A Man of the Land (Masterson Family Series Book 2) Read online

  "You always creep up on a body like that?" she asked.

  The crow's feet around his blue eyes crinkled in amusement. "Only ones like yours."

  Sarah had heard enough ribald comments in the past few months to recognize a come-on when she heard one. Oddly disappointed in him, she raised her chin a notch.

  He dropped the reins and placed both hands upon his heart in mock pain. "If looks could kill. Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. Give me a smile and tell me I'm forgiven."

  Charmed by his rueful manner, Sarah hesitated, drawn in despite her better judgment. There was an air of offhand authority about him that invited trust. This was a man of the land, tested by the rigors of sun and wind. She could see it in the confident way he held himself. Yet she would do well to remain wary, for the newspapers and TV shows were full of sinister stories of what happened when trust was given too easily. Besides, he definitely had the look of a renegade about him. It was in his clothes and the unruly hair, and especially, the hunger in his eyes when he looked at her.

  "I'm really not such a bad guy once you get to know me. How about I help you out of there and we start over?" Zach extended his hand.

  She took a stiff step backwards, which wasn't exactly the response Zach had been hoping for, and shaded her face against the glare of the sun. Her eyes were the deep brown of old pennies, large and arresting, especially when surrounded by a thick fringe of black lashes made spiky by the water. In contrast, her complexion was fine, like smooth sand-colored clay. There was no makeup that he could see, just the tan from the late summer season.

  Zach reined in the buckskin with one hand while doing his best to maintain his Gene Autry imitation with the other. She didn't seem to be buying it, though. Retreating, she stepped onto the bank without taking her eyes off him. Suspicious little thing, wasn't she?

  When she reached dry ground, she combed her fingers through her wet hair, holding it away from her shoulder to keep the heavy mass from dripping on her clothes. The attempt was in vain. The material of her chemise was saturated, clearly delineating her high, rounded breasts. The water must have been very cold, for her erect nipples showed through the flimsy fabric.

  He couldn't help but smile. Maybe she was right to be suspicious of him. He was not a man adverse to taking what was freely offered, free being the operative word. Time for his most original line. "My name is Zach Masterson. What's yours?"

  She shook her head. Her refusal to answer irritated him, especially since her teeth were chattering and she should be worrying more about that than him. Well, hell, he thought. There was more than one way to communicate. He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, pulled off his shirt and offered it to her with a grand flourish. The buckskin got a little spooked by the move but Zach held her in check. "Even if I don't know your name, I can't resist a damsel in distress."

  Appalled by his boldness, Sarah's gaze traveled up his corded arm to the sinewy muscles of his naked chest. Most cowboys had tans that ended at the necks and sleeves of their snap-button shirts. He was deeply tanned all over, a sight she'd rarely seen in the flesh. Certainly, she'd never seen it this close.

  "Don't stand there with your mouth open. Take it," he urged, dangling the shirt in front of her nose.

  Her mouth had indeed been open. Sarah snapped it shut and felt the red blush of awareness creep up her cheeks. Worse, there were other physical manifestations of her flustered feeling of attraction. Not only was she blushing, her stomach felt queer, like she'd swallowed a dozen butterflies.

  "Come on, use my shirt and put it on. No cooties, I promise. I can't let you stand there shivering to death. You're practically naked."

  "N-naked?" she sputtered.

  "She speaks. I was beginning to wonder if I'd been hearing things and had a deaf-mute on my hands."

  "I'm hardly naked," she announced and planted her hands on her hips, amazed at his audacity. Did he think her so brazen as to wash in full daylight without a stitch on?

  "The face of an angel, the body of Venus and the voice of a siren. Can you sing, too?" he asked, taking one last stab at winning a smile from her.

  Sarah glanced down at herself, wondering if he was making fun of her. It wouldn't be the first time since she'd left the Community that someone had commented on her clothes. Her chemise lay plastered to her skin, revealing every outline of her breasts and belly. Mortified, she frantically arranged her hair in front to cover herself.

