Paxton Pride (64 page)

And then she knew. She saw herself against the greater background, saw with new perspective Karen Olivia Hampton Paxton was not the center of the universe. For a single moment she thought the idea infinitely sad, but the sadness fled to be replaced with wonder and joy. For the first time in her life she caught a glimmer of the audacity of man. To walk on the face of the earth was an act of incomparable bravery, and now at last she understood and felt the thrill of such a challenge. There, below in breathtaking complexity and completeness, was the stage upon which
she
played a part in the incredible drama of life. There, hand in hand with fear, pain, deprivation and guilt, there was the ultimate adventure of striving and accomplishment. There, ironic in the face of insignificance, was untold majesty of spirit, the very essence of life. There was continuity and extinction, woven strand by inseparable strand into a durable web of illimitable time. There was peace: the peace of working, of keeping on, of making decisions that would somehow and sometime effect the drama. There was untrammeled beauty in a wild and untamed corner of the earth: the corner she had come to love and understand. There, above all, was home: a man and a woman together, together in respect, in pride, in protection; in the confident and joyous sharing of self and self.

When, a few minutes later, the sun dropped from behind the little cloud, Karen returned to herself. Still she sat, but now calmly, gazing fondly on the land she had fought. When she heard Vance stumbling up the hill behind her, she slid down from the boulder and took his hand, stood with him as they leaned against the giant rock and looked over the land. “I'm glad we're here,” she said, simply.

Vance looked at her, pain forgotten for the moment. “I love this land.”

“Yes. I, too.” High on the hill, with the sun just barely above the horizon, hand in hand with the man she loved more than the land, a tremendous joy filled her. Her eyes laughing, she turned to Vance. “Do you know what?”

“What?”

“I'm hungry.”

Vance laughed. “Come on down the hill, ma'am. I just happen to have some food on the fire.”

She patted the dust from her jeans, gave a last glance toward the gnarled, rough-cast hills and started down, helping Vance over the rough spots.

He'd re-made the fire in the antechamber, away from Jaco's body which still lay in the cave. Used as a bandit's hideout for years, it had taken Vance but moments to locate a shelf where lay a cast-iron skillet, a pot, a small pile of spoons and tin plates. When Karen walked in, the odor of beans cooking, bacon frying and coffee boiling assailed her, left her more hungry than ever. Vance filled a plate for her and one for himself and Karen carried them out to their saddles which had been placed side by side on the ground by a flat-topped stone.

She set the plates down, started to turn to call to Vance when a movement caught her eye. She froze. There it was again, barely visible against a high pale wall of granite. “Vance! I see something.”

Vance put down the coffee pot, hobbled quickly out to Karen. “Where?”

“Up there,” she said, pointing. “There must be a trail along that wall.”

“Damn!” he swore, worried she had seen more of the outlaws, angry he hadn't been more careful, wasn't better prepared. “Damn!” If only Jaco had brought a rifle … no. If he had, they might both be dead. “Quick. Jaco's saddle bag. There's a glass in there.”

Karen ran into the antechamber, rummaged through the saddlebags and found the binoculars, ran back out and handed them to Vance. “They were just beneath the ridge, to the right of that white streak.”

“Might be game …” Vance muttered, bringing the glass to his eyes. He ranged the length of the cliff. Nothing. Swept across the base and over the ridges to either side. Still nothing.

“Perhaps it was …?”

“Wait!” He focused the glasses on a plume of dust funneling upward from an unseen
arroyo
. Riders … it had to be riders. Had Jaco been lying? Had he really brought others with him? He watched the dust drift from farther along the wash. One good thing. At least they were moving away. Suddenly a group of … seven … horsemen erupted from the draw. Crossing a clearing in the rocks, they were bathed in the reflected light of the sinking sun.

“There!” Karen exclaimed.

“I see them.… Damn!” His hand swept down to his holster and the pistol leaped into his palm. Continuing the swinging motion, he fired into the air.

Karen blanched, stepped back in surprise. “Vance …?”

He fired again, spacing his shots. “Turn, damn it!” he shouted beneath the flaming revolver. “Over here. Over here!”

“Vance?”

