by Candace Camp
Victoria suppressed a smile at the woman’s horror. She had certainly done harder things in her life than signing a hotel register. It had been rather interesting, actually; she’d never registered at a hotel before, for she had always traveled with her father. And though she would never have wished anything so awful on Mrs. Childers, she was looking forward to these next few days on their own. Victoria was used to doing things for herself, and she hadn’t liked the idea of a chaperone hanging over her for the next month.
“We’ll manage. I’m sure nothing too bad will happen to us,” Victoria replied lightly. “Now, you must stop thinking about this and get some rest. Amy and I will go send my father a telegram about what’s happened.”
“Oh, dear, yes, you must let him know. He’ll send someone to take care of you girls.”
Unfortunately, Victoria was sure that was exactly what her father would do. For a moment she contemplated not sending the telegram for a day or two. After all, she was capable of taking care of herself and Amy. But even though Ed Stafford knew that, he wouldn’t flout propriety by allowing them to go unchaperoned, and he would be hopping mad at her for not telling him. With a sigh, she decided that she’d better sent the telegram straight away. At least she’d have her freedom for a day or two. She and Amy could explore the town, eat out in public by themselves, and do whatever else took their fancy.
The girls put their bonnets back on and went downstairs. The desk clerk gave them directions to the Western Union building, across the town square and just past the sheriff’s office. Amy and Victoria sauntered down the street, taking their time and looking around them. Victoria might have to send her father a telegram, but that didn’t mean that she had to hurry about doing it.
They crossed the street and stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk. Just as they did so, the door of the sheriff’s office opened, and three men emerged. One of them was the sheriff. Another was also clearly a lawman, though he wore no uniform. There was a silver star in a circle pinned to his vest. He had a pair of lethal Colt .45 Peacemakers strapped to his thighs, and in his hand he carried a carbine. His other hand was curled tightly around the arm of the third man, who was just as clearly a criminal. His hands hung down in front of him, a heavy iron manacle on each wrist, connected by a length of chain.
Amy and Victoria stopped abruptly. The lawman and the prisoner turned their heads quickly at the sound of the women’s shoes on the wooden planks, and Victoria felt the piercing gaze of two sets of eyes. One was a cold, clear green, like the color of leaves under frost. The other was as flat and black as death. For once in her life, Victoria felt a chill of fear; she’d never seen any two men who looked meaner.
Chapter Two
For a long moment, the four of them simply stared at each other. Victoria stiffened her back against the unaccustomed tingle of fear. There was no way she was going to let them see she was intimidated by the mere sight of a criminal---even if he was the coldest, meanest, most vicious-looking man she’d ever seen.
The outlaw’s clothes were dirty, as if he’d lived in them for several days, and one sleeve was torn and stained with dried blood. The front of his shirt was likewise splotched with blood. Several days’ growth of beard roughened his jaw, and a red cut slashed one cheek. His black hair was long and shaggy. His skin was weathered, his face as hard and unmoving as granite. And his eyes---Victoria had never seen eyes that black or that cold. It was certainly no surprise that he was in chains.
The lawman with him was little better. He was shaven and clean, at least, but he had the same air of toughness, the same hard set to his face. All her life, Victoria had known rough men; it took that sort of man to tame the harsh land of Texas. But never before had she faced a man who was dangerous. And this man, star or no star, was dangerous.
The lawman’s cool green eyes flickered over her, and suddenly Victoria was very aware of the fact that she was wearing a plain, travel-stained brown dress and bonnet. She must look like a Quaker, she thought, and wished she had changed her clothes. Men had always told her that she was beautiful, and it seemed unfair that at this moment she should look so ordinary.
Something of her chagrin must have shown on her face, for the barest trace of a smile touched the man’s lips, and his eyes warmed a little. Color rushed to Victoria’s cheeks. What was she thinking of! Why should she care what this man thought, or how she looked to him? She didn’t even know him. She didn’t want to know him. He looked like the kind of man you would walk out of your way to avoid.
