The Gunfighter's Pursuit (Ride Hard Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  Looking down at her prone form lying on the bed. Her pale, white skin in stark contrast to the vibrant blues, yellows and reds of the quilt. Pale except of course for the gorgeous pink blush that blossomed over each lush cheek. He had marked her. He watched as another shudder wracked her body. He couldn’t wait to feel what all those tremors and quivers felt like when his cock was buried deep inside of her.

  His deeply tanned hands looked harsh and almost dirty as they parted her thighs, catching just the barest glimpse of her hidden passage. He would conquer that entrance next, he thought with anticipation.

  Gripping his cock, he pushed the swollen tip between the folds of her cunny…and pushed.

  Her body resisted.

  He pushed harder.

  Emma’s back arched. Her small hands fisted the quilt in desperation. Everything was moving so fast. The room seemed to spin. There were no thoughts in her head. Only sensations. Twisting, churning, yearning sensations.

  Placing his thumb just below the deep, ridge of the head of his cock, Horn thrust his hips forward. Feeling the press of her body as he compelled it to relent. There was an increase in pressure, an increase in tension and then a release, the head of his cock pushed in.

  Emma gasped. Her upper body shot off the bed. “Oh! Wait! I don’t think! This isn’t…I…you don’t…”

  Horn couldn’t hear her. He was lost in the feeling of her warm, tight body as it kissed his cock. Willing himself once more to go slowly, at least at first, Horn started to push forward.

  As the pressure and the unfamiliar feeling of fullness increased, so did Emma’s panic. “Horn! No! You can’t! You don’t…” Twisting her body, she reached an arm back. She could only grasp the loose flap of his denim pants. Emma tugged furiously.

  Two things became immediately apparent to Horn. Emma was no longer under a haze of lust…and she had never had a man before.

  “God Dammit!” he roared as he backed away.

  Emma screamed as she scurried to the other side of the bed. Staring wide eyed at the man before her. He looked as if possessed.

  Horn stared back.

  She was curled up on the bed. Her bottom red from his hand. Her pantalets tangled about her ankles. Her hair a wanton mess. And he had been about to take her maidenhead as if she were some two-bit whore. He had been an officer in the Southern Army for chrissake. A gentleman before war broke out. Had the War Between the States and his quest for revenge changed him so much? Had his new chosen profession erased all that he was? Even now as he looked into those luminous eyes staring at him with confusion and rising anger, he could feel the last vestiges of the man he used to be falling away. He wanted to grab her by the hips and plow into her like an animal. Take what was his, what he had marked. Even now he could feel his blood surge at the thought that no man had claimed her…claimed what was now his.

  What he had no right to claim. No matter what her secret or sins may be. He was a gunfighter, a drifter, a man bent on revenge.

  “God Dammit!” he shouted again to the rafters as he buttoned up his pants. Horn stormed out of her private quarters to the school room beyond.

  At first afraid to move, Emma finally started to crawl off the bed when Horn stormed back into the room.

  If possible he looked even more imposing, once again attired in his black vest and Stetson with his Colts strapped to his hips.

  Marching straight to her, Emma fell back, cringing into the bed covers. Horn leaned over her, bracing his hands on the large wooden log that served as a headboard.

  “I don’t know what I am going to do with you yet but until I decide, you stay put. Do you hear me? Try to run and I will track you down. And Emma, make no mistake. You will not like the punishment if I have to chase after you,” warned Horn through clenched teeth. His whole body vibrated from rage and suppressed lust.

  Emma could only stare open mouth. This man was taking over her life.

  “Answer me,” he shouted.

  “I…I…” She could only stutter.

  Horn grabbed her by the chin and looked fiercely into her eyes. “Say, I will obey.”

  Defiance flashed in Emma’s eyes.

  “Say it or I’ll finish what I started, maiden be damned,” he commanded.

  “I’ll obey.” The sentence was uttered as if she had sawdust in her mouth but it was enough for him.

