«Well?» he said roughly. «Is it a deal?»
Eve looked at the dark, oversize gunfighter who was watching her with eyes as hard as jade.
«I —» Her voice cracked.
Reno waited, watching her.
«I was wrong about you,» Eve said after a moment. «I’m not strong enough to fight you and win, so you’ll take what you want from me, just like Slater or Raleigh.»
«I’ve never taken a woman by force in my life,» Reno said flatly. «I never will.»
Eve let out a long breath. «Truly?»
Despite himself, Reno felt a wave of compassion for Eve. Cheat or not, saloon girl or not, no girl deserved the kind of rough usage she got from men like Slater and Raleigh King.
«You have my word on it.»
Reno saw the relief in Eve’s golden eyes and smiled thinly.
«That doesn’t mean I won’t touch you,» he continued. «It just means that when I take you — and I will — you’ll be screaming with pleasure, not pain.»
A tide of crimson replaced the pallor of Eve’s face.
«Do we have a deal?» Reno asked.
«You won’t touch me unless I —»
«I won’t take you,» he corrected instantly. «There’s a difference, saloon girl. If you don’t like that bargain, we can go back to the first one — I get all of the mine and all of the girl. Take your pick.»
«You’re too kind,» Eve said through her teeth.
«Doubtless. But I’m a reasonable man. I won’t keep you forever. Just for as long as it takes to find the mine. Deal?»
Eve looked at Reno for a long moment. She reminded herself that he had no reason to trust her, many reasons not to respect her, was quite capable of taking what he wanted and to hell with her protests; yet he was willing to treat her better than any inhabitant of the Gold Dust Saloon would have, given the same opportunity.
«Deal,» she said.
When Eve turned away to tend breakfast, Reno moved with his customary speed. She froze as his hand closed over her wrists.
«One more thing,» he said.
«What?» Eve whispered.
«This.»
She closed her eyes, expecting to feel the heat of his mouth over hers.
Instead, she felt Don Lyon’s ring sliding from her fingers.
«I’ll keep the ring and the pearls until I find a woman who loves me as much as she loves her own comfort,» Reno said.
Then he added sardonically, «And while I’m at it, I’ll find a ship made of stone, a dry rain, and a light that casts no shadow.»
Reno pocketed the ring and turned away. «Get saddled up. It’s a long way over the Great Divide to Cal’s ranch.»
«Why are we going there?»
«Cal is counting on the winter supplies I’m bringing. And unlike some people I’ve met, when say I’ll do something, I do it.»
5
Beyond the Great Divide, the massive wall of mountains slowly changed, breaking into chains and clusters of ragged peaks rising in stone waves against the endless blue sky.
Even in late August, the peaks were streaked with glittering snowfields. Creeks rushed down steep folds in the sides of the mountains, combined forces on the flats, then wound down long valleys and through basins like ropes of liquid diamonds beneath the sun. The vivid green of aspens and the darker greens of fir, spruce, and pine made a velvet robe across the mountain flanks. In the clearings, grasses and shrubs added their own bright shades of green to the land.
Once Reno and Eve had ridden through the first pass beyond Canyon City, there were few signs of men traveling over the land, and even fewer marks of permanent residence. Wild animals abounded. Mustangs fled like multicolored clouds before a storm wind when Reno and Eve rode into lonely valleys. Elk and deer glided out from cover to browse along the margins of the clearings.
Though wary of man, the deer weren’t as quick to flee as the wild horses. The pure, keening cries of eagles floating on the wind were woven like bright threads through the day.
Reno was more wary than any of the animals. He rode every moment as though expecting attack. He never cut across a clearing unless it would take them miles off their course to circle along the margin where forest and grass met. He never crested a rise without pausing just below the rim to see what was on the other side. Only when he was satisfied that there were no Indians or outlaws nearby did he reveal himself against the skyline.
He never rode into a narrow canyon if he could avoid it. If avoidance was impossible, he slipped the thong on his six-shooter and rode with his repeating rifle across the saddle. Often during the day he would retrace part of their back trail, find a vantage point, and simply watch the land for any signs that they were being followed.
Unlike most men, Reno rode with the reins in his right hand, leaving his left hand free for the six-gun that was never beyond his reach, even when he slept. Every night he checked his weapons for trail dust or moisture from the afternoon storms that swirled through the peaks.
Reno didn’t make a fuss about his precautions. He didn’t really even notice them anymore. He had lived alone in a wild land for so long that he was no more aware of his skill at it than he was of his skill in riding the tough blue roan he called Darlin’.
Eve didn’t think the mare was anyone’s Darlin’. She was a hardy mustang with the temperament of a wolverine and the wariness of a wolf. Should anyone but Reno approach the mare, she flattened her ears to her skull and looked for a place to sink her big white teeth into flesh. With Reno, however, the mare was all nickers and soft whuffles of greeting.
Darlin’ was constantly testing the breeze for the scent of danger. At the moment her head was up, her ears were pricked, and her nostrils were flared as she drank the wind.
Out in the sunlit meadow a bird called sharply and cut aside to fly into the forest. The silence that followed the bird’s retreat was total.
Eve didn’t wait for Reno’s signal to go into hiding. As soon as the bird veered aside, she reined Whitefoot deeper into the cover of the forest and waited. Breath held, motionless, she watched the meadow through the screen of aspens and evergreens.
A solitary mustang stallion walked warily into the clearing. The half-healed wounds of a recent fight were clear on the horse’s body. He lowered his muzzle into the creek and drank, stopping every few moments to raise his head and sniff the breeze. Despite his wounds, the stallion was fit and powerful, just coming into his full maturity.
Compelled by the young horse’s muscular beauty, Eve leaned forward in the saddle. The faint creaking of leather carried no farther than Whitefoot’s ears, yet the stallion seemed to sense her presence.
Finally the wild horse drank again, looked up, and walked slowly away from the stream. Soon he began cropping grass. His vigilance didn’t end while he ate. Rarely did a minute go by that the stallion didn’t pause, lift his head, and test the breeze for enemies. In a herd his constant checking wouldn’t have been necessary, for there would have been other ears, other eyes, other wary horses to scent the breeze. But the stallion was alone.
It occurred to Eve that Reno was like the mustang stallion — ready for battle, wary, trusting nothing and no one, completely alone.
Eve sensed movement behind her. When she turned in the saddle, she saw the catfooted blue roan coming through the forest toward her.
A breeze wound through the evergreens, drawing a sigh from their slender green needles. Whitefoot stirred, made uneasy by the scent of the stallion on the wind. Silently Eve stroked the gelding’s neck to reassure him.