China made it worse. She laced her fingers with his, pulling them down to the mare’s underbelly. The colt moved again, but Maverick felt something else. China’s fingers. Small and delicate. Soft and strong. Feminine.
His breath hitched at the innocent contact. She stood way too close to him. Her delicate body too warm. Too full of other things, too. Enthusiasm. Excitement. Life.
His nostrils flared, pulling in the perfume in her hair, the detergent scent of her clean clothes, her breath. He could hear her breathing. Heat filled his body. Heat and blood and a shot of desire, odd sensations for a man as dead as he was. Yet there it was, fire in his veins whether he wanted it or not.
“She’s ready to throw her fifth foal. I’ll have a new baby by morning.” China grinned up deliciously, and, damn, it had to stop.
He untangled his fingers from hers and stepped back. This kind of excitement was the last thing he needed. It was what got a man into trouble, what made him believe in fairy tales and happily ever after. All that crap. Time to leave. The sooner the better.
Crunch, and damn it. Joker’s hoof landed on the tip of his boot, nailing Maverick to the ground. He grimaced and pulled at his leg, but Joker didn’t move. Not an inch. Didn’t even look as if he cared.
“Oh no! Joker. Get off, you big oaf.” China attempted to lift Joker’s very impressive hoof while Maverick shoved the guy’s impressive chest. He had two big handfuls of the horse’s pecs or whatever they were called, but it didn’t work. When they pushed, Joker leaned forward. When they pulled, he leaned backward. Just enough to keep his hoof in place.
It would’ve been aggravating if the big guy didn’t look away, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. China knew her kids all right. Joker, huh? Good name.
Maverick winced at the pressure of this one-ton clown on his toes. To make things worse, the damned horse shifted his weight back and forth. Rocking. This guy thought he was funny.
China burst out laughing, catching Maverick’s heart in his throat again. God, her voice tinkled with unabashed joy, like church bells on an early Sunday morning, clear and crisp. Damned if another shockwave of lust didn’t ripple up his legs to his groin, filling him to the hilt where no lust should be. He couldn’t allow it. He had to leave. Soon. Right damned now.
Get the hell off my foot.
China clapped her hands. “I don’t know what it is about you, Maverick Carson, but all of my horses like you.”
He gave Joker another heave-ho, but the big horse’s body took up all the space, leaving Maverick off balance and with no way to gain leverage.
And there it was, that same sensation of rightness with the world. He gave up and hunkered into Joker’s wide chest. When the big oaf hung his head over Maverick’s shoulder, he did what any guy would do. He whispered, “I give up. You win.”
Just that fast, Joker swished his tail and moseyed over to stand nose-to-butt with Gorgeous.
Maverick wriggled his toes to make sure they weren’t broken. They should’ve been, but now that the pressure was off, they were fine.
“Holy smokes.” China stood with her hands on her hips. “I’ve never seen the likes of this. My kids don’t like X and Z as much as they like you. You’re a natural.” She had an odd look in her eye. Not so much sparkle as—
Time. To. Leave. Move it. Now!
He brushed his hands one last time over Gorgeous’s big gentle head, scratched her ears and stepped away. “Thanks for the hospitality, ma’am.”
“You’re very welcome.” She swatted a few extra-large equine backsides on their way out of the corral and back to her porch. “Wait. Before you go—” China stepped inside her front door. When she returned, she handed him a leather jacket very similar to his. “I’m sorry about your jacket. Take this.”
He shouldered his pack and replaced his cap. The guitar went over his back, but not the jacket. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. A little water never hurt good leather.”
“But it’s not dry now, is it?” That determined glint snapped to life in her eye. The color drew him in like an F5 tornado out of a thunder-blue sky. Hmmm, China has the deepest blue eyes. It took strength to turn away. “For heaven’s sake, Maverick. You saved my life. Star’s, too. Please take it. It will keep you warm tonight.”
“No, ma’am. I’m fine. Really.”
“You are one stubborn man, you know that? Nights are still cold this time of year in Wyoming. Take it.” She stood there with her arm outstretched, the jacket offered and the demand unanswered, but not withdrawn. This woman expected to be obeyed.
