Tracker’s Sin (6 page)

situation. He had nothing to give a woman like her.

Tracker straightened. Ari’s glance cut to the rifle, to his face, then his hands. He knew how they looked to her. Sun darkened and scarred,

they were as ugly as his visage. About the time the urge to tuck them out of sight got overwhelming, she looked away. Even her embarrassed blush was

pretty.

“My parents told me…”

The flush on her cheeks became fiery. He waited for her to continue. She cleared her throat and smoothed her palms down her skirt. He

wondered if they were sweating. She tried again.

“My parents said I had an…episode with you.”

Her uneasiness was rubbing off on him. He took a step back toward the bed, giving her some room to breathe. “That’s one way to put it.”

She kept giving the pistol wary glances. “Did I hurt you?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re wiggly but not lethal.”

She went stil , blinked. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, see her searching for a memory. Saw the moment she gave

up searching. “Oh, good.”

He could let it go or bring it out in the open. He opted for the latter. “You don’t remember what happened?”

She shook her head. Her gaze left his and her lip slid between her teeth. She looked very young right then. Too young and too innocent to

have been through what he knew she had. “No.”

“Did Vincente and Josefina fil you in?”

Her hands, which had been smoothing her skirt, now clutched it. “No. They used to try, but I’d go craz…” She shook her head, took a

breath and started over. “I’m sorry. I thought I was getting better.”

“This has been going on awhile?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

This time when she looked at him, it was with resentment. With a snap, she shook out her skirt. As if snapping material snapped her

spine into place, she stood up straight and looked him dead in the eye. This was the Ari who haunted his dreams.

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Ochoa, not an explanation.”

“Sorry. I kind of take it personal like when a pretty woman tries to shoot me.”

The color left her face and she swayed. He grabbed her arm. Christ, she didn’t have enough bulk to keep his fingers from meeting.

“I tried to shoot you?” she whispered.

“Whispering doesn’t change the fact.”

Her fingers touched his. “I won’t faint.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“It’s just a shock.” She licked her lips. “Hearing what I do when I get like that.”

He studied the paleness of her cheeks, the shadows darkening her blue eyes. He considered saying something outrageous just to get

the blush back.

“You real y don’t remember what you do, do you?”

“No.”

He released her arm. “That has got to be as scary as he—heck.”

Her right hand moved to cover the spot he’d touched. To remove or to hold on to the sensation? Tracker shook his head, disgusted with

himself for the weakness that had him hoping it was the latter.

“It can be.”

“And that’s your explanation?”

She shrugged and gathered handfuls of her skirt with her fingers, gathering her composure as she did so. She was obviously humiliated.

“I’m sorry I behaved oddly, and I’m sorry if it scared you.”

The last was said in a rush. She turned on her heel and headed out the door.

“I wasn’t scared,” he cal ed after her. Ari could leave him many ways, angry, happy, but not humiliated.

Her footsteps stopped. There was a swish of skirts as she turned, and then the sound of her footsteps coming back. And damned if they

didn’t sound angry. She stopped in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. He wondered if she would stil stand that way if she knew how

uncertain it made her appear. Maybe she wouldn’t even care. Compared to crazy, uncertainty was quite a step up. “You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I could say because you were scared enough for the both of us.”

Her eyelids lowered. At her left temple, a curl was working loose, he noted absently. “But you won’t.”

It was an order. A rather intriguing one, considering how scared she’d been before.

“No, I won’t.”

“Then why weren’t you afraid?”

He gave her the truth. “Because I’m one mean son of a bitch.”

She didn’t blink at the curse or the declaration. “I see.”

Did she? He doubted it. He waved her to the lone chair in the room. “So now that I’ve come clean, why don’t you?”

“About what?”

About how she’d ended up here. About how she’d kept her name. About how in a part of the state where lawlessness was rampant and

blond women were money on the hoof, she existed peaceful y with only an old man for protection.

“How about starting with how long you’ve been here.”

“A little over a year. Ever since my husband was murdered.”

Pretending nonchalance he didn’t feel, Tracker slid the tray off the dresser and onto his lap. There were beans, rice, scrambled eggs

sausages and tortil as on the plate. He forked a bit of each into a tortil a. “You were there?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

She licked her lips again, leaving them moist and shiny. They were redder and more swol en than before, as if she’d been chewing on

them. They would look just like that after a man’s kiss. His kiss, Tracker admitted to himself. No matter that she wasn’t for him, he wanted Ari like hel on

fire. Just another one of life’s little jokes.

Straightening her skirt around her legs, Ari took one of those deep breaths he’d learned meant she was struggling for composure. The

breath pressed her smal breasts up against the cotton of her bodice. It was too easy for Tracker to imagine what they’d look like naked. He wondered if

her nipples would be pale or dark, or maybe as red as her lips. He liked the thought of them being red from his attentions.

He mental y shook himself. He was little more than an animal. A woman like Ari would never look twice at a man like him, even before the

events of the last two years. And after? Shit. She’d run like hel .

His cock couldn’t care less what his brain said, however. It responded to her in a purely primitive manner, swel ing and stretching to life.

Ari motioned to the tray in his lap. “Your food is getting cold.”

“You avoiding my question?”

“What if I am?”

He took a chance that pretending disinterest would make her comfortable. “Then I’l rein in my curiosity and stop asking.”

For a moment he wasn’t certain it would work. She crossed her ankles left over right. And then right over left. She licked her lips. Checked

her bun. Sighed and then said, “I don’t know what happened.”

“You don’t remember?”

She shook her head and looked away. “I had a blow to my skul . I can’t remember anything before I opened my eyes and saw Vincente

and Josefina looking down at me.”

That was convenient for the Moraleses. Tracker folded the tortil a around the contents. “Not even your husband?”

