Читать книгу Luke's Cut - Sarah McCarty - Страница 9
ОглавлениеFOUR HOURS LATER, Josie came to a conclusion. Luke might not be the only one who knew less than he thought he did. She’d awoken that morning, tingling with anticipation for this exciting adventure, but reality was beating her up. She sighed.
The wagon that had looked so perfectly suited to her needs was actually little more than an elaborate instrument of torture. The seat bruised her posterior. The reins chafed her hands even through the light gloves she’d put on, and the small overhang she’d thought would protect her from the sun did nothing but trap the heat. Worse even, the constant bouncing and swaying upset her stomach to the point where she was in danger of embarrassing herself by vomiting.
Gripping the reins, she took a deep breath. She refused to further embarrass herself. After the fiasco that morning, she couldn’t afford to look more incompetent. Luke was just itching for a reason to send her back and they were still close enough to the Hell’s Eight compound to make that feasible. Wagons, she’d discovered, had a more plodding pace than riding horseback. She tucked a stray hair under her bonnet. A trickle of perspiration slid down her back toward her already soaked corset. A glance at the sun showed it wasn’t yet noon. How was she going to stand the full afternoon sun? How was everyone else able to stand it so easily?
The left wheels hit a rut. The wagon bounced over it, then swayed before settling. Her breakfast rose to her throat. Beside her one of the vaqueros asked, “You are well, senorita?”
Forcing a smile, she lied. “Fine, thank you.”
The tip of his hat was as much an indication of skepticism as it was good manners, but he rode on without further comment. For that she was grateful. Being a bastard in a small town had made her a spectacle her entire life, her every move subject to conjecture. The experience had left her with a complete aversion to being the focus of anyone’s attention. She much preferred being invisible.
She waited until the vaquero was out of earshot before groaning and fanning herself with her journal. How could she have been so foolish as to have underestimated the rigors of the journey? Driving a wagon over established roads was rough enough, but over open countryside? It was a nightmare.
She sighed and answered her own question. At the time, she’d just assumed all she’d have to do was sit in the seat, point Glory in the right direction, and follow everybody else. She hadn’t given a thought to the pounding the wooden wheels rolling over rough terrain would deliver to her spine or how the raucous noise from her remaining hanging supplies would jar her nerves.
She also hadn’t thought of how exposed to the elements she would be sitting on the hard seat or how much the wagon just...swayed. All the time. Back and forth. Lightly. Or more aggressively when the wheels hit a rock. Like now. Her teeth snapped together. She gave a fleeting thought to her equipment only to have it die under a wave of nausea. She swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched on the reins, but she knew they couldn’t stop. Zach and Luke set a pace that was, in her mind, brutal, but in their minds undoubtedly not fast enough. She’d already had to stop twice to relieve herself. Which had earned her a sympathetic glance from Tia, a frown from Zach and a glare from Luke. What did the man expect, for heaven’s sake? She was human, and a body could only take so much bouncing before something had to give. For her, it was her bladder.
“You pull that horse up and Zach’s gonna leave you behind.”
Josie didn’t have to wonder who’d ridden up on her left. It was Luke. It was always Luke today. The man seemed to hover outside her view, just waiting for some infraction so he could swoop in with a comment to discomfit her.
“I wasn’t going to—”
She looked up and that fast the thought left her head. How could the same sun that was wilting her seem to sink into his skin in a warm enticing glow? Or light his eyes from within so they looked as deep and full of possibilities as summer twilight. How could he look so incredibly, deliciously sexy leaning over with one arm propped on the saddle horn? A quirk of his lips drew her gaze down. He was laughing at her.
With a flick of his fingers, he said, “There’s no sense in finishing that lie. You don’t do it worth a damn.”
“Is that so?” It had to be the heat that had that challenge just popping out, but darn it, she was tired of people amusing themselves at her expense.
“That’s so.”
He didn’t have to sound so sure of it. She pretended there was a spot on her glove. With a little practice she was sure she could lie with the best of them. And darn it, there was a spot. With a sigh, she put her palm over it. And had no idea where to go from there. Silently, she willed him to ride on. Of course he didn’t. The man was perversely dedicated to annoying her. The seconds stretched uncomfortably on.
Darn it again. He was still looking at her. She could feel it with that acute awareness that made her want to squirm. The squirming she resisted, but she couldn’t resist looking back, albeit out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting on Chico with that lazy confidence that only added to his appeal. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes were a dark, smoldering blue. And yes, he was studying her with the intensity of a professor who’d just discovered a new bug and was about to stick a pin in it.
