A Texan’s Honor

by Gray, Shelley

  "I believe so. At least two riders. Maybe three."

  "Do you think we'll have to stop?"

  "Most likely. I don't see how we won't."

  Jamie noticed his voice didn't have a bit of fear in it, more likely a hint of resolve. Of inevitability. As though he knew what was in store for them couldn't be stopped. "Do you think it's someone from the train?"

  "No. If it was someone from the gang, they'd be closing in faster. Mr. Walton doesn't like his men to lollygag much. I have a feeling those men are trying to figure out who I am."

  That caught her by surprise. "You?"

  "Doubt they realize there's a woman sitting behind me." He paused, then his voice grew darker. "Don't take this the wrong way, ma'am, but I sure wish you weren't here right now."

  Since she felt the same way, she didn't mind him saying that in the slightest. "What are we going to do?"

  "There is no 'we,' Jamie. You are going to sit as quietly as you can while I do the talking."

  "Will—"

  He just kept talking as if she hadn't said a thing. "Then, you are going to do your best to act like you're not here."

  Jamie knew even in her dreams she was never going to forget this day. "I don't know how to do that."

  "Then you better figure it out—and soon." His voice hardened. "I don't want you doing anything to attract their notice, do you hear me? Don't speak, and for God's sakes, don't leave my side."

  His warning created a new knot of fear inside her. She felt like a fool for even trying to act with bravado. Once again, she was at everyone's mercy. And so far the only man she trusted was over six-feet tall, had muscles on top of muscles, and the type of clear blue eyes that looked like they never warmed up—not even in the middle of July.

  "I'll try to do my best."

  "Try isn't good enough."

  "I will?"

  He slowed their horse, clearing his throat impatiently as he did so. "Listen. I know you don't trust me, but you're going to have to believe that those men are probably up to no good. You're going to be safer with me. You'll be safer with me than with just about anyone else on this earth right now."

  Her eyes widened; she couldn't help it. Especially since she was feeling the same way. How had that happened? How had she begun to trust her captor so much?

  But, as she was coming to learn, Will McMillan didn't leave anything up to doubt. "Do you understand? I don't want to have to worry that you're going to start acting foolish."

  She peeked around him. What had been once a cloud of dust was now three shadows. Three large shadows. Three large men. Capable of doing just about anything they wanted.

  As her mind spun, her mouth went dry.

  Will cursed under his breath. "Jamie?" His voice hardened and became even more gravelly. "Jamie, answer me. What do you need me to explain?"

  "Nothing."

  "Sure?"

  "I understand what you're saying. I promise, I do." She almost snapped right back at him. But then she realized he wasn't being sarcastic. He was dead serious. He was scared for her. And afraid her innocence—and maybe even her stupidity—was going to get her killed. Get them killed. "I won't do anything, Will. I'll stay quiet."

  His shoulders relaxed. He rolled them for a second before shifting and repositioning his pistols.

  The three shadows became men, each one looking more dangerous than the next.

  21

  Will called himself ten times the fool. Of course, they'd be likely to meet up with all sorts of renegades. He should've been more prepared. As they kept closing the distance between themselves and the approaching riders, Will said a little prayer.

  Oh, not for him, that would be selfish. And hopeless anyway. God wasn't going to stick His neck out for Will McMillan anytime soon. He certainly didn't deserve that.

  But he did pray for Jamie. Prayed that he'd be strong enough to keep her safe. And that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't going to have to kill three men in front of her in order to do it.

  As the men approached, he felt Jamie shift closer to him. He was thankful for that, especially when the one on the left held up a hand.

  A greeting? Warning? He wasn't sure. Will slowed the horse and lifted one arm as well.

  Fifty feet separated them now. Forty. The faceless men became individuals, each about his age. One wore the remnants of a Confederate officer's jacket—a sure sign that the men were drifters.

  His mouth went dry.

  At about twenty feet, he pulled up the reins. The gelding stopped then scratched at the snow and brush underneath them impatiently. Behind him, Jamie said nothing. Shoot, he couldn't even hear her breathing.

  What little he knew about women made him wish he could turn around and check on her. Maybe she'd gone and fainted?

  But then there was no time.

  "Afternoon," one of the riders—the one on the left called out.

  "Howdy." Will shifted. Though his body tensed, he took care to keep his voice even and steady.

  "Where are you headed?"

  "Don't see that's any of your business."

  The middle man squinted. "Don't recognize you none. You with an outfit?"

  Quickly, Will weighed his choices. Letting them know he was with the Walton Gang would immediately garner respect and fear. Everyone knew better than to mess with them. And drifters like these? They'd step aside in a heartbeat.

  Probably.

  If he told them the absolute truth, that he was a U.S. Marshal, he'd risk dealing with Jamie's incredulousness, and perhaps he'd even lose what little trust she'd placed in him. Then he'd risk losing her and giving away his location.

  But telling them he was alone bothered him even more. Men who rode alone were either fools or weaklings. And men who traveled alone with a woman—well they deserved everything they had coming to them; there was no doubt about that.

  "Marshals," he finally said.

  Pure dismay crossed the three men's faces as behind him Jamie stiffened.

