To Love a Texas Ranger

by Linda Broday

  Gripping his weapon and knowing Luke did the same, Sam readied. His breathing slowed, and calm washed over him as it always did when danger called.

  The minute Ford’s man began spearing the hay with a long stick, Sam reached up and yanked him down on top of them.

  He jabbed his Colt into the man’s forehead at the same time Luke pressed his to the outlaw’s chest. “Do as I say, and we might let you live.”

  Seventeen

  The outlaw’s eyes widened as he tried to swallow. He shook so hard he could barely nod. Someone had broken his nose—several times, by the looks of the crooked beak that hooked at the end.

  Sam put his mouth next to the man’s ear. “Which one are you?”

  “John.”

  “I’m Texas Ranger Sam Legend.”

  “Reckon I’ve seen you before.”

  “Then you know I mean what I say. I’m sure you’ve heard of Luke Weston too. He’s wanted for murder. Gotta warn you, he has an itchy trigger finger.”

  John’s Adam’s apple slid slowly down his throat.

  “Legend’s taking me to jail,” Luke rasped. “One more murder won’t make any difference.”

  Sam brought John’s attention back to him. “Don’t make a sound until I give the word. Then, you’re going to tell Ford that the wagons are clear. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you breathe, if you whisper, hell, if you scratch an itch before then, we’ll fill you with holes. Understand?”

  John tried to swallow, only the spit appeared to get stuck in his throat. He made several attempts, coughed then nodded.

  “Say a word later, and I’ll see you dead before I die.” Sam relaxed his hold a bit.

  “I won’t,” John promised.

  Minutes dragged as Sam waited. Cries of the frightened women and children circled around him as the others searched their wagons and carts. No one else was going to be hurt under his watch.

  Though a bee buzzed around Sam’s nose, he didn’t swat at it. He lay perfectly still with nothing showing except his face and arms. Thank goodness they couldn’t see Sierra.

  Finally, the wait ended.

  “John, get the hell out here,” Ford hollered. “Where are you? Frenchie didn’t find any sign of ’em.”

  Sam moved into John’s face. “Tell him the wagons are clear and you’re coming. Do it!”

  “Coming, Ford! Ain’t hide nor hair of ’em in these here wagons,” John yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “That’s good. That’s real good.” Weston breathed the words.

  “Now, I want you to go out there and climb on your horse,” Sam ordered. “Tell your boss that you found a woman who speaks some English, and she told you we boarded the stagecoach at the relay station twenty miles to the south and gave them our horses. If we see a glimpse of anyone from your gang following, I’ll pick you off one by one.”

  Luke put his mouth next to John’s ear. “You know what a crack shot Legend is, don’t you?”

  “I–I heard,” John stammered.

  “Then I think we’re done.” Luke patted the man’s face before Sam shoved him from the wagon.

  Sam rose enough to peer through the cracks in the side of the wagon and watched John stumble to his horse and mount up.

  “They caught the stage at the relay station, boss. The Mes’cans said Legend gave ’em the horses.”

  “What are you waitin’ for? We gotta catch that stage.” Ford spurred his horse, and the group galloped off in a cloud of dust.

  As the hoof beats faded, Sam crawled from the hay. After a moment, he called softly, “You can come out now, Sierra.”

  “Do you think John will keep his word?” She accepted Sam’s help from the wagon and stretched out the kinks.

  The stretching and bending pulled her dress tight around her curves. When she drew back her arms, tightening the fabric across her breasts, Sam had trouble swallowing. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he’d pushed her away.

  Finally, he managed to get his thick tongue to form words. “Anyone’s guess. I gave up trying to read outlaws’ minds a while ago. We’ll change course. Go where they won’t think of looking.”

  Even then, it might not be enough.

  “Tell Carlos,” Luke said.

  Sam frowned. “Who’s Carlos?”

  “Our driver.” Though breathing heavily, Weston grinned.

