by Amy Sandas
But he couldn’t in good conscience leave her stranded. Doing so would make him no better than Lassiter, and there was no telling what manner of character she’d end up in the hands of if he wasn’t there to keep her out of trouble.
“We do things my way,” he stated firmly. “No arguing.”
She nodded vigorously. “Of course. Whatever you say, Mr. Kincaid.”
Malcolm narrowed his gaze. Her ready agreement was suspicious, but he’d made his decision. “Malcolm,” he muttered.
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then she smiled, and Malcolm’s gut clenched. The curve of that lower lip was going to be the death of him.
“All right, Malcolm.” She unfolded her arms to extend her hand. “And you may call me Alexandra.”
Malcolm knew he shouldn’t take her hand. Not there in the dark while she stood in nothing but a towel, not when desire ran rampant through his blood at the simple sight of her. But she kept her hand extended and lifted a brow as though in challenge.
He took her hand in his, noting its softness and how easily it became folded up in his larger grip. His bicep tensed with the urge to give a quick and forceful tug so she’d tumble toward him until her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs bumped his, and her breath spread across his throat. It’d be so easy to take her in his arms and claim her mouth.
But she was innocent and far too trusting—not to mention way the hell out of his class—and Malcolm had never taken anything from a woman that wasn’t freely given. Miss Brighton was not for him.
Oblivious to his train of thought, she gave a surprisingly firm handshake. Her smile never wavered as she declared, “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
Malcolm released her hand and stepped back. “Be downstairs by seven o’clock tomorrow.”
“I will. Thank you, Malcolm.”
“And ask who’s at your door before you open the damned thing.”
Malcolm held his position until the door closed and he heard the lock click into place. Then he stalked down the hall to his own room, taking slow breaths to rein in his body’s fierce and unwelcome craving. He’d need to see to his own relief tonight. There was no way he was going to start on the trail with that woman wound as tight as he was.
Not if he hoped to survive the journey.
Twelve
Alexandra stood by the door, listening to Malcolm’s booted steps retreating down the hall. Only when she couldn’t hear him anymore did she release the breath she’d been holding.
Heat rushed through her body as she recalled the look on his face when she’d opened the door in her less-than-dressed state. The scorching heat in his eyes had shocked her from head to toe.
Alexandra had been the object of admiring glances and appreciative smiles from gentlemen in Boston. She knew she was passably pretty, especially when dressed up in her finery. But Malcolm Kincaid had stood, still as stone, while his focus slid over her body, leaving tingling chills in its wake. She had grown so accustomed to the polite and reserved manners of the gentlemen from her social circles out East that she did not know how to respond to such a bold perusal.
The intensity of his gaze had triggered an instant wave of self-awareness that had made her fingers and toes tingle while a fluttering sensation erupted deep in the pit of her being. It was a heightened sort of anticipation.
It was the oddest thing. Kincaid barely tolerated her.
Yet, there had been something akin to hunger in his gaze. And then the anger. Now that she thought about it, his gruff manner may have been an attempt at hiding his physical reaction. If he was attracted to her, he didn’t want to be. That much was abundantly clear.
Kincaid had had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of her vulnerability. But he hadn’t, and she trusted he never would. Kincaid might be harsh, ill-mannered, rude, and desperately protective of his desire for isolation, but he possessed a deep thread of honor that he would likely never admit to.
She had detected it in him from the start, and it had convinced her that he was the man she needed. She trusted him.
Her father might have argued that she trusted too easily. Perhaps it was true to some degree. It had certainly been more so during her youth, when she’d viewed the world as an inviting adventure and all its inhabitants as kindred souls…but this was different. This kind of trust went deeper.
She wondered what had changed his mind, but she was not going to press her luck by questioning him about it. He had agreed. That was the important thing.
The next morning, she woke with the dawn and dressed quickly before twisting her hair up as neatly as possible with the limited number of hairpins still in her possession. She paused for just a second to look about the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then recalled that she had nothing beyond the clothes on her back. It was direct evidence of how truly cut adrift she was from the many comforts and conveniences of her life in Boston. She was disconnected. On her own. The realization was disconcerting and freeing at the same time.
It was more than twenty minutes before seven o’clock, but as she entered the small dining room, she saw Kincaid seated at a table with his back to the corner. From his position, he could survey the entire room, as well as anyone entering or leaving through the front door. He was also in the perfect place to watch her approach.
Alexandra thought she had gotten past the previous night’s incident.
Apparently not.
Her skin flushed instantly as she met his sharp stare. She recalled how his gaze had swept down the length of her body while she’d stood in nothing but a towel. That silver flame she’d seen in his eyes the night before was carefully banked this morning, yet it did not seem to change the fact that his gaze caused a rush of warmth through her blood.
