Nine

“That double-crossing, yellow-bellied four-flusher!” Glory kicked a bucket. The tumbling crash made Caesar skitter.

Patience quickly grabbed Miss Minnie, who’d come to rub against her legs.

“I told Mr. Luke you’d be mad at him leavin’ that way.” The girl flipped her pigtails and sniffed. Injured innocence shielded her about as much as a tattered, moth-eaten cloak.

“How long has he been gone?” She’d ride after him. With the bank painting them into a corner, she had nowhere else to go and nothing to lose. They’d struck a deal. They hadn’t shaken on it or anything, but it’d been a firm proposition in any event.

“How long?” she asked again through gritted teeth, taking a step toward her sister.

Hope intervened with an outstretched hand. “He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Like hell.” She unhitched the mule from the backboard.

“Glory! Watch your mouth.”

“Not my mouth I’m worried about, it’s the knife in my back.” Instant remorse for her temper flitted like an antsy butterfly, refusing to light. But McClain made her mad enough to eat a sackful of rotten apples and she wasn’t about to apologize. Not yet.

“Why? I don’t understand.”

Hope’s wan face mirrored not only confusion but alarm that came from intuition that a storm cloud poised above their heads and nothing whatsoever could avert it. Glory swung the saddle onto Caesar’s back, then drew her aside out of Patience’s range.

“McClain and I had an agreement of sorts. I would help him catch Perkins in exchange for splitting the reward. We were to leave in the morning.”

“Mama gave strict orders to forget that crazy plan!”

She gave Hope a quick shake. “That was before the bank called in our note and Fieldings thought more of scratching his itch than granting more time.”

Should necessity force her into accepting such attentions, she’d choose better. She had her principles. And if she had to degrade herself, she wouldn’t do it with a stuffed mattress. Even a low-down cheat like McClain would be better than that.

“But—”

“Besides, Mama’s not thinking clearly at the moment. This is the only way.”

“Still—”

“Do you want them to turn us out of our home? Where do you think we’d go? Mad Dog Perkins can save us. Can’t you see?”

“Surely, there’s something else…”

“No.” She turned back to the task of saddling the mule. “Only the double-dealing scoundrel snuck off when I turned my back for a few hours.”

“Could you have been mistaken in thinking he intended to let you go along?” Hope chewed on her bottom lip. “Much as I love you, sometimes you assume a person says one thing when he means the opposite.”

The roguish-eyed Romeo leaped from memory’s shadows. Her whispered vow lingered plain as day. I’ll agree to anything you want. I need that money.

And his questions. Anything, huh? Know what that means?

Painfully well. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d not forget Luke McClain’s taunting grin that set off every bell, bugle, and whistle.

Sudden tightness caught in the back of her throat. Maybe he didn’t consider her offer good enough. Maybe he’d spoken words he hadn’t meant. Or maybe he thought her too plain for his taste. He did seem more taken with the fashion queens.

We’ll leave tomorrow at first light. The lie returned to haunt her. He never meant to stick around.

She pulled the straps under the mule’s belly and cinched them tight. “No. I didn’t imagine our deal.”

* * *

The best way to catch a man is to backtrack. Return to the point of origin, where the knowns merge with unknowns.

A westerly wind kicked up a fuss as Luke slid from his horse at the base of Bead Mountain. Dust swirled, stinging his eyes—an avenging angel out to punish those who dared reach for justice. He held little hope of finding any tracks. A week’s worth of wind would’ve blown away what Perkins might’ve left.

Still, dogged persistence brought him. It’d always gotten him what he needed. Wiping the blinding grit from his face, he knelt on the sunbaked landscape. Pain knifed through his right leg as the muscle flexed. It was a reminder of just how much he owed Perkins. Repayment would bring great satisfaction.

But you wouldn’t have met the golden-haired woman who’s turned you inside out. The small voice in his ear whispered gospel truth. Getting shot had certain merit.

He figured Glory would be mighty put out with him when she returned. Didn’t matter that his intentions were purely of the honorable sort.

Well, maybe not that pure.

Please don’t make me beg, she’d said.

At least part of his aims had square shooting in mind.

But, the other half?

Ah. He entertained no doubts that he would have taken great pleasure in picking up the gauntlet.

If he could’ve stayed longer…

Under different circumstances, he’d have kissed her until he softened that iron will, turning that stonewashed glare into the midnight blue of a stormy sea. He wished he could’ve quenched the longing in his belly that called out to a certain sharp-tongued woman.

Such things made it hard for a man to remember his purpose—and that he had more in the end to lose than gain.

