8

“Miss Denver!”

Startled, Kate gasped for air and battled her way through the darkness. Had she only imagined the voice? Was she dreaming?

She couldn’t feel her body. Couldn’t feel anything. She was floating. Was this how it felt to die?

The voice again filled her ears, this time louder. Clearer. “Don’t move. You’re safe.”

Safe.

That’s what the social worker had said the day Kate had been forced onto the orphan train against her will. That horrid cattle car hadn’t made her feel safe then, but for some unknown reason, she felt safe now.

“Miss Denver!”

There it was again, the voice. A velvety-smooth male voice that triggered a distant memory. She groaned and tried to open her eyes, but the light was too bright. She sensed a shadow, a presence, and blinked. Her brain was scrambled. She coughed—coughed so hard that it felt as if her whole body would turn inside out.

Firm hands rolled her on her side and patted her on the back. Water sputtered from her lungs until at last the pain in her chest subsided.

Those same hands turned her over again, and she found herself staring into a deep-blue sea. She fluttered her eyes until her vision cleared. What had looked like the ocean depths turned out to be the sultry blue eyes of her rescuer. His rugged, handsome face looked familiar, and a moment later, her brain clicked in to tell her why.

“It’s…it’s you,” she whispered when she could find her voice.

“’Fraid so.” The anxious look left the Texas Ranger’s face, and his mouth quirked in a heart-stopping grin. “We’ve got to stop meeting under such dire circumstances.” Cradling her in his arms, he was dripping wet, his blond hair plastered against his head.

A drop of moisture like a pearl held her gaze, and she visually followed it from his forehead to his cheekbone, all the way to his jutting square jaw. Embarrassed to be caught staring, she cleared her throat. “It’s…true,” she said, her voice still husky.

He lifted his eyebrows. “What’s true?”

“Your life really does flash before your eyes when you’re drowning.”

“In that case, I hope I never have occasion to drown.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t want to take another look at your past?”

The corners of his mouth tilted up again, revealing a glimpse of glistening white teeth. “No, ma’am. Once was enough.”

The sun felt warm against her flesh, but still she trembled. Whether from her near brush with death or the crushing memories of the past, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to think that the ranger’s arms had anything to do with it.

“You’re cold,” he said. His brow creased with concern, he pulled her closer.

She pressed her head against his wet shirt and was very much aware of his virile strength. Embracing the power that emanated from him, she sank fully into his protective arms, and her mind floated back to her childhood.

One night, while at the home for orphans, she’d woken to find a rat in her bed. Anxious to escape, she had run outside. In the dark of night, the enormous tree in the yard seemed sturdy and safe—a protective guardian—and she had imagined it was the loving parent she so desperately needed. Hugging that tree with all her might, she’d sobbed her heart out. She would never forget the look of disgust on the other orphans’ faces the following morning when they found her with her arms wrapped around that old elm. What a baby, they’d taunted. What a crybaby.

After that, she’d refused to let anyone see her cry. She’d vowed never again to show weakness or vulnerability, her uncle’s death being the one exception.

Now she shamelessly let the ranger hold and comfort her, and it felt…surprisingly good. More than that, it felt right somehow. He felt every bit as mighty and sturdy as that old tree. Every bit as protective.

“I thought I was a goner,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” He trailed his hands up and down her spine. “I was scared too. Scared I wouldn’t reach you in time.”

His response surprised her. Not many men would admit to being scared. Wondering what other surprises lay hidden behind his tough exterior, she dug her fingers into his back and pressed against his strong, lean form. Willing his strength to become her strength, she welcomed the warmth that spread like liquid sunshine through her body.

Once she stopped shaking, she could no longer justify staying in the safe harbor of his arms. Still, it was with great reluctance that she pulled away.

“Take it easy,” he said. His hand on her shoulder sent more warm currents rushing through her.

He removed his hand, and she took a quick breath. As the last of the fog cleared from her brain, something suddenly occurred to her. Craning her neck in alarm, she scanned the river.

