“Maggie, if I don’t, who will? Rafe? We haven’t been graced with his presence for almost a week. I believe that he found personal business more important than protecting the Reina. I don’t want to hear one word about him.”
Maggie exchanged a perplexed look with Fletcher, but both were silent.
Lacey eyed the stack of hotcakes and bacon that Maggie set in front of her. “I don’t want—”
“Can you spare some of that for me?”
“Evan.” Lacey forced a smile, wondering if he had overheard what she said and then dismissed it. “Don’t stand there. Join us. Here,” she offered, pushing her plate toward him. “Eat these.” She shot a warning look at Maggie not to press her.
“Guess you’re wondering what kind of a welcome I got at home,” Evan began. “I’ll spare you asking. With the exception of my sister, nothing’s changed. Seems that no matter how much time I gave pa, he’ll never bend. I ’spect he’ll make sure everyone knows that he’s disowned me for working here.”
“Evan, I won’t hold you—”
“Never mind, Lacey. It wouldn’t do no good. But I want you to hear from me that Farel is workin’ for him.”
“Well, I hope he’ll follow your father’s orders better than he did mine. His disregard got Bo James shot. I hope that won’t be a problem with you. If taking my orders rubs you wrong, don’t stay.”
“Wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t take your orders. I know that before you think like a woman, you put the Reina first. That’s good enough for me to call you boss.”
They both ignored Maggie’s grumbling and Fletcher setting his cup down with a bang.
Lacey’s smile warmed. A devil prompted her to say, “Thank you, Evan. Lately, I seem to need the reassurance that I can run things and not keep busy with homey tasks.” Satisfied that she made her point, Lacey watched him eat, and when he was done, she carried their cups and his plate to the basin. “If you’re ready, Evan, we’ll ride out.”
He flashed her a boyish grin, his eyes holding secret laughter. “I have something down at the corral for you.”
Tied next to his rawboned paint was a white mare, and when Lacey couldn’t resist running her hands over the velvet smoothness of her long-muscled neck, Evan whispered that the mare was for her.
“You can’t mean that. She must be worth—”
“I drove her up with the last herd I ran up from Mexico. Pure-blooded stock, Lacey. From the Arabian horses the Spanish brought over. When I heard what happened to that roan Sy gave you for your birthday, well, I thought you’d like her.”
Lacey was entranced with the horse, Evan with watching her. Neither noticed that Fletcher stood behind them. He frowned at hearing this, for he knew Evan had been gone for a year. He’d been pondering why Evan would take on a cowpuncher’s wages when he made more money running horses for the army. But what set him to scratching his head, and prickled his neck hairs, was how Evan knew about Lacey’s roan. Sy had given her that horse not more than six months ago. Fletcher backed away when Lacey gave Evan a quick hug and Evan took advantage, to his way of thinking, and kissed her.
Fletcher wasn’t the only one watching them. Rafe sat on his horse, his lips thinned while the muscle in his cheek twitched. Who the hell was this son of a bitch? And why wasn’t she stopping him? Rubbing her hands all over his shaggy hair … his own scalp warmed in memory of that same caress.
But Lacey wasn’t caressing his hair, she tugged and then yanked at it to pull Evan’s head back. “Don’t read more than a thank-you into this, Evan. I don’t want a man cluttering up my life.”
“Is that warning just for me, or does it include that tough-looking hombre behind you?”
Lacey spun around, her body shielding Evan. At least it appeared that way to Rafe. His eyes pinned her. “Guess my killing myself to get back here was a waste of time.”
“Killing yourself? If only you had, Rafe.”
“Who the hell is this, Lacey?” Evan asked, moving aside.
“Rafe Parrish,” she stated coldly, “this is Evan Darcy.”
And Rafe’s eyes were as cold, assessing him, then dismissing him. “Hire yourself a bodyguard, Lacey? Seems you should’ve found someone you could trust.”
