Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Ranch manager?” he ground out, giving Matt a head-to-toe inspection. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Matt held Cameron’s insolent gaze. “You can believe anything you want, Cameron, but understand this. You won’t be making any more mistakes on the Gallagher Ranch accounts. I’ll be there to make sure Lark’s money is correctly deposited and her mortgage payments correctly recorded. Understand?”

  His voice was far too cultured for a gunslinger, Jud decided, holding on to his thinning patience. He glanced around to see a number of the other customers watching the scene intently. Gripping the book, he snarled, “Wait here. I’ll get the payment slip and the cash.”

  Lark gripped Matt’s hand, squeezing it in her excitement. “I can’t believe this! He’s going to do it!”

  For a split second, looking down at Lark, Matt allowed the harsh mask he wore to melt away. Her expression was radiant with hope, her eyes lustrous with disbelief. How he wanted to lean over and kiss those breathless, parted lips! “It’s because you’re wearing a dress,” he said solemnly.

  “Oh!” Then she realized he was teasing her and smiled shyly.

  “I keep telling you, women in dresses are respected by men.”

  Lark’s mouth quirked. Perhaps Matt was right after all….

  After Cameron had given her the payment slip, Matt led her onto the wooden sidewalk and halted her a few paces from the bank’s doors. “Next we’re going to go see the sheriff.”

  “No, Matt.” Lark pulled from his grasp. “It won’t do any good.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  Adamantly, Lark shook her head. “I don’t want to see the sheriff or even talk to him.”

  “Why don’t you walk over to the dry goods store, then? Paco’s over there getting the buckboard loaded with supplies. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  Relieved that he understood, Lark walked quickly down the street, acutely aware of the way the people were staring at her. But this time several women smiled tentatively at her, and two men respectfully tipped their hats. Still, Lark felt naked and defenseless without her knife. Matt had talked her into leaving it in the buckboard, beneath the seat. Ladies, he’d told her, carried a parasol or gloves, not an eighteen-inch bowie knife.

  Abe Harris greeted her enthusiastically and his women customers continued to shop after Lark swept into the busy store.

  Abe gripped her hands, squeezing them warmly. “How are you? We heard about that terrible attack you suffered leaving Prescott last time. Are you all right?”

  She managed a slight smile. “Yes, I’m fine, now. Thank you.”

  “You look wonderful. And that dress…Why, young lady, you’re the prettiest woman in Prescott!”

  “Oh, Abe…”

  “No, no, I mean it.” He raised his voice. “Millie! Come and look at Lark.”

  Millie, his rotund wife, came waddling out of the rear of the store, her apple cheeks bright red as she came over and hugged Lark. “Sweet mercy! Lark Gallagher, you look scrumptious! Why, all you need is a pretty little parasol and a hat to make you the envy of every single lady here in Prescott. I do declare, ain’t she purty, Abe?”

  Lark felt overwhelmed by their compliments. Shyly she thanked Millie and Abe, her voice barely above a whisper. When she saw three other white women standing by the bolts of dress material, watching with interest, she blushed even more.

  “My dear,” Millie went on, taking her by the hand and coaxing her across the wooden floor, “you simply must have a hat to set off that lovely dress you’re wearing.” She showed Lark a display of hats on a far counter. “Look! Abe just got these in from New Orleans. Can you imagine wearing a hat from there? Why, these bonnets are the latest rage.” She touched Lark’s flaming cheeks. “And with that purty face of yours, a hat will just set you off.”

  “Set me off?” Lark imagined being bucked off a horse and sailing through the air.

  Millie chose a straw bonnet decorated with a blue velvet ribbon and a cluster of purple flowers. “Of course, my dear! A hat sets off a young lady’s face to a decided advantage. The right bonnet can make your eyes look larger, and emphasize your cheekbones.” Millie squinted and peered up at Lark. “My spectacles are in the back,” she explained, her nose inches from Lark’s face. “Why, yes! This bonnet will bring out your beauty, Lark. Here, try it on!”

  “But, Millie—”

  “Pshaw! Now, come sit over here in front of the mirror.”

  Uncomfortable at all the attention, Lark did as she was told. Millie settled the bonnet on her head and tied the velvet ribbon into a bow near her right cheek.

