Only 03 - Only You

sandstone walls.
    “Fifteen-eighty,” Reno read aloud.
    Next to the date, a man had written his name in an arcane, formal script: Captain Cristóbal Leon.
    “My God,” Eve breathed.
    She traced the date with fingers that trembled, thinking of the man who had left his mark centuries before. She wondered if he had been as thirsty as they were when they found the first pool, and if he had been struck by the uncanny beauty of thefinal pool veiled in thousands of shimmering rainbows.
    There were other marks on the rock wall, figures that owed nothing to European traditions of art or history. Some of the drawings were easy enough to puzzle out—stick deer with spreading antlers, arrowheads, a ripple that probably meant water or river. Other figures were more enigmatic. Faces that were not human, figures that wore ghostly robes, eyes that had been open for thousands of years.
    The shaman had worn such drawings. Perhaps other men had once. But now no men built stone cities and came to drink from the pool. No women came to dip gourds and water jars in the cool silence of the canyon. No children wet small fingers and made fleeting drawings on the rock walls.
    Yet there was an odd peace within the crystal laughter of the pool. Orphaned or not, saloon girl or saint, friend or friendless, Eve knew she was part of the vast rainbow of life that stretched from the unknowable past to the unforeseen future. Hands like hers had created engimas on rock walls countless centuries ago. Minds like hers would try to solve the riddles countless years ahead.
    Reno bent down, found a cobble the size of his palm, and began hammering carefully on the rock wall. With each strike of stone against stone, the thin black veneer that time and water had left upon the stone chipped away, revealing the lighter stone beneath.
    Within a surprisingly short time, he had picked out the date and the name Matthew Moran.
    “Is your name really Evening Star?” Reno asked without turning around.
    “My name is Evelyn,” she said in a husky voice. “Evelyn Starr Johnson.”
    Then she blinked back tears, for she was no longer the only one alive who knew her real name.
    E VE floated on her back, watching the sapphire sky overhead and the inky shadows that shifted slowly against sheer rock walls. The ripples made by falling water rocked her gently. From time to time she steadied herself with a hand on the smooth stone or on the cool bottom of the pool a few feet beneath her body.
    Suspended in time as well as water, turning as slowly as the day, Eve knew she should go back to camp, but she wasn’t ready to leave the pool’s peace just yet. She wasn’t ready to face the smoldering green of Reno’s eyes as he watched her with a hunger that was almost tangible.
    Eve wondered what Reno saw in her own eyes when he turned suddenly and found her watching him. She was afraid he saw a reflection of her own hunger for him. She wanted to know again the surprising, sweet fire that came when he held her close.
    Yet she wanted more than Reno’s passion. She wanted his laughter and his dreams, his silences and his hopes. She wanted his trust and his respect and his children. She wanted everything with him that a man and a woman could share: joy and sorrow, hope and heartache, passion and peace, all of life ahead of them like an undiscovered country.
    And most of all, Eve wanted Reno’s love.
    He wanted her body. And nothing more.
    I’ll keep the ring and the pearls until I find a woman who loves me more than she loves her own comfort.
    And while I’m at it, I’ll find a ship made of stone, a dry rain, and a light that casts no shadows.
    Eve closed her eyes on a wave of unhappiness. Yet no matter how tightly she shut her eyes againstthe truth, it was there behind her eyelids, haunting her.
    There was one way to convince Reno that he was wrong about her. One way to convince him that she wasn’t a cheater and conniver, a strumpet in a red dress. One way.
    Give herself to him, paying off a bet that never should have been made and betting her future once more at the same time.
    Then he’ll see that I didn’t lie about my innocence, that I keep my word, that I am worthy of his trust. Then he’ll look at me with more than lust. He’ll want more from me than the use of my body until we find the mine.
    Won’t he?
    There was no answer to that question except to bet herself once more. A chill coursed through Eve at the immensity of the risk she would be taking.
    What if