by Stacey Kayne
"I can walk on my own two legs!" She twisted in his grip and jabbed her pointed elbows into his back.
"I won't have you running off or stepping in front of a bullet." Keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her backside, he descended the stairs.
As expected, the four men sitting at the poker table near the staircase spotted Rachell and jumped to their feet. Hopefully their speed with a side iron matched the meager mentalities he'd witnessed earlier. He hadn't had a chance to assess the skinny blond kid now standing at the table. He'd been tending their horses when Jed had first entered the saloon.
"Mister, jus' what the hell do you think yer doin' ?" shouted the man who'd been tagged by Rachell's sharp claws.
Sumner. "Takin' the lady back to her family, where she belongs," Jed said as he reached the bottom step.
"The hell you are!" Sumner drew his gun. Jed was faster, dropping Sumner and firing two more consecutive shots. The men on either side of him fell to the floor, their guns clattering on the ground beside them.
Surrounded by silence and the scent of gun smoke, Jed stared at the thin kid left standing at the table.
Every bit Jed's height of six foot three, the kid couldn't be older than fifteen. Yet he'd been the only one with enough sense not to draw his guns.
Rachell straightened, forcing Jed to ease her a little down his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his skin. Jed remained motionless at the base of the stairs, holding the kid's steady gaze.
"Shuck those guns, son, and hit the floor. Unless you plan to join those sorry bastards in hell."
The kid didn't flinch, looking him straight in the eyes without a trace of fear. Don't make me shoot you, kid, Jed silently pleaded, certain the lanky lad could be a lethal adversary if he chose to be.
"You really takin' Miss Nightingale to her family?" the boy asked, his pale-blue eyes flickering at Rachell.
"I am."
Relief rushed through Jed as the boy tossed his guns onto the table then stretched out on the floor as ordered. Jed's gaze swept the silent, smoke-filled room. In what he figured to be a routine drill for a town like Weaver, all had dropped for cover at the first sound of gunfire. His gaze settled on the bartender standing behind the bar, his shotgun in hand. "Sam. You plan to use that against me?"
"Hell, no, Jed. I's makin' sure no one else took a mind to join the fight. Yer still fast as a snakebite."
"A snake headed straight to hell," he mumbled.
Rachell tightened her grip, keeping her face pressed against his neck, clearly not about to give up her hold until she was out of the saloon. "You got a name, boy?" Jed asked, kicking the kid's boot.
"Juniper Barns, sir," the kid called out, keeping all four limbs stretched wide and his nose to the floor.
'Tell your boss Miss Nightingale is no longer in his possession. If he has a problem with that, he's welcome to come and protest the matter in Shadow Canyon. Sam'll even give him directions. Ain't that right, Sam?"
"Sure thing, Jed. I'll be glad to point the way to any man fool enough to go chasing shadows."
More than a dozen pairs of eyes snapped up in his direction.
Jed's jaw flexed with tension. Folks sure had a knack for remembering tragedy.
His gaze dropped back to the kid. "Juniper, if you plan to live long enough to see hair grow on your chin, I suggest you use better judgment when choosing who you ride with." He holstered his gun then grabbed a pair of red leather boots from the pile of scarlet silks on the table. "Sorry about the mess, Sam," he said, backing toward the door.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Jed eased his hold on Rachell and released a hard sigh of relief. Rachell's tight grip didn't relax one bit as he carried her toward his horse.
"Loosen your grip, lady. I need air."
Rachell pulled in a deep breath and eased away from the bend of his neck, the sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears.
"You killed them?" she asked, her voice shaking from the fear still ripping through her body.
"I wasn't shootin' daisies."
He lifted her back over his shoulder like a sack of oats and swung into the saddle atop a large tan horse. Before she could protest his manhandling, he grabbed her waist and brought her down hard on his lap with her bare feet hanging to one side. A sharp cry escaped her throat as her hip hit against the saddle horn.
