CAROLINE AND THE RAIDER Read online

  “I’m not going back,” Caroline said firmly, after fortifying herself with a sip of his noxious coffee.

  Guthrie flung the remaining contents of the coffeepot into the brush, and Caroline saw suppressed fury in every line of his body. That hurt, after the intimate way he’d held her the night before.

  “You needn’t be so ill-tempered,” Caroline said, with shaky reason, pushing her tumbledown hair back from her face. “It doesn’t become you.”

  He squatted in front of her to look directly into her face, and his green eyes were snapping. “Don’t treat me like a slow first grader,” he warned, in a gravelly undertone. “Out here, I’m running things. Is that clear?”

  Caroline wriggled out of the blankets and stood, carefully balancing the coffee mug as she did so. “On the contrary,” she said, with tremulous dignity, “you’re working for me—remember?”

  Guthrie rose and advanced ominously, forcing Caroline to take a step back. “Don’t be too sure of that,” he told her, and his nostrils flared slightly as he spoke. “You see, Teacher, I’d just as soon get on that horse of mine and ride straight back to Bolton. I’ve got a mine to work there and a house to build. There’s a woman waiting for me to declare myself, and I’m thinking the sooner she and I tie the knot, the better I’m going to like it. So if you want me to take you the rest of the way to Laramie, you’d better not give me another moment’s grief!”

  Caroline bit her lower lip. There at the last, when Guthrie had raised his finger and shook it at her, she’d flinched, and that shamed her. “You weren’t thinking about your precious Adabelle last night, when you touched me that way,” she muttered under her breath, when Guthrie turned and strode away to saddle the horses.

  He stopped, although he should have been too far away to hear, and turned to glower at her from under the brim of his disreputable hat. “What did you say?”

  Caroline hugged herself. Her hair was falling down, her clothes were rumpled, she was out in the middle of nowhere with the most difficult man who had ever lived, and she had to go to the bathroom. “I said a lot of mosquitoes bit me during the night,” she lied.

  Guthrie glared at her for a moment, then went on about his business. Caroline found a bush to hide behind and took care of hers.

  Chapter

  The grassy landscape stretched out around them, reaching like a carpet to the far mountains, and the sky made a canopy of cornflower blue, but Caroline had little opportunity to admire the view. Guthrie traveled at a fast pace, the dauntless Tob loping along beside his horse, and Caroline’s swaybacked mare was at a distinct disadvantage. Finally, when the sun was at its zenith and Caroline was sure she would faint if they didn’t stop to rest, her escort reined around to glare at her and slapped one thigh with his raggedy hat.

  “If you can’t keep up,” he said impatiently, wiping his forehead with his sleeve before settling the hat back on his head, “then why don’t you just go back to Bolton and let me handle this?”

  Caroline stuck out her chin. Not for anything would she have let him see how relieved she was just to get a few moments to rest. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she challenged angrily. “Well, you’re not going to get your way. I want to make sure this is handled properly.”

  Guthrie’s eyes roved pityingly over her hired mare. “That animal is never going to make it all the way to Laramie, let alone back again. We’d better drop her off at the first homestead we see.”

  Patting the old horse’s sweaty neck, Caroline nodded. At last, she and Guthrie finally agreed about something. “But what will I ride?” she asked.

  “Nobody’s likely to trade us a good mount for that poor old nag. You’ll have to double up with me.” He rode closer to gaze ominously into her face. “It’s going to slow us down considerably, and I don’t like that.”

  “What you like is of no earthly consideration to me,” Caroline said stiffly.

  Guthrie watched her for a moment longer, that obnoxious grin twitching at one side of his mouth, then he reined his gelding into a stand of whispering cottonwood trees. Caroline had no choice but to follow him.

  Their horses’ hooves made almost no sound on the soft, leaf-covered ground. Only the occasional snapping of a twig, the cautious songs of the birds, and Tob’s panting broke the silence.

  Finally, they came to a silvery stream and Guthrie dismounted. Both his horse and his dog hurried to the water to drink.

  The balls of Caroline’s feet ached fiercely when she got down and led her mare to the creek bank. She wasn’t accustomed to riding; mostly, she walked everywhere she needed to go. Now, every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming for mercy.

