by Linda Broday
He allowed a wry smile. It just paid to never give up.
A warm fire, some hot coffee, breath in his lungs—Sierra beside him. That was all he could ask.
His eyes caressed the beautiful woman who’d gotten into his blood, and he cursed fate for the rotten trick. Hunger still coursed through his heart, impossible to silence. He wouldn’t have missed kissing her for all the stars in Texas.
Why did he have to have a conscience?
* * *
Darkness settled over them with still no sign of Luke Weston. Sam stared into the flames and tried not to worry. They’d eaten, and Sierra was next to him, quiet and motionless. Her profile didn’t show the hurt he’d inflicted. The lady had drawn it inside as she’d probably done throughout her life. One more thing for him to regret.
She’d gone fishing earlier—took a piece of heavy string from her mare’s saddle blanket, fashioned a hook from a piece of bone she found on the ground, and caught two fish for supper. He’d watched her in amazement while he took apart his Colt and dried the inside as best he could.
The pretty woman knew about grit. Truth be told, probably more than Sam did. She’d turned out to be quite ingenious.
Fascinated, he’d watched her select some good-sized stones and lay them close together. Then she’d built a second fire on top of them. Once that had burned down, she’d brushed away the embers and ash with a tree branch and laid the fish on the hot stones.
Maybe he was just hungry, but Sam had never eaten such flaky morsels of fish.
He made a mental note of the process in case he needed to use it sometime. A ranger never knew what life would throw at him next. Out on the frontier, every new thing learned often made the difference between enduring and death.
Sometimes a man didn’t get a second chance.
With his wet gun belt drying by the fire, his attention shifted to his Colt resting beside him within easy reach. His business with Isaac Ford wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. The man was out there searching for them even now. They wouldn’t give up without the money and Sierra.
A rustle in the brush made Sierra edge closer.
“Just a wild varmint,” he said quietly.
“How do you know?”
“Heard the whispering, scurrying sound. Men sneaking up snap twigs, or their boots strike the rocky ground no matter how careful they walk. Hunting men, a lawman learns the difference. I’m guessing this is a ground squirrel or other small creature.”
She stared at her hand and ran her fingers across the palm. “How long have you been a Texas Ranger?”
“Seven years. Joined up the day I turned twenty.” Cook had made a cake for his birthday, but his father spent the entire day riding the range, avoiding him. Then as Sam stepped into the stirrup to leave, Stoker rode up and dismounted. He’d taken a small box from his pocket and handed it to Sam without a word. Inside was a watch. Sam took out his watch, staring at the inscription as memories swirled.
It had taken great effort to choke back the tears that day, but Sam somehow held them in check until he made it off Lone Star land. Stoker had spent all day in the saddle, riding to town and back…just to purchase the watch.
Now, following their brush with death and with the night pressing close, he felt that same tightening in his throat.
His dread of going home had eased. He couldn’t wait to see his father and brother. They’d get him fixed up.
God, he was so tired—body and soul.
Sam slid the watch back in its pocket. “I’m ready to call it a day. How about you, Sierra?”
“Past ready.” She stood and laid out the blankets.
Hurt lined her face. Sam watched her make a bed, trying to get up the courage to point out certain facts. But Sierra probably wasn’t of a mind to listen to anything he said.
If the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t be either.
Hell!
“It’s going to be cold, and with our clothes still damp… Sharing the blankets might be the only way to keep from freezing.” He quickly added, “I’ll understand if you object and let you have both.”
“No, I’ll share,” she murmured softly.
Bleakness filled her eyes, creating an ache inside him. Clearly, she believed her father’s spiteful words. And Sam’s rejection had made things even worse. Damn! He’d do his best to make her feel safe and cared for—without giving false hope—in the few hours they would share the blankets.
But how in the hell was he going to tamp down the desire that still burned inside?
Few men had that much willpower. Sam sure didn’t. Somehow he’d have to find the strength, because he wouldn’t destroy her. A little while later, he lay on his side and pulled Sierra against him. As she settled into the curve of his body, he drew the blanket over her.
Even though it was wrong and he had no right, even though she could never be anything more to him than a friend, Sam soaked up the feel of her beside him. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he was going to grab hold of a few happy moments in the present. Sometimes those were all a man could hope for.
The slight rise and fall of her chest, the brush of her gentle breath on the arm she used for a pillow—they were everything he’d yearned for since she’d landed in his lap on the train.
He called himself every name in the book.
No matter, Sierra Hunt had stolen into his dead heart and brought him back to life, just as he’d done to her after pulling her from the cold floodwaters.
He told himself he was only making sure she was comfortable and warm. She had been through a lot. But as he inhaled the scents of the river and listened to fish flopping in the water, Sam laid a protective arm across her stomach.
Deep wounds had left craters inside her. Something bad had happened to her to scar her. He made a silent vow that no one else would, especially the outlaw Isaac Ford. If the jackal laid another hand on her…
Sam clenched his back teeth together so hard he thought he’d chipped them. He’d unleash a hell like Ford had never seen before.
