Mustang Annie (12 page)

They'd spent the last two days moving camp just close enough for the herd to catch wind of them, then backing off, effectively driving the band toward the natural pen without scaring them into stampeding.

Annie had taken complete control of the operation: the construction of the fence; supervision of the men; even the examination of each man's mount and tack.

There didn't seem to be an aspect she couldn't handle and Brett found himself impressed by her competency.

Now, as they performed the last aspect of Annie's strategy, organization reigned. Flap Jack and Emilio drove the whinnying herd straight toward the pen. Annie moved into flank position; Brett closed in on the other side. Hooves thundered, pulses hammered, blood pumped hot and heavy.

Fortune stretched to his full length, spurred on more by his own adrenaline and love of speed than by Brett's commands. Around him, clipped shouts filled the air.

The herd drew closer to where Dogie and Wade Henry waited, and like a river with only one path, they began to stream into the quarter-mile enclosure.

Brett couldn't contain a triumphant shout. “We got them! Annie, we did it! Your plan worked!”

Silence met his praise.

A sudden gut-twisting sensation had Brett searching over the heads of the herd. “Where's Annie?” he called out to Emilio.

“Yo no sé.”

“What do you mean you don't know? She was right next to you!”

Frantically he scanned his surroundings, and noticed that the herd had begun to split: half streamed into the pen while the other half veered west, running toward the open fork. The slow thunder of his heart picked up speed. He pictured Annie caught in the crush, her tender flesh beaten, her beautiful hair trampled. . . .

And then, he saw her. In the midst of slick hides and flying manes rode Annie at full gallop, her bottom high off the saddle, her legs bent to hold her weight, her body bowed, her fingers buried in Chance's mane. The wind had torn off her hat and it slapped against her spine, leaving her long, silky hair to stream behind her like a rippling sunbeam.

“Mi Dios, ella es asombrosa,”
Emilio breathed.

“Yeah, she is amazing.” As he watched her take control of the mustangs, pride rose inside him, along with a powerful desire, and a possessive need to capture her as she captured the horses.

And it hit him then with the force of a fist that with the horses caught, she'd no longer have any reason to stay.

The sudden tightening in his chest took Brett by surprise. The thought of a woman leaving had never bothered him before. Maybe because it had never happened before.

But the thought of never seeing Annie again, of never seeing that spark in her eyes, never smelling the wind in her hair or the sun on her skin, of never again waking up next to her, left a hollowness inside him that he couldn't explain or understand. He couldn't trust her. He couldn't tame her. He couldn't seduce her. She added nothing to his life but aggravation—

And he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a woman in his life.

A motion at the corner of his vision captured Brett's notice. Blue Fire, as though understanding the threat to his freedom, reared up on powerful hind legs and pawed the air. A shrill whinny cut through the dust hovering above the pen, just before he plunged forward through his harem.

“The stallion! Annie, he's getting away!”

While Henry and Dogie hastened to stem the flow of escaping horses, Brett spurred Fortune toward the rogue. Annie, also catching sight of the stallion, wheeled Chance around. The realization that Chance could never catch the swift steed must have occurred to Annie at the same time as Brett, for she urged the mare toward Sophie. Once the mare was pressed tight to the filly's side, Annie reached over and, clutching tight to the filly's mane, swung onto her bare back. With a few practiced twists, she had a string of rope fashioned into a halter around the filly's head and nose.

Seconds later, she was racing after the stallion.

Brett caught up to the stallion. Wild hysteria glittered in his black eyes and foam speckled his muzzle. Brett pulled Fortune ahead, then cut in front of Blue Fire. Annie's lasso created a whirlwind above her head, then it fell around the stallion's neck. Brett followed suit, his own noose settling neatly atop hers. The stallion reared, ears pinned back, front hooves slashing the air.

“We got him!” Brett shouted.

“Reel him in—keep that line tight!”

“Keep clear of his front, Annie, he's a nipper.” While Annie kept the rope gripped in both hands despite the stallion's lunging and bucking, Brett twisted the end of his lasso around the saddle horn. Then Emilio and Flap Jack joined them, and between the four of them, they managed to drag the stud into the pen with the rest of the mustangs.

