The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  “More than Montana?” He shouldn’t want to know. He wasn’t even sure where the question came from.

  Her eyes met his. Gold flames danced in the blue of her gaze. “I guess that is what I am hoping to find out.”

  Malcolm looked at her. Really looked at her.

  Her boots were dusty, as was her split skirt and the shirt she wore under the oiled slicker he’d bought her. She’d pushed the wide-brimmed hat off her head, and it hung down her back by the thin cord around her neck. Her dark hair was just barely secured at the back of her head in a loose knot that allowed fine wisps to fall against her face and neck. She had dirty hands and a weary gaze, yet she displayed the hint of a smile about her mouth.

  Despite her dishevelment, the fine Eastern lady who’d boldly strode into the Painted Horse Saloon was still there. She was present in the woman’s elegant posture and the refined way she spoke. In her quiet dignity and feminine softness.

  It’s just that Malcolm was seeing something else besides all that. A light of adventure in her eyes, competence in her manner, and a deep, barely perceptible yearning.

  There was more to this woman’s story than he’d first suspected. And even more going on in that head of hers than what she shared with her deceptively easy manner and light conversation.

  After a few moments of returning his silent stare, she broke eye contact with a flutter of thick eyelashes and an almost rueful curl at the corner of her lips. “What about you, Malcolm Kincaid?”

  He leaned back and eyed her with a lifted brow. “What about me?”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “Are we sharing our life stories now?”

  Her gaze flicked back up to meet his. “I don’t need to know everything, but a little something wouldn’t hurt. We are going to be together for a couple of weeks, after all. Is there a reason we must remain strangers?”

  Malcolm felt a rush of heat though his blood. Her innocent words reminded him of just how much he’d like to get to know her. Just not in the way she meant. And not in any way he intended to explore.

  No matter how badly he wanted to taste that sweet mouth of hers.

  He cleared his throat. “I ain’t got much to tell.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Not much I want to tell.”

  She smiled. “That sounds more truthful. You like your privacy. I understand. Perhaps you can just tell me how you came to be a bounty hunter.”

  Malcolm shook his head. The woman was relentless.

  “I am not going anywhere, Malcolm. You may as well open up a bit.”

  Damn him, but he liked the sound of his given name on her lips. “I just sorta fell into it,” he answered gruffly.

  “How?”

  He tossed her a heavy scowl for her persistence, to which she responded by grinning widely.

  “I was looking for someone else when I happened upon a man I’d seen on some wanted posters in the last town. I wouldn’t have bothered with him, but he issued a challenge I couldn’t refuse. He lost, and I claimed the bounty.”

  “Why on earth would he challenge you?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “He said he didn’t like the way I talked.”

  “Idiot.”

  He smiled at her incredulous tone. “Why? You like my Texas drawl?”

  Her expression lit up at the confession. “I should have guessed. I once met a man from Houston, and you do have a similar manner of speaking.”

  “Houston is a far cry from where I grew up.”

  “And where was that?”

  He stiffened. It had been years since he’d thought about the cotton farm where he’d grown up. He and Gavin had basically agreed when they’d left that there was no reason to ever bring up the subject of their beginnings.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said with a tight jaw.

  “But—”

  “Leave it.”

  She closed her mouth sharply and stared hard at him across the flames. Darkness had fallen while they’d talked, and the night was close around them. The fire lit her face and cast sharp shadows beyond. It was clear that she wanted to press the matter, wanted to insist he tell her everything. The woman’s curiosity ran as deep as her stubborn nature. But his past was something Malcolm preferred to leave alone. There was nothing but pain and loss behind him.

  After a bit, she lowered her gaze. “All right, I am sorry for prying.” Her blue eyes lifted again to catch his, and something in her expression twisted around his insides. “But yes, I do like your drawl.”

  * * *

  That night, Alexandra had trouble sleeping.

  After the grouse were eaten in relative silence, Malcolm left camp for a bit. He didn’t say where he was going or why, just muttered something about being back soon before he slipped off into the night.

  Alexandra didn’t think he’d go far or for long, since he left with nothing but the gun on his hip, but she lay staring at the flames until he returned. She did not bother to feign sleep and watched him openly as he settled down across the fire, lying back against his saddle and tipping his hat forward to shadow his face. He didn’t once glance in her direction.

  Alexandra continued to watch him until his breath eased to a slow and steady rhythm and then for a while beyond that.

  She wasn’t sure why she kept trying to envision him as the young man in the photograph. Though he still possessed the same intense focus and the slight air of arrogance, there was a weight in his manner now that had not been apparent in the image from his past. She wanted to know if it had to do with the other young man. Was he a brother or close friend? Why did the mention of his origins make him so uneasy?

  Why couldn’t she just let him be?

  She understood the need to leave the past well enough alone, yet she felt compelled to understand his. Probably because it distracted her from thoughts of her own history.

  With a sound of disgust, she rolled to her back and stared up at the sky.

