The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  She’d never suspected he’d been watching her as she stared at him. Had no idea how her blatant interest had tightened his muscles until they ached and made his body harden with a wave of unbidden physical interest. He’d had to grind his teeth to control the reaction.

  This was not a woman he had any intention of lusting after. Just because her pure blue gaze made his skin feel tight, and that damned lower lip of hers made his throat ache with the desire to draw it into his mouth, did not change the fact that he had no interest in distractions.

  She was damned attractive. Too attractive to be roaming across the country with no protection. But he was not about to take on that role. She didn’t belong with him any more than she belonged west of the Mississippi. He had something far too important to occupy his focus and was not going to find himself responsible for someone who was likely to be more trouble than she was worth.

  She was lucky she’d made it this far and probably had no idea how utterly defenseless she was. It would’ve been entirely within reason for her to have shown up at his fire in a state of terrified panic after wandering about by herself all day.

  Fury made his blood run hot as he thought of the Lassiter fellow. He really hoped he’d have the pleasure of running into that man again someday to give him a lesson in Western justice.

  Seven

  Alexandra was awakened as her stomach cramped in painful want of food.

  The lack of anything more substantial than the couple of handfuls of berries she had eaten the day before was making itself known.

  However, her hunger was not so intense that it distracted from her stiff, aching limbs or the soreness of her bottom from sitting on the hard earth through the night. She shifted her body slowly to unwind her arms and lift her head. A painful protest shot through the muscles along her spine.

  She bit her lip as she glanced about the camp.

  She was alone.

  Before panic set in at the thought that Kincaid may have changed his mind about helping her, she saw his coat draped over his saddle where it still rested on the other side of the smoldering campfire, and the heavenly scent of coffee came from the small metal pot set in the coals.

  He had not gone far.

  Carefully rising to her feet, Alexandra tipped her face toward the sun that was already warming the earth, though it was not yet high on the horizon. Reaching her hands above her head and arching her spine in a long stretch, she considered the time of year and estimated it to be about seven o’clock, then smiled to herself over the assumption.

  It had been a long time since she had judged time by the path of the sun. She had no idea if her guess was accurate.

  It was early, anyway. That much was clear.

  After indulging in another body-stimulating stretch, she turned in place and nearly jumped from her skin. A choked little squeak of surprise escaped from her throat.

  Kincaid stood barely four steps away.

  His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, showing tanned skin sprinkled with hair. The neck of his shirt was wet, as was his longish hair. He held his brimmed hat in his hand, so Alexandra got her first unimpeded look at his face.

  The harsh handsomeness of the man had her breath stopping quick.

  The hard edge of his jaw led her gaze to the very masculine shape of his mouth, then to the proud line of his nose and the heavy, brooding scowl that hovered over his gray eyes.

  His strong, steady focus hit her like a blast of…something she couldn’t quite define. It was hot and cold at once, a fiery chill that struck deep into her bones and sinew.

  Before she could analyze it further, he made a low sound that rose from his chest in a quiet sort of grunt. “Regretting your decision to approach my fire?” he asked, then turned and strode to his saddle.

  Alexandra remained in place, struck dumb by the interaction. A heated blush rose in her cheeks as she wondered what she had revealed in her expression to prompt his comment.

  “You’ve got a few minutes. Then we head out.”

  His words spurred her into action, and she took two steps toward the nearest bushes. Then she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  He was already lifting the saddle to carry it to where his horse stood not far away. It took her a moment to drag her attention away from the shifting bunch and stretch of muscles beneath his shirt. But then her gaze dipped downward to the firm curve of his rear and his strong legs as he strode away from her.

  If not for the urgency of nature’s call, she might have stood there all morning, watching the man move.

  She’d clearly gone a bit soft in the head.

  Clearing her throat in an attempt to also clear her muddled mind, she asked, “You’re not planning on leaving while I step away, are you?”

  Kincaid did not bother to slow the rhythmic movements of his task as he cast her a dark glance over his shoulder.

  No words were necessary. His scowl said it all.

  Alexandra lifted her eyebrows in an equally wordless response, as if to say do you blame me?

  He gave a jerk of his head, indicating she should go about her business, before giving her his back as he pulled the cinch tight.

  She almost smiled at the bounty hunter’s determination to be as brusque and rude as possible. It didn’t bother her any. In fact, she found it sort of humorous.

  Still, she had no intention of pushing him when there was no point. She was in as much of a hurry as he was to be on her way.

  When she returned to camp, he wordlessly handed her a tin cup filled with rapidly cooling coffee.

  Alexandra muttered a quick thank you before she sipped, then gulped down the bitter brew. The coffee helped to warm her stiff muscles and awaken her sleep-muddled mind. Once finished, she walked to the creek to rinse out the cup and splash some of the cool water on her face.

  It was still early, but the sun was making its presence known as the morning warmed quickly under its rays.

