He’d not have another man touch what was his. He watched, waited.
“Take your filthy hands off me.” Megan squirmed under the roving grasp.
Devin heard the rage in her tone as he watched Chewy’s gun-toting hand closely, waiting. Then he saw it, almost an imperceptible move. A minor inch in the right direction. It was all he needed. He took it.
She heard a dull thud in front of her. He knew she didn’t know what happened until she looked over at Chewy. He fell half outside and half inside the doorway, a small circular bloodstain in the center of his forehead. He didn’t even seem to realize it when she was pulled back inside. But Devin heard the scream, the shock and terror trembling in her voice.
“Three,” Devin said simply, turning to Rising Sun. No emotion in his voice. There never was when he had a job to do. “Go. I’ll wait for your signal.”
With a nod, Rising Sun slipped out the window and vanished.
“You’re running out of men, Rico. You can’t spend gold if you’re dead.” Devin moved down a few feet in case they were smart enough to track the vicinity of his voice.
“Can’t bushwhack me, Spawn. You ain’t got the gold. You give up the guns to the law. You turned on us. Thought we wuz friends.”
“I know where I can get my hands on some. More gold than you can spend. Let ‘em go, and you ride away. I’ll draw ya a map.” He relocated again.
They both knew each other was lying. Devin needed to buy time. Nothing else. Just time.
“Won’t do no good. Ya know I can’t read. I’d rather spit on your grave.”
“Haven’t you heard, dead men don’t spit?” Moving once more, he waited at the double barn doors for the signal.
“Sorry-assed bastard,” Rico hollered, as if fed up with Devin’s cool-nerved dribble. He fired rounds into the barn sporadically.
Devin ducked and waited.
There it was, a second after the last bullet was fired. The battle cry.
He rushed out the barn doors.
* * * *
“Shit! What the fuck is that?” Dutch hollered as everyone in the room spun around in the direction of the Indian battle cry roaring behind them. The shrill, grotesque pitch sounded like an animal being tortured.
The rifle blast ripped through the momentary silence, and Rico cried out in horrific pain, clutching his shattered guts as he tumbled to the kitchen floor.
Big Lou reached for Megan. Terrified, Megan felt the damp hand clutch her arm. Her stunned gaze rested on Caleb as he clamored to his feet, yielding the knife. He flung his battered body at the man at her side, and she opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out.
Big Lou grunted, eyes flaring in shock as the knife pierced his protruding belly. Falling to his knees, he only had time to pull the trigger as the Comanche aimed his rifle again and let it rip.
Big Lou’s bullet found a target.
Hysteria rose in her as she watched Caleb’s tortured expression. He slumped to the floor, a growing pool of blood collecting under him.
* * * *
Devin barged through the door. He spotted Dutch crouched behind the dining table, taking aim at Rising Sun. Without a pause, Devin fired. Dutch dropped like a limp biscuit as Rising Sun’s final bullet met its mark, right through Big Lou’s sweaty forehead. He came to a final resting spot a few feet from Caleb.
“Megan,” Devin breathed. His gaze found her standing over Caleb in stunned disbelief. “Megan,” he said again, taking her by the shoulders and urging her to face him. Her eyes never left Caleb. “Megan,” he said softly once more, needing assurance she was okay. She was still his.
She finally looked up at him, blankly. “Caleb.” Her pitiful tone was a tortured, desperate plea as she slipped out of his arms, then melted to her knees by Caleb’s side.
“Megan,” Caleb struggled to whisper each laborious word. “I…I always thought you or Devin would be the one to shoot me. Who knew?” He closed his eyes. His breathing became more and more shallow.
“No, Caleb,” she cried helplessly, throwing her body over his. “No! You can’t leave me.”
Rising Sun ran out of the house.
Standing there, speechless, Devin’s entire body went numb. He stared, realizing with the utmost certainty, he possessed a heart capable of feeling the most grievous of emotions. Capable of feeling the tormented, gut-wrenching stab of horrendous anguish as Megan ripped his heart out, shred it to pieces, and tossed it aside.
