The Wrangler (2 page)

That was not the way she wanted to die. Her fists balled up, ready to fight, and a shot zinged past her right ear and burrowed into the bear's chest. The animal roared, giving her a view of every deadly tooth as he spun away and charged on all fours toward the tall, dark and dangerous looking outlaw down the road. His rifle fired again. A man could only be an outlaw looking like that—black Stetson, black clothes, a fearless demeanor, mighty and strong. The sun didn't touch him as he fired a third time.

The enormous bear tumbled in mid-stride, hitting the ground dead.

A bead of sweat rolled down Kit's temple. Her knees sagged. It was over. Really, truly over. The man wasn't dead. She wasn't dead. She wasn't bear food. A good turn of events.

"What were you going to do, punch an attacking bear?" The outlaw's baritone held a note of disbelief as he marched toward the lifeless animal.

"Uh, I really didn't think that part through very well." Her fists were still clenched in two tight balls. She relaxed her hands and shook them out. "You're a good shot, Mister."

"In these parts, you have to be." He towered over the carcass on the side of the road, making sure the creature was good and truly dead. "Do your parents know you're out alone, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." A finely-carved chin shot up stubbornly. "I was taken aback."

"Aback?" He squinted harder, studying the willowy stance and the heart-shaped, almost dainty face. "Where are you from? Back East?"

"St. Louis originally."

"Well, you're in the wilds of Montana Territory. Keep your gun with you the next time you sneak away from home." Something was off about the kid, something he couldn’t place. Didn't really care to. "My name is Dakota Black. Are your parents around here? I'd hate to see this meat go to waste. A whole bear is more than I can cure and carry."

"Don't worry about it." The young man didn't come closer and repositioned his hat, exposing a delicate curve of cheekbone. "My family is close. They'll take care of it. Why don't you go ahead and mosey along."

Strange. Dakota ambled closer. He couldn't say he'd ever seen a man with a long and graceful neck like that, without any visible sign of an Adam's apple. "Are you all right? You had a scare. You took a hard tumble off that horse."

"I've taken worse."

"You're bleeding." Dakota ambled closer, zeroing in on those eyes. Big, blue, framed with long curly lashes. "Looks to me like you hit your head pretty hard."

"I don't remember hitting my head."

"That can be the sign that you did." If he was smart—and he usually was, he would keep on going and get as much distance as he could from the pretty female. And she was a pretty female—her bulky man's clothes might be hiding any hint of feminine curves, but nothing could disguise her feminine Cupid's bow mouth or the fact she smelled like fresh strawberries, sweet and ripe. He hardened fast, involuntary.

Easy now, down boy.
He leaned the Winchester in the crook of his arm and hauled a clean, folded handkerchief out of his pocket. "No blurry vision? Does your head hurt?"

"I'm fine. Really." Fear widened her blue eyes. She stepped back, deliberately keeping space between them.

He hadn't meant to scare her, so he softened his voice. "You're bleeding from your temple."

"Oh, I thought it was sweat." She bit her bottom lip, debated and took the cloth from him. Dainty hands, obvious even beneath the leather riding gloves. "That's mighty kind of you."

"Sit down there on that rock. Get your strength back. You had quite a scare." He caught hold of her elbow—lean and fine-boned—and steered her backward to the boulder sitting alongside the road. Shade from a cottonwood rustled overhead. A good place for her to sit and get back her gumption. "Take it easy now, get that bleeding stopped. I'll go round up your horse."

"No, don't. Blue doesn't like strangers."

"I've got a way with horses." He stripped his bedroll, his pack and his canteen from his back and left them alongside the dusty road. Grasses waved, beckoning him into the meadow where the Arabian stood on the crest of a rise, head up, ears swiveled, poised to run.

"You come close, he'll bolt and I don't have all night to chase him down," she called after him.

He didn't bother to answer.

"Did you hear me?" She was back on her feet. Maybe she wasn't aware how her voice had gone up a half octave. Hers was a sweet-noted voice, gentle and kind. Hard not to like that about her.

