Thorne Lasser knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of picking up Kincaid’s trail. He ignored Peel Hickman’s bellyaching about riding the spare horse that knew one gait…slow. The mountains into which he had led the kid Cobie and Hickman were rugged. Even with the lessening rain, he knew he was doomed, still he urged his horse to skirt the lower shoulder of a mesa and headed across an open stretch of sandstone that would lead them toward the river.
It was a land he knew well, and he scanned the terrain with flat-lidded eyes, thinking of possible hideouts that two exhausted riders and their mounts would seek.
That girl with Kincaid puzzled him. She had stared at him as if she knew him—knew him and didn’t much like what she saw. He would have remembered her. He was sure of that. There weren’t many women traipsing around in men’s clothes. Women weren’t something he forgot. Ever. Thorne rubbed the scar beneath his glove. Pity that he had to leave the wildcat that laid his hand open with a piece of glass. He had been looking forward to taming her, but her attack caught him by surprise. A first, he grudgingly admitted. After spying on her and her pa he’d thought she’d be easy pickings. Most ladies were. It was just too bad he had to lose her.
“Tol’ you we ain’t gonna find no trail in this rain,” Cobie said. He cradled his wounded hand inside his shirt, wishing he had stayed dry back at the miners’ camp. “Fool’s errand. That’s what we’re on.”
“Cut your whinin’, boy. Thorne knows what he’s about. Ain’t that so, Thorne?”
“That’s right, Peel. I’ll find them. And when I do they’ll pay for stealing our horses.”
“An’ for shootin’ me. Don’t forget that, Thorne. Kincaid’s mine. Made a fool of me back there. Talking an’ talking enough to bore a body to death. Ain’t gonna let him get away with it a second time.”
“Figure I’d get my knife back. Right fond of that there knife. Took it off some half-breed Mex who claimed he stole it from an Apache escaping from Fort Bowie. ’Course now it all might be true, but don’t really matter none. I sure did love that blade. Can peel a skin off a peach that you’d damn near see through. Ever tell you ’bout the time I—”
“Quit jawing, Peel,” Thorne ordered, moving out ahead and picking up a fast pace.
Thorne decided to head north where deep-sided canyons ranged. In all of them were seeps from the intermittent streams where a man could find water.
Kincaid was hurt, how bad none of them knew. If he was half the man that rumor claimed, he would be aware of the caches of food to be found that the raiding Apache or others on the run left behind.
But even without a cache, Thorne knew there was plenty of game: bear, elk, deer and birds. A man could hardly find himself a better place to hide. A man would need time and cunning to track another man through this land.
Thorne didn’t have time. He wanted his saddlebags. Wanted them before Kincaid or that woman had a chance to examine them and find the trinket he had kept. It was the only link between him, his last job and unfinished business.
Without waiting to see if the other two were following him, Thorne once more set a hard pace. They had to find Kincaid today. And the girl. He couldn’t forget about her.
Chapter Three
Dixie found herself snuggling closer to the warmth. For the first time in the long months she had been on the trail, she was warm and safe. She didn’t want to be taken from this place of refuge.
Someone was murmuring. It was minutes before she understood that she was the one making the sounds. She fought against awakening, but she wondered who she could have been talking to.
Resenting whatever it was that seemed determined to rouse her, Dixie stirred. A nagging warning was trying to make itself heard. Dixie ignored it. Her body was more than happy to remain as it was, draped on a hard bed where no cold or damp could seep bone deep and leave her feeling as if she awakened with more aches than she had gone to sleep with.
From one breath to the next she was half-awake. Her senses stirred to life. Senses that sent messages she refused to believe.
Suddenly her bed came to life, too.
Her gritty eyelids opened with a snap. She identified the source of warmth. She understood why her senses were awake. Her nose was buried against Ty Kincaid’s chest hair.
