Autumn Lover

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “Culpeppers? The same ones who are here?”

  “Same clan, different branch. I was Hunter’s segundo from that day on. And from that day on was the beginning of Hunter’s problems with the Culpeppers. Those problems will finally end here, mark my words.”

  “What do you mean? Did Hunter come here because he knew Culpeppers were—”

  Morgan held up his hand, silencing Elyssa. She followed his glance to the top of the ravine, where Hunter lay nearly concealed in the sun-cured grass and rabbit brush.

  A faint drumroll of hooves came down the ravine.

  “Hellfire and damnation,” Morgan said. “Something spooked the mustangs.”

  With that he grabbed Bugle Boy’s reins and kicked his horse into a run.

  Hunter met Morgan partway down the ravine. He swung onto Bugle Boy as though he always mounted on the gallop.

  “Cut toward the mountains!” Hunter said. “We’ll run the horses toward the ranch.”

  Morgan waved in response.

  “Watch out for Culpeppers,” Hunter warned. “Something spooked those horses.”

  The smile Morgan gave Hunter was wolfish. Plainly Morgan was looking forward to meeting up with a Culpepper or two. He spurred his horse forward.

  Hunter turned to Elyssa.

  “Stay close,” he said curtly.

  He spurred Bugle Boy forward before she had a chance to respond.

  14

  As the rangy mare thundered across the landscape, Elyssa was less concerned about Culpeppers than she was with staying right side up in the saddle. Her mount was having a tough time keeping up with Bugle Boy, but at least the mare was surefooted.

  At the moment, agility counted for more than speed. Racing along the edges of the marsh was a dangerous game. The footing went from hard to soft and back again without warning. A tangle of grasses could conceal a muddy depression or a hillock or even an outcropping of rock.

  Any of the three could bring down a horse and send its rider flying.

  The sunstruck ground whipped beneath the mare’s feet with dizzying speed. Elyssa ducked her head, squinted against the wind tears in her eyes, and rode the mare with a skill she had honed while foxhunting at her cousins’ English estates.

  Despite the rush of air around them, the hard-running horses soon raised a sweat. The horses’ coats darkened, then began to show white lines of lather. The marsh, with its memory of water and clouds of birds, seemed like a tawny mirage conjured out of the heat of the dry land.

  Abruptly Bugle Boy cut hard toward the mountains. Then the big horse really flattened out, neck stretched and tail streaming in the wind. Heedless of the danger, Elyssa’s mare thundered down the side of the shallow wash, turned, and followed Bugle Boy up the wash at a reckless pace.

  Hunter glanced quickly over his shoulder. The rawboned mare was fifty yards behind him, running hard. Elyssa was bent low over her horse’s neck. She clung like a burr to the mare’s long, black mane.

  Abruptly the mare staggered, thrown off stride by a hidden obstacle beneath one foot. Elyssa stood in the stirrups and hauled up on the reins to pull her mount back into balance. After a heart-stopping few seconds, the mare collected herself.

  Elyssa’s brush with disaster chilled Hunter. He faced to the front again and wished futilely that there had been a way to avoid this.

  I should have made her stay at the ranch, Hunter thought savagely. She has no business risking her neck out here!

  Yet Hunter had no way of enforcing such an order, short of tying Elyssa hand and foot to the bed.

  And if he got her anywhere near a bed, it wouldn’t be to tie her up and leave her.

  With a searing curse, Hunter reined Bugle Boy to his right. The horse lunged up and over the lip of the shallow wash. All around Bugle Boy’s flying hooves the grasslands unfolded in sunny, tawny glory.

  On Hunter’s right, less than a mile away, lay the vast stretch of the dried-up marsh. It rippled beneath the wind in shades of gold and brown.

  About a quarter mile ahead, a large band of mustangs thundered flat out across the land, pursued by Ladder S riders and their straining mounts.

  Hunter and Elyssa joined the chase. As they closed the gap between themselves and the mustangs, they were careful to stay between the wild horses and the marsh.

