Wild Texas Rose Read online

  He followed, but kept a wary distance. “I’m a captain.” That would impress her.

  But all she asked was, “What brought you back here?” She laid the carbine down on the ground by the bed.

  He chose to take that as a tacit surrender. He’d been keeping the frontier safe for her, so she could raise horses or whatever she wished. By God, he’d been one of the heroes of Texas, and she should be honored that he’d taken the time from his life to do that.

  Of course, she didn’t look honored. She looked mean enough to go bear hunting with a switch.

  Feeling much like the bear, he said, “Major Jones died last year, and I was going to resign, anyway. The law is in place, for the most part, and it’s getting damn dull policing a territory that doesn’t need policing. When your letter came in, asking for a Ranger, they called me in because they knew I … knew you. I’d, uh, talked about you some.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Just a look, but it spoke volumes, and he hastened to explain, “Not in an ugly way. Merely mentioned that I had a girl back home who … “ He trailed off. What should he say? A girl who was his life? A girl who had turned him in to the law? A girl he’d given up because he thirsted for adventure and she hungered for stability?

  Profiled against the stone, she opened the wallet and gazed again at the badge. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The clean outline of her body chased the last lingering bit of reason from his mind. “When?”

  Her slashing glance told him what she thought of him.

  “You mean last night at the party?” Bringing his attention back to the conversation, he shrugged, trying to project suave indifference. “I’m here on a mission — to discover who stole your horses. It’s easier to nose around if no one knows I’m interested.”

  “You’ve been in the county for weeks. Isn’t that right? Why couldn’t you have come to the ranch and told me before?”

  Funny. He hadn’t thought he might have trouble explaining why he’d pulled the wool over her eyes. The men of the Rangers were known for their honesty and for their contempt of deviousness. Yet he had been devious with her, and for no good reason.

  At least — it had seemed a good reason at the time, but faced with a naked, outraged woman, it was obvious that any reason that kept him from her bed, even temporarily, was stupid.

  Impatient with his silence, she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me last night in my bedroom? Or later, when I pulled the gun on you? Or after we— ?” She gestured furiously at the boulder.

  He could have sworn he discerned burn marks on that rock. It had been the night he’d dreamed of for years. She had given herself to him wholly, without reservations, and it had been, for him, their wedding night. For her, too, he supposed. He hoped. And if last night was their wedding night, today was the first day of their marriage, and he owed her honesty for now and forever.

  Mustering his courage — more courage than it took to face her carbine — he said, “I didn’t tell you because I wanted a little bit of revenge.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rose repeated the word with a clipped enunciation. “Revenge?”

  “For sending me to prison.”

  “I thought you were stealing my horses for revenge.”

  “No.” Thorn was shocked and righteous. “That would be dishonest.”

  She muttered … something. Had she called him a bastard again?

  Defensively, he said, “You did send me to prison for stealing your daddy’s saddle. I know I deserved it, and I know that saddle would cost a month’s wages, but it seemed like fooling you — for a little while — wouldn’t be … ah … too terrible a thing.”

  “Fooling me,” she repeated. She clutched the wallet tight in one hand, and balled the other hand into a fist.

  She had mentioned that before, he remembered. That he’d made a fool of her. Trying to placate her, he stammered, “Now, sugar. Now, listen. It’s all over. No harm’s been done.”

  It didn’t matter how much he sweet-talked her, rage still emanated from her every pore. And even enraged, every one of her pores looked fine to him. In fact, her whole body looked fabulous to his whole body, and his button-front fly felt as though it had been struck by lightning.

  He wanted her. He wanted her bad — or good, or any way he could get her. And he couldn’t imagine that she didn’t want him. She’d always wanted him. Their mutual desire had been the thread that drew them together, even as their different ambitions had pushed them apart.

  But now they wanted the same thing, for he had changed. He wasn’t the green boy who had stolen a saddle, or the youth who, after he was released from jail, had come back to see his love.

