The Wrangler

by Jillian Hart

  "But that was before Dakota and the wild mare." Fred took Jack's lead. "Oh, I know what you're gonna say. We gotta go help. But I wanna stay."

  "I know." It was crazy, but she did, too. She waved to Mr. Mason as he mounted up on his swaybacked gelding, waiting for them, and gestured to Mindy, who watched shyly from behind the tent doorway. "Go bridle Jack. We'll ride bareback, since Mr. Mason's waiting."

  "Okay. C'mon, big fella." Fred clucked, laid his hand on the gelding's neck and the two wandered off toward the barn.

  Something lipped her hair and tugged on her braids. Blue. She untied his picket line, wishing her gaze didn't zip over to the mare and the wounded man tending her. He ought to be on bed rest. Any other man would be, but no, Dakota Black wasn't like most men. Even if his hands trembled with weakness, even if he'd clamped his jaw together in pain with the color drained from his face, he was determined to tend the horse and win her trust.

  He looked up and saw her watching him. "Go on, I can keep an eye on things here."

  What was it about him that held her captive? He made her want to trust him. When their gazes met, awareness charged through her like a cataclysm. Her lurching heartbeat rattled her with the force of a winter wind.

  She fisted her hands, tried to break the enchantment he'd somehow cast on her and failed. So she forced her feet to carry her away.

  I don't want to care about him, she thought stubbornly.

  But it was already too late.

  Chapter Eight

  It had been a long day, but Mr. Mason's smokehouse was full of curing meat. Kit rode into the long slant of the evening sun, thinking about home and the man waiting there.

  "Old Mr. Sinclair was pretty scary," Fred commented as he adjusted Jack's reins. "I don't think he likes us much."

  "I think you're right." Kit shivered, glad that errand was over and done with. Another hundred dollars was due in thirty days, at least according to the contract, which had a few things in it that made her nervous. The Sinclairs could amend the payment dates at any time. "I don't think Tannen's father is happy he gambled away his share of their ranch."

  "How come they have so much land?" Fred asked.

  "I heard from Mrs. Mason that the Sinclairs were prospectors," Mindy spoke up, seated on Jack's back. She tightened her grip on Fred. She didn't like horseback riding. "Mrs. Mason said they wound up with a claim that paid out big. Lots of gold. They put it into land, what they could homestead and what they could buy."

  "Golly, I'd sure like to strike it big." Fred lit up at the thought. "I'd build you both a real nice house, like the Sinclair's house with lots of columns. And we'd have a thousand horses and we'd hire men to help train them. We'd have candy every day."

  While Mindy and Fred debated the merits of this, and came up with other ways to spend their imaginary gold, Kit's mind wandered back to Dakota. There she was, thinking about him again.

  Blue reached around and nibbled her foot.

  "Hey, buddy. What are you doing?" She patted his neck. "You aren't jealous, are you?"

  Blue arched his neck, pacing down the road, apparently too dignified to answer.

  "Don't worry. No one can come close to you in my heart." She leaned in to lay her cheek on his neck, and wrapped her arms around him. He gave a low nicker of agreement, as if he felt the same exact way.

  Blue was the only male she could really trust. She would do well to remember that.

  Jack blew a loud sigh when the lane home came into sight.

  "I'm awful hungry," Fred was saying.

  "You just want some of the food Mrs. Mason packed up for us," Mindy argued easily.

  "Sure, I do. I can smell it." Fred's stomach gurgled in proof. "See there? I'm starving."

  "We're almost home." Mindy rolled her pretty blue eyes, looking sweet as a daisy in a white calico dress and yellow sunbonnet. She'd tucked her skirt around her as she sat bareback, with the strings of the food sack tight in one hand.

  Kit reined Blue up the lane, glad they'd spent more time getting to know their neighbors. Mr. Mason's wife, Effie, was a plump, gregarious woman who'd raised six boys to manhood, kept a spotless house and served a delicious meal when they'd taken a break from cutting and hanging meat. Kit even had Effie's family fried chicken rule written on a paper scrap and tucked in her dress pocket.

