by Linda Broday
Sam met her worried blue eyes, wishing he could offer hope. “He’d probably be dead now if not for you. I still don’t know how you got that bullet out, buried deep the way it was. The depth of your compassion for Luke amazes me.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Her face hardened. “Some get it, some don’t.”
An owl hooted nearby, seeming to mock him. Probably was.
Memory of another regret that day swept his mind—that he’d never known the real love of a woman. He’d wandered Texas over for seven of his twenty-seven years without finding one—until now. Her kindness had changed his life. She made him trust himself, brought color back into his life. She made his heart sing.
Sierra was the woman he’d searched for.
Cupping her face, he traced the line of her jaw, down the slender column of her neck, and brushed the cut at her throat. Her slightly parted lips drew him.
Placing his hands under each ear, he brought her mouth closer. Their breaths mingled with desire. Their lips almost touched when Luke rasped his name. The outlaw’s timing couldn’t have been worse.
Sam sighed and pulled back. “Our patient is awake.”
“Yes.” If her deep exhale bore any indication, she shared his frustration. “We’d better go.”
Luke was struggling to sit by the time they got to him. “How are you feeling? Did you want something?” Sam asked.
“Whiskey,” Luke rasped.
Sierra knelt and placed her hand on his forehead. “Luke, please eat something first. Sam shot a turkey, and it’ll be ready soon.”
While Sam agreed with her, he knew a man like Luke needed his alcohol. “If I give you one drink, do you promise to eat?”
Luke shot him a black glare. “What is this? Are we back in school, making deals to get what we want? If so, you make a lousy teacher. Never mind, I’ll get it myself.”
When he struggled to stand only to fall back, Sam gave in. “Sit still. You’re only going to bleed more. I’ll get the damn whiskey,” Sam growled. “But you’re going to eat if I have to sit on you and stuff it into your mouth.”
“Fine.” Luke’s answer was sour.
“Not sure how much is left, but I’ll bring what we have.”
“And, as long as you’re awake, I’m going to doctor your wound, mister,” Sierra said, setting her jaw.
“Gang up on a sick man, will you?” Luke breathed hard.
While Sierra got the spiderwebs and poultice made of horsemint leaves, Sam rummaged in the saddlebags. Luke’s bottle was almost empty, but his only had a little gone. He grabbed a cup and poured a good portion, handing it to Luke.
Sam took charge of the turkey while Sierra cooked the eggs and wild onions in a small skillet from the saddlebags. They made a good team, working in tandem to prepare the meal.
By the time the feast was ready, Luke sported a fresh bandage and appeared more alert. Thankfully, he accepted the food without any fuss.
Sam shared a large, flat rock with Sierra. He loved how her shoulder brushed his. They were like magnets. Every time they got close, they couldn’t help but bump against each other. They ate in silence, listening to the croaking frogs, owl hoots, and the gurgle of the water.
Worry deepened on her face. “Sam, about tomorrow…”
He set down his plate and reached for her hand. “Are you worried about Luke? I’m going to make sure he gets there.”
Biting her lip, she rubbed her arms. “On second thought, forget I said anything.”
“Please, tell me what you were going to say.”
“It’s not important.” She stood. “Are you finished with your plate?” At his nod, she took it along with Luke’s down to the creek and knelt to wash them. She was afraid. Of crossing the water? Or something else? Either way, she seemed determined to face that fear alone.
One thing about Sierra—she didn’t shirk from difficulties or unpleasant tasks. But at what cost?
No one can fix me, she’d said.
“I can damn sure try,” Sam murmured.
* * *
Night had long since closed around them as Sam sat with Sierra. Luke, lulled by a special tea she’d made from the yarrow, lay on his bedroll, staring into the darkness. Since his fever had broken, though far from being on the mend, he seemed to feel better. He’d slipped on his shirt that Sierra had washed out in the stream. They all seemed locked in their private thoughts.
