by Devine,Carol
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do."
"Zach, you don't understand. I can't go with you. I must keep moving."
"Because of this man you're so spooked about? Who the hell is he?"
"My stepfather."
She said it so matter-of-factly, Zach was sure she was pulling his leg. "Certainly a stepfather would not pose a threat to someone as old as you are."
"Maybe not in most places. But he considers me his property, to do with as he pleases."
Zach rolled his eyes at the idea. "I'm tired of arguing. You're coming with me."
"But--"
He took her hand so she would see how serious he was. "You need to have a proper meal, not some skinned rabbit burned over a campfire. And I refuse to let you hurt your feet any more than you already have."
She ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth. It was a nervous gesture, one that drew his attention. Actually, he liked her better this way. A little off balance, a little unsure. "That's most kind of you," she said.
His motivation had hardly been kindness but he let it pass. The pouty look of her mouth made that imperative. He dropped his hand and leaned against the tree, feigning a casualness that bordered on indifference. "I owe you a lot. Five hundred dollars should do it for the clothes. As for my life, well, I guess you can't blame me for wanting to put a somewhat higher price tag on that. Does ten thousand sound fair to you?"
"Ten thousand dollars?"
The shock on her face told him she hadn't expected such a windfall. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "I'm good for it."
"It's not that I doubt you possess such a sum. Anyone who owns a ranch is a rich man, indeed."
"My money doesn't come from the ranch. Ever since I left, I've been traveling around the world, working as I go and socking away the dough just to prove to my old man that I wasn't the worthless piece of shit he said I was. After thirteen some years, it's added up."
Her expression hardened. "I'm sure it has. Nevertheless, it is not something I require."
Given what he could see of her belongings, he found that hard to believe. "Think of it as a token of my appreciation."
"Ten thousand dollars is more than a mere token, Zach."
"For you, maybe. Not for me."
The barb put a little extra starch in her spine. "I won't take your money."
"Sure you will. You already agreed to let me replace your things."
"I said you may replace the things I lost while helping you, this is true. But my shoes and chemise are worth perhaps fifty dollars, if that."
"Use the ten grand to buy twenty pairs of shoes and a hundred of those chemise things, I don't care. It's yours."
"Must I be ungracious in order for you to understand? I don't need such a sum."
"Give it to your favorite charity if you want."
"Is that why you think it necessary to offer such a large amount? That because my clothes are ragged and I eat wild rabbit, I'm a charity case?"
"If the shoe fits…" He shrugged, eager to get the transaction over with and his sense of obligation discharged in as short an amount of time as possible. "We'll settle up as soon as we get to the ranch."
Her cheeks reddened but Zach refused to let guilt get to him. She was too damned righteous for her own good.
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded.
"Because I can."
He saw the righteousness shift in her eyes, becoming something dark and utterly cool. "You mean to drag me back to your ranch against my will?"
Her voice was full of steel. It made him feel put down, reprimanded, as though he were schoolboy to her teacher. He wanted it the other way around. In fact, he wanted her to be scared of him. That way, she'd maintain the distance between them. She was a woman alone as she said, and if she didn't recognize the danger he represented, he'd give her a taste of it. If he were lucky, he'd at last find something about her he didn't like and kill two birds with one stone.
"Sarah, believe me. It won't be against your will."
"I have told you quite clearly that I have no intention of going with you. Excuse me. I'd best be on my way."
"I don't think so." He caught her arm. She looked down her nose at it.
"Unhand me, sir."
"Not until I get what I want."
"What do you want?"
His smile was infuriating. "You."
He'd turned on her so quickly, her head was spinning. But with him, it was becoming an all too familiar sensation. "All right," Sarah snapped, figuring a lie to be the lesser of two evils. "I'll accompany you back to the ranch. We will discuss the issue of reward there. Now, will you let me go?"
"Sarah, I'm surprised at you. A promise made under duress is no promise at all."
"I give you my word," she said through her teeth.
