Читать книгу Caine's Reckoning - Sarah McCarty - Страница 8

“You cannot expect decent women to be seen in the company of someone like her.”

The way the older woman, Mrs. Hatchet, referred to Desi set Caine’s back teeth to grinding. And it wasn’t because of the nasal twang to her voice or the highfalutin way she pronounced her words. It was her absolute belief that because she had a husband to shield her that she was better than other women who’d run up against the hard truth of this land. Specifically, Desi.

“Lady, what I expect is silence and obedience.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the open range beyond their sheltered spot. “In case it’s escaped your notice, we’re in the middle of Indian country. Those gunshots are going to attract every Comanche out there, so what I expect is for you to use the next few minutes getting ready to ride, because as soon as we gather what we can off those bodies, we’re lighting out.”

“You’re robbing the dead?”

If a man had made such an accusation, he’d have punched him in the mouth for both the insult and the stupidity behind it. But the insult came from a woman, which tied his hands. “I’m taking what we need to survive.”

Caine spun on his heel. Son of a bitch, he was never taking a wife if he had to put up with crap like that on a daily basis. He expected to see Desi waiting for him with Tracker and Sam. She wasn’t. Sam was at the edge of the trees, checking out the action on a revolver while Tracker was efficiently going over the rest of the possessions looking for anything useful.

“Where’s the woman?”

Sam flicked his used-up smoke into the stream, a genuine grin on his lips. “With the horses.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“Escaping.” Tracker dumped out a saddlebag. “I figure we’ve got about twenty minutes before she sweet-talks that big mustang into opening its mouth for the bit.”

This he had to see. Caine cut through the scrub brush to the horses. Evidence of Desi’s attempts was everywhere. A bridle dangled from a horse already tacked out in a nose band. A saddle lurched off the side of a hardy paint mustang with the conformation of a runner. He stepped up to the brown-and-white paint, patting the deeply muscled chest that said he could go for miles without foundering. He ran his hand down its spine, murmuring soothingly as it fussed and gathered his scent, studying the tracks in the muddy ground as he righted the saddle.

Bare footprints littered the mud in mute testament to Desi’s frustration. Sure as shit, she didn’t know anything about tack, but that hadn’t lessened her determination. The tracks spun in a circle, deepened as she’d put her weight squarely on both heels, and then took off in a straight line. The depth and distance between the prints indicated she’d been in a hurry.

Caine looked up the rise. He flipped the paint’s stirrup onto the saddle, kneed him gently to warn him to cut the crap when he sucked in wind and tightened the cinch when he blew out. With an easy leap he was in the saddle, a smile on his lips as he studied those tracks. Damn, if she hadn’t had the guts to light out on foot.

He spun the paint around and urged him up the rise. The outlaws might have been stupid, but they’d known good horseflesh. The paint responded as if he hadn’t just finished a hard ride, driving fast up the hill, eager to run, dancing in a circle when Caine pulled him up at the top.

It wasn’t hard to find Desi in the scraggly sea of winter dead brush. The bright sun shone off her blond hair like a brilliant white-gold beacon. He shook his head. She was heading due west, straight into Indian country. Caine gave the paint its head, smiling as the horse plunged down the rise. A man just had to admire the amount of gumption that drove a woman to take control of her future despite the odds or a poor sense of direction.

He was about forty feet behind Desi before she looked back. He had an impression of big blue eyes in a white face and a startled expression before she took off, bare feet flying across the ground, hair streaming behind her. Caine leaned over the cow pony’s neck. The animal surged forward. Human or cattle, it didn’t matter to the horse. He knew his job. Chase, catch and maintain. He did it well, dispelling the myth that paints made poor cow ponies.

The paint caught up with Desi in less than a minute. Caine reached down, snagging the back of the too-big coat, lifting her up. If her first screech didn’t draw every Indian and bandit for twenty miles, the second surely would. It was all he could do to lift her onto the saddle as she struggled. Damn, who knew one small woman could hold so much wiggle?

“Hold still, damn it!”

If anything, she struggled harder. “Let me go!”

“No.” He gave her a shake. “Settle down.”

She braced her foot on his, lightening his load. Her arm wrapped around his, her fingers tangling in the excess folds of his coat, slipping off his shirtsleeve before grabbing desperately at his wrist.

“I’m not going back!”

“Well, you’re sure as shit not heading out on your own.”

“Watch me!”

