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
