by Caroline Lee
He’d punched El Lobo. He’d punched the most notorious gunslinger in Texas. Punched him… when what Hank had wanted to do was pull out the Smith and Wesson in the back of his belt and shoot the son-of-a-bitch in the face, for daring to touch Red like that.
There’d been a moment there, when Lobo had called her his betrothed, that Hank had stopped breathing. His righteous anger at seeing El Lobo here in Wyoming—of all places—and seeing him put his hand on Red had been replaced with dread at those words. Dread that the older man really did have a right to touch her; dread that she’d been lying to him about why she was running.
But then, when she’d stuck out her chin and looked up at the gunslinger so bravely and told him that she wasn’t going to marry him, relief had swept through Hank, and snapped whatever control he might’ve had. All he could think about was making Lobo pay for hurting her. Pay for the fear he’d seen on her face, and for forcing her to be brave.
Good thing Haskell had a sheriff. Hopefully their little dust-up would be enough to keep the gunslinger locked up overnight, long enough for him to get her to her family. Then Hank would be able to face Lobo alone, knowing that Red was safe.
And the gunslinger would definitely be coming for him, because what Sheriff Knighton didn’t realize was that El Lobo was now a wanted man. He’d once been a gun-for-hire, but had killed a lawman two years back, down in Mexico. Last time Hank had been through Haskell, he’d thumbed through Knighton’s wanted posters, and Lobo wasn’t there. If he’d had any idea that the gunslinger would ever have come this far north, he definitely would’ve mentioned it to Sheriff Knighton… but there wasn’t time now. Maybe he could telegraph the man after he’d gotten Red off the train in Everland. It was up to him to make sure that she was safe with her family when El Lobo came after him again.
He wasn’t going to let him hurt her again.
Was it any wonder that his insides were just a mess, by the time he dragged her down Main Street and hustled her on the train? The anger, at seeing her pain; the fear, from wondering if he’d be able to protect her; the rightness of feeling her hand in his? Hank could barely breathe, could barely think straight. They were still standing when the porter shut the door and the train began to inch away from Haskell, and Hank took what felt like his first real breath since she’d walked in from the dining room, looking all prim and perfect and kissable.
She chose that moment to look up at him, and her smile was hesitant. “That wasn’t how I expected my morning to go.”
It was no use. Her gentle teasing wasn’t going to distract him from how darn kissable those lips looked right now. Maybe something showed in his expression, because her eyes widened slightly.
His saddlebags dropped to the ground, and he leaned the rifle against the wall beside them. Kissable. That’s what he’d been thinking about, right before El Lobo sauntered back into their lives. Kissable. He wanted—he needed—to touch her. To remind himself that she was safe, that she wasn’t the gunslinger’s.
Leaning back, he let the wall take his weight, and pulled her towards him. She was breathing heavily from their jog through town, but her slight frown let him know that she was irritated, not scared. Good. Good, he could deal with irritation.
He cupped her cheek in one hand, and watched those gorgeous eyes go wide, felt the delicious shock of her skin against his. Groaned, when he realized he was lost.
Kissable.
She tasted like sugar cookies. And Heaven, once her lips began to move under his, and she matched his desperation stroke for stroke. It wasn’t until he felt her fingernails scraping through the hair on the back of his neck that he realized she’d wrapped her arms around him and was holding on. He groaned again, and cupped her other cheek too, and tried to pull her even closer.
Any closer, though, and he’d be inside of her, and now wasn’t that thought interesting? The train swayed under them, and he braced his backside, pulled her hips against his thighs, and made love to her with his mouth.
When her tongue touched his, he darn near came undone, and realized that he would, if he let this go on any longer. With a gasp, he forced his lips away from her, his resolve weakening when she came after him. But he held her cheeks in both hands, and dropped his forehead to hers, breathing heavy.
Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he knew that she was gasping—panting—too, and it made him want to kiss her again. To sweep her off her feet, to climb down from the train at the very next town, to carry her to the nearest bed, and to bury himself in her the way she’d been inviting him to do since he’d met her. Oh, maybe she didn’t realize it, but those looks she’d been giving him? The way she snuggled up and surrounded him? They were all the encouragement a typical man needed.
