Chapter 23

 

“Frog turds!” Tempest blurted. “Bidwell sent us on a wild goose chase!”

Buck stared down at the rock-covered grave. The slab bearing the map—the first portion, anyway—still lay beside the gully where he’d left it.

Spook whiffled in Buck’s ear and flipped his master’s hat off with his nose. Catching the hat midair, Buck cursed. “I’ll get you some water in a dadblamed minute, you worthless fleabag.”

As if the horse knew he had been insulted, he whinnied loudly. Buck filled his hat with water and held it out. Spook guzzled the water with almost as much relish as he guzzled beer.

Wanting his own share, Othello nipped at Buck’s gun belt.

“Close, but no prize.” Buck scratched between the mule’s ears.

Tempest fetched her own canteen. “What was he trying to do?"

"Show her, you old Arizona nightingale.”

Othello bared his teeth and brayed. Bending his head, the mule took the handle of Buck’s Colt six-shooter in his teeth and drew the weapon from the holster.

“Holy Mary!” Tempest exclaimed.

Laughing, Buck retrieved his Colt. He rewarded the mule with a thorough scratching in his favorite spot. Othello squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy. “He’s a natural, aren’t you, boy? We’re working on another trick, but he hasn’t quite gotten it yet.”

Tempest shook her head with amazement. "I didn’t think that mule was smart enough to get in out of the rain, let alone do tricks. Too bad you didn't train him to sniff out gold."

"Yeah." He returned his attention to the grave. “Didn't teach him how to pick up rocks in his teeth either, so let's get busy. I want to get home to the kids before dark."

The children had never been far from Tempest's thoughts during the long day, though she tried to keep her worrying from driving her insane. They were with Viola and Lacey. Her father would be checking on them, and Rooster was there. They were safe. She and Buck had discussed going home before searching for the gold, and decided there was too much risk of not being able to find the cabin again, let alone the stone bearing the map. Men had searched for the stone cabin for years, but the few who claimed to have found it were never able to find it again. She knew Buck was as concerned about the children as she was, and loved him all the more for it.

But there was Jonas to consider. Buck constantly scanned the horizon or gazed over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed or about to be ambushed. She owed him so much. Other than sharing the gold with him, she didn't know how to repay him, and she had a sinking feeling Buck Maddux would never take money from a woman. Even one who loved him.

Squirrels scampered up trees and tossed down pinyon cones, barking intermittently in their high pitched voices, as if to warn away the invaders working below. The thud of rocks hitting the earth punctuated the air. The temperature dropped and thick heavy clouds rolled in from the north.

“We aren’t going to have time to find another way down off the mountain,” Buck said, studying the sky. “Storm’s coming in too fast. We’ll have to go back down Treachery Canyon.”

Tempest caught his edginess. "You expect Jonas to be waiting for us, don't you?”

He knew better than to try to shield her from the truth. “What do you think?”

She gave him a brave smile. “Then we’ll have to be careful, won’t we?”

He wanted to hug her. The darkening sky told him he’d better not.

Ten minutes later he uncovered the first metal box.

“The gold! It has to be the gold. Oh, Buck.” Tempest covered her mouth with her hands. “Sweet Mary, even after we found the map I was afraid to believe the gold truly existed.” She didn’t care that she was crying. This kind of emotional rain was good; it was happy rain. She threw herself into his arms.

In spite of his own mixed emotions, Buck grinned and hugged her close.

The box was small, yet it took all his strength to haul it onto level ground. Spanish lettering covered the lid. There was no lock. Tempest knelt beside him, her tense fingers digging into her thighs as she waited for him to open it. A long, meaningful look passed between them. They were both well aware of all that depended on the contents of that box. Buck suspected her heart was pounding as hard as his. Finding her trembling hand, he gave it a squeeze.

Taking a deep breath she said, "Go on, open it."

For a long moment he continued to hold her gaze with his, thinking how their lives might be changed in the next few moments. Part of him prayed the box would be empty, or filled with something worthless. He liked having her need him. But that only proved he hadn't changed; he was as selfish as ever. Cursing, he yanked hard on the rusted lid of the box.

* * *

Gold. It shone with an incandescence all its own.

“Judas. Look at it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Tempest’s tone was soft and reverent.

Buck lifted one of the gleaming ingots from the box and weighed it in his hands. “It’s gold, all right, heavy as sin. Twenty, maybe even twenty-five pounds in each bar.”