“Oh, my good Lord!” she groaned, promptly closing her eyes. Dixie prayed that when she looked again, she would find the coarse weave of the saddle blanket in front of her face. She opened her eyes. The Lord was not in a mood to show her mercy this morning.
“Oh, my good Lord!”
“You already said that. Believe me, it didn’t bear repeating.” Ty heard the edge in his voice, but his patience had been stretched to the limit. Waking up with a warm female body draped over him in pleasurable abandon without his having received a bit of benefit made his mood downright surly.
“You were cold, Kincaid.”
“I was cold?”
“We both were. All right? I am sorry. I never meant to sleep on you.”
“Forget it. Just move. For both our sakes, just move.”
Dixie scrambled backward. She instantly realized her mistake. Her warm and very hard bed groaned and it was not in appreciation. With his soft-voiced swearing ringing in her ears, she rolled off to the side and lay there staring up at the cave’s ceiling. Kincaid woke up randy as a goat. And with the disposition of one, too. Despite his wound.
Guilt forced her thoughts away from her embarrassment. “How’s the arm feeling?”
“Hot and throbbing, Rawlins. Just like the rest of me.”
“My knee feels the same way. Maybe it could meet up with what else ails you to give you a new misery to think about.”
“Sassy mouthed, ain’t you? That the best solution you can come up with?”
Dixie took a deep breath and huffily exhaled it. “No, it’s not. The stream’s outside. You can be cold and shaking in a moment.”
“Not what I had in mind. There are more pleasurable ways to spend what might be my last day on earth.”
“Well, it won’t be heaven that’s welcoming you, for sure, Kincaid.”
“Which brings us back to hot places, doesn’t it?”
His words were uttered in that same soft voice, but the hard edge of anger was missing. Dixie didn’t want to think about what replaced it. She had to disabuse him of any notions that she would do more than take care of his wound.
And then…why, then they could follow separate trails.
“Look, Kincaid,” Dixie stated, rolling to her hip so that she faced him. It was disturbing to find that he made the very same move.
“Good morning,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her nose. “Guess we were both on the wrong side of this makeshift bed.”
His admission and implied apology disarmed her. She could only murmur her agreement but couldn’t shake off the question of his sudden mood change.
“Let’s try this again, Kincaid.”
“Name’s Ty. Short for Tyrel.”
“And that’s just the way I want to keep it.” Dixie eyed his shadowed features, wishing the dim morning light had penetrated a little farther into the cave. “I mean it, Kincaid. Our being together will be short. Real short.”
“Well, I’m a real pleasin’ kind of man. Short it is.”
With no more warning than that, he kissed her.
Ty intended the kiss to be sort of a peace offering, a short—as the lady requested—good-morning-aren’t-we-lucky-to-be-alive kind of kiss. A let’s-try-to-get-along kiss…friendly…
But the small hitch in her breathing, the whimper of shock or surprise that he caught with his lips, and the sweet, momentary yielding of her mouth sent thoughts of friendly out of his mind. Like a kid hitching a ride on a green bronc for the first time, Ty wanted to hold tight and ride the kiss to the end.
Dixie, to his vast disappointment, jerked her head aside, breaking the kiss. She flopped over onto her back, and for long moments the only sounds were those of their breathing, hers panting like a
hound after a race, and his none too steady.
She was the first to speak. “Do you know that you are wounded?”
“Yep. Hard to forget.”
“You are sane and not fever-riddled?”
“Sane? About as much as you. Fever-riddled? That could be the cause of all this heat steaming up the cave.”
“Kincaid, listen to me. We have serious problems to deal with. I will not, cannot, fight off unwanted advances—”
“Dixie, hold it right there.” Ty, despite the painful throbbing in his shoulder, levered himself up to a half-reclining position. “Short-term or long, don’t ever lie to me. I can’t abide a liar. Never could. Never will. You met that kiss halfway, maybe a bit more than that, but it was no unwanted advance. A woman like you would be downright insulted if I hadn’t tried.”