  Had Dakota found the food stores and fixed something to eat? Was he finally getting some rest? What if he'd been too active and tore his stitches? Her ribs seemed to cinch tight, making it hard to breathe.

  The minute the yard came into view, she couldn't help searching for him. She spotted a pair of boots on the ground by the soddy, laying toes up, slack, attached to denim-encased legs that were sprawled out like they belonged to a dead man. That was all she could see. The barn was in the way.

  She didn't remember springing from her Blue's back, hitting the ground or racing across the yard. Dakota was on the ground, stretched out on his back, his head turned away from her. His Stetson lay a few yards off, where the wind had apparently carried it. Whiskers darkened his jaw. His chest rose up lightly with each breath.

  Okay, he was sleeping. Sleeping. She rocked back on her heels, tried to calm her crazy pulse and resisted the urge to kneel down beside him. She wanted to touch him, to see if he was as hard everywhere as he looked.

  Just curiosity, she told herself. Not anything more. And that was the story she was sticking to.

  "He looks dead." Fred skidded to a stop beside her. "Is he?"

  "We're not that lucky," she quipped. "Run and help Mindy with the horses.

  "I'm glad he's not dead." Fred disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  "Me, too," she whispered, more relieved than she could find the words to say.

  "I heard that." Dakota opened one eye.

  "No, you didn't. You imagined it. I'm not glad at all." She meant the words to be light and carefree but they stuck in her throat, rasping with an emotion she dared not acknowledge. Dared not name. "What are you doing sprawled out like this?"

  "Taking a nap." He opened his other eye. Sat up. Winced.

  "And what about those fence posts over there?" She hopped up to fetch his hat.

  "I decided to make myself useful now that I'm your employee."

  "My wounded employee." A gust of hot wind caught the Stetson's brim, sending it into a patch of sunflowers as she tried to grab it. She chased it, butterflies rising up from the blooms in a swoop of color. "You were supposed to take it easy and heal. What do I need with a hired hand who can't take orders?"

  "No idea." He reached out for the hat she handed him.

  "Typical man. At least you have a way with horses. Your only saving grace."

  "No argument here." He stood, pain etched into his face.

  "The mare looks good." She boldly unbuttoned his top shirt button, determined to check his injury. "The claw marks don't look deep."

  "They aren't. She got lucky. I mixed up a salve that should help keep out infection and heal her up." He cut his gaze to the mare snoozing in the grass near the creek. "How did the smoking go?"

  "Fine. Mr. Mason showed us everything hoping we'll be able to cure our own meat, assuming I wanted to hunt down an animal and carve it up."

  "Not to mention building your own smokehouse." He clamped his whiskery jaw tight, aware of her body close to his. Another button released on his shirt.

  Best not to imagine her wanting to undress him for real. He swallowed past a dry throat, overriding his body's response to her. "And you paid Tannen?"

  "Yes, we stopped by his place on the way home." She pushed his shirt away from his shoulder, exposing his arm. "I learned something interesting. Tannen had just received a share of his pa's ranch for his twenty-first birthday."

  "And the first thing he did was gamble it away?"

  "Old Mr. Sinclair was livid. He offered me cash for the land, but I refused." She peeled his bandage away from his wound. "Now Old Mr. Sinclair doesn't like me, either. He wanted to speak to Howie man to man.
"

  "What did you tell him?" He inched a few feet back and relaxed against the side of the soddy.

  "I said Howie was busy. I didn't know what else to say." She hunted down the pail of bandages she'd left by the barn and grabbed a few clean strips. "It's one thing to think my disguise will work at night, in a badly lit saloon around men who are mostly really drunk. It's another for it to work in the light of day."

  "I never said your disguise worked last night. Honey, no one thought you were a man. Not a manly one, anyway. You have to stop flicking your wrist when you pick up or put down a card."

  "Oh. Guess I didn't realize I was doing that." She unlaced her boots, then peeled off her socks and hiked up her skirts mid-knee. "I'll be careful next time."