But she couldn’t help noticing that his face was handsome, his lips firm and finely cut beneath a rakish mustache, or that his shoulders were broad and powerful. And she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the long, smooth line of his legs and his narrow hips, accentuated by the wide leather gun belt he wore. It wasn’t at all like her. Her breath came a little faster, and her fingers curled into her hands. For once in her life, Victoria was uncertain.
Then Amy moved, startling them all. “Amy!” Victoria reached out to grab her arm, but it was too late; Amy was already past her, walking straight up to the men.
Amy had never viewed the world as others viewed it, and she didn’t now. She did not see, as Victoria did, an outlaw in the grasp of the law. She saw only a man who was dirty, tired and in pain, whose cheek was cut, and whose arms were weighed down by the heavy iron bands around his wrists, which had been rubbed raw by the manacles. Amy’s heart went out to him.
“You poor thing.” She reached out and took his hand, sliding the manacle up his arm to expose the broken skin where it had rubbed. She felt in her pocket, removed her handkerchief and wrapped it gently around his wrist to protect it from the rough friction of the metal.
Sam Brody stood utterly still. In his whole life he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as the one before him, all delicate pink and gold and white. She made him think of the painted angels that he’d seen as a child in St. Louis Cathedral when he’d slipped inside on a cold winter’s night to get warm—before the priest or nuns saw him and chased him away.
She stunned him by picking up his hand. Her flesh was soft and warm, her touch gentler than anything he’d ever felt. He’d known the hands of many whores, but no lady had ever touched him, and no woman’s fingers had been tender on his flesh. Amy looked up into his face, her pale blue eyes huge and serious. “This will keep it from rubbing so.”
Brody was stabbed with pure longing. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way he’d never known before, with his whole being. “Don’t you know what I am?” he asked, his voice roughened with desire and the knowledge that she was as far away from him as the moon.
She smiled a little. “No. I’m sorry.”
He was pieced by the sweetness of her words and voice, as if she had reached down inside him and laid her warm finger on the scars of his soul.
Slater was startled when Amy left Victoria and walked up to Brody. He had seen her beside the other woman, but he had barely noticed her, for he was too distracted by the vivid beauty of her companion to give this pale girl more than a glance. When she took Brody’s hand, he was able to do nothing but stare for a long moment, transfixed by the sight of an obviously well-bred girl daring to talk to and even touch Sam Brody.
When Brody spoke, it broke Slater’s trance, and he jerked Amy’s hand away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get away from him.”
The girl glanced up at him with wide innocent eyes, not angered, just surprised and questioning. Brody’s lips drew back from his teeth in a feral snarl. Slater released Brody’s arm and lifted his rifle to hold it ready in both hands. But it was not from Brody that the attack came. It was from the other woman, the black-haired beauty with the vivid blue eyes.
She threw herself between Slater and the blond girl, as though to protect her. Her eyes were flaming. “Get your hands off her! How dare you!” Her voice was vibrant and rich, even though it was quivering with fury.
Slater’s loins tightened involuntari
ly, and his response to her irritated him. This was no time to be thinking below the waist, with Sam Brody beside him and these two women creating confusion. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped. “Get out of here, and take her with you.”
“Amy’s not hurting you. There’s no need to yell at her,” Victoria retorted. She, too, was confused and more than a little irritated by the strange effect this man had on her, and it was a relief to be able to vent some of her feelings in healthy anger.
“No need? Lady, she’s interfering with my prisoner. This is Sam Brody, for God’s sake!”
“I don’t care! You have no right—”
“I have every right. I’m transporting him to Austin today. You and this girl are interfering with that. What’s the matter with her, anyway? Is she crazy?”
Had he not cast a slur on Amy, Victoria might have subsided. Frankly, she couldn’t understand what had impelled Amy to take care of this criminal’s arm, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to pull Amy away. But when Slater questioned Amy’s sanity, all Victoria’s protective instincts rushed up inside her.