A woman like you. Dixie repeated the words to herself. It had been so long since she had thought of herself in terms of being a woman, and all that went with it. She had spent so much time hiding the fact that she was female, denying any feminine longings, that his seeing beneath the dirt and rough clothing came as something of a shock. She struggled to rise, unwilling to discuss this, unwilling to admit that he was right. She had met him halfway.
Dixie bolted to a sitting position, clasping her hands around her upraised knee. She started to turn to look at him when a small shower of falling stones outside arrested both their attention.
Kincaid had drawn his gun from one breath to the next. She didn’t need him to warn her to silence, and thankfully, he made no attempt to do it. She knew as well as he that they were trapped in here. If anyone was out there, the horses would give them away.
There was no place to hide.
Shoving aside the tangled length of her hair, Dixie was surprised to find that she too had drawn her gun. In all the months she had been on the trail, she had shot it once, when a rattlesnake used her boot for his sleeping quarters. Now, within less than a day’s time, she once again prepared to shoot her way out of a tight spot.
Alarm overtook her when she saw Kincaid stand with a swaying motion. The man hadn’t the good sense to remember that he was wounded and in no condition to be making another confrontation.
At least he made no move to motion her back when she stood at his side, despite the danger they could face.
She stood listening as intently as he was to hear if the sound was repeated, so that they could locate whatever or whoever was out there. She admired his calm, and strove to match that and the shallow breaths he drew, so shallow she could hardly hear him breathing. What she had heard about him was true; he was a man to ride the rivers with, and her courage level jumped higher because he was with her.
Reaching the entrance of the cave, she saw the mist being burned off the valley floor by a rising sun. The horses stood quiet, right where she had secured them the night before. Beyond their lazily swishing tails the animals showed no sign that the noise had alerted them to danger.
Dixie felt the tension that gripped her ease, but when she glanced over at Kincaid, she knew it was not the same for him. The man was bathed in a cold sweat. Dark, wet patches stained his shirt, his face was beaded with droplets that brought the swift realization of what even standing there was costing him.
He had to have drawn the same conclusion that she did. There was no immediate danger. But before she could say a word, he made a twisting dive that took him outside the cave and behind the shelter of rocks. She bit her lip to stifle her cry, and tasted blood.
Uncertain of what, if anything, he wanted her to do, Dixie waited for him to either signal her or make the next move. She hated being in a position where she couldn’t see anything.
The seconds stretched out into minutes and her nerves were stretched to a breaking point right along with them. Sweat from the fear that was building inside her trickled down her back. Tension returned with a force that was twice what she felt before. Why didn’t he move? The thought that he might have hurt himself and was unable to move crossed her mind. But the more she thought about it, the more it made perfect sense that Kincaid had knocked himself out cold.
She had not heard any sounds to indicate that someone, or an animal, had been walking on the slope above the cave. Surely it would be safe for her to step outside now?
Cursing herself seven ways to Sunday for standing there, Dixie gave a last thought to Kincaid’s anger if she moved before he was ready to admit that the danger didn’t exist. It was simply a chance she had to take.
Picking up a small rock from the cave’s floor, she tossed it at the rocks that Kincaid hid behind.
Nothing. Not a sound. She inched her way clear of the cave’s opening, keeping close to the rock wall as she stepped out.
“Kincaid,” she whispered, searching the area of the rocks, listening for him. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, her heart was drumming until she heard the pounding in her ears and fear held her frozen in a vise.
She didn’t know how long she stood there before she came to with a start. Unable to wait a moment more, Dixie made a dash for the very rocks that Kincaid had disappeared behind.
A scream lodged in her throat. Kincaid wasn’t there!
She never knew what made her look up and see him, all lithe darkness against mountain’s slope. The moment she met his gunmetal blue gaze, something strange happened to her, something so compelling and blatantly sexual it made her sway where she stood. For one timeless, crazy moment, she swore he was feeling the same startling sensation—that of perfectly attuned mates who have come through danger together unscathed and want to confirm that in the most primitive way possible.
