by Bobbi Smith
She worked for some time, frowning in concentration as she tried to capture the essence of the wild beauty before her... the untamed land, carved by God's hand, untouched as yet by man's. She wished she had her easel and paints with her, but there was no time to go get them. She would have to paint the scene later in her studio from her sketches and from memory. There was no way she was going to forget this moment.
Glynna's concentration was such that she didn't hear the rustling in the brush nearby. She was too focused on her work, too lost in her creation to worry about what probably was nothing more than a jackrabbit or a few birds. It was the man's shout that jarred her back to full awareness of where she was, and it was then that she glanced up and saw what looked like a bare-chested warrior, leaning low over his horse's neck, riding straight for her. The expression on his face was savage, and she was sure his intent was equally as frightening.
Jumping to her feet, Glynna stared at him, transfixed. He looked fierce, deadly; and then she remembered Al's warning that renegades might be in the area.
Frantic, she looked around, trying to decide which way to run, but in her panic she was lost. She realized that she'd been foolish to wander so far off, but the view of the mesa had been so exciting she'd paid little attention to anything else.
And now she was alone-about to be attacked by a renegade Indian!
The warrior shouted something at her again, and terror filled Glynna's very soul. He was riding toward her like the wind, closing on her with such lethal intensity that she was certain she was facing death. He was close enough now that she could see the sheen of sweat on his darkly tanned skin, and she knew she should run if she wanted to save herself.
Desperate to escape, Glynna felt her instincts take over. She began to flee from him, still holding on to her sketchbook and pencil. Brambles tore at her clothing and skin, but nothing stopped her headlong flight. She was running for her very life. The pounding of the horse's hooves shook the ground beneath her. It seemed she could almost feel the heat of the horse's breath on her back as the warrior closed in on her.
A strong arm snared Glynna around the waist. She was hauled roughly up against her attacker, crushed to his side as he continued to ride at top speed. She screamed as she twisted and turned, trying to free herself from the man's unyielding hold. His grip was iron, though, as he held her pinned against his rockhard body.
"Let me go!" she cried as her sketchbook and pencil were lost in her struggles.
Horror filled her. Glynna had read accounts of what happened to women captured by Indians, and she was sure she knew what fate awaited her. She tried to throw herself from her captor's arms, but his hold on her was too fierce. There would be no escape. She continued to try to fight him, but he only tightened his viselike grip. She refused to surrender eas ily, and battled on as best she could against his overpowering strength.
He was riding towards her like the wind.
"You little fool! If you want to stay alive, stop fighting me!"
His harsh command stunned and silenced her. He spoke English? She went perfectly still. The breath was jarred from her as he handled his charging mount with a confident touch, turning the horse sharply and racing off in a different direction. She noted vaguely that he was a fine rider, and remembered being told that the Comanche were the best horsemen of all the tribes but then she realized he was riding with a saddle. Confused, battered and bruised, she grabbed for the pommel and held on for dear life.
Hunt had grown furious as he'd fought to keep a protective hold on the woman he'd just rescued from the charging longhorn. It wasn't easy, especially since she'd been fighting him with all her strength. He was surprised a woman of her size would be so strong. She almost broke free once, but he managed to tighten his grip and keep her from getting herself killed.
Hunt had no idea what had she been doing sitting on a rock out in the middle of nowhere. He just knew she was lucky that he'd seen her, or she might have been dead by now. Longhorns were notoriously mean-tempered, and the stray bull he'd been trying to bring in since early that morning was no exception. It had charged him several times during the last few hours, and Hunt knew the female would have been an easy target for the animal's frustration and anger.
When Hunt was sure he was far enough out of the longhorn's path, he reined in. He glanced back and saw the bull standing some distance away, seemingly quiet for the moment.
"Let me go! Put me down!" Glynna demanded the minute they'd stopped. She twisted violently around, trying to get away from him.
