Kitabı oxu: «Sam's Creed»

Sam’s Creed
Sarah McCarty

www.spice-books.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Joanie, Sam’s Woman of Enticement. May you always have that twinkle in your eye and your alpha by your side.

Chapter 1

1858, Texas

Sam was getting tired of death.

He pulled Breeze up. The horse tossed his head and sidestepped a protest. Taking a draw on his cigarette, Sam surveyed the scene below the rise. Whether or not he was getting tired of death didn’t seem to matter. It haunted him from one day to the next. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Today it lay spread across the hollow before him in a perfect example of how miserable people could be to one another.

The burnt-out shells of two wagons lay tipped on their sides in a loosely stacked V. Charred black, they were just more skeletons on a landscape used to absorbing the death of hope.

From where he sat, Sam could see two bodies bloating in the June heat. Their colorful serapes blazed red and yellow in the bright sunshine. The serapes and state of the bodies probably meant the attack had come at dawn. June nights could still be cool.

At least the wind blew from his back, sparing him the stench of the decomposing bodies, but he didn’t need the wind to remind him what he was missing. The memory of that particular odor lingered in his memory, etched there in a moment that had defined his whole life.

Breeze tossed his head. He wasn’t a fan of death either.

Sam kept the reins taut. Wagons like these usually meant women. Maybe children. He wasn’t in the mood to bury women and children. Especially on the first nice day he’d seen in a week of downpours. The air was hot and clear without the humidity that had plagued everything unmercifully the last few days. Above him the sky stretched endlessly in a crisp blue. It was a day that lent itself to thinking of picnics by the lake and flirting with a pretty girl. The kind of day that made a man realize all he’d given up.

It wasn’t a day for funerals.

He urged Breeze forward. The horse tossed his head again and backed up a step instead. Beside him, Kell whined and lagged back. Sam couldn’t blame the horse or the dog. Between the stench and the flies there wasn’t much to draw a body forward, but if he didn’t investigate the area, his conscience would gnaw him raw. If there had been women, their kin would want to know their fate. And he would need to bury them. He didn’t leave women and children to the care of carrion eaters.

“Stay, Kell.”

Kell whined again but didn’t insist like he would if they were talking a big body of water or a pot of stew. Kell had a real liking for both and couldn’t be trusted to hold a command when faced with either.

Breeze’s hooves sounded a steady clop as he reluctantly headed down the slope. Sam unfastened the strap locking his shotgun in its sheath, the little hairs on the back of his neck twitching.

The closer Sam got to the wagons, the worse the stench of smoke, death and hope-gone-wrong became. A flare of pink material protruding from under one of the wagons caught his eye. There had been women. He set his teeth and flicked his smoke to the side. Hell.

A couple more bodies became visible as he guided Breeze to the right of the carnage. All male, at least. That made four total. Three men and a boy who looked too young to pick up a razor. A kid trying to be a man meeting his end way too early. Sam shook his head as he dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground. Damn.

He patted the sorrel’s neck. “Wait here, Breeze.”

Behind him Kell yipped. Sam motioned him to stay and surveyed the hard-packed dirt for tracks. Nothing worth studying had made an imprint. He turned his attention to the rest of the campsite.

Open trunks listed against the interior of one of the wagons. The contents were strewn about in an array of color. A white glove fluttered on a stand of grass as he passed. He stepped over the charred remnants of a red skirt crumpled in the dirt in an obscene splash of gaiety.

The attackers had to have been white. Indians wouldn’t have wasted such a valuable prize. Their women might not wear the dresses, but they would make use of the beautiful material. Indians didn’t waste much.

He knelt and fingered the trim on the skirt hem, wondering against his will what had happened to the owner, what she’d suffered, might still be suffering. Hell, he wished his thoughts didn’t always go there. A slight rasp interrupted the silence. Kell growled and stalked forward. Sam dropped his hand to the butt of his revolver. The warm wood fit comfortably into his grip.

“Come on out. Now.”

The stillness was absolute in the wake of his order. The noise didn’t have to have been made by a human. Death always drew carrion, but every hair on the back of his neck said someone was hiding in the wreckage. He stood slowly, pulling his revolver. Had someone survived the massacre? Had the robbers left one of their own behind? Ambush was a tried and true tactic of doubling up the income produced by a raid. Leave the scene looking like it’d been picked over, hide in the surrounding countryside and then swoop down on anyone who came along to investigate.

There weren’t many places for someone to hide. The most obvious would be the bed of the other wagon that was half tipped over. A body could hide up between the seat and the floorboards and prepare for whatever it wanted to do.

Cocking his revolver, Sam kicked the top edge of the wagon hard, toppling it over with a loud crack of wood and a jangle of metal. Kell snarled and dove in, his attack silent of barks, betraying his wolf blood more than his masked face and size.

The scream that rent the air was female. It ended when the wagon hit the ground with a suddenness that put a sick feeling in his gut. Sam grabbed Kell by the scruff and hauled him back.

“Stay, damn it!”

The dog growled and whipped his head around.

“Snap at me and you’ll be doing without your share of tonight’s stew.”

Kell stood his ground, hackles up, ready to leap at the smallest provocation, but at least he stayed. He was learning. When he got back to Hell’s Eight Sam would have to have Tucker take a hand in his training. No one could sweet-talk an animal like Tucker.

