LaceysWay

by Madeline Baker

He dutifully ate the meal the girl prepared, drank several cups of strong black coffee, and then fell asleep.

  When he woke again, it was night and the girl was sitting beside him.

  Lacey smiled tentatively when she saw the prisoner was awake, but frowned when she noticed he was shaking.

  “Cold,” he husked.

  With a nod, Lacey spread her blanket over him, then added another as chills continued to rack his body. She thought of the blankets she had used to cover the dead men, but she could not make herself go to them in the dark, could not leave them lying dead and uncovered. Her eyes filled with concern as violent tremors shook the prisoner. Matt tried to smile reassuringly, but a low moan escaped his lips instead. His left arm and shoulder throbbed mercilessly, and he was cold, so cold. Lacey sat there for a few minutes and then, with a shrug, she crawled under the blankets and lay beside him, warming him with the heat of her body.

  Later, the fever came, and he tossed fretfully, throwing the blankets aside. Lacey replaced the covers time after time, becoming more and more frightened as he began to mutter incoherently. Once he stared, unseeing, into the distance, his face a dark mask of rage as he cried, “I didn’t kill him! Dammit, why won’t anyone believe me?”

  Another time he called for someone named Claire. Over and over again he murmured the woman’s name, his voice sometimes soft and tender, sometimes filled with anger and bitter regret.

  Not knowing what else to do, Lacey kept him covered as best she could. In his quiet moments, she forced him to drink as much water as he could hold, afraid he might dehydrate from the fever and from the amount of blood he had lost.

  It was the longest night of her life. Thoughts of Indians and wild animals preyed on her mind, and she dozed sporadically, only to wake with a start each time the man cried out. She prayed fervently that he would be better in the morning. Her nursing skills were minimal at best. She had always been squeamish in the face of pain, and blood made her queasy. If his fever got worse, or his wound became infected, what would she do? Ride for help and leave him out here alone, prey to scavengers? Or sit by and watch him writhe in pain until he died?

  With the coming of dawn, he fell into a deep sleep. Exhausted mentally and physically, Lacey stretched out beside him, and in moments she, too, was sleeping soundly.

  Chapter Two

  Matt Drago opened his eyes to find the girl pressed close beside him, her head pillowed on his right shoulder, her reddish-brown hair feeling like silk against his beard-roughened cheek. For a moment he did not move, hardly daring to breathe as he lay there studying her face for fear she would wake up. She wasn’t as breathtakingly beautiful as Claire had been, he mused dispassionately, but she was a decidedly pretty girl. Her mouth was wide and generous, her nose finely chiseled with a slight upward tilt, her eyebrows a delicate arch over wide-set eyes, her lashes long and thick.

  He felt a faint stirring of desire as she snuggled closer to him, her breasts pressing against his side, one slim leg slipping between his.

  Matt swore softly. He had not had a woman in a long time. Claire had been a lady of quality, and he had never touched her other than to give her a lingering kiss in the moonlight. Since Claire, he had occasionally found relief for his masculine urges in the arms of women whose morals would not bear close scrutiny.

  Cautiously he raised his shackled hands and stroked the girl’s cheek. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his fingertips, soft and undeniably feminine.

  His touch jolted Lacey awake. For a moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Lacey felt a peculiar shiver deep in the core of her being as his midnight blue eyes held her own. They seemed to be asking questions she was afraid to answer, yet she could not draw her gaze away from his. She noted that his lashes were short and thick and sooty black, that his eyes were the darkest blue she had ever seen. They seemed to be probing the depths of her heart, stealing her soul…

  With a wordless cry, Lacey scrambled to her feet, her face flushing bright crimson as she realized she had been practically lying in his arms.

  Matt grinned up at her, his eyes glinting with mirth until he saw she was genuinely upset. “Sorry,” he said soberly. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  “You didn’t,” Lacey lied, not quite meeting his steady gaze. “I…it was time to get up anyway. I…how are you feeling?”

