Cowboy Christmas

by Carol Finch, Elizabeth Lane

  She drew back in alarm. “Detain me?”

  Mick’s challenging gaze lifted from the revolver. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Behind them, the security agent wrestled with the ropes around his wrists. No longer gagged, thanks to the conductor who helped untie him, he jumped to his feet.

  “There’s been a large amount of money found in Miss Gibson’s possession, sir, of which there’s considerable question regarding its rightful ownership.” Mick doubted the man was a day over twenty, but he took his duties as seriously as someone far more experienced. He straightened to his full height, clearly exerting his authority. “I intend to find the truth in where that money came from, even if it means I have to have her arrested to do so.”

  “Arrested?” Allethaire’s fingers flew to her mouth in horror.

  “Yes. You’ve been accused of stealing the money. The authorities will ascertain the truth.”

  “It’s stolen, all right,” Mick gritted.

  And the longer he stood there, the farther away the money got, and the harder it would be to find Reggie and his gang, too.

  But something kept Mick where he was, with his boots planted on the floor. Something in Allethaire’s expression—genuine and vulnerable and terrified—that coiled in his chest and inspired in him a fierce need to shield her from all that made her hurt.

  Right along with a healthy dose of guilt from how he’d failed her three years ago on account of his part alongside Woodrow Baldwin in holding her hostage, making her an innocent victim for his own selfish gain.

  “The sheriff will attend to the robbery. It’s his job,” the agent said, giving Allethaire a stern look. “Mine is to protect this train and everything on it. I simply want to ask you a few questions.”

  “You have no right to accuse me,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, miss,” the agent said.

  “The hell you’re not,” Mick growled.

  The agent hurled him an imperious glance. “We must know what that money was doing in her trunk. The draft says—”

  “I don’t know how that draft got there,” she said.

  “And yet the lock on your trunk is in perfect condition, with no sign of tampering.”

  “But—”

  “And you alone have the key.”

  The blood drained from her cheeks. She trembled from the implication of the evidence mounting against her.

  “She’s staying, mister,” the conductor said to Mick. “But we’ve got to notify the sheriff immediately.”

  “You do that,” Mick drawled.

  But his mind was working. Gauging the distance between Allethaire and the door he hadn’t yet bothered to shut. The door opposite the one which the conductor inched toward…

  Still holding the revolver high, the trainman slid a quick glance at the security agent. “Keep your eye on her, Richard. Here’s your gun. Let’s hope she’ll cooperate, and you’ll have no need of it.”

  Allethaire made a tiny sound in the back of her throat, revealing her dismay that they could think her dangerous enough to shoot. That they had no intention of letting her go anytime soon.

  The little sound convinced Mick he had to act fast, and he took keen note of the seconds ticking by. Reggie was long gone by now. So was the money. And Mick had to get the hell off this train…

  Behind him, through the open doorway, a woman’s shocked cry jolted his thoughts. The deep rumble of male voices revealed growing outrage, and he realized the passengers in the adjoining car had surged together to see what was happening, where Allethaire had gone.

  “There she is!”

  “But where is the ruffian who took her?”

  Mick didn’t have to turn around to recognize the German-laced accent in Margaret Butterfield’s voice. He wasn’t surprised to learn she was on the train; most everyone in Great Falls knew she closed up her restaurant every year at Christmastime to visit her daughter in Cheyenne. In the few years since he’d become acquainted with her, he’d learned she always came back two days early, so she could cook up meals for those who needed them on Christmas Day.

  “He’s run off with his gang, Margaret,” Mick said.

  He heard her quick gasp. “Mick? Mick Vasco? Is that you? Why, whatever are—?”

  “Regardless of what happens in the next few minutes, Margaret,” he said, keeping a grim-eyed watch on the conductor and security guard. “Let Trey know what happened. You hear me?”

  She hesitated, absorbing the information. “Yes, but—”

  “Paris, too. Right away.”

