Caine's Reckoning

“Hell of a fight you put up, ma’am.”

Desi ducked her head. Her “Thank you” was a wisp of sound as she all but disappeared into the coat. If she was hoping to dispel interest, Caine could have told her she was angling down the wrong path. The contradiction of all that fire banked behind a wall of demure shyness was the perfect recipe to raise a man’s interest. Tracker’s more so than most. For all that he was one scary son of a bitch, he was the softest man Caine had ever seen when it came to women.

Tracker jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The ladies demand to talk to—” he lifted his nose and pitched his deep baritone to a high falsetto “—whomever is in command.” The irritation in the imitation reflected Tracker’s sentiments on the matter. Whereas Desi had earned the big man’s respect, the other women had apparently stirred up nothing but disgust.

“Appears to me they’re not in a position to demand anything.”

“Give them a chance, they’ll argue that into the ground.”

Caine didn’t intend to give them any chance at all. Giving Desi’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, he stepped back, settled his Stetson on his head and bit back the anger that rose too swiftly these days. “Then I guess this is their lucky day. I’m available.”

Desi breathed a sigh of relief as Caine took his hands off her shoulders. He was simply too much, from the way he watched her with those intense green eyes that seemed to uncover everything she wanted hidden, to the way his chin squared beneath his generous mouth. Everything about him was raw and untamed and uncompromisingly masculine. The lines that bracketed that mouth could indicate either a tendency to frown or smile. Truth be told, she couldn’t imagine so intense a man smiling, but at the same time he didn’t have that negative feel to him that she associated with bitterness. The hat he kept pulled low over his coffee-brown hair only heightened the impression of power. Angled low over his brow, it shaded his eyes and emphasized the command set into the rugged structure of his face. He wasn’t strictly handsome, but she bet there wasn’t a woman in the territory who didn’t stop and speculate when he passed. He had a presence that just screamed danger, while at the same time that innate strength beckoned with the seductive lure of safety. Both messages were delivered with equal strength, leaving it to the imagination which trait would be the one a woman would find in her bed should she be reckless enough to extend an invitation.

Not that she would ever extend an invitation. Desi shivered. The last year had cured her of all girlish illusions to the true nature of men, and as soon as she located her sister, she was going to find at least one place in this world where she could live her life in peace.

Desi watched as Caine crossed the clearing to talk to her fellow captives, his long legs eating up the distance with amazing ease, his muscled buttocks, perfectly outlined by the straps of his chaps, flexing with every step. Nothing in the easy roll of his gait or the set of his wide shoulders indicated impatience, but he was impatient. She’d felt it in his touch a second before he’d stepped away. Part of her hoped he’d unleash that frustration on Mavis, who seemed to feel it was her God-given right to be judge, jury and executioner over all that came into her domain.

Desi grabbed another fold of the coat into her fingers, the lingering warmth from Caine’s body welcome, the surge of his scent not as unpleasant as it should be, and watched as Mavis drew herself to her full height. Tall for a woman, with big bones and an hourglass figure that men admired, Mavis had presence and she was used to getting her way, in one manner or another.

Her two friends, Abigail and Sadie, stood in her shadow, as always, adding their will to hers, blindly following her lead. As one they stood, watching the big Ranger’s approach. From the expression on Mavis’s face, he was about to get an earful. The woman wanted Desi gone—had been campaigning for it for a year—and clearly saw this as a chance to obtain their goal.

Desi would have gladly granted Mavis’s wish, but there’d never been an opportunity. Until now. This was her chance. She couldn’t mess it up. A shudder came out of nowhere, a debilitating mixture of cold and panic starting in her core and radiating outward.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” the blond man said, the kindness in his drawl at odds with the hard implacability of his expression. “There isn’t a soul born who can tell Caine Allen what to do. Those women can fuss all they want, but when the dust settles, you’ll be riding with us.”

That was not what she needed to hear right now. “I don’t want to go back there.”

All that statement got her was a raised eyebrow from the sandy-blond man as he blew out a stream of smoke, along with a “Can’t say that I blame you” from the savagely handsome, completely terrifying Tracker.

