by Linda Broday
A glance at the sky told him it was around one o’clock in the afternoon. He told her they needed to move deeper into the cottonwood and oak that grew along the Brazos. “I’ll carry you.”
Sierra shook her head. “I’d like to walk.”
“All right.” He put an arm around her in case she fell, and they moved away from the bank and the river that had almost claimed her.
“Do you think the river got Luke?”
“Nope. Weston is a survivor.” Despite his assurance, he was anything but confident. Loss of a life always bothered him, but for Weston to drown would cause an ache deep inside. The outlaw mattered. Weston’s words at the old shack echoed inside Sam’s head. Just shoot. My life isn’t worth a damn anyhow.
He’d long considered Luke Weston a selfish, arrogant scoundrel. Maybe he was, in part, but Sam had seen another side, one filled with honor and caring, no matter how useless Weston thought himself.
“I’ll see you in Flatbush, my friend,” Sam muttered, praying it would be so.
They reached cover in the trees, and Sam heard Sierra’s chattering teeth. Her blue lips spoke of her need for a fire. With no way of making one, he sat on a cushion of grass with his back to the trunk of a tree and pulled her against him, rubbing her arms to warm her.
Where were the horses? Were they close? The oilskin-wrapped matches were in the saddlebags, along with everything else. Including the outlaw loot, but he couldn’t be concerned about that at the moment.
“Put your hands over your ears, Sierra. I don’t want to burst your eardrums.”
Once she did, Sam put two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. If Trooper was anywhere near, he’d come. Sam had trained the buckskin well. He waited a minute then whistled again. A crash in the brush was music to Sam’s ears. He grinned when the big buckskin trotted up to him with his ears perked. The little mare trailed right behind.
“Good boy, Trooper!” He apologized to Sierra for having to take away the warmth and stood.
Rummaging around in the saddlebags, he located the matches, in addition to the beat-up pot and coffee. Close by, a rocky ledge jutted out, leaving a protected area beneath with room enough to stand. That overhang would conceal the smoke from a fire should anyone come looking. In no time, he had coffee boiling.
Sierra roused from her daze to scrounge two tin cups and a couple of slightly damp blankets. A short time later, Sam sat by the fire with his arms around her. He’d wrapped her in both blankets to take the chill from her bones while they watched the coffee boil. He was cold also, but her body next to his brought warmth.
They were alive. He grinned.
His Colt had gotten wet and wouldn’t fire, his clothes were stuck to him, and he and Sierra were lost, but he was happier than he’d been in a while.
“You wanted to know what amiga means.”
“I do wonder,” Sierra murmured.
“A female friend.”
“And dulce?”
“Sweet. What Luke called you is certainly true.”
“That’s real nice. I like it.”
“Don’t know of anyone more deserving of the compliment.” Sam’s voice roughened.
Sitting on a patch of wild grass with her back against his chest, Sam folded his arms around her. After what they’d been through, he didn’t want any space between them. If she objected, she didn’t voice it.
With a brush of his lips to her temple, he inhaled the river air and let peace drift over him. “Back there before we forded, what did you mean about too many people had died and you couldn’t save them? After you said that, you called to someone named Whitney.”
She jerked as though he’d shot her. “Whitney?”
“You yelled the name as we plunged into the river and told her not to make you do it.”
Her breathing stilled. “Why do you want to know?”
“Curious. Never heard you mention the name. I’m not sure if it’s a man or a woman.” Seeing how upset it made her, Sam shrugged. “Just forget it. It’s not important. You getting warmer?”
Her tense muscles relaxed. “I am, thanks to the fire and blankets. Don’t you need one of these? I feel guilty for taking both.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m fine.” The coffee had probably finished boiling and he could let the grounds settle, but he didn’t want to move. Having her where he could touch her didn’t happen near enough.
Turned out, he didn’t have to get up. Sierra rose and used the hem of her wet dress to take the pot from the fire. After adding more wood, she resumed her place against his chest.
Sam inhaled her fragrance and counted himself a very lucky man.
“Coffee will be ready soon,” she said. “Being out in the open is familiar to me. Not the city with its constant noise and horrible smells. This quiet place beneath the Texas sky.” She swiveled and glanced up at him. “With you.”
Sam lowered his head and gently pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was the kind of smoldering heat that joined metals, and sent a fierce hunger through him. Need pooled low in his gut. He’d known plenty of women but never anyone like Sierra.
Sure, she was pretty and smart. But what drew him was her sweet vulnerability. Someone had hurt her, and the wound still festered. He knew for sure her father had, but there could be others. Whoever they were, they’d shredded her self-worth.
With a low moan scraping his throat, he turned himself over to the sweetness of her lips. Coaxing them open, he slipped his tongue into the velvet warmth.
Lingering.
Savoring.
Surrendering.
Despite being fully clothed, he seduced her with his touch, teased with soft words, branded her with his lips until she responded with a mewling cry against his mouth.
