The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  Damn! He studied the terrified young woman, keeping his own gaze outwardly indifferent.

  She surely was beautiful. She looked like a delicate butterfly caught in a hornet’s nest—and every one of these damned hornets wanted to put his sting in her.

  Not that he could blame them for wanting her. He’d never seen a lovelier woman. He wondered what it would feel like to touch those long, ebony curls cascading about her shoulders, to feel the fullness of her breasts in his hands, to kiss those soft, tempting lips. Her jade green eyes, huge and brilliant with terror, seemed to hold him spellbound for a moment.

  Perhaps it was her delicate features, or the milkiness of her skin, or the way her slender body seemed dwarfed by Zeke’s hefty bulk, but she seemed so fragile, like an innocent young angel.

  A terrified angel.

  With an effort, he withdrew his gaze from her face to meet Zeke’s nervous stare.

  “Sounds like good, harmless fun,” he commented lazily, hooking his strong, well-shaped hands in his gun-belt. “What’s the outcome? Who’s the lucky man?”

  “Sam Taylor here won out,” Zeke answered, jerking his head toward the cowboy who had backed off a few paces when the stranger named Texas had entered. “And I reckon Ned there will get her after he’s done, seein’ as he placed the second highest bid.”

  The outlaw leader seemed suddenly struck with an idea. “Say, Texas,” he said eagerly, wetting his dry lips with his tongue, “you want a turn with her?”

  The stranger nodded. “Sure, Murdock, I reckon I would. But you see, I don’t like waiting for any man. I want her first.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath by all the men in the room at this remark. Little beads of perspiration broke out on Zeke’s swarthy brow. “Well, now, that’s between you and Sam,” he said hurriedly, his voice thick with nervousness. “I don’t want any part of it.”

  “I don’t blame you, Murdock,” the tall, lean stranger replied with a mocking smile, and turning slightly, faced the cowboy who a few moments earlier had been gloating over Bryony.

  “Well, Taylor, I have a hankering for this city girl. And I don’t feel like waiting until you’ve finished with her. Any objections?”

  Bryony’s heart, which had been beating rapidly before, now seemed to stop completely for one horrified moment. There was something about this arrogant stranger that frightened her far more than any of the other outlaws.

  Beside him, they seemed merely common ruffians.

  She sensed instinctively that the stranger was of a different ilk. He was dangerous, like a coiled rattlesnake. Well-dressed, calm, with that deep, drawling voice, and eyes that were so cold they could freeze snow. And then there was that unmistakable air of arrogance...

  From the first moment she’d set eyes on him, she’d known that he was far more dangerous than the others.

  “Well, Texas,” Sam Taylor was saying in a strangely choked voice. “I’ve... already... agreed to pay two hundred and fifty dollars for her.”

  “I reckon I don’t give a damn what you’ve done, Taylor. I’m prepared to offer Murdock the same amount, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to accept my money instead of yours. Right, Murdock?”

  “Sure, sure, whatever you say,” Zeke agreed hastily. He still held Bryony, and she was aware that his hands had turned cold and clammy since the stranger’s entrance. Obviously, he was just as intimidated by the man as everyone else appeared to be. As the stranger continued to fix his steely gaze upon Sam Taylor, the other men drifted to either side of the room, out of the line of fire. Sam faced the tall stranger alone. The room grew deathly still and silent.

  “Well, Taylor, what’s it going to be?” Texas drawled. “If you have any objections, we can settle them here and now.”

  Sam swallowed, a look of helpless fury upon his face. His fingers twitched in a convulsive movement as if itching to draw his gun, but a powerful fear kept him from acting. He had paled considerably under the stranger’s cold scrutiny; perspiration beaded on his brow. He hesitated, glancing longingly at Bryony, then back to the hard-eyed stranger.

  “I... I don’t want no trouble,” he burst out. “But I bid for her—and I won. It jest ain’t fair!”

  The stranger smiled slightly, a mere curling of his lips.

