Caine's Reckoning Read Free Page A

nowhere, a murmured reassurance connected to a foreign sense of possessiveness. Sam cocked a sandy eyebrow at him, a bit of amusement lightening his gaze as he pulled out his makings. He gestured to Desi with the packet.
    “I get the impression this one could spout gospel and those three would label it devil worship.”
    Beneath Caine’s fingers, the woman’s muscles tightened to rock hard ridges. “Jesus H. Christ.”
    Sam rolled a smoke, the sharpness in the move the only indication of his disgust. “It gets better.”
    It would. “What?”
    He reached into his pocket for a lucifer. “They’re requesting you return them to their homes immediately.”
    “That’s the plan.”
    He struck the lucifer on the side of his boot. “But they don’t want her brought along.”
    “What do they think I’m going to do, leave her as a treat for whoever comes calling?” Desi flinched. He caught a flash of blue as she cut him a glance from under her lashes. He took his hand out from under her coat. As she pulled the lapels closed, he stroked her back, gentling her worries. He wouldn’t leave her.
    Sam lit the cigarette. “Don’t think they’d be averse to the idea.”
    “Goddamn!”
    “I don’t mind.” The soft statement rode his exasperation, feeding it.
    “Well, I sure as he—” he caught himself in time “—heck do.”
    Sam flicked the match to the ground and took a draw on his smoke. “The women claim they won’t go if she goes with them.”
    “So?”
    “Just checking how you feel on that.”
    Beneath his hands, Desi’s bones felt as delicate as bird wings. It was hard to believe she’d fought as hard as she had or been so successful with so little, but sometimes it wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight as much as the size of the fight in the dog, and this woman had plenty of fight. He admired that. “Tell them when I say mount up, they’ll mount, or they’ll walk tied behind, but one way or another, they’ll go.”
    A strident screech from one of the other women snapped his head around. From the pitch he would have assumed the camp was under immediate attack, but in reality, the only one who looked threatened was Tracker. Even from where he stood, Caine could see the anger roll off the women flanking him. The vehemence. Hands waved, fingers pointed, and then, as if it would add emphasis to their point, the women moved in.
    Tracker drove the three women back with a slice of his hand and a sharp utterance Caine couldn’t make out. Turning on his heel, he stalked toward them, his long black hair fanning behind him, emphasizing his irritation. He touched the brim of his black hat in deference to Desi as he got close, his expression displaying none of the anger Caine could see simmering under his skin. “This the one the padre was concerned about?”
    “Yup. Desi, this is Tracker Ochoa.”
    Caine couldn’t blame Tracker for the shake of the head. It was hard to reconcile Father Gerard’s description of “a fragile flower of womanhood” with the hellion who had held off three men with nothing more than sheer grit.
    “Hell of a fight you put up, ma’am.”
    Desi ducked her head. Her “Thank you” was a wisp of sound as she all but disappeared into the coat. If she was hoping to dispel interest, Caine could have told her she was angling down the wrong path. The contradiction of all that fire banked behind a wall of demure shyness was the perfect recipe to raise a man’s interest. Tracker’s more so than most. For all that he was one scary son of a bitch, he was the softest man Caine had ever seen when it came to women.
    Tracker jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The ladies demand to talk to—” he lifted his nose and pitched his deep baritone to a high falsetto “—whomever is in command.” The irritation in the imitation reflected Tracker’s sentiments on the matter. Whereas Desi had earned the big man’s respect, the other women had apparently stirred up nothing but