The Rancher's Courtship & Lone Wolf's Lady

by Laurie Kingery

  Tom blew out a sigh. This wasn’t the least bit funny, and once it was all said and done, he’d find a way to get back at Trapper for his shenanigans.

  “Mount up,” he told her. “We’ll talk about it while we ride.”

  “I promise not to be any trouble.”

  Tom clicked his tongue. “You’d be a bushel of trouble if you were sound asleep.”

  She stood tall again and placed one hand on her hip. Her chin lifted, exposing an ivory-skinned neck, where her pulse fluttered.

  When he faced her, close enough to breathe in her lilac scent, close enough to touch, he couldn’t help but run his knuckles along her cheek. As he did, her breath caught, though she didn’t draw back. She didn’t smile, either. She just watched him with eyes as big and wide as the sky.

  For a moment he forgot why he was here, why he was angry at her for tagging along, for slowing his pace.

  But as reality set in, he slowly shook his head and said, “Let’s go. I’ve wasted enough time already.”

  As she turned to take a step toward the mare, her right leg gave out. He reached out and caught her before she fell.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I twisted my ankle when I fell. If you’ll just help me to my horse, I’ll be fine.”

  He knew she wasn’t the type of woman to ask for help, even if she were in a real fix. In fact, any other woman would have screamed and cried when the horse threw her. And then again when those ruffians found her.

  Just thinking about what might have happened to her turned his stomach inside out. Ned and Georgie didn’t seem to have a single brain between them, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have hurt her, given the chance.

  Of course, Tom had to give her credit for outsmarting them, but what would have happened if that rattler hadn’t been in those weeds?

  And what if Tom hadn’t recognized Hannah’s mare? What if he hadn’t heard all the commotion and come riding fast to see what was going on?

  Katie might insist that she was fine, but he knew better than to believe her. So he scooped her into his arms, intent upon assessing her injury.

  “You don’t need to carry me. A shoulder to lean on would have been sufficient.”

  “It’s easier this way.”

  He was surprised at how little effort it took to hold her—and amazed at the light scent of lilac that laced the smell of trail dust and leather.

  In spite of the rugged denim she wore, she felt small in his arms—and soft. Yet he wouldn’t underestimate her. He knew that he held a powerful pack of woman. And that it would take a special kind of man to tangle with a spitfire like her on a daily basis.

  Tom might be stuck with her over the next couple of days, but once they returned from Stillwater and he sent her back to Pleasant Valley, he’d be through with her, and she’d be another man’s problem.

  He carried her to a good-size boulder and set her down on it. Then he reached for her right boot and gave it a gentle tug. She grimaced until it slipped off her foot.

  Her ankle was bruised and swollen, although he didn’t think that it was broken.

  “Can you get that boot back on?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  After she’d done so, he lifted her into his arms again and carried her to Gully Washer.

  It was easier that way, he told himself. It was nicer, too. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, the way she clung to him as if she needed him, as if they’d entered a dream world where their many differences no longer mattered.

  But that world didn’t exist.

  After helping her mount, he said, “Let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”

  Then he climbed onto his gelding as if nothing had happened, as if he’d never held her in his arms.

  As if he’d never imagined there could ever be anything more between them.

  * * *

  When Tom finally called a halt to eat the midday meal, it was already so late in the afternoon that Katie thought she’d ridden as far as she could go without collapsing from exhaustion and falling off her horse.

  The dust alone made her clothing feel pounds heavier than when she’d started out this morning, and her stomach had growled and rumbled itself into a knot.

  She licked her parched lips. What she wouldn’t give for a cool glass of well water, a bowl of Hannah’s chicken stew and a warm bath, but she’d die before admitting her discomfort. After all, she’d promised not to be any trouble, and she’d meant it.

  Tom swung down from his mount and then surveyed the area he’d chosen for them to rest and eat. “There’s a stream where you can wash up. I’ll take care of the horses.”

  As much as she wanted to stretch her legs, she wasn’t sure if she could dismount on her own.

  Fortunately, Tom was by her side before she could try or ask for help. When he reached for her, she was tempted to object and claim she could do it on her own, but she feared she’d collapse into a heap if she didn’t accept his assistance.

  His arms were strong, his stance sturdy. So she leaned into him until he swung her from the horse. Yet he still held on to her.

  “Can you stand on your own?” he asked.

  “I’ll try.”

  As he released her and took a step back, her right leg wobbled. Before she knew it, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. As her cheek rested against his shoulder, his scent, a swirl of musk, leather and soap, sent her senses reeling.

  As if knowing that he’d somehow added to her unbalance, his eyes searched hers, holding her in some kind of silent dance—or maybe it was a duel. She couldn’t be sure which.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “My ankle feels better now. It’s just a little stiff and sore.”

  When he loosened his embrace and allowed her to stand on her own, a weakness settled over her. A weakness from the long, hard ride, no doubt.

