Sam's Creed

Sam’s Creed
Sarah McCarty

www.spice-books.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Joanie, Sam’s Woman of Enticement. May you always have that twinkle in your eye and your alpha by your side.

Chapter 1

1858, Texas

Sam was getting tired of death.

He pulled Breeze up. The horse tossed his head and sidestepped a protest. Taking a draw on his cigarette, Sam surveyed the scene below the rise. Whether or not he was getting tired of death didn’t seem to matter. It haunted him from one day to the next. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Today it lay spread across the hollow before him in a perfect example of how miserable people could be to one another.

The burnt-out shells of two wagons lay tipped on their sides in a loosely stacked V. Charred black, they were just more skeletons on a landscape used to absorbing the death of hope.

From where he sat, Sam could see two bodies bloating in the June heat. Their colorful serapes blazed red and yellow in the bright sunshine. The serapes and state of the bodies probably meant the attack had come at dawn. June nights could still be cool.

At least the wind blew from his back, sparing him the stench of the decomposing bodies, but he didn’t need the wind to remind him what he was missing. The memory of that particular odor lingered in his memory, etched there in a moment that had defined his whole life.

Breeze tossed his head. He wasn’t a fan of death either.

Sam kept the reins taut. Wagons like these usually meant women. Maybe children. He wasn’t in the mood to bury women and children. Especially on the first nice day he’d seen in a week of downpours. The air was hot and clear without the humidity that had plagued everything unmercifully the last few days. Above him the sky stretched endlessly in a crisp blue. It was a day that lent itself to thinking of picnics by the lake and flirting with a pretty girl. The kind of day that made a man realize all he’d given up.

It wasn’t a day for funerals.

He urged Breeze forward. The horse tossed his head again and backed up a step instead. Beside him, Kell whined and lagged back. Sam couldn’t blame the horse or the dog. Between the stench and the flies there wasn’t much to draw a body forward, but if he didn’t investigate the area, his conscience would gnaw him raw. If there had been women, their kin would want to know their fate. And he would need to bury them. He didn’t leave women and children to the care of carrion eaters.

“Stay, Kell.”

Kell whined again but didn’t insist like he would if they were talking a big body of water or a pot of stew. Kell had a real liking for both and couldn’t be trusted to hold a command when faced with either.

Breeze’s hooves sounded a steady clop as he reluctantly headed down the slope. Sam unfastened the strap locking his shotgun in its sheath, the little hairs on the back of his neck twitching.

The closer Sam got to the wagons, the worse the stench of smoke, death and hope-gone-wrong became. A flare of pink material protruding from under one of the wagons caught his eye. There had been women. He set his teeth and flicked his smoke to the side. Hell.

A couple more bodies became visible as he guided Breeze to the right of the carnage. All male, at least. That made four total. Three men and a boy who looked too young to pick up a razor. A kid trying to be a man meeting his end way too early. Sam shook his head as he dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground. Damn.

He patted the sorrel’s neck. “Wait here, Breeze.”

Behind him Kell yipped. Sam motioned him to stay and surveyed the hard-packed dirt for tracks. Nothing worth studying had made an imprint. He turned his attention to the rest of the campsite.

Open trunks listed against the interior of one of the wagons. The contents were strewn about in an array of color. A white glove fluttered on a stand of grass as he passed. He stepped over the charred remnants of a red skirt crumpled in the dirt in an obscene splash of gaiety.

The attackers had to have been white. Indians wouldn’t have wasted such a valuable prize. Their women might not wear the dresses, but they would make use of the beautiful material. Indians didn’t waste much.

He knelt and fingered the trim on the skirt hem, wondering against his will what had happened to the owner, what she’d suffered, might still be suffering. Hell, he wished his thoughts didn’t always go there. A slight rasp interrupted the silence. Kell growled and stalked forward. Sam dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver. The warm wood fit comfortably into his grip.

“Come on out. Now.”

The stillness was absolute in the wake of his order. The noise didn’t have to have been made by a human. Death always drew carrion, but every hair on the back of his neck said someone was hiding in the wreckage. He stood slowly, pulling his revolver. Had someone survived the massacre? Had the robbers left one of their own behind? Ambush was a tried and true tactic of doubling up the income produced by a raid. Leave the scene looking like it’d been picked over, hide in the surrounding countryside and then swoop down on anyone who came along to investigate.

