by Amy Sandas
Wrinkling her nose, she thought a moment, then changed tactics. “Are you on a job?”
His response was a curt grunt.
She glanced aside at him. “A bounty? Are you heading to Montana on the trail of a bounty?”
Something dark and sharp flashed behind his eyes as he kept his gaze angled straight forward. If she had hoped to warm him to her, it seemed she might have chosen the exact wrong thing to ask him.
“No,” he replied in a voice that was as hard as his expression. “It is not a bounty.”
Despite the warnings of her intuition urging her to let it go, Alexandra was compelled to know more. “What, then?” she asked, half wary of his reply.
Her fear was validated as he answered, “I am going north to kill a man.”
Alexandra was stunned by the blunt admission. She saw the truth of his statement in the flat steel of his gaze, in the way his pulse beat heavily in his throat, and his gun hand twitched as though he were already imagining the cold revolver against his palm.
An odd sensation rolled through Alexandra as she sat looking up at the man. Though he leaned against the tree in an almost casual fashion, there was a constant air of strength and power in him. It was obvious in the width of his shoulders, the corded muscles of his forearms, the taut length of his legs. And in the harsh angles of his features and the deep-set eyes that sparked with danger.
The sight of him in that moment made the muscles along her spine tense while her belly fluttered strangely. “Does he deserve to die?” she asked just above a whisper. She hadn’t intended to say anything. The words just slid from her lips without conscious intention.
The question drew his focus back to her, and as the full blast of his stare met hers, the flutter in her belly spread out to her fingers and toes in a fierce, tingling rush.
“He does.”
Ten
The next few hours went by at a faster pace as Kincaid seemed even more determined to get to town—and get Alexandra off his hands.
They did not eat much throughout the day, and she suspected it was likely due to Kincaid not wanting to take the extra time to stop and hunt for something more substantial than the jerky and some dried biscuits he later pulled from his pack.
Throughout the afternoon, Alexandra continued trying to come up with some way to change his mind about leaving her in South Pass City. But any time she tried to start a conversation, it always went the same way—to a swift dead end.
It was frustrating and discouraging.
After a while, she even started to annoy herself with the useless attempts, and she lapsed into a period of silence. But this time, she was not able to relax enough to drift into sleep. She was far too alert and physically aware of the man seated behind her. Every subtle movement of his body transferred to hers, from the occasional brush of his chest against her back, to the way his hard thighs shifted or tensed beneath hers.
He rode a horse well. Man and animal were well attuned to each other despite the added burden they both endured. His hands were firm but forgiving on the reins, displaying the fact that very little was needed from him for the horse to follow his direction.
Clearly, they had been together a long time.
What kind of life did a bounty hunter lead? Constantly moving about, chasing after outlaws. Putting himself in danger at every turn, never settling into a peaceful existence. He knew the land; he was capable and confident. She had no doubt he knew how to use that gun of his with expert skill, or he wouldn’t be successful at his chosen vocation.
Had his life hardened him into the man he was, or had he chosen the life that best suited his already harsh demeanor?
He might be a bit rude in his speech, but he wasn’t exactly disrespectful. Aside from his not-too-subtle threat over the campfire the night before—which she was certain had just been an attempt at scaring her away—he had never once made her feel that he might take advantage of their circumstances.
She was not likely to be lucky enough to find anyone else nearly as suited to her purposes.
That thought doubled in conviction as they approached a town just as the sun was setting.
The closer they got, the more it became apparent that South Pass City was not the bustling stage stop Alexandra had hoped for, though it might have been at one time.
The town was nestled in a low spot amongst gently rolling hills. A handful of storefronts lined the dirt road that ran through the middle of town, and various other buildings were scattered beyond, many of which appeared abandoned.
Only a few townsfolk remained out and about in the dying daylight, casting warily curious glances as Alexandra and Kincaid rode past. Not surprisingly, the saloon showed the most life, with music and raucous laughter spilling out onto the street from its swinging doors.
Not far past the saloon stood a white-washed building that had faded to a weathered gray. It stood three stories and had a covered porch stretching across the front. Light shone from its windows, and a large sign over the front door declared it the hotel.
Kincaid brought his gelding to the hitching rail and dismounted. Without a word, he reached up to grasp her waist. Alexandra rested her hands on his shoulders as he lowered her to her feet. Her legs wavered a bit, having gotten stiff from being in the saddle all day, and his hands tightened their grip, holding her secure while she steadied herself.
He glanced toward the hotel. “I’ll get you a room and a meal. Tomorrow, you’ll be able to find someone to help you.”
“But I’ve already found you,” she insisted with a smile.
Her words brought his gaze swinging back to meet hers. They still stood close beside the horse, his hands braced heavy and warm on her hips, hers still resting on his arms. Something flashed in the steel-gray of his eyes.
Irritation, most likely.