When she lifted her hand to Sam’s face, he caressed the lines of her arm, starting at her fingertips, lazily sliding down to her shoulder. He worshiped everything about this woman who’d not only been tossed aside by her father but life as well.
He wanted to prove Sierra wrong. He could save her. With time, he could give her back everything she’d lost.
The scent of the fire mixed with the earthy, wild river swirled around, driving him on.
His gentle touch followed the long sweep of her neck, down her soft curves to her shapely waist and farther, until his hand rested at the flare of her hips. His breath hitched. Sierra excited him, made him feel every inch a man.
Sierra made him dream again and forget the ghosts that haunted him. Only she had the power to turn him from revenge.
He took his lips from hers long enough to feather tiny kisses slowly across her mouth to one shell-like ear before finding the pulsing hollow of her throat. With his breath thundering in his ears, he kissed her wild heartbeat. An aching need for her burst inside him and spread. She was everything he’d sought but never found. Sierra Hunt made him lose all reason.
Captain O’Reilly was right. He was mad, mad with hunger for this woman.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Please don’t stop. Make me feel all the things I’ve missed.”
He brushed the swell of her breasts with a light palm and felt the raised peaks strain against the confines of her bodice. A light flick of his fingers across the hard nub brought Sierra’s muffled cry. Her breath came in gasps as she thrust her hand into his hair.
“Sam!”
The depth of the passion and hunger shaking him was something he’d never known.
His fingers worked at the buttons of her dress. Quickly releasing the first three, he touched her skin and pressed his lips to the silky smoothness.
A familiar dance began inside as his muscles quivered and contracted. He loved this beginning buildup for what was to come, the change in the rhythms of his body. It reminded him of how he felt when facing down danger
. Breathing became harsher and more rapid. His heart hammered against his ribs. Time slowed.
“Pretty lady, you make me forget things I shouldn’t,” he whispered against her ear. “I want you.”
Sierra Hunt wasn’t some passing fancy. What he felt for her shook him to the very core.
From the blue, her words pounded in his head like a gong. I need permanence, roots.
The voice of reason spoke. This was wrong. He had to think of her. Not himself for once.
Though he yearned to take what she offered with every fiber of his being, he couldn’t. He couldn’t take from her without giving her the one thing she needed most—permanence. Roots. A house. A garden…a husband home every night. Endless routine.
The ache in his chest wouldn’t let him promise those things. He couldn’t. She wanted everything he didn’t. He could never be happy in one place like his brother. The monotony, the boredom would cripple him.
With great effort, he removed his hand and buttoned her dress. Dropping feathery kisses along her mouth, he brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”
Bright color stained her cheeks, and she turned away. “I understand.”
Hell! She thought he didn’t want her. That he did think her a coward and weak. She didn’t understand—the unworthy one was he.
He didn’t deserve someone good and kind like Sierra.
Fourteen
With a finger under her chin, Sam brought Sierra’s face around. “No, you don’t understand. You don’t need someone like me. You can do so much better. I’m all jagged edges and holes and driven by revenge. I’d make your life miserable. You’ve had more than your share of misery already, and I won’t add to that. All your life people have taken from you, giving nothing in return. I won’t add myself to that list.”
“You’re different from everyone else.”
God, what he wouldn’t give to change himself into the man she needed.
He gazed into her blue eyes, and seeing the hurt there made it hard to breathe. He ran the pad of a thumb across her cheek. He’d never find another like her. “Sierra, I’m all wrong. I can’t be someone I’m not, no more than you.”
Confusion and misery swam in her eyes. “How can you say that after what we shared?”
“People should always carry love for a partner. Can you honestly say you love me?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard. She wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I…I don’t know.”
“Never give yourself to anyone until you’re sure.”
She glanced down at her tightly clenched hands, trying to still her trembling lip.
A bastard. He was a bastard. He silently cursed himself.
“I’d give anything to be able to offer what you want—anything. But my feet have to keep moving, and this need has caused rifts between me and my family for years. I’m a loner. I love my job because I’m always in a different town, seeing different people, sleeping in a different bed.” He softened his voice even more, because he knew the next words would sting. “I can’t think of anything more stifling than waking up in the same house with each endless day merely a repeat of the last.”
The inescapable, sobering truth struck him. He was too much like her father. The same thought had to have also hit her.
She glanced away and said stiffly, “You don’t have to explain. We’re just not right for each other.” Her lip trembled as she paused before asking, “Friends?”
Sam knew by the husky pitch of her voice he’d deeply wounded her. Damn it.
Forcing a smile, he said, “Absolutely. Friends always.”
The taste of the word friend soured on his tongue. He wanted so much more, and he cursed the differences that stood between them.
She stared toward the river, as though struggling to gather herself.
“I need some of that coffee. How about you?” he said quietly.
“I’ll get it.” She stood, poured some of the hot brew, and handed it to him.
“Thanks.”
