Cowboys 08 - Luke

by Leigh Greenwood

  But Luke's ruthless attitude didn't come from a sense of duty. It probably came from a totally utilitarian approach to problems. Drain the situation of all emotion, all prejudice, all preference, then do what works the best.

  Valeria conceded that she ought to admire such an attitude, but she didn't. She'd been denied emotions her whole life. Now that she discovered she actually had likes and dislikes, could admit the presence of emotion, she'd decided she liked it.

  She had no intention of letting Luke amputate her arm. It would certainly be scarred, but she wanted to keep it.

  "Time to mount up," Luke said.

  Valeria couldn't recall when she'd ever heard more ominous words. Her body ached at the mere thought of what was in store. But she was determined not to let Luke know how much she dreaded what lay ahead. She supposed she'd developed a cynical attitude, but she still had her pride. She might be a deposed princess, but she was still a princess. She was going to act like one if it killed her.

  Faced with the prospect of getting into that saddle, she figured it probably would. "How about another cup of coffee?" she asked.

  "You hate my coffee." "I never said that."

  "When you acted like you'd swallowed alum water, I figured it out."

  "It's just that it's so strong."

  "You could have put some water in it."

  She would have if she had been able to get used to the idea that she and the horses drank from the same stream. That shouldn't have bothered her. Luke's coffee was strong enough to kill and dissolve the bodies of any critters that might be in the water.

  "I'll learn to drink it your way. It's probably the only way anybody in Arizona knows how to make it."

  "It's time to stop stalling and mount up. It'll soon be daylight."

  Maybe he considered that barely perceptible lightening in the deep blue velvet overhead a sign dawn was on its way, but as far as she was concerned a single candle could have been responsible for it.

  Luke put his hands around her waist. "Wait!" she cried, but it was too late. She was in the air and settled on the saddle before the sound of her plea finished echoing down the canyon. Every muscle from the bottom of her feet to the back of her neck screamed its objection, but Luke had handed her the reins and walked over to his horse. He had already packed up the food and cooking pots.

  "We have a long day ahead of us," he said as he swung into the saddle. "I was serious when I said I want you to let me know when you need to stop. If you're this sore when we stop tonight, you'll never get the saddle tomorrow."

  That thought gladdened her soul until she realized Luke would probably leave her. No, he'd said he'd get her to Rudolf's ranch one way or the other. She wondered if that could include being slung over the saddle like a sack of flour. She didn't know where the ranch might be, but she wasn't going to set one foot off the property until Rudolf built a proper road to town. A couple more days of this, and a war would be a welcome relief.

  She had landed in an incomprehensible, uncomfortable, uncompromising world. She still didn't know if she liked it, but she did know she didn't want to go back to Rudolf's kingdom or to Belgravia. She found it hard to believe, but this new land appealed to her.

  She hoped Zeke didn't forget to tell Rudolf she didn't want to marry him. She really didn't want to marry Rudolf. Only Luke interested her, but that seemed like a recipe for disaster. Or hurt. He didn't want to get married.

  He didn't even like her. He thought she was an idiot, a useless ornament.

  She would prove him wrong even if it was the last thing she did.

  Which was probably the reason she didn't tell him to stop until she fell out of the saddle.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Luke cussed long and loud. Only pure luck caused him to turn in time to see Valeria swaying in the saddle. He practically had to throw himself off his horse to catch her before she fell. Why hadn't she asked him to stop? He'd told her to before they left camp. He looked for a flat, shady place to lay her down. They had left the canyon to climb a series of low hills east of the San Pedro River. The midday sun was directly overhead. The best he could do was rocky ground and the partial shade of a juniper.

  He didn't know much about a woman's constitution, but he thought Valeria looked sick rather than exhausted. Maybe she'd had a heat stroke. She couldn't be used to riding in heat above a hundred degrees. It never got above the middle eighties in her mountain country. Dammit, why hadn't she asked him to stop!

  He removed his bandana, soaked it with water from his canteen, and bathed her forehead. She didn't respond. He put his hand inside her dress to make sure her heart was still beating. The feel of his hand on her bare skin caused his body to swell. He cussed himself. What kind of man was he when even his concern for Valeria's life couldn't outstrip his lust for her body? A man who'd lost his usual control and didn't know how to get it back.

  He bathed her face and neck. When she still didn't stir, he opened her dress and bathed her chest and the tops of her breasts. He did his best to concentrate on figuring out what to do for her, but the sight of her soft, white skin made a mockery of his control. He couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to caress that soft flesh, to taste it with his mouth, with his tongue.

  Much more of this, and he'd be the one having a heat stroke.

  Fortunately, Valeria groaned and opened her eyes.

  "What happened?" she asked, her words slurred.

  "You fainted?" "Did I fall?"

  "No. I managed to catch you."

  She looked directly into his eyes and smiled. "I should have known you would."

  He wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he did know its effect on him was unwelcome. His heart beat so fast he felt breathless. He attempted to counter the effect with anger. "Why didn't you tell me you needed to rest?"

