by Janet Dailey
“Where are you going?” Webb stopped his horse when Chase started to turn back the way they’d come.
Chase paused long enough to answer. “To settle some unfinished business and even the score.” The faint smile spread into a reckless grin as he finished turning his horse and spurred it into a canter toward the river crossing.
The sharp-eyed Nate had already spotted the reason. “The O’Rourke girl is skinny-dipping in the river.”
Webb sighed in faint disgust. “Stealing somebody’s clothes is a boy’s prank. I thought he’d outgrown such things by now.”
But Nate was less critical. “That girl stung his pride when she made him look silly in front of the boys. If I was him, I might be wanting to get my own back.”
By his silence, Webb conceded there was some justification for his son’s actions. He pointed his horse toward the east gate again and let it settle into its reaching walk.
Crossing the river at the ford, Chase turned his horse and followed the water course for a quarter of a mile to the spot where he’d seen the girl. He found the cut in the bank that she had used to reach the sandy bar and angled his horse down it, following the tracks of her mount. At his approach, her bay horse whickered an inquiry, but the girl splashing in the water was oblivious to his presence. Chase rode to the log and leaned sideways in the saddle to scoop up the clothes hanging on the stump of a limb.
The water was cold and invigorating. Maggie had discovered that if she kept moving, its chilling temperature was tolerable. It was a minor discomfort when measured against the pleasurable sensation of all that clear, sparkling water flowing over her skin. Along this stretch of the river, the water was only chest-deep. Maggie let her feet sink to the bottom and pushed the heavy wetness of her long hair behind her back, wiping the water from her face.
“Now, who do you suppose these clothes belong to?” The taunting question went through her like an electric shock.
She pivoted in the water, nearly losing her balance, as her rounded eyes sought the intruder. Chase Calder was leaning forward in his saddle, an arm resting on the horn, holding her clothes in his hand. The first shock of embarrassment gave way to outrage.
“You put those back where you found them and get out of here!” Maggie faced him, her arms floating atop the water to keep her balance.
“Are these yours?” He feigned surprise, which only angered her more.
“You know they are.”
Chase held them up to examine them. “They can’t be. They’re a man’s clothes, too big for a little thing like you,” he mocked.
“They’re mine—and you know it!” She had stopped moving and the chilling water began to numb her flesh. She had to hold her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.
“But I don’t know that,” he insisted.
“You put them back, Chase Calder!” Her voice was trembling, from anger and the invading cold. “You put them back and ride out of here!”
“I can’t do that.” Rolling the clothes into a bundle, Chase half-turned in the saddle to tie them behind the cantle.
Maggie watched him with growing panic. “What are you doing?”
“Taking them with me, of course,” he replied, finishing the tie and straightening around to gather up the horse’s reins. “There’s some poor cowboy walking around out there with no clothes on. We can’t have that.” He clicked to his horse and reined it away from the river.
Panic filled her when she realized he was actually going to leave with her clothes. “No! They’re mine! You bring them back here!” Alarm was in her voice, weakening its anger to fear.
Checking his horse, he turned it in a quarter-pivot so it was standing parallel with the river. Iron hooves clattered on the sandy gravel of the bar as the horse shifted impatiently, waiting for its rider to make up his mind where they were going.
The sunlight striking the crystal-clear water of the river turned its surface to glass. From his vantage point in the saddle, Chase saw the naked white shape of her body beneath the water—slim and high-breasted. He had a young man’s appetites, and the spring roundup had meant a long fasting period, so the sight of her easily aroused him.
In the beginning, Chase had intended only to take her clothes and ride off a ways before leaving them where she could find them. Now he was unconsciously changing his plans, wanting to see her without the distortion of the water to interfere with the sight.
“If they are your clothes, why don’t you come and get them?” he challenged smoothly.
Maggie drew in a sharp breath, sensing a change in the air. Some new undercurrent was present, vaguely threatening. She sank a little deeper in the freezing water, its coldness lapping into the hollows of her collarbone.
