by Linda Broday
The blue dress she wore was another new one. The bodice hugged those curves he’d run his hands over more than once. How he longed to do it again. With passion knotting inside him, arousing unbridled hunger, he leaned forward to get a better view.
God, how he wanted her!
Just one night. One night in her arms was all he asked.
Then maybe he could finally get her out of his blood. He could set her free to find the kind of man she really needed.
Damn! He cursed the memories that refused to let him rest.
He could tell by her jaunty step she was happier than she’d been last night. He’d bet anything that she was humming. Satisfaction washed over him that he could give her what she wanted—a job. At least he could do this much.
He felt her need to have a purpose. Everyone needed one. Even him.
And he listed several. Find Rocky, talk to Luke, and get rid of Isaac Ford and his bunch.
A tall order. He’d take some men and scout around to see if Ford was still lurking about.
He’d ask about the schoolteacher’s house over breakfast and kill two birds with one stone.
“That’ll make her happy,” he grumbled, buckling his gun belt.
Once she took her things from headquarters, he’d probably see very little of her. His heart throbbed painfully.
Best get the day started. Picking up his hat, Sam went downstairs.
But already he looked forward to school letting out.
After finding out the little house Sierra wanted was available for occupancy, Sam sat on the porch with his third cup of coffee, watching the sun finally edge above the horizon. He stood, intending to saddle Trooper for a ride over the land, when he spied the man who minded the telegraph hurrying toward him.
Jim Wheeler reminded him of a little bantam rooster. The short man stared at the ground and walked on tiptoes as though he wore women’s high-heeled shoes. Looking for a soft landing spot in case he fell face-first, Sam supposed. Wheeler’s fingers on the telegraph reminded him of a rooster pecking, always pecking.
“Mr. Sam, I have news,” Wheeler said, out of breath, falling into a nearby chair.
“I could sure use some. What do you have?”
“Captain O’Reilly sent this.” Wheeler handed Sam a piece of paper.
MAN MATCHING DESCRIPTION OF ROCKY HUNT SEEN IN FORT WORTH STOP CONTACT SHERIFF HOLMAN
Sam glanced up. “Telegraph Sheriff Holman in Fort Worth. Tell him I need details of the sighting of Rocky Hunt. Wheeler, I’m obliged for your help. You have my thanks.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Glad to be doing something. With you at home now, my days are endlessly boring. Oh, I also got this second one.”
Sam reached for the paper and saw it was from a U.S. Marshal in San Antonio.
FLATBUSH STORE PROPRIETOR REPORTED LUKE WESTON IN YOUR COMPANY STOP DID YOU ARREST HIM QUERY
Guilt perched on Sam’s shoulder. Hell! Was everything going to come crashing down before he ever started clearing his brother?
Jim Wheeler cleared his throat, the sound reminding Sam he was waiting.
Wadding up the telegram, Sam said, “As far as anyone knows, you didn’t get this.”
The man didn’t blink an eye. “Understood. Do you need anything else, Mr. Sam?”
“That’ll be all.”
With a curt nod, Jim Wheeler tiptoed down the steps and rushed on raised heels toward his small cubbyhole.
Sam jammed his hat onto his head. His second morning at the ranch, and a tidal wave had washed his feet from under him.
Mired in the quandary, Sam glanced up to see Luke sauntering onto the porch.
“Ranger, I’m leaving.”
The bold declaration and the fact that the outlaw didn’t use Sam’s name poked him like a sharp stick. “I’m your brother, not Ranger. When are you thinking of hitting the trail?”
“Today. It’s best. Just wanted to give you fair warning.”
“I’m aware of the agreement Stoker made with you, but once you leave this ranch, all bets are off. You have a price on your head. Stoker can’t protect you.”
“I don’t need his…protection. I have somewhere I need to be.” Luke’s piercing eyes held sadness.
“Don’t we all?”
“I feel your bite of frustration, and I’m sorry I caused it. Thank you for trying to help me. Wish I could say I’m worth it.” Luke pushed back from the porch railing. “I’m glad we’re brothers, even though we’re on opposite sides of the law. You have a good thing here, Sam. Don’t take it for granted.”
“This could be yours also,” Sam reminded him softly.
“It’s half past too late. I can’t turn back time.”
A rider sped from around the house and reined up. Sam recognized Grady, one of the ranch hands, and stood as he dismounted. Alarm skittered along Sam’s nerve endings.
“Boss sent me. Said he needs you to check some cut fences in the south corner of the west pasture, and he and Houston are tied up.” Grady mopped his forehead with a neckerchief.
So much for his plans. Sam turned to Luke. “Want to take a ride out there with me?”
“I’ll saddle the horses.” Luke turned toward the corral without giving Sam time to reply.
Sam thanked Grady and sent him back to report to Stoker. Adjusting his hat, he met up with Luke at the corral and finished saddling the horses.
They set out at a gallop. Even Sam knew the haste a cut fence called for.
By the time they reached the remote section, the sun was high. As they rode up, Sam spotted the cut fence and nearby the carcass of a cow. The hide was black with flies. Sam and Luke dismounted and stood over the animal.