  She averted her gaze. "I didn't feel tired."

  "You're lying. You looked so awful I thought for a minute you were dead."

  Her gaze swung back. "Thanks for telling me. You don't know how much better than makes me feel." He'd known he had said the wrong thing the minute he opened his mouth, but he wasn't used to watching his tongue when he was upset, and he was definitely upset. "I'm not very good with words."

  "So far you've managed to express yourself very well." She tried to sit up, but her strength failed her. "Don't move. You need rest."

  "No, I don't."

  "Yes, you do."

  "Very well, I do, but how am I going to get it in this sweltering sun?"

  He didn't want to take her back to the canyon. They would lose practically a whole day. Besides, it was mis erably hot in the canyon, even in the shade.

  "I can use the horses to help block the sun." "They're liable to step on me."

  "Then I'll shade you."

  "You'd do that?"

  She sounded surprised. He wasn't one to mollycoddle people, but he didn't hold back when they really needed help.

  "I promised to get you to your ranch."

  "I forgot your pride." She sounded slightly angry. "You couldn't possibly let anything jeopardize your unbroken record of success. If you failed even once, you might actually have to admit you're human."

  He hated thinking his record of success was meaningless. It was his measure of a man, of who he was, of his proof he was the best. But a woman who'd never had to do anything couldn't understand something like that. "What would a pampered princess know about being human?" he demanded.

  "Not much when I started this journey, but I've learned a great deal since I met you."

  "I asked you to tell me when you needed rest," he said. "Why didn't you?"

  "Do you want the truth?"

  "Of course I want the truth. It's a waste of time to lie." There were times he didn't understand her at all. "I'm tired of being treated like a pampered, useless, weak, stupid female. I wanted to prove I could stay in the saddle as long as you could."

  "But you're not a man."

  "You can't blame that on my being a pr
incess."

  "I didn't mean it like that. Besides, you're not used to the desert."

  Her defiance seemed to collapse. "I probably never will be."

  "You can get used to anything. Now let me make you more comfortable."

  But the moment he touched her wounded arm, she grimaced. "Is your arm hurting more?"

  She looked at him as though weighing every word. "I don't know."

  "Why can't you give me a straight answer?"

  "Because I never know what you're going to do."

  He didn't understand her. The harder he tried to consider her feelings, the more angry she became. He wished Isabelle were here. She could tell him what to do.

  "Are you afraid of me?" he asked as he removed her bandage. It was obvious she didn't want to answer. "Come on, I'm not going to beat you."

  "There are worse things than a beating."

  How could she know? Probably nothing worse than missing dessert had ever happened to her. At least until the last week. "Maybe, but are you afraid of me?"

  "Yes."

  He wouldn't have cared if it had come from another woman, but from Valeria it bothered him. "Why?"

  "Because you're always angry with me."

  "I'm not."

  "Yes, you are."

  "No, I'm not!"

  "See, you're shouting. You're angry at me."

  He forced himself to speak in a level voice. "I'm frustrated. That's not the same."

  "It sounds the same."

  It obviously wouldn't do any good to tell her she was wrong. "Why do you think I'm angry with you?"

  He didn't like what he saw once he removed the bandage. The wound was still angry and red. He couldn't get rid of the fear that somehow gangrene might set in. Obviously his whiskey treatment wasn't sufficient.

  "You act like I'm so useless I'm a waste of your time. You've made it abundantly clear you think all royalty ought to be eliminated. You've also made it very clear you think I'm the worst example of my class you've ever encountered. If not the worst female ever. I'm surprised you bothered to stop Otto from killing me. Oh, I forgot your precious record of unbroken success. You couldn't let the elimination of someone as worthless as myself endanger your reputation."

  He was angry that she'd misjudged him so badly. He'd gone against his better judgment in accepting this job. He'd spent hours trying to explain America to her, what she had to learn to survive. He'd never spent that much time with any woman, never cared so much about any woman's well-being.

  And that didn't take into account the effect she had on him physically. He didn't know if that would please her or insult her, but he'd be damned if he'd give her the pleasure of knowing she had him in knots.

  "I've never heard such nonsense in my whole life," he said as he started to replace the bandage. "You're obviously delirious. I'm taking you to a doctor. I don't like the looks of that wound."

  "How many days will that take? I'll probably be dead before we get there."

  "It won't take more than a few hours. There's a town about thirty miles from here."

  "Where?"

  "Beyond those ridges." "But there's nothing here."

  "We're close to the Gila River. There are at least a dozen towns along it."

  She seemed to swell up like a puff toad. "Do you mean there are towns all around here, and you've been dragging me through the hottest, most uncomfortable places you could find?"

  "I didn't want to take a chance on anyone trying to kill you."

  That took the steam out of her. "Can you stand up?" he asked. "Of course."

  She couldn't. She could barely keep her feet under her with him holding her up.

  "We'll have to ride double," he said. "How can we do that?"