  You need something a little more substantial than that. Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I figured the least I could do is offer you the shirt off my back." Grinning, he tossed the shirt at her.

  On reflex, Sarah caught it. Remnants of his body heat warmed her fingers. Even his scent reached her, earthy and male. She dropped the shirt as though burned and crossed her arms over her chest, effectively shielding her breasts. "Stop gawking at me!"

  "If you don't want me to stare, put on some clothes."

  "These are clothes! Unmentionables they may be, but clothes all the same. Certainly they cover far more skin than what the vast majority of people out here wear."

  "Unmentionables?"

  "Perfectly decent unmentionables," she said, biting off each word.

  Zach was struck by her old-fashioned choice of words. She also had a slight accent, one he couldn't place. That was unusual, for he'd traveled all over the world and could speak a smattering of phrases in a dozen different languages. "That accent, is it German?"

  Stunned by the accuracy of his perception, Sarah could only blink in surprise. Some founders of the community, her mother among them, had been Mennonites, descended from German immigrants. Pennsylvania Dutch had been a second language in the home of her youth.

  "You don't look German. Not with the dark eyes and tanned skin."

  "I have some Native American blood. Crow, on my father's side," wondering why she'd admitted to that much. Ever since she'd run away, she'd been very circumspect about telling anyone about her background. Shivering anew, she turned her back on him and hurriedly tugged wet material away from her skin.

  "The view's not bad from here, either," he said, laughter underpinning his voice.

  "If you possessed a speck of decency, you'd turn around yourself," Sarah flung over her shoulder.

  "And miss the show? You're the one who said you're wearing clothes."

  "And to think I thought you were a gentleman."

  "I sacrificed my shirt, didn't I? Don't you recognize a chivalrous gesture when you see one?"

  "A true gentleman does not make sport of another's choice in clothing. Nor would he sneak up on a lady while she's washing her hair."

  "He might feel justified if the lady was on his land."

  "Rest assured, I'll be off it by nightfall." Shoulders rigid, she leapt to higher ground, snagged a blanket laid out on the grass and flung it around her shoulders.

  Several articles of clothing were draped over the chokecherry bushes that grew along the bank. There were a couple of long-sleeved blouses, a full-length skirt, and a heavy-looking gray dress with a high neck and, again, a long, full skirt. The impractical style of the clothes bothered him. What kind of camping trip was she on?

  "Laundry day?" he asked.

  Clutching the blanket like a shawl, she marched to a propylene tarp spread out nearby. The hem of her unmentionable skirt trailed the ground, tattered at the ends. Zach also noted the blanket was ragged from use.

  Wiping her bare feet, she slid them into a battered pair of Nike sneakers, complete with the wave logo. The shoes had seen better days. The laces were frayed and the tongues hung out, looking incongruous next to her trim ankles. She wore no socks.

  Could she be a runaway? From experience, Zach recognized the signs of both poverty and pride. But she looked like she was in her mid-20s and judging by her speech, she was educated. He recalled the taut but generous curves of her body hidden by the blanket. Weighing that fact, he was willing to bet she was well over the age of consent.

  Zach checke
d the clearing behind her, looking for evidence of a boyfriend. Maybe that would explain the chilly reception he was receiving. Certainly she wouldn't be out here camping by herself.

  The area near the tarp had been cleared of brush but there was little in the way of equipment. He didn't see a tent or sleeping bags, although a backpack hung from a low cottonwood branch. It was hardly big enough to carry ten pounds of gear, much less enough food for two.

  Next to the pack were several bunches of dried greens, tied upside down. A plastic water jug was also strung up. Nearby was a stack of deadwood, partially covered by a garbage bag, indicated she planned to stay awhile, although he couldn't imagine why. She had no shelter.

  "Are you lost?" he asked.

  She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort and headed toward a small campfire. Surrounded by fist-size rocks, it was covered by a blackened grate. A varied collection of tin cans sat on top, wisping steam. Whatever was simmering smelled of sage.

  "What's cooking?" he asked, trying a more innocuous subject.

