AnUnlikelyHeroAmazon

by Cindy Nord

  He’d never been so happy in his life.

  Alma changed everything.

  Every.

  Damn.

  Thing.

  His smile widened as he buckled his gunbelt, then slipped the Bowie knife into his boot. With a new-found pep in his step, Dillon exited the cabin, pulled the door closed behind him, and headed toward the Palmer’s house.

  As he neared the mercantile he spotted Pamela’s house maid, arms laden with supplies, scurrying across the walkway.

  “Mornin’, Rosa,” he said drawing her attention. He tipped his hat. “Here, let me carry those for you.”

  Recognition brightened her face. “Buenos días, Señor Reed. Gracias.”

  Dillon scooped up the bundle. “I’m heading your direction anyway. Escorting Miss Talmadge to the hotel for a late breakfast.”

  “You de buen humor…good mood,” she said as she fell into step at his side. “Señora Palmer told me about big party, last night.”

  “She did, huh?”

  The old woman pushed a thick braid off her shoulder as they passed headquarters, then veered onto the dusty side lane. “Si, Señora Palmer share muchos before leaving for visit to the padre today.”

  “Why’s she visiting Father Miguel?”

  She smiled. “Taking new school books to orphanage.”

  “Ah, yes,” Dillon said, nodding. “She and Callie keep that place afloat, that’s for sure.”

  “Follow me, Señor Reed. I know a quicker way.”

  “Lead on, I’m right behind you.” Laughing, the old woman cut across the alleyway behind officer’s row.

  The aroma of horse manure from the private stables filled the air. “Apestoso,” she said, holding her nose, “but…saves muchas steps.”

  He smiled and a few minutes later, they arrived at the back porch of the house. “Allow me,” he said, stepping before her. Dillon turned the knob and then pushed open the door.

  Scuffling noises, a muffled gasp, and several sharp curses sounded from within.

  What the hell?

  Muscles tensing, senses on high alert, Dillon lowered the basket to the floor, then raised his hand to silence the servant. “Wait here,” he whispered.

  Face pale, Rosa nodded.

  He entered the supply room that backed the house, muttered a silent curse, then returned to the porch. “Get Colonel Talmadge,” he said in a hushed tone. “He should be in his office. Tell him to bring soldiers. Now, go.”

  She ran toward headquarters, dust puffing up with each one of her hurried footfalls.

  Dillon withdrew his Colt and stepped into the hallway. Scuffling steps and a grunt echoed from the parlor.

  He edged closer along the dimly lit passage.

  “Thank you, Henry,” an unfamiliar voice said. Henry? Henry who? A high pitched scrape sounded as something pulled across the floor. “That’s good,” the stranger continued. “Now, take a seat. I’m going to tie you up like our Miss Talmadge here. And if you don’t behave I’ll also gag you like I did her.”

  Dillon crept closer.

  Tied and gagged? Alma?

  Goddamnit.

  Anger collided with the fear in his gut. The urge to rush in stormed over Dillon. He held himself in check. Barely. Now was not the time for recklessness. A wrong move and she could be killed.

  Subdued grunts and words of protest elevated. Obviously, the second man hadn’t complied fast enough. Terrified for Alma, Dillon inched closer.

  How many were inside?

  Two?

  Three?

  He hadn’t a damned clue.

  “And now, it’s time I shared the unpleasant truth of everything with my half-sister,” the too-calm voice continued.

  Half-sister? Who in the hell was this person? Dillon frowned, and took another step.

  “Shut your mouth you imbecile,” the second man snarled. Lord Green. He’d recognize that cocky bastard’s voice anywhere. He should’ve guessed Alma’s ex-betrothed was somehow involved. “Have you lost your bloody min–”

  A resounding slap echoed from the parlor. “Oh, how quickly you’ve changed your tune,” the stranger retorted.

  A long pause.

  Dillon hugged the side of the passageway to avoid squeaking the floorboards.

  “Do you mind if I call you Alma, my dear?” the unknown man continued. “After all we are kin?”

  A subdued moan, female, met Dillon’s ears. Alma. His heart stopped, then started again, off beat and jangled.

  “Did you know your fiancé hired me to kill our beloved father?” the voice expounded. “Not that I minded…Charles Talmadge was going to die one way or the other, anyway.”

