Rides a Hero sb-2

by Heather Graham

  She wriggled and kicked, struggling fiercely. "If I'd meant to kill you, you'd be dead, and you know it."

  He eased his hold on her to touch his ear, feeling the trickle of blood. She used the opportunity to surge against him, freeing her hands and swinging at him. She caught him on the jaw with a good punch, and he swore savagely, securing her beneath him again. The beautiful white satin bridal nightgown was twisting higher and higher around her hips with every fevered moment. "Let me go, Malachi."

  "Oh, no, Shannon, you're the one who wanted to play rough. Well, let's play rough, shall we?"

  And he wrenched the gown up high on her thighs with his free hand. He released her to unbuckle his trousers, and she screeched, jumping up. He caught her arm, twisting her down.

  "You shot at me!" he hissed at her.

  She swung forward, trying to hurt him, trying not to cry.

  "And you slept with the red-haired harlot, so leave me alone!" She slammed against his chest and thrashed out with her legs. She heard him groan in pain and she knew that she had gotten him good.

  But he fell against her again, and her hair caught and pulled in his fingers. "I didn't sleep with her—"

  "Oh, no! Don't try to play me for a fool, Malachi."

  "I did not sleep with Iris. She's a real friend, an old friend. I should sleep with her. She is kind, and caring. And warm. But I wasn't with her last night. I slept in her bed, but not with her."

  "Liar!"

  "No!"

  He pushed her flat against the bed. Tears stung her eyes and she writhed and struggled against him. "Liar!" she accused him again. But his lips met hers, and she didn't understand what happened at all.

  "I am not lying!" he swore, and his hatred contoured and marred his features.

  "Please…"

  He assaulted her…but she met his fury with her own. His mouth forced down hard upon hers…but her lips parted to his, and she met the invading thrust of his tongue with the passionate fury of her own. When his lips broke from hers, she cried out his name. She didn't know if it was a plea, a broken whisper, a beseechment that he leave her…or a prayer that he stay with her.

  Whatever it was, it changed his touch. He went very still. Shannon was amazed that she had freed her hands, only to wind her arms around him, only to rake her fingers through his hair. She felt the touch of his fingers, slowly curling around her breasts over the satin of the gown.

  "I am not lying!" he vowed again, and softly. He rubbed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and felt it swell to his touch. She felt the softness of his beard, and the sweet, burning tenderness of his kiss. He ravaged her body still, but with care, with passion, but with some strange lust gone, so gentle that she arched and writhed and twisted toward him, maddened to feel more and more of it…

  Then he thrust into her, deep, full, grinding, and defying all his previous gentleness. Bold, determined, sure, his fingers and his eyes locked with hers as he claimed her completely and cast her shuddering to her depths with the ecstasy of feeling his body within her own, burning within her, a part of her mind, her heart, her frame…her soul.

  "Malachi." She whispered his name again as he began to move within her. She held him, embraced him, caressed him. Fever and tempest were with them as they whirled and whirled in a dark and furious and timeless storm that stripped away pretense…

  And even hatred…

  Satisfaction burst upon them, as volatile as the burning cannon fire of the war that had raged around them.

  He pulled from her when it was over. She lay silent; he lay looking at the ceiling.

  "What are we doing to one another?" he said softly. But he didn't look her way. He rose. Shannon could not move, not even to adjust the satin of the gown over her hips. She heard him doffing his borrowed clothes, donning his own trousers and shirt and boots. She still did not move.

  He paused at last. "We've got to go. Get up. Get dressed. I'll explain when you come down, but I've got some good news as far as freeing Kristin is concerned. Hurry. We need to get moving."

  He walked to the door. When he reached it, he paused for several seconds.

  "I'm sorry, Shannon. Really sorry. It…it won't happen again."

  He was gone. She listened dully as his footsteps faded away on the staircase. Listlessly, she curled into herself. She had to get up. She had to get dressed and ready. They were going after Kristin. This was what it was all about…

  She dragged herself up. Then she leaped up from the bed, anxious to call him back because she realized now she could still hear his footsteps. She had to tell him that she was sorry, too, so very sorry… "Malachi!"

