The Renegades: Cole

by Dellin, Genell

  He pretended not to hear that.

  “I was thinking maybe you could help me change,” he said, dropping his voice to a sultry tone that sent a new, more urgent heat through her blood, “and then, maybe, I could help you?”

  The images that suggestion created in her mind took what little strength was left in her limbs.

  “Turn about’s fair play,” he drawled coaxingly.

  “Will you mount up and ride?” she said briskly. “If you want to go down the trail in the summertime, McCord, you’ll have to learn to do your playing in the winter.”

  He grinned as if he’d won a great victory.

  “Well, then, Miss Aurora, you’ve got a date for the winter …” he said, reaching to tip his hat that wasn’t there.

  Monte rode up to them. Cole paid him no attention.

  “… but right now I’ve got to go find my hat, which I lost trying to save your cattle, which, I might remind you, is not part of my job.”

  He turned and threw a careless smile at her segundo.

  “Monte,” he said.

  Monte was too busy looking from one of them to the other and back again to answer.

  “Twenty head of those cattle, I might remind you, are yours,” Aurora said. “Those are, no doubt, the ones you were trying to save.”

  Laughing, Cole sauntered back to his horse and stepped up onto Border Crossing. Aurora had to force herself not to watch every move he made, had to wrench her mind away from the memory of his touch. She practically had to take her head in her hands and turn her face to Monte.

  “We was a mite worried you coulda been trampled,” Monte said, still looking at her, then at Cole.

  “No,” she managed to say in a fairly steady voice, “but right now I feel as if the whole herd had run over me.”

  “Shoot, Miss Aurora, better cowboy up,” Cole drawled, as he pulled his horse around and trotted away, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Aurora stared at Cole’s back in spite of all she could do. She could feel Monte’s eyes on her profile, but she was powerless to pay him any attention. Cole wasn’t looking for his hat, she knew that and he knew she knew it—if that hat wasn’t trampled to shreds in the mud, it had blown all the way to Texas. He was riding away from her because when Monte rode up, they were on the verge of ending up kissing each other senseless or going off to crawl into her wagon and make love.

  Her hands were shaking, and not from the stampede. Her heart was pounding, and she felt so hot she could strip off her wet clothes right there in the cold wind that had blown away the storm. Cole’s taste on her tongue and the shape of his hands on her body had her blood racing with … desire. Never, ever had she known the meaning of that word before now.

  She thought she had known, yes, when he had kissed her before, but this was different. This was so primal she didn’t have a choice.

  “Um, Miss … Aurora?”

  Slowly, with the greatest of difficulty, she tore her gaze from Cole and looked at her segundo.

  “Yes?”

  “Reckon we oughtta plan to hold ‘em here for the night? Where we’ve at least got the mountains at our back?”

  She stared at him for a moment, as if he’d spoken in some language only vaguely familiar, which she could neither comprehend nor speak. With a great effort, she figured out what he had said.

  Standing in her stirrups to look at her surroundings with her mind on her herd, she considered the place as a bedground.

  “Why … yes,” she finally said. “This spot will do. I’ll go find Cookie and tell him.”

  She rode off in the direction she’d seen the wagons and remuda take when they came through the pass, but she couldn’t keep from glancing behind her from time to time, looking for Cole. At first she told herself it was the herd she was looking at, but it wasn’t. She could barely even remember where she was headed and why.

  What was this connection she’d always felt between her and Cole McCord? Was it all physical desire? Would she ever be free of it again? She let herself look over her shoulder one more time after she found the wagons headed back toward the herd, but he was nowhere in sight.

  She rode to meet Cookie, and when she told Shy Boy “Whoa,” she sank down in her saddle and just sat there for a moment, exhausted. Not by the horrendous run they’d all been through but by the effort it took to think of something else besides Cole.

  If she didn’t feel his arms around her again, and soon, if she didn’t have his hands on her skin, she would not survive this wanting.

