Warrior Read Free

bottomless, hell unleashed and waiting to spring. She brought his unresisting hand to her face. Her lips brushed his palm. “Please. He’s not worth what it would cost you.”
    Eden felt the tiny shudder that ripped through Nevada’s strength, sensed the gradual uncoiling of steel muscles, and breathed her thanks into his hard palm. Slowly her fingers slid from his arm until she no longer touched him.
    Restrained by nothing more tangible than his acceptance of Eden’s plea, Nevada reached once more for Jones. He lifted the heavy cowboy to his feet in a single motion. Stunned, Jones sagged between Nevada’s hands.
    “That’s your free one,” Nevada said calmly. “Understand?”
    Jones tried to speak, couldn’t, and nodded. Nevada opened his hands, releasing the cowboy. Jones staggered, caught himself on a bystander, then pushed free and reeled toward the front door. He didn’t even pause to look at the two groaning men who had followed him into the fight.
    “Take them with you,” Nevada said.
    His voice was still soft, but it carried clearly through the stunned silence of the room. Struggling, limping, able to use only one arm, Jones got the two other men upright and out the door.
    Nevada turned to the bartender. “Total her bill.”
    “Sure thing, Nevada,” the man said hastily. “Right away.”
    His hurried footsteps were the only sound in the bar. Nevada turned and looked at each man in the room as the tense silence stretched. Smoothly he stepped behind Eden, putting his hands on her shoulders.
    “Gentlemen,” Nevada said softly, his tone transforming the word into an insult, “I want you to meet Eden Summers. In the future you will treat her the same as you would Carla, Diana, Mariah or any other Rocking M woman.”
    Nevada said no more. He didn’t have to.
    “Go get your supplies,” Nevada said, squeezing Eden’s shoulders reassuringly before he released her.
    While Eden paid her bill, Nevada shrugged into his shearling jacket, leaned casually against the bar and waited for the groceries to be bagged.
    Slowly the other men in the bar turned away and began talking in subdued voices. Most of the conversations centered around the fight. Or rather, around Nevada. Tennessee Blackthorn’s lethal fighting skills were well-known. Nevada’s had often been speculated upon, but no one had been curious enough to rattle his cage and find out for sure.
    Until tonight. West Fork had just discovered that the aloof, silent cowhand called Nevada was every bit as skilled at fighting as he was at tracking cougars – and he was known as the best cat-tracker in five states. When Eden was ready, Nevada helped her carry the supplies. Outside a raw March wind combed the streets, sending shivers of motion over puddles that had just begun to freeze in the early evening chill. Where there was no snow, the landscape had taken on a vague hint of green, promise of the hot summer to come. For now, it was promise only. The earth itself was still locked within winter’s cold.
    In the distance an isolated group of mountains rose against the darkening sky. Clouds gathered and slowly seethed around the peaks. Other clouds stretched in a wind-smoothed front across the icy arch of the sky. Eden glanced overhead, saw the weather front that was supposed to bring snow, and debated whether or not to take on the rough road between West Fork and the government cabin that would be her home until June.
    “You’ll be safe enough at the motel,” Nevada said, following Eden’s glance at the weather front. “No one will bother you now.”
    The subtle rasp in Nevada’s deep voice intrigued Eden. But then, everything about him intrigued her, and had from the first instant she had seen him.
    “Thank you,” she said quietly. “If I had known what West Fork was like, I would have bought my supplies in Cortez.”
    Nevada shrugged. “Most of the time West Fork is real quiet. You just came on the one Saturday a year when the local half-wits get