McLeod, Anitra Lynn - Dirty Cowboy (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove) Read online

“It’s not like I’m walking anywhere. I’ll get a pair at the next town.”

  Dalton had found a few items in the wagon they could trade, and Everett had some money. All in all, he felt like the richest man in the world. Money wasn’t everything. There was a lot to be said for finding the answer to that gnawing longing that had always plagued him.

  But like always, good for one meant bad for another. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, they up and got a hell of a lot worse.

  Chapter Nine

  Everett hoped the dot on the horizon was moving away from them, but it wasn’t. Whoever the rider might be, he was coming right at them. When the shape clarified into a man on horseback, his hackles rose. All the sweat on his body went suddenly cold. He shivered. A lone rider in the middle of nowhere? Either the man was a scout for a larger group, he’d befallen a fate worse than Everett’s, or he was a no-good scoundrel.

  Knowing his luck, Everett had a feeling it was the latter. Now that he’d found exactly what he wanted, he wasn’t all that surprised someone showed up to take it away. Difference was, this time, he would fight tooth and nail to keep what he considered his. Before, letting go was always easier. Letting go and walking away became a way of life.

  But not this time.

  Everett could wait until the man made a move to know there was a problem, but his gut churned with knowing, and that inner voice woke up and started whispering fast and furious into his head. Everett wasn’t a prognosticator by any stretch, but he knew when something felt off. This situation felt a hundred kinds of wrong.

  Dalton saw the man, too, but made no outward reaction. Everett would have told him to get his gun ready, just in case, but his guns were long gone. The thieves who’d taken off with the cattle had taken off with the weapons, too. All Everett and Dalton had were their fists.

  “You know how to fight?”

  Dalton nodded.

  “We may not have to,” Everett said hopefully.

  “I think we will.” Dalton kept his gaze dead ahead. “Seems I always have to fight. Or run.” Dalton gave him a measured look. “And I am damn sick of running.”

  His words so closely mirrored Everett’s thoughts he shivered. They were two peas in a pod. A strange thought crossed Everett’s mind. He tried to shake it, but the thing clung like a burr to his gray matter. In the end, he asked, “You know this man?”

  “No more than I know any other man.”

  A normal response would be a simple no. That Dalton replied in such a way caused Everett’s hackles to rise even higher. There was something about the tone of Dalton’s voice and the flat look in his eye that scared the sinner right out of Everett. If he were a praying man, he would have offered up a quick one to the man upstairs, but he’d never been religious, and he didn’t think God would listen to the desperate plea of a fallen man.

  The closer the lone rider came, the tighter Dalton’s posture became. By the time the man was but a few yards in front of them, Dalton was so taut one good clap on the back would propel him off the wagon like a bow shot. He damn near toppled forward when Everett stopped the oxen.

  As much as he wanted to keep plowing forward, he knew that would only aggravate the situation. Cleverly, the man had placed himself dead in their path. Loose sand lined one side of the trail and a ditch lined the other. If they tried to move aside, they’d likely get stranded. Everett knew the man had timed his arrival to get them to this spot.

  Now the man’s indistinct features became clear. He was tall in the saddle of a roan horse. Grit made him look swarthier than he was. At one time, his hat had been light brown, but now it was so caked with sweat and dust it was almost black. His eyes were shifty, his clothing was as battered as his hat, and the cruel slash of his lips indicated a man who only smiled when he was hurting another. In his hand, lying loosely across his lap, was a gun. Everett couldn’t tell what kind the pistol was, but he figured it didn’t much matter. If it was loaded, and the man was a half-decent shot, he could ventilate them in quick order.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” the man said.

  Everett’s heart sank. If this man was just a scout or a man traveling the other way, he would just tip his hat and toss a greeting. The only man who said he didn’t want trouble was a man aiming to make some.

  “Fine by us,” Everett offered evenly.

  “Toss out your weapons.”

  “Ain’t got none.” Everett showed his empty hands.

