Friday, April 19, 2019

The Queen of Paradise Valley - new excerpt


From chapter 35



The honesty Del hoped for didn't happen the next day, or the several days that followed. Moving at a hard pace over rugged terrain, a distance he estimated at near a hundred miles, they were both too weary to do more than exchange occasional sarcastic remarks or belligerent glares.
Summer in the high country meant crisp nights and hot days, the heat intensifying whenever they descended into a protected valley. Despite the rigorous schedule, Del took time every third morning to shave, and every evening to wash layers of sweaty grime from his face, neck, and chest. Diana watched with her customary tight-lipped defiance. The dirt growing on her clothes and face, the pine needles and bits of grass webbing her hair, the mud on her boots--these were symbols of her independence, her freedom. What a monumental trial she was!
"I'm tired, Del. Can we stop and rest?"
He stopped and turned. Bathed in sweat, she drooped in the saddle, silent pleading in her eyes. Her bandanna hung at her throat like a limp rag, her stained shirt clung to her body, molding to her breasts.
They had spent hours in scalding sunlight on a difficult descent down a bare escarpment, and now the trail threaded through a shadowy forest. Dense young pines and shrubs muted the splashing sounds of nearby water. It was early afternoon, too soon to stop for the day, but in a shady clearing, Del dismounted and trudged through a row of aspens toward the sound.
A stream slid over a smooth rock bank and formed a gentle current around the perimeter of a small shimmering lake. A sandy delta fanned out below the rocks; on the other end the stream continued on its restless way. The margins bristled with cattails and reeds, beyond which orange marsh flowers dotted the green.
A lush corner of paradise. Del dropped his hat, rubbed grit from his eyes, and released his hair from a rawhide cord. Diana tossed her hat next to his, tugged off her boots and, rolling her breeches to her knees, waded into the water. Del shed moccasins and shirt and ran, lifted her by the waist and plunged into deeper water. They fell beneath the surface.
She rose gasping, streaming water, and batted at him. "You son of a--"
His laughter startled a flock of shorebirds into flight. "Even savages take baths." He returned to shore, shook himself, and squeezed water from his hair. She swam out, turned to stare at him. He bunched up his shirt and tossed it to her. "Wash this, will you?" The shirt floated in the water and sank. "I'll make camp in the clearing. You took a hell of a chance sleeping beside a stream. Where there's water, there's wild animals. Or wild mountain men interested in more than food." He paused. She had assumed a blank expression, her way of looking at a person that diminished everything he said and did.
Damn woman, crazy woman. What was she trying to prove? Why couldn't she once--just once--bend a bit? Why couldn't she--hell. If one of them had to crack, it wasn't going to be him.
He found her rolled blanket and returned to the lake, tossing it onto the shore. She watched him and turned away. Some gratitude would be nice.




--Cat

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