by Linda Broday
One of the women who had been sick came to sit with the man named Miguel. Smiling, Miguel put his arm around her. Two days ago, both of the women had risen from their sickbeds. Sam knew that, in addition to Luke’s recovery, pleased Sierra.
Carlos ran his fingers lightly across the guitar strings. He could play really well and had given Sam some pointers. Music calmed him. He couldn’t wait to get home and collect his guitar along with the rest of his gear from the Fort Worth train depot. Unless Houston or his father had already fetched them.
Letting out a long sigh, he shoved his thoughts from his mind and turned to the conversation between Carlos, Miguel, and a man called Pablo. He understood enough to know they spoke about the sad fact that they had no money, no home. No place to go.
Carlos sadly shook his head as the others murmured low.
Sam laid a hand on the man’s shoulder and asked in his limited way what work he did.
“Todo, Señor Ranger. All.”
“Cows? Horses?”
“Sí,” Carlos said, adding that before the soldiers came he had land and cattle.
“You can work for me.” He pointed to Carlos and then to himself.
“Gracias, señor.”
Sam shot the others a glance. “How about your compadres?”
Carlos nodded. “Sí, they work.”
“I’ll give you a good place to live. Safe for los niños.”
“Gracias, señor.”
Suddenly the ground shifted under him.
Sierra strolled from one of the wagons, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. She wore one of the colorful skirts worn by the women and a low-scooped white blouse that hung off her golden shoulders.
Though he’d felt and even briefly tasted her smooth skin at the river, he’d never seen it. With her dark hair and blue eyes, she took his breath. He stared, unable to move.
What a fool he’d been to let her get away.
When she dropped down beside him on the blanket and tucked her bare feet beneath her, the fragrance of wild flowers kissed by the scented night swirled around him.
She was too close.
He wanted her much closer.
An ache inside throbbed, sending heat rushing through his veins. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except an overwhelming desire to hold her in his arms. Unable to resist touching her, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I like your new clothes. You seem different wearing them. More free.”
“I feel…daring, liberated.” Her smile warmed him. “Texas is such a contrast from where I came from. Everyone here is open and welcoming. With the exception of Isaac Ford, that is.” She wet her lips. “Trust doesn’t come easy in the mountains. Everyone eyes one another with suspicion.”
“Any reason why?”
“Harsh climate. Harsh life. Food, shelter…happiness…all are very hard to come by.”
A shadow crossed her eyes. What had that lifestyle done to her? He had no right to know, but it bothered him. He had a feeling the happiness part was the hardest to bear.
The moonlight caressed Sierra’s bared shoulders and drew Sam’s envy. How he wished it were him touching all that satiny skin. He dropped his hand before it could drift downward.
“Barring problems, we’ll reach ranch headquarters tomorrow. You’ll be safe, and I can start looking for Rocky.” Still, Sam couldn’t look away. She’d cast a spell on him.
“I hope you find him, Sam. Like me, Rocky has his own demons to fight.”
“We employ a lot of men, and each is ready to give his life for the brand for which they ride. An outsider steps foot under the crossbar, and he’s not fit for buzzard bait.”
She grinned. “I’m familiar with buzzards—both taloned and two legged.”
“By tomorrow afternoon, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Our men grab outsiders so fast it makes their heads swim.” Firelight reflected in her blue eyes, turning them dark and mysterious. It was hard to keep his thoughts on the subject. “My father’s created a small town on the Lone Star, complete with a school. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do.”
“Just until I find my brother, and Ford meets his end, whether dead or in jail,” she reminded him. “Then I’ll return to Waco.”
Sam frowned. “You don’t have anything waiting there.”
“Rocky’s business—the newspaper. If he’s dead, I’ll carry on what he started.”
The stubborn tilt of her chin warned him that she had her mind set and there was no changing it. Sam studied her, wondering at this need to keep her from leaving. Why couldn’t he just let her go? Dammit, why did he have to be so selfish? He’d said he only wanted her happiness. And he meant it. But could he really accept seeing her walk away?
The answer to all these questions was like a mustang he couldn’t rope—dodging, fighting, rearing.
With her eyes shining in the firelight, Sierra leaned forward. Her blouse gaped, allowing him to see the top swell of her breasts. All that bare skin teased him. His mouth dried.
“Will you play something, Sam?”
How could he refuse those sparkling eyes? Those lips that seemed to beg for a kiss? That body he couldn’t forget? Sam reached for Carlos’s guitar. This time he chose one of the traditional Mexican songs that street musicians played in San Antonio. Sierra’s dress, the moonlight, and her new sensual freedom called to him like the next hill to his wandering feet.
At the first strum of the chords, several of the women began to dance. One was a very pretty señorita, probably in her early twenties.
He didn’t know if it was the men vigorously clapping in time with the music or Sierra’s sudden shift in mood that made her rise and join the dancers.
Though she was a little shy at first, her confidence grew. Soon, her skirt swirled about her slender ankles as she whirled, moving to the rhythm. Raising her arms high above her head like the other women, she clapped, keeping time while her bare feet stomped the ground.
