Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (31 page)

He wanted to love her so much, he ached with a pain that transcended anything physical. But then, what good would loving her do? She'd made it offensively clear his only value to her was his stamina. He had never used a woman's body like the women he'd cared about had used his, and the wounded, bleeding part of him didn't know if it could ever forgive, much less forget. Especially Bailey.

The splashing had ceased, and he dared to crack open an eye. Her shirt had slid down her arms, and he treated himself to a visual feast of her bared shoulder blades and the sheer muslin of her chemise, rippling with every movement of her slender back.

She had tossed her mane over her head and was braiding the strands back together. She couldn't possibly see him with that curtain of corn silk swaying before her face, and he longed to tiptoe over and touch his mouth to the fading love nip he'd left on the nape of her neck. He wondered if she even knew his lips had branded her as his own, because when she flopped her braid back into place, his mark was thoroughly concealed, much to his perverse irritation.

She pulled her shirt back onto her shoulders and fastened the buttons. She was just beginning to rise, when something caught her eye. Squatting, she ran her fingertips over the earth near the creek. She gazed to her left—to the north—and then stood, shaking dirt clumps from her hand. Her profile looked eager against the eastern backdrop of ivory rock and orange sky. She strapped on her gun belt, and that did little to reassure him, because she began walking rapidly away from the camp, her gaze on the ground as she followed the runoff.

He bit back an oath. Now what was she up to?

He shadowed her through the trees for fifty yards before she squatted again, this time before a house-sized boulder with a feisty cedar clinging to its flat top. The rock was part of a landslide so ancient that wind, rain, and vegetation had begun to fuse it back to the cliff face.

As she squinted eastward toward the limestone ledges above her, he figured this was a good time to make his presence known.

He stepped forward, praying he'd loosened his chaps enough to disguise his bulge within their shadow. "Bailey."

She jumped up, spinning toward him almost guiltily. "Gawd a'mighty. Is that you, Rawlins? You scared the devil out of me. What are you doing, following me?"

Halting five feet before her, he hoped the sky wasn't yet bright enough to light his telltale blush. "You left without your rifle. I was worried."

She pressed her lips together. "For heaven's sake, I've got my six-shooter."

"I can see that now."

"I'm not helpless, you know."

"I know, but—"

"You wouldn't have shadowed Rob or Jesse that way."

He blew out his breath. The fact that she was right only added to his annoyance. He should have realized she wouldn't care that he'd been worried. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Starting another argument."

"I'm not the one starting anything! You've been staring and glaring at me ever since you set out on this hunt. When I came out here hoping for a little privacy, you followed me to stare some more. Hell, you've turned into a regular peeping Tom. Didn't you see enough of me the other night?"

He stiffened. The truth of her words stung almost beyond bearing. He'd be damned, though, before he'd confess to his crimes. Besides, they weren't
exactly
crimes. He'd been looking out for his baby.

"Not so loud. You want the whole camp to hear?"

"Makes no difference to me." Her chin jutted. "I'm not ashamed of what we did."

He clenched his jaw and refrained from telling her she should be. Obviously, guilt was his problem, not hers.

For what seemed like an eternity, they locked stares. He was dimly aware of the sounds of the rousing camp behind him. A frying pan clanked; a hound whined eagerly; a
pastore
grunted, calling out a morning greeting in Spanish. The smell of burning cedar was pungent in the air. It mingled with the aroma of coffee.

He was aware, too, of her delicately curved frame, backlit against the dusky apricot of dawn and crowned by the brightest of the night stars still glimmering in the indigo above her. He felt the traitorous throbbing of his arousal, even though he was angry enough—and hurt enough—to resist it more staunchly than he would have resisted the sale of his soul. She had no right to stand there, oblivious to the torture she caused him.

But, God, she was beautiful. And her babies would be beautiful too....

She was the first to break their stare. She turned abruptly, her cheeks tinged a pale pink, and hunched her shoulders almost protectively as she squatted, huddling over whatever had first brought her to this spot.

"I found some tracks," she muttered. "But I don't think they're One Toe's."

He drew a ragged, sobering breath.
Good. Cougars.
He would have talked about anything just then to avoid a public discussion about making love to her. "Mating" she'd called it, he remembered irritably.

Setting his jaw, he stalked closer and lowered himself to one knee. "Let's see."

Bailey held her breath, doing her best not to cringe when Zack's radiant heat gusted over her. He was too close to avoid, too distant to touch. She could have thrown herself into his arms, but that wouldn't have brought him any nearer. He was like some ancient god who'd been forged in fire and hardened to bronze. Every muscle was taut and chiseled; every feature was harsh with judgment. She had to dig her fingers into her sleeves to keep from reaching for him.

She'd nearly embarrassed herself the night before, when she'd awakened to find his lava-hot gaze spilling over her, setting her skin aflame. His effect on her was unlike anything she'd ever known, and she wanted to explore it further. She wanted to drag him into the bushes, tear the clothes from his body, rub him and kiss him until he begged to be inside her. She wanted him to want her as he had in all the feverish fantasies she'd dreamed the night before.

His wanting wasn't enough, though. Not without his love. So why wouldn't he just go away and leave her alone?

She tried to concentrate on the tracks. It wasn't easy with his thigh mere inches from hers. Her mind kept whirring back, thinking of how he'd touched her, thinking of things he'd said. All his talk of babies had ripped open a Pandora's box inside her. Despite her every attempt to live in blissful denial, she was worried. No, scared. She didn't want a baby yet, even if it was Zack's. She didn't want to raise a child with all the anger and resentment with which she'd been raised. God knew, she didn't want to be anything like the mother she'd known.

