To Love a Texas Ranger

by Linda Broday

A little while later, the men stood. She climbed back onto her horse and welcomed the easy trot.

  Though neither Sam nor Luke mentioned Ford, she noticed their wariness and didn’t miss the fact that they rode with the narrow strip of leather off the hammers of their revolvers.

  They expected trouble. Uneasiness gripped her as though it were a band of steel.

  Once Ford figured out they were behind him, he’d double back. She knew that was why they rode in front of her.

  Always protecting her, always seeing to her comfort.

  Sierra maneuvered her mare beside Sam. “How long before we reach your ranch?”

  His gray eyes moved over her. “Maybe six days to headquarters, barring more setbacks.”

  What he wasn’t saying came through loud and clear. If they kept to this pace. If Luke’s wound didn’t slow them any further. If they avoided the Ford gang. So many ifs. She knew unless a miracle happened they’d not make it all the way.

  “We don’t have six days at this rate.”

  “I know. Bad as I want to, we can’t hole up somewhere for a day or two.”

  “We won’t have to if we can find a wagon.”

  Sam quirked an eyebrow, glancing at the desolate landscape. “Might as well wish for a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow while you’re at it.”

  Sierra shook her head at his sarcasm. “We’ll see.”

  Sam lifted his hat and ran his hands through his hair. “Sorry. We’ll keep pressing forward and hope for the best.” He adjusted his black Stetson back on his head. His gaze met hers and softened. She fidgeted under his scrutiny. “How are you holding up, Sierra?”

  “I’m fine.” Almost, she added silently, hoping he didn’t notice her breaking voice or the pain in her eyes.

  “We haven’t spoken much since this morning.”

  “Nothing to talk about,” Sierra murmured, trying to keep her face from showing the hurt inside.

  “I’m sorry about last night. First I kiss you, then tell you nothing can ever come from it. I wish I could be more like you, content to settle down.”

  “Sam, don’t apologize.” If he kept on, the tears she’d held back since morning would spill. “You and I are different. Our paths crossed, and that’s all. I never expected anything more.”

  Just a few hot kisses under the moonlight, and his arms around her while she slept.

  She was used to being alone, used to being forgotten, used to yearning for things she couldn’t have. She turned away to hide her trembling lip.

  “You know I’d never hurt you.” Sam started to touch her, gave a sigh, then dropped his hand.

  “I know,” she murmured past the lump blocking her throat.

  Only, unwittingly or not, he had. Swallowing hard, Sierra fell back behind the unlikely pair.

  Sam’s kisses, the way his lips had pressed to hers, burned in her memory no matter how hard she tried to forget. So gentle, with so much passion.

  His touch had sent a raging firestorm through her. One moment of happiness. Forgetting Sam Legend would take the rest of her life. Even then, she knew she couldn’t. It would never be possible to forget that once under a star-dotted midnight sky she’d truly been desired.

  Sixteen

  How could he make a six-day ride go any faster? Sam mulled it over in his mind the following morning as they trotted toward the town of Potters Valley. Even that was still a day’s ride away.

  Luke had worsened, and that worried him.

  This morning, Sierra had found a large spiderweb beside a rock, and Sam had showed her how to make a poultice using gunpowder. Hopefully, those would help.

  The previous night, they’d camped beside a small stream holding barely a trickle of water. He’d lain awake, listening to Sierra’s soft breathing, watching her sleep. He hated that she braided her hair now. He’d loved the black strands hanging unbound down her back.

  The lady’s beauty stole his breath. He’d been captivated by her dark coloring and those blue eyes the first moment he’d seen her.

  Only now, she seemed to look at him with cold regard, and that wounded him. Not that he blamed her.

  Someone should kick his rump all the way to the Gulf of Mexico and back.

  Still, the truth was far kinder than dishonesty, and he’d vowed to himself to always be aboveboard with her. Sam wouldn’t have been able to live with a lie. He stared now at her stiff back in front of him. Sierra’s easy way was gone, and so was the warmth of her smile. He’d do well to remember that he had a job to do. Ensure her safety, take care of Ford and his bunch, find her brother, and then they would part ways.

