Taming Elijah (The Kincaids Book 1)

by Stacy Reid

  It infuriated him that she would believe that he would allow anyone to take her against her will. His thoughts stilled as he remembered what he had said to her. “When I said I did not care who you went with, Sheridan, I meant willingly. I would never stand by and watch harm come to you. I would kill them before I allow them to take you forcefully,” he said calmly.

  She searched his face and whatever she saw reassured her. Some of the tension seeped from her shoulders. He did not say anything when she pressed her back firmer into his chest. Easing her forward slightly, he reached in his carpet bag, and handed her a colt dragoon.

  He could see that one of men fancied himself a gunfighter. A Mexican, tall and slim, he had two guns strapped onto him. He strutted over with a cocky jaunt and sneer on his lips. Elijah dismissed him as the least dangerous. He scanned them, probing and seeking. Then he found him, the one he had to watch the most. Slim, more a boy than a man, with pale sandy hair and silver grey eyes. The boy had a look in his eyes that Elijah did not like. They were the eyes of an accomplished killer, empty, distant and they were glued to Sheridan. The other man beside Jericho Sullivan, large and swarthy, also stared at Sheridan, and only a blind man would miss the lust that poured off him. He licked his lips as he observed the pants which clung to her curves.

  “Slowly dismount,” Elijah murmured.

  Without hesitation she obeyed, and he aided her without removing his attention from the vermin polluting their ranch. Steadying herself, she gripped the gun in a confident hold, and Elijah got the feeling she would do anything not to be taken. And he would be there with her, come hell or high water. He would be damned several ways in hell if she got hurt today.

  He pulled the rifle from the gun scabbard, resting it against his pommel as they came closer. With deceptive ease he cradled his Spencer .56 on his saddle, and pointed it in line with Sullivan’s belt buckle, Elijah kept his right finger over the trigger guard.

  They halted in their tracks at his slow deliberate movements. Elijah had to hand it to Jericho. He neither twitched nor appeared ruffled. Not every man would face down the power of a Spencer with such ease, especially knowing the damage it could do. Jericho had a strong boned face with a square jaw and a pair of the cruelest eyes Elijah had ever seen, and he had seen plenty. Jericho stared at Elijah, his blue eyes unblinking.

  “I see you have found my fiancée. Who might you be so that I can reward you?” Jericho drawled coolly, ignoring the rifle and stepping a mite closer.

  “Reward?”

  “Are you not responding to the poster in town?”

  Sheridan inhaled sharply. “You had posters of me drawn?”

  Elijah’s lips twisted in a slight smile, noting how the three men fanned out. They were all strapped with six shooters and bowie knives. Two eased their horses wide, walking toward him, hoping to get behind him. He had seen many men boxed in before, and killed before they could comprehend what was happening. He shifted the rifle sight to the boy with the dead eyes, ignoring the one that fancied himself as an outlaw.

  “My horse is mighty skittish. He doesn’t like other horses positioned behind him. He could shy, and my hand could press the trigger.” As if to emphasize his point he stroked the trigger guard almost sensually.

  Jericho raised his hand slightly and they halted. A flash of something came and went in his expression before Elijah could decipher it.

  “We do not want any trouble, stranger. I will happily compensate you for the return of my fiancée. A reward of five hundred dollars had been posted for her safe return.”

  Sheridan flinched and Elijah did not shift his regard from Jericho. There was a surety in his voice when he spoke of her. He sounded too damn sure. Elijah did not like it.

  “She was not lost. She came to inform me that certain parties had interest in my outfit, and my presence was needed on my land. Your presence here, uninvited, indicates to me that you are the interested party.”

  The silence that reigned was an interesting one. He slowly met the eyes of each man, taking their measure and their intent. His way was careful. In case they mistook his greeting for an invitation, he centered his revolver on the leader’s chest.

  “Your outfit?” The one Sheridan identified as Bartley stepped forward, his eyes glittering with sudden anger.

  “My outfit,” Elijah responded coolly.

