Drew (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  Just the thought of her body clothed in a revealing outfit caused his body to harden. He’d have to watch that. She didn’t look the type to be amused by a man’s physical response to her attractions. Neither would it do him any good to let his libido overpower his brain. He didn’t think that was a possibility—he’d had too much experience controlling himself over the years—but even a brief lapse in control with this woman might be fatal.

  Still, he couldn’t discount the possibility that a romance might be the best way to allay her suspicions and enable him to enter her inner circle. Female outlaws weren’t much different from other women. Even when they knew their lovers couldn’t be trusted, they tended to tell them everything they knew. He doubted Drew could be gotten around that easily, but it was something to keep in mind.

  But pretending to be romantically interested in Drew bothered him. He knew he had to stop the robberies, that he had to do whatever was necessary to catch the thieves, but his conscience rebelled at pretending to love Drew when he didn’t. He didn’t know why that should bother him. He’d never felt guilty about lying to a crook before. Maybe it was because he felt she might be capable of real love.

  She acted as cold as a sleet storm with him, but he had the feeling a hot fire burned somewhere deep inside her. Women weren’t like men in that respect. If a man seemed cold and hard, that was pretty much what he was like. He usually wasn’t anything worth redeeming. You might as well shoot him and save everybody a lot of trouble.

  He’d met women who seemed cold and hard on the surface. But no matter what kind of front they tried to put up, they always had a soft inside. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t fill you full of holes if you did something they didn’t like. It just meant they’d be sorry afterwards.

  Men changed loyalties easily. Women usually remained faithful for life.

  Cole found himself feeling a little uneasy about that. Drew might be a thief and a crook—if so, she didn’t deserve the same consideration he would give another woman—but he didn’t want to engage her feelings. He wanted any possible relationship to remain on the purely physical level. That would probably suit her just as well.

  He turned over in his narrow bunk. The occasional screech of the wheels as they rounded a curve went through him like a knife. He’d have to learn to sleep better if he wanted to be able to shoot well enough to push Drew to her limits.

  He wondered how she was sleeping. He’d hoped they’d be in the same car, but he hadn’t been surprised when they’d put him in with the cowboys and some of the crew. Their snoring was enough to wake even a sound sleeper.

  Drew didn’t look as though she ever had trouble sleeping. There was a freshness about her, a luminescence about her skin that made her seem young and virginal. She probably depended on that in her robberies. No red-blooded American male would suspect her of being a thief. The people in the banks, trains, and steamboats she robbed were probably too stunned to do anything but stare in disbelief until they’d been stripped of their gold and Drew’s gang had escaped without firing a shot.

  If he had been one of the victims, he too would have been left standing with his mouth open, especially if she did something clever like shoot the cigar out of his mouth, or a pen off its stand on the desk. The robber always did something like that. The official opinion was that she did it to keep her victims so stunned, they wouldn’t offer any opposition when she made her get-away. That fitted, in perfectly with Cole’s opinion of women. They might be capable of committing almost any crime, but they stopped short of cold-blooded murder.

  But something in his gut told him Drew was different. She seemed to have too much pride, to hold herself to a higher standard than she expected of people around her. Cole had known men and women like that. They would actually suffer before they would let themselves fall short of the expectations they’d set for themselves. He’d gotten that message from Drew almost from the beginning, but he’d discounted it because it ran counter to the information his captain had on the group that performed the robberies. She was the only woman who could do what the leader of the thieves had done.

  It had to be Drew.

  He experienced a sharp feeling of disappointment. He didn’t want her to be guilty. If she was, he didn’t want to be the one to catch her. He told himself not to be a fool. He had nothing to do with her being guilty. If he discovered it, arrested her, helped to convict her and send her to prison, he was only doing his job.

  But something inside rebelled against this assignment. For the first time, he felt dirty, underhanded, like he was spying on an innocent person. She couldn’t be guilty. She acted too innocent.

  How did he know that? Drew might be the best actress in the world. He’d just met her today. He didn’t consider himself a good actor, and he’d been able to pass himself off as an innocent bystander, a drifter who saw an opportunity to make money doing something easy. If he could do it, so could Drew.

  But he didn’t want to believe she had.

  Fisher’s Creek, Illinois

  Drew did her best to quell the feeling of excitement. Cole’s idea for her entrance had certainly livened up the beginning of her act. Even the old people in the show had stopped to watch her practice. They had set up in a field about a mile from town. At the first sound of gunshots, a dozen milk cows grazing in a nearby field had lumbered out of sight.

  “It would look better if we moved the targets farther away,” Cole said. “Could you still hit them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be sure. Nothing would be worse than missing your targets on your entrance.”

  “If I couldn’t hit a still target from a horse, I couldn’t call myself a sharpshooter.”

  “From the saddle.”

  “Yes.”

  “Standing up?”

  “Do you mean standing up on the horse?”

  “While it’s moving.”

  “I guess so. I mean, I haven’t done it in a long time.”

  “Good. It’ll make an even better entrance.”

