Much Ado About Mavericks (36 page)

Including Fred, who was still missing.  Jake had her doubts about the man.  He’d shown hostility and unwillingness to follow orders at every turn.  She’d never had any use for him, but Ezra had always wanted to keep him on.  Why, she didn’t know, because the old man demanded a lot from his cowhands—except Fred.  Well, Ezra was gone now, and Fred would be, too, the next time she saw him.

Her thoughts returned to Ben.  He was a helluva man.  Never had he looked down on her like so many city men seemed to do.  And he tried hard at everything.  Like she’d told Whip, Ben had more cow sense than anyone she’d ever met.  And dammit all, she loved him. 

She pondered who else could be behind this scheme.  Peter Blacker had ridden out with Crazy Jim’s crew, so she didn’t think the Blackers were the rustlers, although she didn’t rule it out.  Harley was a wily old devil.  He’d had to be, to keep Ezra from taking over his ranch.  She suspected Fred more than Blacker, even though she could think of no reason why he’d cause trouble, other than he wanted her job.

Riding north along the creek, she saw where the rustlers had herded the cattle across, and followed their trail.  Then she saw fresher tracks—horses.  One set of tracks was larger than the rest—Ben’s horse, she hoped, although she’d never paid any attention to the big bay’s hoof prints.

With the moonlight and the flat ground, she spurred Blue to a canter.  She’d heard the crack of gunfire every now and then, but nothing steady.  After ten minutes or so, she’d covered a lot of territory and heard the cattle mooing.  It’s a wonder they hadn’t taken off in a stampede—unless . . . .

That’s it!  She’d bet the rustlers had taken the herd to a box canyon, and she knew just which one it was.  Cursing under her breath, she knew she couldn’t push Blue any harder without risking his legs.  She
had
to get to Ben.

Just then a loop settled around her arms and waist, yanking her off her horse.  She landed hard, a rock poking a hole in her arm.  Pain shot up her shoulder to her neck.  When she groaned, the men who’d surrounded her guffawed, raising her hackles, and the hooves stomping around her weren’t a whole helluva lot of comfort, either. 

As soon as she got her breath, she felt blood trickling down her wrist.  She lay still, hoping they’d think they had knocked her out.  And if they came near, she’d make
up
her mind what to do.  More laughter, of the whiskey sort, turned her decision around.  These drunk men wouldn’t act normal, so she had to be prepared for anything.

The rope tightened, painfully so, and she was dragging behind one of the horses. 

“How’d you like that, bitch?”  The bastard laughed, and the others laughed, too.

Fred!
  She had news for him—he and his friends were dead men.

She bounced over rocks and brush like a rag doll.  Her face was scratched and her side was raw.  But they’d have to stop sometime, and when they did . . .

A gunshot brought the horses to a halt.  She saw the men running behind whatever they could find—brush, rocks, or the lone juniper.  She pulled herself to her knees and scrambled toward the source of the gunfire.  She didn’t know who they were, but they couldn’t be any worse than these bastards.

She collapsed behind a boulder—not quite to the attackers, but far enough from Fred and his men—shedding the rope and pulling her Colt.  Her hand shook so much she couldn’t squeeze off a shot.  But if one came near, she’d let him have it right in the gut.

Shots whistled over her head.  She peeked out to see one of the men fall off his horse.  Still not able to see who the others were, she hoped it was Ben and his men.  Crazy Jim’s crew would be the other choice, and he didn’t have the sense of a bull elk in rut.  Besides, Peter Blacker was with him.

And she wanted Ben.  Now.  She wanted him to hold her in his arms and kiss the hurt away.  Pushing back that silly thought, she held out her hand.  Calm.  Time to take care of business.  She slipped to the side, put a bead on Fred, but he fell off his horse before she could squeeze off a shot.

The gunfire stopped and the air grew silent.  All she heard was her own breathing. 

A couple of rocks slid down the hill beside her.  She tensed, knowing that whoever was there could shoot her in the back with no trouble.  She cocked her pistol and slowly turned.

“Don’t shoot, it’s me, Ben.”

