The savage boy looked, at that moment, more like an Indian than her brother—with his long hair and quilled buckskins—but a rush of joy swept through Kierin at the sight of him. "Matthew!"
The boy tossed a brief victorious smile in her direction, then returned his attention to the men. In the middle of the floor, Talbot had gotten to his feet and was circling Clay. Kierin inhaled sharply when she saw the glittering knife blade in his hand. Unarmed, Clay hopped backward, arms outstretched for balance, barely avoiding the deadly swipe of Talbot's knife. Matthew edged toward them, the large knife poised to throw.
"No, Matthew," Clay growled low, spotting him too. "I want the bastard." His face was slick with sweat and blood, his expression—fierce and deadly.
Matthew lowered his arm apprehensively. "Then take this, so it's even," he said, tossing the knife to him.
Clay caught the weapon easily and flicked it in Talbot's direction. "Okay, you son of a bitch," he said, his breath coming hard and ragged. "Let's end this." He swiped the blade at Talbot's chest, slicing his shirt and drawing blood.
Talbot drew in a hissing breath. Eyes narrowed, he swallowed hard. Blood flowed freely from his nose and mouth, spattering his crisp white shirt. "My pleasure, Holt." His blade snaked out again, grazing Clay in the arm. A crimson stain seeped through the buff-colored buckskin sleeve.
The two circled each other like stalking cats—watchful, poised to strike, neither giving ground to the other.
"I should have killed you years ago, when I had the chance," Talbot snarled.
"You were as much of a coward then as you are now," Clay taunted, feinting forward with his blade.
Talbot jumped back, eluding the thrust.
"Did it make you feel like a big man to kill my wife, Talbot?" Violence simmered in his voice.
Talbot's eyes widened with taunting innocence. "That was a mistake."
"A mistake?"
"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"She was in her home, God damn you!" Holt lunged, but Talbot evaded him again, throwing him slightly off balance. He felt the sting of Talbot's blade as it sliced his arm again. He ignored the pain. He knew he was letting his emotions get in the way of what he had to do.
"Not that it matters now," Talbot continued, with a hint of a smile, "but we thought she'd gone with you. It was an accident."
It didn't matter. Not for a second. "This wasn't any accident, though, was it, Talbot? Taking Kierin? Making her beg you for her life?"
Talbot smiled. Blood tinged his teeth red. "No. Quite the opposite, in fact. How does it feel to know you've lost both of your women to me, Holt?"
"Not a prayer of that, you bastard." Tired of the game of cat and mouse, Clay kicked Talbot's wrist with a stinging jab of his foot, knocking the blade from his hand.
Talbot only had time to stagger back a step before Clay launched himself at him, knocking him into a stack of crates that splintered beneath their combined weight. Talbot caught Clay's right arm with both of his, holding the deadly blade away from his face. They rolled off the crates and onto the floor, locked in a struggle they both knew only one would survive.
Clay saw the revolver at the same moment Talbot did. The gunmetal glinted in the lantern light. Wedged beneath the crate where it had been knocked in the scuffle, it was within the grasp of both men, but only Talbot had a hand free enough to grab for it. Talbot's fingers closed around the stock and drew the gun between them.
Hysteria rose in Kierin's throat. "Clay, watch out—" she screamed. She saw him drop his knife to focus all his strength and attention on the more lethal weapon. They rolled behind a barrel, out of sight.
Struggling to her feet, she yanked furiously at the bonds on her wrists. If only she could do something. Across the room, her frustrated gaze met Matthew's. His helpless expression was a mirror of her own.
The deafening crack of gunfire sent her heart leaping to her throat. She went stock-still, unable to move or even breathe. Seconds passed, but the silence stretched like minutes. Woodenly, she took one step closer, then another "Clay?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
Nothing. Silence, except for the slamming of her heart in her ears.
There... the rattle of splintered wood. Someone moved.
"C-Clay?" she called again, louder this time. An arm covered in buff-colored buckskin came up to brace against the barrel. A cry of joy tore from her throat as Clay straightened and stepped out into the room. His arms met and enfolded her as she collided with his solid strength.
