Rachel Donnelly (27 page)

A sudden and unaccountable rush of pleasure turned her cheeks warm. So he had decided to make an appearance after all. She might have walked over to make her presence known, if not for the rigid set of his shoulders.

Instead, she veered the other way.

Likely he was still angry with her for pressing him into going ahead with the fiesta. Oh well, no matter. It was done, and as far as she was concerned, a complete success.

What could be more fun than dancing the flamenco under the stars? Inez’s lessons and Antonio’s persistence had paid off. Christie smiled. She was having the night of her life. If Nat chose to brood and mope instead of enjoying himself, that was his concern. She wasn’t about to let him spoil her evening.

As it turned out, hours passed before she saw him again.

He appeared when Inez came to hug Christie goodnight.

Morena stood behind them, urging Inez along like a clucking hen. “To bed, to bed, there will be much to do in the morning.”

Nat’s voice drew them apart. “Saying goodnight so soon,
niña
? No wonder Heriberto’s face looks so long.”

Inez detached herself from Christie, gushing, “There you are! I have not seen you all night since you showed me the little cabin. It is the best present you could give us. Heriberto is so pleased.”

“I’ve been busy,
querida
.” Nat said, as Inez embraced him. “But I hope you’ve had a good time.”

Christie firmed her lips in annoyance. He could have spent more time at the fiesta. There were guards patrolling the entire property. But instead he must do everything himself — arrogant scoundrel.

Inez’s mouth dropped to a petulant pout. She looked at her mother, then back to Nat. “I cannot go to bed yet. Not until we have danced. Is that not so, Señor Randall?”

“Inez!” Morena waggled one long brown finger at her. “You are too bold. The Señor has just told you he is very busy. If he had time to dance with you he would.”

The timbre of his throaty chuckle snaked up Christie’s spine like a warm tongue. “Come, we’ll dance, but then it’s off to bed.” He led her away by the hand.

Christie strolled to where Ellie and Roscoe stood a few feet from the dancers, conversing with Holt. She wasn’t about to miss this, not after listening so often to Inez crow about Nat’s skill on the dance floor.

But discovering Inez was right didn’t have the effect she hoped. His confident grace soon made her wish she was the one gliding in his arms to the strains of the Spanish guitars.

She shifted her gaze away, only to meet Ellie’s half-knowing smile. “He’s a very good dancer, don’t you think?”

Christie shrugged. “I suppose.”

As luck would have it, Holt became afflicted with a powerful thirst, allowing her to adjourn to the buffet tables for refreshment as well. They laughed over one of Holt’s trail stories while sharing a glass of sangria.

She could breathe again.

“Well, I’d better relieve Evans before he falls asleep again.” Holt excused himself halfway through one of his tales.

Christie turned from the buffet table to discover Nat striding toward her.

Her mouth went dry.

She wanted to call Holt back.

But before she could think of a reason to do so, he’d disappeared through the trees.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done for Inez,” Nat said stiffly. “She’s very happy.”

“Of course.” Christie took a stumbling step back, shocked by the compliment. “I realize it wasn’t the best time.”

“No. It wasn’t.” He leaned toward her and gave her a sniff. “You’re not drunk again, are you?”

“Not yet.” She stepped away. “I’ve only had two glasses of sangria. And as you know, it takes al least three and a kidnapping to accomplish that.”

“It must have been the dancing that threw me off,” he drawled.

Had she embarrassed him? It was difficult to read his mood in the darkness. She wanted to point out that if he’d been there to keep her company, she wouldn’t have had to dance with Antonio or sidestep his sweaty advances. “You didn’t think I could dance?”

“It usually requires Spanish blood, or copious amounts of alcohol to move like that.” His hot gaze licked over her, making her heart race.

“Inez is a very good teacher.” She shrugged, telling herself she didn’t care what he thought. “I hear you’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

“A waltz is a long way from the flamenco.”

“I’m sorry if my dancing upset you.” It was a lie of course. In truth, she was secretly pleased.

