The trail she had followed for eighteen months just got hot, but Ty Kincaid was in her way.
Hands damp, heart thudding with anticipation and fear, Dixie came to with a start. Kincaid’s voice held an edge as if his time of reasoning were at an end. She didn’t know when he had released his hold on her wrist. Her need for revenge was overpowering all else, but she owed Kincaid for coming to help her when no one else had.
The choice churned through her. With the shuffle of feet indicating that men were backing away, leaving a clear path between Kincaid and the kid, Dixie knew she had to make her decision fast.
Rain suddenly drummed loudly on the tin roof. She lost sight of her quarry in the crowd. She couldn’t lose him now! She just couldn’t!
“Stop all the jawin’, Kincaid,” the kid yelled. High-pitched and tense, his taunts rose above the downpour. “You yella? Takin’ you is gonna make me. Draw, Kincaid. You’re gonna die.”
Dixie saw the boy draw. She watched his gun clear the leather holster, and still Kincaid did not move. The boy’s eyes held the feral gleam of a hunter, then fear replaced it. She couldn’t see Kincaid’s face. She was watching the kid so intently that when the shot rang out, it took her a few moments to understand that it was the boy’s gun that fell with a thud, that his was the hand that bled, not Kincaid’s.
“You bastard! You ruined me!”
“Maybe,” Ty answered, then added, “And maybe I just saved your life.”
“Who the hell—”
Dixie fired twice over the boy’s yelling, her shots deafening, her move to stand back-to-back with Kincaid done without thought.
Gripping her saddlebags with one hand, she held her gun before her and moved as Kincaid did, half circling their way toward the door. Her ears rang with both the echoing sounds of the shots and the pounding rain, but her gaze remained steady and focused on the miners, alert for any sudden moves. The mood was ugly. The tension in the room was as thick as a good steak waiting to be cut.
Dixie faced the bar once more, sensing even before Kincaid took the next step, that he would shift his body so that she could clear the door.
But she needed to see once more the man she had hunted, the man who had killed her father and stolen everything of value to her. There had been times in the months past when she doubted he was real.
Her hesitation made her stumble. She looked up in time to see the gleam of a knife blade raised for throwing, just as her gaze settled on her target. The man didn’t show a sign of recognizing her. Why should he? She was not the same innocent who couldn’t pick up a gun and shoot him when she had the chance. But he wasn’t the one holding the knife. It was the other man who had come in with him who held the blade, waiting for Kincaid to turn.
“No!”
Chapter Two
Dixie didn’t realize that the screamed warning was hers. This time she was not helpless. She didn’t have to watch another man die. She raised her gun just as Kincaid turned.
The knife found its mark. Kincaid’s sudden grunt, the slight rocking motion of his body against hers told her she was right. She felt the impact as if her own flesh had been pierced by that wicked-looking blade. Kincaid was hurt. No longer a threat. The growls of the men closest to them confirmed it. She couldn’t even look to see where he had taken the knife. She couldn’t take her eyes from the men starting to move toward them.
She fired into the floor, sending dust and splinters flying to keep them back.
“Go! Damn it, move!” Ty yelled.
She found herself shoved through the doorway, instantly soaked by the pelting rain. The wind rose, tearing off her battered felt hat. There was no time to run after it. Ty pushed her toward the four horses hitched by the rail. He wasn’t giving her a choice. She had to run with him.
She moved as he did, ripping the reins free, slinging her saddlebags over leather, barely able to mount the prancing horse. The stirrups were too long for her. Dixie squeezed her legs tight and angled her boots beneath the horse’s belly, using the reins as a whip. She had no idea how Kincaid was able to ride, and the slashing rain and darkness made visibility nearly impossible.
Chilled to the bone, she rode out into the night with a man she didn’t know, hunted as she had once hunted. She had little control over her mount for, like her, the horse blindly followed the one that Kincaid rode.
