Chapter One
The rattlesnake shook a warning, first slow, then rapid rattles as the snake’s anger grew.
Trudy Selucas’ legs shook. Sweat ran down her face into her eyes. Matted hair clung to her cheeks. She was going to die, she just knew it. And all because she needed to relieve herself.
She ran through the steps of taking care of a snake bite. Wash the affected area with soap and water. Keep the bite area lower than your heart, and don’t move the affected area to keep venom from spreading through the body to vital organs.
All of this would be an easy task except for the fact she was squatting, a warm breeze blowing across her bare rear, a rattlesnake taking shade beneath said bare rear, ready to strike if she so much as moved a muscle.
Every time her over-taxed muscles twitched, the snake went berserk. How long would her legs hold out? Every time she so much as blinked, the snake went crazy. Why couldn’t women stand a pee like men?
The day had started out with such promise when she’d left her friend and old college roommate Presley Love Saucier’s house in Kerrville, Texas, to drive into the country and spend the day photographing wildflowers and animals. In retrospect, having that third cup of coffee at the restaurant this morning probably hadn’t been a wise idea.
The snake was quiet. Had it moved away? She turned her head to check. The rattling escalated. Damn it. Thank heavens she’d relieved herself before the damn snake slithered her way. Holding a squat and having to pee would have been even more tortuous.
Heat rose and swirled around her, tipping blossoms and blowing a strand of hair beneath her nose. All she needed now was to sneeze. She closed her eyes and bit back a moan. She’d been assured the weather in May was mild. Then where the hell had this heat come from? Of course, coming from Northern Wisconsin, anything above forty degrees in May was a heatwave.
When Presley had suggested a visit, she’d jumped at the chance to take a break from the stress and burnout of her job as a home hospice nurse.
The array of wildflowers awed her when she drove to the place she was guaranteed offered enough photo opportunities for the most avid photographer. Since she was an amateur at best, the prairie was more than she’d dreamed. Hopefully she’d garner enough pictures worthy of the several photo contests she hoped to enter.
For hours, she snapped photos of Bluebonnets, milkweed, wild roses, and other flowers she didn’t recognize. When the call of nature hit, finding a place for privacy had been impossible. Except for the distant hills, there was nothing but purple, red, and yellow flowers. If she’d been in the north woods of Wisconsin, she’d have found a fallen log to hang her backside over. Plus, there’d be no rattlesnakes bent on a sneak attack.
Unless someone was out in this vast land watching her with binoculars, there was no way anyone could see her dropping her drawers and heeding nature’s call.
A tear rolled down her cheek, mixing with her sweat. Now she was hours away from her vehicle, bare tush to the wind, snake ready to take a bite out of her and, to top it off, lost.
How much longer would her thirty-two-year-old legs hold up? How long before the snake struck and she died a slow, lonely death on the prairie? She could see the headlines: Woman’s body found amid prairie flowers. Cause of death: snake bite on bare posterior. Evidence shows she paused to relieve her bladder when a rattlesnake surprised her from behind. (Pun intended)
Her legs were starting to sag, making her backside drop closer to the damn snake. Her phone was in the pocked of her shorts which were wrapped around the tops of her hiking boots, the phone digging into her calf. The snake would strike before she had a chance to reach it. Truth be told, if she was going to be bitten in the butt, she’d prefer it be by a tall, dark, handsome hunk, not a slithering reptile.
The screech of a hawk sounded over the top of the wind sighing in the prairie grass. It swooped to the ground, then flew back up with a rodent in its claws. Meadowlarks trilled as they gathered insects. And the snake continued its slow rattle.
Her only encounter with snakes in Wisconsin had been with harmless, green garter snakes. Harmless, small garter snakes, not long, fat, venomous ones like the one coiled beneath her. She swore she heard its black, forked tongue slithering in and out of its mouth.
The sun rose higher in the sky. With her water and sandwich in her backpack, there was no way she could relieve her thirst or hunger. Her stomach rumbled. The snake rattled. She yawned. Rattle. A cramp began in her left thigh. Rattle. Her hair whipped beneath her nose again. A sneeze threatened. She was going to die for sure.
“Ma’am. Don’t move.” A deep voice came from behind her. She flinched. The snake rattled. It was the last thing she heard before her world turned black.
****
Lincoln Phister eyed the woman through a pair of binoculars.
“Damn trespassers,” he muttered. “What the hell is she doing?”
The woman he’d been watching hadn’t moved in the fifteen minutes since he’d seen a flash in the sunlight and spotted her. At first, he thought she was going to the bathroom, so he hadn’t gone to her right away. But how the hell long did it take someone to relieve themselves? And how the hell was she able to stay squatting for so long? She must have strong legs. He was so glad he was a man.
Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe his hatred of having to ride the fence lines was making him crazy. She hadn’t so much as blinked. The only sign of life was her hair blowing across her face.
He twisted in Sorrowful’s saddle and placed the binoculars in the saddle bag. Time to rescue another person who thought it was fine to ignore “No Trespassing” signs and wander where they wished.
“C’mon, Sorrowful.” He prodded his heels into the Palomino’s sides and put her into a canter. “Let’s see what her problem is.” Buster, his shaggy sheepdog, followed.
The woman had to have heard the hooves pounding on the ground, but even as he rode nearer, she didn’t budge. Something was wrong. He slowed the horse to a walk and maneuvered his way closer.
The white of her skin seem to glow in the noon sunlight. It was what was coiled beneath the woman that kept him from enjoying the view of her rounded ass. He slid his rifle from the its case and took aim.
“Ma’am, don’t move.” He barely heard her response as he pulled the trigger and she landed headfirst into a bed of bluebonnets. Lincoln jumped from Sorrowful’s back. Had he somehow hit her? Had the bullet ricocheted and struck her?
“Ma’am?” He nudged her shoulder. With bits and pieces of the snake peppering her skin, it was hard to tell if the blood was hers or the snake’s. Maybe she’d only fainted. Hell, he’d probably faint, too, if he’d had a rattler sleeping beneath his bare ass. At least the snake had the good sense to pick a fine piece like the one lying before him.
“Shit, Link. Now’s not the time to ogle her.” He rolled her to her back, keeping his eyes from her exposed lower half. Should he pull up her shorts? Would she be more embarrassed to been seen with her pants down or if she knew he’d pulled them up?
As he reached for her shorts, she threw an arm over her forehead. “What happened?”
She opened her eyes and Lincoln’s heart lurched. Eyes the color of the pure, blue prairie sky stared back at him. He took in the rest of her features forming an intriguing face. High cheekbones. Small pointed chin. A spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Pale, silky-looking skin that would probably scratch if he were to touch it with his calloused fingers. Her lips were narrower than he liked, but he bet his bottom dollar they would feel good against his. She crunched her forehead.
“Who are you?” She scooted away, then stopped and looked down at her exposed torso. “What the hell did you do to me?”
“I didn’t do anything except kill that rattler snoozing beneath your . . . um . . .” He pointed to her ass, before turning his back and stepping away. “You may want to cover yourself.”
A pile of equipment lay a few steps away. He knew what he’d find. Like all the others who came out here, she was probably taking pictures. He toed the backpack. Sure enough. Sitting beside the bag was a camera and tri-pod. A shiver of irritation slid through him.
Must be nice to be able to wander around and take pictures all day. He’d love to be able to do that, but since he’d inherited the ranch and younger siblings when his parents died ten years ago, there’d been no time. Maybe she was on vacation. Vacations, kids, and ranching didn’t go hand-in-hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a few hours off.
“Ugh. I’m covered in . . .” She paused a moment. “...snake guts?”
“’Fraid so.” Her face was red. Embarrassment or sunburn? Both?
“Can you hand me a towel from my backpack?”
With a deep sigh, he unzipped the bag. Three small canisters of film rolled to the ground. Huh. A purist. Someone who still took photos the old-fashioned way. His hand touched something hard. Huh. He pulled out another digital camera. He recognized the brand name and whistled between his teeth. Must be nice to be able to afford two cameras. He glanced at the one on the ground. Two expensive cameras. He dug further into the backpack. And lenses to go with them. If he had the time and money . . .
“It’s in the other pocket.”
With reluctance, he replaced the camera, opened the larger pouch, and found a small piece of white fabric.
“You call this a towel?” he said, keeping his back to her, tossing the cloth over his shoulder, hoping he’d sent it in the right direction.
****
Trudy caught the towel he’d pitched over his shoulder one handed. Could she simply crawl under a flower and die? Wait, that’s what almost happened. It was coming back to her now. The damn rattler. But how had this man found her? She didn’t seem hurt anywhere, so he hadn’t done anything to her except kill that damn rattler.
“I use it to shade my lens against sunlight.”
Now she was covered in blood and guts. But at least she was alive. She hadn’t been sure how much longer her legs would have held up if he hadn’t come along. They’d been getting shakier and the damn rattler more upset.
She cleaned herself off the best she could. There would be no more pictures taken today. As soon as she got back to Presley’s, she’d take a shower and throw away every stitch of clothing she wore.
“I’m decent now.” While wiping off the blood, she couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders beneath a long-sleeved, chambray shirt tucked into well-worn jeans. Dark brown hair hung to his shoulders beneath a well-used, sweat-stained, gray cowboy hat. But when he faced her and tipped his hat back, she got a good look at his features.