She wrenched to the left and to the right. The pony danced beneath them as the coat flapped against his sides. A hard shove and she almost succeeded in unseating him. One minute he had more woman than he could contain and the next he held an empty coat. Caine swore, dropped the coat and leaned back. The pony sat on its haunches, slid ten feet and spun, lunging anew after Desi, who ran ahead, her fair skin glowing in the sunlight, looking like one of those golden nymphs he’d seen paintings of in that fancy whorehouse up Chicago way.

The woman’s determination was no match for the paint’s speed. In about three heartbeats, he was running beside her, adjusting his stride to match her panicked darts, crowding her to where Caine wanted her to go. Over the thunder of the pony’s hooves, Caine could hear her labored breathing, her desperate sobs. Damn it! Why was she making this so hard?

He leapt off the pony’s back and hit the ground running, catching her around the waist as he spun, cushioning her against his chest as he took the brunt of the fall on his back. He crossed his arms over her torso, keeping free of her teeth, trapping her feet with his legs, letting her exhaust herself with her struggles until she was tired enough to find reason.

It took about four minutes for her to figure out she wasn’t going anywhere. When she did, her body just collapsed against his, her skull thunking on his collarbone one last time, her hips settling into the cradle of his groin, her buttocks cushioning the hard length of his cock. Not by a twitch of an eyelash did she let on that she knew what was poking at her down there. She simply turned her face west and stared as her labored breathing pushed her ribs against his.

“You ’bout ready to see reason?”

“I’m not going back.”

Her body was about played out, but her stubbornness sure wasn’t. “Why not?”

She crossed one arm over her breasts. “I’ll die there.”

Her body shook with shivers. He slid her off to the side, keeping her anchored with one arm as he sat up. “That’s a mighty serious accusation.”

“It’s the truth.”

He stood, grabbing his hat before pulling her up with him, admiring the way her breasts swelled over the ridge of her arm. Her hand slipped, treating him to a glimpse of one hard-tipped peak. She was a pretty little thing, all pink and white with a nipped-in waist and rosebud nipples. His cock, hard and aching from the chase, pulsed in response to the inadvertent display. “Tell me why.”

The order flowed over Desi’s calm, digging down into her determination, undermining the confidence she’d cultivated. What would be the point? The truth would only ensure he sent her back. She glanced around his arm to the long stretch of prairie, followed the flight of a bird as it swooped down over the grass, gliding on the wind. Free. For one heartbeat she’d been like that, the future she’d wanted for herself there, just over the horizon. The bird disappeared into the haze, the spread of its wings blending into the rise of the hills. No matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t follow it.

She took a step toward the horizon, wanting more than anything to vanish with it, far away from here. From the hell her life had become. Pressure in her arm drew her gaze down. Caine still held her. His fingers were suntanned and rough, looking very dark against the white skin of her upper arm. Smudges of dirt marred the sides, but, overall, they were surprisingly clean. The nails were pared short.

They were the hands of a hardworking man, bearing the scars and nicks of his life. Her gaze dipped down to the knife in his gun belt and then back up to those scars. A hardworking man and maybe a killer. Everyone knew Rangers were one short step up from the men they hunted—which could be her second piece of luck. If she couldn’t count on his honor to gain her freedom, maybe he had a disreputable side she could exploit.

She tugged at her arm. Wind whipped her hair over her face, blocking her vision, but she didn’t need to see the shake of his head to know his answer to her silent request. The tightening of his fingers said it all. The shifting of his stance reminded her he was still waiting on an answer. She’d definitely give him one, but not the one he wanted. Not the truth. That would cost her too much.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Desi raised her arms so her breasts were showcased, grabbing the heavy mass into a ponytail, relaxing her stance and expression to one she hoped looked welcoming. Flirtatious was going to take some working up to. “I’m looking to move on.”

She bet he was a hell of a Ranger. He wasn’t doing anything more than staring at her, and she could feel the need to confess welling.

“There isn’t much west except Indian country.”

She shrugged, letting her body relax against his. The hilt of his knife dug into her side. The pain blended with the agony in her soul. The muscled planes of his body were an unyielding wall of power, the ridge of his cock comfortingly familiar in the face of so much intimidating strength, and for once she was glad of the experience she’d acquired in the last year. There was nothing more pliable than a man with rutting on his mind. She tilted her head back, letting her hair slide over her shoulders, knowing how the thick, silky length intrigued men, ignoring the cold and the agony of her torn feet as she stepped into his embrace. What was one more scream among the soundless ones she’d already uttered? She kept everything but soft invitation out of her tone as she pointed out, “And California.”

His eyes narrowed, but his arm came around her, his hand spreading on her spine, taking her weight. “You’ve got gold fever?”

He made it sound like a bad case of ague. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want to be rich.”

