His hair was long. He wore a close-cut beard and a suit, currently layered in trail dust. She looked at Cord, but his eyes were on the cruel ones of the intruder. Her own widened in amazement at how calm he appeared and, in some way, his calm reached out to her.
When the stranger’s gaze swept the store, Cord glanced at her, trying to warn her, with a slight jerk of his head, to run.
But the stranger’s deep, gravelly voice growled, “She stays.” And despite the quiet way he’d stated it, something told Mandy not to put him to the test.
Cord tried a different tack. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah.” The man answered so pleasantly, Mandy glanced at him in surprise.
A southern-bred gentleman, she thought. Somehow, she questioned whether the southern-bred manners extended beyond the tone of his voice.
“I want tobacco and new clothes to replace these . . . .” He gestured at his dusty suit. The stranger’s icy blue eyes lifted and moved between Mandy and Meg before settling on Mandy’s face. “Oh, yes,” his gaze narrowed on her, “and add her to the list.”
A chill ran up Mandy’s spine as she stared at him. The danger she’d sensed lay at odds with his quiet voice. Something told her they were standing in the middle of quicksand, and someone was going down. His eyes remained like slices of the cold, blue sea. His hand snaked out and yanked her to him.
“Now, see here, Mister . . . .” Cord started, and Meg made to step up, too. The muzzle of a gun, pointing at him, brought them both up short. They had not seen the man move, but there was the gun, just the same.
Yet the man’s gaze never left Mandy’s face.
The bell clattered again, and the stranger stepped behind Mandy, an arm snaking around her waist and yanking her to a granite-like chest. As the door swung shut, she heard the man’s snarl in her ear, “Say ‘hello, Mister.’”
Chapter ThreeIt was now Mandy’s turn to stare. And she stared, struck dumb, at the man who stood before them now. He was a gunman. He stood not a dozen feet away, his hat low, concealing his face. But Mandy had a curling sensation in the pit of her belly, warning her of unknown visions. He lifted his head as though in slow motion. Mandy stood, spellbound, caught in a murderer’s embrace, yet suddenly aware of only one man. Shock set in as recognition slowly dawned, and came crashing around her head. He caught her gaze with his piercing, golden one, and Mandy would not have remained standing if not for the sinewy arm of the man holding her—with a gun to her head.
Hawk.
She heard the piercing cry of a red-tailed hawk as sure as if she were standing outside. She felt the wind batter his wings, felt them brush against her face.
The sun sliced through the span of his feathers as they swooped forward. His razor-sharp talons spread out; like the predator, he was reaching for his prey.
Death was sure to follow.
She came rushing back into her body, staring at his clothes. For several seconds, no one spoke. She could hear only her own harsh breath.
Hawk.
He wore a suit. She could not reconcile this.
From her conversation with Hawk last night in her hotel room, she realized that the gunman holding her captive worked for McCandle.
Hawk continued to watch her in the way of his namesake. His gold-green eyes held a lethal calmness. His stance emphasized deadly power coiled in his large frame. Her gaze dropped to his hands, then to the pistol strapped to his side. The warrior sought revenge, but Hawk used the way of his white heritage.
Grandmothers—I do not know this man.
Listen with your heart, child. You know him well.
She drew in a shaky breath. Her legs felt like the jelly she helped her Aunt Lydia can every fall. She knew from the pinpoint lights behind her eyes that if this man didn’t let up on her ribs, she was going to pass out soon —and then he would undoubtedly kill her.
She looked up to find Hawk’s gaze riveted on her face. His gold-green eyes flickered over to Cord, and something unnamed moved between the men, before taking in Meg, then settling back on Mandy.
His gaze moved over her with sensual ease. She flushed, then realized he was baiting her. He wanted her angry. He wanted her ready. “What have you got yourself there, McKinney?” he drawled with lazy ease.
Mandy had to look at him twice to be sure that western twang had really come from him. Like the trickster coyote, he had many faces; but then his words brought her back with roaring clarity. McKinney! The McKinney. The cold-blooded bank robber and killer of everyone who got in the way McKinney! Her gaze clashed with Hawk’s, once again. She would be ready.
