The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  A buzz of anticipation went through her hands and up her arms. Fear and doubt crowded in for a second before she kicked them aside.

  The pass was narrow, with steep-sloped sides that forced riders into single file, spreading out their resources so they would have a harder time covering each other. Malcolm was down there somewhere, waiting for the right time to bring them all to a stop. He needed her to do her part. He was counting on her to provide protection.

  She wouldn’t let him down.

  “That’s far enough,” Malcolm called out. His voice bounced around in the narrow crevice and brought the four men to a quick stop, and their heads whipped in all directions, looking for the source of the order.

  It also brought out their guns.

  Alexandra scanned them all swiftly, looking for any sign that they might start shooting. This pass had also been chosen because the rocky sides could easily cause bullets to ricochet. A fact that the men were likely to recognize, hopefully dissuading them from carelessly opening fire. With her angle, Alexandra held a significant advantage in that her shots would be directed downward.

  “Toss your weapons—all of them—off to your right,” Malcolm instructed.

  “Like hell,” one of the men retorted as he peered toward a group of trees at the far end of the valley.

  “Do it or end up with a bullet in your chest.”

  Alexandra shifted her aim, making sure she had clear shots of each of the men.

  “Show yourself and we’ll see who ends up with the bullet.”

  “I’m running out of patience. The first to toss down his weapons will be left with the most water.”

  Two of the men glanced at each other after that statement, but none made a move to follow Malcolm’s order.

  Her heart thundered in her ears as the talkative one suddenly leaned forward, gazing hard at the tree line ahead. Then he lifted his gun to take aim. She caught a quick flash as the sun glinted off the metal in his hands. He had spotted Malcolm. She couldn’t let him get off a shot.

  But as his Colt came under her sights, she felt the push of panic in her veins.

  No.

  She would not allow her fear to take over. Taking a breath, she stopped it on the exhale and pulled the trigger.

  Her shot echoed through the ravine, combining with a harsh shout of pain as the Colt dropped from the man’s bleeding grip. At the same time, his mount reared up, sending him tumbling to the ground. The riderless horse took off running, and the other men struggled to keep their own horses under control while frantically searching for the source of the shot.

  “As you can see, I’m not the only one losing patience. Now toss your weapons.”

  The three men looked to the first, who was cradling his injured hand. “Goddammit, just do it,” he said, agony loading his words.

  Once all the weapons were on the ground, Malcolm ordered the men to continue farther into the ravine before having them dismount. Only then did he step forward with rope in hand.

  “You’re all alive at this point, but that could change real quick, so don’t be stupid.”

  Alexandra continued to provide cover while Malcolm secured each of the men to large boulders some distance from one another so they wouldn’t be able to work together to free themselves. Then he set each of their water canteens within reach before sending their horses off on their own.

  “You can’t just leave us here,” one of them complained.

  “It won’t be for long,” Malcolm replied. “A day or two at most. It’ll give you time to consider who you want to work for in the future.”

  “There are others out there,” sneered the one Alexandra had shot in the hand. “Others paid to hunt you down. You’re gonna get caught.”

  “Not by you,” Malcolm said as he turned and walked away.

  Alexandra stayed where she was, watching to be sure none of the men pulled any surprises.

  Several minutes later, Malcolm joined her on the ridge. His expression was as hard as she’d ever seen as he walked up to her. She barely made it to her feet before he pulled her into his arms. After a quick and passionate kiss, he lifted his head to gaze hard into her eyes. “I hope to God we never have to do anything like that again, but damn, that was a nice shot.”

  Alexandra smiled, feeling his praise and his relief down to her soul.

  “Now, let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling away. “The nearest trading post is a full day’s ride. We’ll leave word there on where to find these guys. By the time they’re freed, we’ll be long gone.”

  And that much closer to saying goodbye to each other.

  * * *

  The next days passed quickly—too quickly—as they made their way north to Helena.

  They stayed clear of towns, which suited Alexandra just fine. She wasn’t ready to enter full reality just yet. She was almost able to convince herself that these last days on the trail were an extension of their intimacy at the cabin. But there was no way to completely deny the shift between them.

  There was a new barrier in Malcolm’s gaze when he looked at her. And he didn’t smile or laugh anymore. He was creating distance, and Alexandra was letting him.

  He grew more and more tense with each day they traveled, continually raising his spyglass to scan their surroundings, seeking any sign of potential danger.

  For the most part, they had fallen back into the routine they’d developed before Malcolm had gotten shot. After spending the day on horseback, they’d make camp, and one of them would go hunting with the rifle while the other tended their horses.

  The difference was that they’d sit side by side at the fire while they ate and sleep side by side at night. Some nights they just held each other, savoring each other’s warmth, but most nights they made love.

