Winning The Bounty Hunter's Heart (Mail-Order Brides of Salvation 4)

by Faith Parsons

  Mr. Handsome didn’t answer. Instead, he dragged Colleen closer, until she was pressed against him. His arm around her waist was strong. Even if he took the gun away from her temple, she didn’t think she could break away from him. She’d have to look for another opportunity to escape, once the gun was trained on something else.

  Harold stared up at her from the floor, mouth gaping open, eyes bulging like a frog’s. Why couldn’t he be brave? Like Mr. Handsome? Not that she wanted Harold to be a train robber, but a token protest at the manhandling of his fiancée wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  Mr. Handsome whispered in her ear. “Walk backwards, nice and slow. As soon as we’re away from the marshall, I’ll set you free.”

  Sure he would. Because train robbers always kept their promises.

  He took a step backward. She almost tripped trying to match his long stride.

  The marshall took a step forward, shifting his aim. It looked like he might be trying to shoot over Colleen’s shoulder.

  Mr. Handsome cocked his pistol, the clicking sound an audible warning. Colleen swallowed hard. She could die any second and no one could help her. Not Harold. Not the marshall. An odd wave of sensation swept through her, almost euphoric. Her entire body vibrated, as if she had never been so completely awake before. Is this what hysteria feels like?

  A gust of warm, moist air hit the side of her neck. Someone must have opened the train car door from the outside. They were going to take her outside. Somewhere into the Texas wilderness. And kill her.

  “Please, don’t take my wife!” Harold still lay on his belly, but he’d found the courage to speak up on her behalf. That counted for something, didn’t it?

  Not that it did her any good. One of the other robbers kicked Harold in the ribs and told him to get up. When Harold stood, the robber maneuvered behind him. Now they were both human shields. Now they were both going to die.

  The marshall stepped sideways. He was sweating. There was clearly nothing he could do but watch the robbers escape.

  Mr. Handsome took another step backward, then another. His grip around her waist shifted as the warmth of his lips brushed her ear. “There’s a ramp. We’re going down it. Don't trip and bump my trigger finger.”

  Colleen felt so light-headed, she thought she might float away. Not knowing how many precious seconds of life she might have left, she tried to focus on the next one. Just moving her feet took everything ounce of will she possessed. Panic surged through her as the floor slanted, even though Mr. Handsome had warned her about the ramp. Somehow they made it all the way down, one backwards step at a time. She watched, dazed, as the other robber backed Harold down the same way.

  When Harold was about halfway down, Mr. Handsome marched her to a wagon whose driver slumped in his seat. The wagon contained a small crate and more than a dozen bags of money. Mr. Handsome tossed the bag of stolen valuables on top of the pile of bags, then gave her a push. “Get in.”

  She wanted to run, but she doubted she could outrun a bullet. Not yet.

  At the other robber’s insistence, Harold crawled into the wagon with her. He looked at her with terrified, pleading eyes. Like he wanted her to save him.

  With a jerk, the wagon driver took off.

  Colleen pushed herself up on the elbows. They seemed to be headed towards the nearby foothills.

  She could see the back of the driver’s neck rising up from his collar, and a scraggle of grey hair sticking out from under his cowboy hat. His leather vest had seen better days, and his long-sleeved cotton shirt was in even worse shape.

  Nobody sat next to him. Maybe Harold could knock him out and grab the reins. Could that be their chance to regain freedom? Or would the wagon slow the horses down too much?

  Another horse whinnied behind her and she turned around.

  Mr. Handsome and his four friends had their own horses. They’d easily catch up with a runaway wagon.

  As they jolted away over the uneven ground, Colleen’s head slammed into the crate. OW. Stars floated before her eyes. But when she closed them, she wanted to vomit.

  A loud voice shouted. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

  She raised her head and watched as the marshall leaned around the edge of the train car’s door frame and aimed a rifle in their direction.

