Chapter 9

"We're gettin' nowhere faster'n a junebug paddlin' upstream in a spring flood," Early announced two hours later, when their joint search had flushed out nothing more than a pair of jack rabbits and a disgruntled badger. "I say we split up and try our luck that way."

Libby took a firmer grip on the reins of her mare, Lady, who pawed at the needle-covered earth that edged the small stream they stood beside, then glanced down at Chase's broad back. He was hunched over the swift-flowing stream, sluicing cool water over his face and down the back of his neck. When he stood, he turned and found her watching him. Droplets clung to his sooty lashes and his eyes held a look that should certainly have turned the water to steamy white vapor. He ran a hand slowly down his face, never taking his eyes from her.

Her stomach somersaulted like the current tumbling over the smooth creek-bed rocks. She pulled her gaze from his. It was downright irritating that he could unsettle her by merely standing there in the morning sun with the water sparkling in his dark hair. Her attraction, she decided, was purely physical. She should certainly be able to control her physical reactions to him. After last night, putting distance between them seemed the best answer.

"I'll take the south fork of this stream toward Harper's range," Bodine said, pouring some cigarette makings into a thin brown paper. "Maybe they've had some run-ins with old Goliath, too."

Early nodded. "Libby, you an' Whitlaw head north an' see what you kin scratch up." As Libby opened her mouth to protest, he added. "I'll take Bradford since neither him nor Chase know this country. We don't want them two gettin' lost or we'll end up havin' to hunt them instead of that bahr."

Early was right, Libby knew, and to argue his decision would only bring attention to her uneasiness about being with Chase. But she saw her plans to keep away from him going up in smoke.

"Goliath's a-goin' to hafta git close to the water sooner or later," Early said, turning his horse sharply to the right. "When he does, we'll find him."

* * *

The late afternoon sun slanted shadows across the stand of ponderosa pine where Chase spread his fingers across a set of three foot-long slashes in the furrowed bark of one massive trunk. The shredded gouges began two feet higher than his arm could reach, even mounted. He knew without a doubt what had made them.

"Bear tree," Libby noted as she pulled up beside Chase. "Probably passed through within the last day or so."

"How do you know that?"

She pointed to the gashes in the orange-colored bark. "See here? The sap's still oozing from the tree." A scent, oddly like vanilla, permeated the air.

"He's... bigger than I imagined."

Libby nodded with a wry smile. "You seem surprised."

Chase stared in awe at the evidence etched in the bark.

"Usually a sign like this," she said, "or some cache of carcass he left behind is all you'll ever see of a grizzly. But I caught sight of this one once from a long way off. On all fours, he was nearly the size of a Texas horse. On his back legs, near twice as tall."

"I'd heard stories, but..." His voice trailed off. He'd seen bears before. Plenty of them in the hills of Virginia. Black bears, brown bears. But this... A healthy ripple of fear passed through him as he gauged the enormity of the animal; fear for the woman beside him, fear for himself.

Chase dismounted, his gaze scouring the ground near the tree. The hind footprints he found there were huge—twelve inches long and as wide as the spread of his hand. The fierce-looking claw marks were another matter altogether. "Good God." He turned to face Libby who was still sitting taciturnly atop Lady. He shook his head in wonder. "You know, yet you came out here after him. Aren't you afraid of anything, Libby Honeycutt?"

She looked at him straight, without the pretext he often saw in the eyes of women he'd known before. "I'm only afraid of being afraid," she replied.

"A little fear is a healthy thing, sometimes."

"I didn't say I was a fool," she replied, the corners of her mouth softening. She threw her denim-clad leg over Lady's back and dismounted. "Everyone thinks because I'm a woman, I shouldn't do things that scare me. But you're a man and you're afraid, aren't you?"

His silence answered her question.

"Yet here you are, believing you should be chasing that devil down and I shouldn't."

"Well, I'm not the one who couldn't snag a coyote pelt to save her life the other night."

She arched an eyebrow indignantly. "Are you saying I can't shoot a gun?"

"I don't know. I only have Early's word on it. Can you?"

Libby grinned and fairly swaggered to the rifle boot in her saddle. She pulled the Smith Carbine from its place. "See those two pine cones hanging low on the branch of that ponderosa over there?"

Chase pointed to a towering pine forty feet away, "That one?"

"No," she scoffed, redirecting his gaze. "That one, yonder."

One hundred and twenty yards up the trail stood a massive ponderosa whose branches spread like great sheltering wings over the mountainside. The huge cones in question were, at this distance, the size of withered prunes.