He started down the slope, favoring his left side, without a word being exchanged. All Dixie could do was watch him.
Ty found his inner warning system silent. That sixth sense, finely honed from years spent living alone, was no longer telling him to keep the hell away from Dixie Rawlins.
He couldn’t even begin to explain to himself why he felt both protective and possessive about her. One brief kiss did not a lover make, and that was the only reason why he should feel this strong surge of desire.
Danger, which had proven groundless, had sent its own sizzle into his bloodstream. A small animal must have dislodged the stones. He was grateful, for the smoke he spotted warned they might have company. Ty paused a moment before walking the last steps that would take him off the slope and bring him level with her.
What was there about her that caught his attention? Curiosity. There was that. It had never left him since that night he had seen her brushing her hair. The sun caught the gold that was buried in her brown hair. Tangled, her hair added a wildness to her face. Her head was lifted so that she could watch him. The mouth was most certainly kissable, her eyes wary, and he could almost feel the tension that held her still.
His own body echoed her tension. It had not forgotten the soft, warm weight of hers making itself at home on him during the night.
Thing was, he didn’t know what, if anything, he wanted to do about it. Dixie Rawlins was a complication he didn’t need. Gut feeling said he couldn’t bed her and ride away.
As if she had sensed his decision, Dixie made an abrupt turn toward the stream, holstering her gun as she walked away.
Ty knew the moment was lost and felt a momentary regret. Good sense told him it was better this way. No more involvement than necessary.
Dixie suffered a slight chill, feeling his gaze still on her. She knelt by the streambed, scooping up water to splash on her face, trying to understand what had passed between them. For a moment there, when Ty had stood and just watched her, she had had a feeling that she was facing a very determined predator. The moment was gone, but the feeling still lingered.
It was all foolishness, brought upon them by the fact that they were stuck with each other for a while. More pressing than these fanciful thoughts were those of hunger, if her stomach’s growling was any indication. If she kept her mind on practical matters, Kincaid would be forced to
do the same.
She scooped up a handful of the water to drink and caught the pungent scent of mint. Glancing down, she saw that she had crushed the delicate stems growing close to the water and began gathering the small leaves.
“They won’t do you much good unless you fill the coffeepot first,” Ty said, holding out the pot to her.
“Make some damn noise, why don’t you? Sneaking up on a body can make their heart quit, Kincaid. I’m not your enemy,” she finished, snatching the pot from his hand.
“Enemy? No. But you sure are a snapper. No wonder you’re always alone.”
Dixie paused, counted to ten, took a deep breath and released it before she lifted the filled pot and rose to her feet. She faced him, holding on to a sudden rush of anger.
“Kincaid, you don’t know me and I’m for keeping it that way.”
Dixie made the mistake of looking at him. His soft voice, no matter what he said, had a dangerous effect on her. Almost as much as his eyes. Those gleaming dark blue eyes were watching her without giving away any hint of what he was thinking. A warning chill made her look away.
“I’ll get a fire started. Mint tea for breakfast, then I’ll tend to your wound.”
Ty waited until she was even with him before he reached out and caught her chin. Lifting her face, he studied the delicate lines of her features. “I don’t know you, that’s true. But you’re prickly as any cactus the moment I try to find out more about you. Why, Dixie? What makes you follow the mining camps, gambling with men that would as soon slit your throat as bed you?”
“That puts you one up on them, doesn’t it, Kincaid? You didn’t try to slit my throat.”
She saw his mouth tighten, almost as if he bit back what he wanted to say. She found herself needing to close her eyes against the intense directness of his gaze. Both defeat and despair seemed to roll over and through her, wiping away months of struggle and bringing her back to the night that began it all. Her hand shook and she let him take the full coffeepot from her.
“I’d really like to know why, Dixie. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.”
Once a Maverick Page 3