Page 10 of Wellspring
“Heller,” Webster, already hatless, called from behind him.When Erick straightened and turned, Webster grinned.“Catch.”
Erick lifted his hands automatically and caught a thin cake of soap.
“You didn’t buy any for yourself in Galveston, and since it’s my fault you’re all bloody, I figure the least I can do is share.”As he spoke, Webster peeled off his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head, and started to unbuckle his belt.
Feeling his face heat, Erick quickly turned back to the water and worked the soap to a lather.He’d imagined what Webster’s body might look like beneath his work clothes, of course, but he couldn’t risk betraying his body’s reaction to the planes of strong muscle that defined Webster’s chest through the thin fabric of his undergarment.Wishing the river were colder, he dunked his head below the surface, holding his breath as long as he could before straightening to shake the water from his hair.He could—he would—master his impulses.He couldn’t risk Webster’s revulsion, or worse, if he discovered the truth.
“I didn’t save you from that snake for you to go drowning yourself,” Webster joked when Erick reached for his shirt.
Even that was enough for him to catch a glimpse of Webster kicking aside his union suit, which landed directly on his boots, enough for him to appreciate that Webster’s strong legs and backside were equally muscled.Clearly the idea of washing fully appealed to Webster too.Before the cowboy could turn, Erick dunked his shirt into the water and scrubbed the soap over the splashes of blood.“I can swim,” he answered, wondering how helpless he appeared, since it would take serious effort to drown in the sluggish river.He rinsed the shirt quickly.That would have to be clean enough, because he wasn’t about to put himself through watching Webster wade into the shallow water.He squeezed out as much wetness as he could and set the soap on the bank, then stood.“I will the fire start for dinner.”Hoping Webster was too engaged in washing to watch him flee, he pulled the damp shirt around himself.The fire would help it dry.
CADE SMOTHEREDa sigh of disappointment when Heller left the river without even taking off his pants.He’d spent enough time in the white man’s world not to hope Heller would strip all the way down like Cade did without thought, but he’d hoped for a wet union suit to give him a hint of the body beneath Heller’s clothes.
The Comanche hadn’t named him Wolf for nothing, though.Even as a young child, he’d seen more than most, and in his peripheral vision, Cade had soaked up the sight of Heller’s bare chest.He might claim to have lived a life of fairly idle luxury before coming to Texas, but his body said otherwise.He wasn’t bulky, but the muscles he had were well-defined—lean and wiry rather than bulging.And the pelt of hair on his chest….
Having grown up among smooth-chested warriors, the hair on Heller’s chest was both exotic and alluring to him.He wanted to run his fingers through it and see if it was soft or wiry.
And that thought would have to wait, because in his current state, there’d be no hiding his reaction to the image.Instead he focused on getting his clothes clean.He hadn’t brought his spare pants to the river, and he wasn’t about to change into them when he got back just to sleep, so Heller would just have to deal with the sight of Cade in his union suit until morning.He hoped Heller appreciated his consideration.He wouldn’t have bothered for most people.
When his clothes were as clean as he could get them without a washboard, he carried them back to the wagon and pulled on a clean union suit.“I’m dressed again, so you don’t have to look elsewhere all the time.”
“Most men would not appreciate being stared at.”Erick gestured toward the snake carcass he’d retrieved from the wagon, still not meeting Cade’s eyes.“You will have to show me how to prepare rattlesnake.”
Cade wasn’t most men.He’d grown up in a different culture with a different set of values, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it.He didn’t know if there would ever be a good time to discuss it, although he’d jump at the chance if he could be sure he was reading the few signs of interest he thought he’d noticed correctly.Unfortunately some white men’s ways still confused him, and Heller was even worse for being a foreigner.“Fried,” he said instead.He grabbed the cast iron skillet and a dollop of lard.“We’ll let the fat get good and hot and then we’ll fry it up.If we had a jalapeño or two, we could add some extra bite.You ever had jalapeños?”
Heller’s posture relaxed slightly at the change of subject.Most people might not have noticed it, but Cade knew how to read subtle cues.Nudity made Heller uncomfortable.Cade would have to remember that he came from a much more formal culture, though he’d have to adapt eventually.He’d get an eyeful at the Wellspring bunkhouse.
“It is a vegetable?”Heller asked.“It is not one I am familiar with, though the food in Galveston was pleasingly spiced.”
“It’s a Mexican vegetable, but I wouldn’t recommend eating them by themselves until you get used to them.They’re pretty strong.But they add a good flavor to things.The cook at Wellspring, Trujillo, is part Mexican, so we eat a lot of grub from there.And what he can do with beans and rice will make it so you can’t eat anyone else’s.”Cade licked his lips just thinking about it.Heller’s gaze followed the motion.
