Luke's Cut. Sarah McCarty
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certain she didn’t want her cousins’ existence. She didn’t want that any more than she wanted Luke staring at her. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“It appears that I’ve been assigned to you.”
“Assigned by whom?”
He nodded toward the wagon ahead.
“Tia seems to think you need watching.”
She was not a child. “Can’t Zach or one of the vaqueros do it?”
“Tia seems to think you need watching by me.”
“Why?”
“Likely because no one else has the patience—”
“Patience? You?”
“—to deal with your procrastination and shilly-shallying,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.
“You don’t know me well enough to make such accusations.” She couldn’t lie about the procrastination. She did have a tendency to put off the unpleasant stuff for as long as possible. Of course he picked up on that.
“I’ve got eyes and the fact that you’re sidestepping a flat-out denial cinches the deal.”
“It most certainly does not.” She didn’t know where all this opposition came from lately. She’d argued more over the last couple of days than she had in her entire life. She’d likely enjoy it more if she wasn’t roasting from the inside out.
He brushed aside that denial with an arch of his brow. “People who don’t like to lie usually aren’t bold about dissembling.”
She raised her own eyebrows at that. “Dissembling is a big word for a cowboy.”
“Photography is a big hobby for a woman.” He always had a comeback. She snapped her teeth together.
“And what’s wrong with it?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I just said it was a big one.”
Now he had her off-kilter. She’d been ready to fight and he’d gone all reasonable. “Life is too short not to do things you enjoy.”
“Uh-huh.”
He was back to lounging in the saddle in that casual way that just screamed predator. He reminded her of a hawk perched on a branch, ready to swoop, except she wasn’t sure what he was going to swoop on—her argument or more. It was the more that sent that little shiver through her. His eyes narrowed.
“Ghost walk over your grave?”
“That is the most nonsensical statement.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew she was avoiding answering the question. Some men were irritating like that. His horse, a beautiful roan, tossed his head again. A sharp whistle came down the line. Luke straightened in the saddle and scanned the horizon.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. “I’d like to point out I’m not the one dodging questions now.”
Good grief! She was getting positively belligerent. A thrill went through her. It was...exhilarating.
“Chico is uneasy.”
“Glory is calm.”
“I noticed.”
Another short whistle came from ahead.
Reaching down, Luke untied something on the right side of the saddle. His rifle, she realized as he drew it out of the scabbard. The illusion of him as a predator suddenly snapped into reality. Her contrary enjoyment evaporated in a puff of fear.
“Can that horse run?” he asked, pulling out the weapon and resting the barrel across the saddle.
“Of course.” Couldn’t all horses?
“Will he?”
She didn’t really know, but if she had to get down and push his behind along, she would. “Yes.”
She might not have been as convincing as she’d hoped. For a moment Luke took his attention off the horizon to shake his head at her. “I can’t believe Caine allowed that horse along.”
Confession time. “He’s the only one that wouldn’t spook with all the banging.”
“That will be remedied in the future.”
He was making her very nervous.
“Mr. Caine said trouble wasn’t likely.”
“Unlikely doesn’t mean nonexistent.”
She couldn’t argue that. Another burst of whistles cut across the distance. As if the message were spoken, Luke looked to the left. She did, too, but all she saw were rocks, grass and trees. Then again, she always had trouble seeing far without her spectacles.
“What is it?”
“Be ready.”
For what? Thankfully, she had managed not to voice it. The last thing anyone needed was for Luke’s attention to be diverted at a crucial moment. But it was getting harder to control this new, impetuous side of her nature now that he’d riled it up.
They rode on in silence. One minute passed. Then two. Three minutes passed without a single sound except the creaking of the harnesses and the bouncing of the wagon. Apprehension stretched her nerves. It took another few minutes for her to realize the birds weren’t singing. A shiver shot down her spine. Something was definitely wrong. She just didn’t know what.
Luke cut her a glance. “If I holler, you snap those reins on the nag’s ass, but be sure to brace your feet. We don’t need you pitching out of there and breaking your neck when he takes off.”
A gruesome image of her body being tossed like a rag doll to the hard ground popped into her mind. She tightened her grip on her reins and braced her feet. No, they definitely didn’t need that. But the slur to Glory—that she couldn’t let pass. Glory and she had formed a friendship. Friendship demanded loyalty. Licking her lips, she tapped into her impetuous side. “Glory is not a nag.”
The near whisper barely got her a look. Clearly her voice of authority needed work. For now, she clung to stubborn determination. “He’s not.”
With a grunt, Luke reiterated, “Just be ready.”
That grunt could have gone either way. She chose to take it as agreement. Clutching the reins, she nodded. Ready she could handle. She hoped. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Another down her spine. More gathered between her breasts.
Apparently satisfied that she’d obey, Luke urged Chico into a trot, leaving Josie behind. She watched him go with a sinking stomach. In her wagon ahead, Tia had her husband. Back here there was just Josie and her growing fears. Wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve, she looked around. The same countryside that had seemed so pretty yesterday, seemed ominously vast today. The wildflowers she’d viewed as serendipitous bits of whimsy now had a second potential use—as grave markers. At the front of the line, Luke and Zach conferred. She wished she were close enough to hear what they were saying.
Tia turned in her seat and waved. If Josie had her spectacles on she could have seen if she was smiling or frowning. Feeling even more in the dark, she waved back. First thing she was going to do when they stopped again would be to get her spectacles out of the wagon. Vanity be hanged.
As if reacting to some invisible cue, the formerly loosely strung line of men dropped into a tight formation surrounding the wagons. A handsome man dressed in brown, sporting ammunition belts across his chest and wearing a large sombrero rode up beside Josie on a proud-stepping buckskin. He had Zach’s eyes and was about her age. Maybe younger. It was hard