The next couple of days following his coming around were curious ones to Slocum. Try as he might, he couldn’t get any further information out of Julep about who the canyon dwellers were. She just smiled and checked his bandages. All he managed to do was engage her in mild chatter about the weather.
It wasn’t until he tried to get up and do for himself—particularly when he felt the need to relieve himself—that he discovered a way to sort of hold her hostage, and get her to talk with him in a way that was more honest. She had been so doting that when he tried to do for himself what he’d spent his entire life doing, he suddenly realized he was unable to move his snakebit arm, barely rise up on a wobbly knee. As the days slowly progressed, he could walk from one end of the cozy but rapidly confining cave to the other, yet she seemed more worried about him than ever. He began to get the distinct feeling she was lonely.
He had been awake in the canyon camp the better part of a week, which made it nearly a month since he’d tumbled down there. If Deke, Julep, and their mysterious clan hadn’t been down there, he wondered what would have become of him.
One morning, the urge to get up and explore gripped Slocum like nothing had in days. He was grateful for the feeling, for it meant that he was on the mend. He knew from past experience that when he got itchy feet, there would be no stopping him. And to make matters doubly good, he didn’t hear the near-constant sound of Julep doing something somewhere close. Most often she was just outside, tending the fire and cooking up meals that had done as much, Slocum knew, to restore his slowly gaining vigor as anything else had. Hell, all of her ministrations were just grand and perfectly revitalizing.
But now, he held his breath before he groaned his way onto his knees, his snakebit arm less than helpful, still throbbing, blackened, but with touches of green and purple, and even a bit of yellowing rising out of the blackness. The poison was leaving his system.
He paused, making sure that she wasn’t out there, and when he was satisfied that she didn’t seem to be around, he grunted and slowly got to his feet. Cold bullets of sweat stippled his forehead, and a sudden wave of pain lanced with near-nausea rolled over him. He closed his eyes tight and gripped the smooth rock wall with one hand. He forced himself to think of anything but the pain. The wall, the cave, that was it. How long must this place have been occupied? Surely the white newcomers who’d saved his skin hadn’t carved these living spaces and occupied the place. Must have been some forgotten vale of refuge for a long-ago tribe.
He’d heard from an old-timer rock hound years before—what was that man’s name? Wilkes? Wilkinson? Didn’t much matter now, the old man was surely dead—that the West was filled to brimming with all manner of ruins and relics and secret places where ancient peoples once dwelled.
They were people older than the tribes Slocum had come to know, older, he suspected, than most anyone who’d ever set foot in North America. Where had all those ancient people gone to? Slocum had asked the old man, but the duffer had just shrugged his shoulders and gurgled back another long pull of ’shine.
“That’s a question for the ages, Slocum,” he’d said, before shuffling off westward, ever westward, his burro following along, plenty of slack in the lead line.
Slocum recalled coming across the old man passed out drunk in a heap at the edge of a clearing, one side of his face, neck, and arm badly sunburned, his burro standing patiently by, flicking a long ear occasionally at the sun or an errant shit fly. The beast stood waiting for the old man to rouse himself so they might be on their way to wherever it was those two traveling partners were headed. He knew then that they never really got anywhere in particular, just kept on roving.
And before he knew it, Slocum felt fine again—as fine as he had felt in recent days anyway. He opened his eyes, saw the familiar darkened gloom of the cave, knew that the spell of washing pain had passed, and then, using the wall as support, he made his way toward the mouth of the cave. It was the first time he’d been out there, and he did so under his own steam. And that made him feel pretty good.
He surveyed the scene, saw much more of the camp than he could see from lying on his back at the rear of the cave. It was much bigger than he imagined. The fire ring was a more elaborate affair that someone had taken the time to grout together. And built next to it, an adobe-style baking oven—the reason Julep’s bread and biscuits were so darned tasty.
There was also a fine collection of utensils, pots, and pans, and beside that stood a neat stack of firewood flanked by smaller lengths and diameters of kindling. Arranged around the fire were logs for sitting, and a few chairs they must have hauled with them from their Southern homes. All in all, the spot was as tidy as anyone could make it.
