Taming Talia

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  Natalia hesitated a moment and set two logs on the floor beside her. Trying not to think about the ordeals to come, she tapped on the door, then opened it. Jared was bare from the waist up. Again, she couldn’t help but admire his lean-muscled body and remember how he’d felt under her touch. Dios. She shook her head. How he looked and felt weren’t important. At least he’d managed to rid himself of his smelly outer garments. All things considered, she probably didn’t smell much better, but at least she hadn’t crawled around on the stable floor.

  She picked up the logs and carried them inside. Kneeling by the fire, she added one of the logs and said, “We’ll keep the fire going in this room to keep you from getting chilled.” She got to her feet, picked up his discarded clothes and, holding them away from her body, took them from the room. Not having any way to wash them, she’d just toss them out the back door and dispose of them the next time she went out to the stable.

  She gathered up the strips of linen she’d torn while he undressed and carried them back to her bedroom.

  His expression brightened when she entered the room, and made her heart beat faster. Hold on. Under no circumstances would she let him affect her so. The man was a Pinkerton agent and here to ruin her life.

  But for now, there was his injury to deal with. “All right, let me see what you’ve done.”

  “Pretty much what I thought—the small bone is the one broken. Got off lucky.”

  She nodded, taking in the discoloration and swelling. “Sí, it could have been much worse.”

  “I’ll take it easy today,” he said, shrugging his wide, muscular shoulders. “But my brother was up and around in a couple of days, or he would’ve been if he hadn’t decided to make my life a living hell.”

  “Well, you did break his leg.”

  “I did at that,” he said with a wry, almost boyish smile.

  Tilting her head to the side, she gazed down at his leg. “I guess I’d better wrap your leg now.”

  He nodded, his features contorted as if dreading the pain to come. “Make it tight. Start from the foot. Loop it around a couple of times in a figure eight.”

  She smiled, hesitating to admit her uncertainty. “I’ve never actually done this before. Sarita always took care of it. I wish I’d paid more attention.”

  “You can do it. I used to rewrap my brother’s leg, and I was just a lad.”

  “That was very nice of you—”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted with a bark of laughter. “All things considered.”

  All right. If Jared could do it when a lad, then she, a mature woman, could as well. Chewing on her bottom lip, she looped one of the linen strips around his foot, then up around his ankle and back around his foot again.

  “Once more,” he said. “Make sure the end is caught by the second wrapping.”

  Nodding, she did as he suggested, then began wrapping upward from his ankle.

  “Tighter.”

  She tugged on the linen, overlapping each edge with the next wrap. “Sorry. I know I’m hurting you.”

  Pale-faced, hands clenched, and gritting his teeth, Jared grew rigid the closer she came to his calf. “Just hurry up.”

  “You need to hold it up and support it while I get the linen around the back of your calf.”

  Jared raised his right leg, supporting it with both hands while she quickly wrapped the rest of his lower leg. “Tight enough?”

  “Any tighter and you might as well cut it off.” His face grew red, and his leg trembled with the effort of holding it up. “You know, a shot or two of whiskey wouldn’t be taken amiss.”

  “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” After securing the top of the linen wrap, she gently removed his hands, substituting her own, and carefully rested his leg back down on the pillows.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In all honesty, it was difficult to remain angry when he was in so much pain and needed her so badly. Reginald had never needed her. No one had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stranded by a freak snowstorm. Hampered by an untimely accident. Dependent on the good graces of the woman he was assigned to investigate. Not to mention mesmerized by the woman’s beauty and passion. Was there a worse way to end his career as a Pinkerton agent? If there was, he couldn’t imagine it.

