Stolen Little Thing (Little Thing Series Book 1)

by Sasha Gold

  “Ooo, shit,” said Nolan.

  The two boys were playing cards on a nearby blanket and snickered when they heard Nolan’s profanity.

  Luke stared at her. “Do they know I offered to buy the ranch from you?”

  “I don’t recall,” Esme said.

  “Your memory’s a little sketchy?” Nolan asked.

  Luke drained his glass, got up and returned with the bottle of whiskey. He tipped more into Esme’s glass before refreshing his own. Esme took a larger swallow and found this time it didn’t burn quite as much. She didn’t drink spirits, just a little wine every so often. It wasn’t something her father approved of, even though he didn’t apply the rule to himself.

  She began to feel the liquor’s effects as the moon peeped over the horizon. She watched it rapidly climb into the sky, a full moon casting a warm glow on the ridges, hills and meadows. The trees, giant oaks with limbs hanging almost to the ground, were washed in silver light. The boys, David and Joseph, played quietly at a game of cards. Nolan gazed thoughtfully into the campfire. When she turned to look at Luke, she found him studying her.

  “Why did you come back after all these years?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  Esme took another sip of her drink. It was going down easily. “For many years I wasn’t allowed to return. There was a quarrel between Simon and my father. I would have come sooner, but my father refused to reveal what Simon’s will contained. He told Simon’s lawyers he would manage the ranch for me, and he told me Simon left me nothing. Last week I found him in a compromising position with one of the upstairs maids. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, but it was the first time I threatened to tell my mother.”

  A grin spread across Luke’s face. “You blackmailed your father?”

  Nolan snorted. “You can’t call that blackmail. He was trying to keep her from her inheritance.”

  Esme nodded. “My father always had a chip on his shoulder because Simon inherited the Duval Ranch. He assumed that when Simon died, he would leave it to my brothers so it would stay in the family.”

  She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. Ignored by her father all her life, dismissed or treated with thinly veiled contempt, Esme had reached her breaking point when she discovered he’d concealed the true contents of the will from her. Quietly and with all the stealth she could muster, she simply cut the short tether and set out on her own.

  Esme emptied her glass and set it down on the blanket with a thump. The fury he would rain upon her head when he realized she was living at the ranch and conducting business as the rightful owner would be breathtaking. It would help to have a rough and ready ranch foreman in place, someone who would answer only to her.

  “I need a foreman, Luke,” she whispered as though it were a secret. He smiled making her laugh softly. The wind stirred. “And I think I need some more whiskey. It’s helping me feel brave.”

  He splashed a little into her glass, and gave her a stern look. “You need a foreman, and a cook. You need ranch hands. You need to build up a herd. What you don’t need is too much more of this whiskey.”

  “My father wanted me to marry one of his old friends. Did you know that?” Esme gave a wave of her hand. “Of course you couldn’t have known. Richard Wingate, that old turkey, asked for my hand in marriage. I grew up calling him Mr. Wingate and my father wanted me to marry him. Know why? I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause if he were my husband he could sell the ranch to my dad.”

  Esme dropped back on the blanket and looked up at the stars in the velvet sky. Lightning played along the southern horizon, but above them a canopy of twinkling lights lit the sky.

  “Mr. Wingate was as revolting as my father. Lecherous old goat. He used to chase his maids around too. Used to wink at me and tell me what a pretty girl I was.”

  She shuddered and then propped up on an elbow to look at Luke. “You don’t chase your help around the house, do you?”

  Luke shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

  Nolan chuckled. “The ladies who work for him are older than dirt. Not only that, but it’s usually women who chase Luke, not the other way around. I’ll bet there were plenty of disappointed ladies at the saloon last night when Luke didn’t come over, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Esme stared at Nolan and then turned to look at Luke. He gave her a sheepish grin and then shrugged. “I’ve socialized with those ladies a time or two.”

  Indignation burned within her. Even her father had the decency to pretend he was faithful to his wife. Luke, the boy who stood up for her, helped her, and acted as though he’d admired her, had turned into the a womanizing libertine like the rest of the men she knew. It was unthinkable.

