She swallowed a lump in her throat. How could he leave them that way? If there had been discord between her parents, she had never seen any indication. He simply went into town one day and never returned. He never even said goodbye. As usual, that thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. It wasn't as if that was the most important part, so why did it hurt the most?
She shifted her weight to relieve the pressure on her hip. The landscape around them was desolate. Still, in spite of the struggle, she welcomed each trip. It brought her closer to the time when she could go back to the ranch. Its cool year-round creek and rolling hills dotted with wild flowers filled her dreams at night - beckoned. She closed her eyes and resurrected the sound of whippoorwills and running water. Her parched lips longed for the fresh cool water.
When she opened her eyes the sun was directly overhead. The mules were lathered - a condition that could be dangerous in the desert. She pulled on the lead lines and applied pressure to the brake with one foot. As the teams came to a halt, the rasp of leather against sandy wheels assured her that the other wagons were following suit. Grabbing her canteen and a feed sack, she leaped from the wagon. She rubbed each mule down with the burlap sack and wiped the nostrils of each mule with a dampened cloth before allowing herself a few swallows of tepid water. The air was miserably hot. She pulled her hat off, fanning herself with it as she squinted at a plume of dust in the shimmering distance. A dust devil? No, it was too big.
She stepped back and waved at Pete, pointing at the dust. Pete threw his feet over the wagon seat and dropped to the ground. Pulling his Winchester from a boot attached to the side of the wagon, he walked toward her. As he joined her they squinted into the heat waves, shielding their eyes against the bright sun - trying to discern something of the shadows below the plume.
"What do you think?" Pete finally asked.
"I don't know," she responded turning to him. "I can't see ..."
Her voice trailed off as realized he was talking to Bordeaux.
The Frenchman had materialized from the desert on his bay. Bordeaux studied the dust through a pair of field glasses.
"Cavalry," he announced, still studying the figures.
"Cavalry?" Pete said. "What would the cavalry be doing out here?"
Bordeaux lowered the glasses and shrugged in a way that was both elegant and masculine. He lifted the glasses again, lithely shifting his weight to maintain visual contact as his horse pawed at the sand. He made a striking figure, so tall and lean. His broad chest and shoulders looked powerful. A strange feeling of excitement filled her as she watched him.