“Ha!” A tinkle of laughter escaped her. “Eating a few pickles is hardly a sin.”
“I saw you only yesterday stepping out the door without your bonnet.” He raised one golden brow. “You can’t tell me Uncle Ian would approve of that.”
Christie’s mouth flapped wide. Then she clamped it shut, renewing her polishing efforts with quick jerks. “Mr. Molson forgot his tin of tobacco. I was trying to catch him before he left. I’d hardly call that stepping out.” She sent forth a puff of exasperation. “Yesterday, I was a stick in the mud—today I’m a notorious pickle eating temptress without a hat. Make up your mind. Which is it to be?”
“And what’s his name … ” Leigh tapped one long finger against his chin. “Who’s that fellow you’ve been making eyes at every Sunday in Church?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Mathew Sutton! That’s it! He’s the one. I saw you giving him the eye across the aisle—near blinding him with one of your coy smiles. You had him so flustered last Sunday, he dropped his hymn book.”
Christie replaced the lid on the empty jar, then placed it on the shelf under the counter. She straightened, giving Leigh a long look down the length of her nose. “That had nothing to do with me.”
Leigh guffawed loudly. “What do you think Mr. Cavanaugh would have to say about that?”
“I don’t give a fig what Mr. Cavanaugh thinks.”
“Maybe I’ll post me a letter and let that fancy banker’s son know what you’ve been up to.”
“Go right ahead.” She spread her hands in a broad invitation. “We have no formal attachment. I’ve never laid eyes on him.”
A knowing smile spread over Leigh’s face. “Your Papa doesn’t see it that way. He’d be right put out if you went against his plan for you to marry his future partner’s son.”
Christie stiffened. “Plans change.”
“Ha! So that’s why you agreed to come out here. You’re hoping he’ll change his mind.”
Christie inhaled sharply. “Of course not! I came to help Uncle Will.” The nerve of him, implying her motives were selfish, when he’d never preformed a single charitable act.
“Sure you did,” he smirked.
She planted her hands on her hips, slashing him a hot glare. “Don’t you have something better to do? Have you delivered Mr. Wilkes’ flour to the hotel? They’re almost out. They’ll be lucky if they make it through the dinner hour.” She could see by the look on his face he hadn’t. It was all she could do not reach across the counter and box his ears. Frustration puffed in her breast, like an engine building steam, but she forced her voice to calm. “If you hurry, you can have it there before the stragglers leave.”
“I’ve got more important things to worry about than Mr. Wilkes’ flour.” Leigh turned fidgety, jingling the coins in his pocket and rocking on the balls of his feet. “Did you get that order ready I left you?”
“It’s at the back door.”
“Good.” He pulled a flask of whiskey from his pocket. He took a quick slug then wiped his hand across his lips. “I’ll load the wagon when I get back from the hotel.”
“There wasn’t any name on the order.” She plucked the list from the counter to examine it again. “Who shall I charge it to?”
“Me,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Just doing a favor for an old friend, who fell on hard times.”
Christie lifted a skeptical brow. Leigh wasn’t in the habit of doing favors for people. It was Uncle Will who always added a small bag of candy to the orders for the children of his poorer customers. It was Uncle Will who pressed the odd coin into the dirty hand of a drifter down on his luck. Leigh usually scoffed at his father’s charity, grumbling about how these acts of kindness were eating away at their profits.
What was he up to?
If Leigh was buying whiskey to water down to sell to the Indians again, Uncle Will would skin him alive. But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She couldn’t accuse him without any proof. It was bad enough using his own money to finance such a scheme, but using supplies from the mercantile was quite another.
There was blessed little profit to be made as it was. She understood. She’d assisted Uncle Will balancing the books on several occasions. Leigh knew that.
What was he thinking?
She suppressed a groan of frustration. Coming to Nevada should have ended her playing mother hen, except now she had Leigh to contend with. He was worse than both of her sisters put together. At least in Boston she’d been at the top of the pecking order, excluding her father, who she usually managed to bring round in the end. Here, she had no say. Every man was a law onto himself, and women fell somewhere in behind or between, depending on their convictions.
But taking orders from Leigh was a bigger pill than she could swallow. She wasn’t about to let that unscrupulous rascal get the better of her.
If Leigh was up to his old shenanigans, she’d find a way to stop him. But first, she needed to catch him in the act. There was nothing left to do but to follow him.
As soon as Leigh left to deliver the flour to the hotel, Christie hustled herself out the back door to the stable to saddle Blossom. Uncle Will had taken in the little palomino on trade. He knew how much she loved to ride, and thought she’d enjoy accompanying him on deliveries. Uncle Will was always so thoughtful and kind. How was it that none of these qualities had been passed along to his son?
By the time Leigh returned, Christie was back inside closing up the store for the night. He seemed in such a hurry to get the wagon loaded and be gone, he paid little heed to what she was up to.
No sooner did the back door bang shut behind him, did she make a grab for her blue wool cloak. She swooped it around her shoulders, fastened the frog clasp, then lifted her straw hat from the wooden peg by the door.
