The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  His smile was open and friendly, which was even more of a rarity here than his fine clothes.

  “Please forgive my intrusion into your conversation, but I could not help but overhear,” he continued. Deep creases formed at the outer corners of his warm brown eyes as his smile widened. “Am I correct in surmising that you are in need of an escort to Montana?”

  Though she couldn’t be sure Kincaid was watching the interaction, something in her sensed his continued focus despite what appeared to be a cold lack of interest.

  “That is true,” she replied.

  “I happen to be heading that way myself, up to Bozeman, along with my brother and his wife. If you wish, you would be welcome to travel with us.”

  Alexandra hesitated, though she wasn’t sure why, other than something seemed…off.

  The petite man displayed a demeanor more suited to the world she had left behind in Boston, which was both welcome and strikingly incongruent. Perhaps she was simply thrown off by the juxtaposition of this man’s manner after experiencing the rough intensity of Kincaid. He looked soft by comparison.

  Of course, anyone would look soft compared to the bounty hunter.

  It shouldn’t deter her. Just because this fellow did not have the same air of danger and steely competence as Kincaid did not mean he was not fully capable of getting her to Bozeman. She would be traveling in a group after all. There was some safety in numbers, and from all accounts, the West wasn’t quite as wild as it had been even five years ago. And Bozeman was very near Helena.

  “That’s a very nice offer, Mr.—I’m sorry, I did not catch your name.”

  The man blushed. “Oh, my apologies again, miss. I really haven’t been out of civilization so long to excuse such a lapse in manners.” He gave a deep bow of his head. “I am Cleveland Lassiter, named for the city where I was born and raised.”

  His self-deprecating tone managed to ease a bit of Alexandra’s wariness, and she smiled back. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lassiter. My name is Alexandra Brighton, recently of Boston.”

  “What a wonderful city,” Mr. Lassiter exclaimed, his brown eyes widening. “I visited there once as a young man. So much culture and such fine society.”

  Alexandra continued to smile, but said nothing in response.

  For the oddest reason, it seemed the longer she stood speaking with the newcomer, the more tension she felt radiating from the large man beside her. Clearly, the bounty hunter preferred to occupy his shadows alone.

  Good. Let him be annoyed.

  Mr. Lassiter held his smile as he continued, “I would hate to see you stranded here in town when we have more than enough room in our modest conveyance. My brother drives the team, and I am certain my sister-in-law would welcome having some additional company to chat with beyond myself. She’s from the city as well, you see, and not at all accustomed to these wide-open spaces and sparsely populated areas. She tends to get bored easily.”

  Even her aunt might have approved of such an offer from such a man. Mr. Lassiter truly seemed to be the answer to her problem.

  So why did she still hesitate?

  Because she knew more than most Easterners, that along the trail, there were more dangers than a person could count. Despite his rude and rough manner, long-buried instincts told her that Kincaid was undeniably more equipped to get her north without incident than this fine gentleman. She had just received the perfect offer from Mr. Lassiter, yet she felt compelled to ask Kincaid one more time if he would take the job.

  Against her will, she glanced at the tall bounty hunter. At that moment, Kincaid chose to straighten from his hunched position. As he lifted his arm to bring the whiskey glass to his mouth, the edge of his coat swung away from his side. The movement revealed a long and generously muscled body in a faded denim shirt and well-worn dark trousers. It also revealed the Colt nestled in a holster strapped to his left hip, handle forward.

  The sight of the gun, close enough that she could have reached out and touched the cold metal, sent a spear of memory and irrational terror through her body. Starting in her toes, rushing up through her belly, across the surface of her heart to the base of her skull, the fear pressed in on her like the icy waters of a mountain lake.

  Of course, Alexandra knew that almost everyone in these parts carried some sort of weapon. She thought she was ready to face that, but she hadn’t anticipated such freezing terror. Hadn’t prepared herself for the rush of traumatic memories.

  “Miss Brighton. Excuse me, Miss Brighton?”

  Mr. Lassiter’s gentle voice drew her back to herself.

  She turned to look at him, doing everything in her power to conceal the fear in her eyes and the debilitating command that had taken over her body. Forcing a tight smile, she said, “I am sorry, Mr. Lassiter. What were you saying?”

  “Only that we are planning to leave town within the hour. If you’d like to join us, I am afraid you will need to hurry.”

  Still reeling from her reaction, Alexandra nodded, letting propriety trump instinct. Lassiter was the better choice. He was polite and would prove to be far better company. Not to mention, there wasn’t the slightest hint of anything dangerous about him. “I shall be ready and would be happy to accept your offer.”

  “Excellent,” Lassiter exclaimed, sounding quite sincere in his pleasure. Then he gave a rather pained glance around him before he added, “Shall we step out into the fresh air and discuss a meeting place?”

  Alexandra nodded and followed Lassiter from the saloon, noting that the eyes of several men followed her. Just before passing through the door, she sent a quick glance over her shoulder.

  Kincaid had returned his elbows to the bar. His focus remained on the mirror across from him. As she stepped onto the boardwalk, the bounty hunter faded swiftly into the shadows he obviously preferred and Alexandra experienced an odd tightening in her center.

