Still with the smoking gun in his hand, the stranger pinned Jed’s gaunt companion with a lethal glare. “What about you?”
His Adam’s apple lurching, the weasel lifted his hands from his sides in a gesture of surrender and turned toward his horse. As he vaulted into the saddle and kicked the animal into action, he grabbed the reins of Jed’s riderless mount. The horses raced over the vacant landscape with a small sandstorm rolling behind them.
The stranger no longer even watched.
The hammer clicked as he released it and slipped his gun back into the holster. Fresh panic jolted through her when she realized his attention now centered on her.
His dead eyes appeared to snap, like a flash of heat lightning, until they fairly blazed. Her faint hope of salvation withered completely under that searing gaze.
Moving the reins over the horse’s head, he dismounted with fluid grace and started toward her with the slow, lithe gait of a stalking predator.
Evangeline’s erratic pulse leaped. The man exuded danger on every level.
She sprang to her feet. With each step he took, she retreated, keeping a safe distance between them.
She’s mine, he’d said... but not if she could help it.
Slowly, Rane approached the woman. After the ordeal she’d just endured, he feared she’d collapse. The last thing he needed was a hysterical female on his hands.
Earlier, at the relay station, he’d thought her a striking beauty. He hadn’t expected a vision to step from the stage. If that old driver hadn’t called to her, he might have let her get right by him, uncertain of her identity.
Now, as the wind wildly stirred her pale hair about her face, the wary lowering of her lashes too closely resembled seduction. The mounds of ample, creamy breasts swelled at the top of her corset with each heaving breath.
Maldito! She was the devil’s own temptation.
When she backed away, her eyes held the frantic look of a cornered animal. He wasn’t surprised when she whirled and bolted.
In five running steps, he reached out and snagged the flapping tail of her jacket. Without slowing, the little minx allowed him to pull it right off her back. He flung the thin scrap of wool to the ground and continued chasing her.
He could hear her breathing, harsh and labored, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He aimed for her skirt, ballooning behind her. It was almost in his grasp when she fell.
He was so close, her sudden plunge sent him tripping down after her. He locked his arms to break his fall, saving her from the full crush of his weight. The jolting impact rattled his teeth.
He blinked against the grit and sputtered as the dust settled over them. She lay facedown on the ground beneath him, and she wasn’t moving. Had he knocked her unconscious?
Rane levered himself off her and lay on his side. Still, she didn’t move.
“Señorita Clayton? Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
He laid his hand over the point of her shoulder and rolled her to her back...and she came up fighting.
Hissing like a cornered cat, she lashed at him with fists and legs.
After several attempts, he caught her flailing hands and straddled her hips. Leaning forward, he pinned her wrists against the sand.
She wouldn’t give up. With surprising strength, she lunged straight up and tried to buck him off.
The ride she gave him didn’t dislodge him, but it did have a disconcerting effect. The repeated thrust of her pelvis and the sight of all that luscious exposed flesh sent jolts of arousal straight to his groin.
“Stop it!” he commanded.
She didn’t. But she was tiring. He saw the strain on her taut features each time she bore his weight upward.
“Sangre de Cristo! If you don’t stop that right now...”
Didn’t the fool woman realize what she was doing? The mere sight of her would stimulate any red-blooded man. Not to mention what she was doing with the lower half of her body.
If she wouldn’t listen to reason...
She thrust, and he parried, meeting her halfway. It was almost his undoing, but the contact got her attention. He saw her startled eyes go even wider. And then she went still beneath him.
Their gazes locked—midnight and blue sky—while awareness crackled between them like static before an August storm.
Her full lips parted, her breath coming even harder now.
His own breath had grown ragged and harsh, but not from the exertion.
A tense moment passed.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Prove it,” she said. “Get off me.”
Chapter Two
The feel of the stranger’s body didn’t repulse Evangeline. She’d seen him kill Jed without twitching a hair. Contact with him should have left her cold—cold as the death he so easily dealt. But she wasn’t repulsed. Far from it. Heat invaded her. He radiated warmth, vitality, and all the places where he touched her tingled with awareness.
He hovered so close his breath fanned her flaming cheeks. His smell enveloped her, leather, dust, sunshine, and a hint of some musky spice. All potently male.
Banked fire from his heavy-lidded, dark eyes bore into her. His thighs pressed each side of her hips. The heat of his body penetrated even her skirts and undergarments.
She drew in a shaky breath and slowly relaxed her fisted fingers, trapped beneath his grip against the sand. Would he go back on his word?
No. He released her and rose so abruptly she flinched. She sat up and stared at him in mute surprise.
The stranger walked toward his horse. For a heart-stopping instant she wondered if he intended to leave her there.
No such luck.
Reaching the horse’s side, he pulled a canteen strap from the horn of his saddle. Without sparing her a glance, he uncapped the top and put it to his lips.
Evangeline swallowed hard, suddenly reminded of the cottony dryness clogging her throat. A curious mixture of hatred and longing seeped from her every pore while she watched him drink his fill.
