Dangerous to Hold

by Merline Lovelace

  Alex translated his laughing reply. “He says that all he knows of riding he learned from Petr Borodín.”

  Her casual tone didn’t fool Nate for a moment. Sure enough, the balding, bag-eyed hero of the steppes was the next to suggest a little contest. It sounded simple enough. The first one to fill a pouch with the water trickling along the muddy bed and then return to the starting point would be the winner.

  “Let me make sure I understand this. He wants to race to that little creek, fill one of these skins, and race back?”

  Alex nodded. “That’s it.”

  Nate glanced at the one-armed warrior, who winked and upped the stakes.

  “He has a bottle of his best vodka in his bag,” Alex commented. “He’ll wager that against your watch.”

  “Make it my belt buckle, and he’s on,” Nate countered.

  Red made it to the shallow ravine several lengths ahead of Petr’s mouse-colored Don. Nate was out of the saddle and down on one knee in the muddy water before Red had come to a full stop. Glancing up at the sound of approaching hooves, he almost dropped the leather pouch.

  While his mount galloped at full speed, Petr Borodín hung upside down from the saddle. Using only the strength of his thighs to hold him in place, he gripped the reins in his one hand and the strings of the pouch in his teeth. The leather sack trailed the water for a few seconds before Petr dragged himself upright. By the time Nate and Red had clambered up the shallow bank, their opponents were already back beside Alex.

  Cowboy drew up beside them, shaking his head in genuine admiration. “I doubt if there are many two-armed rodeo trick riders who could do that.”

  “It’s called the djigitovka,” Alex explained, her eyes sparkling. “It’s one of the many circus tricks the Cossacks of old used to perform to impress the Russians and other outsiders.”

  “Well, it sure impressed the hell out of me.”

  Grinning, Nate unhooked his belt and passed the silver buckle, with its brass stenciling, to Petr. The gap-toothed warrior promptly hung it from one of the frayed medals decorating his chest. Reining his mount around, he went over to display his trophy to the others.

  “At this rate, I’ll ride back into camp buck-naked.”

  Alex arched a brow. “Katerina and the others would certainly appreciate that.”

  “Think so, do you?”

  A delicate wash of color painted her cheeks at his sardonic reply, but she let her glance roam over his body in a slow, deliberate appraisal.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  That little flush went a long way toward shooting out the dents in Nate’s ego. He felt a whole lot better knowing he had somewhat of the same effect on Ms. Jordan as she had on him. Crossing his wrists over the saddle horn, he decided to get this thing out in the open.

  “I guess this is as good a time as any to talk about your little announcement this morning.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. My father would’ve defined it as a simple matter of supply and demand.”

  “They demand and I supply, is that it?”

  The color crept higher in her cheeks, but she kept her head high. “That’s it.”

  “You want to tell me how I progressed overnight from a potential rapist who had to be warned off with threats of being flayed alive to the prize in the Crackerjack box?”

  “As Katerina informed me, it was time to reassess Karistan’s needs. All of them.”

  “Come on, Alexandra. What’s really behind all this nonsense?”

  “What makes you think it’s nonsense?”

  “Give me a break, lady. This is the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. A woman today ought to be looking for something more in a mate than mere availability.”

  Alex sat back in the saddle, thinking of all the responses she could make to that statement.

  She could tell Sloan that availability didn’t rank quite as high on his list of qualifications as the strong arms Ivana had speculated about during breakfast this morning and Alex herself had experienced last night.

  That Anya, sweet, pale-haired Anya, had gotten up with the dawn to light the cook fires, commenting on how much pleasure it gave her to prepare delicacies for someone with such a long, lean body and flat belly.

  That, despite herself, Alex was coming to agree with Katerina. A smile in a man’s eyes went a long way toward countering any less desirable traits he might have.

  Instead, she simply shrugged. “Availability is as good a criterion as any other on the steppes. We have a saying here, that women must have the courage of the bear, the strength of the ox, and the blindness of the bat. Otherwise none would wed.”

