She didn’t even belong in Cactus Patch—and certainly not on a ranch. Eventually she’d figure that out for herself. She would then go back to Boston, go back to her books and Greek philosophers. Go back where she belonged. The thought drove through him like a knife. He reined in his horse and took a moment to calm himself. Mustn’t think about Kate leaving. The only thing that mattered was finding her.
Homer let out a series of short barks. Leveling his gaze toward the dog he could see no sign of a cabin or shack. Homer had probably found another prairie dog town or tortoise hole. Or perhaps a dead steer. They’d passed several already that morning, all done in by sand suffocation.
Homer’s barks grew more intense, and Luke yanked his bandanna away from his mouth and whistled. Normally Homer would come running upon hearing Luke’s call but not today. Instead, he continued to bark.
Spotting something ahead, Luke urged his horse into a gallop.
The odd shape turned out to be an overturned wagon probably left behind by some hapless traveler. Since Homer kept barking and wagging his tail, Luke slid off his horse to have a look, hand on the weapon by his side.
He spotted a boot beneath the partly buried wagon. Heart pounding, he quickly flipped over the wagon, not knowing what he would find until he saw a flash of blond hair.
“Kate!” He dropped to his knees and shook her.
She groaned and her lashes fluttered, and he let out a cry of relief. Praise God she was alive. Had it not been for Homer he might well have missed her. After a moment, big blue eyes peered at him from over a red bandanna and he thought never to see a more beautiful sight.
“Luke? Is that you?” She sat up, her back against a wagon wheel, and gazed at him in disbelief.
He grinned. “It’s me.” Her voice was hoarse but nothing had ever sounded sweeter to his ears. At least this time she didn’t call him the name of that imaginary fellow, Brandon.
He removed her bandanna and, after fetching his canteen from his saddle, dropped down on one knee to hold it to her parched lips. Though the wagon provided shade, heat rose from the desert floor.
She drank thirstily before pushing the canteen away. Homer was suddenly all over her, licking her face and hands.
“Down, boy,” Luke ordered. Homer sat, panting, his wagging tail whipping up a cloud of sand.
Luke searched Kate’s face for some clue as to her condition. He still couldn’t believe he found her. It was nothing short of a miracle.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Her hands and face were reddened by the sand and wind, but otherwise he could see no signs of injury.
Her mouth curved slightly. “Now I am.”
He smiled back at her and he thought his chest would burst with relief. His prayers had been answered. God was good.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He couldn’t bear the thought of the man putting his grubby hands on her.
“No,” she whispered. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“Why did he take you? I don’t understand.”
“He wanted me to write the story of his life,” she said. “Somehow he found out I was a writer.”
“That’s it?” he asked, astonished. “That’s the reason he kidnapped you?”
She nodded. “That’s it.”
Luke shook his head. “I was so worried.” Half out of his mind more like it. “The entire town has been searchin’.”
“How . . . how did you know Cactus Joe kidnapped me?”
“They found an eye patch in the saddle room.” He grinned. “From what I heard you put up quite a fight.”
“For all the good it did me.” She stared at him from pools of liquid blue. “I can’t believe it’s you. I thought I’d never see you or the ranch again,” she whispered. “I thought I would be buried alive. Or hopelessly lost. Or mauled by a pack of tarantulas or—”
He laughed. “I don’t think tarantulas travel in packs.”
“It’s not funny,” she said. “I could have been attacked by a band of javelinas.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s worse. The things that happen to you or the things you think might happen.”
She gave him a sheepish look. “It’s a writer’s curse.”
“Ah, that explains it.” He poured a little water on his bandanna. “You have sand on your nose.”
She flinched when he touched her but whether from pain or something else he didn’t know. She said Cactus Joe hadn’t harmed her and he hoped to God that was true. The thought of her being hurt or compromised in some way filled him with horror.
Knees in the sand, he dabbed her face gently while gazing into her eyes. Now, as always, he could see sadness in their depths and he wondered what it would take to make that sadness go away.
“I don’t have a very good way with words. If Michael was here he’d know what to say. I just want you to know I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said.
She studied him, a thoughtful shadow at her brow. “I’d say you have a very good way with words.”
He knew it wasn’t true, but he liked that she said it. Ever so gently he ran his bandanna over her brow, nose, and cheeks in an effort to soothe her sand-burned skin and clean off the tiny grains of sand. He felt her tremble beneath his touch, but she didn’t move away and for that he was grateful.
“There you go,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Her lashes flew up and she smiled. “Thank you.” Then all at once her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry . . . It’s just I thought I was lost and no one would find me.”
Something tugged in his chest and a lump rose in his throat. The need to protect her was like a fire burning deep inside. “It’s all right,” he said. He ran a knuckle down her damp cheek. When she offered no resistance he wrapped a protective arm around her and cradled her. “You forgot about Homer. His nose can sniff out a pretty woman anywhere.”
Hearing his name, Homer barked and wagged his tail, and Kate laughed even as tears rolled down her face.