  Seemed like he’d hit a streak of bad luck. His last assignment in the Texas Hill Country resulted in the opposite of what he was ordered to achieve. The young woman he’d returned to her fiancé turned out to be anything but happy. Starlight Tyler had run away when her mother had brokered an engagement with Jared’s client, who turned out to be a bona fide sadist. In the long run, Jared had decided to protect her from his client until her real love, the sheriff of a neighboring county, could mount a rescue. To his shame, it turned out Jared needed rescuing himself after the client’s henchmen jumped him and locked him up. Starlight was fiery, beautiful and quite a handful, and Sheriff Cordero Tate was welcome to her.

  Jared’s superiors at Pinkerton weren’t happy, but he couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d just turned that young woman over to a man who was intent on abusing her for his own sick gratification. There were many operatives at the agency who followed orders to the letter. It was the job for which they were paid, and they did it. No matter what was ordered. No matter who was hurt.

  No doubt, a paycheck from Pinkerton was money in the bank and more dependable than any stray gambling winnings he picked up along the way. Risking his career for the sake of yet another woman could well prove the end of steady employment. And that was no way to show gratitude to the friend who’d recommended him for the position.

  This wasn’t the life he’d planned. Hell, he hadn’t planned anything beyond university. Being disowned during his third year had put a crimp in his social standing and any plans he might’ve made after completing his education.

  Another muscle spasm cut short his reverie. Damn. Where was she? Where was that whiskey? “Talia!”

  She returned with a rush, a pile of folded clothes over one arm and a bottle of whiskey in her other. “I thought you might like some clean clothes. I wish we could bathe. Maybe I can melt some snow so that we can at least sponge clean. As for your—uh, bodily needs—”

  “My needs? Never you mind about those. I’ll manage my needs.” He straightened up, snatched the shirt and started redressing. The very idea of her mentioning his bodily needs, much less allowing her to attend to them, was too horrifying to contemplate.

  Talia laughed. “I had no idea you were so modest, Señor Fields.”

  “If I couldn’t—you know—manage, then I’d rather be dead.” Indeed, he would drag his body to the necessary before he’d depend on Talia for such.

  “I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted me, that Reginald installed a water closet in one of the rooms we seldom used. It’s the door next to his bedchamber.” She sat on the edge of the chaise and handed him a bottle of whiskey. “Here,” she said in a soothing voice. “Perhaps, this will ease your pain somewhat and temper your mood.”

  “Nothing wrong with my mood.” He held the bottle to his lips and gulped down what turned out to be a very fine Scotch whiskey. “Nothing wrong with your late husband’s taste in liquor either.”

  “Only the very best would do for dear departed Reginald Montrose. Most of all, I was never good enough.” As she leaned forward, her eyes glimmering, she smiled and said, “I’ll risk your thinking ill of me, but I had him buried in the cheapest pine box available. Food for worms, guaranteed.”

  Jared reared back, rubbing his chin. “Jesus, Talia! You have a vengeful streak.”

  “’Tis true. And you would do well to remember it.” Tweaking his nose, she rose from the chaise. She headed toward the door, her rounded hips swaying, then stopped and over her shoulder said with her most innocent smile, “I’ll be getting that snowpack now.”

  In spite of his surprise at Talia’s bold-as-brass statement, he couldn’t help but admire the passion of her
underlying threat. No doubt Montrose got exactly what he deserved. However, Jared, not Montrose, was now the man caught in her clutches, so to speak. Still, he wasn’t afraid. In spite of her take-no-prisoners, frank speech, she possessed a good heart.

  It went without saying the elder Montrose wouldn’t take Jared’s personal assessment as proof of anything. The only thing he could do, if the damned snow ever melted, was find out who else might’ve wanted Montrose dead. If the man was as arrogant and despised as reported, he must’ve made more enemies than just his wife.

  The door to the bedroom opened, and Talia entered carrying what was apparently an oilcloth full of snow. She spread a bath towel over his lower leg, then set the cold pack on top of the towel.

  He tensed from the shock of the snow pack. “Cold,” he said with a mock shiver and took another gulp of whiskey. The smooth liquor warmed as it slid down his throat. Damned good stuff.

