cloud.
The sky darkened to a dirty brown. Zach dismounted, then reached up and pulled her off the gelding. He positioned Dancer next to her mount. “Stand between the horses,” he ordered.
“What? But—”
“Don’t argue, just do it!”
“Not until you explain—”
“Dusty, shut up and move! Now!” He shoved her toward the animals. Then he grabbed both bridles and pulled her forward.
“Zach, I don’t understand. Why—”
“You will,” he said shortly. He grabbed her arm, dragged her next to him and pushed her against Dancer’s neck. Then he jockeyed the horses closer together to serve as buffers.
“They’ll squash us!” she protested.
“No, they won’t.” He moved in back of her and pressed her body hard into Dancer’s quivering form. “A dust storm is dangerous. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. It’s important not to panic.”
She started to say something, but at that moment the first gusts of wind hit. “Tie your hat on,” he ordered. “Use your bandanna.”
When she fumbled, he reached over and pulled the square of cotton tight over her Stetson and knotted it under her chin.
Dirt and sand pelted them, and the air filled with swirling grit. He snugged his own hat down as tight as he could, lifted his arms and positioned them around her head. Then he stepped in close and pressed his chest against her back.
“Breathe through your mouth,” he yelled.
He felt her head dip in a nod, and then the storm hit.
The air grew so thick it was hard to see. To Alex it felt as if night was falling, and a bolt of panic stabbed through her. She jerked, and Zach pushed her hat down to shield her face and tightened his arms over her head.
“Don’t panic,” he said, his voice calm. “It’ll get dark but it will pass. Just hang on, okay?”
She tipped her head up and down and felt his warm breath against the back of her neck. In the next minute, the air grew so gritty she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and then all at once she was suffocating.
Choking, she reared back and heard Zach’s voice against her ear. “Keep breathing,” he ordered. “It’s thick and dirty, but it’s air. Just breathe.”
How was he able to breathe? she wondered. He was sheltering her with his body, but the air was just as thick and dirty for him.
The wind screamed around them with a strange, eerie cry, and suddenly she was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She began to tremble and felt his hard body press more tightly against her back.
“You’re all right, Dusty. Just hang on.” He brought his mouth closer to her ear. “Hang on.”
“But I can’t breathe!” She felt as if she was drowning. Could a person drown on dry land?
“Dusty, take real slow breaths. Don’t hurry it.”
She wanted to scream, but that would take precious air. She opened her mouth wide to gulp in air, and shut her eyes.
Zach’s breath rasped in and out at her back, wafting against her cheek every time he exhaled. Could people choke to death in dust storms?
Don’t think about it. As long as she could feel him breathing she would be all right, wouldn’t she?
“Dusty, stay quiet. Stop thinking.”
How could he know that I’m thinking?
She wanted to ask him how long this would last.
She wanted to thank him for protecting her.
She wanted to stay alive!
Zach could feel her shaking, sending little tremors against his chest, but instead of making him feel protective it made him mad. Damn mad. She was scared? She shouldn’t be out here in the first place. Newspaper reporter or not, she had no business on a cattle drive. It put his men at risk. It put his cattle at risk. And, goddammit, it put him at risk!
Well, now, Strickland, just how do you figure it puts you at risk?
He tried to shut his mind down and concentrate instead on the wind. And the dust. And the...
Oh, hell and damn, it was hard not to think about Dusty when he could feel every little hitch in her breathing and every shudder traveling along her spine.
He had to admit she didn’t complain. She didn’t cry. She didn’t shirk her share of the work. She didn’t ask for special treatment because she was female. Dusty was maddeningly agreeable. He hated to admit it, but she was good company.
And, oh, God, she smelled good.
He could feel grit and sand sifting through his shirt and into his jeans, making his sticky skin itch. He heard the wind pick up. A dust storm could blow for half a day or longer, and this one showed no sign of letting up.
One of the horses tossed its head, but it didn’t move. He tried to keep his mind on the animal, but his thoughts kept coming back to Dusty. What was it about her that he found so maddening?
And how much longer can you stand here with her trim little butt snugged into your groin?
Guess he had a bad case of Dusty getting under his skin.
Suddenly she pulled away from the horse she was leaning against and with a half sob turned into his arms.
“Zach, I’m scared.”
Well, maybe she did cry sometimes. He pressed her head against his neck and wrapped his arm around her.
“H-how long will this last?”
“Don’t know. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes a day.”
She gave a little jerk. “A day? A whole day?”
“Sometimes. Forget about the dust storm. Just standing here in one spot for twenty-four hours will probably kill us.”
“Oh, but—It couldn’t really go on for a whole day, could it? What if I have to, um, relieve myself?”
That made him laugh out loud. He pressed her face back against his neck. “Dusty, stop talking. It takes air.”
He let ten minutes go by while the wind screamed across the plain and threw dirt in their faces. After another ten minutes she raised her head and wasted some more air.
“I can’t wait to write down some notes about this windstorm!”
Zach just shook his head. She was either crazy or she was a great newspaper reporter. Maybe both.
The storm finally moved off to the north, and Zach heaved a sigh of relief. Their ordeal was