He took a bite of the tortil a. She shot him a glare. “I’m not crazy!”

He chewed and swal owed. “I didn’t say you were.”

She frowned and bit her lip. Her teeth were very white against the ruby-red flesh. If she kept biting her lips like that they were going to be

raw. “Only a crazy woman couldn’t remember her husband.”

It was just a whisper, but it contained so much pain. He wanted to reach out and hold her, and tel her it was a blessing she couldn’t

remember, a gift she should hold on to, because the truth was too horrible to be borne. Instead, he took another bite, chewed and swal owed, before

saying, “Head wounds can be tricky.”

“That’s what the doctor said.”

“At least you have your child.”

Her whole expression softened. “Yes.”

Tracker set the tray aside. “How old is your baby?”

“Six months. He’s just beginning to crawl.”

The last of Tracker’s hunger left him. Six months was too old. Ari would have had to have gotten pregnant when she was with the

Comancheros.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like the food?” she asked.

“I’m just feeling a bit off my feed. It was a hot morning for plowing.”

“Pappa is determined we have more garden space.”

“I noticed.”

Ari shifted in the chair, clearly wanting to leave, but just as clearly held in place by another desire.

“Something on your mind?”

She nodded and took one of those betraying breaths. Threading her fingers together, she clenched them until the knuckles showed white.

“My parents are going to ask you to leave.”

“I figured that.” Nothing like having your daughter fal ing into a fit at the sight of the new handyman to clinch a decision.

“I don’t want you to go.”

It was his turn to blink. “Why?”

“I heard my parents talking. I know who you are.”

Who he was seemed to be pretty important to these people. “And who’s that?”

“You’re a Texas Ranger. One of the meanest.”

“I guess that would depend on who you talk to.”

She looked disappointed, and more than a little skeptical. Her gaze lingered on the scar slicing down his cheek. “You’re not mean?”

“Mean enough to get the job done.”

“I need you to be very mean.”

“I’l ask you again—why?”

“My father is in trouble.”

“He didn’t make any mention of it.”

“He wouldn’t. He likes to think he can handle everything, but he’s old now and he can’t fight the way he used to.” She glanced at Tracker,

fear in her eyes. “The men who would hurt him are vicious kil ers. They have no consciences or souls.”

“How do you know?”

She shook her head as if bewildered. A curl fel loose from her bun, bouncing against her cheek. She shoved it behind her ear. “I just do.”

He bet she did, even if she was talking to him as if he couldn’t trigger a bad memory if he wanted to.

“I know enough to know that if things continue the way they are, those men are going to kil my father. He knows it, too. That’s why he

wants the garden bigger. So Mama and I can support ourselves.”

“Would those men be the gringos who came to town last fal ?”

“You’ve met them?”

Tracker shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure yet.” But he would. It was a bit too coincidental that trouble of that type came to the

smal town where Ari had taken shelter after the Moraleses had found her. As a matter of fact, a lot of the circumstances surrounding Ari’s rescue were

convenient.

She frowned. “If you do, you’d better be good with those guns.”

It’d been a long time since someone had questioned Tracker’s skil . “I’l keep that in mind.”

She licked her lips again. His cock hardened, pressing painful y against the seam of his pants. He barely bit back a “Stop doing that.”

She stood up so fast her skirts swayed. “I want to hire you.”

He stood, too. Another interesting tidbit. “I’m a Texas Ranger. We’re not for hire.”

She put her hands on her hips, determination giving her a confidence he hadn’t seen before. “We’re not in Texas, though, are we?”

Technical y, the area was in dispute. “Close enough not to abandon the principles I serve, no matter how pretty the woman is who asks

me.”

She made a slashing motion with her hand before running it over her hair. More tendrils threatened to break loose with the next pass of

her palm. “I don’t want you to kil anybody.”

To give his hands something to do besides reach over to let one of those curls entrap his finger, Tracker picked up his gun and began

reassembling it. “What do you want me to do?”

Her arm dropped to her side. “I just want to scare those men so they leave my father alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Tracker had been asked to scare somebody, but it was probably the first time he believed the person asking real y

thought it could be done without anybody getting kil ed.

“Why do they bother him?”

A tinge of red on her cheeks, a hint of tears in her eyes, and she said, “Because of me.”

“Why?”

The blush of embarrassment deepened and she looked away. “Men think I am…available.”

“Because of your son?”

“Yes.” Her expression tightened and her hands fisted. “I think they threatened him.”

“Vincente?” The old man didn’t strike Tracker as the type to cower at a threat.

“No.” Her gaze dropped to his pistol. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if it was al she could do to keep from grabbing it from him.

“My son.”

That put a whole new spin on the issue. “Did Vincente tel you that?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you. The baby is the family’s most vulnerable point. It makes sense for a man to threaten it to get what he wants.”

“I’d go to them if I thought it would keep him safe.”

She would, too. Tracker could see it in her eyes. Even if she couldn’t remember, she had to be scared shitless at the thought, but he didn’t

doubt for a minute that she would sacrifice herself for the safety of her son. She had the same fighting spirit as her sister. Likely the same recklessness,

too. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

“It won’t.”

“I know.”

But if the gang turned up the heat enough, if she got desperate enough, she might see it as her last hope.

“Please. I don’t want them to hurt my family. I owe them so much. I wasn’t…wel after the murder. They thought I was going to lose Miguel.”

“Miguel is your son?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer and placed her hand on Tracker’s arm. The heat of her touch seeped slowly through the leather of his shirt.

“Please.” Another step brought her skirts around his legs. “Help us.”

He placed his hand over hers, pressing just firmly enough so she couldn’t let go. “What are you offering me if I do?”

The pulse in the hol ow of her throat beat double-time. The fresh scent of soap blended with the acrid smel of fear.