Keeping his gun ready, Sam circled the bed of the wagon. The first sign of life was a foot. Black-booted and tiny, it protruded out from under the toppled conveyance. Clearly feminine. He touched it with the point of his boot. It wiggled. The woman wasn’t dead. And if that was a curse echoing around inside the wooden interior, a far cry from unconscious.

Another muffled sound and then a thump inside the wagon. Another thud. Another curse. The wagon was too heavy for the woman to lift.

“Ma’am?”

The foot jerked and then froze. A very cautious “¿Sí?” seeped through the floorboards. Angling his gun away, he bent down and hooked his fingers under the edge of the rough wood, ignoring the immediate protest of old injuries. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Sam MacGregor, Texas Ranger. I’m going to lift the edge of the wagon, señora. When I do, I need you to back on out, nice and easy. You understand?”

“Sí. I understand.”

Her English was softly accented with the melody of her native Spanish, muffled yet still strangely compelling. “Good.” He braced his knee and got his body in alignment. “You got your fingers shy of the edges?”

“What?”

He’d have to ease up on the color in his language if he wanted her to understand. “Are your fingers away from the edges?”

There was the sound of hands being quickly shuffled across the ground. “Yes.”

“Fine. Then here we go.”

Kell came snuffling around.

“Get on back now.”

“What?”

“Not you, I’m talking to the dog.”

“He is friendly?”

He waved Kell back. Kell lifted his lip. “When the mood takes him.”

“I will wait while you restrain him.”

He cocked his eyebrow at the foot he could see. That sounded distinctly like an order. “He’s not fond of restraint.”

“Did you ask him?”

“He’s made his preferences known.” He tensed his muscles. “Are you ready?”

There was a pause and then, “You will control your dog first.”

“Is that a question?”

A longer pause, then, “I can make it one if you would prefer.”

The honesty caught on his sense of humor. “That won’t be necessary, I can pretend.”

That might just have been a snort. Or she could have sneezed. He kind of thought it was a snort. With an unfamiliar smile tugging the edge of his mouth, he hefted the wagon up. He got it up twelve inches and braced himself. “Back on out.”

She didn’t move immediately.

“I can’t hold this all day.”

“Your dog, he is restrained?”

He glanced over. Kell had found the glove. The fingers were in his mouth. The rest flipped up over his head like a lopsided bonnet. “He’s sitting here as pretty as all get-out.”

“You are sure?”

“Yup. Now back on out of there before my arm wears out.”

A second foot joined the first. There was the inevitable wiggling and riding up of the black skirt. He didn’t want to notice, but the calves that were exposed above the ankle tops of her shoes were trim and lightly muscled, the skin the color of milk spiced with a touch of cinnamon. She kept wiggling and the skirt kept riding. The backs of her knees looked soft, young.

He wiped the sweat from his temple on his shoulder. What in hell was wrong with him? Getting ideas about a woman from nothing more than her lower legs. The woman probably had ten kids waiting for her at home and more than likely was grieving. Her next wiggle had the skirt rising to dangerous territory.

He grabbed the material and yanked it down. The woman squealed and grabbed at her thigh. “What do you do?”

The hand, as small and as delicate as her feet didn’t look that old either. “I’m keeping you decent.”

She felt around as if to be sure that’s what he was doing and then she said, “Gracias.”

“You’re welcome, now if you wouldn’t mind hurrying?”

“I am sorry.”

She scooted back, those trim legs a forerunner to surprisingly full hips that sashayed from one side to the other in an unconscious invitation that made his palm itch to cup the plump cheeks. Damn, there were times when his good side was sorely tempted. This was one of them.

She backed the rest of the way out. A long, thick, black braid stood out in stark relief against the white of her shirt. He was actually eager to see her face. The novelty of feeling eager was enough to give him pause. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt any emotion, least of all a positive one.

She turned. Only his survival instincts kept him from getting plugged as she swung the revolver in her hand around. The weapon discharged. She screamed and dropped the gun.

“Shit!” After surviving all the outlaws that had drawn down on him, he’d almost met his maker by accident.

Grabbing the pistol, he tossed it to the side. Since when did he make mistakes like that?

The woman lunged for the gun. “Give that back!”

Like hell. Snagging the back of her shirt he let the wagon fall. Wood and metal rattled as it crashed back to the ground. He stood, hauling her with him. “So you can shoot me?”

Quick as light she found her balance and sprang to her feet. She tossed her head. The braid slid back over her shoulder. Her hands hit her hips. Her chin came up. “If necessary.”

She reminded him of a pissed-off kitten with her triangular face, pointed chin and big brown eyes blazing bravado. A beautiful, sexy kitten.

“You’d better get some height on you before you go spouting threats.”

She took a swing at him. He hefted her up. She missed. “Let me go before I kill you.”

She was an amusing little thing. “Doesn’t seem to me like you’re in any position to be making threats.”

She stopped struggling and met his gaze squarely. “I do not have to kill you now. I can wait until you sleep.”

He just bet she could, which just piqued his interest more. There weren’t many men that could stare him down and not many woman even worked up the courage to try, but this woman was ready to fight. “Seeing as I came here to rescue you, I’m not quite sure why you plan on killing me.”

She reached behind her head and tugged at his arm. “You tried to kill me first.”

He didn’t let go, but the spot where her pinkie met his skin warmed beneath her touch. “How?”

“You knocked the wagon on top of me.”

She said that as if that proved her point. “I knocked the wagon on top of whatever was lying in wait.”