“You’d do better to find a husband.”

She was never going to be dependent on a man’s whims again. She shoved the anger down, hoping that flicker of his eyelids didn’t mean he’d spotted it. Right now she wanted him concentrating on sex and what he’d have to agree to do to get it. She shrugged, rubbing her breasts up and down his chest with the gesture, smiling internally as his cock leapt against her in response and added a bit more husk to her voice. “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.”

His other hand joined the first on her back. The warmth of his body encouraged her closer more persuasively than the press of his fingertips. “Money won’t keep a woman safe.”

“Now there, I disagree.” She opened her hand, holding his gaze as she placed her palm to the right of his shirt placket, running her tongue over her lips as her fingers teased between the buttons, catching on the tight curls covering the swell of hard muscle. “With enough money, a woman can buy all the protection she requires.”

That twitch of his eyebrows could have been amusement or disbelief. “You’re planning on buying a man?”

“I prefer to think of it as—” she flipped the button open and slid her hand all the way inside, her palm shaping naturally to the curve of his pectoral as she tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows suggestively “—renting his skills.”

“Skills?”

The quickened beat of his heart belied the flat neutrality of his question. He wanted her. The truth was in the hard gleam of his eyes and the sharp jerk of his cock. She lowered her lashes the way she’d been taught, letting her lips relax into a seductive pout, working a few more buttons open. “A woman often has needs only a man can fulfill.”

His hand dipped to the hollow of her spine while the other curled under her chin, bringing her gaze dead center to his. “And you intend to buy them as you need them?”

She nodded as she tugged his shirt free of his denims, reaching around him to work it loose at the back, using her eyes and expression to enhance the suggestion in her words. “I find it a more productive method.”

“And we’re in negotiations now?” His grip shifted off her chin, sliding across her neck, the rough calluses of his fingertips sending shivers of sensation blending into the shivers of cold as the wind blew. He didn’t stop until his hand cupped her skull. She gave him responsibility for supporting her as she cuddled into his heat. He took it easily, confirming her belief that he was a man used to being in control. She’d have to play this very carefully.

“Oh, definitely.”

The lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepened with amusement. “Sweetheart, I can see from here you don’t have any money.”

That hint of a smile took his face from harsh to sexy, sliding beneath her armor to find the woman she’d once been. The woman who’d believed in happily ever after. The woman who would have been instantly drawn to that mix of power and humor. The woman who would have given him the flick of her fan that would have encouraged him to come call. The woman she’d thought long dead and buried. The woman who thought all there was to seducing a man was a bat of an eyelash and a coquettish smile. That woman had learned a lot.

“But I do believe I have something you need.” Desi dropped one hand from Caine’s chest to his groin, following the bulge down his thigh, blinking when her hand traveled a lot farther than she’d anticipated before finding the fat head through the tight cotton. She gave it a squeeze, fascinated as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. She’d never deliberately set out to seduce a man before. The thrill of power took her by surprise. “And I’ll trade it for what I want.”

“Which is?”

Confidence bubbled at the tension in his drawl. “Out of Los Santos.”

“Take off my shirt.”

The order landed wrong. She was the one in charge. “In a minute.”

His hand came back around her head, more imperative than seductive. “That wasn’t a request.”

As if she didn’t recognize an order when she heard one. Desi rubbed her palm lightly over the spongy head of Caine’s shaft, looking for and finding that response again in the shift of his hips and the rapid beat of his pulse. She was used to men who grabbed, crushed and thrust at the first hint of desire. Caine’s restraint was…fascinating. “I’m aware of that, but I want to play a bit first.”

“You can play as soon as you get warm.”

That pulled her up short. He wanted her comfortable? He hadn’t finished the sentence before he was shrugging out of his shirt, taking his support away as he removed his arms from the sleeves. She just stared at him as she pointed out the truth. “But you’ll be cold.”

He lifted his eyebrow at her as if she’d said something totally ludicrous. His “I’ve been cold before” wrapped around her along with the shirt, enfolding her in the soft, warm wool and the knowledge that he was worried about her comfort. He was a very strange man.

She caught the edges before it could slip from her shoulders. She took a cautious breath. Threading through the faint smell of sweat and horse came that uniquely intriguing scent she associated only with him. Beneath her determination, the girl she’d used to be struggled for attention.

She squashed her flat. She couldn’t afford to kill off this opportunity with idealistic moments. Caine was a man, and she was a woman. What was going on here was a bargain as old as time. Just because she wasn’t hating it didn’t change anything.

Her knees bent with the security she found in this up-front, honest negotiation. “Then I guess it will be up to me to warm you up.”