“The dog…”

Tucker chuckled. “Your yelling and screaming did the trick. You scared it so much, the mutt jumped off the log and swam to shore.”

The news made her catch her breath in relief. “I wasn’t yelling and screaming.”

“Oh no? Well, somebody was.” He lifted a hand to his throat and made a gagging sound. “And that same someone almost drowned me.”

“I’m sorry, I…” What she’d thought had been the grip of death must have been the ranger’s arms around her. She shifted her gaze to the muscular biceps that not even the sleeves of his wet shirt could hide. Feeling her cheeks flush, she bit her lower lip.

His gaze blazed. “No harm done.”

Recovered enough to feel naked beneath his probing eyes, she crossed her arms in front of herself. The thin fabric of her pantaloons clung to her waist and hips, leaving little to the imagination.

As if he’d caught himself staring, he stood. Bending, he picked up the skirt she’d dropped earlier and held it out.

Gazing up at him, she took the skirt from him and pulled it to her chest. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

“I’d say that was the least I could do for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“I hope I didn’t make it too difficult for you,” she said.

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He tossed a nod at the skirt in her hands. “Better get out of those wet clothes.”

He sat on a log, his back toward her, and proceeded to put on his gun belt and boots.

She staggered cautiously to her feet. Other than feeling a bit light-headed—and more than a little foolish—she was okay. At least she was no longer shaking.

Nothing could be done about her shirtwaist, but the light fabric would soon dry in the heat of the sun. She donned her skirt and reached for her bonnet. Her hairpins were missing, and long, soggy strands hung down her back. She bunched her hair on top of her head and pulled on her hat, tying it beneath her chin. Tendrils of wet hair fell about her face, but it was the best she could do.

“Can I look now?” Tucker called after a few minutes.

She jammed her foot into a high-button shoe. “Yes.”

He stood and regarded her with questioning eyes. Somehow, he managed to give his wet trousers, shirt, and vest more dignity than they deserved. “You sure you’re okay?”

Kate finished buttoning up her shoes and nodded. “I don’t know what happened,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m actually a pretty good swimmer.”

“The water’s cold, and the current is strong. It was all I could do to swim against the flow.”

Whether that was true or not, she didn’t know, but she appreciated him trying to make her feel better.

Studying her, he continued. “You’re lucky you didn’t meet up with a water moccasin or an alligator.” A probing query hovered in the depths of his eyes. “Are you always so impervious to danger?”

“Only when it involves saving an animal.”

He looked interested, maybe even impressed. “And how many animals have you saved?”

“I don’t know. Dozens, maybe more. Fortunately, most of them were on land. I’m just grateful that you happened to be in the area.”

“You have the Ghost Riders to thank for that. The sheriff and his deputy chased them out this way before they disappeared. Thought I’d check the place out.”

She tilted her head. “Do you believe in all that ghost stuff?”

“No, and I also don’t believe that people vanish into thin air.” He glanced at her horse and wagon. “I’d be happy to drive you home. I just need to tie my horse to the back.”

“Thank you, but I have deliveries to make.”

Concern pooled in his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Not after what you went through. You probably should take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“I’m fine. Really, I am, thanks to you.”

His crooked smile caused her pulse to race again. “I’m glad I was able to do something besides cause you more grief.”

She smiled back. After today, how could she still hold a grudge against him? Catching herself staring, she stood and headed for her horse and wagon. Though her legs still felt a little shaky and her throat raw, she was anxious to leave. He was making her nervous. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like she was more than she was: more attractive, more interesting, more womanly—more something.

She didn’t need to rest, and she certainly didn’t need to act like a silly schoolgirl who had just caught the eye of her first beau. What she needed was dry clothes.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, she felt the heat of the ranger’s gaze upon her. She drew in her breath and grabbed hold of the reins. “Thank you again for everything,” she called down to him.

“My pleasure.”