A tumbleweed rolled end over end, lodging finally in a thorny agarita bush. It called attention to the trampled broom weed beside it. He pushed aside the broken stems. A clear hoofprint. The brush had protected it. Closer examination of the hardened imprint revealed a broken horseshoe. Couldn’t go far without turning lame.

Perkins’s horse? His best guess. Not Soldier and certainly not the Days’ mule.

He straightened, picking cockleburs from his pant leg. The denims attracted the dadburned things worse than a widow woman to a perfectly contented bachelor. With the last of them off, he squinted into the sun.

North, south, east, or west?

“Which way did you go, Perkins?”

He sniffed the breeze. It seemed to him that a man as rotten as Mad Dog should leave a stench in the air.

The Colorado lay south, Post Oak Springs north. His gut pointed him northeast toward the city of Coleman and the abandoned military fort—Camp Colorado.

Before he yielded to that hunch, he’d first make a wide circle to see if he could locate any more clues to Perkins’s whereabouts.

Soldier whinnied when he reached for the reins. “Come on, boy. We got us a coyote hunt.”

* * *

Glory adjusted herself in the saddle, glad she’d exchanged the cumbersome dress for britches. She gazed in all directions from atop Bead Mountain. Separated by eight miles as the crow flies from the Santa Anna twin peaks, the height afforded an unhindered view for miles. Little wonder both elevations provided the Comanche with an excellent communication system. Smoke signals may have proved invaluable against army troopers and unsuspecting settlers.

Now she hoped the height would aid her as well in outsmarting a tricky cheat. When she caught him, she’d ask about his involvement in those stage robberies. His quick disappearance threw more than a little suspicion on him.

A speck to the northeast aroused her curiosity. She pulled her father’s spyglass from a knapsack.

Before she got it to her face, the sun disappeared into a black void. In an effort to force panic back into its lair, she shut her eyes and pictured pleasant things. A cool, clear creek on a hot day. A blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. The teasing lips of a renegade…

Her lids popped open.

How did McClain get into her daydreams? Wasn’t it enough that he filled her nights with tossing and turning?

She blinked several times, rubbing away the cobwebs.

Then as quickly as the blindness came, it left.

Raising the spyglass once more, she held it steady.

A paint all right. Couldn’t make out the rider from this distance, but she recognized Soldier. None in the county bore a speck of resemblance to that horse.

They were at best a good mile away. She should catch him by nightfall—the perfect time to waylay someone.

A grim smile stole over her face and she patted the Winchester that stuck from the scabbard.

The sidewinder would learn a valuable lesson before the morning.

* * *

Luke ate the last of the cold beans and hardtack that Punkin had insisted he take. He took a swig of water from his canteen and leaned against the smooth leather of the saddle he’d propped against a big rock. He assessed the rope with which he’d carefully encircled the camp. He sure hoped it blocked the path of cold-blooded, slithery creatures.

A family of warblers chirped loudly from a nearby live oak as they settled around their young.

The sounds reminded him of a similar night when he had camped with Jessie. Arresting his brother’s wife had tested every belief in upholding his duty as a Texas Ranger. Escorting her back to El Paso to stand trial for the murder of her former husband had made him question the commitment to his job.

In those moonlit nights, when the silvery rays shimmered off her auburn hair, he fell in love with Jessie Foltry. Perhaps it had been the possibility of the hangman’s noose that created the strong bond between them. He didn’t stop to ask.

Her quiet spirit and determination to face what she had done and right the wrong of it, regardless of the outcome, taught him the meaning of courage. But her unwavering love for his big brother, Duel, should have nipped his desire in the bud.

Except it hadn’t. Not after the jury acquitted her and she returned home with her husband and little Marley Rose. Instead, Luke’s love burned brighter, if that was possible.

The ache of hiding his feelings from the world became as much a part of him as the wart on his right elbow.

Both he’d carry to his grave.

Off in the distance, a single coyote howled. Luke’s heavy sigh blended with the mournful sound. For a second, he pondered the wherefores of the wild animal. Did he call to his ladylove, waiting night after night, and she never came? Or like his case, had Miss Coyote chosen another?

“I know your pain, boy.”

He tucked his secret feelings back into the niche he’d built for them.

Eleven months ago, his conscience had warred with family obligation. Now guilt for the mess he’d created riddled the part of him he’d always considered decent and moral. He was no longer a lawman, but he still strove to be a good, honest man.

Partly because of his hasty actions, the Days stood to lose everything. They needed him. And whether or not they admitted it didn’t relieve him of his duty, he reasoned. He would do whatever he could to help them.