On the way down, she couldn’t help but admire his form. She’d never seen a naked man on this side of forty, and Caine was a very well-made man. The bulge of his pectorals curved to the broad ridges of his abdominal muscles. His shirt hem brushed her calves, sending a shiver of unfamiliar sensation up her spine as she followed that thin valley between his stomach muscles with her lips counting the hills on either side as she went. One, two, three. The well of his navel tempted her tongue to linger, and flick. The inhalation of his breath proved an incentive to tease.

The gap that spread between the waistband of his pants and his flesh became an invite to explore. She caught the faint line of hair that started below, trapping a strand in her teeth, tugging it instinctively, smiling when he sucked in a harsh breath. He wasn’t so different after all.

Caine’s hand cupped her skull, once again applying that subtle direction she was coming to expect. She opened her mouth, pressing a hot kiss to the hard flesh of his abdomen, tracing a scar with her tongue until the smooth center ended just to the left of his navel in a rough pucker of healed flesh.

Thumbs under her chin pressed back, putting an inch between her mouth and his stomach, but never surrendering control, holding her in place for his pleasure. “Unbutton my pants.”

She reached for the gun belt, flicking her tongue over her lips as she did, feeling his gaze as intently as a touch, the ache in her nipples a foreign, distracting sensation she pushed aside. “Leave the guns,” he said, surprising her. She glanced up. He was staring at her with eyes gone dark with passion and something else she couldn’t define. “They might come in handy.”

She didn’t know whether to be comforted or dismayed he was still so aware of their location and the risk.

It was harder to get his pants undone with the heavy weight of the guns dragging on the belt, but he didn’t fuss or swear, just waited patiently, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as she wrestled with the task. Around them the grass rustled with the passing breeze and birds chirped in a soothing melody she clung to, not understanding nor trusting the undercurrents that made this time feel so different.

She finally got the top two buttons undone. The next three relinquished the battle with an eagerness that reflected the increase in Caine’s respiration, the only indication beyond his engorged cock she had that he was aroused. His stoicism annoyed her on some deeply feminine level she didn’t begin to understand.

His hands left her cheeks just long enough to lower his pants the inches she needed to free his cock. And they definitely needed to lower. The thick shaft was too hard and too long just to pull out. A minute of expectant silence surrounded them as inch after inch appeared until finally, the broad head fell into her hand, swollen with passion, rigid with need, too heavy to stand upright. Dear God, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make him fit. She gave him a tentative squeeze, running her tongue over her lip.

His hand dropped to her shoulder while the other curved under her jaw, steadying her through the awkward moment.

“Hungry, baby?”

She shook her head on an instinctive “no.”

His weight shifted and the whole atmosphere of the moment shifted right along with it. Desi’s sense of power blinked out as if it’d never existed, and she was, once again, just a pathetically weak woman on her knees before a man who held all the cards.

“That’s what I thought.” The hand under her chin turned her face up to his, and she knew what that something else was she’d seen in his gaze. Pity. Her nails dug into Caine’s thighs as he said, “Seems to me a woman must be pretty damned desperate to be willing to freeze her ass off bargaining with a stranger this way.”

She closed her eyes as emotion washed over her in a sick wave. She didn’t know what was stronger, despair or horror, just that both were potent contributors to the humiliation that had a stranglehold on her voice. “Maybe I’m just a natural born whore.”

The statement she wanted to sound cold and matter-of-fact came out high and strained. Caine cocked his head to the side. His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth. “It’s been my experience there’s no such thing. Just women who’ve run out of options.”

The downward tug on her arm was order enough. He didn’t need to add the “Stay put.”

He made himself decent with that efficiency of motion she was beginning to associate with him. His hand came back under her chin. She followed the silent direction. She had the sense he saw in her eyes everything she tried to hide—the pain, the despair, the stupid endless hope.

“Tell me why.”

She couldn’t. He wouldn’t believe her and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to help. He would be honor bound to uphold the law once he knew the truth. “You don’t need to know why.”

If his frown was any indication, he wasn’t used to being denied.

“I’m a Texas Ranger. If you need help, I’m here to provide it.”

She looked past him to the horizon. “We’ve already settled what I need.”

“Indian country is no place for a woman.”

But it was the only chance she had. She licked her lips. “You promised you’d let me go.”

“No. I promised I’d get you out of Los Santos.”

“But it was a trick.” Acceptance flowed from her in a shuddering sigh. Just another trick.

Caine didn’t hide from the truth. “Yes.”

He’d needed to know what he was walking into. Desi’s desperation combined with the padre’s told him all he needed to know. The woman needed help. Badly. “But it’s leading to a promise.”

