Authors: Susan Krinard
“Your
ministrations
were just fine.”
Rachel couldn’t mistake his emphasis. Her body purred like a contented cat.
God help me
.
Seeking desperately for a neutral topic of conversation, she remembered that she still knew nothing about the circumstances of his and Joey’s injuries.
“What happened, Mr. Renshaw?” she asked.
“You said you’d call me Holden.”
She folded her hands in her lap to stop their shaking. “Who did this?”
“Best you not know.”
“Not know?” She slid from the bed and faced him, unable to control the anger in her voice. “It is as much
my business as yours, if I am to be patching up your injuries.”
Holden gave her another of his penetrating looks. “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s not good enough. I insist—”
All at once he was on his feet, tall and forbidding, his brows drawn down over darkened eyes. “Outlaws,” he said.
Rachel’s mouth went dry. Outlaws? Here? “Who are they? Where did they come from? Have you sent someone for the…police or sheriff or whoever handles these matters here?”
“They won’t be back,” Holden said.
His words were so grim, so final. What had he done? He had not taken the gun he had given her, but perhaps he had access to other weapons. Surely he could not have fended off criminals without a weapon of some sort.
She fought to keep from staring at his lean, powerful body, so suited to the kind of violence such a battle would require. Her gaze moved from his beautifully defined pectorals to his ridged stomach and the arrow of dark hair leading to the waistband of his trousers.
“Th-these outlaws,” she stammered. “Did you—”
“No one’s dead yet,” he said, reading her expression. “But if they do come back, if they come anywhere near the house—”
“Surely the baby is safe here!”
“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout just the baby.”
Had she imagined the warmth in his voice? “Are they common here, outlaws?”
“So long as you’re at Dog Creek, you won’t come to no harm. But maybe you’d feel safer livin’ in town.”
“I have no intention of running away. Not because of outlaws, and certainly not because of anyone else.”
It was impossible to read his expression. He seemed about to speak again when Maurice appeared at the door.
“I have more cloth,
madame
,” he said to Rachel. “Are they all right?”
“Joey will heal,” Holden said. “I’ll be back on the range in a few hours.”
“You will not,” Rachel said.
Holden folded his arms across his chest.
Maurice looked back and forth between them, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“You got no say in it, Mrs. McCarrick,” Holden said. “There’s only me and Charlie and Joey now, and Joey’ll be off his feet for a few days.”
“Why don’t you hire more hands?” she asked, exasperated. “Or if that is not possible, I can certainly do some of the things Joey did, at least near the house.”
Once again Holden’s eyes were on her, weighing, measuring.
“You said you wanted to milk the cow.”
A little thrill of fear delayed her answer. “Yes.”
“Reckon we might use your help.”
The turnabout didn’t surprise her as it might have done only hours before. Had her treatment of Joey improved his opinion of her? Or had their unwonted intimacy, her hands on his body…
Holden’s nostrils flared. He made a slight, almost imperceptible gesture with one hand, and Maurice retreated, his surprisingly light tread quickly receding down the hall.
“You stay with Joey,” Holden said. “I’ll let you know when we need you.”
She moved away, hoping to put a safer distance between them. “I am delighted that you think I am suited for such work after all,” she said.
He met her gaze with a look that brought the wanton to her knees. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t doubt you’ll be
very
good.”
Before she could recover her senses, he walked out of the room. Afraid to jar Joey and wake him if she sat on the bed, she felt her way to the chair against the opposite wall and fell into it.
I will not give in. He will
not
win
.
And neither would the wanton Ellie Lyndon.
Rachel rose and went to the small window, where she gazed at the bleak western horizon.
Oh, come soon, Jedediah. Come soon
.
L
UCIA WAS ROCKING
the baby in her arms when Heath entered the room. Her own child lay on the bed, kicking and babbling.
“Señor Renshaw,” Lucia said, her round face creased with worry. “Is all well?”
Heath bit back a retort the woman didn’t deserve and gave a short nod. “Joey’s all right,” he said.
Her dark gaze took in his half-dressed and bandaged condition. “You, too, are all right?”
“A scratch,” he said.
“
Bueno.