Her breath caught. If Tom Selleck had a twin brother, it would be this man. Dark eyebrows, a bushy mustache, light brown eyes, a dent in his chin, and she’d bet her bottom dollar he’d have dimples if he smiled.
Scarred, brown leather chaps encased slim hips and muscular thighs. She was not, no she wasn’t, going to look at his crotch, but, damn, in her mind, chaps were meant to highlight a man’s goods. Instead she drew her eyes from the hunk in front of her and took in the snake carnage littering the ground.
“I guess I should thank you for saving my life. I’m not sure how much longer my legs would have held out.” She closed her eyes to the mess. “Every time I so much as flexed a muscle the damn rattler started shaking its tail.”
The man didn’t say anything, just kept his arms folded over his chest and stared.
Trudy took a step toward him and reached out her hand. “I’m Trudy Selucas.” When he didn’t offer his hand, she wiped her palms on her shorts. “Well, anyway, thanks.”
“You’re trespassing, you know.”
Shit. She’d been warned to stay off private property, but in her interest in the landscape, she must have missed any posted signs. Maybe there weren’t any. “I didn’t see any signs.”
He yanked his hat back down, shading his features. “Well, they’re there. Not to mention the barbwire fence you had to have climbed over, or under, to get on my property.”
“I saw a fence, but it was cut, so I thought it was all right to go through.”
****
Shit, another cut fence? What the hell was going on? That was the fourth one in the past week. “Where was this?”
Trudy turned around, giving him another view of her shapely ass. Covering it with shorts didn’t detract from the memory of it bare. He would have to be a blind man not to notice her small waist, medium-sized breasts, and long legs. He usually preferred his women to be petite and bosomy, but her tall, slim form was doing something to him. She had to be only a few inches shorter than his six feet one.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying any attention to which direction I was going.” She glanced up at the sun. “I was heading toward the sun, so it must be back there somewhere.” She waved her hand to the west.
“Figures.”
Must be a city slicker. Nothing worse than a city slicker photographer who couldn’t tell one direction from another. And now he was being the biased bastard his brother always called him. Just because he couldn’t follow his own dream, didn’t mean he should bash someone who probably was.
But, hell, he was tired of running folks off his land and doing a job he didn’t particularly enjoy, no make that, hated. Lately things were getting worse with fences being cut and someone driving over his land. He didn’t know who or why, but he had a sneaking suspicion rustlers had targeted the ranch.
With a frown, Trudy stepped past him, swung her backpack on her shoulders, draped the camera strap around her neck, and picked up the tri-pod. “I’d best be heading back to my car, then. I’m sorry I stepped my toes on your property.”
Lincoln didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. Sorry, hell. “Do you have any idea where your car is?” He doubted it. He didn’t know why, but he felt he needed to help her. Besides, maybe if they retraced her steps, he’d find the broken fence. At least they didn’t have any cattle on this part of the ranch.
He picked up Sorrowful’s reins. “Where did you park your vehicle?”
“Out on a gravel road.”
“How long have you been out here?” There were a few gravel roads in the area. Maybe if he had a timeline, he could figure out which one she’d parked on.
“Since about nine this morning.” She checked the time on her watch. “So about four hours. But I wasn’t walking the entire time. I stopped a lot to take pictures. And then the damn snake took up a bunch of time.”
“Figures,” he muttered to himself.
Trudy stomped next to him. “Hey. I said I was sorry. No need to get nasty with me.”
“Yeah, I know.” He grabbed the pommel, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung onto the saddle. “It’s just been a bad week. If you’ll give me your gear, I’ll give you a ride to your car. Maybe we can find the path you took and locate the broken fence, too.”
“Um.” She eyed Sorrowful from head to rump. “Just where am I going to ride?”
“In front of me. Put your camera in your backpack.”
“How do I know you won’t steal it? How will I know you won’t do anything to me?”
“Lady, if I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have done it while you were out cold. I don’t attack helpless women.” Why did he want to push her buttons? It normally wasn’t his way. “I let them attack me.” Not that had been the case since taking over raising his siblings, but she didn’t need to know that. “Besides, I didn’t even touch you.”
A blush crept up her neck to her face. “I wouldn’t know if you did or not, but you don’t have to be so crass about it.”
“Lady, when I see a bare ass, I call it a bare ass. What am I supposed to call it, an exposed gluteus maximus?”
Her lips twitched, then flattened. Had she been about to laugh?
“I suppose you’re right. You’ve been nothing but a gentleman.” She set her bag on the ground, slid the camera inside, then zipped it up.
“Give me your tri-pod.” After a moment’s hesitation, she gave it to him. He tied it to his saddlebag.
“What am I supposed to do with my backpack?” She shaded her eyes to look up at him. “That saddle seems a bit small.”
That was a good question. It certainly wouldn’t fit in his saddlebag, and it would bang around too much if he tied it to the side.