She had to be.
She glanced at Meg, trying to convey as best she could to Meg that she also needed to be ready.
McKinney snickered at Hawk’s question. “Just a piece of fluff I plan to amuse myself with.” He gave her ribs another painful squeeze. “She’s a might skinny for my liking, I prefer my women a little more—filled out, but she’ll do.”
“Over my dead body.” Mandy’s voice was a hiss.
McKinney chuckled and gave her ribs yet another painful squeeze. “That can be arranged,” he whispered near her ear, his voice sensual. He could have been talking her out of her dress for the way he said it.
Hawk’s cold eyes took in McKinney for a moment and then lowered to her, catching her gaze with his piercing one. Raising a brow, she heard two words ring clearly in her head.
Death wish.
McKinney pulled her more tightly against his chest. She felt his coiled hate beneath his mask of calm disdain—felt his curled anticipation. He was awaiting a bloodbath. He was looking forward to it. It was heady, nauseating in its beauty; like a great cat tearing apart its prey, the taste of blood sending the great cat’s senses taut with knowledge of the upcoming feast.
“She’s pretty though, isn’t she, Mister? You can have the one over there, if you’d like.” He nodded toward Meg.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hawk’s golden gaze pinned McKinney once more, “I don’t expect you’ll be enjoying much of anything after today.”
McKinney grinned, mean and nasty, and drained away the last of Mandy’s fear. She centered herself and the room slanted. She saw herself held there, trapped in McKinney’s embrace. She saw these things through Hawk’s eyes.
And she waited.
“I’d nearly given up on catching you,” Hawk was saying. “I was even going to let you go. Imagine my surprise when you up and started to lead me here. Decided to turn yourself over to me, or was your boss afraid I’d give up?”
McKinney laughed. He stood relaxed, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Except that he was holding Mandy prisoner, and he held a gun to her head, he sounded as though he were discussing the weather. It was infuriating. “Nope. Just got tired of waiting for the boss to give me the okay to kill you.” He shrugged. “Nobody troubles me and lives to tell about it.” He shrugged again, his smile easy. “Not even you.”
“It’s been a long time,” Hawk said. Mandy realized he, too, was smiling. His eyes were pools of liquid gold. “Looks as though it’s finally over. You’re at the end of the line.”
McKinney snickered. “You haven’t got me yet, Hawk, and you’ll never be free. You’re good,” McKinney said, sounding as though he were having a civil conversation . . . until you heard the words. “Real good. Too bad you have to die today.”
The time was near.
Mandy let the mask she had learned to wear so well slip into place, the mask of the rancher’s daughter, the mask of a western female who now owned and ran a ranch. “Let go of me,” she spat. “Then, you and your friend here can get on with your game. I have better things to do with my day.” She stomped her foot. “Release me this instant!”
The hand around her waist squeezed tighter, and she flew into a wild fury. “Damn you, I said unhand me this instant!”
“Mandy!” Cord sputtered.
“I’m sorry. But if this foul brute doesn’t release me . . . .”
McKinney swung the gun first at Cord, then back. “Be still!” He actually laughed, and once more placed the gun against Mandy’s head.
Mandy didn’t know if it was the laugh, completely out of context with its surroundings, but she felt the warning clear to her toes and quieted. McKinney was insane.
Hawk raised his brow, and she knew he asked if that was the best she could do. She shrugged her shoulders but, apparently, it was enough. Hawk’s gun cleared leather in the blink of an eye. The shot clipped McKinney’s ear. “Let go of her, McKinney.”
McKinney didn’t even blink. “Huh-uh, me and this pretty little thing are going to have a real good time.”
What happened next was a blur. McKinney swung Mandy, leveling his gun at Hawk as he dove for cover. The bullet blasted into a jar and glass shattered everywhere. Cord dove to the floor, and Meg beat a hasty retreat behind the mounds of fabrics. Then she saw Cord take after Meg—and breathed a sigh of relief that he meant to keep her friend safe—she could concentrate on the gunman—and Hawk.
Mandy’s ears roared from the gun’s loud explosion so near to her ear, and her eyes watered from gun smoke.
