Page 6 of Too Hot To Handle

„For the love of God!“ snarled Reever suddenly. „What the hell kind of man do you think would let you walk down a lonely road rather than help you out?“

Before Tory could answer, Reever turned and whistled shrilly between his teeth. Blackjack’s ears came up in twin black arcs as the horse trotted obediently to Reever. He mounted in a single flowing motion, kicked his boot out of the left stirrup and looked down at Tory. She was watching him with wide green eyes, looking for all the world like a wind-ruffled, curious cat. He shifted the roping rein to his right hand and held out his left to her.

„Come on.“

„Come on what?“ asked Tory, looking up ai Reever. Way, way up. The horse was as big as a mountain, and Reever wasn’t much smaller.

„Get on,“ he said impatiently.

„How?“

Reever stared at Tory for an instant, not sure that he had heard correctly. He made a sound ot disgust, swung his right leg in front of him and over the saddle horn, and slid down to land lightly on his feet in front of her.

„City girl,“ he muttered. „Useless as teats or. a boar hog.“

With no more warning than that, Reever picked Tory up and set her down behind the saddle as though she weighed less than a shadow. He put his left foot in the stirrup, swung his right leg up and over the saddle horn and settled securely into the saddle in less time than it took for Tory to realize what was going on. It was obvious that Reever was supremely at home on a horse’s back. Despite his size and power he had yet to make a move that wasn’t both sure and graceful.

„Hang on.“

Tory tried. She grabbed the smooth, raised back of the western saddle with both hands as Blackjack moved off at a pace that seemed terrifyingly fast but was actually no more than a sprightly walk. With each unexpected motion her hands slipped more. The task of hanging on wasn’t made any easier by the fact that her blisters had long since broken, leaving her palms raw and oozing a clear fluid mixed with blood. No matter how hard she gripped, her hands kept slipping.

After a few minutes she mastered the rhythm of Blackjack’s walk to the point that every movement didn’t take her by surprise. She began to breathe more easily. The distance to the ground didn’t bother her because she was accustomed to heights, having spent most of her life diving from one kind of platform or another. She would have felt a great deal better, however, if it had been water rather than dirt waiting to catch her if she fell.

Reever sensed Tory’s distress and kept the big horse down to a walk. He could have told her to hang on to him but didn’t. His hands still burned from their brief contact with her. He had expected her to be soft, and she was. She was also surprisingly firm. If there was any city flab on that young body, he hadn’t felt it.

Besides, he was still irritated by her surprise when he had offered to give her a ride into town. If she had decided that he was such a rude bastard that she refused to touch him even to keep her seat, then she could just fall off.

For a long time there was only the muted sound of hoofbeats and the occasional wild cry of a soaring hawk. Blackjack chewed resentfully on the bit that held him to a walk. Reever chewed resentfully on everything that had happened since he had looked up and found a girl-woman standing quietly in front of his desk, setting off his temper and his body with a single look from her faintly tilted green eyes.

When Reever reined Blackjack down the trail to Wolf Creek, the horse shied at nothing more than the shadow of a hawk skimming over the land. Reever moved with the horse like a second skin. Tory didn’t. One instant the horse was supporting her bottom and the next instant there was nothing beneath her but air. She grabbed frantically at the saddle, only to feel it sliding out from between her raw palms.

„Reever!“

Even as Tory called out, Reever made a lightning movement, turning and scooping her up in one arm. With a strength that shocked her, he put her back into position behind the saddle using nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders. Blackjack snorted and minced sideways. Tory gasped and grabbed frantically for the saddle again.

„Damn it,“ snarled Reever, „settle down.“

Tory didn’t know whether he meant her or the horse. She didn’t want to know, either. She bit her lip and tried to guess which way the frisky beast would jump next. Blackjack snorted, then turned and lipped the stirrup as though to ask why they were standing around in the middle of the trail. At a nudge from Reever’s heels, the big horse began to trot. Reever didn’t need to turn around to know that Tory was losing her balance again.

„Of all the clumsy – “ He bit off a curse. „If you can’t stand the thought of putting your arms around my waist, hang on to my belt.“

Tory looked at the broad spread of Reever’s shoulders and the powerful back that tapered down to a lean waist. The thought of touching him made both weakness and a curious heat course through her. Tentatively she lifted her right hand, only to realize that if she held on to him as he suggested, she would get blood all over him. Her frantic attempts to hang on to the saddle had finished the work that carrying her suitcase had begun. Her palms were scraped raw.

„I can’t,“ Tory said in a low voice. „I’ll get you – dirty.“

„Dirty?“ Reever snorted. „Honeybunch, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a rancher, not a damned drugstore cowboy. I’m not going to faint at a little dirt.“

Tory’s only answer was a choked sound as Blackjack’s broad, muscular rump skipped sideways. The horse was just trying to balance Tory’s weight more evenly on his back, but she didn’t know that. She only knew that she was falling again.

With an exasperated curse Reever dropped the roping rein, reached behind his back with both hands and jerked Tory’s arms around him. When he saw the smears of blood across her palms, he knew why she was having so much trouble hanging on to the saddle and why she was afraid of getting him „dirty.“

„For the love of God, don’t you have any sense at all?“ he asked harshly, grabbing Tory’s hands and looking at them more closely. Ragged circles of broken blisters showed clearly. The tender flesh was smeared with a mixture of dirt and blood. „Why didn’t you say something?“

Tory made a sound that could have been a laugh or a curse. „Then you could yell at me for whining, right?“ she said raggedly, furious that everything she did only made Reever more angry with her. „Sorry to spoil your rustic entertainment, but I’ve been worked over by men who make you look like the tooth fairy. I don’t whine or beg or ‘swing my ass’ for any man, even you. Especially you!“

Reever’s whole body tightened as he turned and looked over his shoulder at Tory. Her face was dirt streaked, pale beneath the tan and defiant despite the white lines of fatigue etched around her mouth. Her eyes were a blaze of green fury that was more provocative than any practiced swaying of a woman’s hips. Whether she knew it or not, she was crying out to be taken down onto the soft green grass and rolled around until her claws were trimmed and her spitting snarls turned into husky purrs. She would bite and scream at first – and at the end, too. Differently. He knew it, and it made blood gather heavily, hotly, making him bigger with each slamming heartbeat.

„It’s bad enough to be so soft, little girl,“ said Reever in a low voice, „but to be so stupid is dangerous. Don’t push me into doing something we’ll both regret.“