The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  He should keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem. “I’ll get you a room and a meal. Beyond that, you’re on your own.”

  “You would do that?” The smile she tossed over her shoulder had him tensing the muscles in his thighs. That was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to say anything. He didn’t want her gratitude. Didn’t want any more of those damned enticing smiles.

  He clenched his teeth to keep from answering in case he spontaneously offered up his horse too.

  “Do you think I might find someone in South Pass City willing to take me up to Helena?”

  He shrugged. Not his problem.

  “Unless you’ve decided to change your mind…” she led with a cajoling note in her voice. “You will be paid well once we arrive, and anything you spend will be reimbursed, I can promise you that. Not to mention, you are going in that direction already.”

  Malcolm sat straight in the saddle, his gaze trained forward over her shoulder as he resisted the urge to shake his head in exasperation. The woman was persistent. “If there is so much money waiting in Montana, why not have some wired to you?”

  She stiffened, and after a long pause replied, “I can’t.”

  That was it. No further explanation was forthcoming. Malcolm did his best not to find that curious.

  After a bit, she picked up again on trying to persuade him. “You would hardly even know I was with you. We would just need another horse and a few more supplies. The trip could be made quite easily.”

  “You know nothing about these territories if you think to say something like that,” he argued.

  She lifted one brow. “You might be surprised, you know,” she suggested lightly. “I could prove to be an asset on the journey.”

  Malcolm couldn’t hold back his snort of disbelief.

  Her expression darkened. “Are you this dismissive and distrustful of everyone, Mr. Kincaid? Or have I unwittingly done something to reserve that honor all for myself? Is there some reason you don’t want to take me with you?”

  Fully exasperated now, Malcolm swept his hat off his head to run a hand back through his hair before resetting the brim low enough to shadow his eyes. “Listen, lady,” he said in a low and measured tone, “I told you I ain’t no escort. I make my way alone. Period. Besides that, the western territories are no place for someone like you. It’s no place for most people desperate enough to find themselves here. I’m just trying to do you a favor. Your best bet would be to head back to wherever you came from and give up on reaching Montana altogether.”

  She stared at him with her pert chin raised stubbornly and her spine straight and stiff. The sun had already started to pinken her fair skin, and a fine sheen of moisture coated the bit of her slim neck that showed above her buttoned-up collar. Her hair looked about ready to tumble down from its pins, but likely held on for fear of offending the woman with its desire for freedom.

  She looked exactly like what she was: a prim little Eastern lady stuck in the middle of Wyoming Territory with no clue as to the dangers surrounding her.

  He stood by every bit of what he’d said.

  After a moment, she blinked, and her head tilted to one side. An odd little smile crept over her full mouth.

  Malcolm stomped the urge to steal a kiss from those damn lips. He would not lust after this woman.

  “I do believe those were the most words you’ve managed to string together since the moment I met you.”

  Malcolm frowned. “You’d be smart to heed what I say.”

  Her blue gaze slid down and to the side. She sighed. “Perhaps. You likely won’t be the only person to think so. But this is something I need to do.” She flicked her eyes back to his. “It’s something I will do with or without you, Mr. Kincaid, though I do believe I will be much better off with you.”

  “That proves how little you know me,” he said curtly as he nudged Deuce into a trot that had the woman straightening her seat and keeping her mouth shut for another blessed stretch of time.

  Eight

  The miles continued to pass by while they kept to a pace designed for endurance rather than speed, and Alexandra anxiously considered her options. If she didn’t convince Kincaid to take her with him, she would once again be stranded, just as she had been when Lassiter had left her at the creek. A town wasn’t a whole lot better when she had no funds to support herself.

  Alexandra considered Kincaid’s suggestion of sending a telegram to her father and asking for his help, but swiftly rejected the idea.

  She was making this journey on her own. That was the stupid point of it. To prove that her life still belonged to her. To discover who she really was.

  Alexandra had arrived in Boston five years ago at the age of fifteen, unknowingly desperate for direction and assurance. Life with her father had been an endless adventure, while life with Aunt Judith was based on wealth, privilege, and an infinite list of rules.

  Rules for behavior, deportment, appearance. Rules for when to speak, how to speak, and who to speak to. Everything Judith Reed did, from the smallest task to the grandest plan, was performed with one goal in mind—to become accepted by the highest, most respected, and most discretely powerful social circle in the city.

  The structure and routine of her aunt’s household had been a comfort to Alexandra at a time when she had become unsure of herself and the world at large. Coming from a life where the only rules were what was necessary for survival, the constant reminders on how to behave properly, how to speak, sit, walk, dress, and manage all other aspects of daily life felt like a reprieve. She didn’t have to make any decisions for herself or face any consequences of impulsive actions. A part of her had been quite happy to leave the reckless girl she had once been out West to become someone new.

  Under her aunt’s expert tutelage, Alexandra had been reshaped into a lady of fine manners and perfect deportment. A lady worthy of a marriage proposal from a gentleman belonging to one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most respected families in the entire state of Massachusetts.