Brett's chest heaved from the exertion, sweat poured from his brow like rain, and his whole system felt as though it glittered. Behind him, the men cheered and whistled and slapped each other on the back.

“We did it, Annie,” Brett laughed.

Slowly, she lifted her face and their gazes locked.

Brett's victory died at the raw emotion in Annie's eyes. She sat upon Sophie, untouchable, alone. And so damned vulnerable that it nearly brought him to his knees. For endless moments they stared at each other, neither moving, neither blinking, barely even breathing.

There was something frightening about her sorrow, almost as if in capturing the horses, she'd sacrificed something much more precious. Brett couldn't begin to guess what she might have lost.

It chilled him all the same.

And in that moment, he realized that Mustang Annie Harper wasn't nearly as tough as she wanted everyone to believe. She was probably more fragile than any of them ever knew.

Chapter 14

T
he men were in high spirits that night. Emilio's guitar seemed to have caught the fever, for the songs that came from his fingers hopped and whirred with an energy that had the temperature rising several degrees. Henry's spoons kept up with the blurred tempo, and Dogie and Flap Jack do-si-doed all over the campsite.

They had every reason to celebrate. They'd gotten the horses, a band of sixty or so head including the stallion, rounded up and penned into a makeshift paddock. Tomorrow they'd cull the herd of lactating mares, old horses and unhealthy nags, choosing those best suited to begin building their own herds. The yearlings, late yearlings and two-year-olds were top choice.

For the first time in years, Annie wished she could join in their sense of victory. She didn't think it possible to want that again, but anything was better than this dull ache that now seemed to reach clear to the marrow of her bones.

From the instant she'd thrown the rope over the stallion's neck, she felt as if she'd been sucked back in time, then spit out into the present. No thrill. No victory. Only an unbearable emptiness that had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. It sat in her, a lead weight dragging her down and making her wish the world would just close over her head.

Every motion a brittle effort, Annie crushed out her cigarette, then unfolded herself from the ground and wandered to the edge of the paddock, where the horses bunched together tighter than a bushel of apples.

Memories twisted in her heart: the very first time she'd seen the horses as a young girl, the surprise of seeing Sekoda for the first time, the anticipation of taking that last journey into the canyon for the stallion. . . .

It should have been him riding with her.

The flare of a match caught her by surprise. She glanced toward it and found Corrigan standing a short distance away, his arms crossed over the top of the crude fencing, a cheroot clasped between his fingers.

Annie wasn't sure if she should leave or stay. If she left, he'd think she was afraid of him; if she didn't, he'd think she sought him out.

“Why aren't you celebrating?” she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Why aren't you?”

Leave it to him to answer a question with a question. He took a deep pull of his cheroot. The comforting aroma of tobacco mingled with the scent of sage and heat and horses. “He's a magnificent animal,” Corrigan remarked.

Annie folded her arms atop the makeshift corral and watched the stallion pace. He hadn't changed much in the last four years. He was ten, maybe twelve winters old and at least sixteen hands high, with a massive build that denoted his command. He'd make a valuable stud; his blood ran through half the herd, proof of his virility.

But Corrigan couldn't have any idea what he was letting himself in for. The devil was in that boy's eyes.

“He's too proud for his own good.”

Silence tightened between them, broken only by the nicker of a frightened filly in the next pen.

“Tell me something, Corrigan—you've got over a hundred head on your spread. Why go through all this trouble for a wild stallion?”

“Because he took something that belonged to me. I don't begrudge him taking my ladies; that just shows that he has good taste. But I'm not about to let him have them for nothing. If he wants my horses he's got to give me a return on my investment.”

“His freedom for your profit.”

“Nothing comes without a price.”

Sometimes the price was higher than a person could bear, though.

“You were amazing out there today,” he said after another quiet moment.

“You weren't half bad yourself.”

His brows lifted. “A compliment? We're making progress.”

She forced herself to take a mental step back. No sense in giving him any encouragement. “I just didn't expect you'd ride so well.”

