Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance)

by Ivey , Kimberly

  Then, she did the unthinkable. Yep, she looked. And a good, long while, too.

  Well, Hell’s bells. Someone was sure hallucinating when they insisted all men were created equal. Those male centerfolds in PlayThing Magazine had reason to worry for their jobs.

  He cleared his throat, jerking her back into the moment. Her gaze shot up to me meet his, in time to catch the corners of his mouth curl into a lazy, sensual half smile. She could have sworn she even saw a twinkle in his once cold eyes.

  “Are you finished?”

  Halle choked as though the breath had been knocked from her. He thought she’d been ogling him? Well, she hadn’t! She’d simply been looking. Besides, he was the one parading around butt-ass naked as if it were no big deal.

  “Am I f-finished?” she stammered as the sting of humiliation rose within. “Look mister, I don’t know what you are implying but—“

  “With the laundry. Did you finish my clothes?”

  He wasn’t talking about the laundry and she damned well knew it! Her face warmed as a slow tingle crept over her throat and breasts. She felt woozy. It became difficult to breathe. She gulped a huge breath of air. His nearness was having a dizzying effect on her.

  “Are you ill?”

  “Nope,” she squeaked.

  “Then remove the wrappings on your feet or I will.”

  She flung his clothes at him and turned to run but caught her jagged toenail in the hem of her skirt. Her chest rammed the hot rocks. Her teeth clacked together. She tasted dirt and grit. A small piece of jerked meat from last night’s dinner fell out from between two molars. Finally! The damned thing had annoyed her all night. She rolled it across her tongue and then spat it in the red dirt. She struggled to get to her feet but went down again.

  “Damn it all to hell!” She tried in vain disentangle a hangnail from the skirt’s hem. Max yapped at her.

  She flipped onto her back, her eyes avoiding the proud, saluting part of his anatomy. “The dress is too long!” she cried. It was the truth. Even without the two inch lace hem, it had been made for Elena, a taller woman.

  “Are you always so awkward?”

  Awkward? Now there was an odd term, considering a naked man with a gargantuan erection was standing over her in the middle of the desert. No, this situation was awkward.

  “This isn’t the first time the dress has caused you to stumble.” He knelt at her feet. “The hem is too long.” To her horror he slashed away most of the lower half with his knife. Oh my God! The money pouch!

  “Now, your clothes should no longer present a tripping hazard.” He tossed a generous scrap of creamy silk and lace aside. But instead of soft fabric billowing to the ground, it landed a few feet away on the hard packed earth with a light, suspicious thud. Halle swallowed hard, her heart pounding so violently in her chest she was certain he could hear it.

  He glanced at the puddle of fabric, then back at her.

  “What was that sound?” His gaze pinned hers.

  She batted her eyes innocently. “What was what sound?” A nerve twitched in her eye. Her bowel clenched as a fart bubble repositioned itself. Great. Not the time to get a case of nervous gas. She had to distract him, and fast.

  His eyes searched her face. “You heard it. I saw you flinch.”

  She hoped he didn’t detect the lie in her eyes. She needed to make a quick recovery. Think, damn it. “Why did you ruin the dress? It wasn’t even mine. Elena loaned it to me. Now look what you’ve done. It can never be fixed. At least not where it will look normal again. Elena’s going to be pissed. I can’t believe you did this to—”

  “Quiet! You jabber like a crow!”

  Gathering what was left of her skirt, along with her wounded pride, she got to her feet. Max took his place beside her.

  She watched as he visually inspected the scrap of fabric. He paused before casting a glance back at her. She stood stone still. Not blinking. Not breathing.

  Then, he bent to lift it.

  And in that moment, she knew it was over.

  “Interesting,” He tore through the muslin pouch, then dug inside and fingered the rolled bills before pulling out a few, counting. He dumped two coins on the ground. The arrogant jerk smiled at her like a dog who’d found his long-lost ham bone.