He shut his eyes to the despairing truth lying at his feet.
“Shelby?” he muttered softly, eyes snapping open, as he remembered Megan’s wasn’t the only life at risk during the bloody melee.
“Shelby,” he bellowed, rushing to check the girl’s room, calling for her again.
Shelby crawled out from underneath their big bed.
“Here I am, Devin,” she cried excitedly, running into his outstretched arms, as though happy to see him as he exited the girls’ bedroom, all of them happy it was over.
“Am I ever glad to see you.” He scooped her up in a big bear hug and kissed her on both cheeks. “Your sister’s alright.”
Putting her down quickly, he told her to wait in her room. A room full of dead bodies wasn’t the best place for a small child. Once outside, he wasted no time summoning Deuce.
“Devin.” Megan’s tone was panicky as she ran down the steps. Blood soaked through the front of her dress. “Caleb? Where are going? You can’t leave.”
Deuce sauntered out from the pecan trees with Emma firm in the saddle.
Devin’s jaw was rigid as every bone in his body as he quickly followed suit. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. “To fetch the doctor.”
“You can’t leave us here with that…,” she paused, her eyes following Rising Sun as he hurried across the yard toward the house. “Him,” she exclaimed with outrage, fear and plain disgust.
“Megan,” he said forcefully, staring down at her as though it pained him to look at her. It did. “See with what’s on the inside, not your eyes. There isn’t anyone else I’d leave you with after what just happened than your own brother.”
Gasping, Megan hands fell to her stomach. Her entire body started to trembled and her teeth shattered as if she were cold.
Devin knew Caleb was running out of time. If she wanted Caleb to live, there wasn’t a minute to spare. As soon as Emma’s feet hit the dirt, he jumped on Deuce and rode with the wind.
* * * *
“Where’s Shelby?” Emma asked as she clung to Megan.
Megan looked down at the little girl and moved her mouth to speak. Stunned beyond belief, she could not form the words.
“Needle,” Rising Sun spoke briskly, gesturing a sewing motion with his hands as he stood on the porch.
“Who’s he?” Emma’s head tilted with curiosity as she seemed to study the only red-skinned savage she’d ever come into contact with. But then again, he wasn’t a savage. Or was he?
Megan’s gaze swung around at the unfamiliar, deeply masculine voice. She pored over every intricate detail, from his moccasin clad feet, his long muscular legs, loincloth tied around his trim waist, broad shoulders with two scars on his bare chest, the feather band around his well-honed bicep, beaded necklace and beaded braids in his waist-length hair, so dark it was almost black. A man’s body, no longer a boy of six.
It couldn’t be.
She felt the air leave her lungs as she let her gaze drift upward.
Eyes, palest of blues, piercing, brilliant as they radiated in sculptured features so scorched by the sun, his skin was nearly red.
His eyes were hauntingly familiar.
“Trevor,” she mouthed his name.
“Needle,” he repeated. “Now.” He swung around and rushed back into the house.
The powerful urgency in his voice struck her. She blinked. The minor movement, along with Emma tugging on her arm, brought her back to a state of awareness.
“Dear God, Caleb.” Gathering the layers of her blood-
soaked skirt in her hands, she reacted swiftly.
Caleb had already been moved to her bed. His shirt had been removed and used to plug the gushing hole in his side. A bucket of water by the bed, along with the sheets from the girl’s beds and odds and ends supplied from nature, were spread out on the table and chair. Trevor pulled close to the bed.
Megan never considered herself squeamish, but as she crossed the room with her sewing kit, saw Caleb’s face twist in a tortured grimace as his red-stained flesh was cut with a long, rustic looking blade. She flinched. Trevor’s dark fingers dug inside the bloody opening, searching for the bullet, and her stomach started to churn.
Shaking her head, blinking away the cloudy haze, she shook off the unease.
The chances of survival were mighty slim, but any chance was better than none. There was no time to wait on the doctor, lose her nerve, or cry like a baby.
Caleb’s life was at stake.