With the cold rain came a numbness, but her thoughts could not be stilled. She had come within seconds of shooting her father’s murderer. And she had passed up her chance in order to protect Kincaid’s life. She couldn’t stop herself from reliving those minutes back in the miners’ saloon, the minutes when she could have ended this quest for revenge. Now she ran from being called a card cheat and a horse thief. One was enough to get her hung, two left no doubt about it.
She glanced repeatedly at the shadowy figure riding slightly ahead of her. How was Kincaid managing to stay in the saddle? Everything had happened so fast back at the saloon that Dixie couldn’t recall if he had pulled out the knife. She wasn’t even sure where he had been hit. His wound wanted tending immediately if he wasn’t to bleed to death, but she knew that he wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.
The rain continued its unrelenting beating, stinging her eyes. Useless though the move was, Dixie lifted one hand to wipe her face. There was no point in bemoaning the loss of her hat, for they were riding into the storm, and the hat wouldn’t have kept the rain from adding to the frightening sense of blindness.
She had no idea where Kincaid was heading, or even if he knew where they could find shelter. There was no question that they would be followed. Men didn’t take kindly to having their horses stolen and there was still the matter of the gold she had won from the miners the night before. How had everything turned from bad to worse for her?
They were cresting a small rise, Dixie holding on to both saddle and reins as the horse beneath her struggled for footing in the treacherous mud. Her voice rose to a scream, asking Kincaid where he was heading, but rain and wind tore the words from her and it was too late, for he was already plunging down the slope. Dixie had no choice but to follow.
They were on a flat now, running full out, a pace she didn’t think they or the horses could maintain for long. But it was putting distance between them and the men sure to pursue, so she forced herself to find a reserve of strength to keep up with him.
She had not been able to trust anyone for so long that it came as something of a shock that she was trusting Kincaid with her life.
Ty knew he couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. He had always admired courage, and Dixie had a fair share. She rode with him, never once trying to stop him and ask the hundred questions that must be prowling her mind, and for that he was grateful. Truth to tell, he wasn’t sure what he could answer her.
He rode for the Tonto Buttes, over foothills covered with fine grass, heading for the spring in Mint Valley. They were in Yavapai County as near as he could figure, somewhere northwest of Prescott. The valley took its name from an early settler named McKee who found the spring and the profusion of wild mint that grew close by. McKee was long gone. Indians had forced him to abandon his ranch about ten years before. Ty just hoped the buildings were still standing. He had to get them and the horses into shelter.
The pain in his shoulder didn’t bear thinking about. The chilling slash of the rain had served the purpose of numbing his body to a degree, but he could still feel the warmth of his blood welling up with every bone-jarring step of the hardmouthed mount he had stolen. The horse fought him, and Ty could feel his strength ebbing. What devil had made him get involved with Dixie Rawlins? That too didn’t bear close scrutiny.
Ornery and wild was how his family described him. And he guessed the description fit. He was determined to remain unshackled and look where his path took him. For five years he had been drifting through the territories, returning home on occasion, only to get that restless itch and move on after a few days. Ty couldn’t explain the restlessness to himse
lf, much less anyone else. The only thing he hated about his years of drifting was a reputation as a fast gun.
It was an unwanted title, for he believed that words could bring most men around to his way of thinking better than a bullet. It was a belief instilled in him and his two older brothers by his father.
Damn that kid! Ty could have told him not to take him on, for despite his belief, he always made sure he was the one that walked away.
“Kincaid!” Dixie shouted, crowding her horse up against his. She reached out to keep him upright in the saddle. “We need to find shelter! Do you even know where we’re heading?”
“I know. I always know,” he managed to answer.
The rain slackened as they rode into the mouth of the valley. The grass was boot high and the going slow. Ty felt himself slipping sideways in the saddle, and again, Dixie’s hand was there to steady him. The creek fed from the spring was running full and he could just about make out the rushing sound of the water over the lessening rain. What he couldn’t make out was the darker bulk shape of any buildings left standing.
