by Lisa Jackson
“Oh, a sassy thing, are you?”
It was her turn to smile. “So I’ve been told.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “You should be careful, Shelby. Talk like this could get you into trouble.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m lookin’ for,” she said and couldn’t believe the words had leapt from her tongue. She was actually flirting with him.
“Then you’ll get it. I guarantee it.”
“Good.”
His gaze lingered on hers for just a second and she saw a spark of desire—hot, male and raw. It was gone in an instant, but Shelby recognized it for what it was and her heartbeat began to echo in her head. “Be careful what you wish for, darlin’, or you just might get it.” He scraped his chair back and walked outside leaving Shelby, alone, feeling like a fool.
It didn’t help when she glanced out the window of the cafe and spied Vianca Estevan climb out of a truck driven by her brother and run across the parking lot to Nevada. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly right there in the parking lot for all the world and Shelby to see.
Nevada didn’t respond, just helped her into his pickup and drove away, leaving Shelby silently calling herself every kind of idiot in the book. But she didn’t care. She wanted Nevada, plain and simple, and for the first time in her life, she was going to chase him.
As it was, that part hadn’t been hard. Nevada, it seemed, was as interested in her as she in him. After bumping into her one night at the local swimming hole, he’d called and they’d met, begun secret dates away from her father’s eyes. He’d broken it off with Vianca, he claimed, and the rumor in town was that Vianca was angry, but her father relieved. Ramón had never liked her dating a man who wasn’t of Spanish descent, a man who had a bad reputation and was now a cop, a man who was just “using” her. But then, according to town gossip, Ram6n had never approved of anyone Vianca dated.
For her part, Shelby fell in love. It wasn’t hard. The excitement of it all—meeting behind her father’s back, running through the dark in a fine spring mist, dreaming of Nevada at night, thinking of him during the day—made it easy.
So one night, when they were alone at the swimming hole of the river while the moon was riding high in the sky, he finally kissed her. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, dragged her onto his lap, and his mouth clamped over hers so hungrily that she could barely breathe.
Fire invaded her bloodstream, thoughts of denial fled and she knew at that moment that she would make love to him.
She hadn’t, of course, hadn’t gotten the chance, for as he began unbuttoning her blouse and kissing that oh-so-sensitive spot behind her ear, he’d stopped short.
“I can’t do this,” he’d said.
“W-why?” She was still sitting on his lap, still drunk from his kisses and beneath her rump, separated only by a couple of layers of denim, she felt his hard-on, which seemed to be potently arguing with his words.
“Shelby, you’re too young, we’re sneaking around, this isn’t right. Oh, hell, there are a dozen reasons. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
She was stunned. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Are you?”
“No. I... I...”
“Liar.”
“What is this? Is it written across my face or something?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Or something. Look—” Firmly, he pushed her off his lap and stared across the night-black water. “Maybe someday this might work out, but ... oh, Christ, no, it won’t. We have to stop seeing each other.”
“Why?”
“A million reasons.”
“If it’s the Judge—”
“There’s a big one.” He stood, dusted off his jeans.
“He doesn’t run my life!”
“Sure he does. He runs everyone’s life.”
“But I won’t let—”
“You don’t have a choice. Really.” He offered her a hand to pull her to her feet, but she refused, preferring to stand on her own and inch up her chin.
“I do have a choice and so do you.”
“Oh, Shelby—”
“Since when do you care about what the Judge thinks?”
“Since I started caring for you.” His smile was gone and his night-darkened eyes seemed sad. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“No.” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently. “I—I can’t do this.”
“It’s for the best.” Then he wrapped his arms around her, held her tight against him and kissed the top of her head. Shelby’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t break down, wouldn’t fall apart. Whether he knew it or not, Nevada Smith wasn’t done with her.
And tonight, after blowing off the dance, she was going to see him again. She’d called, insisted, and he’d agreed to meet with her though she’d heard the reluctance in his voice. Well, she’d change his mind. She could do that. After all, she was Judge Cole’s daughter. Some of his determination should be in her damned genes.