She blinked, drawing his attention to her eyes. She had very thick, long lashes that highlighted the intriguing flecks of near-black in her brown irises.

“I was in the wagon.”

“I got that.”

“You flattened me!”

From what he could see of her front, there wasn’t much to flatten, but her hips more than made up for the lack up top. Full beautiful curves just like he liked on a woman. “You don’t appear any worse for wear.”

She gasped and her eyes narrowed. Before she could launch into the tirade clearly on her tongue, he asked, “You got any more weapons on you?”

“Yes. Many.”

She couldn’t lie worth a damn but she did make him smile. “That’s what I thought.” He let her go. She tugged down her shirt. Kell snarled.

She spun on him. “Silencio!”

It was an order given in a tone that expected obedience. Obedience wasn’t Kell’s strong suit. He just lifted his lip higher, revealing sharp teeth. The woman’s chin went up, revealing a stubborn streak as big as the dog’s. To his surprise, Kell backed down.

“How’d you do that?”

She dismissed Kell with a wave of her hand. “A woman cannot take seriously a dog wearing girl’s clothing.” She smoothed her hair back. “What do you do here, Mr. Ranger?”

A kitten with the attitude of a duchess. “I’m looking for someone.” With a wave of his hand he indicated the carnage around them. “A better question would be how are you alive when everybody you were traveling with ended up dead?”

He felt like a heel the second the words left his mouth. The woman must be scared out of her wits. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dead bodies, facing down a stranger twice her size and all she had to wield as defense was a peck of attitude.

And he was trying to undermine that.

“I had yet to join them.”

It was his turn to blink.

“That’s not your stuff tossed about?”

She shook her head. “They were going to sell it.”

“But you were joining up with them?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you join them in town?”

“My joining was a secret.”

“A secret? As in you were running off with one of these yahoos?”

She looked hopeful. “Would you believe that?”

He didn’t even have to think about it as he reholstered his revolver. “No.”

She sighed. “I did not think so.”

The silence stretched. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be thinking up a lie to spin me would you?”

“Isabella.”

“What?”

“My name, it is Isabella.”

It was a very pretty name and when her lips shaped around the syllables, it made a man think of other things that sexy little mouth could ease around. His cock, which had been twitching ever since she’d backed out from under the wagon, filled in a low pleasurable ache. She ran her tongue over the full curves in a nervous betrayal. She was more worried than she was letting on.

“Nice to meet you, Isabella. Now, what’s the real truth?”

“I was supposed to meet up with them.”

He looked around. They were a good four miles out of town. He crossed the few feet to where the pistol lay and picked it up. “Why am I still not finding that any more believable the second time around?”

“Perhaps you are a man of suspicion?”

He was that. A check of the chamber revealed two bullets. He glanced over. “You weren’t planning on putting up much of a fight.”

“I grabbed the pistola when I heard you come.”

He looked up the slight rise. It was possible she’d heard him coming. “Next time grab some bullets, too.”

Isabella eyed the gun in his hand with an ill-disguised hunger. “I will remember.”

He just bet she would. “You’re planning on there being a next time?”

“I need to get to San Antonio. There is much trouble between here and there.”

She had that right. Pretty much certain death for a woman alone. Tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, he moved onto the bodies. “You got family there?”

“No.”

The first man had nothing of value. He let him roll back to the dirt. “What’s the draw then?”

“I have heard it is pretty.”

“Are you expecting me to believe you hooked up with these four because you thought San Antonio was pretty?”

She shrugged. “It is the truth.”

Maybe part of it. “A gently reared woman would have to be pretty desperate to join a bunch like this.”

“What makes you think I am gently reared?”

Sam shook his head. As if he didn’t know when quality and innocence was looking at him. “Come clean. You weren’t planning on traveling alone with these men.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“I had no choice.”

At least that made sense though the why needed exploring. “You do now.”

She blinked. “I am not traveling with you.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You were eager enough to go with them.”

“They were not dangerous.”

Interesting she felt he was. “I think about a mile out you’d have changed your mind on that.”

About a mile out the men would have had the clothes stripped from her body and that sexy mouth too full to scream.

“You do not know that.”

“True.” He checked the next body. “They might not have waited to leave the campsite before raping you.”

Those full lips pressed into a flat line. “I do not believe that.”

“Then you’re a poor judge of character.”

There wasn’t anything left on any of the bodies worth scavenging except for a broad-brimmed hat. He grabbed it. The woman might need it. Skin that creamy wouldn’t hold up well under the sun.

“The padre made them promise to give me safe passage.”

He shook his head, rolling the third man onto his back, glancing up at her smothered gag as congealed blood slid off. “And that’s all it took for you to leap trustingly into their arms?”

She pressed her hands to her lips a second before answering, “A man would not break a promise to a padre. It would mean his soul.”

Sam straightened. “I’d be willing to bet these men lost their souls long ago.”

“You will not say such things.” The fingers of her right hand clenched in the fabric of her skirt. “They lost their lives because of me.”

“You weren’t even here.”

She shook her head. “It is still because of me.” Her gaze met his. There was no mistaking the anguish in the depths. “If you force me to go with you, you will lose yours, too.”

He’d heard that before. “What makes you think I’m so easy to kill?”

“Easy or hard, when he finds you, you will still be dead.”

“He?”

Her lips clamped closed.

“You might as well tell me.”

“You do not need to know.”

