by Jillian Hart
"And why you spent a lot of time with him, learning to gamble."
"Precisely." She dug her fork into the mound of mashed potatoes on her plate. "You never answered my question. Why don't you have a horse?"
He picked up his fork and tried the potatoes. Tasty. Buttery. Been a long time since he'd had food like this.
Across the small table, Kit watched him silently, waiting for her answer.
"I walk because I can't afford a horse." It was blunt, it was painful, but it was the truth. "Which means I've been walking for a long while."
"It must be hard, a man like you, not having a horse."
"There are worse things." Things he kept a locked door on, things that he wanted to stay in the past. "I got two good legs for walking, so I'm lucky."
"But you'd be luckier with a horse. What happened to yours?"
"Maybe I never had one. Maybe I've always been on foot, walking wherever I want to go." He'd be a fool to let her close, to let her know a single personal thing about him. He kept everyone at arm's length. It was best that way.
"I don't believe that for a second. I saw you with Blue. Blue, who doesn't like strangers. Blue, who runs from everyone but me. He didn't let you catch him, he came to you. I saw it. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but I did see it. You can't deny it."
"I've always had a way with horses."
"Me, too." Despite the mustache, her smile was as sweet as a summer dawn, the kind that comes quietly to the Montana plains in a soft brush of light to fill the whole world. His heart felt caught in that light threatening to touch what had been dark for ages.
He couldn’t let that happen, but he couldn't resist the pull of her. No one had bothered to understand him in a long time.
"Is it something you've always had?" she asked.
No, that's what he should have said. But what came out of his mouth? "Always. I think I was born with it. Working with horses, that's what I was meant to do."
"Me, too." She nibbled daintily on a chicken wing. "I get it from my Ma's side. Her granddaddy bred Arabians. Very reputable. A lot of folks respected him. When Ma was sick, we lived with him. He taught me about horses."
"Horses run in your blood."
"Blue was a gift from my grandfather. I think he realized I needed something to hold onto when Ma was ill. One afternoon, Granddaddy came and took me with him to the stable. His favorite, prized mare was in labor. I watched the foal come into this world, and Granddaddy said the newborn was mine. The instant Blue and I locked eyes, we were in love. We've been best friends ever since."
"There's nothing like having a horse for your best friend." He wasn't enchanted by her, he wasn't. Maybe if he kept saying that, he could make it true.
"What happened to your best friend?"
"Lost him long ago." Like everything else. The memory would tear him apart if he let it. "You broke Blue?"
"I didn't need to. He was born a gentle soul, and I began working with him when he was a new foal." She nibbled on her piece of chicken, a dreamy look in her eyes. "Granddaddy taught me how to train him, at least at first. When we had to move on, I kept his advice close to my heart. Training Blue was a gradual thing. I would never break his spirit. I don't believe in breaking horses."
"Neither do I." And just like that he was one hundred percent glad he'd stepped in and helped her. He hadn't felt that way about a fellow human being in a long, long time.
Chapter Four
The hotel owner promised to wrap up Kit's leftovers, cleared away Dakota's empty plate and left the bill. She pulled out a handful of coins.
"Put those back in your pocket." He stood, looming over her a full six feet.
Her heart thumped but she wasn't afraid, unlike the diners at the nearest table who stopped eating to watch him as if they expected him to start shooting up the place.
"But this is my way of saying thank you." Why couldn’t she stop noticing the hard plane of his chest or the muscled strength in his arms? Impressive, a little voice whispered, a voice she should not pay attention to, nope, not at all. "I would have been in serious trouble with the bear if you hadn't stepped in."
"Serious trouble? No, you'd have been dead. I'm glad you're not."
"And once wasn't enough. You stepped in with Tannen, too. You didn't have to get involved. I kept my winnings thanks to you."
"You're not paying for my supper. Not going to happen. Pick up your coins." He dropped a greenback on the table. "It should be safe for you to head home. I kept an eye on the window while we ate, and Tannen and his gunman went back inside the saloon."
