The Wrangler Read online

  "A little." She packed up her supplies, head bent to her task, and the cascade of her golden hair shimmered in the first rays of the rising sun.

  "Hey, Kit!" Fred dashed around the corner and skidded to a stop on his bare feet. His bright blue eyes were as big as saucers. "Who's that?"

  "Fred, is that a polite way to greet a guest?" She arched a brow at her brother and tucked the medical tin in the crook of her arm. "This is Dakota. He'll be staying with us for a bit."

  "Not long," Dakota emphasized. "Good to meet you, Fred."

  "Gosh, how'd you hurt your arm? It looks real bad." Fred dropped to his knees on the blanket. "Did it bleed a lot?"

  "Some."

  "Are you an outlaw?"

  "No."

  "You look like an outlaw."

  "It's the clothes."

  "It's not the clothes." Fred leaned in to get a better look. "That's a scar over your eyebrow. How'd you get it?"

  "Knife."

  "What about that scar there on your side?"

  "Bayonet."

  "Gosh, is that scar from a bullet?"

  "Fred!" Kit rolled her eyes. "Do I have to say it? You can torture him with questions later."

  "My questions don't torture anyone." Fred flashed a grin, hopped to his feet and headed to the barn.

  "Not true," she called out. "You torture me with them all the time. Sorry about that, Dakota."

  "I survived it."

  She'd noticed the scars too, and that's not all. When she and Dewayne had wrestled him out of his shirt and he'd been bleeding and nearly unconscious, she'd spotted something else—whip marks crisscrossing his back in thick, scarred ridges. She wondered what his childhood had been like. She knew what those scars were from. Her pa had similar marks from his growing up years, inflicted by a cruel father.

  "I have the feeling you've survived a lot of things," she said.

  "Like your doctoring." The sun found him, casting long shafts of gold over him like a loving touch. She'd never seen his face in full daylight. It was softer and younger than she'd assumed. Pleasant lines were carved into the corners of his eyes and bracketed his chiseled mouth.

  "Don't speak too soon," she couldn't help teasing. "You haven't entirely survived yet. There's more doctoring to do. And I'm prescribing bed rest. I'll be back with coffee, a pillow and something to eat. If you argue, I'll only make it worse for you."

  "Lady, I'm good at arguing."

  "So am I." She bounced away laughing, her skirts swirling around her.

  She left him feeling like a man he used to know. Funny how he'd forgotten about that man. Painful to see a glimpse of him now.

  "Hey, Mister Dakota." The boy, maybe twelve, trotted over from the grassy spot where he'd picketed the old bay gelding. "Is that really a bullet wound scar on your chest?"

  "Yep, kid, it was from a bullet. And call me Dakota. Just Dakota."

  "Yes, sir. I'm on horse duty. Kit and I are gonna start a ranch. See where we've already started putting up a fence?" Fred stopped to pluck a strand of grass and stuck it between his teeth. "Hey, I didn't see your horse in the barn. Where is he?"

  "I don't have a horse."

  "Everyone has a horse. Even we got two."

  "I'm down on my luck, kid." His gaze drifted across the way to where Kit stood in front of the tent, where a campfire was smoking. She spoke to a younger girl, clearly her sister. Maybe she was fourteen. He looked away before the past could grab hold of him.

  He really shouldn't stay here. He didn't see how he could leave.

  Chapter Six

  "It was two men and judging by the look of things, last night wasn't the first time they'd visited." Dakota took the time to show her the scuffle of tracks layered on top of tracks and worn into the chalky Montana earth. Knee prints, old splats of tobacco juice, and body impressions where the men had hunkered down on the crest of the hill, leaning on their elbows, stretched out with a perfect view of the yard below.

  Kit shivered. How many times had she felt watched going to draw water or tending the horses? She had to sit down. The grass crackled around her as she sank into it, blinking against the bright sun that slipped beneath her Stetson's brim.

  "How long do you think they've been watching us?" The words croaked out of her too-tight throat, making her sound like a frog.

  "Hard to tell. When did the last rain go through here?"

  "Ten days, maybe more."

