Her Sheriff Bodyguard Page 5

  Caroline stepped down onto the ground and grabbed for Fernanda’s steadying hand. Her legs were stiff, a headache pounded in her temples and her bottom was numb from hours and hours perched on the hard leather bench. Behind them, the man who’d introduced himself as Mr. Overby jerked awake and snuffled. “Ah, dinner,” he exclaimed.

  She doubted she could eat anything after jouncing along in the stifling heat but she could surely drink something; her throat was dry and scratchy as sandpaper. And her nerves were jumpy.

  Fernanda conducted her into the tiny station, asked for water and walked on through straight to the necessary. When they returned, their host, a grizzled old man with a greasy apron looped around his waist, showed them to a rough wood table and dished up bowls of what looked like stew. Caroline picked up her spoon and immediately set it down and pushed the bowl away.

  “You must eat, mi corazón. We have many miles ahead.”

  She couldn’t. Caroline drank glass after glass of water, but her stomach was too unsettled for food. She watched Mr. Overby shovel in huge mouthfuls of his meal until he looked up.

  “What are you staring at, miss?”

  Caroline jerked. “Nothing.” She turned her gaze away and Hawk Rivera slid in beside her, bringing with him the scent of leather and sweat. She much preferred it over the cologne-heavy smell of Mr. Overby. In fact she was beginning to like the way the sheriff smelled, like a man instead of a candy shop. She wished he would sit inside the coach with them.

  “Stew any good?” he queried.

  “I wouldn’t know. I cannot eat it.”

  He snaked out his hand and pulled her bowl back to her. “Try,” he ordered. “Making speeches takes strength.”

  “Do not tell me you like my speeches?” She worked to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  He set his tall glass of water onto the table. “No, I don’t.”

  Fernanda looked at him from across the table. “Que? You do not like?”

  Their driver tramped in through the door. “Aha, supper! Thought I was gonna starve to death afore we got here. Food any good, Hawk?”

  “Yeah.” He slanted a look at Fernanda. “And no, I do not like the speeches.”

  Caroline leaned toward him. “Why not?” she intoned.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “But it does matter,” she protested.

  “Not to me.”

  She sat back and sucked in her breath. “Then why are you…? Oh, of course. You are a lawman. An ex-Texas Ranger, Fernanda said. You feel…responsible.”

  Somehow that made her angry. So angry that without thinking she jammed her spoon into the bowl of stew and swallowed down a bite. Beside her, Rivera dipped his head and chuckled.

  Well! At least she had cracked that imperturbable demeanor of his.

  “It’s true I don’t like your speeches,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t let it bother you.”

  “What? Of course it bothers me.”

  He laid down his spoon and looked directly at her. “Why?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. “Why” was a very good question. She should not care what this man thought of her speeches. Or her ideas. Or her.

  “Shouldn’t bother you,” he reiterated.

  “No,” she murmured, “it shouldn’t. I will address that issue on the remainder of our trip to Oakridge.”

  “Might do better to get some sleep,” he said.

  “That,” she said crisply, “is difficult.”

  He resumed eating. “Yeah, probably impossible. Better than riding a horse, though, isn’t it?”

  She laughed aloud, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Yes, much better,” she said between her fingers.

  “Good. You were a disaster on horseback.”

  She laughed again. “Was I really?”

  He shot her a sideways glance. “You were.”

  He didn’t say it unkindly, but it nettled her just the same. Was he always so blunt? All at once she wondered what sort of woman he was used to? What sort of woman did he like?

  Fernanda patted her mouth with her wrinkled napkin and stood up. “I go for walk,” she announced.

  Hawk snagged her forearm as she moved past. “No, you don’t, señora.”

  “Ah,” she acknowledged after a slight hesitation. “Perhaps I do not.”

  Hawk grinned up at her. “I do like a smart woman, Fernanda.”

  He wondered at the odd look that crossed Caroline’s face, but before he could puzzle over it, he saw Jingo signaling him from the doorway. He rose, tossed down the sorry excuse for a napkin, and followed the driver outside. Dusk was falling; the big orange sun slipped slowly behind the hills and shadows were lengthening.

