by Karen Kirst
“It’s about time you boys got back.” Cliff Roberts, the gang’s leader, separated from the rest of the group. The middle-aged man held up his kerosene lamp, casting a muted circle of light about him. “Got the loot?”
“Right here, boss.” Fitzgerald held up two bulging sacks.
“Good.” His steely gaze bore into Evan. “Who’s the girl?”
“There was a situation at the mercantile.” Evan held the man’s gaze.
Fitzgerald snorted. “Harrison wasn’t doin’ his job.”
Roberts arched a brow in silent question.
Evan clenched his teeth. “It was either get her inside or risk a scene on the front steps. I figured the mission was more important.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath and wished he hadn’t phrased it quite that way. She didn’t know it yet, but it was about to get worse.
“I’ll take care of her, boss,” Fitzgerald challenged, his leer making Evan’s skin crawl.
“No,” Evan’s tone brooked no argument. “She’s mine.”
“I’ll wager two dollars Harrison can best Fitz!” one of the men hollered.
Murmurs rumbled through the group. “Yeah, fight!”
“Winner gets the girl!”
Ignoring Miss O’Malley’s outraged sputter, Evan settled a heavy hand on his weapon. “No contest. If any of you wants her, you’ll have to kill me first.”
Thick silence settled over the group. Crickets’ buzzes swelled to fill it, as did the odd horse snuffle. His senses on high alert, Evan waited for someone to challenge his claim. He’d meant every single word. She was there through no fault of her own. He would guard her with his life.
John Hooper held up his hands. “Whoa, Harrison. No use gettin’ touchy.”
“Yeah, we didn’t know ya done fell in love!” Another man snickered.
Roberts studied him. “Enough! Everyone inside. Now.”
Mumbling and laughing, the men filed back through the door. Evan’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. He held back until he and Miss O’Malley were the only ones in the yard.
“You’re not taking me in there, are you?” she demanded in a strangled whisper, her fingers clutching his forearm.
“Not for long, I promise.”
“I’m supposed to believe you?” Her voice went shrill. “After all the foul—”
“Harrison!” someone inside called. “Let’s go.”
“Come on,” Evan said.
Placing his palm against her lower back, he pressed her forward into the small, musty cabin. The smell of unwashed bodies and cigar smoke assaulted his senses, but he quickly masked his distaste.
Most of the men were seated at the table, and at their entrance, their bold gazes locked onto the lady at his side. She hung back, no doubt frightened out of her mind. And for good reason.
Fitzgerald stood in the corner near the door, his lips curled in a menacing smirk and his dark eyes challenging.
“Harrison.” Roberts motioned him toward the cabin’s only bedroom. “We need to talk.”
Evan started forward with Miss O’Malley.
“No, she stays here.”
No way was he leaving her side. Evan opened his mouth to protest. “But—”
“Ten minutes. Gauging from your proclamation just now, I figure she’ll be safe enough.”
Evan changed direction and, leading her to an overturned carton in front of the fireplace, motioned for her to sit. Her wide green eyes begged him not to abandon her, and he almost caved. But he couldn’t defy the gang leader’s wishes without placing her in even greater danger. With a light squeeze to her ice-cold hands, he crossed the room with leaden steps.
Juliana watched him walk away, her heart frozen in fear. Her only ally, if he was truly that—and she had serious misgivings—was leaving her to face the enemy alone. Suddenly she understood a fraction of what Daniel must’ve felt as the guards sealed him in that lions’ den and he awaited the advance of roaring, ravenous lions.
She began to pray in earnest, and to her surprise, the men largely ignored her as they took up their poker game. She kept her eyes downcast, thinking to defer their attention by being as immobile as a statue.
When their conversation faltered a few minutes later, she lifted her head to find out why. All eyes were on Art as he approached and crouched down beside her.
“Oh, go on about your business.” He gestured toward the group. “I just wanna chat with the lady.”
One by one, they turned their attention back to the game.
Art spoke in low tones, and she had to incline her head to hear him clearly.
“You don’t have to be afraid of Harrison, ya know.” His brown eyes appealed to her. “He ain’t like the others.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered. She half wished he’d go back to his corner and let her go back to being invisible.
“I know you must be terrible scared,” his voice dipped even lower, “but if I know Harrison, he’ll try to get you to safety.”
Interesting. Here was one outlaw urging her to trust another outlaw.
“Why would he do that?”
“Can’t rightly say. But I ain’t never seen him harm a living soul. Goes out of his way to avoid bloodshed.” He dipped his chin. “And he’s real respectful of the ladies. Harrison’s a gentleman through and through.”
Juliana smothered an unlady-like snort of disbelief. Gentleman? Hah. Her kidnapper resembled no gentleman she’d ever known.
Thinking perhaps this might be her last chance to broach the subject of faith, she leaned in close. “Remember what you said earlier about peace? And about not knowing where you’re headed when you die?”
His face grew solemn. “Yeah.”
“Jesus loves you, Art. He wants to free you from this life of sin. All you have to do is ask for forgiveness.”
“I ain’t never gonna be perfect.”
