Rachel Donnelly (12 page)

She jerked and twisted, trying to pull away, but his unbreakable grip held her fast. Before she knew it, he’d pulled her into the dark alley and pinned her up against the clapboards. The warmth of his hands on her arms made her shiver. The smell of the wind in his hair sent a shiver rattling through her. She remembered the last time he’d been this close — how demanding the pressure of his lips had been — how the taste of him had made her go weak.

“Let me go!” She twisted against him. “What are you doing?”

“Listen to me,” he ground against her ear. “Because I’m only going to say this once. I want you to march your sweet little backside right back across that street before you get hurt.”

The force of his words and his dangerous tone sent tiny prickles rushing over her scalp. Or perhaps it was his warm breath on her cheek. She didn’t know. But she couldn’t allow all that she’d gone through to be for naught. She took in a great gulp of air, attempting to calm her pounding heart. “Very well, perhaps you can give him a message.”

“I’m listening.”

“And,” she swallowed hard. “It’s important he doesn’t tell anyone where he got this information.”

Randall lifted a mocking brow.

Her voice turned impatient, despite all efforts to remain calm. “His prisoner is in danger of being lynched.”

He relaxed his hold. “I think the sheriff is well aware of that.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She arched away, attempting to read his features. “These men are serious. They don’t intend to allow Hank to leave on that stage.”

“Hank’s not leaving on the stage,” Nat said flatly. “We’re moving him tonight.”

“Oh … ” She felt deflated, but at the same time relieved. It seemed she’d rushed out in the middle of the night for nothing. He and the sheriff had the situation well in hand. She felt a nagging sense of respect for his quick action, yet at the same time, annoyed at her own wasted efforts. But then, how was she to know the crisis was over?

Her gaze shifted upward, only to find him observing her closely. When his gaze strayed to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. Something curled in her belly — fear, anticipation. She couldn’t tell. But the yearning to feel his soft, smooth mouth against hers was so strong, it made her weak.

He released her. “Now that you’ve done your good deed for the day, you’d better get home.”

The condescension in his tone jerked her from her brief enchantment. Her cheeks suffused with heat. Whether from disappointment, or shame, or a mixture of both, she felt the need to lash out. “At least I’m not here for the money.”

He went perfectly still.

His eyes narrowed under the shadow of his grey Stetson. “It’s best not to comment on what you know nothing about.”

She should have let it go at that, but the desire to hurt him the way he’d hurt her rose like a viper in her breast. “I know all I need to know. You’re a bounty hunter — a scavenger, functioning at the lowest level of the law, a profession that ranks right up there with whores and snake-oil salesmen.” With a deliberate disdainful smile she let her gaze travel from the brim of his hat, down his buckskin covered chest to his boots. “But I suspect even a whore exercises some discretion over the jobs she takes.”

“Who needs a whore when there are so many little hypocrites like you eager to warm my bed.” He took a step closer, snaking out one arm. And before she could stop him, he pulled her hard against him, running his hands over her back and crooning against her ear, “That’s why you’re trying to rile me up, isn’t it? So I’ll forget what a nice girl you are and teach you what you want to know?”

“Certainly not!” She struggled against his grasp, wishing for the chance to scratch his arrogant face.

But his hold was too firm. He brought one hand up to rove over the curve of her breast. “Oh yes it is,” he breathed against her neck. He began placing little kisses behind her ear, down the column of her throat.

A shudder chased down her limbs. Something long and hard pressed into her belly. It wasn’t a belt buckle! Panic spiked above the delicious sensations shooting through her, clearing the way to reason. She shoved him away. “No. You’re wrong!”

Her body trembled all over. Every spot that he’d touched tingled. But the last thing she wanted was for him to know how he affected her. She turned and strode past him without so much as a goodnight.

His arrogant laughter floated after her, making her grind her teeth.

Insufferable beast!

How dare he compare her to one of his floozies, when it was him putting his hands on her! She hadn’t asked him to touch her — to kiss her.

Gad!

The nerve of the man!

The sooner he left for Carson the better.

