Rides a Hero sb-2

by Heather Graham

  "No," she said quickly. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just so tired. I mean, it's been such a long day. No, no, nothing is wrong at all. What am I saying? Everything is wrong!"

  "Hey!" He leaned across the table and caught her chin with his forefinger. She sensed a tremendous warmth within him that she had never seen before, and it touched her, and embraced her. She didn't pull away when he held her, or when he sought out her eyes.

  "I will find her, Shannon. I will find her. They—they aren't going to hurt her—"

  "They are a Red Legs unit."

  "They aren't going to hurt her. Fitz wants her alive. Why do you think they took Kristin?"

  "Because they want Cole."

  "Right. So they won't hurt her, or else they won't have her to use against my brother. It's going to be all right."

  Shannon nodded. He released her, but his eyes stayed on her with a curious speculation, and it seemed that he had to force himself to return his attention to his meal. And she had to force herself to forget his haunting touch.

  "Is—is everything good?" she asked him.

  "Delicious," he said briefly.

  "I do hope so. More wine?"

  "Thank you, Miss McCahy."

  "My pleasure."

  He sat back, sipping the wine that she had poured. He lifted his glass, and the speculation remained in his eyes. "No, my pleasure, Miss McCahy." He sighed, finished the wine, set his glass down and rose. She jumped up along with him.

  "You're going now?"

  "I'm going now."

  "I'll get your food. And your coat and cavalry jacket" She paused. "You probably shouldn't ride into Kansas with that jacket. Do you want another one?"

  He took his jacket and coat from her. "Why, haven't you heard, Miss McCahy? The war is over. Or so they say."

  "Or so they say," Shannon echoed.

  He grinned. He touched her cheek, and she quickly turned away. "I'll get your food."

  "Thanks,'' he drawled, but when she started to walk away, he caught her hand and pulled her back.

  He had put his plumed hat atop his head, and his Confederate greatcoat lay over his shoulders. His eyes were heavy-lidded and sparkled with a lazy sensuality and humor.

  "It was a nice dinner, Miss McCahy. You were a beautiful companion. I enjoyed it. Whatever comes, I want you to know that. I enjoyed it"

  It was very peculiar talk, coming from Malachi. She nodded nervously and pulled away from him. "I'll…I'll just get your food."

  "I'll meet you out front. I want to take a last peek at Gabe, and tell Delilah goodbye."

  "Fine."

  She fled to the kitchen. She hurriedly secured his bundle of food, adding a bottle of her father's old Irish whiskey from the cupboard. Then she went outside and nervously waited.

  Soon he passed by her on the porch. "Just need to get the bay," he told her.

  "Of course."

  She watched him walk to the stable, a tall figure, dominating the night, with his greatcoat falling from his shoulders and his plumed hat touching the sky.

  He was swallowed up by the darkness.

  Moments later he reappeared, a masterful horseman, cantering toward her on the bay.

  He reined in before he reached the porch and waited as she approached him with the bundle of food and the liquor.

  "Is your leg all right?" she asked him with a little pang of guilt. He should have had some rest, but he seemed to be doing well with the wound. As long as infection didn't set in, he should be fine.

  But it was true that he should have rested.

  "The leg feels good, thanks." He buckled the food into his saddlebag. The bay mare shuffled nervously, wanting to be gone.

  Shannon stepped back. Malachi nodded to her, lifting the reins. "Take care of Gabe. I'll be back with Kristin as soon as I can. I hope Cole will hear of this and come back, but we can't rely on that. Be ready. We'll have to take her somewhere. She'll have to hide now, too, or they'll come after her again."

  Shannon nodded. "I'll be ready."

  "I'll bet you will. Goodbye."

  She lifted a hand and waved. He saluted, swung the bay around and rode into the night.

  Shannon could barely stand still. The second he was out of sight, she swung around and raced up the steps. She burst into the house and ran up the stairway. She didn't pause to change, but wrenched her saddlebags from beneath the bed and tore down the stairs again and into the kitchen.

