The Lover

There was no getting around that fact. Although his eyes wouldn't open more than a slit and he could barely lift his head beneath the weight of the pain, he glimpsed iron bars on the doorâand a sign, too, in case he had any lingering doubts as to his location. SALADO JAIL was written across the front window of the sheriff's office in big letters (backwards of course, from this direction).

The war drum pounding in his head felled him flat onto the bunk again.

Never, ever, had he had such a hangover. He must've really heard the owl hoot last night.

Scraps of memories flashed across his pain-wrenched eyelids. No. It wasn't liquor that'd left him in this shape.

The fight. He hadn't been drinking; he'd been in a fight.

Yes. And he'd just been getting into the spirit of the fray when he'd glanced around to see a two-by-four hovering over him, already on its way to come crashing down on his head, wielded by one of the owners of the sleek gray Thoroughbred stallion that Eagle Jack's spunky, scruffy mare, Molly, had left in the dust.

He grinned.

That made his head hurt even more and roused a raw pain on the skin of his cheek, but he grinned even more widely.

Sweet victory. Those shysters learned a thing or two about running their pretty gray Thoroughbred against an ugly little Indian pony.

Maybe they wouldn't be so quick to judge a horse by its looks next time.

Carefully, disturbing no more muscles than he had to move to lift his hands, Eagle Jack forced his eyes open enough to see them. His knuckles looked as raw as a fresh hide. At least he'd gotten a few good licks in.

Matter of fact, it would've been a downright enjoyable fight with its challenge of two against one, and he would've found his rhythm and come out on top if they had played fair. Crooked bastards.

The truth hit him then: those sons of bitches stole his racehorse!

Damn! And just before he started up the trail.

He sat straight up, his head screaming with new pain. Grabbing it with both hands to try to steady himself, he swung his feet to the floor, scrambling to get out of there.

Of course. That's why they'd laid him out cold with a boardâthey wanted Molly, the fastest pony on the Brazos. Maybe the fastest pony alive.

He managed to get his bootheels planted on solid wood and his legs propped against the edge of the bunk so he could thrust his battered hands into the front pockets of his jeans. They came up empty. The lowlifes got his money, too.

Well, money was only money, but Molly was a whole different deal. There'd never been another mare like Molly, and it wasn't just her speed and her deceptive looks he loved. It was her personality. What a girl!

He'd trail those horse thieves to the end of the world. He'd get that mare back in his possession if he singlehandedly had to hang both of that fast-talking pair of Kentucky gentlemen (to hear them tell it) who were traveling through Texas and the South campaigning the greatest running Thoroughbred of all time.

He'd make them rue the day they ever crossed the Texas line. He'd scalp them before he hanged them.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Sheriff! Let me outta here.”

Nausea surged in his stomach. He clamped his
lips tight and waited, reaching for the bars with one hand so he could stay upright.

Nobody answered him, but he could hear voices out there in the sheriff's office somewhere. Eagle Jack gathered his forces and hollered again.

“I can make bail,” he said. “All I have to do is go to the bank.”

The sheriff or somebody with a deep voice let out a guffaw and yelled back at him, “Sure, and I own the King Ranch. Sleep it off back there, and shut up.”

Somebody laughed from inside the cell, and Eagle Jack looked behind him. The gesture made his head swim and his vision blur, but he could see three other inmates, one grinning, two solemn, looking at him from bleary eyes and another sleeping fast on a bunk in the back. He'd been hurting so bad he hadn't even noticed he had company.

“Set back down there, Injun,” said the grinning one, “or they's liable to cut yer hair off.”

Eagle Jack ignored him and concentrated on turning his head very, very carefully, to look through the bars again.

The voices out front were still talking. A heartbeat later, though, while he was trying to think what to say that would get the sheriff to come open the cell, they stopped. The bell sounded and the front door swung open, then slammed closed again. Eagle Jack moved nearer to the bars to try to get a better view.

“Ma'am?” the deep voice said. “Can we help you?”

