water was cold, but Rose, who’d taken plenty of cold baths in Mexico, was braced for the chill. Draping the towel on an overhanging tree limb, she dipped her hands in the water and began splashing herself.
The cool wetness felt delicious on her skin. Rose crouched, lowered her head, and let the water flow through her dusty hair. Clean, refreshed, and safe, she would sleep well tonight.
She’d nearly finished bathing when, from the far side of the creek, she heard the rustle of bushes and the unmistakable mutter of angry voices.
With a gasp of horror, she snatched the towel off the limb, flung it around her body, and dashed for the trailer.
* * *
Tanner had been patrolling the perimeter of the Prescott ranch, with plans to stop by and check on Rose, when he’d recognized Garn Prescott’s sleek black Porsche parked in the trees, twenty yards this side of the creek. The sight of the empty car had set off alarms in his head. If Ferg’s half-baked son had come to press his attentions on Rose, it wouldn’t be the first time. But damn it, it would be the last.
After dousing the lights and parking the ranch pickup at an angle to block the Porsche, Tanner had climbed out of the truck, closed the door with a quiet click, and walked forward in the direction of the creek.
Through the willows, he’d seen the outline of Garn Prescott. Garn’s back was toward him, his attention riveted on something in the creek.
Tanner’s mouth had gone dry as he realized what it was. Rose stood in the water. Her body, just visible in the first light of the rising moon was gloriously naked, her wet hair streaming down her back. Garn’s hands were in front of him. No question what he was doing.
“Turn around and zip your pants, boy.” Tanner’s voice was a low, menacing growl.
Garn flinched and turned around, fumbling with his fly. “You’ve got no business here, McCade. One word to my father and your job is toast.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tanner saw a pale flash as Rose grabbed a towel and raced out of sight. At least she was safe for now.
“And what would your father say if I told him what I found you doing here?” Tanner demanded.
“He’d laugh in your face. The woman’s fair game. He already gave me the go-ahead. Said I could even marry her if I wanted. Not that I would. She’s as common as dirt. Not much better than a whore. You think she didn’t know I was watching her? Hell, she was showing off.”
Tanner loomed over him, battling the urge to grab Garn by the scruff of the neck and slam his head against the hood of his fancy Porsche. Much as it would have given him pleasure, he was here to do a job, not beat up the boss’s son. “Is this what you do in your spare time? Sneak around and spy on women?” he growled. “Hell, you deserve to be tarred and feathered.”
“I didn’t plan this,” Garn said. “I just stopped by to see how she was doing, and this is what I found. You can’t blame me for enjoying the sight. You’d do the same, I’ll bet. And I’ll bet you want her, too.”
Tanner took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten. “I’m going to move the truck,” he said. “After I do, I want you to drive out of here. If I catch you bothering Rose again, so help me, I’ll—”
Tanner didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Garn’s grin said it all. As long as he was on his own property and not breaking the law, Ferg’s son could—and would—do whatever he damn well pleased.
Still fuming, Tanner backed the truck out long enough for Garn to roar away in his fancy-ass car. Then he parked again, climbed out of the truck, and headed across the creek.
Only then did he see the trailer. Nice, he thought. Bull hadn’t wasted any time getting Rose into a decent place to live. But right now his first concern was making sure she was all right.
He rapped lightly on the door and waited. There was no answer. After a moment he tried again. “Rose,” he called softly. “It’s me. It’s Tanner.”
He heard a footstep and the sound of a bolt sliding back. Slowly Rose opened the door. She was dressed in an old-fashioned flannel nightgown. Her hair hung around her shoulders in damp strings. Tears glimmered on her cheeks.
Something broke inside him. She was so hurt, so vulnerable.
“Oh, Rose . . .” he murmured, and gathered her into his arms.
He half expected her to resist him, but she stood quietly, trembling, as he stepped inside, pulled the door shut, and locked it with one hand. Standing in the darkness he simply held her, letting her tears soak into his shirt as he waited for her to speak.
“Was it Garn?”
“Who else? I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon. But you’ll need to be careful.”
She nodded. “I’m all right now,” she said.
“I don’t think you are, Rose. Let me stay awhile.”
When she didn’t answer, he led her into the front part of the trailer, which had built-in upholstered seating along the sides, and sat down, holding her on his lap. She nestled close, like a child seeking comfort.