by Lady Broke
“Hold on!” He dragged her from the animal’s back. She fought him like a hellcat until he gave her a firm shake. “Christie! Stop it! You’re alright. You’re safe now.”
She gave a great sob, then flung her arms around his neck, quivering, burying her face against his neck.
When she lifted her head, the wild terrified look in her eyes made his gut twist. He crushed her against him again, smoothing his hand over the tangled mass of honey waves tumbling over her back. “You’re fine.” He held her away from him, speaking gently but firmly, “Stay here with the horses. I have to help Holt. Do you hear me?”
She nodded.
Nat charged back up the hill with his rifle, a slow burning anger building in his chest. His blood thrummed in his ears. Hanging was too good for the Everetts — too damn slow.
At the same time Holt came skidding down the ridge, kicking up dirt and sagebrush behind him. “They’re gone.”
Nat cursed.
“They won’t get far. It’s almost dark. If we set out at first light, we’ll have them by noon.”
“Dragging her along?” Nat shook his head. “We’d never catch them. She’s in too bad a shape.”
“Hank’s hit.” Holt gave no indication that he cared one way or the other. “He’s hit real bad.”
Nat swept his hat from his head and slapped it hard against his thigh.
A day’s worth of dust floated up around him.
“You could take her to the ranch. I’ll follow them,” Holt offered. “I’ll find out which direction they’re headed, then I’ll circle back.”
Nat clamped his jaw tight, trying to present a calm front, despite the anger seething in his chest. He sucked back a roar of frustration, resisting the urge to beat his head against a rock. But what good would it do? They couldn’t take a woman with them to apprehend three outlaws. Worn out as she was, she’d be lucky to last another day.
He nodded shortly. “Find out what direction they’re headed, then meet me back at the ranch.” He set his hat back on his head with slow deliberation. They strode down in silence to Holt’s horse. When he was mounted and ready, Nat flashed him a wry smile. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Holt grinned. “I usually wait for you to do that.”
Nat watched him ride out of sight with a bitter taste in his mouth. Three years work. And all he had to show for it was a witness he didn’t want.
• • •
The bacon tasted salty and the biscuits too hard. Christie forced them down anyway. It gave her something to do, other than huddling next to the fire trying to stay warm. Besides, it was easier to eat than talk. If she started to speak about what happened, she might lose control — make a fool of herself. She’d already done that once today.
It was just as well. The closed look on Nat’s face told her he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. In fact, he’d said very little since Holt left.
After helping her up on his horse, he’d led them down the steep trail until he found a suitable spot to make camp. Even then he hadn’t bothered to question her. Perhaps he was too angry to care.
He sat across from her now, studying the red and gold flames of the fire. Every so often a spark would shoot up, spraying ash on his black trousers. Instead of flicking it away, he poked the pine logs with a stick, making the flames lick higher and higher and the sap sizzle louder.
She could guess what he was thinking, and though she was sorry, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She hadn’t asked to be kidnapped. She hadn’t asked for any of it.
Now that she was safe, all she could think of was Uncle Will and how worried he must be. Perhaps she could telegraph him at the next stage station. She didn’t know where they were going, but she assumed they were headed toward civilization, not away from it.
The strange thing was she didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to deal with the curious stares of the citizens of Murdock, or the terrible gossip that would follow her kidnapping. Everyone knew what the Everetts were like — what they were capable of.
Her reputation was in tatters. And eventually, she’d have to face up to it. But not now — not yet.
She lifted the canteen to her lips to wash down the last of the stale biscuit. Then she gathered the grey wool blanket Nat had given her closer. It smelled of smoke and pine gum, but it held the heat from the fire and kept her warm. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes.
A coyote howled.
And for the first time in days, she failed to flinch.
The fire popped.
Then nothing.
Sweet nothing.
She must have slept.
Christie woke to the sound of bacon crackling. It smelled so good her mouth watered, but the warm cocoon of her blanket made her resist moving. She tried to imagine she was back home in Boston in her own bed. Soon Bess would arrive with her morning chocolate. She’d draw the drapes and the sunshine would stream in. After, Bess would lay out her clothes while they chatted about the day’s events. Perhaps they’d plan the menu for a dinner party that evening … Discuss the price of oysters.
Nat’s brusque tone cut into her fantasy. “Breakfast is ready.”
The thought of facing his anger again made her flinch. But there was no avoiding it. She uncurled her limbs, attempting to stifle an unladylike groan. A little sound slipped out just the same. Too many nights spent sleeping on the ground had left her body bruised. This morning, she felt especially stiff, after an entire night without fear interrupting her sleep.
“Good Lord,” she murmured to herself more than to him. “I must look a sight.”
“You do.”
Her cheeks went hot. She turned away. Using her fingers, she proceeded to rake the knots from her hair.
Nat shoved a plate of bacon and beans under her nose. “Here, eat. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the plate. “Thank you for everything. I mean, for rescuing me.” There, she’d said it. She’d wanted to express her gratitude last night, but his dark smoldering looks kept her silent.
He regarded her steadily, then gave an imperceptible nod.