She flashed him yet another a smile. “I’m glad I didn’t drown you.”

“Had you done so, I would have had only myself to blame,” he said wryly, and she noted a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “I was warned that leaving town would be good for my health,” he added and pulled a wet slip of paper from his vest pocket.

It was the strip she’d included in his bag of caramels. “You kept that?” She raised a questioning brow. “Don’t tell me you believe in fortune-telling, Mr. Tucker.”

“This actually sounded more like a warning.”

“Perhaps you should heed it,” she said.

“I’ll take my chances.” With a tip of his hat, he stepped back, allowing her to pull away.

* * *

Brett stood in the middle of the dirt road watching Miss Denver’s wagon turn by the grove of oak trees and vanish from sight.

She’d sure given him a scare. He’d been certain she was a goner. Had he not reached her in time…

He shook his head with a shudder. What a woman. She’d put up quite a fight. Fortunately, she was small in stature and no match for a man his size.

He could still recall how she’d felt in his arms after he’d hauled her out of the water, up the riverbank to where she’d left her horse and wagon. The current had carted her a distance away, and he’d had to carry her along the rocky bank in stockinged feet.

He still recalled the relief he’d felt when her eyes flickered open and a smile hovered on her lips. Not until he’d known she was all right did he note the pleasing way her wet clothes hugged the feminine peaks and valleys of her dainty form. But more than anything, he remembered how she’d clung to him, her womanly curves fitting seamlessly next to his own contours. It was as if they had been created from a single mold.

Startled by the direction his thoughts had taken, he scrubbed his face with his hands. He had no business ruminating on the lady’s considerable charms. She and Foster were currently estranged, but if things went according to plan, that would change. The truth was, the lady was already spoken for, and he’d best not forget it.

Besides, he had work to do. Outlaws to catch. His sister’s killer to find. He tugged on his hat and checked the guns at his side. His shirt and vest were relatively dry, thanks to the heat of the midday sun, but his trousers were still wet.

He surveyed the area around him. To the west lay the river. Limestone hills rose from the opposite shore, probing the sky with jagged peaks. The wide-open prairie spread eastward, tall grass rippling in the breeze like gently lapping ocean waves. Blocking the view to the south was a grove of oak trees.

Locals referred to the river’s sharp turn as the Elbow. The water flowed west for about a quarter of a mile before turning in a southerly direction and making its way to the Gulf.

While he had been busy chasing the third would-be bank robber through town, the sheriff and his deputy had pursued the other two men on horseback, losing them at the Elbow.

Vanished into thin air was how Deputy Sweeney described it. Never saw anythin’ like it in me life.

Brett mounted his horse and followed the river to the bend. The road rose and fell, giving him a clear view of the church a short distance away. Reaching his destination, he dismounted and tethered his horse to a bush.

The white brick building looked almost picture-perfect in the sun, its tall steeple rising high about the roof. Once again, he was reminded of the wedding he’d ruined. He sure had made a mess of things. The sooner he got the couple back together, the better. It was the right thing to do. Still…

Surprised to catch himself suddenly wishing things could be different—wishing he’d met Kate Denver under very different circumstances—he shook his head. He had no business thinking such things. Nor did he have the time. He had work to do.

The flapping of wings drew his attention to a blue heron at the water’s edge.

The upper and river roads flanked a grove of trees before converging into one and allowing a full view of the road ahead. Brett couldn’t see Miss Denver for the cloud of dust that churned from beneath her wagon wheels, but he could still envision her smile and the deep blue of her sparkling eyes.

With a quick intake of breath, he pulled his gaze away and concentrated on his immediate surroundings.

He then followed the road a piece by foot, his gaze focused on the mottled ground. The upper road was heavily traveled, so it wasn’t surprising to find it covered with both shod and unshod hoofprints. Wagon wheels had cut narrow grooves into the packed clay road. It was also liberally dotted with animal droppings—some fresh, some not.