  It was the only time Malcolm seemed willing to acknowledge what still existed between them. But it was slower, more deliberate, more tender than it had been in the cabin. Alexandra knew it was Malcolm’s way of saying goodbye. If she were a smart sort of woman, at some point she would have insisted on keeping their distance from each other during the night as they did during the day.

  She decided she wasn’t smart at all when it came to Malcolm.

  She’d gone and done the stupidest thing she could have—she’d fallen in love with him.

  Knowing he would head out on his own once he left her with her father. Knowing he’d been clear from the start that he could make no promises. Knowing she still had no idea what her future looked like aside from wishing with all her heart that Malcolm could somehow be a part of it.

  Far too soon, they reached Helena, Montana.

  They skirted the edge of the rapidly growing city until they came to the road that led out to the home she’d last shared with her father. To get there, they had to traverse the same route where she’d been attacked all those years ago. As they approached the specific spot, Alexandra felt her body tensing with the desire to spin her horse around and fly back in the opposite direction.

  She took some hard, shaking breaths and willed her hands to remain steady and confident on Sibyl’s reins. When they passed the spot where she’d been tossed to the ground, where her attacker’s blood had soaked into the earth, she found that she could look upon it with the understanding that the memories were just that. They couldn’t touch her or hurt her or frighten her anymore.

  She had defended herself. She had prevented the rape and had survived.

  She breathed easier after that and managed to smile as the area around her became more and more familiar. Riding up to the tiny house with the small chicken coop and two-horse barn filled her with sweet nostalgia.

  But the person who stepped out onto the front stoop was not her father.

  Apparently, Randolph Brighton had moved into the next valley a while back.

  Alexandra’s chest tightened with the realiza
tion that her father had moved without telling her. Since her letters had continued to go to his box at the post office, she had assumed he’d stayed in the little house they’d lived in together. The fact that that wasn’t the case and that he hadn’t bothered to advise her of it felt like a betrayal and made her think, not for the first time, that he had no intention of ever welcoming her home again.

  She grew quiet as they followed the directions to her father’s new home just a short ride over the hills. Whether due to his own lacking desire for conversation, or perhaps because he sensed her need for introspection, Malcolm did not say anything to interrupt her mental preoccupation.

  She hated not knowing what to expect when she saw her father again.

  She’d originally intended to arrive home in her fashionable traveling outfit with her soft gloves, polished boots, and the pert little hat set at just the right angle on her well-styled coiffure. She’d intended to show him how grown and sophisticated she’d become. She’d hoped he’d be impressed. That he would declare how much he’d missed her—how much he’d missed out on over the last five years.

  Instead, she was trail-worn and dusty, smelling of campfire and horse, with her hair in a messy braid down her back. She wouldn’t have it any other way. She had come west to reclaim what it meant to be Alexandra, and that was what she had done.

  She was proud of who she was. She could only hope her father might be too.

  It was barely even an hour later that they stopped atop a small hill and looked down over a huge cattle spread.

  Her heart dropped to her stomach.

  This couldn’t be right. They must have gotten bad directions.

  Over the years, her father had tried a variety of occupations and lifestyles. He enjoyed learning new trades and developing a variety of skills. The one time he’d tried ranching had been short-lived and not very successful, because Randolph Brighton was not one to commit to anything in full measure. He had always liked being able to walk away from something without much guilt or hardship. He enjoyed living modestly and being able to pick up and move along on a whim.

  The ranch spread out before them was no product of a whim.

  Two good-sized stable buildings were set perpendicular to each other, with a large, fenced arena between them. To the north sat a long row bunkhouse that could easily house up to forty ranch hands. There was even an impressive-sized barn, a pig pen, and a scattering of chickens running around out front.

  The house itself was grand. Painted a pale blue with green shutters, it stood three stories, with a sweeping porch that wrapped all the way around.

  This was where her father lived? This elaborate place?

  “Ready?”

  She just shook her head, suddenly wishing she were dressed in her Eastern finery after all.

  She had thought returning to her father would feel like going home, but this wasn’t home. This was nothing like the life she and her father had lived together. She had changed a great deal in the years she’d been gone, but she hadn’t considered that her father could have as well.

  “You okay, sweetheart?”

  The concern in Malcolm’s voice finally cut through her mental and emotional confusion. She looked at him seated atop his horse right beside her. “It’s not what I expected.”

  “I figured that,” he replied with a half smile. “But the man down there in that house is still your pa. You came all this way for a reason. You’re not gonna back down now.”

  What was her reason again?

  To find out why her father had never asked her to come home again. To settle her past once and for all so she could look to the future without all the uncertainty she’d been carrying for so long.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She breathed deeply. “That I won’t be good enough.”

  “That’s bullshit.” She scowled at him, ready to argue, but he kept talking. “You’re far better than good enough. There isn’t another woman I know who would have stormed into a saloon, bold as you please, to argue toe-to-toe with a man like me.”