A rush of exhilaration surged through her as she ran down the back stairs toward the stable. Her blood sang with the prospect of the adventure ahead—the same thrill she’d felt as a child, playing hide and seek at night in their garden in Boston. Only then, she’d known every inch of the terrain.
The thought of losing her way made her all the more determined not to let Leigh out of her sight.
As luck would have it, he followed the river, the way she and Uncle Will traveled to deliver orders to the Sutton ranch. If she lost him, she’d have no trouble finding her way back to Murdock alone.
A few miles out, Leigh veered south.
As Christie rode over a bluff behind him, she spotted an old tumbled down shack on the next rise, a crude wooden structure beaten grey by weather. Probably an abandoned prospector’s cabin—or what was left of one.
She slid down from the saddle, pulled Blossom behind a huge boulder, then huddled down between two cottonwoods to wait. When Leigh returned with his wagonload of whiskey, she’d be there to confront him. He’d have no way to wriggle out of it. He’d be caught red-handed.
She could hardly wait to see the look on his face.
In the meantime, she’d enjoy a much earned rest. Since Uncle Will’s injury, she’d barely had time to think, let alone find a solitary moment to relax. She might just as well make the most of it.
The pungent scent of sagebrush tickled past her nose, awakening her senses to the beauty of the early evening. The bluebirds chirped in the trees down the hill by the river. A breeze whispered through the trees.
She rested her head on the sloping trunk of the cottonwood and sighed. Such heaven after being shut up in the mercantile all day.
What she wouldn’t do for a lemon right now. Or a warm scented bath in the big slipper tub. But her recent deprivations were nothing compared to marrying a man she didn’t know. Bathing in a washtub for a few months was wholly tolerable compared to that.
Her eyelids grew heavy as she stifled a yawn.
The piercing call of a bird split the air.
Her lids snapped open.
A shot cracked the air like a bolt of lightning.
Christie sprang to
her feet.
Heavenly stars!
It had come from the direction of the old shack.
Leigh!
He must be in trouble.
Blossom whickered, sidestepping and jerking at the reins.
She stroked the horse’s neck to soothe her. When Blossom began to settle, and the wild look in her eyes died, Christie reached inside the saddlebag for the small derringer Uncle Will had given her. She slipped the pistol into the pocket of her gown then clasped the pommel of the saddle with both hands.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, ma’am.”
Her heart gave a leap.
Nat Randall?
What was he doing here?
She dropped her hands and turned around.
He stood a few feet away, legs braced slightly apart, hat dangling down his back from the cord around his neck. His black hair shone like wet ink against the backdrop of the purple sky. The opening in his fringed buckskin coat revealed the butt of the Colt in the holster strapped to his hip.
Christie’s mouth went dry.
Then her fear turned to anger. What did he mean sneaking up on her like that—like she was one of the outlaws he followed!
“Why?” She tilted her chin to look up at him. “Are you planning to ride to my cousin’s defense?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then I must.” She turned to go.
He grabbed her by the arm. “With that itty bitty pea shooter you just shoved in your pocket? You’re liable to shoot your bloomers to bits before you get down the hill.”
Her jaw dropped. How long had he been watching her? How dare he speak of her unmentionables! The man was a savage—uncivilized to the extreme. She turned her back on him to hoist herself up in the saddle. He appeared far less intimidating once she was seated above him on her horse. “Since you’re determined not to help me, I have little choice but to confront the villains myself.”
“Whatever you say.” He spread his hands wide, taking a step back to let her pass. “But the last time I counted, there were three of them. You’ll have to convince them to line up single file if you’re going to get them in one shot.”
“How do you know there are three of them?”
“The Everetts always ride together.”
“The Everetts!” Little prickles chased across her scalp. “What would they be doing here?”
“Hiding out, I suspect.”
She swallowed hard, not wanting to believe it was true. But something told her it was. Leigh was delivering supplies to the Everetts.
But why?
What on earth had he gotten himself into? This was far worse than selling whiskey to the Indians—much worse. The residents of Murdock were up in arms over losing their money. Aiding those scoundrels would surely land him in jail, especially since the bounty hunter knew what he was up to.
She chose her words carefully. “You must be mistaken. Leigh told me he was delivering supplies to a friend.”
“I expect he is,” Randall drawled.
“No! You don’t understand. He wouldn’t help the men who almost killed his father. They must have threatened him—forced him to help them somehow. Ohh! What difference does it make? They’ve got him! And somehow I’ve got to get him out!”
Randall’s calm look of indifference rankled. Especially since she had no idea how she was going to achieve this miraculous rescue on her own. Still, she had to try. She had to do something. If she didn’t, Leigh might die.
She dug her heels into Blossom’s flanks.
But before Blossom could take one step, Randall snatched the reins, jerking her to a stop, almost sending her over the mare’s head in the process.
Blossom didn’t take kindly to this sudden change in direction. She danced back and forth, jerking her head in the air.
Christie had to clutch the pommel of the saddle with both hands to keep her seat.
By the time she managed to get the mare under control, her breath was coming hard and fast. She shot the bounty hunter a murderous glare. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she railed. “If you’re not going to help me, then step aside!”
“I didn’t say that,” he drawled.
