Riding West

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer‘s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201

Riding West
Copyright © 2007 by Emma Wildes
Cover by Anne Cain
ISBN: 1-59998-846-1
www.samhainpublishing.com

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: December 2007

For my good friend, Olinda. May your own Parker West stroll through your door sometime soon.

The sun cast lazy afternoon shadows, the heat rose from the earth like a palpable presence and a slight breeze carried the tang of sage and mesquite. The leaves in the cottonwoods rustled faintly in a hushed and subtle whisper of sound. Stepping out onto the wide front porch, Celia Evans shaded her eyes with one hand and saw the small plume of rising dust with a touch of curiosity.

The rider coming up the long lane toward the ranch had his horse at a full gallop, she saw that much, and suddenly she wished her father and brothers hadn‘t just left for town to purchase supplies. The ranch hands too, she realized with a small tremor of trepidation, were all out repairing fences or searching for missing cattle.

“Who is it?” Rose, her older sister, came outside to join her, gazing at the approaching horseman with interest. “He‘s moving right along.”

“I can‘t tell from here.” As she spoke, Celia registered the long-legged, signature gait of the black horse before she could recognize its rider. “I think it might be Parker. There can‘t be two horses like that in Colorado. Surely that‘s Diablo—look at him move.”

Next to her, pretty in a simple gingham gown suitable for the hour and heat, Rose murmured, “He‘s coming fast, I‘ll grant that. Parker usually has a good reason for everything he does, so something must be going on.”

“That‘s the truth,” Celia said tartly. “He‘s practical to a fault.”

“You‘re a little hard on him, aren‘t you? I realize he didn‘t quite propose to you in the romantic way a girl expects, but you lead that poor man a merry ride.” Rose shook her head, her blond hair shining in the afternoon sun. “He‘s smart, good-looking and steady. He comes from a nice family that‘s well off, and he‘s been head over heels in love with you for years. When he finally gets up the nerve to ask you marry him, you up and turn him down. I don‘t understand what you want.”

Maybe a little excitement
, Celia thought cynically. Parker West was the most practical, level-headed young man she‘d ever met. His idea of courtship was damned boring because he was so infernally polite. In fact, all he‘d ever done was steal one or two chaste kisses. It almost made matters worse that Rose was right. He was one of the best-looking men she had ever seen and Celia found him very attractive…physically, that is. She‘d known him most of her life since they were neighbors and friends, but he seemed way too content with that platonic arrangement.

Or if he wasn‘t, he certainly kept that information to himself.

In short, he was just a little too
nice.

The horse thundered forward and she could now see it was indeed Parker, his easy seat in the saddle recognizable. He was a fine horseman, whatever his other faults.

“What I‘d like is a little sentiment, Rose.” Celia lifted a brow in open derision. “When a man asks a woman to marry him, he shouldn‘t first list the logical reasons why it would be a suitable match. For heaven‘s sake, he shouldn‘t even say the word
logical
at all.”

Rose gave a small hiccup of a laugh. “It was probably a poor choice, I agree. Parker should have known better since you aren‘t exactly strangers, but I expect he was nervous.”

“He didn‘t seem nervous.”

“Does he ever? He‘s been perfecting keeping his feelings under control around you for the past five years.”

Was that true? Celia hadn‘t seen him since she‘d turned him down nearly a week ago. He hadn‘t shown it, but she sensed her refusal had hurt him. She had the cowardly urge to go hide inside until he left, but she was also curious as to why he‘d ride toward the house at such a breakneck pace.

He didn‘t slacken his speed until he thundered into the yard, pulling the horse up just a few feet from the porch where they stood. Diablo jerked restively at his reins as his rider slid off in one lithe movement. Parker controlled the stallion with a quick word and tightened grip, not even bothering to look at the animal.

Tall, wearing worn jeans that hugged his long legs, dusty boots, and a light blue shirt that spanned his wide shoulders, he doffed his hat, revealing slightly tousled dark wavy hair. His features were finely modeled and classically handsome; high cheekbones, dark arched brows, a straight nose and sensual mouth. “Good afternoon, Rose.”

Celia saw her sister dimple in a smile. “Hello, Parker. I hope nothing is wrong. You certainly were coming right along.”

“Nothing is wrong,” he said coolly. “I‘m just leaving on a little trip and anxious to get going.”

“You sure must be.” Rose obviously noticed he hadn‘t bothered to greet Celia, and the tone of her voice showed a shade of discomfort.

“I am.” His eyes were a pale blue, like the sky at dawn, and when that light, intense gaze transferred to her, Celia felt a small quiver in her stomach. To her amazement, he said in the same unemotional tone, “You‘re going with me, sweetheart.”

Rooted to the spot, all she could do was stare. Normally he was easygoing, with a quick, charming smile that she didn‘t see nearly often enough, and a reserved air. At this moment, however, as he took a long stride toward the steps to the porch, he looked downright…dangerous. His gaze glittered as it locked with hers and his mouth was a tight line.

Celia said incredulously, “I‘m what?”

“Going with me.” He looped his horse‘s reins around the post.

She took an involuntary step backwards as he bounded up the short stairs. “Are you out of your head?”

“Absolutely.”

Strong hands caught her shoulders and spun her around. She heard Rose gasp and in moments, to her utter shock, her hands were bound behind her back. He did it so neatly and deftly, she didn‘t even have time to struggle. Being a working cowboy, he certainly knew how to tie a good knot and do it fast, and must have carried the rope in his pocket. He turned her back to face him and bent, heaving her effortlessly over one hard shoulder like a sack of grain, his arm coming around the back of her knees as he turned to walk back down the steps to his horse.

