Arizona Embrace

by Leigh Greenwood

  “It’s not that,” Buc replied. “I just don’t like him.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Trinity volunteered. “No way to tell what I might be up to. As for bounty hunters, well, I never had much use for them myself. But I don’t think you got any call to worry. I’m sure Mr. Davidge won’t let no bounty hunter hurt you.”

  Victoria came perilously close to laughing aloud. It amused her to see Buc needled. He always took himself so seriously. But it was his look of affronted manhood which nearly caused her to betray herself.

  Trinity turned back to Grant Davidge. “I wouldn’t turn down a job if you was to offer me one.”

  “We don’t need you,” Buc repeated, very much like a man used to having his opinion obeyed. “Now get on your horse and ride.”

  Victoria decided she couldn’t in good conscience listen any longer without making her presence known. There was no longer any question of her safety, not with Buc and her uncle present. Besides, if she didn’t do something, Buc’s rudeness might cause Trinity to leave.

  “We could use an extra rider” Victoria said as she stepped out of her garden.

  The sound of the feminine voice caused Trinity to twist to his left. The sight of the young woman coming toward him from between great clumps of white daisies and purple lupine caused his heart to leap into his throat.

  Victoria Davidge! He had been told of her beauty, warned of its power. He had studied her in his binoculars, carefully accustoming himself to the perfection of her features, to the seductive curve of her breasts, the sinuous movement of her hips as she walked. But nothing had prepared him for Victoria Davidge up close.

  Startlingly clear blue eyes, with only a hint of uneasiness in their depths, stared at him from under a wide-brimmed hat clearly chosen to protect her nearly pure white skin from the sun. Nearly, because Trinity could count at least three freckles on the bridge of her nose. He felt certain he would find more if he looked closely.

  Her expression showed curiosity mixed with amusement, excitement dulled by caution. She seemed open and friendly, intelligent, willing to be entertained—maybe hoping came closer to the mark. Anticipation shone in her eyes.

  Several strands of dark red hair had escaped from under her sun hat to curl at her temples and dangle in disorder around her ears. An uncertain smile hovered on her lips. Lips which seemed too full and moist. Lips which seemed to be made expressly for kissing.

  Trinity could see nothing wrong with the rest of her. Neither the long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to her throat nor the divided skirt which barely overlapped the tops of her boots hid the curves of her body. But they didn’t accent them either. She had dressed for comfort, in the certain knowledge she didn’t need to draw attention to herself.

  Trinity knew his astonishment showed in his face, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Only a dead man could have failed to respond pretty much as he had. In all his life, he’d only once seen a more beautiful woman.

  Queenie.

  Yet Victoria Davidge had murdered her husband. And he meant to take her back to Texas to the gallows.

  Trinity pulled himself together. He saw amusement in Grant Davidge’s eyes and knew it stemmed from his reaction to Victoria. He saw fury in Buc’s eyes and knew it came from the same source. He wasn’t sure what he saw in Victoria’s eyes, but he hoped it wasn’t amusement. He didn’t relish being laughed at by a woman, especially a woman who had just rocked him off his feet.

  “You any good with a gun?” Grant asked.

  “I usually hit what I aim at,” Trinity replied, wishing the brim of his hat covered his face, “but I don’t suppose you’d call me a gunhand.”

  “That’s all the better,” Grant replied. “A man ought to know how to handle a gun, but he’s got no call to like using it.”

  “But we still don’t know anything about him,” Buc said.

  “Yes, we do,” Victoria contradicted. “He’s a man looking for a drink of water. I was in my garden when you rode up. I couldn’t help overhearing.” She flashed a friendly smile when Trinity sent her a questioning glance.

  “You better on the trail or in a roundup?” Grant asked.

  “I never had any need to decide.”

  “You like to work alone or in pairs?”

  “Never had any complaint either way.”

  “Is there anything you do like to do?” Victoria asked.

