Autumn Lover (8 page)

“You sure didn’t look scared from where I was,” he said.

“Only a fool shows fear to a predator, and despite your opinion, I’m not a fool.”

Hunter barely heard the words. He was much too aware of the soft skin on the inside of Elyssa’s wrist, of the intense blue-green of her eyes, and of the faint trembling of her lips.

“Next time you see a Culpepper,” he said huskily, “run like hell in the opposite direction.”

Elyssa nodded jerkily.

The quick movement of her head traveled down the length of her hair in a shimmering wave of light. Pale golden strands slid over her cheeks. A wisp caught on her trembling lower lip.

Hunter made a sound so deep it was barely audible. Rifle in one hand, tenderness in the other, Hunter stroked the hair away from Elyssa’s face without thinking about what the action would reveal to her.

The softness of her hair sent tongues of fire licking over Hunter’s skin. The quick leap of her breathing and the slow lowering of her eyelids told Hunter that she felt the sensual wildfire of their attraction as deeply as he did.

Hunter’s breath came out in a whispering rush that was Elyssa’s name. Very gently he smoothed the wisp of hair away from her lips, caught her face between rifle on one side and his palm on the other, and slowly lowered his head.

The slamming of the bunkhouse door cut the hushed tension between them like the crack of a rifle.

Hunter jerked as though he had been shot.

He yanked back his hands and spun away from Elyssa. Without a bit of hesitation he grabbed the top rail of the paddock fence and vaulted over with an easy, feline movement.

Mickey strode away from the bunkhouse toward the barn. There was no rifle in his hands. If he had noticed
the raiders, he hadn’t taken any precautions against their return.

Unless
, Hunter thought sardonically,
Mickey was lying low in the bunkhouse because he was worried about his own dainty little hide
.

“Morning,” Hunter said. “Little late getting to work, aren’t you?”

“I cut my hand. Had to wrap it up.”

Mickey waved his left hand in Hunter’s face. There was a dirty bandanna wound around the palm.

“Unwrap it,” Hunter said.

For an instant Mickey just stared.

Whatever he saw in Hunter’s slate-gray eyes was persuasive. Without a word Mickey unwrapped his hand.

Hunter never looked away from Mickey’s eyes. Only when the younger man’s hand was naked did Hunter spare a quick glance at it. There was a shallow scratch across the palm.

“Hardly worth the trouble,” Hunter said.

Mickey looked sullen.

“Didn’t you hear the dogs barking?” Hunter asked softly.

“Damn dogs are always barking.”

“Maybe that’s because there are always raiders back in the bush, waiting for a chance to sneak up on the ranch.”

“Nah,” Mickey said. “Them Culpepper boys won’t move openly so long as the army is mapping out this way.”

“You can bet your life on that if you like, but don’t bet Miss Sutton’s.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Next time those dogs bark,” Hunter interrupted coldly, “I better see your rifle poking out, looking for a target. Otherwise a man could be forgiven for wondering about the state of your backbone.”

Mickey’s mouth flattened, but he held his tongue.

“Where are Lefty and Gimp?” Hunter asked.

The younger man didn’t respond right away, mainly because he was watching Elyssa walk hurriedly toward the ranch house.

“Counting cows, likely,” Mickey muttered.

His eyes tracked Elyssa until she vanished beneath the shadows of the porch that ran along the front of the house.

“Where?” Hunter asked.

“Huh?”

“Look at me when I talk to you.”

The knife edge of command in Hunter’s voice got Mickey’s attention. Uneasily he looked at Hunter.

“Where are Lefty and Gimp working?” Hunter repeated curtly.

“Down to Cave Creek and beyond, like you told them. They weren’t none too happy about it. Ladder S riders have been shot at down that way.”

“They’re drawing double pay.”

“Huh? I ain’t!”

“Finish the water barrels. If you still want gunfighting pay, come to me and convince me that you’re worth it. If you can.”

For an instant Hunter thought Mickey would draw on him. Part of Hunter hoped he would. The thought of Mickey hiding out in the bunkhouse while Elyssa faced Gaylord Culpepper alone was enough to make Hunter’s gun hand itchy.

He waited for Mickey to decide. Hunter didn’t expect to kill Mickey, but he sure would teach the boy that a gunfight wasn’t the only way to get hurt.

While Hunter was at it, he would teach Mickey a few manners. Not staring at Elyssa would be a good place to start.

With a muttered word, Mickey went back to winding the bandanna around his palm.

“I’ll be hauling water soon,” Hunter said. “Have those barrels ready.”

Mickey grunted.