“Here,” she said, handing Trevor the threaded needle she’d picked out of her sewing kit. “What else do you need me to do?”
Chapter 29
Doctor Keeling’s expression was genuinely grateful as he rose from his seated position beside Caleb, who lay in the middle of the large wood-framed bed. “Mess of trouble he was in two weeks ago, but I’m right proud to say our patient seems to be on the mend.”
Doc’s gaze swung to Trevor who leaned against the doorjamb, and he added, “Remarkable job you did, broken ribs and all. Maybe one day, you and I can sit a spell and exchange remedies.”
Trevor gave a single nod, turned and walked away.
“How’s my mother taking it, doc?” Caleb asked curiously. Talk of Devin and the fugitives had circulated like wild fire. Speculation as to why he visited Megan alone in the middle of the afternoon while the girls were supposed to be in school was the stuff people lived for. Juicy gossip of a sexual nature spread like molasses on a hot summer day, went further as it got hotter and much sweeter with time. On the quiet, Doc told him his mother missed church last Sunday. She was too disgraced to show her face after word of him and Megan sharing the same bed, as far back as when he returned from Europe while she was still married to Reed, found its way to her social circle.
It made him all the more determined to marry. To hell what his mother or any of the townfolk thought. He loved Megan, and he was going to marry her. Just as soon as he was able to walk inside the church and was well enough to enjoy the honeymoon.
Megan leaned over him and did her best to fluff the pillow beneath his head. Her breasts hung inches from his face. His mouth watered as his eyes narrowed on the scooped neckline gaped unwittingly. He caught a glimpse of her pert little breasts before she moved away. He smiled up at her, then turned his attention back to the Doc before he did something he wasn’t likely to regret.
“As well as can be expected.” Doc glanced at Megan, then back to him. The reason for the brooding in his voice was clear. “I’m on my way ov’r yonder to let her know you ought’a be laid up for two or three more weeks, at least.”
“That long?” Megan asked grimly, hands on her hips as she stood next to the bed. Her eyes were wide with concern.
“Eager to be rid of me?” he teased even though he knew it was the lengthy recovery period that worried her. When she thought he was asleep, she would kneel beside her cot and pray every night for his full recovery. It made him feel guilty. His prayers always held a more sexual connotation. A man had his priorities.
She plopped down beside him, her mood suddenly changed. It was light, full of warmth and sunshine and polka-dotted rainbows. The Meg he adored. Taking his hand between hers, she drew his hand to her lap, settling their embrace in the warm groove between her thighs. He gritted his teeth when he felt his flesh start to thicken, unable to control his body’s response to her. “Of course not. You’re welcomed to stay as long as you wish.”
If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she did it to provoke him, tease him with her womanly wiles, as she had the night his fever was running amuck and he lay practically unconscious on the floor. But her eyes were awash with affection and her smile temptingly sweet. He watched her as she read the need in his gaze, and saw her eyes start to glaze with arousal. Lust coursed through him, hot and fast, as he began to realize her own control was hanging on a thread.
The warmth of her hands and his close proximity to such an intimate part of her body tempted him. It had been too damned long since her tight pussy gripped him, drenched his length with her juices as he drove inside her hot body. His erection throbbed at the memory of the heated depths of her slick vagina. Caleb grinned with the knowledge he was definitely getting better. The blood rushing to his loins was a sure sign everything was in perfect working order—at least, the important stuff.
Caleb’s gaze drifted to Doc. His old friend suddenly looked uncomfortable as he eyed the stiff tent sway in the middle of the thin cotton sheet covering Caleb’s nearly naked body. He watched as Doc shifted nervously from one foot to the other, trying to discreetly act as if he didn’t notice the obvious response to Megan.
As Doc politely smiled at Megan, Caleb looked back at her. His eyes met hers, and he could see the heat and longing in the sparking hazel depths of her eyes.