  She rubbed the wet ends of her hair smartly between the two sides of the blanket. Zach raised an eyebrow at the continued silent treatment and spurred the buckskin up the bank, halting short of the tarp where she'd taken refuge. The corners were held down by a small black Bible and a thick paperback dictionary. Not exactly your regular campsite reading material. Other personal items were arranged in a neat row along one side. She didn't have much. Toothpaste, toothbrush, comb, eating utensils, a straw hat held down by a pocketknife on the ragged brim, and wooden matches.

  "These are logical questions," he said.

  The blanket snapped, emphasizing the silence.

  "Then it must be you who smells good enough to eat."

  She glared at him. He returned the look, wondering what else he could do to break the ice. She secured the blanket by knotting it around her shoulders and picked up the comb. Zach considered his options as she worked the tangles from her hair, sorting through various gambits designed to get a rise out of her. He settled on the most obvious.

  "Where's your boyfriend?"

  Her hands stilled.

  "He won't like finding me here, will he? Not that I can blame him."

  Her gaze went directly to his. "Who are you talking about?"

  "You know. The guy you're camping with."

  He said it casually but her reaction was so out-sized, he knew his assumption was off. Way off. She stopped fooling with her hair and shoved all her belongings into the middle of the tarp, gathering it up.

  He nudged the buckskin closer to her. "Was it something I said?"

  "I must go."

  "What happened? You two have a fight or something?" Zach asked, shifting to dismount.

  In a flash, she dropped her things and clutched his leg, forcing him to stay in the saddle. Startled, the buckskin jerked sideways. Zach put pressure on the reins without taking his eyes off the woman's terrified face. Whoever this guy was, he had her good and scared.

  "Don't leave your horse," she said. "He'll be even angrier if he finds you here." She glanced over her shoulder, searching among the trees. "Where did you see him?"

  Zach reached down and gripped her arm, forcing her to look at him. "Did he hurt you?"

  She let go of his leg, resisting the contact. "Psalms 17:13. Deliver me from the wicked, oh Lord, from men whose portion in life is of the world."

  Zach was unfamiliar with the Bible. When he was a kid, he'd managed to get kicked out of every school he'd been in, including Sunday School. He kept his gaze steady, studying the defiance in her dark eyes. "Not all men are wicked. No one deserves to be hurt, especially at the hand of another."

  She went very still. "My worldly father used to say the same thing."

  "Your father was a wise man. Did he give you a name? Mine's Zach."

  After a long pause, she nodded. "Sarah."

  "Sarah what?"

  "Sarah… Smith?"

  Zach filed the pause between her last name and first for future reference. Sarah was a pretty bad liar. He released his hold on her and extended his hand in clear welcome, the tips of his fingers close to her face. "You are not among the wicked here, Sarah."

  He kept his expression carefully neutral, allowing her to come to a decision in her own good time. After what seemed like a year, her hand snaked out from the blanket, clasped his hand and shook it. At least she had knowledge of the most rudimentary of social skills. He was beginning to wonder.

  "Pleased to meet you, Zacharias," she said gravely.

  "It's Zach."

  "Zach," she repeated, inclining her head.

  "Sarah," he said, savoring the sound. It reminded him of a spring breeze, fresh with promise. He noticed the rough ridge on her palm but resisted the urge to investigate, vowing to save that for later. And there would be a later. She was both a mystery and a challenge, his two favorite pursuits in life.

  "Who's this guy you're afraid of?" he asked.

  "You mustn't concern yourself. Go and I promise to be off your land by nightfall."

  "When I rode in, I didn't see anyone here but you."

  Puzzlement creased her brow. "You said you saw him."

  "No, I simply asked about the whereabouts of your boyfriend."

  "Oh." She looked straight at him. "Well, as you can see, I am a woman alone."

  She said it baldly, a statement of fact, and again he wondered at her odd way of putting things. "There's nothing wrong with that."

  She stroked the buckskin's shoulder. "She reminds me of another horse I know. What's her name?"

  "What's the name of the other horse?"

  "Nutkin."