  “I like to move about, do different jobs, get to know new places.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re trying to get the lay of the land so you can come back later,” Buc said, suspicious.

  “Just trying to keep from getting bored,” Trinity explained. “I don’t suppose I’m any smarter than the next man, but riding through canyons looking for cows don’t keep a man’s mind occupied.”

  “It better had if you want to stay alive,” Buc shot back.

  “It’s about time you two stopped sparring,” Grant Davidge said. “Buc, we need some more help right now, and he looks a likely type.”

  “You know I don’t like taking on just anybody who rides in here.”

  That’s how I hired you,” Grant reminded him, “and I’ve been thanking my lucky stars ever since.”

  “But—”

  “I know what you’re worried about,” Victoria said, “but you can’t run off every man who rides in here just because of me.”

  Victoria’s expression softened so much when she looked at Buc, Trinity would have sworn they were lovers. She put her hand on his arm in the kind of intimate gesture two people use who are extremely close. The warmth in her eyes, the caress in her voice, the unconscious freedom with which her body drew near to him said she trusted Buc entirely.

  Much to his surprise, Trinity found his body stiffening in reaction to their intimacy. What was wrong with him for God’s sake? Why should he be acting like an adolescent suffering from a case of puppy love? He didn’t even know this woman. He had come to take her back to Texas to hang. How in heaven’s name could he be feeling jealous?

  He must have mistaken his reaction. It must be anger that anyone as honest as Buc Stringer could be taken in by a lovely face, a few soft words, a touch. That must have been how she lured her husband into marrying her. If the poor fool had been as susceptible as Buc, it wouldn’t have taken her more than five minutes. He guessed Buc would do just about anything in the world for her.

  Even murder.

  Chapter Two

  “Stow your gear in the bunkhouse,” Grant Davidge said. “Buc will show you around.”

  “He just got out of the saddle,” Victoria said. “Why don’t you give him a chance to rest a little? In the meantime, you can all come up to the house, have some coffee, and get acquainted. Do you like pecan pie? I made one fresh this morning.”

  Trinity didn’t care much for food, but desserts were his downfall. He would ride forty miles for a slice of good pecan pie.

  “Ma’am, you done said the magic words.”

  “You don’t know a thing about him, and you invited him in for pie,” Buc complained.

  “I was born in a cabin on the banks of the Trinity River,” Trinity said. “That’s how I got my name. My parents are dead, and I’ve been wandering over the West ever since. Ain’t nothing else to know. Now if you’ll give me a few minutes to unsaddle my horse and separate myself from a little of this trail dust, I’ll see what I can do about getting on the outside of a piece of your pie.”

  “It’ll be ready when you are,” she said. “By the way, my name’s Victoria Davidge. Grant is my uncle.”

  So she used her maiden name. But then he expected she would. No use announcing you’re the widow of a murdered man. Even in the wilds of Arizona someone might put two and two together. And with a thousand dollar reward on her head, there’d be plenty willing to come after her.

  He hadn’t come because of the reward. He wouldn’t take one cent of it, but he was no less determined than a paid assassin or a bounty hunter that Victoria Davidge, also known as Victoria Bl
azer, also known as Mrs. Jeb Blazer, would go back to Texas to pay for her crime.

  “Come on, Spangler,” Trinity called to his horse as he lowered the corral poles. “Looks like you’re getting off work early today.” Trinity didn’t even glance over his shoulder, but his horse obediently withdrew his dripping muzzle from the cool water and followed him into the corral.

  “I’ll bring him up when he’s ready,” Buc said, irritated by Victoria’s interest in Trinity. “No need for you to stand about waiting.”

  “I don’t mind,” Victoria replied. Her curiosity about Trinity had just intensified. She’d never known anyone who treated his horse like it was human, or a horse that responded so readily to its owner. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful stallion,” she said to Buc. “How do you think he compares to your Appaloosa?”

