Taming Blackhawk

by Barbara Mccauley

  Late-morning sun shimmered off the unending ribbon of asphalt between San Antonio and Dallas. Rand was more than familiar with this long, lonely stretch of I-35. The dry, flat desert seemed to stretch forever, with cactus, tumbleweed and desert grass as far as a man could see. The landscape would change soon, though. They’d be coming into Austin before long, with all its cultural centers, skyscrapers and traffic.

  But this was no sight-seeing expedition. Rand wanted to get to Dallas before it got dark, settle the horses and get a good night’s sleep so they could be back on the road early tomorrow.

  “Would you like me to take the wheel?” Grace offered. “It’s only fair that we share the driving.”

  Rand pulled his attention from the highway and cast a sideways glance at Grace. She sat at an angle facing him, with one leg tucked neatly under her. She’d shucked her boots off when they’d stopped for fast food in San Marcos, then settled back and enjoyed a burger and fries. Her boots sat on the floor of the front seat. The seat belt cut across the front of her white blouse between her breasts and strapped across her lap.

  Rand wouldn’t mind being that seat belt right now.

  He dragged his gaze back to the road and forced himself to concentrate on his driving instead of the woman beside him. But it wasn’t long before an image popped into his head, one he’d been trying to push out of his mind all day—Grace in her pretty pink pajamas, her hair tumbling around her sleepy eyes.

  The sight of her standing in her motel room doorway this morning, looking like she’d just slid out of bed, had caught him off-guard. Just like that, he’d wanted her. Wanted to step inside and close the door, slide his hands under that soft cotton and touch her everywhere.

  He still wanted to, dammit.

  Pulling his thoughts away from what he’d like to do with Miss Grace Sullivan, he asked, “You’ve driven a truck and trailer before?”

  “Certainly,” she said with a sniff. “Ranch House Barbie came complete with a black pickup and horse trailer. Barbie and I went everywhere in that rig.”

  He cocked his head and gave her his best that-wasn’t-even-worth-a-smile look.

  There was a glint of humor in her eyes as she brought her leg up on the seat and laced her hands around her knee. “As a matter of fact, yes, I have, though usually short distances. I’ve transported several of the foundation’s horses to their new adoptive owners.”

  “How exactly does that work?” he asked. “The adoption process, I mean.”

  “For the most part, the Internet.” She leaned forward and searched the radio for a station that wasn’t mostly static. When Travis Tritt came through the air-waves, singing about “the best of intentions,” she settled back. “We also hold live auctions every two months at the Double S Ranch outside of Dallas where we corral and train the horses we round up or others that are brought to us.”

  “Brought to you?”

  “The horses that people don’t want or can’t afford to keep. Every horse has to be assessed and given a number on the adoptability scale.”

  The adoptability scale. Rand’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He knew it was unreasonable, but it was impossible not to equate Grace’s horses with what those bastards had done with him twenty-three years ago, and with Seth and Lizzie. They’d all been assessed and given a number that determined their worth to humankind. And while Rand understood that the system might work for horses, for human beings it was inherently wrong.

  Rand knew that he’d been adopted out illegally; he knew it now, anyway. But he’d been told by the man and woman who had taken him away that night that his entire family had died, that he had been the only survivor.

  Lies. All goddamned lies.

  Why? His eyes narrowed as he stared at the long stretch of road in front of him. Why the hell would anyone do such a vicious, hateful thing—separate three young children after losing their parents and tell them their siblings were dead? How could anyone be that heartless, that cruel?

  As if he didn’t know. Money, of course. Money was the usual motivator for most men and women. Had there been some kind of black-market auction on his sister and brother? Rand wondered. They’d both been younger than him, certainly more adoptable. Especially little Lizzie. She would have been the child that anyone would want. Beautiful Lizzie, with her big blue eyes and shiny dark brown hair. She’d looked more like their mother than any of them, and the blend of Native American and Welsh had given her an exotic look.

