The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  She felt more betrayed and abandoned than ever, and she needed an explanation. She deserved that much from her father. Directly. One on one. Like they always used to be.

  Before leaving the bedroom, she looked at herself in the large oval mirror that hung over the small vanity in the corner of the room.

  Clean and fresh and dressed in the clothes Aunt Judith had sent for her from Boston, with her hair twisted simply but elegantly atop her head, she looked like an Eastern lady again. But she didn’t feel like the same woman who had followed the rules in order to blend into a society she had never truly felt a part of.

  She didn’t feel like the wild and impulsive girl she’d been before, either.

  Tipping her chin up a notch and straightening her spine, she regarded herself carefully in the reflective glass. A smile tilted her mouth as she thought of the name Malcolm had taken to calling her.

  Alex. A capable, loving, confident woman who didn’t follow any rules besides her own.

  In the end, being ready early didn’t matter at all, since by the time she made it down to the parlor, everyone had already gathered there ahead of her.

  Her disappointment at not being able to handle things her way swiftly gave way to a confusing mixture of dread and relief.

  Because Malcolm stood apart from the others in the corner of the room. His gray eyes tracked her the moment she entered the parlor.

  He had cleaned up and wore a fresh pair of denims with a crisp black shirt beneath his leather vest. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and she noted his clean shave.

  Her heart ached at the sight of him. She wished she could go straight to his side and ask him to ride out with her. Tonight. To forget about his vendetta and start a new life with her.

  That she couldn’t and wouldn’t ask such a thing of him only made the yearning in her soul that much heavier. She had known parting ways would be difficult, but each time she had looked into his eyes, she’d seemed less and less prepared for that moment to come.

  “There is the girl I know.”

  Oh God! Peter. She’d forgotten about him. Again.

  Her soon to be unintended stepped toward her to take both of her hands in his. “I have to say I was shocked by your rough appearance earlier. I suppose I should have expected something of the sort, considering the mode of travel which brought you here.” He gave a barely perceptible, dismissive glance toward Malcolm. “But I am happy to see your true self shining through now that you are properly attired.”

  He wore that easygoing gentleman’s smile that had always seemed a bit off to her, and she suddenly realized why. It was too quick to appear, too easily inspired and freely given, and in that moment, it did not match the censorious tone of his words. Peter’s smile lacked sincerity.

  So unlike Malcolm’s, which appeared when she least expected it, filling her with warmth and pleasure.

  “Peter,” she began in a lowered voice, “I really must speak with you—immediately, please, and in private.”

  He lifted a brow, but gave a smiling nod as he released her hands. “Of course, darling. As you wish, though I believe your father desires to ascertain your well-being first.”

  At the mention of her father, Alex glanced to where he stood beside the deeply cushioned sofa where Sarah sat on one end. He had his hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder in a casual show of connection and support.

  Alex’s heart gave a painful throb.

  It wasn’t so much that he had decided to remarry and settle in with a new family that hurt her. It was that he hadn’t felt it necessary to tell her.

  Sarah reached up to give Randolph’s hand a brisk pat. Alex glanced at her stepmother’s face to see that the pretty woman was looking up at her father with a stern expression.

  He quickly stepped forward. “Oh, ah, yes. Alexandra dear, in the excitement of your arrival, I failed to give a proper introduction.” He offered his hand to Sarah as she rose to her feet. Her smile as she looked to Alex was as sincere as Peter’s had not been. “Sarah is my wife. We married more than three years ago. And those two scamps who are still washing up for supper are her children, Ivy and Jack.”

  Alex could have followed her aunt’s many teachings about being gracious and reserved in her emotions. But this was her father. If she couldn’t speak honestly to him, then more had changed than she’d thought.

  “Yes, Sarah told me as much upstairs. I think we are both curious why you never mentioned it in any of your letters, Papa?” she asked with lifted brows.

  Her father came forward with slightly ruddy cheeks. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure how you’d feel. I wanted to spare you any cause for turmoil or upset.”

  Frustration and five years of hurt feelings boiled up inside her.

  “You thought I would be upset that you had found someone to love, but didn’t think I would be upset by the fact that you decided to effectively cut me out of your life? Now, that is interesting.”

  Randolph frowned. “Alexandra, that is not at all what happened.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Calm yourself, Alexandra,” Peter injected in a quiet but firm tone. “Such outbursts of emotion are unnecessary and unattractive.”

  Alexandra took a steadying breath. She understood Peter’s intention. He was likely quite shocked by her manner. It was the way of things amongst his social circles to maintain proper decorum at all times and to an almost painful degree.

  Such strict moderation of behavior had benefitted Alexandra well at a time when her life had been in tumult. But it served her no longer.

  “I am sorry. I am afraid I only have room for honesty. Real honesty,” she added as she looked to her father again. “Can we try that, Papa?”

  “That is no way to speak to your father,” Peter stated in a stern, disapproving voice.

  Her gaze flew sharply to the man beside her. “This is none of your business, Peter. I would appreciate it if you would stay out of it, please.”

