He had his answer. The realization hung there in his mind like an icicle. How could she believe that of him, even for an instant? It was a crazy notion and completely unwarranted. If he left her out here, she would die, either at the hands of the plug-uglies or from exposure and starvation. How in God’s name could she think him capable of doing that to her?
Anger flared inside him. He barely managed to tamp it down. That she was terrified was obvious, and terror blocked out reason. Her fears weren’t an affront to him. They were simply a reaction to her situation, which apparently seemed dangerously unstable to her. And idiot that he was, he’d seen all the signs of that, realized something was wrong, and allowed the problem to fester.
Thinking back, he recalled all the times she had seemed frantic when he left her in camp, all the times when he’d turned to find that she had followed him somewhere, as if she was afraid to be separated from him by more than a few feet. It hit him then, like a fist between the eyes, just how completely dependent on him she had actually become. He was, quite simply, the only security that she had—the one person she felt she could count on to keep her safe.
And right now, she feared that he might abandon her.
Race couldn’t imagine how awful that must make her feel. He rubbed his throbbing temple, struggling to get his thoughts clear. As he stood there gazing down at her, he tried his damnedest to put himself in her place—to understand how she must be thinking. But doing that was nigh unto impossible. At some point in his life, he knew that he’d been as slight of build as she was and as helpless to care for himself, but it had been so long ago, he couldn’t really associate. Constantly threatened. Entirely dependent upon his goodwill. How long had she been feeling like that? For way too long, if the circles under her eyes were any indication.
He lowered his gaze to where she clasped her hands at her waist. Her tense fingers toyed with a button, twisting it, tugging on it, the pressure of her grip making her knuckles turn white. Lifting his gaze to study her taut features, he could see this wasn’t a rational response. Her nerves were raw. She was exhausted. To survive, she needed him, and given all that had befallen her, he couldn’t really blame her for feeling as if he too might be snatched away from her. Everything else had been, after all. Her home, her loved ones, her faith. Hell, even the clothes she wore weren’t her own.
“Sweetheart, come here.”
Since the night that Cookie had treated her nerves with his magic elixir, Race had avoided any close physical contact with her, fearing that his desire for her might get the best of his good judgment. Now he regretted that decision. If not him, who else was going to hug her? Right now, she needed the reassurance, but because it was easier and safer, he had kept his distance.
When he drew her into his arms, she pressed her trembling body against him and clung to his shirt, her face hidden against his shoulder. Race yearned to carry her to a private spot to sit with her cradled on his lap, as he had that long-ago afternoon in the bedroll wagon after the ruffian attack. But no. It was best to stay right where they were, standing so that their embrace couldn’t become too intimate. The long and short of it was, he didn’t dare trust himself.
“There’s no way I’d ever leave you behind out here, darlin’,” he whispered huskily, stroking her hair. “Deep down, you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said faintly. “It’s just—oh, I don’t know. Thoughts get in my head, and I can’t shove them away.” Her voice went thin and high-pitched. “I feel all mixed up inside, and all I can think about is doing everything I can to make sure you won’t want to get rid of me.”
Race thought of how attentive and ingratiating she’d been over the course of their journey. Rebecca, mending his shirt when he ripped it or replacing a button for him. Rebecca, shaking out his bedding each morning and neatly folding it. Rebecca, heating him shaving water and washing his clothes. Rebecca, fetching him refills of coffee and bringing him a supper plate each night, then going back to get him second servings if he wanted them. For nearly a month, she’d been trying desperately to please him in every way she could, and he had allowed it, being waited on for the first time in his life and relishing every minute of it.
Guilt swamped him. In her present emotional state, she would probably do almost anything for him. All he had to do was ask. And damn his insensitive hide, he’d just let it go. He’d known she felt insecure, of course, but he’d believed her fears stemmed from the massacre and that the problem would correct itself in time. Never once had he stopped to think there might be more to this than met the eye, or that some of her insecurities might have to do with him.
