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Sam's Creed
Sarah McCarty


Known for making up his own rules of right and wrong, Texas Ranger Sam "Wildcard" MacGregor takes what he wants when he wants it, especially when it comes to women. But seduction is the last thing on his mind the moment he stumbles across an Hispanic beauty crouching in fear beside a burned-out wagon. And it doesn't take long before he realizes the woman the townsfolk call "cursed" is hiding secrets too dangerous to face alone.Isabella may look feminine and unassuming, but she's hell in a bodice with gunslinging skills to match any man's. But though she knows not to give Sam her heart as readily as she offers him her lush body, Isabella is certain she sees in Sam what he can barely glimpse in himself–a virtuous man dropped deep into a hard country bent on breaking him. A man who, under it all, craves a passionate woman willing to risk everything. . .









Sam’s Creed

Sarah McCarty











www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk/)


To Joanie, Sam’s Woman of Enticement. May you always have that twinkle in your eye and your alpha by your side.




Chapter 1


1858, Texas

Sam was getting tired of death.

He pulled Breeze up. The horse tossed his head and sidestepped a protest. Taking a draw on his cigarette, Sam surveyed the scene below the rise. Whether or not he was getting tired of death didn’t seem to matter. It haunted him from one day to the next. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Today it lay spread across the hollow before him in a perfect example of how miserable people could be to one another.

The burnt-out shells of two wagons lay tipped on their sides in a loosely stacked V. Charred black, they were just more skeletons on a landscape used to absorbing the death of hope.

From where he sat, Sam could see two bodies bloating in the June heat. Their colorful serapes blazed red and yellow in the bright sunshine. The serapes and state of the bodies probably meant the attack had come at dawn. June nights could still be cool.

At least the wind blew from his back, sparing him the stench of the decomposing bodies, but he didn’t need the wind to remind him what he was missing. The memory of that particular odor lingered in his memory, etched there in a moment that had defined his whole life.

Breeze tossed his head. He wasn’t a fan of death either.

Sam kept the reins taut. Wagons like these usually meant women. Maybe children. He wasn’t in the mood to bury women and children. Especially on the first nice day he’d seen in a week of downpours. The air was hot and clear without the humidity that had plagued everything unmercifully the last few days. Above him the sky stretched endlessly in a crisp blue. It was a day that lent itself to thinking of picnics by the lake and flirting with a pretty girl. The kind of day that made a man realize all he’d given up.

It wasn’t a day for funerals.

He urged Breeze forward. The horse tossed his head again and backed up a step instead. Beside him, Kell whined and lagged back. Sam couldn’t blame the horse or the dog. Between the stench and the flies there wasn’t much to draw a body forward, but if he didn’t investigate the area, his conscience would gnaw him raw. If there had been women, their kin would want to know their fate. And he would need to bury them. He didn’t leave women and children to the care of carrion eaters.

“Stay, Kell.”

Kell whined again but didn’t insist like he would if they were talking a big body of water or a pot of stew. Kell had a real liking for both and couldn’t be trusted to hold a command when faced with either.

Breeze’s hooves sounded a steady clop as he reluctantly headed down the slope. Sam unfastened the strap locking his shotgun in its sheath, the little hairs on the back of his neck twitching.

The closer Sam got to the wagons, the worse the stench of smoke, death and hope-gone-wrong became. A flare of pink material protruding from under one of the wagons caught his eye. There had been women. He set his teeth and flicked his smoke to the side. Hell.

A couple more bodies became visible as he guided Breeze to the right of the carnage. All male, at least. That made four total. Three men and a boy who looked too young to pick up a razor. A kid trying to be a man meeting his end way too early. Sam shook his head as he dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground. Damn.

He patted the sorrel’s neck. “Wait here, Breeze.”

Behind him Kell yipped. Sam motioned him to stay and surveyed the hard-packed dirt for tracks. Nothing worth studying had made an imprint. He turned his attention to the rest of the campsite.

Open trunks listed against the interior of one of the wagons. The contents were strewn about in an array of color. A white glove fluttered on a stand of grass as he passed. He stepped over the charred remnants of a red skirt crumpled in the dirt in an obscene splash of gaiety.

The attackers had to have been white. Indians wouldn’t have wasted such a valuable prize. Their women might not wear the dresses, but they would make use of the beautiful material. Indians didn’t waste much.

He knelt and fingered the trim on the skirt hem, wondering against his will what had happened to the owner, what she’d suffered, might still be suffering. Hell, he wished his thoughts didn’t always go there. A slight rasp interrupted the silence. Kell growled and stalked forward. Sam dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver. The warm wood fit comfortably into his grip.

“Come on out. Now.”

The stillness was absolute in the wake of his order. The noise didn’t have to have been made by a human. Death always drew carrion, but every hair on the back of his neck said someone was hiding in the wreckage. He stood slowly, pulling his revolver. Had someone survived the massacre? Had the robbers left one of their own behind? Ambush was a tried and true tactic of doubling up the income produced by a raid. Leave the scene looking like it’d been picked over, hide in the surrounding countryside and then swoop down on anyone who came along to investigate.

There weren’t many places for someone to hide. The most obvious would be the bed of the other wagon that was half tipped over. A body could hide up between the seat and the floorboards and prepare for whatever it wanted to do.

Cocking his revolver, Sam kicked the top edge of the wagon hard, toppling it over with a loud crack of wood and a jangle of metal. Kell snarled and dove in, his attack silent of barks, betraying his wolf blood more than his masked face and size.

The scream that rent the air was female. It ended when the wagon hit the ground with a suddenness that put a sick feeling in his gut. Sam grabbed Kell by the scruff and hauled him back.

“Stay, damn it!”

The dog growled and whipped his head around.

“Snap at me and you’ll be doing without your share of tonight’s stew.”

Kell stood his ground, hackles up, ready to leap at the smallest provocation, but at least he stayed. He was learning. When he got back to Hell’s Eight Sam would have to have Tucker take a hand in his training. No one could sweet-talk an animal like Tucker.

Keeping his gun ready, Sam circled the bed of the wagon. The first sign of life was a foot. Black-booted and tiny, it protruded out from under the toppled conveyance. Clearly feminine. He touched it with the point of his boot. It wiggled. The woman wasn’t dead. And if that was a curse echoing around inside the wooden interior, a far cry from unconscious.

Another muffled sound and then a thump inside the wagon. Another thud. Another curse. The wagon was too heavy for the woman to lift.

“Ma’am?”

The foot jerked and then froze. A very cautious “¿Sí?” seeped through the floorboards. Angling his gun away, he bent down and hooked his fingers under the edge of the rough wood, ignoring the immediate protest of old injuries. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Sam MacGregor, Texas Ranger. I’m going to lift the edge of the wagon, señora. When I do, I need you to back on out, nice and easy. You understand?”

“Sí. I understand.”

Her English was softly accented with the melody of her native Spanish, muffled yet still strangely compelling. “Good.” He braced his knee and got his body in alignment. “You got your fingers shy of the edges?”

“What?”

He’d have to ease up on the color in his language if he wanted her to understand. “Are your fingers away from the edges?”

There was the sound of hands being quickly shuffled across the ground. “Yes.”

“Fine. Then here we go.”

Kell came snuffling around.

“Get on back now.”

“What?”

“Not you, I’m talking to the dog.”

“He is friendly?”

He waved Kell back. Kell lifted his lip. “When the mood takes him.”

“I will wait while you restrain him.”

He cocked his eyebrow at the foot he could see. That sounded distinctly like an order. “He’s not fond of restraint.”

“Did you ask him?”

“He’s made his preferences known.” He tensed his muscles. “Are you ready?”

There was a pause and then, “You will control your dog first.”

“Is that a question?”

A longer pause, then, “I can make it one if you would prefer.”

The honesty caught on his sense of humor. “That won’t be necessary, I can pretend.”

That might just have been a snort. Or she could have sneezed. He kind of thought it was a snort. With an unfamiliar smile tugging the edge of his mouth, he hefted the wagon up. He got it up twelve inches and braced himself. “Back on out.”

She didn’t move immediately.

“I can’t hold this all day.”

“Your dog, he is restrained?”

He glanced over. Kell had found the glove. The fingers were in his mouth. The rest flipped up over his head like a lopsided bonnet. “He’s sitting here as pretty as all get-out.”

“You are sure?”

“Yup. Now back on out of there before my arm wears out.”

A second foot joined the first. There was the inevitable wiggling and riding up of the black skirt. He didn’t want to notice, but the calves that were exposed above the ankle tops of her shoes were trim and lightly muscled, the skin the color of milk spiced with a touch of cinnamon. She kept wiggling and the skirt kept riding. The backs of her knees looked soft, young.

He wiped the sweat from his temple on his shoulder. What in hell was wrong with him? Getting ideas about a woman from nothing more than her lower legs. The woman probably had ten kids waiting for her at home and more than likely was grieving. Her next wiggle had the skirt rising to dangerous territory.

He grabbed the material and yanked it down. The woman squealed and grabbed at her thigh. “What do you do?”

The hand, as small and as delicate as her feet didn’t look that old either. “I’m keeping you decent.”

She felt around as if to be sure that’s what he was doing and then she said, “Gracias.”

“You’re welcome, now if you wouldn’t mind hurrying?”

“I am sorry.”

She scooted back, those trim legs a forerunner to surprisingly full hips that sashayed from one side to the other in an unconscious invitation that made his palm itch to cup the plump cheeks. Damn, there were times when his good side was sorely tempted. This was one of them.

She backed the rest of the way out. A long, thick, black braid stood out in stark relief against the white of her shirt. He was actually eager to see her face. The novelty of feeling eager was enough to give him pause. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt any emotion, least of all a positive one.

She turned. Only his survival instincts kept him from getting plugged as she swung the revolver in her hand around. The weapon discharged. She screamed and dropped the gun.

“Shit!” After surviving all the outlaws that had drawn down on him, he’d almost met his maker by accident.

Grabbing the pistol, he tossed it to the side. Since when did he make mistakes like that?

The woman lunged for the gun. “Give that back!”

Like hell. Snagging the back of her shirt he let the wagon fall. Wood and metal rattled as it crashed back to the ground. He stood, hauling her with him. “So you can shoot me?”

Quick as light she found her balance and sprang to her feet. She tossed her head. The braid slid back over her shoulder. Her hands hit her hips. Her chin came up. “If necessary.”

She reminded him of a pissed-off kitten with her triangular face, pointed chin and big brown eyes blazing bravado. A beautiful, sexy kitten.

“You’d better get some height on you before you go spouting threats.”

She took a swing at him. He hefted her up. She missed. “Let me go before I kill you.”

She was an amusing little thing. “Doesn’t seem to me like you’re in any position to be making threats.”

She stopped struggling and met his gaze squarely. “I do not have to kill you now. I can wait until you sleep.”

He just bet she could, which just piqued his interest more. There weren’t many men that could stare him down and not many woman even worked up the courage to try, but this woman was ready to fight. “Seeing as I came here to rescue you, I’m not quite sure why you plan on killing me.”

She reached behind her head and tugged at his arm. “You tried to kill me first.”

He didn’t let go, but the spot where her pinkie met his skin warmed beneath her touch. “How?”

“You knocked the wagon on top of me.”

She said that as if that proved her point. “I knocked the wagon on top of whatever was lying in wait.”

She blinked, drawing his attention to her eyes. She had very thick, long lashes that highlighted the intriguing flecks of near-black in her brown irises.

“I was in the wagon.”

“I got that.”

“You flattened me!”

From what he could see of her front, there wasn’t much to flatten, but her hips more than made up for the lack up top. Full beautiful curves just like he liked on a woman. “You don’t appear any worse for wear.”

She gasped and her eyes narrowed. Before she could launch into the tirade clearly on her tongue, he asked, “You got any more weapons on you?”

“Yes. Many.”

She couldn’t lie worth a damn but she did make him smile. “That’s what I thought.” He let her go. She tugged down her shirt. Kell snarled.

She spun on him. “Silencio!”

It was an order given in a tone that expected obedience. Obedience wasn’t Kell’s strong suit. He just lifted his lip higher, revealing sharp teeth. The woman’s chin went up, revealing a stubborn streak as big as the dog’s. To his surprise, Kell backed down.

“How’d you do that?”

She dismissed Kell with a wave of her hand. “A woman cannot take seriously a dog wearing girl’s clothing.” She smoothed her hair back. “What do you do here, Mr. Ranger?”

A kitten with the attitude of a duchess. “I’m looking for someone.” With a wave of his hand he indicated the carnage around them. “A better question would be how are you alive when everybody you were traveling with ended up dead?”

