Pushing the horse unmercifully, Rhys rode until he was too weak to sit in the saddle. He had come upon a small, trickling stream by then. He brought Teddy’s limp body down with him when he dismounted and, dragging her heels across the hard ground, carried her near the water. He bathed her face with cool water before he tended his wounds.
He was shirtless and splashing water on his myriad cuts and bruises when Teddy’s eyes blinked open. She watched him quietly for a few moments until she could focus clearly. He was bleeding in several places but the sight of him out in the open, free, was the best thing she had ever seen.
“Jeez! You look like a side of beef,” she said.
He stopped splashing, turned and smiled at her. “I feel like I’ve had a couple of steaks sliced out. How is your head? Taviz gave you a big lump.”
Teddy lifted a finger to her lips, shushing him. “Don’t say that name,” she insisted. “Just tell me where the bastard is and how far behind—”
“He’s in hell, I suppose.” Rhys waded through the gently rushing shallow water and dropped down on the bank beside her.
“You killed him?”
“Not soon enough. I am sorry you had to endure what he did to you.”
“Me too,” Teddy replied. At that moment she realized that she, like Rhys, was shirtless. She didn’t try to cover herself. After what they had been through, being half naked was a minor concern. “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a cow lot,” she said, smiling feebly. “Help me down in that water. I want to wash that bastard’s touch off my skin.”
Rhys picked her up, which wasn’t such a good idea since he was as weak as she. Teetering on the slippery bank with Teddy in his arms he lost his footing and slid headlong into the water, carrying her with him. But this small stream had a soft shallow bottom and both landed easily, getting no more than a good dunking out of the fall. Teddy came above water sputtering and laughing. Rhys was anxious and apologetic.
“Truly I am sorry,” he said. “I never—”
“Oh, forget it!” She dipped her head back and washed her long hair from her face and gave the lump on her head a good cooling. For ten minutes more she sat in the stream bed, scrubbing and splashing, eventually feeling satisfied that she had washed every trace of Taviz away.
Rhys waited on the bank. He’d had the foresight to bring along Taviz’s rifle and he cradled it in his arms as he kept a watch in the event Rennie had found Taviz’s body and decided to follow. When Teddy was ready to come out he laid the rifle aside and tossed her the fringed buckskin vest she’d used to pillow his head in the cave. It didn’t cover much of her but it was more decent than nothing.
Teddy slipped her arms through the sleeves and started to come out of the water. Rhys offered her a helping hand but she quickly burst past him and ran into a clump of trees. He saw her bent over and heard her heaving.
“Teddy? Do you need help?”
“No!” she yelled back. Shortly she came staggering out of the copse of trees and flopped down limply beside Rhys. “The bastard made me sick,” she said. “And damned if I don’t feel too tuckered out to get on that horse again. And you need some bindings on those cuts. You reckon we’d be safe staying here a few hours?”
While he couldn’t be sure, Rhys’s intuition was that Rennie would head out in the opposite direction. “I’ll watch over you,” he said softly. His calm voice reassured Teddy that everything would be fine. “You find a place to rest.”
***
At Adams’s suggestion Len Blalock had obligingly taken a trip out of town so that when the stage came in and the driver announced Porter Landau was dead out at the first station, there was no lawman to turn to.
Rope, forgetting he wasn’t sound enough to ride, got together all the company men who were available to ride out and make a search for Teddy and Rhys, since he had learned too that the supply wagon they were driving had been left partially loaded beside Port’s house.
Rope was mounted and giving orders to the men, when he saw someone hurrying up the sidewalk toward him, moving as fast as his limping gait would allow.
“Bourget, isn’t it?” Rope said to the man.
“Oui,” Lucien drew close to the mounted man. His worried eyes scanned the crowd then came to rest on Rope. Lucien had spoken with the English newspaperman again that morning and the meeting had stirred his memory. He thought he knew where he had seen the distinctive red-haired man before. He anxiously wanted to alert Rhys that he was almost certain he had observed Derby Seward across the street from the Countess Clemenceau’s house on the morning he had found Jenny Perrault lying outside the door. “I am looking for Monsieur Delmar,” he said.
Rope slowly shook his head. “I’m lookin’ for him, too. An’ I think he’s in bad trouble.” Rope quickly explained what he feared had happened and asked Lucien if he wanted to join the posse.
Devastated that something might have happened to his friend and benefactor while he stood uselessly by, he sought a way to help. “Monsieur, I am the worst of riders,” he said. “I would be a hindrance to you, but is there a way I can assist here?”
