Mustang Annie (13 page)

His grin faded with a startling realization: this was what Annie had meant by wooing, by winning trust. It wasn't about smothering a person with attention, or going to extreme lengths to catch their notice.

Sometimes it meant turning your back and letting them come to you.

Chapter 15

A
fter thirty minutes of “talking” to the horse, Annie spent another thirty minutes acquainting him with her scent—walking around him, stroking his hide, blowing into his nostrils, then laying a blanket over his eyes and dragging it across his back. The process had worked for the Comanche for countless years, and Sekoda had spent hour after hour teaching her the ways of his mother's people.

When the mustang finally allowed her to place a blanket and saddle on his back, she knew it was now or never.

She approached the sorrel, feeling as if she were preparing for battle. This is what she did—it's what she
was.
A bronc rider. A mustanger. She'd tamed mounts unrulier than this one, so where did this sudden nervousness come from?

Maybe because she'd never had so much at stake before. She knew good and well that if Corrigan won this wager, she'd lose more than her dignity. She'd lose a piece of herself.

She took a deep breath, let it out, then did another slow intake and release. “Easy boy.” She nudged his underbelly with her knee. He ducked his head, but didn't bolt. She slipped her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself against the horse's side. Again she paused, laying over the saddle, allowing the horse time to reject her weight. When he did nothing more than swing his head around to see what she was doing, she eased her leg over his back and positioned herself above, then into, the saddle.

Forcing her body to relax so it would flow with the horse's motion rather than against it, she whispered to herself, “Buck up, Annie, it's time to ride.”

At her nod, Emilio loosed his hold on the bridle. No sooner did he scramble out of the way than the cayuse beneath her tasted his freedom.

Annie's head snapped back with the first slam of forehooves against packed earth.

Let him think he's in control. Let him dance around a bit, feel his oats. Keep his head up, though; he has to lower his head to buck.
Annie gripped the halter and pulled with all the strength of one arm while she kept the other extended to the right to maintain her balance. One slip of concentration, one violent lunge of the beast beneath, would mean the difference between maintaining her seat or crashing to the ground.

“Ride, Annie, Ride!”

“Bust that bucker! Show him who's in charge!”

The shouts of encouragement reached deep into the recesses of Annie's mind, yet she heard them not in the voices of Corrigan's men, rather Sekoda's deeply timbered tone.

Then another voice rose above them all—softer, huskier, almost unhearable in the din, yet so clear it could have been murmured in her ear. “You can do it, Annie.”

Annie mentally latched onto the words, unaware until that moment how badly she'd needed the boost to her confidence. As the mustang twisted and plunged and kicked beneath her, she held her position with focused poise.

By the time the horse finally settled down, both he and Annie were drenched in sweat. Their bones and muscles quivered from exertion and exhilaration. Annie spent the next ten minutes caressing the animal, patting him, stroking his damp hide, telling him without words how very proud of him she was. She took him a couple turns around the pen and he kept his head high, proclaiming to one and all that the only reason she remained on his back was because he allowed it.

Undefinable and unexpected emotion roiled just below the surface as Annie dismounted to the cheers and whistles of Brett's men. For the first time in years, she felt almost proud of herself.

“Amazing!”

“Never saw the like!”

She met Brett's gaze. Saw the pride. The praise. The desire. And something a little more disturbing—a knowledge, as if he'd just discovered a deeply rooted secret.

Annie's breath caught. He suddenly seemed very, very dangerous.

She whirled away from him and called out, “Bring on the next one.”

 

By the end of the second day, Annie fully regretted the impulsiveness of accepting Corrigan's wager. She dismounted an especially irascible mare, unable to do anything more than lean weakly against the horse's side. Every bone and muscle in her body hurt beyond belief.

“Annie, you've got to stop this.”

At Flap Jack's gentle chiding, she stiffly pushed herself away from the sweaty hide. “No, I've only got six more to go counting the stallion, and one day left.” Then this damned wager would be done and over with.

“He'll kill you Annie, if you don't kill yourself first.”

Only if she got lucky. “I'm fine, Flap Jack. I'll get a good night's sleep. Come morning, me and that ole cayuse will come to an understanding.”

Pain ripped up her spine and down her legs as she made her way toward her bedroll. Though her stomach grumbled and her pores felt clogged with dirt, she was too weary even to eat or wash up.

Before she made it halfway to the campfire, Dogie waylaid her.

“Ace wants to see you, Miss Annie.”

“Now?”

