by Carol Finch
Julius leaned closer, grinning wryly. “That woman is pure heaven to look at,” he murmured. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Elliot. But it was kinda sudden, wasn’t it?”
Cale knew the deputies were fishing for information, but he wasn’t offering details. “Yeah, kinda.” ’nuff said.
Pierce grinned wickedly. “Sorry to cramp your style, this being your honeymoon and all. You planning on making your wife your partner and taking her with you on all your forays?”
Now there was a prospect that gave him the willies. Hanna would probably shoot him by accident and then be set upon by a bunch of vicious bastards like the Markham gang. “Nope. Not hardly,” he replied. “We’ll be in Texas for a few weeks before I resume my duties for Parker.”
“Glad to hear that you’re going to tuck her away where she’ll be safe. Sure would hate to see a fine-looking woman like that fall prey to the vermin that infest these parts. You take good care of that pretty lady, Elliot,” Julius insisted.
“Plan to.” Cale gestured toward the west side of camp. “Pick your spot. My wife and I will bed down east of the campfire. We’ll be leaving at first light.”
Pierce nodded his bushy brown head. “We might meet up with you again if you’re headed toward Bennigan’s Trading Post to restock your supplies.”
Cale shrugged noncommittally. He preferred to avoid the post if possible. There was a woman named Millie at Bennigan’s that he’d just as soon Hanna not encounter.
“We were told the Markhams have a hideout down near that pile of rock called Stonewall Peak, so we’ll headquarter at the trading post for a few days,” Julius explained. “Well, congratulations, Chief.” He winked and grinned broadly. “You’ve done mighty well for yourself with that new wife.”
While the deputies rolled out their pallets, Cale shoveled dirt on the fire. He stretched out beside Hanna, because that’s where his associates expected him to sleep. Cale would have preferred to bed down a safe distance from her, considering the turmoil his male body had undergone during that bathing incident.
Cale lay there for what seemed like hours, aching to roll sideways and cuddle Hanna close, longing to caress every inch of her luscious body. But he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to stop after a few kisses and caresses. He wanted to feel her silky flesh beneath his hands, his body. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and ease this maddening craving that was burning him alive.
Not that she’d offered to accommodate him, he mused as he counted a skyful of stars. He scowled when the stars reminded him of water droplets dancing on her flawless skin.
Cale inwardly groaned and his body clenched when Hanna snuggled up against him the same way she’d done the previous night. Cale lay there with his eyes squeezed shut, his body rigid all over, praying to all known deities that this wouldn’t be the longest night of his life.
Turned out it was.
Chapter Eight
Hanna awoke to find herself cuddled up next to Cale, her bent leg draped over his thigh, her arm flung across his chest as if it belonged there. She quickly recoiled into her own space. She decided their close association and her hopeless admiration for his expertise—not to mention this growing attraction she was helpless to control—was becoming progressively worse.
She stole a peek at Cale and noticed he was studying her from beneath that thick hedge of sooty lashes. She wondered if he’d become aware of her subconscious need to be near him. She wondered if he noticed her staring at him and fantasizing about him bending her over backward and kissing her again, so she’d have an excuse to reacquaint herself with those tantalizing sensations she’d experienced at their wedding.
Knowing Cale was an honorable man—despite society’s misconception of him—she doubted he’d make any romantic advances. No, she mused as she tossed him a sleepy smile. If there was going to be any more kissing, she predicted she’d have to be the one to instigate it.
However, Cale had told her—repeatedly—to pay attention to what was going on around her. She couldn’t do that if she kept dwelling on kissing him again, and speculating about what went on between married couples—behind closed doors. Even if reports indicated that passion wasn’t all that pleasurable for a woman, Hanna was becoming insatiably curious. She knew for a fact that when Cale kissed her the most incredible feelings and sensations bombarded her. She had an idea that these riveting tingles and sudden hot flashes that assailed her were the direct result of her physical attraction to him.