  He broke away, stared out at the open plains, the muscles in his jaw bunching. His long, lean shadow fell on the ground in front of her. "Whoever is keeping an eye on you wants something. Three kids staying here alone—"

  "I'm not a kid." She'd be twenty next month.

  "You may as well be. You don't have anyone to protect you."

  "From Tannen?"

  "He's a worry. But there are a lot of bad men in this world. Horse thieves, outlaws, murderers. The only thing men like that respect is a strong arm and a loaded Winchester."

  "Part of me doesn't want to admit that this is serious. I want to stay in denial and pretend we can stick it out here. This is the best home we've had in a long time."

  "Home? You're living out of a tent."

  "But we had a cabin, and we could have that again. Maybe better. Mindy and I have plans for a new house." She plucked a daisy from the grasses. "I promised we would stay here. There would be no more wandering around. I can't break that promise."

  "But this should scare you."

  "It does." She looked out over their land, Chapman land, a sweeping stretch of green and amber prairie studded with wildflowers. She couldn’t see the end of it. It was a stroke of luck Pa had won this place. She wasn't leaving. Somehow she would have to stand up to the threat. "What do you think they want?"

  "There are a few things. For one, that's a quality horse you ride."

  "Blue's a purebred Arabian."

  "And the finest horse I've seen in these parts. Secondly, there's this land. It's prime with a creek, a good well and a spring. Not a lot of quarter sections have their own water source. And then, there's you." He didn't like the twist of his heart when he looked at her, breathing in the faint scent of strawberry, sweet woman and summer. His fingers itched to brush against the gentle curve of her face or push back the soft golden tendrils from her wide-set, honest eyes.

  She's nineteen, he thought. The same age he'd been when his world exploded like a boxcar of dynamite.

  "Me?" Her forehead scrunched up, confused.

  "There aren't many beautiful young women around."

  "I'm not beautiful." A blush crept up her face, turning her a cute shade of pink.

  Oh, she was. "You're vulnerable out here. You don't understand what some men are capable of. Considering these tracks and the confrontation you had with Tannen yesterday, you have to take this seriously."

  "I do."

  Some men saw a woman as property, as something to possess or ruin. His chest cinched at the thought of something happening to her. He had more to say to her, but the grass rustled, drawing his attention. Not a human footstep he heard, he realized. No, not a human presence at all.

  "Dakota? Where are you going?"

  "Stay behind me." He drew his Peacemaker, keeping his senses peeled for sign of predators. She'd been right about mountain lion tracks at the creek, he'd spotted them himself when he'd washed this morning. He kept his pace slow and followed a trail of sunflowers toward a small draw.

  He saw the shadow first, mane rippling in the breeze. The palomino mare startled, hopping backward. Dried blood glinted on her flanks. Looked liked she'd done battle with a wild cat.

  "Did you come looking for help, girl?" He holstered his Colt. He turned his attention to the mare, but Kit remained at the back of his senses. He felt the wonder in her quiet gasp. Felt the lurch of her heartbeat in his own.

  The mare froze too, her nostrils flaring. He gave her time to scent him, and let her feel his calm, his strength. He wanted her to figure out he was the help she was looking for. />
  "Couldn't keep up with the herd last night?" he asked, letting his tone warm and soften like butter in the sun. He opened his heart to her. An eternity passed before the mare took a step closer. He moved in, held out his hands and let her take her time before lowering her head to him.

  He stroked her, felt her fear and pain.

  "She isn't a mustang." He unbuckled his belt nice and slow. "My guess is she used to belong to someone, although how long she's been running with the herd is anyone's guess."

  "Poor thing. It's a wonder she escaped the cat attack."

  "She has a strong will." He looped his belt around the mare's golden neck, patting her reassuringly.

  "It's all right," he said, both with words and spirit. "We'll take good care of you."

  "Yes we will. You're a beautiful girl." Kit's gentle voice rang like a melody, lovely and true, but when she went to touch the animal, the mare shied away, panicked.

  It was all he could do to hold her. His wound hurt something fierce and he was weaker from it than he wanted to admit. This was no time to be weak, not for the horse and not for Kit.

