Wild Mustang

by Jane Toombs

  “You’ll sign a paper,” Laura said.

  “Paper?” Shane echoed.

  “Agreeing not to expect me to—well, we’ll have separate bedrooms and such.”

  He watched her blush. “You can be sure I’ll never approach you in that way.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

  “Never!” burst from her lips.

  “I’ll sign the paper,” Shane said hastily.

  What were they doing, the two of them? Something neither wanted, that was for sure. But Shane would do anything to keep custody of his little sister, and Laura, thankfully, had agreed. So here he was, marrying a perfect stranger, and the deal wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d assumed….

  Dear Reader,

  Happy anniversary! Twenty years ago, in May, 1980, we launched Silhouette Books. Much has changed since then, but our gratitude to you, our many readers, and our dedication to bringing you the best that romance fiction has to offer, remains as true today as it did in 1980. Thank you for sharing with us the joy of romance, and for looking toward a wonderful future with us. The best is yet to come!

  Those winsome mavericks are back with brand-new stories to tell beneath the Big Sky! The Kincaid Bride by Jackie Merritt marks the launch of the MONTANA MAVERICKS: WED IN WHITEHORN series, which focuses on a new generation of Kincaids. This heartwarming marriage-of-convenience tale leads into Silhouette’s exciting twelve-book continuity.

  Romance is in the air in The Millionaire She Married, a continuation of the popular CONVENIENTLY YOURS miniseries by reader favorite Christine Rimmer. And searing passion unites a fierce Native American hero with his stunning soul mate in Warrior’s Embrace by Peggy Webb.

  If you enjoy romantic odysseys, journey to exotic El Bahar in The Sheik’s Arranged Marriage by Susan Mallery—book two in the sizzling DESERT ROGUES miniseries.

  Gail Link pulls heartstrings with her tender tale about a secret child who brings two lovebirds together in Sullivan’s Child. And to cap off the month, you’ll adore Wild Mustang by Jane Toombs—a riveting story about a raven-haired horse wrangler who sweeps a breathtaking beauty off her feet.

  It’s a spectacular month of reading in Special Edition. Enjoy!

  All the best,

  Karen Taylor Richman

  Senior Editor

  JANE TOOMBS

  WILD MUSTANG

  Books by Jane Toombs

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Nobody’s Baby #1081

  Baby of Mine #1182

  Accidental Parents #1247

  Designated Daddy #1271

  Wild Mustang #1326

  Silhouette Shadows

  Return to Bloodstone House #5

  Dark Enchantment #12

  What Waits Below #16

  The Volan Curse #35

  The Woman in White #50

  The Abandoned Bride #56

  Previously published under the pseudonym Diana Stuart

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Out of a Dream #353

  The Moon Pool #671

  Silhouette Desire

  Prime Specimen #172

  Leader of the Pack #238

  The Shadow Between #257

  JANE TOOMBS

  was born in California, raised in the upper peninsula of Michigan and has moved from New York to Nevada as a result of falling in love with the state and a Nevadan. Jane has five children, two stepchildren and seven grandchildren. Her interests include gardening, reading and knitting.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter One

  The narrow and sparsely traveled blacktopped road leading to the Paiute reservation was in need of repair. There were no fences and, to either side, Nevada’s high desert rolled away in acres of silvery sagebrush and other native plants and grasses. Through the open windows of her rental car, Laura Walker breathed in the sage-tinged spring air, keeping tabs on the wild mustang herd to her left.

  As usual, one of the mares was in the lead, the black stallion in rearguard position, protecting his harem. While Laura watched, the lead mare—a dun—altered course, obviously heading for the road. Laura pulled the car to the shoulder and stopped, not wanting to miss seeing the wild horses close-up.

  As they neared the road, she counted five mares, the stallion, two yearlings, and one foal, doing its best to keep up. Two mares, one a pinto, one a chestnut, looked to be pregnant and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the spotted mare, now lagging behind the stallion, was lame. The rest of the herd seemed healthy.

  The lead mare crossed directly in front of the parked car, the other mustangs following her. Laura caught her breath in admiration of their grace and beauty.

  Last was the spotted mare who, Laura now saw, definitely limped. The lame mare was almost across the road when a green pickup zoomed into sight, boom box throbbing. Without slowing, the truck roared past. The startled mare lurched ahead, colliding with the foal and knocking it off its feet.

  When Laura saw the baby horse was having trouble getting back up, she flung herself from the car and dashed across the road to try to help. Was the foal injured? She hoped it was nothing serious.

  Her attention fixed on the foal, Laura paid no attention to the other mustangs who’d gone on ahead. She hadn’t quite reached the foal when it managed to struggle to its feet unaided, so she stopped, resisting the impulse to touch the baby. She wasn’t here to interfere.

  A high-pitched angry scream from behind her made her whirl. Horrified, she stared at the charging, black stallion. He must have decided she was a threat to his harem and circled back without her noticing. Fear froze her—he’d cut her off from her car, and there was no other safe place in sight.

  Hooves thrummed from behind her. Before she could move, she found herself grabbed, hoisted into the air, and deposited facedown across a rider’s lap like a sack of potatoes, whooshing the breath from her lungs.

