by Amy Sandas
What the hell was taking her so long?
He glanced up to scan the road in front of the hotel. Townsfolk passed back and forth on the boardwalk as they went about their daily business. A few kids were playing in the street, chasing after a mangy dog. Two older men stood outside the barber, chatting with their lips clamped around cigars and their hands tucked into the pockets of their trousers.
It was a typical scene. He swept his gaze up and down the street once more.
When an old man with sun-browned skin and a bushy gray beard stepped out from around the corner of the restaurant down the road, a prickle of unease danced down the back of Malcolm’s neck. There wasn’t anything particularly alarming about the man, but he looked damned familiar.
Then Malcolm recalled where he’d last seen him—in the Painted Horse Saloon the day Alexandra had walked in seeking a guide.
Where she had called out his name for all to hear.
Dammit.
It wouldn’t be the first time Malcolm had been tailed. In his line of work, there would always be someone wanting revenge for a bounty he’d turned in to the authorities or had been forced to kill. Malcolm preferred to wait it out until they approached him, ideally when he wasn’t in town where innocent bystanders could get in the way of stray bullets.
But he’d never had anyone traveling with him.
This was exactly the reason he hadn’t wanted to take on the task of escorting her.
His annoyance almost had him striding across the street to confront the man then and there just to get it over with. Before he could, the old man started walking across the street toward the hotel.
Malcolm stiffened.
No, not toward the hotel. Toward a bigger, younger fellow with a great barrel chest and long arms who happened to be leaving the hotel. The two of them met not far from where Malcolm stood in the shadows, exchanged a few short words that he couldn’t make out, then turned and headed off toward a couple of horses tied up in front of the saloon. Within minutes they were riding out of town.
Coincidence?
Maybe. Maybe not.
“There you are. Are we ready to head out?”
Malcolm turned to see Alexandra striding toward him, once again dressed in her split skirt, serviceable cotton shirt, and the lined rain slicker. Her hair was twisted up and pinned beneath the hat he’d gotten for her. He almost wished she’d left it free down her back as she’d had it last night, but gave himself a mental kick in the ass before he could completely form the thought.
Her sunny smile said she wasn’t any worse for wear after her fitful sleep last night. In fact, she looked perfectly well rested and too damned pretty.
She stopped within a few steps of him, her expression shifting into a frown. “You appear to be in a bit of a mood today. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I slept just fine.” He didn’t, of course. “Come on. The horses are waiting.”
She gave him a narrow look, one he assumed meant she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear, so he took ahold of the saddlebag in her arms and started around to the front of the livery where their mounts stood saddled and ready. Thankfully, she didn’t protest.
He kept his gaze scanning both sides of the street as they headed out of town. There was no sign of the two men.
Malcolm wasn’t sure if it was just his surly mood in general that had him convinced there was going to be trouble that day or some instinct he’d developed over his years chasing outlaws, but something was not sitting right in his gut.
They rode for several hours before stopping to take a rest along the Yellowstone River and eat some of the cold chicken he’d gotten from the hotel restaurant.
He sat his horse for a few minutes, watching as Alexandra dismounted and led her mare to the river’s edge. Her movements were natural and easy. She had adapted well to the trail in a surprisingly quick amount of time.
“I’m gonna go scout around,” he said.
“Why? Is there something wrong?”
“You hired me to make sure you got to Montana safely, so let me do my job. Sit tight and eat your lunch. I’ll be back.”
Malcolm rode to higher ground to get a better view of the trail lengthening ahead. There were signs of others having passed the same way recently, but nothing to support his growing sense of foreboding. Still, he remained on high alert throughout the day as he continued to scout ahead and check behind them every so often to ensure they weren’t being followed or heading into any kind of ambush.
He could see that his behavior made Alexandra nervous. If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have bothered with the extra precaution. He’d have continued on his way and dealt with whatever came at him when it came. No one lived forever. His only regret would be in failing to avenge Gavin’s death.
But with the woman riding alongside him, everything changed. Even if the men were only after him, she could get caught in crossfire. And if he didn’t make it out the other side of a gunfight, she’d be left at the mercy of those who did.
He couldn’t let that happen.
As the bright-blue sky was brushed with the softer hues of a descending sun, Malcolm began looking for a place to make camp for the night. Someplace easily defendable, where they couldn’t be snuck up on unawares.
He found a good spot against a large, rocky outcropping that prevented any approach from nearly three full sides. With only some scrub brush and a few random trees in the landscape extending from their fire, he’d be able to see anything that moved.
The nearest water source was a bit of a walk, but it was early enough that he managed to fill their supplies and get their horses watered long before dark settled in around them. Dinner was meager, since he didn’t want to go too far on a hunt, but they still had some chicken left over, along with some bread and a small tart from the restaurant that had been wrapped carefully in cloth and then brown paper before being tucked into his saddlebag.
The look on Alexandra’s face when he set the sweet treat on a flat rock and began to unwrap it was nearly enough to make him forget about his worries. He’d never seen anyone so damned excited for food before. He had to fight back the smile threatening to curl the corners of his mouth.