  Dalton shrugged but kept his hands in his lap.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. He looked them over real careful like, but what seemed to sell him on the idea was Dalton’s bare feet.

  “Where are your boots, boy?” Gone was the suspicious frown. In its place bloomed a cruel grin. Just as Everett predicted, he only smiled when he was picking on another. This man looked a lot like the man who had put the scar under Everett’s chin. That bully had the same twisted smile that didn’t indicate a welcome, but a show of aggression. “I asked where are your boots, boy?”

  Dalton shrugged.

  “Ya mute, boy?” The man lifted the gun, pointing it casually at Dalton.

  To Everett the barrel looked enormous. Wide and long, a barrel like that had bullets that could rip a hole in them big enough to stand in. Everett’s heart pounded so hard his vision wobbled. He wanted to reach out and clasp Dalton’s hand, but he didn’t dare move a muscle.

  “We ain’t got no money. If you want some grub, we’re happy to share, but that’s about all we got,” Everett said, hoping to draw the man’s attention off Dalton. What he’d said was no lie. Everett would give him everything he had if he could just walk away with Dalton.

  “Not surprising, considering the man don’t have any boots.”

  At that, Everett thought that maybe their sad state would set the man’s sights on the next target.

  “Go ahead and climb down off of there.”

  No such luck. Seemed he was hell-bent on taking what little they did have. Everett kept his face impassive as he considered. In order to take their wagon, this man would have to tie off his horse to the back, and climb up. When he did, he’d be vulnerable. That would be the time to make their move. Without the wagon for travel and shelter, they wouldn’t last two days out here. Just when he was thinking the two of them had an advantage against the lone gunman, three more dots came over the horizon. Everett’s hopes sank.

  Gingerly, Dalton climbed out of the wagon. On the verge of joining him, Everett stopped cold.

  “What are you doing, boy?”

  Everett would have asked the question, too, but he didn’t want to make a tense situation any more confusing than it already was. Instead, he just watched and wondered.

  Button by button, Dalton unfastened his shirt from neck to navel. When he was done, he lifted his shoulders and let the shirt slide off his arms. Before the garment had even touched the ground, he set to work unfastening his trousers.

  In the bright sunlight, Dalton’s pale flesh seemed even more fragile. Without the protection of clothing, the sun would turn his hide to leather in half a day.

  “I’m not interested in—shit.” The man cast his gaze over his shoulder, obviously worried about what his companions would make of this development. When he looked back around, Dalton was as naked as the day he was born.

  If not for the dire situation, Everett might have gotten hard at the sight of Dalton’s perfectly proportioned body. As it was, his dick remained as soft as his brain. He had no idea what Dalton was up to. If he had a grand plan, Everett was happy to go along, but at the moment he was flummoxed.

  “Get your clothes back on!” the gunman hissed, pointing at the pile of clothes with his gun. “Back on now, or I’ll—”

  He never got to finish. What happened next ripped the air out of both their lungs. One moment Dalton was standing there naked as the day is long, and then all of a sudden he just went poof!

  Rubbing his eyes, Everett realized he hadn’t disappeared so much as he seemed to have
turned into a pile of dust. Fine, soft dirt covered the abandoned clothing. Just like the sinking soft earth he’d found all over and around Dalton as he lay half in the spring.

  Everett and the gunman exchanged glances.

  When Everett looked back, the pile of dust was swirling.

  Around and around in an ever widening circle, the dust turned, picking up more of the loose dirt alongside the trail. Each pass caused the cone of dust to grow in height and width. Everett had seen his fair share of dust devils dancing across the prairie, but he’d never seen one behave like this.

  Startled, the gunman’s horse neighed and backed up, almost dislodging him. No matter what the man did, he couldn’t calm his ride. In the end, the man yanked on the reins, turned his mount, and compelled the creature to run. Everett figured the only reason his oxen didn’t react is they couldn’t see what was happening, not facing forward with their eyes shielded by the rigging.