Fifteen
Sierra woke just as dawn’s hushed pink light spread across the dark sky. Being here with Sam brought contentment. In all the darkness, with the raging water so near, she was safe and warm in his arms.
Only he didn’t want her. He needed more than she could give. She was too damaged, too battered by life, too easy to forget.
Her lip trembled. What he said was true. She could never be happy in his world, or he in hers. She was done living from campfire to campfire. Sam was done staying in one place. He needed adventure. She would settle for nothing short of deep roots that would offer her a chance to heal. Best she found out now before he broke her heart.
Except it was too late for that.
A scalding lump sat in her throat as she remembered the gentle kisses that still burned on her lips. His touch had awakened desires and a hunger for more. Her heart would never forget what she’d almost had. A crushing ache filled her chest. She didn’t know how she would be able to return to the lonely, scarred woman she had been.
Being with Sam had changed her. She wouldn’t be content with half measures or making do. Just as well, she supposed. He’d have turned away once he learned the truth. This was really a blessing. It was.
Very carefully, she lifted his arm that lay across her and stood. But when she glanced down, she noticed he was awake.
“Good morning. Did I wake you?”
Sam’s lazy smile showed rows of white teeth. “Nope.”
Sierra sucked in her breath at the sudden transformation of his somber features. Instant searing heat raced along her nerve endings and spread out, leaving her heart in a hopeless tangle.
“I’ll get coffee on.” Sierra rushed to put space between them before she did something stupid. With her pulse racing, she snatched the beat-up coffeepot. “I’m sure you want
to load up and ride out soon.”
Sam stood and stretched. “I wish we could stay here for a few days, but it’s safer if we keep moving. Besides, I want to get to Flatbush. Hopefully, Luke will be there. I can’t wait to buy some new clothes. These make my skin crawl.”
Stooping beside the swift current, Sierra filled the pot. “I’m going to buy a comb. My hair drives me crazy. I want to braid it, but it’s a rat’s nest.” The breeze caught the sound of her laughter, carrying it to a bird perched on a cedar branch. Their feathered friend squawked back as though scolding her for disturbing its sleep.
“Shush, you silly bird.” She carried the pot to the fire before realizing she hadn’t yet stoked it. Good heavens. What was wrong with her?
When Sam turned toward the horses, she called, “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I never thanked you for saving my life…again. Seems all you’ve been doing.”
“No thanks needed.”
Sierra chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think your gun dried enough? Will it shoot?”
“The Colt will fire.” The grim statement eased her worries. “It needs a thorough cleaning and oiling, which I’ll do at the first opportunity, but for now, it’ll do what I ask.”
The words brought hardness to his gray stare. Sierra pitied Ford if he should cross Sam’s path again. For a moment, she wished Rocky could see this man he idolized. She pictured him scribbling away in the little notebook he always carried. Would she ever see him again?
Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll have coffee ready by the time you saddle the horses.”
With a nod, he stroked the thick neck of his buckskin.
She watched for a moment. He was a man who loved his horse and his family. Sadness had filled his voice when he’d spoken of his father. Yet there had been a great deal of pride there as well. Though he said differently, she’d heard longing in his voice and knew he looked forward to being home.
Her father might as well be dead. Without a doubt, she knew she was to him. William Hunt had washed his hands of her, never to see her again.
In a different way, so had Sam. Pain swept through her again with the power and fury of the Brazos. She watched him with the horses, tall and lean and capable. The holster hung at his side within reach. No doubt he had skill at using it. He was capable of so many things.
Except loving her.
Her lips still burned with his kisses. How was she going to pretend that her heart hadn’t broken into a thousand aching pieces? With a heavy sigh, she turned her attention to the fire, and when the flames died, she set the coffee amid the hot coals.
An hour later, they were in the saddle and heading toward the town where they would hopefully meet up with Luke. Sierra worried about him. Had Ford and his gang killed the wanted man? A prayer rose in her heart. Despite what they said he’d done, she’d seen how much he cared for Sam and for her.
This land, this Texas, had forged two very strong men.
Though they butted heads like two billy goats, she knew that beneath everything lay admiration and respect. They were alike in so many ways, though she knew each would deny it.
The coolness of the morning soon gave way to the sun’s power. Under the hot rays, Sierra grew drowsy. She hadn’t slept well. She’d spent much of the night lying awake, listening to Sam’s breathing, feeling the tiny quivers of his muscles.
A sidelong glance showed his handsome features grim, his mouth set. He’d climbed into his own thoughts, leaving no room for her.
After miles of nothing, Sierra broke the silence. “Tell me about Flatbush.”
“Not much more than a mercantile and saloon.”
“Is that all?”
“Let’s just say it’s a one-horse town without the horse.”
She’d seen plenty of those. They weren’t much different from her… Empty. Desolate. Dying inside.
* * *
Sam didn’t lie about the size. Flatbush reminded Sierra of some towns she’d seen tucked away in remote, forgotten areas of the West.
