All or Nothing (17 page)

Chapter 24

An hour later, they rode silently up a mountain trail steep enough that RuthAnne clung to Bowen’s waist in fear of slipping off the back of his horse. The tighter she held on, the more he seemed to pull away from her. He had referred to the handsome animal as General, and by the look of things, the stallion had full command, finding his own path. Relief replaced her annoyance that Bowen hadn’t allowed her to ride up separately. He was right. Though RuthAnne found the gelding’s sudden bursts of speed invigorating, Stable Master McDole had sent her off with far too spirited a horse.

She gasped as General’s hoof slipped on the crumbling granite, grateful that for once she’d bitten her tongue and not argued about it. Her gut reaction seemed to be to argue with Bowen about everything. Something about him made her heart swell to bursting when she wasn’t with him. Why he brewed up a fight with her every time they were together was beyond her comprehension.

They rocked and creaked their way up the slope; the horse’s shod hooves bit and sometimes slipped on the crumbling rocks. Bowen guided his mount with unspoken commands, using knees, gentle urging of the reins, and clicks to communicate. The horse obviously knew him well and answered unswervingly, obeying and almost anticipating his commands. She held tight, perched on the blanket at the back of the saddle. These two were a team in a way that she was only beginning to understand.

Suddenly, they were upon the wreckage from the stage, and her attention diverted. There was so much splintered wood. Broken wheels. The remnants of the leather harnesses. Torn clothing. He was right. Nothing here was salvageable. They had truly lost everything to the bandit’s rockslide. Biting her lip, she held on until they reached the flat of the road and both dismounted.

“What do you want me to do now?” Her words felt thick in her throat.

“You would have climbed up about here, I imagine. Just close your eyes and put yourself back there. On that day...”

RuthAnne did as he instructed. She allowed the memory to overtake her: the rumble of the rockslide, the out-of-control stage, Mara’s terrified face, their screams as they went over into oblivion. Unashamed, she balled her fists at her eyes and pressed hard. She forced herself to remember the relief of reaching the road and slogging through mud and rain; the safety of the cave turned to dread when they realized what and who they had stumbled upon. Anger filled her heart. Righteous indignation. She welcomed it. It was better than being afraid. She found her voice.

“The rain started right after we found our way up. It was pouring hard. We went that way. I think. But, it’s too steep, isn’t it? We sort of went across...” RuthAnne took several steps down the rutted road. She would have remembered such a steep incline, wouldn’t she? She observed how the road took a sharp descent in one direction and leveled out before turning back up the mountain.

“We went the wrong way...” She turned and went left instead of right, toward the peak of the mountain.

“You were trying to get to town. Town is this way.” Bowen led his steed by the reins, pointing to the right down the rutted road.

“But we were disoriented. It was pouring rain. I don’t remember going up or down. Just...across a rutted road.” He took a long even breath, and she knew he was nearing the end of his patience as she worked out the puzzle. “We kept walking until we saw the cave. But it was more an abandoned mine.”

“These mountains are littered with those. It makes sense, really, if you think about it. A miner whose luck played out. Close to the only road over the pass...sees one too many payroll stages come through. A man that desperate might go to any lengths to get his payday. Might even resort to killing.”

His words hung in the air like thunder. They stood in General’s shadow; the animal heaved a breath and shifted its weight, letting out a whinny, ears at attention. RuthAnne saw the horse’s large brown eyes focus in the distance, wide and staring.

“Someone’s coming,” Bowen said.

“Good, maybe they can help us.”

“No. The road is still out. No one comes this way. Come on.” Swinging himself back into the saddle, he reached for her arm. In an instant, she was lifted behind him and they were off, across the road and up the narrow gully.

Rocks skittered under the horse’s hooves. Bowen and RuthAnne leaned forward, and she willed the animal to find solid footing. Seemingly by instinct, the horse worked out of the ravine and back up the ridge to a large, flat area.

“What was it, boy? What did you hear?” The great horse flicked his ears. Bowen turned to the direction the horse was looking, his eyes solemn, hand on the butt of the pistol at his side. He slid off the saddle and motioned for her to stay. She wrapped her hands solidly around the reins; the horse’s rich black mane was coarse and wiry between her fingers as she stroked it for comfort. Whose comfort, she didn’t know as she and General both watched Bowen creep to the edge of the precipice.

He returned after a long moment, taking off his hat and brushing dust from its brim. With a laugh, he plunked the hat back in place and took the horse’s large head in his hands, looking him deep in the eye. “General. That’s the last time I trust your gut notions, you hear?” His eyes were dancing as he shifted his gaze to RuthAnne. “Wild ponies. Old General, here, must be on the lookout for a wife.”

She stifled a laugh as she took his hand and slid from her perch to go have a look at the small herd of mustangs. There were four of them hightailing it up the mountain. They were not shiny and brushed like the cavalry horses. Their legs were short, stocky, and their bodies were stout and true. Dusty, dull, and mud-colored, one was the spattered white and brown of the paint, the other three were tan and speckled, but each was muscular with wild mane and a short tail. “They’re beautiful...”

