Mountain Wild

by Stacey Kayne

  “I’m inviting you to supper,” he said, irritation darkening his eyes, “not my bed. You’re headed to my sister’s place, aren’t you?”

  She hesitated. She’d never thought of Morgan’s ranch as his sister’s place. “Yes.”

  “After we eat I’ll lend you my horse.”

  “I can manage on my own.”

  “You’ll manage better in a saddle. It’s only an hour ride through the canyon passes on horseback.”

  “Wouldn’t be right,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You kept my dog for over two months. I don’t see how sharing my supper and borrowing a horse could be improper. Besides, we’re friends.”

  “I don’t have friends.”

  “Only ’cause you haven’t met the right people.”

  Maggie nearly smiled. “You think you’re the right people?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know I am.”

  His confidence and easy charm impossible to resist, a smile worked its way across her lips.

  Not waiting for her reply, he lifted her backpack, shifting the heavy weight onto his shoulder. “What do you have stuffed in here?”

  “A winter’s worth of work.”

  “No wonder it took you four days to get down here. This pack must weigh more than you.” He hoisted her supplies toward his saddle, draped the straps over the saddle horn and Maggie realized she was being railroaded.

  “Garret, I haven’t—”

  “At least walk back to the ranch with me.” He grabbed his horse by the reins and held his hand out to her.

  Staring at his open palm brought back the memory of the last time she’d taken the hand of another.

  You old enough, Margaret Grace?

  She could still feel Ira’s big, rough fingers closing over hers. She couldn’t have guessed where taking his hand would lead her.

  Run, Maggie.

  She had, blindly following him into her new life. Some days, like today, it seemed she’d never stopped running. Wasn’t anything she could do but trudge forward—it was too damn painful to look back.

  “Maggie?”

  She looked up at Garret’s handsome face. His smile gentle, his green eyes seeming so disarming, she wondered where taking his hand would lead. The fact that he could still look at her with affection in his eyes truly amazed her.

  “Why aren’t you put off by me?”

  “Why should I be?”

  She could only glance down.

  “A bit of buckskin doesn’t hide the fact that you’re pretty as a magpie. I’ve also seen you wearing nothing but a smile while I kissed every inch of soft skin hidden beneath those clothes.”

  Heat rushed to her face. “How improper of you to say so.”

  Garret chuckled. “Propriety has never carried much weight in the Daines family. Hard work and honesty, now those are qualities to live by.”

  She’d noticed that about him.

  “I can also be a gentleman,” he said, stepping close and capturing her hand in his. “If I try real hard.”

  Her skin tingled at the sudden contact, the jolt of sensation taking the air from her lungs, but she didn’t pull away. As he led her toward his ranch in the distance she strived to suck in a deep, calming breath. Boots trotted along beside them.

  That mangy mongrel had gotten her into this.

  “I can’t stay. I don’t want your ranch hand getting any notions about us.”

  “Right. You being a woman who avoids scandal and all.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “I do. I’m not known for being social.”

  Garret wanted to snatch her hand right back but she tucked them away, folding her arms as she walked beside him. Her face hidden beneath the wide brim of her hat, he could only see the stubborn set of her jaw and loose, black hair. No more than he’d seen of her that day in town. Her heavy bearskin coat hadn’t given any indication of the delicate woman beneath. She’d been guarded by enough stench and grime to keep him from looking any closer.

  “Darlin’, no one around these parts knows you at all.”

  “I intend to keep it that way.”

  Garret knew at least one man had been close enough to Maggie to know she wasn’t what she seemed. “Chance mentioned he housed your mare over winter. That’s a long spell to be without a horse.”

  “I don’t mind walking. I miss the company, but Star also makes me more visible.”

  “I noticed her right off when I saw you in Bitterroot Springs. I was told Chance had sold Star to Ira. I’m curious as to how he’d do that when Ira’s been dead for nine years.”

  “Morgan was being helpful.”

  “He knew about Ira?”

  “He’s the only one who knows for certain. He helped me bury him.”

  Old jealousy reared at the thought of Chance harboring her secrets, forging a relationship with another woman Garret had a mind to pursue. To be so close to her, Chance had to know the rumors of Mad Mag were unjust.

  “He helped you bury your man and then abandoned you?”

  Maggie looked up, her expression creased with confusion. “I wasn’t his to abandon. It was bad enough he’d approached me without my notice. If I hadn’t needed help with the grave, I likely would have shot him on sight. And he knew it. When we parted ways he was as glad to be rid of my presence as I was to be rid of his.”

  “Chance must think highly of you to sell you his favorite horse.”

  “I doubt that. More likely he was feeling guilty after running off his bride. I guess she had second thoughts about marrying him. She took a mind to trek over the mountain and Chance was grateful to get her back unharmed.”

  Garret remembered that day quite well and didn’t care to reflect on his foolishness. He hadn’t known about Maggie’s involvement. The notion that anyone could be so close to her and not be struck by such delicate beauty and a vibrant spirit was a sheer wonder to him.

  “A few weeks later I found Star in my yard with a note that said he’d house her over winter if needed. I was leery to accept the offer and he likely thinks me rude and ungrateful. I don’t really care what he thinks so long as he keeps his word and his distance.”