Evan’s hand rose to his gun, but Lacey once again stepped in front of him. “I can trust Evan. That’s more than I can say for you.” She couldn’t quite meet Rafe’s eyes. She gestured at the two men slightly behind him. “Hire a few bodyguards of your own?”
“Hank Peters. Matt McCabe. This is Lacey Garrett, my partner. I worked with them for an outfit northeast of here aways back. They’re good hands.”
Lacey heard the dare in his voice and found herself clenching her hands. “Evan, you know Blewett. Ride out and see him. My Partner and I need to talk.” She gazed up at Rafe. “I’ll wait for you in the office.”
Evan waited until Rafe had sent the other two men off to the bunkhouse to get settled and then moved to his side when he dismounted. “I want to clear up any misunderstanding you might—”
“Save it. There’s nothing I want to hear from you.”
Evan grabbed his arm. “You got no call to—”
“Let … go.”
Evan met the black fury in his eyes and released him. He was never one to tangle with a man unless he was sure to win. He was fast with his gun, but he knew Rafe was faster. Evan had to remind himself that he was not here to cause any trouble. But he swallowed gall as he offered his hand. “I don’t aim for trouble. I just needed a job, and Lacey gave me one.”
Rafe ignored his hand. “If you’re here to work, best get to it. And stay the hell away from Lacey, or you’ll have me to answer to.” He strode away, furious that he acted like a damn stallion squaring off over a mare. But he couldn’t wipe out the sight of her in another man’s arms.
Maggie greeted him with a smile. “I’ll whip up a fresh batch—”
“Not now, Maggie.”
“Rafe,” she cautioned as he reached the doorway, “you need to wash that trail dust off and shave.” Her gaze found no softening in his. “Please, don’t go to her riled. At least let me fix you some coffee.” Pity for his exhausted state filled her as she handed him a cup. “Things have been happening that you need to know about first.” And she told him about Curt’s visit, the army captain’s warnings, and Evan.
Rafe didn’t bother to ask questions, but he realized that Maggie was right. He would wait to see Lacey. God knew he wanted to strangle her and kiss her senseless, but if Curt had shown her those papers, he would have to answer for them. And the thought of a hot bath after days of riding sounded more appealing than another confrontation with Lacey.
Lacey had closed the door behind her and alternated between sitting and pacing as she waited for Rafe. Anger seethed inside her. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as she opened the door, she knew he had to be finished settling those men he had hired. Unless he was with Evan? The thought spurred her to leave the office, but she saw Maggie coming from his room. The bundle of clothing she held told Lacey exactly where Rafe was.
“He had to take a bath and keep me waiting!” she muttered as she entered her room. She grabbed up her pitcher and filled it with the icy cold springwater.
Humming softly to himself, Rafe had to admit that Maggie was right. The hot water had soaked some of the deep aches from his body. He had already shaved and washed the dust from his hair and sat thinking when the sudden shock of cold water hit him from behind.
Gasping and sputtering, he stood, shaking his head like an enraged bull, and grabbed hold of Lacey’s arm. Another toss of his head splattered water all over her. His grin came as slowly as her head moved upward.
Lacey wanted to shock him, not be shocked herself. But Rafe in all his male glory held her still. She shivered and closed her eyes. Her breath was lodged in
her throat. She could still see Rafe, muscles rippling, the short dark curling hairs on his chest arrowing down to his navel, the flat belly, lean hips tapering into ropey thighs, and she forced herself to stop.
Tagging against his grip, she managed to stretch her free arm back, blindly groping for the stack of linen cloths behind her. She grabbed one, slammed it forward against his body, and cried out when he pulled her close.
“You need—”
“I know exactly what I need, Lacey,” he whispered, tilting her chin up. “Look at me.”
Chapter 13
Lacey couldn’t open her eyes. It was enough for her to inhale the hint of spice from the soap he used, a scent that was body warm and male. She pushed against him, her fingers tangling his chest hair before sliding over his wet flesh, the same wetness that was soaking her shirt.
“Lacey.”
