A Cowboy Worth Claiming (13 page)

His eyes snapped to hers. “Got the best deal I could.”

“I’m not talking about the herd.”

Chance inhaled sharp. “Lord above, Lizzie. Don’t go saying things like that.”

“You wanted more, too,” she said softly, refusing to think for a minute that Chance hadn’t enjoyed kissing her. He may
regret
kissing her, but he took as much pleasure in that kiss as she had.

He shook his head, leading her down the stairs. “I’ve said it before, you got a vivid imagination.”

“I know what I felt.”

Lizzie bumped into him when he stopped abruptly and turned on his heel. He glanced around the hotel lobby. Not a soul was around. His hands wrapped around her upper arms, getting her attention. His face resembled a block of granite as he peered into her eyes. “Don’t go getting fool notions about me, Lizzie. I’m here, because Edward asked it of me. No other reason. That kiss wasn’t about you and me, it was about me not easing my lust last night. You’d know that, if you weren’t so dang inexperienced. I won’t tie myself to anyone. Not the way you need. It’s best you know that.”

He let her go and stalked off. Lizzie’s heart just about broke. Her eyes burned as she held back tears. She didn’t know for sure, but she presumed that for most young girls, a first kiss would mean something to both parties partaking and that maybe the thrill would be shared. Lizzie had proven again she wasn’t like most young girls. Up until now, there hadn’t been anyone she’d wanted to kiss, much less allow to take such intimate liberties. With Chance, it had been different. She’d wanted more from him and his rebuke struck her pride. But the hurt went deeper than humiliation. A sense of keen loss hollowed out the pit of her stomach.

Yet, she couldn’t forget the reason she’d come here or the good the cash earned would do when they returned home. She fought her tears and gathered her strength. Pulling her shoulders back, she lifted her chin and hurried her pace to catch up with him.

* * *

Chance quickened his steps, heading toward the stockyard. Thoughts of Marissa Dunston entered his mind. The girl had caused him a wagonload of trouble since the moment she’d stepped foot on the Dunston spread. Her mother, Belinda, had married Alistair shortly after his first wife Clara had died. It had been plain as day, even to a young orphaned boy, that Clara had been the one who’d wanted a son. She would have mothered Chance and accepted him as family, earning his loyalty and love. Once she was gone and Alistair remarried, he’d barely recognized him as an adopted son. Pretty little Marissa, five years younger and deceptively sweet, had taken Chance’s place, if he’d ever had one, in Alistair’s affections.

Chance had known enough to stay away from Marissa. Unfortunately, she had other plans for him. She’d followed him around on the ranch and gotten him into more trouble than any female was worth.

Lizzie Mitchell was a different kind of trouble. She didn’t manipulate. She didn’t have female wiles to coax a man to do her bidding. No, Lizzie was too darn innocent for any of that. He didn’t have to look at her walking beside him to know he’d disappointed her. If he was smart, he’d continue to disappoint her. He wasn’t going to kiss her again. He wasn’t going to touch her. Nope, she wasn’t that kind of girl. Unfortunately for him, Lizzie wasn’t experienced enough to know that the way she offered herself to him might have provoked a coupling that she would regret. Chance had lost himself in her beautiful eyes and in her sweet surrender. He’d let his body take control of his mind. Good things would never come of that with Lizzie. It irritated him to high heaven that she hadn’t known enough not to tempt him. It meant that he’d be alone in keeping her reputation intact.

He had to marry her off.

For Edward.

He planned to honor that vow and send Lizzie to her marriage bed, untouched.

They crossed through town, Lizzie’s shoulders high, but her face a mass of confusion. Westerly breezes brought dust whirls up. It was a good excuse to keep his mouth sealed tight. Lizzie did the same. The walk to the stockyard was silent, and that suited Chance just fine.

They strode past the Mitchell herd corralled in pens. They were the only cattle taking up space and Chance was glad of it. He led Lizzie into the office. The same white-haired man Chance spoke with this morning rose from behind his desk to shake hands. Chance stepped forward in a quick greeting.

“The little lady sign that paper?” he asked Chance.

He turned to her standing behind him. It tickled him to see her mouth angle down and her eyes shoot daggers at the cattle broker. She stepped forward and jutted out her delicate chin. “I’m owner of the Mitchell Ranch. Elizabeth Mitchell.”

The broker’s gray eyes wrinkled. He probably thought she wasn’t old enough to broker the deal, but the man was desperate. He put on a jolly smile. “Steven Turlington. Glad to meet ya.”

He covered Lizzie’s small hand with his, giving her a fatherly pat.

She pulled her hand away, her voice as stiff and formal as royalty. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement on the herd, Mr. Turlington.”