He knew he was growing weaker and given no choice but to depend upon a woman he didn’t know. There was no help for it.
“Head toward the far slope. There’s a cave back a ways. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a ’Pache stash.”
“Apache?” Dixie repeated, gripping her reins.
Ty didn’t answer her. He scanned the area, angling his horse closer to the boulder-strewn wall of the valley.
“You’ll have to get down and find the opening on foot,” he ordered her. “Can’t see worth a damn.”
Dixie did as he bid, groaning at the idea of her boots hitting solid ground. When she slipped taking the first step, she amended her thought. It was a muddy bottom she forced her way through. Keeping a tight grip on the reins to lead her horse, she had to ignore the bone-deep cold that had her shaking.
If it was bad for her, she thought, how much worse was it for Kincaid with his wound?
Feeling the weight of responsibility that his wound was her fault, Dixie forced herself to keep going. It was difficult to see, so she urged her horse closer to the wall and used one hand against the rock face to find the cave’s opening.
Be there, she prayed silently, please just be there. The horses were blown, they needed shelter and rest as much as she and Kincaid did.
Dixie staggered when her hand slipped on the wet rock face and touched emptiness. She cried out, fighting to regain her balance as her boots slid out from under her. The horse shied, jerking against her hold, and the leather reins stung her bare palm.
She grabbed with both hands to keep the horse from bolting and found herself yanked forward. Her knee came down on a jagged piece of rock and she could no more stop the tears of pain than she could stop the rain.
“Let go!” Ty shouted. “I’ve got the horse.”
She felt his hand cover hers, his voice a soft murmur calming the horse, and realized that she was sprawled belly down on the ground. She didn’t think she could be colder, or wetter, but the rivulets of water running from the rock face proved her wrong.
Dixie heard him urging her to get up. She wanted to. Making her body obey was another matter. Need you. She heard him repeat it several times, and thought how long it had been since someone needed her. She managed to get up on her knees, wincing as pain shot from where the rock had cut her.
Ty kept on urging her to get up. She would never know what it cost him to admit that he needed her help. He never asked anyone’s help. But he could feel himself swaying on his feet and there was no way he would be able to strip the horses of their gear and secure them.
He fired orders at her once she was standing, hurrying her along, swearing under his breath because he couldn’t help her drag the saddles inside the cave. It wasn’t deep, but it would serve to get them out of the rain.
“Tie them tight or we’ll find ourselves afoot,” he snapped.
“Everything’s wet. My fingers are numb with cold and I’m doing the best I can, Kincaid.”
When she crawled in behind him, Dixie realized just how small the cave was. He had stretched out with his back against his saddle and she had to climb over his long legs to find a place for herself. Her eyes longed to close, her body cried out for rest, but once she caught her breath, she turned to him.
Dixie saw nothing but shadow, so it was by feel that she reached up and searched for his wound. The knife was still embedded in his shoulder. Her cry brought Ty’s hand up to cover her mouth.
“No noise. Understand? There was no way to check the back trail to see if they followed us, and I don’t know who else might be close.”
Dixie nodded, fear snaking through her. The moment he lifted his hand, she leaned close to his ear. “The knife has to come out. I don’t know how you rode with it. But I won’t lie. I don’t know if I can do it.”
Breathing in her fear, Ty knew he had to fight off the waves of dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He needed her, much as it galled him to need anyone.
“Straddle my legs,” he ordered.
If Dixie thought the cave too confining before, she felt panic at the intimate press of her body to his. But there wasn’t room to maneuver, so she settled herself on him. Despite the cold press of rain-soaked clothes, she felt a glimmer of warmth from where they touched.
She steeled herself for what she had to do, trying to unbend fingers numb with cold.
“I can’t wait. You’ll have to pull it out.”
“My h-hands are too c-cold, Kincaid.”