He bit his lip. Handouts were against his rules. Somehow accepting this jacket felt bigger than just accepting hospitality. But obeying her? Yeah. Not going to happen.
“Are you refusing my thank you?” She cocked her head in challenge, probably the same look she gave her horses. Even her voice carried a definite tone of ‘how-dare-you?’
He took the damned jacket. It could be mailed back to her. “Thanks for dinner, ma’am.”
“It’s been a pleasure.” She stood at the front door, one boot headed inside, the other waiting on him. “Will you be okay?”
He slung his pack over his shoulder before he turned to face her one last time. It had been a helluva day and night was coming on, but he saw the real question in her eyes. She was one hundred percent woman, and women liked to talk. They liked to dig a man’s heart apart and analyze feelings he didn’t understand himself. Right about now, she would bat those eyes and start asking leading questions, and then she—
“Goodbye, Maverick. Take care of yourself, ya hear?”
That was different. Surprised at her quick dismissal, he nodded once, put his cap on his head and faced the road. He had nothing else to say.
He headed out and retraced the winding road they’d walked earlier. In a couple of miles, it would join with the highway, and he would be back to where he’d started before life had thrown that curveball at him this morning.
Star nickered loudly from the barn. Maverick gave it a backward glance. Horses. Who’d have thought they had personalities?
Once out of sight, he set his bag and guitar to the road to really take a good look at the jacket. It wasn’t just a jacket. Hell, no. It was USMC right down to the eagle, globe, and anchor embossed across the back, the bulldog emblem on the chest.
He shook it out. By the wear on the collar and cuffs, it was old, but well-cared for. The yellow and red patch on the shoulder declared Third Battalion, Ninth Marines. He’d heard plenty about their hard-fought battles in another thankless war in Vietnam. He slung it over his shoulders and found it a comfortable old thing, the leather soft, the fit just right. Somewhere along the line, that lady had had a Marine in her life.
The road called to him. Maverick shouldered his gear and kept walking. He could make another ten to fifteen miles. Might be dark when he stopped. Just as well. Darkness was an old friend.
The peaceful evening filled with the raucous roar of a string of bikers headed back to China’s ranch. The leader sneered on his way by and flipped Maverick off. They disappeared in a billow of dust and racket.
A ripple of uneasiness irked his shoulders. He turned to face the road he’d just walked.
It’s none of my business.
China seemed a strong woman. Capable of taking care of herself. Maybe she did dig Harleys. Bad boys. All that crap. It could happen. Some women did.
It’s really none of my business.
She might be strong, but China didn’t seem the biker type. No tattoos. No piercings. And the deepest blue eyes.
Not China. Horses, yes. Bikers, no.
He stood on the only road into the Wild Wolf, debating if he had good enough reason to return. The longer he stared, the worse he felt. A dozen or so riders rode in that biker gang, yet China was alone. What the hell did they want with her?
Am I going to regret this in the morning?
Gunshots from the ranch cinched the deal.
Like hell.
Chap
ter Four
What’s that woman thinking?
China stood on her porch with the Henry in her hand. The roar of the cycles drowned out any attempt to reason or argue with the gang tearing around her yard, although judging by the way her jaw worked, it didn’t stop her from trying.
Maverick only paused at the end of her driveway long enough to stow his sunglasses and pull his pistol from his pack. A man needed to look a man in the eye before he kicked his ass, not that this pack of bikers knew one damned thing about being real men. Dirt bags, maybe.
Several roared around her yard in a wide circle, digging up her vegetable garden. They had snagged her clothesline and pulled it behind them, knocking over the birdbath and dragging the horse sculpture through the dirt. Two wielded handguns, popping off shots over their heads. Assholes. With howls of laughter, they fired at the few chickens squawking around the yard. The whole gang circled again, and by hell. Enough was enough.
Maverick lifted his weapon and let it do his talking for him. It only spoke once, but when a .357 Magnum has something to say, once is generally enough.
The bastards all rolled to a stop and stared.
That’s right. Take a good look, boys. It’s time to man up or run home to Mommy.