  Any mustang that thought to run off into the tawny maze of the marsh would be turned back by one of the Ladder S riders. Other riders took up positions that kept the mustangs running toward the old brush corral that had been built years before for the annual wild horse roundups.

  By the time the mustangs reached the wide end of the brushy funnel that led to the corral, the horses were lathered and blowing hard. They swept down the funnel in a sea of whipping manes and tails, and flashing, driving hooves.

  Behind them riders leaned low in the saddle and dragged the concealed gate close. Before the mustangs understood what had happened, they were caught.

  Elyssa pulled her hard-breathing mare to a walk, wiped sweat from her own eyes, and tucked stray ribbons of hair back behind her ears. Eagerly she circled the big brush corral, trying to count horses.

  Inside the corral, mustangs milled in seething circles, looking for a way out. Countless sharp hooves churned through grass to dirt. Dust rose like smoke into the sky.

  It was impossible to count the mustangs, but Elyssa was grinning just the same after she finished her circuit of the corral. She had seen many Ladder S brands on the horses’ hips, which meant that a lot of the horses had already been broken. They would quickly get used to men again.

  Hunter rode up alongside Elyssa’s rawboned mare. Though he wouldn’t have admitted it, he wanted to reassure himself that she was all right after the dangerous ride.

  A single look told Hunter that Elyssa was excited and exhilarated rather than hurt. Her cheeks were pink, her blue-green eyes were as vivid as gemstones, and her smile was radiant.

  Hunter couldn’t help smiling in return.

  “How many do you think we caught?” Elyssa asked jubilantly.

  With an effort, Hunter forced himself to look away from red lips to the churning sea of mustangs that had been dammed behind brush fences.

  “Maybe two hundred,” Hunter said slowly. “At a guess, I’d say about half of them are fit to ride.”

  Then he smiled rather coldly, thinking of the army officer who had wanted Elyssa along with the horses.

  “But then, the army didn’t say the horses had to be good, did they?” Hunter asked softly. “Just greenbroke.”

  Elyssa laughed. Like her smile, her laughter was vibrant with pleasure. Possessively she looked at the mustangs.

  For the first time she began to believe the ranch might truly be saved. With that many fresh, vigorous horses, surely the men would be able to find more cattle.

  “A lot of the horses have Ladder S brands,” Elyssa said.

  “Some have Slash River brands.”

  Elyssa frowned. Impatiently she pulled a stray ribbon of silver-gold hair from her eyes and tucked it up beneath her hat.

  “Ab Culpepper’s brand,” Hunter added.

  “Fresh, no doubt,” she said sarcastically. “Real fresh.”

  Hunter shrugged. “Ab hasn’t been here long enough to have old brands.”

  “How many of ours do you think he has branded?” Elyssa asked.

  “We’ll know tomorrow or the next day, after the mustangs settle down long enough for us to do a real tally.”

  As Elyssa watched, a familiar-looking mare galloped by just inside the brush corral. A Slash River brand was dark and fresh on her hip.

  Yet the mare was one of the Ladder S’s best broodmares, and a fine cow pony as well.

  “Damn him!” Elyssa burst out.

  “On that we agree.”

  Hunter stood in the stirrups and whistled shrilly.

  Morgan emerged from the dust cloud surrounding the corral. His tough little pony was streaked with sweat and breathing deeply, but still game for whatever its
rider wanted. The horse trotted over to Hunter and Elyssa with its head high.

  The air tasted of dust and shimmered with the intense autumn sun.

  “Tell the boys they did a good job,” Hunter said to Morgan. “Then pick two of them to sleep out here and make sure none get away.”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “The dogs could do that,” Elyssa said.

  “Not if whoever was in the garden decides to punch a hole in the corral,” Hunter said bluntly.

  Elyssa’s mouth turned down, but she didn’t disagree.

  Hunter was right. The dogs could no longer be trusted with any kind of guard duty.

  “Send for Mickey and a wagonload of those water barrels,” Hunter said to Morgan.

  “Yes, suh!”

  “A horse with a gut full of water doesn’t buck nearly as hard as a thirsty one,” Hunter added dryly.

  Morgan gave a shout of laughter, saluted, and trotted off toward the barn, which was barely a quarter mile away.

