"She is quite a woman, your Savannah,” Hawk prompted.
Smothering a sigh of relief, Mac chuckled. “Yes, she is."
"Stubborn, like my Patricia."
"She is that."
"And almost ready for mating,” Hawk added outrageously. While Mac choked on embarrassed laughter, Hawk pointed to the far corner of the corral where a pretty little filly pranced coyly away from an anxious—and obviously aroused—stallion. “Your woman reminds me of that filly. She trembles in eagerness for his huge staff, yet she is afraid to take the final step and let him mount her."
"We're not married,” Mac confessed, feeling his face heat. He wasn't shocked—after all, he was a man and could remember a time when he had joined in with a lewd comment or two about a past roll in the hay, but this was Savannah. “Although I'd like nothing better."
"Then why not marry her?” Hawk asked, clearly puzzled. “She wants you, and you want her. It is plain to see."
"We've been friends a long time.” When Hawk merely lifted a questioning brow, Mac added, “A very long time. She trusts me."
"Like a child trusts a wolf? When Sparrow was but five winters old, he wandered into the forest and became lost. We looked for him all night, fearing he'd freeze before we found him. It was very cold."
Mac sucked in a sharp breath, imagining their angst and terror over losing their child.
"He was warm when we found him, but his hand was bloody."
Hawk paused, and Mac understood how his children became enthralled with his story telling abilities. “Well? What happened?"
"A wolf had kept him warm through the long cold night, but when Sparrow awoke and tried to pet the wolf, the wolf bit him and ran away."
"I would never hurt Savannah,” Mac growled, feeling suddenly defensive. “If that's what you're implying."
With a shrug, Hawk pushed away from the fence. “Then if I were you, I'd marry her."
"She loves me as a friend."
"Then make her love you as a man,” Hawk stated. He began to walk in the direction of house. “Make yourself so indispensable she can't imagine life without you."
Frustrated, Mac called after him. “I've tried that. It doesn't seem to be working."
"Then try harder."
"How?” Mac demanded, striding after the stubborn man. “Since you're so full of advice, tell me how!"
Hawk stopped abruptly until Mac reached him. “What does a woman do when she wants a man to marry her?"
Mac frowned as he considered the question. “Well, she plays hard to get. Tempts a man. Acts sort of coy, like that filly—” He ground to a halt, turning to stare at the excited horses in the corral. The light finally dawned. Incredulous, he looked at Hawk's grinning face. “You think I should play hard to get? Make her—tease her into wanting me, then hold out until she agrees to marry ... me."
It was brilliant. If it would work.
He supposed the biggest question was, could he do it? Could he resist Savannah long enough to make her want him badly enough to think of marriage? Remembering the heat they'd generated last night, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd already gone too far.
Tonight he could test Hawk's plan, for they'd be sharing a bed since Patricia believed them to be married.
* * * *
Savannah had more than enough reasons to want to leave before night fall. Roy was alone in the woods; she couldn't bear to think about Sparrow sleeping on the cold hard floor, and she didn't think she was strong enough to share a bed with Mac without making a fool of herself. Just the thought of lying so close to Mac without touching him made her break out into a cold sweat.
"I think we should leave now,” she whispered to Mac as they helped gather the dishes from their meal. “Roy will be worried, and he's all alone in the forest.” It was her first excuse, and hopefully the only one she'd need.
Mac balanced a glass and his plate, but dropped his fork. He bent to pick it up, whispering back, “Roy can take care of himself. Besides, he deserves what he gets for letting you follow me—the first and second time."
Undeterred, Savannah launched into her second excuse. “I won't sleep a wink knowing poor Sparrow is having to sleep on the floor like—like a slave, awaiting my every whim,” she hissed, snatching the dishes from his clumsy hands.
"Then don't have any whims," Mac suggested sweetly.
He was leaving her no choice; blackmail was her only card left, because she certainly wasn't going to explain her third reason for wanting to leave! “Mac, if we don't leave now, then I'm going to have a talk with Patricia. I think it's about time she found out what a thieving, horrible man her brother is."
