Authors: Connie Mason
“Have either of you seen Sam?”
Both men whirled as Will approached, a frown worrying his young face.
“Probably in the house,” Colt said, a frisson of apprehension sizzling down his spine.
“Nope, not there,” Will replied tersely, “and her horse is gone from the stable.”
“Christ!” thundered Colt. “How can one small woman cause so much trouble? I saw her down by the stream earlier and sent her home. Don’t worry, Will, I’ll find her, and when I do I aim to blister her britches good. Probably stopped to pick wildflowers or some such foolish female thing.” To Jake he said, “Bring a couple of the boys, we’ll search the hills. Probably find her sashaying back on her own.”
Jake hurried off. “I’m goin’ with you,” Will insisted.
“I don’t—”
“Sam’s my sister.”
A sigh left Colt’s throat. “Okay, Will, c’ mon.”
Sam had no idea what was happening until she recognized Lyle Crowder. Digging her heels into her mount’s flanks and slapping the reins against its heaving sides, she surged ahead, but only briefly. She had responded to danger too late, recognizing her peril when escape was all but impossible. Overtaking her easily, Lyle seized the reins from her fingers and brought her horse to an abrupt halt.
“What do you want, you mangy varmint?” Sam screamed, struggling as Lyle dragged her from her horse and placed her in the saddle in front of him. “Let me go!”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, lady, we got plans for you,” Lyle growled gruffly. “Big plans.” Wheeling, he took off toward a range of flat-topped hills rising in the distance. Dusty followed, Sam’s horse trotting behind on a leading rein.
Sam slumped dejectedly, knowing the exact moment they left the Circle H spread behind. Clinging to the saddlehorn, she attempted to keep her spine rigid so as not to touch the despicable desparado holding her before him in the saddle, but as the afternoon waned so did Sam’s strength. She leaned slightly forward but hadn’t the energy to resist when Lyle uttered a nasty chuckle and pulled her firmly against his chest. Lyle was aware that Vern Logan didn’t want the girl hurt, but nothing had been said against having a little fun with her.
Darkness was approaching when they rode into camp. Sam noted that the camp was located in a natural box canyon which afforded the oudaws maximum protection. From somewhere nearby she heard the lowing and restless movement of cattle. A lot of cattle. Several men milled around a small campfire, some engaged in preparing a meal, others performing mundane tasks. They looked on curiously as Lyle and Dusty dismounted but made no comment. Immediately one of the men detached himself from the group and led the horses to a remuda nearby to join the others.
“What kept you?” greeted a slim man with dirty brown hair and a droopy mustache. “We been waitin’ on you for days.”
“Ain’t our fault,” Dusty complained. “This is the first the girl’s been out alone. That damn Ranger nearly ruined everythin’.”
Lyle pulled Sam roughly from the saddle. Her knees nearly crumbled beneath her, but somehow she managed to remain upright. Someone shoved a plate of food in her hands. “Eat,” Lyle ordered brusquely.
Ravenous, Sam hunkered down and wolfed the beans, bacon, and biscuits without asking questions, though she wondered what would happen next and listened closely to the conversation between Lyle and his men.
“What now, Lyle?”
“We follow directions, Blackie.”
“You want I should hightail it to town?”
“Naw, mornin’ will do.”
Blackie slid a lascivious glance in Sam’s direction. “She sure is purty. There ain’t but ten of us, can we pass her around?”
Lyle would have liked nothing better than to thrust himself between Sam’s long golden thighs, but he was a greedy man. He wanted Logan’s money. Once he had it, he and the boys could go across the border into Mexico with the cattle now penned up in the canyon and buy themselves a different woman every night of the week.
Remembering that Vern Logan wanted the girl scared enough to be beholden to him for ransoming her, Lyle winked broadly at Blackie. “A good idea, Blackie. Let’s draw lots to see who gets her first.”
Sam had no idea that Lyle’s words were meant mainly to terrify her. “No!” she screeched, her empty plate flying to the ground as she leaped to her feet. “Why are you doing this to me? What good can possibly come of hurting me? Don’t you know what will happen when Colt finds you?”
