Much Ado About Mavericks Read online

  Jake jammed her hands on her hips, knowing Ben must not think a whole helluva lot about her honor, then. “If I hear one single gunshot around my herd, I’ll shoot both of you in the head.” She snorted. “And anyway, Boston, you got a real funny way of looking at honor.”

  “We’re not shooting,” Reginald corrected. “We’re fencing.”

  “Oh, well that ain’t so bad—except we don’t allow no fences up here. It’s open range.”

  Ben shook his head. “He means fighting with swords.”

  “You’re shittin’ me! Ain’t no one stupid enough to do that.”

  Reginald tossed his head back and laughed, then quipped, “Lots of fellows at Harvard are. Ben and I are both the champion fencers of our classes.”

  Be that as it may, she still had a roundup to run. “You distract my men, and the both of you’ll wish you’d never been born!” Jake stomped off, wondering how the hell she’d handle this mess.

  * * * * *

  Ben crept into her thoughts every time she shut her eyes, then she’d have to concentrate on something else to get him out. She lay on the hard ground with her eyes wide open, but the stars brought Ben right back into her mind.

  Just as Jake got herself calmed down enough to get a little shut-eye, she heard cattle bellowing and men’s shrill whistles. Being half asleep, it took a moment for her to realize what was happening. She rolled out of her blankets and yanked her boots on. “Rustlers!” she yelled as she ran for the remuda. “Get the hell up, boys, we gotta fetch our cows.”

  Crazy Jim hopped as he pulled his boot onto his foot. “Might have us a hanging, too.”

  “Just might. Take a dozen men and circle around to the east of the creek. See if you can find those cows and settle them down. Send a dozen more with Fred and have him take the west side—same orders. I’ll take my crew to the south.” She grabbed Blue’s mane and leapt on.

  A few other hands rode bareback, too, but most had grabbed their gear and were hastily saddling their horses. Crazy Jim rode up to Jake. “Fred ain’t here.”

  “Ain’t here?”

  “Nope.” He pointed to a group of cowhands, already mounted. “Them fellers said he never come back for supper.”

  “All right, get a move on.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  As foreman, she had to protect the main herd, and give orders to all who ride in. So who the hell had enough grit to chase those bastards down? Only one man.

  As one crew galloped out, she rode over to Ben, who’d saddled and mounted the big bay. “You’re taking Fred’s bunch,” she pointed her thumb over her shoulder, “and riding west. Gather as much of the herd as you can. And if you see Fred, I need to talk to him.” And fire his sorry ass.

  “I’m going after the rustlers. Get someone else.”

  “I hate to tell you, Boston, but the rustlers probably are west—that’s where I heard all the noise.” She tipped her hat at him. “You got your work cut out for you.”

  He checked the ammo in his Colts, then motioned to the other men. “Let’s go!”

  She only hoped that if he ran into trouble, he could hit what he was aiming for. He didn’t do so good the last time.

  Reginald rode up to her and, with a wide grin said, “Which group am I going with?”

  “You’re staying right here, watching the women.”

  “Ah, Jake, you’re a woman—you stay.”

  She knocked him off his horse, growling, “You must have a short memory.” Too bad she couldn’t fire dandy greenhorns. Waving at her restless crew who waited for orders, she hollered, “C’mon, boys!”

  She took out as fast as she could, although the darkness and the rugged country hobbled her efforts. In a few minutes, they reached the main herd. From the dim moonlight, she figured quite a few were missing--the rest milled around, bawling. She and every man on her crew knew it wouldn’t take much for them to stampede.

  “Circle ‘em, and sing your sweetest songs,” she whispered.

  * * * * *

  Ben rode west, across the creek and up the next hill. Silencing his men, he listened for bellowing cattle.

  “Hear that, boss?” one of the men asked.

  “Yes, but with the noise bouncing off all these hills, it’s hard to tell which way they’re headed.” He held up his hand, quieting them again, and listened. “I think they’re headed north,” he cocked his head in that direction. “We’ll ride north, but I want you to pair up and ride up each gully. Be quiet, and be careful.”

