Cowboy Resurrected

She glanced toward him, moonlight glinting off her eyes.

Thorn stared, transfixed.

Then, before he could guess her intentions, she flung herself outside, slamming the door shut behind her.

Thorn shot to his feet, ripped the door open and ran outside. He turned left, thinking she’d go for the motorcycle under the lean-to.

Just as he rounded the corner of the house, he realized his mistake.

Little Joe whinnied, then galloped by with the woman on him.

Thorn tore out after them, catching up before Little Joe could get up to speed.

He grabbed the woman around the waist and yanked her out of the saddle, the force of her weight sending them both to the ground.

The wind knocked out of him, Thorn held on to his prize, refusing to let go, a dozen questions spinning through his mind. Who was she? What was she doing on the Raging Bull? And why did her soft curves feel so good against his body?

Chapter Two

When Sophia landed on the man, the fall forced the air from her lungs. She lay there for a moment, gathering her wits and her breath. Then she fought to free herself of the steel vise clinched around her waist. “Let go of me.” She scratched and clawed at his arm.

“No way,” the deep voice said into her ear, his breath stirring the hairs at the back of her neck. “You almost killed me twice and tried to steal my horse.”

She jabbed her elbow into his gut and jerked to the side.

The man grunted and refused to loosen his grip.

Lightning flickered across the sky and a crash of thunder sounded so close, Sophia stopped fighting for a second.

The horse, standing a few feet away, reared and took off, probably racing for the barn as the sky lit again, this time with a thousand fingers of lightning.

Wind whipped Sophia’s hair into her eyes, and the first drops of rain peppered her skin.

The cowboy gripped her wrist and rolled her off him onto her stomach.

He came down on top of her, straddling her hips, his pressing into the small of her back. “I’ll let you up if you promise to behave.”

She snorted and spit to the side. “And I should trust you?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have much of a choice.”

Sophia squirmed beneath him, trying to free her wrist from his ironlike grasp. “Let go. I’ll leave and you will never see me again.”

Thunder boomed so loud it shook the ground.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you’re not going anywhere in this storm.”

As if to emphasize her captor’s point, the water droplets grew thicker, the wind blasting them against her skin.

The dry dust kicked up, stinging her eyes and choking her breath. “Okay.” She coughed. “I’ll behave.”

The man’s weight left her body and he jerked her to her feet.

As soon as she stood, the storm unleashed its full power in a deluge so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

“Get in the cabin!” her captor yelled over the roar.

Water streamed down her face, blinding her.

A shove from behind sent her stumbling toward the open door. Her heart hammered against her ribs; fear of the storm nothing compared to fear of being trapped with this strong, dangerous stranger inside the small confines of the cabin.

He stepped around her and dragged her along behind him.

Sophia planted her heels in the mud and jerked hard.

The rain allowed her to slip free of his grip, but she hadn’t accounted for how easily. She teetered backward and landed hard on the ground, mud sluicing over her clothes, soaking her all the way to her skin.

The cowboy stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “If you’re not struck by lightning, the flash floods will get you!” he yelled.

“I’ll take my chances.” Sophia scrambled to her feet, slipped, almost fell and steadied herself.

The cowboy’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Stubborn woman.”

Sophia’s chin tipped upward. Before she could think of a scathing reply, the cowboy moved, leaving the protection of the cabin to scoop her up. He tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of onions and spun back toward the cabin.

The wind again knocked out of her, Sophia bounced along with every one of his huge steps until they entered the cabin.

The brute of a man kicked the door shut behind him and set Sophia on her feet in the dark.

The temperature had plummeted with the rainfall, cooling her body. She shook, her teeth clattering against each other. “Don’t try anything or I’ll...I’ll...” She strained her eyes to search the room for a weapon, the darkness hampering her efforts and only flashes of lightning giving limited relief.

Finally she straightened, holding her head high, not that he could see her. She’d come too far to fall victim to yet another man who wanted to use her. Sophia dropped her tone to one she hoped sounded tough and menacing. “I’ll kill you.” Too bad a shiver shook her as she said the words, making them sound weak and quivery.