  Kincaid had not bothered to put his coat back on, but had rolled it up and secured it behind his saddle instead. Alexandra watched the play of muscles through his body as he swung effortlessly up onto his horse. The sight of him sitting tall on the bay gelding—his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hat drawn low, a red bandana tied loosely around his throat—made her heart stutter.

  He was an impressive specimen of a man. The perfect choice to be her guide and escort. She just had to get him to agree to that fact.

  As she stood there, he urged his horse forward a few steps and held his hand down to her.

  She offered him the empty cup, and he gave an odd little quirk of his brow as he slipped it into his saddle pack. Then he offered his hand to her again.

  “Swing up behind me.”

  Alexandra looked at his capable, callused palm and wondered how it would feel to place her hand in his. Then she shook her head as she lifted her gaze. “I can’t.”

  “You don’t know how to sit a horse?”

  The contempt in his voice was annoying. Enough to chase off the last of Alexandra’s trepidation. As amusing as his rudeness might be, she was not accustomed to such constant derision. She swept her hand down in a wide gesture toward her many-layered and artfully draping skirts. “This skirt is not designed for riding astride.”

  “Hike it up.”

  “No.”

  He stared hard at her.

  She stared hard back. This was a battle he would not win. It was not that Alexandra had a problem with showing a little leg—she had not exactly been raised a modest miss, no matter how she seemed now. But if she lifted the skirts high enough to sit astride, the layers of material in her gown would hinder her ability to keep her seat. It simply wouldn’t work. She’d just as likely end up tumbling back over the horse’s rump to the ground.

  She would be happy to explain all of that to Kincaid if he bothered to ask, which s
he knew he wouldn’t. So instead, the moment became a test of wills. If he couldn’t trust her assessment of her own limitations, he’d have to deal with her stubbornness instead.

  She could see the muscles work in his jaw as he ground his back teeth together and shifted his gaze to scan the surrounding countryside.

  He was debating leaving her behind. She could see it in his sharp eyes.

  She bit her lip, doubt overwhelming the brief flash of fire. She shouldn’t have been so confrontational. Hadn’t she spent the last five years learning how to curb that deeply ingrained impulse?

  Aunt Judith had worked very hard to instill in Alexandra the gracious and temperate virtues of a modest, polite young lady. The finishing school had done the rest to smooth away the last of Alexandra’s rough edges and wild impulses.

  For some reason, this man just brought it all back.

  After a moment, Kincaid turned to untie the coat from behind his saddle. He placed it in front of him instead to pad the area around the pommel and saddle horn in the V of his legs. Then he reached a hand out to her again. “Come on, then.”

  Realizing this was the only concession she’d be likely to get from the man, Alexandra put her hand in his. His grip was warm and secure around hers as he lifted her off the ground with barely any effort at all. She landed sideways in front of him with a soft grunt at the swift force of the maneuver and teetered for a bit before she got her balance.

  Kincaid’s arm was braced strong at her back while her legs fell over one of his thighs, and the saddle horn dug hard into her hip despite the extra padding he’d provided.

  And seemingly, all around her, was him. His masculine scent, his strength, his heat. And his irritation.

  It made her nervous, how intensely she could feel him—all of him. Her pulse quickened to a reckless pace as her stomach tightened and her skin tingled. She shoved aside her reaction. She was here now, in his lap, and unless she wished to walk to the next town, it was where she’d stay. There was no point in being skittish.

  Alexandra squirmed as she tried to fit her bottom more comfortably in the limited space. The horse shifted beneath her, and she could practically hear Kincaid grinding his teeth in impatience, but she was not about to ride however many hours with a bruise forming on her hip because she had not bothered to adjust her position.

  Bracing one hand on the hard surface of Kincaid’s thigh, she lifted and turned just enough to bend her right knee over the saddle horn, which settled her rear more firmly into the V of Kincaid’s lap and succeeded in making her feel much more secure on her perch once she tested it by shifting her weight a bit from side to side.

  “Are you done?” His tone was tense, making it impossible to miss the irritation underlying each word.

  His obvious aggravation helped to chase away the last of her self-consciousness at being tucked so intimately against his body.

  “Yes, much better,” she said brightly, only because she knew the happy tone would annoy him.

  She really needed to stop doing that. Her temerity had always gotten her into trouble as a child. There had been a time when her father had encouraged such willfulness, though the older she’d gotten, the less he’d seemed to tolerate the fact that she preferred to speak her mind and do things her own way.

  She couldn’t imagine what he’d think of her leaving Boston as she had. He could be furious. He might even send her straight back East as soon as she arrived in Montana.

  That thought had her stomach clenching with uncertainty. She hated that thoughts of her father and home had the ability to make her feel that way. It was part of the reason she had to go back, before she went through with her marriage and was trapped in Boston—and the person she had been forced to become in Boston—for good.

  * * *

  Kincaid kept his horse to a slow and steady pace. He had no intention of putting unnecessary strain on Deuce. The woman in front of him was small by most standards, but over time, the added burden would limit the gelding’s endurance.

  The sooner Malcolm could get the stubborn woman off his hands—and out of his lap—the better.