  “You have my sympathies,” he drawled, his eyes never leaving the sweating face of the man before him. “But I’m sure you’ve made the right choice. No woman—however beautiful—is worth dying for. You savvy what I mean?”

  Taylor nodded, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Then, cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and stalked over to the bar, gruffly ordering a drink.

  The stranger turned back to Bryony and Zeke.

  “I’ll take the lady now.”

  “Sure, sure, Texas, she’s all yours.” Zeke cleared his throat uneasily. “Uh... what about the money? The two hundred and fifty dollars?”

  “I’ll pay you after I’m finished with her. Providing she’s worth it,” the man replied offhandedly, his gaze sweeping Bryony’s slender body. “Something tells me she will be,” he remarked in an offhand tone.

  Throughout the entire scene between Sam Taylor and the tall stranger, Bryony had become increasingly consumed with rage. Being bartered about, back and forth, like a slab of beef? It was insufferable! Now, with the stranger’s arrogant, insulting words, her fury mounted to new heights, and she began struggling anew in Zeke’s grasp.

  “I promise you,” she vowed wrathfully, her green eyes burning into the stranger’s icy blue ones with unconcealed hatred. “I’ll fight you or any man who touches me with every last ounce of my strength! I’ll never give in, not as long as I have a breath left in my body!”

  Her eyes locked with those of the stranger while Zeke threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  “Is that so, little lady? Well, in these here parts we know how to deal with back-talking women!” And he whirled her suddenly in his arms, raising his fist to deliver a punishing blow. But with blinding speed the stranger’s arm shot out to intercept his fist.

  “Hold it, Murdock.” His eyes had hardened. “Don’t damage my property. I know how to handle stubborn women as well as any man.”

  With these words, he pried away the outlaw leader’s arm and seized Bryony, tossing her slim body over his shoulder with careless ease. This act was met by raucous merriment and approval from everyone in the place except Sam Taylor, who nursed his drink sulkily, and Ned Casper, who had regarded all the proceedings with a dark eye.

  The stranger ignored them all. He strode purposefully toward the narrow passageway behind the bar, where he knew several small bedchambers were located, while Bryony kicked and struggled helplessly on his broad shoulder.

  “The first one on the left is empty,” Gilly said as Texas stomped past, followed by the cheers and whistles of the assembled crowd.

  The stranger nodded curtly, disappearing into the dim hallway. He halted beside the first door on the left and opened it, entering the room swiftly. With unruffled ease, he lowered Bryony from his shoulder, setting her down upon the bare wooden floor of the tiny bedroom. As she steadied herself, he turned away and bolted the heavy door.

  Bryony glanced with loathing at the narrow cot haphazardly covered with a faded green quilt, and at the soiled, torn curtains screening the room’s only window. For the rest, the room was empty of furniture, except for a rough, three-drawered pine chest in the far corner. The only light was provided by the weak glimmers of the almost setting sun, which filtered faintly through the faded curtains. In the dimness, the stranger’s tall, muscular physique seemed to fill the room. When he turned back to face her after bolting the door, Bryony darted instinctively across the floor to the far side of the narrow cot.

  “D... don’t you touch me!” she began desperately, holding her hands out before her as if she would keep him at arm’s length. “Don’t even think about it—I’m warning you!”

  “Quiet,” he ordered, advancing purposefully t
oward her. “You need to do exactly as I say!”

  “I won’t!” she gasped as he closed in upon her. “I won’t let you touch—”

  “Listen to me!” Texas grabbed her flailing wrists in his strong hands. “Quiet down now and listen—”

  “I won’t. Stop it! Let me go!” Tears poured down her cheeks.

  Texas released her, swearing under his breath. “Listen,” he said in a quiet tone. “I know you’re scared. But I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”

  “You... do?” She stared at him in disbelief.

  “Look, there’s no time for questions. Tell me your name.”

  “Bryony. Bryony Hill.”

  “I knew it,” he muttered. “Damn, isn’t this a helluva situation?” He frowned, then studied her, his eyes boring into her face. He was about to speak again when Bryony stopped him.

