Caine's Reckoning. Sarah McCarty

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      Caine rested his chin on her head and continued to stroke her arm with his fingers while, with every clop of the horses’ hooves on the wet ground, they got closer and closer to James. Desi closed her eyes and worked harder at getting her hands out of the gloves. By keeping her wrists apart after Sam had retied her, and letting her hair drip on the leather, she’d managed to stretch the ties some as they absorbed the water.

      She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye. James was waiting and he wasn’t happy. He only stood that way when he wasn’t happy. Oh, God, she needed to get free. She worked her hands more frantically inside the gloves, pulling so hard the ties cut into her skin through the leather. She bit her cheek against the pain.

      Caine’s strong hand settled over hers, engulfing her hands and wrists in the warmth of his touch. Again she got that conflicting message of threat and comfort. He squeezed, defeating her efforts with disheartening ease. She looked up. She couldn’t read a thing in his expression, partly because of the glare of the sun, and partly because he was just too good at hiding what he was thinking.

      She tugged at her hands. Another squeeze and a shake of his head told her he knew what she was doing. The horse stopped. She heard James approaching. She’d sat and waited too many times like this not to recognize the sound of his tread. He always scuffed his foot on the third step.

      Caine straightened. The rifle barrel pressed into her hip as he changed the angle.

      “Ranger.”

      James’s voice was smooth and well-modulated. Pitched to inspire confidence. He stepped into Desi’s view. His facial muscles were set in the same open, confidence-inspiring expression. His ability to charm people while hiding what he really thought was what made him such a successful gambler. He touched the brim of his hat with his finger. One finger. Her flinch escaped her control. “Desi.”

      Caine’s grip on her shoulder tightened. He didn’t have to worry. She would never throw herself into this man’s arms.

      James nodded to the other two men, who fanned out on either side of Caine. “I want to thank you all for bringing our Desdemona back to us.”

      Tracker was the one who answered, a chill underlying his deep drawl. “It’s our job.”

      James’s smile was easy and appreciative, as if he’d been longing to have her back. He probably had been, which accounted for the sincerity she sensed. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

      “Why would you think she’d be any trouble?” Caine asked.

      “Pretty as she is, surely you’ve noticed she’s not quite right in her head.”

      As naturally as most people breathed, James slipped the lie into the conversation. Against her shoulder, she felt Caine stiffen. She straightened her spine, shifting away from the illusion that his strength was hers. It was starting again, just like it had before. The innuendo, the twisting of the truth until everything she’d done in self-defense was nothing more than another example of her instability.

      She curled her fingers into fists as the rage beat against the futility of effort. Lawman or not, with her background, Caine wouldn’t listen to her, let alone believe her. What was the word of one deranged woman compared to the word of so many upstanding citizens? When push came to shove, he’d back James, the sheriff and the court who’d given her to them.

      Caine’s “Can’t say that I have” caught her totally by surprise, the same way Tracker’s “Bullshit” and Sam’s “For Christ’s sake” did. Usually, when men came up against James’s confidence and smooth manner they went along with him. Caine and his men were the first who hadn’t, and she didn’t care if it was their naturally perverse nature or genuine belief that drove them to do it. She was just glad they had. It gave her a minute more of hope.

      James looked her up and down, the concern never leaving his expression, but that twitch at the corner of his eye let her know that he was annoyed. He stepped in, holding his hand up to Caine. If Caine hadn’t chosen that moment to hook his foot over her ankle, she would have kicked James in his teeth.

      “James Haddock. Desdemona’s guardian. And I’m glad she’s been having a good day.”

      Caine made no effort to shake James’s hand. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘good.’”

      “That probably wasn’t the best choice of words.”

      If anything, the solid wall of muscle against her side got harder. Desi tilted her head back. Caine was staring at James with that impassive face that gave away nothing. To him or to her.

      “What would be a better choice?” Caine asked, his finger touching her cheek, the calluses on his fingertip feeling strange against her skin before recurving his hand round her shoulder. Though it was illogical, she felt safer with it there.

      “Stable maybe?” James’s sigh was sympathy personified as he stepped back. Behind him, spectators gathered. Most of them just bored townsfolk, but a few like Bert, Bryan and Carl had an interest even if they weren’t going to reveal it. She shuddered. They would never touch her again.

      “Ever since her ordeal,” James continued, taking a step closer. “There’s been no knowing how she’s going to be one day to the next.”

      Desi sucked in a breath and held it, pointless outrage surging. Again. Caine unhooked his leg from over her feet.

      “Ordeal?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      She curled her hands into fists, knowing what was coming. How it was going to end. Caine’s chin bumped her head lightly and then his lips brushed her ear. “Breathe, Desi.”

      She didn’t think she was ever going to breathe again.

      “Ever since she came to us her mental condition has been…delicate.”

      “I am not insane.” For once she wanted to say that and have someone really believe her.

      “Of course you’re not,” James agreed immediately, that smile she hated stretching his lips and that warning tic pulling infinitesimally at the corner of his eye. “You’ve just had a tough time recovering from your experience with the Comancheros last year.”

      Shame and anger warred for dominance. Everyone knew what Comancheros did to captives. Everyone knew how filthy they left a woman. Forever tainted. Scorned.

      “That true, Desi?” Caine asked, no discernible inflection in his voice.

      “I’m not crazy.”

      “I already know that. I was questioning the part about the Comancheros.”

      There would be no point in denying it. The sheriff or the priest would back up James’s claim. She dug her nails so hard into her palms they ached. “Yes.”

      “Damn, I’m sorry, honey.”

      Honey? When had she become honey? She took one deep slow breath, then two.

      “Is that how you lost your parents?”

      She didn’t bother with three. Simply gave up the struggle СКАЧАТЬ