Now wasn’t that interesting?Maybe Heller’s discomfort was about more than just nudity.The mixed signals frustrated Cade, but that could be as much about his ability to understand white men as it was about the signals Heller was—or wasn’t—sending.He had learned patience along with marksmanship from the Comanche.He could bide his time and see what other signals Heller sent.And maybe send a few more of his own.
Chapter Seven
THE SKYgrew steadily darker as they rode along, the air hanging thick and heavy on Erick’s skin.“Rain soon,” Webster said from the wagon seat.“Good thing.It’ll cut down some of this dust.”
A streak of lightning brightened the sky, touching the horizon to the west.Seconds later, thunder cracked, making Zephyr dance beneath him.Erick tightened the reins, murmuring softly in German until the stallion settled.The first drops of rain hit his skin, warmer than he’d expected.Another bolt of lightning flashed, the peal of thunder louder, and with no more warning the heavens opened.Erick’s clothes were instantly drenched, and Zephyr nickered and shifted uneasily.The sky darkened to an unhealthy greenish tinge, and the sudden sheets of water blurred the road in front of him.
“Well, fuck,” Webster said.He slapped the reins against the horses’ backs to urge them to move faster, but when they reached the bottom of the hill, the lowest point Erick could see, Webster pulled them to a halt and set the brake on the wagon before jumping down from the seat, water running off the brim of his hat and down his back to soak his clothes.Erick might have taken a moment to appreciate the sight if it weren’t for the frown on Webster’s face and the urgency in his voice.“Hobble Zephyr and help me get the draft horses unhitched.And pray to whatever god you believe in that we just get rain and not a twister.We’re sitting ducks out here if a twister blows in.”
Erick wasn’t sure what a twister entailed, but if it was worse than the deluge currently battering them, he could live without experiencing one.He dismounted and led Zephyr to the side of the wagon, then pulled a strip of leather from his saddlebag.Once he’d secured the stallion’s front legs to keep him from bolting, he moved to the opposite side of the wagon from Webster to release the other two draft horses from their traces.The animals didn’t seem troubled by the heavy rain, unlike Zephyr who flinched and neighed at each crack of thunder.
“I’ll put their hobbles on,” Webster said.“Get in the wagon before you get any more soaked.”
Erick did as Webster said because he’d already hobbled two horses and had the leather for the other two in his hand.He grabbed his saddlebags and shook the water from his hat before climbing into the back of the wagon.A moment later, Webster climbed in after him and dropped the oilcloth across the entrance, enclosing them in near—but dry—darkness.
“I was hoping for a spring shower, not a heavy storm.”Webster pulled a blanket off one of the boxes, tossed his hat onto the box, and used the blanket to wipe the water from his face.He pulled his shirt off with a wry twist of his lips and laid it out across the wood, then peeled his union suit down to his waist.“Not that it’s going to dry much until the rain stops, but at least I can get dry myself.I’ve got an extra shirt if you want.I don’t know how waterproof your saddlebags are.”
Even in the dim light of the cramped wagon, Erick’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to Webster’s broad, bare chest and powerful arms.He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and looked down at his own sodden shirt.There was certainly no comparison, but it was foolish to sit in wet clothes and risk catching a chill.He wrestled the buttons free and, following Webster’s example, pushed the shirt and the equally wet undergarment beneath it to his waist.He reached for the blanket Webster had used to dry himself, his forearm brushing against the cowboy’s torso, solid and warm against his chilled skin.Suppressing a shiver, he drew his arm back quickly and scrubbed at whatever he could reach, not meeting Webster’s eyes.
Webster either didn’t notice or was too polite to react, because he simply dug in his gear until he pulled out a shirt, which he offered to Erick.“You don’t want to catch cold.”
Erick reached for it before realizing that Webster made no move to retrieve a second shirt for himself.“No need,” he answered, pulling the blanket around his shoulders.“I would not wish you to catch cold either.”
“Suit yourself.”Webster set the shirt on the wooden shipping container and bent to pull off his boots.He grimaced as he poured water from them to seep between the floorboards of the wagon.He tossed the boots aside and undid the buckle on his belt.“I’d offer you a pair of pants, but I don’t think mine will fit you.You’re taller than I am.”
Judging that sitting in wet boots was a poor idea, Erick bent down to grasp one just as Webster thrust his dungarees and undergarment to the floor.Finding himself with his nose almost brushing Webster’s manhood, he sat up abruptly, the interior of the wagon suddenly steaming.