“Sweetheart, I have no intention of ‘trying’ anything with you. You look like a drowned rat and you’re covered in mud. You’re about as appealing as a pig. Less so. I could at least eat a pig.” He shuffled around the cabin, bumping into things.

Sophia stood close to the door, debating how to make her escape. The bellow of thunder and the rain pounding the roof intensified, making her think again.

Something rattled to her left, then a scraping sound rasped in the darkness and a match flared. The cowboy held it up and stared at the potbellied stove. “Here, make yourself useful.” He handed her a box of matches. “Light one.”

She took the box from him as the match he held flickered out. Hands shaking, she removed a match from the box and scraped it on the side. The blaze from the match circled her and the cowboy in an intimate glow.

He grabbed a candle from the mantel and held it to the match, then stuck it in a tin holder. “That will do for a start, but it’s cold, we’re wet and we’ll need a fire or we’ll have a really bad night of it.” He lifted the lid off a box beside the stove and grunted. “Nice.” Several logs lay in the bottom, along with old newspapers. “Hank knows how to stock a cabin,” he muttered as he lifted the logs out and stacked them in the stove.

Sophia’s heart skipped several beats. “Hank?”

The man wadded up newspaper and jammed it beneath the logs before responding. “Yeah, you’re trespassing on the Raging Bull Ranch. I take it you were the one to cut the fence?” He shot a narrowed glance behind him. “Illegal alien?”

She refused to be intimidated by his glare. “I am an American citizen.”

“Even American citizens don’t have the right to destroy other people’s property or trespass. You can take it up with the law in the morning.”

Could it be she’d found her way to Hank Derringer’s land? Hope rose inside her. “I’d rather take it up with this man Hank.”

The cowboy shrugged. “Suit yourself, lady. I don’t care.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take those matches now.”

She handed him the box and stood back.

He got the paper burning and the dry wood caught soon after, crackling and popping. He left the door to the stove open, the blaze lighting the interior of the tiny cabin in a soft, cozy glow.

The heat didn’t extend beyond a few feet from the stove.

Still leery about the cowboy’s intentions, Sophia remained outside his reach, her arms clutched around her body, her teeth chattering.

The big man stood, holding his hands to the fire. “Sure is warm over here.” He cast a glance at her and shook his head. “Good grief, woman, you’re freezing. Get closer before you catch your death.”

“I’m f-fine,” she insisted, her gaze on the flames, mesmerized by the thought of warmth.

The cowboy unbuttoned his soaked shirt and peeled it off his shoulders.

Sophia gasped and backed even farther away until the backs of her knees ran into the side of the bed and she almost fell. “What are you doing?”

“Getting out of my wet clothes. I don’t plan on freezing all night.” He scooped her backpack off the floor and opened it. “Do you have any dry clothes in here?”

She darted forward and snatched at the backpack. “That’s mine.”

He held on to the strap, his eyes narrowing. “Seeing as we have to share this cabin for a night, I’d like to know you’re not hiding a knife or another gun in here that you plan on using on me in my sleep.” He peeled her fingers off the other strap and dumped the contents of the backpack on the closest of the twin beds.

Foil-wrapped tortillas, a can of frijoles pinto and two bottles of water fell out on the bed. Enough food for two people for a single day. Beside them, a flashlight, fifty dollars of American money and one extra T-shirt was all she had to her name.

“Not much to go cross-country on.”

“I was backpacking in the canyon. I didn’t plan on staying,” she lied.

He dug in one of the side pockets of the backpack and brought out the wire cutters. “Something you carry on hikes?”

She shrugged. “A girl never knows what tools she’ll need.”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s not safe to travel alone in this area? Especially if you’re a woman.”

Sophia swallowed hard on the lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t planned on traveling alone. Hector was to guide and protect her until she found Hank Derringer. Now Hector lay dead back in the canyon. With no one to help her, she had to rely on herself. She lifted her chin. “I don’t need a man to protect me.” Especially one who wanted to control her and keep her locked away from the world.

