by Candace Camp
“I’m leaving as soon as I can get a saddle on my horse. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Victoria found it hard to believe that he would be ready to ride out so soon, wobbly as he still was from the anesthesia, but she kept her opinion to herself. No need to do battle on two fronts. “All right. I’ll change into my riding clothes right away.”
“Don’t bother. You’re not going.”
“I am.”
“You’re not!” Slater roared, then pressed both hands against his aching head. “Damnation. What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“Of course she’s not going,” Dr. Bauer reassured him soothingly. “Not as long as you’ll be reasonable, too. A day or two of rest, and then you can lead the posse out.”
“I can’t wait a day or two,” Slater growled between clenched teeth, each word distinct and grating. “Can’t either of you understand? I’m riding out today, and I’m riding alone.”
“You must take some men with you! There were several of those gunmen, I understand.”
“I haven’t met a man in this town that I want backing me up. Either one of those deputies would slow me down and probably make some damn-fool mistake that would get me killed. I’m better off alone. I’m used to operating that way.”
“I’m sure people are usually happy to leave you alone,” Victoria put in crisply. “But not this time. I won’t entrust my cousin’s safety to a man who can’t use one arm or walk in a straight line.”
“I plan to ride, not walk. And I still have my good arm. The chloroform will wear off soon, and in the meantime all I have to do is stick on my horse. I think I can manage that.”
“Um-hmmm. I’m sure you’ll manage to saddle and bridle your horse with one working hand, too. Not to mention build your camp fire, control your horse if you have to use your gun—even roll up your bedroll or pull off your boots.”
“I’ll sleep with my boots on.”
“No doubt you’ll die in them, too. Very admirable, I’m sure, but in this instance, I’d rather you didn’t. I need you, unfortunately.”
“Well, I don’t need you. Now get out of my way and let me leave, if you want that blasted girl back so much.”
Victoria stood aside to let Slater pass into the outer office, but fell in right behind him. He turned and glared at her. Victoria gave him her blandest stare.
“You’re staying here.”
Victoria shook her head.
Slater’s eyes turned a fierce green, and for a moment color stained his sallow cheeks. “Damn it, the last thing I need is a woman slowing me down. You’ll do nothing but hamper me. I’ll wind up have to protect you, as well. If you want to help your cousin, stay here.”
“I won’t hamper you. I’ve ridden since I was three years old. And judging from the way you look, I can go a lot farther and faster than you can. I have supplies, a good horse, a Colt and a Winchester Yellow Boy, and ammunition for both. I’m an excellent shot, and I’ve slept out on the trail frequently. Most of all, I have two working hands.”
“Good. Then you keep them busy right here in Santa Clara. There must be someone who needs a busybody messing in his life. I don’t. Goodbye.”
He stormed through the office and out the front door, marring his impressive exit only slightly by weaving. He closed the door behind him with a deadly quietness. Victoria gazed after him, her eyes narrowed.
The doctor sighed. “Well, you did your best, I’m sure. At first I couldn’t understand why you would make such a ridiculous statement, but then I realized, of course, that you were trying to make him realize how absurd—”
“I meant exactly what I said.” Victoria started toward the door, giving the doctor only a brief backward glance. “I still do. Mr. Slater may think he’s going alone, but he’s in for a surprise.”
The front door closed after her, too, and only the doctor was left to stare, openmouthed, at the empty room.
Victoria didn’t waste any time before returning to her hotel room. Even though she presumed it would take Slater a while to leave, she didn’t want to take any chances. She had to go with him.
She quickly ripped off the clothes she had been wearing and changed into her riding outfit. She left enough money for Mrs. Childers’ meals for the next couple of days; after that, her father would be here to take care of the woman’s expenses. She divided her now meager supply of money, tucking some inside one of her stockings beneath the garter and the remainder into a small leather bag, which she wore looped around and behind her belt. When she was dressed, she hurried downstairs to arrange with the desk clerk for a local woman to come to sit with Mrs. Childers during the day. Her last task was to go back upstairs and explain to her chaperone that she was leaving.
Predictably, the woman responded with agitated commands not to leave the hotel, mingled with the dire warnings of what would happen if she did. Victoria did her best to reassure her but in the end she simply left, carrying her neatly packed bedroll, rifle, ammunition belt and riding hat.
Slater was leading his horse out of the stables just as she arrived. He stopped abruptly. “What are you doing here? I thought I made myself clear.”
“You did.” Victoria shrugged, setting down her burdens. “But I have to remind you that the roads are free to travel. You don’t own them.”
Slater watched her walk over to one of the stalls and lead out a horse. He had thought she was lovely in the dull brown dress she had worn earlier, but he realized now that he hadn’t had a notion of her full beauty. The narrow riding skirt revealed the shape of her hips and long legs, and the wide leather belt cinched her waist into nothingness. Her blouse, tucked into the belt, was drawn tightly across her full breasts, and its deep blue color emphasized the vivid hue of her eyes. Slater was sure she knew exactly the effect this outfit had on a man and was wearing it for just that reason. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Not this time.
“But I can choose who I travel with, and it’s not going to be you.”