“Tell your parents we‘ll be back when we work things all out, Rose. I‘ll keep her safe, they know that.” His tone was even, and his arm tightened as Celia began to squirm in real protest, her undignified position uncomfortable with her bottom in the air and his shoulder in her diaphragm.

“Parker,” she gasped as she spoke, “let me go. What on earth are you doing?”

“Stop struggling,” he said curtly. “I promise you Diablo won‘t like it and will toss you on your sweet backside in the dirt.”

In seconds she was perched in the saddle sideways, her bound hands making her seat precarious. Her outraged glare went from the man who put his booted foot in the stirrup and swung up behind her, to her sister watching from the porch with a look on her face that seemed a mixture of astonishment and laughter.

“You can‘t do this,” Celia said between her teeth as his arms came securely around her to take the reins.

“The hell I can‘t, Miss Evans,” he told her and touched the stallion with a heel so they jumped forward. “I believe I just did.”

———

He‘d expected her to be spitting mad, and he certainly wasn‘t disappointed.

After about twenty minutes of her furious protests, Parker finally decided to gag his beautiful prisoner, and if looks could kill, he would be stone cold in a grave somewhere.

Jesus, he certainly hoped he knew what he was doing.

Sitting in front of him, her back stiff with outrage, Celia‘s gorgeous dark blue eyes flashed pure fire. He‘d seen her mad before—considering her somewhat tempestuous disposition, that wasn‘t new—but he was not sure she‘d ever been
this
mad.

Damn, though, it might all be worth it—even if she ended up hating his guts—for the sensation of holding her in his arms. Her soft bottom bounced against his thighs as he urged Diablo into an easy canter, and he could smell the sweet scent from her hair. Her delicate features were flushed with anger, the smooth skin of her cheeks bright red, a bandana he‘d brought for that purpose tied across her tempting mouth. She wore a light blue dress with tiny flowers patterned on the cotton material, and he could feel the voluptuous curves of her body through the thin cloth. Her hair was a lustrous gold touched with platinum glints in the light of the warm sun. It was tied back simply at her nape, and he couldn‘t wait to slip that piece of ribbon free and watch it spill over the sheets of his bed.

If his wild plan worked, in a few hours he‘d find out if she was as spirited in bed as she was in every other way. His cock stiffened from his wayward thoughts and the slight sway of her breasts against his arm. Trying to ignore it before he got a full-blown erection with a long ride still ahead of them, he scanned the horizon periodically from habit.

In less than two hours, rangeland gave way to small hills. Ridges of timber rose in front of them, dwarfed by the majestic peaks in the background. Aspens fluttered leaves in the dying afternoon breeze as they began to climb in elevation, and it was considerably cooler under the shadows of pine and spruce. Parker knew the way well and judged they‘d get there just before dark, which was exactly what he‘d expected.

So far, so good.

The gag, once she‘d tired of making muffled protests, seemed to have the effect of calming Celia a little and he felt slightly guilty about it in the first place. After they splashed through a small stream and he slid off to let Diablo have a short rest and a cool drink, he lifted her from the saddle. “If you promise to not screech at me like an angry bluejay, I‘ll take this off.”

There was a moment of hesitation, her blue eyes defiant, but Celia finally nodded. He loosened the bandana and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You can untie my hands as well,” she said in a voice that was only slightly uneven. “It‘s pretty uncomfortable, Parker.”

Tying her hands had been both to make a point and to make sure she didn‘t scratch his eyes out or try to pull his gun and shoot him during the actual abduction. Celia was more than capable of doing both. Parker lifted a brow sardonically. “I value life and limb. I don‘t think so. We‘re getting close to our destination. I‘ll free you then.”

The expression on her lovely face was a mixture of surprise and fury. He‘d never denied her anything—few men would. “You don‘t care my arms are half-numb?”

“Nope.” It was a lie, for his first inclination was to untie her at once and abjectly apologize, but being a perfect gentleman around the very tempting, very spoiled Miss Evans hadn‘t ever gotten him anywhere. She was almost twenty, and he‘d been in love with her for years. Hell, he‘d known her most of his life, he‘d probably fallen for her when he was about five and he saw her right after she was born.

Lush lashes lowered slightly over the dark blue of her midnight eyes. She asked tightly, “What‘s gotten into you?”

Ignoring the question, he pointed at the bubbling stream. “Are you thirsty? I‘ll get you some water.”

“No thanks,” she replied in a scathing, bitter tone.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and got out a flask from his pocket, uncorking it and taking a theatrical swig.

“You‘re drinking?” Celia‘s delicate features registered slight shock.

“Sure am.” He stuffed the bottle back in his pocket and gave her a deliberately wicked grin. It wasn‘t that he didn‘t ever drink whiskey—he did in moderation—but never in front of her. With her father owning a big ranch, she saw plenty of drunken cowboys, and he‘d never wanted her to think of him in that way.

“Maybe you‘d better tell me just where we‘re going and what the purpose of this is. If you want to talk to me, we could do that at home. You don‘t have to drag me off like some barbarian.”

“Talk? It doesn‘t work. I tried it. You were pretty lukewarm over talking about us. I have a better idea.” Parker lifted a brow and deliberately ran his gaze over her slender form in a suggestive inspection, lingering on the full curve of her breasts. “I think you can guess what I have in mind, Celia.”

Her lips parted and a small flush crept up her neck and into her face. She half-whispered in outraged protest, “Parker.”