  “Recently?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  “I haven’t spent time with any of the girls in the saloon since I heard you might come back, Esme, and that’s the God’s honest truth.” He poured a bit of whiskey in her glass and tipped his glass against hers. “I went right back to waiting for you, Sweetheart.” The moonlight burnished his blond hair, and Esme thought he might just be the handsomest man she’d ever seen. But he was a smooth talker too – calling her Sweetheart! The ladies whom Nolan claimed chased him, most likely didn’t have to run too hard. Her blood burned within her veins. In spite of her fury, she managed a brittle smile. “Maybe, Luke, I should point something out to you.” Taking the glass, she poured it onto the ground beside the blanket. “I am not a saloon girl.”

  Esme jerked to her feet and intended to storm away, but required a moment to steady herself, to wait for the sky to stop tilting.

  “Good night, gentlemen,” she hissed before wobbling a crooked line to the tent.

  Chapter Three

  Lifting the flap of the tent, Luke motioned for the boys to go in, pointing to the two bedrolls that lay on the far side. David, the younger of the two, nodded and crawled in, stretching out on the bedding. The older boy, Joseph, yawned and then dropped down, sprawling out beside him. Silently, Luke went to the bedroll beside Esme. She probably would be furious when she woke to find him sleeping so close to her. Since leaving town, she’d been skittish, flustered, or flat out angry with him. Her ire amused him. He liked to see her pale skin color when he provoked her.

  The idea that Randolph Duval had no inkling where his daughter slept tonight amused him in a different way. Luke only had the pleasure of meeting the man one time, but it left an unpleasant and lasting impression. Years before, Mr. Duval had summoned him to a suite at the Morgan Hotel in Blanco, promising him news of Esme. Instead, the older man delivered a list of all the unfortunate things that would happen to him if he attempted to court his daughter.

  Luke stretched out his long frame on the bedroll beside her, propped up on his elbow and watched her huddled form beneath the rough blanket. His gaze roved over her soft feminine curves. The urge to touch her, to draw her into his arms was overpowering. Moonlight lent its glow to the inside of the tent, and he could see well enough to make out long eyelashes resting on her creamy skin. Her hair, a heavy copper abundance, gilded in moonlight, spread across her pillow, inviting his fingers to trail through its sensuous disarray.

  Her hand lay, fingers lax, just a few inches from his. Giving in to his need to touch her, he traced a line up the palm and across the tender skin of her delicate wrist. She drew a soft breath and murmured in her sleep. He pulled his hand back, as if scalded. A wave of desire overwhelmed him. It was too much, her scent, floral and sweet, even after a day of travel, her small sleepy murmurings, all the loveliness that was Esme was going to condemn him to a very uncomfortable night. He never spent an entire night sleeping next to a woman, preferring to leave after enjoying her company. And never had he lain next to a woman without indulging in a leisurely seduction. Arousal heated his body. He groaned in frustration. Touching Esme was a clear mistake, he realized, rolling to his back.

  Luke closed his eyes and relived the innocent kiss he’d stolen years before. He’d squ
andered that opportunity to give her a proper kiss, and just to torture himself further, he imagined kissing her now. He would gather her into his arms and kiss her goodnight, a deep, whiskey-flavored kiss, one that would rightfully earn him a slap across the face. The woman was already furious about the comment Nolan made about the saloon girls. Was he supposed to have lived like a monk while she went about her life in San Antonio? Had she ever given a second thought to him over the years? Not likely. She barely even recognized him in the restaurant that morning. Luke wasn’t proud of his occasional night with one of the girls, but if he’d ever had any assurance of Esme Duval retuning to Honey Creek, he would never have set foot in any saloon girl’s room.

  With a sigh, he tried to turn his thoughts to something else, anything that might lull him to sleep, but it was an hour or more before he managed to drift off.

  Esme woke with the dawn. Nolan was gone. The boys and Luke still slept. Kneeling on her bedding, she wound her hair into a chignon as she studied him. His dark blond hair, cut short, was a tidy contrast to the dark growth that stubbled his square jaw. He looked, she imagined, like a brigand.

