Miz Foster shook her head at Angela, amused. Brett imagined she’d never seen the likes of a lady who’d never ridden a horse. “Y’all have a good time.” Brett coulda sworn the rancher’s wife winked at him. Maybe she’d merely had a speck of dust in her eye.
Brett clicked his teeth and got the horses walking. Angela made a little sound, like a gasp, and Brett saw her fists tighten again. But he could tell she was trying to look brave, though her gaze was fixed on Nicker’s head as if worried it might fall off.
He hid his smirk and pushed down his excitement. He’d pictured this moment many a time—him and Angela riding out on the range, just the two of ’em. Stopping along the bank of a babbling creek and laying out a picnic. Then, pulling her into his arms as they watched the clouds drift by, and dropping a line of kisses along her throat and down the swell of her chest.
His hands twitched as he thought on all the ways he would tenderly love her, drawing moans of pleasure from her as he ran his fingers and tongue over every inch of her body, and especially the secret parts he longed to discover. She was an enticing wilderness waiting to be explored, and he wanted more than anything to be the one and only explorer to venture into that untamed country.
He realized he was breathing hard, and now it was his hands that were balled into fists, the yearning tying him in knots.
As he moved out in front of her horse, Brett caught a glance back at Miz Foster. She was standing with arms crossed watching them. He sure hoped she couldn’t read thoughts—the way Sarah Banks had seemed to do. He kept Kotoo moving at a slow and easy amble down past the bunkhouse, feeling those curious eyes burning into the back of his head.
He figured he’d give Angela a bit of time to get used to having a horse under her. So he kept quiet and led them toward the river, leaving the sounds of the ranch behind them. Soon, the warm damp air by the riverbank hummed with insects, and shiny blue-winged dragonflies darted in and about the water reeds.
Brett pulled Kotoo to a stop, and Angela and the appy came alongside.
“Well, how d’ya like riding Ol’ Nicker?” He studied her face, and she seemed much more relaxed than when they’d started out.
She wiggled a bit in the saddle and gave him a smile. His heart ’bout melted at the sight of her warm brown eyes looking at him with such affection. His words snagged in his throat.
“I’m right glad ya took me up on my offer to take you out ridin’. It ain’t so hard, ya reckon?”
She laughed, and he wished he could pull her down from the horse and cover her with kisses. But he had a mind to show her he could be just as gentlemanly as those stuffy Easterners he’d met from time to time. Though, if the opportunity presented itself sometime along the trail, why, he wouldn’t turn down another chance to kiss those plump lips of hers.
Just the thought set his limbs afire once more. He wanted more than just a kiss. He had to admit it. The need to have her in his arms, to entwine his body with her soft, luscious one made him ache all over. How long could he bear such torture? Long as ya have to, Cowboy. Rein it in. She’s a lady, and you’d best remember that.
She patted the horse’s neck. “It’s a bit awkward sitting like this. I don’t know how women stay on if they have to ride fast.”
He nodded, taking a look-see at the river valley spreading out for miles around them. Fat cottony clouds drifted overhead, promising thundershowers and maybe lightning up in the mountains. While plenty common in the late summer and fall, those storms posed a mighty danger to a cowman and his herd. When cattle bunched together in a storm, especially when there was no lowland or ditches to run ’em in, dozens sometimes died from lightning strikes. Brett recalled plenty of nights when he’d had to ride through a storm on a trembling horse, rain pouring and thunder crashing. Lightning flashing downright close about him, attracted to the heat rising from the heaving herd. He’d even seen those uncanny round balls of fire hovering on the tips of his horse’s ears as cattle fell beneath the lightning strokes. Such was the life of a cowboy on the open range. You took the weather as it came.
But there’d be no rain on the prairie today. Just those fat clouds casting dark shadows that moved like ghosts over the ground.
“It’s so beautiful and peaceful here,” Angela said, her eyes gazing off across the river. The wide swath of water moved sluggishly this time of year, looking like thick molasses. Easy for a man or beast to get stuck knee-high in the mud if he weren’t careful.
