Natchez Flame (9 page)

“Time to get up,” he said, handing her the coffee. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Priscilla gratefully accepted the mug. “You should
have awakened me sooner. I could have made breakfast.”

“I thought … after what happened—at the trading post, I mean—you could use a little extra sleep.”

Priscilla blushed. It was the other “what happened” that worried her more.

“About last night …,” he said, reading her thoughts.

“It wasn’t really your fault. I’d rather we just forgot it.”

Easier said than done
, Brendan thought. He recalled the painful hours he had spent before dawn, trying not to think of her slender curves, her ripe little bottom, the feel of her small upturned breasts. As she sat there sipping her coffee, his eyes traced the line of her thick dark braid, saw where it nestled against her bosom, and he had to turn away.

“You’d better get dressed,” he said a little more gruffly than he meant to. One look at her in that damned cotton nightgown and his breeches fit way too snug. Three more days of this torture and even Patsy Jackson would be hard-pressed to give him the ease he’d need.

“There’s some bacon over near the fire,” he said. “I didn’t take time to make biscuits. Mine aren’t worth a damn, anyway.”

“Mine are,” Priscilla said proudly. “I’m a very good cook, you know.”

Brendan’s face lit up. “God, I’d give six months’ pay for some real home cooking. Think you could bake a pie if I found some wild berries?”

“Pies are my specialty.”

While Brendan cared for the livestock, Priscilla
dressed in the dark green calico she had worn the day before. She ate the bacon he had fried, along with a slice of melon, and cleaned the skillet in the creek, using the clean sand in the bottom to scour away the grease.

When they finished breaking camp, Brendan helped her up on the wagon seat. “You drive the team,” he said from the ground at her side. “I want to do a little scouting, see what’s up ahead.”

“Me? B-but I—”

“Just stay on the road—such as it is. I won’t be far away.” He gathered the big black horse’s reins and swung effortlessly into the saddle. The animal snorted and pranced, but Brendan spoke to him with quiet authority and the animal settled right down.

“Ready?”

Priscilla swallowed hard. “What do I do first?”

Saddle leather creaked as Brendan shifted his weight to look at her, his light blue eyes accusing. “Son of a bitch, I should have known.” With a scowl that told her exactly what a priss he thought she was, he swung down from his horse.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it, I just need you to tell me how.”

Brendan grinned at that, the hard lines easing, his blue eyes twinkling. “Well, Priscilla my girl, you might find it just a tad more difficult than it looks.” He tied the horse to the back of the wagon and climbed up on the seat beside her. Unwinding the reins from around the brake, he released the lever and slapped the mules lightly on the rump.

“Well?” Priscilla pressed when he made no move to give her the reins.

“Something might happen. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“As you pointed out last night, we’ve got a good three days’ journey ahead of us. Teaching me to drive the team will help pass the time.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“If I’m going to live on a ranch, I’ll have to learn sooner or later.”

For a moment he didn’t answer, then with a sigh, he pulled the team to a halt. “All right. I guess you can’t get in too much trouble as long as I’m sitting beside you.”
Like hell
, he thought, his eyes skimming over her body.

He’d decided to scout ahead more to cool his blood than because he really needed to. There’d been no sign of the men from the trading post. Odds were they wouldn’t see another soul until they reached the Triple R.

“Hold out your hands.” Priscilla did as he said, and Brendan laced the leather lines through her fingers. “Slap the reins against their flanks and talk to them.”

“Talk to them? What do I say?”

He smiled at that. “Since we don’t know their names you can call them whatever you like. Just keep your voice quiet but firm and tell them to get going.”

She set her gaze on the animals in determined concentration. “All right, mules, let’s go,” she said, lightly slapping the reins. To her relief, they brayed and started right off.

“They like you,” he teased.

“They are kind of cute, in a lop-eared sort of way.”

“They’re cute, all right, as long as they’re doing what you want them to.”

“How do I turn them?”

“It’s just the opposite of riding a horse—instead of using the pressure of the rein on the animal’s neck, you pull. Pull on the right rein, you go right, the left rein, you go left, and ease up on the other side.”

“Since I never learned how to ride, I shouldn’t get too confused.”

Brendan released a long, slow breath. “What in blazes are you doing out here, Miss Wills? You’ve got about as much business on the Texas frontier as a prairie dog does in a parlor.”

“I’m not out here to ride horses, Mr. Trask. I’m here to provide a comfortable home for my husband and the family we will raise.
That
, I assure you, is something I’m more than capable of doing.”

Brendan’s eyes moved from the fullness of her breasts to the curve of her waist, then drifted lower. “If Egan has his way, he’ll probably keep you barefoot and pregnant—and chained to the foot of his bed.”

Priscilla flushed crimson. She didn’t say another word.

They rode along in silence, lulled by the whir of the wheels over the hard-packed earth, the occasional caw of a blackbird. The landscape had changed from mostly flat land covered with salt grass to gently rolling hills dotted with live oaks and clusters of bushy mesquite. The land climbed steadily, though the angle was slight and the animals didn’t seem to mind.

Priscilla did well with them until the trail disappeared
into a recent wash, and they had to leave the path and cross a dry ravine.

“You’d better let me take them through.” Brendan reached for the reins, but Priscilla wouldn’t let go.

“How will I ever learn to handle them if all I do is drive straight ahead?”

“We can’t risk the wagon.”

“I can do it, I know I can.”

Brendan eyed her a moment, gauging her it seemed. “All right, you stubborn little minx, give it a try, but you damned well better not break a wheel or we’ll really be up a creek.”

Priscilla grinned. She pulled on the right rein, and the mules turned off the dirt trail. She pulled on the left, and they straightened out and headed down into the gulley. She might have made it if it weren’t for the long-necked, long-legged bird who raced out of a clump of mesquite in front of them, a small snake wriggling in its beak.

