The Wrangler (13 page)

"There are only three of us, counting Fred. Mindy doesn't like riding horses. Do you think we could manage it?"

"Maybe." He handed the flower to her, snow white satin petals, sunny silken center. "Did I mention I'm a wrangler by trade?"

"No, but I knew when I first saw you with Blue." She tucked the flower into the brim of her hat. "The day we met."

"A fateful day. Can't help feeling like I'm meant to be here." As if he'd said too much he turned away to unload the wagon, and she hurried to help him.

Destiny. She'd never felt the brush of it so close.

Chapter Ten

The rhythmic
bam, bam, bam
of steel against nail echoed across the barnyard. The workers hammered feverishly, grimly, heads bent, ignoring the sweat beading on their foreheads and staining their muslin work shirts. Dakota couldn't see much through the crack between the grain shed's door—just a slash of sky, the corner of the barn where they were jury-rigging a place to hang him.

Horror sat in the back of his throat, metallic and thick. He felt numb, not quite able to believe this was real and no dream. He carefully pushed off the wall he leaned on, shuffled with a slow, uneven gait from the door in the make-shift ankle chains and cautiously eased down onto a pile of grain sacks.

They were going to kill him. String him up, no questions asked. He gingerly swiped his face with his hands, they came away wet with sweat and sticky with blood. At nineteen, he was a man and couldn't cry, although he felt like it. He'd been hauled out of his bunk, yanked to his knees in front of his boss, beaten with the butt of a rifle with no explanation. The beating had only stopped because they thought he was dead.

Not dead, unconscious, as it turned out. Dakota bit back a groan. Pain beat thickly in his scalp, raced through his skull to his spine and wrapped around his body.

The hammering silenced.

This was it. He braced himself, trying to gather his courage. Boots thudded closer. A key scraped in a lock and the door slammed open. A posse of enraged men stormed in, grabbed him by the boots and dragged him off the grain sacks.

He hit the ground hard, bounced over the threshold and across the dirt yard. Every rock scraped his bare back. Folks shouted threats and hate at him, the crowd a living monster beyond reason and control. A face blurred above him as a noose slipped around his neck. Pulled tight.

"Okay, boys!" His boss, the man he trusted, the man he looked up to, gave the order. "String him up."

Hemp burned his skin, cutting deep into muscle as he was jerked onto his feet by the rope, cutting off all air—

Dakota bolted awake, torn from his nightmare that was no dream at all. He sat up in his bedroll, hands at this throat. No noose, although he could still feel the bite of it. Adrenaline beat through him in thick, powerful thuds.

You're safe, he told himself, and realized the eastern horizon was lit with pinks and golds. A new day was beginning. That meant the past was another day behind him.

What if it could stay there? The small hope took root. He couldn’t seem to stop it. He rolled out of his blankets and caught sight of a slim silhouette moving his way.

"Good morning." She wore pink calico today, the dress skimming her curves. She looked like a summer rose. "I like a man who's an early riser."

"Have the last of the posts to set and then we need more posts." He climbed to his feet, ran his hand through his hair, reached for his shirt. Three days had passed since Kit had returned with the load of lumber. "In the meantime, we'll get started with the house. Did you speak with your neighbor?"

"He promised to come after breakfast." She opened the latch on the barn door. "Let's get the horses taken care of."

He caught the door and opened it for her. "You're good at giving orders."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to like being the boss." She disappeared into the dim interior, her soft alto floating back to him. "Rise and shine, everyone."

Straw rustled as horses blinked themselves awake.

"Oh, good morning, Blue." Dulcet, loving, she had become part of the shadows, but the warmth in her, the goodness in her shone bright. "Yes, I love you, too."

She enchanted him. He tried not to give in to it, but he was helpless. She laughed as the stallion nibbled her collar, tickling her as she opened his gate. She was like a dream, he realized, the long ago dream he'd once held as a young man before tragedy had struck.

Funny how he was starting to dream again. It couldn't be wise, to start wishing. He led Jack from his stall into the dawn-lit world and picketed him by the stream. She breezed over, laughing and talking with Blue. The morning's light seemed to cling to her, as if it adored her too.