He closed his eyes and rested his jaw against her silken hair, acutely conscious of the feel of her beneath his hands. The fragile ladder of her ribs. The slender span of her waist and the soft flare of her hips. The curves of her body fit into the dips and hollows of his as if she’d been fashioned especially for him.
Damn. He wanted her as he’d never wanted any other woman—with a burning need that made him ache.
As he stood there, holding her close and struggling to control his physical reaction to her, Race began to entertain thoughts no decent man should, namely that she was his for the taking. All he had to do was press her, and she would accommodate him. In her present state, she’d be terrified of losing favor with him if she didn’t. His. Dark images crept into his mind. Tantalizing images of Rebecca, acquiescent and desperately eager to please, peeling away her clothing, offering herself to him in whatever fashion he desired.
He clenched his teeth, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they weren’t so easily dispatched. In fact, he could even justify them. If he made love to her, she would remain with him. He envisioned long winter evenings of holding her in his arms, exploring every sweet curve of her body. In return, he would see to it she was fed and cared for, and he would protect her from harm. Was that really such a bad trade? She was alone in the world. He was available and willing. She could do a hell of a lot worse. Why should he let her slip through his fingers when she could be his? Oh, yes. It would be so easy to convince himself there was nothing wrong with his taking her.
What man hadn’t fantasized at least once about having a beautiful woman at his beck and call who would gratify his every desire? It was a heady feeling to know that if he placed demands on her right now, she would do whatever he asked. He could almost see her, kneeling before him and opening the bodice of her dress to bare her breasts, then pressing close to let him take her into his mouth. And for an awful moment, he was tempted almost beyond bearing to make the fantasy become a reality.
Then sanity returned, not because he was noble, but because he imagined the expression that would undoubtedly enter her eyes if he were to betray her that way. He wanted her, yes. But he didn’t want to destroy all that she was in the taking, which was exactly what would happen if he took advantage of this situation.
Never in his life had Race suspected he had such a black side to his nature, that deep in the dark recesses of his mind there lurked a man who could even consider doing such a lowdown thing. Coming face to face with it left him feeling shaken and no longer sure he even knew himself. While he battled with his demons, Rebecca continued to cling to him, her trust in him so complete and unconditional that it terrified him. He nearly shoved her away and ordered her to get the hell away from him before he showed her what a bastard he really was.
Only he couldn’t. God help him, he couldn’t. She needed him right now, not as a lover but as a friend. Someone she could trust and count on, someone to support her while she healed.
He drew back to frame her small face between his hands. “You know, don’t you, that nothin’ you ever do will make me so mad that I’ll ride off and leave you to fend for yourself?”
She nodded, but even so, he could still see shadows lurking in her eyes.
She needed time. All in all, it had been only a month since the attack in the arroyo. Pressing an avuncular kiss to her forehead, he led
her back to camp, vowing with every step that from now on, he would be more attuned to her feelings and make more of an effort to reassure her.
That night after Race bedded down under the wagon, he lay there long into the night, trying to come to terms with the contradictory emotions warring for supremacy within him. During the month of travel, he had come to care about Rebecca more deeply with each passing day, and after their embrace earlier, he could no longer delude himself about how badly he wanted her. Nor could he completely banish from his mind the fact that she was his for the taking. All he had to do was play out his hand of cards, a royal flush, dealt to him by fate. By the time Rebecca came to her senses—which he feared she eventually would—he’d have her snubbed to a post and hobbled. He’d be happy. The only problem was, would she?
The question circled endlessly in his mind and stayed with him as he fell asleep, to trouble him even in his dreams.
By the time they entered Cutter Canyon, a relatively short distance from Race’s ranch at the canyon’s north end, Rebecca’s dependency on Race had become so glaringly apparent that he could think of little else. Damn. He was only human, and his resolve was growing weaker with each passing day. She was beautiful and sweet, the kind of woman a man like him could usually only dream of possessing. How much longer was he going to be able to resist this kind of temptation?