Alexandra continued quickly, “Look, I know you don’t want to help me. I appreciate that, and I am infinitely grateful that you brought me this far. But the fact remains that I need to get to exactly where you are already going.” She took a swift breath and continued, already seeing the resistance forming in his features. “You will be paid generously, and I might surprise you by proving to be quite useful on the trail. I can—”
“Enough,” he muttered as he stepped back from her and swept his hat off his head to run fingers back through his hair, casting her a dark look. “Why can’t you get it through that head of yours that the answer is no?”
Alexandra lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug as a smile curved her lips. “I have a hard time accepting things I do not agree with. You are the man I need, Mr. Kincaid. We were meant to cross paths in Rock Springs—”
“You cornered me in a saloon.”
“—and again after I was stranded by Lassiter,” she continued as though he hadn’t interrupted. “Sometimes fate is unavoidable.”
With a low growl of frustration, he shoved his hat back on his head. “A room and a meal. That’s it.” Then he turned and strode into the hotel with determined steps.
Stubborn man.
She did not want to entertain the possibility that she would not be able to convince him, but she was seriously running out of time. Deciding to give him a moment to breathe, she waited with Deuce, murmuring soft words to the gelding as she tried to think of anything else she could do to change Kincaid’s mind about her.
He came back outside within a couple of minutes, so fast that she feared there may not have been a room available. But then he handed her a key before he took up Deuce’s reins.
“You’re in room four at the end of the hall on the second floor,” he said as he backed the gelding away from the hitching post. “A meal will be brought up to you unless you’d rather eat in their dining room.”
“In the room is fine,” she replied quickly. Dread and panic warred within her as she watched him turn and walk away. That was it, then?
He just walked off into the night?
No. She couldn’t accept that. “Kincaid,” she blurted in a breathless sort of shout.
He stopped to look over his shoulder at her. There was a lot going on behind that hard, flintlike gaze. Alexandra wished she could decipher what it all meant. All she knew was that she did not want him to just walk away.
As he stared back at her in a stretched-out silence, something passed between them that had her toes curling in her boots and the hair rising on her nape.
“I’m not gone yet,” he said then in a low voice that seemed as strained and tense as she felt. But it was enough to ease her sudden panic.
She watched as he led his horse around the corner of the hotel and out of sight, then released a heavy sigh. He was probably just settling his horse for the night. No doubt he got a room for himself, and she would have another chance to speak with him in the morning.
He wouldn’t just take off without a proper goodbye. His curt statement assured her of that if nothing else. Turning to the hotel, she thought of the soft bed and hot meal that awaited her and quickened her steps.
The hotel was nothing grand by any means, but her room was clean and in possession of the basic necessities. A bed, a bureau holding a small lamp and wash bowl, and a chair set before a window that overlooked the main street through town.
Alexandra gazed out the window. Aside from the lights and music coming from the saloon next door, the town was quiet. She didn’t recall passing a stage stop on their way in. Considering how much of the town seemed to be permanently closed, she sincerely doubted it was still operational. Not that the stage was an option for her when she didn’t have the money to purchase a ticket. Which still left her with the hope of finding someone who might be her guide. Someone with the skills and knowledge to get her to Montana. Someone she could trust.
Someone exactly like Kincaid.
Anxiety gripped her insides, and she swiftly reined it in.
She would not get all twisted up by the thought of being alone again. In deciding to leave Boston, she had accepted that there would be challenges along the way. She had, in fact, been looking forward to just that. If Kincaid did not come around and she found herself on her own again tomorrow, she would survive. She would get to Montana one way or another.
It was irrational, really, how single-minded she’d become regarding the bounty hunter. Considering he’d stated loud and clear from the start that he wanted nothing to do with her.
It must have been her stubborn nature asserting itself.
A knock pulled her from her worried thoughts. She crossed the room and opened the door to a slender young woman in a calico dress and white apron, holding a tray of savory-smelling food.
“I’ve got your supper here.” The woman stepped swiftly past Alexandra to set the tray on the bureau. “It ain’t much, but it’ll fill your belly,” she said with a brisk smile as she started back across the room. “My brother’ll be up with your bath in a few minutes. We’ll fetch everything in the morning so as not to disturb you again tonight.”
“Wait,” Alexandra said. “Did you say a bath?”
The woman stopped on the threshold. “Your man ordered a bath for you. Don’t you want it?” she asked with a tip of her head.
“Yes. Yes, of course, I do,” Alexandra replied. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We don’t get many travelers through here anymore, so you let us know if there’s anything else you need. It’s just me and my brother, Jim, but we’ll do what we can for you.”
“Thank you, ah…what is your name?”
“Oh, my name is Jane, miss.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Alexandra returned with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be quite fine.”
Jane gave a nod and another quick smile before heading off down the hallway. Within a couple of minutes, Jim arrived, carrying a copper hip bath. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so. He was all lanky limbs and big feet, but he must have been stronger than he looked, since he took several trips up and down the stairs, lugging two full buckets of water each time to fill the tub, and never seemed to break a sweat or lose his wide and ready grin.
