by HELEN HARDT
Naomi was in danger.
She slept fretfully and was not responsive. Her slender body shuddered, and perspiration poured from her. But still she was beautiful. And pure. And good.
Much too good for the likes of him.
Bobby clenched his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. Fear absorbed him for the first time in decades.
Naomi was a preacher’s daughter and she believed in God. Standing Elk spoke of the Great Spirit. Bobby’s mother used to read from the Bible. Long, long ago.
The day Indians had taken her from him, God had abandoned Bobby, so he in turn abandoned God and never looked back.
Now, he prayed to a God he wasn’t sure existed. But he had to try. God, the Great Spirit, whatever one called it, was his last hope.
Save her, he begged silently. Save her, and I’ll see her safely home to her pa. I know I was never meant to have her. Forgive me for trying to take what was never mine. I’ll give her up, I swear it, if only you’ll let her live.
* * *
Time passed like a locust caught in tree sap. Bobby lost track of the days, the nights. He ate smoked venison and corn because Standing Elk insisted, but he had no appetite. He refused Black Wolf’s pipe and drank only enough water to sustain himself. He had to live to see Naomi home once she recovered.
If she recovered.
After that, he didn’t give a damn what happened to him.
The next morning, when Summer Breeze lifted a blood soaked cloth from Naomi’s body, Bobby shuddered, and then relaxed, but only a bit. The cloth hadn’t come from Naomi’s wound. It had come from her private parts. She had started her courses.
Sadness, coupled with relief, enveloped him. The primal male part of him wished he’d impregnated her. Perhaps he’d have been able to keep her then, to watch her pretty belly swell with his child. But it was better this way. She could go on now, find someone worthy of her who could take care of her and keep her safe.
A knife settled in Bobby’s gut at the thought of another man touching Naomi. Lying with her. Impregnating her.
He forced away the hurtful images. What was important was that she live. She’d be safer without him.
On the fourth day of fever, convulsions seized Naomi’s weakened body. Bobby stiffened, fear pulsing through his veins. Summer Breeze ushered him out of the tent, jabbering in Lakota. She yelled something, and her little boy, Silver Raven, clad only in tan buckskins, came running. His cherubic tan face was solemn as he listened to his mother’s rapid words and then sped off in a cloud of dust.
Bobby sat outside the tent, his head in his hands, oblivious to the goings-on in the camp. He didn’t pray again. If God hadn’t heard him the first time, he wasn’t listening anyway.
At least his heart had stopped hammering. It had broken days before, when he realized Naomi was no longer his.
Had never been his.
Standing Elk came forward, his son in tow. He didn’t speak to Bobby as he passed him and entered the tipi.
Bobby had no idea how many hours had elapsed when Standing Elk finally emerged from the tent.
“Robert Morgan,” he said, his firm hand a strangely soothing presence on Bobby’s shoulder.
Bobby looked up, and to his surprise, a smile adorned the Indian’s usually stern face.
“The fever has broken. Your woman, Naomi, will live.”
Chapter Twelve
“No, you will not take me back and leave me there!” Naomi threw a handful of parched corn at Bobby.
He’d held her, fed her, slept next to her for the several days it took for her body to gain enough strength to travel. He’d spoken to her words of his heart, words she needed to help her heal. He’d kissed her lips chastely when she asked him to, knowing she was too weak for anything more. He’d done so with his whole body and soul, needing to see her strong again, needing her goodness, her purity. To remember it during those long nights alone that were coming once he took her home.
Now, after several hours on horseback, they’d stopped for the noon meal, and standing over her, he’d told her the truth. He was taking her to her father.
And leaving her there.
She’d reacted pretty much like he expected. He steeled his body, his heart, against her pleas and concentrated on what she needed. What was best for her.
Never again would she be in danger because of him.
“You promised me, Bobby! You promised you wouldn’t leave me!” She stood and ran into him, no doubt paining her shoulder, and pounded her fists against his chest. “I won’t go. I won’t. I’m not leaving you.”