Chase allowed himself a moment of smugness. He could shoot that pine cone down with his eyes closed. Marksmanship was the one talent the army had left him with. It was a dubious distinction when it came to killing men, he mused grimly, but firing at pine cones was a different story.

"Are you telling me you think you can hit those from here?" he asked.

"Are you saying you can't?" she countered with a laugh.

He pulled his Henry Repeater from its boot. "That sounds like a challenge."

Libby shrugged, her gray eyes sparkling provocatively. "Shall we make a friendly wager on it?"

"Let's hear your terms."

"If I hit the cone, you'll stop treating me as if I'm a helpless female and trying to talk me out of running my ranch. If I miss, I cook you a plum duff. All yours, no sharing necessary."

"Done. And if I hit my mark? What do I get?" A line furrowed her brow as she considered that. "Well, uh, you... you get..."

Chase watched her brow furrow in thought. His gaze traveled to her heart-shaped mouth as she moistened her lips with her tongue. "A kiss."

"What?" Libby's startled eyes widened. "One kiss, if I hit the cone." Since long before he'd met her, he'd wondered what it would be like to kiss her, just once. It would be, he told himself, just an innocent gesture. Having his curiosity satisfied would put an end to his wondering. "No."

"You said a friendly wager," he argued. "It would just be a friendly kiss."

"D-do you find me a... a woman of loose morals, Mr. Whitlaw?"

"If you were a woman of loose morals, Mrs. Honeycutt, I'd be taking that kiss, instead of asking for it."

Eyes, startlingly the color of the pine needles around him, met Libby's. "Just... just a friendly kiss?" she repeated, intrigued and wary at once. He nodded.

She'd already seen him shoot. There was little doubt in her mind he'd make it. Why, to say yes would practically be admitting she wanted him to kiss her. Yet... it had been a long time since she'd kissed a man, friendly or otherwise. Even Jonas Harper had only dared kiss her on the cheek.

She glanced at Chase and her heart pounded a little faster. Hadn't she wondered what his lips would feel like on hers? She felt the heat of that admission warm her insides. "All right. But you have to hit the cone."

"Right," he agreed. "And if I miss, I cook you the plum duff." At her surprised look he grinned and added, "Ladies first."

"Right." Libby licked her thumb and touched it to the end of her rifle for good luck. Cook her a plum duff, indeed! That would be the day she'd found a man who knew his way around a kitchen without setting the place on fire! His kiss would likely be the safest bet they'd made.

Pressing the stock against her shoulder, she cocked the hammer and took a careful bead on the cone. She braced herself for the kick and squeezed off the shot.

The pine cone on the left exploded, leaving the heavy branch swaying to and fro. Libby lowered her gun, rubbed her shoulder, and gave Chase a cocky smile.

"Well, well," he murmured, still staring at the void where the cone had been. "I'm impressed."

"And to set the record straight—in spite of the rain being in my eyes, I did hit a coyote or two the other night before you got there. I just wasn't prepared for an all-night siege." She reached into her ammunition belt for another cartridge to reload. "It's your turn."

Chase cocked and shouldered the Henry, squinting at the cone. Though he'd gambled often enough on his ability with a gun during the war, never before had the stakes been so sweet, nor his wish to win so strong. Her playfulness had come as an appealing surprise and only added to her mystique. Beside him, she tapped the toe of her boot in the soil. Waiting.

He looked down the sight of the rifle and squeezed the shot off. The pine cone obligingly exploded on cue. With a quick second shot, he picked off one of the fat quail that rushed into the air from a hedge of brush close by. Turning to her, he said with a twinkle in his eye, "Dinner."

She glanced at him sideways. "Good shot."

"Looks like we both made our shots."

"Um-hmm." She took a step forward. "I'll, ah, go fetch that quail. We wouldn't want to lose din—"

He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Wait. What about our bet?" He took the rifle from her hands and leaned it, with his, up against the tree.

Libby's eyes were now level with the half-open placket on his white cotton shirt and the fine mat of dark hair exposed there. It was easier if she didn't look at his face, so she concentrated on the third button from the top of his collarless shirt. Clearly, there was no graceful way out of this.

"All right," she replied. "No one's ever accused me of welshing on a bet." Half in anticipation, half in dread, she closed her eyes, coiled her hands tightly behind her back, presented him with her puckered lips, and waited.

Nothing.

