Judith E French (7 page)

Suddenly, the lariat binding Tamsin to the bounty hunter went slack. She turned to see him staring uphill, away from her and her horses. “Now what—” she began, but her question was cut short by a bloodcurdling scream.

The eerie howl echoed down the ravine and sent the three horses into a plunging, snorting frenzy. Gooseflesh rose on Tamsin’s arms.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Morgan’s terse reply made her knees go weak. “Another cougar.”

Sweat trickled down her spine. “But you told me they only travel alone. You said—”

He shook his head and peered into the trees. “Hell with what I said. There’s another cat out there, and unless I miss my guess, he’s stalking us.”

“Can’t we saddle the horses and ride out of here?” Tamsin asked breathlessly. She’d managed to get the rope around Fancy’s neck and tie her to a tree beside the fire. Morgan’s roan gelding stood trembling, legs spread, eyes rolled back in his head. Dancer had torn away into the darkness. She could hear him crashing through the undergrowth, but she didn’t know if he was trying to escape the mountain lion or attack it.

Tamsin was acutely aware of the scent of the frightened horses and the pungent smell of crushed spruce boughs under their hooves. She could hear Morgan’s breathing and the metallic click of his revolver as he spun the cylinder. If he was afraid, she could see no sign of it by his relaxed, precise movements.

Tamsin had known only three men well in her life. One was her grandfather, and the second a former slave and expert horseman. The third was the sorry excuse for a man she’d married. This Ash Morgan was unlike any of them and he puzzled her. Truth be told, he frightened her as much as the cougar circling their camp.

A sharp crack tore her from her reverie.

Morgan snapped a branch with his boot heel and tossed it on the blazing fire. “No, we can’t leave camp.”

“What?”

“You asked me if we could outrun the cat,” he said
gruffly. “It would be suicide to try. None of us can see in the dark like that puma can, and the horses could break a leg if we tried to move fast. We wouldn’t get a hundred yards. He’d leap out of a tree and—”

“I understand.” She didn’t care to hear more. Images of the dead puma’s ivory fangs were all too clear in her memory. She could imagine the ferocious roar, the screams of the horses, and the feel of the slashing claws tearing her apart.

Morgan nodded. “I saw what was left of a man killed by a big cat once.…”

She shuddered.

“I should build a second fire, but there’s not enough dry wood nearby.” He dug extra rifle bullets out of his saddlebag and dropped them into his shirt pocket. “And it would take a bolder man than me to go out there”—he motioned to the circle of darkness around them—“hunting for more.”

“Not bolder,” she replied. “Stupid.” She leaned against the mare and whispered soothing endearments as she ran her hands over the silken hide. Each time the cougar snarled, Fancy shuddered and tried to rear. The rope stretched taut, cutting cruelly into her neck. Tamsin wanted to ease the knot, but she was afraid that Fancy would slip out if the tie was looser.

“You said there couldn’t be two mountain lions.” Tamsin shivered despite the crackling fire.

Suddenly, Morgan raised his rifle and fired. Tamsin’s ears rang from the explosion, but she caught a brief glimpse of two green-glowing coals high up in a tree. Then she saw only blackness. “Did you hit it?”

“Shhh!” he ordered. “Listen.” He placed a big hand on her arm, and she jerked back from him as if she’d been burned.

“Quiet.” His deep voice was whisper soft, but his tone brooked no argument.

Her breath caught in her throat.

A dry cough sounded to their left, near the place where he had abandoned the carcass of the first puma. Heart pounding, Tamsin moved closer to Morgan and slipped her hand inside the slit in her skirt to grip her pistol.

Minutes dragged by. The horses pawed restlessly and sniffed the air. Then the quiet was broken by a long, drawn-out scream from the gully below.

Hair rose on the back of Tamsin’s neck. Her mouth felt dust dry, and her feet seemed rooted to the ground.

Morgan lowered his weapon and swore softly under his breath. “Missed it.”

“Maybe you wounded it.” Her voice echoed oddly in her head.

“No such luck.” He kicked a rock into the fire. “This is all wrong. I’ve never seen a cougar act this way.” He glanced at her. “You might as well get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Tamsin shrugged. The way her heart was racing, she’d have as much chance of sprouting wings and flying. “Do you think my stallion Dancer … Do you think he’s in danger?”