“Where did you get that?”
“The restaurant in town,” he replied.
“You carried that with you all day?” Her tone was flabbergasted.
He shrugged. “I guess I forgot about it.”
“I do not understand you one bit, Malcolm Kincaid,” she said as she scooted up to sit beside him, gazing at the tart on display in the flickering firelight. “Who in their right mind could forget such a delight?”
Malcolm slid his gaze over her profile, unable to keep from admiring the line of her pert little nose and stubborn chin, or the way her lips rolled in to be wet by her tongue. Her hair had loosened from the pins throughout the day, and once she’d tossed her hat onto her bedroll, some sweeping locks had slid free to brush against her temple and cheek.
“Are we going to eat it or just admire it all night?”
Her inquiry drew a chuckle from him before he could stop it. The sound had her looking at him in shock. “Now, what on earth was that?”
He drew a knife to cut the tart perfectly in two. “I do know how to laugh,” he muttered.
“I guess I’d figured it was impossible.”
Malcolm handed her one half of the tart before taking his portion for a bite. Sweet and creamy with the taste of fresh berries. It was good, and in two more bites, it was gone.
Then he noticed Alexandra staring at him, her eyes wide and stunned.
He lifted a brow in question. “What now?”
“I cannot believe you just wolfed it down like that. Didn’t you want to savor it? Did you even taste it?”
He flicked a glance at her tart, where one small bite had been taken. “Life
doesn’t always give you time to savor the good things. They can be gone before you knew what you had. Best to take your pleasures when you can.”
He shouldn’t have met her gaze when he said that. Once he did, he found it hard to look away. Whatever made her eyes sparkle like stars in the night had him suddenly thinking of one pleasure he hadn’t indulged in for a long while.
“Why do I get the sense you don’t allow yourself many pleasures in life, even when they are available?” she said softly.
“I haven’t time for such things.”
“You should make time.”
He rose swiftly to his feet. That was enough conversation. “When you finish that thing, you’d best get to sleep.”
Stalking across camp, he took a seat with his back resting against a large boulder, where he could look out over the valley. Anyone approaching their camp would have to come from that way.
He heard her moving around behind him. “You haven’t laid out your bedroll yet. Are you planning to sit up all night?”
Was there a hint of testiness in her tone? He’d annoyed her. It didn’t matter. “Yep.”
“You are? Why?”
He debated a moment on what to say. His concerns could be nothing. There was no point frightening her for no reason. “Just a precaution. Go to sleep.”
Thankfully, she did as he said. And Malcolm settled in for another sleepless night.
Nineteen
The morning dawned bright and chilly with a clear blue sky and a sharp wind coming in from the north. Though the evening had been still beyond the movement of nighttime creatures, Malcolm hadn’t shaken the sense of disquiet that had him itching to get going.
He stood at the edge of camp with a hot cup of coffee in his hand as he scanned the land laid out before them. Alexandra was starting to stir behind him, and he resisted the urge to rush her.
He took another sip of his coffee, then stiffened as he caught sight of some movement along a ridge not far away. It could have been a shadow created by the shifting clouds that had started to blow in, or an animal, or nothing at all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so on edge. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was starting to see things.
“Is everything all right?”
Malcolm turned to see Alexandra standing beside her bedroll, watching him with a wary expression. “Take care of your needs and start packing up.”
Her brow furrowed in question, but she started doing as he said anyway.
He returned his attention to that ridge. The subtle, shifting shadows had taken on a more definite shape. “Dammit,” he muttered.
“What is it?”
“Do as I said, and fast,” he said sharply, hoping she wouldn’t question further. “We’ve got company approaching.”
As he spoke, he tossed the remaining contents of his cup into the fire, then kicked the logs to spread out the heat so they’d die down faster. Both horses were fed, watered, saddled, and ready. He just needed to load up the last of their belongings.
As the growing cloud of dirt drew nearer, he made out the shapes of three men on the approach. Not terrible odds. But he’d never had a liability like this woman who walked up to him looking as fresh and pretty as the morning.
He threw her a fierce frown as he tied her bedroll to her saddle. “Take your horse and get out of sight behind those rocks over there. You’re gonna stay hidden no matter what.” He set her wide-brimmed hat on her head, wishing he could say something to take away the pale fear that had settled on her face. “If things go bad, you get on that mare and ride back to Coulson like the devil’s at your heels. The sheriff can help you from there.”
“Who are they?” she asked, her eyes wide. “What do they want?”
Malcolm’s gut clenched with a sick kind of dread he’d never experienced before. “Don’t know.” But he was pretty damn sure they weren’t approaching for a bit of friendly conversation. “Get hidden.”
Turning away, he did his best not to let his worry for the woman cloud his awareness while he got the rest of their stuff tucked into his bags.
By the time the three riders reached camp, Malcolm was leaning back against the rock again, smoking his cheroot tobacco. He wore his coat, but had left it open with the one side tucked behind the holster of his gun, keeping the weapon accessible and visible. He noted with little surprise that the bushy-bearded fellow from town was among them, as was the barrel-chested man he’d seen in the street outside the hotel. The third rider was unfamiliar, but he eyed Malcolm like a snake preparing to strike.