  Horn straightened to his full height. “I have a job to do. I have to root out the remaining crew that robbed the Black Canyon Coach a few months back.” He didn’t usually tell people his business but Emma was different. Everything about her was different. “Should only take a few days. When I’m finished, I’ll return and you will tell me everything.” By then maybe he will have decided what version of his self he was going to honor where she was concerned; his past or his present. Without another word, he turned and left. He didn’t see the expression on Emma’s face.

  The Black Canyon Coach robbery. Emma Fairfax, murderess!

  Emma closed her eyes. His final words sealed his fate. She had no choice.

  To protect herself, she was going to have to kill Jackson Horn.

  Chapter 4

  Emma’s hands shook so hard she could barely hold the rifle.

  She was perched on a small rock outcropping above a sheltered canyon a few miles outside of town. Below there was a meager encampment. Just a horse, a banked fire and a bedroll. Since the presence of a dangerous gunfighter was the talk of the town, it didn’t take Emma long to learn that Horn preferred to camp outside of town rather than stay in any of the saloon rooms or miner camps.

  Wiping her sweaty palms along the length of her serviceable, heavy, black wool skirt, she gripped the butt of the Henry rifle again. As Alice had warned, the weather had turned suddenly. It was cold with a biting wind. The skies overhead were an ominous, cloudless gray.

  There was movement down in the camp below. Although there was no sun in the sky, she knew it was nearing dusk. Horn hunted at night. Not animals. Men. His prey usually prowled saloons and brothels. They were easier to pick off that way. It was one of the reasons why he preferred to camp outside of town. He could sleep undisturbed during the day.

  She had to act now. She had decided taking one life was enough to blacken her soul. She couldn’t take another. She was going to just fire on his camp enough to scare him away. A man like Horn had to have enemies. He would probably assume that a posse was after him and skip town. Emma’s stomach twisted at the thought of what she was about to do. It was the sinful act of firing a gun at another human being she assured herself. Not the idea that she would never see the domineering, stubborn, handsome, too-charming-for-his-own-good man again.

  Emma cocked the lever of the rifle. Cringing as the small click sounded like thunder to her anxious ears. He was down in the canyon below; he couldn’t possibly have heard of course. It was just nerves. She knew how to fire the rifle. She had been taught by one of the fathers of her students. The rifle was left at the school in case of coyotes or Indians. It was an old Henry rifle left over from the war. She had sixteen shots before it would have to be reloaded. It was far better suited than the Colt from the robbery she had hidden away in an old traveling trunk.

  Suppressing a shudder of remembrance from the last time she held a gun, Emma closed her eyes. Saying one last prayer of apology, she opened her eyes…and squeezed the trigger.

  Horn was tossing the dregs of his coffee over the dying embers of the fire when he heard it. The unmistakable click of a rifle lever.

  He had been preparing to leave camp. It had been a successful few days. The crew hitting the Black Canyon stages was run by an idiot braggart named Clayton Hase. Man wouldn’t win a dog fight with an extra pair of fists. Since a job went bad a few months back they’d been running with a greener crew. It was easy to track them down since none of them were smart enough to lay off the whiskey or women with their new found wealth. He had already sent word to Laster the crew were Sheriff Doolin’s problem now, not his. Well, most of them an
yway. Like Doolin said, Horn wasn’t known for bringing all his prey in on the hoof, just those who cooperated.

  In a few days, he would meet with Laster and finally learn the name of the man who had stolen four years of his life and everything he owned. It seemed liked another lifetime ago. When he was a different man. Then he had laid claim to large tracks of land in the Oklahoma territory. He had a nice ranch house and countless heads of cattle. Then one night a posse shows up. Drags him out of bed and off to some make-shift shack which served as the area’s jail. He was being accused of killing a fellow rancher’s fourteen-year-old son. The charges were ludicrous. Everyone had a hard time believing it was him, even the boy’s father. Problem was all these witnesses came forward claiming they had seen him in the area. Someone even claimed he had threatened the boy.

  He was being framed.

  It took months for Horn to find out why but never who. By then it was too late.