He felt like a heel the second the words left his mouth. The woman must be scared out of her wits. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead bodies, facing down a stranger twice her size and all she had to wield as defense was a peck of attitude.

And he was trying to undermine that.

“I had yet to join them.”

It was his turn to blink.

“That’s not your stuff tossed about?”

She shook her head. “They were going to sell it.”

“But you were joining up with them?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you join them in town?”

“My joining was a secret.”

“A secret? As in you were running off with one of these yahoos?”

She looked hopeful. “Would you believe that?”

He didn’t even have to think about it as he reholstered his revolver. “No.”

She sighed. “I did not think so.”

The silence stretched. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be thinking up a lie to spin me would you?”

“Isabella.”

“What?”

“My name, it is Isabella.”

It was a very pretty name and when her lips shaped around the syllables, it made a man think of other things that sexy little mouth could ease around. His cock, which had been twitching ever since she’d backed out from under the wagon, filled in a low pleasurable ache. She ran her tongue over the full curves in a nervous betrayal. She was more worried than she was letting on.

“Nice to meet you, Isabella. Now, what’s the real truth?”

“I was supposed to meet up with them.”

He looked around. They were a good four miles out of town. He crossed the few feet to where the pistol lay and picked it up. “Why am I still not finding that any more believable the second time around?”

“Perhaps you are a man of suspicion?”

He was that. A check of the chamber revealed two bullets. He glanced over. “You weren’t planning on putting up much of a fight.”

“I grabbed the pistola when I heard you come.”

He looked up the slight rise. It was possible she’d heard him coming. “Next time grab some bullets, too.”

Isabella eyed the gun in his hand with an ill-disguised hunger. “I will remember.”

He just bet she would. “You’re planning on there being a next time?”

“I need to get to San Antonio. There is much trouble between here and there.”

She had that right. Pretty much certain death for a woman alone. Tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, he moved onto the bodies. “You got family there?”

“No.”

The first man had nothing of value. He let him roll back to the dirt. “What’s the draw then?”

“I have heard it is pretty.”

“Are you expecting me to believe you hooked up with these four because you thought San Antonio was pretty?”

She shrugged. “It is the truth.”

Maybe part of it. “A gently reared woman would have to be pretty desperate to join a bunch like this.”

“What makes you think I am gently reared?”

Sam shook his head. As if he didn’t know when quality and innocence was looking at him. “Come clean. You weren’t planning on traveling alone with these men.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“I had no choice.”

At least that made sense though the why needed exploring. “You do now.”

She blinked. “I am not traveling with you.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You were eager enough to go with them.”

“They were not dangerous.”

Interesting she felt he was. “I think about a mile out you’d have changed your mind on that.”

About a mile out the men would have had the clothes stripped from her body and that sexy mouth too full to scream.

“You do not know that.”

“True.” He checked the next body. “They might not have waited to leave the campsite before raping you.”

Those full lips pressed into a flat line. “I do not believe that.”

“Then you’re a poor judge of character.”

There wasn’t anything left on any of the bodies worth scavenging except for a broad-brimmed hat. He grabbed it. The woman might need it. Skin that creamy wouldn’t hold up well under the sun.

“The padre made them promise to give me safe passage.”

He shook his head, rolling the third man onto his back, glancing up at her smothered gag as congealed blood slid off. “And that’s all it took for you to leap trustingly into their arms?”

She pressed her hands to her lips a second before answering, “A man would not break a promise to a padre. It would mean his soul.”

Sam straightened. “I’d be willing to bet these men lost their souls long ago.”

“You will not say such things.” The fingers of her right hand clenched in the fabric of her skirt. “They lost their lives because of me.”

“You weren’t even here.”

She shook her head. “It is still because of me.” Her gaze met his. There was no mistaking the anguish in the depths. “If you force me to go with you, you will lose yours, too.”

He’d heard that before. “What makes you think I’m so easy to kill?”

“Easy or hard, when he finds you, you will still be dead.”

“He?”

Her lips clamped closed.

“You might as well tell me.”

“You do not need to know.”

He liked the way she spoke, the syllables coming together in a melodic flow, the accents falling in the wrong places in such a way that made a song out of normally harsh words.

“Since we’ll be traveling together, I’d like to know who’s going to be on my tail.”

“I will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a say.”

“Yes. I do.”

Because she thought he couldn’t figure it out. There was only one man in this territory powerful enough to be labeled he. When Sam combined that with the fact that San Antonio was the first large town outside Tejala’s territory, it wasn’t hard to figure out who had her running scared.

He reached for her arm. She stepped back. “I cannot let you be hurt.”

Damn, what happened to thinking he was dangerous?

“Anybody ever tell you you have strange notions?”

From the way she immediately drew her pride around her like a shield, he’d say yes.

“That does not make the ideas wrong.”

No, but it did make them hard to hold on to. “Do you have any belongings?”

She pointed under the wagon bed.

He flexed his shoulder. Shit. “Figures.”

“If I am holding you back, you may just leave.”

“When I leave you’re coming with me.”

“Not unless it is to San Antonio you go.”

Kell growled again. She turned on the dog, pointing her finger. “You, you will behave.”

Kell, being Kell, ignored the command.

Sam folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wagon wheel. “You figure out how to make him do that, I’ll take you straight to San Antonio.”

She shielded her eyes against the sun and frowned at him. “He is your dog.”

“Not exactly.”

“He’s not your dog?”

Sam shrugged. “We’re working it out.”

“I do not understand.”

“He showed up a few days ago on the trail. We’ve shared a few meals but nothing’s permanent.”

“It seems permanent to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

She nodded. She took another step, not toward Kell, but apparently he thought she was taking liberties. He lunged. Sam jumped forward. He was too late. With a rapid spate of something in Spanish, Isabella cracked the dog across the nose. He yelped and dropped back. Hands on hips, she glared at the dog. “No more out of you.”

Sam shook his head. If that didn’t beat all. “I think he likes you.”

Isabella bent down and worked her arm under the wagon. “Why do you say this?”

“Because the last man who tried that got his throat ripped out.”

She didn’t even blink, just scrounged deeper. “Then it is good we have reached an understanding.”

Sam supposed it was. The view she was unwittingly giving him of her rear was also good. So much so she had to repeat herself when she needed his help. Bracing her palm on the bed, she said, “You must lift the wagon again. I cannot get my bag out.”

Her bag. The wagon. Shit. He couldn’t afford to be this distracted. “Got it.”

In a matter of seconds she had the small satchel out. She’d packed light. Too light to plan on having more than one change of clothes. Too light to have any resource once she arrived at her destination. “Who’d you say you were running from?”

“I did not say I was running.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. The top of her head came to the center of his chest. She just seemed bigger. “But you are. And a little thing like you needs all the help she can get.”

“I am not little.”

“Petite then.” He tugged her toward Breeze, who was patiently waiting. Kell fell into step beside them.

“I am not this petite either.”

“You’re taking two steps to my one,” he pointed out.

“You are a giant.”

He took her satchel and hooked it over the saddle horn, hiding a grin. Her height, or lack thereof, was obviously a sore spot, “How about tiny? Can you live with tiny?”

“No.”

Her nails dug into his wrists just atop his gloves, the gloves he resented because they kept him from feeling the softness of her skin.

“Wait. We have to bury them.”

“Duchess, whoever did this is probably still around. That being the case, we don’t have time to dig holes.”

Her lips flattened. “You must.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“I owe them.”

“I thought the padre arranged the deal.”

“But I was to provide money.”

For all her high manners she didn’t look like she had two coins to rub together. “Did you have any?”

“No.”

She said it as if those four men would have traveled anywhere with something as sweet as her without taking their payment out of her hide. “They would have been ticked when they found out.”

“Yes.”

“You’d have probably ended up on your back working the cost off.”

She didn’t look shocked. “It was a possibility.”

A woman would have to be seven kinds of desperate to take off with those odds staring down at her. She headed toward the front of the wagon where there was a gap between the ground and the sides. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.

“What the hell kind of trouble are you in?”

She looked at him with big brown eyes that were the color of warm chocolate. Eyes that forgave him ahead of time for the desertion she expected. “Tejala wants me as his intended.”

“Interesting phrasing. I take it you are not in agreement?”

“No.”

From what Sam knew of Tejala, Isabella’s objections would mean nothing. “So what are you going to do after you reach San Antonio?”

“That is not your concern.”

She was right. It wasn’t. She likely wasn’t even a Texas citizen. He could walk away and no one would hold him accountable. Tension arced between them, extending from his shoulder down his arm to his grip. Beneath his hand, her muscles jerked, sending the tension right back. She was a strange mix of courage and desperation. Innocence and sass. A smart man would leave her and her problems to her people to sort out. She licked her lips again, the gesture leaving the bottom one invitingly wet and pink. Vulnerable.

He swung up on Breeze. “Maybe not, but I’ve decided to make it mine.”

And maybe her right along with it.




Chapter 2


The woman was as infuriating as all get-out. Sass, spit and fire with an autocratic manner that was bred into her bones, she didn’t shake an idea once she had hold of it. And the only idea she had her teeth sunk into right now was that San Antonio was her safe haven. She was determined to get there, by herself if Sam wouldn’t take her. On the hard-used nag they’d come upon about a half mile from the massacre. As if he’d let that happen. The woman would be raped or dead within minutes of striking out. But she didn’t see it that way.

“There are laws against capturing a woman against her will,” Isabella pointed out in that logical tone in which she’d been presenting all her arguments for the last few hours.

Sam glanced over his shoulder to where she rode just behind. “You don’t say.”

“Yes.” She kicked her horse, an animal who wore its hard life in the scars on his hide, to force it to catch up. “I believe it is a hang by the neck offense.”

“Damn. Guess I’m in trouble then.” He motioned to the horse with his cigarette when she kicked it again. “You’re hurting him for no reason. He’s got bad knees. It pains him just to walk.”

His opinion of her went up a notch when she immediately stopped kicking and started petting and crooning to the animal. It took a nosedive when she stopped the animal and dismounted. It was more of a slide and tumble than a dismount, but since she landed on her feet, he’d call it that.

“What are you doing now?”

She pushed the too-big hat back from where it flopped over her face. “Walking.”

Kell growled. She cut him a glare. He didn’t stop growling but he did sit with a look at Sam that clearly said he expected him to handle the crazy woman so they could be on their way.

“If I thought the horse couldn’t carry you, I would have shot him when you brought him forward.”

She gasped. “You would not shoot Sweet Pea!”

If that didn’t add insult to injury. “You named the poor thing Sweet Pea?”

She bristled and patted the black’s shoulder. “It is a good name. He is very sweet.”

“Well, being sweet isn’t something a man wants shouted to all and sundry, so you might want to not call him that in front of the other horses.”

For a split second she looked concerned and he wanted to smile, but then she caught on with a shake of her head.

“You make fun, because I do not want to hurt him.”

He made fun because she was sexy as all get-out when those deep brown eyes gathered sparks and anger drew that full mouth further into a pout that naturally had a man wanting to lean in and kiss it soft again. “Just a little.”

How a woman so short standing so far beneath him could manage to look down her nose at him was a mystery, but she managed it. “This makes you not so nice as a person.”

“I never said I was nice.”

“No,” she sighed. “You did not.”

He dismounted and came around to her side. Her whole body went taut.

“What do you do?”

“I’m going to help you back up.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Unless you think you can get up by yourself?”

The horse might be broken down, but he stood sixteen hands easily, too big for her to just hop up.

If looks could kill he’d be dead but she was gracious in her defeat. “Thank you.”

He ground his smoke out in the dirt.

She frowned at the gesture. “You smoke too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It would be good that you do.”

Turning, she raised her arms and waited. He probably should tell her she just needed to present her foot. He admired the line of her back, the dramatic flare to her build, but since he’d already admitted he wasn’t nice, there wasn’t actually a need.

Her waist easily accepted the span of his hands. Damn, the woman was built for a man’s pleasure. With a heft he had her up. For a second her hips were mouth level. His mouth watered. The complete unawareness in her “thank you” as she grabbed hold of the saddle horn and fumbled for the stirrup was like a splash of cold water. He was lusting after an innocent. After checking her stirrups and unwrapping the reins from around her palms while she stared at him, oblivious to the havoc she wrought, he headed back to Breeze. Kell chuffed as he passed.

“You want to deal with her?” he asked under his breath. The dog walked away. “That’s what I thought.

“Town is just over the next rise,” he said as he got back in the saddle. He reached for his makings.

Isabella frowned. He pulled the pouch out. She sighed and shook her head. He smiled and pulled out a paper. “There might be a hotel. You’ll be able to take a bath.”