  “Time to roll, Hawk. Got us about three hours till full dark.”

  Hawk tried to shrug off the tension that tightened his belly into knots. Darkness was never a good time to avoid danger, especially the kind he sensed dogging the two women under his protection.

  He paced twice around the stagecoach and tried to think about the situation he found himself in. A woman like Caroline MacFarlane was always going to be trouble, purposely sticking her pretty little neck out and just begging some lowlife to harm her. As soft and female as she appeared, she had a spine of steel and a stubborn streak wide as a housewife’s broom.

  But he sure did wish her hands weren’t so white, that her voice wasn’t low and just throaty enough to sound seductive. That her mouth… Ah, hell, he couldn’t think about her mouth. And that hair, like fine spun silk and so black it reminded him of an ebony Arabian he’d lusted after years ago.

  He handed his rifle up to Jingo and sat until Caroline and Fernanda walked out of the station and climbed into the coach. Followed half a heartbeat later by Overby.

  Hawk eyed him. The gambler might not look menacing, but he sure made Hawk’s nerves twitch.

  *

  Caroline closed her eyes to avoid Mr. Overby’s glassy stare. The stagecoach had set off at a rapid clip and, despite the rough ride, the man had slept until ten minutes ago. Now that it was growing dark outside he suddenly became talkative.

  Fernanda sent her a warning glance, and she resolved not to engage in conversation. Like most men, no doubt he was violently opposed to giving women the vote; the less she said the better.

  Outside the coach window the landscape changed from gently rolling golden hills and broad valleys to a high tree-swathed plateau. Pines, Caroline guessed. Dark green, like those at their camp two nights ago, only closer together. Not much grew on the ground beneath them save for a kind of straggly grass with pale yellow flowers. Her lips firmed. The state of Oregon was inhospitable to not only women’s rights; green growing things struggled for life, as well.

  So Mr. Rivera did not like her speeches, did he? She would say he was a typical male, except that he was not typical at all. She had never known a man even remotely like him. In Texas, the Rangers were famous. And feared. After three days in Rivera’s company, she could understand why.

  Hawk Rivera rarely smiled, and his disturbing green eyes missed nothing. He had even noticed her choking on the whiskey he’d brought last night and that she did not finish her stew an hour ago.

  His skin was tanned to a shade darker than even the stage driver’s. Perhaps Rivera was part Mexican? But his given name was Anderson—not a Mexican name. Hawk could be an Indian nickname, a spirit name she’d heard it termed. Yes, that was it. He was like a hawk, predatory and no doubt lethal when crossed.

  His voice, however, had no hint of an accent, Mexican or Indian. Though his words were blunt, they were carefully chosen and always to the point. Had he had some schooling, then? Also she couldn’t help wondering why he had left Texas.

  A shout from the driver jolted her to attention. The coach slowed, then swerved hard to the right. Fernanda jerked awake. “What is happening?”

  *

  Hawk spotted something on the road ahead and yelled at Jingo. A tree lay across the trail, fresh cu
t it looked like.

  “I see it,” Jingo yelled. He started to slow the team.

  “Don’t stop, man! Go around it.”

  The driver manhandled the traces, but with the trees so thick, there was nowhere to go. The coach veered hard and rattled to a stop.

  Ambush? Hawk cocked his rifle, raised it shoulder high and scanned ahead through the deepening gloom.

  “See anything?” Jingo breathed.

  “No.” Still, it was too quiet.

  “Think somebody laid that pine down a-purpose?”

  “Yeah, I do. We’ll have to move it to get past.”

  “Damn.”

  “I’ll get Overby out here to help.” He swung down to the ground.

  Hawk had to lay down his Winchester to help the other two men jockey the tree out of the road, but the instant the rifle left his hand, a gunshot rang out. He dropped his end of the log and dove for his weapon, rolled once and fired into the trees, Then he sprinted for the coach.

  “Take cover,” he yelled. A bullet whanged into the passenger door. Wood splintered, and from inside came Fernanda’s answering voice.