  The thought of his sister being sold to the highest bidder, like an unwanted horse, made him suddenly and violently ill.

  He heard Grace calling him. He jerked his mind back to the moment, to his driving.

  “Rand, what’s wrong?” Grace asked, her voice heavy with concern.

  “Nothing,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Breathe, he told himself. Slow, deep breaths.

  “That’s not true.” She leaned toward him, her brow furrowed. “You’re white as a ghost and you’re sweating.”

  “I’m fine.” He wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, willed his heart to settle back down to a normal pace. “Why don’t you rest? We’ve got several more hours to go. Next time we stop, you can take over and I’ll rest.”

  That way, there’d be no more talk. He could keep the demons away by concentrating on other things. He’d learned at an early age how to shut out the bad thoughts. The dark thoughts.

  “Are you sure?” She watched him, a worried expression on her face.

  “I could use some quiet,” he said more firmly than he meant to, saw her pull away at his harsh words.

  “All right.”

  She slid her leg off the seat and angled her back to him, rested her head on the back of the cushion. He could see the tension in her shoulders and back and had the strangest urge to touch her. To say he was sorry.

  But he couldn’t. Better to keep some distance, he thought. He’d already told her things about himself, about his parents dying and Mary and Edward adopting him, things he’d never told anyone else. Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, she’d managed to get under his skin. Made him feel things he never had before. Things he didn’t want to feel.

  He wouldn’t deny he wanted her in his bed, wanted his body to be inside hers. But on a physical level only. Not in his life, or in his heart.

  That he simply couldn’t let happen.

  “Did you know that the best-preserved dinosaur tracks in Texas are close by here?” Grace asked while she and Rand studied the menu at Roger Bob’s Rib House in Grandview. She’d read the trivia off the paper place mat on the table, but she doubted that Rand had noticed it. “The first sauropods tracks were discovered there.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “They also found tracks of the duckbilled dinosaurs,” she went on.

  He grunted, but did not respond, just kept staring at his menu and gave her no encouragement to continue. But then, he’d given her no encouragement to speak at all for the past five hours. He’d bluntly told her he wanted quiet while they’d been driving and though she’d admittedly been hurt by the cold shoulder he’d turned on her, she’d given him his space and his quiet.

  But enough was enough, already. This lone wolf silent treatment of his was getting on her nerves. She was tired and hungry and she needed a conversation, dammit. With or without him.

  “They were called theropods,” she said with as much interest as she could muster. “Thirty feet long and twelve foot tall meat eaters.”

  “Well, let’s hope they haven’t ordered before us,” Rand said evenly, and reached for the bottle of beer he’d ordered. “I wouldn’t want to have to wrestle one of them for the last steak.”

  It wasn’t much, but at least it was a start, Grace thought with relief. He’d been acting as if he’d had a sour drop stuck in his throat all day. And they said women were moody. Jeez.

  They’d pulled off the Interstate less than an hour ago and found a small motel where Rand could care for the two horses he’d
brought, a large-boned, dapple-gray gelding and a delicate pinto mare with the biggest eyes Grace had ever seen on a horse. He’d brought everything they’d need for the trip—canned food, drinking water and sleeping bags. He’d even brought her one of Mary’s cowboy hats. It amazed her that he could be ready so quickly for an excursion like this, but at the same time, she had the distinct feeling that Rand was a man who was always ready to head out somewhere, always ready to move on.

  Definitely not the type to stay in one place long, and definitely not the type to settle down.

  She reached for the margarita she’d ordered and took a sip, then licked the salt from her lips. It had been a long day, and she needed something to unwind after spending eight hours cooped up in the cab of a truck with Rand. Every inch of that long, hard-muscled body radiated masculinity. He filled her senses. The earthy-male scent of his skin, the rugged profile of his handsome face, his large, callused hands on the steering wheel. And on those rare occasions when he had spoken, the deep, gravelly texture in his voice felt like the tip of a finger moving slowly up her spine.