  Thinking of Peter Shaw triggered a wave of guilt. She couldn’t imagine what he would think of her sudden departure, but she stood by her decision to return to the land of her youth, perhaps for the last time. She had to know who she was before she could figure out who she could someday become.

  Despite the problems she’d faced since her train had pulled into the station in Rock Springs, she already felt as if she could breathe more deeply. Just the simple act of riding horseback through the wilderness made her more relaxed and comfortable than she’d ever been at any of the balls or dinner parties she’d attended in Boston.

  Even when she took into consideration the fact that she was in the reluctant company of a curt and stubbornly silent bounty hunter.

  A smile curved her lips at the thought of how easily annoyed he was. If she hadn’t been so desperate for him to take her all the way to Montana, she might have delighted in seeing how far she could push him.

  She wasn’t sure why he was so adamant in his refusal. It seemed a simple enough thing. Of course, he had made it clear that he expected her to be more burden than companion on the journey. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. He would have no reason to suspect she was anything other than the tenderfoot Eastern lady she appeared to be.

  And she wasn’t exactly sure why she didn’t just tell him of the life she’d had before she’d been sent to her aunt. Maybe because that identity—those aspects of herself—had been tucked so securely away for so long she wasn’t sure how much still existed.

  A heavy sigh released from her chest and her shoulders fell. She didn’t straighten, even though it caused her spine to curve back against Kincaid’s chest. In all honesty, the contact felt nice, especially now.

  Uncertainty. Fear. Helplessness. The three things Alexandra hated feeling the most. And she’d experienced all three since leaving Bo
ston.

  Perhaps the only thing this journey home would succeed in proving was that she truly didn’t belong out here, exactly as Kincaid had declared.

  Another sigh escaped, and this time she felt Kincaid stiffen as her posture softened even more into the curve of his body. His thighs tensed. His arm braced against her ribs as he held the reins straightened, and he sat just a bit taller, as though in becoming all hardness and resistance he could discourage her from finding comfort against him.

  She smiled again as her eyelids drooped over her blurring gaze.

  Too late.

  The lack of sleep from the night before, the steady rhythm of the horse, and the security of her position in front of Kincaid lulled her into a state of relaxation she could not resist. Instead, she sank into it further, if only because she knew it would annoy the bounty hunter beyond belief.

  Her last thought was regret that she would sleep through his inevitable irritation.

  * * *

  Malcolm knew the instant she fell asleep. Her breath slipped into a deep and even rhythm as her body became pliant in the circle of his arms and her head dropped back against his shoulder. He had known it was coming, had sensed her slackening awareness.

  The only reason he didn’t urge her to stay awake was because he could tell himself he was looking forward to the reprieve from her unwelcome chatter.

  She still thought to convince him to take her with him.

  She was going to be disappointed.

  He shifted in the saddle and adjusted her in front of him so she settled more fully against his chest. It made it easier to ensure she wouldn’t tumble from the horse, but also forced him to feel the steady rise and fall of her breath as her ribs expanded against him. He didn’t want to notice how she fit so snugly in the curve of his body or how the scent of her tormented him with every breath he took. But he did notice, and he was not unaffected. It’d been a long time since he’d been close to someone so soft, so feminine. And even longer since he’d just held someone in his arms.

  It called up a bittersweet ache inside him that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  He could manage one day with the woman. As long as he kept them to a steady pace, they’d reach South Pass City by nightfall. From there, she was on her own.

  Nine

  Alexandra woke just as Kincaid brought the horse to a gentle halt.

  She blinked a few times in rapid succession to clear the sleep from her eyes as she straightened in the saddle, realizing immediately that she had been resting rather intimately in Kincaid’s arms.

  And that he had allowed it.

  A faint flush warmed her cheeks as she glanced about to determine just how long she’d slept.

  They had stopped along a river bank at a spot where the winding waterway curved in a deep C, creating an oasis of greenery. A few tall-standing cottonwood trees created a shady spot that looked refreshing and lovely. The sun was high in the sky, and judging by the state of her hunger, she would guess several hours had passed since she’d snacked on the jerky.

  “Hold on,” Kincaid muttered as he dismounted from the horse before reaching to grasp her about the waist. His eyes were sharp, his brows tugged low over his gaze, and his mouth was drawn into a harsh line.

  Nothing new there.

  She braced her hands on his shoulders as he brought her to the ground. Impressions of his solid, wide-shouldered strength, the warmth of his body beneath the cotton of his shirt, and the ease with which he lifted her from the horse combined to make her momentarily light-headed. Or perhaps it was the scent of him—male and natural—that made her feel so very feminine by comparison.

  A breath caught in her throat, and she tipped her chin back to look at him, but as soon as her feet touched earth, he released her and her hands fell to her sides. She felt an instant loss at the broken connection as he reached for the horse’s reins and walked away, leading it to the water.