  He was coming up the stairs, coming back to her. She raced to the doorway.

  A man was coming up the stairs. He was wearing a feather hat, and his head was bowed low, and the brim covered his face. But it wasn't Malachi. A sense of danger suddenly sheared along her spine.

  At that moment he reached the top step and raised his head.

  She stared straight into the evil leering face of the bushwhacker, Justin Waller. "Howdy, Shannon. Excuse me— howdy, Mrs. Gabriel," he said softly. "My, my, my, I have been anxious to catch up with you. And you do look particularly pretty this morning."

  "You!" she cried, swinging around to dive for the Colt.

  "Me! Justin Waller, Mrs. Gabriel. Why, yes'm, I've turned up again, and I am…anxious!"

  The Colt was on the floor somewhere. She groped frantically, opened her mouth to scream. The sound that issued from her was a breathy gasp. He caught her around the waist. She opened her mouth to scream again, and his hand clamped tight over her mouth. "No, no, my little darlin'," he crooned, his face taut against hers, his pleased grin displaying his teeth. "You do have to hush! The captain might have gone for the horses, but the Haywoods are downstairs, and I planned to leave kind of quiet like. I do want to deal with Malachi Slater, but not here. Not now. You're going to be real, real quiet for me."

  Shannon tried desperately to inhale and bite his hand. He laughed, reaching into his pocket with his free hand, and produced a soaking, foul-smelling scarf. He removed his hand from her mouth. She gasped in quickly to scream, but before she could issue a sound, he dropped the scarf upon her face, and she inhaled the potent drug upon it.

  The room spun and faded and went opaque, and then disappeared entirely from view.

  Justin Waller waited. Her eyes fell shut; she went limp beneath him. He pulled the scarf from her face at last, and lifted her dead weight over his shoulder.

  At the top of the staircase, he hesitated. He heard Slater talking in the kitchen.

  Quickly, quietly, he ran down the stairs and out the front door. The street was quiet. He smiled. He walked calmly to his horse, tossed Shannon over the animal's flanks, and mounted behind her lolling body.

  And rode serenely out of town.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Malachi returned with the horses, Iris was already waiting for him, seated in a small buckboard wagon. She was wearing green brocade with a cocky little feathered hat, and the green went exceptionally well with her red hair.

  Malachi tethered the horses and looked at her. "You're a beautiful woman, Iris," he told her.

  She smiled and didn't flush. "Thanks, Malachi. You didn't need to say that."

  "You don't need to come."

  "Yes, I do," Iris said. "You don't know anything about the back entrance to Cindy's house. And you won't be able to run around in the town of Sparks, I promise you. You won't be able to do your brother one bit of good if you're arrested along with his wife."

  "I don't like putting you into danger," he said softly.

  "I won't be in any danger. Cindy's a friend of mine. I come into Sparks often enough. I'm known there."

  "Still—"

  "Malachi, I swear that I will be in no danger.

  Malachi still didn't like it, but he knew he had no right to dictate to Iris. And her trip to Sparks had been monumentally important.

  She had found Col
e. He'd been sitting in the local saloon, his hat pulled low over his head. She hadn't recognized him herself at first, not until she'd leaned back and seen his silver gray eyes. He'd been wearing ranch clothes and a Mexican serape and his face had been covered with the rustic start of a beard and mustache. He hadn't looked at all like Cole.

  He'd recognized Iris, though. Before she could talk to him, he'd come up quickly to buy her a drink, then he had told her he was going by the name of Jake Egan.

  Iris had brought him to Cindy's place, a big gabled house her friend owned on the outskirts of town. It was a cathouse, of course, and Shannon was sure to hate it, but that was where they were going now.

  Cole told Iris that Jamie was just over the border, and he had gotten word to him. The three of them planned to converge in Sparks, and take matters from there. Thanks to Iris and her friends, they would have a good place from which to plan and work.

  Iris glanced toward the Haywoods. "Your wife ain't pleased, I take it?"

  He shrugged. "I haven't told her yet."

  Iris frowned. "But—"

  "We had an argument. We didn't get that far," Malachi said briefly.

