Dare the Devil Page 2

  Twenty-four eyes widened in further amazement watching as the huge, dark gray, fur-covered mammoth proceeded to use his head as a battering ram to topple a twenty-foot aspen. The bull’s stomach rumbled noisily all the while his six-foot trunk calmly began to strip the branches and place them in his mouth.

  “Where in hell did it come from?” Nate hissed.

  “Billy’s beast is set to celebrate his ten thousandth birthday,” Thor countered, laying a calming hand against this horse’s neck. “Steady there, boy. I –.”

  “Boss! Look up there!” Buck Taylor’s undertone crackled with excitement as he pointed two hundred yards up at the limestone precipice. “That cat! Those -- those teeth!”

  Scrambling for the binoculars, Thor raised them for a closer look. “I’ll be damned.” He turned to Nate. “That’s a saber-toothed tiger.”

  “Saber-toothed?” The foreman grabbed for the glasses. “If you’re funnin’ me, Thor, I’ll …” Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed in amazement. “Holy shit! I ain't never seen a cat that size. Must be,” he licked his lips and adjusted the focus for a sharper image, “four hundred pounds. And look at those curved canines!”

  Thor’s blue eyes narrowed in critical evaluation of all they had seen. “Something just doesn’t wash here. First the knee-deep fog, then the woolly mammoth, now we have a forty million-year-old saber-toothed cat. I just don’t buy that we’ve stumbled into a time warp.”

  Nate suddenly strangled on his tobacco juice. “I’ll be double damned. What about her? What about the naked female savage up there with the tiger!”

  A forceful yank brought the binoculars back to Thor’s eyes.

  If the sun and too much lunch hadn’t rendered her heavy with sleep, she would have heard them sooner. Now it was too late. A dozen men, horses in tow, had already mounted the precipice, cutting off any escape.

  She had no place to run.

  Her only alternative was to stand her ground and wait until the rest of her group returned. They couldn’t be much longer. Hell, they were already two hours overdue. All she had to do was stall and she did have an edge. The fingers of her right hand locked around the thong collar that circled the big cat’s muscular neck.

  Smiling slightly and listening to her powerful companion purr, she doubted any of these men had nerve enough to get too close. But if they tried, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She knew exactly what to say and do to make the tawny feline go from purring cat to snarling tiger.

  The men were now only twenty feet away. A silent battle ensued. She stared at them. They stared at her. Astonishment, incredulity, and intrigue chased themselves over assorted sun-bronzed masculine faces.

  She decided to play dumb. Let them make the first move. Perhaps keep them guessing, keep them wondering, keep them off-balance – just until the others arrived.

  Her inherent sense of self-preservation and survival took over. She judged each man individually, assessing her own odds. The three teenage boys were quickly dismissed. Her eyes gauged the others. They varied in age from mid-twenties to sixties. Bodies matched faces – tough and strong, courtesy of hard, physical labor. She knew she could disable six of the wranglers rather quickly.

  Her gaze shifted to the man leading a wild-eyed buckskin stallion. Despite the fact that no one had violated the silence, she did not doubt that he was the boss. While the black hat he was wearing cast a shadow on his face, she easily recognized an unmistakable air of self-confidence and authority. It showed in his powerful build, in his walk and his impressive carriage.

  And if such nicely packaged masculine charms had been displayed in any other place and under any other circumstances, she would have been the first one to show appropriate feminine appreciation. But this was not the right time or the right place.

  She did, however, notice a subtle change in a few of the younger cowboys. It was her fault, she quickly acknowledged. The silence had gone on too long. While she had been assessing them, they had been assessing her. Caution and disbelief had been replace by that old hormonal curse, lust.

  When she saw leers slant half-dozen lips, her thumb, and forefinger pressed into the cat’s neck. His wide mouthed, fanged snarl immediately sent the horses into hysterics and restored more respectful expressions on the men’s’ faces.

  Her victory, however, was brief. One minute later she heard the distinct snap of a bolt-action repeating rifle and found three of them aimed at the cat and a fourth at her.