"Oh, Clay, I was so afraid!" Tears of joy streamed down her face.
His body was taut and his hand trembled as he soothed his fingers over her hair but he murmured, "Shh, I'm all right, now. He's dead. It's all over now." He reached down behind her and untied her hands.
Kierin flung her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. His answering kiss met the sweet urgency of hers and his arms tightened around her with a fierce possessiveness.
When they pulled back to look at each other, Matthew appeared beside them, head down with sudden embarrassment.
"Oh, Matthew—" Kierin cried, shifting her embrace to include him. "I thought you were dead! Look how you've grown. But how did you find me?" She looked back and forth between him and Clay. "How... how did you two...?"
"It's a long story." He and Matthew exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
"A very long story," Matthew agreed.
"What the hell is going on here?" called a deep voice from the doorway.
Clay whirled around, tucking Kierin and Matthew protectively behind him. Four men pointed guns at them from the open door. The one who'd spoken stepped over Asa's inert body and came closer. Thick gray hair peeked out from beneath his flat crowned hat and his barrel-chested body was exaggerated by a bulky sheepskin coat.
"Who are you?" Clay demanded.
"U.S. Marshal Clinton Richardson," the man replied evenly, his gaze taking in the sprawled bodies of El Dragón and Talbot lying nearby. "Who the hell are they?"
"That one's John Talbot," Kierin replied, stepping out from behind Clay. "And o-over there, a whoremonger from Mexico named El Dragón." She swallowed back the lump of pain as she looked at her father's body. Her whole body began to quake in delayed reaction. "They k-killed my father and were trying to kidnap me." She looked up at Clay. "I-I'd be on my way to Mexico by now if it weren't for Clay and my brother."
Richardson whistled and lowered his gun a bit. "El Dragón, huh? We've been after that bastard for years. You sure it's him?"
"That's his boat docked out front," Clay said. "The big guy with the lump on his head outside will verify everything I'm saying... with a little persuasion."
One of Richardson's men hauled Cain through the door by his arm. The giant scowled thunderously at Clay. "You mean him?" the marshal asked.
Clay nodded. "There's another one nursing a headache over behind those crates. He was a witness to most of it."
"And what's your name, mister?" Richardson inquired.
"Holt. Clay Holt."
Richardson tipped the brim of his hat back with the barrel of his gun. "Well, Mr. Holt, if you've told me the truth, and it sounds like you have, it shouldn't take long to get to the bottom of this. If these two don't want the Vigilance Committee after their necks, they'll talk."
"While you're at it," Clay added, "there's a woman named Suzanne back at Talbot's house, locked up with enough food to last her a month. She was involved in this, too."
Richardson nodded and gestured to his men to start picking up the bodies. He frowned at Clay for a moment, then said, "You three best come back to my office with me 'til we get this all untangled. I think I'm gonna need a cup of coffee." Sizing up the blood on Clay he added, "And the doc's gonna want to take a look at those cuts."
One hour later, after the doctor had stitched and swabbed Clay's wounds, he and Kierin rose to meet the marshal as he walked back into his outer office. The man held spent nearly a half hour interrogating Ca
in, Belson, and Suzanne, and had returned wearing a scowl on his face. He dropped into his rolling desk chair and started sifting through a mound of paperwork on his desk.
"You're likely to find a Wanted poster in there with my name on it," Clay told him without preamble.
Standing by his side, Kierin let out a small gasp. "Clay..."
Richardson fell silent and looked at the pair.
"Clay, don't..." she begged in a throaty whisper.
"No," Clay argued, staring past her. The muscles in his jaw bunched with determination. "There's no use lying about it. I want it settled. If it means I have to go to jail then so be it. But I won't make you live with this cloud over our heads anymore."
"How can you say that after what we've just been through?" Kierin took his arms, forcing him to look at her. "Oh, Clay... don't you know you're the most important thing in my life? That I'd rather die than live without you?" Tears of desperation formed behind her eyes. "If you have to go to jail,I'll..."