“Sure is.” Rope pulled his hat low on his forehead readying for some hard riding. “Get a buckboard and get out to the Gamble ranch and tell Felicity what’s happened. An’ tell her not to worry none. We’ll bring those two back.”
Lucien assured Rope that he would do just that. Hurriedly, he limped off toward the livery stable as Rope and the small search party rode out of town. Shortly before Lucien reached the stable he had the misfortune to pass Derby Seward strolling out of a cafe with Ada Penrod on his arm. Seward tipped his hat and said good-day. Lucien’s suspicion of Seward was growing more ominous by the moment. He looked askance and hastened past the couple without responding.
“How utterly rude,” Ada Penrod commented loud enough for the retreating Lucien to hear.
“Think nothing of it, my dear.” Seward, his whiskers red as a bonfire in the bright sun, patted Ada’s thin arm. “There is a running feud between the French and the English.” He laughed to mask his concern. But he knew with certainty that it had been fear and not rudeness that had sent Lucien Bourget hurrying past him. He suspected he knew the reason. With his coloring he was a man who stood out. Although he thought he had been hidden in a doorway when Delmar’s valet found the Perrault woman, he could not be sure that Lucien Bourget had not gotten a glimpse of him.
Ada Penrod, chattering away about nothing, was briefly distracted by the display in the local millinery shop. Seward took the moment to cast a scurrilous glance after Lucien. He was determined to find out for certain why the lame Frenchman’s demeanor toward him had so quickly changed.
***
Hours later, at his carefully selected table by the window at the Diamond, Seward enjoyed a drink and a round of affection from his favorite sporting woman. He saw Lucien, in a hired buckboard, being driven into town. The table he had chosen, afforded Seward not only an excellent spy post but also an opportune spot to eavesdrop on Parrish Adams. Gazing out over the Diamond’s red doors, he conducted a hushed conversation with his attractive wife.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost your chance for another go at Delmar.” The anger that had gripped Adams earlier burned in his eyes like deeply banked coals. “The man has run me to the end of my patience.”
“As if you had any,” Norine quipped.
Adams shrugged. Norine’s wit was not her best feature. “Patience is a useless virtue,” he said. “Results are what count. Remember that, Norine.”
“I remember everything,” she said. “What changed your mind about Delmar?”
“He refused fifty thousand. Said he made a deal with Teddy.”
Norine’s ruffled red skirt swished around her ankles as she drew closer to her husband. “She’s got no money.”
“Money isn’t the only currency a man trades in. You ought to know that.”
Her hands went stiffly to her flaring hips. “I’d sooner believe he doesn’t care a fig for money than that he could prefer Teddy Gamble to me, not that bit of goods. I doubt the woman’s ever had her legs around anything but a saddle.”
Adams gave his wife a cynical smile. “She does know how to sit a horse.”
Norine gave her carefully coiffed head a toss. “Maybe the Frenchman is one of those fellows who’s up to his jowls in principles.”
Adams spun around slowly. “It no longer matters whether he is or not.”
He left her beside the red doors and went to his office. Norine stared out at the street for a few minutes then ambled over to the bar and had Harley pour her a drink.
Derby Seward sent the attentive saloon girl away and sat at his table digesting the bits and pieces of information he’d gathered. Adams had offered Delmar an impressive sum of money and the Frenchman had turned it down. Adams was angry about it. Seward smiled. Another man’s anger could be useful.
And Delmar. A man not swayed by money. A fool. Maybe a principled fool. Not a man he could dicker with.
He thought of Lucien Bourget. A man trained to forget everything he sees. Was he starting to remember? He would be a dangerous man if he did.
Seward drained his whiskey glass dry. Maybe Knox would get double for his money.
***
The moon was red as blood and dark with images when Teddy awoke with a start. She hadn’t expected darkness and she hadn’t expected to see the crimson-stained moon. Felicity’s devil moon. A moon that portends change for those caught gazing at it, and not always change for the better. Sometimes a death followed, sometimes a windfall, always change. Teddy shivered but couldn’t take her eyes off the glowing red moon.
“I saw it like that once before,” Rhys said. He put an arm beneath his head and stared at the heavens. “The night before I arrived in Wishbone. It was entrancing, red earth, red moon. I felt I was entering another world where things would—”
“Never be the same,” Teddy supplied. “You were right.” She looked at the moon again. The dark images seemed to change shape before her eyes. Change was coming. Again. But good or bad?
“I meant to stay awake,” he told her. “To watch over you.”
“You needed rest. You’re hurt.” She had rinsed his torn shirt and ripped it into strips before they left the stream bank. As best she could, she had bound it around him where Taviz’s knife had struck. The blade had not gone deep but even when the cuts healed, Rhys would have scars to remind him of the contest.
