Lakota Renegade

by Baker, Madeline

  “Yessir,” the clerk replied quickly.

  Creed grabbed Jassy by the arm and practically dragged her up the stairs.

  “Creed, you’re hurting me!” Jassy exclaimed.

  He loosened his hold on her arm instantly. “Sorry,” he muttered contritely.

  “You can’t fight the whole world, you know.”

  He paused on the landing. “Dammit, Jassy, he was leering at you like you were a…”

  “Whore?” she supplied.

  “Yes, dammit, that’s just what he thought. Because you were with me.”

  Anger boiled up inside her—anger at all those thoughtless people who had made Creed feel that he was inferior because he was half-Indian. And anger at Creed himself, because he let those opinions affect the way he saw himself.

  “Listen to me, Creed Maddigan,” she said, her hands fisted on her hips. “I don’t care what anybody else thinks of me or you. All that matters is what you think, and what I think. And I think you’re the most wonderful man in the whole wide world.” Her eyes threw a challenge at him. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re beautiful when your back is up,” he said, grinning broadly as he reached for her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “What do you think?”

  The expression in his eyes warmed her cheeks and sent shivers of excitement coursing through her as she followed him into the room.

  She stood in the middle of the floor while he closed and locked the door, then threw his saddlebags in a corner.

  “Come here, Missus Maddigan,” he drawled softly.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you want to see what I have to show you?”

  Swallowing the urge to laugh, she tried to look disinterested. “I think I’ve already seen it.”

  Humor glinted in Creed’s dark eyes. “Tired of me already, are you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world, or I would be, if you’d get the hell over here.”

  Hips swaying provocatively, Jassy closed the distance between them. Tilting her head to one side, she gazed up at him, her lips slightly parted, her heart racing at his nearness, at the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  “I’m here, Creed.”

  “Jassy…” With a low moan, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed.

  He had thought to make love to her slowly, to seduce her with soft words and gentle hands, but the spark within him roared to life, fanned by her nearness, by the taste of her lips, the touch of her hands delving under his shirt to caress his back.

  Pressing her into the mattress, he kissed her deeply, burying his doubts in her sweet acceptance of who and what he was.

  And for those few moments, there was nothing in all the world but the woman in his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The train left early the next morning. Jassy was still half asleep as she followed Creed out of the hotel toward the train, but not too tired to admire his broad back, or the loose-limbed way he walked.

  She felt a flush of heat as she recalled how he had made love to her the night before. Making love to Creed had been more wonderful than she had ever imagined, and certainly worth the wait!

  She smiled up at him as he climbed aboard the train and offered her his hand.

  My husband, she thought, and joy bubbled up inside her.

  She slid across the seat while Creed stowed the carpet bag containing their extra clothing under the seat, then sat down beside her.

  With a sigh, she pillowed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, utterly content.

  Creed wrapped his arm around Jassy’s shoulders, all his protective instincts coming to the fore as he held her close.

  His wife. Damn, but that took some getting used to, he thought.

  A wry grin twisted his lips. It was no wonder she was tired. He’d made love to her until the early hours of the morning, possessing her again and again as if to prove she was really his, that he could take her as often as he wished. He’d never had a woman like Jassy. She had come alive in his arms, he mused, her body like fire and silk beneath his hands. He had buried himself in her warmth, in her smooth softness. And when he’d finally drawn away, forcing himself to leave her alone so she could get some sleep, she had draped herself over him, arousing him anew with her hands and her lips, surprising him with the depths of her passion.

  Jassy. He stared out the window, determined to give her everything she wanted, everything she deserved…

  His reverie came to an abrupt halt as he saw a tall man clad in a sheepskin jacket and a flat-brimmed black hat walking down the narrow aisle. A warning bell rang in the back of Creed’s mind. He’d seen that man before, but where?

  The man’s eyes, as blue and cold as a frozen lake, flicked over Creed as he passed by.

  Damn! Creed felt a sudden itching between his shoulder blades as the man settled into the seat behind them.

  Creed froze as the man leaned forward, his voice pitched low.

  “Don’t make any sudden moves, Maddigan, unless you want your guts splattered all over the lady.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We’re getting off the train, real slow like. See that hombre near the door? The one in the tan duster?”

  Creed nodded.

  “He’s my partner. I want you to pass me your iron, real easy like, using your right hand.”

  Moving slowly, Creed reached for his gun. Had he been alone, he never would have surrendered his Colt, but he wasn’t alone, and he couldn’t take a chance on Jassy being hurt.

  “I’m waiting,” the man hissed.

  With a sigh of resignation, Creed slid the .44 out of the holster and passed it, butt first, to the man behind him.

  “Good. Now, you get up and make your way toward the door. I’ll bring the lady with me.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “No time to explain now,” Black Hat said. “The train’s gettin’ ready to pull out.”

  Creed glanced at Jassy. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with fright.

  “You’d best do as he says, Jassy.”

  “But…”

  “Just do it.”

  She nodded, and Creed stood up, then walked slowly down the aisle toward the door. He grunted softly as recognized the man waiting there for him.

  “What’s going on, Bishop?” Creed asked.