Ty ignored the warm weight of her straddling his hips. He needed a distraction from the pain that was spreading through his body, but the unwelcome arousal she caused wasn’t it.
“Give me your hands.”
Dixie lifted them up and found his ready to hold them. He brought both her hands to his mouth. “What are you going to do?”
Ty didn’t waste time answering her. Breathing as deeply as he dared while fighting the pain, he inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth trying to warm her stiff fingers. She was shaking with cold, and he knew unless he got her warm quickly, she wouldn’t be of any use to him. It was just his luck that he couldn’t find a cave with a stash of dry wood to make a fire. Just his lousy maverick’s luck.
Dixie had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound when he drew her thumb into his mouth. Heat blossomed as his tongue bathed her thumb. Heat that slowly spread as he repeated the suckling motion with each of her near-frozen fingers. She understood why he was doing it, but wondered if he knew that he was stirring to life unfamiliar sensations inside her.
The cleft of her thighs cradled his manhood, his very aroused manhood, and the quivers that racked her body were no longer from the cold. She was appalled at the direction of her thoughts. More, because she sensed that he knew.
“I won’t apologize, Dixie,” Ty said, lifting her other hand to his mouth. “Be foolish to waste the words. Put your hand inside your shirt. Under your arm to keep it warm.”
She closed her eyes, wishing away the impersonal, calm tone of his voice and thinking she could close off the feminine stirrings that she believed she had buried.
Ty made a lie of that. He was gentle holding her hand, but there was a difference to the way his tongue bathed her fingers. Dixie didn’t want to linger on what exactly was different. It was enough that she felt it.
Trust was not something she gave easily. The glimmer of it died. “Kincaid, I won’t pay you for your help with my—”
“I didn’t ask for anything more than your help pulling out this knife. Hands warm enough now?”
For an answer Dixie wrapped one hand around the protruding handle of the knife, then gripped her other hand over the first. She nearly jumped when she felt his hands slide up and grip her hips.
“Just helpin’ to steady you. You’ll need every bit of strength to pull it out. Knife’s easy enough goin’ in, but the very dickens to pull out. Say when.”
“Now.” She gritted her teeth and yanked hard. The knife was deeply embedded. She felt as if his flesh didn’t want to yield up the blade. Once more she braced herself to pull it free, only this time she felt Ty’s good hand come up and cover both of hers.
“Now. Do it now,” he whispered. Sweat beaded his body. The pain sent him in and out of darkness. The pressure built to an intense throb. He thought he heard her whisper she had it…It was the last thought he had.
Ty’s body was no longer a heated, tense force beneath hers, but slack as a rag doll. Dixie let the wound bleed, it was the only way she could cleanse it. Scrambling in the dark, she found her saddlebags by feel. She drew out her only spare shirt, wishing it was clean. The other saddlebags belonged to the man whose horse Ty had stolen, and foolish as she felt, she reluctantly opened them.
A tin cup, a battered coffeepot and a spare shirt stiff with sweat and grime were all her search yielded. She had intended to replenish her supplies in the morning. Even if they had had a fire, there was nothing to cook on it, not even coffee to boil.
She made a pad of her shirt, tying it in place with her sodden neckerchief. Somehow, she had to find a way to keep Kincaid warm. Sheer force of will was all that kept her going as she went out in the night and dragged back deadfall, hoping that it would be dry enough by morning to light a fire. She checked on the horses, which stood in the drizzle, their heads down as if exhaustion had overtaken them, too. Both horses lipped rain water from a depression in the rock.
The cool mountain air was bracing and helped her dispel the tiredness that made her long to lie down. She had covered Kincaid with the saddle blankets, and spread the sleeping blankets over rocks inside the cave so that they, too, could dry. Beyond offering what little body warmth she had, Dixie had no way to keep him warm.
She knew she needed to rest, but as she settled herself next to Kincaid she didn’t think she could sleep. Her body overruled her mind.
Once a Maverick Page 2