The Cowboy's Shadow Part 8

They followed a fence-row, circling the equipment shed so they did not excite the chained dog. In the distance a motor sprang to life, a small pickup bounced down a steep road, heading for the house. The driver leaned out the window when he came even with them.

"Want to start by looking at the house?" Jake asked. Whit explained their presence. Jake's face fell. "I'm supposed to meet some folks from Los Angeles this afternoon. I saw your truck as I came over the trees, so naturally thought...But I can show you the place anyway," he said eagerly.

Whit shook his head, asked about Rod, Jake nodded, his expression turning properly solemn. "Heard about it," he said glumly. "Gossip said it sounded like hantavirus. Not good for business, people dying of that d.a.m.ned stuff. It's rare, but the moment the news gets on TV, everyone thinks we're keeling over out here, like flies. .h.i.t with bug spray. Wish the doctors and hospitals would keep their mouths shut. Hurts property values. Sure you don't want to look around?"

A phone buzzed. Jake pulled a tiny black instrument from his pocket. "Yes. No.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation! Tell them to wait right there, I'll be back in forty-five minutes." He clicked the phone shut. "The stupid clients went to the office.

Thought I was flying them out." He shoved a card into Whit's hand, waved as he turned the small truck around. "Good to meet you. If you're ever interested in property, get in touch."

When they got back to the poplars the bed of the truck was no longer in the shade, and the dog had climbed out and curled up on the ground. Whit poured water into the broad cup from the top of the thermos and slid it close to the dog's nose. It got up without putting weight on its right front foot and slurped noisily. The plane wobbled into the air, circled, and headed northeast.

"Cake time now?" Kyla asked, a little too gaily. "Oh! yuck!" The shadow of the tree had moved beyond the box, and the chocolate frosting had melted all over the two plastic forks she had packed with the cake.

"We can eat it with our fingers," Whit said. He took the smallest slice; it fell to pieces, depositing frosting on his jeans. Kyla grabbed a napkin, made a dive for the viscous glob before it slid to the inside of his leg. His thigh jerked beneath the pressure of her hand, his fingers closed on her hand, he kicked the box of cake out of the way. She had time to think, "Here it comes," before his lips caught hers with a weight that sent her flat on her back. The last thing she noted with any certainty was a gulping sound. The tan dog had found the cake.

Kyla peeked at look at her watch. Three-thirty. Where had the time gone? She wasn't sure when Jake had left, but he would certainly be back soon, and neither she nor Whit had a st.i.tch on. Well, he wore socks.

"Whit," she whispered. He lifted his head, looked around as if uncertain where he was. "Huh?"

"Jake said forty-five minutes one way, so don't you think we should maybe...?"

He groaned, rolled over, but instead of sitting up he pulled her on top of him.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Okay." A little fast at the finale, but the preliminaries had been the stuff dreams are made of. He'd moved so easily, it had taken them at least an hour to get their clothes off. Her bra had stumped him, and to her surprise he had been shy about asking, wasting several minutes until she pointed out the front fastening.

"You didn't come."

Kyla shook her head. "Out of practice." She decided not to let Whit know how little practice she had had in her life. "Next time."

"You'll give me a next time?" he asked lazily.

Kyla lifted her head and pretended she gave the question a great deal of thought. "Yeeees," she said, dragging the word out to convey doubt.

"Reno, tomorrow night?" She nodded. "I'll make reservations. You have any preferences. Big hotel? Or small and private?"

"Where do you usually stay?"

"Small and private."

"Sounds good."

"Great horned toads!" She did not hear the drone of the airplane until he lifted her clear of the thud of his heart. She crawled after her scattered clothing, slipped into her blouse without the bra, because she could not find it. Her panties lay at the edge of the blanket; she grabbed them, her shorts and headed for the truck.

"Your shoes," Whit yelled. He threw them into the bed of the pickup, along with his boots and the blanket. The dog yelped. He must have climbed back into the bed of the pickup to nap after food and drink.

Whit stood on one foot, struggling with his jeans, at the same digging his heel in the soft ground. Burying the condom, Kyla realized.

"Sorry, pooch," he muttered into the truck bed. "Probably hit that sore leg."

"The tote bag," Kyla said. She stuffed the remains of the picnic in the bag, found her bra dangling from a dead branch. She made it back to the truck before the branches of the poplars danced in the plane's wash.

Whit looked at his watch. "We don't have time to do the fourth ranch. We'll leave early tomorrow, and detour on our way to Reno." Kyla resigned herself to another five- o'clock morning.

"How was it for you?" Kyla asked as Whit shoved the truck into reverse.

"A release." His mouth worked, he rubbed his hand across his mouth, hard. "A wonderful release. I'd forgotten."

"Then we'll count the afternoon as a good beginning. If, within a few days, there are no jets lifting off or tumbles off precipices, we might reconsider the relationship."

"Single engine private plane doesn't count?" His mouth twitched, coming close to a smile at his own joke.

"It made for a strange ending," Kyla said.

