Wyoming Woman (11 page)

Quivering with fatigue, Rachel sank back onto her heels. Luke's hand gripped her arm, the warm pressure sending ripples of sensation through her body. But Luke seemed unaware that he was still touching her. All his attention was fixed on the dog as he held his breath, straining to listen.

“Can you hear anything?” she whispered.

He exhaled sharply. “All I can do is hope Dan knows what he's hearing.”

“How do these things happen?”

“Washes like this one are riddled with dens. Fool dog chasing a fox or a badger, follows it into a hole and pushes a little too hard. I've seen hunting dogs lost that way. But sheepdogs?” He shook his head. “I've never known Shep to go chasing off like this. There had to be a reason—”

A rumble of earth interrupted him.

“The rest of the hole's caving in!” Rachel stared in horror, then flung herself forward and began to dig into the collapsing bank. If Shep was still alive he would be buried now, unable to breathe. They had seconds to find him.

Beside her, Luke was using his arms and hands to scoop away the gravelly soil. His bare chest heaved with effort as he clawed the dirt away, heedless of his bleeding hands. Dan was barking, racing back and forth. As the seconds passed, he pawed at the slide
and then began to whine in frustration, or perhaps in grief. Luke was cursing vehemently.

“No!” Rachel calculated the now-buried spot where Dan had been digging. Bracing herself, she thrust her hands, then her arms, straight down into the loose earth. Dust filled her nostrils. Rocks scraped her skin, drawing blood, but she continued to grope deeper and deeper until her chest was pressed flat against the slide.

At first she felt nothing. Then her scraped, bleeding fingers touched the coarseness of long hair and the warmth of flesh beneath. “Here!” she shouted. “Luke, he's here!”

Luke plunged in beside her, ripping into the earth with his hands. He had not asked her whether the dog was alive. Even if he had, Rachel could not have told him. She strained deeper, trying to maintain some contact with the buried collie, to calm it, perhaps, if it was conscious, though that seemed less and less likely as the seconds crawled by.

Dan hung back, whining anxiously as if baffled by the other dog's disappearance. Luke clawed and heaved, using the strength of his whole body against the slide. By now he had cleared away what looked like a small mountain, but the dog remained trapped.

“Can you feel anything?” His voice was a rasp, his eyes like burning coals in his dirt-streaked face. “A heartbeat? Any sign of breathing?”

“I don't…know…” Rachel strained deeper and discovered that the soil was less resistant. She worked
her hands lower, sliding them around the narrow body. “I have him! Help me!”

They worked furiously, Luke digging, Rachel tugging on the inert dog. Inch by inch she worked him upward through the loose dirt and gravel. His body was warm but he was making no effort to struggle. Luke's anxious eyes met hers. She shook her head.

Another moment and the little collie was free. Limp and dirty, he lay across Rachel's knees, eyes closed, tongue lolling. Dan shouldered his way between Rachel and Luke, sniffed his companion and whined. Tears welled in Rachel's eyes, one drop forming a muddy rivulet down the side of her nose. “Oh, Luke, I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Give him to me.” Luke held out his scraped, bleeding hands and worked them beneath the small, inert body. Laying the collie on the slide he probed along the motionless ribs. Rachel pressed her lips together, remembering Shep's shining golden eyes, his joyful gait and sharp little yips as he ran the sheep. Dan pressed against her side, seeking and giving comfort. She stroked the massive head, her throat tightening.

Luke's exploring hand stiffened, freezing on one spot. “He's alive. Here—get over here and hold him steady. Keep his head level.”

While Rachel braced Shep between her knees, Luke began a rhythmic massaging of the dog's chest, squeezing and pumping the air in and out. Rachel listened to the soft rush of air, unconsciously match
ing its rhythm with her own breathing. Sweat pooled in the hollow of Luke's throat as the seconds crawled past. When would he give up? Rachel began to wonder. When would he abandon all hope that his dog would live?

Dan pressed against her side. Odd little coaxing sounds quivered in his throat. Could dogs pray? Against all reason, Rachel found herself believing it was possible.

Luke's hands stilled. A low sob escaped Rachel's throat. Then she saw the subtle rise and fall of ribs beneath skin. The little collie was breathing on his own.

Rachel's heart seemed to stop. Her eyes flickered from the dog to Luke's grime-streaked face. The naked emotion on his face touched a place so deep inside her that, until now, she had not even known it was there. Unbidden, her hand reached out and clasped his wrist. His throbbing pulse quivered upward through her fingers to become part of her own body. Her breath came in tiny, broken gasps.

