Wanted!

by Pam Crooks

  “Why?” she asked, curious.

  His arm swept outward, as if indicating the obvious. “Because it’s a nice day, that’s why.”

  Her glance lifted to the pure, azure sky. Indeed, it was, with the sun shining and the breeze just bold enough to chase away the heat. Even so, she refused to be convinced on such a flimsy reason. “You always work on Sunday afternoons. Chat told me so.”

  “Today, I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  He appeared amused. “Because it’s a nice day.”

  She narrowed an eye at him. “So you want to go riding. With me.”

  “I do.”

  Had he sensed her need to return to Ida Grove? Did he hope to divert her thinking? Or did he have an ulterior motive?

  Her perch on the step allowed her to meet his gaze straight-on. He regarded her intently, as if to soak in the sight of her, imprint it on his memory like ink to paper. She wondered if her cheeks were still too flushed, her curls too wild and why should she even care what she looked like to Ross Santana?

  Because she was a woman, and he was pure, vibrant male, and God help her, she wanted to go on a ride with him.

  “I haven’t ridden since I was sent to prison,” she said softly, knowing she’d never make the admission to anyone but him.

  “You’ll still know how.”

  “Probably. Yes.” From the time she’d been old enough to sit a horse without falling off, she’d been comfortable in the saddle. Excitement stirred within her to climb into one again, after all these years.

  “Lark.” His voice—smoky, coaxing—wobbled her defenses. “Ride with me.”

  The man could be persistent when he needed to be. How could she refuse? Her mouth softened. “All right.”

  He gave her a quick nod. “Meet me out by the corral in half an hour. Pack something for us to eat first. We’ll be gone most of the afternoon. And find one of Chat’s hats to wear.”

  She rose. Not even his bossy manner could subdue the anticipation building inside her, and without questioning the wisdom of what she’d be doing, Lark hurried inside the house to do as he said.

  She was out there, ten minutes early.

  Ross took that as a good sign. He wasn’t prone to impulsive decisions, especially when that decision concerned a woman, but hell, the words to invite Lark to ride with him were out before he could stop them.

  She’d been on his mind all morning. She’d gotten restless hiding out with him and Chat. He could feel it. Catfish did a fine job of playing hide-and-seek. Until they got wind of his whereabouts, about all Ross could do to keep Lark’s mind off her situation was to distract her a little.

  He carried Chat’s saddle from the tack room out to the corral and glimpsed Lark waiting for him by the fence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to spend some leisure time with a woman. Odd that it would be one like Lark….

  Might be he was making a big mistake. Things were sure to turn ugly between them and what then? Last thing he wanted was to hurt her by sugarcoating the circumstances between them.

  Circumstances neither could pretend didn’t exist, but Lark seemed willing to sweep them under the rug for the time being. He’d do the same.

  He set the saddle on the ground with the rest of the gear, caught the piebald on the far side of the corral, bridled him, then led him toward Lark.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said from over the top rail.

  “That he is. Chat picked him out for his coloring.” Ross’s glance skimmed the striking black-and-white hide before he draped a blanket over the back. “He’s lady broke, too. Helped her get through the grief after our father died.”

  “I see.”

  “She’s had him four years now.” The saddle dropped onto the blanket. Pa had been gone only that long. Some days, it felt like forty. “I bought him for her as a colt the same year we moved out here.”

  “He’s grown up with her, then.”

  “You could say that.”

  “And she won’t mind if you let me ride him?”

  “Not a bit.” He buckled the cinch, checked to make sure it fit snug against the belly. He straightened. “Climb up. I’ll adjust the stirrups for you.”

  The gate opened, and she slipped through. She wore one of the dresses Chat had brought back from the boardinghouse for her, a deep emerald-green color that looked real nice with her hair. A wide satin ribbon helped hold the wild curls in some manner of order, and when she put on Chat’s wide-brimmed straw hat, Ross regretted seeing them disappear beneath the crown.

  “Hmm.” Lark peered up at the piebald as she tightened the hat’s cord under her chin. “Funny how big a horse seems when you haven’t ridden one for so long.”

  “He’s just the right size for you.”

  She nodded and tucked their lunch into the saddle bag. “Yes. I think so.”

  “Need some help climbing up?”

  She regarded him with surprise. “I haven’t needed any since I was a baby.”

  Ross noted she still hadn’t made an attempt to mount. “Lots of women expect a man to help. They like it when he does, too. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.” She sounded defensive, a little annoyed. “I just don’t expect anything from a man when I can do what he can myself.” Finally, she reached up for the saddle horn and tucked a foot into the stirrup. “My Reno cousins made sure of that.”

  Ross scowled. “I’m nothing like them, though, am I?” He grasped her waist and lifted her higher. She swung a leg over the cantle, and Ross planted a firm hand beneath her rump to help her up. “And don’t you forget it.”

  She plopped into the seat. He drew away to adjust the stirrup, but she reached down and grabbed his wrist.

  “No. You’re nothing like them,” she said quietly. “Please don’t think I ever thought otherwise.” She hesitated. “Frank and John’s courtesies toward women were limited to wooing them into the bedroom. Nothing more. They always treated me like I was one of the boys. I learned never to expect to be treated any better than that.”

