Rides a Hero sb-2

by Heather Graham

  "That's right," Jesse said, sighing. "Why, Justin would be dead right now if Frank's gun hadn't been empty."

  Malachi smiled, arching a brow. "What was she doing with Frank's gun?" he asked politely.

  Every one of the bushwhackers flushed, except Justin, and he kept staring at Malachi with hatred in his eyes.

  "I untied her," Frank James muttered. "I felt sorry for her, gagged and tied. She jumped me."

  "She jumped you?"

  "Captain, if you know that woman so well, you know that she's a damned hellcat, a bloody little spitfire." He swore again. "She's more dangerous than the whole lot of us."

  Malachi lowered his head, adjusting the brim of his hat to hide the smile that teased at his lips. They weren't in the clear yet.

  He looked up again, gravely, at Jesse. "Not much harm done, was there? I mean, the gun was empty. Justin looks alive and well and healthy to me."

  "You ain't takin' her, Slater," Justin said.

  Malachi inhaled deeply. "I am taking her, Justin."

  "Maybe she ought to apologize to Justin," Jesse suggested. "Maybe that will smooth things over a bit."

  "Oh, yeah," Justin said, tightening his lips, and leaning back with a certain pleasure. "Sure. Let's see this. You get her to apologize, captain."

  "Shannon, apologize to the man."

  She had been silent for several minutes, a long time for Shannon. She had stood behind him and at his side, quiet and meek. He gripped her fingers, drawing her in front of him. He hissed against her ear. "Shannon! Apologize."

  "I will not!" she exploded. "He is a bloody, vicious, sadistic murder—"

  Malachi's hand clamped over her mouth. Justin stood in a silent fury. Frank James laughed, and Jesse didn't make a move or say a word at all.

  "Your woman don't obey you real well, Captain Slater," Frank observed.

  Malachi swept his arm around her, jerking her beneath his chin, laying his fingers taut over her rib cage and squeezing hard. ' 'She's gonna obey me just fine." He lowered his voice, whispering against her earlobe. '"Cause if she doesn't obey me damned fast, I'm going to leave. I'm going to tell Justin to go ahead and enjoy himself to his heart's content—"

  "He is a cold-blooded murderer!" Shannon whispered back. He sensed the tears in her voice, but he couldn't afford to care.

  "Apologize!" he told her.

  She inhaled deeply. He felt the hatred and the fury that swept from her in great waves, and he wondered if he would always be included in that pool of bitter hatred and rage. "I'm sorry that I tried to kill you," she spit out to Justin. She lowered her head. "And I'm sorry that I failed!" she whispered miserably.

  Malachi tightened his hold upon her so that she gasped, but as he looked around, he realized, thankfully, that he was the only one who had heard her last words.

  He smiled. "All right?"

  He didn't want to give them all time to think. "Thanks, boys. I never would have made it against the Red Legs without your help. Be seeing you."

  He adjusted his hat and shoved Shannon around, daring to bare his back to the raiders. They wouldn't shoot a Confederate officer in the back.

  Even bushwhackers had a certain code of ethics.

  He walked several feet, hurrying Shannon ahead of him.

  "Slater!"

  He stopped, pushing her forward, turning around.

  Justin was walking toward him. "Captain Slater, they're letting you take the woman. I'm not."

  Malachi stiffened. He stared at Justin. It was a direct challenge, and there was no way out of it.

  "No, Malachi!" Shannon cried, racing to him. He shoved her back again, not daring to take his eyes off Justin.

  "Then I guess it's between you and me," he said softly.

  "That's right, captain. That's what it boils down to."

  "Swords or pistols?"

  "Draw when you're ready, captain—" Justin began, but he never finished. His eyes suddenly rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground with a curious, silent grace.

  Jesse was standing there. He had just clobbered Justin with the butt of a Spencer repeater. He smiled at Malachi.

  "I don't know what would have happened, captain, but you've got a powerful reputation as a crack shot. Of course, Justin is pretty damned good himself. One of you would have died. And I'm just sick of the bloodshed, you know. I figure the Yanks killed enough of us that we don't need to run around killin' one another, not now, not when we're all trying to get home for a spell. So you take your little hellcat and you go on, Captain Slater. Head for Mexico, as fast as you can. The best of luck to you, captain."

