Texas Rebels: Egan

Chapter Two

“I can’t sleep.” The woman twisted and turned.

“Just be still.”

“I’m trying, but the ground is so hard.” She sat up and untied the sweater from around her neck. Wadding it into a ball, she placed it on the duster and used it for a pillow. “That’s better.”

After a few minutes she grew still and Egan knew she was close to sleep. The temperature had dropped for the evening and it was cooler. She curled into a ball with her arms wrapped around her waist. He reached over, grabbed the end of the duster and pulled it over her legs so she wouldn’t be cold. When he did that, he knew he couldn’t harm one hair on her head. He wasn’t that type of man. No matter what Judge Hollister had done to him, he had no desire for revenge. At least, not that type of revenge.

“What time do you think it is?” she asked, surprising him.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No. I’m just tired.”

“Rest, then.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“In a minute.”

She sat up. “It’s so dark and quiet, except for the crickets. It’s like I’m having a bad dream.”

Egan wrapped his arms around his knees. “Yeah.” If he closed his eyes, he could hear the shouts, the filthy cuss words, the goading and the ugly faces of evil. He’d thought he was tough, but he didn’t know tough until he had to stand toe-to-toe with hardened criminals.

“I feel so stupid,” she murmured.

“Why?” Her words brought him back from the abyss that always threatened to take him down.

“Because I’m a coward. I should have stayed on US 77 and I’d be home now, facing my past the way I was supposed to. The way I’d planned.”

“You have a past?” He couldn’t imagine what kind of a dire past a beautiful blonde could have.

“My parents spoiled me terribly.”

“Pardon me, but I don’t consider that a past.”

“If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you,” she snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I love the way you say ma’am.”

“I say it like everybody else in Texas.”

“No, you say it with respect and I feel it.”

That threw him, so he just sat and stared at the blanket of twinkling stars and waited for her to speak.

“My mother was killed when I was seventeen.”

“I remember that. She was shot by gang members while walking to her car in a mall, right?”

“Yes. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time...all because of me.”

He knew he should stop with the questions. He didn’t want to get any more involved with her than he already was. But something in her voice prompted him to ask, “What did you have to do with it?”

She didn’t answer and the silence stretched. They kept looking at the beautiful night sky above them. Then her voice came, low and achy. “I haven’t told anyone this and I don’t know why I’m telling you. I just need to say the words—to hear them out loud.” She paused. “It happened on a Friday. There was a dance at my school on Saturday and I wanted this special dress that I’d seen. I begged and begged my mother to buy it, and she said no, that I had plenty of dresses.” A muffled sound followed the words and he knew Rachel was crying. He remained still, not making any movement because he had a feeling she didn’t want him to react. And he wasn’t comfortable with that type of emotion.

“She must’ve changed her mind because that’s what she was doing at the mall—buying my dress. The police gave it to me later and I threw it in the garbage. I killed...my mother.”

“Come on, you can’t possibly believe that.”

“She wouldn’t have been at that mall if I hadn’t continually kept asking for the dress.”

“But it was her choice to go.”

Rachel rested her chin on her knees. “My mother was the most loving person I’ve ever known, and she didn’t deserve to die like that. I just can’t forget it and I’ve tried. For twelve years I’ve been trying. I went to art school in Paris, hoping that would obliterate the guilt, but it didn’t. I longed for home and my mother. But she wasn’t there anymore.”

“I don’t know anything about your mother, but I’m almost positive she wouldn’t want you to live with the guilt.”

“I tell myself that all the time and it doesn’t make that ache go away.”

“Have you talked to someone in your family?”

The answer was a long time coming. “No. I wanted to tell my best friend, Angie, and my brother, but I could never find the right words.”

Egan stared into the darkness and tried to find words of his own to help her. That blew his mind, because he didn’t want to help her. But there was something about her that just begged for protection. His mama had always told him he could never resist a person in need. Even when he considered them the enemy.

“You don’t have a past. You have a guilt complex, and the only way to get rid of it is to talk to your family, the ones who are close to you.” Judge Hollister’s name stuck in his craw and he couldn’t say it out loud.

“That’s what I finally decided to do. You probably know that my brother, Hardy, married Angie Wiznowski, and they have a new baby. I’m dying to see him and to meet their older daughter, Erin, so I planned to come home and deal with all the guilt. And what did I do?” She slapped the top of her knee with her right hand. “At the last minute, I balked and stalled for time by taking the long way and getting lost. Now here I sit with a very nice stranger, wondering if maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not. Tomorrow we’ll make it to the ranch and you can call your family and talk and tell them how you’re feeling. I’m told talking works wonders.”

“Mmm. You don’t like to talk, do you?”

“Nope. It’s not my favorite thing.”

