Verrick's Vixen (Sunset Valley Book 2)

by Caroline Lee

  He lowered himself to the ground once there, pleased—or as much as he allowed himself to be pleased—to discover he’d arrived before his mysterious follower. The figure on the horse hadn’t been particularly careful about being seen, and had been silhouetted against the horizon a few times.

  Baker wasn’t that dumb.

  Verrick prepared himself to be disappointed if the mysterious follower wasn’t Baker. It was unlikely the viciously unpredictable gunslinger had arrived at the ranch and followed Verrick in one afternoon, but he could always hope.

  Hope and disappointment are emotions.

  The reminder was necessary, as he breathed deeply to control his thoughts and the budding emotions.

  Calm. Detach. Focus.

  That sixth sense flared in the back of his skull, and Verrick knew someone was approaching. It was almost a minute before he could hear the horse in the distance, and another minute before it appeared below his little rise. The rider was tall with a broad-brimmed hat, but that’s all Verrick could determine as the animal passed below him.

  The rider didn’t appear to notice Verrick, so he dropped down and followed at a stealthy creep, satisfied that the horse wouldn’t outpace him. When the rider got close enough to the false campsite to smell the smoke, he reined in the horse and patted the animal’s neck soothingly with a few murmured words.

  The sun had already sank below the mountains and it was getting dark. It wasn’t an impediment to Verrick of course. He’d scouted the area enough to be wary of that downed log and the drop down to the stream, but the stranger obviously wasn’t as experienced. The figure tripped twice, catching himself each time, as he cautiously approached the campsite.

  Verrick eased the Colt out of the holster on his right hip and ghosted around the horse to approach the rider from the rear. The figure was leaning forward slightly, parting a bush to peer towards the fire Verrick had made as a distraction. The smell of smoke was almost overwhelming, but as he snuck up behind, he smelled—

  Lemon and lavender.

  It wasn’t Baker. It wasn’t even a man!

  The figure in front of him was…

  Cora.

  He cursed under his breath and uncocked the Colt. At the sound, she whirled around, and in the twilight, he could see her dark blue eyes open wide. Her soft lips were parted—in surprise?—and little wisps of those tempting brown curls floated around her face under that dumb hat.

  Cora was here. Cora had followed him.

  Cora wasn’t safely back at Sunset Valley.

  He wanted to curse again, to show some of his frustration, but he reminded himself: Calm.

  It must not have helped, because she smiled. One of her real smiles, the one that lit up her entire face, the one that made him feel—made him feel…

  It made him feel, and that, in and of itself, was disturbing enough.

  “Why are you here?” His voice was harsher than it should’ve been. Calm. Focus. Detach. “You were safe at the ranch.”

  Her smile didn’t waver. To his surprise—although he shouldn’t be surprised at anything this woman did—she stepped closer to him and beamed up at him as if he were some kind of savior.

  “I’m far safer with you, Verrick.” Her voice was…sultry? “And I didn’t want to stay on the ranch.”

  “So you followed me.”

  In the face of his obvious dissatisfaction—nothing so overt as anger—she flinched slightly. Well, at least she knew enough to be wary of him.

  “I knew I belonged with you,” she said quietly, dropped her gaze to his chest.

  That little show of meekness, so alien to Cora’s personality, made Verrick’s lungs tighten.

  Why?

  He didn’t have time to analyze the reaction, only allowing himself to acknowledge he didn’t like meek Cora. He wanted her to be the Cora he knew.

  He wanted to fix her.

  It wasn’t until she peeked up at him, then flinched and looked away once more, that he realized he was still scowling down at her. In the quiet of his mind, he cursed himself again.

  Fix her?

  “It’s too late to go home tonight,” he said gruffly. And too dangerous. “This site is as good as any.”

  And damn him for a fool, but when her smile bloomed again, he felt his heart leap in response.

  Detach detach detach.

  The mantra didn’t work. Standing there in the gathering gloom, staring down at her smile, Verrick felt like smiling back.

  This time he didn’t bother hiding his curse as he reached behind for her horse’s reins and pulled the animal into the little clearing beside the stream. Taking care of her horse was a convenient way to pretend to be distracted. In reality, he watched intently as she set up her bedroll, laid out her saddlebags, and began to unwrap a bundle. It seemed she knew a little about camping, and he had to remind himself again not to underestimate this woman in his son’s clothing.

  When he couldn’t delay any longer, he returned to the dying fire. Without any more fuel, it would fade to embers soon enough, and if Cora were smart, she’d fall asleep soon after. He would sit watch, of course, catching a few minutes of sleep here and there. If he’d been alone, he could trust himself to wake if danger approached.

  But with her there with him, he couldn’t afford any chance of that danger.

  She was sitting cross-legged on her bedroll, and her head jerked up when he approached and sank down to his haunches beside the fire.

  “Verrick! I, uh…” Her hands fumbled with the bundle in her lap, then she took a deep breath. “I brought you…”

  Instead of finishing her thought, she quickly unwrapped a basket and pulled out a paper-wrapped parcel. As she peeled back the paper, the scents of sugar and chocolate and butter wafted towards him.