  One of the robbers—the shortest one—fired first.

  The crack of the gunshot was followed by the heavy thump of a man falling to the ground.

  The marshall had dropped his rifle. He rolled sideways, grabbed it, and fired back at Shorty. He missed.

  Then he passed out.

  The robbers caught up to the wagon in seconds.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Colleen hadn’t heard this voice before. The man was in his forties, with a heart shaped face and light blue eyes. His blonde hair stuck out from under his ten-gallon hat in all directions. He could have been handsome in a boyish sort of way, if it wasn’t for the mean-spirited look in his eyes. He must’ve held up one of the other cars. Or maybe his job was to handle the cargo while the others distracted the train’s passengers.

  Colleen heard a weird whistling sound. Something small slammed into one of the money bags beside her.

  “Get down!” Mr. Handsome snapped. As if he cared whether she and Harold got shot.

  Worried about his sentence if he got caught, probably.

  Colleen huddled against the bags, shoving several aside to make a hollow that she could curl herself into. Beside her, Harold made choking noises as he covered his face with his hands.

  A woman screamed. Colleen took a chance and peeked back at the train. The marshall and one of the male passenger continued to fire, and the robbers returned it two-fold.

  “I got him!”

  She turned to see the man who just shouted. It was Shorty. Got whom? The marshall? Or the passenger who’d been helping him?

  It didn’t matter. Shorty wasn’t just a train robber, he was also a murderer. And he sounded pretty pleased about it.

  She had to get off this wagon.

  The robbers got what they wanted. They had the money, and no one was shooting at them. Someone from the train would have to walk to Austin to get help—it would be hours before a pursuit could be organized.

  Mr. Handsome and Shorty didn’t need hostages any more. And needing hostages was the only reason for keeping Colleen and Harold alive.

  If she leapt out of the wagon and ran for the trees, would they shoot her?

  If she stayed in the wagon, how long before they decided she was deadweight?

  She decided it was worth the risk.

  She rolled over, and put her mouth next to Harold’s ear. “When we get close to the tree line, we need to jump.”

  “Are you crazy?” Harold screamed at her. She’d never seen anybody that pale before. He looked more like a ghost than a man.

  “It’s our only chance!” She grabbed the side of the wagon and pulled herself upright.

  Harold dragged her back down and threw his body on top of her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m protecting you.”

  “Get off!”

  “I can’t lose you.”

  Trapped beneath Harold’s body, Colleen pushed as hard as she could, but she didn’t have the leverage to lift him off of her. “Get. Off.”

  Finally, he rolled off of her. But the opportunity to flee had passed. The robbers on horseback now ringed the now-slowing wagon as it moved through a dirt path between the trees. They’d have no problem catching her if she tried to escape.

  She tapped the wagon’s driver in the small of his back.

  “Where are we going?”

  He grinned as he glanced back at her. His teeth were brown from chewing tobacco, and his breath stank.

  “We’re all going to Hell,” he replied. “But you and your husband are going a little bit sooner.”

  Chapter 3

  Colleen was sure her legs and her behind were covered with bruises after the rou
gh drive over the bumpy road. She’d been listening to the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves and the wheels bumping over the road for so long that she instantly noticed a change in the rhythm before her eyes registered it. They were slowing down.

  The driver parked the wagon near a tree-lined creek, where the other bandits stopped to let their horses out to drink.

  Someone had been waiting for them. Tall with a black beard and black hair, which matched his black clothes and black cowboy hat.

  Mr. Black wasn’t smiling.

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” Shorty was all swagger when it came to shooting marshalls, but he was afraid of Mr. Black.

  Mr. Black raised one eyebrow. “Then how come there are bullet holes in the bags?”

  The blonde robber stopped drinking water from the creek with his hands and stood. “A marshall showed up. It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t know he would be on the train.”

  “What?” Butch’s black look hardened even more.

  “I swear, Butch.” Blondie backed towards his horse, suddenly very pale. “He shot first.”