  Waking beside him had filled her with warring emotions. She’d loved the sight of him in the early morning dimness. Her heart stirred with the memory of the love she’d had for him. Heat spiraled around her when her gaze wandered to his hands and she imagined how it would feel to be caressed by him. Shameful thoughts of his touch made her body respond in ways she didn’t understand.

  He lay with his arm flung over his head. His shirt gaped open, revealing an expanse of thick muscles that banded across his tanned chest. Luke stirred, opened his eyes, and gazed at her drowsily, a slow smile curving his mouth. “I dreamt you had come back.” His voice was sleep-roughened. “And here you are. My Esme.”

  His tender words shot a bolt of pain through her heart.

  “Here I am,” she replied softly in an attempt to sound cheerful. “I think I smell coffee.” She slipped on her shoes, ducked out the tent flap and hurried to the campfire to find Nolan pouring a cup of coffee. He smiled and handed the cup to her, pouring himself another.

  “We’re going to get rough weather pretty soon.” He spoke without preliminaries. “What we didn’t get yesterday, we’re fixing to get two-fold this morning.”

  Esme shivered, hoping he was mistaken, and tried to remember where she’d left her wrap. The coffee was hot and warmed her.

  “Sleep good?” Nolan asked.

  “Very well, and you?

  He nodded. “Did you hear me snoring?”

  Esme laughed. “I didn’t hear a thing. Probably because of the whiskey.”

  Luke emerged from the tent and yawned as he ambled to the fire. “Shit. I don’t like the look of that sky.” He poured his coffee and scanned the horizon. Esme noted that the sky was indeed an odd color, a greenish hue. The air was still. An eerie calm settled about them.

  “We’re not moving for another hour or so,” Luke said, turning back to them. “We’ll take it slow, and see what happens.”

  The boys stumbled out of the tent a few minutes later, and Esme smiled to see their tousled heads. The girls at St. Adelaide’s would have taken an hour before daring to emerge from their rooms. They’d have brushed their hair a hundred strokes with their mother-of-pearl brushes until it gleamed, and then set it in a coif, leaving not a hair out of place. Touchy, prone to hysterics and drama, the girls of St. Adelaide’s could never have imagined waking in a tent in the middle of a Hill Country pasture.

  The men made their plans for the departure while they drank coffee. The horses needed to be tacked and readied, the team hitched to the buckboard, and the tent taken down and packed.

  Overhead, clouds swirled and raced. Nobody spoke. Esme wanted to ask if anyone had seen her wrap, but the worry on the men’s faces made her refrain from speaking at all. Thunder rumbled and crashed, echoing across the hillsides and meadows. The draft horses continued grazing, their manes and tails blowing with the gusts. The other horses looked about, wide-eyed; ears pricked forward, nostrils flared. One of them snorted, low and long.

  “Shit,” Luke said for the second time that morning. He took a swallow of coffee and scanned the northern horizon. “Provisions in the wagon covered?”

  “Yep,” Nolan replied. A bolt of lightning flashed across pewter skies. The wind stopped as suddenly as it had picked up a moment before.

  Joseph brightened as he looked around “The wind’s dying down, sir.” The boy tried to sound encouraging, but the men remained glum.

  “Exactly. That’s what worries me, Joseph.” Luke frowned. “Something’s building. Get the team to the river, Nolan. Me and the boys will follow with the other horses.”

  The men hurried to move the horses. With the wind gone once more, the air grew heavy and oppressive. The horses sensed the change. Even the draft horses pranced and snorted with fear, tossing their heads and fighting Nolan as he led them down to the riverbank. Joseph ran to help the older man ease the frightened animals.

  Esme was left in the meadow by the fire. She sipped the last of her coffee. There was no more to be had since Luke had doused the flames with the remainder. Just a few embers glimmered in the dim morning light. The winds alternated between gusts and dead calm. A gust could come and scatter the embers amongst the grasses. Esme shuddered as the image of flames and wild fires flashed in her mind. She hauled a nearby bucket of water to the campfire and doused the remaining cinders.

