The Innocent And The Outlaw
Harper St. George
This man is dangerous in more ways than one…The step-daughter of a bank robber, innocent barmaid Emmaline Drake knows Hunter Jameson is trouble the second he walks into her saloon. Though his gaze holds her captive, she vows to keep her distance.When Hunter kidnaps Emmaline to retaliate against her step-father, she escapes to the brothel where she was born. In desperation, she auctions off her virginity… But when she looks out into the gathered crowd of men, there’s only one she sees. Hunter has tracked her down and is about to place his bid for her . . . !
Outlaws of the Wild West
Pistols at dawn, seduction at sunset!
Meet Hunter Jameson, Castillo Jameson and Zane Pierce. These notorious outlaws make men quake in their shoes and set women’s hearts aflutter wherever their cowboy boots take them!
They pride themselves on their skill in the saddle and their prowess in the bedroom, but now these outlaws will be facing their greatest battle yet as they meet the only women with the power to tame their wild ways!
First read Hunter’s story in
The Innocent and the Outlaw
And look for Cas and Zane’s stories, coming soon!
Author Note (#ulink_bffb6bf2-015a-55d2-9900-3b6ae6254ba8)
The Wild West is one of my most favourite periods in history. It’s an era that was only a little more than a lifetime ago, but was such a time of change and lawlessness that it spawned legends we still know today. I am so happy and excited to revisit that time for this new Outlaws of the Wild West series, and to share with you my first full-length Western romance.
When choosing a setting for my first Western series I immediately thought of the Montana Territory. Aside from its majestic natural beauty, it’s a place as tempestuous as any you’d find in the Old West. Home to mining barons, brothel madams, outlaws and average people just trying to get by, it really is the perfect setting for adventure and romance. I chose Helena specifically because at one time it was home to more millionaires per capita than any other city in the world. It epitomised opulence set against a rough backdrop, which is what first intrigued me with this story. I loved the idea of Hunter the rough outlaw juxtaposed with Hunter the wealthy gentleman.
I hope you enjoy getting to know Hunter and Emmy as much as I did. And I hope you’ll join me later as I delve into the lives of his brothers. Thank you so much for reading.
The Innocent and the Outlaw
Harper St George
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children. Visit her website: harperstgeorge.com (http://harperstgeorge.com).
For my grandfather, who loved all Westerns—even the romances.
I want to thank my amazing critique partners, Tara Wyatt and Erin Moore, for holding my hand through the entire process of writing this book. I also want to thank my agent, Nicole Resciniti, and my editor, Kathryn Cheshire, for their excellent advice and for believing in my writing.
Contents
Cover (#u38df6a96-616c-54e8-a3c9-7f401510f89b)
Introduction (#u2e48a0bb-a19f-5387-8ed1-00f54acf1e8a)
Author Note (#ulink_5b341313-8c8a-5f2e-a7ae-ddad81bd3a53)
Title Page (#u4d0c7591-4134-5e9f-bfea-90af6465f57b)
About the Author (#u09061155-ed6f-58df-a445-ffbd8b23a8e4)
Dedication (#ube10675f-840d-54ca-be28-6f0ebe4dad4d)
Chapter One (#ulink_f2c2cdca-67b0-54d8-9011-9343089e79ab)
Chapter Two (#ulink_24ad6c81-eb50-5f14-897b-8f7c07e058ad)
Chapter Three (#ulink_3fcc398b-1b56-568e-90a7-cd5fe9d21492)
Chapter Four (#ulink_b404e9b3-43e2-5209-9f13-e2337c84f1ca)
Chapter Five (#ulink_1fb3225d-7879-5d55-aefa-fd8f9dd8ef8c)
Chapter Six (#ulink_3f13cc9c-dc48-548e-8fc4-e331ffbd40d7)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_d8f6259c-d881-524c-b060-0740ec6385b4)
Emmaline Drake knew trouble when it walked through the door. Five years of serving drinks had taught her that only three kinds of strangers ever entered Jake’s Saloon in the tiny backwater town of Whiskey Hollow. The first two were drifters and loners who sought the saloon as a refuge from a world that didn’t accept them. They kept to themselves and rarely caused trouble. A drink, a meal and conversation with a pretty girl were enough to send them on their way. But then there were men like the three who stood just inside the saloon’s swinging, slatted doors. These men were the third type and just looking at them caused a knot of dread to churn tight in her stomach.
These men were outlaws.
If there was anything Emmaline knew, it was how to spot an outlaw. Thanks to her stepfather’s profession, she’d had years of experience identifying the variations in that type of man. As a rule they were notoriously badly dressed, though the clothing of this particular group belied that rule. Even with their dusters covered with a layer of dust, the fine cloth and texture of their breeches and coats were apparent and their boots were obviously high quality. But it wasn’t the clothing that made the outlaw. It was the eyes. Outlaws had the eyes of predators—full of violence and aggression.
Violence crackled like energy in the eyes of these men.
