The Wayward Heart Page 8

  Texas lounged on the blanket, chewing on the biscuits and beef, and occasionally taking a drink from the whisky canteen. Bryony stole glances at him between bites of food. He looked thoughtful, relaxed—as at home out here on this bizarre desert picnic beneath the stars as most people were in their own front parlors.

  His lean face held a strange fascination for her. She’d never met a man like him before. He was so cool and assured about everything, so obviously accustomed to being in command. She owed him a great deal for rescuing her, and she wanted to thank him, but for some reason she didn’t know how.

  He made her feel like a young girl, all shy and tongue-tied. And that was unusual for her, she reflected, for at Miss Marsh’s school she’d always had a reputation for vivacity and high-spiritedness. She was accustomed to flirting and chatting charmingly with every man of her acquaintance. But then, the sheltered life she’d led in St. Louis hadn’t permitted her to meet an extensive number of gentlemen, and certainly none at all to compare with this handsome, steely-eyed stranger.

  Suddenly, his blue eyes lifted, meeting hers with a keen, glinting stare, and to her embarrassment she felt a blush burn her cheeks, and her pulse quickened.

  “Yes, Miss Hill?” There was the faintest note of mockery in his deep voice.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She tried to meet his gaze steadily, though she was conscious that her heart was racing. Being alone in the dark, ghostly desert with him was having a strange effect on her, an effect she didn’t understand at all, but which was oddly exciting. With an effort, she marshaled her straying thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  “Why weren’t you surprised back at Gilly’s when I told you my name? You said that you knew it all along.”

  “Did I?”

  “You know that you did!” Bryony decided to gather her courage and address him squarely. She needed to know precisely what was going on. Concealing her inner trepidation, she schooled her features into an expression of assurance that she hoped matched his own nonchalance, and lifted her chin.

  “I hope you know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I’m very curious. I’d like to know who you are, how you knew my identity and also,” she paused, regarding him thoughtfully, “why you helped me.”

  “Why I helped you?” His eyes glinted suddenly in the moonlight. “Well, it just so happens that I’m not in the habit of raping women, or of looking the other way if someone else wants to do just that. I’m no saint, Miss Hill, but I do draw the line—especially when it comes to naïve little schoolgirls. I like my women wild and willing, and I don’t have much interest in virgins, however pretty they might be. Does that answer your question?”

  “I... how dare you!” she began, forgetting to be afraid of him as indignation swelled within her.

  “Hold on.” He regarded her with a steely expression. “I’m not exactly interested in your opinion of my manners or morals, which I reckon is what you intend to lecture me on. If you don’t like my answers, Miss Hill, maybe you’d best not ask me any questions. It’s time for us to be going anyway.”

  “Wait!” she cried, as he began gathering up the remnants of their meal. “Please—just tell me how you knew my name. I need to know!”

  “Like I said before, I heard in Winchester about your expected arrival. When I saw you at Gilly’s, and learned you’d been grabbed off the westbound stage, I just put two and two together. Your identity was an obvious conclusion. And your predicament—well, let’s just say I wasn’t very surprised.”

  She felt more confused than ever at this last statement. “Not surprised? I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind.” He looked grim. “Reckon I’ve answered enough questions for one night. We’d best get a move on—unless you want to spend the remainder of the night bedding down on this very spot. It’s possible, you know. We could always ride on to town in the morning if you’re unwilling to go on.”

  “Stay here tonight? With you? Alone?”

  He shrugged, his gaze unreadable. “Well, if you’re tired.”

  “No, I’m not tired—at least, not that tired!” Bryony had no intention of sleeping under the stars alone with this all too handsome stranger. She was stunned that he’d even suggested something so improper.

  “I think we’d better go on at once.” She hoped her tone made it clear that she was a lady of propriety, duly shocked by his suggestion. But to her irritation, he only laughed, and began competently repacking his saddle bag with the canteens and blanket.