”
He couldn’t say the same. He’d lied to Rachel about what had happened, just as he was lying to Lucia now. But he’d decided, halfway between the creek and the house, that he couldn’t tell her the truth, and he’d convinced Joey to keep the secret. If Rachel knew what Sean had done…
Hell, it would give him plenty of satisfaction to make her see what Sean really was. But Rachel was as unpredictable as Texas weather. He didn’t know how she would react, whether she would think he was lying or charge off to confront Sean at the Blackwells’. Even if she didn’t, she would probably figure that Heath wasn’t going to let Sean get away with it.
Why did it matter what she thought? How many times had he asked himself that question?
“Did you come to see the
niño
?” Lucia asked.
He looked down at the curled pink fists poking out from the top of the blanket and the snub of a nose that wrinkled as he came nearer. “How is he?”
“He is very strong. And happy. He never cries.”
And he no longer looked even a little gray. Heath had seen the improvements a few days ago, but he’d made himself wait to make sure there would be no question about the kid’s health. It was a good thing he had, or he wouldn’t have been able to save Joey or take care of Sean.
“Do you wish to hold him?” Lucia asked.
He backed away. “I’m in no fit state,” he said. “Can you keep him for a while?”
“It is no trouble. But the child misses Señora McCarrick when she is away. I see it in his eyes.” She cradled the baby close again and crooned to him in Spanish. Heath crept out and headed straight for his cabin. As soon as he was inside, he pulled the bandages from his shoulder, wadded them into a ball and tossed them on the table.
The wound was nearly healed. He’d told Rachel the truth when he’d said he could fix it himself. It would have closed fast on its own, ejecting the bullet naturally even if he stayed in human shape, but a single Change would have taken care of it in less than a minute.
But he couldn’t have left Joey. And when he’d seen how gentle Rachel was with the boy, he’d wanted her hands on him, her slender fingers brushing over his chest, soothing and making him hurt all at the same time. He’d forgotten the danger when she’d leaned her head against his shoulder, when he’d felt her breasts pressed against his back.
He spun around and hit the table with his fist. It didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t do a damn bit of good to deny it. He didn’t just want her. He didn’t just respect her grit or her skill. He was starting to
like
her.
She’d treated Joey as though he was more than just a scrawny, unlettered orphan. She’d stroked his hair and sung to him with the same kindness she’d always shown the baby. And she’d cared about Heath’s pain just the same as she’d cared about Joey’s.
But liking her was unnatural. He didn’t
like
women. And it only made things worse, so bad that he’d reminded her to call him Holden and told her she would be safe at Dog Creek. He’d had enough sense to suggest she leave the ranch, but he hadn’t argued when she’d refused.
Then there was the hunger between them that wasn’t even close to going way. It wasn’t just her scent, or how she got so wet when he was close to her. Not even the deliberate way she tried not to notice his hardened cock. It went deeper than he could understand.
He should have despised her for betraying Jed, even in her heart. But he couldn’t. Rachel Lyndon might know what she wanted, but she would never act on it. She would keep fighting her desire even while her body shouted an invitation for him to take her. And he would keep making it harder for her with stupid jokes meant to provoke and punish her for his own weakness.
Heath pushed his hands through his hair and sat on the edge of his bunk.
Find yourself a whore
. There was one in Javelina who would be happy to take his money. Rachel never had to know how far he’d fallen.
He got up again, filled a pail from the outside pump, and took a clean pair of britches and a shirt to the shed the hands used as a bathhouse. He stripped down to the skin and poured the water over himself, letting the shock of the cold wash away his lust.
It wasn’t enough, but the only other way he knew to work it off wasn’t safe right now. He’d taken a big enough risk in attacking Sean in wolf shape in broad daylight, however much he’d enjoyed it.
Just the way he would enjoy making Sean pay.
Heath rode back out to the western reach of Dog Creek, where he found the beeves Sean had tried to drive off back on the right side of the creek. He drove them east a little ways, then kept on going, smelling out any strays or mavericks he and Joey might have missed, and marking their locations for branding.
By the time he was back at the house, it was nearing sunset. He saw to his mount, made sure that Apache was resting well after the day’s exertion, and checked up on a mare that was expected to foal any day now. Going to see Joey would be about the worst thing he could do.
She
was with him.
