Second Chance Cowboy

by Sylvia McDaniel

  Chapter 6

  Sweat trickled down Sabrina’s aching back, gluing her shirt to her hot skin. Cattle bawled as they slowly moved along the trail, dust rising in fountains from their hooves. Even a handkerchief, worn below her eyes, failed to keep the gritty stuff out of her mouth and nose.

  They had been on the trail almost a week. A week of sore muscles, breathing dust, and adjusting to life on the trail. She began where all rookies start, the worst position on the drive, the very end, or drag. She breathed all the dust, chased strays, and generally was the last one into camp in the evening. Most days started before daylight and ended at dusk. Her only exceptions for being a woman were she didn’t have night duty and she slept in the chuck wagon.

  Occasionally Patrick would check on her, but most of the time he was out scouting or leading the drive. The cowboys, while polite, usually kept their distance. Only Tom, the horse wrangler, and Buckets had spent any time talking to her.

  As the evening sunset, Sabrina rode tiredly into camp. The fire from Buckets’ camp burned brightly in the early evening sky, like a welcoming beacon. The wood crackled and popped as flames danced beneath the pot of beans on the fire. Sabrina unsaddled her horse, giving it a small ration of oats before she turned it loose in the remuda.

  After a full day in the saddle, she limped into the circle of light given off by the fire and gently eased her tired aching muscles to the ground. Buckets brought her a plate of beans.

  “Still sore, Sabrina?” Buckets asked.

  “Only in one major spot,” she replied wearily.

  “I could let you borrow some horse liniment if you’d like,” spoke up Tom. “I could show you how to rub it in . . . .”

  Tom stammered as he realized his error. Snickers permeated the night air as Sabrina felt blood rush to her face.

  “I mean, you know how to rub it in.” The snickers turned into loud chuckles as Tom tried to redeem himself. “I’m sorry, Miss Sabrina; I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

  “It’s okay, Tom.” The poor boy’s face was the color of the flames from the camp fire. Sabrina was sure the other men would not let him forget this slip of the tongue for a long time.

  “Hey, Tom would you rub some of that horse liniment on me?” Shorty asked, his voice cracking with laughter. The other men chortled at his suggestion.

  The crunch of approaching boots against the ground brought their laughter to a halt. Sabrina gazed up from her plate of beans into Patrick’s stern countenance. He glanced from Shorty to Tom, his expression hostile. A quiet uneasiness filled the air as the men suddenly found the beans on their plates interesting.

  “Did I miss something?” he asked quietly. From his demeanor Sabrina knew he had overheard the exchange. No one moved. No one spoke.

  Patrick stood, waiting, until finally he spoke. “We’re going to camp here a couple of days and stock up on supplies in Fort Griffin.” He paused before continuing. “Two shifts will go into town. The first five will be Sabrina, Buckets, Tom, George, and me. When we get back, the rest of you can go.”

  The tone of his voice discouraged any arguments. “I suggest everyone turn in early tonight and get a good night’s rest. I’ll take first watch.” Patrick strode off toward his horse.

  The scraping of plates filled the camp area as the men hurriedly finished their dinners in anticipation of their bedrolls. Soon, only the soothing crackle and pop of the wood could be heard.

  “Miss Sabrina, before we turn in, could you read us one of those stories out of that book you carry?” Tom asked quietly.

  An avid reader, Sabrina carried a book with her wherever she went. This trip was no exception. She had attempted to read several times around the camp fire, but soon her eyes became blurry and heavy. She had managed a page at the most.

  “Well... Patrick did say to get to bed early.” Unable to resist, Sabrina pulled out the latest dime novel she had picked up. “I guess a few pages couldn’t hurt.”

  Sitting as close to the fire as she could without burning herself, she began to read aloud to the men. Soon the story wrapped its magic around them and the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the story.

  Lost in the words, Sabrina jumped as suddenly the book was jerked from her hands. Fear pumped through her blood, freezing her with fright. Stunned, she gazed up at an enraged Patrick. “Lord! You scared me,” she gasped.

