Second Chance Cowboy (7 page)

Forcing her lips apart, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and experienced the sweet savor of strawberries. Her arms wrapped around his neck, smashing her breasts against his chest. His mind reeled from the taste of her, and his body almost exploded with his need for her. A soft whimper escaped her throat and brought reality crashing in.

This was Sabrina, the woman who had hurt him, deceived him, and was even now considering marriage with another man. Patrick shoved her away from him. “Damn you! I don’t care who you marry!”

Two quick strides carried him off the porch and to his horse.

T
he spring sun
warmed Patrick’s back as he rode to the Big C. His horse, as if sensing his reluctance, plodded along slowly. He dreaded this meeting. After acting like a fool yesterday, he had forgotten to tell Sabrina about Matt. But all logic had fled when he heard Trey asking her to marry him. All thoughts of Matt had fled. He had wanted to hurt Sabrina, inflict some of the pain and frustration he felt.

If she wanted to be Trey’s wife, that was her decision. One she would have to live with. Later, on his ride home, he had remembered the reason for his visit.

Now he had no choice. The cattle were rounded up, ready to head out in two days, hopefully without Sabrina. Somehow, someway, he had to convince her to stay in Sherwood. She had to realize that she could trust him with her cattle and the money they would bring. After yesterday and with Matt unable to go, he could only hope she had regained her senses.

Riding into the Big C, he pulled up in front of the same veranda that had sheltered the punishing kiss the day before. Yes, he had kissed her hard, and no, he wouldn’t apologize. Part of him wanted to brand her with more than just his lips.

Sabrina stood in the doorway, her face drawn together in a frown; no greeting was forthcoming from her lips. Obviously, she was not happy to see him. A gust of wind wrenched the door from her hand, and it banged against the house like a gong announcing his arrival. Patrick watched her flinch from the noise, and still she said nothing.

The morning sun reflected off her blonde hair, creating a halo illusion around her face. Patrick knew firsthand, this was no angel. Defiant and proud, she stood before him, her chin stubbornly protruding. He had acted brutish, and she was going to make him pay.

“Good morning.” Patrick swung a leg over the saddle, dropping off his horse. Slowly he walked up the veranda steps, his spurs jingling as he moved. Birds chirped in the cottonwoods; a bee hummed around the roses, and Sabrina’s silence wore on. When he was within inches of her, he gazed into her cold blue eyes. There was no polite invitation to come in. “I found Matt.”

“I know,” Sabrina retorted. “Trey told me.” Momentarily stunned, Patrick arched an inquiring eyebrow at her. “How did Romeo know?”

Lilacs and honeysuckle. The sweet fragrance filled his senses, tantalizing him, making him yearn to bury his face in her hair.

Her eyes never blinked as she returned his gaze. “His name is Trey. He spoke with Matt before he left town.”

“Matt didn’t leave town.” Tiny blonde wisps beckoned gently in the breeze around her face. His hand wanted to reach out and catch them, hold them, caress them. He had to quit thinking about her like this.

“How do you know?” Sabrina asked, disbelieving.

Patrick raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I spoke with him the night of the funeral. He can’t leave town.”

A look of puzzlement crossed Sabrina’s face. “Then why didn’t he come to the funeral? Why hasn’t he come home?”

Patrick’s voice was soft, gentle. “He couldn’t”

Sabrina shook her head in amazement “I don’t understand.”

How could he explain it to her, convince her of the truth regarding Matt? No matter what he said, she was not going to believe him. Patrick gently lifted her hands and pulled her over to the table. “Sit down.”

Reaching up, he removed his hat setting it on the table. Once again, he wanted to beat some sense into that low-life brother of hers. Matt was about to hurt her again, and once more he was involved. Why was it always the two of them? “Matt told me he had a fight with your father.”

“I know. Dad wouldn’t tell me what it was about” Sabrina’s hostile expression had changed to one of concern.

All Patrick could tell her was the truth, even if it was painful. “The argument was over Matt being in debt to Carson. He lost money playing cards and Carson loaned him more.”

