Edge 60 by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: elmore leonard, western fiction, louis lamour, western ebooks, piccadilly cowboys, piccadilly publishing westerns, william johnstone, bn rundell
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Seven

EVEN BEFORE HE opened his eyes after the light of a new day turned the lids red, Edge knew he had been right to ascribe some of the best native skills of her Indian heritage to Ruby Red.

Ruby Red, that was how he named her as he awoke, knew she had left the night camp: in his head snarled the name she despised as he became irritably aware of the erection she had promised to relieve if he were patient.

And the double-crossing bitch had broken that promise! Used her Indian wiles to sneak off in the night! Moving with a silent stealth that had not interrupted his shallow level of sleep filled with dreams of naked, faceless women mixed in with idyllic big sky country vistas on which houses with bright paint and sparkling windows stood amid fields of crops waving to and fro in gentle summer breezes redolent with woodsmoke and cooking.

He kept his eyes squeezed tight shut for maybe ten seconds, forcing himself to consider the likelihood that the strong impression he was alone was nothing but a final remnant of his last dream: a cryptic warning at the moment of waking that he could not expect always to get everything he wanted out of his proposed new way of life. Be it a fine place to hang up his wanderlust: or the abused body of a woman of vast and mostly bad experience into which to expend the more primal kind of lust.

But he recognized this was much the same kind of false hope he held out last night when he refused to make the first move to take Ruby Red, waited for the woman to approach him. Like whistling for the moon, as his mother used to tell him and his kid brother long ago when they craved the impossible.

From a distance came the sounds of the creatures of the forest waking to the new dawn and going about their daily business of surviving until another nightfall. Along with the ever-present rippling of the broadened stream on the far side of the trail across the hollow. Then, from much closer, the even less obtrusive sounds of a single horse at the bottom of the hollow.

Ruby Red’s horses, along with her flawed but almost painfully desirable body, were long gone. And once he accepted this his arousal diminished fast and he opened his eyes. Sat up and set the hat on his head. First glanced at the area of flattened grass where the woman had bedded down on the other side of the heap of cold ashes of the old fire.

Then he peered down at where his gelding stood, looking up at him. And thought at this distance the bay watched him with that brand of baleful censure which is an expression peculiar among animals to the eyes of a horse.

But he decided he was letting his imagination run away with him again: the gelding looked at him simply with the docile resignation with which most mounts regard most riders.

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