  More muffled sobs met Dillon’s ears.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear news of his death this way,” her half-brother said without remorse.

  “She has no need to hear of any of this, you mongrel,” the earl snarled.

  Dillon eased forward another step.

  “Oh, but she does.”

  “D-do not listen to him, Alma,” Lord Green sputtered. “He’s full of lies.”

  “Ah yes, lies,” the smooth voiced speaker mocked. “Like those regarding your intensions with her? In actuality, Lord Green is in debt up to his hocks and wanted to marry you only for your money. Did he not share this bit with you, my dearest?”

  “I’m begging you to shut your mouth,” the earl pleaded.

  “Begging? How pathetic.” The man laughed, then continued. “Unaware of my true heritage and with a handful of bills, your betrothed laid out the plan for our father’s demise…which I joyfully accomplished. Yes, father now rests at the bottom of the harbor, and you’ve inherited the Talmadge wealth.”

  Alma’s mournful sobs continued. Where the hell was the colonel? One way or another the madman who’d killed her father would die.

  Another mocking laugh sounded. “And Alma, my sweet, you have caused me a great deal of trouble. Especially these last few months. Do you know how hard it was to find three men willing to kidnap you and hide you in the mountains before getting paid?” A snort. “And then to have them fail due to some troublesome army scout. That man seems to be a bur beneath Henry’s saddle, too…isn’t that right, Henry? Why else would you send Edgar to me with instructions to kill this Dillon Reed?”

  Lord Green’s frustrated groan came from the room. “You double-crossing bastard. My fiancé was not to be harmed in our arrangements.”

  “Oh Henry…you were merely a pawn in my plans. The money was never my issue. And by the way,” the stranger added, “your servant won’t be returning to your employ. You should be proud to know he died bravely, unlike the two whores I’ve recently sent to their maker since being here.” The swishing pace of bootsteps followed. “You probably don’t know this, dear sister, but our father had an affinity for whores, as well. One being my mother, whom he’d paid for years to keep silent. I am the result of that liaison.”

  More footfalls.

  Dillon worked his way further along the wall.

  Steps away from the parlor now.

  Hold on, Princess.

  “But enough of reminiscing,” the lunatic spat. “Henry, I do believe you’ve reached the end of your usefulness.”

  “Noooo—” A rasping gurgle faded.

  To hell with waiting for reinforcements. Gun at the ready, Dillon took a solid step around the corner. His gaze swept the room as he assessed the situation: Alma sat tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, her self-proclaimed half-brother crouching behind her, an eight-inch bollock blade pressed to her throat.

  Dammit, no clear shot.

  A mumbled gasp erupted behind Alma’s gag as her sapphire-blue gaze collided with his.

  He released a heavy breath and glanced sideways. Lord Green slumped in a chair, his throat slashed from ear-to-ear.

  The madman met Dillon’s hard glare, then smiled, a cold, withering look rich with malice. “I’m Simon Bell. And who might you be?”

  Hatred poured through Dillon and his bro
ws slammed together. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you,” he said, calmness belying the raw anger that swirled inside him.

  Alma’s tear-filled eyes met his and she struggled against the ropes.

  Concern for her safety escalated.

  Sit still. Don’t provoke him.

  The lunatic laughed, then pressed closer to her, his mouth jammed against her ear. “As passé as this sounds, my dearest, I do believe your scout has arrived just in the nick of time.” He nodded to Dillon. “Kindly remove your gun belt, Mister Reed.”

  Stalemate.

  Simon pressed the knife harder.

  Alma cried out, and several droplets of blood slid down her throat.

  Dillon seethed as he shoved the Colt into the holster, his heart thundering. Don’t look at her. Stay focused. He unbuckled his belt.

  The leather thumped to the floor.

  “Good,” her half-sibling said, his voice cold, his eyes even colder. “Now kick it over to me.”

  With the tip of his boot, Dillon shoved the gunbelt across the floor…just out of the man’s reach. “Hiding behind a woman?” he said on a grizzled half-breath. “How ‘bout you let her go and see how you do against me?”

  With a smug look, Simon reached toward the Colt. The action caused the knife to move ever-so-slightly away from Alma’s neck. In the instant his gaze dropped to the gun, Dillon charged, jerking aside the arm that held the blade.