  He'd failed to follow his instincts once, and a girl had died as a result. History was not going to repeat itself. He steeled his spine.

  "She's afraid of me, but not you."

  "Don't worry," he said. "She'll warm up to you."

  "But she already likes you." Kit's gray Stetson shaded her face, but not her dimples. "I'm not used to being second fiddle when it comes to horses, but I've never seen anyone better than you."

  "She's been tame before. It makes a difference."

  "Not that big of a difference."

  Something happened when their gazes met. His chest filled with formidable longing. Partly it was physical—how could he not notice her lithe female form beneath the blue calico dress she wore? But the emotion rolling through him was more substantial than that, more surprising. His heart quickened with light in a place that had been forever dark.

  How about that? His fingers tightened around the belt, as if needing something to hold onto, something to ground him. The last thing he ought to do was fall for her.

  The mare balked, digging in her hooves, resisting him. It dragged his attention away from Kit, and he was glad for it. He focused his thoughts where they belonged—on the horse.

  "Easy, girl." He led her down the slope of prairie to the edge of the yard, where Kit's younger sister bobbed up from boiling water for laundry over the campfire.

  Mindy's face was different from Kit's—oval and girlish, as if womanhood had yet to touch her. Her china doll face was as pale as ivory, unlike Kit's sun-kissed cheeks. She blanched when she saw him, obviously shy, and backed up against the wall of the tent.

  Fred darted out of the tent, a peppermint stick in hand. "Golly, did you catch a wild mustang?"

  "She was running with the herd, but she looks like an Arabian." Dakota kept his voice low.

  "Like Blue." Fred slowed to a stop. "You're holding her with a belt?"

  "It was all I had on hand." He'd been known to lead unbroken horses with nothing but his touch, but he wanted more control over the mare because of her injuries. "Careful not to frighten her."

  "Okay. Does she got a brand?"

  "No." He knew the moment Kit left his side, slipping across the soft grass to the tent and disappearing inside. "Wild herds migrate over the prairie. There's no way of telling where she belongs."

  "She's the prettiest palomino I ever saw." Fred stooped to check out the mare's white socks on dainty, long legs. His straw hat flew off and startled the mare.

  "Easy, girl." Dakota laid his palm against her neck, let her feel how calm he was, how sure. There was no danger here. He got her moving toward the creek. Her flawless dishpan face lifted, her eyes brightened when she spotted the fresh, gurgling water.

  "You sure got a way with horses." Fred trailed after them and leaned against a cottonwood's trunk in the dappled shade. "Is that because you're a horse thief?"

  "I'm no horse thief, kid."

  "Fred!" Kit admonished, sashaying toward him with a bucket in hand.

  "It's all right." Dakota held the mare while she drank deeply. He knew everyone saw him as dangerous, a man with a dark past. They wouldn't be entirely wrong. He eyed the woman. "Are you thinking of helping?"

  "Do you think you can stop me?" She tossed her braid over her shoulder. "I've doctored horses before."

  "I'm starting to see why you don't have any beaus."

  "It's not my fault. It's my choice. There's a difference."

  "Are you sure about that?" He almost laughed. Where that came from, he didn't know. The woman could make him forget about everything—the pain in his arm, the worrisome tracks on the rise, even his past.

  The mare lifted her head, water dribbling from her whiskery lips. She took a moment to study her surroundings—the two horses picketed nearby, the boy licking his peppermint stick, sitting with his back against the tree and the snap of Kit's skirts in the breeze.

  Kit. Behind her the vivid green grass, shimmering cottonwoods and vibrant blue sky framed her, making her the center. The sun seemed to shine only for her.

  "Hey, girl." Kit came closer with the bucket, her dulcet alto rang as sweet as lark song. "I brought you a little grain. Do you remember—"

  The mare swung her head around, interrupting.

  Kit laughed, held out the bucket. "I guess you do. Eat up. Blue and Jack don't mind sharing their food."

  Both horses whinnied, tugging on their picket lines, scenting the air.

  "Apparently they don't agree." She handed him a rope halter.