  Someone had known the railroads would be coming through the territories. This person knew Horn owned a significant portion of land and was well-respected among the settlers. As an educated man, Horn would see they were not cheated if they decided to sell. It was also widely known Horn would refuse to sell if approached. He had made himself a target. Framing him for murder got him out of the way and allowed this person to steal his land and his cattle right out from under him while he rotted in jail waiting to be hanged.

  It was the damn war that saved him. Oklahoma being only a territory, they weren’t as set in their ways law-wise as the other states. It was just a matter of course for the town marshal to leave the jail door open one night and tell him to get the hell out town. With no coin and a murder charge hanging over his head, Horn went the only place a man could go under those circumstances…to war.

  Thank god he met Mason, Brandon and Michael and had them to distract him during those long, bloody years. They lost Brandon at the Battle of Honey Hill. Mason was married, and hell, who knew where Michael was? Now the war was over. There was nothing going to get in the way of his revenge. Nothing.

  Over the years, he always came close. Finding a deed with a business name here. A bill of sale with a name there. Always leading to a false name or a ghost business. But finally, the man had amassed too much wealth to keep shifting it around, to keep hiding it in the shadows. His trail had become too long. Finally, Horn was close.

  Perhaps this was a definite sign he was indeed getting close if the object of his revenge sent someone to kill him. Horn knew it wouldn’t be the man himself, he never got his hands dirty, and that is how he has evaded both Horn and the law for so long.

  Most people did not realize how remarkably far even the slightest sound traveled in canyons such as this. His friend Mason often ribbed him for preferring camp to the comforts of a hotel or cabin. Sound didn’t carry in a clapboard building clustered with people and rooms.

  Horn dove for his gun belt and rolled behind an obliging rock just as the bullets started to fly. Pulling both Colts free of their holsters, he used the barrel of one to tip his Stetson back to clear his vision. Judging by the angle of the shots, the shooter was on the ridge above him. Dammit. The ridge provided shelter but also made the perfect ambush nest. Horn closed his left eye, focusing in on the stone outcropping with his right. If he could spot the shooter, he could fire off a shot. Even at this range, he was certain he would hit him. Most people would be wasting their ammo to even attempt a shot like that from this distance with a Colt, not Horn.

  Horn caught a flash of color. Then it was gone. He was forced to duck behind the rock again. More bullets.

  Something was off. The bullets weren’t even coming close to his position. Even a greenhorn with a gun would be able to tell his only cover was this rock. Why the hell was the shooter firing bullets twenty paces to the right?

  Just as suddenly as they started the bullets stopped. There was a long pause, then the sound of horse hooves riding hell for leather out of the canyon.

  Horn hopped on his own horse and raced up to the rock ridge. He had no interest in chasing after an unknown shooter. That’s how you got yourself killed. You learned about your enemy first. It would be easy enough to follow the horse tracks later. Alighting from his horse, he surveyed the area. Spent .44 cartridges, a Henry rifle probably, judging by how quickly the shots were fired off with no reload. He looked in the dirt expecting boot tracks, instead there were strange swirls and whirls in the dust. These were the marks a lady’s skirt made when it dragged. Horn sniffed the air. There, lingering on the brisk breeze, was the unmistakable scent of rose water.

  Just then the first snowflakes began to fall.

  Chapter 5

  Emma burst into the chilly, dark classroom. A gust of snow and wind following in her wake. It had taken her several hours to return the horse to Alice’s barn, leave the rifle with Jed making up some excuse about it needing to be cleaned and then trudge back to the school house. In that time, the snow had risen with alarming speed. It was already above her boots, hampering her wool skirts. Turning, she struggled to close the heavy wooden door as the howling icy wind pushed back.

  Just then, a muscled forearm appeared over her shoulder to slam the door shut.

  Emma turned with a shriek.

  “Someone’s been a very bad little bunny,” Horn drawled as he towered ominously over her petite frame.

