J. D. had waited until too late to make camp, so it was almost dark when he finally found a place and set about gathering firewood. He was glad none of his friends were there to see him screw up--although, if they'd been there, he wouldn't have been caught out in the middle of nowhere when it was all but too dark to see where his feet where.
Somehow he muddled through the process of starting a small fire, laying out the bedroll he'd had enough sense to bring, and digging out some of the jerky Vin had insisted he always have in his saddlebags. He was glad now that he'd listened, and that he'd paid attention the times that he'd passed the night outdoors with the other men. He hadn't intended to be gone so long, but the ride to Cutter's Pass had taken longer than he'd expected. Chris had volunteered him to carry a message to the sheriff there, since Cutter's Pass didn't have a telegraph. J. D. had been so flattered that Chris trusted him to go on his own, given all of his friends' tendency to treat him like he'd recently fallen off a haywagon, that he hadn't even minded much when Buck insisted on going on and on about what he should--or shouldn't--do while he was by himself.
Unfortunately, Vin's estimate that it would take half a day to get there hadn't included the possibility that J. D. would take the wrong road coming back. He'd gotten himself straightened out, finally, but the whole experience had put him far enough behind schedule that there was no way he could make it back to Four Corners that night. The thought of being out by himself overnight--of proving to the others that he could survive on his own--was kind of appealing, anyway, so he decided to make camp.
Now, well, he wouldn't have minded company. He hadn't realized just how *dark* it got beyond the fire, or how cold the desert could get once the sun went down. Somehow he hadn't noticed when he was with the others. There was plenty of noise, but it wasn't the voices and laughter he'd grown accustomed to. It was crickets and coyotes and other sounds he couldn't place and wasn't sure he wanted to.
He gnawed of a chunk of jerky and sat chewing it as he stared at the flickering flames, wondering what his friends were doing tonight. Ezra, of course, would be in the saloon, trying to rustle up a game with anyone too new or too stupid to know to avoid him. Buck would be flirting with the working girls or joining Ezra in the game, whichever seemed more fun at the moment. Chris and Vin would probably be out taking a last turn through the town, making sure no trouble was brewing before bedtime, and Josiah was probably having supper with Mrs. Potter again. Nathan, now, he could be doing anything; he had more to keep him occupied than the others. J. D. knew he spent some of his free time reading doctor books, trying to improve his healing skills. J. D. would personally rather be hog-tied to a cactus than voluntarily read anything so dry--he liked reading, his ma had seen to that, but he like the adventure stories, not books that brought back bad memories of school.
If J. D. had been in Four Corners, he might have been helping Chris and Vin, or joining Buck and Ezra in that game of poker, or even sitting with Nathan in his room talking about what the healer was reading. Nathan had a way of making even the most boring texts interesting when he talked about them. As long as J. D. didn't have to force his way through them on his own, he didn't mind hearing about them. It was kind of interesting, actually.
Finally, the wonders of the jerky fully explored, J. D. began to settle down for the night. It took a bit; every time he closed his eyes, a branch would pop or a coyote howl, and he'd spend a few minutes staring into the darkness before he could relax again. After a time, though, exhaustion won out over nerves, and he drifted off.
He didn't know what woke him. It couldn't have been a sound, because the night had grown almost eerily quiet. His fire had dimmed down to coals, so he reached out to grab a few pieces of wood to add to it. He was just snuggling back down into the bedroll, grateful for its protection against the chill, when he saw her.
She stood at the edge of the circle created by the fire, dressed in nothing but a light shift like his ma used to wear to sleep in. Her long, dark blond hair hung past her waist, and blew gently in the light breeze. She was barefoot in spite of the chill, and J. D. wondered how on earth she'd gotten this far out in the middle of nowhere dressed as she was.
"Hey, ma'am. Are you lost? Do you live around here?" he called softly, not wanting to spook her. He slid slowly out of the bedroll and stood up. "Do you want to come closer to the fire? It's a mite cold out here, and I promise I won't hurt you."
She moved forward slowly, her bare feet seeming to glide soundlessly over the ground. J. D. focused tightly on her face, not wanting to notice how the shift outlined her slender body's every curve. Her face was heart-shaped and pale, giving him the impression that she hadn't been in this part of the country long; she didn't have the weathered look that even the most beautiful of the girls developed at an early age. Her eyes were a light color that he couldn't distinguish in the firelight, and a serene smile touched the corners of her lips as she drew near to him.
"If you want, you can . . . um . . ." he trailed off, forgetting what he'd intended to say as she stopped in front of him and touched his face lightly with her fingertips. Her hand was soft and cool, stroking so gently down his jaw and across his lips, and suddenly he couldn't think of what he was supposed to be doing. "Ma'am?"
Her fingers trailed down his neck to the collar of his shirt and slid the button free. His astonished protest died in his throat as he looked down into her eyes and abruptly found it hard to breathe. He licked lips that hadn't been dry a second ago, then gasped as she reached up and grazed her lips across his. Her hands were continuing their relentless path down his chest, undoing one button after the other, teasing his flesh with the lightest of touches as she neared his navel.