Megan felt herself faintly blush at the blatant spark in Caleb’s deep blue eyes. Poor Doc was desperately trying to ignore the hard pole in the middle of the bed. It was like trying to ignore a steam-snorting, raging bull charging at you in the middle of a pig pen. It was there. Doc knew it, Caleb certainly knew, and the flesh readying itself between her thighs knew it. The only thing left to do was deal. If there were ever any doubts in Doc’s mind as to their definition of friendship, they were now dispelled.
“Doc, please let Mrs. Walker know my home is always open to her.” Megan smiled warmly, and her entire body suddenly felt warm. She was aware her ease as the sexual tension thickened in the room, lack of widow’s weeds, and step toward mending bridges meant her mourning period was definitely over. She was ready to move on, and based strictly on appearances, was doing so with Caleb.
“Every night I leave here, I give her your message. I’ve told her she’s welcomed to join me on my next visit.” Frowning, Doc shook his head solemnly.
When she felt Caleb’s grip tighten on her hand, she glanced down at him. The flush on his cheeks made her knees weak and her pulse race.
“Megan, you know she’ll never come.” His voice was sympathetic.
Leaning over, she softly whispered in his ear, “I know. I invite just to spite her.”
Chuckling, he responded in a low, suggestive tone only she could hear as she straightened. “You’re naughty.”
Those two hot words made her body tingle.
“Doc, would you like another cup of coffee before you leave?” she offered graciously.
* * * *
“You can no hide forever in barn.” Trevor’s voice seemed magnified as it echoed into the dimly lit building as Devin tossed a fork full of hay into the cow’s feeding bin. A needless task considering the late hour, performed thrice daily to preoccupy his restless mind.
Devin’s head jerked toward the accusatory male tone coming from the opened doorway. It tore him from the carnal thoughts plaguing him consistently. Megan’s small body, soft and warm, moving over his, touching him, kissing him, accepting him. His own body moved inside her tight heat, his tongue tasting the sweet nectar from her wet flesh. “Hiding? Who the hell is hiding?” he growled.
“My sister may look like angel, but she no angel. Fiery spirit runs in blood, like me.” He smacked his flattened palm against his bare chest in a demonstration of pride. “You want her. Why you no tell her?”
Tapping his hand on top of the wooden handle of the pitch fork, for want of throwing it at him, Devin’s eyes narrowed. He’d only been there two weeks. How the hell did Trevor know Megan made Devin’s blood boil with lust just by looking at her or thinking about her, that he was dying a slow death from needing her more than
he was willing to admit?
He took a deep, harsh breath to temper his faltering control, already so far over the edge he wanted to scream, shoot something. Anything. He grunted, “You’re too young to understand.”
“Fiercest warrior,” Trevor pointed at himself, “captured more coups, killed most buffalo, claimed most women—”
“Yeah, fine and dandy,” Devin sharply interrupted, knowing Trevor’s list of accomplishments was, indeed, lengthy. If Rising Sun chose to return, he’d soon become one of the youngest chiefs ever. Ironic, considering he was a blue-eyed pale-face with a tan. “Megan’s made her choice. She wants Pretty Boy.”
By the way confusion washed over Trevor’s face, Devin knew he had no clue who Pretty Boy was or that Megan loved him, fucked him every night, was probably sucking his cock right this minute. And he wasn’t in the mood for explanations. Not with the thought of the two of them so much in love searing his soul.
“Once he’s well enough, I’m getting the hell outta here. You can stay or come with me. I don’t give a damn anymore.” In a huff, he tossed the fork aside. Dammit. He needed to get away, find clean, unscented air that didn’t remind him of Megan each time he breathed.
* * * *
Trevor stepped out of Devin’s way as he stalked out of the barn. He noticed Devin pause momentarily when he looked up and noticed Megan and the doctor saying their goodbyes on the porch. Devin’s body seemed to stiffen, as if he was fighting to control a driving force beneath.
During the past two weeks, Trevor had learned many things, including he was seventeen winters. And Devin was truthful when he said Megan missed him. His sister accepted him, as did Shelby and Emma. They were patient, kind, and understanding as they struggled to work through the clash of cultures and make up for the lost years with memories—some happy, and some less so.
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