  Nate’s bark of laughter had the other men swinging around to stare. “For all that they’re anxious to acquire husbands, seems to me that the women of Karistan don’t hold men in very high regard.”

  “Oh, we like men well enough,” Alex returned. “In their place.”

  Leaving Nate to chew over that one, she signaled that it was time to move out.

  Whatever other “tests” Alexandra had planned for him quickly got shoved to the back burner.

  They’d ridden only a few miles when Dimitri, who was in the lead, suddenly pulled up and signaled her forward.

  Sitting easy in the saddle, Nate watched the dark-haired woman confer with her lieutenant. When she called the rest of them forward, her eyes were flat, and tight lines bracketed either side of her mouth.

  “Dimitri has found some tracks he does not recognize,” she told Nate tersely. “We will follow them.”

  Picking up the pace, she led the small band farther and farther east. Nate didn’t need to consult the compass built into his chronometer to know they were heading directly toward Balminsk. Lowering his chin against the gathering wind, he wondered just what the Karistanis intended to do if they caught up with the riders who’d made those tracks. Given the shaky state of affairs between the two nations, he wouldn’t be surprised to find himself in the middle of a firefight.

  Nate glanced at Alex’s back and felt a sudden clammy chill that had nothing to do with the wind. His jaw hardening, he battled memories of another cold, rainy day. A day when Belfast’s streets had erupted with gunfire and a desperate, determined woman had died in his arms. Pushing that black memory back into the small, private corner of his soul where it permanently lodged, Nate edged Red up alongside Alex’s gray.

  A half hour later, the storm that had been threatening began pounding the plains ahead of them. Not long after that, Alex called a halt. Her mouth tight, she stared across the wide ravine that blocked their path. Although the stream that wandered through it was no doubt just a trickle ordinarily, now it was swollen and rushing with the rains that lashed the steppes.

  When Dimitri called out a question, Alex eyed the far bank, then reluctantly shook her head.

  Smart move, Nate acknowledged silently. He’d seen his share of bloated carcasses swept along on these gully-washers. While he didn’t doubt Red’s ability to swim the rushing torrent, he wasn’t anxious to see Alex try it on her smaller mount.

  When Dimitri rode back to confer with the others, Nate threw her a sidelong glance.

  “You want to tell me just who we’ve been tracking these last few hours?”

  She pulled her gaze from the black clouds scudding toward them and gave a little shrug.

  “Whoever it was, we won’t be able to track them any farther. Not with the storm washing the plains.”

  Her refusal to share even this bit of information with him didn’t set well with Nate.

  “You’ve all but invited me to become part of the family,” he tossed at her. “Don’t you think it’s about time you tell me what the hell’s putting that crease between your brows?”

  She blinked at the uncharacteristic edge to his voice, but before she could reply, the first fat raindrops splattered on her shoulders.

  “I don’t think this is the time to talk about much of anything.”

  As if to punctuate her words, the sto
rm erupted around them in awesome fury. Lightning snaked down and cracked against the earth, too close for Nate’s comfort. The roiling black clouds spit out their contents, and the wind picked up with a vengeance, flinging the rain sideways, right into their faces.

  The Karistanis, used to the violence of the steppes, buried their chins in the high protective collars of their greatcoats and slumped even lower in their saddles. Nate dragged on the yellow slicker that had seen him through similar Wyoming storms. He wished he had his ball cap to keep some of the pelting rain out of his eyes.

  “We’ll take shelter among those rocks till it passes,” Alex called above the howl of the wind, pointing to a line of black basalt boulders thrusting up out of the plains some distance away.

  Nate nodded as she turned her gray and kicked him into a gallop. With the ravine on their right, they raced toward the dark, towering shapes. Dimitri and the others pounded behind them.

  They weren’t the only ones headed for the rocks, they soon discovered. Over the rumble of thunder, Nate heard the sound of hoofbeats coming from their left. He pulled his .38 out of the holster tucked under his armpit just as Alex whipped her rifle out of its leather saddle case.

