To Love a Texas Ranger

by Linda Broday

  There was another strange word. A look at Sam’s glower told her to let it pass.

  “Thank you, Andrew. You’re a perfect gentleman.” Maybe she’d been too quick to mistrust him, secrets or no. She quickly grabbed the pants and one of the smaller shirts from the pile and disappeared behind the hanging bedroll. She peeled off the wet wool of her dress and chemise. Thank goodness she had never worn one of those corsets she’d seen on other women. Living in the mountains and not seeing anyone for months at a time, she’d had little need of such. It didn’t take long to slip into the dry clothes. Warmth spread throughout her limbs.

  She shyly stepped out, clutching the extra material around her waist. With the pants hugging her curves, she felt exposed but free at the same time. “I need a piece of rope.”

  “Coming up.” Sam laid down the stack of money he’d finished counting, took out his knife, and picked up a coiled lariat.

  Minutes later, she rewarded Sam with a smile as he cinched her waist. She loved the feel of his hands brushing against her and hummed as she retrieved her wet clothes.

  Moments later, with the clothes in front of the fire, she caught Sam’s stare.

  “You have the smile of an angel,” he murmured, then flushed with embarrassment. The soft words he evidently hadn’t meant to say brought heat to her cheeks.

  An angel? Lord knew she was far, far from that.

  “Thank you, Ranger.” Maybe not using his name would remind him not to get too familiar. Still, her heartbeat had picked up speed.

  Andrew pitched Sam one of the whiskey bottles. “This’ll warm us up.”

  The ranger made a one-handed catch. Sierra watched him stare at the bottle a long moment as though pondering something. He finally opened it and took a long swallow. Andrew uncorked the other and took a drink.

  A little while later, all three sat in dry clothes, watching the coffee boil. The aroma of the hot brew wound through Sierra, bringing the first optimism she’d known in days. Maybe more than she had a right to, given their situation.

  “Coffee’s almost ready. A few more minutes.” Using Sam’s wet shirt to protect her hand, she removed the pot from the embers so the grounds would settle.

  “I’m all for that. It’ll taste mighty good,” Sam said.

  The gray-eyed lawman drew her admiration. From beneath her lashes, she took in his hair, a shade that reminded her of rich coffee beans. The firelight played on the dark strands, bringing out a luster. She suspected he was unaccustomed to the length brushing his shoulders. Strands kept falling into his face, and each time, he impatiently shoved them back. She relished the ruggedness it added, though he certainly didn’t need anything extra to set her heart racing.

  Andrew was handsome, with hair the color of midnight. But the dark stubble on his jaw whispered danger. He didn’t make excited quivers run through her body with a look.

  Sam had quiet confidence and a strength that made her feel safe and protected. She knew he’d put his life on the line for her with no questions asked. After all, he already had. And something told her it would take more than a bullet to stop him. He was the kind who kept on coming, despite the odds, bad weather, and any physical challenges. When a brave man took a stand, it stiffened the spines of others. That described the Sam Legend she’d read so much about. She felt braver simply being next to him.

  “I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” she said. “Just last night, I froze in a cave, fearing for my life. Now, I’m warm and dry and safe.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, and we aren’t home yet,” he answered.

  A change rippled in his gray eyes at the word home. They’d held a flash of fire when he and Andrew had words, and she’d seen them take on the coldness of a wintry day when he spoke of Isaac Ford. Sam Legend was a man with hard edges, yet he’d shown great gentleness when he held her and stroked her hair. He made her feel safe from every threat, even the ones she’d locked away in a far corner of her heart. And the way he said home made her long for one of her own.

  Part of her wished…

  But he’d never want a woman like her, someone too opinionated by half. And short. She was short. A woman with long legs and an elegant frame would suit his height better. A woman like everything she’d never be—tall and cultured and pretty. Those women would always have male attention.

  Her chin quivered. All she needed was one chance, one person to say You matter to me. I’ll stand beside you to the end of time. Your happiness is the most important thing. No one had ever said that in twenty years, and she was far too old now. Her time had passed.

