The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  “Oh, honey, I missed you too,” he muttered as he wrapped her in a deep hug.

  She knew he meant it, but their relationship would never be as it once was.

  Alexandra rested her head against her father’s chest and allowed the pain and sadness of the last five years to fill her up nearly to overflowing before she let it slowly drain away.

  “You could have told me the truth,” she whispered. At least then she would have known why she couldn’t go home. “I would have understood.”

  Her father drew back to set his hands on her shoulders and give her a look she had known well in her youth. “And you would have insisted on coming home to face Cal head-on.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again when she realized he was right. Still… “I’m not going back to Boston, Papa.”

  He sighed. “I figured that.”

  “I’m sorry about worrying Aunt Judith and…what happened with Peter.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. We all must follow where our heart leads us. Mine led me all over this great territory, trying to outrun your mother’s memory. But after you were gone, all I had were the memories. Until I met Sarah.”

  “She makes you happy?”

  “She does. And Ivy and Jack are great. Curious and full of life. They make me feel young again.” He took her hands in his and looked down sheepishly. “I should have told you about them. I’m not sure why I didn’t, other than I was feeling cowardly. I feared you wouldn’t approve.”

  She shook her head. “You should have trusted me.”

  “I should have,” he agreed. “And what about your happiness? If it’s not Boston and it’s not Mr. Shaw, I can support that. But, honey, I’m afraid it’s just not safe for you here in Montana.”

  Her heart broke, but she knew it was true. She had finally made it back to Montana only to discover it wasn’t her home any longer after all. Neither was it her place to be at her father’s side. He had a new family, and though she was glad he was happy, it still hurt to know she wasn’t an integral part of that anymore.

  So where did she belong?

  Her gaze slid to Malcolm’s position against the wall.

  He wasn’t there.

  Her heart stopped for the second time, only this time it held as her stomach clenched with loss and regret.

  “Mr. Kincaid slipped away some time ago, honey.”

  She pushed to her feet, a swift panic piercing through her center. “Where did he go?”

  “He stepped outside. I figured he wanted to give us some privacy.”

  He couldn’t have left. She didn’t want to think he’d just slip away like that, but he could already be saddling his horse and loading up his belongings. “I’m sorry, Papa. I have to speak with him before…before he leaves.”

  “Go on, honey, but dinner will be soon, and I’ll expect you at the table. I think Sarah is planning a special meal to welcome you home.”

  Alexandra’s only thought was of catching up to Malcolm before he rode away. It was already dark outside, but the moon and stars were right overhead as she rushed across the yard to the stables.

  Please let him be inside.

  She had no idea what she’d say to him—she just knew she couldn’t let him go without telling him…

  What? That I love him? That I imagine spending my future at his side?

  Her steps faltered at the thought. No. She couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t put that burden on him when she knew it wouldn’t change anything. He would still ride away. If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. He would never forgive himself if he did not fulfill his vow to avenge his brother’s death.

  But maybe…afterward. Would he come back for her? Could she ask him to?

  The barn was dimly lit with only a few lanterns set on hooks on the wall. Malcolm was in the stall with Deuce. Though he had to have heard her approach, he didn’t look up. A shiver coursed down her arms from the cold night air, but it was not nearly as chilling as the fear clutching at her insides. She already felt the loss of him, and he was still here. How hard would it be when he actually rode off?

  “Don’t leave.”

  His hand stilled on the gelding’s forelock. “I have to.”

  “I know. But not yet. Please. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Father about paying you for your services.”

  “Don’t bother,” he replied curtly.

  “But I promised you…”

  “I don’t want it.”

  She bit her lip. This wasn’t the conversation she’d meant to have with him.

  He stood stiff and unmoving. Tension emanated from him in waves. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so intensely contained within himself. So much so that it looked as though even a gentle touch might cause him to crack from the strain.

  Heartache, regret, and guilt filled the hollow spaces inside her. “I should have told you,” she said, the words difficult in her tight throat, “about Peter.”

  Malcolm turned his steely gaze upon her then. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see in his eyes—anger or sadness, maybe—but it surely wasn’t the flat, emotionless stare she received.

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  The tightness in her throat worsened. She wrapped her arms around her middle as she took a deep breath through her nose. “I should have told you,” she repeated. “But I knew it had been a mistake to accept his proposal. I intended to send a letter…” Her voice trailed off as Malcolm continued to regard her with no expression, not even his beloved scowl.

  Something was wrong.

  Something that went beyond her failure to tell him about her fiancé. Something that went far deeper and cut more painfully. Love welled in her heart, and she took a step toward him. “Malcolm.”

  His name was just a whisper on her lips, but it was enough of a catalyst to trigger him into motion.

  He walked out of the stall, closing the door securely behind him. It seemed as though he intentionally ignored the fact that in doing so he passed close enough to her that his shoulder almost brushed hers. Almost.

  “Deuce needs the rest. I’ll stay the night. That’s it,” he said curtly.