  “Only to accept the assistance of a thief and swindler, who left me to die in the middle of the wilderness.”

  “But you didn’t die. You survived and convinced me to help you.”

  She smiled. “With you grumbling about it the whole time.”

  “Well, I haven’t grumbled in a long while,” he said gently, warming Alexandra from the inside. “How could I complain about a woman who overcame her fear to save my life?”

  Her gaze dropped to the Colt on his hip.

  “Don’t ever doubt your worth, Alexandra Brighton.” His voice was firm, allowing for no further argument. She was afraid to meet his gaze, afraid to fall deeper into the emotional snare she’d been caught in. Afraid that even after they parted, she would still be stuck in this place where she had come to need him far more than she had ever needed anyone.

  “What if he tells me to go back to Boston?”

  “You gonna go just because he tells you to?”

  “No.”

  “If you go back to Boston, it’ll be because it’s what you want to do. But if you don’t ride down there to see your pa, you’ll regret it.”

  She nodded. “I know.” Finally looking at him, she asked the question that still hovered between them. “You won’t leave right away, will you?”

  His eyes darkened, and he hesitated before answering.

  She knew she shouldn’t have asked him that. Of course, he’d want to be on his way as soon as possible now that she had reached her father’s. But she couldn’t bear for him to just ride away before she had a chance to give him a real goodbye. Before she was ready.

  “Not if you don’t want me to,” he finally said.

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t reply, and she knew that there was no longer any reason to delay her next step.

  “Let’s go then.” She nudged her horse with her heels, and they started down the slope into the wide valley.

  It was midday, so the area around the house was rather quiet. The ranch hands were likely all out on the range, and Alexandra could only hope her father wasn’t with them, but if he was, surely there would be someone at the house to greet her.

  Of course, she hadn’t sent any word that she was coming…

  Just as they passed by the stables and neared the front of the house, a shriek of childish laughter preceded the appearance of a girl around nine years old, running wildly, with two long, yellow braids flying back over her shoulders. She was swiftly followed by a boy who appeared a few years older, but with the same pale, blond hair. He was shouting words of retribution, though his expression looked more playful than vengeful.

  Both children came to a skidding halt at the sight of Alexandra and Malcolm.

  “Oh!” The girl said as she saw them first. Her smile was bright and her gaze curious as she approached. “Who are you?”

  “Ivy,” the boy said in a cautioning tone as he came up beside her. His sharp, wary gaze scanned over them swiftly before pausing for a bit on Malcolm.

  “We understand Randolph Brighton lives here,” Alexandra said with an uncertain smile. “Is he home?”

  “Sure,” the girl named Ivy replied, “I’ll go get him.”

  The boy rolled his eyes as she turned and ran to the house in another whirlwind of flying skirts and childish energy.

  Opening the door to enter the house, she let out a loud shout. “Papa! Some people are here to see you!”

  Alexandra stiffened. Her heart clenched. Surely the girl hadn’t been calling to Alexandra’s father. These tow-headed children were both too old to have been born while she’d been away. And obviously he would have told her if he’d remarried, acquiring stepchildren.

  Wouldn’t he?

  She thought back through the letters he’d sent over the years, how disappoint
ing they always were—so rarely going any deeper than courteous inquiries on how she fared with his sister and her family. There had been very little detail about his own life.

  She sat stiff in the saddle, waiting for her father to appear. Hoping she was wrong in what she suspected. Though she could feel Malcolm next to her, silently lending her his strength and confidence, she was unable to look at him. She didn’t want him to see the heartbreak in her eyes.

  It was barely two minutes before that front door opened again and Randolph Brighton stepped out onto the porch.

  He looked the same.

  Same compact, wiry frame. His hair had gone whiter and there was less of it, but he still sported the thick, drooping mustache he’d always preferred. She took a moment to note his fine pants and vest, the polished boots, and the gold watch chain that looped over his chest.

  “Howdy there,” he said with a wide grin that had her feeling like a young girl again. “What can I…” His voice trailed away as his attention fell on Alexandra and stayed there.

  Alexandra was instantly swept back to a time when she had been able to look into her father’s eyes and feel that all was right and wonderful with the world. But that sense of being cherished and confident in her father’s love was just a passing flash, made more painful for how quickly it flew away. So much more than years and miles had come in between them since she had been that girl.

  “Oh my God, Alexandra? Is that you, honey?”

  “Hello, Papa.”

  He let out a whoop and rushed down the steps as she swung down from her horse just in time to be caught up in his arms for a rambunctious, spinning hug.

  “Goodness, girl,” he exclaimed as he brought them to a stop and held her out at arm’s length. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  She smiled back at him, though the tension hadn’t left her.

  “When I got Judith’s telegram saying you’d up and left Boston without telling anyone, I couldn’t imagine what might’ve gotten into you. And then when you didn’t show up here, I had no idea what happened.”