Satan's Angel Page 27

  When they reached the horses, they found that they had been tied to the tree. Victoria shook her head as she swung up into the saddle. “I don’t understand. Why did he bother to tie them? Why not let them loose? We would have had a harder time catching them. In fact, why not take them with him and leave us stranded here?”

  “Presumably he balked at murdering us.” Slater tapped his heels to his horse’s sides.

  “I don’t understand it. That doesn’t seem like something a ruthless man would do.”

  “I never said he was ruthless. I said he’s a lawbreaker.”

  “I know. But somehow—I don’t know, it seems odd.”

  Slater nodded. “Maybe.” His thought had been that perhaps Victoria’s cousin had mellowed the outlaw, but he decided it would be wiser not to say that. It would only remind her of the way in which Amy might have gentled Sam Brody.

  He guessed there were women who could do that, even to a man like Brody. But, personally, he preferred his women with a touch of tartness. He glanced over at Victoria. No one would claim she was cloying; she could be as astringent as vinegar. But her mouth was fire and delight; her body was everything a man could dream of.

  Slater tore his eyes away from Victoria and kicked his horse into a gallop. He had sworn he wouldn’t touch her. But why did his body have to make it so damn difficult?

  It was a long, wearying day. Slater didn’t stop until it was past dark. They were both exhausted, and he thought wryly that at least he wouldn’t have trouble sleeping tonight.

  After they finished supper, Victoria grinned slyly and brought out a small paper bag.

  “What’s that?”

  “I brought a treat.” She wiggled the bag enticingly. “Want some?”

  “I don’t know until you tell me what it is,” he replied reasonably, but the corners of his mouth began to curve up.

  Victoria made a pouty face. “You act as if I might feed you poison.”

  “Your idea of a treat and mine might differ, that’s all.”

  “If you have so little faith in my judgement, I’ll simply eat it all myself.” She reached into the paper bag, pulled out a small orange circle and popped it into her mouth.

  “What was that? A dried peach?”

  “Apricot.” Victoria smiled. “Dried apple slices, too.”

  “I’ll take one.”

  “As I recall, I offered, and you didn’t accept. I’d say the offer was rescinded.”

  “Rescinded, huh? We’ll see about that.” He lunged for the sack, startling her with his quickness. She jumped, but she was too late, and he plucked the small bag from her hand.

  He sat back down and reached inside it. Victoria laughed and grabbed for the bag. Slater held the sack out of her reach, twisting to elude her. He managed to keep it away from her long enough for him to pull out an apple slice and eat it, but then Victoria grasped his arm with both her hands and swung her full weight on it.

  Slater threw his other arm around her waist and fell backward onto the ground, hauling her with him. They giggled and struggled like schoolchildren, the paper bag falling unheeded to the dirt. They rolled across the ground, and when they stopped, Victoria was underneath Slater and his arms were around her. Victoria looked up at him. Her heart was pounding, and she was panting for breath, but that condition had nothing to do with her physical exertion.

  They looked at each other, the teasing and laughter gone. A strand of Victoria’s hair had come loose from her braid and clung to her cheek. Slater brushed it aside, the callused tip of his finger lingering on Victoria’s skin. Her lips parted. They were moist and soft. Slater knew exactly how it would feel to kiss them. He knew how her mouth would taste, and how her tongue would glide across his. His hand slid down her neck to lush mound of her breast. His eyes darkened.

  Victoria felt the telltale hardening of his body. He wanted her. God knows, she wanted him. Why in the world did they stay apart? “Slater…” she began huskily.

  He made a noise almost of pain and rolled off her. Jumping to his feet, he walked away. Victoria sat up, watching his rigid back. She wished he would come back to her and take her in his arms. She was ready to fling aside all conventions and morality.

  “Slater, come back.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Don’t you want me?”

  He groaned. “Of course I want you. How could I not? You’re everything I desire. But I’d be a scoundrel to take you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Yes!” He whirled back around to face her, but stayed where he was. “I’m not the man you want, the man you need.”

