He reached for her again and managed to grab an ankle. He used this to pull her to him while she wriggled and scurried and grunted from the effort of freeing herself. It was no use, of course, but she tried her hardest. By the time he pulled her all the way to the back end of the wagon, her hair had come undone from twisted braids on the back of her head and sweat beaded along her upper lip.
Damned if she wasn’t just about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen up close, what with the way her cheeks flushed when she was in a rage, and her blue eyes flashed. Her lips parted so she might draw short, angry breaths, and he imagined her breathing that way beneath him…
It had been far too long since he’d been to a sporting house, indeed.
This thought went through his head at the very second the woman in his arms to raised her knee and connected with that part of him that was beginning to stir against his wishes.
He groaned, pain exploding between his legs, the contents of his stomach threatening to let loose all over the woman’s flower-printed dress as he fell against her for the briefest of moments. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he endured pain a woman would never understand.
And it was that pain that drew his arm back, hand raised, ready to slap her hard enough to turn her head around for what she’d done.
Only he’d never struck a woman before, and he wasn’t about to just then. Pain or no pain. He stopped, hand still in the air, his teeth gritted and a snarl curling his upper lip.
He stopped and found she had not so much as flinched.
Why didn’t she flinch? Or raise her arms to protect herself, or scream, or something?
She met his gaze head-on, clear and frank. Like she was daring him to do it. Like she wasn’t the least bit scared.
His hand dropped to his side. “Who are you?” he breathed, still aching horribly and not just a little bitter, but more surprised by her than anything else.
She made no reply. He did not expect her to.
“Come.” He did what he could to avoid limping as he led her the short distance to the fire, where Zeke and Travis made a clear point of avoiding his gaze. She arranged herself on the blanket Zeke had spread out, making a great deal of fuss over being unable to use her hands.
As if he cared just then, his private bits swollen and aching as they were. If her damned hands fell off, it would serve her right.
He held onto that length of rope, though. Satan himself could not have convinced him to let go. He sat nearer the men, away from her—she rolled over, her back to them—and looked around.
“What do you make of that?” Travis asked, shaking his head with a smile which Jed knew belied his blank confusion.
“She didn’t even flinch,” Zeke marveled in a whisper.
What did Jed make of it? He had a few ideas, though they were nothing he wished to share with the others.
“C’mon,” he said instead, gesturing to their blankets. “Better get some sleep. It’s a long way to Carson City.”
He, for one, was certain he wouldn’t sleep a wink. Not with her over there, likely plotting a way to escape.
Not with the image of her unflinching face branded on his memory.
7
How dare he?
Of all the vile, contemptible pieces of trash, he was it. The very worst. They were terrible men, the other two, but he was the worst.
Jed. His name made her nose wrinkle in distaste as she remained with her back turned to them yet still connected to him by the rope he held. Would he ever let go that she might escape?
It mattered little. She could hardly run away while her hands were tied, could she? How would she manage to untie herself?
And what would she do even if she managed? Where was she? How would she get anywhere? On foot? It would take untold days, maybe, to arrive at a town or village. If she was lucky.
She might starve. She might fall prey to wolves or men even worse than the ones she was with.
She could not take that chance, especially with the baby in mind.
Not yet. Not until she was in better shape. Hands untied at least, able to mount a horse and ride away. She’d need to practice patience, then.
Patience? She knew all about patience. She’d been patient her entire life. Always waiting for something.
Waiting for her father to come back, when she hadn’t understood how impossible that was. Waiting for John to finally show her kindness, which he never had.
Waiting for the tickets from Mark so she could finally make her escape.
She could wait a few more days, until Jed no longer felt she had to be tied—after all, he wanted to be her friend, didn’t he? Friends did not leave each other tied at the wrist.
Memories of the men on the stage caused her to shift in place, uncomfortable. Her heart sank when she wondered who had been shot. The men were innocent. They didn’t deserve it. These brutes thought they controlled who lived and who died, as if it was up to them.
Cowards. That was what they were. Men who could not face life honestly, who for some reason would not find gainful employment and would instead steal from others who’d earned what was theirs.
When she thought of what poor Mr. Lang would do without his beloved pocket watch. He was so clearly proud of it, always wiping away the smudges left by his fingerprints before returning it to his inside pocket.
And the man who’d sat beside her. A kind man whose name she’d never gotten. Was he all right, or had they hurt him badly? Was he one of the men they’d shot? She doubted he would have tussled with a gunman—though there was no doubt of his courage, speaking out as he had, he did not strike her as a fool.
Only young, headstrong fools thought they would come out the better in a battle against rifles.
She jerked herself into a ball for protection, bringing her knees up and jerking on the rope some as she drew her hands to her chest.
The rope jerked back.
That insufferable man.
She jerked harder this time, her teeth set in determination.
He all but pulled her onto her back.
