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  When they reached the crest of the bowl, Catherine pointed north and called out to Tucson, “Let's cut over in that direction. There's something I want to show you.”

  They rode for about a mile, the rested horses keeping up an easy canter, when suddenly a steep arroyo yawned at their feet. Tucson reined the stallion to a rearing halt then looked down the canyon wall to where a stream ran along the sandy bottom.

  “It's amazing,” he grunted, “how you can't see these canyons until you're right on top of them. I had no idea this was here.”

  Catherine laughed with pleasure. “Let's ride a ways upstream. There's a path down to a beautiful spot.”

  Tucson followed Catherine for about a quarter of a mile then she turned her mare onto a narrow trail that led down the arroyo-wall to the bottom. The path meandered downward until it ended in the shade of a copse of cedars surrounding a small pool formed in a cluster of rocks. Around the pool and in among the trees was a thick carpet of green grass.

  “You're right,” Tucson observed, gazing about the spot admiringly. “This is beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Catherine breathed. “I come out here when I need to get away from town.” She glanced shyly at Tucson. “This is the first time I've ever brought anyone else.” Then she looked away and stepped down into the grass. “We can hobble the horses over here,” she suggested, leading the mare further into the stand of trees. “There's plenty of grass for them.”

  Tucson dismounted and slipped the bridle out of the stallion’s mouth then loosened the cinch strap. He pointed into the trees. “Go on, big fella,” he said affectionately. “Relax for a while.”

  With ponderous dignity, the stallion ambled in among the cedars and began nibbling at the grass. The Appaloosa moved over beside him and rubbed her muzzle against his shoulder. Tucson watched them for a moment with a grin on his face then turned back to the pool.

  Catherine took the blanket roll from behind her saddle and draped it over her arm then walked to the edge of the pool. She spread the blanket out on the grass and sat down, folding her legs out to the side. Tucson scanned the upper edges of the arroyo. There was nothing in sight but a couple of hawks soaring in the clear blue sky, searching the desert for their next meal.

  He bent and untied the thong around his leg and unbuckled his gun-belt, then sat down beside Catherine. He gazed at her clean-cut profile as she watched the pool and listened to the sounds of the stream rippling over the rocks. The breeze was cool and fresh there in the shade and some birds were singing in the trees.

  “I've never seen anything finer,” Tucson observed quietly.

  Catherine glanced at him, realized he was staring at her, and turned away and blushed. “It...it is nice here, isn't it?”

  Then she turned back and faced him, this time meeting and holding his eyes.

  Tucson leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Her mouth tasted faintly of fresh honey. After a moment of hesitation, she came willingly into his arms, her body melting against his. They held each other for several minutes, kissing, then Tucson lowered her down onto the blanket.

  Her eyes had turned dark and smoky under his caresses. Somehow her auburn hair had fallen loose and it fanned out over the blanket, framing her pale face in flames.

  Then she pressed her palms against his chest.

  “Why don't we go into the pool?” she suggested with a smile. “You can get your bath in a little early today.”

  Tucson grinned and rolled back up into a sitting position.

  “Sure,” he said, as he began unlacing his jacket.

  His eyes were riveted irresistibly on Catherine as she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a white lace camisole beneath. Rising to her feet, she kicked off her boots then unhooked her skirt, letting it fall to the blanket. Then she dropped her camisole. All that was left were her bloomers.

  She paused and arched her brows when she noticed that Tucson was staring at her.

  “Aren't you going to undress?” she asked.

  Fascinated by the lush perfection of her body, Tucson could only nod dumbly.

  Enjoying her effect on him, Catherine smiled playfully, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the bloomers and shucked them in one smooth movement. She kicked them aside and stood up straight, facing Tucson with a spray of color across her cheeks.

  Her milk-white breasts were high and full and the nipples were as big as silver dollars. Her ribs arched down to a gently rounded stomach that plummeted to a red silken triangle between her legs. As she turned to step into the pool, Tucson admired her slender waist and flaring hips, the firm line of her thighs and her taut rear-end.

