Dangerous to Hold (28 page)

“Yes. I think so.”

That little flush went a long way toward shooting out the dents in Nate's ego. He felt a whole lot better knowing he had somewhat of the same effect on Ms. Jordan as she had
on him. Crossing his wrists over the saddle horn, he decided to get this thing out in the open.

“I guess this is as good a time as any to talk about your little announcement this morning.”

“There's nothing to talk about. My father would've defined it as a simple matter of supply and demand.”

“They demand and I supply, is that it?”

The color crept higher in her cheeks, but she kept her head high. “That's it.”

“You want to tell me how I progressed overnight from a potential rapist who had to be warned off with threats of being flayed alive to the prize in the Crackerjack box?”

“As Katerina informed me, it was time to reassess Karistan's needs. All of them.”

“Come on, Alexandra. What's really behind all this nonsense?”

“What makes you think it's nonsense?”

“Give me a break, lady. This is the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. A woman today ought to be looking for something more in a mate than mere availability.”

Alex sat back in the saddle, thinking of all the responses she could make to that statement.

She could tell Sloan that availability didn't rank quite as high on his list of qualifications as the strong arms Ivana had speculated about during breakfast this morning and Alex herself had experienced last night.

That Anya, sweet, pale-haired Anya, had gotten up with the dawn to light the cook fires, commenting on how much pleasure it gave her to prepare delicacies for someone with such a long, lean body and flat belly.

That, despite herself, Alex was coming to agree with Katerina. A smile in a man's eyes went a long way toward countering any less desirable traits he might have.

Instead, she simply shrugged. “Availability is as good a criterion as any other on the steppes. We have a saying here, that women must have the courage of the bear, the strength
of the ox, and the blindness of the bat. Otherwise none would wed.”

Nate's bark of laughter had the other men swinging around to stare. “For all that they're anxious to acquire husbands, seems to me that the women of Karistan don't hold men in very high regard.”

“Oh, we like men well enough,” Alex returned. “In their place.”

Leaving Nate to chew over that one, she signaled that it was time to move out.

Whatever other “tests” Alexandra had planned for him quickly got shoved to the back burner.

They'd ridden only a few miles when Dimitri, who was in the lead, suddenly pulled up and signaled her forward.

Sitting easy in the saddle, Nate watched the dark-haired woman confer with her lieutenant. When she called the rest of them forward, her eyes were flat, and tight lines bracketed either side of her mouth.

“Dimitri has found some tracks he does not recognize,” she told Nate tersely. “We will follow them.”

Picking up the pace, she led the small band farther and farther east. Nate didn't need to consult the compass built into his chronometer to know they were heading directly toward Balminsk. Lowering his chin against the gathering wind, he wondered just what the Karistanis intended to do if they caught up with the riders who'd made those tracks. Given the shaky state of affairs between the two nations, he wouldn't be surprised to find himself in the middle of a firefight.

Nate glanced at Alex's back and felt a sudden clammy chill that had nothing to do with the wind. His jaw hardening, he battled memories of another cold, rainy day. A day when Belfast's streets had erupted with gunfire and a desperate, determined woman had died in his arms. Pushing that black memory back into the small, private corner of his soul where it permanently lodged, Nate edged Red up alongside Alex's gray.

A half hour later, the storm that had been threatening began
pounding the plains ahead of them. Not long after that, Alex called a halt. Her mouth tight, she stared across the wide ravine that blocked their path. Although the stream that wandered through it was no doubt just a trickle ordinarily, now it was swollen and rushing with the rains that lashed the steppes.

When Dimitri called out a question, Alex eyed the far bank, then reluctantly shook her head.

Smart move, Nate acknowledged silently. He'd seen his share of bloated carcasses swept along on these gully-washers. While he didn't doubt Red's ability to swim the rushing torrent, he wasn't anxious to see Alex try it on her smaller mount.

When Dimitri rode back to confer with the others, Nate threw her a sidelong glance.

“You want to tell me just who we've been tracking these last few hours?”

She pulled her gaze from the black clouds scudding toward them and gave a little shrug.

“Whoever it was, we won't be able to track them any farther. Not with the storm washing the plains.”

