The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  The clerk swept a glance at the gathered items from Kincaid’s order. “Ah, the silver hairbrush, I suppose.”

  “Perfect,” Alexandra replied. “I will take the knife instead.” She could make do without a hairbrush—though she appreciated Kincaid’s thoughtfulness in including it—but the knife suddenly felt far more necessary.

  While Alexandra waited patiently for the clerk to finish wrapping their purchases into neat little brown paper parcels, she heard the fall of a familiar booted step on the wood-plank floor.

  Kincaid had returned.

  She covertly slid the knife between two of the wrapped parcels waiting on the counter.

  She wasn’t sure why she felt a need to hide the purchase. Maybe she did not want to hear the disdain in his voice when he argued that a knife would be nothing but a danger to someone like her. He had placed her firmly in the category of useless tenderfoot from the moment he’d first met her, and likely wouldn’t believe her if she told him she knew well enough how to use it.

  She could try harder to convince him that she had a childhood’s worth of experience living in Montana, moving about with her father from one adventure to another. But the truth was that she wasn’t sure how much of those experiences were still within her.

  If nothing else, this trip would likely show her just how much of that girl still existed.

  Placing her hand on the packages to keep anything from shifting, she turned to Kincaid with a lifted brow. “That was quick. Did you have any luck in securing another horse?”

  He nodded and glanced at the clerk. “Everything all set?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe this is all of it. Are you sure you wouldn’t like more of our food stuffs? We have—”

  “No. We’re fine with this,” he replied as he tossed a length of coiled rope and her new saddlebags over his shoulder, then tucked the sack of grain for the horses and a new bedroll under his arm.

  Alexandra quickly scooped up the small stack of parcels that contained her hidden purchase. Kincaid eyed her curiously, since he could have easily carried all their meager supplies himself. “I told you I will not be an extra burden,” Alexandra explained. “I can carry my weight.”

  With his characteristic grunt, which she was coming to understand as being his way of saying, “I disagree, but I’m not gonna bother to argue,” he turned to leave without another word.

  Alexandra thanked the woman behind the counter, giving a bright and sunny smile in the hopes of making up for Kincaid’s rudeness, then she followed her escort out into the sunshine.

  After she’d spent so much time in the dim store, the brightness of the day blinded her for a moment until her eyes adjusted.

  By then, Kincaid was already securing their supplies to the saddle of the horse he’d acquired. The mount he’d chosen was a beautiful, light-chestnut mare, and though she showed some age, she was fit and stocky and obviously built for endurance.

  Alexandra walked to the horse’s head to introduce herself. Shifting the packages into one arm, she placed her hand on the horse’s forelock. The mare immediately bowed her head and huffed a breath.

  Alexandra smiled. They would get along just fine. “What is her name?” she asked.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Frowning, Alexandra looked into the mare’s dark eyes and whispered, “I will come up with something. Don’t worry.”

  Kincaid came forward after securing their supplies and reached for Alexandra’s burden.

  She smiled sweetly. “I’ve got these.”

  With a shake of his head, he untied the horse from the hitching post. In addition to thinking her helpless and ignorant, the man probably thought her odd, as well.

  She shouldn’t let it bother her.

  She’d spent the last five years worrying about how the people of Boston might see her. Though she never fully understood her aunt’s overwhelming awe of the Boston Brahmins, she appreciated the desire not to be viewed as so very different from all of them.

  Even though she was.

  Only Evie and Courtney knew Alexandra was not the polished lady everyone assumed her to be. It was odd how the hard-earned qualities that had gained her acceptance among her aunt’s people were a basis for derision from Kincaid.

  He turned the horse and began to lead her down the road. “Let’s get back to the hotel so we can be on our way.”

  “We are leaving town right away?” Alexandra asked as she rushed to catch up to him.

  “There’s still plenty of daylight left. We’ll need to make the most of it.”

  “I see.”

  “Your mare is sure-footed. If you can stay in the saddle, you’ll manage.”

  His assumption that she was worried about riding made her bristle with indignation, but she knew there was no point in trying to assert her abilities. He’d eventually have to change his opinion of her.

  Wouldn’t he?

  When they reached the hotel, Kincaid stopped out front and nodded toward the building. “Get yourself ready. We head out in an hour.” Then he turned and walked her mare toward the stables behind the hotel.

  Alexandra sighed as she took her parcels up to her room. As she began to unwrap the new clothing from the brown paper, she got excited about finally having attire more suited to her current needs.

  Aside from the cotton shirt, split skirt, and boots that she had picked out, Kincaid had thought to include an oiled slicker lined with flannel, two large handkerchiefs that could be used as bandanas or for various other purposes, and two pairs of serviceable woolen socks.

  She smiled at the thought of how aghast Evie and Courtney would be by her delight in such common items. Neither of her friends had ever existed outside their wealthy, privileged circumstances. They’d never even left Boston except for trips to New York City on shopping excursions.