“You don’t even know why you’re here, Mister!” McKinney bellowed this like a madman, hauling Mandy off the floor in his rage.
The switch in demeanor, from calm to rage, scared her more than his soft, southern voice. She didn’t know which personality was worse: McKinney, calm and insane—or enraged.
“You don’t even know why I led you here.” He looked down at his clothes, repulsed. “You’ve been a damn pain in my ass. Look at me! I haven’t had a bath, or a decent meal, since I took this damn job. I’m going to have to kill you, Mister!”
“Why did you take this job?” Hawk asked this from behind the counter of canned goods. “Who put you and your renegade friends up to visiting that particular plantation?”
McKinney laughed at this, the calm, southern gentleman firmly back in place. He shrugged. “It was war. It was easy money.”
There was a poignant pause. “You all took turns with a young, pretty blonde there,” Hawk’s voice was flat. “You used her up and left her to die.”
“So what?” She felt McKinney shrug. “It was—just a job.” McKinney grinned. “A job meant to get you—here. And it worked.” McKinney shifted Mandy’s weight against his hip. She knew he was now looking for an angle. “You shouldn’t have let it matter so much. Now look where you are.”
“I could have killed you an instant ago,” Hawk drawled, softly. “But it’s funny. I wanted you to know why you’re about to die.” He didn’t say anything else for several seconds, and for the first time, Mandy felt the unease in McKinney.
“Do you even remember the six-year-old boy you tied to a tree because he tried to help his ma? I found him two days later. They were dead—all but the little boy. He died in my arms from the wounds you and your men had inflicted on his body.” Hawk paused, then bit out, “Six years old. Did you see him as a threat?”
“I remember.” McKinney shrugged. “The woman was real good. The kid? Well—the kid—was a pest.”
Hawk walked out from behind the wall of supplies—his gun leveled at McKinney. It was clear he was through talking.
McKinney laughed. But it was equally clear he was grasping for the same level of levity he’d used earlier. He seemed to realize this at the same moment Mandy did, and switched tactics. “You stupid fool! The only question is, why was it so easy to get you to come back here? What could the woman, and the boy, possibly mean to you?”
Mandy waited for an answer. She wanted to hear his answer, but it never came.
Hawk’s face went impassive, his gaze riveted to Mandy’s. Life is a continuous circle, and many paths are entwined.
Mandy peeked up at McKinney. His eyes were brutal, his laugh cruel, like a man who saw, clearly, the moment when he knew he tasted victory. “Bet you want to know who hired me.”
Hawk’s eyes were cold as the northern sea. His gaze dropped to Mandy’s.
Mandy met his gaze, remembering her words to him at the hotel. The path, which has been crossed, crosses between you and me—and your revenge.
Mandy braced herself. “He knows, McKinney.”
McKinney’s arm slacked in surprise. “Wh-hat?”
Mandy’s gaze never left Hawk’s. “He knows.” She went completely still—waiting.
McKinney’s jaw jerked up and down like a cow chewing its cud, unable to reconcile his loss of control.
“Let her go, McKinney,” Hawk’s voice held no more emotion than he would show for life—for one so without.
McKinney snarled, but his words lay limp between them. “What? You going to kill this woman, too?” His gun left Mandy’s head with lightning speed.
But not fast enough.
A gun exploded. Blood spattered all over Mandy. She heard a gurgle of surprise from McKinney, and he abruptly let her go.
She stumbled forward.
She turned as though in slow motion, her hands to her mouth. She bent and ran for the back door.
Meg followed and held her while she sucked deep breaths of fresh air into her lungs. When they heard the volley of shots from the front, they both ran on shaky legs back to the front of the store.
“Now what’s happening?” Meg yelled at Cord.
“They were waiting for him,” Cord shot back and dove to stop Mandy from going out the door.
Mandy fought him, staring out of the window in horror, wanting to turn away but unable to obey her brain’s simple command.
Cord worked to restrain her. “Were you saying something about death wishes?” he said to Meg, grabbing Mandy around the middle and yanking her away from the door.
Meg raised a brow. “Who? Me? No. I believe that’s what Hawk said.” She indicated out the window.
