by Pam Crooks
Strong fingers clasped over her wrist and jerked her away.
“Don’t reach under there bare-handed,” McClure said in a rough voice.
A startled gasp rushed from her throat. He’d pulled her back so fast, she had to grapple for balance.
“You could get bit,” he said.
Releasing her, he struck a match, and the flame’s light revealed the curly-tailed scorpion perched on the heap of cow chips. Repulsed, she yelped and leaped backward, right into McClure’s chest. The awful-looking scorpion skittered deeper into the pile and disappeared from sight.
McClure blew the match out. “Wear the gloves next time.”
She knew where they were—on top of the water barrel. A pair was always kept there for that very reason, and she shuddered at her carelessness. “They’re disgusting, aren’t they? Scorpions, I mean.”
“Venomous, too.”
His arm had wound around her after she’d careened into him, holding her steady, and she didn’t even realize it until now. In pure reflex, she twisted away, her nerves so frazzled, she could barely think straight.
She drew in a breath, raked her fingers through her hair, pulling the weight of it off her cheek.
“You okay?” he asked, watching her in the dark.
She wasn’t sure. She could still feel where his arm had been, strong around her waist. Warm through her cotton nightgown.
“Of course, I am,” she lied.
A moment passed. As if he was skeptical. “What are you doing out here? Couldn’t sleep?”
She hesitated. She debated lying about that, too, but it was obvious she couldn’t, since she was standing here with him, outside, in the middle of the night.
“No,” she said.
“I’ll listen if you want to talk.”
“No.” When before had she opened herself up and confided in any of her men, besides Grandpa or Woollie? “Thanks, but it won’t be necessary.”
But the offer touched her. He had to be bone-tired.
“You’re worried about Callie Mae,” he said.
Just hearing her name caused instant tears to well. Carina strove for control, glad for the dark that would keep the tears from showing.
“What kind of mother would I be if I wasn’t?” To her horror, her voice quavered.
“I know you don’t think so, but she’s fine. Try to believe that.”
Carina turned her head away, refused to look at him. How would he know if her daughter was fine or not? No one knew, except that witch Mavis. And maybe Rogan.
McClure moved, just out of her range of vision, and before she could even think he’d dare to do such a thing, he slipped an arm behind her knees, the other at her back, and scooped her up against him, as easy as if she was a child.
She squeaked in surprise, grabbed for his shoulders and hung on. “McClure! What the hell are you doing?”
Her voice sounded loud in the quiet, but she couldn’t help it. Over by the campfire, Stinky Dale stopped snoring, frowned and rolled over.
“You’ll feel better if you get some of that worry off your chest,” McClure said in his low voice. “And this is as good a time as any for me to say a few things myself.”
“Put me down. Now.”
“Can’t.” He began walking, beyond the chuck wagon. “You’re not wearing your boots. You want to step on a rattlesnake?”
She didn’t. Not a snake or anything else she couldn’t see. He continued past her tent, which she should never have left in the first place.
“Where are we going?” she demanded through gritted teeth.
“Far enough away where we won’t spook the herd while we’re talking.”
He left camp and headed toward the cottonwood trees where she’d taken her bath earlier. He halted and set her down.
She took a quick step back and straightened her nightgown over her hips. The grass was softer here, at least. And the night deeper.
“All right, McClure. What do you want to say?” she snapped.
She sensed a hardening in him. A palpable determination she could almost reach out and feel.
“Rogan’s not going to get away with what he’s doing to you,” he said.
Her chest hurt with a sudden stab of pain. “In case you haven’t noticed, he already is.”
“No. He’s not. You haven’t paid him a dime.”
“Yet. But I will. I have to.”
McClure clenched his jaw, as if he struggled to control the argument simmering between them.
“Why are you making it easy for him to destroy you?” he demanded roughly.
“Easy?” She gaped at him. “Easy? Damn you, McClure, he’s not giving me a choice.”
“You’ll lose everything.”
“I’ll have nothing without Callie Mae.”
“Years of hope and hard work,” he persisted, ruthless. “Land, cattle, the outfit who’d lay down their lives for you if they had to.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth in a sudden rush of emotion. The stark truth in his words dug deep.
“What about them?” he demanded, driving his point home with cold precision. “Where will the men on your payroll go when you give away the C Bar C?”
Tears stung her eyes. The responsibility she wore on her shoulders had never felt heavier.
“You give in to Rogan, you give up your daughter’s heritage, too,” he grated.
Her control came to the edge of breaking. “Damn it, yes. The Lockett legacy.” The words were wrenched from her. “I should have been a better mother, McClure. Then none of this would be happening, would it? But I wasn’t, and it is, and Callie Mae’s gone. She’ll have nothing to come home to, and I’ll have nothing to give her to—to make her happy.”
“Don’t underestimate her,” he shot back. “Give her some credit to figure out what matters most to her.”
“She’s only a child. She’s impressionable and vulnerable, and I’ll give Rogan and Mavis what they want so I can have her back again.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Her eyes narrowed at the fierceness in his tone. “I don’t recall you having a say in the matter.”