China didn’t deserve the crap these guys dished out. No woman did. But one biker must’ve felt braver than the rest. He booted his kickstand down and climbed off his ride. Spitting to the side, he swaggered across the yard, all macho and sure of himself, as if he had a dog in this fight.
His ugly face was pockmarked and scarred, his hair gray and straggly under a dirty blue bandana. His mouth seemed twisted in a permanent scowl, the kind of guy who led with his chin.
Maverick clenched his left hand. Stick it out here, tough guy. Let’s see how brave you are.
“You think you’re pretty big with that pop gun, do ya?”
Maverick didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He had already caught sight of the knives and guns in some of the biker’s hands. This little showdown could get real ugly real fast, and he was outnumbered. Like that meant squat to a Marine from Kilo Company. Guess again. He’d been outnumbered before. When it counted.
Tough Guy kept threatening. “Why don’t you put that toy back in your cute little purse and walk away? This don’t concern you, asshole.”
Maverick steadied the pistol, the barrel pointed down where he meant it to be. For now. Usually, just the sight of a .357 Magnum cooled over-inflated hotheads and opinions. Maverick didn’t want to offer more than a warning shot, but if he needed to...
China still seemed intent on conversation. At least she had the good sense to stay on her porch. “Troy Reardon! Get your ass off my land and you do it now.”
She knew how to use that rifle, but hell. Once a weapon was drawn, the time for discussion was gone. Maverick never appreciated small talk anyway.
Every last biker rolled his ride into a circle around Tough Guy and Maverick. Maverick took a half step back to steady his stance. The weight of his pistol felt sure and right. Ready. If things went south, more than just Tough Guy would go to Hell tonight.
He spat a clot of slimy tobacco chew onto Maverick’s boot. Simple rules for a simple game. Poke until the big dog bites your head off.
Maverick didn’t blink while Troy Reardon, wanna-be tough guy and major-league dick, sized him up. No worries. Maverick had seen this type of guy plenty of times before. He had faced off with men more dangerous. Lots of them. All mouth and no action, unless his gang of twenty got the chance to beat a single adversary to death. Terrorists were pretty much the same the world over. Cowards. Every last one of them.
Tough Guy swiped his nose with his knuckles. Like the degenerate scumbag he was, he wiped his hand up his pant leg and jerked his head at his gang, not breaking eye contact with Maverick. “Mount up, boys.”
Yeah, boys. Drop dead while you’re at it.
Dumbass really should’ve looked around, though. Not one of his chicken-shit buddies had set a boot to the ground. They didn’t need to mount up because they didn’t seem too eager to dance.
Tough Guy hawked up another mouthful of crap and spat. He retreated to his ride, threw one leg over his hog and kicked it free. He revved its engine long and hard, grinning like that should’ve been intimidating or something. It wasn’t. Just more hot air.
Go for it. Try to run me over. Let’s see how hot that hog burns with a round in its tank.
The bastard didn’t have the balls for a real fight. Most cowards didn’t. He and his minions roared another full circle around China’s yard, ending at her porch steps.
Maverick couldn’t hear what Tough Guy said, but the way she jerked that Henry into her shoulder and aimed at his head talked plenty loud.
Troy What’s-His-Name laughed. Flipped her off. Made another leisurely tour of the trashed yard before he and his club raced away in a cloud of ugly.
Maverick felt bad for her. A woman alone and this far from town lived a dangerous life. As much as she loved her horses, she had her hands full and she was seriously outnumbered. A guy wouldn’t know it to look at her, though. She did cut an impressive profile the way she had faced Reardon. She leaned the rifle by her front door and stalked off the porch.
Maverick stowed his revolver in his bag, snug inside the jacket she had just given him.
She marched straight for him, her chin forward and her fists clenched. Not what he’d expected. Worse were the words out of her mouth.
“Why the hell did you come back?”
An old Ford pickup rolled into the yard while the rumble of motorcycles receded.
“You need ta clear out here.” The older guy in the driver’s seat jerked his thumb at the bikers as he cussed Maverick. “Now. Move it, buddy. Git with the rest a yer boy band.”