There weren’t many places for someone to hide. The most obvious would be the bed of the other wagon that was half tipped over. A body could hide up between the seat and the floorboards and prepare for whatever it wanted to do.

Cocking his revolver, Sam kicked the top edge of the wagon hard, toppling it over with a loud crack of wood and a jangle of metal. Kell snarled and dove in, his attack silent of barks, betraying his wolf blood more than his masked face and size.

The scream that rent the air was female. It ended when the wagon hit the ground with a suddenness that put a sick feeling in his gut. Sam grabbed Kell by the scruff and hauled him back.

“Stay, damn it!”

The dog growled and whipped his head around.

“Snap at me and you’ll be doing without your share of tonight’s stew.”

Kell stood his ground, hackles up, ready to leap at the smallest provocation, but at least he stayed. He was learning. When he got back to Hell’s Eight Sam would have to have Tucker take a hand in his training. No one could sweet-talk an animal like Tucker.

Keeping his gun ready, Sam circled the bed of the wagon. The first sign of life was a foot. Black-booted and tiny, it protruded out from under the toppled conveyance. Clearly feminine. He touched it with the point of his boot. It wiggled. The woman wasn’t dead. And if that was a curse echoing around inside the wooden interior, a far cry from unconscious.

Another muffled sound and then a thump inside the wagon. Another thud. Another curse. The wagon was too heavy for the woman to lift.

“Ma’am?”

The foot jerked and then froze. A very cautious “¿Sí?” seeped through the floorboards. Angling his gun away, he bent down and hooked his fingers under the edge of the rough wood, ignoring the immediate protest of old injuries. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Sam MacGregor, Texas Ranger. I’m going to lift the edge of the wagon, señora. When I do, I need you to back on out, nice and easy. You understand?”

“Sí. I understand.”

Her English was softly accented with the melody of her native Spanish, muffled yet still strangely compelling. “Good.” He braced his knee and got his body in alignment. “You got your fingers shy of the edges?”

“What?”

He’d have to ease up on the color in his language if he wanted her to understand. “Are your fingers away from the edges?”

There was the sound of hands being quickly shuffled across the ground. “Yes.”

“Fine. Then here we go.”

Kell came snuffling around.

“Get on back now.”

“What?”

“Not you, I’m talking to the dog.”

“He is friendly?”

He waved Kell back. Kell lifted his lip. “When the mood takes him.”

“I will wait while you restrain him.”

He cocked his eyebrow at the foot he could see. That sounded distinctly like an order. “He’s not fond of restraint.”

“Did you ask him?”

“He’s made his preferences known.” He tensed his muscles. “Are you ready?”

There was a pause and then, “You will control your dog first.”

“Is that a question?”

A longer pause, then, “I can make it one if you would prefer.”

The honesty caught on his sense of humor. “That won’t be necessary, I can pretend.”

That might just have been a snort. Or she could have sneezed. He kind of thought it was a snort. With an unfamiliar smile tugging the edge of his mouth, he hefted the wagon up. He got it up twelve inches and braced himself. “Back on out.”

She didn’t move immediately.

“I can’t hold this all day.”

“Your dog, he is restrained?”

He glanced over. Kell had found the glove. The fingers were in his mouth. The rest flipped up over his head like a lopsided bonnet. “He’s sitting here as pretty as all get-out.”

“You are sure?”

“Yup. Now back on out of there before my arm wears out.”

A second foot joined the first. There was the inevitable wiggling and riding up of the black skirt. He didn’t want to notice, but the calves that were exposed above the ankle tops of her shoes were trim and lightly muscled, the skin the color of milk spiced with a touch of cinnamon. She kept wiggling and the skirt kept riding. The backs of her knees looked soft, young.

He wiped the sweat from his temple on his shoulder. What in hell was wrong with him? Getting ideas about a woman from nothing more than her lower legs. The woman probably had ten kids waiting for her at home and more than likely was grieving. Her next wiggle had the skirt rising to dangerous territory.

He grabbed the material and yanked it down. The woman squealed and grabbed at her thigh. “What do you do?”

The hand, as small and as delicate as her feet didn’t look that old either. “I’m keeping you decent.”