He liked the way she spoke, the syllables coming together in a melodic flow, the accents falling in the wrong places in such a way that made a song out of normally harsh words.

“Since we’ll be traveling together, I’d like to know who’s going to be on my tail.”

“I will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a say.”

“Yes. I do.”

Because she thought he couldn’t figure it out. There was only one man in this territory powerful enough to be labeled he. When Sam combined that with the fact that San Antonio was the first large town outside Tejala’s territory, it wasn’t hard to figure out who had her running scared.

He reached for her arm. She stepped back. “I cannot let you be hurt.”

Damn, what happened to thinking he was dangerous?

“Anybody ever tell you you have strange notions?”

From the way she immediately drew her pride around her like a shield, he’d say yes.

“That does not make the ideas wrong.”

No, but it did make them hard to hold on to. “Do you have any belongings?”

She pointed under the wagon bed.

He flexed his shoulder. Shit. “Figures.”

“If I am holding you back, you may just leave.”

“When I leave you’re coming with me.”

“Not unless it is to San Antonio you go.”

Kell growled again. She turned on the dog, pointing her finger. “You, you will behave.”

Kell, being Kell, ignored the command.

Sam folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wagon wheel. “You figure out how to make him do that, I’ll take you straight to San Antonio.”

She shielded her eyes against the sun and frowned at him. “He is your dog.”

“Not exactly.”

“He’s not your dog?”

Sam shrugged. “We’re working it out.”

“I do not understand.”

“He showed up a few days ago on the trail. We’ve shared a few meals but nothing’s permanent.”

“It seems permanent to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

She nodded. She took another step, not toward Kell, but apparently he thought she was taking liberties. He lunged. Sam jumped forward. He was too late. With a rapid spate of something in Spanish, Isabella cracked the dog across the nose. He yelped and dropped back. Hands on hips, she glared at the dog. “No more out of you.”

Sam shook his head. If that didn’t beat all. “I think he likes you.”

Isabella bent down and worked her arm under the wagon. “Why do you say this?”

“Because the last man who tried that got his throat ripped out.”

She didn’t even blink, just scrounged deeper. “Then it is good we have reached an understanding.”

Sam supposed it was. The view she was unwittingly giving him of her rear was also good. So much so she had to repeat herself when she needed his help. Bracing her palm on the bed, she said, “You must lift the wagon again. I cannot get my bag out.”

Her bag. The wagon. Shit. He couldn’t afford to be this distracted. “Got it.”

In a matter of seconds she had the small satchel out. She’d packed light. Too light to plan on having more than one change of clothes. Too light to have any resource once she arrived at her destination. “Who’d you say you were running from?”

“I did not say I was running.”

He reached down and helped her to her feet. The top of her head came to the center of his chest. She just seemed bigger. “But you are. And a little thing like you needs all the help she can get.”

“I am not little.”

“Petite then.” He tugged her toward Breeze, who was patiently waiting. Kell fell into step beside them.

“I am not this petite either.”

“You’re taking two steps to my one,” he pointed out.

“You are a giant.”

He took her satchel and hooked it over the saddle horn, hiding a grin. Her height, or lack thereof, was obviously a sore spot, “How about tiny? Can you live with tiny?”

“No.”

Her nails dug into his wrists just atop his gloves, the gloves he resented because they kept him from feeling the softness of her skin.

“Wait. We have to bury them.”

“Duchess, whoever did this is probably still around. That being the case, we don’t have time to dig holes.”

Her lips flattened. “You must.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“I owe them.”

“I thought the padre arranged the deal.”

“But I was to provide money.”

For all her high manners she didn’t look like she had two coins to rub together. “Did you have any?”

“No.”

She said it as if those four men would have traveled anywhere with something as sweet as her without taking their payment out of her hide. “They would have been ticked when they found out.”

“Yes.”

“You’d have probably ended up on your back working the cost off.”

She didn’t look shocked. “It was a possibility.”

A woman would have to be seven kinds of desperate to take off with those odds staring down at her. She headed toward the front of the wagon where there was a gap between the ground and the sides. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.

“What the hell kind of trouble are you in?”

She looked at him with big brown eyes that were the color of warm chocolate. Eyes that forgave him ahead of time for the desertion she expected. “Tejala wants me as his intended.”

“Interesting phrasing. I take it you are not in agreement?”

“No.”

From what Sam knew of Tejala, Isabella’s objections would mean nothing. “So what are you going to do after you reach San Antonio?”

“That is not your concern.”

She was right. It wasn’t. She likely wasn’t even a Texas citizen. He could walk away and no one would hold him accountable. Tension arced between them, extending from his shoulder down his arm to his grip. Beneath his hand, her muscles jerked, sending the tension right back. She was a strange mix of courage and desperation. Innocence and sass. A smart man would leave her and her problems to her people to sort out. She licked her lips again, the gesture leaving the bottom one invitingly wet and pink. Vulnerable.

He swung up on Breeze. “Maybe not, but I’ve decided to make it mine.”

And maybe her right along with it.

Chapter 2

The woman was as infuriating as all get-out. Sass, spit and fire with an autocratic manner that was bred into her bones, she didn’t shake an idea once she had hold of it. And the only idea she had her teeth sunk into right now was that San Antonio was her safe haven. She was determined to get there, by herself if Sam wouldn’t take her. On the hard-used nag they’d come upon about a half mile from the massacre. As if he’d let that happen. The woman would be raped or dead within minutes of striking out. But she didn’t see it that way.