  Irritated that the man knew things he didn’t, Sam whirled and walked away. When he returned from working out a new route with Carlos, he found Sierra sitting on the end of the wagon, her legs dangling off the end. He took her cold, trembling hands, wishing he could pull her against him.

  “Sorry for the scare.”

  The weary smile she gave him spoke of her struggle to hold on to cheer. “I only hope we’re finally rid of them now.”

  Sam knew outlaws, and he knew Isaac Ford. They weren’t through with him by a long shot.

  He rubbed her hands to warm them. “Makes two of us. Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For not raising a fuss. For taking everything in stride in your calm, quiet way.” She was so much more than what he’d always thought women could be.

  “How else would I be? You’re in this pickle because of me.”

  Tired of fighting the need to hold her, even though it was wrong, Sam gave in and slipped his arm around her. “We have this wagon to ride in—because your instincts said we could trust this group.”

  “It was a small thing,” she murmured.

  “Not to me. Or Luke.”

  Inhaling her fresh fragrance was his second mistake. Good Lord, how would he be able to let her go? But he had no choice. To watch the constant travel demands of his job kill the light in her eyes would drive a knife into his heart.

  Sam released her while he still had strength. He prayed she would find someone to make a life with who could give her everything she needed. After he rid her of Ford and she could return to her life, he planned to watch over her. If she married someone who hurt her, he’d make the man very, very sorry. Even though he couldn’t have her in his arms, she would always belong to him in his heart.

  “I simply kept my eyes open for anyone traveling in a wagon,” Sierra explained. “Initially, I planned to find something in the next town and was just as surprised as you to run across help out here on the prairie.”

  He chuckled. “Can you pull any other rabbits out of your hat, Miss Magician?”

  Sierra’s brow wrinkled. “I’m fresh out of rabbits and hats.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, you know that?” He brushed her cheek with a knuckle. “I wish…”

  “Me too,” she said softly. “But I learned a long time ago that a bear can’t be a horse, and sometimes the wind carries wishes far beyond reach.”

  “What will you do after I find your brother and take care of Ford?”

  “Go back to Waco and my life.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s all I have.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Sierra straightened. “We should probably get going.”

  Her abrupt change puzzled Sam. Again he remembered her statement that he couldn’t fix her. Until she opened up, whatever had happened would remain a mystery. Besides, knowing her secrets didn’t mean he could make whatever it was right.

  “Yes, we should. I’ll saddle my horse and ride for now.” Being close to her was much too dangerous.

  Sam quickly had Trooper ready, and they moved out. He rode ahead, keeping a sharp eye out for problems of any sort. As the wagons and carts lumbered along behind, he thought about Sierra. What if her brother, Rocky, was dead? He hated to think of her all alone.

  How could he let her go back to Waco to manage by herself? He had to think of a way to keep her on the ranch. Not that he didn’t think
she could manage on her own. Sierra Hunt had proved very adept at taking care of herself—as long as it didn’t involve fording a river.

  Each time he recalled how close he’d come to losing her, his heart pounded.

  The need to keep her near and safe grew deep inside him.

  * * *

  Sierra was glad when they stopped for the night. She was tired of riding and anxious about the sick. Her conscience said she should’ve ridden with them. But she was glad she’d been with the men when Isaac Ford came.

  The minute she climbed from the back of the wagon, Hector came running on his skinny little legs. The boy had to be around seven or eight, and from all appearances had lived a life of hardship. She could relate so well.

  “Hola, señorita,” he said, slipping his hand inside hers.

  She gathered he was saying hello. At least she hoped. “Hola, Hector.”

  That must’ve encouraged him, because he began speaking very fast in Spanish. She stared at him blankly.

  Luke pulled to a sitting position and chuckled. “He’s telling you that he’s never seen anyone so beautiful and kind. I do think the boy is smitten. You have quite an admirer.”

  One of the few Spanish words Sierra knew curled around her tongue. “Gracias.”

