by Linda Broday
Kissing her was the only thing on his mind. Not Luke Weston. Not the trials they faced ahead. Not the time he’d have to spend twiddling his thumbs on the Lone Star Ranch. He knew he had to taste her mouth or die wanting.
Placing his large hands below her jawline, Sam lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to hers. Heat pooled low in his gut as he tasted the tangy sweetness that did faintly resemble wild honey. Just as he’d imagined.
He tried to hold back, to make the kiss light and meaningless, but his need for her made it impossible. In seconds, the gentle kiss turned urgent, demanding a response.
And Sierra did answer his invitation. With a smothered cry, she leaned into him, clutching a handful of his shirt, holding him to her. The passion and desire that filled Sam seemed to have swept her along.
That she didn’t pull away sent joy through him.
A low moan rumbled in his throat as he slid his hand into her dark hair. The satiny strands wrapped around his fingers, tethering her to him. Closing his eyes, he savored the feel of her soft curves molding against the hard planes of his body.
In that second he knew heaven wasn’t only golden streets and angels playing harps.
Heaven was Sierra Hunt in his arms.
Seven
Overwhelming hunger for Sierra shook Sam all the way to his toes. The need to scoop her up and never let go spread through him.
That hunger charred the deadness inside him and turned it to ash. As his arms tightened around her, he felt each time her heart beat, each tiny quiver of her body, and each flutter of her pulse that sent blood rushing through her veins. He could almost hear the whooshing sound. It was as if he could see inside her, past the skin and muscle, and had become a part of her.
The kiss aroused burning desire, creating a fire inside like he’d never felt. He’d never been touched, never been kissed by a woman without first paying for the privilege in some form or another—money, favors, or gifts.
Sierra asked for nothing. Not one cent, one pretty bauble, more deeply or one request to do something for her other than protect and keep her safe. Not that she’d asked then. He’d volunteered.
Though he’d yearned for this ever since she fell into his lap on that train, it was unplanned, and maybe the freedom of it intensified the excitement racing through him.
Or maybe nearly dying had made him feel things more deeply. All he knew was that an unexpected bond had formed between him and this woman.
He slid his hand down her back to her waist, just below the black curtain of her hair. A little moan slipped from her mouth and mingled with his breath. The tips of those silky strands brushed his knuckles.
Sam’s senses reeled in the whir of the emotion rushing through him. She smelled of fresh rain and dew-laden honeysuckle. With a growing need to breathe, he ended the kiss. She sighed and rested her head on his chest. His ragged breath ruffled her hair, and surprise that she stayed locked in his embrace wound through him.
He rested his chin on top of her dark head and wrapped his arms tight around her. Sierra was different from any woman he’d ever met. He’d seen the horror in her eyes yesterday when she’d noticed his scar, yet hadn’t drawn back in alarm as others had done.
The bandana he always wore hid the ugliness from the world. Concern for her cuts had made him forget the scar for the first time in a long while.
She made him forget a good many things.
“What do we do now?” Sierra whispered.
“About the kiss? Or about Luke?” His question came out bruised. He hoped he wouldn’t have to apologize, because her tenderness meant more than she’d ever know.
The shake of her head set her long black hair rippling like a dark waterfall. “I don’t regret the kiss.”
Good. He allowed a quick grin before he turned serious. “Luke Weston can crawl through a briar patch for all I care. But when I get you to safety, I’m going after him.”
Once and for all, Sam would put the man where he belonged—either in jail or a grave. Didn’t much matter which.
She moved out of his arms, and a sense of sudden loss enveloped him. Noticing her shiver, Sam removed his coat, draping it around her. “Right now, you’re cold and we’re going to have coffee. You can change back into your own clothes. Then we’ll cut a trail to the Lone Star.”
It took real effort to suggest she shed the trousers that clung to her curves, but he knew it would be far safer.
For both of them.