  Then the water closed over her, and the vision was blotted out.

  With shaking fingers, Tucson finished taking off the rest of his clothes. Catherine watched as he laid the .45 and .32 at the pool’s edge, then stepped into the water. Her hazel eyes widened at the sight of his leanly muscled shoulders, chest and arms, his ribbed stomach and narrow hips, his bronzed skin etched and puckered with the scars of bullet and blade.

  Then he was beside her in the water.

  It was refreshing after the heat of the day, and he leaned back, luxuriating in the coolness. Catherine floated toward him and put her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lush body against his. Tucson kissed her passionately, but she broke away, laughing, and began splashing about the pool. Captivated by her playfulness, Tucson joined in the fun, and they spent the next fifteen minutes chasing one another through the water and dunking each other beneath the surface.

  But even in the midst of play, Tucson ceaselessly scanned the canyon ridge for intruders. A part of him was always on the alert, ever watchful; no activity could completely distract him. It was a trait he had cultivated over the years, and it had saved his life more than once.

  Catherine held up her hands. “Alright!” she gasped, her long hair plastered over her face. “I've had enough. Let's stop for now.”

  Still laughing, Tucson floated toward her and put his arms around her. Catherine slid her arms around his neck and clamped her legs around his waist. They hung there, staring into each other's eyes, then she curled her fingers in his black hair and crushed her lips against his.

  “You know,” she whispered, when she had pulled away, “this is a little new for me. I've never done anything like this before.”

  Tucson ran his hands over the satin smoothness of her waist and hips. “I believe you,” he said. “So then, why are you doing it now?”

  She studied his face as if she were trying to memorize it. “Because you're the most unusual man I've ever met,” she replied, with simple sincerity. “You carry yourself differently, you talk differently - you're just different! And...and it feels like you won't be here for very long. So I don't have any time to waste.” She paused and looked at him almost fearfully. “Is that true?”

  Tucson sighed heavily then nodded his head. “I'm a man passing through. And where I go, I go alone.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his chin. When she looked up again, she was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. “Let's go back to the blanket,” she murmured.

  She lay back on the blanket and stretched her arms up to him. He held back for a moment and gazed hungrily at her naked body, glistening like ivory in the sunlight. Then he lowered himself against her, enjoying the way their still-wet bodies slid along each other. He twisted down and licked the moisture off her nipples, puckered from the water.

  Catherine ran her fingers along his jaw, down his corded neck and over his shoulders then gazed up at him intensely. “Please be gentle,” she whispered. “It's been a long time.”

  Tucson kissed her slowly and feelingly as his right hand kneaded her breast. Catherine responded by snaking her arms around his neck, returning his kiss and finding his tongue with hers. In spite of the fire running like molten lava through his veins, Tucson took his time as his lips explored every inch of her body. Her skin was milk-w
hite and as smooth as silk; and as the flames of passion ignited deep within her, her white skin began to glow and throb like snow banking a fiery volcano.

  Tucson lowered himself carefully between her thighs and gently slid himself inside. Catherine gasped and stared up at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. He moved excruciatingly slowly while at the same time kissing her neck, her face and her lips. Matching his rhythm to hers, Tucson felt her body come alive with arousal; her hips began to throb faster and more insistently.

  They mounted the fiery peak together. Catherine’s head was thrown back and her nails raked over the muscles of Tucson’s back; Tucson gazed deeply into her eyes as he carefully timed his own explosion to coincide with hers. She brought her head up and clamped her mouth over his, her moans breaking against his lips. Her hips writhed against his as she locked her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper and deeper.

  Like a volcano they erupted together in a flaming torrent of ecstasy. Losing control, Catherine tore her mouth away from his and sank her teeth into his shoulder. Tucson held her tightly, once again moving slowly and rhythmically to help her wring every last bit of pleasure from her climax.

