Dangerous to Hold (24 page)

Air snuck back into Nate's lungs. “Sort of.”

“So do I think.” A smug little smile traced her mouth. “You walk, you ride the same. Like all this, you own.”

Her sweeping gesture encompassed the vast, rolling prairie, the inky black sky, and the waterfall of stars tumbling out of the heavens. From that gesture, Nate gathered that the men of the steppes swaggered a bit when they walked, and rode as though they and their ponies were alone in the universe. Much like their Wyoming counterparts, he decided with an inner smile.

“Do you have the land, in
Amerika?
”

“A little.”

She slid one hand up his arm, then edged it toward his chest. “How much it is, this little?”

Grinning, Nate caught her hand before her fingers slipped inside his denim jacket. “Where I come from, a lady doesn't ask a man the size of his spread. It tends to get him real nervous…or real interested.”

Keeping her wrist in a light hold, he rose and pulled her up with him. “Being of the nervous type myself, I'd better walk you back to your campfire.”

Clearly, Katerina had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn't seem the least averse to taking a stroll with him. She tucked her hand in his arm and tipped him a look that warned Nate he'd better keep to the well-lighted areas.

“Have you the woman in
Amerika?
The…um…wife?”

On reflection, Nate decided that handling Katerina might just be a bit trickier than he'd anticipated. The girl had the tenacity of a bull terrier and the subtlety of the rodeo clowns who whacked a rampaging bull up side the head to get its attention.

“No, no wife,” he answered, then firmly shifted the conversation to what he hoped might eventually lead to little black boxes. “So, what about you? Have you always lived here, on the steppes?”

“Always.” The single word held a wealth of emotion. Pride. Bitterness. Frustration. “Except for the year I go to university, always do I live here.”

“What university?”

She gave a little shrug. “The institute of technology. In Lvov. My grandfather wished for me to learn the science.”

“That so? What kind of science?”

“Pah! You would not believe! Such courses he wished me to take. The…the
mathematik.
The
physik.
I have perhaps the head, but not the heart for such—”

“Katerina!”

At the sharp admonition, the girl whipped her hand free of Nate's arm and spun around. He turned more leisurely, his
senses leaping at the sight of the woman who strode toward them.

A long khaki coat covered her from shoulder to boot top. One of her own designs, Nate guessed. Only someone as talented as Maggie said Alexandra Jordan was could've fashioned that particular model. Similar to the long, open-fronted frock coats favored by the men of the camp, the semifitted military-style garment showed off her slender figure to perfection and swirled about her ankles seductively when she walked. With some interest, Nate noted the tassels banded in colored yarn that decorated the yoke of the garment.

Damned if those horsetail thingamabobs weren't starting to strike his fancy.

What didn't strike any fancy, however, was the braided horsetail whip looped about Alexandra's wrist. It cracked ominously against her boot top with each step.

Katerina's lower lip jutted out as her cousin strode toward them. Obviously deciding to take the offensive, she rattled off something in Karistani that earned a sharp retort.

The two women faced each other, one softly rounded and flushed, the other rigid and unyielding in her authority. After a short, terse exchange, Katerina evidently came out the loser. Her eyes snapping, she faced Nate.

“God keep you until the dawn,” she muttered. She flounced away, then added defiantly over her shoulder, “I will see you then.”

Alexandra's whip snapped several more times against her leather boot, and she gave Nate a look that would've made bear bait out of a less seasoned hand.

“I want to talk to you.” She threw a quick glance at the circle of interested faces watching from around the campfire. “Privately.”

She whirled and strode toward the far perimeter, only to stop when she noticed he wasn't following.

Having made his point, Nate nodded. “I guess maybe it is time we had a little chat.”

 

Her mind seething with a jumble of emotions, Alex led the way toward the outskirts of the camp. She didn't understand what it was about this unwanted visitor that had set her teeth on edge from the first moment of their meeting.