  “Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?” Victoria replied tartly.

  “No. You don’t ever stop to think—you just do whatever comes into your head without considering the consequences. We’re too different. We can’t get through a whole day without arguing. We don’t get along. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Obviously you’re deciding everything without asking me, as usual.” Victoria got to her feet, her eyes flashing. “But then why should I have anything to say about it? You apparently know more about me than I do.”

  “Victoria, you’re being unfair.”

  “No, it’s you who’s unfair—and pigheaded and bossy. Not to mention conceited!” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him across the small clearing. “Frankly, I don’t even want to sleep with you!”

  With that she turned and whipped out her bedroll. Pointedly keeping her back toward him, she shook out the blanket and spread it on the ground. Then she lay down and wrapped it around her, turning on her side and facing away from Slater. She didn’t even glance at him throughout the whole process.

  Slater realized that he was grinding his teeth, and he forced his jaw to relax. He’d been doing a lot of that since he’d met Victoria. She was without a doubt the single most difficult person to deal with that he’d ever known. Here he was doing the decent thing, the gentlemanly thing, respecting her virtue despite the fact that he wanted her so badly that he had hardly slept the night before. And she acted as if he were a villain!

  He was tempted to yank her out of the cocoon of her blanket and kiss her until she turned soft and yielding beneath his hands. What sweet revenge it would be to make her melt like syrup against him, to feel her tremble with hunger and press herself up into him. He swallowed and clenched his fests at his sides. Damn, but she tempted him. Whether she was sweet or defiant, laughing or spitting with anger, she tempted him. Keeping his hands off her was turning out to be the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Slater spread out his own blanket and sat down to take off his boots and lie down, feeling disgruntled and misused. You’d think that when he was practicing such enormous self-restraint, the least Victoria could do was not revile him for it. Other women would be grateful to him. Other women would call him a gentleman for it. The problem was, he didn’t want other women. He wanted Victoria, stubbornness, defiance and all.

  Slater shut his eyes, willing sleep to come. But, of course, it wouldn’t. All he could think of was his anger—and how radiant her eyes were, how lustrous her hair, how soft and voluptuous her body. It would have given him some satisfaction if he had known that on the other side of their camp, Victoria lay equally wide awake and fuming.

  Slater awoke the next morning feeling as though he had spent the night on a bed of rocks. He vowed that he would leave Victoria behind as soon as they came to a town. Traveling with her would kill him before Brody could. He glanced at her as they silently made ready to leave. She was just as desirable this morning as she had been last night.

  He imagined putting Victoria up on his horse in front of him and letting his hands roam over her body as they rode. Then she would turn to straddle him, sinking down onto his stiffened manhood, encasing him in her velvet fire as the horse gently rocked below them. Slater turned away, aware of how embarrassingly obvious the direction of his mind must be. Why did she have t
his effect on him?

  They rode for most of the morning without speaking more than a few words. Slater couldn’t rid his mind of the vision he had had of their riding together, and his sensitized flesh was aware of every movement of the horse between his legs. Doggedly he followed the tracks Brody and Amy had left, but all the while he dreamed of hauling Victoria down from her horse and ripping her clothes from her.

  “There’s something odd about these tracks,” he commented, clearing his throat. He tried to concentrate on his job instead of on Victoria.

  “What?” Her tone was frosty, as it had been each time she’d had to speak to him.

  “It looks like there are three people.”

  “Three?” His words surprised Victoria out of her iciness. “Do you think they have one of the gang with them now?”

  “I don’t know. But see these sets side by side? Over here, apart from them, I keep finding another set. Sometimes the two sets are messed up, as if the third one had ridden behind them.”

  “But why would there be only one of the gang with them?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of the men sided with Brody in the fight back at the hideout, and he left with them.”

  “Where do you think they’re going?”

  “We’ve been heading south. My guess is San Antonio.”