Her wet violet gaze met his, and he nearly lost his resolve. But no, he’d be strong. He had to. For her sake.
He grabbed her arms, mindful of her wound, but she squirmed against him, pressed her breasts into his chest, and laid her head against his heart. And she wept.
“Please, Bobby. I don’t want to be without you. You said you loved me. You said you’d never leave me.”
Bobby’s heart thumped, and he gathered her close. God, how he loved this woman. She was so strong, so beautiful, so inherently good inside.
Which is why he had to let her go.
“Naomi, you know I’ll be arrested as soon as we get to Dugan.”
“Then we won’t go to Dugan.”
“Don’t you want to see your ma and pa? Your sister?”
“Not if it means losing you. I choose you, Bobby. You. With all my heart.”
“Angel, please. I can’t let you.”
Naomi seized his face in her hands and smashed his mouth down against hers. Her tongue licked the seam between his lips, and though he tried resisting, his body responded. He parted his lips and took her, tangling his tongue with hers, relishing the taste, the texture, the pure sweetness that was Naomi. A high-pitched moan escaped her throat and vibrated into his mouth.
He deepened the kiss, groaning, and pulled her against his arousal that pulsed in his britches.
If only...
He ripped his mouth from hers and regarded her beautiful face. A strawberry flush coated her cheeks and neck. Her violet eyes had darkened to a smoldering amethyst, and her lips—those lovely, soft lips—were scarlet and swollen from their passionate kiss.
“Bobby.” Her husky voice spoke to his soul. “Bobby, if you’re determined to leave me, at least make love to me one more time.”
Her words sliced through him like a hunting blade. God, how he wanted it. To feel her body sheath him once more, to drown in her sweetness, in her passion. He might be able to exist a lifetime with only the memory to warm him.
But it couldn’t happen. “I can’t, angel. We can’t risk—” He cleared his throat. “I can’t give you a child.”
She looked up and her beautiful eyes shone with triumph. “You may have already given me a child. What exactly are you going to do about that?”
“No.” He caressed her back. “Don’t you remember, darlin’? You had your courses during the fever.”
“Oh.” Her hand clamped to her lips.
Her moist eyes glistened with such agony, such torment, that Bobby’s heart broke all over again.
“You can’t even leave me with that little part of you?” She closed her eyes and two tears trickled down her soft cheeks.
Unable to stop himself, he leaned down and licked away first one, then the other tear. “I won’t soil you further.”
Naomi stopped badgering him then. She didn’t speak for the rest of the trip back to Dugan.
They finally reached the town limits early the next morning. Naomi had insisted they ride straight through, and though Bobby was worried for her health, he relented, needing to finish this task as quickly as possible. They’d stopped only to give Naomi and Thor needed rest. Bobby did not sleep. A sword was lodged in his heart, and though he knew he’d never be free of it, being out of her presence might offer some small relief. So on they’d ridden toward the town of Dugan where Bobby would leave his love and escape before the law could take him in
.
But when they arrived at the small house on the edge of Naomi’s father’s claim, Sheriff Justin Stiles waited outside.
“Sheriff!” Naomi scrambled from Thor, not waiting for Bobby to help her dismount.
Bobby gritted his teeth as she ran into the other man’s arms.
He took a deep breath and turned Thor, ready to gallop the hell out of this town, when the sheriff yelled at him.
“Morgan! Come back!”
Come back to get arrested and have his ass hauled off to that dirty cell again? The man was plumb loco. Bobby scrunched his knees together, ready to urge the stallion into a gallop, when the sheriff’s voice rang out again.
“It’s all right, Morgan. I know you’re innocent. Come back! I have news!”
Bobby cringed, but thought he might bite. What the hell? He could still ride out of there quicker than this greenhorn could ever catch him. He turned and seethed at the sheriff still hugging Naomi. He dismounted and tied Thor next to a horse he assumed belonged to Stiles.
“What is it? I ain’t got all day.”
