by Linda Broday
That name would survive long after they were dead.
Although ranching had never appealed to Sam, pride filled him each time he rode beneath the huge crossbar with the words Lone Star Ranch emblazoned on it. Sam still called it home whenever he got tired of chasing outlaws and needed to rest…or when he was stove up in the head. Yeah, his father made him feel safe.
If only the man would bend a little and see that Sam was no longer a kid. That would go a long way in ending their head butting. Sometimes he wanted to walk away and never return. But then in times like now, he needed his father, and no one else would do.
Screeching wheels protesting, the train jerked to a stop at the desolate water tank in the middle of nowhere.
“Time to go.” Sam went to open the door and jumped down into the pounding rain. Reaching up, he placed his hands around her waist and swung her to the muddy ground. The thick muck immediately buried her high-top boots.
The struggle to free herself would waste precious time. He scooped her up and carried her to the livestock car. She waited in the rain with the mailbag over her head while he lowered the ramp and went to get the horses. With the mounts still saddled, he only had to untie their reins. In no time, he led out every animal in there. Although conscious of possibly facing a trial for horse stealing, Sam wasn’t about to leave the outlaws any way of following. He’d report the horses taken and make sure their owners received compensation.
Without asking questions, Sierra pulled herself into the saddle of a mare. Handing her the reins of the other horses, he lifted the ramp back into place.
Sudden gunfire burst through the curtain of rain before Sam had finished. He jerked around and saw Andrew Evan standing on the five-foot-wide platform at the end of the passenger car, plastered to the side of the door, trying to dodge bullets from inside. Ear-splitting screams of women and children rose above the sound of the storm.
Thankfully, Sierra made herself small against the mare’s neck. Sam admired her quick thinking. Water poured from the brim of his hat as he wasted no time mounting Trooper and relieving Sierra of the extra sets of reins.
“We have to help him,” she yelled above the noise.
He glanced at Andrew, then back at her. He knew he should leave the gunslinger to battle Ford by himself. There was no time—not if he wanted to get Sierra to safety. But then, seven against one wasn’t very good odds, even for a man with lightning-fast reflexes. Sam couldn’t leave him.
A string of cusswords colored the soggy air. Sam ground out, “The damned fool is trying to save us.”
At the last minute, he dug his heels into Trooper’s side and swung around. Just as two of the Ford gang burst through the passenger door of the train car, Sam spurred the horse. He rode hard toward Andrew Evan and pulled him onto the back of his horse.
Bullets flew around them as the shaggy-haired outlaw, Isaac Ford, stood with his legs braced apart, guns blazing, looking for all the world like the devil he was.
Sam prayed Sierra had some skill at riding a horse and that she could keep up, at least until they got out of range.
But even if not, he’d make sure she and Andrew were safe. Another fight, another tough spot to escape, another outlaw to test Sam Legend’s mettle.
Calm washed over him. He’d do whatever he must.
* * *
Rain stung Sierra’s face, soaking her through and through except for where the coat protected. Her teeth chattered, though she didn’t cry out from the cold. It was no use. The men were just as miserable, and Sam didn’t have anything to shield him, not even a collar to turn up around his neck. So she rode in silence, thankful to be alive.
Once out of Ford’s range, Sam stopped to let off the man he’d saved. Selecting a black gelding from the horses, the man mounted up and, with the skies opening up with a pounding fury, they set off again. Sierra held tight to her reins. She’d lost the makeshift head covering somewhere in the mad dash, and the rain stung her face, blinding her. She followed the dim shapes for what seemed like miles until they slowed again.
“We can’t keep going,” Sam shouted over crashing thunder. Lightning flashed around them, showing his grim features. “Too dangerous for the horses.”
“I agree,” his partner answered. “There’s a place a little farther. Ford and his gang are afoot, and they’ll have to stop too, so we should be safe.”
Whatever it was would be better than this. Sierra couldn’t control her shivers, couldn’t feel the reins in her frozen hands. She closed her eyes, picturing a warm fire.
They took off at a trot through the downpour. She fought to stay in the saddle. After crossing one hill and rounding a bend, she could make out a structure through the fog. Thankfulness rushed over her when they stopped at last in front of what appeared to be an abandoned shack. The stranger was right—it offered little in the way of comfort, but she welcomed whatever it could provide. After tying the horses in a thick grove of cedar and oak where the overlapping branches offered respite from the weather, they took shelter in the dark, ramshackle dwelling. Sam held the door for Sierra and she rushed inside. While water steadily dripped from the ends of her limp hair and streamed off the men’s hats, she struggled to focus.
Her heart sank. From what she could tell, it was little better than outside.
Water poured through the roof of the shack on one side, splattering the plank floor and creating mud in the thick layer of dirt. Barely able to see in the heavy gloom, she stumbled over a broken chair. Sam’s quick reflexes saved her from a fall. After making sure she was steady, he and the gunslinger struck matches, and she got her first real glimpse of the moldy, decaying room. Other than the broken chair, a barrel, a small bench, and a mound in the corner under a piece of canvas completed her inventory. They were dismal surroundings, to say the least.
“What was that fool stunt back there, Evan?” Sam shot angrily.