  “There,” Millie crowed. “Oh, my, my. Abe, come and look at Lark! Doesn’t she just look scrumptious enough to eat? I declare, if Madam Bouchard saw you, she’d never let you go. Such a perfect figure you have! And your face…” Millie sighed rapturously and stepped back.

  Lark forced herself to look in the mirror. Gone was her familiar and comfortable Apache look. What stared back at her was a stranger. And yet, as she probed her face, Lark saw her familiar eyes, mouth and nose. And the bonnet was beautiful. She caressed the velvet ribbon longingly. It did match her dress.

  “Really, Millie, Abe, I can’t buy this.” Lark quickly untied the bow and gently set the bonnet down on the counter. “It’s beautiful, but—”

  “Oh, dearie, you can’t afford not to have it with your dress,” Millie chided gently. “No lady walks around in this awful sunlight without a bonnet or a parasol to properly protect her face.”

  “Oh?”

  “Of course! Sunlight ruins a lady’s skin.”

  “Millie, my love,” Abe began awkwardly.

  Lark knew Millie meant well. She rose, rubbing her hands against her skirt. “The bonnet costs too much. I’m sorry. I was robbed of three hundred dollars and I just can’t afford it. At least not right now.”

  Abe patted Lark’s cool, damp hand. “Don’t pay any attention to Millie. She’s like a team of runaway horses when she gets excited about something. We want you to take the bonnet as a gift. You’ve had so much sadness befall you of late, Millie and I were searching for a way to make you smile again.”

  Lark heard sudden gasps behind her and felt a flurry of movement. She turned, perplexed. Her eyes widened. Her stomach knotted. Bo Shanks was standing by the open doorway, his hands on his narrow hips, watching her. A cheroot dangled from his lips, the smoke making his eyes squint as he studied her. The three women hurried out of the store, fear written clearly on their features.

  Millie croaked out a sound and moved behind her husband’s slender frame. Abe scowled.

  Lark’s attention turned to Paco, who was lifting the last box of supplies at the rear of the store and was still unaware of the gunslinger’s presence. She remembered Paco’s swearing to even the score with Shanks if he ever got a chance. Shanks was now watching her foreman with interest. Terror sizzled through her, and she walked to the center of the store, placing herself between the two men.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Shanks smiled lazily. “Word gets around in a hurry, honey. I was at the Silver Spur Saloon when they said the breed was in town wearing a dress.” He sucked deeply on the cheroot before dropping the butt to the floor. His wolfish grin lingered as he held her angry stare. “Ya think a dress is gonna change how these town folks treat ya?”

  Her nostrils flared and Lark clenched her fists. “I don’t have to stand here talking to you, Shanks.” She turned to Paco, who was now glaring at the gunslinger. “Paco, take that last load out to the buckboard and stay there.”

  “Don’t move,” Shanks warned the Mexican foreman, his hand dropping lazily to the gun placed low on his hip.

  “Get out of here!” Lark cried at Shanks. “You have no right to do this!”

  “Sure I do, breed.” He looked her up and down, nice and slow. “And damned if ya don’t look better in a dress. Kinda shows off yore good points. Makes ya look like a woman.”

  Color
ing fiercely, Lark took a step toward Shanks. “You foul dog’s belly!”

  He grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him. A cry was torn from Lark and pain raced up her arm. She stumbled, tripping over the hem of the dress. She heard Paco drop the box of supplies. Before she could do anything, Shanks pushed her savagely aside.

  As she fell to the floor, she saw Shanks’s lightning draw. Paco shouted a warning just as the shattering explosion of two guns going off sent her reeling. The reek of cordite gunpowder stung her nostrils as she crawled to her knees. Shanks stood there, grinning. With a cry, Lark lurched to her feet. Paco was lying on the floor groaning, blood splattered everywhere.

  Falling to Paco’s side, Lark bit back a cry. Shanks had shot him in the shoulder and blood was pumping from the gaping wound. Torn between the need to care for Paco and an overwhelming urge to grab the first weapon she could find and use it on Shanks, Lark begged, “Lie still, Paco, lie still.” She pressed the clean towel Abe handed her against the wound.

  “I’ll get the doc,” Abe said hurriedly.

  “Ya ain’t gonna do anything,” Shanks snarled, opening the chamber on his gun and dropping out the spent cartridge.

  “My God,” Abe exploded, “he’ll bleed to death!”