  “Now that suits me just fine. There’s a pretty little woman in town who’s expecting me to show her a good time tonight. I’d hate to disappoint her.”

  “Oh! Well, then... yes. Of course. Then we certainly must go on,” she said stiffly. But when he turned to help her mount the bay stallion, she stopped him with one hand upon his chest, raising her soft green eyes to him appealingly.

  “Please, just tell me one more thing.” She searched his face.

  “What might that be?” Texas was all too aware of the gentle pressure of her small hand upon his chest. Staring down at the raven-haired beauty before him, he wondered if she had any idea how lovely she was.

  Despite his offhand words a few moments ago, calculated to dismiss her, he knew full well that she was no tame, sniveling schoolgirl to be lightly dismissed. She was a tantalizing female with the striking beauty of a born temptress—and the innocent charm of an angel.

  It was a combination guaranteed to drive every man in the territory wild with desire.

  And, he reflected wryly, just my luck, she’s got the temper of a she-devil to boot.

  He well remembered the fiery wrath with which she’d vowed to resist him or any man only a short while ago, and the way her emerald eyes had burned into his, flaming with passionate hatred.

  The truth was, she seemed as spirited as she was beautiful, and, he guessed, taking in the small, determined chin and the patrician lines of her profile, she was probably stubborn as hell to boot.

  A reluctant smile touched his lips as he studied her.

  She was a true beauty—and different from any woman he’d ever known. No doubt about it.

  “Who are you?” Her words came out as a whisper, echoing softly in the silent desert night, with only the stars as witness to the two people standing so close together beneath the velvet sky.

  Something flickered behind Texas’s eyes. For a moment he said nothing, merely staring at her inscrutably.

  “Who are you?” she pleaded softly.

  “Folks in these parts call me Texas.”

  “Yes. But I want to know your real name. Surely Texas is just a nickname.”

  Suddenly he grasped her by the arms, his tone sharpening. “Reckon that’s enough questions, Miss Hill. If you’re aiming to live long in this part of the country, you’ll have to learn that asking questions about a man’s name or his past can be dangerous. Mighty dangerous. Do you understand?”

  “No. I don’t!” Bryony jerked away, trying to break free from his grip, but she was no match for his strength. Somehow the blanket slipped from her shoulders to crumple in a heap on the ground, leaving her breasts exposed to his view. And still he held her.

  “Let me go!” she gasped. “I only asked because I wanted to thank you and to give you a reward for saving me, but now you can forget about that! I wouldn’t give a penny to a brutal, uncivilized beast like you!” She struggled more fiercely. “Let... me... go!”

  “So you were going to offer me a reward?” Staring down into her upturned face, anger and desire coursed through him and suddenly, before he even realized what he was doing, he pulled her closer yet and stroked his hand through her tumbling black hair. Her body felt warm and soft against his and suddenly his blue eyes flashed with heat.

  “Reckon I’ll just take my reward here and now.”

  And before Bryony had time to do more than gasp, his mouth lowered to hers. Though she struggled, he held her with effortless strength, kissin
g her demandingly—and yet gently. So gently.

  Bryony found that something incredible was happening. She was no longer resisting him. She was aching for him.

  Her body seemed to be melting into his tall, muscular frame. Her lips kissed him back of their own accord. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down.

  Drawing him close.

  His mouth was warm as it moved urgently against hers, and her lips parted eagerly to welcome his kisses.

  Oh, such deep kisses. Arousing kisses...

  Sparks of heat shot through her. So did pleasure.

  Roger had never kissed her like this. Roger had never made her feel like this.

  She wanted to stay here forever. In his arms... kissing him... kissing him forever...

  Or at least for hours, she thought dazedly, her mouth clinging to his.

  Or... maybe days...

  But suddenly he lifted his head, and released her so abruptly she gasped and nearly lost her balance.

  His eyes narrowed as he tipped his hat.

  “Thanks for the reward, ma’am. It sure was my pleasure.”

  And she went still, perfectly still, startled back to reality.

