by Kristin Holt
Finally, he spoke. “I have my reasons.”
“Suppose you tell me why I’m here.”
He eyed her then, watching her with sharp intensity. Something in those hazel eyes seemed…off. As if he weren’t entirely sane.
Of course he wasn’t sane. Only crazy people stole women from their homes at midnight.
“You’re our guest.” He spoke in a slow and drawn-out manner, as if offering an explanation to a dimwitted child. “Independent of that…incident.”
He had good teeth. Straight, white, strong. Looked like he still had all of them. A rotten man shouldn’t have good teeth.
“Independent of that incident,” she repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t understand.”
He eyed her. As if he had no intention of justifying his illegal behavior.
“How long do you intend to keep me?”
“As long as it takes.”
“You do realize you kidnapped me from my home in the middle of the night. That’s illegal.”
He shrugged. “No matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He seemed to think that through. His expression softened as if he considered what his actions had cost her. “I suppose it does. No need to fret. We’ve treated you with courtesy, haven’t we? Anticipated and met your every need?”
They’d fed her, kept her warm, escorted her to the privy—but only to ensure she didn’t fall in her slick-soled house slippers. In two trips outside, she’d seen no familiar landmarks, nothing but dense trees, and a stubborn white winter sky withholding clues of north and south, east and west.
She wanted to argue that no, the bandits certainly did not meet her every need. Depriving her of freedom and worrying her parents…but risking his wrath? He could make her a whole lot less comfortable.
Would he toss her into the snow? Tie her to a tree, without the cabin’s shelter or heat of the fire? She wouldn’t survive the night. Even without bonds, in weather like this, she had no hope of survival.
“What do you want? Ransom? My parents aren’t rich.”
He shook his head, the barest of movements.
“A slave to cook and keep house? If you wanted a wife, this was no way to win a girl’s heart.” She heard the sass in her voice and wondered if he’d strike her.
She’d not seen Irene Boczowski, but conjured images of the woman’s injuries sprang to mind. One of these supposedly solicitous men had beaten her. Noelle could not doubt their penchant for violence.
What was the point of treating her well, if they intended to kill her?
They would kill her. She knew that. Why else would they allow her to see their faces and hear them speak?
A wave of homesickness washed over her, poignant, deep, and strong enough to pull her under. Regrets, bitter and sharp stung deep.
She should have told Mother she loved her. Especially now, with the truth between them.
Caroline was her mother in every way that mattered.
She’d never have a chance to tell Gus that story. She’d thought she had time.
Time to make things right with Mother, time to share her secrets with Gus, time to claim him as her own.
They were supposed to have time enough and to spare.
“I want to go home.”
He didn’t answer, but the flatness of his eyes shifted. As if compassion existed in him still.
“Please.” She hadn’t intended to beg. But if it’d do any good, she would beg. She’d beg loud and long and hard. One tear slipped over her lower lid and tripped down her cheek.
“Once you’ve served your purpose. Not until.”
Her throat closed, twisted tight. What purpose?
He must’ve seen the question in her eyes, guessed what she would ask, had she been able. Heaven knew she’d asked a dozen questions in the past handful of hours.
“You’re bait, Noelle Finlay. Bait in our trap.”
Bait?
Quick on the heels of that unwelcome surprise came the realization that baiting a trap with her meant one of two things.
One: he had a bone to pick with her family.
Or two: this had something to do with Gus.
After all, Gus was the law.
She would not, could not allow them to use her to bait a trap designed to ensnare people she loved. She’d die first, but she’d face death fighting to save her family, and Gus.
Love for Gus, the man her heart had chosen, made her strong, resolute, determined.
“A trap?”
Madness darkened the green-brown of his eyes. “We aim to catch us a U.S. Marshal.”
A long, desperate day in the saddle drained Gus of the last vestiges of hope. Daylight had faded through shades of gray and muted brown, leaving them to search by light of the waxing gibbous moon. The horses’ breaths showed in clouds of white.
The abominable snowfall had finally stopped, leaving powder knee-deep in the canyon.
Treacherous conditions or not, he’d not quit until he found her.
Hours earlier, they’d divided into pairs, searched the valley and surrounding canyons in specific grids.
Three parties of Finlays and three parties of deputies with men from neighboring ranches spread out.
Gus rode west with Cliff Cox, Finlay’s hired hand. The younger man knew the territory well and was quick on the draw. He’d shown dedication far beyond the call of duty. Gus was glad to have him along.
The man’s attention never wavered, constantly searching for any signs of smoke, tracks, anything.
Good thing one of ‘em had their head on straight.
All day, memories of Noelle lingered in Gus’s mind. Her quick smile. The sparkle in her eyes. Honesty in those beautiful dark eyes when she told him that someday she’d call him her own.
Was that why he couldn’t separate the personal attachment from his role as sheriff?
Because he cared too much?
He’d had all day to think on it, and he’d arrived at one unmistakable conclusion. He did care.
Noelle was the only woman, besides Effie, who’d made him want to say wedding vows in front of God, nature, and everybody. Noelle had wrapped herself up in the shreds of his tattered heart. She’d sought shelter where no shelter was to be found.