“Guess it's in the blood. My father had me in a saddle before I took my first steps.”

Was that bitterness in his voice? “Was he a cowboy?”

“A trader down in Baton Rouge—till the Yankees confiscated all his stock.”

Baton Rouge. So that's where the bayou accent hailed from. “And here you are, taking up where he left off. You must be his pride and joy.”

“On the contrary—I'm his greatest disappointment.”

There was no missing the pain in his tone. How could this ambitious, enterprising man be a disappointment to anyone?

As if he'd revealed more than he'd intended, Brett straightened his spine. “We'll start herding the horses back to the ranch tomorrow.”

Her attention snapped to his face. “You aren't serious! You saw how wild they are when we brought them in.”

“Once we get them back to the Triple Ace, Tex and his boys will have them broke in a couple of days.”

“And you'll spend the next couple of months undoing the damage—if they aren't completely ruined. Breaking a horse kills its spirit.”

“Annie, you've done the job I hired you to do. How I handle my horses is no longer your concern.”

Strangely, the words stung. Until this moment she'd forgotten that the tie binding them together had been broken the instant the gates shut, leaving her free to go on with her own life. Not that she had much of a life to go on with, but still. . . . “Fine. Take the horses back now. And when that stallion breaks for freedom first chance he gets, and takes the herd with him—including your precious fillies—don't say I didn't warn you.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Settle them down here first, in the environment they're familiar with. Let them get used to being around humans. Let them learn to trust you—especially that stallion. Then take them back to the ranch and let
him
lead the herd.”

“That will take months, Annie, and I don't have that kind of time.”

“It won't take months—I've had mavericks eating out of my hand in a matter of hours.”

The instant Corrigan gave her that slow, sensuous smile, Annie knew she'd regret her boasting.

“Why, Annie Harper, that sounds almost like a challenge.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you can have that stallion tamed and this herd ready to travel in a few days, I'll double your fee.”

“Another wager?”

He inclined his head. “In a matter of speaking.”

Warning bells went off in her head. Taming them wasn't part of the deal. “And if you win?”

His eyes went dark as sin. “Anything I want.”

Annie's first impulse was to tell him what he could do with his wager. She'd recovered his fillies and the stallion, and then some. Best just to collect her fee and make for the border while she was ahead.

Yet four thousand dollars was a mighty powerful temptation. Not only could she lose herself in Mexico, but she could live quite comfortably without ever having to rustle another horse.

Which was another point—staying in the canyon with Corrigan was a whole lot safer than backtracking with him to the ranch; at least the canyon offered her places to hide should the need arise.

“It's a deal Corrigan—under one condition: I want cash payment in my hand at the end of three days.”

“You're so sure you'll win this one?”

“I'm sure.”

This was one wager she couldn't lose.

 

The men gathered around the paddock at the crack of dawn the next morning, their anticipation as tangible as the dew clinging to the wild rye. Under Annie's direction they'd erected more fencing, creating a circular arena some distance from the main pen.

Resting his forearms on the fence, Brett stared across the paddock at the patchwork collection milling in the distance.

He was the first to admit that he was a greedy bastard. He wanted what he wanted, and he did whatever he had to do get it—including take advantage of any situation that presented itself.

For the first time, though, he felt almost ashamed.

What could he have been thinking, making that wager with Annie? How had he let her provoke him into sinking so low? Was he so desperate to keep her a little while longer that he'd let her risk her life?

He'd seen for himself what she could do with a bucker. Hell, the image of the first time he'd seen her haunted his every waking and sleeping moment. But they weren't talking any old buckers here; they were talking twenty-five bred-in-the-badlands mavericks.

Then again, wasn't that Annie's style? And wasn't her grit one of the things he found so appealing about her?

Even now, just looking at her made him throb clear down to the pit of his stomach. She entered the paddock, worn chaps snug around her jean-wrapped legs, a loose cream-colored shirt billowing in the breeze.