"I need something better than that. Seal your promise with a kiss."
"I'd rather kiss a snake." She pulled away. He wouldn't let her, tightening his grip.
"That can be arranged."
At first, she told herself he was joking but when she checked his face, she suddenly wasn't sure. His expression had hardened into vengeful lines and she couldn't for the life of her understand why. "Why are you treating me with such contempt?"
The truth stung, but Zach had the advantage physically and he felt driven to prove it both to her and to himself. In one lightening move he pinned her against the tree. She gasped at the rough contact and he leaned into the sound, seeking it. She squirmed but he planned the attack well and a rush of adrenaline gave him more strength than an injured man had right to expect. Credit Sarah's fortuitous zeal and her damned yucca perfume.
Butcher barked wildly from his tied position on the other side of the campfire. Zach ignored the dog, using lips and teeth to expand the kiss into a thorough sampling of her mouth. When she resisted, he turned his attention to the side of her neck, gentling himself in order to get her to do the same.
"Stop it!" she cried.
He nuzzled his way to her ear, tonguing it. Shuddering, she fought in earnest, punching and twisting in a way that served to make him more determined. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing he could taste Sarah like this, at will, especially since she was too damned good at making him feel like she was more in control of the situation than he was.
"Yo! Zach!"
At the sound of the shout, Sarah broke away and ran to Butcher. Keeping hold of his collar, she quieted him and craned her neck to look beyond the trees.
Zach stayed where he was, thinking he'd lost his composure more than she had lost hers. The battle wasn't over yet. "Who is it?" he asked, even though he'd recognized the voice.
She spared him a withering glance. "Two men on horseback, riding this way. They're leading a third horse." She shaded her eyes, straining to see. "I believe it's yours, though they're too far away to tell for sure."
"Must be the cavalry," he said. Coburn would have put out a search when the buckskin returned without a rider. "Get your things together, Sarah."
"I would never go with you now."
"We had this discussion. I won't let you stay here by yourself."
"I won't be staying here. I told you I'd be off your land by nightfall."
"The sun is going to set soon. You're going to walk in the dark without shoes on?"
"I've done it before."
Somehow, he didn't doubt she had. "I'm not giving you a choice," he said pointedly, unsure why he needed to rub it in. If Sarah had been a man, he wouldn't have. "Let me repeat. Those men on horseback are my ranch hands. There's three of us and one of you."
"There is Butcher."
"Which would you bet on? A dog and a woman on foot or three men on horseback?"
She answered by stripping her pack from the tree branch and gathering her gear with a quiet determination he knew he shouldn't trust. She looked like a heifer ready to bolt.
"Don't even think about it," Zach warned.
"Think about what?"
"Leaving without me."
She stopped packing to look straight at him. "So you fancy yourself a mind reader as well, Mr. Masterson?"
"No, not a mind reader. A student of human nature."
A hearty male voice called out. "Zach!"
"Hey, Coburn, Miller," Zach answered without taking his eyes off Sarah. Her dark stare never wavered. Damn, she was stubborn. Despite his annoyance, he allowed her a small victory by looking away first and greeted his men.
"So this is where you've been hiding." Coburn trotted up the embankment on a flashy Appaloosa, his face creased with worry. Behind him rode Miller on a brown and white pinto, led Nutkin.
"Took a spill," said Zach.
"You hurt bad?"
"Just a little bump on the head."
"Me and the boys figured something went wrong. The buckskin came back all lathered up."
"She okay?"
"Brought her along, didn't I? Think you can ride back?"
"Long as we go slow. She looks worse than I feel." Zach caught the mare's bridle and ran his hand down her neck. She didn't quiver this time. All the fight had been spooked out of her.
"What the hell happened?" Miller asked.
"She threw a hissy fit in the middle of the creek and bucked me off."
"Looks like she plowed right through you, too," observed Coburn, dismounting to have a look at Zach's head.
"I hit a rock. Knocked me out for a time. Sarah pulled me out of the water and patched me up."