"It won't be strange tomorrow night," he said. "Very quiet, with all the time in the world."

"Thanks for taking so much time. I hope that part doesn't change."

"The point of ecstasy, that's what we strive for, but it never comes straight out of the blue."

The point of ecstasy. She had a little more than a week to find it with Whit.

But if Whit excited her to the climax of pa.s.sion, what if he spoiled her for other men...he was so blasted GU!

Whit pulled onto the shoulder of the road a mile from the edge of town. He was almost half an hour early. He glared at the bright spot in the eastern sky where the sun seemed stalled in some cosmic traffic jam. He watched the numerals on his watch change. 4:37. 4:38. He had missed her all night, as he would miss an arm or a leg. Wrong, terribly wrong, to make love and then part. Through every dark hour the loneliness had weighed heavier and heavier, and he wondered how he had put up with it for six years. How quickly he had yielded to l.u.s.t when the right woman appeared. A very special l.u.s.t, of a very high order.

He had not expected to miss Kyla with such a deep ache. That had not been part of his plan. Missing, longing, these words reeked of love.

Forgive me, Jenny. For the hundredth time, a steady pleading confessional into the night, hoping some ghost heard, and would convey the message.

No sense arriving on Elm Street before five. He imagined Kyla walking to the end of the drive with her big tote bag. Or perhaps more substantial luggage this morning, since they would stay near Reno tonight. How had Kyla broken the news to Mark and Glenda Fetterman? Glenda disapproved of him, because he was moody and eccentric. Did Kyla think him moody and eccentric? He would guard against it.

The sky in the east grew so bright he could not stand to look. A fiery crescent bulged over the horizon. Mid-June, nearly the longest day of the year. A man jogged toward the truck, chasing a long shadow, panting too deeply to do more than lift a finger in greeting. Past retirement age, still working to maintain the trim shape that had come naturally when he worked in the mine. Whit rolled down the window to enjoy the aroma of the desert as the first sunbeams warmed the sage and greasewood.

Reflected in his side mirror, he saw a woman jogging up from behind. Instead of cutting into the road to pa.s.s him, she entered the narrow s.p.a.ce between the truck and the ditch. The sun shone directly in her face and reflected from mirrored sungla.s.ses. Whit made out a wildly patterned jogging bra and tight shorts. The woman dodged the mirror, and as she did so gave him a sour look.

Moira Chase. She jerked the gla.s.ses off, made a graceful, circling halt in front of hood, and strolled back. Her low-slung shorts exposed an inch of skin below her navel.

"Good morning," she panted. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s poked over the stretch bra, rising and falling.

"h.e.l.lo." He put his hand on the b.u.t.ton to close the window, then remembered it did not work unless the key had been turned in the ignition.

She leaned on the door. "Shy?"

"You needn't make the effort. I burned the picture."

Her mouth smiled, but her eyes reminded him of the little window on a calculator. "But I didn't burn my copy. Either of them. I'm not ashamed of what Rod and I did. You'll find out whenwe get together."

Copies? Of an instant photograph? Take that gross thing to a photo shop? No, a color copier...everything so simple now.

"Rod said I was the best. Didn't he tell you? I thought all men bragged about the p.u.s.s.y they f.u.c.ked. I'm truly disappointed." A mock frown. "I'm not free this morning." A real frown this time. "Be here same time tomorrow, the doc's got surgery." She grimaced with distaste at the open bed of the truck. "I wish you cowboys would get campers. They make adultery so simple. But Rod found a place.

I'll show you."

Whit turned the key; Moira stepped back and almost fell in the ditch. Whit dared to look in the rear view mirror only after he had gone half a block. She stood at the edge of the road, staring after him. He swung into the empty parking lot of the grocery and left the motor running until his lungs stopped hurting. He lowered the pa.s.senger side window and turned on the fan. Flush Moira out of the cab. At least he had not noticed perfume that he would have to explain away.

Moira's copy of the photo still existed, along with another that featured Rod.

Moira hadn't cared about Rod, so why should she keep the pictures? The sun flooded the parking lot with gold, and in that instant Whit felt the arrival of mystery. If Moira did not care who saw the picture, why had she searched Rod's apartment and attempted to break into his pickup? She wanted something other than the photo.

"What --?" He turned to the pa.s.senger seat, broke off the question when he realized Kyla was not there. He looked at his watch -- 4:58 -- turned the key in the ignition. Kyla had guessed that the thief had been a woman. She would come up with an answer this second question.

On second thought, he did not look forward to telling her about meeting Moira.

Not this morning, nor this afternoon. Wait until the languid aftermath of love, after he had brought Kyla to an o.r.g.a.s.m. She must never think that he found Moira tempting. He had spent half the night designing sensual experiments, and if they were to come to fruition, he must not upset her.

He nearly missed Elm Street because the tree was gone. He slammed on his brakes, made the turn, and glimpsed the figure waiting half way down the block. He looked at his watch. Two minutes after five.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, leaning across and opening the pa.s.senger door.