Sabrina gasped, but Patrick didn’t stop. “He can’t go on the cattle drive because Carson has forced him to work at the Cactus Spread until the money’s repaid.”

At first Sabrina appeared to be in shock; then suddenly tempestuous blue eyes turned and stabbed him. Her voice was intense. “Don’t you dare lie to me! Not now when everything is at stake.” Her voice raised to almost a shout. “Matt would never work for Carson!”

“He doesn’t have a choice!” Patrick ran his hands through his hair. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me so I asked Matt to come and talk with you, but he wouldn’t. He can’t face you yet. That’s why he didn’t show up at the funeral.”

“I don’t believe you. After all, I’ve been through, why are you lying to me? Matt would never do this! He’s my brother! He wouldn’t hurt me this way.”

Patrick watched the tears well up in her eyes and wanted to pulverize Matt. How could Patrick make her believe him when belief brought such pain? How could he hurt her? “Trey knows Matt’s working for his father. Go ask him.”

“If it were true, Trey would have told me yesterday that Matt was working for his father. Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know. He’s about to become your fiancé. You ask him. My word has never meant much to you!” Patrick sat back in the chair feeling drained. Trust never seemed to take root between them. “Believe what you want, Sabrina, but Matt’s not going on the cattle drive, and I don’t want you to go either.”

Sabrina jumped up. “That’s what this is all about. You don’t want me or Matt to go on the cattle drive. You want to take my money, just like the money you—”

“Damn it, woman! I didn’t steal from your father, and I won’t steal from you. I’m one of the few people you can trust. But you can’t see that.” Patrick clenched his fists, trying to gain control of his anger, his frustration, and his hurt. Jed had been his friend. He wanted more than anything to tell her Matt had stolen the money, but she would never believe him. Patrick was tired of listening to her rationalization of Matt.

Stunned, Sabrina sat back down. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t meant to accuse him of stealing. Too much was happening too fast. She tried to cover her mistake. “You misunderstood, Patrick. I don’t think, you’d steal—”

“The hell you don’t. Ever since that damned trial you haven’t trusted me. Why should now be any different?” Patrick rumpled his hair again.

Sabrina hung her head. He was right; she didn’t trust him. She couldn’t. If she trusted him, that would mean she had been wrong about Matt, wrong about everything.

Patrick shook his head. “I will
not
be accused of stealing.” Patrick stood up. He had to get away from Sabrina. “They’re your cattle; you’re going. This way you won’t have any grounds to accuse me of cheating you!”

Sabrina stared mutely at Patrick. He was agreeing to what she wanted. She should be happy, but instead she felt numb.

“I’d better not hear a single word of complaint from you or I’ll send you home on the nearest stagecoach.”

Patrick picked up his hat and crammed it on his head. “I’ll pick you up at dawn Monday. Be ready!”

M
att leaned
against the wooden barn door and watched Trey’s black mare kick dust up as he rode into the yard at full speed. Jumping down, Trey threw the reins at a stable hand standing near the barn, stuttering orders for him to take care of his horse. With a determined stride, he hurried toward the house. Matt, hidden in the shadows of the barn, recalled the last time he had seen that panicked expression on Trey’s face.

When Patrick caught them rustling cattle, Trey’s face had gone completely white; his green eyes had gotten bigger than lily pads in a pond, and his voice had stammered with fright.

Trey had left earlier to visit Sabrina today. Could something have happened at the house? Patrick had found Matt several days after his father had died and told him that Sabrina was considering going on the cattle drive, but he hadn’t believed him. The ranch had always prospered and Matt didn’t believe the rumors that the Big C was in financial trouble.

Sabrina had always been a stubborn woman, and she loved the Big C. Why wouldn’t she let Patrick take the cattle to Dodge City? Hell, she’d been in love with the man two years ago.

Matt stared at the door that slammed behind Trey. Could Sabrina be hurt? She was his only sister, the only family he had left in this world. He had to know what Trey was so upset about.