"You make it hard to even the score, Mr. Black." She reluctantly pocketed her coins, fearing that if she didn't, Dakota would do it for her. When he circled to the back of her chair, the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck prickled.
A perfectly normal reaction, she thought. It was nice of him to get her chair. What was he, a gentleman outlaw?
"Folks are a little puzzled why I would help with your chair." His baritone rumbled in her ear, warmed with humor. "My reputation has taken a hit being seen out with you."
"I'll try and act more manly." She blushed, realizing she'd forgotten.
"Here you go, sir." The hotel owner returned, searching her face anxiously through his spectacles. He held out her wrapped leftovers. "I hope you found everything satisfactory."
"It was very good." There, deep voice. She lumbered away from the table. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." The owner's heavy sigh of relief accompanied them to the foyer.
"This is one reason I don't eat in fine restaurants." Strain carved into his face. He held the door for her.
"Sure, they take one look at you and think an armed robbery is about to happen at any minute."
"I have that effect on folks."
"Not on me, not anymore." She stared at the span of boardwalk between her boots instead of looking at him. She didn't want to come out and admit she thought he was a good man, as far as men went. That might make them friends or something. Friends with a man? That spelled trouble.
"Then you're the exception, Howie." Humor layered his words, but there was no shielding the closeness—for one brief instant—that beat between them. He looked down at the boardwalk, too.
The darkness cloaked the town, hiding all its flaws. Lamplight from windows and saloons dusted the empty streets and the drab storefronts with a golden glow. Blue spotted her, his head came up, his ears pricked and his welcoming whinny carried on the dusty wind.
"Guess I've done all the damage here I can do for one night." She patted her pocket, heavy with her winnings. She'd never thought she'd earn that much on her first night out. "Although I really didn't get to do more than get in a few basic hands. I wanted to see what I could really do. It's one of my few skills. I think I'm a fairly good poker player."
"Maybe, but you've taken enough risks and I might not be around next time to step in if there's trouble. In these kinds of towns, with these kinds of men, there always is." He untied Blue's reins from the post. "The world is a lot tougher than you think, Kit."
"But I have to learn how to make my way in it, now that I'm the head of the household." Uncertainty clutched her heart, but she pushed it down. She fumbled with the bandana's knot, loosening it. "I almost forgot. You need this back."
"You keep it. You might need it if Howie goes to town again." Dark glints in his eyes shone like a midnight sky, backlit by a thousand stars. Something stirred there—tenderness combined with a dash of kindness.
She didn't want to like Dakota Black, but she couldn't help it. She fit her boot toe in the stirrup and rose with a hop into the saddle. "Don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I'll never forget you."
"Back at ya. You're one of a kind, Howie." He patted her boot, sending little tingles up her leg. "Be safe."
"You, too." Maybe it was a dumb thing to say to a man who looked mountain tough, but she meant it.
She gathered Blue's reins, nosed him into the street and rode into the n
ight. When she glanced over her shoulder, Dakota was nowhere in sight.
* * *
To make sure the man called Tannen really had given up on his hunt for Kit, Dakota pushed through the swinging doors of Left-Hand Louie's and let his eyes adjust to the dim, smoky interior. Piano music rang above the roar of conversations as he searched each table. No Tannen. No gunslinger.
So much for hoping the man would be elbows deep in a game. Dakota's jaw tightened. He'd kept one eye on the boardwalk in front of the saloon through the meal. Didn't see Tannen leave. Maybe he'd gone upstairs with one of the working girls? Dakota eyed the landing above, but doors stood opened, not closed. He bit back a curse.
"Where's your back door?" he barked, causing the barkeeper to blanch and point a trembling finger into the dark wedge of a back room.
Good. He burst into the alley and hot summer evening. A dog's lone bark echoed between the rows of buildings and silenced. Dakota knelt in the shadows, studying the tracks in the powdery dust. One set circled to the garbage pile. Had to be the barkeep's. Two fresh sets headed east.
