THE OUTLAW BRIDE Page 9

  Her breath rushed out of her all at once, as if he'd punched her in the belly. It came out in a warm whoosh that bathed his neck. "I do think that. I see it, sometimes, you know, in my mind. How I would have killed them all to protect my father and my home."

  "Yeah. I know. I used to think that if I'd been with my parents the day they died, I could somehow have prevented the accident that killed them, too. But that's a fantasy. You know that, right? If you'd been with your father, you'd likely as not have died with him that day."

  "Sí. You are right."

  "So you need to figure the way I do. Fate has a plan for you, and dying with your father that day wasn't a part of it. Fate wanted you to live. You weren't there because you weren't meant to be, and that's all she wrote."

  Lifting her head from Elliot's shoulder, she stared into his eyes. "If Fate wanted me to live, then why did I end up on the gallows facing death, Elliot?"

  He lifted his eyebrows. "You didn't die, Esmeralda."

  "Well, only because you came and … and…" She blinked her eyes slowly. "The skull … the skull is said to restore human beings to their proper place." She looked at Elliot, then at the trees around them, and the rolling meadows beyond that. "But … but this is not my proper place. This is a strange new world to me."

  Elliot shrugged. "It's where you ended up. So to my way of thinking, it must be where you belong. Things happen the way they're meant to, Esmeralda."

  And you were meant to be right here. On this ranch, with me.

  Elliot blinked as the odd thought whispered through his mind, and then he rapidly thanked his lucky stars he hadn't spoken it aloud.

  "Will you promise me something, Elliot Brand?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

  Anything. That was what he thought as he looked down into those wide, bottomless black eyes, with their long, thick sable lashes. But he said, "Depends."

  "Promise me that no matter what happens … you will never send me away from this place, the way my father did."

  He felt a lump come into his throat. "Fair is fair, Esmeralda. And I do promise you that. I just wish I could give you … something more." He bent and brushed the moss off a rotting log, waved for her to sit, and when she did, he stuck his hands in his pockets, and began to pace back and forth. "I believe you when you say your father was swindled out of this place. I mean, hell, how can I not? I met those ancestors of mine face-to-face. It's pretty clear what kind of men they were."

  She blinked up at him, looking astonished. "You … you are admitting this?"

  "Sure. I just … I don't know what can be done about it now. I mean, it's not our fault that three or four generations ago our ancestors pulled a fast one." He shrugged, shaking his head. "It's not just me that's involved here. It's the whole family. The ranch belongs to all of us. I mean, it's been in the family for a hundred years. And we've added to it, improved it, cleared old forests and planted new ones. There are ponds and wells that never existed in your time, and buildings. Our home, for heaven's sake…" He drew a deep breath, blew it out again. "There are the kids to think of, too, you know? The next generation." Licking his lips, he waited for her to speak, and when she said nothing, he went on. "When our parents died, the ranch was left to all six of us equally. My brother Ben sold his share back to us and used the money to build his martial-arts school in town. The entire upper floor is his home, and it's pretty fabulous. Wes, he sold us his share so he could buy a place of his own. Sky Dancer Ranch, he calls it. He and Taylor raise Appaloosas there. Then Adam sold his share, too, so he could start up his dude ranch on the far side of town."

  "So the ranch is owned now by…?" she asked.

  He was deep in thought now, pacing and talking, and feeling that she was getting the short end of the stick no matter how thoroughly he tried to explain it all to her. "Garrett, Jessi and I each own a third. We planned to keep it all together, so we could pass it on to the next generation. Little Bubba, and Maria-Michele, and Ben's baby when it comes. You know?"

  He looked at her. She lowered her head to hide her eyes.

  "I know," he said. "You have as much right to be here as any of us. More, maybe. But how the hell can I explain that to them?"

  "I don't know."

  "I'll tell you this much," he said. "You've got free run of this place. And you can stay here for as long as you want, come and go as you please. Just like one of the family. I'll make sure of it."

