In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  He rubbed a hand along his jaw. The memory of her mouth moving tentatively beneath his stirred a heat within him that would only burn them both. Even now, just thinking of it . . ..

  He swore again, softly. He’d been too long without female company. As soon as they got to Amarillo, he’d find a willing woman and end the celibacy Briggs--and a murder conviction--had inflicted upon him. Until then, he had to keep thinking of Hannah as a nun. And not as a woman.

  He moved toward her.

  Hannah heard the crunch of his boot soles and knew he’d come to make amends.

  She didn’t turn to him. She didn’t have to. She knew the exact moment when he stopped behind her; she could gauge the precise distance that separated their bodies. Even through the layers of her habit and cloak, in the chill of the late night air, she could feel his warmth. His strength.

  She tilted her head back and gazed up into the stars. They made a canopy of serenity, she thought. A solitude she’d not found anywhere else on earth.

  Except in the Daughters of Perpetual Glory convent.

  “They’d be in the chapel saying the Night Prayers of the Divine Office about now,” she said quietly. She turned to him, then. “The nuns, you know.”

  “Would they?” he murmured.

  She nodded and pursed her mouth. “Afterward, they’d get ready for bed. Lights out by nine o’clock, then up again at midnight to start the series all over again. Prayer after prayer. Six times a day. Day in and day out.”

  It hadn’t taken long to fall into the Sisters’ routine. The rituals never changed. Hannah found them strange at first but soon learned to take comfort in them.

  To find peace.

  She’d lost that peace. Quinn had stolen it. The bandeleros had stolen it. The whole world had stolen it and kept her from the serenity she relished. And needed.

  He removed the Stetson, ran his fingers through the thickness of his dark hair. “Look, Hannah. About tonight.”

  “Quinn, don’t say anything.”

  “I have to.”

  “I know why you did it. Kissed me, I mean.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded, somber. “It’s all part of the con game.”

  Glory, she knew about con games. Her childhood had been spent mastering them all. Pa had seen to that. No matter what it cost her.

  “Hell, it’s more than a game,” he said, the denial rough. “I put you on display in front of everyone. I took the husband-wife thing too far.”

  “You made the game believable. Nothing more.”

  “Hannah . . ..”

  She heard his frustration. His guilt.

  “My name is Hannah Benning.” Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. “Ironic, isn’t it? To have kissed me like you did and not even know my last name.”

  His gaze touched her. “You refused to tell me.”

  She recalled the morning before when they’d hidden from Briggs and Titus in the cold stream. She’d been determined to keep him at a safe and proper distance.

  “I wanted you to think I was a real nun,” she said, the admission soft. Bemused.

  A moment passed. “Aren’t you?”

  She sighed. “I’m a novitiate, Quinn. The first stage in becoming a nun. I’ve taken temporary vows. I have much studying ahead of me before I profess the final ones.”

  “Temporary?” He hung on the word.

  “But vows, nonetheless,” she said evenly. “When I return to the convent, I’ll resume my studies in earnest.”

  He crooked a finger beneath her chin. Gently, incredibly so, he turned her to face him.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked.

  Their eyes met. She hadn’t thought he could be so gentle when she’d seen him so savage.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe . . ..”

  “Maybe what, Hannah?”

  “Maybe I’m starting to trust you.”

  A slow smile softened the hard line of his mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned.” The smile widened into a crooked little curve. “Mind if I swear in front of you?”

  She clucked her tongue in exasperation. “You’ve not been concerned with it before. Why start now?”

  He chuckled, the first from him since he’d taken her captive.

  “I’ve heard some oaths that would drop the leaves off the trees,” she admitted. “I’m ashamed to say I’ve used them myself a time or two. When I’ve been deeply vexed.”

  “Really. We’ll have to swap sometime.”

  She sniffed, resisting his teasing. “I think not. Most of them were positively disgusting.”

  “Somehow, I can’t see you doing anything that wasn’t pure and right.”

  Pure? Her soul was anything but that. And right? Glory, she’d done so many wrong things in her life.