  Carl Bishop shook his head. “Shut up, Maddigan.” He jerked his head toward the steps. “Get off the train. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t try anything.”

  Creed did as he was told. A few moments later, Jassy stepped off the train and hurried toward him.

  Creed’s gaze settled on the man wearing the black hat. “Now what?”

  “We’ve got some horses waiting behind the feed store. We’re gonna walk over there, nice and slow. And just so’s you know how it’s gonna be, if you try anything stupid, I’ll shoot the woman first. You savvy my meaning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Minutes later, they reached the rear of the feed store. A young boy stood in the shade, keeping an eye on four horses and a pack mule.

  The man in the black hat flipped the kid a coin and the boy hurried off.

  “Hands behind your back, Maddigan,” Black Hat ordered brusquely.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Can’t you guess?” Black Hat asked.

  Pulling a leather thong from the pocket of his jacket, the man tied Creed’s hands together, making sure the knots were good and tight.

  Creed stared at Bishop, then grimaced. “Never thought you’d take up bounty hunting, Carl.”

  Black Hat fixed Bishop with a hard stare. “You never told me you knew Maddigan.”

  “You never asked,” Bishop replied succinctly. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” Creed asked
.

  “We’re takin’ you back to Harrison,” Black Hat said. “Friend of mine doesn’t want you runnin’ around loose. Said he’d make it worth my while to see you didn’t make it to Frisco.”

  Creed’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Coulter?”

  Black Hat nodded as he quickly searched Creed for weapons.

  “Right the first time. Not only will we collect the reward for bringing you in, but a nice bonus from Ray.”

  Black Hat stepped back. “The reward says dead or alive, so the first time you give me any trouble, you’ll be facedown across your saddle. Understand?”

  Creed nodded.

  Black Hat leered at Jassy. “Maybe we’d better search her, too.”

  “Leave her alone,” Creed said.

  “No way,” Black Hat said. Holstering his Colt, he ran his hands over Jassy, his thumbs skimming the curves of her breasts.

  Rage exploded through Creed as he watched the bounty hunter paw Jassy. He surged forward, then swore as Bishop grabbed him by the arm.

  “Dammit, Carl, let me go!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Bishop said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  Jassy’s cheeks were bright red when the bounty hunter stepped away from her.

  “So, Rimmer, did you find any hidden weapons?” Bishop asked dryly.

  “No, but I might have to look again later, just in case.”

  “Keep your filthy hands off of her,” Creed warned.

  “Shut up, Maddigan,” Rimmer snapped. “It don’t matter to me if I take you in riding that horse, or facedown over its back.”

  “Let’s ride,” Bishop said, lifting Jassy onto the back of a zebra dun.

  “I’m in charge here, Bishop,” Rimmer snapped, “and don’t you forget it.”

  “As if you’d let me.”

  Bishop steadied Creed as he stepped into the saddle, then, taking up the reins to Maddigan’s mount, he swung onto the back of his horse and headed out of town.

  Jassy followed Creed, and Rimmer brought up the rear.

  They rode until dark, then made camp in a grove of trees near a shallow stream that was more sand than water.

  Rimmer lifted Jassy from the back of her horse, his hands lingering at her waist. “How’d you get hooked up with the ’breed?” he asked.

  “We’re not ‘hooked up’,” Jassy retorted, pushing the man’s hands away. “We’re married.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’ll likely be a widow soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rimmer shrugged. “It’s a long ride to Harrison. Anything could happen.”

  “Is that a threat?” Creed asked, coming up to stand beside Jassy.

  “Could be,” Rimmer replied with a slow nod. “Just could be.” He smiled at Creed, a cold smile laced with venom. “Go sit over yonder,” he said, jerking a thumb toward a fallen log. “And you…” He gave Jassy a little shove, “Go fix us something to eat.”

  “Fix it yourself,” she retorted.

  Rimmer’s cold blue eyes bored into Jassy. “If you’re smart, lady, you’ll do what I tell you, when I tell you. There’s matches and grub in my saddlebag.”

  He stared at her a moment more, then went to look after the horses.

  Creed sat with his back against the fallen log, his mind racing. He swore under his breath as he watched Rimmer walk away. John Rimmer. Creed swore again, cursing his bad luck. Rimmer was a bounty hunter to be reckoned with. It was said he had collected bounties on more than twenty men in the last three years, and he had brought them all in facedown.

  Damn!

  Face impassive, he began to work his hands back and forth. He had to get Jassy out of here, and soon.

  “I’ll fix the coffee.”

  Jassy looked over her shoulder to find Bishop squatting on his heels behind her. With a shrug, she thrust the coffeepot at him. She was frightened, more frightened than she had ever been in her life, but she was determined not to let it show. She had to keep her wits about her, had to be strong. But it wasn’t easy, not when Rimmer’s threat kept ringing in her ears.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Rimmer was a few yards away, unsaddling Creed’s mount.

  “If you’re smart, Miz Maddigan, you won’t provoke Rimmer,” Bishop said quietly. “He’s got a vicious temper, and he likes hurting people, especially women.”

  “What do you care?”

  Bishop grunted. “I’d just hate to see you get hurt, that’s all.”