A bright smile made her blue eyes sparkle like stars. “I knew you’d have a plan, but I really was talking about the kiss.”
He didn’t even want to allow himself to think of what could come after. The touch of his lips on hers had seared itself into his brain.
“Oh,” he said, feeling like a jackass. “As for what we do now—I’d like to kiss you again sometime. If you’re willing.” He sighed. “You made me feel better than I have in a very long time.”
“It was special for me too,” she whispered. “No one has ever kissed me before.”
Shock probably showed on his face. It was hard to fathom. Suitors should’ve been swarming a pretty woman like her like bees to honey. “No one?”
“You’re the first.”
Sam grinned and put an arm around her waist. The privilege of offering Sierra her first kiss was all his. But a quiet part of him whispered a prayer that he be the last. “Let’s gather these horses and get some coffee.”
With her lending assistance, he had the horses saddled and ready to ride in no time. A comfortable silence enveloped them as he led the animals to the shack. While she got back into her dress and petticoats, Sam took the horses to the creek and let them drink.
The sudden memory of Luke going out the door with saddlebags over his shoulder flashed across his mind.
The outlaw loot!
Leaving the horses, he raced inside to the pile of leather Sierra had neatly stacked. Finding his saddlebag, he emptied the contents and froze.
The frayed burlap bundle of money he’d stuck inside was gone.
Hell and be damned!
Another thought followed. Could Weston be the F. B. in the telegraph they’d found tucked in with the money?
The wanted man went by a slew of names, and that fact did nothing to reassure Sam. Clearly F. B. was the brains of the Ford gang, the one they answered to. Luke had smarts—that much he knew.
In the past, Sam had only known Luke to be a loner…with the possible exception of the rustlers who’d tried to hang him. But, to be fair, his involvement with them wasn’t a proven fact. Not yet, though he meant to ask first chance he got. The outlaw would definitely be a leader if he were in a gang. Maybe the loner part was just the impression the outlaw wanted people to believe.
Sam’s temples throbbed. “Just wait until I get my hands on you.”
A second later, Sierra strode from the private area Weston had made. “Were you saying something?”
He turned and was struck anew by her beautiful features and the simple wool dress that couldn’t hide the flare of her hips.
It took several moments to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Finally he managed, “Talking to myself.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The outlaw loot—it’s gone. Weston took it.”
“No, I refuse to believe that of him. I think I saw it when I returned the contents to the saddlebags earlier.”
“I know I put the bundle into mine last night,” Sam insisted.
Sierra knelt and began going through them again. “Two of these look alike. In the dim light, maybe you got them mixed up.”
It was possible, he supposed. Yet, after she’d searched them all, she failed to find the missing money.
“Could you have been mistaken and stuck it inside your boot, thinking it would be safer?”
Willing to try
anything, he pulled off his boots and dumped them upside down.
Nothing except his knife fell out.
They were wasting time. He could sort it all out later. Weston had the money. Besides, they had to get moving down the trail. Sam had to get her to safety. Even though Ford had no horse, he’d be coming soon.
A fellow ranger had once told Sam that Isaac Ford scaled a steep cliff four hundred feet straight up just to get to him. The outlaw had climbed all through the night, slowly inching rock by rock. His hands were a bloody mess, but he’d made it and took the ranger by surprise.
Nope, Ford wouldn’t stop until he got Sierra and that loot.
And Weston might come back.
Sierra stood. Giving a cry, she reached into the shadows next to the overturned barrel and lifted something. “Here it is,” she said, handing it to him. “I just knew Andrew…Luke didn’t take it. He had kind eyes.”
The odd statement brought a wry smile. Sam had known many an outlaw whose kind eyes had hidden a killer’s black heart, including Weston’s.
Wondering how the bills had gotten next to the barrel, he counted them. Though he expected the tally to be short, the entire six hundred and fifty dollars was there. They must’ve fallen out of the saddlebag when they moved them to spread the bedrolls last night.