“Are you married?”

They were getting into personal territory and he certainly didn’t like that. Talking about himself was his least favorite subject. A coyote howled in the distance, diverting her attention.

“How close is that?” she asked, edging a little nearer to him.

“Not very.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you married?”

He gritted his teeth. She was one of those women who just wouldn’t let go. “No. I’m not married. If I was, I wouldn’t be spending the night in these woods.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“Ma’am, it’s time to get some rest.”

“Since you said that so nicely, I will.” She wrapped her arms around herself “It’s getting chilly.”

“You can use the duster. It’ll keep you warm.”

“I will not.” She shoved her right arm into a sleeve. “Now, do the same with your left.”

“What...”

“Remember, you said no complaining.”

He shoved his arm into the hole and it drew them together inside the duster. Maybe too close together. A flowery scent from her hair reached his nostrils, and he wanted to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

“See, this way we both can stay warm,” she said, with a smile in her voice. “Now we just lie back and go to sleep.”

He grunted, but did as she’d instructed. It took a moment for them to get comfortable. They tried several positions, and finally, lying on their sides worked best. Her soft curves fitted nicely into his hardened body. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman and the feeling was doing a familiar number on his senses. All he had to do was remember who she was and his mind cleared. For a second.

“Are you going to sleep with your hat on?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” She wiggled against him and that was a problem. “I just find it strange.”

“I spent a lot of time in these woods, and on one occasion I took off my hat and the next morning it was gone. A varmint had stolen it. A raccoon is probably wearing it now.”

“I like you, Egan Rebel.”

Don’t like me. Please don’t like me!

“Go to sleep.”

“Call me ma’am.”

“Go to sleep.”

“I will if...”

“Go to sleep...ma’am.”

She laughed, a tingly sound that warmed parts of his heart that had been cold for a long time. He immediately shut out the sound and the feeling.

After a moment, he heard her easy breathing and knew she had fallen asleep. It was a long time before he could succumb to the tiredness of his mind and his body. He had to have the most rotten luck in the world. How ironic was it that he would rescue the judge-from-hell’s daughter? His beautiful daughter.

This had to be one of the worst days of Egan’s life.

* * *

RACHEL WOKE UP to aches and pains, yet felt oddly relaxed. She turned her head and found Egan staring at her with those beautiful eyes. A masculine, woodsy scent reached her and her stomach curled into a pleasant knot. With his hat still on his head, he gave ruggedly handsome a new meaning. The lines of his face were pronounced, his growth of beard arousing, his nose straight and his mouth a sexy slash, begging to be touched and experienced. She licked her lips, wanting that pleasure.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Yeah,” she murmured.

He already had his arm out of the duster and now sat up. She felt a bereavement she couldn’t explain. She wondered what he would say if she invited him to touch her, to hold her, to... What was wrong with her? Her mind was straying into dangerous territory. She wasn’t that type of woman. But looking at Egan Rebel, she wanted to be.

With one swift movement, he was on his feet. She, on the other hand, was a little slower. Dawn was breaking over the valley below and she stood for a moment to gaze at the beauty of God’s creation. It was as if God had kissed the night into submission and now the sun could show its glory. It did, in beautiful rays of yellow, a breathtaking scene. She wished she had a canvas to paint it, but she would keep it in her memory for later. Just as she would the man standing beside her.

“I’m going to get some water,” he said.

She reached for her purse and pulled out a small sketch pad she kept.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to sketch this scene so I can paint it later.”

Egan shook his head and disappeared into the woods.

Rachel sat cross-legged with the sketch pad on her lap. She drew broad strokes. The scene before her faded and Egan’s face appeared. The strong lines, longish hair, hat, the shape of his eyes and that steadfast, masculine demeanor. It was all there with each stroke. She stared at it for a moment and then tucked the pad back into her purse. No matter what happened, she would have a memory of this unforgettable man.

Seeing her hairbrush in the purse, she pulled it out and attempted to work the tangles from her hair. A sound caught her attention and she turned her head. She froze. Fear leaped into her throat. Wild-looking dogs stood near the edge of the woods, baring their teeth and growling. A bearded man stood behind them with a rifle.

Rachel tried to get to her feet, but her shaky legs wouldn’t comply. Before she could process the situation, the man said something to the dogs and they charged toward her.

Oh my God!

She scrambled to her feet, trying to run, but the dogs were upon her. “Egan! Egan!” she screamed.

* * *

EGAN DROPPED THE CANTEEN and ran, the rifle in his hand. The scene before him chilled his blood. A dog was on Rachel, ferociously trying to reach her throat. She beat at it with a hairbrush, foiling its attempts. Two more dogs tore at her clothes. Another joined the attack. Rachel kicked and screamed, the sound disrupting the peace and quiet with spine-tingling terror.