“What was that?” Hunter asked.

“Yes.
Sir
. Damn waste of time. That old crick may be little, but it ain’t never run dry, and even if it did, the reservoir would be good for a week or two.”

“Work on the water barrels and leave the strategy to someone who is trained for it.”

Mickey knotted the loose end of the bandanna, jerked on the knot with his teeth, and headed for the barn.

Hunter stood for a time in the barnyard, listening carefully. The fitful wind carried no sound of gunfire. If Lefty and Gimp were in trouble, they were too far off for the sounds of battle to carry to the ranch house.

I need more men
, Hunter thought.
Men I can trust
.

Or at least men who will take the pay and do the work without having me dogging their footsteps every hour of the day
.

So much to be done
.

So little time to do it
.

Hunter stood without moving, thinking rapidly, planning the work as though it was a campaign against an entrenched enemy.

In many ways it was.

From what Hunter had been able to find out, at least one of the Culpeppers had been in Ruby Valley since before spring roundup. Gaylord, likely.

There were probably more Culpeppers around, brothers or cousins or both. As they all looked alike, it was hard to tell them apart at a distance.

And at a distance was the only way a smart man wanted to see a Culpepper.

There will be hell to pay combing those boys out of the mountains
, Hunter thought, looking at the rugged thrust of mountain peaks.
Pure bloody hell
.

L
eopard and Bugle Boy walked side by side along the wagon road leading off the Ladder S. Silently their riders scanned the countryside for signs of cattle or raiders, or both.

Dancer and Vixen ranged out a hundred yards on either side of the riders, checking the draws for cattle. Despite the dogs’ keen noses, they had found only a handful of cattle so far, none of them steers.

All around the horses there was rustling, golden grass and the occasional deep green of piñons. The piñons thickened into a dwarf forest climbing up the steep slope of the mountains. Overhead, the sky arched like an empty, pure blue bowl.

It was noon. The autumn sun was hot enough to draw lines of sweat down the horses’ necks and flanks.

Elyssa was no cooler, though her riding habit hid the results better. Discreetly she tugged at the high neckline, but got no relief from the noose of cloth and lace. Slowly she opened one button, then another, and then another.

Her fingers hesitated over the remaining buttons. Opening a fourth or fifth button might reveal the lace on her chemise. If she had been alone, she would have done it without a thought.

But she wasn’t alone. She was with a man who had
been a breathless, aching moment from kissing her.

The look in Hunter’s eyes had been tender and hungry and baffled all at once, as though the last thing he expected to find himself doing was bending down to kiss her in the middle of the sunlight and silence.

If he still wants to kiss me
, Elyssa thought,
he is keeping the secret admirably
.

When Elyssa had showed up in the barn wearing her beautifully fitted riding habit, he barely looked at her. For all that he noticed, she might as well have worn nothing at all.

Oh, well
, Elyssa consoled herself, freeing one more button from its hole.
At least he won’t notice if I undo a button or two. It’s too hot to be a proper lady
.

From the corner of his eyes Hunter had seen Elyssa’s neckline deepen one button at a time. He watched her fingertips hover over the fourth button and wanted to groan when it finally, slowly, came undone. Her fingertips began rubbing where the stiff cloth and bunched lace had left marks on her creamy skin.

Hunter tried not to think how sweet it would be to lick off those marks like Cupid washing one of her kittens.

Don’t think about it
, Hunter told himself savagely.
Thinking about it is not only stupid, it’s dangerous.

Like kissing her when the dust from the raiders had barely settled
.

Not that Hunter had kissed Elyssa, he reminded himself. He had just come so close that he could see the surprise and then the yielding in her eyes.

Hunter knew he should have been grateful to Mickey for coming out of the bunkhouse in time to prevent the kiss.

But he wasn’t.

Hunter could have cheerfully skinned the boy with a dull knife and tacked his hide to the barn to dry.

Elyssa gave Hunter a wary sideways glance. She knew Hunter really didn’t want her to go riding with him. Or with anyone else. The word “foolish” had come up several times while she saddled Leopard.

The only thing Elyssa had done that met with Hunter’s approval was bring her hunting weapons from the house. The elegant gold and silver designs on the barrels of the carbine and shotgun had drawn a frown, but the clean state of the weapons—and their balance—had mollified Hunter.

“Have you ever had any trouble with the water supply?” Hunter asked.

The curt question startled Elyssa.

“For the cattle or for the house?” she asked.

“Both.”

“The livestock aren’t a problem. There are springs all along the base of the mountains. They run even in the driest years.”

“What about House Creek?”

