Will dodged from one tree to another, making his way to the house, where Kate and Charlie had come onto the veranda. Will stopped on the bottom step, turned, and faced the oncoming riders. But when he lifted his rifle, Charlie swung his walking stick and knocked it away from his face.
“What the—”
“Tryin’ to save your hide,” Charlie quipped. “Miss Priss’d likely react a bit different from those Haskel fellers if you shot the hat off her head.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. He watched Priscilla and another rider draw near. Priscilla slid off her horse, tossed her reins over the hitching rail. Her eyes held Will’s for a moment before she turned to her parents. When she looked back at him, Will could read her concern, the alarm in her eyes.
“You three look about as wore out as a pot of Uncle Sog’s sonofabitch stew.”
She strode toward the veranda as she talked, and without realizing it, Will walked, too. Toward her. They stopped within inches of each other. She reached up and removed her hat, wiping her brow with her sleeve, a habit he’d become accustomed to out here, performed by men. But it didn’t look masculine, not when Priscilla McCain did it.
His breath came short. Her lips parted, stayed that way, beckoning him. Her worried blue eyes searched his.
“Haskels,” was the only word he could get out. But for the life of him, he couldn’t concentrate on the Haskels. He’d intended to be long gone by the time Priscilla returned. He’d promised Charlie. And himself. Gone from Spanish Creek. Gone from Santa Fé. Gone, even, from New Mexico Territory.
He heard the sound of shuffling and realized Charlie was hobbling up behind him. He moved a few steps aside, recalling Charlie’s penchant for using his walking stick to move aside any and everything he damned well pleased.
“We run ’em off,” Charlie was saying. “Oscar Haskel brought his scum out here, thinkin’ to take the place. Will, here, came in time to warn us.”
Priscilla’s eyes came back to Will’s. Her lips, still parted, curved now in a smile. She didn’t say anything, and Will realized suddenly that was highly unlike her.
“Priscilla!” Kate rushed forward. “We’re so glad you’re here. It was terrible, worrying that you might tangle with those outlaws on the way home.”
“Well,” Priscilla said at last. Will could tell her mouth was dry. He had the distinct impression that it wasn’t from trail dust. “Well.” He watched her swallow. “I didn’t, Mama.” Her face relaxed then, and her eyes twinkled. “Sorry I missed the fun.”
Will’s heart throbbed in his throat. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t talk. He wished he had his horse’s reins in hand, because surely, surely, he would climb aboard and ride away from here.
“Wasn’t much fun to it,” Charlie barked. “Except the part where Will shot off their hats.”
“Shot off their hats?” Priscilla rolled her eyes, mocking. “What were you aimin’ for, greenhorn? Their heads?”
Will tried to think of a retort, but his brain was mush. Must be the lost sleep. Surely it was the lost sleep.
“Come, darling.” Kate reached for Priscilla’s arm. “Let’s go inside. I’ll fix breakfast. You, too, Mr. Radnor. The least we can do is offer you a meal. Let Crockett put away Sargeant, Priscilla.”
Will watched Priscilla grip the reins in a gloved fist. His eyes strayed to the man who stood behind her. And above her. Reaching around Priscilla, he offered Will his hand. “Titus Crockett here. Don’t reckon we were properly introduced that day in the brandin’ pen.”
Will shook the man’s hand. “Will Radnor.”
But when Crockett reached for Priscilla’s horse, she held the reins. “I’ll rub him down, Uncle Crockett. You’re every bit as tired as I am.” She smiled sweetly at her mother—that smile that could get her any damned thing she wanted, Will recalled.
“I’ll be along in a minute, Mama.” Without so much as a side glance Will’s way, she strode off toward the barn, leading Sargeant.
Will fell into step beside her. Charlie exploded.
“Stay away from my daughter, Will Radnor!”
Will turned, studied his furious adversary. “You wouldn’t want her to walk into a barn full of Haskels, would you, Charlie?”
“Crockett can—”
“I’ll check things out. Go on back inside and rest up.”
