Tracker’s Sin

by Sarah McCarty

  Tracker set the tray aside. “How old is your baby?”

  “Six months. He’s just beginning to crawl.”

  The last of Tracker’s hunger left him. Six months was too old. Ari would have had to have gotten pregnant when she was with the Comancheros.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the food?” she asked.

  “I’m just feeling a bit off my feed. It was a hot morning for plowing.”

  “Pappa is determined we have more garden space.”

  “I noticed.”

  Ari shifted in the chair, clearly wanting to leave, but just as clearly held in place by another desire.

  “Something on your mind?”

  She nodded and took one of those betraying breaths. Threading her fingers together, she clenched them until the knuckles showed white. “My parents are going to ask you to leave.”

  “I figured that.” Nothing like having your daughter falling into a fit at the sight of the new handyman to clinch a decision.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  It was his turn to blink. “Why?”

  “I heard my parents talking. I know who you are.”

  Who he was seemed to be pretty important to these people. “And who’s that?”

  “You’re a Texas Ranger. One of the meanest.”

  “I guess that would depend on who you talk to.”

  She looked disappointed, and more than a little skeptical. Her gaze lingered on the scar slicing down his cheek. “You’re not mean?”

  “Mean enough to get the job done.”

  “I need you to be very mean.”

  “I’ll ask you again—why?”

  “My father is in trouble.”

  “He didn’t make any mention of it.”

  “He wouldn’t. He likes to think he can handle everything, but he’s old now and he can’t fight the way he used to.” She glanced at Tracker, fear in her eyes. “The men who would hurt him are vicious killers. They have no consciences or souls.”

  “How do you know?”

  She shook her head as if bewildered. A curl fell loose from her bun, bouncing against her cheek. She shoved it behind her ear. “I just do.”

  He bet she did, even if she was talking to him as if he couldn’t trigger a bad memory if he wanted to.

  “I know enough to know that if things continue the way they are, those men are going to kill my father. He knows it, too. That’s why he wants the garden bigger. So Mama and I can support ourselves.”

  “Would those men be the gringos who came to town last fall?”

  “You’ve met them?”

  Tracker shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure yet.” But he would. It was a bit too coincidental that trouble of that type came to the small town where Ari had taken shelter after the Moraleses had found her. As a matter of fact, a lot of the circumstances surrounding Ari’s rescue were convenient.

  She frowned. “If you do, you’d better be good with those guns.”

  It’d been a long time since someone had questioned Tracker’s skill. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She licked her lips again. His cock hardened, pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He barely bit back a “Stop doing that.”

  She stood up so fast her skirts swayed. “I want to hire you.”

  He stood, too. Another interesting tidbit. “I’m a Texas Ranger. We’re not for hire.”

  She put her hands on her hips, determination giving her a confidence he hadn’t seen before. “We’re not in Texas, though, are we?”

  Technically, the area was in dispute. “Close enough not to abandon the principles I serve, no matter how pretty the woman is who asks me.”

  She made a slashing motion with her hand before running it over her hair. More tendrils threatened to break loose with the next pass of her palm. “I don’t want you to kill anybody.”

  To give his hands something to do besides reach over to let one of those curls entrap his finger, Tracker picked up his gun and began reassembling it. “What do you want me to do?”

  Her arm dropped to her side. “I just want to scare those men so they leave my father alone.”

  It wasn’t the first time Tracker had been asked to scare somebody, but it was probably the first time he believed the person asking really thought it could be done without anybody getting killed.

  “Why do they bother him?”

  A tinge of red on her cheeks, a hint of tears in her eyes, and she said, “Because of me.”

  “Why?”

  The blush of embarrassment deepened and she looked away. “Men think I am…available.”

  “Because of your son?”

  “Yes.” Her expression tightened and her hands fisted. “I think they threatened him.”

  “Vincente?” The old man didn’t strike Tracker as the type to cower at a threat.

  “No.” Her gaze dropped to his pistol. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if it was all she could do to keep from grabbing it from him. “My son.”

  That put a whole new spin on the issue. “Did Vincente tell you that?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Yes, I believe you. The baby is the family’s most vulnerable point. It makes sense for a man to threaten it to get what he wants.”

  “I’d go to them if I thought it would keep him safe.”

  She would, too. Tracker could see it in her eyes. Even if she couldn’t remember, she had to be scared shitless at the thought, but he didn’t doubt for a minute that she would sacrifice herself for the safety of her son. She had the same fighting spirit as her sister. Likely the same recklessness, too. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

  “It won’t.”

  “I know.”

  But if the gang turned up the heat enough, if she got desperate enough, she might see it as her last hope.

  “Please. I don’t want them to hurt my family. I owe them so much. I wasn’t…well after the murder. They thought I was going to lose Miguel.”

  “Miguel is your son?”

  “Yes.” She took a step closer and placed her hand on Tracker’s arm. The heat of her touch seeped slowly through the leather of his shirt. “Please.” Another step brought her skirts around his legs. “Help us.”

