by Pam Crooks
“What is it?” she asked.
“Charlie and I are riding up to Silver Meadow,” he said. “Go on without us. We’ll catch up.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Silver Meadow! I’d like to come with you.”
His heart leaped at the unexpected opportunity to be with her, even if it meant sharing her with Charlie. Still, concerned for her protection, he hesitated.
“Take her, Lance,” Vince said before Lance could refuse. “I’m not good company for her.” The comment triggered a spell of coughing into the handkerchief he pressed against his mouth.
“Lance, please,” Sonnie said after her father calmed. She appealed to him, her features eager, confident. “If I’m to speak at tonight’s meeting with any sort of authority, I must be familiar with the stolen rangeland. This is a perfect opportunity for me to learn of the troubles the Rocking M is facing with Ditson and Snake. Surely you understand that.”
She blatantly challenged him, a black-eyed beauty who knew what she wanted and could give the argument to justify it.
She was good. Damned good.
“Besides, you and Charlie will be right beside me. To protect me, of course,” she added, a demure pout on her mouth.
She taunted him with her wiles, mocked him with his worries for her safety, and he was powerless to deny her.
“She can have my horse,” Stick offered, unabashedly looking in from a window on the other side. “I’ll ride on the box with Cookie.”
Vince nodded, approving. “The trip will do her good.”
“Guess I have no choice, do I?” Lance refused to show the others how easily she’d maneuvered him. “Mount up. We’re wasting time.”
Her delight unabashed, Sonnie dropped her needlework into the satchel at her feet and scrambled from the stagecoach. Brushing aside Stick’s offer to help her into the saddle, she slipped one slender foot into the stirrup and swung up onto the mare with sleek agility. She hastily adjusted her skirts about her.
“Well, now, Miss Sonnie,” Charlie drawled, eying her efforts. He rested a forearm on his saddle horn. “I know that you’re a real lady, through and through, and women ‘round these parts don’t ride them god-awful sidesaddles like they do back east.” He made a show of studying a lone cloud in the sky. “Can’t say for the others, but I reckon if I can get a peek at a lady’s purty little ankle while she’s ridin’ in a normal saddle, it just might make my day a little brighter.”
Sonnie laughed. “Charlie, shame on you!”
But she stopped her fussing, and he heaved an elaborate sigh.
“Can’t blame a man for tryin’, can you, ma’am?”
Lance released an exasperated breath. The other cowboys chuckled, gazing with unmistakable adoration toward Sonnie during the exchange. Only Jake, bored and restless, seemed oblivious.
Lance ordered Cookie to pull out. The outriders took their places around the stagecoach, and, lifting a hand in farewell to Vince, Lance promised to return Sonnie shortly and closed the door.
The three left the road and crossed through grass knee-high to their horses. They reached the bluff overlooking the meadow, and Sonnie gasped in pleasure at the sight below.
“It’s even more beautiful than I remembered,” she said softly. “See the morning dew on the grass and how it sparkles in the sun? Fairies’ tears, my sisters would tell me. I always believed them.” She sighed at the memory, a wistful smile on her ruby lips. “Is that why they call it Silver Meadow? Because of the morning dew?”
Lance shook his head. “This was your mother’s favorite part of the Mancuso rangeland. Vince told me she named it because of the way the moonlight turned everything it touched silver.”
Charlie squinted an eye against the sun.
“Yep. Right beautiful country,” he concurred. “Too bad it’s causin’ us so much trouble.”
His comment deflated Sonnie’s smile. Lance followed her gaze as it swept the horizon and paused at the blackened debris Vince’s flaming match had left behind.
“He has no right to take this from us,” she murmured. She turned and faced Lance. “Ditson, I mean. He has no right.”
“No, Sonnie,” he said. “He doesn’t.”
Their conversation ceased for a pensive moment, and as he rooted around his shirt pocket for a rolled cigarette, Lance was struck by the stillness--the absolute absence of life.