A handful of businesses lined only one side of the street, with vacant land opposite. In fact, the thoroughfare was no more than a goat trail through weeds that sprouted everywhere. Odd why the residents had made the town lopsided.
They came to the saloon first. She noticed how Sam’s gaze sharpened, taking in the solitary horse at the hitching rail as they went past. She also saw the flicker of disappointment at the absence of the familiar black gelding.
Folks came out to stare, as though she and Sam had sprouted antlers. Some of the men sported coonskin caps like some of the mountain men she’d met.
Sierra smiled and called good day.
Next came a tiny barbershop and telegraph office, with the mercantile the very last building. Sam halted at the hitching rail and dismounted, then came to help her. With his hand resting on the small of her back, they went inside. Despite the friendship she’d settled for, his warm touch sharpened the longings and made her heart flutter.
The proprietor had watched their arrival through the window and spoke the second they crossed the threshold. “May I help you?”
“Point me toward the clothes,” Sam said. “Also, whatever foodstuffs you got.”
They moved toward the back while Sierra gravitated to the women’s section and selected a comb and brush. She was admiring the hair ribbons when the bell over the door tinkled. She glanced up to see Luke Weston and sucked in a horrified breath. His clothes were ripped, and he staggered, clutching the doorframe.
“Good Lord, what happened?” She ran toward him before he fell, leading him to a cane-bottom chair at the end of the long counter.
“Which time?” Luke tried to grin but never made it.
Sierra hurried to a shelf, grabbed a roll of gauze and other supplies. In the moments it took her to return, he’d sagged in the chair and would have fallen if she hadn’t caught him.
“At the river? You’ve reinjured your arm.”
“Don’t fuss, dulce. Such happens when you wrestle with the devil.”
“Stop calling me that. My name is Sierra.”
“Anything else before I die here?”
Tears pricked her eyes, and that made her furious. She blinked rapidly. “You worried Sam.”
“The ranger’s a big boy.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Where is he?”
“In back, picking out new clothes. I need water to do a proper job of cleaning your wound.”
“Wrap it up. I’ll be fine.”
She did as he asked. “When are you going to tell me what happened?”
Luke raised his eyes. “Go get Sam. Gotta hurry.”
Relief, then concern, showed on Sam’s face when he spied the outlaw. He turned to the wide-eyed clerk. “Do you have a doctor in town?”
“Afraid not, mister. Got a barber, an’ he fixes up whatever you need, does dentistry and coffin makin’. The best around.”
“No thanks,” Luke muttered. “I’ll take my chances. Let’s go, Legend.”
With an arm bracing Luke, Sam helped him to a bench outside. “I’m not letting you on that horse until you tell me what happened.”
Luke gave a weary sigh. “Ford. That’s what. They caught me after I forded the Brazos. I held ’em off until I emptied my gun. They pinned me down, and I couldn’t get to my horse for more shot. Luckily, they ran out too. They surrounded me, and it turned into one deadly brawl. I used whatever I could for a weapon. One of the bastards bashed in my head. Guess they figured I was done for, so they threw me in the river to drown. The icy water woke me.”
Sierra shivered as his eyes turned to bits of green glass.
“They should’ve killed me.” Cold steel laced Luke’s words. “Their mistake will cost them.”
Sam got to his feet. “From what you said, they’re not behind, they’re
in front. Have to be, because there’s no sign of them here.”
Luke wiped sweat from his forehead. “Damn my throbbing skull. My thinking’s all messed up.”
“Don’t worry.” Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure stuff out.”
Against Luke’s insistence that he was fine, Sierra put a new bandage over his angry red wound, and Sam went back into the store to buy laudanum. After stowing some of their purchases in the saddlebags and strapping the larger things onto their horses’ backs, they made a quick detour to the saloon for a bottle of whiskey and left the dead town of Flatbush behind.
They rode for about an hour at a leisurely pace before Sam halted under the shade of a sycamore to let Luke rest. The horses drank from a stream and nibbled on wild rye.
Sierra got her patient to drink a bit more of the laudanum, and that helped Luke’s pain. She prayed they would find a way to make the gunslinger comfortable, or he wasn’t going to make it. They needed a wagon. She took Sam aside. “What are we going to do? He’s not able to keep riding, and I think his wound is infected. His fever is back.”
“Not surprised. I’ll try to figure something out.” Sam’s hand accidentally brushed hers and sent a jolt up her arm. His gray stare loosened a slew of tingles, telling her he’d felt it too.
She tried to quiet her heart and quickly turned away. Calling herself a fool, she jerked the paper from around the new comb and brush. While Luke regained a bit of strength, she braided her hair. It was strange how putting her hair to rights and getting it out of her face improved her outlook. She tied the end with the pretty ribbon Luke had given her at the shack.
Sure, Sam hadn’t meant to touch her, she told herself angrily. Still, it had felt nice. No, that wasn’t quite right. The brush of those long fingers made her hot and achy and filled with such longing she couldn’t bear it. That was the problem. Yet, she couldn’t stand for him to treat her with indifference either. She hated this turmoil inside and no clear direction.
The fact he appeared just as torn only made it worse.