The first evening in Cutter Canyon when Race left camp and walked down to the creek to fetch himself some shaving water, that question was circling in his mind like a dog chasing its tail. Confident that Rebecca was being closely guarded during his absence from camp by Johnny and Pete, he slowed his pace as he entered the woodland, letting the beauty of his surroundings soothe him.
The fallen leaves of cottonwood, willow, and box elder lay over the earth like a variegated carpet of yellow green, the thick stands of trees, their trunks ranging in color from white to gray brown, interspersed with wild grape, pin cherry, choke berry, and wild plum. Hunkering to fill the bucket from Gulch Creek, Race feasted his eyes, his hunger to once again be surrounded by trees and steep slopes finally appeased. Soon he’d be home, back on the ranch that he loved. Even with so many financial concerns awaiting him there, he was relieved to have this trip nearly over.
Somehow he’d make it through the winter, he felt sure. Most of his men had assured him they meant to stick with him, even if he was unable to cut them their pay. With their help, he’d be able to keep his base herd through the winter, then get a loan come spring to cover expenses and get his stock built back up. By next fall, he’d be back on his feet, something that wouldn’t have been possible without the unswerving loyalty of his cowhands.
The only unsolvable problem Race felt he had was Rebecca.
“What’re you lookin’ so low in the lip about?”
Still crouched next to the stream, Race glanced over his shoulder to see Pete hunkered on the slight incline directly behind him. Hat tipped back, Pete eyed the trees on the opposite side of the creek, then trailed his gaze up the north slope of the canyon to the abundance of gamble oak and mountain mahogany that grew there.
“Who’s guardin’ Rebecca?” Race demanded to know.
“McNaught’s fillin’ in for me.” Pete shifted his light blue gaze to his employer. “Thought I’d mosey down here and talk at ya for a couple.”
“What about?” Race cocked an ear to listen to the lowing of the cattle. “Cows restive?”
“Ain’t no problem with the cows,” Pete assured him. “I just been noticin’ you’re in a stew about somethin’. Thought maybe you’d like to chew the fat with me.”
Race averted his face and trailed his fingers in the water. “I appreciate that, Pete. But for once, I got a problem you ain’t exactly an expert on, that bein’ a female.”
Pete chuckled. “I never said I weren’t no expert on females. I said I didn’t want too much truck with ’em. I was married once, a lotta years back. Even had me a son.”
“You was?” Race was surprised. “That what turned you off women?”
“Yep. But prob’ly not in the way you think. Never seen another woman to hold a candle. I’m one of them one-woman men, I reckon, and she up and died on me. Her and my boy, both.”
“Sickness?”
“Injuns.” Seeing Race’s startled look, Pete waved a hand. “I don’t hold your blood ag’in you. Don’t even think it. Fact is, there’s times I look at you and wish my boy had lived and turned out just like ya. I got enough years on you to be your father.”
Race felt heat sliding up his neck. “That’s a fine recommend, Pete. Thank you.” Race let the water run from the bucket, then caught the handle on the crook of his fingers to let the pail float against the current. “I’ve often wished my pa had been like you. But he wasn’t. So I count myself lucky to have you as my foreman instead.”
“I take that as a real high recommend too.” The slashes at each corner of Pete’s mouth deepened. “Me feelin’ sort of fatherly is what brung me out here, I reckon. You got yourself a hell of a problem with that girl. Don’t you?”
Race threw him another startled look. “You noticed?”
Pete chuckled. “Well, I got to thinkin’ it was sort of peculiar, her stickin’ so close to your heels that she walks on your spur shanks. The poor girl’s nose is gettin’ flat at the tip. You’re sorta unpredictable about your startin’ and stoppin’.”
Race grinned in spite of himself. “She does stick kinda close, don’t she?”
“Closer than I reckon you know.”
“How’s that?” Race asked.
Pete got a distant look in his eyes as he gazed across the creek. “I don’t rightly know if it’s my beeswax to tell you. But a problem can’t get fixed till it’s pointed out. Ain’t you noticed them circles under her eyes? The poor thing can’t sleep at night.”