  “Better, thanks to you.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “You probably saved my life. That’s something. To me, anyway. I’m in your debt.”

  Lacey shrugged. She did not want this man indebted to her. He was a convict, and the less she had to do with him, the better. Besides, she did not like the way he was looking at her, or the way her insides turned to soft mush whenever his eyes met hers.

  “How about finding the key to these cuffs?” Matt asked, holding up his shackled hands.

  Lacey took a wary step backward. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I…because.”

  Matt sat up, his head cocked to one side. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he challenged.

  “Of course not,” Lacey replied quickly. Too quickly.

  Before he could argue further, she went to start breakfast. She was afraid of him, she admitted to herself, but not in the way he thought. She didn’t think he would harm her physically, but there was something about him that disturbed her deeply. He aroused feelings within her that she was not certain she cared for, feelings she could not put a name to. Feelings she was afraid to examine too closely. She felt her cheeks redden as she recalled the way he had gazed into her eyes, his own eyes dark and turbulent with some emotion Lacey could not identify.

  Breakfast was a silent meal. Lacey’s thoughts were centered on her father. Was he still alive? How could she ever find him now? What would she do without him? She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. For the first time, it occurred to her that she was all alone in the world. It was a scary thought, knowing there was no one to care if she lived or died, no one who would mourn her, no one to cherish her memory.

  She stole a furtive glance at the man sitting across the fire from her. How much longer would she have to stay with him before he was well enough to make it on his own? Did she dare just ride off and leave him out here, alone and on foot? He was in no fit condition to make the long trek back to Salt Creek. Of course, when the prison wagon didn’t arrive at the penitentiary at the scheduled time, someone would likely come looking for it. Would he be able to survive out here alone until then? Probably not.

  Darn her soft heart! She could not bring herself to leave him out here alone. But then, she had always had a tender spot in her heart for orphans and wounded things. Stray dogs and cats, birds with broken wings, injured rabbits and squirrels—she had always taken them home to nurse until they were well enough to return to the wild. Maybe her father had been right. Maybe she should have been a nurse after all.

  “Who’s Claire?” Lacey asked abruptly.

  Matt Drago frowned. “How do you know about her?”

  “You called for her when you were unconscious.”

  “Oh.”

  Lacey waited for him to go on, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

  “Is she your wife?” Lacey asked, knowing it was none of her business, yet unable to curb her curiosity.

  “I’m not married.”

  “Your sweetheart?”

  “She’s nothing to me,” Matt answered curtly. “Just a girl I used to know.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Lacey said, unable to explain why she was so pleased to learn he wasn’t married or engaged.

  “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Lacey,” she answered somewhat shyly. “Lacey Montana.”

  “Matt Drago.” He looked at her curiously. “Why were you following the wagon?”

  “My father was on it. The Indians took him away. As soon as you’re…as soon as someone comes for you, I’m going after him.”

  “After
your father?” Matt exclaimed in surprise.

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t go traipsing off after those Apaches by yourself,” he scoffed. “They’d grab you so fast, it would make your head spin.”

  “I don’t care!” Lacey replied hotly. “They have my father, and I intend to help him in any way I can.”

  “It’s your life,” Matt muttered. “I guess you can throw it away if you want. It’s up to you. But you won’t be able to save your old man, and you’ll just end up getting yourself killed, or worse, if you try.”

  “It’s no concern of yours,” Lacey retorted. But Matt’s words were so near to her own thoughts, she felt a sense of hopelessness. And then she brightened as a new thought occurred to her. “When the men from Yuma come looking for the wagon, perhaps they’ll help me find my father.”

  Matt Drago frowned. The girl was right. When the prison wagon didn’t show up at Yuma, someone would come looking for it. And for him, as well. He scowled at his shackled hands. Well, he for damn sure didn’t intend to be sitting around waiting for them. No, sir! He was heading back to Salt Creek to find out who set him up for the murder of young Billy Henderson just as soon as he could travel.