  Nor was he the youth who had ridden away from that love, wiping his nose on his shirt. He’d grown up, he was ready to settle down — and, truth to tell, he didn’t feel that noble anymore. He had done as he promised. He had made Rose his own, and he couldn’t let her go again.

  He spread his arms wide and flung his head back in a mighty gesture of conciliation. “It doesn’t matter about the past. All that matters is that I’m here now. Come and take me. Love me until I can’t bear to leave you.” He dropped to his knees, proposing to her as he’d dreamed of doing a hundred times. “Marry me and stay with me for the rest of my life. I won’t be a happy man if you don’t.” “You conceited jackass!”

  A projectile hit Thorn square on the breastbone. “What the—?” He grabbed at it as it glanced off and flew past his nose.

  His wallet.

  “Are you crazy?” he shouted, although more from amazement than pain. “My badge is in there!”

  “Marry it and stay with it for the rest of your life.” Savage in her disdain, Rose mimicked, “You won’t be a happy man if you don’t.”

  “I … you … “ He hefted the wallet in his hand. This wasn’t going the way he had imagined. “That silver star is heavy. You might hurt someone!”

  She rotated her throwing arm and massaged it with her hand. “I am not so lucky.”

  She appeared to be serious. But she couldn’t be. “Damn it—”

  “Don’t swear.”

  Standing, he dusted off his knees. “Is that any way to respond to a proposal of marriage?”

  “No, but I can’t shoot you. It is against the law to kill a Texas Ranger.”

  He gaped, but she seemed to have no more attention to spare for him, and when he came racing up the slope, she ignored him. “Why are you acting like this?” he demanded.

  Calm as you please, she picked up her chemise and slipped it over her head.

  “You can’t get all het up because I proposed.”

  “I’m not the one who’s het up.” She tugged the drawstrings in the front so tight it puckered from waist to chest, then pulled on her riding jacket and buttoned it all the way to the neck.

  “There’s a lot of women out there who … “ Her legs, her hips, her waist. Damn, what had he been talking about? “A lot of women out there who’d like me to propose to them.”

  “So do it.”

  Her hose and garters accented the curve of her calf and made him aware that he’d said the stupidest thing a man could say to the woman he loved. He had always known the right way to woo a woman, but Rose was different. Rose was important.

  And how could he concentrate when faced with her half-clothed figure?

  Desperately, he tried to salvage lost opportunities. “I don’t want to propose to anyone else. You’re the only woman I could spend my life with. The only woman I’ve ever even considered spending my life with.”

  She stepped into her drawers, then her riding skirt. She braided her hair, coiled it, and pinned it close against her head. She settled the hat on her head and belted the holster around her waist. Then, facing him, she asked, “Should I be honored?”

  Her feet still peeked from beneath her skirt, and above her feet were her legs, her hips, her chest, and every last, luscious inch between.

  “I’m not a bad catch,” he an
swered absently, wondering how to get her clothes back off.

  “Not a bad catch?” She chuckled bitterly and jammed her feet into her boots, depriving him of his last suggestive view. “Not a bad catch, if I don’t mind being the object of laughter for my husband.”

  He caught her around the waist. “I don’t laugh at you.”

  She let him draw her forward until their bodies met, then leaned back and looked him in the eye. “You’ve made a fool of me for the last time, Thorn Maxwell.”

  “I never made a fool of you.” But he faltered, because in some ways, he had.

  “No, I guess not. I made a fool of myself.” She smiled scornfully. “I suffered agonies when I testified against you. I haven’t been able to look your mother or your sisters or your brothers in the face since I did it. Then, when your prison time was up, you didn’t come back. You didn’t send word or let me know if you forgave me for sending you to prison. I haven’t known for nine years where you were. And then you come waltzing in, sweep me off my feet, make sure that everyone in the county knows your game.”