  As crazy as it seemed, Everett knew the dust devil was Dalton. In his heart, he knew Dalton would not turn on him. But if they got out of this mess, and it looked like they might, Everett had a rapidly growing list of questions he wanted to ask. Frankly, he figured they would spend the rest of the journey in deep discussion.

  As the dust devil swept around, picking up more dirt, it grew wider and taller. By the time the gunman had caught up to his cohorts, Dalton had grown into a veritable spout of spinning earth. Squinting against the flying grit, Everett watched as he moved toward the four men.

  A surge of dread welled up in Everett’s chest when they all drew their guns and fired shot after shot right into the core of the swirling dirt. Nothing happened. It kept right on spinning and moving toward them. Panicked, the men holstered their weapons, yanked their horses around, and ran.

  Everett whooped and hollered, urging Dalton on.

  Over the rise the four men went. Close on their heels, Dalton followed. When they all disappeared from his vision, Everett realized he had to get a move on to catch up. With gentle urging, the oxen returned to their steady, lumbering pace.

  Time stretched on forever. Everett kept expecting the dust devil to come back, but the horizon remained empty. Behind him, the sun was setting, turning the prairie blazing orange.

  Anticipation caused him to stand as he rode up the short hill. What he saw at the top dropped him in his seat.

  Chapter Ten

  Nothing.

  He saw absolutely nothing.

  The prairie was empty for miles. He didn’t see the men. He didn’t see the dust devil. All he saw was a whole lot of nothing.

  Darting his gaze this way and that, Everett realized that what seemed flat, wasn’t. There were ditches, hills, valleys, and hollows. If the men were smart, Everett figured they had broken off the main trail and scattered in four directions. One dust devil couldn’t follow four tracks, but he didn’t think Dalton would pursue them. All they wanted was to be left alone. Once the men got to running, Dalton should have stopped chasing.

  That seemed logical.

  But then, why hadn’t Dalton returned to him?

  His heart caught.

  Who knew what happened to Dalton’s thinking when he shifted form? What if he had stopped chasing but was around here, somewhere, covered in dust and unable to move like he had been at the spring? Not knowing anything about what happened to him after changing meant Everett was utterly baffled by the fallout. Had he just drifted away? Or had Dalton settled back into a pile of soft dust waiting for the wind to come again?

  “Calm down. Won’t be a lick of good to no one if you panic.”

  Everett didn’t even care that he was talking to himself. Right now, he needed the support. Otherwise, he might just start screaming and never stop. How could the fates be so cruel as to give him a taste of happiness then just yank everything away? What sin had he committed to deserve such harsh treatment?

  Again, it was just as he’d always said. Good for one meant bad for another. It was good that Dalton had scared the men off so they could live and keep what little they had, but bad that it had apparently cost Everett his companion. Everett was grateful to be alive, but he wasn’t going to have much of a life without Dalton.

  Everett found a road leading off the main so he moved the wagon over. Once he had things settled, he saddled up his horse, and set off along the main trail.

  Night was falling, but Everett was determined to find Dalton. He kept his gaze along the ground, looking for a dust devil track. When he found a long, deep line in the dirt, he urged his horse to follow. As the track narrowed, he slowed his mount. Just about the last thing he wanted to do was run over Dalton. The darker it got, the harder it would be to see him if he were covered with dust, like he had been at the spring.

  Step by step he moved along, but the track he’d been following just petered out. He climbed off his horse and continued on foot. When he found nothing, he moved back to where the trail ended and tried a different direction. Methodically, Everett made a wagon wheel of spokes out in every direction from where he’d tied up his horse.

  Over and over he shuffled slowly through the area until he was exhausted. The night was pitch-black without a bit of moon to help him search. His hopes were utterly dashed. If Dalton were here, he would have found him by now.

  “Dalton!”

  He called until his voice grew rough, but still, he would not give up. Calling and slowly moving through the brush, he continued his search in the dark.