Dusty looked decidedly unhappy and a few of the others shifted nervously from foot to foot. Only Lyle and Blackie seemed unperturbed. “Let the varmint come. Me and him got a score to settle,” Lyle replied, scowling. “He ain’t no match for the ten of us.”
“Colt has all the hands from the Circle H to back him up,” shot back Sam, undaunted.
“We ain’t afeared of ranch hands,” Blackie guffawed. “Give me the girl, Lyle, I’m leavin’ in the mornin’ and might miss my turn.”
Panic-stricken, Sam reacted instinctively, fear lending wings to her feet as she darted off into the darkness. Her tactic so surprised her captors that she was able to make good headway before Blackie, being wiry and lighter on his feet, lurched into motion. She was brought to a shuddering halt when he grabbed the lengthy tail of black hair whipping behind her and yanked viciously. Sam screamed in agony as her body jerked backwards against Blackie’s thin chest. Oblivious to her discomfort, he dragged her back to camp protesting violently.
“Nice goin’, Blackie,” Lyle crowed. “I reckon you deserve first crack at her. She’s yours.”
Sam blanched. None of this made sense. What did the Crowders want with her? Obviously they had taken her for a purpose. Was she to be cruelly raped by every member of the gang?
Like the rest of the Crowders, Blackie knew his instructions regarding Sam, but he was ready and willing to disregard them if Lyle hadn’t winked at him and said, “Enough, Blackie, orders is orders.”
“Shit!” Blackie growled, spitting out a dirty stream of tobacco juice at Sam’s feet. “Just when I was beginnin’ to enjoy myself.”
He was so aroused by now that he flung Sam from him in disgust. Like a rag doll she flew through the air and came down with a thud, slamming her head against a rock. She went limp and lay still.
“What in the hell did you do to her?” Lyle roared. “Logan ain’t gonna like this.” His beady eyes greedily devoured the curve of Sam’s breasts beneath the open shirt that had come unbuttoned during the struggle.
“Aw, shit, Lyle, I ain’t hurt her none,” Blackie said sheepishly. “I was gentle as a lamb. Can’t help if she landed on a rock.”
“You better pray she’s all right when she wakes up,” Lyle warned ominously. “If she cries rape, you can kiss your share good-bye.”
“Tie her hands and feet and lay her close to the fire,” Lyle continued tersely. “Throw a blanket over her so’s we can all get some sleep. After Logan gets here with the money, we’ll head to Mexico with the cattle. Just hope there ain’t no Injuns around. Once those Red savages get wind of the cows, they’re likely to lift our scalps as well as our stock.”
“We’ll find Sam tomorrow, Will,” Colt promised as they dismounted in front of the bunkhouse. “Don’t give up.” He could tell by the boy’s drooping shoulders that Will had all but given up hope of finding his sister.
“What could the Crowders want with Sam?” Will asked dejectedly. “Are you positive you read the signs right? Could be Indians.”
“Jake and I studied the tracks carefully, son, and it wasn’t Indians. I can smell those varmints a mile away.”
“I reckon we best all get some shuteye and start out fresh in the mornin’,” Jake suggested. “We’ve done all we can tonight.”
On that note they parted, all but Colt entering the bunkhouse to eat the cold meal Sanchez had prepared hours earlier, and bed down. After rubbing down Thunder, feeding and watering him, Colt continued on to the darkened house. He picked listlessly at leftovers Sam had prepared that day, not really hungry, and found himself wandering into her bedroom. He lit a lamp and gazed around the room in numb fascination. It didn’t seem possible that he and Sam had made love only hours ago and now she was missing.
Things just didn’t make sense. There was a connection here that he was missing. Were the Crowders trying to get at him through Sam? Were the Logans involved? It was all so confusing, Colt reflected as he stretched out on Sam’s bed, inhaling deeply of the special aroma that clung to the bedclothes. It was sweet, spicy, and deliciously arousing.
Should he never see Sam again, Colt knew he would remember to the end of his days the images that now burned in his brain as if etched in fire. Sam, her golden body stretched beneath him in wild abandon; Sam, his name bursting from her lips at the peak of her ecstasy. Nothing in his life could equal the pleasure he found in her arms or the strange conflicting emotions she forced him to acknowledge.
