In a Cowboy’s Arms (15 page)

The one time she’d ridden sidesaddle, she’d suffered the experience in quiet agony and vowed never to do it again. It’d brought back the horrific memory of her and another little girl riding ponies.

Her foster sister Becka had been fearless on a horse. She’d taunted Maggie to race with her.

Though Maggie had been afraid, she’d given in to her new sister’s challenge. The greater fear of being left out, of being unwanted, goaded her to do whatever her new family expected of her.

Becka had laughed at her frightful attempt to ride and raced off. Maggie had clung to her pony in terror, unable to get the animal to obey, and finally bearly able to see Becka, who’d outdistanced her.

“I hate you,” she’d screamed at her foster sister, simmering with all the anger a seven-year-old could feel.

Becka, older than Maggie by two years, laughed harder, but not for long. Right before Maggie caught up with her, Becka’s pony suddenly shied.

Maggie had watched in horror as her foster sister’s pony reared and pitched her off. Becka had just laid there un-moving while the pony stomped over her body before galloping away.

Her foster mother screamed. “Do something you stupid girl!”

Even if Maggie had been able to get off the pony, she was too young and too scared to be of use. So she clung to the pony while tears streamed down her face.

Becka’s father rushed to his daughter’s side. One of the men who worked on the horse farm grabbed the reins on Maggie’s restless pony while another pulled her from the saddle. And all the while Becka’s mother was screaming and blaming Maggie for the accident.

Maggie had never seen a man cry, but Becka’s father did as he rose with his daughter in his arms. “She’s dead.”

Her foster mother had glared at Maggie with such hatred that she flinched as if slapped. “Take her away.”

“No! Please let me stay. Please,” Maggie had said.

But her plea had been ignored. Everyone stared at her, condemning her with their eyes.

The same man who’d lifted Maggie off the pony took her by the hand and led her away. She’d been numb with the sense of being unwanted yet again, as she was taken back to the foundling home with just the clothes on her back.

For the second time in her life she’d been stripped of everything that she’d possessed. This time she lost something that couldn’t be replaced. Trust.

From that day forward she never tried to be friendly and cute when folks came in search of a child. If she was never chosen, she’d never have to suffer the pain of rejection again.

She lost track of the nights she’d cried herself to sleep,secretly blaming herself because she hadn’t been able to help her foster sister.

She’d stayed at the foundling home until they’d tired of her and decided to ship her west on the orphan train. Surely someone would have need of a strong healthy girl to help around the house. But nobody did.

Nobody showed any interest in her until Harlan Nowell gave her a second perusal. Instead of being part of his family, she ended up the companion to a crippled rich girl who was just as lonely as she had been.

This time, as she learned eventually, she was expected to honor the arrangement Nowell had made years ago and willingly take the place of the crippled daughter in the marriage bed. All because Caroline wasn’t whole enough to be a rich man’s wife.

Maggie knew that deep down Caroline was bitter about Whit Ramsey’s rejection. As Caroline aptly put it, Maggie was the sacrificial lamb.

But where Caroline’s health prevented her from escaping her fate, Maggie was capable of running away.

Now she was ready to run again. She tried to view the one-month wait to enter the nursing school as a good thing. After all, she’d now have Dade to escort her there.

If she could get over her fear of horses.

She ran shaky hands down her skirt and left the boarding-house. The walk toward the livery seemed to take ages.

She could do this. She had to.

As promised, Dade was waiting inside the shadowy interior. He was adjusting the saddle on a small black horse whose head lifted the moment Maggie entered.

The horse stared at her with big inquisitive eyes, and Maggie wondered if the animal could sense her fear.

Dade gave her a brief critical look. He dropped his gaze to her feet and started that slow meandering perusal that made her skin tingle and had heat pooling between her legs.

“Don’t you have one of those riding outfits?”

“No.” She didn’t have the means to buy one either, even if the mercantile had a ready-made one. “I can make do with this.”

She was an expert at making do. Running was the new twist on her life. But the fate that awaited her should she get caught was all the incentive necessary to propel her to do what she must to carve a life for herself.