“Do you mind?” she hissed, rolling over to face him with hatred burning in her heart.
The smug grin he wore only served to deepen that hatred.
He held up his hand, the end of the rope in his fist. “Mind what? Making sure you don’t jerk my arm clean off as I’m tryin’ to get some shut-eye?”
“You could release the rope,” she suggested in a whisper, aware of the other two men who appeared to be sleeping.
“Oh, yes. That would be just about the smartest move I ever made.”
“I didn’t mean untie me. I meant releasing the rope. I don’t need you to hang onto it.”
“This isn’t about what you need. It’s about what I need.”
“Where do you think I’m going to go, hands bound as they are? I have no horse, no way to get anywhere and no way to free myself. And you took me away from the stagecoach without allowing me to bring my few things with me. I have nothing but the clothes on my back.”
He gave a knowing smile. “Ah. So you’ve been thinking it over, I see.”
Oh, damn him! Thinking he knew everything! She cursed him, as well as herself for blushing, and hoped the darkness covered it up.
He sat nearer the fire than she, and for once there was enough light to see his entire face by.
She cursed him again for being so handsome.
His dark brown hair waved gently down to his collar, thick and shining in the firelight. She’d imagined his mouth to be thin, but instead, it was full and well-shaped. Gray eyes stared at her from beneath thick brows, and when she did not look away a corner of that well-shaped mouth pulled up.
“Yes?” he challenged, raising his brows. “Do you have somethin’ to say?”
“Nothing you’ll want to hear.”
“No, and you don’t need to say a word,” he smirked. She wished she could wipe it off his face. “The way you stare at me tells me you’d like to kill.”
If there was one thing she’d learned, it was the fickle nature of justice. Those who deserved it most hardly ever saw it.
He took this in and soon nodded. “No, I reckon you don’t—but that doesn’t mean you don’t have it in you. If you could, you’d kill me right this very minute.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know killers. What else do I need to know?”
She sat up, leaned forward on her bound hands—they were fairly numb, but her arms could still support her. “You know nothing about me. You know nothing about what I’ve seen, what I’ve done. And yet I’ve still never fired a gun at an unarmed man with the intention of killing him.”
“And I’ve only ever done it to protect myself.” She scoffed. He glowered. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Why should I believe you? You led an attack on a group of innocent people tonight.”
“Nobody’s innocent.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? Does that make it easier to do what you do because you believe we’re all guilty of something?”
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Why was she pushing him this way? She’d never been so bold, not ever in her life. It was as though everything she’d ever held back—every tart word, every accusation she’d wished she could hurl at the men who visited her mother, at her husband—came rushing forth to be heard at last.
She held her breath, wondering if she’d finally gone too far. Waiting for what was surely to come. She’d endured physical pain before. If pain was the price to pay for speaking her mind, for finally having her say, that was the way it would simply have to be.
She would take her punishment and gladly if it meant setting him straight on who he truly was.
Yet instead of dragging her across the ground using that rope, instead of coming to her with a fist instead of an open hand this time, instead of instructing one of his men to deal with her, he merely picked up the hat he’d left by his side and rested it over his face, leaning back against his saddle as though going to sleep.
But he never let go of the rope.
The tension which had built over them popped like a soap bubble, leaving her somewhat breathless and unable to believe her nerve. She was fairly certain she’d won something. A battle without a name.
When she lay down again, she was smiling in relief, in disbelief. She had spoken her mind and had not suffered punishment.
Yet.
Her smile disappeared.
He might have punishment in mind for her. They would be together a long time—much longer than she wished, naturally, but especially with her condition, as it was and her haste to arrive in Carson City.
What would he do? Would her daring seem worthwhile then?
Exhaustion got the better of her before she could grasp and hold onto the image of his pained, enraged expression as he’d pulled back to strike her—before she had time to remind herself that he had not struck when he might have. That he had held himself back.
8
“Can you feel it?”
Travis did not need to tell Jed what “it” was. The sizzle in the air. There were moments when he was unable to take an easy breath.
“Yeah, I do,” he grunted. “Sky’s gonna light up today. Sooner rather than later.”
The three of them met up in the center of the camp they had just taken down, looking at one another for some clue of what to do next. It still felt unnatural for Tom to be missing.
And they’d left his body lying out there, in the middle of nowhere. That would stick with him forever, another sin for him to carry. One of so many.
“What’ll we do?” Zeke asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he liked to do when he was at a loss. “We take off now, we might get caught up in it. We stick around…”
He didn’t need to finish. They couldn’t afford to hang back for even a half a day, being so close to the scene of the robbery. Lawmen would ride out in all directions, covering miles at a stretch.
But a storm would keep them inside, too. Nobody familiar with riding out in the middle of open land took a chance during a lightning storm. Jed could still vividly remember stories of men who’d dared it and wound up fried to a crisp.