She felt around as if to be sure that’s what he was doing and then she said, “Gracias.”

“You’re welcome, now if you wouldn’t mind hurrying?”

“I am sorry.”

She scooted back, those trim legs a forerunner to surprisingly full hips that sashayed from one side to the other in an unconscious invitation that made his palm itch to cup the plump cheeks. Damn, there were times when his good side was sorely tempted. This was one of them.

She backed the rest of the way out. A long, thick, black braid stood out in stark relief against the white of her shirt. He was actually eager to see her face. The novelty of feeling eager was enough to give him pause. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt any emotion, least of all a positive one.

She turned. Only his survival instincts kept him from getting plugged as she swung the revolver in her hand around. The weapon discharged. She screamed and dropped the gun.

“Shit!” After surviving all the outlaws that had drawn down on him, he’d almost met his maker by accident.

Grabbing the pistol, he tossed it to the side. Since when did he make mistakes like that?

The woman lunged for the gun. “Give that back!”

Like hell. Snagging the back of her shirt he let the wagon fall. Wood and metal rattled as it crashed back to the ground. He stood, hauling her with him. “So you can shoot me?”

Quick as light she found her balance and sprang to her feet. She tossed her head. The braid slid back over her shoulder. Her hands hit her hips. Her chin came up. “If necessary.”

She reminded him of a pissed-off kitten with her triangular face, pointed chin and big brown eyes blazing bravado. A beautiful, sexy kitten.

“You’d better get some height on you before you go spouting threats.”

She took a swing at him. He hefted her up. She missed. “Let me go before I kill you.”

She was an amusing little thing. “Doesn’t seem to me like you’re in any position to be making threats.”

She stopped struggling and met his gaze squarely. “I do not have to kill you now. I can wait until you sleep.”

He just bet she could, which just piqued his interest more. There weren’t many men that could stare him down and not many woman even worked up the courage to try, but this woman was ready to fight. “Seeing as I came here to rescue you, I’m not quite sure why you plan on killing me.”

She reached behind her head and tugged at his arm. “You tried to kill me first.”

He didn’t let go, but the spot where her pinkie met his skin warmed beneath her touch. “How?”

“You knocked the wagon on top of me.”

She said that as if that proved her point. “I knocked the wagon on top of whatever was lying in wait.”

She blinked, drawing his attention to her eyes. She had very thick, long lashes that highlighted the intriguing flecks of near-black in her brown irises.

“I was in the wagon.”

“I got that.”

“You flattened me!”

From what he could see of her front, there wasn’t much to flatten, but her hips more than made up for the lack up top. Full beautiful curves just like he liked on a woman. “You don’t appear any worse for wear.”

She gasped and her eyes narrowed. Before she could launch into the tirade clearly on her tongue, he asked, “You got any more weapons on you?”

“Yes. Many.”

She couldn’t lie worth a damn but she did make him smile. “That’s what I thought.” He let her go. She tugged down her shirt. Kell snarled.

She spun on him. “Silencio!”

It was an order given in a tone that expected obedience. Obedience wasn’t Kell’s strong suit. He just lifted his lip higher, revealing sharp teeth. The woman’s chin went up, revealing a stubborn streak as big as the dog’s. To his surprise, Kell backed down.

“How’d you do that?”

She dismissed Kell with a wave of her hand. “A woman cannot take seriously a dog wearing girl’s clothing.” She smoothed her hair back. “What do you do here, Mr. Ranger?”

A kitten with the attitude of a duchess. “I’m looking for someone.” With a wave of his hand he indicated the carnage around them. “A better question would be how are you alive when everybody you were traveling with ended up dead?”

He felt like a heel the second the words left his mouth. The woman must be scared out of her wits. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead bodies, facing down a stranger twice her size and all she had to wield as defense was a peck of attitude.

And he was trying to undermine that.

“I had yet to join them.”

It was his turn to blink.

“That’s not your stuff tossed about?”

She shook her head. “They were going to sell it.”

“But you were joining up with them?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you join them in town?”

“My joining was a secret.”

“A secret? As in you were running off with one of these yahoos?”

She looked hopeful. “Would you believe that?”

He didn’t even have to think about it as he reholstered his revolver. “No.”