  Finally, Catherine’s head fell back onto the blanket as her body relaxed and her eyes became clear again. Her hands were gentle as she reached up and pulled Tucson down and kissed him, long and deeply. When he pulled away, she smiled up at him affectionately.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like that before,” she murmured.

  * * * *

  Later, after two more bouts of love-making, Tucson and Catherine lay on the blanket, watching the sun as it descended toward the crest of the arroyo. She lay with her head resting on his shoulder and her arm thrown across his stomach. Totally satisfied, Tucson lay with one hand beneath his head while the fingers of his other hand ran idly through Catherine’s hair. He listened to the stream as it splashed over the rocks, the buzzing of bees as they searched for nectar in a bunch of wildflowers blossoming nearby, and the steady munching of the two horses as they grazed on the sweet grass beneath the trees. He couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so peaceful and relaxed, and – he had to admit – there was a part of him that wished the moment could stretch on forever.

  “What are thinking about?” Catherine asked, her fingers caressing his stomach.

  “About how beautiful you are,” Tucson responded lazily.

  She propped herself up on an elbow and gazed down at him. “I already mentioned that you’re different from anyone I’ve ever met before. And you’re certainly different from any gunman I’ve ever seen or heard of.”

  “You mean you don’t classify me with the likes of Wolf Cabot?” he asked playfully.

  “My god...!” she shuddered. “Wolf Cabot was an animal.” Then more seriously, she said, “But that’s what I mean...you can’t be put in the same category as any other gunman I’ve seen.” Her hand stopped stroking his stomach. “What’s your secret?”

  “There’s no secret.” Tucson smiled up at her. “I’m just who I am.”

  “But you talk differently,” she pursued. “And you have strange ideas.”

  Tucson glanced away and watched the sunlight play over the water in the pool, then he turned back. Catherine was peering earnestly down at him, waiting for an answer.

  “I met a man once, when I was still a teenager,” he said, speaking slowly. “I had been tracking a band of renegade Apaches down into Mexico, and I was lying on a ridge looking down into their camp through binoculars when he sneaked up behind me and stuck a gun in my back.”

  “Someone was able to sneak up on the Tucson Kid?” Catherine gasped, poking his side with her finger. “I would never have believed such a thing if you hadn’t told me yourself.”

  “Well, don’t let it get around,” Tucson laughed. “It’s not something I’m proud of. Anyway,” he continued, “he was something of a wise man—at least the Apaches thought so. Although he was a white man, they respected him and let him stay with them. Sometimes, during times of trouble, they'd go to him for advice.” He stopped talking as he thought back. “He told me that he had been waiting for me to come to him, and that he had some things he wanted to teach me.”

  “Then he was a wise man,” Catherine interposed.

  “He belonged to an ancient warrior tradition,” Tucson went on. “He told me that his tradition went back thousands of years—into the misty dawn of time, I think was how he put it—and that he was the last of the line. It was his responsibility to find a successor before he died, and he had chosen me.”

  “If the Apaches accepted him,” Catherine queried, “wasn’t his tradition the same as theirs?”

  “It wasn’t identical to the Apache way. For one thing, the Apaches are matriarchal, but the two traditions were close enough so that they were more or less compatible. So, once I swore not to reveal the location of the Apache camp, and promised not to track them until they crossed the border into the States, they let me come down and stay with him as often as I liked. Sometimes, I stayed with him for months at a time.”

  “Is that where you got some of your unusual ideas?” she asked.

  “After he initiated me into his tradition,” Tucson answered, “he taught me a complete system of knowledge. I didn’t understand much of it at the time,” he confessed. “But he told me that he had embedded the teachings into the deeper layers of my mind, and they would stay with me. He assured me that over the years I would understand the things he’d taught me more and more.”

  “Did you find that to be true?”

  Tucson nodded. “Certain things have gotten clearer to me as I’ve spent time chewing on them.”

  “That explains a lot,” Catherine commented, as she lay back down and rested her head on his shoulder. “You were very lucky to meet such a man.”