"Ah, hell. I plain forgot about that bruise," he said in a shockingly gentle tone. She gasped as an even gentler hand smoothed across her aching hip. "I've got a coat."
He took a dark range coat from behind his saddle and placed it between her hip and the hard leather.
A blush burned beneath Rachell's skin. Lord above! He'd seen her entire body.
"You all right?" he asked a moment later as he guided his horse down the dusty, moonlit road.
"Am I?" she asked in a weak voice, feeling completely uncertain and wondering what had happened to the callous man who had carried her out of the saloon.
"We're both alive. Sounds all right to me."
Rachell glanced up at her rescuer. His softened expression stunned her. She noted too that he was older than she'd first assumed. He'd removed his hat, and his shadow of a beard and long hair were as black as a midnight sky, the bright moonlight shone on a touch of gray streaking out from his temples. He smiled, crinkling the tanned skin at the outer corners of his eyes.
His smile broadened, spreading charm across what moments ago had appeared to be a face carved from stone. White teeth flashed in the moonlight.
He was clean. She recalled how his skin had smelled of soap, a rarity among men. Could this be the same man who had just hauled her from that filthy saloon?
"Sugar, you plannin' on giving me a thank-you kiss?"
It's him, she thought, releasing a huff as she diverted her gaze. A handsome devil with all the manners of a jackass.
"So much for gratitude," he retorted. "Maybe later."
"Certainly not." Real fear raced through her. Saints alive! She was riding off into the dark wilderness with this gun- slinger. What type of man had her sister sent after her?
"I reckon you're out of my price range anyhow."
"I am not a-"
"Tighten your lip until we're clear of this town." He urged his horse into a faster pace.
Startled, Rachell clutched at his chest.
"Lady, there's hair and skin under that shirt."
"Sorry," she mumbled, releasing her hold.
"I won't drop you." His arm wrapped around her waist as he took the reins into one hand. His large palm slid across her side and covered the flat of her stomach. "Is that better?"
Lord above! No, it wasn't better. Had she been able to find her voice, she would have told him so.
"We can slow our pace just as soon as we get some ground between us and Weaver."
* * *
After a half hour of riding, Jed was growing increasingly annoyed. They were traveling at a nice easy pace, yet she continued to squirm and shift about, apparently searching for just the right spot to rest her tender backside.
"Sit still, goddamn it!" he finally shouted.
"I beg your pardon, but your lap is far from comfortable."
"Yeah?" he quipped. "Well, you keep wrigglin' your backside, and my lap is only bound to get harder."
She stiffened like an iron rod, sitting perfectly still.
That did the trick, he thought. It obviously hadn't been her intention to aggravate him, but he hadn't been exaggerating. Her squirming about had quickly become slow torture.
Hell. He knew she was going to be a whole heap of trouble the moment he and Buck stepped onto that train and found her abandoned carpetbag. Elizabeth had become hysterical when they'd informed her that her sister had been escorted off the train by two men in Lake's Crossing. Buck needed to stay with his wife, which was just as well. His best friend had helped him out plenty of times in the past, but stalking was not one of Buck's finer skills.
Walter Bu
ck Coleburn couldn't sneak up on a deaf blind man, and Jed had a hunch the men who'd escorted Mrs. Rachell Carlson off the train were neither deaf nor blind. As usual, he'd been right. He wasn't about to lead Satan's army back to his ranch. Rachell wouldn't be stepping foot in California until he was sure she was free of trouble.
A grumbling sound distracted Jed from his thoughts. When it sounded again, he grinned, realizing it was Rachell's stomach.
"You tryin' to tell me you're hungry?"
"How kind of you to notice," she said in a dull tone.
"It's either that or there's a grizzly on our tail."
Rachell glanced up at the man above her, surprised by his unexpected show of humor. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
Somehow, his soft expression increased her uneasiness. She wished those chiseled features would return to stone.
"What?" he asked, holding her gaze.
Rachell shook her head, annoyed that she'd been caught openly staring at him, again. She felt a jolt of alarm as he tugged on the reins. "Why are you stopping?"
