David Robbins - Dakota Run

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cynthia declared. “I’d be afraid to close my eyes.”

“And I’ve already had my beauty sleep,” Geronimo said. “But if you need a nap, Kilrane, you go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”

“I don’t reckon I could sleep much,” Kilrane observed.

Geronimo started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Cynthia inquired, puzzled.

“Kilrane…” Geronimo began, then vented another fit of mirth.

“What did I do?” Kilrane queried.

“You used the word ‘reckon,’” Geronimo responded. “It reminded me of my best friend, an idiot who likes to use this ridiculous Wild West talk all the time. He uses the word ‘reckon’ a lot.” Geronimo paused and sighed. “I miss the big dummy.”

“Is this friend of yours the one you call Hickok?” Kilrane guessed.

“How’d you know?”

Kilrane chuckled. “It wasn’t hard to figure. When you talk about this Hickok your tone reflects your feelings. It must be nice to have a close friend like that.”

“Don’t you have one?” Geronimo asked.

“Not really…” Kilrane said slowly.

“What about Rolf? Or Hamlin?” Geronimo could feel a damp sensation on the back of his head. Was he still bleeding?

“Rolf’s the legitimate Cavalry leader and I respect him a lot,” Kilrane revealed. “Hamlin’s okay and a good buddy, but he looks up to me all of the time instead of treating me as an equal.”

“You must have one close friend,” Geronimo stated.

“There is one fella,” Kilrane acknowledged. “His name is Boone.”

“And where is he?”

“Boone stayed with Rory after the split,” Kilrane said, and Geronimo and Cynthia could plainly detect the sadness in his voice.

“Maybe you could…” Geronimo began, then stopped, his ears detecting a new sound, faint, in the distance, but growing louder with each passing second.

The noise resembled an outlandish twittering.

“It’s them!” Cynthia cried.

“Hurry!” Kilrane directed, his shadowy form moving toward the rear of the crevice. “Get as far from their tunnel as you can or they might detect you.”

Geronimo complied, following the others until they reached the end of the crevice, fifteen feet from where the cleft fronted the tunnel.

The bizarre twittering grew louder, rising in volume, reaching a piercing crescendo.

Cynthia placed her lips against Geronimo’s left ear. “Some of the ants are returning,” she whispered.

If he squinted, Geronimo could vaguely detect the passing of huge black forms scurrying past the crevice. How many ants were there? he wondered. More importantly, how in the world were they going to get past the ants and reach the surface? And even if they did manage to reach topside again, what chance did they have on foot in the Dead Zone?

Geronimo closed his eyes and started praying to the Great Spirit.

Cynthia pressed her mouth to his ear again. “They’re really red,” she explained for no apparent reason, interrupting his prayer. “They just look black in the dark.” She straightened.

Geronimo resumed his praying.

“You know,” Cynthia said, leaning close to him, “it’s too bad your friend Hickok isn’t here. We could use all the help we can get.”

“I know,” Geronimo agreed, and continued his worship.

Cynthia’s lips were glued to his ear once more. “What are you doing?”

Geronimo placed his mouth near her right ear. “Praying to the Great Spirit.”

“You’re religious?” she inquired, sounding astonished at the prospect.

“Of course,” Geronimo whispered back. “Aren’t you?”

“I never really gave it much thought,” she admitted. “Oh, I believe there’s a God up there somewhere, but I don’t attend services regularly.”

“Services?”

“Yeah. We have a few spiritual people called ministers. They hold services once a week and talk about God and all that stuff. I always found it pretty boring.” She hesitated. “I never expected you to be the religious type.”

“Why’s that?” Geronimo wanted to learn.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess because you’re such a good fighter and our ministers are always telling us fighting is wrong.”

“Have you ever read the Bible?” Geronimo questioned her.

“Nope,” she confessed.

“Too bad. Maybe then you’d understand. The Old Testament tells us about a lot of great fighters, superb warriors, who were also deeply religious men. Samson, David, and Joshua, to name just three of the many. My Family has a number of Warriors, and all of them, to varying degrees, are religious.”

“You’ll have to tell me more sometime,” Cynthia suggested.

“As soon as we get out of this mess,” Geronimo pledged, his thoughts straying. Her warm breath on his ear, combined with the proximity of her voluptuous body and the intoxicating fragrance of her woman scent, had agitated his equilibrium. How was he supposed to concentrate on the Great Spirit with her near-naked form so close to him?

Discipline, he told himself.

I need more discipline!

Cynthia snuggled nearer. Kilrane was three feet off, reclining against the other wall.

“I don’t know if we’re going to make it out,” she said in a barely audible voice. “So I want to tell you this now. I like you, Geronimo. I like you a lot.

I want to get to know you better. There’s something about you…” She paused. “How do you feel about me?”

Geronimo twisted his head to respond and suddenly found his lips mere inches from hers, her breath on his face.

The ants were still creating a racket in the tunnel.

Geronimo experienced an overpowering impulse to kiss Cynthia and he deliberately suppressed it. What kind of idiot would take the time to kiss a lovely woman while trapped in the subterranean lair of monstrous ants?

With Kilrane only three feet away!

Kilrane!

Geronimo abruptly recalled that Kilrane entertained designs on Cynthia. He glanced at the captain, unable to read his expression in the gloom.

Kilrane, evidently, was able to read minds. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” he said to Geronimo. “I know when I’m licked, and I’m not the type to force my affections on a woman.”

“Besides,” Cynthia added, “he knows how I feel.”

“He does?” Geronimo whispered.

“Sure. I told him while we were riding today.”

“Told him what?” Geronimo asked.

“That I was interested in you,” she replied.

“You just up and told him that?” Geronimo marveled.

“Of course. I knew he was attracted to me, and I didn’t want to lead him on. I don’t believe in beating around the bush,” she stated, her lips next to his ear. Her moist tongue suddenly flicked across his lobe.

Geronimo could feel a stirring in his groin.

“What’s the matter with you?” Cynthia demanded. “Can’t you take a hint? Are you the bashful type or something?”

“I happen to believe there’s a time and a place for everything,” Geronimo countered, “and this isn’t the time or place.”

“We may never have another opportunity,” she reminded him.

“I’m not like my friend Hickok,” he explained. “He does things on the spur of the moment. I can’t. I like to think things out and I don’t like surprises.”

“Pretend you’re Hickok,” Cynthia suggested.

“What?”

“Better yet, I’ll pretend I’m Hickok!”

Before Geronimo could react, she embraced him and planted her eager lips on his. He opened his mouth to speak and found her tongue entwined with his own.

Kilrane was chuckling.

Geronimo relaxed, allowing his body to respond to her passion, to the feel of her firm breasts pressed against his chest.

So much for discipline!