Stolen Little Thing (Little Thing Series Book 1)

by Sasha Gold

  Stolen

  Little Thing

  Sasha Gold

  For My Rancher

  Author’s Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to other real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Sasha Gold

  All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgements

  There is nothing I love more than writing, and I realize it would not be possible except for a special set of circumstances that allow me to do it, time, place, loving friends and family. More than anything I thank God for what I have.

  Blanco, Texas 1882

  Esme ran the length of the sidewalk toward Crosby’s Livery Barn. She was in Blanco visiting her Uncle Simon who frowned upon tardiness almost as much as her father, and, of all things, she’d forgotten her prayer book in her saddlebag. If she were the cause of the entire family being late for church services, she’d never hear the end of it. She passed the saloon hoping to avoid a man sprawled across the sidewalk, a bottle in his hand. He was asleep, passed out she assumed, but then he moved to flick a fly off his nose.

  When he saw her he leered with vacant eyes, and then he lunged at her. “C’mere,” he muttered, swiping the air near her skirt.

  Esme stifled a shriek, and dashed away to keep his dirty fingers from grasping the hem of her dress.

  Glaring back at him, she walked straight into Luke Crosby, the son of the livery barn owner.

  “You all right?” His fists were clenched as he scowled at the drunken man.

  “I thought that man was asleep and passed a little too closely.”

  “Want me to go talk to him?”

  Esme smiled. Luke Crosby was a big boy, a head taller than her, and he loved nothing better than getting into scrapes. He’d take on anybody. This was her third visit from San Antonio this year and each time he had a black eye. It was a few days old, the purple bruise already fading to green.

  “I think it would be best if you spent less time talking with them. Uncle Simon says you have a growing reputation as a bully.” She stepped past Luke and hurried into the barn.

  He followed her down the wide aisle, past the stalls and into the tack room. He laughed at this bit of fluff giving him motherly advice. She did it every time she came, and, truth be told, he hung on every word. Last month she’d told him his hair hung in his eyes. Within an hour, he’d gone to the barber. It was sort of fun to see her get worked up over him.

  “So, I don’t take crap.” He shrugged. “That makes me a bully?”

  “Luke.” She spoke gently, trying not to sound too bossy. “My uncle told me you were adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Crosby a few years back. You shouldn’t bully people anymore. You have a family name to uphold.”

  The look he gave her was warm, sweet even, as though he liked hearing what she had to say. It was silly how happy that little look made her feel. She gave a small breathless laugh before going back to search for her saddle. She really needed to get her prayer book and run back to the church before services began. Crosby’s Livery was always busy, but this week every stall was full, and every saddle rack held two or more saddles, one piled on top of the next. Lord help her. She was certain to be late now. It would take an age to find her saddle.

  She lifted on tiptoes to check a saddle that looked like hers, but then noticed the pommel. Not hers. Running her hands over the leather she saw Uncle Simon’s on the next rack. Any minute she would find her saddle, and she realized if she wanted to keep from ever seeing another black eye on Luke’s handsome face, she would have to tell him of her concerns about his brawling now, before Uncle Simon came looking for her.

  “Luke,” she said turning to him, her eyes full of worry, “If you take full grown men on, as you do sometimes two at a time, you have to know that you’ll develop a bit of notoriety. Keep this up and by the time you’re eighteen you’ll graduate from bully to thug. One day you might run into someone tougher than you, and I don’t want you to be hurt.”

  If Luke thought much of her concern, he wasn’t going to let on. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like getting fussed at by thirteen year old girls.”

  “Fourteen,” she corrected. His air of indifference told her how little her words meant to him. “Have you seen my saddle?”

  “Yeah.”

  Esme grumbled in indignation. He gave little credence to her suggestions and maintained his tough guy stance. She was going to be late for nothing. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is it?”

  “What are you going to do for me if I find it?”

  She frowned in confusion, but then brightened. “Maybe buy you a piece of hard candy. Did you like those lemon drops I gave you?”

  “I liked them all right, they’re better than anything else you’ve brought.” He nodded toward the rows of saddles. “Bottom row on the left.”

  He hadn’t even been looking. How did he know off hand where her saddle was among the dozens piled up in this dusty tack room? She moved down the row to find hers on a rack. It had been soaped and oiled, the leather transformed from the color of dry sawdust to a rich honeyed tone. She bit her lip. From the first time she’d come to town with her uncle, Luke Crosby had taken special care of her horse and tack. He liked her. She was almost certain. And she liked him. Sometimes, she thought, when he helped her down from her mount, his hands lingered on her waist, or at least that was what she hoped.

  She opened her saddlebag. To her relief, her prayer book was inside.

  “You oiled my saddle,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  Esme hesitated. “I could pay you for that.”

  His dark eyes studied her for a moment. He closed the tack room door, and crossed his arms as he leaned against it.

  “You could.”

  Gratitude vanished, replaced with alarm. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen before. She’d told no one that she was coming to the barn. To admit that she’d left her prayer book in her saddlebag would be worse in the eyes of her pious uncle than breaking a commandment. Her heart thumped in her chest and she took a step backwards.