It was a bluff, because she'd already decided she could never tell the big-hearted Patricia anything of the sort. Hopefully Mac wouldn't see through her bluff.
"What are you two love birds whispering about? Or should I ask?” It was Patricia, looking flushed and happy as she swept into the room and began to gather the rest of the dishes.
Savannah seized her chance to taunt Mac. “I was just telling Mac how sorry I was that I didn't get a chance to see Ned again. And your sister, of course. Raquel was very nice to me on the train."
Patricia looked surprised. Suddenly, to Savannah's consternation, she burst out laughing. When she managed to catch her breath, she gasped out, “Whatever gave you the idea Raquel was my sister?"
After shooting Mac a look that should have knocked him to the floor, Savannah said, “I must have just assumed."
Still chuckling, Patricia shook her head. “Thank God she isn't. I know Ned loves her, but there's something about her that I can't quite get used to."
Savannah knew exactly what she meant. Unfortunately, she felt the same about Ned. Her humiliation deepened as she realized that Ned had only pretended to be unattached so that his charm would be more effective against her. She opened her mouth to speak, intending to confirm her suspicions that Raquel was Ned's wife, but Mac hastily interrupted her.
"I think we'll skip that offer of a bed, Patricia, and get going. Savannah reminded me that we left our things at the hotel in Cornwall."
"Did anyone know you were coming here?” Patricia asked anxiously. “Because if they did, they've probably made a bonfire out of your belongings.” She didn't sound bitter, just resigned to the prejudice of what had once been her people.
"No, no one knew,” Mac said, and Savannah blessed him for the lie. There were kind lies and there were hurtful lies; this one she considered a kind lie.
Hawk appeared in the doorway, looking every inch the proud warrior. Yet his eyes held a gentleness that Savannah failed to see in many of her own people. The realization saddened her.
"The horses are ready,” he stated.
"How did—?” Savannah began.
"Not only does he have eyes in the back of his head,” Mac drawled with a smile, “the walls of his house have ears."
The tall Indian grinned back. “The filly, she is still dancing away from the stallion."
"And the stallion? Is he ready to give her anything she desires?” Mac asked with barely concealed eagerness.
What in God's green earth were they talking about? Savannah exchanged a bewildered look with Patricia.
"He gave her his share of oats,” Hawk said with such smug satisfaction that Savannah wanted to scream her frustration.
"Ah.” Mac nodded, obviously pleased. “I'll have to remember that."
Savannah gave up.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seventeen
Roy had built a fire, Mac saw as they approached the camp site. He'd also caught a rabbit, which he'd skewered on a stick and propped over the fire. The fat from the rabbit dripped onto the coals and made it sizzle and hiss.
There probably wasn't a coyote or a wolf for a mile that hadn't smelled the cooking meat by now, Mac mused. Which meant he'd get little sleep tonight because someone would need to stay awake to keep the fire going and the critters at bay.
When Roy
spotted them, he waved nonchalantly from his comfortable position on a fallen tree. Mac muttered an oath and slid from the saddle, glancing at the dying sun as it sank below the trees. Savannah was right—the kid was too green to be left alone.
"Did you find Badlow?"
"Barlow, Roy. The name's Barlow,” Savannah corrected, accepting Mac's help from the saddle. “And no, we missed the varmint by a couple of days. He's headed for Paradise."
Mac held her against him an instant longer than necessary, just to feel her heart beat. Reluctantly, he let her go.
"Damn shame,” Roy said, earning a narrow-eyed glare from Mac. He meant to have a talk with the boy about his language. No time like the present, he decided. But first, he had another, more important lesson to teach him.
He grabbed the spit from the fire and tossed the roasted rabbit into the creek.
"Hey!” Roy protested, leaping to his feet. “That was my supper you just dumped into the creek!"
"They're probably surrounding us right now, waiting for us to let the fire go out."
"Who?” Roy demanded, stalking to the creek with the intention of rescuing his supper.
