Mustang Annie

by Rachelle Morgan

  Corrigan reined in his mount so hard its hooves sent a spray of dirt. The blaze of fury in his eyes had Annie reining in, with Henry and Dogie following. What had set off his temper this time?

  “Dogie, I thought I told you to keep a watch out for prairie dog holes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing back here?”

  Dogie swapped a look with Annie. Despite her resolve not to soften, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The last time she’d been in Texas there had been no law against chewing the fat, but Corrigan obviously thought there was.

  “Just keepin’ Miss Annie company,” Dogie answered.

  “Keep her company on your own time. If one of these horses busts a leg, I’m taking it out of your hide.”

  Dogie dropped his gaze and, shoulders drooping, tapped his spurs to his horses’s belly.

  “Henry, start scouting for watering holes. I want to show Annie something.”

  “Sure, Ace.” He tipped his hat at Annie. “Bye, Annie.”

  The instant Mr. Henry rode out of earshot, Annie turned on Corrigan. “Were you born a bully or is it an acquired talent?”

  He deflected the question with one of his own. “Were you born a temptress, or is it an acquired talent?”

  Annie glared at him.

  “My men have a job to do, and they don’t need you distracting them.”

  “I didn’t want them along, as you’ll recall.”

  “You didn’t have a choice.”

  God, he was a bastard. “If I’m so much of a distraction, why in the hell did you ask me to go after your horses?”

  “Because you’re the best.”

  Annie didn’t grace that with a reply.

  “Take a ride with me.”

  She laughed humorlessly at his gall. “No thanks.”

  “You’ll ride with a boy and cripple, but you won’t ride with a man.”

  “I won’t ride with you.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Selective.”

  A grin spread across his face, creating deep creases in his tanned cheeks and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, transforming him from arrogant commander to irresistible rogue. “Oh, but Annie, I could take you on a ride you’d never forget.”

  Somehow she didn’t doubt that. The gleam in his gray-green eyes promised no less.

  “Come on,” he cajoled. “It’s not far, I promise.”

  She felt herself weaken. What was this power he had over her? He was hard-hearted and pigheaded and quite the most conceited man she’d ever had the displeasure of associating with.

  He could also be quite disarming when he put his mind to it. No doubt women all over the territory had fallen victim to that grin he flashed with such ease.

  “What did you want to show me?” she asked irritably.

  “Follow me.” He clucked to the stallion.

  Annie reluctantly flicked Chance’s reins. She couldn’t quell the feeling that she was making a big mistake, letting Corrigan lead her away from the rest of the outfit. She bent low and patted her boot, comforted by the bulge of her pocket revolver.

  They rode for what seemed miles before Corrigan brought his horse to a stop and stared out across the land.

  “Take a good look.” He dismounted slowly, almost reverently.

  She followed the direction of his gaze. Summer had hit the plains with a vengeance, sending waves of shimmering heat hovering above the surrounding buffalo grass, giving it the appearance of flickering green fire. And in the midst of it, two dozen hump-backed beasts lumbered across the terrain.

  They were ugly, mangy creatures, yet there was something regal and awe inspiring about them.

  “You’re seeing the last of a disappearing breed.”

  It was hard to fathom that one day buffalo would no longer roam the plains, but she knew he spoke the truth. Prices for bones and hides were skyrocketing across the country and people were cashing in on the profits by the hoards; she’d even heard of men shooting at the beasts from train windows.

  “Watch that bull. He’s found himself a lady.”

  Annie focused on the biggest bison, a thick shouldered male with short gray horns curving out from his shaggy black head. His glossy, deep-set eyes were trained on a cow standing apart from the rest of the herd.

  “Look at the way he preens in front of her,” Corrigan said as the bull circled the cow, head high. “He’s showing her his strength and prowess.”

  The cow retreated several paces.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s much interested.” Annie commented.

  “She will be. He’s just got to be patient.”

  “He’ll be waiting till hell freezes over. She won’t give in to him.”

