The Rancher's Virgin Acquisition Read online

  The Rancher's Virgin Acquisition

  by

  Lynda Chance

  ****

  When the stagecoach that is carrying Emma Martin to her new job in Denver is attacked and robbed in the wilds of Colorado, she is the only survivor. Alone and terrified, she is rescued by Luke Butler, a rancher who knows only one way. His way.

  When Luke Butler finds Emma Martin, he has no other choice but to bring her back to his ranch. Soon, his life is turned upside down by a female who doesn’t know how to mind and who doesn’t know how to stay put.

  The battle that follows is a clash of wills, a test of tempers, and a lesson in love.

  KINDLE EDITION

  ***

  The Rancher's Virgin Acquisition

  Copyright © 2012 by Lynda Chance

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ****

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  ****

  Dedication

  To Anne Marie Novark,

  From baby dolls and boyfriends to raising kids and writing stories, you've always been a constant in my life. Where sisters are concerned, I hit the jackpot.

  And to Clayton,

  Thanks for turning the radio off, babe.

  ****

  Chapter One

  Luke Butler walked out of the General Store and looked at the sun already beginning to lower in the western sky. He knew if he was going to get back to the ranch before nightfall, he needed to get a move on.

  He strode to his wagon and began adding the provisions he had just purchased to the ones already taking up space in the conveyance.

  The trip into the small town of Burnet, Colorado was a monthly chore that had to be done. As much as he wanted to be self-sufficient on his ranch, there were some comforts the town offered that he continued to take advantage of: coffee, tobacco, and women, to name a few.

  He'd been here for a full day and night and was itching to get back home. He'd had his more personal needs attended to by one of the saloon girls the evening before, his banking business had been taken care of this morning, and the supplies he needed as well as what his housekeeper had requested were loaded and packed.

  Glancing up at the sky once again, he didn't expect rain but didn't want to take any chances. He was standing at the back of the wagon covering it with canvas with sure, quick movements when the sheriff approached him. Luke had lived in this part of Colorado most of his life; he knew the townspeople by sight, even if he hadn't spoken to them. Sheriff Reed Elgin he knew better than most and respected more than anyone else in town for his no-nonsense, tough as nails, yet honest approach.

  "The stagecoach is late," the lawman said without preamble as he came to a halt next to the wagon.

  Luke finished securing the strap, shoved his hat up and narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him as he zeroed in on the heart of the matter. "How late?"

  "Late. Four, five hours." The other man's voice was harsh; Luke could hear the worry bleeding through his tone.

  "Any reason to think it couldn't be routine trouble? Broken wheel? Bad axle?" Luke searched for another reason the stage could be late before allowing his mind to settle on what the sheriff probably had already figured out for himself.

  The other man glanced up and down the dusty street and stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and a frown blackening his already dark countenance. "I got a gut feeling, Luke. A bad one."

  "You already check to see if it left on time?" Luke asked.

  "Yeah, the telegram said it was on schedule. Even with a busted wheel or some such, it should be here by now."

  Luke studied the man who had turned back from perusing the street and was now facing him fully. Irritation trickled down his spine as he realized the stagecoach delay would cost him. Letting go of the idea of getting home before nightfall, he turned his attention to the innocent people on the stage who were being more inconvenienced than he was. If they were even still alive.

  Lifting himself away from the buckboard and standing to his full height, he sucked in a breath and asked the question any decent man would. "You need my help?"

  "I'd appreciate it. I need to spend what's left of the daylight I got rounding up some men to take with me come morning. I'll be heading out at first light with fresh horses and a new day to track the men that did this."

  Luke appraised the other man steadily. "You need me for the posse?"

  "I need you more tonight. If you'd head back to your ranch along the stage route until the fork at Silver Creek, that'd help. If there was an ambush, that's the probable place. It's a detour that'll cost you some time, but it'd make me feel better if we found any survivors tonight."

  Luke nodded his head in agreement, his mind already going to the problem at hand. "And if I find foul play or run into trouble?"

  "Shoot first and ask questions later," the other man responded in all seriousness.

  Luke swung up into the buckboard. "If I come across any survivors I'll put 'em up for the night and send one of my men to see you come sunrise."

  The sheriff gave Luke a grim look. "Chances of anybody being left alive are slim."

  Luke's muscles drew up tight as he acknowledged the truth in the other man's words. "You change your mind and decide you need me to come with you in the morning, you know where to find me."

  ****

  Emma Martin lay huddled in a small ravine beneath a rock outcropping with a rifle she didn't know how to use cradled in fingers that had gone numb long ago. Every few minutes she set the weapon aside just long enough to stretch her fingers and to keep the blood flowing.

  She was cold from what she recognized as shock, her body ached as never before and although she refused to dwell on it, she was scared to death.