He didn’t have any illusions of finding Ditson and Snake within easy view. Still, he saw no evidence of their attempt to rebuild the cabin, not even a heap of new supplies purchased in defiance of Vince’s harsh warning to them to stay away.
Where were they now? What was their scheme?
Not knowing only increased his unease.
Sonnie emitted a soft sound of pleasure at the field of wildflowers growing rebelliously amid the gently swaying grass. A riotous display of flora beckoned her.
“I’d like to gather a bouquet for Papa.” She touched Lance’s arm and indicated the colorful patch of nature. “Some flowers might cheer him.”
“Go ahead,” he said absently, and tucked the unlit cigarette into the corner of his mouth.
“I’ll hurry.” She guided her horse toward the flowers. Knowing his protective gaze lingered over her, she dismounted into the thick foliage, bent, and plucked a stem of violet larkspur. She inhaled the delicate scent from the miniature petals.
“How about that there pretty flower?” Charlie called out, pointing toward a cluster of orange-petaled flowers growing close to the soil.
Recognizing the species, rare for this part of the range, she smiled.
“Lithospermum caroliniese. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Lithosper--shit.” The cowboy frowned. “I’ll just call it a pretty flower.”
Sonnie’s smile widened. “It’s a puccoon, Charlie. And this one is named Yucca glauca. Soapweed. And this one is Rosa arkansana.”
“You know all them funny names for ‘em?” he asked, awed.
“Goodness, no, not all.” She added a stem of yellow sand lily to the bunch. “Just some. This is prickly poppy. And over here”--she strode a few feet farther--“is spiderwort.”
As he watched her, Lance’s mouth quirked. “Smart aleck.”
She laughed outright. “I’m not.”
He removed his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and studied the unlit end.
“There are more than two hundred species of flora ‘round these parts, Charlie,” he drawled. “I heard tell there might be upward of seven hundred identified when it’s all said and done. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
Wide-eyed, the cowboy gaped at him. “My Gawd. No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you do now.” Lance tucked the cigarette back into the corner of his mouth.
“Smart aleck.” Sonnie wrinkled her nose at him.
Lance grinned back, charming her.
She couldn’t hold her amusement. Flaunting her studies to Lance warranted the teasing. She was willing to take what she handed out.
She made a shooing motion with her free hand.
“Leave me to my picking, you two,” she said. “Take a ride around Silver Meadow. I’ll be ready to leave when you are.”
Lance nodded. “We’ll come back in a few minutes, then. Don’t stray too far. I want to be able to see you.”
“Go. I’ll be right here.”
His shadowed glance lingered on her a moment more; then he shifted in the saddle and spurred his horse deeper into the meadow, Charlie at his side.
Sonnie adjusted the growing pile of flowers lying in the crook of her arm. She delighted in being gifted with Lance’s show of humor, and with a smile tarrying on her lips, she bent to pick some Canada wild rye grass to add to her bouquet.
* * *
Troubled by an evasive element he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Lance scanned Silver Meadow. Again the stillness struck him. Something was different.
Then he knew.
“The herd,” he said softly, drawing Charlie’s glance.
“What?”
“The herd is gone. Every damn head of cattle that Ditson stole from us is gone. They were here that night we burned his supplies.”
Charlie sat ramrod straight in the saddle. His scrutiny darted across the range in a search Lance had already finished. “Hell.”
Lance figured the loss in dollars and cents and winced.
“Suppose he just took ‘em somewhere else?” Charlie asked. “A different grazing range, maybe.”
“A range better than Silver Meadow?”
Lance nudged his horse past the burned cabin shell toward a faint trail farther east. He halted and studied the tracks imprinted in the dirt.
Two horses, one of them unshod, had herded the cattle over the little-used path. He followed their direction and guessed Ditson and Snake were headed for Cheyenne.
“All that beef’ll fetch a mighty purty penny for ‘em,” Charlie said.
Lance scowled. “Ditson’s getting back at us for burning him out. By the looks of the tracks, they passed through the day after Vince set the fire.”
