by Connie Mason
“I’ve been thinkin’. Since Will and Sanchez came back I ‘spect it wouldn’t hurt to let you both remain at the ranch.”
“But you said—”
“That was before Will and Sanchez turned up,” Colt said. “I couldn’t leave you here by yourself, but the three of you should get along right well until my foreman arrives.”
“You’re going to work the ranch?” Sam asked, stunned. “I thought you couldn’t abide attachments, like a home or … wife.” What made her say that? Sam silently reproached herself. It made little difference to her what Colt did or didn’t do.
“Jake Hobbs recruited ranch hands in San Antonio and they’re drivin’ several hundred head of cows out with them,” Colt explained, ignoring Sam’s question. Actually, he had no idea how to reply to her taunt. “There’s enough unbranded mavericks roamin’ the hills to increase the herd considerably. When Jake arrives, him and the boys will have plenty to do. Will,” he addressed the boy, “you must know somethin’ about ranchin’. I can always use another cowboy. Sanchez can cook for the men. Both of you will earn the same as the others. Is that agreeable?”
“Si, Senor, that is most generous,” Sanchez quickly acknowledged.
“I reckon,” allowed Will grudgingly. Actually he enjoyed ranch work and knew a great deal about it, but didn’t want to give the Ranger the satisfaction.
“Course that means you’ll be livin’ and eatin’ in the bunkhouse with the cowboys,” Colt lectured sternly. The boy needed to be taken in hand, and Jake Hobbs was just the man to see to it. Will still had a heap of growing up to do.
“But—”
“No arguments, Will. I’m callin’ the shots, and those are my terms. Believe me, you wouldn’t like the alternative. You and Sanchez go and get settled in, I want to talk to Sam.”
Will slid Sam an inquiring glance, but when she did not protest he nodded, turned, and left, Sanchez trailing behind. Immediately Sam rounded on Colt. “Just what are my orders, Ranger?”
“You, darlin’, will perform housekeepin’ chores as well as—”
“—Spread my legs whenever you demand it,” Sam finished caustically.
“I wouldn’t ‘zactly put it that way,” Colt said with a laconic smile, “but you know I’ll want you again. I aim to gorge myself on your bewitchin’ body till I can’t take another bite. I’m beginnin’ to think you’re a witch, darlin’, and somehow you keep lurin’ me back to your bed. Just as long as I’m the only one to answer your call we’ll get along just fine.”
“If I was to lure any man it certainly wouldn’t be you,” Sam returned coolly. “You might have taught my body to respond, but I seriously doubt that you’re the only man handy at lovemaking. Perhaps one day soon I may test my theory.” The lie burned like acid on her tongue, but Sam couldn’t let the randy varmint believe he made her body sing and her heart beat like a triphammer even if it was true. He attracted and repelled her at the same time.
Red dots of rage exploded behind Colt’s brain. Her words very nearly strangled him. The thought of Sam responding to another man as wildly and passionately as she did to him tied him in knots. Just because he had introduced her to passion didn’t mean she needed to fall into bed with other men to test her reaction to him. Christ! It was almost as if—No, it couldn’t be, Colt reasoned, horrified by where his thoughts led him. He could find pleasure with any woman, he comforted himself confidently. This bundle of trouble was no more special than … than … hell’s bells! She had him so confused he couldn’t even remember the name of any other woman. Love was such an alien emotion it had no place in Colt’s vocabulary, nor in his thoughts. But if love was not involved, why did Sam’s words create such a violent inferno in him?
His hands clamped on her shoulders, pulling her against him. “You’re mine, Sam, till I say otherwise. I better not catch any other varmint touchin’ you. Once I leave here you can do as you please, but till then there’ll be no experimentin’, understand?”
His lips came down on hers, putting his brand on her as surely as he intended to do to his cattle. When he lifted his head she tottered on rubbery legs but had no trouble finding her tongue.
“You don’t own me, Colt. If it wasn’t for Will I’d tell you to go to the devil and take my chances in jail.”
“But you won’t, will you, darlin’? You’ll be here waitin’ for me when I want you.”
Then he kissed her again, this time moving his hands intimately over her generous curves, molding her to his hips and thighs. All too aware of his arousal and where it was leading, Sam wrenched free.
