Prettiest Little Horse Thief Read online

  “This country isn’t easy on a woman,” returned Colt. He eyed Rebecca carefully. “Especially for one as handsome as you.”

  Rebecca glanced up, brows drawn together.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect,” he added quickly.

  Rebecca turned away. He could see she was suffering again. He moved closer. There was something so alluring about her. He’d never felt so drawn to a woman, and he’d never felt so tongue-tied.

  She moved to the stove, a small pot-bellied affair, and stirred what appeared to be a kettle of beans. He watched her, enchanted by the way she held her head, as if listening for something.

  “Shih-chai has said I should sell out. Sell out and move to town, closer to my sister, Naomi, and her husband.”

  Colt listened; was she asking for his advice?

  “He says I am trouble. A woman alone.” She stopped stirring and pivoted. “Am I trouble, Mr. Ryman?”

  Colt felt an unmistakable rush of desire fill him. He moved across the space that separated them, and, without thinking, reached out and pulled her into his arms.

  She did not resist.

  “You are trouble, Mrs. Williams. And I don’t know what to do about it, except this.” Raising her face to his, he kissed her.

  When she pushed him away, she was flushed.

  “I think I may have to do that again,” he said, smiling suddenly.

  “You will regret it if you do,” she said, pulling at the edges of her apron. “Even my husband did not—”

  Colt didn’t hesitate. “Marry me, Rebecca Williams,” he whispered hoarsely. “Marry me.”

  ****

  Without knowing why, Rebecca slapped Colt Ryman.

  He pulled back, confusion registered across his chiseled face.

  “Marry you?” she snapped. “Marry you! Marry any man!” She took a deep breath. “I tried that once, Mr. Ryman. I trusted Frank Williams to take care of me. No, I was a fool once. I don’t even know you.”

  Colt’s face grew dark. “You need a man, Mrs. Williams. Dent, and others just like him, are going to come back. They’re going to take what they want. That includes you.”

  “I’ll be ready the next time,” she said, fighting back tears.

  She returned to the stove, turning her back on the man filling the emptiness around her, and busied herself. That she’d let this stranger kiss her was disturbing enough; that she’d enjoyed it was more disturbing; but the fact that she was even tempted by his preposterous proposal was the most disturbing thing of all.

  She must be reeling from Dent’s attack, she decided. No wonder she’d nearly fallen apart in his large and very capable arms.

  She reached out and steadied herself. “Mr. Ryman, I don’t know what would induce a man, a stranger, to presume—”

  The sudden sound of boots on the wood flooring, followed by the opening and closing of the heavy plank door stifled further protest. She turned and exhaled.

  Immediately, she dropped into one of the two chairs nearest the table and laid her head against her folded arms. “You fool,” she whispered. “You fool.” Then she sat up and looked around. “No man, no man,” she vowed, “will ever steal my heart again.”

  ****

  Colt found Shih-chai repairing the broken rails of the small corral that adjoined the barn. He waited for the old Indian to acknowledge him before speaking.

  “Tell me,” he said, “we both know that Mrs. Williams is not safe here.”

  Shih-chai agreed.

  “She’s asking for trouble,” Colt continued.

  Shih-chai nodded.

  “That’s why she must agree to marry me.”

  Shih-chai said nothing.

  “If she were to marry me, then whatever I do to protect her would be considered self-defense—”

  “But why you marry Becca? She hard woman.” Shih-chai shook his head. “She listen to no man.”

  Colt picked up one end of the railing, no doubt broken by Dent’s men, and positioned it so that Shih-chai could drive nails in it to secure it. “I don’t know, truth be told. I’ve never been married before.” He shrugged. “Never thought to be married.”

  Shih-chai picked up another nail. “She not listen to Shih-chai.”

  “She will have to listen to me, and she will marry me,” Colt said. “And then I will take care of Dent and his men.”

  Shih-chai nodded.

  ****

  Carter Springs was nearly empty when Rebecca entered the mercantile at the far end of the dirt road that served as Main Street. Before she could close the door, Naomi Pope slipped inside.

