The Wrangler (6 page)

Light spilled with eye-stinging brightness from one of the shops. "What's going on out there?" a man demanded in a mellow tenor.

"Dewayne!" Relief eased the pinched lines around Kit's soft mouth. Such a pretty mouth. "I need help."

The light from the shop tumbled over her, and it wasn't the man's clothes or the fairly good, fake mustache Dakota saw, but the woman beneath. Gentle, kind, concerned for him.

No one in ages had cared whether he lived or died. He'd gotten used to it until he'd stopped caring himself. Darkness crept across his brain, stealing his consciousness, but he knew as the blackness closed in he wouldn't hit the ground when he fell. He knew she would catch him.

 * * *

Fire danced like a wraith in the night, fiery red and roaring. The dangerous heat seared her and drew the skin tight on her face as she laid Fred in the cool grass, both of them coughing in the smoke.

"Mindy!" She screamed her sister's name, but the beast that was the fire drowned out her words, rearing up like a monster against the peaceful twinkle of stars in the sky above. Clouds of smoke tried to blot them out, but they shone on while she searched the field for her missing sister. Terror clawed through her. "Mindy!"

Kit sat up, pulse pounding, gasping for breath, the memory of the fire crisp in her mind. She could almost taste the dank smoke, as if it were coating the back of her throat.

It was a dream and not real, she told herself. She blinked, and the shadowy inside of the tent came into view. Starlight glowed on the canvas wagon top, which she and Fred had stretched over willow boughs and stakes for a makeshift home.

Her raspy breath sounded hollow in her ears.
Calm down,
she thought.
Everything is fine. Everyone is safe.

She peeled away the sheet and sat up in her makeshift bed on the floor. Near the entry, Fred slept on his side, lying on a pallet they'd made from lumber scraps. Mindy dreamed nearby, still and peaceful, tucked in the corner on a straw tick they'd made from wild grasses. All was well there, but it was the man nearby, sprawled on his back in her bed that dominated her attention and her concern.

At least they'd been able to stop the bleeding. Dewayne had saved the day, bringing a blanket to roll Dakota onto. Between them they were able to carry him sling style into the back of the tailor shop. She'd patched up Pa after more than one saloon fight gone wrong, which meant she had experience tending injuries and digging out bullets.

Dewayne had stitched the wound, and he'd done an expert job. No doctor necessary. He'd hitched up his wagon, they'd loaded Dakota in the back and headed home. Blue had followed, tied to the tailgate, now and then nickering with worry about the condition of the man he'd taken a shine to.

She'd been worried about him, too. Still was. He'd taken a bullet for her. A bullet. Her throat felt thick as she listened to him breathe. Slow, rhythmic, steady. He lay on her mattress against the side of the tent, where the shadows were thickest. Strange how her fingertips ached to reach out and touch him, to make sure no fever was dampening his brow or heating his skin, but she held back.
No touching,
she thought.
That was a smart rule to live by.

Her tongue felt like sandpaper. She rocked to her feet, wincing at the ache in half her muscles. As if falling off Blue once hadn't been enough with the bear, the violent way Tannen had jerked her by the boot and tossed her to the ground had likely given her more than a few bruises. She snagged the empty water pitcher on her way to the tent flap.

The night air puffed hot against her face once she was outside. She breathed in the fresh air and listened to nature's sounds. An owl
whoo-whoo-whooing
from the stand of cottonwoods alongside the creek. A distant call of a coyote somewhere on the prairie. The muffled whoosh of a horse's breath from inside the sod stable. Jack, most likely, as the old gelding tended to snore.

Assured the night held no dangers, she crossed the yard toward the blackened ruins where their ramshackle cabin had stood. The small well had been untouched by the inferno, although the nearby grasses had been scorched. The charred scent from the fire touched her nose and she shivered, remembering the nightmare that had kicked her out of her sleep.

She knelt to open the wooden lid and heard a boot print in the grass behind her. Her heart lurched, for one senseless moment fearing it was Tannen, even as she knew it wasn't true.

"Let me do that." Dakota's silhouette, masculine and mighty, cast a shadow against the jeweled stars twinkling behind him in the black sky.