Judging from the wonder on the men's faces, he wasn't the only one affected by Annie. What was it about her that enthralled them all so? What was it that set her apart, and made all other women pale in comparison? Her mystique? Her untouchable aura? That rare hint of vulnerability that reminded them all that beneath the tough exterior beat the heart of a woman?

Her hips swayed in a blood sizzling manner as she approached the center of the paddock, while a late yearling hugged the outer circle, eyeing her. She'd said she needed to single out the older bachelors and mares before working with the colts and fillies. Brett knew from experience that the younger the horse, the easier the training. The older ones had already begun to form habits that they would pass down to their brothers and sisters. Adjusting those habits, Annie claimed, would make the rest of the herd follow the precedent set by the leaders.

“She'll hire herself onto some outfit, tame the wildest mavericks, and collect her fee. A couple weeks later the horses would turn up missing.”

The sudden recollection of Jesse's report caused Brett's stomach to tighten with apprehension. Was she even now planning on taming the mounts, then coming back and stealing them?

“You fellers are in for the treat of your life,” Dogie declared, interrupting Brett's thoughts. “Nobody can bust a bronc like Annie.”

“How would you know?” Flap Jack asked.

“I saw her once.”

Brett's attention went to the kid's face. “When would you have seen her?”

“Few years ago down at the Tongue River, when she was with—” Dogie's face suddenly paled.

“
Who
was she with?” Brett demanded.

“Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was someone else.”

“And maybe you better start talking.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument.

Still, several seconds passed. “An Injun,” Dogie finally blurted. “She was with an Injun. They brought some horses in to trade, and she had to ride one cayuse just to prove he could be ridden. I don't know who the feller was, but he seemed to like her well enough.”

. . . married up with some breed. . .

. . . . savage came out of nowhere. . . .

Was that who Annie was hiding from? Was her husband even now hiding somewhere in the canyon, stalking her? Brett scanned the outlying plateaus, some stretching a good mile high. The faces of the canyon walls were riddled with caves and niches where a person could conceal themselves and bide time for an unguarded moment.

Brett gripped Dogie's shoulders. “If you know anything else that could mean trouble for Annie, anything that might be a danger to her, you had better tell me now.”

Dogie looked over at Annie, then back at Brett with an expression of misgiving. “Well, she seemed real nervous back in Sage Flat. Especially when that feller showed up at the saloon and started gettin' rough with one of the girls. Annie told me women don't like that.”

“Was it the same man she was with at the Tongue River?”

“I don't know. I don't think so but I only saw 'em both for minute.”

Brett stared into the boy's fearful green eyes long enough to convey the warning that he'd not hesitate to thrash the boy within an inch of his life if he was holding back.

When the fear faded to the dull light of resignation, Brett released Dogie's shoulders with a curse. Why hadn't he thought to use Dogie before? As much time as he and Annie spent together, Brett could have had the boy wrangling information from her. Yes, it was underhanded. But damn, he had no other way of getting the answers he sought.

“What is she doin'?” Flap Jack asked, drawing Brett's attention back to Annie. “Why ain't she getting on his back?”

His voice full of pride, Henry informed them, “She's wooin' him. Gettin' him to trust her first.”

Brett stared into the paddock. He didn't understand how standing there staring at the horse could be considered wooing, but like his men, he could do little more than watch, captivated by his own curiosity.

The horse ran a full circle, then stopped and looked at Annie. Annie turned her body and the horse stopped to study her. She turned again, and the horse bolted. Countless minutes slipped by as Annie repeated the process. Simple gestures, like the angle of her head, the movement of her hand, either sent him running around the pen again or made him stand in a tight stance, tossing his head.

Just when Brett began to wonder if Annie was trying to pull some sort of con on them, she turned her back on the horse and waited.

No one moved, no one breathed, mesmerized that such a slight woman would turn her back on a wild mustang.

Then the horse ducked his head, as if asking forgiveness, and took one step toward Annie. Another step followed, and still another, until he stood directly behind her and nuzzled her shoulder with his nose.

Brett found himself grinning from ear to ear. What she was doing didn't make a lick of sense, but he knew he'd just seen something so unreal, so fantastic, that nobody would believe him if he repeated it.