Her refusal to share even this bit of information with him didn't set well with Nate.

“You've all but invited me to become part of the family,” he tossed at her. “Don't you think it's about time you tell me what the hell's putting that crease between your brows?”

She blinked at the uncharacteristic edge to his voice, but before she could reply, the first fat raindrops splattered on her shoulders.

“I don't think this is the time to talk about much of anything.”

As if to punctuate her words, the storm erupted around them in awesome fury. Lightning snaked down and cracked against the earth, too close for Nate's comfort. The roiling black clouds spit out their contents, and the wind picked up with a vengeance, flinging the rain sideways, right into their faces.

The Karistanis, used to the violence of the steppes, buried
their chins in the high protective collars of their greatcoats and slumped even lower in their saddles. Nate dragged on the yellow slicker that had seen him through similar Wyoming storms. He wished he had his ball cap to keep some of the pelting rain out of his eyes.

“We'll take shelter among those rocks till it passes,” Alex called above the howl of the wind, pointing to a line of black basalt boulders thrusting up out of the plains some distance away.

Nate nodded as she turned her gray and kicked him into a gallop. With the ravine on their right, they raced toward the dark, towering shapes. Dimitri and the others pounded behind them.

They weren't the only ones headed for the rocks, they soon discovered. Over the rumble of thunder, Nate heard the sound of hoofbeats coming from their left. He pulled his .38 out of the holster tucked under his armpit just as Alex whipped her rifle out of its leather saddle case.

“They're ours,” she shouted in relief a second later, as a small band of riderless horses charged out of the rain. “Usually they graze south of here. The storm must have driven them across the steppes.”

Within moments, the two bands had merged and were flowing toward the rocks. They'd almost made it when lightning arced to the earth just a short distance ahead of them.

Even Red, as well trained as he was, shied.

Thighs gripping, body thrusting forward, Nate kept his seat. The Karistanis, Alex included, did the same.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Nate that the blinding flash of light had panicked the other horses. Manes whipping, tails streaming, they scattered in all directions. Through the sheeting rain, he saw a bay yearling head right for the ravine's edge. It went over with a whinny of sheer panic.

Nate whipped Red around. Following the rim, he searched the rushing, muddy water for some sign of the colt. A few moments later, its muzzle broke the surface. Even from this
distance, he could see its eyes rolling in terror and its forelegs flailing uselessly as it was dragged back under.

Nate yanked his rope free and followed the course of the rim, waiting for the yearling to surface again. When it did, it had been carried to the far side of the gorge, well beyond his reach. Cursing, he watched the rushing water slam the colt into a toppled, half-submerged satinwood tree that was still tethered to the far bank by its long, snakelike roots. Over the roar of the rain he heard the animal's shrill cries, and then the brown water closed over its head once more.

“Sloan! What is it? What are you doing?” Alex brought her gray to a dancing halt beside him.

“You've got a horse down!” he shouted. “There! He's caught in that tree.”

Shoving her wet hair out of her eyes with one hand, Alex squinted along the line of his outstretched arm. “I see him!”

Standing up in the stirrups, Nate searched the ravine in both directions. “Any place I can get across?”

She shook her head. “Not for another twenty kilometers or so. We'll have to jump it.”

“The hell
we
will!” he yelled. “Red can carry me across, but that little pony of yours won't make it.”

“He'll make it. Either that, or he swims!”

“No! Dammit, Alex, wait!”

The wind tore the words away almost before Nate got them out. His heart crashed against his ribs as he saw her race the gelding toward the ravine's edge. She bent low over its neck, until the line between horse and rider blurred in the driving rain.

Cursing viciously, Nate sent Red in pursuit. There was only a slim chance the bigger, faster quarter horse could catch the smaller Don before it reached the rim, but Nate was damn well going to let him try.

Ears flat, neck stretched out, Red gave it everything he had. Throwing up clods of muddy grass with each pounding stride, he closed the short distance. But the gray's lead was a few
whiskers too long. With a thrust of its muscled haunches, it launched itself across the raging torrent.