Slocum wondered how many folks lived in the canyon. Julep and Deke had been tight-lipped about it. He figured they had their reasons, not the least of which would be because they were doing something outside the law, something that Deke had alluded to a few times and Julep had not said no about when Slocum cautiously questioned her. Then again, she didn’t say much of anything about their lives. In fact, she didn’t say much at all, just looked at him with that bewitching glance and made him wonder if he was truly in Devil’s Canyon, as she’d said . . . She-Devil’s Canyon maybe.
Across from the fire, he saw another cave entrance. He closed his eyes once again and breathed deeply. The scent of the junipers and mesquite were intoxicating, and the fresh air and sunlight on his face made him feel better than he had in a hell of a long time.
“What are you doing out here, John Slocum?”
He snapped his eyes open and found Julep watching him, her arms loaded with firewood. So that was who kept the piles topped up. What in the hell did Deke do all day anyway? You’d think that a man would put in a little effort to keep his wife supplied with firewood, at least. Maybe he spent all his time hunting.
Slocum tried a smile on her. “I’m just taking the air, as the dandies say back East.”
She slammed the wood on the top of the pile, scattering pieces. “You’d better take the air back in there, mister. Or you’ll be sorry.”
“Oh, come on now, Julep. I’m not a child and I don’t appreciate being talked to nor treated like one, do you hear me?”
That seemed to take some of the starch from her, and she blushed. Yet another change her face underwent that was absolutely bewitching. He’d have to stop looking at her altogether if he wanted to get out of this canyon in one piece, and without Deke’s big paw prints around his neck. He was in no shape to fight any man, let alone one built like a granite boulder.
“I . . . I didn’t mean to treat you like a child, John. It’s just that, you’ve been so unwell. I . . . I didn’t want anything else to happen to you . . .”
She had moved closer to him, stared into his eyes from but a couple of feet away. She was something else, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from falling again, tumbling farther than he had those weeks before, this time into that woman’s stunning gaze.
Slocum cleared his throat. “Look, Julep. I . . . I appreciate all you’ve done for me. More, much more than you know. I’m so grateful that you happened to be here—or that I happened to pick your canyon to drop into.” He tried another smile. It worked a little—she smiled back.
“But you have to realize, I’m a full-grown man—”
“I know that much, John.” She stepped closer and he stepped back slowly, leaning against the wall for support. Before he knew it, he was backing into the cave, trying to remain at arm’s length from her.
She kept backing him up right to the edge of the cot he’d lain in. “You should lie down, John. You’ll be tired, I’m sure.”
And damned if she wasn’t right. It was as if someone had tugged on all the threads holding him together. And his innards were about to burst the few remaining stitches and weakened seams and he’d collapse in a pile. He forgot about her odd, advancing manner, forgot that he was going to ask her what about Deke, forgot nearly everything in his haste to lie back on the cot once again.
He did, and closed his eyes, felt Julep’s familiar, cool hand on his forehead, heard her soothing voice close by his face, and even that didn’t alarm him.
Then he barely felt as if cool breezes were dancing in the hair on his chest, but that was impossible—his shirt was on. He roused himself just enough out of his relaxed stupor to open his eyes and see Julep spreading his buttoned shirt wide. Below, his denims somehow had become unbuttoned, too.
“What are you doing?” He struggled to raise his head, but he was in some sort of exhausted half-asleep, half-awake state where nothing made sense.
“Hush now, John. You’ve gone and tuckered yourself out. You need to rest, relax, and let ol’ Julep work her magic.”
Slocum couldn’t agree more, but he also knew there was something vaguely wrong about all this, but he’d be jiggered if he knew what it was. Just knew he was tired, so damn tired.
The soft breezes stopped, then just before he could force his eyelids to flutter open once again, Julep spoke, this time close by his face, and in a whisper. He felt her warm breath, smelled its coffee-and-honey scent, and heard her voice purr. “You need some of this muscle-relaxing salve I’ve made, John. It will do you good.”