  “Why?”

  “Brody had friends there. There’s a woman who I know has hidden him before. She’s a—” He stopped abruptly.

  “She’s a what?” Victoria gave him a hard stare. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s something I shouldn’t hear.”

  “She’s the madam of a brothel.”

  Victoria stared at him, fear dawning on her face. “You don’t think—would he give Amy to that woman? Make her work for her?”

  Slater shrugged. “It’s possible he could sell her to Dorette. More likely they’ll hide out with her. Where he’ll go from there is anybody’s guess. I have this feeling…”

  “What feeling?”

  “That he’s running for the border. His gang’s broken up. His hideout’s been breached. We’re hot on his tail. I think he’ll head for Mexico. Give himself a chance to recoup.”

  Victoria gnawed at her lower lip, disturbed. “And you couldn’t chase him into Mexico?”

  Slater shook his head.

  “Then we have to be sure to catch him while he’s still in Texas.”

  “We aren’t far behind him. And if he goes to Dorette’s place to lie low…” Slater grinned. “I think we’ve got him.”

  Victoria smiled back at him. Her smile hit him like a ton of bricks, and to cover it up, he looked away toward the horizon. He frowned. “That is, if a storm doesn’t slow us down.”

  Victoria looked in the same direction. Dark, puffy storm clouds were piling up on the horizon. The storm moved closer and grew darker with every second. A cold wind blew up.

  “Better find some shelter,” Slater muttered.

  “I can ride through the rain.” But Victoria’s face was uneasy. It looked like a hard thunderstorm was brewing. Out here, they could sweep through like a freight train, sending water pouring down the hard-packed dirt of normally shallow streams. They kicked their horses into a trot.

  Lightning forked through the dark clouds, which were now moving at a fast clip toward them, and thunder rumbled. They could see the sheets of rain in the distance. In only minutes, it was upon them. The rain fell so hard that it was like being pelted with tiny pieces of metal, and it was so fast that within a few seconds they were drenched.

  The sky blazed with light as lightning flashed directly overhead, and the clap of thunder was deafening. Victoria’s horse reared, and she had to fight to bring it back under control. She looked over at Slater. The rain was so thick that it blurred her vision. His hair and clothes were plastered to him, his hat gone, and she knew she must look the same. They kept the horses moving forward despite the animals’ skittishness. It was pointless to stop in the open. Nor was one of the large trees a good shelter, for while it would shield them somewhat from the wind and rain, it would attract lightning. Victoria wished they could come upon a cave like the one yesterday, or at least a stone ledge under which they could huddle.

  “Look!” Slater leaned forward, wiping the rain from his face in a vain attempt to see. “Isn’t that a house?”

  Victoria could see a dark squat something in the distance. It could have been a formation of rocks for all she could tell. “Maybe.”

  They rode faster. Victoria’s horse slipped in the mud, but caught itself and barreled on. As they grew closer, she could see that the object was a small house—shack might have been a better description. She could also see that they had to cross a river to get there.

  Slater pulled up on his reins. It was a wide shallow river. A few yards downriver, it deepened, but here it couldn’t be more than a couple of feet. He could see the flat shelves of rock that covered the bottom. In the normal course of events, Slater wouldn’t have thought twice about crossing it, but in a heavy rainstorm like this there was the possibility of a flash flood. It happened swiftly, as its name implied, turning rock-strewn rivers like this into turbulent, rushing waters.

  “It’s still shallow!” Victoria called out. “Let’s go.”

  Slater looked across the river. The house beckoned temptingly. If they crossed the river now, they could soon be warm and dry. But if they stayed here, the river would rise, and they would not only be cold and wet, they’d be trapped on the wrong side of it.

  “All right. Let’s go.” He started across the river, with Victoria right behind him.

  They were halfway across when Victoria glanced upriver and saw a wall of water rushing straight at them, the noise muffled by the thunder. “Slater!” she screamed, spurring her horse forward. “Ride!”