  “Hold it, boys.” Thor stepped between the guns and their targets. “Let’s keep calm. Buck, pull the horse’s way back. All right, relax, everybody. There’s no need to get trigger happy.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t understand English, Thor,” Nate piped, observing her moccasins. “Let me try some Blackfeet.” He cleared his throat and offered, “Kokipi sni menuah.”

  Thor exhaled a painful groan. “Nate! I don’t think ‘do not fear, let’s take a bath’ is very appropriate!“

  With one eye on the men, she lowered her chin and tried hard to control the laughter that threatened to bubble forth. Her left hand made a graceful gesture that shielded her smile and then moved on to straighten the bear-claw necklace at her throat.

  The instant the man called Thor advance two more steps toward her, she stiffened in wary attention. Fingers tightened on the cat’s leather collar, her left hand dropping against the ivory handle of the knife sheathed in her loincloth.

  Suddenly, Thor found himself facing two predators. He didn’t miss the lethal quality in her taut, ready-for-combat stance. Neither had the saber-toothed cat. A growl rolled in his throat; powerful haunches were tensed for attack.

  Still, the closer he got, the more certain he became that all was not what it appeared to be. “Seems we’ve got a Mexican standoff here.” His deep voice was calm as he used slow and careful movements to take off his hat. “No one has to get hurt.”

  Thor knew she could understand every word. The animals appeared prehistoric but the lady certainly wasn’t. She was, he decided, a rather haute couture savage. Little concessions to feminine accoutrements gave her away, like the scent of skillfully blended perfume that drifted on the breeze and the mauve tinting that glossed her full lips. Then there was her hair – a tawny mix of platinum and gold waves, curls, and precision-cut layers that swirled in elegant dishevelment around her bare shoulders.

  She might as well have been naked. Her wearing apparel left little to the imagination. High, rounded full breasts were individually encased in chamois triangles hooked together by leather strips; the same laces secured a loincloth that bared sinuous thighs and sleek hips.

  His gaze lingered an appreciative extra minute on her bronzed, supple body and then returned to study her face. Thor was surprised to find how easy he became a prisoner of her eyes, eloquent eyes that were soft and full of character and intelligence. Almond shaped, slightly slanted, with dark blue irises that were made mysterious by a fringe of jet lashes that looked natural despite the obvious contrast with her leonine coloring.

  He liked the confident way she held her head and how the sun-gold curls that tumbled onto her forehead defied the leather headband. There was roundness about her face that was soft, inviting and he instinctively knew that his little finger would fit perfectly in the cleft of her chin.

  Surprised at harboring such an intimate thought, Thor took a step back but his gaze was locked onto hers. “I’d really appreciate an explanation of all this. You, the hairy elephant, and the cat with the overbite are not the norm in Montana. So anytime you’d like to begin …”

  She really wished he had never spoken. The deep, husky whisper of his voice caused her breath to quicken. She also wished he hadn’t removed his hat. Now that his features were readily visible, she found agreeable sensations flooding her veins.

  He had a head like a Norse god. Thick dark brown curly hair brushed up and back from his face. A face weathered by experience. A nice face. A very, very nice face, she mentally corrected. His physical features were bot
h strong and gentle. Wide-set ice-blue eyes, large cheekbones, nice nose, and a fierce chin and jawline. She had always been a sucker for a mustache and his grew thick over a sensuous top lip.

  He had a body that was impossible to ignore, so she gave up trying. Her gaze wandered up and down a six-foot-plus physique that was the epitome of strength and vigor, displayed to full advantage in jeans and a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up to mid-arm. The leather gun holster that slung low on his lean hips gave him an aura of danger that she found rather enticing.

  Her relaxed appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed by either the man or the large cat. The latter proved to be her undoing. His mouth opened not to snarl but to emit a long, loud, kittenish yawn. The tiger rolled over, rubbed his back and shoulders into the ground, his hind legs spread-eagled, yawned again, and pawed sleepily at his face. To the amazement of everyone, his sword-like canine teeth fell out.

  “Damn it, Pumpkin, why couldn’t you have just growled!”

  “Pumpkin?” Thor blinked. “Pumpkin!” Ragged, sun-bleached eyebrows drew together. “That tiger's name is –“

  “Pumpkin,” she supplied, her mouth tilting with humor. “By the way, the hairy elephant is just that.”