  Delilah was there. Shannon ignored her as she packed her own food, then she hurried over and hugged Delilah fiercely. "Take good care of Gabe, Delilah."

  "Shannon, Shannon, you shouldn't be going! I thought that he would know, I thought that he would stop you—"

  "No one can stop me, Delilah. You know that. Please, please, promise to take good care of the baby!"

  "You know that I will, missy, you don't need to say a word."

  "I know that. Oh, Delilah, you and Samson were God sent! I don't know what we'd ever have done without you."

  "You might not be able to run off like this."

  "Delilah, she's my sister. I have to go for her."

  Shannon kissed Delilah quickly on the cheek, swept up her bags and left the kitchen.

  In the hallway she plucked the second Colt from the wall and stuffed her bag full of ammunition. Delilah hovered behind her.

  "Shannon, you take care, young lady. Don't go off impetuously and get yourself in trouble, you hear?"

  Shannon nodded and threw the door open. She started to hurry out, and she hurried straight into Malachi's waiting arms.

  "Malachi!"

  "Shannon!"

  He set her back on her feet, a broad, smiling barrier in the doorway. He took her saddlebags from her hands. "Going somewhere tonight, Miss McCahy?"

  "Yes!"

  She tried to snatch the bags from him. His smile faded from his face, and he tossed the saddlebags on the floor of the porch. The sound reverberated, but neither of them heard it. Their eyes were locked.

  "Malachi Slater—"

  "You aren't coming, Shannon."

  "Damn you, you can't—"

  "I am sorry, Miss McCahy, but what I can't do is let you get yourself killed."

  "Malachi—" She cried out in soft and wary warning. He stepped forward anyway and dipped low, catching her in the midriff and throwing her over his shoulder.

  "Put me down, you damn Reb!" she ordered him. He just kept walking. She pummeled his back. "Malachi, Slater, you—"

  "Shut up, Shannon."

  "Scurvy bastard—"

  His hand landed firmly upon her derriere. "This is such a delectable position!" He laughed, his footsteps falling upon the stairs.

  She burst out with every oath she knew, beating savagely against his shoulders. He didn't seem to feel a thing, protected as he was by the heavy padding of his greatcoat.

  Despite her wild fight, they came quickly to the second floor. His long strides brought them down the corridor to her room. He pushed the door open, and a second later tossed her hard upon her bed. Her skirts and petticoats flew around her, and she scrambled first for some dignity, pressing them down.

  "Temper, temper, Shannon," he murmured.

  "Temper!" She jumped to her knees, facing him. He arched a brow but didn't take a single step back. He seemed to be waiting for her next move, just waiting.

  Shannon smiled and sank down on her pillows, comfortably crossing her arms over her chest. "Go ahead. Lock me in."

  "I intend to."

  "Aren't you forgetting?" she said sweetly. "This is so very foolish. The second that you're really gone, I will crawl right through that window. Now, it would just make so much more sense if you would be a reasonable man and—what are you doing?"

  Shannon sat up, tensing, for he had turned away from her and was prowling through her drawers.

  "Malachi?" She rose to her knees again, then leaped from the bed, accosting him. She pulled his hand out of her top drawer. A pair of her knit hose dangled from his hands.

&
nbsp; "You're letting me come?" she said curiously. Then she realized from the grim determination on his features that he had no intention of letting her come. She still wasn't sure just what he meant to do.

  Then he reached for her, sweeping her off her feet and plopping her down on her bed once again.

  "Malachi, no!"

  "Shannon, darlin', I'm sorry, yes!"

  She let out a spate of oaths again, struggling fiercely against him. She didn't have much chance. He quickly had a grip on her wrists. No matter how she swore and raged and resisted, he tied them to the bedposts with her own knit stockings.

  "I'll get you for this, Malachi Slater!"

  "Maybe you will."

  "I hope that your leg rots and falls off. Then I hope that the infection spreads, and that everything else rots and falls off."

  Leaning over her, securing the last of the knots, he smiled. "Shannon, I don't think that was a very ladylike comment."

  She narrowed her eyes. "This is no gentlemanly thing to do."