The flickering firelight, with dust circling in a sudden gust of air, made the dance…made Sierra seem more like a beautiful dream.
Unable to take his eyes from her, Sam didn’t realize how fast he was strumming until an older woman sitting near nudged him, jerking him from the trance. He forced his fingers to slow.
When Luke Weston got to his feet, Sierra took his hand, pulling him into the circle.
A hot flush crawled up Sam’s neck at the way the outlaw drew Sierra against him. The silver conchas on Luke’s trousers flashed in the light as he tucked one hand behind his back and twirled her around in a flash of movement. His hand grazed her bare shoulders with each turn, then slid down the length of her arms to rest at the small of her back.
Weston was doing everything Sam wanted to do. And no telling what the scoundrel was murmuring in her ear. Just then Sierra threw back her head in laughter.
Anger washed over Sam. What did he expect? He’d sent her into Weston’s arms.
He quit strumming midsong, thrusting the guitar to Carlos, who quickly picked up the chords. Sam strode into the darkness without a backward glance, leaving the laughter, the music, and the heartbreak behind.
Trooper raised his head and whinnied.
“At least you’re still happy to see me.” Sam smoothed the long neck of his faithful friend. “I’ve made a real mess of things. What kind of fool turns away love? She’s everything I want, everything I need, and a whole lot more than I deserve.”
The worst part of all was that he’d sent her into a wanted outlaw’s arms.
Weston could never make her happy, because he was going to jail for a very long time. Sierra would waste her life waiting for the likes of him. Weston might even be hanged for the murder of Judge Percival. And then what? She might be left with a babe to care for.
Damn. Sam raked his fingers through his hair.
A rustle made him reach for his Colt and whirl. Sierra silently stood there. “Go back,” he warned low, returning his gun to the holster. “It’s dangerous here.”
Her head jerked up. “Is it Ford? Has he found us?”
“I’m the danger.” Damn, didn’t she understand? Isaac Ford only wanted to inflict physical pain. Sam would destroy her heart. “Go back to your friends.”
She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I had to see if you’re all right. I was worried.”
That tremble in her voice and knowing he caused it made him wince. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m no good for you. Run as hard as you can away from me.” Run before he destroyed her.
“Are you angry at me?”
“Nope.” Never at her.
Sam tried not to notice how beautiful she was, standing there with one foot poised to run and the other planted firmly. She was scared but trying very hard not to show it.
“What then? Is it Luke?”
“It’s nobody, all right? It’s me. I’m the problem.”
Him and the damn frustration of wanting what would never be his.
Texas Rangers were loners. The hard fact was, what he did was dangerous. Death rode in his saddle, hunkered in his shadow, waiting for him.
Sierra should never have to share that.
Bathed in the moonlight, she looked a sight in the clothes that were so out of character. Those and her bare feet reminded him of a newborn foal wobbling around on its spindly legs, just learning to walk.
The desire to kiss her witless came over him. How he yearned to trace every curve, every hill and valley of her body with his hands. Run his fingers through that dark hair that hung unbound. But it was her slightly parted lips that drew the most attention.
Sierra Hunt had a bit of the untamed in her. She awoke a fierce hunger that shook him to the core, and he couldn’t think of anything past this moment.
He fought the overpowering temptation to crush her against his chest, feel her heart beating wildly next to his.
Why didn’t she go before he lost control? Before he hurt her more than he already had. “Run, Sierra. Leave me to my misery.”
“I can’t.” She spoke the words so low he barely heard them.
“Out of curiosity, do you mind if I ask what your feelings are for Weston?” he asked tightly.
“He’s a friend, Sam. Same as he is to you. The same as you decided I would be to you.” Anger laced the words she flung at him.
If only friendship would be enough. It wasn’t. It never would be. He saw that plainly now. That left him with exactly one choice—to walk away.
“Were you having fun dancing tonight?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Oh yes. That music made me do and feel things I never have.”
He could only imagine what else had taken place between her and Weston and didn’t want to know. He was out of his mind enough.
“Surely you didn’t dance like that in the mountains.”
“No, Maria, the young woman in the caravan, taught me. Over the miles, we developed a friendship. Tonight she loaned me the clothes.” Her face took on a wistfulness. “After I mentioned days ago how much I love the music of her people, she showed me the dance. A strange longing came over me when I put on these clothes tonight. I felt so beautiful.”
“That’s because you are,” he said gruffly. “You don’t need the clothes to transform you.”
She moved closer until her bare shoulder touched his. He couldn’t resist her pull any longer. He surrendered to desire. With a gentle brush of his fingertips across the curve of her shoulder and down her arm, he decided it was like touching heaven. He closed his eyes, soaking up the velvety sensation.
He wished someone would tell him how in the hell he’d manage to keep breathing after they parted ways. He’d have to relearn.
Relearn a lot of things—how to sleep, how to banish the dreams, how to keep from remembering and looking for her at every turn.