“Glad to know that. I didn’t plan on signing up for the job.” He lifted the blanket she’d tossed on the bed earlier. “Since you have a dry T-shirt, I’ll use the blanket until my jeans dry.” He nodded toward the bed and the pile of supplies. “Get out of your wet clothes. Getting sick will do you no good.” He reached for the button on his jeans.

Sophia’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head and spoke slowly, as if to a dense child. “I told you, I’m getting out of my wet clothes. You can watch...or not.” He flicked the button open and ran the zipper down in one fluid movement.

Sophia gasped and spun away from him. “I don’t even know you.”

“It’s not like I’m going to make love to you. I prefer my women willing, dry and preferably not covered in mud.”

“All the more reason to remain in my wet clothing.”

“Suit yourself.” He tossed the jeans over a chair beside her. “If it’ll help, I’ll turn my back while you strip out of those muddy things. I might even be convinced to take them out in the rain and rinse them for you so that you’ll have something semiclean to wear in the morning.”

She did feel gritty and cold. The dirt she could handle, but the cold couldn’t be good for her baby. “Fine.” She turned toward him, happy to note he’d wrapped his naked body in the blanket. “Turn around.”

She’d been raised in Monterrey by her Mexican father and her American mother, but the proprieties of life in Mexico demanded she didn’t strip naked in front of a stranger.

Granted, proprieties had gone by the wayside when she’d chosen to move in with Antonio, despite her parents’ objections. They’d begged her to wait until she had the ring on her finger before committing to such a drastic move. But Antonio had been eager to have her to himself, and Sophia had been young and stupid in love.

“Look, I’ll turn my back,” the man said. “But you have to promise not to stab me in it while I do.”

Sophia snorted. “I don’t have a knife, and you took my gun.”

* * *

THORN KEPT HIS back to her, watching her movements through his peripheral vision and the movement of her shadow.

She eased along the wall toward the stove, wary of him and as skittish as a wild cat. If she didn’t get out of the muddy clothes, they wouldn’t dry by morning and she’d possibly get sick or suffer hypothermia from being cold all night.

Thorn didn’t relish the idea of hauling a sick woman back to the ranch. Especially if they were going to have to ride double on the motorcycle she’d hidden beneath the lean-to.

“Since we’ll be sharing this cabin until the storm abates, it might help to know your name. I’m Thorn Drennan.”

She didn’t answer for a long time.

When he turned to see if she’d somehow slipped by him and left, his chest tightened.

The woman had shed her wet, dirty clothing and was slipping the dry T-shirt over her head and down her body.

Silhouetted against the fireplace, her curves were all woman and deliciously alluring.

A shock of desire ripped through him, and he closed his eyes to the image.

He hadn’t felt anything for another woman since Kayla had died two years ago. Trapped in a cabin with a stranger, he wasn’t prepared for the heat burning through his veins.

The woman turned toward him, her eyes narrowing. “You said you’d keep your back turned,” she whispered accusingly.

“You didn’t answer. I thought you might have bolted for the door.”

“As you said, I’d be foolish to make a run for it in this storm.”

He nodded. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She shrugged. “My name is not important. But you can call me...Sophia.” The woman hesitated over the name, as if she wasn’t used to giving it or using it.

Thorn didn’t believe that it was her real name. But then, why would she keep her name from him unless she had something to hide?

Already uncomfortable with the situation, and not sure she wouldn’t stab him in the back, Thorn carried her gun and his rifle to the door and laid them within reach.

“I’ll take those clothes,” he said.

Sophia gathered her dirty jeans and shirt and handed them to Thorn. Their fingers brushed, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up his arm.

She must have felt it, too, because her eyes widened and her lips opened in a soft gasp.

Thorn brushed his reaction aside, blaming it on supercharged air from the lightning storm. He flung the door open, welcoming the cold rain that blew in with the fury of the storm.

With the blanket tied around his waist, he figured he’d get soaked no matter what. He held Sophia’s clothes under the eaves, letting the rush of rainwater pour over the garments. When they were sufficiently free of mud, he wrung them out and closed the door.