“If you say so.” He nodded to the little black horse. “This mare is even tempered and sure footed. She ought to be a good fit for you.”

Ought to be... Maggie forced a smile, not about to complain now. That might be enough incentive for him to go off without her.

Though a part of her preferred traveling alone, she surely understood she’d be an easy target for the bounty hunter if she did. She had to keep up the pretense of being Dade’s sister, though that would likely run its course too. Then what?

She refused to consider playing the part of his wife. That would be a cruel taunt, for her dreams had put her in his strong arms far too often of late.

Maggie wasn’t about to open herself up to more rejection and heartache. She wasn’t going to yearn for something–or someone–she couldn’t have.

Besides, right now she had to subdue her choking fear of horses and concentrate on learning how to ride one without breaking her own neck. She stared at the big western saddle and frowned. No wonder he’d asked if she had a riding skirt.

“That isn’t a lady’s saddle,” she said.

“Tenfeather doesn’t have a used one, and I can’t afford to buy a new sidesaddle for you.”

Heavens, she surely didn’t expect him to. But she couldn’t afford to buy a saddle either, so she was stuck riding astride like a man.

“What do I do?” she asked, resigned to seeing this through to the end, whatever end that might be.

At this point breaking her neck was almost preferable to trying to conquer her fear of horses.

“Get a grip on the saddle horn and swing your leg over the back of the horse. I’ll give you a leg-up.” He moved to the black horse’s side, twined his fingers together to create a step, and fixed her with a look that dared her to refuse.

For a heartbeat she was sorely tempted to turn around and run like hell in the other direction. Other considerations were playing into this scheme of Dade’s.

She’d surely show a good deal of leg riding like a man. It couldn’t be comfortable for a woman either. But squaring off against him would get her nowhere. And God help her she wanted to get far, far from here.

Buck up, Maggie girl. This man is your only ticket to freedom.

She grabbed the saddle with one shaky hand and lifted her hem with the other. A cool breeze played with the hem of her drawers, reminding her she was about to shuck modesty.

The way his shoulders tensed sent heat coursing through her and awakened a different urge in her, one that she’d heard whispers about among the servants. This was that pull that a woman felt for a man she was attracted to. And God help her, Dade Logan was just the most virile man she’d ever met.

Without a doubt she was fixing to ride into danger in more than one way. She took a deep breath, ready to live life for once.

She placed her foot in his cupped hands and got a grip on the saddle though she really wanted to hold onto Dade.

“Up with you,” he said, and matched action to words.

Maggie’s heart was in her throat as she shot into the air. Her skirt caught on the saddle, riding up farther than she’d feared. Not that she realized that right off.

She was too busy getting a stranglehold on the saddle horn and willing the river of anxiety flowing through her to ebb. When it did, she noticed her state of dress. But short of dismounting, she couldn’t figure out any way to right her skirt, which was now bunched beneath her.

That wasn’t a problem for Dade. He slid his hands on both sides of her bottom and grabbed her skirt, partly freeing it in a matter of moments. She couldn’t have been more quivery with energy if she’d stuck a finger in one of Mr. Edison’s new light sockets that Harlan Nowell had bragged about having throughout his mansion.

“Put your feet in the stirrups and lift yourself up a bit,” he said, the warmth of his breath fanning her thigh, which was covered in thin muslin and so close to his mouth.

Good grief, her face would surely burst into flames any second. Still she did as he asked and managed to ease up enough for him to jerk her skirt into place.

Maggie held herself still and drank in these very odd feelings. She’d never had a man handle her skirt before. Never felt his breath fan her thigh. Never had the yen for him to press his mouth to her skin, right there on her thigh.

This settled it. She could not tolerate this every time she gained the saddle. She had to get a riding skirt before they left on their journey.

He left her shaking inside and out and strode to his chestnut gelding, mounting with an economy of movement and masculine strength that made her mouth go dry. Why hadn’t she realized before how very strong he was?

“Now then, get a grip on the reins,” he said, bringing his horse up beside hers. “Give your mare just enough line so as not to choke her.”

