Wild Texas Rose (9 page)

“No, but I can’t shoot you. It is against the law to kill a Texas Ranger.”

He gaped, but she seemed to have no more attention to spare for him, and when he came racing up the slope, she ignored him. “Why are you acting like this?” he demanded.

Calm as you please, she picked up her chemise and slipped it over her head.

“You can’t get all het up because I proposed.”

“I’m not the one who’s het up.” She tugged the drawstrings in the front so tight it puckered from waist to chest, then pulled on her riding jacket and buttoned it all the way to the neck.

“There’s a lot of women out there who … “ Her legs, her hips, her waist. Damn, what had he been talking about? “A lot of women out there who’d like me to propose to them.”

“So do it.”

Her hose and garters accented the curve of her calf and made him aware that he’d said the stupidest thing a man could say to the woman he loved. He had always known the right way to woo a woman, but Rose was different. Rose was important.

And how could he concentrate when faced with her half-clothed figure?

Desperately, he tried to salvage lost opportunities. “I don’t want to propose to anyone else. You’re the only woman I could spend my life with. The only woman I’ve ever even considered spending my life with.”

She stepped into her drawers, then her riding skirt. She braided her hair, coiled it, and pinned it close against her head. She settled the hat on her head and belted the holster around her waist. Then, facing him, she asked, “Should I be honored?”

Her feet still peeked from beneath her skirt, and above her feet were her legs, her hips, her chest, and every last, luscious inch between.

“I’m not a bad catch,” he answered absently, wondering how to get her clothes back off.

“Not a bad catch?” She chuckled bitterly and jammed her feet into her boots, depriving him of his last suggestive view. “Not a bad catch, if I don’t mind being the object of laughter for my husband.”

He caught her around the waist. “I don’t laugh at you.”

She let him draw her forward until their bodies met, then leaned back and looked him in the eye. “You’ve made a fool of me for the last time, Thorn Maxwell.”

“I never made a fool of you.” But he faltered, because in some ways, he had.

“No, I guess not. I made a fool of myself.” She smiled scornfully. “I suffered agonies when I testified against you. I haven’t been able to look your mother or your sisters or your brothers in the face since I did it. Then, when your prison time was up, you didn’t come back. You didn’t send word or let me know if you forgave me for sending you to prison. I haven’t known for nine years where you were. And then you come waltzing in, sweep me off my feet, make sure that everyone in the county knows your game.”

“It wasn’t a game. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

He might as well not have spoken, for all the attention she paid him. “Even
I
knew your game, but I thought I knew
you
, too. I remembered the smart, restless scapegrace, and I remembered the kindness he always tried to hide. Well, I guess you hid it long enough that it disappeared. Your flattery may be warm and it may feel good, but I’m still smart enough to know when you’re pissing on my boots and telling me it’s raining. And I don’t want any of it!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Language!” Thorn was genuinely shocked. “Watch your language, Rose Corey!”

She yanked out of his arms. “Go to hell, Thorn Maxwell.”

This time, he wasn’t shocked. He was flummoxed.

She strode over to Rooster, got him ready, saddled him, all the while crooning to the horse in a way she sure as hell wasn’t crooning to Thorn.

Funny. She had looked happier when she thought Thorn was a horse thief. When she learned he was a Texas Ranger, she’d gotten plumb unreasonable.

She slid her Winchester into the saddle holster. She took Starbright’s reins in her hand, then mounted Rooster and flicked an impatient glance at Thorn.

She intended to go with him, that was obvious, and he sure didn’t have the gumption to tell her no, so he gathered his gear, loaded his saddlebags … and while his foot was halfway headed toward the stirrup, she took off riding up the canyon toward the Pogue property.

He got himself into the saddle right quick and caught up with her. He was pretty sure if he didn’t stick close, she’d handle this operation herself.

Didn’t she like law-abiding men? Thorn had known women who got a thrill from a brush with a scoundrel, but he hadn’t imagined Rose was one.

In fact, he’d thought she was the woman who only got a thrill from him. Maybe he’d been deluding himself. Maybe last night had been a dream.

A hot, sweaty, magnificent delusion.