And he stood in the shadows, with the tendrils of the nightmare clutching him. He felt unworthy of her, but he'd never wanted anything more in his life.

 * * *

Kit squinted in the early evening sunlight as she carried the water pail up the rise. It had been a long day, but a productive one. Work kept her too busy to worry about the identity of the men who'd been watching in the field, or about the nightmares that pulled her awake, heart beating, reliving the moment Tannen had yanked her out of Blue's saddle. And worst of all, the way it had felt to be held by Dakota.

There he was, sitting on top of the beams crossing from corner post to corner post, driving nails into the rafter Mr. Mason held steady for him. The bandage snowy white against his arm was a reminder of all that he'd done for her. He'd risked getting shot to protect her.

"Looks good on this end!" Mason hollered above the noise of the hammer, nodding his satisfaction at a job well done.

"Guess it's time for a break." Dakota caught the movement of her shadow on the ground and tossed her a silent nod of recognition. He drove in a final nail. "That water is darn welcome."

"I thought you all might be thirsty." Best not to look at his bare chest, damp with sweat and bronzed by the sun. Muscles rippled as he reached down for the bucket.

It was impossible to forget the way he held her. The male-hot comfort of his body, the protective band of his arms, and the tender brush of his lips to her temple were all sensations that haunted her now. Why couldn't he put his shirt back on? Then she wouldn't be as mesmerized by him.

At least, that's what she told herself. She went up on tiptoe and handed up the bucket. "Looks like you are ready for the canvas."

"I'd say yes." His fingers grasped the lip of the pail on the far side of the bucket. He, too, was careful to keep distance. "Tomorrow we'll get the rest of the canvas up as walls. It's not as solid as wood."

"But it's cheaper."

"For now, until autumn brings cold nights and you'll want wooden walls lickety-split." Mr. Mason stretched across a honey-gold two-by-four to accept the bucket from Dakota. His bushy eyebrows knit together. "Kit, I'm glad you had the good sense to hire a man like Dakota here. I'm concerned about you kids here all alone. Anyone thinkin' of mischief'll think twice when they see him."

No doubt about that, she thought. Dakota
was
intimidating. "Would you like to stay for supper? Since you brought us all that bear meat, Mindy put it to good use."

"I can smell the stew, and I'm sure it's good and tasty, but the wife'll skin my hide if I leave her waitin' a meal on me." He drank from the dipper and swiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "After forty-seven years of marriage, I've learned a few things. One is never to make the wife unhappy."

His good-natured wink made her smile.

"Why don't you hand up that canvas, missy." Mason handed the bucket down. "Before I head out of here, we'll get this roof covered for the night. Does that sound good, Black?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." His voice came iron-tough, but she remembered the tenderness he'd shown her and she shivered.

At least he was too busy to notice the shiver. He'd been quiet and stoic since this morning. Maybe he felt uncertain about their growing closeness, too.

She fetched the heavy canvas, still wrapped up from the store and hefted it up to Dakota. This was exciting. They would sleep in their new house tonight—well, the frame of their house, to be exact—but it was theirs. For as long as she held onto the land and could make a living, they would never have to pack up, never have to leave, never be homeless.

"I can help." Fred put down his hammer, where he was nailing a door frame Dakota had started for him. "Can I climb up?"

"Sure, kid." Dakota tore off the brown paper, which sailed to the grassy floor of the house. "Come on up, but stay right there in the corner. I need you to hold this end tight until Mason and I can nail it down."

Fred bounded up Mr. Mason's ladder as fast as a squirrel dashing up a tree. She felt Dakota's gaze, a brush to the side of her face, but when she looked he'd turned his back.

Maybe she'd imagined it.

"I can't believe it. It's really happening." Mindy padded up beside her, the spatula in hand, and an apron over her red calico dress. "It seemed impossible."

"I told you, things are changing for the better."

"I'm really sorry, Kit." Mindy hung her head. "All the nay saying I've done. But I really didn't think you could do it. Not that
you
couldn't, I mean, just that something bad would happen."