Wrapping her hands around her cup, she sat on the log. The quiet was punctured only by bird calls and rushing water.
Finally, she spoke. “This tastes good.”
“Most women aren’t fond of the stuff,” he remarked. “I believe you’re the first I’ve known who had a liking for it.”
A sad smile formed. “I grew up drinking worse than this. Thanks to my father, I developed quite an appreciation for a strong brew. From the Indians we learned about berries, leaves, and bark. Then, sometimes, we traded things to the mountain men for their version of coffee. Most of it was bitter.”
“I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen. Done. I envy you.” Sam took a sip. “I’ve always been a wanderer, which is why the Texas Rangers are perfect. It doesn’t sit well with my father though. He wanted to tie his sons to the ranch.”
Sam’s broken promise grated across his mind. He’d promised his father he would only be a ranger for two years. He’d gone back on his word. He’d have to explain to Stoker sooner or later that he’d been unable to stop, that this job gave him everything he’d been unable to find in ranching.
“Tell me about the Lone Star.”
“It’s huge, embarrassing really. Like Weston said the other night, the thing covers six counties. My father, Stoker Legend, bought five hundred acres in 1836 for mere pennies with money he’d saved following the Texas war for independence. Everyone told him this land was pretty worthless. But Stoker was a twenty-year-old with a dream and stars in his eyes. He saw what it could be.”
“Your father must’ve worked awfully hard.”
“That’s a fact. He’s obsessed with acquiring land. Last I heard we have four hundred and eighty thousand acres.” Sam took another drink of coffee. “He’s had to fight hard to keep it though. Comanche, Apache, outlaws, floods, drought. Says it’s mine and Houston’s legacy. He endured it all for his sons.”
“Stoker sounds like a special man.”
“Long as he isn’t your father. Don’t get me wrong. I love and admire him like no other person. But he can be hard.” After a moment’s lull, he added, “He wasn’t always, mind you.”
Memories of Stoker taking him fishing and hunting as a youngster flashed through his mind. Sam loved being with him back then, learning about cattle and life. His father had millions of stories to tell about those early days and, even now, Sam never tired of listening to them.
He sighed and continued, “After my mother died, he started drinking. Became bitter.”
Sorrow filled her eyes. “In grief, people change, become someone you don’t know.”
“Sometimes they certainly do.”
Sierra gave herself a little shake, and he watched the sorrow vanish. He wondered who had disappointed her. He wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time to push her.
“How long since you’ve been home?” she asked.
“Been a while.”
Memories of the words he’d had with Houston sneaked into his head. His brother had complained of having to stay behind, tied to the ranch and their father.
“Haven’t you thought that I might want to see other things, long for adventure of my own?” Houston had yelled.
“This is what you chose,” Sam hollered back. “I thought you liked taking care of the Lone Star and riding herd on things.”
“I do, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want it to be the whole sum of my life. I can count on one hand the times I’ve been off this land.”
“Then go. You don’t have to stay.”
“Like you? Then Pa sure won’t have anyone to depend on. The ranch is too big for one person.”
“You have a foreman and over a hundred men at your disposal,” Sam snapped. “What is really stuck in your craw?”
“He wants you. He tolerates me, but it’s you he st
ands looking for every sunrise and sunset. You don’t know the pain you leave behind each time you ride off to chase your dream, your next outlaw, your big thrill. Nor do you give a damn. Whatever little brother wants, little brother gets. Go to hell.”
Sam wiped his eyes, wincing at the memory that left a big knot in his gut. He couldn’t forget the angry words. Nor how Houston had thrown his glass at his head, barely missing.
How would it be this time? He looked up, realizing he’d been silent too long. “Sorry.”
“What is the plan?” Sierra tossed another piece of wood on the fire.
He glanced at the sky and the waning sun. “We’ll stay put for the night. Maybe Luke will find us.”
Or Isaac Ford? Definite possibility, though Sam figured they were too far downriver and shielded by thick growth and the rocky ledge above them.
“I pray Luke’s all right.”
“Don’t worry too much on that score. Weston knows how to survive.” Though Sam’s words came easy, his thoughts did not. Luke was too hurt.
“If he doesn’t show up, we’re supposed to meet in Flatbush,” he added.
“That’s good.” She got to her feet and reached for his empty cup. “Want a refill?”
“Not right now.” He rose to unsaddle the horses.
The crackle of the fire reminded him how lucky they were for the heat. Though it was spring and the days heated up in fine fashion, the Texas nights carried a chill. If Weston had survived, he couldn’t make a fire. They had the matches.
Maybe Luke would find them before dark, he told himself. But fear that the outlaw lay dying somewhere wouldn’t leave his mind.
Maybe because he knew how great the odds truly were. He and Sierra had barely made it out of the river alive, and they were healthy and fit. For someone living on a prayer… Sam didn’t want to consider that. Things had gone south so fast he wouldn’t have cared to place a bet on their survival.