He was ready for a good run. Once twilight had faded from deep purple to black, lit by the nearly full moon, he walked out onto the range, shed his clothes and Changed.
N
OTHING COMPARED TO
running as a wolf. Heath had ridden plenty of good horses at top speed across prairie and open range, both in his years as an outlaw, and as hand and foreman at Dog Creek. But not even the fastest ride could compare to sweeping over the ground on your own four paws, the wind in your fur, leaving the rest of the world in your dust.
Memories coiled in Heath’s still-human mind like rattlers waiting to strike. The first time he’d discovered he could Change, he’d had no other
loups-garous
to show him the way and ease him through the transformation. He’d stumbled along in a shape he hadn’t learned how to control, assaulted by sounds and smells and sensations he didn’t have a name for.
He’d known since he was old enough to understand anything that he didn’t belong to the Mortons. He hadn’t known his real name then. They’d taken him in when he was little more than a baby. They’d given him food and shelter. But he was never their son, not in their eyes or his.
He’d thought for a while that Ma Morton had loved him, even though Pa Morton had worked him like a slave from the time he was big enough to help around the farm. When he’d proven stronger than most boys his
age, he’d been given enough work to kill a horse, and Ma hadn’t been able to stop her husband. Regular beatings reminded him just what he was worth.
When he turned twelve, he’d realized that he was different from the Mortons in ways even he hadn’t guessed. He’d thought a lot of times about running away, finding someone else like him, but he didn’t leave the farm until Pa Morton saw him Change and tried to kill him.
It hadn’t gone Morton’s way, that fight, even though Ma had turned against him, too, screaming about monsters and freaks. Heath healed his own wounds with a single Change. At fourteen he was on his own. Being a wolf meant he could survive, even when he didn’t have money to buy food and clothes and shelter. But he couldn’t always stay a wolf in a human world.
So he’d learned to steal. Little things, at first, things no one would miss. He was faster and stronger than regular folk. He could smell twice as good, and hear the same way. By the time he began his search for his own kin, he had a pair of good mounts, several changes of clothes and enough money in his pocket to let him keep looking.
It had taken him four years to learn his real name and track down others like himself. Only, they didn’t want him. He was half human, and the Reniers didn’t tolerate ’breeds or
loups-garous
who lay with humans. His ma had sent him far from her home and given him to the Mortons, people who wouldn’t ask any questions about where he’d come from. She’d thrown away her own child to stay in good with the ones who despised what she’d done and the child she’d borne.
The Reniers had kept Heath out of their territory. He
hadn’t been able to see his real ma, tell her just what he thought of her. But he’d known his real name. And he’d used it when he turned back to his thieving ways.
Heath stretched his muscles and raced low to the ground, laying his ears flat against his head. Neither humans nor
loups-garous
wanted him, so he’d tried not to want
them
. But he could never figure out if he was more wolf or more human. He kept on looking for people he could trust. Men who would stand by him against the law, even if they found out what he was. Women who could prove that not all their sex were like Ma Morton and the
loup-garou
female who’d tossed him aside.
Every one of them had betrayed him.
A flash of white bounced out of Heath’s path. He could have taken the cottontail with a single snap of his jaws. He let it go and ran to the southern border of Dog Creek, then kept on going toward the Rio Grande, over the harsh and waterless desert no man claimed.
This was where Jed had found him with a couple of beeves he’d rustled from Dog Creek. Jed hadn’t tried to shoot him the way any other man would have. He’d noticed Heath’s skill with the animals and offered him a job. It had been stupid of the old man, dangerously reckless, but Heath had decided then and there to change his life. Someone trusted him for no reason, and he was going to pay him back in kind.
Because of Jed, he’d given up his outlaw ways. He’d taken up honest work, proven himself, been raised to foreman. He’d recognized Sean for a sneaking, greedy liar and warned Jed against him. He’d trusted Jed more than he’d let himself trust anyone in years.
But he’d never let Jed know what he was. Until he’d made one terrible mistake.
The earth was so hard that Heath’s paws began to scrape raw even as his claws tore furrows in the iron ground. He opened his mouth to suck in air, tongue lolling, eyes narrowed to slits. If Sean had been around just then, he wouldn’t have been as lucky as he’d been that morning.