“I’m giving myself one.”
She studied him. A tall, dark shape in front of her. Loyal, she’d learned in the short time she’d known him. Now, determined to get involved in her affairs. Protecting her for reasons of his own.
“Why?” she asked.
He seemed to ponder the simplicity of her question, as if his response was too complex to explain.
“There’s no law out here, except us,” he said finally. “And I’ve always had a strong sense of justice.”
“Sheriff Dunbar is the law, and he’s doing what he can to stop Rogan. He’s contacting railroads, stagecoach lines, sending wires out to other lawmen. Giving them all descriptions of Callie Mae and Mavis. You know he is.”
McClure shook his head slowly, a cool dismissal of her logic. “Like finding a bee in a blizzard.”
“But there’s not much else he can do, is there?” Carina said, fighting off a rise of hopelessness. “I have to give Rogan what he wants. I refuse to do anything to jeopardize my daughter’s return.”
“What makes you so sure he’ll keep up his end of the bargain?”
Carina’s breathing quickened. It was always in the back of her mind that he wouldn’t. Rogan was capable of it. Double-crossing her. Taking her money and her daughter and leaving her with nothing.
Nothing.
She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered. From fear. From the night’s chill. From the awful certainty that if she wasn’t very, very careful, Rogan would win.
“Justice, Miss Lockett.” McClure reached out and slid his fingers through the hair falling along her shoulder, slow and easy. “He’ll have it. I swear.”
She wanted to believe him. More than anything. So much she didn’t even protest he took the liberty of touching her hair. A boldness which another time, with another man, would’ve caused her to pull her Col
t and burn some powder on him.
But not now. Not with McClure. He had the ability to soothe her with the words she needed to hear. To fill her with hope of the justice she craved. The justice Rogan deserved.
She shouldn’t be here with him. Alone, in the middle of the night. In her nightgown and feeling miserable and in sorry need of having his arms around her.
Because it’d been so long since a man held her.
And she was so afraid.
He stepped closer, a slight shift of his body, moving toward hers. Anticipation coiled through her, the knowledge of what he might do. The comfort he seemed to know she needed.
His fingers curled around her neck, rough-skinned but gentle. Sure. Carina couldn’t have resisted him if she tried. And she didn’t. She should have. His head lowered, and hers tilted back.
A moment of stillness hovered between them. As if McClure debated the wisdom of what he was about to do. Their breaths mingled, their heat. His scent filled her, saddle leather and sweat, and damn it, it didn’t matter he was one of her men or that she was about to break the most important rule she’d ever made regarding them.
She took his lips against hers with a tentative hunger that set down roots. Then burst inside her. He cupped the back of her head and hardened the kiss. Her mouth opened. His arm circled her waist and crushed her against him.
A moan came from her. The feel of being held by him like this…
Their tongues mated with wet, frenzied strokes that left her knees weak, her body all but boneless. Penn McClure’s strength, his power, would be her undoing. Or her salvation. She didn’t know which, and she didn’t care, but he filled her, this awful need in her which needed filling.
He opened a part of her she’d closed up tight ten years ago. Rogan had her denying herself what McClure got her to wanting again. A man, and the things he could make a woman feel. Deep down, hidden things. The physical, ache-clear-down-to-her-toes ones, too.
And that’s what he made her do with his kisses and his sheltering embrace. Ache. For more. To forget and to feel. To believe that, with him, everything would be right again in her world.
He turned her shameless. Shameless enough to want to take him down to the grass and sate this lust burning through her, but before she could, he ended the kiss and slowly drew back.
His breathing came rough. Hers was no better, and when she could think again, open her eyes and comprehend what had just happened between them, his mouth curved into a slow, sultry smile.
“Justice, Carina,” he murmured. “You’ve just gotten my vow on it.”
Then, before she could convince herself she shouldn’t have kissed him like she did or allow him the liberty of using her given name, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to her tent.
Chapter 8
One Week Later
Penn had pushed the cattle hard those first few days to wear them out and keep them from trying to turn back toward their home range. Because of it, they’d made good time out of Texas and arrived at Fort Supply, a military post deep in Indian Territory, safe and a little ahead of schedule.
He was ready for a break. So was the rest of the outfit.
Carina, especially.
Funny how he’d begun to use her name like that. Carina. Not Miss Lockett. He thought of her different, too. As a woman. A desirable one. She was still his boss, was still hard as nails when she had to be, but he’d gotten a glimpse of her softer, vulnerable side. Something the rest of her men had been denied.
Because of their kiss.
Yeah, everything was different now.
She’d all but turned a cold shoulder on him since then, but Penn figured it had more to do with her being mortified at letting her guard down than anything improper he’d done. Now, she worked hard at keeping things all business. Avoided getting too close, making sure her men knew that nothing personal was going on between her and the trail boss.
Not that there was. Something personal.
And there wouldn’t be.
Penn wasn’t going to let anyone steer him off course from his revenge against Rogan. Not even an intriguing woman who could kiss a man the way Carina Lockett could. He had to keep his head straight, his hate focused.