  Malachi turned from the man on the ground to Jesse. He nodded slowly. Then he turned around. Shannon was still standing there, and he grasped her elbow firmly and pulled her along with him. "Come on!" he whispered to her when she seemed to be balking.

  Jesse was still watching them. Malachi put his arm around Shannon's shoulder and pulled her close against him. She looked back once and didn't seem to want to protest, not one bit.

  He hurried them down the slope to the embankment of the spring, then rushed along the embankment.

  Darkness was coming once again. He wanted to sleep…badly. But he wanted to put some mean distance between them and Justin before he paused to sleep.

  He didn't need to urge Shannon along. As soon as they had left the raiders behind, she broke away from him and started to run. Her hair streamed behind her, and in the darkening twilight, he heard the soft, sobbing gasps of her breath as she hurried.

  Groaning, he ran after her.

  She meant to put distance between herself and the raiders, too. She ran so hard and so fast that she was quickly past the spot where he had tethered their horses.

  "Shannon!"

  He hurried after her. It was almost as if she hadn't heard him. She was probably furious, he thought wearily. She was angry because he had made her apologize. Because he had kissed her.

  He had more than kissed her. He had kissed her and touched with an invasion so deep that the intimacy invoked could never be forgotten.

  Nor, for her part, he was certain, forgiven.

  "Shannon!"

  Cursing the pain in his leg, he ran after her with speed. At last he caught up with her. She stumbled and fell, rolling down the grassy slope until she was nearly in the water. Malachi followed, dropping down beside her. Her eyes were huge and luminous and moist, a beautiful, glittering blue, still wet with tears. She stared at the sky unblinkingly while he knelt by her.

  "Shannon! Damn it, I'm sorry. You fool! You damned bloody little fool. Didn't you understand? I had to get you out of there. Justin is a murdering sadist, and that's exactly why you don't mess with a man like him." He sighed. "All right, hellcat. Stay angry. Tear me up again whenever you get the chance. But for now, we've got to get on the road. We need to ride—"

  "Malachi!"

  She shot up suddenly and ran straight into his arms. She laid her cheek against his chest, and he felt the terrible beating of her heart and the shivering that seized the whole of her body. The soft cream mounds of her breasts rose above the pink-flowered white cups of her corset, brushing against the rough material of his wool greatcoat. Her hands seemed frail and delicate where they fell against him.

  "Oh, Malachi!"

  And she burst into tears.

  He put his arms around her and he kissed the top of her head. He held her tight against him.

  Hellcat. It was an apt name for her, but his little hellcat had broken. The war had made her build an impenetrable shield around herself. She was strong as steel and tough as nails, and no one, no one commanded Shannon McCahy.

  But now…

  Her shield had shattered and broken, and he wasn't sure that he could stand up to the soft and delicate beauty beneath it.

  "It's all right. It's over. It's—"

  "Malachi, thank you. Oh, my God, you came for me. You—you took me from him. Thank you!"

  He curved his hand around her cheek, and he smoothed t
he tears from her face with his thumb. She stared at him, and her eyes were earnest and glorious, her hair a shroud of gold, cloaking her half-bared shoulders and breasts.

  He swallowed hard and managed to stand. He reached down for her, lifting her high into his arms. "We have to ride," he told her.

  She nodded trustingly. Her head fell against him. His boots sloshed through the stream as he walked toward the horses.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When she was set on the black gelding, Shannon seemed well and eager to ride. Malachi was glad of it. He didn't know how long he could stay awake himself, but as long as they could, they would ride.

  They crossed the stream, then followed along it. No words passed between them. When Malachi looked back in the darkness, he saw her slumped low in the saddle, but she didn't complain or suggest they stop. He had given her his greatcoat; her shirt was nothing but tatters now, and he didn't want to take the time to dig through his belongings for a new shirt for her. He wanted to move.