Dogie gave her a beaming grin that set her on instant wariness. This best not be one of the boy's pranks. She was in no humor to tolerate it today. “I don't suppose he told you why.”

“Nope. Just said soon as you were finished he wanted to see ya.”

Whatever it was, it had better be important. She didn't have the energy for any of his tom-foolery. “Where is he?”

“Just yonder of those rocks.”

She looked toward the outcropping of red clay where he'd jerked his thumb, but saw nothing save the saddle-shaped formation.

Every step toward the rocks was torture to her aching body. She limped past the rough impression of a cantle and rounded the rear side. “This better be import—”

The rest of the sentence escaped Annie at the sight that met her eyes. Candles. Dozens upon dozens of fat, flaming candles were scattered about the clearing, their flickering wicks dancing upon the ground, chasing away the encroaching shadows. And in the center sat a tub—a real tin tub filled to the brim with steaming water, an invitation to her weary, beaten body.

Her mind reeling with awe, Annie wandered past the outer ring of light to trace the rim lightly with her fingertips. The trouble, the time this must have taken to set up. . . . Nobody, not even Koda, had ever been so considerate.

She turned her head to one side, then the other. “Corrigan?”

No answer.

“Did you do this?”

Again, silence.

“Of course he did,” she told herself. The whole scenario—the candles, the bath, the intimate set ting—bore the brand of his hand all over it.

But . . . why? Was this part of a new plan to seduce her? To knock her off balance? Was he even now watching her from some hidden spot?

She looked at the tub again with longing. The steam rising into the air beckoned, called out to her like an answer to a plea. No cold scrub in the creek late at night while the men slept, or early in the morning while they were otherwise occupied, but an honest to God, muscle-soaking, brain-numbing
bath.

Her best intentions crumbled, and suddenly she didn't care whether he watched or not. Her body hurt like it had never hurt before, and if she had to suffer his spying, it was a small price to pay for relief.

Even as it occurred to her to fetch clean clothes from her saddlebags, a pile of folded fabric next to the tub caught her eye. Annie reached out slowly, removed the top garment, and shook out an ankle length divided riding skirt made of the softest kid skin she'd ever touched. She stroked the fringe decorating the outer seam in wonder. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn women's clothes.

“Do you like them?” came a sensuous drawl from behind her.

Annie swung around, clutching the skirt to her front. He stood in the shadows, one shoulder against the rock separating them from the rest of the men. His hat was tipped low over his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. Annie couldn't be sure if it was the heat of the candles or Corrigan's presence that warmed her skin.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and splayed her hand over her breast, as if to hide the sudden quickening of her heartbeat. “You shouldn't have done all this.”

“Me? You honestly didn't think I would provide a bath and new clothes for any of my crew, did you? No, you have the men to thank for this. I'm just the decoy.”

Her half smile told him she wasn't buying his story for an instant. But then, could he really expect to con a con artist?

“All right,” he sighed. “Guilty as charged. But it really wasn't that much trouble. A friend of mine let me raid his dugout.”

“And you just happened to find a spanking new riding skirt in the stash.”

“Consider that a bonus for recovering my horses.” He tipped his hat. “Enjoy your bath. If you need anything, I'm just a holler away.”

He was leaving? He wasn't going to post himself someplace and watch? Annie couldn't decide which act she was more grateful to him for: the bath . . . or his granting her the privacy to enjoy it in peace.

“Thank you . . . Brett.”

“You're more than welcome . . . Annie.”

And then Brett did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He spun on his heel and walked away.

 

Back at the campsite, he discovered that Tex and his men had finally rejoined the outfit. They stood at the paddock fence, staring at the dark shadow pacing by the far wall. Brett debated for a moment whether to meet up with them, but a distraction was exactly what he needed. If he allowed his mind to linger on the woman he'd just left, he feared he'd not have enough strength to resist the schoolboy impulse to peek.

Unfortunately, his thoughts strayed there anyway. Right about now she'd have her boots off, and was probably unbuckling her chaps. Untying the thongs. One, two, three . . . then the other side. The weight of the leather would make them drop to the ground while she unbuttoned her britches.

Brett paused and groaned. He shook his head, trying to shake the picture out of his head. But like a flame to dry tinder, the fantasy raged on.

She'd be peeling her britches off her hips, then down her firm legs, finally down to her ankles and kicking them free. Her shirt tails would reach to mid-thigh, giving him an incredible view of pale, bare skin below the hem; above it he'd have to guess. For damn sure her skin would be just as soft, just as smooth, but the wondering, the anticipation, could drive a man just as wild as the actual beholding.

