by Jill Gregory
Perhaps it is the rustlers, she told herself. Or some other horrid outlaws. Or Indians . . .
Perhaps Wade Barclay would be satisfied if he found her bloody, scalped body being eaten alive by coyotes and buzzards and snakes, she thought. Perhaps then he’d be sorry for all those hateful things he’d said to her.
But what would happen to Becky . . .
You’re not going to die, she told herself, biting back the panic. And you’re not going to be a coward either. You’re going to . . . investigate.
She rode on slowly. Nearing the ridge she noticed a dip in the trail and realized that there was a narrow valley. Perhaps the gunshot and shouts had come from there.
Cautiously she urged the mare forward through the cottonwoods and down the valley slope.
That’s when she saw them—four men standing, arguing, beneath an old scarred pine tree.
And one man down on the ground beside them, lying unmoving in a pool of blood.
He’s dead. Shock jolted through her and she felt the blood draining from her face. Just in time she bit back a rising scream.
She couldn’t make out the men’s faces—they were too far away. But they were dressed in plaid shirts, bandannas, and denim pants, and they all wore guns. The tallest man, who had reddish hair, held his gun drawn and pointed at a shorter man in a gray hat.
“You knew what he was doin’, didn’t you? You helped him double-cross me.”
“No . . . I swear. I didn’t know nothing about it . . .”
“Someone was helping him—how many head of cattle did you two cut out for your own herd?”
The wind rose and the rest of the words were carried away. But suddenly, as Caitlin watched in horror, the tall man fired.
The shot cracked like thunder as the bullet struck the shorter man in the chest. Blood spurted and he went down in a heap.
Star reared at the sound of the gunshot and let out a frightened neigh. Even as the short man fell to the ground, the other three men whipped around toward the sound of the mare and saw Caitlin watching them even as she tried to bring her mount under control.
For one heart-stopping moment she met the red-haired man’s vicious gaze. His features were blurred, but there was no mistaking the ferocious intensity of that stare. He smiled and she caught a glint of gold. Terror bubbled inside her throat, but there was no time to scream, no time to think. With fear pulsing through her, she yanked on the reins and spun the mare around, then dug in her heels.
“Go!” she shouted. “Go!”
Sagebrush, pine, and rock flew by in a blur as the horse galloped up the slope of the valley, back the way they’d come. The pounding of Star’s hooves matched the pounding of Caitlin’s heart as she leaned forward over the mare’s mane and held on tight with hands and knees.
When she heard the sounds of pursuit behind her, she glanced back over her shoulder and gave a gasp.
Three men thundered after her, their horses galloping hard. With every stride they closed the distance. A gunshot roared past and she realized in shock that they were shooting at her. Desperately she spurred the mare on, driven by the frantic single-minded will to survive.
Suddenly there came a curve in the trail and the mare took it too fast. She stumbled and went down. Caitlin flew from the saddle, miraculously free from the mare’s hooves. She hit the ground with a jolt that slammed through every bone in her body. The mare was already scrambling up, shaking, and Caitlin, still breathless from the impact of the fall, tried desperately to rise and get to her.
She staggered to her feet just as her pursuers thundered toward the curve.
Despair choked her. She’d never make it. She couldn’t reach the horse in time, mount, get away. All she could do was stand frozen and terrified, her hands cold with sweat as the plaid-shirted men bore down on her. The leader smiled again and she saw that glint of gold once more— and then he lifted his gun.
Suddenly, more shots exploded, filling the air in a staccato, but they didn’t come from the men chasing her—the shots came from the lip of the canyon she’d circled earlier. As she jerked her head in that direction, she saw two riders with shotguns leveled, firing at the men bearing down on her.
Then everything changed, so rapidly that Caitlin could scarcely take it in. Her pursuers turned tail and fled—galloping back toward the way they had come.
And her mare took off—bolting ahead past a stand of pines and brush, disappearing over a rise.
Shaking all over, Caitlin stared wildly up at the rim of the canyon. Somehow, even from this distance, she recognized Wade Barclay on his tall, muscular roan. And behind him rode Miguel.
She felt weak, dizzy, and breathless, but as Caitlin brushed her tangled hair back from her face she tried hard to remain standing. She would not collapse. She would not cry or whimper. She would not faint.
She closed her eyes, and the image of the murdered men filled her with nausea. She couldn’t help but sink to the ground. In a moment, she told herself, she would try to stand.
She didn’t know how long it was until Wade and Miguel reached her. When she saw them bearing down on her, she used every ounce of willpower she possessed to climb to her feet. She was standing, her arms at her sides, like a limp doll, when they reined in.
Wade took one look at her and his insides knotted. The spirited, defiant beauty who had baited him earlier in the day was nowhere to be seen in the pale, dazed face of the girl who stood wavering before him as if the tiniest breeze would knock her down.
He sprang from the saddle with more speed than grace and reached her side even before Miguel’s mount had halted.
“Somebody ought to have named you Trouble,” he muttered, grasping her by the arm. When he realized how she was trembling he slipped an arm around her waist, fearing she’d slip to the ground if he didn’t help support her. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
“Let . . . go of me. I’m . . . f-fine. I don’t need your help.”