  She shot him a quick smile. “That’s the point. I found some ice that slid off the roof and broke it up. It won’t melt as quickly as the snow.”

  “Thank you.” This woman was not a killer. Might as well get it over with. Had to question her about her husband’s death. Frowning, he leaned forward. “Talia, what do you think? Was your husband intentionally murdered?”

  “He’s dead,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I’d say the answer to that is a resounding ‘Sí’.”

  “There’s a difference between a bar fight that goes too far and a death that’s ordered and carried out.”

  Twisting her hair off her neck, she shrugged. “I confess I never thought too much about it.” Not meeting his gaze, she stared over his shoulder. “I was too relieved he was out of my life.”

  “But as his wife, you had the greatest motive. Or did he have enemies—other than you? Did Sheriff Moulton question you at all?” Best find out what he could before he slipped into the whiskey’s embrace.

  A clear expression of calculation passed across her face, but it was fleeting. “No. He merely came here and informed me Reginald was dead. That he’d been killed in a bar fight. I’d been at the ranch all day and all evening. Sarita was here with me, as well as Reginald’s fancy cook from back East. He may have questioned the servants regarding how we got along, but he never questioned me directly.”

  “How did you learn the truth about your husband’s death?”

  “Sí, the truth.” She shot him a rueful smile. “The very next day. Bad news travels fast in a small town, and a scandal spreads like wildfire. Needless to say, every woman who called on me—some of them for the first time ever—fed me the sordid details. So very apologetic. So very sympathetic, and so delighted to spread the filth they nearly vibrated with it.”

  “I’m sorry, Talia. It must’ve been rough.”

  “After the third busybody, I quit receiving callers.” Avoiding his gaze, she stared at her hands folded in her lap. Then just as suddenly, she looked at him, her dark eyes piercing. “Who are you, Jared? Is that even your name?”

  Damn. He’d gone too far. Asked too many leading questions. But he wasn’t ready to reveal his identity. Not yet.

  He shrugged. “The puzzle of it intrigues me.”

  “If I didn’t know better…” She paused, challenging him with her eyes. “I would think you’re questioning me as if you were a lawyer…or something.”

  Or something? Suspicion was unmistakable in her skeptical expression. “Anyone would have questions about your husband’s death.” Still, he hated questioning the woman he’d made love to only last night. As much as he wanted to reveal his identity, he couldn’t risk it.

  Her regal nose went up in the air. “I don’t. I simply thank the Blessed Mother for her intervention.”

  “Convenient that it worked out that way.” He couldn’t keep the biting tone from his words, no matter how hard he tried. “What if it hadn’t? Would you have lived the rest of your life imprisoned by a miserable marriage?”

  “What other choice did I have?” Her dark eyes widened. “Marriage is for life.”

  The sincerity when she said “for life” got to him. “You could’ve paid someone to kill him.”

  “I know what you think. And who you are. Jared Fields, Pinkerton agent!”

  She knows! How? When? He took a hurried swallow of the mellow scotch.

  “While you were outside injuring yourself, I did some snooping of my own. Very careless of you to leave that telegram in your pocket. I didn’t kill my husband, and I didn’t order anyone else to do it either!”

  She rose, her fists clenched at her sides and fire in her eyes. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, she appeared as if she might just want to kill Jared instead.

  He began, “I wanted to tell you—”

  “Like hell you did.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve had plenty of time to tell me what a low-down skunk you are. Like when we were in bed. Like when I found you going through my ledgers. I should break your other leg. Who hired you, Pinkerton?” She paced up and down the room, waving her hands in the air. “Tell me! I know it was Reginald’s father, wasn’t it? Reginald received a letter from him every year, telling him to get rid of his Mexican whore. I—who have the finest blood of the Spanish conquistadores flowing through my veins.”