“It’s not up to me if you want to make a spectacle of yourself.” His lips curled disdainfully. “You’re hardly the first. Every puta in the neighborhood has thrown themselves at Antonio.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Her cheeks went hot.

Was he jealous?

Or just angry that she’d made a fool of him?

Well!

He could gnash his teeth and jump up and down for all she cared. It served him right for ignoring her all evening.

She thought she saw a flicker of remorse pass over his face.

With the grace of a hummingbird, she glided away.

• • •

A ray of sunlight leaked through between the curtains, slicing across Christie’s pillow, forcing her awake long before she wished. When her eyes fluttered open, the first thing she spied was the yellow muslin gown lying at the end of her bed. She glowered at the offending garment, pledging never try to please Nat Randall again.

The easiest way to do that would be to return to Murdock on the first stage. But Nat was unlikely to approve with the Everetts lurking about. She tossed the bedcovers aside, then padded to the French doors to let in the morning breeze.

Just as she did, Inez appeared. “Antonio is disappointed,” she said, hustling about to lay out Christie’s clothes. “Señor Randall says it is not safe to take morning rides until the Everetts are caught.”

Christie felt like a bird in a cage, flapping at the wire with no hope of escape. But she managed a mild reply. “Have you seen Señor Randall this morning? I need to speak with him.”

“No,” Inez breathed. “He has gone with Señor Holt to the south pasture where twenty longhorns were found killed. They left very early and did not say when they will return. But do not worry. Every vaquero on this rancho is out on patrol. We are safe.”

Christie didn’t feel safe.

She fretted all morning, not so much for herself, but for Nat. He was right. The Everetts were out there somewhere, waiting for their chance to kill him. Butchering twenty head of cattle was the perfect distraction to lure Nat out into the open. It had to be them. Who else would do such a thing?

She should have listened to him.

If only she hadn’t been so bull-headed — so set on getting her way.

Pacing alone in her bedchamber did little to ease her mind. She made her way downstairs to see if she could help Morena and Inez clean up, but arrived to discover the work already done.

Christie meandered restlessly down the hall, then out the door to the verandah. But the sunshine and heady scent of roses, which usually smelled so sweet, failed to give her pleasure.

The stable and the barn appeared deserted today, no clangs from the blacksmith’s anvil — no male laughter drifting from the bunkhouse. All was still and quiet save the chirps of the birds in the trees, or the distant occasional low of a cow. Every able-bodied man was out on alert.

Two illiterate outlaws had put a thousand acre rancho under siege.

That meant no more morning rides, an especially frustrating turn of events since Antonio had informed her last night Nat had proclaimed Little Dancer sound and ready to ride. She’d been itching to get up on her back every since she’d laid eyes on her.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to pay the mare a visit — bribe her with a sugar cube or two. It might serve as a distraction — take her mind off Nat.

Christie hastened back inside to pilfer the crystal bowl on the sideboard, then strode back out the door.

The pungent odor of manure mingled with fresh hay seemed stronger than usual as she made her way down the tunnel of stalls. Apparently, guarding the rancho had taken precedence over mucking out the stables today.

Little Dancer lifted her nose and nickered before Christie reached the end of her stall.

“Ah, so you haven’t forgotten me.” She reached into the pocket of her pale green cotton gown. Little Dancer scooped the sugar off the palm of her hand in one lick. “I supposed I’d better give you a good brushing while I’m here.” She grabbed a brush hanging from a nail on the wall. “I can hardly ride you in that lovely riding habit Inez has taken such care altering when you’re in such a state.”

Little Dancer stood perfectly still while Christie edged up beside her in the stall. But as soon as she began to brush, the mare stuck her nose in her pocket. Christie laughed. “Stop that, you greedy imp.”

“I see you’re spoiling her already.” The sound of Nat’s voice stilled the brush in her hand.

Christie looked up to find him leaning over the stall with his grey Stetson tilted back on his head. Heat rushed over her cheeks, more from the pleasure of finding him safe, than the chastisement in his tone. She searched his face for any signs of animosity, but found none. “She likes to be brushed.”

“These are working animals, not park ponies.”