  The Ladder S hands who were particularly good with a rope went into the corral. Bandannas pulled up over their noses against the dust, the men rode among the milling mustangs, picking out targets.

  With as little fuss as possible, men began roping horses that wore a brand of any kind. Those were the animals that went from wild to mostly tame the instant a loop settled around their necks. They offered no fight while they were led out of the brush corral, trotted across the grassland, and put into the home corral close to the barn.

  By the time Morgan returned, the brush corral was down to perhaps seventy horses. Few of them wore brands. All of them were wary and wild as deer.

  Mickey drove up with a buckboard loaded with full water barrels. It was pulled by six broad-shouldered oxen. Morgan and his pony walked alongside to encourage the oxen.

  The sight of the water barrels reminded Elyssa of just how much she would have liked a bath. The surprising heat of the sun, the exertion of the work, and the endless dust felt like a blanket wrapped around her dark riding habit.

  Elyssa had long since unbuttoned her jacket, but that was no longer enough. She stripped off the jacket and tied it behind her saddle. Then, surreptitiously, she unbuttoned a few buttons on her high-necked muslin blouse. Air flowed through the opening to the thin cotton chemise, and from there to the hot skin beneath.

  She made a murmurous sound of pleasure that went into Hunter like a knife.

  “Mickey! Sonny! Reed!” Hunter barked. “Help Morgan with those barrels!”

  Hunter dismounted and went to add his own strength to the task.

  “Mickey, roll them down those planks one at a time,” Hunter said. “Careful, boy! If one of those ran over a man, he’d be flatter than a shadow.”

  One by one the men rolled barrels down two stout planks from the wagon bed to the hot ground. Then each barrel was rolled and shoved over to the trough at one edge of the corral.

  Morgan knocked out the stopper on the first barrel. With a grunt of effort, Hunter tipped the barrel up onto the edge of the trough. Silver water gushed and danced into the dusty trough.

  The scent of fresh water brought the milling mustangs to a halt. Heads turned, ears pricked. The animals all but licked their lips in anticipation as they eyed the trough.

  Elyssa knew just how the mustangs felt. She would have given a great deal to be able to stand beneath the gurgling, leaping water and get wet all the way through to her skin.

  “Mickey,” Hunter called. “Bring the next one.”

  Elyssa barely noticed Mickey’s bulging muscles as he wrestled a barrel into place. She was too busy noticing that Hunter had undone a few buttons of his own. Black hair gleamed through the opening in Hunter’s pale blue shirt.

  Without thinking, Elyssa dismounted and walked closer.

  “Watch out, Miss Elyssa!” Sonny called.

  Elyssa looked up, saw that a barrel had gotten away from Sonny, and leaped nimbly aside. The barrel bounced from the top of the planks and fell apart when it hit the ground.

  Water exploded, drenching everything within reach, Elyssa included.

  Her startled shriek drew every man’s eyes, but it was the sudden feminine laughter that held them.

  Hunter vaulted the corral gate and ran toward Sonny with mayhem in his eyes.

  “Oh, gosh, Miss Elyssa,” Sonny said. “I’m plumb sorry. That durned barrel just had a mind of its own.”

  Laughing, plucking at the blouse that was plastered to her skin, Elyssa turned aside Sonny’s apologies.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I was just wishing for a bath, and then I had one.”

  Hunter gave Sonny a look that made the younger man long for a place to hide.

  “Did anything but water hit you?” Hunter asked Elyssa roughly.

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh. And even if it had, it would have been worth it.” Elyssa threw back her head and laughed at the sky. “Lord but that water feels good!”

  Hunter didn’t answer. Desire held him in a cruel vise. He couldn’t breathe for the violence of the blood beating in his veins.

  Every curve, every softness, everything feminine about Elyssa stood out clearly against her drenched clothes. Her nipples were drawn into hard peaks that fairly begged for a man’s eyes, for his hands, and most of all, for his mouth.

  Then Elyssa looked at Hunter and her eyes changed, dilating in an instant, answering the sweet violence of his own desire.

