Luke's Cut

by Sarah McCarty

Dammit. Luke yanked his gaze away. He was watching her.

  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Tia murmured.

  “Better not be too much fire,” Caine cut in. “Josie’s under the protection of Hell’s Eight.”

  Luke shook his head. He might be fascinated, but he wasn’t suicidal. “No need to worry. As soon as that woman opens her mouth, any interest a man has dies.”

  “Oh?” Tia cocked her head. “I find her quite funny, and Sally Mae says she is a most interesting woman.”

  It was Luke’s turn to snort. “All she talks about are those plates and chemicals she uses to make those tintypes.”

  “Have you even seen her work?” Caine asked.

  “No.” Ever since the woman had pushed him out of his place at the wedding to set up a picture and stolen his point of view with a smile and an elbow in his side, he’d been avoiding the temptation.

  “You should.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She is my guest,” Tia reminded him quietly. “And I promised her we did not mind her coming along.”

  He’d imagined Josie’d pushed herself into the trip. “You invited her?”

  Tia shrugged. “Pictures of my grandson would be good to have in my parlor.”

  “There might be photographers out there.”

  Tucker snorted. “Now you’re clutching at straws.”

  “Yes, he is,” Zach cut in. “The Montoya ranch, it is big, but it’s remote. There are no photographers.”

  There went that argument.

  Tia smiled at Josie. Josie smiled back.

  That smile had way too much impact on his libido, coming as it did from a woman holding the reins of a gaudily painted peddler’s wagon drawn by a knock-kneed horse wearing a ridiculous bonnet sprouting a huge plume of weeds that bobbed with every plodding step. The right wheel hit a bump. The pans attached to the side clattered. Lounging on the porch, Desi’s hound, Boone, lifted his head and moaned before sinking back onto the sun-warmed wood.

  “Between that wagon and her…eccentricities, she’ll get us all killed.”

  From the edge of the yard came an amused and far too appreciative “I think she will add some beautiful scenery to the journey.”

  The last thing he wanted was the too-handsome vaquero noticing Josie. “Shut up, Zach.”

  “What do you have against the woman, Luke?” Caine asked.

  She was too flighty. Too pretty. Too aggravating. Too tempting. “She has no idea what she’s riding into. Hell, she’s probably got a picnic basket all packed for our little excursion,” he growled under his breath.

  Zach just chuckled. Luke had the overwhelming urge to knock him off his horse. As if to prove his point, Josie called over, “Good morning, everyone. I’m so sorry I’m late. I had the darnedest time getting Glory’s hat to stay put.”

  Shit. Luke swung up into the saddle. She’d named the nag Glory. What more proof did his point need than that?

  “Welcome, hija,” Tia called, bringing the cacophony of horse and wagon closer.

  Chico stomped his foot nervously. Luke patted his neck. “Easy, boy. Now is not the time to be temperamental.”

  Zach’s horse started its own little dance. As if she didn’t understand the disaster she was courting with that obnoxious wagon, Josie kept coming, shyly flashing those dimples that sent his imagination teetering into areas it had no business being.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me. I can’t tell you how excited I am by this opportunity.”

  Luke’s cock perked right along with his aggravation. The wheel hit another bump. The pans clattered. A bucket swung, its contents grating around in its interior. Chico crow-hopped and flattened his ears. Zach’s horse snapped its head up and reared. Zach’s quick reflexes were the only thing that saved his ass from getting dumped in the dirt. “Stay back, senorita!”

  “Josie,” Luke ordered. “Stop right there.”

  Startled, Josie pulled back on the reins. He kneed Chico over. Josie watched him approach, her intriguing blue eyes big beneath her wide-brimmed satin, ruched hat. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he liked her eyes on him. While there could be a certain haphazardness to her attention, when the woman focused on something, it was all out. He couldn’t help but wonder if she brought that intensity between the sheets.