She huffed out a loud sigh. “Then what are you saying, Mr. Randall? Are you offering your assistance or not? Just what is your plan?”
“I’m saying,” he lifted one black brow, “You can’t just ride down into their camp in broad daylight. Not unless you’d like to get yourself shot.”
The violent image his words produced defused the desperate urgency pulsing through her veins. It was early evening, but she wasn’t about to argue. “What do you suggest?”
“I suggest we wait until nightfall.”
“Nightfall!” Was he mad? That could be half an hour away. “We can’t wait that long! Leigh could be hurt. He could be dying right now!”
“If the Everetts wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead,” Randall ground out. “It isn’t going to make much difference, one way or the other.”
She stared back at him in indecision. What he said made sense. Still, her protective instincts made her want to race down the valley and up the hill to Leigh’s defense. She wasn’t good at waiting. She was a charge in-get it done kind of girl. When she made a decision, she stuck with it. Managing their household in Boston since the age of twelve had taught her that.
But this was different. These men were dangerous—ruthless killers. Riding down alone would be suicide. Besides, in order to save Leigh, she was going to need some help. She didn’t like it, but short of the cavalry showing up, Nat Randall was all she had.
She nodded reluctantly, then started to dismount. But before she could slip from the saddle, he reached up and lifted her to the ground. The pressure of his hands against her corset and the shock of being brought up against his hard body made her heart beat erratically in her breast. A strange, pleasurable disturbance snaked through her, erasing everything in her head. All that was left was him.
When he made no move to release her, she tilted her chin upward, encountering the cool, blue depths of his eyes. A shiver ran down her back. Dozens of tiny wings took flight in her belly.
For a moment she thought he might kiss her.
Then his hands fell away.
She took a stumbling step back.
Mercy, but he had an unsettling effect on her! Perhaps it was fear. Whatever it was—she had to get a hold of herself. She couldn’t allow these fanciful notions to cloud her head. After all, he was only a man—an uncommonly handsome and dangerous one, but a man just the same.
“You might as well make yourself comfortable,” he said, towing his big black gelding toward the cottonwoods. After tethering his horse he settled his back against one of the trunks, tipped his hat down over his face, and proceeded to take a nap.
Christie had little choice but to cool her heels and wait.
She tied Blossom next to the gelding, then positioned herself behind the giant boulder to have a clear view of the shack. But her gaze ever strayed to the bounty hunter stretched out beneath the tree. Even in repose, his body exuded a restrained strength—an animal grace that set her pulse to racing.
What if he had kissed her?
What would that be like—hot and fierce like the fire burning in his eyes? Certainly different from the cool peck on the lips Robby had given her in the parlor that night in Boston.
Not that she should care. The man was a ruffian. A man like him was beneath her notice, so rough-edged and crude. Why, he had probably never set foot in a parlor in his entire life, or eaten with more than one size of fork. He wouldn’t know good breeding if it slapped him in the face. Luckily she hadn’t been forced to resort to such measures.
A faint tingling shiver ran through her at the thought. Fear must be making her brain go soft. Getting involved with a man like that would be a serious mistake—a risk too great.
Besides, he was an arrogant bully.
She dragged her resentful gaze away, stifling a huff of
exasperation. She’d wait for now. But, if he didn’t take action by the time the sun set—she would. Come hell or high water, she was getting Leigh out.
Chapter Three
The red sun slowly disappeared over the horizon.
Christie kept her gaze pinned on the old shack, trying not to focus on the impropriety of her situation. But being alone with a border ruffian was the least of her troubles right now. Somehow she had to save Leigh.
She pressed her back against the massive boulder, tense and uncertain, her gaze ever straying to the bounty hunter.
He continued to sleep, propped against the makeshift headboard of the cottonwood, hat tilted down over his face, long legs stretched out before him.
If he had a plan, he wasn’t sharing it. In fact, he hadn’t moved a muscle. He might have expired for all she knew.
She fished inside the pocket of her cloak to check her small brooch that doubled as a timepiece. Almost a half hour had passed and no movement. What if the Everetts weren’t down there? What if some other shady deal of Leigh’s had gone wrong, and he was lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the shack?
She pushed herself away from the boulder, then paced back and forth. Not knowing was driving her mad. She couldn’t wait any longer. Her gaze fell on the rifle slung across the bounty hunter’s saddle. If her derringer wouldn’t do the trick, perhaps it would. She’d never fired a rifle before, but there was always a first time. How hard could it be? It was only a matter of pulling the trigger.
She marched forward, gaze fixed on the weapon.
An owl hooted.
She hesitated, then, a movement out of the corner of her eye brought her up short.
She turned to find the bounty hunter on his feet, dusting the seat of his trousers with his hat.
Relief washed over her, followed by a quick spark of irritation. He hadn’t been asleep after all. He was just ignoring her.
He lifted his head, locking his cool blue gaze on her.
Her cheeks flooded with heat.
He wore a half-knowing smile, as though he’d guessed what she’d been about to do. She hadn’t felt this guilty since Evie burst into the parlor and caught Doctor Turner holding her hand.
Loving the Lawmen Page 31