  Giving a shallow nod, she shifted her gaze and turned away.

  She understood. Of course, she understood.

  He was a loner. A gunman with a vow of vengeance he wouldn’t give up until he saw it through or got himself killed in the process of trying.

  What did she have to offer him in exchange?

  Just the love in her heart and the desire to remain at his side until the day she died.

  Forty

  Malcolm was a damned idiot. He should have ridden off the moment Alex was reunited with her father. If he’d done that, he never would have learned that Walter Dunstan, the Belt Buckle Kid, the man who had killed Gavin in cold blood, had dared to place his murderous hands on Alex. She’d stopped him from raping her, but he’d still taken something from her that she’d never get back.

  Malcolm had never wanted to kill someone so bad in his life. He’d left the parlor with his blood boiling, fueled by the instinctive, undeniable urge to send Walter Dunstan straight to hell.

  For Gavin and for Alex.

  By the time he’d reached Deuce’s stall, a realization hit him that had him stopping in his tracks and cursing fate for placing him in that saloon the day Alexandra Brighton had walked in.

  Killing Walter Dunstan would not stop the man’s father from seeking revenge against Alex. In fact, it might spur him on even more.

  Violence roared through him so fierce and hot it was all he could do to contain it. Especially when he saw the haunted look shimmering in her blue gaze and the vulnerability she tried so desperately to conceal. He couldn’t let her see the fury inside him. Didn’t want her to know the connection between their pasts when it would serve no pu
rpose.

  Hell, she’d probably insist on going with him to face the bastard.

  There was no way in hell he’d let her get anywhere near Dunstan. So, he’d said he’d stay the night, hoping to set her at ease.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Somewhere along in the last few weeks, he’d become attuned to her.

  She smiled appropriately through the meal and talked politely to her new stepmother of her time in Boston. She asked the children questions about their interests and was properly contrite regarding the worry she’d put her aunt through in leaving Boston. But Malcolm could see the strain beneath it all.

  The tension in her shoulders was subtle, but it ran all the way up along her jaw to where her pulse beat at her temples. She sat too straight in her chair. Her hands moved too slowly and with too much thought. Her eyes kept glancing toward the window, as though seeking something outside under the moon, before they’d swing tentatively in his direction.

  And whenever that blue gaze fell on him, Malcolm couldn’t help but feel too much.

  By the time dinner ended, he was ready to bolt from all the tension built up inside him. He wasn’t sure if Randolph Brighton sensed his discomfort, but the man stood and gave Malcolm a short nod. “Come on outside, Mr. Kincaid. I like to enjoy a smoke before settling down in the parlor after dinner.”

  Intentionally not glancing toward Alex, Malcolm followed her father out to the front porch.

  Brighton took a seat in one of the rocking chairs set off to the side, while Malcolm preferred to stand looking out over the ranch yard as he withdrew his pouch of tobacco and quickly rolled a cigarette.

  “Alexandra mentioned you’d be heading out tomorrow,” Brighton said in a conversational tone.

  “Yep.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Malcolm turned to meet the older man’s curious gaze, leaning his hips back against the porch railing. He considered his answer carefully before deciding on the truth. “Up near Wolf Creek.”

  Brighton’s features tensed. “Is that so? Business or personal?”

  “Very personal,” Malcolm replied. “There’s a wanted man hiding out up there. A man who murdered my brother in cold blood, and only a few years later attacked a young girl walking home alone.”

  Brighton’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reply.

  Silence fell then as Brighton packed his pipe and lit it. After taking a few deep puffs of the sweet-smelling tobacco, he shifted his gaze back to Malcolm. “Does Alexandra know?”

  “She knows what she needs to know.”

  “Cal won’t make it easy.”

  “It’s never easy,” Malcolm countered, flexing his gun hand.

  “And after?”

  Malcolm didn’t answer. The thought of sweeping Alex up onto his horse to ride off for parts unknown sent a swift, sharp edge of anticipation up his spine. But any time he rode into a dangerous situation, he was aware that he might not come out alive. He figured that’s what made him good at what he did—the fact that he was willing to do what it took to see the thing through, despite whatever threat there might be to his own life.

  This time was different. He wanted to ride out after the gun smoke cleared. But he wasn’t sure all of that was any of this man’s business.

  “I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  Now it was Malcolm’s turn to narrow his gaze. “Then you shouldn’t’ve sent her away.”

  “I did what I had to do to keep her safe,” Brighton stated sharply.

  “Seems to me there might have been other ways to do that.”

  The other man rose to his feet. “Listen, Kincaid. And listen good for a minute. I know you’ve earned your reputation as a fast-draw bounty hunter with a talent for putting away dangerous men. But you’ve never come up against someone like Dunstan. Now, I’m talking about the old man, Cal, not his cowardly boy. Cal Dunstan has men all over this state—powerful men—tucked deep in his back pocket.