  Iris lowered her head and a smile stole over her lips. "I hope you told her that I wasn't with you—"

  "Iris, it doesn't matter—"

  "It matters to me! I'd just as soon she not shoot me."

  "She's not going to shoot you, Iris."

  "Malachi—"

  "Iris, the matter is solved."

  "I don't think so, Malachi."

  "And why is that?"

  Well, as you might have noticed, Mrs. Slater isn't out here yet."

  Malachi swore softly. He started up the porch steps toward the front door.

  "Malachi!" Iris called to him. "I'm going to run back in. Reba might be up by now and I want to thank her for covering things for me yesterday."

  Malachi nodded to her and hurried up the steps and opened the door to the parlor. Mrs. Haywood was just coming out of the kitchen with a big parcel in her hands. "Here you are, Captain Slater. Some of my best summer sausages and biscuits. And when you're heading back through, you make sure to come and see us."

  Malachi nodded stiffly. "Surely, ma'am," he said, and he looked up the stairway. "Has she come down yet?"

  Mrs. Haywood shook her head. "Maybe you should go on and hurry her along."

  He nodded again. Mrs. Haywood was still staring at him.

  "We wouldn't have hanged you, captain, you know."

  "I'm glad to hear that, ma'am."

  "And we couldn't have forced you into marrying your lady—not unless you wanted to."

  He hesitated, staring at her. "Now, Mrs. Haywood—"

  "Never mind. Maybe you're not ready to admit that. You go up and hurry her along. I'll take the vittles out to the buckboard. Iris is going with you?" Mrs. Haywood's eyes danced with merriment. "What a lively trip. I wish I were going. I wish that I was twenty years younger!" she said, and she laughed.

  A slow smile curved Malachi's lip. He saluted her. "Yes, ma'am, it would have been nice to have you along."

  Mrs. Haywood, chuckling, headed toward the door. Malachi went to the steps and started up them, two at a time.

  He came to the door and noticed the splinters around the broken lock. He had already paid Mr. Haywood for the damages, but seeing the door made him feel ill. He had sworn he wasn't going to lose his temper, and he had. He had sworn that he wouldn't touch her in anger…and he had. He wanted to leave this place now. More than anything, he wanted to leave this place. Nothing could really be solved between himself and Shannon until Kristin was rescued, or…

  Until they all died in the attempt.

  "Shannon!" he called out sharply.

  He stepped into the room. She was nowhere around. Other than that, the room was exactly as he had left it, not half an hour ago. "Shannon?" he called out again.

  Damn her. She was angry, and she was playing some trick. Never! He never could trust her, not for one damned moment! He thought she had understood how close they were coming to Kristin.

  He wandered to the foot of the bed and sank down upon it with a weary sigh. Where had she gone? Mrs. Haywood hadn't seen her downstairs. And…

  He looked across to the hall tree. Shannon's shirt and trousers were still hung on it.

  He rose, a frown knitting his brow. He went over to their saddlebags and ripped hers open. Her dress was still there. Wherever she had gone, she had gone wearing the slinky satin nightdress she had worn this morning.

  He jumped up, trying to tell himself that she might have run into the mercantile store to buy something. More underwear, a new shirt, perhaps. Another one of the embroidered blouses like the one on the hall tree…

  Malachi ran down the steps. Just as he reached the parlor, he heard screaming from the street. He burst out of the door and ran down to the street, his booted footsteps clattering over the wood of the steps until he hit the dust.

  Iris was in the middle of the street, her arms around the blond, Reba.

  Reba was lying in the dust, wrapped in a blanket, and held tenderly by Iris. Her eyes were closed. Her face was parchment white. A trickle of blood seeped onto the blankets.

  The Haywoods were there, bending over.

  "What happened?" Malachi demanded.

  "She shouldn't have moved. She was trying to get to you. She wants you to kill him," Iris said, her voice rising hysterically.

  "Kill who?" He looked from Iris to Reba. Her eyes remained closed. He leaned down and picked her up. He

  glanced at Martha Haywood for assent, but the sturdy matron was already shooing him toward the house. "Right into the parlor, Malachi. Bring her to the couch. I'll send Papa for the doctor."