  An infinite array of stars spread out overhead, stretching from one horizon to the next. The night sky was so wide and encompassing that the world beneath her seemed to drop away, leaving her floating out amongst those tiny points of light, with no direction and no purpose.

  It felt like a metaphor for her life, which was both comforting and disturbing at the same time, because one question repeated through her mind as she slowly drifted to sleep.

  Where did Peter Shaw belong in that vast sea of stars?

  Sixteen

  They developed a routine over the following days. Most of the aches and pains eased to a fading memory. Since conversation was kept to a minimum, Alexandra filled her time in the saddle by reveling in the sights around her. The Rockies rising to the west, ever majestic and awe-inspiring. The wildflowers and winding rivers. The fresh air, late summer sunshine, and the occasional glimpses of wildlife.

  The landscape they passed through was truly beautiful, and the farther north they went, the more it started to resemble the home she remembered.

  Each night, when they stopped to set up camp, Alexandra would take care of the horses while Malcolm went hunting in the last light of the day. Most often, she’d also have wood gathered and a fire started by the time he returned. More than once, she’d offered to help prepare the small game he never failed to come back with, but he’d just given her a dismissive look and gone about the task himself.

  She sometimes wondered if he purposely took his time while out hunting. She told herself it wasn’t her company specifically he wished to avoid, just people in general, but she wished he would have gotten more accustomed to her presence after spending a few days together. Aside from that night when she’d tried to learn more about him and was effectively denied, they hadn’t spoken of anything on a personal level.

  Unfortunately, the lengthy silences and lack of distraction often lent her t
oo much time to delve into her own thoughts, which inevitably ended up bouncing between worries about how her father would react to her return and concern over how to handle the Peter issue.

  Every time she thought of her engagement, it was with an uneasy tightening in her chest.

  She did not want a loveless marriage as the wife of an ambitious, albeit charming, politician. She did not want to forever cover up the aspects of herself that had been cultivated in the wilds of the western frontier.

  Peter’s offer had forced her to face the truth that although she had become comfortable in her aunt’s world, she was not certain it was where she belonged. She shouldn’t have left town without a word to her betrothed, but she had been a coward. Her only thought had been to return to Montana. And she had no idea how her father would greet her.

  Would he even let her stay?

  It was the question she most pondered during the long days in the saddle. And it was the one thing she could not answer.

  Malcolm preferred to keep a distance from the more well-traveled routes. Again, something she attributed to his preference for solitude. They rarely saw evidence of other travelers except at a distance: the dust cloud from a small group on horseback racing across an open plain, a wagon and four stopped near a dried creek bed, and once, a small band of Indians watching their passing from a hilltop.

  When Malcolm saw that she’d noticed the Indians in the distance, he explained that they were passing through the Shoshone–Arapaho reservation, and as long as they kept moving, there should be no cause for concern. His assurance proved to be accurate, and soon it was just the two of them again for as far as she could see.

  Late in the afternoon on their eighth day of travel, a town came into view in the distance. When they continued toward it rather than veering around, Alexandra glanced at Malcolm. “Are we stopping?” she asked, holding her breath hopefully.

  It had been years since she had been so grimy and dust-covered. She’d give anything right then for a thorough washing. She couldn’t imagine Malcolm didn’t feel the same. His beard had grown back in over the last several days, though it was not as bushy as it had been when she’d first met him. He lifted his hand to scratch along his jaw. Perhaps he was looking forward to cleaning up as much as she was.

  “I figure we can make use of the hotel in town for tonight.”

  Alexandra couldn’t hold back the little sound of delight that bubbled from her throat, and he flicked a sharp look in her direction. “Don’t get too comfortable. One night, then we’re off again, first thing in the morning.”

  “Even one night in a real bed again would be heaven.” She sighed deeply at the anticipated pleasure of it. “Not to mention a steaming hot bath with real soap.”

  His expression shifted at her words. His eyes narrowed, their steely light becoming shadowed beneath a heavy brow. His mouth drew taut as the muscles in his jaw tensed.

  Then he looked away.

  Alexandra was left feeling confused, curious, and a bit breathless. She wasn’t sure what had crossed his mind in that moment, but she would have given anything right then to be able to hear his thoughts.

  They fell into silence for the remainder of the ride into the town, which was identified by a rough wooden sign posted at the outskirts: COULSON, MONTANA.

  Seeing the sign, Alexandra turned to Malcolm. “Why didn’t you tell me we’d crossed into Montana?”

  He glanced aside at her. “Didn’t think it mattered. We’ve still got several days before we reach Helena.”

  Alexandra frowned. It did matter. She’d been so determined to get back to this land where she and her father had roamed from one corner to the other, that she sort of figured she would know it when she’d finally arrived. She shook off the notion, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of what that might mean, when it likely meant nothing at all.

  Coulson proved to be a bustling town with people crisscrossing the street in every direction. She counted no less than five saloons, two dance halls, and at least three restaurants with the most heavenly scents wafting toward them on the early evening breeze.