He'd look at her face, and she'd be looking back at him, drowsy-lidded invitation in her eyes, a come-hither smile on her lush lips, her index finger curling inward as she coaxed him closer.

He pictured his legs carrying him to her, steam all around them, candlelight turning the rugged cove into paradise. . . .

The kiss, oh damn, the kiss came from memory rather than fantasy, and that made it worse. He knew exactly how sweet her lips would taste, how slick and supple her tongue would feel sliding across his. . . .

Brett almost doubled over from the pressure in his loins. What the hell was he doing? He was thirty-four years old, for crying out loud, not a lad on the verge of his first season. His imagination was fast becoming his own worst enemy.

With excruciating effort, he managed to douse the images, and once his erection relaxed, he joined the men at the paddock.

“Henry tells me your little mustanger plans on taming this beast tomorrow,” Tex said.

“That's right.” Brett lit a cheroot with trembling fingers.

“You really think she can do it?”

“No question of whether she can, it's how long it will take her.”

The remark instigated a round of wagering between those who had yet to see Annie's amazing technique and those who had. Brett listened to the good-natured bantering as his thought shifted to his own wager with Annie. Anything he wanted covered a lot of ground. His first choice would be Annie, no question, but he'd settle for answers.

Assuming, of course, that he won the wager.

The way Annie was going, those odds were looking mighty slim.

A frown dug into his brow. By the end of the first day, she'd had eight horses eating out of her hand; today, another eleven were following her around like pups. The remaining six seemed nothing more than foreplay to the taming of the stud.

In his heart he already knew who'd won, and the knowledge left a gaping hole in his chest. By sundown tomorrow, Annie would have the herd settled and ready to drive back to the ranch. He'd turn the fillies over to Albert Moore and get his endorsement, while Annie would take her money and bolt like an unbroken filly given her freedom.

And Brett knew he'd never be able to look at the mustangs without thinking of Annie.

Chapter 16

B
y the time Annie dragged herself out of the tub, dressed in the clothes Corrigan had provided, and returned to camp, the rest of the outfit had already turned in for the night. Closest to her bedroll lay Corrigan, his hat drawn low over his eyes, arms folded over his broad chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Even if she weren't familiar with the shape of his body she'd have recognized him by smell. No other man had his sensually distinctive scent.

Annie closed her eyes. Damn this awareness of him—of the way he slept, the way he walked, the way he smelled . . .

She forced herself to step over him to her own bedroll, rolled out and waiting a short distance away. She didn't understand herself anymore. She'd been the one to demand that he keep his distance. Yet when he did, she only wanted him nearer.

Night after night she found herself blocking the memory of his lips on hers, the press of his body, the command of his touch.

She brought her fingers to her mouth; traced the dry cracked flesh.
Was it so loathsome?

Oh, if only it had been.

Annie flopped onto her side. “Stop it.” She wasn't sure if she were berating herself or him.

“Did you say somethin', Annie?”

She swung her head around and noticed Henry struggling to sit up. “Nothing important. What are you doing awake?”

“I've got the midnight-to-three shift.”

“How about if I take it?”

“You need your rest tonight.”

“I'm too restless to sleep.” Unfortunately, the bath seemed to have revitalized her rather than relaxed her. And she could use an excuse to get away, to put her tumultuous thoughts in order. “Look, I'm just as capable of pulling watch as the rest of you, and I need . . . I need to be alone for a while.”

Henry looked as if he'd argue with her further but must have decided it wouldn't do any good, because he dropped back onto his bedroll with a sigh.

A vigorous breeze tousled her hair as she headed for the pile of rocks where one of Tex's men watched for intruders. He looked startled at the sight of her, but didn't argue when Annie told him it was her shift.

She settled on the rock with her back against a tree and her revolver across her lap. Her gaze veered toward the paddock. They'd separated Blue Fire from the rest of the herd, yet he still stood sentinel over his treasures.

“Tomorrow's the big day, Fire,” she told the stallion. “If you don't let me on your back, he'll have won the wager. I think we both know what ‘anything I want' means.”

Could she do it? Could she give herself to him? There was no doubt in her mind that bedding her would be his request. He hadn't made a secret of his desire since the day they'd met.

She supposed she'd simply turn off her feelings. It had worked before.

Then she remembered the candlelit bath, the polished saddles, and the bedrolls laid out at night, and she remembered the remark he made about knowing how to make a woman feel protected, cherished, and desired. And Annie feared that she might not be capable of
not
feeling. That's what made him so dangerous—his ability to awaken these sensations.