She stood, checking the sway in her movement through sheer force of will. Between James’s efforts to starve her into compliance and the fight with the outlaws, her strength was going fast. “I need some privacy.”

Her blush wasn’t entirely faked. No matter what she’d learned to think of as normal in the last year, discussing her bodily functions was not one of them.

Tracker’s hand immediately enveloped her elbow. “This way.”

She couldn’t help her instinctive flinch. His expression went from impassive to stony with a twitch of an eyelid, but he didn’t say a word, just drew her along with him. She went, her lip between her teeth. She had an unreasonable sense that she’d hurt his feelings. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t him—the fact that he was obviously Indian, or his scars. She resented any man’s touch, but she didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. These remnants of softness left over from before had to be squashed before it killed off her last opportunity, because if she didn’t escape now, the only way out from the hell of her existence would be death. Either by her own hand or another’s. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t continue this way anymore.

Guiding her across the uneven ground as if she were the finest of ladies at a social rather than a scandalous woman naked beneath a coat, Tracker helped her over a log, steadying her on the other side, keeping her close as he took her to the copse of trees where the outlaws had tied their horses. The snorts and whickers were welcome indicators that the horses were still there. Maybe her luck was changing.

She stopped before he could guide her through the thicket at the edge. “Thank you.”

He released her elbow. “Give a holler when you’re done, and I’ll come help you back. No need for you to pick up any more bruises than you’ve already got.”

He’d been holding her elbow because he was worried she’d fall, not because he was keeping her hostage…? The realization broadsided her. Desi ducked her head, hoping Tracker would take the gesture as one of embarrassment at the subject matter rather than guilt at her assumptions. “Thank you.”

Casting one quick glance over her shoulder, she stepped through the bushes, making sure he wasn’t following. Tracker stood where she’d left him, leaning against a thin tree, tossing that ugly knife in his hands, flipping it end to end before catching it. Desi shuddered, imagining him in a rage, and ducked through the brush. She had no intention of calling for him. This was her chance, and she was taking it.

2

“You cannot expect decent women to be seen in the company of someone like her.”

The way the older woman, Mrs. Hatchet, referred to Desi set Caine’s back teeth to grinding. And it wasn’t because of the nasal twang to her voice or the highfalutin way she pronounced her words. It was her absolute belief that because she had a husband to shield her that she was better than other women who’d run up against the hard truth of this land. Specifically, Desi.

“Lady, what I expect is silence and obedience.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the open range beyond their sheltered spot. “In case it’s escaped your notice, we’re in the middle of Indian country. Those gunshots are going to attract every Comanche out there, so what I expect is for you to use the next few minutes getting ready to ride, because as soon as we gather what we can off those bodies, we’re lighting out.”

“You’re robbing the dead?”

If a man had made such an accusation, he’d have punched him in the mouth for both the insult and the stupidity behind it. But the insult came from a woman, which tied his hands. “I’m taking what we need to survive.”

Caine spun on his heel. Son of a bitch, he was never taking a wife if he had to put up with crap like that on a daily basis. He expected to see Desi waiting for him with Tracker and Sam. She wasn’t. Sam was at the edge of the trees, checking out the action on a revolver while Tracker was efficiently going over the rest of the possessions looking for anything useful.

“Where’s the woman?”

Sam flicked his used-up smoke into the stream, a genuine grin on his lips. “With the horses.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“Escaping.” Tracker dumped out a saddlebag. “I figure we’ve got about twenty minutes before she sweet-talks that big mustang into opening its mouth for the bit.”

This he had to see. Caine cut through the scrub brush to the horses. Evidence of Desi’s attempts was everywhere. A bridle dangled from a horse already tacked out in a nose band. A saddle lurched off the side of a hardy paint mustang with the conformation of a runner. He stepped up to the brown-and-white paint, patting the deeply muscled chest that said he could go for miles without foundering. He ran his hand down its spine, murmuring soothingly as it fussed and gathered his scent, studying the tracks in the muddy ground as he righted the saddle.