Try telling her that.
Funny thing was, that pretty little gal, so many years his junior, snuggled up inside his chest and fit there. Like a glove. He not only wanted to find her alive—please, God—he wanted to keep her.
A flock of birds flushed from low-lying scrub oak.
Gus cleared leather in an instant, reined in his mount, his senses sharp and attuned to every sound and image, the slightest flicker of movement.
Something had spooked them, and he didn’t think it was their approach.
The rush of flapping wings masked all other noise.
He motioned Cliff to a halt and listened intently.
A twig snapped, and his gaze swung that direction, Colt at the ready.
He peered through lengthening shadows, cursing the clouds that slipped across the moon. The trees were nothing more than dark, shapeless shadows. He could be staring down a bobcat and not know it until the cat sprang.
He’d learned to trust his senses, and his senses told him a man was in those bushes, watching, waiting.
He and Cliff were sitting ducks, in the open. Might as well know if they faced friend or foe. “Who goes there?”
One second stretched into two. Wind whistled past, depriving him of hearing anything that mattered.
Finally, the crush of muted footfalls sinking in deep snow.
Gus pulled his rifle from the scabbard. “Show yourself.”
A huddled figure, shapeless in moonlight, separated from the copse of naked trees. The mass barely looked human. A legless, armless lump.
“G-Gus?”
Could it be this easy? His heart shuddered.
He dismounted quicker than a hiccup. “Noelle?” Had
they finally found her?
Too entangled in her, every emotion engaged, he couldn’t make himself wait. Couldn’t ensure she was alone.
He sank knee-deep in snow, and shuffled closer, both weapons pointed at the sky.
“That you, Miss Finlay?” Cliff nudged his mount nearer. The tack rattled.
“Stay back, Cox.” The lawman, somewhere deep in Gus’s rejoicing heart, surfaced long enough to be the voice of reason. “Stay sharp. Keep guard.”
“Gus!” She ran, or tried to.
He holstered his left iron just as Noelle threw herself into his arms.
The force of her colliding with his chest, coupled with a rush of relief—hot and vivid and desperate—nearly knocked him on his backside.
Praise be.
He hugged her close, burying his face in her neck. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
“I’m c-cold.” Her breath felt chilled against his cheek.
“Miss Finlay?” Cox’s voice wavered. “Where are the men who took you? They close behind?”
She felt cold in his arms. So cold.
Jarred by Cox’s reminder of Noelle’s captors, how desperately outnumbered the two of them were, he swept her into his arms and made for his horse.
Flannel. His hand brushed the damp, frozen flannel of her nightgown. Heavy woolen blankets, weighted by ice, slipped as she lost her hold. He made a grab for them and wrapped her up. She clung to him, tight.
“Ma’am? How long you been out here?”
“I don’t know.” Noelle’s teeth chattered. “An hour? May-m-maybe longer.”
“Can you find your way?” Cliff asked. “Back to them, I mean?”
“I don’t think so.” Noelle shivered, sounding so small and vulnerable. “I wandered. Hid. Lost my way a couple times.”
“Miss, did they follow you?”
“No. At least I-I-I don’t think so.”
Good questions, but Gus wasn’t a Marshal or a Sheriff just then. He was a man who’d finally located the woman he loved. And she was alive.
Relief seeped into his frozen body, overwhelming gratitude for the miracle of finding her alive. Frostbite was certain. He wanted to get her warm, safe, home. “Noelle—thank God—”
She kissed him.
A hard, sudden kiss—and nothing like pecks on the cheek from wives of federal judges he’d saved from assassination. This was the kiss of a woman.
He couldn’t help it. He kissed her back.
This kiss contained so much more than appreciation. More than acknowledgment and relief and celebrating life. This kiss made his blood run hot and quick. This kiss ignited something within him that he feared would catch fire if he weren’t careful.
A jolt of connection zapped through him, singing along frayed nerves, a hot rush of awareness so keen it nearly blotted everything else out—the cold, the circumstances, and definitely the awareness that this girl was the last girl he should kiss. The last girl whose kiss should move him.
He couldn’t explain the anomaly. No one’s kisses—other than Effie’s, but that was understandable—had moved him.
This kiss grabbed him by the throat and held on tight.
The press of her satin lips against his electrified him unlike anything he’d ever known.
For the first time in forever, a long string of Finlay family Christmas celebrations, Easter dinners, run-of-the-mill Sunday dinners…with Noelle beside him, Effie and Luke present seemed…nice.
Comfortable and a whole lot like home.
“Sheriff?” Cliff’s voice came from a long ways off. “Miss Finlay?”
She broke the kiss. Good thing because he’d lost the wherewithal to pull away.
“Take me home.” She hugged him tighter, pressing her face against the muff wrapped around his neck.
“Yes’m.” He whipped off that scarf and draped it over her head to cover her ears and cheeks, then wrapped it about her neck. He drew a deep breath of cold air to clear his head, pulled off his coat and insisted she put it on.
Astounding. Surprising. Life-changing.
He bundled up that kiss and everything that came along with it and tucked it safely against his heart. He’d take it out later, reexamine, and wonder.