Her mouth set tighter and her chin went higher. She clearly wasn’t in a mood to be placated.

“Everything’s bound to look better when you’ve got yourself set to rights.”

“Even being dead or captured by others?”

She did have a dramatic turn. “The word you’re looking for is kidnapped.” He tapped tobacco into the paper. “But being all cleaned up would save time for the undertaker.”

She clearly didn’t appreciate his sense of humor.

“I would prefer he have to work.”

Even with promise of an honest-to-goodness bath, a luxury every woman had to crave after time on the trail, Isabella was being stubborn. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that. A woman not getting excited about a bath was downright unnatural.

Not that he’d spent a lot of time with women outside the bedroom. There just hadn’t been the opportunity. Nor, he admitted in a moment of honesty, the inclination. At least on his part. He wasn’t a man who liked ties though plenty of women had attempted to tie themselves to him. He rolled his smoke and put his makings back in his pocket.

They topped the rise. The town, such as it was, came into view. Ten ramshackle buildings formed an uneven cross in the middle of nowhere. It was doubtful a town so small had a hotel. He hoped to hell Kell had town manners.

“You might be right about that bath.”

“I am right on many things.”

He smiled, struck the sulphur and lit his smoke. She did stick to her guns. The ride to the edge of town was completed in tense silence. As they cleared the first building a sign on the third one down caught his eye: Hotel.

“Looks like you might get that bath after all.”

Isabella’s response was a harsh gasp. He’d heard that sound too many times before to mistake it for anything but fear. Looking over his shoulder, he had a clear view of her. Not her expression as the hat had slipped over her face, but he was able to determine the direction she was looking. Her attention was focused down the street to where five horses were tied outside the saloon. One of them was a paint with distinctive markings.

As if his glance was a cue, five men came stumbling through the doorway of the saloon, spilling onto the dirt street in a drunken roar of laughter. Breeze whinnied. Kell snarled and dropped his head, ears flat to his skull in warning. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Sweet Pea’s head jerk as Isabella yanked him to a halt.

The men looked their way then dismissed them as yet another couple of saddle bums blowing into town on the good weather. As long as no one looked too closely, they’d be fine, but Sam wasn’t going to hinge Isabella’s safety on a hope that flimsy.

Backing Breeze up until he could reach over and grab Sweet Pea’s reins, he tugged them out of Isabella’s hands. It wasn’t hard. She was still staring at the men, her face a chalky white. Keeping his voice low and soothing, he ordered, “Duchess, I want you to throw your leg over to this side and slide on down.”

The shake of her head was barely discernible. He was tired, hungry and even if she didn’t want that bath, he sure did. And the sooner he settled this, the sooner he could set about enjoying the pleasures of town. “Do as I say.”

The order had no more effect on her than the last. Leaning over, he handled the matter by grabbing her forearm and giving a tug. Instinct had her grabbing for the saddle horn with a high-pitched, undeniably feminine squeal as she listed to the side. Fortunately, Sweet Pea stood solid. Unfortunately, the men heard, stopped and looked back. They exchanged words. Pointed. Retraced their steps.

Sam untied his shotgun from its sheath, doublechecking to make sure it was loaded before sliding it back in. He pulled his revolver from its holster and rested his arm across the saddle as if he had nothing better to do on a hot, sunny afternoon but sit in the middle of the street. “Isabella, go on into the hotel.”

For once she didn’t argue with him, scooting behind the horse and up onto the wooden walk. The glances the men shot Bella as she stood at the door provided a good clue to the topic of their conversation.

“Get inside, Bella.”

“It is locked.”

Shit.

“Knock.”

The bandits were an ugly-looking bunch, none too clean, but colorful in their assortment of clothing. Their spurs clinked softly as they swaggered forward. That swagger worried him. It meant they felt pretty comfortable doing whatever they planned on doing.

He nodded to the leader when they got to about twenty feet away, “Howdy, boys.” In case they mistook his greeting for an invitation, Sam centered his revolver on the leader’s chest. “That’s far enough.”

The man ran his hand over his full moustache, his fingers lingering on the straggling ends of the right side. “The woman you have with you looks familiar.”

“Who rides with me isn’t any of your business.”

Two of the bandits fanned out in a loose flanking maneuver. Sam glanced around the streets. The smattering of locals that had been walking about had disappeared inside buildings faster than he could wave his hand. Down the street a door slammed shut.

“Isabella, I thought I told you to get inside.”

“You did.”

“Then why are you still standing out on the street?”

“Because the people of this place seem to want me outside.”

A lanky man with a black hat, dirty chaps and shiny guns headed toward Isabella. Sam adjusted the point of his revolver. “Mister, you take one more step, and it will be your last.”

“You’re awfully unfriendly for somebody who just came to town,” the leader said with deceptive civility.

Sam gave him back an equally civil smile. “Consider it a character flaw.”

He glanced over at Isabella standing on the walkway. She was too exposed. “Duchess, I want you to go around to the alley over there.”

She waved toward the man at the edge of the walk between her and her goal. “How?”

“Just walk on by.”

Her tongue flicked over her lips. Not a single man missed the provocative sight. Damn, that woman had a mouth made for loving. “But—”

“If he moves I’ll put a bullet in his brain. You can trust me on that.”

Two breaths and then she turned those eyes on him. “You promise you will shoot him?”

“I promise.”

“You will not miss.”

“Not likely.”

“Likely is not a guarantee.”

“Get moving.”

“Fine, but if you miss I will be unhappy.”

Even from here he could see her hands shaking at the thought of passing by the bastard.

“Then for sure I won’t miss.”

With a short nod she headed toward the alley. Sam waited until Isabella disappeared around the corner of the building, and then he straightened, settling easily in the saddle, letting the coldness that preceded battle cloak him. “Now that she’s gone, we can talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Fine, then I’ll just lay it out for you. It’s been a bitch of a day. I’m hungry, tired and been stuck on the wrong end of that woman’s tongue for the last four hours.” From the alley came the faint echo of a gasp. He smiled. He thought that would get her going.

“If the woman is such trouble, my friends and I would be happy to take her off your hands.”

He just bet they would. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “And who would you be?”

“Juan Zapatos.”

“Well, Juan, I only mentioned that because pretty much all I want is a couple shots of whiskey and a soft bed.”

The man near the walkway moved. Sam met his gaze and gave a small shake of his head. He settled back.

“There’s no reason you can’t have what you want,” Juan said.

“As long as I give you what you want?”

Juan nodded. “Sí.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“The woman is Tejala’s.”

“Then Tejala is going to be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded toward the alley where Bella hid. “And the woman’s mine.”

Another gasp.

“And who are you to think you can take what is Tejala’s?”

Centering the revolver on Juan, Sam answered. “Sam MacGregor. Texas Ranger.”

There was a murmur from the man near the walk. A whisper of unease spread through the group. A little of the starch left Juan’s stance. But not all of it. After all, Sam’s reputation notwithstanding, they had him six to one.

Juan spat. “Your badge means nothing here.”

Sam shrugged. “A badge means nothing anywhere. It’s the man behind the badge you’ve got to be afraid of.” He smiled. “And quite frankly, y’all are wearing on my last nerve. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”

“And what is ‘this’?”

“This is me either peaceably passing through or plugging a hole in some of you.” He turned the revolver on the bandit closest to the alley. The shotgun he lined up with Juan’s midsection. He didn’t need accuracy with a shotgun. “Which way I go is entirely up to you.”

Metal slid across leather in an audible hiss as Juan’s men drew their guns. Behind him, the unexpected scuff of a boot on sand. Sam dove to the ground, turning and pulling the trigger as he fell, swearing as he saw his target jerking the gun to the left just in time. The bullet whizzed past Isabella’s head. She screamed and crouched down, covering her head with her arms.

“Son of a bitch!” She must have circled around the building.

He rolled under the horses’ hooves toward the center of the street, taking the line of fire away from her. At least he knew why Kell hadn’t given a warning.

“Get your ass back in the alley,” he hollered. “Kell, guard.”

He hoped the dog knew to guard.

Bullets hit the ground around Sam in rapid succession. Kell hesitated.

“I will help,” Isabella yelled. Sam didn’t know how much help she expected to be with her hands over her face.

He scanned the street, noting positions. “You can help by getting your butt to safety.” He glanced at the bristling dog. “And take Kell with you.”

Juan laughed from behind a post. “You cannot even get your woman to obey, and you expect us to fear you?”

“Nah, I just expect you to die.”

Rolling to his back, dropping the shotgun beside him, he palmed the hammer on his Colt, unleashing a spray of bullets. Three bandits dropped, two didn’t. Shit.

Return fire was immediate. He didn’t have any cover. A bullet struck him in the thigh with a hard punch and a sickening splat. Isabella screamed. He only had a few seconds to act before the pain came calling. Jumping to his feet, Sam ran for Bella, catching her around the waist as he got even, half carrying, half throwing her into the alley. Kell was right behind. Bullets peppered the building in the spot they’d been a split second before. He pressed his back against the wall. Splinters of wood flew, stinging his cheek as he shoved Isabella to the ground.

“When I say to stay put,” Sam growled. “Stay put.”

Pointing the shotgun around the corner, he fired blindly, relying on the scatter to do damage. A highpitched yell told him he had hit something. The swearing afterward meant probably not fatally.

“Son of a bitch.”

There was a tug at his belt. He turned, another curse on his lips. He did not need an hysterical woman on his hands. Isabella grabbed his hand and slapped something into his palm. His fingers closed around familiar shapes. Bullets. He met her gaze. There was steel beneath that softness.

“Thanks.”

Bullets whined past the alley opening. He cocked the other barrel of the shotgun, waiting for a pause before pointing the barrel around the corner again and pulling the trigger. As soon as it discharged, he tossed it to Isabella along with the pouch of ammunition.

“Do you know how to load that?” he gritted out.

She didn’t waste time on words, just set to work with an efficiency that answered his questions. He shoved bullets into the chambers of his revolvers, keeping an eye on the movement beyond the alley as best he could. “It’s going to get messy here in a minute.”

Her glance fell to the blood on his thigh.

“It already is.”

He was bleeding like a stuck pig. Yanking his bandanna from around his neck, he held it out. “Do me a favor and tie that off.”

She did. He bared his teeth against the pain. “Thanks.”

She yanked the knot tight before handing him back the shotgun. “Do not miss.”

She was a bossy little thing. “I’ll do my best.”

“It would be best if you succeeded.”

Very bossy.

Things were too quiet out there. Sam inched along the wall, being careful his gun belt didn’t scrape. A rhythmic jingle of spurs approached. He shook his head at the foolhardiness of trying to sneak while wearing spurs. He leaned back and waited. The thin barrel of a rifle extended past the corner. Sam didn’t move, holding his palm out flat behind him to warn Isabella not to make a sound. Two heartbeats passed. The gun barrel jerked. Sam dropped to his knee. Fire burned up his thigh. The man leapt around the corner. Sam fired. The bullet hit the outlaw in the heart, stopping him midleap. He dropped, a stunned expression on his face.

Cocking the hammer again, Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with his shoulder and waited. There was no sound.

He spared a quick glance at Bella. Her face was white and her eyes were big with terror, but she was kneeling beside Kell, holding his jaws shut. Sam added quickthinking to bossy.

Holding his finger to his lip, he indicated she should continue to be silent. She nodded back. Sam inched closer to the corner of the building, blood dripping down his leg in a warm flow. As soon as he took care of the last bandit, he’d have to see just how bad it was. At least the bullet had missed the bone.

“Your friends are dead,” he called out.

No answer.

“I’m willing to let you live, for a price.” Something crashed to the ground. From the splintering aftermath it sounded like a crate. “You promise to take a message to Tejala, and I won’t plug your sorry ass.”

Still no response.

“I’m going to count to three. If I get to three I’m going to take that for a no.”

Another crash. He stepped around the corner. A barrel tumbled off the stack against the livery. Beside it listed a broken crate. A quick scan revealed no guns poking out of windows, no new additions to the battle cluttered the streets. Apparently the citizens of the town were no more married to Juan and his companions than he was.

“One.”

He got to the edge of the barrels, his leg aching like a son of a bitch. Ahead of him he could see the bandit scramble backwards across the ground, one arm held awkwardly at his side. Sam advanced, guns cocked, eyes watchful as the man tripped and fell back to his elbows. A hoarse shout punctuated his fall onto his injured arm. He pushed with his feet but there was nowhere for him to go. Behind him was the building and in front of him was Sam. The wall would be easier to get through.

“Two.”

The bandit finally realized he was trapped. He threw up his hand. “¿Qué quieres?”

