Tucker’s Claim

by Sarah McCarty

  She kissed his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat, the depth of his satisfaction. His arms came around her. One hand cupped her head as he rolled them over until she lay on top of him. He brought her mouth down to his, running his tongue along her lips until she parted them for him. His dark eyes caught the moonlight, shining up at her with an almost otherworldly beauty. The shadows weren’t so kind to his face, casting a feral wildness to the harsh planes. Beautiful. Wild. That was her Tucker.

  She kissed his lips, squeezing her pussy around his cock as aftershocks rippled through her. His response was immediate and absolute.

  “This,” he replied, “is as for as long as we want.”

  4

  Tucker watched Sally Mae from the edge of the woods as she crossed the clearing, her steps a little shorter than normal, her stride not quite so flowing. He’d been hard on her, demanding more, even as she’d given him all, taking him again and again, rising to his touch with soft sighs and eager acceptance. He should have played the gentleman, leaving her alone after the first couple times. She’d been a long time without a man. But he couldn’t. He’d been a wild man, cramming the type of loving he’d normally spread over a month into one night. Taking her in ways he knew damned well Jonah hadn’t. Staking his claim in the most elemental ways he could, expecting her to turn him away, but she hadn’t. She’d given him everything, taken him everywhere, and always with that soft exultant cry that drove him wild. He remembered the first, tight clasp of her pussy around his cock, the resistance as he pushed through the taut muscle of her ass, her gasp as she’d accepted him fully. Her surrender as her body climaxed around his, time after time, without any inhibition, following his lead, letting him take them where he wanted them to go. Over and over. His cock, which should have been worn-out, stirred.

  Sally Mae reached the porch and stopped. Though he’d told her not to look back, she did. Not only that, but with lifted chin, she waved. Fool woman. Resignation, pride and the surge of possessiveness that was more than just a simple emotion welled again. Which was ridiculous because, sure as shit, a woman like Sally Mae wasn’t for him. He didn’t know why she had come to him tonight, but there was no way it would happen again. Hell, he had to pay three times the normal price for most whores to assuage their guilt at lying down with an Indian. It wouldn’t be long before the same sense of shame claimed Sally Mae.

  Sally entered the house. The door closed. There was no subsequent flare of light. Which was just as well because, if there had been, Tucker would have stood there longer, looking more like a lovesick fool than he already did, lusting after a woman he could never have.

  “That’s a fool’s game, you know.”

  Tucker sighed and turned to face Tracker. His infatuation with Sally Mae was getting out of control if his senses were so dull that he didn’t hear another approach. If it had been anyone but Tracker who had come up on him outside a white woman’s house, Tucker’d be dead by now. White men were very rigid on the penalty for a red man lusting after one of their women. While he’d like to think it was doubtful that anyone but Tracker could sneak up on him—Tracker and his twin brother, Shadow, were practically ghosts—truth was, he wasn’t sure. Sally Mae was the type of woman to play havoc with a man’s concentration.

  “I know.”

  The shadows seemed to shift and Tracker stepped into the pale glimmer of dawn. Dressed in his customary black, Tucker couldn’t make out much more of Tracker than his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette and the gleam of light off his silver hatband. But he didn’t need to see to know what Tracker looked like. He knew the man’s face as well as he knew his own. When the Mexicans had ridden out that day so many years ago, only eight residents were still breathing. Eight boys. The weight of the bullet around Tucker’s neck seemed to increase the way it always did when he thought back to those days. They’d banded together, to survive. Learned to become meaner and deadlier than anything that tried to take them down, to the point they’d earned the name of Hell’s Eight. If they hadn’t drawn the attention of the Texas Rangers no telling how they would have ended up. They’d been buck wild, taking their revenge with lethal efficiency, but they had been given the choice to become Rangers and they’d taken it, earning a touch of respectability and gaining a broader purpose. Hell, there were even some who’d probably say the Hell’s Eight were downright civilized these days. He smiled. Comparatively.

  “After a walk on the wild side, the widow’s going to wander back to respectability, and then where are you going to be?”