With deliberate steps, Matt followed Trey at a discreet distance into the house. The hinges on the wooden door creaked as he slipped inside. Matt sneaked into the parlor just in time to see Trey storm into his father’s office, leaving the door hanging open.

“She’s gone!” Trey shouted.

“What?” Carson’s deep voice questioned.

“Sabrina! She went on that damn cattle drive with Patrick. I thought she was bluffing, but she went!”

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. She’d done it. Why was he surprised? She loved their ranch, more than he had, and would do whatever was necessary to save it. He had mistrusted Patrick and now Sabrina was out on the trail doing the job Matt should have been doing since he was the man of the family.

“Sabrina went with Patrick?” Carson questioned.

“She left early Monday, according to her housekeeper.”

Matt heard Trey’s boot heels clicking on the wooden floor as he paced the room.

“I’m going after her. Patrick will use this as an opportunity to worm his way back into her good graces. I have to stop him,” Trey snarled.

“Why is this so important, son?”

“She’s going to be my wife,” Trey insisted. “I told you after the dance that I was going to have her.”

“That may be so, but will you still want her after she’s been on the trail for several days with Patrick?”

“There’s still time. Nothing would have happened yet.” Trey’s voice was loud and vibrant.

“How can you be so sure?” Carson asked.

“I just know it, and I’m going after her.”

“I’ll send someone else after her, son.”

Trey shouted, “No! I’m going.”

“You’re not going!” Carson’s voice was firm and strong, as if he were talking to a disobedient child. A ripple of fear edged its way down Matt’s spine.

There was a lengthy pause before Trey asked, “Why?” Carson cleared his throat “That drive isn’t going to reach Dodge City. I need the Callahan land. I didn’t have Jed Callahan killed just to see his daughter save the Big C.”

Pain clenched Matt’s gut and he wanted to vomit as he heard those dreadful words.
His father. The man he was working for had killed his father.

“I told you the land would be yours after I married her,” Trey advised.

“I’m not taking any chances. When I win, she’ll have even more reason to marry you.” Carson’s voice was low and taut.

“What have you done?” demanded Trey.

“I sent Redd and some of his men after them.”

“Damn!” Trey shouted.

“I didn’t know she would be on that drive, son. Like you, I never thought she would go.”

“Just like you thought that Patrick was dead when you killed his family,” Trey exclaimed. “You really botched that job.”

“I may have missed the first time, but I won’t have to worry about him much longer. Patrick will not be coming back to Sherwood.”

“I’m going after her.”

“Trey, you’re not thinking straight. Let me send someone after her. If you get caught, you’ll never be governor.”

“Do you think I care? That’s your dream, not mine. It never has been mine. I only went along with it to please you.”

“It may have been my dream, but you’re going to live it!” Carson’s voice was taut with anger. “No woman is worth risking your reputation over.”

“You may not think so, but I want her to be my wife! I don’t want Patrick to have her.” Trey’s voice was passionate.

A long silence filled the air. The creaking of Carson’s leather chair and the shouts of the men working outside were the only sounds besides the thumping of Matt’s heart. He silently prayed he was the only one who could hear it beating.

Finally, Carson’s stem voice replied, “Don’t ruin my plans. I’ve already gotten you out of trouble once. If you must have this girl, then get her. But be quick about it! ”

“I’m going to marry her!” Trey’s voice was determined.

Matt couldn’t listen anymore. Slowly, anger replaced the shock. There would be hell to pay for the death of his father, and he’d see Trey buried six feet under before he’d let him marry his sister. Quietly, he slipped out. Nightfall was only a few hours away. A few hours to prepare for his getaway.

S
weat trickled
down Sabrina’s aching back, gluing her shirt to her hot skin. Cattle bawled as they slowly moved along the trail, dust rising in fountains from their hooves. Even a handkerchief, worn below her eyes, failed to keep the gritty stuff out of her mouth and nose.