"Mister?" She cupped her hands to her mouth in a last attempt to get his attention, but he didn't acknowledge her. His focus remained on the red horse, the majestic creature poised between staying and fleeing. The sun glistened on his sorrel coat, gleaming like rare satin, and the ever-present Montana breeze ruffled his silken mane and tail.

The entire world seemed to fade away as he approached the stallion. Dakota noticed nothing but the beat of his own heart and the scope of it. He shone his spirit like the sun, letting the animal feel its warmth. He imagined laying one calming hand along the horse's neck and stroking, soft and soothing.

The animal lifted his head, nostrils dilating, scenting the man on the wind before moving closer. Gentle brown eyes as warm as melted chocolate seemed to glimmer a welcome, a welcome Dakota felt in his heart like a whisper.

"You're a good horse, Blue." Dakota settled his hand on the stallion's neck, felt the satin-soft coat, the heated flesh and aliveness. For a moment he let their hearts beat together, looked into those chocolate eyes and felt the quiver of the animal's fear.

"It's all right, boy, I'll keep you safe." Dakota spoke the words and felt them deep, for the animal to sense.

When the horse relaxed, Dakota wrapped his hand around a fallen rein. He stood on a ridge, looking down a goodly distance to the woman watching him from beneath the brim of her hat. She was a slip of a thing. From here, in those trousers and that loose muslin shirt, she could pass for a young man, eighteen or maybe nineteen. But when it came to her stance, the way she positioned her body, she was entirely female. That wouldn't be so easy for her to hide.

"C'mon, Blue. Your lady there is worried about you."

The stallion answered with a low-throated nicker. Dakota led him lightly by the bridle strap. They moved together side by side, in spirit.

"I can't believe he came to you." She met them in the field, surrounded by nodding daisies as sweet as she was. "No one has ever been able to do that but me."

"Told you. I have a way with horses." He presented her with the reins. His hand bumped hers and even through the thickness of the leather glove, he felt a lightning bolt jerk into him, traveling head to toe. Never had a reaction to a female like that before. A clear sign to move on. "Well, the bear's no longer a threat, your horse is safe, and I'll be on my way."

"Thank you." The cadence of her voice was entirely feminine, soft as the dandelion fluff floating on the gusting winds. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."

"Glad to help." His chest was doing strange things as a direct result of looking at her, so he rubbed the horse's nose instead. "You did a good job, boy. You be good for your lady, now."

"You figured it out?" She swallowed once, more of a gulp, really. Her slender shoulders sagged. "I was hoping the disguise would work."

"It did. You fooled me for a little while." He patted Blue one last time, before striding away. "You've got to keep your voice low, or it's a dead giveaway."

"I forgot myself after I spotted the bear."

"Anyone would."

"You didn't. You kept steady even when he was charging you. What if that last bullet hadn't killed him?"

"Then I'd be dead, I guess. But panicking never helps." Something he'd learned in the army. "The way you move and walk is another giveaway. But you can change that. The real problem is your throat. No man has a neck like yours."

He knelt over his pack, reached into a side pocket and pulled out a clean red bandanna. "Wear this above your collar like a cowboy. That should help. You're bleeding again."

"My temple?" Her fingers searched along her forehead.

"Here, sit back down for a minute."

With a sigh, she plopped down on the rock.

He traded the red bandana for the white handkerchief. Small trickles of blood dotted it. He eased up her hat brim, ignored the dizzying scent of
strawberries
and pressed the cloth against her hairline. "Don't move for a few minutes. Let it clot up and you'll be fine."

"Thanks for the help." She was young. No lines on her face, no crinkles around her eyes. Young and on her own, he guessed. Otherwise a husband or father, even a brother would be with her. These roads weren't safe for a woman alone.

She's not your business, Black.
He had no business being around a young, innocent woman. He holstered his Winchester, strapped on his pack and bedroll and tucked his canteen into place.

"Good luck to you." He tipped his hat, heading on his way, unable to fight the feeling she was going to need more than luck. Something stuck in the pit of his stomach like a burr refusing to let go, and it haunted him with every step he took. He didn't know why he cared about her. Maybe because she'd been spunky enough to plan on punching an attacking bear. Maybe it was because of her horse, obviously loved and well-treated.

It was for the best that he kept going, keep putting one foot in front of the other and leave her behind. He didn't even know her name.