She opened her eyes to see him standing, arms folded across his chest, staring at her. The humor in his eyes lit the short fuse on her temper. He was laughing at her!

Arms akimbo, she glared at him. "Well, what are you staring at? I thought you were going to kiss me."

"I am. As soon as you unkink enough to let me."

"Unkink!"

"Loosen up, Libby," he said, shaking loose the tension in her shoulders. "I'm not gonna bite you. I'm only gonna kiss you."

"I'm not afraid, if that's what you think."

"Aren't you?" His fingers circled her wrists and he drew her balled fists away from her hips and pulled them to his chest. The rest of her body followed, until she was as flush against him as moss on a tree.

"Holding me this c-close wasn't part of the bargain."

"I don't remember discussing any ground rules on holding," he retorted in a low voice.

She was close enough to see the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks, inhale his scent—woodsmoke and saddle leather and the particular masculine fragrance that was his alone. Lord, Libby, now you've thrown kerosene on the fire. "This was a bad idea...."

He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. His eyes told her he thought she was wrong. They captured the afternoon light and sparkled like the finest jade when they met hers. His hands slid slowly up her arms to her shoulders, setting off waves of heat in their wakes. Deliberately, he lowered his gaze to her mouth.

"It's been a long time since a man's kissed you proper, hasn't it, Libby?"

Libby swallowed hard. Proper? Was there anything proper about what they were doing? "I told you, my... my husband, died two years ago in the—"

His arms tightened around her. "I know. Shhhh," Chase's whisper implored, while his thumb lightly traced her lips. "No ghosts allowed in this kiss. This one's just between you"—his knuckle trailed a path of heat down her cheek—"and me."

His voice was low and smooth as fine whiskey and went straight to her head. Thoughts of Lee, guilty, useless thoughts, spun away with Chase's caress of her cheek. She kept her hands curled tightly against his chest, as if she could keep him from doing to her heart what he was doing to her body. Oh, why had she agreed to this foolish bet?

Because Chase is right, a quiet voice answered. It had been a long time. Too dangerously long. And his tender touch was reminding her of how many years she'd done without that. And if she refused to marry Jonas Harper, of how many more she'd be alone.

Cupping her face with his hand, Chase dipped his head down toward her. Like the whisper of a breeze that surrounded them, his lips brushed hers—once, twice—before claiming them fully. A sinking feeling of pleasure curled through her. His mouth on hers was firm, yet achingly gentle; at once, demanding and entreating.

Beneath her fingertips she could feel the quickening beat of his heart, whose tempo seemed to match her own. Her hands flattened against the taut, well-defined wall of muscle on his chest. She knew in that instant how capable he was of both tenderness and great violence. But it didn't make her afraid. It made her want him more.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind, while her body turned to molten liquid, she knew this wasn't the friendly kiss they'd agreed on. But as his tongue urged her lips apart, and he explored the dark, long-untouched recesses of her, she ceased to care.

A sound, a moan, came from deep in his chest while he pressed her closer still. She silenced the answering sound that sprang from within her, but couldn't silence the heavy thudding of her heart. Heat raced through her veins and settled in her belly in an aching throb. Her traitorous knees ceased to support her, and she leaned against the strong arm that circled her back. Like a skein of wool, too tightly spun, Libby felt herself unraveling as his kiss deepened and changed.

Chase hadn't meant to kiss her like this, but as he'd felt her body give in to his, the flame that had sprung to life inside him had trebled. She was sweet, so sweet, just as he'd known she would be. She smelled of fresh mountain air, piñon smoke and... wild lilacs?

While his mind pondered the puzzle of that scent, his fingers skimmed the flaxen tresses she wore pulled back in the braid. He itched to let her glorious hair loose and plunge his fingers into it, just as he'd longed to last night. His hand skimmed the graceful arch of her neck, the small of her back, the sweet firm curve of her bottom; pulling her closer against his hardness. "You're so beautiful, Lib," he murmured against her lips, and dipped his head down for another taste of her honey.

He forgot, for a moment, to think; to remember who he was, or to wish she wasn't the wife of that reb soldier. For the moment, she belonged to him. Every fiber, every inch of her. He felt it in her surrender, in the way her hands let loose of the folds of his shirt and spread across his chest like fingers of fire. He felt it in the slow mindless dance her tongue was doing with his and in the way his blood pounded in his veins, washing away all thought and caution—and every shred of his common sense.

