He owed her better than that, but he couldn’t find a solution. A hundred times a day he thought about her saying she loved him, and it started a fire in his belly because he wanted a future with her, but he couldn’t see any way to have it. No matter what happened in Abilene, they were headed in opposite directions.
Pulling her around in front of him, he told her his conclusions. “I took something I had no right to take, and I’ve gone on taking it because I couldn’t stop myself.” She was so beautiful in the starlight, she took his breath away. “Then you said what you said, and I had to take a look at what I was doing. I’ve done you wrong, Freddy. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance.”
She pushed his hands away and stepped up close to his body, resting her head on his chest. “Dal? Are you ever going to say the words?”
The touch of her ignited his blood and incinerated his resolve to stay away from her. His arms came around her, and he buried his face in her hair. “Oh, hell. I love you,” he murmured hoarsely. “Damn it, Freddy, we have to stop this. A man doesn’t bed a woman when they both know he can’t do right by her.” He’d been over and over it in his mind. He’d never go to San Francisco. She’d never go to Montana.
“We don’t have much time left,” she whispered, lifting her hands to the buttons on his shirt. “Right now, I love you, and you love me. For the moment, nothing else matters.”
When she lifted her lips and breathed his name, his good intentions fled. His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hard, trying to tell her with his hands and body that saying good-bye to her was going to be the hardest thing he ever did.
They were naked and in each other’s arms when a dozen painted horses galloped between them and the herd. Startled, hearts pounding, they jumped to their feet, swearing and grabbing for their clothing.
“Indians!” Freddy shouted toward the camp.
But the warning came too late. The Indians fired their rifles in the air, and an instant later the herd was in full stampede.
Chapter 22
The contest was over. The inheritance had been decided.
After conferring, Dal and Luther returned to the main camp where everyone had assembled. Caldwell staggered behind, wearing a gloating expression, but he didn’t speak. If Caldwell had uttered a single word of self-congratulation, Dal would have killed him. He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.
The herd was grazing now, but it had been a long night. No one had slept. The sun had climbed well into the sky before they finished rounding up the scattered steers and took a count.
Habit carried Dal to the coffeepot above the fire and he poured a cup before he looked at the worried faces watching him. His gaze rested a moment on Freddy’s weary expression, and his chest tightened with bitterness. She would never have her grand theater in San Francisco, would never stand in the wings close to her dream. Maybe Luther would declare his obvious feelings for Les, or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe Alex would bury the past and accept John, or maybe she couldn’t. He didn’t know what would happen to them.
He squared his shoulders then cleared his throat. “The good news is that no one got killed or seriously injured. The bad news is that the Indians stole forty-two steers. During the stampede, five beeves drowned, and one was lost in quicksand. Two broke their legs, and we had to put them down.” His jaw clamped so tightly it was an effort to speak. “That’s fifty. The herd now numbers 1979.”
A soft sighing sound whispered through the camp as breaths released and heads dropped. Someone said, “Son of a bitch!” Another voice protested, “It aint fair!”
“We oughta walk away right now,” Grady snapped. He threw a bitter look at Jack Caldwell. “These aint our beeves anymore. Why should we take ’em in for the widow? I say we just turn ’em out on the range and ride away.”
“I’ve never abandoned a herd, and I’m not going to start now.” Turnning the herd loose wouldn’t hurt Lola or Jack, wouldn’t affect the outcome. But it would place a stain on the reputation of every man in the outfit, and Dal owed his drovers more than that. Raising a hand, Dal kneaded the tension in his shoulder. “We’re about two and a half weeks out of Abilene. Let’s get those beeves moving.”
Silently the drovers filed past him, dropped their coffee cups into Alex’s wreck pan, then headed for the remuda to saddle up. They flung black glares toward Caldwell and cursed his name. Drinkwater and Caleb spit in front of his boots.
On her way to the horses, Freddy stopped in front of Dal and stroked his cheek. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly. Les pressed his hand and nodded. “You did everything you could.”
Standing next to Alex’s chair, he watched them mount, then ride toward the herd. When Alex took his hand, he frowned down at her. “No man could have done more than you did, and no man could have done it better. You aren’t to blame.” She gave him a little push. “Go on now. They need you at the river.”