  Seemed to Garret that Chance could have been a tad more elaborate about his involvement with Maggie. A mention of Ira’s passing would have eased his torment of the past two months, and his maddening urge to drag her from those mountains and demand some explanation. He supposed Chance’s silence was his meager way of protecting her.

  “Did you know they put a warrant out for your arrest after your scuffle in Bitterroot?”

  “Yeah. I saw the posters last fall.”

  “Men like Strafford tend to bully those they don’t believe will shove back. Guess he learned his lesson.”

  “Men like him never learn,” she said, her voice rough with anger. She looked up, her gaze accusing. “His death would have been a favor to gentle society. Why did you stop me?”

  It was still hard for him believe it had been Grace standing beside him that day—or rather, Maggie. He recalled her hands shaking on the rifle as she held the barrel to Strafford’s chest. She’d knocked him out cold. If she had pulled that trigger she’d have been charged with murder.

  “Because that mob would have caught you and you’d have hanged.”

  “You didn’t know me. Why should you care if I hanged?”

  “I knew enough. You were alone and you weren’t seeking trouble.”

  “I might have turned my gun on you.”

  “That thought did cross my mind. As you said, you’re not known for being social. I was more worried about an innocent woman coming to harm because of an arrogant jackass like Strafford.”

  Her slow smile surprised him, and brightened her blue eyes. “You’re not like most people.”

  “Sure I am.”

  She shook her head. “No one else would have stepped a foot into that alley. There must have been more than thirty men on that boardwalk, all of them watching as he came after me. Yet I’m the one being hunte
d for a crime, forced to find trade farther north.”

  He hadn’t thought about the warrant preventing her from bartering her needlework.

  Maggie slowed to a stop at the edge of the tall grass, her gaze pensive as she looked across the front yard. Everett hammered shingles on the far side of the barn, his hat barely visible beyond the highest point.

  “No one else is on the ranch.”

  “I can’t stay, Garret.” She glanced past him as though gauging the distance to the river. “Give me my pack and I’ll—”

  “You’re taking my horse,” he said, his arm moving around her shoulders, tucking her against his side as he continued past a large chicken coop beside the barn and on toward the bunkhouse.

  Trapped beneath the weight of Garret’s arm, Maggie’s heart pounded erratically. As they moved closer, the massive house at the center of his ranch seemed to rise up, stretching taller than the mountains, looming over her like a castle with its tall peaks, glass windows and imported walls—not so unlike her childhood home. The comparison brought the threat of memories she didn’t want to contemplate. Dread pooled in her belly and her steps began to drag. A short distance beyond the house a lone cross marked a grave site. New grass grew from recently worked dirt. She glanced up at Garret and found him watching her.

  “Duce didn’t make it off the mountain,” he said, a hardness coming into his eyes.

  “Your friend with the red hair?” she asked, recalling the man who’d been with him the night he’d helped her.

  “Yeah,” he said, grief clear in his expression. “He was killed by whoever attacked me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His arm tightened around her shoulders, the strength of his embrace increasing the stir of awareness swirling inside her. “I’d have ended up in a grave right beside him if you hadn’t hauled me from the snow.”

  Awareness sweltered into burning need—the need to hold him, to feel his arms around her. So tempted to wrap her arm around his waist, to return the reassurances he offered, she looked away, her gaze moving over the quiet ranch. Beyond the buildings and expanse of fencing another ten miles of green hills led to the mountains marking the western horizon. The only place she truly felt safe.

  “Did you find out who attacked you?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he said, stopping beside the bunkhouse. “But I will.”

  Maggie stepped away from the weight of his arm.

  “You can take the trail just beyond those corrals,” he said, motioning beyond the bunkhouse as he turned to the backpack hanging from his saddle. “Takes you through a pass that leads right to my sister’s place.”

  “I can get to the Morgan ranch without using a marked trail.”

  Expecting him to hand her the pack, he shocked her by walking off with both her canteens. He shuffled up the steps to the longhouse.

  “What are you—?”

  “I’ll just fill your canteens. Come on in.”

  He disappeared inside, leaving the door open behind him. Boots followed him, leaving her alone in the yard.

  Damn it! She glanced across the quiet grounds and tried to tamp down the sudden flare of panic. He’d led her into the open and now he just left?

  Birds chirped in the tall trees spaced around the yard.

  Not enough trees.

  As she waited the chirping and chatter seemed to grow louder, as did the beat of her pulse. Didn’t matter that the only man on the ranch was the one watching her from the barn roof. She didn’t like being here. Beyond the perimeter of Garret’s ranch the only shelter was the tall grass stretching over miles of hills, the river a quarter mile to the south.

  Her gaze stopped on the lone grave beyond the house—a reminder of how ruthless men could be, killing for no other reason than greed.

  Just like Nathan.

  Chilled by the thought, she rubbed her hands over her arms. Garret was fortunate that his land didn’t border any of Nathan’s ranges. Not that Nathan was the only threat in the area. Rustlers and marauders had been plaguing these rangelands long before her brother had arrived.