  He took a step toward her, his expression stern. “As your future husband, it is most certainly my business, Alexandra.”

  Indignant anger flowed through Alex, but she was careful not to show it as she replied, “We need to talk, Peter. Now and in private.”

  Peter’s eyes flickered with subtle surprise. “You are being irrational. I insist that you apologize to your family and retire for the evening. You are clearly not yet fit to be among respectable company.”

  Alexandra tensed at the thinly veiled insinuation against Malcolm’s character. She slid a quick glance in his direction and was amazed to see that he hadn’t moved a muscle from his spot beside the fire. His eyes, however, flashed with ill-concealed fury and were aimed hard at Peter.

  Returning her attention to her fiancé, she stated firmly and calmly, “I regret having to say this now and in this way, but you leave me no choice. I must end our betrothal. I have come to realize we would not be a fitting match.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyes had slowly grown wider and wider until she finished. “You are jilting me? Impossible,” he stated with a jut of his chin.

  “I am sorry, but it is the truth.”

  “You are causing a scene. We will discuss this further in private.” He stepped toward her, and despite his outwardly composed demeanor, the hand he wrapped around her wrist was tight and punishing.

  She tensed and prepared to pull away from his bruising grip, but before she could, Malcolm’s voice cut swift and hard through the room. “Let her go.”

  Alex noted the belated wariness in Peter’s eyes.

  “Now.” Malcolm didn’t even need to step away from his position against the wall for everyone in that room to realize the threat contained in that one low-spoken word.

  Peter dropped her hand as though it were tainted. He did not bother to conceal the sneering tone of his voice. “You are not the wo
man I thought you were.”

  Alexandra smiled at that. “I understand. I’m not the woman I thought I was, either.”

  “I am returning to Boston,” he declared. “If you should think to follow me, do not expect a warm welcome. I will personally ensure that everyone learns of your disgraceful behavior.”

  Alex was only slightly surprised by his vindictive response. There had been a time she would have done all she could to maintain a spotless reputation. Now, it just seemed so irrelevant. She had no concern with being ruined in Boston society beyond how it might affect Evie and her Aunt Judith, but they were well connected and would surely recover from any secondary consequences.

  “I need a ride to Helena,” Peter declared. “Immediately.” Then he stormed from the room.

  Sarah stepped forward. “I will assist Mr. Shaw with his travel preparations.” She gave her husband a pointed look. “You will stay here and talk with your daughter.”

  As she passed Alexandra’s position, Sarah rested her hand lightly and briefly on her arm. It was a genuine gesture of support, and Alexandra appreciated it.

  Lifting her gaze, she looked to Malcolm again, but his expression hadn’t changed. The hard lines were still drawn deep and heavy over his eyes, and his lips were pressed firmly together. Her chest ached with the desire to explain herself. To tell him that she had decided to end the engagement long ago.

  His eyes met hers for a long moment, but his granite gaze was unreadable.

  “I’ll go.” His voice was low, and she had no idea if he was talking about leaving the room or leaving the ranch. Either way, she couldn’t let him.

  “Please stay, Malcolm,” she whispered. Despite the vulnerability evident in her tone, she felt stronger with him near.

  For a moment, she didn’t know if he would do as she asked. Then he lowered his chin and rested his shoulders back against the wall again.

  Alexandra redirected her attention to her father, who had stood quietly watching the unfolding scene. “Now, can we be honest with each other, Papa?”

  His eyes lowered briefly, and he took a breath. “Alexandra, honey, I’m sorry. Sarah lost her husband some years back. We became friends.”

  “Papa, please. I am not upset about you remarrying. I want you to be happy, and it seems that you are. I would never begrudge you that. What I don’t understand is why I couldn’t be a part of it. Why didn’t you tell me about it in any of your letters? Why shut me out, Papa?”

  “I didn’t want to, Alexandra, but it was necessary. For your own good.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Randolph hesitated and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Honey, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Why did you never ask me to come home?” Her father glanced aside at Malcolm, but Alexandra forged ahead. “You can speak freely, Papa. Malcolm knows why I left Montana. After your letter telling me that no charges had been brought against me, that what I did was considered an act of self-defense, I kept waiting for you to say I could come back. You never did. Why?”

  “It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t time.”

  “Really? Or were you happy to finally have a life without me tripping along at your heels, slowing you down?”

  His look was incredulous as he lifted his hands in supplication, as though he wished to reach for her. “You never slowed me down, girl—you kept me going. Don’t you know that?”

  “Then why couldn’t I come home? The few times I swallowed my pride and wrote to you asking if I could return, you completely ignored my pleas. Why?”

  He ran his hands back through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He sighed. “From Judith’s letters, it sounded like you were flourishing in Boston. You deserved to experience all the benefits I grew up with instead of the uncertainty and danger of roaming the territories on the back of a horse. I should have taken you to Boston right away after your mother died.”

  “Boston was never my home, Papa. You were. I loved the life we had out here. I thought you knew that.”