  While Buc and her uncle talked horses, Victoria watched Trinity. She liked what she saw, but she didn’t understand why her reaction should be so intense, so visceral. It wasn’t like her to be drawn to strangers. For five years she had made a practice of staying away from new hands until Buc and her uncle decided they could be trusted. She had avoided casual visitors altogether.

  Yet she had been lured out of her garden in less than fifteen minutes by this man’s physical presence. The situation both intrigued and frightened her. No man had affected her this strongly—not even her husband.

  She couldn’t tell if Trinity was as handsome as Jeb Blazer—the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see under the brim of his hat—but that hardly seemed to matter. Neither did the fact he didn’t stand as tall as Buc or have the same breadth of shoulders. Everything about him fitted together as though each part had been carefully chosen: long legs, powerful thighs, slim hips, flat stomach, broad shoulders, everything a man ought to be. Still she hadn’t touched on the force which drew her from her hiding place.

  A casual observer might not see it because of his calm and slightly bored demeanor, but Victoria sensed that within this man burned a driving force, a stinging sense of purpose that would pulverize anything that stood in his way. Buc and her uncle had always seemed so vital and determined, but when set against this man, it was like comparing lighted matches to a forest fire.

  “Mighty neighborly of you to wait for me,” Trinity said to Victoria as he replaced the corral poles.

  “We don’t get many visitors,” she answered. “It’ll be nice to catch up on all the latest news.”

  “I don’t hear much news, ma’am. I keep pretty much to myself.”

  Victoria turned to him, her eyebrows arched in a look of mock surprise. “You do know who’s president, don’t you?”

  Trinity smiled. “Yes, ma’am, I know that. I also know Reconstruction has ended in Texas. Outside that, nothing much else matters.”

  “How’s the cattle market?” her uncle inquired.

  “It’s recovered somewhat, especially since the blizzard a few years back, but it won’t ever be what it was.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Grant said. “It’s a good thing we sell to the Army.”

  “Closer, too,” Buc said. “I don’t like being gone on long drives.” He looked at Victoria when he spoke, pride of possession sounding in his voice.

  That same sound put Victoria’s teem on edge. She hadn’t particularly minded it before, but today, with Trinity here, it annoyed her. She knew Trinity must hear it as well. She felt compelled to make sure he knew Buc had no claim on her.

  “I should think you and the boys would be glad to get away as often as you could,” she said. “There’s nothing to do here. Nobody to see. Worst of all, no women.”

  Before Buc could protest, she changed the subject. “If you’ve never been to Arizona, Mr. Smith, you’re in for quite a surprise. It’s nothing like Texas.”

  “No, it’s not,” Trinity replied, managing to insinuate himself between Victoria and Buc. “It reminds me more of Colorado.”

  “You must have seen a lot of places.” She couldn’t keep a note of envy from her voice. “What’s your business?” The words came out before she could stop them. “I know I shouldn’t have asked,” she apologized quickly. “Uncle Grant keeps telling me I’m not supposed to ask questions like that, but my mama grew up in Alabama, To her a person just wasn’t a person until she knew where he came from, what he did, and who his kinfolk were.”

  Trinity smiled as he followed her into the kitchen and took a place at the long ranch table.

  “I guess my ma felt the same, but she didn’t give me any real home, and she left me without kinfolk.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

  “Don’t worry about it none. Just cut me a slice of that pecan pie. Haven’t been able to get my mind on anything else since you mentioned it.”

  Trinity had never been in such an enormous kitchen. A huge black monster of an iron stove dominated one end. Cupboards covered another wall. A fireplace dominated the third. Windows with a view of the distant mountain peaks took up the fourth. A table, made of hand-hewn oak and long enough to seat close to two dozen men, filled the room. A dull cream-colored tablecloth decorated with a border of poorly executed embroidery covered the center of the table.

