Caine's Reckoning. Sarah McCarty

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СКАЧАТЬ find that short, breathless assurance comforting. He ran his right hand down her spine over the jacket, spreading his fingers wide, counting her ribs as he went, immediately locating the damaged area by her soft gasp.

      “She all right?” Sam asked, strolling up to their side.

      His “No” overrode her “Yes.”

      Sam, damn his hide, had the gall to look amused at the contradiction. Caine pressed along her sixth rib. She twisted away. He paused. “Maybe you’d feel better with one of the women caring for you?”

      She hunched her shoulders into the heavy duster and shook her head. Her chin was set in that way he already recognized meant stubborn. “I’m fine.”

      He checked the other side as best he could through the coat.

      “Denying what needs to be done doesn’t end the need for the doing.”

      Her fingers made deep dents in the coat’s leather sleeves. “Why not?”

      He shook his head at the illogic. “Because I said so.”

      “I don’t hold you the final opinion on what’s so.”

      He just bet she didn’t. “Now that’s a shame, because right now I’m the one calling the shots.”

      Her chin came up in that way that just begged a man to make a stronger point. “For now.”

      “I’m thinking if anyone’s going to do anything, it’s going to have to be you,” Sam added.

      Caine threw him a questioning glance, slipping his hand under the coat and testing the extent of Desi’s tenderness with one hand while keeping her put with the other on her shoulder.

      “Seems the other women don’t want to associate with—” a jerk of his thumb indicated the woman beside him “—her.”

      If he hadn’t been touching Desi, he wouldn’t have felt her start.

      “They got a reason for that line of thinking?” Caine asked. From what he could tell, Desi was the only one worth associating with. Any woman who could spit in the devil’s eye had his admiration.

      “Apparently, she has a history of tempting men,” Sam said.

      “You’re shitting me, right?” Caine glanced down. Desi didn’t look up, just shook her head, which could have been an answer either way, shivered and then tugged the coat collar higher.

      “They seem mighty convinced of their notions,” Sam offered without inflection.

      One glance at the sullen faces of the three women standing shoulder-to-shoulder arguing with a nonresponsive Tracker put credence to Sam’s claim. “Is that what they’re clucking about over there?”

      “Yeah. About nonstop. Seem to think the more words they throw at a man the more sway they have.”

      “Tracker must be in his glory.”

      Sam smiled that cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He says to tell you he’s about ready to cut out some tongues to get some peace.”

      Desi jumped and cast Tracker a wary look. He couldn’t blame her. Tracker had a lethal just-give-me-a-reason attitude about him that could clear the roughest saloon with just a glance. The scar on his cheek did nothing to diminish it.

      Caine smoothed the heavy mass of hair off Desi’s cheek, absorbing into his palm the trembles the shook her. The “Easy, I’ve got you” welled out of nowhere, a murmured reassurance connected to a foreign sense of possessiveness. Sam cocked a sandy eyebrow at him, a bit of amusement lightening his gaze as he pulled out his makings. He gestured to Desi with the packet.

      “I get the impression this one could spout gospel and those three would label it devil worship.”

      Beneath Caine’s fingers, the woman’s muscles tightened to rock hard ridges. “Jesus H. Christ.”

      Sam rolled a smoke, the sharpness in the move the only indication of his disgust. “It gets better.”

      It would. “What?”

      He reached into his pocket for a lucifer. “They’re requesting you return them to their homes immediately.”

      “That’s the plan.”

      He struck the lucifer on the side of his boot. “But they don’t want her brought along.”

      “What do they think I’m going to do, leave her as a treat for whoever comes calling?” Desi flinched. He caught a flash of blue as she cut him a glance from under her lashes. He took his hand out from under her coat. As she pulled the lapels closed, he stroked her back, gentling her worries. He wouldn’t leave her.

      Sam lit the cigarette. “Don’t think they’d be averse to the idea.”

      “Goddamn!”

      “I don’t mind.” The soft statement rode his exasperation, feeding it.

      “Well, I sure as he—” he caught himself in time “—heck do.”

      Sam flicked the match to the ground and took a draw on his smoke. “The women claim they won’t go if she goes with them.”

      “So?”

      “Just checking how you feel on that.”

      Beneath his hands, Desi’s bones felt as delicate as bird wings. It was hard to believe she’d fought as hard as she had or been so successful with so little, but sometimes it wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight as much as the size of the fight in the dog, and this woman had plenty of fight. He admired that. “Tell them when I say mount up, they’ll mount, or they’ll walk tied behind, but one way or another, they’ll go.”

      A strident screech from one of the other women snapped his head around. From the pitch he would have assumed the camp was under immediate attack, but in reality, the only one who looked threatened was Tracker. Even from where he stood, Caine could see the anger roll off the women flanking him. The vehemence. Hands waved, fingers pointed, and then, as if it would add emphasis to their point, the women moved in.

      Tracker drove the three women back with a slice of his hand and a sharp utterance Caine couldn’t make out. Turning on his heel, he stalked toward them, his long black hair fanning behind him, emphasizing his irritation. He touched the brim of his black hat in deference to Desi as he got close, his expression displaying none of the anger Caine could see simmering under his skin. “This the one the padre was concerned about?”

      “Yup. Desi, this is Tracker Ochoa.”

      Caine couldn’t blame Tracker for the shake of the head. It was hard to reconcile Father Gerard’s description of “a fragile flower of womanhood” with the hellion who had held off three men with nothing more than sheer grit.

      “Hell of a fight you put up, ma’am.”

      Desi ducked her head. Her “Thank you” was a wisp of sound as she all but disappeared into the coat. If she was hoping to dispel interest, СКАЧАТЬ