“I was just coming to see the reverend,” Stiles said. “A wire came in late last night. Woke up ma at the store.” Stiles stopped to catch his breath. “Sorry, I been up all night.”
“That makes two of us,” Bobby said. “Get on with it.”
Naomi still hung onto the sheriff. Bobby glared at her. Her eyes glowed back a fiery purple.
“Came in from the railroad camp east of here. From the cook, Bessie. She’d wired last week to tell the preacher Naomi was safe and was comin’ home.”
“Yep. And here she is. Now I’ll just be goin’.”
“I’m so glad the wire came through, Sheriff,” Naomi said. “I was afraid they’d be worried.”
“Wire or no, they’ve been worried sick,” Stiles said,” as you can imagine. They’ll be right glad to see you.” He drew in another breath. “Anyway, like I said, another wire came in last night, and it got me to thinkin’—”
“Somethin’ ought to,” Bobby said under his breath.
“The wire mentioned you this time, Morgan. Said you were a good man, that you’d taken care of Naomi and were bringin’ her home. So I thought maybe you’d been tellin’ the truth. I hightailed it over to the saloon and dragged Frank outta bed with some whore—”
Naomi gasped and pulled away from the sheriff.
“Beg pardon, Miss Blackburn.” The sheriff blushed a deep red.
Bobby thanked his stars for whores. Anything that got Naomi out of Stiles’s arms.
“It’s all right,” Naomi said. “Please continue.”
“So I dragged Frank outta bed and told him about the wire, and he admitted he’d seen what went on that night. That you hadn’t killed anyone. Just shot some drunk in the foot when he pulled his gun on you. Claimed he didn’t know who shot the dead man, though. I don’t believe him. So I invited him to pack up his booze and his whores and leave this town. It’s about time Dugan became respectable.”
“Oh, Justin. Pa’ll be so pleased!”
Justin. She called him Justin. Damn her.
“That’s great, Sheriff. I’m innocent, so I’m just gonna be leavin’ now if you don’t mind.”
“No, Morgan. There’s more.”
Bobby let out a heavy sigh. “What the hell is it?”
“The wire. From Bessie. Said the U.S. Marshal had been at the camp and there was a bounty you could collect on a man named Irving Hennessey.”
“I don’t know any Irving Hennessey. I been chasin’ bounties for over ten years, so if I ain’t heard of him, no one has.”
“He was a southern war criminal. Been wanted down there for years. He disappeared in sixty-four without a trace. He was thought for dead, I guess, but evidently he was still around.”
“I told you, I don’t know him.”
“Irving Hennessey. Also known as Ike Hawkins.”
Ike? Bobby’s mouth dropped. “Ike Hawkins is...er was...a foreman for the railroad. He’s been at the camp at Little Oak, east of here, for a while. I met him a while ago, passin’ through.”
“Yup,” the sheriff said, “he’d been hidin’ in plain sight for years. But the bounty’s still good, Morgan. Fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars?” Bobby shook his head. “What the hell did he do down south?”
“I got a list back at the office that you are free to peruse. After readin’ it, I’m damn glad you took him out.”
Bobby grimaced. He didn’t much care what was on those papers. Ike had deserved much worse than he got for hurting Naomi.
“Bobby?” Naomi’s voice was tentative, inquiring.
He heard the question she didn’t ask. Did this change anything for them? Would he stay with her?
It changed nothing. Her safety was still paramount.
“Let’s go, Stiles, back to your office. And you can tell me how to go about collectin’ this bounty.
* * *
Three hours later, his nerves skittering, Bobby put down the list of Ike’s alleged crimes. Damn. Stiles was right. Ike Hawkins had been one evil son of a bitch. Naomi would have never gotten away from him alive. His skin froze and his heart thudded. Bobby prided himself on his ability to read people. Ike had crept right under his brick wall. He’d entrusted him with something far more precious than gold.
Thank God he’d gone back for Naomi.
Thank God she was now safe with people who would care for her as she deserved.
