Tracker's Sin

“I heard my parents talking. I know who you are.”

Who he was seemed to be pretty important to these people. “And who’s that?”

“You’re a Texas Ranger. One of the meanest.”

“I guess that would depend on who you talk to.”

She looked disappointed, and more than a little skeptical. Her gaze lingered on the scar slicing down his cheek. “You’re not mean?”

“Mean enough to get the job done.”

“I need you to be very mean.”

“I’ll ask you again—why?”

“My father is in trouble.”

“He didn’t make any mention of it.”

“He wouldn’t. He likes to think he can handle everything, but he’s old now and he can’t fight the way he used to.” She glanced at Tracker, fear in her eyes. “The men who would hurt him are vicious killers. They have no consciences or souls.”

“How do you know?”

She shook her head as if bewildered. A curl fell loose from her bun, bouncing against her cheek. She shoved it behind her ear. “I just do.”

He bet she did, even if she was talking to him as if he couldn’t trigger a bad memory if he wanted to.

“I know enough to know that if things continue the way they are, those men are going to kill my father. He knows it, too. That’s why he wants the garden bigger. So Mama and I can support ourselves.”

“Would those men be the gringos who came to town last fall?”

“You’ve met them?”

Tracker shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure yet.” But he would. It was a bit too coincidental that trouble of that type came to the small town where Ari had taken shelter after the Moraleses had found her. As a matter of fact, a lot of the circumstances surrounding Ari’s rescue were convenient.

She frowned. “If you do, you’d better be good with those guns.”

It’d been a long time since someone had questioned Tracker’s skill. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She licked her lips again. His cock hardened, pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He barely bit back a “Stop doing that.”

She stood up so fast her skirts swayed. “I want to hire you.”

He stood, too. Another interesting tidbit. “I’m a Texas Ranger. We’re not for hire.”

She put her hands on her hips, determination giving her a confidence he hadn’t seen before. “We’re not in Texas, though, are we?”

Technically, the area was in dispute. “Close enough not to abandon the principles I serve, no matter how pretty the woman is who asks me.”

She made a slashing motion with her hand before running it over her hair. More tendrils threatened to break loose with the next pass of her palm. “I don’t want you to kill anybody.”

To give his hands something to do besides reach over to let one of those curls entrap his finger, Tracker picked up his gun and began reassembling it. “What do you want me to do?”

Her arm dropped to her side. “I just want to scare those men so they leave my father alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Tracker had been asked to scare somebody, but it was probably the first time he believed the person asking really thought it could be done without anybody getting killed.

“Why do they bother him?”

A tinge of red on her cheeks, a hint of tears in her eyes, and she said, “Because of me.”

“Why?”

The blush of embarrassment deepened and she looked away. “Men think I am…available.”

“Because of your son?”

“Yes.” Her expression tightened and her hands fisted. “I think they threatened him.”

“Vincente?” The old man didn’t strike Tracker as the type to cower at a threat.

“No.” Her gaze dropped to his pistol. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if it was all she could do to keep from grabbing it from him. “My son.”

That put a whole new spin on the issue. “Did Vincente tell you that?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you. The baby is the family’s most vulnerable point. It makes sense for a man to threaten it to get what he wants.”

“I’d go to them if I thought it would keep him safe.”

She would, too. Tracker could see it in her eyes. Even if she couldn’t remember, she had to be scared shitless at the thought, but he didn’t doubt for a minute that she would sacrifice herself for the safety of her son. She had the same fighting spirit as her sister. Likely the same recklessness, too. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

“It won’t.”

“I know.”

But if the gang turned up the heat enough, if she got desperate enough, she might see it as her last hope.

“Please. I don’t want them to hurt my family. I owe them so much. I wasn’t…well after the murder. They thought I was going to lose Miguel.”

“Miguel is your son?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer and placed her hand on Tracker’s arm. The heat of her touch seeped slowly through the leather of his shirt. “Please.” Another step brought her skirts around his legs. “Help us.”

He placed his hand over hers, pressing just firmly enough so she couldn’t let go. “What are you offering me if I do?”

The pulse in the hollow of her throat beat double-time. The fresh scent of soap blended with the acrid smell of fear.