"That itty-bitty thing we saw when we first rode up?"
"She's camped here."
"Not anymore," said Miller.
Zach checked the campsite and swore. Sarah had disappeared. The fire was out and the grate, tarp and blanket were gone. He scanned the ridge. Halfway up the steep hill she strode, gray skirt flapping in the wind, the pack slung over her back. Butcher bounded ahead, leading the way.
"You want me to go after her, boss?"
Zach watched her progress with narrowed eyes. She'd gotten by all of them without so much as a sound. He pulled on his boots and mounted the buckskin, suppressing his first impulse to spur the horse in hot pursuit. First of all, he'd probably fall flat on his face. Secondly, he should be glad she'd left. Real glad. Her abrupt departure meant he didn't owe her a thing. "No," he said. "If she wants to go that bad, let her."
"What was she doing here?" Coburn asked.
"Damned if I know." He nudged the buckskin forward.
Miller scooped up a red rag from the ground. "Look here, boss. What about this? You want to keep it?" He passed it to Zach.
Thinking it would be smart to have something with him in case his head wound opened up again, he shoved it into his pants pocket. It wasn't until he saw the lace edging the fabric that he realized what the rag had once been. Her chemise.
Zach spread it out on his thigh, sickened by how soaked it was with blood. Only a tiny fragment of white satin ribbon along the rounded neckline had escaped unscathed.
That one little clean spot seared him.
She had literally sacrificed the clothes on her back. In return, what had he given her? Nothing but grief. No, worse than grief. She'd been right to refuse the money, refuse him. He had tried to insult in her every conceivable way. He had wanted to drive her away.
Zach's hand closed over the cloth, forcing it into a tight ball inside his fist. He studied the empty ridge. He'd succeeded. She had disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing but windswept grass and empty sky, as though she'd never existed. Except for the evidence he held, he could almost pretend that she hadn't dragged him from the creek, got him breathing again and stopped him from bleeding to death.
Almost.
Mouth grim, he tucked the ruined chemise into his pocket and gathered the reins. "I've changed my mind. Go after her, Coburn. Make sure she gets a decent supper and put her in my quarters until I get back from the hospital. I need to go for stitches."
"Right, boss."
"And Coburn?"
"Yeah?"
"Beware of the dog."
Chapter Four
Sarah woke with a start. Her bed was soft, softer than she had reason to expect. She was also warm, warmer than she'd been in weeks of sleeping outdoors. One ragged wool blanket was not enough to ward off the chilly autumn nights.
Trained after months of living by her wits, she used only her eyes and looked around the small room. Dawn was just creeping through a tiny window along the wall next to the bed.
A real window, a real wall, a real bed.
She lifted her head, felt soreness in the muscles of her back and arms, and remembered where she was. Zach Masterson's trailer. At least, the Bar M hands called it that. Last night, however, when she'd turned down the bedcovers, the sheets had not smelled of him.
She wouldn't have slept between them if they had.
She stretched, working the kinks from her limbs. Butcher stirred from his blanket on the floor and sniffed at the thick quilt covering her body. She gave him a scratch behind the ears and he wagged his tail.
"Saving a man's life sure makes for a sound sleep, doesn't it, boy?"
He blew through his nose contentedly and relaxed his muzzle on the edge of the mattress. The luxury of a pillow under her head made her relax, too. Most times she used her pack to rest on, rolled up to provide some semblance of support. The pillow was nicer. Much nicer. So were the two men who had brought her here, compared to their boss.
She frowned in the semi dark, remembering. He'd turned out to be a dangerous man, Zach Masterson. A real charmer. She'd even trusted him for a time, until he took advantage of her. That was the unbelievable part. She usually was a pretty good judge of character.
He'd turned on her suddenly. The kiss had stunned her, especially when she'd come to the point of actually admiring the man. Stalwart in the face of his injury, he possessed a ready wit whatever the circumstances. And she couldn't fault him for his behavior when he'd first come upon her. She had been trespassing on his land.
