was difficult enough. Returning home will be worse because I’ll have those two thieves breathing down my neck.”
“If they are actually thieves.” Jonah smirked skeptically. “I’ve been around long enough to know better than to be taken in by a pretty face and a wild tale of kidnapping, rustling and robbery.” He rinsed the soap from his arms and chest, then puffed on his cheroot. “Now, make yourself scarce, Miz Garret. I’d like to get dressed.”
She tilted her chin to a defiant angle, braced her fists on her shapely hips and said, “I am not leaving this room until you promise to help me rescue my sister from death—or worse. You have an obligation as a ranger to aid and protect citizens in need.”
She was stubborn and determined, he’d give her that. But who was to say which side of the law she was really on?
“Lady,” he retaliated gruffly, “I don’t get paid enough to go haring off to West Texas with a mending arm. Besides, I’ve learned to take nothing at face value. Why should I protect a woman who has been accused of theft? And why should I believe a female who is probably feeding me a wild tale to prey on my sympathy?”
“Because I’m an innocent victim! I will pay you to escort me home and deliver the ransom,” she insisted sharply.
His bathwater was getting cold, but her temper was getting hot, he noticed as she glowered, trying to scare him into submission. Before he could reject her request again—and he certainly intended to—she flounced on his bed, jerked up her skirt and tugged at the hem.
Jonah gaped at her well-shaped bare legs and silky skin for a long, appreciative moment before he forced his attention to the bundles of paper currency she had stitched into her skirt. He nearly swallowed his cigar when she stamped over to the tub, grabbed his hand and slapped a bundle of money onto his palm.
“It appears that the only way to gain your trust is to pay you up front,” she muttered angrily. She dropped the remainder of the bundles atop the stack in his hand. “I am entrusting my inheritance to you, as well. If I wind up dead—and with two thieves on my trail that is certainly a possibility—I expect you to rescue my sister. Surely even the meager amount of sympathy and conscience you possess won’t allow you to ignore the welfare and safety of a terrified girl!”
When Maddie whirled toward the door, Jonah reflexively came to his feet. “Wait just a damn minute, lady. I’ve been saving lives left and right for a decade—”
She whipped her head around—to fling a sassy retort, no doubt—and saw Jonah standing there in all his splendor and glory. Her face exploded with color as she gasped for breath, shrieked, then lunged for the door.
Her departure was as spectacular as her grand entrance had been. She was gone as quickly as she had intruded into his room and into his life. Thank goodness.
Jonah chuckled in amusement. If he’d known that unintentionally exposing himself would have gotten rid of her so quickly he would have stood up earlier.
Dripping wet, he stared down at the small fortune curled in his fist. If handing him money was supposed to be a gesture of faith, he still wasn’t buying it. He was a man who did not trust easily. Those who did usually wound up dead and buried. For all he knew Maddie Garret was one hell of an actress, willing to do and say anything to ensure her protection and his cooperation. Even if it meant giving a melodramatic performance and leaving him holding what could very well be stolen money.
“Damn.” Jonah scowled. “And all I had asked of the first day of my recuperation was a nap, a bath and a meal that didn’t resemble trail rations.”
While it was true that finding sexual gratification was also on his agenda, he hadn’t expected to have a supposed wife barrel into his room. Not that he would mind a tumble with that disturbingly attractive female, but he’d be damned if he’d pay for it by being manipulated, betrayed and maybe murdered in his sleep. Maddie Garret, he predicted, would bring him nothing but trouble. Jonah had endured more than his fair share of it, thank you very much.
He hurriedly dried off, then pulled a clean set of clothes from his saddlebag. He rolled his dirty laundry around the bundles of money, crammed them in his leather pouch and stuffed it under the mattress.
For a few moments he contemplated the impulsive urge to turn his back on his profession, ride off to buy himself a few acres in an isolated area of Texas and avoid the complications of so-called civilization.
It was a tempting thought.
After a decade of battling cutthroats and inclement weather he was burned out and fed up with being a guardian angel for folks who wouldn’t give him the time of day if he weren’t saving their incompetent necks.
Jonah had volunteered to join the Texas Rangers for two reasons—one idealistic and one realistic. Given his mixed heritage, it wasn’t easy to find work, and the Rangers were anxious to recruit sharpshooting survivalists who had few obligations that tied them down. In addition, Jonah had been taught to respect the fearless battalions of Rangers who had become the epitome of law enforcement on the frontier.
It was said that Rangers could ride like Mexicans, track like Indians, shoot like mountain men and fight like the very devil. The Mexicans referred to them as Tejanos Diablos—Texas devils—and the Comanches held a grudging respect for them.
When Jonah was a young warrior of twelve his father had led him through some rugged terrain and told him to observe the impressive tactics of the Rangers. Jonah had watched and learned that day when outnumbered Rangers had pitted themselves against ruthless outlaws that preyed on Indians and whites alike. To his amazement, the courageous Rangers had won a decisive battle. The small battalion of hard-bitten, eagle-eyed crack shots had stared death in the face with fearless defiance and charged full steam ahead.
“Rangers don’t fight like white men,” Jonah’s father had said. “More like Comanches. They make dangerous enemies. Never forget that.”
The incident had made a strong and lasting impression on Jonah.
Jonah strapped on his holster, tucked a dagger in his boot—and one in his shirtsleeve—and wondered as he had before if his departed father would be pleased to know his son had become a Texas devil. For certain, his father would be relieved to know that Jonah had not been confined to the hated reservation, forced to depend on the army to feed and clothe him, and left with his pride in tatters.
Guilt slammed into him, as it did on too many occasions. He was free to choose his profession, while his oppressed people were left to the mercy of the government and the army.
Frustration and resentment put him in a sour mood. Jonah strode over to chug a drink of whiskey. He couldn’t help his vanquished people any more than he could change his mixed heritage. Life, he’d discovered, wasn’t a damn bit fair. But a man had to play the hand fate dealt him. Jonah had cheated death several times and counted himself lucky to be in one piece—more or less.
He stepped into the hall and locked the door behind him. If he’d thought to do that before he’d trudged wearily up the steps and collapsed in exhaustion, he could have avoided Maddie Garret’s unwanted intrusion. Now he was stuck with her money. He was certain he hadn’t seen the last of that animated and highly articulate female.
The answer was still no, he decided. Maddie could find herself another guardian and protector. Jonah inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he ambled down the hall. Maybe a decent meal would relieve his black mood. He’d be damned if he’d spend this hiatus sulking, wishing
