Marshals' Most Wanted

by Marshals' Most Wanted (lit)

  Hope gestured at the wagon and horses tied up at the edge of the boardwalk. “In that case, why don’t we load up and get back to the ranch. You can rest up tonight at the Bar-K, and we’ll head out tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” Stev said.

  The men fell in step with Hope as they walked to the wagon.

  Stev looked at her. “You don’t use grav-cars?”

  “We have a couple at the ranch, of course, but we figured our guests would prefer the buckboard and horses. Part of the whole rancher-for-a-week thing. I thought you’d want to get the entire experience. For your articles, I mean.”

  “Right,” Stev said. “Our readers will want to know all the details.”

  “Are those real horses?” Tarik stopped a respectful distance from the animals hitched to the weathered wagon and eyed them with interest.

  “Real as we get here,” Hope said. “Their ancestors were decanted from fertility machines when the first settlers came to Jokers Wild, but we’ve been breeding our own stock at the Bar-K for generations.”

  The near horse whickered as she patted its rump, which bore the white genetic “brand” all Bar-K animals were born with. “If you gentlemen want to hop aboard, I’ll drive the wagon around to the luggage hangar to pick up your gear.”

  The men complied, jumping up to the bench seat with an agility that said maybe their lean bodies weren’t entirely the results of a good diet and lab-refined genetics. She really liked the way their denim pants hugged their muscled thighs and truly fine asses. Hope shook her head ruefully when she realized she was staring at her clients with sensual interest instead of a more appropriate businesslike detachment.

  “Right,” she said, more to herself, and climbed aboard to sit beside Tarik. “So, on to the luggage hangar.”

  She lightly snapped the reins, and the wagon jolted into motion as the horses moved into the busy street where saddle horses trotted alongside chauffeured grav-cars. Hope caught herself watching Tarik’s profile from the corner of her eye and forced her attention back to the road. The urge to look her fill of them was hard to resist. It baffled her. She’d never felt such an instant, powerful affinity for anyone. What was it about these men that made them so hard to ignore?

  * * * *

  Shirrah Spencer stepped from the shadows of the overhanging porch a few doors down from the general store and watched the old-fashioned buckboard carrying the woman and two men clatter away. Narrowing her eyes, she took a delicate drag off the thin black cigarillo balanced between two silver tipped nails. She blew out a contemplative cloud of blue, spice scented smoke from pursed lips. She didn’t recognize their faces—watery, bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks and reddened noses might have made them unrecognizable to their own mothers, she thought—but there was something familiar about the way they moved. She had an eye for just that sort of long, lean frame on a man, and two such fine specimens definitely merited a second glance. Maybe even a third, if she had the time. But duty called.

  Shirrah fished the quaint timepiece that came with her costume out of the tiny pocket in her fitted peacock blue vest and looked at it. The dove gray tailcoat and slim-leg pants were hot in the midday sun, but she appreciated the way the closely tailored fashions of an Old West dandy on a very female body drew appreciative stares. Sometimes the best way to lay low was to hide in plain sight. Snapping the watch closed, she returned it to her pocket and sauntered toward the general store to attach herself to the group of gamblers. One had a connection with the local “sheriff” who was helping the security consultant at the hotel for the duration of the tournament. She doubted he’d have any worthwhile information for her, but she liked to be thorough. Later, she’d contact Rogan and see if he recognized her description of the two men.

  Course of action decided, Shirrah dropped her cigarillo in the can of sand by the entrance and pushed through the swinging doors.

  Chapter 2

  Hope felt her brother’s eyes on her as she walked into the family room without so much as a hello. She did spare a pat on the head for Rounder when the border collie heaved himself up from his mat to greet her with a slowly wagging tail. He returned to his bed and lay down with the creaky movements of an aged canine.

  Poor old dog.

  Plopping down on the well padded arm of a lounge chair, Hope tugged off one battered cowboy boot, then the other, and dropped the pair to the floor with a decisive double-thud. Then she let her butt slide off the arm and land in the soft cushion of the chair, legs and arms sprawled wide as she heaved out a heartfelt sigh.