  “You also, señor.”

  He sighted his weapon into the trees but saw no movement of any kind. If he could force the man to fire again, the flare would pinpoint his location. He edged around the coach, keeping it at his back. If whoever it was wanted Caroline or Fernanda, they’d have to kill him first.

  He waited. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jingo and Overby shove the tree aside, and Jingo scrambled back up into the driver’s seat.

  “Overby!” Hawk shouted. “Get up there next to him.”

  The traces jingled softly as Jingo picked them up, and then the stage started to roll forward. Hawk hooked his left hand onto the coach door handle. “Go!” he yelled.

  He heard the whip crack and he swung the door open and hung on. Another shot and this one grazed his upper arm. Jingo slowed just enough so he could fling his body inside.

  Hands grabbed him. He pulled the rifle in and felt the stage pick up speed. Someone caught the door handle and heaved it shut. He knew it was the Mexican woman because Caroline was crushed on the floor beneath him.

  He lifted his body off her, tossed the rifle down and pounded his fist twice on the roof. He heard Jingo give a Rebel yell and the stage accelerated.

  “You are hurt!” Fernanda exclaimed.

  “It’s minor.” It didn’t feel minor; it felt like a dull butcher knife had sliced into his skin, but he was alive and they were moving and he’d count his blessings later. He kicked his rifle out of the way and collapsed onto the seat. Then he reached down to help Caroline up off the floor.

  “You all right?” he grated.

  She nodded and tried to smile. The half-brave, half-terrified expression on her face sent a swift, sweet arrow straight into his gut. She reached out to touch his bloody arm.

  “Don’t,” he cautioned.

  She snatched her hand back. “Does it hurt?”

  Hell yes, it hurt. “Some, yeah.”

  Fernanda lifted up her black skirt and ripped off the bottom ruffle of her petticoat. “Let me, señor.” She wadded up the pad of cotton and pressed it hard where the blood was oozing. He shoved over on the seat to make room for her.

  Fernanda shook her head. “Caroline, you sit next. Press hard where it bleeds.”

  Caroline turned white, but the Mexican woman took her small manicured hand and slapped her palm against Hawk’s shoulder.

  “Don’t faint,” he cautioned.

  “I never faint.”

  “You see a lot of bloody bullet wounds making speeches, do you?”

  “Of course not. Who was that shooting at you?”

  “Don’t know. And I’m betting he wasn’t aiming for me. It was you he wanted.”

  Her hand jerked away from the compress and her face turned even more pasty. “Oh.”

  “You gonna faint?”

  “Certainly not.” She slapped the bloody pad back onto his arm. Hawk caught her hand.

  “Caroline, you don’t have to do this.”

  She sent him a look with those purple-blue eyes of hers that stopped his heartbeat. “Oh, yes I do. You are risking your life to protect us.”

  “Correction, Miss Speech-Maker,” he muttered. “You’re the one out there stirring up the hornets’ nests. It’s you I’m protecting.”

  Caroline said nothing. The truth was she could not think of one single sensible thing to say. And that was not at all like her. For the past year her whole life had been spent saying sensible things.

  “Señor,” Fernanda said softly, “I am remember you in my prayers.”

  Rivera looked across at Fernanda, and Caroline swallowed hard. Hawk Rivera’s green eyes were suspiciously shiny.

  Chapter Eight

  The stage pulled up in front of the Excelsior Hotel, on what Hawk would loosely call the main street of the thriving little town of Oakridge. It looked a lot like Smoke River, except there were more storefronts and the boardwalk was wider. Fernanda reached for the coach door, but he laid a restraining hand on her arm.

  “I’ll go first.”

  “But you are wounded, señor!”

  Gently he dislodged Caroline’s head from where it lolled against his shoulder and hefted his rifle in his other hand. He hated like anything to disturb her; feeling her body sag against him was the best thing that had happened on this whole miserable trip. But, he thought with regret, he guessed this little patch of peace in the middle of a crazy night had to end.

  “Stay put until I come for you.” He swung the door open and planted his boots on the ground.