And that perverse part of her, the part her mother hated and she usually managed to subdue, came to life, running amok, poking at things best left sleeping until every one of her senses perked up with delight at being noticed. Stupid senses. The one thing she did not need was to be attracted to a cowboy. Especially this cowboy, who didn’t approve of her horse, her equipment or her profession. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t even sure he approved of her. More than likely, he saw her as a pain-in-the-butt distraction from whatever goal he’d set for himself. Aggravating man. She rubbed at the spot with her thumb.
“It’s rude to stare,” she blurted.
“I wasn’t staring.”
Did he think she was stupid? “Then what were you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“About what?” She knew better but it just popped out again. Darn that perverse side.
“I’m thinking that horse of yours is not too far away from buzzard food.”
“You leave Glory alone.” The threat would have sounded much more intimidating if she could lift her gaze from the traces. Clearing her throat, she tried again. She got her eyes as high as Glory’s ears, but at least her voice was steady, if a bit too soft. “Not everyone has to be beautiful to be worthy.”
She’d been clinging to that belief her whole life. It had gotten her through the rejection and scorn of being a bastard and a misfit. She wasn’t about to abandon it now, out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but heat and annoyance to replace it.
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m not too concerned about beautiful, but sound would be good.”
“What makes you think Glory isn’t sound?”
“Honey, I looked at his teeth at the first halt you called.”
That halt seemed like a lifetime ago. She checked the watch pinned to the lapel of her sensible brown dress. It’d actually only been two hours.
“So?”
“That gelding is on his last legs.”
As if he understood the disparagement, Glory’s head drooped. That was too much. Who did the man think he was?
Turning, she glared at him, sexy smile and all. The big bully. “They’re darn good legs! No need to undermine them with your sarcasm.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing him sit back in the saddle.
“Undermine? How the he...heck could I undermine anything. It’s not like the horse can understand me.”
“He most certainly can! He’s sensitive and has feelings, too, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”
As if to emphasize that, Glory tossed his head, his jangling harness punctuating the sentiment.
“See?” she asked pointedly.
Luke looked anything but convinced. “He’s not going to spook again, is he?”
“Not if you don’t do something stupid and scare him.”
“Given what happened earlier, it clearly doesn’t take much.”
“Anybody would be scared with those puppies snapping at their heels.”
“They ran by!”
“They were rambunctious!”
“They were puppies!”
She sighed. “He’s not used to them.”
“My point exactly. He’s not used to a lot of things.”
“Mr. Caine said it was all right.”
“Mr. Caine?”
She had to admit, it did sound silly. But she couldn’t help it. Caine Allen was too imposing to use so informal an address even though he’d asked her repeatedly to call him by his first name. So she’d settled on adding a mister. It was a happy medium.
“He’s an impressive man.”
“And I’m not?”
She didn’t have to look up to know his head was tilted in that arrogant gesture that doubted the veracity of the anticipated response. Tightening her grip on the reins, she shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t call me mister.”
“You’re too aggravating to bother with a title.” The truth just popped out. Again. She bit back a groan. His laugh, when she was expecting anger, yanked her gaze to his. Immediately she knew confusion and, just as fast, pleasure. Confusion because she’d been expecting his anger and she knew how to deal with that, and pleasure, well, the pleasure stemmed from his smile, his lips a line of amused indulgence and intrigue. The effect went right through her like sweet, warm honey spreading over her senses, soothing the agitation even as it brought out a bit of fire.
She wished she knew why he affected her so. He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She’d met and photographed better-looking men. But there was something about Luke Bellen, something so elemental, something so overwhelmingly masculine, something so unique that just screamed “come hither” to everything female in her. But despite many thinking her fairly independent profession proclaimed her loose, she was still a virgin, and she intended to stay that way. And not just because of her mother’s dire warnings, but from her own observations. To her knowledge, rampant procreation just complicated a woman’s options. Not because a woman lost her reputation, but because of all the messy complicating factors, like feelings, entanglement and eventually babies. Pretty soon, a woman’s life was bound to revolve around someone else. Josie had been doing that since the day she was born—paying for her mother’s sin, her fiancé’s selfishness, society’s demands.
As a child, she’d thought her cousins were blessed with good fortune, but as they’d matured, she’d watched their dreams, one by one, be pushed to the back burner. And then she’d watched the fire under the burner go out. As they’d married, they’d settled down in little homes in little towns in little places with little families and every one of their days consisted of little things. Josie wasn’t sure she wanted to live just for herself, but she was certain she didn’t want her cousins’ existence. She didn’t want that any more than she wanted Luke staring at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“It appears that I’ve been assigned to you.”
“Assigned by whom?”
He nodded toward the wagon ahead.
“Tia seems to think you need watching.”
She was not a child. “Can’t Zach or one of the vaqueros do it?”
“Tia seems to think you need watching by me.”