"Oh, no. Not yet," he said in irritation, not completely trusting the wily bull. The animal had proven itself as cunning as it was mean-tempered. Hunt was more determined than ever to bring it in-which he still planned to do in spite of this interruption.
"Who are you? Why won't you let me go? What are you going to do with me?" Fear sounded in her voice. Even though she was trying to stay in control, her imagination was running wild.
He realized then that she hadn't seen the bull and had no idea of the danger she'd been in. He realized, too, that she was afraid of him. He hadn't meant to grab her up that way, but he'd had no choice. The bull had been ready to charge her, and sweeping her off her feet had been his only chance to get her out of harm's way.
"I just saved your life. Don't you realize you almost got yourself killed?" he demanded, loosening his hold on her a bit.
"You saved my life?" she countered in disbelief. As he relaxed his grip, she managed to turn around and get a look at this man who claimed to be her savior. "From what?"
Glynna stared at him in amazement. She'd thought he was an Indian warrior. Instead, she found herself gazing up into the most vivid blue eyes she'd ever seen. She realized then that this man was no renegade Comanche he'd just looked like one for a moment when he'd come riding at her that way. Glynna had to admit to herself that he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. His hair was black, and he wore it longer than most men did. His features were proud, his nose straight. His mouth was firm, and she wondered if he ever smiled. She'd never been this close to a man without his shirt on before. There wasn't an ounce of spare flesh on him. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was deep and strong. She was still amazed at how powerful he was. He'd held her, even as she'd kicked and screamed, with barely an effort.
As their gazes locked, Hunt got a good look at her, too, and he felt a jolt to the depths of his soul. This woman was beautiful. Her hair was long, dark and lustrous. She'd been wearing it restrained in a bun at the nape of her neck, but in her struggles with him it had come loose and now framed her face in a tumble of glossy curls. Her eyes were green and sparkled now with anger and intelligence. High color stained her cheeks. Her chin had a stubborn tilt to it that almost made him smile, but then he remembered that she'd almost ended up dead.
At the thought, Hunt instinctively tightened his arm around her again. He was sorry the minute he did it, though, for facing him as she was, her soft curves were pressed even more intimately against him. His expression darkened, becoming even more threatening. He didn't need this kind of trouble, and this woman did spell trouble for him. He wanted to get away from her as quickly as he could, but where she'd come from, he had no idea.
"I saved you from that bull," he answered, using his knees to turn his horse. When he did, she could see the longhorn standing a short distance away from them.
"He was charging me?" Her eyes widened at the sight of the bull and his lethal-looking horns. She trembled at the thought.
Hunt nodded. Tearing his gaze away from her, he demanded, "What are you doing out here all alone?"
"I'm not alone!" she replied indignantly. "The stagecoach is nearby... somewhere." She added the last a bit embarrassed, for she'd wandered so far away that she didn't know where she was.
"Stagecoaches don't just stop out here for no reason.
"We were robbed, and the outlaws ran the team off," she explained. "We were going to be stranded until help came or the driver could find
the horses, so I came out here to sketch while the driver went to look for them."
"Do you have any idea how far you are from the road?"
She had the grace to look shamefaced. "Well... no...but"
Hunt made a sound of disgust and said no more as he put his heels to his horse's flanks.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded in a shaky voice, still not quite sure she could trust him.
"Back where you belong."
"But I need my sketchbook!" She couldn't just leave it behind. She'd worked too hard on her draw ings. Her rendering of the mesa had been almost perfect.
"Forget it! It's too dangerous!"
"I won't leave without it! My drawings are my life!"
"You don't have much choice. If you try to go back and get it, you might not have a life," he told her, continuing on in the direction of the road, away from possible trouble.
Glynna knew escaping his commanding hold on her was impossible, so she declared defiantly, "I'll just come back for it later, then."
"If you want to risk getting yourself killed, go right ahead. I'll have no part of it."
