Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Read Free Page B

propositioned him.
    He reached out a hand to her. She accepted it, rising gracefully. “I told you to go home,” he said.
    Her chin was high. “And if you had accepted my offer, you could have been making some gain for what you just did for free.”
    â€œGo home.”
    â€œI’m trying to go home.”
    â€œGo back East.”
    â€œI have nothing back East.”
    â€œWell, what do you have here? You nearly had yourself a whole tribe of Mescalero Apaches! What good would that have done you?”
    Her emerald eyes surveyed him with a level cool. “But it didn’t happen. You came back.”
    â€œYes, that’s right. And you’ve already agreed that you might be a fitting payment for me, so maybe it wouldn’t make much difference to you if a dozen or so Apaches were to demand their own payment.”
    Her hand lashed out to strike him. But he was quick, ready for anything she might do, and his fingers were winding around her wrist before she could touch his flesh. He wanted to shake her. Shake her until she understood what an idiot she was; she was a rose on a barren landscape, a delicate flower trying to root in stone.
    He wanted her to know just what she was willing to offer. No, he wanted her, period. Right then and there, on the dust of the plain, hard and fast. He would show her how raw and wild the world could be. How savage. How damned cruel, and savage.…
    â€œThank the Lord above us!” The dry cackle sounded before Blade could say or do a thing. It was the stage driver, picking his way over the shivering, frightened horses and harness to reach him and Mrs. Dylan. “It’s you again. I’m telling you, young fellow, you deserve some kind of commendation! Gold, my man, gold! Something to set you up fine in the West. The investors in this company will surely be willing to pay something, I’m right damned sure of it—oh, pardon for the language, Mrs. Dylan, I do beg your pardon.”
    â€œOh, I imagine Mrs. Dylan can deal with a little rough language, old-timer,” Blade said dryly. “She seems to deal well enough with just about everything else.”
    Her emerald eyes were locked with Blade’s black ones. She didn’t say a word for the longest time, just stared at him. Then she turned to the driver. “Shorty, what will we do now? Can the stage be righted? What about the horses?”
    â€œWe’ll have to get them up and see how they fared,” Shorty said.
    The guard, his broken rifle dangling uselessly from his hands, was standing by the lead horses. He threw his rifle aside with disgust and reached down, running his hands over the haunches of the first horse. “This fellow seems to be in one piece. We just need to get them up carefully. They’re sure to be all bruised up and frightened. Can’t let them panic again or they’ll strangle us and themselves in the harness. You’ve done us fair and fine so far, sir,” he said, tipping his hat to Blade, “if you wouldn’t mind giving us a few more minutes of your time …”
    Shorty snorted. “What about these fellows?” He indicated the Apaches. “Some of them just might come to—madder than a hive of bees!”
    â€œYou deal with them, Shorty. Tie ’em up if’n you don’t want to shoot them. I need this young buck—” The guard broke off, wincing at the term he had used for Blade. Buck. Indian. Like the Apaches on the ground.
    Blade smiled, walking toward the guard and the horses. “Sioux,” he said briefly. “My mother is Oglala. She’s gone now, but I still miss the family. I go back whenever I can. There’s nothing like a good scalping raid to get the juices flowing, you know?”
    He stepped past the man, placed one hand on the lead horse’s nose and one on the harness. He whispered softly to the horse. “Easy.…”
    With a simple pull, the animal was