Dakota took off at a run, wondering how far he had to go. Would he catch up with the men in time to make much of a difference? Why hadn't he considered Tannen might not leave out the front? Fear for Kit burned a hole in his chest. He didn't want to think what a man like Tannen might do if he found out the slightly-effeminate city boy who'd beaten him at cards was a pretty, defenseless female. Bile soured his tongue as he skidded to a stop between the buildings at the far end of town.
Angry voices echoed between the tailor shop and the gunsmith. Shadows from the faint light of the moon danced on the brick wall and on the main street where Kit lay sprawled on the ground on her back, likely having been yanked physically out of her saddle. Blue was nowhere in sight, but the broken tracks of horse shoes and boots told the story of a struggle. Tannen stood over her, foot on her belly, his gun in one hand, sizing up the roll of greenbacks he grasped in the other.
"This isn't all of it," Tannen belted out, cold superiority. "Empty your other pocket. Slow, now. I'd hate to have to shoot you."
Dakota drew his Colt, thumbing back the hammer. No sign of the gunman lurking on the wedge of town he could see. His boots carried him forward into the moon shadows, padding quietly, a skill he'd learned in the army. He nudged the metal nose into the middle of Tannen's shoulder blades, dead on his spine. "Drop the gun."
Surprise shook through Tannen, he stiffened. The Colt landed with a thud in the dirt.
"Now the money." Dakota kept his ears pealed, aware of his environment, knowing there was a gunman unaccounted for. "Do it."
"Haven't you figured out you're on the wrong side of this, Outlaw?" Tannen dropped the money roll, which landed beside the weapon. "I can make this beneficial for you."
"No, thanks. Now let Howie up."
"Your mistake." Tannen swore viciously, but he removed his foot from Kit's stomach. "You don't want to make an enemy of me."
"I'm not worried about it." All that mattered was that Kit was sitting up, grabbing Tannen's gun and her money roll. She was all right. Visually unharmed.
The bullet came from the dark side of the street, plowing through his flesh and bone with a fiery shock. Not the first time he'd taken a bullet, likely not the last. He landed on his knees, the breath punching out of him, but his gun remained steady. "Go, Howie. Get outta here."
"No." She bolted to her feet and joined him, the gun trembling in both of her hands. "Tannen, your gunslinger can't shoot us both at once. If you don't want a bullet in your back, call him off."
"You heard Howie." Dakota blinked against the encroaching darkness crowding into his brain. Ignored the pain. Held his gun steady. "Walk away while you can."
"This isn't over." Tannen's threat vibrated with cold rage, a threat meant to be kept, as signaled into the shadows. "Howie Chapman, you made yourself an enemy."
"You're the one who tried to steal from me." Kit spoke up, doing Howie proud. For the first time, she had the gestures of a man, the stance, the toughness.
But Tannen had evaporated into the black of night. Faint boot steps tapped down the unlit boardwalk on the far side of the street, retreating. Then silenced. The danger was over. Good thing, too, because, his knees gave way.
"Are you all right?" Her hand landed on his shoulder, soft and light. "You're really bleeding. I can't believe you're still conscious. You need a doctor. Is there a doctor in this town?"
"I'm fine." Not exactly the truth. "I need to get some pressure on this, maybe dig out the bullet."
"You make that sound as if you plan on doing it yourself." She hunkered down before him in the street, her face a faint, concerned curve in the dark. "Sorry, but you're not that tough, Dakota. We need to get you to a doctor—"
"No, no doctor." He'd developed a distaste for medical men in the army. A horse's nicker interrupted, and Blue appeared from the middle of the dark street. The big animal nosed in, concerned.
"Good to see you, handsome." Kit grabbed her stallion's reins. "Are you all right, buddy?"
Blue nickered, looking a little frightened but unharmed.
"Good, because I've already got my hands full." She slid her arm around Dakota's back to support him.
Only then did he realize he was listing. Maybe he was weaker than he wanted to admit. He was cold, too. Not a good sign. Shock was setting in.
"Okay, Mr. Black, if you don't want a doctor, then I'll care for you," she said.
"You? Take care of me?" He couldn't remember anyone saying that to him at anytime in his adult life. His wet shirt clung to his chest, and he could feel the dampness of blood all the way to his belt. He couldn't move his left arm.