“You’re welcome.” The gunslinger stood with his hands tense at his sides. “I bought you a little more time. Thought you could use it.”
“No one asked you to. You could’ve gotten us all killed.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. You stole my damn horse, Ranger.”
Though Sam had pushed back his hat, Evan still wore his so low it hid his eyes. Uneasiness crawled up her spine. She needed to see men’s eyes, to see what they held. Danger oozed from Evan, from the way he walked and talked and how his hands fell at his sides within easy reach of the gun.
Sam replied hotly, “I made sure Ford had no way of coming after us.”
“Well, it’s a good thing for you I didn’t keep my seat in that passenger car. That black gelding is mine, and any man wants to take him will answer to me.”
Her breath stuck in her chest. She stared at Evan’s low-slung holster and the deadly gun hanging at his side, fearing he’d draw and send a bullet into Sam. Freezing in her wet clothes, Sierra desperately tried to defuse the situation. “Gentlemen, would either of you have another match so we can get warm?” Theirs were nearly burned down now.
With a silent nod, Sam knelt in front of a fireplace made of river rocks to start a fire. “Sierra Hunt, meet Andrew Evan.”
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Andrew Evan shook her hand.
The two men were as opposite as night from day. She’d seen Evan’s type before, and usually steered clear of such men. Most women would think him handsome, with his dark features, high cheekbones, and a day’s growth on his jaw. His long, slender fingers drew her attention as he easily broke the rickety chair apart for kindling and handed the pieces to Sam. Those fingers, his elegant hands—they probably had as much power to end a life as to shuffle cards.
On the other hand, a Texas Ranger made his living riding into danger and saving people like her. True, he was familiar with his weapon also, but didn’t wear his gun belt low around his hips, relaying a deadly message.
A
tiny smile curved her lips. The dark-haired, gray-eyed ranger cast a tall shadow. She’d read a dozen or more articles about Sam Legend. Her brother had written about his exploits, and some of those stories she’d helped him publish in the paper. From those thrilling accounts, she’d come to know a little about Sam. He was all business and duty and sacrifice, proving it each time he rode out.
She’d asked Rocky once if he’d interviewed Sam. Her brother had said he’d tried several times, but the ranger had turned him down. Sam had insisted he was no hero.
She admired a man who sidestepped attention. The world was full of those who sought to be noticed. Maybe one day, after this was over, he might favor her with his story.
But first, she had to stay alive. Stay alive and find her brother. Everything else could wait.
Thoughts of Isaac Ford and his gang flooded back, bringing uncontrollable trembles. Staying alive would take some doing, because they were out to kill her over a map she didn’t have. Something told her she probably hadn’t seen the last of the gang.
They were still out there somewhere.
Sierra anxiously watched Sam still laying the fire. “I owe you both for risking your lives on my account. Isaac Ford meant to kill me.”
Though Sam kept working, he nodded. “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I hadn’t. I’m happy to help.”
“All the same, I owe you.” She moved to the overturned barrel and sat down.
Evan turned. “No thanks needed, pretty lady. We’ll have you warm in a minute. I’ll see if I can find some dry firewood, Legend. Or do I need to ask your permission first?”
“Of all the… I’m sure it won’t make any difference how I answer. You’ll do what you want anyway. Your kind always does.” With a scowl, Sam swung back to his task. Tension coiled between them, reminding Sierra of a deadly rattlesnake. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she studied the two, waiting for the strike. The hostility reminded her of everything she’d left behind in the mountains.
Everything that had sent her running for Texas.
And she was still running. When would it stop?
Four
Heavy silence saturated every inch, every dust particle of the small dwelling. Only the crackle of the fire and the spatter of water from the leaky ceiling provided relief as the two men faced each other.
Sam’s face hardened as he stood. “Whatever you’re trying to prove is out of line, Evan. Miss Sierra doesn’t need this. After I get her to safety, you and me will settle up.”
Though color crept up the gunslinger’s neck, he refrained from a reply. He swung to her. “My apologies, Miss Sierra. I’ve truly seen the error of my ways.” He stalked to the canvas-covered bulk in the corner and revealed a stack of old firewood. “Appears I don’t need to go out after all, Legend. Or do I need your permission to use it?”
“Please, I don’t want to cause trouble between you.” She hated discord, always had. From experience she knew anger made men say foolish things, which led to violent acts. But why were these two men at odds?
“You’re not,” Sam said firmly, building the fire up with the newly discovered wood. “Just a slight disagreement. Come and get warm.” He pulled the bench over for her.
Shivering, Sierra went to share the fire with him. He seemed far safer than Evan, with his taunting anger and face half wreathed in shadow. She turned to Sam, a question on her tongue. She was a practical woman and needed to get a clear picture. “Now what?” she asked quietly. “Where are you taking me?”
“I haven’t thought beyond getting you safe.” Sam’s gray eyes met hers in the firelight. “Is there anywhere I can take you? Any secure place?”
“No.” Sierra shivered as fear washed over her anew. “I won’t be safe anywhere as long as Ford runs free,” she whispered.