  Already he could barely stand the thought of never seeing her again. A constant ache to touch her, hold her, kiss her, crowded around his heart. What would it be like when she was no longer near?

  What got him worse was the way she’d turned to Weston. Luke was the one she worried about now, the one she talked to. Sam watched her lean closer to say something to the outlaw. Watched the bond grow. Watched everything slip away.

  Well, Weston did have permanence in his future. Too bad it’d be behind bars.

  Full of misery, Sam shifted his gaze to a caravan of oxcarts and wagons parked off the trail. A yoke of oxen and some mules pulled two conveyances. But three larger wagons were pulled by fancy horses. Five or six children chased each other, evidently taking advantage of the lull.

  Some of the men who walked toward them were dressed in fine clothes. Those who hung back wore wide sombreros and colorful serapes. Sam speculated that these were servants and wondered where the group was headed. Being this far north of the border told Sam they were escaping something. Back in Waco, he’d heard mention of the revolt in Mexico and gathered that these people were in search of a piece of ground that didn’t run red with blood. He didn’t blame them for that.

  Texas had always had a large population of immigrants. For the most part, they seemed respectful of the law and the rangers. More than he could say about a good many other folk.

  Sam frowned when Sierra turned her mare and raced toward them. He chased after her.

  A man with a neatly trimmed beard, somewhere in his early thirties, stepped in front of the children, staring curiously. He was flanked by three others of various ages. All wore heavy scowls. Their angry expressions didn’t appear to slow Sierra. She drew to a halt and dismounted.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen, may I trouble you for a word?”

  “No problemas!” the bearded man shouted. “Go.”

  Sam kept a sharp eye, ready to draw his weapon at the first sign that they might hurt her.

  “Help,” Sierra said. “My friend is injured.”

  They stared at Sam through distrustful eyes, then moved to Weston beside him on the black gelding. They took in his bloody bandage.

  “What you need, señorita?” The speaker was a younger man in a short black jacket with silver buttons.

  The bearded one gentled his voice. “No food. Enfermos.”

  Sam dismounted and stood beside Sierra. Before he could open his mouth to reply, Luke leaned heavily on the saddle horn and spoke in fluent Spanish.

  With Weston’s mother being of Mexican descent, it stood to reason he’d have full command of the language. Still, it caught Sam off guard. Luke would likely enlist their help when he got well enough to run. Run he would; that was a given. Outlaws always did.

  Finally, Luke swung to them. “They got caught in the revolt. Porfirio Diaz has seized control. These people have been traveling for a month. They’re out of food, and two of their women are sick.”

  Sierra smiled at the men. “We have food to exchange for a ride north. My friend here is in too much pain to ride horseback. We must get to the Lone Star Ranch near the Red River. Might you be going that way?”

  “I already offered all that, dulce,” Luke said softly. “They’ve agreed. T
ell them gracias. That means thank you.”

  “Gracias.” Sierra gave them another smile.

  Having seen how fiercely new immigrants kept to themselves, Sam knew taking the three of them in wasn’t an easy decision.

  Though the men didn’t return Sierra’s smile, one who wore long, shaggy hair motioned them forward. “Come.”

  “Splendid!” Sierra turned to Sam. “See? They’ll take us the rest of the way.”

  “I’ll never doubt you again.” He allowed a grin.

  The thing to seal the deal seemed to be the mention of food. Sharing the provisions they’d stocked up on at the mercantile in Flatbush was little enough in exchange for getting Weston a ride.

  Sam shot a glance at the man who’d saved his life. Weston had slipped sideways in the saddle now, too weak to hold on. Sam helped him from the black gelding. He put an arm around the outlaw and half carried him to the nearest wagon, where he laid him on a bed of hay. “Just rest now. You don’t have to fight to be strong.”

  Sierra had followed and touched Luke’s forehead. Worry lining her face told Sam all he needed to know.