“No.”
“If you want them, you’ll have to come get them.”
“No.” Her refusal was more forceful this time, but her teeth had started chattering from the numbing cold. She moved her arms in the water, trying to keep the circulation going. “You leave my clothes where you found them,” she insisted in a wavering voice.
“I can’t do that.” He shook his head briefly and shifted in the saddle, as if making himself more comfortable. “I’ll just have to wait until you come out of the water to claim them.”
“I’m not coming out while you’re there,” Maggie retorted.
“I’m not leaving until you do.” Chase could see she was shivering, and guessed the water was icy. “You’ll freeze in that river. You’d better come out before you turn blue.”
“I’ll freeze to death before I’ll ever set foot on that bank with you there!” An impotent kind of fury raged through her.
“You stupid little fool.” Chase saw the mule-stubborn expression on her face, and his jaw hardened. He’d taken a position and couldn’t retreat from it. That left him only one recourse—to advance. “In that case, I’ll just have to come out there and get you.”
Her wide-eyed look held panic. “You wouldn’t dare.” But there was doubt in her shivering voice.
“Wouldn’t I?” He raised an eyebrow and reached for the coiled lariat tied below the saddle pommel.
His horse was instantly alert. The lariat represented the kind of work it understood and enjoyed. When its rider pointed the horse at the figure in the water, it pricked its ears curiously at the girl, then swiveled them back and forth, uncertain that its rider actually intended the human to be the objective.
Shaking out the loop, Chase walked the horse into the water, ignoring its rolling snort at this curious business. The loop of the rope was held low and free of his right side, ready to be swung into action when the time came.
For several long seconds, Maggie watched him come closer, part of her refusing to believe that he would go through with it. Then she tried to swim out of his path. Chase put the spurs to his horse, sending it plunging through the water to turn her back. The river ran past his boot tops, its temperature colder than he had realized.
As she tried to change directions and elude him again, the only sure target his rope had was her head. At this depth, the loop would lay on the surface, catching her around the neck. He had to maneuver her into shallower water, where the rope could settle around her middle. It became a cat-and-mouse game, with the outcome foredestined, because the cat was too quick and the mouse was too sluggish.
The icy temperature of the river had stiffened her muscles, making her reflexes slow and her movements uncoordinated. Maggie floundered in the deep water, going under once before her toes scraped bottom to push her to the surface. The cold had sapped her strength. Weak and quivering, she was frightened by the new danger of drowning.
When it appeared that Chase had followed her too far into the river’s channel, his horse snorting nervously at the water rising midway to the point of his withers, Maggie struck out frantically for the solidness of the bank. All her effort was concentrated on trying to run as she reached belly-deep water.
A complacent smile was curving Chase’s mouth. His hors
e had begun its turn to shore a second after the girl had made her break. It was lunging through the water after her while Chase lifted the rope to circle it above his head. While he made the calculations of distance and speed, the other part of his mind was noting the jutting swell of her profiled breast and the snow-white cheeks of her bottom as she ran from him.
The rope made two swings above his head before he let the loop sail to its target. It settled over her shoulders and Chase jerked it tight just above her elbows. The horse stopped as quickly as it could in the water to hold the rope taut.
Maggie struggled wildly, twisting and straining, trying to loosen the binding rope, animal sounds of desperation coming from her throat. Despite her struggling efforts, the tension on the rope wasn’t eased. She cast a wild look over her shoulder, a curtain of wet black hair getting in her way.
With his quarry captured, Chase urged his horse forward while his eyes took in the nude beauty of her. The horse was momentarily confused by the command, trained to hold the tautness of the rope until its captive was set free, but at the insistence of its rider, the horse obeyed. Chase kept the rope tight, feeding the excess to his left hand and coiling it up.