“Damn it all,
Boston
, you scared the living shit out of me!”  She opened her arms and he held her gently.  Every bone in her body hurt, but she felt safe in his arms.

“So you’re the one,” she whispered.  “You saved me.”

Chapter 18

Not about to let go of Jake, Ben hollered at his crew to tie up the four bleeding men.  “We’re taking them in.”

“What about them that got away?” Crip asked. 

“Send some men after them.”

“I’m going,” Reginald said.

“Suit yourself,” Ben said, more interested in getting Jake back to camp.

Careful not to hurt her, he held her in his arms and vowed to protect her whether she wanted him to or not.  Blood streaked her face, her left arm, and her entire right side.

“Let’s wash you off in the creek, princess.” 

For once, she didn’t argue, but let him carry her to the water.  “You’re safe,” she muttered as he wetted his bandana and wiped the blood off her face.

Safe, all right, other than having his heart ripped out when he saw Fred dragging Jake behind his horse. 

Her arm concerned him, too.  “We’ve got to get the bleeding stopped.”  He unbuttoned her shirt and removed it, then put it back on her, only on one arm, leaving the bleeding arm bare.  He rinsed out his bandana and pressed it on the wound.  “We’re going to need to clean that out, Jake.  Dirt and rocks are embedded in the gash.”

“Get on with it, then.”  Her voice was strong, but she winced when he picked out one of the larger pebbles.  “I don’t suppose you got a bottle of whiskey in your saddlebag?”

“No, but I think we should go back to camp.  I don’t have enough light with this lantern to clean out that wound.  Whip’s got some whiskey, though, and it’ll wash out some of the dirt.”

“I was thinking more for my innards,” she mumbled.

“Are you able to stand?”

“Yup.”  She put her fingers in her mouth and blew an eardrum-piercing whistle.  Blue trotted up to her and nuzzled her cheek.  “I’m fine, you old worrywart,” she said as she patted his nose.  Using Ben’s shoulder, she pulled herself up and stood there a moment. 

Ben wondered what the hell she was thinking—all beat up and intending to ride a horse with no saddle or bridle.  “You’re riding with me.”

“Ah, hell, I can ride my own horse.”  She made a feeble attempt to jump on him, then slid off.  Ben caught her around the waist.

“You’re riding with me,” he repeated as he turned her around.  She clutched him tightly.  “Careful,” he murmured in her ear, “you’ll start that arm bleeding again.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him like no woman had ever kissed him before.  Wanting,
needing
, she plunged her tongue into his mouth.  God help him, he wanted to take her right there, but he knew she only craved comfort.

He guided her to a small boulder.  “Sit here.  I’ll get my horse.”

She nodded weakly and Ben worried that her spirit was as damaged as her body.  Then she said, “Make it quick,
Boston
.”

Music to his ears, he thought as he threw back his head and laughed.  “Yes, sir!”

When he returned with the horse, Jake smiled at him and said, “Ben, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ ” 

“May I call you ‘Janelle
Kat
hryn’?”

“That’s pushing it, buster.”

He kissed her with as much longing as she’d shown before, then helped her onto the big bay.  “Let’s go.”

*   *   *   *   *

Jake sagged against Ben’s chest, enjoying the ride.  Hell, maybe being dragged behind a horse had been worth it, after all.  But her arm throbbed and her cheeks stung as the cool breeze brushed across the scratches on her face.

As they entered camp, the strays ran up to them, all with worried looks.  “Are you all right, Jake?” Homer asked.

“I can get you a glass of milk,” Teddy offered.  “I saved some from when Whip milked Suzanne’s mama.”

Henry offered her marbles.  “You can play with these.  Just don’t lose none.”

Touched by the strays’ offers, she nodded and said, I’ll take you up on that, but not just yet.”  Ben slid off the bay’s rump, then reached up for her.  She swatted his hands away, whispering, “I ain’t about to trouble the strays no more than they already are.” 

Every muscle in her body ached, but she got off the horse on her own accord.  Ben steadied her in a way that no one noticed—at least, they didn’t seem to.  By the time she managed to get her legs working, Mabel and Suzanne had rushed to her.

