Stevie Rae traveled the rest of the way on foot, staying within the shelter of the trees, moving as cautiously and as silently as she could. The outlaws might have gotten smart since the last time she and Brock were here and posted guards to warn the patrons of the Silver Spur Saloon that a stranger—or worse, a posse—was riding into town.
She met no one, but that didn’t stop her mouth from going dry. Keeping to the shadows behind the ramshackle buildings, she made her way to the back of the Silver Spur. A shiver snaked down her spine as she pressed herself against the wall beneath a set of stairs leading to the second story veranda and waited, willing her heart to cease its frantic pace. After a moment, still hugging the wall, Stevie Rae edged her way to the side of the saloon and peered into the building’s window. The years of accumulated dirt and grime allowed her to see little more than the glow of lantern light and shadows. There were people in the saloon, but who they were could not be discerned.
She took stock of her situation. Yes, she had surprise on her side, but she just couldn’t go rushing inside without knowing what criminals were there. She had done that once before and nearly gotten both Brock and herself killed. She’d learned her lesson.
No, this time, she would be smart.
Stevie Rae glanced toward the second story verandah. Her lips clamped together in grim determination as she sidled along the building, back the way she’d come, and studied the staircase as well as the yard behind the saloon. She took a deep breath, and silently climbed the steps. No one stopped her progress or sounded an alarm as she stepped on the verandah and let herself into the saloon through an empty bedroom window on the second floor. On tiptoe, she made her way across the room and opened the door a crack to peer into the main room.
She couldn’t see directly below—the balcony railing was in her way—but what she could see struck terror in her heart. She recognized Hal and Tom Beech from the last time she was here, but there were three others she didn’t know, one of whom leaned against the bar, his hands dangling near the guns in his holster as he joked with the barmaid. The other two played cards at one of the tables, intent on their game and nothing else, not even the deliveryman who bumped into one of their chairs as he brought another case of whiskey into the backroom. Her gaze shifted to the other side of the saloon and her breath seized in her lungs.
Logan sat at a table in the corner.
He picked up the bottle of whiskey, tipped it toward his mouth, and drank the rotgut, intent, from what she could see, on getting drunk and getting there quickly.
Looking at him, all Stevie Rae could see was a hazy red before her eyes as rage swept through her, making her shake and tremble like a leaf clinging to a branch in a windstorm. How dare he sit there like he hadn’t a care in the world? How dare he still breathe, still live, after what he’d done to her father? And Brock? And countless others? Her hand dropped to the pistol in its holster, her fingers curling around handle. She started to pull the gun free of the leather then stopped herself.
If she shot him right now, as he deserved, she’d never make it out of the saloon. She’d be dead as every other outlaw in the room turned their guns toward her. She didn’t want that. She wanted to live—and love—with Brock.
There had to be a better way.
She eased her grip on the revolver and closed the door, leaning against the sturdy wood to regain her balance before tiptoeing back the way she’d come and slipping out the same window she’d used to enter the building.
Her hands gripped the railing of the verandah, knuckles white, her entire body violently shaking, as she drew much-needed air into her lungs and tried to calm herself.
Think, Stevie. What would Brock do? What would Dan do?
From her vantage point on the verandah, she studied the horizon and the trees rising up toward the peak of one of the mountains that surrounded this little valley, willing her mind to come up with a solution. Her gaze lowered and she spotted the outhouse. A door slammed and she jumped then quickly dropped to her haunches behind the porch railing as the bartender appeared below and headed into the little wooden structure with a half moon carved out of the door. Stevie Rae sucked in her breath as he fumbled with his trousers and entered the privy, slamming the rickety door behind him. He came out a short time later, adjusted himself, and went back inside the saloon.
Not once did he look up.
Relief rushed through her, making her light-headed. At the same time, an idea came to her.
Eventually, Logan, too, would avail himself of the outhouse.
She could wait.
• • •
Brock took his first real breath in hours as he spotted Willow in the trees surrounding the settlement, her reins dangling on the ground while she munched sweet grass. He slowed Samson to a walk as he approached her, then slid from the saddle. As his feet hit the ground, pain shot through his leg and side and he gritted his teeth against it, though by now, he should have been accustomed to the burning, stabbing ache. “Where is she, Willow?”
The horse didn’t answer. Brock didn’t expect her to, but still, it felt good to ask. Hands on his hips, he turned in a slow circle, his eyes shaded against the bright sunlight by the brim of his hat, but he didn’t see her. He could see the town and watched as a buckboard headed north, dust from the dirt road rising upward. Other than that lone person, the streets were deserted, as they had been the last time he was here.
Where are you, Stevie? Please, please, don’t do anything stupid. If the situation weren’t so serious, he would have chuckled. What am I thinking? She’s already done something stupid. She’s gone after a killer alone.
Limping, his lips pressed together, Brock took off on foot toward the saloon standing sentinel at the edge of town, determined to protect Stevie Rae from herself.
Sweat trickled down his back, wetting his shirt as he stumbled and staggered down the mountainside at a pace he shouldn’t have tried to maintain, but he couldn’t stop himself from running full-out, hoping with each step he wasn’t too late.