  But it was the flowers that overwhelmed him. They were everywhere, in large sprays or small bunches, in teacups or large jars on the table and the mantel, even hanging from baskets in front of the windows. And they were fresh from the garden. The pungent odor of newly cut greenery nearly overpowered the softer, more pleasant fragrance of the multitude of blossoms.

  Trinity felt like he’d wandered into a daydream.

  While Victoria took a still-warm pie out of the pie keep and set plates, forks, and cups before them, Grant Davidge plied Trinity with questions about everything from the condition of grass in the country he’d passed through to the whereabouts of various renegade Indian bands. Buc positioned himself by the door, close enough to hear everything being said, but far enough away to show his disapproval.

  “I don’t know anything about this kind of country,” Trinity said when he got a chance. “Does it make good grazing?”

  Victoria tried to tell herself Trinity paid close attention to her uncle, but his gaze hardly seemed to leave her. At first she felt flattered, but she soon found herself wishing he would look elsewhere. His attention disconcerted her. After five years in an all-male environment, she had grown used to being the center of attention, but something about his scrutiny made her feel uncomfortable.

  It wasn’t an appraising glance. She knew that kind well enough. It felt almost as if he disapproved of her. No, something stronger than that. It delved deeper, like he was trying to discover her secrets.

  But that wasn’t quite it either. There was something covertly harsh and accusing about his glance. He couldn’t have appeared more respectful, but she felt his distaste. And she didn’t like it.

  She saw him glance over his shoulder at Buc before giving her a particularly penetrating glare. Did he think she was having an affair with Buc?

  The idea made her furious at Trinity … and at Buc.

  Trinity had no right to look at her that way. He didn’t know anything about her. Did he just dislike her, or did he dislike women in general? No, not women. She remembered the way he looked at her when he first saw her. It was the look of a man who liked women and who fully appreciated what he saw.

  Oh well, it hardly mattered what he thought. He wouldn’t be here more than a few weeks. A few months at most.

  Still she hated to give up on him so soon. She had been sure he would prove interesting to talk to and spend time with.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked as she set the pie before Trinity.

  The strange look deep in his eyes had disappeared; a glint signalled the return of his sense of humor. Maybe he did disapprove of her, but it would be nice to be around someone who could make her laugh.

  Besides, she had to figure out why she felt so drawn to him. She felt like she’d known him for years, there had to be
some explanation for this feeling. Victoria decided right then and there to find out what it might be.

  “A second piece.”

  Victoria looked at him in surprise, then laughed. “You haven’t eaten the first one. How do you know you’ll like it?”

  “You baked it?”

  “I made it. Ramon baked it.”

  “Then I know I’ll like it.”

  “You must be Irish.”

  “Or one of them Frenchies that came into Texas some time back,” Buc said. “They’ll lie as fast as their tongue can fly.”

  “Don’t you like compliments?” Trinity asked.

  “I guess so, but only when they’re earned.”

  Trinity took a bite of the pie. He chewed slowly, savoring the rich taste.

  “This one’s earned,” he said. “If I’d known what you could do with pecans, I’d have lugged me a sack all the way from Texas.”

  “It’s a good thing I can cook. There’s not much else anybody will let me do,” Victoria said.

  The words were out before she could stop them. The stifled anger, bitterness, and frustration were apparent for all three men to hear. She knew Buc and her uncle didn’t understand. They never had. She tried to keep her feelings under control, to show only her gratitude and not her unhappiness, but once in a while it would leap out before she could hold it back. It irritated her it had done so before this stranger.

  “There’s so little a woman can do on a ranch like this,” she explained, hoping Trinity wasn’t as intelligent as his eyes seemed to indicate. There are times when I’d like to do something really useful, something more than bake pies, grow flowers, or do terrible embroidery.”

  Trinity concentrated on his pie, resisting the natural inclination to let his glance stray toward the scorned needlework. He left it to Grant Davidge to respond to his niece.

  “I suppose you do get tired of being cooped up in the house, but I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace knowing you were out there with Indians and goodness knows who else wandering through this valley.”