Reckless Territory (2 page)

This current predicament was even more intimidating. She’d been raised in a pampered environment with privilege and social standing. She was a lady, used to balls and soirees, fine wines, elegant gowns and the whirl of London’s
beau monde.

There was nothing civilized about the endless vista of waving grass, steep ravines and the unfamiliar brush of a wild, keening breeze. The three men now looking at her so expectantly didn’t seem out of place either in the dangerous surroundings with their guns prominently strapped to their lean hips and the watchful look in their eyes.

The tall one took the shirt from the younger man, draped it around her shoulders, and extended his hand. “Let’s go. You can ride with me.”

Chapter Two

There was something disconcerting about having a woman’s pretty much bare bottom nestled against your groin for most of the day. Cole had ridden just about everywhere, and he’d thought under all conditions—rain, driving snow, ice, oppressive heat, Chinook winds—but this was a new experience.

Give him a prairie fire or thunderheads piling up in the distance any day. Dangerous as those situations both might be, they didn’t hold a candle to his current predicament.

Though they hadn’t engaged in much conversation, and he hadn’t wanted to push her because she seemed to be in a state of shock, finally he managed to wheedle her name out of her.

Lady Victoria Mead. He wasn’t much of an expert on the English aristocracy, but her admission she was the daughter of an earl was supported by her soft, refined speech. That finding a proper well-bred lady half-naked under a bush in the wilds of Kansas was a surprise was an obvious understatement, but apparently that is exactly what had just happened.

And now what the hell were they supposed to do with her?

Leaving her behind to die hadn’t been an option, but he saw the same perplexed expression on Jace’s and Robert’s faces he imagined he had on his own.

At first she’d been stiff as a board, perched in front of him like the true lady she was, knees together, her back rigid, but after a while she’d dozed against him. Now she was tense again, which meant she was awake. The sky had darkened perceptibly as the afternoon wound down and reddish streaks showed above the rugged landscape. There was a line of trees in a small valley ahead indicating a stream, and Cole nodded that direction. “Let’s make camp.”

It was a little early, and alone they would have pushed on, but there were definitely other considerations at the moment.

“Good idea.” Jace glanced over in an unobtrusive manner at his burden, drawing his horse closer alongside. “You doin’ all right, miss?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The answer was hushed, yet somehow regal even from someone pretty much half-naked. She’d rolled up the sleeves of Jace’s shirt, and the contrast to her slim wrists supported the fragile feel of her in the circle of Cole’s arms. Robert had insisted on giving her his hat, which was probably a good thing, for her skin was lovely, smooth and pale. Definitely not up to a blistering western sun.

The spot was perfect, a grassy knoll lined with graceful willows and stately cottonwoods, with a small, clear stream rushing in a musical cascade over tumbled rocks. Cole halted his big bay, and Jace, who had already dismounted in one lithe movement, stepped forward to take his slender burden before solicitously setting her on her feet.

“Thank you.” Under the brim of the hat, her fine-boned face was hard to read, and her eyes looked enormous. The shirt reached almost to her knees, but there was still a very tempting view of trim calves and shapely ankles. Cole slid off his horse, wondering again if Jace and Robert were both as much at a loss as he was. Usually they joked with each other as they made camp, but this time, they all started to unsaddle their mounts without a word.

The girl just stood there and watched for a moment or two, before she said in a hesitant voice, “The stream looks lovely. I wouldn’t mind a cool drink and perhaps a moment of privacy.”

It was Robert who slid his rifle free from where it was slung on his saddle and nodded. “Let me just walk over with you and make sure there aren’t critters around, of the four, or two-legged variety, for that matter. If it’s safe, you can take all the time you need, miss.”

“That’s kind of you. And I appreciate you loaning me this.” She took off the hat, revealing all that tumbled, shining blond hair. The dying glow of the setting sun lit it with a golden fire.

He be damned, Cole thought—and that was probably a given anyway—if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Before he’d ended up with a wicked reputation for using a gun and a price on his head, he’d traveled widely. Boston, New York, Richmond, down south to New Orleans…and Lady Victoria, even disheveled, wearing a garment meant for someone twice her size, with a streak of soot on one cheek and barefoot, was without equal.

