Tracker's Sin. Sarah McCarty
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the first time he believed the person asking really thought it could be done without anybody getting killed.
“Why do they bother him?”
A tinge of red on her cheeks, a hint of tears in her eyes, and she said, “Because of me.”
“Why?”
The blush of embarrassment deepened and she looked away. “Men think I am…available.”
“Because of your son?”
“Yes.” Her expression tightened and her hands fisted. “I think they threatened him.”
“Vincente?” The old man didn’t strike Tracker as the type to cower at a threat.
“No.” Her gaze dropped to his pistol. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if it was all she could do to keep from grabbing it from him. “My son.”
That put a whole new spin on the issue. “Did Vincente tell you that?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you. The baby is the family’s most vulnerable point. It makes sense for a man to threaten it to get what he wants.”
“I’d go to them if I thought it would keep him safe.”
She would, too. Tracker could see it in her eyes. Even if she couldn’t remember, she had to be scared shitless at the thought, but he didn’t doubt for a minute that she would sacrifice herself for the safety of her son. She had the same fighting spirit as her sister. Likely the same recklessness, too. He’d have to keep an eye on that.
“It won’t.”
“I know.”
But if the gang turned up the heat enough, if she got desperate enough, she might see it as her last hope.
“Please. I don’t want them to hurt my family. I owe them so much. I wasn’t…well after the murder. They thought I was going to lose Miguel.”
“Miguel is your son?”
“Yes.” She took a step closer and placed her hand on Tracker’s arm. The heat of her touch seeped slowly through the leather of his shirt. “Please.” Another step brought her skirts around his legs. “Help us.”
He placed his hand over hers, pressing just firmly enough so she couldn’t let go. “What are you offering me if I do?”
The pulse in the hollow of her throat beat double-time. The fresh scent of soap blended with the acrid smell of fear.
She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. Tears trembled on her lashes. “Whatever you want.”
He slid his palm up her arm, trailing his fingers up the side of her neck before working them through her hair, to anchor them beneath the bun. It would take so little to tug her hair free of the constraint. So little to break her. He let his thumb skim down until he found the hollow of her throat.
Take her up on her offer, the devil that sat on his shoulder urged. Tracker was tempted. Her pulse throbbed against his thumb in silent reprimand. She offered, the voice continued.
Yes, she had. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d traded services for sex. It likely wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
Her big blue eyes widened and locked on his. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled. “Please.”
He caught a tear with the edge of his thumb, halting the downward spiral. Son of a bitch. He needed a kick in the ass. A man didn’t pass up opportunities like that.
“You loved Miguel’s father very much.”
“Vincente and Josefina are my family.”
Interesting way of skirting the statement.
“They’re not mine,” he retorted.
She grabbed his wrist. Her short nails stung as they dug deeply. “I’m begging you for your help.”
“And you just naturally went for my base nature. Because a man like me wouldn’t have a higher one.”
“No!”
“That’s okay, sweets. I’m willing to be as low as you want me to be.”
“I don’t want you to be anything! I just want you to help my family.”
“Then why don’t you just ask for my help?”
She pushed at his hand. “I did.”
He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. Had to know with whom she was dealing.
“You tried to hire me. You begged me, but you never asked me with any expectation that I would agree.”
“Why would you?”
Christ, she’d just got done hauling out his reputation, but when it came to seeing him, she didn’t see a decent human being. “Yeah. Why would I?” He let her go. She stepped back immediately, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
“Are you going to help us?”
There was a smudge on the pristine white of her shirtsleeve where he’d held her.
“I’ll help you.” The jury was still out on whether he’d help the Moraleses. Something about their story struck a sour note.
He grabbed his hat off the bed.
Ari stood in the doorway, blocking his way. “What are you going to do?”
“Go to town.”
Her eyes grew big again. “But you don’t have any help.”
Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around and nudged her ahead of him. “I’m not going to solve your problem today.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” He grabbed Buster’s tack. The bridle jangled as he dragged it off the rack and carried it over to the stall. “I’m going to get a drink.”
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