“I suppose that’s what you think I am — a park pony, meant for waltzes, not exotic dances under the stars.” When he didn’t rise to the bait, she returned to the task of brushing the mare’s flank. “I can’t ride her like this.”

“It protects her from the spurs.”

“I don’t wear spurs, and if you brushed Diablo more often you wouldn’t need them either.”

“Is that so?” He sounded amused. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me,” he drawled. “But I can’t seem to fit stable-boy into my list of chores.”

She ducked under the mare’s head to reach her other side. “From the look of this stall, I don’t think it was on anyone’s list of chores.”

“There’s a fresh pile of hay right there,” he said nodding his head. “Be my guest. We’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”

“Yes, Inez told me about the cattle,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He gave a curt nod. “So am I.” His voice turned low and hard — edged with something dangerous.

She remembered the man he’d shot dead in the saloon. Fear slid down her throat to land in her belly like a stone. “So you think it was the Everetts?”

Nat swept off his hat, dropping it on the post between the stalls. “Hard to say. Holt’s up there now, looking for tracks.”

Her belly twisted. The thought of him leaving again so soon to face untold dangers made her legs go weak. Somehow it hadn’t mattered that the Everetts had the ranch under siege, because Nat would be there — they’d be together and somehow he’d be safe. But Holt’s tracking meant the tables would turn. Nat would leave, and might never come back. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t convinced you to go ahead with the fiesta … ”

“I should have put a few men out there last night, instead of concentrating all my attention on the house. But it seemed the obvious target.”

He was letting her off easy, when they both knew going through with the fiesta had been her idea. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for the terrible things he’d said. Maybe he just wanted to leave with a clean slate?

But now fear for his safety had wiped away all that hurt. She didn’t care about last night. She’d forgive him anything, if only he wouldn’t go. But she knew him well enough to know nothing she said would stop him. She drew in a long trembling breath. “What will you do if you catch them?”

“They’ll hang.”

Christie felt the blood drain from her face. He said it so matter of fact, as though taking a life meant nothing at all. “Without a trial?”

His mouth flattened in a thin line below his glittering blue eyes. “A man comes on another man’s property and kills twenty head of his cattle — that’s all the justice he deserves.”

She shivered. “I’ll never understand such violence.”

“Maybe not, but that’s the way it is here. So you might as well get used to it.” His tone turned cynical again. “All of your organizing and high principles can’t change that.”

“I wouldn’t begin to try,” she flung back. “It would be a waste of my breath to try to talk sense into a man as stubborn as you.”

He flashed a slow, heart-stopping smile. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t help but smile back. “I do believe you are the most pig-headed man I’ve ever met.”

He chuckled. “Well that makes us even then, doesn’t it, because you’re the sassiest woman I ever met.”

“But not the boldest.” She lifted the latch on the stall, to sashay around him. After replacing the brush on its nail, she turned back around with her hands on her hips. “I’d say Delia’s girls have that one all sewn up.”

He sauntered closer, pinning her with his cool blue gaze. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You can speak your mind when you want to.” He lifted a curl dangling at the side of her cheek. “But somehow I don’t seem to mind so much. Must be those brandy eyes.” His hand trailed down the line of her jaw until he held her chin in his hand. “I never thought you could get drunk looking into a woman’s eyes. But sometimes when I look into yours, I believe I can.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t get so close,” she whispered.

“You wouldn’t say that to Antonio,” he breathed against her neck.

She shivered. “I wouldn’t allow myself to be alone with him, if that’s what you mean.”

Nat brushed the back of his hand along the side of her cheek. “But you trust me?”

There was plenty of air sweeping down the narrow tunnel of stalls, yet for some reason she couldn’t breathe, so rather than speak, she simply nodded her head. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t about trust. It was about something more — something dark and wild and hot, licking at her skin whenever he was near. Some unknown force she couldn’t name, making her want to touch every bit of him.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t.” He dipped his head to brush his lips to her neck.

Her heart raced in her chest. Little sparks danced over her skin to meet at her center in one hot flame. She knew she should tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she drew him closer.