Shep's dust-coated eyelids twitched. “Come on,” Luke whispered, stroking the dog with his free hand. “Come on, boy, wake up.”

Rachel's fingers tightened around Luke's wrist as Shep's golden eyes fluttered open. His pointed black nose twitched and jerked. Miraculously, he sneezed.

“Oh—” Rachel's hand crept downward into Luke's palm. She felt his fingers close around hers as the dog began to thrash and struggle. With Dan whining and nudging, the little collie scrambled to his feet,
shut his eyes and shook with all his might. Showers of dirt flew in all directions.

Rachel had to close her eyes, but she could hear Luke's laughter, so rich and full, and so surprising, that her throat went tight at the sound of it. In the days, months and years to come, when she could not be with him, she knew that she would yearn to hear that laughter again. She would remember the sound of his voice and the strength of his big, callused hands, and she would ache to feel the way she always felt when she was with him—vibrantly alive, her heart pounding, her blood racing, her emotions blazing like a prairie wildfire.

Was this the way her mother felt about Morgan?

The dirt had stopped spattering her face. Rachel opened her eyes to find Luke watching her from the shadowed depths of his eyes, his thoughts as much a mystery as ever. He had let go of her hand. Rachel could not even remember when it had happened. But she felt the loss of it, that warm, electric contact of his flesh with hers.

The two dogs were standing side by side, Dan looming protectively over his smaller friend. Shep's muzzle was still caked with dirt. He was panting, mouth open, tongue lolling.

Self-conscious now, Rachel scrambled to her feet. “Shep looks as if he could use a drink. I've got a canteen on the horse.”

Unlooping the canteen strap from the saddle, she pulled the stopper and walked back to the dog. Kneeling beside her, Luke shaped his hands into a tight
bowl. Rachel poured the cool water into his mud-stained palms. The collie lapped noisily, a peaceful sound that mingled with the songs of meadowlarks on the clear morning air.

“You, too, boy. You're the hero of the day.” Luke held out his cupped hands toward Dan. Again Rachel tipped the canteen and filled Luke's palms. His hands cradled the water, fingers pressing tightly together.

Rachel's eyes traced the lines of his profile. His expression was warm, almost tender as he watched the dog drink. Luke Vincente had killed a man, she reminded herself. He had been convicted of the crime and served time in prison.

What had happened to set this gentle, quiet man against the world? How deep were the wounds he carried beneath his granite-tough exterior? Rachel yearned to know his secrets, no matter how terrible they might be. She wanted to understand every part of him. But she knew better than to ask questions. If she so much as hinted at what she knew about him, Luke would close himself off like a door slamming in her face.

The dog finished drinking and turned away. As water fell through Luke's open fingers, he glanced up and caught her eyes on him.

Rachel's gaze dropped to her scraped, muddy hands. Color flamed in her cheeks. She felt the dizzying heat, the giddiness, as the bottom seemed to drop out of her stomach. What was wrong with her? She'd become as awkward and tongue-tied as a thirteen-year-old girl. Reason whispered that she should
mutter some hasty excuse, sprint to her horse and gallop hell-bent for home. But her body had lost its will to move.

Slowly Luke rose to his feet. His hands reached out and cupped her face, the palms wet and cool against her hot cheeks. “If you're going to run, you'd better do it now, Rachel,” he murmured thickly. “Because once I start kissing you, I might not be able to stop.”

She gazed up at him, knowing she should pull away. But the memory of their last kiss burned sweet and hot, igniting ripples of sensation that pooled like quicksilver in the shimmering depths of her body. She wanted that kiss again, wanted to feel the wildness, the forbidden yearnings that only one thing could fulfill. Lord help her, she wanted
him.

She strained upward as his lips closed on hers. His unshaven face was gritty with dust, and his mouth tasted of earth and coffee. Heaven. She quivered with need as his arms jerked her close—aching for him, shameless, wanton.

In her past flirtations with boys, Rachel had always played the tease. She had always been the one to hold back, measuring what she gave and making sure she never gave too much. But Luke was no boy. The urges his raw masculinity aroused in her were too powerful to resist. She was dizzy with wanting him.

Her mouth opened to his kiss, her tongue invading, exploring the moist, sensitive inner surface. He moaned and molded her hard against him. She gasped as his thumb brushed her swollen nipple, sending spasms of pleasure through her body. “Yes…” she
whispered, and he touched her again, so lightly and exquisitely that she thought it would drive her mad. It was all she could do to keep from begging for more. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, everywhere.