Turlington was too grateful to notice her snooty behavior. “Your man here got a good deal outta me.”

Lizzie nodded. “Yes, he’s quite useful that way.”

That little ingrate.
Chance covered his surprise and gave her a warning glance. She darted one right back, then put out her hand. “The paper, please?”

He plastered it onto her hand, and with hoity-toity airs, she made a big to-do about sitting down at the desk and signing the bill of sale. A sale that would see her out of poverty.

Once the deal was done, Lizzie walked out of the office and Chance followed her, cursing under his breath. He took note of two cowboys in the stockyards, eyeing Lizzie. As soon as they noticed him, both men nodded with a tip of the hat. Chance met their eyes dead on. They looked familiar. He’d seen them at the saloon last night.

“Hold up, princess.”

Lizzie slowed her steps.

He brought himself up real close, blocking out the wranglers’ view of her. “Hand that cash over to me.”

Her mouth gaped. “No.”

“Don’t be a fool. You can’t go walking around with all that cash exposed like that.”

“You didn’t bring the saddlebags.”

Her accusation stung. He couldn’t hold on to his temper. “You got me so dang—”

Lizzie’s brows lifted expectantly. “I got you so dang what?”

“Nothing.” He wasn’t about to tell her that kissing her had knocked the sense clear out of his head. He hadn’t the wiles to pick up the saddlebags from his room. He’d wanted to get himself out of her hotel room and away from a temptation that would lead him straight to hell. Chance had already been there. He didn’t want to go back.

He ground his teeth together. “Just give me the cash, Lizzie.”

She thought about it for a moment. With a sideways glance from under the brim of his hat, Chance took notice of the two male figures turning and walking toward the far pen, but not before he’d caught them watching again. “Well?”

Her face finally relaxed. It was a far more pleasant sight than the stubborn set of her chin. “Here you go.”

She set the bills in his palm. He folded them in half and jammed them deep into his pocket. He inhaled sharply then released the breath. “Come on. Let’s get us some grub before we hit the road again. This time it’s on the Mitchell’s coin. I think I’ve earned it. What’d you say to Turlington?” he asked. “Oh, that’s right. I’m downright
useful.
”

Chapter Nine

T
he skies overhead were blue and the trail back to Red Ridge not nearly as dusty as when they were driving the herd. With a saddlebag full of cash, the string of horses behind her and Chance riding ahead, Lizzie thoughts flowed free. Her first priority was Grandpa’s health. Soon as she got a doctor to fix him up, they’d make a fresh start with the ranch. Once Grandpa had regained his strength, they could buy a few heifers and a bull. Grandpa knew all there was to know about raising cattle. It wasn’t his fault her father died when he did, leaving the brunt of the work and worries to Edward. He’d raised her and kept the ranch going. He’d done a fine job with both, in her estimation, and if it wasn’t for some bad fortune with the herd they’d have done just fine. It would be slow going starting up the ranch again, but Lizzie didn’t mind. Hope filled her heart that life would get better now after the successful trail drive.

She still smarted from Chance’s utter refusal to give her so much as the time of day since they’d left the hotel room. He acted as though he hadn’t kissed her for all she was worth or caressed her in private places she’d never been touched before. Thinking on it brought gooseflesh to her arms and made her stomach flutter, so she shed herself of those thoughts as best she could.

Three hours later, Chance double backed to ride beside her, his gaze following the darkening sky. “Gonna be dusk soon. You ready to settle for the night?”

Her rear end screamed for mercy. She’d been ready to soothe her sore muscles two hours ago. “I could go another mile or two.”

Chance narrowed his eyes, glancing at the terrain and then up at the sky again. His contemplation worried her silly. She sent up a batch of silent prayers.
“Please, don’t let him agree with me. Not this time.”

“No,” he said. “We’d best make camp here.”

She shrugged a shoulder, thanking all that was merciful that her fool mouth hadn’t gotten her another bruise on her backside. “Suit yourself.”

He leaned forward in the saddle, his mouth quirking up. “I always do.”

They made camp right there, near a cropping of trees.

“Build a fire, Lizzie,” Chance said over his shoulder as he led the horses away to feed and bed them down for the night.

She was so grateful to be rid of the saddle she didn’t comment on Chance’s bossy command. She did his bidding, rounding up twigs and dried branches she found nearby. She was getting good at trail fires. Back when her father was alive, she’d never been given the chore and figured now, after watching how it was done for so many years, the building of a good fire was a skill one acquired from experience. Once she got it started, flames licked up in a blaze then settled to a crackling even heat.

