Satan's Angel

by Candace Camp

  “You don’t have to worry about me. That’s what I’ve been telling you. I can take care of myself. And I can help you!”

  “Go back.” He crossed his arms and glared at her.

  “No.” She planted her fists on her hips and stared back at him.

  Finally Slater made an exasperated noise and flung his hands in the air, then stalked away. Let her spend the night fending for herself. Maybe tomorrow morning she’d be more willing to see reason. He returned to his camp, wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down on the ground. There were some pebbles beneath him, but he was too tired to clear them away. He thought about Victoria all alone in the dark. And his last thought before he sank into sleep was that he felt lower than a snake.

  It took Victoria more time to go to sleep than it had Slater. The ground was hard, and she felt every bump and rock. She looked up at the stars and thought about the variety of wildlife that lived in the area. The night sounds seemed strange, and she kept looking around to see the source of this rustling or that snap. But she wasn’t about to run to Slater like a scared child, even if it meant waiting out the night, sleepless.

  She fell asleep finally, but her rest was fitful. She tossed and turned, plagued by bad dreams, and awakened more than once, heart pounding, wondering where she was. It was a relief when dawn finally came and she could get up. She glanced over at Slater’s camp, now visible in the pale gold light of early morning. She smiled smugly when she saw that he was still rolled up in a blanket, asleep.

  She got ready quickly. There wasn’t much to do. She didn’t need to dress, having slept in her clothes. She braided her hair and left it hanging down her back. It was the only way to keep it neat outdoors. She ate the remainder of the bread the restaurant had sent with her and washed it down with water from the canteen. Then she rolled her blanket neatly, stuffing it with her supplies, and tied it. She was ready to go.

  Again she looked toward Slater’s camp. He was still asleep. Victoria sighed. No doubt he was exhausted. If only he would let her help, she could get his horse ready and let him sleep a few extra minutes.

  Victoria glanced at the brightening sky. She couldn’t let him sleep the day away. They had already lost precious hours yesterday. Victoria untied the hobble on her horse and saddled it. She tied her bedroll behind the saddle and holstered the rifle in its scabbard before slinging her canteens and cartridge belts over the saddle horn. Mounting with the aid of a large rock, she rode over to Slater’s camp.

  “Slater.” She called to him from a few feet away and again closer up. He responded only by turning from his front onto his back. Well, at least he was alive. But he didn’t awaken, even when she walked up and stood right over him. Fear snaked through her. His face was flushed and his hair damp. Sweat gathered on his forehead. Victoria dropped to her knees beside him and laid a hand on his forehead.

  Dear God. He was burning up.

  Chapter Five

  Amy lay curled on her side with her back against Brody. His arm was thrown across her, his hand cupped naturally around one of her breasts. When he awoke, he lay still for a moment, savoring the feel of her. Her breast was soft as down, the bud of her nipple hard against his palm. He dragged his thumb across her nipple, and it tightened under his touch. Brody smiled and nuzzled her soft, sweet-smelling hair. Asleep, she responded to him--no fear, no disgust. His thumb circled her nipple gently, and the response of the fleshy nub turned him hard and hot. He buried his lips in her hair, kissing the back of her neck.

  She stirred and mumbled something in her sleep, and Brody stopped. He wasn’t doing himself any good this way, and he didn’t want her to wake up to find him mauling her. He drew his head back, but he didn’t remove his arm. Maybe if she woke up and found them lying together, entwined so naturally, it would help her grow used to him, make her fear him less. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

  Amy’s eyes fluttered open. It took her longer than Brody to adjust to the world. At first she was aware only of the warmth of Brody and a strange, pleasant tingling between her legs. She liked the sensation, and she squeezed her thighs together, snuggling back into Brody’s warmth. He made a low noise in his throat.

