Tracker’s Sin Read Online Free PDF

his fantasies for harsh reality. His fascination with the woman had to end sometime, but not this morning. “Women can be the bane of a
    man’s existence.”
    Vincente slapped him on the back. “So speak the young.”
    It’d been a long time since anyone had cal ed Tracker young.
    “When you are older you wil see they are the blessing God puts in a man’s life to ease his way.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Vincente shook his head. “You young people today have no appreciation for the way things should be. Trying to change what you cannot,
    and running away from what you should be embracing…”
    Tracker headed up the path to the wash shed and hazarded a guess as to what he should be embracing. “A woman? I’ve embraced
    more than my share of them.”
    “A good woman.” Vincent put a lot of emphasis on “good.”
    It was easy for a man who fit somewhere to hold such beliefs. “My father was Indian, my mother Mexican. There aren’t many good women
    who want to hitch their wagon to that mix.”
    “You do not need many. Just one.”
    “Uh-huh.” The old one was up to something. Whatever it was, Tracker wanted to nip it in the bud. “Vincente?”
    “Yes.”
    “Whatever you’ve got in mind, drop it.” The last thing he needed was a half-blind, arthritic old man picking out his love interest.
    Vincente huffed. “I merely point out the truth.”
    “Thanks.” Tracker primed the pump as Vincente scooped out some soap from the tin on the ledge. He let the older man wash first. “But
    I’m happy with what I’ve worked out.”
    “You are not happy.”
    “I’m as happy as I’ve ever been.”
    Vincente muttered something under his breath as he finished washing and pul ed his shirt back on. “When you are done, come up to the
    house.”
    Tracker looked at the little home in the wel -tended yard. Smel ed the scents of wood smoke and sausages on the breeze. Inside, two
    women had a table set, coffee brewing and food ready. When Vincente entered, there’d be pleasant conversation, maybe laughter. There’d be love.
    Tracker wasn’t going within a hundred feet of that house. Not this morning. He felt too raw inside to sit there and watch what he would
    never have.
    “Wil do.”
    He waited until Vincente reached the house before pul ing off his shirt. It took only a few pumps of the handle to get a strong flow of water
    going. Vincente was lucky to have such a rich supply. Tracker dunked his head in the spray. The wel water was surprisingly cold. Frigid. But after the initial
    shock, it felt damn good on his overheated skin. He grabbed the soap and blindly scrubbed, pumping the handle a few more times, letting the water pour
    over his head and neck, enjoying the moment. When the temperature turned more chil ing than refreshing, he stood, flipping his hair back over his
    shoulders.
    A shriek loud enough to split his eardrums spun him around. He palmed his knife as he turned, ready for the threat.
    He knew who it was before he shook the soap out of his eyes. Ari stood there in a pretty blue dress, her mouth open, a look of shock on
    her face.
    He reached for his shirt. The plate of food in her hands fel to the ground, spattering her skirt. Ari’s gaze never left the knife in his other
    hand. Her throat worked furiously, but no sound came out.
    Shit. She was stil screaming, Tracker realized. Screaming for al she was worth, but not a sound passed her lips. He left the shirt where it
    lay and took a step back. He couldn’t go far with the shed wal behind him and her in front.
    “You must be Ari,” he said in his softest voice, wincing at the deep rasp that made it sound like a growl. “Hel o.”
    His softest voice wasn’t soft enough, because she kept up that horrible pantomime of a scream. Tracker tucked his knife hand behind his
    back. It didn’t make a difference.
    Tracker cast a quick glance at the house. The back door didn’t open. No one came to the rescue. There was just him and Ari and her fear.
    Shit! Sam