His glance steadied her. “You’re safe with me. That’s a promise.” Sam swung to Andrew Evan. “If anything happens to me, you take her to the safety of the Lone Star. It’s—”
“I know the place.”
“Then you won’t have a problem,” Sam snapped.
“Except for one. I’m parting company here.”
Sam’s eyes turned as icy as a winter’s day. “Might be an excellent idea. Why you didn’t stay on the train, I’ll never know.”
The dangerous undercurrent rippling between the two men filled Sierra with renewed unease. As one who kept secrets, she recognized all the signs of others who did, and the gunslinger had a fat, juicy one.
“I had no intentions of getting off until I saw you with the horses.” The edge in Evan’s voice sliced the air. “You seemed to have everything under control.”
“And yet, here you are,” Sam pointed out.
“Isaac Ford stomped into the passenger car with blood in his eye, saying he’d kill anyone helping the girl. Then he saw me and started shooting. Returning fire would’ve put a lot of people in harm’s way, so I ran to the exit.”
“What does Ford have against you? Did you meddle in his business too? You seem to make a habit of that.”
“What’s stuck in your craw, Legend?” Evan spewed. “Spit it out.”
Her breath caught as Sam scowled at the gunslinger. “Not in front of a lady,” he said quietly.
“Please, this hasn’t been easy for either of you and I’m to blame.” Sierra leaned closer to the fire to dry her hair. Funny, the power that small word held. Blame. Though her father hadn’t exactly said it in so many words, she’d seen blame in his eyes day after day until finally he’d put her on the stage in Billings. Something else had filled his eyes before he coldly turned his back…disgust, loathing. Then he’d climbed on his horse.
“Can’t you just trust each other? For me? Please?” she cried.
Sam scrubbed his face and turned, softening his voice. “You’re not to blame for anything. You’re a refreshing breath of air, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that until today. Meeting you reminded me of what I’ve lost of myself. I truly owe you a debt of thanks. And yes, Evan and I will learn to trust each other. For you.”
The fire knocked off a layer of chill in the cabin, and Sierra removed Sam’s coat. She handed it back to him. “Thank you—for trying to get along and the loan of this. Although the wool is damp, it’s better than nothing.”
He nodded his appreciation, sliding his arms into the sleeves. “Anything will help when I check the horses.”
Andrew stood. “I’ll go take a look around outside if it’s all right with the lawman. See if we have any visitors. Would you like anything, amiga?”
“Amiga”? What did that mean? His voice had softened when he’d addressed her, so she gathered it must be some kind of endearment. Her cheeks grew hot. Confused, she offered a smile and kept working on drying her hair. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Relief swept through Sierra when the door closed behind him. She reached to move the bench a little closer to the fire, only to catch her palm on the rough wood. Stinging pain raced through her. The cut Isaac Ford had made reopened.
Sam noticed the blood and gently lifted her hand. His eyes hardened as he examined the jagged cut. “You didn’t say how Ford did this.”
“He sliced my palm with a knife,” she whispered.
Sam touched the wound on her throat above her collar. “This as well?”
The steely grit of his tone might’ve frightened her if not for the concern in his gray eyes. She nodded.
“I’ll make him and his men pay for what they did.”
The bold statement took her aback. “I only want to distance myself from them, nothing more.”
“That’s not the way the Texas Rangers do things.” He removed a bandana from around his neck. “Best clean your cuts before they get infected.”
She reached for the bandana, but her attention swept to an angry red scar around the base of his throat.
&nbs
p; A forgotten memory hurled her back to Montana. She’d been twelve years old when she stumbled across a shepherd dangling from the gnarly branch of a white-bark pine. Chills had wracked her body. She’d never forgotten the terror on his bloated face, in his bulging eyes that stared unseeing into the beyond.
Sam Legend had faced that darkness.
The hair on her arms rose with the knowledge. Memories circled in her head: how she’d run to get her father, cutting down the poor shepherd, burying him under that same tree.
On unsteady legs, she stumbled to the steady stream of water pouring from the buckling ceiling. Wetting the cloth, she washed the blood from her hands, then her throat. She couldn’t shake that horrible image. Sam dangling by the neck, choking, facing the end. Her body trembled. She wondered if, at least in part, it would be similar to drowning. Nothing could be more agonizing than fighting to live in the face of death.
The despair that came in the end of knowing it wasn’t to be.
Sierra didn’t realize she stood rooted in place until a loud popping made her jump.
Sam met her worried gaze. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He paused. “But maybe you don’t feel safe anymore, the way me and Evan… I apologize for our bickering. This weather seems to have put us both in a foul mood.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“You should knock our fool heads together.” Sam rubbed his knee as though the joint ached. “What was the name of your newspaper?”
“My brother, Rocky, named it The Waco Explorer Inquisitor.”
Surprise—and maybe admiration—filled his gaze. “I’ve heard of it. You give an honest accounting of the facts, no matter how it rankles some. I have to say you hide your ink stains well.”
Sierra felt heat rush to her cheeks. “I try.”
“Then I should take you back to him. I’m sure he’s worried, wondering what’s happened to you.”
She shook her head, struggling to stay calm and matter-of-fact. “He’s disappeared. My brother has made enemies.”