  She was unsure what to do next. Should she try to take down the tent, or would they be seeking shelter in it if the rain came? The distant sound of thundering hoof beats met her ears, and she looked for the horses. Had they escaped their hobbles by the river? There was no one nearby to ask. She searched for the horses but what Esme saw instead was a darkened column of clouds swirling a distance away. The ground hummed and then shook as though horses were in fact stampeding toward her. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she stared paralyzed with fear, at the evil bank of dark clouds.

  Someone shouted her name, and she turned to see Luke racing toward her. He pulled her to a run and half carried her back where the land dipped to the river. An arroyo running along the hillside offered shelter, and Luke pulled her to the ground. The thundering grew louder. Sand blew, stinging her skin. Luke pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his shirt. The sounds that filled the air terrified her. Esme clung to him as the roar grew louder and nearer.

  He shielded her from the flying debris by lying across her small form, and holding her in a steely grip. The realization that he was partially on top of her and fear of the storm all blew away with the gusting winds. Desire flamed across her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her own wanton response to him shocked her sensibilities. A tornado was going to kill them all, and she, Esme Duval was going to die in a fit of lust under some other woman’s husband.

  The ground trembled around them.

  “Luke!” she whimpered.

  “S’okay, Sweetheart.” He held her locked in a firm embrace. His beard-roughened jaw abraded the side of her face.

  The tornado sounded like an approaching locomotive. It drew nearer but at some point switched direction and the rumbling slowly diminished. The winds died away. Luke remained over her speaking her name, telling her it was going to be all right, that he would take care of her, and then he was kissing her.

  Wriggling to free herself, but kissing him back all the while, Esme couldn’t decide what she wanted or needed. To free herself? To stay?

  This was no chaste kiss. His tongue stroked her lips, pushing past into her mouth, claiming her. With one hand, she pushed against his chest, a thick, immovable mass of hard muscle.

  He broke the kiss. “Esme,” he said, in between the small kisses he scattered along her cheek.

  “Let me go.” Her voice was flooded with panic.

  He drew back to look into her face. Surprise clouded his features. He shifted his weight, but held h
er beneath him.

  The rumblings of the storm faded, and the sounds of the boys talking to the horses floated through the air. They soothed the animals. Nolan began urging the team back to the wagon. Luke made no move to get up to join the menfolk.

  A smile spread across his face and he pushed her hand away from his shoulder. “Why would I let you go, now that I finally have you?” He lowered to kiss her once more but was halted by a stinging slap to the side of his face. Luke laughed and grabbed her wrist as she drew back to slap him again. He nuzzled her neck, nipping the tender skin under her jaw. “Later on you’re going to have to kiss that all better,” he whispered.

  “Get off!” She pushed against him again. “Please, Luke.”

  He stared into her eyes and frowned. “All right, Miss Duval.” He sighed, rolled away, and rose to his feet.

  The boy’s voices rang across the arroyo. Luke brushed sand from his pants and offered to pull her to her feet. A moment later, he’d gone up the bank to where the boys were still trying to calm one of the horses. Esme looked to see if anyone noticed what had happened between them, but the boys and Nolan were attending to the animals.

  Soon the camp was packed, the horses saddled and hitched. David and Joseph chattered about the near catastrophe, wondering if anyone at the ranch had seen the funnel cloud. Esme tried to help, but the boys shooed her away. Dazed and shaken, she wandered to the buckboard.

  She climbed up to the seat, and tried to calm her frantic thoughts. Shame and mortification at how he’d manhandled her made her grit her teeth. Just a few more hours, and she would be away from him under Uncle Simon’s roof. Lord have mercy, he’d reduced her to nothing better than a trembling, foolish female, unsure if she wanted to weep or have him take her in his arms again. Traveling to Honey Creek with him was a terrible mistake. Nolan should have warned her about the perils of traveling with the rogue leading their company, instead of the blasted chupacabra.

  The skies brightened as the threatening clouds retreated. Over the course of the morning, Luke occasionally glanced back at her with an innocent smile on his face.