  “You go after his boy, you bring down on your head the kind of wrath only limitless wealth and unending spite can buy. You may be prepared to face that brand of consequence for whatever justifies your craving for blood. But I’d ask you to think real long and hard about dragging my daughter into the mess with you. Because it won’t end with the boy’s death, and you know it.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Brighton turned and headed back inside.

  The older man hadn’t said anything Malcolm hadn’t already been struggling with in his own mind. By some terrible twist of fate, his vengeance had become inexorably intertwined with Alex’s future. How could he live with himself if by killing Walter Dunstan, he only spurred the old man on to seek retribution now that Alex was back in Montana? And if something went wrong, Malcolm wouldn’t be around to protect her.

  He refused to accept that. There had to be a way to avenge his brother without putting Alex in greater peril, but right now, he couldn’t see it.

  He waited several minutes before following Brighton inside. He was careful not to look too long in Alex’s direction for the remainder of the evening. Part of him was afraid of what he’d see in her eyes if he did. Another part was afraid of what she’d see in his.

  Luckily, the hour grew late quick enough, and Sarah shooed the children up to bed. Alex followed soon after. As she turned to leave the room, she glanced toward Malcolm, but he looked away, not wanting to see what might be in her eyes.

  Tomorrow, he would be gone. There was no point in saying goodbye. She knew it as well as he did. He told himself it was better this way, though he wasn’t looking forward to the sleepless night ahead.

  He’d tried to say he’d be fine in the bunkhouse with the ranch hands, but Sarah had insisted he stay in the house. The room he’d been given was small, but far more comfortable than what he was used to. A large bed nearly filled the space. It had a plush feather mattress covered in soft linens the color of Texas sage bushes right before the flowers bloomed.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried not to think about Alex being so close and so out of reach at the same time. He took off his boots, then removed the rest of his clothing before he lay down between the cool sheets. Though the night held an autumn chill, his body was overly warm, heated from the inside by his perpetual craving for a woman he shouldn’t want this bad.

  He pressed his eyes closed, determined to at least give sleep a shot, but after an hour, he knew it was impossible. He’d gotten too damned accustomed to having Alex tucked under his arm, her warm breath spreading across his skin. The beat of his heart was an empty echo without the weight of her hand resting on his chest.

  He needed her at his side. It was that simple. But it wasn’t possible. Not yet. Not until they were both free.

  With a grunt of frustration, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Running his hands through his hair, he huffed a breath through clenched teeth.

  Then he heard the faint click of his door opening.

  His breath stalled as Alex slid silently into his bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  She was dressed in a dreamy white nightgown that covered her from neck to toe. Her thick, dark hair fell in soft waves down her back with one long tress resting over her breast. Her hands were knitted together in front of her, as though she had to keep them locked together to keep from reaching for him.

  Malcolm was grateful for her restraint. Seeing it bolstered his own.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Her body stiffened at the intentionally harsh tone in his voice, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she just looked at him. In the quiet, moonlit bedroom, she stood with bare toes peeking from beneath the white gown and her hair free down her back, and she looked at him.

  She had always done that.

  In a world of stronger, rougher, more dangerous men who avoided looking Malcolm in the eye, she did so readi
ly. And she saw him. His past and pain, his narrow future.

  Yet she was here anyway.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  It took Malcolm a moment to form the words, though they were true in almost every sense. “I don’t want you here.”

  There was a barely noticeable flicker of hurt in her expression. Malcolm saw it and hated himself for it. Then she lifted her chin and spoke in a dark but urgent whisper. “I was afraid you’d left.”

  “I said I’d stay the night.”

  Her words were raw with an emotion he didn’t want to recognize. “Then stay the night…with me.”

  His heart ached so bad it took everything he had to stay seated on the edge of that bed. There was no promise he’d make it through the next day. What good would one more night of holding her in his arms accomplish? It could only add to the pain of parting, and everything already hurt too damn much.

  “Malcolm.”

  He couldn’t hold back the regret in his reply. “It won’t make it any easier when I ride out tomorrow.”

  On a shaky exhale, she started toward him, stopping only when she stood close enough that the swirling hem of her nightgown teased the tops of his feet. “I know,” she whispered. “But right now, I need you more than life itself.”

  His stomach twisted into a fine knot. “I know the feeling,” he said in a raw murmur that almost didn’t make it clear of his tight throat.

  “I’m here,” she said with a breathless little smile.

  He took a long, slow breath to calm the fierce racing of his heart then he rose to his feet slowly, holding her gaze.

  Malcolm slipped his hand beneath the fall of her silken hair to curve around the back of her neck. He brushed his thumb across the crest of her cheekbone, then down the slope of her nose to her mouth, where he rubbed back and forth over the lush cushion of her lower lip.

  Parting her lips, she sighed in a warm caress against his thumb, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

  The blue of her eyes wasn’t evident in the darkness, but he knew the color intimately. Pure and deep. Beautiful and strong. He hoped to God he’d see those eyes again after tomorrow. Lit with joy or sparked with annoyance. Sharp and determined and so damn smart. But if he didn’t…