“Right. I can see that.” But with unexpected gentleness he led her toward the stump of a tree that had been blasted by lightning, and sat her down. Ignoring Miguel, who had followed him, he pulled a flask from his pocket, opened it, and handed it to her.
“Drink this.”
“I don’t want—”
“Drink it, princess. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
“No . . . I’m . . . fine . . . just a little . . . upset.”
He knelt down and pushed the flask into her hands. Caitlin stared at it. Just stared.
“Caitlin . . .”
Suddenly those stricken jade eyes gazed straight into his. “They might have been the rustlers. I don’t know. I got lost. The canyon . . .” She shook her head. “Then I heard a shot. From the valley. They killed one man—he was dead when I got there. Blood . . .”
“Easy, now. It’s all right. You can tell me later.” Wade covered her hand with his. “Later, when we’re back at the ranch—”
“And then the man with the gun, the tall man, started arguing with another man and then he shot him too.” She rushed on as if Wade hadn’t spoken, her eyes wide, anguished, while Wade and Miguel listened in grim silence. “And then the mare neighed and they saw me . . . they . . . came after me . . . they . . .”
“Did they hurt you?” Wade asked so quietly that his words penetrated her shock.
For the first time she seemed to really see him. The shock in her eyes cleared a little and he saw the depths of fear and horror beneath. “N-no. I got . . . away.”
“You did,” he agreed quietly. “You did just fine.”
She swallowed then and glanced down at the flask in her hands.
“My throat is . . . so dry. Is this water?”
“It’s whiskey.”
“I don’t—”
“I know—you don’t drink whiskey. But just this once, since your throat is dry?” He didn’t add that it would help ease the shock she’d suffered, as well as the chill of her fear.
She looked at t
he flask, then at him. “All right,” she whispered. She lifted the flask to her lips and took a sip.
“More,” Wade said roughly when she made a face and pushed the flask at him.
“It’s awful.”
“Trust me, it’ll help.”
To his surprise she sighed, but raised the flask again and this time took a long deep gulp.
Wade felt a strange crazy urge to wrap his arms around her, hold her tight. He wanted to smooth the tangled mass of blond curls from her face, stroke her cheek, and tell her over and over that she was safe.
Instead he scowled at her. When he thought of what had almost happened here today, cold fear gripped him. She’d almost been shot, probably by rustlers.
Why in hell had he left her alone back at Cougar Canyon?
Why had he ridden off and left her to find her own way back? She was unarmed, a tenderfoot, and . . .
This was the worst of it . . . She’d been angry. He’d made her angry on purpose. And that anger had led to all this.
Wade was so furious at himself that he felt every muscle in his body tense up. Reese had entrusted her to him, and he’d nearly gotten her killed.
He dragged his gaze from her and spoke curtly to Miguel. “Follow their tracks back to that valley. We’ll meet up later at the ranch.”
Miguel met his glance briefly and then nodded without speaking a word. Best not to mention in front of the woman that he was going to take a look at the dead men, see if he recognized them.
Wade stood, and scanned every direction for the mare. There was no sign of her. If she didn’t find her way home, he’d send someone to search for her tomorrow. In the meantime, he had to get Caitlin away from here.
“Come on.” He stretched down a hand to her. “Let’s get you back to the ranch.”
She took a deep breath, ignored his outstretched hand, and pushed herself up off the stump. “I don’t need any help,” she told him quietly, with a glimmer of her old stubbornness.
“I can see that.”
She shot him a wary glance. “Are you making fun of me?” Her chin angled up in the way he was beginning to know—and more dangerously still—in the way he was beginning to like.
“Are you?” she asked with some of her old feistiness.
“Not right now. Maybe later.”
They walked in silence to the roan and suddenly, after one look at the horse, she spun toward him. “Star—”
“Don’t worry—we’ll find her. Or she’ll come home.”
“She can do that? Find her own way home, even if she’s lost?”
“You were lost, she wasn’t.” Slowly, he grinned. The color was returning to her face. “Besides, everyone can find their way home eventually,” he said in a steady tone. “It might take a while, but they can. Even if they’re lost.”
She had a strange feeling that he was talking about something other than Star. Caitlin searched his face. There was no anger or mockery in it now, there was only a kind of tension, which she didn’t really understand. But there was also something else.
Gentleness.
The usual hard expression on his face had disappeared. His eyes held a warmth that she’d never seen before, and suddenly her own feelings were in confusion.
She felt hot, then cold. Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to pull away from him—and, good Lord, she suddenly wanted to lean against him and feel those powerful arms go around her . . .
Stop being an idiot, she warned herself, but she quivered as he lifted her effortlessly into the saddle. Such easy, flowing strength. When he mounted behind her and wrapped his arms around her, Caitlin felt a rush of heat that spread through her entire body.
It’s the whiskey, she told herself frantically. It’s having a potent effect on you. That’s all.
It had better be all. She wasn’t ever going to have feelings—romantic feelings—for any man ever again. Not that her feelings for Alec Ballantree had been anything like these feelings she was having toward Wade Barclay.