The mules reared up in their traces, braying wildly, and then bolted forward.

“Damn!” Brendan made a grab for the reins just as the wagon hit a chuckhole. Priscilla flew up from the seat and would have gone out of the wagon if Brendan’s arm hadn’t clamped around her waist. Her hold on the reins loosened for only a moment, but it was long enough to send the team through the ravine at a breakneck pace and up the other side, dumping most of their gear out the back, including Priscilla’s trunks.

“For God’s sake, don’t let go!” Brendan shouted, holding Priscilla on his lap with one arm while reaching around her with the other to grab the reins.

Seizing a handful of leather, he hauled backward. “Whoa, mules! Easy now. Be gentle.” At the firm tone of his voice, the animals slowed and finally came to a stop.

Priscilla sat on Brendan’s lap, trembling all over. Two strong arms held her in place, and his warm breath next to her ear moved tendrils of hair beside her cheek.

Priscilla’s heart, already thumping with excitement, started to pound even harder.

“You all right?” he asked, his face just inches away.

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out in a soft breath of air. Priscilla licked her lips, and the arm around her waist grew tighter.

“Priscilla,” he whispered, his voice suddenly husky.

She just stared at him, lost in the blueness of his eyes, the smooth bronzed hue of his skin. There were tiny creases across his forehead, she noticed for the first time, but they only made him more attractive.

“I know I shouldn’t do this,” he was saying, “but I have to—just this once.” Before she could think what he meant, Brendan’s long brown fingers moved to her throat. He lifted her chin, tipped it up, and settled his mouth over hers. Priscilla gasped in shock as his tongue invaded her mouth, silky smooth and so very warm. His free hand cradled her face, giving him control, but it wouldn’t have mattered. She couldn’t have moved away from him for all the cattle in Texas.

Brendan held her a moment more, kissing her thoroughly, expertly, she imagined. Then the kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun—thankfully—before she had really embarrassed herself. At a loss as to what she should do, pink from her neck to her hairline, Priscilla started to speak, thought better of it, and instead hauled off and slapped him, the loud crack making them both start.

“H-how dare you take such liberties,” she stammered, as upset with herself as she was with him. “I-I’m engaged to be married, as you know only too well.”

Brendan just rubbed his cheek and grinned. “My foremost apologies, Miss Wills. But finding such a lovely lady sitting on my lap, well … I just couldn’t help myself.”

Priscilla glanced down in horror. Hard thighs—and something distinctly masculine—pressed against her bottom.

“Dear God in heaven,” she whispered, realizing just how long she’d been sitting there. She slid off his lap and onto the seat, her eyes carefully fixed on the horizon.

“I suppose you think this was my fault, too,” she said, remembering how she had snuggled up to him in his bedroll with even more embarrassing results. “I certainly didn’t mean to … that is … surely you don’t think I—”

Brendan sobered, the easy grin gone from his face. “Not in the least, Miss Wills.” He set the brake and wrapped the reins around it, securing them tightly. “I haven’t doubted your virtue for a moment.” One
last grin. “Your wisdom, yes, but your virtue—never.”

He jumped down from the wagon. “I’ll reload the supplies. You stay put—and whatever you do, don’t touch those reins.”

“I almost made it,” Priscilla said, “next time I will.”

“You almost fell out on your pretty little bottom.” Brendan squatted on his haunches to set the last stone in the circle around the dry wood and branches he had readied for the fire. Neither of them had said much since his return to the wagon. He’d just settled himself on the seat beside her and clucked the team into a trot.

“I shouldn’t have let you try it,” he added, pulling a box of wooden matches from his pocket. “You almost got hurt.”

Priscilla stiffened. “There are risks involved in everything. That doesn’t mean I should sit around and do nothing. Before we reach the Triple R, I’m going to learn to drive that team.”

“Sorry. You’ll have to get Egan to teach you.” Brendan struck the match against a rock and held it to the dry grass and kindling. Soft yellow flames licked the air and began to blacken and curl the wood.

“Surely you didn’t expect me to be perfect the very first time,” Priscilla argued. “I’ll do better, I just need a little more practice.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my responsibility. I mean to see you get to Egan safe and sound.”

“You won’t teach me because of Stuart? You certainly weren’t worried about Stuart when you kissed me.”
What had possessed her to say that?
Just thinking about that kiss sent a flood of warmth to her cheeks—and several other places as well.

“If you’re looking for another apology, forget it. I warned you about getting too close. You were
definitely
too close.” Brendan got up from the fire, stretching with an easy grace to his full height, a good eight inches taller than Priscilla.

“I need to rub down the livestock.” He gave her a last fleeting glance. “I guess … after the kiss and all … that pie would be out of the question.”

Priscilla couldn’t help but laugh. “You are truly a rogue, Mr. Trask. If you can find the berries, I’ll bake the pie.”

Brendan smiled, the hard lines easing, his light eyes almost playful. “Truth is, I spotted some just a little ways back.” The smile turned cocky. “Why do you think I picked this particular place to camp?”

Priscilla laughed again as Brendan grabbed a metal pot and retreated toward the woods. She watched the movement of his powerful shoulders and narrow hips, and found it hard to look away. He was the boldest, most arrogant man she had ever met. So unbelievably cocksure of himself, at times so utterly charming. She had never known anyone like him.

Priscilla’s bright mood faded. Brendan Trask was a gambler and a gunman. A hard-edged man who could kill with the blink of an eye. She mustn’t let his
charming manner blind her to the kind of man he really was.

Digging through the pots and pans he had stacked beside the campfire, Priscilla found the items she needed and set them aside. She would bake him a cobbler, the closest she could come to a pie out here in the wilderness.