She sat up quickly, intent on being far away from his ranch before he returned. She'd spent the night out of a sense of obligation to Mr. Coburn and Mr. Miller, who had treated her with the utmost kindness and respect. Having been persuaded that Zach would not be released from the hospital until the following day, she'd agreed to accept their offer of hospitality. They hadn't manhandled her or made her feel like a stupid child who didn't have the means or knowhow to take care of herself. Unlike some people of their shared acquaintance.
Shaking her head as if to clear it, she checked her feet. Thanks to the buildup of calluses she'd developed over the course of so much walking during her journey, the scraped soles were not as bad as she anticipated.
Retrieving her pack, she pulled out some absorbent strips of tanned rabbit skin she kept for emergencies and wrapped them around her feet, creating a pair of makeshift moccasins. Then she found her calico blouse and brown homespun skirt and dressed, wishing she had time to take another bath. The trailer's bathroom was tiny but had running water, a luxury she took advantage of whenever the opportunity presented itself. Last night she'd even washed her hair again, enjoying the rich lather of bottled shampoo.
She went to the tiny sink and scrubbed her face clean, reveling in the milled bar of store-bought soap and instant hot water. Outsiders didn't seem to appreciate these creature comforts but having lived without them for most of her life, she did.
Next she used the mirror to properly pin up her hair and packed her things, moving swiftly because the sky had lightened considerably. She estimated the time as being close to seven, which was well beyond the hour she usually rose. Credit a decent supper and a decent bed, she thought wistfully. Only God knew when she'd have the opportunity to sleep in another one.
Shouldering her pack, she spared a last look at the neatened trailer, squared her shoulders and opened the door. A blast of cold air took her breath. Frost covered the packed dirt of the yard. Until the sun got higher in the sky, she was going to have
to move fast to keep warm. At least the cold ground would numb the nagging soreness of her feet.
Light spilled from the large barn next to the bunkhouse. Likely, the ranch hands were up and about, caring for the stock. Quietly ordering Butcher to heel, she limped away from the trailer and barn toward a house set off behind a row of golden-leafed cottonwoods. The windows were boarded up, telling her it was empty, affording some assurance of privacy. If she could make her way unobtrusively around to the back, she would make it off the property without incident.
She glanced around as she walked, checking to see if anyone had spotted her. Her feet left footprints, dark against the white dusted ground. They were not something she could hide, so she didn't try. The rising sun would take care of her tracks soon enough.
Butcher wandered amid piles of rusting junk, nose to the ground, cautious about where he did his business.
Sarah smelled coffee brewing and winced. The prospect of walking miles in the cold on an empty stomach was poor comfort, especially when she remembered the supper Mr. Coburn had fed her last night. She hadn't had such a filling meal in many a moon. To distract herself, she sped up and broke out into the sanctuary of the tall trees, well out of sight of possible prying eyes. There she let Butcher sniff among the fallen leaves while she jogged in place and studied the house.
Two stories high, with four dormer windows and a large brick chimney, it was wrapped by a wide porch, sagging in places. Torn shingles flapped precariously from the steeply pitched roof. The paint was peeling, showing streaks of weathered gray clapboards and the occasional rot of warped wood. A screen door had once covered the front entrance. Now it teetered on one hinge, threatening to fall. All the shutters were gone, giving the place an air of blank-eyed abandonment.
Despite the poor upkeep, she could see the lines were straight and true and of superior construction. How could such a grand place like this be allowed to go to such ruin? Mr. Coburn had apologized for the cramped bunkhouse where they'd eaten last night. Why didn't they live and work out of this house?
An intact picket fence closed in a wide, spacious yard perfect for child's play. There was even an old wooden swing hanging from the thick branches of a huge golden oak. On the other side, a sprawling apple tree, shorn of leaves, provided variations of shade that fell across the flagstone walk like bones from a spindly hand.