  “Well,” she managed to say to Cookie, “I see you came through in fine shape.”

  “Dern tootin’,” he said, and gestured for Nate to keep on driving the hoodlum wagon toward the herd. “Takes more’n thousands of crazy cows t’ run ol’ Cookie into the ground.”

  She smiled, really seeing him at last. “You still look a little pale around the gills, however.”

  “Somethin’ wrong with your eyes,” he retorted. “You gonna keep me jawin’ here all night or you want hot grub and coffee for your men?”

  She laughed and turned Shy Boy back toward the herd, too. He slapped down his lines, and they all moved on at a trot.

  “Monte said you’d probably already have a fire built by the time I found you.”

  “Monte’s a right smart man,” he said, chortling. “I got dry wood in the cuna and sourdough in the pot.”

  When they had reached the bedgrounds and decided on the best place for both wagons, Aurora got off Shy Boy, unsaddled him, and rubbed him down. He was eager to roll, though, and to start chomping grass, so she turned him into the remuda and went to change her clothes. She was making progress. During all that, she’d only looked for Cole three times. Or maybe four.

  She climbed up into her wagon and began stripping out of her wet shirt and riding skirt, peeling away the thin underthings plastered to her skin. Even the cool air seeping in around the canvas door to brush her bare body here and there reminded her of Cole’s hot touch. Where had he gone? Why was it taking him so long to look for a hat he knew he’d never find?

  Reaching into one of her wooden boxes, she pulled out a towel and began drying herself, but every friction against her flesh heightened her longing. She wanted him so much. Oh, dear God, she had to feel his arms around her, his hands on her skin.

  This torment was too much to bear. Never, ever would she get close enough to him to let him hold her or kiss her.

  She knew better, though, deep down in her woman’s heart, and that scared her all over again. Was she going to feel this feverish for the rest of the drive if … she couldn’t let herself finish the thought.

  Yes, she could. If … she went to his bed tonight …

  An overwhelming urge to open her trunk, to take out a real dress, to slip into something soft and flowing, something that made her feel like a woman came over her. Instead, she reached for another set of work clothes.

  She couldn’t deal with the comments around the campfire that her sudden change to a dress would create or the sly looks from the men, who would all be talking about her and Cole by tomorrow if Monte shared his wonderings with any of them. There was precious little entertainment on the trail—besides stampedes and other disasters—and the least nugget of gossip occasioned jokes and teasing no end.

  So she slipped into a dry shirt and riding skirt, fixed her hair as best she could, and went to eat her supper. She already felt like a woman every time Cole looked at her.

  Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? Her legs shook as she climbed down out of the wagon. She couldn’t wait until she saw him again, she had to see him, right this minute.

  And there he was, standing talking with some of the men between the chuck wagon and the fire, looking truly wonderful in his clean shirt and Levi pants, both miraculously crisp and starched, although his shirt was wrinkled from being packed into his bag. He was also wearing the pale-colored Stetson he always wore, which looked totally undamaged by the storm.

  But seeing him turn
ed out not to be enough. Now she needed, with a pervading desperation spreading through her, to touch him again. To kiss him again.

  He turned his head slightly and looked at her the instant she stepped onto the ground, as if he’d heard her, when she’d hardly made a sound. His steadfast gaze melted her.

  She would never have managed to stiffen her legs enough to walk to the fire had he not turned back to the conversation again. She went straight to one of the logs they used for a chair and sat down. By the time Cookie had the food completely cooked and the coffee made, maybe she could trust herself to eat.

  He must’ve felt her watching him, for a moment later, Cole turned and strolled toward her. Right then she decided that she’d never be able to stand up or walk again. His hat looked exactly the way it always did: silverbelly colored, Texas brimmed, worn enough to have personality. But definitely not battered enough to have come through a storm.