Though he stood as she reached the table, he did not bother to pull out her chair. No matter. Such a thing would have brought them into close proximity, and she was not prepared for that just now.
“Good morning, Malcolm,” she said brightly to disguise her awkwardness.
His response was a grunt, which was just as well, since she had no idea what else to say.
Luckily, she was spared the need for further conversation as Jane came forward from the back room. “Would you like some coffee, miss?”
Not sure if they had the time, Alexandra glanced to Kincaid, and he gave a short nod. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, grateful they would not be striking out immediately.
“Breakfast will be out shortly,” Jane advised after she poured the hot brew.
After a lovely meal of eggs, ham, and fried potatoes—the cost of which Alexandra estimated and added to a running tally of what she would need to refund Kincaid once the trip was over—they left the hotel to procure a few supplies and another horse.
Alexandra could not help smiling as they walked down the boardwalk to the mercantile store they’d passed when they’d come into town. Sneaking a sidelong glance at the man walking beside her, she was surprised to discover that he was eyeing her suspiciously.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re not gonna spend the whole day gloating about getting your way, are you?”
She lifted her brows, all innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”
He grunted, but she thought she saw the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “It’s written all over your face.”
“Do you blame me?”
“We’ll see.”
“It will all be worth it once we get there.” A sudden realization had her turning her head to look at him in surprise. “You know, you haven’t even asked what you will be paid for your services.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied as he suddenly grasped her elbow to assist her over a loose board.
“Thank you,” she murmured after he released her again, doing her best to ignore the way his strong but gentle grip had f
elt through the layers of her coat and the blouse beneath. She picked up the conversation where it had left off. “Of course it matters. Surely, that had an influence on your decision.”
He did not reply, just kept his focus directed straight ahead. If not for the payment, then why? It certainly was not because he had grown fond of her. As Alexandra opened her mouth to press further, he jerked his head to the side.
“We’re here.”
The mercantile was of modest size, but was stocked with just about anything a person could need, providing everything from hair ribbons and dress material, to sacks of onions and flour, to hardware and weapons.
While Kincaid went straight to the young woman behind the counter, obviously needing no time to browse, Alexandra took the opportunity to wander around a bit.
She walked along rows of shelves piled high with food stored in tin cans, burlap sacks, and wooden crates. From there she found herself amongst dozens of bolts of fabrics. Cottons, calicos, wool, in an array of patterns and colors. A variety of ladies’ bonnets and men’s hats hung on the wall in neat rows beside racks of shoes suitable for everyone in the family, from the youngest to the oldest, from work boots to Sunday dress shoes.
Alexandra noted a pair of lightweight boots that would have been far more appropriate than the fancy heeled shoes she currently wore. In truth, it would be ideal to replace her entire outfit, which, although perfectly suited to train travel, would continue to be a terrible hindrance on horseback.
But without any money, she’d have to make do with what she had.
At least her clothes were as clean as she could manage. She would have to find a way to sit her horse safely, however. Perhaps she could cut away some of the draping fabric that drew her skirts back into their narrow silhouette. It would not be as effective an outfit as the pair of denim trousers she passed by, but the idea had some merit.
A twinge of deep regret stole through her as she thought about having to ruin such beautiful clothing. One of the first things Aunt Judith had done when Alexandra had arrived in Boston was to take her shopping for appropriate clothing. It had been a two-day excursion that left young Alexandra stunned by all the fripperies and unnecessary items she had apparently needed. It had taken some time to grow accustomed to the very different expectations for how a young lady should present herself—not just in manner, but in fashion as well.
And now, she was considering slicing through the skirts of her traveling gown to make it easier to sit a horse.
She shook her head.
Aunt Judith would think her crazy. Her friends would too.
They might be right. Just a little bit. Her determination to get to Montana was making her consider many things she wouldn’t have imagined just a few weeks ago.
“I’m gonna go see about getting a horse.”
Lost in her thoughts, Alexandra jumped at the sound of Kincaid’s voice so close behind her.
She turned around to see him standing in the narrow aisle between the shoes and a selection of horse tack and supplies. Though it was full sun outside and the storefront boasted large windows, at the back of the store where they stood, only dim light filtered beyond the rows of shelves. Alexandra was struck by how out of place Kincaid looked amongst all the neatly stacked goods. He was far more suited to wide-open spaces, mountains, and fresh air.
He didn’t move, but something must have shifted around them, bringing the scent of horse, leather, and man toward her. Alexandra breathed in deeply despite herself.
“Wait here. I’ll return to bring everything back to the hotel.”
She nodded. “Please keep an account of your expenses on this trip so you can be reimbursed.”
He did not respond to that, only tipped his head before turning to stride from the store.
Almost as soon as Malcolm made his exit, two women entered the shop.
