by Zoe Blake
The private gave her a lascivious look as his gaze settled on her ample bosom.
“And what would this knight get from his damsel as a reward?”
“Well, first he would have to help the damsel, and then he could claim whatever reward he desired.”
Michaela felt a twisting in her stomach. The man reminded her of Parcels and his unwanted advances. Steeling her resolve, she pushed through.
“Do you know where it fell off? Maybe I could just go look for it?”
“Oh no! You simply must take me! I am just so flustered right now why I am sure I could never tell you the right place to look, but I am sure I would know it when I see it.”
“Do you have a horse? I wouldn’t be able to get a buckboard from the stable without suspicion.”
“Already saddled.” Michaela hid a triumphant smile.
The private relented. The lure of a willing female he didn’t have to pay, too strong. “Well, let’s hurry then. I know the guard at the gate. He will let us through, but we need to be quick about it. We need to go and get back before the major knows anyone left.”
“Oh, trust me. The major will never suspect,” said Michaela as she rushed to retrieve her horse from the lean-to.
IT HAD BEEN REALLY TOO easy to ditch the randy private the moment they hit the main street of town. Shifting her horse sharply to the right, she quickly swerved in and out of the constant stream of carriages, donkey carts and pedestrians till she could no longer hear his shouts.
Tucking between two buildings, Michaela fished out her gun belt and duster from her saddlebag. Wrapping her belt around her waist, she checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded and ready. Then, tossing the long, gray duster over her dress, she placed her black felt hat on, pulling the brim low to help conceal her identity. It wasn’t her Confederate uniform, but at least it wouldn’t be obvious who she was. Digging through her stash of money, she grasped a handful of double gold eagles for bribes if necessary. Not wishing to repeat last night’s fiasco, Michaela decided she would start with the boarding houses instead of the saloons. If Parcels and her mother were still in town, she was determined to find them.
“GODDAMMIT,” roared Brice.
The men standing in line before him flinched.
“One slip of a girl and you managed to let her sneak past you? Defying my order to lock down the fort? You are a disgrace to the United States Cavalry!”
The men looked down at their boots.
“One week in the guardhouse for each of you. Then two weeks’ fatigue duty.”
There was a collective groan. There wasn’t a soldier on post who didn’t despise fatigue duty. It consisted of all those tasks a soldier considered beneath him. Hauling water, digging sewage wells, gathering wood. It was mundane, dirty, back-breaking work.
“Make it three weeks and you are lucky I don’t take your stripes,” yelled Brice. “Dismissed.”
The men were hauled off to the guardhouse.
“Did you want me to get together a few men to start a search party, Major?” asked his corporal in charge.
“No. She’s my responsibility. I’ll find her,” responded Brice darkly as he mounted his horse and rode hell bent for leather out of the fort gates.
The corporal did not know the girl, but knew he’d feel sorry for her when the major caught up with her.
“THOSE TWO TROUBLEMAKERS? Yeah, they’re bunking here. Out now though. What does a pretty girl like you want with two no-goods like that?”
Michaela gave a quick prayer of thanks. It was the fifth boarding house she had been to, and time was running short. Brice surely had noticed her gone by now. She wasn’t absolutely certain he would come after her, but she couldn’t take the chance. She needed to track down Parcels and make him pay before she lost her chance.
“Never you mind. What room?” Michaela dropped several gold eagles on the dusty counter. The hard-looking woman shoved the stub of the cigar she was smoking in her mouth and snatched up the coins.
“Third on the left. Top of the stairs.”
Michaela dropped another coin. “I would appreciate you not mentioning my presence here.”
“I didn’t see nothin’,” said the woman with a smirk as she dropped one of the spare keys to the room on the counter before turning away.
Looking around to make sure she wasn’t being observed, Michaela swiftly made her way up the stairs. Locating the room, she listened at the door in case the woman running the boarding house had been mistaken. After a few heartbeats of silence, she gingerly placed the key in the lock and turned it. Opening the door, she squeezed through and quickly closed and locked it.
The stench of rank body odor and cheap perfume assailed her. The room was a slovenly hoard of discarded clothes, empty spirit bottles and piles of tobacco with crumpled rolling papers. Remembering her fastidious mother who was always concerned about her appearance and appearances, Michaela thought there must be a mistake. There simply was no way the mother she knew would be living in this squalor. Then she saw the photo. It was what appeared to be a wedding photo of her and Parcels. Michaela gripped the frame as she recognized the silk waistcoat and watch fob on Parcels. They had both been her father’s.
Sliding her hand down her hip, she pulled out her Colt and cocked it. Sure to be ready. Next she moved about the room, using the toe of her boot to shove piles of rubbish and clothing aside, ensuring there were no hidden weapons or any other evidence of guilt lying about, not that she thought she would be lucky enough to find something incriminating. But that was at least one good thing about tracking these two into the wild western frontier. Here the laws were not as strict as in the South. While they may have been reluctant to pursue her allegations of murder in civilized Georgia, she had a feeling, judging by Parcels’ shady reputation, no one would really give a damn if she shot the bastard stone cold dead for the same deed here in Texas.