  “Today is still Sunday,” she said softly, holding the slice of chocolate cake as if it were an offering. “Sundays are the days you eat with us, and today I…I made you a cake.”

  Because she knew he liked cake. She made him something he liked because she knew he liked it? When had anyone last done that? When had someone looked at Verrick, who was known across the West as a gun-for-hire and an emotionless machine, and made him something just to please him? Wanted to please him, not because he was feared or because he was powerful, but because he was…

  Verrick closed his eyes on a shudder.

  She wanted to please him because he was him.

  God Almighty, but he was in trouble.

  Detach.

  He took a deep breath, then another. He couldn’t afford to feel pleased, and especially not because she’d done something specifically to please him. He needed to remain calm and focused if he was going to protect Lucas’s family from Baker.

  Cora Montgomery was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

  “Goodnight,” he all-but-growled as he shifted towards his bedroll and settled himself against the tree behind it, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his hat tipped over his face.

  And when she took a bite of the chocolate cake and stared into the dying embers, he told himself it wasn’t disappointment in her expression.

  But he knew he was wrong, and he felt like an ass.

  Chapter Three

  Cora woke in the morning alone and was thankful for it. Granted, it would’ve been nicer to wake up in someone’s arms—didn’t Montana know it wasn’t supposed to be this cold until winter?—but with Verrick gone, at least she could wallow in her own embarrassment a bit.

  Last night, when she’d offered him the cake she’d baked, then packed and dragged all the way out here, her heart had been in her throat. Sundays were for sharing a meal together, and she missed that. But then to have him dismiss her offering like that, to ignore her and make it clear he had no intention on being polite…

  Well, Cora couldn’t remember ever feeling more humiliated.

  Of course, because of who she was and what she’d done in her life, she had plenty of experience with humiliation. There’d been plenty of
times when so-called friends, family, or even strangers had tried to prove to her that her choices were wrong, but Cora had brushed off those attempts. She’d always known she was different and had a different path, so she’d lifted her chin and stared down her opponent, and even laughed a time or two.

  But last night, she hadn’t felt like laughing.

  Cora rolled upright and pulled her bedroll tighter around her. She knew she should be up and moving, but couldn’t muster the gumption to let in the cold just yet. Who knew autumn could be so frigid?

  Last night the fire had been warm at least. And the way her cheeks had burned in embarrassment had been quite toasty. But soon after she’d finished the last of the cake and laid down, wrapped in her blankets, her embarrassment had faded. She was no stranger to rejection, even if she’d never been rejected by a man—a man she’d love to get to know better, if possible—and she wasn’t about to let that stop her.

  By the time she’d fallen asleep, her resolve was in place once more. She hadn’t run after Verrick on a whim; she knew he could show her a world she’d only dreamed of, and wanted to experience. That was why she was here, and she wasn’t going to let a little thing like embarrassment stop her.

  Besides, what she knew of Verrick told her he probably hadn’t intended to hurt her in the first place; the man just had no understanding of, or care for, social niceties.

  It was up to her to teach him, or at least show him, what she wanted from him. And she wanted all sorts of things from him.

  She wanted to see the world through those golden cat’s eyes. She wanted to taste him, to know if he was as cold as he appeared, or if there was a fire burning inside him as she expected. She wanted to be with him, not just physically, but emotionally too. She wanted to learn from him, everything he was willing to teach.

  For God’s sake, she didn’t even know the man’s first name! Didn’t know if he had any interest in her in any romantic way.

  But there’d been hints. As little as he showed the rest of the world, Cora had been able to see him. She’d seen him that first day, when he’d looked her over and determined she wasn’t a threat, but before he could dismiss her, she’d returned the favor, smirking. And it had been worth such a blatant display to see those stunning eyes widen slightly, before all emotion disappeared from his expression.

  Over the last months, there’d been more than a few times when she’d seen what no one else had seen in Verrick. The ways he watched her when he didn’t think she knew. The way his nostrils had flared when she’d come too near. The way he’d abruptly left the time she’d brushed up against him, and Lucas had seen it as rudeness while Cora inwardly gloated that she could affect Verrick in that way.

  Oh, yes. The rest of the world might see him as a clockwork machine, but Verrick, most-feared gunslinger in the west, was a man.

  And she knew what she wanted from him.

  When he ghosted back into the little clearing, Cora jumped slightly. Another man might’ve called out a greeting, but not Verrick. To his mind, there’d be no sense in wishing a “good morning” or something as obvious as, “You’re awake?” No, Verrick’s mind worked differently from other people’s, and Cora liked that.

  Because so did hers.

  She smiled up at him, which caused him to frown slightly. Well, nothing so overt, actually, but she could tell from the slight tightening of his lips that he wanted to frown.

  The thought made her smile more for some reason. He sunk to his haunches beside the dead fire, and began to build it up once more.

  “Good morning,” she ventured, curious to see what he would do.

  His gaze flicked to her, huddled there in her bedroll, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he waited until he had a little blaze going, then went to the stream to fill a small kettle. She wanted to ask him where he’d been, what he’d been doing that morning. She wanted to ask him why he’d left yesterday, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat and watched and wondered how a man could look so magnificent first thing in the morning.