  “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Quinn.” She sighed. “I’ll only fall off.”

  He seemed about to reply, but a sound behind them snatched his attention.

  “Someone’s coming,” he said in a low voice.

  Hannah stabbed a glance into the darkness. Through a slight parting of the trees, she discerned two shapes. They seemed unaware of Quinn and Hannah’s presence.

  “Tomas and Sophia,” he said.

  “Thank goodness.” Relief swept through her that it’d not been a wild animal. Or Julio Cortez.

  “They’re slipping away to find a little romance together,” he said.

  She peered at him doubtfully.

  “They’re entitled, you know. They’ve been apart a long time.” Again, the hard line of his mouth softened. “And they’re married.”

  Indignation rippled through her. “I may have chosen a life in a convent, Quinn, but I’m not ignorant of the desires of the flesh between a man and a woman.”

  “It’s good you’re not.”

  She blinked up at him, at the abrasiveness of the comment. The darkness hid his expression.

  “Are you ready to turn in?” he asked curtly. “The Huertas want to leave at dawn.”

  His sudden impatience, the swift way he changed the subject, threw her off guard.

  “No,” she said, her defenses rising. “I’d like a little more time to myself.”

  “The rest of the band has fallen asleep. You’re alone except for the Huertas and the posted guards. Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  He hesitated, as if he was reluctant to leave her, but the camp was within easy sight and earshot. In the end, he touched a finger to the brim of his Stetson and left.

  Hannah watched him go, her gaze lingering upon his lean form longer than was necessary. A vague dismay left her feeling unsettled. Out of sorts.

  She saw him differently now that he’d kissed her. He seemed manlier somehow. More attractive. Stronger and more powerful.

  Her heart did a funny, unexpected flip.

  Hannah closed her eyes tightly to shut out his image. She clung to her memories instead--of the convent, of candles and incense and rosary beads, of chants and prayers and Latin hymns, of the simple chapel and the stark, narrow confines of the cubicle she called her bedroom.

  It proved difficult. Appallingly so.

  She blamed her failure on the night cold seeping into her toes and fingertips and gave up. Slipping from the rock, she pulled her cloak tighter and started for camp.

  A woman’s throaty moan stopped her. Hardly thinking, Hannah darted a glance into the trees and found the silhouetted shapes of Tomas and Sophia standing together.

  A twinkling moonbeam revealed their nakedness, and in the few seconds before Tomas wrapped his wife snugly into the folds of his blanket, sheltering her from the cold, Hannah glimpsed the slim and definite curves of the other woman’s body.

  Hannah’s mouth parted in surprise.

  Sophia Huerta was pregnant.

  Chapter 8

  They broke camp at dawn and rode long and hard into the New Mexico Territory’s hill country. Hour after hour, they travelled at a grueling pace, stopping on
ly to rest the horses while eating a light meal of dry tortillas and tasteless beans at midday. Then, before Hannah’s aching muscles could quiver a protest, they mounted up and rode out again.

  Why not, she thought on a surge of weary peevishness. Tomas and Sophia rode in comfort in Fenwick’s rig while she and Quinn rode on the backs of their horses and choked on the dust raised by the carriage wheels.

  She immediately recited a prayer of contrition. In her expectant condition, Sophia deserved the carriage far more than she did.

  Hannah had been unable to find a moment to tell Quinn of her discovery. He appeared unaware of the pregnancy, as did the rest of the band. Indeed, Sophia’s serape kept the swell of her belly well hidden, and it was little wonder she wanted the rig. Before long, the babe in her womb would prevent her from riding astride with the ease and ferocity of her men.

  With each hour that crawled by, Hannah’s patience wore thinner. She wanted only to go to Amarillo, to see Quinn settle his score. And then she wanted to return to the convent.

  She didn’t want to go to an outlaw hideout in the middle of nowhere.

  But she swallowed down the frustration as penance for her past sins, and, more importantly, as one more step she must endure to pass the test of her calling.