  “They’re ours,” she shouted in relief a second later, as a small band of riderless horses charged out of the rain. “Usually they graze south of here. The storm must have driven them across the steppes.”

  Within moments, the two bands had merged and were flowing toward the rocks. They’d almost made it when lightning arced to the earth just a short distance ahead of them.

  Even Red, as well trained as he was, shied.

  Thighs gripping, body thrusting forward, Nate kept his seat. The Karistanis, Alex included, did the same.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed Nate that the blinding flash of light had panicked the other horses. Manes whipping, tails streaming, they scattered in all directions. Through the sheeting rain, he saw a bay yearling head right for the ravine’s edge. It went over with a whinny of sheer panic.

  Nate whipped Red around. Following the rim, he searched the rushing, muddy water for some sign of the colt. A few moments later, its muzzle broke the surface. Even from this distance, he could see its eyes rolling in terror and its forelegs flailing uselessly as it was dragged back under.

  Nate yanked his rope free and followed the course of the rim, waiting for the yearling to surface again. When it did, it had been carried to the far side of the gorge, well beyond his reach. Cursing, he watched the rushing water slam the colt into a toppled, half-submerged satinwood tree that was still tethered to the far bank by its long, snakelike roots. Over the roar of the rain he heard the animal’s shrill cries, and then the brown water closed over its head once more.

  “Sloan! What is it? What are you doing?” Alex brought her gray to a dancing halt beside him.

  “You’ve got a horse down!” he shouted. “There! He’s caught in that tree.”

  Shoving her wet hair out of her eyes with one hand, Alex squinted along the line of his outstretched arm. “I see him!”

  Standing up in the stirrups, Nate searched the ravine in both directions. “Any place I can get across?”

  She shook her head. “Not for another twenty kilometers or so. We’ll have to jump it.”

  “The hell we will!” he yelled. “Red can carry me across, but that little pony of yours won’t make it.”

  “He’ll make it. Either that, or he swims!”

  “No! Dammit, Alex, wait!”

  The wind tore the words away almost before Nate got them out. His heart crashed against his ribs as he saw her race the gelding toward the ravine’s edge. She bent low over its neck, until the line between horse and rider blurred in the driving rain.

  Cursing viciously, Nate sent Red in pursuit. There was only a slim chance the bigger, faster quarter horse could catch the smaller Don before it reached the rim, but Nate was damn well going to let him try.

  Ears flat, neck stretched out, Red gave it everything he had. Throwing up clods of muddy grass with each pounding stride, he closed the short distance. But the gray’s lead was a few whiskers too long. With a thrust of its muscled haunches, it launched itself across the raging torrent.

  In the split second that followed, Nate had the choice of drawing rein or joining Alex in her attempt to bridge the dark, ragged chasm. Without conscious thought, he dropped the reins and gave Red his head. The chestnut’s massive hindquarters corded. His rear hooves dug into the dirt. With a powerful lunge, he soared into the driving rain.

  Chapter 8

  The gray landed with inches to spare.

  Red hit the grassy rim with a wider margin of safety and a whole lot more power. By the time Nate brought him around, Alex had already dismounted.

  Swiftly she stripped off her heavy, swirling greatcoat and tossed it over her saddle before heading toward the edge. The rain immediately darkened her red shirt to a deep wine and molded it to her slender body in a way that would’ve closed Nate’s throat if it wasn’t already tight.

  He ripped the rope from his saddle and threw a leg over the pommel. Catching up with her in a few long strides, he spun her around.

  “Loop this around your waist,” he barked, furious over the fear that had clawed at his chest when he saw her sail across that dark torrent.

  She blinked at his tone, but saw at once the sense of an anchor line. While she fumbled with the thin, slippery hemp, Nate whipped the other end around one of the satinwoods that were still firmly rooted on the bank. Shoving the end through his belt, he tied it in a slipknot.

  “Play the rope out with both hands as I go down,” he shouted.

  “Wait, Sloan. I’ll go. I’m smaller, lighter. Those roots may not take your weight without giving way.”