"I know. When Pa was here, bad things always did. We couldn’t escape them." Kit's gaze slid far across to the small patch of blackened ruins of their original cabin, which stood in painful reminder. Their hopes had been destroyed before.

But not this time.

"I miss him." Mindy's eyes filled with tears that didn't fall.

"Me, too." Kit cleared her throat and looked away. Pa had his troubles, but he'd loved them. He'd given them love and kindness. She missed him something fierce.

This is what happens when you let your emotions surface.
She blinked away tears. For the last nine years she'd been the one keeping their family together. She'd learned exactly how to do it—keep your feelings buried, concentrate on the tasks needing to be done and get to work.

And whatever her unexamined feelings were for Dakota Black, she needed to do the same with them. Bury them so far and deep that she never had to look at them. She had Fred and Mindy to provide for. She wanted to give them a home and stability. Help them put the wounds of their childhood behind them.

"I've decided to head to town tonight," she said to her sister. "We've used up the last of the lumber, and we need more. I need money to do that."

"Do you think you can win enough?" Worry crinkled Mindy's forehead.

"I'm going to give it a try. But first I'm going to work on my mustache. I don't think it's bushy enough." That would give her something to focus on. Inside the tent with her needle and thread, she wouldn't be exposed to the sight of Dakota straddling the rafters, muscles rippling beneath sun-bronzed skin.

 * * *

Dakota coiled Jack's reins around the hitching post. Dusty Creek was busy tonight, the long line of saloons dominated Main Street. Only two stores were within eye sight—a gunsmith and a mercantile, both of which had closed well before sunset. "Kit, that was pretty good. You dismounted like a real man."

"Hey, I'm trying." She flashed him a smile that was entirely feminine beneath the pasted-on mustache that looked like an ogre's eyebrow. She gave her gun belt a hitch, squared her slender shoulders and adjusted the bandana at her throat. "I've made up my mind to imitate you. Think that will work?"

"The thought scares me." He stole Blue's reins from her and wound them tight around the post. "The world doesn't need two of me."

"Well, I need to learn to look tough." She jutted out her chin and set her jaw.

It didn't help. All he could see was her. The disguise didn't work on him. He could see the real Kit Chapman, who'd been sweet and soft in his arms. His blood thickened, remembering.

He tamped down a deeper wanting for her, desire that he could not give in to, and eyed the row of saloons. "Let's try another one this time."

"Exactly my thought. Tannen is the last man I want to run into tonight." Kit drew her hat brim down to hide half her face. "I don't think he likes Uncle Howie much."

"Agreed. Tannen might hold a grudge. He's the type. C'mon, Howie. Let's try Moe's."

"Good choice." She led the way down the boardwalk.

It was hard not to watch her. At least she no longer swung her hips. It was an enormous improvement.

"Keep a low profile." He caught the batwing door for her, holding it open. "Head straight to the bar."

"Hey, I've done this before." She sailed past him, smelling faintly of strawberries.

The place was crowded, full of ranch hands and cowboys come to spend their wages. Only one empty stool at the bar—he steered Kit to it. He stood beside her and signaled the barkeep. "Two. Whatever you've got."

"Comin' up," the barman hollered over the noise, slamming two tankards down and sliding them their way.

He caught both handily, and shoved Kit's in front of her. Counted out a few coins and tossed it down.

"I've never drank alcohol," she leaned in, her shoulder pressing against his arm. "I shouldn't start now. Not when I need to be sharp-witted."

"Carry it with you, don't drink it. You'll never get in a game with a sarsaparilla." He took a swig of foam and brew, winced at the bitterness. "Looking around, I don't see Tannen or any of his men."

"That's a promising sign." She swirled around on her stool, studying the crowd. "We can go forward with the plan."

"I'll join a game. Give it a few hands, then come over." He took his tankard with him. "Don't get into any trouble between now and then. Think you can manage that?"

"Absolutely. I'll sit here and not drink my alcohol. How hard can that be?"

"I guess we'll see." He'd known her long enough to know she was trouble. Look what she'd done to him already. He stalked around crowded tables to the one he'd targeted. A mixed group, some old, some young, low stakes, a few empty chairs. He grabbed one of them. "Mind if I join in?"