  Quinn rode straight, even relaxed, in the saddle, the brim of his Stetson pulled low over his forehead, the reins laced loosely through his lean fingers. He endured the journey with the stamina of a seasoned rider. His dark eyes continually skimmed the horizon, the men, the carriage in front of them. And sometimes, his eyes skimmed over her.

  Somehow, she always knew when they did. Her blood hummed a little faster in her veins. Did he need to assure himself she was still safe beside him? Or did he worry for her comfort?

  She schooled her features to show none of her petulance or fatigue. Keep a poker face, Pa always said. She was determined no one would know of her discomforts, not even Quinn.

  The terrain grew rocky, and the horses labored to climb the hills, their hooves striking the hard ground like hammers on flint. The band, with Fenwick’s carriage in the lead, squeezed through the mouth of a pass leading into a secluded valley, shadowed heavily by the setting sun.

  Tomas and Sophia signaled them to stop. Hannah realized they’d reached their destination at last.

  Her gaze made a slow, apprehensive sweep of their surroundings. The bandeleros’ hideout had once been a tiny community, it seemed, a handful of weather-worn cabins constructed of adobe and rough-hewn logs, tin roofs, and boarded up windows. A mining town gone bust.

  Beyond the forlorn structures stood, remarkably, a mission church, its yard well-tended, the adobe recently painted. As if too proud to be reduced to ruin, the church had been blessed with loving care. Yet if a priest remained in residence, he was nowhere to be found.

  Her gaze clung to the little sanctuary. She longed for time inside, to sit in the cool solitude and enjoy its peace. But she quelled the desire and exchanged a wary look with Quinn.

  “Now what?” she asked quietly.

  He, too, swept the hideout with a grim once-over.

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” he answered.

  All about them, the bandeleros began to dismount, their faces split in wide grins beneath their thick moustaches, their relief at having finally reached the end of their journey evident. The Huertas dismounted, too. Tomas barked orders to his men, sending them scattering in all directions to obey.

  The bandeleros seemed at ease here, and Hannah guessed this was a refuge they used often. A home, of sorts. A protective haven.

  Quinn draped his reins over the saddle horn and swung free of his mount. He strode over to Hannah and studied her from beneath the brim of the Stetson.

  She peered down at him and didn’t move. She couldn’t help the tug of a frown on her lips.

  His brow lifted at it. “You going to sit there all night, woman?”

  Hannah refrained from confessing she feared she couldn’t move for the stiffness of her muscles and the numbness in her behind. Drawing a determined breath, she slid free of a stirrup and maneuvered from the saddle, only to tumble ungracefully to the ground.

  Quinn instinctively grabbed for her. She reached for him in turn and clutched the hard breadth of his shoulders for support.

  Her legs wobbled. A faint grimace touched her mouth.

  “You okay?” he asked, the words husky with concern. His hands gripped her hips. She could feel the strength in them. The warmth.

  “I’ve not ridden astride in a long while. I’ll be fine in a minute or two.” Embarrassed at her lack of tenacity, she could lift her eyes no higher than his top shirt button.

  Tomas and Sophia approached. Quinn turned toward them but kept a hand securely upon her hip, as if he expected her knees to buckle again at any moment.

  He met Sophia’s obsidian gaze. His glare blamed her for Hannah’s discomfort.

  “Yesterday, you spoke of a bargain between us, Sophia,’ he said without greeting. He indicated Fenwick’s carriage with a terse gesture. “You claimed our rig. What will you give in return?”

  Her stern expression gave way to amusement.

  “We give you clothes on your back. Food in your belly. And protection from Frank Briggs,” she said. “Is that not fair enough in exchange for your beautiful carriage?”

  “He’ll search long and hard for us,” Quinn said. “I told you we have to keep moving.”

  Her smile disappeared. “I have not yet decided when you will leave.”

  “There’s nothing for us here,” he said, his tone sharp. “We’ll only bring you trouble.”

  “That’s for us to decide. You could be valuable to us.”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Valuable?