  “Care to make a wager?”

  Annie narrowed her eyes. “What kind of wager?”

  His gaze dropped to her thigh, and she thought he was going to demand stakes that she’d not grant any man again for any price.

  “If she submits, I’ll buy you a new saddle.”

  A new saddle? Lord, she needed one badly! She’d had this one for over ten years now. The latigos were stretched, the buckles worn. She’d planned on buying a new one with the wages from catching Corrigan’s horses, but if he wanted to purchase it and save her the money. . . .

  “And if she doesn’t submit?”

  “You buy me a new saddle.”

  The image of a fancy new Mother Hubbard with Sam Stagg rigging was just too tempting to resist. “All right—it’s a deal.”

  They continued watching the mating ritual, Corrigan cock-sure the cow would submit to the bull, Annie just as certain she’d let him know where he could put his seed. Sure enough, each time the male got too close, the female backed off, forcing him to repeat his courtship all over again.

  Just when visions of breaking in a new leather seat began to play through Annie’s mind, the bull closed in on the cow, and damned if she didn’t lift her tail and let him mount.

  With no more a desire to watch two animals rutting than listen to Corrigan gloat, Annie wheeled Chance around.

  Corrigan caught the bridle in one gloved hand. “Looks like I won the wager, Annie.”

  She glared into his glittering eyes. “Enjoy the victory, Corrigan. It’ll be the last one.”

  With twenty miles of arid earth and travel embedded in their skin, Brett signaled the party to dismount. Relieved sighs floated on the breeze, followed by collective moans as they slid from their saddles.

  Brett probably would have moaned along with them if he could have found the energy. Rubbing his aching tail bone, he rounded Fortune to see how Annie was faring and found her leaning against her mustang’s girth.

  “Annie, go on and get yourself something to eat. I’ll tend your horse.”

  She lifted herself off the animal and sighed. “No, I’ll do it. You’ve got your own horse to tend.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was still angry with him for winning the wager, or just plain tired.

  Once the horses had been relieved of their saddles, he and Annie took stiff-bristled curry brushes out of their packs and set about grooming the dirty hides. Each stroke brought to Brett’s mind the night before, when he’d watched Annie’s own grooming. “How did you ever get involved with horses, Annie?” he asked in an effort to distract himself.

  “Chance.”

  A logical answer—one that had landed him in many an unexpected venture. “They used to scare the living hell out of me.”

  She shot a startled glance at him over the mustang’s back. “Horses?”

  He regretted the confession instantly. Next, she’d ridicule him. Or at least think him a coward.

  Instead, she said, “I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything.”

  “Not now, but when I was a kid. . . .” He ran the brush down Fortune’s breast. “I was small for my age, and they were so big. So powerful. One on one they weren’t so bad, but get in a herd of them. . . .”

  The old hatr
ed rose up without warning. You ungrateful whelp! Those animals put the bread and butter on this table. Be a man. Just go in there and feed them.

  His father had known how terrified it made him to bring the horses their grain. Rolling the wheelbarrow into the paddock . . . the way the horses would crush around him the minute they caught scent of oats . . . kicking, biting, chasing each other away, caring not if a small boy got between them and took the blows instead.

  “I suppose if anyone gets kicked enough times they’ll develop a certain . . . apprehension. But this . . . this was more. It was the kind of fear that chokes off your air supply. I tried to pretend that they didn’t make me feel completely defenseless, completely at their mercy, but. . . .”

  “How did you get over it?” she asked quietly.

  Brett shrugged as if it meant nothing. “I grew up. I learned to take control. Show them I was in charge.”

  “Is that what you were taught?” she asked, a note of anger in her tone.

  “It worked,” Brett stated in simple defense of himself—and yes, maybe of the way he was with those around him. If she understood, maybe her opinion of him wouldn’t scale the bottom of the barrel. Not that he really cared one way or another. . . .