Sam didn’t answer. He let the man stew in his own sweat while he bore down on him. A trickle of blood rolled down his cheek and more blood seeped down his leg.

He kicked the gun away from the bandit’s useless arm. “What does Tejala want with this woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you.” Sam fired a bullet into his other shoulder.

He had to wait until the man’s shouts dropped to a panicked gurgle before he could repeat his question.

“To marry her! She is supposed to be his bride!”

So that part of her story was true.

“If she’s supposed to be his bride why isn’t she married to him?”

“Because I have refused the marriage contract.”

Sam should have known Isabella wouldn’t stay put. She stood beside him, staring down at the man, no expression on her face. “I don’t remember inviting you to this parley.”

Kell worked his way between them, his yellow eyes locked on the bandit. Bella folded her arms across her chest. “I do not remember asking you to capture me.”

He cocked the other hammer of the gun. “And yet we’re both here.”

“And here is where?”

It was the bandit that answered with a sneer. “Here is where you will die.”

Sam was tempted to end it right there. Instead, he placed his foot on the bandit’s injured shoulder and pressed. “Care to share what makes here so damn dangerous?”

It took very little for the bandit to spill what he knew. Pretty much one hard push and he was telling all. “Tejala owns this town. Owns this territory. No one will help you for fear of his retribution.”

“I never asked for help.”

The bandit leaned to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood. “You will need it.” He jerked his chin toward the dead. “You killed his cousin. He will not rest until he kills you.”

“Which one’s his cousin?”

Sam looked at Isabella. She shrugged. The bandit was more accommodating. “The one with the moustache.”

“The stupid son of a bitch who came between me and my dinner?”

The man spat again. “In a few days, we will see who is so stupid.”

“If you kill him, no one will know who did this,” Isabella interjected helpfully.

Kell growled as if he approved the plan.

“True.” Sam removed his foot from the bandit’s shoulder as he pretended to consider the notion. “Of course, the thirty or so townsfolk peeking at us from behind the window curtains might be a problem.”

“How many bullets are in your gun?”

Damn if she didn’t have a sense of humor. Swallowing back a chuckle, he shook his head. “Not that many.”

The bandit grimaced, showing rotted teeth stained red with blood. “There is no hope for you, ranger.”

Suppressing an urge to kick those ugly teeth down his throat, Sam kept his voice even. “I wouldn’t go that far. As long as I have the woman, I have a bargaining chip.”

Isabella gasped. A sly glint came into the bandit’s gaze. “Tejala would pay much for her.” He hitched his weight up higher against the wall. “I could bring you to him. We could share the profits.”

“I don’t share.”

“You will need me to find him.”

Sam caught Isabella’s hand, keeping her from getting any further out from his side. “Or I could just plant my feet somewhere and give a shout as to what I’ve got.”

He ignored Isabella’s “Bastard.”

“What do you think of that?”

The bandit spat again. He wiped his chin on his shoulder. “I think that you are a dead man.”

Sam straightened. “I think you’re right. Which means I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Curtains were fluttering like crazy down the street. The town’s residents were getting nervous. Nervous people made him anxious. Isabella tugged on his hand. He looked down.

“If you let me go,” she said, in a voice that shook, “No one will chase you.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?”

“You don’t want me.”

She had to be shitting him. The woman was a curvy little keg of dynamite that had a man thinking about making her explode with his first look. “Darling, there isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t want you.”

He didn’t like the assessing look in her eyes as she cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. “You also?”

“Sure. I’m as red-blooded as the next man.”

“Good.” The too-big hat fell over her face. She pushed it back with an impatient hand. “Then I will hire you.”

“I’m a ranger. I’m not for hire.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Then you can hire me.”

“For what?”

“You’re a ranger in Tejala territory who’s going to have bandidos on his trail in a very short time. You’re going to need a guide if you plan on surviving.”

He pushed his hat back with the back of his hand. “I suppose you’re offering your services?”

“Yes.”

“You got any references?”

She waved at the nearly unconscious bandit at their feet. “I have been evading men such as he for the last six months. That must mean something.”

What it meant was she’d been running scared longer than any woman should have to. “Well, I might be impressed if you could prove it was true.”

That chin came up. The hat came down. She rounded on the bandit. “You will tell him it is true.”

The man shook his head. Isabella kicked his calf, then his thigh. Sam figured the family jewels were next. The man grabbed her boot. “I’m not telling him shit.”

Kell lunged in and snapped at his arm. Isabella stomped on his fingers as he jerked it back. “Tell him!”

Sam chuckled as he pulled out a sulphur. They sure were a bloodthirsty pair.

The bandit lurched to the side, cradling his arm. Isabella drew her foot back. Kell stalked forward. It was probably time to step in.

“Hold up.”

Bella whipped around. “Make him speak.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think you’ve tortured him enough?”

“He must tell.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, soothing the panic rippling through her in visible tremors. “Yeah, he must.”

But not the way she thought.

Grabbing the injured man by his shirt, Sam yanked him to his feet. “You’re going to carry a message to Tejala for me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Stupidity ran deep in this bunch. “Because otherwise,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll let those two have at you. Make a choice.”

The bandit grunted. “What is this message?”

“You tell Tejala that if he comes after Bella, he’s coming after Hell’s Eight.”

The man shook his head. “He will not care. He is crazy that way.”

“Funny,” Sam said. “So am I.”




Chapter 3


He was crazy. Isabella watched as Sam rested his rifle against the cave wall and propped three sticks shoved through several cleaned fish beside it. A dark stain spread downward and outward from the bandanna tied around his thigh. Blood from where he’d been shot, defending her. She did not know much about bullet wounds, but it looked like a lot of blood. Enough blood that they should have stopped back when she’d told him to instead of continuing on to this cave. Kell slid up beside Sam, sniffed his wound and then whined. The wag of his tail knocked one of the sticks. Sam caught it before it could tumble to the dirt floor. “Easy on dinner, mutt.”

Kell stepped back. Isabella wanted to move back, too, when Sam turned toward her. Except she couldn’t. The wall was to her back and her pride was in her face. After all her bold talk, it would be very humiliating to cower now that they were alone.

She motioned to the wound on Sam’s thigh. “You must take better care of yourself.”

Shadows hid his eyes, but she could tell from the angle of his head that he was looking at her. “Worried about losing your guide to San Antonio?”

“Sí. You are very important to me right now.”

He favored his leg as he brought the fish over. “Good for a man to know where he stands.”

From where she sat, it seemed he wouldn’t be standing much more. The firelight highlighted the paleness of his face and the lines carved deeper at the corners of his eyes. He was hurting and tired. Because of her. She motioned to the boulder across the fire and against the wall. “You will sit and let me tend to your wound.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” Standing, she brushed the dirt from her skirt. “Unless it is your wish for your wound to fester and for you to die.”

His gaze burned a path from her head to her toes. “I can’t say that I’m anxious to meet my maker just yet.”

The intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable, but oddly enough, not scared.

She pointed to the boulder. “Sit.”

“Is that an order?”

It had been, but maybe ordering a man like Sam around was not such a good idea. She crossed to the saddlebags and rummaged around. “You should think of it as a reasonable request.”

He followed her with that miss-nothing gaze of his. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in response to the look—so strong that it felt like a touch. Her fingers closed over a silver flask.

“When you were thinking of this reasonable request, did you stop to think I’d have to remove my pants to accommodate it?”

She had, but thinking ahead did nothing to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. She had never seen a man naked. It wasn’t done for a young woman of her station, but Sam did not need to know that. “I will do my best to preserve your modesty.”

While gaining as much of an eyeful as she could. She was very curious about the male body.

Sam didn’t answer immediately. His boot sole scuffed over the sandy cave floor. A glance wasn’t any more revealing as to his mood. The press of his lips could be anger as easily as it could be amusement. He was a very hard man to read.

“Well, I appreciate that.”

Uncorking the flask, she took a sniff. The odor of strong drink made her eyes burn.

Sam grunted as he sat down. “That you can pass on over.”

She tapped the cork back into the bottle. “You will drink it if I do.”

His holster scraped rock. “That’s sort of the point.”

He was always so on guard. “I will need it to clean your wound.”

“Like hell.”

Frowning over her shoulder at him, she pulled out a flat packet tied with rawhide. “There is no need for such language.”

“You ever had rotgut poured over an open bullet hole?”

“I am not so foolish as to throw myself in front of a bullet.”

It angered her that he had. Even more that he wasn’t taking the wound seriously. People died from infection.

“Duchess, I was saving your life. That makes me a hero, not a fool.”

She opened the packet and found a needle and catgut inside along with plenty of strips of material for bandages. She didn’t want to think how dangerous Sam’s life must be that he carried such things with him. Nor did she like how little catgut there was compared to bandages. He must be injured often. She snapped the packet closed and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. “You were needlessly reckless.”

“That’s my job.”

He said that as if it was the truth, but she did not think so. Grabbing up the items, she headed back toward him. He watched her the whole ten steps. There was something in his eyes that had not been there before.

She dropped to her knees by his injured leg, wincing as her muscles protested. She was not used to riding so much. “I think you are too enthusiastic in your doing of this job.”

The soft leather of his glove skimmed her temple, tangled in her hair before curving behind her ear, taking the annoying strand of hair with it. “Pardon me, duchess, but what you know about about my job wouldn’t fit on the head of a pin.”

She carefully placed her hands on his thigh, feeling very bold. Women of her station did not get this close to strange men. It was nothing like touching her leg. There was no softness beneath her fingertips. Just rockhard muscle. Which only led her to wonder how else men were different. “I do not think I need to know a ranger’s job to know what I see.”

“And what do you see?”

Muscle bunched under the press of her fingertips. She glanced up, catching his gaze. The answer just popped out. “Trouble.”

For one heartbeat Sam didn’t react, and then he laughed, a deep soft sound that slipped over her nerves like warm honey. She slid her hands higher toward the blood-soaked bandage.

“On that you’ve got the right end of the stick.”

“So maybe I have the right end of other sticks, too.”

“I wouldn’t lay money on it.”

She noticed he didn’t deny it outright. Sam Mac-Gregor was an honest man, if maybe a little evasive. The makeshift bandage was stiff with dried blood. It took her a few minutes to work the knot free.

When she parted the edges, she had full view of the hole in his pants and a glimpse of the raw wound beneath. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed it back. She no longer had the luxury of weakness.

“I think I will decide for myself where to put my money.”

And right now everything she had was riding on Sam. Placing the dirty bandanna on the floor, she indicated his pants. “As I have laid my money on you, I would appreciate your help.”

The humor clung to his expression as he pushed his hat back. “You want me to shuck my pants?”

Her blush rose and her mouth went dry. “This would be helpful.”

Again the brush of his fingers over her temple. And then his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face up. Her senses tuned to the four points of pressure, the softness of the leather glove, the scent of his skin, the cool blue of his eyes.

“You ever ask me that with something more lighthearted in mind, I’ll have them off before you can blink.”

It took her a second to process the meaning through the intensity of awareness arcing between them. He was telling her no. She blinked the cobwebs from her mind. That was unacceptable. “They need to come off now.”

So she could get to that ugly-looking wound, among other things.

The fire popped. The aroma of roasted fish drifted closer. Isabella wrinkled her nose. Sam grinned. His thumb touched her lips.

“Hand me the flask and the kit.”

He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “Why?”

“Because I’m tired, and hungry, and I’m not wearing long johns.”

Now, that was an interesting fact. “You cannot treat yourself.”

His smile broadened. His thumb pressed harder. Her breath caught as her lips parted. The scent of leather and smoke—the scent of Sam—invaded her mouth on a lazy drift, strong enough that she could savor the illusion of his taste. “I can do a lot of things that would stretch your imagination.”

“We are no longer talking about stitching your wound, are we?”

“We should be.”

His fingers pressed upward in a silent command. The stiffness in her legs made standing more difficult than it should be. The hunger in his eyes made staying put even more difficult. Even Tejala had not looked at her with such want.

“For future reference, Bella, getting on your knees in front of a man is not a good idea.”

“Why?”

His grip shifted to her upper arm as he helped her up the last few inches. “That you will have to ask your husband.”

It was not her imagination that his fingers lingered on her upper arm. Nor that where his fingers lingered, tiny fires seemed to start under her skin. “I am not married.”

“Then you’ll have to wait for the why until you are.”

“This would require patience.” She stepped back, the heat from his gaze strangely finding a home under her skin. “I do not have much patience.”

“So I’m beginning to understand.” He reached into the top of his boot. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

Pulling out a wicked-looking knife, he slid it into the hole in his pants. Material ripped under the lethal blade. “Because today’s been bad enough without you puking up your guts on the floor.”