Movement and a flash of color captured his attention and he stopped beside a tree, resting his hand against the rough bark, panting from his efforts and the knife-sharp pull of skin against the stitches Dan had so recently repaired. He squinted, focusing on the spot where he’d caught a glimpse of white against the green of the pine trees, then slowly shifted his gaze to the right and sucked in his breath.
Stevie.
Her stride was long, filled with purpose, the edges of her split skirt swirling around the tops of her boots.
What is she doing?
He focused harder and moved a little closer, creeping from one tree to another to remain hidden.
Is someone behind her, forcing her to march up the mountainside?
His eyes scanned the mountainside behind her, but he saw no one, and his gaze shifted back to her. He lowered his hat to shade his eyes, then drew in his breath sharply as sunlight glinted off the barrel of her father’s Colt. She held it in her hands the way he had shown her.
He moved closer still, carefully choosing his steps, and then he knew all he needed to know as Zeb Logan came into his field of vision. The outlaw marched ahead of her, one hand bunching the waistband of his trousers, the other waving madly as he tried to keep his balance on the rough terrain as Stevie Rae urged him higher up the slope.
He resisted the urge to call her name. It would be fatal to startle her and give Logan a chance to turn the tables. Instead, he started to run, his feet pounding the soft dirt beneath him. Pain blossomed…in his leg, in his heart, but he kept going until he was several yards behind them.
“That’s far enough,” he heard her tell Logan, her voice shaking, when they reached a small clearing. The man stopped, both hands now clutching the waistband of his trousers. “Turn around. I want to see your face when I put a bullet through your heart.”
Slowly, the outlaw turned around…and grinned. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, or you woulda done it when you surprised me in the
shitter.” He spit and took two steps toward her, then hesitated and took two more.
Brock knew what Logan was trying to do—make her angry so she’d lose her focus, but Stevie Rae held her ground, her legs spread slightly for balance as he’d shown her so long ago, her features a tight mask of concentration. She didn’t rise to the bait, nor did she respond to him. She simply held the pistol straight out and pulled back the hammer. The loud click sounded like a thunderbolt in the stillness.
And then she did the oddest thing. She smiled at him, as if daring him to take another step toward her, and started to speak, so softly, he strained to hear. “Don’t you want to know why I want you dead?”
Logan shrugged and spit on the ground again. “Don’t care.”
Stevie Rae gave a slight nod. “I’ll tell you anyway because I think you should know. My father was a doctor. Steven Buchanan, but you probably don’t remember him. He removed a bullet from your leg and one from your shoulder, and for his trouble, you killed him. Shot him through the heart. So that’s what I’m going to do to you. Shoot you in your black heart and watch you die.”
Logan laughed. “Hell, girl, I thought this was about MacDermott. ’Cause I shot him.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Stevie Rae’s entire body stiffened. Redness colored her cheeks, and for a moment, the gun barrel shook in her hand.
Brock stepped out of the shadows, her name frozen on his tongue as her finger squeezed the trigger, the loud report of the pistol firing echoing against the mountainside. Smoke curled from the barrel of the Colt as Zeb Logan fell to the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his chest, just above his heart. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but he still breathed, his chest rising and falling in a shaky rhythm.
“Stevie Rae!”
She gave a startled cry and whirled to face him, the revolver still in her shaking hands, and now aiming straight at him. He ignored the gun and concentrated on her face, his eyes boring into hers as his long legs ate up the distance between them. He recognized shock when he saw it, and it was there on her pale features and in her trembling body.
“Give me the gun.”
She raised weary eyes to him, tears spiking her impossibly dark lashes, and handed him the pistol without a word. She melted against him, her hat slipping off her head as she did so. Brock stuck the pistol in his belt behind his back, the muzzle still warm, and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tight, promising himself he’d never let go. And it was a promise he intended to keep.
“Are you all right?” He raised her chin and looked deeply into her eyes.
“Yes,” she said, but her voice was tight and hoarse and the tears shimmering on her lashes fell to her cheeks before she rested her head on his chest again. His brave girl wasn’t nearly as brave as she pretended to be, but he knew that, had known it all along.
“You don’t know what hell I’ve been through these past few days, Stevie. Waking up in Mora to find you gone, knowing you’d gone after Logan yourself. Not knowing if I’d find you in time. Afraid I’d never see you again. Or hold you. Or make love to you. Promise me you’ll never do that to me again.” He felt her nod against his chest and drew in his breath. “I love you, Stevie Rae.”
She raised her head and looked at him, her tear-filled eyes the bluest he’d ever seen them. “You love me?”
“Yes,” he whispered, though he felt like shouting. “I love you with everything I am and ever hope to be.” He lowered his head and captured her lips with his. “Tell me you love me, Stevie Rae. Say you’ll marry me and make me the happiest man who ever walked the earth.”
“Yes, Brock, I do love you. And yes, I’ll marry you.” She touched her lips to his, sealing her promise with a kiss, then laid her head back on his chest with a sigh. “What do we do about Logan?” she asked, her voice muffled in his shirt.