  “Why do you call that dog Tob?” Caroline asked, and there was an edge of insistence in her voice. The last time she’d inquired, Guthrie hadn’t replied.

  He sighed as he recovered his saddlebags from the gelding’s back and carried them toward her. “It’s nothing a lady should be interested in,” he said.

  Caroline flushed, remembering some of the thoughts she’d entertained concerning this impossible man. “Maybe I’m not a lady.”

  Guthrie produced more beef jerky from the leathery depths of his saddlebags and handed Caroline a portion, along with a wry look. “Tob is short for tits-on-a-boar,” he answered, looking back at the canine with affection. “’Cause that’s what that dog is as useless as.”

  Once again, Caroline’s cheeks heated. “That’s certainly crude,” she remarked.

  Guthrie shrugged and bit off a piece of his jerky, chewing with effort. “You asked,” he replied. “So I told you.”

  Now he was talking with his mouth full. It was a mystery to Caroline why her spinster guardians thought this man was a gentleman. Of course, they’d had very limited experience with the opposite sex. She felt a pang, imagining how worried the gracious old ladies must be by now, even though she’d left them a note.

  “You’d better get a drink while you can,” Guthrie said, walking away and leaving Caroline standing there, gnawing on her ration of dried beef. The horses had drunk their fill and wandered away from the creek to graze on tender spring grass. Guthrie took off the canteen that had been looped over his shoulder by a long rawhide strap and squatted beside the flow of clean, icy water to fill it.

  Caroline had been thirsty even before she’d eaten the heavily salted jerky, but she couldn’t think of any way to drink gracefully. The mug Guthrie used for coffee was apparently stuck away in his pack somewhere, and her confidence didn’t extend to plundering his things.

  Finally, she just hunkered down at the creek side and scooped water up in her cupped hands. The taste was bracing and delicious, and she couldn’t help giving a sigh of satisfaction.

  Guthrie grinned at her as he stood twisting the lid back onto his canteen.

  “What are you smiling about?” Caroline demanded. There was an arrogance in his amusement that made her scramble back to her feet.

  “I was just thinking what sad shape you would have been in if you’d tried to make this trip on your own,” he said. And then he turned and walked back toward the horses.

  Caroline knew he was right, and that infuriated her all the more. She mounted her weary mare in stubborn silence and didn’t say another word until hours later, when Guthrie spurred his horse toward an enclosed wagon and an enormous flock of dusty, muddy sheep in the distance. They’d heard the bleating of the animals even before seeing them.

  The sheepherder’s two collies came bounding at the sight of Tob, ready to defend their charges. With a plaintive yelp, Tob leaped up in front of Guthrie in the saddle and perched there, quivering, like a big, hairy bird.

  Caroline was still getting over her surprise at that when the shepherd approached. He was a tall scarecrow of a man, wearing patched clothes and a top hat that must have been elegant at one time, and he carried a rifle easily at his side.

  Guthrie touched the brim of his hat. “’Afternoon,” he said, with a grin meant to put the other man at ease. Altho
ugh he wore a .45-caliber pistol in a holster on his hip, he didn’t reach for it or even lay his palm over the handle. Still, Caroline had a sense that the weapon would leap into his fingers in an instant if he summoned it.

  “’Afternoon,” replied the shepherd, studying the two visitors solemnly. His dogs kept their distance, but their teeth were bared and they were giving low, threatening growls.

  Caroline knew their hostility was directed at Tob, but she was still afraid. These animals were not pets but valuable property, and they would be vicious if provoked.

  Guthrie ran a gloved hand down Tob’s shivering back while smiling companionably at the sheepherder. “We’re looking for a place to leave this animal,” he said, nodding toward Caroline’s pathetic mount.

  She rode up a little closer to her escort and said out of the side of her mouth, “Mr. Hayes, this horse does not belong to me. It’s hired, and I shall be expected to return it at some point.”

  The man had the consummate gall to ignore her entirely. “You headed toward Bolton by any chance?”