  “I suppose his name is Jumbo?’

  “No, Ramon.” Her eyes grew bright and, after placing two fingers between her lips, she let loose with an earsplitting whistle. The furry pachyderm responded with an equally deafening wail that sent the horses into a frenzy.

  Thor crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “Well, that gives me two out of three names. What about you?”

  “Cam Stirling,” she extended her hand. “You are Thor –“

  “Luthor Devlin.” He wasn’t quite sure why he formalized his name, except the childhood nickname seemed too frivolous to say to a woman with such a firm grip.

  She studied him for a long moment, liking a little too much what she saw. “I think Thor fits you so much better.” Her eyelid lowered in a slow wink. “The reigning god of thunder and lightning, the ruler of the sky and this is Big Sky country.”

  Realizing he was still holding her hand, Thor released it, cleared his throat, and tried to establish a more serious vein of conversation. “I’d like some answers.”

  “I’ll just bet you have some great questions.” Abruptly, Cam realized that there were more than just two people on the limestone cliff. She watched the other men move closer and raised her voice. “There isn’t any need for those rifles.” Her posture became defensive. “My friend is quite gentle.” To prove her point, she dropped to her knees, rubbed the big cat’s massive chest until he began to purr, and then playfully tweaked his nose.

  “What in hell’s goin’ on here?” Nate demanded, shoving through the muttering queue. He squinted at the utterly relaxed, obviously contented animal. “Why, he’s nothin’ but a goll dang pussycat!”

  Cam smiled up at the foreman. “He’s an overgrown cougar but with the help of a good set of dentures,” she opened the animal’s massive jaw and replaced the foot-long canines, “and a snarl he’s been practicing for three months, Pumpkin’s a sabre-toothed tiger.” She stood up in one graceful movement. “All it takes is magic.”

  “Magic?” Nate scratched his stubbled jaw. “Why and what for?”

  “Movie magic,” came Thor’s calm interjection.

  Turning her head, Cam discovered he’d moved close to her side. “That’s right. Both of my friends are movie stars. As a matter of fact, I’m sure you’ve seen Pumpkin in quite a few TV commercials and on billboards. He sells suntan lotion and cars.”

  “Is all this for one of them TeeVee commercials?” The lanky foreman inquired.

  She shook her head. “No, we’re –“

  “Movies.” Billy blurted. “I bet you’re here making a movie. Are you the star?”

  “Yes and no.” Before she could explain further, another new sound assaulted the group’s ears. The whirling single rotor blade of a helicopter walloped the air. As the chopper hovered over the escarpment, the winds from the wing sent dirt and gravel upward off the ground, and made the horses go wild in fright. Cam immediately raised her hand in an all clear signal, then motioned the pilot toward the clearing below.

  She turned toward Luthor Devlin and did something she had wanted to do from the first moment – touch him. “Your poor horses have had quite a scare today.” Her left hand settled comfortably on his right forearm; his taut flesh was warm and very masculine.

  Thor looked from her hand to her eyes. “It’s been an interesting day all around.” He made no attempt to liberate his arm. Instead, he found pleasure in her touch. “I’m still a little confused as to what’s going on here.”

  Cam reacted with surprise. “The memo that went out from your forest supervisor was quite clear.”

  “Memo?”

  “Yes, to all the rangers. We do have the proper permits and I know Jack is giving credit to the Glacier National Park at the end of his film.”

  “I hate sounding like an echo,” Thor responded evenly, “but who the hell is Jack?”

  “Jack Kenyon, Kenyon Productions.” She gave an encouraging little smile. “He won three Oscars last year for his syfy epic.”

  Thor shook his head, then grinned at her musical sigh.

  “Perhaps Bridget Lawson might ring a few bells.”

  “Bridget Lawson. Hmmm…if I’m not mistaken there are at least three of her posters hanging in the bunkhouse.”

  “How nice to discover that your men are art lovers!”

  “What can I tell you,” came his lazy rejoinder. Thor patted her hand then left his on top hers. “She’s nailed right up there next to all the Monet’s and Picasso's.”