These feelings were getting steadily worse and more intense. Take last night, for instance. While they were at the river she’d wondered what he’d do if she stepped from the bushes in the altogether and let him touch her, kiss her. It would have been outrageously brazen, but she’d been tempted to test his reaction.
The mere prospect sent a flood of heat across her cheeks and made her body burn from the inside out. She glanced over to note that Cale had cocked a thick brow and was staring curiously at her. Honest and straightforward as he usually was, she was surprised he didn’t ask her why her face suddenly turned the color of raspberries.
Flustered, Hanna rolled away, then scurried off to tend to her needs. She was relieved to see Skeet trailing behind her to ensure she didn’t get lost or run into trouble again.
When she returned to camp, Cale had the fire going and the coffeepot simmering. The deputies were in the process of rolling up their pallets and gathering their belongings. Both men smiled in greeting as Hanna and Skeet approached.
While Cale and the other deputies discussed the criminals they were trying to track down, Hanna wadded up the sketch she’d drawn the previous night and tossed it into the fire. One potential talent down, but several more to go, she told herself encouragingly.
Perhaps charcoal wasn’t her medium. Maybe she’d be better with oil paint and canvas. She wasn’t going to give up on art just yet. After all, she was just a novice. Even the da Vincis and Michelangelos of the world had to start somewhere, she rationalized.
After she’d said a polite farewell to Julius and Pierce, Cale surprised her by suggesting that she mount his pinto gelding. The prospect delighted her because her father had frowned on women riding sidesaddle—or otherwise. According to Walter Malloy, proper ladies rode in style—in carriages. They did not clamber atop a horse, with their skirts and petticoats billowing around them. After all, Clarissa had never sat a horse, and Hanna wasn’t allowed to, either.
Mile after mile, Hanna rode the well-behaved mount, following the wagon. Cale hadn’t been the least bit talkative, and she suspected that, being a loner for years, he’d grown tired of her chatter, her observations and her incessant questions. She’d give Cale his own space—since he seemed to want it. In the meantime she’d talk herself down from the dangerous emotional cliff she found herself teetering on—the cliff that left her longing for more from this inconvenient marriage of convenience.
The fact was that she liked her husband—to startling extremes. That was a problem she hadn’t anticipated. She was attracted to Cale—excessively attracted to him. Maybe it was time to begin her campaign to transform him into a gentleman—the exact kind of man she was immune to.
Hanna was mentally analyzing how to quell this unwanted attachment to Cale when she heard gunfire break out in the valley to the west. Before she realized it Cale had bounded from the wagon and was beside her horse, jerking her swiftly from the saddle. He shoved the shotgun into the sheath that was strapped over the pinto’s shoulder, then handed Hanna the pistol he carried on his left hip.
“Take the wagon to the group of trees near the creek. There,” he said, gesturing east. “Stay put until I come back for you.”
“But—”
“No argument. Just do it,” he growled as he vaulted into the saddle, then threaded his way downhill, blazing his own trail through the trees. “Skeet!”
The dog bounded off the wagon seat, cast one last glance at Hanna, then raced after Cale. Hanna scampered to the wagon to take
up the reins.
The volley of bullets and faint puffs of smoke rising from the valley floor made the team of horses sidestep skittishly. Hanna cooed softly at them as she flapped the reins, urging them forward. It was the first time Cale had entrusted this task to her and she had no intention of letting the team run away with her. Cale had enough trouble awaiting him in the valley without adding her incompetence to the mix.
Hanna kept telling herself that when it came to handling danger he was incredibly capable, and he had a formidable reputation to prove it. But that didn’t stop her from worrying about him while she listened to the crack of rifles and unidentified shouts in the distance.
She was definitely worried about Cale’s safety and welfare. And it wasn’t because she required a live body to hold her father at bay. It was because she cared about Cale more than she even wanted to admit. So he had better not get himself shot, because the thought of him suffering pain made her stomach tangle in a nervous knot and her heart start pounding like a hammer.
Cale swore under his breath as he appraised the situation before him. Choctaw Tom—a crusty old Indian farmer who eked out a living by raising sheep and a few head of cattle—was pinned down near his one-room log cabin, holding off the renegades who poured firepower down on him. Worse, Cale recognized Julius’s and Pierce’s mounts tethered at the hitching post by the cabin.