It wasn’t the soft murmur of her name, but his wicked chuckle that made her look up at him. His black eyes were dancing with glints of humor. She didn’t have time to react to the shift of his grip on her so that one arm held her securely.
“You need cooling off, bright eyes.” With his free hand he grabbed the bucket with clean water and poured it over her head.
Lacey shoved him. Water dripped from her hair, plastered her shirt and camisole to her skin, and soaked down her pant legs into her boots. “You damn savage!” She swung a fisted hand that he caught easily, the humor gone from his eyes.
“I warned you, princess, act like a child, and I’ll treat you like one.”
Lacey shrieked when he scooped her up into his arms, stepped over the rim of the tub, and carried her into his room. Her gaze fastened on his. She stopped her futile twisting. The dark grave look in his eyes was possessive, filled with strong emotions, far too complex for her to sort out. She felt the tension that tautened his body as his gaze shifted with her shaken breaths to the rise and fall of her breasts. The sudden memory of his mouth tugging on one sensitive tip made her nipples tighten, and a frisson of pleasure spiraled down to the pit of her stomach, making her want to moan. She wanted to feel his mouth on her again, to feel his need and heat, but she still feared being vulnerable to him.
“Put me down, Rafe.”
“I like the feel of you right where you are, bright eyes. This way I won’t worry what you’re up to behind my back.”
His taunting snapped her temper. “I know you’re stronger. You humiliated me with your dousing. You’ve had your revenge. Now, put me down!”
“Just to show that I can be a gentleman.” He lowered her to the bed slowly, watching her roll to her side, then scramble up toward the headboard. With one hand he snagged her boot, warning her with his look not to kick him.
“What’s the matter, Rafe? Wasn’t April enough for you? Stop manhandling me! I don’t want you to touch me.”
He could deal with her temper, but not with her contempt. He wanted her so badly, he could feel every nerve screaming a demand for him to take her. Rafe fought the rush of fear that came as swiftly, fear that the past would win and take everything he wanted, everything he needed.
He left her abruptly, totally unconcerned with his naked state. Slamming open the wardrobe door, he pulled out a blue cotton shirt, jamming his arms into the sleeves. He didn’t button it but grabbed a pair of worn denims from the shelf below. He felt Lacey watching his every move to slide the cloth against his damp skin, and he cursed her while he struggled to button his fly.
Impatiently running his hands through his hair, he faced her. “What the hell were you doing out on the range yesterday? You had no business—”
“Stop attacking me!” She came to her knees, eyeing the doorway, but Rafe stepped between the bed and freedom.
“Why is Darcy working for us? And why the hell did Curt wait to give you those papers? Oh, don’t look rabbit-snared, princess. I know he gave them to you.”
“He wanted to give you a chance!”
“A chance to what? Hang myself?”
His voice held a hint of savagery, but it was the fury glittering in his eyes that made Lacey roll off the bed and flatten herself against the corner wall. Rafe moved at the same moment she did, lunging across the bed, coming to his feet, slamming his fist against the wall above her head.
“Don’t … move.” He closed his eyes, his chest heaved with every breath he dragged into his lungs, and he waited, not daring to speak or move until he had himself under control. When he finally looked at her again, she was holding tight to her side. “You hurt yourself.” He had to make an effort to smooth the savage edge off his voice. “And you’re wet.”
His gaze slid down her body like a tangible caress, making Lacey aware of the wet cloth clinging to her breasts. She squeezed herself into the corner to avoid his hand. “I don’t want you to touch me,” she warned, feeling almost battered by the leashed violence she sensed in him.
Her warning went unheeded. His black eyes dared her to deny him again as he stripped her shirt and camisole without hurting her, but without a sign that he saw or responded to her nakedness. She stared at his hands, trembling but making no move to cover herself. His callused fingertip brushed her barely healed wound, and she winced, holding her breath until he muttered an oath and stepped back. Her shoulders sagged with the release of her breath, and she saw him fling her clothes to the floor.