  Before they had a chance to pair up, Crip rode over to Ben and said, “I’m riding with you.”

  “I think I should,” one of the men argued, and each of the others argued that he should.

  Ben nodded at the men and smiled at Crip, appreciating the broncbuster’s confidence in him. “Crip, come with me.” He turned to the other men. “The rest of you have your orders.” It wasn’t too long ago when none of them would have wanted to ride with him.

  “I want each of you to check the ammo in your pistols right now.” He waited for the clicking of the cylinders to stop, then said, “Keep your ears open and your mouths shut. Otherwise, the rustlers might use you for target practice.” He looked at each man, making sure he’d listened—and heard. “All right, let’s ride.”

  The half-moon cast an eerie dim glow on the sagebrush-covered hills. He and Crip rode for an hour, occasionally hearing a bawling calf, and less often, the whistles of the rustlers. Every once in a while, when the two of them were atop a hill, he caught a glimpse of a couple of the other men.

  Ben remembered a good crossing place in the creek, and motioned for Crip to follow him closer to the creek, reasoning that the rustlers would choose the flattest ground to drive the herd. As soon as they descended the last hill, he saw tracks.

  “Look here,” Crip whispered, pointing to the ground. “This here’s the trail. At least a hundred head have been through here. The cowshit’s still steaming.”

  “Go tell half the men to join us. Tell the other half to watch our backs.”

  Crip tipped his worn hat and rode off.

  Ben made fairly fast time, given the darkness, and wondered when the rest of the men would catch up with him. The mooing grew louder, although he hadn’t heard a whistle for a while. Figuring that the rustlers had made camp, he dismounted and rested his horse, waiting for his crew.

  “There you are, old fellow!”

  Ben nearly pasted Reginald in the face before he realized who it was. “Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “The rustlers aren’t too far ahead, and the sound carries for miles in this country.”

  Reginald dismounted and pulled out a cigar. “Want one?”

  “No, and neither do you. What the hell are you doing here?”

  He shrugged and said, “Jake wouldn’t let me go with her, so I followed you.”

  “Who’s with the women?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You left them alone?” Ben clenched his fists, itching to punch him right in the face. “With rustlers about?”

  Putting the cigar back in his pocket, Reginald said, “I thought rustlers wanted cows, not women.”

  Ben grabbed his former friend by the shirt collar, then eased up when he saw the shiner. “Jake wouldn’t let you go, huh?”

  “Seems as though she had much the same reaction as you.”

  “Got a pistol?”

  “Sure do,” Reg patted his shirt. “A nice little pepperbox.”

  “Shit, Reg, that won’t help much.”

  “I brought my sword-cane.”

  Ben snorted. “Oh, that was thoughtful.”

  At the sound of whistles and a few hyahs, Ben hushed Reginald and mounted his horse. Motioning for Reg to follow, Ben nudged his horse to a walk, listening and peering into the dark as best he could. From the sound of things, the rustlers were again moving the herd.

  “What’re you going to do if you actually catch up with these ruffians?” Reg whispered.

  “Run them off, and take
my cows back. Keep an eye out, because I plan to catch these bastards after the roundup’s over.”

  “Why, old fellow, you’ve lost your lust for adventure.”

  “Hardly, but I pick my battles. Now be quiet.”

  * * * * *

  Although faint, gunfire spooked the herd. Jake’s heart pounded when she heard the shots, praying that Ben was all right.

  “Bunch them up and mill ‘em!” she yelled as she nudged her horse to a trot. With the darkness she couldn’t go any faster.

  She had to get to Ben. From the sound, she pretty well figured they were in a gully northwest of the herd. Whether she could make it there in time to help was doubtful at best, but she had to try. At least she knew the lay of the land better than any man around.

  Including Fred, who was still missing. Jake had her doubts about the man. He’d shown hostility and unwillingness to follow orders at every turn. She’d never had any use for him, but Ezra had always wanted to keep him on. Why, she didn’t know, because the old man demanded a lot from his cowhands—except Fred. Well, Ezra was gone now, and Fred would be, too, the next time she saw him.