“Sure. Who the hell knows? By rights, that cat should have been after him, not us. Humans stink to high heavens. Lions are afraid of them, but horseflesh is fair game.”

“But it didn’t go after Dancer.”

“Nope.” He uttered a sound of derision. “The Shoshone say these mountains are haunted. They’d tell you that wasn’t a live puma at all. They claim a spirit cat hunts red men and white alike.” Morgan looked at her with fierce eyes. “You believe in ghosts, lady?”

She swallowed, trying to ease the constriction in her throat. “I have a name. It’s Tamsin.”

His features remained hard. “Well, Tamsin, do you believe in ghosts?”

“No. And I doubt if you do either.”

“I don’t believe in much I can’t see, hear, or touch.”

“Except the law.”

“You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m innocent.”

“Then you should welcome the opportunity to clear your name.” He hunkered down with his back to a big spruce tree and laid the rifle across his knees. “You ought to thank me for catching you. You wouldn’t have lasted long out here by yourself.”

“That, Mr. Morgan, is a matter of opinion.”

“No need to
mister
me. Ash will do. Get yourself some shut-eye. Dawn comes early on the trail.”

She tugged her bedroll as close to the fire as she could get without scorching herself. “I’d appreciate it if you could take this handcuff off me.”

“Cuffs on both wrists or the rope. Your choice.”

“You’re no gentleman.”

“And you’re obviously no lady or we wouldn’t be here, would we?” He tied the end of the rope to a tree.

“What if I have to run from another cougar?”

He shook his head. “No need. Not with me standing guard.”

She wanted to remind him that he hadn’t been quite so vigilant when she’d spied on him and taken his supplies. Morgan stood between her and freedom, and she couldn’t afford to antagonize him.

Instead, she lay down, her back to the fire. There would be little sleep for her that night. As weary and sore as she was, she couldn’t forget the mountain lion’s scream or those terrifying green eyes.

Sometime in the night, Dancer returned to camp. He sniffed Ash’s gelding, snorted a warning, and trotted over to lean his head against Fancy’s.

Overhead, glittering stars appeared one by one until the sky seemed strewn with diamonds. The temperature dropped and Tamsin curled tighter in her blanket. Every forest sound became ominous, and it took all of her willpower not to show how frightened she was.

Each time Tamsin opened her eyes, she saw Ash keeping watch. Occasionally, he stood and walked around the perimeter of the camp, then returned to his resting spot without making a sound.

The twittering of birds announced the day long before the darkness gave way to light. One after another, small creatures began to stir. First a squirrel scampered down the tree Ash was leaning on; then a mouse peered out of a heap of pine needles not three feet from where Tamsin lay.

She sat up and stretched. The insides of her eyelids were scratchy and her head ached. She had never done well without sleep, and the night that had just passed was no exception.

“Morning,” Ash said. She hadn’t heard him leave the camp, but the coffeepot he was propping on the coals was full of water. “I’d offer you bread and cheese,” he said, “but someone stole my provisions.” He reached down and unlocked her handcuff.

Rubbing her wrist, she got to her feet and tried to comb the twigs out of her hair with her fingers. “Is the cougar gone?”

He nodded. “Horses been quiet since about two o’clock.”

“How can you tell the time? Do you have a watch?”

“Not on me. I broke the crystal in a little tussle. I left it in Sweetwater to be repaired.”

“Then how do you know the time?”

“I swear, woman. You’re the talkingest prisoner I’ve ever had.” He grinned at her, and his smile was as bright as the sun breaking through a storm cloud. His teeth were white and even. Smiling made him look younger and not nearly so forbidding. “You can tell time by the stars if you spend enough time sleeping under them.”

“I don’t need constellations to tell me that I’m ready for breakfast,” she replied. “I’ve fishing line in my pack. If you let me go to the creek for an hour, I’ll catch us the main course.”

He studied her for a minute, then smiled. “Don’t suppose it will do any harm to let you try. I’ll just walk along with you, so you don’t get lost.”

“So I don’t run away, you mean.” She shrugged. “That’s fine, so long as you’re gentleman enough to allow me …” She felt a flush rise up her throat. “I have personal needs.”

“By rights I shouldn’t give you any privacy after you got an eyeful of my assets.”