  She became fully conscious, recognizing the warmth as a man’s hard body down the length of her back. His arm was around her, his hand on her breast. Amy flushed all over. She was lying with Sam Brody on the ground, and his hand was on her in a place where no one had ever touched her. Her breasts were full, her nipples puckered and sensitive. His arm was heavy across her body, but it felt nice. Safe. And his hand on her breast felt—well, not nice exactly, but exciting. She sensed that the touch of his hand was somehow connected with the tingling between her legs. A mysterious moisture had formed there, too. It all felt strange and delightful, but somehow incomplete. Amy knew she wanted more, but she didn’t know what it was.

  She moved restlessly, and Brody rolled away from her. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw him sitting up, awake. Amy missed the feel of his body. She sat up, too, watching him. He stretched and looked at her.

  Amy’s hair had worked free from its pins and tumbled in a tangle around her shoulders, but its unkempt state didn’t detract from her loveliness. Rather, it made Brody’s fingers itch to sink into it. If they were alone, he thought, he could unbutton her dress and push it back from her shoulders. Untie the laces of her camisole and bare her breasts to the pale light of dawn. He would study her like a work of art, and then he would bend down and take one rosy, pebble nipple into his mouth…

  Brody jerked his head away and swallowed. This was no time for such thoughts; he could do nothing about it, and he was only killing himself dreaming of it. He knew he couldn’t take his pleasure with her if she was unwilling. Maybe, after a time, she would learn to accept him. Maybe even want him. But what if she didn’t? It was crazy to keep her with him and not ease his hunger. But he couldn’t stand the thought of fear filling her big blue eyes. It didn’t matter that she was completely in his power. He still could never have what he wanted. It was torture to think he could. He should have left her to slow the posse down yesterday. That’s what he should do now.

  But he’d never been any good at doing what he should.

  Brody stood up and walked away. Amy watched him, wondering if she had made him angry.

  They saddled up and rode out as soon as they could, not even pausing to eat. Before they left, Brody had Amy rip another strip from her petticoat, and he wound the cotton cloth lightly around her palms to protect them from blisters. They rode hard. Jimmy looked pale, but he kept up. Brody didn’t talk, and his silence scared Amy. Her stomach began to growl, but she said nothing.

  They came to another river, and there they dismounted and ate a quick meal while they stretched their muscles, which had grown cramped from riding. They followed the river downstream to find a good fording place. On the other side, Brody reined in and faced his men.

  “We’ll split up here, make it harder for them to track us. Purdon, you and Grimes take Jimmy into Austin. Go to Doc Benson. He’s a drunk, but he knows what he’s doing, and he doesn’t ask any questions. Hang around a few days. There still aren’t any pictures of us on posters, and I doubt Slater got a good look at you yesterday. You shouldn’t be recognized.”

  “Why you want us to stay in Austin?” Purdon’s eyes slid to Amy. He had a pretty good idea why Brody wanted them out of the way for a while, and he didn’t like it.

  “I want you to look around, listen, see if you can find out where Dave Vance is.”

  A vicious light flared in Purdon’s eyes. “That son of a bitch traitor. I’ll kill him. Real slow.”

  “No.” Brody’s voice made Amy shiver. “Just find him. I want to take care of him myself.”

  Purdon grinned. That was more like Brody. “All right. You’re the boss.”

  “That’s right.” Brody turned his horse away from the others. “Meet you back at the place.”

  Amy watched him, frozen wi
th terror. Did he mean to leave her with these men? He had said nothing about her.

  Brody glanced back. Amy was just sitting there, her eyes big, staring at him. “Amy.” The word was stern. Did she dare go against him? “You’re coming with me.”

  Relief spread across her face, and she smiled sunnily. She wanted to come with him, Brody realized, and he had to struggle not to grin back at her.

  “Come on, Buttercup.” Amy nudged her horse forward.

  Brody let out a low chuckle. So she’d thought of a name for her ride. It perfectly fit the pale yellow horse, except for the fact that it had spent the last few years in service of outlaws.