  In the wee hours of the morn, the crescent moon rose, giving him some light to work with. He now moved in a spiral around the focal point of the ended dust devil track. Around and around he walked until he wanted to vomit from dizziness and fear.

  Finally, at long last, frustrated, dehydrated, and emotionally broken, Everett slumped to his knees and wept.

  Chapter Eleven

  Everett awoke with a start. He winced when he opened his eyes and looked up into the sun.

  “Damn it!”

  He shook the dust from his hat, plopped it on his head, then checked his surroundings.

  His horse was still standing where he’d tied him off. When he rose onto his unsteady legs, he discovered his wagon was right where he’d left it. The only thing missing was the most important one. Dalton.

  Dry and hot, the land around him taunted him all day with the almost constant birth of dust devils. Atop his mount, he chased them down until, much like Dalton had, they simply disappeared. When night came ’round again, he cared for the animals, ate a bit of food, then bunked down in the back of the wagon.

  For three days he followed this pattern. As darkness crept across the land on the end of the third day, Everett suspected that he’d gone loco. Hell, he’d been out here wildly chasing wind through the prairie, and what did he have to show for his efforts? Nothing but crisp, sun-baked skin.

  Everett became convinced that there never was a man with him, and there never were four bad men on horseback. He’d made it all up. He confirmed his self-diagnosis when he went back along the main road but couldn’t find the pile of clothing that Dalton had taken off. When he searched for horse tracks, he found plenty, but he’d also been riding around in the area for three days.

  Disheartened, he climbed up into the wagon and his heart lifted a bit at how neatly the gear was organized, proof that Dalton had been here. But just as swiftly as he thought this, he frowned. He’d been at the spring for awhile. Had he arranged everything and just forgotten? The last few days were a blur in his mind.

  When he sifted through the gear looking for the extra clothing that he had given to Dalton, he found two extra shirts and one pair of pants. Sitting there, touching the garments, didn’t help him recall if he’d had more clothing to begin with, or if this was what he’d had when the ill-fated journey began.

  “I’m just too tired to remember.” And his inner voice remained remarkably silent.

  He tossed the clothing aside then carefully put them back in the place he’d gotten them from. If Dalton had arr
anged this, he didn’t want to mess things up. Crud. He couldn’t even decide if he was crazy or not. The only thing Everett knew for certain was that he needed food and sleep, pretty much in that order.

  After building a small fire, he discovered the meat he’d cut from the downed cow had gone bad. He dug a hole in the sand and dropped it down, burying the rotting meat within the canvas to minimize the smell. Crazy or not he didn’t want to attract coyotes.

  He made a basic stew with dried meat and trail biscuits that were hard as rocks but passable when he dunked them into the soup, and afterward he made coffee. The only sounds on the prairie were him and crickets.

  For a brief moment while eating dinner, Everett thought he wasn’t crazy because he remembered how good Dalton’s cooking had been. Not once in his life had he ever made anything as tasty as the soup Dalton made. But again, the joy he felt was fleeting. If he hallucinated a lover, then imagining a fantastic meal wouldn’t be all that difficult.

  As far as Everett could tell, there was no way to prove or disprove Dalton’s existence. None that he could think of, at any rate. Disheartened, he doused the fire and crawled into the wagon.

  He woke up in the middle of the night, eyes and ears wide. Senses straining, Everett thought he heard growling, but it was only the far-off rumbling of a storm. He’d just barely poked his head out when thunder cracked above him. The boom was so loud he almost jumped out of his skin.

  Everett wasn’t a pansy, but he’d never liked thunder and lightning. Rain was fine, but when the sky lit up and the heavens growled, he went right back to his miserable childhood. When he’d been young and afraid, his father had laughed and teased him incessantly, which only increased his terror. Full grown and those words still echoed in his mind. Worse, they still had the power to hurt.

  Deciding that he’d feel better if he had some light, he carefully lit one of the lanterns, then hung it up. Fearful of wasting the valuable fuel and unsure when he’d be able to replenish his supplies, he turned the flame down just about as low as he could without snuffing it.