He sounded angry, but she didn't care. She hadn't asked him to come riding up and grab her like some sort of knight in shining armor. She was about to tell him so when they emerged onto the road near the stagecoach.
"Glynna?"
Mimi had heard the sound of a horse nearing and had thought it was Al returning with the team. She was shocked at the sight of Glynna being carried back by a very handsome, shirtless man on horseback. Had the stranger been wearing armor, Mimi would have thought the scene straight out of a medieval fairy tale. The expression on the man's face, however, was anything but that of a hero rescuing a damsel in distress.
So her name was Glynna, Hunt thought, his expression grim as he saw the other woman standing by the stage. He rode up to the stranded vehicle and reined in. Loosening his hold on Glynna, he let her slide to the ground. He was surprised at how he re gretted having to let her go, and he angrily forced the thought away.
Glynna knew she should thank him. She supposed he had saved her from possible harm, but somehow her pride and feelings had been hurt. She brushed herself off and then glared up at him. Before she could say a word, though, he wheeled his horse around and started to ride off.
"Sir?" Mimi was completely taken aback by what had just happened. She had no idea what had transpired between Glynna and this man.
Hunt looked back at her.
"Can you help us? We're rather stranded here until our driver finds our horses."
"Ill see what I can do." His tone was emotionless. And then he was gone.
Glynna turned to find her aunt staring at her. Even Hank was stirring and trying to prop himself up on an elbow to see what was going on.
"What happened to you? Who was that?" Mimi asked.
For the first time, Glynna realized how terrible she must look. Her dress was rumpled, and her hair had come loose from its sedate bun.
"I was just sitting there, sketching a wonderful view, and he came charging up out of nowhere and grabbed me!"
"Grabbed you?" Hank managed, immediately fearing the worst.
Mimi looked scandalized. "Did he harm you in any way?
"No," she admitted in a low voice, looking from Mimi to Hank. She didn't want them to know how close she'd come to getting herself into real trouble, but she didn't want her rescuer to be accused of having done anything wrong, either even though she thought he was as mean-tempered as the longhorn. "He didn't hurt me."
"If he didn't hurt you, then why do you look like that?" her aunt pressed. "Why did he grab you?"
"I look this way because I was trying to fight him off. For a minute I thought he was an Indian! You know how Al told us there might be renegades around here," she said, trying to explain. "I fought him the best I could, but then I realized he really had saved me."
"He saved you?" Mimi was growing ever more confused.
"There was a longhorn about to attack me, and I didn't even know it was there. I was too busy drawing.
"But surely a cow wouldn't hurt you. A buffalo, maybe, but a cow?" Her aunt was disbelieving.
"Yes, ma'am," Hank said weakly. "Them longhorns are meaner than a whole herd of buffalo. Smarter, too. Good thing he was out there to help you."
"Oh, dear." Mimi was aghast that her niece might have been killed. "Who was he?"
"I have no idea," Glynna answered, and she suddenly felt bereft that she didn't even know his name.
"He was probably a cowboy from one of the outfits nearby," Hank speculated. "Maybe he'll go find of Al and give us a hand." He sank back down, exhausted from the effort of talking. "It sure would feel good to get on into town."
"It certainly would," Mimi agreed.
"I lost my sketchbook and pencil, "Glynna admitted. "I really want to go back for them."
"Absolutely not," Mimi insisted. "You're going to stay right here with me."
"But I'm sure I could find them again."
"Well buy you new ones in town."
"If they even have them." She was sorry that she hadn't kept a tighter hold on them. She doubted there were any art supplies in a town the size of Dry Creek.
"That's the least of our worries. Let's see if we can get you cleaned up a bit."
It wasn't too much later that they heard the sound of horses again. They looked up to see the stranger riding back in. Al was with him, riding double, leading the stage's team.
"I found 'em, ladies. Thanks to Hunt here," Al announced as he dismounted. "I appreciate your help."