“What kind of promise?”

There was no challenge in the question, no hellfire and brimstone defiance, just more of that damn hopeless acceptance. The merciless sunlight reflected off the moisture gathering in her eyes, tears he knew she’d rather die than have him see…Ah, hell. There was no going back for either of them.

He rubbed his thumb across her lips. “A Hell’s Eight promise. One you can believe in. From here on out, Desi, you’ve no need to run. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She shook her head, her big blue eyes begging his. “Just let me go.”

“No.” Sending her off into Indian country with no protection would be tantamount to murder. Caine helped Desi to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. He jerked his chin to the west. “Whatever you’re running from, it’s not worse than what you’ll find out there.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know you belong with people who care for you.”

“My people are dead.”

“Your guardian, then.”

Her upper lip curled in a sneer. “No, thank you.”

He made a note of her disgust as he dragged her along behind him toward the paint. The uneven tugging of his hand had him looking back. She was limping. He stopped. “Let me see your feet.”

She didn’t hesitate, merely lifted her left foot with an obedience that was oddly disturbing. He took it in his hand, the high arch and fine bones making him want to hold her safe. The state of the sole made him wince.

“Show me the other.”

With that same obedience she lifted the other. Shit. They were both bruised and scraped but the right one was torn to shreds. Guilt roughed his temper. She’d been hurting and he’d let her play sex games. Not that he’d meant for things to go that far. He’d just been measuring the extent of her desperation when something else had risen between them. Something he’d never felt before. Something hot, dark and possessive. As a result, he’d acted as he never had. That fact wasn’t sitting any better with him than the fact that she’d been hurt in the first place. He pressed lightly to the side of the deeper cut. Fresh blood welled. He met her gaze. “You should have said something.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t like the resigned tone of her voice any more than he liked that disturbing obedience. Desi was a woman of fire, not calm. “It matters to me.”

He dropped the reins and put his hands on her waist. His thumb and fingers met above her hips. The edges of her ribs cut into the sides of his palms as he lifted her onto the horse. Whoever had care of her wasn’t doing their job. She was too thin.

As soon as her cute butt hit the saddle, she was kicking away at the horse’s sides, trying to set the pony into a run. The paint snorted and tossed his head but didn’t bolt. Caine picked his reins off the ground, patting the horse’s neck as he danced under the conflicting messages.

“He’s trained to stay put when the reins hit the dirt.”

That just might have been a curse Desi uttered under her breath. It annoyed him that she just didn’t let go with that temper. A woman like her shouldn’t be hiding her light or trying to be less than she was. She should be shining brightly, letting that fire lead the way, burning any man lucky enough to be in her path with all that tempting passion.

He clucked his tongue, leading the pony to where they’d dropped the coat. Desi hunched in the saddle, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression sullen. The wind bit into his skin but not as much as the nagging suspicion tore at his peace that he was missing something important. He grabbed up the heavy coat and held it up to Desi.

“I’ll trade you the coat for my shirt.”

“You’re getting the worse of the deal.”

“Maybe, but it’s the one I’m proposing.”

She took the coat and held it against her chest, glaring at him as if he hadn’t already seen all there was to be seen. “Turn around.”

Caine sighed and gave her his back. First cloth rustled and then leather rasped against the saddle as she donned the coat.

The wind blew across the grass in a play of light, as he ran the facts as he knew them through his mind. She was a young woman without family. Attractive, headstrong and a touch wild. The other women hated her, claiming she wasn’t fit company. There was only one thing that got good women’s tails in a twist like that. The saddle creaked. The pony snorted and then, silence. He turned. Desi was bundled to her neck in the coat, which looked like it could about wrap around her twice. His shirt lay across the saddle. He grabbed it and shrugged it on. As he buttoned the front he said, “The women back there don’t like you much.”

Her gaze focused on a point past his shoulder. “No.”

“You give them cause?”

“No.”

“Are you the whore they say you are?”

The coat rustled as she jerked and cut him a glare. “I just attempted to…pleasure you with my mouth in a field. What do you think?”

“I think you’re not the first woman left with only her body to barter. This country’s hard on women.”

“Not all women.”

“No, but it chews up and spits out those without a man.”

Her jaw muscles flexed. Her mouth worked. He patted her thigh. “Something you don’t have to worry about anymore.”

He stepped to the side, facing the paint. “Scoot up.”

“What?”

He moved her hands to the pommel on either side of the horn. “Lever yourself up there.”