  “I’ve been hoping you’d come to town,” Naomi said. “Les heard that there was a situation—”

  Rebecca frowned. She did not want to discuss what had happened with her sister, particularly in the middle of Harmon’s Mercantile where prying eyes and over-sized ears eagerly dined on every sordid bit of gossip.

  “Naomi, this is not something—”

  “Becca, the whole town’s buzzing about the stranger boarding at your place. Dent came in and said he saw you half-naked with this man three days ago! Said he’s seen him all hours of the day and night. Les is determined to arrest him if he’s half the scoundrel he seems to be.”

  “No!” hissed Rebecca. “It’s not at all what Dent suggested. In fact, it was Dent who—” She looked around and, seeing that Mrs. Karl Vickers was eyeing her critically, grabbed Naomi by the arm and led her back outside. “You have no idea, Naomi. Dent— he— it was he who— and Colt—”

  “Colt? This man has a first name?”

  Flushing, Rebecca stammered, hoping to find a way to explain to her sister exactly what had happened. “Mr. Ryman rescued me from Dent who jumped me. Do you hear me?”

  Naomi did not respond. Instead she took Rebecca’s hands in hers and whispered, “It may be so, Becca, but the town is ready to lynch Mr. Ryman.”

  A sardonic laugh sounded behind them.

  Rebecca turned to see Dent walking toward her. A wicked smile stretched across his face, which still bore the marks of Colt’s fist. “So, the whore comes to town?”

  Rebecca steeled herself. “Naomi, this is the man who attacked me. He nearly forced himself—”

  Dent laughed boldly, his eyes sweeping the area as if to be certain that he’d have an audience. “Mrs. Pope, we need to find your husband and send him out to Mrs. Williams’s place. This ne’er-do-well should be arrested. See what he did to me, even after I tried to defend your sister? I do believe he’s bewitched her.”

  Rebecca could hardly contain her anger.

  Naomi leaned closer. “Becca, your reputation is at stake here. You cannot be trying to defend a total stranger?”

  It was then Rebecca heard the booming voice that had rescued her once before. “Step away from her, Dent. Step away or I’ll blow you to Kingdom Come.”

  Naomi gasped and grabbed Rebecca’s arm.

  ****

  Dropping his horse’s reins, Colt Ryman extended his pistol and approached an infuriated Dent.

  The three or four people milling nearby stopped and turned.

  Colt had seen, even from a distance, that Rebecca once more needed his help. Judging from Rebecca’s sister’s face, he suspected his name had been raised in the encounter with Dent.

  “So, this must be your sister,” he said. He smiled at Naomi. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pope, isn’t it? And I understand you’re the sheriff’s wife?”

  Naomi, dumbstruck, nodded.

  “That’s good,” continued Colt. “You see, Mrs. Williams— Rebecca, that is— and I were hoping to tie the knot, as it were— the sooner the better.” He smiled again. “I suspect the good sheriff could do the honors?”

  Colt suspected that Rebecca would be too stunned to say anything, especially in light of the gun he was holding on Dent and the fact that her name and reputation had no doubt been jeopardized by Dent’s bravado.

  Naomi nodded again. “I— I’m sure he could do that. He’s probably— he’s m
ost likely— in his office.”

  Dent growled something unintelligible, and immediately, Colt flashed him a hard glance. Then he turned to Rebecca. “Shall we?”

  ****

  The marriage was completed less than thirty minutes later.

  Naomi, apparently relieved that her sister’s reputation would be restored, in a manner of speaking, had quickly gathered a handful of assorted blossoms and shrubbery and wrapped them in the pale ribbon she’d been wearing around her own waistband. She shoved the bouquet into Rebecca’s hands even as her husband stepped around his desk and approached her. “Try to look like a happy bride,” she whispered.

  Then, she offered Colt the pinky ring she’d worn since childhood. “It belonged to our mother.”

  Les Pope touched Rebecca’s trembling hand. “Becca?”

  She looked up at him but said nothing.

  “Well,” he said, glancing from the bride to the groom, “all right.”

  In truth, Rebecca didn’t know what to say or how to say what was clamoring around in her brain. She had told Colt Ryman she didn’t want to be married, again.