“There are laws against capturing a woman against her will,” Isabella pointed out in that logical tone in which she’d been presenting all her arguments for the last few hours.

Sam glanced over his shoulder to where she rode just behind. “You don’t say.”

“Yes.” She kicked her horse, an animal who wore its hard life in the scars on his hide, to force it to catch up. “I believe it is a hang by the neck offense.”

“Damn. Guess I’m in trouble then.” He motioned to the horse with his cigarette when she kicked it again. “You’re hurting him for no reason. He’s got bad knees. It pains him just to walk.”

His opinion of her went up a notch when she immediately stopped kicking and started petting and crooning to the animal. It took a nosedive when she stopped the animal and dismounted. It was more of a slide and tumble than a dismount, but since she landed on her feet, he’d call it that.

“What are you doing now?”

She pushed the too-big hat back from where it flopped over her face. “Walking.”

Kell growled. She cut him a glare. He didn’t stop growling but he did sit with a look at Sam that clearly said he expected him to handle the crazy woman so they could be on their way.

“If I thought the horse couldn’t carry you, I would have shot him when you brought him forward.”

She gasped. “You would not shoot Sweet Pea!”

If that didn’t add insult to injury. “You named the poor thing Sweet Pea?”

She bristled and patted the black’s shoulder. “It is a good name. He is very sweet.”

“Well, being sweet isn’t something a man wants shouted to all and sundry, so you might want to not call him that in front of the other horses.”

For a split second she looked concerned and he wanted to smile, but then she caught on with a shake of her head.

“You make fun, because I do not want to hurt him.”

He made fun because she was sexy as all get-out when those deep brown eyes gathered sparks and anger drew that full mouth further into a pout that naturally had a man wanting to lean in and kiss it soft again. “Just a little.”

How a woman so short standing so far beneath him could manage to look down her nose at him was a mystery, but she managed it. “This makes you not so nice as a person.”

“I never said I was nice.”

“No,” she sighed. “You did not.”

He dismounted and came around to her side. Her whole body went taut.

“What do you do?”

“I’m going to help you back up.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Unless you think you can get up by yourself?”

The horse might be broken down, but he stood sixteen hands easily, too big for her to just hop up.

If looks could kill he’d be dead but she was gracious in her defeat. “Thank you.”

He ground his smoke out in the dirt.

She frowned at the gesture. “You smoke too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It would be good that you do.”

Turning, she raised her arms and waited. He probably should tell her she just needed to present her foot. He admired the line of her back, the dramatic flare to her build, but since he’d already admitted he wasn’t nice, there wasn’t actually a need.

Her waist easily accepted the span of his hands. Damn, the woman was built for a man’s pleasure. With a heft he had her up. For a second her hips were mouth level. His mouth watered. The complete unawareness in her “thank you” as she grabbed hold of the saddle horn and fumbled for the stirrup was like a splash of cold water. He was lusting after an innocent. After checking her stirrups and unwrapping the reins from around her palms while she stared at him, oblivious to the havoc she wrought, he headed back to Breeze. Kell chuffed as he passed.

“You want to deal with her?” he asked under his breath. The dog walked away. “That’s what I thought.

“Town is just over the next rise,” he said as he got back in the saddle. He reached for his makings.

Isabella frowned. He pulled the pouch out. She sighed and shook her head. He smiled and pulled out a paper. “There might be a hotel. You’ll be able to take a bath.”

Her mouth set tighter and her chin went higher. She clearly wasn’t in a mood to be placated.

“Everything’s bound to look better when you’ve got yourself set to rights.”

“Even being dead or captured by others?”

She did have a dramatic turn. “The word you’re looking for is kidnapped.” He tapped tobacco into the paper. “But being all cleaned up would save time for the undertaker.”

She clearly didn’t appreciate his sense of humor.

“I would prefer he have to work.”

Even with promise of an honest-to-goodness bath, a luxury every woman had to crave after time on the trail, Isabella was being stubborn. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what to do about that. A woman not getting excited about a bath was downright unnatural.

Not that he’d spent a lot of time with women outside the bedroom. There just hadn’t been the opportunity. Nor, he admitted in a moment of honesty, the inclination. At least on his part. He wasn’t a man who liked ties though plenty of women had attempted to tie themselves to him. He rolled his smoke and put his makings back in his pocket.

They topped the rise. The town, such as it was, came into view. Ten ramshackle buildings formed an uneven cross in the middle of nowhere. It was doubtful a town so small had a hotel. He hoped to hell Kell had town manners.

“You might be right about that bath.”

“I am right on many things.”

He smiled, struck the sulphur and lit his smoke. She did stick to her guns. The ride to the edge of town was completed in tense silence. As they cleared the first building a sign on the third one down caught his eye: Hotel.

“Looks like you might get that bath after all.”

Isabella’s response was a harsh gasp. He’d heard that sound too many times before to mistake it for anything but fear. Looking over his shoulder, he had a clear view of her. Not her expression as the hat had slipped over her face, but he was able to determine the direction she was looking. Her attention was focused down the street to where five horses were tied outside the saloon. One of them was a paint with distinctive markings.

As if his glance was a cue, five men came stumbling through the doorway of the saloon, spilling onto the dirt street in a drunken roar of laughter. Breeze whinnied. Kell snarled and dropped his head, ears flat to his skull in warning. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Sweet Pea’s head jerk as Isabella yanked him to a halt.