Yet despite his resolve, Penn couldn’t shake her out of his thoughts. She’d been a willing participant in that kiss, for sure. She fit in his arms, and no matter what happened after they got to Dodge City and settled the score with Rogan Webb, he’d always remember that about her.
How she fit.
Carina Lockett was a hot-blooded woman. Meant to pleasure a man. Hell of a shame she didn’t have a husband in her bed at night. He’d be one lucky son-of-a-gun if she did.
Penn’s gaze sifted over the herd, corralled in massive pens outside the military fort. Might be Rogan had something to do with her not having a husband, and Penn could relate. Betrayal left scars that took a while to heal.
Abigail and Rogan. They belonged in the same category.
Penn put the woman he’d almost married from his mind. Deserving or not, she’d never betray a man again.
Rogan was a different story, though. Carina had her hands full with him, but she wouldn’t fight him alone. When it was all over, she wouldn’t like learning Penn had used her and her herd to get his revenge, but there was no help for it.
Might be she’d even thank him for it.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t.
Troubled, he found her at a mud hole beyond the corralled cattle. Orlin Fahey was with her, frowning at a cow caught in the mire, her bawling calf on the edge. The cowboy was off his horse, but his rope was attached to the cow’s horns. He stood there, feet braced, rope straining, trying to get her out while fighting to keep her worried calf from going in.
Carina looked none too pleased at his ignorance. Penn leaned forward, rested his elbow on the saddle horn, and waited to see what she’d do about it.
After an exasperated snap of her fingers, Orlin quickly handed his end of the rope over, then dropped to one knee and kept a secure hold on the fidgeting calf. Carina wrapped the hemp around the saddle horn and, twisting to keep an eye on the stranded cow, she carefully nudged the Appaloosa forward. Bellowing, the cow inched higher out of the mud until all hooves were on dry ground again.
Orlin released the calf to reunite with its mother. He stood, his mouth tight and his face red, and Carina tossed him his rope. Whatever she said to him next had his head bobbing in terse and repentant agreement.
Amused, Penn moseyed his gelding closer. Orlin might need saving himself about now, and Penn figured he’d do him the favor. Since his blunder with the stampede, the cowboy had been trying hard to do his job right. Up until now, at least, Penn couldn’t fault him for his work.
“Looks like you needed some help there, Orlin,” Penn said, drawing closer.
Carina’s glance darted to him, then flitted away. She busied herself adjusting her lariat, coiled just fine against her saddle.
“Yes, sir,” Orlin said. Looking grim, he mounted up. “But Miss Lockett here set me straight.”
“Did you really think you could pull that cow out with your own strength?”
“Never pulled one out before, so I didn’t know otherwise.”
“Always use your horse for the hard work. That’s what you’ve got him for.”
“Guess I didn’t think of it just then.”
Carina gestured toward the muddied mother, nuzzling her baby. “Put them back with the herd, Orlin. We’ll be here for a few hours yet. If you want to spend some time down at the fort, you’re welcome, but be back before supper.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cowboy gathered up his reins. On an apparent afterthought, he darted his glance between them. “We’ll be all right out here, won’t we?” Penn saw his unease. “Bein’s we’re in Indian Territory, I mean.”
Carina appeared startled. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I’ve heard stories, that’s all.”
And he must’ve been spook
ed by them. Easy to tell he needed some reassurance.
“We’ve paid our tolls for crossing their land,” Penn said. “The tribes around here have no reason to come after us.”
“The army does a good job patrolling the area besides. Herds come through on this trail all the time. We’ll be fine,” Carina added.
“Hope so.” He looked a mite pale, but he touched a finger to his hat and rode off.
“He’s scared,” Penn said and wondered at it.
“He’ll get over it. We won’t be in the Territory much longer.” Carina dragged her gaze off the cowboy. “The veterinary surgeon is inspecting the herd now. I’ll settle up with him and meet Sourdough, then go into the outpost with him. He’s got a long list of supplies to fill.”
After the diversion with Orlin, she was back to business. It was all she knew, Penn mused. Her cattle business.
Did she ever make time for herself?
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Her eye narrowed. “Why?”
His mind sifted through a few reasons, working fast.
“Thought maybe we could check at the telegraph office,” he said. One of the most important of the reasons. “Might be you have a wire from Sheriff Dunbar.”
“You think I will?”
She looked so hopeful, Penn did some fervent hoping of his own she’d have one waiting. “Won’t know until we check.”
“All right. That’s what we’ll do.”
“Maybe you can find a private bath somewhere, too. Then do some shopping.” A couple of his other reasons.
“Shopping!” Obviously, the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “For what?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. Thought of Abigail and how she used to shop for herself any chance she got. Damn, but the woman could spend money. “Female things.”
Carina scowled. “This trail drive isn’t a pleasure trip, McClure. I’ve got all I need right here.”
She patted her saddlebag which held necessities and not much else. Penn knew without looking there wouldn’t be a single frippery included.