It was the first time in nearly a month that she had seen Wolf. They had been lying in the cool grass beside the deep, crystal clear pond that graced one end of the valley, watching the clouds pass overhead. She had been feeling especially restless, and the words were out before she realized the meaning that could be attached to them. “You were gone a long time. I missed you.”
“It has been a single moon since last I saw you,” he had teased.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
His smile was feral. “Hunting. Stealing horses. Fighting soldiers.”
“I wish you didn’t enjoy it so much.” She touched a wound on his thigh that had barely healed. “And that you would be more careful.” She felt his flesh tense under her touch.
“I am a warrior. It is my destiny to die in battle.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” she chided. “I would hate to have to cut off all my hair.”
“Would you mourn for me as a proper Apache woman?” Wolf reached out and grasped a handful of her hair.
Anabeth was surprised by the look in his eyes, by the possessiveness of his touch. She didn’t know what to do about either, so she rose abruptly. He let her waist-length hair slide through his fingers.
She turned and looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’ll never have to mourn you, Wolf, because there will be no one to tell me you’re gone.” It was the truth. No one in his village knew Wolf came to the valley. No one would know to tell her he was dead.
Anabeth was wearing only an Apache breechclout, two strips of fringed buckskin that fell to the knees in front and the ankles in back, held at her hips with a cord of rawhide. It was the dress of an Apache brave. Even with Wolf, she had never acted the role of a woman. She had been too young when she met him to feel any modesty around him, and she had never felt uncomfortable with her breasts bared to his gaze. Until today.
Anabeth raised her arms and dived gracefully into the pond. When she came up for air, Wolf was dragging off his moccasins. For a second he stood in his breechclout on the grassy verge. He was a magnificent-looking man.
Her eyes drifted up his bronzed body, from his sinewy legs to his flat, taut stomach, then across his chest where the muscles rippled. His shoulder-length black hair was parted in the center and held off his face by a rawhide band. Her gaze roamed up his corded neck to his jutting jaw and strong cheekbones, until she finally met his dark, dark eyes.
Desire.
Anabeth had never seen that particular look directed at her before, but she recognized it all the same. It should have elated her. Instead, it frightened her. She turned and swam rapidly toward the opposite edge of the pool.
She should have known better. Wolf was a hunter. He responded instinctively to her flight by chasing her. She raced to elude him, but he grabbed her ankle. This was a familiar game, but there was something different about Wolf’s hold on her. Anabeth kicked herself free, as she had in the past, but instead of letting her escape, Wolf caught her again at the waist.
“Let go!” she cajoled, breathless with excitement, anxious without knowing why. “I want to swim. I—”
Suddenly, with a shriek of delight, she lunged up out of the water and put the full force of her weight on his shoulders, forcing him underwater. By the time he came up again, spitting, spluttering, eyelashes dripping, she was already levering herself out of the water and onto the wide rock ledge on the opposite side of the pond that eventually rose into a sheer cliff.
She stretched out on the hot stone, her wet hair conforming to her shape like a shiny, form-fitting cloak. Ordinarily she would have urged Wolf to join her. This time she did not.
He swam over to the ledge anyway, and levered himself out in a single powerful move. He lay down beside her, close enough to make her feel uncomfortable. She started to edge away, but he put a hand on her hip to keep her still.
Slowly, deliberately, Wolf’s hand stroked down the naked length of her thigh where her breechclout had fallen away.
Anabeth shivered at the ticklish touch. She watched Wolf with wary eyes. He had never touched her this way. She felt confused and unsure of what he wanted from her. Surely not to couple. But she did not know how else to explain Wolf’s strange behavior.
His eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips full, his jaw taut. Every muscle in his body seemed tense. The pulse in his throat beat fast. Anabeth reached out to touch it, and he actually recoiled from her.
Suddenly he was on his feet pacing back and forth before her. She leaped up to confront him, fists on hips. “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “What is it you want from me?”