Too bad he wasn’t typical. He had to get home to Arizona… or at least, what would become home. He didn’t have time to get all involved with a woman like Red.
Opening his eyes, Hank pulled away just enough to see her. Only problem was that he was already involved, whether he liked it or not.
Scratch that. He liked it. He liked it very much.
Her deep blue eyes were glazed with desire, and it was all he could do to not lower his lips to her again. But the sight of his bare hands on her cheeks stopped him. His right knuckles were broken and bleeding from their run-in with the gunslinger’s face, and reminded him of the fear he’d seen in her eyes when Lobo held her.
“Why did you…” Red blinked, as if she was trying to regain control, and he knew that she was about to ask him something uncomfortable. How to explain why he’d kissed her? How to explain how, after the anger and fear in the hotel lobby, he’d needed to touch her, to know that she was safe and… and his? He couldn’t explain that, because she wasn’t his at all.
But she surprised him. “Why did you hit him?” That wasn’t what he’d expected her to ask, and when her small fingers—she hadn’t had time to put on gloves, either—came up to caress his right hand, he had to pull back farther, just to make sure that she wasn’t teasing him.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, why’d I hit him? It was either that or shoot ‘im, and I knew Charlie wouldn’t appreciate that option.”
She touched his split knuckles, maybe without even realizing it, but it didn’t hurt. Nah, having her like this, in his arms, looking all concerned and stroking him like he needed petting… it didn’t hurt at all. Felt good. “You were angry at him for shooting you?”
Shooting him? Then Hank remembered the brief exchange he’d had with Lobo, and lowered his forehead to hers once more. She honestly thought that was why he’d been so angry? Why he wanted to kill the gunslinger with his bare hands? “No, I wasn’t, honey. I mean—” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I ain’t going to forgive him for that, but…” Another deep breath, while he tried to get his emotions under control.
It wasn’t working. With a groan, he pressed against her, harder, and blurted out, “Good God, Red. Do you have any idea what it did to me, to see him touching you like that? To think that you might’ve wanted it?”
She sucked in a breath—they were close enough that he felt it—when she understood. He opened his eyes and met hers. “You mean…” Her voice was suddenly as tiny as the rest of her. “You were angry because of… of what he did to me?”
He stood up, but didn’t let her go. “I would’ve liked to kill ‘im for it, Red.”
“I thought that you were holding a grudge.” The amazement in her expression, in her voice, was adorable. Did the little fool honestly have no idea what it’d done to him, to see her in that kind of danger? She looked so flabbergasted that he had to grin, and that got another reaction from her.
Her eyes widened again, and she pulled away from him. He let her go, dropping his hands. “You’re smiling.” It was an accusation.
“Sorry.” He didn’t stop, though. In fact, her irritation made his grin grow.
“Don’t be.” She cocked that pretty little head of hers. “I like it when you smile. You look�
�nice.”
“I’m not nice.” He wasn’t nice. He wasn’t a gentleman. He wasn’t the kind of man who courted and married… but Red had him thinking all sorts of things lately.
She shrugged, and pulled out her gloves from a pocket in her cloak. “I think that you are.” And then, while she was pulling them on—Hank was disappointed to see her skin disappearing under the dark leather—she asked too casually, “Why’d you kiss me?”
He snagged her hand, and forced her to look at him once more. Focused on making sure she understood. “To remind you that you don’t belong to him. I won’t let you forget.”
“Who do I belong to, then?”
Her question was hesitant, and tiny, and made him ache to reassure her, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t say what he wanted to say—me—because it wasn’t true.
He was saved from having to lie by the porter, who glared at them as he passed, reminding Hank that they were standing in the aisle of a moving train. “Come on, honey.” Picking up his bags and rifle in one hand, he pulled her towards two open seats.
Neither spoke, but he didn’t let her hand loose, either, and she didn’t seem to mind. They had long enough before they reached Everland that they’d have to worry about lunch, and a few hours after that. But they couldn’t spend the day just staring out the windows, either. He needed answers.