  A shiver raced over his skin. He liked that image entirely too much. The corner of her lips twitched. Fear or humor? It annoyed the bejesus out of him that he wanted to know which. Seems he’d done nothing but watch the woman since the moment he’d damn near tripped over her, kneeling in the dirt taking a picture of a bee on a flower, the day before Hester’s wedding. He’d known she was off-kilter from that second on, but it didn’t seem to make any difference—then or now. He couldn’t look away. Somewhere deep inside him, for some goddamn reason, it mattered if Josie was happy or sad. And that irritated the heck out of him.

  Luke folded his arms over the saddle horn and stared right back at her. She cocked her head to the side and studied him.

  “I’d like to take your picture like that someday.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “The composition is perfect.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She made a square of her hands, looking through them with the intensity of a hawk looking at a tasty mouse. “The way you’re sitting, with the mountains behind. And the shadows…” She shifted slightly to the left and nodded. “It would be a good picture, a very good picture.”

  Glory stomped his foot. She frowned. “I don’t suppose we have time now, do we?”

  He had the insane urge to say yes. “Hell no.”

  She sighed. “I lose so many moments that way.”

  She was an odd one for sure.

  Boone raised his head and gave a light woof. From around the corner of the barn came piling six of his offspring, barking and growling and carrying on. None of them seemed to share Boone’s lazy porch hound ways. They charged in. One raced between his horse’s legs. Chico jumped and snorted. Glory tossed his head and reared up in the traces.

  With a scream as ugly as his hat, he threw his head back. Luke only caught a glimpse of Josie’s terror before the horse took off with a surge of energy. The wagon went right along with it, banging and clanking in a cacophonous prelude to disaster.

  Chico reared up. As soon as Luke got his hooves back on the ground, he started crow-hopping. Time slowed as Zach’s horse joined in.

  This time it was Caine’s turn to say, “Shit.”

  He grabbed for Tia’s team. Tucker lunged for Glory and missed. Luke pulled hard on the right rein, forcing Chico into a tight circle before sending him racing after the wagon, driving the gelding through his fear as Glory’s hat sailed by. It only took a few strides for Chico to catch up with Glory. Grabbing his reins just below the bit, he pulled the bag of bones up short. The clanging lessened until the wagon came to a halt.

  The whole rescue only took a minute, but at the end of that minute… Luke shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder. Chaos had been unleashed. The yard looked like a tornado had ripped through it, the ground chewed up by horses and wagons, pots and pans and other items strewn across the ground. And sitting on a rosebush was the nag’s ridiculous hat.

  The yard wasn’t the only thing in disarray. Josie’s bonnet was off to the side, and tendrils of hair framed her flushed cheeks.

  “Why the he—” He caught himself just in time. “Why the heck don’t you have your gear inside the wagon?”

  Josie gathered her skirts and hopped down. Her hem caught on the edge of the footboard, flashing him a glimpse of pantaloons and ankle. She yanked at it. “It is in the wagon where it should be.”

  “Then what’s all over the yard?”

  On a last tug, her skirt came free. She turned and headed toward the mess. “The other stuff.”

  She said it as if it made total sense. Luke dismounted and followed. Shaking his head, he picked up a frying pan and handed it back to h
er. “You don’t think we’ll have cookware where we’re going?”

  Josie shrugged. Her hat listed a bit more. “It all came with the wagon. I had no idea what to expect, so I just kept it all.”

  “I see.” He went to the back of the wagon and opened the door. It was easy to tell what was her stuff. It was tied down in sturdy boxes.

  “We’re going to have to cut back on some of this weight.”

  That brought her hurrying right over, two metal bowls and that silly hat in her hand. “You’re not talking about my equipment, are you?”

  “Would your equipment be in the large, thick wood box, weighing probably fifty pounds on its own?”

  She came up beside him. The soft scent of lilac teased his nostrils. “The solutions I use to make my pictures need to be protected.”

  “Uh-huh. What about the rest of this? Are you married to it?”

  She pointed to the trunk in the middle. “That has my clothes in it. I could let that go.”

