Tracker’s Sin (23 page)

body could never tel when Ace was serious. Usual y it came as a surprise. Rarely was it a pleasant one. Ace being serious meant someone was going to

die. “Word is that Eastern dude is coming in on Friday’s stage.”

That gave them a good six days to plan.

“Good.”

“Caden and I are going to ride out in a bit and make sure he gets to San Antonio safely. Don’t want him to have any mishaps before you

and Caine have a chat with him.”

“Does he know we know he’s coming?”

“Not a clue. Caine and Sam have the last of those
Comancheros
hog-tied about ten miles out of town. They’ve turned out to be the real

cooperative sort, Sam says. Sending al the right messages to their friend at al the right times.”

“Tucker’s not with them?”

Ace shook his head. “Word leaked to Sal y Mae about that part of the plan. You know she doesn’t hold with violence.”

Yet she was married to one of the most notorious men in the territory. That never failed to amaze Tracker. Somehow, the two of them

made it work. Quaker and outlaw, white woman and Indian. Watching them together was like watching one of those fancy bal ets. There was a beauty in

their understanding of each other, a sensual rhythmic depth to their interactions, and an art to their negotiations. They did a lot of negotiating; Sal y Mae’s

notions didn’t fit in wel with the reality of this country.

Tracker thought of Ari, kneeling naked in the bedroom, terrified, fighting he didn’t even know what, in ways he didn’t understand. They

couldn’t go on like that. They had to find a rhythm that worked for them. Without it, Ari wouldn’t heal.

“And you know Tucker is bound by his promise,” Caden said, coming back in with a couple buckets of water.

As Tracker was to Ari.
I’ll keep you safe.

“Yeah.” Tracker forced an easy smile he didn’t feel. “For a man of his nature, you wouldn’t think it would come easy to turn the other cheek.

”

Caden shook his head. “But he’s doing it, and with a smile, every day.”

Ace went out and fetched a couple more buckets of cold water from just outside the door, then said, “That Sal y Mae is one hel of an

inspiration.”

“True.” Caden dumped his buckets into the tub. “Got a backbone of steel and a heart of mush. A man wil do a lot for a woman like that,

and I’ve got to say, it’s good to see Tucker smile. For awhile I thought he’d forgotten how.”

“He’s definitely easier to live with now. A lot less busted-up jaws around the place.”

Ace emptied his buckets into the tub. “We’l be back with the hot water in a minute.”

“Do me a favor and leave them by the door.”

Ace and Caden looked at the bedroom door and then at Tracker. Ace was the one who gave voice to the question in their eyes. “You

doing right by her?”

“What the hel are you going to do if I say no?”

Ace smiled a total y infectious, completely deceptive smile and col ected his buckets. “I’d likely have to take you out back and skin you

alive.”

Anyone not knowing Ace would think he was joking.

Caden picked up the other two buckets. “And then I’d have to kick your ass.”

“You haven’t been able to manage it yet.”

“Might just be I haven’t had the proper inspiration.”

That, Tracker could believe. Caden was slow to anger and not much on fighting without purpose. But when he found one, the battle was to

the death, no matter what he had to go through to achieve the goal. He wasn’t the forgiving sort.

“Uh-huh.” Tracker motioned them out. “Have no fear, I’m treating her with al the respect she demands.”

Which was apparently none. What the hel had happened to the woman who had demanded he kiss her with love?

“Good. We’l see you later then.”

Ace stopped at the door. “Almost forgot. Tia wants to know if you’l be eating at the house tonight.”

Tracker glanced at the bedroom. “Tel her I’l let her know in a bit.”

“Wil do.”

The door closed quietly behind them. There was nothing to do but go back to the bedroom.

She was where he’d left her, kneeling on the floor, head bowed, stil naked, stil emotionless. He’d rather see her in the middle of an

episode.

Tracker sat down in front of her on the bed. Ari immediately reached for the front of his pants. Hel , he was as bad as everyone else.