  “Paris?”

  Mick heard Margaret’s shock. He saw it in Allethaire’s face.

  “No. Not my father. Don’t say anything to him,” she said. “Don’t you dare, Margaret!”

  “Paris? Gibson? The industrialist?” the conductor asked.

  “You’re his daughter?” The security agent gaped at her in stunned surprise.

  Before she could respond, Mick took advantage of their distraction, stepped forward and hooked his arm around Allethaire’s shoulders, hauling her against him, her back to his chest. With the other hand, he held the cocked Winchester leveled and steady. “That’s right. She is. And I’m taking her with me.”

  On a swift inhalation of breath, she arched and writhed against him.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she grated.

  “It’s for your own good.”

  Mick tightened his hold. He didn’t know how he was going to get them both out the door without the security agent burning some powder on them. He hadn’t forgotten the overanxious passengers behind him, either, hell-bent on preventing their escape.

  But instinct told Mick he had to try. Allethaire was a wealthy woman in her own right, so why would she steal someone else’s money? Besides, Mick knew how much she hated outlaws. Knew it firsthand from those days three years ago when he’d been involved in her kidnapping. Made no sense she’d want to become one herself.

  He didn’t understand the evidence against her, but he knew one thing—he didn’t trust Reggie any farther than he could spit. Whatever scheme the man was involved in had put Allethaire in a hell of a fix, and leaving her to fend for herself against arrest would be a big mistake.

  Mick owed it to her to act now and find answers later.

  He owed her.

  “You can’t take her anywhere.” The agent—Richard—narrowed his eyes. He held the revolver aimed straight-armed at Allethaire.

  “The hell I can’t.”

  “You’re impeding justice if you do.”

  “The way I figure it, you lost your chance at justice when you let that gang run out of this car.”

  Richard stiffened. “I didn’t just ‘let’ them!”

  “Mick.” Behind him, Margaret sounded worried. “Are you sure about what you are doing?”

  Mick ignored her. Allethaire’s breathing came in quick, panicky pants, but she’d quit wiggling, as if she readied herself for whatever happened next. Her fingers dug into his forearm and the shape of her body pressed into his, rigid, wary…but warm and slender, and damn it, he couldn’t let himself be distracted by the feel of her.

  Not now. Not like this.

  He pivoted, bringing her with him with every backward step. Changing their direction, heading toward the opposite door, away from that bunch of wide-eyed passengers crowded outside and looking in.

  The conductor and security agent turned with him. Allethaire’s trunk stood between them and Mick. Their tense expressions revealed their unease.

  Mick didn’t trust that unease. Made for itchy trigger-fingers, for sure.

  “Don’t let them go, Richard,” the conductor gritted. “She’s beholden to her actions, and now, so is he.”

  The security agent’s grip flexed over the revolver. Mick detected the faintest tremble in the way he held his weapon.

  “Don’t go any farther, mister. I’ll shoot to stop you. Don’t think
I won’t,” the agent gritted.

  That tremble told Mick the agent didn’t make a practice of shooting people. Might be he never had to, given his young age, and Mick shifted his hold on the Winchester just long enough to reach behind him and open the door.

  “You’re going to have to fire your gun into her first to get to me, Richard. You know that, don’t you? Then you’ll be responsible for bringing both of us down.” Cold air swirled against his backside. A swath of morning sunlight beamed inward, stretching wider the more he pushed at the door. “You sure you want to do that? Considering she could likely be innocent of everything you’re accusing her of.”

  The agent swallowed.

  “Don’t listen to him, Richard,” the conductor snapped. “Here. Give me that gun! We can’t let them escape, y’hear me?”

  “Oh, God.” Allethaire sucked in a frightened breath as the trainman wrested the weapon from the agent.

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” Mick muttered into her ear. “I swear I won’t.”

  Movement near the door jerked his attention. Margaret’s matronly shape reached for something propped in the corner.

  A broom.