Apparently he was still angry at the loss of his prisoner. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it, so he might as well get over it. She might have told him so, if not for the forbidding look on his face. “Where are we going?”
“A place where you’ll be safe.”
Safe.
Perfect.
Safe was good.
That was all she wanted — safe from the Everetts, safe from the shame of her spoiled reputation. As long as there was water to wash with and a place to lay her head, she’d be content. She needed time to think.
She nibbled on the bacon, but avoided the beans. She’d reached her bean limit two days ago when Cecil had burnt the whole skillet. To keep up her strength she’d forced them down, but she felt certain the taste of burnt beans would haunt her the rest of her life.
When she finished, she licked her fingers one at a time — another bad habit acquired from necessity. If she wasn’t careful, she’d soon be licking her plate like Billy and Cecil. She rose to her feet, shuddering at the thought.
By then Nat was mounted and ready to depart. He reached down to give her a hand up. As soon as she was seated in front of him, he clicked his tongue setting Diablo in motion.
Funny what a little sleep would do. Yesterday, the touch of his hand seemed so casual, so unimportant. But this morning, without the threat of danger, her awareness of him grew stronger and stronger.
Even the spectacular views as they descended into the foothills couldn’t distract her senses from him.
She closed her eyes, hoping to shut him out and trick her mind somewhere else. But eventually the heat of the sun and the motion of the horse made her sleepy. She must have drifted off.
She woke to the feeling of something soft against her cheek and a steady drumming sound. When she opened her eyes, she realized the softness was Nat�
�s buckskin coat, and the steady thump was his heart beneath her ear. She was plastered so tightly against him, she could feel his breath on her scalp.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She sat up, squinting against the hot, blazing sun. What she saw made her blink. A crude adobe-style building stood a few yards away. It was no bigger than a shack with a rough clay roof and a narrow plank door. A few horses stood tethered to hitching posts outside. A dozen or so chickens pecked in the dirt, then clucked wildly as they scattered, racing to get out of Diablo’s way.
Her spirits sank. Was he leaving her here? This wasn’t the destination she’d had in mind. It didn’t appear very safe. Not that she could do much about it. She was at his mercy.
Oh well, if it wasn’t suitable, she’d make her way to civilization at the first opportunity. In the meantime, she’d have to make do. If she could survive the Everetts, she could survive anything.
Nat dismounted, then lifted her from Diablo’s back.
She followed him inside to discover a saloon of sorts — a crude rest stop with a few tables where you could sit down and eat. Boxes of bullets and jars of beef jerky stood on crude shelves behind a plank counter held up by crates.
Two rough looking men with thick side-whiskers lifted their heads from their plates.
Christie didn’t like the look of either of them. The bigger of the two wore a crooked leering smile. The other squinted through beady, black eyes like a snake.
She made a point not to look at them after that, staying as close as she could to Nat. He seemed not to notice the men, striding forward to speak to the old Indian woman behind the counter.
“Nat Randall.” The woman spoke in halting tones. “Back so soon? You want my venison stew?”
“Randall?” The beady-eyed man with red hair scraped back the bench he was sitting on and came to his feet. “I thought it was you.” He had the lazy speech of a southerner. “I knew we’d cross paths sooner or later.”
Nat turned to face him. “Wait outside, Christie,” he said, never taking his eyes from the man. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Christie hastened for the door, but before she could reach it a shot rang out, shaking the saloon to its rafters. When she spun round, she was met with a horrifying sight. The beady-eyed man lay contorted over the bench, covered in blood from a hole in the chest. Smoke swirled like ghosts. The bitter smell of gunpowder choked the air, making her throw her hand up over her mouth.
Nat stood at the counter, stuffing a box of bullets into the pocket of his buckskin coat. “Sorry about the mess, Susanne. This should cover it.” He tossed a few coins on the counter. “Tell Jeremy I was asking after him.” He tipped his hat, then headed for the door.
Christie stumbled out the door ahead of him, too shocked to speak. But once outside in the bright light with the heat blasting down on her face, the shock quickly turned to revulsion. “My God! You killed him! You killed that man!”
Nat sent her a hard look. “He drew first. If I hadn’t, he would have killed me.”
When Nat reached out his hand, she cringed away from him, staring back at him as though seeing him for the first time. What kind of man killed another human being without hesitation, without any remorse? He was a savage — no better than the Everetts. She remembered the pool of blood in the shack when they’d rescued Leigh — Hank’s blood.
At the time she’d thought Holt had done it, because that was what she’d wanted to believe. Now she realized it might have been either one of them.
Her insides quivered.
Her gaze darted toward the horses at the hitching post, as panic rose in her chest.
All she could think of was getting away.
But before she could take a step, Nat reached out to grab her by the arm.
She tried to jerk away, but he held her tight. “Who was he? Who was that man?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.” The cold look in Nat’s blue eyes made her tremble.
How could she trust him?
Then she remembered the other man — his sly smile, the way he’d looked her up and down. It struck her that being left behind with him might be worse. Numbly, she allowed Nat to help her up on Diablo’s back. What was the use? If she did manage to escape, where would she go? She didn’t even know where they were. These people were his friends. They wouldn’t help her.