“Oh, I …” Embarrassment made her speechless. How could he have known that she’d seen him in the altogether?

His obsidian eyes glittered with mischief. “Your tracks told the story, Tamsin. I was careless and let you sneak up on me. Had you been a rogue Cheyenne, my scalp would be waving from a tepee pole.” He dusted his hands on his coat. “Hope you enjoyed the sight.”

“It wasn’t what you think,” she protested.

“Hard to think anything but the worst,” he drawled. “A lady hiding in the bushes, watching a man Adam-naked in his bath.”

Tamsin was mortified. “I thought you were an Indian,” she explained. “I was only trying to see—”

“Ladies in Tennessee make a habit of such?”

“No, they do not.”

He cradled his rifle in the crook of his arm and stood. “Glad you did. If you’d have ridden past, I might have missed your tracks and not caught up with you for a week. As it was, a six-year-old Arapaho could have followed your trail here. You’re a hell of a horsewoman, but not much of a scout.”

“I’ll keep your observations in mind,” she said as she fumbled through her belongings for her fishing line.

Ash chuckled as he followed her downhill to the steep-banked stream. The watercourse wasn’t more than three yards wide, but it was fast-moving and waist deep. Likely there were fish there. If she had the gear to catch a few, so much the better.

Had he been alone, he would have found himself a likely spot, lain on his belly, and tickled a fat trout or two. Catching fish with his bare hands was a trick his daddy had taught him when he was a child. It worked, but it took time. And he didn’t trust Texas Jack Cannon’s woman enough to allow her to stand behind him with all these rocks strewn around.

Maybe he should think about another line of work after he brought Cannon to justice. Ash had never intended bounty hunting to be a permanent occupation. Those who made their living with a gun usually ended up in boot hill before their hair turned gray.

For a few brief seconds he let his mind flash back to the spread he and Becky had carved out of empty prairie near Colorado City. She’d begged him to give up the job, but he hadn’t listened. He worried about having enough money to see them through the winter, and he’d decided to go after one more road agent. The reward on Red Bucky’s head would be enough to pay their bill at the feed store and buy a good bull.

It had been the worst argument they’d ever had, and
he’d rode out and left her crying on the front porch. He hadn’t even kissed her good-bye.

He’d been so sure that he knew what was right, but he hadn’t counted on Cannon’s committing a robbery in Colorado City or on his Becky being a witness to the crime.

He’d gotten his outlaw. He’d brought Red Bucky back, collected the bounty, and bought Becky a music box for her birthday. But when he got home and called her name, nobody answered.

In that one night, Ashton Jefferson Morgan had lost his wife, an unborn child, and everything he’d worked for. Something had died inside him. He’d given up caring about anything but the law and settling his score with Cannon, his brothers, and the rest of the gang.

Ahead of him, Tamsin was breaking off a tree branch to use as a fishing pole. She was a hand taller than his Becky, fox-haired instead of wheat-blond, and striking rather than pretty. Tamsin’s sensual mouth was too bold and her chin too sharp for conventional beauty. But this Tennessee enigma had a glow about her that drew a man’s eye.

He half suspected that Tamsin might be telling the truth about the horses belonging to her. But all the evidence pointed to her being the back shooter who’d killed Sam Steele. As he’d told her, deciding who was guilty and who was innocent wasn’t up to him. All he had to do was serve the warrants and bring the suspects to justice.

Sunlight filtering through the evergreen canopy lit sparks in Tamsin’s tangled locks and stirred something deep in Ash that had best remain sleeping. Losing Becky had hurt him worse than being orphaned at ten, but it hadn’t turned him off women.

Someday, when he’d finished what he’d started, when he’d rid himself of the itch to keep moving, he’d find a
good woman and settle down. He wanted kids, and he wanted a piece of land he could call his own. He didn’t fool himself that he could ever feel about a second wife the way he had for Becky. But plenty of solid marriages were built on respect and friendship. He’d known real love, the kind you’d rush into fire for, and he didn’t look to see it again this side of the hereafter.

He damn sure wasn’t looking for it in a female like Tamsin MacGreggor. If she stirred his nether parts, it was pure lust and nothing more. He was a man with as strong a hunger as any other, but he prided himself on being able to control his physical needs. She was his prisoner. He’d shoot her if he had to, but he’d not take advantage of her.