She placed a hand on his arm, willing him to understand. “He doesn’t expect us to be. We’re only human, after all.” She rushed to add, “But if we put our trust in God, He’ll help us when we’re weak and forgive us when we mess up.”
“What are you two whispering about?” a gruff voice interrupted. “Hatching an escape plan?”
Art clambered to his feet. “N-no, nothing like that.”
Catching Fitzgerald’s hot glare at the young man, Juliana’s temper took hold and she bolted to her feet.
“Leave him alone,” she cried, “he was just trying to be nice.”
With his bear paw of a hand, Fitzgerald seized her arm in a painful grip. “You watch how you speak to me, you good-for-nothing—”
“Don’t, Fitz,” Art protested. “Harrison won’t like it if you roughhouse his girl.”
Juliana could feel the bruises already starting to form where his fingers buried into her flesh. She winced in pain.
Where was Harrison?
Chapter Three
Evan was having trouble focusing on the conversation. He couldn’t shake Miss O’Malley’s stricken expression. He could only hope that with his challenge fresh in their minds, the men would think twice before approaching her. His ears strained for any sound of distress, but he could hear only the steady hum of voices and the occasional bark of laughter.
“What’s the story with this girl? Why did you bring her here?” Roberts propped an arm on the windowsill.
“Things got out of hand. She was making a scene right there in plain view, and then a gentleman friend of hers approached us. I had to think fast. Defuse the situation.”
“You like her,” he accused.
Evan gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ve always been partial to redheads.”
Where was Roberts going with this line of questioning?
The older man’s gray eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s a witness. You know what that means.”
Ah. Roberts was probing his motives and trying to decide if he had the stomach to do away with her. With a deep breath, Evan set out to convince
his leader that he didn’t have a conscience.
“I’ve been alone too long,” he said, forcing a lusty sigh. “A man needs female companionship every now and then, if you know what I mean. A few nights with her are all I need.”
“Like ’em unspoiled, I see.” The other man straightened. “Just don’t get attached, Harrison. You understand what you’ll have to do before you head back?”
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, he spoke without emotion. “I remember. Dead witnesses can’t testify.”
A malicious grin split Roberts’s bearded face. “Exactly.”
A high-pitched scream pierced the air. Evan’s heart plummeted to his knees. He jerked open the bedroom door in time to see Fitzgerald’s fist connect with Miss O’Malley’s cheek, the force of the blow knocking her to the floor.
White-hot fury shot through Evan, and he unsheathed his weapon. “Outside now,” he growled. “Just you and me.”
“Gladly.” Fitz took a step toward the door.
“No.” Roberts stepped between them. He threw Evan an exasperated glance. “Remember your job, Harrison. Or do I need to leave it to someone else?”
“No.” Evan fought for control over his emotions. So much was riding on the next few moments. “I’ll do it,” he ground out.
Deciding that it was high time to get out of there, he strode to the corner and hauled her up, ignoring her whimpers when all he wanted to do was comfort her. When he spoke, he made sure everyone heard him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he forced himself to say in as lewd a tone he could manage, “Let’s go have some fun.”
She shivered at his words. Evan felt nauseated, but he kept his expression blank. He looked at Roberts. “Give me a few days. I plan on takin’ my time.”
“Remember, Harrison, don’t come back until the matter’s taken care of.”
Evan tugged the brim of his hat in response, half dragging her out the door and down the steps. Sweat dotted his brow. Adrenaline surged through his body. He had to get her out of there before Fitz talked Roberts out of letting her go.
Her breaths were coming in pitiful gasps. Walking with her body tucked against his side, he kept one hand on each of her arms as he propelled her through the darkness. Her steps were halting, as if trying to slow their progress. He hoped she wouldn’t try to bolt again.
When he heard the cabin door slam open, he urged her to go faster. He didn’t waste a second glancing back. He would not fail her as he’d failed his brother, James. He would get her to safety or die trying.
Reaching his horse, he pushed her up into the saddle and swung up behind her, digging his heels into Lucky’s sides to jolt the big black into action. One hand holding the reins, he wrapped his free arm around her middle and held her snugly against him. They rode out in the opposite direction of the way they’d come. He wasn’t sure of their exact destination at this point. All he wanted was to put as many miles as possible between them and that cabin.
He felt her trembling. In response, he tightened his hold.
He despised what he’d had to do back there. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t hurt her, and look what he’d done. No doubt she believed what he’d said to the others and was scared out of her mind.
As soon as he felt confident that no one was following them, he’d stop and explain everything.
Juliana couldn’t stop shaking. The stark terror flowing through her body rendered her weak and limp. She had no power to fight her fate.
Her captor held her in a steel grip, as if afraid she’d jump from the horse’s back.
She resolutely focused on the movement of the horse’s muscles beneath her, the heavy night air rushing past her face, the sense of light and darkness as they moved between shadows and moonlight. She refused to let herself wonder where he was taking her.
He’d promised not to hurt her. Why had she thought for an instant that she could trust him to keep his word? He was a criminal, for goodness’ sake. How naïve could she be?