  If they hadn’t stopped soon, she was afraid she might have thrown herself out of the truck. Or more likely, thrown herself on him.

  “Rand Sloan!” A pretty blond waitress from another table hurried over. “You’re a sight, cowboy. Where you been this time? Abilene or Del Rio?”

  “El Paso,” he said with a grin.

  “El Paso! No wonder you been scarce as hen’s teeth.” The woman turned her big, blue eyes on Grace and stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Crystal. I’d wait for Rand to introduce us, but my Social Security check would probably get here first.”

  Considering the woman only looked about thirty, that would obviously be a long time, Grace thought. She smiled back at the waitress and shook her hand. “Grace Sullivan.”

  Grace couldn’t help but notice that Crystal wore no wedding ring. And based on the way she’d greeted Rand, the two were very well acquainted.

  And considering the amount of moving around he did, no doubt Rand Sloan was well acquainted with a lot of women in the state of Texas.

  “Grace Sullivan.” Crystal furrowed her brow, then her eyes widened. “I know who you are. You’re with that horse adoption agency. I saw you on TV last week. That cute guy with dimples on Channel 8 news was interviewing you.”

  Normally one of the staff volunteers for Edgewater Animal Management handled the PR, but no one had been available that day, and Grace had been forced to do the interview herself. She wasn’t comfortable in front of a camera of any kind, but the spot on the news show had brought in a lot of donations, so she certainly wasn’t complaining.

  “Hey, Pinkie,” Crystal called over her shoulder to the restaurant manager. “We got a celebrity here. Bring some free guacamole and chips out and make sure these drinks are on the house.”

  Grace felt her cheeks flame as several other people, restaurant workers and patrons alike, gathered around the table.

  So much for having any kind of conversation or quiet meal with Rand, Grace thought. She could see the amusement in his eyes as he settled back in the booth and took a long pull on his beer.

  Still, once she started talking about the foundation, explaining how the wild horses were rounded up and brought in, then adopted out, Grace forgot about Rand and concentrated on the growing crowd.

  Rand, on the other hand, had not forgotten about Grace in the slightest.

  He watched her, fascinated at the light that came into her eyes every time she talked about the foundation. There weren’t many people who were truly passionate about their work, he knew. He’d been lucky. From the time he was five, he’d always known what he would do. He’d never even considered anything other than working with horses. He’d rather drink tar than put on a tie or a suit, or work indoors eight to five.

  Handling and training horses came easy to him. People did not. Grace, on the other hand, was as easy with people as a duck swimming in a pond. Her face was animated as she rambled off statistics and talked about the horses and her organization; her skin literally glowed. When she laughed at something one of the local ranchers said, Rand felt something shift in his chest. When she took another sip of her margarita, then licked the salt from her lips, he felt something shift lower on his body.

  Just that simple, innocent sweep of her tongue over her mouth made his blood heat up and his pulse pound.

  When she did it again, his hand tightened on the bottle of beer in his hands.

  Dammit, she was turning him on. Right here in front of a dozen people at least. He told himself to look away, to count backward by threes, but he couldn’t get past eighty-eight before he was looking at her again, staring at that lush mouth still damp from her tongue.

  He knew what she tasted like after she’d eaten chocolate cake; he suddenly wanted to know what she’d taste like now. A tangy mixture of sweet and sour, he was certain. And salt. Salt that would only make him thirsty for another taste. And another.

  With tremendous effort, he dragged his gaze from her and glanced at the people who had gathered around their table. He’d been a regular at this restaurant when he’d worked a three-month stretch at the Rocking J in Waxahachie, a town five miles from here. That must have been three years ago now, he figured. Considering the number of ranches he’d worked for in the state, sometimes it was hard to remember what year he’d worked where. Sometimes he didn’t know what year it was now, or where he was.

  Or who he was.