She took a comer too fast and the tires squealed.
Nevada’s shift was over at midnight. He had promised to meet her at her father’s ranch at one.
If things went right, she’d be waiting for him.
She maneuvered her little car around the comers of the country road that ran past the ranch. Wind streamed through her hair and cooled her skin, but her hands were sweating. She eased off the throttle at the turnoff, and her heart began to pound. Here was where it got tricky—where she could be discovered at any second.
Shifting down, she turned into the lane and prayed that she wouldn’t meet a car coming from the opposite direction. She got lucky. No headlights bore down on her.
The moon was high, an April breeze blowing cool and soft as Shelby parked her convertible behind a tangle of mesquite at a turnout in the long lane winding through the hill country to the heart of her father’s ranch. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled and goose bumps rose on her flesh, but she ignored the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, the eerie sense of electricity charging the air as she pocketed her keys.
Meeting Nevada this way, going behind her father’s back, of course she would be apprehensive, have a case of nerves. That was it. Nothing more.
A few wispy clouds scudded in front of the moon as she dashed along the hillside where the grass smelled fresh. Somewhere in the distance a train rattled, and high overhead the tights of a jet winked in a sky strewn with stars. The range horses that weren’t stabled at night snorted and lifted their heads as she ran past. Down a hill she raced, then picked her way across a stream and climbed over a fence to land on a short expanse of grass. She was breathless by the time she made it to the outbuildings.
Heart pounding through her brain, her pulse leaping as she ducked around a machine shed, she flattened against the weathered siding, her ears straining to listen. One of the dogs started barking and she bit her tip.
A door creaked open.
“What is it?” a deep male voice thundered.
Shelby thought she was dead.
The fool dog barked even louder, more wildly. She hardly dared breathe. “Shut up!” the man ordered. “No-good skittish mutt!”
“Somethin’ wrong?” another voice, this one reedy and impatient, demanded.
“Nothin’ I kin see.”
“Damned Dawg.”
“What he needs is a bitch in heat,” a third voice said, then let out a low, gravelly laugh that ended in a coughing fit. “But then, don’t we all?”
She recognized the voice and her stomach turned sour. Ross McCallum. There was something about Ross McCallum she didn’t trust. She’d known him for years, and lately she’d caught him staring at her with eyes that seemed cruel.
“C’mon, Jeb. We’re playin’ here. You in or out?”
“In. I said I was in, McCallum. Hold on to yer damned horses. I’ll see your five and raise you ten.” Jeb’s voice was deep and smooth.
“Then get the fuck inside,
would ya? We ain’t got all night.” McCallum was edgy.
“Hold yer horses—”
“Either piss or get off the pot!”
“Shit, McCallum, you got some bug up yer ass?” Jeb demanded.
“Yeah—you could say that.”
“Meaner than a snake, that’s what you are.” The screen door closed with a bang. “Probably has to do with Nevada Smith making deputy.”
Shelby froze. Her heart nearly stopped. What did Ross McCallum have to do with Nevada?
“Looks like Smith’s walkin’ the straight and narrow.” The reedy voice reverberated through the yard. “Got hisself a real job, got some money tucked away—cash he saved while he was workin’ for Uncle Sam—and now the biggest prize of all. He’s squirin’ around the Judge’s sweet little daughter—man, did you ever see such a ripe piece of ass?”
“Shut up, Frank,” McCallum snarled.
Heat climbed steadily up Shelby’s neck. Anger fired her blood. Who did these men—these low-life cowpunchers—think they were to be talking about her like that?
“Ruby Dee, she must not be givin’ ya what ya need.” Jeb again.
“Leave that whore out of this.”
Sniggering laughter slithered out of the window. “Cain’t say as I blame ya fer wantin’ to give the Judge’s daughter a ride.” Reedy voice—Frank—laughed and the sound was pure evil. “Man, I’d give my right arm to have a taste of that sweet pussy.”
“You and me both,” Jeb agreed.
