Untamed Cowboy (C Bar C Ranch Book 1)

by Pam Crooks

  The blood pounded in her throat. The absolute horror of what he was doing…

  “I’ll make sure Mother cooperates.” A corner of his mouth lifted, making him look charmingly evil. Lucifer himself. “After you pay me first.”

  His words pelted her brain, left her numb, stricken, her choices chillingly clear.

  If she gave him her herd, she’d lose the ranch. She’d lose everything. The legacy she’d worked day in and day out for, for more than a decade. Callie Mae’s heritage.

  Or else she’d lose Callie Mae.

  From outside the front room window, the faint sound of wheels beginning to turn, of harnesses jangling, penetrated her numbness.

  She whirled. Mavis’s carriage began to move, pick up speed. Carina screamed her daughter’s name and lunged toward the door, not caring that she could be shot, or killed, because without Callie Mae, she’d have nothing, nothing at all…

  Rogan shouted. Durant, too. They both came at her, one from behind, one from the front, and she fought them both, kicked and screamed and clawed, until it took their combined strength to tackle her to the floor.

  But still she fought. Writhed and bucked and bit. Each man swore. Savagely. One of them produced something white, a handkerchief, and pressed it to her face while the other held her down.

  A sweet smell surrounded her. She tried not to inhale, to breathe, but she couldn’t help it. Dear God, she couldn’t help her need to breathe, and the dizzying drug stole into her body, her muscles, and pulled her deeper into the blackness.

  “You’re not the only one who needs the money from that herd, Carina.” Rogan’s voice slithered into the last wisps of her consciousness. “But there’s only one of us who’s going to get it.”

  Chapter 3

  Sometime after Midnight

  A jagged, raucous sound dragged Penn out of the velvety-black caverns of sleep. The functioning part of him hinted the sound was familiar. He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes, but his head said the noise was close.

  From his own mouth.

  His sluggish brain finally recognized it as… snoring.

  Damn. He was going to have to quit drinking so much.

  He inched himself upward out of the cavern. He wasn’t sure he could move if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Cold, hard sensation crept into his face. His chest. The stone floor he sprawled on in the new Mobeetie jail.

  His brain flexed, replayed the brawl that landed him in here. The woman involved, too. A dance hall girl who looked like Abigail…

  He groaned. But it wasn’t her. It was never her. She was dead. Shot to death after she’d double crossed him and the United States government. Killed by her son-of-a-bitch partner, Rogan Webb.

  Webb was going to die next for all he’d done. If it was the last thing Penn ever did.

  He tried to sink back into oblivion again. To forget. Wished for more whiskey so he could. But the desire for revenge made him burn, turned him restless, ate at him from the inside out.

  The need for it never left him. It was what brought him down to this part of Texas. To find the kin he’d discovered Webb had. Penn had hoped to learn Webb’s whereabouts so the revenge could be satisfied.

  But Penn had failed at that, too. Like he’d failed with Abigail…

  “Look at him, Woollie. He’s still all roostered up.”

  The female voice jolted him. He strained to identify the source. The direction. Close, a few yards away. Outside his jail cell.

  Penn managed to squint up at her through slitted eyes. He hadn’t known she was there. Or the man with her. But he knew who they were, even with the lantern shining behind them, throwing their faces into shadow.

  Woollie Morgan, foreman of the C Bar C. And his boss, Carina Lockett herself.

  Penn didn’t move. Didn’t have a clue why they’d be here in the middle of the night. He’d finished the job they hired him to do. After the roundup was done, he collected his pay and headed to Mobeetie with the rest of her outfit for a night of women and drinking.

  That much he remembered. What happened after, he didn’t. Not much, anyway. He was all but sure whatever trouble he got himself into had nothing to do with either of them.

  Did it?

  “Damn him.”

  The she-boss crossed her arms. Paced the length of his cell, then back again.

  “Easy, Carina,” Woollie said. “He just needs some time to come to. Not going to be any good to you until he does.”

  “But I don’t have time to wait,” she snapped.

  “I know.”