Something stole into her peripheral vision. She glanced up sharply, and her mouth went dry. On the edge of the boulder above them, a young lioness stood twitching the black tip of her tail. Bailey blinked, too stunned for a moment to think. Topaz eyes, narrow with warning, stared first at her, then at Zack. The cat's ears folded back.

A rustling came from the bushes behind her, and the cougar's head jerked around. A short, guttural alarm rumbled in her throat. Zack looked up, cursing at the sound. He leveled his rifle, and Bailey caught a glimpse of three sets of inquisitive eyes peeking at them through the greenery. She caught her breath.

"Zack, no!"

She shoved the Winchester off its bead even as she drew her own .45, instinctively fearing the cougar's retaliation. Zack's cartridge went wide, and the lioness quailed at the report. She whirled and bounded past her den, and three spotted cubs fled their camouflage, tumbling all over themselves in their desperation to keep up with her. Bailey heard a kittenish mew, the scrabbling of dislodged pebbles beneath their paws, and the alarm cry of a wild turkey as it fled from their path.

In the next heartbeat, the cougar family had disappeared, leaving only the smoky chalk of the tumbled limestone to mark their passing.

Bailey rose, holstering her revolver, only half conscious of the shaking hand she'd dropped to her womb. She didn't dare look at Zack, who loomed over her, his Winchester gripped in white-knuckled fists. She thought she might be sick. Her ears were still ringing from the report, and her stomach was churning fast enough to make butter. She decided she'd inhaled too much gunsmoke.

"Bailey!" It was Rob's voice, frantic as he broke through the trees. The others were running fast on his heels with their dogs bounding eagerly beside them. "Mother of mercy, Rawlins, what's going on?"

The hounds swarmed around her legs, their tails wagging in excitement, their snouts snuffling the earth. Bailey knew what they'd smell: coyote, raccoon, deer, skunk. The tracks were clearly marked. The wildlife in these hills had become so desperate for water, they were willing to brave the company of predators—even man—to drink.

"Everything's fine, Rob," she said, her voice raspy. "We're all right."

Jesse's dog barked, and the boy squatted, his face growing animated. "Cougar!" His gaze tracked the lioness up the cliff. "Hot damn, we've found one!"

"Leave her alone!" Bailey lunged for the boy's hound, grabbing its collar before it could vault over the rocks and lead the others up the hill.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," she fired back. "That cougar's got cubs."

"So?"

"So?"
Bailey shot him a look that even Mac had learned not to question. "She's not One Toe."

Zack remained silent, much to Bailey's irritation. She could feel his eyes, like coals, smoldering into her spine. She had the fleeting thought that he could at least defend the lioness, even if he didn't defend her.

"Did you fire?" Rob asked, casting a glance at Zack's granite-hard face.

"Missed," was all he said.

Jesse snorted. "Hell, Rawlins, it's a good thing you've got us sheepmen to teach you how."

The boy rose, and Bailey grabbed his sleeve.

"Set your sights on some other cat, Jesse."

The warning was unmistakable in her voice, and he frowned. "Why? You got dibs on that one or something?"

"Yeah, that's right. I've got dibs."

She dropped her hand, and his brow puckered. He pushed his hat back with his thumb.

"Shoot, Bailey, if you want to bag the cat, that's fine by me, but you'll need dogs, and—"

"You're not forgetting Esteban, are you?" she interjected tensely. "One Toe's the cat I want now. That other one can wait."

"She's right, Jess," Rob said, his gaze full of speculation as it traveled between Zack's set jaw and her own. "You sure you're okay, Bailey? 'Cause if you're not—"

"I said I was, didn't I?"

He reddened, clearing his throat. "Reckon you did." Shouldering his rifle, he jerked his head in the direction of the campsite. "C'mon on, men. Let's see if we can't salvage those pancakes. Otherwise it'll be canned peaches and jerky for breakfast."

They ambled off, and Bailey loosed a ragged breath, watching their disappointed hounds trot after them. Everyone seemed to have saved face, no thanks to Zack, the surly, black-tempered cuss. If the sheepherders snubbed him again while they were hunting today, he had no one but himself to blame.

She turned to follow the Coles.

"Bailey."

His voice sounded strained when he caught her arm. She might have wrenched herself free and told him what a rear end he was being if she hadn't ventured a glance at his face. He looked pale beneath his tan. Stranger still, his hand quaked on her sleeve.

"Why did you stop me?" he whispered hoarsely.

Something in his eyes took the edge off her defenses. Eager, almost pleading, they searched hers for an answer. She didn't know what he was looking for.

"What... do you mean?" she asked.

"The cougar. I would have shot it to keep you safe."

She swallowed. To keep her safe? Truly?

"You really want to know?"

His gaze was too probing, too intense. She felt hot and naked beneath it.

"Yes," he answered.

She tore her eyes from his. She wished she hadn't pressed him. Now she'd be cowardly not to confess. He would jeer at her reason, though. Any man would. She was a rancher, after all, not a prissy society miss. Her livestock was her livelihood, and predators were her enemy. One dead cougar—hell, four dead cougars—would have been a blessing to the entire county. It didn't matter that the cubs were barely five months old, or that the lioness had been trying to protect them.

She hung her head. "Because she was a mother."

She heard his breath loosen in a rush. Blushing, she hastened to defend herself.

"Those cubs wouldn't have survived the week. It would have been kinder if you'd shot them too, Zack, but I couldn't stand by and let you do that. And I couldn't pull the trigger either. I mean, they were just—just babies."

He made a strangled sound and pulled her into his arms. Startled, she fell against him, imprisoned in a hard, fierce hug. A tremor moved through him, and his heart beat with a chaotic frenzy just below her ear.

"Z-Zack?"

He buried his face in her hair.

She waited an endless moment, half afraid to move, half averse to trying. To be held by him, even when his strength felt crushing, was too wonderful.