  In two quick steps, Butch had Blondie by the collar.

  “Not your fault, huh? Then whose fault is it?” He grabbed his six-shooter and pointed it at Blondie’s temple. “Which one of you’s going to hang?”

  “S-s-shorty.”

  Butch turned the revolver and whipped him in the face with the butt. Then he released the bandit.

  “Go and wash your face. Your nose is bleeding.”

  Blondie ran toward the creek, one hand on his nose, while the rest of the gang stared at him.

  Butch turned to Shorty. “You looking for a new necktie?”

  Shorty looked pale and swayed a little. He leaned up against his horse, pointed to Mr. Handsome and said, “It’s Jack’s fault. He shot the marshall.”

  Jack shrugged, but said nothing.

  Colleen couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “The fewer crimes you’ve committed when they catch you, the better off you’ll be. Let us go, and we won’t press charges for kidnapping.”

  Butch stalked over to her and slapped her. “Shut up, woman. There’ll be plenty of time for you to make noise later.”

  Three of the bandits laughed.

  Jack tied his horse to one of the trees near the creek and approached Butch. “I’ll take care of the hostages. I’m the one who grabbed them.”

  Butch nodded and turned away. “Set up a camp. We’re going to rest here until sunrise.”

  One started a fire, another one tied up the horses and gave them food. Mr. Hands—no, Jack—came over to the wagon.

  “Come with me.” Jack’s voice sounded terse, but when he reached out to help Colleen down, his touch was gentle.

  What fate had turned a man like him into a criminal? He seemed so different from the rest of the gang.

  “It’s easier just to kill them now.” Shorty handed Jack his gun.

  “Shut up, Albert. These hills are going to be swarming with marshalls by tomorrow. They could still be useful.”

  Harold went pale. “That’s right, we can help. And I can pay for our release. Please, I can pay you. Just let me send a message home.”

  He sank to his knees, plucking at Jack’s trousers like a small boy begging his mother for a treat.

  Pathetic. Colleen stood up straighter and squared her shoulders. She was scared, but she wouldn’t give the bandits the satisfaction of seeing it.

  Harold flinched and cowered again as Jack stared down at him. But Jack just looked at him. She felt sorry for Harold. Maybe she should distract the robbers from him?

  “We’ve been riding for hours. Could I have some water, please?”

  She felt Jack’s eyes on her, searching her face as if looking for something. He handed her his canteen. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” She drank for several minutes. The lukewarm water tasted better than anything she’d ever drunk before. With the back of her hand, she dried her mouth and handed the bottle back to Jack.

  “Follow me,” he said. Harold got up and put his arm around her back. She had an intense urge to shake him off. She’d rather walk alone than be protected by him again.

  Jack stopped by a young tree. “Sit.”

  They did as ordered. Jack tied Harold’s hands behind the tree.

  Then he squatted next to Colleen to tie her up as well. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

  “Would you prefer that I scream and faint?”

  “Well, no.” Jack grabbed her hands and pulled them back behind the tree, firmly but gently.

  She raised her chin. “Neither would I.”

  “Your husband’s afraid.”

  “He’s not my husband yet. And now my reputation is ruined for being alone with a group of disreputable scoundrels and a man I haven’t yet married.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m no gossip-monger. Your reputation is safe with me.”

  Yes, that made her feel so much better.

  Chapter 4

  Colleen woke up the next morning in agony. She felt bruised from head to toe, and every muscle in her body had cramped from sleeping sitting up with her arms tied behind her. And cold. So cold she couldn’t feel her hands. Or her feet. Or her bottom.

  The smell of coffee and bacon made her mouth water. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

  She craned her stiff neck until she could see campfire. There they were, six men huddling around the fire, shoving bacon and what looked like cornbread in their mouths. Lucky them.

  Howard, still tied to the next tree over, moaned. “Sweet Kate!”