  The sun had been a fiery ball of orange as it sank below the horizon some five minutes before. Now all that was left of the day was a vivid splash of purple and orange lining the clouds in the western sky.

  Had she ever watched the sunset from beginning to end? It was supposed to be a pleasant experience. Any other time it would have been a beautiful sight. But now the looming dark was just one more thing for her to fear. Now when she needed the sun, needed the daylight, seeing how quickly that burning circle had fallen over the horizon was an added trauma to her already lacerated emotions.

  It would be full-on dark soon, with only a crescent moon to light the dark night.

  She studied the stagecoach standing still and straight in the middle of the rutted path, its door listing open. And then her eyes tracked slowly back and forth, from the west toward the town they had been headed to, and then toward the south where the two men who had murdered the stagecoach driver had disappeared.

  How long before help would come? She'd been the only passenger after the last two people had departed at the previous stop.

  Now she was all alone in the middle of nowhere.

  Her injured leg pained her, the chill of the night was setting in, and the lifeless body of the driver was a sad and constant reminder of the destruction she had witnessed and the dire circumstance she was in.

  It had taken awhile for her to conquer her fear that the outlaws would come back and to climb down from the coach by herself without any steps to aid the process.
By the time she'd managed to check to see if she could help the poor driver, his body was already turning cold. She'd shut her eyes and said a quick prayer for his soul as she pried the rifle from cold, clammy fingers already turning stiff in death.

  She'd had to get away from the stage because she hadn't felt safe in the enclosed area. Anyone could have found her there and she would have made for an easy target. The thieves could come back. Any lawless person could trap her there and she'd have no protection.

  She'd felt open and exposed inside the stage, even though rationally, she knew it would have protected her from the elements more than being outside in the open.

  But she'd felt closed-in, trapped. So she'd taken the rifle, moved away from the site, and found the outcropping of rock that gave her a modicum of camouflage and shelter. It was the best she could do for now.

  She needed to be able to stand up and run if she had to, even while she knew she'd never be able to get anywhere quickly with her damaged leg.

  The injury she'd lived with for ten years was being felt in a new way today. Before it had always been a nuisance, an irritant that she carried with her. The limp she suffered slowed her down somewhat, and she had to suffer the looks of pity she saw on the faces of strangers.

  But today it was more than an inconvenience. Today it was stopping her from having the choice of walking out of here. It was reminding her she couldn't run if she needed to, and she couldn't begin to think about burying the body of the innocent man who had been gunned down.

  The ache in her leg was a reminder of her limitations. As much as she tried to deny it, as much as she tried to ignore it, it was now glaringly obvious she was hampered in a way another woman of her age wouldn't be.

  But there was no use dwelling on what she couldn't change.

  She had other things to focus on. Although she was terrified those men would change their minds about killing her and come back to finish the job, she had to push that thought from her mind because there were more immediate needs that concerned her.

  She would need water soon; she'd already seen a rattlesnake and now that night was falling, she could hear the coyotes in the distance. The howling of coyotes was altogether different when you were outside alone at night as opposed to being inside a snug house with a roaring fire.

  She briefly closed her eyes and let the soothing image of a house with a chimney and comfortable furniture calm her frayed nerves.

  Would she ever have such a comfort in her life again?

  Her eyes snapped open when the sound of the coyotes edged closer.

  As much as she hated to give into it, she'd have to get back in the stage and wait through the night. She couldn't spend the dark hours of the night out in the open, with no form of shelter. The situation was too dangerous. Already she was afraid she wouldn't be able to climb back up.

  She was about to begin the arduous task of picking herself up off the ground when she heard a different noise in the distance. The biting wind blew the sound in from the west or possibly the south, and fear churned an ugly knot in her belly and rose up in her throat.

  She hunkered down as far as she could manage and held the rifle as steady as she possibly could. Sharp rock fragments bit into her knees and thighs as she lay on her stomach and balanced herself on her elbows.

  She peeped over the top of the boulder and watched as a buckboard with a single male occupant come to a halt a good distance back. The light was fading fast and he was too far away for her to see him properly. She held herself completely still as he seemed to survey the scene.

  Gingerly, he lifted himself down until his feet were flat on the ground and pulled a pistol from his gunbelt. Slowly, he began to make his way closer to the stagecoach and closer to where Emma was hiding.

  He was tall and broad across the shoulders and held his pistol in a relaxed grip that was even more frightening for it.

  It was too dark and he was still too far away for Emma to see his eyes or much else about him except that he was tall. She could see that his hair was dark and even from this far she recognized his steely strength for what it was. As he made his way closer to the stagecoach, she felt the power coiled within his dark figure.

  More distress hit her. Was he friend or foe?

  If he chose to use that strength against her, she wouldn't stand a fighting chance. He exuded virility, and his calm attitude of self-command didn't seem disturbed by what he was seeing. There was a look of isolation about him, as if he was comfortable with only the wind and sky to keep him company. He was compelling to watch, and Emma knew that whether he was good or bad, the authority that reeked from his subtle movements would be almost impossible to fight.