They walked side by side without touching, but the air was so charged between them, Will felt like they were touching.
Red Avery met them at the door, wide-eyed. “Thought you said there were Haskels coming.”
“Sorry to’ve alarmed you, Avery. It was only Miss Priss here and Crockett.” Contrary to what he expected, Priscilla didn’t respond to that.
“How did the drive go?” Avery asked.
“Not a hitch.” Stopping briefly, she untied her saddle bags and handed them to Red. “This is the government gold. Take it to Pa, will you, Red? Mama’s fixing breakfast. Tell her we’ll be along in a minute.”
She wanted them to be alone. It was a crazy notion, a stupid one, but they walked the length of the barn and it was all that sang in Will’s ears. He couldn’t shake it.
Truthfully, he didn’t try. But he tried to try, he argued.
Priscilla entered the stall. He recalled the last time, tried to dredge some sort of joviality, but his brain refused to cooperate. Must be the lack of sleep. Then, out of frustration, he tried to talk. As it turned out, she tried to talk at the same time.
“Tell me about—”
Their eyes sought, held. She flipped the stirrup over her saddle, loosened the cinch, like last time.
But nothing was like last time. And she knew it, too. A warning screamed through his head and down his spine. Run Will Radnor. Run like hell. What the devil kind of game are you playing with this woman?
He leaned against the stall, kicked pieces of hay with the toe of his boot, tried to imagine himself saying, Glad you’re home, Miss McCain. I’ll be goin’ now.
“What did Pa mean, you shot off their hats?”
He glanced up. A mistake, for her blue eyes were trained on him. “Just that,” he managed. Then without warning the dam broke. Words tumbled out. “I’d never shot at men that close before. It was…it was unnerving, even in the early morning light. To be honest with you, the only other time I’d ever shot at a man was from the top of that stagecoach. Targets. That’s what I shoot at. Targets.”
“Pa does, too. Or did. He said he was quite a shot in his younger days.” When Priscilla lifted the saddle from Sargeant’s back, Will removed the saddle blanket—like before, he thought.
Not like before. “Likely he still is.” Nothing’s like before, his brain cried.
“I’m surprised he let you get a shot off.”
“He didn’t have much choice.”
She turned to accept the saddle blanket, frowned, not understanding. Their hands touched briefly, before she turned away to drape the blanket over the stall.
“I took his walking stick away.” Will busied himself with the bridle.
Priscilla laughed. She turned to him, held his gaze. His fingers fumbled with the buckle.
She sobered. “You came to warn us?”
“To warn them.” He turned back to Sargeant, concentrated on working the bridle over his ears. “Haskel knew you and Crockett were gone. That’s why he decided to act today.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Overheard Oscar and Newt talking.”
“And you got here ahead of them?”
He handed her the bridle. She took it. Again they touched briefly, but that was enough. He felt like lightning had struck his hand. What had it felt like to her?
“What about Joaquín?” she was asking. “Is he still in jail?”
“Yeah. They’re framing him…to get at your pa.”
“Blast those Haskels!”
Will grinned. Serious as the subject was, he grinned. But he tried to make up for it with a serious question. “You care a lot about him, don’t you
?”
“Pa or Joaquín?”
Will’s throat constricted. “Both.”
She nodded.
“You believe the rumors?”
“Not really. But I can’t be certain.”
“What if they were…true, I mean?”
“He’d be my brother.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I’d have to share Spanish Creek Ranch.” She looked up. “I don’t mean it that way. If he were my brother, I’d want to share it with him. But…but if he isn’t…I mean…I feel so guilty about how his life has turned out. He has nothing.” Her eyes begged Will to understand.
And he did. Not about Joaquín. About himself. About his feelings. And hers. Even though these feelings were misplaced and unwanted, he found himself skirting her horse, stepping toward her. When she was within reach, he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him. Their lips met eagerly. He felt her arms around his neck, on his skin, in his hair.
When they stopped for air, she pulled back. “Thank you for coming to help Pa defend the ranch.”
