Bj James - Whispers In The Dark

“Three days,” Richard Trent said as she disappeared from view. “Both of you. Child and woman, God willing.”

As if sensing the need in her, the stallion ran as he hadn’t in a long while. Black mane streaking behind him, tail high, his hooves pounded the hard-packed ground, taking the rough with the smooth as if there were no difference. Crouching low in the saddle, offering no resistance, Valentina urged him on.

There would be tune for caution later. But, for now, it suited her purpose to be seen, as if she were someone just passing through in a hurry. Leaning even lower and dropping the reins, she caught Black Jack’s mane, letting him run as he would. Her body rocked smoothly, gracefully, in concert with the horse, as if they were one. “That’s us, boy, just passing through.”

Needing no urging, Black Jack skidded down a wash and back up the other side with hardly a break in stride. Gaining level ground, racing his own shadow, he sped across the desert. Once more, with no change in his pace, he responded to the tug at his mane. Veering from the flat land, he made the turn that would begin the climb toward the cabin.

Dust stirred by the stallion had scarcely begun to settle as a second horse and rider burst through a clump of stunted trees at the wash. El Mirlo slid to a halt, dancing in his impatience as he obeyed the saw of the reins. Soothing him with a touch of his hand, Rafe stared after the figures fading rapidly into the distance.

“Irish,” he muttered angrily as he held his mount in check, “before you get where you’re going, you’ll break your reckless neck and the stallion’s.” As he glared after them they climbed higher. Small dots on the face of a hillside that would only grow steeper. “Your neck, for sure. And maybe mine.”

El Mirlo snorted and reared, backing futilely away from the inescapable control of the reins. Rafe rode easy in the saddle, his anger giving way to intemperance.

“What the hell.”

The low rumble accompanied a lash of the reins as he spurred his frenzied mount on. Scrambling up the side of the wash and over the top, grim rider in tow, the gelding that gleamed as darkly in the sun as Black Jack, galloped furiously into a dusty wake.

Four

“Fool woman.”

As he began the climb himself, and even as the words erupted from his lips, Rafe knew he was wrong. What Valentina O’Hara was doing was simply natural, a part of her skill, a very significant part of her mission. If there were observers to report to the Apostles, even the most astute would see only a rider passing through. Never a dude, as she’d suggested, but an accomplished horsewoman riding for the sake of riding, feeling her oats.

No one would connect her with the camp, or Search and Rescue, for she’d left the basin by a difficult trail most would call impassable. Then, ranging widely on trailless terrain even more difficult, she’d come full circle miles from camp to begin the ride for Courtney McCallum’s life.

Rafe’s ride had been as circumventive. With Joe Collins’s help he’d made his rendezvous with Tyree, and with El Mirlo had begun the race to intersect Valentina O’Hara’s path. Tyree, who knew the country like an Indian scout, had reckoned correctly. The timing had been perfect. For now Rafe would hold back, keeping her barely in sight as she began the serious climb, weaving, dodging, picking a natural trail among red rocks.

If there were posted observers, they would see only a second rider, not as skilled, not as well mounted. A friend hoping to join her. Or better, lovers riding apart to a clandestine high desert tryst.

“Takes all kinds.” His lip curled in distaste. In another environment he might have been tempted, but not in this. This was Courtney’s life, and perhaps Jordana’s. Both held in the balance by the expertise of a cold and calculating woman.

Rate knew the type. There had been many such women in his life. Compassionless professionals to whom success was god. Who played hard and ruthlessly, as heartlessly as they worked. Users seeking success for the sake of power; and sex for the sake of gratification without the ritual of romance or entangling emotion. He’d finished with that breed, Valentina O’Hara’s sisterhood, long ago.

“But I’ll use you,” he promised as he watched her take the horse through an impossible path and disappear behind an outcropping of stone. “Whatever it takes for Courtney, I’ll do.”

Urging El Mirlo from camouflaging scrub, he guided the gelding over the path Black Jack had taken. There was no time to think, or project, or even for distaste as a difficult ride deteriorated. Together, they slipped and slid, in constant danger of falling. Climbing ever upward.

The trail was a winding channel through and over stone. A converging animal crossing, from den or burrow to watering hole and stream. Gradually, as it became as much maze as animal track, he lost sight of her. But for one who had hunted bayous and swamps, tracking the only shod quadruped to pass through a dry and dusty land in ages was not difficult. The stallion’s scramble was marked by trodden plants, dislodged pebbles and scarred stone. Rafe had only to find them.

Intent, concentration riveted, eyes and mind attuned to the discovery of the next mark of passage, Rafe drew to a startled halt as Black Jack and his rider stepped into his own path, blocking his way.

“That’s far enough, Mr. Courtenay.” Reins looped over the fingers of one hand, a forearm resting on her thigh, Valentina stared down the incline at him. “I’d be obliged if you’d be accommodating and go back now.”

“Sorry.” The empty apology tripped off his tongue out of habit. “I can’t oblige or accommodate in this. I wouldn’t if I could.”

“You can,” Valentina insisted. “We have a short window of time, every minute counts. You’ll slow me down, waste precious seconds. You have already.”

His mount stamped and snorted restlessly, eager to move again. Rafe calmed him with a touch. “It’s you who wastes time. Give it up, O’Hara, nothing will persuade me to turn back.”

Valentina’s eyes were cold beneath the brim of her Stetson. “I can do this, Mr. Courtenay. I’m going to do it. And I’ll do it better alone.”

“I expect you can, lady. I expect you will,” Rafe snapped, tiring of the debate. “But not alone. It’s my goddaughter Brown is holding hostage, and I’ll be there when you do what you must to free her.”

Valentina cut her losses. She had no time and even less desire to debate than he. “You refuse to be rational, don’t you?”

“Your idea of rationality, not mine.”

“If you can’t keep up, I won’t wait for you.” With a man the caliber of Rafe Courtenay, her threat would fall on deaf ears. But she had to try. “If you get into trouble, I’ll leave you behind without a backward glance.”

A muscle jerked in his cheek, his eyes narrowed. Deep in the brush a creature moved stealthily, eager that they move on. “I’ll keep up, O’Hara.” The guttural promise was short and grim. “And out of trouble.”

“If you’re counting on the horse to do the work for you, don’t. The Blackbird is an extraordinary animal.” She chose the English translation over Spanish. “So extraordinary Patrick McCallum should be held accountable for gelding him. Just remember, when the trail gets really rough, he’ll only be as good as his rider.”

Rafe nodded curtly. “Where you take Black Jack, I’ll take El Mirlo. That’s a promise.”

“Fine!” Valentina’s check on her temper slipped. “Do as

Wheeling Black Jack around in a tight turn, she leaned low as he responded to a touch of her heels, scrambling like a mountain goat up the ever steeper incline. She didn’t look back, and wouldn’t have in any case, but there was no need. The clash of El Mirlo’s hooves over stone sounded with the knell of a bell at her back.