“Yes,” a woman's angryâhot and righteousâvoice said. “I need to bail a man out.”

In spite of his hurts and his worries, Eagle Jack grinned again. Now
there
was something to be thankful for on this pain-filled morningâanother little example of why he was glad he'd never stuck his head in the marriage noose. Somebody's wife was mad as an old wet hen. She'd clean that old boy's clock for sure and probably make him sleep on the floor for a month.

A chair scraped back and feet hit the floor.

“Who might that man be, Mrsâ¦.?”

“Copeland.”

“Mrs. Copeland.” The sheriff repeated her name respectfully, but she was already sweeping around the corner into the hallway like a high wind.

Eagle Jack's pain lessened at the sight of her.

Now here was nothing short of a passionate woman. She had pretty cheeks burning pink with anger and sparks of purpose flying from her blue eyes. Her dress was a well-worn divided skirt with a man's blue shirt tucked in and a leather, flat-brimmed hat that was also made for a man. She wasn't stylish and she wasn't well-off, but here was a woman to be reckoned with.

Just the kind he liked. Too bad she was a Mrs.

The sheriff trotted right behind her, his voice
deferential as he repeated his question. Clearly, despite her eccentric clothes, she was the kind of woman a man deferred to at any time, but especially when, as now, she was in high dudgeon.

“Who is it that you're bailing out, Mrs. Copeland?” he said.

“I don't know yet,” she said, and came to a stop on the other side of the bars from Eagle Jack.

Total silence fell, both in the cell and out.

Her scent drifted to him, all fresh and faintly like sunshineâa great contrast to the stale sweat and sour whiskey odors in the air, which he hadn't noticed until that moment. She glanced at Eagle Jack, lingered only an instant, then swept the whole cell with her gaze. Her eyebrows lifted, her jaw tightened, and her lips set into a straight line.

Which was a crying shame. Left to their own devices, her lips were as lush and full as he'd ever seen, bar none. Buxom, yet long-legged, she was. One of his favorite shapes of woman.

The sheriff moved around to her side and cleared his throat.

“I thought perhaps your husbandâ¦” he said.

“A stranger will do,” she said.

“Why would you pay bail for a stranger?”

But Mrs. Copeland had had enough of the sheriff. She spoke to the men in the cell instead, with another glance spared for Eagle Jack.

“My name is Susanna Copeland and I need a
man to pretend to be my husband,” she said. “That man will hire me a crew and help me take nine hundred head of longhorns up the trail.”

So. She was a freethinking woman, too.

The stunned silence broke into a chorus of guffaws and catcalls.

“Here I am, honey.”

“Whereabouts you goin'?”

“Pick me, sweetheart, I've been up the trail a time or two.”

More laughter.

It didn't faze her in the least. She waited for it to die down, her blue eyes snapping all the while.

“Which one I choose will depend on what y'all say now,” she said. “Answer me some questions.”

“What's the pay?” asked the grinning nosy Nellie who'd called Eagle Jack Injun.

“Of course. The pay,” Susanna Copeland said. “At the end of the trail, I'll pay you the going wage for a trail bossâforty-five dollars a month. Also, I will bail you out of this jail right now, with money that you need not pay back.”

A murmur ran through the cell. A couple of the men exchanged thoughtful looks, as if they were beginning to consider the offer.

“But first let me say that there'll be no liquor in my outfit,” she said. “It appears that every man of you is one who likes his whiskey. If you can't live without indulging in strong drink, say so right away and save us all some time.”

The inmate who'd appeared to be asleep, his eyes still closed, raised his hand.

“Very well,” she said. “I won't bother you.”

The hand fell back down onto the bunk.

Then she fixed on the bleary-eyed man who'd asked about the pay and started firing questions at him. Had he ever been in jail before and for what? Had he ever been a boss of other men and how many? How well could he ride and rope? Did he know cattle?