Seems he’d been wrong about Weston. At least this time. Not about anything else concerning the outlaw, though. A mistake three years ago that had cost a fellow ranger his life had turned Sam hard and bitter. The sudden memory rose up—holding Pete Walker in his arms, listening to the gurgle, wiping the trickle of blood oozing from his mouth.
Pete’s last words echoed in his head. Promise you’ll take care of Amy. And promise you’ll always try to see the good in people. Some aren’t bad. You have a good heart, Sam. Use it.
Look for the good in men? Not anymore. His jaw clenched. He’d messed up then, and now he’d let Weston outsmart him. Sam poured Sierra some coffee. “Drink up. We have a long way to go before night.”
* * *
Sierra hurriedly ate a bit of jerky and an apple. Downing the last of her coffee, she helped Sam take out the saddlebags and finished tying bedrolls onto the horses.
He seemed lost in thought.
The man who’d kissed her so deeply a little while ago was gone, and she didn’t know the one who’d taken his place. He was a stranger who had no tenderness inside.
After helping her onto the little mare she’d ridden yesterday, he stuck his foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over his buckskin’s broad back. “Ready?”
Before she could answer, a horse and rider galloped into view from around the grove of trees.
Her breath stilled when she recognized the horseman.
Sam pulled his Colt, leveling it at the rider. “You’re a dead man, Weston.”
A chill swept up Sierra’s spine. His hard, brittle words hung in the crisp morning air.
Yet the crazy man kept coming as though Sam had invited him to tea.
“Should’ve kept riding,” Sam barked.
A yard away, Luke reined up and squinted. “Thought about it.” Though he tried to sound relaxed, Sierra noticed the tense set of Luke’s shoulders.
“Couldn’t do it. You need me,” Luke went on. “The only way you’re going to keep Miss Sierra safe is if I help you.”
“Here I thought I was the crazy one. You’ve lost your mind to think I’d need your kind of help.” The horse shuffled its feet, tossing his head. Sam spoke low, and the animal calmed.
“Fair enough, but two is always better odds than one.”
When Sierra thought the tension couldn’t get any thicker, Luke shifted in the saddle, putting his gun closer to his right hand. A thickness filled her throat, trapping the air in her chest. She had to think of some way to stop this. But what could she say to men who’d stopped listening?
Sam’s face hardened into a mask. He added deadly steel to his sharp words. “You’re under arrest. Hand over your weapon, or I’ll shoot you where you sit. Take your pick.”
Afraid to blink, she glanced from one to the other. Two men, and only one would win.
With narrowed eyes and a squared jaw, Sam waited. Sierra knew it wouldn’t take much for him to pull the trigger. Long seconds ticked by.
Luke Weston suddenly smiled and leaned forward, propping his arm on the pommel. “You’ve been drinking mescal, my friend. Think you’re tougher because of your damn name? But then, maybe that’s why you’re a Legend.”
Why couldn’t Luke realize the folly of needling Sam? Dangerous currents swirled about her. She seemed to be standing in the middle of a deadly whirlwind, ready to catch her up in the twister.
Before Sam could reply, gunshots burst from the thick brush next to the shack. One bullet struck Weston in the shoulder.
Horror-stricken, Sierra watched blood turn his black coat even darker. But he was thinking of her even now. “Go!” Luke shouted at her.
She turned her mare’s head to ride for cover, only to find herself staring into the twin guns of Isaac Ford and three of his men. She froze.
They were trapped in the crosshairs.
Sam aimed at the outlaws huddled next to the dwelling, Luke Weston taking Ford and the rest. The blistering volley of hot lead they released sent the gang diving for cover.
Keeping a sharp eye on Sam and Luke, Sierra tensed. The instant both men dug their heels into the sides of their mounts, so did she. They rode single file with her in the middle, Sam leading the escape and Luke bringing up the rear. Sierra glanced back—as Luke went past Ford, one of the gang leaped and yanked him from his horse.