"You?" Why wasn't she surprised? "You were shot six hours ago. What are you doing up?"

"I didn't get shot in the foot, so I can stand." Western tough, he knelt beside her. He set his shirt and something else he carried on the ground—with his injury he probably couldn't put his shirt on by himself—and reached for the well's rope. "What are you doing outside alone this time of night?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She gestured to the well in front of her. Her lurching heart hadn't settled down. It galloped like a runaway horse because of his nearness. "The real question is, what are you doing up? And how are you up? You lost a lot of blood."

"I've lost more and lived to tell about it."

"As an outlaw?" She gulped, watching as he drew the bucket up awkwardly, using his injured arm to hold the rope, his good one to draw up the bucket. He looked the part of an outlaw, even with a bandage white against the bronzed skin of his upper arm. There was something untamed about him, as if he were beyond the law, beyond what a civilized man should be.

"As a soldier." He handed over the water bucket and tried to hide the beads of sweat rolling down his face from the effort.

Stubborn man. An unexpected warmth flickered to life in her heart, like a flame newly lit. A slip of affection the like of which she'd never felt before.

"You were in the army?" Her hand trembled from his nearness as she emptied the bucket into the pitcher. "The War Between the States?"

He nodded. That was all. He offered no more information as he rocked back on his heels to sit in the soft grass beside her. She didn't know what to say. A soldier? He'd fought to hold their country together? And here she'd feared the worst about him, letting her imagination run wild because he looked as if he belonged on a wanted poster. How could she have been that wrong?

"Would you like a drink?" She left a bit of water in the bucket for him.

He shook his head. "I borrowed your whiskey. Found it on the floor beside the bed."

"It's Pa's. Hard to believe he left it behind, but he did. You're welcome to it." Gambling and drink had been her father's weaknesses and his masters. She hoped Dakota wasn't a drinking man the way Pa had been. She let her gaze rove over his rock-hard shoulders and muscled bare chest. She couldn’t imagine Dakota Black being weak.

"Thanks. It helps with the pain." He raked his good hand through his thick, dark hair. "This is an isolated piece of land."

"It's prime ranching land."

"But it's just you and those two kids sleeping in the tent." A tent he wasn't going to sleep in again, not after what happened to him eight years ago. The vestiges of the past, wisps of memory he'd tried to bury forever surged upward and he fought them down. "How are the three of you going to turn this into a ranch?"

"You wait and see. Things will be different by this time next year. First off, we're building a house."

"You can't be much more than what, twenty-one, twenty-two?"

"I'm almost twenty."

"Which means you're nineteen." He stayed away from young women as a rule. A cold sweat broke out over his bare flesh, and it wasn't from the bullet wound. She was way too young, and he shouldn't be alone with her.

"I'm old enough to do what needs to be done. I've got plans. See that sod barn? I'll have a big new structure right there next to it, so the soddy can take the brunt of the north winter winds. You can see Fred and I have already started the corral. Imagine it finished with the horses grazing in it."

"That's a lot of change in one year." He tried standing up, but his head was a little woozy. He had to go slow. "You'll need supplies. You'll have to hire help. That's costly."

"And that's why I was gambling tonight." She tilted her head back to look up at him. The starlight found her, made her glow, emphasized her beauty.

She
was
a beauty. His ribs constricted until he couldn’t breathe and he lurched forward. A little shaky, and his vision went black for a moment, but the dizziness passed after a few seconds. Then he'd be able to do the right thing. He'd vowed never to be alone with a young woman again. "Good luck. Thanks for patching me up."

"You're leaving?" She dropped the bucket back in the well and secured the wooden lid. "Just like that?"

Chapter Five

"Yep, just like that." He might not feel up to walking back to the field where he'd stashed his bedroll, rucksack and rifle, but he had to do it. He was alone with her. Without his shirt on. He'd slept a stone's throw away from her and another young girl. With his past, he couldn’t risk it. He had no choice but to go. It was self preservation.

"It's miles back to town. Not even you are that tough, Mr. Black. Look at your knees. They're wobbling."

