Reaper's Vow

by Sarah McCarty

  “Uh-huh.” Cole waved his hand dismissing that argument. “Do you have anything you value here?” he asked Miranda. She pointed to the corner. “Go get it.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Clark snapped.

  Miranda hesitated.

  “Go,” Cole repeated. She did, quickly gathering up a blanket-wrapped bundle.

  Jenny began to cry. Everyone froze. Clark snapped to Miranda. “Put that shit down and take care of the kids.”

  Cole reiterated, “Keep walking, Miranda.”

  Wendy tugged on Miranda’s arm when she hesitated. “Come on, Mommy.”

  Cole didn’t want to know how scared a woman had to be to think going off with a stranger beat staying with someone she knew, but that split second of hesitation was all Miranda wasted.

  Cole smiled at Clark.

  “It appears to me we have a few choices here. One, I can take Wendy and Miranda back to their house. Two, we can find Isaiah and discuss this, and then I take Wendy and Miranda back to their house. Or three”—he pulled out his other revolver and aimed it between the other man’s legs—“I can kill your sorry ass right now and take Wendy and Miranda back to their house. One way or another, Miranda and Wendy are leaving your care.”

  “The hell they are.”

  Cindy found her voice. “Please, Clark, not tonight. Isaiah will throw us out if there’s another incident. Please, let the council handle it.”

  Miranda stood still, clutching her blanket-wrapped stuff to her chest, and backed toward Cole, stopping halfway, looking at Clark as if the bastard had any say in anything. It ticked Cole off.

  “Miranda, get over here.”

  She didn’t move.

  He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow. “Please?”

  She hesitated a second and then came over. Her energy was just as wild as Clark’s but for a different reason. He was flat-out crazy. She was simply terrified.

  Cole stopped her before she could pass.

  “Go behind me please.” Miranda looked at the pistols, swallowed, and then nodded.

  “This isn’t over,” Clark muttered as she and Wendy inched past.

  The words yanked Miranda up short as she opened the door. The wild in her energy flared, riding the gust of cold, wet air that blew in. Cole grabbed her arm and pushed her out into the rain before the impulse could explode into words. The door slammed shut behind them. The storm raged around. Wendy whimpered. Lightning crackled across the sky. It was nothing compared to the emotion flashing in Miranda’s eyes. A fighter like her daughter.

  Her lips parted. Cole put his hand over her mouth. Holding her gaze, he quietly took over her war.

  “It’s over as far as you’re concerned.”

  * * *

  Beneath his palm Cole felt the hard edge of Miranda’s teeth. The storm thundered and crackled. It was nothing compared to the energy seething around them. Anger spiked with fear. Her fear of Clark. Of him. He shook his head.

  “If I wanted you hurt, I would have left you with him.”

  He looked down at Wendy who was huddled against her mom, shivering. “And the kid, too.”

  Wendy frowned at him. He shook his head. Always so ready to fight, this one. When he picked her up, Miranda turned on him, her big brown eyes catching his, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a feral threat. Her canines were slightly longer, like Isaiah’s. And getting longer by the second. Reaper. The knowledge went through him on a shiver. It should have been one of repulsion. But it wasn’t. Son of a bitch, what was it about this woman?

  He gentled his voice.

  “She’s getting soaked. I can keep her drier in my coat.”

  Miranda blinked. Her mouth opened and then closed. She watched him the way one watched a coiled snake as he tucked the little girl against his chest.

  “I want to go home,” Wendy whispered wearily against his chest.

  “We’re heading there.”

  She shook her head. “Not there, our real home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Why’s that?”

  If he was hoping to get past a six-year-old, he was doomed to failure. She just shook her head and locked her lips closed.

  “It’s none of your business,” Miranda answered for her, pulling the coat a little tighter around her daughter. This close Cole could smell the faint sweetness of Miranda’s soap. Clean and flowery, it made him think of summer and sex.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been making it mine.”

  “I’ve noticed, and you’ve done enough.”

  “That doesn’t sound like gratitude.”

  She started trudging through the mud. Looking back over her shoulder, she muttered, “Probably because it’s not.”

  Making sure Wendy stayed wrapped up, Cole followed. Behind him he heard the door creak open. Creeping along with the light came Clark’s energy. Tainted. Reckless. Frustration spiked with imbalance. Cole looked back. Clark was nowhere in sight, but framed in the doorway Cole could see Cindy huddled back against the wall, her children clutched in her arms. Fresh blood trickled down her chin. He cursed under his breath. The bastard had hit her. Isaiah needed to do something about him. A man like Clark was trouble and no benefit to anyone. He needed to go.

  “I don’t like him, either,” Wendy whispered.

  Had he said something?

  “Did he ever hurt you, pumpkin?”

  She nodded. “Once.”

  Fuck telling Isaiah. Cole would kill him himself.

  Miranda was far enough ahead to be out of earshot. “What happened?” he asked.

  She stirred in his arms. “Momma hurt him.”

  “Your momma?”

  Wendy nodded. “She can be mean.”

  He found that hard to believe. The woman was all delicate femininity.

