My Desperado (13 page)

"Fire?" He turned slowly. His head was bare. His pants were two inches too short. There were no guns at his hips, and his hands, which he lifted now palms upward were empty. "Lady," he said with a stilted shake of his head. "You must think I'm one helluva hunter. Cuz I ain't got no gun." His scowl deepened. "And I ain't got no rifle. Hell! After you ladies at the dance hall got through with me, I'm lucky to be left with my hide in tact. Fire," he snorted, turning away. "What does she expect me to do, run down a buck or something?"

Katherine sat beside the small flame. Despite her fears, she had fallen asleep in Ryland's absence, and watched now as he turned the rabbit on a long spit over the fire.

It would be dusk in less than an hour, and Travis had insisted that they roast their meal now, before darkness, for they could not chance a fire at night, even though they were high up and surrounded by gray, jagged boulders on all sides.

He was a cautious man. Katherine watched him now. His features were sculpted and lean. His hair was fair and swept back from his brow and ears, with streaks of dampness that attested to the fact that he had found water somewhere, perhaps even bathed. The thought made her jealous, for she felt grimy and itchy.

Curiosity, however, was her major foe. But despite that fact, she was not about to ask how he'd gotten the rabbit, though the question nagged at her. While it was fairly simple to deduce that he'd used the knife taken from Lacy's, and now stuck in his boot, to skin the hare, she had a bit of difficulty imagining him running the bunny down. So how had he procured their supper? She had no idea, but neither would she give him the satisfaction of asking. No. Not after his earlier boorish attitude.

"Did you find some water?" She had promised herself she would not speak to him. But that vow seemed childish now, for if she didn't talk to him, her options were sadly limited—Soldier being a fair listener, but not much of a conversationalist.

"Yep." Ryland nodded once, not taking his eyes from the fire.

"I'd like to wash up," she said, watching him. Every move he made seemed to have a purpose. Nothing was wasted.

"We ain't going to no Sunday social, lady."

She frowned, reminiscing about the days when he'd been comatose. "You washed," she reminded primly, to which he raised his eyes to hers, leveling a bland expression on her grubby face.

"It's good of you to notice."

She blushed, because she couldn't help it, although she would have given the night's meal to stop the color and deprive him of the satisfaction. She lowered her eyes, feeling suddenly hot in the stained satin gown, and pushed back a few stray hairs. "I didn't notice," she grumbled, feeling her nerves fray with his direct stare on her face. "I just thought something smelled better."

There was silence for several seconds, during which time she dared not look at him. And then the laughter started, low at first, and then louder.

It rumbled out from Ryland's chest until his head was thrown back and his shoulders heaved. "Lady..." he said finally, his voice low again between chuckles. "You been a peck a trouble." He shook his head slowly, his grin showing a partial row of straight white teeth. "But damned if you ain't full of surprises."

"And you're full of insults." She'd meant to snap the words at him, but instead the denunciation sounded frail and near tears, and she blinked once, wishing she were a man. A big man, with hard fists, and quick right jab so that she might punch Ryland right in his straight, sun-browned nose.

Silence settled between them, broken only by the stomp of one of Soldier's big hoofs and the sound of a distant woodpecker.

Katherine sat like a small child, hands curled softly in her lap. She felt foolish about her weak tone and hoped against hope that she would not cry, for surely she could not bear the humiliation of weeping in front of this insensitive clod.

"I didn't mean to be insulting." His voice was quiet.

She refused to look at him.

"I just don't know how to act around a lady."

She swallowed hard, still angry at him. "I'm not a lady." Even to her ears the words sounded prim and perfectly modulated.

"Yeah."

She heard him turn the rabbit.

"I forget," he added, and let the silence fall again.

It was almost dark. Supper had been eaten, and Travis rummaged around in his saddlebags now, momentarily forgetting what he was looking for as he stared at Katherine's back.

It was nearly bare and looked smooth and soft, gently curved as she hunched before the flame, and slightly pinkened by the sun.

This was not good. His leg hurt like hell, he was exhausted, and his stomach still rumbled with hunger. Yet Katherine Amelia Simmons was all he could think about.