They had been on the trail almost a week. A week of sore muscles, breathing dust, and adjusting to life on the trail. She began where all rookies start, the worst position on the drive, the very end, or drag. She breathed all the dust, chased strays, and generally was the last one into camp in the evening. Most days started before daylight and ended at dusk. Her only exceptions for being a woman were she didn’t have night duty and she slept in the chuck wagon.

Occasionally Patrick would check on her, but most of the time he was out scouting or leading the drive. The cowboys, while polite, usually kept their distance. Only Tom, the horse wrangler, and Buckets had spent any time talking to her.

As the evening sunset, Sabrina rode tiredly into camp. The fire from Buckets’ camp burned brightly in the early evening sky, like a welcoming beacon. The wood crackled and popped as flames danced beneath the pot of beans on the fire. Sabrina unsaddled her horse, giving it a small ration of oats before she turned it loose in the remuda.

After a full day in the saddle, she limped into the circle of light given off by the fire and gently eased her tired aching muscles to the ground. Buckets brought her a plate of beans.

“Still sore, Sabrina?” Buckets asked.

“Only in one major spot,” she replied wearily.

“I could let you borrow some horse liniment if you’d like,” spoke up Tom. “I could show you how to rub it in . . . .”

Tom stammered as he realized his error. Snickers permeated the night air as Sabrina felt blood rush to her face.

“I mean, you know how to rub it in.” The snickers turned into loud chuckles as Tom tried to redeem himself. “I’m sorry, Miss Sabrina; I didn’t mean no disrespect.”

“It’s okay, Tom.” The poor boy’s face was the color of the flames from the camp fire. Sabrina was sure the other men would not let him forget this slip of the tongue for a long time.

“Hey, Tom would you rub some of that horse liniment on me?” Shorty asked, his voice cracking with laughter. The other men chortled at his suggestion.

The crunch of approaching boots against the ground brought their laughter to a halt. Sabrina gazed up from her plate of beans into Patrick’s stern countenance. He glanced from Shorty to Tom, his expression hostile. A quiet uneasiness filled the air as the men suddenly found the beans on their plates interesting.

“Did I miss something?” he asked quietly. From his demeanor Sabrina knew he had overheard the exchange. No one moved. No one spoke.

Patrick stood, waiting, until finally he spoke. “We’re going to camp here a couple of days and stock up on supplies in Fort Griffin.” He paused before continuing. “Two shifts will go into town. The first five will be Sabrina, Buckets, Tom, George, and me. When we get back, the rest of you can go.”

The tone of his voice discouraged any arguments. “I suggest everyone turn in early tonight and get a good night’s rest. I’ll take first watch.” Patrick strode off toward his horse.

The scraping of plates filled the camp area as the men hurriedly finished their dinners in anticipation of their bedrolls. Soon, only the soothing crackle and pop of the wood could be heard.

“Miss Sabrina, before we turn in, could you read us one of those stories out of that book you carry?” Tom asked quietly.

An avid reader, Sabrina carried a book with her wherever she went. This trip was no exception. She had attempted to read several times around the camp fire, but soon her eyes became blurry and heavy. She had managed a page at the most.

“Well... Patrick did say to get to bed early.” Unable to resist, Sabrina pulled out the latest dime novel she had picked up. “I guess a few pages couldn’t hurt.”

Sitting as close to the fire as she could without burning herself, she began to read aloud to the men. Soon the story wrapped its magic around them and the outside world ceased to exist. There was only the story.

Lost in the words, Sabrina jumped as suddenly the book was jerked from her hands. Fear pumped through her blood, freezing her with fright. Stunned, she gazed up at an enraged Patrick. “Lord! You scared me,” she gasped.

Grabbing her arm, Patrick hauled her to her feet. “I said, get some rest. Not
entertain
the men. I expect you to obey my orders just like everyone else.”

Before she could reply, he commanded, “The party’s over. Everyone hit the sack. Now!” Men jumped at the sound of his voice, quickly spreading their bedrolls.

Sabrina stood by his side, his hand still around her arm. Embarrassment flooded her face. In front of everyone, he had scolded her like a child, adding to her humiliation.

