Lone Star Loving (6 page)

“That's a lie. No Ranger was after her.”

“She believed there was. And someone took her away. I saw a man herd her to a buckboard, then force her into it.” Her brows drawn together, Maria Sara chewed her bottom lip. “I did not go to her aid. I thought she had been apprehended for smuggling and that I had best stay out of it.”

In the hands of a brute unknown to decent society, no telling what had happened to Charity, Ian fretted. “What did he look like?”

“I don't know. It was night.”

“You know, you despicable And you'll tell me. Or I'll scatter your brains all over this room.”

“I . . . I-I'm not certain of the man's description. He was tall, wide-shouldered, slim-hipped. A large man. I doubt he's old. He didn't move as one of advanced years.”

“Him. The big one,” Ian surmised aloud. Word had reached him that a towering stranger had been asking questions around town and hadn't been seen since Charity's disappearance. Why hadn't he made the connection?
You fool!
“Why did he take her?”

“I know not,” Maria Sara replied; Ian knew Maria Sara well enough to know she spoke the truth. “She–she thought he was the law.”

Cursed Jesus. He had paid good money for nothing, for Ian had no idea what the stranger's motives might be.

“Get out of here,” he ordered his lover of old, then replaced the pistol in his pocket to make a wide, slashing motion with his hand. “But I expect you to keep me informed.”

“Yes, Ianito. I will. I promise.”

And he took her for her word. Trouble was, it proved worthless. When Ian called on Maria Sara the next afternoon, he found her apartment cleared of personal items. She and her brat were gone. And it didn't take much research to find out that the pair had departed on the morning train, headed east.

To hell with Maria Sara. And the boy. He must rescue Charity.

It took a couple of days to form a plan and summon his flunky. It took Ian Blyer and Señor Grande less than an hour to saddle their horses and get on her trail.

Once she was in his hands, Charity would see the light and agree to become Mrs. Blyer. It was only a question of time.

“We're traveling in circles.”

So, Charity had seen through his ruse. Admiring her perception, Hawk glanced at the clouded sky of late afternoon. Yes, he was taking a circuitous route to Uvalde. The powwow with the Old One was planned for the first of October; he had plenty of time to get Charity there, this being the twenty-first of September. And, addlepated though the route might be–and even though her crossness had once more surfaced after her sweet talk had failed to get him to unlock the manacles–he was enjoying his time with the hellcat.

“Why, Hawk? Why are we going in circles?”

“Do you realize most of your sentences start with ‘why'?”

“Don't criticize me. I've warned you.”

“A thousand times.” Taking the reins in one hand, he eased five fingers atop her dress-covered thigh. “Sorry, angel.”

“I am not your angel,” she protested and gave a manacled swat to his hand.

He knew she'd push him away. She had done it a dozen times. But each time he made an attempt, he got a second or two to enjoy the feel of her, which had to last until his next bold move. Since their first night by the campfire, she hadn't allowed him any more liberties.

“Hawk ...” Her mane of dark hair fell forward as she laced her fingers. “Couldn't you . . . ? It's like this. You won't get any money out of Papa, so why don't you set me free?”

“Right here in the middle of nowhere?”

She licked her lips. “Well, uh, you could find a town.”

“Charity, you disappoint me. You think I'd give up my booty?” He pulled in the reins. “Looks like a good stopping place. Let's make camp for the night.”

“Could I have a bath?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Hawk, we've been traveling for days in the same clothes. Frankly, you're beginning to smell a bit rank. I must, too.”

“We can't spare the water. The barrel's half empty.”

“Half full,” she corrected. “There's plenty enough for at least a sponge bath.”

“I might consider it.” Baths had their appeal, especially when he took a sidelong look at womanly attributes he would enjoy giving a good laving. “You wash me and I'll wash you. How about it?”

“You don't smell
that
bad.”

On the heels of Charity's evaluation of his aroma, Hawk made camp, took care of the team, and trapped a rabbit for dinner. After he had loosened one end of her handcuffs, Charity went about the business of nature. Afterward, she sulked on a knee-high rock.

He squatted Indian-style by the fire. “Time to eat.”

She huffed over to seat herself opposite him. Her spirits didn't pick up as they ate, which got to him. He wondered if maybe he ought to tell her the truth.

