by Amy Sandas
The wound appeared much improved, but the movement of his arm remained stiff and limited. The muscle beneath would need more time to heal. She hoped there wasn’t any permanent nerve damage. He had overdone it the day before, and she told him as much as she replaced his bandages with some of the last that she had on hand from her repurposed petticoat.
His reply was gruff. “I’ll have to be able to do a helluva lot more before we leave this place. Unless you plan on strapping my Colt to your hip the rest of the way to Helena.”
Alexandra tensed with a thousand words of denial on her lips. Her blood ran cold at the idea. Meeting his sharp, steely gaze, she forced herself to answer with a steadiness in her voice that didn’t reach all the way to her core. “I have no desire to carry a gun,” she stated, tying off the bandage with a bit more force than may have been necessary.
He lowered his chin and reached for his shirt. “Then you’ll have to leave the shooting to me,” he replied in a milder, though no less insistent tone. “We can’t hole up here forever.” She could have sworn she heard regret in his voice, but then it was gone as he added, “You hired me to get you to Helena. That’s what I’m gonna do.”
She should have been reassured by his conviction, but all she felt was a conflicting sense of loss.
Twenty-Seven
Luckily, the fishing hole Malcolm knew about proved to be a good-sized lake, and they managed to dine well that night on pan-fried fish and wild greens with elderberries. But the rest of their supplies were dwindling fast.
Over the next several days, they did their best not to burn through what foodstuffs were in the cabin, and although Alexandra still foraged for wild vegetables, roots, and herbs to add to their meals, and the fish and small game were plentiful, it was a sign that their time at Yellow Tom’s was nearing an end.
As soon as Malcolm felt up to it, he started taking his horse out on short rides to scout the area and make sure no one was about. After the first time he rode out, she insisted on joining him. In part because Sibyl needed the exercise as much as Deuce did if they would soon be back on the trail, but also because Alexandra enjoyed riding beside Malcolm while they explored the various deer trails and narrow mountain passes spreading out from their little clearing.
She suspected he enjoyed their rides as much as she did, though he never admitted as much. When they were out on what she came to see as their little adventures, everything just felt easier, more comfortable. Right.
After that first awkward morning when they woke up in each other’s arms, they both seemed to put forth extra effort in keeping some distance between them—in the bed they still shared at night, as well as during the day. Conversation was kept to casual topics, and though they often lapsed into comfortable silences, it seemed to Alexandra that there was something flowing beneath the surface. An awareness or anticipation that hadn’t been there before.
She told herself it was just that after being together a few weeks now, they had finally developed a familiarity. But she swore there was something else going on. Something that made her feel weak and breathless when in the vicinity of his quiet presence. Something that tightened her belly and made her skin tingle. Something that scrambled her thoughts when their eyes met across the table, and she’d become mesmerized by the way his gaze could be as hard as steel yet shine with mysterious depth at the same time.
If it wasn’t his eyes making her head soft, it was his mouth. She was used to it having such a firm appearance, tense and unforgiving, but she had noticed with some surprise while they ate supper on the fifth night after he had woken from his fever that he seemed more relaxed. Alexandra found herself fascinated by the movement of his lips as he spoke, or when he found something she said amusing, and the corners would lift just a bit. She wanted to feel his lips beneath her fingers. She wondered how they would feel on her bare skin.
More than once through the meal she had to forcefully direct her attention to her plate to hide her blush and keep him from suspecting the thoughts running through her head.
That night, they lingered at the table after dinner. The fire in the hearth cast a warm flickering glow throughout the cabin, and though the hour was growing late, Alexandra was reluctant to bring an end to the quiet amity that surrounded them.
“What was your childhood like?” His low question came as a surprise, and Alexandra eyed him curiously.
Perhaps he wasn’t ready for the night to end either.
“My father and I moved around a lot,” she replied, glancing down at her plate. “As soon as we’d settle in somewhere, Papa would be looking toward the horizon for the next adventure. We rarely stayed in one place longer than a few months—the longest was just over a year. Papa would eventually get the urge to move on again. It wasn’t until I left Montana that he finally found it in him to put down a few roots. He’s been settled near Helena for nearly six years now.”
She used to wonder if it was so she’d have a familiar place to return to. But after years of waiting for a letter saying she could go home—a letter that never came—she had stopped believing that to be the case.
Glancing up at Malcolm, she found him watching her again, his eyes softly reflective. “Where was your ma?”
She sighed. “My parents met in St. Louis. My father stopped there as he made his way westward and fell instantly in love with a young woman who sang at a fine-dining restaurant.” She laughed. “To hear my father tell it, he was quite the charmer. He married her less than a week after making her acquaintance and swept her off on an adventure westward. But the way was difficult, and she became weakened by her pregnancy. She did not live through my birth.”
Malcolm’s gaze darkened, but he did not look away from her. “I’m sorry.”
