The Circle Eight: Caleb (5 page)

Rory shook with anger. White-hot fury raced through her at the ranger’s high-handedness. He thought to slide in and pull her home, her business, her life out from under her. The arrogant bastard was more handsome than any man she’d ever seen—too bad it was spoiled by the stupid, sorry jackass.

Her hands shook so hard, she clenched the tools until her knuckles cracked. She wouldn’t use them on him, but he didn’t know that. Years ago she discovered men took her more seriously when she was armed. Several of them had decided to cheat her out of what was due by physical intimidation. Now she used her height and her finely honed tools to protect herself.

She wanted to scream at him until he left, but it wouldn’t do any good. That didn’t mean she had to nearly bite her tongue off to keep from letting the dark thoughts loose. Her temper had been her downfall more than once. Keeping it now was the only option. The ranger would have no trouble convincing folks a woman carrying on like a crazy person deserved to be thrown off and thrown away.

Rory had fought too hard, given up too much, to simply lay down and let this man take everything from her. If he had to kill her, then so be it. She was willing to give up her life for what she loved.

“I’ve got work to do.” She walked passed him, ignoring the scent of man that wafted past her nose.

“Work? You’re going to work?” His dark brown eyes widened as though he was surprised. The man had ridiculously long lashes for a man. She wondered if he’d been teased about it.

“Yes, I have orders to fill. I work for a living.” She stirred the embers with a poker.

“What am I supposed to do while you work?” He leaned against the post in the center of the building.

“You can stand there and play with your gun if you like. I don’t give a damn.” The coals sparked and glowed. She added a bit more coal from the bucket on the floor, then stirred them into the forge, like mixing a stew.

“You curse too? Ain’t you a unique woman?” He watched her, which made her itch.

“I’d like to think so.” She worked the bellows, raising the temperature of the forge slowly and steadily. To her consternation, the ranger watched her.

“Nothing you do will change my mind.” He crossed his arms, emphasizing the broadness of his chest and shoulders. Damn the man.

“Nothing you do will change my mind,” she threw back at him. “I was born here, Ranger, and I plan on dying here. How about you? Don’t you have a home you love?”

He seemed startled by her question. Good. She at least put him off center once, which meant she could do it again.

“My home is none of your business, Mrs. Foster.” He got his back up with that question. Curiosity told her to keep poking.

“Sounds like you have your own business to attend to. Why are you bothering me when your own home needs you?” She didn’t even hear him move but suddenly he was beside her, nearly nose to nose.

“I am losing patience with you, ma’am. If you keep pushing, you’re liable to end up belly down on the back of my horse.” He sounded cold and furious, but completely in control. It frightened her, much as she wouldn’t admit it to him.

“Dead or trussed up like a turkey?” she snapped.

“That’s your choice. As long as you leave this property, I don’t rightly care.”

Red rage ripped through her and her temper finally grabbed hold of her.

“You son of a bitch! What right do you have to come in here and intimidate me? None!” She pushed him, catching him off guard so she was able to move him back a few inches. He was built like a brick wall, though, and she wouldn’t be able to do it again. “Does your mother know you ride around pushing women out of their homes and call it your duty?”

He swallowed. “My mother’s dead.”

“Mine is dead too and this is all I have of her and my father. Do you know what it’s like to lose both your parents in an instant? To have nothing but the dirt under your feet to call your own?” Her throat was tight with emotion and she knew her face was redder than a beet.

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly. “I do.”

His honesty deflated her anger in a flash. She hadn’t expected that from him.

“My parents died in a fire.” She could still taste the bile that coated her mouth when she found out they were dead. “I never got to bury anything but ashes. I have nothing but this. And you’re here to take it away from me.”

He looked as though he was going to say something but changed his mind then leaned back against the post, crossing his ankles.

“I won’t leave.” She turned her back on him and focused on her work. The tools wouldn’t make themselves and Pablo Garza didn’t forgive lateness. She’d lost money from him before when Horatio ruined one of the yokes she’d made and the new one was two days late. Garza was a jackass but he had money to spend.

For a few blessed minutes, she forgot about the ranger and focused on her work. The forge heated quickly, calming her frayed nerves a bit. She turned to pick up her tongs when a pair of long legs reminded her she wasn’t alone.

“You know what you’re doing with that thing,” he observed.

“I hope so. I’ve been using it since I was seven.” She picked up the tongs, annoyed to see her hand shaking. It had to be from anger because she sure as hell wasn’t afraid of this man.

“Seven? Isn’t that dangerous for a little girl?”

Rory snapped the tongs together in front of his face. “As opposed to not dangerous for a little boy?”

“That’s not what I said.” He uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them, calm as could be. “It would be dangerous for any child to be around a fire that hot, or all these tools.”

“My father was a master blacksmith. He never put me in danger.” She was annoyed all over again at his insinuation her father was not a good parent. “What he did was teach me a craft, turn me into an artisan by the time I was sixteen.”

“Artisan? Big word.”

She scowled at him. “I’m a big girl. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do. I gotta get these tools done no matter what orders you have stuffed up your ass.”

To her surprise, he laughed, a gut-buster that echoed through the small building. She frowned. Why would he laugh when she was deliberately disrespectful?

“Are you touched in the head or something?”

He laughed again and smiled. Oh, that was a sight that stopped her cold. The man was perfectly devastating when he grinned. He was a right beautiful specimen of the male creature. She wasn’t immune to a good-looking man but neither should she be noticing the ranger’s handsome visage.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t laugh at me.” She pumped the bellows and tried not to look at him again.

