“She’s a child,” Hannah said calmly. “Leave her alone.” Her mouth was dry and her heart beat much faster than was healthy, as she peered over the barrel of the weapon that was aimed at her nose, but she was determined not to let the thief see her fear.
“You hit me with that damn stick,” Junior said with righteous indignation, and then he reached out and snatched the cane out of her hand. He cocked the hammer of his pistol back with his thumb.
Her father had always told her that one day her quick tongue would get her into trouble. On occasion she’d silently agreed with him, but she’d never expected that a few hotly spoken words would lead to her violent death. Still, she wouldn’t take back what she’d said. She wouldn’t apologize for doing what she could to protect an innocent young girl.
She was so intently focused on the bandit and the gun she didn’t realize that Mr. Rourke had left his place in line until he stepped quickly into view and his six-shooter touched Junior’s neck.
“Put it down,” Mr. Rourke said calmly. “I really, really don’t want to shoot anyone today.” There was a weary quality to his voice, but that voice was hard, too. Inflexible. Hannah had no doubt that Mr. Rourke would shoot the outlaw if he had to.
Junior apparently didn’t doubt it, either. The barrel of his weapon swung unthreateningly to the side. “I wasn’t really going to shoot her.”
One of the other thieves, who’d been intent on collecting his booty, finally realized what was happening. “What the hell?” he shouted, raising his gun as he came around the front of the stagecoach.
“Miss Winters,” Rourke said coldly and without so much as glancing at her, “stand behind me, please.”
She moved to do as he asked, reaching out to wrench her cane from the robber before she skirted around Rourke. Standing behind him, she gave thanks that he was such a large man. For the moment, at least, she was well shielded.
Without being instructed, the other passengers followed suit until they all stood behind Jed Rourke.
“Now,” he continued wearily and calmly, “this little episode has just gotten out of hand, don’t you think? Nobody’s been hurt, and nobody needs to get hurt. You take your loot and get out of here, and we continue on our way. What do you say?”
Mr. Rourke sounded relaxed—calm and completely in control—but the situation remained perilous and strained. He held a weapon at Junior’s throat, but the three robbers he faced were all armed.
“I want your gun,” the bandit in the black bandanna said, and as he spoke the others fanned out. “Hand it over.”
“I can’t do that,” Rourke said with a shake of his head. “You’ve already got my best rifle.”
Three firearms to one; it was hardly fair. Once the two outlaws who were moving to the side were in position, the passengers would be surrounded. Jed Rourke might very well kill Junior, and perhaps he’d even fire off another shot at the outlaw in the black bandanna... but by then several of the passengers would be dead or wounded.
Hannah took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and stepped around Mr. Rourke. “I don’t think you understand fully what happened here.” She addressed the black-bandanna bandit in her most sensible voice. “Your associate made an improper suggestion to our young friend and frightened her terribly.”
“Miss Winters...” Mr. Rourke began, his voice low and tight.
She waved a silencing hand in his direction and continued. “Surely you don’t blame Mr. Rourke and me for trying to protect her. She’s just a child, after all.” She glanced at the bandit who’d frightened Irene, giving him her most glacial stare. “Even though it’s apparent he’s little more than a child himself, he...”
“Rourke?” one of the men asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked the mountainous man up and down. “Did she call him Mr. Rourke?”
All four of the bandits stared at the tall, gruff man.
“Can’t be that Rourke,” another one said in a low voice. “Jedidiah Rourke is seven feet tall, mean as a snake, and wouldn’t be caught dead riding on a stagecoach. If that were Jedidiah Rourke we’d all be dead by now.”
The other bandit nodded in agreement, but they continued to look at Mr. Rourke with undisguised awe.
Hannah allowed herself to study Jed Rourke, as well. Who was he? A famous bandit himself? An outlaw? He stood there without response to their suppositions, looking nothing but weary and bored.
An arm snaked around Hannah’s waist and jerked her back. She’d foolishly lost track of one of the bandits, the tall one with the yellow bandanna, and he’d sneaked up behind her! Coward.
