Wild Texas Rose (10 page)

“Because Goliath’s her leader, and she’ll come when he calls.” He took her hand and kissed it. “She’s a smart female. You could learn a lesson from her.”

Her control faltered, and Rose snatched her hand away.

But he glimpsed anger and hurt in her face. Wanting, needing to give comfort, he reached for her.

She stumbled back to avoid him.

“What’s wrong, darlin’? We’ve come so far; we can’t give up now.” He coaxed her like a fractious filly.

“I’m not giving up. I’m going to get my horses.” Steadfastly, she ignored both his outstretched hand and his true meaning and got her carbine from the saddle holster. “What do we do after Starbright finds Goliath?”

“If you don’t trust me not to laugh at you, how come you trust me to direct the rescue operation?”

“You’re the Ranger. You’re the expert at catching thieves, and I’ll do as you instruct for that reason.” Composed once more, she folded her hands in front of her, in effect posting a
No Trespassing
sign by her posture and her prim mouth.

He hated
No Trespassing
signs, and he thought about ways to rumple her composure. A mere kiss wouldn’t do it this time. It would take more … specific action. “I’m the expert at loving you, too, Rose.”

She blushed crimson.

“That’s a pretty color,” he approved, glad to see she had shared that dream with him last night. “Goes nice with your gray riding suit. Shows you’re thinking about that wedding proposal.”

“Are we going, Mr. Maxwell?”

“After you, Miss Corey.” He bowed as she swept past. “You want me to lead Starbright?”

“I can take care of my own horses, thank you,” she said, crisp as a pair of starched bloomers and exactly as scratchy.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood still, watching the swing of her hips and the outline of her legs beneath the velvet, wondering if he could scorch her skirt with his regard.

“Mr. Maxwell!” She hadn’t looked back, but she sounded as incensed.

Well. Maybe he had scorched her skirt. Feeling cocky, he got his rifle and hurried to catch up. “After Starbright goes to Goliath, we wait.” When she would have objected, he lifted one hand. “There’ll be somebody along soon to water the horses, if nothing else. When the thieves see Starbright out of the corral, it’ll be like ants to honey.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re intimidating the cowboys with your shiny Ranger badge?”

“Getting a little testy, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “You’re to sit in, and if you see I need help, you’re to start shooting. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’m very good at shooting at people.” Rummaging in her sleeve, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her nose. “I couldn’t kill you.”

He put his hand to his heart. “For which I am deeply grateful.”

She zinged him. “And you deserve a good shooting more than the cowboys who are merely doing as they’re told.”

He sighed. “You can’t stand to let me heal up and hair over, can you?”

The wind kicked up as they neared the junction of the canyons, and in typical Texas capriciousness, it contained the first taste of winter. Thorn saw Rose shiver and check the sky, and he noticed the clouds streaming in thin wisps on some lofty wind.

“We’d best kick it in the rump,” he added, “or that norther’ll be on us.”

“Yes.” She sounded subdued, but she was straining to look ahead, wanting that first glimpse of the horses.

He took her hand, and she let him, almost as if she were unaware of him, or as if she needed the comfort of his touch. Keeping close against the wall where the tumbled boulders provided shelter, they rounded the corner where one dry creek bed merged into another.

There the wind blew stronger, carrying on it the high complaints of an unexercised stallion. “Goliath,” she whispered. Her hand squeezed Thorn’s, and she walked on tiptoe.

Torn between watching her and watching for trouble, Thorn found a sheltered place for Starbright and took the halter from Rose.

She tried to keep it, but he gave her a little shove and pointed at the top of a rise. “The horses are on the other side. If you keep your head down, you can take a look.”

She scrambled up the grade, hunkered down when she reached the top, and peered over. He knew when she had her first sight of the horses, because she wiggled like a puppy whose ears are being scratched. Thorn found himself grinning and wishing her happiness would always be so easy to provide. She would have stayed there forever, he guessed, but he finally called to her.

She reluctantly crept back down. “They’re there,” she said unnecessarily.

“Yes, ma’am.” He transferred Starbright to her custody by taking both Rose’s hands and wrapping her fingers around the bridle. Then he leaned over her, and before she could draw back, said, “Last chance.”