“Who was he?” she said again, once he’d swung up behind her. “Why would he want to kill you?”
“Southern sympathizers.” He urged Diablo into a trot. “They rode with a man named William Quantrill.”
Christie had heard of him. He and his group of vigilante raiders committed unspeakable acts in the name of southern justice during the war. “But how do they know you?”
“I was partly responsible for rounding them up.” His voice turned harsh. “But we didn’t get all of them.”
So he’d fought in the war for the Union. No doubt life seemed cheap after all the bloodshed he’d seen. And how could she blame him? If that man was one of Quantrill’s raiders, a quick death was more than he deserved.
She’d never seen anyone who had been shot. Nat had killed the man with cold efficiency. It would stick in her mind forever.
That same cold efficiency had saved her from the Everetts.
Kill or be killed — that was the way of things here.
She’d already faced that with the Everetts. So what right did she have to judge Nat? Still, she’d never understand why he chose to live in this wild and violent place.
As soon as she recovered, she planned to board the first train home.
• • •
Time passed in a blur.
They rode hard without stopping.
Although weak with exhaustion, Christie resisted the urge to lean back against Nat. When she began to slump forward, his arm tightened around her waist. Just when she thought she couldn’t take the jarring and pounding one more second, he reined Diablo in to slow their pace.
She lifted her head to gaze at the land around them.
Rolling green hills dotted with oak trees spread out before them. Up ahead in the distant valley, cattle grazed — hundreds and hundreds of cattle. To the right stood a sprawling orchard. It was spectacular, mesmerizing, the most beautiful country she’d ever seen.
“Where are we?” she breathed.
“Dos Almas.”
When the house came into view she stared in amazement. She’d expected a Spanish style dwelling, but it looked nothing like its name. It resembled a large mansion, transplanted from a southern plantation. But somehow it all fit, like the words to a familiar song.
Beautiful rosebushes surrounded it, drooping with pink and white blooms. An upper balcony ran along the second story, extending across the veranda below. Two green shuttered windows set in the front gable above peeked wide, like friendly eyes.
To the left of it lay a cluster of outbuildings, including a larger two-story barn and a smaller stable with corrals attached. Two log cabins stood at a distance between the outbuildings and the main house, which she assumed belonged to the families of workers on the estate.
“It’s lovely!”
“It keeps the rain off.” He said it casually, but there was affection in his tone.
She tilted her head, considering the white clapboard façade. “It reminds me of Charleston, Virginia.”
Nat stiffened in the saddle behind her. “Who do you know in Charleston?”
“No one, really.”
“Why were you there?”
“I don’t remember now.” The last thing she wanted was to discuss her future, or her father with Nat. He’d likely point out how foolish she’d been to leave the security of Boston and possibility of a good marriage for what had become her fate. She shrugged. “Something to do with my father’s business. He has business acquaintances everywhere.”
Nat swung down from the saddle. “Maybe you’ll remember after you wash up some,” he said wryly.
“Do you think they’ll let me have a bath
?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He lifted her to the ground, then looked her over with a critical eye. “I don’t know if the well will hold out, though. It’s going to take a lot of water to get you clean.”
She set her hands on her hips and quirked him a saucy smile. “Is that so! Well you’d better pray for rain then, or find yourself a stream, because I’m prepared to use as many buckets as it takes.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I should wash you myself to make sure I get my fair share.”
Her pulse quickened at his improper suggestion. If he’d planned to render her speechless, he’d certainly said the right thing. Envisioning him attending her during a bath conjured such sensual imaginings, her mind froze in mid-thought. The delicious possibility of his hands sliding over her wet skin sent her heart tapping against her breast. She had to look away in order to regain her equilibrium.
His low chuckle as he headed for the house added to her disquiet.
She followed him, all too conscious of her disheveled appearance. But she’d be darned if she’d let him know how she felt. Nat Randall was certainly no gentleman. But a lady could hardly choose her rescuer. She was stuck with him for better or worse.
What would the owners think? Her cheeks heated at the thought of entering such a grand home in her filthy, bedraggled pink gown. But visions of a bathtub filled with steaming water propelled her forward.
Nat mounted the red brick steps two at a time, crossed the veranda, and without even bothering to knock walked right in.
“Li Ling!” He called. “Where are you?”
A tiny Chinese woman in a short red jacket and black skirt with a neat coil of glossy black hair came rushing down the wide hall just as Christie stepped inside. “Mister! Why you here?” She spoke in a thick accent and so rapidly Christie had to concentrate to understand. “What? No telegraph before you come? You come to marry me now?”
“No!” Nat let go a bark of laughter. “I’m never marrying you. I told you that when I paid off Quinn.”
Li Ling shrugged.
Nat heaved a great sigh. “Look, there’s no need to fuss. I won’t be here long. I’ve brought a guest with me though, and she will be staying.” He drew Christie forward. “Miss Wallace has been through a great deal, as you can see. But I know she’ll be safe in your care.”