"Relax. You're safe with me." He lifted her from his lap and gently eased her down. She shivered as her bare feet touched the damp ground.
"Sage could use a rest," he said, dismounting. "I have some dried beef in my saddlebags, and I thought you might want your boots."
"You have my boots?"
"Red leather's hard to miss. I grabbed'em off the table while I was chattin' with Juniper."
She'd been such a bundle of nerves, unable to bear the sight of more bloodshed, she probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd taken the piano. She hadn't even thought about young Juniper being left alone in that town. He'd been so brave to tag along with the others, doing his best to protect her. "Do you think Juniper will be all right?"
Jed pulled her boots out from under a rope tied around the pack behind his saddle. "Don't tell me you're feeling sympathetic toward your captors?"
"I would hardly refer to Juniper as one of my captors, Mr. Jed. He's just a boy. June isn't like the others. He's not bad."
"If he doesn't change his line of work, he soon will be," Jed said with dark certainty as he held out her shoes.
"Only my boots?" she asked with a ring of disappointment.
The coldness came back into his eyes, firming his features. "I had you in one hand and my gun in the other."
She avoided his harsh glare as she accepted the boots. "Thank you. I didn't intend to sound ungrateful."
"Just put your boots on. I want to get as far from Weaver as I can before sunup. We won't be making camp tonight."
"The sooner we reach California, the better," she said as she pulled on a boot. "I was eleven when I last saw my sister." Sadness washed over Rachell like a winter chill as she recalled the day Elizabeth's late husband had carted her off to California. Never knowing her mother, she'd been raised by Elizabeth and their housekeeper, Amity. Six months after her sister's departure, their father had sent her away to boarding school.
For six years she'd lived at Miss Abigail's Academy for Young Ladies. Six years of being an outcast, a dandelion in a garden of roses. Not a day had gone by that she hadn't dreamed of returning to the farm and people she loved. When that day finally came, she'd returned home to nothing but a brick chimney stack surrounded by rubble, ruined crops, and the state torn apart by war, along with the family who'd given her up.
"I lost touch with Elizabeth during the war," she said in a neutral tone, pushing the painful memories from her mind as she tugged on her second boot. "It was a miracle I managed to locate her. I had no idea her first husband had died or that she had remarried. A man came up to me after a show while I was working in Kansas and said he'd heard my last song once before, sung by a little redheaded woman in California as she hung out her wash."
Securing her boot laces, Rachell smiled at the single stroke of good fortune she'd received in so many years. "He gave me the name of her husband's horse ranch and Elizabeth and I have been exchanging letters for the past seven months. She was kind enough to find a job for me, at my request. Her husband's nephew has a ranch not far from his. I only hope Mr. Darby hasn't hired another housekeeper. I don't wish to be a burden on my sister."
"Ben hasn't hired anyone else."
Kneeling over her unlaced boot, Rachell looked up in sharp surprise. Jed stood beside his horse, his arms crossed over his wide chest as he stared down at her. She suddenly realized she'd been prattling on without regard to his presence.
His expressionless gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Just who is this man?
"You know Benjamin Darby?"
"Yes."
"How was it that my sister came to hire you, Mr. Jed?"
"Your sister didn't hire me. Buck's a friend of mine."
"Buck?"
"Your sister's husband, Walter 'Buck' Coleburn. I volunteered to find you and bring you back safely. You'd make that job a whole lot easier if you'd be truthful with me."
She dropped her laces and glared at him. "I've not said one untruthful word thus far."
Jed grunted. "Why is Sumner after you?"
"I've been working in his establishment for the past four months. I knew he'd be angry when he discovered I'd left, but I never imagined he'd send men after me."
"You worked in a brothel?"
"A saloon!"
"You're a whore."
She sucked in a hard breath before shouting, "I am not!"
Her sharp response surprised Jed. He hadn't said it as an accusation or a question. Just the simple truth. Apparently, she wasn't ready to be truthful.