“It’s never dried up that I know of, but…” Elyssa’s voice died.

She really didn’t want to list the series of mishaps and bad luck that had plagued the Ladder S since she had come back. She would sound like she was a whiner, a fact that Hunter would no doubt leap to point out.

“But?” Hunter prodded impatiently.

“There have been other problems,” she admitted.

“Recently?”

Elyssa nodded.

“Spit it out,” Hunter said curtly. “What happened?”

“Oh, little things. And then one of the longhorns got into the reservoir and drowned.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“When?” he demanded.

“It was before the snow melted. By the time we
cleaned up everything and got it working again, we were late for roundup.”

“Any problems since then?”

“With the reservoir? No. The water has been clean.”

For a few minutes there was silence.

It didn’t bother Elyssa. She had learned quickly that Hunter was a man of long silences and few words.

Besides, the soft song of the wind through the grass, the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves, and the calling of blackbirds from the marsh pleased Elyssa much more than pointless social chatter would have.

Vixen trotted up to within fifty feet and looked expectantly at the riders.

“Cattle?” Hunter asked.

“No. If there were, she would drive them toward us.”

Elyssa whistled a single, brief note. Vixen spun and raced toward a new ravine farther ahead of the riders.

“Quite a dog,” Hunter said.

“Mac and Mother trained all of them. Mac swore they were worth five men each when it came to combing cattle out of the draws and willow thickets and marsh.”

As Elyssa thought of her mother and Mac, sadness replaced the pleasure of the ride.

Hunter saw, and wished he hadn’t asked about the dogs. Then he became irritated at himself for caring.

It’s not like she’s a kid in pigtails
, he reminded himself impatiently.
Anyway, I’m here to deal with Culpeppers, not sad-eyed orphans
.

I’d better start acting like the ramrod of the Ladder S and stop thinking about its owner
.

“How many cattle did you find at spring roundup?” Hunter asked abruptly.

“Less than a hundred. The men started getting ambushed. Within a week, the Ladder S was down to Mac, Mickey, Lefty, and Gimp. Then Mac was killed.”

“Has anyone tried to cut the water line leading to the ranch house?”

Elyssa looked startled. She began worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

“It broke several times before Mac died,” she said slowly.

“Any sign of tracks?”

“He didn’t say anything about finding tracks. He just fixed the breaks.”

“Was Mac a good tracker?”

“The best. That’s why he came west with Dad. He was a scout and a meat hunter. Then he lost an arm in a fight with Indians and took up ranching.”

Hunter looked sideways at Elyssa.

“Mac,” he said. “Is that his full name?”

“Macauley Johnstone.”

“Macauley.” Hunter smiled slightly. “My daddy mentioned a mountain man by that name. Opened up a few trails between here and Oregon.”

“That’s Mac. Oddly, he was good at ranching, much better than my father. Mac knew animals. He preferred them to people. Certainly to women.”

“Understandable.”

Elyssa shot Hunter a look.

He ignored it.

“Mac is the one who believed cattle could winter over anywhere buffalo or elk did,” Elyssa said.

Hunter’s black eyebrows rose beneath the dark brim of his hat.

“There was some talk of that down Texas way,” he said. “Men wanted to drive cattle north not just for slaughter, but to turn loose in Montana and Wyoming, even the Dakotas.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know. They were making up herds to drive to Kansas when I left after the war.”

Hunter straightened in the saddle and looked around with slow, probing glances. The only thing he saw moving was an occasional flash of black and white as the dogs worked through the grass and into the piñons.

“If the longhorns could survive a Montana winter,” Hunter said, “they sure wouldn’t have any problem getting fat there in the summer. Be good cattle country.”

“Our longhorns have done just fine.”

“You don’t have Montana winters.”

“Not down in the valley where the house is. But up in some of those high canyons, it gets plenty cold and the snow is deep.”

“Do you winter over cows in the high country?” Hunter asked, surprised.

“Not on purpose.”

Discreetly Elyssa tugged at the neckline to her heavy riding habit, trying to get some air beneath the stifling cloth.

Hunter looked once, then looked away with a whispered curse. Her skin was as pale and perfect as an oriental pearl.

“But some of the wildest longhorns stay up there year-round,” Elyssa said. “One of them is a mean old brindle bull whose horns are six feet wide between the tips.”

“Year-round, huh?” Hunter asked, looking thoughtful.

Elyssa nodded.

“Be damned,” he muttered.

She laughed, drawing a look from Hunter.

“That’s what Mac called the bull,” Elyssa explained. “Bedamned. He would have shot the bull more than once, but it was Father’s favorite. He loved contrary, dangerous creatures.”