  “Why are you riding with him?”

  “He knows his business. Times are hard, but we’ve made a bundle of money in the last three years.”

  “Blood money.”

  Bishop leveled her with a hard look. “I wouldn’t think you’d be in any position to throw stones,” he said, filling the coffeepot with water from his canteen. “What with being married to Maddigan and all.”

  Sharp words sprang to Jassy’s lips, but she bit them back. As much as it rankled, she was in no position to judge Bishop, not when Creed himself had once been a bounty hunter.

  “What’s going on?” Rimmer asked. He glanced from Bishop to Jassy.

  “Nothing,” Bishop replied, dumping a handful of Arbuckles into the pot. “Just making some coffee. She don’t seem to familiar with cooking over a campfire.”

  “She’ll learn. Go keep an eye on the ’breed.”

  “Why? He ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  “Just do it,” Rimmer said curtly.

  With a nod, Bishop went to sit on the end of the log, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. “So, Maddigan, how’s it going?”

  “How do you think?” Creed retorted sarcastically. “Are you gonna let him take me in?”

  Bishop’s hand caressed the butt of his gun. “I don’t know if I can stop him. He’s got a draw like greased lightning.”

  “You owe me one, Bishop.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Creed looked over at Jassy. She was kneeling beside the fire, slicing potatoes into a small cast-iron skillet. Rimmer sat beside her, his cold blue gaze moving over her face and figure like a snake wailing to strike.

  “Looks like John’s taken a fancy to your lady,” Bishop remarked, following Creed’s gaze.

  “If he touches her, he’s dead.”

  Bishop laughed softly. “How you gonna manage that?” he asked, and then he looked at Maddigan’s face, at the hatred glittering in the man’s black eyes, and he knew the half-breed wasn’t making an idle threat.

  “You owe me,” Creed said again.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Turn me loose.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Dammit, Carl, if that bastard lays a hand on her, I’ll come after you, too.”

  Bishop’s hand closed over the butt of his gun for reassurance. “I ain’t afraid of you,” he retorted. But it was a lie, and they both knew it.

  Creed’s anger grew steadily as the hours passed. Rimmer stayed close to Jassy, forcing her to eat from his plate, his arm frequently brushing against her thigh, her breast. He refused to let her give Creed anything to eat, saying they didn’t have enough food for the four of them.

  After dinner, Rimmer tied Jassy’s hands behind her back, then draped one of his blankets around her shoulders. At Rimmer’s orders, Bishop tied Creed’s ankles together and checked the rope binding his wrists. Bishop hesitated a minute, then offered Maddigan a drink from his canteen.

  “Thanks,” Creed muttered.

  “Forget it,” Bishop said, capping his canteen.

  “Unlike some people,” Creed said, fixing Bishop with a hard stare, “I never forget a favor.”

  “Damn you, Maddigan, what do you want from me?”

  “You know what,” Creed said.

  “I can’t!” Bishop hissed. He glanced over his shoulder at Rimmer. “I’m no match for Rimmer, and you know it.”

  “I’m not asking you to face him in a fair fight.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Shoot him in the back?�
��

  “If you have to.”

  “No.”

  “Then turn me loose.”

  “I can’t do that. Dammit, Maddigan…”

  “I killed an unarmed kid because of you,” Creed said, his voiced frigid.

  All the color drained out of Bishop’s face. And then, shoulders slumped, he nodded and turned away.

  Creed watched Bishop walk away, the memory of killing that kid as fresh in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday. They’d been in a saloon in Dodge, playing poker, when Bishop had been caught cheating, something Creed had constantly warned him against; something Carl couldn’t seem to resist. Bishop had drawn his gun, warning the other players to keep their hands where he could see them while he scooped up the cash on the table. One of the men had reached for his gun and Bishop had shot him. Creed had been standing at the bar. He had drawn his own weapon to discourage anyone else from interfering, and then Carl had yelled, “Creed, on your right!” He had turned and fired instinctively at Bishop’s warning, felt his blood run cold when he realized the young man he had killed had been reaching for his hat, not a gun.

  *

  They rode hard for three days. Rimmer refused to allow Jassy to speak to Creed, or to get near him. He was constantly at her side, rubbing up against her, making crude remarks, promising they’d “get to know each other better” once Maddigan was out of the way. He continued to insist she eat from his plate, drink from his canteen.

  Creed endured Rimmer’s animosity and Bishop’s seeming indifference in tight-lipped silence. Nights, he sat awake long after the others were asleep, trying to free his hands, trying to think of some way to persuade Bishop to cut him loose before it was too late, before he found himself dead or behind bars, before Jassy was totally at the mercy of John Rimmer.

  Carl Bishop kept to himself. Once a day, he shared his canteen with Maddigan. At night, he offered Creed another drink from his canteen, then made sure Creed got something to eat, even if it was no more than a chunk of jerky. And each night he read the same tacit words in the half-breed’s mind: I killed an unarmed kid because of you. You owe me.

  And it was true, Bishop thought. He owed Maddigan a debt he could never repay.

  Rimmer teased Bishop unmercifully about what he called Bishop’s ‘soft streak’.