Luke hunkered down on his heels to get a better look. “Someone shot it.”
With a grunt, Sam said, “This is a good spot to kill one.”
He scanned the ground for signs. Hoofprints indicated several horses. He put the number at three or four, though it was hard to be sure with the packed earth.
An odd arrangement of rocks caught his eye. He strode over to see. The stones crudely spelled something out. He turned his head sideways and squinted. The breath caught in his throat.
I’m coming.
“Luke, come over here a minute.”
“What did you find?”
“A message.”
Luke’s boots crunched on the rocky ground. “What the hell?”
“Both the location and the threat have Isaac Ford’s name written all over this.” The rat had found his way onto the Lone Star.
The sunlight caught on something metallic. Sam walked over to see what it was and found a concha like the ones that went down each leg of Luke’s black trousers—the ones he still wore. A muscle worked in Sam’s jaw. He picked up the concha and flicked it to Weston.
Luke caught it and glared. “I didn’t do this. I noticed one missing after we joined the caravan. Maybe Ford found it.”
“Maybe.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “But I know you went somewhere last night.”
“I did, but not here. What reason would I have to kill this animal? My mother scrubbed her fingers to the bone and died from overwork. Still, she never said one harsh word about Stoker Legend. I wouldn’t sully her memory by doing this. If I wanted to destroy the great Legend Empire, I would go for the jugular, attack the money source, not kill one cow. Keep attacking until I’d bled your family dry, then take all you have.” Luke whirled and stalked to his horse.
Sam watched him ride off as Houston rode up. Luke didn’t return the hello.
“What’s wrong with him?” Houston asked, dismounting.
He was quiet as Sam told him. Finally, he spoke. “He didn’t do this, Sam. Everything he said is true. Losing one cow isn’t going to break us.”
“I know.” Sam’s heart ached as he stared at Luk
e’s back getting smaller and smaller.
“The buzzards will eat well for a few days. Some of the boys are bringing wire to mend the fence. Let’s see what else these varmints might’ve left behind.” Houston stuck a foot in the stirrup.
“Reckon so.” Sam gave a shrill whistle, and Trooper came running around a mesquite tree.
Over the next two hours, they tracked the thieves, finding a small cave where they’d spent the night. They’d cooked the beef over a fire and left the remains. Sam still had nothing to go on. He didn’t have proof it was Ford, but his gut told him it was.
His gut was always right.
Sam pulled out the telegram from the U.S. Marshal and showed it to Houston.
“What are you going to do?”
“For now, nothing.” But if the marshal followed up with a visit…
“I think we’re about to get our tails in a crack.”
That Houston had said “we” instead of “you” brought a lump to Sam’s throat. His brother wouldn’t let him bear the brunt alone.
Even if their tails were to land behind bars, Sam wouldn’t go back on his word.
* * *
Satisfaction filled Sierra as she closed the door of the small schoolhouse. Teaching the children had given her a degree of self-worth and contentment she’d never felt.
When she turned, she jumped at Sam standing there. “You startled me.”
“Didn’t mean to. Can we talk?”
She glanced down at Hector, who’d become her shadow, with his hand never far from her dress. Even now he clutched a handful of material as though she’d disappear if he let go. “Is it important?”
The low brim of Sam’s black Stetson shielded his eyes, but she knew they would be as somber as his voice. “There have been developments.”
A frisson of fear danced up her spine. Her first thought was of Rocky. Had they found him? And if so, was he alive or dead? A lump formed in her throat, blocking her ability to swallow.
“Let me take Hector to Carlos.”
“He’ll probably be working. But I’m sure someone will keep him for a bit.” Sam gave her a crooked smile that vanished the minute it formed, leaving her to wonder if it had been there at all. “I’ll wait for you at headquarters.”
After finding out Sam had been right about Carlos, she left Hector with Maria.
Sierra’s legs trembled so badly she could barely walk as she rushed to the big house. She stumbled up the wide steps. “Please tell me you found Rocky.”
“The sheriff in Fort Worth saw him. I wired him back for more information.”
Hope surged. “This is good. Isn’t it?”
“It’s a start. Hopefully, we’ll know more soon.”
Sierra listened as he related finding the butchered cow and the stone message. She inhaled sharply. “Ford.”
“Looks like it. Also, I found a silver concha there with it, like the ones on Luke’s trousers. Someone made a pitiful attempt to frame him.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Maybe they banked that it would put us at odds. Probably figured we’d start fighting amongst ourselves and let down our guard.”
“He needs a friend, Sam. I think it’s been a long while since he had one.”
“Gunslingers and outlaws don’t have friends,” Sam said quietly.
Thinking of all Luke had missed out on made Sierra’s heart ache. “You’ll let me know the minute you hear more about Rocky?”
Sam dropped a hand to his side, brushing her fingers. A tingling jolt ran up her arm.
“You know I will.” His voice was husky. He cleared his throat. “I have other news. Everything is arranged for you to move into the former schoolteacher’s house.”
“That’s wonderful!” In her excitement, she threw her arms around him. It was only when his tightened around her, and she smelled the wild scent of Texas that clung to him, that she remembered their heated words and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I’m always doing that.”