He’d seemed to want to keep her out of harm’s way, though. He’d hinted at the cruelty of the men he associated with and had warned her not to try and escape. Had that just been a sly ploy to get her to trust him? Maybe he’d wanted to keep her all to himself, so that after they dropped off the money he could sneak off and do whatever he wanted with her.
Her stomach clenched into a hard, tight ball. She wondered how she would survive the coming hours.
The entire right side of her face ached where Fitzgerald had hit her. The blow had been unexpected—she’d had no time to brace herself or move away. The pain was excruciating.
When he slowed the horse to a walk, she stiffened her back and tried to hold herself away from him. He didn’t seem to notice. Pulling his arm away, he slid off the horse and tied the reins to a low-slung tree branch. Then he was standing there with one hand on the saddle horn, waiting for her to dismount.
“Please,” she pleaded, unable to look at him, “don’t do this.” She was not above begging.
“Come here,” he said in a voice as smooth as velvet.
“I can’t.” She stared straight ahead, refusing to go willingly.
He moved closer, his chest pressing against her thigh. “Look at me.”
Angling her head down, she obeyed, fearing that if she didn’t he’d yank her out of the saddle. Standing in a patch of moonlight, his face was clearly visible except his eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never in my life laid a hand on a female, and I don’t aim to start with you.” He spoke each word slowly and distinctly, as if addressing a small child. “Please get down. We need to talk.”
Juliana hesitated. She’d always thought of herself as a good judge of character. Now she wasn’t so sure. His manner was straightforward enough. But he’d handled her roughly and had insinuated vulgar things in front of the other men.
“I know I scared you back there.” He grimaced, his white teeth glinting in the pale light. “Please believe me—it was all for show. I had to convince them that I meant business. I didn’t want to take the chance of one of them challenging my claim on you.”
“Your claim?”
“I’m the new guy. They don’t know me, and they don’t trust me. They have seniority. If any one of those men had decided he wanted you, Roberts would’ve sided against me. I would’ve had no say in the matter.” He watched her for a moment, then dropped his hand and stepped back. He held his palms up in front of his chest. “If I promise not to touch you and not to come within three feet of you, will you come down?”
He certainly seemed to be telling the truth. If not, he was an accomplished actor. There was the other matter of his weapon. He didn’t have to waste his breath being polite. He could’ve pulled his gun on her and ordered her down.
Juliana dismounted. When her feet hit the ground, her knees buckled. He moved to steady her, only to freeze midstep when he remembered his promise. She sagged against the horse’s side for support. To his credit, the large animal didn’t sidestep or flinch, just swished his tail at her.
Harrison passed a weary hand down his face, drawing in a deep breath. “Can I at least help you sit down?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Straightening, she managed to walk, albeit unsteadily, to what looked like a good spot before sinking to her knees. She didn’t take her eyes off him as he kneeled in the grass opposite her, his forearm resting across one bent knee.
She clasped her hands and remained silent, her eyes lowered to her lap. Her heartbeat was beginning to settle into a more natural rhythm. Surely if he intended to hurt her, he would’ve done so by now.
“This is going to sound dumb, but how is your face? I can’t see it—that’s why I’m asking.”
Her first instinct was to examine the area with her fingers, but she was afraid to touch it. “I don’t think my jaw is dislocated, though it hurts when I talk.”
“And the pain? Is it bearable? Unfortunately, I don’t travel with whi
skey, but I can make a poultice in the morning that will draw out some of the sting.”
At this point, the pain was so great that Juliana would’ve gladly accepted whiskey if he’d had any. Her cheek throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and each time she opened her mouth to speak, it felt as if she was being punched all over again.
He spoke before she had a chance to respond. “It’s that bad, huh?” He dropped his head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Then he looked at her. “I’m sorry. If I’d known—” He broke off midsentence, standing to his feet in one fluid motion. He began to pace.
“What happened with Fitzgerald? Why did he hit you?”
“You mean, what did I do to provoke him? You think I deserved this, don’t you?”
Juliana gasped when he dropped to his knees before her. “Never.” He raised his hand as if to touch her. Instead, he let it drop back to his lap. “You are not to blame for what happened.”
Staring at the man before her, she struggled to reconcile his gentle concern with the harsh intensity he’d displayed earlier in the day. Her mind flashed back to the moments before the other outlaws tumbled out of the cabin, and she remembered his reassuring words, his tender touch. Who was he, really?
“Art and I were talking,” she said softly. “Fitzgerald didn’t like it.”
His jaw hardened, his hand curling into a tight fist. “He tends to lose his temper on a whim.”
“Actually, I lost my temper first.”
“What?” Harrison’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”
“He was bullying Art. I couldn’t sit by and watch him do it when Art had done nothing wrong except befriend me.”
He said nothing. Just stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted an extra head.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she queried at last.
“Frankly, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know whether to compliment you or give you a good scolding. Standing up for Art was a sweet gesture, Miss O’Malley.” He cocked his head to one side. “On the other hand, it was an extremely foolish thing to do, given your situation.”