Shelby wanted to run away as fast as her legs would carry her.
“But she’s savin’ it for Smith.” A snort of malevolent glee from Frank, a whip-thin, pimply-faced cowboy she’d met only a few times before. “And boy, does that piss the Judge off.”
“Enough!” McCallum’s voice had an edge as rough as sandstone. “Let’s play.”
“Okay, okay.” Frank was still chuckling. “I’ll see ya—but don’t try and deny it, McCallum, you’ve got an iron hard-on for Princess Cole that just won’t quit.”
Bam! Something hit the table hard. Probably a fist. “Shut the fuck up, Frank, or I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat they’ll fly out your ass. Got it?”
“Hey, whoa, McCallum, he was only funnin’ ya. Let’s all jist cool down and play. All right now?” Jeb was playing the part of referee. “We’ve got ourselves enough Jack Daniels for another round or two, and then whoever wins can take the rest of us to the White Horse later, okay?”
Tension crackled. No one said a word. Shelby held her breath. Sweat slickened her palms.
“Fine,” McCallum said in his deep, grating voice. “I’ll call.”
Wishing to high heaven that she’d come up with some other meeting place, Shelby quivered inside. The ugly conversation rang in her ears and caused fear to skitter down her spine. If she had half a brain she’d turn back now, get in her car and make tracks home. She’d forgotten about the Friday night poker game that was a tradition with some of the ranch hands who drank, played cards, then sometimes hauled themselves into town.
If you turn back now, you won’t see Nevada.
No way.
Determination squared her shoulders and she slowly eased forward, slinking in the shadows, avoiding the humming blue glow of the security lamps, creeping toward the stables where her mare, a prize-winning Appaloosa, was housed. She had to see Nevada tonight. Had to.
A low rumble escaped from the dog’s throat, but Shelby edged around the machine shed. Her heart pounded in her ears and her nerves were strung as tight as bowstrings. She cast a worried look over her shoulder to the bunkhouse, but the door didn’t open again and the dog—oh, damn, where was the dog? Squinting hard, she didn’t see him crouching on the porch, but it was shadowed there. He could be anywhere, ready to start barking and growling ... there he was, crouched by the fence, where a few scattered trucks and Jeeps were parked. The hackles on the back of his neck were raised and his yellow canine eyes, illuminated evilly in the glow of the lamps, were following her every move, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Didn’t offer up the tiniest snarl.
Shelby’s throat closed in fear.
Go ahead, do it. Go on, Shelby. Don’t be a wimp. You’ve come this far, you can’t back out now. Nevada’s waiting.
Biting her lip, she shouldered open the door of the stables, cringing as it creaked and the dog let out a sharp warning bark. Her heart was hammering as she slipped through the crack and felt along the wall to the door of the tack room. She couldn’t risk a light, but she knew where her bridle was hung, just this side of the window. Her fingertips grazed the leather reins. Deftly, she removed the bridle from its hook, then, feeling along the wall, edged her way into the stables again and walked swiftly down a cement aisle to the far stall, where her mare waited.
“Easy, girl,” Shelby whispered as she unlatched the gate and stepped inside. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she saw the white splotches on Delilah’s rump. The smells of horses, manure and dust filled her nostrils as she eased the straps of the bridle over the mare’s long nose and ears.
Delilah, high-strung by nature, snorted and tossed back her head. Even in the darkness, her white-rimmed eyes were visible. “Shhh ... It’s me.” Shelby patted the mare’s sleek neck as she tightened the chin strap. “Come on.” Carefully, she led her horse along the unlit corridor to a back door. With each step, steel horseshoes rang against the concrete, but still there was no sound of dog or men. As she passed by the windows, she caught a glimpse of the bunkhouse, where the lights were glowing through door and windows.
So far, so good.
Praying the old hinges wouldn’t let out any noise, Shelby shoved the back door open and tugged on Delilah’s reins.