“What a man wants from a woman,” he said in a low, guttural voice. “To hold you. To lie with you.”
Anabeth drew a sharp breath. She had never thought of Wolf as a man, with a man’s desire. Her eyes dropped to the ground. Her bare toes traced a wet pattern on the rock. She looked back up at Wolf with curious eyes. Maybe she would feel something for him if she let him touch her. Maybe all that was needed to awaken her feminine nature was to let him make love to her.
“All right,” she said at last.
Wolf stared suspiciously at her, as though he expected her to pull some trick on him, as she had in the pond. At last he stepped close enough to slip an arm around her waist. Slowly, surely, he pulled her into his embrace.
Anabeth felt Wolf’s shudder as their two bodies aligned. His flesh felt warm against hers. Tentatively, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. His body had a distinct scent, a musky fragrance that she found pleasant because she associated it with the boy who had grown to manhood as her friend.
Anabeth traced his collarbone and the hollow above it. Her eyes widened with surprise when she felt his body tighten beneath her fingertips.
Wolf’s hand left her shoulder and smoothed over her hair, all the way down to her hips. It felt good. Comforting.
“Do that again,” she murmured.
He did as she asked, then slipped his hand under her hair and caressed the length of her back, from the dimples in her buttocks up her backbone, until he finally circled her nape with his hand.
Anabeth shivered. “Don’t stop.”
Wolf’s hand skimmed the length of her again, and Anabeth couldn’t help the soft sound of pleasure that escaped her. She was jarred when Wolf put both hands on her hips and pushed her away.
“Why did you stop?” she asked. “That felt good. Will you do it again?”
Abruptly, he turned his back on her.
“What’s wrong?” She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away from her.
“You do not want me,” he said in a curt voice.
“What?”
He turned to face her, and she saw the frustration in his dark eyes. “I do not see a woman’s passion when I look into your eyes.”
“What?” She had known for some time that she didn’t react as other women did to a man, but it was still a shock to hear Wolf say the words aloud.
“You do not desire me.”
He sounded so unhappy that for a moment Anabeth was tempted to lie. But she met his brooding gaze and knew he would see the truth in her eyes. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t.”
His lips flattened in dissatisfaction.
Her temper flared. “Did you want me to lie?”
“No. There has always been truth between us. So I will tell you this. I want you for my woman. And I will have you.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I don’t desire you! I can’t—”
“Enough!” His voice was sharp. “There is nothing more to be said now.”
Anabeth was angry. “We’ll talk about this right now! I don’t think—”
“Helllllooooooo! Anabeeeetttthhh. Where are yoooooou?”
Anabeth had whirled at the sound of her uncle’s voice echoing down the valley. “It’s Uncle Booth! You’d better go now. I—”
When she had turned around, Wolf was gone. He had disappeared as though he were never there. It was something e
very Apache learned from birth, as hunted beasts do, because moving quickly and silently meant the difference between life and death. Wolf had taught Anabeth how it was done, though she was not nearly so good at it as he was.
As she loosened the breechclout and let it fall to the stone beneath her, she felt a sense of frustration, of things left unfinished. She pulled on long johns, socks, shirt, jeans, and boots, all the while remembering the look on Wolf’s face before he had left her. The hardness and the determination had been very unsettling.
She stuffed the wet buckskins into a hidden crevice in the rocks by the pond where her uncle wouldn’t find them. Later, when Booth was not around, she would come back and lay them out to dry. She was frowning when she headed for the entrance to the valley. If she hadn’t known Wolf, trusted him as she did, she might even have been afraid of him after what had just happened.
Above all, she was left with the feeling of having failed somehow as a woman. She had been tempted to speak to Booth about the problem, but there was no way she could do so without bringing Wolf into the conversation. She could not betray the Apache’s existence without endangering his life.