Jace was obviously having similar thoughts, for as she walked away with Robert, his gaze was fixed on the subtle sway of her hips and those shapely bare calves. He said under his breath, “Sweet Jesus. Doggone if we aren’t either the luckiest—or unluckiest—hombres on this heah planet.”

“Yes.” Cole glanced at him. “This is one hell of a complication I never imagined.”

His friend rubbed his lean jaw, still watching the young woman who suddenly seemed to be their responsibility. “Yeah,” he agreed in an almost morose voice. “I heard her tell you she’s got no family left now.”

“Here
or
in England,” Cole confirmed. “I didn’t ask much more. Seemed too cruel to harass her with a great many questions. Her aunt and uncle were slaughtered last night, she lost everything she owned and right now she’s dependent on three men she doesn’t even know. I’d guess the whole of it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

“I’d be pretty damned numb myself, Cole.”

“And you can take care of yourself. That’s my point, pard. She can’t.”

“Yeah.” Jace dropped his bedroll by his saddle. “She’s not just a female alone in the world, she’s an
English
lady
.”

“If she can do as much as brew a cup of coffee, I’ll fry up my saddle and have it for dinner.”

“What are we going to do with her?”

The way the question was phrased was unfortunate. Cole lifted a brow and said dryly, “I can think of a few things.”

“I bet you can. I lay down sure money Robert and I can too, but I wasn’t asking your cock, dammit.” Jace laughed but sobered again right away. “You and I are wanted men, and it’s no secret Robert rides with us. We’ve got a price on our heads in two states. She can’t stay with us.”

“What are we supposed to do? Dump her off in the nearest town?” Cole asked the questions grimly, his thoughts focused on the problem ever since they’d made their unusual discovery. “My conscience still exists enough that I don’t view that as an option.”

“Surely we can come up with something better than that.” Jace watched Robert walk back towards them, rifle in hand. The air held the sweet tang of late summer, heavy and redolent of grasses and dry earth. “Maybe we can send her back east.”

“To where? If she had options there, would she be headed toward California?”

“A woman who looks like her always has options.”

“Not good ones. Can you see her in a brothel?”

“Hell no! I didn’t mean that.” Jace was clearly outraged. “Don’t even say it.”

“Well, with no money, she might not have much of a choice.” Cole added in a cool, detached tone, “Right now, I think we are the best hand she could have been dealt under the circumstances.”

In the past year her life had taken some interesting turns. As Victoria sat on a fallen log by the small, cheery fire, a shiver of despair racked her body though the air was warm.

She had been raised with certain expectations. All women of her station were. Her father was the heir to an aristocratic title, their home large and filled with servants, and she’d had governesses, dancing masters and fine clothes. She was expected to marry well, run an efficient home, bear her husband children and ease gracefully into old age.

But it had all been a sham. An illusion based on debt, falsehoods and social deception. Upon her father’s death she’d found out to her horror that her acute grief was for a man who had never told her the truth and never once done anything except gamble away his family’s fortunes. It had been an elaborate illusion, and her world had crumbled along with it.

Maybe had her brother been able to bear the disgrace with her, she would not be so bereft. But Nathaniel had died in a tragic accident—she would never know the truth, but she suspected it was by his own hand—just two weeks after their father perished.

As the only surviving member of her immediate family in England—her mother gone five years before—she’d been left alone and penniless. Yes, perhaps she could have married out of desperation, but her family disgrace meant she was no longer looked at as the belle of London society, and the predators had come calling, hats in hand, with the most insulting offers possible.

She liked to think she wasn’t the kind of person who chose the most passive course in life.

But this…
this
…was not what she’d envisioned.

What am I going to do?
When she thought about her dilemma with cold, clear logic, it was beyond frightening. She had no idea where she might be, had no money, no clothes, no family.

Nothing
.

“More beans, miss?”