He saw too much. “I can control my stomach.”

He stuck the knife blade in the fire. A quick glance showed the furrow carved in the hard muscle of his thigh. Blood seeped out in a sluggish flow. Her gorge rose and for a split second she thought she would actually throw up.

With a sigh, he stood. She felt like a monster when he winced. As a result, she offered no resistance when he took her shoulders in his hands. “Do us both a favor and show me how tough you are tomorrow.”

With that, he turned her around. The weight of his hands was not unwelcome. Her reaction to him was very confusing.

The minutes stretched. No sound came from him. Isabella would have felt better if he had moaned or groaned. The silence left her with nothing but her own imagination to fill the emptiness.

“You should let me help.”

He grunted. Something fell to the ground with a small thunk. “Nothing much to do. It’s just a crease.”

“Then why do you need the knife?”

“The bullet was stuck a bit under the skin.”

The small thunk. “It is out?”

“Yup.”

She turned around. He was tying a fresh bandage over the wound. “You did not sew it.”

“No need.”

“It will scar.”

The thought of that bothered her.

“One more isn’t going to kill me.”

“It is unnecessary.”

“A needle and thread is what’s unnecessary. Especially with dinner waiting.”

Isabella couldn’t forget the size of the furrow now hidden by the white bandage. The scar would be large. Unnecessarily so, forever marring the beauty of his thigh. The danger of infection was very real. “Your leg is more important.”

He grabbed up the flask. “Tell that to my stomach.”

Anger, unreasonable and hot, snapped through her. He hadn’t sewn the wound, and now he would waste the only thing they did have to treat it? She snatched the container from his hand. “You are not so big and bad that an infection will not visit.”

“Hand that back, Bella, before I paddle your butt for messing with a man’s liquor.”

The warning in his tone just fed the resentment pouring through her. He had no right to talk to her so, threaten her like a child. Risk himself so needlessly.

She dumped the liquor over the bandage. Too late, she realized what she’d done. She dropped the flask. “¡O, madre de Dios!”

Sam’s face flushed red and his mouth settled into a grimace of agony. She’d never heard such words as what came from his mouth as he grabbed at the soaked bandage. Nor the ones that followed once the alcohol found his wound. He would kill her.

Sam stood. Isabella ran. He caught her before she made it five steps.

“God damn, you get back here.”

She went with his tug, spinning around, fists up as she’d seen her guard Zacharias do when he was going to throw a punch.

Sam just stood holding her, breathing as if he’d run miles, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a flat line…and stared.

And then, catching her fists in his hand, he laughed. A real laugh that scalded her pride. A laugh that made her not care how handsome he was. A laugh that had her struggling wildly as he drew her arms wide and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. And then her mouth. Their first kiss, and he had not asked!

She struggled harder. He paid no mind, just kept his lips on hers, letting her struggles dictate the pressure in soft slides and quick jerks. Her thighs brushed against his, her chest against his abdomen. Her struggles slowed as anger changed to something softer, something as fragile as the next skim of his mouth over hers. Her arms were pulled wider, bringing her body flush against his much bigger one. His lips parted just a hint. There was the moistness of his breath and then the shocking glide of his tongue, gentle and tantalizing, along the seam of her lips. Lightning flared in a brilliant arc along her nerve endings, jerking her up onto her toes before tossing her back.

Sam let her go. She did not immediately back away, anger and something else keeping her feet planted in place. Though he stood a foot away, Isabella could still feel the pressure of his lips, the heat of his breath, the temptation he presented. Why did he fascinate her so?

She clenched her fists. “You had no right to do that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry, but she was. “I am sorry I poured the spirits on your wound. Though it needed to be done, I should not have done it like that.”

He cocked his head to the side and a grin ghosted his lips. “You just can’t help it, can you?”

“What?”

“Sounding so high-and-mighty.”

“I think my poor English gives the impression of arrogance.”

Sam’s smile broadened. “Yeah, that’s likely it.”

She had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. He had no right to laugh. He was as wrong as she was. Putting her hands on her hips, she challenged him. “Kisses should not be stolen.”

“I agree.”

“They should be given freely.”

He turned and headed back to the fire, obviously favoring his injured leg. “No one’s arguing with you, Bella.”

He didn’t need to be so agreeable when she wanted to fight. She followed more slowly, her conscience nagging her. The alcohol must still burn. The truth popped out as it always did when she felt guilty. “Maybe I am arguing with myself.”

Sam sat back on the rock and pulled one of the sticks off the fire. A piece of the fillet fell off. In a move almost too fast for her to see, he caught it, tossing it in his hand to cool it. Shadows jumped on the wall in wild accompaniment. Her heart jumped with the same silly excitement as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Now, why would you do that?”

She owed him for the manner in which she’d cleaned his wound. “Because I think it is wrong to enjoy stolen kisses.”

His expression closed up. “Very likely.”

She’d chosen honesty as a penance, but she had no idea it would be so hard to see it through. It would be easier to let him continue to think what he obviously was—that she was talking about him—but that wouldn’t be fair. Her cheeks burning hotter than the heat coming off the fire, she whispered, “But I enjoyed yours.”

He dropped the fish into the fire. It was the only sign her words had thrown him.

“Why?”

There was a limit to how far she would atone, and he had reached it.

“I do not know why.” She glared at him. “You are a very provoking man. By rights I should shoot you.”

He fished dinner out of the fire. “The man who saved your life?”

She sat down on the rock a couple feet away. “That would make me ungrateful.”

He handed her the other fillet. The one not covered in ash. The consideration made her feel even more guilty.

“But?”

He was an astute man to hear the but in her voice. “You are aggravating.”

“Because I won’t stitch a crease?”

That and other things, but since the other things were nameless worries in her mind, she settled for a simple “Yes.”

He took a bite of his fish. She tore off a piece of hers. It was a little big, but she was in a cave, in the wilderness eating off a stick. Surely manners could be flexible?

He waited until she had the too-big piece in her mouth before saying, “If you think that’s aggravating, I sure don’t want to see what you’re going to make of the fact we’ll be sharing a bedroll.”




Chapter 4


Sharing a bedroll with Sam had not been the exciting thing the forbidden should be. Here it was the next day and she was as much an untouched virgin as she had been lying down the night before. Darn it. She had not wanted him to rape her, but she would have liked to have a little tale about the night she’d slept with the infamous Sam MacGregor. Something more than that he’d rolled up a horse blanket into a bundle, set it between them like a bolster, rolled on his back and ordered her in a gruff voice to go to sleep. That was not what she expected from a man with his reputation.

Which just went to show how inflated legend could make a man’s reputation. Even in her little town of Montoya they had heard of Hell’s Eight and Wild Card MacGregor—a man so cold he could supposedly seduce or kill with a smile. She completely understood the former, and had witnessed the latter, which left only the question of why he had not seduced her. Was she so unappealing to him? The question nagged at her just as thoroughly as the leather of the saddle nagged at the insides of her thighs through her worn, fine lawn bloomers. This land could be very hard on the finer things.

She braced her hands on the pommel of the saddle and pushed up. The brief relief to her rear was welcome. Ahead of her, Sam rode easily, sitting in the saddle as if he was an extension of the horse. None of the weariness dragging at her showed in his posture. The setting sun behind them reflected off the silver conchos rimming his black hat. She glanced over her shoulder. The sunset was gorgeous. Even more gorgeous was the silhouette of another town backlit by the pink-and-orange glow. She bet there was a hotel in that town, and a soft mattress. She scanned the rickety outline of the buildings. Well, maybe not soft, but less hard than the saddle.

“No sense hankering about what’s not going to be,” Sam called back.

How had he known what she was thinking? She lowered her rear gingerly to the saddle. “I was just admiring the sunset.”

“I thought you were pining on the luxuries of town.”

It annoyed her that he did not even bother to look at her as he talked, just presumed to know what she was thinking. Even if he was right. “I do not see what would have pained to stop for one night. You defeated Tejala’s men.”

“Hurt for one night.”

“¿Qué?”

“The phrase is ‘What would it hurt.’”

“Hurt, pain.” She dismissed his correction with a wave of her hand as she gently urged Sweet Pea to catch up. She might have succeeded, except the packhorse they’d taken after the battle yesterday put up a protest. Sweet Pea jerked back. A nip from Kell’s teeth soon changed the packhorse’s mind. Sweet Pea picked up his pace until his nose drew even with Breeze’s flank. “None of it is good.”

“You’ve got a point.”

“So why could we not stay in town?”

“I’m a cautious man.”

“Not that I have heard.”

He shifted in the saddle, enough so she got a glimpse of his profile. It was as uncompromisingly handsome as the rest of his face, and just as compelling. Especially with the hint of a grin denting the corner of his mouth.

“And you believe everything you’ve heard?”

After watching him defeat the bandits of the last town and boldly step in front of a barrage of bullets to save her life? “Yes.”

The dent grew into a crease. He slowed his horse until she pulled alongside, and turned to face her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She pushed the hat brim off her face. He had a gorgeous smile—even white teeth and finely shaped lips. There probably was not a woman he had ever asked to his bed who had turned him down. She wondered if they had noticed how rarely his smile reached his eyes. “Where exactly do we go?”

He ran those eyes over her in a slow perusal, making her vividly aware of the fact that she was still braced on the pommel and also of her promise not to slow him down. “Getting a bit saddle sore?”

“Not at all.”

It was probably the biggest lie of her life. She would have much to confess to her priest when she returned home.

Sam tipped his hat back the smallest bit. The sun reflected off his face, turning the deeper flecks in his eyes to shards of blue fire. For all that he sat relaxed in the saddle, he radiated an energy that crackled. Or maybe it was just her awareness of him that gave the impression of sizzle. She’d never met a man who made her so conscious of the weight of her breasts, the softness between her thighs, the very unique differences of male and female.

“Good to know. I was hoping to get another three hours in.”

Three hours? Her thighs would be raw meat by then.

“It’ll be dark in the next half hour.”

He pointed to the left. “The moon ought to give us enough light to travel by.”

She hadn’t noticed the half-moon rising. She tried again. “What about dinner?”

He reached behind him, flipped open the saddlebag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. “Here.”

She had to let go of the pommel to take it. Try as she might to hide it, she knew he saw her wince as her thighs took her weight. “Gracias.”

She unwrapped the cloth. Inside were two biscuits and four strips of jerky. Not a whole lot of food. Her stomach growled. She had not eaten since this morning, and not that much then. Fish was not her favorite. Sam reached over and took Sweet Pea’s reins. With a flick of his wrist he tossed them over the horse’s head.

“I’ll lead Sweet Pea here while you eat.”

Sweet Pea jerked away from the flip of the reins. The food tottered in her hand. Dinner almost fell in the dirt. “Be careful!”

“I’m always careful.”

She took a piece of jerky before wrapping up the rest of the food. “This I do not believe.”

“Why not?”

She cocked her head to the side. How much to tell? “I think you do not care much if you live or die, so you do crazy things.”

He blinked and his smile slipped. “That’s what you think?”

“Sí.”

“You think too much.”

It was either think too much or moan over the condition of her thighs. “For this you should be grateful.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If I did not think, I would have nothing to take my mind off the town we are passing. Thinking of the town would make me think of hotels and soft mattresses. Thinking of the mattress left behind would make me realize how unhappy I am. Being unhappy makes me sad. Being sad…”

He held up his hand. “Go ahead. Think.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and took a bite of the jerky. There was kindness in him.

He waited for her to start chewing before he asked, “Are you settled? Can we head on now?”

Good manners dictated she not talk until she was finished eating. If she followed good manners, they would still be standing here tomorrow night. The jerky was very tough. The only option was a nod.

“Let’s move, then.”

She couldn’t stop her groan as the horse took the first step. Sam glanced over his shoulder. “When you were evading the Tejala gang the last six months, you didn’t spend a lot of time on horseback, did you?”

“No.” She took another bite of the jerky. It was salty, and flavored with a spice she didn’t recognize, but to an empty stomach it was very good.

“Where did you hide?”

“In a cave.”

“What drove you out of hiding?”

“Men found the cave.” Vile men with rape on their minds.

“Tejala’s.”

“No. Others.”

“That must have been a bitch.”

“It was not my best day.”

With a cluck of his tongue, Sam urged Sweet Pea to pick up the pace. The horse immediately complied. Isabella had noticed that always happened. Animals liked Sam. Truth was, so did she. Sometimes for reasons she could define and others for reasons she did not understand but which were more compelling than the ones she did. She took another bite of jerky. He was a very interesting man.

“Where do we go?”

He pointed toward the setting sun.

“Another town?”

“No.”

She chewed some more and tried again. “A place that at least has a tub?”