Luke smoothed her hair away from her face. Hugging her close, he sat and rocked her, murmuring sweet words of comfort in her ear. She buried her head against his chest and sobbed quietly, her tears leaving a damp spot on his shirt.
He worked with steel and iron and knew the strength that each required. This tender, gentle side of him was something new, requiring strength of another kind.
Gradually her sobs subsided and she peered up at him, the first glimmers of trust shimmering in the depths of her eyes.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered. He tightened his hold and she clung to him like she was never going to let him go.
Chapter 25
Offering her hand to Brandon, she fervently prayed that her power of duplicity was such that she could hide her all-consuming passion.
No one had ever held Kate the way Luke held her.
He was gentle, soft-spoken, and kind, his concern for her sincere. He was all the things she never thought she’d see in a man. All the things she’d dared not hope for. All the things that, at the moment, she so desperately needed.
Cradled in his arms, she lifted a hand to his face, absorbing the sweet essence of his flesh against her open palm. His gaze met hers and a warm shiver flowed through her. Words escaped her but none were needed. Tension left her body, and for the first time in her life she felt she could completely and wholeheartedly trust a man, that she could trust this man.
His steady gaze bored into her as if he sensed she had given him permission to proceed, to claim more of her heart.
He pressed his lips tenderly on her forehead. It felt so good to be kissed by him, held by him. Oddly enough, she felt safe. More than that, she felt cherished—respected—and no one had ever made her feel that way.
She lifted her chin and his gaze settled on her lips. He hesitated before covering her mouth with his own. Even with his lips pressed against hers she hesitated to kiss him back. Startled, she realized how little she’d given of herself to people through the years. How that
must have frustrated him, frustrated others. Cheated her readers, even. How would it feel to give her heart fully and completely to someone without fear of being hurt or disappointed?
Shyly at first, she worked her hands up his chest and around his neck. He gazed at her tenderly and waited, allowing her to set the pace. His patience broke through her last reserve and she rose up to kiss him full on the lips.
With a soft groan he crushed her against his chest. Nothing had prepared her for the taste, the feel, and the heat of him. Nothing she had written in her books could compare.
“Love isn’t kind. Men can’t be trusted.”
Desperate to shut out the echoes of the past, she gave herself freely to the full pleasure of his kiss. He pulled back, his eyes warm with approval, before reclaiming her lips. Soft currents rushed through her, chased by the chilling words she tried so hard to forget.
“No man is forever. He will use you and discard you like yesterday’s newspaper.”
Go away, go away, go away. But her mama’s words welled up from the past, clamoring in her head. Mocking her. “Nothing good happens to people like us.”
She tore away from him with a choking sob. He looked all at once worried, puzzled, and concerned. “Kate?”
She tried to speak but her voice caught in her throat. Her tears veiled his face but not the pain in his eyes. His kisses were more wonderful than anything she ever could have imagined. But rather than satisfy, he made her want more and this made her cry harder. There could never be more.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.” I won’t. She knew what she wanted and it wasn’t Luke. Her future was the ranch and she refused to settle for anything less.
He stared at her, his face a mask of confusion. Sensing his master’s bewilderment, Homer barked and the tension snapped.
She pulled away and brushed off her skirt with shaking hands. She then palmed away her tears. “Would you mind taking me home?”
“Look at me, Kate. Please.”
Looking at him was out of the question. She needed to put as much distance between them as possible. She must forget his kisses, forget being in his arms. What she couldn’t forget—must never again forget—was that no man could be trusted. Not even a man like Luke Adams.
It was late, but Kate was too wound up to sleep. Instead, she stood on the balcony off her room and stared at what seemed like an endless night. The scent of cattle was especially potent—or maybe it was simply that her nose hadn’t yet adjusted to being back at the ranch.
Ruckus had been the first to rush out to greet her the moment she and Luke rode up on his horse, but the others, even Wishbone and Stretch, hadn’t been far behind. Ruckus, of course, couldn’t let the occasion pass without reciting from the Bible.
“I’m gonna have to start callin’ you Moses,” he said. “Even though you didn’t roam the desert for no forty years.”
“It felt like it,” she said.
Bo made his special cactus pie to celebrate the occasion, and Rosita filled her bath with three inches of water instead of the usual two. Miss Walker didn’t say much, but she insisted that Kate take the following day off.
O.T. gave strict instructions that Kate was to be watched at all times until Cactus Joe’s capture. Kate wasn’t allowed to leave the house without an escort.
The excitement of returning to the ranch had nothing to do with her inability to sleep. It was Luke, pure and simple, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
It had been hours since he kissed her, almost a full day, and yet her lips still burned with the memory, and her body still ached with the need he had awakened.
His kisses had been tender, his touch gentle, and so different from anything she had known, even in her imagination.
Never before had she allowed herself to be tempted by a man. Having an education helped, for many men shied away from a woman with a college degree. Writing helped, too, for she could live vicariously through her characters without opening herself up to harm.
“I’m not a fancy man. I don’t have a way with words.”
