Rides a Hero sb-2

by Heather Graham

  She reined in and dismounted and moved close to the ground, picking up a clump of earth. There were hoof marks all around.

  She rose and felt a newly broken branch.

  This was the trail she would take.

  Malachi knew Missouri like the back of his hand.

  He knew the cities, and he knew the Indian territories, and the farmlands and ranches. He could slip through Kentucky and Arkansas and even parts of Texas with his eyes nearly closed.

  But these boys were moving west into Kansas. In another hour, they'd be over the border.

  And he was an ex-Confederate cavalry captain, still wearing his uniform jacket.

  He should have changed it. He should have accepted Shannon's offer of a civilian jacket, but somehow, he had been loathe to part with the uniform. He'd been wearing it for too many years. He'd ridden with too many good men, and he'd seen too many of them shot down in the prime of life, to forget the war. It was over. That was what they said. Abraham Lincoln had said that they must bind the wounds. "With malice towards none, with justice for all."

  But then Old Abe had been gunned down, too, and in the blink of an eye, the South had begun to see what was going to be.

  She was broken; she was laid to waste. Northern opportunists and plain old crooks swept down upon the fine manors and mansions, and liquor-selling con men were stirring up the ex-slaves to wage a new kind of war against their former masters. Homes and farms were being seized; men and women and children were starving in much of the devastated South.

  No…

  He probably shouldn't be heading into Kansas in a Confederate jacket. It was just damned hard to take it off. They didn't have a whole lot left. Just pride.

  He had fought in the regular cavalry. Fought hard, and fought brilliantly. They had often hung on against impossible odds. They had a right to be proud, even in defeat.

  And maybe, even in Kansas, he might have been able to ride through in his uniform if he wasn't who he was. If there hadn't been wanted posters out on him. But if he found himself picked up by the law because of his pride, he wouldn't be able to do Kristin any good, he would probably be hanged, and his pride would definitely be worthless stuff.

  Tomorrow, he would pick up some clothes someplace.

  He'd be much better off traveling as a simple rancher. Displaced, maybe. An ex-Reb. He wouldn't be so damned obvious. Not that he meant to be in Kansas long. He would get

  Kristin and get out. There would be plenty of places, deep in Missouri, to hide out until he found Cole and Jamie and decided what to do.

  A swift gray shadow seemed to fall over his heart.

  They would probably have to leave the country. Head down to Mexico, or over to Europe. The thought infuriated him. The injustice of it was absurd, but no one was going to give any of the Slater brothers a chance to explain. That son of a bitch Fitz had branded them, and because they were Rebs, the brand was going to stick.

  Malachi reined in suddenly. In the distance, far ahead, he could see the soft glow of a new fire.

  The Red Legs had stopped to make camp for the night.

  He nudged the bay mare forward once again. He had been riding hard for hours, and it was nearly midnight, but they still had a certain distance on him.

  Carefully, warily, Malachi closed that distance.

  When the crackling fires were still far ahead of him, he dismounted from the bay. He whispered to the horse and dropped the reins, then started forward on foot.

  The Red Legs had stopped in a large copse right beside a slim stream. Coming up behind them through the trees, Malachi found a close position guarded by a large rock and hunkered down to watch.

  There were at least twenty men. They were busy cooking up beans and a couple of jackrabbits on two separate spits. A number of the men had lain down against their saddles before the fire, but a number of them were on guard, too. Three men were watching the horses, tethered to the left of the stream. As he looked across the clearing, Malachi could see two of them against the trees.

  They were armed with the new Spencer repeating rifles. They would be no easy prey.

  Looking around again, he saw the worst of it.

  Kristin was tied to a tree near the brook. Her beautiful blond hair tumbled around her face, but her skin was white and her eyes were closed. She was exhausted, and desolate…

  And guarded by two men.

  Even as Malachi watched, the situation changed. The tall, burly man who had taken her from the house was walking her way. He bent beside her. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him with stark hatred. The man laughed.

  "Sweet thing, I just thought that you might be hungry."

