The Rancher's Virgin Acquisition(2)

Gingerly, he lifted himself down until his feet were flat on the ground and pulled a pistol from his gunbelt. Slowly, he began to make his way closer to the stagecoach and closer to where Emma was hiding.

He was tall and broad across the shoulders and held his pistol in a relaxed grip that was even more frightening for it.

It was too dark and he was still too far away for Emma to see his eyes or much else about him except that he was tall. She could see that his hair was dark and even from this far she recognized his steely strength for what it was. As he made his way closer to the stagecoach, she felt the power coiled within his dark figure.

More distress hit her. Was he friend or foe?

If he chose to use that strength against her, she wouldn't stand a fighting chance. He exuded virility, and his calm attitude of self-command didn't seem disturbed by what he was seeing. There was a look of isolation about him, as if he was comfortable with only the wind and sky to keep him company. He was compelling to watch, and Emma knew that whether he was good or bad, the authority that reeked from his subtle movements would be almost impossible to fight.

She stayed down low and as quiet as she could. Her pulse beat loudly and her breath came in fast inhalations that sounded harsh and ragged to her own ears. She tried to breathe evenly and continued to watch the stranger for a definitive sign of his intent.

He moved sure but cautiously, first scanning the horizon for any movement. Then his eyes moved to the stagecoach and he glanced inside before going to the dead man whose lifeless body was still on the ground where he had fallen when he'd been shot.

He crouched beside the driver and Emma knew he was looking for signs of life. Finding none, she watched as he calmly holstered his gun and took out a small pouch from his pocket and calmly began rolling a cigarette.

She watched in horror as he showed no signs of emotion at the lifeless man as he calmly licked the paper, twisted the ends and struck a match on the wheel of the stage and lit the cigarette.

Fear held her inert as she watched him cross one booted foot over the other, lean back against the stage and enjoy the tobacco as if the situation was an everyday occurrence. He was closer to her hiding place now, and Emma could see a little more about him. His face was like granite, with sun-tanned skin and a rugged profile that showed no hint of softness or warmth that she could make out. There was strength in the set of his shoulders and in the relaxed, confident way he seemed to enjoy the tobacco even in the face of the destruction around him.

How could he possibly be that blasé about the scene around him if his intent was an honest one? She desperately wanted him to be a good and honest person, a person who would help her get out of here but she was still too terrified to trust that he wouldn't hurt her.

She stayed still and didn't move while she watched him covertly as he casually smoked and stared at the horizon.

Suddenly, his eyes turned to where she was hidden and stayed focused there.

Terror hit her low in the belly even though Emma didn't think he could see her. Surely, he couldn't see her.

She licked her lips and waited, the blood pounding a vicious tattoo through her veins.

When he finished his cigarette, he lifted his hat off his head and smoothed his hair from his brow and repositioned it on his head with deceptively lazy satisfaction. He lifted himself from his semi-reclining position and stood to his full, muscular height.

Her throat closed up in hysteria as his voice rang out, loud and harsh, "All right ma'am, you can come out now."

Emma shut her eyes tight as a new wave of fear slid down her spine and coalesced in her stomach.

He couldn't know she was hiding there. He was only guessing. He had to be.

She wasn't coming out. She didn't trust him. She had absolutely no reason to trust him.

"It's getting late. We need to get a move on. Let's go," he ordered in a harsh, implacable tone.

Panic and confusion hit her in piercing streams as she tried valiantly to decide what to do.

The decision was taken from her suddenly when his booted feet began moving swiftly in the direction of her hiding place as he seemed to lose all patience with the wait.

In a lightning fast decision that she didn't remember making, she jumped up and swirled in a tangle of skirts and flying petticoats and tried her best to run.

She hadn't been able to manage anything that resembled a run in a long, long time, but that didn't stop her from trying now. Reaction, the need for flight, energized her and she had no control over her movements as her body took over from her brain and her only thought was to get away from him as fast as she could.



