Catch a Dream

by Cynthia Breeding

  She pulled on a robe and stomped down to the kitchen. He was alone, sitting and sipping coffee. Waiting.

  “Where are they?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

  “I assume you mean your clothes? In my room.” Miguel let his gaze wander over her and he grinned. “Since you’re not dressed, maybe you’d care to go there and do some negotiating?”

  Elizabeth pulled the robe closer. “Hardly. You ignored me all night.”

  “I didn’t feel like standing in line.” He poured another cup. “Coffee?”

  She accepted it grudgingly and sat down. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. What do I have to do this time to get my jeans back?”

  Miguel studied her. “You could come to my room tonight. I seem to recall buying you a lace sleeping gown at Christmas that I haven’t seen you wear, either.”

  He really was infuriating. If he thought she would trade her body for her clothes— She felt tears start to burn and blinked them away. Of course that’s what he thought. She was still a working girl in his mind. He probably wouldn’t think of talking like that to the schoolmarm. Her, he would respect.

  “Why don’t you give it to Miss Parsons? I’m sure she’ll be glad to wear it,” she snapped and immediately regretted her words.

  Surprise flickered in Miguel’s eyes. He leaned forward and grasped her hands before she could pull them away. He stroked lightly down her fingers to their tips. “I think your claws are showing, Red.”

  “My claws?” she sputtered. “I’m surprised you don’t have scratch marks all over your body after last night.”

  He eyed her a moment and a corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t know that I don’t. Would you care to examine me?” He stood and came around to where she sat. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt.

  “Stop it!” Elizabeth felt her face grow hot. Just a glimpse of his bare chest inches away from her face sent her blood racing through her veins like a flash fire. If his shirt came off, she would follow him to his room. God help her and by the Irish saints she shouldn’t want to—didn’t want to—but she would.

  The shirttails came out. “Well? Would you like to assure yourself that I don’t have a mark on me?”

  She shook her head mutely, looking down at the table. Never had she met a man so arrogant. And so sexy. She knew, beneath the shirt, he was all rippling muscle, tight abs, and flat obliques. More than anything, she wanted to run her hand across his torso—

  As though he read her mind, he flipped the shirt back, lifted her to her feet and brought her arms around his bare waist. “Feel my back, Red. I don’t think you’ll find any welts.”

  His skin was warm and smooth, and she felt his back muscles tighten as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. She squirmed, aware that somehow her robe had fallen open—all that was between them was the thin cotton of her nightshift. She became painfully aware of the hardness of his shaft straining against her belly.

  “How badly do you want those pants back?” he whispered as he nibbled on her neck and breathed softly into her ear. “It could be easily arranged.”

  She pushed away from him. “You dare to force me—“

  “Force?” He looked at her steadily. “I could have taken advantage of you last night, had I wanted to.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “When do you think I got your clothes? You were sound asleep, lying there on your side with no covers, your shift hiked to your waist...Ah, it would have been an easy thing to bring you awake with me inside of you.”

  Fever sizzled through her body, exploding in a fiery warmth between her legs. Sweet Mary. He had been there. Watching her. Seeing her near naked. Again.

  “How do I know you didn’t take advantage of me?”

  He laughed and stuck his shirt inside his waistband as Olga came into the kitchen. He bent over and whispered to Elizabeth, “Believe me, Red. You would have known.”

  • ♥ •

  She got her clothes back the next morning, but only after Miguel left for the spring roundup. Olga delivered them to her room along with the news.

  “How long will they be gone?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Three weeks, maybe four,” Olga answered. “They have to ride the whole range, even though there are several branding stations about the land. Then, they’ll be bringing the cattle they wish to sell back to the pens northwest of Fort Worth and Miguel will arrange for a cattle drive.