Just over an hour later, Alexandra’s hunger was satisfied by a plate of roasted ham, little baked potatoes, and a wonderful blueberry cobbler. And the bath had been a heavenly surprise. Though she would have liked to luxuriate in the steamy water to ease the ache that infused her muscles, she made quick work of scrubbing herself clean—soaping and rinsing her hair twice—before wrapping herself in a towel and dunking her underclothes and blouse in the tub for a washing as well. She didn’t put the dusty blue traveling outfit through the same regimen for fear of ruining it, but she brushed away as much of the dried dirt as she could manage.
By the time she had her wet things spread all about the room to dry and had finger-combed through her hair to release all the tangles, exhaustion claimed her, and she was more than ready to sink into the softness of the bed. She climbed between the sheets, still wrapped in the towel, and fell asleep with thoughts of Kincaid mixing haphazardly with memories from her childhood…while deep in her heart beat a fervent wish that the bounty hunter would still be there in the morning.
Eleven
Malcolm stood across the street from the hotel, rolling loose tobacco into a cigarette, wondering why he was still there. She’d turned the lamp down in her room at least twenty minutes ago and was probably fast asleep by now.
He’d made no commitments to her. Just the opposite, in fact. There was nothing to stop him from walking away right now, getting on his horse, and riding out of town. Aside from the fact that Deuce needed the rest.
And the other matter.
Earlier, in front of the hotel when she’d called out his name, the look on her face had hit him like a bullet to the chest. He should have ended their association then and there, but he hadn’t been able to do it and had reassured her instead.
He struck a match and lit his cigarette.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was not responsible for the woman. He did not want to be responsible for the woman. Not when the last person he’d been in charge of had wound up dead.
Yet, after settling Deuce in the stables past the hotel, he’d gone to the saloon. The bartender had been as knowledgeable as he’d expected, but the news had not been good. The town was on a swift decline, going from a couple of thousand people down to less than a hundred in the last decade or so. With their stage stop inoperable, they rarely saw any travelers passing through, and when Malcolm asked about any potential guides for someone wanting to head north, the bartender had just laughed and walked away.
Not good.
Not good at all.
Malcolm drew in a long pull on the cigarette, then exhaled in a trail of smoke that drifted up into the night. With a heavy frown, he glanced back at Miss Brighton’s window.
Dammit.
The woman was going to get her way, and for some reason, that irritated the hell out of him. He was going against every vow he’d made since Gavin’s death. He’d be taking on the responsibility of someone else’s welfare. And that someone was a pampered lady with no idea what they’d be facing out on the trail. Malcolm would be responsible for every aspect of her survival and comfort.
It was enough to make him want to punch something. Instead, he stubbed out his cigarette and took angry strides back into the hotel, taking wicked delight in the idea of waking her from a peaceful slumber to tell her he’d be taking her to Montana after all.
He ascended the stairs two at a time, then stalked down the hall. Though he was in room one at the other end of the building, he walked right up to the door marked with a four. After knocking sharply, he lowered his chin, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. He chose not to analyze why the idea of disturbing her sleep gave him a perverse sort of pleasure.
He was about to knock a
gain, when the lock released and the door opened to reveal a very sleepy—and very undressed—woman blinking at him with wide blue eyes.
“Mr. Kincaid? Is something wrong?”
Wrong? Hellfire and damnation. Malcolm could barely think.
The foolish woman stood there in nothing more than a white towel wrapped around her body from chest to knee. The creamy skin of her limbs and shoulders was entirely exposed, and dark hair fell in heavy waves down her back. She looked soft and feminine and too damned enticing.
Lust swept hot and furious through him. He ground his back teeth hard to stop his body’s instant reaction to the sight of Miss Brighton in such a state.
“What the hell are you doing opening the door like that?” Malcolm growled, glancing down the hall to make sure no one else was about.
Her eyes grew wider as she looked down at herself. A swift blush pinkened her cheeks, and she tried to step back around the edge of the door. “I was in a deep sleep,” she explained. “I forgot I wasn’t dressed.”
“What if it hadn’t been me knocking?” he asked angrily.
It was probably his tone that had her lifting her chin and narrowing her gaze. “Well, it is you, isn’t it? And you still haven’t told me why you have come to bother me in the middle of the night.”
“It’s barely ten o’clock.”
Apparently over her embarrassment, she crossed her arms over her chest in a perfect copy of his own stance and lifted her brows in question. The action plumped the upper swells of her breasts, and Malcolm’s mouth went bone-dry.
Forcing his attention back to her face didn’t seem to help much. Not with her eyes all soft from sleep and those lips looking so damn kissable.
“I’ll take you to Montana,” he said abruptly, trying to shake himself free of the sensual snare he’d walked into.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “You will?”
Malcolm was tempted to back out then simply due to the strength of his unbidden desire. He did not want to entertain the idea that his attraction to her was growing stronger rather than fading. But it was the damned truth. The journey was going to be torturous in more ways than one. He had no intention of acting on the lust she inspired, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, and it didn’t mean he’d always be able to hide it.