  “Sleep and rest, Luke,” she murmured. “You have a nice place to lie while we’re moving.”

  They’d move, all right. But at a crawl—sitting ducks. Unease shimmied up Sam’s spine. He knew Isaac Ford was out there somewhere. But would he waste a second glance at a wagon of immigrants? Not likely.

  “I hate to ask, but can you unstrap some of our provisions, dulce?” Luke’s words were weak, and he winced when he moved his head too fast. “They need to eat.”

  “Most certainly.”

  Sam laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take care of that. You stay.”

  “Please, let me help. I can start preparing a meal so we can get moving.” At his nod, Sierra fell into step beside him.

  A small boy broke away from the others and shyly came forward. “Gracias,” Sam said. Drawing on his Spanish, which was just enough to get by, he asked the boy his name.

  “Hector.”

  That unleashed a flood. Hector rattled off words so fast Sam’s head spun.

  “Whoa! Slow down, Hector.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

  It took a bit for Sam to figure out that the boy’s mother, the last of his family, died a few days ago, and they had buried her beside the trail. Now the boy had no one. He laid an arm across Hector’s thin shoulders that shook with sobs. Kneeling, he wiped away the tears, trying his best to soothe the hurt.

  Sierra knelt and rubbed the boy’s small back. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  After he told her, she said, “Poor thing. Does he have anyone to look out for him?”

  “Only a neighbor. He’s the one wearing the short black jacket and speaks the best English.”

  As she folded her arms around the boy, Hector threw his arms around her neck. Sam knew how the boy felt. Losing his mother was the worst pain Sam had ever suffered. His youth and the fact that he’d been so terrified only sharpened the loss. His mother’s loving arms had comforted him when nightmares came, when he was sick…and when he’d found at age nine that being a man was too hard.

  Those joys were gone for him at ten, gone now for Hector too.

  Dragging his thoughts back, he admired Sierra’s gentle way with Hector. Before long, she finally coaxed a tiny smile out of him.

  “You have a knack for fixing broken hearts,” Sam said.

  Except her own, it seemed. He tried to swallow around the lump suddenly blocking his throat.

  “He’s a sweet child.” She gave Hector a hug and rose. He tugged her hand, and she went with him to a tuft of wild grass, where she showed great interest in something the boy showed her.

  Sam finished unloading the foodstuffs, and before he knew it, Sierra, with the help of one of the older women who spoke a smattering of English, soon had the group eating. Her quiet, efficient movements reminded him of his mother. Both knew how to put everyone at ease. Laying a hand here, giving a smile there, with plenty of laughter along the way, Sierra was amazing to watch.

  It appeared they ate in order, with the children first, then the men, and finally the women. Judging by the wide smiles and shy glances, all seemed appreciative.

  While everyone else fed their stomachs, the woman—whose name was Sofia—took Sierra to the wagon where the sick lay. From where Sam sat, he saw that she tended to them with care and gentle kindness, following Sofia’s instructions with growing confidence. She seemed to excel in so many areas. Sierra Hunt was like a blossoming rose. With each beautiful petal exposed, surprises popped out.

  More reasons not to hold her back.

  When she strolled toward him, Hector followed. Sam made room on the end of the wagon where he sat. “What’s ailing them?”

  “I’m not sure. They have a fever and chills. Could be the grippe. I’ll mix up some herbs and roots when we stop for the night.”

  Sam lifted her hand. “You have the hands of a healer.”

  “My mother was the best teacher.”

  Back to mothers. They were indispensable. He noticed how Hector snuggled up beside Sierra.

  It appeared the boy might’ve found a substitute. At least for the time being.

  * * *

  Though Hector cried to ride with Sierra, one of the women made him go with her. After Sierra checked Luke’s wound and climbed in beside him, Sam tied their horses to the back of another wagon. He couldn’t explain why. Simply following his gut, heeding the warning.

  He intended to ride Trooper and do some scouting, but she called him over.