He groaned, low in his throat, as his free hand moved down to cradle her buttocks. “You shouldn't be here, girl. You shouldn't be letting me touch you, a man like me. You don't know who I am, where I've been….”

She stopped his words with another kiss. Words would only confuse things, and this was no time for confusion. Right now, to Rachel, the only thing that mattered was the way she felt in his arms.

Pulse racing, she caught his hand and laid it on her breast. Her heart drummed beneath his rough palm. The earth seemed to slip away from beneath her feet as he cupped her, stroking her through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her hands kneaded his shoulders, gripping and releasing in mute ecstasy.

“Tell me when you want me to stop,” he whispered roughly. “I promise you, Rachel, I won't—”

He froze against her, distracted by an urgent yip from one of the dogs. Glancing down, Rachel saw that Dan and Shep were pawing furiously at an area near the deepest part of the cave-in, where Shep himself had been found.

Before Luke could let her go, she pulled away from him. Something was down there, she sensed. Something she didn't want to see.

Taking a step backward, she waited, her heart
pounding inexplicably. The morning sunlight was like bright golden butter. Lark songs, as pure as crystal, echoed across the prairie. But the darkness that had fallen over Rachel would not go away.

“What is it, you two ruffians?” Luke dropped to his knees beside the dogs. “What's under that dirt? A woodchuck, maybe, or even a badger?”

The dogs paid him scant attention. Both of them were intent on digging. Their muddy paws flew, scattering dirt in all directions.

Rachel, watching from behind, saw Luke go rigid for an instant. Then he began to dig, his hands rummaging in the earth to grasp something he had glimpsed below the surface.

When he looked back toward her, Rachel saw that the familiar wall of distrust had returned to his eyes. He knelt in the dust of the cave-in, his right hand clutching the frayed end of a rope.

L
uke's sinewy brown fingers gripped the rope, drawing it out inch by inch through the crumbling earth. For the first few seconds it came easily. Then it tightened as the pull met resistance from whatever was tied to the other end.

A chill went through Rachel as Luke began to dig in earnest. She watched him, sensing what he would find and fearing what it would mean. A moment ago she had been in his arms. Now she stood forgotten as he tunneled deeper, following the rope's taut path. His expression darkened, and she saw that he had come to a knot and discovered what was attached to it. Seconds later, he had it free.

The lamb was dead, its small body still warm and limp. Its condition told Rachel it had likely been alive until the final collapse of earth. Now it lay where Luke had placed it, its lifeless eyes encrusted with dirt. The rope had been knotted harness-fashion around its neck and shoulders, giving it no chance to work loose and escape.

Luke flung the rope down in disgust. The face he turned toward Rachel was a mask of icy rage.

“Bait,” he muttered. “This was a trap. Damned clever trap at that—tunnel under the bank, shore up the roof of the hole, tie the lamb inside and set a trigger that a dog would touch off when it pushed past.”

Rachel gazed at him in mute anguish, knowing where Luke's reason would lead him. She had opened the door herself, by coming here. Now there was little she could do or say.

His eyes drilled into her like lead-tipped bullets. “Who did this? You know, don't you?”

She shook her head, wondering how the man who had just held her in his arms and set her on fire with his kisses could look at her with such cold fury.

“You knew Lem Carmody had a bounty on the dogs,” he said, rising to his feet. “But Carmody wouldn't pull a stunt like this in person. He's got too much to lose. What else do you know? Who would do this?”

Again Rachel shook her head. “Luke, I swear it on my life, I don't know.”

“But you could find out.” His hands cupped her jaw, their touch no longer gentle. “Whoever it was, they had the gall to come onto my property. The fact that this wasn't done on open range might give me some legal grounds—”

“Luke, no judge in the world is going to convict a man for killing a lamb and attempting to trap a dog, even if it was on private property.”

“I know,” he said impatiently. “But if I could get them into court, if I could see them, face them, it might give me a link to finding out who murdered Miguel.”

Releasing her, he turned away and stared down at the lamb's smothered body. “The bastards would have to come at night to get so close. And they'd have to know we were shearing. They'd have to know when the dogs would be here—”

He spun back to face her. “You,” he said in a cold whisper that was more menacing than a shout. “You knew. You could have told them. And you could have come here this morning to see if their plan worked.”

“No!” Rachel stared at him, feeling as if he had just slapped her face. “I had nothing to do with this. I wouldn't, Luke. I couldn't—”

“Then tell me who did!” His hands caught her shoulders. “Was it one of your friends? Somebody in your family? Who are you protecting?”