  It felt a little like disappointment.

  * * *

  Malcolm Kincaid scanned the length of the mirror behind the bar. His position gave him a perfect view of the entire saloon. A few patrons had followed the Eastern lady’s exit with sharp gazes.

  There was one man in particular who triggered a spike of alertness.

  He was older, with a bushy, salt-and-pepper beard and the cracked, browned skin of a man who’d spent most of his life under the sun. Though he sat at a poker game, he’d lifted his eyes toward Malcolm and the Eastern lady a few times too many during their brief conversation for mere curiosity.

  Malcolm had been waiting for the man to make a move, but nothing came of it. Still, he didn’t relax his vigilant observation until Miss Brighton and her companion had been gone at least twenty minutes. Only then was he assured she wouldn’t be followed.

  Fool woman.

  The second she’d entered the saloon, she’d become a beacon of temptation. A woman like that—all wrapped up in a fine blue dress that showed off the trim curves of her figure, with her fair skin untouched by the sun and her dark hair twisted up into that fancy configuration topped by a ridiculous hat—was not a common sight in these parts. Only an Easterner would be stupid enough to strut boldly into one of the roughest saloons in Wyoming and practically declare herself unprotected and in possession of money. Despite her haughty manner, not a man in the place wouldn’t have thought of how easy it would be to set upon the pretty young lady and take what she offered. And then some.

  Damned fool woman.

  She was not his problem. It was a good thing that fellow had come forward. Let the woman be his responsibility. Malcolm didn’t need that kind of hassle.

  Especially now that he was finally closing in on the Belt Buckle Kid.

  Eight years was a long time to hunt for revenge. With any luck, the Kid would soon join his fellows six feet underground, and Malcolm could finally hang up his guns, or die trying.

  Either way, th
ere was only one thing waiting for him in Montana—and it wasn’t the likes of Miss Alexandra Brighton.

  Four

  Mr. Lassiter’s brother, introduced as George Polk, was actually a half brother and the exact opposite of the small Eastern gentleman in appearance. Mr. Polk was large, with a barrel chest and thick arms. He walked in a lumbering stride, and his clothing, though nice enough, wasn’t nearly as fine or well fitted as Lassiter’s. After giving Alexandra a short nod upon being advised she would be traveling with them, he took to sending her swift, darting glances from the corner of his dark eyes as he finished loading the covered wagon that would be taking them north.

  Alexandra tried not to put too much importance on Mr. Polk’s odd manner. Not everyone enjoyed meeting strangers, though the opposite seemed to be true of the man’s wife, who came forward with an eagerly outstretched hand and a wide smile on her round face.

  “Please call me Mattie,” she said, with pale-blond sausage curls bouncing against her cheeks. Though she looked at least ten years older than Alexandra, she possessed an exuberant youthfulness that was slightly disarming. “I am so thrilled that Cleveland found another woman to join our group. It will be wonderful to have someone to talk to besides these two fellows—and someone from the great city of Boston, no less. I am from Philadelphia, myself, though it’s been many years since I was anywhere near the place I grew up. I cannot wait to get to know you better. Conversation makes long drives go so much faster, don’t you think?”

  It turned out that Mr. Lassiter had been telling the truth when he’d said they would be leaving town within the hour. As soon as Alexandra’s bags were loaded into the back of the wagon, they all climbed up and took their seats. Mr. Polk drove the horses, with Mr. Lassiter seated beside him. There was a second row of seating behind them, and Mattie insisted the two of them sit together so they could chat more easily.

  Alexandra had never been one to shy away from polite conversation, but after several hours of nonstop chatter, she couldn’t wait to stop for the night. Surely, Mattie would have to stop talking to get some sleep.

  Finally, as the sun neared the horizon, Mr. Polk pulled the wagon up along a swiftly flowing creek. Camp was a simple setup. Thankfully, Mr. Polk was efficient in starting a campfire, and they had packed a good amount of food into the back of the wagon, so there was no need for anyone to hunt for their supper. A good thing, because it did not appear that the Lassiter party traveled with a hunting rifle, or any kind of firearm at all.

  Considering her reaction to the sight of Kincaid’s Colt, she should have been relieved by the lack of weapons. Instead, Alexandra experienced yet another niggling of doubt. One of many she’d experienced throughout the day as Mr. Polk had continued to send her odd looks and Mattie had seemed extremely interested in Alexandra’s life in Boston and her destination in Montana. Though she tried to convince herself there was nothing untoward about their curiosity, something urged Alexandra to keep her replies vague enough without appearing reticent.

  Then there was the issue about sleeping arrangements.

  Mattie clearly intended to make up a bed for herself in the back of the wagon while the men set up bedrolls beside the fire. Lassiter offered to set up a place for Alexandra near the fire as well.

  “Thank you,” Alexandra replied, “but I would prefer to join Mattie in the wagon.”

  The two men hesitated, then Lassiter stepped forward with a smile. “I don’t know if there is enough room for the both of you, I’m afraid.”

  Alexandra knew exactly how much space was in the back of the wagon. She smiled back, keeping her tone polite, though she was feeling put off by Lassiter’s response. “I won’t take up that much space. I’m sure we can make it work.”