  At the same time, she felt suddenly trapped. Trapped by the provincial rules that governed a woman’s life out here in Arizona, trapped by Dent’s assault and her implied impropriety, and trapped by the distinctly physical response she had in Colt Ryman’s presence.

  She looked up at him, this hunk of a man, with whom she’d spent much of the last three days, and blushed. She could not let him know how he affected her. Not ever. Incredibly, he had not only rescued her, he’d managed to snare her heart as well.

  ****

  Just then, Sheriff Pope cleared his throat. “We are gathered,” he began.

  “Ask if there’s anyone to object,” murmured Naomi. She stood at her husband’s elbow, prodding him with her forefinger.

  Colt frowned.

  Naomi poked her husband again. “Well, then, ask if they will each take the other as husband or wife—”

  Colt frowned again. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Naomi nodded. “Of course. So, get on with it, Les.”

  Les turned an irritable glance on his wife.

  Colt smiled. “I do.”

  Rebecca glanced up at him. “I—”

  “Ahhh,” interrupted Colt, turning to the red-faced sheriff. “That’s an ‘I do’.”

  “Hell,” said the Sheriff, glancing from one to the other and sighing audibly, “you are now husband and wife.”

  Colt grinned. “Wasn’t so bad.” He looked down at Rebecca who was as lovely standing there in her simple brown dress, with the wilted flowers in her hands, as any bride could be. He held out his arm. “Mrs. Ryman?”

  Colt escorted Rebecca out of Sheriff Pope’s office, smiling at the women who had gathered at the end of the boardwalk. “Ladies,” he said and nodded.

  He knew he’d been a scoundrel, acting rashly, forcing Rebecca into a marriage she’d had no intention of accepting. But he knew, too, that she would never be safe in this town as a widow woman— alone, beautiful, and stubbornly independent.

  Men like Dent would not stop until they’d had their way with her, and— only God knew why— he refused to allow that to happen.

  The sheriff and his wife joined them outside on the dirt street.

  “Is there someplace to get a meal, Sheriff?” Colt asked. “I’d like to celebrate. I’ve never been wed before, and I suspect a little food would do us all good.” He glanced down at his new wife. “Rebecca?”

  “I never refuse a good meal,” piped Les, suddenly amiable. “Harmon’s wife, Marybelle, makes up a decent chicken supper most days. And her apple cider pie is the best in town.”

  Naomi glanced up at Colt. “Well, sir, if I might say so, I’m relieved that you’ve made an honest woman of my notorious sister. You are a gentleman to save her from herself,” she added sagely. She looped her arm through her husband’s.

  Colt’s attention remained on Rebecca. “I don’t think your sister shares the same sentiment, but I would like to believe that I’m less rogue and more responsible than many might assume. Appearances are deceiving,” he added.

  And if he’d had a decent shirt to wear, he thought, looking himself over, he’d have worn it. But, be that as it may, he had found a way to lasso his bride, and nothing could dim his high hopes for their union.

  Rebecca was his.

  As he escorted the reluctant and tongue-tied Rebecca down Main Street, the sheriff, now his brother-in-law, and Naomi, his sister-in-law, led the way. Marybelle’s Café was the only restaurant in town, and as they moved past the throng of townspeople, he noted a number of disapproving glances. No doubt, word of the shotgun wedding had reached everyone in the small community.

  He didn’t, however, see Dent in the parade of faces.

  ****

  When Rebecca and Colt reached the farm toward evening, she immediately dismounted, dashed past Shih-chai, and ran into the house.

  She’d finally realized the foolishness of her behavior on the way home from Carter Springs. With Colt Ryman riding alongside her, she had suddenly wakened to the fact that she’d gone through some kind of ceremony without argument. It could hardly be called a wedding, she decided, as she pulled open her simple clapboard armoire and pulled out the two dresses hanging there.

  It was clear to her, even if it wasn’t clear to her sister or the big man now claiming to be her husband, that she had to get away.

  She rolled the dresses up carelessly and gathered her few unmentionables and stockings, shoving them into the carpetbag she’d only used once— on her trip west to marry Frank. That she could not escape until nighttime she knew, but as soon as she could, she’d be gone.