Damn it all, he should have taken advantage of all the nights on that comfortable bed he'd occupied at the Garter.

He should have slept day and night. But the truth was she'd distracted him then, too.

Before the fire she shifted her weight slightly, momentarily showing her profile.

Damn, she was beautiful. But too good for him.

His loins ached.

Or was she too good? She swore she was not. In fact, she proclaimed herself to be a dove. Would a woman do that if she was not one? In his fairly limited knowledge of women he had found whores more likely to proclaim themselves ladies, than ladies to say they were whores.

Travis took a deep breath, drawing his extra shirt from his saddlebag before untying his bedroll and straightening.

Who was this woman?

There was only one way to find out.

Striding around the fire, he stood before her, shirt in one hand, rolled blankets in the other.

Katherine lifted her face to his, seeing his serious expression, and found she was holding her breath.

Their eyes met and caught.

"It's gonna be a cold night." He said the words stiffly.

She pushed some imaginary hairs from her face and blinked, thinking of nothing to say.

"Clouds coming in. Might see some rain." His face was tense. "Here." He extended his arm, holding out the shirt. "Cover your..." He stopped, cleared his throat, and scowled as he realized what he'd nearly said. "It'll keep you warmer."

She was blushing again, but reached out, determined not to drop her eyes.

"Thank you," she managed, though she was certain her flesh burned red all the way to the top of those very same body parts he had managed not to mention. Their fingers brushed, with his garment held immobile between them.

"Katherine Amelia Simmons," he murmured low and strained. "Who are you?"

Though a moment ago she had fought to keep her gaze from the ground, now she could not lower it, could not break contact with his sky-blue eyes. She struggled for an answer, but could find none, not sure any longer exactly who she was.

Quiet lay between them, settled snugly against his shirt, which they both still grasped.

Ryland watched her, trying to read her soul, to understand, for he wanted her like he'd never wanted another and longed to hear from her own lips that she was not so far above him that he could not even dream.

And yet... Did he truly want to hear she was soiled?

No! Better to know the truth. That she was a lady—untouchable.

"You weren't with Patterson." He said the words as a statement, though he had not meant to.

It took Katherine a moment to understand his words, to realize the implication, to remember Daisy's predicament.

She nodded. "Yes, I was."

His jaw tensed and his fingers tightened on the faded red shirt as he drew a deep breath and let the silence lie.

"Then what's your price?" he asked finally, his tone so low she could barely hear him.

Price? She blinked again, finding he had abandoned the shirt and drawing it slowly to her nearly bare bosom. "Price?"

"For a night," he explained, his eyebrows low over intense eyes. "What's your price?"

Her pink, little mouth, Travis noticed, formed a perfect circle as she said the word "oh" silently. He waited. The fire crackled behind him, warming the back of his legs. The sun sank lower, and still he waited. They stared at each other. Ryland's heart thumped in his chest. An owl called from downhill somewhere.

"Jesus, woman!" he stormed suddenly. "We could be done with the whole damn thing before you decide on a price."

"Two...two hundred!" she called, like a frenzied bid to a money-happy auctioneer.

Travis's jaw dropped. "Two hundred?" he asked in disbelief. "Dollars?"

Katherine swept back a dark tress and stood quickly, feeling stiff and breathless. "That's right." She raised her chin with defiance and forced pride. "Two hundred dollars a night."

'Two hundred damned dollars a night!" Travis still gaped in disbelief.

Katherine wrung the shirt in her hands, feeling her breath catch in her throat and taking a stilted step in reverse. "Too high?"

He snorted out loud then shook his head. "Lady, at your prices I can't afford to shake your damned hand."

"Oh." Her mouth formed a circle again, as did her eyes. "Sorry," she chirruped with a shrug, but suddenly realized that she truly was, for there was something about him that made her heart thump and her skin goose-bump.

She hugged his shirt to her chest now, smoothing out the wrinkles she'd wrung into it and feeling the softness of the well-worn garment. "Well...good night then."