  “Where’s Sheriff Dunbar? Get me his key ring, and I’ll wake McClure myself.”

  “Here I am, Miss Lockett.” Boot soles scraped the stone floor. “I went and fetched a bucket of water. That’ll get him a-goin’ for sure.”

  Penn swore. Rolled to his side and half lifted his head.

  “What the hell?” he growled.

  The Lockett woman turned toward him. Even through the shadows and his own bleary state, Penn could tell she was coiled tight as a spring.

  “Let me in there, Sheriff, so I don’t have to talk to him through iron bars,” she ordered.

  “Reckon he’s harmless enough now that he’s slept some of his whiskey off.” The lawman set the bucket down, plucked his ring of keys from his pocket. Metal clinked, and the cell door creaked open. “But I’ll keep an eye on him, just in case.”

  She swept inside, her foreman close behind. Tension kept her stance rigid.

  “Would you care to stand, McClure?” she asked coolly. “I’d like to see if you’re able.”

  He frowned at her low-voiced challenge. Well, a man had his pride, didn’t he? Penn figured he’d give it a go, considering his curiosity about why she was here.

  He heaved himself to a sitting position. Had to wait some to get his world to stop spinning before he made it up onto his feet, but he did. Except he swayed right after, had to catch himself and brace his arm against the rock wall to keep upright.

  Main thing was he got the job done, and he glared at her for his trouble. He couldn’t recall being this close to her since he’d hired on to her outfit. She was taller than he’d expected. Slender-built. She wore a riding skirt and blouse and appeared more desperate than he’d ever thought the imperious Carina Lockett could be.

  He waited for her to make the next move, watched her through heavy-lidded eyes. And kept a good hold on that wall.

  Her chin lifted. “I’m in need of your help, McClure. I’m hoping we can strike up a deal.”

  “Yeah?” His voice sounded rough as sandpaper. “What kind of deal?”

  “Sheriff Dunbar tells me you were in a brawl tonight. There was damage to the saloon, for which you were responsible.”

  Hell. He couldn’t have brawled alone, but he declined to argue the point. It was all he could do to stand there and follow the conversation as it was.

  “I’m prepared to post your bail to get you out of here,” she continued. “I’ll also take care of restitution to the saloon on your behalf.”

  He wasn’t so drunk that a little suspicion didn’t curl through him at her offer. “You don’t say.”

  “On the condition that you work off all fees incurred by me by returning to my employ.”

  He thought of Rogan Webb, of the hate for the man simmering inside him. But mostly he thought about the revenge he couldn’t satisfy if he kept on playing cowboy for Carina Lockett.

  “No deal,” he said.

  “Let me explain further.” The slender column of her throat moved. “I must drive my cattle to Dodge City. Immediately. I need men capable of helping me do that.”

  “So find ’em.”

  “You don’t understand.” She drew in a breath, as if striving for the control she seemed to be losing. “I’ve seen you work. You’re good. You’re the kind of ranch hand I need to get my herd north.” She hesitated. “I need you, McClure.”

  Penn clenched his jaw. He wasn’t just a “ranch hand.” He was a government agent
who’d quit his job to satisfy a case of festering revenge in the way he wanted to satisfy it, and dear God, she wanted him for a cattle drive? Weeks on the trail with too little sleep and too much hard work and enough dirt and dust to choke a mule?

  “Forget it,” he said.

  She exhaled slowly. “Please.”

  “Not interested.”

  From beneath her wide-brimmed hat, her gaze spit sparks. “There’ll be repercussions if you refuse.”

  “Carina,” Woollie said, frowning.

  His voice held some disapproval in it, and she swung toward him in frustration.

  “I’ll force him if I have to, Woollie!” she said sharply. “I’ll use the saloon or the sheriff or—or—”

  “Why don’t you tell him the truth?”

  She grew deathly still. Obviously, the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “Why? It’s none of his business. It’s no one’s business but mine, and—and yours, and we’re wasting time in here arguing about it.”

  “Reckon it’s only fair so he’ll understand what’s driving you like this. You won’t make it easy for him, or any of us, once we’re on the trail. If he agrees to come, that is. And not that I’m complaining, considering the circumstances.”