Rachel shook her head. “I don't know who did this awful thing,” she murmured. “I told you—”

His grip tightened on her shoulders. “You can't play this both ways, Rachel,” he growled. “You can't come sashaying over here on some trumped-up excuse, wiggling your hips, making me want you so much my teeth ache. You can't playact like you want me, too, and then run home to report to your friends on what I'm up to. It won't work!”

“Stop it!” Rachel bit back tears of rage and hurt. “I wasn't playacting! When I kissed you, it was real! Otherwise it would never have happened!”

A muscle twitched in Luke's cheek, but he showed no other sign of emotion. “If it was real, then, choose your side, Rachel,” he said in a flat voice. “I told you before, you can't have it both ways. If you care for me, help me find the answers I'm after and, so help me, girl, I'll do anything for you. But if you'd rather protect vandals, thieves and murderers, to hell with you! I won't have you or your kind sniffing around my property.” He let go of her so abruptly that she stumbled backward. She caught her balance, facing him across a gulf that had widened to the proportions of the Grand Canyon. She could love this man, she realized, aching for him. She could happily spend her days working at his side, raising his children and building a future for generations to come. She could spend a lifetime of nights drifting off to sleep in his arms, warm and sleepy and sated with loving.

So help me, girl, I'll do anything for you.
His words came back to haunt her now. All she had to do was reach out and take his hand, and everything she wanted could be hers.

But it was only a fantasy, Rachel reminded herself. Luke's terms demanded a terrible price. Her family was the center of her world. They had always been there for her, sharing their laughter, their strength, their love. To betray them even for the sake of justice—no, it was unthinkable. She would never be able to live with herself, or with Luke.

There was only one thing she could do. She would have to do it now, quickly, or she would be lost.

Steeling herself, she thrust out her chin and glared at him.

“How dare you?” She spat out the words, syllable by angry syllable. “You took me in your arms! You pretended to make love to me! And all the while you were scheming to get me to spy for you! Well, I won't do it! You and your sheep can go to hell, Luke Vincente! I never want to see you again!”

She spun away from him and stalked toward her horse. He stood like stone, making no move to follow her. Furious tears blinded her eyes as she fumbled for the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He would not call out to her, she knew. Luke was a proud man, and she had wounded him deeply. Almost as deeply as he had wounded her.

The dogs watched her with their wise golden eyes as she wheeled the bay and dug her boot heels hard into its flanks. Iron-shod hooves spattered gravel as they shot up the side of the wash. On level ground, Rachel gave the horse its head. It knew the way and would carry her home.

The hot wind raked her hair and dried her tears to thin, salty streaks. She would not look back, she vowed. Not even once. She had made her choice, and she was through with Luke Vincente forever.

 

Luke watched as Rachel's mounted figure crested the top of the ridge. He should move out of her sight, he thought. The last thing he wanted was for Rachel to turn and see him standing there like a fool.

But it made no difference that his legs felt as if
they were rooted to the earth. He knew that Rachel would not look back. She was too angry, and with good reason.

Luke swore under his breath as she vanished behind the ridge like the setting sun. What in hell's name had ever led him to believe he had a way with women? Years ago, it might have been so. But no more.

If he'd had his wits about him, he would never have laid a hand on her. He would have remained calm and persuasive, appealing to her compassion and her sense of fairness. Instead he had grabbed her like a caveman, all but ravished her on the spot, and come damned near to proposing marriage.

He had generally prided himself on keeping a cool head with women. But there was something about Rachel that threw him out of control. All she had to do was look at him with those sea-colored eyes, and he found himself doing things that he was bound to curse when he came to his senses.

But cursing now was only a waste of time and words. Rachel was gone. He had asked her to choose sides, and she had chosen loyalty over justice—and over him. He'd been a fool to think she would choose any other way. She was a cattleman's daughter. And he would lay money that one day she would be a cattleman's wife.

Thrusting her out of his thoughts, he turned back to the cave-in. The two dogs crouched a few feet away, watching with curious eyes as Luke pawed through the dirt to find the rude framework that had
supported the tunnel and the stick that had functioned as the trigger, bringing the bank down when the collie pushed it aside. To set such a trap would require more skill than most men possessed—the skill of an Indian, maybe, or someone who had spent time with Indians.

Luke did not know his neighbors well. It was no secret, however, that Morgan Tolliver was the son of a Shoshone woman and had been raised by his mother's people.

Why would anyone, let alone Morgan, go to so much trouble to trap a dog? Luke pondered the question as he scooped out a grave for the dead lamb. To earn Lem Carmody's bounty, the culprit would have to return to the cave-in and dig out the carcass. For a wealthy rancher, the risk of getting caught would hardly be worth the fifty-dollar reward.