Only the ominous rumble of the ground beneath their feet brought him to his senses, though at first he was sure it was the echo of his own heartbeat. Like growing thunder, the rumble grew louder, and he grasped Libby by the shoulders and set her slightly away from him. "Listen."

Her startled gaze met his. His kiss was still evident in her gray eyes as it was on her reddened lips, but clearly she heard the sound, too.

"What is that?" he asked, scanning the horizon in search of the source. The sound grew like the warning roar of white water on a dangerous river.

Libby spotted them before he did, and dragged him backward toward the copse of rock behind them. "Mustangs!" she screamed. "Get back!"

Grabbing the horses' reins, Chase yanked them behind the outcrop of rock. The horses jerked the reins in fright and stomped their hooves into the pine straw-covered ground. Chase placed himself between the oncoming herd and Libby, sheltering her against the rock with his body.

They came over the forested rise to the north like foam on a cresting wave—a herd of wild mustangs so large Chase had to blink to believe what he was seeing. In color and pattern, he'd never seen horses to rival these. The mares and younger horses moved as one, crashing heedlessly through the brush breaks and in between the stands of ponderosa and white pine. The air churned with dust and the pungent smell of sweaty horseflesh. Where only moments ago there had been silence, there was now the deafening din of pounding hooves and high-pitched squeals.

Though the manada of mares and younger horses seemed endless, Libby and Chase were left staring after them in a matter of seconds.

"Incredible!" Chase murmured in awe when the last of them disappeared into a thicket of trees to the south. He eased his body away from Libby's. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Wild horses run simply for the love of it most times," Libby answered with a frown, running a disconcerted hand over her unruly hair. "But these were spooked. Panicked. You could see it in their eyes."

"Panicked... by the bear?" he asked, glancing in the direction they'd come. An uneasy feeling crept up his neck.

"Any number of things could have done it. But the thing that has me worried is the stallion."

"What stallion?"

"Exactly," she replied, gathering up Lady's reins. "Where was he? He wasn't with the herd. Stallions follow the flank of the herd, not only to keep it together, but to guard it from any danger. Nothing but death or defeat by a challenger separates a stallion from his manada."

"How do you know you didn't miss seeing him in all that?"

Libby mounted, slipped a new cartridge into the breech of her rifle, and slid it back into its boot. "There's only one stallion in these parts with a manada as big as that one. It's Diablo. Believe me, if you'd seen him, you'd never forget him." She nudged Lady forward, heading back in the direction the mares had come.

Chase yanked at Blue's reins, throwing them over the horse's head. "Where are you going now? Hey! Do you realize how many head of horses just passed us back there?" he called, mentally calculating the size of the herd and what its capture could mean for Libby's Army contract. He swung up on Blue's back. "Why aren't we following them?"

"We will... after we get what we came for," she called over her shoulder. Urging Lady into a lope, she followed the churned earth and headed toward a wide canyon that veered off to the east.

Chase frowned and rode to the spot where the quail had dropped. After fastening it to his saddle with his whang strings, he tightened his knees around Blue and urged him on, cocking his Henry one-handed as he went.

It wasn't until he and Libby reached the mouth of the ravine that he heard a sound that sent his neck hair rising—the furious scream of a horse, and the answering bestial roar which echoed hollowly across the walls of rock.

Chase grabbed for Libby's reins and pulled his own mount up short. Years of military training had made him wary of riding blind into a potentially dangerous situation. He'd learned to approach a problem like this tactically. Clinically.

The narrow arroyo was surrounded on two sides by steep, nearly vertical walls of loose shale rock, while the center of the canyon spilled open to a panoramic view of the valley below. The arroyo floor was clogged with ferns, brittle stands of brushwood, and the remnants of ancient rock slides.

Fifty yards away, a giant of a grizzly and an ebony black stallion were squared off in battle. The bear, up on his hind legs, let out a bawling roar and made a sweep with his powerful paw at the stallion. His four-inch claws glittered in the sun like bloody daggers, and Chase noted the torn flesh on the horse's neck. This time, however, the bear misjudged his swipe and the stallion reared up and connected with the grizzly's head with a vicious sharp-hoofed kick.

They were downwind of the bear and both Lady and Blue balked and tossed their heads in near-panic at the scent of him. Chase and Libby fought to keep them under control. "Not here," Chase told her, yanking Blue's head around. "Up there." He pointed to the narrow trail that led to the rim overlooking the narrow gorge.

"He'll get away before we can get up there," Libby protested.