Studying Sierra, Sam couldn’t help but wonder what she had stopped herself from saying earlier.
He found it impossible to pull his eyes away from her. The flickering light from the fire played across her pretty features, softening the lines at her mouth and forehead.
Her face interested him. High cheekbones, dark coloring, and beautiful eyes bestowed some natural kind of refinement and spoke of possibly a smattering of Native American. Wasn’t much though, if any. Her full, lush lips added a hint of mystery, filling him with yearning. But it was the tiny scar above her mouth that added character and spoke of a life of hardship. Scrounging for food, no home, constantly on the move.
“Mind if I ask a question, Sierra?”
Her gaze swung to him. “Depends.”
“How did you get the little scar above your lip?”
“A clumsy moment. The tale is quite boring. Not worth a mention.” She glanced away and covered the scar with her hand.
Luke rolled toward her. “I’d like to hear it, dulce. It’ll take my mind off my misery.”
Hearing Luke call her that still brought irritation, even though something told Sam it was as natural to the man as breathing. Sam had heard from several sources that the outlaw’s mother was Mexican. The white half had to come from his father, though Sam had never learned the man’s name.
That Luke always spoke to Sierra in a quiet, respectful manner made Sam wish he had a bit of the outlaw’s easy charm. When he realized he was a little jealous of the man he still intended to arrest, he mentally kicked himself.
“That makes two of us,” Sam prodded. “I can’t imagine you being clumsy for a second. Please, tell us how you got the scar.”
“Very well. I slipped in the snow, and my mouth struck the shovel handle. It bled something fierce and loosened a tooth in the bargain.”
Sam wondered why she’d been digging in the snow.
Before he could ask, she turned to him. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to your family. They’re worried sick, I imagine. At least your mother.”
“My mother died when I was ten.” Memories of standing by the fresh mound of her grave washed over him. “It’s just my father and brother now.”
At the time, he hadn’t fully understood things, but something in him had known that his life was changed forever. And it was. Stoker became more driven to acquire things. Land, cattle, money. Became moody and snapped at everyone. His father became someone Sam didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” Sierra murmured, covering his hand.
“A long time ago.” He brushed the top of her fingers. “But I’m sure Pa and Houston are pretty worried after meeting the train in Fort Worth and I wasn’t on it.”
Luke stared into the rising flames. “Let me guess. Houston’s the steadier, calmer brother.”
“As a matter of fact, he is, though it beats the heck out of me how you would know.” Sam wasted the glare he shot him because Weston had laid back on the bedroll, staring up at the stars.
The man wore an odd look—a little wistful and a lot sad. “Family—who needs ’em? They only mess with your head and bring bitter disappointment.”
From the corner of his eye, Sam watched Sierra swallow hard and knot the fabric of her skirt, wishing he could take her burden. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Weston? Someone to go to in times of trouble?”
“Nope.”
Hoping to relieve Sierra’
s unease, Sam barked a laugh. “Fess up, Luke. Don’t you ever long for someone to yell at?”
“Nope. I’m all by my lonesome, and I like it that way.” A strange light glittered in Luke’s eyes. “I’ll bet you must have just about everything you want, Ranger. A big spread that covers six counties, horses, cattle, money. Why, I’ll bet you even have one of those fancy water closets I’ve seen in the Brightford Hotel down San Antone way. Heard your pa rode a train to New York City to buy special cigars.”
Whether it was the whiskey talking or not, the sarcasm in Luke’s voice got under Sam’s skin. “You appear to know an awful lot about my family. Why’s that?” Maybe Weston was planning on robbing them when he got there. He’d get a rude awakening. Sam was tying the outlaw’s hands the moment he was better. A sharp edge filled Sam’s voice. “I’m waiting, Weston. Why is it you know so much about the Legend family and the Lone Star Ranch?”