  The others turned downstream, and Brody and Amy cut away in a northwesterly direction. It lifted Amy’s spirits considerably not to have the other men with them, and she hummed as they rode along. “Look at that hawk!” She pointed up at the bird drifting in lazy circles over the rolling land.

  Brody looked where she pointed. A hawk was something he saw all the time; he usually paid little attention. But this time he noticed the grace and serenity of the hawk’s movements. He glanced at Amy. She was gazing all around her.

  “I’ve never been in this part of the country before,” she said. “The hills are beautiful.’

  She was right, Brody thought, though he would never have put it into words. All he knew was that he liked it here, that the sight of the land soothed him. There was something grand and wild about the broken land, with its rolling hills and harsh granite bluffs. Near the creeks and rivers, the trees were thick—cedars, mesquites, huge spreading live oaks and pecans—but away from the water, they turned sparse and scrubby. The country was always primitively beautiful, but it was in its glory now, in early spring, when the wildflowers spilled in masses down the hillsides and across the flatland, vividly blue and red and yellow.

  When they stopped later for a brief rest, Amy walked through the bluebonnets and finally sat down in their midst. She smiled back at him, and Brody felt again that strange sweet-sad warmth inside him. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and squeeze her so tightly that neither one of them could breathe.

  They picked their way up a creek until they came to a rocky shelf stretching northward. Brody stopped and looked at the expanse of rough land, then continued forward through the stream. When he left the creek, he turned south. Amy followed him, puzzled.

  “Aren’t we going back the way we came?”

  “Yeah. We’re doubling back.”

  “But why?”

  He glanced at her, wondering if she was trying to plan a way to escape, but her face was innocently curious. “To throw Slater off. He’ll figure we went up the creek to hide our tracks, and he’ll follow along, looking for where the prints come out of the water. But when he sees that shelf of rock, he’ll suspect I came out there, so the hoofprints wouldn’t show. He’ll take that shelf until it ends, but he won’t be able to find any prints. If he comes back to the creek and starts up it again looking for our tracks he won’t expect us to head south. But just in case, I’ll make sure he doesn’t see our trail.”

  He came to a halt and dismounted, broke a branch off a mesquite bush and retraced their path to her creek. He walked back to Amy, brushing out their tracks with the leafy branch as he went. He tossed the branch aside and remounted. Amy stared at him, amazed.

  “You’re awfully clever. I would never have thought of that. I don’t think even Tory would have.”

  Brody chuckled at her expression and shook his head. He wasn’t about to admit that her compliment pleased him. “I’ve been hunted often enough that I figured out some tricks.”

  They rode for a while, Amy’s forehead creased in thought. “But if we ride back the way we came, won’t we run smack into the posse?”

  “We’ll go west soon. When we get far enough away to lose Slater, we’ll head back to my place.”

  “You own some land?”

  A wry smile touched his mouth. “No. I just found it. It’s a place to hide out.”

  “Oh. I see. Someplace nobody can find.”

  “Right.”

  “I have a place like that. It’s in a tree down by the pond. ‘Course, Tory knows about it, but not my uncle or Mrs. Donnelly.”

  “Why do you need a place nobody can find?”

  Amy shrugged. “For when Tory’s Aunt Margaret comes to visit. I go there a lot then.”

  Brody smiled.

  “Sometimes I like to be alone,” she went on. “Just to look around and listen to things. You know.”

  “Yeah.” And the thing was, he did know. There was peace in the stillness and the solitude, a connection to the land that was not there with people. A sense of rightness missing in everything else.

  It was ridiculous, of course, to think that there was anything like her in him. Amy wasn’t like…well, she wasn’t like anyone else. She amazed him in so many ways he couldn’t even think of them all. She appeared as fragile as glass, yet she had ridden hard for two days without tiring and had slept on the ground without a complaint. She hadn’t whined or cried. She had enough courage for two men. It seemed she was about as fragile as a piece of iron.

