Caine's Reckoning. Sarah McCarty
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The woman needed help. Badly. “But it’s leading to a promise.”
“What kind of promise?”
There was no challenge in the question, no hellfire and brimstone defiance, just more of that damn hopeless acceptance. The merciless sunlight reflected off the moisture gathering in her eyes, tears he knew she’d rather die than have him see…Ah, hell. There was no going back for either of them.
He rubbed his thumb across her lips. “A Hell’s Eight promise. One you can believe in. From here on out, Desi, you’ve no need to run. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She shook her head, her big blue eyes begging his. “Just let me go.”
“No.” Sending her off into Indian country with no protection would be tantamount to murder. Caine helped Desi to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. He jerked his chin to the west. “Whatever you’re running from, it’s not worse than what you’ll find out there.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know you belong with people who care for you.”
“My people are dead.”
“Your guardian, then.”
Her upper lip curled in a sneer. “No, thank you.”
He made a note of her disgust as he dragged her along behind him toward the paint. The uneven tugging of his hand had him looking back. She was limping. He stopped. “Let me see your feet.”
She didn’t hesitate, merely lifted her left foot with an obedience that was oddly disturbing. He took it in his hand, the high arch and fine bones making him want to hold her safe. The state of the sole made him wince.
“Show me the other.”
With that same obedience she lifted the other. Shit. They were both bruised and scraped but the right one was torn to shreds. Guilt roughed his temper. She’d been hurting and he’d let her play sex games. Not that he’d meant for things to go that far. He’d just been measuring the extent of her desperation when something else had risen between them. Something he’d never felt before. Something hot, dark and possessive. As a result, he’d acted as he never had. That fact wasn’t sitting any better with him than the fact that she’d been hurt in the first place. He pressed lightly to the side of the deeper cut. Fresh blood welled. He met her gaze. “You should have said something.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
He didn’t like the resigned tone of her voice any more than he liked that disturbing obedience. Desi was a woman of fire, not calm. “It matters to me.”
He dropped the reins and put his hands on her waist. His thumb and fingers met above her hips. The edges of her ribs cut into the sides of his palms as he lifted her onto the horse. Whoever had care of her wasn’t doing their job. She was too thin.
As soon as her cute butt hit the saddle, she was kicking away at the horse’s sides, trying to set the pony into a run. The paint snorted and tossed his head but didn’t bolt. Caine picked his reins off the ground, patting the horse’s neck as he danced under the conflicting messages.
“He’s trained to stay put when the reins hit the dirt.”
That just might have been a curse Desi uttered under her breath. It annoyed him that she just didn’t let go with that temper. A woman like her shouldn’t be hiding her light or trying to be less than she was. She should be shining brightly, letting that fire lead the way, burning any man lucky enough to be in her path with all that tempting passion.
He clucked his tongue, leading the pony to where they’d dropped the coat. Desi hunched in the saddle, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression sullen. The wind bit into his skin but not as much as the nagging suspicion tore at his peace that he was missing something important. He grabbed up the heavy coat and held it up to Desi.
“I’ll trade you the coat for my shirt.”
“You’re getting the worse of the deal.”
“Maybe, but it’s the one I’m proposing.”
She took the coat and held it against her chest, glaring at him as if he hadn’t already seen all there was to be seen. “Turn around.”
Caine sighed and gave her his back. First cloth rustled and then leather rasped against the saddle as she donned the coat.
The wind blew across the grass in a play of light, as he ran the facts as he knew them through his mind. She was a young woman without family. Attractive, headstrong and a touch wild. The other women hated her, claiming she wasn’t fit company. There was only one thing that got good women’s tails in a twist like that. The saddle creaked. The pony snorted and then, silence. He turned. Desi was bundled to her neck in the coat, which looked like it could about wrap around her twice. His shirt lay across the saddle. He grabbed it and shrugged it on. As he buttoned the front he said, “The women back there don’t like you much.”
Her gaze focused on a point past his shoulder. “No.”
“You give them cause?”
“No.”
“Are you the whore they say you are?”
The coat rustled as she jerked and cut him a glare. “I just attempted to…pleasure you with my mouth in a field. What do you think?”
“I think you’re not the first woman left with only her body to barter. This country’s hard on women.”
“Not all women.”
“No, but it chews up and spits out those without a man.”
Her jaw muscles flexed. Her mouth worked. He patted her thigh. “Something you don’t have to worry about anymore.”
He stepped to the side, facing the paint. “Scoot up.”
“What?”
He moved her hands to the pommel on either side of the horn. “Lever yourself up there.”
Eyeing him with a clear suspicion that said he was up to no good, she supported her weight on her arms. In a smooth swing he was behind her, taking advantage of the distraction of the horse’s dance to hook his arm around her waist, lifting her up as he swung into the saddle before settling her down onto his lap. She grabbed his hand as he gathered the reins, her short nails pressing against his skin as if she couldn’t decide whether to claw or cling. Caine kneed the paint into motion, taking the decision off her hands.
A trot was never the most comfortable of gaits and the hardest for an inexperienced rider to adjust to. After about the third bone-jarring clop, Desi was bouncing like a sack of grain. He tucked her back against his chest. “Relax into me.”
The glance she shot him over her shoulder clearly showed she wondered what good that would do, but she did, and followed the coaxing of his hand to curve her spine into his chest. He nudged the paint into a canter. He didn’t think she breathed the whole way across the meadow. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he murmured in her ear, “I don’t bite.”
Desi jumped as if he just had. Then her spine pulled taut and that chin tilted up. “Would it make a difference if you did?”
The full-out attack knocked a smile loose. He did like a woman who didn’t duck, hide or play shy. “I’m willing to try it if you are.”
“Why?”
He took a deep breath. She smelled of sweat, fear and that tantalizing touch of lavender. “Because you’ve got grit and fire and are about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me, but I promise you, I’ll keep you safe, and you don’t have to bargain with anything to make it happen.”
“You promised me out of Los Santos.”
“Don’t