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Riding West

He’d expected her to be spitting mad, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed.

After about twenty minutes of her furious protests, Parker finally decided to gag his beautiful prisoner, and if looks could kill, he would be stone cold in a grave somewhere.

Jesus, he certainly hoped he knew what he was doing.

Sitting in front of him, her back stiff with outrage, Celia’s gorgeous dark blue eyes flashed pure fire. He’d seen her mad before—considering her somewhat tempestuous disposition, that wasn’t new—but he was not sure she’d ever been this mad.

Damn, though, it might all be worth it—even if she ended up hating his guts—for the sensation of holding her in his arms. Her soft bottom bounced against his thighs as he urged Diablo into an easy canter, and he could smell the sweet scent from her hair. Her delicate features were flushed with anger, the smooth skin of her cheeks bright red, a bandana he’d brought for that purpose tied across her tempting mouth. She wore a light blue dress with tiny flowers patterned on the cotton material, and he could feel the voluptuous curves of her body through the thin cloth. Her hair was a lustrous gold touched with platinum glints in the light of the warm sun. It was tied back simply at her nape, and he couldn’t wait to slip that piece of ribbon free and watch it spill over the sheets of his bed.

If his wild plan worked, in a few hours he’d find out if she was as spirited in bed as she was in every other way. His cock stiffened from his wayward thoughts and the slight sway of her breasts against his arm. Trying to ignore it before he got a full-blown erection with a long ride still ahead of them, he scanned the horizon periodically from habit.

In less than two hours, rangeland gave way to small hills. Ridges of timber rose in front of them, dwarfed by the majestic peaks in the background. Aspens fluttered leaves in the dying afternoon breeze as they began to climb in elevation, and it was considerably cooler under the shadows of pine and spruce. Parker knew the way well and judged they’d get there just before dark, which was exactly what he’d expected.

So far, so good.

The gag, once she’d tired of making muffled protests, seemed to have the effect of calming Celia a little and he felt slightly guilty about it in the first place. After they splashed through a small stream and he slid off to let Diablo have a short rest and a cool drink, he lifted her from the saddle. “If you promise to not screech at me like an angry bluejay, I’ll take this off.”

There was a moment of hesitation, her blue eyes defiant, but Celia finally nodded. He loosened the bandana and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You can untie my hands as well,” she said in a voice that was only slightly uneven. “It’s pretty uncomfortable, Parker.”

Tying her hands had been both to make a point and to make sure she didn’t scratch his eyes out or try to pull his gun and shoot him during the actual abduction. Celia was more than capable of doing both. Parker lifted a brow sardonically. “I value life and limb. I don’t think so. We’re getting close to our destination. I’ll free you then.”

The expression on her lovely face was a mixture of surprise and fury. He’d never denied her anything—few men would. “You don’t care my arms are half-numb?”

“Nope.” It was a lie, for his first inclination was to untie her at once and abjectly apologize, but being a perfect gentleman around the very tempting, very spoiled Miss Evans hadn’t ever gotten him anywhere. She was almost twenty, and he’d been in love with her for years. Hell, he’d known her most of his life, he’d probably fallen for her when he was about five and he saw her right after she was born.

Lush lashes lowered slightly over the dark blue of her midnight eyes. She asked tightly, “What’s gotten into you?”

Ignoring the question, he pointed at the bubbling stream. “Are you thirsty? I’ll get you some water.”

“No thanks,” she replied in a scathing, bitter tone.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and got out a flask from his pocket, uncorking it and taking a theatrical swig.

“You’re drinking?” Celia’s delicate features registered slight shock.

“Sure am.” He stuffed the bottle back in his pocket and gave her a deliberately wicked grin. It wasn’t that he didn’t ever drink whiskey—he did in moderation—but never in front of her. With her father owning a big ranch, she saw plenty of drunken cowboys, and he’d never wanted her to think of him in that way.

“Maybe you’d better tell me just where we’re going and what the purpose of this is. If you want to talk to me, we could do that at home. You don’t have to drag me off like some barbarian.”

“Talk? It doesn’t work. I tried it. You were pretty lukewarm over talking about us. I have a better idea.” Parker lifted a brow and deliberately ran his gaze over her slender form in a suggestive inspection, lingering on the full curve of her breasts. “I think you can guess what I have in mind, Celia.”

Her lips parted and a small flush crept up her neck and into her face. She half-whispered in outraged protest, “Parker.”

Catching her by the waist, he lifted her back on to the horse and swung up behind her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll talk afterwards if that’s what you want.”

* * *

The man had gone insane.

That’s the only thing that could account for the transformation. Parker West was not a whiskey-drinking, high-handed wild cowboy. She’d met plenty of those in her life. He was a hard-working, sober young man who helped run a very prosperous cattle business, respected his parents, and was kind to children and little old ladies. Around Tijeras and the entire area, he was considered, in short, a paragon. A saint. A gentleman.

Thank goodness Rose had seen him grab her, tie her hands and ride off with her. Otherwise no one would believe it. Celia was pretty sure she still couldn’t believe it herself.

The cabin stood in a small clearing, the location away from any semblance to a path. The small structure wasn’t recently built by any means but seemed well kept even in the gloom of descending dusk, and there was a neat stack of firewood by the front door. The roof looked solid and next to it there was a small corral and a lean-to big enough for one horse. When they rode up, Parker dismounted and reached for her, lifting her in his arms instead of setting her on her feet. Cradled against his broad chest, Celia felt a small thrill in the pit of her stomach she wasn’t sure was alarmed panic or furtive excitement. He was strong—she’d seen him work before and knew it, but he carried her as if she weighed nothing at all. Whatever his intentions might be, she needed to face the fact she was at a pretty severe disadvantage. Normally, Parker would do anything to please her, but in his current unprecedented mood, she just wasn’t sure if he hadn’t meant exactly what he’d insinuated earlier.

