“Looks like everything is branded. Including me.” Despite her fear, her voice sliced into him.
“It’s different. You’ll see. You’re branded as my wife.”
Dillon figured if it wasn’t for the circumstances his woman would have challenged him, sassy as a spittin’ kitten. Instead, she remained quiet while they entered the grand adobe restaurant.
The wafting smells of breakfast foods greeted them, along with a crackling fire in the large Spanish-style hearth.
“Dillon.” Arnie hailed them immediately. Tall and imposing in stature, he stood up from a private table near the back of the main dining room. He beckoned them with a wave. “Over here, you ole son of a gun. Wanna meet your bride.”
“Wow, he resembles Benjamin Sisko only with a mustache.”
“Benjamin Sisko, sweet thang?”
“Actually, the actor, what was his name?” She went quiet and Dillon figured she searched her memory. “Avery Brooks, that’s it. Did you have the TV show Deep Space Nine here? I used to watch it as if my next breath depended on it.”
“Star Trek? Dono used to filch the broadcast feeds from the Union.”
Dillon guided his wife past the obvious stares aimed at her. Some of the men might as well have had their tongues hanging out like stud dogs.
“Yeah, Star Trek.” Kylie molded herself against his side. “Damn. Maybe I can understand being branded…here.”
“You’re a prize filly, Sparks. And a lot of cowboys want a ride. Only I’ll hammer their faces first, or put a bullet in ’em if I have to.”
Once they halted, Dillon hugged his woman close. He only released her long enough to heartily shake Arnie’s steak-sized hand. “Kylie, meet my longtime friend, Sheriff Arnie Taylor.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff Taylor.” Kylie stretched out her small hand.
Performing a respectful bow, Arnie enfolded his wife’s hand briefly and pecked a kiss on top. “What a fine beauty you are, Mrs. Kylie. My goodness, the Good Lord does provide, doesn’t He? Have a seat. I got breakfast arriving anytime now.”
Once Dillon hung their jackets and seated his Kylie, he slid Betsy into the wall scabbard. He swept the room with his gaze, then lowered himself to the sturdy, leather-appointed chair opposite Arnie. “How’s that beautiful wife of yours, hombre?”
“Doin’ real fine, given her condition.” Arnie grinned widely, his dark eyes glittering with his news.
“Condition?” Dillon prompted, his own grin starting.
“Yep. We finally decided to become parents. Lucinda is about four months away from her delivery date. Haven’t told much of anyone yet. Didn’t want to jinx anything.”
“Understand. Congratulations, Arnie, you ole kickin’ stud. I expect an announcement. And I promise just the right gift.”
“That’s a promise I believe comin’ from you, Dillon.”
Arnie’s gaze darkened, his expression suddenly turning somber like the sky filling with storm clouds. In an attempt to appear casual, he leaned back in his chair and propped up a boot. His eyes flickered over Kylie, then returned full force to Dillon.
“A promise I’ll keep. What’s on your mind?”
Lazily, Arnie stirred his coffee. “You were followed here, weren’t you?”
“That would be affirmative. Got any intel on that?”
“Yep, they followed me here. We got a real rotten apple stinkin’ up our whole operation. Infiltrated last summer, we discovered.”
“Infiltrated.” Dillon felt his own growl roughen his throat. He clasped Kylie’s hand bringing it to his lap.
“Couldn’t give you any detail, except here. We’re feeding the SOB what we want, now.”
“So, why do I have an ambush waitin’?”
“He sold you out to an old Union enemy of yours before we got his activities lassoed.”
“He?”
Dillon raised his brows, but settled back as the waiter arrived with a pot of coffee, a jug of water, and another one filled with pink grapefruit juice. Before setting the tray on the table, the young man took long seconds to eye Kylie fully, though, not long enough to arouse Dillon’s gun-drawin’ hand.
“Mornin’, gents. Breakfast is about prepared.” Efficiently, he poured out their beverages. After quickly perusing Kylie again, he pivoted away with a dancer’s spin atop the heel of one of his flamenco boots.
“Nice preenin’,” Arnie commented, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“This is wild,” Kylie softly uttered.