No.

He knew she was distraught over her father disowning her because of that Blyer character, and if he said, “I'm taking you home,” he'd have more trouble on his hands than if a whole village of Kiowa braves were to attack.

But he could do one thing to make her journey more comfortable. He had concluded something; she was scared of being in the wilds alone at night. This gave him a certain sense of security. Yet he knew he wouldn't be able to close his eyes tonight if he liberated her from those cuffs.

“Charity ...” One elbow braced on a spread knee, he stared at her petulant face. “I might take the handcuffs off you.
If
I have your assurance you won't run away.”

Lights reflected from the flames danced in her eyes. “Oh, Hawk, I won't run. I promise!”

Jubilant, she hopped to her feet and rushed around the campfire to bend down and throw her arms around his neck; the swinging end of her restraints caught his shoulder blade. She didn't smell bad at all.

He was tempted to take advantage of the situation, yet the honorable part of him got the better of Hawk's libido.

“Unless you want the heat, don't touch the fire,” he said. Beneath his hands, she tensed, and he warned, “It wouldn't take much for me to toss you to the ground and have your delectable legs spread before you know what's happening.”

She stood. “That's all you think about, isn't it?”

“Just about.”

Returning to her place at the far side of the fire, she picked up her coffee cup. “It's a nice night, considering all these clouds. Balmy, if you ask me. Oh, how nice it would be if you were to change into a new set of clothes–you do have a change, don't you? And I'd feel so much fresher if I could get out of this calico. I have clean things in my valise. Of course, I would
demand
privacy for my bath.”

Here we go again
. Getting to his moccasined feet, he approached her. “Charity, don't you ever think about the two of us ... together?”

Her head turned to the grazing horses, then she stared at her hands. “Of course I do. How could I not? What with you trying to touch me all the time, how could my thoughts be on, say, needlepoint?”

“Do you like needlepoint?”

“I like anything that uses my hands.”

Staring at the lovely shape of her fingers and knowing they were as soft as they looked, he murmured, “You could use your hands on me.”

“No!”

“Why not? Because I'm a red devil?”

“Red devil? No, that has nothing to do with it.” Amusement playing in her eyes, she admitted, “Actually, I lied that night at Sam's house. I have nothing against black-haired warriors.”

Surprised and delighted, Hawk grinned. “If that's the case . . . Don't you find me attractive, Charity?”

It was as if he could see into her soul when she gazed up into his eyes. “I find you wildly attractive. My body is in a state of chaos at the very thought of you. And you may be my only chance at”—she blushed–“being with a man. I may pay with my life for getting mixed up with Adriano.” She swallowed; her fingers curled into her palms. “But don't you see? You've taken me prisoner.
Prisoner.
That's an awful feeling.”

Now that he thought about it, he had to agree. When he was making his plans and collecting the accoutrements of a kidnapper, he hadn't given much consideration to how Charity would feel about having her freedom of choice wrenched away.

“Is being held captive the only thing you have against me? If you knew you could trust me, then would you take me into your . . . heart?”

The loose part of her manacle slapped against her bosom as she covered her face with a hand. “This has nothing to do with heart. This has everything to do with lust. We have that between us. But if I ever lay with a man, it will be because he is special. Because we respect each other for each other. And–absolutely!–not because he's after Papa's money.”

“Admirable values.”

“All I have left is my sense of integrity.”

The honesty in her expression was something to behold, and Hawk regarded her with respect.
Wah'Kon-Tah
be praised, they were halfway to bed already, with all the respect he had for her right now! And Hawk certainly had no need for Gil McLoughlin's money.

“Do you find anything to admire about me?” he asked, regretting his words immediately. He wasn't looking for praise, yet somehow he coveted her approval.

“As I said, I like your honesty.” Her unfettered hand swept her loose hair from her cheek to expose more of her forthright and compelling face. “Nothing said is a
lot
better than even the smallest of a lie between two people who trust each other.”

“You trust me?”

“Crazy though it may be, but I find an integrity to you.”

Her beguiling honesty gave him pause. Jesus, Lord of the paleface. For the first time, Hawk considered what she would think, once she found out about the web of lies he had concocted to get her back to the Four Aces.
You'd better stick to the truth, as much as you can.