“But they're so small, not even as big as a regular brick.” Tempest held out her hands. When he hesitated, she said, “I’m not going to break beneath the weight, Buck. Who do you think hauled the rocks for the front wall of the house? My wet laundry weighs as much as this gold does. Not to mention Ethan.”

“I thought Beaver Hanks helped you build the house.”

Her eyes spit amber-colored sparks at him. "So I didn’t carry all the rocks, I carried enough to nearly break my back. And he was never here long. Before you came I hauled all the water, chopped down sagebrush and greasewood, split it into kindling—"

“All right. Forgive me, I must have lost my head. Here…" He dropped the golden ingot onto her hands. She grunted with the effort to hang onto it, and he chuckled. If looks could flay hide, he figured he’d have no skin left at all.

Tempest held the precious metal bar like an offering to the gods. Along with the jubilation in her eyes, there were also tears. “Oh, Buck, it’s almost over, isn’t it? The trouble with Jonas? It’s finally going to be over.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Almost over.” He didn't bother pointing out that they still had to get the gold, and themselves, home safely. Or that the gold meant an end to their pretend marriage.

Placing the gold in her lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, too overcome with her own emotions to hear the sadness in his voice. Her tears wet his cheek.

“Hey, no need to cry." Judas, she’d have him bawling too in another minute, he thought. “You’ll be safe now. You’re rich. You’ll never have to worry about how you’re going to feed your kids again. You can even build a new house. A real one . . . made of wood.”

“A real house,” she repeated wonderingly. But he wouldn't share it with her. She would be alone again. Her joy faded. “How are we going to get it home? The box must weigh two hundred pounds.”

“Damn close. And I suspect there’s at least a second box.”

“You’re right,” she said with a new burst of excitement. “There are no bars missing from this one, so there has to be another one he took the bars from that he got back to St. Louis with.”

Again he looked up at the sky. It would soon be dusk. “Unless we want to spend another night up here, we’re done searching for today. It’ll be raining in another hour. Need to travel fast if we want to get home tonight. An extra hundred pounds each is going to be hard on the animals and slow us down.”

“We'll take what we can easily handle and come back for the rest,” she said.

“Yeah, if we can find it again.”

“If we can’t . . . well, even a few ingots will pay Jonas off and leave the children and me fairly well set. We don’t need much, really.” Except you to share it all with.

He studied the terrain. “Country up here all looks alike. Not enough landmarks to go by.”

“We could leave signs . . . slashes like Bidwell cut into the trees,” she suggested. “And cairns where there are no trees.”

Exactly what he had in mind, but he wasn't going to tell her that. She looked too pleased with herself. Grinning, he kissed her. "Judas, but you're smart. 'Course you already proved that by falling for me, but—”

Tempest slugged him. “I did not fall for you.”

“Sure did. You look at me as though I were a bowl of ice cream on a hot day.”

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re insane.”

They divided the bars between the saddlebags, Tempest taking the biggest share since mules could carry more weight and she weighed less. The box went back into the grave and the stones replaced to make the spot appear as untouched as possible.

As they rode past the cabin, Buck’s heart filled with regret. They had made love in that hut. Within its drafty rock walls he had allowed himself a few minutes to dream and to hope. Tomorrow, if they escaped Jonas, they would take the gold to Price. The bank there would buy it from them, or advance what money they needed until a buyer could be found. Creedy would be paid off, and Buck would have no more reason to stay in Deception Canyon.

He tried, to no avail, to work up his old enthusiasm for the sights he had planned to see when he left prison. Even the idea of seeing the ocean left him cold. Soon he would ride off into the Utah desert, leaving Tempest and the children behind. But he would not leave in one piece. His heart would remain here.

* * *

Jonas rubbed his gloved hands up and down his arms and snuggled deeper into the limited shelter of his rock hideout. Frigging wind was colder than his cursed mother’s heart. He hoped the sky would clear off before Maddux showed up. Jonas wanted to see his bullet rip through that meddling bastard's body. He wanted to watch the expression on Maddux's face when he realized he was a dead man.

Howard was late showing up with the brats. If that sonuvabitch stopped to play his games with that little girl, Jonas would carve him into tiny pieces and feed them to the coyotes.

