Mustang Annie

by Rachelle Morgan

  She’d guessed that. Most wranglers started out young, learning the trade, building their skills. He seemed a little younger than most—no more than thirteen—but ranchers often employed their own relatives, and there was enough of a resemblance between him and Corrigan to hint at a kinship.

  “Wade Henry says you’re gonna help us catch Ace’s fillies,” he said while she flipped her saddlebags across Chance’s rump. “I’d give my right arm to be going with ya, but Wade Henry says I ain’t seasoned enough yet. How’s a man supposed to put any cracks in his chaps if nobody ever lets him sit in a saddle?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that one. She’d been sitting in a saddle since the beginning of time. A hazy memory of riding in front of a tall, blond cowboy lingered in the back of her mind to this day, the only memory that she had of her late father.

  “Here comes the rest of the crew now.”

  Annie looked across the yard at a trio of men emerging from the bunkhouse. The first had black hair and brown skin, the second was lean and wiry, and the third was as burly as a buffalo and twice as tall.

  “The Mexican is Emilio. He’s the best roper I ever saw. Can lasso a dragonfly at full gallop. Hope you know some Mexican, though, cause he can’t speak a lick of English.”

  The only Spanish she knew couldn’t be spoken in public.

  “And that there’s Tex in the middle. He can break a horse like nobody’s business. I once saw him take a mustang down in seven seconds. Flap Jack there is the big feller on the end. He can track a hoot owl in a snow storm. Wait here—I’ll bring ’em ov—uh, I just remembered there’s somethin’ I gotta do.”

  Dogie hadn’t skulked more than a few paces away before the cutting call of his name stopped him in his tracks.

  Annie turned and spotted Corrigan emerging from the stables. It had taken every ounce of will power she owned to ignore him earlier. After the way he’d manipulated himself into her life, she hadn’t trusted herself to look at him, much less carry on a polite conversation with him.

  He wasn’t an easy man to ignore, though. With a voice like thunder and eyes like lightning, Corrigan could make stout-hearted women wilt and fierce-tempered men cringe. Even now, as he strode toward them in a loose-limbed walk, he carried an aura of authority that commanded notice as much as respect.

  And Annie definitely noticed. Damn. She tossed the forgotten saddlebags over Chance’s rump. No man should look so devastating this early in the morning, and wearing simple work clothes to boot! Yet the gray shirt and leather vest he wore stressed the broadness of his chest, and tawny chaps fit over his faded blue jeans with glove-tight perfection. Polished silver spurs banded a pair of dark brown box-toes that had seen plenty of days in a pasture.

  And with that rolled-brimmed, crown-creased “Boss of the Plains” Stetson completing the outfit, the gambler could almost pass for a seasoned horseman.

  A pang of guilt assailed her for the uncharitable thought when he held out a steaming mug of coffee.

  “Are you the one making all the noise around here?” he asked Dogie.

  The boy’s face went ashen white. “Just havin’ a chat with Miss Annie,” he said.

  “Your chatting can be heard clear across the Mexican border.”

  Annie looked first at Dogie, then at Corrigan.

  Both were speaking in perfectly normal tones.

  Realizing that Dogie wasn’t hard of hearing after all, Annie tightly remarked, “It seems I’ve been made the day’s entertainment.”

  Corrigan’s eyes twinkled. “If it makes you feel any better, he once pulled the same prank on me.”

  It didn’t make her feel better. After the restless night she’d spent, then the confrontation with Corrigan, she was in no humor to be played with.

  Just then, the men joined them. Though they seemed harmless enough, she couldn’t stop herself from retreating a few steps—directly behind Corrigan’s solid back. Annie silently cursed her cowardice, and sidestepped out of his shadow. She thought she’d gotten that weakness under control years ago.

  When he introduced each crew member, Annie returned their nods of greeting with one of her own.

  Corrigan then addressed the youngest of their gathering. “Dogie, are the extra horses rounded up?”

  “Yessir,” the boy replied, running his sleeve under his nose. “All five of ’em.”