He made no attempt to check the horse until it was alongside the stumbling, splashing, still-struggling girl. Close up, the unblemished perfection of her naked flesh was even more beautiful. Chase pulled her backward a step to draw her even with his saddle and bent down to scoop her up. The tight noose pinned her arms to her sides.
When he hooked his arm around the front of her waist, it was like grabbing hold of an icicle. Even through his jacket, he could feel her coldness. What lusting thoughts he’d possessed were overridden by concern for a person exposed too long to the river’s frigid waters. He was angry with himself, disgusted by his actions. The girl was nearly frozen, and all because his damned pride had wanted revenge. Chase hauled her kicking, twisting body onto the saddle in front of him.
“Let me go!” Her wet hair draped over her breasts like swathes of black silk, while her pinned arms crossed to hide the lower, triangular patch of black hair from his sight.
A distant part of his mind noted the fury of her order. Even now, when she had to be frightened of his intentions, she didn’t plead with him or show fear. There was an absent registering of respect for her indomitable spirit.
Other considerations were uppermost in his thoughts at the moment. “Hold still and I’ll take the rope off of you.” Chase issued the terse command while trying to hold her straining, wiggling form in the saddle, with the horse sidestepping nervously beneath its unruly burden.
She looked at him warily, not trusting him altogether. She was shivering too violently to be motionless, but she ceased struggling. As Chase relaxed his tight hold on the reins to loosen the rope, the horse started for shore. He let it go and lifted the noose over her head, tossing the lariat onto the gravel. Immediately, she tried to slide off the horse, but Chase stopped her.
“Put my jacket on,” he ordered, shrugging out of it and draping it around her shoulders. She was practically engulfed in it. Chase saw the long, black lashes come together in silent appreciation for the body warmth it held.
Holding her around the waist, he stepped out of the saddle. Even dripping wet, she weighed no more than a minute. He could feel the violent tremors shuddering through her body, but she didn’t make a sound, remaining rigid in his arms, rejecting his assistance. A broken limb from the dead tree rested on the sunny stretch of the sandbar. Chase set her on the ground next to it and began breaking the dried wood into pieces.
“It’ll only take a couple of minutes to get a fire going,” he said, but received no response.
The sun-sered wood was like tinder, catching with the first match. Chase fanned it with his hat and let it burn good for a minute, then built a teepee of fatter pieces to keep it going. The girl scooted closer to the warmth it sent out, huddling deep inside his jacket, which came all the way down to her thighs. His gaze swept over the moisture beaded on the raised flesh of her bare legs. As he began unbuttoning his shirt, she slanted him another one of those wary green looks.
Using his shirt as a towel, he began drying her legs, starting with her feet and working his way up the calves of her legs to above the knees. He rubbed hard to stimulate the circulation. His roughness brought a barely stifled sound of protest from her. Chase knew he was causing a thousand nerve ends to tingle painfully.
When he was through, he jabbed a long branch upright in the sandy soil beside the fire and draped his damp shirt over it to dry. It was only then that he became aware of the squishing wetness of his socks and boots. He pulled them off and squeezed the water from the woolen socks, laying them on the outer edge of the fire to steam.
Through all of this, Maggie watched him silently. Feeling began to steal back into her body, the shuddering reduced to occasional shivers, thanks to the warmth of the fire and the heavy, man’s jacket around her.
Both her father and her brother, Culley, were smallbuilt men. Neither had the broad, muscular chest and arms that Chase Calder had, or that thick patch of chestnut hair on his breastbone. She studied the play of those flat, ropy muscles as he worked, all hard flesh and bone. He seemed a mountain of a man to her. A trace of awe surfaced and Maggie fought it down the only way she knew how.
“You look ridiculous in that hat with no shirt or boots,” she told him.
“I do, huh?” Taking off his hat, he set it on the ground and ran a hand through the unruly thickness of his umber hair. Then he cast her a wicked glance. “You aren’t exactly well dressed, either, kid.”