“Reckon he’ll use the money to start up an outfit of his own? A legitimate outfit?”
Lance’s lips tightened over the unlit cigarette still tucked in his mouth. He remembered the night at Gracie’s.
“Reckon he might at that.”
His mind played with several theories, plausible guesses as to Ditson’s next move. Most likely he’d head to the Cheyenne stockyards, where he could ship the rustled cattle in railcars to an eastern market and remove the evidence of his theft. Or he could drive the herd to Cheyenne to sell the beef to the meat-dressing plant and flaunt his victory beneath the Rocking M’s nose.
One thing was sure: finding a buyer willing to pay top price for the prime Mancuso stock would not be hard.
Clay Ditson would be a rich son of a bitch.
* * *
A whisper of a rustle, as if the petals and leaves on the wild-growing flora had brushed against someone’s legs, stilled Sonnie’s humming. Stems snapped and crunched beneath boot soles.
Even before she turned, her heart began to pound. Even without looking, she knew it wasn’t Lance.
She straightened slowly, her gaze riveted to the monstrous shadow looming over her. She turned then, her alarm building.
A huge form blocked the sunlight. Copper skin stretched over harsh, angular features. Black eyes, flat and cold, stared down at her.
She swallowed hard.
“What do you want?” The demand left her throat in a shaky rasp.
He took a step closer. Sonnie’s heart pounded faster.
“Get off this land, Snake. Do you hear me?” She took a cautious step back.
His lips thinned into a leer and revealed yellowed teeth. He made a sound, low, grunting, deep in his throat. The primitiveness of it sent shivers up Sonnie’s spine.
His knife blade gleamed, then arced in the sun. Powerful fingers tightened over the handle.
He’d been stalking her, she realized in horror. Waiting until Lance and Charlie had ridden away before moving with silent stealth toward her.
“You’ll never get away with this. Lance--my father”-- she sucked in a breath--“they’ll come after you. I swear.”
He slid his bulking frame into a crouch. His long, muscle-rippled arm swung once, twice, the knife so close the wind sang across the blade.
She flinched and jumped back with a gasp.
The hard mouth parted. Laughter jerked from his throat, eerie and menacing.
He was toying with her, taunting her until he attacked.
She’d not make it easy for him. She’d not fall victim to his brute strength without a fight.
The laughter died. Yellowed teeth bared in a guttural snarl. He lunged for her.
She screamed and whirled and ran for her life.
* * *
Lance’s heart lurched within his chest. Her scream clawed at him across Silver Meadow.
Sonnie.
His instincts leaped at the sound. Charlie’s anxious features mirrored the fear pounding in Lance’s veins. He ripped the unlit cigarette from his mouth and yanked his rifle from its scabbard. In the same motion, he kicked his spurs into the sorrel’s ribs and reined him into a sharp turn from the trail.
Their horses broke into a hard gallop. An eternity passed, and he finally saw her.
She was running, searching for him, the hem of her deep blue cloak trailing behind her. Panic paled her face.
She spotted him and cried out his name. One arm clutched the wildflowers to her breast while the other reached out to him. Even before the horse ground to a complete halt, he slid from the saddle and caught her to him, holding her tightly against his chest with his free hand.
“Sonnie, what’s wrong?” he demanded into the soft skin at her temple, his embrace so protective his jaw pushed her little velvet hat askew.
She swallowed a sob and tilted her ebony head up to him.
“Snake. He’s here. In the flowers.” She pulled away from him slightly and peered behind her, as if certain the Indian would suddenly loom into view.
Lance jerked his gaze all around the tops of the tall grass and colorful blossoms, but saw no one. He gestured to Charlie. The cowboy, his rifle ready, nodded and reined his horse into a wide search.
She shuddered. “He came from nowhere. He wouldn’t say anything. Just stared at me with those mean black eyes.”
“I should never have left you, Sonnie.” Regret haunted him. “God, if he hurt you . . .”