  "Hungry for the likes of you, eh, Bear?" shouted a tall, lean dirty blond with a scruffy mustache. He stood up and sauntered toward the tree. He leaned down by Kristin, too. "Sweet, sweet thing. My, my, why don't you come on over and have dinner with me? Roger Holstein, ma'am—"

  Kristin spit at him. A roar of laughter went up, and the young man's face darkened with fury. He lunged for her.

  The man he'd called Bear pulled him back. "You keep your hands off her."

  "Why? We weren't even supposed to bring her back. We were supposed to find Cole Slater. So you tell me why I can't have the woman."

  Another man by the fire stood up. "Why should you have her, Holstein? What's the matter with the rest of us?"

  "No one's gonna have her, and that's the way I say it is!" Bear bellowed, and Malachi slumped against the rock, relieved. Bear took a step toward Roger Holstein, shaking his fist. "You listen, and you listen good. The woman is mine. I took her. And I'm still the law in this unit—"

  "Hell!" Roger Holstein muttered. "We ain't no unit anymore. The war is over."

  "We're a unit. We're a unit because we belong to Fitz, just like we always have. And I was there that day Cole Slater shot down Henry and half a troop. He ain't no fool. If he hears that she's already been abused by you pack of trash, he'll take his time. He'll come after us slow and careful. And he won't be alone. He's got a pair of brothers who can pick the eyes out of hummingbirds in the next damn state with their Colts." Bear hesitated, looking at Kristin. "We don't hurt the woman."

  "Hell, Bear, I wasn't going to hurt her!" Roger complained. "I was gonna make her have a hell of a good time!"

  "You don't touch her. Fitz decides what to do with her. By my mind, leaving the lady her tender flesh and sweet chastity will come in real handy as bargaining power."

  For a moment, Malachi thought that fighting was going to break out right then. He prayed silently that it would not; he would never be able to slip away with Kristin if it did.

  He didn't think that his prayers would be answered. The tension among the men was as thick as flies on a steer carcass. It escalated until every man in the place was silent, until only the sound of the crackling fires could be heard.

  Then Roger Holstein backed down.

  "Have it your way, Bear. We'll see. When we get back to Fitz, we'll see."

  "Damned right, we will," Bear agreed.

  Malachi looked at Kristin. Her eyes were closed again. She was silent and probably grateful that the situation had calmed.

  Thank God it was Kristin there and not Shannon. Shannon was incapable of keeping silent She would be raging and fighting and biting and kicking and creating complete disaster.

  Malachi sank against the rock, closing his eyes, exhaling slowly. He wondered what had made him think of Shannon.

  The whole damned night had been filled with Shannon, he reminded himself wryly. But she was safe. Delilah would just be releasing her sometime around now. And she would know that there would be no way in hell to follow a trail that cold.

  Thank God it wasn't Shannon? he queried himself. Hmph! If it had been Shannon, he wouldn't be here now. He wouldn't be sneaking into Kansas in his Confederate uniform. He'd be headed south. If it had been Shannon kidnapped, he would have pitied the damned Red Legs.

  No, she surely hadn't been a Circe this even
ing. She had been a complete spitfire, stubborn, willful and…

  Beautiful.

  Just like the woman in his dream, the sweet vision who had brought him from the brink of death. She was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful than Kristin, for she was a searing flame, with a life so vibrant that her golden hair was touched by the fire, as were her eyes, brilliant, sparkling, searing. Her voice was like a lark's, sweet and pure…even when she yelled.

  Actually, he wasn't thinking about her eyes.

  He was thinking about her hands, and the tenderness in her fingers when she had cleansed and bound his wound.

  No…

  He wasn't even thinking about that.

  He was thinking about the provocative swell of her breasts when she leaned over him, when she brushed against him. He was thinking of the lithe and shapely heat of her body, the slimness of her waist, the softness of her flesh, the full sensuality of her lips.

  Shannon had grown up.

  He slunk down into the rock, pulling his hat low over his forehead. She was still Shannon McCahy. The little brat who had been on his tail since he had first walked onto the McCahy ranch. She had fired at him that very first time, and she was firing at him still.