  She chewed her bottom lip. “Sam, will you ride with us a ways? Luke has a favor to ask. I think it’s important.”

  “Sure.” He tied the buckskin with the others and sat beside them on the fresh hay.

  With a jerk, the wheels turned, and they rolled across the plains. Sam leaned back, staring up at the blue sky. “I could go to sleep without half trying. The sun’s warmth, the motion… I feel like a fat cat curled on a windowsill.”

  “It’s heavenly.” Sierra lay between him and Luke.

  Luke sighed. “Dulce, I could kiss you.”

  “Try it, and you’ll find a piece of cold steel in your face,” Sam growled. “And I’ll thank you to use her name.”

  The outlaw wasn’t too sick to shoot him a glare. “Is there some law against either?”

  There is where I am concerned.

  “I’ve got plenty of charges against you. Don’t have to make up more.” Secretly, it thrilled Sam that Luke felt well enough to argue. Meant the rest had already made some difference.

  “So we’re back to that?”

  Pulling his hat over his eyes, Sam said, “Yep.”

  Idly, he wondered who would win in a fight if it ever came to that. Luke was built solid and matched Sam in size. Something said it would be hard to beat a healthy Luke Weston either with fists or gun. Rumor had it he was quicker than greased lightning with his revolver. Facing him in a duel would be suicide.

  “What did you want to talk to me about, Weston?”

  “A favor. If I die, promise you’ll take me down to San Antone and bury me beside my mother.”

  Sierra gasped. “Luke, don’t talk this way! You have to remain positive.”

  “I will die, one way or another. If not by this damn bullet, then another…or by the hangman’s noose. The minutes are ticking down.” His stare met Sam’s. “Promise me.”

  “I promise to do what you ask. But you have to do something in return.”

  “What’s that, Ranger?”

  “Satisfy my curiosity. Tell me why you take only fifty dollars in any robbery and leave the rest.”

  Before Luke could answer, gunshots rang out. Sierra’s fingernails dug into Sam’s arm.

  He muttered a low curse as his hand went to his Colt. He sl
owly rose for a quick look.

  “Please tell me it’s not Ford,” Sierra said.

  He wasn’t up for lying on this fine day. “It’s him all right, but only three of his men. They’re trying to stop the caravan.”

  “What do you want to do, Legend?” Luke asked. “I can’t run, but I can still shoot straight.”

  Sam’s gut clenched. He couldn’t let these people who had fled from violence get hurt in a gun battle. “Quick, get under this hay.”

  Digging frantically, he created a hole for Sierra and shoved her into the space. Luke managed to burrow down by himself. Sam joined them in the nick of time, pulling the mound back over them.

  Luke slid his Colt from the holster. “These folks’ll play dumb, pretend they don’t understand. But if they see our horses…”

  “Glad I removed the saddles.” Sam gripped his Colt. “Even at that, they still stand out like a red bird in a flock of crows.”

  Sierra lay with her nose almost touching Sam’s. He wouldn’t have to move to kiss her, just press his lips gently to hers. God how he wanted to have one last taste of her! Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips to his thighs. She overloaded his senses. He had to keep a clear head, but she made it impossible.

  “We can’t let the gang kill our friends,” she whispered. “The children. Hector.”

  Isaac Ford shouted, “Stop, amigos! Stop or we’ll shoot.”

  Frightened children began to wail while the adults spoke rapid Spanish. So far, they hadn’t lapsed into broken English. Sam prayed they wouldn’t. If they continued, Ford might give up and leave.

  “Shut up,” Ford shouted in frustration. “We want the three gringos, and we want them now.”

  Their wagon driver yelled, “No comprende.”

  “Come on, Ford,” Sam murmured, “ride on.”

  “I’ll bet you understand a bullet to the head, Mes’can,” Ford yelled. “I know you’re hidin’ ’em. Think I’m stupid? I see their horses tied to the back. Frenchie and John, start searching.”

  Sam turned to Sierra and whispered, “Draw up your legs. Make yourself as small as you can.” She quickly followed his instructions.