  The hotel was a large building painted white with black trim. It looked newly built. A sign out front boasted in-room baths and an on-site restaurant with fine dining. Though Alexandra wouldn’t have cared just then how fine the dining was as long as it went beyond small game roasted over a campfire, she was thrilled that she wouldn’t have to go to a public bathhouse to wash away the layers of dirt she’d accumulated.

  After settling their horses in the livery right next door, they carried their saddlebags to the hotel. Malcolm got two rooms and requested baths right away. Alexandra couldn’t keep from smiling, and her steps were light as they made their way up to the second floor of the hotel where their rooms were situated right next to each other.

  They stopped outside the first room, and Malcolm handed her the key. Alexandra didn’t realize how close they stood in the narrow, dimly lit hallway until she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. When she did, warmth spread through her, making her stomach tighten as she parted her lips to draw a swift breath. She had become accustomed to seeing him beside her on his horse or reclining across a campfire. This—standing nearly toe to toe within the intimate confines of walls with a ceiling overhead, close enough to catch a hint of his masculine scent—was decidedly different.

  “There’s a laundry down the street,” he said curtly as his brows lowered to shadow his eyes. “Have you got something else to wear?”

  Alexandra took a moment to locate her voice. “I could manage,” she replied.

  “Set your dirty clothes outside your door, and I’ll take them down for a washing.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stared at her just long enough for her breath to catch again and her skin to start tingling, then he gave a nod and continued down the hall to his room barely six steps away.

  Not wanting Malcolm to look back and see the blush she feared was coloring her cheeks, Alexandra hastily entered her room and closed the door behind her with a slow release of breath.

  The room was a comfortable size and contained everything she could have wished for right then. A large bed took up the corner and was covered in a pretty blue and yellow quilt. A rug covered the wooden floor, and an oversized copper hip bath stood in the corner behind a dressing screen. Though there was no fireplace, a small woodstove emanated heat, and the room was warm and secure.

  Her bathwater was brought up almost immediately, accompanied by a plush towel and a cake of soap that smelled like wild honeysuckle.

  After the last of the steaming buckets of water was poured into the tub and the door was securely locked, she impatiently removed her clothing then made quick work of unpinning her hair. She was desperate to ensure the steaming water didn’t cool before she managed to sink into it.

  Wrapping herself in the towel, she gathered her soiled clothing and went to the door to listen for anyone who might be out in the hall. Confident no one was about, she opened the door and dropped her clothes in a neat pile on the floor before scooting back into her room and turning the lock again.

  She approached the bath with a delightful burst of anticipation. It was only when she stepped behind the privacy screen that she noticed the door tucked into the corner of the room. Her heart tripped over itself as she realized it connected to Malcolm’s room.

  Heat chased across the surface of her skin. Flashing visions of him undressing as he prepared for his own bath made her knees weaken. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d walked up to the door and held her breath as she pressed her ear to the door’s surface.

  Silence echoed from beyond. Just before she would have drawn away again, a self-chastising comment flying through her head, she heard his booted feet crossing the floorboards in his long, easy stride. A moment later, his steps sounded out in the hall. He stopped at her door, assumedly to scoop up her
clothing, before he continued down toward the stairs.

  Only then did she release a shaky breath, feeling more than slightly disappointed.

  What had she been hoping for exactly?

  With a huff of self-directed annoyance, she dropped her towel and got into the tub, determined to put thoughts of the ornery bounty hunter with steely gray eyes completely out of her mind for the duration of the night.

  It was not so easy when not much later, as she soaked in the cooling water, Malcolm returned to his room. She surrendered to the image of his long, muscled body folded into the hip bath, soapy water sluicing over his broad back and down his lean torso.

  Goodness, what had gotten into her? She had never had such thoughts back in Boston.

  But then, she had also never met a man with so many characteristics to inspire those thoughts. And there was something to be said for being out on her own, away from all the strictures of her aunt’s world and back in the wide-open spaces where one could breathe deep and feel free.

  After her bath, she dressed in a very wrinkled petticoat and fine blouse that had been stuffed into her saddlebag for more than a week, grateful she’d thought to bring them along. She pulled on her extra pair of woolen stockings to keep the chill from her feet, then used her fingers to work through the length of her hair so it wouldn’t dry in a tangle.

  She was standing in front of the woodstove, hoping the heat would dry her hair more quickly, when a sharp knock startled her into a squeak of surprise.

  Surprise, because the knock had come from the door connecting to Malcolm’s room.

  Her heart beat double time as she stared at the door, wondering if she’d imagined the sound.

  When it came again, less patient this time, she rushed to push aside the privacy screen. The smell of honeysuckle wafted from the cooling bathwater as she turned the lock and opened the door.

  Malcolm stood tall and imposing in the narrow door frame. He’d changed into fresh denim pants that fit perfectly to his lean hips and muscled thighs, and the cotton shirt he wore was an exact match to his eyes. He had left the top buttons undone, and his throat was still damp from his bath. His hair was finger combed back from his handsome face, which—no big surprise—displayed a heavy scowl.