In the split second that followed, Nate had the choice of drawing rein or joining Alex in her attempt to bridge the dark, ragged chasm. Without conscious thought, he dropped the reins and gave Red his head. The chestnut's massive hindquarters corded. His rear hooves dug into the dirt. With a powerful lunge, he soared into the driving rain.

T
he gray landed with inches to spare.

Red hit the grassy rim with a wider margin of safety and a whole lot more power. By the time Nate brought him around, Alex had already dismounted.

Swiftly she stripped off her heavy, swirling greatcoat and tossed it over her saddle before heading toward the edge. The rain immediately darkened her red shirt to a deep wine and molded it to her slender body in a way that would've closed Nate's throat if it wasn't already tight.

He ripped the rope from his saddle and threw a leg over the pommel. Catching up with her in a few long strides, he spun her around.

“Loop this around your waist,” he barked, furious over the fear that had clawed at his chest when he saw her sail across that dark torrent.

She blinked at his tone, but saw at once the sense of an anchor line. While she fumbled with the thin, slippery hemp, Nate whipped the other end around one of the satinwoods that
were still firmly rooted on the bank. Shoving the end through his belt, he tied it in a slipknot.

“Play the rope out with both hands as I go down,” he shouted.

“Wait, Sloan. I'll go. I'm smaller, lighter. Those roots may not take your weight without giving way.”

“They may not take either one of us. Just hold on to the damn rope!”

She flung her head back, throwing the wet hair out of her eyes. But either she decided not to waste precious moments arguing or she realized that smaller and lighter weren't real advantages when it came to wrestling a three-hundred-pound animal from a nest of branches. Gripping her end of the rope in both hands, she watched as he slid down the bank on one heel and one knee.

With a grim eye on his footing, Nate worked his way along the slippery, half-submerged trunk. The satinwood strained and groaned as rushing brown water pulled at its tenuous grip on the bank. The frantic, thrashing yearling, its eyes rolled back in fright, added his cries to the chorus.

“Whoa, youngster. Hang on there.”

A fresh torrent swept over the tree, forcing it and the trapped animal under. Lunging forward, Nate grabbed a fistful of black mane. His muscles straining against the combined pull of the water and the colt's weight, he dragged its head back above the surface. Balancing one hip against a heavy branch, he held on to the plunging, flailing creature with one hand and worked the slipknot with the other. It took him a couple of tries, but he managed to get a loop over the horse's small head. That done, he tore at the branches that caged it.

The water rushed over the tree with brutal force. The branches sliced back and forth, slashing at Nate's arms like sharp serrated knives. His slicker and the denim jacket underneath protected him from the worst of the cuts, but he felt their lash against his neck and face. With each whip and tug of the muddy water, the tree fought its anchor in the bank.

The colt came free at last. While Alex used the fulcrum of
the rope to swim it to shore, Nate fought his way back along the shuddering trunk. He was halfway to solid ground when the satinwood groaned and its roots began to give way with a sickening popping sound. Cursing, Nate dived for the bank. His hands dug into the slick earth just as the tree pulled free of its last fragile hold.

When it went, it took a good chunk of earth along with it. Before Alex could scramble backward to safety, the ground she was standing on crumbled beneath her feet. With a startled shout, she slid down the steep slope on her backside and tumbled into the rushing, muddy water.

Nate threw himself sideways and grabbed at the rope still tethering her to the colt. The hemp tore across his palms with a raw, searing heat before he could get a good grip on it. Looping the rope around his wrist, he pulled Alex out of the swirling water. She crawled up the slippery bank on all fours, coughing and spitting.

Nate traded his hold on the rope for one on her arm and dragged her to her feet. “You okay?”

“Except for swallowing half the steppes,” she said, choking, “I'm fine.”

“Then I suggest we get the hell out of here before we end up swallowing the rest.”

With the palm of his hand against her rear, he boosted her up. Once back on solid ground, she wrapped the rope he passed her around her gray's saddle, then backed it up slowly to guide the shaky yearling. Nate followed a few seconds later.