  She’d not be made a fool of a second time in her life!

  She’d foolishly married Frank after a brief, long-distance courtship— although less brief than this apparent one— because her sister promised that Frank Williams was a successful rancher who would coddle her and love her unconditionally. After the deaths of their parents, she’d been eager to join her older sister in Arizona.

  So she left Iowa and headed west.

  All of it had been a lie, of course. Though Frank owned a few mining claims and three hundred acres with a dozen brood mares and a few head of cattle, he was in terrible debt— and within six months, Rebecca realized she’d married foolishly. He was brash and finagled whatever he could out of people. More importantly, he had bullied her.

  Still, she believed he had been murdered, having been found along the river’s edge face down in the mud. Unfortunately, the sheriff— Naomi’s husband— had never found anything to indicate he’d been attacked. His death had been declared to be from natural causes.

  ****

  The sound of Colt and Shih-chai approaching the house startled her. Immediately, Rebecca closed the valise and slipped it inside the armoire.

  As the door opened, Rebecca steeled herself.

  Colt stepped inside and greeted her with a broad smile. “Hello.”

  She blushed, nodded, and turned to Shih-chai. He was also smiling. “Okay,” she stammered. “What do you two want?”

  “Shih-chai has killed a chicken in honor of our marriage. He insists on preparing us a wedding feast. I told him we already had a fine chicken dinner.”

  Rebecca turned on Shih-chai. “We do not have chickens to spare, Grandfather.”

  The old Indian shrugged. “It is good you have a man. Shih-chai cannot protect you. Bad men come again.”

  Colt’s smile vanished. “He’s right. Dent and his compadres will be back. They have no intention of leaving you— or me— alone. Dent will seek his own revenge, no doubt about it. Which means,” he added sternly, “you cannot leave the ranch without me. You understand?”

  Rebecca bristled. “Do not, Mr. Ryman, presume you can keep me a captive. I have no desire to be your slave— or your wife.”

  Colt chuckled. “Too late, Mrs. Ryman. You’re already mine.”

  “Wh
at we did back there in town was a farce. I’m no more Mrs. Ryman than— Shih-chai!”

  Shih-chai shook his head. “I no marry. Wife is trouble.” Waving his hand, he turned. “I pluck bird.”

  ****

  As the door closed behind the old Indian, Colt hesitated. He wasn’t a man used to waiting for what he wanted, but this was one time he didn’t want to ruin his chances for making a decent impression. There would be time, he told himself.

  He approached Rebecca slowly, his eyes taking in the sweep of dark hair falling across her cheek. Again he noticed the simplicity of her dress— and, in spite of its drab color, it fit her snugly, revealing her narrow waist and supple breasts.

  She didn’t retreat, and that also enticed him. Though she was no stranger to a man’s touch, he knew she’d suffered cruelly under Dent’s attack, and no telling what kind of man Frank Williams had been.

  Besides, he wouldn’t just take her; he wanted her to want him— as much as he wanted her. And that would take time.

  Her hands moved over the front of her dress. Long, slender fingers, he suddenly imagined them rolling across the keys of a piano, not just rolling out bread dough; he imagined them also moving across his bared chest, or down his back.

  The image sent a rush up his spine, and it became almost painfully clear that he couldn’t hide his own desire.

  ****

  Rebecca was stymied. What did this hulk of a man, her presumed husband, expect of her? Did he think she was going to throw herself at him, or yield easily to his rough hands and even rougher demeanor? Was he so arrogant he imagined she would fawn all over him?

  She repressed the sudden desire to pick something up and throw it at him; he deserved it for taking advantage of her in a moment of weakness.

  Still, the man had already saved her from Dent and even, in a sense, from the whole damn town.

  Her breath caught as she inhaled slowly. All right, so maybe she did owe him something— was that what he was waiting for?

  He spoke first. “I— I was hoping we could talk.”

  Rebecca blinked back her surprise. “Talk?”

  He seemed uncomfortable. “Well, this wasn’t exactly something we— I— planned. Not that I’d change a thing,” he added gruffly.

  Rebecca flushed. “Whereas, I’d change it all.”