  “I did,” he said quietly as he strode to the window. “But it was too dangerous. I couldn’t protect you.”

  “I protected myself.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to!” he shouted, turning around again. His eyes were filled with pain and fear. “I will never forget the way you looked that day, honey. I can’t forgive myself for what happened.” His words got stuck in his throat, and he glanced uncomfortably at Malcolm.

  “What happened wasn’t your fault, Papa,” she said, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. She was getting frustrated with his half answers and evasions. “But it wasn’t my fault, either.”

  “Of course it wasn’t.” He looked astonished by the thought. “None of it was your fault. But you couldn’t come back. It simply wasn’t possible.”

  “Why?” she nearly shouted. “You still won’t explain the reason why!”

  “Because he didn’t die.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Alexandra’s heart stopped beating, and her head reeled. It…couldn’t possibly be true. “I was covered in his blood,” she whispered. “I know I shot him.”

  “You did, honey. Come here and sit down before you fall over.”

  She stumbled forward and took a seat, reeling.

  He wasn’t dead? The man who had tried to rape her, the man whose blood had soaked down to her skin was still alive? It wasn’t possible. She had heard his gurgling breath, saw the blood spew from his mouth, the abject terror in his eyes.

  Her hands and feet felt numb. She feared she might be sick.

  Then Malcolm was there, filling her vision with his stern, beautiful features and his fathomless gray gaze. Crouching down in front of her, he pressed a glass into her hand. “Drink it.”

  She did as he said. The glass was filled with brandy. The first sip burned a welcome path to her stomach, combatting the numbness. The second started to loosen her throat, and the third spread warmth out to her fingers and toes.

  She focused on Malcolm’s eyes, seeking the lovely flecks of darker gray that gave his gaze such depth, and she felt bolstered. As she reached out her hand to cover his, he stood and strode back to his spot against the wall.

  The distance hurt. But she had her strength back, and she was not finished with her father.

  “How could he possibly have lived?” she asked, managing to keep her voice firm.

  “I’m sure you don’t need Mr. Kincaid to hear of all this—”

  “He stays,” Alex insisted. She needed Malcolm’s presence now more than ever.

  Her father glanced back and forth between them before taking a breath and going on. “By the time I got back to where you were…attacked, there was no one there. I continued into town where I discovered the man’s companion had come back for him and taken him to the doc’s place. The sheriff was already there getting an earful. They claimed you shot for no reason.”

  Fury and frustration washed through her. It felt like it was happening all over again. The fear, the shame, the uncertainty. “That’s a lie, Papa,” she said. “They attacked me.”

  “I know, honey. And you remember Sheriff Tate. He wasn’t one to take a man’s word without coming to his own conclusions. When I got the chance to explain to him what you told me, he had no plan to register any charges against you.”

  “So you knew all this when you came home again? Then why did you send me away? I don’t understand.”

  Her father came forward to sit beside her on the sofa. “Do you remember the talk of a man named Cal Dunstan up near Wolf Creek?”

  Her heart stopped beating for a second as old memories tumbled one over the other through her mind. She recalled the whispered words of a wealthy and powerful man who’d practically taken over the small town to the north of Helena. A ma
n who went to extreme lengths to get what he wanted and was well known for crushing anyone who stood in his way.

  Her father took her hands in his. “The man you shot was Cal’s oldest son, Walter, who had just come home after years away.” His voice lowered as he continued. “We both know it wouldn’t have mattered to Cal Dunstan that you were defending yourself against his boy. And we both know he would have gone beyond the law to get his revenge. He’d have had you strung up on the nearest tree before anyone could stop him. I had to get you out of his reach until I could figure how to rectify the situation.”

  He paused then, and she could see the truth in his eyes. “He still wants me to hang, doesn’t he?”

  Her father sighed. “His son lived, but the bullet severed his spine. He’ll never walk again, which is almost a greater insult to Cal than if his son had died. Cal swore that if you ever stepped foot in Montana again, he’d personally see you pay for what you’d done to his boy. Don’t you see? I couldn’t risk having you back when that man still intends to see you suffer for his son’s actions.”

  She couldn’t believe it. All these years she’d thought she’d killed a man, when the truth was almost worse. She was essentially exiled from the land she loved.

  “And then you seemed to be doing so well in Boston,” her father continued, a hopeful note in his voice. “I thought maybe you were happier there.”

  Alex realized with a swift jolt of clarity how important that point was to her father.

  At any time in the last five years he could have picked up and moved on like he always used to. He could have found somewhere to settle far away from Cal Dunstan, where it would have been safe for Alex to return.

  Perhaps he’d met Sarah by then, or maybe he’d just gotten tired of roaming. Whatever the reason, though she could believe that he thought he was doing his best by her, she hadn’t been the primary consideration in his decision to stay.

  That truth stabbed deep into her already bruised heart.

  “I did do well in Boston,” she admitted as she met her father’s familiar blue gaze, worn with worry and shadowed by regret. “But home was with you. I missed you, Papa. I missed Montana.”