  Where he’d always been—on the outside looking in. “Looking up a new bed partner. What are you doing here?”

  “Just passing through. I thought we’d check on you and Sam.”

  “We?”

  “Shadow’s here somewhere.”

  He bet. “Sam is over at Bella Montoya’s place.”

  “So I heard.”

  He wasn’t sure he liked the tone in Tracker’s voice. While everyone considered Sam the wild card of Hell’s Eight, Tucker had always felt that Tracker and Shadow were the unpredictable ones. “What else did you hear?”

  “I heard he married up with a little spitfire.”

  Tucker smiled. “That’s one way to describe Bella. Others would say she’s passionate, funny and completely devoted to Sam.” He wanted that point made. “And they’re not married yet.”

  “She good enough for Sam?”

  “What are you planning on doing if she’s not?”

  “Steer clear?”

  “That would be wise. Sam’s a bit touchy about his Bella.”

  Tracker grunted. “Fell hard, did he?”

  “Like a rock slide.”

  Tracker shifted the bundle. “She make him smile for real?”

  Tucker understood what prompted the question. They’d all watched helplessly as Sam’s real smile had faded to fake over the years. And they’d all come to the conclusion that what it would take to bring it back would be the right woman.

  “I don’t remember him ever smiling more.”

  “Good. I’ll have to wander over there and see if she’s got what it takes to love a man like Sam.”

  Tucker remembered how Bella had thrown herself after Sam when he’d tumbled over that cliff, how she’d clung and refused to let go, pitting her tiny weight against the force of gravity to keep him here in this world, to the point that she’d almost gone over with him, as she waited for help to arrive. “She’s got what it takes.”

  Tucker’s left eyebrow went up. “You sound convinced.”

  “I am.”

  “Then there’s going to be quite a wedding in a couple months.”

  “Yup. Bella’s an heiress in her own right.”

  “That must have stuck in Sam’s craw. He’s an independent SOB.”

  “Might have, but along with her big ranch came a pack of trouble.”

  Tracker laughed, the vicious scar on his cheek glaring white in the predawn. “That would have cheered him up.”

  The only thing Sam loved more than Bella was a challenge. “It did lessen the sting.”

  “Did he really threaten to kill her mother?”

  “Her and the entire crew at the Montoya ranch when Bella went missing.” It was Tucker’s turn to shrug. “They underestimated his devotion to Bella.”

  In the shadows, there was a glimmer of Tracker’s smile. “People always underestimate Sam.”

  “Yeah, well, this time it was Sam who underestimated Bella’s people. You’re going to like them, Tracker. They’re almost tough enough to be Hell’s Eight.”

  “Heard that, too.” Tracker shifted the bundle he held tucked against his side and took another step forward. The first rays of sunrise touched his face. The jagged scar down his cheek almost glowed red with the light. For a moment, Tucker was thrown back in time to the small town where he’d been born, heard again the battle cry of the invading Mexican army, relived the terror, felt the bullet slam into his chest as his knife slid into the stomach of his opponent. S
aw Tracker standing over him, blood pouring down his face, a feral smile on his lips as he tossed aside the man who’d shot Tucker.

  Tucker reached up and grazed the bullet hanging on a rawhide string around his neck. His lucky charm. His impetus to never forget. The smell of blood lingered in his memory long past the fading of the mental image.

  Tucker motioned to the bundle Tracker carried. “What’s that?”

  Tracker grinned. The scar crinkled. He was not a handsome man, but he was a fierce-looking one, full of strength and power. And his smile definitely had the tendency to put the fear of God into people.

  “Desi sent you a present.”

  The bundle wiggled. “It’s not my birthday.”

  Suddenly, Tracker cursed and held the bundle away. It whimpered.

  “What?”

  “I think the damn thing peed on me.”

  It was a puppy. Tucker had a way with animals and was known for his ability to train them. “What’d you expect him to do when you were holding him like that?”

  “Not use me as an outhouse.”

