Nan Ryan (14 page)

He did not behave like any of the men she had known. He was certainly not panting after her, hoping for a kiss or a kind word. If she had spent twenty-four hours alone in the wilds with any other man on earth, she would have, by now, had him wrapped around her little finger.

The princess had the distinct feeling that this granite-faced Texas Ranger had never and would never be wrapped around any woman’s little finger. Not even hers.

Virgil stepped out of the trees and into the bright mountain sunshine. Blinking, shutting her eyes against the sudden change in light, the princess was relieved they were back at camp. She could hardly wait to get some clothes on.

Virgil carried her straight to the campfire, set her on her bare feet.

“Thank heaven for the fire,” she said. “I am
soooo
cold.”

He nodded, left her there. She stretched icy hands to the shooting flames and felt the welcome heat lick at her bare thighs. Shortly Virgil returned, carrying a pair of faded Levi’s jeans and a collarless pullover blue shirt over his arm.

He said, “I’ll break camp and saddle the horses while you get dressed.” She looked at the clothes. She looked at him. “What shall I do with the shirt I’m wearing?”

“Give it back,” he said, absently rubbing his washboard abdomen where his low-riding trousers fell away from his hard waist. “If you ever considered anyone other than yourself, you might realize that I’m a shade chilly myself.”

15

Stung by his accusation
, the princess felt compelled to defend herself. A protest quickly rose in her throat. “I will have you know that—”

“Save it for somebody who’ll believe it,” he cut her off. “Get your pants on and be ready to ride.” He turned and walked away, leaving her glaring at his broad, bare back.

Moments later he returned with the saddled horses and saw her standing motionless, staring into the dying fire. She was dressed in his faded jeans, which hung precariously on her hipbones. The denim legs were rolled up several turns over her bare feet. The blue collarless pullover shirt with the tails outside the pants reached almost to her knees. She had taken the bolo tie he’d given her to use for a belt and instead had secured her wild ginger hair at the back of her neck. Her face, clean and smooth and totally devoid of the heavy paint and powder she wore onstage, was near perfect. There was one imperfection to her fair good looks. A minor one. With her hair pulled back from her face, her slightly protruding ears were more noticeable than usual.

Struck by how cute and youthful she looked in his clothes that practically swallowed her, Virgil felt obliged to again caution her about the many perils she would encounter should she be lucky—and foolish—enough to escape him.

“Red, we need to talk,” he said, dropping the horses’ reins to the grass and stepping up beside her.

Arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted imperiously, she refused to turn and look at him. “I have nothing to say to you, Ranger.”

“Then let me amend,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Really?” she replied sarcastically, “I can’t believe you’d want to converse with someone who thinks only of herself.”

Virgil exhaled with irritation. “If I hurt your tender feelings, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” She whipped her head around and looked up at him with blazing emerald eyes.

He shrugged bare shoulders, reached for the black shirt she had discarded on the ground. He picked it up, thrust his long arms into the sleeves but left the shirt unbuttoned.

“Okay, I’m not,” he said, reached out, took hold of her upper arms, and turned her to face him. “I have something to say and you are going to listen.”

“Why should I care what you have to say?” She attempted to wrench herself free of his strong grasp, and failed.

“Hold still,” he said, refusing to release her. She made a face, turned her head away, and gazed off across the meadow. “And look at me,” he commanded, giving her a gentle shake. Her snapping green eyes returned to his face. He said, “You should care because it concerns you. It is important that you listen and pay close attention.”

“Then say it and get it over with,” she replied, chin jutting pugnaciously.

“You think you’ve met every kind of man at the Silver Dollar, but—”

“Just what is this Silver Dollar?”

“Jesus, don’t be coy with me, I don’t have the time. And don’t interrupt me again,” he warned. “What I’m trying to tell you, Red, is that no matter how many rough, rowdy men you adeptly handled at the saloon, you are no match for the trigger-happy bandits, Mexican outlaws, and renegade Apaches roaming these mountains and the deserts below. You’re a very pretty woman, and I’d hate to think what would happen if you fell into the wrong hands.” He paused, waited for her to speak.

“Are you finished?” she asked, bored with this latest revelation of the perils of America’s West.

“No, I’m not. The Apaches are the most dangerous, the worst of the lot. They are ruthless, pitiless. They subject white captives to unspeakable acts of torture.” Her eyes changed slightly, as did the expression on her face. She was listening now and he knew it.

He pressed on. “Surely you’ve heard that scattered bands of renegade Apaches are again off the San Carlos Reservation. For weeks now they’ve been terrorizing ranchers and farmers throughout New Mexico and Texas. One of the renegade bands is led by a fierce young giant called Chief Thunderfoot.” Virgil glanced pointedly at her hair, flaming now in the early morning sunshine, then back at her face. “If Thunderfoot gets so much as a glimpse of your wild red hair …” He shook his head, left the rest unsaid.

Princess Marlena nodded to appease him, but she wasn’t terribly frightened by his warnings. He wanted to scare her so she wouldn’t try to slip away from him. Well, it wouldn’t work. Yesterday she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She had been too frightened and confused to contemplate escape. Today was different. She felt more like her old self again. Confident. Ready to take matters into her own hands. She was sure that she could now handle the gentle gray mare by herself. It seemed simple enough. She had watched the Ranger. Had noted the way he reined his mount about with no apparent trouble. She could do the same. And she would. Starting today.

Then she could escape the Texas Ranger.

The minute the opportunity presented itself, she would be gone. She would take her chances against Thunderfoot and the Apache. At least they wouldn’t be dragging her off to jail.

She nodded earnestly and told Virgil in a soft, little girl voice, “Why, just the mention of the Apaches is enough to frighten me half out of my wits.”