  "I … appreciate that." Why did he get the feeling she was gritting her teeth behind those words?

  "I wish I could do more. I just don't see how I can."

  "Then that will have to be enough," she said, her voice soft. Dangerously soft.

  He nodded, expecting an explosion, not getting one. "So, um … how 'bout we ride back to the house, pick up some tools, and come back here to get to work on this spot?"

  "Sí. Whatever you wish."

  She sure was placid all of a sudden. Elliot didn't think he liked it.

  "I will bring our horses," she said, getting to her feet and hurrying back out through the trees, in search of the horses, who were, no doubt, grazing contentedly a few yards off. He stayed where he was, feeling like a criminal. Maybe he needed to think on this some more. It really wasn't fair.

  A second later, Elliot could have sworn he heard a slap, and then the sound of galloping hooves.

  He shook himself out of the guilt and hurried out of the scrub lot. And there he saw Esmeralda standing, hands on her hips, looking at the shrinking form of the mare, who'd apparently bolted. "I don't know what frightened her!" Esmeralda said. Then she shrugged and turned to face Elliot. "I guess we'll have to ride back together."

  Why did she sound like an overzealous actress in her first made-for-TV movie? Hell, he didn't know. He gripped the remaining horse's reins and reached out a hand to help Esmeralda mount.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Oh, sí, she would be endlessly grateful for the meager crumbs Elliot Brand saw fit to throw her way. She would smile and thank him and accept his permission to come and go as she pleased on her own property! Of course she would! For the moment.

  She was almost relieved. Because, finally, his placating attitude and his humoring of her, his pitiful dismissal of her righteous claim to this land, made it easy to dislike him again. It reminded her that he was her enemy. His family were her rivals. The killers of her father. The thieves of her heritage. The destroyers of her life. And oh, how she'd needed reminding!

  For a time, she had forgotten. For a time, she'd seen only the softness and caring in his eyes. The gentleness of his touch. The tenderness in his voice. The strength in his chest and the breadth of his shoulders. She'd begun to see him as a human being, a man, instead of as a Brand. It was good that he had reminded her. Love a man, love his family, her father had always told her. To know a man, just look at his family. Well, she could never care for a man who came from this family.

  As a Brand, he was nothing more than an obstacle she had to get past. He was the one thing standing between her and her land.

  Yet, as she sat in front of him on his horse, it kept occurring to her that seducing this man was not going to be an altogether unpleasant experience.

  He'd helped her up, then climbed up behind her, so her body was nestled tight to his, in the V of his legs. One strong arm was anchored around her waist, while the other held the reins in an easy, masterful grip. He said nothing, but she felt him. She seemed to feel him a lot. She was attuned to him in some way, aware of him. She'd never been quite so in touch with what a man was feeling.

  So when he stiffened a bit, right after mounting the horse, she felt it. His nervousness, his discomfort with the intimacy of the position. But she also felt it when he relaxed. His arm sliding ever-so-slightly tighter around her waist. His head dipping just a little, so he could inhale the scent of her hair. His chest cradling her back as the horse rocked beneath them. And his hips rocked with the horse, hers rocked wit
h his, and the motion mocked her plan to seduce him, make love to him, and feel nothing. The wind blew, and she let herself relax in Elliot's arms. The silent ride back took on an intimacy that she hadn't expected.

  To speak would be to break that spell. He seemed to sense it as she did, and so he didn't speak. She didn't, either. When they finally rode up to the stables back at the ranch, she knew when he smiled, felt the smile in every part of him, and she smiled at the same time.

  The mare she'd meanly sent running off was standing in front of the stables, waiting for them.

  Esmeralda turned her head, met Elliot's eyes, saw the smile she'd known would be there. But as their gazes locked, his smile faded, and the look in his eyes grew darker, more intense. Something in her stomach tightened, clenched, and she thought his lips inched ever so slightly closer to hers…

  But then he cleared his throat, blinked his eyes, averted them. "I'll, uh … I'll get what we need." He dismounted quickly and hurried away, leaving her.