  On what would become the Chisholm Trail. Elizabeth remembered her history: it wasn’t until the advance of the railroad that ranchers would try to drive large herds great distances, but nearly a million-and-a-half cattle were moved up the Chisholm Trail in just four years, and that was before the heyday of the cattle markets in Dodge City, Wichita, and Laramie. How she would love to be a part of that drive! And of the roundup. She had told Miguel weeks ago that she’d wanted to go. It was probably the real reason he’d taken her clothes. To keep her home.

  “Are they working from the farthest points first?” she asked.

  Olga nodded. “They always do. Then they start driving the cattle back.”

  “Which camp will they arrive at last?” Elizabeth asked casually.

  That got her a suspicious look. “There are cattle pens near Bird’s Fort on the upper Trinity. Why?”

  She hoped she looked innocent. “Just curious. Did Olaf go with Miguel?”

  “No. He’ll run things here and then meet Miguel at the fort with any business that needs taking care of before the cattle are driven north.” She studied Elizabeth for a minute. “And if you’re planning on going along, think again. Miguel would be furious.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Maybe. But what could he do once I’m there?”

  The housekeeper gave her one long look before she left. “Sometimes it’s better not to try Miguel’s patience, young one.”

  • ♥ •

  “Dad-burn. My brains must be addled to have brung you here,” Olaf said. “Miguel will be mad enough to swallow a horned toad backwards when he sees you.”

  Elizabeth hardly paid attention. They had just arrived at the pens north of Bird’s Fort and the scene in front of her could have been out of a western movie.

  Longhorns milled, churning up the ground, their calves skittish as the vaqueros rode between them, the twenty-foot lariats whistling through the air, settling on a dogie’s neck. The trained horses drew up short, but the wrangler was already on the ground, hog-tying the calf for the branding. Elizabeth wasn’t close enough to smell the flesh roast or feel the sizzle from the iron, but she heard the calf’s bawl, and for a moment, she winced. Yet, it had to be done.

  The dust was so dense that she didn’t see Miguel until Diablo emerged from a cloud of it next to her.

  “What in blue blazes are you doing here?”

  Elizabeth had decided on the ride over she would ignore his wrath. She smiled sweetly. “You don’t think a twenty-first century Texas girl would miss a real roundup, do you?”

  “Stop it. I’ve had enough problems on this roundup without that craziness.” He looked for Olaf and glared at him as the man sidled his horse closer. “Is there an explanation for this?”

  “Not really. I was halfway here when one of the boys thought we were being trailed. I circled back after we made camp and found her bedding down for the night in a thicket of scrub oak. I figured it was easier bringin’ her than turnin’ around.”

  Miguel turned to stare at Elizabeth. “Have you gone daft? You were riding alone for two days? Apart from human vermin, there are rattlers and wolves out here. Did you think of that?”

  She refused to look away. No way was he going to know how scared she was the first night when she heard the coyotes howl. “I had a gun. I’ve done some camping. I built a fire.”

  Miguel groaned. “And what if that fire had attracted a drifter? He’d have had a fine time with a single woman. The gun wouldn’t matter. Why won’t you listen to me, Elizabeth, for your own safety? A roundup is no
place for you. Especially this one.”

  Olaf lifted his head. “Trouble?”

  “Not sure,” Miguel answered. “The Comanche have been following us. They haven’t stolen any cattle, so I think they’re leery about the braves still in the brig. Swift Hawk disappeared for a day, too, and I’m pretty sure he met with them, although he denies it.”

  Swift Hawk. Elizabeth had been so glad Miguel had taken him along, and now she’d forgotten he would be here. She never had gotten a chance to talk to him after that dance to make sure he understood there was nothing magical about her. Well, there certainly were enough cowboys around that he’d leave her alone.

  “I’m just glad this is the last of the branding,” Miguel said. “Tomorrow, we’ll start the herd north. I’ll ride as far as the Red River where our cattle will merge with some Tate-Johnson has waiting, and I’ll turn everything over to his trail boss. I should be home in a week or two.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I don’t have a tent for you. The men sleep in the open with their bedrolls, and I do the same. You’ll have to tough it out for tonight, and tomorrow, Olaf will start home with you. There is a boarding house at Bird’s Fort where you can spend tomorrow night.”