“You’ve already put your brand on me, now go.”
The corner of Colt’s mouth curved up crookedly. It brought crinkles to his eyes and softened his features. “Don’t fret, darlin’. Every time we make love I’ll give you as much pleasure as I’m capable of. Now be a good girl and stay outta trouble. My men will be arrivin’ soon to keep an eye on you.”
“What will Dolly say about sharing your favors?” Sam taunted.
Colt frowned, annoyed. “Dolly has nothin’ to do with us.”
After a long, lingering look filled with poignant promise, he was gone, leaving Sam fuming in outrage.
Not only was her pride wounded by being forced to act as Colt’s housekeeper in her own house, but assuming the role of occasional bedwarmer devastated her. She wondered how Dolly Douglas would feel about sharing the honors. Not only was Colt a puzzle but a contradiction as well. He could be the tenderest of lovers while still maintaining strict control over his emotions.
Sam decided she must not delude herself into thinking he had any tender feelings for her, she was merely someone who gave him pleasure. He lusted after her without endangering his status as a free operator. He wanted no involvements, no commitments, no attachments. Why couldn’t her heart be as immune to the devastating effect of his brute strength and rugged appeal as he was to her?
It suddenly came to Sam that Colt was a man she loved to hate and hated to love—a man whose touch she craved as desperately as the air she breathed.
Chapter Eight
The next day Colt’s partner, Jim Blake, arrived in town. Captain Ford had assigned him to act as backup for Colt at Colt’s request. They were ensconced in Colt’s room at the Palace discussing the latest developments, a half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on the table between them.
“So what’s your theory, Colt?” Jim asked.
Somewhat shorter and stockier than Colt, Jim Blake was no less imposing. Slate black hair curled defiantly against his neck, but it was the thick, ropy muscles of arms and torso that drew one’s attention. And the hard, bulging length of thighs and calves. He exuded the same kind of power and authority one immediately recognized in Colt. Together they were a formidable foe to be reckoned with. More than one man had cowered before their brand of ruthless justice.
“I can’t escape the feelin’ that Calvin Logan and his spineless son are behind the town’s troubles,” Colt mused thoughtfully. “Since the Crowders obviously made a deal with the Logans not to rob their bank, they’ve no reason to keep returnin’. Sure, they scared the hell outta people, shot up the saloon and killed a few men. But what did it get them? Why do they keep comin’ back instead of movin’ on to greener pastures? I can’t figure them out unless someone is payin’ them to stick around. Someone like the Logans.”
“Maybe they like the town?” suggested Jim wryly. “What does the local sheriff think?”
“I have as little to do with that abusive varmint as possible,” Colt spat. He went on to explain about Ida Scheuer and the sheriffs attack upon her. “The man’s a coward. When the Crowders ride into town he conveniently disappears.”
“You mentioned somethin’ about Injuns stealin’ cattle.”
“I suspect the Logans were the ones that did that too. But provin’ it won’t be easy.”
“What are my orders? Cap’n Ford said I was to go along with anythin’ you asked.”
“So far no one in town
knows you’re a Ranger,” Colt confided. “Keep up the disguise of a drifter lookin’ for work. Cozy up to the Logans and if you can, find out what’s goin’ on. Try to keep our meetin’s casual on the surface, but we’ll rendezvous in my room late at night to compare notes. Any questions?”
“Yep, where do I stay?”
“Not here, obviously. There’s a hotel of sorts down the street. Check in there and report back to me in a few days. And Jim—take care.”
Jake Hobbs arrived in Karlsburg two days later with ten cowboys and several hundred head of cattle. The cattle remained just outside the city limits watched over by the hands while Jake found Colt and received his orders. A friend since the Mexican War, Jake was tall, as lean as Colt, with a shock of light brown hair and intelligent brown eyes permanently etched with laugh lines radiating from their corners. Happy-go-lucky by nature, Jake had yet to find the one woman who could make him want to settle down. But contrary to Colt’s theory, Jake believed that such a woman existed, she just hadn’t been found yet. Luckily, Colt’s telegram had found Jake dissatisfied with his previous job, so it took little coaxing to bring him to the Circle H as foreman.