  “It wasn’t a game. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  He might as well not have spoken, for all the attention she paid him. “Even I knew your game, but I thought I knew you, too. I remembered the smart, restless scapegrace, and I remembered the kindness he always tried to hide. Well, I guess you hid it long enough that it disappeared. Your flattery may be warm and it may feel good, but I’m still smart enough to know when you’re pissing on my boots and telling me it’s raining. And I don’t want any of it!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Language!” Thorn was genuinely shocked. “Watch your language, Rose Corey!”

  She yanked out of his arms. “Go to hell, Thorn Maxwell.”

  This time, he wasn’t shocked. He was flummoxed.

  She strode over to Rooster, got him ready, saddled him, all the while crooning to the horse in a way she sure as hell wasn’t crooning to Thorn.

  Funny. She had looked happier when she thought Thorn was a horse thief. When she learned he was a Texas Ranger, she’d gotten plumb unreasonable.

  She slid her Winchester into the saddle holster. She took Starbright’s reins in her hand, then mounted Rooster and flicked an impatient glance at Thorn.

  She intended to go with him, that was obvious, and he sure didn’t have the gumption to tell her no, so he gathered his gear, loaded his saddlebags … and while his foot was halfway headed toward the stirrup, she took off riding up the canyon toward the Pogue property.

  He got himself into the saddle right quick and caught up with her. He was pretty sure if he didn’t stick close, she’d handle this operation herself.

  Didn’t she like law-abiding men? Thorn had known women who got a thrill from a brush with a scoundrel, but he hadn’t imagined Rose was one.

  In fact, he’d thought she was the woman who only got a thrill from him. Maybe he’d been deluding himself. Maybe last night had been a dream.

  A hot, sweaty, magnificent delusion.

  He narrowed his eyes at her upright figure in the saddle atop Rooster.

  Yeah, it must have been a dream, because now she was cold enough to freeze a fire. You’d never know it was early afternoon and kind of warm down where the canyon walls provided shelter from the wind.

  He scanned the rocky rim for the telltale flash of gunmetal. Every thicket and every tree, every rock and every rise could shelter a bandit, and Thorn kept his rifle loose in its saddle holster.

  The way Rose was acting, only her horses mattered. One would have thought the still imprisoned Goliath was her dearest friend in the world. And where did that leave Thorn?

  Derisively, he answered his own question. It left him riding toward a stash of stolen horses under a sky filled with thin clouds, trying like hell to make his woman happy when he knew she ought to be at home tending her tatting.

  Their horses’ hooves clomped too loudly in the dirt for his comfort, and the rock walls rising on either side of them relentlessly revealed the two riders to any watching eye. Their vulnerability started an itch down his spine, and he projected his voice to reach her ears, and no farther. “We’ll stop here. It’s not far to the corral. Around this bend, we’ll intersect with another canyon, and beyond there’s a notch in the wall where the horses are fenced.”

  She glanced at Starbright. “Then we can go and get the horses at once.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  He had to draw the line somewhere. After all, he was the one in charge of this operation. “We’re not going anywhere. I’ll scout around. See what I can find. If there’s no one out there — and I imagine Sonny has someone posted to watch the horses — then we’ll let Starbright loose to wander over to the corral.”

  That made Rose turn around and look him in the eye for the first time in this long ride. “Are you crazy? You steal Starbright back and now you want to return her? I want my horses!”

  “And I want the thief.”

  “I want Goliath.”

  “You’ll get Goliath.” He glanced toward the tops of the canyon again. “As soon as I discover who’s behind this.”

  She glanced around as if expecting a posse to appear. “You don’t mean you want to capture this thief by yourself?”

  Remembering the fixes he’d gotten himself out of in the last seven years, he almost smirked. But he didn’t want to upset her more, so he said simply, “Why not? I’ve intimidated a cattle camp full of drunken cowboys. I can certainly capture one horse thief.”

  She paled.

  Hastening to reassure her, he added, “Besides, I’m not by myself. I’ve got you.”