  "What a coincidence. Her name is Nutkin, too."

  Sarah smiled at him for the first time. Two of her front teeth were slightly crooked. The small imperfection only heightened her appeal. He despised artifice and hadn't met a woman yet who didn't practice it in some form. Maybe the lovely Sarah would prove the exception.

  Sure of his welcome, he withdrew his boot from the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. In his concentration on the horse, he didn't see the streak of brown hurtling from the screen of trees in front of him. But he heard Sarah's yell and felt the buckskin lurch as the dog attacked.

  "No, Butcher!"

  The buckskin reared, squealing in surprise and pain. Off balance, Zach fell across the saddle, his stomach ramming the saddle horn. The reins snaked from his hands and struck the frightened horse in the face, sending her into a spin. Zach grabbed her mane, fighting to regain his seat. He barely managed, made dizzier by the dog darting around the buckskin's nervously prancing feet. A howling, snapping, angry dog.

  The dog barked and darted like a dervish. The buckskin bolted into the creek, kicking up water, scaring herself even more. Zach hung on, hoping to avoid mowing Sarah down in the chaos but the dog never let up. Barking madly, it lunged around the horse's hocks like a dangerous bee, driving her wild.

  The buckskin jumped, twisting in mid-air, throwing Zach off. He somersaulted through the air. The surface of the water rippled white, glinting the rays of the sun. He threw out his hands to break his fall.

  The last thing Zach saw was rocks. Lots of rocks.

  Chapter Two

  Butcher barked and darted like a dervish. The buckskin bolted into the creek, kicking up water, scaring herself even more. Zach hung on, hoping to avoid mowing Sarah down in the chaos but the dog never let up. Barking madly, it lunged around the horse's hocks like a dangerous bee, driving her wild.

  Sarah splashed into the creek, caught Butcher's collar and yanked him back from the flailing hooves. She heard Zach shouting in warning and she hauled the dog sideways, terrified of getting trampled.

  Her shoes came off and were swept away by the current. The horse must not have liked that either because it flew by, kicking out with its hind legs. Sarah ducked just in time.

  She heard a huge splash and the horse galloped past her and scrambled up the far side of the creek, rider-le
ss. Sarah whipped her head around and spotted Zach in the creek. He had landed face down in a place where river rock broke the surface of the swift moving water.

  "Oh, dear God," she said.

  Ordering Butcher to heel, she rushed downstream, dropped to her knees and used all her strength to flip Zach over. Bright blood gushed down his face, pulsing from somewhere near the top of his head. She tore off her chemise and wiped his brow, searching for the wound. It was high across his forehead, under his hairline. A jagged tear, a good three inches long had ripped his scalp to the bone. The creek ran so fast it threatened to wash over him, making his stillness all the more frightening.

  Sarah propped his head out of the water and forced the edges of the wound closed with her fingers. With her other hand, she dunked the chemise and wrung it over his face, looking for consciousness.

  "Zach?"

  Blood and mud washed away but his eyes remained closed. Against his pale jaw, his day's growth of beard stood out starkly.

  "Wake up," she prodded, shaking him.

  Not so much as an eyelash flickered. The only movement came from the blood leaking through her fingers. Panicked, she slapped his face. The imprint of her hand barely registered on his skin but that wasn't the worst of it. His lips were turning blue. He wasn't breathing.

  Sarah measured the distance to the nearest bank. She had to get him to shore and fast. She jumped to her feet and hauled on his arms but he was totally deadweight. She propped his head on a rock to keep it out of the water and tried again to staunch the blood pulsing from his wound. Panting, she stared down the long length of him, trying to think. White water churned around his body, leaching it of heat. The tanned skin covering his bare chest was unbroken but if he was bleeding inside, moving him would be the worst thing she could do. Yet if she didn't get him out of the cold water and breathing soon, he'd die for sure.

  Sarah leaped across his body and ripped off his boots, flinging them to shore. She crouched near his head and wormed her hands under his shoulders. Rocks scraped her knuckles. Grimacing, she lifted up.