Jake listened to Colt’s instructions about the ranch, asking no questions until Colt finally spoke of Sam. “You took that girl’s ranch away from her?” Jake accused, unable to believe that Colt could do so vile a tiling.
Colt sighed. “It’s a long story, Jake. One you’ll learn soon enough. Just watch over the lady for me. It won’t be easy, but I have every confidence that you’ll keep her out of trouble. Her brother needs a firm hand, he’s had little direction since his pa died.”
“The filly must be special,” Jake remarked cautiously. “The Colt I know would love her and promptly forget her. Is that your intention, Colt? Have you bedded her yet?”
An inscrutable mask settled over Colt’s features. “Don’t get nosy, Jake. What I do with that little wildcat is my business.”
“I can hardly wait to meet the gal. She must be somethin’ to set you to itchin’ so fiercely.”
Colt frowned. “Go on, Jake, I’ll ride out in a few days to see how you and the boys are doin’.”
Her chin tilted at a stubborn angle, violet eyes glaring defiantly, Sam watched as Colt’s newly hired cowboys rode in from the range where they had left the cattle to graze. She hated to admit it, but it was a comforting sight to see the cows spread out grazing in the surrounding hills. All but one man rode directly to the bunkhouse, and he approached Sam with more than a little curiosity.
Sam waited as the tall, laughing man rode toward her. His shirt was half open down his chest, exposing a thatch of curly golden hair. A gunbelt of black leather rode low on his hips. The rider tugged off his sweat-stained stetson to wipe his forehead on the sleeve of his blue chambray shirt, and Sam noted that his hair was a warm brown that glinted with red highlights.
“You must be Samantha Howard,” Jake ventured, eyeing Sam appreciatively. He was beginning to understand Colt’s preoccupation with the woman. “I’m Jake Hobbs, Colt’s foreman.” He tipped his hat politely.
“Don’t expect a grand welcome,” Sam said sourly.
Jake laughed, understanding now why Colt had hinted that the woman was pricklier than a porcupine. “A warm welcome would be right kindly, miss.”
“Forget it, mister. I don’t need a keeper. You can tell your boss I said so. This land belonged to me and my brother long before Colt stole it.”
Jake’s eyebrows rose several inches. Looked like Colt had met his match in this little filly. Jake didn’t envy Colt the job of taming her, if that’s what he had in mind.
“I hoped we might be friends, miss,” Jake said, completely disarming Sam. “I had nothin’ to do with what’s between you and Colt. I’m here to run a ranch, not keep tabs on your comin’s and goin’s.” Not strictly the truth, Jake reasoned, but close enough.
A guilty flush spread across Sam’s cheeks. Her anger with Colt had scattered her wits and made her lash out at Jake Hobbs. The foreman was not privy to her private feud with Colt, and she had no right to treat him so shabbily.
“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Hobbs,” she stammered. “As usual I let my tongue run hog wild.”
“The name is Jake.” The foreman grinned so engagingly that Sam could not repress an answering smile.
“Everyone calls me Sam,” she offered, holding out her hand.
Colt stooped to examine the cold ashes of the abandoned campsite. During the past few days he had found three others—all sites the Crowders had used recently. The Crowder gang were like nomads, Colt reflected contemptuously, moving from place to place to avoid discovery. He wondered why they didn’t leave the area, since they hadn’t returned to town since their humiliation in the Palace.
Thus far Colt had seen or learned nothing to suggest that the Logans were responsible for the recent cattle rustling. Or that the Crowders were hired by the Logans. But Jim had succeeded in making friends with Vern Logan, and perhaps things would heat up soon. Colt was glad Sam was at the ranch and out of harm’s way. She was far too impulsive for her own good and her reckless nature could endanger her life. According to Jim, Vern hadn’t given up on making Sam his wife and often spoke of her in a proprietary manner. Colt didn’t profess to knowing everything, but he was damn certain Vern Logan would never lay hands on Samantha Howard.
Sam wiped the perspiration from her face with a cloth dipped in cool water. The heat was more oppressive than usual for this time of year, and she spared a twinge of sympathy for Jake, Will, and the cowboys riding the western slopes in search of mavericks. For the first time since she had returned to the ranch Sam found herself alone and at loose ends. Even Sanchez was gone, having taken the chuckwagon to the range to feed the men.