“Oh, my!”  Mabel turned to Suzanne and said, “Tell Whip to get some water boiling.  I’ll need some clean rags, a sharp knife, and some tweezers.  They’re in my bag.” 

“I’ll just bring the whole bag.”  Suzanne hurried away and Mabel took a close look at Jake’s arm. 

“Oh, dear, it’s going to hurt you when I clean that.”

Patience picked her way across the bedrolls and sneered.  “You’re a most dreadful sight!”  Which seemed to Jake to mean that Patience would have preferred her dead.  That was all right with Jake, since she’d had similar thoughts about the prissy woman standing before her.  Maybe not exactly dead, but certainly
gone
.

“I’m taking her to your tent, Patience.  Have someone move your trunk to Ma’s tent.”

Patience shot him a glare.  “I won’t have that woman in my tent!”  She jutted out that sassy chin, spun on her heel and headed back.  Jake figured she’d guard that tent with her life.

Jake pulled away from Ben and glared in Patience’s direction.  “I wouldn’t lay down on her bed if it was the last one in the world.”  She gathered her strength and walked to her own bedroll.  “I’m sleeping here, under the stars, just like always.”

Suzanne returned with Mabel’s bag and clean rags, and soon, Whip carried a bucket of steaming water.  Ben headed for Patience’s tent.  Jake couldn’t understand why he ever wanted to be around such a nasty-natured woman.  But who ever understood the ways of the heart.  She sure as hell didn’t.

Sitting cross-legged on her bedroll, she held her arm out and said, “Get on with it.”

Whip held out a flask.  “I brung you a little nip of whiskey.”

“You’re a good man.”  She took it, and enjoyed a long draw, then glanced up at Mabel.  “You gonna dig them rocks out of there, or am I gonna have to do it?”

Next thing she knew, the most horrid caterwauling erupted.  She shook her head and smiled.  It could only be Patience.  Ben had thrown her out of her tent, after all. 

She couldn’t help but smile when he ambled up sporting a crooked grin.  “Your room awaits, madam,” he announced with a flourish of his hand.

Henry ran around him, stopping in front of Jake.  “You should’ve seen him, Jake!  He done grabbed that bitch and threw her over his shoulder and carted her off like a sack of spuds.  Ol’ Patience was a kicking and a screaming.”   She snorted and added, “Ben ain’t so stupid, after all.”

Jake had to chuckle over that one, patted the girl on the head, then told her to bed down.  Turning to Ben, she said, “I told you, I ain’t sleeping in her bed.”

“You’re not.  I moved Suzanne’s cot in.”

“What did you do with Miss Dreadful?”

“I put her in the carriage.  I’ve arranged for a cowhand to take her and Reginald to the stage just as soon as he gets back, whether it’s light yet, or not.”

“That might take a while.  He’s liable to get himself into trouble out there.  I don’t guess he knows a whole helluva lot about tracking rustlers.”

Mabel stood and told Whip and Suzanne to take the supplies to the tent.  Jake took a couple more gulps of whiskey, enjoying the fire all the way down to her belly.

“I got more where that come from,” Whip said.

“Bring it,” Mabel told him.  “We’ll need it to clean the wound.”  Addressing Ben, she said, “Take her to the tent.  I want a couple more lanterns, too."

Jake had never seen Mabel take charge, and while she sure as hell wasn’t happy about staying anywhere Patience had been, she recognized authority when she saw it.  She struggled to her feet, taking care not to jar her injured arm.

Ben held her around the waist like she was a cripple.  Just in case the strays were watching, she swatted his hands away.  “I can walk on my own.”  Which she did, although she was so dizzy she could barely stay upright by the time she got to the tent.

“You’re trembling—let me help,” Ben said as he opened the flap.

But she made it to the cot and flopped down before he could do anything.  The jolt sure as shootin’ didn’t make her arm feel any better.  She must have bruised the bone.  “More whiskey.”

After he hung the lantern on the hook in the middle of the tent, he told her to lie down.  He took her boots off her, then kissed her lightly on the lips.  If her arm hadn’t hurt so damned bad, she’d have grabbed him and kissed him back.  And then some.