Luke caught the woman easily. She hadn't taken more than three clumsy steps before his arms reached forward and wrapped around her from behind. Her legs kicked out and he protected himself just in time before a vicious kick from a small foot would have slowed him down and momentarily immobilized him. His quick movement protected his groin and his shin took the small hit she aimed in his direction.

He sank one hand into her scalp and clenched her hair as he tried to gentle his movements. "I got you. You're safe," he tried to soothe.

His assurance went unheeded and she began struggling immediately.

"Let me go!" she shouted in a voice that was no doubt designed to get her way but didn't sway him from his intent in the least.

"Stay still, I'm not going to hurt you," he reiterated more forcefully as his arms held tightly.

She struggled against him. She wriggled and fought him, but she seemed to be saving her breath from demanding her release again when she probably knew it wasn't going to get her anywhere.

He held tight and tried again, "Nobody's going to hurt you."

She stomped on his foot and renewed her struggles.

Luke was fast getting tired of this shit.

His boot protected him from any pain she tried to deliver, but her squirmy little body was beginning to play havoc with his insides. He had expected a matronly woman from the abandoned needlework on the seat of the stagecoach and the drab colored clothing he could make out hiding in the brush. But matronly wasn't what he'd gotten. This woman was young and soft and as her curves thrashed against him, his sexual release from the night before became a distant memory. He felt his body harden violently against the tempting softness that struggled in his arms.

He needed to subdue her and get her to quit fighting him before he forgot he was supposed to be acting like a gentleman. "Lady, you best cease this shit this instant and let me help you before I decide to drag you to the ground and give you the butt-whupping you probably deserve."

She stilled for a moment as if listening to his advice, and then resumed her struggles even more frantically, trying to get away from him.

He cussed himself silently for losing patience and scaring her heedlessly.

"Where you going to go if you get loose?" he tried to reason with her. "I've told you, I'm not going to hurt you." His arms tightened around her, molding her back to his front.

Slowly, she began to tire and little by little her struggles diminished to a few small jerks until she went completely still within the circle of his arms.

He held her motionless for a moment and without hurting her, he let her feel his strength, so she would understand it was useless expending anymore of her energy. "That's better. What's your name?"

She shuddered and remained silent.

"A quiet woman. I like that," he said with only a hint of sarcasm.

His arms began to loosen a small bit. "Tell me your name and that you understand I'm not going to hurt you, and I'll let you go."

She stiffened against him and he felt her inhale as her chest rose and then fell as she expelled the harsh breath. Ferocious arousal hit him in the gut from the feel of the small breasts underneath her calico dress pushing against his forearm.

Her voice when it came was raspy and hesitant. "You won't harm me?"

"I won't harm you," Harming her wasn't what he had in mind. "What's your name?"

"Emma Martin."

He felt her voice wash through him and he lowered his mouth to speak directly in her ear. "Nice to meet you, Miss Martin."

She pushed slightly against his arm and seemed to consider her next words. "Mrs. Martin."

"You're married?" His voice hardened.

She paused again. "Not--anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Martin." That was a bold-faced lie. He wasn't sorry at all. He hadn't even seen her face, but he'd felt her body, and he didn't want to think about her belonging to another man and being off limits to him. But he tried to commiserate to put her at ease. "Seems like you've had your fair share of tragedy. Were you the only passenger?" he asked her, referring to the robbery.

She blew out a breath but otherwise stayed still. "Yes. Who are you?" her voice was quiet and carried a bite of suspicion.

"Name's Luke Butler, ma'am. The sheriff in Burnet asked me to check out the situation. Now you give me some indication you know I'm not a threat to you and I won't have to chase you down again, and I'll let you go."

She hesitated only momentarily. "I understand," she said in a voice that sounded almost resigned but he didn't altogether believe.

Luke released his grip around her waist and slowly slid his hands to her hips to steady her as he cautiously made sure she was capable of standing on the uneven terrain and that she wouldn't take flight again.

Her body was slim and smooth under his fingers and he had to make himself stop touching her completely and take a step back from her.