  The sheepherder rubbed his chin, considering. “Lot of cattlemen around those parts,” he said thoughtfully. “They might not take kindly to me and my woolies.”

  Guthrie took two cheroots from his shirt pocket—very slowly, Caroline noticed—and handed one to the shepherd. He lit his own, then handed the burning match to the man standing on the ground. “If you pass within seven or eight miles, I figure the mare will find the way home on her own.”

  “I could do that,” the shepherd answered.

  “Thanks,” Guthrie replied.

  Caroline got off the weary mare and climbed, with great difficulty and a hand from Guthrie, onto the back of his gelding. Considering that she was carrying her carpetbag, it was not a graceful process. “Shouldn’t we offer him money?” she whispered into Guthrie’s ear.

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Guthrie replied in an undertone, hardly moving his lips.

  Caroline took a coin from the pocket of her skirt and tried to smile as she handed it down to the sheepherder. Soon, she was going to be broke, and all the funds she had at home in the Bolton City Bank were pledged to Guthrie for rescuing Mr. Flynn from jail. “Thank you,” she said.

  The shepherd bit the coin, then dropped it into the pocket of his ragged vest. After sparing a brief inclination of his head, the tall man turned and walked back toward his camp, leading the mare behind him.

  Tob had leaped reluctantly to the ground, ever aware of the watchful sheep dogs.

  “Suppose he doesn’t take that poor animal back to Bolton at all?” Caroline fretted. She had one arm around Guthrie’s muscular waist, but she felt sure she was going to slide off over the gelding’s sleek rump anyway. The carpetbag was heavy in her other hand, and it thumped painfully against her thigh. “Suppose he just keeps her for himself?”

  Guthrie made a clucking sound and spurred the horse slightly, nearly sending Caroline tumbling into the grass. “Then I guess you’ll just have to pay the people at the livery stable whatever she’s worth. Probably wouldn’t be much.”

  Caroline clutched a handful of his shirt in an effort to keep her seat. That was easy for him to say, since the money wouldn’t be coming out of his pocket. “I just hope he’ll be kind to her.”

  “Anything’s got to be kinder than forcing her to keep up with a gelding half her age,” he commented, then urged his horse into a trot.

  Caroline held on for dear life. Even if she’d been able to think of something to say, uttering the words would have taken effort she couldn’t spare, so she rested her cheek between Guthrie’s shoulder blades and endured.

  When they finally stopped again, this time beside a narrow, tree-sheltered stream, Caroline was weak, and her hand ached from hours of clutching Guthrie’s shirt. The insides of her thighs felt bruised and sore, as well. She let the carpetbag tumble to the ground before gratefully dismounting.

  Guthrie didn’t seem a bit the worse for wear and even Tob, who had trotted along beside the horse all afternoon, was hardly winded.

  “See if you can find some twigs and chips of bark to start the fire.” Guthrie gave the order offhandedly, while leading the gelding toward the water.

  Although Caroline was annoyed at his tone, she had never expected to make the trip without having to do her part, so she searched the area until she had an armload of sticks and bark.

  When she got back to camp, Guthrie had already made a circle of stones for the fire, and he was whistling as he constructed a crude spit from two forked sticks and one longer, sturdier one.

  Caroline’s stomach grumbled loudly, and her mouth watered. She hardly dared ask, “Are we going to have something besides dried beef for supper?”

  Guthrie grinned as he got to his feet and shoved his bowie knife back into the scabbard hanging from his belt. “That’ll depend on how good my aim is,” he replied. He took a couple of wooden matches from the pocket of his shirt and held them out to Caroline. “Here. You get the fire going.”

  Caroline figured a campfire couldn’t be that different from one on the hearth of the parlor fireplace at home. She dropped the makings she’d gathered into the circle of stones and accepted the matches.

  Guthrie took his .45 from its holster and laid it gently on top of his bedroll, which rested on a high, flat rock. “You know how to use one of these?” he asked.

  Caroline eyed the pistol and shuddered. “No. There isn’t much call for bloodshed in my line of work.”

  He laughed. “I reckon there are a few teachers who’d disagree with that,” he replied. He left the gun where it was and took up the rifle that had been in a special scabbard beneath his saddle. The inside of Caroline’s right leg had practically been rubbed raw by the thing.