When she reached the other side of the street, she slowed her step to a more dignified pace. It took two deep breaths to rein in her pounding heart so that she could think straight, though anger still raged in her breast as she marched down the wooden walkway for home.

Once Hank was moved to Carson City, Nat Randall would be out of her life forever.

And good riddance!

The sheriff had made no further effort to pursue her as a witness. With any hope she’d be back home in Boston before Hank’s brothers were caught. And, that would be the end of it.

She’d never have to suffer the company of Nat Randall again.

• • •

Nat watched Christie stalk away with a rueful smile tugging his lips. She was probably cursing him right now. But it couldn’t be helped. Insulting her had been the only way to get rid of her. Her believing him a poor bastard was a small price to pay to put her out of harm’s reach.

All the same, he didn’t like it.

The truth was, Christie Wallace was the only thing he’d miss when he left Murdock.

And the best reason to go.

One more taste of her sweet lips and he’d be hooked — if he wasn’t already. She had a way of getting under his skin — making him forget what he was doing. And that was too damn dangerous. Right now he couldn’t afford any distractions, not when he was so close to bringing the Everetts in.

“Well?’ he said over his shoulder into the darkness. “What did you find out?”

“You’re getting harder to sneak up on,” Holt drawled behind him.

“I smelled you long before I heard you.”

“Cigar smoke?” Holt sounded more tired than insulted.

“And that rot-gut whiskey you’ve been drinking.” How they got away with selling it was a mystery.

Holt smiled. “I had to make it look natural.”

“I don’t care how much you drink, as long as you can sit a saddle.” Holt wasn’t much of a drinker, so there was no danger of that, although he had fallen asleep more than once.

Holt reached inside his union coat to produce a small, flat bottle of whiskey. He handed it to Nat. “No one’s seen or heard tell of any strangers in town. But that gal of Billy’s is acting real edgy. I didn’t see her entertaining any customers either.”

Nat took a short swallow, sucking air through his teeth as the whiskey burned a trail down his throat. His gaze shifted to the windows above the saloon as he wiped a hand across his mouth. He handed the bottle back to Holt. “Maybe her room’s occupied.”

“That’s my guess.” Holt replaced the bottle inside his coat. “What do you want to do?”

“Stick to our plan and move him tonight.”

“You think they’ll follow?”

“They should. We’re dangling the right bait.”

• • •

“Do you love me?” Flossie ran the backs of her fingers down the side of Billy’s cheek while her nipples teased the hair on his chest.

“’Course I do.” Billy grabbed her wrist. “Haven’t I spent half the night showing you that?”

It was more like half an hour, but there was no sense quibbling. Billy wasn’t the most considerate lover she’d ever had, but he was the only one who could make her sigh when he said goodnight. He had a way of making her feel special. She didn’t feel like a whore when she was with him. It was just them — two souls struggling to get by.

But a roll in the hay wasn’t love. She couldn’t pin her future on that. “Being hung like a horse don’t make you God’s gift to women.” She slid off the bed to snatch up her frothy blue dressing gown. “Women got more on their mind than a tumble in the sheets.” She flounced across the room to the oak dresser.

“Like what?” he said, waving his hand in the air. “A hat or a new dress? Where you going to wear them?”

She shrugged then picked up the silver-handled brush to begin working the tangles from her hair. “Wherever I want.”

He swung his stocking-clad legs over the bed. “Men don’t care much what you’re wearing,” he said, yanking on his trousers. “Just how fast you’re going to take it off.” He picked up the half-smoked cigar on the bedside table then leaned down to strike a match on the heel of his boot.

Flossie slapped the brush down on the dresser. “Well, I ain’t going to be a whore forever, even if I do stay here.”

He leaned his elbows on the pillows puffing his cigar back to life. “Are you saying you’re changing your mind?”

She folded her arms under her breasts with a huff. Lordy, he was thick sometimes. “I’m saying, maybe I’ve got other prospects.”

“What prospects?” He stabbed a smoke ring with his finger.

“Never you mind.”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “You got nothin’ but me.” He pointed the smoking cigar at her. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here whining about no ring. What’s the matter, you think I’ll go back on my promise now that I got what I need? Well, that’s real insultin’.”