  “Whoever taught you that should be shot. You don’t tame mavericks by overpowering them; that’ll break their spirit. You woo them. Win their trust. Once you’ve got that, they’ll follow you anywhere.”

  Woo them. Win their trust.

  Was that what it would take to tame Annie?

  Scowling, Brett hefted his saddle into his arms and carried it to the campsite. He didn’t want her trust, he wanted her body. And he wanted her giving it to him wildly, willingly, not with loathing in her eyes.

  Brett’s gaze followed her as she shook out her soogan. The men had fallen into their nightly ritual: Emilio brought out his guitar, Wade Henry his Bible, and Flap Jack a deck of cards, though all engaged in their tasks with only half-hearted vigor tonight. Annie’s fragrance rose apart from the odors of stale sweat, horse, and earth. A little spicy, a lot alluring, utterly female.

  Brett tried to concentrate on the beginnings of a straight he’d been dealt, but when Annie began readying for bed, the last thing he wanted to look at was a bunch of painted numbers. Not when there were more . . . fetching views to enjoy. It amazed him how, even after two full days of travel beneath the relentless sun, she could still look as fresh and lovely as if she’d just stepped out of a bath.

  He regretted the comparison when his imagination immediately conjured a picture of Annie wearing nothing but the skin she’d been born with, every luscious inch of her glistening with moisture. . . .

  “I’ll take first watch tonight,” he announced abruptly.

  The men looked up at him in surprise as he folded his cards and grabbed his rifle. Every last one of them knew he always took the three-to-six shift. Tonight he might just take full duty. Weariness didn’t matter; he’d not get any sleep lying next to Annie anyway.

  A short distance away from the remuda, Brett sank to the ground with a sigh, rested his rifle across his lap, and stared up at the stars. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this torture—listening to the sounds she made, seeing her without touching her, smelling her without tasting her. . . .

  Hell, if Annie gave him half a chance, he could show her pleasures beyond her wildest dreams. If there was anything Brett knew, it was women. Young, old, slender, plump, pale, dusky—they were all beautiful and all perfect and Brett hadn’t met a one in fifteen years that he couldn’t seduce or charm into his bed—often without even trying.

  He’d gotten a late start down that road of delight. Most boys he knew got their first taste of pleasure at fourteen or fifteen. Brett hadn’t been tall enough or strong enough or handsome enough. . . . His brow furrowed. In a sense, he’d been a lot like Dogie was now.

  But all that changed in his twentieth summer, when two things had happened: his scrawny body had finally filled out, and he’d met the woman who’d made him a man.

  Molly had been something, all right, he remembered with a fond smile. He’d won her contract in a game of faro, saving her from working one day longer in a slimy dock-side brothel. She’d returned the favor by teaching him ways of making love that would make even the boys back home blush. From that point forward, he’d perfected the art of seduction, and discovered that there was no more powerful a feeling than bringing pleasure to a woman, of watching her succumb to his touch, of making her feel cherished and adored.

  The idea of introducing Annie to the skills he’d learned made his groin tighten and his imagination take a crazy spin.

  Yep, there was only one way to end his suffering. He was just going to have to bed her.

  Chapter 7

  The deliciously sharp aroma of coffee and the sensation of being watched roused Annie the next morning. She slowly opened her eyes, only to find Corrigan crouched next to her bedroll, studying her through lowered lashes.

  “Mornin’, Annie.”

  His voice, husky with sensual undertone, came to her straight from midnight dreams. She sat up abruptly and ran a hand over her hair, strangely self-conscious of the tangles.

  “Thought you could use this.” He held out a tin cup, aromatic steam curling from the top.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sleep well?”

  Obviously one of them had, she thought sourly. She rolled to the side and grabbed her boots, shaking them upside down before pulling them onto her feet. Then she marched toward a thicket of sagebrush. It didn’t offer much in the way of privacy, but since his lewd scrutiny of the day before, she’d taken to dressing behind whatever shield she could find.