She held the jerky in her mouth while she waited for the answer.

“No, but there’s a pond.”

She swallowed the jerky. “That will do.”

Another tug on the reins had Sweet Pea catching up. “You’re looking forward to a bath?”

“Are you not?”

The side of his mouth she could see tipped up in a familiar smile. “Are you hinting I’m getting a bit ripe?”

“I would not suggest such a thing to a man.”

“You just plan on suffering in silence?”

She opened the napkin and broke off a piece of biscuit. “I am rarely silent, especially when I suffer.”

If she thought his smile was handsome before, it was nothing compared to how handsome it was when emotion filled it.

It took her a moment to remember to breathe.

He tugged his hat down, covering his eyes, leaving only his mouth to focus on. It was a very expressive mouth, given to nuance rather than exaggeration. And right now he was amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a cluck of his tongue he went ahead, leaving her with a strange tingle in her stomach and a heat that infused her skin with a radiant sensitivity. What was it about this man? Why did he have such an effect on her? There were many handsome men on the Montoya ranch. Many men who walked with grace, fought with power, faced death with courage. Men who had a dangerous edge, but none of them had what Sam had. None of them had his bold masculine appeal that sank beneath her skin like liquid lightning. He could have any woman he wanted, be anywhere he wanted to be. But he was here. With her. That had to mean something. And if it didn’t, there had to be a way for her to make it into something. Something good.

The first time she’d seen him coming up the rise, she’d been praying, asking God to send her a solution to her problem. Folding the rest of the biscuit into the napkin to keep it from crumbling, she wondered—did that make Sam the answer to her prayer?

She bit off more jerky, chewing contemplatively. It was a strange idea, but it had also been a strange prayer. Besides, what was the point of praying if one was not going to believe that occasionally a prayer would be answered?

Even if the timing of Sam’s arrival was coincidence and not divine intervention—she was aware she might be convincing herself because she wanted it to be so—Sam was still a solution to her problem that she could easily live with. She did not kid herself that Sam was a forever man, but he was a man who could probably provide the happiness it was rumored a woman could experience in bed. He would not worry about her modesty, about offending her. About right or wrong. He would merely take what he wanted, give her what she needed. No more, no less. Exactly what she had prayed for. This could work.

Tejala wanted her as a virgin sacrifice to his power. Proof to the people of his town that he was invincible. That they owed him for their existence, and his benevolence could be counted on only as long as they submitted to his will. That’s why he hadn’t taken her by force. He’d left her lying in the dirt, vowing that before he would marry her she would crawl to him begging for the honor to be his wife—the honor she’d rejected. First he would take her pride, then he would take her home and lastly he would take her life. If she let him.

She did not feel like letting him.

Studying Sam, taking in his naturally aggressive posture, his broad shoulders that narrowed to his lean hips, the revolver that rode his hip, she saw a man designed to give Tejala headaches. Tejala would never accept being second to this man, just as she would never accept Tejala as her first man. She might not be able to win their war, but on the subject of whom she gave her virginity to, that battle she could win.

Sam was a warrior like Tejala, but with a difference. Tejala made her skin crawl, but Sam made her want to crawl under his skin. Where she’d be safe. Maybe that was the difference. She took another bite of dry biscuit. Her father had always told her that when she met a man who made her feel safe, who made her heart race, one others held in respect, then she would be looking at the man God had made for her. She grimaced. As a child she had believed him. As an adult she knew things were more complicated.

Her father had been a romantic. A good man, but impractical in some ways. Still, there was merit in his words about looking for a lover. Much more than in the advice her mother had handed out.

Her mother was the opposite of her father—practical to the core. Isabella had always thought her mother had very little respect for her father. Their marriage had been arranged. A good marriage producing a contract that joined property boundaries. She did not think her mother had ever forgiven her father for being caught up in the excitement and romance of making his fortune, for leaving Spain and coming to the territory. Her mother would have been content being the wife of a third son of a respectable family. She was not content being the wife of the only aristocrat in the new land.

That dissatisfaction drove her to want more for Isabella. In her mother’s eyes, Isabella needed to return to Spain to find a husband. Short of that, she needed to marry Tejala and secure the family’s future in the land to which her father had chosen to bring them. Her mother was a great believer in exploiting the rules of the society in which she found herself. So was Isabella. Just not in the same way.

Her parents’ different views had torn their family apart, forced Isabella to flee, killed her father. She closed her eyes against that memory, everything going black around her, leaving only the sound of her father calling her name, Tejala’s laugh, a spray of blood hitting paper, an awful gurgle and then nothing. No more pain, no more dreams. Nothing except flight and the knowledge that each day might be the day Tejala found the way to force her to crawl. As if she would ever crawl to that son of a dog.

“If you don’t ease up that grip, your dinner is gonna be crumbs.”

Isabella looked down. She was holding the napkin so tightly the contents squeezed out between her fingers. “I am sorry.”

She pulled the corner of the napkin back. One of the biscuits had survived pretty much intact. The jerky was invulnerable to the assault. She urged Sweet Pea closer to Breeze, gritting her teeth against the agony in her thighs. Holding out the food, she offered the intact biscuit. “This one did not suffer too much.”

Those too-observant eyes of his touched on her face. She had not looked in a mirror lately, but she knew from how her face felt when she washed in the streams that she’d lost the plumpness in her cheeks. Her father would be horrified. She was unconcerned with that, but she wished she would lose a bit of the plumpness in her chest. The binding that kept her more-than-ample breasts from bouncing painfully was hot. And it made her break out in an irritation rash if she had to exert herself. As she had had to the past two days. Just thinking about the rash made her think of the itch, which immediately became in dire need of scratching. Of course, with Sam watching her so closely, she could not scratch a thing. She held out the biscuit. “You must hunger.”

His blue eyes went dark. His nostrils flared and his gaze traveled her figure. “I can wait.”

Her breath caught. He was not talking food, but because she could not think how to answer, she kept on with the pretense. “It is not possible I can eat all this.”

Sweet Pea stepped in a hole, jerking her thighs along the rough edge of the saddle. The pain was too much. Dropping the packet of food, she grabbed the pommel, a groan grating past her lips. Kell made short work of her dinner. A blur of gray, a snap of teeth and it was gone.

Strong hands cupped her waist. She squealed as Sweet Pea sidestepped, and suddenly she was falling. But only for a second. Then she was lifted and her rear connected with Sam’s hard thighs. His arm came around her stomach, securing her in place. Her hat fell back off her head, getting caught between his shoulder and her back. The string dug in like a noose around her neck. She grabbed for it, kicking with her feet, wrenching at the tie.

Sam’s hands replaced hers, working between the string and her neck. “Easy, now.”

She could not breathe. Harsh noises clogged her throat, struggling to get free. He was choking her. She clawed at his hands.

“Isabella!”

The call for attention slipped under her panic, giving her something to hold on to. She opened her eyes. Sam’s face was inches away. Sam. Not Tejala. His hand was on her shoulder. He was talking to her.

“The string’s gone. You can breathe, Isabella. Just open your mouth and suck in some of this nice cool evening air.”

He made it sound so simple. Just breathe in and out. No big deal for most people. But she had a horror of being choked. It came at the strangest times. And ususally in front of people she would prefer didn’t know. Like now. With Sam.

His thumb brushed her jaw. “Now, Isabella.”

She held his gaze and tried. The obstruction in her throat cleared. She took one breath, and then two. The night air was sweet. Then again, any air was sweet after choking almost to death. She touched her neck, tucked her fingers under the lax string of the hat and yanked it over her head.

“Yeah, I think we can do without that for a bit.” Sam took the hat and hooked it over the saddle horn. His fingertips replaced hers at her throat. Just the tips, tracing the spot where the sensation of a noose lingered. As if he knew. She went breathless again. He moved his hand to her shoulder, just under the collar of her shirt. For no reason she could discern, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I do not like my throat touched.”

His eyes lingered where his fingers had been.

“So I noticed. Any particular reason?”

She shrugged her shoulder, rubbing against his chest. It was a scandalous thing to feel his chest on her arm, his thighs under hers. “I just dislike it.”

The callus on his fingertips tickled her skin. She was almost grateful when his hand left her shoulder and moved to the fabric of her shirt. The rough callus caught on the fabric, dragging just a little as his fingers traced down her arm, over the bend of her elbow before arriving at her hand. For some silly reason she expected him to hold it. He didn’t, but his fingers did move from her hand to her skirt, opening and closing as they gathered up the material. His gaze was so intent, his eyes so beautiful, the tingles that stretched from her neck to her hand so fascinating, she didn’t realize what he was doing at first. But when cool air hit her knees, reality came crashing back.

“What do you do?”

“Well, I could be planning on tossing up your skirts.”

“We are on a horse.”

“I’m not getting your point.”

People could do that on horses? “You cannot be serious.”

It was hard to tell with her vision blocked by the setting sun as it was, but she was pretty sure the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, which meant he was amused.

“Duchess, someone has sadly neglected your education.”

“Women are not educated in such things.”

“Uh-huh.” His response was low and deep, sensual nuance thickening his accent. She loved his accent. It was so different from her natural language, and different from the English spoken by the few white people she’d seen. His word choice was fuller, his grammar better. “Mine would be.”

She gasped, and not because it was such a forbidden thing to say, but because it found such a home inside her. She could imagine this man doing wild things with his woman. She could imagine his woman enjoying it. She could imagine being his woman.

Just the imagining sent the tingles in her arms leaping to her thighs, sensitizing the skin that seemed to swell into the curve of his palm. Between her legs her private parts swelled, too, and her heartbeat picked up the pace. This was desire, she realized. The evil thing that kept her on her knees in church. The downfall of mankind. This was the reason Tejala chased her. To feel this with her. To be the only one to feel this with her. It would not happen.

She closed her eyes as Sam’s hand continued to pull up her skirt, drawing courage from her purpose, but not brazenness. She could not just smile and make nice while Sam exposed her legs. There was enough of her upbringing still healthy to make that impossible.

“What’s going on in your head, Isabella?”

“Is it really possible to have relations on a horse?”

His hand stopped moving. Against her side, his chest expanded on an indrawn breath and then stopped. She had actually shocked him. She had the feeling not many people did that.

He let the breath out on a slow, even expulsion. “Feeling adventurous?”

Adventure implied risk. “Are having relations on a horse more difficult than relations elsewhere?”

His eyes narrowed and his head canted to the side. “I’d feel a whole lot better about answering that question if you didn’t keep referring to things as ‘relations.’”

“My grasp of your language is not that good. I do not know another word.”

“I’ve picked up a bit of Spanish here and there—why don’t you run the words you do know by me?”

And admit she did not know any words at all? She did not think so. “I do know one word in English, but I do not think it is one a lady uses in front of a gentleman.”

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t say?”

“Do not look so eager. It is not a word I will say.”

He grinned. A real one. “Chicken.”

Yes, she was. In many ways.

She caught her lip between her teeth. This was a big step she was taking, probably one she shouldn’t be taking without a lot of thought—one that would have her forever banished from her family, ruined in society’s eyes, fallen in God’s. But Tejala’s men were close, and tomorrow might be too late. She was not foolish enough to think she could win in this game with the outlaw forever. Someday she would be outmaneuvered and her innocence would be taken from her. And she would still be banished from her family, ruined in society’s eyes, still be fallen in God’s eyes. So either way there were consequences, but one way she made the choice. The other, the choice was made for her.

She licked her lips again. Sam’s eyes dropped to her mouth. There was a tension in his muscles that hadn’t been there before. A hardness under her buttock that hadn’t been there before. In contrast, everything in her body softened.

This man who’d risked his life for her interested her. She did not fool herself that Sam was a gentle man. There was a razor edge to his personality, a coldness to his expression that spoke of purpose, but there were also those flashes of humor, and moments of softness. But what she noticed most about him was the lack of cruelty. He was kind to his horse, kind to his dog. Kind to her. Taking him as a lover might not be her worst choice.

She closed her eyes, daring and apprehension rippling through her at the same time, riding the same thought. A lover. She shivered. She was considering taking a lover. And not just any lover, but the infamous Sam MacGregor.

It seemed so much more brazen when she thought in specifics. But the alternative was losing her virginity to rape and becoming the trophy of a man she hated. That was by far more horrifying. She didn’t want the only things she knew of relations between a man and a woman to be taught to her at Tejala’s hands. She didn’t want to hand him one single victory, especially the prize of her virgin’s blood. Taking a lover accomplished many goals. Taking a lover was practical. Her mother had raised her to be very practical.

She opened her eyes. Sam was still watching her mouth. In an experiment, she ran her tongue over her lips again. His gaze followed every movement. Taking a lover was also going to be very fun.

