Authors: Sarah McCarty
That did the trick. As Desi calmed, Caine didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled she thought him capable of gut-shooting his friend over a broken promise, but at least she’d settled down.
Tracker motioned to the right with his rifle. “We need to head back.”
Caine followed the direction of his point.
Orange
light almost too small to be noticed flickered among the rocks about ten miles east of the ranch. “Uh-huh.”
He turned Chaser with pressure from his knee, anticipation coiling in his gut. Desi’s past was coming calling.
S
he didn’t stay settled for long. As soon as they got back to the house, Desi started twitching. It was all Caine could do to keep her on the horse once they reached the barn. “Hold on a minute,” he ordered as she squirmed to get down.
“I want to get to the house.”
So did he, but probably not for the same reasons. “And I don’t want you opening up those feet again.”
Desi twisted in his lap, moonlight painting her hair an ethereal white. “I’ll be careful.”
He let her flip over on her belly, then placed his palm in the middle of her back, pressing her into his thighs. The little squeal and kick she gave when she realized she couldn’t get away made him chuckle. “I intend for you to be very careful.”
“Let me down.”
Tracker looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Need any help?”
“I’ve got it under control.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Desi sank her teeth into his thigh, which made him jump and Chaser crow-hop and Desi squeal again. For a minute, it was all Caine could do to control Desi’s squirming and Chaser’s crow-hopping.
Tracker’s “So I can see” was more than a little dry as he dismounted and came over.
“Unless you have a hankering to land in that pile of manure, Gypsy girl, you’ll hold still,” Caine advised his wife as he turned Chaser in small circles, getting him back under control. On the third spin, Desi relented and held still, though he wouldn’t say she relaxed as tension hummed through her muscles like bees in a hive. He took his hand off her back, shaking his head. “And you call me stubborn.”
Desi propped herself on her elbows. Her hair hung in a long braid toward the ground. The braid he’d put there. He liked knowing that.
“You are.”
“Uh-huh. Now, why are you in such a hurry?”
“I want to draw Mr. Tracker a picture.”
He wondered how Tracker was taking to the handle of “Mister.” “Of your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t she look like you?”
“Yes.” She wiggled. “But softer.”
Caine grabbed her hands and eased her down. Tracker caught her weight, keeping it off her feet. “I find that mighty hard to believe.”
Desi was the softest thing he’d ever seen.
She glanced over her shoulder, her torso arching to see his face. Tracker took a step forward, balancing her weight. A strand of his long black hair fell over her chest. Caine had a violent urge to cut it off.
“She’s very gentle,” Desi explained.
Caine dismounted and ducked under Chaser’s neck, reaching for her. Tracker handed her over without a sound. Desi’s weight settled into him and a little of the hot aggression that had flared at seeing her in Tracker’s arms faded as Desi turned to him for reassurance. “She’s never hurt anyone in her life.”
“And you’re a wildcat.”
He only had a moment to absorb the blue of her gaze before her attention was back on Tracker. “I’ve always protected her.”
And it about killed her when her last attempt had failed. Caine understood that.
Tracker inclined his head. “I’ll keep it in mind when I find her.”
Desi’s elbow collided with Caine’s throat as she twisted to maintain eye contact with the big man. “But you will find her?”
Tracker didn’t answer, just picked up the reins and led the horses out of the lamplight into the darkness. The likelihood of Tracker finding her sister wasn’t high. It was a big country and a white woman was a prize to be kept hidden. Desi strained against him, reaching for the promise that no one could give her. It was up to him to balance the truth. “It’s not his way to promise what he can’t keep, Desi.”
She twisted so hard on that reality, he almost dropped her.
“But you’ll try?” she called, straining after Tracker.
Tracker disappeared into the dark interior as Desi quivered in Caine’s arms, muscles stretched taut as she strained for the hope she couldn’t let go.
Deep and low, the promise reached back. “I’ll do my best.”
“He has to find her.”
Caine wasn’t sure if Desi’s soft whisper was to convince herself, him or God. He gave Desi a little toss up to a more comfortable position in his arms and headed for the house. “Tracker’s got a real sense for finding things.”
“My sister is not a thing.”
“That she’s not. But you’ve got a promise from Tracker and that’s about as close to gold as you’ll ever see.”
“What makes him so different?”
He’d be jealous of her fascination with his friend if it weren’t for the reasons behind it. She needed reassurance.
“Tracker never had it easy. His ma was a Mexican wh—” He caught himself in time. “A loose woman and his pa, Indian. A bad combination for a kid out here and it was made worse by the fact his pa was a mean drunk. It wasn’t so bad when his ma was alive, but after she died, hell, grown men used to kick him and Shadow around just for the fun of it.”
“Shadow, too?”
“Shadow and Tracker are brothers.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“They don’t advertise it.” Caine remembered back to the hell of those days, when Tracker and Shadow would show up at his back door, always sporting empty stomachs and new bruises. How his father would curse and his mother wring her hands before setting down huge plates of food in front of the two boys, which they would polish off in seconds.
“Pa tried to shield them, and Mom tried to make up for it, but it was never enough. The only thing that saved them was they grew early, fought dirty and learned to hug the shadows.”
“How awful!”
It had been pretty awful when he looked back at it as an adult. He wished he had understood as a youngster. “It sure as shoot was for those raiders. When they hit our town, no one saw Tracker or Shadow, but we knew where they were by the screams of those men.”