  “You know Mom would kick your butt for walking through the house with your boots on.” When she failed to respond, Garrett asked, “Rough day?”

  “Don’t,” she pointed one finger at him without bothering to open her eyes, “you start in on me. This is all your stupid fault, anyway.”

  “How is it my fault?”

  The sound of the vid Garrett had been watching dropped to a murmur. Hope cracked an eyelid in time to see her youngest brother, two years older than her twenty-seven, put the remote down and shift his leg on the coffee table. He moved awkwardly, thanks to the thick gel cast encasing his right leg from ankle to thigh. He winced, and she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Oh, let me do that!” Getting up with a mock put-upon groan, she plucked a pillow from the couch beside him and used it to cushion his heel on the table. She shoved another one behind his back, adjusting it until he sat at a more comfortable angle. “Idiot,” she grumbled. “You’ve gotta be the oldest kid to ever fall out of a hayloft.”

  “I’m twenty-nine!”

  “My point exactly.”

  “So I was just supposed to let those kittens stay up there where they could be the ones to fall out of the loft?”

  “They’re cats, Garrett. They’d probably have landed on their feet and waltzed right out of there.”

  “Gee, heartless words about helpless kittens. You really must’ve taken a dislike to those writer guys.”

  “I said, don’t start in on me. You were supposed to be the one taking them out, not me. How convenient that you happen to bust up your leg just a couple of days before your all-important travel writers touch dirt.”

  He let the “convenient” comment pass but scoffed, “Oh, come on. How bad could they be?”

  “For starters, they’re sick.”

  “Sick? Sick how? They can’t be sick, they’ve gotta write a bang-up piece and snap some snazzy pics of the Bar-K so we can start bringing some tourist credits in.”

  Hope flipped her hand in annoyance. “Sneezing and coughing sick. I don’t know the specifics. They said it was an allergic reaction to something in the general store and it would clear up on its own.”

  Garrett relaxed. “That’s good then, right?”

  Hope shrugged.

  “That doesn’t sound like enough to put you in such a foul mood,” her brother said. “What else is wrong with them?”

  She worried her lip with her teeth and thought of her strange reaction to the off-worlders. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t sit still for thinking about a man. Men. Whatever. Tarik’s firm, muscular thigh felt wonderful pressed against hers on the ride back to the ranch. She wondered what it would feel like without the two layers of denim separating his skin from hers. Worse, it seemed every jolt and jostle of the wagon sent a charge from her pussy to her breasts until her nipples were hard as nuts. When they reached the yard, she practically leapt from the wagon to start hauling their gear out of the wagon bed and into the bunkhouse assigned to Stev and Tarik. She mumbled something about them getting some rest and that someone would fetch them for supper, then bolted with the horses and wagon to the barn.

  “Hope?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Is that it? Just that they’re ailing?”

  She looked away from his narrowing gaze and slowly sat beside him on the couch. “I just don’t like them.”

  “Did they do some—”

  She interrupted his
growl of brotherly outrage with an impatient grumble. “No, of course not. As if I couldn’t handle a man who got out of line.”

  “Hell, Hope, then what is it?”

  “I told you, I just don’t like them.”

  “If you really feel that strongly about it, Reid can take them out.”

  Hope shook her head. “Don’t be dumb, Garrett. Lannie’s baby will be here any day. He can’t be riding a horse out on the range with those soft-hands,” she said, referring to the uncalloused palms that typified non-ranchers. “What if she goes into labor and we can’t contact him? Mom and Dad won’t be back from Aunt Gemma’s until next week, so it’s not like Dad can take them out. I said I’d do it. It’s just for a few days, anyway, and I might as well get used to it. If this business takes off like you and Reid hope it will, they won’t be the first annoying guests we’ll get. At least they aren’t dandied up like those gamblers in town.”