Even if she wanted a . . . relationship . . . with a man again, no one could be more wrong for her. Never had she met a more demanding, possessive, volatile man than Brett Corrigan.

But he could also be so . . . passionate. And kind. And safe.

How could he be so harsh and relentless one minute, so gentle and considerate the next?

Annie forced herself to empty her mind of everything except how to approach the stallion come morning, until a crunch of loose rocks alerted her to company. Moments later, Corrigan's broad-shouldered figure appeared on the ledge. “What are you doing here? Where's Henry?”

“I took over his watch.”

“Damn it, Annie—”

“Don't start with me, Corrigan. I couldn't sleep so I figured I might as well put the energy to good use.”

“I liked it better when you called me Brett.”

That was the last thing she expected to hear him say, and it stumped her for a reply.

“I figured you'd be sawing logs after the last couple of days,” he said, settling into the spot beside her.

“I don't snore.”

“Yes, you do. Okay, maybe it isn't exactly snoring, more of a . . . purr.”

That he would notice such a personal detail about her made Annie's stomach flutter.

“Why can't you sleep?” he asked.

“My mind won't shut down. I keep thinking about tomorrow.”

“The stallion?”

She nodded.

“Me, too.”

Yeah, she'd bet he was jumping up and down with glee at the prospect of winning “anything he wanted.”

“I don't think he's ready to let me ride him,” she confessed. “He doesn't trust me yet.”

“If anybody can do it, you can.”

Annie let out a short laugh of disbelief. “What makes you so sure?”

“I've watched you. You have a gift with horses.” He leaned back on his elbows and crossed his ankles. “In fact, I've been thinking . . . once we get these animals to the ranch, I might come back here and round up some of the horses that got away. They don't belong to anyone—and men are rounding up cattle and selling them, so why not horses?”

“I'm thinking you don't know what kind of trouble you'd be borrowing,” she answered. “Mustangs are the most temperamental, unpredictable, rilesome breed you'll ever run across. You've seen them. They kick, they bite, they bolt. . . . They'd just as soon throw you as look at you.”

“Not if you helped train them.”

A long, stunned silence followed. Annie stared at his profile, at the flat, high brow, the straight blade of his nose, the flare of his lips. “Are you offering me a job?”

“For as long as you want it.”

An honest living. It had been so long since she'd even contemplated staying in one place and doing what she loved that the notion felt foreign—yet oh, so tempting. If not for the constant threat of being discovered, she might have given it more consideration. “I'm not up to that commitment again,” she whispered, looking away.

“Then you have done it before.”

Before Annie could respond, a wild, animal scream shattered the night. Both Annie and Brett twisted around in the direction of camp. Another scream, then a human shout made them scramble to their feet.

Brett skated down the rocky face, sending a spray of shale down the slope. Annie slid into him, lost her balance, and landed on her bottom. Brett grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet and they took off running.

Chaos met them back at camp. Horses milling, men shouting and racing, the air thick with confusion.

The stallion crow hopped and kicked in a violent attempt to dislodge the rider on his back.

Annie gasped. “Oh, Jesus—Dogie!”

“That damned fool!” Brett growled

Annie threw herself onto the back of the closest horse, while Brett searched for a Triple Ace mount. He heard a shout from behind, then spotted Fortune, freshly saddled by one of Tex's men.

By the time Brett closed in on the stallion, Emilio, wearing only his long underwear, already had his rope in motion. Annie, too, was readying hers into a coil while Flap Jack and Henry tried to distract the stallion by waving their arms, which also served to keep the frenzied herd away from Dogie, who was being whipped back and forth like a sheet in a wild wind.

Brett unsnapped the band holding his lariat to the saddle, then set the rope swinging above his head. Annie tossed, but missed. Emilio's noose hit the mark, landing around the stallion's neck just as he reared up.

Brett let his rope fly. Instead of soaring overhead, it got caught beneath his heel, pinning his boot to the saddle.

He struggled to untangle himself while around him, commotion reigned. The mustangs all but crawled over one another in disoriented terror. Dust surged up from the ground, blinding animals and riders alike.

Old fear crept passed Brett's control, rising inside him, threatening to smother the breath from his lungs. He pushed it down and focused on freeing himself, knowing if he let the fear get its grip on him again, it would control him for the rest of his life.

When the bind around his boot refused to give way, Brett leaned back and dug into his pockets for the jackknife. As he sawed at the hemp, he kept his eyes on Annie and the activity surrounding her.