  “I know,” Tucson agreed. “He set my feet firmly on the Warrior’s Way. It’s the path I follow, and the path I’ll go on following until the end.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tucson and Catherine got back to Howling Wolf just before sundown. While she went inside to help Mirah prepare supper, Tucson led the two horses to the corral behind the boarding house. He removed the saddles and bridles then pitched plenty of hay into the trough so that they, and the two buggy horses Catherine kept on hand, could feed.

  After washing his face and hands, it was time for supper.

  The other boarders were just sitting down at the table when Tucson entered the dining room. They stopped what they were doing in mid-movement, their bodies frozen in awkward positions and their faces distorted from vain attempts to seem natural.

  Only Catherine Murry was genuinely natural and relaxed. She sat in her usual place at the head of the table, beaming a warm smile up at him. Tom McMannus dropped into the chair to her right and stared at Tucson in unabashed wonder.

  Of the others, George Bentley recovered first. “Welcome, my boy!” he cried effusively. “Welcome...” He waved a hand toward the empty chair. “Come in and sit down.”

  Bentley’s melodious voice seemed to release the other diners from their discomfort, and they sat down along with Tucson. The men watched Tucson with unconcealed interest, while the two spinsters, who seemed a bit paler than Tucson remembered, scrutinized him timidly from the corners of their eyes.

  “Have I missed something?” Tucson asked politely, glancing around the table. “I seem to be the subject of quite a bit of interest.”

  “What do you expect, my boy?” Bentley spoke up. “What do you expect? The whole town's talking about your gunfight last night at the Elkhorn Saloon. It's not every evening that we have the opportunity to sit down with the man who beat both Ramon Vasquez and Wolf Cabot to the draw—at the same time! By the way,” he added, pulling a pencil and a notepad from his jacket pocket, “I was wondering if you would mind giving me an exclusive interview. Sort of give me your side of the story.”

  “Hell's Fire!” McMannus exploded, unable to contain himself any longer
. “I can't believe I wasn't there to watch your back. And to think...” He slammed his palm angrily down on the table, “I almost stopped by the Elkhorn last night for a drink.”

  “You must be very brave,” murmured one of the women, then she blushed furiously at having spoken.

  “What's it like, facing up to a situation like that?” asked one of the men. He was bald, soft and white, and had the air of a shopkeeper.

  “Please!” Catherine's voice halted the questions. “Maybe Tucson doesn't want to talk about it right now. We should eat our supper and leave him in peace.”

  Tucson, undisturbed by the questions, was helping himself to the platter of pot roast. He glanced around the table and smiled good-naturedly. “It's alright. Interest in that sort of thing is natural.”

  He looked across at the newspaperman. “Sorry, Bentley, but I don't give interviews. There were plenty of witnesses, though, and they can give you all the information you need.”

  To McMannus, he said, “It's a good thing you didn't stop by the saloon last night, Tom. You might've gotten yourself hurt.”

  “Awe, Tucson...!” McMannus got out; but Tucson had already turned his attention to the spinster.

  “I'm not sure 'brave' is the right word to use, ma'am,” he said pleasantly. “When a gunfight goes down, you just do what you have to do, and hope like hell it works.”

  The poor woman was almost overwhelmed that Tucson had spoken to her directly. Blushing again, she began stabbing at her food with her fork.

  Then Tucson glanced at the shopkeeper.

  “As far as what it's like to face that kind of a situation...” He paused as he thought about it. “I'd say it's just plain tough. Just before the action starts you don't know if you're going to come out of it alive or not. And that's not a very pleasant feeling. But once you're in it, all of that falls away.” Tucson’s voice began to throb with excitement, and the others listened to him with rapt attention. “Your mind clears,” he went on, gesturing with his hands. “All your senses tune up a notch, a feeling of exaltation takes over, and it feels sort of like a dance. And when you're on you can sense what your opponent is going to do almost before he does it. If you get wounded,” he concluded, “most of the time you don't notice it until it's all over - unless you're dead, of course.”