He returned to the church, walked around it, and rattled the double doors. No doubt the horse tethered in front belonged to the minister. The door flew open, and Brett nodded a greeting.

“Reverend Johnson.”

The preacher didn’t look especially pleased to see him. “Oh, it’s you.” He turned, leaving the door ajar. Brett assumed that was an invitation to follow.

The reverend walked down the aisle to the front of the church and started fiddling with a cloth at the altar. Brett stared up at the damaged ceiling and groaned inwardly. Somehow, it looked even worse today.

“Mrs. Cuttwell did a good job repairing the damage from the fire, don’t you think?” the reverend asked.

The altar cloth was actually a quilt. A log cabin had been skillfully stitched to the center of each square. It seemed like a strange choice for the church, especially since everything from the stained-glass windows to the painted ceiling depicted traditional Biblical scenes.

Since Brett didn’t think it was his place to say as much, he simply nodded in agreement. Except for a slightly different shade of white on some squares, no one would ever guess the cloth had undergone fire damage. Mrs. Cuttwell, whoever she was, had done a fine job indeed. Too bad she didn’t repair ceilings.

The reverend followed Brett’s gaze upward. “Don’t know anyone who can fix that,” he said with a rueful frown. “Do you?”

“’Fraid not,” Brett said. “But if you find someone, I’d be happy to foot the bill.”

“Hmm. So, what can I do for you?”

“There was an attempted robbery in town. The bank this time.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Perhaps you also heard that the would-be robbers vanished somewhere in this vicinity.”

The reverend nodded. “That’s all everyone talked about on Sunday. The Ghost Riders of Haywire.”

“Did you see anything suspicious on that day?”

“’Fraid I can’t help you there. Thursday is my visitation day. I was visiting the sick and infirm. I wasn’t here. Sorry.”

It was another dead end, but no more than Brett had expected. Either the citizens really didn’t know anything about the robbers, or they were a closed-mouthed group.

“Perhaps you could help with something else.” He reached into his pocket and drew out the dog-eared photograph. “Have you seen this man? He was known as Frank Foster, but he might be using another name.”

The reverend took the photograph, reached into his pocket for his monocle, and popped it into his eye with a practiced hand. After carefully studying the image, he pulled the eyepiece away and gave Brett a quizzical look. “So, this is the reason you stopped the wedding.” He shook his head and handed the photograph back. “I’m sorry, no, I don’t recognize him. What makes you think he’s in these parts?”

“Just a hunch.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but Brett didn’t want to go into details.

The reverend dropped the monocle back into his coat pocket. “Have you talked to Hoot Owl Pete? He knows just about everything that goes on in Haywire.”

“Hoot Owl Pete, eh? Where can I find him?”

“Unless I miss my guess, you’ll find him where he’s always at. Parked in front of Gordon’s general store. Just be ready to get an earful. No one can tell a windy tale like he can.”

“Much obliged.” Brett slipped the photograph into his vest pocket. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

With another rueful glance at the ceiling, he walked out of the church and headed back to where he’d left his horse. This time, he cut through the grove of trees and scoured every square inch of the wooded area. A bear had foraged its way through not long ago. Deer and rabbits had left their tracks, but he could find nothing that indicated the recent presence of man.

He crossed the road and tramped through the tall grass and soon came to a buffalo wallow. The size and depth indicated it had been there for a good long while, probably since before the Alamo. His gaze traveled in a wide arc around him. The prairie wool was tall and thick enough to hide a man, but not a horse. And certainly not three horses.

Spotting a diamondback rattler coiled and hissing in the middle of the road, Brett froze in place. The object of the snake’s attention was a squirrel pup that had ventured out of its nest.

The pup was saved by a short, sharp warning from a larger squirrel, probably its mother, and the two rodents ran away, vanishing among the trees.

Giving the snake a wide berth, Brett circled back to his horse. After mounting, he took one last look around. Vanished into thin air. Never saw anythin’ like it in me life.

With a shake of his head, he tugged on the reins and rode to town.