Cowboy to the Max. Rita Herron

      Chapter Four

      Carter raced down the hall, wielding his gun, his senses honed for trouble. He hesitated at the door to the room where Sadie slept and cocked his head listening for…the sound of a man inside? Footsteps? A man’s voice?

       “No, stop…please,” Sadie cried. Then a thrashing sound and something hit the floor. A lamp?

       A second later, another bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. This one was filled with pain and terror.

       He jiggled the door, but it was still locked. How the hell had the man gotten in?

       His heart drummed with panic, and he slammed his body against the wooden frame. The thin, rotting wood splintered, and he braced himself and hit it again with all his weight, so hard his shoulder wrenched.

       He didn’t care, though. He had to get inside.

       The force of the impact cracked the edging and the door burst open. Darkness bathed the room, but his gaze flew to the bed where Sadie was thrashing. A tiny sliver of moonlight sliced through the ratty sheers and broke the darkness, allowing him just enough visibility to search for the predator.

       But the window was closed. The room empty, except for Sadie.

       Pulsing with sweat, he blew out a relieved breath as he realized she was in the throes of a nightmare.

       Shoving his gun into his waistband, he scanned the room again then jerked open the closet door just to make certain an intruder wasn’t hiding inside.

       “Stop, please, no…”

       Sadie’s tormented cry wrenched his gut, and he shot a quick glance below the bed, confirming there was no one underneath. Then he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her and reached out a hand to wake her.

       “Sadie, honey, wake up,” he murmured. “You’re dreaming. You’re safe now.”

       “No, don’t.” She threw up her hands and fists and hit him, obviously trying to fend off her attacker.

       He gritted his teeth at the sight of her half naked in his shirt, willing his libido in check as the edges gaped open. His gaze fell to the puckered scar at the center of her chest, and he cursed.

       She was reliving that night she’d been attacked....

       Damn that bastard.

       She kicked him, her ragged breathing punctuating the silence. His throat thickening, he stroked her arm and reminded himself he had to treat her with kid gloves. She was terrified and had been abused.

       “Sadie,” he said softly.

       A guttural sound tore through the air as she shoved at the covers. Then she shifted sideways and lunged upward as if she was going to run. She made it halfway off the bed when he caught her by both arms and pulled her to him. Her body was trembling, her breathing labored, her hands clammy as she gripped his arms.

       “Shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here with you.”

       She tried to jerk away again, but he shook her gently. “Wake up, Sadie. It’s me, Carter.”

       She stopped thrashing momentarily as his voice registered, although her body went stone still. He cradled her face between his hands, determined to break her out of the terror gripping her. “You’re just having a nightmare.”

       Sadie’s eyes flicked open, and she stared at him with a glazed look, as if she had no idea where she was or what was happening.

       But the terror in her face at the sight of him made his gut tighten.

       “Let me go,” she said in a voice so haunted that he released her immediately.

       He held his hands up indicating he meant her no harm, but she shuddered anyway. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sadie. You were screaming, having a bad dream.”

       She glanced down at her nightshirt where it gaped open at the top, then at the splintered door where he’d broken it and shock settled across her features. “I’m sorry I…woke you.”

       His gaze locked with hers. “No problem. I’m a light sleeper.” He shrugged. “A habit I picked up in prison. Always had to be alert.”

       Pain drew her face into a frown, then her gaze lifted to his scarred cheek. Self-consciously he rubbed a finger across it. He’d never considered himself a handsome guy, but before prison he hadn’t been hideous, either. At least he hadn’t scared little children and old women.

       “Ugly, I know.”

       “I guess we both have scars,” she said softly. “They’ve changed us.”

       “Maybe.” But she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

       Her tender voice stirred memories of the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She had been wearing a turquoise-and-red Navajo skirt with a red blouse and sandals, her black hair hanging in a long braid down her back, turquoise earrings dangling from her earlobes. The other men in the bar had all been ogling her, muttering obscene comments, talking dirty.

       He had wanted to knock their teeth out.

       Because he’d wanted her for himself. But not just because he knew she’d be the hottest sex he’d ever had.

       There had been something more to her. A deep, reserved, quiet kind of beauty that had triggered his lust but also his admiration. She wasn’t like the other girls he’d known in high school, snotty and materialistic, women who’d looked down on him as the trailer-trash troublemaker.

       No, Sadie had looked at him as if she saw something good in him. As if she saw beneath his hard surface to the man he wanted to be.

       He cleared his throat, the memory of having her in his bed returning to taunt him. He had loved her with his mouth and hands and body once and brought her to ecstasy. In fact, she had screamed with pleasure.

       And he had moaned her name as he’d come inside her.

       He balled his hands into fists. She was the last woman he’d made love to before his freedom had been ripped away. And even though he’d hated her for not stepping forward to clear him, as he’d lain on that brick-hard cot every night in prison he’d fantasized about making love to her again.

       Only now his touch made her cringe with horror.

       She wrapped her arms around herself, jerking her nightshirt tightly to her, then glanced at the table where her derringer lay. “You broke in?”

       Frustration slammed into Carter. But the image of that scar flashed in his mind, and he knew Sadie deserved to be skeptical.

       Dammit. He had to be patient. And he had to protect her.

       “Because you were screaming,” Carter said, intentionally lowering his voice. “I thought the guy who shot at us had broken in.” He gestured toward the sheers. “Maybe through the window.”

       Her gaze darted to the window then back to him, her big, dark eyes searching his face as if she was trying to decide whether to trust him. Whether to believe him.

       He suddenly wanted that trust more than anything he’d wanted in a long time.

       Almost as much as he wanted his damn freedom.