The brush of a gun barrel against her temple drove away every other thought.
“Now,” a gritty voice whispered, so close she could feel the touch of hot breath, “I don’t care which Rourke you are, you let him go or I blow the lady’s brains out right here.”
Irene and Bertie and Mrs. Reynolds all cried openly. The gambler stared at the ground. The driver cradled his head and mumbled something about “fool women.”
Jed Rourke lost his calm facade. He began to mutter, letting loose a flood of the most vulgar language she’d ever heard. The six-shooter he’d been holding to Junior’s neck popped up to point harmlessly at the sky, and he gave the outlaw a gentle shove.
“Drop the gun and kick it over here,” the voice near Hannah’s ear demanded.
Rourke cursed again as he obeyed the outlaw’s order and kicked away his weapon.
The young hothead argued his case with Black Bandanna. All Hannah heard was his continued insistence that he be allowed to kill them all. If she allowed herself to curse aloud, she’d borrow a few of Mr. Rourke’s choice words right now.
Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. The leader of the gang—at least she assumed Black Bandanna was the leader since he did almost all the talking—ordered Junior to mount up and start riding, and a moment later the outlaw who held Hannah released her, shoving her toward the others. It was with the greatest luck and skill that she avoided falling headlong into Jed Rourke.
He didn’t look at her.... In fact, all eyes were on the bandits. Mean as a snake? Seven feet tall? What Rourke were they talking about?
The thieves had everything they needed and wanted, and everyone was safe. Hannah decided to be grateful that no one had been hurt.
“Get the horses,” the leader said to the men who remained, and as he held a weapon on the prisoners, his companions complied, beginning the process of loosening the bonds on the animals who pulled the stage.
“You’re not going to strand us out here,” Rourke said softly.
It was hard to tell, with that black scarf hiding the lower half of his face, but Hannah was almost certain the bandit smiled. “Yep.” His eyes were on Hannah as he spoke. “You turned out to be more trouble than we expected, so it is tempting. I don’t abide unnecessary killin’, but, by golly, I don’t have to make things easy for you, neither.”
“Let me have my Peacemaker, then, or my rifle,” Rourke said sensibly. “We’ll have a long walk ahead of us, and it’ll be dark soon. You know what kind of critters live in these parts.”
Hannah shivered. Was he speaking of critters like the ones they faced now, or other dangerous animals?
“Can’t do that,” the man said with a sigh. “Sorry.”
The four horses cooperated meekly as they were freed from the constraints that had bound them to the stage.
At last the three remaining outlaws mounted their horses, which were heavily laden with stolen goods. They led the traitorously cooperative stagecoach steeds as they galloped away.
When they’d rounded the big boulder and disappeared from sight, Hannah turned to the rest of the group to see that all eyes were on her. Mr. Rourke, in particular, stared most audaciously.
“Are you happy now, Miss Winters?” he seethed, his voice soft.
“Surely you’re not blaming me for this fiasco,” she asked, raising an indignant hand to her breast.
“Oh, no,” he said,
his voice rising slightly. “I’m only blaming you for the fact that we have no horses and no goddamn weapon!”
She lifted her chin. “There’s no reason to be vulgar, Mr. Rourke.”
He took a single step toward her, eyes narrowed and hands balled into large fists. Suddenly Hannah was certain she had more reason to fear this man than she had the masked bandits who’d taken her money and jewelry and threatened her life.
Chapter 2
Vulgar? Jed suppressed the urge to show Miss Winters what vulgar really was. He kept his mouth shut. There were three ladies present. Three ladies and one aggravating, meddling, loudmouthed, nose-in-the-air, redheaded harridan.
“Miss Winters,” he said through clenched teeth, calling upon every ounce of self-control he had left; there wasn’t much. “All you had to do was stand still and keep your mouth shut, and right now we’d be on our way to Rock Creek in that stage.” He pointed for emphasis. “But no. Instead of riding to Rock Creek, poorer but no wiser, we’re stranded miles from town!”