  “But never to you.” He hazarded a guess.

  Wendy looked up, and her eyes were bright in the flash of lightning. Sure. “Of course not. She loves me.”

  “What did Clark do? When your mommy hurt him.”

  “I don’t know.” There was a pause and a shift. “I was hiding.”

  “Oh?” Ahead, Miranda looked back over her shoulder. He ignored the impatience in her stance.

  Wendy shrugged. “I was little.”

  She was barely bigger than a minute now. “There’s no shame in being little or being scared.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Sometimes I am. I just don’t give in to it.”

  “Me, either.”

  He shook his head. Someone had to teach her to check that spirit. “I noticed.”

  “Is everything all right?” Miranda called.

  “Just fine.”

  “I’m getting wet,” Wendy informed him. He took the hint.

  “Then I’d better hurry.”

  It took just a minute to catch up with Miranda. You’d think it’d been hours from the worry in her expression.

  “Was something wrong?”

  “We were talking.”

  Her gaze ran over the bump that was Wendy in his coat. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “In the rain?”

  Skepticism abounded. He opened the door and held it for her. “Your daughter likes to talk.”

  Her frown deepened rather than eased. “She can be a chatterbox.”

  He motioned her into the house. “She’s charming, and you know it.”

  “To some people.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Clark is plumb loco.”

  “We’re home?” Wendy asked against his neck.

  He looked around the small structure. Now that he knew to whom the home belonged, he could see evidence of both in the home. Miranda in t
he feminine neatness, and Wendy in the touches of chaos.

  “What the hell was Isaiah thinking kicking you out of your home and putting you in that mess?”

  Miranda shook her head again.

  “It wasn’t his choice.”

  “What the hell do you mean it wasn’t his choice? He’s boss here, isn’t he?”

  She licked her lips. “It’s complicated.”

  Wendy wiggled. He let her slide to the floor. “How complicated?”

  Miranda’s gaze met his. “None of this is any of your business.”

  “We’ve already been over that ground. I made it my business about an hour ago.”

  “What you made was an enemy you didn’t need to.” She dropped the bundle on the floor by the bed. “You should have left when I told you to at Clark’s or just stayed away.”

  “And left your daughter in a barn where anything could happen to her and anybody could find her?”

  She turned, backing up a step until her calves hit the bed. If she were a whore, he’d take that as an invitation.

  “She’s safe here.”

  “I’ve got news for you, sweet doll, no one’s safe anywhere. There’s always somebody willing to invade your little world and tear it apart.”

  Miranda wrapped her arms around her waist, then as if realizing what the motion betrayed, snapped them down to her side. Her clothes were soaked and sticking to her curvy little body in a way that had his cock twitching and his conscience smarting. The place was cold, and she was chilled, and he was debating points he’d long since settled.

  Cole strode over the fireplace he’d prepped earlier and stacked some kindling over the pile of twigs before reaching into his pocket and taking out a sulfur, striking it, and setting it to the pine needles beneath. They crackled and burned immediately, the bark and twigs above catching fast. Behind him he could hear Wendy moving about, the lightness of her steps betraying her location, but as far as he could tell, Miranda hadn’t budged. She was stuck like an opossum to that bed.

  He watched the flames devour the kindling. “That man was going to hurt your kid.”

  “I know.”

  As the flames licked at the first log, he glanced over his shoulder.

  “And what the hell did you think you were going to do about it?”

  Her fingers curled into her palms, and her lips drew back again, revealing those sexy little canines.

  “Kill him.”

  Taking in her small size and slight stature, Cole just shook his head. “Uh-huh. You may be Reaper, honey, but so is he.”

  The fire had caught. He stood and added, “You’re not safe here.”

  Wendy walked over to her mama, Dolly in her hand. “He wants to be my papa.”

  Cole didn’t miss the betraying way she leaned against her mom. “Seems to me he’s already somebody’s papa.”

  “I don’t want him to be mine.”

  “Understandable.” He glanced at Miranda. It was hard to ignore the way the wet blouse adhered to her shape, revealing the hard points of her nipples, but he gave it a hell of a shot. “Where’s your husband?”

  “Gone. Where’s your wife?” she shot back.

  “I’ve never had one.”

  “I can see why,” she muttered.

  It was such a woman-type retort, he couldn’t suppress the smile tugging his lips.

  “Yeah, I am a bit rough around the edges.”

  Wendy left her mom and came over to the fire, Dolly held before her like a shield. He blocked her before she could step too close.

  “Gotta be careful around fire with skirts, little one.”

  She looked down at her skirts, then at the fire. “Oh.” She immediately took two steps back. Her mother gave every impression she’d like to follow suit, but she held her ground.

  Cole lost his smile. “I won’t be staying here tonight.”

  “But where will you go?”

  The protest was halfhearted at best. He didn’t take offense. “I’ll be sleeping in the barn.”

  Miranda was shaking her head before he finished the sentence. “Isaiah said—”

  He cut her off. “I don’t give a rat’s behind what Isaiah said. I don’t put a woman and child out of their bed for my comfort.”

  “You’re Addy’s family.”