  Esmeralda blinked as she watched him go, then gave herself a mental shake. What was wrong with her? She was letting him get to her! No doubt that was exactly what he intended. She was not the only one who could plot and scheme to get what she wanted. No indeed, men were the masters of that game. And Elliot Brand was no exception. Holding her that way! Breathing on her neck as they rode silently back to the ranch. The way his palm had warmed where it lay upon her belly. The way he'd looked at her just now. Trying to melt her heart with his eyes.

  Dios!

  She got off his horse and walked over to the mare, taking her bridle and leading her back inside the stable. There she fed the horse a handful of grain to placate her. "I am sorry about that little slap," she whispered. "It was necessary. And I thank you for the help."

  She removed the saddle and bridle, found a rag on the wall and rubbed the mare down, following up with a grooming brush. By the time she led the horse out the rear door and turned her loose in the pasture, she was certain the mare had forgiven her.

  She simply wasn't certain she had forgiven herself. Even for one moment to let herself feel … attracted … to a Brand. Again. She was sure it was just what Elliot wanted. To charm her into giving up any hope of reclaiming her ranch. Well, he would not succeed. She would be the one to win at this game. She might even pretend to be falling for his transparent charms, but all the while she would be the one charming him. Into her bed—and off her land.

  "I think this is everything we need."

  She looked up abruptly, torn from her thoughts.

  From just beyond the open front door of the stable, Elliot frowned at her, probably concerned by the look of pure hatred on her face. Forcing a false smile to replace it, she walked outside to join him. She quickly examined the items he had tossed into the little cart he'd attached behind his horse. Two pairs of gloves, a gardening spade, shovel and heavy iron rake. A sack of grass seed and some heavy-duty shears. And something big and very odd-looking. Orange and white, with a long snout wrapped in a chain of some sort. "What is that?" she asked, pointing.

  Elliot looked where she pointed. "Oh, that. It's called a chainsaw. It's for cutting trees and limbs."

  She could not possibly see how that thing could cut anything, much less a tree.

  "It's very fast, and very noisy. I'll show you when we get out there."

  She shrugged, curious in spite of herself.

  "Do you want a drink or anything before we head out?" he asked.

  "No, Elliot. If I get thirsty I will drink from the stream. I am eager to repair the damage a century of your family's stewardship has done to my family's resting place."

  He sent her a look as he climbed into the saddle, pushing his hat more firmly onto his head and sighing. "You sure do hold a grudge."

  She shrugged and reached up a hand.

  Elliot frowned. "Where's the other horse?"

  "I rubbed her down and turned her out to pasture," she told him, making her eyes as wide and innocent as possible. "I've no use for a mare who runs off and leaves me, anyway." She wiggled her hand at him.

  Sighing, Elliot closed his around it and tugged her up. She swung her leg in front of him, settling into position just as before.

  Elliot didn't move for a moment. Instead he leaned down, and, softly, his breath tickling her ear, he said, "Esmeralda?"

  "Sí?"

  "I'm glad you turned the mare out. I like this a lot better."

  She turned slightly, met his eyes, and didn't have to remind herself to act sincere when she said, "So do I."

  The horse leapt into motion. Elliot's arm held her close and safe against him, and in just a short while, they were back at the site.

  For the remainder of the afternoon Esmeralda worked in the hot Texas sun. It didn't bother her. She was used to the hot, humid air. Her skin was dark and tough. She would not burn like some gringo woman.

  By noon she had shed the light chambray shirt Chelsea had given her and was working only in the scandalously scant "tank top," as the other woman had called it. And her jeans, of course. But there was no shyness in Esmeralda. If she'd shown any, it would have been false, but as it was, she didn't feel the need to pretend. In the first place, she'd seen the way the women dressed in this time. Especially on the television box. They wore far less, revealed far more, than Esmeralda was doing. Besides, she'd been watching Elliot Brand. His eyes were always on her as she worked. The hotter it got, the more she sweated, the harder he stared. Now it seemed he could barely take his eyes off her.