  “One more greaser dead. Stay where ya are unless ya want a belly full of lead, too.”

  Lark struggled to her feet, all her hatred and anger exploding deep within her. No matter what it took, she was going to get Paco to the doctor. Then she saw Matt Kincaid standing in the doorway. Shanks was putting his gun back in the holster when Matt clamped a hand on the gunslinger’s thin shoulder. In one motion, he picked Shanks up and threw him off his feet. Shanks threw his arms over his head before he slammed into a bin filled with fabric.

  Matt stood there, surveying the carnage. He saw Lark totter to her feet, her hands stained with blood, her skirt crimson. “Get a doctor and bring the sheriff,” he told the storekeeper quietly. “Lark, stay with Paco.”

  Abe nodded and hurried past Matt. Shanks shook his head, crawling to his hands and knees. He glowered at the cowboy. “You’ll regret this, mister,” he snarled.

  “No, you’re the one who’s going to be sorry.” Matt walked toward the gunslinger.

  “He’s dangerous, Matt!” Lark cried in warning. “A killer!”

  “He’s a yellow-bellied snake. Get on your feet, Shanks.”

  Damn! Shanks thought. This must be the man the breed had hired to protect her. Cameron had ordered him to find him earlier. He sized up the man, a frisson of anger moving through him. He couldn’t have lasted four years as top gun here in Prescott without being good, but just the way this cowboy wore the Peacekeeper, he knew he was in for trouble.

  Slowly, he got to his knees. “Keep yore nose out of business that don’t concern ya,” he warned.

  Matt stared down at him, leaving less than four feet separating them. “You’re a weasel, Shanks. One of those greasy little gunslingers who makes his reputation by plugging people in the back.”

  Shanks slowly got to his feet, hunched over, ready to go for his gun. “What’s yore name? I want to know it ‘fore I kill ya.”

  “Kincaid. And I hope like hell you go for your gun.”

  Shanks hesitated. Something in the voice warned him not to draw. He grinned, showing his yellowed teeth. “Kincaid…can’t say I’ve heard the name.”

  “I’m the new manager for the Gallagher Ranch.”

  “I see….”

  “You’d better, scum.”

  Hatred leaped into Shank’s feral eyes. “No one calls me scum….”

  “Go on, Shanks, give me a reason to draw on you. Any reason…” Matt taunted softly. “I want to make this all real legal. That’s the last time you’ll touch Lark or draw against one of her ranch hands.”

  Lark continued to press the towel against Paco’s shoulder, her throat aching with tension, aware that Paco was going into shock and needed help badly. The Mexican groaned loudly.

  Shanks used the unexpected distraction to his advantage. His palm slapped against the pearl handle of his gun.

  With a curse, and before Shanks could get the weapon out of the holster, Matt struck him hard in the jaw. The gunslinger slammed into the fabric bin. The satisfying sound of teeth breaking beneath his fist made Matt feel slightly better. He heard Lark cry out his name but ignored her, limping over to where Shanks lay dazed on the floor.

  “Get up,” he snarled, jerking Shanks to his feet.

  Lark hovered over Paco, her hand pressed against her mouth. As Matt dragged Shanks upward, she saw the gunslinger pull a knife from his belt.

  “Matt!” she screamed.

  In a flash he caught Shanks’s right wrist and squeezed the thin blade from his clawlike fingers. Shanks let out a shriek of pain as his wrist was bent back. He fell to his knees, and Matt pressed his weight down into the gunslinger. His breath came in ragged gasps.

  “You’ve gone too far this time, Shanks. The sheriff will catch up with you. No one shoots a man without provocation and gets away with it. Get the hell out of here before I decide to put my gun to your filthy head.” He shoved Shanks away, watching the gunslinger leap to his feet.

  Lark turned back to Paco as Shanks left the store. The Mexican was pale and still. She pressed her hand against his neck. There was still a faint pulse. Shaken, she didn’t realize Matt had knelt opposite her until she looked up.

  “How is he?”

  “I—I think the bleeding’s stopped.”

  Matt pushed the hat off his wrinkled brow. “Good. Here comes the doc.”

  The doctor, an older man than Abe Harris, placed his black bag down beside the foreman and rapidly examined him. “Abe, I’m going to need help,” he said. “This man’s got to be taken over to my office.”