Chapter Two

"Kit!" Fred ran into sight, frantic blue eyes searching the road for her. "Oh, whew. You ain't dead."

"I'm fine. The bear isn't, though." The man—Dakota Black—had disappeared over a rise in the road, but his effect stayed with her. She tightened her grip on Blue's reins, still incredulous. That man.

"Good golly!" Fred skidded to a stop, winded. "You killed it. You got him three times, right? I heard the shots and I started running."

"I didn't do it. A—" What did she call him? Her gaze shot down the dusty road, where the only signs of the stranger were his boot prints. "I guess he was a drifter. He was walking along and pulled his gun when the bear charged me."

"He was walking? He didn't have a horse?"

"No. I guess not." Montana was a large and dangerous territory to be crossing on foot. He'd been carrying his few possessions on his back. She remembered how his shadowed eyes had been guarded, not used to letting anyone in. She swallowed hard, recalling how calm he'd been when the bear charged him. "He saved my life and he walked off."

"And left us a whole bear?"

"No idea what we're going to do with it." Her stomach clenched thinking of butchering the carcass. She was tough—but not tough enough to dissect an animal. "Maybe we can ask the Mason's for help. I know they are struggling to make ends meet, same as we are. Mr. Mason will know how to take care of this. And where's Mindy?"

"Uh, guess she's back at the camp. I thought you might be shot up by robbers or outlaws or Indians."

She didn't point out that the boy in his haste had no gun, unlike Dakota Black.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Likely because he'd made quite an impression.

"I'll ride over to the Mason's." Apparently plans were made to be changed. "You go back and stay with Mindy. It's not smart leaving her alone out here."

"Okay, I'll go protect her. Do you think there's another bear around?"

"Are you kidding? Around here there's always another bear." She rolled her eyes, tugged his hat brim and shared a grin with him. "Go on, run back home. I'll go fetch Mr. Mason."

"Don't get ate by another bear!" Fred clearly was amusing himself. "I coulda shot him. Three bullets. Bam, bam, bam."

And that's how the male brain worked, she thought with another eye roll, spotting her Winchester and retrieving it.

"I'm glad you're not like that," she told Blue, who stood with ears pricked and attentive, watching over Fred as the boy disappeared in the grasses. "You, my friend, are a true blue gentleman."

Blue nickered in agreement, so she mounted up, spun him in the opposite direction and sent him trotting. She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder to the rise of the meadow. She could still see the image of the drifter on the crest of the prairie, hands held out as he approached the stallion. The sun had haloed him, worshipping his fine male form. He'd held the horse spellbound as surely as if he'd used magic.

Maybe he'd held her a little spellbound, too.

That was enough of that,
she thought with a toss of her head. Men were nothing but trouble.

As were bears, she decided hours later as she rode Blue into the chaos of the small western excuse for a settlement. Kindly old Mr. Mason had danced a highland jig when he'd spotted the animal beside the road. She'd left speedily, eager to be away from the actual butchering. Her stomach still felt a little queasy at the thought.

The settlement of Dusty Creek consisted of a main dusty street, eight blocks long. Awnings, covered with fine brown-red dust this time of year attempted to shade the few storefront windows advertising wares for sale or trade. Small signs swung overhead advertising the gunsmith or the leather shop. Few women roamed the street, it wasn't that kind of town, and the ones who did wore clothes that looked like undergarments made of black lace and red silk.

She nosed Blue up to the hitching post outside Left-Hand Louie's. Rumor had it Louie lost his hand in a fight with a U.S. Marshal and left the lawman in worse shape. His saloon was known for its poker playing activities. Kit dismounted and landed with a thump in the chalky dust. The heat of the sun blazed sweat across the back of her neck. Her heart galloped a tad too hard as she wound Blue's reins tightly around the weather-worn post.

"It'll be a piece of cake," she told him in a whisper. "It'll be like when Pa and I always played at home."

Blue blinked his long black lashes in what she hoped was encouragement. She patted his nose, the good boy, and clomped up the stairs. A drunk tumbled out through the batwing doors, smelling of whiskey and...what was that odor? Skunk? Kit's eyes watered from the stink.