Annie again swung her lasso, and even as it hit its mark, Brett knew she'd never have enough strength to hold the horse down. She must have known it too, for she used it to pull herself closer. He knew the maneuver—within seconds, she'd be shifting herself onto the stallion's back.

Horses pressed around him—thousands of pounds of solid muscle and unleashed power. They kicked. They screamed. They milled in terror.

Brett felt himself thrown back into the paddock of his childhood. Panic surged up again, closing around his lungs so tight he could hardly breathe. His heart slammed in his chest hard enough to crack a rib. His mind grew so numb it froze his reflexes.

Be a man.

He saw himself frantically carving at the latigo, but couldn't feel it; heard the hysteria around him as if through a tunnel; tasted the suffocating frenzy clear to the back of his throat.

Can't you do anything right?

Then the rope snapped. With an enraged cry, Brett raced into the melee like a warrior, his face contorted with determination, his blood hot with purpose. Just as he reached the stallion, the animal reared. It lifted Emilio off the ground, ripped the rope from Annie's hand, and nearly broke Dogie's spine as he bowed backward. The boy's grip went slack on the thick black mane just as Brett scooped him onto his own horse.

He searched for Annie in the thick haze of dust. He suddenly saw her standing in her stirrups, and gasped. His heart shot to his throat; her name tore from his mouth as she lunged onto the stallion's back.

Everything happened in a split second. The horse fish-tailed, plunged, then bucked. Annie lost her grip on his mane; the next thing Brett knew, she was flying over the stallion's side.

“Annie! Jesus, Annie!”

Brett unloaded Dogie at the edge of the action, then tore back to where Annie had fallen.

She'd already begun to pick herself off the ground when Brett reached her. He leaped off his mount. Wrapping his arms protectively around her back, he half-pushed, half-dragged her to safety.

The stallion reared again and yanked Emilio off his feet. Wicked, pawing hooves struck Emilio on the head and shoulders, driving him into the ground. And still Emilio held on.

Brett screamed to his men, but their own shouts coupled with the hysterical horses and the quaking of the ground drowned out his orders. The stallion dodged left, then leaped into a gallop, crashing through the fencing, dragging Emilio a hundred feet across cactus, gravel and brush before freeing himself of the human anchor and disappearing around a bend.

While Flap Jack and Henry raced for Emilio, Brett brushed Annie's tangled tresses out of her eyes. He had to make sure she was unharmed before joining them. “Annie?”

“I'm fine,” she said, trying to stand. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.” Too shaken to object when his hands slipped under her arms, she allowed him to help her get her footing. “I'll have it back in a minute.” She folded over at the waist, her hands braced on her knees, and willed her head to stop whirling. She'd taken worse spills, but this one had done a number on her. “What about the others?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

Before she could tell him that he should go find out, a third presence crept out of the shadows. They both looked up to find Dogie standing before them, his head bowed, his hat a twisted lump of felt in his hands.

Brett went deathly still, and Annie felt his rage climb through his system as if they were connected from front to back. She dared a glance at him, then wished she hadn't. His eyes had gone nearly black, his face absolutely tight. She'd seen rage run that cold and deep only once, and she had to force herself not to take a step away from it.

“I'm going to check on Emilio.” His voice trembled as he told Annie, “Tell the boy he's got fifteen minutes to pack his things. I'll allow him a horse and saddle, nothing more.”

Only after Brett spun on his heel and strode toward his men did Annie address Dogie. “Help me get these horses rounded up.”

Tex and his boys had already begun the process, and a couple more hirelings were working to repair the broken fence.

Once the last of the herd was secured in the pen, Dogie let the latch click shut, then stood with his head bowed. “Annie . . . I'm really sorry.”

“You should be. That was a very stupid thing you did.”

Her looked at her with sad eyes. “I only wanted to ride like you.”

“Why? To get Corrigan's attention? Did it ever occur to you that putting every man in this outfit—not to mention yourself—in danger is not the best way to go about it?”

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt!”

“But someone
did
. That stallion was nowhere near ready to be ridden, and all the apologies in the world aren't going to help Emilio right now.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“I don't know,” she told him frankly.

His thin shoulders fell; his big green eyes went moist. “I don't expect I'll be seein' you again after this.”

Her attention swerved to Brett, who was bent over Emilio. They'd gotten him to sit up, but from this distance she couldn't see much else. No matter how far away she stood, though, there was no mistaking the compassion and comradery between Brett and his men. They were the Triple Ace, and she . . . was just the wild card. A part of them, yet not truly belonging.

Funny how that hurt.