  Since she was a little girl, she’d dreamed of owning a small house with a white picket fence around it. She had pictured rows of pretty flowers across the front and a garden in the back where she could grow things. A place of her own where she’d never have to pull up stakes. Strong roots called to her like a robin to his mate, rich soil that could feed her starving soul as well as her stomach.

  Except Isaac Ford stood between her and that dream. And it may never be hers to claim.

  Six

  Sam spent a sleepless night in the drafty shack with Sierra and Andrew lying beside him on their bedrolls.

  Once he’d dozed off, only to jerk awake, gasping for air. He’d sat up, drenched with sweat. When would it end? Over and over he relived the moment when he knew he was going to die. The feel of the rope tightening around his neck, the second his feet dangled helplessly in the air was embedded in his memory. He recalled everything about that day—the color of the cloudless sky, the temperature of the air…and the taste of fear that sat on his tongue like a rotted piece of meat.

  Eventually, his heartbeat slowed, and the sweat dried.

  With a troubled sigh, Sam turned his thoughts to Sierra Hunt and his limited options. They could ride back to the watering station and wait for a train to Fort Worth, but Ford likely stood between them and the tracks.

  Maybe angling north, intersecting the tracks farther up and catching a train there?

  Damn his aching head that clouded his judgment!

  Tired of his muddled thoughts, he glanced at his nearest sleeping companion. In the firelight, Sierra’s cloud of dark hair billowed out around her head like the wings of a delicate bird. He’d loved when she’d removed the ribbon before bed and let the strands flow down her back.

  He doubted she even knew how beautiful she was. But it was more than outward appearance. Beauty also shone from the inside and her kind heart.

  Though the liberties Andrew Evan had taken with her made him mad enough to cuss, it was no wonder the man called her amiga and dulce. She was a friend—and a very sweet one.

  Sam was still amazed at the effect she had on him. Almost from the moment they’d met, he became more settled, surer of himself, more confident in his abilities. She grounded him in reality, and the doubts that plagued him before had begun to fade.

  She lay so near, tempting, pulling him toward her. Unable to resist, he lightly touched the back of her hand, resting only inches away on the bedroll. The woman had been through sheer hell, but her enormous will to survive had given her the strength and courage to escape Isaac Ford.

  A lesser woman would’ve folded.

  His eyes swept to the cuts Ford had made on her palm and throat, which were barely visible in the dim light, and his resolve hardened. There would be a reckoning, even if he had to track Ford and his gang to the ends of the earth. He’d make them pay.

  An ache in his gut formed as he focused on Sierra’s soft, perfectly shaped lips. A sudden hunger to kiss her consumed him. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. She was kind and sweet like honey, but with wild passion burning in her eyes.

  Sierra Hunt would definitely taste like wild honey.

  The thought teased the edges of his mind. When she’d come out wearing those figure-hugging trousers, he’d had to force himself t
o keep breathing. From that moment until the time they’d crawled into the bedrolls, he’d made a damn fool of himself because he couldn’t take his eyes off her curves.

  Then every time she’d bent over, oh Lord! His heart hammered so hard he felt sure it would jump out of his chest.

  It was more than that, though. She was genuine with a heart that beat true. She also would see Evan’s pretty words for what they were—an attempt to turn her head.

  Anyone could see through that.

  Sierra’s fresh scent swirled around him, making him think of things better left alone. Rubbing his eyes, he forced his thoughts away from temptation.

  A safer subject was how to get her to the Lone Star. Instead of the train, maybe he should put her on a stagecoach somewhere? If he did, one thing for sure, he wasn’t going to let her go alone. He’d stable Trooper until he could get back for him. Only one problem—how far would he have to go to find a stagecoach? The one-horse towns between them and the ranch probably wouldn’t be on a route.

  Finally he settled on a plan of action. He’d try the train first. If that failed, they had horseback as a last resort.