  Grabbing her arm, Patrick hauled her to her feet. “I said, get some rest. Not entertain the men. I expect you to obey my orders just like everyone else.”

  Before she could reply, he commanded, “The party’s over. Everyone hit the sack. Now!” Men jumped at the sound of his voice, quickly spreading their bedrolls.

  Sabrina stood by his side, his hand still around her arm. Embarrassment flooded her face. In front of everyone, he had scolded her like a child, adding to her humiliation.

  Incensed, Sabrina bit the inside of her lip, stilling her tongue from screaming at him. He dragged her to the wagon, situated a short way behind the men’s bed rolls. Reaching it, he flung her arm away from him, as if touching her repulsed him.

  She hissed. “They asked me to read.”

  “I gave the order to rest.” Patrick’s voice was taut and low with barely repressed rage.

  Sabrina glared at Patrick, trying to rein in her anger, wanting to scream obscenities at the overbearing bully. Arms crossed, her foot tapping a fast rhythm, she fought for control of her temper.

  “Get in the wagon!” he demanded.

  Realizing the men were within hearing distance Sabrina, already embarrassed and seething with rage turned her back on the domineering tyrant and climbed up into the wagon.

  Patrick stood rooted to the ground. Sabrina’s shapely derriere was within inches of his face. The air from his lungs was suddenly sucked out as he watched her tight-fitting, form-clinging pants ascend into the wagon. Few women looked good in pants; few women looked good dusty; few women were so enticing sitting beside a fire reading.

  He’d been livid when he came back to camp to refill his canteen and found Sabrina surrounded by men as she read to them. Their rapturous expressions as they listened to her soft, sultry voice had sent jealousy flowing through his veins.

  For the last week he had avoided her but been painfully aware of her presence at the same time. Everywhere he turned, it seemed as though he found her. And every day he searched for, looked for, and tried to resist her. She was driving him crazy.

  Buckets had been a tremendous help. Patrick had asked him to watch over her and demanded he give up the chuck wagon for her privacy. There was no way he was going to allow her to sleep outside with the men, especially if he had to be away from camp. These were decent men, but they were men, and she was all woman. The longer they were on the trail, the lonelier they would become; and soon, who she was wouldn’t matter.

  Rustling noises came from inside the wagon as she shuffled boxes around. Intent on going back to the drive, he strode off around the side of the wagon. A flicker of light from a lamp being lit caught his attention. Glancing back, he felt as if his breath were knocked out of him.

  Silhouetted against the canvas of the wagon was Sabrina. The shadow of her womanly shape slowly unbuttoned her shirt, pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and dropped the shirt to the floor. Next her hands went to her waist. Mesmerized, Patrick stared as the image on a canvas bent to remove its pants and lay them aside. Taking a deep breath to ease his pounding heart, he heard water splashing in a pan.

  The shadow dipped a rag into the water and brought the cloth up to her face, down her neck, to her chest. A picture flashed through his mind as he imagined the cloth caressing her creamy breasts. Was he really seeing the image on canvas or was his mind playing tricks on him?

  A small voice inside his head said to walk away, don’t look back. But he couldn’t move. Rinsing out the cloth, Sabrina ran it down her arms, across her middle. She lifted her leg, propping it up, and proceeded to bathe each leg in turn. In the chilly night air, Patr
ick sweated; his heart pounded and the heat from his body was hot enough to set off fireworks.

  Sounds of splashing water told him she was again rinsing her rag. Paralyzed, he watched as the reflection on canvas moved in the most erotic way. Slowly, the cloth was brought in between her legs, clearly washing her most intimate spot. A low moan escaped his throat.

  Patrick licked his dry lips and tried to walk away, but the vision before him was too compelling. Bewitched, he stood enthralled by the sheer beauty of watching the canvas shadow. The urge to crawl into that wagon and drive himself into her most intimate spot threatened to overcome him as he fought to conquer his desire.

