The Gunslinger's Vow

by Amy Sandas

  Shit.

  If he never saw this woman again, he needed her to know how he felt.

  He cradled her face in both hands and lowered his head, stopping just shy of putting his mouth on hers. The sweep of her lashes was dark against her skin as she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss and she slid her hands around his back, bringing her body flush against his.

  Her softness contrasted painfully with how he felt inside, like a machine whose gears had been wound too tight.

  “I love you.” The words slipped from his mouth before he’d even formed them in his mind, but that made them no less true. He couldn’t deny it a second longer. Couldn’t hold it in to save his miserable life.

  Her arms tightened around him, and she took a breath to speak. Before she could, he kissed her. He didn’t want to hear the same words from her lips. It would break him when he needed to be strong.

  For her. For Gavin. For the future.

  The kiss was soft and achingly sweet. He would have liked it to go on forever, but he had more to say. Lifting his head, he tried to memorize the look of her right then. Everything was softened by the darkness around them, but he saw her no less clearly than if it were broad daylight. He knew her skin was a soft golden color and her mouth curved perfectly for smiles and his kisses. He knew the arch of her brows and the way her eyes flashed with life.

  “Alex, I want you to promise me something,” he began in a raw whisper. “I need to know you’ll keep on searching until you find what makes you happy.” She tensed and tried to draw back as her eyes flew open, but he held her with his gaze. “You belong out here. Where you can be free. Where you can explore all the beautiful things life holds. I want that for you.”

  “I want that for us, Malcolm,” she murmured thickly as her hands curled over his shoulders as though she would anchor herself to him. “Together.”

  His throat started to close, making it hard to go on. “I have to see this through or I’ll never be free. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, Alex. But if I don’t…”

  “You don’t have to go alone, Malcolm. I can help. We are so much better together.” The suggestion of tears glistened in her eyes. He hated seeing it.

  And she was right. They were great together.

  But she didn’t know all that was at stake. She didn’t know Malcolm intended to face one man who’d attacked her as a child and another who’d forced her exile from the land she loved. There was no way in hell he was letting her anywhere near the Dunstans.

  “I’m going with you,” she murmured, and though the words were soft, they were filled with conviction.

  “We’ll talk in the morning.” He regretted the lie as soon as he uttered it, but it had to be said.

  He kissed her again, with all the passion and fear and love he possessed. He had no idea he could feel so much for one small woman, but he poured every ounce of himself into the kiss. Though he could feel her resistance at first—her desire to argue her point further—he was relentless, and she soon softened. Her body arched against him, and her tongue played passionately with his.

  In a rush of desperation, Malcolm grasped handfuls of all that white cotton swirling around her and lifted it off over her head. Her naked body gleamed in the moonlight. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her off her feet. Then he lowered her to the mattress, covering her body with his, settling one of his thighs high against her heated core while his arms caged her shoulders.

  He soaked in the sight of her beneath him—the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  Looking into her eyes, he kissed her again. Long, slow, luxurious kisses that sapped them both of strength. Gentle nips in her full lower lip, the tip of her nose, and the corners of her eyes where her lashes fluttered against his lips. Suckling kisses that lapped up the unique salty, fresh, feminine taste of her skin below her ear, over the pulse at the base of her throat, and across the crest of her shoulder.

  He wanted to taste every inch and explore the different sounds she made. He wanted to remember every shiver that coursed through her body, every arch of her spine and tug of her hands as she silently urged him to more.

  Dipping his head, he placed a quiet, gentle kiss on the inner curve of her breast. Then another one on her belly. Next her hip. Her inner thigh. She writhed and sighed with every light touch of his lips, murmuring pleas for more, more, more.

  He had every intention of giving her more. So much more. Until she was limp and exhausted and so damned satisfied she’d sleep through the morning and awake with memories of love burned so deep in her soul she’d never forget him.

  Because he’d never forget her. Not for the rest of his life…however long that proved to be.

  Forty-One

  Alexandra woke with a slow sigh and a long, toe-tingling stretch, followed by a helpless grin as memories of the night before flooded her consciousness.

  A perfect, tender, loving night.

  Malcolm had been different. Attentive and delightfully determined. Not a single inch of her body, heart, or soul went untouched—unloved—by him.

  She felt complete in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

  She felt glorious.

  Rolling onto her back, she cracked her eyes open as the light from a full morning sun fell on her face, bright even through the drawn cotton curtains. Panic lanced through her center, and she sat up to see what she already knew was true.

  He was gone.

  Her heart squeezed tight. She clutched the bedclothes to her chest and took a deep, slow breath through her nose. But the room smelled like him—like them together—and it made her heart ache even more.

  That scent was the only thing left behind. He was gone for certain this time. Without her.

  She should have known he would sneak away, but still it hurt like hell. She wanted to huddle under the covers and sleep for a week, or however long it would take to forget the feel of Malcolm’s hands gliding over her body, or the way her insides trembled when he turned his steady gaze on her, or how she warmed when he smiled.