Hunt just nodded. He glanced over at Glynna. For an instant, their gazes met across the distance.
Glynna was almost spellbound by the intensity of his regard. She studied him for a moment as an artist would his dark coloring, the line of his jaw, the powerful expanse of his chest and the width of his shoulders, the proud way he sat his horse. She understood now how she'd mistaken him for a warrior, for there definitely was an untamed air about him.
He didn't say anything, but urged his mount in her direction. Glynna stood unmoving, her breath catching in her throat as he drew closer.
"Here," he said simply, holding out her sketchbook and pencil to her.
"You found them!" Glynna was surprised by his gesture. She rushed to take them from him, smiling up at him for the first time. "Thank you!"
Hunt stared down at her. Her smile was mesmerizing. It was innocent and lovely, just as she was, and it jarred him. Suddenly he wanted to be away from there. He didn't say a word to her, but abruptly wheeled his horse around and rode off.
It seemed to Glynna that she'd barely said thankyou, and he was gone. Her smile faded as she turned back to her aunt, a bit puzzled by his quick disappearance. He had told her that it was too dangerous for her to go back for her sketchbook, and yet he had done it for her.
"Who was that young man?" Mimi asked Al.
"He said he was the son of one of the ranchers around these parts. Said his name was Hunt. Looked like a half-breed, but that don't matter to me none. I just appreciated his help," he explained as he worked to hitch the team securely to the stage.
Hunt. A half-breed. Pencil in hand, Glynna sat down and opened the sketchbook to a new page. In earnest, she began to draw.
"What are you doing?" Mimi asked, curious. She'd noticed the exchange between the two of them and wondered at it.
"I'm going to draw him," Glynna said simply as she sketched Hunt's face in bold lines on the blank sheet of drawing paper. If he was indeed a half-breed, it would explain her first impression of him. Inspired, she wanted to capture that part of him that was the warrior-the man who had ridden like the wind, at one with his horse. Glynna knew she would have to paint a portrait of him. Only using oils would she be able truly to show the man he was.
Hunt's mood was black as he headed back to where he'd last seen the longhorn. He found no sign of the ornery bull, and his mood grew even darker.
It had been one hell of
a day, and it looked as though it was only going to get worse. He almost wished he'd never set out to round up strays in the first place, but it had needed to be done. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he tried to guess which way the stubborn, evil-tempered beast had run. He was determined not to let the bull get away. The animal had tried to gore him the day before when he'd almost managed to get a rope on it, and he was going to bring the longhorn in, even if it took him another week. And at the rate he was going, it just might.
Hunt's gaze swept over the horizon, and he saw the mesa Glynna had been so busy drawing when he'd first come upon her. He had no idea why he'd gone back to look for her sketchbook. The time he'd wasted could have been spent searching for the bull. But there had been something about her desperation that had touched him, and he'd wanted her to have it back.
Hunt hadn't meant to look at the pictures, but the sketchbook had been lying open when he'd found it. He had to admit that she was good. He'd never known anyone who had such talent. Suddenly he swore under his breath and pushed all thoughts of Glynna from his mind. It didn't matter how talented she was. He was never going to see her again, and that was exactly the way he wanted it.
Hunt spurred his mount on. He had work to do.
The rest of the trip into Dry Creek was difficult. Hank lay in the stagecoach, with Glynna and Mimi tending to him. They tried their best to make him comfortable, but every bump in the road brought a moan of pain from the injured guard.
It was after sundown when they finally rolled into town. Al stopped the stage before the sheriff's office, calling for help.
"What happened?" Sheriff Dunn asked as he came running out of his office.
"We were held up! I think it was the Wilson gang!" Al went on to tell him all that had happened. "They shot Hank! They got our strongbox and the ladies' money, too!"
Glynna opened the stage door and climbed down, then turned to help Mimi out.
"Hank's conscious, but the ride was hard on him. Is there a doctor in town?" Glynna asked the sheriff.