Sophia moved another chair by the stove and hung her jeans across the back, then laid her shirt on the wooden seat. When done, she held her hands to the flames, her face pale, her jaw tight and determined.

Thorn scooped the gun she’d used to shoot at him off the floor and tucked it into the folds of the blanket around his waist. He leaned his rifle against the wall beside one of the two beds.

Sophia’s gaze followed his movements, her brows knitted and her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

Thorn liked that he made her nervous. She might be less tempted to take another stab at killing him if she was intimidated.

“Are you going to take me to the police in the morning?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his brows raised. “Are you going to convince me not to?”

Sophia shrugged. “You have made up your mind already. Why bother trying?”

His eyes narrowed. “If you really are an American citizen, where are you from?”

She glanced to the far corner.

Thorn could almost see the cogs turning in her brain.

Finally she faced him, her brows raised. “San Antonio. Sí, I am from San Antonio.”

“Vacationing in Big Bend, huh?” He raised a hand to his chin and stared down his nose at her. “I’m familiar with San Antonio. What section of town?”

Her eyes flared, then closed. She turned her back to him. “The north side.”

“Ah, you must prefer shopping at Ingram Park Mall since it’s closest to you, right?”

Her shoulders were stiff, and she remained with her back to him. “Right. Ingram.”

Thorn’s teeth ground together. If she really lived on the north side of San Antonio, the closest mall was not Ingram. She didn’t know San Antonio any more than she knew where she was at the moment.

She dragged in a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with it. “What now?”

Thorn opened his mouth to call her out on her lie, but stopped when he noticed the dark shadows beneath her eyes and what appeared to be the yellowing remnants of a bruise across her cheek. He’d get the truth out of her, but it could wait until they both got a little rest. “Now we sleep.”

He unfolded the second bed’s mattress and stretched across it, laying the pistol beside him and lacing his hands behind his head. “You look done in. I suggest you get some shut-eye.”

Her gaze swept over his naked chest, and lower. She hesitated, her tongue sweeping out across her lower lip.

The brief appearance of her pink tongue stirred a heated response low in Thorn’s belly. Damn. What was wrong with him? He’d loved Kayla more than life itself. Why was his body reacting so strongly to this woman? Was it the vulnerability in her green eyes, or that she’d tried so determinedly to escape him that appealed to him on a deeper level? Whatever it was, he’d be glad when he handed her off to the authorities tomorrow. He closed his eyes to her image bathed in the glow of the fire in the stove. “I’m not going to sleep until you do, so move it.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

He opened his eyes. “Too bad.”

Her glance darted from him to the bed beside his. “I have enough food for two people. Unfortunately, I don’t have a way to open the cans. Hector—” Her lips clamped shut, and her face paled even more.

“Hector?” Thorn’s eyes narrowed. He was up off the bed in a second. “You were traveling with someone else.” He closed the distance between the two of them. “Weren’t you?” Thorn gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her shirt.

Sophia, eyes wide as saucers, shook her head back and forth, tears spilling from the corners. “N-no. I was alone.” She cowered, her eyes squinting, ducking her head as if expecting a blow.

“You’re lying.” He shook her. “Where is he?”

She gulped, the muscles in her throat working convulsively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With her body close to his, her arms warm beneath his fingers, heat surged, followed by anger. “Damn it, woman, I’m tired of playing twenty questions. Spit it out. Where is this Hector? Do I have to stay awake all night in case he comes in and tries to kill me, too?”

“No!” Sobs shook her slight frame and her head tipped forward, her damp hair falling over her face. “Madre de Dios.” She crossed herself. “He is dead.”

The words came out in a whisper. Thorn thought he’d heard it wrong. He bent closer. “What did you say?”

A sob ripped from her throat and her head fell back, tears running like raindrops down her cheeks. “He’s dead. They shot him. He tried to help me, and now he’s dead! And it’s my fault.”

Chapter Three

Sophia swallowed hard, realizing her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Who shot him?” Thorn shook her. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to wrench another sob from her throat.