The men looked their way then dismissed them as yet another couple of saddle bums blowing into town on the good weather. As long as no one looked too closely, they’d be fine, but Sam wasn’t going to hinge Isabella’s safety on a hope that flimsy.

Backing Breeze up until he could reach over and grab Sweet Pea’s reins, he tugged them out of Isabella’s hands. It wasn’t hard. She was still staring at the men, her face a chalky white. Keeping his voice low and soothing, he ordered, “Duchess, I want you to throw your leg over to this side and slide on down.”

The shake of her head was barely discernible. He was tired, hungry and even if she didn’t want that bath, he sure did. And the sooner he settled this, the sooner he could set about enjoying the pleasures of town. “Do as I say.”

The order had no more effect on her than the last. Leaning over, he handled the matter by grabbing her forearm and giving a tug. Instinct had her grabbing for the saddle horn with a high-pitched, undeniably feminine squeal as she listed to the side. Fortunately, Sweet Pea stood solid. Unfortunately, the men heard, stopped and looked back. They exchanged words. Pointed. Retraced their steps.

Sam untied his shotgun from its sheath, doublechecking to make sure it was loaded before sliding it back in. He pulled his revolver from its holster and rested his arm across the saddle as if he had nothing better to do on a hot, sunny afternoon but sit in the middle of the street. “Isabella, go on into the hotel.”

For once she didn’t argue with him, scooting behind the horse and up onto the wooden walk. The glances the men shot Bella as she stood at the door provided a good clue to the topic of their conversation.

“Get inside, Bella.”

“It is locked.”

Shit.

“Knock.”

The bandits were an ugly-looking bunch, none too clean, but colorful in their assortment of clothing. Their spurs clinked softly as they swaggered forward. That swagger worried him. It meant they felt pretty comfortable doing whatever they planned on doing.

He nodded to the leader when they got to about twenty feet away, “Howdy, boys.” In case they mistook his greeting for an invitation, Sam centered his revolver on the leader’s chest. “That’s far enough.”

The man ran his hand over his full moustache, his fingers lingering on the straggling ends of the right side. “The woman you have with you looks familiar.”

“Who rides with me isn’t any of your business.”

Two of the bandits fanned out in a loose flanking maneuver. Sam glanced around the streets. The smattering of locals that had been walking about had disappeared inside buildings faster than he could wave his hand. Down the street a door slammed shut.

“Isabella, I thought I told you to get inside.”

“You did.”

“Then why are you still standing out on the street?”

“Because the people of this place seem to want me outside.”

A lanky man with a black hat, dirty chaps and shiny guns headed toward Isabella. Sam adjusted the point of his revolver. “Mister, you take one more step, and it will be your last.”

“You’re awfully unfriendly for somebody who just came to town,” the leader said with deceptive civility.

Sam gave him back an equally civil smile. “Consider it a character flaw.”

He glanced over at Isabella standing on the walkway. She was too exposed. “Duchess, I want you to go around to the alley over there.”

She waved toward the man at the edge of the walk between her and her goal. “How?”

“Just walk on by.”

Her tongue flicked over her lips. Not a single man missed the provocative sight. Damn, that woman had a mouth made for loving. “But—”

“If he moves I’ll put a bullet in his brain. You can trust me on that.”

Two breaths and then she turned those eyes on him. “You promise you will shoot him?”

“I promise.”

“You will not miss.”

“Not likely.”

“Likely is not a guarantee.”

“Get moving.”

“Fine, but if you miss I will be unhappy.”

Even from here he could see her hands shaking at the thought of passing by the bastard.

“Then for sure I won’t miss.”

With a short nod she headed toward the alley. Sam waited until Isabella disappeared around the corner of the building, and then he straightened, settling easily in the saddle, letting the coldness that preceded battle cloak him. “Now that she’s gone, we can talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Fine, then I’ll just lay it out for you. It’s been a bitch of a day. I’m hungry, tired and been stuck on the wrong end of that woman’s tongue for the last four hours.” From the alley came the faint echo of a gasp. He smiled. He thought that would get her going.

“If the woman is such trouble, my friends and I would be happy to take her off your hands.”

He just bet they would. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “And who would you be?”

“Juan Zapatos.”

“Well, Juan, I only mentioned that because pretty much all I want is a couple shots of whiskey and a soft bed.”

The man near the walkway moved. Sam met his gaze and gave a small shake of his head. He settled back.

“There’s no reason you can’t have what you want,” Juan said.

“As long as I give you what you want?”

Juan nodded. “Sí.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“The woman is Tejala’s.”

“Then Tejala is going to be disappointed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded toward the alley where Bella hid. “And the woman’s mine.”

Another gasp.

“And who are you to think you can take what is Tejala’s?”

Centering the revolver on Juan, Sam answered. “Sam MacGregor. Texas Ranger.”

There was a murmur from the man near the walk. A whisper of unease spread through the group. A little of the starch left Juan’s stance. But not all of it. After all, Sam’s reputation notwithstanding, they had him six to one.

Juan spat. “Your badge means nothing here.”

Sam shrugged. “A badge means nothing anywhere. It’s the man behind the badge you’ve got to be afraid of.” He smiled. “And quite frankly, y’all are wearing on my last nerve. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”

“And what is ‘this’?”

“This is me either peaceably passing through or plugging a hole in some of you.” He turned the revolver on the bandit closest to the alley. The shotgun he lined up with Juan’s midsection. He didn’t need accuracy with a shotgun. “Which way I go is entirely up to you.”