Eyeing him with a clear suspicion that said he was up to no good, she supported her weight on her arms. In a smooth swing he was behind her, taking advantage of the distraction of the horse’s dance to hook his arm around her waist, lifting her up as he swung into the saddle before settling her down onto his lap. She grabbed his hand as he gathered the reins, her short nails pressing against his skin as if she couldn’t decide whether to claw or cling. Caine kneed the paint into motion, taking the decision off her hands.

A trot was never the most comfortable of gaits and the hardest for an inexperienced rider to adjust to. After about the third bone-jarring clop, Desi was bouncing like a sack of grain. He tucked her back against his chest. “Relax into me.”

The glance she shot him over her shoulder clearly showed she wondered what good that would do, but she did, and followed the coaxing of his hand to curve her spine into his chest. He nudged the paint into a canter. He didn’t think she breathed the whole way across the meadow. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he murmured in her ear, “I don’t bite.”

Desi jumped as if he just had. Then her spine pulled taut and that chin tilted up. “Would it make a difference if you did?”

The full-out attack knocked a smile loose. He did like a woman who didn’t duck, hide or play shy. “I’m willing to try it if you are.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath. She smelled of sweat, fear and that tantalizing touch of lavender. “Because you’ve got grit and fire and are about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me, but I promise you, I’ll keep you safe, and you don’t have to bargain with anything to make it happen.”

“You promised me out of Los Santos.”

“Don’t worry, I keep my promises.”

Her grunt let him know how little stock she put in that.

The pony stumbled. She lurched to the side and he yanked her back. The coat splayed open, giving him a clear view down between the plump inner curves of her breasts to the small indentation of her navel and the temptation below. He brought his hand up. She stiffened and grabbed his wrist. He let her cling while he closed the gap. They came into sight of the others while he was tucking in the lapels.

The dramatic gasps of the women drew a disgusted glance from Tracker who was repacking the saddlebags. Clearly, the three thought he’d been in the bushes making time with Desi rather than chasing her over every bump in the ground. The fact that they wouldn’t be far wrong stung his pride. Sam looked up from where he was covering the bodies with blankets and debris. The makeshift covering would hide them long enough for them to get clear of the area. More than that they didn’t need. Everyone knew where Hell’s Eight land began and ended. And if they didn’t, he and the men wouldn’t waste time making the knowledge public.

A mutter of whore drifted in on the breeze. Said in a feminine voice and laced with disgust, it hit Desi with the force of a blow. If Caine hadn’t been holding her, she would have doubled over. Hot color rose to flood her neck and cheeks until it finally engulfed her entire face.

If they were in a bedroom and she was dropping her clothing piece by piece, he’d probably find that blush damn charming, but here in the open, with the inspiration being the censure of three women he didn’t give two shits about, well, it didn’t sit well. “Sam, you got any of that salve left?”

“In the saddlebag.”

He slid off the horse, keeping his hand on Desi’s thigh. Even through the coat the firm curve tempted him to slide his hand down the six inches necessary to touch bare skin. She had very soft skin. “Bring it over along with some water, would you?”

“Coming right up.”

Murmurs from the women sidled across the distance. “Disgusting.” Followed by, “Even in front of decent women, he can’t keep his hands off her.” With every word, the muscles beneath Caine’s hand tightened. The paint grunted a protest as Desi squeezed those thighs in reaction to the insults. He looked up, expecting to find that chin set proudly. Instead, it was lodged somewhere down between her collarbone.

Shit. “Want me to cut their tongues out and leave ’em as buzzard bait along with the rest of the refuse?”

He had to wait a second but then her eyes met his. They were packed with a whole lot of anger and maybe just a touch of humor.

“I think that would just make the buzzards sick.”

Yup. Definitely a sense of humor. Fire, grit and humor, all wrapped up in a pretty-as-a-picture package. And he’d woken up this morning thinking it was a day like any other. Just goes to show how far off a man could be in his estimations.

“Now, I definitely think you have the right of that, ma’am.” Sam strolled up with that easy way he had, that smile that women fawned over on his too-handsome face and real warmth in his normally cold eyes. In his hands he had a poncho and the salve. Desi’s response was a minimal twitch of her lips, but that she responded at all nicked Caine on his tender side.

Caine angled in, cutting off Sam’s approach. Unlike Tracker, who’d accepted his claim with little more than a flick of an eyebrow, Sam stiffened. That was the thing about Sam and what had earned him the nickname “Wild Card.” There was no telling which way the man would jump, just a damn certainty that when the bullets cleared, he’d be standing on whatever side he’d decided was right. Sam tossed him a poncho.