One of them glanced back over her shoulder with a pinched expression. “That must have been the bounty hunter I heard came to town last evening.”
“Bounty hunter?” the other asked as they crossed out of view without even noticing Alexandra’s presence toward the back of the store. They turned down the next row, and though Alexandra tried not to continue listening to them, it proved impossible, considering they didn’t even attempt to lower their voices.
“Yes, and he rode in with a young…woman.”
The hesitation was obvious. The choice of the word woman over lady, equally telling. Alexandra’s skin heated at the suggestion in the prudish tone.
“Really?” came the astonished reply.
“Indeed. Apparently, they are traveling together. Just the two of them.”
Alexandra turned her attention to the display at her right, but she didn’t really see it.
“I’m sure I’d never have the courage to travel alone with a man like that.”
“No lady would.”
And with that, the two continued on and soon after paid for their purchase and left the store, while Alexandra made sure they didn’t accidently catch sight of her. She would not say she hid exactly, just did her best to ensure there would not be an embarrassing confrontation.
Their gossipy comments had initially angered her, but then she wondered if she should have been shamed instead. Her actions since arriving in the West had broken at least a hundred rules of decorum her aunt had insisted she follow.
But life was different out here.
The two shoppers clearly questioned her respectability, but such things could not be allowed to hold you back from something that needed to be accomplished. Alexandra’s father had taught her that. And he had once been one of the most respected gentlemen in Boston.
She would not let their comments bother her. She had more important things to worry about, after all. Like getting to Montana and figuring out the rest of her future.
Shortly after the ladies left, the store clerk—a young woman about the same age as Alexandra, with pale, freckled skin and a ready smile—spotted her and approached. “Ah, there you are, miss. The mister says to get you some clothing more suited for riding horseback. I thought you might want to choose the items yourself.”
Alexandra was surprised, though she probably shouldn’t have been. Of course, he would think of everything.
Pushing aside any further concern over what she’d overheard, she allowed the clerk to lead her back to the ready-made clothing, where she selected a simple cotton blouse and a split skirt in serviceable wool designed for riding astride. When the clerk stated she was also to select a pair of proper shoes, she went back to the boots she’d seen earlier.
After Alexandra made her choices, the clerk left her to continue gathering up the rest of their order.
Pleased that Kincaid had thought to ensure she would have the right attire to make the rest of the trip more comfortable, Alexandra was smiling as she came back toward the front of the store. That was when a collection of rifles and pistols behind the cashier’s counter drew her gaze.
Her steps came to a sudden halt as she stared at a particular model of handgun: a small Colt, suitable for a woman or a child. Once again frozen by the involuntary physical reaction, she could only stand in place staring at the familiar weapon, remembering its weight in her hand, recalling the sharp report it issued when fired, smelling the gunpowder filtering through the crisp air of an early autumn evening.
“Miss? Miss, are you all right?”
Alexandra was drawn from the suffocating memories by the clerk’s concerned voice. She wondered how long the woman had been at her side, trying to gain her attention. Sensation swiftly returned to her muscles, and the iciness left her limbs in a whoosh that made her feel weakened but no longer frozen with fear.
“I’ve never seen anyone go so pale,” the clerk said with concern. “It’s like you seen a ghost or something.”
“I’m sorry. I was lost in my thoughts fo
r a moment.” She smiled, hoping to assure the poor woman that she hadn’t lost her wits.
To distract herself, she walked toward a counter display with a glass top. The case contained various knives arranged alongside leather sheaths in perfect rows. Fitted with brass guards, some handles were made of smoothed deer antler, while others were of polished wood that gleamed in the uncertain light. The sheaths were fine-crafted, the leather appearing supple yet strong with tight stitching along the seams.
A knife would come in handy in so many ways.
Her gaze lit upon one not quite as large as some others, but suitable for cutting through a young sapling or an animal hide. It possessed a smooth, sharp blade and a handle made with a wood so dark it looked nearly black. She’d had one very similar when she’d been young.
“Have you interest in a hunting blade, miss?” The clerk set some supplies near the cash register and walked toward Alexandra.
“How much is that one there?”
“A fine piece, miss.” The clerk smiled and retrieved a key to open the glass top of the case to withdraw the knife and hand it to Alexandra for her inspection.
The knife was beautiful. Perfectly balanced with a finely honed blade. Holding the familiar tool gave Alexandra a burst of confidence. It seemed to form a link between who she was now to the self-assured and ever-capable girl she had once been. Though she felt a prickle of guilt for her impulsive desire to add the knife to Kincaid’s stack of purchases, she knew it was a sound and practical decision. A blade such as this had infinite uses on the trail and would allow her some means to contribute.
But Kincaid would surely notice the added cost. “Is there anything of equal value in the current purchases that I could trade it for?”