  “Very nice, dulce. You’ll pick up Spanish in no time.” Luke stared after Sam.

  She could feel the need to be up and around biting into him. The need to be vital was something men seemed to be born with. His returning color heartened her though.

  Accompanied by Hector, Sierra checked in on their patients—doing well under Sofia’s gentle care—then went to find Sam. She located him at the stream, letting his horse drink. He smiled at the motherless boy and ruffled his hair as he spoke to her. “How are your patients? I saw you checking on them.”

  “Both still have a fever and chills. I’m convinced it’s the grippe. I hate to ask, but can you point me toward some yarrow?”

  “I’m sure there’s plenty around. Texas is full of that stuff. I’m heading out to hunt. I’ll bring some back.”

  The fading sunlight brushed his hair like strokes of an artist’s brush. She steeled herself against the remembrance of the soft texture. No sooner had she shaken the recollection from her head than the memory of his passionate kisses bombarded her. The feel of his mouth on hers, his hands doing things to her body that sent exquisite pleasure sweeping through her was nothing she could erase from her mind.

  He wants someone I can never be.

  And I can’t force him into someone he isn’t.

  Still, the reminders refused to stick in her head. Her gaze settled on his firm mouth and a tiny scar she’d never noticed before just below his bottom lip. She’d intended to ask about some other herbs, but their names escaped her. With a nod, she turned and hurried from the man who had reminded her with his quiet strength that she was a woman with needs and desires of her own.

  Sierra struggled to breathe past the pain. To know such hunger left her weak and achy. There would never be any more warm touches that set her on fire. No more gasps of pleasure as he lit a blaze inside her. Dear God, no more nights in his arms, trying to understand this unseen force that drew her to him.

  She was with the women, thinking about Rocky and wishing her brother were there, alive and happy, when Sam Legend returned to camp, dragging a mule deer. Despite everything, her heart leaped at the sight of him. She suspected it would always be this way.

  The excited men ran to help with the deer. Sam strode toward Sierra, carrying a burlap sack holding yarrow and willow bark.

  “Thank you for taking time to gather these.”

  Sam’s gaze went to Luke sitting by the fire. A growl rumbled in his chest. “What’s he doing up? He needs to be lying down.”

  “That’s what I told him. As you can see, he does what he wants.”

  “Brew some of that tea, and I’ll see that he drinks every last drop.” He stalked away to care for his horse.

  A little while later, Sierra walked past one of the wagons and heard sobs. She glanced inside to find it empty. Bending, she saw Hector stretched out facedown on the ground. She crawled next to him and gently rubbed his thin back. Her heart broke in pieces for this homeless child who had no family to claim him, to comfort him, to love him. She lay down, putting her arms around him, holding him until he spent his tears.

  She didn’t know Spanish, but she understood the language of a broken heart.

  Darkness had fallen by the time supper was ready. Sierra filled a plate for Hector, then one for herself, and sat with the boy on her bedroll, along with the other children. Luke talked with the men, and Sam stretched out beside her.

  “Tired?” She glanced over the top of Hector’s head, since the boy had scooted into her lap.

  Firelight flickered over Sam’s face, smoothing the deep lines around his firm mouth. The dancing flames brought out the raised veins on the backs of his strong hands. His hands could make her body sing, swim the current of a mighty river to save her, or take her face between them as he gently kissed her.

  His gaze met hers. “It’s been a long day. How was the tea?”

  “The women drank every bit. Did you have any luck?”

  A small grin curved Sam’s lips for only a moment then was gone. “Yep. Luke drank it.”

  It sounded like it had been under protest.

  “What do you think he and the men are discussing?”

  “Hard telling. I can understand Spanish if it’s spoken slower. But lightning fast like they’re doing hurts my brain. Luke seems right at home.”

  That he did. At night it was difficult to pick him out from the others. Though he wasn’t well yet, his improvement pleased her. But what would happen once he was? Sierra had overheard him and Sam talking right after the shoot-out at the shack and knew Luke had been the one to cut Sam down from that tree.