He was handsome enough, in his rangy, loose-limbed way, she admitted. If one cared for sun-streaked blond hair, a square jaw, and skin tanned to the sheen of fine oak, that is.

Who was she kidding? she thought testily. Sloan made the models she'd hired last spring for the premiere of her Elegance line of men's evening wear look as though they hadn't gone through puberty yet.

All right, it wasn't his appearance that irritated her, Alex decided with a fresh spurt of annoyance. It was his attitude. His deliberately provocative manner. The way he drew out his words until they grated on her ears. The way his hazel eyes seemed to brim with some lazy private amusement when they looked at her and issued a challenge only she seemed to see.

Alex wasn't used to being challenged.

By anyone.

Even before she assumed leadership of the host, the men of the steppes had always accorded her the deference due the headman's granddaughter. In the business world, her associates had given her respect she'd earned by her success in an industry that regularly devoured its own.

Even the few men in her life with whom she'd developed anything more than a business relationship hadn't affected her equilibrium the way Sloan did. Not one of them had let his gaze slide from her lips to her throat so slowly that she felt her very skin burn in anticipation of its touch. None had drawn out each move, each touch, each murmured word, until she wanted to scream…

Alex pulled herself up short, not quite believing the direction her mind had taken. She was getting as bad as Katerina, she thought grimly, her worry coming full circle.

She halted abruptly beside the wood-framed trailer that was used to transport the tents. Its high sides afforded a modicum
of privacy in a city without walls. Wasting no time on preliminaries, Alex plunged to the heart of the matter.

“Look, Mr.— Look, Nate. You're only going to be here for a short time. I don't want you to encourage Katerina.”

Sloan leaned an arm against the side of the wagon and let his shadowed gaze drift over her face. “Seems like you've got a long list of things you don't want me to do while I'm here,
ataman.
”

“And that's another item to add to the list,” Alex snapped. “I don't want you to call me by that title. It's one the elders gave me, but I've not yet earned.”

His head cocked. “That so?”

“That's so.”

“And just what do you have to do to earn it…Alexandra?”

He drew her name out in that deep, slow way of his, until it assumed a consistency similar to the thick, creamy yogurt the women made from mare's milk. The suspicion that he did it deliberately tightened Alexandra's mouth.

“That's not something that concerns you. What
should
concern you, however, is the fact that many of the people of this country cling to the old ways.” She tilted her head, eyeing him through the screen of her lashes. “Do you have any idea how Cossacks of old dealt with those who transgressed their laws?”

His eyes glinted in the moonlight. “No, but I suspect I'm about to find out.”

She held up her short braided whip. “This is called a
nagaika.
The horsemen of the steppes use this instead of spurs to control their mounts. They also use it to strip the flesh from anyone who dishonors a woman of the host.”

He didn't appear overly impressed. “Aren't you getting your feathers all ruffled up unnecessarily? Where I come from, a man doesn't exactly dishonor a woman by taking her for a stroll through a crowded camp.”

“You're not where you come from,” she reminded him, emphasizing her words with a crack of the whip. “You're in Karistan. I told you, our ways are different.”

He glanced down at the braided flail. When his eyes met hers again, they held a glint she couldn't quite interpret.

“Not that different, sweetheart.”

Before she could protest this rapid progression from a respectful title to casual familiarity, he straightened and took a step forward.

“Now, maybe if I'd invited your cousin to stroll out here in the darkness the way you invited me, Alexandra, you might've had reason to be suspicious.”

The low, husky quality of his voice took Alex by surprise. Good Lord, surely the man didn't think she'd brought him out here for any other reason than to…

“And maybe if I'd let that pie-plate moon stir my blood,” he continued, closing the distance, “you might've had cause to flick that little horsetail flyswatter of yours against your boots.”

His voice retained its easy, mocking modulation, but as he moved toward her Alex was suddenly and disturbingly aware of the breadth of his shoulders and the leashed power in his long body.

“But you wouldn't have had any real cause to be concerned…”

Her breath caught as he planted both hands on wood planking, caging her in the circle of his arms.