“I couldn’t stand by and allow Junior to paw Irene and scare her that way,” she said indignantly.
Junior?
“Since there were no gentlemen present to defend her, I took it upon myself to do so,” she said haughtily, “and I would do so again.”
He took another step toward her. “I wouldn’t have let Junior hurt her,” he said in defense of himself. “I don’t think he would have.”
“You don’t know....”
“You jumped the gun,” he said accusingly.
Miss Winters was silent for a moment. Perhaps it was her way of agreeing with him. “Well,” she said, her voice a bit softer, “what’s done is done. I suggest we start walking so we can get to Rock Creek as soon as possible.”
Jed looked over his shoulder, and his heart and spirits sank. What he had here was one slightly injured old man, a fat drunk, an old lady, two helpless young girls—he rotated his head to look at Miss Winters again—and her. There was no way they’d reach Rock Creek before dark. It was warm for December, but by nightfall it would turn plenty cold.
“This is what we’re going to do,” he said, tearing his eyes from the redhead. “We’re going to head for those hills.” He pointed to the southeast. “There’s water there, and shelter from the wind, and that’s where we’ll spend the night. Tomorrow morning...”
“Absolutely not.”
The unbending refusal came from behind him—which was no surprise. He rotated his head slowly to glare at Miss Winters. She leaned slightly forward, putting a little bit of weight on her cane. “We’re going to walk down this road”—with a subtle and easy shifting of her body, she lifted the cane and pointed south—“straight for our destination. If we’re lucky, someone will come along and assist us.”
“No one’s going to come along....”
“Even if that’s true, we’ll be better off staying on the road.”
He ignored the soft murmurs of the other passengers and stalked toward Miss Winters, no longer concerned about keeping his distance.
“It’ll be dark in a couple of hours. Have you ever seen a coyote by moonlight, Miss Winters?” He was rewarded by the sudden paleness of her already fair face. “What about a bobcat?”
“If you’re trying to frighten me...”
“I am,” he said softly when he stood directly before her. She stared up at him, unflinching, with defiance and arrogance in her gray eyes. “I’m trying to scare some sense into you!” he shouted in frustration. “Why do I have the feeling I’m wasting my time?”
“You can bellow all you like,” she said calmly. “And if you want to camp in the hills tonight, be my guest. But Bertie and I and anyone else who cares to join us are taking the road.”
She spun on her heel and walked, back straight and head high, to the horseless stagecoach. “I do think I’ll take a few of my belongings with me. The stage company will collect our baggage later, I’m sure, but I’ll need a few things—”
Jed turned his back on her, tuning out the sound of her damned sensible voice. “Listen up,” he said to the remaining passengers. “Get what you don’t want to leave behind. God only knows what will still be here by the time the stage company gets around to collecting what’s left. Don’t take more than you can comfortably carry.” As the women moved obediently toward the stagecoach he added, “And if there’s anything we can use as bedding, make it a priority. The air might feel comfortable now, but at night it gets damn cold.”
As the ladies busied themselves going through the luggage that had been stored in the rear boot, Jed faced the gambler, Virgil Wyndham. Corpulent, drunk, and oily, he made no move to offer assistance.
“Hand it over,” Jed said softly. Not even the driver, who was nursing his head just a few feet away, could hear him.
Wyndham raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Hand what over?”
Jed smiled coldly. “You’ve got a derringer up one sleeve, a knife in the boot, maybe”—he eyed Wyndham’s massive and bright jacket—“maybe something more deadly tucked into an inside pocket of that coat.”
“I assure you,” Wyndham said indignantly, “I have nothing to hide.”
“Don’t make me search you,” Jed whispered.
With a sigh, Wyndham began to divest himself of his weapons. There was indeed a derringer up the man’s right sleeve, secreted in a neat little holster that fit to his forearm, and a wicked-looking knife was produced from the right boot. Further prodding was needed before he removed his jacket and produced another knife—this one with a short, sharp blade—and a pearl-handled six-shooter.