“No.” China waved to the men. She ran a hand through her hair as she turned slowly to survey the damage. “It’s okay, Z. He’s... okay. I guess. Damn it.”
Maverick stayed put. Those two old duffers must be her hired hands. They poured out of the truck and ran to China. “You hurt?” The guy she’d called Z took hold of her forearms and squinted into her face, his nose scrunched up as if that helped him see better. “They touch you at all, Miss China?”
“No. They didn’t get a chance.” She nodded toward Maverick. “Zeke Knudsen. Xavier Albright. Meet Maverick Carson. He chased Troy and his club off. Maverick, meet the best hired hands in the county.”
“Hey there.” Xavier stuck out a hand, his child-like smile missing a front top tooth. “Ya related to Kit Carson?”
Maverick shook X’s hand without answering. Always the same old question once he hit the Wyoming border, but from this guy, it seemed totally innocent. Dressed in worn, brown Carhartt bib overalls, X stood a foot taller than his buddy. The crown of his baldhead was nicely covered with the gray strands of a comb-over whereas a scroungy ball cap covered Zeke’s graying head. X appeared to be in his fifties, younger than Zeke, whose face was lined with wrinkles.
China still held a hand to her forehead, her hair undone. Maverick blinked. She had changed since dinner. He couldn’t stop looking. Damn. Angry eyes. Flushed cheeks. Her lips pinched together. Kissable…
She glanced apologetically at him, then back to the rutted vegetable garden. “Sorry I yelled at you before. Now I have to shop at the grocer. I hate canned vegetables. And look at the mess.”
Maverick didn’t take a step forward or backward. He had no reason to stay, but couldn’t bring himself to leave. Common sense told him to get moving. He had done what he meant to do. China wasn’t alone. Zeke and Xavier were there now. She proved she could take care of herself. She didn’t need him.
“Oh no!” X dropped to his knees beside the birdbath, one piece of the copper horse statue in each hand. “They busted it, Miss China. They busted it all ta pieces. Look it here.”
Something wasn’t quite right in X’s head. The tears dripping off his chin over a broken statue proved it.
China crouch
ed alongside him, her hand gentle on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Do you think you can fix it for me?”
The man looked up with a somber nod, his brows furrowed. “I kin fix anything fer you if’n you want me to.”
“But can you make it like new again?” She sounded very much as if she were talking with a child, emphasizing how much she depended on him. “Can you polish it up so it will shine like it’s brand new again?”
His lips pursed. X hugged both pieces to his chest. “You betcha, Miss China. I kin make it jes’ like new again. Jes’ fer you.”
“Well, good. Let’s find all the pieces then.” She helped him to his feet.
X had regained his composure. “There’s only two. I got ’em and I’m gonna fix ’em, good as new. Jes’ you wait. You’ll see.”
“Thanks, X. I knew you could do it.”
A frission of insight skated over Maverick’s shoulders and clipped the back of his head, as if he needed to remember this. China Wolf knew how to handle more than horses. She had just given X a hand-up without him even knowing it. Smart woman.
“Damned bikers.” Z dragged the tangled clothesline and clothes off the ground. “We’d a been here sooner, but we run into yer little sister.”
China stopped in her tracks. “She have Kyrie with her?”
Both men nodded, their attitude somber. Z handed the jumbled mass of laundry and line to her before he returned to the truck. “Sorry I brought it up. Just thought you oughta know. Leezel said to tell ya she’d be by ta pay a visit.”
“Well, that figures. It doesn’t rain but it pours. She say when?”
“Yes, ma’am. Tonight.”
“Thanks, Z.”
“Bye-bye,” X called out the truck window. “I’ll be real busy fixing yer horse fer ya.”
“Thanks guys.” She waved and turned to face Maverick, her hands on her hips. “You sure attract trouble. That’s Troy Reardon you squared off with. He runs the local bikers’ club—at least, that’s what he calls it. Kings and Kreepers, with a capital K. They’re nothing but a pack of lowlifes and losers if you ask me.”
Maverick Page 4