  Matt sipped the last of his coffee thoughtfully. The Indians had taken the wagon team and the lawmen’s horses, but the girl had a horse, a good-looking quarter-horse mare. He stared into his empty cup. Of course, he couldn’t very well take the horse and leave the girl out here alone. She had saved his life, after all. Well, there was no help for it, she would just have to go back to Salt Creek with him whether she liked it or not. Maybe Sheriff Henderson would help her track her old man.

  He would rest up another day or so, Matt decided, and then be on his way long before anyone from Yuma arrived on the scene. And woe to the men who had falsely accused him of killing Billy Henderson.

  He slept most of the day. Once, upon waking, he saw Lacey brushing out her long, russet-colored hair. He watched, mesmerized, as she pulled the brush through the heavy, silken mass. It was a decidedly feminine gesture, graceful and innocently provocative. He remembered how soft her hair had felt against his cheek earlier that day, and he had a sudden urge to run his fingers through her hair, to massage the back of her slender neck, to taste those pouting pink lips.

  Feeling his gaze, Lacey turned to find Matt staring at her, his dark blue eyes alight with a mysterious inner fire. What was he thinking, she wondered. Unaccountably, her insides began to tremble under the force of his gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” His voice sounded strange in his ears.

  Self-conscious now, Lacey put her hairbrush away. Rising, she walked away from the wagon until she was out of sight behind some scrub oak. Why had he looked at her like that? And why had she reacted in such a peculiar way?

  Abruptly, she recalled the way some of the men back at the ranch had looked at her, their eyes bright, intent, as they watched her. She recalled the way they had smiled at her. And she remembered her father warning her to stay away from the men, saying they only wanted one thing from a girl. She knew what he meant by that. Her mother had told her all about men and women and the intimate side of life.

  “Hang onto your virginity, Lacey,” her mother had admonished. “It’s a rare prize, and one that should be saved for your husband. No other man deserves it. And no decent, God-fearing man will try to take it from you.”

  Was that what Matt Drago wanted from her? The thought repelled and excited her even as she vowed to stay out of his reach. Perversely, it warmed her to think he found her desirable.

  Troubled, she sat down on a log, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin cradled in the palms of her hands. He was quite a handsome man, she mused idly. His hair was as black as ten feet down, his eyes as dark as the sky at midnight. His mouth was full-lipped, sensuous, his jaw, strong and square, was covered with thick black bristles, giving him the look of a Barbary Coast pirate. She recalled, with a blush, that his skin was smooth and unblemished, and that his arms were corded with muscle. His belly was as flat as a tabletop, his chest was covered with curly black hair…

  Lacey quickly pulled her thoughts away from such unladylike musings. The man was a convicted felon, and the sooner she got away from him, the better.

  She was about to slide off the log and return to camp when she saw the snake. It was coiled in the sun only a few feet from where she sat, its triangular-shaped head facing in her direction, its eyes black and menacing. A warning buzz of its tail held her frozen in place.

  Swallowing hard, Lacey glanced over her shoulder, thinking she could climb over the log and escape, but a thick tangle of thorny brush blocked her path. Fighting a growing sense of panic, she looked at the snake again, let out a small scream as its forked tongue darted toward her.

  Matt Drago was searching through the pockets of one of the slain deputies, looking for the key to the handcuffs, when he heard Lacey’s cry of alarm. Cursing under his breath, he delved into the lawman’s shirt pocket, his stomach churning as the smell of decaying flesh filled his nostrils. He uttered an exclamation of relief as his fingers closed around a ring of keys, and he quickly removed the irons from his hands and feet. Each movement sent a stab of pain jolting through his wounded arm, but he ignored it as he quickly followed Lacey’s tracks, cussing mightily because he didn’t have a gun. A hell of a lot of help he’d be if she was in real trouble, he mused sourly. No gun and a bum arm. Damn! Leave it to a woman to get into trouble a hundred miles in the middle of nowhere.

