The sleek questing of his tongue licked over Eve like sensual lightning. She made a husky sound that ended in a moan as a long finger tested her and found her sultry readiness.
Knowing that Eve had truly enjoyed the intimate caresses she had given him made Reno laugh with sheer pleasure. He redoubled his presence within her body, hearing her response in her broken breathing, feeling it in the slick heat of her body.
«You liked tasting me,» Reno said, nuzzling against Eve’s hot, soft skin.
«Yes, I…»
Her words became a broken sound as his teeth closed delicately over her most sensitive flesh. She barely succeeded in controlling the liquid heat bursting through her.
«Don’t fight it,» Reno said huskily. «Let it come.»
«But…»
Teeth raked with exquisite care, and tongue caressed.
«Share with me, sugar girl.»
Ecstasy stole softly through Eve’s body, claiming it. Reno felt it, tasted it, and laughed against her, caressing her again and again, savoring the silken rain of her response. When she could bear no more, he lifted her and turned over, stretching her out beneath him. She clung to him until the wild shivering subsided.
When Eve opened her eyes, Reno was propped up on his elbow, fully aroused, watching her. The two slender dowsing rods were in his hand. He bent, kissed her gently, and waited, a question in his eyes. Without hesitation, she reached for one of the rods.
It was warm from his body heat.
Slowly Reno settled between Eve’s legs even as she drew them up around him, yielding her warmth to him. He paused just before he fitted himself to her.
«Are you sure?» he whispered. «It could make me…wild.»
Eve smiled and shifted her hips, taking Reno even as he took her. The rod tips met, meshed, shimmered…and blossomed in a soundless explosion of fire. The world receded as they joined more deeply than they ever had before, knowing no difference between their bodies. They kissed each other and were kissed at the same time, caressed and were caressed, until rapture both delicate and elemental coursed through their interlocked bodies, fusing them into a single flesh, a single being, a single life.
As one they learned that ecstasy was like fire itself, changeless and yet never the same, burning everything but itself, a mysterious Phoenix reborn in its own flames, soaring upward to fly and die and be born yet again.
21
The horses had been restless when Reno and Eve emerged from the mine the previous day, and were restless much of the night. Shortly after dawn, Reno and Eve were awakened by the sound of three rapidly fired shots from a six-gun.
Without a word, both of them got up and dressed quickly. Instead of wearing boots, Reno pulled on knee-high moccasins of the kind favored by Apaches, some Comancheros, and Caleb Black, who was the quietest man on the stalk that Reno had ever seen.
Wish I were that good, Reno thought grimly. I’d send him out to find out what’s riling the horses while I did what I’m good at — shooting and mining, not sneaking around like a shadow.
Reno shoved the spyglass in his belt, strapped on his six-gun and bandolier, and picked up his repeating rifle.
«Stay with the horses,» Reno said.
«But —»
«Promise me,» he interrupted urgently. «I don’t want to shoot you by mistake.»
«What if I hear more gunfire?»
«When I come back to camp, I’ll come in from the opposite direction. Shoot anything that comes in from the front of the valley.»
Eve closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at Reno as though she were afraid it was the last time.
«How long will you be gone?» she asked.
«I’ll be back before dark.»
Reno turned away, then turned back and gave Eve a kiss that was both tender and fierce.
«Don’t follow me. Be here when I get back, sugar girl.»
Eve’s arms tightened painfully around Reno before she let go and stepped back.
«I’ll be here.»
Without another word, Reno turned and began walking toward the mouth of the valley. He moved quickly over the meadow, keeping to the cover provided by the forest. The horses threw up their heads when they spotted him, then returned to their restless grazing when they recognized his scent.
Quickly Reno came to the place where the valley narrowed and the stream became a white cascade shooting between pincers of black rock. A game trail wound along one side of the cascade. Above the trail was a stand of squat, wind-blown spruce. Below it, at the end of the cascade, was a tiny, marshy meadow, another cascade, and then another, much larger valley with a rock-ribbed lake at one end.
Reno eased among the spruce trees and waited, motionless, until the birds and small animals returned to their normal patterns of movement. A fitful wind blew up the mountainside. The smell of smoke rode the wind.
So did the sound of men’s voices.
Reno settled more deeply into cover and waited. A short time later, two men appeared along the middle cascade. Their horses were gaunt, stringy, and tough as a boot. The riders were the same. They watched the ground and the surrounding countryside by turns. Each man wore a six-gun and had a rifle in a saddle scabbard.
One of the men was familiar to Reno. The last time he had seen Short Dog, it had been over the barrel of a six-gun at Jed Slater’s camp high in the San Juans, where Willow had been held prisoner. Short Dog had lifted his rifle, Reno had shot first, and Short Dog had fallen. But when the time came to bury bodies, Short Dog hadn’t been among them.
The other man was known to Reno only by reputation. Bandanna MIke was a stage robber and small-time gunnie who thought he was God’s personal gift to womanhood. His trademark was a black and red silk bandanna that was big enough to use as a picnic cloth. At the moment, the bandanna was lying at ease around his dirty neck.
Conversation came with the wind, phrases and bits that Reno had to piece together.
«Nobody been here…days,» Bandanna Mike said. «Why in hell…»
«Eat beans up here, eat beans down…» Short Dog said. «Same beans.»
There was silence punctuated by the occasional sound of a pebble rolling as the horses scrambled up a rocky piece of trail just below the spruces.
Reno was afraid the Comancheros’ horses would scent him if they kept climbing until Reno was upwind of them, but the men dismounted at the far end of the grove, perhaps thirty feet away. Unless the wind shifted, the horses wouldn’t catch Reno’s scent.
«No point to settin’ up here on a rock when we could be layin’ back there in grass,» Bandanna Mike grumbled. «They cain’t git out without walkin’ plumb through our camp, and even a skunk-drunk mestizo couldn’t miss ’em then.»
«Talk Slater,» Short Dog said.
«Might as well shoot myself and git it over with as talk to him,» grumbled Bandanna Mike.
«Shoot and Slater come hell-running you bet,» Short Dog said. «End same Walleye Jack.»
«Jericho had no call to shoot old Walleye. He was just funnin’ with that snake.»
«All same, Walleye Jack dead meat you bet. Snake same.»
«Jericho is a mean ’un,» Bandanna Mike agreed.
It was quiet for a few minutes. Then came the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle. The satisfied gasping and coughing sounds that followed told Reno that it wasn’t water or coffee being passed around.
«What do you think happened to Crooked Bear?» Bandanna Mike asked.
Short Dog belched. «Dead or gone see squaw. Same thing.»
«Damn, but the thought of gold gets a feller to itchin’,» Bandanna Mike said after a moment. «Think they got it yet?»
«No leave yet. No gold yet,» Short Dog said succinctly.
For a time there was only silence and the sound of the restless wind. A horse snorted and stamped its foot.