  “You need to at least pay me to open the door,” Luke bargained.

  She took another step backwards. “But, I’m all out of lemon drops.”

  Luke shook his head. He dropped his hands and walked toward her. She backed away, holding her prayer book as a shield.

  “No lemon drops, just one kiss,” he murmured. “That’s all.”

  “You want to kiss? Me?” She bumped against a shelf that halted her retreat.

  Luke put a hand on either side of her. “I think it’s the blue eyes and the freckles.”

  “I hate my freckles.” She whispered looking at his lips.

  He grasped a loose tendril and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “It could be this pretty red hair. They say redheads are feisty.”

  Esme shrank from him. “Not when you compare them to thugs.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I’m going to marry you one day. I’ve decided.”

  Esme shook her head, her eyes wide with alarm. Luke had helped her several times when she was lost in Blanco, and a few times when panhandlers tried to pester her, but she’d never imagined he thought about her in any special way. She’d always adored Luke, but hadn’t her mother told her those feelings would go away? Standing so close to him, Esme found it difficult to breathe. Her mind was in turmoil.

  “Thank you.” She cringed at her insipid reply.

  “I think you’re perfect.” He dipped his head and brushed his lips against
hers. Esme inhaled sharply as her eyes widened. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers. Esme stilled, and her eyelids drooped and finally closed. His lips were warm; his kiss was gentle but over almost as quickly as it started. He pulled away from her.

  “You can open your eyes now, Esme. Unless you want me to kiss you some more.” He smiled a grin of satisfaction.

  Shock and dismay bloomed in her chest. She just kissed a boy. In a barn. On the Sabbath. Making things worse still, Luke knew she’d liked it. She gave him a small push. “Now I’m going to be late because of you, Luke.”

  He dropped his arms to his side and strolled back to the door with her following two steps behind him.

  “Do you drag girls into this room often?”

  “Just you, Lemon Drop.” He opened the door for her, and gestured grandly as she sailed past.

  “I should tell Mr. Crosby how his boy treats the patrons of his business,” she fumed.

  Luke scoffed. He strolled behind her, keeping up easily.

  “Old Man Crosby says I’m the son he never had and the best man he’s ever hired. No one’s called me a boy in years, little girl.”

  “He’s probably afraid a bully like you will give him a black eye, or punch him in the nose.” She lifted her skirt a few inches to hasten ahead. She could feel her cheeks blushing like they always did when she grew agitated. Her brothers tormented her and called her lobster ears.

  “I stopped two robberies in the last month, right here in this barn.”

  “Probably girls looking for prayer books.” Esme scowled back at him and he laughed.

  Luke grasped her hand. “I’m walking you past the saloon. Can’t believe Simon let you walk down here alone.”

  She snatched her hand away. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Luke grinned. “I would have kept you a little longer if I’d known that.”

  Esme couldn’t take the time to think of a suitable reply. She strode up the sidewalk with him trailing behind. The drunkard lay in the same spot, but was now fast asleep, snoring with his mouth gaping open. Esme hurried past him.

  Luke stopped at the corner and studied her retreating figure.

  Simon Duval strode toward her on the walkway. Tall, wiry, clad in a suit the color of tobacco; the old widower looked as if he were leading the congregation.

  Simon patted her shoulder. “I was looking everywhere for you. Are you flushed, my dear?”

  “Just a little fretful that I would be late is all.”

  Luke watched as the two walked together up the street toward the church. Esme was talking quickly, her animated gestures making her copper curls bounce. Simon looked back over his shoulder and waved amiably at Luke.

  “I appreciate you taking care of my girl,” Simon called.

  Luke leaned against the post and gave a polite nod. “My pleasure, sir” he said softly.

  Chapter One

  Blanco, Texas 1888

  Luke Crosby stared across the restaurant. Esme Duval had not changed one iota in six years, except for a few lovely curves. At a table by the window, she sat sipping tea and nibbling a piece of toast. Dr. Hutchison, the town physician, sat across from her. He tipped his head back and laughed at some delightful thing Esme had just said.

  Esme wore a prim, navy dress with a high collar that looked a little too tight. Luke had seen her adjust it four times over the course of her breakfast. The dress was ugly, something she probably wore for her work as the Latin teacher at St. Adelaide’s School for Girls in San Antonio. Luke knew all about Esme’s life and how it had unfolded in the last six years. She couldn’t have known how he had kept tabs on her over the years.

  Luke drummed his fingers on the table. The doctor laughed again, a loud guffaw that made Luke grit his teeth.

  Dr. Hutchison rose and took Esme’s hand in his. Luke heard him say he wished she could stay another night. The good doctor made a slight bow and hurried out of the dining room. Luke narrowed his eyes as he watched the man’s retreating figure.

  “I’ll just bet you do, you bastard,” Luke muttered.

  “Sorry, boss. I didn’t catch that.” Nolan, Luke’s right hand man, grinned at him from across the table. “You say something?”