He reached over and adjusted the reins that she had a death grip on. “Relax, Maggie.”

“I’m trying.”

Truly she was, but she simply couldn’t feel at ease. Not only was she quaking with fear over being on a horse but she was achingly aware of Dade Logan as a man.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said. “Come on. Nudge your horse with your heels–not hard, just a gentle squeeze.”

He rode off, and she fought down the panic of being on a horse all alone. If she didn’t get her anxiety under control, she’d find herself being Whit Ramsey’s wife.

That was the reminder she needed. She gave the black mare a gentle tap of her heels. The horse started toward the stable door that Dade had just opened.

Maggie clung to the saddle horn, reins trapped between it and her palm. Every nightmare she’d had of the accident galloped before her eyes. The thunder of hooves, the screams, the accusations all swirling in a black morass of her own guilt and fear.

The accident wasn’t her fault, yet she’d felt that her presence was what goaded Becka to toss caution to the wind. How could she possibly think to ride out of here pretty as you please?

“Let go of the saddle horn,” he said.

She couldn’t. She simply was afraid.

He grabbed her horse’s lines and stopped the animal, and she wanted to cry with relief. “Squeeze the horse’s sides with your knees. You’ll be able to keep your seat and ease up on the reins.”

Absolutely not. She wasn’t about to let go of the saddle horn. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, and laid his big hand on her thigh.

Her nearly bared thigh.

A new energy licked up her leg to the juncture of her thighs. The oddest sensations expanded in vibrating waves and left her restive. Edgy. Aware of Dade as a man and herself as a woman.

“That’s it,” he said.

Oh, that was definitely it.

She and Caroline had struck up a friendship with a Bohemian woman on their last jaunt to Manitou Springs. That bold lady had been a proponent of women’s equality in all things, especially the sensual pleasures to be savored between a man and woman.

She’d explained all about the sensations a woman felt when gripped with desire, shocking Maggie and Caroline. That lecture opened their innocent eyes too.

She insisted it was perfectly natural and that a woman should embrace her passions. It was the direct opposite of what both girls had been taught by their straitlaced tutor.

In fact Maggie was having great difficulty bringing to mind that stern woman’s dictums. Desire was weaving ribbons around her and Dade right now. Staring into his warm brown eyes made it so easy to look at him as a possible lover.

Pretend they were married? Yes, that possibility held enormous appeal.

“Maggie.” His voice was a low rumble of sound that rippled over her skin like a warm breeze.

Her heart was beating far too fast again. The darkening of his eyes and wicked curl of his lips told her he felt this sensual connection too. What would it be like to kiss him?

“Am I doing it correctly?” She caught herself from leaning into him and shifted one hand so it rested over his.

He jerked his hand from her thigh. The mouth that had curved in invitation a moment ago was now pressed in a grim line. “You’re getting there. Let’s head out.”

With a click of his tongue, both horses took off at a sedate walk. The feel of the big animal moving beneath her snapped those gossamer ribbons of desire.

Maggie’s hands flew back to the saddle horn, her grip tight but not as urgent as before. Her face surely was red as the bandana tied around Dade’s strong neck.

Heavenly days, had she misread Dade’s intent? She was mortified to have let herself surrender to those urges. Why, she’d all but thrown herself on him. And what had he done?

He’d turned away from her. He’d rejected her advances.

How much plainer could he make it?

They were pretending to be brother and sister. She’d do well to remember that fact for the next month that she was in his company.

The mare trailed his big gelding to the narrow valley outside town. Mountains rose around them to give the elusion they were protected but Maggie knew safety was a rare commodity. Anything could lurk behind rocks and in the dense cover of trees that reached toward the heavens.

The grandeur around her was mesmerizing, leaving her feeling small and insignificant. But the magnificence around her paled in comparison to the power emanating from the tall man riding ahead of her.

It didn’t seem to matter that she didn’t want to want him. When she was in his company, she simply couldn’t ignore him. When they were apart, he commanded far too much of her thoughts.