  “You’re looking mighty fine and fresh, Miss Aurora,” he said, studying her ostentatiously. “A man would never know you’d just been through a stampede.”

  “You’re too bold for your own good, Mr. McCord,” she said, pretending to take offense at his manner.

  “That’s true,” he said and nonchalantly sat down beside her. “I try my best, but I can’t seem to get over it.”

  He smelled of something spicy he’d used after shaving—he had shaved when he’d changed his clothes. He looked and smelled wonderful.

  “You’re a bit on the fine and fresh side, yourself,” she said. “How in the world do you have ironed clothes way out here?”

  “Ingenuity, ma’am,” he said solemnly. “Have ‘em ironed before leaving town, then roll ‘em just right into the bag and wedge it between the sideboard and the pile of cowboys’ gear in the wagon.”

  She tilted her head to one side and examined him as thoroughly as he had done her. He gave her a long, deep look. Her pulse quickened, her blood heated in an instant. She wasn’t sure she could talk, but she did.

  “I had no idea when I drove into Pueblo City to hire you that you were the most dapper bodyguard in the West, as well as the most dangerous.”

  He shrugged.

  “There are those who call it dapper and others who call it a disguise,” he drawled.

  “Disguise?”

  “For the bad character underneath,” he said, showing that devilish grin.

  “Who said that?”

  He shrugged, feigning a sudden sheepishness.

  “Mostly angry ladies, I must admit. And maybe a few enemies here and there.”

  He paused, taking time to charm her with his mischievous glance.

  “Perhaps, also, a few opponents losing at cards.”

  She laughed, in spite of the small twinge caused by the thought of ladies who knew him well enough to be angry with him.

  “Well, they’re all wrong,” she said. “Your character is the last thing that worries me about you right now.”

  He raised one black eyebrow.

  “Oh? And what’s the first?”

  The power you have to ruin my mind because I can’t think about anything but you.

  “Your carelessness with your health,” she said. “Since you’re wearing your hat and it looks unscathed, I can only assume that you took it off on purpose—at the risk of pneumonia or worse—and carried it in your saddlebags through the storm.”

  He smiled at her, holding her gaze, never letting her see anything but him.

  “Wrong. Cookie brought it to me,” he said. “Wind blew it right into his wagon.”

  She looked him straight in the eye, trying not to laugh. Trying to keep from reaching out to touch his face.

  “We usually save the tall tales until after supper,” she said, “and tell them while we’re sitting around the fire.”

  “I can think of better things to do by the fire.”

  His steady, deep, dark eyes told her what those better things were. The look made her legs turn to jelly.

  “Co-o-me and git it, a’fore I throw it out!” Cookie yelled.

  Cole stood up.

  “Let me serve you, ma’am,” he said, with an exaggerated tip of the hat in question. “You just keep your seat right there.”

  So Aurora sat, helpless not to watch him, while he got two plates and filled them, brought them to her, and then two cups of coffee.

  They soon realized they were starving, so they ate in silence in true cowboy fashion, as the others did. Aurora hardly could swallow, however, because she was so close to Cole. It was torture, being so near him and unable to touch.

  As soon as she’d finished her meal, she stood up and took her dishes to the wreck pan.

  It was unbearable, being near Cole. He was looking at her now, following her with his eyes, and she ached to turn and run back to him. Another three seconds, and she’d be throwing herself into his arms in front of her entire crew.

  “Good night,” she called to him, and then looked around to include all the others. “You all better turn in pretty soon. It’ll be an early start tomorrow to look for strays.”

  “Don’t you worry, Missy,” Cookie said. “I’ll run ‘em into their bedrolls. I’ll cut their coffee off.”

  Cole gave her a small gesture of salute, then turned to say something to Frank as she left the campfire. She went straight to her wagon and climbed inside, closing the flap behind her, driven by a desperate need for refuge.

  But it was refuge from wanting Cole that she needed, and that she didn’t find. The wanting came right on into the wagon with her.