The last thing he knew he needed was anything that might make him more relaxed. Especially when he was pretty sure he knew what was happening—and he was nearly powerless to prevent it. And then two things happened at once: Julep’s powerful hands began touching him all over, and a heavenly scent of wildflowers, of honey, of wood smoke, and cinnamon all mingled and filled his senses.
That must be the salve she spoke of, he thought. Wherever those pushing, pulling, kneading hands trailed on his chest, his belly, his arms, his legs, and even below his navel, his skin, his very flesh, tingled and throbbed, but in a comfortable, welcome way. Soon he felt fresh air all over his legs, and he knew she’d peeled off his denims, leaving him nearly buck naked. One last thing remained, the thin undershorts someone—he assumed it had been Julep—had dressed him in way back.
And then he knew that even those had been removed, slipped clean off him while he was busy tingling and relaxing all over. Not a bad life for a man who had assumed he’d fallen to his death. And then those hands began massaging his now fully alert shaft, and even in his advanced state of relaxation, Slocum’s breath stuttered in his throat, and worry and pleasure warred for dominance in his mind. “What about Deke?”
Her hands stopped immediately and she paused in her ministrations. She must have looked around her, then sighed and said, “Don’t do that to me, Slocum. Now what about Deke?”
“Well, this isn’t right. He’ll no doubt take us both to task for this.”
“Deke? Why should he care? Now stop worrying and let me finish what I started.”
Slocum knew that there was nothing he could do or say to change her mind. She was bound and determined to give him a full-body massage. And then he realized she was using more than just her hands. He forced his eyes open and could just see Julep thrusting down her own underpants, hoisting the skirts of her dress high, and gingerly straddling him. In one clean motion, she’d swung a leg over, then slid right down on him, impaling herself and gasping lightly even as she continued rubbing the salve into his chest.
“I’ve been meaning to give you the full treatment for some time now. But everybody’s been here, getting everything ready for . . . just being busy.”
Her speech was still a whisper, but came in soft sounds, almost like whimpers, as she worked her slender hips back and forth, fore and aft.
“Don’t I have a say in the matter?” said Slocum dreamily.
“Oh, yes, you do. But I happen to know that as your caregiver, anything I feel the need to do to you, such as this”—she stood slightly and reached behind herself and tickled him, making him stiffen even more—“will be far more important and good for you than anything you feel would be good for you, for your best interests.”
Her logic bewildered him, but Slocum nodded and grinned through his sense-intoxicated haze. “Whatever you say, Doc.”
Julep continued to knead his chest muscles with one aggressive hand while she tickled and stroked him with the other, jerking herself up and down faster with each stiffening reaction he had. Soon, she rose up, nearly off him, but not quite, gripping a handful of his flesh and holding tight. Then, as if she made some reluctant decision, she plunged straight down, once more impaling herself fully on him. They both froze, Slocum gritting his teeth as he pumped and bucked within her, Julep holding her breath, only emitting a tiny cry that dissolved into a sigh.
She soon resumed massaging him with both hands, liberally applying the salve and murmuring about tending to his needs. She never once made an effort to rise up and off him, and neither of them seemed to mind. In fact, Slocum found that he had not diminished in his fortitude in the least. His thickness still filled her and she seemed perfectly content to keep it that way. His worries about Deke were still in his mind, however, and soon he heard himself saying, “What about . . .”
“Deke?” This time she beat him to the finish line.
“Yeah, he’s a big fella. Too big, in my weakened state, not to mention our present situation, to pick a fight with.”
“Don’t worry so much. You think I’d doctor you with so much attention if he was around?”
“What’s he up to?”
“Oh, they’re gone off to . . . Oh no, you don’t.”
Slocum swore he heard a smile in her voice. Opening his eyes, however, was not a possibility. She was gently massaging his face now, mostly with her thumbs, and smoothing him from the nose outward and upward. And it felt fantastic.
Soon, he began working her waist around in little circles, matching the technique she was now using on his chest and upper arms. And they were off to the races again. This time Slocum felt like he could contribute a bit more to the process. And it all worked out just fine. At least that’s what he remembered as he lay there, sleep slowly overtaking his confused body and mind.