Taking without asking. He caught her hands in his, brought them to his lips and kissed the backs.

“Sweets?” She didn’t move. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head and tugged her hands away. He let them go, seeing what she would do. She reached for his cock again and cupped

him through his pants. His cock, uncaring of moral issues, perked up. Again, he stopped her.

“Are you thinking of control ing me with sex?”

That brought her gaze up.

“I’l take that look of surprise as a no.”

He left her hand where it was, letting the pleasure trickle through him as he fought for words. The pleasure won. He grabbed her wrist,

ending the game.

A shudder went through her and he understood something. Desi was wrong. The way to go forward with Ari was not the way Caine had

gone with Desi. Tracker didn’t know what was the right way, but that wasn’t it. He looked at Ari’s fingers, so pale compared to his. So elegant. She was a

lady. And his for a time. The scars around her wrists were an abomination, but not a surprise. He knew she’d been bound, but looking at them hurt him,

anyway. Way down deep inside, in a place he’d thought scarred over.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. He wasn’t a man of words, but he needed to find the right ones to tel her what he felt

inside. Shit, he should have talked to Sam first. Sam could charm the birds from the trees. Tracker took a breath. It didn’t make it easier. He’d rather be

staked out on a cactus than do this. There was nothing to do but blurt it out. She’d probably laugh at him anyway.

“Do you know, sweets, until you touched me, I never knew what it was like to have a woman touch me with caring?”

She didn’t look up. He pushed on.

“I’ve had them touch me out of greed, out of passion, out of manipulation, but until you, being touched like that was just a cruel fairy tale

someone fed me as a kid.”

Stil no response. He took another breath and went for broke. “I liked it.”

That got a start. He tipped up her chin. She wasn’t laughing. Tears fil ed her eyes. For her? For him? For them? Hel , what did it matter? It

was al fucked up. He trailed his fingers to her cheek, trying to give her softness. “So much, I don’t want to go back to being used.”

Her lips worked. No words came out.

Sliding his hand back until he cupped her head, he rubbed his thumb over her mouth. “There’s always been pleasure between us.

Nothing’s happened in the last two days that makes me want anything else.”

Vague thumps announced the arrival of the hot water. Leaning forward, he replaced his thumb with his lips. He gave her a gentle kiss

before reaching over to pul the coverlet off the foot of the bed and drape it around her. “That’s al I want between us, sweets. Softness.”

Her eyes searched his, but nothing in her expression gave away her thoughts.

“I’ve got five days of trail clinging to me. I’m going to take a bath.”

She sat there, lips sealed, eyes screaming. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he again touched his thumb to her lips. “While I’m doing that,

you can do whatever you want.”

12

T
he hot water felt good against his aching muscles. The steam from the bath blended with the humidity of the air. Traces of clove from when he’d washed

up before stepping into the tub rode the steam, covering the staleness of the air. Tia’s doing. She knew how the scent made him think of hope. He’d told

her that once. Right after the first time he’d gotten his heart broken, he believed. The talk she’d given him was bracing—that things happen for a reason,

that when happiness came his way, he should enjoy it, because no one ever knew how long it would last. She’d likely been thinking about her husband

then, dead along with her baby. When she was done, Tracker hadn’t had much energy left for moping, but ever since then, whenever he was upset, he

found clove soap next to his bath.

The smal , cherishing act made him smile. For a man thinking he was about at the end of his rope, he had a lot of people who cared for

him. So maybe he’d best get off his self-pity rol and just enjoy what was, rather than worrying about what would be. Tracker slid down into the large tub,

feeling guilty for the griping he’d put up when they’d had to haul it up the mountain to Hel ’s Eight. After a long, difficult time on the trail, it was a godsend to

be able to sink into a tubful of hot, soothing water. He closed his eyes and let the heat work at the tension inside him.

He didn’t know what to do with Ari. He didn’t know how to get through to her. She wore that pain like armor, afraid of letting it go because

what was on the other side might be worse. There just might be a black, yawning pit that would swal ow her whole.