He sure as hell hoped Alexandra stayed out of sight. Though his every gut instinct told him these men were trouble, he hoped for the sake of the woman behind him that they had not come to camp with any malicious intent.
Usually, if someone came looking for Malcolm Kincaid, it was with the hope of getting revenge on behalf of someone who’d met their end by his hand. There had also been the occasional gunfighter looking to make a name for himself by challenging Kincaid to a draw, but a show such as that was usually done with witnesses to spread the tale. These three men approached him in the middle of nowhere and seemed awful casual in their manner.
The old man even smiled, deepening the cracks in his weathered face. “G’morning to ya. It’s a mighty fine day.”
Malcolm gave a short nod. “Sure is.”
“You headin’ west?”
“I was just packing up,” Malcolm replied, avoiding the question.
The old man shifted in his saddle. “I’m afraid I can’t let you run off just yet.”
Malcolm flicked a glance to the barrel-chested man, who turned to spit a stream of brown tobacco juice into the dirt. The one with the snake eyes stretched his neck as he darted his gaze about the camp behind Malcolm, as though looking for something.
“You’re Malcolm Kincaid, aren’t ya?”
Malcolm looked back to the spokesman of their group. “I get the sense you already know the answer to that.”
“And right you are, since I heard that pretty lady call you out in that saloon down in Rock Springs.” The old man chuckled, a rough sound of genuine amusement. “I could barely believe my luck. My boss has men scattered all over these territories watching for you to show up after he sent Freddy to feed you his location. All I had to do was make sure you were heading in the right direction and wait for my friends here to join me.”
Fury boiled in Malcolm’s blood. Freddie Golding had been sent by Dunstan. It had been a setup from the start.
He glared at the old man. “Don’t count yourself lucky just yet.”
Another grating chuckle. “I heard you were fast, but you ain’t fast enough to shoot all three of us before one of us puts a bullet in you.”
“Try me,” Malcolm stated, his voice low and challenging.
“Hot damn,” the barrel-chested man snorted, “this just got interesting.”
Malcolm made note of his meaty hand inching toward his gun. Snake Eyes was sitting straighter in his saddle, his body tense and alert, but the old man remained relaxed and smiling. He was clearly the most dangerous of the trio.
Malcolm hoped Alexandra stayed hidden and was ready to ride off at the first shot. There was a damn good chance of catching a ricochet amongst all that rock. Her best bet was to get as far away as fast as possible. Malcolm just couldn’t leave any of these three alive to chase after her.
“Don’t worry, Kincaid,” the old man said. “You’re not gonna die today. These two are just messing with ya. Boss wants to kill you himself. Whoever delivers you to him alive gets a mighty fine paycheck.”
“Mighty fine,” the barrel-chested man repeated with a grin.
“Now, I’d like to do this in as civilized a manner as possible, but I’ve heard tales of how fast you are with that gun, and I don’t intend to get shot in the process. So, I want you to take that Colt out with two fi
ngers of your left hand and toss it into those bushes.”
Malcolm hesitated. If he were alone, he’d do just what these men said. Dunstan wanted to meet him face-to-face? That suited him just fine.
But not while Alex was in his care. There was no way in hell Malcolm was going to let her fall into the hands of these men.
He shook his head. “My gun stays with me. Ride on back to your boss and tell him I’ll be there as soon as I finish up some business.”
“Is that what you call that little lady of yers?” Snake Eyes asked, his gaze once again darting around the camp. “We know you’ve got her tucked away somewhere.”
Malcolm tensed. The man’s slippery tone made him sick with rising fury. Snake Eyes would be the first to die.
“Don’t mind my friend here. He thinks he has a way with women. I’m just here for you,” the old man advised. “You do things my way, and this doesn’t have to get ugly. Boss wants you alive. He didn’t say you couldn’t be bleeding, and not every shot kills.”
“They do when I make ’em,” Malcolm replied.
“Dang, Stu,” said Snake Eyes, “shoot him and be done.”
“You just want his woman,” the barrel-chested man complained.
“Hell yeah, don’t you?”
“Enough,” the old man said, putting a stop to their argument. “You’re coming with us, Kincaid. It’s up to you if you want to do it with bullet holes or not.”
“I choose bullets.” He didn’t even finish speaking before the old man went for his gun.
He didn’t clear the holster before Malcolm drew his Colt, fired one shot at ol’ Snake Eyes and a second straight into the old man’s chest just as he was pulling back on the hammer. Both men hit the ground before the big guy managed to lift his gun.
Malcolm’s hard gaze froze him in place. Small, dark eyes darted toward his fallen comrades before he dropped his pistol to the dirt and slowly raised both hands. “Don’t shoot. I ain’t armed.”
“Ride back to your boss and tell him I’m coming for him.”
The man nodded vigorously and pulled hard on his reins to turn his horse and ride off the way he came.
