Wyoming Woman Read Free

clue about who to contact, should she need more help than he could give her.
    His fingers fumbled with the small, ornate clasp. Frustrated by its intricacy, Luke cursed under his breath. For two cents he would draw his knife and cut the damned thing open like a—
    â€œHold it right there, sheep man!”
    The taut little voice raked Luke’s senses. “Drop the bag, raise your hands and turn around slowly. No tricks, or I’ll blow you to kingdom come!”
    Luke’s rifle was on the horse and, in any case, he knew better than to make a rash move before sizing up the situation. Cursing himself for getting into this predicament, he dropped the reticule, raised his hands and slowly turned around.
    The woman lay propped on one elbow. Her striking blue-green eyes blazed with raw fury. Her free hand gripped a tiny but evil-looking derringer that was pointed straight at Luke’s chest.

Chapter Two
    R achel gripped the miniature one-shot pistol she’d taken from her pocket, willing her fingers not to tremble. Her temples were throbbing, and her left shoulder felt as if it had been kicked by a mule, but there was nothing missing from her memory. The recollection of swerving off the road to miss the sheep, then careening into the wash, was crystal-clear in her mind—as clear as the image of the bastard she’d just caught trying to rob her.
    â€œAre you sure you know how to use that little toy, lady?” He spoke with a hint of southern drawl, his voice as deep and rich as blackstrap molasses.
    â€œYou don’t want to find out the hard way.” She glared up at him, feeling small and helpless despite the cold weight of the gun in her hand. The derringer was cocked and loaded, the man close enough to provide an easy target. But something in the lithe, easy way he stood, hands relaxed, dark eyes narrowed like a wolf’s, whispered danger. Fear crept upward into her throat—a fear that she masked with spitting fury.
    â€œAre these your sheep?” she sputtered. She took his silence for a yes. “I could have been killed! Look at this buggy! It’s ruined, and the mule’s run off to heaven knows where! What were those fool animals doing in the road anyway? If I hadn’t swerved, I’d have crashed right into them!”
    â€œThe last I heard, there was no law against herding stock across a road,” he replied icily. “Sheep and cattle have the right-of-way in this country. If you were going too fast to make the turn, that’s nobody’s fault but your own. Now put that silly little gun away before somebody gets hurt.”
    â€œSo you can finish going through my things? Don’t waste your time. I don’t have enough money in that bag to be worth your trouble.”
    His lip curled in a sneer of contempt, and Rachel sensed at once that she had said the wrong thing. The stranger’s fierce pride showed in the erect stance of his lean, muscular body, the set of his aquiline head and the unruly spill of blue-black hair over his brow. His face was more compelling than handsome, with features that could have been hewn from raw granite. His dark, hooded eyes were as sharp and alert as a hawk’s. He was a disturbing man, an unsettling man whose gaze sent an oddly sensual quiver through every nerve in her body. But Rachel’s instincts told her he was too proud to steal, especially from a woman.
    All the same, she would be foolish to lower her guard. Gripping the derringer’s tiny stock, she glared up at him. From beyond the rim of the wash, shecould hear the brassy jangle of sheep’s bells and the bleating of the ewes and lambs. “You’ve no right to be running sheep in this part of the state,” she said. “This is cattle country.”
    A dangerous smile tugged at a corner of his mouth, underscored by the dance of lightning in the dark sky behind him. “This is open range. And only a cattleman’s woman would