  Recovering, the man swung his knife downward, and pain tore across Dillon’s forearm. Blood spread warm, darkening his coatsleeve.

  Behind him, Dillon heard Alma’s muffled shriek. He sucked air into his tight lungs, then slammed into Simon, driving them both to the floor. They grappled, then rolled upward into a stand six feet apart.

  The maniac’s eyes brightened. “Weaponless, I like that,” he mocked, crouching. He brought the bollock up between them. “First blood goes to me, Mister Reed.”

  Dillon sidestepped, putting himself between Alma and this twisted devil.

  Sunlight glinted across Simon’s knife as he gripped higher on the hilt. “Did I mention I’m a master of the blade? Indeed, I grew up on the Boston wharves…this my only friend.”

  Without blinking, Dillon bent sideways and slowly withdrew his Bowie. “I was born in Texas, you sick sonofabitch, and this was mine.”

  Simon’s chuckle seeped over him. “Excellent. I look forward to this fight between two gentlemen.”

  Dillon snorted, pacing sideways.

  The man followed.

  Every step took them farther and farther from Alma.

  On a laugh, Simon charged.

  Dillon slashed his blade.

  A large gash opened across Simon’s cheek. “My dear sister,” he hissed, “your scout is an impressive foe.” He laughed, then lunged.

  Dillon deflected him, grabbing his arm and twisting.

  Clanging blades echoed within the room.

  A quick spin, and Simon nicked Dillon’s jaw. Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes as he slashed again.

  Knives met. Steel scraped steel.

  Simon darted forward.

  Dillon ducked, breathing hard. Pivoting on his heel, he brought his blade forward. A fierce thrust sank the Bowie deep in the madman’s chest. “For Alma. And her father.” He jerked the blade upward, then twisted. “Oh…and I forgot to mention, I’m no gentleman.”

  Blood gurgled from Simon’s throat, then spilled down the side of his mouth. Pain-filled eyes faded to emptiness. With a rattled grunt he collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.

  Relief poured through Dillon as he faced Alma.

  Tears coursed down her face. On an oath, he stumbled to her and slashed through the ropes binding her to the chair. A quick tug removed her gag.

  “Dillon,” she sobbed, surging into his embrace.

  His heart pounding, he swept her up and buried his face in her tangled tresses. He’d never let her go again. “You’re safe now, Princess,” he rasped. “You’re safe.”

  The front door crashed open. The colonel and four soldiers charged inside. “Hold!” the Colonel called out.

  Dillon turned and nodded, watching as the worry on the commander’s face disappeared.

  “I see you have the situation in hand,” Talmadge said, motioning his men to deal with the bodies.

  “I do, Sir,” Dillon said. “And I’ll fill you in on all this shortly, but first, I’m taking Alma away from here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Three weeks later…

  High clouds skirted across the turquoise sky, promising to make Saturday morning a most spectacular day in the territory. Alma dropped the curtain and stepped from the window. Dillon had been gone for nearly ten minutes. How long does it take to find a newspaper? She ambled to the table and lifted the packet delivered to her by courier moments before. Heart pounding, she peered inside at the paperwork. Surely he’ll like it.

  Alma hugged the large envelope against her chest as a blissful shiver raced through her. She loved the starkness of the west, the openness, the freedom of choice knowing Dillon had brought her.

  Her heart swelled with love for her husband. And on a contented sigh, she smiled at the gold band encircling her finger.

  Their wedding yesterday morning…perfection!

  A turning of the knob sounded, then the door of the hotel suite opened. Dillon stepped inside. “Looks like we’ve made the front page of The Arizona Citizen.” He angled a folded newspaper her way, while in his other hand he carried a mug of steaming coffee. “Sorry I took so long. I stopped to grab another cup, and got waylaid by more well-wishers in the dining room downstairs.”

  Her slippers swished across the carpet as she walked to her handsome husband and plucked the anticipated weekly edition from his outstretched hand. “I missed you. And thank you for getting this.” She kissed him soundly on the lips, then headed toward the table. “Pamela assured me the editor would keep our marriage notice small this morning. I didn’t know she’d planned to have the announcement splashed across the first page.”