  “Don’t take another step, mister.” Holding the revolver once again, the conductor speared them with a feral glance. “Not a single one.”

  Behind him, Margaret swung the broom and smacked him hard against the shoulder. The blow toppled him sideways into Richard, who yelped and fell into the rack of baggage. Both men scrambled for footing and whirled toward her in surprise and outrage, their concentration lost.

  And Mick made his move—out the door into the biting cold, taking Allethaire with him.

  Chapter Four

  Allethaire’s feet barely touched the narrow iron steps, so fast did Mikolas Vasco hustle her off the railcar and toward his horse, a golden palomino grazing on the winter-grass. The air stung her nostrils and slammed into her cheeks, but it was the horror of what was happening that catapulted her heart into her throat.

  “Climb up, climb up,” Mikolas ordered in a terse voice. He planted a hand against her back, pushing her toward the saddle. “Hurry!”

  She veered away. “I’m not going with you. You’re not going to kidnap me again, Mikolas. Damn you.”

  He gripped her elbow and spun her back toward his horse. “I’m not kidnapping you. I’m saving you from those fanatics in there. Get into the saddle.”

  “Do you want ransom money?” she demanded, twisting away from him again. Fighting him with every ounce of resistance she had in her. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

  Several passengers peered around the corner of the railcar. “Hey, there they are! Hold on, you two! Stay right there! Don’t move!”

  Mikolas swore and brusquely grabbed her a second time, hefted her onto the palomino with pure brute strength and shoved her into the saddle with a rough hand to her fanny. He leaped up behind her and grabbed the reins.

  “Trust me, Allethaire. Just trust me, all right?” he gritted.

  Passengers spilled out of the railcar. The scholarly gentleman. The conductor, too. Margaret on the heels of Richard, the security agent.

  Maybe one of them would listen to her. Just give her a chance to explain…

  “Let me off this horse,” she said. Mikolas’ chest pressed heavy against her back. He clamped his arms tight around her waist, keeping her in the seat while his mount bolted into a run. “Let me off!”

  She was fully prepared to throw herself out of the saddle to escape him, and she twisted and squirmed and tried to lift her leg over the palomino’s neck. But the speed of the ride, the ground racing by, the jarring motion of a fast gallop…oh, God, she couldn’t do it, after all.

  Tears of frustration welled. She’d be crazy to hurl herself off the horse and be killed. Crazy. Not that Mikolas would allow it, but his grunts revealed she’d given him a good fight, and it galled her to give it up.

  To let him win in this new round of kidnapping.

  The biting wind cut through her hair. The cold sucked at her breath, and yet she hardly noticed. She didn’t care. She was only aware of how far away they’d ridden, that the Montana range sprawled in endless desolation for as far as she could see, and how would she ever get back to that train?

  Finally the palomino began to slow. Puffs of air billowed from his nostrils. The big horse couldn’t run so fast for long, and especially not while doubly-burdened, but to slacken his pace now, out here in the middle of nowhere, filled her with a rush of apprehension from what Mikolas Vasco intended.

  His gloved hand pulled on the reins. The palomino trotted to a stop, shuddered and blew noisily.

  “Get down,” Mikolas said.

  He swung from the saddle. Without his body to warm her, a chill slid through her coat. She didn’t move and glared down at him from her seat.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He kept firm hold on the leathers lest she attempt an escape. Which Allethaire had no intention of doing. Not at the moment, at least. She’d learned Mikolas possessed quick reflexes and a deceiving amount of strength that gave him the advantage of an agility she could never match. He’d merely find a way to best her.

  “We’re going to talk,” he said.

  She bristled. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  His mouth hardened. “Allethaire.”

  “Except, of course, to wish you to hell for what you’ve done.”

  “Listen to me.”

  “And to insist that you take me back to the Manitoba. Now. This instant.”

  “So they can arrest you?” he shot back. “Then throw you in jail until they figure out what you did with that money?”

