felt were bittersweet. Though she had professed her love for him, he had rejected it, and in doing so, rejected her as well.
“Rebecca,” Tom said. Her name on his tongue was charged with what? Passion? Remorse?
“Yes, Tom?” Rebecca’s voice was expectant, hopeful.
“I—uh,” he paused for a long time, as if trying to find the words. Then, in what was an obvious retreat from what he was feeling, he continued on in an entirely different vein.
“When we get there, I’ll let you down just this side of the woods. Then I’ll wait until you’ve come through on the other side before I appear. Don’t forget to carry some wood with you when you go back.”
“All right,” Rebecca replied, swallowing her disappointment.
Tom felt Rebecca trembling against him—or was he trembling against her? He had not experienced a craving this intense since Martha had died. And yet he dare not give in to it. He had made a commitment once, and what had it gotten him? A lifetime of remorse and pain.
His arms were around her now, holding the reins to be sure, but they were around her, and he could feel her against him, full body-to-body contact. Oh, how he wanted to pull her against him, kiss her neck, taste her lips. It took the last reserve of his strength to fight off that urge. He enjoyed what he could of the connection between them until her voice interrupted the dizzying pleasure he was experiencing.
“Here,” Rebecca said.
“What?
“This is the edge of the woods,” Rebecca said. I had better get down here.”
“This is the best place?”
“Yes.”
Tom put his hands on her sides and lifted her up and out of the saddle. Then, bending over, he set her down on the ground as easily as if she were a child. For a moment she looked up at him, putting her soul into her gaze. He leaned down and the distance between their lips closed. She pursed her lips, waiting for the kiss that was to come.
Suddenly a quail darted up beside them, the whir of his wings startling them both, and the mood was broken.
“You had better hurry,” Tom said.
“Yes.”
Tom sat his horse as Rebecca disappeared into the woods. He waited a few minutes before he rode ahead. When he crested the hill, he saw that Rebecca had already returned to the encampment, so he knew the others would be expecting him. He rode slowly and steadily toward the camp. Sally came out to greet him when he arrived.
“Hey, who is that?” Morrell asked.
Doyle moved to where he could look over the berm that was providing them with both cover and concealment.
Doyle chuckled. “You ought to recognize him, Morrell,” he said. “He’s the one that proved you was lyin’ in the hearing. His name is Tom something.”
“Yeah,” Morrell said. “Yeah, that is him, ain’t it? Well, I’ll just settle accounts between me an’ him right now.”
Morrell jacked a round into his Winchester and raised it to his shoulders. Seeing him, Lovejoy reached out and grabbed the rifle from him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lovejoy asked.
“That’s the son of a bitch that called me a liar in court,” Morrell said.
“If you shoot him now it will give us away. I’m only interested in one man, and that’s Matt Jensen, the one who killed Frank. Now if you can’t go along with that, then you can just leave now. Without the one hundred dollars.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I reckon there will be plenty of time to kill that fella after we kill Matt Jensen.”
“Where are the others?” Doyle asked. “Seems to me like those wagons have been there long enough now.”
“Maybe that’s what this fella, Tom, come up to tell them,” Morrell suggested. “Like as not he come up to tell ’em that the others would be along directly.”
Back at the herd, Dusty was the first to see a rider coming toward them.
“Clay, we got a galloper coming in,” Dusty called.
Pulling their guns, Clay and Dusty both rode toward the rider. The rider held one hand in the air as he approached.
“Is this the herd Matt Jensen is with?” the rider asked.
“Yeah, it is. What of it?” Clay asked.
“My name is Billy Lovejoy.”
“Lovejoy?” Dusty said. “Ain’t that the name of the man Matt kilt?”
“Yes,” Billy said. “Frank Lovejoy was my brother.”
“So what are you doing here? Have you come for revenge?” Clay asked.
“No, on the contrary. I’m here to warn you about my Pa. He is planning to set up an ambush at the Cimarron River.”
“We know,” Dusty said.
“You know?” Billy asked in surprise. “How do you know?”
“They were spotted on the other side of the river.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“We are already doing it. We sent someone to deal with it.”
“Let me go to my father,” Billy said. “Let me see if I can talk him out of it.”
“Why didn’t you try to talk him out of it before he came down here?” Clay asked.
“I
“What makes you think he would listen to you now?”
“I don’t know, maybe he won’t. But I feel like I have to try.”
“What do you think, Dusty?” Clay asked.
“How do we know he isn’t comin’ to warn his Pa that we are on to him?” Dusty asked.
“I’m not,” Billy said. “Please, you must let me go.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t take the chance,” Clay said.
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Billy urged his horse into a gallop. By the time Clay and Dusty recovered, then got their horses turned around, Billy was sixty feet away. Clay aimed his pistol.
“Better not, Clay!” Dusty shouted. “If this herd gets spooked into a stampede now, with only the three of us, we’ll never get it stopped!”
Clay lowered his pistol without firing.
“I think maybe the fella came to do just what he said he came to do,” Dusty said. “And if he can get there in time to stop any shootin’, well that would be better all around, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Clay agreed. “But I doubt he will get there in time.”
“This looks like the place,” Smoke said, pointing to three rocks which, as Dusty had indicated, were stair- stepping down.
Matt walked down to the edge of the water and stuck his hand into it. “Damn, it’s cold,” he said. “Couldn’t we just come back in the summertime?”
“Americans are always complaining about the cold,” Duff said. “If you want cold, sure ’n you should come to Scotland.” Duff rode down into the water. “Och!! ‘Tis cold!” he said, and the others laughed.
All four rode down into the river and, just as Dusty had promised, the water was deep enough to come up on their legs. The water was cold, cold enough that the horses didn’t have to be prodded to cross quickly. Fortunately, the ford wasn’t too difficult.