  But with or without Andrew Evan remained to be seen. The man had vowed to go his separate way—but would he? Whoever or whatever the mysterious gunslinger really was, Sam didn’t trust him. And damned if he knew why. He was still sure he knew him. Positive.

  The lawman in him prayed he found the answer before it was too late.

  After they’d changed into dry clothes last evening, he’d again felt that familiar thing pass between them. The feeling burrowed deep into his mind like some kind of rat, gnawing at the elusive memory niggling in his brain. Those dark trousers with the silver conchas up the side that Evan pulled from his saddlebag seemed familiar. But admittedly, they seemed to be the fashion among males of Mexican descent, which Evan clearly was.

  Slender fingers of light squeezed through some of the chinks in the wall. Daylight must be near. With the water no longer streaming from the ceiling, he knew the rain had stopped. At least that was welcome news. He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a few more winks. If he got up now, he’d wake the others, and Sierra needed her rest for the grueling day ahead.

  The fire popped as the soaked wood he’d thrown on in the wee hours finally dried enough to catch.

  The creaking floor seemed to send a warning that the ramshackle abode was about ready to fall in.

  Sam rolled over and focused on his breathing, reaching for calm, trying to quiet the whispers in his head.

  The door eased open. He jerked to attention and reached for his Colt. As he made it to his feet, he caught sight of Andrew Evan disappearing outside with his bedroll under one arm and saddlebags thrown over his shoulder. The gunslinger was up to something!

  But what? Evan had threatened to part ways here. Maybe he was getting an early start.

  Sam hurried toward the largest chink in the wall to peer out. Evan stood, looking toward the horses as though contemplating taking one or all. He removed his black hat and rubbed his eyes before swiveling to face the eastern horizon.

  Familiar pale green eyes—ones that had stared at Sam more than once over the top of a bandana rocked him backward.

  Luke Weston!

  Fury crawled up the back of his neck. He should have pressed the issue and forced the man to remove that damn hat hours ago. He’d put Sierra’s fate into the hands of a wanted man, an outlaw. A murderer no less.

  One who had a thousand-dollar bounty on his head.

  Sierra had asked him to trust Evan, and now look what it got him. The outlaw had been right under his nose the whole time. Laughing about it. All the strange statements, the sly grins, the flashes of anger, the familiar fancy trousers suddenly made sense.

  Hell! The string of silent cusswords left a blue streak across his mind.

  The arrogance of the cocky outlaw. The joke would be on him. Sam intended to slam his butt behind bars so fast his head would swim. One thought bothered him, though. Could Luke be in cahoots with Ford? Had he been luring them into a trap all along?

  Sam scrambled toward his gun belt lying next to his bedroll and slung it around his waist. Weston hadn’t seen him. He was sure of that. That gave Sam the advantage. But he needed to pretend ignorance a bit longer or he’d spook Weston. This was his best chance to date of finally catching him. His heart raced.

  Sierra rose up from her bedroll and smiled. “Good morning.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s time to get moving. Besides, my bones are tired of lying here. I heard you cry out in your sleep. Are you all right?” She threw aside the extra bedroll she’d used for a blanket and stood.

  “I’m fine,” he murmured quietly.

  Keeping Sierra in the cabin was crucial. But how to do that? She’d have to go out to take care of personal needs. Sam had seen more than one instance where the criminal grabbed the person nearest to use as a shield, sometimes ending with the hostage’s death.

  “Where’s Evan?” she asked.

  Getting ready to run? Getting ready to meet up with the Ford gang? Or getting set to shoot when they walked out the door? Weston had already added murder to his list of crimes. They could hang him only once.

  “Went out,” Sam said. Simple and plain.

  “I’ll fetch water.” She moved toward the pot. “I can’t wait to feel the sun on my face.”

  He froze. He couldn’t let her face any danger.

  “No. I’ll go. It’s muddy and you’ll ruin your shoes. Stay in here, pretty lady, where it’s warm and dry.” Sam took the pot, leaving before she could object, praying she wouldn’t follow.