  He smiled and leaned back.

  He had kissed her once. To shut her up. They were all playing innocent when a Yank officer had come by the ranch, and Shannon, bless her sweet, sweet hide, would have gladly handed him right over.

  And so he had kissed her.

  It did seem to be the only way to shut her up.

  But the kiss had been sweet. Her passion then had been that of anger, but passion nevertheless, and it had feathered against his senses until he had realized who she was, and what he was doing.

  But now, tonight, he remembered that kiss.

  He opened his eyes and clamped his teeth together. He knotted his fingers into fists and then slowly released them, suddenly aware that he wanted her. That he desired her, hotly, hungrily and completely.

  Wanting a woman wasn't so strange, he reminded himself. Over the years, he had wanted a number of women, and, during the war, when lovers were quickly won and lovers quickly lost, many young women, like many men, were quick to seek the solace of the moment. The women he had wanted he had often had. The widow in Arkansas, the desolate, lonely farm woman in Kentucky, the dance-hall girl in Mississippi.

  Once, it seemed like a long, long time ago now, there had been a girl he had loved. Ariel Denison. Ariel… He had even loved the sound of her name. They had been very young. The sight of him could bring a flush to her cheeks, and the warmth of her dark eyes upon him alone could bring forth all the ardor in his heart and soul. Her father had approved, and they were to have been married in June. They spent what May days they could together, hand in hand, racing down to the stream, daring to swim together, daring to come to the shore and lie naked in the sweet grasses, making love. He'd never known anything so deep, or so wonderful…

  But by June, she was gone. A cholera epidemic swept through the countryside, and Ariel, smiling to the last, had died in his arms, whispering her last words of love with the last of her breaths. He had not cared then if he contracted the disease. He hadn't cared at all, but he had lived. Since then, he hadn't fallen in love again. He had given his passion to his land; his loyalty had been to his family and, once the war came, to the Confederacy.

  He didn't remember much about love…

  But no man lived long without desire. He was used to that. So it was strange to discover with what depth and fervor he desired Shannon.

  The brat. His foremost enemy. The ardent, fanatical Unionist. The bane of his every trip to the ranch. Shannon…

  "Hey!" came a sudden, loud shout. "Did you hear that?"

  Malachi turned around, looking over the rock toward the camp. The guards by the horses were moving. Half the men had begun to settle down for the evening.

  Now they were waking up.

  Bear strode toward the guards. "What? What is it? I don't hear anything."

  "There's something there. Something out in the bushes."

  They had seen him. They had heard him, Malachi thought.

  But they hadn't. The guard was pointing in the other direction.

  "You scared of a bobcat or a weasel?" Bear sneered.

  "It weren't no weasel!" the guard protested.

  Bear paused, then shrugged. He looked at two of the men. "You, Wills, and you, Hartman, go take a look around. The rest of you, keep your eyes open."

  Hell! Malachi thought. If they went snooping around too far, they would find the bay. He cursed whatever creature had been sneaking around the camp. If it was a weasel, he hoped some poor bastard ate the creature.

  He sank against his rock. They weren't going to look for him there, not right beneath their noses. He was going to have to sit tight and wait. If they would just settle down for the night, even with the guards on duty, he would be able to reach Kristin. Once the camp was quiet, he would be able to circle around and come at her from the stream. He would have to kill the guards by the horses; he wouldn't have any choice.

  Malachi frowned suddenly, feeling the earth beneath his hands. He lay against the ground and listened to the tremors of the earth.

  Someone else was out riding that night. Not too far distant, a group of horsemen was coming toward them.

  A Union patrol?

  He thought they were still in Missouri, but they might have crossed over the border. They had really headed south as much as they had headed west. Not that it mattered much. Union patrols were everywhere.

  But it could also be a Southern outfit, heading home.

  Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it did.

  He tensed, waiting.

  Then a shrill and furious scream caught his attention. He swung around, looking into the center of the Red Legs camp.

  "Son of a bitch!" he swore beneath his breath, staring. "If they leave behind just a piece of her, I'm going to skin her alive!"