“Sloan! What—?”

“…unless I'd done something like this.”

Sheer astonishment held her immobile as he brushed his mouth across hers, once, twice.

For a moment, when he loomed over her, Alex had felt a flutter of trepidation, as though she'd wakened a sleeping beast she wasn't sure she could control. But the soft, unthreatening touch of his lips told her how ridiculous that fear was. Imperceptibly she relaxed her rigid stance.

As if he'd been waiting for just such a reaction, he slanted his head and deepened the kiss. Wrapping one arm about her waist, he pulled her up against his unyielding body.

Stunned at the swift, confident move, Alexandra yielded her
lips to a skilled assault. Disconcerted, unable to move, she clutched at his tough denim jacket.

A deep, hidden part of her leaped in response to his rough possession. The part of her with roots fed by women of the steppes, women who celebrated victories with their men in wild abandon. For a fleeting moment, Alexandra tested his strength, tasted his lips, and took a swift, fierce satisfaction in the uncompromising masculinity of the body pressed against hers.

It was only after he raised his head and she drew in a slow, unsteady breath that Alex realized he'd proved his point.

If he'd brought Katerina out here under the dark skies and ignited her senses like that, she certainly would've had cause to worry. More cause to worry.

Gathering the shreds of her dignity, she met his shadowed gaze. “If you touch me again without my permission,” she said quietly, “I'll use this whip you dismiss so contemptuously.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then his mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “If I do, and if you did, you'd be in the right of it.”

The apology—if it was one—surprised her. Alex frowned up at him, as confused by the way her heart refused to cease its wild pumping as by the way he lifted one hand to rub his thumb gently along her brow.

“Oh, hell, I didn't mean to put that crease back in your forehead,” he murmured, half under his breath. “Wily Willie would have my hide for that.”

“Who?” she asked, pulling back from his touch, confused by her reaction to this man.

“Wily Willie Sloan. He always warned me never to put a frown on a pretty girl's face—especially one as handy with a gun or a knife as you are. I figured he knew what he was talking about, since I once saw the sweetest, most demure little strawberry blonde west of the Mississippi pepper his backside with buckshot for doing what I just did.”

Alex shook her head. “Is this…is this your father you're talking about?”

Sloan's grin widened. “Well, he never actually admitted to it. Except once when I was about six, and got a little too close to an edgy jenny mule. She darn near kicked me into the next county. Willie dusted me off and bragged that I must have inherited my hardheadedness from him, but he was pretty drunk at the time, so I didn't put any stock in it.”

Alex stared at him, her mind whirling. She didn't understand how Sloan had managed to defuse what only a few moments ago had been an explosive situation. For her, at least. But the shattering tension between them had somehow softened, mellowed.

It was that damned grin, she thought with a wave of self-disgust. The gleam in his eyes as he spun his tales of this Willie character.

“Look, I—”

She broke off as a scream shattered the night.

Without thought, without hesitation, Alex whirled.

Her booted feet flew across the stubble as she raced toward the sound of muffled shouts. Cursing herself for having left her rifle at her tent, she bent down on the run and drew her knife from the leather sheath strapped just inside her boot top.

Sloan appeared beside her, as swift as she was, and far more silent. Alex barely spared him a glance, but she caught the glint of moonlight on the gun in his hand. She'd assumed he was armed. Anyone who traveled to such a remote part of the world without protection was a fool, and she was fast coming to the realization that, whatever else he was, Sloan was no fool.

As another high-pitched shriek sounded, Alex dodged through the rows of tents. She gathered a following of grimfaced armed men as she ran. No one spoke, no one questioned. As silent as death, the warriors of the steppes raced toward the unknown danger.

A
lex dodged the dark shape of a tent, then skidded to a halt. Her heart pounding, she stared at the chaotic scene before her.

Half the ropes mooring the tent she shared with Katerina and the other unmarried women had been pulled loose. The heavy goathide had partially collapsed, and was now draped over several thrashing figures of indistinct shape and size.