After a moment, he lowered the canteen and swiped the back of his hand beneath his chin. Under a black Stetson, hair as dusky as a moonless night lay over the collar of his shirt. The stark, cruel beauty of his face hinted of something almost exotic—high, chiseled cheekbones and rich sun-bronzed skin. His stance and the proud tilt of his head were those of a man who stepped aside for no one. She had seen his kind before. The dark, predatory looks. A loner. Obviously of mixed blood. No doubt, he would be regarded as something of a pariah among Texas Anglos.
Could he be reasoned with? Or was she dealing with a man who had nothing to lose?
When he started toward her, she stayed put, though her pounding heart belied her outward calm. He hunkered down before her, so close she again picked up his strangely enticing scent. He offered the canteen.
Without hesitation, she took it. A musty smell drifted from the open cap, but the wetness coating her lips and sliding down her parched throat was a taste of Heaven itself.
After a long drink, she sucked in a gasp and lowered the canteen.
He stared at her with a frown knitting the tanned skin between his inky brows. She licked her lips. An open cut stung when her tongue came into contact.
When he reached to examine her injury, she jerked her head aside, avoiding his touch.
For the space of several heartbeats, his hand hovered there, not quite touching her. Then, slowly, he withdrew it.
“From the way you were fighting me a moment ago, I gather you’re not hurt too badly.”
Holding his gaze steady, she spat on the sand with all the venom she possessed. There! That should show him exactly what she thought of him and his concern.
His eyes narrowed, reminding her of the compelling darkness she’d sensed in him from the first. “Don’t drink too much.” Reproach rang through the mildly spoken words. He pushed to his feet and started to walk away again.
Evangeline rose on wobbly legs and took a step to fol
low. She was tired of being tossed about like the object in a keep-away game. “What do you intend to do with me?”
He halted and turned, a small quirk flirting with an outer corner of his sinfully sensual mouth.
That she would notice such irrelevant details at a time like this completely unnerved her. How could she possibly find anything attractive about the man?
“Are you very sure you want to know, Angel?”
Her stomach clenched so hard, the water she’d just swallowed attempted to slide back up her throat. Not good, not good at all. He’d called her “Angel.” Her father had given her that pet name when she was a child. Only those closest to her referred to her so intimately.
Evangeline’s heart thudded harder. He’d been listening, she remembered. He’d stood in the shadows of the relay, watching her when the old driver had called to her by name.
He’d also been waiting there for her. What other conclusion could she draw? He knew who she was, even down to her nickname. If she had any gumption at all, she’d walk right up to him and slap his face. But she didn’t dare. He’d probably slap her back. Or worse.
Her insides turned a quick somersault. “Yes, I want to know. I hate surprises.” And, so far, the day had held nothing but.
“Your father’s involved in a range war.”
Several seconds elapsed before his words penetrated. Her jaw dropped, and she realized she was gaping at him like an utter fool.
“A range war! With whom?” So, this was the trouble she’d read between the lines of her father’s letter.
“Horace Lundy.”
“Horace Lundy!” She was beginning to sound like a shrill parrot. She planted her hands on her hips. “My father and Horace Lundy have been neighbors for thirty years. There’s never been any trouble between them.”
“Until your father put up a fence.”
This just kept getting more incredible. “Pa doesn’t believe in fences.”
“Things change,” he said.
“What things? And what does this have to do with me?”
“Horace Lundy’s got a bounty on you. By now, every hardcase along the border is out looking.”
“A bounty! For me! Why? What does he want with me?”
“I imagine he plans to use you as leverage.”
Her thoughts whirled in confusion. None of it made any sense.
“This is ridiculous,” she uttered at last. “I don’t believe it. Horace would never do something this despicable. He’s known me all my life. Do you really expect me to believe he’s got men out hunting for me because of a stupid fence?”
He waved a hand toward the dark, still form lying some distance away. “Someone should have told that to Jed Wiley.”
With maddening nonchalance, the stranger turned and started walking again.
Growing fury burned at her temples. Evangeline stared at the man’s proud, erect back. “So...what? Are you telling me you intend to deliver me to Lundy and collect the bounty?”
Once more, he paused and stared at the ground a long moment before swinging around to look at her. “Oh, I intend to take you to Lundy, all right. But not for the money.”
“If not money, then why?”
His obsidian gaze narrowed as cold resolve hardened across his features. “You’re now my leverage. Horace Lundy has something that belongs to me. Now, I have something he wants. I intend to make a trade.”
****
Evangeline was so exhausted, she could barely hold to the saddle horn.
“Easy, boy.”
She blinked as the stranger’s voice yanked her to awareness. Her mind had wandered. For how long, she didn’t know. Her eyes felt gritty, as if she’d been on the verge of sleep. But that was ridiculous. Under the circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of falling asleep. She pulled in a deep breath and immediately regretted it.
At the stranger’s insistence, she wore the filthy, salt-ringed hat that had belonged to the dead man, Jed. She hadn’t wanted to touch it, much less put it on her head. But he’d left her no choice. Now, the hat was tipped over the side of her face, shielding her against the lowering sun’s rays. And the smell...