He kissed the top of her head. “The posse is a couple of hours behind me. They can take him in.” He held her, his heart still thundering, though not as hard as before. “We have a future to plan. You’re a good doctor. I see you finishing medical school, Stevie, and I’ll be right there beside you, helping you, supporting you. But first, I want you to come to Paradise Falls with me. Meet my brother and tell him that Zeb Logan will be paying for his crimes. A telegram won’t do this time. I think he should hear that news in person.”
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” Stevie Rae asked as she raised her head and gazed into his eyes, the smile on her face the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Brock chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. He’d never been so damn happy in his life. “I’ve had nothing else to think about since I woke up in Mora and learned you were gone. I promised myself that when—not if—I found you, I’d hold on to you and never let you—”
Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention and took the words from his mouth. He turned quickly in time to see Zeb throw a knife, the sharp point glinting in the sunlight, coming straight for Stevie’s face. He didn’t even think, his reaction second nature as he pushed Stevie away, pulled his pistol from its holster, and fired. The knife flew past them and sank harmlessly into the ground, but Brock’s aim had been true. This time Logan took the bullet in the heart. A bloom of bright-red blood stained his dirty shirt as the life slipped away from him.
Zeb Logan would never hurt anyone again. He and Stevie Rae were free, but the danger wasn’t over. The gunshots had echoed against the mountain, possibly alerting the outlaws drinking in the saloon even though they were some distance from town. No sense taking any chances. “We gotta go, Stevie.”
“What about him?”
“Leave him. The posse will be here soon. They’ll take him.”
Epilogue
What is he up to?
Stevie Rae felt the warmth of her husband’s steady gaze and turned away from the view outside the stagecoach window. He smiled, that same smile she’d fallen in love with so long ago, and a certain look came into his soft gray eyes. After almost four years of marriage, she recognized that look and immediately, a rush of heat warmed her from the inside out. Tonight, once they were settled, there would be long, slow kisses and hot, feverish caresses and so much more.
Making love was not the only thing he had in mind. She could tell just by the way he acted. He was up to something else.
He’d hardly said a word since Santa Fe, not even when they realized they were the only two making this last leg of the journey. They could have spread out on the seats of the top of the line stagecoach and yet, here they sat, side by side, touching…but not talking, which was all right. Brock had never been much of a talker anyway. Her gaze drifted over his face now, memorizing every detail and her heart swelled with love for this man.
He’d made sacrifices for her while she attended school and worked at the hospital in Boston, for which she remained so grateful. She couldn’t have finished her studies nor worked the long hours treating patients if she hadn’t had his support…and his love.
Though he liked Boston, Brock had never felt at home there. The city was too big, too cosmopolitan. Yes, there were museums and restaurants and the opera, and he enjoyed all that, but there was something missing. He hadn’t liked being a police officer either, but he had walked the streets in a uniform and shoes that pinched his feet to pay the bills so she could pursue her dream. And though he never complained, she knew he missed his well-worn boots, missed the wide open spaces and slow pace of a small town, where everyone knew everyone and cared about each other. She had missed those things, too.
“It’ll be good to see Martha again.” Stevie Rae slipped her hand into his, her thumb caressing the plain gold band on his ring finger. “I can’t believe she and Dan are finally getting married.”
“I can’t believe he’s retiring,” Brock responded then lapsed into silence once more though the warmth of his gaze never left her and neither did the silly little grin on his face. He looked like a man who had a secret, one he was hard-pressed to keep. Or pe
rhaps, behind that adorable grin, he hid the fact he wasn’t happy they hadn’t headed straight to Paradise Falls. He would do that on occasion—hide the truth so she wouldn’t worry.
Surely, he wouldn’t want to miss Dan and Martha’s wedding. Though the plan was for her to open her practice in Paradise Falls and for him to join Teague as a deputy—for months, she’d been acquiring supplies for her office and having Brock ship them to his brother—a few more days’ delay shouldn’t be too difficult. Or was it?
She studied her husband and still couldn’t tell. He turned to face her and her heart picked up an extra beat. His eyes were a soft gray that reminded her of smoke rising from a fire, but there was no worry in them, only love shining brightly within their depths. Still, she had to ask, “Is it all right we’re stopping in Little River?”
“Of course it is. I wouldn’t miss this wedding for anything. Why?”
“You’ve hardly said a word since we left Santa Fe.”
“I’m just thinking,” he said with a shrug.
“About what?”
“You, mostly. How proud I am of you and what you’ve accomplished.” He squeezed her hand. “You found your dream and you pursued it”—he chuckled and the sound went straight to her heart—“with the same dogged determination and perseverance you used to hunt down Zeb Logan. When other women were dropping out of the program because the curriculum was too hard, you rose to the challenge.” His voice lowered, becoming a deep rumble that made every nerve in her body come alive. “I was remembering the first time we met.” He pointed to the sheriff’s office that came into view through the window. “I saw that same stubbornness when you offered to ride with me. Nothing has changed since that moment.” His grin widened. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
She stared into his eyes and let out a breath of anticipation. “Only once.”
A Kiss in the Shadows Page 28