Bare footprints littered the mud in mute testament to Desi’s frustration. Sure as shit, she didn’t know anything about tack, but that hadn’t lessened her determination. The tracks spun in a circle, deepened as she’d put her weight squarely on both heels, and then took off in a straight line. The depth and distance between the prints indicated she’d been in a hurry.

Caine looked up the rise. He flipped the paint’s stirrup onto the saddle, kneed him gently to warn him to cut the crap when he sucked in wind and tightened the cinch when he blew out. With an easy leap he was in the saddle, a smile on his lips as he studied those tracks. Damn, if she hadn’t had the guts to light out on foot.

He spun the paint around and urged him up the rise. The outlaws might have been stupid, but they’d known good horseflesh. The paint responded as if he hadn’t just finished a hard ride, driving fast up the hill, eager to run, dancing in a circle when Caine pulled him up at the top.

It wasn’t hard to find Desi in the scraggly sea of winter dead brush. The bright sun shone off her blond hair like a brilliant white-gold beacon. He shook his head. She was heading due west, straight into Indian country. Caine gave the paint its head, smiling as the horse plunged down the rise. A man just had to admire the amount of gumption that drove a woman to take control of her future despite the odds or a poor sense of direction.

He was about forty feet behind Desi before she looked back. He had an impression of big blue eyes in a white face and a startled expression before she took off, bare feet flying across the ground, hair streaming behind her. Caine leaned over the cow pony’s neck. The animal surged forward. Human or cattle, it didn’t matter to the horse. He knew his job. Chase, catch and maintain. He did it well, dispelling the myth that paints made poor cow ponies.

The paint caught up with Desi in less than a minute. Caine reached down, snagging the back of the too-big coat, lifting her up. If her first screech didn’t draw every Indian and bandit for twenty miles, the second surely would. It was all he could do to lift her onto the saddle as she struggled. Damn, who knew one small woman could hold so much wiggle?

“Hold still, damn it!”

If anything, she struggled harder. “Let me go!”

“No.” He gave her a shake. “Settle down.”

She braced her foot on his, lightening his load. Her arm wrapped around his, her fingers tangling in the excess folds of his coat, slipping off his shirtsleeve before grabbing desperately at his wrist.

“I’m not going back!”

“Well, you’re sure as shit not heading out on your own.”

“Watch me!”

She wrenched to the left and to the right. The pony danced beneath them as the coat flapped against his sides. A hard shove and she almost succeeded in unseating him. One minute he had more woman than he could contain and the next he held an empty coat. Caine swore, dropped the coat and leaned back. The pony sat on its haunches, slid ten feet and spun, lunging anew after Desi, who ran ahead, her fair skin glowing in the sunlight, looking like one of those golden nymphs he’d seen paintings of in that fancy whorehouse up Chicago way.

The woman’s determination was no match for the paint’s speed. In about three heartbeats, he was running beside her, adjusting his stride to match her panicked darts, crowding her to where Caine wanted her to go. Over the thunder of the pony’s hooves, Caine could hear her labored breathing, her desperate sobs. Damn it! Why was she making this so hard?

He leapt off the pony’s back and hit the ground running, catching her around the waist as he spun, cushioning her against his chest as he took the brunt of the fall on his back. He crossed his arms over her torso, keeping free of her teeth, trapping her feet with his legs, letting her exhaust herself with her struggles until she was tired enough to find reason.

It took about four minutes for her to figure out she wasn’t going anywhere. When she did, her body just collapsed against his, her skull thunking on his collarbone one last time, her hips settling into the cradle of his groin, her buttocks cushioning the hard length of his cock. Not by a twitch of an eyelash did she let on that she knew what was poking at her down there. She simply turned her face west and stared as her labored breathing pushed her ribs against his.

“You ’bout ready to see reason?”

“I’m not going back.”

Her body was about played out, but her stubbornness sure wasn’t. “Why not?”

She crossed one arm over her breasts. “I’ll die there.”

Her body shook with shivers. He slid her off to the side, keeping her anchored with one arm as he sat up. “That’s a mighty serious accusation.”

