Colt by Georgina Gentry

something to help the poor thing.”
    Colt saluted again and dug his heels into the big blood bay. He’d make her think twice before she took his horse again. After what he’d gone through to rescue her, she repaid him by stealing Rascal. As he rode through the gate, he imagined turning her across his knee and spanking her. No, he couldn’t do that. She wasn’t his to spank, and besides, her husband should be arriving soon to take her away. As much trouble as she was, Colt would be glad to see her gone.
    As he rode through the night at a slow lope, Colt remembered the scent of her when he’d danced with her. She didn’t wear fancy perfume like Olivia. She just smelled clean and warm, and her yellow hair had been soft as corn silk when he pressed his face against it. And she’d just fit into his arms like she belonged there. He gritted his teeth and swore. Yes, she’d pulled at his emotions at the dance, evidently plotting to sneak out, steal his horse, and ride away only a couple of hours later. So much for trusting women.
    Colt rode a long time, stopping now and then to rest his horse, and once to pour water out of his canteen into his hat to give the horse a drink. He looked up at the dark sky, trying to guess the time of night. About a half mile up ahead was a pile of rocks that might intersect where she would come riding by. Since Colt had taken a shortcut, he could be there ahead of her. They were still miles from where the Comanche liked to camp. If he was lucky, he would be waiting for her when she came along.
    He rode to the pile of rocks and dismounted, let the horse graze while he watched the trail. Maybe she hadn’t come this way or maybe he had missed her. By now, she might be almost anywhere. He started to roll a cigarette, then remembered she had been among the Indians a long time. Hannah might be able to smell the scent of burning tobacco. Living among the Indians taught a person a lot.
    He leaned against the boulder and listened for the sound of hoofbeats. What would he do if he missed her? Let her go back to the Comanche and be damned, he thought, but he wanted his horse back. After a while, he thought he heard the rhythmic pounding of a horse’s hooves coming up the trail. He grabbed his mount’s muzzle to keep it from nickering a welcome. Now as he peered around the boulders, he could see her coming, a small lean silhouette on a mustang, riding at an easy lope. He waited until she was almost to the boulders, and then he stepped out, pistol in hand. “Halt or I’ll shoot!”
    Any other woman would have reined in, but this damned feisty girl reined around him, dug her heels in Rascal’s sides, and went around Colt, leaving him standing in the dust looking after her.
    â€œDamn you!” Colt mounted up and took after her. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
    Instead, she rode faster.
    He’d never catch the mustang in the long run. Instead he yelled, “Rascal!” And whistled long and loud.
    The mustang slid to a halt and the girl went over his head. Colt dismounted and ran to her. “Serves you right! Are you hurt?”
    She came up fighting tooth and nail, clawing at him as he tried to help her up.
    Any other woman would be nursing her bruises and weeping, but Hannah stood her ground and fought him as he helped her to her feet. “Let go of me! Let me go!”
    â€œYou little wench! You stole my favorite horse!”
    He had his arms around her, but she wasn’t giving up and it was like hanging onto a bobcat. Now they both went down, rolling in the dirt as they fought. She was slender, but big-breasted, and she kicked at him with those long legs as he managed to pin her against the ground. “Give up, Hannah. You can’t win.”
    In answer, she reached over and bit his wrist hard.
    â€œDamn!” He turned her loose and she tried to get out from under him, but his weight held her down. She lay there with her