Hank pulled off his hat and threw it on the bench across from them. Scrubbing his bare hand over his beard and through his hair, he sighed. She was still turned away from him, but he could see the curve of her jaw. “Why did El Lobo think that you were going to marry him?”
“When he accosted me on the train from Salt Lake City, he told me that it was because I’m going to inherit my Abuelo’s property, and he wants it.”
“He wasn’t real subtle, was he?” Actually, Hank could think of any number of reasons to marry her, and her inheritance wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately, El Lobo was the kind of man who took what he wanted, and damned the consequences. More often than not, for a man of his ability with a gun and dangerous reputation, there weren’t consequences.
There would be, this time.
She shrugged. “Abuelo warned me that he might come after me.”
“This is the man who adopted you?”
“The man who raised me. I don’t think he and Abuela ever officially adopted any of us.” She looked down at their joined hands. “She runs the town orphanage, technically, but she treats us all like her children. Grandchildren, I guess.”
Her grandparents—or whatever they were—had enough money to run an orphanage and offer a stranger a hundred bucks? “And El Lobo wants the orphanage?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “He must, because he’s going through an awful lot of trouble to get it.”
Try as he might, Hank couldn’t figure why a gunslinger like Lobo, who was wanted in two states and some territories, would want an orphanage. Remembering the conversation they’d had that first night—had it only been a few days ago?—he asked, “If your grandfather’s been dead since the summer, why does Lobo think you’re going to inherit?”
Gently, she pulled her hand from his, and began to fiddle with the edge of her cloak. Hank had noticed that she did it when she was uncomfortable, and thought that it was kinda adorable. He missed her warmth, but figured that it was for the best. “I was… I wasn’t Abuelo’s favorite, but… maybe I was.” She sighed, and looked out the window again. “Abuelo made shoes for years. I don’t honestly know what their name was before they came north, but he’s been ‘Zapato’ for longer than I’ve known them. He always told us that he wasn’t going to get close to any of us, because we were his wife’s business.”
She smiled. Just slightly, just enough that he figured she thought he couldn’t see it, like she was remembering something special. “But he and I… we liked each other. He told me once it was because of my curiosity. He even tried to teach me the business, but I was too impatient.” Hank nodded slightly. Ain’t that the truth? “So he taught Micah instead, and while he learned shoemaking, Abuelo just let me sit there and listen and ask questions and be myself. It was…” This time her smile was a little sad. “It was nice.”
Despite being orphaned and abandoned in the middle of nowhere, it sounded like Red had ended up with a pretty good life after all. This couple had not just taken care of her; sounded like she had some real nice memories of them too. “Alright.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, tucking them under the bench across the way, and folded his arms. “So your grandfather liked you a lot. And then… what? He died? Did he have a will?”
“I’ve been in school in Salt Lake City for the last three years. I don’t like being away from home—I’ve lived in Everland since I was ten—but I wanted to learn.” She turned back to him, and her voice slipped into a sort of sing-songy cadence like she was telling a story, or teaching him something. “When the other girls were all dreaming about getting married and starting families, Abuela said that I had an incurable curiosity about the world.”
He snorted, agreeing with her grandmother. Her impatience and imagination was what got her into this mess to begin with, but he couldn’t be angry; otherwise, he wouldn’t have met her. She was rash and impatient, sure; any woman who curled up next to a man she’d just met, who let him kiss her, had to be. But she was also smart and sweet and damned intriguing.
Unconsciously—it seemed to him, at least— she tucked one foot up on the seat, wrapping her gloved hands around her knee. He’d never seen a woman so at ease with herself—with him—that she’d sit like that in public. It was… refreshing. She was refreshing.
“So, somehow, Abuelo scraped together enough money to send me off to school. He made no secret of the fact that if I was going to school, I had to come back home full of knowledge and teach the younger kids. There are still six left with Abuela right now, not counting Micah, and I want nothing more than to help her take care of them, the way she did me.” Hank was only listening with one ear now; he was still stuck on the “somehow” and “scraped”. Did this orphanage have less money than he’d assumed?