“Good,” he said, dropping his hands from her arms. “You should be frightened. Stay that way.” He shook a long finger in her face. “And stay close to me at all times. Do not get out of my sight.”

As sweetly as possible, she replied, “I won’t. You can trust me, Ranger.”

“I’m sure I can.” His blue sardonic eyes mocked her, letting her know he
didn’t trust her at all
. He stuffed the long tails of his black shirt down inside the waistband of his snug trousers. “Still, if you don’t mind,” he said, buttoning his shirt, “I’ll keep a pretty close eye on you.”

Struggling to tamp down her rising temper, Princess Marlena smiled engagingly at the tall, dark Texan. “Mind? Why I’m relieved to hear it.”

He grinned an evil grin, nodded. “Remember this, Red, I’m always prepared for whatever happens,” he said. “That’s my motto. “
Semper apparatus.
” It’s Latin. Means ‘be prepared.’”

“I know that,” she said condescendingly. “I studied Latin for four years.”

He gave no reply. Just reached into his back pockets, retrieved her kid slippers, and went down on one knee before her. When his long tapered fingers swiftly wrapped around her left ankle and he lifted her bare foot, the princess almost lost her balance. She automatically reached out, grabbed at his shoulders, felt the muscles flex beneath her hands. He slid the slippers onto her feet, rose, and said, “
Vamanos, pues!
Know what that means?”

Refusing to answer, she took a step backward, putting some space between them.

“It means, ‘Let’s go.’”

When he put his hands to her waist to lift her up onto the saddle, the princess announced casually, “I will take the reins of the mare today.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.” He ignored the expression of disappointment that quickly clouded her face. “Today we ride most all the way down out of the mountains,” he told her. “Where we now stand is at the eight-thousand-foot level. By sunset we’ll have dropped five, six thousand feet. The trail down is steep, narrow, and treacherous. I’ll handle both horses. You just hold on and stay in the saddle.
Comprende
?”

She refused even to look at him.

She sat astride the gray mare, her jaw set, wondering how she could possibly escape when he insisted on controlling her mount.

Virgil Black knew what she was thinking.

“Believe me, Red, before an hour has passed, you’ll be glad I’m leading the mare.”

The princess remained stubbornly mute, but he was unbothered by her silence. With the gray’s long leather reins in his left hand, Virgil swung up into his saddle, and the responsive black stallion immediately went into motion. Virgil tugged gently on the mare’s reins, and she moved forward to follow the stallion.

By the time they reached the far side of the wide, high country meadow, the newly risen sun had disappeared. Thick ground clouds had rolled in from the north, obliterating the tall pines and aspens ahead. Squinting, the princess could hardly see the dark horse and dark rider directly ahead of her. Clinging to the saddle horn with both hands, she wondered at him. Surely, if what he had said was true, if the trail was a steep and perilous one, it would be foolhardy to ride down it in the dense fog. She expected him to pull up any minute and say they would wait until the clouds burned off.

“Ranger,” she called out shortly, “shouldn’t we stop and wait for the sunshine?”

“No,” he said evenly from out of damp, swirling mists. “That could be hours.”

“So? You said yourself the trail is quite perilous,” she reminded him. Her voice raising, she threatened, “See here, if you put my life in jeopardy, you will—”

Interrupting, he said, “Noche could make his way down the mountain blindfolded. As long as you do as I say, you’ll be safe. Let me do the worrying.” She opened her mouth to say more, but before she could speak, he said, “Not another word.”

The princess ground her teeth in frustration, then made mean faces at the Ranger’s back. She couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her to be quiet. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Who did this arrogant Texas lawman think he was telling her—Marlena, crown princess of Hartz-Coburg—to shut up?
Nobody
could tell her to shut up!

“Just who do you think you are? You strut through Texas with a gun on your hip making up the law as you go! Well, nobody tells me to shut up!” the princess shouted at the top of her lungs. “You hear that, Ranger?
Nobody!
”

The words had barely passed her lips before a dark form emerged from the impenetrable cloud forest, and the startled princess found herself being snatched down out of the saddle. Blinking in surprised alarm, she saw, through the thick swirling mists, the chiseled, unshaven face of the Ranger looming just above her own. He was close. So close that without touching her she could feel the physical emanation from him.

“I have,” he said in a low menacing voice, “had just about enough of your nonsense.”

She put up her chin, despising the sudden trembling in her limbs, knowing that if he moved any closer and touched her, she would no longer be able to conceal it.

“Get away from me!” she threatened hotly.

“Obviously you are a slow learner,” he said, and moved aggressively closer. He stood so close his thighs brushed against hers and she wanted to die, knowing that he now knew her legs were quivering. “I give all the orders here. This is not a democracy. Nor is it the Silver Dollar Saloon where you’re the Queen. You have no vote here, no say in any of the decisions made. Think of me as a dictator.
Your
dictator.”

His hands at his sides, only his trousered thighs touching hers, he had her pinned against the gray mare. The annoying Texas drawl pronounced, he said, “You understand?”

Her temper flared. “I understand. Now perhaps you can understand this!” she said, and impulsively raised a hand to slap him hard.

But he was too quick for her. Her grabbed her wrist, forced her arm down, and shoved it behind her back.

“Perhaps you can understand this,” he said, urging her up onto her toes against him until his dark, unshaven face was scant inches from her own. “If you act up again,” he promised in a quiet deadly voice, “I’ll handcuff you.”

“You don’t scare me one bit,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “You wouldn’t dare!”

He pressed her even closer, so close she gasped. “Try me.”

“Maybe I will.” She struggled to free herself.

“What are you waiting for?” he challenged coolly. “Go ahead.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, refusing to be intimidated.