Mandy wouldn’t contemplate how they had heard those words until much later. But, for now, Hawk stood on one side of his horse. The horse was wounded and buckled, as though slammed by some unseen force, then went down. Hawk, himself, had been shot at least once that Mandy could see.
One man lay in the street, another on the opposite sidewalk. Neither was moving.
As Mandy watched, Hawk dropped another from the roof, with the rifle he’d removed from his scabbard. Then, all was quiet, except for his horse’s pained cries.
She watched, with tears rolling down her face, as Hawk stroked the horse. He was saying goodbye. He drew his pistol, and she turned her head. She heard the shot; felt the deafening silence that filled the empty space left behind, where only moments before chaos had been the driving force. Only then did she realize how badly Hawk himself had been shot.
She shook off Cord’s hands and raced out the door. When she was within a few feet of him, she stopped. Hawk’s gun hung loosely in his grip as though his world had collapsed. His shoulders were pressed down as if by an unseen weight. “How is it I did not sense the trap?” he got out between clenched teeth when he noticed her. The gun slipped from his fingers. His knees buckled, and he went down beside his horse.
Meg yelled at the gathering crowd for the doc.
Mandy knelt over Hawk. There was a bullet in his shoulder, but he also had one that appeared to have passed through his right side, and there was blood everywhere. She brought his head to her lap. “It was McCandle,” she whispered. “He’s been in touch with someone. I’m sorry—I didn’t realize to what extent, until now—I sensed something new in him—but I couldn’t get a clear sense of what.”
Hawk sucked in a breath, belying the depth of his pain. “Be careful, Mandy. You’ll be especially vulnerable now—watch even those you trust, for you do not know who the teacher is.” At the look of worry in her eyes, he added. “I’ll live—” He flinched and took a deep breath, nearly arching from the spasm that tore through his body. “Someone has betrayed us . . . .” He closed his eyes.
Mandy leaned over, close to his ear. “I’ll be careful.” She accepted a blanket from someone in the crowd and placed
it under his head. Meg worked to stop the bleeding, pressing one cloth hard to his shoulder wound, the other to the wound in his side.
Meg caught Mandy’s eye. “You work hard to save a man you’ve only just met, even if you do know him from your dreams.”
“So do you,” Mandy challenged.
Meg shrugged. “Like he said, be careful, Mandy.”
Mandy looked up into her friend’s concerned expression. “I will.” Looking down at Hawk, she studied his face. “Do you want me to send for the teachers?”
“No.” He clenched his teeth, opening his eyes and catching hers with a steely gaze. “It would be too dangerous for them. Besides,” he reached up and tugged on one of her loose curls, “I have you.”
Mandy caught herself just short of a full-blown panic. “I’m only an apprentice,” she whispered. “There’s much I don’t know.”
“You know enough.” Hawk drew in a sharp breath, then mercifully he passed out.
Cord shouldered his way through the growing crowd with more cloth in his hands. “Sheriff Tucker is going to want a good explanation for this,” he muttered in an undertone. “And when he finds out Hawk was hunting McKinney . . . .”
Mandy caught his meaning, but Doc appeared before she could reply.
Seeing Hawk’s face, Mandy heard him mutter an oath of surprise. He quickly assessed Hawk’s wounds. He put a finger in the shoulder wound, then the wound that passed through Hawk’s side, moving it this way and that. “Lucky,” she heard him mumble. “He’ll be a mite sore, but the bullets didn’t hit noth’n vital.” He lifted the cloth and looked again. “Yep, damn lucky.”
Mandy didn’t know why, but she didn’t like the fact he had put his finger in Hawk’s wound like that. Still, she was relieved the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. She breathed in such a sigh of relief, he looked sharply at her. She ignored the questioning look in his eyes. “What about the one that hit his side? How do you know it didn’t hit anything?”
“Passed clear on through, plenty of damage, but it’ll mend. Important thing is, it went out the other side—and it missed his guts. Seen all kinds of damage done when the bullets hit the guts. Lucky,” he muttered again, then dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Better we get him out of these clothes.”
Dark Warrior: To Tame a Wild Hawk (Dark Cloth) Page 3