Holt's Gamble (5 page)

Get a hold of yourself, Kierin.
It was then that she became aware that Holt was staring at her through the darkness. Her eyes were drawn to his as if by a will of their own. Though the moonlight robbed his eyes of their vivid blue color, it did nothing to lessen the unexpected intensity of his gaze. After a long moment she looked away—fearful that he might, somehow, look right into her.

"You cold, Princess?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.

There was that name again, but this time the mocking tone was gone. Kierin bit her lip and refused to look back at him. She shook her head no, but couldn't stop shivering.

He sighed and looked down the street toward the river. "Have you got anything... more appropriate for night travel in that bag of yours?" he asked, gesturing to the tapestry bag at her feet. His breath formed a little white cloud as he spoke and he fingered the thin silk fabric of her dress. "You're going to freeze your little behind off in that thing."

"This is hardly the time or place to be thinking about changing, Mr. H—" she began, but he silenced her with a hand on her arm and a warning finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he whispered, drawing her back farther into the shadow of the livery. The dark figure of a man on horseback passed them on the opposite side of the street. His horse plodded along slowly and the man twisted in his saddle, peering down a dark alleyway between two buildings.

Holt pulled her closer against his chest. She could feel the ragged pounding of his heart against her back in an odd echo of her own and she heard his gun leave the sheath of its leather holster just below her arm. They stood perfectly still that way, not daring to breathe, until the rider moved out of sight and into the enveloping darkness.

Holt sheathed his Walker Colt and slowly, almost reluctantly, loosened his grip on her. It wasn't until that moment that he became aware of the sweet womanly scent of her, or how she had fit against him the way fine glove leather fit his hand.

He raked his fingers through his dark hair, sweeping it out of his eyes. You've been too long without a woman, Holt. Face it—any woman would feel good to you right now. But this one's on the next stage to St. Louis and the sooner the better, he reminded himself. Get your mind back on getting the hell out of here.

"Do you think he saw us?" The tremor in her voice was more pronounced, from fear or cold he couldn't be sure.

"No, but it's only a matter of time if Talbot's men are all mounted."

He pulled on the wooden-handled livery door and found it locked. The soft nickers of the horses within carried on the still night air, and Holt gave a useless tug on the door in frustration. One horse. One damned horse was all they needed and they'd be well out of this.

His gaze moved down the row of closed shops to a window that spilled soft yellow light onto the street and he heard the faint clanking of a smithy's hammer. It was the farrier's shop.

Holt motioned the girl to follow him. They made their way past hogsheads and stacked crates piled on the planked walkways in front of the mercantile and cooper shops, but kept within the shadows of the shops' overhangs.

He stopped beneath the glowing window and peered cautiously inside. Through the paned glass, Holt could see the huge man he'd done business with earlier in the day. Sweat and grime clung to the dark hair that covered his chest and arms. The top half of him was naked but for the heavy leather apron that moved with him as he worked the billows above him up and down with his muscular arm. Though his main business was horses, Holt knew that Brown kept busy late into the night with the heavy demand for smithed iron rims for the emigrant trains. He and Jacob had used the smithy's services not two days ago themselves and he had done a fair job for them, too. Now, with any luck, Taeva would be shod, saddled up, and ready to go.

Kierin reached the window just seconds after Holt and looked longingly at the fire. She rubbed her arms beneath the shawl, alternately breathing into her stiff hands in the vain search for warmth. She turned away, unable to look any longer, and leaned back against the cool brick wall.

"Do you know him?" Holt whispered.

Kierin nodded. "Scudder Brown? I've known him for most of my life."

"Can he be trusted?"

Kierin looked back into the grimy smith shop. She shook her head after considering it for a moment. "No. Talbot is part owner in this shop, just as he is for many of the businesses in this part of town. Scudder would be a fool to cross him." She looked up at Holt, wondering if he knew just how foolish
he
had been to go up against a man like John Talbot. She doubted that the stranger had any idea how dangerous Talbot was.

"We haven't much farther to go. Can you make it without warming up?"

"You needn't worry about me, Mr. Holt. I am q-quite capable of a great many things that might surprise you."

Holt found himself amused by the girl's bravado, transparent as it was. It was refreshing after knowing so many women hardened by the life in brothels. And though at first, he had been taken aback by her obvious youth, he knew that, too, was not all that unusual for the times. Especially in a town like Independence, which sat on the edge of the frontier, peopled by thousands of would-be emigrants on their way to a new life. The trains moved out of this teeming outpost regularly, with as many stories of hardship to be told. Holt wondered briefly what hers was and how she had wound up becoming involved with a snake like Talbot.

Dismissing the thought, he quickly stripped his buckskin shirt off over his head and handed it to her. She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

"That you're capable, I have no doubts, Princess," Holt told her, removing the money pouch from around his neck and tucking it into the waistband of his smooth elkskin leggings. "But I know gooseflesh when I see it, and whatever else you're capable of, hiding your discomfort is not one of your best talents."

"But... wh—what will you wear? Won't you be cold too?"

"I'm used to the night air. Once we're moving again, I won't notice the cold at all. Put it on."

Kierin slipped the shirt over her head and felt instant relief from the warmth that still clung to it. It hung ridiculously down to her knees, and her hands were lost in the long sleeves, but it felt deliciously warm.

"Thank you."

Holt grinned that charming grin and nodded. "I think we'd better slip around back and get my horse. I'll leave some money for Brown at the back of his shop. Let's go."

Turning the corner of the smith shop, Holt caught the glint of moonlight off a steel blade, just before he felt the searing pain it wielded. He ducked instinctively, but the blade slid smoothly into the firm muscle of his shoulder, far from where its original aim intended.