  That was the biggest question. Who the hell was he? Rand Blackhawk or Rand Sloan? He’d only been Rand Blackhawk for nine years. Could he go back?

  Did he want to?

  And Lizzie and Seth. Once they found out he was alive, would they want him as their brother again?

  Could they ever forgive him?

  He knew he’d never forgiven himself.

  A burst of laughter dragged him from his thoughts. Dammit, he’d encouraged all these people to gather around Grace to give him a breather from making conversation. Now he simply wanted them gone.

  Especially the guy in the white Stetson who’d been staring at Grace since he’d sauntered over from his own table across the aisle. Rand vaguely remembered him as a rancher who lived over in Brandon. Clay Johnson was his name, but as Rand recalled, everyone called him C.J. Last he knew, Clay was single with a couple of kids and looking. Apparently, based on the interest in the rancher’s gaze as he watched Grace, the man was still looking.

  As stupid as it was, Rand did not like it one little bit.

  He’d never been the jealous type. He couldn’t ever remember feeling possessive or annoyed if another man looked at a woman he was with.

  Not that he was with Grace, he reminded himself. He might have kissed her, but that was before he’d agreed to work for her foundation. Their relationship was business now, and that’s the way it needed to be. He needed to stay focused.

  Oh, he was focused, all right, he thought sourly. On Grace’s incredible mouth and long, curvy legs. Her tempting, full breasts that he’d love to—

  He slammed his beer down on the table and drew a few looks from the group, including Grace.

  “You think we might get our food sometime before Christmas?” Rand asked Pinkie, who had come out of the kitchen and was busy yakking with the rest of the party around the table. “Or do I have to go in the kitchen and get it myself?”

  “Help yourself, Rand,” Pinkie said, and pulled up a chair next to Grace. “Ribs are already cooked and sitting under the lamp.”

  That did it. Rand leaned forward and said in a low growl, “If I don’t have my food in front of me in two minutes, you’re gonna be under that lamp.”

  Pinkie sighed and straggled back to the kitchen, and seeing the mood Rand was in, the crowd scattered, as well, including C.J.

  But not before he gave Grace his card and told her to call him if she could use his help with anything or if she were ever passing through.

  Rand clenched his jaw so tight he thoug
ht he might crack a tooth.

  “You all right?” Grace asked him with concern.

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” he snarled.

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, just settled back.

  After a long moment of silence, she said, “Did you know that sauropods were plant-eating reptiles, more than sixty feet long, weighing thirty tons?”

  “You don’t say.”

  Rand suppressed a groan, listened to Grace while she spouted off dinosaur trivia and prayed this meal would be over soon.

  Five

  They arrived at the entrance to Black River Canyon late the next day, with barely enough time to set up camp before it got dark. While Rand took care of the horses, Grace gathered dried branches and bark from the surrounding red cedar and dogwood trees, piled everything into a small hole she’d dug beside a rock perfect for sitting on, then set a match to the leaves and twigs she’d layered underneath. It took almost an entire book of matches and several minutes, but when a flame finally sparked and the fire ignited, Grace gave a small yelp of joy.

  She quickly bit her tongue and appeared nonchalant when Rand glanced over at her from where he was tying the horses to a nearby dogwood. He lifted a curious brow at her, then turned back to the horses.

  Grace stuck her tongue out at him and made a face. She’d never admit it to Rand, but this was her first fire.

  The truth be told, she’d only been camping two or three times in her entire life, but Rand didn’t need to know that. She was certain he would never let her go down in the canyon with him if he was aware of her lack of experience with the rugged outdoors.

  She knew what he thought of her, that she was a rich, bored city girl who had too much time and money on her hands. And maybe she was rich. She certainly didn’t need to make excuses because her father owned and ran a large, successful steel-manufacturing company, or because she’d gone to the best schools and graduated with a business degree from UT. She certainly wasn’t bored, and since she’d started the foundation, she definitely did not have too much time on her hands. She only wished there were more hours in a day.