She looked away, the memory of Hector lying in a pool of his own blood far too fresh to erase. “I don’t know.” She choked back another sob, reminding herself that she couldn’t cry forever. After all the time she’d spent as a captive in the compound, she’d learned one thing: crying didn’t solve anything. What would it hurt to tell this man a few details? “Someone in a helicopter fired a machine gun at Hector.”

His brows rose into the lock of hair drooping over his forehead. “A machine gun?”

Sophia nodded.

“Where is Hector now?” Thorn demanded.

“We were in the canyon. Hector had topped the ridge when the helicopter flew in. I h-hid beneath an overhang.” She looked at him through her tears. “I should have helped.”

“Against a helicopter?” Thorn’s lips pressed together. “Not much you could do on your own unless you had a rocket launcher.” He tipped his head to the side. “Question is, why did a helicopter fire on you and your friend Hector if you were only out hiking in Big Bend country?” Thorn’s eyes narrowed. “Now would be a good time to tell me the truth.” He dropped his hold and crossed his arms. He waited a few seconds. “Neither one of us is going anywhere until you do.”

She glanced toward the door. Thunder rumbled, rattling the doorknob. “I told you, we were hiking.”

His lips thinned, and he shook his head. “I’m not buying it. There’s a motorcycle in the lean-to that wasn’t there a day ago. I’m betting you rode in on it.”

She stared up at him, her mouth working, but nothing came out.

“Which brings me back to my original theory. You’re an illegal alien.”

“I’m not. My mother is American and, though I was born in Mexico, I have dual citizenship.”

He held out his hand. “Then you won’t mind showing me your passport.”

She stared at his hand, her throat muscles working at swallowing the lump lodged in her windpipe. “I don’t have it on me.”

“Thought so. No documents, riding a bike across the desert near the border, helicopter in pursuit.” He snorted. “You are definitely an illegal and possibly dangerous.”

“Think what you will.” She tossed back her long light brown hair. “Tomorrow I’ll be away from here, and you won’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

She frowned. “Count on what?”

“That you’ll be gone, or that I wouldn’t worry about you. I’ve kinda taken a liking to you. Must have been the fall.” He raised his hand to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry to say I have not taken a liking to you, señor,” she said, tipping her chin upward.

“Really?” Thorn leaned close, his eyes narrowing even more. He stared at her long enough to make her squirm.

Then he tilted his head back and laughed out loud. “You are entirely too naive and predictable, Sophia.”

She harrumphed, clasping her arms around her body. “I’m happy you find me amusing.”

Lightning flashed, sending shards of light through cracks in the boarded windows, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

Sophia jumped, bumping into Thorn’s naked chest. She raised a hand to steady herself and encountered smooth, hard muscles. Heat suffused her entire body. She might not like the man, but she couldn’t help admiring his physique. She told herself it was nothing more than appreciation for a fine form.

Her belly rumbled loudly, reminding her that she needed to eat or risk dry heaves. And preparing food would allow her to put distance between herself and Thorn. She nodded toward the food on the bed. “I’m hungry.”

“So you said.” He reached out.

Sophia flinched, raising her hand to block his as she ducked.

Thorn’s frown deepened. “Did you think I’d hit you?”

Sophia straightened, her body tense. “You wouldn’t be the first man.”

He continued to reach past her. Plucking a metal object from a shelf on the wall, he held it up. “I was reaching for the can opener.” Thorn tossed the device on the bed and turned to grip her arms. “For the record, I don’t hit women.”

She planted her feet wide, her eyes narrowing to slits. “No? But you grab them and hold them hostage.”

“Damn it, woman. For your own good.”

“And how is being a captive good?” She snorted. “You’re like most men, thinking a woman must be controlled, that she doesn’t have a brain to think for herself.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” His hands fell to his sides. “Given that you could have died with your friend Hector and might have been caught in a flash flood or struck by lightning, I think I can prove my case for keeping you here.”

She shrugged and ducked around him. “I don’t care what you prove.” Sophia grabbed the can opener and set it against the lid on the can of beans. After several attempts, she gave up, her stomach twisting, the hollow feeling making her nauseous.