  Suddenly the lamp was extinguished, and the siren on canvas disappeared, leaving a spellbound Patrick. Inside was a woman that, no matter how he tried to deny it, moved him like no other woman before her or since. His body pulsated from the mere thought of her. He ached for her!

  On shaky legs, he moved to the front of the wagon. Abruptly, the curtain opened; and before Patrick could move, cold water hit him full in the face. Just as quickly, the curtain shut again. Water trickled down his face over his shirt, and down his trousers. Shock coursed through his veins, cooling his ardor, stilling his desire

  Patrick reached up and swiped the soapy water from his eyes and nose. “Damn!”

  * * *

  Patrick examined the small frontier post—a small, dreary army town, full of buffalo hunters and saloons. Everywhere you looked, there were stacks of buffalo hides waiting to be transported by freighters to the railroad.

  The stench of hides, mixed with dust, filled the air. Never again would he complain about the smell of cattle dung. The streets were filled with people walking or riding down Main Street. A wagon passed, its wheels kicking up dust. At the mercantile, Patrick dismounted, tethering his horse to the hitching post. Stepping up on the wooden sidewalk, he looked around at the small group. “Sabrina, go with Buckets. I’m going to speak with the colonel. Meet back here in two hours.”

  Patrick watched the group head off in separate directions. Buckets would watch over Sabrina, keeping her out of trouble.

  He strode in the direction of the army garrison up the street. When he reached the headquarters, he stepped into the colonel’s office. Patrick looked at the young man seated behind the desk. “I want to speak with the colonel, please.”

  An eager cadet took his name. The young man disappeared behind a closed door. Seconds later a loud shout came from inside the office. “Send him in.” Patrick smiled as the young man rushed out of the office and motioned him in. Inside, the colonel hurried around his desk and clapped Patrick on the back.

  “Damn, Shand! It’s good to see you. About time you came to see this old man.”

  “I had no idea you were still here, you old cuss. I guess the army, let’s just about anyone run a fort now-a-days!”

  “Especially if it’s out in godforsaken country like this. Sit down, boy.” The colonel settled behind his desk.

  He motioned for Patrick to take a seat across from him. He cleared his throat and a sad expression crossed his face. “I’m sorry about your family. They were about the best friends I had out here and I miss'em.”

  “Me, too.” Patrick pushed down the melancholy feeling he always felt when his family was mentioned.

  “Did you ever find out which band of Indians killed them?”

  “Indians didn’t murder them,” Patrick replied, bitterness evident in his voice.

  A puzzled look crossed the colonel’s face. “What makes you say that?” the colonel questioned. “At the time, we were having trouble with the Comanche.”

  “Comanche’s don’t ride ponies that wear shoes, and Dad had always gotten along with the Kickapoo. He’d just given Chief Black Bear cattle to feed his tribe for the winter.”

  The colonel stopped and considered Patrick’s words. “Good point.” He leaned back in his chair. “But who would have had a reason to kill them?”

  “Ever heard of a man named Carson Jarvis?”

  “Isn’t he that fellow who owns the Cactus Spread ranch just west of your land?”

  “That’s the one. Two years ago, when I was a ranger I arrested his son for cattle rustling. I can’t help but wonder if they were killed out of revenge.”

  “You know, I received a letter from your mother about a month before she died.” The colonel rose from his chair. “Let me see if I still have it.”

  Excited, the colonel strode over to a safe in the corner of his office. Twirling the dial, he opened the strongbox and pulled out an envelope. He walked over to Patrick and handed him the letter.

  “It’s nothing but a letter, but in it your mother told me someone was trying to buy your ranch. Your father had refused their offer and she was worried this person wouldn’t take no for an answer.” The colonel sighed. “This was the last correspondence I had with your family.”

  Patrick looked at the envelope with his mother’s handwriting scrawled across the front and felt his chest tighten with pain. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

  “No, son. Your mother was about the nicest lady I’ve ever known.”