He narrowed his eyes at her upright figure in the saddle atop Rooster.

Yeah, it must have been a dream, because now she was cold enough to freeze a fire. You’d never know it was early afternoon and kind of warm down where the canyon walls provided shelter from the wind.

He scanned the rocky rim for the telltale flash of gunmetal. Every thicket and every tree, every rock and every rise could shelter a bandit, and Thorn kept his rifle loose in its saddle holster.

The way Rose was acting, only her horses mattered. One would have thought the still imprisoned Goliath was her dearest friend in the world. And where did that leave Thorn?

Derisively, he answered his own question. It left him riding toward a stash of stolen horses under a sky filled with thin clouds, trying like hell to make his woman happy when he knew she ought to be at home tending her tatting.

Their horses’ hooves clomped too loudly in the dirt for his comfort, and the rock walls rising on either side of them relentlessly revealed the two riders to any watching eye. Their vulnerability started an itch down his spine, and he projected his voice to reach her ears, and no farther. “We’ll stop here. It’s not far to the corral. Around this bend, we’ll intersect with another canyon, and beyond there’s a notch in the wall where the horses are fenced.”

She glanced at Starbright. “Then we can go and get the horses at once.”

“No.”

“What?”

He had to draw the line somewhere. After all, he was the one in charge of this operation. “
We’re
not going anywhere. I’ll scout around. See what I can find. If there’s no one out there — and I imagine Sonny has someone posted to watch the horses — then we’ll let Starbright loose to wander over to the corral.”

That made Rose turn around and look him in the eye for the first time in this long ride. “Are you crazy? You steal Starbright back and now you want to return her? I want my horses!”

“And I want the thief.”

“I want Goliath.”

“You’ll get Goliath.” He glanced toward the tops of the canyon again. “As soon as I discover who’s behind this.”

She glanced around as if expecting a posse to appear. “You don’t mean you want to capture this thief by yourself?”

Remembering the fixes he’d gotten himself out of in the last seven years, he almost smirked. But he didn’t want to upset her more, so he said simply, “Why not? I’ve intimidated a cattle camp full of drunken cowboys. I can certainly capture one horse thief.”

She paled.

Hastening to reassure her, he added, “Besides, I’m not by myself. I’ve got you.”

She turned white.

He knew it wasn’t from cowardice. He wished it was, but the woman had more courage than sense. Still, she’d had some shocks over the last few hours, and maybe some hidden delicacy caused that queasy look on her face. Concern made him gruff, and he said, “Dammit, Rose—”

“Don’t swear.”

“Are you getting sick?”

“No.”

“Because I don’t like having a woman along on a mission, especially not my woman—”

“I’m not your woman.”

Exasperated, he grabbed the bit in Rooster’s mouth and brought the horse close beside him. Leaning clear out of the saddle, balanced on one stirrup, he kissed Rose, hard and fast. Then he let her go.

She backed Rooster away from Thorn as if he were nuttier than a peach orchard pig.

He inspected her face. “That brought the color back, anyway.”

Her hand flew to cover her cheek.

He declared, “You’re my woman, all right. You just have a bad case of the peadoodles. After you get used to the idea of being married to me, you won’t be so nervous about it.”

“I don’t plan to get used to the idea.”

God, she looked haughty as only Rose could look, and that made him grin. That, and the fact that she’d liked the kiss. “You mean you’re already used to it.”

“No, that is not what I mean. You are presuming too much on the basis of a single” — she stared between her horse’s ears — “kiss.”

“A kiss?” He dismounted. “A single kiss? I recall a little more than that.”

Smoothing Rooster’s mane, she said, “No matter what happened, you would still presume too much. You are a presuming type of man.”

He led his horse into the shade against the rock wall and tethered it to the branch of a ponderosa pine. “I guess I am. I guess when a woman demands that I take my clothes off nice and slow—”

“Thorn!”

“—and offers me a job stripping in her saloon if I’ll stop stealing horses—”

“You hush.” She looked around as if the Ladies’ Aid society was going to hop out of the bushes.