She sighed. “I did not think so.”

The silence stretched. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be thinking up a lie to spin me would you?”

“Isabella.”

“What?”

“My name, it is Isabella.”

It was a very pretty name and when her lips shaped around the syllables, it made a man think of other things that sexy little mouth could ease around. His cock, which had been twitching ever since she’d backed out from under the wagon, filled in a low pleasurable ache. She ran her tongue over the full curves in a nervous betrayal. She was more worried than she was letting on.

“Nice to meet you, Isabella. Now, what’s the real truth?”

“I was supposed to meet up with them.”

He looked around. They were a good four miles out of town. He crossed the few feet to where the pistol lay and picked it up. “Why am I still not finding that any more believable the second time around?”

“Perhaps you are a man of suspicion?”

He was that. A check of the chamber revealed two bullets. He glanced over. “You weren’t planning on putting up much of a fight.”

“I grabbed the pistola when I heard you come.”

He looked up the slight rise. It was possible she’d heard him coming. “Next time grab some bullets, too.”

Isabella eyed the gun in his hand with an ill-disguised hunger. “I will remember.”

He just bet she would. “You’re planning on there being a next time?”

“I need to get to San Antonio. There is much trouble between here and there.”

She had that right. Pretty much certain death for a woman alone. Tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, he moved onto the bodies. “You got family there?”

“No.”

The first man had nothing of value. He let him roll back to the dirt. “What’s the draw then?”

“I have heard it is pretty.”

“Are you expecting me to believe you hooked up with these four because you thought San Antonio was pretty?”

She shrugged. “It is the truth.”

Maybe part of it. “A gently reared woman would have to be pretty desperate to join a bunch like this.”

“What makes you think I am gently reared?”

Sam shook his head. As if he didn’t know when quality and innocence was looking at him. “Come clean. You weren’t planning on traveling alone with these men.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“I had no choice.”

At least that made sense though the why needed exploring. “You do now.”

She blinked. “I am not traveling with you.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You were eager enough to go with them.”

“They were not dangerous.”

Interesting she felt he was. “I think about a mile out you’d have changed your mind on that.”

About a mile out the men would have had the clothes stripped from her body and that sexy mouth too full to scream.

“You do not know that.”

“True.” He checked the next body. “They might not have waited to leave the campsite before raping you.”

Those full lips pressed into a flat line. “I do not believe that.”

“Then you’re a poor judge of character.”

There wasn’t anything left on any of the bodies worth scavenging except for a broad-brimmed hat. He grabbed it. The woman might need it. Skin that creamy wouldn’t hold up well under the sun.

“The padre made them promise to give me safe passage.”

He shook his head, rolling the third man onto his back, glancing up at her smothered gag as congealed blood slid off. “And that’s all it took for you to leap trustingly into their arms?”

She pressed her hands to her lips a second before answering, “A man would not break a promise to a padre. It would mean his soul.”

Sam straightened. “I’d be willing to bet these men lost their souls long ago.”

“You will not say such things.” The fingers of her right hand clenched in the fabric of her skirt. “They lost their lives because of me.”

“You weren’t even here.”

She shook her head. “It is still because of me.” Her gaze met his. There was no mistaking the anguish in the depths. “If you force me to go with you, you will lose yours, too.”

He’d heard that before. “What makes you think I’m so easy to kill?”

“Easy or hard, when he finds you, you will still be dead.”

“He?”

Her lips clamped closed.

“You might as well tell me.”

“You do not need to know.”

He liked the way she spoke, the syllables coming together in a melodic flow, the accents falling in the wrong places in such a way that made a song out of normally harsh words.

“Since we’ll be traveling together, I’d like to know who’s going to be on my tail.”

“I will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a say.”

“Yes. I do.”

Because she thought he couldn’t figure it out. There was only one man in this territory powerful enough to be labeled he. When Sam combined that with the fact that San Antonio was the first large town outside Tejala’s territory, it wasn’t hard to figure out who had her running scared.

He reached for her arm. She stepped back. “I cannot let you be hurt.”

Damn, what happened to thinking he was dangerous?

“Anybody ever tell you you have strange notions?”

From the way she immediately drew her pride around her like a shield, he’d say yes.

“That does not make the ideas wrong.”