A careful man would hold onto his runaway heart, call it back, nail it down if he had to. A cautious man wouldn’t allow himself to fall in love so quickly, so deeply, so completely. Hadn’t he learned how bad it hurt when a woman changed her mind?
Effie had loved him once. But even she had changed her mind. And he’d barely survived the devastation of losing her.
Noelle might think she wanted him. Fool that he was, he’d already lost his heart to her. Amazing, really, that it was even possible he could fall in love. He’d believed, utterly and completely, that loving anyone but Effie was an impossibility.
How would he survive when Noelle changed her mind too?
He forced himself to look away from her trusting face, away from the love shining in her eyes, to make sure Cliff had it together.
Sure enough, Cliff Cox watched for signs of bandits.
With one more quick check of their surroundings himself, Gus lifted Noelle into the saddle, then swung up behind her. He took the time to get her settled comfortably, as sheltered by his body and protected from the elements as he could manage.
She snuggled against him.
“All settled?” he asked.
She nodded.
He couldn’t wait to send a messenger to town, to ring the church bell long and loud and strong—the agreed-upon message that Noelle had been found. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Tell me,” Gus said to Noelle at the breakfast table the following morning, “every detail. Nothing is insignificant.”
By winter’s morning light, Noelle’s skin held a pallor. The shadows beneath her eyes were dark. Her skin picked up the gray hue of her wool dress.
He wished he had a chair beside her as his vantage point across the table allowed his attention to stray time and again to her lips. Thoughts of that kiss were never far away.
Her kiss had left his world spinning on an altered axis.
Astounding.
Yes, he’d kissed others—Effie hadn’t been the only woman to know his kiss—but no one…no one…had ignited his blood in an instant.
Only Noelle.
“I saw eight men.” Noelle’s tone sounded oddly flat. “They were all in the cabin, and only left to see to the horses.” Her gaze settled on Gus and remained here.
He wanted to shift in his seat. She scrutinized his face a good long while.
Did she like what she saw?
Heat flared between them. As if the fire from that kiss had only been banked overnight. She remembered too.
All around them, the family ate their breakfast, subdued and quiet. Phil had offered a prayer of heartfelt gratitude and thanksgiving for Noelle’s safe return. The man hadn’t spoken a word since.
The family seemed content to let Gus ask the questions.
Noelle looked at Gus, tipped her head in confusion. “They did nothing to hide their identities.”
Fear skated icy fingernails up his spine.
In his experience, gangs did not leave witnesses. They’d murder an innocent rather than risk a hangman’s noose. “Names?”
She shook her head in the negative. “Nicknames for some. Not all. They called the ringleader Boss. He’s the one I drew after the Kennedy attack.”
“You’re doing well. Keep going.”
“They drugged me. Some foul-smelling chemical on a cloth they held to my nose and mouth. That’s how they spirited me away without discovery.”
His jaw clenched. Premeditated.
“When I came to, I was in a snug cabin, dry woolen stockings on my feet and tucked into a clean, warm bed. I suspect they wrapped me up…I wasn’t cold.” She paused as if reflecting. “It was so odd. They treated me with utmost courtesy. Food, water, warmth. Woolen stockings and blankets. Escorted me t
o the necessary—but only to keep me from falling on the ice.”
When the lawless behaved in gentlemanly ways, they usually had a strong motivation.
Why batter Widow Boczowski yet leave Noelle unmarked? Why treat Noelle as an honored guest?
One would think they had two gangs in the valley, not one. But Gus didn’t believe that—not for a minute.
He pushed those questions to the end of the list. He couldn’t bear to think what they might have done to her. He clenched his jaw and vowed, for the hundredth time, to catch the gang and see them answer for their crimes.
“What of the surroundings?”
“Completely unfamiliar.” The tender flesh about her eyes tightened. “I couldn’t see the mountains. The snowfall was so heavy, the sky so white, I couldn’t tell east from west.”
He rested his fingertips upon her forearm. Touching her, even through many layers of wool, reassured…until she flinched.
Noelle wouldn’t meet his gaze and he knew a moment’s fury unlike any other. If they’d touched her, he’d—
“No.” She blinked, moisture in her eyes.
“No—” No, don’t touch me? No, that didn’t hurt? He needed to understand women—this woman in particular.
“I see what you’re thinking, Gus, and the answer is no. Not one fist, not one kick.”
But that left myriad other assaults—
She grasped his hand tightly.
He wished she’d taken off her mitten first.
“And it surprised me. From the way they grabbed me from inside the back door, I anticipated the worst.”
“Did they touch you?” He searched her eyes, at an utter loss for words. How could he ask an innocent, particularly this woman, if they’d—
“No.”
Honesty filled her eyes. Untouched.
He searched her expression for any tell-tale signs of a lie, but saw none. She spoke the truth, thank God.
“They told me,” she continued, her bold gaze holding his, “I was bait.”
Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat. Shock stole his wind.
“Bait in a trap set for you.”
Everyone ceased eating. Phil set down his glass of milk with a thud that reverberated through the silent kitchen.
Gus’s heart thudded painfully. Not once, since the attacks began, had he considered the miscreants might want to entrap him. Why him?