She listened to the answers, then moved on to another man who answered those same questions. Both of them clearly had brains still addled by drink. Eagle Jack watched Mrs. CopelandâSusannaâwith growing amusement. She was serious about this wild plan of hers. Plenty serious.

The next man shook his head to stop her when she came to him.

“I reckon there's no way I could work for a woâa lady,” he said. “I ain't never done it and I don't never aim to.”

That brought all the snap back into Mrs. Copeland's big blue eyes and deepened the color in her cheeks. Well, hey. This must be the bee that had been in her bonnet when she came in the door.

She stiffened her spine and glared at every one of them in turn.

“Why, in the name of everything sane, are men so set on not working for a woman?” she asked.

Even the man who'd made that remark didn't answer. The sheriff started to speak, but then he bit the words back.

Susanna turned to Eagle Jack.

Here was his chance to get out of this jail right now. Not to mention a chance to have some fun while getting out of this town.

“I'm sure I can't help you with that question, ma'am,” he said, using his most charming smile, although it nearly ripped the rest of the skin off his face. “I myself have no such misgivings.”

That surprised her. “You don't?”

He reached to touch the brim of his hat before he realized he wasn't wearing it.

“Eagle Jack Sixkiller at your service, ma'am. I'm always happy to be in the company of a lady.”

Even if it hadn't been trueâwhich it wasâhe would've said it. He would say anything to get out of here this minute and start tracking Molly. The thieves might still be in Salado.

“I'm talking about a woman
hiring
you,” she said.

That was twice now that she'd called herself a woman instead of a lady. Fine by him. Maybe she wasn't a lady.

He stood very straight and tried to ignore the pounding in his head.

“I have no quarrel with working for a woman if she knows her business,” he said.

“No need for that,” she said. “The man I hire
will be the trail boss. He'll be free to use his own judgment.”

Of course. Naturally, she didn't know the trail driving business. How could she? Women never, ever, went up the trail.

“I've been up the Chisholm Trail to Abilene,” he said, “and the Shawnee Trail to Kansas City.”

“Abilene is my destination,” she said. “I've decided the Chisholm is the easier route.”

He nodded agreement, although the brief movement nearly tore off his head. Let her think he'd take her to Kansas, let her think he'd hire her a crew. If push came to shove, he'd take her cattle north and
that
was what she was after.

What
he
was after was release from the Salado Jail.

“I'm a riding, roping fool,” he said, with a grin. “And a peerless leader of men.”

He held her attention for a long heartbeat. Those blue eyes of hers were so deep a man could fall right into them and drown. He thought he saw a flash of amusement in them in response to his sally, but he couldn't be sure.

She'd be a challenge and a half, would Susanna Copelandâenough to entertain a man on the trail, all right.

No way, though, would he take a woman into such danger or deal with the burden of responsibility that she would be on a thousand miles of trail with a dozen other men in the outfit.

What was he thinking? His goal was to get out of jail.

He kept the grin and used his most persuasive tone of voice. “You won't go wrong with me, ma'am.”

“I certainly won't,” she said, prim as a schoolmarm. “Or with any other man.”

So. She had caught the double meaning in his words. She, too, had felt the pulse of attraction between them.

But then she only looked at him, biting her luscious lower lip thoughtfully.

What if she'd decided he would try to take advantage of her? Maybe she was thinking that would be too much trouble to deal with if she hired him as her foreman.

Yet the main thing he saw in her was not caution but determination.

“If you intend to do what you came in here for, Mrs. Copeland,” he said, “you'll have to take me. My cellmates can't walk out of here under their own steam, much less drive a herd to Kansas.”

The dizziness hit him again and he swayed just a little, back onto his heels. He took a tighter grip on the bar he was holding, and that steadied him.

She tilted her head and looked him over some more.

“Looks to me like the pot calling the kettle black,” she said.

Eagle Jack used his best smile one more time.

“You'll need men and horses,” he said. “I can judge both at a glance.”

“You wouldn't be just a little bit stuck on yourself, would you, Mr. Sixkiller?”

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