“Wild horses. Getting scarcer ’round these parts. Arizona Territory’s getting crowded with civilized folk. Everyone’s trying so hard to tame this country. They don’t realize that just makes the natives more determined to keep things the way it was.”

Sitting on the large stone outcropping, she let the broad expanse of desert take her in, from the enormity of the mountain pass behind her to the sloping plain with the scattered saguaros to the ribbon of the Rillito glinting in the sun. “It’s harsh. And lovely, in its own way.”

He simply nodded. She held her breath before asking him the question that burned her heart. “Captain Shepherd?”

He turned, and she saw the hurt that her formality struck in his pale eyes. “Bowen...” Her smile softened his expression, expanding her heart. “Why is it you’ve never really asked me about my situation? You seem to know so much, but don’t you want to know why I can’t go home?”

“Your past is your business, same as mine. What’s dead should stay dead.” His rumbling voice thickened with emotion. “I’ve done things I’m far from proud of, Ruth.”

“The past might be private business, but only God knows what’s in your heart, Bowen. Anything you’ve done is between you and Him.”

He laughed bitterly. “God and I have an understanding. I stay out of His way, and He stays out of mine.”

He confounded her; his words and his eyes so at odds with each other. She struggled to find words to tell him what was in her heart. He touched his fingers to her chin, so familiar a gesture and yet she didn’t pull away.

“Ah, sweet RuthAnne. You’ve worked a spell on Fort Lowell. They’ve fallen in love with you. There’s any number of good men down there who’d make a fine husband for you. I’m not the kind of man a woman like you should want.”

She bit her lip. This wasn’t the way this was supposed to go. The anger welled up in her chest once again. Who was he to tell her what to do?

“A woman like me? What does that mean exactly? What do you know of me, anyway? Or what I want?”

“I know you’re smart. You’re lovely to look at. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you aren’t scared of much, but you know when to be careful.”

The inches between them evaporated to a hair’s breadth. She watched his mouth form words, but ceased hearing them, because hearing what he said meant sealing his fate against hers. His lips were full. His face was rugged, tanned by the sun, with the barest shadow of stubble on his cheeks. She longed to run her hand across that cheek, along the chiseled line of his jaw. To feel the roughness of his skin against her own. To lend him comfort where he had none.

“You don’t know much, Bowen Shepherd. You don’t know my heart, what I’m capable of, or what I’ve been through.” Her lip quivered. She’d been through the wringer to get here. She wasn’t going to let him make decisions for her again.

“I know I’m not the sort of man to build your life around. I’m not the marrying kind, RuthAnne. Best you get used to that idea.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s for you to decide. We came upon each other for a reason, Bowen. Can’t you feel it?”

And for a long moment, they both could. Their undeniable attraction went far beyond physical, as if his very presence made her whole.

“What I feel is hungry. Let’s get you back. It’s getting late.” He smiled, pulling her to stand, and led her back to his horse. And when she secured her arms around his waist, this time he didn’t flinch at her touch.

Chapter 25

Bowen wiped sweat from his brow and checked the sun. It was getting on about midday, and there was still no sign of them. Gentle murmuring came from behind the carved wooden doors of the chapel. He could make out the well-worn doves in the wood, a cross, the setting sun, all darkened with age and oil to keep them from warping in the fickle heat and cold of the Arizona weather. He chided himself, knowing he was only watching and waiting for her.

He idly checked his tack, cleaned rocks from General’s hooves, and found anything and everything to do while RuthAnne sat primly in chapel. She worshipped with Father Acuña, along with the few parishioners from nearby ranches. They prayed behind the heavy wooden doors to a God they couldn’t see. They praised and said their Our Fathers, their voices a gentle cadence, rising and falling in the thick morning air. It stirred something in his gut. Memories of his mother. Of his childhood. Of a time when his soul didn’t feel like a lead weight in his chest.

The doors opened, and Father Acuña stepped outside wearing his rough brown robe, his bald head shining in the sunlight. His parishioners left the confines of the chapel, the men shaking his hand, the women offering a hug or a curtsey. He blotted the sweat from his brow as RuthAnne tentatively walked up to him. They shared a private word. Bowen imagined it must be about Mara’s condition. He had looked in on the girl. She was much improved but had a row to hoe ahead of her for recovery. A gunshot was not an easy mend. He was only grateful that he had stumbled upon them when he had. If he had been an hour later...

But he hadn’t been. Maybe God had directed him and his men to follow that shortcut over the pass. Maybe it was dumb luck. Either way, that set of choices had brought him face to face with a woman who seemed set on changing his way of life.

Bowen thought back to the night spent drying out her family Bible. He’d read the family names, and after only one or two was completely bowled over by the coincidence. What were the odds that the woman who was trying to steal his heart had been married to his cousin? Divine design or comedy, it wasn’t something he was prepared to discuss with her just yet. Evan Newcomb had died, more than likely due to some con gone wrong. A scandal whose size he hadn’t figured out just yet.