“That’s because you took my clothes.” The wetness of her long hair against her skin was becoming uncomfortable. Maggie tried to lift it outside the collar, while keeping the jacket securely around her and her arms inside. “And I’m not a kid,” she added in protest, still struggling with the heaviness of her hair.
“I noticed,” he murmured dryly. Vividly, he remembered what she looked like beneath that jacket and could attest to the fact that she possessed a woman’s body. The memory of it stirred him as he watched the trouble she was having. “I’ll do that,” Chase volunteered and rose to step behind he.
Starting at her cheekbones, his fingers moved down below her ears and tunneled under the heavy weight of her hair, lifting its length from under the jacket and spreading it down the outside of the back. There was a certain sensuality in holding all that hair in his hands. It burned him like a black fire. Chase released it and stepped away to pick up a stick, snapping it in two in an effort to stop the surging rush of his white-hot senses. He crouched beside her to add the broken pieces of wood to the fire.
“How old are you, Maggie?” He used her name unconsciously, riveting his gaze to the dancing flames.
“Sixteen.” She bit her lip at the lie and admitted, “I will be in August.”
Chase turned his head to study her, a smile slanting his mouth. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.” There was a harsh quality to his mocking tone that didn’t match the way he was looking at her.
His words caused Maggie to huddle deeper in the jacket, drawing her knees to envelop more of her legs in its hugeness. “Clyde Barnes kissed me once when we were playing in the schoolyard.”
“How old were you then?”
Her chin went a little lower and she avoided his gaze to stare at her toes. “Thirteen.” There was a defensive crispness to her answer.
“Nobody can say you aren’t without experience,” he murmured with drawling roughness.
“I never said I was experienced.” She flashed him a sideways look of injured pride. “Clyde wasn’t even thirteen yet.” The intensity of his gaze was more than she could hold. “I know it’s different when a man kisses you.”
There was a pulsebeat of silence; then his hand was on her neck, turning her head and lifting her chin toward him. “How do you know that?”
The penetrating darkness of his gaze disturbed her in an excitingly curious way that seeme
d to heighten all her senses. She couldn’t answer him, too captured by the wild certainty that he was going to kiss her and she was going to find out for herself if it was true that a man’s kiss was different.
Chapter IV
Slowly bending his head toward her, Chase exerted a slight pressure on her neck to pull her forward. She didn’t try to draw away or resist him. Before his mouth touched her lips, he inhaled the fresh, clean smell of her—like the air after a summer rain. Its simple earthiness filled him. When his mouth settled onto her unparted lips, they remained motionless with innocence. He moved over their softness, seeking a response, and was dissatisfied when he didn’t get it. Her uncertainty about what was expected from her was somehow transmitted to him.
Chase lifted his head a scant inch from her lips. “Don’t hold your mouth so stiffly. Relax,” he urged in a soothing murmur. “Let your lips move against mine.”
“All right.” Her sweet breath fanned him, stirring him.
This time Maggie offered a tentative response to the pressure of his mouth. She liked that funny little curling sensation it created inside her. Under his guidance, her confidence grew and was rewarded with pleasure.
His thumb began drawing lazy circles in the sensitive hollow below her ear, arousing more senses. There was so much warmth tingling through her body that Maggie found it hard to believe that only minutes ago she’d been shivering from the cold. She was trembling, but for an entirely different reason.
When Chase ended the second kiss, her lips clung to his for a brief second. She was glad when he stayed close and didn’t draw away. She stared at the masculine line of the mouth that had produced those wonderfully new sensations flooding through her. Her gaze wandered over the flaring width of his nose and the angular points of his cheekbones before being caught by the intensity of his eyes. Except for the burning vitality in his eyes, he could have been carved out of stone. Maggie was unaware that his extreme wants were holding him motionless. She became faintly puzzled by the luscious way she was feeling, wondering if it was normal.