He raised his rifle and fired. One dog went down. He fired again and another rolled to the side. A dog leaped up at the sound and Egan fired once more. The animal fell backward and rolled down the hill.

The dog on Rachel wouldn’t let go of its prey, and was too close to her for Egan to shoot without a guarantee he wouldn’t hit her. Running forward, he pulled the knife from the scabbard on his waist, then stabbed until the dog released her and lay motionless.

Rachel cowered there, covered in blood, the hairbrush clutched in her bloody hand. “It’s okay,” Egan told her. “I’m here.”

“There’s...more,” she gasped.

He raised his head and saw Izzy McCray and two more dogs about twenty yards away. Egan’s gun lay on the grass and he immediately reached for it.

“You killed my dogs, you bastard!” Izzy screamed.

“You’re next!” Egan shouted back. He fired over Izzy’s head and he and the dogs retreated into the woods.

Rachel shook from head to toe and her teeth were chattering. Egan pried the brush from her hand and threw it on the ground. Seeing the green sweater, he reached for it. With a sleeve, he wiped blood from her face and her throat. “Calm down,” he cooed, as if to a child. “I’m not going to let anything else happen to you. Take a deep breath. Take another.”

“E-gan,” she cried, and tears rolled from her eyes.

He dabbed blood from the scratches on her face and neck. Luckily, they didn’t look deep. “Come on, we have to get out of here. That crazy fool might be waiting in the woods.”

Rachel shook violently. Egan grabbed the duster and wrapped it around her. Then he looped her purse over his shoulder and lifted her into his arms. The rifle lay on the ground and he bent for it. Walking into the woods to where he’d dropped the canteen, he squatted and reached for it, while resting the rifle against his leg. He screwed off the top with his thumb and forefinger and put the canteen to her lips.

“Drink.”

She raised her hands and he saw how bloody and scratched they were. His gut tightened at what had been done to her. He should never have left her. Damn!

After she finished, he screwed the top back on and let the canteen rest on her chest. Holding her close, he got to his feet with the rifle in hand and then took off into the woods, trying to walk as fast as he could.

“Where are we going?” She laid her head against him, her blond hair matted with blood.

“My great-great-great-grandparents settled on Yaupon Creek and their cabin is still there. I try to keep it up. It has a bed and the bare necessities, but you can rest and I can clean your wounds. The only problem is it’s taking us farther from the ranch, but I think you need medical attention more right now.”

“Do you think he’s following us?”

Egan wanted to tell her no, but he wasn’t sure about crazy Izzy, and he wanted to be honest with her. On the other hand, he didn’t want to scare her to death. She’d been through enough for one day.

“Don’t worry. I have my rifle and we’ll be at the cabin in no time.”

Egan thought he was in good shape, but by the time he saw the one-room log cabin nestled on the bank of the creek his muscles were tight and aching. Tall oaks and scrappy yaupons surrounded the place. The view from the front porch was the same as it had been over a hundred years ago. The lazy creek flowed like a pale ribbon and was inhabited by fish, frogs, snakes and turtles. Animals came to drink at different times of the day. Enormous live oaks and cedars shaded it. The yaupons had been cut back for a better view of the valley below.

The steps creaked as he put his weight on them. He needed to fix that, but never seemed to find the time. Juggling Rachel and the rifle, he managed to open the door and carry her inside. “Doin’ What She Likes” by Blake Shelton blared loudly.

He laid her on the mattress of a single bed in a corner across from a stone fireplace.

“Where’s that music coming from?” She curled up on an old patchwork quilt of his grandmother’s.

“A transistor radio I keep on to discourage little critters from coming in. It works pretty good. If they hear a human voice, they go elsewhere.”

“How clever.”

“Yeah.” He turned off the radio. “Rest,” he told her. “I’m going outside to get more water.”

She sat up, her eyes wild. “Egan...”

“It’s okay. I’ll be right outside. The only way in is through this front door and I’ll have my eye on it. Just try to relax.”

It didn’t take him long to get the old pump working at the well. It had been repaired so many times, but still provided water. He filled the bucket and carried it inside, keeping his rifle in hand and a close eye on the surrounding woods as he did so. An armadillo rooted about and birds chirped. Other than that, it was just a normal day in the woods.

But it was anything but normal.

Chapter Three

Rachel’s skin burned and she wanted to scream. But she feared if she started, she would never be able to stop. She kept her eyes open, because if she closed them, she could feel the dogs on her—their smelly breath, coarse fur and claws so sharp they’d ripped through her skin.

A scream clogged her throat and she pulled the duster closer around her. The woodsy, masculine, sweaty scent enveloped her, but it wasn’t abrasive. It was soothing because it reminded her of Egan.