  After removing her tight-fitted jacket, fine-stitched blouse, and her many-layered skirts and petticoats, she stood in only her one-piece undergarment. Thank goodness she did not have a confining corset to contend with, having realized when she was preparing to leave Boston that she would not be able to manage lacing the garment on her own. She quickly redressed in the woolen skirt, plain cotton shirt, thick stockings, and the new boots. Then she took a deep breath that filled her lungs all the way to the bottom.

  A curious feeling of liberation filtered through her, reminding her a bit of the freedom she’d enjoyed as a girl.

  Using her new knife, she cut a few strips off one of the handkerchiefs, which she used to secure the knife’s sheath to her calf above the edge of her boot where it would be in easy reach beneath her skirts.

  Then she wrapped up her discarded petticoats and her fine blouse in one of the pieces of brown paper from the mercantile and retied it with twine. The petticoats and blouse were lightweight enough to add to her saddle pack and might come in handy along the journey. With a rueful expression, she looked at the fine traveling outfit she’d thought she’d be wearing when she arrived at her father’s. She certainly wouldn’t be making the impression she’d expected to, but bringing the weighty and cumbersome Eastern getup along would be the height of impracticality.

  Her hesitation in leaving the gown behind was a little unexpected. She never would have been concerned with such fine trappings in her youth. It proved how much she had changed under her aunt’s tutelage, but it didn’t alter what she had to do.

  She left the dark-blue skirt, matching jacket, and her elegant heeled boots neatly on the bed. Maybe Jane would get some use out of them. Scooping up the rain slicker and her package, she turned and left the room, bolstered by the feel of the knife against her calf and optimistic that her plan to leave Boston might have finally taken a turn for the better.

  Thirteen

  Figuring it would still be a while before Miss Brighton showed herself, Malcolm leaned back against the hitching rail and folded hi
s arms across his chest. The horses were fed, watered, and ready. All they were waiting on was the woman.

  Alexandra.

  Her given name danced through his mind. For the most part, it suited her. It was feminine and traditional, but it didn’t do much to suggest the impish way her eyes lit up when she smiled, nor did it hint at the natural sensuality that eased from beneath her proper manners, rigid posture, and single-minded focus.

  The stubborn woman sure had gotten what she wanted.

  Now that Malcolm had agreed to take on the job, he wanted it started and done. He was not an impatient man, but he preferred to do things at a set pace. They’d already lost too many hours of the day.

  The trip up to Helena would take a couple of weeks on horseback and required traveling through some rugged country. The way was made even more dangerous by the presence of wild animals, outlaws, and some bands of renegade Indians who hadn’t been in agreement with the government’s decision to force them onto reservations when they had once roamed the country at will.

  He doubted his new companion would find much enjoyment in the travel ahead. For someone not used to it, spending day after day in a saddle could be hell on the body. But the woman was damned determined.

  Malcolm shifted his stance against the rail. He was anxious to get going and had to fight against the urge to go fetch her, when the sound of booted feet crossing the porch had him lifting his head.

  She’d stopped at the top of the two steps that would bring her down to where he stood. Dressed in a split skirt of brown wool, a cotton shirt buttoned to her throat, and serviceable boots, with the rain slicker draped over her arm, she almost looked prepared for their journey ahead. It was the twinkle of excitement in her eyes that threw off the look. If she had any idea what kind of hardships she’d be facing, she would not be so eager.

  A blast of irritation shot through him. He should not be escorting this lady across the wilderness.

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Then her gaze flickered briefly to the gun at his hip before she lifted her eyes again to his. He’d noticed that flash of fear before. It seemed to come up every time she caught sight of his gun.

  Someone unaccustomed to the necessity of carrying a firearm would experience natural discomfort at the constant sight of a gun. But this seemed to go deeper than mere discomfort. It was damned near close to panic.

  But then it was gone as she tipped her chin up and looked down at him with a slightly arched brow. “Are you quite finished with glaring at me, Mr. Kincaid? Or are you not ready to depart?”

  Malcolm pushed off from the rail. “Just waiting on you, sweetheart.”

  She gave a little huff.

  He grabbed the felt hat he’d set on the post beside him. Then he stalked forward to where she still stood at the edge of the porch. He placed the floppy, wide-brimmed hat on her head, making the mistake of meeting her gaze as he did so. He immediately experienced a fierce little stab in the center of his chest before a smooth glide of heat angled straight down. There was something about those blue eyes of hers. Clenching his teeth, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

  He caught the faintest hint of her scent, clean and feminine. His body stirred to life with an attraction he had no intention of acknowledging. Dammit.

  Being around this woman for the next weeks was going to be a very particular kind of hell.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The words drew his focus to that mouth-watering lower lip. She took a swift breath and seemed to hold it. Malcolm forced his gaze back up to meet hers again. “This ain’t gonna be easy,” he said sharply.

  She let out her breath and nodded. “I know.”

  Malcolm lowered his brows, wondering just how much she did know. Not much, he reckoned as he felt his pulse quicken. “You do as I say. Every moment, not just when you feel like it.”

  She nodded again.

  “You’re gonna need to do your part.”

  “I said I would,” she stated with a fierce frown.