Metal slid across leather in an audible hiss as Juan’s men drew their guns. Behind him, the unexpected scuff of a boot on sand. Sam dove to the ground, turning and pulling the trigger as he fell, swearing as he saw his target jerking the gun to the left just in time. The bullet whizzed past Isabella’s head. She screamed and crouched down, covering her head with her arms.

“Son of a bitch!” She must have circled around the building.

He rolled under the horses’ hooves toward the center of the street, taking the line of fire away from her. At least he knew why Kell hadn’t given a warning.

“Get your ass back in the alley,” he hollered. “Kell, guard.”

He hoped the dog knew to guard.

Bullets hit the ground around Sam in rapid succession. Kell hesitated.

“I will help,” Isabella yelled. Sam didn’t know how much help she expected to be with her hands over her face.

He scanned the street, noting positions. “You can help by getting your butt to safety.” He glanced at the bristling dog. “And take Kell with you.”

Juan laughed from behind a post. “You cannot even get your woman to obey, and you expect us to fear you?”

“Nah, I just expect you to die.”

Rolling to his back, dropping the shotgun beside him, he palmed the hammer on his Colt, unleashing a spray of bullets. Three bandits dropped, two didn’t. Shit.

Return fire was immediate. He didn’t have any cover. A bullet struck him in the thigh with a hard punch and a sickening splat. Isabella screamed. He only had a few seconds to act before the pain came calling. Jumping to his feet, Sam ran for Bella, catching her around the waist as he got even, half carrying, half throwing her into the alley. Kell was right behind. Bullets peppered the building in the spot they’d been a split second before. He pressed his back against the wall. Splinters of wood flew, stinging his cheek as he shoved Isabella to the ground.

“When I say to stay put,” Sam growled. “Stay put.”

Pointing the shotgun around the corner, he fired blindly, relying on the scatter to do damage. A highpitched yell told him he had hit something. The swearing afterward meant probably not fatally.

“Son of a bitch.”

There was a tug at his belt. He turned, another curse on his lips. He did not need an hysterical woman on his hands. Isabella grabbed his hand and slapped something into his palm. His fingers closed around familiar shapes. Bullets. He met her gaze. There was steel beneath that softness.

“Thanks.”

Bullets whined past the alley opening. He cocked the other barrel of the shotgun, waiting for a pause before pointing the barrel around the corner again and pulling the trigger. As soon as it discharged, he tossed it to Isabella along with the pouch of ammunition.

“Do you know how to load that?” he gritted out.

She didn’t waste time on words, just set to work with an efficiency that answered his questions. He shoved bullets into the chambers of his revolvers, keeping an eye on the movement beyond the alley as best he could. “It’s going to get messy here in a minute.”

Her glance fell to the blood on his thigh.

“It already is.”

He was bleeding like a stuck pig. Yanking his bandanna from around his neck, he held it out. “Do me a favor and tie that off.”

She did. He bared his teeth against the pain. “Thanks.”

She yanked the knot tight before handing him back the shotgun. “Do not miss.”

She was a bossy little thing. “I’ll do my best.”

“It would be best if you succeeded.”

Very bossy.

Things were too quiet out there. Sam inched along the wall, being careful his gun belt didn’t scrape. A rhythmic jingle of spurs approached. He shook his head at the foolhardiness of trying to sneak while wearing spurs. He leaned back and waited. The thin barrel of a rifle extended past the corner. Sam didn’t move, holding his palm out flat behind him to warn Isabella not to make a sound. Two heartbeats passed. The gun barrel jerked. Sam dropped to his knee. Fire burned up his thigh. The man leapt around the corner. Sam fired. The bullet hit the outlaw in the heart, stopping him midleap. He dropped, a stunned expression on his face.

Cocking the hammer again, Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with his shoulder and waited. There was no sound.

He spared a quick glance at Bella. Her face was white and her eyes were big with terror, but she was kneeling beside Kell, holding his jaws shut. Sam added quickthinking to bossy.

Holding his finger to his lip, he indicated she should continue to be silent. She nodded back. Sam inched closer to the corner of the building, blood dripping down his leg in a warm flow. As soon as he took care of the last bandit, he’d have to see just how bad it was. At least the bullet had missed the bone.

“Your friends are dead,” he called out.

No answer.

“I’m willing to let you live, for a price.” Something crashed to the ground. From the splintering aftermath it sounded like a crate. “You promise to take a message to Tejala, and I won’t plug your sorry ass.”

Still no response.

“I’m going to count to three. If I get to three I’m going to take that for a no.”

Another crash. He stepped around the corner. A barrel tumbled off the stack against the livery. Beside it listed a broken crate. A quick scan revealed no guns poking out of windows, no new additions to the battle cluttered the streets. Apparently the citizens of the town were no more married to Juan and his companions than he was.

“One.”

He got to the edge of the barrels, his leg aching like a son of a bitch. Ahead of him he could see the bandit scramble backwards across the ground, one arm held awkwardly at his side. Sam advanced, guns cocked, eyes watchful as the man tripped and fell back to his elbows. A hoarse shout punctuated his fall onto his injured arm. He pushed with his feet but there was nowhere for him to go. Behind him was the building and in front of him was Sam. The wall would be easier to get through.

“Two.”

The bandit finally realized he was trapped. He threw up his hand. “¿Qué quieres?”