  Just as he'd been worried about. Time to talk fast.

  "I'm bringing the woman to our main headquarters in St. Louis."

  "Heading all the way out to St. Louie? Seems to me you're traveling a little out of the way."

  Will forced himself to relax. "That's always the case, ain't it? Nothing's easy." He turned the tables. "Where are you three headed?"

  "Nowhere in particular." The blond with the scar on his cheek came closer. "Mister, you mind showing us your star?"

  "Why?"

  "Not that we'd ever accuse you of lying or nothing, but you'd be surprised about the number of men who make up things out here in the middle of nowhere." Sidling closer, he glanced at Jamie. A slow smile appeared. "Lookit you, sugar. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

  Will held his breath, wondering how she was going to react.

  All she did was shrink closer to him. Perhaps she trusted him more than the drifter.

  The scar burned bright on the man's cheek. "Shy? Ain't you sweet. This here your man?"

  One beat fell. Two. "Yes," she said softly.

  Will cocked his Colt. "I'd be obliged if you took two steps back."

  "You afraid of me?"

  "I need to get out my badge. Can't do it with you so close. Might spook the horse."

  Obligingly, the man moved his horse a few steps backward. However, his two buddies pulled out their six-shooters as Will opened his duster.

  Jamie shivered. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, bringing a smile to the blond's eyes.

  Methodically, Will opened up his duster, opening the coat wide enough so the three men would have no question as to what he was doing. Then, he reached into the lining, ripped apart a seam, and got out the star. Palming it, he held it out for inspection.

  The blond edged closer. "Who are you, exactly?"

  "I am Will McMillan. I'm a U.S. Marshal under Sam Edison. And you are?"

  The talkative blond stared at the star. Stared at Will. "How come it was hidden like that?"

  "It's
been my experience that not everyone wants to deal with a Marshal."

  "Killing a Marshal is a hanging offense."

  "Killing anyone is," he said dryly, though he understood what the man was saying. Gunning down a U.S. Marshal in cold blood was practically an invitation to get strung up from the nearest tree. It was definitely a guarantee that the murderer would be hunted for the rest of his days.

  Will sat patiently, waiting. He knew without a doubt he could hit at least two of them before they could get in a shot. But it was that third one that worried him. If he couldn't place the bullet on target the first time, he could be leaving Jamie at their mercy. That would be a shame.

  Actually, it would be far better to kill her himself than to leave her at their mercy. Drifters could be merciless with a woman, especially a woman of worth like Jamie.

  Keeping his eyes fastened on the men, he sat. Waiting. On edge.

  "We'll be leaving you to it, then," the leader said. "Ma'am," he continued, tipping his hat.

  Will said nothing as they moved away and then picked up speed. He merely motioned the horse forward, keeping it at a slow and steady pace.

  Only when the men were out of sight and he couldn't spy an inkling of more company did he dare to pull up the horse next to a trio of pines.

  His body feeling stiff, he dismounted before turning to assist Jamie. "I don't mind telling you that I'm in no hurry to go through that again," he said with a smile.

  Then he noticed Jamie was shivering. Her eyes were watering. No, not watering, crying. She was crying for all she was worth.

  Though she still hadn't said a word to him, the look she gave him told him everything he needed to know. He opened his arms and drew her into an embrace.

  She practically collapsed against him, holding on to his arms like he was her lifeline to heaven.

  He raised a hand tentatively. Unsure where to put his hands, unsure what touch she'd accept from him, he finally stopped thinking.

  With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "It's all right," he murmured. "You're okay. Nothing happened."

  "I . . . I was so afraid," she cried.

  "I know."

  "Those men," she gasped. "I was so, so sure . . ." Her voice drifted off as the shock of what had almost happened took ahold of her hard.

  He closed his eyes and felt her pain. "I know."

  "Do you?"

  He cuddled her closer even though he had no right. Pressed his lips against her brow even though he shouldn't. And when she lifted her head and looked at him with those eyes, those lovely caramel-colored eyes that looked like they had the world trapped inside them, he did what he'd wanted to do for some time.

  He pressed his lips over hers and gently kissed her. Right there. In the middle of the plains.

  When he raised his head, he stared at her, seeking to memorize the moment and keep it close to his heart. After all, he had so very few nice memories.

  The vision he saw in front of him was worth everything. Jamilyn's lips, so beautifully formed, so incredibly soft, parted.

  His breath caught.

  Looking up at him, she blinked.

  He steeled himself for her tears. For her to berate him for his lies. For her to turn away in shame. But instead, wonder of wonders, she raised her chin, lifted a hand and pressed it against his shoulder, and kissed him again.

  The ache in his heart was almost crippling. The longing he felt for her touch was fierce, and strong, and so very sweet. But instead of running away from the feeling, he wrapped his hands around her and tasted her lips again.

  And again.

  And when he finally lifted his head, breathing hard and almost out of breath, he knew he'd never been more scared in his entire life.

  Because right then, at that very moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold her close and never let her go.

  22

  His lips were soft. That's the first thing that crossed Jamie's mind when she felt his mouth brush against hers. His lips were dry and firm but surprisingly gentle.