False dawn was breaking when Heath headed home. He hadn’t outrun his crazy thoughts or the feelings he didn’t want. Lust and hunger still rode his tail like a tick that wouldn’t let go.
When he was back to the place where he’d hidden his clothes, he Changed again. There was no trace of the wound on his shoulder. He would have to hide it for a while so no one would question how it could be gone so fast. He got dressed, pulling on britches and boots, shirt and vest.
The neckerchief always came last. Rachel was right; it needed washing. But he wouldn’t give it up. He’d worn it since the last time he’d been betrayed by a “friend,” his throat slit wide open nearly all the way to the bone. He’d been left for dead, his life’s blood leaking out of his body.
Heath didn’t believe in miracles or divine providence, but he’d managed to Change. When he’d Changed back, the scar was there, healed over, ugly as sin.
He touched the scar, feeling the hard ridge of puckered skin. It was the one and only wound the Change hadn’t undone. He’d stop trying to figure out why. It could identify him, no matter what else he might do to make himself look different, so he’d tied the bandanna around his neck and never took it off except when he was completely alone.
Pushing his hat onto his head, Heath went to the house. Joey was lying on his belly, sleeping, and Rachel was slumped against the bed, her head pillowed on her arms. Heath wanted to go into the room, kneel beside her and stroke her dark hair.
Turning quickly, he went back outside, saddled Bess and headed for Javelina, arriving by early afternoon. A woman was looking at bolts of cloth when he entered the store. She left quickly.
Sonntag frowned. “Sometimes you are not so good for business, Herr Renshaw,” he said.
Briefly Heath wondered if word had gotten out about the fight with Sean, but he figured Sean would make sure it didn’t. “I won’t be here long,” he said. “You still got that cradle?”
The storekeeper’s expression brightened. “Do you wish to see it again?”
“I want to buy it.”
With a smile of satisfaction, Sonntag fetched it and set it on the counter. “It is direct from Germany,” he said. “The finest workmanship, the best—”
“Yeah.” Heath slapped down the bills. “Wrap it up for me.”
“
Sehr gut
.” As the shopkeeper went to work, he began to chatter. “Have you heard, Herr Renshaw? We have had an unusual visitor in Javelina.”
Heath glanced at the wall where he’d seen the wanted poster. It was still there. “What kind of visitor?” he asked.
“A bounty hunter. He came to inquire if anyone had seen the man on the poster.”
Long practice kept Heath from showing any reaction. “Did he have any luck?”
“
Nein
.” Sonntag finished with the package and tied
it up with a piece of string. “He left after only a day, but he said he would be back.”
Heath nodded shortly, grabbed the cradle and left the store. When he’d first seen the poster, he’d known he would have to keep his guard up and his eyes open, and that hadn’t changed.
Maybe no one had recognized him, but a bounty hunter meant someone figured he was in the area. He needed to finish what he had to do fast.
Or he could leave Sean alone, give Rachel the money, get the baby and leave today.
He stopped in the middle of the street, forcing a mounted cowboy to swerve around him with a muttered curse. He couldn’t do it. He’d seen something in Sean yesterday that he hadn’t expected. Sean hadn’t just made threats this time. He’d attacked Joey, knowing the likely consequences, and tried to bait Heath. He’d gone plumb crazy.
Even if Heath gave up on the revenge he’d planned for Joey’s sake, if he got Joey to take the money and leave as soon as he was fit so Sean could never hurt him again, Heath knew by now that he couldn’t convince Rachel to pack up and leave, at least not before
he
left. Not when he’d tried so hard to make her stay. She thought she was keeping the baby and Jed was coming back.
You could tell her you know her secret
. But even that might not be enough. And Heath’s gut was telling him that Sean wouldn’t stop at trying to intimidate her so she would leave. He wouldn’t dare hurt her the way he’d hurt Joey, but he could make her life hell before she gave up pretending and realized she didn’t belong in the Pecos.
Heath’s growl was so loud that the cowboy twisted
around in the saddle to stare at him. It wasn’t any good. He would have to do more than just give Sean a good thrashing. And no one, including Rachel, could ever know he’d done it.
“Herr Renshaw!”