Clay drew her against him and held her tightly. "Damn... I love you too," he whispered into her hair. "Nothing will ever change that." Kierin pressed her face miserably against his chest. "But you know I have to do this. I wouldn't be much of a man if I dragged you down with me."
Richardson threaded his fingers together across his ample chest and leaned back in his chair watching them.
Pulling herself from Clay's arms, she braced her hands upon the lawman's paper-scattered desk. "He didn't do anything wrong," Kierin pleaded. "I don't know what they told you in there, but it's not true. Kyle Jessup and John Talbot would have killed us both that night. It was self-defense..."
"I know," the marshal murmured.
"I swear it. He was only protecting me. I'll testify in—" She blinked, his words finally registering. "W-what did you say?"
The marshal smiled. "I said, I know."
Clay's lips parted in surprise. "You do?"
"Yup. But if you two ain't through, please," he invited, waving his hand good-naturedly, "be my guests. It's been a long time since I saw two people as dead set on loving each other as the pair of you appear to be."
"Marshal..." Clay warned in a low voice.
"Okay, okay." Richardson laughed and threw his hands in the air palms up. "I'll tell you then. I knew about the poster before you even told me. Knew about it when you told me your name back there in the warehouse. This desk may look completely disorganized, but I've got a mind like a steel trap when it comes to names.
"So, I also remembered the second paper that come in on you, Holt. The one that counteracted the first poster." He dug through the stack of papers, finally withdrawing the one he was looking for. "Ah, here it is." He scrutinized it for a moment, then handed it to Clay. "Seems a man named Brown, Scudder Brown, came forward and cleared your name. And several of Talbot's former employees backed Brown's story up. Charges against you have been dropped, Mr. Holt. You're a free man."
"I'll be damned," Clay breathed.
"Oh, Clay—" Kierin breathed.
Matthew let out a full-blooded Cheyenne whoop, and Clay grabbed Kierin and scooped her into his arms. Heedless of all the people around them, Clay dropped his mouth onto hers and kissed her with exquisite thoroughness.
Abruptly he pulled his mouth from hers and dragged her over to the desk before the grinning marshal. "There's only one thing to do then," Clay announced.
Richardson's eyebrows lifted inquiringly while Kierin stared at him, her face still flushed from his kiss.
"Marry us," he told the marshal.
"W-what?" Kierin sputtered, astounded.
"Now. Tonight," Clay insisted. "You have the authority don't you, Marshal?"
"You're crazy." She laughed.
"About you," he admitted, dropping a kiss on her blushing nose. He turned to the other man. "Well?"
"Hell yes, I've got the authority," Richardson replied with a broad smile. "Is that what you folks want?"
Clay turned to Kierin, bracketed her face in his large hands, and searched her eyes for the answer he hoped to find there. "I don't want one more day, one more minute to come between us, Kierin. I love you. God," he groaned, "I love you so much, I hurt. Say you will and we'll catch the next packet for Oregon. We'll be there within a week. I want to take you there as my wife." He glanced up at her brother. "We'll go there as a family." His eyes pleaded with her. "Say yes."
Stunned by his unabashed profession of love and devotion, Kierin didn't trust herself to speak. She tried to swallow the fist of tears in the back of her throat, but failed.
Clay's face fell when she didn't answer right away, mistaking her hesitation for reluctance. "Unless... you've got your heart set on a big wedding..."
"Oh, you!" Her laughter tumbled out and mingled with her tears. "Now I know you're crazy." Throwing her arms around him, she plunged her fingers into the rich dark hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her cheek to his. She inhaled deeply of his wonderful, familiar scent.
"You're everything I've ever wanted," she told him, "and more than I ever dreamed I could have. I love you too, Clay, and if you wanted to marry me in the middle of a cow pasture, that would be just fine with me. Yes, yes," she murmured, planting small moist kisses on his cheeks, "Yes—I'll marry you. Tonight, tomorrow, any time you want."
The marshal grinned and disappeared into the back room, muttering something about marriage certificates.