  Garrett watched her for a long moment without speaking. “Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

  Hope forced a breezy smile to show him she was over her rant. “I’m sure. Everything will be fine. You just make sure you mend that leg, so I’m not the only one who has to suffer when all those tourists start stampeding into the yard.”

  Garrett slung an arm around her shoulder and dropped a smacking kiss on the top of her head. “Deal.”

  * * * *

  Stev and Tarik watched with raised brows as Hope Kennedy left their room at a trot, slamming the door behind her.

  “That went well,” Stev said.

  “Wonder what’s bothering her?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. Wish we had some time to find out, though.”

  Tarik slanted him a grin. “You, too, huh? She’s a sexy thing, isn’t she? Always did favor a woman who could almost look me in the eye. At least you didn’t have to suffer with her curvy body pressed up against you all the way here like I did.”

  “Suffer, right. Poor lad.” Stev picked up Tarik’s bag of “camera gear” and pitched it at him. “Why don’t you check in and see if Control has any more info for us on the Rogan Gang.”

  Six single beds, each with its own small nightstand, took up most of the space in the bunkhouse. A spartan wash area and a simple table with four chairs were at the back of the room, notched into the cubby created by the jutting vertical box Stev assumed housed the lavatory. While he pulled the curtains on all the windows, guaranteeing their privacy, Tarik took out his wristcomp and unpacked the rest of his gear. A myriad of surveillance and security gadgets was soon spread in neat rows on one of the beds. With economical motions, Tarik assembled a portable com station and power booster and logged into the secure feed all planetary satellites dedicated for use by law-enforcement agents.

  Tarik paused in his typing as another sneeze rattled his body.

  “Still feeling sick, Tarik?” Stev ’pathed.

  “Not really,” his bond-brother answered aloud. “Mainly just stuffed up.”

  “Me, too. Ten credits it’s gone by tomorrow.”

  The joke was a standing one between them. They’d been betting credits on everything from raindrops to women since they’d been bonded in their teens. Tarik made a distracted sound, neither accepting nor refusing the bet. At the moment, he was more interested in information than their perennial game. “What the pit was that stuff again?”

  “Rose-scented soap.”

  “Rose?” Tarik tapped out a query on his wristcomp. “Some kind of Old Earth flower. Gah!”

  Stev peered over his shoulder at the tiny screen. “What is it?”

  “Lucky thing we didn’t swallow any. The database says residents of Geminus and a few other planets have developed ‘violent allergic reactions’ to roses.”

  “No shit.”

  “There’s a toxicity alert here to health officials.”

  “Woulda been nice to know beforehand.”

  “I’ll make a note to check the local toiletries the next time we’re hot on the trail of an intergalactic band of thieves and killers,” Tarik said dryly.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Hope’s very pregnant sister-in-law served up an elaborate breakfast in the comfortable kitchen used by the family. It would have been more impressive if Stev and Tarik could smell it. While the watery eyes and urge to cough and sneeze were gone, their sense of smell had yet to return. Hope, Lannie Kennedy told them, had eaten earlier. Since she also ducked out of having dinner with her family and their guests, they hadn’t seen her since the previous afternoon.

  Lannie explained that the working ranch hands, who slept in a bunkhouse nearly identical to the one prepared for the Bar-K’s paying guests, had their own cook and dining area. Hope was in the horse barn getting everything ready for the first item on their agenda: a three-day, two-night ride to explore different features of the ranch. The Bar-K hoped to offer tourists a variety of options, from nothing more than simple accommodations in the bunk house to tailored excursions that included overnight campouts of different durations.

  Garrett Kennedy, propped up on crutches to see them off the back porch, pointed out the horse barn where they’d find Hope. Now, travel and gear bags thrown over their shoulders, Stev and Tarik ambled across the yard to find their guide. They watched as a number of cows and calves, penned in a large corral beside the barn, watched them with reciprocal interest. The huge animals batted long lashed eyes, tails flicking periodically as they tracked the men’s progress. A small white chicken pecked industriously in the grass sprouting up around one fence post. A red rooster strutted up, and she hurried off in a flutter of ruffled feathers and chortling clucks.