  “And what a damned shame that is.” Ross vowed to remind her of her femininity as often as he could in the time he had left with her.

  “Yes.” She straightened, letting him go, and the feel of her skin against his lingered. Her attention shifted to adjusting her skirts. “It feels strange to ride astride in a dress. Pants are much more comfortable.”

  “I imagine so.” After making sure the stirrups hung at her comfort, he handed her the reins, then took hold of the chin strap. He tugged the piebald into a slow walk around the perimeter of the corral. “We’ll get you some riding clothes if you feel a need for them.”

  “And what would you have me do? Shop in town, as bold as I please?”

  “If you wanted them, I’d find a way.”

  “Thank you, but unfortunately, it’s much too risky. What are we doing?”

  “Giving you a feel for being on a horse again.”

  “I won’t fall off.”

  “Just making sure you don’t, that’s all.”

  A moment passed. “You’re being very sweet, you know.”

  They approached the sorrel, standing patiently at the water trough. His tail flicked at a persistent fly. Sweet? Ross suspected his motive was far more selfish than that.

  “I’m responsible for you. Can’t have you hurt on top of everything else going wrong in your life. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Doing well. Most of the time, I forget Catfish cut me.”

  “Good.” They halted next to the water trough. Ross released the chin strap and set his hands on his hips. “Now canter around the corral a few times. If you’re comfortable enough, we’ll head out.”

  She smiled at his fussing. “Still afraid I’ll fall off?”

  “Just do it.”

  Her expression indicated she’d comply only to keep peace between them. She turned her mount and nudged him into an easy lope.

  In moments, Ross’s misgivings dis
appeared. She rode like she was born to it, as if five years away from the saddle had never passed. Her body flowed with the motion of the horse, a grace any rider would envy to achieve, and damned if she wasn’t something to watch.

  After a few trips around, she reined in next to him. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing light. “See? I haven’t forgotten. You fussed over me for nothing.”

  She looked a little too smug, and he did his best to muster a scowl. “It was the fussing that got you started right.”

  She laughed at that, and the sound wound through clear to his soul. “Now you have to hurry, Ross.”

  “Why?” The sorrel was already saddled. He went for his rifle, propped against the side of the barn.

  “Because I don’t want to ride in a corral.” Sensing her excitement, the piebald pranced. She held him in line with no trouble. “I want to ride far. And fast.”

  “Yeah?” Ross sheathed the Winchester into his scabbard and swung into the saddle, leather creaking from his weight. Her excitement was contagious, all right. “Ride too long, though, and you’ll get sore.”

  “But then you’ll find a way to make that right for me, too.”

  Her words and what they might imply pretty much kicked the breath right out of him. By the time he could think again, she’d trotted out the gate.

  Pure and exhilarating, the adrenaline soared through Lark with an abandon she hadn’t felt for a very long time. It was more than the thundering staccato of iron hooves against the earth, more than the feel of powerful horseflesh between her thighs or the wind in her face, more than the fun of the race with a man who, if she wasn’t careful, could very well steal her foolish heart.

  It was freedom.

  Ross’s horse rode nose to nose with hers in their spontaneous run to the Maple River—a race where neither cared who won or lost. The exhilaration inside her built and built until it escaped her in an exuberant whoop, and as they pulled up next to a stand of cottonwood trees growing at the river’s edge, she couldn’t stop the laughter from spilling out, either.

  “You hold your own in the saddle, woman,” Ross said. Admiration broadened his grin. “Damn, you’re good.”

  Her hat had blown off her head and hung by its cord against her back. She pushed at a spray of curls fluttering at her cheek.

  “I’ve ridden all my life, that’s all, and oh, how I’ve missed it.”

  She bent and gave the piebald an affectionate pat on the neck. Her ability to stay on the back of a fast horse had saved her sorry hide more than once when she’d ridden with the Reno gang and needed to make a quick escape.

  “It’s human nature to take for granted what we have until we don’t have it anymore. In your case, a horse.” Ross dismounted and came around to her. “We’ll let them rest a spell. They’ve earned a good long drink.”

  He held her mount while she got down, and when Ross would’ve stepped away, she placed a hand against his chest to keep him there. Behind her, the piebald snuffled and lowered his head to the grass. The sorrel moseyed to the water.

  “Thank you for asking me,” she said. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed riding more.”

  “You were due, is all.”

  “Yes.”

  Why hadn’t she taken the time before?

  Because for five long years, she’d shut that part of her life down. Riding a fast horse was something Wild Red once did every day.

  Lark Renault didn’t.

  Regret spiraled through her from the freedom she’d wasted, and just thinking of those Catfish threatened to destroy…she felt positively ill.

  “Hey.” Ross nudged her chin higher with a finger. “You’re getting real serious all of a sudden. What’s the matter?”

  She’d lost her knack for a poker face—hiding her female emotions around men who all but ignored them. Certainly, John and Frank never tolerated worry or fear, not in her or any member of their gang, and she’d eventually grown adept at burying her feelings, even those of knowing right from wrong.