  She wished she had made him smile more.

  The sense of loss burned through her like a wildfire. With an odd numbness, she pulled herself from the bed and dressed in her nightgown. The house was quiet as she tiptoed upstairs. Everyone else had probably already started their day, going about the tasks and chores required by a ranch this size.

  She almost made it to her bedroom unseen, but just as she stepped into her room and was about to close the door behind her, a small, pert little face framing large, hazel eyes appeared in the open crack.

  “Good morning,” Ivy declared with a sunny smile. “You slept late. Are you getting up now? I have so many questions about your journey from Boston. I bet it was a grand adventure. I’ve never been farther from home than Helena, and that doesn’t count much.”

  Alexandra could only blink at the girl. She remembered having such boundless energy and curiosity when she’d been the same age.

  “So are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  The girl tossed her a frustrated little scowl. “Are you getting up? We’ve all had breakfast hours ago.”

  “Hours ago? What time is it?”

  “Past nine, I’d say.”

  “Goodness.” She hadn’t slept so late in ages. Then again, she and Malcolm had been awake through most of the night. “That is late. I will get dressed and be down in a few minutes.”

  “All right,” the girl replied brightly before skipping away.

  A quarter of an hour later, Alexandra went downstairs, but Ivy was nowhere to be seen. She did find Ivy’s mother, however, coming from the kitchen.

  “Oh, there you are,” Sarah said with a welcome smile. “Are you hungry? We all ate breakfast, but I can fix something up for you quick.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  �
�I know, but come along to the kitchen anyway.” The older woman turned and headed back the way she’d come, with a wave over her shoulder indicating Alexandra was to follow her. “Have a seat at the table,” she said as they entered the kitchen. “I can fry up an egg or two, and I have fresh bread with butter or plum jam.”

  “That sounds fine. Thank you.”

  Sarah insisted Alexandra take a seat while she moved efficiently around the kitchen. Within minutes, a lovely breakfast was set before her.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?” Sarah asked.

  “Not at all,” Alexandra replied, sensing the other woman’s need to say something.

  Now that the initial shock of her father’s new family had passed, Alexandra was surprised to realize that it didn’t upset her as much as she would have thought. There may have been a time when Alexandra would have rebelled against the idea. But that had been long ago. It had become obvious to her yesterday that her life had diverged significantly from what it had been when she’d traveled at her father’s side.

  As had his.

  “This is a lovely house, Sarah,” she said with genuine warmth, feeling a desire to put the woman at ease if she could.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said with a smile as she glanced around. There was a slightly wistful look in her eye. “The kids’ father, Evan, built it for us when we were first married. This was his family’s cattle ranch. I was a city girl from Helena, but he wanted to make me comfortable.” She glanced at her hands as she continued. “Evan was killed nearly six years ago, during a bank robbery.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

  “Yes, well, I learned right quickly how to run a ranch,” Sarah said with a rueful smile. “Not always well, but I learned. Mr. Kincaid was the man who tracked the gang down in Wyoming and brought them to justice.”

  Alexandra wasn’t surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

  “He seemed in a pretty big hurry to be on his way this morning.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “Only briefly. He wouldn’t even grab a bite to eat before he headed out.”

  Alexandra got the sense she should say something to that. “He has a job to finish up north.”

  “Yes. If he is successful, I imagine it will make a lot of Wolf Creek residents very happy.”

  Wait a minute. A sick sense of dread suddenly weighed down her limbs. “Wolf Creek?” Cal Dunstan’s estate was not far from there.

  Sarah must have heard the odd note in Alex’s voice because she tipped her head, and a frown curled her brow. “Neither of them told you?”

  Alexandra could only shake her head as a horrid suspicion took hold in her mind.

  “Will men never learn?” Sarah muttered angrily before she reached out to place her hand over Alexandra’s, which had fisted against the table. “From what your father told me, Mr. Kincaid is seeking revenge against Walter Dunstan for killing his brother some years ago.” She paused. “I understand he’s also the man who…”

  Alexandra nodded. Her mind was in a whirl.

  The man Malcolm had been hunting for so many years was Walter Dunstan.

  How was it possible that the same man who had attacked her, the one she thought she’d killed, had also shot and killed Gavin Kincaid?

  It seemed unfathomable.

  Alexandra rose to her feet. “I have to go.”

  “No, Alexandra, you can’t. It’s too dangerous. There will be violence. That is no place for a young lady.”

  Alex met the older woman’s concerned gaze. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve never been much of a lady. Malcolm needs me,” she said then turned and left the kitchen.

  Sarah shouted after her, but Alexandra was already halfway up the stairs.

  Malcolm—the stubborn and infuriatingly honorable jackass—thought to protect her by not letting her go with him after Dunstan. He should have known by now they protected each other, especially against a shared enemy. And she sure as hell couldn’t do that from here. If he had left at dawn, he was already several hours ahead of her. But she knew this area; she could get there. She had to try.