He reminded Mac of a bristling porcupine. “Coyotes. Wolves. Maybe even a grizzly or two, for starters."
Roy froze. He turned toward Mac, his eyes huge in his thin, youthful face. “C-coyotes? G-grizzlies? You're—you're pullin’ my leg, right?"
"I'm serious, kid."
With a grunt, Savannah hoisted her saddle from her horse and set it on the ground. She glared at Mac. “Stop scaring him, Mac. He's just a kid."
"I'm not a kid! And I'm not scared!” Roy denied heatedly.
Mac shook his head, weary of trying to convince them of the danger. “Sleep close to the fire, both of you,” he ordered, pulling his rifle from the saddle holster. He checked the chamber, then began unsaddling the surprisingly calm Buckaroo. Apparently Hawk had worked his magic on the horse during their short stay at Sunset Ranch. Mac doubted Mason West would thank him for it.
Savannah unearthed a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread and a small jar of pear preserves from her saddle bags. She gave them to Roy. “Here, Patricia insisted that I take this."
Roy grabbed the fare with eager hands, smashing his nose against the fragrant bread and inhaling deeply. “She's a good cook."
"How do you know?” Mac asked sharply.
"Because I can smell the bread. For Christ's sake, Mac, Get off your high-horse, will ya?"
"And that's another thing. Clean up your language around Savannah. She's a lady, best you remember that."
"But she don't—"
"I don't care what she said, I said to clean it up."
"Yes, sir,” Roy muttered ungraciously around a mouth-full of bread and jam.
Despite the scent of roasting meat that lingered in the air, the night proved uneventful. Mac spent the better part of it thinking about Hawk's advice, and wishing he and Savannah were in that big bed at Sunset Ranch.
His contemplative gaze strayed for the hundredth time to Savannah's sleeping form revealed clearly by the flickering orange flames of the camp fire. Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep, her full lips parted slightly. Beneath the bed roll, he could easily follow the curvy lines of her figure.
He swallowed hard.
Or perhaps they were both better off right here at the camp with Roy for a chaperone and the fire between them.
* * * *
The hotel staff—what there was of it—didn't burn Savannah's massive trunks, or Mac's single bag, as Patricia had feared. Everything was just as they'd left it.
Mac went straight to his satchel containing the wanted posters he carried with him from habit. He had a gut feeling about Mason West ... a feeling that he'd seen his face before. Of course, he'd had the same feeling about several of the faces he'd encountered in Cornwall, but Mac had a particular interest in West. Perhaps there was something he could do to cool the rage in West toward Hawk...
"My, those are some dangerous-looking faces,” Savannah commented softly in his ear.
Tilting his head, Mac looked at her. She was peering over his shoulder, and the movement brought his face close to hers. Close enough to kiss. He cleared his throat. “Um, yes, they are."
"Anyone I know?” she teased.
Mac couldn't stop staring at her smiling mouth. His heart began to thunder. With a shrug, he handed her a pile of posters. “It's always a possibility. Here, have a look."
She came to her knees beside him and began to look through the posters.
"I'm looking for the man who owns the stable,” Mac explained in a voice that was betrayingly husky. The fragile scent of Jasmine teased his nostrils. Her thigh was only inches from his own.
"He's a criminal?"
"I'm hoping.” His lips twisted. “If I can get something on him, maybe I can convince him to leave Hawk and his family alone.” He went on to tell her Hawk's story. By the time he was finished, her eyes had darkened with outrage.
"But that's not fair, Mac! It wasn't Hawk that killed his parents.” She looked at the pile of posters on her lap. “What makes you think he's in here?"
"Because his face seemed familiar, and I've never been to Cornwall."
"Oh.” She fell silent, studying each poster carefully before setting it aside. Most of them were nothing more than crude sketches hastily drawn by amateur artists. A few were actual pictures confiscated from the outlaw's relatives or his home.
"Mac. Look at this one!” She held a poster in front of his nose, her voice rising with excitement. “It's Raquel. She's wanted in Tuscan for murdering her husband back in eighty-four."