“Do you find me pretty, Sam?”

“Anyone would find you pretty.”

He was still watching her mouth. The dying scream of her mother’s lectures on the dangers of being promiscuous echoed in her mind as she placed her hand over his on her thigh. “That was not what I asked. Do you find me pretty?”

“You’re beautiful.”

It was so hard to be brazen with the sun shining in her eyes, exposing her to every nuance of Sam’s expression. So hard to be confident with Sam watching her as if she were a prisoner intent on escape, his hand on her knee a vivid distraction. Her diaphragm constricted. She took a careful breath and asked, “Beautiful enough to have relations with?”

“Why?”

She was prepared for a simple yes, had her next line rehearsed. She was not ready for “why.” Men did not ask why. They just leapt on the opportunity. Asking why was an insult.

“What do you mean, why?”




Chapter 5


Bella forgot herself and pushed at Sam’s shoulder. It was like hitting a wall in every way except for the inclination her fingers had to linger against the surface, to explore the solid ledge of muscle and bone, to move the shirt aside and know the warmth of his skin intimately. She yanked her hand back. “A man does not ask this of a woman!”

“Seems to me to be a sensible question when a respectable woman propositions a disreputable man.”

He was not disreputable. She knew disreputable. He was not it. The heat of his flesh dallied on her palm, teasing the nerve endings into wanting. She closed her fingers around the need. “It is a very rude question. And the fact that I am sitting as I am is the proof that I am not respectable.”

“I notice you don’t argue my being disreputable.”

The sun was too bright. She could not see his face, but she had a suspicion he was laughing at her. “You had best not be smiling.”

She shaded her eyes. He was.

“You’re real fond of giving orders, aren’t you?”

He was very handsome when he smiled that way, one corner of his mouth a touch higher than the other, his blue eyes darkened with the emotion he usually kept contained. His hand squeezed her knee, reminding her how intimately placed his fingers were. She should have been shocked. Instead, she was taken with a strange breathlessness. “I have not thought about it.”

That was a lie. She tended to be too focused on what she wanted and grew impatient with politeness. Sometimes it was just easier to direct the person. “And you have not answered my question.”

His smile deepened at her pushing. “No. I haven’t.”

His control annoyed her. And excited her. A strange combination. “The question is simple and only requires a yes or no answer.”

Not a muscle on his face moved, but she had the impression he was delving deep into her mind, seeing beneath her skin to motives she didn’t want him to notice. Fear. Desperation. Desire. Finally he spoke.

“I think we’ve already established that I’m the contrary type.”

It was her turn to frown. Contrary was not good for what she had in mind. “This is not a recommendation for a lover.”

Sam’s smile softened as his hand slid higher, edging beneath the thin lawn of her pantaloons, finding excruciatingly sensitive flesh. Deep inside, her very womb spasmed in an ache so sharp she gasped. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers slid in the barest of touches, skimming up the inside of her thigh, raising goose bumps and anticipation for…more? Her breath caught and held. How far would he go?

“If I were of a mind to accept your offer, my being contrary could be a real benefit to you.”

She bit her lip as his fingers crossed the line between smooth flesh to chafed.

“And this would be one of them.”

Even the whisper-light touch of his hand burned. She cried out. The arm around her waist tightened. Sam’s mouth brushed her ear. “Anyone less contrary, duchess, would have you straddling his lap and his cock nice and snug in your body by now.”

Shock held her still. No one had ever talked to her as he did, touched her as he did. Always she had been sheltered, protected, pampered. Never had she heard the word cock, but she knew from his wording what it referred to. And she was reasonably sure it was not a polite word for that body part. If there was such a thing.

She wondered if this was the way men spoke to the woman they desired or if it was a sign of disrespect. She did not hear a sneer in Sam’s tone, but there was a richness to his drawl that had not been there before. His hand opened over the raw skin, sheltering it from the sting of the air, covering almost half her thigh with just the placement, reinforcing in her mind the difference in their sizes.

“But being contrary,” he continued, “I don’t like my pleasure to be a solitary thing.”

She had no idea what he meant by that. “This means you do not find me pretty enough for relations?”

He removed his hand. Her skin whimpered a protest at the loss of his touch, while her nerves retained the imprint of his hand long after the stinging stopped. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant.

Sam reached behind him. She was jostled around as he searched for something in the saddlebag. He brought out a tin. “It means I don’t find you in any condition to have relations.”

Small and gray with no markings, the tin was more suspicious than impressive. “What is that?”

He uncorked the lid. “Something to make you feel better.”

He tugged her skirt up until it bunched just below her hips. She was very aware of his gaze on her legs, of the breeze on her calves. Never in her life had she exposed even the hollow of her throat. And now this man had her out in the open displaying herself. She should be outraged. And maybe it was outrage bubbling along the nerve endings just under her skin, frothing like water at the peak of a rapid, but it felt an awful lot like excitement. He dipped his fingers into the sweetsmelling salve.

“Part your thighs.”

She gasped and jerked. She couldn’t help it. The man was shocking.

As he tilted his head, the last rays of the setting sun bounced off the conchos banding his hat, blinding her.

“For somebody in a hurry to have relations on horseback, you’re awfully jumpy.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She blinked against the brightness. “I am sorry.”

If Bella squinted, she could probably see his expression. She had no intention of squinting, for the simple reason that she had a feeling he was going to be a lot more shocking, and she needed some distance to handle it.

“No need to be sorry. I just need you to part your thighs so I can rub this cream on them.”

Maybe she should have squinted after all. At least with a little tension in her face she might have avoided her jaw dropping and in all likelihood looking like a landed fish struggling for breath.

“How can you say things like that?”

She felt his shrug all along her side. “I believe in plain speaking.”

Before she could suck in a fresh breath she discovered he also believed in plain touching. On the inside of her thighs. Where no one had ever touched her.

The dip of his head blocked the sun, and she could once again see his face, the tightness over his cheekbones, the darkness of his eyes. He wanted her. This, at least, was good.

The salve was cool on her skin as he applied it with methodical thoroughness. A soothing balm to the irritated nerve endings. It was too bad this magic could not be smoothed over her fractured composure. She told herself she had no need to be embarrassed—Sam was just treating her wounds. And even if he took liberties, she’d invited them. It didn’t help. She was embarrassed and unsure.

When his hand reached the softest part of her inner thigh, she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his wrist, halting his progress. “I can do the rest.”

Instead of leaning back, he leaned in. His lips brushed her ear, sending hot tingles down her spine that leapt straight to her thighs, coaxing them to part. He hummed his approval at the slight movement. The ache between her legs spread right along with her thighs.

“You sure?”

Again she couldn’t see his expression, but she just knew he was looking at her with that half amused, half provoking smile on his mouth. And she wanted to slap him for having so much control when she had none.

But she couldn’t. Women that propositioned a man while on horseback really had nowhere to go with their expectations of respect.

“I am sure.” She held out her hand for the tin. For interminable seconds her hand lay between them, her request dangling with it, waiting on his decision. She suspected that he deliberately made her wait. Did he think she would give in? He had a lot to learn about her. She could sit there on his lap until hell froze over or morning came without surrendering. She was very good at stubborn.

Sam placed the tin in her hand. The other hand stayed on her thigh, the fingertips rubbing in tiny movements down low. She scooped up the salve and applied it to her other thigh, her knuckles occasionally brushing his. It seemed so intimate. So daring. And still he didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. The longer it sat there, the longer she got to think about it. The more she thought about it, the more aware of it she became. The more aware she became, the more her skin seemed to heat to the imprint of his fingers…

She cleared her throat. “We are wasting time.”

“Duchess, I never consider it a waste of time when I’ve got my hand between a woman’s legs.”

“You are outrageous.”

He took back the jar. “I’m not the one proposing relations on horseback with a stranger.”

“It is not like that.”

“Can’t see where I got it wrong.”

Feeling vulnerable, she rubbed the remnants of the cream between her fingers and tugged her skirt down with the other hand. She made it one inch before he was tucking it back up again. Higher than before. She shot him a glare and held tight, barely preventing full exposure. One corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. If he had not been intent on exposing her privates, she would have found it very endearing. The man had charm when he wanted to use it.

“You forgot to do this side.”

She hadn’t forgotten a thing. “Your hand was in the way.”

“Then it’s only fair that I help.”

His hand engulfed hers, directing her salve-covered fingertip back to her flesh, guiding her as he eased the cream onto her other thigh, first down then up, higher each time on the up, coming closer and closer to her woman’s flesh. He wasn’t touching her, but it felt as if he was. So much so that she felt she needed only to let him go just a little bit farther and something important would be revealed. He brought her hand back down, and then up in a slow seduction that was sinfully decadent. Lushly erotic. And totally out of her control.

Isabella yanked her skirt out of his grip and her hand from under his.

Sam chuckled, but didn’t fight with her. It was a deeply inviting, highly sensual sound. It made her want to laugh, too, for no other reason than to join in. She frowned and concentrated on applying the salve. It was easy to get down by her knees, but higher up required her to lean back. Back was about a six-foot drop to the ground. She settled for rubbing more in where it was.

“Here.” Sam’s arm came behind her back. “Lean on me.”

“It is fine.” If he dropped her she would break her neck.

“I won’t drop you.”

“Do you read minds as well as everything else?”

“You’re not that hard to read. Lean back.”

She did tentatively. His arm was solid as a wall.

“I won’t let you fall.”

She glanced up at him. He was no longer smiling, and his expression was strangely soft.

“Why should I trust you?”

“I am a Texas Ranger. My job is to protect.”

“This does not reassure me.”

“How about I take care of what’s mine?”

“I am not yours.”

“You will be if I take you up on your proposition.”

“You have not accepted.”

“I’m working up to it.”

That was not the only thing he was working up to. His hand guided hers higher, past the softest part of her thigh to the valley between, coming to rest against the center of her ache.

“You missed a spot.”

His fingers pressed hers against the hard point beneath the cotton. Fire shot through her body. She cried out. He held her through the shock, supporting her through the delicious trauma. Distantly she heard Kell whine.

“Easy, Bella. Don’t fight.”

He made her sound weak. “You will know when I fight,” she gasped.

His lips pressed her temple, and his finger slid between hers, finding the slit in her drawers and dipping beneath. “I bet.”

His finger was hot, intrusive, but oddly exciting as it tucked between her folds, forcing her own finger to slide against that erotic point as his found the hollow below.

She didn’t know whether to curl up in embarrassment or to drop backward in a full-out sprawl.

“There, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

Caught as she was between mortification and joy, she could only nod. He rocked his hand on hers, pleasuring her even as she pleasured herself.

“Don’t pull away. Just let yourself get used to the idea.”

Of what? Going up in flames at the direction of a man who was practically a stranger?

“It is a sin to touch oneself.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “I do not know.”

His hat brim brushed her head as he drawled in her ear, “Now, that is a sin. And one that should be rectified.”

She shivered as the dark promise of something wicked coming slid down her spine. She’d always been attracted to wicked. Always longed for the forbidden, and now, as if the devil had heard her thoughts, here was a man who seemed to understand the part of her she’d spent so many years on her knees burying in prayer. And she didn’t know what to do with him. She said so, bracing herself for ridicule. If anything, his expression grew softer, more sympathetic.

“Just follow my lead.”

The problem was he was not leading her anywhere. His hand just covered hers as it rested on her mound. She kept waiting for him to move, to attack, but he did not. He merely squeezed his knees and the horse began to walk, adding a light rocking shift of pressure to the contact.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’re doing fine.”

She was not doing anything but feeling him, the strength in his arms, the power in his touch, the threat of his shaft pressing into her buttocks. She became vividly aware of all the places his body touched hers, the fragility of her hand blocking his from the ultimate intimacy. An intimacy she’d invited. Even reminding herself of that fact didn’t stop the tension within winding tighter, and while she felt distinctly threatened, her body continued to soften and flower outward as if in invitation. Her next breath came on a shaky realization. A woman didn’t have any control in a situation like this.

“Breathe, Bella.”

The amused reminder came in another deep drawl that slid like dark molasses over her nerves, soothing some, stimulating others. She loved his voice, the deep timbre rich with nuance that conveyed so much, but right now revealed nothing. She could not imagine what he thought of her. A woman who so boldly invited him to be her lover. His finger probed her tightness. She jumped, bumping his chin with her head. Instead of swearing, he pressed his lips against her temple.

“A bit nervous, are you?”

What harm was there in honesty when the truth was so evident? “A little.”

Sam’s hand left hers. It felt wrong to leave hers there without the guidance of his. He stopped her before she could take it away.

“No. Don’t.”

She froze. “Why?”