  She changed quickly into her split skirt and button-down shirt. She wished she still had her pants, but they’d been left behind in the cabin. After unpinning her hair, she braided it in a long plait down her back, then strapped her knife on her hip.

  Rushing through the house, she’d almost made it out the front door when Sarah stepped into her path.

  “I’m begging you to wait for your father to come in from the range so he can go with you.”

  “There’s no time, Sarah. Malcolm needs my help. I need to go now.”

  “Take this food, at least,” Sarah replied, worrying her bottom lip with the edge of her teeth as she handed Alexandra a small sack. “And there’s something else you’ll probably need.”

  She went into a cupboard in the hall and reached up onto the top shelf to pull down a wooden box. “Your father said this was yours. He kept it safe for when you might want it back.”

  Sarah set the box on a table, and Alexandra approached to see what it held. As soon as she caught a glimpse of the contents, she sucked in a hard breath.

  It was her modified Colt.

  To her amazement, icy fear did not course through her at the sight of it. The old terror had been replaced by a new sort of fear. Fear for Malcolm, fear that he would be killed and she’d never see him again. Fear that she wouldn’t make it to his side in time to help him. His injury still slowed him down, and Dunstan would have too many men for him to take alone.

  Frankly, the gun would help.

  Without another thought, she took the Colt and custom-made leather holster out of the box. Strapping the weapon around her waist, she gave Sarah a quick smile. “Thank you. The rifles I rode in with—do you know where they are? And my ammo?”

  Sarah looked reluctant to reply, but something in Alexandra’s expression must have convinced her. “They were put in a back room in the barn.”

  Alexandra gave a nod and turned to rush out the door, but she was stopped short by Ivy, skipping happily into the house. At the sight of Alex, the girl came to a quick stop, and her eyes went wide. “Are you leaving?”

  “I am sorry, Ivy. I would love to talk to you of my adventures, but it will have to be another time. I have to ride out.”

  The girl’s attention fell to the Colt. “Are you going to fight bad guys?”

  “Yes, and I really do have to hurry.” Alex crouched down and gave the girl a quick hug and a smile before rushing past her and out to the barn as the little girl gave a whoop of excitement.

  She had Sibyl saddled and ready within minutes. The mare seemed just as eager as she was to head out. Her heart beat as fast as her horse’s hooves on the earth as she rode away from her father’s ranch, but she had no regrets.

  Alexandra had come home to find her future, and Malcolm was it. She just needed to make sure he stayed alive so she could convince him of that.

  Forty-Two

  Malcolm crouched behind the brush and boulders on the northwestern ridge overlooking Dunstan’s estate.

  The place was unlike anything he’d ever seen. From the front, it had the look of a prosperous ranch, with barns, stables, and bunkhouses spreading out behind an elaborate mansion surrounded by fancy gardens, a gazebo, and a pond.

  But from Malcolm’s perspective, the place looked more like a fortress. Armed men, clearly not ranch hands, strolled about from building to building in groups of two or three. Seven men in total, by Malcolm’s count. And that was just the men who showed themselves.

  After a couple of hours of watching the place through his spyglass, he saw a wheeled chair pushed from the house onto the wide back porch, and he finally got a look at the man he’d been hunting for eight long years.

  Walter Dunstan.

  Malcolm squint
ed against the sun. Every muscle in his body tensed. His heart pounded, and his hands itched to grab his gun and take the man down. He’d expected to see a murderer who’d run roughshod over the western territories and California, killing at least two people Malcolm knew about.

  What he saw instead was the man who’d attacked a defenseless girl along the side of a road.

  Not defenseless.

  Fierce.

  Smart. Proud. Capable. Beautiful.

  She deserved to live without this mess hanging over her head.

  The Dunstans weren’t going to keep hold of her future—or his—for another day.

  It would be so damn easy to shoot the bastard from where he was. He’d just need to raise his rifle, get the man in his sights, steady his breath, and pull the trigger.

  Except Malcolm wasn’t a murderer. Every man he’d killed had been given a fighting chance.

  For years, Malcolm had imagined walking up to the Belt Buckle Kid and calmly reminding him of the young man he’d killed for a hundred dollars in poker winnings. Then he’d order him to draw. Malcolm would be faster, and that would be it. Justice served.

  But justice had gotten a lot more complicated.

  Walter Dunstan wasn’t holed up in some shack with a few other outlaws. He was sitting in the middle of a damned fortified compound.

  How the hell was he going to get close to Walter Dunstan without losing the upper hand?

  When Walter was wheeled back into the house, Malcolm realized he had only one way to see this to the end. He’d have to take his chances on a direct approach.

  That always seemed to work best anyway.

  Of course, in the past, he’d always been prepared for the potential of his own death. That fearlessness had given him an edge over his opponents.

  This time was different. He was terrified.