He snorted again, passing his bedroll to his other hand as he turned, muttering, "Hell! Can't afford to say good night! Can't afford to lace her shoe. I probably already owe my soul for them damned kisses."

Katherine watched him disappear into the trees. She was exhausted, and certainly wouldn't mind being left alone. She crossed her arms over her bosom now. The temperature was beginning to drop.

Rubbing her hands briskly, Katherine glanced about and realized that she would not have a blissful sleep. In fact, she wouldn't sleep at all.

For Travis Ryland had all the blankets.

Chapter 13

"Ryland," Katherine whispered, not touching him as she knelt down to call his name. "Ryland." His back was to her, and he had three beautiful blankets wrapped snugly around him.

She coveted them. She needed blankets to sleep. It had been true ever since she was a child. Even during the dog days of summer she needed at least a sheet to snuggle under. It was a type of security. Perhaps she should have outgrown the need, but she had not. And so she knelt now with teeth chattering as she dared to touch his arm.

"Mr. Ryland."

He turned over finally.

The moon was hidden behind a fat layer of clouds, but she could see his eyes were open. He had been awake long before she called to him.

"Is there something I can do for you, Miss Katherine?" he asked now, smiling as he bent his arms to place his palms casually beneath his head and watch her from the lovely comfort of his blankets.

She had braided her hair and tied it with a small strip of fabric torn from the bundle she had carried food in. Grasping the chunky braid now, she squeezed it in stiff fingers.

"I'm cold."

"Really?" His tone sounded no more than mildly interested. "It hasn't even started raining yet."

"And I can't sleep without a blanket."

"Is that so?" He gazed at the inky sky overhead. "Well, hell, lady, I'd give you one of mine, but…I can't afford the privilege."

"I'll pay." She had known he'd be difficult. He was a difficult man. A difficult man that she'd like to punch in the nose. But exhaustion had taken its toll, and though she'd fought her weakness for several hours, she had now determined that one single blanket was worth all of the few hard-earned coins she now clutched in the cloth in her frigid left hand. "How much do you want?"

He drew a loud, noisy, martyred breath, and paused. "How much have you got?"

"Two and a half dollars."

Travis raised his brows and shook his head. "Ain't much for a woman who demanded two hundred dollars a night. Guess business ain't been so good, huh?"

"Listen, Ryland..." She didn't know exactly what she was about to say, but decided to tell the truth. "I'm very cold, and I need one of your blankets."

"I'm willing to barter."

"What?"

"I said"—he raised himself up on his elbows to stare at her from closer range—"I'm willing to barter."

"Barter what?" She leaned away from him, feeling the breath leave her body.

"What have you got?"

"I told you." She scowled. "I've got two dollars and fifty cents."

Ryland remained still for just a moment then shook his head slowly, as if he almost regretted his refusal. "Won't do."

"Please, Ryland." She knew she was practically begging, but the difficulty of simple survival was beginning to wear on her nerves.

"You don't need to sound so desperate, lady," he said in an even tone. "Way I see it a woman like you is worth a small fortune."

"What do you mean?" She knew what he meant, of course, but it seemed a likely question, something to buy her some time.

"Well now, lady—two hundred a night. And here my blankets are only worth, well—maybe fifty."

"Fifty! Dollars!" Katherine spat, outraged.

"Too high?" he asked, mimicking her earlier tone.

“They couldn't be worth more than a dollar," she said, ignoring his budding smile and trying to act businesslike.

"Well now," said Travis, obviously warming to the game. “That's not true. They're wool. Wool comes from sheep. And when was the last time you seen sheep in these parts. Nope." He shook his head. "These here blankets are mighty precious. Specially..." A quartet of cold raindrops slapped Katherine on her face. "Specially tonight."

Katherine tried to think of a way out of this mess as another drop splattered against her bare skin, pinging hard off her sunburned back. "I'll get more money eventually, and when I do, I'll pay you back."

"Lady." He leaned forward suddenly with his brows lowered, his form tense. "You ain't listening. I don't want your money," he said, forcing a tight smile. "But like I said—I'm willing to barter."

"What do you want?" The words were whispered.