  It was too late to steal Kristin back before the Red Legs left Missouri. They would have to travel deep into Kansas. The only benefit to that situation was that it was unlikely Justin would follow him into Kansas. There might be a bounty out on Malachi, but at least he had been regular army, not a bushwhacker. A man recognized as a bushwhacker in Kansas might not stand much of a chance.

  "Shannon?"

  "Yes," she called softly.

  "You all right back there?"

  "Yes."

  "We'll go another hour."

  "Fine."

  They plodded onward. Where the stream forked, he took the westward trail, telling her to walk the black gelding behind his bay mare in the rocky, shallow water. That way there would be no footprints for the bushwhackers to follow.

  With the first light, he reined in. There was a perfect little copse beside the water. It was sheltered by magnificent oaks, and grass grew there like a blanket. On one side of the stream, the water deepened in a small natural pond. It was just like the swimming hole back home where he and Cole and Jamie had roughhoused after working hours, and where the neighborhood girls had come to watch and giggle from the trees, and where, sometimes, the young ladies had boldly determined to join them. He smiled, thinking about those days. They had been so long ago.

  Malachi realized that Shannon had reined up behind him. "This is it," he said softly. "We'll rest here."

  Nodding, she moved to dismount and missed her footing. She fell flat into the water on her rear and lay sprawled, apparently too tired to move.

  Malachi dismounted and hunkered down in front of her, smiling. "Hey. Come on out of the water."

  She nodded, barely. Her eyes fell on his, dazed.

  He flicked water on her face and saw the surprise and then the anger spark her eyes. "You do need a bath," he told her. Dirt still smudged her face. "Badly. But this doesn't seem to be the right time. Come on, I'll help you out."

  His greatcoat had fallen open, exposing the lace and flowers of her corset When he went to take her hand, his fingers brushed over the lace, and over the firm satiny flush that rose above the border. Warmth sizzled straight to his loins, and he paused, stunned by the strength of the feeling. He shook his head, irritated with himself, and grabbed her hands. "Up, Shannon, damn it, get up."

  Sensing the sudden anger in him, she staggered to her feet, using his hand for support.

  You're soaked. Let's get up on the bank."

  Thank God he was exhausted, he told himself. Really so exhausted that he couldn't even think about what the sight of her did…

  She sighed softly as they cleared the water, throwing his coat from her shoulders and sinking down to remove her boots. Her hair, touched by the pale, new light of the coming morning, glowed with a fiery radiance and teased the flesh of her shoulders and breasts. He didn't touch her at all, but the warmth sizzled through him again, making his heart pump too fast and his tired body come alive.

  Maybe it was impossible to be too exhausted.

  He gritted his teeth and swore.

  She paused in surprise. "Malachi, what's wrong?"

  When had she learned to make those blue eyes so innocent and so damned sultry all in one? And her hair, just falling over one eye now…

  "What's wrong?" he yelled at her. "All I was trying to do was get Kristin back from the Red Legs, and instead I'm running over half of Missouri to get you back from a pack of bushwhackers. And did you try to use one ounce of sense in the hands of death? No, Shannon, you just provoke them further, and almost get us both killed."

  She jumped to her feet. She was trembling, he saw.

  "You don't understand. You don't understand and you can't understand. You weren't there when my pa was killed, and you didn't get to hear, in rumor and in truth, day after day after day, what was done to the men outside Centralia. You don't—"

  "Shannon, I fought in the war. I know all about dying."

  "It wasn't the dying!" Tears glittered brightly in her eyes, but she wouldn't shed them, she wouldn't break down again, and he knew it. "It wasn't the dying. It was the way that they died. He admitted it; that bastard admitted that he had been there, outside Centralia. He might have been the one who—who…Malachi, they had to pick up his pieces! They had to pick up Robert's pieces. I loved him, I loved him so much."

  Her face was smudged but her chin was high, and her eyes were even more beautiful fevered with emotion. He felt her pain, and he wished heartily that he had never spoken to her. She still didn't understand. Justin just might want to do the same damned thing to her, if he could get his hands on her again. She'd fought Justin anyway. Or maybe she had understood, and hadn't cared.

  She stared at him, her head high, her hands on her hips, her passion like an aura around her. "I loved him, and that bastard helped dismember him!"