She’d heard the sentiment so many times through her life. But the way he said the two words—in that deep, rough voice that revealed his own experience in grieving the loss of a loved one—touched her in a way she didn’t expect.
Reaching out, she placed her hand on his arm just below his elbow and immediately felt the strength and warmth—two things she had indelibly come to associate with him—contained beneath the cotton of his shirt. For a quick second, she forgot what they were discussing. Then she smiled.
“I never knew her to miss her presence, and life with my father was a constant adventure. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“But you left.”
Her hand fell away. “I did,” she replied, trying to keep the tension from her voice, yet knowing she failed miserably. She waited for him to ask why, and she tensed, wondering if she’d answer with the truth or find a way to evade him.
But he didn’t ask.
And Alexandra was left feeling unexpectedly disappointed. She shook it off and gave him an expectant look. “What about you? I’m curious what you were like as a boy.”
He lowered his chin for a moment and brought his hand up to brush his knuckles along his jaw. “It’s not a very exciting tale. No adventure, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
When he didn’t continue, Alexandra just smiled and waited with an expectant expression.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Pa was a farmer and Ma was a farmer’s wife. From the time we could walk and take instruction, my brother and I were expected to do our part. It was a lot of long days and exhausted nights. If we complained, Pa was quick to remind us that we were brought into the world to work that land.”
The bitterness in his voice was buried beneath years of distance, but Alexandra heard it anyway. “It’s difficult to picture you as a farmer.”
“Because I’m not,” he asserted. With a sigh, he shoved his hand through his longish hair, pulling it back away from his face. “Ma died of lung fever when I was twelve, and Pa passed on six years later. Gavin and I sold the farm, bought a couple of horses, and took off without looking back.”
“Where did you go?”
“We never had a destination in mind, just went wherever the wind blew. Sometimes we’d stay in a town for a few days, sometimes months, working odd jobs when we could find ’em.” His expression tensed as he lowered his gaze. “I think we were both just so damn happy to be free of that plot of dirt Pa loved so much, we didn’t care where we went or what we did as long as it was on our own terms.”
“I can understand that,” she said quietly, drawing his attention back to her.
His eyes were shadowed with loss as he continued. “For more than three years we wandered free. We ended up in California right about the time I figured I wanted to become a lawman.”
“Really?” For some reason, it surprised her. Malcolm just did not present himself as the deputy type, with his solitary nature and curt manner.
Then again…maybe that had come later.
“I even convinced the local sheriff to start training me as a deputy. Gavin thought I was nuts. He was only eighteen and wasn’t ready yet to consider settling down anywhere. He said he had a lot more living to do first.” His brows pulled down dark and heavy over his eyes. His next words sounded as though his throat was closing around them. “If I’d done more to guide him away from his reckless tendencies…maybe I wouldn’t have found him shot full of holes.”
Alexandra’s heart ached for him. “It was not your fault,” she said quietly.
His expression hardened, and he pushed to his feet. “It sure as hell was,” he growled as he walked away from the table. His broad back was tense as he approached the fire and tossed another log onto the dying flames.
She knew he wanted solitude, could feel his resistance to revealing so much. She should just let him be.
But Alexandra had been doing what she should for too long.
* * *
Malcolm felt her come up beside him. He didn’t want to see sympathy in her blue eyes, so he stared hard at the flames instead.
All the guilt and anger and regret over his brother’s death were rolling through him in waves. He was usually able to contain it all, tamp it down into a tight little ball he held deep inside where it was alive but manageable. Their discussion had somehow released it, and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the sickening remorse and soul-sucking grief.
“Tell me about him,” she said quietly.
He stiffened, the muscles of his jaw tensing painfully as he clenched his back teeth.
It had been so long since he’d talked about Gavin.
On second thought, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really talked about his brother. When Gavin had been alive, there had been no reason. After he’d been killed, Malcolm hadn’t been around anyone long enough to get into such personal topics.
He muttered a curse beneath his breath. “I should have done more for him—paid more attention to him. I got so damn wrapped up in what I wanted, I didn’t notice Gavin had been gambling with the kind of men he should’ve steered clear of.”
“You couldn’t have known,” she offered.
“I damn well should have,” he growled fiercely, turning to look at her for the first time. The misplaced compassion in her eyes infuriated him. “He was my responsibility, and I failed him. I should’ve kept him out of trouble. Kept him alive.” He stopped, feeling the tight fist of guilt and grief squeezing his lungs, making it hard to speak.
Crouching down, he grabbed a split log from the stack and tossed it into the fire. Staring into the flames, he uttered the one thought that had gotten him over that initial wall of disbelief when he’d seen his brother motionless in the blood and dirt. The thought that had motivated him ever since. “All I can do now is make sure the four men who killed him make it to hell.”
“Then what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, rising back up to full height.
“Of course it does,” she argued quietly, stepping toward him to place her hand on his forearm. Her eyes were deep and steady as she forced him to meet her gaze. “I am so unbelievably sorry for your brother’s death. I cannot imagine the grief you have felt.” Her tone was earnest and strong. Something in the low words slid past his defenses, made him feel soft inside, made the emotion rise up again. “I understand your hunger for vengeance, but you are alive, Malcolm. You still have your own life to live.”