  Seemed her pride kept her mouth shut while she debated his logic. Penn found himself intrigued, now that his head had cleared a little.

  She shot a glance at Sheriff Dunbar. Penn guessed the lawman knew the story behind her coming to his jail this time of the morning, too. The sheriff just nodded, showing his agreement with her foreman.

  Finally, she turned back to Penn.

  “Blackmail,” she grated. “I’m being blackmailed to get my daughter back.”

  He blinked. Replayed the words in his mind to make sure he got them right. And was pretty sure he did.

  “With your herd?”

  “Yes.”

  “As ransom?”

  “Yes.”

  A slow pounding began in his temples. “She’s been kidnapped, then.”

  “Yes. I mean, no.” She halted, as if to tamp down a welling of emotion. “She went willingly, if you must know. With her grandmother.”

  Sounded like the she-boss had some serious family problems. Too bad her daughter was stuck in the middle of them. “Where’d she go?”

  “If I knew that, I’d go get her, wouldn’t I?”

  Woollie flinched at the snap in her voice. “The woman said she wanted to take her to Europe for a spell. Trouble is Carina refused to agree, but they took off anyway.”

  “And we don’t know which way any of ’em went,” the sheriff added.

  Penn’s gaze swung to the man. “You’re the law around here, aren’t you?”

  The sheriff glowered, clearly offended at Penn’s accusation. “They got a good head start on Miss Lockett. Made sure she wasn’t in no shape to go after ’em. Going to take a while before we can scrape up any leads, McClure. Helluva lot of country out here, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Carina Lockett’s face was angled away from him, but her shadowed profile, her silence, showed her pain. Penn couldn’t help but be affected by it. What had happened to keep a mother from letting her child run off the way she did?

  “They used chloroform on her,” Woollie said quietly, his regard over Penn intuitive. “Then tied her up and locked her in a bedroom. Did the same to her grandpa and housekeeper. Took us some time before we found ’em, let me tell you. By then, the bastards were long gone.”

  Penn couldn’t keep from watching her. She pulled at him, even with the whiskey still in his blood, his temples throbbing from its effects. Carina Lockett needed help, and she needed comfort, and she was too damn proud to ask for either one.

  He didn’t know why he felt the need to give her both. Pulling her into his arms would satisfy it, but she’d likely shoot him where he stood.

  And wasn’t that a hell of a shame?

  He reminded himself he had his own life to live, and it didn’t include her. He had to douse the flames of revenge burning inside him, see it done or die trying. Helping her drive her cattle to Kansas was a distraction he didn’t want, need or care about.

  He opened his mouth to refuse her request. But a single strand of curiosity remained.

  “The child’s grandmother was working with someone,” he said. “Who?”

  Carina Lockett’s head lifted. She faced him, then, her full lips twisted with contempt.

  “Her son,” she said. “My daughter’s father. Rogan Webb.”

  Slowly, Penn straightened from the wall. The whiskey cleared from his veins, and of all the names, every single one she could’ve said, Rogan Webb’s was the absolute last he expected to hear.

  “You know him, McClure?” she asked coolly.

  Penn’s brain shifted gears, filtered through a plan, forming fast. A plan that dropped into his jail cell like manna from heaven. And the woman standing in front of him would help him see it through.

  “Yeah. I know him.”

  Penn intended to stick with Carina Lockett like red on a rose. Webb wanted her herd for the ransom money it would pay. Desperate as she was, she was going to give it to him.

  Penn intended to see he wouldn’t get a dime. She didn’t know it yet, but she would soon enough. Main thing was she’d be hearing from Webb at some point along the way, and Penn would be there when she did.

  Deep in his ruminating, he’d forgotten they were waiting for his answer. All three of them, their expressions grim in the shadowy light.

  But it was the woman’s gaze he sought and held.

  “You just cut yourself a deal, Miss Lockett,” he said finally. “I’ll help you drive your herd to Dodge City.”