It wasn't handling Maddux alone Jonas was worried about, but having to kill the man too soon. Jonas had games of his own he was eager to play, games that would reduce Maddux to a shivering heap of terror. Apaches were experts on tortures with plenty of pain and a nice long death. Tempest would be the salt he would rub in Maddux's wounds. Jonas chuckled, thinking of the pleasure it was going to give him to rape her before that skunk-marked bastard’s eyes. Not that rape would be necessary. With her girl in Howard's clutches, Tempest would do anything Jonas asked. He couldn't wait to see her on her knees before him.

An owl hooted overhead. Jonas shuddered. He wondered if his white mother still scorned Apache beliefs now that her spirit had joined those wandering restlessly, earthbound because they had been mutilated when they died. If any specter haunted him, it would be hers.

His hand went to the locket he wore as a watch fob. Blackbird would have railed at him for taking his mother's locket from her body and wearing it on his own. Apaches burned the possessions of the dead to avoid ghost sickness. Superstition, he told himself, as he glanced nervously at the trees. The fob was only a reminder to him of all that he hated in this world, and all he intended to do to get even with those who had wronged him.

Including Buck Maddux.

* * *

With a soft nicker, Spook pranced nervously at the opening to Treachery Canyon. Buck leaned forward to pat the appaloosa's neck. Night had fallen and the air was redolent with the scent of the coming rain.

“Buck?” Tempest’s voice came low and quiet through the darkness.

“Nearly there, sweetheart," he assured her. "You all right?”

“I’m fine. I just want to get home. Why did you stop?”

“Studying the terrain to make sure where we are." Reaching over, he gently squeezed her knee. “We’ve reached the canyon so it won’t be long now.” Unless we run into trouble, spelled with a capital J. Wordlessly he prayed that wouldn't happen, or if it did, he would be able to keep her safe. A nudge of his spur started the appaloosa forward.

“Wait, Buck.”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“I . . . can we talk?" she asked. "There’s something I need to say.”

Turning Spook, he came up alongside her. “Now? It’s freezing cold, about to rain, and you want to talk?”

“Yes. Please, it’s important.”

Even in the darkness he could see the earnestness in her eyes. He knew he should insist that they go on. Talking could wait until they were safe at home, or at least down that narrow chasm and onto the main road. But after tomorrow he would have no place in her life. Her home would no longer be his. Until that time he could refuse her nothing. "All right, let’s move deeper into the trees where we’ll be out of the wind a little.”

Othello needed no urging. Like a puppy, he followed the gelding. When they were inside the pinyon trees and junipers, Buck dismounted. He lifted Tempest from her saddle and sheltered her with the warmth of his body. “Okay, woman, what is it you need to say?”

Twisting her hands in the lapels of his sheepskin coat, Tempest gazed up into the face of the man she had come to love. She searched for a sign that he was truly willing to listen, and saw only patient indulgence and the same wariness she’d seen before when she tried to get him to be serious about something. “I know you don’t want to answer this, but I have to know what's going to happen once Jonas is paid off. I need to know what you plan to do.”

Buck’s heart pounded. He had hoped she would ask him to stay, but he hadn’t actually expected it to happen. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t stay. And if she knew him, knew his past, she wouldn’t ask. The cocky devil’s grin didn’t come so easily now, but he curved his lips and lowered his head close to hers. “What do you have on your mind, little mustang? Got used to having me in your bed, and now you’re reluctant to let me go?”

She flinched as though struck, and Buck hated himself for putting the pain in her eyes. His throat ached with the need to tell her he didn’t mean the ugly words he’d said. But he held to his purpose, and kept silent.

Tempest had expected flippancy, but not crudity. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her tears surface. “Please, don’t make light of the beautiful thing that's happened between us.”

Stepping back, he glanced away, afraid the yearning in her eyes would make him weaken. Afraid she might see the yearning in his. “Why not, Tempest? We both knew it couldn’t go anywhere. I told you, I’m a drifter. Settling down isn’t in me.”

“You told me. That doesn’t mean I have to believe you.”

The words were soft and tremulous, underscored with a tender sort of understanding. Guilt knotted his throat. His jaw ached with the effort to keep from blurting his true feelings. Determined not to reach for her, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He didn’t dare look at her.