He thought on all the dangers the open range presented, so many he half ignored. But with Angela riding beside him, his eyes were alert to any danger, and a strong hankering to protect her welled up in his chest.
Brett studied her with adoring eyes. It was like he couldn’t get enough of her, his eyes as hungry as the rest of his body. He recalled that fierce thirst he’d suffered in the desert, but this was just as painful a thirst. And his mouth now felt full of dust, unable to open and say the things he yearned to say. He just knew if he started talking, he’d make a fool of himself. So he urged the pinto to walk on, and Angela followed behind on the narrow trail, wads of tall cattails banking the sides.
Soon the way opened up to the prairie dotted with the usual sage brush and occasional prickly pear—some towering over ten feet high. The horses’ hooves pattered along on the hard-packed ground as a breeze lifted thin blankets of dirt up into the air and swirled them around. Then he reined Kotoo to a stop and let the mare nip at the tufts of prairie grass, seeing as both mounts had hackamore bridles on. It didn’t take more than a second for Nicker to take the hint.
Angela chuckled at Nicker’s long-reaching tongue wrapping around the bunches of grass, and she held on to the saddle horn as the horse took little jerking steps this way and that as he grazed. Even out on the range, under a cloudy sky, in ordinary clothes, Angela looked like an angel sent from heaven. He wouldn’t have been a mite surprised if the sky opened up and a chorus of heavenly beings broke out in song above her.
He couldn’t bear it a second longer. After clearing his throat, he turned to her and said, “About yesterday . . .” He just had to know what she was feeling. After that kiss, she’d practically run the whole way back to the house. Was it from embarrassment? Or did she regret kissing him? He’d taken advantage of her—he knew he’d overstepped. But she’d kissed him back. Oh, how she kissed him. Ya don’t kiss like that if ya don’t really wanna be kissed.
A flush of red leapt to her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the ground. She looked about to say something, and Brett waited. But when no words were forthcoming, he said quietly, “I shouldn’t’ve been so forward. I apologize.” Though, he wasn’t a bit sorry. When she still didn’t answer him, fear gripped him. “I mean, I hope you’re not mad. I didn’t mean—”
“Please,” Angela said, pleading with her eyes, “it was as much my fault as yours . . .” She looked away, her face still flushed with embarrassment.
Fault? So she did blame him. She did think he’d done wrong by her.
Looks like you’re not gettin’ any more kisses today, Cowboy. He could kick himself into tomorrow. He just knew he was asking for it when he kissed her. Proper ladies didn’t go around kissing fellas they hardly knew. But ya couldn’t help it.
He grunted and slid down from the horse, his feet yearning to run. He dropped Kotoo’s reins, walked a few steps, and looked out over the hot, dry desert. Desert that had almost been the death of him.
He’d been given another chance at life. Didn’t that mean another chance at love too? If anything, that brush with death shoulda taught ya to think first afore actin’. Rushin’ off into the desert without water was a fool thing to do. And so was rushin’ to kiss that gal. He always acted without thinking—that was his problem. He fired off on a whim, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d stormed out that fateful day, aggrieved at his pa, fed up and thinking only of himself and his own wants and needs. He’d had ’airy a thought for his poor ma.
“I’m sorry,” Angela said, interr
upting his rant at himself.
He turned and looked at her. She was attempting to get down from her horse, but the stirrup was tangled up in her skirt.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, tugging at the cloth and leaning precariously off the saddle.
“Whoa, wait there,” he said, coming around Nicker’s neck and putting his hand on her leg. “Lemme get you free.”
“I . . . I mean, I’m not angry. It’s not . . . I didn’t . . .”
He felt her leg quiver at his touch. He stared at her skirt-covered leg, and he couldn’t help but think about the creamy smooth skin of her flesh underneath. A heatwave of passion flushed his neck.
He looked up into her flustered face, feeling sore at himself and frustration at his predicament. Here was a beautiful gal—one who’d stolen his heart from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her—and he couldn’t have her. She was being all polite and trying not to hurt his feelings, but he read her face, and the message was as plain as day.