“The PAX. They're men from the PAX.” He fired the remaining cartidige and peered again through the spyglass. “Where …? Christ! They're gone. No. There they are. Heading this way …”

“Are you sure it's them?”

Vance grinned. “I better be. Let's move the fire out here so they can see where we are.”

The mesquite burned quickly. Vance dripped water on the burning wood from time to time, sending a thin trail of gray smoke into the air. They kept the fire going while the daylight faded and the sun retreated below the horizon, relinquishing its hold on the earth. The moon hovered bright and full, casting diaphanous illumination across the landscape while Vance and Karen rested near the fire, forsaking the comforting walls of the cave and its silent occupant whose final journey had ended in dreamless sleep.

The campfire served a twofold purpose, giving off a sustaining warmth against the chill of the night and providing a beacon for the riders who would soon come. Having eaten well for the first time in days, they kept the coffee pot ready for when the PAX riders got there. More than the food, the coffee put life in their eyes and kept the cold desert air at bay. Side by side, they sat wrapped in blankets, one or the other reaching out from time to time to stir the friendly flames. Vance dozed, drifting awake a little before midnight and noticing Karen huddled nearby, staring across the embers into the cave's impenetrable darkness. “Karen …”

She turned and went to him then, hungry for the wondrous comfort of his embrace, weeping quietly as he rocked her in his arms. “It's over,” he said. “It's all over.”

Of the six who rode into camp the next morning, Vance knew only two; Billy Harmony and Harley Guinn. “We certainly must look a sight,” he reflected, noting the grim set to their faces as he hobbled toward them. But soon their would-be rescuers' concern gave way to unrestrained relief at finding the two ex-captives safe.

“You sure give us a scare,” Harley admonished after hectic greetings all around. “We would have rode in last night, but the land between here an' where you seen us is pretty wild.”

“Who are the others?” Vance asked Harley.

“The lanky one works at the PAX, taken on after you left. Name's Huller. A good hand all the way around. Quiet, but good. The others are rangers.”

“I counted seven.”

Harley nodded. “That's how come we were riding the high country in the first place. He knew these back trails better than most 'cause he's rode on the dodge. When he was sure it was you two signalin' an' you was safe, he took off for San Antonio. Said he was drawin' to a flush an' had to get back to the game. Funny, by the time he gets back to that game, he'll have been gone at least a week, but I'd almost bet those cards'll be just like he left 'em. Ain't too many folks lookin' for Kania's kind of trouble.”

“Kania? The gunman?”

“Same. Come ridin' in hell for leather three days ago an' said he'd heard about Miz Paxton missin', an' that he was gonna string along with whoever was lookin' for her.”

“How the hell'd he get to know Karen?”

“Come driftin' through on the grubline when you was gone. She treated him like he was regular folks, an' he took to it, I guess. Said he owed her a favor.” He paused, a whiskey-moistened cloth poised to clean out the wound on Vance's hip. “You ready? This is gonna hurt a little.”

Karen didn't hear the groan escaping from Vance's lips, for at that moment Billy and one of the rangers came out of the cave, newly filled canteens dangling from the straps looped over their shoulders. Karen handed Billy a cup of coffee. “It's gonna be mighty good to have you back at the PAX, Miz Paxton. It purely is. Why, the place ain't seemed like home with you not bein' there.”

“Thank you, Billy. That's one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me.” The young ranch hand blushed and looked away, attempting to “seriously” study the campsite.

The ranger gestured to the opening in the cliff face. “That was the roughest of a bad lot. Lucky for you, Miss, Vance was there to take his measure.”

Karen, in the act of handing the ranger a cup of coffee, stopped, the scene replaying quickly in her head. She straightened and met his gaze. “Vance didn't kill him. I did.”

The ranger took his coffee, looked at her with new respect. “You? You must've …”

“It's over and done with, if you don't mind,” she interrupted firmly.

“Why, yes, ma'am … I mean, no, ma'am,” he said, quickly taking a swallow of coffee. “No offense intended.”