As she watched, a muffled shriek sounded from under the smothering material, and the pole supporting the peaked roof was knocked aside. The entire structure tumbled down. Various articles of clothing, several brass cooking pots and the white fur pelt that ordinarily covered her bed lay exposed to the night as those trapped inside dragged the heavy black hide this way and that.

Her knife held low for a slashing attack, Alex stalked toward the heaving mass. She sensed, rather than saw, Dimitri and Sloan a half pace behind her, while the others fanned out to encircle the collapsed structure. Whoever battled within would not escape.

At that moment, an edge of the hide lifted and a dark shape tumbled out.

“Katerina!” Alex bent and grasped her cousin's arm, helping her to rise. “Are you all right?”

The young woman lifted a shaky hand and shoved her hair out of her eyes. “Y-yes,” she gasped.

“What happened?”

“That…that beast…came into the tent.”

“Beast!” Releasing Katerina's arm, Alex whirled. “Give me your rifle!”

Without a word, Dimitri passed her the weapon. Holding the Enfield at waist level, she spun back to face the tent and snapped the bolt.

“No, cousin!” Katerina screeched.

At the same instant, a dark figure stepped in front of her and grabbed the rifle barrel. In a swift, powerful movement, Sloan pushed it toward the sky.

“I'm not sure what you think is under that tent, but the—”

“Release my rifle.”

“But the shape looks a bit familiar. I'd appreciate you not putting a bullet through it just yet.”

“Release my weapon.”

The command was low, intense and deadly. After a long, silent moment, Sloan complied. To Alex's consternation, he also turned and strode toward the tent, his broad shoulders blocking her line of fire. When he stooped and heaved the hide upward, she gripped the rifle in tight hands and moved forward.

It would serve the fool right if she let him be savaged by whatever was trapped beneath the hide, Alex thought furiously. He couldn't know about the wolves that roamed the steppes, or the vicious wild dogs that could bring down even full-grown cattle.

It wasn't a wolf or a dog that finally emerged from under the edge of the hide, however. Her mouth sagging, Alex stared at the apparition before her.

“Dammit, Red!” Sloan snarled. “What the hell did you get into?”

Goathair, Alex thought wildly. He'd gotten into the long, fleecy angora hair one of her aunts spun into mohair yarns. Huge clumps of the stuff decorated the chestnut's face, while more long, fuzzy strands hung from his chin. What looked like Katerina's best silk blouse was draped over one twitching ear, and the copper pot Ivana used to collect wild honey was stuck on his muzzle.

With a low, colorful curse, Sloan stepped through the scattered debris toward his charge.

Chuffing softly, the stud tossed his head up, then from side to side. At first Alex thought he was trying to shake the copper pot loose, but she soon realized he was draining the last of Ivana's honey and licking the inside of the vessel.

“You lop-eared hunk of crow bait, get your head down.”

Sloan yanked at the rope dangling from the animal's halter, then flung up an arm as Red obeyed his terse command. The copper pot whacked against his upraised forearm.

“Christ!” he muttered.

Alex bit down on her lower lip.

Treating Three Bars Red to a version of his ancestry that Alex suspected didn't appear anywhere in his papers, Sloan worked the honey pot off the stallion's muzzle. Once free, Red licked his lips to catch the last drops of honey. He also caught a mouthful of fuzzy angora hair, which he promptly spit out.

Swearing once more, Sloan swiped at the sticky glob decorating his jacket front.

Alex's teeth clamped down harder on her lip.

The honey pot empty, Three Bars Red had no objection to departing the scene of his crime. Responding to the jerk on his halter, he picked his way through the scattered debris with all the aplomb of a gentleman out for an evening stroll.

Nate led his charge toward the waiting woman, his jaws tight. In the dim light, he couldn't see the look in Alexandra's eyes, but he had a pretty good idea of what must be running
through her mind. His supposed attentions to Katerina a while earlier had earned him a casual threat of being skinned alive. He could just imagine what this disaster might warrant.