  Tucker could see a red-brown muzzle and long floppy ears. There was no mistaking the pup’s heritage.

  “Looks like Boone’s a daddy.” A wave of homesickness washed over him, thinking of the rawboned hound back at the Hell’s Eight compound that everyone had written off as lazy and worthless, but had turned into the hero who’d saved Caine’s wife’s life. “Who’da thought he’d ever work up the energy to court the ladies?”

  Boone had always been the laziest hound around. Turned out, he’d just been saving his energy for when it really mattered. Or at least that’s the story Desi touted in the aftermath.

  Tracker folded his arm across his chest. “Desi’s kind of disgusted. The one saving grace for Desi is the only dog Boone wants is Daisy. Won’t have any other dog and won’t let anybody else near her.”

  Tucker could imagine the dog’s joy and Desi’s consternation. “Must be true love.”

  “Uh-huh. Well.” Tracker put the pup on the ground. The similarity to Boone grew as he immediately lay down with a long, drawn-out moan. “Desi saved this one for you. She says he’s Boone’s best.”

  “Saved him?” Tucker bent and scooped the pup up. He was big boned, but still not large and he was all gangly puppy wiggles. His ears drooped to his knees and his nose wrinkled back to the bridge. Tucker held him at eye level. “Cute little thing.” The pup licked his face. “Why’d she have to ‘save him’ for me?”

  Tracker shook his head, sending his long hair swishing around his shoulders. “There isn’t a body in the territory who doesn’t want one of Boone’s offspring. A dog that’ll track with a knife wound to his chest with no direction other than his conviction that his mistress needs him, hell, that’s the stuff legends are made of.”

  There was no doubt the hound had earned his forever place at Hell’s Eight. “Just because Boone’s that way doesn’t mean his kin is.”

  Tracker shrugged. “You try telling folks that. They pretty much don’t want to hear anything but that there’s a puppy for them.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Six, and the competition is stiff for every one. People keep raising their offers.”

  “As in money?” The pup snuggled in a disjointed flop against his shoulder.

  “Yup. And Desi keeps turning them down flat, much to Caine’s disgust.”

  “Why?”

  “Seems Desi is real particular where she’ll let the pups go. Calls them Boone’s children.”

  “Damn.” Tucker laughed. He would like to have been there to see Caine’s reaction to that. Desi’s Eastern ways often clashed with Caine’s Western practicality.

  “Caine used stronger words.” Tracker grimaced and pulled his wet shirt away from his stomach. “He needs the money, and Lord knows the ranch could use it with the pressure those Easterners are putting on us, trying to force Desi out of safety.”

  “They haven’t given up?” Tucker sighed. Desi and her twin sister, Ari, were heiresses, but someone didn’t want them to come into their money and was doing his level best to make sure they didn’t. It looked like their father’s trusted solicitor was the culprit, but who the hell could be sure? This wasn’t the kind of battle he was used to. He was used to a straightforward track, hunt and kill. You knew your enemy, and if only for the moment it took to get off a shot, you saw him. But this battle with the threat against Desi and Ari, this was a whole different animal. This took place behind the scenes with whispers and payoffs and well-hidden third parties calling the shots. And the fights were like shooting at ghosts that slipped in and out of the shadows, sniping at Desi and Caine’s happiness, but never coming into the light so they could be exorcised.

  “Desi is worth a hell of a lot of money.”

  Tucker grunted. “It’d be easier if Caine would take it.”

  “A lot of things could be easier, but blood money always comes with a curse.”

  “So you’re siding with Caine on this one?”

  “You’re not?”

  Tracker released his shirt. “It’s Desi’s money. Just because some cowardly son of a bitch hired Comancheros to kill her family to get it doesn’t change that fact.”

  “It’s cursed.”

  “It’s money, and if put to use as Desi wants, it would put Hell’s Eight in the black.”

  It was the same argument they’d been having since it became clear Desi was an heiress. “Some things aren’t worth the price.”

  “Desi won’t be in any more danger with the money than she is with someone trying to make sure she doesn’t get it.”