“You can hold it in front of you.” He held out his hand to help her up. She didn’t move a muscle. Shit. Was she scared? “Have you ever been on a horse before?” It would be just his luck to rescue a city slicker who was petrified of horses.
Trudy slammed her hands at her waist. “Yes, I’ve been on a horse before, just not with another person. I’m not sure how we’re going to do this.” Her eyes narrowed. “And before I get on a horse with you and ride off, I’d like to know your name.”
Lincoln dismounted. “Lincoln Phister.” He pulled off his leather work glove and stuck out his hand. “My friends call me Link.”
****
The guy truly bugged her. Even though he’d save her life, he was arrogant and sarcastic. But his comment about women attacking him was probably true. A man this handsome and rugged undoubtedly had women chasing him from one end of Texas to the other.
Like he did to her earlier, she didn’t take his hand. “Thank you for saving me, Lincoln.”
Lincoln raised an eyebrow and put his glove back on. “Let’s get the show on the road. I have work to do.” He took the horse’s reins. “You get on first. I’ll hand you the backpack. Hold it on in front of you, and I’ll mount from behind.”
Did he realize what he said? He glanced at her when she choked back a laugh. As much as he irritated her, the idea of him mounting her from behind had merit. With her job and the stress of her family, it had been awhile since she’d been with a man. And he was all man.
Surprisingly, he blushed. “I mean I’ll get on the horse behind you.” He swept her from head to toe. “Not that I wouldn’t mind . . .”
Hopefully he didn’t see her own blush. She took hold of the pommel. “Shut up.” Luckily her legs were long, or Lincoln would have had to give her a hand up. She swung her leg over, eased into the saddle, and slid as far forward as she could. With her legs hanging loose on either side of the saddle, this was going to be an uncomfortable ride. He handed her the backpack and swung up behind her, his crotch settling against her. A most uncomfortable ride.
Lincoln clicked to the horse and guided her in the direction she had walked. “C’mon, Sorrowful. Let’s get this lady to her car.”
“Sorrowful? That’s a pretty sad name for a horse.”
“Well, she was pretty sorrowful-looking when she was born. All skinny legs. Blotches of hair missing. Ears that could have passed for an elephant’s. My youngest sister named her Sorrowful.”
Link’s warm breath blew against her ear as he spoke. As the horse swayed, her backside moved against his crotch. She shivered and adjusted the backpack against her chest, then tried to alter her position.
“You need to stop wiggling.”
“I’m sorry, but this is uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, well, if you keep wiggling your ass against me like that, things could get embarrassing.”
Trudy sat still and tried to concentrate on the trail she’d made wandering through the flowers. But evidently, she hadn’t sat still quick enough. There was definitely something hard pressed against her rear end, and there was no space for her to move.
She needed to get her mind off the way her body was reacting to his hard-on. Thankfully, he couldn’t see her nipples pebble or her face burn.
“You don’t know embarrassing until you’re caught with your pants down in the middle of a field of flowers with an angry, poisonous snake beneath you waiting to attack.”
Link’s laughter vibrated against her chest as he urged Sorrowful around a tuft of prairie grass. “That would be awful if it hadn’t been so scary.”
“You were scared? Why were you scared?” She fingered the zipper tab on the backpack. “I was the one in danger of being bitten you-know-where.”
“I was scared because I’ve never shot a rattlesnake out from beneath you know where.” He huffed a breath. “You’re lucky I didn’t fall off my horse, or worse yet, miss and hit your lovely behind.”
Trudy hadn’t thought about him missing, but chose to ignore the comment about her lovely behind. She pointed to the front of Sorrowful. “It looks as if I walked in a straight line here. You can see the path. If I recall, the broken fence shouldn’t be too far away.”
“So, you’re a photographer?”
He said the word like it was something dirty. Like photographers were the scum of the earth. Like if she said yes, he would dig a hole and bury her in it.
“Just an amateur. I use it as a way to relieve stress.” She wished she could see his face. See if he was snarling again. “Do you have something against people taking pictures?”
“No. I just get tired of them using my property as an outdoor studio.”
She had a feeling there was more to it, but since she’d never see him after today, it wasn’t worth pursuing.
With nothing more to say, Trudy concentrated on keeping the path in sight. After several minutes, Link guided Sorrowful around a line of brush.
“There it is.” Trudy pointed to an open spot in the barbed wire. “You can let me off here. I can walk the rest of the way.”
Link halted Sorrowful at the broken fence and dismounted. Deep ruts from a vehicle crisscrossed the area.
“Can you take this?” Trudy handed him her bag, then dropped to the ground. “Well, thank you for your help.” She removed her water bottle and drank. “I hope you get your fence fixed.” She turned and headed in what she hoped was the right direction. She couldn’t get back to Presley’s house soon enough and take a shower.