  As he urged his gray gelding away from the mustangs, Shane Bearclaw kicked him into a gallop to get away from the roused stallion as fast as possible.

  “Stupid,” he muttered, meaning it for the blond woman he’d rescued. “Could’ve been killed.”

  When he reached the rise where he’d been when he first noticed her get out of her car, he reined in Cloud and looked to see if the black stallion had calmed down. The herd was moving off, away from the rise. Reaching down, he pulled up the blonde, so she more or less sat on his lap.

  “You figure this was a good day to die?” he growled.

  She stared at him from frightened eyes as blue as Lake Tahoe, holding her body stiffly away from him. Serve her right to be scared. She’d sure as hell scared the devil out of him.

  “The mustangs are wild, and the word means what it says,” he told her. “Wild stallions are dangerous. Anybody with sense doesn’t go near them.”

  “Let me down.” Her voice quavered so badly he had trouble making out her words.

  “Not unless you promise to get up behind me until I get you to your car. I have no intention of trusting you until I see you get in and drive away. My rodeo days are long gone—I’m not up to trying that trick twice in one day.”

  He found himself wishing those spectacular blue eyes didn’t look so fearful. “Hey, it’s over,” he said, in softer tones, suddenly aware that no matter how foolish she might have been, he was hold
ing a very pretty blonde on his lap.

  “I’m Shane Bearclaw,” he said, realizing he wanted to know who she was.

  Laura looked into the dark eyes of this stranger who held her far too close to him. His long black hair was tied back, revealing a strong-featured face. In a way, he reminded her of the stallion who’d threatened her. She found Shane Bearclaw equally threatening.

  “Laura Walker,” she managed to say. “I was coming to meet you at your ranch. And, yes, I’d much prefer to be seated behind you.”

  This was not the greatest of beginnings as far as she was concerned. Her fear of him was beginning to abate, leaving in its place an edgy awareness of him as a man. That, she could do without.

  He offered a one-sided grin as he slid off the gray. “So you’re the semi-Fed in person.”

  “The what?” she asked as she eased back until she was behind the saddle.

  He remounted. “Anyone who arrives on the reservation with the Fed’s blessing.”

  “I have a federal grant, but I’m not otherwise connected in any way with the government.” Indignation threaded through her words.

  A shrug told her that he intended to go on thinking of her as he darn well pleased. Deciding she’d delayed far too long in demanding to be taken back to her car, she remedied that in crisp tones.

  “If you’ll drop me off at my car, I’ll meet you at your ranch, and we can then discuss how I can best meet my objectives with your help.”

  Without a word, he urged his horse into motion, and she found holding onto him was almost as intimate as sitting on his lap. But it was either hang on or fall off.

  What seemed like long minutes later, he halted the gray by her car, slid off, and helped her down. “How good are your directions?” he asked. “The ranch isn’t on a main road.”

  “Sketchy,” she admitted, stepping away from him.

  He rattled off his own version of how to get there.

  She nodded and got into the car. Watching him ride away, she realized he was a superb horseman and belatedly remembered that she’d forgotten to thank him for rescuing her. No wonder. No sooner had she gotten her breath back from being suddenly flung onto a horse, when she’d found herself sitting on a strange man’s lap.

  Laura had thought her uneasiness around men was under control, but she hadn’t anticipated such an intimate confrontation as she’d had with Shane Bear-claw. And this was the man she’d be working with over the next month or so. A take-charge macho-type who wouldn’t equate brains with women.

  Learn to reserve judgment. Laura could almost hear her therapist’s voice. Men are not all the same.

  Maybe not. Maybe that big brute on the horse hadn’t been trying to intimidate her. But it certainly felt that way.

  “Tenderfoot,” Shane muttered to himself as he rode back to the ranch. Laura Walker, slim and fragile-looking, didn’t strike him as a woman who’d be a happy camper out on the range.

  He’d cooperate as promised, but he hoped her mustang studies, whatever they were, wouldn’t take long. He had enough problems without shepherding a greenhorn around—the major one being his fear of losing his custody battle.

  “You know I prefer leaving a child in the home she’s accustomed to,” Judge Rankin had told him last week. “But, face it, Shane, there’s no woman in your household. The child’s father has remarried and he and his wife offer a stable environment for the little girl.”

  “The ranch is a good environment,” Shane had protested, deliberately misunderstanding.

  Judge Rankin had given him a level look. “If you were married, I’d have no problem.”

  Shane pressed the gelding into a lope. Married? Not a hope. Not ever again. He’d sworn off it.

  After driving along several unmarked gravel roads, Laura pulled into the small oasis surrounding the Bearclaw ranch house. Her brother had told her the desert soil was fertile, all it needed was water and anything would grow. The greenery around the house proved him right. Besides the flowering shrubs near the house foundation, massive cottonwoods shaded the long, low building, testifying to how long people had lived in this spot.

  As she left the car, she saw the neat green rows of a fenced-in vegetable garden. Otherwise the yard was left as the desert intended, with no lawn for water to be wasted on. Outbuildings in back included a barn with an attached corral. The house itself was adobe brick with a tile roof.