There was no comparison between the lovely longing and affection she’d held for Alec and the raw blaze of sensation—much like the hot fire of the whiskey—she felt when Wade was near.
And right now, he was very near. He couldn’t have been much nearer. Every part of his body touched hers—she felt his rock-hard chest behind her head, his muscular torso pressed against her back, his thighs squeezed against hers.
She couldn’t believe how her body tingled. She felt weak all over, but the strange thing was, she also felt oddly invigorated.
Alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She had meant to pay attention to the trail on the way back, to try to learn her way, but she was too tired, her mind too full of the horrid images of the dead men, of the still-chilling race to escape.
To her dismay, she found herself leaning back against Wade Barclay, resting against his strength. It wasn’t at all unpleasant; in fact, it calmed the turmoil inside her, making her feel safer than she’d felt in a long while.
Before she knew it, before she even was aware of passing the gates, they were riding up to Cloud Ranch, and Dawg was bounding out to greet them.
None of the wranglers were in sight.
Weren’t they supposed to be here, starting the branding?
Half turning in the saddle, she started to ask Wade, but he cut her off. “They’re out searching for you. When you didn’t return from Cougar Canyon, I sent them out on a search. Soon as you’re settled, I’ll go after them and tell them you’re safe.”
She was silent as he helped her down. To her surprise, his hands lingered at her waist as he set her on the ground—holding tight to her as if he were reluctant to let her go. Funny, she thought. Suddenly she didn’t want him to let her go. Caitlin lifted her head to meet his keen gaze.
“I’ve caused a great deal of trouble for you today.”
“I reckon so. Just as you meant to.”
She bit her lip. She thought back to her picnic with Jake, how she’d tried so hard to antagonize Wade. All part of her plan. But she hadn’t planned on getting lost or finding danger—or on Wade and the wranglers having to cease all their work to search for her.
Of course, it was good for her overall plan. She hadn’t really been hurt, and she’d disrupted the workings of the ranch far more than she ever could have hoped. So why didn’t she feel any satisfaction?
She swallowed. “I suppose I should thank you for finding me when you did.”
“That was luck.” He shrugged. “No thanks necessary.”
“But if you hadn’t shown up exactly when you did . . .”
A shudder ran through her.
“Don’t think about it.” Wade felt the delicate trembling, and before he knew what he was doing, his arm slid around her waist. That was his first mistake. She felt fragile and sweet in his arms. And her eyes widened. Hell, she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. In the dusty yard, with Dawg frolicking around them, she looked angelic and scared and brave and beautiful all at the same time.
Get away from her. Now.
But those glorious green eyes held him mesmerized. He couldn’t drop his arm, couldn’t resist the pull.
Caitlin knew she should move away from him. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to break the spell that seemed to have come over both of them. She was intensely aware of the hot still day, of how his pitch-black hair brushed his shirt collar, of the rough stubble along that handsome jaw. She sensed the coiled male tension in him and her own blood raced through her veins.
Her lips parted.
“Damn it, princess,” he muttered, then both arms swept around her, pulling her close, and as if drawn by an invisible overwhelming force, Wade Barclay leaned down and kissed her.
Oh, how she wanted the kiss.
That was the first thought that flashed through her mind—and the last. After that there was no room for thought. Once his mouth touched hers, she couldn’t remember how to think at all.
It was a w
arm, wonderful, frightening kiss. Frightening because it felt so delicious. Far too delicious. His mouth on hers was both rough and sweet, demanding from her and at the same time giving to her. He seemed to be tasting her as if she were the most desirable morsel in the world, stunning her with the heat and strength of his kiss and a dizzying tenderness that somehow was hotter than the blazing sun . . .
He broke it all too soon, pulling back from her. He was scowling, Caitlin saw in dismay. Through the thudding of her heart she didn’t know whether to scowl back or try to kiss him again.
She gave her head a puzzled shake.
“That,” he said in a firm tone that was oddly low and hoarse, “was a big mistake.”
And without another word, he turned and left her. He mounted the roan, rode away, and didn’t once look back.
Chapter 11
“Senorita, the hour is late.”
Francesca’s voice reached through the door, filling Caitlin with a sense of inescapable destiny.
“Senor Wade wishes me to ask you if you are attending Senorita Porter’s supper party—or not.”
“Of course I am.” Caitlin threw open the door. No one had to know that she’d been sitting on her bed, all dressed and ready, for more than half an hour trying to muster her confidence before facing Wade. She swept past the housekeeper in a swirl of spring green silk taffeta and floral French perfume.
She prayed that no one, not Francesca, not Wade, not anyone at this dratted party tonight, would be able to see the uncertainty and confusion churning through her.
“It’s about time . . .” Wade began, then broke off, his gaze sharpening as she entered the study where he waited. His glance swept over her and she knew by the tensing of his jaw that she looked more than presentable. She saw him swallow and loosen his string tie and she felt a surge of purely feminine triumph.
But it was short-lived, cut off by the next words out of his mouth. “Another five minutes and I’d have left without you.”
Francesca snorted behind her, then disappeared toward the kitchen. Caitlin’s delicate brows lifted with practiced haughtiness.