Again Victoria shrugged. She threw a folded blanket over the horse and swung the saddle up over it. “That’s up to you. If you don’t want the help…”
“Exactly what do you think you’re going to do?” Slater would have died rather than admit that she had saddled the horse better and more quickly than he had with his one hand. Nor was he about to admit that watching her move made desire twist in his gut.
“Follow you.”
“No.”
“No?” Victoria glanced at him with a smile as she put the bridle over the horse’s head. Carefully she tightened the girth of the saddle and adjusted the stirrups, then re-checked all the buckles. “How do you plan to stop me? Arrest me? Shoot me?”
“I’m not waiting for you. I’m not looking after you. I’m not bringing you back here. Do you understand? You are not with me. You’re on your own.”
Victoria looked amused. “I think I’ll be able to manage.”
The laughter in her eyes galled Slater, and he swung quickly up into his saddle. It was too sudden a movement for his still-swimming head, and for a moment, black dots danced in front of his eyes. He gripped the saddle horn tightly, picturing himself tumbling ignominiously out of his saddle right in front of her. The faintness faded, and he tapped his horse sharply with his heels.
Behind him, Victoria mounted and rode out. They trotted out of town in single file, with Victoria riding a careful ten feet behind.
Chapter Four
Brody led Amy and his men northwest through the broken, scrubby countryside, staying well away from the route to Austin. Once, they picked their way up the middle of a shallow, rocky creek so that they left no hoofprints, but other than that Brody did little to hide their trail.
When Purdon questioned him about it, Brody shrugged, and answered, “Slater might have been hit, but I don’t think he was killed. He’s a tough son—” Brody stopped and glanced at Amy. “He’s tough. That bullet will only slow him down a while. He knows we�
��ll head into the hill country, so there’s no point trying to make it look like we went anywhere else. Speed’s our only advantage. When we get closer to the hideout, we’ll throw him off.”
Purdon’s eyes narrowed. What was the matter with Brody all of a sudden? Brody had stopped on a cuss word because of that girl. Purdon couldn’t fathom it. Brody had never been soft about women before, but this little piece of fluff had made him lose his head. Purdon didn’t like it. He regarded himself as Brody’s right-hand man. After all, he was the one who regrouped the men after the fiasco at the bank, the one who remembered Brody’s plan for escape if one of them was captured. He was the one who managed to bring off the rescue. But instead of thanking him, Brody had humiliated him in front of the other men—because of that girl.
Purdon looked at Amy. He wondered when Brody would come to his senses. He smiled tightly. Probably the first time Brody got between her legs. She didn’t look like much, just a pale little thing who’d probably whine and cry the whole time a man was pumping her. After tonight Brody would likely leave her where she lay. Purdon wanted to see that. It would be some balm for his wounded pride. His grin grew broader. In fact, if Brody got disgusted enough, he might turn her over to Purdon, and then he’d make sure she paid for his having to back down.
Brody caught Purdon watching Amy. He’d see that son of a bitch in hell before he’d let him touch Amy. Just his looking at her was a desecration. He didn’t like any of the men looking at her. But he knew it was hard not to. She rode the horse astride, which made her skirt and petticoats bunch and ride up, exposing her shapely calves in their thin white stockings. Brody himself spent too much time gazing at those legs. He wanted to slide his hand up her leg, feeling the glide of the thin cloth under his hand and the firm curve of her flesh beneath that. He wanted to slide the garter off and roll down the stocking, his hand on her warm flesh.
Brody shifted in his saddle. He would drive himself crazy this way. There was no point in torturing himself about how her leg felt, how all of her felt. But he found it difficult to stop. He’d never felt this way about a woman before, the hunger running all through him, filling not only his loins but his chest and head and every part of him.
He glanced over at Amy, wondering if she could sense his lecherous thoughts. She didn’t look as though she did. She just rode along easily, glancing around as if enjoying the scenery. He needn’t have worried about her being able to handle Landers’s horse. Nor was she tired, despite her appearance of frailty. She seemed unafraid, unaware of the fact that he and the others kept staring at her.
In that, he was only partially right. Amy wasn’t particularly afraid. She possessed an ability to live in the moment, without worrying about the future or the past. She enjoyed riding, and she enjoyed looking at the scenery. She knew, with a complete, deep trust, that Victoria and Uncle Edward would find her, and in the meantime, she felt safe in the protection of the dark man beside her.
But though she wasn’t afraid, she was not unaware of Brody’s eyes on her. The others watched her, too, but they didn’t matter. It was his black eyes that caused the strange melting sensation inside her. It was his hands on the reins that drew her eyes, and it was his firm lips she thought about.
He had looked at her as a woman. Not as a child, or as someone who was “touched.” Not as Ed Stafford’s crazy niece. For the first time, Amy felt like a woman. Feelings stirred in her, dark and ripe. How would it feel to be kissed by a man? Not a man. This man. Surely the rough growth of beard would scratch her, but his lips…
Amy sneaked a glance at Brody. His mouth was firm, even hard. Would it be soft when it touched hers? No, not when, if. She didn’t know that he wanted to kiss her, after all. She only assumed that. But perhaps that was why he had taken her with him, because he saw her as a woman, because he wanted her as men wanted Victoria. Because he wanted to kiss her.