  “You must be quite talented to earn so much at Elena’s.” He gave her an impressed look as he sauntered back to her. “There must be over two hundred dollars in here. How is it you came into this much cash? Did Elena give you this?”

  “No one gave me anything. I earned it.” Of course half that statement was a lie. She had blackmailed most from Frank Cole.

  His gaze perused her, his eyes so hot she actually felt naked beneath his intense scrutiny.

  “Did you earn it in Elena’s bed?”

  She would have clawed the lewd grin right off his face if she thought she had a chance. He was the rudest, most insulting jerk she’d ever met. And dangerous or not—no, naked or not—she’d had enough of his shit.

  “You know something? I’ve had all I intend to take from you.” She poked a fingertip to his bare, sweaty, but oh-so delicious-looking chest. “It’s over, mister. You hear me? The insults. The abuse. Over. O.V.E.R.” she spelled out.

  His gaze dropped to her hand and lingered, but she refused to back down. After all, she’d gotten this far. “First, you grab me in the alley and take my shoes away. Then…” She poked him again, hard. “You drag me off to this God forsaken wasteland, force me to bathe in the same water your smelly horse drinks from, steal my hard-earned cash, and then accuse me of being a—well, I’m not sure what you’re accusing me of being—but I’m hot.” She poked him. “I’m exhausted.” She poked him again. “And I reek like the backside of your horse!”

  He shot her a fierce look that warned her not to prod him again and she shoved her hands deep into her pockets. “So, if you’re going to keep giving me shit,” she continued, “kill me now and get it over with. Okay? Go ahead and do it. I dare you. Stake me to an anthill.”

  His eyes glittered as a hint of a smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “That would be cruel to the ants.”

  “Then cut my tongue out and tie me to a cactus.”

  “Do not give me any ideas.”

  “Ohhh!” She raged, doing an angry, near-psychotic jig in place. “Then do whatever it is you have to do to end my misery!”

  He chuckled and that pissed her off more than anything. He found this amusing? “You know, I fail to see anything humorous about this situation.”

  With a sigh, he shook his head. “I am beginning to realize why no posse has come after you, Miss Brannigan. You are insane.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his remark, but snapped it shut when he pulled his knife and squatted at her feet. Cold flat steel slid across warm skin, as the blade sliced through the lace wrappings. She flinched at the contact, silently praying he’d not nick her. Afterward, he stood and bound her wrists in front of her with a piece of rope, then lashed her ankles together.

  Max let out a whine. “Don’t worry, boy. We’re going to be okay. The jerk is just being a bully. He probably does this to all the women who stand up to him.” As a final jab she added, “But what do you expect from a man who sells women.”

  That remark produced a response. He stared at her long and hard, his jaw firmly set, his nostrils flaring slightly. He looked totally pissed. And dangerous.

  A chill skittered up her spine and she swallowed hard. Pehaps she’d pushed too far.

  He pulled on his pants and headed to the creek. The movement of his buttocks worked her dried muddy footprints up and down on the seat of his pants. Despite her predicament, she smiled. Serves him right.

  At the water’s edge, he filled the canteen. That could only mean...

  “Hey, are we leaving?” He didn’t acknowledge her question. “You know, I can’t exactly ride a horse with my wrists and ankles tied.” Still, he did not answer.

  Why had he lef
t her bound and unable to move? Was this some sort of torture tactic? Punishment for defying him? “Oooh, you must feel like a tough guy, picking on a defenseless woman and her little dog,” she taunted. Still, he didn’t answer. She jerked her wrists against the restraints, feeling the rough hemp abraide her skin. Dumb move.

  After he finished refilling his canteen, he donned on a shirt.

  “Apparently you didn’t hear me. I asked if you felt like a big tough man? Huh? Do you, asshole?”

  His eyes narrowed on her but he said not a word. Frustrated, she strained against the ropes again. “I asked how you expect me to ride like this, you dickhead?”

  He flinched. Ah, ha! That last one got his attention. “Yeah that’s right. I called you a dickhead. So what are you gonna do about it?”