"Better that, than cornering us in that arroyo the way he has the stallion. Going in on his level would be suicidal. It puts all the advantage in his corner. From above, the advantage will be ours. And from the looks of him, we'll need all the help we can get. Let's go." He kicked Blue and started up the steep trail that skirted the gorge.

It took them less than a minute to reach the top.

They tied their nervous horses to the branches of a chokecherry bush and flattened themselves to the ground. Below, the screams of the stallion had grown frantic. His neck and forelegs were bloody, his coat flecked white with foamy sweat, but incredibly he was holding his own against the grizzly.

Chase cocked his Henry and shouldered the gun, taking careful aim.

"Don't hit the stallion," Libby warned, shouldering her own rifle.

"He's a dead horse, either way," Chase predicted grimly. Diablo's magnificent black mane and tail tossed like gleaming raven's wings and his eyes boiled with fury. Chase's heart pumped harder at the sight of him.

Thoroughbred blood ran in that horse's veins, pure as that of any stallion his father had bred for the Bradford stable. In truth, Chase had no wish to kill him. But the stallion was wounded. There was no question about that. How badly, it was hard to tell. "It would probably be doing him a favor to put him out of his misery."

"No," she cried, grabbing his arm. "Just try. For my sake?"

The stricken look in her eyes took him aback. Wondering briefly what stake she had in the horse, he nodded. "I'll do my best." Taking aim again at the bear who was charging the horse with a series of daring feints, Chase squeezed back the trigger. Just then, the stallion reared and dove at the bear's upper body. The bullet drove harmlessly into the wall of rock behind Goliath.

"Damn," he cursed through clenched teeth. Hold still, you bastard.

Taking aim again, he pulled off another shot. A spurt of blood erupted in the haunch of the moving bear, drawing an enraged howl from the beast. Goliath bounded around, eyes red with fury, seeking the source of his pain. He tossed his head violently. Saliva dangled from his teeth.

Frozen in panic, the stallion hesitated to take the freedom Chase had offered him. Forelegs planted unevenly before him, Diablo let his frenzied black eyes meet Chase's gaze for a long moment. They were proud, fierce, wild eyes that reflected a spirit so indomitable even the bear could not break it.

"Get out of there, horse," Chase urged under his breath. As if his words had broken through Diablo's terror, the horse bolted from the circle of rocks he'd been trapped in. Goliath reared on his hind legs, and roared in fury as the stallion made good his escape, careening in a flash of gleaming ebony past the mouth of the canyon.

Chase aimed his gun once more. He had Goliath's heart centered in the sight of his gun. From here, he knew he couldn't miss. Carefully, he squeezed the trigger, only to hear the dull pop of a misfired cartridge. Nothing but smoke emerged from the tip of his rifle, but the sound drew the bear's furious gaze upward. With a snarling shake of his tawny head, Goliath bounded up the slippery wall of shale directly toward them.

"Uh-oh..." Chase muttered, slapping the side of his rifle.

"He's coming," Libby warned taking aim.

"My gun's jammed," he told her, still trying to shake it loose.

"Don't tell me that," she cried, squeezing off a shot at the oncoming bear. Her bullet pierced Goliath's shoulder. He stumbled and slid on the shale before getting his feet under him again. She cursed under her breath.

"Reload!" He tossed his rifle aside and dragged the revolver from his holster. Pain shot up his leg from the uncomfortable position he was in, but he ignored it.

Libby fumbled to reload. Her hands were shaking, making it all the more difficult. She fired again, hitting the grizzly in the upper chest, but the bullets seemed to have little effect on him. "Chase—he's not stopping!"

"I know. I know." He aimed the revolver, a determined grimace on his face. "Die, you—" His Colt exploded, drowning his words and a bright red splotch appeared on Goliath's right shoulder. The slippery shale carried the bear five feet down the incline. But it didn't stop him. He came on again, like some indestructible killing machine.

"Get the horses," Chase ordered. "Give me your gun and ammunition. I'll hold him off until you're on Lady."

"No! You come, too!"

"Libby! Do it!" He fired another round into the bear. "We've got to get out of here. We don't have the firepower to stop him now. Hurry."

She knew he was right. Unfastening the cartridge belt from her waist, she placed her rifle beside him. She rose on her hands and feet to go, but felt the shale rock suddenly give beneath her left heel. An ominous splintering sound accompanied her sudden plunging slide.

She heard Chase call her name, but the sound was swallowed by her own wretched scream as she slid downward, toward Goliath.