He stared into her earnest blue eyes.
“Spanish Creek means everything in the world to me, Will. I’d die if we lost it. Pa—”
Will stopped her words with his lips. He kissed her long and wet. Even through her leather vest, he could feel her breasts. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and molded her body to his. And at this moment, nothing else in the world mattered, nothing, except the sense of healing that washed over him. As on an ocean wave, the morning’s fear was swept away, to be replaced by gentle peace and sweet, fiery passion.
Behind them Sargeant nickered. Priscilla pulled away. She grinned, sheepish. Lifting a hand, she brushed hair back from his temple, then traced a finger across his lips. When she paused, he drew her finger into his mouth. Her eyes smoldered.
“Sleeping with steers is about as dirty a job as sleeping with horses,” she whispered.
He grinned. “I can tell.” But somehow he didn’t mind at all. “You smell like a cowboy.”
“I am a cowboy.” Will watched a grin spread across her lovely face. She enchanted him. Then she laughed, and he knew he’d die a happy man, if he could hear that sound once a day, every day for the rest of his life.
“That’s what I set out to be,” she was explaining, “a cowboy. Back when I was ten or so, I told Pa I didn’t want to try to be a lady, I wanted to be a cowboy.”
“That’s when you demanded to be called Jake?”
“That’s when. Mama was so beautiful, and Pa was so much in love with her—I knew I could never match up. I decided to become something I could be good at.”
Will stroked strands of blond hair around her ears. He watched her eyes turn to a deep fiery shade of blue at his touch, and he knew something she would be good at—very good at. “You more than match up…Miss Priss.”
She grimaced. “That was the day I found the pistol.”
“The pistol?”
“Like yours. A Colt Pocket Dragoon, isn’t that what you called it?”
Will’s heart stood still. He managed to nod.
“I found one sort of like it in an old trunk here in the barn. So one night I set up targets, and at dawn the next morning I sneaked out of the house in my nightgown, determined to learn to shoot.”
Will listened, pensive, now.
“I know, it wasn’t very ladylike. Pa was furious.”
Will held her in arms that seemed turned to stone. He watched her face take on a puzzled expression.
“I guess Pa was right. I should have learned to be a lady.”
Will’s heart constricted. He pulled her to his chest. He wanted to ask about the gun. He wanted to see the trunk.
He never wanted to see or hear of either again. “You’ve learned just about everything you need to know,” he murmured against her hair, thinking of all the magical things he could teach her. “You’re as perfect as a man could ever want.”
“PRISCILLA MCCAIN!” Kate’s voice cut through his besotted senses. Will jumped away from Priscilla like he’d been shot. He watched Priscilla’s expression echo his own surprise.
“Mama!”
Kate stopped not two feet from the stall. Will moved back a couple of steps, watching, wary. Kate McCain was furious. He could tell that with one look. Her usually creamy complexion was dappled with red splotches; her eyes darted from Priscilla to Will and back to Priscilla.
“Get to the house,” she ordered Priscilla in a voice that trembled with an obvious effort to control her fury.
Priscilla’s face, too, was splotched with red, embarrassment, he knew.
“You, Mr. Radnor, are to stay in the bunkhouse. Red will bring your breakfast.”
“I’ll be on my way—”
“No, you won’t,” Kate returned. All graciousness was gone from her voice. “Charlie says since you came to help, you’d best stay until we know the Haskels aren’t coming back tonight.” She looked to Priscilla. “I agreed, as long as you stay in the bunkhouse—and away from my daughter.”
“Mama! How dare you?” When she reached for Will, he moved aside. “Will came all this way—”
“Get to the house, Priscilla.”
“I’m a grown—”
“And I’m still your mama. I told you this man…he’s…There can be nothing between you and this man, Priscilla.”
When Priscilla turned her stricken expression on him again, Will ducked his head and mumbled, “She’s right, Miss Priss.”
“Right?”
He glanced up; she had looked away. Her gaze flitted around the stall. Her movements were jerky, angry.