No, but it did make them hard to hold on to. “Do you have any belongings?”

She pointed under the wagon bed.

He flexed his shoulder. Shit. “Figures.”

“If I am holding you back, you may just leave.”

“When I leave you’re coming with me.”

“Not unless it is to San Antonio you go.”

Kell growled again. She turned on the dog, pointing her finger. “You, you will behave.”

Kell, being Kell, ignored the command.

Sam folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wagon wheel. “You figure out how to make him do that, I’ll take you straight to San Antonio.”

She shielded her eyes against the sun and frowned at him. “He is your dog.”

“Not exactly.”

“He’s not your dog?”

Sam shrugged. “We’re working it out.”

“I do not understand.”

“He showed up a few days ago on the trail. We’ve shared a few meals but nothing’s permanent.”

“It seems permanent to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

She nodded. She took another step, not toward Kell, but apparently he thought she was taking liberties. He lunged. Sam jumped forward. He was too late. With a rapid spate of something in Spanish, Isabella cracked the dog across the nose. He yelped and dropped back. Hands on hips, she glared at the dog. “No more out of you.”

Sam shook his head. If that didn’t beat all. “I think he likes you.”

Isabella bent down and worked her arm under the wagon. “Why do you say this?”

“Because the last man who tried that got his throat ripped out.”

She didn’t even blink, just scrounged deeper. “Then it is good we have reached an understanding.”

Sam supposed it was. The view she was unwittingly giving him of her rear was also good. So much so she had to repeat herself when she needed his help. Bracing her palm on the bed, she said, “You must lift the wagon again. I cannot get my bag out.”

Her bag. The wagon. Shit. He couldn’t afford to be this distracted. “Got it.”

In a matter of seconds she had the small satchel out. She’d packed light. Too light to plan on having more than one change of clothes. Too light to have any resource once she arrived at her destination. “Who’d you say you were running from?”

“I did not say I was running.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. The top of her head came to the center of his chest. She just seemed bigger. “But you are. And a little thing like you needs all the help she can get.”

“I am not little.”

“Petite then.” He tugged her toward Breeze, who was patiently waiting. Kell fell into step beside them.

“I am not this petite either.”

“You’re taking two steps to my one,” he pointed out.

“You are a giant.”

He took her satchel and hooked it over the saddle horn, hiding a grin. Her height, or lack thereof, was obviously a sore spot, “How about tiny? Can you live with tiny?”

“No.”

Her nails dug into his wrists just atop his gloves, the gloves he resented because they kept him from feeling the softness of her skin.

“Wait. We have to bury them.”

“Duchess, whoever did this is probably still around. That being the case, we don’t have time to dig holes.”

Her lips flattened. “You must.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“I owe them.”

“I thought the padre arranged the deal.”

“But I was to provide money.”

For all her high manners she didn’t look like she had two coins to rub together. “Did you have any?”

“No.”

She said it as if those four men would have traveled anywhere with something as sweet as her without taking their payment out of her hide. “They would have been ticked when they found out.”

“Yes.”

“You’d have probably ended up on your back working the cost off.”

She didn’t look shocked. “It was a possibility.”

A woman would have to be seven kinds of desperate to take off with those odds staring down at her. She headed toward the front of the wagon where there was a gap between the ground and the sides. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.

“What the hell kind of trouble are you in?”

She looked at him with big brown eyes that were the color of warm chocolate. Eyes that forgave him ahead of time for the desertion she expected. “Tejala wants me as his intended.”

“Interesting phrasing. I take it you are not in agreement?”

“No.”

From what Sam knew of Tejala, Isabella’s objections would mean nothing. “So what are you going to do after you reach San Antonio?”

“That is not your concern.”

She was right. It wasn’t. She likely wasn’t even a Texas citizen. He could walk away and no one would hold him accountable. Tension arced between them, extending from his shoulder down his arm to his grip. Beneath his hand, her muscles jerked, sending the tension right back. She was a strange mix of courage and desperation. Innocence and sass. A smart man would leave her and her problems to her people to sort out. She licked her lips again, the gesture leaving the bottom one invitingly wet and pink. Vulnerable.

He swung up on Breeze. “Maybe not, but I’ve decided to make it mine.”

And maybe her right along with it.