It wasn’t just the joy of making love to Sam, it was her feisty spirit, her humor, the love packaged in her delectable body, her loyalty when she had come to his defense against the Crowders. She was proud, reckless, and so beautiful it hurt to look at her, and wildly satisfying in bed. Colt had known other women with one or two of those attributes, but not one who possessed them all wrapped in a curvacious little bundle of trouble. She had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and a vocabulary that could singe the ears off a brass monkey. And he loved her! Christ! He loved her and didn’t want to lose her. The realization exploded brilliantly within him. If need be, he’d search the width and breadth of Texas to find her.
After chewing for a time on the discovery of his feelings, Colt began to wonder what Sam felt for him. Hatred, certainly, for the high-handed manner in which he treated her. He had shot her, taken her home from her, and relieved her of her maidenhead. “Christ!” The oath was ripped from his throat and echoed hollowly in the darkened room.
Yet when they made love he could swear there was something there besides hatred. A spark? No, stronger than a spark. A flame. Yes, a flame that ignited and devoured them with brilliant, consuming fire. Their lovemaking was spontaneous and wild and sweet and—no, don’t think about it, he lectured himself sternly. Just find Sam, tell her how you feel and hope she doesn’t laugh in your face. On that thought he slid into a fitful slumber.
Sometime during the night Colt awakened to the sound of thunder and a flash of lightning. A shortlived but turbulent thunderstorm passed. In normal conditions it would be a blessing, but tonight the storm produced a feeling of hopelessness. For no one knew better than Colt that there would be no tracks to follow come morning.
Colt’s prediction proved correct. If tracks had existed they were obliterated in the storm’s fury the night before. It didn’t take Colt long to realize there was nothing to be gained by looking for nonexistent signs.
“I’m headin’ to town, Jake,” he informed his foreman. “You and the boys keep searchin’. The Crowders gotta be camped somewhere in these hills. My gut feelin’ tells me the Logans are somehow involved in all this. If you find anythin’ send one of the boys after me. Otherwise I’ll meet you back at the ranch tonight. I need to talk to Jim and see the sheriff about gettin’ up a posse.”
Jake had time for nothing more than a brief nod before Colt rode off hell for leather.
The sensation of muted light against her closed eyelids lured Sam from sleep. Her head throbbed with pain, the blanket covering her was soggy after last night’s rainstorm, and she had never felt more miserable in her life. A sudden movement of her limbs brought an agonized groan to her lips. To her horror she found her wrists and ankles bound tightly, the discomfort excruciating. Her bound hands flew to her head, where a Texas-sized lump met her searching fingertips. Then Sam became aware of an urgent need and tried to rise, glancing around frantically to get her bearings.
“Sit down, girl, you ain’t goin’ noplace.” Lyle Crowder stood glowering over her.
“I need some privacy,” Sam insisted. Her eyes met his defiantly. “Please untie me.” Awkwardly she rose to her knees and the blanket fell away, immediately drawing Lyle’s hungry gaze to her breasts. Sam gasped, bringing her bound hands up but unable to do anything about her gaping shirt.
“What did you do to me, you uncivilized jackass?” she accused hotly.
Stunned by her colorful words, Lyle asked, “What kind of lady uses language like that?”
“A lady like me!” Sam responded shortly.
The last thing Sam remembered before awakening this morning was being manhandled by Blackie. Had he raped her? Then she relaxed somewhat, realizing she’d definitely know it if she’d been assaulted. “What did you do to me?” she repeated heatedly.
“No one touched you,” Lyle growled. He knew it wouldn’t do for Sam to believe she’d been raped, for she’d likely tell Logan and he’d be furious. “Blackie got a mite carried away but he didn’t hurt you none.”
“I didn’t get this lump on my head by myself,” Sam accused. “Nor did my shirt unbutton itself.”
“I told you Blackie was being a mite playful and you bumped your head when you fell. As to your shirt—” He shrugged, leaving his sentence dangling and Sam’s temper soaring.
“Release me at once, you bushy-tailed skunk! You dirty, stinking—”
“Shut up, girl!” roared Lyle, losing what little patience he possessed. “Ladies ain’t supposed to act like you. You’re more trouble than a horde of hungry grasshoppers at harvest.”