“Now don’t you go lettin’ that trigger finger of yours get too itchy, even though your bride is worth it.” Arnie added more steaming coffee to his mug, then sniffed and savored a few swallows. Dillon watched as his friend observed him closely above the rim. “How’s it feel to be a husband?”
“Feels mighty damn good.” Dillon placed Kylie’s juice glass in front of her. “If that’s not to your likin’, little Sparks, I’ll order something else.” After pressing a kiss to the side of her hand, he let go.
“Love grapefruit juice. That is what is, isn’t it?” Lifting the glass, she took a small taste. “Fantastic.”
Dillon picked up his own glass, swallowed it down, then cradled his coffee mug in one palm. “He?” He knifed his gaze toward Arnie.
“Paul Morrison, sheriff of a large border town—”
“Yup, I know him. Looks like a bean pole, has a red handlebar mustache. Plays lousy poker. Though that must be for show, so we wouldn’t be guessin’ his real ability to be sneaky as a starvin’ fox who’s found himself a henhouse.”
“Yep, that’d be him.”
“God Almighty, he had me fooled.”
“We’re not sure when he was turned. Don’t think he actually joined as an infiltrator originally.”
“Hell. Who’d he sell me out to?”
“One Foot.”
Dillon leaned back and hauled in a dang enormous breath. A whirlwind of bad memories assaulted him. “General Hayworth,” he stated. “Fanatic One Foot hated my guts and would’ve eaten them on a silver platter if he could’ve. Thought he’d met his Maker.” Easing forward, again, Dillon took another swallow of his coffee. “Guess not.”
“Story is he was resurrected from a nasty toxin release at his base in Montana.”
“Rebels in Montana must’ve tried to get him.”
“Rumor about that is they were trying to eliminate as many of the troops as possible. About eighty passed over.”
Kylie set her glass down. “One Foot?”
“Lost his left foot early during the border wars,” Dillon answered. “Sharpshooter got his boot instead of blowing a big enough hole in his chest.”
“From then on,” Arnie continued, “he named himself One Foot as a pugnacious act of defiance and had a Terminator-like robotic foot attached.”
“Who shot his foot off? You?” Kylie gazed at Dillon, her gorgeous eyes round as plates at what she’d just heard.
“Nope, not me. If it had been, I wouldn’t have missed, even if I had to keep walkin’ forward, both rifles blazing.”
“Dillon here stopped every significant advance Hayworth got goin’ into Texas proper.”
“How?” Kylie’s gaze searched his face, looking for who he was at his core.
“Long story. Best told in front of a fireplace, sittin’ in a lounge chair with a glass of whiskey.”
“Yeah?” She arched her brows. “That better be a promise.”
“It is. If we go one story at a time.” Dillon teased his woman with a slow grin just for her before turning his gaze to Arnie again.
“Food’s arriving.” Arnie placed his coffee to the side, his gaze on them, observant as a stalking panther. “Got some more to tell. But we can talk ’n eat.”
Dillon nodded. Once the waiters departed, he piled food on Kylie’s plate. “Give everything a taste, angel wife. Then you’ll know what you like best for next time.”
She gave him a quizzical glance at him calling her his angel wife, and probably at his
use of next time, as if what they were about to face didn’t amount to much.
Picking up her fork, she stabbed a piece of biscuit saturated in enchilada sauce. “Mmmm…tasty.”
Soon, they were all up their elbows in the Ranchero’s spicy-smelling TexMex breakfast. He and Arnie scooped the food in, enjoying with their usual gusto despite the danger lying in wait like a crouched starved cougar. That’s what war did to a man. He put aside the inevitable battle. It was survive and live one moment at a time.
From the corner of his eye, Dillon watched Kylie to make certain her attention stayed on the food, rather than dwelling on their circumstance. For now, she sampled the hash browns made with red pepper and onion.
Dillon took a long swig of his coffee. “Better finish up our conversation while we can.”