  Her thoughts returned to Ben. He was a helluva man. Never had he looked down on her like so many city men seemed to do. And he tried hard at everything. Like she’d told Whip, Ben had more cow sense than anyone she’d ever met. And dammit all, she loved him.

  She pondered who else could be behind this scheme. Peter Blacker had ridden out with Crazy Jim’s crew, so she didn’t think the Blackers were the rustlers, although she didn’t rule it out. Harley was a wily old devil. He’d had to be, to keep Ezra from taking over his ranch. She suspected Fred more than Blacker, even though she could think of no reason why he’d cause trouble, other than he wanted her job.

  Riding north along the creek, she saw where the rustlers had herded the cattle across, and followed their trail. Then she saw fresher tracks—horses. One set of tracks was larger than the rest—Ben’s horse, she hoped, although she’d never paid any attention to the big bay’s hoof prints.

  With the moonlight and the flat ground, she spurred Blue to a canter. She’d heard the crack of gunfire every now and then, but nothing steady. After ten minutes or so, she’d covered a lot of territory and heard the cattle mooing. It’s a wonder they hadn’t taken off in a stampede—unless . . . .

  That’s it! She’d bet the rustlers had taken the herd to a box canyon, and she knew just which one it was. Cursing under her breath, she knew she couldn’t push Blue any harder without risking his legs. She had to get to Ben.

  Just then a loop settled around her arms and waist, yanking her off her horse. She landed hard, a rock poking a hole in her arm. Pain shot up her shoulder to her neck. When she groaned, the men who’d surrounded her guffawed, raising her hackles, and the hooves stomping around her weren’t a whole helluva lot of comfort, either.

  As soon as she got her breath, she felt blood trickling down her wrist. She lay still, hoping they’d think they had knocked her out. And if they came near, she’d make up her mind what to do. More laughter, of the whiskey sort, turned her decision around. These drunk men wouldn’t act normal, so she had to be prepared for anything.

  The rope tightened, painfully so, and she was dragging behind one of the horses.

  “How’d you like that, bitch?” The bastard laughed, and the others laughed, too.

  Fred! She had news for him—he and his friends were dead men.

  She bounced over rocks and brush like a rag doll. Her face was scratched and her side was raw. But they’d have to stop sometime, and when they did . . .

  A gunshot brought the horses to a halt. She saw the men running behind whatever they could find—brush, rocks, or the lone juniper. She pulled herself to her knees and scrambled toward the source of the gunfire. She didn’t know who they were, but they couldn’t be any worse than these bastards.

  She collapsed behind a boulder—not quite to the attackers, but far enough from Fred and his men—shedding the rope and pulling her Colt. Her hand shook so much she couldn’t squeeze off a shot. But if one came near, she’d let him have it right in the gut.

  Shots whistled over her head. She peeked out to see one of the men fall off his horse. Still not able to see who the others were, she hoped it was Ben and his men. Crazy Jim’s crew would be the other choice, and he didn’t have the sense of a bull elk in rut. Besides, Peter Blacker was with him.

  And she wanted Ben. Now. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and kiss the hurt away. Pushing back that silly thought, she held out her hand. Calm. Time to take care of business. She slipped to the side, put a bead on Fred, but he fell off his horse before she could squeeze off a shot.

  The gunfire stopped and the air grew silent. All she heard was her own breathing.

  A couple of rocks slid down the hill beside her. She tensed, knowing that whoever was there could shoot her in the back with no trouble. She cocked her pistol and slowly turned.

  “Don’t shoot, it’s me, Ben.”

  “Damn it all, Boston, you scared the living shit out of me!” She opened her arms and he held her gently. Every bone in her body hurt, but she felt safe in his arms.

  “So you’re the one,” she whispered. “You saved me.”

  Chapter 18

  Not about to let go of Jake, Ben hollered at his crew to tie up the four bleeding men. “We’re taking them in.”

  “What about them that got away?” Crip asked.

  “Send some men after them.”

  “I’m going,” Reginald said.

  “Suit yourself,” Ben said, more interested in getting Jake back to camp.