  But before she could gather her wits, a soft rattling sounded to the right of her. She stifled a scream, reached for him and held on tight. “Oh, no. It’s another rattlesnake.”

  “It’s cicadas.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A kind of locust.”

  “Are you sure it’s not a rattlesnake?”

  “I’d be in a real fix if I didn’t know the difference between the two.”

  As she tried to take a step, her right ankle nearly gave out on her again, and she grimaced.

  “Does it hurt that badly?” A hint of compassion softened his voice and warmed his gaze.

  “No, not really.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “All right, it does, but I’m not one to complain.”

  He lifted his brow as though challenging her honesty.

  “I’m not.”

  “Maybe not about pain, but you don’t keep your complaints or objections to yourself. Not as a rule.”

  “I suppose you have a point.”

  A slow smile slid across his face. “That being agreed upon, I’m going to take you down to the stream that runs along here. I’ll find a safe spot where you can rest. I think soaking your ankle will help relieve the pain. But the path may be a bit crooked and steep.”

  Then, in a move that was becoming all too familiar, he lifted her into his arms and carried her along a tree-lined path to the water’s edge.

  Katie held on to his shoulder with one hand and felt the corded muscles that lay hidden beneath his cotton shirt. At one time, she might have struggled with her vulnerability, but here, in the dappled sunlight with Tom McCain, she didn’t feel the least bit helpless.

  Why was that?

  After he set her down on the sandy shoreline, he held her steady until she could balance herself—perhaps holding on a bit longer than necessary.

  “Are you going to be all right alone?” he asked.

  She nodded, not a
t all sure that she would be. Then she scanned the grassy brush that surrounded the creek. “You...uh...don’t suppose there are any snakes around here, do you?”

  “I’m afraid this is where they live, Katie.”

  She’d hoped to hold her reaction, but she feared her face had paled and her expression had given her away.

  Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, because he said, “Just so you know, snakes don’t attack. They only try to protect themselves. If you stay in the clearing, you should be safe.”

  Katie wanted to question him further, to insist that he stay nearby, just in case she needed help. But in her heart of hearts, she knew it was more than fear of snakes that had her wanting him to stay close.

  The man held a dark and rugged appeal she was at a loss to explain, and she liked having him near.

  But she couldn’t very well admit to any of that, so she let him go, watching as he walked away and feeling more and more exposed with each step he took.

  Chapter Seven

  Tom watered the horses downstream, then he retrieved Katie’s valise and returned to the spot where he’d left her to soak her ankle. He hoped her bag held everything she’d want or need. It was certainly bulky enough.

  When he’d realized she’d been following him, he’d wanted to lash out at her for her rebellious nature, for her insistence upon going to Stillwater to meet Harrison Graves. He’d also wanted to throttle Trapper for setting up the fool travel plan.

  But when Tom realized that Katie had been in danger and that she’d been injured, he’d softened to the point that he’d felt an overwhelming urge to protect her with his life. And then he’d wanted to lash out at himself.

  What had he been thinking?

  It must have been the scent of lilacs, the feel of her in his arms, the way she gazed at him as if he’d been some kind of hero, at least in her eyes.

  For a moment, he’d even liked the thought of it.

  How could he be the least bit tempted by a woman who’d surely be the death of him if he’d so much as consider her as a...

  As a what?

  A woman to court, to marry?

  No, that was plum crazy, and he scoffed at the very idea.

  When he neared the stream, his breath caught at the sight of her sitting on a rock. Even wearing boy’s clothing, there was no mistaking her for anything but a woman through and through.

  She’d rolled up her pant legs, and her bare feet hung in the cool water.

  If he’d had all the time in the world, he might have remained in the shadows, watching her from several paces back. But he was determined to make it to the Lazy G before dark. And even if he hadn’t had anything pressing to do, he wouldn’t waste his time daydreaming about things that would never be.

  “I brought your bag,” he said. “I thought you might need it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He made his way toward the stream. “Does the cold water help?”

  “Yes, my ankle feels much better now.” She bit down on her lower lip, as if wanting to add something more but pondering the wisdom of it. She finally said, “I’m sorry for slowing your pace. I know you’re in a hurry. I really didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  A sharp retort would have come easy, but for some reason, he shrugged off his irritation. “I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it.”

  At that point, he should have excused himself and left her alone, but he didn’t. Instead, he studied the way she wiggled her toes in the water, the way she leaned forward, the way the sun highlighted the gold strands in her auburn locks.

  She was an intriguing woman—not at all like the others he knew. She was pretty, to be sure. And as feisty as all get-out. Rebellious to a fault. She was also bright.

  He really had to give her credit for outsmarting those ruffians who’d tried to take advantage of her. Another woman might have fallen apart at the seams, but she’d kept her composure.