  Before she reached the front door, it opened and a dark-haired girl of about nine or ten stood framed in the doorway. Unlike Shane, she had hazel eyes.

  “Hi,” she said, “I’m Sage. You must be Ms. Walker. Shane said you were coming today, and I’ve been waiting. Grandfather has, too, but he doesn’t get antsy like me. You’re lots prettier than I thought you’d be.”

  Shane’s daughter? Laura smiled at her. “Then I guess you couldn’t have expected very much.”

  “Please come in,” Sage said, stepping aside so Laura could enter.

  Ushered into a pleasantly uncluttered living room, Laura chose an attractively decorated leather chair to sit in.

  “I made iced tea,” Sage told her. “Would you like some? It’s real tea, not out of a jar ’cause Grandfather hates instant stuff.”

  “Thank you, I would,” Laura told her, touched by the little girl’s effort to be a good hostess.

  It then occurred to her that the child might actually be the only hostess in the house. She hadn’t mentioned a mother, only a grandfather.

  A carving of a horse—surely a wild mustang—on the mantel of the stone fireplace caught Laura’s eye. She rose to take a closer look and was admiring how well the carver seemed to have captured the mustang spirit when Sage came back with a tray.

  “This horse is beautiful,” she told the girl.

  Sage nodded. “Shane says he senses what animal is in the wood before he starts carving. Grandfather says that’s the mark of a medicine man. So now Shane’s learning all that medicine stuff.”

  She set the tray carefully on a polished slab of wood masquerading as a coffee table and offered a paper napkin and a glass to Laura. “Do you take sugar or sweetener?” she asked. “’Cause I didn’t put any in, in case you don’t.”

  “This is how I like my tea,” Laura said, resuming her seat, trying to integrate the scowling man who’d rescued her with the obviously sensitive sculptor.

  “I like lots of sugar,” Sage confided. “So does Grandfather.”

  As if that was a cue, a gray-haired older man, still ramrod straight, entered the room. His hair, like Shane’s, was long and tied back. His shrewd, dark eyes fixed on Laura.

  “Grandfather,” Sage said, “this is Ms. Walker.”

  The old man nodded. “Howell Bearclaw,” he told her. “I don’t like being called mister, and I don’t like being called Howell much, either. I prefer Grandfather. To us, that’s a title of respect.” Unexpectedly, he grinned at her.

  “You don’t have to call me that till you find something about me to respect. What’ll we call you?”

  She smiled. “I like being called Laura.”

  Sage handed him a glass of tea. He tasted it, nodded in approval, and took the chair opposite Laura’s.

  “You’ve come to count the wild horses on our land,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly. My government grant is for determining the overall health of the mustang herds. Nevada, and your reservation, is my first stop. Later, I’ll be doing the same thing in the other states where they range. The Bureau of Land Management estimates Nevada has 22,500 of the 42,000 wild horses in the West.”

  He grunted. “At least you don’t call them estrays like the BLM. What kind of word is that? Wild is wild.”

  Recalling the stallion, Laura had to agree. Government agencies like the BLM had their own names for things, but wild was most certainly wild.

  “My grandson’s going to ride out with you,” he said.

  Though it wasn’t a question, Laura nodded. “I hope he doesn’t mind.” Thinking about her
meeting with Shane, she was none too sure he was happy about it.

  “He’s no grandson of mine if he doesn’t jump at the chance to escort a pretty woman,” Grandfather said.

  “I already told her she was pretty,” Sage put in. “She’s nice, too.”

  “Must be smart, too, to get that grant.”

  Laura was somewhat taken aback at the turn of conversation—almost as though she weren’t there.

  Sage turned to her and asked, “Are you married?”

  Since there was no reason not to answer, Laura replied, “No, I’m not.” She didn’t add that she never would be, either. That was none of their business.

  Sage and her grandfather exchanged a look.

  What on earth is all this about? Laura asked herself.

  “That makes three of us,” Grandfather said.

  Sage giggled. “I’m too young to be married.”

  Grandfather frowned at her. “And I suppose you figure I’m too old.”

  They both gazed at Laura. What did they expect her to say? Like Goldilocks, that her age was just right?

  “Marriage isn’t on my agenda,” she said flatly.

  “We are not behaving like proper hosts,” Grandfather said. “We’ve embarrassed our guest by asking a personal question.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sage said. “It’s just that Laura’s so pretty I thought she must be married.”

  They were at it again, talking about her as if she weren’t in the same room. Though she was inclined to like both of them, she found this trait disturbing. She doubted it was a Paiute custom.

  “We are alone too much, Laura,” Grandfather said, this time addressing her directly.

  “Yes,” Sage chimed in. “So will you forgive us?”

  “I wasn’t offended,” she assured them.

  “He’s coming,” Grandfather said. “I’ll go out and take care of Cloud.” Looking at Sage, he added, “You stay and entertain our guest.” He left the room.

  Though Laura presumed he meant Shane, she hadn’t heard anything to indicate Shane’s immediate arrival.

  “You didn’t ask me what grade I’m in and where I go to school,” Sage told her.