  “Tucson’s proud of their little shipping heiress, my love,” he said with a chuckle, “and so am I.” He settled upon the settee, stacked his feet atop the ottoman, and then took a sip of coffee. “Read the article to me.”

  Laying the packet alongside the newspaper, with reverence, she opened the newsprint, smoothing out the wrinkles:

  “The wedding ceremony between Boston socialite Miss Alma Talmadge and renowned military scout and Fort Lowell’s own Mister Dillon Reed, drew the largest attendance of any marriage before in Tucson’s history. Father Miguel Hernandez performed the nuptials at the Mary Help of Christians Catholic Church before an attendance of more than two-hundred and fifty well-wishers. Mister Jackson Neale, the owner of Dos Caballos (one of the largest horse spreads south of the city), as well as the groom’s friend, served as Mister Reed’s best man. The bride’s matron of honor duties were filled by her cousin, Mrs. Pamela Palmer, wife of Captain Alfred Palmer, officer in charge of Company E at Fort Lowell.

  The groom wore a black serge cut-away suit, while the bride wore a spectacular Charles Worth gown of ivory watered silk. Sixteen yards of material completed her wedding ensemble, which had the longest draping train this reporter has ever seen. The bride’s matron of honor exclaimed that it took a full day to prepare her cousin for the ceremony at the small church on the edge of town. The bride was given away in marriage by her uncle, Colonel Thaddeus Talmadge, Commander of the troops at Fort Lowell.

  The couple will honeymoon later this summer with a trip to Boston, Massachusetts, where the bride will finish settling the estate of her recently-deceased father and shipping magnate, Mister Charles Talmadge. Upon her father’s death, Mrs. Reed inherited the largest shipping company on the east coast, the well-renowned Talmadge Shipping Lines. Rumors swirl that she will be selling the company to long-time manager Stephen Smith, though she will continue to own stock in the enterprise.

  The couple plan to settle in the
Arizona Territory on a ranch just south of Tucson.

  Alma lifted her head and saw the questions in his eyes before he even spoke. She smiled at him…waiting.

  Confusion blanketing his face, he set his cup aside and leaned forward. “A ranch south of Tucson? Where’d they get that idea?”

  “Well…I asked Pamela to include that bit of news in her interview, too.” Alma lifted the parchment packet and withdrew the papers. As she walked over, she held out the legal documents. “I wasn’t sure when to give you these, but I believe now is the best time. I bought this the day after the knife fight. So, here, my love…‘tis my wedding gift to us.”

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Look and see for yourself.”

  Dillon scanned the first paper. Shock registered in his eyes. “T-The deed to the Eschevon property?”

  “I snagged the ranch before Carlotta sold it to someone else, but, you’ll need to run the place. I know absolutely nothing about horses, whereas you, well, you know everything. And with our marriage…everything becomes yours anyway.”

  “Are you serious?” He reread the document. “This is unbelievable?” His lips shifted into a lopsided smile. “I-I married you for love, Alma. Not for your money.”

  She laughed. “I know that, silly.” She waggled her finger toward the documents. “Um…you might also want to look at that next paper.”

  With trembling hands, Dillon shuffled aside the forms and gasped.

  Warmth swept through her. Good, he’s happy. “’Tis a contract offer from Uncle Thaddeus for us to provide horses to the army. All that’s waiting is your signature. I hope you’re interested in fulfilling the order, because I know nothing about that, either.”

  He lifted his stunned gaze to lock on hers. Smile widening, Dillon lowered the papers to the side table. “I-I can’t believe this…I mean, oh my God. You, this, everything is a dream come true.”

  Another grin edged her lips. “We must do something with our money, right? I mean, we can’t live forever in a hotel, and I’m afraid your cabin won’t hold all my Boston belongings that are being shipped out here.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. “Since my journey westward and learning of father’s death, I’ve come to realize I never want to live in a big city again. Visit them, yes. But live? No. I want to live in the country, with you, with our children. And, as I plan on us having several, so we can all look up at the stars together each night.” She issued a soft laugh, tears gathering in her eyes as she gripped tighter. “Besides, knowing how much you like Jackson and Callie, I thought being neighbors might be for the best.” She paused, and a tear spilled down her cheek. “Please tell me you’re happy about all this?”