  They could agree on one thing. Those ugly clothes she wore had to go. If she were his, he’d dress her in cool silk and simple designs to highlight her natural curves and beauty. Deep blue to match her eyes. Pink to contrast with her pale skin. “Do your clothes have to be in a trunk?”

  Cocking her head to the side, she gave his question a second of consideration. “You know, I don’t suppose they do.”

  “That horse of yours would probably appreciate a lighter load.” For good measure he added, “And he could probably do without that hat. There’s no dignity in that hat.”

  There was little left in her own for that matter. One more nod of her head and it was coming off.

  She stuck her finger through the ear holes and wiggled them. “Actually, I’ve been informed that without this hat he’s quite flighty.”

  Glancing around the yard, Luke shook his head. “It stuns the mind, imagining how much more he could be.”

  The puppies came up, tails wagging and tongues hanging out, completely unconcerned with the disaster they’d precipitated. Josie bent down and gave the one with the white front toe a scratch behind the ear. Her hat gave up and slid off. “Hello, Rascal.”

  “I wouldn’t get too fond of them. Boone’s pups are in high demand.”

  “I intend to get quite fond of this one. Tucker gave him to me.”

  “Tucker gave you one of the pups?”

  “Yup.” She snatched her bonnet out of his jaws. “I’ve never had a dog before, though.”

  “Why would you want one now?”

  She looked up at him. “Because now just seems the right time.”

  Boone’s pups had been in demand since the day Boone had fought to save Desi and then, shot and bleeding, tracked her, saving her life. Dogs with that kind of heart were rare. Boone was a legend. And everyone wanted part of a legend. Tucker was mighty particular about whom he gave a pup to.

  Yet he’d given one to Josie. Luke’s gut tightened, and not in a good way, at the implied intimacy. Was he actually jealous? “What are you going to do with him when you go back East?”

  “They do travel, you know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The puppy made a jump for the hat. She held it above her head. “No, Rascal!”

  Rascal kept jumping and she kept turning, uttering soft-voiced orders.

  “You could help,” Caine suggested, riding up.

  So he could. Grabbing the pup by the scruff, Luke ordered, “Sit.”

  Startled, Rascal looked at him before slowly sinking down on his haunches. His face drooped into soulful despair as he realized his predicament.

  Luke wasn’t impressed.

  Josie grabbed his arm. “Ooh, don’t hurt him.”

  Holding the pup’s gaze, Luke ordered, “Stay,” before releasing him.

  No one was more surprised than he when Rascal stayed put.

  Josie blinked. “I confess, I’m impressed.”

  “Some things take a firm hand,” he bluffed.

  He’d be damned if that didn’t send a little shiver down her spine, and he’d be damned if that shiver didn’t send another bolt of lust through him.

  “We don’t have time to repack all this,” Tucker noted, holding out a badly dented pot as he approached.

  Rascal bounded up to Tucker the way all animals and children did. Women, however, were usually intimidated by his dark looks and the scar slashing across his right cheek that lent him a sinister air. Josie just gave him a big smile.

  “I’m fine with leaving the cooking equipment and we can take my clothes out of the trunk.”

  Tucker turned the pot before tossing it to one of the hands. “That’s good.”

  “Truth be told, I got this wagon off a peddler.” She handed the bowls to Luke. “It was one price for everything.” She said it as though it was pure luck the peddler had been selling everything lock, stock and barrel.

  The bowls were almost rusted through in places. “I hope you didn’t pay much.”

  “Oh no, I bargained.” With a tug, she pulled her bonnet back up. The brim obscured her expression. She still held the horse’s ridiculous hat. Bending down, she gave Rascal a pat. He wiggled and flopped over.

  “You bargained?” he asked. She didn’t look as if she could bargain her way out of a feed sack.

  Tucker chuckled and started stripping the remaining items from the wagon. “The way I hear it, there was a man down in Parson’s saloon whining about how he was fleeced by some good-looking filly.”

  Josie’s smile widened to satisfaction. Luke noticed she was more free with her expressions when she felt hidden in some way. “Why, thank you, Mr. McCade.”