After finishing her chores, Sam thought longingly of the stream behind the house that meandered down from the hills. At this time of year the stream was high from spring rains, running clear and cool, and she longed for a refreshing dip. Later the stream would turn into its normal murky, muddy trickle and provide little comfort. No one was around to stop her or spy on her and she’d be back long before the men returned, so Sam saw no reason not to indulge herself.
Packing her saddlebags with a towel, soap, and clean clothes, Sam saddled her horse and rode out, eagerly anticipating her bath. She did not see the two men following behind.
The stream was high, just as Sam expected, reaching to her shoulders after she threw off her clothes and waded to the middle. It felt delicious and she closed her eyes, enjoying the coolness and solitude. A short distance away hidden eyes watched with avid delight.
“I don’t recollect when I’ve ever seen a purtier sight,” sighed Dusty wistfully. “All that soft golden skin makes me itch somethin’ powerful. Do you reckon Logan will mind if we—”
“He said we ain’t to touch her, Dusty,” Lyle warned as he watched Sam cavort in the water. “Not like you mean, anyways. We’re just supposed to kidnap her. Once we get shed of this place you’ll have money aplenty for whores.”
“One that looks like her?” Dusty asked doubtfully. His eyes glittered greedily as he devoured every inch of Sam’s exposed flesh. “Reckon we oughta do it now?”
“Naw, let’s wait till she comes outta the water,” Lyle suggested craftily. “If we show ourselves now, she might swim to the other side and we’d be outta luck. She’ll come out soon enough. While you’re waitin’ you can look your fill.”
They settled down behind low scrubs and tall grass a short distance from the stream. Suddenly another rider came into view, and Lyle cursed violently. Dusty tore his eyes from the vision in midstream to watch the horseman enter the clearing.
“Shit!” Dusty spat, incredulous. “I swear that man knows everythin’ what’s goin’ on. He turns up at the dangedest times.”
“Hush up. Maybe he’ll go away.” They flattened themselves against the dusty ground and waited.
Colt had remembered the stream from earlier travels in the area and had
aimed Thunder in that direction with the thought of filling his canteen and washing the trail dust from his face and neck. He nearly fell off his horse when he spied Sam this far from the ranch playing naked in the water without a care in the world. He kneed Thunder down to the water’s edge intending to give Sam a piece of his mind when the stallion snorted nervously. Colt reined in sharply, his senses alert, his body tense, sniffing the air as if he could smell danger. Smoothing a hand down Thunder’s heaving neck, he spoke softly in his ear.
“You sense it, too, don’t you, boy? There’s somebody else here, isn’t there?” Thunder emitted a soft snort in reply.
Colt glanced toward the stream where Sam was gloriously oblivious, her head submerged beneath the surface. Colt’s hand inched toward his saddle holster, carefully removing his Winchester and placing it across his knees.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Dusty whispered, frightened. “There’s no use hangin’ around and lettin’ that Ranger feller find us. We can get the girl another time.”
Lyle hesitated. He wanted to kill Colt so badly he could taste it. He raised his gun. Then Colt turned in Lyle’s direction, and though he was well hidden, Lyle had the uncanny feeling that Colt could see him through the dense foliage. Lyle’s finger fondled the trigger, so close to firing he could smell blood. But at the last second some sixth sense warned Colt and he brought his rifle up, aiming it in Lyle’s direction. It was enough to convince Lyle to heed Dusty’s advice as he scrambled to his feet and beat a hasty retreat. Colt made to follow the noise, but when a polecat ambled out of the bushes he relaxed, thinking he must be getting trigger happy. Then he turned his attention and well-aimed anger on Sam.
Blissfully unaware that Colt stood on the bank, Sam continued her bath. His voice was harsh when he spoke. “Get the hell outta there!”
“Colt! Where did you come from?” Shock shuddered through her when she saw Colt standing on the bank, fuming with rage.
“Are you nuts, Sam? Don’t you realize what a damn fool thing you’re doin’? You’re askin’ for trouble.”