Taking up a position with her back protected against the wall, she raised her Colt…and waited.
CHAPTER 6
Despite having over a hundred men at his disposal, Brice knew it wouldn’t be prudent to send them all marching into the town searching for Michaela. Although the town wouldn’t exist if not for Fort McIntosh, tensions between its citizens and his soldiers were common. The military brought commerce and protection to an area, but it also brought government oversight and law and order. Many men of the West chafed at the notion of having to obey the rule of law when the lack of it was what had brought them west in the first place. So, while the merchants and settlers welcomed them, the saloon keepers and gamblers posed a constant threat. Even the Texas Rangers, another form of law in this area, couldn’t be counted on to support the soldiers. Often they sided with the citizenry and vice versa. The citizens preferred the Rangers’ more undisciplined shoot first, ask questions later approach to order. In their minds, that is how you kept order, through violence and bloodshed. Brice didn’t completely disagree, but there was a time and a place. Rushing in guns drawn usually caused more trouble than it solved. So, as much as he wanted to bring the full wrath of his entire company down on the town until he found Michaela, he couldn’t. It would only start a war between his soldiers and the citizens.
She was his. He alone would find her.
Brice was in no mood to wonder how a mere slip of a girl with a stubborn streak as wide as the Rio Grande had managed to get under his skin so quickly. Wondering about such things was for a thinking man. He was a man of action.
From what he’d learned from reading her letters this morning, she was in town to track down a man named Parcels Showalter. She must have tracked him through the towns along the Rio Grande from Deadwood to know he was stopping here for a spell. The most direct approach would be to check the saloons. He knew how that had turned out for her last night. The town had less than three thousand residents but over forty saloons. To check them all would take too long. The letters also mentioned a woman. Michaela must assume her mother was still traveling with him.
There were far fewer boarding houses that took men and women. He would start there.
A HEAVY FOOTFALL just outside the door.
The soft scrape of a key.
The brass door handle turning slowly.
Michaela could feel her pulse leap. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she stretched out her gun hand.
The door creaked open a sliver. The shining muzzle of a gun appeared first. Then the tip of a man’s hat.
There was a loud rushing noise in Michaela’s ears as she waited in pained anticipation for the man to step fully into the room.
So she could shoot the bastard where he stood.
The door swung open, crashing against the wall. The sudden loud movement startled her after so much strained stillness.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she fired.
“Goddammit, Michaela! Put that fucking gun down,” yelled Brice.
Shocked, Michaela’s eyes flew open. “Holy hell,” she cursed.
With a glower, Brice whipped his hat off his head. Sticking a finger through the still smoking bullet hole in the crown, he growled, “Watch your mouth.”
“You just said fuck,” accused Michaela.
“Well, I’m the one who just got shot at,” he fired back. His large, imposing form filled the small, crowded room, radiating anger.
“What are you going here anyway?”
Running a hand through his thick, dark locks before replacing the hat and holstering his gun, Brice took another step into the room. Prowling toward her, his brow low, eyes filled with dark intent.
Her back already against the wall, Michaela had nowhere to run.
Brice braced both hands high above her head, caging her in. He leaned in low.
“You defied me.”
Michaela turned her head sharply to the right, avoiding his hard gaze.
“You have no authority over me,” she boldly whispered through suddenly dry lips.
“The hell I don’t,” he ground out.
The tension in the room was palpable. Michaela struggled to hold onto her own angry resolve. Desperately focusing on her dark purpose.
Revenge. Revenge. Revenge.
She kept repeating it to herself like a sick mantra. It was the reason for everything. She tried to picture the faces of her father and brother as a stark reminder, but it was no use. Brice filled her vision, her space, the very air she breathed. Crowding out her dark thoughts was the overwhelming sense of relief his strong presence brought. Struggling against the desire to lean into that strength, to allow him to take away the horrible burden she had placed on herself, Michaela fought an internal battle.
His aura of power and confidence spoke to a deep, hidden wish. As much as she loathed the assertive way he took over her life, secretly there was a part of her which delighted in the notion. To be allowed to shift the burden, to return to being a woman. No more constant vigilance. No more clawing out a survival among the mean, wild beasts and men of the West. No more moral dilemma arguing the righteousness of murder.
Oh! The sweet thought that it wouldn’t really be her failure. Brice had ordered her to stop her quest for revenge. Even as she considered it, Michaela knew she would never allow herself that recourse. She would always regret not doing everything in her power to avenge her father’s death. Even if it meant resisting the lure of salvation and protection Brice’s arms offered.
Lifting her chin, she defiantly met his enraged gaze. “You cannot stop me.”
Brice looked down into her beautiful, gamine face. The delicate curve of her cheek. The soft pink lips. Her amazingly expressive indigo eyes. Everything about her shouted woman.
His woman.
Everything but this.