  He flashed a warning look, then brushed past, lifting Max to tuck him into a side flap in the saddlebag. Then, he turned picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as if she were no heavier than a sack of flour.

  When he deposited her face down across the stallion’s bare back, her question was answered. No! He couldn’t! Surely he wouldn’t make her ride in this position? Then again maybe, he would. So it was her punishment for defying him.

  “You know, you’re worse than a dickhead. You are a barbaric son of a bitch!” She cried out, thrashing and bucking. As she slid forward, he caught her by the hips and held her firm. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t force me to ride this way. I think there are laws against this in at least fifty states and two U.S. Territories. So if I were you, buddy, I’d watch my step ‘cause I’m not beyond bringing charges against you!”

  “Bring all the charges you like, Miss Brannigan. There is no judge present to hear your case. Be silent.”

  “No! I won’t be silent! You untie me this instant, you savage bastard, or I’ll yell so loud every creature in this canyon has to cover its ears!”

  He delivered a stinging slap to her bottom that took her breath away. When the blood returned to her brain, her breath came in choking gasps. Well, that certainly stifled any thoughts she had of screaming. Oh. My. God. That was one tough lick!

  “Any further comments for the savage bastard?”

  She had plenty more where that came from, but seeing how she was at a definite disadvantage, this wasn’t the time.

  He lifted her down. Tears of humiliation burned her eyes and she looked away, watching out of the corner of his eye as he saddled the horse. She didn’t know what felt more bruised at that moment, her butt or her ego. Squatting at her feet, he sliced the rope that bound her ankles. Then, he turned her around, looped a muscular arm around her midsection and swung up onto the horse’s back, taking her with him.

  A dry, warm breeze ruffled her hair, offering little comfort from the heat. The nearness of his hard, sun-warmed body did nothing to help. She waited, silent, hoping he might show a tiny amount of mercy and untie the rope on her wrists so she might fan herself. She’d just turned her face, prepared to ask in her sweetest voice if he’d do just that when his stubbly cheek brushed hers. He didn’t pull away but leaned into her.

  Halle sucked in a breath, her nerves a jangle of mixed emotions. His body was steel against hers. She couldn’t shake the memory of how he looked in the river—beautiful and virile. Wild. She licked her dry lips as desire flared within, heard his sharp intake of breath. Was he, too, aware of the electricity passing between them?

  His hand lifted hers and with one flick of the knife, he sliced through the bonds on her wrists and sat back.

  Still not moving, she listened to his heavy breathing. Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. His hand came up to softly stroke the side of her neck, trailing downward over her shoulder. Halle shivered at his touch, then relaxed a bit, finding it oddly comforting. Was this is way of apologizing? Or was he getting frisky? It was hard to tell.

  He leaned forward again and pressed his cheek to hers. Her skin goose fleshed at his nearness, her body warming in response to the gesture.

  “I know how you feel about me, Miss Brannigan,” he whispered. “But before you cast judgment, you should know that I spared you a fate worse than death at Elena Costanza’s brothel.”

  A shiver skittered up her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “The other day when I took you from the gentleman’s parlor, I had reason to believe you would have been raped, probably by more than one man.”

  Halle swallowed the hard knot of fear in her throat. He knew something she didn’t. “I don’t understand.”

  “This gown you’re wearing…the one Elena gave you—” He tugged on the sleeve. “It’s the initiation dress.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  He sighed. “When a woman makes her debut at Elena’s—that is, when she is sold for the first time to one man or perhaps several—she wears the very gown you’re wearing.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, disgust roiled through her. No, he was wrong! The dress had come straight from Elena’s closet. The madam had given it to her as a gift, a beautiful gown that she no longer wanted in appreciation for all her hard work—designing dresses, styling hair and writing letters. Elena wouldn’t betray her.

  “Elena wasn’t going to sell me.” Numbness settled into her extremities as the ugly truth dawned on her. “She needed help serving drinks in the private suite.” And I was to take the money to room twelve. She clenched her eyes shut. Oh, God. The special room. Elena probably was going to sell her that night. But why? She had plenty of other women in her employ—prettier, experienced ones. “Why would Elena do that?”