  “You have no idea what will be required of you over the next couple of weeks. I’ll keep you alive and get you to Montana, but I’m not your servant. You’ll be expected to do for yourself.”

  “Of course,” she said stiffly.

  He could see the hurt pride in her face, but he couldn’t worry about that. She needed to know what to expect. He turned away. “Get on your horse and let’s go.”

  He didn’t wait to see how she managed to mount the mare on her own. Once he was in his saddle, he started off down the street that would take them toward the Wind River Mountain Range. It was not long before he heard her behind him. He hoped she’d stay back a bit, but she rode up alongside him anyway.

  A prickle of awareness itched at the back of his neck. Malcolm sent a focused gaze along both sides of the street. There was barely anyone about. Just a few kids, an older woman carrying a basket of vegetables, and a handful of men hanging around near the saloon. No one seemed too concerned by their passing, but something felt off.

  Malcolm continued to scan their surroundings as the town faded into the distance behind them. He noted no cause for alarm. More than likely, it was the unwelcome companion at his side that made him feel uneasy.

  Malcolm chanced a glance toward the woman beside him. She hadn’t said a single word since they’d started off, but kept her horse at his mount’s flank, refusing to fall into step behind him.

  She sat a good horse. Her hands were gentle on the reins, though sure enough to maintain her control over the experienced mare. Her seat was relaxed astride the saddle and her feet secure in the stirrups. She moved with the horse in a rhythm that proved she was no stranger to horseback.

  Of course, knowing how to ride did not mean she wouldn’t feel the punishment of spending day after day in the saddle. For the moment, however, she looked far from uncomfortable.

  The fool woman looked downright joyful.

  She had pushed her hat back on her head. The cord tied under her chin kept it from falling off her head completely while she tipped her face up toward the sun. Her eyes were closed, and a smile spread her lips.

  Malcolm narrowed his gaze.

  He’d admit to himself, anyway, that she’d surprised him so far.

  There had been plenty of opportunity over the last two days for her to start complaining or demanding accommodations he couldn’t or wouldn’t provide. Aside from her relentless desire to bend him to her will, she’d not been such bad company.

  He didn’t want to wonder what had prompted her to leave Boston and travel to Montana. For whatever reason, there was a near desperate determination in her, despite moments like this when she looked for all the world like she was on a pleasure outing. She had a purpose.

  So did he.

  He returned his gaze to the road ahead and redirected his thoughts to the Belt Buckle Kid, now also known as Walter Dunstan. The man who had murdered his brother and ruined his own life. Malcolm wasn’t too familiar with the area around Wolf Creek, Montana, where Dunstan was supposedly hiding.

  It didn’t matter. Malcolm would find him, and the bastard would pay.

  Fourteen

  It was obvious Kincaid was not much for casual conversation, so Alexandra did her best to accommodate him. It took more effort than she had expected, but the bounty hunter had seemed exceptionally irritable since she’d come out of the hotel. Now that he’d agreed to take her north, she didn’t want to do anything to make him regret it more than he did already.

  She hadn’t been a talkative sort while living in Boston, unless she was in the company of Evie and Courtney. With anyone else, she’d had no trouble following her Aunt Judith’s dictates about holding her thoughts and opinions to herself. During those first few years, Aunt Judith had been terrified of what Alexandra would say, ever fearful of what she might inadvertently reveal about her unusual upb
ringing. Being vigilant in how she presented herself became second nature.

  But out here, under an endless blue sky with the raw beauty of nature extending in all directions, Alexandra felt that ever-present caution sliding away as memories from her past came floating back. Memories of things she once knew. Things she’d once loved.

  She and her father used to tell stories to pass the long days on the trail. Or they would point out interesting landmarks and discuss the various flora and fauna they observed. But most of the time they talked of what they might find in the next town or over the next rise in the landscape. Even as a young girl, Alexandra had recognized those discussions as being metaphors for their lives in general.

  Randolph Brighton had not been a man to stay in one place for long. His soul yearned for new experiences. He reveled in discovering the unknown and rarely planned anything in advance, preferring to trust in where the winds of fate blew him. He’d instilled that same appreciation for exploration in his daughter.

  Alexandra had thrived in the freedom of such an existence.

  When she’d left her father and the land of her childhood at the tender age of fifteen, her thoughts and feelings had been in a turbulent state, but she had never considered the possibility that she might be leaving Montana for good. She hadn’t known then that it had probably been her father’s intention all along.

  Though she’d reached a point of contentment with her life in Boston, Peter’s proposal had triggered a deep longing for home—a yearning to reconnect with the life she’d loved before it was possibly lost to her forever.

  So here she was, riding alongside a reluctant, bad-tempered guide as they headed into the wilderness. Though she would have preferred to fill some of the long hours on horseback with a bit of conversation, there was plenty along the trail to catch her eye and entertain her thoughts. She had forgotten how it felt to be out in the open air, on horseback, with a long road ahead and no regrets behind. A familiar sense of adventure swept through her, filling her heart with renewed optimism.