  He'd demonstrated the "chained saw," a crude, noisy, smoke-belching thing that seemed designed—as most things in this century were—to cater to the laziness of the modern man. An ordinary saw or hatchet would have done the job just as well. But this one took away the effort needed.

  She was truly surprised that the people of this time had not all gone to fat, as easy as their lives were.

  They had cleared a twenty-foot area around the two gravestones now. A huge pile of scrub brush and saplings stood in the nearby clearing, and Elliot was working with a shovel to uproot the larger stumps and roots, while Esmeralda was hacking up the topsoil with the iron rake.

  But she stopped when she felt his eyes on her.

  Looking back at him, she said, "What?"

  "Uh … nothing. I … nothing."

  She smiled, and tried to feel smug, because she knew exactly what. He was looking at her, and he was liking what he saw. But it was not so easy to do this, because when she'd looked back at him, she'd liked what she'd seen, too. He'd taken off his shirt. He was digging, muscles bunching and flexing with the effort beneath smooth, tanned, sweat-damp skin.

  Esmeralda licked her lips and thought that this really was unfair. She wanted him panting for her, desperate for her … she wanted to make him forget logic and common sense and his love for his home and family all for the sake of one brief moment in her arms. But she was the one who kept seeing illicit images in her mind. She was the one who kept feeling as if her soul had been touched by hellfire and forgetting that it was all just make-believe. An act. A means to reclaiming what was hers.

  Dios. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. More, perhaps.

  Closing her eyes, Esmeralda knew she was in trouble. Her entire plan was in jeopardy. For her body had no common sense, and it was not listening to her brain. Instead it was yearning to mate with the body of the man who was her sworn enemy.

  Traitor.

  Elliot was not prepared for this kind of thing. So, okay, he'd drooled over swimsuit models and actresses like every other red-blooded Texas male. But this was different. This was Esmeralda, and she was like every man's fantasy all rolled into one beautiful, sloe-eyed confection. He'd never expected to be this close to heaven before. And if he had, he would never have believed he would be this confused as to what to do about it.

  She was slender. Long-limbed. Dark. Strong. Her skin gleamed with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her long, black hair curled and clung to her skin in places. And he
was aching like he'd never ached in his life. He wanted to go over there and pull her tight against him and kiss her—right now. He wanted … a hell of a lot more than that, too. Everything in his body was itching to act, to move, to touch.

  Everything else in him was telling him not to even think about it. Hell, why did his big brother Garrett have to be so damned determined to raise him up right? Not to take advantage of a woman, not to have casual sex, to be responsible and smart, and to think of the woman first and foremost.

  He felt like he was being torn right in two!

  He wanted her. But he knew acting on that wouldn't be very chivalrous of him, because he could probably talk her into it if he tried, and he would never really be sure if that was because she wanted him, too, or because she thought it was what was expected of her. That maybe she owed him something for saving her life and taking her in. And then there was the whole hundred-year-old episode that had happened yesterday to think about. A bastard who could have been Elliot's twin had tried to rape her. She'd killed him for it, which was as it should be, as far as he was concerned. But how would she react to Elliot's touch now? Would she be remembering that other S.O.B. and shivering with disgust?

  He didn't know what to do, dammit. He just didn't know what to do.

  But he knew what he wanted. Two things that happened to be at direct odds with each other. He wanted to make love to Esmeralda. And he wanted to convince her, beyond a doubt, that he was utterly unlike any of the men she'd known before.

  And it didn't seem to Elliot, even in his confused state of mind, that he could possibly do both. Hell.

  He could have groaned in anguish. But he didn't. He just kept working.

  All day they worked, and he never touched her. Never kissed her, never tried anything at all!

  What in the name of the blessed mother was wrong with him? How was she ever supposed to get her land back if he didn't marry her? And how was she going to make him marry her unless he made her pregnant? And how was he going to make her pregnant when he wouldn't even touch her?