"They'll steady up soon enough." He tucked the whiskey bottle beneath his injured arm and tried to stab his good hand through the shirt sleeve. Missed.

"I'm not sure if I should help you or let you keep trying. Maybe then you'll admit you need to stay here and rest." She swept toward him like the breeze, mild and sweet. Sparkled like the stars overhead, rare and captivating. "You're bleeding through your bandage. You've been moving around too much."

"I'll live." The back of his neck tingled. At her nearness? Or because of something else?

"Sure, you'll live until a bear scents that blood. Or how about a mountain lion? I saw tracks at the creek the other morning." She caught his shirt by the shoulder and held the sleeve for him. "This is the wild west. Emphasis on wild."

"I'm not afraid of a predator or two. Wouldn't be my first brush with 'em, as you witnessed this morning." He tried again and his arm slid into the sleeve. Finally. His skin prickled from her nearness, and that was another problem right there.

She waltzed around him in a white muslin nightshirt skimming the hidden curves of her feminine body and falling to her bare knees. Not that it was her knees he noticed. Her face was soft curves and flawless bone structure. Sculpted high cheekbones, a cute sloping nose, and lips shaped like a Cupid's bow. Her almond-shaped eyes shined with the light of a whole and caring heart.

He wanted to believe in her innocence, in her goodness.

That didn't mean he did. Or that he could stay.

He winced when she wrestled the whiskey bottle away, because it disturbed his bullet wound. He gritted his teeth against the groan of pain when he slid his injured arm into the shirt sleeve she held. His vision went black for a second. His head spun. Found it hard to breathe.

It passed.

Except for the tingle at the back of his neck, the tingle that always served as a warning. That had kept him alive in a rough prison and during the part of his sentence spent as a front line soldier.

As if she felt it too, she tensed. Her gaze followed his, searching through the dark meadow that stretched across the starlit rises and shadowed draws of the prairie. Miles of grass stirred beneath the breeze like a great, shimmering ocean. The owl had silenced, the coyotes had vanished. Not even a grasshopper made a sound, the sure sign of a predator on the plains. Maybe even the two-legged variety.

"Get inside the tent." He'd sure like his Winchester about now, but his Colt would do. "No arguing, go."

"But I'm a good shot." She set down the whiskey bottle. "Do you think it's a wolf or something?"

"Wolves are shy. They won't come around humans unless they are rabid or starving something fierce." Best not to scare her more. She was young—hardly more than a girl, stranded out here on her own in a territory that was more lawless than lawful.

Not your business, Black.
He winced, wrestling with a decision. Well, maybe it wasn't really a decision. A man had to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences. Besides, it could be a wolf. Wouldn't hurt to go look.

"You can't go out there like this," she said with concern. "You can barely stand up."

"I'm standing fine." The Peacemaker felt right in his hand, protection against whatever was out there. "Now go, so I know you're safe."

He didn't wait for her answer. He strode into the night, heading for the darkest shadows along the creek. Whoever was out there wouldn't see him coming.

 * * *

Inside the dark tent, Kit buttoned her trousers, dressing as fast and as quietly as she could. She froze when Fred rolled over in his sleep, but since he didn't waken, she grabbed a length of ribbon, tied her hair back in a ponytail and stuffed her Stetson on her head. Grabbing her Winchester on her way through the tent flap, she hustled across the moonlit yard.

A whistle rent the stillness, a shrill, long call she knew instinctively came from Dakota. She followed the trail of the newly rising slice of moon, rustled through the knee-high grasses shining ghostly silver and spotted a man's silhouette on the rise ahead.

She rested the Winchester's barrel against her shoulder, trying to calm the trickle of fear still left in her veins. Not that she was a coward, but the creepy grip of Tannen's hand on her ankle stuck with her. In town, when he'd jumped out of the shadows and grabbed her by the ankle, she'd been helpless to fight him. Not strong enough to stop him.

Maybe following her plan wasn't going to be as easy as she'd first thought.

"Didn't I tell you to stay in the tent?" A touch of humor, not annoyance, rang low.

"Kit is in the tent," she quipped. "
Howie
thought to come out and see if you needed a man's help."