  One of the men edged his horse closer and Elijah palmed his gun with casual ease and pointed at him. The man froze.

  “And who might you be?” Jericho drawled in that unruffled way of his.

  “Elijah Kincaid.”

  Stillness came over Bartley and one of the men on horseback, and Elijah knew they had at least heard of him and his brothers.

  “Of the Triple K’s Kincaid?” Bartley demanded looking flustered.

  Elijah assessed them without answering. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “I hear talk of Mr. Sullivan wanting to do business with the Creek. I am the Whispering Creek. So you will deal with me.”

  They looked at each other and something passed between them, something that had Sheridan tightening her hands on the colt dragoon. She sent him a pleading look and mouthed the words “forgive me.” He saw the bleak desperation in her eyes. His gut tightened and he went quiet inside.

  “Sorry amigo,” the Mexican murmured conciliatory. “There seems to be some misunderstanding. We are only here for the woman. We will leave peacefully with her. If you resist, we will not leave peacefully.”

  A soft cry hissed from her. So there was no threat to the ranch.

  “Go inside, Sheridan,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. He did not want her outside in the event things got nasty.

  She made to move in the direction of the main house and one of the men jerked his mount forward, stopping her. She went chalk white. Her gaze flitted over each man, carefully avoiding Sullivan’s own. She glanced at Elijah, her eyes questioning as to what she should do. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she did everything to bury it. If one did not know her, she seemed calm. His lips quirked in a small smile of admiration. “Just keep walking, sweetheart.”

  She glared at the two men directly in her path.

  “Go. If he tries to stop you I will put a bullet in him.” He made his voice flat and implacable.

  “You are outnumbered five to one. We will take you. Just hand over the senorita.” The Mexican to the left of Bartley spoke.

  Elijah shrugged. “Probably. I have never been a man to let the odds intimidate me.” He turned the revolver on the man closest to Sheridan as she walked around them toward the main house. The shotgun he kept lined up with Sullivan’s midsection.

  “Is Sheridan your fiancée or your wife?” Sullivan asked with a queer smile on his lips.

  “Neither.”

  “Then what is your interest in my woman?” Sullivan’s mask shifted a little and Elijah could see the meanness that lurked.

  “The lady is unwilling.” Elijah reckoned he didn’t need to say anything further.

  “And if the lady proves to be willing?” Sullivan murmured, lighting a cigarette, studying him with his dead eyes.

  Elijah shrugged casually. “If she is willing, she is yours.”

  “Ah, so you are not fucking her then?” Sullivan dragged long on his smoke, watching Elijah intently. No doubt trying to gain his measure.

  “Is it that you want to be fucking her?” Sullivan smiled, a twisted depraved slant of his lips. “Do not let that desire make you fight us my friend. I will still allow you to taste.”

  Elijah held Sullivan’s scrutiny, erasing all of his emotions. They weighed each other, and Elijah did not like what he saw one bit. The men with Sullivan chuckled at his offer, and a kind of charged waiting permeated the air, a lustful charge, a predatory anticipation. Only it did not fill Sullivan’s gaze alone. It filled all five men’s eyes. />
  Elijah tensed. “We are not friends.”

  “It seems, amigo, a little foolish to die for a woman that you have no interest in, si?” the Mexican murmured regretfully, reaching for his weapon.

  “Don’t, Ramon! That’s a Kincaid!” Bartley snapped.

  Elijah turned his head slowly at the direct challenge and for a long minute he said nothing, letting his eyes burn into the Mexican. The man stopped in the motion of drawing his gun, his face creasing with mingled astonishment and fear.

  Sullivan remained unruffled, but Elijah could see the slow spasm above his eyebrow. Elijah kept his rifle trained on Sullivan right above his belt buckle.

  “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way gentlemen.” His voice was hard and steady. “Now, being a man that has been on the trail for hours and wanting to get some grub and some sleep, I would prefer the easy way. The easy way is accepting that Lady Sheridan is under my protection, thus she is under the Triple K’s protection. The hard way is deciding to make a play for her right now.”