  Tomas crossed his arms over the gunbelts upon his chest. “You are tall and strong, Senor Landry. You ride a horse as if you were born to it.” A smile lurked under the thin line of his moustache; clearly, he enjoyed the battle Quinn fought with his wife. “I would guess you can drive cattle, brand them, work a herd?”

  “I could manage,” he scowled.

  “And your lovely wife could cook and clean?”

  “She’s no one’s servant,” Quinn snapped.

  “But to save her life, she could be, eh?” Sophia asked.

  Cooking and cleaning? To save her life?

  It was too easy. There was more to the Huertas’ bargain. There had to be.

  Hannah puzzled over it, but Pa had taught her to be patient, and Mother Superior stressed humility. Until the time came, she’d combine the two virtues and learn the Huertas’ covert plan before they could put it into place. In the meantime, sweeping floors and stirring pots over a fire wouldn’t be so terrible.

  “Quinn.” Hannah turned to him in a silent plea to accept the terms of their so-called bargain, at least for now. Refusing would only destroy any chance of possible escape. “I’ll do what they want. We both will.”

  His gaze slammed into hers. She longed to assure him their time here amongst the outlaws would not be long. She pledged it to herself, deep inside.

  Finally, he nodded, and his grim gaze found Sophia’s once more.

  “My wife”--his tone caressed the words in mocking challenge--“needs a long, hot bath. She’ll need some decent food to eat, too, and a real bed to sleep in.”

  If Sophia disapproved of the demands he placed on her, twisting the terms of their bargain to suit his desires, she didn’t show it.

  “I would like that as well, Senor Landry,” she said and smiled faintly.

  “Our bargain is settled, then.” Tomas suddenly clapped his hands in a show of courtesy that may or may not have been genuine. Hannah couldn’t decide. “Miguel! Miguel, where are you?”

  At his shout, an ancient little Mexican appeared in the doorway of the largest of the cabins, an apron tied around his spare waist. His delight in seeing the leaders of his people was evident, and Tomas and Sophia embraced him briefly.

  “Heat plenty of
water, Miguel. Sophia and the gringa want a bath,” Tomas said.

  “Si, Tomas.” Miguel bobbed his graying head, and he eyed Hannah with undisguised curiosity before flashing her a snaggle-toothed smile and hurrying away.

  Tomas turned to Sophia. “Give them Julio’s room, mi querida. He can sleep with the horses.”

  “Of course, Tomas.”

  Quinn frowned. “We don’t want Cortez’s room.”

  “You are our guests,” he said simply. “The horses will not mind him with them.” He gripped Quinn’s shoulder, urging him forward. “Come. We will allow our wives some time to themselves, eh?”

  “No,” Quinn said. “I’ll stay with Hannah.”

  “The Senora will be safe,” Tomas said firmly. “She will be with Sophia. No harm will come to her.”

  The Mexican’s patience was not to be tested, and Hannah feared the consequences should Quinn push him to his limits. She turned to Quinn, her gaze lifting to his. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “Don’t worry.”

  She knew the inward battle he fought. She sensed it in the hard line of his jaw, in the unyielding set of his mouth.

  “Hannah . . ..” Her name trailed off his tongue in frustrated protest.

  “Please. Don’t worry,” she said again and took a small step back from him. “Go.”

  His hand fell away from her hip. “I’ll see you later, then. Soon.”

  She nodded with a jerky movement. She clung to his low-voiced promise and watched him leave. A vague feeling of loss, of being all alone, crept over her. She swallowed it down.

  “Come, Hannah,” Sophia said. “I will show you into our grand hacienda.”

  Her rueful expression revealed the mockery of her words. She strode ahead of Hannah, the hems of her serape brushing against the knees of her snug-fitting pants with each long, confident stride.

  Hannah tried not to think of Quinn and followed more slowly, her tight muscles loosening with each step. She cautiously entered the cabin, which in its early days might have been a stagecoach station large enough to put up boarders for a night or two.

  Sophia halted in the main room, furnished with little more than a table and chairs and a bright woven rug. A fire crackled in the fireplace. The scent of spices and meat simmering on a stove hung in the air.