Red rested her chin on her knee. “Then, last winter, Abuelo sent me a package. In it was this cape. He said that he’d gotten it as payment from one of his customers, and it was too fine for Everland. It was perfect for the city, and made me feel… elegant.” She sighed, and Hank shifted so that he could eye her fancy cloak, covering her worn dress. If her family—or whatever the orphanage could be called—didn’t have money, then her plain gray dress would make sense. So would her attachment to that ridiculous cloak.
He was beginning to suspect that she’d been lying about the hundred bucks, and wasn’t sure what to think. He hadn’t even intended to take her to Everland, so he hadn’t expected to be paid. And when he’d made the decision to take her after all, to protect her from El Lobo, he sure as shootin’ hadn’t been thinking about the money. But was he going to find out that it’d been a lie?
So maybe he sounded a little surlier that usual when he asked, “What does this have to do with the will?”
“A week after I got the package with the cloak, I got a letter. Abuelo said that the cloak had a secret; it was made to conceal.” She tucked her foot under her leg and lowered her knee, and fiddled with the hem of the cloak. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes, and he felt like she’d made a decision. Like he’d passed a test. “His most recent will—one that the Mayor himself helped draft—was sewn into the hem of the cloak where no one could find it.”
She paused expectantly, as if waiting for him to react, and he nodded, glad that she’d trusted him enough to tell him. She smiled, and hell. He could make her smile like that just by acknowledging her trust? He felt like a heel for not giving her more reason to trust him. To smile.
“Did you read it?”
“Yes. And then I put it in oilskin and sewed it back in.” Her fingers brushed against the fabric, finding one spot in the hem that looked thicker than
the others. “He left the orphanage to his wife, as he’d always said he would, and the shoemaking-shop to Micah. But when Abuela is gone, the orphanage and half of the property… it’ll come to me. It was a surprise, but once I thought about it, I was at peace with their decision. He knew that I was devoted to their work, just like Micah is. But honestly, I didn’t think anything of it until Abuelo passed away this summer.” She looked down. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to him, but I wrote them every week. I know that he knew I loved him.”
Hank knew that he should comfort her, but he was too dang curious about the will. “And when you decided to go home, Lobo caught you on the train, and said… what?”
“No, I met him once in Salt Lake City—last month. He said he recognized the cloak, and wanted to talk to me about grandfather. It wasn’t until he started asking questions about the will that I felt uncomfortable and ran.” She looked away, and he wondered what she wasn’t telling him. “That’s when I began to save up for a train ticket home.”
A sick feeling of dread settled in his stomach, and he sat up, pinning her with a stare. “Did you… did you tell him that you’d read the will?”
She shrugged, and he could tell she didn’t understand. “I told him that Abuela had inherited everything, and Micah and me after her.”
“Shoot, Red. Now he knows that you’ve got it, and that you’ve read it, and that’s why he’s after you.”
“To marry me? But I haven’t inherited the orphanage yet.”
“But you will. It’s only a matter of time. And what do you want to bet that once he forces you to marry him, your grandmother and brother meet little accidents, leaving you the sole heir?” Her face paled so quick that he thought she might faint, and reached for her.
She brushed away his hand, taking deep steadying breaths. “You think he’d do that?”
“You know his reputation. You’re his key to getting his hands on your grandfather’s property.” He could hurt her or kill her, and no one would call him on it, if he was her husband. “No wonder he wants you.” It probably didn’t have anything to do with how dang kissable she looked, chewing on her bottom lip all concerned-like. Hank had to swallow down the memory of her sugar-cookie taste, and focus on her fear now.
But when she looked up at him like that, like he had all the answers and she needed him, Hank cursed under his breath. Pulling her roughly up against his side, he tried not to gloat at the way she cuddled into him, making him feel like her hero. “Don’t worry, honey.” His voice sounded gruff, even to his ears. “He’s not going to get you. You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you.”
“Promise?” Her question was muffled in his coat, but Hank felt it all the way through his soul.
“Yeah, Red. I promise.” And as the train hurtled towards her home and safety, Hank knew that he’d keep that promise. And the best way to make sure that she was safe in Everland would be removing the threat to her—and her family’s—well-being. He’d have to kill El Lobo.
CHAPTER SIX