  The fire blazed to life, and Caroline rose awkwardly from her knees, dusting her hands together and smiling in satisfaction. Now, she would have to bring back some of the larger pieces of wood she’d seen earlier, to keep the flames going.

  Guthrie startled her by cocking the rifle loudly. “Don’t get too far from that .45,” he warned, “and if anybody comes into camp, point it straight at their gizzard.” He paused and gave his lopsided grin. “Unless it’s me, of course.”

  Caroline looked from Guthrie to the pistol and felt the color drain out of her face. Although she certainly didn’t relish the prospect of handling something so lethal, these weren’t ordinary circumstances. There were bandits, drifters, and Indians abroad. “Just don’t be gone too long,” she replied, with a gulp.

  His green eyes moved over her in an appreciative, humorous sweep, and then he turned and went off into the trees, with Tob bounding along at his heels. He was whistling some audacious saloon song as he went.

  Caroline gathered the rest of the wood, ever conscious of the .45, stockpiling enough to keep the fire going through most of the night. She flinched when she heard a shot in the distance, hoping Guthrie had brought down a rabbit or a grouse. It was just as possible, it seemed to her, that her traveling companion had fallen prey to a Shoshone bullet.

  She was enormously relieved when, about twenty-five minutes later, Guthrie came into camp carrying a sizable rabbit carcass in one hand. Blessedly, he’d already cleaned the animal and skinned it, and Caroline was too hungry for something other than beef jerky to worry about the niceties.

  She watched as Guthrie washed the meat thoroughly in the creek, then handed it back to her. While she held it, he carefully cleaned the blade of his knife.

  Back at the campfire, Guthrie took the rabbit from Caroline and put it expertly on the spit. Tob yipped and yowled a few feet away, obviously anxious for his share of the feast.

  The meat smelled heavenly as it roasted and, as the light of day faded, the three travelers drew closer to the fire by instinct. The cheerful crackling of the blaze raised Caroline’s weary spirits and made her feel safer, but all her muscles were protesting the long day of mistreatment.

  A sidelong glance at Guthrie reminded her that there were
different kinds and degrees of safety. Tonight they would again share a bedroll, and there was no denying that her virtue was in his hands. If he chose not to behave as a gentleman, she feared she would not be able to resist him.

  And she was certain he knew that.

  She turned the rabbit patiently on its spit, and when Guthrie pronounced it cooked, she was as eager for her share as a cave woman after a long, lean winter.

  Guthrie gave her a portion, took one for himself, and then tossed a generous piece to Tob.

  By the time she’d finished eating the delicious meat, Caroline was well satisfied, and a little less shaky, but she was also covered with grease. She looked with longing toward the shadowy stream.

  “I’d like to take a bath,” she confessed.

  Guthrie dismissed the idea with a shake of his head and a lusty sigh, leaning back against his saddle to fold his arms and watch the fire. He’d already wiped his fingers on his trouser legs, but there was a tiny glint of grease at one corner of his mouth.

  “Water’s too cold,” he said.

  Caroline ran her slippery fingers back and forth in the deep grass, but she still didn’t feel clean, and she wasn’t about to use her skirt for a napkin. After all, she had only one other set of clothes stuffed into her carpetbag, and she couldn’t be sure how long it would be before she had access to her wardrobe again.

  Overhead, stars twinkled into view, seeming to flicker against the twilight sky. Guthrie was staring contentedly into the fire.

  “For all your talk about marrying and building a house,” Caroline ventured, trying to settle herself, “I think you like sleeping under the stars and having to hunt for your supper.”

  Guthrie grinned. “It has its merits,” he admitted, with another hearty sigh, “but I’m ready to have a roof and walls of my own and start making babies.”

  Caroline felt the heat of the fire even more intensely in that moment. She wasn’t used to men—or women, for that matter—speaking so frankly in her presence, although long ago, while living with her mother in Chicago, she’d seen and heard worse. “I suppose Adabelle is just right for that, too,” she said, wishing she could call the words back the second she’d uttered them.