A hood dropped over Luke’s eyes, preventing Sam from reading them. “Even outlaws sometimes know how to read, amigo. That daddy of yours takes a notion to spit out his window and it makes every newspaper in the state. Must be real nice having a powerful man like that for a pa.”
Sierra broke the tension. “It’s a pity we don’t get to choose our family. I always wished I could.”
Sadness in her tone bruised something deep inside Sam, tempering the irritation Luke had stirred in him. Secrets lurked behind her eyes, haunting her thoughts. One day he’d figure it out. He was good at puzzles. The lady had pulled his dream from the ashes and single-handedly fixed his head. He hadn’t imagined one thing out of the ordinary since he’d met her.
Maybe the cure was immersing himself in her problems and forgetting his own.
Eleven
Sierra lay awake listening to the soft snores and crackling fire that she could barely hear over the hammering of her heart. Thoughts of what lay in wait for her in a few hours trapped her breath inside her chest.
Everything seemed trapped except for her fear, and that spilled everywhere.
Bile rose, choking her.
She freed herself from the bedroll and rushed behind a big clump of cedar, out of earshot of the men. Luckily she made it before releasing the contents of her stomach as quietly as she could. When nothing else remained, she moved a few yards away and sank to the damp ground, burying her face in her arms.
Her father’s voice sounded inside her head. “There are no excuses. You’re weak. Water is nothing to be terrified of.”
“I know,” she whispered into the gentle breeze. “I know.”
Yet the fear remained, all the same. Tenacious roots burrowed into her heart, cracking the layer of protection around it.
Tomorrow Sam would see her yellow streak. He had a spine of steel. No complaining. Just quietly living and doing what had to be done. A whimper escaped. In a few hours, the Texas Ranger who lived with honor and courage would see the kind of woman for whom he’d risked his life.
She despised her weakness. A silent tear trickled down her cheek.
A twig suddenly snapped.
Quickly wiping away the traces of her shame, she turned to find Sam.
He squatted beside her. “Are you ill?”
Sierra shook her head. “I’m worried about my brother.”
The ease with which the lie popped out startled her. Maybe she should take up lying as a profession. Probably lots of call for it, though at the moment she couldn’t think of any except snake oil salesman. Yet, her confession wasn’t a total fib. She was worried about Rocky, she mentally defended herself. She was worried about a lot of things—her brother, the Ford gang, and how to hide her fear from Sam.
“I’ll find him. I’m pretty good at tracking.”
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I’m a light sleeper. Often my life has depended on sharp hearing. I heard when you rose.” Sam gave her a tight smile. “It’s dangerous to be away from the fire at night. There’s a reason they call this place Panther Creek Gap.”
Being eaten by a panther might be preferable to the fear nibbling away inside.
“I hate that I disturbed you, and probably Luke also.”
Sam stood, took her hand, and pulled her up. “I’m used to frettin’ about folks. One of the rangers used to say I’m like an old mother hen with only one chick and a fox on the loose. We need to get a few winks. It’ll be daylight soon.”
“How far to the river crossing?”
“Is that what this is about?” He put his arm around her waist as they picked their way through the inky blackness.
“No,” she lied again. “I’m only curious.”
“It’s about an hour’s ride.” He leaned close to whisper, “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Swimming the Brazos challenges even the toughest cowboy.”
One hour from our camp. Her knees nearly buckled.
“How do you handle fear, Sam?”
“The trick is to never let anyone see it.”
“I try, but as you can see, I’m lousy at it.”
“Every time you feel cold sweat inching up your back, close your eyes and recite something.”
“Such as what?”
“On the ranch, the cowboys like to play this game. They memorize labels on canned foods. I still remember this one from playing with them when I was younger. Diamond Milk as you like it. Sterilized, unsweetened evaporated milk. Registered U.S. Patent office. So close to fresh it fools old Bessie. Satisfaction guaranteed—the finest quality or your money cheerfully refunded. D. W. Quigley and Company.
