Rebel with a Cause. Carol Arens

her grip on the horse’s bridle.

      The woman’s petticoat caught in the wind and whipped up to slap her chin. She struggled with it and tried to keep hold of the horse at the same time. Zane figured he must have dust in his eyes. It looked like a piece of her undergarment had come loose and begun to whip and whirl about the horse’s hooves all on its own accord.

      Damned if the woman didn’t let go of the bridle to scramble after the bit of whatever was about to be stepped on by the horse.

      Wage, not one for missing an opportunity, took that instant to give the horse a hard kick. The pony lurched forward then galloped double-time toward the west.

      With massive clouds dimming the light, Zane nearly missed seeing the woman’s mouth form a perfectly pink circle of surprise when Ace galloped past her.

      Guilt squirmed in his conscience for hightailing on by like that. It couldn’t be noble to leave a lady stranded so far from town in her underwear, not with one hell of a storm ready to strike the earth like a hammer.

      He glanced back to see her clutching the odd white bundle that she had been chasing. Setting his sights on Wage again, he noted the outlaw was still a good distance in the lead, but losing some ground to Ace.

      One fat, chilly raindrop smacked him on the cheek. It wouldn’t be long until this whole area turned into a mud puddle. He could likely reach Wage before that happened. With Ace in his stride, the other horse might as well be walking.

      The bit of worn lace that he had yanked from his hair slapped his thumb.

      He sighed hard. Heat skimmed his lips. He sat up slow and leaned back in the saddle. Understanding the unspoken command, the horse slowed to an impatient trot.

      “Hold up, boy.”

      Zane watched Wage disappear over the next hill. His whole body and soul itched to be on the run after the outlaw. With a sour lump in his gut, he turned to look once more at the stranded woman.

      Damned if she didn’t look like an abandoned angel with her petticoat flapping and fluttering. Blue bows on her underwear caught the wind and looked like a passel of butterflies whirling wild. Through it all, she clung tight to that squirming … animal? … in her arms.

      Zane tied the ribbon in his hair then turned Ace’s head about.

      Missy’s mouth hung open in disbelief. It was surely an unbecoming gesture that her mother would reprimand her for if she could see it.

      Suzie would swoon in pure delight, though, when Missy wrote home, describing the vision bearing down upon her with his black coat tails flapping like the wings of some great dreaded bird.

      The hooves of his huge horse pummeled the ground. Clumps of sod, ripped from the soil, flew about. The earth trembled, bringing her hero closer.

      He slowed his animal to a trot. She watched the man’s mouth move. He might have spoken a colorful word. Indeed, he appeared to have uttered a whole string of them. If only she could have heard over Muff’s snarling and snapping.

      The coat settled over his thighs when he stopped in front of her. The horse’s dark hooves danced and pawed as though it longed to keep running. She managed to snap her mouth shut, but her eyes popped wide open.

      In her whole sheltered eastern life she’d never seen a man like this. The West rode wild in his smoky brown eyes. Black eyebrows slashed across his forehead like fired bullets. This was a man of adventure!

      He slid from his horse in a smooth, muscular leap. The tails of his coat rippled and snapped in the wind. Missy’s heart felt like a moth battering at a lantern.

      Was it her imagination that the blustery gust had ridden in with him? That it whooshed about her as cold and delightfully fearsome as he was?

      “Are you all right, miss? Did he harm you?” His words sounded cordial but his jaw pulsed with tension. Stepping closer, the man’s worn boots stomped down the rippling grass.

      For all that the sight of him made her heart quake, his deep voice, slow and sweet as summer honey, made her insides turn to mush … hot mush. She ought to be shivering in her undergarments like a proper blushing virgin instead of breaking out in a mystifying sweat.

      Still, it wasn’t until she tipped her head back to peer at his beard-shadowed face, until her gaze locked on lips framed by a dusky slash of mustache, that she felt the need to swoon.

      Even she, who considered swooning silly, thought it might be an appropriate course of action at this very point in time. Unfortunately, she hadn’t seen a fainting couch since she’d sneaked away from her mother’s parlor.

      “Ma’am?” His hand, muscular and calloused, and unlike any gentleman’s hand she’d ever seen, reached for her elbow.

      She must have swayed, even without a couch at hand. Mother would be pleased at that anyway.

      “You’re quite fascinat—” Muff growled, he snapped. Oh, gracious, she’d lost all sense of propriety. She pinched her fingers over Muff’s muzzle. “Yes—I’m fine … well, not exactly fine.”

      “Apparently.”

      His lips pressed together, looking as tight as her corset strings. His eyes darted over her inadequate attire. A flash of mischief turned his somber brown gaze to hot cocoa. Missy settled Muff squarely over her bosom.

      “You’ve got to catch that man!” She nodded toward the horizon. “He’s stolen Mr. Goodwin’s horse and an article of great importance to me.”

      Eyes so briefly warmed with humor turned cold. “He’ll pay for accosting you, ma’am. I’ll see to it.”

      He glanced west, glowering as though pursuing the cad with his eyes. A strand of ebony hair whipped loose from a ribbon at his nape and blew across his lips. He shoved it under the brim of his hat.

      “There’s nothing I’d like better than to run him down.” He looked at her. The anger flaring across his face faded to polite concern. “But there’s one hell of a storm ready to dump on us. There’s no time to fret over the garment he stole from you. You’ll be dressed quicker if I take you home.”

      Perhaps she should weep and moan at her state of undress. She supposed that’s what a well-brought-up young lady ought to do in this situation. Although, truth be told, she had never known anyone who had gotten into such a fix.

      Not a fix, Missy reminded herself, an adventure!

      “It was the cow that took my dress, not the man.” Missy shot a frown at the darkening prairie. “The man took something of much more value.”

      As if by reflex, he touched the gun slung in his holster. What a sight the weapon was, riding alongside his hip, so big and ferocious-looking.

      “You don’t have to say it out loud, miss, but if the outlaw has harmed you … if he’s taken … liberties, just nod your head and he’ll be dead by morning.”

      Outlaw? Dead by morning? Missy struggled to remember those exact words. When she got her journal back, with the inspired first chapter, she’d want to share every one of them with Suzie.

      “Oh, gracious! My … my virtue is doing quite well.” Why on earth were her breasts suddenly prickled with an odd tingle?

      His flaring eyebrows lifted, creasing his forehead in confused lines. The expression made him look almost sweet, in a big, bold, black sort of way.

      “This whole thing was Muff’s fault, actually, for getting muddy. I don’t suppose it was his fault that I slipped in the water, but then I don’t think you can blame a silly cow for anything.”

      Like a lightning flash, his mouth twitched up then jerked just as swiftly to a stern line.

      “I’m purely sorry for your misadventure, ma’am. I can’t say I understand it, but I’d better get you back to where you came from before pure hell breaks out of the sky.”

      “I