  “Come on,” Zeke said. “I’ll hold the horse for you.”

  Drew wasn’t so sure about this. “Doesn’t this get into the area of acrobatics?”

  “Sure,” Cole said, “but that makes it more exciting. You’ll have to take off those boots. Your horse won’t appreciate your heels digging into him.”

  Drew was losing control of her act. She had accepted the idea of making her entrance on horseback. She even liked it. But this business of standing up on a moving horse was something else.

  “Why don’t you ride around the ring a few times,” Cole suggested.

  Drew felt her spine stiffen. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

  “You said it had been awhile. It’ll give you a chance to get the feel of it again.”

  He didn’t fool her. He didn’t think she could do it. Well, she wasn’t sure either, but Cole Benton wasn’t going to make her look bad. She sat down and pulled off her boots.

  “I haven’t tried a stunt like this in a long time,” she said to Zeke.

  He laughed. “I remember you doing it just to prove you could.”

  “I didn’t have to hit targets then.”

  Zeke removed the saddle and the saddlecloth from the horse. She would have to ride bareback. She wouldn’t have anything to hold on to, not even the reins.

  “Here, let me give you a hand up,” Zeke said.

  Even though she’d been around Zeke for ten years, she kept forgetting how big and tall he was. He virtually lifted her off the ground and placed her on the horse. Using his hand to steady herself, she stood up on the broad haunches of the animal. She wouldn’t have any trouble getting a foothold, but standing up and shooting straight might be a different matter.

  “Do you want me to walk him first?” Zeke asked.

  She moved her feet about, testing her balance, waiting to see how the horse reacted to her weight. He acted as though he didn’t even know she was on his back. Her balance felt good, secure.


  “Let him go,” she said. “Let’s see how much I remember.”

  Hawk had picked out a horse trained to canter in a circle around a ring. As soon as it started forward, she remembered the feel of haunches rising and falling beneath her feet. She smiled at the familiar sensation, the ease with which she fell into the rhythm. She exulted in the sense of freedom, of lightness, of being detached from anything that kept her earthbound. She remembered the feeling she’d had when she first tried it, the excitement, the sense of accomplishment, that she could do anything she wanted to, as long as she was not afraid to try.

  She felt her spirits soar, her body light enough to fly. She felt like a child again, when there were no limits and all things were possible.

  As the horse made its circuit around the ring, she felt herself smiling as she looked at the faces around her, faces that reflected surprise, pleasure, even amusement. She noted in all of them an element of pride in her accomplishment, of shared community.

  “Toss me a pistol,” she yelled. She felt invincible. She could do anything. Cole tossed her his. She caught it.

  “We ought to try it that way sometime,” he called as she cantered past. “The crowd would love it.”

  She wasn’t thinking about the crowd. She was thinking about the expression she’d seen on Cole’s face. He smiled at her as though he liked to see her do something he hadn’t expected her to do. There was no jealousy, no resentment. Maybe a little bit of pride.

  She jerked her thoughts from his face. She was approaching the targets. She dropped to a half crouch, and fired three shots.

  She hit all three targets, but only one bull’s-eye.

  “Good,” Cole called out.

  But one bull’s-eye out of three was terrible. She was used to perfection, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less. The targets were in a straight line, but her horse was running in a circle. Each target represented a different angle, with almost no time to readjust.

  “Position the targets in a curve, to match the ring,” she called to Cole. By the time she’d circled around again, he had the first three targets repositioned. She fired her last three shots. Two bull’s-eyes, one off center. Not good enough.

  “Toss me your pistol,” she called to Zeke. “I’ve got it figured out now.”

  By the time she came around the circle again, Cole had arranged all six targets in a curve that exactly followed her horse’s path. She drew the pistol and fired at the six targets as she made her pass. She hit all dead center.

  “Unbelievable!” Cole called. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

  She hadn’t been entirely sure herself, but she wasn’t about to tell him. Nor would she tell him about the warmth that spread through her at his compliment, his obvious pride at what she’d accomplished. She couldn’t account for it. Jake and the boys had always been proud of her accomplishments. Isabelle had encouraged her in everything she’d tried. She was used to encouragement. She was used to people being pleased with her success.

  Why should Cole be any different?

  Probably because she’d expected him to want her to fail. She’d even suspected he might be hoping to get her job. She’d been wrong. He only wanted to find ways to make the act more exciting.

  Damn! Her heartburn was back. Worse than ever this time. She didn’t know why he should have this effect on her. But if it kept up, she would have to find ways to avoid him. She didn’t like this peculiar feeling. When combined with the warm flush that spread to every part of her body, she felt quite unlike herself.

  “I’m going around again,” she called out. “I want to make sure I’ve got it down.”

  Zeke tossed her a new pistol. She put Cole and his smile out of her mind and focused her attention on the targets. She hit the bull’s-eye on all six.

  “Did I hit the center of every one or just inside the circle?” she asked Cole. The trick had to be perfect, or she wouldn’t use it.

  “Center on two, close on the others,” Cole said.