“I don’t know what that means,” he stated gruffly, and it was true. Life did not exist beyond the hunt for Gavin’s killer. He couldn’t even fathom what it would look like when this was all over. He couldn’t imagine remaining a bounty hunter. He no longer wanted the life of a lawman. He sure as hell wasn’t a farmer.
“What do you want for yourself?” she pressed as though she’d read his mind, her eyes flashing with purpose. “What would bring you peace?”
Peace seemed a foreign thing. Unattainable.
But as he met her blue gaze, he could think of one thing that might ease the violence inside him.
Twenty-Eight
A sudden, fierce light of need flared in Malcolm’s eyes, sending a shot of warmth angling sharply through Alexandra’s body. Then he stepped toward her and swept his arm around her lower back.
He was going to kiss her.
The astonishing realization brought her breath to an abrupt halt a bare second before his mouth crushed hers.
Shock and instant fire rushed to the center of her body. It was a powerful whoosh that spun every concrete, rational thought into a dizzying dance. She stood stunned and motionless as she experienced the pressure of his mouth, the strength of his arm braced around her, the solid warmth of his chest firm against her breasts. Her heart raced as she breathed in the masculine scent of him.
But then his arm tensed around her back, and his other hand came up to cradle the side of her head. A sound vibrated from his throat as he tilted his head, shifting the position of his mouth. Just enough for her to feel the odd and lovely friction of his lips moving over hers.
She melted.
Her eyes fell closed, and the shock that had claimed her evaporated in an instant, leaving behind a soft, fluid need. Curving her spine, she rose up on her toes, wanting to be closer. She wrapped both arms around his neck, trying to anchor herself to him, silently urging him to deepen the kiss.
She didn’t stop to wonder why he was kissing her—didn’t bother asking herself if she should be kissing him back. She just knew she was finally getting something she’d been wanting for a long time.
When his tongue swept past her teeth, the rich, heady taste of him, the luxurious glide of his tongue against hers, forced a low moan from her throat. She’d never known a kiss could be like this. So instantly deep and consuming. So physical and passionate.
He tightened his embrace, lifting her against him as though he wanted to take her into his body, meld with her. Her toes barely touched the floor.
Giving herself over to his direction—trusting him in a way she had never trusted anyone before—she softened and met his tongue with hers.
His appreciation was immediate. The sound he made was rough and erotic as he accepted the sweep of her tongue across his lips for just a moment before he took her mouth again in an even deeper kiss. A kiss of possession rather than seduction.
She felt it down to her toes. The desire to surrender. The swift and urgent need to take more from him than this sultry kiss. To give more.
Then he stiffened and lifted his head on a sharp indrawn breath. Alexandra’s eyes flew open to see his features drawn taut with pain.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped as she loosened her mindless grip on his shoulders.
He gave a short shake of his head, but didn’t say anything—just stared at her with those intense gray eyes and his familiar stern expression. She was quite certain she had never seen a man so handsome in all her life. But even now, after the kiss they’d just shared, he couldn’t seem to keep the scowl from darkening his beautiful, rugged features.
Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, because he lifted his brows in that way he had. Then he gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip. His wolfish gaze followed the motion of his thumb with an intoxicating focus.
All further thought faded. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed, and she tipped her face toward him with a breathy sigh.
He leaned in and pressed a sensual kiss to her mouth before drawing on her bottom lip with his teeth.
Alexandra nearly fainted from the heat spreading like wildfire through her blood. Before she could fully sink into it and lose herself, he made a raw sound and pulled back. This time, he released her, slowly enough for her to regain her balance, but still far quicker than she wanted.
She opened her mouth to protest, prepared to argue against whatever reason he might have for stopping, but he spoke before she could say anything.
“I’ve gotta step outside for a bit.” His voice sounded strange. Rough and unsteady. “I need to check the horses and fetch some water.”
He was already easing past her as he spoke. Tension rode through every movement of his body as he crossed the cabin in stiff, long strides.
Had she hurt him again?
Her willingness to surrender to all the wonderful sensations he’d inspired with his kiss had made her careless. She wanted to call him back, but the uncomfortable bite of embarrassment held her tongue as she watched him walk away, shutting the door securely behind him.
Perhaps he regretted kissing her. He’d certainly seemed in a rush to get away from her. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed the experience as much as she had. She was new to kissing after all.
Uncertainty rose within her, reaching high and tumbling over itself, bringing with it a cold and lonely feeling unlike anything she’d known before. Refusing to be consumed by it, she straightened her spine and strode to the table to clean up what was left of their supper. The activity helped use up some of the frenetic energy running through her, but not all of it.
She hated feeling unsure of herself. Hated not knowing if she was behaving as she should. Hated that she cared in the first place.