Caine's Reckoning. Sarah McCarty
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and the tension under his hand eased. He pulled. She sat back, wiped at her mouth with both hands before huddling into a ball, looking for all the world like she’d start plastering herself with mud to cover up if he didn’t present an alternative fast. Then she looked up at him and sucker-punched him with the eloquence of those big eyes. Everything she felt inside, everything left out of her remarkably composed expression, whirled in the deep blue depths—shame, anger, hope and fear.
“Who are you?” she asked, through the chattering of her teeth.
“Caine Allen, Texas Ranger.” He’d tip his hat if he had a free hand. Though she was all but naked and covered in blood, she had an air about her that reminded a man of his manners. The introduction didn’t ease any of the turbulence he read in her eyes.
“Father Gerard asked me to come fetch you home,” he added, shrugging out of his wool-lined leather duster and wrapping it around her, drawing her into his body heat. She fit against him nicely.
“Is he dead?”
It was hard to acquaint the quavery whisper with the woman who’d faced down three grown men with nothing more than her temper and teeth. He took in the fallen man’s blank stare, the hole dead-center between his eyes and the blood pooling beneath his head. “If not, he’s doing a fair imitation.”
“Oh.”
If he hadn’t been studying the blue tinge under her skin, he would have missed the subtle tremble that ran through her and just mistaken it for another of the cold chills shaking her from head to toe. Winter was wrapping up, but spring had yet to put in an appearance and the late March wind was cold. He helped her up and forward, moving her away from the blood toward the other women. She’d fought like hell, but as soon as reaction set in, she’d be wanting the company of her own sex.
To their right, there was a series of splashes. He looked up. Tracker stood over the man in the stream.
“That the last of them?”
“Yup.” Tracker bent and grabbed the man’s arms, hauling the body out of the water.
The cold damp of the woman’s hair soaked through his shirt as she turned her head to stare at the gruesome sight. Another almost imperceptible shiver racked her frame. Caine turned his body, shielding her from the horror.
Her “Good riddance” caught him by surprise. He tipped her chin up, checking her expression. Her face was tight with strain, her pale lips drawn to a narrow, bloodless line, but she was still with him. “It is that, ma’am.”
She cautiously moved her chin off the shelf of his finger, her wary gaze locked on his as if afraid to move too fast. He guessed he couldn’t blame her for that—being kidnapped out of her bed and subjected to attempted rape probably made a woman six ways of cautious. He dropped his hand to her back, keeping her against him as the chill from her body seeped into his.
“I need to sit down.”
He just bet she did, but a good twenty feet still separated them from the women. He would take on many things without batting an eye, but a hysterical female wasn’t one of them. She stopped at a fallen tree.
“This is good.”
For such a delicate little thing, her voice had a pleasing depth and a seductive, husky rasp that made him think of dark rooms, soft whispers and hot sex. His cock, semi-hard from the battle, surged to fully erect as the soft scent of lavender teased his senses. He shifted his position so she wouldn’t notice the purely male reaction. A woman who’d just escaped rape would not welcome any sign of a man’s interest, no matter what side of the law he sat on. “No offense, Miss…?”
Instead of immediately supplying her name, she hesitated and frowned. For the space of two heartbeats she left the blank empty, then with a nearly imperceptible shrug she answered, “Desi.”
Unusual, but it suited her in a strange, boldly feminine way. “Would that be Miss or Mrs.?”
Another pause. “Miss.”
Unmarried. His luck was picking up. He motioned with his hand to the women on the opposite edge of the clearing. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable with the others.”
She shook her head, turned out of his arms and sank down, clutching his coat around her and repeated, “This is good.”
He let his hands slide up her back as she lowered herself, feeling her wince as she reached the log, the action no doubt compressing her ribs. “You sure you’re okay, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
Remembering the blow she’d taken, he didn’t 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