“You don’t hear me complaining. Gather your things, and I’ll help you move.”
When she turned to go for them, she heard him speak under his breath. “You’re enough. Always have been enough.”
Her heart constricted, but she kept her eyes ahead and pretended not to hear. He couldn’t mean it, no matter how much she wished he did.
Thirty-two
Sam glanced at Sierra’s pitiful belongings fifteen minutes later. They were all she’d accumulated since arriving. One trip would do it.
He picked up a burlap bag she’d hastily stuffed full. “Let’s get you moved so you can settle in while it’s still daylight. It’ll be dark before you know it. I hope you’ll continue to take supper with us. You’ll make Pa happy. I think he fancies you the daughter he never had.”
With a nod, she moved onto the porch.
They covered the ground between headquarters and the schoolteacher’s house in silence. She gave a soft gasp when she noticed the pretty flowers along the front. He held the door and followed her inside.
Though only one room with a small loft above, the house was surprisingly cheery. A colorful quilt on the bed and rugs scattered around gave it a homey atmosphere.
A closer look at the quilt brought a grin. In each square, the quilters had stitched short Bible verses that called for chastity, purity, remaining virtuous, and others. But a larger square in the center bore the Ten Commandments.
The women had wasted their efforts on the former schoolteacher, who had absconded with Margaret Simpson’s husband.
He set down the burlap bag, watching her. Beaming, Sierra clasped her hands to her chest as though someone had bestowed a great treasure.
“This suits you,” he said. “I think you’ll be happy here.”
Sierra turned. “Sam, you don’t know what this means.”
“It’s just a house. A very small one,” he pointed out.
“No, it’s just the right size. The room you gave me at headquarters was too overwhelming. I got lost in it. Don’t get me wrong, it was breathtaking. Probably the most beautiful room I’ll ever see. But it intimidated me. I was afraid I’d do something wrong, mess something up, or break some valuable decoration. I like this one. This is me. Comfortable. Neat.”
Sam allowed a flicker of a smile. “I understand now. Headquarters will be empty without you. I took comfort in having you within reach down the hall.”
“You’ll ride out before long, off to find another hill to climb, another road to go down, another outlaw to chase.”
Though Sierra’s reminder was soft, the words pricked him. He shifted uneasily. “Probably right.”
With a sad smile, she turned away and removed some items from the burlap bag.
“I need you to know, Sierra—you’re enough. For me. For any man. The problem isn’t you at all. I’m the one lacking, and I curse my inability to give you what you need. If I could change, I would, and in a heartbeat. Because you’re everything I want.”
Sierra laid down the hand mirror she’d gotten from the mercantile and came to him. She placed a gentle hand on his jaw. “You and I are two lost souls, Sam. Maybe this is all we’ll ever have. A few stolen moments will have to carry us through the dark nights when our heartbeat is so loud it’s the only sound we can hear.”
“I’m no stranger to those nights,” he said in a hushed voice. Only just the midnight hours didn’t cover it. Right now his heartbeat resembled a war drum in his ears.
She dragged her fingertips along the scar circling his throat. “You’ve suffered so much.”
“No more than you, pretty lady.” He wanted to kiss her so badly it burned. When he looked in her eyes, he saw permission there—a longing that matched his own. “One more stolen moment,” he murmured. Sam lowered his head and slanted a soft kiss across her moist lips. His arms tightened around her. Whe
n she didn’t pull back, he deepened the kiss, inhaling her sweet fragrance, the scent that reminded him of the flowers outside the house.
One kiss to tuck away to remember later when he lay alone beneath the stars on a cold night.
Each time she was near, he couldn’t keep his hands or his lips off her. The intense hunger for more left his knees weak. If the world stopped revolving, spinning slowly down to die, he’d wrap his arms around her and spend the ending minutes with her—the two of them lost in a glorious, dizzying whirl, holding her tight.
Yesterday was gone. Tomorrow they couldn’t count on. All they really had was the here and now.
“Sam, I can’t fight this thing between us anymore. It’s too strong,” she murmured against his mouth.
“I’m tired of fighting too. You’re all I think about. Your face is all I see. This pull is stronger than both of us. But I have to be honest. I can’t see beyond tonight. I don’t know what the future holds.”
Sierra leaned back and met his eyes. “I’ve always played this game I call If Tomorrow Never Comes. I won’t lose this moment in time. I have to grab what I can, because this may be it. Make love to me, Sam. I want to know how it feels. At least we’ll have this if the world ends before dawn.”
He stilled, wondering if she truly meant what she said. As if in answer, she quickly undid his shirt. Pushing the fabric aside, she rested her palms on his broad chest. The heat of her touch seared like a brand. He’d just grown accustomed to the sensation when she slid her arms under the shirt, encircling him.
Shrugging out of his shirt, he unbuttoned her dress, praying she wouldn’t have a change of heart before he released the last pearly disc in the very long line.
Why did women have so many darn buttons anyway? And why so small? His large fingers had a devil of a time slipping them through the holes. For two cents he’d give up and rip the darn things free. But he didn’t. He took another stab. Finally, he was able to draw her arms from the sleeves, letting the dress puddle around his boots.