Anabeth had done her best to ignore what had happened, or rather, not happened, between her and Wolf. Maybe she wasn’t a whole woman. That didn’t keep her from wanting the silk taffeta dress in the next window, even though she could never wear it so long as she remained Kid Calhoun.
Anabeth turned her feet in the direction of the hotel and continued down the boardwalk. She kept her eyes straight ahead, aware of the way men and women both avoided her. The law in Santa Fe kept an eye on Booth’s gang, but none of them had ever been arrested. So far, no victim of any of the robberies had ever positively identified anyone in the Calhoun Gang.
Anabeth intended to keep it that way. Which was why she had to talk Booth out of the robbery he had planned for the end of the week near Old Horse Springs.
She knocked before she entered Booth’s hotel room. She had learned from experience that she might find Booth in an awkward situation. At least it was awkward for her. Neither Booth nor Sierra ever seemed to mind being seen in bed together.
“Come in.”
She entered and wasn’t surprised to discover Sierra Starr in the hotel room with Booth.
“I was just leaving,” Sierra said. She was pulling on a pair of black kid gloves that completed an ensemble that could have come straight from Harper’s Bazar. Sierra wore a plume-trimmed bonnet that did little to subdue her glorious head of naturally red curls.
In the green silk Polonaise gown, with its pristine white ruffle at the neck, the Soiled Dove from the Town House Saloon looked more a lady than most ladies Anabeth had seen in Santa Fe. Anabeth envied her because she was also a desirable—and desired—woman.
Not even Sierra knew the truth about the Kid being female. Booth had said, “It’s best not to trust anybody.” It was clear from the way Sierra teased Anabeth that, despite their bed-play, Booth had kept her secret from the other woman.
Sierra rubbed a gloved hand across Anabeth’s baby-smooth cheek and said, “I have a lovely new girl who might interest you, Kid. Why don’t you come by the saloon next time you’re in town?”
Anabeth flushed scarlet. “I—I—”
Sierra laughed, a light, friendly sound that bubbled up from inside her. The look in her green eyes was kind, if teasing. “Her name is Bonnie. Tell her I said you should look her up.”
Sierra turned from a flustered Anabeth and crossed back to the four-poster bed where Booth was stretched out fully dressed on top of the quilt with a sketch pad in hand. She leaned over him to see what he had drawn, and found herself looking every bit as ravishing on paper as she was in real life.
Sierra put her hands on either side of Booth’s face and leaned down to kiss him tenderly on the mouth. “Take care of yourself.”
Booth grinned. “I could say the same.”
“Good-bye, Booth.” Sierra said it as though she would never see him again. There was always the chance she wouldn’t.
As many times as Anabeth had seen Booth and Sierra bid each other farewell, it still moved her to realize how much they seemed to care for each other. But Booth would never agree to live on what Sierra earned from her half of the Town House Saloon. And Sierra could never give up the security she had sacrificed so much to earn, only to be an outlaw’s bride. They often met and made love, but they apparently were not destined to spend their lives together.
Once Sierra was gone Anabeth crossed and settled herself at the foot of the four-poster bed. She took out the makings from her vest pocket and concentrated on rolling a cigarette.
“I don’t think we should do this job,” she said.
“Why not?” Booth asked.
“Just a feeling I have.”
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to change my mind.”
Anabeth stuck the cigarette in the corner of her mouth. She raked a match across her jeans and squinted her eyes against the smoke as she took the first drag. “In the past you’ve always taken your time getting to know all about a man before you let him join the gang. What do you know about this new fellow, Wat Rankin?”
“He came to me with information about a rancher who’ll be carrying more gold than any of us have ever seen at one time.”
“Doesn’t that sound the least bit suspicious to you? Why did Rankin share his information with us? Why not just steal the gold himself?”
Booth shrugged. “There’s safety in numbers, I suppose.”
Frustrated, Anabeth blew out a stream of smoke. “I don’t like Rankin,” she said flatly. “And I don’t trust him. How do we know his information about this Sam Chandler being on the stage isn’t just a ploy to set us up for the law?”