  “Then what are you doing standing here?”

  He looked stumped for an answer. “Sir?”

  “You’ve got five minutes to get a horse saddled and your gear loaded, or we’re leaving you behind.”

  The boy’s eyes glittered with surprise and disbelief. “I’m going? I really get to ride with you?” He punched the air, then like a colt with its first taste of freedom, leaped into a full gallop toward the bunkhouse. “Yee-haw!”

  Annie’s mouth fell open, unable to believe her ears. “You’re letting him ride with us?”

  “I’m one man short.”

  Annie crossed her arms over her front and retorted, “So you replace him with a boy?”

  Corrigan’s expression went rigid. The men around him looked thunderstruck. An instant later, they mumbled a few excuses, then left her standing alone with six feet, two inches of simmering anger.

  Quietly, he told her, “You laid your cards on the table; now I’m laying mine: if you have any objections to the decisions I make, take it up with me in private. Never do so in front of my men.”

  He spun on his heel strode toward the corral, where Henry and the other men were studying a map spread out atop an upended barrel.

  Overbearing ass, she thought, glaring at his back. The last thing she needed on this trip was a barely weaned kid. What if the marshals caught up to her? Bad enough she had Corrigan’s men riding along—now she had the added responsibility of seeing that a kid didn’t get hurt. Unfortunately, pushing the argument with Corrigan would do nothing but raise suspicion.

  Still, if Corrigan thought she’d put up with his attitude the entire trip, he had another thought coming. She’d take it only so long before she told him what he could do with his horses.

  With jerky movements, she finished loading her gear onto Chance’s back. Just as she fastened the last buckle, the men’s conversation drifted toward her.

  “We’ll head northeast toward the Canadian and follow the river south. The men lost him here, just south of McClellan Crick. My guess is he’s takin’ them into the canyon. There’s plenty of places to hide there.”

  Annie’s hand went limp as she listened through a growing fog. The Palo Duro? Corrigan had never mentioned the Palo Duro. Not once. Not even a hint. Of course, it was logical that the stallion might head into the canyon. The steep ridges and deep ravines offered plenty of safe havens for grazing and roaming and breeding. . . .

  But logic didn’t stop the stuttering of her heart or the sweat from breaking out on her palms. If she’d known. . . .

  “Somethin’ wrong, Annie?”

  Her gaze snapped to Mr. Henry. “That’s Comanche land.”

  “Not anymore,” Corrigan stated. “The Rangers rousted them out last year.”

  The news came as a surprise to Annie. She’d expected it might happen one day, but it still seemed impossible that the Indians could no longer call this area home.

  “We’ll still keep our eyes peeled for renegades, though,” Henry said. “No use gettin’ caught off guard. If we’re lucky, the stallion will have found himself a paradise along the river and we won’t have to go that far.”

  Corrigan nodded in deference to Wade Henry’s judgment. “Emilio, Flap Jack, and Dogie, you’ll ride south with me and Henry to the north end of the canyon. Tex, you take your crew along McKenzie Trail, then cut west at the South Fork. Whoever finds the herd first will get a message to the saloon in Sage Flat. Otherwise, we’ll meet up there.”

  Nodding in agreement, the men claimed their horses.

  Corrigan folded the map and slipped it into his vest pocket. “Annie, you ready to ride?�
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  She could handle it, she told herself. Just a quick trip into the canyon. Knowing the Palo Duro as well as she did, she’d have the task done in no time, then be on her way to Mexico. Managing a strained smile, she replied, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Brett tried his damnedest to keep his eyes on the land as they rode through the knee-high grasses, yet time and again, his attention strayed toward Annie. Riding well ahead of him, she sat the buckskin with the straight-spined confidence of a woman well seasoned to the saddle, her figure moving to the motion of the animal, her long flaxen braid swinging down her back like a bellpull.

  She hadn’t said a word since leaving the ranch. That in itself didn’t strike Brett as odd; he could sum up their conversation since meeting in one paragraph. But the set of her posture told him how she resented the company of his men and the protection he’d imposed upon her.