  Three Days Later

  Dawn crept upward into the Texas sky and smeared hazy shades of color along the horizon. It was cooler than usual for a spring morning, the air damp and heavy, and Carina shivered in the chill. She lifted a tin cup to her lips and sipped. Strong coffee laced with canned milk slid down her throat, warming her, helping her think.

  It’d been pure hell since Callie Mae left. Three days of endless worry, no sleep and constant work to get ready for the trail.

  Thank God for Woollie. How would she have managed without him?

  He was hurting as much as she was. He’d always favored Callie Mae. Called her Tea Cup and teased her to no end. His children were grown and gone, but he treated her like his own little girl. Callie Mae adored him.

  How could she leave?

  How dare she?

  Carina had run the gamut from anger, to blinding hurt, to panic and all-out hate for Mavis and Rogan.

  Now there was only desperation left. The hellish fear Callie Mae would never return, at least not for a long time. Or that when she did, she’d be a different child, her head turned to city life and high-society thinking.

  And worse. That she’d not love the C Bar C anymore. Or the family she had there.

  Carina’s eyes burned, and she lowered her gaze to the brew in her cup. She was alone, sitting on the Appaloosa out here on the range. Her men and the herd were sprawled out in the valley before her, yet it appalled her someone might see her grief. She didn’t want her men’s pity. She wanted them as driven and committed to get to Dodge City as she was.

  Only Woollie had seen her pain. And Grandpa.

  She’d spent as much time with him as she could the past several days, leaving the bulk of the organization of the trail drive to her foreman. Grandpa needed caring after Rogan and the gunslinger, Durant, roughed him up, damn them both. An old man, trying to keep his granddaughter safe.

  But the doctor from Mobeetie assured her he would heal, and he would. It’d take some time, that’s all. Time Carina couldn’t spare. Juanita could nurse him in her place, but it’d been hard to leave him just the same.

  Getting a better hold on her emotions, Carina lifted her head. Blackmail kept a person on edge, for sure. She hated feeling this desperate, this out of control. Hated it more that she was at Rogan’s mercy. He�
��d cut her deep, at her most vulnerable. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  Yet. Getting her herd to Kansas had to be her main focus in the coming weeks. She’d do nothing, nothing, to jeopardize getting Callie Mae back.

  She swallowed the last of her coffee and shut down her thoughts. The itch of impatience took their place. She was set to ride. The outfit was, too, thanks to Woollie. And most important of all, the cattle, already road-branded and grazing their breakfast in the pasture.

  They were the best of what she had, strong enough to withstand the long walk to Dodge City and to fetch top price once they got there. All three thousand head were pointed north; they’d pull out as soon as Woollie gave the word.

  Carina rose up in the stirrups and searched for him. She found him down by the chuck wagon talking to Sourdough with a stick in his hand, drawing in the dirt, likely giving last-minute directions for a place to meet later this morning.

  Penn McClure was there, too. She eased back down into her seat, and her gaze lingered. He was easy to look at, she admitted. Tall and lean with his thumb hooked into a hip pocket, his Stetson pulled low, a coffee cup in one hand.

  She’d not spoken to him since she bailed him out of the Mobeetie jail, but then, she’d hardly spoken with any of her men. It’d been easier to leave explaining the matter of Callie Mae’s absence to Woollie. Worry over her and Grandpa had been consuming, to say the least.

  But she saw them from her office window. Woollie and McClure, together. Her foreman spoke highly of the man, and Carina appreciated that he did. McClure was one of the few strokes of good luck she’d had since the nightmare with Callie Mae began.

  Which was why he intrigued her, she supposed. She’d never bargained to keep a cowboy before and that set him apart. But just because McClure was good with a horse and a gather of cattle didn’t mean she should be sitting here, thinking about him like she was.

  As if he sensed her doing that very thing, his gaze lifted and caught her, here on the hill. For a moment, she felt suspended in time. As if it was only the two of them in all of Texas. And her heart did a funny, unexpected flip.

  Guilt rushed through her. She was his boss, not a pink-cheeked schoolgirl, and resolutely, she took the reins in her hands. McClure said something to Woollie; he glanced up, too, and lifted his hand in greeting.