  When he was done, he sat back, satisfied. She stared at him in trembling fury. A frightening and infuriating vulnerability drove her to try to kick him. He laughed and inched forward. He touched her cheek gently, almost tenderly.

  "You're not coming, Shannon. I tried to warn you."

  "Don't you dare touch me. Let me loose."

  "You look lovely in bed."

  "Get off my bed!"

  "All that passion! It's quite—stirring, by God, Shannon, it is. I hope it remains if I'm ever tempted to take you into my bed."

  "Malachi Slater, I promise you," Shannon grated out, straining at the bonds that tied her wrists and staring at him with rage and tears clouding her eyes, "the only way you'd ever get me into your bed would be to knock me out cold and then tie me to it!" She jerked hard upon her wrist.

  He laughed, rose and bowed to her deeply, sweeping down his plumed hat. Then he came very close, and suddenly teased her forehead with the briefest touch. It might have been a kiss.

  "Miss McCahy, I promise you. If I ever decide to bring you to bed, no ties or binds will be needed."

  She gritted her teeth. "Get out!"

  He swept his hat atop his head and offered her his slanted, rueful smile.

  "Take care, Shannon. Who knows? Maybe the possibilities are worth exploring." He paused for a second. "And I promise you, darlin', that I will not let anything rot and fall off."

  With that, he turned and left her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "You can't just leave me tied like this!" Shannon called in amazement to him as the door closed in his wake. She bit lightly into her lower lip. "I could rot and fall off and die!"

  She heard the husky sound of his easy laughter—and the twist of the key in the door. "Delilah will be up in a few hours. You won't die, Shannon." He seemed to hesitate. "And you might well do so if you were to come with me. Delilah isn't going to let you go until my trail is as cold as ice, so just behave."

  "Malachi!"

  It was too late. He had gone. She could hear his footsteps as he pounded down the stairs.

  With a cry of pure exasperation, Shannon jerked hard upon her wrists, men slammed her head against her pillow. Tears formed in her eyes.

  How could she have been so incredibly stupid?

  She tried to breathe deeply, to regain a sense of control. She stared at her left wrist, then tried to free it. He was good with knots, she determined. The ties did not hurt her, but they seemed impossible to loosen.

  She fell back in exasperation.

  There had to be some way out of it. There had to be.

  She stared at the ceiling for several long minutes. The best she could come up with was a fairly dirty trick, but she had to try it.

  She waited. This time, she wanted to make sure that he was gone. She waited longer.

  Then she screamed, high-pitched, long and hard and with a note of pure terror.

  Within seconds, Delilah burst in upon her, her dark skin gray with fear. "Shannon! What is it?"

  "Beyond my window! Right outside! There's someone here, oh, I know it, Delilah!"

  Shannon lowered her lashes quickly. She wondered if God would ever forgive her for the awful scare she was giving Delilah, then she figured that most men and women who had survived the war had a few sins on their consciences—God was just going to have to sort them all out. He would understand, after all they had been through, that she had to go after her sister herself, come what may.

  "Outside, now?" Delilah whispered.

  "Let me up before someone gets in!" Shannon urged her. She was whispering, too, and she didn't know why. It didn't make much sense, not after her blood-curdling scream.

  Delilah hurried over to the bed, clicking her tongue as she worked on Shannon's left-hand knot. "Lord, child, but that man can tie a good knot!"

  "Get a knife. There's a little letter opener in my top drawer. It's probably sharp enough."

  Delilah nodded, hurrying. She came back and started sawing away at the stocking. "Yes, he sure can tie a knot!" she murmured once again.

  "I know," Shannon said bleakly. Then she looked up, and her eyes met Delilah's.

  Delilah jumped back, dropping the letter opener and shaking her finger at Shannon. "Why, you young devil! This whole thing was a ploy!"

  Delilah had nearly severed the knot. Shannon yanked hard and managed to split the rest of the fibers. The letter opener was within her reach on the bed. She grabbed it before Delilah could reach it, and quickly severed the second bind.

  Then she was free.