Incensed, Sabrina bit the inside of her lip, stilling her tongue from screaming at him. He dragged her to the wagon, situated a short way behind the men’s bed rolls. Reaching it, he flung her arm away from him, as if touching her repulsed him.

She hissed. “They asked me to read.”

“I gave the order to rest.” Patrick’s voice was taut and low with barely repressed rage.

Sabrina glared at Patrick, trying to rein in her anger, wanting to scream obscenities at the overbearing bully. Arms crossed, her foot tapping a fast rhythm, she fought for control of her temper.

“Get in the wagon!” he demanded.

Realizing the men were within hearing distance Sabrina, already embarrassed and seething with rage turned her back on the domineering tyrant and climbed up into the wagon.

Patrick stood rooted to the ground. Sabrina’s shapely derriere was within inches of his face. The air from his lungs was suddenly sucked out as he watched her tight-fitting, form-clinging pants ascend into the wagon. Few women looked good in pants; few women looked good dusty; few women were so enticing sitting beside a fire reading.

He’d been livid when he came back to camp to refill his canteen and found Sabrina surrounded by men as she read to them. Their rapturous expressions as they listened to her soft, sultry voice had sent jealousy flowing through his veins.

For the last week he had avoided her but been painfully aware of her presence at the same time. Everywhere he turned, it seemed as though he found her. And every day he searched for, looked for, and tried to resist her. She was driving him crazy.

Buckets had been a tremendous help. Patrick had asked him to watch over her and demanded he give up the chuck wagon for her privacy. There was no way he was going to allow her to sleep outside with the men, especially if he had to be away from camp. These were decent men, but they were men, and she was all woman. The longer they were on the trail, the lonelier they would become; and soon, who she was wouldn’t matter.

Rustling noises came from inside the wagon as she shuffled boxes around. Intent on going back to the drive, he strode off around the side of the wagon. A flicker of light from a lamp being lit caught his attention. Glancing back, he felt as if his breath were knocked out of him.

Silhouetted against the canvas of the wagon was Sabrina. The shadow of her womanly shape slowly unbuttoned her shirt, pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and dropped the shirt to the floor. Next her hands went to her waist. Mesmerized, Patrick stared as the image on a canvas bent to remove its pants and lay them aside. Taking a deep breath to ease his pounding heart, he heard water splashing in a pan.

The shadow dipped a rag into the water and brought the cloth up to her face, down her neck, to her chest. A picture flashed through his mind as he imagined the cloth caressing her creamy breasts. Was he really seeing the image on canvas or was his mind playing tricks on him?

A small voice inside his head said to walk away, don’t look back. But he couldn’t move. Rinsing out the cloth, Sabrina ran it down her arms, across her middle. She lifted her leg, propping it up, and proceeded to bathe each leg in turn. In the chilly night air, Patrick sweated; his heart pounded and the heat from his body was hot enough to set off fireworks.

Sounds of splashing water told him she was again rinsing her rag. Paralyzed, he watched as the reflection on canvas moved in the most erotic way. Slowly, the cloth was brought in between her legs, clearly washing her most intimate spot. A low moan escaped his throat.

Patrick licked his dry lips and tried to walk away, but the vision before him was too compelling. Bewitched, he stood enthralled by the sheer beauty of watching the canvas shadow. The urge to crawl into that wagon and drive himself into her most intimate spot threatened to overcome him as he fought to conquer his desire.

Suddenly the lamp was extinguished, and the siren on canvas disappeared, leaving a spellbound Patrick. Inside was a woman that, no matter how he tried to deny it, moved him like no other woman before her or since. His body pulsated from the mere thought of her. He ached for her!

On shaky legs, he moved to the front of the wagon. Abruptly, the curtain opened; and before Patrick could move, cold water hit him full in the face. Just as quickly, the curtain shut again. Water trickled down his face over his shirt, and down his trousers. Shock coursed through his veins, cooling his ardor, stilling his desire

Patrick reached up and swiped the soapy water from his eyes and nose. “Damn!”