  He could well believe it. She was all righteous indignation and regal beauty rolled into one package. “All right. I’ll tell you everything. First, I don’t believe you had your husband killed. Second, if you were going to kill him, it would be in a fit of anger, not by hiring someone to do it.” Although she seemed to be in near-murderous pique right now, Jared thought, hugging the bottle. “Yes, it was your father-in-law who hired the Pinkerton Agency. I am one of their agents, and I was sent here to investigate your husband’s death. To see if you had anything to do with it. And if you did, I was to bring you to justice.”

  “And if not…?”

  “If not, then I was to bring you back to New York City—”

  “New York City? Why would his father want the Mexican whore brought there?”

  “In case there was an heir involved.”

  “An heir?” she scoffed. “No. He just wanted to regain control of whatever money Reginald hadn’t given away. You know, there’s no real money left. He found gold but gave it to my father for the land and cattle. My father drove a very hard bargain. And now, that’s all there is—the land and the cattle. But I know how to run a cattle ranch. We are self-sufficient, depending on…” A cloud crossed her face.

  “What is it?”

  “The cattle were in La Mesa,” she said, “waiting for the train to take them to market. If they didn’t get loaded before the snowstorm hit, I could lose them all.”

  Her stricken expression touched him. He cared more about Talia losing her cattle than he could’ve ever imagined. He rushed to encourage her. “Maybe it won’t be as bad in town. They’re not marooned there like we are here.”

  “It could be just as bad. What if the train was delayed by the snow in the mountains?” She sank onto the chaise beside him, covering her face with her hands. “What will I do? If the cattle don’t make it to market, I’ll lose the money they would have brought. If I lose the cattle, I could lose the land. And I can’t lose the land. I’ve put up with too much. Suffered the pain and humiliation of being Reginald’s Mexican slut. The one he didn’t want…except to use. Certainly not a woman he’d father a child with.”

  Jared set the whiskey bottle aside, then cradled her in his arms, inhaling her womanly scent. How had she managed to stay so fresh when he hadn’t? Another question: What if he’d already fathered a child with Talia? How could he just leave her with a failing ranch if there was a child on the way? His child. If there was, it was too soon to know. “It’ll work out. You’ll see.” More useless words of hope.

  “Don’t patronize me, Pinkerton.” Sniffing, Talia squirmed free of his embrace. “I know it’ll work out. I’m strong. I can take anything fortune sends my way. I always have.”

 
“I don’t doubt it. What if I stay on after the snow melts?” The words were out of his mouth like runaway horses before he could rein them in. What in blue blazes was he saying?

  “Stay on? Why would you do that?”

  “What if we’ve made a child, Talia?”

  “A child?” Realization dawned in her eyes. They lit as from within; then she shuttered them and averted her gaze. “I can raise a child on my own.”

  “A child should have a father to love him as well as a mother. My father—”

  “Mine never loved me,” she said, her dark gaze flashing. “Or if he did, he had a miserable way of demonstrating it. No. I’ll not have another man ruling my life. Not even one as handsome as you, Pinkerton.”

  Every time she uttered the word Pinkerton, it sounded more and more like an insult. “What would the townsfolk think, or worse, say?”

  “They wouldn’t have to know. If I’m already with child, I’ll say it was Reginald’s.”

  “And then Reginald’s father—”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “To hell with his father. Short of his coming here and dragging me to New York, there’s nothing he can do.”

  “That’s what I’ve been paid to do, Talia,” he said, gently reminding her of his mission.

  “But you’re not going to, are you?” She gazed up at him, her expression soft but full of shadows. “No, I can see into your heart. You’re a good man, Pinkerton, in spite of what you’ve been hired to do.”

  Her trust in his innate goodness touched him in a place he’d guarded and long thought dead—his heart. This woman unlocked feelings he’d never before acknowledged, much less experienced. She was tough on the outside and yet so soft beneath. More than anything, he wanted to protect her from everything and everyone.

  “No. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” Was this feeling what his university friends called “falling in love”? Was it caring more about her life than his? Was it putting her interests ahead of his?