The force of the blow nearly knocked him off his feet and he slammed back against the wall behind him with a groan. He sucked a deep hissing breath between clenched teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the white-hot intensity of the pain as his assailant withdrew the blade.

John Talbot smiled in victory as the pain registered across Holt's sculpted features.

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Holt," Talbot sneered. He pressed the blade cruelly against Holt's throat and drew a fine bead of blood from beneath its razor-sharp edge. "Somehow I hoped there would be more sport in it for me. Though I must admit, your escape through the window did delay me for a bit." Talbot smiled as he slipped Clay's gun out of its holster, and cocked it menacingly close to the taller man's ear.

"Bring the girl, Kyle," he ordered, motioning toward the smith shop.

Holt clutched his throbbing shoulder and, for the first time, noticed that Kyle Jessup held Kierin with one hand over her mouth and the other pinning her arms behind her back.

Damn. How could he have been so careless? He'd walked right into it. Holt felt the cold steel barrel of his own gun pressed against his back as Talbot urged him forward.

The sticky warmth spreading beneath Holt's fingers felt strangely incongruous to the numbing chill that now seeped into his body. He stumbled forward on legs which were oddly slow to respond to his command, toward the doorway of the smith shop. It wouldn't do, he thought grimly, to have one of the town's upstanding citizens caught in the act of murdering someone in the street.

With renewed certainty, he knew that Talbot meant to kill them both. He could feel the strength draining from him as the crimson stain of his blood spread down his chest. Steeling his mind against the pain, Clay struggled to keep a clear head.

The pungent smell of heated iron assaulted him as they moved into the warmth of the dimly lit shop. Scudder Brown's mouth gaped open in surprise as Holt was shoved inside, stumbling to the hard-packed dirt floor at the burly man's feet.

"Mr. Talbot! What the hell—w-what's going on?" Brown looked anxiously at the bloody man lying on the ground.

"Nothing that concerns you, Brown," Talbot said, tucking Holt's gun into the back waistband of his pants. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll forget this ever happened." Talbot glared menacingly at Brown who, despite his size, seemed to shrink under Talbot's scowling countenance.

Brown backed up a step as he looked again at Holt, who was slowly getting to his feet. The frightened blacksmith shifted from one foot to the other and glanced uncertainly at Kierin.

"Mr. Talbot, this ain't right," the huge man began bravely. "Whatever's goin' on here, I'm sure Sheriff Barker could straighten it all out. Why don't you let the girl go with me and we'll get the sheriff and bring him back here directly. He'll see that this fella's taken care of legal-like."

John Talbot's face clouded dangerously and he took a step toward the blacksmith with fists clenched.

"Have you forgotten, Brown," Talbot snarled, "that I
own
this shop? That without me, you and your family would have been out on the street." Talbot moved one step at a time closer to Brown's flushed face as he spoke, until Talbot's face was only inches from the other man's.

"Don't you know I
own you?" he
ranted, grabbing a fistful of Brown's leather apron. Talbot's voice held the brittle edge of a man on the brink of losing control. Suddenly, he released Brown and took a step back. The saloon owner shrugged his fine wool coat back into place and yanked irritably at his cuffs.

"Now," he continued more calmly, "I suggest you mosey on down to the bar... have yourself a drink or two—oh, that's right. You've given all that up, haven't you? Well, why don't you just go on home to your family. And while you're there, consider what kind of a life they would have if you weren't here to provide for them. I don't need to tell you that you won't get another warning from me."

Talbot stepped aside with a sweep of his arm toward the door. Brown hesitated for only a moment, glanced apologetically at Kierin, then turned and left the shop.

Kierin watched the scene with the creeping conviction that Talbot meant to kill both her and Holt. Her arms still pinioned in Jessup's grasp, Kierin's heart thudded furiously against her breast as she searched for a way to help Holt. He stood swaying unsteadily against the far wall. Yet as weak as she knew he must be, she saw a strength in his eyes which she doubted Talbot would perceive. It sent an unexpected shiver of hope down her spine. She hadn't expected that kind of a show of character from a gambler like Holt, but there it was. His fierce look told her that they were not going to give up without a fight.

Beads of moisture clung to Holt's brow, and his lips were etched in a grim slash across his pale face. His gaze captured her own for a moment, then he looked deliberately at the hard-packed earthen floor and back up to her again.

Kierin wasn't sure she understood what he was trying to tell her, but guessed he meant to make a move and wanted her out of the way. She nodded to him very slightly and readied herself for what was to come.

With the blacksmith out of the way, Talbot turned confidently to Holt and smiled. "There'll be no help coming from that quarter, I'm afraid, if that was your hope." Talbot fairly swaggered as he continued, "Now, down to the business at hand. I feel you cheated me tonight, Mr. Holt, and
that
I simply can't abide."

"Why don't you just admit you can't abide losing a fair game of cards, Talbot?"

"Fair?" Talbot snorted. "Well, fair or not, I have no intention of losing a nice piece like Kierin to a yokel like you."

Kierin twisted angrily in Jessup's grip, but he wrenched her arm up painfully behind her, making her cry out in pain.

Holt's his eyes darkened with fury. "This is between you and me, Talbot. Tell your lackey to leave her out of this."

"She's right where you put her, Mr. Holt," Talbot said.

"You won't get away with this, you low-life snake!" Kierin spat at Talbot.

Talbot shot Kierin an icy look.

"Shut up, you bitch!" he swore, and took a step toward her.

It was the opening Holt had waited for. With an effort, he bent and pulled a knife from inside his boot. Kierin yanked herself from the arms of Jessup as Holt's knife whizzed through the air. Kyle Jessup could do little more than gasp before the blade embedded itself to the hilt in his chest. The man crumpled to the ground. Talbot wheeled around to face Holt, a look of disbelief on his face.

"No!" Talbot bellowed, rushing headlong at Holt.