  Verrick was known for wearing black. Not fancy black, but good quality. Black trousers, black gun belt, black shirt, black vest. And what was remarkable was he managed to never appear dirty or dusty or frumpy—a real feat, considering Cora felt as if she’d been dragged behind her horse instead of riding it.

  This morning, he’d obviously shaved—how long had she been sleeping?—but his hair wasn’t as neatly combed as it had been yesterday. Because he planned to wear the black hat lying on top of his saddle? Or because he just didn’t care as much for his appearance when he was on the trail?

  Cora decided it didn’t matter, because that little lock of blonde hair falling over his forehead made him appear somehow more attractive. Her fingers itched to smooth it back into place, but she knew once she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop touching him.

  It took a moment to realize he was watching her in return, and when her eyes dropped to his, there was a hint of humor in them.

  Was he laughing at her? Because she was so obviously and totally enthralled by his masculine beauty?

  Well, fine then. Let him. She lifted one brow in challenge, and he looked away.

  He reached for the tin mug sitting beside the fire, and she realized sometime in the last ten minutes, while she’d been daydreaming about him, Verrick had made coffee. He poured the thick brown liquid into the mug, and Cora felt her stomach growl. It was freezing cold, although the little fire was doing its best, and she’d spent the night on the hard ground. A cup of coffee would’ve been the loveliest treat, but she had no idea how to make it.

  When he rolled back to his haunches and stood with the mug, she forced herself to look away, to not follow his movements with a yearning expression. Because as hungry and cold as she was at that moment, watching him drink that coffee would be torture.

  So when he squatted beside her, she was so startled, she almost squealed. He didn’t seem to care, judging from his usual stoic expression, but just held the coffee out.

  “Here,” he said simply.

  She hesitated. “What?”

  “It’s coffee.” He moved the mug a little closer, so she could smell the delicious brew. “You are cold.”

  Heck yes she was cold. Well, she had been cold, but now, with him sitting so close to her, those golden eyes boring into hers, she was warming up quite a bit.

  “Th—thank you,” she managed, snaking one arm out of the cocoon she’d made to take the mug.

  Their fingers brushed against one another, and she couldn’t suppress her shiver at the contact. He didn’t seem to notice; he just waited until she took a sip—Heaven!—before nodding and reaching out to tuck the blanket more securely around her.

  He was—he was taking care of her?

  Cora felt herself melting in more than one way. The warmth of the coffee filled her, and the knowledge he’d made it for her, had cared about her well-being…well, it did more than the blankets ever could. Cora found herself suddenly blinking back tears, so she focused on the mug in her hand and forced herself to breathe deeply.

  “Thank you,” she whispered again.

  He didn’t reply—no surprise there—but shifted his attention to her pack. As she watched, he squatted beside her bedroll and pulled out the contents of her saddlebags. Seeing his tanned hands holding her clothing—well, Lucas’s clothing—sent another spike of warmth through her.

  It wasn’t until he pulled out the packet of jerky she’d taken from the ranch that he turned to her with one blond brow twitched up. “This is the only food you brought?”

  It had kept her going all day yesterday at least. She shrugged. “All I know how to cook is baked goods” —which he hadn’t eaten— “and I’m not even all that great at those. I knew I’d catch up with you.”

  I knew you’d take care of me.

  Maybe he’d heard the unspoken comment, because he nodded slightly and went back to his searching. “Did you bring a mug?”

  Her heart sunk a little in embarrassment, b
ut she forced her chin up again. “No, just a canteen of water.” She held the mug towards him. “Do you want yours back?”

  His head shake was short and sharp. “I can wait.”

  He was willing to forgo his own comfort so she could have coffee. She lifted the mug to her lips to hide her smile, and tried not to read too much into his actions.

  But when he pulled out one of her sketchbooks, she felt her stomach flip over again.

  Why did it have to be that one? Why had she even brought it?

  The large one with the blue cover held her current landscape sketches, and she hoped to fill it up on this adventure. But this little one, with the brown leather binding and the cord holding it closed, held—

  She bit back her groan as he flipped it open.

  There was no reaction from him as he stared down into his own gaze. This little sketchbook was filled with her studies of humans, and since coming to Montana, he was her favorite subject. There was the sketch of him standing on the porch, gazing towards the west. There was the close-up of his jawline, and one of his ear. There was the shape of his shoulders and strong throat as he sat at their Sunday dinner.

  And there…

  She swallowed thickly as he turned another page, then froze. She knew what he was seeing.

  There was the sketch she’d done of him smiling. Staring right out of the page, his golden eyes twinkling, his lips stretched wide, his even teeth bared in an expression of joy she’d only imagined. Because of course, he’d never smiled like that in her presence. She didn’t even know if he could.

  …But she could imagine. And imagining Verrick smiling brought her joy, so why shouldn’t she?

  Plus you never thought he’d ever see these, she reminded herself ruefully.

  Her gaze dropped to his hands where they held her sketches. Thick, callused fingers on her fine leather. She watched them flex, as if he couldn’t decide to close the book or not. She licked her lips for courage, and raised her eyes to his.