“Why?”
“Likely because no one else has the patience—”
“Patience? You?”
“—to deal with your procrastination and shilly-shallying,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.
“You don’t know me well enough to make such accusations.” She couldn’t lie about the procrastination. She did have a tendency to put off the unpleasant stuff for as long as possible. Of course he picked up on that.
“I’ve got eyes and the fact that you’re sidestepping a flat-out denial cinches the deal.”
“It most certainly does not.” She didn’t know where all this opposition came from lately. She’d argued more over the last couple of days than she had in her entire life. She’d likely enjoy it more if she wasn’t roasting from the inside out.
He brushed aside that denial with an arch of his brow. “People who don’t like to lie usually aren’t bold about dissembling.”
She raised her own eyebrows at that. “Dissembling is a big word for a cowboy.”
“Photography is a big hobby for a woman.” He always had a comeback. She snapped her teeth together.
“And what’s wrong with it?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I just said it was a big one.”
Now he had her off-kilter. She’d been ready to fight and he’d gone all reasonable. “Life is too short not to do things you enjoy.”
“Uh-huh.”
He was back to lounging in the saddle in that casual way that just screamed predator. He reminded her of a hawk perched on a branch, ready to swoop, except she wasn’t sure what he was going to swoop on—her argument or more. It was the more that sent that little shiver through her. His eyes narrowed.
“Ghost walk over your grave?”
“That is the most nonsensical statement.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew she was avoiding answering the question. Some men were irritating like that. His horse, a beautiful roan, tossed his head again. A sharp whistle came down the line. Luke straightened in the saddle and scanned the horizon.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. “I’d like to point out I’m not the one dodging questions now.”
Good grief! She was getting positively belligerent. A thrill went through her. It was...exhilarating.
“Chico is uneasy.”
“Glory is calm.”
“I noticed.”
Another short whistle came from ahead.
Reaching down, Luke untied something on the right side of the saddle. His rifle, she realized as he drew it out of the scabbard. The illusion of him as a predator suddenly snapped into reality. Her contrary enjoyment evaporated in a puff of fear.
“Can that horse run?” he asked, pulling out the weapon and resting the barrel across the saddle.
“Of course.” Couldn’t all horses?
“Will he?”
She didn’t really know, but if she had to get down and push his behind along, she would. “Yes.”
She might not have been as convincing as she’d hoped. For a moment Luke took his attention off the horizon to shake his head at her. “I can’t believe Caine allowed that horse along.”
Confession time. “He’s the only one that wouldn’t spook with all the banging.”
“That will be remedied in the future.”
He was making her very nervous.
“Mr. Caine said trouble wasn’t likely.”
“Unlikely doesn’t mean nonexistent.”
She couldn’t argue that. Another burst of whistles cut across the distance. As if the message were spoken, Luke looked to the left. She did, too, but all she saw were rocks, grass and trees. Then again, she always had trouble seeing far without her spectacles.
“What is it?”
“Be ready.”
For what? Thankfully, she had managed not to voice it. The last thing anyone needed was for Luke’s attention to be diverted at a crucial moment. But it was getting harder to control this new, impetuous side of her nature now that he’d riled it up.
They rode on in silence. One minute passed. Then two. Three minutes passed without a single sound except the creaking of the harnesses and the bouncing of the wagon. Apprehension stretched her nerves. It took another few minutes for her to realize the birds weren’t singing. A shiver shot down her spine. Something was definitely wrong. She just didn’t know what.
Luke cut her a glance. “If I holler, you snap those reins on the nag’s ass, but be sure to brace your feet. We don’t need you pitching out of there and breaking your neck when he takes off.”
A gruesome image of her body being tossed like a rag doll to the hard ground popped into her mind. She tightened her grip on her reins and braced her feet. No, they definitely didn’t need that. But the slur to Glory—that she couldn’t let pass. Glory and she had formed a friendship. Friendship demanded loyalty. Licking her lips, she tapped into her impetuous side. “Glory is not a nag.”
The near whisper barely got her a look. Clearly her voice of authority needed work. For now, she clung to stubborn determination. “He’s not.”
With a grunt, Luke reiterated, “Just be ready.”
That grunt could have gone either way. She chose to take it as agreement. Clutching the reins, she nodded. Ready she could handle. She hoped. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Another down her spine. More gathered between her breasts.
Apparently satisfied that she’d obey, Luke urged Chico into a trot, leaving Josie behind. She watched him go with a sinking stomach. In her wagon ahead, Tia had her husband. Back here there was just Josie and her growing fears. Wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve, she looked around. The same countryside that had seemed so pretty yesterday, seemed ominously vast today. The wildflowers she’d viewed as serendipitous bits of whimsy now had a second potential use—as grave markers. At the front of the line, Luke and Zach conferred. She wished she were close enough to hear what they were saying.