Her face heated as she remembered how he’d looked at her. There had been a dark sensual promise in his eyes she’d never seen before.

Shouldering his way through the door, he effortlessly carried her inside. The interior was dark, but she got an impression of simplicity in the plain small table with two chairs, stone fireplace and of course the bed that took up one corner of the room. That was where he put her, setting her down and saying curtly, “Stay put. After I see to Diablo, I’ll come back and untie you.” He pointed a finger at where she sat. “If you aren’t right there, your hands stay tied, got it, Miss Evans?”

“I’ve got it,” she said sarcastically, giving him a level stare. “And for God’s sake, stop calling me Miss Evans. We’ve only known each other for about twenty years and you’ve never called me that before.”

There was a flicker of something in his light eyes. One ebony brow edged up. “I can do whatever I want,” he said pleasantly enough. “You might just keep it in mind.”

Lawless

Blessed warmth. It came from him, radiating from his much larger body. How he wasn’t chilled to the bone she didn’t know, but without thought she moved closer and he didn’t object but instead slid his arms around her and adjusted their position so she rested against his broad chest. Laurel sighed, her cheek against the flannel of his shirt, one muscular shoulder serving as a pillow.

“You’re a brave young lady, Miss Daniels.”

It seemed like her head fit just perfectly under his chin and she was unexpectedly comfortable. She mumbled, “Uhm…how so?”

“Seems to me you’re sleeping with Cal Riker.”

The hint of bitterness in his tone surprised her a little but she was too exhausted to analyze it further. “If you wanted to hurt me, you’d have done it by now.”

“I suppose that’s a logical way of looking at it.”

“If you were in my position, you might say it was the only way of looking at it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Most women would have gone into hysterics at some point during all of this.”

“Are you an expert on women, Mr. Riker?” Laurel shifted just enough so she could see his face. The moonlight softened his normally hard expression and lent shadows to the clean lines of brow and jaw.

“I’ve known my share.” The response was said with a hint of cynical amusement.

With his potent good looks, he probably had. Even with his reputation it was easy enough to suppose he could find female company if he wanted it. Curiously, she asked, “Do you have a sweetheart somewhere?”

“No.”

“It’s a pity.” She could hear the strong, steady thud of his heart and his scent, a woodsy mixture of male and the outdoors, was inexplicably intriguing.

“Why is that a pity?”

She hesitated, not sure what made her venture into such a personal discussion with a man known for his lethal ability with a gun, not to mention he was apparently also a thief. “You aren’t all bad,” she said finally. “Maybe if you—”

“I hope you aren’t about to tell me the right woman could redeem me, Miss Daniels.” He shifted a little as he interrupted, his powerful body moving against hers. “That’s an illusion you need to get out of your pretty head right away. I may not believe in violence against women, but that doesn’t show anything except a legacy of marginal decency from a childhood I think of now as a distant dream.”

“You are very much more decent than any of those men who took me off the train.” It was true, without an audience, he had been both respectful and solicitous.

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s not much of a compliment.”

She couldn’t argue that point. Just the thought of Ferris Norton with his pawing hands and lascivious sneer made her feel ill. “No,” she admitted, “I suppose it isn’t.”

An owl called, the sound drifting in the night. A light, cool breeze had stirred and she felt it brush her cheek, though she felt warm and content cradled in his arms.

In the arms of the Cal Riker. It was a ludicrous thought, but then again, the entire abduction seemed unreal, as if someone else had lived it.

“Why did you join up with them?” The question seemed a natural one. “Obviously it wasn’t for the money, otherwise you would have kept your share. It isn’t because you enjoy their company either, I got that easy enough.”

“And here earlier I was thinking you were something I didn’t reckon I’d ever run across, a female who didn’t ask a bunch of questions.” He drawled the words in that soft southern accent she found so attractive.

Defensively, she said, “It’s natural to be curious, especially since I am forced to trust you at this point.”

“Don’t.” The word was abrupt and edgy.

“Don’t what?”

“Trust me. Not for one minute. I’m not worthy of it, and I don’t want the responsibility. Just because I didn’t force you last night doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about what it would be like if you were willing. In fact, I’m pretty sure you noticed I was.”

How he’d moved against her wasn’t something she’d likely forget. Even though they hadn’t done what he pretended they were doing, he had still pushed her legs apart and lain between them. How easily he had subdued her with his superior weight and strength was a sobering reminder of her vulnerability. “I noticed,” she admitted, her voice low and a slow blush burning her cheeks.

“Your problem is, Miss Daniels, you are one very pretty young lady. Maybe the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

His hand lifted and he touched her cheek very lightly with his long fingers, the caress just a brush but the contact sending a jolt of awareness through her entire body.

…if you were willing…

His voice was husky. “I’m going to guess your father has his hands full keeping all those hungry ranch hands away from you. For his sake, I hope you don’t have any sisters.”

“One brother,” Laurel managed to say, aware he was staring at her mouth. Her pulse fluttered in her throat as she saw his lashes—ridiculously long and thick for a man—drift downward a fraction as he bent his head. Warm breath fanned her cheek. She vaguely heard herself ask, “What are you doing?”

“Showing you why you can’t trust me. Maybe I didn’t take advantage of you last night, but for twenty thousand surely you owe me a kiss.”