Grimly he eyed the men ranged on either side of their leader. He wondered if he'd have to knock a few heads together to keep Ole Red—and perhaps himself—from joining the ranks of the geldings.

“You—” Alexandra cut off whatever she was going to say.

“Yeah?” Nate growled. “I what?”

“You—” She swallowed. “You have goat's hair hanging from your chin.”

Glowering, he ran his free hand across his chin. It came away with a sticky mass attached.

Alex gave a hiccuping little gasp.

When Nate tried to shake the mess from his fingers, the gasp became a gurgle, then spilled over into helpless giggles.

Nate stopped in midshake, transfixed by the sight of Alexandra with the lines smoothed from her brow. Her generous mouth curved in a delighted smile, and her eyes sparkled in the dim light. This vibrant, laughing woman was all that he'd sensed she'd be, and then some.

Desire, heavy and swift, stirred in his belly. Not the casual, rippling kind of desire that streaks through a man when the woman he's taken an interest in unexpectedly pleasures him with a certain look, or a smile, or a come-hither hitch of her shoulder. This was a gut-twisting, wrenching sort of need that Nate had absolutely no business feeling for a woman who was his target.

For the second time in less than an hour, the urge to kiss Alex gripped Nate. This time, he rigidly controlled it.

“Take this…” She flapped one hand in his general direction. “Take this marauder away. Then you can come back and help repair the damage he's done.”

As he led the animal back through the camp, any lingering exasperation Nate might have felt over the stallion's antics vanished. With a wry grin, he realized that Ole Red had ac
complished two of the objectives he himself had been wrestling with all evening.

He'd handed Nate the perfect excuse to go nosing around Alexandra's tent.

And he'd brought a smile to her face that just about blinded them both with its candlepower.

Of course, Nate reflected, he'd accomplished the third objective on his own. He'd discovered that Alexandra wasn't averse to all men. In fact, for a few moments out there beside the wagon, he'd gotten the feeling maybe she wasn't even as averse to him as she let on.

Tying the halter lead more securely to a tent rope, Nate pulled a wad of fleecy hair from above Red's left eye.

“I guess we both got a taste of something sweet tonight, fella. I'm afraid it's gonna have to last us awhile.”

Leaving Red to think about that, Nate rejoined the crew gathered at the scene of the disaster.

 

It took less than fifteen minutes to raise the heavy black goathide tent.

The women untangled the ropes and stakes with smooth efficiency, while Sloan and several Karistani men rolled out the hide and raised the poles.

Since Alex had spent most of her summers riding the steppes beside her grandfather, she was less skilled in these domestic matters. The thick, oiled ropes felt awkward and uncooperative in her fingers, the stakes shaky. One of her aunts by marriage, a gentle, doe-eyed woman closer to Alex's own age than to the tall, mustached man she'd married and subsequently buried some years ago, edged her aside. Giving Alex a small smile, Anya secured the anchoring line with competent hands.

“Your mother always claimed you were better with the horses than with the tents and cook fires,” she said, in her soft, pretty voice.

Alex sat back on her heels. “So she did.”

The older woman glanced sideways as she gave the rope a
final twist. “It was a matter of much pride to her that your grandfather favored you. And much worry.”

“I know.”

Her aunt's words echoed in Alex's mind a short time later, as she knelt among her scattered possessions. She righted a small bird cage-shaped chest, her heart aching at the painful memories it brought. Her mother had laughed and hidden little treasures for a young, curious Alex in the chest's many small drawers. It seemed so long ago, so many tears ago, that Alex had last heard her mother laugh.

Even now, five years after Elena Jordan's death, Alex still carried the scars left by the complex relationship between the hawk-eyed chieftain and the daughter who'd defied him to wed where she would. For as long as Alex could remember, the three people she'd loved most in the world had been pulled in opposite directions. Her grandfather by tradition and his responsibilities. Her mother by her love for the outsider she'd married. Her father by his refusal to believe guns were the solution to Karistan's problems.