It just came out. Wishing it back didn’t do any more good than wishing Tejala didn’t want her. Sam responded with brutal honesty.

“Because I like the thought of your hand there ready to pleasure yourself if I tell you to.”

She couldn’t imagine doing that. Didn’t even know how to do that. “Touching oneself is a sin.”

“So you said, but for someone I doubt even has a kissingcousin relationship with the concept, you seem to have an awfully long list of things on your list that are sinful.”

“We are schooled in such things.”

Beneath her hip his shaft jerked.

“In sin?”

“Dios, no.” Too late she saw the teasing in his eyes. She shook her head at herself. “You are not serious.”

His smile was beautiful, making her forget for the moment the intimacy of their position and her discomfort with it.

“Not fully, no.”

Not fully implied he was partially serious. She shifted on his lap. His shaft jerked again, brushing her more intimately than his hand. She paused, absorbing the uniqueness of the sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant. That had to be a good thing in light of what she was planning.

“But you were a bit serious?”

“Just wondering what’s going on in that head of yours. Good women don’t just go throwing away their innocence.”

Ah, his conscience needed soothing.

“Maybe in my eyes it would not be a throwing away.”

“Uh-huh.” His lips grazed her again. She shivered from head to toe and the ache in her womb swelled.

“So.” He smiled against her temple before repeating the caress. “I take it you’d consider it too much of a sin to touch yourself like this for me?”

“This” was a slow draw of his finger upward from the well of her vagina to the hard point above, before wandering back down again.

Did she? Her face felt as if it were burning, the muscles so tight she couldn’t form the words. His finger pressed against her opening, gentle in its demand. She clutched at his shirt and nodded, as for the first time, her muscles parted to take a man. She cried out as the tip of his finger entered in a tiny consummation. Digging her nails into his shoulder, she arched, inviting more.

He froze. “Damn.”

The curse buffeted her temple. Heat transferred from his skin to hers, summoning an answering heat deep within her core. A heat that melted all that it touched. A foreign wetness invaded her flesh. He tested it with a light press. His finger slid deeper, easier.

“Maybe I should take over, then,” he rasped. “Just to spare you the burden of penance.”

Embarrassment twined further with desire, giving birth to doubt. “You are católico?”

For some reason it would feel better sinning with a member of her faith.

“No, but I’m familiar with the breed.”

The moisture spread as his fingers glided higher before slipping back down. Horror blended with an agony of embarrassment. Her time of the month had just finished. It could not be that. How did one ask if such a thing were normal? She stalled, searching for the way.

“You are a heathen?”

“Pretty much.”

A shiver went through her, and his smile grew. “You like the thought of that?”

How did he know the wildness in him attracted her? He couldn’t know. He was just guessing. She licked her lips again and clenched her fingers against the probe of his balm-covered ones. “Of course not. It is wrong to enjoy the misfortune of others.”

His fingertips worked between her legs in smooth glides, always ending at that shallow well, always ending in that erotic stretching as he forced her to take that first bit. Always her body welcomed the intrusion. Always her mind struggled with the reality.

Was she as swollen as she felt? Could he feel the unnatural wetness? O Dios, please do not let him mind.

“But maybe I’m happy being a heathen.” His drawl deepened until it was almost a growl. “Maybe you’re happy I’m a heathen, not bound by restraint and ‘must nots.’”

He removed her hand completely, placing it on her thigh while she was paralyzed with a dread that felt a lot like anticipation.

“Maybe,” he continued, “you like the thought that I’ll do what I like with you without one thought to proper.”

Maybe he was right.

The thrust of his finger was a shock, driving deep between her thighs when he’d trained her to expect a tease and withdrawal. The burning ache whipped along her nerve endings, flaying them with the rapture caught in the bit of pain. It was too much, but she didn’t fight, just accepted the burn and the pleasure. Accepted it because she’d asked for it. Accepted it because it felt right.

“Ah, duchess,” he growled in her ear before catching the lobe between his teeth, “I do think you like my heathen self.”

She did, and the proof was in the moan that accompanied the withdrawal of his finger.

“Now, that was a sweet sound.”

She thought it was a humiliating one. She wanted to be as in control as he was. Nothing made it clearer that that wasn’t going to happen than the slow reinsertion of his finger. Searing heat shot from her groin outward, jerking her muscles taut. She would have fallen off the horse if his arm hadn’t wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms at her sides, holding her for the pleasure he insisted she experience.

“Like that, sweetheart?” he asked as if he expected her to be able to answer. “Do you like it like that or do you prefer—” an equally slow retreat followed immediately by a shallow thrust “—that?”

The thrust was harder to take, but it delivered such sweet joy.

“Both,” she managed to gasp. “I prefer both.”

He chuckled. “Greedy, too.”

The urge to turn her mouth to his was almost irresistible. “You asked.”

“So I did. Hold on, now.”

She already clung to him as if the bottom was about to fall out of the world. His teeth nipped her ear. His fingertips grazed her hungry flesh. She thought the rough callus might hurt, but right now it merely provided an intriguing drag. A tingling ache followed in the wake of the caress. Instinct drove her hips up the fraction it took to renew the contact. It wasn’t the same, though. It wasn’t enough to get the goodness back.

Sam’s chuckle could have been mocking. She recognized his experience the same way he had to recognize her inexperience. But it wasn’t mocking. Neither was his tone as he circled the hard nub at the top. “So nice and wet for me. I like that.”

When Isabella opened her eyes and checked his expression, she found merely an openness that comforted. Sam was enjoying touching her. Enjoying the effect of his touch on her. It gave her the courage to ask, “The wetness is normal?”

“When you’re having a good time, yes.”

He made another pass with his finger. The tingles flared to fire. She caught his hand, stilling the caress. There was something she had to know. “It does not repulse you?”

The arm supporting her back shifted, sliding up her back until his big hand cupped her shoulder. Her torso naturally shifted into the hollow created by the curve of his arm. She might be innocent, but she recognized desire when it stared at her, and Sam desired her.

“If you weren’t such an innocent, I’d show you just how much I’m not repulsed.”

She didn’t know if she could survive it. Sam clearly came from a different world than she. She’d always been pampered and sheltered from the coarser side of life, tucked away from reality, whereas Sam clearly kept his boots firmly planted in daily life. He was as earthy as he was dangerous, and, madre de Dios, he appealed to her.

Sam changed the angle, forcing her to lean back. Off balance, she felt her thighs splay farther, his hand cupping her more fully.

It was as if another person possessed her. A wanton woman who burned for the stroke of his fingers, who lived to see the satisfaction in his face when she pleased him. A woman who yearned to burn at his command.

She just didn’t know how to burn, but looking up into Sam’s face with his sensual mouth set above that square jaw and strong neck, she bet he knew how to set the fire. She licked her lips. If she was brave enough to hand him the sulphur.

His hand cupped her cheek. He held her now cradled against him, anchored at her most vulnerable points—her face and her groin. Again, she should feel threatened, and yet again she just felt…cherished. His thumb tilted her chin up.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Are you giving yourself to me because you think it’ll guarantee you protection?”

She had to think about it.

“Would this matter if it were true? You would still have a willing woman in your bed.”

His thumb stroked her lips, pausing in the dent in the middle. “You hinting I’ve been hitting a dry spell?”

She couldn’t even find the coordination to swallow. She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not.”

“So what would be the draw?”

“I am a virgin.” Everyone knew men lusted after virgins.

“That means you lack experience.”

Shaking her head, she twisted her hand until she could grab his wrist. “Even I know that is not a negative to a man.”

“It is if you’ve reached a point where you’re not wanting to do all the work.”

“You are telling me you are lazy?”

“Laziness is a highly underappreciated quality.”

The man had not stopped moving since she had met him. He must be teasing her. She could tease, too. “But just think about it—you could train me to what you liked.”

He canted his head to the side, his gaze still on the point where his thumb touched her lip. “That would take a long time.”

“I could be a woman who learns fast.”

He pulled her lip down, seemingly fascinated with her mouth. “You have the look of a woman who’d be a lot of work.”

“I might be worth your while.”

“Keeping you around could get me killed.”

She caught his finger between her teeth. “Letting me go without teaching me will definitely get you killed.”

“By who?”

Nipping his thumb, she answered, “By me.”

Some of the seriousness slipped from his expression. “Is that a fact?”

She nodded, looking as mean as she could. “A rocksolid one.”

The smile she suspected was lurking just out of sight teased the corners of his eyes. “You think a little bit of a thing like you could make me shake in my shoes?”

She scooted down into his embrace, clutching like a talisman the inner conviction that said she fascinated him the way he fascinated her. “I think if you taught me right, I could make you quake.”

“Hell.”

He was imagining. So was she, but she did not think her images were as clear as the ones putting the heat in his eyes.

“So that is a yes?”

“Not yet.”

She liked the fact that he did not prevaricate. “But you will think about it?”

“I doubt I’ll be thinking of anything else.”

Neither would she. Her whole body was a restless ache for the satisfaction he withheld. She ran her fingernail down the placket of his shirt. “Maybe you would like me to convince you to a yes?”

His nostrils flared. Oh yes, he would like that.

“What I’d like is for you to think over the invitation while I consider it.”

Watching him watch her, seeing the goodness in him that he hid behind a cold exterior, she realized why he was hesitating. He worried she had not thought this through. He was wrong.

She knew what she was doing. Her mother had warned her that there would come a time when she would not be able to run anymore. She had finally reached it with this man, in this wild place. And it felt right. “You think I’m running away.”

“Yes.”

“I am not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She curled her fingers over the hand that cupped her cheek, holding on. “For once, I am taking what I want.”

“And you want me?”

She had never been more sure of anything in her life. “Very much.”

His eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

She would not ask him for more than he could give, and he was not a man who gave a woman promises. “As long as it lasts.”

His big hand settled on her thigh, weighing heavily. The utter stillness with which he touched her implied more significance than a caress. She sorted through the notion, trying to understand what it meant, but came up with no answers. Just more questions. Finally he gave her thigh a squeeze and pulled her skirt down over her legs, causing her to look at him again. Did he want her or not?

“Hold on.”

As the horse broke into a canter, only one thought perked through the conflicting messages he sent her. To what?




Chapter 6


Isabella held on as long as she could, but by the time they reached the small hollow in the side of the cliff where Sam decided it was safe to spend the night, she could barely hold her head up.

“You awake?” Sam asked as soon as Breeze came to a halt.

“Sí.”

“Your legs feeling strong enough to hold you?”

“Of course.”

His hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Then slide off, and we’ll get settled for the night.”

Nothing had ever sounded so good. Grabbing Sam’s wrist with both hands, she turned her body and slid off Breeze. It was not her most graceful moment. She kicked the horse’s shoulder and then his knee on her way down. Beyond a snort, he made no complaint. Even when her knee hit his stomach, he didn’t move. By the time her feet touched the ground she was extremely grateful for his training. Every muscle from her ankles to her shoulder blades screamed a protest. She collapsed against Breeze’s side. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s hold, she would have fallen to the ground.

“Whoa, there.”

She glanced up, wanting to cry with the sheer frustration of being so weak at a time when she wanted to be so strong. “Maybe I am not feeling so strong as I thought.”

“It looks that way. Grab on to the saddle for a second.”

She did, wrapping her fingers in the rawhide straps that dangled off assorted leather decorations. Sam swung down behind her. Immediately he wrapped his arm around her waist. Letting go, she let him drag her against him. His shoulder knocked her hat. It fell over her face.

She pushed it back and off. “I hate this hat.”

Before it could slide off her head, he tipped it right back. “Unless you’re fond of mosquitoes in your hair, you might want to leave it on.” With his free hand he untied the bedroll from the back of the saddle. Propping her against the wall, he made short work of rolling out the blankets. Locking her knees, she leaned against the warm rock, too sore and too tired to care anymore how weak she looked to him.

He motioned to the bedroll. “Here, sit.”

It was a long way to the ground. “I think I will stand, thank you.”

“You’ll be fine once you sit down.”

How would he know? She didn’t even turn her head, just stayed propped against the wall. “That is easy for you to say, but much harder for me to do.”

“Are you saying you need help?”

“I am saying I need a whole new body.”

He chuckled, more a vibration of his chest than actual sound.

“Don’t go ordering it until I get done appreciating this one.”

She glared at him. “You have a very inappropriate sense of humor.”

“Seems to work just fine for me.”

“This explains why you are alone.”

“I am not alone. I’m Hell’s Eight, remember?”

He held out his hand. She placed her palm in his.

“You are alone in every way that matters.”

He shook his head. “You think too much.”

“You said I could.”

He braced his arm. “So I did.”




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