“For what?”

“To accept my proposal. I might get killed out there.”

“Unfair,” she murmured.

“Yeah.” Unrepentant, he kissed her, savoring the taste of her indignation and taking pleasure in the depth of her passion.

The silly woman might not like him right now, but she sure did want him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rose stood there and let Thorn kiss her, enjoying his expertise even as she deplored it. The man had no shame, but he did have a way of using his lips and tongue that had nothing to do with sweet-talking and everything to do with sweet loving.

“Rose,” he whispered. Like a gunslinger’s hands above a holster, his hands hovered above her arms, waiting for the signal to touch.

She didn’t give it to him. She couldn’t. She’d already given him too much and bought herself heartache in the bargain.

She stepped back.

He didn’t grin as usual, but watched her solemnly, then drew his Colt and walked away.

She watched him disappear around the bend and wished she had him back … so she could throw him off her land and order him never to darken her door again.

Knowing him, he’d climb in the window.

All those years, thinking of him in prison, imagining him as a thief or a gunslinger, imagining him shot or hanging for his crimes — and he’d been a Texas Ranger. He could have come back for her any time. He could have at least let her know that he was safe.

And he hadn’t.

You’re going to be mine someday
.

It had been a boy’s promise. It had become a man’s threat. But she’d been too infatuated to care. She’d imagined an eternal love when in fact, there had been only lust and a desire for retaliation.

She had put him in jail, and she’d spent years feeling guilty about it.

Even now he could be laughing up his sleeve, remembering her passion with a smirk and his proposal as a joke.

And if he were serious? Heavens, that was even worse. If he were serious, if he really wanted to marry her, then she’d been put in her place with a vengeance.

She wasn’t Rose, the love of his life.

She was Rose, the woman he remembered when all the excitement of being a Ranger had died down, when he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

So be it.

She didn’t need him around. She’d proved that. She could make a living with her horses. She could keep her land and her pride, and he could go find another woman who’d be satisfied with being a tiny part of Thorn Maxwell’s life.

Rose already hated that woman almost as much as she hated the flattery that had made her think she was special to Thorn.

More than that, she hated her own susceptibility.

She’d been a fool again. A fool for Thorn.

Starbright tugged at her halter, and Rose soothed her, petting her nose and making soft, horsie sounds. But Starbright would not be comforted, and Rose finally realized why.

The horses over the rise were restive and their neighing rose in ever increasing volume. Starbright wanted to join them. And Rose did, too. What was happening? She glanced around. Where was Thorn? He wouldn’t approve if she went to look — he liked his own way far too much — but perhaps she should. Just as a precaution.

After all, if Thorn was scouting around, he couldn’t be watching the corral.

Pleased with her justification and smug about defying Thorn’s orders, Rose tied Starbright to a bush and, cradling her carbine, crept up the rise once more. As she neared the top, she lay down flat in the dirt and grass and, feeling like an accomplished crime fighter, crawled the rest of the way to the summit. She lifted her head to look.

A man stood down by the corral.

It wasn’t Thorn.

Shocked, she ducked down again. With trembling fingers, she examined the carbine, assuring herself it was ready to shoot while praying she wouldn’t have to pull the trigger.

But she could, she assured herself. Her horse thief stood below.

And Thorn was at risk.

Then, in the corral, Goliath stretched out his neck and called, and Starbright responded. Rose heard the sound of shredding branches and brittle foliage as Starbright ripped herself loose from the bush that tethered her.

With a thunder of hooves, Starbright headed up the hill.

Rose saw the mare running straight at her. A vision of her own savaged body flashed through her mind. Instinct took hold; Rose rolled away.

Just in time. The mare thundered over the rise without a glance at her mistress, and in the corral, Goliath welcomed Starbright with a triumphant whinny.

Rose lay with a hand on her thumping heart. That had been close — and what would Thorn say now? She’d lost their bait before Thorn was in position, and she’d almost gotten herself run down.

Perhaps getting trampled wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. It would beat facing Thorn.

Did she dare peek at the corral once more, or would Starbright’s arrival bring the horse thief’s caution to the fore?