The other side of her face pressed against something warm, solid, and infinitely more pleasant where masculine scents were concerned. How had she ended up getting comfortable with the stranger’s hard-muscled chest? Last she remembered, she’d been sitting sideways on the saddle in front of him, trying to maintain some distance.
A sinewy arm curved around her back, supporting her. She stalled, letting him think she’d fallen asleep while she grappled with self-disgust. The very last things she should be feeling were cozy and protected.
This man threatened to destroy everything she’d worked to accomplish in the past two years. Even if she managed to escape, should anyone in Clayton Station learn she was out here alone with him, her name would be blackened beyond anything time and a finishing school could repair. The gossips would rip her to shreds.
They stopped moving. Too curious to play coy any longer, she pulled away from him and sat up.
Her head reeled when she realized the stranger had brought them to a dead standstill at the very edge of a bluff. A movement of the horse’s hooves sent small stones skittering down the incline. She held the saddle horn in a death grip.
A blinding sun hovered just above the faraway horizon. Directly below, nearly hidden amid a tangle of brush and collapsed slipstone, stood the relic of a long-abandoned dwelling. The roof was gone and only four crumbling adobe walls remained.
She wondered if they’d reached their destination, but didn’t bother asking. During the ride, her abductor had proven to be a man of few words. In fact, he had been a man of no words at all.
Except for the low keening of the wind in the surrounding cliffs, an eerie stillness sat over the land. Beneath her, the stranger’s corded thighs tensed. A movement of his arm brushed her shoulder as he laid the reins against the horse’s neck. The signal sent the horse onto a path angling down the face of the cliff.
Tension coiled tighter through Evangeline. As they neared the bottom of the drop, another worry replaced her fear of falling. In the distance, the sun slipped below the horizon by quick degrees. Dread of the approaching night tied her insides into knots.
****
Rane moved through the darkness outside the adobe walls and paused to sling his saddlebags atop the chest-high barrier. Now that he’d finally stopped for the night, exhaustion crept over him. Thoughts of getting to Angel Clayton ahead of the bounty hunters had kept him moving much of the previous night. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, and a dousing with cold water hadn’t helped one bit.
The smell of simmering beans teased his nostrils. He’d spent the entire day riding, not even stopping long enough to eat. Hunger gnawed at him.
But as he watched the woman seated near the small fire within the ruins, a different kind of hunger seeped into his blood.
Earlier, against all odds, she’d relaxed against him while they rode. He suspected she’d even drifted off to sleep. The warm, feminine feel of her body still clung to him.
He watched as, pulling in a long breath, she drew her knees up beneath her skirt and wrapped her arms around them. Then she glanced down and tugged at the gaping fabric of her torn shirtwaist. No matter how she rearranged the bodice, a generous portion of cleavage remained exposed above her corset. More than enough to make his mouth water and lure his thoughts down a carnal path.
Firelight shimmered over her tumbled hair, turning it into threads of silver and molten gold. He already knew its softness, so fine it barely registered against the toughened pads of his fingers. The memory did nothing to turn his thoughts from touching her.
A tiny worry frown marred the space between her pale brows. Delicate, finely sculpted. How many women would sell their souls to possess such a face? Her lush lips captured his attention. More temptation. More forbidden fruit.
Angel Clayton.
Her exploits were legend along
the river. He’d heard the stories of the skinny tomboy who rode alongside the rankest cowboys. She’d piled up quite a reputation, until her father took the situation in hand and sent her back east.
She was all grown up now. And underneath her eastern spit and polish lay more heart than most men possessed. He’d seen it earlier in the way she handled herself. But he expected no less. She was the daughter of Roy Clayton, a hard-boiled old cattleman with enough guts to fill a washtub.
Rane marveled at the hand Providence had played in their lives that day. If the timing had been different, if he had happened along just minutes later....
Purple bruises marred the sides of her pale throat. The sight angered him all over again. He felt no remorse about sending that filthy bastard straight to hell. He only wished he’d been given an excuse to dispatch his weasel partner as well.
She thinks you’re no different.
The voice of his conscience nagged at him. Kidnapping women wasn’t his style. He didn’t use others to get what he wanted. But Horace Lundy had no such qualms, and he wanted Angel Clayton. The wheels had already been set in motion. Rane had merely seized an opportunity.
He’d done her a favor. That was one way of looking at it. Left to the mercies of men like Jed, she’d probably end up dead before Lundy ever got the chance to bargain with her father. At least she’d wish she were dead.
If she only knew.
Perhaps she did. If not, he had no plans to reassure her. As long as she remained fearful of him, she wasn’t likely to attempt escape. He’d keep her safe, or die trying. But if she knew the thoughts tumbling through his mind each time he looked at her, she’d be fighting tooth and nail to get away from him.
Her pale beauty disturbed him. Challenged everything in him he’d tried so hard to civilize. He liked to think he was above the animal depravity of men like Jed Wiley. But she tempted his baser instincts, and that was one aspect of this venture he hadn’t figured on.
Sitting on the ground, soaking up the warmth given off by a small, nearly smokeless fire, Angel smothered a yawn. A continuous flow of adrenaline had kept her from feeling the punishment dealt her body that day. Until now.
Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) Page 2