The wind shifted to a more southerly tack and hand-carried the scent of wild honeysuckle to him. It brought to mind the fresh smell of Glory’s hair. Did she miss him? Or did she breathe a sigh of relief to finally be rid of the bother? More likely the latter.

It surprised him to realize Glory Day had the power to make him forget Jessie. Or at least dull the memory.

Suddenly, a covey of quail took flight from a cluster of sumac and wild thistle. Soldier pricked his ears, stomping the ground nervously. The hair bristled on the nape of his neck.

Someone lurked out there. He’d faced danger too many times to ignore the warning. The Colt slid easily into the palm of his hand. Quickly, he rolled, stealing into the thick brush.

The fingernail sliver of moonlight suited his purpose fine. Hidden by dark shadows, he waited for the skulking varmint.

A needle jab in the fleshy part of his arm turned his blood ice cold. The roar of panic filled his ears as he listened for the distinctive rattle of a venomous variety. Nothing came.

He peered behind and saw he’d settled in a mess of juniper and prickly poppy. Thank God!

A slight rustle of coarse fabrics rubbing together slid the bloodsucking plants to the back of his mind. Luke pivoted his attention back to the campsite in time to see a black figure creep into view. It was too dark to see the face. The extra light of a fire would have helped him. But he hadn’t wanted to announce his position with Perkins in the vicinity.

The intruder poked at the vacant bedroll with the tip of a rifle.

Luke crouched, biding his time.

At the right moment, when the culprit turned away, he jumped. They went down in a heap, jarred by the unforgiving ground. Off flew the intruder’s hat and a cloud of sweet-smelling hair blocked his view. No hard muscles—just soft, womanly curves.

“McClain!”

“Glory?” He blew away the tendrils of hair that swarmed up his nose. The fresh fragrance attacked his jangled nerves.

“What are you doing? Get off me.”

“Me? You’re the one who skulked in here like a common thief.”

No, he took that back. There was nothing common about Glory Day. Stretched out firmly atop her, he felt her racing heart. His toes curled from the sizzling current. Her heaving breasts cozied up against the hardness of his chest like a saloon girl looking to make a bit of change. Have mercy!

“Get off me, you lousy double-crosser!” She beat against his chest.

Christmas could’ve come and gone in the length of time it took to pry his fingers loose and lift himself. He battled with the need to hold her close. The bold way her body fit against his made him long for her.

With the deepest regret, he rose, letting her up.

She brushed off her clothes in a huff. Her withering glare might’ve killed a less hardy soul. For him, it would take more than that. Nothing short of death could wipe the grin off his face.

The evil eye she shot him when he didn’t cower under the glare assured him she’d most certainly oblige if given half a chance.

He quickly plucked her Winchester from the dirt where it’d fallen in the scuffle. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Miss me, huh? Couldn’t stand not having me around?”

“You’re a cheat and a low-down liar.”

“Whoa, there. I’m wounded.” He’d reckoned she’d be mad enough to swallow a horned toad backward, but to come chasing surprised the hell out of him. Didn’t she possess any sense to keep out of harm’s way?

“I don’t suppose you remember we had a deal? It simply slipped your mind that you agreed I’d come with you?”

The rise and fall of her shirt set his imagination ablaze. All that velvety skin lay beneath there. Soft swells he ached to touch. Nipples that begged for attention.

Damn! The honeysuckle still swimming up his nose must’ve pickled his brain.

How could a man fight against something he so desperately wanted? He struggled to pull his stare from her beckoning mouth and lost.

“If I recall, you promised you’d do anything I wanted if I brought you along.” He meant his softly spoken reminder as a warning. The lady trod on his territory now.

She crossed her arms, gifting him with more of those looks that could hard-boil an egg in nothing flat.

“Foolish drivel. Doesn’t matter now. You broke your word.”

He edged closer. He wanted to bother her as much as she did him. And fire and damnation, did she ever!

“Are you quite certain?”

“I’m not bound—”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.” Luke’s words came out smooth as velvet. The attraction between them was far more binding than any hastily spoken agreement.

Panic colored her stonewashed gaze.

“I declare our agreement null and void.” She stepped back.

The rifle dropped from Luke’s hand. He barely heard the thump of it hitting the ground over the racket inside his head.

“Too late.”

A soft gasp came when he brushed her arm with light fingertips. It didn’t take tugging or cajoling, she melted into his arms. Her surrender spoke of a need that equaled his.

Anything to oblige a pretty lady.

Tenderly, he caressed her lips with his tongue before he allowed himself to partake of all she gave. He paid no heed to the fact that however much that was, it would never be enough. He’d learned a long time ago to collect each drop of rain. Sooner or later, it’d fill your bucket.