“I wasn’t laughing at you. You remind me of my sister.”

Rory reared back as if he’d slapped her in the face. His sister? She reminded him of his sister. No need to be acting foolish around him because he was handsome enough to make her eyes hurt. No need at all.

“You’d throw your sister off her land, take away her livelihood?” Might as well throw back his own arrogance at him.

“Yep. I would. She’s a pain-in-the-ass bossy woman who knows everything. Her husband is the only one who can control her.” The ranger shook his head. “Bossy women have always been a problem for me.”

“How sad for you.” She pumped the bellows again, keeping her focus on the fire, watching for the perfect shade of white to put the iron in the forge.

He chuckled. “You know, I thought Rory Foster was a man. Imagine my surprise when he turned out to be a she.”

His story kept getting better. Now she was like a manly, bossy woman who reminded him of his sister. She had no reason to be self-conscious.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Ranger. You can go back to your boss and tell him you couldn’t find the man you were sent for.” She plunged the iron into the forge and concentrated on creating the tool, not on the man standing four feet away.

He watched in silence but he watched. She had an itch she couldn’t scratch because of it. The best thing she could do was show him what this meant to her. So that’s what she did.

Caleb had no idea what he was in for when he rode out of Marks Creek in search of a blacksmith squatting on Texas land. She was nothing like he expected nor was she really like Olivia. Aurora Foster was as unique as the pieces of metal she crafted.

He wouldn’t admit it, but she impressed him not only with the way she spoke to him but by everything she did. Hell, a woman blacksmith? Unheard of, even in Texas. She was strong, not only in body, but in spirit and heart. The woman was ready to die to keep her life and her business. There was a warrior inside her.

He knew what it meant to lose your parents, to feel adrift in a world without their guiding ways. They had more in common than he thought yet they were as different as the moon was from the sun.

As he watched her work a piece of iron, the heat from the forge made his face tight. She was graceful if that were possible. He’d watched blacksmiths before, men of course, and not one of them had the skill this woman possessed. She was one with the hammer and anvil, creating a tool from nothing but a lump of iron. Artisan was the right word for her. She was an artist.

It wasn’t as though he could tell her any of that. No, she couldn’t know he had even the smallest amount of admiration for her. That was a weakness he did not expose to anyone.

Yet for some reason he watched her work. The woman knew her way around a forge and it was a pleasure to see. He should have simply thrown her off the land and been done with it. Even if she was taller than average and packed muscles most women didn’t, she was no match for him. He outweighed her by at least sixty pounds and six inches.

Caleb wouldn’t tell his commander that he’d stood there and let the blacksmith carry on business as though the state of Texas wasn’t waiting for the land. He didn’t know what they needed it for but he knew what she wanted it for. Caleb couldn’t feel bad for doing his job. Rory could find a new husband to support her—she didn’t need the smithy.

After she plunged the long chisel into the water, a hiss of steam wafted toward him. She stood the tool up beside others on the floor, each one as finely crafted as the others. Then it appeared the process would begin all over again with another lump of iron.

“Stop.”

She didn’t even hesitate, pumping the bellows while the fire blazed.

“I said stop. It’s time to let that fire die down and leave this place. Don’t make me force you.” Caleb gestured to the door.

“I have a job to do. Did you not hear me? I won’t be going anywhere. Ever.” She pumped the bellows in rapid succession, then threw a scoop of water on the fire.

Smoke filled the room in an instant, winding its way around him and making his eyes water. A loud bang was followed by another and darkness surrounded him. He was blind, coughing and disoriented. Then strong hands shoved him and he landed on his ass.

“Dammit, Rory.”

“That’s Mrs. Foster,” she hissed in his ear.

He tried to make a grab for her but he only found air. “Fucking hell.”

“Such language, Ranger Graham. I may have to report that kind of behavior.” She snaked out the door, leaving a brief snatch of light before it disappeared. It gave him enough to follow her.

Ranger Graham got off the floor and prepared to chase his quarry.

Chapter Three

Caleb wiped his eyes and blinked, the bright light of the day making it worse. He took off his hat and fanned his face, trying to clear some of the residual stinging. The woman definitely had a pair of brass balls.

He was finally able to focus without weeping like a girl. All he saw was his horse, happily grazing. Justice apparently didn’t care that his master was attacked by a lady blacksmith with an attitude. There were no unusual sounds, no feet pounding, no hooves, and thank God, no laughter.

He didn’t know what Rory hoped to do by dousing him with smoke. She’d run like a rabbit, leaving the very property she refused to leave. He was suspicious of her motives. Why would she do what she refused to do the last hour? It made no sense.

With more trepidation than fear, he walked around the side of the building then around the back. No sign of the confounded woman. He stepped into the tiny shack. The woman continued to surprise him. Her house was neat, organized, and full of the things she had obviously forged. There were no personal items beyond a few clothes on nails in the corner. It was a lonely little house, no more than a small piece of the house at the Circle Eight. Beyond it he saw the charred remains of something else. Grass had grown up around it but it had been a house at one time. Now there was only this shack, which at one time might have served as a smokehouse or storage for the smithy. It was better than sleeping on the ground each night and the house had a wooden floor. It wasn’t the worst he’d seen, but it was definitely meager.

Unfortunately she wasn’t in the house, or she’d managed hide in six inches of space beneath the bed. He left the shack and turned around to find Justice fifty yards away. Someone had untied him from the tree branch he’d secured him to. Smoke still poured from the smithy, turning the visibility murky but he could still see the damn horse.