“Yep, I gotta get back. Led my tails on a merry little chase down here, but they’ll be showin’ soon. If they’re not already parked ’n checking out the Hummer.” Arnie drank part of his coffee. “Dillon, word is One Foot sent a squad down. And we got a late report that there was a border incursion two days ago. We haven’t found those bad boys yet. So, they know the lay of the land and what they’re doin’, evading us the way they have.”
Dillon suppressed his urge to leap up and grab Betsy. That meant Dono and Dash were in serious trouble from Hayworth. It wasn’t just his hide at stake.
“Head on out of here, Arnie. This ain’t your fight and you got a baby on the way.”
“Not gonna go down that way, Dillon. But, and it’s a big one, we wanna keep Morrison in the dark for as long as we can. Got some things in the works. You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“I’ll git going. Once I’m in the Hummer, I’ll take a good look around. You know our horn signals.”
Dillon gave a nod as Arnie unfolded his large frame and stood with a powerful grace that was all his own. “Kylie, I hope to be seein’ you again. A night out, so you can meet my Lucinda.”
“I’d love to.”
His woman sounded brave, yet tremulous underneath.
“Be seein’ you two later.” Plucking up his dark gray Stetson, Arnie doffed it to Kylie, then whirled on his heel, and strode at a leisurely pace toward the front doors.
Since Arnie had developed an impeccable instinct, far as when it was best to fight an enemy, Dillon knew now was the time.
“They’ve surrounded us, haven’t they?”
Surprised by his woman’s perceptiveness, Dillon shifted toward her, and gazed at her face until she looked directly at him. “Yep, probably, but I’ve got Betsy.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ease Up on the Trigger, Sparks
Kylie mentally pulled herself up by the boot straps, and felt her chin firm with resolve. Here, in this Old West-like Texas, she had a real way of fighting back, instead of running from a corrupt law force as she’d had to do on her Earth—like an effing coward, her tail tucked between her legs.
She had a real man worth fighting for, actually three of them. Her Texans.
Something powerful inside of her had been ignited. Maybe it was her inner warrioress. She knew she wanted to prove her mettle in this world.
Dillon, her Dillon. She searched his steely eyes glinting with the readiness to do battle against an enemy, and realized she was falling hard for him. Soon her heart would belong to him. Beyond their intense passion she would belong to him.
That is, if they survived.
A series of honks that sounded like a tune, one she’d never heard before, blared outside.
“Arnie?”
“Yep. He just gave me valuable information.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Nope.”
Kylie hauled in another breath. “What do I need to do?”
“Kylie.” He bent down a bit, peering deeply into her eyes. “I’d leave you in here, safe. But if I do, you’ll be claimed until me, Dono, and Dash can get you back. Even though you’re branded, a man doesn’t ever leave his woman with a pack of wolves when most of ’em are panting for a mate.”
“Is that why you’re not asking for help?”
“Nope. I don’t know none of them to call them friend, and this ain’t their fight.” He paused a moment, studying her. “We can’t stay in here either. Eventually, One Foot’s bounty hunters would come stormin’ in, shootin’ up the place, and probably killin’ other folks.”
“What about the sheriff here?”
“No sheriff that close to us. Doubt if he’d have enough deputies, either.”
“I understand.” Kylie drew in a long breath. “I want to go with you. I don’t want to stay in here.”
Dillon scrutinized her face for a long moment. “This is how we’re gonna play it, Sparks.” He rose, reaching for her jacket, and Kylie stood. As he placed the jacket on her, she felt her adrenaline spike and her nerves spark with excitement.
Kneeling before her, he continued, “The Tesla is parked close to the back exit. It’ll open at my touch. We’ll move fast for the passenger door. You’ll stay stuck to my side, inside my jacket. Betsy and me will likely be shooting at some point. Quick as we can, we’ll get to the Tesla. Right, pardner?”
Kylie nodded.
“God, sweet thang…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. It shone fiercely in his eyes, his love for her.
Kylie’s soul moved like a mountain, one that moved only for him.
Standing rapidly, Dillon shrugged into his own jacket. She watched him slide Betsy out of the wall holster with deliberate purpose. The small ominous sound cut through her like a razor. Moving beside him, Kylie stepped inside the jacket he’d opened for her.