  "Shannon McCahy—"

  "I love you, Delilah," Shannon said, quickly hugging her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Take care of Gabe."

  "Shannon, don't you go getting yourself killed! Your death will be on my conscience! Oh, Lord, but your poor pa must be rolling over in his grave!"

  "Pa would understand," Shannon said, then she hurried from the room. She had lost a lot of time. Malachi would ride hard at night. It wouldn't be easy to catch up with him. Not that she wanted to meet up with him tonight. She just wanted to find him so that she could follow along behind him.

  She hurried down the stairs. Delilah had picked up her saddlebags from the porch and dragged them into the hallway. Shannon knelt and checked her belongings. She reached into the top drawer beneath the empty Colt brackets and found matches and added them to her bags.

  Delilah had followed her downstairs. Once again, Shannon hugged her.

  "Come home soon," Delilah said.

  "If Matthew comes, you tell him what happened. Maybe, maybe Matt can do something if the rest of us fail."

  "Shannon—"

  "We're not going to fail." She gave Delilah a brief, hard hug and hurried out of the house.

  Entering the stables seemed strange, even just seeing the hay bales where she had fallen beneath Malachi.

  She was startled to discover that she had paused and imagined the two of them as they had been that night, so very close in the hay. A curious heat swept over her, because she was remembering him as a man. The touch of his hands, the curve of his smile. The masculine scent of him. The husky tones of his voice.

  She pressed her hands against her cheeks with shame. She wasn't in love with Malachi Slater. She didn't even like him. She had hated him for years.

  But that wasn't what disturbed her. What disturbed her was a sense of disloyalty. She had been in love. Deeply in love. So in love that when she had heard of Robert's death, she had wanted to die herself. She had ceased to care about the war; she had ceased to care about the very world.

  And now her cheeks were heating because Malachi Slater had spent the night touching her…

  In anger, she reminded herself.

  But with laughter, too, and with a new tension. And he had teased and taunted her.

  And promised her things.

  He had whispered against her flesh, and his words had often been husky and warm. She had never denied him his dashing charm or, in her heart, his bold
masculinity.

  She had just never realized how deeply it could touch her as a woman.

  Her breath seemed to catch in her throat and she emitted a soft sound of annoyance with herself. He was a Rebel, and he was Malachi, and she would never forgive him for being either. She needed him tonight. And she would find him.

  She quickly assessed the horses in the stables. She chose not to take Arabesque, her own mare, for the horse was a dapple gray, a color that glowed in the moonlight. She patted the mare quickly. "Not this time, sweetheart. I need someone dark as the night, and fleet as a bullet. Hmm…"

  She had to hurry.

  Without wasting further time, she decided on Chapperel, a swift and beautiful animal, part Arabian, part racer, nearly seventeen hands high and able to run like lightning.

  He was also as black as jet, as black as the night.

  "Come on, boy, we're going for a ride," she told the gelding, as she quickly saddled and bridled him and led him from the stables.

  She looked at the sky. There was barely a sliver of a moon, but the stars were bright Still, the trail would be very dark. It would be almost impossible for her to track Malachi.

  But maybe it wouldn't be so hard to track the twenty horses that had raced before him. They had headed west— that much she knew for a fact.

  And they would be staying off the main roads, she thought.

  The Red Legs who had taken Kristin might still be a part of the Union army, and then again, they might not. No Union commander in his right mind was going to sanction the kidnapping of young women. No, these people had to be outlaws…

  And they wouldn't be taking the main roads. They would be heading west by the smaller trails, and that was what she would do, too.

  How much of a lead did Malachi have on her? An hour at most.

  Shannon nudged the gelding, and he broke instantly into a smooth and swift canter.

  And seconds later, he was galloping. The night wind cooled Shannon's face and touched her with the sweet fragrance of the earth. The darkness swept around her as she crossed the ranch and then the open plain.

  Then it was time to choose a trail. She ignored the main road where the wagons headed west and where, over the past years, armies had marched by with their cannons and caissons. There was a smaller trail, rough and ragged and barely discernible, through the trees.