She sprang to her feet, her posture stiff as a soldier's, her expression as hard and lethal as a warrior ready for battle.
"I sing, Mr. Jed. Nothing more."
"He hired all those men to fetch a songbird?" Jed shook his head. "I don't buy it. You must have taken something of his or be something of his. You're not his mistress?"
"No, I am not. Nor am I a thief. Maxwell knew I was intending to leave. He had gotten it into his mind that I was his woman and had tired of taking no for an answer."
Jed knew there had to be more to the story than she was telling. He turned away from her harsh glare and mounted his horse. He held his hand out to help her up, but Rachell didn't move a muscle.
"Comin'?" he asked when she continued to stall.
He couldn't hold back a grin since she stomped toward him making some sort of growling sound. "Sugar, you can't weigh a hundred pounds," he said as he lifted her up and onto his lap. "If he wanted you, what was to stop him from taking you?"
"Titus."
"What?"
"Titus. He's been with me for the past five years. When I began to sing in saloons, he protected me from Sumner and others like him."
Jed noted the distinct sadness in her tone as he urged Sage into motion. "I take it this Titus fellow is no longer around. Your boyfriend ran off?"
"He was a friend, not my boyfriend, and no, he did not run off. Maxwell Sumner had him killed."
"If you're so all-fire sure of that, why didn't you just turn Sumner in to the law?"
"Because the sheriff of Mason County wasn't about to investigate the murder of a black man. More than likely, he's the one who shot Titus. Maxwell owns the law in that town."
The words he's been with me took on a sour meaning for Jed. "I don't suppose Titus received wages for his protective services?"
"Half of anything I earned."
Jed's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's awfully generous for a hired guard."
She shifted, lifting her hate-filled gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Are you deaf? Titus was more to me than a hired guard. He was the closest friend I've ever had. And now he's dead, because of me." She twisted, putting her back to him.
"Here," he said, holding out the large piece of dried beef he'd taken from his saddlebags. She snatched it with a mumbled thank-you.
Jed guided Sage through the moonlit countryside, silently contemplating her story. He wasn't a ma
n easily swayed by succulent pouting lips and water-filled eyes, but something about Rachell pulled at the hollows of his chest.
A droplet of moisture hit his hand, telling him the glaze of tears he'd seen in her eyes was cascading down her fair cheeks. Yet she didn't make a sound, refusing to brush the wet trail from her face and draw attention to her emotional release.
Damnation. He didn't know what to make of this woman. She was lousy at playing the part of a damsel in distress.
He gave himself a silent word of caution. Imps were cunning little creatures, known for their mischief and trouble.
Chapter Two
The man is a barbarian!
He hadn't even bothered to wake her before dumping her from his lap, sending her stumbling forward then staggering backward. Disoriented and unable to catch her balance, Rachell fell back onto her sore bottom in a flutter of oversized green calico.
She had never fully appreciated the padding of petticoats until now when she was without them. Her thin skirt offered no protection against the hard ground.
Ignoring Jed's mumbled words of apology, she gazed about the small town, making no effort to rise. Good Lord. How long had she been asleep? As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she realized the town was actually a cluster of saloons built inside a narrow mountain crevasse. "Where are we?"
"Charlesville." Jed stepped down from his saddle. "Get off your butt. We have business to take care of."
Rachell glared up at the man towering over her with his hands on his hips. Jed turned away and tethered his horse to a hitching rail six feet beyond the double doors of a saloon. Rachell barely suppressed a groan as she stood. The solid, unmoving ground had begun to feel quite good beneath her. She pushed her hair away from her face and gasped as Jed moved
behind her, wrapping his hands around the long mass of tangles.
"You need a horse," he said as he tied her hair back with his handkerchief. "Can you ride?"
"Yes, I can ride." She stepped away from him the second his hands left her hair.
Jed ignored her inquisitive gaze. Hell if he knew what had possessed him to take the liberty of tying her hair back. Must be my lack of sleep. He'd ridden the entire night, intermittently looking down at the woman sleeping in his arms.