How much did RuthAnne know about his dealings? Was she a partner or a pawn in his scheme? It just seemed a bit too convenient, with Quartermaster John Cross being shot on the streets of Tucson and now Post Commander Carington’s son Marcus stepping in to fill the position. Bowen had seen the writing on the wall when Cousin Evan wired saying that he had found a way to make money selling uniforms to the government and had just the talents to do it.

Evan Newcomb hadn’t changed a bit since he was a kid, hustling money on the street corners of San Francisco. The trouble he’d gotten into in California had him trekking east to take advantage of the chaos that followed the war. How had he met RuthAnne? How had she not seen through him? It stuck in Bowen’s craw. Thinking of his skinny cousin, eyes full of schemes and dreams, taking advantage of RuthAnne’s talents. Her abilities. Her heart. He flexed his fingers, balled up into fists yet again.

He had found her, and now he was responsible for her. But once he saw her settled, he would leave. Go where she wouldn’t follow. Where her luminous blue eyes wouldn’t haunt him.

“Those are some deep thoughts you’re thinking, Captain.”

He straightened, releasing the horse’s hoof to the ground with a thud. He dusted off his trousers and gave RuthAnne a respectful nod. “How was the service?”

“It was nice. Formal. All in Latin. But it’s always good to spend time in God’s house.” She smiled. The sun was behind her wealth of golden hair, like a cloud with a silver lining.

“We should go.” He turned abruptly.

“Just give me a moment to say goodbye,” she said and returned to the low-ceilinged casita where Mara rested.

He gave them a moment alone while his senses reeled from the hurt he knew he was causing her. There was no way of telling her how he was keeping her safe in making her keep her distance. Perhaps someday he’d understand why it churned his insides to do it.

Bowen watched from a distance as RuthAnne hugged her sister. He couldn’t help but overhear as they parted with promises that Mara would be much improved the next week when they met again. RuthAnne followed Bowen to the corral where their horses waited. Something had happened between them the day before. Something irreversible. He wasn’t sure where this would leave them, but it was best to not bring it up again.

****

RuthAnne tugged the reins to slow her spirited horse. The animal seemed ready to race stately General. Bowen arched a cynical brow, his full lips sliding into a smile. Side by side, they rocked, saddle leather creaking beneath them. The sun slid slowly behind the jagged Tucson Mountains to the west, painting their ridges and crags varying shades of amethyst, navy, and black with the fading light. Golden rods of sunlight spread the last fingers of day into the thin clouds, brushing the sky an array of fuchsia and burnt umber. The growing twilight left them gray and spent, like scattered ashes across the sky. RuthAnne knew she would never tire of seeing the drama of an Arizona sunset.

They headed past cholla cactus nodding in the slight, warm breeze and saguaros that reached to heaven along the banks of the Rillito. The fort was near. Their time together was drawing to a close.

Her heart hurt at the thought, so she found her voice. “Where do you head to next, Bowen?” She used his given name, a silent plea to draw him out, to force him to be a man and not a solider.

“We’re sending a unit to clear the rockslide from the road. Nothing’s coming in or going out until it’s done. We have a cease-fire in place with the Apaches. With the road clear, your wagons can come in from New Mexico. Your debts can be settled with the new quartermaster.”

“What happened to the old one?” Fear revived in her belly. Her mind flicked to the goods she had arriving on those wagons. Who would pay for them if the new quartermaster disapproved of the order?

He told her the story of the former quartermaster, John Cross. He’d apparently spent too much time gambling his money with the wrong people. “Shot in the gut. Died a hideous death; it took several weeks. Post surgeons couldn’t have done anything for him, anyway.”

Too vivid a memory; her face went cold, as if all the blood had run right out of it.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have gone into such gruesome detail with you. I’m sorry.” From the look in his eye, he spoke the truth.

“It’s not that...” She gulped around the words that wouldn’t form. “I’ve witnessed such a death. It’s awful.”

“Your husband.”

She nodded, somberly. “Yes. He was shot in the street in Kansas City. We never found out why. Evan never would have hurt anyone. Not on purpose, anyway. He had a way of getting himself into predicaments...”

They swayed with the horses as they walked an easy gait back to the fort. The sun had set, and “Taps” played out. The sounds of the desert at twilight replaced the activity of the day. Coyotes bayed, river toads croaked and sang. Bowen angled them back toward the stable yard. They passed the small plot where Alex McDole’s corn crop waved in the slight evening breeze.

“We don’t always know people as well as we’d like to think. I’m sure your husband was a good man.”

“Good or bad, he was just a man.” Her voice seemed hollow in her ears.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find a fair deal with the new quartermaster. If you don’t there’ll be hell to pay, and I’ll make sure to present the bill.”

RuthAnne smiled, pressing a hand to his with sincere gratitude. He cleared his throat before continuing. “So, I’m leading the workers up to clear the road; while they’re working, Ross and Reggie and I will head back to the wreckage. We’ll go the way you directed, survey the mountain up and down looking for trails like you described until we find your mine. You go on and call for your wagons. The road will be open when they get here. Then we’ll wait.”

“For El Tejano? Do you really think he’ll go back to the hideout?”

“If what you said is true, the road opening will be just the thing to send him back to work. There’ve been a few too many accidents on that pass. This time, we’ll be waiting.”