P
atrick examined
the small frontier post—a small, dreary army town, full of buffalo hunters and saloons. Everywhere you looked, there were stacks of buffalo hides waiting to be transported by freighters to the railroad.

The stench of hides, mixed with dust, filled the air. Never again would he complain about the smell of cattle dung. The streets were filled with people walking or riding down Main Street. A wagon passed, its wheels kicking up dust. At the mercantile, Patrick dismounted, tethering his horse to the hitching post. Stepping up on the wooden sidewalk, he looked around at the small group. “Sabrina, go with Buckets. I’m going to speak with the colonel. Meet back here in two hours.”

Patrick watched the group head off in separate directions. Buckets would watch over Sabrina, keeping her out of trouble.

He strode in the direction of the army garrison up the street. When he reached the headquarters, he stepped into the colonel’s office. Patrick looked at the young man seated behind the desk. “I want to speak with the colonel, please.”

An eager cadet took his name. The young man disappeared behind a closed door. Seconds later a loud shout came from inside the office. “Send him in.” Patrick smiled as the young man rushed out of the office and motioned him in. Inside, the colonel hurried around his desk and clapped Patrick on the back.

“Damn, Shand! It’s good to see you. About time you came to see this old man.”

“I had no idea you were still here, you old cuss. I guess the army, let’s just about anyone run a fort now-a-days!”

“Especially if it’s out in godforsaken country like this. Sit down, boy.” The colonel settled behind his desk.

He motioned for Patrick to take a seat across from him. He cleared his throat and a sad expression crossed his face. “I’m sorry about your family. They were about the best friends I had out here and I miss'em.”

“Me, too.” Patrick pushed down the melancholy feeling he always felt when his family was mentioned.

“Did you ever find out which band of Indians killed them?”

“Indians didn’t murder them,” Patrick replied, bitterness evident in his voice.

A puzzled look crossed the colonel’s face. “What makes you say that?” the colonel questioned. “At the time, we were having trouble with the Comanche.”

“Comanche’s don’t ride ponies that wear shoes, and Dad had always gotten along with the Kickapoo. He’d just given Chief Black Bear cattle to feed his tribe for the winter.”

The colonel stopped and considered Patrick’s words. “Good point.” He leaned back in his chair. “But who would have had a reason to kill them?”

“Ever heard of a man named Carson Jarvis?”

“Isn’t he that fellow who owns the Cactus Spread ranch just west of your land?”

“That’s the one. Two years ago, when I was a ranger I arrested his son for cattle rustling. I can’t help but wonder if they were killed out of revenge.”

“You know, I received a letter from your mother about a month before she died.” The colonel rose from his chair. “Let me see if I still have it.”

Excited, the colonel strode over to a safe in the corner of his office. Twirling the dial, he opened the strongbox and pulled out an envelope. He walked over to Patrick and handed him the letter.

“It’s nothing but a letter, but in it your mother told me someone was trying to buy your ranch. Your father had refused their offer and she was worried this person wouldn’t take no for an answer.” The colonel sighed. “This was the last correspondence I had with your family.”

Patrick looked at the envelope with his mother’s handwriting scrawled across the front and felt his chest tighten with pain. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

“No, son. Your mother was about the nicest lady I’ve ever known.”

“I miss her.” The words slipped out before Patrick had a chance to stop them. Damn, he would find her killer and avenge her. The familiar feelings of grief hit him full force.

“
N
ice night
,” Patrick said as he walked into the light of the fire.

Sabrina sent him a look that, if her eyes had been a shotgun, would have filled him full of lead. Turning her attention back to the campfire, she ignored him.

“About last night. You can’t be . . . ah—” He paused and rubbed his hand across his face.

“If this is about my reading that story . . . .”

“No!” he interrupted. “From now on, when you take your bath, take it in the dark. I don’t need my men to see your charms displayed against the canvas of the wagon.”

Puzzled, Sabrina asked, “What are you talking about?”

“The lantern! Every move you make is silhouetted from the light of the lantern on canvas.”