He held her that way, breathing heavily, her back arched away from him
by the pressure of her hands against his chest. He searched her wide,
dark eyes, and found no guile there. Still filled with that desire
and driven by it, he made a guttural, inarticulate sound, releasing
her, and took one step to the bed, lowering himself on the embroidered
muslin coverlet. He bent to take off his right Justin. The fancy
stitching across the top of the boot unknotted, and he pulled it away
from half a dozen eyelets in the leather, revealing a double thickness
which formed a pocket.
"Used to keep my money here," he said, pulling out the piece of
parchment Rockland had given him. The woman's hand trembled as she
took it from him, laying it on the bed beside her piece, fitting them
together. Then her pale finger crossed the map until it reached a word
printed on his section. Her voice was no more than a whisper.
"Mogotes Serpientes."
"Yeah," he said, watching her. "Yeah. I never got around to using the
map. Kenmare was on my tail a lot since I left San Antonio. I didn't
take too much stock in the story anyway. Del never told me anything
about it, and it was his uncle supposed to have been captain of that
mule train. How did Rockland get hold of this portion?"
"Delcazar's uncle escaped to Mexico City, where he died, his effects
being turned over to the family lawyer down there," she said. "Rockland
originally wanted the Delcazar land up here for the water. He sent
Tarant down to Mexico City to make sure there was nothing in the
Delcazar papers which would prevent having clear title to the land when
he got hold of it. Tarant found this part of the chart when he was
going through those papers." She straightened slowly, allowing her gaze
to reach his face. "Do you know who has the other piece, Crawford?"
"No," he said.
Her eyes grew blank; and he stood swiftly, grasping her hand. "I've
trusted you, Merida. Now you've got to trust me. I don't know."
"It's got to be more than trust now," she said. "We're in it together,
Crawford. If I'm to help you, you've got to help me. Will you?"
"Haven't I proved that?" he said, trying to pull her toward him with
that hand. "Anything, Merida--"
She held back, calculation hardening the planes of her face. "Perhaps I
should have said, _can_ you?"
Just the feel of her wrist in his fingers that way, soft and satiny,
started it up again in him, and he quit trying to pull her in, and took
a step in toward her. "What horse you on now?"
"I mean, maybe you can't. Maybe you're incapable of it. You can't do
much the way you are now, Crawford. You're only half a man. It's not
just the horses any more. It's your whole life. Everything you do is
affected by it. I've thought of trying to get you a gun. A dozen times.
It would be hard, but I might be able to do it. To stay unarmed here,
like this--" She put her free hand against his chest to stop him. "What
good would it do, Crawford? If you'd had a gun, would you have used it
today? Quartel carries one. Would you have pulled yours on him?"
No woman had ever affected him so violently before. Hardly aware of
what she was saying, the blood pounding through his head, he sought to
force her hand aside and bend his face to hers, wanting only to feel
her against him again.
"Merida," he said, the blood so thick in his throat it made him sound
strangled, "I told you--anything--"
She took a deep, ragged breath, and he could not tell whether she
was fighting him or herself, now. "No, Crawford. It wouldn't be any
different with a gun. Not the way you are now. A gun wouldn't do you
any more good than your bare hands. Quartel wanted you to fight him
with your hands. You wouldn't even do that. Nothing will do you any
good until you can step on a horse again without feeling that pain in
your legs--that fear." She forced herself away, saying it in a cold
tone, "Africano?"
It was like throwing ice water on a fire. All his ardor disappeared
before the abrupt clutch of fear that word engendered in him. He
stiffened for a moment, still holding that one hand. Then he dropped it
and stepped back, his mouth twisted. Just the word, like that. Just the
name.
"Yes." The heavy rise and fall of Merida's breast abated as she studied
him, the candor gone from her face now, a cold, critical speculation
filling her eyes as she studied him. "Perhaps I was wrong, Crawford.
Perhaps you can't help me. Perhaps I can't help you."
"No? Let me show you," he said desperately.
_Chapter Ten_