through towering clouds which came from the south.

Bodine and another man were the only two left around the campfire. With one man on guard, slowly riding the perimeter of their camp, the others had turned in. Vance squatted by the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of the strong hot brew. He rolled a smoke and sat quietly, savoring the complementary tastes of tobacco and good range coffee, black, boiled and bitter. The guard came in from the night, sacking out immediately, and the man beside Bodine got up and left, disappearing around the nearest wagon.

Vance relaxed, sipping his coffee and staring across the fire at the burly one-eyed man. The two had ridden together on a couple of cattle drives to Kansas and had known each other during the war. Not quite friends, they had shared work, danger and food and bore a grudgingly mutual respect for each other. “Made good time, Roscoe,” Vance remarked quietly.

The one-eyed man nodded, sitting back against his saddle and stretching his legs. He looked at Vance warily for a moment, then relaxed. “Ain't much of a job.” He spat to one side. “Hell, who can't run a wagon down a stage line?”

“Surprised to see you riding guard for a freight line. You're too good a cattleman. Last I heard, you were taking a herd up Kansas way.”

Bodine scowled, sat up and refilled his cup. “Lost it to a band a' murderin' Comancheros up on the Red. Bad country up that way. Worse'n before the war. Real bad. I was lucky to get out with the hair on my head. Come back down to San Antone figurin' on tyin' up with another outfit, but nobody wants a man who's lost a herd, even if it wasn't his fault. Knocked around a while 'til I run outta cash. When I heard about the fever over Galveston way, an' that they'd be sendin' wagons up from Corpus, figured I'd try to make an easy dollar.”

“You see any trouble sign out there at all, Roscoe?”

“Nothin'. Not a damned thing, which bothers me, even if I am glad enough. Lot can happen 'tween here an' San Antone. I figger we'll make camp at Three Rivers come tomorrow night. The way station's there and the lady can sleep inside, if she's a mind. Mighty lonesome country out here.”

Vance studied the man's face, trying to read the motive behind his final remark, then inwardly cursing himself for a suspicious fool, drained the contents of his cup. “I'm turning in.” He rose, paused a few steps from the fire, half turned and said to Bodine, “Roscoe, we can always use a good hand on the ranch. If something doesn't break for you in San Antone, come on out.”

Bodine looked at him questioningly, evidently decided to accept the offer at face value. “Maybe I'll do that,” he answered as he lay back on the saddle and closed his eyes.

Vance peered over the trunks, checking on Karen. Satisfied all was well, he flipped open his bedroll. For a long while he lay there listening to the night sounds and questioning the wisdom of bringing her to Texas with him. Right or wrong, he knew only one thing for a certainty: he could not have left Washington without her. No woman had ever excited him so completely, ever so disturbed him, brought his blood to fever pitch and raging through his veins. Her seeming inability to understand she was living under a totally different set of conditions bothered him, but he was willing to give her time. Deep down he felt sure she was a woman fit for the frontier, a woman for Texas. She would harden to life on the ranch and in so doing add immeasurably to his life. She was a beauty fit for the Paxton ranch and the Paxton line. He dozed fitfully, senses alert to the nuances of the night. Finally he slept, but restlessly, his dreams marred by premonitions, of what, he did not know.

Morning came early for the camp. Karen woke to the strange sounds, only dimly aware of where she was. The snort of a mule brought her to her senses and she peeked over the trunks to see where Vance was, only to catch a glimpse of him leaving the fire and heading for the rope corral and their mules. He had told her the night before to remain near camp, but she was used to a morning bath and decided a short trip to the river couldn't hurt. Unnoticed by all, she slipped away from the protective ring of trunks, past the cottonwood and down a short, steep bank. The river flowed sluggishly, its waters brown with silt near midstream though clear where it ran over a stretch of shallow rocky bottom in front of her. She unfastened the first three buttons of her bodice, dipped a handkerchief into the water and bathed her neck and face. The water felt luxuriously cool and refreshing and she longed to change her dress for another but dared not disrobe so far, even under the blankets. Vance had promised her they would be stopping at an overnight station somewhere and that she would be given the chance to bathe and change.