Only 05 - Autumn Lover

Hunter that a few days generally told the story with wounds. Heal or die.
    Penny walked by each cot, checking the men. Her quiet competence was as comforting to the gunfighters as the gentle touch of her fingers on fevered skin.
    “Where is Elyssa?” Hunter asked in a low voice.
    “I made her go to bed hours ago. She hadn’t slept for nearly two days.”
    “What about you?” he asked.
    “I’ve had more sleep than anybody.”
    Hunter looked around the dispensary again. No one needed him here.
    He needed no one here.
    “Hunter?”
    He turned back to Penny.
    “We aren’t going to make it, are we?” Penny asked quietly.
    “Case and I are going to change the odds.”
    “How?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    Penny looked at Hunter’s eyes. Quickly she looked away.
    “When?” she whispered.
    “Tonight.”
    She bit her lip and nodded. Then she looked up at him with beseeching eyes.
    “If you find Bill out there,” she whispered painfully, “remember that…”
    Penny’s voice died.
    “I don’t expect to find Bill,” Hunter said carefully. “He wouldn’t help the Culpeppers rape and murder his own daughter.”
    Tears ran down Penny’s cheeks.
    “You think he’s dead, don’t you?” she whispered. “You think they killed him.”
    “I don’t know. Neither do you. Bill knows this land better than anyone else alive. If he’s half-smart, he went to ground as soon as he was sure the Culpeppers were going to attack.”
    Blindly Penny nodded. Tremors ran through her, telling of the strain she was under.
    “Penny?”
    “I’m all right,” she whispered.
    Hunter drew Penny into a gentle hug.
    At first she resisted. Then she put her face against Hunter’s chest and wept for all that had never been…and likely never would be.
    After a time Penny stirred, blotted her cheeks with herpalms, and gave Hunter a watery smile. Then she pushed away from him and began walking slowly up the row of sleeping men again, checking them for signs of fever.
    Restlessly Hunter went upstairs. He paced through the first floor of the ranch house. Everything was in order. It was the same on the second floor. Sonny was watching out one side of the house, Case the other. Neither man had seen anything but sunlight and a slow gathering of clouds as the afternoon wore on.
    The door to Elyssa’s bedroom was shut. Hunter stood there, listening intently.
    Small, ragged sounds came from inside the room.
    Softly Hunter tried the door, wondering if Elyssa had bolted it from inside.
    The door opened without any restraint.
    Hunter told himself he would only look in and check that Elyssa was all right.
    She was turning restlessly on the bed. A bar of light from a rifle slit fell across her face. Tears shone on her cheeks.
    Though Elyssa seemed to be asleep, she was crying.
    In one stride Hunter was through the doorway. The door clicked shut behind him. The bolt slipped into place without a sound. Making no noise, he went to stand by the bed.
    A quick look told Hunter that Elyssa wasn’t awake. She didn’t even know she was crying. Whimpering softly, she was held within the uneasy coils of nightmare.
    A loaded pistol lay on the bedside table. Hunter knew without being told that it was Elyssa’s way to insure that she didn’t fall into Ab Culpepper’s hands alive.
    Why didn’t you come to me for comfort? Hunter asked silently.
    The answer came with cruel finality.
    We’re just lovers.
    Just lovers.
    Swiftly, recklessly, no longer caring what the men might think of Elyssa or of him, Hunter stripped off his boots and got into bed with her. As he slid beneath the bedcovers, the scent of gun smoke and rosemary and a woman’s warmth lifted to his nostrils.
    Desire and something else spread through Hunter’s body, something very much like grief. He didn’t understand the vise of sorrow gripping him, but he had no such problem with the passion.
    A single glance when Hunter slid into bed had told him Elyssa was fully clothed except for shoes. The buckskin had been traded for a soft flannel shirt that once had been red. Now it was so faded it was barely pink.
    Hunter’s hands trembled at the thought of unbuttoning the cloth and finding taut, creamy flesh beneath. He didn’t want to wake Elyssa, yet he needed her in a way he didn’t understand.
    With a tenderness that was sorrow and passion combined, Hunter stroked Elyssa’s pale, tangled hair. More asleep than awake, she turned toward him and murmured his name.
    “Don’t