The question brought her out of her reverie, and Victoria looked up. The young man kneeling before her had clean-cut features, a head of tousled blond hair and eyes the color of a clear summer sky. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already had her share of beans on the journey with her aunt and uncle, but that seemed to be all there was for dinner except for some dry biscuits. The men didn’t mind, eating with appreciation and drinking coffee so strong she nearly choked to death, but she really had no appetite and had forced down what she’d eaten so far.

“No…but thank you very much, sir.”

“Sir?” His brows shot up and he laughed. “I haven’t been called that very often. Use Jace instead. Suits me better.”

He pronounced the word “that” with a soft, compelling accent so it sounded more like “thet”.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m proud to say Texas, miss.” He tipped his hat as he spoke and smiled boyishly. It lit his face, but there was nothing boyish about the very deadly looking pistol strapped to his muscular thigh.

The informality in America was something she had to adjust to, but it wasn’t easy, not when she’d grown up in the strict grip of English society. Then again, maybe formality was wasted in such a wilderness. She inclined her head just a little.

“Maybe another biscuit to fill you up? You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m not very hungry,” she admitted.

“I reckon I can understand that with what’s happened. Just holler if you need anything.” He straightened and moved back toward his companions.

Holler
, she thought with a welcome and surprising twinge of amusement filtering through her fatigue. That wasn’t a word she was acquainted with, but she could guess the meaning.

At least they’d given her a blanket she could wrap around her entire body so she wasn’t half-exposed in one way or another. The shirt she wore still left her legs bare from the knees down, and the sun had burnt the tops of her feet, so she winced nearly every time she as much as moved. The cold water of the stream had been a boon though, and she had rinsed away the smoke and dust from the attack, and the stickiness from riding in the sweltering humid air all day.

Now that she was coming back to life and dealing with the tragedy of what had happened, a part of her knew she should be afraid. Yet she wasn’t, not really. Perhaps she was numb, but she thought it was more the demeanor of her companions. If they were villains, they hid it well, for they quietly talked between them, a low, easy laugh ringing out now and then, and seemed to consciously avoid contact with her unless it was to offer food, drink or some other form of physical comfort.

If they did harbor ill intentions toward her, her weary mind recognized there was little she could do about it.

“You should sleep.”

She looked up, startled out of a near doze, to see the tall, dark one, the one they called Cole, bend over. Before she could protest he picked her up as easily as if she weighed nothing and carried her over to where a nest of blankets made a makeshift bed, a saddle for a pillow. He laid her down gently, nodded once, his dark eyes inscrutable, and then stalked back to his seat by the fire.

She was exhausted, but nonetheless, their low conversation drifted to her.

“We’ve got a week…maybe ten days left in the saddle.”

“I know.”

“She’s too delicate for it.” That was Robert Forester’s voice. She recognized the distinct Bostonian accent. It was more cultured than the other two, but all three seemed decently educated from their actions and speech. “We can’t push it that hard.”

“We’re behind schedule already.”

“I know, but—”

“The English have been riding, raiding and generally holding on to that damned island and half of the rest of the world for over a thousand years.” Cole’s brusque voice came through as he interrupted. “She might be a blueblood, but I think she’s a mite tougher than she looks. If you’ve noticed, she hasn’t complained. Not once yet.”

“She hasn’t spoken much at all, Cole, because she’s still all torn up inside over what happened,” Jace argued in his soft, drawling voice.

“This is the West. Women have to be pretty resilient to make it out here. There are no drawing rooms and servants bringing tea. She knows it, I’m sure, from the time she was on the trail with her aunt and uncle. A wagon train isn’t a picnic in Hyde Park. Right now she’s just scared and confused and alone.”

“Alone except for us. Three men she doesn’t know.” Robert gave a small snort. “I’d be scared too if I woke up with you looming over me, Cole. You might be half white, but the way you wear your hair and those damned moccasins make you look all redskin.”

“If I fancied your scalp, you’d be bald already, Rob. Besides, the man wanted for murder in Arkansas wore his hair short and dressed like a cowboy.”