His words came out rougher than he’d intended. “No need to apologize. I understand.” He added, “It won’t happen again.” He yanked at the fabric caught in the crease of the stirrup, and it ripped, freeing her leg. He felt his own heart tear in two, as if someone had grabbed it like that and pulled.
Brett eased her down off the horse, his hands tight against Angela’s soft waist. The moment her feet touched ground, he let go and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets, keeping them out of trouble. He couldn’t trust his hands or his heart. Not around her.
Knowing she’d start asking questions, he strode off toward a jumble of rocks. He wouldn’t go far, but he needed to simmer down. He felt about to explode with all the conflicting feelings warring inside him. He plopped down on a boulder and huffed out air as he stared off at the mountains.
***
Angela smoothed out her skirt and stared at Brett sitting on the rock a dozen yards away. Why was he so angry at her? She should be mad at him. He’d apologized for kissing her, acting as if he’d never really meant to. All but admitting the kiss had been impulsive. She knew the moment she’d run into the house after picking berries that he’d been toying with her. Taking advantage of her naiveté and inexperience. And how could he have kissed her in front of those little girls? Did they tell Adeline what they’d seen? The thought horrified her. What kind of woman would the Fosters think they had staying under their roof? Would she be asked to leave?
Angela fumed as she held on to Nicker’s rein as he ate the grass at her feet. What was she thinking, letting this cowboy take her on a ride, far out of sight from the ranch? She doubted he’d do anything to hurt her—not if he wanted to keep his job. But how would it look to others?
You know why you agreed to ride with him—because you can’t stay away from him. And you want another kiss. Admit it!
She didn’t want to admit it. Of course she longed for Brett to press her against his strong, broad chest and kiss her with the passion he’d shown yesterday. But it would only lead to trouble—big trouble. It would give Brett the wrong idea and open a door to more intimacy. She couldn’t trust that a cowboy like him would have any honor. What code did he really live by? He said he worshipped God under the stars, forsaking church and the fellowship of other good Christians. He lived a carefree, “do as he pleased” life, not answerable to family, friends, or church. So how could she trust him?
She was playing with fire—and if she didn’t stop this now, she would get burned. Badly burned. Already her heart was smoldering, threatening to explode into flames of passion she would never be able to douse. Had she forgotten why she’d come to Greeley? Had she forgotten her dream?
She had to put Brett Hendricks out of her mind and heart. He’d weaseled in there somehow when she wasn’t looking, when she was vulnerable and lonely. Well, he can just weasel back out. Just march over there and tell him to take you back to the house. Before you change your mind.
She dropped the rein she’d been holding and headed over toward Brett, taking a deep breath and trying to prepare what she planned to say to him. But then every word flew out of her head as her eyes caught on something moving over the dirt.
Fear bolted her feet to the ground. Not inches from her boots, a giant brown snake with diamond-patterned skin stretched out, its tail flicking and making a rattling sound. Her hand flew to her mouth but did little to stifle the scream escaping her throat.
Brett leapt up from the rock. “Don’t move!” he ordered.
Angela gulped as bile rose to the back of her throat. To her horror, another giant snake slithered out from a nearby rock, coming her way.
“Oh, Lord, save me!” she cried, her knees threatening to give out. She sucked in air that failed to reach her lungs. The ground erupted in undulating movement. Snakes were coming at her from every direction, hissing and rattling in a symphony of death. Her heart raced so hard, she thought she would faint.
“Please, help me!” Why was Brett just standing there? Oh, Lord, please, please . . .
She whimpered, shaking so hard her teeth hurt. She couldn’t bear to look down and squeezed her eyes shut. Her body stiffened, awaiting the first bite to her ankle.
