Mustang Annie (5 page)

As she cinched the buckle around her slender waist, his gaze centered on the V between her hipbones where tanned canvas trousers were revealed. He couldn't recall a pair of chaps looking as good as they did on Annie. But then, since the only chaps he'd ever seen were on men, he hadn't given them much notice before.

Then she turned and bent over to fasten the ties below her knees. Brett's stifled a groan at the sight of her heart-shaped ass outlined in snug leather. God, the woman was going to kill him. He'd always thought the most provocative part of a woman was her backside—the extension of the valley between the shoulder blades, the delicate structure of ribs, the hollow at the base of the spine, the swell of buttocks and flare of hips . . . just the sight was enough to make him rigid for hours.

The thought of seeing Annie wearing nothing under the chaps had an entire fantasy unfolding. Cupping each cheek in his hands, pulling her close, rubbing himself against her—

“What the hell are you lookin' at, Corrigan?”

Brett's head snapped up. Annie was glaring at him over her shoulder, her blue eyes flashing, scalding color staining her cheeks.

He lowered his cup and said, “I was just admiring your. . . .” His gaze took a leisurely journey to her rear, then rose back up to her flushing face. “Assets.” His lips slid into a slow, sensual smile.

Her eyes narrowed. The color in her cheeks deepened. “I would think for a man so hepped up on catchin' his horses, he'd have more important things to do than sit around letting his gums flap and his eyes roam.”

At the moment, Brett couldn't think of any. “More important, maybe.” He saluted her with his cup. “But not nearly as pleasurable.”

Her spine went rigid. She grabbed the buckskin's bridle, swung into the saddle, and wheeled her horse around.

Grinning at her hasty departure, he turned around, then came to a sudden stop at the sight of his men standing around in various stages of undress, their mouths agape, their lustful gazes on Annie's disappearing figure.

Brett's good humor died. He whipped his revolver out of its holster and fired a shot into the air. “If you men aren't on your horses in ten seconds, the next bullet will be between your beady little eyes.”

No one called his bluff; within the ten allotted seconds, all hands were in their saddles and spurring their mounts out of camp.

Brett reholstered his revolver and kicked dirt over the embers. Maybe bringing her into the outfit had been a mistake. This was only the second day on the trail, and already she had his blood sizzling and his imagination running wild.

It had to stop. She wasn't a concubine brought along to indulge his baser needs. She was a hired horse thief, whose sole purpose was to save his fillies from ruin—and it was best he keep that uppermost in his mind.

Forgetting for an instant could mean the fall of the Triple Ace.

Chapter 6

A
s they headed south along the windswept plains, Annie kept as far away from Corrigan as possible. She didn't know what disturbed her more about the way he'd been looking at her—the smoldering fire in his eyes or her own reaction to it. No man had made her stomach flutter or her skin tingle in years. Yet every time Corrigan looked at her, strange things happened to her insides.

And every time she looked at him. . . .

Annie swiped her kerchief across her brow. God, it was hot out here.

“Is that true, Miss Annie?”

She swung her attention to the right and found Dogie staring at her, brows raised in expectancy. This morning, when she'd seen him match up that crimson red shirt with a pair of plaid britches, her first thought had been a hope that they wouldn't run into any bulls during the day's traveling. Strangely enough, she'd gotten used to the color. It certainly matched his sunburned complexion. “Is what true?”

“Henry was just telling us that him and your granddaddy once drove a herd of longhorns clear into Montana Territory.”

She could neither confirm nor deny the claim, for even if she hadn't been too young to accompany them, Granddad rarely told her and her mother where he went on his trips and it went against the grain to ask. “I expect if Mr. Henry said it, it's true.”

“ 'Course it's true!” Henry cried. “Me an' Ole Clovis had us plenty of adventures. Annie, did your granddaddy ever tell you about the time we had to drive a herd of mustangs from Dead Injun Creek to the rendezvous at Pease River?”

Before she could reply, he launched into the tale. “Danged sandstorm whipped up a good froth, stinging our eyes and plugging our noses. Got us so turned around we didn't know our As from our Zs.

“We ate dust for days. It was in our hair, our skin. We poured out boot-fulls of Texas at night. Finally we wound up at this tiny stream. Ole Clovis says he's got to see a man about a horse and he disappears behind a set of bushes. Not two seconds later, he comes runnin' through camp, hollerin' at the top of his lungs, ‘Injuns! Injuns!' Well, I had me more hair back then, and no way was I gonna lose it to some Comanche buck, so I jumped on my pony and we skedaddled out of there.

“Next night we come upon another stream that looks a lot like the first one. We make camp. Clovis disappears behind the bushes, then comes runnin' out again, hollerin', ‘Injuns! Injuns!' His face is pale as sourdough and he's shaking like a cottonwood in a windstorm. So I get on my pony, only this time I give the place a good scourin'. Not an Injun in sight.