A small hand cupped his face, trying to turn him toward her. Her ungloved fingers were cold. “What we shared was more than sex, Buck. I know the difference. You made love to me. I’ve never felt so cherished as I have in your arms. You could be happy here, if you’d only let yourself. The children adore you and—”

“We’ve been all over this, Tempest.” He didn’t dare let her continue. Shoving away from her, he needlessly lifted the stirrup and adjusted the cinch on his horse. “No point trampling it into the ground. I’m no good for you, that’s all there is to it. Now, if you're finished, let’s get going. It’ll start raining any minute now, and I want to get out of that deathtrap of a canyon before we get caught in a flash flood."

Tempest wanted to stamp her feet—on his chest. “Blast it, Buck Maddux. Why do you have to be so obstinate?”

He glared at her. “Because I know what’s best. You have no idea who I am. Judas, woman, I’m an ex-convict, doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yes,” she shouted. “It tells me our justice system isn’t fair. You didn’t belong there, Buck. You didn’t steal that money. Skeet did.”

The stirrup slapped against Spook’s belly as Buck dropped it back into place, making the horse shy. “Forget it, Tempest. You know nothing about it.”

“I do too. How can you argue about this? You were innocent."

Spinning around, he towered over her, his face contorted in a grim mask. In the shadows he looked larger than ever, and more dangerous. “I’ll tell you how innocent I was: They imprisoned me for theft, but what they should have done is hang me.”

The barely leashed violence in him tightened the fist knotting Tempest’s stomach. Her heart thudded. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, not physically, yet she was afraid. "You're only trying to frighten me, Buck. You’re no murderer."

“You damn well should be scared. If you had an ounce of sense, you’d climb on that mule and run like hell.”

Her smile was small and sad. “I can’t, Buck. I love you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the joy and the pain her words gave him. Before he could give in to the overwhelming need to reach for her, he swung away. She didn’t mean what she said. She couldn’t. But, oh, God, how he wished she did. The wanting in him was so large it filled his entire being, making the loneliness in him unbearable. His insides felt scrambled, as though he’d been thrown by a bull and stomped to boot. He swallowed sudden moisture and blinked back tears. Bracing his arms on Spook’s back, he begged for strength. “Listen to me,” he said in his harshest tone. “I am a murderer, Tempest, three times over. Do you hear me? I’ve killed three people. One a baby not even born yet. Still say you love me?”

He laughed at the shock on her face, but the sound was hard and cold and without humor. “Never mind, I know the answer.” Jamming his left foot into the stirrup he hoisted himself into his saddle. Small hands clutched at his leg.

“Don’t you dare presume to know what’s in my mind, Buck Maddux. If you killed anyone, it was accidental. You could never kill anyone on purpose . . . unless he deserved it.”

A raindrop landed on her upturned cheek and slid downward like a tear. He resisted the urge to wipe it away. “Did Skeet deserve to die?”

Confusion creased her brow. “No, but . . . You didn’t kill him, the posse—”

“No!” He grabbed her arms and lifted her until they were nearly eye to eye. His fingers dug cruelly into her flesh. Spook pranced sideways, snorting a protest. “The posse put a bullet in his gut, Tempest. My bullet ended his life. A bullet I purposely fired into his brain.”

Tempest stumbled as he dropped her onto her feet. She caught herself and straightened, staring at him in horror and disbelief.

“Now do you understand?” he snarled. “I put my Colt to your husband’s head and pulled the trigger. I killed Skeet Whitney.”

“There . . . there must have been a reason,” she stammered, her mind seeking an explanation. "He'd been shot in the stomach. Even I know a stomach wound means a long, painful death.” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You put him out of his misery, didn’t you? That’s why you shot him. So he wouldn’t suffer anymore. That’s not murder, Buck. That’s a very painful sort of kindness.”

Looking away, he yanked his hat lower over his eyes. Obviously, she needed more convincing. “What about the other two, Tempest? I said I murdered three people, remember?”

When she didn’t answer, he pinned her with eyes that were darkly shadowed, cruelly savage. “Ask me. Go ahead and ask me who the other two were.”

The hat brim failed to hide the anguish in his eyes, an anguish so deep, so brutal, she could hardly bear to look at it. The words he flung at her like a well-aimed dagger tore her heart to shreds. She held her breath, afraid to speak, even more afraid to hear what else he would say. Then it came:

“My wife! Do you hear me, Tempest? I murdered my own wife, and with her, our unborn son.”