After the horses were fed, Chance walked back with two saddlebags slung over his shoulders. One held the cash and their clothes. The other held supplies and food. He tossed them down then walked over to the horses again. He came back with two new blankets and cooking equipment he’d purchased from the mercantile in Prescott.

He laid out one blanket facing the fire and the other one clear across on the opposite end, at least ten feet apart from each other. The blankets were good-sized, made of wool, but softer looking than the old ones, that now covered the horses for the night.

Chance bent low to set a pan on a metal triangle and opened a can of beans onto it. Lizzie unwrapped a loaf of bread and uncovered a big chunk of fresh cheese.

“Fire looks good, Lizzie. You’re getting the hang of it.”

“Thank you,” she said, plopping onto one of the blankets. Chance hadn’t said much to her today, so she wouldn’t sour at the compliment. She’d missed his conversation. “I guess I’ll be the cookie on our next drive.”

Chance slid her a sideways glance, knitting his brows together. “You got such high hopes.”

His skeptical tone prickled her senses. “I didn’t…not until today.”

“High hopes never got me anywhere.”

Lizzie broke off two chunks of bread and handed Chance the cheese. He sliced off two pieces with a knife and handed them back to her. She filled their plates and waited for the beans to warm.

Lizzie couldn’t fathom not having some sort of hope. Even with all the Mitchells had gone through, she couldn’t have possibly given up. “I’m sorry about that. But if you don’t have hope, what do you have?”

Chance bite into the cheese and chewed, thinking. “Just what’s real, I guess.”

“I bet you didn’t always feel that way. You must’ve had some—”

He shook his head. “I can’t remember that far back, if I ever did.”

“Why…can’t you?”

Chance wrinkled his nose then ran a hand down his face to rub his jaw. His eyes squeezed closed just for a few seconds and then he faced her with the full force of his dark haunted eyes. “My parents were murdered when I was a boy. Don’t have much recollection of them. Just a few flashes enter my mind every so often. I hear their screams though, even to this day. I’ll never forget those. My mama hid me away from the thieves in the root cellar. She took the ruby necklace off her throat and handed it to me. Her eyes were bright and clear, even through her fear. She said she had to help my daddy. She took up a rifle and kissed my cheek. That was the last time I saw her alive.” Chance looked out over the fire. “I wasn’t much more than five.”

“She protected you,” Lizzie whispered, a weight pressing her heart. She ached for the little boy who witnessed the death of his parents. Lizzie had no recollection of her mother but she’d had the love of her father and grandfather for many years. She’d been more fortunate than Chance. “It was a sign of her love for you.”

“No matter,” Chance said abruptly, stuffing food into his mouth. “It’s over.”

Lizzie wanted to cry for him. But Chance wouldn’t want her pity. They ate the rest of their meal in silence, Chance deep in thought and Lizzie sorry she’d made him recall such a bad memory.

After the meal, the weather took a turn. The air cooled considerably. Lizzie shivered and put on her jacket. She nestled herself inside its warmth and after she’d cleaned up the dishes and stoked the fire, she took her place on the blanket. Her unruly dark hair fell onto her face as she stared at the golden licking flames.

From the other side of the fire, through a cloud of smoke, Chance sat upright on his blanket, his gun belt beside him on one side, the saddlebag holding the cash on the other. He was intent on gazing into the fire. She began combing her hair. There was a slight shift in his movement, and as if the fire, the distance and the smoke formed a barrier between them, he turned to watch her.

She put the ribbon tie in her mouth and ran the fingers of both hands through her unruly curls. Her hair fell across her chest over her right breast. There was a hint of lilac still on her hair and she struggled to catch the clean scent. She continued to separate the hair with her fingers, her movements slowing as she met with his intrigued gaze.

Chance touched her in ways she couldn’t fathom. He touched her heart. He made her mad. He touched her soul. He confused her. He made her feel things she’d never felt before. Wonderful, glorious sensations that now, she was sure, were more than physical.

He watched her still. And she stared back. Her pulse raced so hard, a throbbing in her throat pounding against her delicate skin.

There was a movement that broke the spell. Chance lifted from his blanket and she held her breath. Their gazes met again as he straightened to his full height. She prayed he would come to her, to lie with her and kiss her again. She wanted it so. Her hope died when he turned his back and stalked off.

“Chance,” she called out.

“Get some sleep, Lizzie.” His voice was strained, deep with regret. “Gonna check on the horses. I’ll be back later.”

Her shoulders slumped and all hope drained from her body. She finished tying up her hair, then lowered down covering herself with the big new woolen blanket. Chance had walked away from her. She should be accustomed to that by now. He was forever walking out, denying her. But this loss was keen and made her ache much more than the unforgiving hard-packed ground and her sorely bruised bottom. A tear dripped from her eye. And then another. She sniffed and held her body stiff, using all of her stubborn will to keep from breaking down into a sullen cry.