  “I did nothing with it.” There those tears came again. Frustration and hurt and worry, all welling up to sting her eyes. “I don’t know how it got in my trunk. Or why.”

  And now all the money was gone. Every dime stolen, thanks to that no-good Reggie and his gang.

  But more than anything, she hurt and worried for what the library had lost. So much hard work, and possibilities, and oh, the horrid scandal that would ensue once the news reached Minneapolis.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about that money, Allethaire,” Mikolas said softly.

  Her chin kicked up. “Well, I do! And why should I believe you, anyway?”

  “Get down from my horse.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  She knew how churlish she sounded, but there was no help for it. She knew the kind of man Mikolas Vasco was. A criminal who’d set out to use her for his own selfish gain three years ago, so why would she do anything he said now?

  She only wanted to go home. To be safe and happy again.

  Except she had no home. Not even with her father, since he’d likely disown her once he heard of the mess she’d made of her life. She’d shamed him and the Gibson name, both in Minnesota and now in Montana Territory….

  Mikolas cocked his hip. His stance signified he’d take all the time he needed until she complied. Yet she sensed the impatience in him. Saw it in the way his fist gripped the reins.

  “We can stand here until we both turn blue from the cold,” he said slowly. “Or you can do as I tell you and listen to what I have to say. Once you do, I’ll take you where it’s warm and safe.”

  Emotion pushed into her throat. Warm and safe. The words smacked of bribery, but they hammered down the last of her resistance. He sounded sincere enough, and she found herself pathetically desperate to believe him.

  “Fine,” she said.

  Only then did she realize how hard she’d been gripping the saddle horn, her lifeline during their frenzied escape. She loosened her fingers. Carefully. The movement speared pain through her wrist, but she kept her reaction hidden. What if Mikolas tried to use her injury against her?

  He made no attempt to help her dismount. Allethaire was glad. She didn’t need or want his assistance, and once on the ground, she stood with her feet spread, positioned between him and his horse.

  The h
eat from the palomino’s muscular body enveloped her, but the brooding intensity in Mikolas’ dark eyes left her chilled. She didn’t know what he was thinking or what he intended to do with her in the coming moments.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he rumbled. “Let’s get that straight between us right now.”

  She swallowed. She dared to pull her stare off him and peruse the horizon. They’d stopped in a valley, she realized. A very desolate valley without a hint of the Manitoba in the distance. Or even tracks. A small herd of cattle dotted a bluff, and a seemingly never-ending line of fence stretched beyond her range of vision, but besides that, there was nothing.

  Nothing.

  He could hurt her, or kill her, or do whatever he wanted with her, and no one would know. No one would hear. He’d taken her off the Manitoba and spirited her out here into nowhere.

  Why? To prevent her arrest, as he claimed? Or would the unexpected opportunity of her abduction lend itself to something far worse? Would he see her as unfinished business from three years ago when he was a troubled sheepherder, driven to exact revenge against the wrongs dealt to him in his life? Only to end up in jail in payment for his crime?

  Yet, strangely, she felt no fear. Not really. Even when she was held as Woodrow Baldwin’s captive, Mikolas had never harmed her, though he’d had plenty of chances. In fact, of the three of them—Woodrow, Reggie and Mikolas—it’d been Mikolas who had watched over her through Woodrow’s bouts of wrath….

  Allethaire swiveled her glance back to him. He stood dark and tall before her, and she tilted her head slightly to better see him beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “On the WCC.”

  “The Wells Cattle Company?” She wouldn’t have thought so, this far from Great Falls. “Trey’s land?”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Yes,” she murmured and accepted his curt correction. Her father had told her of how the two brothers now shared their father’s legacy. “So I heard.”

  It would explain, she supposed, how he happened to be close enough to the Manitoba to try to thwart Reggie and his gang’s robbery, and wasn’t it just her luck that the money got away and Mikolas ended up with her instead?