“Of course, a fine lady such as you might want to recite something a tad more refined,” he added. “Maybe scripture?”
Sierra smiled in spite of herself, imagining him passing time in such a way. “My mother made us kids memorize the books of the Bible.”
“That’ll do. Say them over and over when fear strangles you.”
“Thank you, Sam.” She loved the feel of his hand on her waist, leading her to safety.
Moments later, she reached the light of the campfire to find Luke sitting up. Her conscience scolded her. The outlaw needed every bit of rest he could get for the grueling miles ahead.
“Are you all right, dulce?”
Finally drawing a line at her growing pile of lies, she neatly sidestepped the question. “I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep, Luke. Lie back down.”
He yawned, stretched out on his blanket, and began snoring almost instantly.
After getting her a cup of water, Sam drew her down on his bedroll and put his arm around her. Sierra melted against him, laying her head on his broad chest.
“Trust me. Tell me why you’re so scared.” He covered her hand that must feel like ice.
She sighed in defeat. “You’ll learn soon enough, I guess.”
“About what?”
His soothing touch on her hair was so gentle. For so long, she’d yearned to have someone care about her. Sierra closed her eyes, soaking it up.
Was this real, or was he merely feeling sorry for the poor, frightened little girl?
How could anyone ever care about her? She’d sent Whitney to her death. Then their poor, sweet mother. Dear God! She couldn’t swallow past the lump wedged in her throat.
Sierra opened her eyes and glanced up at his shadowed face. “I was eight the year my ornery brothers decided to play their prank. Sneaking from behind, they picked me up. Swinging me by my feet, they hurled me into Bear Creek Lake. The water was still part ice, and I couldn’t swim. My heavy clothes dragged me down. I struggled to get to the surface but the water was so cold, it numbed my arms and legs.”
She shuddered, remembering the blackness that closed around, holding her in a watery grave. Feeling the hopeless despair, the terror, knowing she was about to die in those hated mountains that had already stolen so much from her.
Regret, too
, had filled her mind of never having been kissed or held in tender arms. Those thoughts had made her fight harder but her stupid dress had wrapped around her legs, dragging her down just as her father had done each time she’d tried to find her way out from under his stifling heavy hand. Recalling the incident brought a rising sob that she tried desperately to silence.
“When I came to, I was on dry land with my father kneeling over me. He dove in and saved me.” She lifted her trembling hands to her face and found wet cheeks.
William Hunt had set aside his preoccupation with his work and jumped to the rescue only a handful of times. Mostly he’d been too self-absorbed to spare his frightened little girl a thought. The only attention he’d paid her was in making sure he kept her hidden away…from people, and from life. Then when he did notice her, he’d seen her as nothing but an object of scorn. Whatever affection he might have felt for his daughter turned to ice.
“Everything is clear now.” Sam’s soft breath ruffled the hair at her temples as he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Fear can eat at a person until there’s nothing left.”
Except she hadn’t told him the rest. She couldn’t, for it would be hardest to understand.
“It’s silly, I know. I’m a grown woman, and yet I act like a foolish child.”
Sam brushed her face with his fingertips. “There’s nothing foolish about you.” His voice became husky. “And you’re far from being a child.”
“I wish I had your strength. You always seem calm and sure, even when facing danger.”
“You would be wrong, pretty lady.” A layer of velvet wrapped the hardness of Sam’s words. “Back at the cabin, facing Ford and his men, my hands trembled so bad I thought I’d drop my gun. And on the day of my hanging, until they slapped my horse’s flank, I had hope of escape. Once I had nothing but air beneath me and was…” His voice broke.
“I’m so sorry, Sam.” Sierra laid her hand on the side of his face. “I can’t imagine.”
How could she have made him relive that terrible time, and how could she have forgotten the horror he lived with? She needed to have her head examined. Maybe she’d spent too many years roaming the wilderness to ever be civilized. She was like some wild animal that had to be taught not to bite.