  He found her sitting on a log, her legs drawn up under her, her face as pale as death as she stared at the rattlesnake poised within striking distance.

  “Don’t move,” Matt said quietly. “When he realizes you’re not food and you’re not a threat, he’ll leave. Just be patient.”

  Easy for you to say, Lacey thought wryly. She continued to stare at the snake in fascinated awe. It looked so menacing, its black eyes staring at her, unblinking, its forked tongue darting out to test the air. She recalled the time when one of the men on the Double L had been bitten. He had been found hours later when it was too late for anyone to help him. His leg had swollen to twice its normal size and turned black. He had died a horrible death.

  Frozen with fear, Lacey could not take her eyes from the snake. Terror older than time itself held her in its grasp, and then she heard Matt’s voice again, deep and soothing, tinged with a slight Southern accent.

  “Don’t panic, Lacey. Just sit tight and you’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Lacey nodded, not really believing him.

  “Look at the flowers, Lacey. Over there, behind the snake.”

  Lacey shook her head, certain the snake would attack her when she wasn’t looking.

  Matt frowned thoughtfully, wondering what he could say to take Lacey’s mind off the rattler, and then he grinned.

  “The Apache are an interesting people,” he mused. “For instance, they believe that any Apache who marries a Ute will turn into an owl when he dies.”

  “An owl?” Lacey said, still watching the snake.

  “Yeah. And if an Apache marries a Navajo, he’ll turn into a mountain lion. Worst of all would be marrying a Mexican. Any Apache who married a Mexican would be reborn as a burro, and if he married a paleface, he’d come back as a mule.”

  Lacey looked at Matt, a tremulous smile on her face. “You’re making that up.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, it’s true.”

  “It’s nonsense.”

  “Maybe, but it makes the young Apache bucks and maidens think twice about marrying out of the tribe.”

  Lacey chuckled, the snake momentarily forgotten.

  “It’s okay now,” Matt said as the snake slithered into the underbrush.

  Timidly, Lacey placed one foot on the ground, her eyes focused on the spot where the snake had disappeared, her whole body tense. Perhaps the snake was only hiding, waiting for her to move so it could strike.

  “It’
s okay, Lacey,” Matt assured her. “Trust me.”

  Cautiously she placed her other foot on the ground, then stood up and ran toward Matt, who suddenly seemed like the only safe haven in all the world. His arms closed around her, strong and supportive, and the fear slowly drained out of her limbs. His hand lightly stroked her hair as he quietly assured her that the danger was past.

  It felt so good, standing in the shelter of his embrace. His voice was low and soothing, his breath warm where it brushed her cheek. She felt so safe, so protected, as though nothing could ever hurt her again.

  Matt felt the stirrings of desire as he held Lacey in his arms. The scent of her filled his nostrils, her hair felt like fine silk in his hand, her breasts were warm against his chest. He felt his muscles begin to tense as he fought off the urge to lower her gently to the ground and cover her face with kisses. Only the throbbing ache in his arm, and the fact that she trusted him so completely, kept him from possessing her.

  Gradually, as her fears subsided, Lacey became aware of Matt’s ragged breathing, of the tension in his arms.

  “I…thank you,” she murmured, drawing away from him. “I’m terrified of snakes. I saw a man die from a rattlesnake bite once. It was horrible.”

  Matt nodded, and Lacey thought he looked suddenly pale. “You shouldn’t be up,” she admonished, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re still weak.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Arms akimbo, Lacey looked at him, her eyes filled with doubt.

  “I am a little tired,” Matt confessed. “Think you could help me back to camp?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Smiling at her, he draped his right arm around her shoulders. It was only then that Lacey realized he had somehow managed to remove the shackles from his hands and feet.

  Walking back to camp, she was very much aware of Matt’s leg brushing against her own, of the length and breadth of him beside her. He was quite tall, taller than she had imagined. Her head barely reached his shoulder. But he was more than just tall. He was big-boned and broad-shouldered, making her feel small and helpless.