  When Annie emerged moments later and approached the remuda, she found Chance saddled and ready. She waylaid Dogie with a hand to his sleeve. “Did you saddle my horse?”

  His glance flicked from her to Chance then back to her again. “No, Ace did it.”

  Corrigan? Corrigan had saddled her horse? What was going on? First the coffee this morning, now the tending of her mare. . . .

  What had gotten into him?

  The question plagued Annie as they made their way south. Every time she turned around, Corrigan seemed to be right there. Sometimes he’d wink. Sometimes he’d study her with that intense curiosity that set her nerves on edge. Always he’d be wearing that secretive smile. She felt it chipping away at her senses and her defenses.

  Even now the memory of his shameless grin had the power to awaken sensations long dead—a lightness in her head, a fluttering in her belly, a thickening of her blood. . . .

  What did he want from her?

  They reached McClellan’s Creek around midday and stopped to rest the horses. Annie dismounted, feeling stiff and sticky and covered with grit from head to toe. The sight of the creek was too inviting to resist, so after tending to Chance, she grabbed a piece of flannel and a chunk of soap from her saddlebags and headed upstream.

  Blooming black-eyed susans, yellow-petaled broomweed and shady cottonwoods lined banks littered with rocks and natural debris. Annie pushed her way between two slender trunks—

  And came to a sudden stop.

  Her eyes slammed shut, and she spun away from the sight of Corrigan wading in the creek, stripped down to a pair of short-handled underwear.

  Then curiosity got the better of her.

  Hidden behind the cottonwoods and brush, Annie allowed herself to look at him—really look at him—without fear of getting caught. The water level reached just to the band of white cotton below his navel. A line of damp hair extended up the center of his lean, rippled abdomen and ended between chiseled pectorals. Slick with moisture and caressed by sunshine, each muscle, each tendon stood out in stark relief, making Annie painfully aware how long it had been since she’d felt a man’s flesh beneath her fingers.

  When he reached midstream, he sank into the waist high water and lay backward. As he back-paddled across the surface, water rippled beneath him and above him,
clinging to the tanned cords of his arms.

  Any man with a body like that should be outlawed.

  “Hey, Annie.”

  Annie whirled around, her hand to her chest. “Damn it, Dogie! Don’t ever sneak up on some-body like that.”

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  When Dogie tried to peer around her, she side stepped and blocked his path. He slanted to the right, and she blocked his path again. His brows narrowed over the bridge of his nose.

  “It’s nothing—just a snake.”

  “Really?”

  Annie should have known better than to dangle such enticing bait in front of a young boy. She caught him by the collar just as he tried dodging passed her. “You’re too late. It already slithered into the water.”

  “Dad-gum it, I always miss the good stuff.”

  “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

  “Lookin’ for Ace. You ain’t seen him, have ya?”

  More than she’d ever planned, she thought. Sudden color rose in her cheeks. “Uh, no,” she stammered. “Maybe h-he went scouting.”

  “Naw, his horse is still here.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up.” Clutching her clothes in one arm, she used her free hand to steer Dogie away from the creek. “Come on. We better get back to camp before the master has to come searching for us.” Her bath would have to wait; for certain she’d not get into that water now.

  Even so, it took every ounce of willpower Annie had not to take one last peek through the trees.

  The days passed in a blur, one blending into the other. In an effort to forget the scene at McClellan’s creek, Annie poured all her concentration into watching the land for signs of the horses. Corrigan hadn’t given any indication of knowing that she’d spied on him so shamelessly. Still, she maintained her distance from him. Unfortunately no matter how far she kept herself from him, she couldn’t seem to escape his piercing eyes or knowing grin.

  Damn it, what did he want from her?

  A sudden thought had Annie’s heart stammering. How did she know the horses they were chasing even existed? What if it was all a ruse? All she had was the word of a cardsharp and his cronies, and Annie knew good and well that Corrigan’s men would follow him to hell if he ordered it. What if he already knew of the bounty on her head, and was using the horses as a ploy to lead her to the law?