“I’m going to want that back,” Wyndham insisted indignantly as Jed stuck the six-shooter into his waistband.
“You’ll get it back,” Jed assured the unctuous man. He snatched his coat from the ground and shook it out vigorously before slipping it on and letting the long folds fall into place.
When everyone was ready to go, he gave Miss Winters one last, long look. She’d retrieved her hat, a useless little bonnet with a gray feather that danced in the light wind, and had stuffed her tapestry bag until it positively bulged. “You’re a fool,” he said without hesitation. The witch smiled at him in answer.
Poor Bertie stood beside Miss Winters, her own bundle grasped tightly in two pale hands. “Are you sure we shouldn’t stay with the others?” she asked meekly.
“Quite sure,” Miss Winters answered, and then she turned about, her bundle in one hand and that blasted cane in the other as she started down the long, dusty road. She didn’t look back. Bertie did.
Jed muttered a long string of curses, beginning and ending with “damnation,” and then he thrust his saddlebags at the gambler and started down the road himself, taking long, impatient strides.
If Miss Winters heard him coming she gave no notice. Nose in the air, eyes unerringly forward, spine rigid, she was damned and determined to have her way.
Not this time.
He cut in front of her, and before she knew what was happening he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
After a short and peaceful moment of stunned silence, she screeched at him and whacked her cane against the back of his leg.
“Bertie,” he said calmly, “take Miss Winters’s cane before she manages to annoy me any more than she already has.”
“Yes, sir,” was the soft answer at his back.
“Bertie! How could you?” Miss Winters exclaimed in dismay, and Jed smiled.
He left the road and set his sights on the rock formation to the southeast. Even with this sad crew he should be there in no more than an hour and a half, well before dark. A quick glance over the shoulder that was not occupied by Miss Winters showed that everyone was following—at a distance.
“Cretin,” Miss Winters hissed at his back.
Jed continued to smile. “Harridan,” he answered softly.
She wasn’t heavy at all; he could carry her all the way to the hills and never grow tired.
“Bul
ly,” she whispered.
“Battle-ax,” he muttered.
She took a deep breath. “Mr. Rourke,” she said in a breathless voice that still managed to sound intimidating, “I insist that you put me down this instant.”
“Oh, you do?” he said without slowing his stride.
“Yes, I do, you... you buffoon!”
When he’d received Sylvia’s pathetic plea for him to return to Rock Creek, he’d been glad of it. He’d grown tired of Pinkerton’s, just as he’d grown tired of cowboying and mining and gambling, each in their turn. He’d counted on a bit of a vacation, time to ponder what came next, not a blasted ridiculous escapade.
Miss Winters slapped him lightly on the back, then again, harder. He ignored her. A moment later a sharp pain radiated from a point in the center of his back.
“Pinch me again,” he said without slowing his step, “and I’ll put you over my knee and give you the spanking you so richly deserve.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she mumbled, but she didn’t pinch him again.
It had been a long time since he’d seen Sylvia. When he visited Rock Creek he spent his time with Eden and Sullivan and the rest of the guys, if they were around. He had only seen Sylvia once since she’d decided to take that slick preacher, Maurice Clancy, as her second husband. Just as well, he told himself. He got bored with everything else, sooner or later; he probably would have found himself bored with Sylvia long ago.
“I hope you know I plan to press charges,” Miss Winters said calmly.
“For what?”
“Abduction,” she snapped.
Abduction. He’d probably saved the ungrateful woman’s life, and here she was talking about having him thrown in jail. “Why is it,” he muttered, “that the prettier a woman is, the stupider she turns out to be?”
“Perhaps,” she said in a conversational voice that was broken with every jarring step he took, “because they’ve been spoiled from birth, relying on a smile or a coy wink to gain for them what a plain woman has to work for. If the brain isn’t used, Mr. Rourke...”
“You, Miss Winters,” he said interrupting her ridiculous monologue, “are a blithering idiot.”
Jed (The Rock Creek Six Book 4) Page 2