“It’s the truth.”

He stood, grabbing his hat before pulling her up with him, admiring the way her breasts swelled over the ridge of her arm. Her hand slipped, treating him to a glimpse of one hard-tipped peak. She was a pretty little thing, all pink and white with a nipped-in waist and rosebud nipples. His cock, hard and aching from the chase, pulsed in response to the inadvertent display. “Tell me why.”

The order flowed over Desi’s calm, digging down into her determination, undermining the confidence she’d cultivated. What would be the point? The truth would only ensure he sent her back. She glanced around his arm to the long stretch of prairie, followed the flight of a bird as it swooped down over the grass, gliding on the wind. Free. For one heartbeat she’d been like that, the future she’d wanted for herself there, just over the horizon. The bird disappeared into the haze, the spread of its wings blending into the rise of the hills. No matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t follow it.

She took a step toward the horizon, wanting more than anything to vanish with it, far away from here. From the hell her life had become. Pressure in her arm drew her gaze down. Caine still held her. His fingers were suntanned and rough, looking very dark against the white skin of her upper arm. Smudges of dirt marred the sides, but, overall, they were surprisingly clean. The nails were pared short.

They were the hands of a hardworking man, bearing the scars and nicks of his life. Her gaze dipped down to the knife in his gun belt and then back up to those scars. A hardworking man and maybe a killer. Everyone knew Rangers were one short step up from the men they hunted—which could be her second piece of luck. If she couldn’t count on his honor to gain her freedom, maybe he had a disreputable side she could exploit.

She tugged at her arm. Wind whipped her hair over her face, blocking her vision, but she didn’t need to see the shake of his head to know his answer to her silent request. The tightening of his fingers said it all. The shifting of his stance reminded her he was still waiting on an answer. She’d definitely give him one, but not the one he wanted. Not the truth. That would cost her too much.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Desi raised her arms so her breasts were showcased, grabbing the heavy mass into a ponytail, relaxing her stance and expression to one she hoped looked welcoming. Flirtatious was going to take some working up to. “I’m looking to move on.”

She bet he was a hell of a Ranger. He wasn’t doing anything more than staring at her, and she could feel the need to confess welling.

“There isn’t much west except Indian country.”

She shrugged, letting her body relax against his. The hilt of his knife dug into her side. The pain blended with the agony in her soul. The muscled planes of his body were an unyielding wall of power, the ridge of his cock comfortingly familiar in the face of so much intimidating strength, and for once she was glad of the experience she’d acquired in the last year. There was nothing more pliable than a man with rutting on his mind. She tilted her head back, letting her hair slide over her shoulders, knowing how the thick, silky length intrigued men, ignoring the cold and the agony of her torn feet as she stepped into his embrace. What was one more scream among the soundless ones she’d already uttered? She kept everything but soft invitation out of her tone as she pointed out, “And California.”

His eyes narrowed, but his arm came around her, his hand spreading on her spine, taking her weight. “You’ve got gold fever?”

He made it sound like a bad case of ague. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want to be rich.”

“You’d do better to find a husband.”

She was never going to be dependent on a man’s whims again. She shoved the anger down, hoping that flicker of his eyelids didn’t mean he’d spotted it. Right now she wanted him concentrating on sex and what he’d have to agree to do to get it. She shrugged, rubbing her breasts up and down his chest with the gesture, smiling internally as his cock leapt against her in response and added a bit more husk to her voice. “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.”

His other hand joined the first on her back. The warmth of his body encouraged her closer more persuasively than the press of his fingertips. “Money won’t keep a woman safe.”

“Now there, I disagree.” She opened her hand, holding his gaze as she placed her palm to the right of his shirt placket, running her tongue over her lips as her fingers teased between the buttons, catching on the tight curls covering the swell of hard muscle. “With enough money, a woman can buy all the protection she requires.”

That twitch of his eyebrows could have been amusement or disbelief. “You’re planning on buying a man?”

“I prefer to think of it as—” she flipped the button open and slid her hand all the way inside, her palm shaping naturally to the curve of his pectoral as she tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows suggestively “—renting his skills.”