  She stayed down low and as quiet as she could. Her pulse beat loudly and her breath came in fast inhalations that sounded harsh and ragged to her own ears. She tried to breathe evenly and continued to watch the stranger for a definitive sign of his intent.

  He moved sure but cautiously, first scanning the horizon for any movement. Then his eyes moved to the stagecoach and he glanced inside before going to the dead man whose lifeless body was still on the ground where he had fallen when he'd been shot.

  He crouched beside the driver and Emma knew he was looking for signs of life. Finding none, she watched as he calmly holstered his gun and took out a small pouch from his pocket and calmly began rolling a cigarette.

  She watched in horror as he showed no signs of emotion at the lifeless man as he calmly licked the paper, twisted the ends and struck a match on the wheel of the stage and lit the cigarette.

  Fear held her inert as she watched him cross one booted foot over the other, lean back against the stage and enjoy the tobacco as if the situation was an everyday occurrence. He was closer to her hiding place now, and Emma could see a little more about him. His face was like granite, with sun-tanned skin and a rugged profile that showed no hint of softness or warmth that she could make out. There was strength in the set of his shoulders and in the relaxed, confident way he seemed to enjoy the tobacco even in the face of the destruction around him.

  How could he possibly be that blasé about the scene around him if his intent was an honest one? She desperately wanted him to be a good and honest person, a person who would help her get out of here but she was still too terrified to trust that he wouldn't hurt her.

  She stayed still and didn't move while she watched him covertly as he casually smoked and stared at the horizon.

  Suddenly, his eyes turned to where she was hidden and stayed focused there.

  Terror hit her low in the belly even though Emma didn't think he could see her. Surely, he couldn't see her.

  She licked her lips and waited, the blood pounding a vicious tattoo through her veins.

  When he finished his cigarette, he lifted his hat off his head and smoothed his hair from his brow and repositioned it on his head with deceptively lazy satisfaction. He lifted himself from his semi-reclining position and stood to his full, muscular height.

  Her throat closed up in hysteria as his voice rang out, loud and harsh, "All right ma'am, you can come out now."

  Emma shut her eyes tight as a new wave of fear slid down her spine and coalesced in her stomach.

  He couldn't know she was hiding there. He was only guessing. He had to be.

  She wasn't coming out. She didn't trust him. She had absolutely no reason to trust him.

  "It's getting late. We need to get a move on. Let's go," he ordered in a harsh, implacable tone.

  Panic and confusion hit her in piercing streams as she tried valiantly to decide what to do.

  The decision was taken from her suddenly when his booted feet began moving swiftly in the direction of her hiding place as he seemed to lose all patience with the wait.

  In a lightning fast decision that she didn't remember making, she jumped up and swirled in a tangle of skirts and flying petticoats and tried her best to run.

  She hadn't been able to manage anything that resembled a run in a long, long time, but tha
t didn't stop her from trying now. Reaction, the need for flight, energized her and she had no control over her movements as her body took over from her brain and her only thought was to get away from him as fast as she could.

  ****

  Luke caught the woman easily. She hadn't taken more than three clumsy steps before his arms reached forward and wrapped around her from behind. Her legs kicked out and he protected himself just in time before a vicious kick from a small foot would have slowed him down and momentarily immobilized him. His quick movement protected his groin and his shin took the small hit she aimed in his direction.

  He sank one hand into her scalp and clenched her hair as he tried to gentle his movements. "I got you. You're safe," he tried to soothe.

  His assurance went unheeded and she began struggling immediately.

  "Let me go!" she shouted in a voice that was no doubt designed to get her way but didn't sway him from his intent in the least.

  "Stay still, I'm not going to hurt you," he reiterated more forcefully as his arms held tightly.

  She struggled against him. She wriggled and fought him, but she seemed to be saving her breath from demanding her release again when she probably knew it wasn't going to get her anywhere.

  He held tight and tried again, "Nobody's going to hurt you."

  She stomped on his foot and renewed her struggles.

  Luke was fast getting tired of this shit.

  His boot protected him from any pain she tried to deliver, but her squirmy little body was beginning to play havoc with his insides. He had expected a matronly woman from the abandoned needlework on the seat of the stagecoach and the drab colored clothing he could make out hiding in the brush. But matronly wasn't what he'd gotten. This woman was young and soft and as her curves thrashed against him, his sexual release from the night before became a distant memory. He felt his body harden violently against the tempting softness that struggled in his arms.

  He needed to subdue her and get her to quit fighting him before he forgot he was supposed to be acting like a gentleman. "Lady, you best cease this shit this instant and let me help you before I decide to drag you to the ground and give you the butt-whupping you probably deserve."