  Still, while he admired her wit, it was her outspoken nature he objected to.

  “You must be a real challenge to the men in your life,” he said.

  She looked up and smiled. “That’s true. My father valued education and taught me to read when I was very young. Once I mastered that, he taught me to debate. And I must admit, it frustrated him at times, but he appreciated a well-thought-out argument.”

  “I imagine you had some interesting conversations at the dinner table.”

  “We certainly did.” Her smile drifted away. “But not everyone was as understanding. My teachers didn’t like to be challenged. And the other children at school often avoided me for that reason. And for other reasons, as well. My childhood, while it seemed typical to me, was much different from the other girls.”

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “I grew up with an imaginary mother instead of a real one—and a library of books instead of a playroom of dolls and toys.”

  Her candor surprised him.

  “Children can be cruel,” she added, “especially when they perceive another child to be different, which is why I didn’t put up with that kind of behavior in my classroom when I was a teacher.”

  Katie didn’t have to tell Tom about how mean kids could be. At least the taunts she’d suffered hadn’t led to fistfights, black eyes and bloody noses.

  It was odd that they could be such opposites yet share some similarities. Of course, Katie could have saved herself a lot of trouble by keeping her mouth shut. And he couldn’t do anything about the color of his skin or the Comanche blood that ran through his veins.

  “Do you think you can walk?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I’m sure I can.” She removed her feet from the water, then reached into her valise and pulled out a handkerchief. After drying her feet, she put her boots back on, taking extra care with the right one.

  He made his way to the rock where she sat, then reached for her hand and helped her stand. Before he could turn away, she swayed on her feet.

  He grabbed her wrist and slipped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. “I thought you said you were all right.”

  “I was,” she said. “I am.”

  As her gaze locked on his, the tint of her eyes took him aback, and as he watched, the hue deepened, darkened.

  Her hand held his forearm, the warmth of her touch flaring from her fingertips. In spite of his better judgment and his resolve to keep his distance, he felt himself weaken.

  Her lips, the color of wild strawberries, parted as if begging for a kiss.

  He looked at her expression for disapproval, for a sign that he was about to overstep his boundaries, but as their gazes continued to hold firm, he was caught up in something too big to ignore.

  He’d be sorry for this later, but he’d always been partial to strawberries.

  * * *

  As Tom leaned forward, as his lips met hers, Katie’s heart skipped a beat. She probably should resist kissing him, but she was too taken by surprise, too swept up in the wonder of it all.

  It started out sweet and innocent, like the time Orson Billings kissed her behind the mercantile when she’d been fifteen years old. But while that kiss had been a bit awkward but nice, this one was...oh, so much more.

  The kiss deepened and, as she slipped her arms around him, she marveled at the scent of him, at the feel of his embrace, at the taste of his sweet kiss. Before she knew it, her knees nearly gave out, and she leaned into him for support.

  The world tilted, and the sun spun round and round.

  What was she thinking? What was she doing, kissing Tom McCain as if there were no tomorrow?

  And there most certainly would be a tomorrow—in Wyoming!

  She placed her hands on his chest, allowing them to linger just long enough to feel the steady beat of his heart pounding in time with hers. Then she pushed back and turned her head, pulling her lips fro
m his and ending that mind-numbing kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I let you do that.”

  “You let me do that?” He chuckled.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she knew they must be as red as new apples.

  “You were every bit as willing as I was,” he said. “And you liked it.”

  That was true. But she didn’t dare admit it, so she let out a most unladylike huff. “No, not really.”

  “Oh, no? There’s a telltale flush on your cheeks and throat, and your eyes have deepened to a lovely shade of liar blue.”

  Katie quickly glanced away, unwilling to allow his dark eyes to challenge hers any longer. She really wasn’t lying.

  All right, so she was, but she certainly didn’t want Tom to know it. She started to walk away—and would have if he hadn’t chosen that moment to chuckle again.

  Childhood taunts in the schoolyard and the memory of all the snide male comments and laughter while she’d spoken on the dais in Pleasant Valley in support of women’s suffrage hadn’t prepared her for the sound of this particular man’s ridicule. Without a conscious thought, her Irish temper flared, and she swung out her hand and slapped his cheek.

  The sound, the sting, the jolt of her thoughtless reaction shocked her as much as it had him, because she froze in midmovement the moment it happened, wishing she could somehow take it all back—the kiss, the slap...

  His laughter ceased, and he caught her wrist in an ironclad grip. “Don’t ever strike me again.” His dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment she witnessed a wounded look, a glimpse of something he usually kept locked deep inside.

  “Then don’t laugh at me,” she said, her voice more a whisper of defense than a threat.

  Without another word, he dropped her wrist, turned and walked away.

  She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she sensed that they’d inadvertently shared an intimacy of sorts, a peek through cracks in the walls they’d both built around their hearts, allowing them each a glimpse inside the other.