Renegade Widow

Hands worked at the back of his head, and the cloth was stripped from his eyes. He blinked. He had been in the dark so long even the dim light of the stable half blinded him. A man’s groin filled his vision, and he took in a mighty bulge framed by long-fingered hands. Thumbs curled over a gun belt slung low over lean hips. Another shiver took him. Another kind of fear.
El Salvaje.
He was young, perhaps five and twenty, but El Salvaje had a fearsome reputation gained from a decade on the frontier. A ruthless opponent, swift and deadly accurate with a six shooter. A fearless lawman who counted no cost.
And, as Cord knew all too well, seasoned in cruelty.
Mexican bandits had bestowed the nickname out of both dread and respect, and its English translation—’the wild one’—failed to capture the essence of its meaning. But though he was known far and wide as El Salvaje, the man was a gringo, with fair skin tanned by a life spent outdoors, golden hair falling in ordered waves past mighty shoulders.
A hand wound into Cord’s hair and pulled. Looking up at his captor as a suppliant, Cord was blinded by a flash on the silver star mounted on the broad chest. A chest he had long envied. Admired. Only this morning, the man had been chopping wood in his own yard, shirtless. Unaware of Cord’s scrutiny, he plied his ax with practised ease and, when his task was done, poured a bucket over himself to wash off the sweat and dust. Water had cascaded down that magnificent chest, running in rivulets over ridges of muscle, peaking his nipples with its cold caress.
Another sharp tug on his hair—a command. Obediently, Cord met his captor’s pale eyes. Hard as diamonds, cold as ice. They bored through Cord until he feared their owner could see his very thoughts.
“Cordero Aldana de Rivera.” El Salvaje’s voice was a provocative growl. “I’ve waited a long time to catch you red-handed.”
“I have done nothing wrong,” snarled Cord, determined to show a brave face. “Those cattle had no brands. They belong to no one.”
“All unmarked cattle belong to Señor Lopez. You know this. You know the price a cattle thief must pay.”
“I am no thief, I stole nothing,” said Cord hotly. “Just because Lopez says a thing does not make it true. Those cattle are not his, any more than the sun or the sky.”
El Salvaje gave a low laugh. “When Señor Lopez says a thing, it’s invariably true, boy. That’s a lesson you’d do well to learn.”
“You are the deputy sheriff of Maraña, not Lopez’s lackey. Or perhaps you are content to lick his boots.”
Even as he spoke, Cord braced himself. The crack across his face rocked him in his bonds. His cheek stung, his ears rang, but the blow was playful. A mere promise of things to come. Had the lawman hit him with his full strength, Cord’s jaw would have been broken.
The hand was in his hair again, yanking his head up. A long finger traced the involuntary tear that trickled from Cord’s eye.
“I should make an example of you. But you’re far too pretty to hang.” El Salvaje came close and warm breath enveloped Cord’s face. He trembled. “So what am I going to do with you, Cordero Aldana?”
“You could untie me and let me go,” said Cord boldly. “And give me my clothes back. No doubt you have enjoyed staring at my ass,” he added with a sneer.
“Have I?” drawled the lawman. “You should be more careful where you choose to swim, boy. Can’t hardly outrun justice without your boots. Alas, you’ll be in nothing but your skin a while yet. Your belongings are by the river where you left them.”
Cord bit his lip. “Am I to go mother-naked through the town to fetch them? You will at least give me a blanket to cover myself.”
El Salvaje laughed, a sound that made Cord’s whole body quiver.
“So I’m to just let you go? Ain’t that a sublime impertinence. But then, you always did have a mouth full of sass.”
Unable to see any other way out, Cord buried his pride. “I—I shall give the cattle to Lopez,” he said through stiff lips. “I will not take any more that I see roaming. This I swear.”
“As gratified as I am to see you so penitent, Señor Lopez ain’t going to take too kindly to you getting off scot-free.” The lawman’s hands curled around his thick belt, his forefingers casually pointing down. “You got to make it worth my while.”
Straining his neck, Cord met those implacable eyes once more. Laughter was in them, but also something else. Something hot and demanding that stole Cord’s breath and stoked the heat simmering in his belly. His eyes dropped to the strong legs, clad snugly in black wool. To the growing mound between them. The lawman rubbed it in obscene suggestion, teasing it to swell even larger. With his other hand, he tilted Cord’s chin up, trailing a thumb across Cord’s parted lips.
“No!” Cord, recoiled as far as his bonds would allow. “No, I will never do that. Not even if you hang me for it.”
“No?” El Salvaje clicked his tongue. “Can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that.”
The lawman undid his gun belt, sliding off his holster and laying it aside. Strolling behind Cord, he made a loop with the belt. Shivering, Cord waited. Fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, hauling his head back.
He licked dry lips. “Wait,” he rasped. “I—I can be reasonable.”