  She turned white.

  He knew it wasn’t from cowardice. He wished it was, but the woman had more courage than sense. Still, she’d had some shocks over the last few hours, and maybe some hidden delicacy caused that queasy look on her face. Concern made him gruff, and he said, “Dammit, Rose—”

  “Don’t swear.”

  “Are you getting sick?”

  “No.”

  “Because I don’t like having a woman along on a mission, especially not my woman—”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  Exasperated, he grabbed the bit in Rooster’s mouth and brought the horse close beside him. Leaning clear out of the saddle, balanced on one stirrup, he kissed Rose, hard and fast. Then he let her go.

  She backed Rooster away from Thorn as if he were nuttier than a peach orchard pig.

  He inspected her face. “That brought the color back, anyway.”

  Her hand flew to cover her cheek.

  He declared, “You’re my woman, all right. You just have a bad case of the peadoodles. After you get used to the idea of being married to me, you won’t be so nervous about it.”

  “I don’t plan to get used to the idea.”

  God, she looked haughty as only Rose could look, and that made him grin. That, and the fact that she’d liked the kiss. “You mean you’re already used to it.”

  “No, that is not what I mean. You are presuming too much on the basis of a single” — she stared between her horse’s ears — “kiss.”

  “A kiss?” He dismounted. “A single kiss? I recall a little more than that.”

  Smoothing Rooster’s mane, she said, “No matter what happened, you would still presume too much. You are a presuming type of man.”

  He led his horse into the shade against the rock wall and tethered it to the branch of a ponderosa pine. “I guess I am. I guess when a woman demands that I take my clothes off nice and slow—”

  “Thorn!”

  “—and offers me a job stripping in her saloon if I’ll stop stealing horses—”

  “You hush.” She looked around as if the Ladies’ Aid society was going to hop out of the bushes.

  “—and after we melt a solid Texas boulder down to glass and I tell her I’ve never stolen horses … well, I presume she’s going to be happy, and I presume she’s my woman.” He c
ocked his head and studied her. “I told you I was going to make you mine.”

  “Well, you did.” As stiff as she was, she must have starched her face. “And I hope you enjoyed it.”

  Remembering the night, he rumbled, “Yeah, I did. Never had so much fun with a rock before. Beats skipping ‘em any time.” He held Rooster’s bridle and looked up at her. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

  He held his breath and waited for her to lie. But he should have remembered. Rose didn’t lie. “Very much.” She clipped her words like a goddamn Yankee. “But I have no intention of repeating the experience.”

  “Too bad, ‘cause it only gets better. When a woman and a man — say you and me — get into a bed with clean white sheets — say your bed at your house — they push the quilt all the way to the bottom. Then they take off their clothes — nice and slow, the way you like, or nice and fast the way I like — and the man — that would be me — takes hold of the woman’s feet — your feet, Rose — and starts kissing from the toes up.” He grasped her boot at the ankle.

  She jumped.

  Working his way up under her skirt, he massaged the sensitive skin behind her knee. “By the time the man — me — gets this far, the woman — you — is making those little whimpering sounds like you did last night. And when I kiss the inside of your thighs—” His fingers skated up.

  Rose did whimper, just a little.

  Quick as a minnow, he slipped his hand away. “But you’re not interested in that.”

  “Thorn!”

  He would not grin. He would not grin …

  He would not get distracted by the idea of pulling her off that horse and pushing her up against the canyon wall and making sweet, hot love either.

  It was altogether too dangerous. Really, really dangerous. … He pulled his attention back to the business at hand. “Let me tell you what I want you to do. We’re going to walk through the canyon to the corral, and — Rose, are you listening?”

  He could have answered the question himself. No, she wasn’t listening. She was looking … right at his button-front fly. Trouble was, he couldn’t spend much time around Rose without that conspicuous bulge, and he sure as hell couldn’t discuss the hours he planned to spend in her bed without mimicking a stallion in rut.