  She glanced again at the open doorway. She supposed she should count herself lucky that he hadn’t gone into his fancy house.

  Biting out a curse, she started for the steps.

  Chapter Ten

  G arret sensed her hovering in the doorway behind him. He’d blatantly used her gear like a trail of breadcrumbs to lure her into the bunkhouse. Twisting the cap onto the second canteen, he glanced at the meal Everett had prepared, ready to bribe her any way he could.

  I’m not trying to catch her. He just wasn’t ready to let her flutter off just yet. He wanted to know more about the woman who’d saved his life and kept her own hidden.

  The fact that she wasn’t married was a damn good start.

  He slid the strap over his shoulder and picked up the plate. He turned to find Maggie a few steps inside, her distress apparent, her complexion white as a bed linen.

  “Maggie?”

  “Smells in here,” she said, touching a hand to her stomach.

  “It’s the bacon grease.” His gaze locked on her flat belly. “Do you not like bacon?”

  “I used to. Been a long time since I’ve had any.” She swallowed as though combating a bout of nausea. His sister had birthed enough babies over the past eight years for him to know an upset stomach could be an early sign of breeding. They’d only been together the one night. In the eight months his wife had shared his bed she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

  “It also smells of tobacco,” she said, fanning the stagnant air.

  “Smells like a bunkhouse.” He stopped a few feet away from her and slid his plate onto a table. “Can’t be worse than the bundle of fur hanging from my saddle.”

  Her lips shifted slightly. “It’s not far off,” she conceded, glancing briefly at his supper.

  “Maybe you just need to eat something.” He grabbed a fold of bread and strode toward her. “It’s past noon.”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay. I need to get going.”

  “You look half-starved and ready to pass out.”

  “I’ve been eating plenty,” she protested. “I’ve put on weight.”

  “Have you? Hard to tell beneath all that loose buckskin.” Her belt and blade defined her narrow waist, the rest of her alluring curves masked by the gathered folds of the large tunic. Knowing she wasn’t wed gave him the freedom to explore sensual memories he’d been trying to repress for weeks. Desire flared as he embraced the image of her flushed skin, her impassioned responses to his touch, his kisses.

  Despite her harsh glare, her cheeks brightened to a soft pink.

  Mad Mag blushing beneath his appreciative gaze. Just as all the rumors hinted, she was wild and resilient. He also knew what hid beneath all that buckskin and attitude—a gentle heart and a fierce lover.

  Grinning, he held up his sandwich. “Want a bite?”

  “I want my canteens.”

  He lifted the straps and draped them over her shoulder. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” she said, taking a step back. She turned, making a dash for the door.

  “Magpie?”

  The endearment stopped her. He waited for her to look back.

  Maggie was slow to meet Garret’s gaze, the emotion she saw there binding her as tightly as any rope.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  The question hit her like a blow. “No.”

  “You’d tell me if you were, wouldn’t you?”

  The distrust in his gaze stung. “I haven’t lied to you, Garret.”

  “You weren’t wholly honest with me, either. I’ve spent the past two months believing I’d slept with a married woman.”

  “And I told you I’ve never been married to anyone.”

  Anger firmed his features. “That old trapper took advantage of you.”

  “Ira saved me.”

  “He also hurt you.” It wasn’t a question.

  Maggie couldn’t deny that life with
Ira had tested her endurance. “He didn’t coddle or dote. He expected me to learn the trade and to fend for myself. And I was grateful for the schooling. I couldn’t have enjoyed these last years alone if he hadn’t taught me how to survive out here.”

  “Hard lessons for a young girl.” His gaze moved over her, pausing on her hands and all the hidden places where he knew scars lay beneath. The compassion in his eyes pricked at her temper.

  “Stop looking at me like that! Ira wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t a cruel man.”

  “He must have done something to keep you tucked away in those mountains all these years, to have you flinching at my every move. How long did you live with him?”

  “Five winters, but it’s not how you think. I wasn’t afraid of Ira, not once I understood him.”

  “That he’d give you protection if you shared his bed.”

  “No!” she said, startled by his misunderstanding. “He never touched me. Not once! He told people we were married so they’d leave me alone.”

  “So, you and he didn’t—”

  “Never. I told you I’d never been kissed. Not until you.”

  “Kissed. I assumed you’d been bedded.”

  She shook her head. Garret’s blatant shock increased the heat burning into her cheeks.

  “You were untouched?”

  “It’s not like I’m a young girl, Garret.”

  “An innocent woman all the same,” he protested. “Why? Why did you let me?”

  “I didn’t plan it! You started kissing me and I…I liked it. I liked you.”

  Garret moved toward her. Relieved as he was to know she hadn’t been abused by Ira, he suddenly worried he may have hurt her—a worry banished by the memory of her body arched beneath his, her warm blue eyes revealing the undeniable pleasure shared between them in the hours they’d spent making love. She’d been a more-than-willing participant, her passion exceeding anything he’d ever experienced. He assumed he’d been the first to give her real pleasure, but never imagined he’d been her first, the only man to love her.

  He couldn’t fight his grin.

  “I have to go,” she said, taking a sliding step back. “Thanks for the water.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said, heading her off in the doorway.