“Not so much,” came huskily from him. He caught one of her hands, softly kissed the back of it and brought it to rest on his chest. It was good having her there beside him. She was wild and beautiful as the moon overhead. Like no other.
“You sure?”
She rolled to her side, bringing her body in line with his. The laces holding her fringed buckskin vest together had pulled loose as she slept and the smallish garment covered even less of her than it was designed to do. Rhys felt his rage rising anew when he saw the dark bruises Taviz’s assault had left on her flesh.
He stretched out a hand and let his fingers graze over a blue mark just below her collarbone, making a soft, feather stroke on her skin. “He hurt you.” His voice was low and hoarse.
“Not so much,” she said, savoring the soft, tender stroke of his hand. The warmth of it brought a shiver of excitement to her. He’d saved her life. He’d nearly been killed doing it, and all he was concerned about was the angry marks Taviz had put on her. Smiling, feeling her heart melt a little, she clasped her hand over his and brought it to her breast.
He felt her tremble slightly as his hand covered one soft, velvety mound. He forgot that he was wounded and that it had been a terrible day. The best that he was good for was lying on his back and looking at the moon. His need for her surged, rising like a fierce wind, churning through him, stirring his blood.
She touched him, bringing her hand down the center of his chest, down low. His response was instant. “Teddy, don’t do that unless...” His voice trailed off. She bent over him and her hair tumbled down on his chest, a billowing veil of silk that teased and caressed his skin. Her mouth came down on his, sweet as a berry, the taste of her intoxicating as the strange light of the vermilion moon.
He took her in his arms, buried his face in her hair, found the soft curve of her shoulder and kissed her there. Teddy moaned softly, inflamed, needing him, this time not to prove she was alive but for the simplest of reasons. They were man and woman, and fate had deemed them together at this moment. What would come later did not matter. Nothing mattered but to be held and caressed, to feel the power of him inside her. Nothing mattered more than that.
Her hands were upon him like the moonlight, skimming over him in tender, soft strokes so provocative he forgot the danger that might be a mere step away. He thought only of the enchantment of her body, the burning sweetness of her closing around him. He would die for that if he must. Willingly.
In a moment he thought he had. The world ceased to be around them. The moonlight was their universe, a place with no time, no restraints. He cried out his need for her as he unlaced her buckskin vest and slid it from her arms. He saw the beautiful curves of her body, the way her skin glistened in the moonlight. He held her tightly and then he was above her, bending to her.
His tongue flitted lightly over her tight rosy nipples making her shudder and dig her nails into his shoulders and arch her body to him urging his tantalizing mouth to seek more, more.
She felt his hands at her waist easing her pants from her hips. She helped him shed his garments too and when they were naked they lay together a moment, gilded red-gold by the moon, curious, elated, each by the other. But the calm could not last. In a flash a storm surge brought them together. Teddy beneath him, dazed by her need of him, gripped her hands on his back—her words offering a soft entreaty for him to come to her.
“Please, I need you. I do,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. His hands brushed her flesh. His touch was soft as a cloud yet titillating as fire. Tenderly he stroked where the bruises marred her skin, urgently he stroked her thighs seeking the core of her, the heart of her, catching her soft desperate cries with his lips when his fingers plunged deep within.
His kisses followed, spark and flame on her skin, leaving no part of her untouched by his mouth, uncaressed by the licking flame of his tongue. She felt herself consumed by him, burned and renewed, a phoenix rising out of ash, more passion than person in her new form, a strange erotic creature who craved his touch, his kisses, all that he gave.
She closed her eyes, shuddering in what was both aftermath and foretaste of ecstasy, opening to him as a flower unfurls to the sun, welcoming his heat, taking him deep inside her, relishing his groan of pleasure, his violent, savage thrusts. She met him with equal fury, arching her hips to his, clinging, climbing until they reached the crest, the gate of paradise, and began the spiraling, shuddering fall within.
Afterward with her arms about him, she felt his taut muscles relax. She wondered at the paradox of what was between them. He was her enemy, her lover. She wanted him with deep abandon yet feared every yielding to him. Every coming together brought her perilously closer to the brink of finding her world crumbled to dust. He had adapted with amazing ease to the rough desert life she loved and yet he had retained the elegance, the sophistication she had thought made him ill-fitted to the task. She knew him so well and yet so little. Marc André Rhys Delmar.
Dreamily, she stared into his eyes, calm now as a balmy, waveless sea. Then she lifted her gaze to the red-gold moon, the devil moon, and wondered again what change it would bring.