The mare’s nostrils flared as Shelby led her into the dark field, where the air was thick with the promise of rain. Snorting and sidestepping, Delilah minced, as if she, too, felt the electricity of the night. “Take it easy. That’s a girl,” Shelby whispered, using the fence post to help her climb onto the mare’s broad back.
Clamping her knees tight, Shelby clucked softly. “Let’s go.”
Delilah took off. She broke into an easy lope that accelerated with each stride, eating up the dry earth and range grass, until they were racing through the night.
Shelby’s heart soared.
The dog and Ross McCallum were far behind her.
Ahead lay Nevada.
Adrenalin rushed through her veins at the thought of seeing him again. Wind tore through her hair. Thunder rumbled over the hills. The night bristled with anticipation. More clouds choked the moon and covered most of the stars.
Shelby leaned forward. “Come on, come on,” she urged, not wanting to waste a second. Soon she’d be with Nevada again, soon she’d touch him, hold him ... oh, God, her throat went dry at the thought of what the hours ahead promised.
If he showed up.
But of course he would. Why wouldn’t he?
Though he’d hinted that they shouldn’t see each other again, she couldn’t believe that he’d stand her up.
She hoped beyond hope that Nevada was waiting for her. He was her first—her only—love. She’d dated a few boys during high school, but had never gotten serious, never gone much further than making out once in a while. But with Nevada it had been different from the start. When he’d returned to Bad Luck, the gossip mill had gone crazy, grinding the grist daily about the half-breed hellion who not only had the nerve to show up again, but to somehow land a job as a deputy. He’d already been linked with several women in town, including Vianca Estevan, a local girl with a reputation as tarnished and corroded as Caleb Swaggert’s old Dodge station wagon.
But that was long over, Shelby told herself. Now she, and she alone, was the woman in his life.
She gave the mare her head. Delilah responded, powerful muscles stretching and bunching, running faster and faster, her hooves pounding over hay stubble and weeds.
Through the fields, past the skeletal remains of an old c
abin and along the base of a ridge, the horse raced freely, Shelby tucked like a burr to the mare’s shoulders. Sinuous muscles moved beneath her bare legs, coarse mane twined in her fingers. Thunder rolled over far-off hills.
Delilah crested a final rise. Then, as Shelby’s fingers tightened over the reins, the nervous mare began to slow, until, tossing her head, she was walking along a trail that wound downward to a creek on the very north edge of the ranch. Sweat shone on the mare’s red coat. Bats flew by in a whoosh of wings. The scents of dust and wildflowers mingled in the air.
Oaks lined the creek and their dark shapes loomed large and foreboding. Shelby squinted, searching the darkness for any sign of Nevada, crossing her fingers, silently praying that he would be there. “Please,” she whispered over Delilah’s breathing and the plop of her hooves. Then she saw it—the glowing red tip of a cigarette—a beacon flaring through the shadowy trees.
“You made it.” Nevada’s voice had a way of touching her heart.
“Of course I did.” She swung a leg over Delilah’s back and hopped to the ground. “I said I would.”
He took a final drag on his cigarette, dropped it and squashed it under the heel of his boot. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“So you’ve said.” Wrapping the reins of Delilah’s bridle over a sapling, Shelby sauntered up to him. Even in the darkness she recognized his sharp features and aloof stance. Wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, he was so much more approachable than when he was decked out in his uniform. “I think you’re wrong.”
“You do, do you?”
“Mmm. What could be wrong about this?” she asked as she stood toe to toe with him and boldly wrapped her arms around his neck.
“It could lead to trouble.”
“Maybe I want trouble,” she said brazenly, shocked by her own words.
“You don’t. Believe me.” But his arms locked around her waist, the strength of his muscles comforting.
“You don’t know what I want.”
“Sure of that?”
“Um-hm.”
The creek gurgled and Delilah’s bridle clinked softly. Insects hummed and the wind picked up, pushing more clouds over the moon. “You want what all women want, Princess,” he said, bending down so that his breath whispered through her hair, his words seemed to caress her ear. Shelby tingled inside. “You want a man to provide for you, take care of you and give you lots and lots of babies.”