  With swift, savage motions Hunter went to Elyssa’s horse and got her jacket.

  “Put it on before you get a chill,” Hunter said, holding the jacket out to her.

  “A chill? Today? If you haven’t noticed, it’s hot and—”

  “You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” he said icily, “but you already know that, don’t you? Put it on.”

  Elyssa opened her mouth to argue, noticed that all the men were staring, and shut her mouth fast. Angrily she took the jacket and began jamming her wet arms into the narrow sleeves. The motion made her breasts sway against the clinging fabric.

  Hunter wanted to howl with frustration. With a pungent curse he turned away from the endless temptation that was Elyssa Sutton.

  The first thing Hunter noticed was that all the ranch hands were still watching her.

  “Show’s over,” Hunter snarled, looking at each man in turn. “Get back to work!”

  “Miss Elyssa, are you sure you should be out here alone?” Sonny asked anxiously.

  “I’m not alone. You and Morgan are with me.”

  Elyssa’s tone was abrupt. Since the incident of the water barrel yesterday, she had stayed away from the men.

  But she was heartily tired of canning, pureeing, pickling, chopping, peeling, and otherwise dealing with the produce of her ruined garden.

  Besides, the day was too beautiful to stay indoors all the time. The slanting, buttery light of late afternoon had lured her out to look at the mustangs they had captured. Her hopes for the future of the Ladder S were pinned on their glossy backs.

  “Yes, but—” Sonny began.

  “But nothing,” Elyssa interrupted. “I’m the owner of the Ladder S, not Hunter. It’s a fact everyone should keep in mind.”

  “Especially Hunter?” Morgan drawled behind Elyssa.

  Warily she turned around. The humor and understanding in Morgan’s black eyes disarmed her.

  “Especially Hunter,” she agreed with a wry laugh.

  “He’s just protecting you from the men,” Morgan said quietly.

  “Really? Then why do I feel that he’s protecting the men from me?”

  Sighing, Morgan lifted his hat and resettled it on his thick, tightly curled black hair.

  “Well, if you had known his wife, you would understand,” Morgan said finally. “She was a pretty young thing like you. She came to grief because of it. So did he.”

  “What happened?” Elyssa asked, hungry for knowledge of Hunter’s past.

  “Not my story
to tell. Excuse me, miss. I’d better be getting back to those mustangs.”

  “But—”

  “Now, don’t you wander out from the buildings without an escort,” Morgan cautioned. “That intruder was here before dawn again.”

  “What? Hunter didn’t say anything about it to me.”

  “Nothing to say. He slipped past the bunkhouse and opened the corral gate. There was hell to pay rounding up those new horses in the dark.”

  “Were any missing?” Elyssa asked sharply.

  “Hard to say,” Morgan admitted. “The horses are all strangers to us.”

  “What does the tally show?”

  “Twelve missing.”

  “Only the branded horses that were in the home corral are gone?” Elyssa asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. The mustangs are too wild to be worth the trouble of stealing. Once they’re green broke, though…” Morgan shrugged.

  “Only horses with Ladder S brands were taken?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It looks that way.”

  “Bloody hell,” she said angrily.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s all of that.”

  Elyssa climbed the corral for a better view of the remaining horses. Ignoring the dusty rails, which left broad marks on her rust-colored riding habit, she sat on the top rail and examined the brands of the horses.

  Less than half of the remaining horses wore the Ladder S brand. Except for a scattering of B Bar brands, the animals wore the Slash River sign.

  Elyssa’s temper flashed. Angrily she leaped down and went to the barn. She saddled and bridled Leopard, jammed the shotgun in its saddle sheath, and mounted in a flurry of dark cloth.

  The weight of the divided skirts hampered every move she made. Muttering under her breath, vowing to rip apart this riding habit as she had the other, Elyssa headed for the boundary between the Ladder S and the B Bar.

  Before Elyssa was beyond the ranch yard, Morgan reappeared. He was mounted on a bay gelding that had been running with mustangs just a few days ago.

  “I’ll be going with you, ma’am.”

  “I’m not going far,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But you’re going with me anyway, is that it?”