“Sounds like Bedamned might be a good one to ship off to the army.”

“The critter is just too much trouble. If you put Bedamned in a herd, you get a stampede. Leave him alone and he leaves you alone. In fact—”

Abruptly Elyssa stopped talking, silenced by a sharp gesture from Hunter. He had pulled Bugle Boy to a halt. She started to ask what was wrong, thought better of it, and waited.

Hunter was listening with the intense stillness Elyssa had noticed when she first saw him looming out of the darkness beyond her front porch. Then he turned his head slowly, cocking it slightly from one side to the other.

After a few minutes he shifted in the saddle and urged Bugle Boy ahead once more.

“What was it?” Elyssa asked.

Hunter shrugged.

“Thought I heard something,” he said. “Must have been the wind in one of those narrow ravines off up there.”

His gloved hand waved in the direction of the Rubies looming up to the left of the riders.

“Do you cut meadow hay for the winter?” Hunter asked.

“Usually. The Scots and English cows Mac favored aren’t nearly as good at digging their food out of snow as the longhorns.”

Elyssa flapped the divided skirt of her habit in the hope of getting some air against her legs. The cloth clung like a hot compress.

“But the tame cows carry much more meat,” she continued. “The longhorns are skinny as deer and twice as wild.”

Hunter smiled slightly and made an encouraging noise that said he was listening. While she talked, his eyes searched the surrounding land.

Elyssa described the merits of the few Herefords the
Ladder S owned. Then she talked about the more common holsteins, the edgy, aggressive longhorns, and the bulky oxen.

All of them were part of the Ladder S herd. The ragtag assortment of livestock had come west along immigrant trails until the places where grass or water or both ran out. There the livestock was abandoned. Some were eaten by Indians, some by vultures, some survived to go feral, and some were rounded up by the Ladder S.

The extent of Elyssa’s knowledge about the good and bad points of each type of cattle surprised Hunter.

Even more surprising to him was her careful plan to upgrade the quality of the Ladder S herd. She wanted to introduce more of the meaty white-faced cattle while gradually culling the milk cows, oxen, and unruly longhorns from the herds. She even talked of fencing some of the land to keep out mustangs and feral cows.

Bemused and intrigued by turns, Hunter listened to Elyssa’s dreams. At a time when few westerners even bothered to cut wild hay for winter feed, Elyssa wanted to introduce and raise a European hay known as alfalfa, which was much more nutritious than meadow grass. She also had ideas for irrigating more than the kitchen garden and small orchard that the Ladder S already had.

Horses were high on Elyssa’s list of dreams for the future. She wanted to raise spotted cow horses that had the savvy, strength, and speed of Leopard. When the mustangs were rounded up to deliver to the army, she was going to look over the mares very carefully. The best she would keep and breed to Leopard.

“What about a stud like Bugle Boy?” Hunter asked.

“He has Thoroughbred in him, doesn’t he? And Irish hunter?”

Hunter nodded.

“Clean limbs, deep chest, powerful, yet elegant in his movements,” Elyssa said, looking at Hunter’s horse.

And at Hunter himself.

“Steady eyes and enough room between them for a brain, if he ever uses it,” Elyssa continued. “Gentle, too, underneath all that muscle and stubborn—”

Her teasing words ended in a cry of surprise. A huge longhorn was bursting like a brindle avalanche from a ravine a hundred feet away.

Horns lowered, hooves digging out chunks of dirt and grass with every running step, the longhorn charged at Leopard.

“Run!” Hunter shouted.

Elyssa reined Leopard hard to the left and dug her heels into his barrel even as she grabbed for the shotgun that lay in its saddle scabbard. The longhorn was so close that she could see the whites of its wildly rolling eyes and hear its sawing breath.

Too close
, she thought in terror.
No time to lift the shotgun. God, that bull is quick
!

Frantically Elyssa spun Leopard on his hocks and yanked the shotgun free of the scabbard. Even as she tried to raise the gun, she knew it would be too late.

The bull had already turned to hook her. Horns gleamed wickedly.

Three rifle shots rang out, so closely spaced that they sounded like brief thunder.

The brindle longhorn lurched, took one more stride, slammed against Leopard, and fell. The big horse staggered before he gathered himself and started to run again.

Elyssa barely managed to hang on.

Rifle trained on the longhorn, using his knees to guide Bugle Boy, Hunter closed in on the fallen bull. Trained for the surprise and noise and blood of battle, Bugle Boy obeyed despite the nervous flicker of his ears and his edgy, stiff-legged strides.