  Instinctively, Slater put his spurs to his horse at her words, even as he looked to see what was wrong. He saw the water rolling toward them, and he tensed, taking his reins in both hands and squeezing his legs around his horse’s belly.

  It hit them at the edge of the river bank. Slater’s horse scrambled up the bank, but Victoria’s mount stumbled under the force of the water, lost its footing and feel to its knees. “Victoria!” Slater whirled, fighting to turn Old Jack.

  Victoria clung to both the reins and her saddle horn. The water crashed over her head, swirling around her, and pulled her from her saddle. Her horse floundered, scrabbling for footing. It couldn’t stand, but it broke the surface of the water, swimming with the strong flow. When it did, Victoria was no longer in her saddle, but beside the horse in the water, holding on for dear life to the saddle horn.

  Water streamed down her face, and her wet hair was everywhere, obscuring her vision, but she didn’t dare let go of the saddle with even one hand to brush it back. She shook her head to clear her face and breathed deeply, hanging on to the saddle and trying to swim with her mount.

  “Victoria!”

  She turned. Slater was still on his horse and racing down the bank to catch up with her. A small tree rushed by her in the roiling river, and one of its branches struck her sharply in the back, knocking her loose from her horse. She was swept down the river.

  Slater spurred Old Jack forward, his eyes searching the tumbling water for sight of Victoria’s dark head. “Come on, Jack, come on, ole boy. Run, damn it!”

  Victoria’s horse lunged up the bank out of the water in front of him, and he swerved to avoid it, but Old Jack continued to run, closing the gap between them and Victoria.

  At first Victoria could do nothing but roll and tumble helplessly in the water, struggling to the surface for a breath before she was pulled back under. She was dragged along the rocks, ripping her shirt and scraping her skin. But she barely noticed the pain. She was too busy fighting the rampaging water. Once, as she came up, she glimpsed Slater and his horse racing along the water’s edge, and she was filled with hope. Slater would get her out.

  The panic rec
eded, and she began to think. She had to get to the bank, where Slater could pull her out. She began to try to swim toward the side, but her waterlogged boots made her clumsy, and she made little progress. The boots were weighing her down, but they wouldn’t come off, and she couldn’t reach them to pull them off, with the water tumbling her about like a piece of deadwood.

  A large branch whisked by her, and she had the presence of mind to grab it. She wrapped both her arms around it and pulled her head and shoulders up out of the water, resting on the log and letting it carry her. She gasped for air and looked for Slater. He was even with her, but the river was deeper here, and the bank several feet higher than the water. He speeded up, and Victoria knew Slater was trying to get far enough ahead to catch her. Holding on to her log, she kicked, trying to move toward the bank. It was no use.

  A large rock jutted out of the water in front of her, and the branch rammed into it. The force of the impact snapped the branch and sent the piece Victoria held spinning off to one side. She grabbed frantically at a jumble of rocks at the edge of the river, letting go of the wood, but the stones were smooth and slick, and her fingers could find no purchase. She was swept onward with barely a pause. She was close to the bank now, and she clawed desperately at it, but her fingers found nothing but mud that gave way in her hands. The current was pulling her back out toward the center of the river. She grabbed blindly, and her fingers caught hold of a large root sticking out from a tree beside the shore.

  Victoria curled her other hand around the root, too, and clung with all her strength. The water rushed around her, pulling at her. She could feel the tremendous suction around her hips and legs, dragging her down and out into the water. If her arms got tired, if her fingers gave out, she knew she’d be gone in an instant.

  “Hang on, I’m coming!” It was Slater’s voice, just above her. It gave her renewed strength, and she tightened her grip. “I’m throwing you a rope. Look up.”

  She raised her head and saw the loop of a lariat swooping through the air toward her. She held up one arm, and the rope settled neatly over both it and her head. It was just in time, for her other hand was pulled free of the root. She was sucked away by the water, but the loop tightened around her, holding her in place against the rushing water.