“No, she’s not crazy! She’s simply a decent person who can’t stand to see another human being hurt. She’s not an animal who doesn’t care whether someone’s bleeding or not!”
Slater’s mouth tightened, and he moved forward. “Meaning I am?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” The dark haired girl was as crazy as the other one, but so beautiful it was hard to care.
Could Brody somehow have arranged for this bizarre distraction in order to escape? Slater cast a sideways glance at his prisoner, but Brody was just standing there, letting the blonde wind another handkerchief around his other wrist and staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
“Stop swearing at me!” Victoria snapped. “You have no right to swear at me.”
“I beg your pardon.” Slater’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I was addressing a lady. I thought I was talking to a shrew who consorts with criminals.”
“How dare you!” Victoria thought with real pleasure about slapping him. She couldn’t think of anyone, ever, who had infuriated her so completely and quickly. The man was crude, suspicious, overbearing and—well she couldn’t think of a word bad enough. “It’s obvious that you wouldn’t recognize a lady. You can’t possibly ever have been in the company of one. No gentleman would strike a lady.”
“I didn’t hit her!” Slater retorted indignantly. “I pulled her hand away from my prisoner!”
Slater’s and Victoria’s angry voices spiraled, but Brody heard them only as a meaningless buzz of noise in the background. He was aware of nothing except the smooth glide of Amy’s fingers over his skin as she wrapped his wrist. He stood perfectly still, afraid that she might stop if he made any move at all. How could she not be scared of him? How could she remain there doctoring him when every movement she made brought her into contact with his chains? Surely she must realize that he was a criminal. Yet she stood within his reach as innocently and trustingly as a child. He wanted to touch her face, but he held back, unwilling to break the fragile beauty of the moment.
So entranced was he by Amy’s ministrations that at first he paid no attention to the rest of the street. He should have; it was part of the plan that he had drilled into his gang. But he didn’t even glance around. So he didn’t see a man in the next block leave the post he’d been idly leaning against and go inside the saloon, returning moments later with three other men. Nor did he see the four men mount up and start down the street, leading a riderless horse.
But when they suddenly spurred their hoses forward, pulling their pistols from their holsters as they went, some sixth sense warned Brody, reminding him of his plan and his men. He looked up and saw them an instant before the sudden pounding of hooves penetrated the consciousness of the sheriff and Slater. Just as Slater spun around, Brody dived off the sidewalk onto the dirt street, curling a protective arm around Amy as he did so and taking her with him. He didn’t think; he just reacted—there was no way he was letting this woman get shot.
When Slater whirled and saw the men riding at them hell-bent-for-leather, he, too, knew what was happening. Normally he would have jumped for the nearest cover and started firing. But this time there was the woman. She was standing beside him, staring in amazement at the approaching men, even as the first gunfire spurted out. Slater grabbed her arm and flung her to the sidewalk, dropping down beside her. He rolled and came up on his knees firing the rifle.
The street was in turmoil as people screamed and ran for cover, and the gunfire was deafening. The sheriff drew his gun but fell with a cry of pain as he raised it to fire. The horses danced nervously, and the riderless horse bucked, whinnying. Brody jumped to his feet, yanking Amy up with him. She was stunned, the wind knocked out of her by their fall.
Slater made his way, shooting, to the porch post. Victoria, aware now of what was going on, knew enough to crawl after him, keeping low to the sidewalk. A bullet thudded into Slater’s left arm, but in the heat of the battle, he didn’t feel the pain. He cursed vividly as he fired, furious that he hadn’t seen the raid coming, that he’d let himself be distracted. He’d be damned if he would let Brody get away now, when he’d finally captured him!
When Brody jumped to his feet, Slater swung his carbine toward him. But Victoria, too, saw the outlaw rise, carrying Amy with him.