Oh, but what a way he had with his lips, his touch. She squeezed her eyes shut. Mustn’t think of that, mustn’t think of his kisses. He was a man, which meant nothing about him was permanent. He could walk away and never look back, just like the others. The only difference was she had no intention of giving him the chance.
Kate was late for breakfast and so she was surprised to find Miss Walker sitting at the dining room table. Usually by this time, the ranch owner was already in the saddle checking out her cattle or windmills or fences or the hundred and one little details that cropped up on any given day.
“I’m sorry . . . I slept in.”
Miss Walker waved away her apology. “I told you to take the day off.”
Kate went to the buffet and poured herself a cup of coffee. She then took her place at the opposite end of the table.
Miss Walker regarded her with analytical eyes. “Has your unfortunate experience with Cactus Joe changed your mind about the ranch?”
The question surprised her. “No, of course not,” she said, alarmed. What would ever make Miss Walker think such a thing?
“And you still wish to proceed as planned?” Miss Walker asked.
“Yes,” Kate replied. “Nothing has changed.” She hesitated a beat before asking, “You’re not . . . having second thoughts about me, are you?”
“I’ve had second thoughts about you from the moment you arrived at the ranch,” Miss Walker said in her usual forthright manner. “But this isn’t about what I think. Now that you’ve been kidnapped I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to return to Boston.”
“I have no intention of returning to Boston,” Kate said. Arizona was her home and she meant to stay.
Miss Walker’s eyebrows rose. “Even though Cactus Joe is still out there God knows where?”
“He doesn’t frighten me. He simply wanted me to write his biography.”
“He kidnapped you to write?” Miss Walker sat back in her chair. “That’s all he wanted?”
Before Kate could answer Rosita appeared. “Marshal Morris is here. He wishes to speak to Señorita Tenney.”
Miss Walker made a face. “For all the good it will do. The man couldn’t find a bull in a chicken coop,” she muttered. In a louder voice she said, “Show him in.”
The marshal walked into the room a moment later, hat in hand. He greeted Miss Walker with a respectful nod of his head. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, ma’am, but I need to ask Miss Tenney a few questions.”
A shadow of annoyance crossed Miss Walker’s face. “Can’t this wait? Miss Tenney has had a terrible ordeal.”
“It won’t take long,” he assured her.
“It’s all right,” Kate said, though she was touched by Miss Walker’s concern for her welfare.
Miss Walker gestured toward the buffet. “Then pour yourself some coffee and have a seat.”
“Much obliged but I’ve had my belly wash for the day.” He sat on a chair and set his hat on the table. He wasted no time on formalities. “Where exactly did Cactus Joe keep you captive?”
“All I can tell you is that it was an adobe hut. It had no windows and only one door and a flat roof. There was a windmill outside and a privy.” She glanced at Miss Walker, who listened attentively. “I can’t think of anything else.”
The marshal cleared his voice and looked away. “Did . . . he hurt you?”
“He chloroformed me,” she replied. “But otherwise, no. He didn’t compromise me in any way.”
The marshal nodded as if relieved. “How far away would you say the hut is?”
She shook her head. “I have no memory of how I got there. As I told you, he chloroformed me.”
The marshal studied her. “What about when you escaped?”
“The wind was blowing and visibility was low. I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I’m sorry.”
The marshal scratched the back of his head. “Yo
u spent more than five days with him. What did you do all that time?”
She moistened her lower lip. “I wrote.”
“Wrote?”
Miss Walker drummed her fingers on the table and regarded the marshal with a look of impatience. “Miss Tenney is a writer. Cactus Joe kidnapped her to write his biography.”
The marshal’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s all? I came all the way out here and that’s all the man wanted? To have his biography written?”
Kate frowned. Apparently the marshal didn’t care that she had been kept against her will. “That’s not all. He . . . he tied me up. Fed me horrible food.”
The marshal scratched his neck. “You said you were writing his biography. Do you know anything about him? His real name? Where he’s from?”
She quickly filled him in on the few actual details she knew about the man. “He calls himself the master of disguise.”
“So you think he comes to town in one of his disguises?” the marshal asked.
“He’s actually bald and clean shaven and there’s nothing wrong with his eye. If he came to town looking like that or dressed in one of his other disguises, no one would ever guess his true identity. In fact, I saw him at the post office dressed as an old man. I didn’t know at the time it was him. I suspect he may have been spying on me at the ranch. The night I was reading to the . . . eh, the night I was reading.”
The marshal stroked his chin. “It's hard to believe he’s been under our noses all this time.”
He looked so doubtful that Kate added, “How else would he have known I was a writer?”
Miss Walker nodded in agreement. “How, indeed?”
The marshal frowned. “What else did he tell you?”
“I suspect most of what he told me was exaggerated, if not altogether untrue. He has a very high opinion of himself.”
Miss Walker scoffed. “Which only proves he’s a dreadful judge of character.”
The marshal reached for his hat. “It doesn’t look like any real harm was done.”
Kate stared at him, incredulous. “Aren’t you going to do something? Track him down? Form a posse?”
Dawn Comes Early Page 18