  All she could manage was a tiny squeak of fear in response. He was here. Her shots hadn’t scared him away. Just the opposite. It was then, Emma’s eyes adjusted to the darkened interior.

  Of all that was sacred! He was naked as a jay bird! Well, not quite naked but scandalously close enough. He wore no shirt, boots or stockings. Horn stood before her in only a pair of trousers, with his chest on full display. It was darkly tanned with deep ridged muscles. The top half covered in black hair which tapered to a point over his flat stomach. He was all brute, animal strength.

  Horn leaned in close. His warm lips grazing her still chilled ones. “You’re mine now,” he seethed.

  Gone were any lingering moral quandaries regarding her maidenhood. When the woman tried to kill you, it tended to loosen any societal reins in that regard.

  Capturing her about the waist, Horn lifted her high. Pressing her body against his own, ensuring she could feel the hard, ridge of his cock even through her heavy duster and wool skirt.

  Emma seized his shoulders for purchase but immediately let go. The contact of his skin was…alarming. It felt hot…intimate.

  “Put me down,” she ordered crisply.

  “No.”

  He shifted his grip till his arms were crossed just under her bottom. Emma closed her eyes in mortification. Her breasts were practically pressed against his chin. She had foregone a corset and dressed simply for her sinful task. She had on only a thin, white linen blouse and a practically threadbare chemise. With the canvas duster opened at the collar, he had only to glance down to learn she was not properly attired. The two pieces of fabric protecting her modesty were so thin she could actually feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. Her nipples tightened to two hard peaks at the mere thought. Oh why! Oh why, had she not worn a corset!

  Horn marched her towards the private quarters of the school house. With every step he could feel the brush of her nipples against his collar bone. He rocked his step a bit higher to purposefully jiggle her body, causing the weight of her lush breasts to bounce against his chest. He couldn’t fucking wait to get that blouse off her body and lay eyes on them. He had deprived himself of the pleasure a few days ago. It was an oversight he would not be repeating tonight. By the end of the night, he would know whether her nipples were a light or dusky pink. Whether she came harder if he swirled his tongue around to the left or the right of her little bud and what her skin tasted like.

  Kicking aside the blanket doorway, Horn set Emma in front of the fire.

  Emma looked about her momentarily stunned. Compared to the cold, blueish interior of the classroom, this room glowed an inviting soft
yellow. The stone fireplace which she had only managed a meager flame at best, blazed with warmth and light. There was the sweet scent of fried apples mixed with the scent of corn biscuits and pork. A welcome scent to someone who had been surviving mainly on partially boiled winter vegetables from the school garden and the rare egg brought to her by one of the children when she wasn’t invited to dine with one of the families. Taking in more of the room, she saw a large saddle perched in the corner. Precariously perched across the back of one of her spindle chairs was a set of worn saddlebags. On the table were a pair of Colts. One was taken apart, as if he had been cleaning it while waiting for her return. Strangely, over the second chair was what looked like a single latigo, the heavy leather strap used to tighten and secure the cinch on a saddle.

  Someone’s been a very bad little bunny.

  His greeting came back to her. She had been so stunned to see him she didn’t register what he said. A bad little bunny. He couldn’t possibly have guessed it was her in the canyon today? Or had he learned about her involvement with the stage coach robbery and Clayton? Emma’s head hurt. It was getting hard to keep track of all her sins.

  Reluctantly, Emma’s eyes trailed back to Horn. He had been standing a few feet away. Arms crossed over his massive chest, watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes.

  “Strip.”

  Surely she did not just hear him correctly?

  “I beg your pardon?” Emma clutched the lapels of the canvas duster close to her throat.

  “Oh, you’re going to beg all right, but that part comes later. Strip.” His voice raw and dark with authority.

  “I…I…don’t have to listen to you,” stated Emma with lift of her chin and a great deal more confidence than she felt.

  Horn took one foreboding step forward. Snatching the lapels from her small hands, he wrenched the coat down off her shoulders. Pinning Emma’s arms to her side. “You see. That’s where you’re wrong.”