Race sighed. “Yeah, I figured she wasn’t restin’ real good.”
“You got it wrong. The girl ain’t restin’ at all.”
“What?”
Pete sniffed. “I ain’t the one who told you, all right? I don’t want her mad at me. After you drift off and start snorin’, she sneaks out with a quilt draped over her shoulders and sits near you with her back propped against the wheel spokes. Stays till almost daylight, then slips back into the wagon.”
“What?” Race pushed to his feet, streaming water from the bucket. “Why didn’t she—”
“Get back down here!” Pete jabbed a finger at the dirt. “Don’t you dare go stormin’ up there and givin’ her what-for. The poor child can’t help it!”
Race hunkered back down and set the bucket on the ground with a thunk. “I won’t give her what-for. I just—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Now, how come do you suppose she never came to me? I offered to sleep in there with her, damn it!”
“I reckon there’s your answer,” Pete said with a wink.
“What?”
“You slow, son? Most unbroke fillies is a little balky at first. She’s got more reason than most, after seein’ all she seen. I reckon as safe as you make her feel, the same feelin’s don’t hold true for sparkin’ atwixt the blankets.”
“Now how does that make sense? I make her feel safe, but she’s afraid of me? That’s what you’re sayin’.”
“It ain’t so much her bein’ afraid of you. It’s more avoidin’ your manly inclinations, which she can do leanin’ against the wagon spokes but can’t if you’re spoonin’ with her under the quilts.”
“Of all the damned fool things.” Race recalled all the times he’d noticed how worn out she looked. “Sittin’ up all night? I’ve a good mind to give her a shake. You sure?”
“Well, of course. I wouldn’t say it otherwise. I gotta go see a man about a dog about three every mornin’, and I see her sittin’ out there every blessed time. I started losin’ sleep myself just to see when she went back to bed. I’d have come to you sooner, but I was hopin’ the problem would cure itself. It ain’t, and I don’t think it’s gonna.”
<
br /> Race flipped the bucket handle back and forth. “Jesus, Pete. What am I gonna do with her?” He propped his elbows on his knees, letting his wrists dangle. “If I sit by the fire, she sits nearby. If I go to visit a bush, she lingers where she thinks I’ll come back into camp, pretendin’ to be busy doin’ somethin’ so I won’t know she’s waitin’ on me.” He met Pete’s gaze. “And that’s not the worst of it. Practically the whole trip, she’s been bendin’ over backward tryin’ to please me, and there’s somethin’ almost frantic about it.”
“I’ve seen,” Pete admitted. “If you sit your coffee down, she gets you fresh or starts frettin’ that it’s too strong. If you look at her cross-eyed, she gets worried you’re mad.”
“Sometimes I get the feelin’ she’ll heel if I snap my fingers.” Race passed a hand over his eyes, taking care not to bump his still-tender nose. “I had me a—” He broke off and cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t take this as no insult to her. I know it’s a bad comparison. But I had me this dog once that was whupped all the time by its other owner. Took up with me, I reckon ’cause I wasn’t mean to it, and until the day it died, that dog’d do anything for me, always rollin’ belly up at my feet and waggin’ to beat the band, like it thought I might haul off and kick it if the mood struck. I get that feelin’ with Rebecca, like she’s waggin’ and tryin’ to please me so I won’t leave her.”
Pete nodded. “You got yourself a real beaut of a problem, I’m afeared.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Race grabbed the bucket and slapped it into the water again. “Bastard that I am, I’ve been thinkin’ real serious about snappin’ my fingers and bringin’ her to heel.”
Silence. Finally Pete said, “I ain’t so sure that’d be a bad thing.”
Race fixed him with an incredulous look. “I’d be a lowdown skunk, and you know it. Just look at me, Pete.”
The foreman did as requested. “Except for some blue lingerin’ on the honker, I reckon you look fine.”