The Cattleman Meets His Match by Sherri Shackelford

Author:Sherri Shackelford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Moira woke with a start. She glanced around the tent and counted sleeping bodies. Hazel, Darcy and Tony were there but no Sarah. Panic snaked down her spine before she recalled that Sarah had taken the last watch. Moira took a few deep breaths, willing her heart to resume its normal beating once more.

Despite accounting for the girls’ whereabouts, a sense of unease remained. She sat upright and kicked off the blankets, then straightened her rumpled clothing as best she could. Her dousing in the river the previous day hadn’t done much for her by way of a bath, and she cautiously sniffed her sleeve. She didn’t smell like a bed of roses, but she didn’t smell quite as bad as a cow yet either. And that was saying something.

If there was one thing she missed from civilization, it was hot water. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she brushed through the gnarled strands with her fingers. When she’d braided the length into some semblance of restraint, she emerged into the brilliant morning sunlight. Sounds of the early dawn surrounded her. The call of birds, the low of the cattle and the clatter of the Dutch oven as Pops prepared the morning meal.

The sizzling scent of frying bacon filled the air. Moira inhaled a deep breath and froze. Sheer, black fright swept through her, paralyzing her limbs.

Perched on the hillside overlooking the camp were five Indians. Their stance was still and emotionless, chilling her fear into a cold knot in her chest. She couldn’t make out much from the distance, but from their dress it appeared there were three females and two males in the group.

Moira backed away, keeping her eyes pinned on the distant group. She cautiously approached the tent John and Pops shared and scratched on the flap. For a moment she lost control of the spasmodic trembling in her hands. Pressing her fingers against her head, she tried to stop her brain from imagining what might happen to them, but the horrifying image crowded her thoughts.

“What is it?” a mumbled voice called.

“Trouble,” Moira replied, her voice husky.

A moment later John stumbled from the tent, his hair mussed and the dark shadow of a beard covering his jaw. Her heart beat a rat-a-tat-tat at the sight. For a moment, she forgot the danger. Every time she thought she’d grown accustomed to his looks, he turned her tongue-tied and addled.

He frowned. “What’s the trouble?”

Moira startled and pointed toward the hillside.

His throat worked. “Stay here.”

Moira grasped his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing what they want.”

“Is that safe?”

“They’ve got their womenfolk with them. It’s not a war party.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half grin. “If it was a war party, we’d already be dead.”

“That’s hardly comforting.”

Despite his assurances Moira sensed the fear pulsating through his body. Only yesterday he’d cautioned her against their vulnerabilities. Today his worst terrors were realized.

He set off up the hill and Moira trailed behind him. He turned once and she raised an eyebrow.

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