All I Need Is You Read Free Page B

somewhere, hidden by the poncho at the moment. A wide-brimmed hat, which Damian had noted plenty of since he’d crossed the Missouri line, sat atop scraggly black, shoulder-length hair. Light brown eyes were taking his measure, catlike eyes that could have been called pretty if they belonged to a girl. On this boy, they were merely very—unusual.
    It was the poncho and the moccasins that led Damian to ask, somewhat hesitantly, “I haven’t wandered onto an Indian reservation, have I?”
    “Not this far north of the Territory—what makes you think so?”
    “I was just wondering if you were an Indian.”
    A sort of grin; Damian couldn’t be quite sure. “Do I look like an Indian?”
    “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen one before,” Damian was forced to admit.
    “No, I don’t reckon you would have, tenderfoot.”
    “Are my blisters that obvious?”
    The boy stared at him blankly for a moment, then laughed, a throaty, sensual laugh that was a bit disconcerting, coming from a boy. Damian was sure the joke, whatever it was, was at his expense. But then, he must seem laughable in his present condition.
    Damian was hatless himself, which made him feel almost naked, his derby having been unsalvageable after the stage crash, and the only one he’d brought with him on this journey. Though he’d changed to a clean suit yesterday, today he was covered in dust and burrs. He probably looked as lost as he felt. But he hadn’t lost his manners. Ignoring whatever had amused his young host, he held out his hand to introduce himself properly.
    “Damian Rutledge the Third here, and truly delighted to make your acquaintance.”
    The boy stared at his hand, but he didn’t take it, merely nodded before saying, “There’s three of you?” Then he waved a dismissive hand, obviously deciding the question had been a foolishone. “Never mind. The grub’s hot and you’re welcome to share it and my camp for the night.” With a slight smirk, he added, “Sounds like you could use a meal.”
    Damian flushed because his stomach had been making noise ever since he’d gotten close enough to smell the food. But he wasn’t about to take umbrage, not when food was being offered. And although he had quite a few more questions he’d like to ask, food was uppermost on his mind, and he headed straight for the fire without further ado.
    There were two fires, actually, a large one that was still flaring and lighting the area nicely, and a small one doing the cooking. A pit had been scraped out in the ground, with four rocks set around it to support an iron grill. Beneath it had been placed the smaller branches from the fire that had already turned to embers, used so the meat wouldn’t overly burn before it was done cooking. A black tin coffeepot was set on one corner of the grill, a tin box was on another corner, which he was to find held a half-dozen freshly made biscuits, and there was a can of beans heating up. As far as Damian was concerned, it was a feast.
    “What kind of meat is that?” Damian asked as he was handed a plate.
    “Wild prairie hens.”
    They weren’t a very big bird, but there were two of them, and one was plopped down on his plate, along with three of the biscuits and half the beans. He dug in so quickly, it was a while before he noticed there was only one plate, that the lad was eating right off the grill.
    “I’m sorry,” he began, but he was cut off.
    “Don’t be silly. Plates are a luxury out here. Besides, we got a river down yonder for washing up after.”
    Washing? That sounded heavenly. “I don’t suppose you’d have any soap on you?”
    “Not any that you’d appreciate” was the cryptic reply. “Just use the silt on the bottom of the river like most folks do if you want a bath. It will scrape any dirt you’re wearing right off.”
    How primitive, he thought, but this whole situation was—camping outdoors with only the barest of essentials. The food was excellent, though, and much