A gust of wind rearranged her hair. Blowing a dark tress out of her face again, she added, “I may like your honesty, Hawk, but don't be getting ideas I'm not curious about you.”

“Curiosity works two ways.” He leaned to take her hand in his. “I'd like to know what was so special about that Blyer character that you would give up your family for him.”

“Who can explain why one person falls for another? At least, I can't. All I know is I was mad for Ian.” Hawk watched her swallow as she said this, and the hurt she'd experienced was a visible thing. “He disappointed me so deeply.”

“Do you still love him?” Hawk waited with bated breath for her answer. If she loved Blyer, then–it would change everything. Hawk didn't want everything to change. He ached for Charity to yearn for him, and him alone. “Do you still love Blyer?”

“I was attracted to his flash and dash, and to the adventure of doing something outlandish and forbidden. It was nothing more than a mere crush.”

Relieved, Hawk said, “You paid a high price for It.”

“And I regret it. Since it tore me away from . . .”

“Do you want to make peace with your family?”

She shook her head with vehemence. “Papa and the others are through with me, and I'll never beg for forgiveness. Anyway, I don't want to. I simply want to get on with my life, and make something of it.”

He understood her feelings; he had them himself. His rift with the Osage, and especially with his father, Iron Eagle, cut to the quick. Would he ever see his mother and Amy again? If he did, it would be on his own terms.

Satisfied with his decision, he glanced at Charity. Such a sad angel was she. “I've heard you have an elderly kinswoman. I can't imagine such a woman not wanting you within reach.”

“Maiz made her choice.”

“She's that cold?” Hawk knew otherwise.

“Maiz? Oh, heavens no. She is anything but. Always, she was my chief ally. And I love her above anyone else on the face of this earth. Well, except for Margaret.”

Hawk studied the glistening eyes, the dropped chin, the pain in Charity's admission. “You feel as if no one loves you, yet you speak warmly of two in your family. Those odds aren't bad.”

Charity imparted a look of irritation. “You're taking the McLoughlins' side.”

“I might not if I understood more about the situation.”

“Then I'd like to set you straight. When I was a baby, my father pegged me a defiant troublemaker. That's why he named me Charity, so I might ‘think before I act.' A strike against me from the beginning. He and my mother gravitated toward the darlings of their daughters. I was shuffled aside. It got worse after Angus came along. I am the unwanted McLoughlin.”

“And the more unwanted you felt, the more you tried for attention.”

“I ... I suppose by getting their attention by whatever means, even if it was the negative sort, I had what I wanted. Their attention. But I pushed them past their limits.”

Hawk touched her jaw, and he felt the shivers of hurt wracking her body. “No one ought to feel so estranged from family. There's a chance your parents don't understand you, but I bet they love you, crippled wing and all.”

“You are wrong.”

It was pitiable, the confidence she lacked. Hawk decided that if she ever learned to believe in her abilities and in her potential, then the sky would be her limit. “Beneath your prickly surface, there's a spirit to you. It cries out for understanding. You're an angel who's fallen from grace and has broken a wing. Each time you try to spread your wings, you fall again. With each fall . . . the angel cries.”

Hawk saw a struggle in her eyes. When she dragged her gaze from his, she whispered, “You... you say these heavenly things, but you are a pagan.”

“No.
Wah'Kon-Tah
guides me. God is everywhere.”

“You believe in the spirit of angels?”

“Yes.”

Unnerved, and perhaps pleased, she labored to stand. “I–I need a moment alone. I think I'll brush my hair.” She glided over to her valise and took out a brush. Her back to Hawk, she ran the bristles through those long, long locks. As she had from her family, as she had from Ian Blyer and from the crime she stood accused of committing, she was attempting to distance herself from simple truths.

I need to face life's truths
, she decided.

 

 

When she repacked the brush, Charity returned to the fire and lay down beside Hawk. He wondered what she would say. For several minutes, she said nothing. Hawk somewhat regretted trying to delve too deeply into her soul. And if the truth be known, he'd gotten out of the spiritualistic mood anyway. Upon watching her groom her hair, her entirely
human
presence had roused an altogether masculine reaction in Hawk.