But the man at the corral called out in familiar tones, “Starbright! Where have ye been, me darlin’ girl?”

The lilting Irish accent, the gruff voice, the familiar welcome … it was Patrick!

Patrick was down at the corral. Patrick had traced the horses here and was now recklessly exposing himself to the thief.

Rose grabbed her carbine, scrambled to her feet, and waved her arms at her foreman, but Starbright stood between them. Starting down the hill, she risked a cry. “Get down! Patrick, get away.”

Caught by surprise, Patrick dodged behind Starbright.

“Patrick,” Rose called again.

He hopped around the horse, stopping to peer from behind Starbright’s neck. When he caught sight of Rose, his face crumpled in horror, and he croaked, “Miss Rose! What are ye doing here?”

“We found the horses, like you did, and we’re trying to catch the thief. You’ve got to get away” — she tugged at his arm — “or you’ll be shot.”

With one hand he clutched at the pistol at his hip. With the other, he raised his rifle. “Shot? By who? Who’s we?”

Another tug, and she jerked him into motion. “Thorn and I. He found the horses—”

“He found the horses?”

“—and like you, I wanted to free them—”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to do.” He panted harshly as she dragged him toward a sheltering stand of gray oaks. “Free the horses.”

“—but Thorn insisted we find the thief first, so he’s out scouting for signs.” Reaching the trees, Rose pulled Patrick down into the grass.

“Mother of God.” Alarm painted his face in shades of green, and his mouth hung open, then worked uselessly as he tried to speak.

“Patrick?” She shook his shoulder, trying to free him from the paralysis of horror. “It’s all right. We should he safe here.”

“Miss Rose, I…”

“We’ve got our rifles.” She lifted hers and pointed to his. “And Thorn’s out there. He’ll protect us.”

“Thorn … “ Patrick stuttered, and tried again. “I’ve been … making inquiries about Thorn. He’s wanted for … horse rustling in … Crockett County.”

True, those had been her suspicions less than twelve hours before, but now they sounded so ludicrous, she giggled. “No, he’s not.”

Grasping her hand in his cold one, Patrick stammered, “Yes, he is. He’ll shoot us dead when he sees us.”

“Patrick!” She was amazed at his fear and his conviction. “Thorn is a Texas Ranger.”

“Saints preserve us.”

“I saw the badge.”

Squirming like a worm on hot ashes, Patrick said, “He stole it.”

“No, Patrick, I’m telling you.” She tried to be patient, but he was so terrified she didn’t know if he even understood her. “Thorn Maxwell is a Texas Ranger and has been since he got out of prison.”

Patrick’s next words struck at her with the venom of a roused rattlesnake. “He’s a liar! Don’t ye understand? He’s a liar, and he always has been. He’s taking advantage of yer affection for him and using ye, like he did before, and ye’re letting him, like any floozy. Just like before. Haven’t ye any pride?”

Stunned and angered, Rose cried, “Thorn isn’t a liar! He’s not using me. Why, he’s been in these parts for weeks, scouting out the horse thief. He knows who it is.”

Patrick’s eyes rolled until she saw the whites. “If he gets me, I’ll be hanged. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Abandoning his rifle, Patrick lurched to his feet, and for all her fury, she couldn’t let him get shot. She caught his leg. “Patrick, wait! You’ll expose yourself to gunfire. You can’t—”

He tried to shake her off.

“You mustn’t—” She dodged a blow from his hand. But she couldn’t dodge the ugly suspicion as she finally comprehended what he had said. “Patrick, you … dear God, Patrick, you’ve been stealing my horses.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Aiming the pistol with care, Thorn pulled back the hammer on his Colt.

The quickening wind almost drowned the metallic click.

Almost, but not quite.

The figure crawling on the ground froze.

Thorn smiled, but without a bit of warmth. “What’re you doing here, Sonny?”

Dirt stained Sonny’s wool vest across the belly. He’d knotted his bandana so tight his eyes bulged. His Levi’s were new, scarcely bent at the knees and baggy in the seat. He had a Remington Frontier .44 in his grip and a new tan Stetson on his head. As he crawled toward the edge of the cliff to look down on the corral, he rolled like a Conestoga wagon on the move.