  Next time? The thought made him weak, so he let his head roll back to rest against the barn wall. He watched her wade into the creek, kneel down and scoop a pail full of water. She was lithe as a cat, slender and shapely as only a woman can be. He couldn't help admiring her grace and loveliness, the nip of her slender waist and the full curve of her bosom.

  Not that he ought to be noticing that. Heat stained his face, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away nearly as fast as he wanted.

  "What else did I do wrong?" She waded out of the creek, water droplets clinging to her pretty, bare feet. "Wait, don't tell me. The sarsaparilla. The way I hold my cards. I'll work on that. Maybe I need to work on my mustache. Make it fuller, more manly."

  "I don't think the mustache will help."

  "What I need to do is study you." She set down the pail and moved in to dab his wound.

  "Please don't do that," he grimaced.

  "Tend you or study you?" Her gaze fastened on his. He'd never seen such a true color blue, this close he could make out the tiny threads of gold and green laced within that blue.

  "Study me." The words rasped out of his throat.

  "Well, you would be the perfect subject." She concentrated on cleaning his stitches. "You're very manly."

  "Guess that's better than the alternative."

  "I saw how you handled Tannen at the poker table. You intimidated him with a look." Satisfied, she dabbed the raw skin dry. "I've got to learn that look."

  "Sorry, only men can do it."

  "You're teasing me."

  No, she was teasing him. Fingertips feathered across his torn skin, spreading a medicinal salve. The pain hardly registered. The heat from her touch did.

  You can't have her and you know it, Dakota. He had to make himself listen. Some dreams would always be out of his reach.

  "Well, whether it's a tough look or not, I've got to earn respect somehow." Tiny crinkles etched into her forehead, as if she were concerned about hurting him as she worked. "You do it with a glare. You walked into the saloon and everyone held their breath. They thought you were an outlaw, the kind that would kill a man for looking at him."

  "I'll let you in on a secret." He squeezed the words out of too-tight lungs, hoping it looked as if he were in physical pain and not because of her nearness. "You won't catch me dead in red suspenders."

  "What? I love them. Pa had a pair just like them."

  "Did you notice that I don't? Tannen doesn't. The gunslinger friend of his didn’t either."

  "Are you suggesting I shouldn't wear my suspenders next time? What if my trousers start to slide down?"

  "Borrow a belt."

  Humor twinkled in her blue eyes. "Are you going to find fault with my shirt next?"

  "Your bigger problem is the way you flounce into a chair. Try plopping straight down next time. Sit with your knees apart and slump a little. What are you doing?"

  "Trying to get my mouth to look tough like yours." She moved her lips and jaw around, trying to imitate him. The action only made her look cute. Adorable. Her goodness and innocence shone like the rays of sun surrounding her. There was no faking that. "Well, darn, I don't have it yet, but I figure if I can make my face look tougher, then maybe everyone will believe it. Maybe no one else will try to rob me like last night."

  "Did Tannen hurt you?"

  "Nothing but a few bruises I found this morning. But this gambling part of my plan has some unforeseen problems I need to figure out. Since Pa never had problems getting robbed, it never occurred to me."

  "That's because whatever your pa won, he usually lost it before he walked away from the game. Am I right?"

  "That was Pa exactly." She folded a strip of muslin around his arm and began wrapping. "How did you know?"

  "I've seen it before."

  "Gambling has a hold on him nothing can break." She loved her father, she missed him sorely. It was easier on her heart not to talk about him.

  "It's tough when your parents are only human," Dakota said with understanding.

  "Exactly." She swallowed hard. "I'm worried about disappointing Fred and Mindy. Pa always did. Folks always say I'm a lot like him."

  "You're strong and resilient and loyal. I don't see you ever leaving anyone behind."

  "I had a better childhood than my pa." She remembered the scars on Dakota's back and wondered. Were those old injuries the reason he kept to himself, always holding back, never letting down his guard? What had he learned about people and trust growing up?

  It was troubling that she wanted to know that much about him. "There's still time for my brother and sister. They should be going to school and having friends, not worrying about going back to living out of the wagon."

  "See, right there? That's where you're different from your pa."

