The Drifter's Bride. Tatiana March

he grabbed her by the waist. They rolled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The grass softened their fall, but Carl could feel the air rushing out of the girl’s lungs as his weight landed on top of her.

      He pinned her wrists against the ground and scowled into her flushed face. ‘I’m taking you back.’ His harsh tone carried a warning. ‘Your father offered me a hundred dollars to rescue you from the Apache. I’ll take you home, and he’ll pay.’

      ‘I don’t want to be rescued.’

      ‘That’s your problem, not mine.’

      She glowered at him, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Awareness of her body beneath his pulsed through Carl. He knew he should move, but the pleasure that gripped him was too intense. He remained sprawled over her, one thigh wedged between hers, his swelling groin butting into her belly.

      She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘What else did my father offer you?’

      Puzzled, he frowned at her. ‘Hundred dollars. That’s it.’

      Her face grew shuttered. She jerked her hips, trying to dislodge him. ‘Get off me, you big brute.’

      Carl pushed up on his arms, easing his weight off her. For a second, he remained poised above her, clinging to the primitive sense of possession that had sent waves of heat surging through his body. ‘I’ll return you to your father, and he’ll pay me what he owes,’ he told her. ‘That’s what I do. I take people back to where they belong and collect a reward for it.’

      As their gazes locked, the fighting spirit seemed to drain out of her. She made no reply but started to wriggle out from under him. He levered his body away from hers and stepped aside. She scrambled up to her feet and spent a moment picking bits of grass from her flannel shirt and tumbling dark curls, pointedly ignoring him.

      He ushered her into motion, and they made their way along the ridge back toward the clearing. When they reached their campsite, she turned to him and raked a resentful glance over his tangle of brown hair and dusty coat and trousers.

      ‘You can take your turn to wash,’ she told him. ‘God knows you need it.’

      He didn’t reply at first, and when he did, his voice was gruff. ‘I’d been riding for a week through the desert when I came across the valley with your father’s orchard. When he told me about you, I didn’t stay. Not even to eat. I rode on without stopping.’

      She shot him a curious glance. ‘It’s a two-day ride to the Apache camp.’

      Carl looked away. It seemed foolish now to have rushed out like that. He’d been eager to rescue a woman, hoping it might ease the pain of failing to rescue those young girls so many years before. ‘I rode through the night,’ he admitted finally. ‘Slowly, mind you, not to risk injury to the roan.’

      ‘I’m sorry that my father…tricked you…’

      He listened to her muttered words and shrugged to dismiss the reluctant apology. He’d deal with her father when they got back to the farm. ‘I’ll go and have a wash,’ he informed her, and rubbed a hand over his bristly jaw. ‘Shave, too.’

      ‘If I hadn’t dropped my soap when you grabbed me, I could lend it to you.’

      ‘It’s all right.’ He gave a grudging nod to indicate that he appreciated her gesture of friendship. With a wry smile, he added, ‘I wouldn’t want to go around smelling of honeysuckle. Attracts flies almost as much as it attracts men. I have a cake of carbolic in my saddlebags.’

      ‘Do you have any food?’

      He sauntered across the clearing and pulled a bar of soap and a towel from his saddlebags on the ground. Then he tossed the worn leather satchels in front of her and walked over to his horse. ‘You’ll find something to eat inside,’ he promised. ‘I’ll take Grace down to the creek with me.’

      ‘Grace? You gave a woman’s name to a gelding?’

      ‘Seemed fitting. The horse is the most precious thing I own.’ He regretted the words as soon as they were out, but Jade didn’t stop to question the comment.

      ‘Beans…jerky…coffee,’ she muttered as she dug in the saddlebags.

      A few paces down the path, Carl brought the roan to a halt and turned to look back over his shoulder. ‘Remember,’ he told the girl. ‘I’ll take you back, and I’ll get paid for it. If you run, I’ll catch you every time. I’ll take you back because that’s what I do. And I always get paid for my trouble.’

      Past memories flickered through his mind. Too often as a child he’d worked until his body ached and his hands bled raw, and then had not been given what he’d been promised, even if it might have only been a few scraps of food.

      Never again.

      If Carl Ritter took on a job, he’d damn well collect his pay.