Near as Cale could tell, the deputies had likely stopped to question Choctaw Tom about sightings of the outlaw gang. No doubt the Markhams had been lying in wait. Julius Tanner was sprawled in the grass, unmoving. Pierce Hayden had tucked himself behind the water trough, which now boasted several leaks. He was exchanging a volley of bullets with the outlaws, who had the advantage of dense trees for their protection.
“Skeet.” Cale gestured toward the renegade who was firing rapidly from the cover of blackjack trees to the west. The dog trotted off to even the odds for Cale.
Shotgun in hand, Cale dismounted, then made his way quietly toward the renegade to his left. The bandit was on his knees, firing at Choctaw Tom, then quickly reloading his rifle. With the silence of a shadow Cale stalked the unsuspecting bushwhacker. Cale was upon the man before he knew what hit him. Using the butt of the shotgun like a club, Cale laid the hombre out cold, then pulled the lacings from his own buckskin shirt to bind the unconscious man’s wrists and ankles.
Cale fired off several shots over Choctaw Tom’s head so the unconscious outlaw’s cohorts wouldn’t realize one of their men was down. Swiftly, Cale crept through the underbrush toward the second bushwhacker. In the distance he heard a vicious snarl and a pained yelp. Good, Skeet was disarming one of the men who was keeping Pierce pinned down behind the trough.
Moving quickly, Cale rushed the second bandit. The scraggly haired man went down like a felled tree when the butt of the shotgun connected with the back of his skull. Using the bandit’s leather belt, Cale bound his wrists, then jerked off the man’s breeches to make improvised restraints for his ankles.
Cale cursed himself soundly when he found himself making a mental note to tell Hanna that improvising was essential for survival. He had his hands full at the moment without letting thoughts of her intrude into his mind.
He confiscated the second outlaw’s rifle and shot it off a couple of times for good measure, then he sneaked stealthily toward the third outlaw. By now, Cale predicted, the man had realized he was in trouble and he’d be scrambling toward his horse. Cale approached the tethered animal, pulled out his dagger and slashed the cinch. If the renegade tried to bound onto his mount to make a quick getaway he’d find himself upended the moment he tossed his leg over the saddle.
When Cale heard a thrashing in the bushes, he hunkered down and waited for the bandit to come to him. Sure ’nuff, the outlaw barreled through the trees and made a beeline for his horse. He stuffed his booted foot in the stirrup, then squawked in surprise when he and the saddle somersaulted to the ground.
When the outlaw rolled like an overturned beetle, Cale raised the butt of the shotgun to put the man down—and keep him there temporarily. Groaning, the renegade slumped in the grass. Using the man’s belt and breeches, Cale repeated the procedure of binding up his captive.
Three down and one to go, Cale mused as he headed toward the sound of yelps and snarls in the distance. As usual, Skeet had been thorough. The long-haired desperado was a mass of bites and had passed out moments before Cale arrived on the scene. He hurriedly restrained the last outlaw, then called out to Pierce that the situation was in hand.
“Damn, Chief, am I glad to see you,” Pierce said with a gusty sigh of relief. He rose from behind the water trough and strode over to examine Julius, who had taken a bullet in the thigh. “You okay, partner?”
“Been better,” Julius muttered, grimacing. “Hurts like hell, if you must know. Sure could use a drink.”
“Minute.” Choctaw Tom scuttled into his cabin and returned a few moments later with a jug of homemade whiskey.
Julius took a swallow, then tipped up the jug to guzzle several more. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, then squinted up at Cale. “Sure could use some of that Indian magic of yours right about now, Chief. Where’s that miracle poultice that everybody raves about?”
“In the wagon with Hanna,” Cale replied. “Pierce, if you’ll wrap a tourniquet around Julius’s leg, I’ll fetch Hanna and be back as soon as I can.”