She felt a little breathless at the idea. She had the feeling that Mrs. Donnelly would say she shouldn’t want him to kiss her, but she did. She wished she knew more about it. What did he do with his arms while he kissed her? What did she do? Did they stand or sit? There was more, much more, she was sure, all the things she had wondered about that no one would tell her, not even Victoria. They thought she shouldn’t know, that it would never apply to her, because she wasn’t normal.
But this man didn’t see that. He didn’t know. And he wanted her.
They crossed a shallow river, and soon after that, dusk fell. Their pace slowed in the waning light, and finally Brody signaled to them to stop. Amy slid down from her horse with a sigh of relief. Much as she liked to ride, it had been a long, tiring afternoon, and after riding without the protection of her split riding skirt, the insides of her legs were sore.
She sat down on the ground and pulled her skirts up to her knees to examine her stockings. They were rubbed clear through in more than one place. Amy sighed and shook her head. “Mrs. Donnelly will be cross. She says I’m always ruining my stockings.”
She glanced up to find the dark man looking at her with a strange expression on his face. She realized that she had said something wrong; she was always doing that. Now he would figure out that she wasn’t normal, and he would no longer look at her as a woman. Quickly Amy scrambled to her feet, shaking out her skirts. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
She shrugged. “For whatever I did.”
His smile seemed startled out of him. She didn’t think it was something he did much. “That covers a lot of territory.”
Brody didn’t know what to make of her. She was so beautiful and feminine that he ached with desire, yet she was as innocent as a child. She couldn’t be married and still be that innocent. But how was it possible that someone like her hadn’t been snatched up by a man long before now? He took her left hand, lifting it up to look at it.
It startled Amy when he took her hand. His fingers and palm were callused, rough against her skin, and the very roughness made her skin tingle. She felt the color rising in her face.
“You aren’t married,” he commented, and his thumb began to circle her palm.
Amy giggled a little at the idea and shook her head. The hypnotic movement of his thumb made her feel strange and jumpy inside. Then his thumb touched a sore spot, and she winced a little.
Brody froze. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m not used to riding without gloves. The reins are starting a blister.”
He turned her hand palm up. There were two small red spots where the leather reins had rubbed her tender skin. He disliked the thought of anything hurting her or marring her lovely flesh. “I don’t have any gloves for you.”
“I’ll be all right. It’ll just take a while to work up a callus.”
“No. I’ll think of something.” Reluctantly Brody released her hand and stepped back, turning toward his men.
Jimmy was on the ground, leaning back against a large rock, his eyes closed. He had no interest in anything except rest. Purdon and Grimes were standing, watching Brody and Amy. Purdon looked as sour as if he’d bitten into a crabapple.
“I hope if she ain’t for our enjoyment, at least she can cook us some dinner,” Purdon commented.
“She’ll do whatever I tell her.”
“But I can’t. I’ve never cooked over an open fire,” Amy blurted out. Was that why he had brought her? To cook and do chores? If so, he might abandon her, and that idea terrified her. Alone on foot in this vast, harsh land, she could easily die before Victoria found her. Amy searched nervously for something she could do that might convince him to let her go with him. “But I’m good with horses. I can help with them.”
She turned and unbuckled the saddle, then reached up to pull it off the horse. It was a heavy saddle, and she staggered under its weight. Brody caught her and took the saddle. Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide, afraid she had just disproved her worth by not being able to take off the saddle w
ell. “I really can do it. I just need to stand on a rock or something. And there must be other things I can do.”
There was a barely muffled snort of laughter from Grimes, and Purdon cackled. “I gotta hand it to ya’, Brody. You sure can pick ‘em. Not only pretty, but stupid, too. That’s the kind of woman to have.”
Amy blushed and looked down. She should have kept her mouth shut. She’d made another mistake. Why was it that she didn’t know the ordinary things that everyone else seemed to?
“Shut up!” Brody’s voice cracked through the night air like a bullwhip. He walked toward the other man, each step slow and deadly. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear this afternoon. She’s mine, and that means there’s nothing for you to say about her.”
He stopped inches away from Purdon, and his black eyes bored into the other man’s. It was like looking into the barrel of a Colt, and braver men than Purdon had broken and run under Brody’s gaze. Purdon swallowed and backed up a step. “I didn’t mean nothin’. You know I didn’t.”
“Yeah.” Brody’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I know.” He moved back. “Use your head, Purdon. It’s a good thing to have a hostage.” He turned toward the others. “Let’s take care of the horses, then eat and get some rest.”
“Sure,” Grimes was quick to add, and Jimmy nodded. The men removed the saddles and bridles from the horses and hobbled them to graze for the night. Grimes pulled a supply of beef jerky out of his saddlebags and distributed it.
Brody brought some of the jerky and a canteen of water over to Amy. He motioned toward one of the many large rocks in the area. “Let’s sit down.”
Amy was quick to obey his suggestion. The raw threat in his voice earlier had made her fear him for the first time. She tucked her feet up under her on the rock and waited. Brody sat down beside her and handed her a strip of the hard, salty meat.