  He took it, careful not to touch her. She wore no gloves today. He wondered what her touch would feel like on his chest.

  "You two have had your breakfast," she said over her shoulder to the horses. "You're not tempting me with those big, melted-chocolate pleading eyes. Nope, not one bit."

  Kindness. It rang in the notes of her voice. It transformed her into a greater beauty. As much as his bullet wound hurt, it was nothing compared to the lance of pain that rent him dead center when he looked at her.

  He'd never wanted anything before, not since he'd lost everything on that horrible day. He'd vowed never to hold onto anything because it hurt too much when you lost it. That was a vow he'd kept. It was wrong to feel like this for her, but he couldn't stop it.

  The only way out was to leave.

  Get the mare situated, he thought. Make sure the woman and kids are safe, and that's it, you're gone.

  Kit's sweet scent filled his head. It was hard to ignore as he worked the halter into place. The mare only flinching slightly. Yes, she'd been someone's animal once. Perhaps that's why she'd hesitated last night when he'd tried to reach her. Maybe that's why she'd come back to him when she'd needed help. For all he knew, she'd been hurt last night.

  The mare lipped up every last kernel, her whiskery lips working against the bottom of the bucket. Her breath whooshed out in protest.

  "There'll be more later, girl." He led her into the shade of the trees and noticed an extra picket line coiled up, one end tethered to the tree trunk. He tied up the mare good and tight. "Her wounds don't look too deep, but I want to clean them."

  "I have everything you need." Kit gestured toward the tin on the blanket she'd set out for him. "You look really pale. Are you feeling all right?"

  "Fine." His answer came clipped and short. His jaw was set. He didn't look fine.

  "Maybe you should sit this out." She hated to see how shaky he was. "Let me take over."

  "I'm not made that way." His gait was unsteady as he angled across the yard, but the shadow he left on the grass was straight and strong. Spectacular.

  She was only seeing the good in him, which was proof she'd let down her guard far too much. It wasn't hard to figure out exactly how that had happened. Last night's images rolled into her mind. How he'd taken a bullet for her, and he hadn't so much as whimpered when she had taken out the bullet. He was on his feet to
day, when a lesser man would still be in bed.

  "How come you're frowning, Kit?" Fred popped a stalk of grass into the corner of his mouth. "Are you worried because we've only got ten fence posts up?"

  "Something like that." She tugged on his hat brim. "What do you think of our first catch?"

  "I think we're real ranchers now."

  "Exactly." She tried not to think of the men who'd been watching them, but her stomach stayed in a hard knot. She couldn't stop an overwhelming sense of foreboding descending on her like a dark cloud.

  "Hey! Someone's comin'!" Fred cocked his head, listening.

  She listened, too. Sure enough, there was the clomp, clomp of an approaching horse and rider, still out of sight.

  Fred leaped to his feet. "Maybe it's Mr. Mason. He was gonna come get me when it's time to smoke the bear meat."

  The bear. She'd forgotten all about it. She intended to help with the smoking, too. But the horse rounding the rise wasn't the neighbor's. Her heart stopped, recognizing the white gelding.

  "Howdy, Miss." Tannen Sinclair tipped his hat to her. "You and I haven't been formally introduced. You're Kit. I spotted you when I was here seeing your father a while back."

  "I remember." Last night flashed to life in her mind, the memories taking her back to being in Blue's saddle, riding him down the street toward home with the poker winnings tucked in her pocket. The bruising grip on her ankle, the yank as she slipped from Blue's back, the shock of pain when she'd hit the ground. Tannen's boot on her stomach pinning her down.

  I won't be afraid of him, she thought, her chin hiking upward. She was the head of the household now. She could handle this. She could deal with Tannen. "You're not welcome here."

  "Is that any way to greet your neighbor?" He swept off his hat. "Here I've come all friendly like."

  He fashioned the hard corners of his mouth into a slick smile. This morning, wearing denims and a tan muslin shirt, with his dark hair freshly combed and his jaw smoothly shaven, he could almost be mistaken for a decent man. Except for his hard, cold gaze.