“No!” Victoria screamed, reaching out and knocking Slater’s gun up so that it fired harmlessly into the air.
“Damn it!” Slater brushed her aside, but she came right back, grappling with him for the gun.
“No! No! You’ll hit Amy!”
He flung Victoria away again, and she reeled back. Brody took the opportunity to grasp the reins of the rearing horse and brought him down sharply. Instinct rather than reason impelling him, he grabbed Amy and threw her up onto the horse. He was hampered by the manacles and chain between his wrists, but she was small and unresisting. He swung up after her.
By now Slater saw it was too late to make the shot. He jumped to his feet and ran out into the road. He raised his carbine, sighted and fired. One of the men jumped and swayed in his saddle, but he kept on riding. It was not Brody.
Slater slammed his gun to the ground, cursing vividly. Behind him Victoria struggled to her feet and stared down the street after the quickly disappearing men, her face as white as paper.
“Oh, my God! Amy. We have to go after them!”
Slater whirled, frustration and fury boiling in him, so angry he didn’t even notice the blood oozing from his arm. “What the hell is the matter with you? You’re as crazy as she is! Or maybe you’re a friend of Brody’s. Is that it?” He strode up to her, his green eyes shooting icy rage, his voice vicious. “She’s his woman and you’re---what, one of the other men’s sluts? Or maybe you’re Brody’s, too.”
“What! How dare you imply that I’m—” Victoria bit back the words. “This is insane. You’re insane. Why are you standing here slandering me? You should be chasing them.” She stabbed her finger in the direction the outlaws had taken. “But I can see that it would be useless to expect you to do something that competent. You’re obviously unable to handle the situation. After all, you just managed to lose your prisoner and allowed him to kidnap my cousin, too!” Victoria whirled, calling, “Sheriff? You’re—“
She stopped abruptly. The sheriff lay on the sidewalk, blood staining the wooden planks around him. “He’s been hit!”
Victoria and Slater reached the sheriff simultaneously. Victoria ripped off a long ruffle from her petticoat and pressed it against the sheriff’s bloodstained stomach. The man’s skin was gray, and he lay unmoving. Slater laid his fingers against the sheriff’s pulse.
He sighed. “He’s gone.”
“What?” Victoria stared at the sheriff. Her stomach flip-flopped and she thought she might be sick. It wasn’t the first time she ha
d seen a dead person. Her mother had died when she was twelve, and Victoria had been standing beside her bed, holding her hand. And three years ago, one of the ranch hands had been thrown and trampled by a horse he was attempting to break. But never before had she seen one man die at the hands of another.
She swallowed hard and glanced over at Slater. He was squatting down beside the sheriff, and his eyes were closed, his head propped against his hand. It penetrated Victoria’s consciousness that he looked peculiarly sallow. He swayed and had to brace his hand against the supporting post to keep from overbalancing.
Automatically Victoria reached out to steady him, and it was then that she noticed his arm. Slater’s sleeve was soaked with raw, red blood, and there was a dark hole on his upper arm. “Good Lord,” she breathed. “You were shot, too.”
Slater nodded. He felt suddenly light-headed, and he slipped down to a sitting position, leaning back against the post. “Damn.”
“Don’t you ever do anything but curse?” Victoria ripped another ruffle from her petticoat, noting that her fingers were bloodless and shaking. She wadded up the strip and pressed it against his arm.
Slater winced and let out a grunt of pain. “Easy, will you?”
“It has to be tight to stop the bleeding.”
Victoria looked around her for the first time. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t noticed it, but several people had emerged from the nearby stores and offices and now stood in a ring around Victoria and Slater, staring, drawn by the drama and blood, yet seemingly afraid to come too close.
“Somebody get the doctor!” Victoria snapped, irritated by the blank stares. “Can’t you see he needs help?”
As if her words had broken the spell the crowd was under, the people began to move. Two men came forward.
“Luther’s already run for the doc.”