Her forehead wobbled back and forth on his chest. “No. He didn’t touch me. He had this awful-looking knife, but . . . but he never touched me.”
Sweet Jesus. He could have.
“I’ll take you back to the stagecoach,” Lance said.
Gently he released her and noticed the bedraggled armful of flowers she held in a death grip to her breast.
“Do you want to pick another bunch before we leave?” he asked.
She shook her dark head. “I think not. I’m afraid I’ve lost the fun of it.”
She stepped away from him, but boldly took his hand and curled her fingers around his. His grasp tightened in reassurance.
He kept a sharp eye out for any sign of movement as they traipsed through the wildflowers to retrieve Stick’s horse. A swath of broken and leaning stems clearly showed that Snake had stalked Sonnie.
After she mounted, he grasped the bridle and led the horse to his own. He swung into the saddle and noticed Charlie’s approach.
“Snake’s been here all right,” the cowboy said, drawing closer. “Must’ve shimmied on his belly through the grass and flowers from a camp over yonder. Damned Injuns can be as quiet as the dead when they got a mind to be.”
“No sign of him now, though?”
The question was moot. If Snake wanted to be seen, he would be. Still, Lance needed to hear it.
“None.” Charlie returned his rifle to its scabbard. “He’s probably watchin’ us this very minute, laughin’ his guts out because we can’t see him.” His compassionate glance drifted over Sonnie. “If he wanted to hurt you, he’d ‘a done it the minute our backs were turned. I reckon he only meant to scare you, Miss Sonnie.”
She lifted her chin with a dignified sniff. “Then he did a fine job of it, Charlie.”
Lance shoved the Winchester into its scabbard. “Come on,” he said in a growl. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Both men formed a protective shield about Sonnie as they left Silver Meadow and cut through the rangeland ahead of the Mancuso entourage. The rig, flanked with its outriders, rumbled in the near distance. They waited three abreast in the road for it to draw nearer.
Lance’s gaze strayed often to Sonnie. He studied her delicate profile, the thrust of her chin, the uplifted tilt of her nose, as she watched the approaching stagecoach. A surge of heated possessiveness, of prolonged worry, coursed through him.
Reaching out an arm toward her, he caught her chin and turned
her to him.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she murmured. A hint of color had returned to her cheeks, and she seemed to have regained the aplomb she’d lost. “Really, I am,” she added, as if she sensed his anxiety.
Lance pulled his hand away, but her index finger hooked with his and kept his full attention.
“Don’t say anything to my father about this,” she said quietly. “Not with his health so precarious.”
His thumb stroked her knuckle in a slow caress. “I won’t. But from now on I’m not leaving you alone. If I can’t be with you, one of the other men will.”
Her lips softened into a provocative smile that nearly turned his heart on end. “Whatever you say, Boss Man.”
He wanted to say many things, all that he was feeling, had always felt, but he held it in. Lifting her knuckle to his lips, he dropped a kiss upon her satin skin, then reluctantly released her.
The black-and-gold stagecoach rumbled to a stop. Stick jumped from the box and loped toward them, an eager grin on his boyish face.
“How was she for you, Miss Sonnie?” he asked, indicating his horse. He stroked her sleek neck. “Gentle enough?”
“Oh, yes, very gentle,” she said. “A baby could have ridden her without falling off. Did you train her yourself?”
He glowed from her compliment and gallantly offered her assistance to the ground, no mean feat, considering his initial shyness toward her.
“Started when she was a colt,” he declared.
“Thank you for letting me ride her. You’re very proud of her, I can tell.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re sure welcome to ride her anytime you get the hankerin’.”
“I’m touched, Stick.” She slipped her hand in his elbow as he escorted her to the stagecoach. “You’ve always been very kind to me.”
“How could any man not be kind to you, Miss Sonnie?” he asked.
“It’s easier for some than for others.” With a wan smile, she relinquished her hold on his arm and stepped inside the rig to rejoin Vince.
Stick rubbed his jaw in puzzlement, her comment lost on him.