  Yet there was nothing tough about her, nothing rough. She was gentle, soft and unfailingly kind. She was remarkably cheerful, talking and admiring the view as if they were out for a pleasant Sunday afternoon ride. She displayed a breathtaking naïveté, an other-worldliness and innocence that must have made some others view her as slow-witted, but she wasn’t stupid. She was simply. . .good.

  Strangest of all, even though he had kidnapped her, she acted as if she liked him. She chatted with him and warmed him with her smile; she had tied up his chains so they wouldn’t annoy him; she had beamed and ridden forward eagerly when he told her to come with him.

  She was an angel. But she was also womanly and sensual, with none of the marble coldness of a saint. He wanted her as a chilled man sought the fire. He had to have her. But he could never hurt her. And every time he looked at her, his chest ached as if he had a heart inside him that could break.

  They returned to the river they had crossed earlier, but didn’t ford it. Instead they traveled upstream along the bank. Once they heard the sound of voices, and Brody led her quickly away from the river. When it grew dark they made camp in the natural shelter of the trees. Brody unsaddled the horses and hobbled them, and they ate. Then he laid out the blanket for them to sleep on. Amy moved to help him, involuntarily wincing as she stood up.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged and sat down on the ground, pulling up her skirt to show him the inside of her calves, where her flesh was reddened beneath her torn stockings.

  Just the sight of her legs set up a tumult in Brody’s loins, but he ignored it as he squatted down beside her, his concern for her overriding his lust. “You’ll get blisters soon.”

  She nodded. “I don’t usually ride like this. I have a skirt that’s split, you know, like full trousers. It keeps my legs from getting rubbed.”

  He couldn’t keep from reaching out and touching her leg. She didn’t draw away, just looked at him trustingly. Brody gnawed his lower lip. He ached to slide his hand up her leg. Her skin was like satin.

  “We’ll have to do something.” His tone was rough. He pulled his hand away. “I—I’ll get you something else to wear.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. I just will.” He looked straight into her eyes. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Amy smiled softly. “I know.”

  A sweet ache pierced him. He moved away. “Go ahead and lie down. Get some sleep.”

  “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  “Later. I’ll sit up for a minute.” He sat down a few feet away from her, his arms linked around his knees. He watched her say her nightly prayers before she curled up on her side, her head resting on her arm.

  “Are you going to look at the stars?” she asked. “I love t
o look at them. They’re so sparkly and tiny, and the sky’s so big. They should be lost up there, but they aren’t.” She yawned. “But I’m too tired to watch them tonight.”

  Her eyes closed. He could see her body melt into sleep, but it didn’t cool the fire in his blood. Brody sighed and lay down quietly beside her. She rolled over and snuggled against him. He pressed his lips against her hair, and his arm stole around her. It was a distinct form of hell to lie like this with her. It was also the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

  He closed his eyes, but it was a long time before sleep came to him.

  ***

  Slater had a fever. That sometimes happened with a wound, Victoria knew. She sat back on her heels, thinking. He needed medical attention, but she couldn’t get him on his horse and back to Santa Clara. He was too sick. It was going to be up to her to get him well.

  She sighed. She hadn’t planned on this. It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable of doctoring a sick man. She’d done it often enough on the ranch. She had handled everything from a knife wound to croup. But not out in the open, and not without supplies.

  Still, Victoria wasn’t one to sit worrying about things she couldn’t control. She would do the best with what she had. She pulled out her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen. Gently she smoothed it across Slater’s face. He mumbled something, and his tongue came out to moisten his lips. His eyelids fluttered open.

  He looked at her for a moment in vague confusion. Then his eyes cleared. “Damn.”

  “Really, Mr. Slater. Even when you’re sick, the first word out of your mouth is a curse.” She summoned up irritation in her voice to hide her worry.

  He smiled faintly. “Sorry. I’m afraid it’s been too long since I was in the presence of ladies.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” She wiped his face again. “Here. Try drinking a little water.” Victoria put a hand behind Slater’s neck and helped him lift his head, holding the canteen to his lips. He sipped from it, then sank back.