Caine held out his hand for the salve and canteen. Sam hesitated another second, his gaze meeting Caine’s in a clear challenge. They’d known each other since they were ten, survived hell together, saved each other’s asses more than once, been the only thing either could depend on for the last fifteen years, but in that moment Caine knew the truth. He’d fight Sam for Desi. And he’d take the battle however far he had to in order to guard his claim. Hell of a thing for a man to realize in the middle of nowhere.

Sam held his gaze for a couple more seconds. Though he wasn’t pushing it now, the message was clear. He had every intention of being competition. Damn!

Sam tossed Caine the salve before turning to Desi with a smile and a nod of his head.

“Sam MacGregor.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t let those biddies get under your skin, ma’am. There’s no one here who gives their opinions any weight.”

Desi took a slow breath as the handsome man made his interest known, concentrating on making that one breath perfectly even in a desperate attempt to avoid bolting. She didn’t want him to want her. Frigid water pouring over her foot ruined her concentration. She took another breath and tried again as Caine cleaned the area with the faded red handkerchief he’d removed from his neck. Through it all, the blond man watched her, studying her reaction.

Big as the other two, he was the handsomest of the lot, but that cold air of lethal efficiency he wore like most people wore a smile was scary. A woman would have no say in his bed. Metal popped against metal as Caine opened the tin of salve. Much as she was trying to avoid looking at either man, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at Caine when he pulled her foot away from the horse’s side.

If the other two men scared her, Caine terrified her to her bones. Danger lurked around him in an invisible shimmer, so much a part of his presence, she didn’t even think he realized it. She knew he could kill as easily as he changed his socks, and she knew he wouldn’t worry overly much about it when he was done. Survival was a matter of course to him. He was a lot like the land that way—rugged, deadly and uncompromising. Those who understood that and respected it would survive. Those who didn’t, would die.

She watched as he threw another silent challenge at Sam and held her breath through the outcome. Oh, God, there wasn’t a thing to stop them from taking what they wanted except maybe the presence and disapproval of Mavis and her friends. As a shield it was an extremely flimsy one and once they got to town even that would disappear.

She realized Sam was still looking at her, waiting on an answer, a slight frown putting a crease between his startling, slate-blue eyes. She blinked slowly, struggling for some sort of neutral response that wouldn’t increase his interest. The only thing that came to mind was “Thank you.”

She dug her nails into the leather pommel as he continued to study her. If these three succeeded in getting her back to town, the situation would only get worse. She knew what James would do. He was too smart to cross men like these. He’d give them whatever they wanted with a smile and an eye to survival.

She locked her gaze over Caine’s left shoulder, focusing on the winter-killed grass at the edge of the frigid stream. No matter what, she couldn’t let them get her back to town.

Sam was still looking at her. She could feel his gaze like a touch. She didn’t know what he was looking for or what he expected, but she sincerely hoped he gave up looking for it soon, otherwise she was going to break and the whirlwind of emotion twisting inside would rip free. If that happened, she didn’t know how she’d ever get it back under control.

The salve stung as Caine worked it into her cuts, giving her something else to focus on. She winced, and Caine paused.

“I’m being as gentle as I can.” The apology in the flatly worded statement brought her gaze down. Caine’s attention was on her foot. Despite the fact that her bare leg was inches from his face and she could see the bulge of his manhood where his chaps hugged his hips, there was nothing lecherous in his touch. Only caretaking with a hint of…tenderness? The sheer absurdity of the notion brought her up short. That soft part of her was once again chasing rainbows. Men like this weren’t tender, and even if they were, it wasn’t the kind of emotion they wasted on women like her.

Sam turned to Caine. “Beyond the horses and a couple decent guns, there wasn’t much worth saving off that bunch.”

Caine didn’t look up from his treatment of her foot. “Not a shock there.”

“One of the horses is wind broke.”

Even Desi knew what that meant. Her brother had once, in ignorance, bought a horse with that condition, ridden so hard and cared for so poorly that he couldn’t exert himself without fighting for breath. Her father had had one of the guides put it out of its misery. There was no mercy for the weak in this territory.

“Damn. Which one?”

“The sorrel. It’s a shame, too. He’s got a nice gait on him and a real pleasant how-de-do.”

Caine patted her thigh almost absentmindedly and ducked under the paint’s neck before taking her other foot into that inexorable grip and dousing it with more of the icy water. “You like him.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact. Sam shrugged. “Just hate to see good horseflesh abused.”

Caine ran his finger down the center of her right foot in an ethereal caress, sending strange tingles upward and outward. She couldn’t help her shiver. She didn’t know if the quirk of his lips was for her reaction or Sam’s.