  “They may not take either one of us. Just hold on to the damn rope!”

  She flung her head back, throwing the wet hair out of her eyes. But either she decided not to waste precious moments arguing or she realized that smaller and lighter weren’t real advantages when it came to wrestling a three-hundred-pound animal from a nest of branches. Gripping her end of the rope in both hands, she watched as he slid down the bank on one heel and one knee.

  With a grim eye on his footing, Nate worked his way along the slippery, half-submerged trunk. The satinwood strained and groaned as rushing brown water pulled at its tenuous grip on the bank. The frantic, thrashing yearling, its eyes rolled back in fright, added his cries to the chorus.

  “Whoa, youngster. Hang on there.”

  A fresh torrent swept over the tree, forcing it and the trapped animal under. Lunging forward, Nate grabbed a fistful of black mane. His muscles straining against the combined pull of the water and the colt’s weight, he dragged its head back above the surface. Balancing one hip against a heavy branch, he held on to the plunging, flailing creature with one hand and worked the slipknot with the other. It took him a couple of tries, but he managed to get a loop over the horse’s small head. That done, he tore at the branches that caged it.

  The water rushed over the tree with brutal force. The branches sliced back and forth, slashing at Nate’s arms like sharp serrated knives. His slicker and the denim jacket underneath protected him from the worst of the cuts, but he felt their lash against his neck and face. With each whip and tug of the muddy water, the tree fought its anchor in the bank.

  The colt came free at last. While Alex used the fulcrum of the rope to swim it to shore, Nate fought his way back along the shuddering trunk. He was halfway to solid ground when the satinwood groaned and its roots began to give way with a sickening popping sound. Cursing, Nate dived for the bank. His hands dug into the slick earth just as the tree pulled free of its last fragile hold.

  When it went, it took a good chunk of earth along with it. Before Alex could scramble backward to safety, the ground she was standing on crumbled beneath her feet. With a startled shout, she slid down the steep slope on her backside and tumbled into the rushing, muddy water.

  Na
te threw himself sideways and grabbed at the rope still tethering her to the colt. The hemp tore across his palms with a raw, searing heat before he could get a good grip on it. Looping the rope around his wrist, he pulled Alex out of the swirling water. She crawled up the slippery bank on all fours, coughing and spitting.

  Nate traded his hold on the rope for one on her arm and dragged her to her feet. “You okay?”

  “Except for swallowing half the steppes,” she said, choking, “I’m fine.”

  “Then I suggest we get the hell out of here before we end up swallowing the rest.”

  With the palm of his hand against her rear, he boosted her up. Once back on solid ground, she wrapped the rope he passed her around her gray’s saddle, then backed it up slowly to guide the shaky yearling. Nate followed a few seconds later.

  With the rain sheeting down around them and the thunder still rolling across the sky, Alex took a moment to soothe the shivering colt. Nate wasn’t sure when he’d seen a sorrier-looking pair. The wobbly legged youngster shuddered with every breath, his sides heaving under his drenched hide. Alex herself wasn’t in much better shape. The brave red tunic that had so impressed Nate this morning with its gold frogging and braid was now a sodden, muddy brown. Her pants clung to her slender curves like the outer wrapping of a cheroot, and her once silky, shining mane was plastered to her head.

  But when she lifted her wet face and gave Nate a wide-eyed, spike-lashed look of triumph over their shared victory, Nate was sure he’d never seen anything quite as beautiful in his life.

  He forgot the cold. Forgot the mud seeping down along his instep. The need to sweep her into his arms and taste the rain on her lips crashed through him. The fact that another bolt of lightning slashed out of the sky at approximately the same moment was all that held him back.

  At the sudden flash, Alex ducked and buried her face in the colt’s wet, muddy side. By the time she recovered from her reflexive action, Nate had himself once more in hand.

  “If I remember correctly,” she shouted, rising, “there’s a ledge of sorts a little farther south. It has an overhang wide enough to shelter us.”