  After taking a moment to regain her equilibrium, Alexandra followed him to the river’s edge. It was a slow, meandering channel, but the water was clear and fresh. Lowering herself to her knees in the grass, she leaned forward and cupped her hands in the cool water to take a drink. The act brought back memories of splashing and swimming in similar rivers when she’d been much younger. She smiled and tipped her face up to the August sun. The heat of the day had continued to strengthen while she had slept, and perspiration had dampened the layers of her clothing.

  She wished she could strip down to her undergarments and wade into the water to wash away the sweat and sleep and worry that still clung to her. It’s what she would have done as a child.

  Instead, she settled for rolling up the sleeves of her gown and releasing a couple of buttons at her throat. Aunt Judith would have gone into conniptions over Alexandra’s blatant display of impropriety. A lady should never reveal so much of her skin in mixed company.

  She slid a glance to where Kincaid crouched at the water’s edge to refill his canteen. He wasn’t likely to be offended by the sight of her bare arms and a glimpse of collarbone.

  The sluicing of cool water up her arms and the splashes she brought to the back of her neck helped to relieve much of her discomfort, though she still would have been grateful for clothing that consisted of significantly fewer layers. Expecting to travel by train and stage, she had worn her best traveling outfit. Her stolen valise had contained similar attire. It would have been smarter to bring clothing more appropriate to the land she intended to travel through, but she had thought to impress her father by showing him what a lady she’d become.

  None of that mattered now. She was likely to be in a frightful state by the time she reached Helena.

  Shaking her head, she rose to her feet with a sigh and smoothed her hands over her hair. The chignon continued to loosen, and several strands had slipped free to fall against her face and the back of her neck. She did her best to smooth it all back, but it stuck to her damp skin.

  With a mutter of annoyance, she gave up. What was the point?

  After filling his canteen, Kincaid had moved back to his horse to rifle through one of the saddlebags. After a moment, he pulled out the jerky and stuck a piece between his teeth before turning to offer some to Alexandra.

  She stepped forward and took the small hunk of salty dried meat, offering a smile of gratitude as she did so.

  Kincaid’s perpetually scowling face did not alter. He bit off a chunk of the jerky and began to chew as he turned back to the saddlebag.

  With a sigh, Alexandra said lightly, “You might try to lighten up a bit, Mr. Kincaid, or I will start to think you have a serious issue against me.”

  His shoulders pulled back. Just a bit. “You’re welcome to think that.”

  Humph. So much for teasing the man into a more pleasant mood.

  Though she was insightful enough not to take Kincaid’s attitude personally, since it was apparent that it was simply his nature to be curt, it still stung to be so blithely dismissed.

  Retreating to the shade beneath one of the cottonwoods, she eased herself down to the grass with her legs outstretched and began to pull on the jerky with her teeth. It was tough, but tasty enough to be satisfying after going hours with no food. She looked around, wondering if there might be something she could add to the little meal, but she did not recognize anything edible.

  Kincaid’s bay gelding appeared to disagree as he finished drinking and moved off to nibble on some of the longer grass growing nearby.

  Unable to keep from looking his way, Alexandra watched as Kincaid crouched once again at the water’s edge. He had dunked his bandana in the water and now tied it back around his neck. The wet cotton immediately soaked the collar of his shirt. Alexandra wondered if more rivulets of water ran down his back beneath the material where she couldn’t see. She imagined little trails of cooling water running in paths down a deep
ly muscled spine, skin tanned by exposure to the sun.

  When he straightened from his crouch and rose to his full height with a long, unfurling stretch, Alexandra didn’t even try to stop her gaze from falling to where his dark, fitted trousers formed to firm buttocks and hard, masculine thighs.

  Her lips parted as heat that had nothing to do with the sun flooded her system.

  Of course, Kincaid turned toward her at just that moment. Catching her staring at him, he came to a halt and arched a brow in his first display of an emotion other than irritation or impatience.

  She didn’t know quite what that arched brow conveyed—curiosity? amusement?—but it triggered a rush of self-awareness that warmed her cheeks even more. She quickly glanced down to brush some grass off her skirts.

  When Kincaid walked toward her, she refused to look up at him until she knew her brief flare of embarrassment had been contained and she didn’t have some moon-eyed expression on her face. She was not accustomed to being caught off guard, but this man seemed to do it easily.

  The bounty hunter leaned his back against the trunk of another one of the trees and took his hat off, but he did not sit.

  “This is only a short stop,” he clarified. “We’ll continue on in a bit.”

  “Of course. I understand you want to be rid of me as soon as possible.” Alexandra’s tone had gone stiff to conceal her inner discomfort.

  He did not refute her, and disappointment mixed in with her distress. Why should she care what he thought of her? She tugged off another bite of jerky to distract herself.

  It didn’t work.

  The man drew far too much of her attention.

  What she needed to be doing was picking his brain for whatever she could find that might get him to help her.

  Gazing out toward the river, she forced a more conversational tone. “Where in Montana are you going, Mr. Kincaid?”

  “Not your business, Miss Brighton.” Though it was the first time she’d heard him say her name, it did not come out sounding at all friendly.