  "We'll manage. Can you stay in the saddle for a few seconds without me holding you?"

  "Of course."

  That was what she'd said about standing up, but he'd have to hope she was right this time. He brought their horses close together. "Hang on," he said as he lifted her into the saddle. She blanched, but managed to hold on. Luke mounted immediately. "Now I'm going to lift you out of your saddle onto my lap."

  "That's impossible."

  "Probably, but like you said, I have no intention of letting you ruin my record. Here goes."

  It wasn't easy to lift a woman out of the saddle when you were astride another horse. He had no leverage. He grunted when he lifted Valeria. There was nothing graceful about it as he dragged her into his lap.

  She looked appalled to find herself in his arms. "Relax. I'm not going to teach you any more lessons about being alone with strange men."

  "I didn't think you would. Once you give your word, I'm sure nothing can induce you to break it. It's how you feel about me that I don't like."

  He had an almost irresistible urge to tell her how he really felt, but he doubted she would believe him. More important, he didn't want to believe it.

  If he did, what could he do to keep himself safe?

  "Bring her right in," Mrs. Alice Brightman said. "I'll put her straight to bed while you fetch the doctor."

  "I don't need to go to bed," Valeria said. "I just need to get out of the sun."

  "Nonsense," Mrs. Brightman said. "You look worn to a frazzle. After the doctor sees you, I'll give you some cold chicken and tuck you into bed."

  By the time they reached the little community of Ogden, Valeria expected to faint again at any moment. Luckily Mrs. Brightman took her inside immediately. Valeria didn't want to be treated like an invalid-it wouldn't help her campaign to make Luke respect herbut she felt too tired to resist. She'd be strong and independent tomorrow. Tonight she simply wanted to go to sleep and forget this nightmarish journey.

  "Fetch the doctor," Mrs. Brightman said when Luke laid Valeria down on the bed. "I can take care of her for now."

  "I'm worried about the wound," Luke said.

  "I'll clean it," Mrs. Brightman said. "Go on," she said when Luke seemed reluctant to leave. "You can trust me to take care of her."

  "He's not worried about me," Valeria said after the door closed behind Luke. "He's worried about his precious reputation."

  Mrs. Brightman laughed easily. "I've never known him to be indifferent to a beautiful woman."

  "Maybe, but he has a particularly strong dislike for me."

  She sounded like a jealous woman. If she'd had any doubt about it, Mrs. Brightman's reaction would have eliminated it. Her eyes opened a little wider, became a little brighter, and her expression become positively eager. "Now why would he have that?"

  Valeria had allowed her feelings to run away with her, something she never did. Now she had to offer some explanation and hope it didn't lead to more curiosity. "I was born into a privileged position," Valeria explained, "and Mr. Attmore doesn't approve of privilege."

  Mrs. Brightman gently pushed Valeria's shoulders down until she lay on the bed. She drew a sheet over her. "Luke wouldn't care about that, only what a person can do."

  "That's the whole problem. I can't do anything. He thinks I'm a useless ornament."

  And he was right. Looking back on her life from her new vantage point, she had to concede she hadn't been raised to do anything that could actually contribute to the well-being of anyone, even herself.

  "I'm sure you'll learn," Mrs. Brightman said, cheer fully. "It'll be a whole lot easier once your arm's well." "That's not as much of a problem as the rest of me." "How do you mean?"

  "I'm quite a capable rider, but I'm not used to riding from dawn until dusk. My entire body aches. It hurts to sit in the saddle."

  "Let me see," Mrs. Brightman said. She wasn't shy about lifting Valeria's skirts and pulling down her undergarments. "Merciful heavens!" she exclaimed. "I don't see how you can sit down without screaming."

  Valeria was so glad to have someone sympathize with her, she pretended it didn't hurt as much as it did. "It's not that bad, but it is hard to enjoy the scenery."

  "There's no scenery in this part of the territory worth look
ing at," Mrs. Brightman declared, "but I wouldn't notice a stampeding herd of antelope if my bottom looked like yours. I'll rub some ointment on it immediately."

  Mrs. Brightman rubbed every part of her from the underside of her knees to the curve of her bottom until she felt her skin sting from friction.

  "There," Mrs. Brightman said after she'd righted Valeria's clothes and pulled the sheet over her again, "that will feel better in a little bit."

  "Thank you," Valeria said, but she didn't feel any better.

  "Let me get this wound cleaned up. I don't know what Luke was doing. I've never known him to get a woman shot before."

  "He kept me from being killed," Valeria said.

  "His mind couldn't have been on his job. Everybody knows no killer gets past Luke. You sure he hasn't taken a shine to you?"

  Valeria didn't understand the words, but she understood their meaning. "Luke doesn't like me at all. And the killer didn't get past him. My uncle hired one of my trusted advisers to kill me."

  "I always did say nobody makes a worse enemy than kin," Mrs. Brightman said. "Did he do this to you?" She had unwrapped the wound.

  "Yes."

  "Then you don't have much to worry about. He can't be a good shot."