  She nodded demurely. This was not the right time to tell him she fully intended to ride the cattle drive with him.

  • ♥ •

  Miguel found her the next morning near the chuckwagon, deftly scrambling eggs in an iron skillet over an open fire. Cooky had a big grin on his face and from the expressions of the cowpunchers standing around with empty plates, Miguel felt an uneasiness settle over him.

  “Now, if you’ll just hand me the cheese you sliced,” Elizabeth said to Cooky, “and those peppers and onions I chopped, I’ll have the making of an omelet, here. Much tastier than those boiled eggs you’ve been eating.” She stirred the ingredients in, watching the cheese melt. “Oh, and check those potatoes.” She pointed toward a second skillet nestled between two rocks above part of the fire. “They should just about be fried.”

  Miguel stepped through the crowd and the cowboys fell back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Making myself useful.” She dished some eggs and potatoes on a plate and held it out to him. “Go on. Try it.”

  He took the plate. He couldn’t even begin to imagine Elena cooking for a crowd if she had lived. “You should be getting ready to ride out of here.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said and continued to serve the line of men.

  “Then why aren’t you with Olaf? I just saw him finish saddling the horses.”

  She served the last man and filled her own plate. “Because I’m riding with you.”

  “You’re what?” He was so surprised he nearly dropped his plate. Had she not understood his position yesterday? The woman was the most exasperating female he’d ever encountered.

  “I’m riding with you.” She leaned closer and whispered, “History is being made, even though you won’t believe me. I’m not missing this.”

  He tried not to let the sweet scent of her hair or the closeness of her lips to his ear deter him. “You most certainly are not coming on a cattle drive.”

  She sighed and turned back to the men who were greedily finishing their breakfasts. “Don Miguel wants to send me home. Apparently, he doesn’t think you deserve tasty meals.”

  Miguel grimaced as he heard the men mumble. The sly wench was trying to turn his men against him!

  “Not,” she said hastily, “that Cooky can’t do the same, since I brought this food with me. I was thinking if I could ride with you for several days, I could show him some other recipes.” She looked at the men hopefully and then lowered her head. “But I must obey don Miguel.”

  Obey? Since when did she decide to do that? She was using his own words against him. The men were giving him baleful stares, as though he had totally dishonored her.

  “I could use the lessons,” the young cook said, and the men started laughing.

  “You sure could!” one of them said.

  “Ah, come on, Boss.” One of the older men who had been with him for years spoke. “We’ll all protect her. What harm could come of it?”

  Miguel looked around at his men. There were twenty of them and not one had been with him less than five years. His glance fell on Swift Hawk, standing in shadow at the far end of the group, observing silently. The Indian had watched Elizabeth last night, but had drawn early duty. As far as Miguel knew, they hadn’t even spoken.

  “It’d be mighty nice to have somethin’ other than jerky and beans,” another voice said.

  Not only was he losing this battle, but he had no weapons to win the war, it seemed. The little minx had managed somehow to turn these brawling, independent men into schoolboys. And there she was, standing at his side, looking for all the world like a subdued, compliant woman who wanted nothing more than to serve a good, hot meal. She didn’t fool him. Not for one grasshopper-fast minute.

  Still, it was nice having her lying near him last night, even though he’d left plenty of respectable room between them.

  “All right,” he said at last, “but if you’re going to ride, you’re going to have to do your share of herding, as well. This isn’t a lady’s touring trip.”

  He got the distinct impression she was about to throw her arms around his neck, but she refrained. “Of course,” was all she said.

  • ♥ •

  The afternoon of the third day of the trip Miguel dropped back from point position to ride beside Elizabeth. So far, even though he hated to admit it, things had gone smoothly. The men were happy eating good meals, and Swift Hawk left her alone. Miguel frowned. Hawk had slipped off again last night, which made him uneasy, wondering what the Comanche were up to.

