Only 06 - Winter Fire

weeks.
    Empty.
    Before he had started digging, there were signs that the ground had been a camping spot. But it was impossible to tell whether the rock had been blackened by a campfire three years ago, or thirty, or three hundred.
    Or three thousand. The dry air of the stone desert preserved everything from wood to bones to broken pottery.
    I’m a damned fool to be digging holes when I could be building a cabin of my own to live in , he thought.
    A cold wind wailing up the nameless canyon seemed to agree with him.
    He was a fool.
    Sweaty and naked to the waist despite the wind, he picked up the shovel and went back to work. The steel edge grated against a combination of dirt, sand, and rubble that was anywhere from the size of a penny to that of a pony.
    I could be catching a few mustangs of my own , he thought. There’s some promising horseflesh running loose out there .
    With Cricket as a stud, and a few good mares from California or Virginia, a man could breed some fine animals .
    The sound of something heavy being dragged toward Case scattered his thoughts. He straightened from digging and looked up the canyon.
    â€œDamnation, Sarah!” he yelled, “I told you to leave the big stuff for me.”
    â€œYou should see—what I left—up there,” she panted.
    Despite the wind and the frost that still sparkled in the shadow of north-facing rocks, she wore only doeskin pants and a shirt with a thin camisole beneath. Her pants were scarred by brush and stained from plain hard work.
    Her jacket was hanging over a low bush about a hundred yards down the canyon, near the first hole he had dug. Her hat was on top of the jacket. From certain angles, the bush looked enough like a hunched-over man that Case had reached for his belt gun twice.
    Even knowing what was really there didn’t keep him from starting when he caught a glimpse of the man-shape from the corner of his eye.
    Sarah dragged her prize another few yards and dropped it with the wood she had gathered while he was digging. For a minute she just breathed hard and looked at the mound of firewood.
    â€œThere should be enough for both packhorses, plus my own little mustang,” she said.
    â€œShaker is a better packhorse than a mount. Her trot would jolt teeth loose.”
    â€œHow do you think she got her name?”
    He looked at the mound of firewood. The last piece she had added wasn’t a branch—it was the whole trunk.
    â€œYou should have left that log for me with the rest of the big stuff up the canyon,” he said.
    She ignored him.
    He wasn’t surprised. He had discovered in the past twoweeks that Sarah was very good at ignoring what she didn’t want to discuss.
    Sex was number one on her list of things to ignore.
    Maybe I should just trip her, sit on her, and force her to listen , he thought. If I do it now, I sure wouldn’t have to worry about getting her clothes dirty .
    In all, she was almost as dusty as he was. When she wasn’t pawing through a pile of rubble from whatever hole he was digging, she was dragging downed wood back to where the horses grazed.
    Sarah stretched her back, sighed, and reached for the crosscut saw that Ute had “found” along with the ax.
    â€œI’ll saw that last one up,” Case said.
    â€œYou dig. I’ll saw what I can.”
    His mouth flattened. As far as he was concerned, she worked as hard as two men.
    â€œWhat about resting?” he asked mildly.
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œI’m tired.”
    Immediately she was contrite. She set aside the saw and hurried toward him.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I keep forgetting about your wounds.”
    So did he, but he saw no reason to mention it. He liked the concern in her expressive eyes as she came toward him. He liked the willowy strength of her body and the unconscious swing of her hips when she walked.
    He liked every bit of her too much.
    He kept remembering how she had felt and tasted at dawn, hot silk in his hands and honey on his tongue.
    All that woman going to waste .
    No sooner did the thought come to him than he pushed it aside. What the hardworking widow did or didn’t do about men and sex was none of his business.
    Now, if only I can convince my dumb handle of that , he thought dryly.
    But he doubted he could. He came to a point like abird dog whenever Sarah walked by. The only thing that made the situation bearable was that she didn’t notice