Sonntag’s voice brought Heath out of his dark thoughts. The shopkeeper ran up to him, waving an envelope. “I almost forgot.” he said. “There is a letter for Mrs. McCarrick.”
Feeling an unease he couldn’t explain, he took the envelope from Sonntag’s hand.
It was from Ohio. He didn’t know the name on the back of the envelope. Kinfolk? Rachel had never mentioned having family, or any friends she’d left behind. Who was writing to her from Ohio?
Hell. If she did have connections back East, at least she would have somewhere to go. Why didn’t that make him feel any better?
“Thanks,” he told Sonntag, who was hovering curiously. He mounted and rode out before the shopkeeper could ask any questions. His fingers itched to open the envelope, but he left it alone and clucked to Bess, who swiveled her ears and broke into an easy canter. When he got back to Dog Creek around sunset, Maurice came to meet him, puffing and dripping sweat.
Immediately Heath thought of Joey. He dismounted and grabbed the Frenchman by the shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Maurice?”
“The mare, she is foaling.”
Heath let out his breath. “She’s all right?” he asked.
“
Non
. The baby is not coming out right,
n’est-ce pas?
”
Heath swore. The mare was Jed’s best, a half Thoroughbred he’d bought in Dallas. Jed had bounced
around like a colt himself when he’d found out the mare was in foal.
“Where’s Charlie?” Heath asked, heading for the stable.
“I have not seen him since I spoke to him yesterday.”
Having Charlie was better than having no hands at all, but not by much. “Ask Mrs. McCarrick to heat up some water,” Heath said. “You’ll have to see to Bess.”
“Madame McCarrick is with the mare. She was so good with the boy, I thought she might help the mare, as well.”
Alarm brought Heath to a halt. What in hell had Maurice been thinking? A troubled foaling was no place for a woman. No place for Rachel.
Heath strode into the stable. Lanterns had been lit and hung on hooks on the walls, though Heath didn’t need their light. He could smell the mare’s distress.
Rachel was standing at the wall of the loose box where the mare had been quartered, her hands clasped behind her back. It was clear that she hadn’t been dressed to leave the house; her skirts fell close to her legs, as if she wasn’t wearing petticoats, and Heath could see that she’d left off the corset females used to shape their figures. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a fall of night that didn’t look anything like the severe style she usually wore. She was concentrating so hard on the mare that she didn’t see Heath until he was at her side.
“How’s Joey?” Heath asked.
She jumped a little, her eyes wide and dark in the lamplight. “He is still resting. The baby is with Lucia. She’s staying in my room with me while Joey recovers.”
Rachel looked like she wanted to ask him where
he’d been, but she closed her mouth instead and looked back at the mare. Lily was lying on her side, grunting and straining to push out the foal that wanted to be born.
“She seems to be in pain,” Rachel said. “I didn’t know what to do for her.”
Heath shut out Rachel’s smell, and tried to ignore her tumbled curls and the unbound curve of her breasts. “Not much you can do,” he said. “I’ll try to help her, but I need to find out what’s wrong first. You go on back to the house. This won’t be pretty.”
“I’ve witnessed births before.”
He wondered if she was lying. Her face was white with strain, but her jaw was firm and her lips were set. “Have you ever put your arm inside a horse?” he asked.
Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m afraid I…don’t know much about horses.”
Admitting a weakness wasn’t like her. Heath felt as if he were walking that narrow fence again, only the cactuses on either side had grown so many spines that he couldn’t see the tough green flesh beneath.
“Then you can’t be any use here,” he said gruffly. He walked into the loose box, hung his hat over a post and knelt beside Lily. She tried to lift her head and groaned.
“Settle down, now,” Heath said, running his hand over her neck, barrel and croup. He could feel the foal moving inside, struggling just as she was. “You ain’t alone now.”
For a while all he did was soothe her, getting her muscles to relax. He almost forgot that Rachel had ignored his advice and was still there. Maurice came in with two pails of steaming water and set them down a few feet away. He mopped his face with a handkerchief and glanced at Rachel.
“Are there any rags left in the house,
madame?
” he asked.
“I believe there are. I’ll go get them.”
Heath could hear the relief in her voice. She left the stable, and some of the tightness went out of his muscles.