  “Because Elena Costanza would sell her dear old grandmother to the Devil if she thought she could turn a profit. Virgins, especially exotic looking beauties such as you, are a rare commodity and much sought after in parlor houses. Besides…” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Elena wanted to hurt me.”

  Halle shivered at his tender touch. “W-why did she want to hurt you?”

  There was a long pause of silence. “She knew I desired you instead of her.”

  The revelation stunned her. Why would he want her over the beautiful, voluptuous Elena? His breath tickled her ear and she sucked in a breath as he moved in closer.

  “I told Elena if you were to be sold, that I would be the first,” he whispered, adding, “your first.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  At dusk, a storm rolled in from the northwest. Antonio sheltered them in a cave within the canyon wall. Dinishwo pranced about excitedly as thunder crashed, rattled, and boomed across the canyon. He talked softly to the stallion, stroking his neck until he calmed. Afterward, he built a small fire to give them light, as well as to warm them from the falling night time temperatures.

  Thankfully, the Brannigan woman had given him no more trouble. He ordered her to sit near the fire where he could keep a close watch on her. He grimaced at the pink marks on her delicate wrists, disgusted by his brutality earlier in the day. Never had he tied a woman, or mistreated one. He would never do it again.

  He re-read the note he had lifted from Elena’s pocket, the sting of his mistress’ betrayal raw in his gut. There had been no abduction by comancheros when she was fifteen, no rape that left her pregnant. She left Casas Grandes, his family’s ranch, willingly with a drifter named Franklin Cole, and had become his lover and partner in a thriving bordello business in El Paso, Texas.

  Apparently the two had been in correspondence these past few months and Elena knew of the reward for Hope Brannigan. Antonio had no doubt she planned to sell her to as many men as she could that last day. Once Hope had been used up, Elena would most likely have turned her over to her uncle, Franklin Cole, and collect the reward.

  He had been a fool to think Elena the victim all these years, feeling sorry for the abuses she allegedly suffered. He found her illegitimate son a home with his mother’s people—Cole’s issue no doubt. He had bought her the fine, two story stone and stucco home in Albuquerque so she might
have security. But the lying witch scorned him by turning the house into a brothel.

  Running his fingers through his hair, he blew out a breath of disgust. For fifteen years he believed Elena’s lies, had shared her bed off and on, not out of love, but habit. No more. There was nothing left in Albuquerque for him now. Elena Costanza could rot in hell for all he cared.

  He fingered the bills in the Brannigan woman’s coin pouch again, disbelieving his good fortune. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Where had she obtained such a large sum of money in such a short time, unless Elena had paid her for special services? She would not be Elena’s first female lover.

  Although Hope rested near the fire with her dog, he knew she wasn’t sleeping for he felt her eyes bore through him as he went about starting a stew of jerked venison and dried corn. Had she been shocked by lustful confession? Was that the reason for her silence? Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell her of his attraction to her, but after two days of hard riding with no sleep and little food, he was exhausted. Men did foolish things because of lack of sleep. Or because of a pretty woman’s charm. Now, his eyes would barely focus on the task of making a simple meal. He needed rest.

  “You’re going about it all wrong,” she said quietly. “The fire is dying. Poke at the coals with a stick to get it going again.”

  He turned and glared at her. “I don’t need a woman to tell me how to build a fire.”

  She sat up on her knees and pushed the tousled locks of hair from her face. While the gesture had been completely innocent, she looked anything but as she gazed at him with wide, questioning eyes. Her gown had lost two of its’ buttons, revealing a hint of deep, shadowed cleavage.

  “You could pretend I’m not a woman,” she said with a shrug. “Just think of me as one of the guys, okay?”

  An impossibility not to think of her as female after the intimacies they had shared.

  “Poke the ash-colored logs with a stick to start up the flames again. Otherwise, the fire is going to die out and that sickening watery stuff with floating jerky will never cook.”