“This goes on for three nights, and I was gettin' mighty furred up at Ole Clovis. I thought sure he was playin' a shine on me. So I decide I'm gonna get to the bottom of this once and for all.”

“Was he playin' a shine on you?” Dogie asked with the eagerness of youth.

“Yer jumpin' ahead of my story, boy.” Henry cast a ferocious scowl toward Dogie—at least, Annie figured he meant it to be ferocious.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah. The next mornin' I go exploring, and what do I find but a pair of ladies' unmentionables strung up in a tree? Turns out we'd been riding in circles, landin' at the same creek each night, and ever' time the wind blowed, the ruffles flowed out so it looked like a redskin's headdress.”

The side of Annie's mouth curved into a smile. She'd heard the story a dozen times before, but it had always been Mr. Henry hollering “Injuns” and Clovis discovering the clay-stained petticoat in the huckleberry tree.

“I got lost in Forth Worth once,” Dogie claimed.

“Good glory, boy, everyone knows
you
can get lost in a bath tub.”

Annie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She could hardly believe it. How long had it been since she'd felt like laughing?

A sudden shout interrupted her thought. Annie's attention veered toward the man galloping toward them, a thunderous expression darkening his face.

Corrigan reined in his mount so hard its hooves sent a spray of dirt. The blaze of fury in his eyes had Annie reining in, with Henry and Dogie following. What had set off his temper this time?

“Dogie, I thought I told you to keep a watch out for prairie dog holes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what the hell are you doing back here?”

Dogie swapped a look with Annie. Despite her resolve not to soften, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The last time she'd been in Texas there had been no law against chewing the fat, but Corrigan obviously thought there was.

“Just keepin' Miss Annie company,” Dogie answered.

“Keep her company on your own time. If one of these horses busts a leg, I'm taking it out of your hide.”

Dogie dropped his gaze and, shoulders drooping, tapped his spurs to his horses's belly.

“Henry, start scouting for watering holes. I want to show Annie something.”

“Sure, Ace.” He tipped his hat at Annie. “Bye, Annie.”

The instant Mr. Henry rode out of earshot, Annie turned on Corrigan. “Were you born a bully or is it an acquired talent?”

He deflected the question with one of his own. “Were you born a temptress, or is it an acquired talent?”

Annie glared at him.

“My men have a job to do, and they don't need you distracting them.”

“I didn't want them along, as you'll recall.”

“You didn't have a choice.”

God, he was a bastard. “If I'm so much of a distraction, why in the hell did you ask me to go after your horses?”

“Because you're the best.”

Annie didn't grace that with a reply.

“Take a ride with me.”

She laughed humorlessly at his gall. “No thanks.”

“You'll ride with a boy and cripple, but you won't ride with a man.”

“I won't ride with
you
.”

“Afraid?”

“Selective.”

A grin spread across his face, creating deep creases in his tanned cheeks and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, transforming him from arrogant commander to irresistible rogue. “Oh, but Annie, I could take you on a ride you'd never forget.”

Somehow she didn't doubt that. The gleam in his gray-green eyes promised no less.

“Come on,” he cajoled. “It's not far, I promise.”

She felt herself weaken. What was this power he had over her? He was hard-hearted and pigheaded and quite the most conceited man she'd ever had the displeasure of associating with.

He could also be quite disarming when he put his mind to it. No doubt women all over the territory had fallen victim to that grin he flashed with such ease.

“What did you want to show me?” she asked irritably.

“Follow me.” He clucked to the stallion.

Annie reluctantly flicked Chance's reins. She couldn't quell the feeling that she was making a big mistake, letting Corrigan lead her away from the rest of the outfit. She bent low and patted her boot, comforted by the bulge of her pocket revolver.

They rode for what seemed miles before Corrigan brought his horse to a stop and stared out across the land.

“Take a good look.” He dismounted slowly, almost reverently.

She followed the direction of his gaze. Summer had hit the plains with a vengeance, sending waves of shimmering heat hovering above the surrounding buffalo grass, giving it the appearance of flickering green fire. And in the midst of it, two dozen hump-backed beasts lumbered across the terrain.

They were ugly, mangy creatures, yet there was something regal and awe inspiring about them.

“You're seeing the last of a disappearing breed.”

It was hard to fathom that one day buffalo would no longer roam the plains, but she knew he spoke the truth. Prices for bones and hides were skyrocketing across the country and people were cashing in on the profits by the hoards; she'd even heard of men shooting at the beasts from train windows.

“Watch that bull. He's found himself a lady.”

Annie focused on the biggest bison, a thick shouldered male with short gray horns curving out from his shaggy black head. His glossy, deep-set eyes were trained on a cow standing apart from the rest of the herd.