  Luke scowled and took a swallow of his coffee.

  Nolan tilted his head toward the window. “That the reason you didn’t feel like being sociable last night with the girls at the saloon? You trying to act like an old married guy like me?”

  “I’m trying to make a decision here. You’re distracting me.” Luke growled.

  Nolan continued his meal, sopping up an egg yolk with a piece of toast and following it with a large draught of coffee. “I don’t think I’m the one doing the distracting here.” Nolan followed Luke’s gaze. “Who is she?”

  “Esme Duval, the new owner of Simon Duval’s ranch, some four hundred plus acres.”

  Nolan nearly dropped his fork. “That little speck of a girl is Simon’s niece? She’s going to run a spread that size?”

  “She refuses to sell.”

  Nolan chuckled. “Does she know all of his people are gone? No foreman, no cook, no vaqueros. What the hell is she going to do out there? Set up a quilting circle?”

  Luke turned to face him. “That’s exactly what I asked her. I wrote her telling her not to come, that I would buy the ranch, and she told me to mind my own business. She asked if I didn’t have enough to keep me busy without bothering her.”

  “Enough to keep you busy? What did she mean by that?”

  Luke shook his head. “Who can tell what a woman’s thinking? Half the time, they probably don’t even know themselves.”

  Nolan stabbed a fork into another piece of sausage. “How long you known her?”

  “From a long time back when she used to visit Simon. The first time I met her was when she was outside Crosby’s livery, getting hustled by panhandlers, then one time when she got thrown from her pony, knocked out cold, and I can’t tell you how many times she got lost. Simon would come running in a panic, and I would saddle up, find her and bring her back. Almost always with a kitten or pup under her arm. Some women shouldn’t be out by themselves. And that one intends to run a ranch? I can’t imagine her daddy let her come out.”

  “You know him?” “You could say we’re acquainted.” Luke’s tone implied there was more to that statement.

  Nolan could tell by looking at his boss’ darkening expression that he better hold off on too many questions. Luke was usually happy to come to Honey Creek for livestock sales and to spend a little time with the local attractions. But this time he had been surly and short-tempered, keeping to himself since leaving his ranch yesterday.

  Luke got to his feet and threw money on the table. “See that the boys have a good breakfast and be ready to head home in a half hour.”

  “You bet,” Nolan said

  Luke strolled through the dining room. He came to her table and waited silently, studying the back of her slender neck as she gazed out the window. When she looked up at him, he saw no sign of recognition in her blue eyes. Anger clawed at his heart. She’d forgotten him.

  He sat across from her and stretched out his legs. “Esme,” he said quietly. “Good Morning.”

  Esme closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she stared, finally saying, “What are you doing in town?”

  “Selling cattle.”

  Dismay stole over her features, making her flush pink. He smiled to see the glow, a light rose tint that spread across her cheeks and continued until her small shell ears turned scarlet. Her reaction, innocent and alluring all at once, brought an unwelcome wave of warmth to his blood.

  “I have company,” she whispered, loudly. “He’s coming right back. He’s checking on the time for the stagecoach. He’s going to be very unhappy to see you here.”

  Luke shook his head. “No coach coming through today, Esme. River’s over the road.” He could tell she was trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Her eyes narrowed as she search
ed his face.

  Esme Duval was still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Her narrow shoulders gave way to gentle curves, breasts that sure as hell hadn’t been there when he had her trapped in the tack room all those years ago. Her dress was somber and matronly with a trail of black buttons starting at her neck and marching down her chest. There must have been a few dozen and Luke’s thoughts wandered, imagining how long it would take to undo each and every one.

  “Any idea how long it will take before the stage starts running again?” Long lashes framed her blue eyes, the color of robin’s eggs. Her voice was soft, silken. Seeing her again was much worse than he’d imagined.

  “No idea,” he said gruffly, shifting in his chair.

  Esme looked out the window in silence.

  Dr. Hutchison returned, pushed past waiters and hurried up the aisle. He stopped short when he saw Luke. He stretched out his hand and introduced himself.

  Luke shook it. “Luke Crosby,” he said.

  “Are you the owner of the Crosby Ranch?” Dr. Hutchison asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You two know each other?” The doctor gestured to the two of them.

  “We go way back.” Luke winked at her.

  “Not that far,” Esme snapped.

  The doctor looked discomfited by her response. He cleared his throat. Luke knew he should get up and give the man his chair, but he was feeling a trifle obstinate. The instant he’d seen Esme enter the hotel this morning, a wave of protectiveness had come over him, one that he hadn’t experienced in the six years since he’d last seen her. The only difference was that this time it was a thousand times stronger. That she was in Blanco by herself, traveling to alone, with no family around made him feel both predatory and possessive.

  Luke gave the man a feral smile. “Don’t listen to her. Me and Lemon Drop go way back.”

  Esme drew a breath.

  The doctor laughed and took a step back. “Well, I’ll let you two catch up. It was lovely to see you, Miss Duval. I wish you the best of luck out on the ranch.”