  “That’s not good enough,” she called out. “Set up new targets, and I’ll try again.”

  She ran the trick three more times.

  “Perfect on all six,” Cole called after the last one. “I think you’re ready for tonight.”

  “I want to see the targets.” She meant dead center, not close. She couldn’t be sure Cole would hold her to the same high standards she set for herself. The horse circled again. Zeke caught him and brought him to a halt. Drew sat down on the horse and slid off.

  She landed in Cole’s arms.

  The shock knocked the sense out of her. She couldn’t describe it any other way. Nothing else could account for the fact that not a single coherent thought remained in her head. He caught her easily, as if he’d done it before. He balanced her lightly against his chest, but that didn’t keep her from being acutely aware she was leaning against his body. Heat and tension passed between them like their clothes weren’t even there.

  “Put me down,” she said, finally managing to find her tongue… and the indignation that should have boiled to the surface immediately.

  “I can’t.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll punch you in the nose so hard it’ll make your eyes water. I’m not in the habit of being manhandled by every passing drifter.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “I—”

  She drew back her fist. “You’ve got exactly one second.”

  He shrugged and set her down. She felt her stocking feet sink into warm, soft manure. Zeke burst out laughing as she looked up at Cole, a fire cone of fury rising up within her.

  “I tried to warn you,” he said.

  “You should have seen your face,” Zeke said, then went off on another gust of laughter.

  “Here, I’ll carry you over to the stands, where you can sit down.”

  “I can walk,” she said.

  “I’d let him carry you,” Zeke said. “No telling what else you might step in.”

  Drew had no intention of letting herself be carried anywhere, but Cole took the decision out of her hands. “If you’ll get me some water,” he said to Zeke, “I’ll see what I can do about washing her feet.”

  Zeke went off chuckling while Drew found herself once again in a very strong, very unsettling, very male embrace.

  “Do you always plop women down in manure so you can carry them off?” she asked. She couldn’t decide whether she would look sillier walking out of the ring in her soiled socks or being carried in Cole’s arms. By the time she’d made up her mind to walk and be damned with the mess, Cole was setting her down on the lowest seat in the stands set up for the throngs who would crowd into the arena in a few hours.

  “I can’t recall doing anything like this before,” Cole said. He looked at her feet, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. “I can’t say that I recommend it.”

  “I should hope not.” She couldn’t recall when she’d heard a more foolish statement. “What are you doing?” He’d taken hold of her leg, rested it across his own.

  “Taking your socks off,” he said.

  “No you’re not.”

  “They’re ruined.”

  “I can see that.”

  “They’ve got to come off.”

  “I know that, but you’re not going to do it”

  “Who is?”

  “I am.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  There he went again, trying to seem as if he were doing her a favor when she knew he was doing just the opposite. “I don’t care what you advise,” she snapped. “They’re my socks, and I’m taking them off.”

  She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as though he’d just told her something that was good for her, and he couldn’t help it if she insisted upon doing the wrong thing. An uneasy feeling circled around the edges of her outrage. She might think he was doing this just to be aggravating—she might even be certain of it—but ignoring him moments ago had gotten her into this mess.

  “Why wouldn’t you advise it?” she as
ked.

  “It would be improper.”

  He looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He was up to something. “What would be improper about taking off my socks?”

  “Maybe improper isn’t the right word.”

  She thought so. He was bluffing.

  “Maybe I should have said embarrassing.”

  “Why should I be embarrassed?” She was losing patience with him.

  “Well, you’re wearing a short skirt.”

  “Of course I’m wearing a short skirt. Have you ever tried to stand up on a moving horse in a long skirt?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t recall ever having occasion to wear a long skirt. But if I had, I’m sure I wouldn’t have tried to ride a horse at that time.”

  She was going to hit him. Just as soon as she got back on her feet.

  “You can’t reach your sock without pulling your leg up under you,” he said. “If you do that, I think you might show more than you want.”

  She hadn’t noticed that several of the cowboys had come to lean against a fence to watch her. She felt the heat in her cheeks as she thought of what they’d do if she raised her leg enough to be able to reach her socks. She felt anger, too.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Don’t lie to me, and don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Well, it is a mite funny, if you see what I mean.”

  “I don’t.” Now she was lying. “I mean, I can see why you’d think it was funny, but I don’t see how you can laugh and call yourself a gentleman.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  She stared hard at him.

  “Well, thinking about it,” Cole confessed, “but not doing it. Besides, nobody’s ever called me a gentleman. Which, on the whole, is kind of a relief. Being a drifter is a lot easier to live up to.”

  “You don’t care if people consider you worthless?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t care, but not having people expect anything of you makes life a lot easier. Besides, I don’t think anybody ever said I was worthless. Well, not completely worthless.”

  He was laughing at her. She couldn’t say exactly how she knew this. His expression seemed sincere enough, but she was absolutely certain. It made her furious. It also made her determined not to show she even suspected. She didn’t want him to think she cared a snap of her fingers for his opinion.