  He looked over at Elizabeth. She hadn’t complained when he’d assigned her to the flank near the rear. It was a dusty position, following the slow-moving herd, and the part of her face not covered by her bandana had been filthy. What other woman did he know—had ever known—who would put up with that? Still, she hadn’t whined; she’d just washed up in a basin like the men did, and gone on to help Cooky. He had to admire her for that. He was feeling a little guilty.

  “We’ll be camping by a river tonight,” he said. “I’ll make sure you have some privacy for a bath, if you want one.”

  She slanted him a look. “Will you be standing guard?”

  His mouth quirked on its own accord. “Well, someone will have to.” He could tell she was smiling behind the face cloth because her eyes lit up mischievously.

  “Are you sure—“ she started to say, and suddenly something exploded near the head of the herd and off to the left side, near a pile of boulders. The cattle began to bawl.

  “Dynamite!” Miguel said just as a second charge went off. The stock shoved against each other, beginning to mill.

  A third rumble rattled the earth. The longhorns started to run, gaining momentum with each yard.

  “Stampede!” Miguel yelled as he spurred Diablo forward. “Turn ‘em to the right! Circle around!”

  He had no idea why anyone would be using explosives out here. This was not mining country, and the railroad wasn’t even doing any surveying yet. He only hoped Elizabeth kept to the rear where she would be safe from the half-crazed cattle. Then he had no more time to think. Clouds of dust billowed around him as clods of earth flew up from the churning hooves of panicked cattle. He lost sight of Elizabeth and prayed for once that she’d obeyed him. He gave Diablo his head, moving in a great arc around the surging herd, trying to reach the point rider.

  Nearly an hour later, the herd had been contained. They were on a hillside with plenty of grass and a small creek nearby. Miguel decided they would hold off and camp there for the night. No sense taking spooky cattle farther than needed today.

  Elizabeth could still have her bath, but they might have to go further upstream around the hill. Miguel felt a smile begin. That would be better, anyhow. Maybe then he could join her, soaping her down, running his hands over
the silky flesh of her body, tasting her again. Where was she, anyway? He hadn’t seen her near the chuckwagon.

  She wasn’t in the area where the men had put the bedrolls, either. He walked to the river, but there was no sign of either her or Plata. Miguel checked the picket line when he came back to camp, but the mare wasn’t in it.

  Thirty minutes later, he tried not to give in to panic. Dusk was falling. Every wrangler that could be spared from keeping watch on the cattle was out searching. No one had seen Elizabeth or Plata since the stampede began.

  To add to Miguel’s misgivings, Swift Hawk was missing, as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN—COMANCHERIA

  Elizabeth tried to quell the panic slowly rising to hysteria in her throat. One moment she had been talking to Miguel, the next the stampede had started. For once, she heeded his orders to stay at the back of the herd, even though the churned-up dust choked her.

  Swift Hawk appeared out of a cloud of brown haze.

  “This way,” he yelled and pointed toward a cedar break to the right. “We can flank the herd as it’s turned.”

  She hesitated but a moment. It made sense. They would be away from the swirling chunks of debris and be ready to corral the front cattle as the herd was turned. She barely made it past the stand of trees when a muscular bare arm reached for her reins, jerking them from her hands and bringing her horse alongside.

  In another moment, a band of Comanche, stripes of red and black war paint on their faces, brandishing war shields and spears, surrounded her. She half-expected them to let out traditional war-whoops, but they were strangely silent, intent on leaning over their horses at full gallop.

  Swift Hawk rode beside her, having taken Plata’s reins. “Don’t worry,” he said earnestly, “you’ll be safe.”

  A cold knife of fear cut through her that had nothing to do with the speed of the horses racing over uneven ground. “What kind of craziness is this? Where are you taking me?”

  His intense look brought another shiver to her soul. “I’m taking you home. To Comanchería. To be with my people.”