And minutes later, once she heard Chance’s footsteps approach to stoke the fire, she eased the painful burden with much-needed sleep.

* * *

She stomped on wildflowers glistening under a strong sun. Daddy chased her and she giggled. Grandpa was there beside her mother. She waved from the front porch of the ranch house, beckoning them to come in for supper. Her mama wore an apron with the prettiest of tiny yellow flowers on it and Lizzie thought she looked beautiful. She took her daddy’s hand and together they ran toward her smiling mother.

But then Daddy’s hand covered her mouth and she tasted sweat and rough leather and pressure enough to bruise her mouth. Lizzie snapped her eyes open just as she was being hauled up, out of her bedroll. One powerful gloved hand came around her stomach and the other, the one over her mouth, forced her head back, so that her face angled up toward the moon. The stench of alcohol and filth invaded her nostrils. Instantly, cruel dread wakened her from her peaceful dream. Her back was jammed against a man’s body. She squirmed and kicked her legs, trying to free herself. Muted protests escaped her throat, falling short of her intent.

Across the camp, low burning embers cast light on Chance seated by the fire, being held at gunpoint by another man. She kicked harder and managed to put the heel of her bare foot to her attacker’s shin. “Ow! Damn it. Stop your wiggling or you won’t live to see another day.”

The man aiming a Winchester rifle at Chance wore a hat low on his forehead and a dark bandana over most of his face. Only the glint of his eyes shone through.

“Let her go.” Chance’s voice broke with dangerous warning, sending chills up and down her spine.

The man yanked her against him like she was a rag doll. The handle of his gun touched her cheek in a rough caress. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

She was trapped in tight arms, pressed against a hard body. “Maybe I’ll take her back behind them trees and show her a good time.” He covered her breast with a hand and squeezed her hard through her jacket. His touch made her want to puke. She struggled in his arms, until he eased up the pressure.

Chance bounded to his feet. “Touch her again and I’ll kill you.”

“Sit down!” The sound of the rifle cocking froze Lizzie in her place. She shook her head at Chance. He couldn’t die today. Not because of her. She trembled, fear overpowering her until the shaking was noticeable. Chance met her gaze, his eyes reassuring her, before he turned an icy glare on her attacker. Slowly, he sat down, never taking his eyes off the man holding her.

“Seems to me, you can’t do much of anything right now but watch,” he said, gleeful.

“Shut up,” the rifleman said. “We ain’t here for that.”

“Yeah, but she’s sorta pretty. Wouldn’t take but a few minutes.”

Chance showed little fear, facing the rifle. “What do you want?”

“The cash. You got a lot of it. I’m guessing it’s in that saddlebag you’re sleeping with.” He pointed his rifle toward the saddlebags then back at Chance. “First, shove that gun belt over here.”

Chance hesitated. The tip of the man’s toe lifted the corner of the blanket hiding Chance’s gun belt. “Yep, that one. Go on. Shove it right over to my feet.”

Chance tossed the belt. It landed by the fire.

With the rifle trained on Chance, the attacker bent to pick up the gun and tuck it under his belt. “Now the saddlebag. Open it. Let me see what you got in there.”

Chance pulled the straps from the leather binding and opened the bag. The man nodded, satisfied when he saw the cash. He slid his partner a quick glance. “Give her the rope, Quinn.”

Her attacker shoved a rope into her hands. The coarse threads scraped against her fingers and she fumbled with it.

“Now go tie him up.”

Lizzie’s feet refused to budge. Her heart pounded. She felt inadequate, trembling with fear. She looked at Chance. His eyes were hard, his expression unreadable and she hoped he was figuring a way out of this.

“Well, git.” The thief’s hand landed on her back with an unforgiving push and she stumbled forward.

Lizzie had no choice but to walk over to Chance. “Tie his hands behind his back. Make it good and tight.”

Both men watched, with guns pointed at her and Chance. She lowered down in front of Chance and lifted her gaze to his.

“Do as they say.” His voice soothed and encouraged her, even as she saw no way out of this. She crawled behind him and he brought his hands in place to his back. She took his hands in hers and squeezed gently. Praying to the Lord, she hoped this wasn’t their very last memory together. “I’m s-sorry.”

Chance drew oxygen into his lungs and said so quietly, she strained to hear, “Don’t let him touch you.”

“I’d rather die,” she whispered.

Chance swiveled his head to meet her eyes. “You’re not dying.”

There was such certainty in his words, for a moment, Lizzie found a shred of hope. She made a theatrical effort of tying him up, keeping the ropes from cutting his circulation, but tight enough to satisfy the thieves.