Rafe grabbed one of his shirts from the wardrobe and threw it at her. “Put it on, princess, so I don’t touch you.”
Her fingers shook as she buttoned it under his watchful gaze. Her side throbbed, but bravado had fled, and she made no move to escape even when he came to stand in front of her once more.
“We’ll stand here all night until you answer me, Lacey.”
“I don’t owe you answers. It’s the other way around. Where have you been? Why did you hire those men? And why were you with…” She glanced down, her gilt-tipped lashes hiding the luminous sheen in her eyes.
“Don’t stop. That’s what’s eating you, isn’t it? Me being with April?”
“No! How dare you demand anything from me? You’re a renegade, a thief. A cheat and a liar. I know all there is to know about you, Rafe.” She was trembling from rage and had to stop, but Lacey knew she made a mistake to look up at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, intent on her, his face a hard mass of angles filled with anger. When he said nothing, offered no defense, she found herself burning to know if it was all true.
“I know where the judge found you. You were in a Mexican jail. They were going to hang you for running guns to the outlaws down there who claim they’re helping to fight for freedom. And it wasn’t for any noble reasons. You did it for the money. Just like you’ve stolen horses on both sides of the border.”
“That’s not all you know. Finish it.” His hand moved in a savage cutting gesture, and he towered over her. “What else has me condemned?”
Lacey swallowed. Her gaze dropped to his chest. The muscles beneath the flat mat of black chest hair were taut, but she couldn’t look away. He prodded her again, softly whispering his fury, and she found the heat of him, this close, made it impossible for her to think, let alone speak.
“Tell me, Lacey. Tell me what you believe to be true.”
“What did you expect me to do?” she cried softly. “You weren’t here. Curt only showed me those papers to protect me. To stop me from getting myself tangled up with a man like you.”
“You were getting feelings tangled up between us?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t fighting me for control of the Reina anymore, was it?”
“No! Damn you, no!” She pushed him, but he stood firm. Lacey gave vent to the frustrating storm of emotions with her fists, beating his chest. Rafe did nothing to stop her. “Let me go,” she pleaded.
“I can’t. I won’t,” came his denial. “I’ll wipe every q
uestion from your—”
“And then what? Will you use me to get what you want and then discard me like Señorita Martainez? I told you I had read it all.”
He spun around, and Lacey felt the strength drain from her. There was no emotion left in her voice. “Why, Rafe? Your own mother—”
“Leave her out of this! What the hell do you know?” he grated from between clenched teeth, facing her again. His hand flexed at his sides. “I didn’t have anything to do with her … I didn’t leave her belly filled with my child.”
Lacey stared at him. She raised her hand to touch him, but he spun away, grabbing his boots. “Are you always running? Can’t you face up to what you’ve done? Would I be asking if I didn’t want to hear your side?” Lacey pushed herself away from the wall, stepping toward him. “Run,” she taunted, “you’re good at it.”
He moved so fast, Lacey wasn’t sure what had happened, but in seconds she was sprawled beneath him on the bed.
“You’ve been trying to snap my leash since the day I got here, princess. I’m on the short end of a thread.” He cursed his luck, which didn’t run in any direction but away from him, and fought against the scent of her clouding his mind, softening the blunt edge of his anger. Her face was white, and he knew he had hurt her. Again. The word was enough to force him to roll to his side. “You want to hear it from me?”
She met his gaze, eyes bleak as the winter’s icy darkness, and nodded.
“I told you we lived a day-to-day existence with Parrish after my mother married him,” he stated flatly. “Sometimes she spoke of returning to the warmth of Mexico when she couldn’t stand the damp cold of backwater mining camps. Hilton had himself a good week gambling. He won a small bag of gold nuggets. I stole his horse and his gold when he refused to give her half for food. My mother didn’t argue. She couldn’t. He had beat her and her health was already failing. My luck, if you could call it that, held all the way south. We had enough to rent a small place near Zaragoza right over the border.”
Western Winds Page 15