Light spilled with eye-stinging brightness from one of the shops. "What's going on out there?" a man demanded in a mellow tenor.
"Dewayne!" Relief eased the pinched lines around Kit's soft mouth. Such a pretty mouth. "I need help."
The light from the shop tumbled over her, and it wasn't the man's clothes or the fairly good, fake mustache Dakota saw, but the woman beneath. Gentle, kind, concerned for him.
No one in ages had cared whether he lived or died. He'd gotten used to it until he'd stopped caring himself. Darkness crept across his brain, stealing his consciousness, but he knew as the blackness closed in he wouldn't hit the ground when he fell. He knew she would catch him.
* * *
Fire danced like a wraith in the night, fiery red and roaring. The dangerous heat seared her and drew the skin tight on her face as she laid Fred in the cool grass, both of them coughing in the smoke.
"Mindy!" She screamed her sister's name, but the beast that was the fire drowned out her words, rearing up like a monster against the peaceful twinkle of stars in the sky above. Clouds of smoke tried to blot them out, but they shone on while she searched the field for her missing sister. Terror clawed through her. "Mindy!"
Kit sat up, pulse pounding, gasping for breath, the memory of the fire crisp in her mind. She could almost taste the dank smoke, as if it were coating the back of her throat.
It was a dream and not real, she told herself. She blinked, and the shadowy inside of the tent came into view. Starlight glowed on the canvas wagon top, which she and Fred had stretched over willow boughs and stakes for a makeshift home.
Her raspy breath sounded hollow in her ears. Calm down, she thought. Everything is fine. Everyone is safe.
She peeled away the sheet and sat up in her makeshift bed on the floor. Near the entry, Fred slept on his side, lying on a pallet they'd made from lumber scraps. Mindy dreamed nearby, still and peaceful, tucked in the corner on a straw tick they'd made from wild grasses. All was well there, but it was the man nearby, sprawled on his back in her bed that dominated her attention and her concern.
At least they'd been able to stop the bleeding. Dewayne had saved the day, bringing a blanket to roll Dakota onto. Between them they were able to carry him sling style into the back of the tailor shop. She'd patched up Pa after mo
re than one saloon fight gone wrong, which meant she had experience tending injuries and digging out bullets.
Dewayne had stitched the wound, and he'd done an expert job. No doctor necessary. He'd hitched up his wagon, they'd loaded Dakota in the back and headed home. Blue had followed, tied to the tailgate, now and then nickering with worry about the condition of the man he'd taken a shine to.
She'd been worried about him, too. Still was. He'd taken a bullet for her. A bullet. Her throat felt thick as she listened to him breathe. Slow, rhythmic, steady. He lay on her mattress against the side of the tent, where the shadows were thickest. Strange how her fingertips ached to reach out and touch him, to make sure no fever was dampening his brow or heating his skin, but she held back. No touching, she thought. That was a smart rule to live by.
Her tongue felt like sandpaper. She rocked to her feet, wincing at the ache in half her muscles. As if falling off Blue once hadn't been enough with the bear, the violent way Tannen had jerked her by the boot and tossed her to the ground had likely given her more than a few bruises. She snagged the empty water pitcher on her way to the tent flap.
The night air puffed hot against her face once she was outside. She breathed in the fresh air and listened to nature's sounds. An owl whoo-whoo-whooing from the stand of cottonwoods alongside the creek. A distant call of a coyote somewhere on the prairie. The muffled whoosh of a horse's breath from inside the sod stable. Jack, most likely, as the old gelding tended to snore.
Assured the night held no dangers, she crossed the yard toward the blackened ruins where their ramshackle cabin had stood. The small well had been untouched by the inferno, although the nearby grasses had been scorched. The charred scent from the fire touched her nose and she shivered, remembering the nightmare that had kicked her out of her sleep.
She knelt to open the wooden lid and heard a boot print in the grass behind her. Her heart lurched, for one senseless moment fearing it was Tannen, even as she knew it wasn't true.