  As they approached the huge open doors, a knee-high dog with black and white fur emerged from the barn’s shadowy interior. It stopped and surveyed them with intelligent eyes.

  “Rounder.” A whistle followed Hope’s voice. The dog’s ears pricked up, and it glanced over its shoulder before turning back to face the men. By then, they were close enough to see Hope inside, leading a saddled horse into the wide center aisle. Two others, similarly equipped, waited with stamping feet, secured by their halters outside their stall doors.

  Hope looked up. “Stev. Tarik. Good morning.” Her eyes went to the bags they carried. “Why don’t you bring your gear here, and I’ll load it up while you get acquainted with your new best friends.”

  * * * *

  Hope closed her eyes and fought to maintain her composure. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about steering her horse into a tree. Unfortunately, closing her eyes didn’t help. Instead, it made her even more aware of the way the animal’s rolling stride rocked the saddle between her thighs, sensuously rubbing the seam of her jeans against swollen, sensitive flesh. Her breasts were heavy and tight, her nipples visible points under her shirt. More than once, she caught herself hugging her arms close to her sides, pressing the hungry globes together in an attempt to get some relief. Her skin tingled as if subjected to a million tiny shocks, not quite painful, but almost. It was torture.

  What was wrong with her?

  This wild desire was a thousand times worse than what she felt yesterday when she drove Stev and Tarik to the ranch. Afraid of what would happen if she had to kick her horse into a trot, she reined in their pace until the horses moved at little more than a walk. At the drastically reduced pace, it would be after dark before they arrived at the first campsite.

  Thankfully, Stev and Tarik appeared to be oblivious to her condition. They took to riding with ease and now held their horses in the same position they had all day, one on either side of her. Her initial antipathy to the off-worlders had faded. As they talked, she was surprised to find Stev and Tarik both interesting and intelligent. They didn’t ask stupid questions, seeming genuinely interested in Hope, the ranch, and Jokers Wild, in that order. Where Tarik was faster with a quip and a hearty laugh, Stev amused in his own way with a dry wit she appreciated.

  She wondered if she’d find them just as likeable if she weren’t so hot to
drag them off their horses and rip their clothes off.

  She’d only been in the general store for a few moments, but maybe she’d been exposed to the same thing Stev and Tarik had, only her body reacted differently. She’d never heard of an allergic reaction that presented itself as voracious lust, though.

  Hope considered contacting her brothers and having one of them take over. One of them. Right. She knew it would have to be Reid, since Garrett’s leg meant he couldn’t ride a horse. She couldn’t do that to Reid and Lannie. Her eldest brother couldn’t leave the ranch, even for just a day.

  She glanced to either side. Stev and Tarik had obviously recovered from their allergic reaction. Their complexions were a healthy, honey tan, brown eyes clear and bright. Without the bloodshot veins, they proved to be a melting chocolate. Both men smiled easily, and every time they did her eyes went to their lickable lips. Speaking of lickable, she wouldn’t mind tangling her tongue in the sprinkling of hair she could see where Stev left the two top buttons of his shirt unfastened.

  Hope jerked her eyes away. Maybe it would be best if she slept on it and took stock in the morning. If she still felt like a mare eager for a stallion, she’d com her brothers and go home.

  * * * *

  Stev watched the delectable sway of Hope’s ass and hissed out a breath through his teeth. The gun belt strapped to her waist only emphasized the lush curve of her hips. Her dark blond curls bounced against her shoulders as she walked down the path to the freshwater spring behind a jumble of rocks near their campsite. The single moon was high in the sky, its silvery light changing Hope’s hair to liquid platinum against the darkness of her shirt. A shirt that molded faithfully to the high, rounded globes of her breasts. He liked to think he was somewhat of a gentleman, but a gentleman wouldn’t have repeatedly honed in on her beaded nipples the way he had through their simple dinner.