He looked at the woman, where she sat in the wagon. What had he been thinking, taking her? Sure, he wanted the money. Needed it. But she was a pain in the neck he’d rather not suffer. Her stare was heavy, expectant.
“I say we start movin’, then stop the minute we see the first bolt. I don’t wanna take chances, but I don’t wanna take the chance of hanging around and gettin’ ourselves found here, either.”
“Sounds right to me,” Travis agreed. He’d be riding beside Jed in the wagon, his wounded shoulder still too tender to allow for decent riding. Zeke mounted up, and they started out.
She’d been quiet all through the morning, not saying a word even to protest Jed guarding her while she squatted behind a bush. He hadn’t watched, of course—that was never his predilection—but she hadn’t raised a fuss. Hadn’t even shot him a filthy look, which she was so good at.
What was she planning? There had to be something on her mind.
As if he needed something else to worry about.
Ominous clouds rolled in from the west, coloring the already gray sky a deeper shade. The hair on the back of Jed’s neck stood up from the charge in the air. He laid the reins to the backs of the team, spurring them on to greater speed. They needed to cover some ground, any ground, before there came to time to stop.
A glance over his shoulder told him Mrs. Furnish rode with her back to him, staring out at the land they left behind. What a strange woman. Strange and frustrating as hell.
If she screamed and carried on, he would deal with that. He expected it. Yes, he’d warned her against it, but he hadn’t expected the woman to listen.
Something told him he would rarely get what he expected from her.
“You all right back there?” he asked. For some reason, he couldn’t let her be. Maybe because she wouldn’t let him be, taking over his thoughts as she did.
“Yes.”
That was it. One single word.
Travis chuckled, which told Jed he needed to hide his frustration better. He didn’t need everyone knowing the way the woman got under his skin. It was weakness, and while he didn’t mind the occasional joke made at his expense, this was something else entirely.
Besides, she might overhear their joking, and he didn’t need her getting ideas.
“How much you think we ought to ask for her?” Travis asked in a low voice.
Jed thought this over, doing some quick sums in his head. Sums were always something he’d been good at. He didn’t even need a pencil and paper to add up long columns of figures.
Land was around five dollars an acre, and he’d want around five hundred. Nothing too much—he wasn’t trying to start at the top. Ten acres per head would leave him at fifty head of cattle, to begin with. He’d need supplies to build him a cabin, equipment…
And this was just for him. What about Travis and Zeke?
Damn it all. He hadn’t thought about that. He couldn’t ask for one figure for himself and another for the other two. Anything they received would have to be split three ways. So whatever he needed, he’d have to multiply by three.
Would Furnish be willing to pay such an amount?
What if he started out smaller and only purchased the land? Or if he purchased less land and fewer head of cattle?
Another glance over his shoulder. Would she know how much money her husband would be able to get his hands on in a short amount of time? While Jed was not a wealthy man and while he hadn’t been on a working ranch in over ten years, he knew much of a rancher’s wealth was tied up in his land, his stock.
He didn’t have it lying around in bags in a bank, or in a safe in his home.
He might be able to ask her if he could only warm her up a bit. That holier-than-thou attitude of hers was a real problem. She’d have to start being human and stop looking down on them.
On him, in particular. Zeke and Travis didn’t exactly have a way with women, and not because neither of them was particularly easy on the eyes. They were about as gentle and understanding as a pair of bulls—the sorts of gals working in the sporting houses were all they were fit for. Women who didn’t expect a man to have manners. Just money.
He, on the other hand, could at least put on an air of gentility if he needed to. He’d witnessed it enough as a boy—the deference, the chivalrous behavior. It had been a lot of years since he’d spent a decent stretch of time with a woman, having been in the presence of men the rest of it. His skills would be a bit rusty, what skills there were.
All he could do was try.
And he thought he knew where to start once clouds of an even more ominous nature began piling up in the distance. Unlike those already spanning the sky, these were greenish. A bag sign.
“We’d better see about finding cover,” he announced, then over his shoulder, “You needn’t worry. We’ll get under shelter as soon as we can.”
Travis shot him a questioning look, but fortunately kept his mouth shut. This was not the time for questions.
“We can set up the tent wherever we go,” he decided, the horses now running at a moderate pace as Jed strove to outrun the storm. It looked to be a bad one—already a cool wind moved across his overheated skin, telling him of the threat of hail from those clouds. “That’ll be good for her.”
“Her? What about us?” Travis asked.
Jed shot him a warning look. Just when he’d been sure his partner would stay quiet. “You and Zeke can cover up the wagon and huddle inside or even underneath for all I care.”
“And you?”
Jed glared at him as long as he dared before turning his attention to the team and whether they remained on a straight course. The weather had them riled up, too.
A Highwayman's Mail Order Bride Page 5