Tia turned in her seat and waved. If Josie had her spectacles on she could have seen if she was smiling or frowning. Feeling even more in the dark, she waved back. First thing she was going to do when they stopped again would be to get her spectacles out of the wagon. Vanity be hanged.
As if reacting to some invisible cue, the formerly loosely strung line of men dropped into a tight formation surrounding the wagons. A handsome man dressed in brown, sporting ammunition belts across his chest and wearing a large sombrero rode up beside Josie on a proud-stepping buckskin. He had Zach’s eyes and was about her age. Maybe younger. It was hard to tell out here. Men seemed to mature earlier. He flashed her a grin full of Lopez confidence before settling his rifle across the saddle. Strapped to his thigh was a pistol. The wooden handle looked worn from use. She found that comforting.
He tipped his hat. “Senorita.”
If they were anywhere else, if she were anyone else, she’d call his attention flirtatious, but this was Texas Indian country and danger was all around.
She attempted a smile and a small wave. The tension hovered oppressively in the air. Her skin prickled. Even the horses were quiet.
A rabbit darted. She jumped. The wagons kept moving. The tension mounted. She chewed her lip. What did they see that she didn’t? Was it an actual threat or just a worry?
She wanted somebody to do something already, rather than passively plod along like prey waiting for the pounce. But they just kept going.
An hour later, a rider cantered up. Luke and Zach rode out to meet him. The group kept moving while the men conferred to the side. They were too far away to be heard over the creak of wood and metal. Why did they have to be so far away?
Glancing at the well-armed man to her right, the one whose flirtatious approach led her to believe he might be talkative, she asked, “What’s happening?”
He didn’t take his attention off Luke and Zach. “Nothing to worry about, senorita, I’m sure. Likely Lobo just spotted some Indians passing by.”
“Indians!”
Terror flashed along her nerves. A shiver chased cold comprehension as every story she’d ever read in those lurid novels about the West—and she’d read more than her share—raced through her mind. Capture. Scalping. Unmentionable acts.
The wagon lurched through a rut. Her gorge rose. Heat, motion and now anxiety combining to make disaster imminent.
“Senorita?”
Clutching her stomach, she waved the vaquero’s concern away. She wouldn’t be sick. She wouldn’t. “I’m fine.”
He frowned at her, drawing his rifle from its scabbard. “You have nothing to worry about. Senor Luke would not allow you to be captured.” He settled the rifle across his saddle. “And neither would I.”
What could he do? He was just one man. So was Luke. And that rifle didn’t look big enough to take on the hordes of Comanche that could even now be charging toward them. Unbidden, one passage from her favorite author’s latest novel leaped to the forefront of her mind: “The Comanche came out of nowhere like a mist rising from the ground, enveloping everything in their path.”
There was a whole lot of ground out there.
No. For him to say it was just some Indians did nothing to reassure her, even if he’d clearly been trying to. She took a breath to steady her nerves. Hot air filled her lungs. Cold sweat beaded her brow as the persistent nausea surged along with fear. She whispered soothing nothings to Glory as if the steady old horse was the one in danger of an attack of the vapors.
The man frowned at her.
“You do not need to be afraid of the Indians, senorita. You are well guarded.”
She took another steadying breath, fighting dizziness. If they could just stop for a minute, her stomach might settle. Her request was met with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but we cannot stop.”
Of course not.
“But you are safe, senorita.” He gestured to his chest. “With me, Stefano.” He broadened the gesture to include everyone. “And if I should fall, there are the men of Rancho Montoya and Hell’s Eight.” He tipped his hat. “You are very safe.”
Was she? They had fifteen riders, plus Luke, Ed, Tia and herself. Hardly an army. And she didn’t even have a gun. Good heavens. Why didn’t she have a gun? The wagon hit a rut. The horizon tilted. Or was it the wagon? Her stomach lodged in her throat. She recognized the cold clammy feeling for what it was. Holding her hand over her mouth, she imagined Indians pouring over the little hill, swarming them, intent on driving them off their land. It was too easy to imagine their wild cries. Blast Dane Savage and his gift for description! She could see them as if they were real, dangerous men on horseback, armed with guns and bows, feral smiles on their painted faces... Intent on revenge.
Oh dear God.
“Senorita?”
The voice echoed around the periphery of her consciousness. The wagon bucked and swayed over a series of bumps. Her vision clouded. Nausea rose as hard as fear. In an obscure part of her consciousness, she realized she was about to faint. She reached out. Found nothing.
The last thing she heard was the shout of her name.
It sounded amazingly exasperated for a Comanche war cry.
