Luke's Cut

Another woman might be one thing, but Josie wasn’t just any woman. She was the thorn in his side. Trouble walking. A mass of contradictions. He ground his teeth to the rhythm of the wagon’s rattle as she approached. Hell, even her hair was contrary. Neither blond nor brown nor red, it was an ever-changing mix of all three, depending on the light. Right now it was red. A warning to anyone who’d care to harken. He opened his mouth. Caine cut him off.

“I wouldn’t even bother saying it.”

Luke turned around to glare at Caine. In many ways, he was the same hard man Luke had grown up with. In others, he was different. Caine had been sent by an unscrupulous bastard to retrieve Desi, and in true Caine form, had ended up keeping her. In Desi, Caine had found everything he’d been searching for. And that hungry, restless wolf inside had settled down.

“What exactly do you think I’m going to say?”

There was a smile in Caine’s gray eyes. “That if she goes, you won’t.”

The thought had crossed his mind. “It’s a thought.”

“It’s a bad thought. I need to know you’re there, Luke. Zach and his men, they’re good but they’re not Hell’s Eight. I can’t spare more than I have.”

Yet another change of the last few years. Hell’s Eight had once functioned as a unit. Almost as one man, one thought, but that had changed. Members had married. Settled down. It was as if each man had found the woman who completed him, anchored his restless ways.

“Hell’s Eight is changing.” Luke sighed.

“We’re bigger,” Caine countered.

“And more vulnerable,” Luke added, looking at Tia. Hell’s Eight had grown. More lives. More responsibilities.

Caine nodded. “I know the photographer irritates you.”

“She does.”

“Now, why is that?” Ace asked as the wagon came closer.

“She’s too flighty. It’s irritating.” That got a raised brow from Ed and a snort from Tia.

“So irritating you can’t take your eyes off her?” Ed asked.

Dammit. Luke yanked his gaze away. He was watching her.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Tia murmured.

“Better not be too much fire,” Caine cut in. “Josie’s under the protection of Hell’s Eight.”

Luke shook his head. He might be fascinated, but he wasn’t suicidal. “No need to worry. As soon as that woman opens her mouth, any interest a man has dies.”

“Oh?” Tia cocked her head. “I find her quite funny, and Sally Mae says she is a most interesting woman.”

It was Luke’s turn to snort. “All she talks about are those plates and chemicals she uses to make those tintypes.”

“Have you even seen her work?” Caine asked.

“No.” Ever since the woman had pushed him out of his place at the wedding to set up a picture and stolen his point of view with a smile and an elbow in his side, he’d been avoiding the temptation.

“You should.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She is my guest,” Tia reminded him quietly. “And I promised her we did not mind her coming along.”

He’d imagined Josie’d pushed herself into the trip. “You invited her?”

Tia shrugged. “Pictures of my grandson would be good to have in my parlor.”

“There might be photographers out there.”

Tucker snorted. “Now you’re clutching at straws.”

“Yes, he is,” Zach cut in. “The Montoya ranch, it is big, but it’s remote. There are no photographers.”

There went that argument.

Tia smiled at Josie. Josie smiled back.

That smile had way too much impact on his libido, coming as it did from a woman holding the reins of a gaudily painted peddler’s wagon drawn by a knock-kneed horse wearing a ridiculous bonnet sprouting a huge plume of weeds that bobbed with every plodding step. The right wheel hit a bump. The pans attached to the side clattered. Lounging on the porch, Desi’s hound, Boone, lifted his head and moaned before sinking back onto the sun-warmed wood.

“Between that wagon and her...eccentricities, she’ll get us all killed.”

From the edge of the yard came an amused and far too appreciative “I think she will add some beautiful scenery to the journey.”

The last thing he wanted was the too-handsome vaquero noticing Josie. “Shut up, Zach.”

“What do you have against the woman, Luke?” Caine asked.

She was too flighty. Too pretty. Too aggravating. Too tempting. “She has no idea what she’s riding into. Hell, she’s probably got a picnic basket all packed for our little excursion,” he growled under his breath.

Zach just chuckled. Luke had the overwhelming urge to knock him off his horse. As if to prove his point, Josie called over, “Good morning, everyone. I’m so sorry I’m late. I had the darnedest time getting Glory’s hat to stay put.”

Shit. Luke swung up into the saddle. She’d named the nag Glory. What more proof did his point need than that?

“Welcome, hija,” Tia called, bringing the cacophony of horse and wagon closer.

Chico stomped his foot nervously. Luke patted his neck. “Easy, boy. Now is not the time to be temperamental.”

Zach’s horse started its own little dance. As if she didn’t understand the disaster she was courting with that obnoxious wagon, Josie kept coming, shyly flashing those dimples that sent his imagination teetering into areas it had no business being.

“Thank you so much for inviting me. I can’t tell you how excited I am by this opportunity.”

Luke’s cock perked right along with his aggravation. The wheel hit another bump. The pans clattered. A bucket swung, its contents grating around in its interior. Chico crow-hopped and flattened his ears. Zach’s horse snapped its head up and reared. Zach’s quick reflexes were the only thing that saved his ass from getting dumped in the dirt. “Stay back, senorita!”

“Josie,” Luke ordered. “Stop right there.”

Startled, Josie pulled back on the reins. He kneed Chico over. Josie watched him approach, her intriguing blue eyes big beneath her wide-brimmed satin, ruched hat. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit he liked her eyes on him. While there could be a certain haphazardness to her attention, when the woman focused on something, it was all out. He couldn’t help but wonder if she brought that intensity between the sheets.

A shiver raced over his skin. He liked that image entirely too much. The corner of her lips twitched. Fear or humor? It annoyed the bejesus out of him that he wanted to know which. Seems he’d done nothing but watch the woman since the moment he’d damn near tripped over her, kneeling in the dirt taking a picture of a bee on a flower, the day before Hester’s wedding. He’d known she was off-kilter from that second on, but it didn’t seem to make any difference—then or now. He couldn’t look away. Somewhere deep inside him, for some goddamn reason, it mattered if Josie was happy or sad. And that irritated the heck out of him.