But there were people out there who would go to any lengths to run a sheep man off the range—killing sheep, burning sheep wagons and even beating an elderly herder to death. This latest episode with the dog was just one more attempt to break him, Luke concluded. This time it hadn't worked, but they were sure to try again. He had to find a way to stop them. But first he needed to know who they were.

Was Morgan Tolliver behind what had happened? Luke had never clashed openly with his nearest neighbor, but the Tollivers were cattle ranchers and that made them enemies. The fact that Morgan had made offers on his land only lengthened the shadow of suspicion. Luke had received other offers, including one from Lem Carmody, but it was Morgan's agent who'd
staked the best price and raised it when Luke refused to sell.

It was no secret that Morgan Tolliver wanted Luke's ranch. But how far would he go to get it?

And how far would Rachel go to help him?

Rising to his feet, Luke turned away from the small heap of rocks he had made to cover the lamb's carcass. The dogs trotted behind as he wound his way down the wash to where his horse was tied.

His thoughts had come full circle, returning to Rachel as they had so many times over the past three days. Her kiss had haunted his dreams at night and tormented his reason while he labored in the sweltering heat of the shearing shed. He had cursed her, wanted her, ached for her.

Today she had been like molten flame in his arms, her passion so hot that even the memory of it seared him down to his vitals. Luke was experienced enough to know when a woman was faking, and he could have sworn that Rachel's explosive response to his kiss was real. But then, he'd been fooled before.

Lord, how he'd been fooled!

When the prison doors had clanged shut behind him, Luke had vowed never to trust a woman again. Rachel, with her wide aquamarine eyes, her halo of titian curls and her fiery spirit had tempted him to forget that vow. But she was the last person on earth he could afford to trust right now. The woman had every reason to betray him, and if he could lay bets on it, he would wager she had already done so.

But deception was a game two could play as well
as one. Rachel had said she never wanted to see him again. But Luke knew better than to believe her. One way or another, he calculated, the little schemer would be back. When she came, he would be ready for her. And he would not be satisfied until he had learned every last one of her dirty secrets.

The buckskin was waiting by the dead juniper, where he had tied it. Luke had one foot in the stirrup and was about to swing into the saddle when he noticed the bootprints in the red sand that lined the bottom of the wash. He recognized one set as the thick-soled brogans he wore for shearing and another, elegantly small with narrow heels, as Rachel's riding boots. But scattered among them was a third set of prints—man-sized, pointed cowboy boots that did not belong to anyone on the sheep ranch.

Disengaging himself from the saddle, Luke dropped to one knee to study them. The tracks, which led up the floor of the wash toward the cave-in, were dry and lightly weathered, as if they had been made sometime in the night. In their haste to reach the trapped dog, he and Rachel had trampled on the earlier trail, obliterating most of the prints. The dogs had added to the damage. Only a few impressions had been left untouched.

Luke leaned close to examine the prints. Judging from their size and the distance between them, the man who'd made them would be about his own height, and fit enough to walk with long strides. It took a few minutes of searching before Luke found one perfect impression. It had been made in the
shadow of a large chamisa, where the ground was still damp from the rains of a few days earlier. The track faced inward, toward the center of the bush, as if the man making it had turned aside for a piss before continuing down the wash. The muddy earth had dried, holding precisely the contours of the boot sole.

Luke knew exactly what he was looking for. When he found it, the hair on the back of his neck bristled like a wolf's.

The boots that made the prints had been half-soled in the recent past. The sole of the left boot had come loose beneath the arch and curled forward enough for the edge of the leather to leave a line where it touched the ground.

Luke's mouth tightened as he brushed a fingertip along the telltale line. He had seen the same bootprint before, on the ground of the mountain clearing where Miguel was beaten to death.

 

Rachel rode like a fury across the flat, pushing the bay hard, as if fighting some invisible force that would draw her back to Luke like iron to a magnet.

Luke had done his devilish best to break her. His kiss had turned her to simmering jelly inside, setting her senses ablaze. She had wanted him more than she'd ever dreamed she could want a man, wanted his mouth crushing hers, his hands cupping her breasts. She had wanted to feel the heat of his flesh welded to her own, easing the empty ache that had been there from the first moment she saw him.

But Luke had wanted only one thing from her—
her help in unmasking his enemies. To get that help, he had manipulated her shamelessly, demanding that she choose and holding himself out as the prize. The arrogance of the man! As if she would betray her people in exchange for a lifetime of cooking mutton stew and trying to scrub the sheep smell out of his dirty clothes!