  Texas was smiling at her, with nothing more than amusement in his cool blue gaze.

  What had just happened? What had she allowed to happen?

  Shame burned through her as she realized where she was—what she’d done. With a stranger!

  The delight of the moments before vanished, leaving behind only shame and fury at her own foolishness.

  How could she have been so idiotic? What had she been thinking?

  She’d let him make a fool of her! She gave a stifled gasp, her green eyes sparking.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me again! I never want to see you again!”

  His brows lifted at her outraged expression, and the frantic way she clutched the blanket to her, covering herself once more. He gestured toward Pecos, waiting restlessly beside them.

  “I reckon you need to put up with my company a short while longer, ma’am. We’ll have to ride back to town together, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “No, thank you! I won’t ride anywhere with you!”

  He shrugged, then turned away, mounting the tall bay stallion. Sitting astride the saddle, he gazed down at her. “Suit yourself, little tenderfoot. I don’t have time to put up with your temper tantrums. As I said before, there’s a fine-looking woman waiting for me in Winchester, and I always hate to keep a lady waiting.” With these words, he kicked the horse into motion, and rode off at a fast trot.

  Bryony stood frozen, her mind a blank. Suddenly, it registered that he was leaving, riding off and leaving! She would be alone out here in this wilderness for the rest of the night.

  “Wait!” she shouted after him, beginning to run frantically after the now galloping stallion. “Wait! Please!”

  At first there was no noticeable slowing of the horse, and her heart leaped to her throat as the distance between them widened. Then she saw that the stallion was halting, and the rider turning slightly in the saddle, as if waiting expectantly for her to approach. She took off at a run, stumbling wearily across the darkening desert to where he waited, a cool expression on his face.

  “Yes, Miss Hill?”

  “Take me with you,” she gasped through clenched teeth, breathing hard from the exertion of running. Her legs felt as if they were about to give way.

  “I offered and you refused. Remember? But I reckon that if you were to ask me nicely, I’d give you another chance.”

  Her eyes narrowed with loathing. “Take me with you—please,” she bit out, her eyes flashing.

  “I reckon that’s better.” Reaching down, he hauled her up into the saddle behind him. Once again the bay stallion darted off, his powerful hooves thundering over the level ground.

  Choking back tears of frustration, Bryony forced her tired body to sit very stiff and straight in the saddle, refusing to relax against him in the slightest way. She was determined to avoid any contact that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

  She’d never met such a horrible, arrogant, detestable man in her life.

  She hated him. She hated him with all her heart. The burning memory of his kiss, and her own heated response to it, made her blush scarlet with shame. She was supposed to be a lady. A lady of good breeding and gentle refinement—and ladies didn’t react that way when kissed by dangerous strangers.

  She should have fought him with the last ounce of her strength.

  She should have kicked and screeched and clawed until he gave up and released her.

  But she hadn’t. She’d been swept up by a heated pleasure she’d never known before, and she’d forgotten everything else as waves of delight washed over her.

  She closed her eyes, remembering.

  No man had ever kissed her like that, leaving her breathless and aroused and dizzy.

  And she’d certainly never responded to any man the way she had to him—this hard, handsome stranger, this man called Texas.

  When she thought of the way his eyes had glittered coolly down at her afterward, she almost screamed with mortification. That kiss hadn’t meant anything to him. Not one thing! It had only been a means of humiliating and subduing her, of exercising his superior power.

  She never should have let him touch her. She never should have kissed him back!

  Well, it won’t ever happen again, she vowed to herself. If he ever crossed her path again after tonight, ever dared to touch her, even to speak to her...

  She would purchase a gun as soon as possible. And then, if Texas ever crossed her path again, ever dared to touch her in the slightest way...

  A smile of grim satisfaction played across her lips as she contemplated the vengeful scene, but it didn’t last long as the uncomfortable realities of her situation brought her back to the present with a jolt.