  Careful not to hurt her, he held her in his arms and vowed to protect her whether she wanted him to or not. Blood streaked her face, her left arm, and her entire right side.

  “Let’s wash you off in the creek, princess.”

  For once, she didn’t argue, but let him carry her to the water. “You’re safe,” she muttered as he wetted his bandana and wiped the blood off her face.

  Safe, all right, other than having his heart ripped out when he saw Fred dragging Jake behind his horse.

  Her arm concerned him, too. “We’ve got to get the bleeding stopped.” He unbuttoned her shirt and removed it, then put it back on her, only on one arm, leaving the bleeding arm bare. He rinsed out his bandana and pressed it on the wound. “We’re going to need to clean that out, Jake. Dirt and rocks are embedded in the gash.”

  “Get on with it, then.” Her voice was strong, but she winced when he picked out one of the larger pebbles. “I don’t suppose you got a bottle of whiskey in your saddlebag?”

  “No, but I think we should go back to camp. I don’t have enough light with this lantern to clean out that wound. Whip’s got some whiskey, though, and it’ll wash out some of the dirt.”

  “I was thinking more for my innards,” she mumbled.

  “Are you able to stand?”

  “Yup.” She put her fingers in her mouth and blew an eardrum-piercing whistle. Blue trotted up to her and nuzzled her cheek. “I’m fine, you old worrywart,” she said as she patted his nose. Using Ben’s shoulder, she pulled herself up and stood there a moment.

  Ben wondered what the hell she was thinking—all beat up and intending to ride a horse with no saddle or bridle. “You’re riding with me.”

  “Ah, hell, I can ride my own horse.” She made a feeble attempt to jump on him, then slid off. Ben caught her around the waist.

  “You’re riding with me,” he repeated as he turned her around. She clutched him tightly. “Careful,” he murmured in her ear, “you’ll start that arm bleeding again.”

  She pulled his head down and kissed him like no woman had ever kissed him before. Wanting, needing, she plunged her tongue into his mouth. God help him, he wanted to take her right there, but he knew she only craved comfort.

  He guided her to a small boulder. “Sit here. I’ll get my horse.”

  She nodded weakly and Ben worried that her spirit was as damaged
as her body. Then she said, “Make it quick, Boston.”

  Music to his ears, he thought as he threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, sir!”

  When he returned with the horse, Jake smiled at him and said, “Ben, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ ”

  “May I call you ‘Janelle Kathryn’?”

  “That’s pushing it, buster.”

  He kissed her with as much longing as she’d shown before, then helped her onto the big bay. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  Jake sagged against Ben’s chest, enjoying the ride. Hell, maybe being dragged behind a horse had been worth it, after all. But her arm throbbed and her cheeks stung as the cool breeze brushed across the scratches on her face.

  As they entered camp, the strays ran up to them, all with worried looks. “Are you all right, Jake?” Homer asked.

  “I can get you a glass of milk,” Teddy offered. “I saved some from when Whip milked Suzanne’s mama.”

  Henry offered her marbles. “You can play with these. Just don’t lose none.”

  Touched by the strays’ offers, she nodded and said, I’ll take you up on that, but not just yet.” Ben slid off the bay’s rump, then reached up for her. She swatted his hands away, whispering, “I ain’t about to trouble the strays no more than they already are.”

  Every muscle in her body ached, but she got off the horse on her own accord. Ben steadied her in a way that no one noticed—at least, they didn’t seem to. By the time she managed to get her legs working, Mabel and Suzanne had rushed to her.

  “Oh, my!” Mabel turned to Suzanne and said, “Tell Whip to get some water boiling. I’ll need some clean rags, a sharp knife, and some tweezers. They’re in my bag.”

  “I’ll just bring the whole bag.” Suzanne hurried away and Mabel took a close look at Jake’s arm.

  “Oh, dear, it’s going to hurt you when I clean that.”

  Patience picked her way across the bedrolls and sneered. “You’re a most dreadful sight!” Which seemed to Jake to mean that Patience would have preferred her dead. That was all right with Jake, since she’d had similar thoughts about the prissy woman standing before her. Maybe not exactly dead, but certainly gone.