  “Well, I—”

  “What is the matter with you, Cleveland?” Mattie exclaimed as she peeked her head through the back flap of the wagon. “Of course Miss Brighton must share the wagon with me.”

  Lassiter smiled again. “I apologize. Please make yourself comfortable, Miss Brighton.”

  Alexandra was grateful for the bit of privacy, though she found it difficult to relax enough to fall asleep even after she heard two sets of snores coming from outside—one deep and rumbling, the other a nasally whistle. With the woman beside her also deeply asleep, Alexandra listened to the night sounds around them—the soft flow of wind against the canvas covering of the wagon, the sound of crickets and night birds in the distance, and the gentle, constant tumbling of the creek—but none of it helped to calm the strange tension that claimed her.

  She felt on edge, as though some peril hovered just beyond their camp. Or perhaps the danger was closer. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t completely relax in the midst of her traveling companions, but something simply did not feel right.

  It was several hours before she finally fell into a light sleep.

  Everyone started moving about early the next morning. Camp was already getting packed up by the time Alexandra emerged from the back of the wagon. When she asked if they would be leaving right away, Mattie assured with a bright smile, “Oh, it won’t be for at least an hour or more—plenty of time to freshen up down by the creek if you’d like to take some time to yourself.”

  As she left camp to find a private spot in the bushes that lined the creek, Alexandra wondered what they might have for breakfast. She was starving. Initially intending to head to the creek to wash up as Mattie had suggested, she decided she’d rather eat first. She returned to camp after only a few minutes away to find Polk hastily hitching up the horses while the others waited in the wagon.

  “I am sorry. I thought we weren’t heading out for a little while yet,” she said as she approached in wary suspicion.

  Lassiter looked at her with an almost pained expression. “We are heading out, Miss Brighton, but you are not.”

  Alexandra stopped, alarm sweeping through her. She glanced toward Mattie, who was seated beside Lassiter, but the woman kept her gaze trained forward. Mr. Polk just stared at her in cold-eyed silence as he finished with the horses and hefted himself up into the driver’s seat. She looked back to Lassiter. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just drive already,” Mattie interrupted impatiently.

  Her husband immediately obliged with a flick of the driving reins, and the wagon started to roll away.

  This couldn’t be happening. “Wait!” Alexandra shouted as she started toward them. “You can’t just leave me here. What about my things?”

  Mattie lifted her hand from beneath the fall of her skirts to point a long-barreled pistol at Alexandra’s chest, stopping her cold. “Not another step. Your fancy things now belong to me. I would shoot you to save you the pain of starving out here all alone, but I can’t afford to waste the bullet,” she said with a wide smile. “You understand.”

  Alexandra couldn’t move. The sight of the gun rooted her feet to the earth as terror overtook her just as it had in the saloon. Her tongue stiffened in her mouth, and her throat closed up so she couldn’t even shout for them to stop as Lassiter turned to his companions and said, “I told you she wouldn’t put up a fight.”

  “You do know how to pick them, darling,” Mattie replied.

  “Don’t bother trying to walk back to town, Miss Brighton,” Lassiter called over his shoulder in a tone that was almost gleeful. “We left the road many miles ago, so you’ll only get yourself lost and exhausted for no reason.”

  All Alexandra could do was watch them drive away with the sound of Mattie’s laughter and the image of Lassiter’s sneering expression burning into her mind.

  They’d left her.

  They’d stolen her things and left her.

  As the shock wore off, fury swept in to take its place.

  How could they live with themselves? Clearly, this was not the first time they had preyed upon a hapless traveler. How many victims had they left stranded
out in the wilderness before her? How could she have been so stupid? So trusting?

  Her fury quickly turned in on herself.

  She should have known better. Instead, she had ignored her instincts and had fallen right into their hands, like an idiot.

  Panic pressed in against her anger, threatening to debilitate her as her heart started racing and sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

  She was going to die out here.

  No. She wasn’t.

  She took a sweeping glance around to see if anything had been left behind that might help her in some way, but Lassiter and his friends had been thorough. He had said they were no longer on the road, but surely, someone would come by at some point.

  Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention along the drive?

  Mattie’s distracting chatter, that’s why.

  At least she had fresh water from the creek, and she had the clothes she was wearing. It was not much, but it was something. She just needed to find a place to sit that was out of the sun…and hope she didn’t attract the attention of a hungry predator and that she would eventually catch sight of someone passing by.

  No problem.

  Except it was a problem.

  Lassiter’s wagon had faded from sight, and not another soul came into view.

  For hours, she waited, until the gnawing hunger in her belly got to be too much and she made the decision to leave her post in search of something—anything—edible. Not wanting to leave her water source, Alexandra walked along the winding creek for what had to be several hours before coming across some wild berry bushes. She ate several handfuls before she forced herself to stop. Too much of the slightly under-ripe berries was likely to give her stomach cramps.

  Feeling a return of energy that had wasted away in the heat of the day, she decided to keep walking. Perhaps she’d eventually come upon a dwelling or some other kind of shelter. But with every mile she walked and every hour that passed, fear and desperation crowded in a bit closer.