The world was better off without Ike Hawkins. Bobby had done society a favor. Just like he always did.
Still, this was his last bounty.
He was tired. So tired. He’d find a farm somewhere in a remote area. Maybe claim a homestead under that act of Lincoln’s. He’d head farther west, away from Naomi. He couldn’t stay here and watch her be courted and wed to someone else. Probably the damn sheriff.
He’d raise some corn, some beef, and he’d grow old. And die.
Alone.
“That’s about it, Morgan,” Stiles said. “I’ll wire the authorities down south and your money should be here within a couple weeks.”
“I won’t be here then.”
“Well, where will you be? I got to send the money somewhere.”
Bobby sighed. “Hell if I know. Tell you what. I need to head to Minnesota, take care of a few things. I’ll wire you when I’m settled in a hotel somewhere. Better yet”—he rubbed his stubbled jaw—”give the money to Naomi.”
“Excuse me?”
“For her troubles. She’s been through hell.” He wished he could give her more—everything—but this would have to do.
The sheriff nodded. “That’ll work. Sounds good.” Stiles shuffled some papers on his desk, then looked up. “Oh. Morning, Reverend.”
“Sheriff,” a deep voice said from behind Bobby.
Naomi’s father had no doubt come to demand his arrest. Not that Bobby blamed him. He’d probably do the same. But damned if he was going to let Stiles throw him back in that dirty cell.
“I need to speak to Mr. Morgan, if I may.”
“Of course, Reverend,” Stiles said, rising. “I got some things to take care of in the back. Take my chair.”
Bobby flinched as a large, solid man walked around the sheriff’s desk and sat. He was an older male version of his daughter. Hair the color of midnight, streaks of silver at the temples. A handsome face, with creases around the eyes and mouth. And violet eyes.
“I’m Charles Blackburn, Mr. Morgan. Naomi’s father.”
Bobby returned the man’s gaze. “I know who you are.”
“It seems I owe you my gratitude.”
Gratitude? Was he serious? “For kidnapping your daughter? I don’t think so, Reverend.”
“She told me everything.”
Everything? Bobby squirmed. She would have left out the lovemaking, he hoped. “You mean you don’t want me arrested?”
Blackburn cleared his throat. “I’d be lying if I said the though
t hadn’t crossed my mind. In fact, I’ve been plenty mad at you, though I was more worried about Naomi. But she wept in my arms this morning as she told me how you protected her from a rape. I’m forever indebted to you for that. And how you found help for her when she was injured. And you brought her home safely.”
“It’s the least I could do. If you’ll excuse me—”
Bobby rose to leave, but the preacher held out a hand to stop him.
“I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Morgan, but even I have my limits. Please sit. We need to talk.”
“I can’t think what about.”
“About my daughter. She’s hurting. She says she loves you and that you love her. Is she mistaken?”
I should lie, Bobby thought. For Naomi’s sake. But this was a man of the cloth. A holy man. A godly man, if such a thing existed. He’d never lied to Naomi. He’d never denied loving her. And he couldn’t lie now. He didn’t have it in him.
“Yes, sir. I love her. More than anything. More than I ever thought it was possible to love another person.”
“Then why are you leaving?”
“I’m no good for her, Reverend. I’m a bounty hunter. She got hurt because I was doing my job.”
“She claims you were going to stop hunting men and settle down with her.”
“I had thought to, yes. But that was before she got shot.” He winced as he said the words. He couldn’t go through such torture again. Not and live to tell the tale.
“So because she was shot, you’ve decided to leave her.”
“Yes, sir. Her safety is the most important thing.”
“Morgan, I don’t relish the idea of my daughter marrying a bounty hunter, but I do want her happiness. Do you have any idea how many men have tried to court Naomi?”
Bobby shook his head. Many, he was sure. He didn’t want to hear about her courtships.
“There have been at least ten, starting when she was merely fourteen. She wanted no part of any of them. It seems, though, that you have succeeded where they could not. You have won Naomi’s heart.”