  Lark stood with her back against the wall, feeling numb and exhausted. She stared mutely as Matt and Abe carried Paco out the door. Silence settled around her. She looked down at the puddle of blood, and a chill ran through her. With another towel she tried to blot it up. Millie peeked out of the back storeroom and promptly swooned. Lark managed to get her to a chair and found some smelling salts, which she held under the woman’s nose.

  Assured that Millie would survive the shocking event, Lark ignored the large crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered in the doorway and pressed to get through them. Finally she broke clear and, picking up her skirt, ran across the dusty street. Gasping, she bounded up the wooden walkway and entered the doctor’s office.

  Matt turned. “Lark?”

  She closed the door and leaned heavily against it, out of breath. “Is he going to live?”

  “I don’t know. Doc Friar’s got him under ether right now to take out the bullet.” He took her arm. “Come on, sit down. You look like you’re going to faint.”

  Just the touch of his hand brought all her feelings to the surface. Valiantly she fought the deluge of emotions. “I—I’m all right. Really…”

  “I know you are,” Matt soothed, watching her closely. “You were very brave in a very bad situation.”

  Lark couldn’t force herself to sit down. She craved his closeness, his protection. She searched his dark gray eyes. “Matt?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hold me? Just for a little while. If you—”

  With a groan he swept his arms around her, crushing her against him. A sob escaped Lark and he held her tighter, caressing her black, silky hair. “It’s all right, my golden cougar. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Chapter 9

  Cameron rose from his desk as Shanks shuffled into his office. “What the hell happened to you?”

  He sat down, holding his swelling jaw. “Goddammit, boss, don’t holler at me. I gotta get to Doc Friar. That bastard Kincaid busted up my teeth.”

  Cameron sat back down, his mouth thinning. “I thought I told you to go over there and chase that breed out of town.”

  Shanks flashed him an irritated look. “Ya forgot to mention he was a
hired gun, not just another drover, goddammit.”

  Cameron pretended indifference. “Oh? Kincaid said something about being her ranch manager. How could I know? He did that to you, didn’t he?”

  “I’m in a lotta pain!”

  Snorting violently, Cameron gestured savagely toward the door. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t need no snot-nose dribbling blood all over my new carpet. Now get going!”

  Shanks rose slowly. If he didn’t like the money Cameron paid him so much, he wouldn’t take this shit from the bastard. “Look, that bastard’s meaner than a rattler that’s been riled. That breed bitch done got her a tough hombre. I’ll get him, I just gotta have time!”

  Giving Shanks a withering stare, Cameron muttered, “All right. Get your ass back over here when the doc’s fixed that mouth of yours. And make it fast.”

  As Shanks jerked open the office door, he saw Sheriff Cole walking down the carpeted hall. Cole came to a stop and poked his head inside Cameron’s door. “Gotta take Shanks in, Jud.”

  Cameron scowled. “For god sakes, why? What the hell’s going on?”

  “He shot Paco Hernandez in broad daylight and there are witnesses. That Mex foreman of the breed’s is over at the doc’s office right now getting patched up.” Cole lifted his hand toward the gunslinger. “Let’s go.”

  Cursing roundly, Cameron leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing. “You shot a greaser in broad daylight?”

  Shanks winced. “He got in the way of me pushin’ the breed around.”

  “You stupid louse!” He turned to Cole. “Put him in jail for now. I’ll fix things to spring this idiot after the breed and that gun leave.”

  “But, boss, my jaw. I gotta get over to Doc Friar.”

  Cameron clenched his teeth. The urge to strike Shanks was very strong, but he didn’t want to get blood on his good clothes or bruise his knuckles. “Cole, get this silly bastard out of my office and out of my sight! Now! He can damned well cool his heels over in the jail for a couple of days.”

  Glaring at Cameron, Shanks tenderly held his aching jaw. “Aw, boss—”

  “Sit in jail and think about what you’ve done, Shanks,” Cameron snarled, stalking across the office to confront the gunslinger. He jabbed his finger into Shanks’s chest. “The people of Prescott won’t put up with flagrant disregard of the law. The only reason I get away with some things is because we do things quietly and behind the scenes. You’ve disobeyed my orders. Shooting a man in broad daylight is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Cole, get him out of here before I puke. And then get back over here. Morgan’s due any time now. We’ve got some planning to do.”