His hands, taking an initiative he'd never known them to have before, came up to clasp her shoulders. He could feel the fragile bones between his fingers, the cool, satiny skin around her neck as his thumbs began to caress her throat. She tilted her head back to meet his as their lips touched again, then fire kindled in his belly when her hands slid over his ribs to grasp at his nipples while her tongue ran over his lips and thrust into his mouth. He had one brief, intense moment of incredulity--how could anything feel like that?--and then his body took over, pressing against hers, pulling her to him so that he could feel her breasts against his chest and the hard mound between her legs pressing into him with a sweet pain.
Somehow he controlled their fall, landing them for the most part on the bedroll, but it was the only thing he was controlling. She had everything else, his mind, his soul, most definitely his body, cradled in her hands as she stroked his chest and across the faint line of down to his belt.
Her tongue plundered his mouth, finding ways to light the fire there as well as below. One of her hands came up to thread through his hair, tugging slightly so that he tilted his head back and opened even more to her ravishment.
When she pulled her mouth away from his, all he could do was offer an inarticulate cry of protest, the heat that surged through him stealing all thought. He gripped her shoulders more tightly, silently begging her not to stop, then her mouth was over his heart, her tongue lighting a fire across his nipple, and he sobbed in gratitude. Her lips closed over his nipple, teeth grazing and then tugging, lips a whisper-soft touch here and there, never settling long enough to satisfy completely.
He slid his own hands up into her hair, its silken strands sliding through his fingers as he pulled her up to meet his mouth again, to touch her the way that she had touched him, but she escaped and began working her slow way down again, over his jaw and throat and down the center of his chest, the chill wind following the path her tongue drew for it.
He didn't even think to protest as her nimble fingers undid his belt and the buttons on his trousers. It was all he could do to lie still, not to thrust against the sweet, agonizing ecstasy that shot through him as she suckled, her cool lips leaving a trail of fire behind them that consumed his chest and stomach and below. Inch by inch she moved lower, first touching his left side and then his right, her lips grazing his ribs, her tongue finding the path in the hollows between them and marking it as her own.
He should be stopping her, should protest as she lifted his hips and slid his trousers down, pausing to stroke along the inside of his thigh and between his legs, but he couldn’t have formed the words if he'd wanted her to stop. She paused there, letting her fingers explore the sensitive skin around his penis and along the inside of his thigh, playing gently with the hair as every nerve stood on end, stroking gently, circling, teasing, awakening parts of his body he hadn't know existed. His hands, bereft of her body as she moved further down his, clawed into the ground, desperate for an anchor.
He felt her hands touching him, sliding his penis free of the confining clothes and then lightly, tantalizingly grazing its tip, and moaned somewhere deep in his throat and his body involuntarily arched, seeking that touch again.
Then it was her lips touching, teasing, her tongue just barely caressing him, his body moving in time with her mouth as she coaxed, sucked, stroked him into almost-oblivion.
He might have screamed, might have only whimpered, he had no idea; all he could feel was fire from his toes to his hair, every sense exploding as she suckled again, and then *he* was exploding, needing to explode, but she held him there, somehow held him at the peak without letting him go over, and he thrust and thrust again but she wouldn't let him go.
He sobbed, his hands clawing again at the ground, reaching for her, but she was too far away and all he could think of was the need for release. Then, somehow she let go and he was soaring, exploding, scattering into a thousand fragments of light and falling to the ground slowly, like drifting snowflakes settling into the dirt.
He couldn't move, and speech was as far beyond him as flying. He watched her dazedly as she stood, looked down at him with that same serene smile, and then bent to press cool lips against his forehead. Then, without a word or a backward glance, she walked to the edge of the fire and was gone. He wanted to get up, to go after her, but his body had other ideas; before he could remember how to stand up, he was asleep.
J. D. arrived in Four Corners late the next afternoon. He was a little surprised when he found himself entering the town limits; he had little memory of packing and riding out of the camp, much less of the trip back home. His mind had been almost exclusively focused on the events of the night before. Was it real? Had there really been a girl in his camp last night, or was it just an *extremely* powerful dream? He didn't see how he could have dreamed such a thing, but when he'd awoken and looked around that morning, he'd seen no signs--other than his own state of undress--that the girl had been there, not even a footprint.
He was too tired now to figure it out. He felt like he hadn't slept at all the night before, and had had a hard time keeping his eyes open as he traveled the last few miles to Four Corners. Now, he was intent on nothing more than getting his horse stabled and himself in bed, and almost groaned out loud when he saw Buck stalking toward him, an indignant look on his face. If he waited until Buck was done yelling at him for being late, he'd never get any sleep.
"What did you do, get lost on a straight road with no turn-offs?" Buck snapped as soon as he was within griping range. Since that was exactly what had happened, J. D. simply shrugged and handed his horse off to Carl, the stable boy, with a coin for his troubles. Normally, J. D. preferred to look after his horse himself, but he knew Carl well enough to know the animal was in good hands, and he was exhausted.
Buck paused for a second and gave him a closer look, then asked in a calmer voice, "Are you okay, kid? You look a little pale."
J. D. looked at him tiredly for a moment, then simply walked past, flinging over his shoulder, "I'm fine. And I'm not a kid," adding under his breath, "at least, not any more."
The End