  “Please,” she whispered, her tear-filled eyes appealing to him more powerfully than any words she might have used. “Please don’t hurt me. Please let me go—”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I’m planning to get you out of here.”

  She froze, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

  He went on, his voice low and quick. “This has almost gone too far already, but I’ll get you away from here even if it kills me. Which it might. So please, Miss Hill, you need to pay attention and do just as I say.”

  Chapter Six

  For a moment there was dead silence. Outside, the shrill cry of a mockingbird split the dry air. Inside, Bryony stared in blank astonishment at the face of the man whose fingers enclosed her wrists like steel bands. She drew in a breath, barely able to believe what he’d just told her.

  “You’re really going to help me?” she whispered.

  “Damn straight.” His steely blue eyes stared down into her upturned face, unconsciously noting how clear and deep were the depths of her emerald eyes. “If you’ll allow me, ma’am. But we don’t have much time—”

  “Yes. Oh yes, I’m sorry, just tell me what to do!” she exclaimed, scarcely able to believe her ears.

  Pulling her over to the window, he drew the faded curtains aside. “My horse is tethered around back. Follow me as quietly as you can. They’ll hear us once we’re riding off, but by then there won’t be much they can do.” He laughed softly. “I doubt anyone will come after us. They’ll be mad as hell, of course, but there’s not a man in the place who’ll want to trade shots with me.”

  Swinging one powerfully muscled leg over the sill of the open window, he glanced back at her pale face.

  “It’ll be all right. Stay right with me now and don’t make a sound.”

  Bryony nodded, and followed him carefully out of the low window. Together they moved off, edging up to the corner of the building and peering cautiously around the bend.

  The same group of horses that had been tied in front when she’d arrived was still there, but now there was an addition—a tall, handsome bay stallion with distinctive white markings on its feet and forelocks.

  The bay was tethered to a hitching post less than twenty-five feet from where they stood. Pausing only long enough to make sure that no one was about, Texas pulled her away from the building and they sprinted along the open ground toward the stallion. She gasped in alarm as the horse whinnied in greeting to his master, but Texas untied the animal with practiced speed, tossed Bryony up into the saddle, then mounted behind her.

  An instant later, they were off, hurtling across the bluff at a gallop, leaving behind a thick cloud of dust.

  As they neared the narrow, hidden passageway, Bryony glanced back over her shoulder. Men were running outside from Gilly’s, their dark, swarthy faces contorted with fury and amazement as they realized, too late, what had happened.

  She choked back an almost hysterical desire to laugh, facing forward again as the rock walls of the passageway closed in upon her. The desert wind whipped at her hair and face as they rode through the narrow opening in the walls of the canyon. Her palms, clinging desperately to the leather saddle horn, were sweaty. Every moment she expected to hear the thunderous pounding of hooves behind them—and the prospect of being caught by Zeke and the other outlaws made her want to scream in panic. She couldn’t refrain from constantly peeking over her shoulder, until finally, upon emerging from the hidden passageway, her rescuer spoke drily in her ear.

  “You can stop worrying now. They’re not going to come after us. And even if they did, I reckon Pecos can outrun any of their mustangs without even breathing hard.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, twisting about to peer anxiously into his face.

  His steely blue eyes glinted with amusement as he grinned down at her. “Quite sure,” he drawled. “Now why don’t you sit back and enjoy the ride? We’ve quite a ways to go to Winchester.”

  “How did you know that I wanted to go to Winchester?” she inquired in astonishment.

  “Let’s just say I’ve heard things in town—about your expected arrival, that is.”

  “Oh.” Bryony digested this in silence as he guided the horse toward the steep, winding path that led upward and out of the canyon. But though her tongue was silent, her mind was crowded with whirling questions.

  Who was this cold, ruggedly handsome man behind her? Why had he helped her? And why had every man in the dilapidated hideout been completely intimidated by him?