  Cam took a step closer, her feet straddling one heavily scuffed brown boot. “Well, Bridget is the star of Jack’s latest movie and by the enthusiastic sounds coming from your men, she and Kenyon must have stepped into full view.” Looking over his shoulder, she waved at four new arrivals and shouted, “I’ll be right down.”

  Thor’s hand caught and held her wrist. He didn’t like her breaking contact. “So, you’re not the star?”

  Her blond hair whipped back and forth across her bare shoulders. “Nope. She’s the star.” Cam was surprised when he still didn’t turn around. Surprised and pleased.

  “And you?”

  “I’m the action technician.” She saw his right eyebrow rise and sighed. “Stunt woman.”

  “What’s the name of this little epic?”

  “Empress of Armageddon.” Tapping his fingers free of her hand, Cam called the cat to attention by her side. “Now, I really must report to my boss.” Her soft eyes grew lustrous. “I’ll introduce you after you make the long –" she lengthened the word, “— climb down.”

  Seconds later, Thor and his ranch hands watched in rapt fascination as Cam Stirling did anything but laboriously climb down the rugged face of the escarpment. What had taken the men at least a dozen panting, sweat-ladened minutes, she accomplished in less than five. It was as if there were no jagged limestone folds or scoured rock surfaces.

  She duplicated the cat, not just in coloring but in sinuous grace. Cam traveled fluid-smooth and nimble down the steep, stratified slopes. Her movements were agile and lithe and possessed the style and elegance of a prima ballerina.

  “She’s as sure a’ foot as a mountain goat,” Nate commented, putting a fresh chaw of tobacco into his mouth.

  Thor hadn’t realized how long he’d been holding his breath until he tried to speak and found himself gasping. He swallowed hard. “More like a gazelle.”

  Nate expelled a thin stream of tobacco juice. “So, what d’ya think?”

  “I’m trying not to.” With that insouciant comment, he pulled his hat brim low on his forehead, grabbed his horse’s reins, and slowly carefully headed down the rock-strewn crag.

  Jack quickly scratched out another notation – replenish the fog – before snapping his producer’s logbook closed. “Very, very nice, Cam, bu
t you should have saved all that graceful energy for when the cameras roll.” He looked beyond her to the parade of men and horses maneuvering slowly down the cliff. “Hell, don’t tell me a ranger brought a tourist group over for the afternoon. Dammit, we don’t have time to nursemaid visitors. Hell’s bell’s, can’t anyone read –“

  Cam placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “They didn’t know a thing about the memo, Jack. Apparently, they were out riding, blundered right in, and got the shock of their lives seeing Pumpkin and Ramon.” She patted and praised the big cat, then smiled at the blond actress who had moved to join the producer. “Your posters seem to be quite popular with those men, Bridget.”

  “At least they have excellent taste!” Bridget Lawson lowered oversized sunglasses to peer at the encroaching group. “Let’s not be rude to an adoring public, Jack. After all, they’re the ones who’ll be spending money to see me in your latest.”

  Jack took off his Pirate’s baseball cap, used a handkerchief to blot the sweat from his baldhead and bushy black beard, and then took a deep breath. “Okay, ladies let’s go make nice-nice with the crowd and then walk through the new changes while we wait for the three other choppers to bring the cast, crew, and equipment.”

  After leaving the cat with his trainer for some makeup repairs and water, Cam made the necessary introductions. “Jack Kenyon, Bridget Lawson, this is Luthor Devlin.”

  The two men shook hands, sizing each other up in that brief moment. Jack had to crane his neck an extra eight inches to look Thor in the eyes. “Cam told me how you stumbled onto our set and –"

  “And, we’d love to have you stay and watch our afternoon shoot,” Bridget inserted smoothly, her coquettish nature surging to the surface once she looked at Thor’s handsome face.

  His gaze shifted to locate Cam Stirling. She had settled quite comfortably on a nearby boulder, one shapely leg swinging in time to silent music, her mouth tilted in a smile. Thor’s gaze again returned to Bridget Lawson. At first glance, the two women could indeed pass for identical twins, except for the height difference. But to Thor’s eyes, the differences were highly pronounced.