  Or maybe it was just his company she resented.

  The thought grated as much now as it had the first time he’d met her. Gaining the attention of a woman hadn’t ever been a problem, and the thought that Annie would give a pile of dung more notice than him frosted his chaps.

  Well, she could fuss and fume all she wanted, but damned if Brett would let her venture off on her lonesome, no matter how reputable her skills.

  He had an investment to protect.

  Even the reminder of Annie’s criminal history didn’t stop Brett’s gaze returning to her yet again, despite his best effort. What was it about her that he found so compelling? Sure, she was pleasing to look at—her honey-toned features strong-boned and natural, wide sapphire eyes set under arched blonde brows, a straight-bridged nose and stubborn chin.

  The rest of her wasn’t so hard on the eyes, either, he admitted, his attention dropping to her legs.

  The image of those shapely limbs wrapped around him sent the temperature of his blood rising, and made him painfully aware that hard leather and even harder flesh did not make a comfortable match. He shifted, trying to ease the discomfort, but it didn’t help.

  If she had any clue where his thoughts were heading, there was no doubt in his mind that she’d bust his jaw.

  Brett grinned. God, what a woman.

  Urging Fortune into a lope, Brett closed the distance between himself and Annie until their horses were neck and neck. They traveled in silence for a while, and Brett realized this was the first time he’d ever ridden with a women beside him. “So, what do you think of my little dynasty?”

  She shot him a startled look. “We’re still on your land?”

  “Yep. Quite a spread, isn’t it?”

  “I had no idea Durham owned so much property.”

  “I had no idea you knew Levi Durham.”

  “Our paths crossed on occasion,” she replied absently. “This place doesn’t look anything like I remember it. I almost didn’t recognize it.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Take it any way you want. Durham wasn’t one much for orderliness and it showed in the way he kept his spread. Still, I never thought I’d see the day he’d sell.”

  “He didn’t. My hand beat his.”

  “Ah, now that makes sense.”

  Brett almost laughed at the sudden clarity in her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t strike me as the horse rancher type.”

  Was it that obvious? “What type do I strike you as?”

  She gave him a good once over. “The type who will take advantage of any situation where you’ll come out the winner.”

  “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” he said dryly.

  “I call a spade a spade.” She shrugged. “So what was the hand? Royal flush, joker’s wild?”

  Brett grinned at her astuteness, both of his character and his means of acquiring the Durham spread. “Aces—three of a kind. Hence, the Triple Ace.”

  “Where was the fourth one, up your sleeve?”

  Brett chuckled. “Darlin’, the only thing up my sleeve that night was the hand of a comely Frenchwoman—”

  “Spare me the details.”

  “Can I help it if women find me irresistible?”

  “It’s a wonder you can sit upright, with the weight of your conceit.”

  He let out a full-bellied laugh. “To tell the truth, Durham got off easy. This place nowhere near covered his bet. He was in debt up to his eyeballs. Took almost everything I had just to get this place in decent shape.”

  “So you won not only his land, but his hired hands as well.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Some came with the deal, some came later. It seemed foolish to replace the men here when they already knew their business.”

  “You made a good decision. Wade Henry could ramrod a horse ranch blind. I’d ride shotgun with him any day.”

  At the time Brett had just thought it a convenient decision, but Annie’s backhanded compliment warmed his insides. He couldn’t remember the last time his actions had met with approval, and he savored it like a kid with a piece of horehound candy. “If you’d known he worked for me, would it have made any difference?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not.”

  The answer didn’t surprise him. Annie struck him as the kind of woman who wouldn’t let personal ties influence her decision. “Then what did change your mind?”

  Long seconds passed before she answered. “Unfinished business.”

  The remark hung in the air long after she rode ahead. Usually by the end of a conversation with a woman, Brett knew everything from her favorite color to the size of her corset. Yet Annie left him more puzzled than the day he’d met her. She had a way of answering a question without revealing a thing, and he wondered if it came naturally or if it took a concentrated effort.