She was playing a man’s game and a violent one at that. Even if she succeeded in killing this Parcels fellow, it would kill what remaining innocence she had left. Brice could see that as clearly as the pert, little nose on her face. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t let that happen. If he had to keep her tied up—preferably to his bed—to prevent it… well, then that was just what he would do.
Taking hold of that impertinent chin of hers, he tried to force her to see reason. “Dammit, Michaela. Can you honestly say this is what your father wanted for his daughter? Look about you!” shouted Brice with a gesture of his arm.
“He would want his death avenged!”
“You’re lying. No father would want this for his daughter. No brother would expect this of his sister. No man would ask this of his woman,” raged Brice as he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You are fooling yourself to think otherwise.”
Tears formed in her eyes. Quickly wiping them away with the back of her hand, Michaela broke free from his grasp. Storming over to the small table by the bed, she picked up the framed wedding photo of the murdering Parcels and her treacherous mother.
“They cannot get away with what they’ve done. He must pay with his life,” she vowed through clenched teeth, fighting back angry tears.
“And if it costs you your own?” Brice asked, his tone quiet but forceful.
Michaela stared at his handsome, earnest face. She didn’t know why this man cared, but she did know if felt good to have someone in the world who did… unfortunately, it didn’t change anything.
“Then so be it.”
It was nature’s cruel joke on a man to make him attracted to the very qualities in a woman that drove him wild. That stubborn, fighting spirit of hers. It was essential to survival out here in the West. The sign of a good woman. But it was also the very thing that would get her killed… unless he focused all that spirit on another target. Himself.
Hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, Brice widened his stance. “I guess it’s up to me to show you there is a helluva lot more to life than revenge and a helluva lot to live for.”
Michaela wasn’t sure what he meant till his mouth quirked up in the corner and he shot her a seductive wink.
“Listen…” Michaela started as she raised a hand in defense.
Brice was done talking. Perhaps that was the problem all along. Trying to talk and reason with her. He knew better. She only responded to action. Good thing for them both that was also his preferred method of communication.
Stalking toward her, his intent clear. Brice easily cornered his prey. Before she could get another word of protest in, he had taken a shoulder to her middle and hefted her high.
“No! No! Put me down! I won’t let you do this again!” she screeched.
“You aren’t letting me do anything, darling.” Brice smirked as he gave her bottom a warning smack.
The hot sting of his hand on her nether cheek reminded Michaela of his earlier punishment with the belt. Oh no! She renewed her struggles. It was all in vain. There was no fighting his strong grasp across her thighs, pinning her to his shoulder.
Marching out of the room, Brice carried her down the steps and into the dingy hallway of the boarding house.
Tossing a coin to the woman behind the counter, he ordered, “We were never here.”
“I didn’t see nothin’,” said the woman with a knowing smirk as Brice carried a squirming, protesting Michaela out into the bright sunshine.
Placing her on her feet, Brice quickly grabbed her by the material at the back of her neck when she turned to run.
Swinging her back to face him, he offered “You have a choice. Either ride your own horse back to the fort, or ride across my saddle.”
Mortified, Michaela saw her own horse posted right next to his. She thought she had been so clever leaving it a few streets over. Seriously! Was this man part injun? Who could track a body like that in such a crowded town?
When she failed to respond, he placed an unrelenting arm around her waist, “Over the saddle it is!”
“Wait! No! Please let me ride my own horse.”
It was indignant enough being brought to the fort the night before strewn across his saddle like a sack of flour, but at least there had been the cover of darkness. She didn’t think her pride could t
ake such an entrance in broad daylight.
Looking down at the feisty woman plastered to his side, he asked affably, “Promise to be a good girl.”
“I promise,” she said, but not before sending a hostile glare in his direction.
Giving her a leg up, Brice kept his hands on her horse’s reins.
She could ride, but he would be in control.
A TALL, lanky figure ducked his head, pulling the brim of his hat low over his face as the two riders passed.
So the little bitch still followed them? Before she’d been a nuisance. Now, teamed up with that Major Brice in charge of the fort, she had become dangerous. It was time to take care of his disobedient step-daughter thought Parcels with a mirthless grin.
CHAPTER 7
Summoning as much dignity as possible, Michaela held her head high as Brice led her horse through the picketed gate of the fort.
They had only just neared his cabin when Mrs. Hastings came scurrying out.
“Oh, Major Brice, you clever man, I see you have found her!” she exclaimed as she clapped her hands before her breast. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Oh, dear! You really should have waited for Major Brice to return before heading into town. My word! A little thing such as yourself wandering about unprotected and unescorted!”
Placing his warm hands around her trim waist, Brice insisted on helping Michaela dismount. Placing his lips by her ear, he whispered with amusement, “Play nice.”
Gracing him with an annoyed smirk, she nevertheless heeded his warning. For all her bustling and fussing about, Michaela liked the older woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Hastings. I will keep that in mind the next time I wish to ride into town.”
Brice’s hands reflexively tightened around her waist, the grip of his strong fingers sending a silent message of dominance. There would be no more excursions into town for his little feral prisoner for the foreseeable future.