With the rain sheeting down around them and the thunder still rolling across the sky, Alex took a moment to soothe the shivering colt. Nate wasn't sure when he'd seen a sorrier-looking pair. The wobbly legged youngster shuddered with every breath, his sides heaving under his drenched hide. Alex herself wasn't in much better shape. The brave red tunic that had so impressed Nate this morning with its gold frogging and braid was now a sodden, muddy brown. Her pants clung
to her slender curves like the outer wrapping of a cheroot, and her once silky, shining mane was plastered to her head.

But when she lifted her wet face and gave Nate a wide-eyed, spike-lashed look of triumph over their shared victory, Nate was sure he'd never seen anything quite as beautiful in his life.

He forgot the cold. Forgot the mud seeping down along his instep. The need to sweep her into his arms and taste the rain on her lips crashed through him. The fact that another bolt of lightning slashed out of the sky at approximately the same moment was all that held him back.

At the sudden flash, Alex ducked and buried her face in the colt's wet, muddy side. By the time she recovered from her reflexive action, Nate had himself once more in hand.

“If I remember correctly,” she shouted, rising, “there's a ledge of sorts a little farther south. It has an overhang wide enough to shelter us.”

“Lead the way.”

 

Alex felt a jumble of confused emotions as she grabbed the gray's reins and mounted. She was wet to the bone and colder than sin, but swept with an exhilaration at having wrested a victim from the violence of the storm. The stark, unguarded look she'd seen on Sloan's face for a brief instant added to her tumult, layered as it was on top of the wrenching fear that had sliced through her when the tree gave way and almost took him with it.

Stretching up in the stirrups, she waved to the men watching from the other side, signaling them to go on. Dimitri acknowledged her wave with a lift of his arm, then turned and led the others toward the jagged line of rocks, still some distance away. Tucking her chin down against the rain, Alex headed south. The colt, still tethered by the rope, trailed at Red's heels as Sloan followed suit.

Within minutes, she found the stone shelf carved high above the raging waters. It was wide enough to take the three horses without crowding, and deep enough to cut off the slant
ing, driving rain. Shoulders sagging in relief, Alex slid out of the saddle and leaned her forehead against the gray's neck for a few moments.

Sloan's voice filled the small space, carrying easily now over the rain's tattoo. “Looks like we might be here awhile.”

Alex lifted her head and stared out at the gray, sheeting wall. “I've known these storms to last an hour…or a day.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug that rippled into a shiver. “On the steppes, one never knows.”

She turned away to loosen the gelding's girth. Although the Don was hardy and tough, Alex had learned early to put her mount's well-being before her own. Pulling a shaggy wool hat from the coat she'd tossed over the saddle earlier, she began to rub the gray down.

From the corner of one eye she saw Nate shrug out of his slicker and toss it over his saddle. Shaking his head like a big, well-muscled dog to rid it of the water, he lifted an elbow to wipe his face on his denim sleeve. That done, he moved to Alex's side and tugged the woolly hat out of her hands.

“I'll do that. You'd better go dry yourself off. You're wetter than he is.” His glinting gaze drifted down her front. “A whole sight wetter.”

The gleam in his hazel eyes reinforced what Alex already knew. Her thin wool tunic, one of the hottest-selling items from her spring Militariana collection, clung to her skin like a wet leaf. She didn't need to glance down to know that her nipples were puckered with the cold and pushing against the thin lace of her bra.

“Go on,” he instructed. “Your lips are turning purple, which makes an interesting combination with that chili-pepper shirt.”

Alex might have hesitated if a violent shiver hadn't started at her shoulders and jiggled its way down her spine. It jiggled down her front, as well, and the gleam in Sloan's eyes deepened.

The fact that she was uncomfortable aside, Alex had been taught to respect the power of the elements. Only a fool would
ride out into the snows that blanketed the steppes in winter without knowing where to find shelter for himself and his mount. Likewise, those who worked the herds in the cold, wet rains knew better than to risk pneumonia in a land where medicines were precious and physicians rare.

Snatching her greatcoat from the saddle, she moved to the back of the shallow cave. The high-collared calf-length coat was modeled after the
cherkessa
that had protected her ancestors from heat, wet and cold alike. Alex had executed her design in a tightly woven combination of wool and camel hair similar to the fabrics used a century ago. Although damp on the outside, the coat's inner lining was dry and warm.