“They must have been so young.”
“In years, but they had a hell of a lot of hate stored up, and when that self-proclaimed general rode into town, they just let it loose. One renegade at a time.”
Sometimes he thought they still were.
“Dear God.”
Memories he didn’t want rolled over him, memories of women screaming for children, children screaming for parents, the thunder of horses’ hooves, the war and the blood…Hell, everywhere the stench of blood. Of his family, his friends, his community.
“I don’t understand how that could happen.”
Neither did he. “War isn’t pretty.”
Her hand covered his. Soft, and warm, delicate. Too delicate for this land. “I’m sorry you suffered that.”
He shrugged and buried the screams to the place where he couldn’t hear them. “It’s a hard land, Gypsy, but there’s a lot of reward for those that can tame it.”
Her stomach rumbled, planting him firmly back in the present. More than Desi needed to hear about Hell’s Eight, she needed food. “How about we get that dinner plate of yours, and I tell you a happier story?”
Even in the moonlight he could see the pink rising on her cheeks. Even an empty stomach could get that reaction out of her. He grinned, and when the blush deepened to rose and her gaze scooted from his, he chuckled. “Have I ever mentioned how much I like the way you blush?”
“No.”
“Well, I do.” The night air frosted his breath. “It’s sweet, innocent and sexy.”
“I’m not innocent.”
Her grip tightened on his neck as he took the first step of the porch, releasing more of that lavender scent that reminded him of all the lush softness of her body. “You arguing with me?”
No answer.
“Because if you are, I’ve got to say it’s a darn foolish thing to be taking up arms about, trying to convince me I’m seeing you wrong.”
“But you are.”
He made his sigh evident as he shook his head. “You just had to wander there, huh?”
“Where?”
“To the proving ground.” He opened the front door and angled them through. It wasn’t hard. She wasn’t very big. The parlor, which normally would have boasted a few people, was empty. In consideration, no doubt, to the privacy the newlyweds were expected to need at the end of a moonlit ride.
“What’s the proving ground?”
He headed on through to the kitchen. She was right to be suspicious. “That place where I get to prove to you I’m right, and you’re wrong.” He dipped her down when they got close to the drawer beside the stove. “Grab that salve out of there, would you?”
She made no move to do as he requested. Rather, just kind of pulled herself into a ball. Funny how she could do that, make herself invisible while sitting in plain sight. It was damn effective for shutting off a conversation without saying a word. “No, huh?”
Her chin set. “No.”
“No problem. I’ll just get it later.”
She came out of hiding on that one. And she came out swinging. “I think, as your wife, I’m entitled to some respect.”
He set her on the chair and straightened, pushing his hat back. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“And you feel I haven’t been treating you that way?”
“No.”
“Any particular reason, or is that a general insult you’re handing out?”
That warning elicited no evidence of caution, just a kind of mental digging in that surfaced in the tight set of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. “I wasn’t always a wh—”
He placed his hand over her mouth. “You might want to take a moment before you finish out that thought.”
That chin of hers notched higher. He took his hand away.
“Why? Because if I do, you’ll paddle my butt?”
He did enjoy that sass she let loose when she wasn’t worried about being proper. “Sweetheart, I intend to get around to doing that anyway.”
Her bravado stuttered under shock. Her mouth worked and then her lips set. “That is exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t say such things to me.”
“Even if they’re true?”
“Especially if they’re true.”
She wasn’t making a lick of sense, but since he’d fetched her out of that stream, this was the first bit of true fire he’d seen from her, so she could snap at him all she wanted and he’d allow it. She was sexy as hell when angry. He stood up straight. “You just want to go around in a daze of make believe?”
She nodded. “If I have to.”
“Because you think what I say to you is a sign of disrespect?”
“I don’t think it, I know it.”
This he had to hear. “How?”
“Before I met up with…unfortunate circumstances, I was a proper young woman, raised to be the perfect wife.”
“Seriously? Perfect?”
Her hand balled into a fist on the brown-and-red quilt. He wondered, if he kept prodding her, would she take a swing at him? She nodded and the thick braid he’d put in her hair half looped over her shoulder. “Yes.”
It was more a hiss than a word. He tugged the braid free of the quilt. It fell across his hand, connecting them. “And it was important to you to be perfect?”
“I wanted to make my parents happy.”
“And your future husband?”
She shrugged. “Not so much. He didn’t exist, after all.”
“But if he had?” He wound her braid around his hand. “You would have tried to please him?”
Her eyes narrowed. She untangled her hair and pulled it away from his toying. “Yes.”
“Ah.”
He turned and put his hat on the counter and took her supper plate out of the warmer.
“Ah, what?”
He set the food on the table beside her, getting a knife and fork out of the drawer. He put them beside the plate. “Ah, I understand.” He motioned to the plate. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He hooked the adjacent chair with his boot and dragged it kitty corner. With a twist, he turned it so he could straddle it. He rested his arms across the back and motioned toward her stomach. “You might want to tell your stomach that.”
“I would know if I were hungry.”
At that moment, her stomach chose to rumble again. Color heated her cheeks, but he wouldn’t say embarrassment loosened her up.
“If you don’t keep your strength up, opportunities might pass you by.”
“Opportunities to escape?”
He let the jab slide. “Likely. Along with opportunities to find what you’re looking for.”
“I’m looking for my sister.”