“I checked. Chandler is a rancher from around Old Horse Springs who recently drove a herd of cattle to Colorado for sale. According to Rankin, Chandler is returning on the stage, and he’s carrying the gold on him.”
“What else do you know about Rankin?”
“I admit I don’t have much information on him. He doesn’t seem to have many friends,” Booth conceded.
“Doesn’t that prove something?”
“Most outlaws don’t,” Booth pointed out reasonably.
Anabeth threw her cigarette on the floor and ground it out with the toe of her boot. “Dammit, Booth! I’m scared!”
Booth scooted down the bed and put an arm around Anabeth’s shoulder. “Everything’s going to be fine, Kid. I’ve got this holdup planned down to the last detail. If you don’t feel comfortable, why don’t you sit this one out?”
“I’d feel even worse not knowing what was going on,” Anabeth confessed. “Please, Booth. Let’s not do this job.”
Booth’s voice hardened. “Look, Kid. It’s not just me who needs the money. There are six other men to think about.”
“They’ll listen to you,” Anabeth cajoled. “If you tell them not to do it, they won’t.”
Booth shook his head. “It isn’t that simple, Kid.”
“Why the hell not?”
Booth stared down at strong hands that should have been callused from hard work—but weren’t. “Rankin has been talking to the rest of the gang.” He hesitated, then said, “And they’re listening.
“You know how little the take has been this past year. Rankin told them that I was too chickenhearted to go after the really big money. Said I was too yellow-bellied to kill a man if I had to. Rankin even insinuated that the gang might be better off with someone besides me making decisions. I can’t very well suggest that we don’t pull this job.”
“Dammit, Booth, it’s your gang! Get rid of Rankin. Don’t wait. Do it now!”
“I can’t,” Booth said. “My mind is made up, Kid. If you don’t want to come, don’t. It’s up to you. I’ve got to leave now to get to the rendezvous on time.” He visibly reined his temper. “You can always go back to the valley and wait for me.”
“If you’re going, I’m going!�
�� Anabeth retorted. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”
Booth’s lip curled in a charming smile meant to appease her worry and cool her ire. “I knew I could count on you, Kid. I can’t say I’ll be sorry to have someone I trust at my back.”
As Anabeth rode out of Santa Fe with Booth she had the feeling they were being watched. She looked over her shoulder but couldn’t find anything—or anyone—who looked suspicious.
Maybe this job would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. If Sam Chandler was carrying as much gold as Rankin had implied, Booth’s share might be enough to buy that ranch in Colorado. She hoped like hell this was the last time she would be riding the trail as Kid Calhoun.
2
Booth and Anabeth arrived around noon at the line shack near Old Horse Springs that was their rendezvous site. The windows were broken out of the weatherbeaten wooden shack, and the porch sagged to one side like a horse canted on three legs. The rest of the gang was already there—except for Wat Rankin. The absence of the newest member of the Calhoun Gang made Anabeth even more uneasy about Rankin’s intentions.
“Anybody know where Rankin is?” Anabeth asked as she stepped down from her horse at the front of the shack.
“Said he had some personal business to attend to, but he’s gonna join us in plenty of time to do his part,” Snake answered from his seat in a broken-down rocker on the porch.
Snake’s tongue darted out to wet his lips before retreating inside his mouth, much as a snake’s tongue might. It was a habit that had earned him the only name he had. The porch creaked as he kept the rocker moving with the toe of a worn-out boot. It had never ceased to amuse Anabeth that Snake’s name fit his personality so well. Snake was a shifty, skulking snake-in-the-grass.
Anabeth exchanged a speaking look with Booth, who had also dismounted and was standing nearby. Rankin is trouble, she said with her eyes. When she would have spoken her thoughts, he shook his head to keep her silent. Anabeth’s chin jutted mulishly, but she held her tongue.
Kid Calhoun Page 2