“—and after we melt a solid Texas boulder down to glass and I tell her I’ve never stolen horses … well, I presume she’s going to be happy, and I presume she’s my woman.” He cocked his head and studied her. “I told you I was going to make you mine.”

“Well, you did.” As stiff as she was, she must have starched her face. “And I hope you enjoyed it.”

Remembering the night, he rumbled, “Yeah, I did. Never had so much fun with a rock before. Beats skipping ‘em any time.” He held Rooster’s bridle and looked up at her. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

He held his breath and waited for her to lie. But he should have remembered. Rose didn’t lie. “Very much.” She clipped her words like a goddamn Yankee. “But I have no intention of repeating the experience.”

“Too bad, ‘cause it only gets better. When a woman and a man — say you and me — get into a bed with clean white sheets — say your bed at your house — they push the quilt all the way to the bottom. Then they take off their clothes — nice and slow, the way you like, or nice and fast the way I like — and the man — that would be me — takes hold of the woman’s feet — your feet, Rose — and starts kissing from the toes up.” He grasped her boot at the ankle.

She jumped.

Working his way up under her skirt, he massaged the sensitive skin behind her knee. “By the time the man — me — gets this far, the woman — you — is making those little whimpering sounds like you did last night. And when I kiss the inside of your thighs—” His fingers skated up.

Rose did whimper, just a little.

Quick as a minnow, he slipped his hand away. “But you’re not interested in that.”

“Thorn!”

He would not grin. He would not grin …

He would not get distracted by the idea of pulling her off that horse and pushing her up against the canyon wall and making sweet, hot love either.

It was altogether too dangerous. Really, really dangerous. … He pulled his attention back to the business at hand. “Let me tell you what I want you to do. We’re going to walk through the canyon to the corral, and — Rose, are you listening?”

He could have answered the question himself. No, she wasn’t listening. She was looking … right at his button-front fly. Trouble was, he couldn’t spend much time around Rose without that conspicuous bulge, and he sure as hell couldn’t discuss the hours he planned to spend in her bed without mimicking a stallion in rut.

But she might be aroused, yet she could play the casual game as well as he could. “You said you thought Sonny was behind the horse rustling.”

Wondering what she was getting at, Thorn agreed. “Yeah.”

“Sonny has a whole flock of cowboys at his command.”

“So?”

“So you’re not trying to bring in one horse thief. You’re trying to bring in an army.”

She had a point, but she didn’t understand. “Honey, haven’t you heard about the Rangers all your life?”

She nodded.

“About Jack Hays and how he was the first to fight Indians with the Colt six-shooter in 1840? About Rip Ford and how he chased that rebel Cortinas into Mexico in 1859?”

She nodded again.

“And don’t you know the Rangers avenge their own? I’ve got the legend behind me. When I show my badge, it’ll be like a whole squadron of Rangers riding to the rescue.” Of that, he was confident. “Come on, I’ll help you out of the saddle.”

She looked doubtfully at his outstretched hands, but she slid down and he caught her by the waist. Holding her in front of him, he assured her, “Those cowboys won’t dare go up against me. In the end, it’ll be Sonny and me.”

And he was looking forward to that confrontation. He couldn’t wait to take Sonny Pogue down.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“As long as those cowboys don’t shoot first.” Rose looked fretful.

“There’s that.” Canny as a tree full of owls, Thorn said, “You’d best accept my proposal right now. That way I’ll go down a happy man.”

She snorted. Plain ol’ snorted. In a flat tone that plainly told him she was unimpressed with his bullshit, she said, “Let’s simply do our best to see that doesn’t happen.”

“That I go down, or that I’m happy?”

“Both.” But her mouth had white lines around it.

Was she worried about him?

He thought so, and he rejoiced at the idea. Afraid she’d see his delight and more afraid she’d think he was laughing at her again, Thorn took Rooster and tethered him beside his own horse. “I’ll stash you and Starbright as close as I can get you to the corral without putting you in plain sight. I want you to stay where I put you, quiet and still, until I’ve scouted the area. If nobody’s watching, I’ll call and you let go of Starbright. She’ll head right for the corral—”

“How do you know?”