His eyes flew open when he felt her lips on his cheek. The soft kiss was his undoing. With a hoarse cry, he clasped her against him, crushing his mouth to hers. If he was going to go to hell, he wanted it to be for more than lustful thoughts.
His palms grazed the smooth curve of her shoulder, then moved down her shapely arms to her waist and finally the flare of her hips.
Hunger for her consumed him. Sierra was a powerful storm that swirled, rearranging everything he knew and felt about life and love. No other woman came close to her. She’d ruined him. Walk away from her, and he’d leave his heart behind.
The fire raging inside resisted all his efforts to put it out, and it had become impossible to ignore.
Dear God! He was caught in a living hell.
Gripping his shirt, Sierra removed the last little bit of space between them. Knowing she welcomed his touch made his heart hammer.
Sam’s lips left hers to nibble at her earlobes, then drifted down her long, elegant neck to her teasingly bare shoulders. They were being kissed by the moonlight.
Damn that moonlight! He was as jealous of it as he’d been of Luke and his roving hands.
Doing his best to tamp down the eagerness that exploded like his frenzied strum of the guitar earlier, Sam lost the battle. Releasing a ragged groan, he trailed kisses over every inch of warm, exposed skin. Sierra slid an arm around his neck as low moans slipped from her throat.
She was temptation, but to deny himself would kill him as much as any bullet.
With a cry, she threw back her head, allowing him greater access to what he sought. Breathing hard, he pushed aside the fabric that covered those plump breasts. They weren’t overly large, nor were they small. Spilling into his palms, they seemed exactly right. He bent his head and captured a dusky, swollen peak.
A hot ache swept over him like the floodwaters of the Brazos—rushing, roaring, pushing him faster, harder, as though he were lost, alone in the swift current of the river. Raw desire surged with the honeyed taste of her silky skin. The heat in his groin made him swell, tightening his trousers. He had to have her, had to feel her beneath him.
His hands slid to her firm bottom, cupping the rounded flesh.
Voices from nearby penetrated the lust. Others could stumble upon them any minute. Frustration bit into him. He cursed himself and his damnable need. Again, struggling to push his raging hunger aside, he reminded himself that he would destroy every good thing inside her. If he took what he shouldn’t, she’d one day curse him for stripping her of the chance at her dream.
Using every last shred of willpower, he raised his head and growled, “You’re going to be the death of me, Sierra Hunt.”
“I want you, Sam. Can’t you see?”
With an aching sigh of regret, he drew her blouse up over her, covering that lush softness. “Go, darlin’, while you still can. Or else I won’t be able to restrain the beast…”
Her arms fell to her side. “I’m not asking you to.”
“No, but I’ll not take advantage of something you know little about.” He lifted her palm to his lips and kissed the tender skin. “Nothing has changed between us. I can’t offer you a life. I won’t promise what I can’t give.”
“Maybe—”
“I found out a long time ago that maybe is simply another word for no,” he said softly. “Cut your losses while you can, pretty lady.”
“What if you decide that you’ve made a mistake?”
“That will never happen. What we have is wrong. Steel your heart against me.”
“It’s too late,” she whispered.
Pressing a kiss on the scar around his neck, she turned and walked toward the campfire. Sam watched those gently swaying hips and her dark hair rippling to her waist.
How many more times would he be able to turn her away before he took what she ached to give? His heart fe
lt parched and full of ugly craters. He touched his scar where her kiss still burned. One kiss, one caress, a thousand memories.
Sam knew this night with the woman who’d bared her shoulders and danced with passion would linger in his heart forever. These were the kind of memories that never faded.
Blinking rapidly, he swallowed the lump blocking his throat and turned away from the temptation. He turned away from everything that could’ve been. He had to be strong for them both.
“Good-bye, my one and only love,” he whispered brokenly into the night.
Nineteen
Midafternoon the next day, with the sun beating down, Sam rode beside the wagons. In the distance he could make out the entrance to the ranch. They were almost there.
The hair on his neck stood as he scanned the rugged terrain through narrowed eyes. His gut told him Ford wasn’t done with them. From the corner of his vision something moved. Then he saw them—riders galloping up from a ravine on his right. Even from where he was, he knew they weren’t ranch hands from the Lone Star, and he could make a pretty good guess who they were. The gang must’ve hidden in the gully, waiting for one last chance to inflict damage and hopefully get the loot and Sierra.
“Make a run for it!” he yelled to the drivers. “Go!”
“Let me on your horse,” Luke hollered, firing his pistol at the group.
“Stay with Sierra. I’ll hold them off.” Sam aimed, hitting the closest attacker.
A blistering barrage of gunshots told of Ford’s desperation. One bullet barely missed, stirring the air next to his ear. He had to keep drawing their fire and give the caravan time to make it inside the gate.
“Dammit, Sam! Come get me.”
Hell, all he needed was for Luke to get shot again.
Giving in, he rode up next to the trailing wagon, and Luke jumped on behind him. Wasting no time, Sam spurred the horse directly into the ambush, shooting left and right. Luke did the same from behind.