  "There's a school being built over in Gold Dust City. It's an hour by horse, but it will be worth it. I'm planning on Fred and Mindy going next month."

  "Sounds like you have a lot of plans."

  "Guilty." Her fingers grazed the heated steel of his bicep, even when she was trying not to touch him. Every time she did, little tingles settled in her stomach. "By this time next year, I'll be like everyone else making a living on these prairies."

  "You are nothing like everyone else." He brushed a tangle of hair out of her eyes. "That's a good thing, Kit. I like you, and I don't find much to like in a lot of women."

  "Well, thank you, but I don't like you a bit." Heat burned across her face. She wound the bandage around his arm, close enough to inhale the warm, pleasant male scent of his skin.

  "That's a relief." Amusement drew lines into the corners of his eyes, adding character. "I wouldn't want you to spark to me. I'd only break your heart."

  "My heart is mine and mine alone. I'm giving it to no man. I'm too smart for that." She knotted the bandage, gave it a tug to make sure it would hold and realized she was nearly kissing close.

  She'd never felt tenderness toward anyone like this. Her tongue went dry, her palms damp. A strong, unbidden longing roared through her. What would it feel like to lay her hand there, along the line of his jaw? For the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to be kissed.

  "I'm determined to be one of those spinsters," she explained. "You know, the kind who takes better care of herself than any man can do."

  "That's too bad. I'm sure many hearts will be broken over the years."

  "Are you trying to get on my good side by flattering me?"

  "You mean I'm not already there?"

  They shared a smile. Coolish wind made her shiver, even in full sun. It took her a moment to realize thunderheads were building in the southwestern sky, huge white mammoths overtaking the blue.

  She snatched up his shirt, glad for the chance to put some distance between them. "Put this on. Get a little more rest. I'll bring you a supper plate."

  "Now you think you can give me orders?"

  "Someone has to." She ignored the powerful image he made—tough renegade, charming grin, crinkly eyes. Bare chested, his sun-browned skin showed every delineation of muscle, every ridge, the bandage a white slash on his thick upper arm.

  If only she could ignore the tenderness she felt as she scurried away.

  * * *

>   The storm struck before nightfall. The wind changed direction, carrying the smell of rain. The palomino mare climbed to her feet, tugging at her tether, feet dancing and skin crawling.

  "You afraid of storms, girl?" Dakota kept his voice calm and easy, letting her see he wasn't afraid, so she wouldn't be. "Bet you're missing your herd right now. They were your family."

  Pleading brown eyes watched him, as if begging him not to leave her alone.

  "Well, we're your family now." He moved his injured arm, bit back a grimace and loosened the knot in the rope holding her. "Let's get you inside."

  The first spark of lightning stabbed through the charcoal clouds far to the south. He got her into the soddy before the first roll of thunder echoed across the sky. He calmed her and locked her in the farthest stall. Rain came down in an explosion, hitting the ground like a thousand bullets.

  "That's a girl. It'll be all right." He stroked her nose, kept his heart open, letting her know she was safe. He'd make sure she was safe. She pressed her muzzle into the palm of his hand, as if she understood.

  At least it looked as if they were making a connection.

  "Dakota." Fred burst into the soddy, dripping wet, gripping the gelding's lead with both hands. The big bay gave a grateful sigh when he spotted his open stall. "Glad you got that mare in. I couldn't have done it."

  "Where's Kit?"

  "Chasin' Blue. He got away. He pulled his lead right out of her hands." The boy closed the stall door, trapping the gelding inside. "He sure don't like storms."

  "I'll give her a hand." Dakota tugged down his hat, patted the kid's shoulder and ducked into the storm.

  The wind hit like a hammer, slamming rain into him as he charged across the sodden prairie. He splashed through pooling water, searching through the gray veil for any sign of Kit. In the far meadow he caught a hint of blue, there and then gone. He headed out toward her.

  Lightning arced across the sky in a white-hot flash. He saw Kit with her blond hair damp to her back, her dress wet and clinging to her curves as she raced in Blue's direction. The terrified horse was in mid-rear, front hooves slashing the air. His lead rope dangled free.