  He met each man’s eyes slowly, keeping the rifle trained on Sullivan, and his colt aimed at the sandy haired killer. “Now, doing this the hard way all of us will die.” When he saw the killer’s eyes narrow, he nodded his head coolly. “Yes, all of you, possibly including me. Not just some. So if you want the hard way, then no one is making it off this range today. I dare you to test the truth of my words.” He let the truth swirl into the air and sink into that cold place that dwelled within him.

  Bartley’s brows furrowed, his face white yet angry. He looked uncertain. “We have no war with the Kincaids. You are dipping your nose in business that ain’t yours,” he growled.

  “Anything that happens on this ranch is my business,” Elijah stated flatly.

  Sullivan smiled, and it made Elijah uneasy.

  “Sheridan is not yours or the Whispering Creek’s business. You can say the land is yours...” Sullivan shrugged. “But the woman is not.”

  His eyes then went cold and cruel and Elijah understood why Sheridan asked for his forgiveness. This man did not want his land. It was only a pretext, and she was savvy enough to see that. This was all about her.

  “So it’s the hard way then?” he drawled and lined his Spencer with Sullivan’s chest. “I’ll shoot the next man that moves,” Elijah said unemotionally. It did not seem as if they doubted him. No one moved. There was a charged silence and the sandy haired boy twitched. Elijah smiled and kept his eyes on Sullivan, letting him see the promise of death, for he would be the first one Elijah took out.

  Sullivan was cool and unruffled as he tipped his hat and said, “Kincaid.”

  Cool as he pleased he walked to the hitching post, untied his horse, launched into the saddle and rode away. Without giving any command, his guns for hire followed him.

  Elijah lowered his weapon, his mind churning cold and logical. They would return. He was dealing with a dangerous man and Sheridan was in a hell of a lot more trouble than she had let on. And his life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

  Chapter Seven

  The situation was more dangerous than Elijah had ever imagined. He stood gazing into the distance until the last of the dust settled down. They had taken the easy way, but from the look in Sullivan’s eyes it was not from fear. Bartley and one of the men that rode with him had been edgy once they realized he was one of the Kincaid brothers. But not Sullivan.

  Elijah felt in his gut they would return, and he had to consider that Sheridan’s supposition could be right. At first it seemed a little farfetched that Jericho would murder Thomas for her. Elijah knew when he saw ruthlessness and intelligence combined in one. Jericho Sullivan had that, along with meanness about his face. He could have killed Thomas so that he could claim her. Sullivan wanted Sheridan. But it was not a want born from lust alone. He would have been more possessive if that had been the case. The way Jericho’s men looked at her made Elijah’s gut crawl.

  The slow sickening smile Jericho had given him was an invitation to play. This was a man who would share Sheridan, whether she was willing or not. Sullivan was dangerous. And Elijah did not underrate the men he had with him.

  Sheridan waited on the wide wraparound porch. Hell. She had been petrified but she had hidden it well. It was rare for a woman like her to see evil when it was looked upon. She had been reared as a genteel lady and had been protected from much of life’s hardships. When he’d first met her he had been afraid to even converse with her, not wanting to taint her with his nightmares and savagery. He doubted she understood the full extent of Jericho’s depravity, but she was no fool. She knew enough to be scared.

  He watched a slender red headed woman come onto the porch and speak with her briefly. It was only as the woman glanced in his direction he recognized Beth. She had changed much. She had always been plump and ripe. Now she looked almost gaunt. She touched Sheridan gently and then gave her a hug, before disappearing inside. His mind flitted to Sheridan’s speech about Beth being fragile and that she needed her. There was a story there, one that he would unravel in time, especially since it involved one of his brothers. Unless Sheridan was mistaken in the baby being a Kincaid.