Sam didn’t answer. He let the man stew in his own sweat while he bore down on him. A trickle of blood rolled down his cheek and more blood seeped down his leg.

He kicked the gun away from the bandit’s useless arm. “What does Tejala want with this woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you.” Sam fired a bullet into his other shoulder.

He had to wait until the man’s shouts dropped to a panicked gurgle before he could repeat his question.

“To marry her! She is supposed to be his bride!”

So that part of her story was true.

“If she’s supposed to be his bride why isn’t she married to him?”

“Because I have refused the marriage contract.”

Sam should have known Isabella wouldn’t stay put. She stood beside him, staring down at the man, no expression on her face. “I don’t remember inviting you to this parley.”

Kell worked his way between them, his yellow eyes locked on the bandit. Bella folded her arms across her chest. “I do not remember asking you to capture me.”

He cocked the other hammer of the gun. “And yet we’re both here.”

“And here is where?”

It was the bandit that answered with a sneer. “Here is where you will die.”

Sam was tempted to end it right there. Instead, he placed his foot on the bandit’s injured shoulder and pressed. “Care to share what makes here so damn dangerous?”

It took very little for the bandit to spill what he knew. Pretty much one hard push and he was telling all. “Tejala owns this town. Owns this territory. No one will help you for fear of his retribution.”

“I never asked for help.”

The bandit leaned to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood. “You will need it.” He jerked his chin toward the dead. “You killed his cousin. He will not rest until he kills you.”

“Which one’s his cousin?”

Sam looked at Isabella. She shrugged. The bandit was more accommodating. “The one with the moustache.”

“The stupid son of a bitch who came between me and my dinner?”

The man spat again. “In a few days, we will see who is so stupid.”

“If you kill him, no one will know who did this,” Isabella interjected helpfully.

Kell growled as if he approved the plan.

“True.” Sam removed his foot from the bandit’s shoulder as he pretended to consider the notion. “Of course, the thirty or so townsfolk peeking at us from behind the window curtains might be a problem.”

“How many bullets are in your gun?”

Damn if she didn’t have a sense of humor. Swallowing back a chuckle, he shook his head. “Not that many.”

The bandit grimaced, showing rotted teeth stained red with blood. “There is no hope for you, ranger.”

Suppressing an urge to kick those ugly teeth down his throat, Sam kept his voice even. “I wouldn’t go that far. As long as I have the woman, I have a bargaining chip.”

Isabella gasped. A sly glint came into the bandit’s gaze. “Tejala would pay much for her.” He hitched his weight up higher against the wall. “I could bring you to him. We could share the profits.”

“I don’t share.”

“You will need me to find him.”

Sam caught Isabella’s hand, keeping her from getting any further out from his side. “Or I could just plant my feet somewhere and give a shout as to what I’ve got.”

He ignored Isabella’s “Bastard.”

“What do you think of that?”

The bandit spat again. He wiped his chin on his shoulder. “I think that you are a dead man.”

Sam straightened. “I think you’re right. Which means I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Curtains were fluttering like crazy down the street. The town’s residents were getting nervous. Nervous people made him anxious. Isabella tugged on his hand. He looked down.

“If you let me go,” she said, in a voice that shook, “No one will chase you.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?”

“You don’t want me.”

She had to be shitting him. The woman was a curvy little keg of dynamite that had a man thinking about making her explode with his first look. “Darling, there isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t want you.”

He didn’t like the assessing look in her eyes as she cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. “You also?”

“Sure. I’m as red-blooded as the next man.”

“Good.” The too-big hat fell over her face. She pushed it back with an impatient hand. “Then I will hire you.”

“I’m a ranger. I’m not for hire.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Then you can hire me.”

“For what?”

“You’re a ranger in Tejala territory who’s going to have bandidos on his trail in a very short time. You’re going to need a guide if you plan on surviving.”

He pushed his hat back with the back of his hand. “I suppose you’re offering your services?”

“Yes.”

“You got any references?”

She waved at the nearly unconscious bandit at their feet. “I have been evading men such as he for the last six months. That must mean something.”

What it meant was she’d been running scared longer than any woman should have to. “Well, I might be impressed if you could prove it was true.”

That chin came up. The hat came down. She rounded on the bandit. “You will tell him it is true.”

The man shook his head. Isabella kicked his calf, then his thigh. Sam figured the family jewels were next. The man grabbed her boot. “I’m not telling him shit.”

Kell lunged in and snapped at his arm. Isabella stomped on his fingers as he jerked it back. “Tell him!”

Sam chuckled as he pulled out a sulphur. They sure were a bloodthirsty pair.

The bandit lurched to the side, cradling his arm. Isabella drew her foot back. Kell stalked forward. It was probably time to step in.

“Hold up.”

Bella whipped around. “Make him speak.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think you’ve tortured him enough?”

“He must tell.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, soothing the panic rippling through her in visible tremors. “Yeah, he must.”

But not the way she thought.

Grabbing the injured man by his shirt, Sam yanked him to his feet. “You’re going to carry a message to Tejala for me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Stupidity ran deep in this bunch. “Because otherwise,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll let those two have at you. Make a choice.”

The bandit grunted. “What is this message?”

“You tell Tejala that if he comes after Bella, he’s coming after Hell’s Eight.”

The man shook his head. “He will not care. He is crazy that way.”

“Funny,” Sam said. “So am I.”