“I don’t suppose it would hurt to bring him along. As long as we don’t run into trouble, he should be fine.”

Sam nodded. “That was my thought.” He jerked his head in the direction of the other women. “Suppose I’d better go help Tracker get that lot saddled up.”

He sounded like he’d rather be nibbled to death by ducks. Not the reaction Mavis and her friends were used to getting from men.

“Better you than me.”

Desi looked down as Caine probed the edges of the deep cut near her arch. “You’re not going to put the horse down?”

She couldn’t see his face for the brim of his hat, but his attention was clearly more on her foot than her words. “Not without need.”

She would have thought the fact the horse couldn’t pull his weight constituted need. Fleeting pressure on her ankle was her only warning before he worked the ointment into the wound. It hurt nearly as much as getting the injury in the first place. Her exclamation was involuntary. His response disconcerting.

“Easy, baby.” The stroke of his hand on her calf was both soothing and absurdly comforting. She yanked back, but she couldn’t break his hold. Caine’s palm curved around her calf. He massaged her leg while standing so close the heat from his body warmed her cold skin. The pain eased.

At her terse “Thank you,” he touched her tightly curled toes in a way she could only describe as tender. Except this was not a tender man. She relaxed her foot, watching him carefully. Her reward was another squeeze of her calf and the resettling of her leg against the horse’s side. He was defintely a confusing one, though.

Caine tugged the reins over the horse’s head and dropped them to the ground, his mouth creasing at the corners with the hint of amusement as he ordered, “Stay put.”

And also an irritating one, she decided. Even if she leaned forward the reins were out of her reach, which meant she had no choice but to stay where he’d put her. Caine headed toward the area where the rest of the group waited, mounted. Each step was infused with that combination of strength, grace and confidence that once would have filled her with interest. He stopped at the side of an all-black horse, with white hindquarters covered with black spots, and opened the saddlebags. The horse snaked its head around, teeth showing. With an ease that spoke of long practice, he smacked it across the nose while pulling something free of the bag. Not brutally, but more in the way of a warning. As he tied the bag shut, the horse gathered its haunches as if to kick. Another light slap, this time on its hindquarters and the horse settled down. With a comment to the women who were waiting in various degrees of comfort on their horses, and a pat to the black horse’s shoulder as if what had passed between them were some sort of game, Caine headed back, tucking something into his back pocket before taking whatever he’d grabbed from under his arm.

When he got close enough, he held up a brown wad of material lying on top of a pile of leather. “Thought you might like these.”

The first “these” were woolen socks, the second, high-topped moccasins.

“They’ll be too big.”

He shrugged and tucked the moccasins under his arm. “They’ll do the job until you get your own clothes.”

“I don’t have any.” The confession slipped out before she could catch it, snapping his gaze to hers. She quickly waved to the items in his hands. “Moccasins, I mean.”

“Uh-huh.” He cupped her foot in his hands, warming it between his palms a second before bending to blow. His breath was hot and moist, scalding in comparison to the chill she felt to her bone. Before she could come up with a suitable protest, he worked the sock over her foot. As soon as he came around to the other side, she tucked her foot back against the horse’s withers.

“I can do it myself.”

“Not without risking falling off that horse, and I’d say at this point you have enough bruises.”

As if that settled that, he hooked his fingers around her ankle and drew her foot forward. She suffered through another warming before he slid the sock on. He tipped his hat back when he was done. “Admit it, that feels better.”

Even though she didn’t like the proprietary way he handled her body, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to have her flesh covered. She hated to be cold. “Yes, it does.”

He slid the moccasin on, tying the fringed top above her knee, his touch impersonal again. “Good.”

He went back around the other side, moccasin at the ready. She experimented with bending her right leg. She couldn’t straighten it all the way. She tried to flex it again as he slipped the other moccasin on. “I can’t walk in these.”

He tied the second moccasin with the same impersonal efficiency as he had the first. “But you can ride, which is more important.”

“What if we need to run?”

“If it comes to a footrace, we’re both dead.”

He pulled worn leather gloves from his back pocket. With a curl of his fingers, he ordered her to hold out her hands. She did cautiously, not liking the emotion flirting with the perimeter of his stern features. He slipped the gloves on her hands and then, before she could pull back, looped a long piece of rawhide around both her wrists, flipping the string between before she could protest. When he put her bound hands on the saddle horn, there was no mistaking the emotion tugging at his mouth. Amusement.

He tipped his battered brown hat and grabbed up the reins, leading the paint toward the black-spotted horse. “Just in case you were thinking of running from me.”