  He met Sheridan’s stare over the distance and cantered towards the main house. She was a blend of courage and determination that intrigued him. It shouldn’t have, but Elijah felt a tug that drew him to her fire. She was alone, a woman without protection, and her marrying would truly be the safest thing for her. To a man that would be able to hold onto her, protect her. He was not that man. He had wanted to be for a while. Desperately. He had tried to bury the nightmares in her sweetness, her gentleness, her innocence. He’d selfishly wanted her in his bleak world to brighten the darkness, to hold the nightmares at bay. It had been a good thing she had not been his to claim, because he had almost chained himself to another fragile woman like Emma, a thing he had promised himself to never do. That way only led to torment and agony.

  Sheridan waited on the porch for him, her only sign of nervousness the foot tapping lightly on the wooden floor. Thick, wavy hair tumbled past her shoulders. Even though so small she possessed a lush feminine strength. A surge of lust hit him in the gut and he snarled, resenting the feelings.

  He slid off his horse and tied him to the hitching post, taking slow measured steps to her. “Sullivan will not give up. He has determined he wants you and he will be like a rabid dog with a bone.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “The best course of action is to be far from his reach.”

  She raised her chin defiantly, but she did not reply.

  “When you spoke of him earlier…I thought he simply coveted you for your beauty. But I was wrong. He is not a kind man. He will break you.”

  Her lips flattened in a determine line. “I need protection.”

  Elijah was in full agreement. “You will have mine until you depart.”

  Panic flickered over her face and she pressed on. “I do not have to leave. Not if I have the protection of the Kincaid name. Not if I have your protection, Elijah.”

  His heart slammed into his throat, and echoes of screams rose in his mind. “You will have my strength and my gun for as long as you choose to remain here. But we will never marry.” Regret soured in his gut, he should be doing the honorable thing, especially after last night. But where would that leave them? Trapped in a marriage filled with nightmares and bitterness?

  “Do you hate me that much? Instead of marrying me you will allow them to take me?”

  He stepped in close enough where she had to tilt her head to watch him. “I do not hate you, Sheridan, do not believe that for a second. Know that as long as I breathe Sullivan will not take you. I will protect you to the best of my ability.”

  “There was a time you wanted to marry me, Elijah,” she said softly.

  He hardened himself against the rush of desire as she rested h
er palms on his chest, eyes imploring as she stared at him.

  “That time has passed.”

  She barely controlled her flinch and a part of him wanted to retract the words. He could not. He would not give her hope when there was none. She set her chin and Elijah caught a glimpse of the strength he knew she harbored.

  “This is my home, Elijah. The only place I have ever belonged.” She shifted away from him, fisting her hand at her side. “I will take your protection for however long you offer it, but I will not run. My inheritance has been poured into this ranch. This outfit should be mine. If you are not willing to marry me for it…I want to buy your shares from you. I will hire enough men to work for me, and to help me hold it.”

  He sighed. “They will not work for you, Sheridan.”

  “I know I am a foreigner. But if you were here...Helping me. I would have a chance. Don’t ask me to abandon my home. Wherever I go, my wealth will always be coveted. If I go to Santa Fe, Boston or Tennessee. There will always be someone that will want to take what I have. And I will not give it up. It belongs to my children, and their children.”

  The truth of her words slapped him. He had already suspected that Sullivan would not give up. And it was possible having him on the ranch would be the safest thing for her, until he found out the depths Sullivan would go to claim her. Elijah could not in good conscience send her away, not if Sullivan would hunt her across state for the wealth she had. Elijah needed to understand the depths of Sullivan’s resolve. “Where is Miguel?”

  “He is inside on the ground floor. He is in the sun room.”

  Elijah arched a brow. “The sun room?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “The fifth door on the left.”

  He made to leave but paused when she grabbed his hand.

  “Will you sell to me, Elijah?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  He did not hesitate in giving her the unvarnished truth. “Women like you were not built for this land. For this life. I say this because it is the reality of the land. I will not sell to you. That will make you more of a target than you already are. You are accustomed to balls and tea parties, servants and ladies’ maids to braid your hair. Take Beth and go to Boston, New York, or return to England. You can carve out a life for yourself there. I will not always be here to protect you. Pack up and leave, Sheridan. If you value your life...Leave, you are a sheep amongst coyotes out here.”