"You won't be sorry, honey," Clay told her, holding her close. "I promise you, you won't. It won't be much to start with. We'll have to rebuild the ranch house."
"Fine."
"But I've got some of the finest timberland this side of the Rocky Mountains. Trees so tall you have to nearly break your neck to see the tops. We'll build a house with lots of rooms, and plenty of space for babies."
"Babies?"
"You want babies, don't you?"
Her eyes glimmered with love. "Absolutely."
"And I have the perfect spot picked out to rebuild. It overlooks the most spectacular view you've ever seen."
"Uh-huh." Her gaze traced the perfect shape of his mouth.
"I'll build our bedroom facing east, so we can lie in bed and watch the sun come up every morning. And—"
"Clay?" she whispered.
"Huh?" His faraway expression returned to her.
"Remember when I complained about your being too close-mouthed? And that you only had one thing on your mind?"
"Yeah?"
She smiled. A woman's smile. "Well, forget what I said. If you don't kiss me right now, I'm going to have to do something desperate."
"Sounds serious." Clay shook his head slowly.
"Oh, it is. It definitely is."
She reached up to meet his kiss and he enfolded her in his arms, just as he intended to do for the rest of his life.
The End
Want more from Barbara Ankrum?
Page forward for an excerpt from
RENEGADE BRIDE
Wild Western Hearts Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
Renegade Bride
Wild Western Hearts Series
Book Two
by
Barbara Ankrum
Bestselling Author
RENEGADE BRIDE
Reviews & Accolades
RITA Nomination
Romance Writers of America
"...an action-packed, sensual love story, brimming over with danger and peopled with an unforgettable mismatched couple who overcome all odds to find true happiness."
~Harriet Klausner, Romantic Times
"Creed—" Her voice was raw and another cough shook her. "So s-scared..."
He dropped his face into the curve of her neck, his cheek in her hair. "Ah, Mariah, I almost lost you." He stroked the hair back off her forehead with his damp palm. Even as he said it, guilt flashed through him like a hot wind. She had never been his to lose. "I should never have let you cross, Dieu... It was my fault." His voice cracked. "Forgive me, Mariah. I ne
arly killed you."
She half-turned in his arms until her cheek was pressed against his chest. She clung to him fiercely, her wet flesh fused with his and she shook her head.
“D-don't do this. We both know why I'm here. Not because you wanted it." She sucked in a breath through her chattering teeth and turned her face toward the river. "I-I panicked. You saved my life and y-you don't even l-like me."
"I don't even...? Ah, Mariah—" He pressed his mouth against her wet hair. "Mariah..." Her arms wound around his back and neck. Through his soaked shirt he could feel the fullness of her breasts. Her nipples, puckered with cold, pressed against him.
A soft, wretched sound came from his throat and he felt the animal burn of desire welling up in him like a night sweat—irrational, uncontrollable. His lips stole over her cool temple and down her cheek, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He gathered her protectively to him and felt her arms tighten around his back.
Perhaps it was his need for reassurance that she was alive that made him forget himself. Perhaps it was the way she clung to him as if afraid he might cast her back to the pagan river gods. Maybe it was none of those things and he was just a fool, longing for things that couldn't be.
The scent of crushed wild mint came from beneath them. He shifted slightly and she slid down into the crook of his arm. Her eyes, like pinwheels of gold, searched his face. Moisture clung to her dark lashes. Her lips trembled as she spoke his name. "Creed—"
Powerless to stop himself, he crushed his lips to hers in a hard, hungry kiss—claiming, possessing her as if she were his. She arched up to him, meeting his urgency with an unexpected desperation of her own. Splaying his fingers against the cold fabric of her shift, he drew her closer, until she was flush against him. Her fingers twined in his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still. He breathed her name against her mouth and felt her lips part in welcome as the kiss deepened. He wanted her in a way he'd never wanted another woman in his life. It wasn't even a conscious thought, but primal. She'd nearly drowned and now he wanted to throw her on the ground and—
Holt's Gamble Page 32