  “I miss her.” The words slipped out before Patrick had a chance to stop them. Damn, he would find her killer and avenge her. The familiar feelings of grief hit him full force.

  * * *

  “Nice night,” Patrick said as he walked into the light of the fire.

  Sabrina sent him a look that, if her eyes had been a shotgun, would have filled him full of lead. Turning her attention back to the campfire, she ignored him.

  “About last night. You can’t be . . . ah—” He paused and rubbed his hand across his face.

  “If this is about my reading that story . . . .”

  “No!” he interrupted. “From now on, when you take your bath, take it in the dark. I don’t need my men to see your charms displayed against the canvas of the wagon.”

  Puzzled, Sabrina asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “The lantern! Every move you make is silhouetted from the light of the lantern on canvas.”

  Sabrina’s mouth dropped open in surprise and a small gasp escaped her throat.

  “You’re the only woman in camp. If my men see you as I did last night, after weeks of being without a woman, one of them will lose his head. Then we’ll have trouble.”

  It was the last straw. The air fairly exploded out of Sabrina’s body as her restraint fell away. “Do you think I was deliberately bathing in front of the light?”

  The fire once again became the center of Sabrina’s focus as anger rolled from her body in unseen waves. She waited for Patrick’s retort, but strangely, he kept quiet.

  When she spoke, her voice was distinctly clear, her diction precise and cold. “I do not entertain your men, Mr. Shand. I have tried very hard to fit in without being obtrusive. I only want to get my cattle to market without any extra attention or special considerations given to me because I’m a woman.”

  Patrick grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. They stood within inches. His full lips were close, much too close. “Because you are a woman, you are given every consideration, whether you realize it or not. Don’t tempt my men.”

  Before she could respond, his lips came down on hers. It was a savage kiss, an angry kiss mixed with passion and punishment. Just as quickly as it began, he broke it off and pushed her away. Sabrina took the back of her hand and swiped it across her mouth, wiping his kiss away.

  “How long did you watch, Patrick? Why didn’t you stop me? Her chest was tight with suppressed tears. “It’s not the men I need to worry about; it’s you!” Before he could reply, she stalked away, leaving a stunned Patrick.

  * * *

  Patrick raised himself in his saddle, stretching his tired muscles. His body ached—and not just from muscular fatigue. No, it was more than physical. Sleep had been elusive the last few nights. Every time he shut his eyes, a blond-haired, blue-eyed vixen appeared in his dreams and informed him it was their leader
she had to worry about.

  Could she be right? Was he more concerned about the men or himself? The men had been told before she arrived that anyone who touched her would be shot. The reason didn’t matter; he’d kill them.

  But what about himself? He ached to touch her. He wanted to feel her lips under his, feel her satin skin, and touch her soft breasts. When she was around, he felt like a tightly strung guitar. Touch the strings the wrong way and he’d snap.

  He hadn’t meant to be so cruel the night he caught her reading and saw her bathing. He hadn’t meant to kiss her that night by the fire, but she drove him crazy. Al1 rational thought had fled when he saw her sitting around the campfire, and he had behaved like a madman.

  Watching the silhouette of her luscious body on the canvass had almost pushed him over the edge. He knew she was innocent, but that shadow had stirred up all kinds of images, thoughts that made him hard. Hard enough that, since that night, he had taken to sleeping under her wagon. Knowing she slept above him, knowing he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t be with her. He wanted to protect her, but who would defend her from him?

  Unless he got control of his emotions, this was going to be a long trip. Soon they would reach the Red River. When they crossed the river at Doan’s Crossing, they would be entering the Oklahoma territory. Indian territory.

  If they were lucky, the worst that would happen was a greeting party, who would politely request cattle as payment for crossing their land.

  Sabrina was bound to be seen. There was only one thing to do. She wasn’t going to like it. She probably would end up hating him more for it, but her safety depended on it. She would have to pretend to be his wife.

  For days he had pondered what to do. And this was the only solution that had come to mind. Even that might not be enough, if some brave decided he wanted her.