  How could Sam arrest the man who’d saved his life? But she knew he wasn’t the kind of man who turned his back on his duty.

  Her heart ached for both men. They were as scarred as she.

  Hector lay down and put his head in her lap. She smoothed back his hair, wondering what events, choices, decisions would shape his life. Though only eight years old, he already bore scars from his family’s deaths.

  “The boy’s exhausted,” Sam said. “Want me to carry him to his blanket?”

  “Not yet, but thanks.” Sierra cherished the feel of the child next to her. Hector cared nothing about what she’d done. He simply needed love. She could give him that.

  Their wagon driver, Carlos, reached behind him for a banged-up guitar and began to strum. Wonderful sound burst forth, wrapping her in soft warmth.

  After a time, listening and enjoying the music, Sam sat up. “Would you mind, por favor?”

  “Muy bien.” Carlos handed him the guitar.

  Taking it, Sam skillfully plucked the strings and gazed into her eyes. “Any requests, pretty lady?”

  “Once in the mountains, a passing stranger played a beautiful song on his banjo called ‘Lorena.’ Might you know it?”

  With a nod, he filled the night with the haunting melody. The clear, sweet notes resonated with such yearning deep inside her, and brought a mist to her eyes.

  The stranger had said the song told of a soldier’s love for the woman he’d left behind, and his fear that he’d never see her again. The sadness had made Sierra weepy then and again now. She and the lonely soldier had much in common.

  Both loved the ones they couldn’t have. And oh how she loved Sam, whether she wanted to or not. His touch was branded on her skin. With him, she truly did feel safe, no matter what danger she faced.

  The song, the guitar, the man playing it held her spellbound. She was unable to move even after the last soft note floated away on the whisper of a breeze.

  Sam leaned forward
and brushed her fingers, breaking her trance. “I’ve made you sad. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. It was beautiful. You create magic.”

  “I doubt that. I have a long ways to go. One of our ranch hands taught me to play when I was young, and I usually carry a guitar around with me.” He gave her a wry smile. “Right now, it’s probably sitting at the Fort Worth train station.”

  “You’re constantly full of surprises, Sam.”

  “That’s me all right. Here’s one called ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’ It’s become a state anthem of sorts.” He began playing such a lively tune that she couldn’t help but keep time with her foot.

  Sam’s stare never left her throughout the entire song.

  For a few moments, she’d felt as though she mattered more than a friend to him.

  Eighteen

  Strumming the guitar and singing around the campfire after nightfall became the most pleasurable part of the day for Sam. This night marked the sixth day they’d been traveling with the small caravan, and they inched closer to the end of their journey.

  Tomorrow, they should reach headquarters. In fact, they’d been on Lone Star land for a while now. Soon Sierra would be safe.

  Except for a few small parcels to the west, the entire ranch was comprised of sections to the east that ran almost to Fort Worth and to the south from the direction they came. Stoker still claimed the man he’d lost the western acreage to had cheated at cards. Pa just couldn’t accept that he’d gotten drunk and made huge, rash bets.

  Maybe poor judgment ran in the family. His father had lost land, and Sam had lost the woman he ached to have.

  Sam had ridden horseback ever since Isaac Ford surprised them shortly after they’d joined the caravan. He thought putting distance between him and Sierra would lessen the ache in his heart. That he’d stop wanting her so much. What a fool. His eyes searched for her every minute of the day. He rose to check on her at night long after they turned in. Most times he found Hector curled up next to her. Two people who needed the other. He was glad she had the boy.

  At least she had someone.

  One painful thing Sam had come to know: he needed to see Sierra’s smile and beautiful eyes as much as he needed air and sunshine. Now, sitting around the campfire with the others after supper, he watched her get up from her place beside Luke and walk toward a wagon with a younger woman named Maria.