Rancher Dragon, Terry Bolryder [acx book reading TXT] 📗

Beck again, eyes wild, canines flashing in the light of the campfire.

Beck just righted his Stetson and looked over at her. Their eyes met for a moment over the dwindling flames, and she felt a rush of something cool and warm at the same time, even as the calloused hand that had her arm trapped tightened.

Then Beck looked up at the man behind her, and his expression turned cold. Like rock, indomitable and stubborn, with a fury in his eyes that made Sierra really wonder what kind of life had shaped such a uniquely terrifying person.

Beck, who’d seemed amused by the fight a moment ago, strode toward them with quick, direct movement. A Copperhead attacked him from the side, and Beck didn’t even look over as his fist moved of its own accord, blasting through the guy’s cheek and sending him twisting in an almost comical spiral before collapsing onto the ground.

She’d almost be more scared of Beck moving toward them like a rolling boulder than the guy holding her back if she didn’t feel that utter calmness soothe her insides at the same time, making her feel somehow safe in spite of the glinting rage that sparked in Beck’s gaze as he fought off another Copperhead on his way toward them.

The man behind her audibly gulped and immediately let her go, moving to the side. She turned to see him raising his hands, eyes wide, but Beck just glowered at him.

“I don’t go easy on anyone that lays their hands on a woman.” Beck cracked his knuckles as his fist cocked back. “Especially when she’s under my protection.”

“Screw you, Beck,” the man spat with a nasty frown that was interrupted by a hit that sounded like a two-ton trailer crashing into a concrete wall.

The man careened backward, and Sierra wondered if her eyes were working right or if it was just the adrenaline and the low light of the campfire making her think that someone could possibly fly twenty feet in the air before hitting the hard ground.

There was a moment as Beck looked her over, anger in his face calming as he seemed satisfied that she wasn’t hurt or injured. Just the nearness of his presence made the hairs on Sierra’s arms stand on end, and she was about to try to say something when a shadow approached from the darkness behind Beck, and she could see a man raising something high over his head.

“Beck!” she yelled, but Beck had already turned around, standing in front of her like a raging, overprotective brick wall that seemed intent on removing himself from her life and jumping back in to protect her when she least expected it.

A Copperhead with an ax in his hands came into view, and the ax swung down toward Beck with a whoosh. He raised a hand and caught the handle of the ax, making a heavy thunk sound as it stopped midway in its arc.

Beck just yanked the ax out of the young man’s hands with a grunt, then snapped the ax in half by crushing the handle in his hand like it was a couple of walnuts. The backstabbing Copperhead had only a moment to regret his decision as Beck grabbed the man by the neck and headbutted him so hard she saw blood fly from his nose in an arc as he fell backward.

It was harsh, fierce, and unforgiving. And like the wild Texas land that surrounded them on all sides, Beck gave no quarter.

“Only one left? Disappointing,” Beck growled.

To her surprise, one last man charged, and she noted that the guy’s eye was already swollen, his cheek bruised as he came back for more.

Beck just snatched him as well and headbutted the second just as hard as the last, holding up his limp body with one hand before dropping him into the dirt.

“Make it two.”

Beck’s outline as he stood in front of the fire was surrounded by a pale-red halo as though he were the very angel of death.

And he’d placed himself squarely between her and the men that were coming for her land and her future.

Then he looked over his shoulder, tipped his Stetson, and picked up the two unconscious bodies in front of them like they were sacks of oranges, not bodies, and started piling them in the back of the truck.

Sierra let out a long, harsh breath. Her nerves were still going haywire, her brain still trying to put together everything that had happened in all of a few minutes.

In no time at all, Beck had taken all of the men and deposited them in the truck. The most conscious one, who was still barely able to see through his one good eye, he set in the driver’s seat and slammed the door on him, making the truck shake back and forth.

“Deliver these sorry asses to your home or to Ross. I don’t fucking care.” He leaned into the truck as she watched, and the man in the driver’s seat looked about ready to pass out again in sheer terror. “The message is the same. Nobody touches what’s under Beck’s protection.”

He let out a feral growl she felt down to her toes even from the thirty or so feet she stood away. Then he slapped the hood, and the horrified Copperhead pulled away, leaving only a trail of dust and several outlines in the dirt where Beck had laid out ten men like it was as simple as eating pie.

Sierra wrapped her arms around herself as Beck turned to look at her. His face was shaded by his hat, shrouded in the semidarkness away from her. But she could still make out his granite eyes, heated and intense as they watched her.

Again, the thrill of anticipation and an unexplainable warmth spread over her skin, hotter than the fire, hotter than even the afternoon Texas sun.

What should she say?

To her shock, Beck just turned and made his way back toward the trees from which he’d emerged only minutes ago as