“Go with your mother. I’ll finish here.”
“How dare you—”
“Go on,” he encouraged. Her eyes narrowed on him, and he realized he was probably in for a tongue-lashing, he and her mother, both. He decided Kate knew it, too, for she turned to him with, “Will you stay?”
“A while.”
“I expect you to keep away from Priscilla.”
“I will.” He meant it, too, even though he knew ahead of time, it would be one difficult task.
Priscilla moved between them. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Mama, or into Pa, either. Will came to help us save the ranch. If he were as terrible as you make out, why would he risk his own life?”
“I don’t know why he came to help,” Kate replied shortly. “But it changes nothing.” Taking Priscilla by the arm, she attempted to pull her out of the stall. Without warning Priscilla jerked free and threw herself into Will’s arms.
His hands came up, touched her gently, then with concentrated effort, he dropped his arms to his sides. “Listen to your mother, Priscilla.”
Her eyes begged him, and he felt like a traitor—exactly what he would be if he touched her now.
“Why…how…you’re agreeing…” Priscilla’s eyes relayed the confusion she was unable to put into words. “She’s being rude and unfair, Will, and you’re agreeing with her?”
“Mr. Radnor understands, Priscilla. Now, go to the house.”
“How could he understand? I don’t even understand.” She turned to Will, imploring, “How could you?”
It took every ounce of determination Will could muster to stand cold and impassive while Priscilla practically begged him to come to her aid—to their aid.
“Take her word for it, cowboy.” Turning he picked up the comb and began to curry Sargeant’s coat. He heard shuffling. At length, footsteps headed back up the aisle. He could almost hear Priscilla’s anger. He felt her hurt, for he hurt, too. But he’d better get used to it, he told himself angrily. Once he finished the job he’d come to do, she’d be even more hurt.
Ripples in a pond…
Charlie was right. Will knew what it was like. He’d known when he came to New Mexico Territory that destroying Charlie would destroy everyone around him.
But back then he hadn’t known Priscilla.
Seven
Priscilla
didn’t see Will again until much later. Not that she wouldn’t have sneaked off to the bunkhouse to apologize for the abominable way her parents were acting, if it would have done any good. She wouldn’t have hesitated to see Will—if he’d been around.
She’d told her mother so on the way back to the house, adding in a stern voice, “I’ve never known you to treat anyone so rudely, Mama.”
Kate’s brown gaze captured Priscilla’s momentarily, before her eyes darted to the barn. “We told you from the beginning, darling, that man’s no good.”
Priscilla stopped on the veranda. “He came to help us save ranch.”
“I’m not talking about the ranch.”
“I know what you’re talking about. So does he. You embarrassed me, Mama.”
“I’d rather you be embarrassed than—” Kate’s words trailed off on a high, shrill note. Priscilla noticed for the first time how pale and unkempt her mother was, proof of the harrying, sleepless night for those protecting Spanish Creek.
But was it the harrying night that prompted Mama to attack her like a washerwoman? Or was it finding Priscilla in the arms of the very man she’d forbidden her to so much as speak to? Likely, a combination of the two, Priscilla decided.
She wondered whether all mothers reacted so irrationally at the prospect of losing their daughters. That thought surprised Priscilla. Such concerns were out of place in this situation. She would never leave Spanish Creek. And Will Radnor was certainly no rancher.
Except, thoughts of him had kept her awake nights on the trail. And seeing him here today, at her home, helping Pa defend the ranch…Priscilla warmed just thinking about his touch, his kiss. “Please give Will a chance, Mama.”
Kate caught her daughter’s face in her hands. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry you’ve grown close—”
Priscilla pulled away. “I’m not a child, Mama. I’m a woman, now.” Her body fairly glowed when she spoke the words. “For the first time in my life I want to be a woman. A lady. Like you. Pa loves you, and I want…” Hesitating to put such intimate thoughts into words, Priscilla pressed her lips together.
“It can’t be, Priscilla. You and Will Radnor can never—”
Reluctant Enemies Page 12