Her piercing scream alerted Sam. He whirled around and went back. Undecided about what she should do, Sierra stopped a few yards away but had the presence of mind to make a grabbing lunge for the reins of Luke’s black gelding as it paused and reared at its owner’s sharp cry. Somehow, she caught the reins when the animal came down.
“Let Weston go,” Sam barked, pointing his Colt at Luke’s captor.
The wild-eyed outlaw jerked Luke up against him, shoving the barrel of a pistol to his head. “Come any closer and he dies.”
“Shoot, Ranger,” Luke yelled. “Just shoot.”
The tense standoff sent fear rippling through Sierra. She wanted to turn away, ride away, only she couldn’t stop watching. Praying for a miracle.
Sam’s hand was steady, his voice sure. “Put down the gun, you piece of dung. You’re not going to get the outcome you want here. Not today.”
The skittish buckskin he rode sidestepped. He murmured soothing words and told the gelding to be still. To Sierra’s surprise, the animal again settled.
“I told you to fire, Legend,” Luke yelled.
Sierra’s stomach clenched. Another person was going to die.
Because of her. If they’d stayed on the train instead of helping her, none of this would be taking place.
Running from her problems had only created more. Why hadn’t she just stayed in the mountains along with the memories of her cowardice? They’d followed her anyway. At least alone she wouldn’t have gotten others killed.
Anger flared in Luke’s eyes. “Damn it, just do it! My life isn’t worth a damn anyhow.”
Please don’t, she prayed. Don’t kill him.
Orange flame burst from the barrel of Sam’s Colt. She jerked, even though she’d known in her heart he was going to fire.
One more life snuffed out.
Why couldn’t Sam have found another way?
Death followed in her shadow. Why had she thought it would be any different in Texas? How could she bear to watch the light go out in Luke’s kind green eyes?
She whimpered, clasping a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream strangling in her throat as the two men toppled and fell.
Eight
The minute the lead
left the barrel, Sam spurred Trooper forward, leaving smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder drifting in the air.
He could hear Sierra’s strangled cries behind him, but he had no time to comfort her. He had to beat the other outlaws to Weston.
Two horse-lengths away, Weston jerked free from the lifeless outlaw, grabbed his .45, and got to his feet. Sam’s aim had been as true as ever. He hadn’t lost his touch.
Trooper bolted forward. Reaching down, Sam grabbed Weston’s hand. With a fierce yank, he pulled the gunslinger onto the back of his horse.
With a slap of the reins, he urged Trooper into a hard gallop, and they raced for safety.
Sam was satisfied to have Sierra in front on her mare where he could see her. Weston’s black gelding trailed the mare as she rode for her life across the uneven terrain, where one misstep could snap a horse’s leg.
Though he’d had no choice, he hated leaving the extra horses behind for the Ford gang. Sam couldn’t afford to slow for a second or they’d catch them.
His ragged, gasping breath burned his throat and made stars dance in his eyes.
They galloped full-out for a while, dodging juniper, cedar, and mesquite. In an effort to put as much distance between them and their pursuers, Sam hadn’t stopped to let Luke off and get onto his black gelding. Sierra proved an excellent horsewoman and had no trouble keeping up. He didn’t know how she’d learned to ride so well.
A watering hole lay ahead, hidden by a limestone wall where they could rest the animals. Any farther at this pace would injure the horses. One consolation—Ford would also be forced to stop. Sam figured, prayed, they were a good distance behind. They would’ve first had to chase their mounts and then settle them down before they could ride.
Luke must’ve read his mind, because he pointed to the limestone outcropping up ahead that was partially concealed by a tangle of heavy brush.
Riding alongside Sierra, Sam told her the plan. When they halted in the shadow of the rocks, Luke slid off Trooper’s back and offered Sierra a hand down from her mare. Blood stained his coat, and agony had carved merciless lines around his mouth.