  No, the kiss wasn't punishing; the kiss wasn't rough. It wasn't anything she would have imagined it being.

  Instead, his touch was featherlight and twice as kind. So much so, that she found herself melting just a little. Just enough to drop her guard a very small bit and let her emotions take over. To simply feel.

  Which, of course, was a dangerous thing.

  For a moment she was tempted to move closer to him. Of course, if she did that, she'd smell more of his pure male scent. She'd feel more of his warmth and get another dose of that curious feeling of comfort she got whenever she was near him.

  And though she didn't have much experience with kissing, suddenly Jamie knew what was going to happen next. He'd hold her close. She'd curve her hands around his neck, close her eyes, and hope for one more very sweet, very gentle kiss.

  She'd be transported to somewhere better than she'd ever been before and start believing in things that she knew didn't exist. Things like fairy tales and happy endings.

  When she felt Will's hand graze her waist and tighten, she slipped her hands up his chest. Felt those hard muscles.

  And then pushed. Hard. He let her go instantly.

  Now eight mere inches separated the two of them. Her breath came out in a rush and she felt like she'd just run for miles. As she found herself glancing at his lips, she closed her eyes and blinked.

  Then couldn't help herself and stared at this stranger of a man once again. Oh, what in the world had she just done? It seemed that she hardly knew herself anymore.

  To her surprise, he didn't look angry or even all that offended by her push. Looking at her with those unwavering cool blue eyes, his mouth slid into a straight, tight line. "Jamilyn, are you okay?"

  His voice was gravelly. More gravelly than she'd heard it before. And still, his gaze hadn't eased. If anything, he was looking at her with even more concentration, just like he was attempting to memorize every freckle on her face.

  "I don't know if I'm okay or not."

  "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I didn't mean for that to happen."

  Instinctively, she knew that. And no matter how alone and confused she felt, she wasn't ready to put all the blame on his shoulders for their kiss. She'd wanted that kiss.

  She'd wanted to feel close to someone, even if it had been just for a minute.

  "You didn't frighten me. Your kiss didn't frighten me at all."

  Something new flared in his eyes, and for the first time in their acquaintance, his gaze turned warm.

  Then she had to ask the obvious. "Are you really a U.S. Marshal and not a member of the Walton Gang?"

  "Yes."

  "Why? What?" She sputtered on her questions, not knowing what to ask. Not trusting how she felt.

  "I've been pretending for almost two years to be something I wasn't." Taking off his hat, he tossed it to the ground and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I've been with the Walton Gang for so long that sometimes I forget that everything I've been doing has been a lie."

  His matter-of-fact attitude was disconcerting. So was the fact that he didn't look the least bit contrite. "Why didn't you tell me?" she blurted, letting her anger and frustrations come alive.

  In a blink, all the warmth that she thought she'd spied became absent again. "Because too much was at stake. If you'd even hinted that you thought I was only playing a role, your life would have been in more danger than it was."

  She couldn't imagine that things could have been worse. "I doubt that."

  "You shouldn't. You should take every word I'm saying and treat it as gospel." His voice hardened and a hand shot out and gripped her arm. "Listen to me. If James Walton even guessed that I wasn't who I said I was, he would hunt you down."

  "Why me? I'm the innocent one. I was taken hostage, remember?" With a shake, she pulled her arm from his grip. Though his grip hadn't been painful, she was finding his touch to be horrible. Oh, but she was horrified to think that she'd ever trusted
him.

  When her arm was free, he looked at his hand before lifting his eyes. Seconds passed as they stared at each other.

  She began to wonder if he was ever going to answer her question.

  The muscle in his jaw worked.

  Finally he sighed. "Why you? Why you, Jamilyn Ellis? Because he and every person on that train had to have known one thing for certain: that there was one surefire way to get me to talk, to get me to do anything."

  "And what is that?" she asked, letting the sarcasm in her voice fall forward. She was tired of being lied to, tired of being scared and afraid.

  But most of all, she was tired of feeling guilty for her feelings.

  Will closed his eyes. When he opened them, his expression was completely blank. His eyes looking like they were soulless. "I'm going to take you to my boss's office in St. Louis," he murmured. "Once you get there, you're going to feel safer. I promise you that."

  She stepped forward. "Oh, no you don't. You're going to be honest with me. For once. Will McMillan, why would James Walton want to hurt me in order to hurt you?"

  "Because it's obvious to just about everyone on this earth that I've begun to care for you," he spit out, looking just about as mad about it as a man could look. "That's why." He held up one impatient hand, paired it with a glare, and continued, his voice even more raspy than usual. "Because, Jamie, any man with two eyes is going to know that there is just about nothing I wouldn't do to see you safe and happy. Even if it means getting hurt. Even if it means selling my soul. Again."

  Jamie stared at him, stunned. Had anyone ever felt like that about her? Maybe her parents? She couldn't remember things between them very clearly, not since the war had taken away her father's mind and her mother's soul.

  But still . . . it sure didn't seem likely.

  He laughed, the sound self-deprecating. "Yeah, I figured you'd be real pleased to hear that. I'm not what any woman would call a catch."