muscular neck.
Diablo went wild, the encircling rope nearly pulling Trace from the saddle. Both horses almost stumbled and fell. The mustang’s screams filled the night, reminding Trace of the first time he’d brought the horse down. Certainly, Diablo’s rider was having a hard time keeping astride. What could be driving them to such acts of painful desperation?
“Hold, you black imp of Satan!” Trace commanded, winding the rope around his saddle horn to keep Diablo from pulling it out of his hand. The stallion puffed visible breath from flared nostrils, tossed his head, mane flying. He did not slow his flight, however.
Trace reeled in the horse until he could reach out and pull Diablo’s rider out of the saddle and across his lap. He growled, staring into the face that had haunted his dreams. “Bitch. I ought to wring your pretty neck. You’ve got a lot of answering to do.”
Chapter Six
D espite her struggling, which was about as wild as the stallion’s, Trace held Mae fast. And, like when he’d gentled the stallion the first time, he allowed her to get the fight out of her system.
It wasn’t easy. His blood ran hot because of the horse. Diablo has been abused, nearly driven mad, all because of Mae’s selfish actions. Trace was having a hard time reining in his fury. Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth and allowed her to fight. But then holding her became harder for other reasons.
The feel of her in his arms, the heat of her body so close to his, plus that wiggling around on his lap, began a fiery ache in his loins. That sexual need was fed by his anger. Diablo’s misuse made him heartsick, made him want to lash out in punishment, but the rest of him wanted to throw Mae down and worship her like a goddess. Such a terrible mix of emotions riddled him that he scarcely dared trust what he might do next.
“Quit that!” he snapped, shaking her. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you’re going to hurt yourself, maybe usboth, if you don’t stop struggling. Your damn willfulness has already cost my stallion. That wound in your shoulder is too new to stand this strain. You’re going to open it again.”
“Let go!” the woman raged.
“Enough! It’s me, Trace Ord. You stole my horse, remember? I can’t say he’s fared well because of it.”
She whimpered, and her blows softened, shifting to two stiffarms that kept him at a distance.
“That’s better,” he said. “This is your fault. You wouldn’t be having these troubles if you’d confided in me when I asked you, instead of sneaking off with my horse in the dead of night. You proud of what happened to Diablo? Do you even give a damn?”
“I never harmed your horse,” she sobbed.
“No, you just stole him for your rustler friend,” he retorted. “I’m going to use that damn bullwhip on him. Bet on it, lady.”
“I wouldn’t harm any horse,” she defended.
“Your actions caused my horse to suffer. He’s near mad from the treatment. But we’ll get to that. Like I said at our last meeting, you’ve got some explaining to do. Now, I’m going to put you down. If you run, I’ll only catch you, so don’t waste the effort. Run and I’ll lasso you like I would a heifer.”
Trace slid her to the ground and swung out of his saddle, but his feet had scarcely hit dirt before she bolted. Quickly tying both horses to a dead cactus, Trace gave chase. His long-legged stride ate up the distance, and finally he grabbed her. They crashed to the ground with a hard thud, damn near knocking the air from his lungs as he bore the brunt of their fall. He rolled until he hadher pinned under him. She still struggled, but the fight was almost out of her.
“Don’t you…get it, you hellcat…?” he panted. “You’re no match for me. Don’t make me hog-tie you. I will if I have to. I’m fed up to the gills with this nonsense.”
“Let me go!” she almost wailed.
“Where? Where will you go? There’s nothing for miles except the Outpost. You
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