Surprised by her find, Mac took the poster and studied the faded picture of the dark-haired woman. She reminded him of a gypsy, right down to her dark, mysterious eyes and secretive smile. He didn't recognize her, but he trusted Savannah. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “She's got a hundred dollar bounty on her. Guess we'll just have to haul her in with Barlow."
"If we catch them."
"Oh, we'll catch them all right. Once we reach Paradise, we'll look in every nook and cranny until we do find them.” Mac looked up to find Savannah's admiring gaze on him. He flushed. “What?"
"You're good at your job, Mac, and I'm thankful to you for helping me. I wonder if I'll ever be able to repay you."
Mac could think of many ways she could repay him. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, you could start by giving me a ... kiss."
"That wouldn't be payment, Mac,” Savannah whispered, angling forward to reach his mouth. “That would be a pleasure."
Their lips met in a gentle, explorative kiss. Each time he kissed her, Mac discovered something new. Like the way she moved her mouth against his ... and the teasing way her tongue darted in and out.
"Christ's sake, don't you people ever give it a rest?” came Roy's disgusted-sounding voice from the doorway.
Reluctantly, Mac ended the kiss. He scowled at Roy. “Don't you ever knock?"
"I did. I guess you two couldn't hear me over all that heavy breathing."
"Get lost!"
"I came to tell you that they're serving fried chicken tonight.” He rubbed his belly and licked his lips. “My favorite. Let's go eat."
As Mac rose to his feet and put his arms around Savannah to give her a hand, his gaze landed on the posters that had slipped from her lap. He reached down and plucked the crude drawing of a man from the pile.
It was West, all right, right down to the scarred face. “You two go eat without me. Since we'll be catching the morning train, I need to get the horses back to the stable.” And have a long talk with Mason West about his penchant for stealing horses.
"Is it...?” Savannah asked.
Mac nodded, staring at her mouth. Her lips were moist from their kiss. Damn Roy and his habit of popping up in the right place at the wrong time!
"Mac, be careful, will you?"
He thought he might drown in the liquid blue of her eyes. If only her concern stemmed
from an emotion deeper than friendship. He prayed Hawk was right, that the attraction they felt for each other would eventually win him the prize he desperately wanted; Savannah's heart.
* * * *
West met him at the stable doors, and once again Mac got the itchy feeling his every move was being anticipated. Well, West was about to discover that Mac knew a few things about him, as well.
When West saw Billy and Buckaroo trailing behind Mac, he didn't look surprised, which meant that someone had probably already informed the stable master that he, Savannah, and Roy had ridden into town together, Mac surmised.
"Have any trouble?” West asked, grabbing the reins as Mac dismounted.
Mac jabbed a finger in Buckaroo's direction, then placed a casual hand on his gun holster as he said, “Buckaroo was more than a little feisty, but Hawk straightened him out."
"Hawk?” West's face mottled with furious color. His big, ham-sized fists clenched. “You let that murdering bastard touch my horse?"
"You mean Buckaroo really belongs to you?” Mac cocked a disbelieving brow. “I thought maybe you stole him."
"Stole—"
"Yes, stole.” Mac was overjoyed to get to the good part. “I'm a bounty hunter, West, and I've got a poster with your name on it. Says you've been stealing horses and puttin’ your own brand on them. You made the mistake of letting someone see your face.” By this time West had turned an alarming shade of purple, making Mac wonder if he wouldn't die right on the spot.
"You plannin’ on turning me in?” West growled, taking a threatening step in Mac's direction.
Mac drew his gun and cocked the hammer, all in one swift, expert move. “I generally just shoot one foot, but I'm willing to shoot both. That way I don't have to worry about you running. So, unless you're interested in making a deal, we'll get on with it.” Mac deliberately aimed his gun at West's foot. He was bluffing, but West didn't know. Just for good measure, Mac added, “I believe the poster said dead or alive."
West seemed to struggle with himself. “What kind of deal?"
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