Cale bounded onto the nearest horse and thundered off, zigzagging through the trees at a breakneck clip. To his surprise, when he arrived at the grove of trees Hanna rushed toward him, a look of concern etching her pretty features.
“Thank God you’re all right! I was worried sick,” she said as she flung herself against his chest the moment he dismounted.
Her enthusiastic greeting touched and amused him. He’d never received such a warm reception from anyone. He was flattered and uncomfortable at once. Plus he didn’t know how to deal with the myriad of feelings she evoked in him.
“Why were you worried about me?” he asked. “Because your father could retrieve you if you were recently widowed? Or because you need me to lead you through this wilderness?”
The half-teasing questions earned Cale a disgruntled frown. “Cale Elliot, for an exceptionally bright and competent man, sometimes you can be incredibly dense,” she snapped, swatting at his shoulder. “I care about you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Cale swallowed a grin as Hanna clambered onto the wagon seat, crossed her arms over her chest and hitched her aristocratic nose in the air.
He tied the horse to the back of the wagon, then hopped onto the seat to grab the reins. “I care about you, too, Magnolia Blossom,” he admitted quietly.
The smile she gave him nearly turned him to mush. Cale scowled when a warm, fuzzy feeling fizzed through him. He’d better watch it or she’d turn him into a tenderhearted softy. Then where would he be? Riding around, tracking down desperadoes and fretting about how they might feel about being apprehended? No, he couldn’t be at the mercy of his emotions or the next thing he knew he’d be dead. And sure enough, Hanna would be a widow, once again susceptible to her domineering father’s control.
Cale didn’t know Walt Malloy from Adam, but he disliked the man, sight unseen, for stifling this woman who had such an intense craving to soak up every facet of life like a sponge.
No, by damned, Cale would do whatever necessary to ensure Hanna realized her dreams of freedom and independence!
Hanna climbed down from the wagon the instant Cale applied the brake. She was at Julius’s side in a flash to inspect his injury. During the short jaunt to Choctaw Tom’s cabin, Cale had given her the boiled-down version of the firefight, and she was amazed that he had managed to thwart the ambush singlehandedly. Then she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised, because Cale’s abilities were legendary.
She felt an odd sense of pride when Pierce knelt beside her and murmured, “We might’ve teased your husband unmercifully for letting us get t
he drop on him yesterday, but when it comes to getting the job done, Cale Elliot can cut it. Sometimes when I see him in action, I turn green with envy.”
“That makes two of us,” Hanna whispered back.
“Go on inside, ma’am,” Julius insisted sluggishly. “You don’t need to see a grown man cry when your husband removes this confounded bullet. Besides, these breeches have to come off and I’m not planning to do that in mixed company.”
“Come,” Choctaw Tom insisted as he grabbed her by the elbow. “You can help most by fetching a bucket of water from the spring while I tear strips of cloth for a bandage.”
Hanna scooped up the bucket and followed the aged Indian’s directions to the spring. This time she marked her path to ensure she didn’t embarrass herself by getting lost. She was on her way back to the shack when she heard Julius’s howl of pain and a string of loud curses that practically turned the air blue.
When Hanna stepped into the sun-dappled clearing she saw Cale hunkered over Julius, performing primitive surgery. Was there anything this man didn’t know how to do? she wondered as she approached. His wide-ranging skills never ceased to astound and inspire her. This was definitely the man she wanted by her side when the going got tough. Out here in the wild, that seemed to be an everyday occurrence.
Hanna realized she’d contracted a bad case of hero worship these past few days. That, heaped on top of this hopeless physical attraction, left her wondering how she was supposed to resist the charms of her lawfully wedded husband. The more time she spent with Cale the more tempted she was to test these newfound tingles of desire that he aroused in her.
Her wandering thoughts scattered like a covey of quail when Julius bellowed in anguish and cursed Cale with every panted breath. She strode up beside Cale, noting he’d covered Julius’s private parts with a patchwork quilt so she wouldn’t be embarrassed and uncomfortable.
Another thoughtful gesture on his part, she mused as she sank down on her haunches beside him.
