she felt.
“Then you understand,” she said huskily.
“What?”
“You understand why I can’t live in a town as a kitchen maid or a saloon girl. I have my own dream.”
There was a surprised silence while he digested the idea that the ragged waif had a goal beyond simple survival. “What is it?”
Shaking her head, eyes tightly closed, she said nothing. There was no point in telling him that she had begun to dream of having him turn to her and discover within her the silken lady he sought. It was a dream that would never come true and she was practical enough to know it.
But it was the most compelling dream Janna had ever had. She could no more turn away from it than she could transform herself into the lady of Ty’s dreams.
Chapter Twelve
A mile outside of town, Ty shifted his weight and spoke softly to the mare. Zebra stopped obediently no more than two feet from a clump of boulders and brush.
“Get down,” he said, handing her the big knife she had given him. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“But—”
“No!” Hearing the roughness in his own voice, he winced. “Janna, it isn’t safe. If you’re seen with me on a mustang—”
“We’ll tell them you tamed her,” she interrupted quickly.
“They’d have to be dumb as a stump to believe that,” he retorted. “I’m going to have enough trouble making them believe I survived without help as it is. You know damn good and well if Cascabel finds out you were responsible for making him the laughingstock of the Utah Territory, he’ll come after you until he gets you and cooks you over a slow fire.”
Without another word Janna slid down from Zebra. She vanished into concealment between one breath and the next. For a moment Ty couldn’t believe that she had ever been with him at all. An odd feeling shot through him, loneliness and desire combined into a yearning that was like nothing he had ever known.
“Janna?” he called softly.
Nothing answered but branches stirring beneath a rain-bearing wind. The scent of moisture reminded Ty of the urgency of the situation. They had to be back at the hidden valley before the storm broke or they would spend a miserable night out in the open, unable even to have a fire to warm them for fear of giving away their presence.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Zebra to throw up her head and snort. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, the horse sniffed the wind.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured. “It’s just the summer rains.”
He slid from Zebra’s back, landed lightly and pulled off his breechcloth. His foot Wrappings came off next. After he poked the scraps of blanket into an opening between two boulders, he turned east and began working his way over the rocky surface of the land toward a wagon trail a half mile beyond. He was very careful not to leave any signs of his passage, for he had been into Sweetwater once before, riding Blackbird and armed with two pistols, a rifle and a shotgun. He had been glad for each weapon. The only thing sweet about the town was the name and the tiny spring that bubbled to the surface nearby, watering stock and men alike without regard to their individual natures.
As he walked toward town, he wished heartily for one of the new repeating carbines that loaded as fast as they fired. Even a pistol would have been nice. Two revolvers and extra cylinders loaded with bullets would have made him feel a lot better about going in among the canted shacks.
Though Janna seemed not to realize it, Sweetwater was an outlaw hangout, and the two ranches she bought supplies from had a reputation for branding “loose” cattle that was known from the Red River to Logan MacKenzie’s ranch in Wyoming. Some of the Lazy A’s and Circle G’s cowhands were doubtless reasonably honest men who had been forced to make a living any way they could after the Civil War had ruined their farms and homes. Other cowhands on those ranches were
“Then you understand,” she said huskily.
“What?”
“You understand why I can’t live in a town as a kitchen maid or a saloon girl. I have my own dream.”
There was a surprised silence while he digested the idea that the ragged waif had a goal beyond simple survival. “What is it?”
Shaking her head, eyes tightly closed, she said nothing. There was no point in telling him that she had begun to dream of having him turn to her and discover within her the silken lady he sought. It was a dream that would never come true and she was practical enough to know it.
But it was the most compelling dream Janna had ever had. She could no more turn away from it than she could transform herself into the lady of Ty’s dreams.
Chapter Twelve
A mile outside of town, Ty shifted his weight and spoke softly to the mare. Zebra stopped obediently no more than two feet from a clump of boulders and brush.
“Get down,” he said, handing her the big knife she had given him. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“But—”
“No!” Hearing the roughness in his own voice, he winced. “Janna, it isn’t safe. If you’re seen with me on a mustang—”
“We’ll tell them you tamed her,” she interrupted quickly.
“They’d have to be dumb as a stump to believe that,” he retorted. “I’m going to have enough trouble making them believe I survived without help as it is. You know damn good and well if Cascabel finds out you were responsible for making him the laughingstock of the Utah Territory, he’ll come after you until he gets you and cooks you over a slow fire.”
Without another word Janna slid down from Zebra. She vanished into concealment between one breath and the next. For a moment Ty couldn’t believe that she had ever been with him at all. An odd feeling shot through him, loneliness and desire combined into a yearning that was like nothing he had ever known.
“Janna?” he called softly.
Nothing answered but branches stirring beneath a rain-bearing wind. The scent of moisture reminded Ty of the urgency of the situation. They had to be back at the hidden valley before the storm broke or they would spend a miserable night out in the open, unable even to have a fire to warm them for fear of giving away their presence.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, causing Zebra to throw up her head and snort. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, the horse sniffed the wind.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured. “It’s just the summer rains.”
He slid from Zebra’s back, landed lightly and pulled off his breechcloth. His foot Wrappings came off next. After he poked the scraps of blanket into an opening between two boulders, he turned east and began working his way over the rocky surface of the land toward a wagon trail a half mile beyond. He was very careful not to leave any signs of his passage, for he had been into Sweetwater once before, riding Blackbird and armed with two pistols, a rifle and a shotgun. He had been glad for each weapon. The only thing sweet about the town was the name and the tiny spring that bubbled to the surface nearby, watering stock and men alike without regard to their individual natures.
As he walked toward town, he wished heartily for one of the new repeating carbines that loaded as fast as they fired. Even a pistol would have been nice. Two revolvers and extra cylinders loaded with bullets would have made him feel a lot better about going in among the canted shacks.
Though Janna seemed not to realize it, Sweetwater was an outlaw hangout, and the two ranches she bought supplies from had a reputation for branding “loose” cattle that was known from the Red River to Logan MacKenzie’s ranch in Wyoming. Some of the Lazy A’s and Circle G’s cowhands were doubtless reasonably honest men who had been forced to make a living any way they could after the Civil War had ruined their farms and homes. Other cowhands on those ranches were
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