  He placed his hand over hers, pressing just firmly enough so she couldn’t let go. “What are you offering me if I do?”

  The pulse in the hollow of her throat beat double-time. The fresh scent of soap blended with the acrid smell of fear.

  She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. Tears trembled on her lashes. “Whatever you want.”

  He slid his palm up her arm, trailing his fingers up the side of her neck before working them through her hair, to anchor them beneath the bun. It would take so little to tug her hair free of the constraint. So little to break her. He let his thumb skim down until he found the hollow of her throat.

  Take her up on her offer, the devil that sat on his shoulder urged. Tracker was tempted. Her pulse throbbed against his thumb in silent reprimand. She offered, the voice continued.

  Yes, she had. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d traded services for sex. It likely wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Her big blue eyes widened and locked on his. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled. “Please.”

  He caught a tear with the edge of his thumb, halting the downward spiral. Son of a bitch. He needed a kick in the ass. A man didn’t pass up opportunities like that.

  “You loved Miguel’s father very much.”

  “Vincente and Josefina are my family.”

  Interesting way of skirting the statement.

  “They’re not mine,” he retorted.

  She grabbed his wrist. Her short nails stung as they dug deeply. “I’m begging you for your help.”

  “And you just naturally went for my base nature. Because a man like me wouldn’t have a higher one.”

  “No!”

  “That’s okay, sweets. I’m willing to be
as low as you want me to be.”

  “I don’t want you to be anything! I just want you to help my family.”

  “Then why don’t you just ask for my help?”

  She pushed at his hand. “I did.”

  He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. Had to know with whom she was dealing.

  “You tried to hire me. You begged me, but you never asked me with any expectation that I would agree.”

  “Why would you?”

  Christ, she’d just got done hauling out his reputation, but when it came to seeing him, she didn’t see a decent human being. “Yeah. Why would I?” He let her go. She stepped back immediately, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  “Are you going to help us?”

  There was a smudge on the pristine white of her shirtsleeve where he’d held her.

  “I’ll help you.” The jury was still out on whether he’d help the Moraleses. Something about their story struck a sour note.

  He grabbed his hat off the bed.

  Ari stood in the doorway, blocking his way. “What are you going to do?”

  “Go to town.”

  Her eyes grew big again. “But you don’t have any help.”

  Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around and nudged her ahead of him. “I’m not going to solve your problem today.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” He grabbed Buster’s tack. The bridle jangled as he dragged it off the rack and carried it over to the stall. “I’m going to get a drink.”

  4

  Tracker was a drinking man. Ari didn’t know why she was surprised. Men like him who wore that aura of death around them played hard and drank hard. At least that’s what she’d heard from Josefina. It was why Ari never went to town. Because drinking men couldn’t be trusted. But even though she stood there watching Tracker prepare to saddle his horse, she didn’t believe it. It didn’t mesh with what her instincts said were the truth. It didn’t mesh with her own experience.

  She touched her cheek where she could still feel the warmth of Tracker’s hand. He’d been angry with her and hurt, but his touch had been anything but angry. If she didn’t know better, she would have called it seductive, maybe even tender. He was a very strange and confusing man. And he was her only hope.

  Tracker hefted the saddle onto his horse’s back. Despite the anger and frustration she could feel coming from him, he was gentle with the animal, too. She admired the maturity that allowed him to control his emotions. She admired his physique. He was truly beautiful from behind. His broad shoulders tapered to lean hips and tight buttocks that flexed as he turned. A mature man in his prime, he was beautiful in a very masculine way. Her gaze dropped to his buttocks again. Very beautiful.

  “Don’t you have a baby to attend to?”

  Dear heavens. How had he known she was looking? Heat flooded her cheeks.

  Ari had two choices: apologize or brazen it out. She chose the latter. Tracker wasn’t the type to admire cowardice. And there was something about him that made her want his admiration. Of course, the fact that she’d lapsed into an episode likely would always color how he saw her, but she could try. She was more than that scared woman she couldn’t control. She lifted her chin. A perceptive man would figure that out. “Josefina will call me when he wakes from his nap.”

  Tracker’s response to that was a grunt. He tied off the girth strap. His hands were large yet deft, going through the process with a certain grace that held her gaze. He handled a horse well. How would he be with a woman?

  “Then why don’t you find something else to do besides stare at me?”

  Because staring at him made her feel alive for the first time since she’d awoken after her husband’s murder. Vital. More than just a crazy woman with no past. “This suits me fine.”

  The truth was, she liked having his hands against her skin. That brief touch still lingered in her senses like a brand. It had been…arousing in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. She frowned, closed her eyes and studied the sensation, trying to follow it back into the black void that used to be her past. As she had every other time she tried to remember, she hit a wall of nothing. She sighed and opened her eyes. Her gaze collided with Tracker’s.

  “Anybody ever tell you that staring at a strange man will get you into trouble?”

  “But I’m not staring at you.”