  Tucker tipped his hat. “Always happy to pass on good news. And just call me Tucker.”

  Luke wanted to knock the bonnet from her head and expose that smile, that woman. “I didn’t know you had such talents.”

  “Imagine that.” Focusing on Glory’s hat, she straightened the brim before heading to the front of the wagon.

  Tucker snorted. Luke cut him a glare before following. He motioned to the weed-adorned monstrosity. “You know, it’s darned undignified to make a horse wear that thing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The horse was too tall for her to position it properly. Luke folded his arms across his chest. If she asked nicely, he might help her.

  She waved the hat. Instead of spooking, the horse lowered its head. She settled the hat over Glory’s ears, carefully working the right, then the left through the holes. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled. “It seems, Mr. Bellen, there are some things about which you don’t know everything.”

  *

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, excess trunks and cooking equipment were stacked by the house, the wagons were in line, the women were ready and there was nothing left to do but leave. Luke looked around, a mixture of unease and anticipation roiling in his gut. The anticipation was for him. The unease for the women. Here was safety. Ahead lay danger. And he was leading Tia and Josie right into it. He pulled his hat down over his eyes.

  “I’m not happy about this,” he muttered to Caine.

  Caine nodded. “For the record, neither am I.”

  But it didn’t make a difference. The trip was happening. Luke turned his horse and moved to the head of the small caravan. Zach’s vaqueros fell into place, surrounding the wagons. Warriors who’d give their lives to protect the women. He had to believe it was going to be enough.

  From the porch, Rascal barked. And then howled. Tucker hushed him with a tug on the impromptu rope leash. Behind him, he heard the goodbyes. Before he got too far, Caine stopped him with a sharp whistle.

  “Don’t forget where your home is.”

  Looking back at Caine, Luke saw all there had been, all there could be. And the reality of what was. He didn’t know if he’d ever be coming back.

  He touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “I won’t.”

  Caine held up his hand. Right behind Caine was Ace. And behind him, Tucker. And then Ed. Solid men to th
e last. Dependable. His family. “If you do, we’ll come looking for you.”

  And that was the beauty of Hell’s Eight. Even when they were apart, they were never alone. He tipped his hat. “I’ll hold it against you if you don’t.”

  There was so much more he wanted to say, but all the words had been spoken and now it was only down to the doing, as it had been so many times before. But with this departure there wasn’t a bounty or the need for revenge to drive him down the trail. There was only this aching need for…something. Just something.

  And it was time to go find it.

  With a wave of his hand, he put the caravan in motion.

  The journey had begun.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOUR HOURS LATER, Josie came to a conclusion. Luke might not be the only one who knew less than he thought he did. She’d awoken that morning, tingling with anticipation for this exciting adventure, but reality was beating her up. She sighed.

  The wagon that had looked so perfectly suited to her needs was actually little more than an elaborate instrument of torture. The seat bruised her posterior. The reins chafed her hands even through the light gloves she’d put on, and the small overhang she’d thought would protect her from the sun did nothing but trap the heat. Worse even, the constant bouncing and swaying upset her stomach to the point where she was in danger of embarrassing herself by vomiting.

  Gripping the reins, she took a deep breath. She refused to further embarrass herself. After the fiasco that morning, she couldn’t afford to look more incompetent. Luke was just itching for a reason to send her back and they were still close enough to the Hell’s Eight compound to make that feasible. Wagons, she’d discovered, had a more plodding pace than riding horseback. She tucked a stray hair under her bonnet. A trickle of perspiration slid down her back toward her already soaked corset. A glance at the sun showed it wasn’t yet noon. How was she going to stand the full afternoon sun? How was everyone else able to stand it so easily?

  The left wheels hit a rut. The wagon bounced over it, then swayed before settling. Her breakfast rose to her throat. Beside her one of the vaqueros asked, “You are well, senorita?”

  Forcing a smile, she lied. “Fine, thank you.”