That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Now that his plan was wrapped up tighter than a Sunday sausage, there was nothing to keep him from wriggling out of it. Pulling up stakes to travel half way across the country to meet him after he rescued Hank was a big risk to take.

So was hiding him from the law right now.

If Delia knew, she’d throw her out on her ear. Flossie’s mouth went dry. If his plan to stop the stage didn’t work, she’d really be in the soup. But there was no reasoning with Billy once he’d set his mind.

She ought to warn Miss Wallace.

But that was a terrible risk.

They’d both likely wind up dead.

• • •

Nat sliced a glance over his shoulder at Holt.

Still awake.

Good.

It was slow going, leading Hank’s horse by a rope attached to his saddle horn — that, and Hank wanting to stop for a piss every five miles. For a man the size of an ogre, he had an uncommonly small bladder. Ironically, Hank’s ploy to give his brothers time to catch up was exactly what Nat wanted. He could piss himself silly for all he cared.

They rode until nightfall, finally making camp against a small ridge.

Once their bellies were full of beans and bacon, Holt climbed up on the big red boulders to take the first watch.

Nat had hoped for a little shuteye. But the food seemed to loosen Hank’s tongue. Once his fat lips started flapping, they didn’t want to stop.

“You got nothing to hold me on!” Hank’s lip curled into a snarl.

Nat continued scraping the iron skillet with the back of the spoon. He’d always found it better not to get into conversations with people he wanted to kill. The trouble was those people were usually too stupid or stubborn to do the same.

“You might just as well let me go right here.” Hank grinned, flashing his big yellow canines. “You ain’t got no witness.”

Nat set the skillet down, then rose from his haunches by the fire.

He gave Hank a long hard stare, allowing his lips to curve in a slow knowing smile.

“That girl didn’t know me!” Hank shouted after him as he strode to his saddle. When he returned with his bedroll, Hank had regained some of his equilibrium and settled down. “Too bad your little wife hadn’t lived. She’d have made a fine witness. She looked me right in the eyes.” Hank licked his fat lips. “I made sure of that. I like it better when they’re lookin’ at me.”

Nat gritted his teeth, shaking his bedroll high in the air.

But Hank wouldn’t shut up. He smacked his lips like he was licking gravy off a plate. “She sure did scream — screamed your name over and over, so loud my ears popped.” His voice softened as though he was going over a fond memory. “I ain’t had nothin’ so fine in a while. Too bad Billy had to shoot her.”

Nat froze.

Heather’s terror stricken face swam before him, making it all flood back; the stage driver’s angry shouts, sudden blasts of gunfire that sent them catapulting forward, and finally the white hot light before he sank into oblivion. He awakened to the acrid smell of gunpowder and a pain in his skull so severe, when he’d stumbled from the coach he retched until his guts met his throat.

He could feel the bile rising now, remembering Heather lying broken and bloody in the sand.

His hand seemed to slide to his Colt of its own accord.

A loud crack snapped him back to reality.

He looked up to find Hank slumped over, chin resting on his barrel-sized chest. Blood dripped from a small cut on his forehead. He was out cold.

“He never was too smart.” Holt said, holstering his pistol.

Nat’s rage slowly receded.

His gaze followed Holt as he headed back up the ridge.

Nat took a deep breath, attempting to push the dull ache of grief away.

A familiar coldness seeped back in.

He unbuckled his holster, then lay down on his bedroll, cursing himself for losing control.

But when he closed his eyes, the memories seeped back. Drew came to him in his dreams, as he had a thousand times, lying on the battlefield, head cradled in Nat’s lap. Blood leaked from his grey uniform like red sap, soaking Nat’s blue wool trousers. ‘Take care of Heather for me,’ he whispered between ragged breaths. “She’s all alone. Promise me … ”

“I promise,” Nat told him, trying to blink back the hot tears pricking his eyes. Cannons boomed overhead amongst a blur of screams and shouts while the hole in Drew’s lung sucked his life out.

Nat awoke in a sweat — heart banging in his chest.

The howl of a coyote echoed in the emptiness, drawing his eyes to the fire.

Somewhere in the darkness its mate called back in answer.