“Skills?”

The quickened beat of his heart belied the flat neutrality of his question. He wanted her. The truth was in the hard gleam of his eyes and the sharp jerk of his cock. She lowered her lashes the way she’d been taught, letting her lips relax into a seductive pout, working a few more buttons open. “A woman often has needs only a man can fulfill.”

His hand dipped to the hollow of her spine while the other curled under her chin, bringing her gaze dead center to his. “And you intend to buy them as you need them?”

She nodded as she tugged his shirt free of his denims, reaching around him to work it loose at the back, using her eyes and expression to enhance the suggestion in her words. “I find it a more productive method.”

“And we’re in negotiations now?” His grip shifted off her chin, sliding across her neck, the rough calluses of his fingertips sending shivers of sensation blending into the shivers of cold as the wind blew. He didn’t stop until his hand cupped her skull. She gave him responsibility for supporting her as she cuddled into his heat. He took it easily, confirming her belief that he was a man used to being in control. She’d have to play this very carefully.

“Oh, definitely.”

The lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes deepened with amusement. “Sweetheart, I can see from here you don’t have any money.”

That hint of a smile took his face from harsh to sexy, sliding beneath her armor to find the woman she’d once been. The woman who’d believed in happily ever after. The woman who would have been instantly drawn to that mix of power and humor. The woman who would have given him the flick of her fan that would have encouraged him to come call. The woman she’d thought long dead and buried. The woman who thought all there was to seducing a man was a bat of an eyelash and a coquettish smile. That woman had learned a lot.

“But I do believe I have something you need.” Desi dropped one hand from Caine’s chest to his groin, following the bulge down his thigh, blinking when her hand traveled a lot farther than she’d anticipated before finding the fat head through the tight cotton. She gave it a squeeze, fascinated as the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. She’d never deliberately set out to seduce a man before. The thrill of power took her by surprise. “And I’ll trade it for what I want.”

“Which is?”

Confidence bubbled at the tension in his drawl. “Out of Los Santos.”

“Take off my shirt.”

The order landed wrong. She was the one in charge. “In a minute.”

His hand came back around her head, more imperative than seductive. “That wasn’t a request.”

As if she didn’t recognize an order when she heard one. Desi rubbed her palm lightly over the spongy head of Caine’s shaft, looking for and finding that response again in the shift of his hips and the rapid beat of his pulse. She was used to men who grabbed, crushed and thrust at the first hint of desire. Caine’s restraint was…fascinating. “I’m aware of that, but I want to play a bit first.”

“You can play as soon as you get warm.”

That pulled her up short. He wanted her comfortable? He hadn’t finished the sentence before he was shrugging out of his shirt, taking his support away as he removed his arms from the sleeves. She just stared at him as she pointed out the truth. “But you’ll be cold.”

He lifted his eyebrow at her as if she’d said something totally ludicrous. His “I’ve been cold before” wrapped around her along with the shirt, enfolding her in the soft, warm wool and the knowledge that he was worried about her comfort. He was a very strange man.

She caught the edges before it could slip from her shoulders. She took a cautious breath. Threading through the faint smell of sweat and horse came that uniquely intriguing scent she associated only with him. Beneath her determination, the girl she’d used to be struggled for attention.

She squashed her flat. She couldn’t afford to kill off this opportunity with idealistic moments. Caine was a man, and she was a woman. What was going on here was a bargain as old as time. Just because she wasn’t hating it didn’t change anything.

Her knees bent with the security she found in this up-front, honest negotiation. “Then I guess it will be up to me to warm you up.”

On the way down, she couldn’t help but admire his form. She’d never seen a naked man on this side of forty, and Caine was a very well-made man. The bulge of his pectorals curved to the broad ridges of his abdominal muscles. His shirt hem brushed her calves, sending a shiver of unfamiliar sensation up her spine as she followed that thin valley between his stomach muscles with her lips counting the hills on either side as she went. One, two, three. The well of his navel tempted her tongue to linger, and flick. The inhalation of his breath proved an incentive to tease.