"Just got out here myself," she said. She yawned, stuffed a backpack among the boxes in the bed of the truck.

"What are we hauling?" she asked.

"Some of Rod's things. Papers, stuff Judith might need."

"Where's the dog?"

"Sleeping on a blanket on the back porch. The creature was a bit testy while Vince pulled the cactus spines out of its foot, but after some food and water it settled right down."

She slid to the middle and fastened the lap belt. He waited until they were out of town before he kissed her. A simple, lip to lip welcome. Her tongue brushed his upper lip.

"No you don't," he said, pulling back so fast his head b.u.mped the window. "We've got a long day ahead, lots to do before we cuddle up in the hotel. Yesterday was okay, but nooky's more comfortable in civilized places."

She leaned her head on his shoulder and in two minutes he heard slow, soft breaths.Nap. Sleep, because I'm keeping you up half the night .

North on back roads, where they met only two cars in the first half hour. Moira kept the photos. Natural for a lover. He treasured every picture of Jenny, and pictures would be all Moira would ever have to recall her young lover. Dangerous when you had a husband who thought you loved him. But nothing in Moira's behavior suggested the slightest affection for Rod. She had used him to supplement her inadequate marriage. Like catsup on a dry sandwich.

A big juniper hid the mailbox he was looking for until he was right upon it. He braked harder than he intended; Kyla jerked awake.

"Where are we?"

"Liberty Cap Ranch. It's about five miles off the highway."

Kyla fished about in her purse -- no sharp corners, she must have taken the condoms out of the box -- found a little purple rectangle that with a twist became a comb and brush. She worked at her short, dark hair.

"Your hair's sticking up in back," she said. The brush scratched his crown.

"There, that looks better."

He had forgotten -- or maybe had never known -- the possessiveness of women once they'd become intimate with a man. Jenny had never become comfortable, correcting his appearance. Once he had run about for an hour with his fly gaping before she whispered in his ear. Kyla would tell him right away. In fact, she probably would have said something even before yesterday afternoon -- "Trees," Kyla said. A dark grove loomed ahead, and the road vanished in the sudden shade. He managed to stop before he crashed into the side of a cabin. Not just one cabin, he saw as his eyes adjusted to the light. Three. Four. No five if you counted the heap of wood fifty yards away. Decrepit buildings, long unused, the walls sagging, the ridgepoles dipping.

"This is what we're looking for!" Kyla had her hand on the lever of the door.

"Stay here," he snapped, cold fear nipping at the back of his shins at the thought of Kyla charging into a polluted cabin. He shifted into reverse and backed into the sunshine. "Let's look for tire tracks before we expose ourselves to hantavirus."

"Last night I dreamed we had to go back to Malaspina," Kyla said, "because we forgot to look for tire tracks on our way out. Then this morning I remembered the flying realtor had told us Rod had been there." Her cheeks flushed to her eyes. Something else in the dream, obviously, and Whit thought he could reconstruct it, because her dream must have been similar to his. A dream that jerked him awake at three-thirty. Which is why he'd been so early heading into town. Which is why he had met that s.l.u.t on the road.

They found no tracks around the grove but their own. "Let's walk back a quarter mile." He offered his hand; she took it. He tapped her palm. She scratched with a gentle fingernail. "What else was in the dream?" he asked. Kyla bit her lip.

"I'll tell you about my dream if you tell me yours."

"You didn't have any pants on," she said, "all the way back to Argentia, and then I got all fl.u.s.tered because Glenda would see."

"I went into Rod's apartment, and you were on the bed with the bronc rider--"

"Bronc rider?"

"It's a statue. A Remington bronze. Except in my dream he came alive, but that only bothered me for a minute, because I became the bronc rider."

"I don't think I want to hear any more." She pulled her hand from his and ran ahead, but looked over her shoulder, a game of tag. He rushed to catch her, saw the track -- "There!" He squatted. Rod had turned his truck around on the rise above the cabins.

"He came in the afternoon," Kyla said, peering downhill, a hand shading her eyes. "We didn't see the cabins until we were nearly on top of them, but with the sun behind you, they'd be visible from here."

"That means that Rob probably didn't pick up hantavirus at any of the ranches north of Argentia. Except we don't know about Penny Springs. After the sheriff cleans out the pot growers, we'll have a look around."

Kyla wore stringy white sandals. Dust billowed over her insteps as she walked.

Her dress was light blue, with darker blue flowers, cut with a demure high neck.

But it stopped just above her knees, and in the back it dipped radically, nearly to her waist. His hand reached to stroke the curve, but pulled back. Wait. A puff of happiness lifted him like the dust, as if he walked with his feet inches off the road. Moira Chase, nearly naked, had not roused him in the least, while Kyla's back brought an ache in his loins.

"How many ranches did Rod visit east of town?" she asked.

"Six. We'll need two days to hit all of them."

"Are there any close to Argentia."

"One. Why?"

"I keep remembering Carl Goulding. It seems to me we're looking for a place close enough to town that the boys could go round trip on their bikes in a day."