  "It can't matter!" Malachi told her curtly. "You can't allow it to matter right now!"

  "You don't understand—"

  "Maybe I don't understand, but you're not going to explain anything to me. No Yank is ever going to explain the horror of this war to a Confederate. We lost, remember? Oh, yes, of course, you're the one who likes to remind me of that fact"

  "Maybe you do understand dying and killing. Maybe you just don't understand what love is."

  "Shannon, you're a fool, and my life is none of your damned business."

  "Malachi, damn you—"

  "I don't want to listen right now, Shannon. I'm tired. I have to have some sleep," he said wearily. He didn't want to fight with her. He just didn't want to look at her anymore. He didn't want to see all the fire and excitement and beauty…and the pain and misery that haunted her.

  He didn't want to desire her.

  But he did.

  He turned away from her, heading for the horses. For a moment he thought that she was going to run after him and continue the fight. But she didn't. She stayed still for several long minutes, tense, staring after him. Then she walked down to the water. He tried to ignore her as he unsaddled the horses and rolled out his bedroll and blanket beneath the largest oak.

  He hesitated, looked at her bedroll, rolled behind the seat of her saddle. He unrolled it, too, beside his own. He didn't want her too far away. He knew that he would awaken if footsteps came anywhere near them, but he was still wary of sleeping. Justin struck him as the type of man who worked hard toward vengeance.

  He could hear her, drinking thirstily, splashing water, washing her face. Scrubbing her face and her hands again and again.

  He threw himself down on the bedroll, using his saddle as a pillow and turning so he could keep an eye on her. Day was coming fast now. Sunlight played through the leaves and branches, caressing her hair and shoulders and arms. It rippled against the water in a magical dazzle.

  "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  "Scrubbing. Scrubbing away that awful bushwhacker!" she retorted.

  "You can throw your whole body in later and scrub to your heart's content!" he called to her irritably. "Get out
now. Let's get some sleep."

  She turned around and saw him stretched out, then opened her mouth as if she was about to argue with him.

  Maybe she was just tired. Maybe, just maybe, she was still a little bit grateful. Whatever, she closed her mouth and walked toward him.

  She hesitated by her bedroll, looking at him. Strands of damp hair curled around her face, and its planes were delineated, soft and beautiful. Water beads hovered over her breasts.

  He groaned inwardly and tipped his hat over his face. "Good night, Shannon."

  "Perhaps I should move this." She indicated her bedroll.

  "Lie down."

  "I've never had to sleep this close to a Reb before."

  "You slept with Justin just about on top of you yesterday."

  She smiled with sweet sarcasm and widened her eyes. "I've never willingly slept this close to a Reb before."

  "Willing or other, lie down, brat!"

  He watched her mouth twist. He was too damned tired to argue, and if he touched her at that moment, he wasn't at all sure what it would lead to. "Please! For the love of God, lie down, Shannon."

  She didn't say a word until she had settled down beside him, but then heard a tentative whisper. "Malachi?"

  He groaned. "What?"

  "What…what are we going to do now?"

  He hesitated. "I should spank you, brat," he said softly. "And send you home."

  "You—you can't send me home. You know that." There was just the touch of a plea in her voice, and the softest note of tears. "You can't send me back."

  "That's right," he muttered dryly. "Justin is out there somewhere, waiting for you. Maybe I should let him have you. The two of you could keep on fighting the war, from here until doomsday."

  "Malachi—"

  "I'm not sending you back, Shannon. You're right about that; I can't."

  "Then—"

  "We're going to go onward for Kristin."

  "But how will we find her? We'll never pick up the trail again. There's only a few of them left now, but they're so long gone that it would be impossible to find them."

  "We don't need to find them."

  "But—"

  "Shannon, I know where they're taking her. They're taking her to Fitz. And I know how to find the town. We all know something about it, Cole, Jamie and I." He hesitated. "You forget, we've had dealings with the Red Legs before." He was silent for a moment, thinking back to when Cole's place had been burned down and his beautiful young wife killed. Malachi's jaw tightened. "I'm not sure if we can head them off quickly enough, or if we'll have to—figure out something else. We'll find her. We'll reach her."