  Outside, his jumpy nerves settled into a familiar calm. He slid his Colt from the holster, scanning the area. But his quarry had already disappeared. Sam dropped the coffeepot and raced toward the horses, wondering if Weston had seen him through the chink in the wall after all.

  Or was it his damn bad luck at work again? Hell!

  With his heart pounding, he didn’t slow until he reached the cool shadows of the trees.

  Would the horses be there?

  If Weston had ridden off, he wouldn’t hesitate one second in taking them all, leaving him and Sierra afoot.

  Gripping his Colt, Sam crept closer.

  The sound of cushioned hoofbeats reached his ears a second before a black gelding galloped past a hundred yards away.

  “Stop, Weston! Stop, damn you!” Sam raised his gun and fired. A large tree trunk shielded the outlaw as he rode by, the bullet splitting the bark. Weston never looked back.

  Only one thing remained—to see if the outlaw had left them a horse, or untied and run them all off.

  The overlapping branches had kept back much of the deluge. Though water dripped from the leaves, the ground was firmer here. He moved forward, afraid to hope. It wasn’t for him but for Sierra. She wouldn’t last long afoot.

  He finally glimpsed movement through the leafy forest and made out the shapes of horses.

  Sam gave a sigh of relief. At least they had a way to travel.

  That Weston had again shown a smattering of compassion came as a shock. He’d done wrong but had turned around and tempered it with good. Just like the time he’d shot Sam in the leg then sent help.

  Damn, if he could only figure the outlaw out!

  A sound from behind alerted him. Luke doubling back and sneaking up behind him? He whirled, his finger tightening on the trigger, and shoved his Colt into the person’s face.

  A jolt raced through him as he stared at Sierra.

  She gasped, her eyes wide in fear.

  “Thought I told you to stay in the shack.” He hated the angry words, but he reeled from the shock of how close he’d come to ending her life.

  His jagged nerves had trouble settling for several beats of his heart. He could still feel h
is finger pulling back on the trigger that would’ve sent a bullet into her. Sam’s hand shook as he returned the Colt to his holster.

  “I couldn’t wait. Something’s going on. What’s wrong, Sam?” A quiver in the words spoke of Sierra’s fear. “Where’s Andrew?”

  “Andrew Evan is the outlaw Luke Weston, and I’ve been chasing him nigh onto a year.” At her soft cry, he put his arm around her and held her next to him. “I recognized him this morning when I finally saw him without his hat. Those eyes are burned into my memory.”

  “I liked him. He seemed real nice. You suspected, didn’t you? That was the reason for the tension I kept feeling.”

  “I knew he was familiar, but it’s been hard trusting my instincts lately.” He smoothed back her tendrils of dark hair. “Forgive me? I almost shot you. Lady, you scared me out of ten lives.”

  “Of course. I should’ve done as you told me, only I heard shots. It’s my fault.”

  Sam tried to drag his stare from her tousled hair and soft curves that the trousers did little to hide. She was a sight for sure. He swallowed hard, trying not to think about running his hands over her satiny skin and kissing her until neither had an ounce of breath left.

  He felt more like his old self, and he realized it was because of her. She’d fixed him by pushing back the darkness and allowing light into his life. By giving him something—someone—to be a hero for. A swell of deep gratitude rose as he struggled to contain his emotions.

  “No, no. I beg to differ, pretty lady. I see no fault at all with you.” He looked deep into her blue eyes that saw only goodness. “Since you’re here, can you help me bring the mounts to the shack?” Somehow, someway, he’d return the horses that didn’t belong to the Ford gang to their rightful owners.

  “Sure, Sam.” Pride, and maybe a little sadness too, rippled in her pretty eyes. They reminded him of a pale blue sky. In fact, he wasn’t sure if they were blue or gray. Maybe a combination of both. Whichever, he loved looking at them.

  Her softly parted lips beckoned like a light that guided sailors on a dark, storm-tossed sea.