  The night air had cooled considerably, whistling about her body as Pecos’s long legs swallowed up mile after mile of desolate land, and she pulled the blanket snugly across her shoulders. Her body ached dreadfully in places she hadn’t even known existed, and weariness crept over her like heavy, bruising hands, dragging relentlessly at her drooping form.

  Will we ever reach Winchester? she wondered dismally, as tears of pure exhaustion stung her eyes, though her pride kept the racking sobs locked inside her, forbidding her to reveal the extent of her misery to the man riding with her.

  Not that it would make any difference if I did complain, she thought bitterly, blinking back tears. He’d hardly care if I was to drop dead before his very eyes. She bit her lip in silent anguish, and resolutely stiffened her throbbing back, feeling that the traumatic nightmare of this day would never come to an end.

  Before her, the man called Texas rode with hard, set features, his body tense in the saddle. Contrary to Bryony’s beliefs, he was all too aware of her soft body pressed close against him. Despite his outward indifference to her after their kiss, he’d been deeply affected, more affected than he cared to think about. And he didn’t understand why.

  He’d kissed many women in his day, most of them dance-hall girls or saloon women who were experts at pleasing a man, but none of them had ever aroused in him the fierce, unexplainable emotions stirred by this beautiful, raven-haired innocent.

  What the hell?

  Even as they rode, he felt her trembling with the cold, and he longed to stop right there in the midst of the starlit desert, to spread his saddle blanket on the ground and lower her down upon it, to warm her with the heat of his own desire.

  He felt a damned strange urge to comfort her, for he knew she must be exhausted and miserable—and furious with him as well.

  Poor girl, he thought with a frown. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into here. She’s not prepared in any way for life in the west.

  Then the grimness returned to his momentarily softened expression. He remembered angrily who she was and who he was, and he knew that this
was the way it must be. His lips twisted in a hard smile that contained neither mirth nor joy, but only a kind of bitter cynicism.

  So she wanted to know his name, did she? Well, he thought, his eyes darkening, that’s something that Miss Bryony Hill would find out soon enough.

  Chapter Seven

  It was quiet in the hotel, except for the tinny sounds of the piano drifting in from the Silver Spur saloon down the street, accompanied by the faint rumble of voices raised in uproarious merriment. The two men in the deserted hotel dining room stared at their half-filled coffee cups, the coffee long gone cold. Their expressions were troubled and thoughtful as they sat at the little round table, each immersed in their own private contemplations. They couldn’t help glancing every now and then at the fancy brass trunk with its ornate, expensive gold trim, which sat in the corner of the lobby beside the two elegant bandboxes. One of the men, a paunchy, balding, weathered-looking fellow in his late fifties, at last raised his head to gaze at his companion. He sighed.

  “Well, Matt, maybe we’d best try to get some sleep. We can start hunting for her again first thing in the morning, provided you’re willing to give up some of your men to search the mountains.”

  Matthew Richards nodded, regarding the Judge through shrewd black eyes. He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of despair. “Sure, Judge, I’ll let you have a dozen men, if you think that’ll help, but from what those other stagecoach passengers said, those outlaws could be anyone, and they could be hiding out anywhere. I don’t know if we’ll ever find where they’ve taken the girl.”

  Judge Hamilton banged his fist on the table, frustration making the tired wrinkles on his face even more noticeable. “Damn those low-down, chicken-hearted scoundrels!” he cursed, his faded brown eyes sparking with rage. “When I think what they must be doing to that poor, helpless child.”

  “I know, Judge, I know. Hanging’s too good for whoever’s responsible for this,” Richards said. He was a tall, powerfully built man, with thickset shoulders and hips, and suave, handsome features. Above his dark, hooded eyes, heavy black eyebrows gave him a somber appearance, which was further emphasized by his black, curling mustache. There was an aura of power and assurance about him, for although Matt Richards was only thirty years old, he’d built his Twin Bars ranch into one of the territory’s most prosperous spreads, rivaled only by the ranch of the now deceased Wesley Hill.