  “Cousin to be exact.”

  She nodded.

  “But that doesn’t change a da—darn thing.”

  “We all know what you did for her.”

  He wondered which tale they were talking about. “Then you also know I mean what I say.”

  A shiver preceded her nod.

  Hell, the woman would probably catch pneumonia while he wasted time arguing with her.

  “You need to get into something dry.”

  She didn’t move. “I will.”

  The “after you leave” hung silently between them.

  “Then I’ll get going and let you get to it.”

  He grabbed his saddlebags and headed for the door. With his hand on the knob he looked back.

  Miranda was still standing by the bed, fingertips on the coverlet, tension in every line of her body. Wendy stood by the fire. Both of them looked at him with identical big brown eyes. Both of them looked lost and scared. Hell, even Dolly looked scared.

  It’s complicated.

  Cole had the incredible urge to go back and gather them close. To tell them it would be all right. He shook his head at his own foolishness. What the hell was he thinking? It likely wasn’t going to be all right. They weren’t his responsibility. Still the urge pressed. Still he resisted. With an inaudible “hell” he opened the door.

  A softly whispered “Be careful” stopped him dead in his tracks.

  Cold air rushed past him, sending goose bumps chasing over his skin as he turned. “Why?”

  Miranda licked her lips. She looked scared to death but determined. “Clark’s not . . . right. He won’t take well with you interfering in his plans.”

  Cole shrugged. “Won’t be the first time someone’s taken exception to my decisions.”

  “He won’t fight fair.”

  “He’s sneaky,” Wendy piped up.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” But he was still sleeping elsewhere. Tipping his hat to both, he ordered, “Drop the bar on this door when I leave.”

  He had barely cleared the stoop when he heard the board thunk. At least the woman knew how to take an order. He remembered the way the rain plastered her dress to her chest and the full breasts it revealed. And those beautiful steal-your-soul eyes. And that courage that came out of nowhere, backed by the same fire so much more visible in Wendy. It was an intriguing combination. Adjusting his position he smiled. And the lady wasn’t married, which meant there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t take any order he cared to give. He pulled his hat down over his brow, letting the rain run off the brim. She just might be his type. And his time here might not be as tedious as he’d thought.

  A pulse of energy came out of the storm. The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck stood on end. His smile slipped. Clark. Cole could only think of a few reasons the Reaper would be out in the storm. None of them good. Shit.

  Continuing on his path, Cole tracked Clark’s energy, which paced him. Cole loosened the tie down on his revolvers. Entering the barn, he took his saddlebags and put them down in a pile of clean hay in the corner. Clark’s energy held steady. Cole untied his slicker from the bags, a little late but better late than never. Drawing it on, he buttoned it closed.

  As he felt Clark slip away, he followed, tamping down his own energy, not wanting to project the way the Reaper was. A bit shortsighted of the man to think he was undetected, but Cole was used to men overestimating their abilities and underestimating his. In a fight it didn’t matter as much who was bigger as it did who was meaner and more skilled,
and he had a lot of skills.

  Cole followed Clark until he went back to his house. Miranda seemed to think her association with Isaiah was protection. He wasn’t so sure. A man like Clark didn’t take “no” well, and the appearance of another man in his woman’s vicinity had to put his temper on edge. Clark didn’t seem like he had ahold of much—his sanity or his temper.

  Cole took up a position at Miranda’s door, bracing his rifle against the side so it’d be protected from the rain by the overhang. He sat down on the rock stoop and pulled his hat down over his brow. Whatever the ass had in mind for Miranda, it wasn’t gonna happen tonight.

  Cole sat there with the rain falling around him, the chill nipping at his skin, and focused most of his energy on the women. When not terrified, Miranda’s energy was soft and sweet, sliding over his with a velvet kiss. He loved the way she felt. So seductively feminine, so hotly sexual. He knew he should pull back, but that velvet touch was stronger than steel and he needed . . . more. Much more.

  The soft strains of a lullaby crept through the door. Cole closed his eyes and listened. Miranda had a high, sweet voice, pure on some notes, raspy on others. Sex wrapped up in sound. And she was only singing a lullaby. What would that voice do to him if she sang a love song?

  Cole shook his head, flexed his fingers, and forced himself to pull back, feeling as if he peeled layers off his insides as he did. Miranda made him feel exposed and vulnerable with a need that had nothing to do with sex. For the first time since he’d set out after Addy, he felt truly threatened.

  Fuck.

  6

  He was out there. Miranda could feel Cole in the vibration of the thunder, within the flashes of lightning. Her pulse skittered, and her nipples hardened. He felt like a threat. Like a promise. Reaching under the mattress, she touched the handle of her husband Michael’s sword. It didn’t give her the peace she expected. Cole Cameron was a potent force. And he drew her. That was so dangerous.

  She looked to where Wendy slept, a frown pleating her brow. Miranda wanted to reach over and smooth that frown away. Six was too young to have worries that haunted your sleep. She hadn’t wanted this life for herself, definitely not for her daughter, but life wasn’t big on choices. It certainly hadn’t offered her any.