  He hurried inside with the blond whore and laid her carefully on the sofa. He knelt beside her as Iris followed, smoothing back her hair. She had been beaten. Her lip was swollen, and one of her eyes was almost shut.

  Her other eye opened slowly. She almost smiled, a caricature of a smile. "He wanted your wife, Mr. Gabriel. He wanted your wife."

  "What?"

  His heart thudded, then seemed to stop for a moment. Cold fear fell harshly upon him. He took Reba's hand in his. "Please, we know you're…hurting." The way the blood seeped from her, she was probably dying. Maybe she knew it; maybe she didn't. "Try to tell me."

  She moistened her lips, nodding. "Kill him. You have to kill him. I saw him watching you. He was waiting for you to get to her; he couldn't make the noise to reach her. He tried…last night. Then he came up to my room with me." She paused. Tears trickled down her cheeks. "He's got your wife, Mr. Gabriel. He thinks I'm dead. He thinks he's safe… Get him. Kill him. He—" She tried to find breath to speak, and made one final effort. "He said that his name was Justin."

  Malachi shot up. Iris and Mrs. Haywood stared at him. "Justin Waller," he said. "He followed us. I underestimated him. I thought I'd lost him."

  He turned and strode toward his horse, checking that his Colts were in his gun belt. When he reached the bay, he leaped upon the animal, and then just sat there. He didn't even know which way to ride.

  East. Back the way they'd come.

  Justin Waller wouldn't dare head farther west into Kansas.

  He'd killed a lot of men in Kansas. Maimed and wounded them. Someone might recognize him.

  East. He had to return eastward.

  He set off at a gallop, and realized a second later that he was being followed. He turned and saw that Iris had mounted Shannon's big black gelding. With her skirts and petticoats flying, her fine green dress bloodstreaked and ruined, she was racing after him.

  He reined in. "Iris, go back! What do you think—"

  "Malachi, she's dead. Reba just died."

  "So go back! This man is an animal. I'm better off alone."

  "Your wife may need me," Iris said quietly.

  Malachi locked his jaw, he was suddenly shaking so hard. That Shannon might be touched by the madman hurt…hurt so badly that h
e couldn't help her…

  "All right, come on," he told Iris.

  He leaned forward over the bay's neck, urging the animal forward, and they galloped eastward again at a breakneck pace. How much time did Justin Waller have on him already? How much time did Justin Waller need?

  He didn't dare think. He rode.

  It was the sickness in Shannon's stomach that finally woke her. She didn't know what he had used in his scarf to knock her out, but the smell of it had invaded her system, and her mouth tasted horrible, and she was certain that she was going to be sick any minute. She didn't care much about being sick. It might make her feel better. Except that there was a gag in her mouth, tied so tightly over her lips that she was afraid that she would choke to death upon her own fluids.

  She tried opening her eyes carefully. The sunshine shot into them like knives. She had thought that she was moving; she was not. Her wrists hurt her because she was tied to a tree. The sun was overhead, streaking through the leaves. She was in a copse, surrounded by rocks and foliage and trees. She couldn't move at all, for rough nooses looped both of her wrists, and her arms were pulled taut around the circumference of the tree.

  She closed her eyes again. The dizziness still assailed her. She willed it to go away.

  There was a sound in the woods. She opened her eyes quickly. Justin Waller was coming through the bushes. There was nothing she could do. Absolutely nothing but stare at him, and hate him with everything in her.

  "Hello, little darlin'," he crooned. He hunkered down by her, smiling as he tossed his rifle down at her side. He ran his hand over her thigh, moving the satin of her gown upward to her hip. She kicked and thrashed at him, and the motion almost made her sick. He laughed, enjoying her inability to really do anything, anything at all.

  "I'd like to remove that gag, honey, and hear everything that you have to say to old Justin. You're going to apologize, do you know that? You're going to tell me how sorry you are for everything you ever did to me. And then you're going to tell me that you'll never leave me again. And you're going to tell me how much you want me, you're going to ask me to be nice to you."