  Kate? Her name was Colleen. Why did he call her Kate all of a sudden? Unless...

  He wouldn’t send for a bride if he were in love with another woman, would he?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps headed in their direction. It was the man who’d driven the wagon yesterday.

  The bandit kicked Harold in the shins. “Wake up! We’re moving out soon.”

  “Where are we going?” Colleen asked.

  The driver just shook his head, then returned to the warmth of the fire.

  Harold sat up as best he could with his arms still tied behind the tree. His hair stuck out in all direction. On the ground next to him, his fedora looked flat and dusty.

  “Who’s Kate?” Colleen asked.

  If there was a logical explanation for his shouting out another woman’s name, Harold didn’t seem to have it. He sat with open mouth, stared at her without saying a word.

  Several seconds passed. Now Colleen was certain it had to be a real woman he’d dreamed about. A real woman named Kate.

  Her stomach growled again, telling her that there were more important matters than Harold’s dream-women.

  She would deal with that later.

  She turned towards the bandits. Two of them were still sitting around the fire. “Could we have some breakfast, please?”

  The ignored her.

  She sighed. The only one who wasn’t eating was Jack, who seemed to be occupying himself with saddling up the horses. How had he fallen in with this gang? He took orders from Butch, but he was the only one who didn’t seem intimidated by the gang’s leader. He hadn’t laughed when they’d threatened her, either.

  Did he feel her gaze? Or had he heard her ask for breakfast? Did her best to look bored when he looked at her, the heat in her cheeks said otherwise. What was this? How was it he had the power to make her blush when no other man had?

  “You can have the leftovers,” Jack snarled. Then he bent over to cinch his horse’s saddle.

  One of the bandits near the fire spoke up. “Why should we save anything for those rich people?”

  “You don’t look like you’re starving, Frank.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “Unless you want to carry the hostages, we need to feed them,” Jack continued. “If they’re weak, they’ll slow us all down. And the terrain gets rougher from here—if we put these tw
o in the wagon, we might literally kill those horses with the burden.”

  “He’s right, feed the hostages,” Butch ordered.

  Frank mumbled something Colleen couldn’t catch. Jack had better watch his back with that one. Frank looked like a cut-your-throat-while-you’re-sleeping kind of man.

  Why am I worried about Jack? If one bandit kills another bandit, that’s one less criminal in the world.

  But she couldn’t help be grateful that they were going to feed her.

  A few minutes later, Jack approached with two wedges of greasy cornbread with bacon wrapped around them and two cups half-full of coffee. Even better, he untied her and Harold so they could eat.

  Colleen couldn’t remember a breakfast that had tasted better. She bit off small bites of the bacon-wrapped bread and chewed each mouthful slowly to make it last longer. The coffee was terrible, bitter and sour, but at least the hot liquid made her feel a little warmer.

  Harold wolfed his sandwich down in three large bites and gulped the coffee. He cringed every time one of the bandits came near him.

  She had to calm him down. If he panicked and the bandits decided he was a liability, they’d happily shoot him. And while she was growing less fond of Harold by the minute, she didn’t wish him dead.

  Unfortunately, the robbers were packing their stuff and cleaning up the place around them to make sure they left no tracks after them.

  From afar she heard Butch call them. Good. This would be her chance.

  She leaned closer to Harold.

  “Harold, listen to me...”

  He turned towards her and her heart sank when she saw the blank look in his eyes.

  Would she be able to reach him through the fear?

  She cleared her throat. She had to try. “By now, the marshall they shot will have reported in. I’m sure there is a posse tracking the wagon tracks. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to us. If I was Butch, I’d shoot one of us. Or both. We’re slowing them down.”

  Harold licked his lips, but his eyes didn’t change expression.

  “Thank you ever so kindly for your concern.”

  Colleen jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice behind her. Had he heard what she said?

  She tried to look behind her, but groaned as the muscles of in her neck spasmed.