  Chapter 11

  The first guard had come in to bed, the second had been wakened and gone out. The exhausted cattle stayed where they’d dropped, mostly silent, mostly sleeping. The camp lay quiet except for the shifting, slow stirring of the wind. The only storm remaining was the one inside Aurora.

  She got up, wrapped a blanket around her, held aside the canvas flap to her wagon, and stepped out into the night, washed silver by the moon. Cole was out there, somewhere, waiting for her either to come to him or to learn to live with this wild restlessness that refused to be tamed.

  From the minute she’d seen him after the run, she had known which it would be. Now was the time.

  She jumped to the ground and walked swiftly toward the trees that grew all the way down to the foot of the hill. They formed a crescent-shaped nook that opened its arms to the camp toward her wagon and caught the moonlight. She could see her way plain as day.

  An instant before Cole spoke, she saw him, too. A dark shadow inside a darker one, he was a graceful shape, with his shoulders leaning back against a tall pine, one long leg bent at the knee, his heel propped on the tree trunk, too. He was hipshot and loose and very, very sure of himself.

  And of her. It made her smile.

  “Once you finally came out of your lair you came straight to me,” he murmured, his voice like a song on the night breeze. “You never hesitated. How’d you know where I was?”

  “I can feel you,” she said. “I always know where you are.”

  That surprised him for a moment, then he chuckled.

  “Miss Aurora.”

  His voice was low and sweet, it warmed her more than the blanket did in the cool wind.

  And then he reached for her and she was riding on that wind.

  “You’re supposed to be my bodyguard,” she said, teasing him, “and here you are way out here. It would’ve taken you a long time to get to me if I’d called.”

  “You just call me and see how long it takes.”

  The hard significance in his voice sent a thrill all through her.

  “I didn’t even have to call, you were watching for me.”

  “Ready to guard your beautiful body,” he said, laughing low. “Come here to me.”

  He set his feet wide apart and took her into his arms, folded her close and, securing her breasts against his hard chest, tucking her head beneath his chin, held her to him for a long, trembling moment. She felt his face in her hair.
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  “I thought you’d never come,” he murmured. “Lord, Aurora, I was about to come blasting into that wagon after you.”

  “And scandalize the whole crew?” she said, dropping a kiss into the open neck of his shirt. “Your skin smells like rain.”

  His hand slipped inside the blanket, stroked her back, hot and hard through the thin fabric of her gown. It slid downward to caress her hip. Her blood began to blaze.

  “You smell like heaven,” he said.

  His one hand pressed her closer to him, brought her belly against his hardening manhood.

  “What does heaven smell like?” “You.”

  She laughed and went on tiptoe, lifted her face to his.

  “Were you really about to come after me?”

  “Damn straight. I just didn’t want Cookie coming after me with a shotgun, that’s all.”

  He gave a low moan, he held her closer yet, but still he wouldn’t kiss her. She brushed her lips back and forth on his skin, she touched the tip of her tongue to the sweet hollow at the base of his throat.

  “Stop that, now. I have to give you your present first.”

  She pulled back to look up at him.

  “My present? I have a present from you?”

  He chuckled low in her ear.

  “Greedy. You’d rather have a present than a kiss from me.”

  “I would not. You’re the one who won’t kiss me!”

  Laughing, he swept her up into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, her heart roaring in her chest. How had she lived this long without him?

  He carried her only a few steps back into the trees, into a tiny cove of a clearing on the side of the hill that had a floor strewn with pine needles painted silver by the moon.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered, “you made me wait so long and waitin’s so hard for me to do, maybe I ought to keep this present. Might teach you a lesson.”

  “You don’t dare,” she said dangerously. “No one has given me a present since … I can’t remember when.”

  But they both had trouble breathing as they talked. He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her temple, she tasted his cheek with the tip of her tongue and wrapped herself more tightly around him. The gift really wasn’t important at all.