“Look at the way he preens in front of her,” Corrigan said as the bull circled the cow, head high. “He's showing her his strength and prowess.”

The cow retreated several paces.

“Doesn't look like she's much interested.” Annie commented.

“She will be. He's just got to be patient.”

“He'll be waiting till hell freezes over. She won't give in to him.”

“Care to make a wager?”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “What kind of wager?”

His gaze dropped to her thigh, and she thought he was going to demand stakes that she'd not grant any man again for any price.

“If she submits, I'll buy you a new saddle.”

A new saddle? Lord, she needed one badly! She'd had this one for over ten years now. The latigos were stretched, the buckles worn. She'd planned on buying a new one with the wages from catching Corrigan's horses, but if he wanted to purchase it and save her the money. . . .

“And if she doesn't submit?”

“You buy me a new saddle.”

The image of a fancy new Mother Hubbard with Sam Stagg rigging was just too tempting to resist. “All right—it's a deal.”

They continued watching the mating ritual, Corrigan cock-sure the cow would submit to the bull, Annie just as certain she'd let him know where he could put his seed. Sure enough, each time the male got too close, the female backed off, forcing him to repeat his courtship all over again.

Just when visions of breaking in a new leather seat began to play through Annie's mind, the bull closed in on the cow, and damned if she didn't lift her tail and let him mount.

With no more a desire to watch two animals rutting than listen to Corrigan gloat, Annie wheeled Chance around.

Corrigan caught the bridle in one gloved hand. “Looks like I won the wager, Annie.”

She glared into his glittering eyes. “Enjoy the victory, Corrigan. It'll be the last one.”

 

With twenty miles of arid earth and travel embedded in their skin, Brett signaled the party to dismount. Relieved sighs floated on the breeze, followed by collective moans as they slid from their saddles.

Brett probably would have moaned along with them if he could have found the energy. Rubbing his aching tail bone, he rounded Fortune to see how Annie was faring and found her leaning against her mustang's girth.

“Annie, go on and get yourself something to eat. I'll tend your horse.”

She lifted herself off the animal and sighed. “No, I'll do it. You've got your own horse to tend.”

He couldn't tell if she was still angry with him for winning the wager, or just plain tired.

Once the horses had been relieved of their saddles, he and Annie took stiff-bristled curry brushes out of their packs and set about grooming the dirty hides. Each stroke brought to Brett's mind the night before, when he'd watched Annie's own grooming. “How did you ever get involved with horses, Annie?” he asked in an effort to distract himself.

“Chance.”

A logical answer—one that had landed him in many an unexpected venture. “They used to scare the living hell out of me.”

She shot a startled glance at him over the mustang's back. “Horses?”

He regretted the confession instantly. Next, she'd ridicule him. Or at least think him a coward.

Instead, she said, “I can't imagine you being afraid of anything.”

“Not now, but when I was a kid. . . .” He ran the brush down Fortune's breast. “I was small for my age, and they were so big. So powerful. One on one they weren't so bad, but get in a herd of them. . . .”

The old hatred rose up without warning.
You ungrateful whelp! Those animals put the bread and butter on this table. Be a man. Just go in there and feed them.

His father had known how terrified it made him to bring the horses their grain. Rolling the wheelbarrow into the paddock . . . the way the horses would crush around him the minute they caught scent of oats . . . kicking, biting, chasing each other away, caring not if a small boy got between them and took the blows instead.

“I suppose if anyone gets kicked enough times they'll develop a certain . . . apprehension. But this . . . this was more. It was the kind of fear that chokes off your air supply. I tried to pretend that they didn't make me feel completely defenseless, completely at their mercy, but. . . .”

“How did you get over it?” she asked quietly.

Brett shrugged as if it meant nothing. “I grew up. I learned to take control. Show them I was in charge.”

“Is that what you were taught?” she asked, a note of anger in her tone.

“It worked,” Brett stated in simple defense of himself—and yes, maybe of the way he was with those around him. If she understood, maybe her opinion of him wouldn't scale the bottom of the barrel. Not that he really cared one way or another. . . .

“Whoever taught you that should be shot. You don't tame mavericks by overpowering them; that'll break their spirit. You woo them. Win their trust. Once you've got that, they'll follow you anywhere.”

Woo them. Win their trust.

Was that what it would take to tame Annie?

Scowling, Brett hefted his saddle into his arms and carried it to the campsite. He didn't want her trust, he wanted her body. And he wanted her giving it to him wildly, willingly, not with loathing in her eyes.

Brett's gaze followed her as she shook out her soogan. The men had fallen into their nightly ritual: Emilio brought out his guitar, Wade Henry his Bible, and Flap Jack a deck of cards, though all engaged in their tasks with only half-hearted vigor tonight. Annie's fragrance rose apart from the odors of stale sweat, horse, and earth. A little spicy, a lot alluring, utterly female.