She kept her eyes on the door and soon he walked in with a bucket of water, which he set on the floor. Blood covered his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

“I have to clean those wounds and see how bad they are.”

She pushed herself to a sitting position and brushed her fingers through her blood-caked, tangled hair. Egan’s hand touched her face and neck and she stilled. No one had ever touched her that way—gentle, caring and respectful.

“The skin is broken in several places and your neck has two punctures, but they don’t look deep. I’ll clean them with the water and then I can see better.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dipped it in the bucket. Looking at her, he added, “It might be best if you remove your blouse. Some of the scratches on your neck go down.”

Without a second thought, she lifted the blouse over her head and exposed her breasts in a lacy pink bra. He seemed completely unmoved by the sight. Gently, he wiped and squeezed water over each scratch and wound until the liquid in the bucket was bloody. The cloth was cool on her skin, but an inner fire was building in her. With each stroke, she wanted to catch his hand and hold it to her breasts, to feel his touch in a more personal way. It probably was due to the trauma she’d been through, because she’d never reacted this way to any man before.

“I’m going to push on the neck bites to get them to bleed so it will cleanse the wounds of saliva and bacteria.”

“Okay.” She winced as his fingers pressed into her skin.

“I’m worried about rabies, even though Izzy takes very good care of those dogs. Still, they’re in the woods all the time and a few skunks have tested positive for rabies. There’s whiskey in the cabinet. Do you think you could stand it if I pour it over the scratches and bites? It’ll kill whatever bacteria is there and it’s all that I have available here. It’ll sting, but...”

Rachel reached out and removed Egan’s hat. He drew back slightly, which was his only reaction. “I can’t see your eyes with your hat on,” she said.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is it necessary to see my eyes?”

“Most definitely.”

He went to a small cabinet and came back with a bottle of whiskey. Handing it to her, he said, “You might want to drink some first.”

“Straight?”

“It’ll numb your senses.”

“All righty.”

She lifted the bottle and took a swig, swallowed and coughed as it burned her throat. Her eyes watered, but she took another drink.

“I have to get more water and rinse out the handkerchief. Sip it slowly or your eyes are going to bulge out. Evidently, you’re not used to hard liquor.”

“A margarita or a glass of merlot is more my style.”

“I could’ve guessed.”

She made a face and took another swig, coughing until she thought it was going to come up again. Lying back, she watched glittery rainbows float across the old wood beams of the ceiling. A numbness invaded her mind. She reached out for Egan’s hand. His strong fingers closed around hers and she knew everything was going to be okay. Egan would take care of her. That seemed odd, since she’d been fighting for years for her independence. But with Egan it was different.

“I like you, Egan Rebel.”

“Ma’am...”

A bubble of laughter erupted from her throat, and she thought if she could hear him say that word in that tone for the rest of her life, she would be in heaven.

* * *

EGAN WENT OUTSIDE for more water and rinsed the handkerchief until it was as clean as it was going to get. Back in the cabin Rachel was falling in and out of consciousness. He placed his hand on her forehead to see if she had a fever, but her skin was cool. She was just getting drunk and he had a feeling she didn’t do that often. If ever.

“Ready?” he asked, squatting by the bed.

She drew a deep breath. “Yes.”

He took the bottle from her and soaked the handkerchief. He started with the scratches on her hands and arms, where she’d fought the dogs. The moment the whiskey touched the open wounds she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. He admired that. She had guts.

Quickly, he continued, making sure each scratch was covered with alcohol. She flinched when he did the ones on her face.

“Is it bad?”

“It’ll heal in no time and you’ll still be beautiful.”

“Ah, you think I’m beautiful?”

He soaked the bites on her neck and she bit her lip again, preventing her from talking, which he thought was good. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. God had heaven in mind when he’d created her. Natural blond hair, blue eyes and model-like features. Everything about her was perfection, including her curved, feminine body. Touching her skin was an exercise in restraint. Egan had never felt anything so soft, supple and tempting. One scratch arrowed down to a breast and his hand slowed as he reached its fullness. He wanted to cup it, to feel its weight in his palm. With superhuman strength, he pulled away and screwed the top on the bottle of whiskey.

Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Then he whipped his T-shirt over his head and handed it to her. “Your blouse is ruined, but you can wear this.” He wanted to cover up those breasts any way he could.

She tugged it over her head and pull the duster around her. “I’m so sleepy.”

“It’s the whiskey.”

Her eyelashes were light brown and lay softly against her skin as a liquor-induced sleep claimed her. He touched her forehead one more time to make sure she didn’t have a fever. Once he was sure of that, he walked outside to the long porch on the front of the cabin.