During her visits to Karistan, Elena had pleaded with the old chieftain to understand that violence and bloodshed were not her husband's way. Daniel Jordan was an economist, a man of learning, wise in the ways of the outside world. Although he chose words over weapons, he wasn't the weak half man the headman believed him to be. In disgust, the Karistani chieftain had tolerated the outsider only for his daughter's sake.

The tension between the two strong-willed people had grown with each passing year, however, until at last Elena had stopped returning to the steppes altogether. She'd sent Alex back each summer, refusing to deny her her heritage.

Ultimately, her grandfather's unceasing hostility toward Daniel Jordan had driven Alexandra away, as well. Fiercely loyal to the man whose gentleness had often been her refuge, Alex had sprung to her father's defense whenever the chieftain's hatred spilled over into some vitriolic remark. The summer she turned seventeen, the
ataman
had made one scathing
comment too many. The final quarrel between them had shaken the entire camp with its fury. That had been the last summer Alexandra had spent on the steppes.

She'd been back only once since. After her parents' deaths. After the fall of the Soviet Union, when reports of the violence between Karistan and Balminsk had begun to filter out to the rest of the world.

She'd been appalled at the devastation she found during that brief visit. And hurt as she'd never been hurt before. Her grandfather had told her brutally that she was of no use to him unless she wrung all trace of Daniel Jordan from her soul and stayed to fight by his side. She must choose, once and for all, between her two worlds.

Alexandra had refused to deny the father she loved, and the hawk-eyed chieftain had turned away in silent fury.

He hadn't spoken to her when she left, or during the years that followed. He must have known she'd funneled every penny of profit she earned from her designs into Karistan through Dimitri, but the headman had never acknowledged it. He hadn't relented, hadn't ever forgiven her for not choosing him over her father's memory.

In the end, he'd taken the choice out of her hands.

She was here. And she was
ataman.
Now she carried the burden he had shouldered for so long.

“This yours?”

Alex glanced up to see the American standing over her, a gold satin bra trimmed with ecru lace in his hand and a wicked gleam in his eyes. She pushed the painful memories aside and reached for the filmy undergarment.

“It is.”

“I thought so. From the color,” he added, when she flashed him a quick look. “It's the same as your eyes—sort of halfway between honey and hardtack.”

Alexandra snatched the lacy confection from his hand. “Thank you…I think!”

What was it with this man? Despite her best efforts to keep him in his place, Sloan simply wouldn't stay there. In the
short hours since he'd arrived, he and his grin and his blasted horse had literally turned the camp upside down. Stuffing the bra into one of the mother-of-pearl boxes, Alex tried again to assert her authority.

“I told you a half hour ago, we don't need your help any longer. We'll take care of the rest.”

“Now, that wouldn't be right, Alexandra, seeing as how Ole Red caused this havoc in the first place.”

He rolled her name in his slow, teasing way that caused Alex to grit her teeth and Katerina to send him a sharp look. Across the width of the tent, the younger woman's eyes narrowed with suspicion and instant jealousy.

Alex suppressed a sigh. Things were bad enough between her and her cousin without this man's presence exacerbating them further. An ancient Cossack saying, one passed from mother to daughter over the centuries, rose in her mind. Men were ever the burden women must bear in life—one could not live with them, nor cook them in oil rendered from yak grease, as they generally deserved.

Unaware of the fate she contemplated for him, Sloan hunkered down beside her and picked up one of the odd-shaped drawers. “Do all these little jobbers go in that chest?”

“Yes, but I'll put them away.”

Ignoring her protest, he angled the box to fit into an empty slot. In the process, he also spilled its entire contents. Childhood trinkets, her mother's hand-carved ebony comb, her pens and the few sketches Alex had found time to do since returning to Karistan tumbled out onto the patterned carpet.

His big hands shuffled through the loose papers, adding to their general disorder and Alex's exasperation. Tilting them up to the light provided by the overhead bulb, he studied the top sketch.