  She had no answers, but as they reached the crest of the canyon and started along a straighter, more open trail flanked by mesquite shrubs and golden poppies, she realized that he knew his way in and out of the outlaws’ secret meeting place as well as Zeke had. With a sudden chill came the knowledge that he too must be an outlaw, or else how would he know about Gilly’s, or be accepted so readily inside the place?

  Yet she felt certain that he wasn’t like Zeke and Ned and the others. He was decent.

  There was a deep intelligence in those hard blue eyes, and a quietness in his manner that set him apart from the common desperados in Gilly’s.

  She didn’t believe he was a bandit. Perhaps, she reflected, he’s a gambler. At any rate, one thing was certain. The man riding behind her was a man accustomed to going his own way. And she could only be grateful that he’d chosen to help rather than harm her.

  As they rode through the mountain paths, descending at length to the foothills, sunset painted the azure sky with streaks of rose and orange and gold, casting deep purple and soft lavender hues upon the distant mountain peaks.

  A stillness came over the rainbowed desert, broken only occasionally by the cries of golden eagles who wheeled and circled overhead before swooping away.

  With the disappearance of the flaming red sun behind a gilt-edged mountaintop in the western sky, the air cooled refreshingly, fanning Bryony’s face as they galloped across the sandy plains. They whipped past barrel cactus and yucca trees and lovely green paloverdes with their bright yellow blossoms fluttering gently in the breeze.

  It was a relief to be crossing level ground again, and Bryony found herself relaxing against the strong, solid body of the man riding behind her, unconsciously leaning against him for support as weariness crept over her aching body.

  She watched in fascination as the twilight deepened, and stars bloomed in the purple sky. If only she could sleep... if only she could forget about this nightmarish day, about the long ride ahead, about the explanations when she arrived in Winchester. If only she could forget about everything...

  She was jerked awake by the abrupt halt of all movement as Pecos slid to an obedient stop beneath a towering, fifty-foot saguaro cactus, whose long, spiny branches stretched out like witches’s claws to rake the night.

  Bryony blinked, staring about her in startled confusion as the stranger dismounted and reached up to pull her from the saddle.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked as his strong arms lifted her easily and set her upon the ground.

  He stared down at her from his tall height, his black sombrero almost completely hidi
ng his eyes. In the shadowy starlight, his powerful form was even more intimidating than usual and she found herself shrinking from him. She made an attempt to cover herself with her torn gown as best she could. A frown touched his lips as he noticed her nervous movement, then he reached casually beneath his saddle to pull forth a drab brown woolen blanket, which he handed to her, his eyes glinting.

  “Don’t panic, little tenderfoot,” he said as she hurriedly wrapped the heavy blanket about her shoulders, clutching it tightly closed across her breasts. “We’re just resting a spell. It’s a couple of hours yet to Winchester, and I figured you might want some refreshment. I reckon you haven’t eaten anything in some time.”

  With a little shock, Bryony realized that she hadn’t had a morsel since breakfast early that morning. She was famished. “Do you have some food?” she asked eagerly.

  “Not much, but you’re welcome to whatever is here.”

  He removed a thick packet from his saddlebag. Wrapped inside were a half-dozen hard little biscuits and a chunk of beef jerky. None of it looked especially appetizing, but to Bryony’s half-starved eyes it was a feast. The stranger tugged another blanket from his pack and spread it on the ground beneath the giant saguaro.

  Bryony sank wearily down upon the rough woolen blanket.

  Kneeling beside her, he held out his canteen and Bryony drank from it with deep gulps. An instant later her eyes widened in shock, tears springing to them as the strong burning liquid scorched her throat. Choking and gasping, she dropped the canteen, pressing her fingers to her throat.

  “Ugh! What is that?”

  “Whisky.” He lifted the canteen and drank from it. “I thought it might revive your spirits. You look mighty worn out.”

  “It’s... horrible! Haven’t you any water?”

  Grinning, he handed her a second canteen, which she raised cautiously to her lips, sending him a wary, distrustful look. This time there was water, and she drank her fill before handing it back to him without a word. Then she turned her attention to the meager food spread before her, eating ravenously.