  “Money changes things.” Might even change Desi to the point she wanted to go home. And if Desi went, so would Caine. Even if he’d die a slow death in the East, he’d go because there would be no life for him without his Desi. Tucker couldn’t imagine Hell’s Eight without Caine. “And not always for the good.”

  Tracker sighed and looked into the distance, a disturbing sense of…inevitability in his expression. As if he knew something Tucker didn’t. “Everything changes. Even Hell’s Eight.”

  A chill went down Tucker’s spine. Tracker had worn that same expression all those years ago when he’d looked at the sunny horizon and said, “Today is going to be a bad day.” Eight hours later, the Mexican army had raided, slaughtering everything in their path. He’d thought his life hell before the raid. It was only afterward that Tucker realized he had no idea what hell really was. “Hell’s Eight is forever.”

  Tucker wouldn’t believe otherwise.

  Tracker smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “So it is.” He motioned to the puppy. “Truth is, placing the puppies has been a good distraction for Desi. She’s getting close to her time.”

  “The pregnancy’s going well?”

  Tracker’s lips settled to a thin line. “She seems awfully swollen to me.”

  “Is that bad?”

  He shot him an exasperated glance. “How the hell would I know?”

  Sally Mae would. The thought popped into Tucker’s mind. But Sally Mae was here, and Desi was at home at Hell’s Eight, a place Sally would never be. Damn. “It will kill Caine to lose Desi.”

  None of them had had much softness in their lives, but when Desi had swept into Hell’s Eight’s circle, they’d all gained hope.

  Tracker straightened. “He’s not going to lose her.”

  Not if they had anything to do with it, but how much control did a man have over pregnancy? The sense that the world as he knew it was shifting increased.

  “From your mouth to whomever’s listening’s ears.” He wouldn’t say God. Couldn’t. He didn’t have Sally’s faith. When God had allowed the Mexican army to wipe out his town and everyone he knew except the Eight, when God had allowed them, as boys, to almost starve to death before they’d found Tia, he’d decided God wasn’t for him.

  The pup grunted and wiggled in his arms. Tucker put him down. With a little whine and a look, the pup squatted a couple
feet away. As soon as he finished the rest of his business, he attacked a piece of grass and then came and sat on Tucker’s booted foot with a little satisfied squeak.

  Tucker slid the toe of his boot side to side, giving the pup an awkward pet. The pup moaned. “He’s the spitting image of Boone.”

  “Which is why everyone wanted him, but Desi said he was for you.”

  Desi’s way of saying thank-you for all she thought he’d done for her. She really didn’t understand the bond of Hell’s Eight. Between them, there wasn’t a need for gratitude. Hell’s Eight protected their own. And Desi had earned her place. He bent and petted the little guy’s head, catching its ears on his fingertips. They were surprisingly heavy. “There’s no need.”

  “Desi’s been trying real hard to fit in.”

  Tucker looked up. “She doesn’t have to fit in. She’s already Hell’s Eight.”

  Tracker tipped his black hat back. Everything about the man was dark, including his personality, but there was no one better to be on a man’s side in a fight. “She seems to have a need for the formalities when it comes to friendships.”

  Because she was still afraid her new way of life would be taken away, as it had been before. As if Caine would ever let anyone near enough to disturb a hair on her head. As if Tucker would. He’d gotten real fond of Desi. She had grit, sweetness and a sense of humor. What had happened to her wasn’t right and should have broken her, but she’d come out of it head high and courage waving. A man had to respect that. “Then I guess I’ll thank her.”

  “Caine would appreciate that.” There was a slight shift in Tracker’s stance, a subtle honing of his attention. Tucker knew why. It wasn’t like him to stay away from Hell’s Eight so long.

  “You going to be heading home soon?” Tracker asked.

  “I’m waiting on a lead to pan out, but after that, yes.” He missed the simple life and acceptance he got at Hell’s Eight. And staying here was making him weak, as evidenced by tonight’s stupidity. Tracker was right. Lusting after Sally Mae was a fool’s game.