  Shannon had just been thrown into the center of the camp. Hartman and Wills had brought her, and with laughter and gusto cast her with force into the den of rogues.

  Wills was limping, swearing away.

  "She shot off my toe!" he howled.

  "Thank God she can't aim," Roger said, chortling.

  "I did aim, you stupid ass," Shannon said with venom. "If I'd have wished it, I'd have shot out your heart."

  Wills went silent; even Roger went silent. There was a chill around them all, as if they knew her words to be the truth.

  "Get down there, witch!" Wills swore savagely. He shoved her down, hard.

  She landed on her knees. She had changed clothing, and wore tight black trousers, a gingham tailored shirt and a pair of sturdy brown boots. She'd worn a hat, a broad-brimmed hat, but now it lay several feet from her in the dust. Her hair had been pinned, but the pins were strewn around her, and her hair was falling, like a golden sunrise, in delicate rays down her back.

  Malachi bit hard into his lip as she raised her chin to face Bear, all her heat and fury and passion alive in her eyes. She shouldn't have changed. The perfection of her form was even more apparent in the tight breeches and man's shirt, and he was not the only one to notice. The Red Legs were all rising, one by one, creating a circle around her.

  "My, my, my," Roger Holstein drawled. He moved his tongue over his lips. "What have we here?" He stepped out of the circle, coming toward her. Shannon struggled quickly to her feet. Malachi tensed, watching the sizzle in her eyes.

  "Don't be stupid, Shannon!" he muttered to himself. "Be quiet, be good, let them tie you up and I can get you out… don't be stupid!"

  But she was going to be stupid. Roger reached for her, and Shannon moved like lightning, sinking her teeth into his hand. He screamed with pain, then caught her with his backhand, sending her spiraling into the dirt. "Bitch!" he roared.

  The men laughed like hyenas. "Least she didn't shoot you, Roge!" Wills said.

  Roger came forward again, suckin
g at his sore hand.

  "Get away from her," Bear ordered, coming into the center of the ring.

  "Oh, no, you don't," Roger said with hostility. "That one is for Fitz. Fine. This one is mine."

  "I'll die first, I swear it!" Shannon hissed from the ground. She seemed to sense that her only hope was Bear. Holding her cheek, she rose and raced behind him. "I'll kill you—"

  "Yeah, watch it, man, the little lady will bite you to death!" someone jeered.

  "Get out of my way, Bear!" Roger howled. "She's mine!"

  "No!"

  "You've got Slater's wife—"

  "This is his sister-in-law, you idiot."

  Roger paused to look from one woman to the other. It was impossible to miss the resemblance. "So they're sisters. So what of it?"

  Kristin called out then. "You touch her, and I'll kill myself, you bastard! Then you'll have nothing, nothing at all—"

  "Kristin!"

  Shannon burst through the throng of men, racing for her sister. Bear caught her just before she could get to Kristin's side. He swept her up by the waist, laughing. "Little darlin'!" he exclaimed. "If you go to anybody, sweet pea, you go to old papa bear!"

  He reached up with one of his great hands and clutched the front of her shirt, tearing. Shannon screamed and savagely swung a kick his way.

  She did know how to aim.

  With a tremendous groan, Bear dropped her and doubled over. Shannon pulled his gun from his holster and swung around, facing the men, who were all on their feet.

  "Don't take a chance," she warned them, backing carefully toward Kristin. "I know what I'm doing with this thing."

  "You can't kill us all," Roger told her, but he didn't take another step her way.

  "I can castrate at least six of you," Shannon promised, and at least six of the men took a step backward.

  "Now, all that I want is my sister," Shannon began. She kept talking, but Malachi no longer heard her words because there was movement behind her. One of the guards watching the horses had drawn his knife and was sneaking up behind her.

  "Damn!" Malachi mouthed. He couldn't shoot at the man; Shannon was in the way. If she would move…just a hair.

  She didn't. The guard came up behind her and slipped the knife around her quickly, right at her throat, against her jugular.