  They reached the southern border just after dusk. After they unsaddled and brushed down the horses, the men went about setting up camp. Dogie scoured the ground for whatever fuel he could scrounge up, Henry brought out the makings for coffee and supper, Flap Jack fetched water, and Emilio examined the tack.

  None of them required Annie’s help, so she found herself a spot beneath a mesquite tree, cleared the ground of pods and thorns, then sat on her rolled-out bedding and unraveled her hair.

  Brett knew he should be doing something more productive than standing by the horses, gaping at her, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of what. Hypnotized, he could do nothing more than watch as the flaxen ropes came apart beneath her nimble fingers. He’d imagined what she’d look like with her hair unbound, but imagination came nowhere near the actual sight of glossy strands falling over her shoulder and over one breast in waist long waves.

  When she brought out a brush from her pack, Brett thought for sure he’d died and gone to heaven. Each stroke was a no-nonsense swipe that nonetheless grabbed him by the vitals. How could so ordinary and artless a task send all the blood in his body shooting straight to his groin? His hands begged to touch her hair, to draw the strands through his fingers and carry them to his nose so he could inhale the Eden of her scent. The outside glossy and tangle-free, she flipped the mass over her head and started the process all over again.

  Brett closed his eyes and groaned.

  A forceful nudge to his arm knocked him off balance. Brett regained his footing, and found Fortune staring at him, vexed at being ignored.

  Brett cursed and strode away from camp. It was going to be a helluva long trip.

  Chapter 5

  The gentle strum of Emilio’s guitar flowed around Annie like a warm prairie wind as she packed away her brush, then rested against the peeling trunk of the mesquite tree, her arm slung over one upraised knee. The odors of scorched coffee, burned beans and sweaty skin hovered in the cool evening air, as much companions to her as the packed ground beneath her bottom, the glitter of stars overhead, and the taste of grit on her tongue.

  A few feet away, Dogie and Flap Jack lay on their sides on their wool soogans, the cow chip campfire shedding light on the cards
each held. Emilio sat closest to her against his saddle, and Wade Henry lay opposite them, in his hand a worn edition of the Good Book.

  Some things never changed. He’d had a Bible in his hand for as long as Annie could remember. Granddad once told her that Wade Henry had found religion after a job gone bad. A bullet shattered his thigh, and he’d nearly bled out before they got him to a doc. According to Clovis James, Henry had made a bargain with the Almighty: let him live, and he’d never rustle another horse. The Lord lived up to his end of the deal, and so, apparently, had Wade Henry.

  As for Corrigan, Annie had no idea where he’d disappeared off to. Nor, she told herself as she closed her eyes, did she care. The farther she stayed away from him the better. She didn’t know how much he knew about her or her past, but the man asked too many questions. Worse, he was too shrewd. If he didn’t have suspicions already, he would before long. Annie hoped she could track down and catch his horses before U.S. Marshals picked up her trail, and he learned the truth of why she’d left Nevada.

  At the rate they were traveling, that didn’t look too promising.

  He’d surprised her today, though, she’d give him that. She wouldn’t have thought he’d last an hour in the saddle, much less ten. Hell, he wore silk vests and drank bourbon. Even his horses were high class. Why would a man whose tastes ran toward the more refined go through all this trouble for a rangy mustang?

  No, she didn’t want to know. Corrigan’s reasons were none of her concern. As long as he stuck to his end of their bargain, there’d be no problem. This job would be over soon. When the money she earned ran out, she’d move on to the next job and load up her pockets again.

  Yeah, the next job, she thought with unaccustomed bleakness. The next bronc. The next dollar. The next sunrise. One of these days she might get lucky enough to see an end to it all.

  The sharp crack of Dogie’s name sliced through Emilio’s rendition of “Laredo.” Annie opened her eyes and sought out the source. On the fringe of the campfire’s glow, Corrigan stood beside the first horse in the string, his hand on the animal’s forelock.