  The hotel was lit up like a Christmas tree, light glowing from every window, even from the rooms way up on the top floor. That’s where he wanted to be, he decided, up high so he could see both sides of the street.

  Jingo began unloading Caroline’s trunk, and Overby stumbled down off his perch on the driver’s bench and lurched unsteadily down the street toward the Red Rooster Saloon. Hawk waited until Jingo set the trunk inside the hotel foyer, then motioned him to wait and tossed him his Winchester.

  “Keep the ladies company. I’ll just step into the hotel and get a room.”

  “Take yer time, Hawk. One of these ladies is real purty.”

  Hawk halted midstride. “Hands off,” he snapped.

  Jingo’s bushy eyebrows rose. “You claimin’ them both?”

  “Hell, yes, you randy old buzzard.” He strode up the wooden steps with Jingo’s half-admiring laughter in his ears.

  He had to push the wiry desk clerk a bit and let his vest flap open to show his badge, but he secured a room on the third floor. He waited while the desk clerk and a lanky kid lugged the trunk up the three flights of stairs and by that time he had to admit he was feeling light-headed. He needed food, whiskey and some sleep, in that order.

  Once inside the tiny hotel room, Fernanda had other ideas. “You do not go one step outside without I fix your arm.” Caroline added a soft Please, and that changed his mind about his priorities right quick.

  Fernanda insisted on removing his shirt and washing his flesh wound before she would set foot outside the hotel room door. Caroline, he noticed, turned away the instant his chest was bared.

  “Ladies,” Hawk said as Fernanda bandaged his arm, “I hear fiddle music. Seems like there’s some kind of fandango going on here tonight. How about I buy us all a steak dinner to take some of the sting out of the last ten hours?”

  Caroline’s stomach was rumbling so loud it embarrassed her. She brushed the dust off her bombazine travel suit and followed Fernanda down to the dining room. Apparently the party was in the adjoining ballroom because the restaurant was deserted except for an overweight man at the table nearest the entrance.

  He looked up, then stood and surveyed them with hard blue eyes. To her astonishment, as they approached Hawk touched his hat brim with two fingers. “Will,” he said quietly.

  “Hawk,” the large man replied. �
�Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Don’t get this far north very often.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Hawk guided Fernanda and Caroline past the man to a table at the back of the room.

  “What brings you this time?” the man queried.

  Hawk seated them at a round cloth-covered table, then removed his hat and folded himself into the third chair. “Nursemaiding,” he said blandly.

  Fernanda laughed, but Caroline’s hands turned into fists in her lap.

  “Yeah?” The man called Will gave them a slow once-over with his pale eyes. “That what you call it? Looks more like—”

  “Button it, Paine,” Hawk cut in.

  The man’s blond eyebrows rose. “You gonna introduce me?”

  “Nope. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Paine settled back onto his chair. “Big wingding in town tonight. Mayor’s daughter got herself engaged. I’m here to keep the peace.”

  Caroline stared at Hawk. “This man, Will, is a lawman?” she whispered. “Why, he doesn’t even wear a badge.”

  Hawk drew her attention away by tapping his forefinger on the menu. “Order me a steak,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He stood and crossed the room to Will’s table, spun the chair backward and straddled it. The two men bent their heads together and spoke so quietly she couldn’t understand a word.

  When Hawk returned, his eyes were narrowed and his mouth was pressed into an unsmiling line. Fernanda patted his hand. “You fight with your friend, señor?”

  “He’s not exactly a friend,” Hawk growled. “We rode together some years back.”

  “You do not like each other no more?”

  “Oh, we like each other well enough. It’s just that he’s too damn busy with the mayor’s daughter to escort you on to Idaho.”

  “And you wish he would,” Caroline said quietly. “Because you do not want to.” She could not blame him one bit. He’d risked his life, endured a bullet wound and was obviously disgusted with her cause. And her. But even so, she wanted…

  What did she want?

  She wanted to feel safe, protected by this man. She was a little in awe of him, even a little fluttery deep inside when he looked at her. She liked being near him.