They spent the rest of the day at the cave and left at first light the next morning. The party could only travel as fast as Vance's wounds would allow, and at Harley's suggestion they took the longer, easier route, heading toward the western pass into the PAX valley. Two days later they were well into the pass and spent their evening at a high, lonely line shack nestled in a fertile break in the hills, graced by a pasture of sweet green grass nourished by three separate underground streams. It was there Karen posed to Harley the nagging question of Vance's health. The trail-wise ranch hand turned his weathered face toward the cabin. “All he needs is rest, plenty of food an' water an' light exercise. He's lost blood, but the wound ain't infected. Them bandages an' herbs'll help speed things up, but other'n that, there ain't nothin' else we can do for him but make him easy 'til he's better. I imagine with some a' your vittles in him, he ought to be up an' around in a week.”

“Harley,” she began tentatively, “is there any reason why Vance couldn't just stay here with me to care for him until he's well?”

Harley glanced sidewise at her then shook his head, the shadow of a grin flitting across his features. “Ma'am, I reckon that would just about get a fella healed up an' ready to go quicker'n a regiment of doctors an' a mountain of pills to boot. There's plenty of grub, an' there'll be riders workin' the hills. If you need anything, you can send up a smoke an' someone'll come runnin'.”

“A week?”

“Sounds fine to me, ma'am. We'll get you set an' then ride on back. True'll be mighty anxious to see you two.” He chuckled softly. “Fact of the matter is, we had to just about hogtie him to a chair to keep him from ridin' out with the search parties. Yeah, he'll be mighty anxious …” he smiled broadly. “But I reckon he'll understand.”

There were flowers in the hills, bright delicate spots of purple, pale amber, virgin white. For two days gentle spring rains had come, bringing the hills to life with green splendor. Karen Paxton walked down the long meadow between the rocky reaches of the surrounding hills, easily ascended a gradual incline to the east, topped out on a windy knoll delightfully carpeted with rain lilies and flame-tipped Indian paintbrush and the ever-present statuaries of cedar, lonely against the sky even in the spring. From her vantage point the land fell away in breathtaking decline, sweeping down to a sparkling creek whose dappled waters threaded their way through the hills to the Sabinal. How beautiful this place was, and yet it was but a minute replica of the
Canyon de Uvalde
where the
hacienda
reposed in all its splendor only scant miles to the east. She glanced to the north where the broken ridges lost their cedar crowns. Among those barren summits Ted Morning Sky lay wrapped in silent, final slumber. Was there a Valhalla for the Comanche? Did he once again ride proudly with his people on an endless plain of windswept stars?

“Karen …?” Vance's voice drifted up the slope. She turned and waved to him. He was standing by the spring near the cabin, the sun drifting below the hills behind him. The past four days had shown his remarkable recuperative powers. Already he was chafing to be up and around. She started down the slope at a walk. By the time she reached the edge of the meadow she was running.

Deprived of him for so long, the weeks and months of loneliness and hardship left her famished, made overpowering her desperate need. Unbound hair erubescent in the blushing sunset, Karen ran with utter abandonment to the man who waited, whose arms outstretched and clasped her to him, their bodies bending in the ardor of their embrace. They kissed deeply, almost savagely, pausing only long enough to enter the snug confines of the cabin, cozy with the flames in the stone fireplace. Clothes were eagerly cast off and they fell to the bed, bodies meeting, feverishly intertwining at last. Karen covered Vance's muscled torso with teasing kisses until he pulled her to his hungry mouth, then rolled on top of her, his manhood poised at the gate of her passion, probing the tight dark-blond curls. Karen suddenly clenched her thighs together. “Oh, my God, Vance. I forgot!” she said in a saucy, provocative tone.

A look of alarm crossed Vance's face. “What?”

She touched the scars on his arm and hip. “Your wounds. I mean, we … well, we …
can't
, can we?”

Vance laughed, remembering their words from a lifetime ago. “If we don't,” he answered in mock seriousness, “I'll never forgive you.”

It was long into the night before their bodies finally succumbed to the dreamy, languid aftermath of complete and repeated consummation. Karen nestled in the crook of his arm, kissing again and again the burly forest of his chest, musky and sweet. His hand ran down along her back, cupped her taut buttocks and pressed her closer to him. “I love you, Karen.”