  The look he shot her was hot enough to make her toes curl. Hate her or resent her, Tracker Ochoa desired her. That was an exciting thought. She was a widow, but she was almost at the end of her mourning. And he was a very virile individual.

  “I warn you, sweets, I’m not a nice man.”

  She tried to remember all that she’d ever heard of him, and he was right, no one had ever said he was nice. She nodded. “I understand.”

  He flipped the stirrup down off the saddle horn. The light of the barn slashed across his face, highlighting the set of his chin, the fullness of his lower lip, the hint of muscle she could see through the open neck of his shirt. His skin, the color of cinnamon coffee with just a touch of cream, stretched tight over his collarbone. There was a scar just to the right of his throat. Rather than detracting, it emphasized the sheer virility of the man. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes watched her admire him. Narrowed as they were, he should have looked scary, but beneath the hooded lids, she could see heat simmering. Desire. For her.

  “Do you?”

  She nodded again.

  “What do you think you understand?”

  There was something so…alive about flirting with Tracker. Even when it was a bluff. It made her feel so far away from that void, so far away from her troubles. It was stimulating. “That you want me.”

  The swear word he uttered was vile and not one she was used to hearing. But instead of being repulsed, she was intrigued. It was the first break in Tracker’s control, and she’d caused it. She couldn’t help a small, proud smile.

  “You’re playing with fire.” He gathered up the reins and hooked them over the saddle horn. “I’m a dangerous man.”

  She’d be more afraid if his voice wasn’t so softly enticing, with dark notes that stroked along her nerves in a provocative lure. “I’m a crazy woman.”

  “You’re a mother.”

  What did that have to do with anything? “You’re a lawman.”

  “I was an outlaw before that.”

  Interesting. But not as scary as it should be. Excitement hummed in her veins. She should be afraid. She wasn’t. She was actually a bit exhilarated. “You couldn’t have been much of one if you ended up a Ranger.”

  “I was a damn good outlaw.”

  He stopped fussing with the saddle and turned his full attention on her. His mouth quirked up in a smile that, twisted by the scar, seemed to give his expression a cruel edge. Until she looked into his eyes, and then she saw the sensuality waiting to be unleashed.

  A shiver went down her spine. “And now you’re a damn good Ranger.”

  “Don’t curse.”

  She didn’t recognize the woman who retorted, “Then don’t talk nonsense,” but she liked her.

  So did Tracker, if the softening of his lips was to be believed.

  “I told you I’d help you.” He gave the saddle a tug, testing the girth. “You don’t need to seal the deal with your body.”

  All right, that was embarrassing. She took a breath as heat seared her cheeks. But she didn’t retreat and didn’t back down. She’d sworn when she’d woken up to nothing that she’d face her new life with courage. Courageous people didn’t run from the truth.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  Tracker swung up into the saddle. “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. She’d insulted him. He was a lawman. He lived his life doing right, and she’d taken in his size, the vicious scar cutting his cheek, the darkness of his skin, and judged him to be amoral. “It does.”

  She took a step forward. He watched. She took another. His eyes narrowed. She
took a third. She couldn’t take the fourth. The sleeping demon coiled behind the blank wall of her memory stirred. There was something wrong with the way he sat the horse. Something familiar and horrible in his long hair, flowing from beneath the hat. Something wrong with the illusion of power when she had none. She took a breath, desperate for the memory to continue, but terrified that it would. The horse shifted, leaving Tracker backlit by the sun pouring in the doorway. The sense of danger increased. Dear God, she didn’t want to know. “Please.” Please make it go away. Please make it go away. Make it go away.

  She blinked and Tracker was there, studying her with that intentness she didn’t like. As if he could see what she couldn’t. As if he knew what she didn’t. Suddenly, flirting with him wasn’t fun anymore.

  “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

  “No.”

  “And you’ve asked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure you got the right answers?”

  No. “Yes.” She motioned with her hand, hurrying him along. “I thought you were going to get a drink?”

  “I thought you were trying to seduce me.”

  She blinked, the last of the darkness fleeing before the outrageousness of the statement. All she had to defend herself with was a bluff. She wasn’t a confident woman. She didn’t think she ever had been, but she wanted to be, and with the birth of her son, she’d decided she would be. Vincente and Josefina were wonderful, but they were old and they had lives of their own to live. She’d heard them talking at night about wanting to move back to Mexico and live with Josefina’s sister and her family. They just couldn’t take her with them. She was too white to be safe, and they were too old to protect her. They’d saved her life, and never made her think they begrudged her, but she was their son’s responsibility, not theirs. She had to learn to make her own way and find a place where she and her own son would be safe.

  “Was I?” she asked.

  “Might have been my mistake.”

  No, the mistake had been all hers. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…” She waved her hand. “It’s just been so long.”

  “Since you’ve been with a man?”

  She blinked at the bluntness. She hadn’t even thought of that. “No.” She looked at him and answered with dawning comprehension, “I think it’s just been a long time since I felt alive.”