“You remember what I told you about shootin’?”
Dillon’s low hard voice made her blood run cold, and she knew he focused entirely on defeating their enemies.
“Yep, pardner, I remember.”
He cocked Betsy and every western she’d ever seen flashed before her mind’s eye.
“It’s heads’ down, unless we need to fight.”
“Yes, Dillon.”
He moved them toward the double doors at the end of a hallway. Kylie matched her stride and movements to his. With each step she took, her senses heightened, and suddenly she burned like fire to act, to do something, anything that would save them.
Halting at the doors, Dillon reached across his middle and drew out one of his guns. It looked like a Colt 45, and Kylie realized he’d left the one closest to her for her use, should it come to that.
“Take hold of my belt,” he ordered. “That’s it, Sparks. Now, take hold of the door handle, but don’t open it until I say.”
After wrapping her hand around the wide leather of his gun belt, Kylie seized the door’s handle. “Got it.”
For a split second, she wondered about her ability to do this. Clenching her jaw, Kylie told her insecurities to get the shit lost.
Above her, Dillon positioned his gun. His muscles hardened to a savagery she hadn’t believed possible.
“Open.”
Kylie turned the handle and shoved outward. Before she knew it, they’d moved outside beneath the noon glare of the sun. She blinked from the sudden brightness, yet instinctively stayed with his quick strides. About twenty yards away from them, the Tesla gleamed like a beacon.
“Head down. Run with me,” he growled.
Obeying, Kylie felt her heartbeat accelerate and pound like a drum. Seconds later, she heard the popping whine of bullets whiz past them. They seemed to be flying from every direction. Dillon stopped so quickly, Kylie jerked herself back against his granite-hard thigh.
Betsy blasted, and Kylie felt the sound reverberate around her. She watched a man fall near the back of the Tesla. Slowly moving them forward, Dillon fired his pistol repeatedly while Betsy boom-boomed over and over again.
Kylie saw two more men fall. Blood stained their heavy denim shirts and they half spun before dropping to the ground, motionless.
Dillon whirled rapidly. Kylie stumbled, hitting her knees on the hard-packed dirt. At the same instant, Dillon took aim and Betsy boomed. Hauling herself up, Kylie saw the man who had been about to shoot Dillon in the back.
Obviously shot, he jerked backward as if marionette strings controlled his body. His arm rose in slow motion, and his gun arced from his hand as he gradually slumped, then hit the dirt.
“Kylie, let go. Run for the Tesla. Take cover behind that nearby rise of ground. I’m right behind you.”
Aching to stay with Dillon, still, Kylie obeyed. Tearing her hand from his gun belt, she sprinted toward the rear of the Tesla. Two of the bad guys charged toward them, their guns firing.
A strange blue pulse bounced off the side of the Tesla. Kylie had no clue if that’s why Dillon hadn’t followed his original plan of getting inside. Intentionally averting her gaze, she skirted around one of the fallen men, and raced for the large crescent-shaped dip of ground.
Flattening herself on the sparse grassland, she peeked above the swell. Firing Betsy and his pistol, Dillon spun on his boot heels, twisting back and forth like a mad man, or a big mad bear. All the while, he backed toward her. Fear for him shuddered through her, grabbed her insides and shook her viciously.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Kylie decided guns here held more bullets. She realized with a start that there was no acrid smoke as she’d smelled on the firing range, the few times she’d been.
It all happened in slow motion. Kylie screamed, hearing herself as if she hovered above her body. Dillon’s shoulder exploded backward. A bullet that looked as if it had a flaming tail flew through him.
“Get down!” he ordered. Spinning around, Dillon raced toward her, his head down.
Realizing she’d jumped up, Kylie scrambled to lie flat again. An instant later, Dillon landed beside her. He rolled once and propped his back against the swell of ground behind her.
Blood poured from his shoulder wound, sinking into the jacket’s sheepskin suede.
Always queasy when blood flowed like that, Kylie nearly fainted. Forcing herself to remain conscious and alert, she crawled next to him. “Dillon!”
Branded by the Texans [Three Star Republic] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 34