  She had sent his body into a riot when she’d squirmed into place. She fit surprisingly well once she’d adjusted her seat, but that adjusting had nearly brought a halt to the whole thing. The fool woman didn’t even know what she’d done to him when she’d planted her hand flat on his thigh and turned herself until her rear end fit snug to his groin. It took all his willpower to keep his rush of lust from becoming obvious beneath her gently rounded bottom. Even her many skirts and petticoats wouldn’t have been able to disguise his reaction.

  The smell of her alone was enough to make his belly clench. As soon as he’d lifted her up onto the horse, the scent of summer flowers had come wafting from her person. It wasn’t a heavy, cloying smell like some dance hall girls wore, but something lightly teasing. It mingled subtly with that essence intrinsic to females and had his body tightening in an instant.

  Kincaid often went months without a woman while he tracked down a bounty. He’d learned to curb his needs for the sake of his work. He was not one to spend time in a whorehouse, and he didn’t exactly make many lady friends in his line of work. His interactions with females were brief and occurred only when convenient.

  There had been a time in his younger days when Malcolm had been known as a charmer. He’d enjoyed the flirtation and anticipation of courtship, and the ladies had enjoyed him. That had been a long time ago. The day he’d found his brother’s dead body, he’d made a vow to be vigilant and focused on seeking justice.

  Nothing else mattered.

  But as the weight and warmth of the woman in his arms reminded him of how long it had been since he’d held anything so lovely, keeping his focus proved to be a difficult endeavor. Further proof that women were distractions.

  And distractions were unacceptable.

  They rode in silence for more than an hour. The only sounds were the woods around them, the creak of the saddle beneath them, and the occasional insistent grumble of the woman’s stomach.

  Kincaid wondered how long she’d endure the discomfort before asking for food.

  He had some jerky in his pack, a can of beans he would have heated up at camp the night before if he hadn’t been so tired, and some two-day-old biscuits. He didn’t often travel with much, as he preferred to hunt for his food. Despite her obvious hunger, however, she didn’t once complain.

  Stubborn might be an understatement for this woman.

  The farther they went into the morning, the more Malcolm became convinced that she wasn’t going to ask for food at all.

  Damned fool.

  Didn’t she know she needed her strength to make it across this rough country on horseback? She should have at least asked for water by now. She’d end up starving herself out of ignorance. That or she’d grow faint, lose her seat, and end up falling from the horse. Then he’d not only have a helpless woman on his hands, but also an injured one.

  She was disgustingly ignorant of the many reasons she wasn’t prepared for the kind of trek she intended to take. She’d be best off going back where she’d come from.

  When her stomach grumbled for the fiftieth time, Malcolm gave a grunt of annoyance as he reached into one of the saddle packs.

  She leaned forward when she felt him moving and looked over her shoulder at him in curiosity.

  Malcolm was struck hard by those big eyes of hers, so close he could see the darker, cobalt-colored ring that surrounded all that shining blue. And when she noticed the jerky he had in his hand, the look of utter longing had him tensing from head to toe as thoughts of something a far cry from food came to mind.

  “You trying to starve yourself?” he asked gruffly. “You should’ve asked for something to eat before we left camp.”

  Her fine black brows tugged low over her eyes as she met his gaze. “I wasn’t sure
you had anything to share. You may not believe me, Mr. Kincaid, but it is not my wish to be an undue burden.”

  He snorted as he handed her a piece of jerky.

  “You know, you also could have offered me something earlier,” she noted before she took a hearty bite of the tough dried meat.

  Malcolm refused to acknowledge that point.

  “Just how far is the next town?” she asked after a short while.

  She was facing forward again, and before Malcolm answered, he untied his canteen and handed it to her, knowing the saltiness of the jerky would make her thirsty.

  She muttered a thanks, and Malcolm watched as she brought the canteen to her lips and tipped her head back to take a drink. Wayward strands of dark hair brushed against his chin, making him breathe deep as her flowery scent assaulted him once again. For something so subtle, it packed a big punch.

  Handing the canteen back to him, she repeated, “You said you would take me to the next town, right?”

  “We’ll reach South Pass City by nightfall.” He took a drink from the canteen before adding, “If we keep a steady pace and don’t overburden the horse.”

  “And what will I find in South Pass City?”

  Now the woman seemed intent on talking.

  Malcolm never used to mind such things. He had been as social as the next guy. But spending so many years alone as he crisscrossed the western territories had made him rusty.

  He just didn’t see much point anymore in getting to know people. He was never in one place long enough to bother. And he sure as hell didn’t intend to be in this woman’s company any longer than necessary.

  “What you’d expect, I suppose. Hotel, stage stop, telegraph office.” To tell the truth, he hadn’t been through South Pass City in several years. On his last time through, the place had already started showing signs of a dwindling population after the gold that had brought everyone to the little town was no longer so plentiful.

  “I see.” The two words were quiet yet seemed to resonate with trepidation.

  That’s right. The Lassiter fellow stole her belongings, which included her money.