Keeping an eye on Nate's back, she peeled off her wet, clammy tunic. Her boots gave her some trouble, but eventually yielded to determined tugging. Numb fingers fumbled with the buttons to her pants and finally pushed them down over her hips. The thick felt socks she wore under her boots soon joined the heap of sodden garments. With another quick glance at Sloan's back, she decided she could stand the dampness of her lacy underwear.

A few quick twists wrung most of the moisture out of her clothes. They'd still be clammy when she put them on again, of course, but not sopping-wet. Alex set them aside, thankful that she'd be dry and warm for the duration of the storm, at least.

Wrapping herself more snugly in the heavy coat, she leaned her shoulders against the stone wall and watched Sloan work. His broad shoulders, encased in weathered blue denim a few shades lighter than his worn jeans, strained at the jacket's seams with each sure stroke. The jacket rode up as he worked, giving Alex a glimpse of a narrow waist and lean flanks. Admiration sparked through her for the corded, rippling sinews of his thighs and the tight muscles of his buttocks. Her interest in his physique was purely objective, of course. Assessing the line and shape of the human body was part of the job for a woman in her profession.

He wiped the thick wool hat over the gelding with slow,
sure strokes that told her he didn't consider tending to animals a chore. When he finished the gray, he nudged it aside with one shoulder and went to work on Three Bars Red.

They were a lot alike, Alex mused, this tall, broad-shouldered man and the well-muscled stallion. Both exhibited a lazy, easygoing nature, although she'd seen them move with blinding speed when the occasion warranted. Neither showed the least hint of softness or aristocratic pedigree in the raw power of his body. They were built for performance, not show, she decided.

The thought sent a spear of heat to her belly.

For the first time, the possibility occurred to her that Sloan might actually “perform” the role she'd assigned him. As Katerina would say, he was much a man, this compatriot of hers.

Alex had no doubt that Dimitri and the men would agree he had proven himself this afternoon. The games they'd played with him earlier had been just that, tests of his temper more than of his horsemanship. She knew his good-humored compliance with their wagers and his unstinting praise for their skill had impressed them far more than if he'd won the races himself.

But it was the way he'd pitted himself against the raging waters for a spindly-legged creature he had no responsibility for or claim on that would win their respect. Among the Karistani, bravery was valued not so much for its result as for the fact it shaped a man's soul and gave him character. Whatever else he might have, Alex thought wryly, Nate Sloan certainly had character.

So why did the realization that he might choose one of the women who fluttered around him like pigeons looking for a nest leave her feeling edgy? Why did the idea of Sloan performing with Katerina or Anya or Ivana of the honey pot make her fingers curl into the thick camel-hair fabric of her coat?

Damp, frigid air swirled around Alex's bare feet as she asked questions she wasn't ready to answer. Slowly she slid
down the wall to a sitting position and tucked her cold toes under her.

A few moments later, Nate gave Red a final slap. “That ought to do you, fella.”

The chestnut lowered his head and nuzzled his broad chest. Nate knuckled the white blaze.

“Sorry, big guy. I don't have anything on me but some chewing gum.”

“For pity's sake, don't give him that!” Alex pleaded. “I don't want to think what he could do with gum in such close quarters.”

Nate laughed and pushed Red's broad face away. Catching the rope still looped around the colt's neck, he tugged it toward Alex.

“Here, you work on this one while I dump the water out of my boots. I'm walking around in the half of the steppes you didn't swallow.”

Glad to have something to take her mind from her chaotic thoughts, Alex took the soggy hat from him and rose up on her knees. Her hands moved in smooth, rhythmic motions over the shivering animal while she murmured meaningless nonsense in its ear.

Nate sat on the stone shelf, his back to the curving wall at a slight angle to hers and hooked a foot up on his knee. He grunted as he tugged at his worn boot. It came off with a whoosh, spilling a stream of muddy water. A second small cascade followed a few moments later.

Since the man had dragged her out of a raging torrent, Alex decided she could be magnanimous. “Use the skirt of my coat to dry your feet,” she tossed over her shoulder.