  Her years in prison had taught her to feel again, and her time in Ida Grove even more so.

  Ross, of late, with a vengeance.

  She pasted a bright smile on her lips. “Nothing’s the matter.”

  “The hell there isn’t.”

  She tried to step away, but he angled his body so she couldn’t. She smelled the wind on him. His maleness. He left her flustered and without a steady breath in her lungs.

  His thumb slid across her lips, as if to wipe away the false smile she struggled to keep in place. “You were happy not a half a minute ago. What are you thinking about?”

  “Really, Ross. I’m fine.”

  “I like seeing you happy.” From the rumble in his voice, she guessed the admission didn’t come easy. “It’s become important to me.”

  The emotion burned a little more inside her. “Why should it matter? I can’t want a happy life right now. Nor can I want this—a fun ride with you on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “But you do.”

  She swallowed hard and fought a mortifying rise of tears. “Yes.”

  “Let me give it to you, then. While I still can.”

  She moved away toward the shade of the cottonwoods, quicker than he could stop her. Her emotions flowed free. “I can’t want anything right now. From you, especially. Probably never. Don’t you see?” He knew all she had at stake, that she would likely lose everything she had. He knew it. “Are you just feeling sorry for me?”

  “What?” he asked, his voice rough. Stunned.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.” Her arm lifted, indicating the beauty, the freedom, of their surroundings—the serenity of the gently flowing Maple River, miles of rolling Iowa grassland, green and thick. “Maybe it just makes things worse.”

  “I want to be with you, Lark,” he said. “If I didn’t, you can be damn sure I wouldn’t be thinking of you now like I am.”

  She shook her head, rejected all he implied. “I’m in deep trouble, Ross. My life right now is most precarious, and I’ll probably end up in jail again, and oh, I don’t want to think of you, either. Like I am.”

  The words left her in a rush. By the time she’d finished spilling her guts to him, he was right there, close in front of her. She didn’t think to dart away before he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She didn’t even mind the way his belt buckle pushed into her belly because he held her so tight.

  Her knees went weak, her breathing all crazy. She didn’t have a choice but to put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself in a world suddenly gone sideways. He had a hard mouth, and he looked rugged and dangerous with his black patch. The brim of his Stetson shadowed his face, but she read the fire of desire in his gaze.

  He excited her like no man ever could before.

  “God help me, I want to make everything right for you,” he growled. “I swear I do.”

  There was that word again. Want. Before she could think on the futility of it, his head lowered, and his mouth covered hers with a hunger he only barely kept under control. It fed hers, that hunger, and her arms climbed higher to curl around his neck.

  She wanted to believe him. She pressed closer, needing to believe him. He had the power to save her or destroy her. He knew it as well as she did, and maybe it was tearing him apart, too.

  He angled his head and coaxed her lips apart with a bone-melting caress with his tongue. She opened, unable to deny him when she craved the very taste of him. Never had she been kissed by a man with this intensity, this unbridled passion, and why did it have to be Ross Santana?

  His embrace tightened, as if he tried to enfold her into his very being. Her every thought, every logical reason, fled. She knew only the feel of his hard body, the solid breadth of male muscle against her, and how she wanted him to kiss her like this forever.

  Breathing rough, he dragged his lips against her jaw, her neck, making her believe he wanted to keep on holding her forever, too.

  “Tell me you have someone in town
who’s courting you, and I’ll stop,” he said in a husky rumble.

  “There’s no one.” She wasn’t yet ready to open her eyes. Her nerve endings tingled wherever he touched, and she savored each sensation. “Isn’t it too late to be asking?”

  “Been meaning to find out from Chat for a while. It’s only now that I got serious about it.”

  She managed to smile and took his mouth to hers again. He absorbed her worries, sent her down a new road filled with longings that could never be.

  His head lifted, just enough to draw her lower lip between his teeth, to nibble and suck at its softness. “Why are you alone, Lark? Why isn’t every man in Ida Grove pounding on your door to claim you for their own?”

  Her eyes slowly opened. His low-voiced demand yanked her back down to reality. She eased away, though his arm still banded her waist. “Because I’ve been afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  He already knew the answer, she suspected. “Of finding love, only to lose it because—because of what I’ve done.”

  “Seems to me a man who loves a woman deep enough could forgive her for it.”

  Bemused, she uncurled her arms from around him, slid her hands down to his chest. His heart beat steady and sure, strong like the man he was.

  “How odd that you would find it possible to forgive anyone who deserves the justice that means so much to you,” she said.

  The slight flaring of his nostrils proved her words struck a raw spot deep inside and left him at a loss for words of his own. His hand lifted and gently tucked a wild tendril behind her ear.

  “Lark,” he began, but stopped.

  Perhaps he intended to say more. Or perhaps he couldn’t say anything. She only knew he intended to kiss her again. That she wanted him to. The anticipation built in her, and his arms tightened—

  Thwap!

  A jagged hole appeared in the trunk of the nearest cottonwood. Bits of bark flew. Lark cried out, Ross swore and they both dove to the ground for cover.