He’d felt that way after his town had been wiped out. For his parents he hadn’t grieved much, because they hadn’t been much. But for

Caine’s parents, who’d given him and Shadow the only love they’d ever known, he’d wanted to tear open the graves, cal down the grim reaper and make

a deal. His life for theirs. Yeah, he knew how Ari felt, but he couldn’t put a gun in her hand and give her vengeance in place of love. She wasn’t cut from the

same cloth. She hadn’t been weaned on anger and hate. Hadn’t had the softness beaten out of her, though the
Comancheros
had tried. Beneath the

water, he clenched his hand on his thigh. Good people like them didn’t deserve to die. Good women like Desi and Ari didn’t deserve to be used. And men

like Tracker shouldn’t be put in charge of saving them. Not when his honor was stretched thin.

Damn, no matter what Desi said, what Ari needed was an Eastern man with Eastern manners. Someone who understood what passed

for good in the world she came from. Here, the muscle a man carried on his body backed up the weight of his word. Tracker had encountered enough

Easterners over the years to know their power came from money and political machinations. They might smile to a person’s face, but worked behind his

back as soon as he left. Rarely was anything handled directly.

Tracker wasn’t good at that kind of smooth talking. He didn’t know how to mince around what had happened to Ari, yet leave the core of it

untouched. The pain of her memories grew like an ugly, festering boil, throbbing too viciously to be ignored. Instinct said lance the boil, release the poison.

He’d tried that kind of direct confrontation in the bedroom. Al he’d done was make her cry. Shit. He sank under the water, wetting his hair, releasing his

frustration by uttering a water-logged “Fuck.”

When he came to the surface, the hairs on the back of his neck stood in warning. He wasn’t alone. Reaching into the water for the knife

down by his foot, he sneaked a peek through his lashes. Ari stood by the tub, the wrap clutched around her, looking down at him. Shit again. Moving slowly

so as not to scare her, he traded the knife for a washcloth on the table beside the tub.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. “You had
that
in the bath?”

Draping the washcloth over his privates, he shrugged. “Habit.”

He wasn’t sure how much good the cloth was going to do if his cock reacted with its normal attentiveness to her presence, but at least he

made the effort.

Reaching out, she touched the knife, rocking it back and forth. “I remembered.” She said it as though he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry.”

Not meeting his eyes, she said, “Me, too.”

She looked like an angel standing there. An improbably sweet angel with broken wings. Just in case she had thoughts of doing

something with that knife, he removed it from beneath her fingers. When she looked up, he motioned to his nakedness.

“You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Good.”

There was stil no discerning her mood from her expression. He cocked an eyebrow. “Care to explain that?”

She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger a short space apart. “You’re always so big, so…invulnerable. I sometimes feel

insignificant.”

“Sweets, I’m the one who’s not worth shit.”

“You always say that.”

“Because compared to what you’re used to, I’m not.”

“I’m used to men who fucked me however they wanted, whenever they wanted, regardless of what I wanted.”

He hated hearing that word on her lips. More than that, he hated that she thought she was now the kind of woman who could use it. Of

course, he might not be sending that message too clearly, since he was carrying on a conversation with her while naked. He was reasonably sure Eastern

men considered that vulgar.

He pointed to the white cotton towel draped over the back of a chair. “If you pass me that towel and turn your back, I’l be happy to talk

about whatever you want.”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re tel ing me no?”

“Yes.”

“I’l give you a hint, sweets. You’d be more convincing if you weren’t standing there wringing your hands, avoiding my gaze.”

“Don’t, Tracker.”

Shit.
She looked as if she was about to cry. “I’m sorry.”

She let the wrap fal to the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her body—the high, pert breasts that fit so perfectly into his hand, the

slender waist that flowed to those surprisingly ful hips. Her skin shone so white in the dim interior, looked so soft. He curved his fingers at the memory of

how her nipple had pressed into his palm.