“Just don’t move!” Brett repeated. She could tell he was running. Running away? Surely he wouldn’t leave her—
A gunshot blasted loud and close, and Angela jerked in surprise. She couldn’t help but jump back, her eyes wide. Her foot landed on a snake, and she screamed in horror at the top of her lungs. The snake’s head darted at her, and its gleaming forked tongue stabbed at her boot, causing her to scream even louder. She nearly stumbled backward onto a tangle of slithering snakes as another gunshot rang out by her foot. The snake’s head exploded in a pulpy mass of blood. Angela grabbed her head as her ears rang painfully, spinning this way and that, trying to find purchase on the ground with her feet.
She spun again and saw Brett striding toward her with a rifle in his outstretched arm and an angry scowl on his face. Another three snakes made toward her, and she froze, her stomach about to vomit its contents onto her boots. She wrapped her arms around her waist, moaning and trembling as more loud shots echoed through the air.
Snake after snake exploded around her. Screams flew from her mouth, one after the other, as she pranced like a terrified horse, trying to find a way out of the writhing mass surrounding her.
There! A narrow path opened up as Brett fired again and again. Dirt flew up around her in clumps as bullets hit the ground, the snakes still alive moving quicker in anger and agitation. She ran as hard as she could toward the horses with her hands over her ears, but Brett marched toward the snakes with narrowed eyes and a meanness in his gaze that shocked her.
She stopped and panted next to the horses, stunned at their calm demeanor. Their curious eyes watched Brett, but they didn’t flinch at all when he fired the rifle. But what was he doing?
Her mouth dropped in shock, her body still shaking uncontrollably, as she watched him stand in the midst of a dozen or more crazed snakes. As they lunged at him, he shot their heads off, and when the rifle clicked, Angela panicked.
He was out of bullets! Why was he standing there? Why didn’t he run away?
Then she stared at his face. He was like a man obsessed. He threw his rifle to the ground and pulled a knife from somewhere. The blade glinted in the sunlight streaming through rents in the clouds. She stood, unblinking, and watched as Brett became unhinged.
With fury he slashed at the giant creatures who thrust their heads at him, tongues flickering and tails rattling. Brett roared and lunged, grabbing one snake after another by its neck and slashing off its head, blood splurting all over his clothes.
Angela watched—mesmerized and horrified, both—as he attacked with vicious intent. Even after the last snake had died under his hand, Brett stabbed the thing over and over, screaming in rage, consumed with some terrifying bloodlust. When at last he paused and caught his breath, he turned his head and glared at her. His eyes were dark and s
tormy, the pupils like black, cold marbles.
The sight made Angela suck in a breath and tremble in fear. Blood soaked Brett’s shirt and had splattered his strangely calm face. His hair dripped with blood under his hat as he stood ankle deep in dead snakes. The screams and the cacophony of rattles dwindled to soft echoes bouncing off the rocks, leaving a silence that seeped into the prairie that lay heavy and oppressive.
Brett shook off his stupor and looked around as if surprised at finding himself in a pile of dead snakes. When his eyes met hers, he seemed to look through her, as if she wasn’t there.
Angela’s heart finally slowed to a normal beat, but she knew the horror of what she’d experienced would be forever branded in her memory. She sidled up to Nicker, glancing nervously around. Her every thought was on fleeing. The sooner she rode back the ranch house, the sooner she could breathe again.
She waited for Brett to come to her and help her up into the saddle, but he stood frozen, as still as a statue, his face impassive.
“Brett?” She waited, then called to him again. “Brett, please. Let’s go back.” Flashes of Brett shooting and slashing the snakes played over and over in her mind. And while those snakes had terrified her to her core, what frightened her even more was the venomous look on Brett’s face as he brutally attacked the creatures. She was utterly grateful to him for saving her, but instead of feeling relief, she felt another fear slithering into her heart—the same sensation of fear she felt around her papá.
Despite Brett’s calm and friendly manner, there was an angry, violent man deep down inside. Who knew what other things might spark that anger? A wrong word? A late dinner? She saw in her mind her papá screaming at her mamá, then striking her hard with the back of his hand—his eyes brimming with the same fury as Brett’s eyes had held.
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