They paused to boldly survey the room and all conversation died. A quiet wave sucked out the sound as it moved throughout the handful of tables, silencing the patrons and leaving tension in its wake. Even Lucy, Jake’s wife, who’d been pounding away on the woefully out of tune piano in the corner, faltered and let her fingers fall still. No one overtly acknowledged the newcomers, unless you counted the sideways glances from behind hunched shoulders as the men in the room took note of them without shifting their positions. The customers were like dogs, bristling at potential intruders.
After taking note of every occupant in the room, they did another pass, no doubt noting the bare wood floors and rough edges of the place. Jake hadn’t spent much money on making the place appealing. There was no need when the nearest competition was more than a two days’ ride away.
Emmaline stood at the bar, her hands clenched on the scarred and polished wood. She swallowed as she watched them through the narrow, cracked mirror that hung behind it. It was framed in an elaborate plaster that had been gilded at one time, but most of it had long since chipped away, leaving it a mere ghost of its former self. She had thought many times that that was probably an apt description of the town itself. Once it had been a thriving mining community, but when the creek had been picked clean of gold, everyone had moved on.
Gesturing to Jake for three whiskeys, she turned to set eyes on the strangers. They were taller than the mirror had suggested and meaner looking. The quality of their clothing struck her again. Their breeches weren’t patched with the leather that sometimes adorned the thighs of the men who spent most of their time in the saddle. They were tailored, not the simple clothing of ranchers and cowhands. Even their coats were a thick wool that would have made her envious if she hadn’t been so busy trying not to be afraid. They were no ordinary outlaws. These weren’t the same type of men she’d known in her stepfather’s gang. These men exuded power along with danger, a dark intent that said it was no accident that they had found their way to the saloon on that particular night. They were on the hunt and every man in this room had something to hide. It was a combination that could turn deadly with only the slightest provocation.
Each of them was over six feet tall, but the one on the right towered over the others by a few inches. He wasn’t the least bit gaunt as often happened with tall men, as if they couldn’t possibly eat enough food to support such a build. His powerful frame matched his height and his black eyes blazed with fury as he boldly looked over everyone in the room, sizing each of them up for the threat they might present and then discarding them one by one. It was hard to imagine the man who could pose a threat to him. An angry red scar ripped down his cheek and contributed to his fierce appearance, but he would’ve had no problems carrying out the look without it.
The middle one, a Spaniard, with his thick black hair and furrowed brow, appeared just as fierce as his partner, but more measured and calm. Less brute power, despite his broad shoulders and thick chest. His vivid green eyes were alight with intelligence and intensity, and he exuded an autocratic air that left her willing to bet anything that he was the leader.
But it was the one on the left who drew her attention and held it. With his physique, he could’ve been a match for the leader, except that his hair was lighter, that indefinable shade that hovered between rich brown and golden blond. His features were more refined, too, though undeniably masculine, a square chin with the hint of an indentation and a full, sculpted bottom lip. He seemed almost lazily indifferent, except that his eyes carried a calculating intensity that held her momentarily rooted to the floor when he happened to glance her way. A bolt of awareness shot directly to her belly as their eyes met, sending her pulse soaring and making her look away quickly as if she’d been caught doing something sinful.
The giant of a man moved to a table near the door and the other two followed suit, moving with caution, clearly suspicious of everyone else. The dark blond one on the left moved with surprising grace for a man of his strength, like he knew the full power of his body and knew how to control it. Somehow, observing that made her more aware of her own body and exactly how much of her breasts were on display. The realization made her blush.
“Em?” Jake’s voice penetrated the strange fog that had come over her.
“Yeah?”
Eyebrows raised, he nodded to the three drinks on the tray beside her.
Always sensible and rarely flustered, she shook off the inexplicable fog that had come over her and grabbed the discolored tin tray with both hands.
“Be careful.” Because she knew him well, she could easily discern the grimace lurking behind the caterpillar moustache that obliterated any hint of a mouth. But it was the nervous gesture of his hand running through his graying hair that ratcheted her anxiety up a level. He was always calm, even on that night two years ago when that bank robber had come in and everyone had recognized him from the flyer hanging beside the door. Jake had merely grabbed the short-barreled shotgun he kept behind the bar and offered the man a chance to leave. He had taken it.
Unable to stifle the impulse in time, she turned her head to look at the billboard postings. There were five posters there, but none of the drawings resembled the strangers. Of course, two of them were drawings of men with kerchiefs covering the lower halves of their faces, so there was always the possibility.
“Do you know them?” she whispered and turned her attention back to Jake.
He shook his head, but his eyes shifted to their table again. “No, but I have my suspicions. Go on now. We’ll talk later.”
How was she supposed to remain composed when he went and said something like that? Now that the men had settled themselves at a table, the conversations resumed and the tension in the room decreased notably. Lucy even resumed her piano playing, but at a more sedate pace. Her own anxiety should have begun to abate, but it hadn’t, her stomach refused to stop its churning and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. That something dangerous and profound was about to happen and she was powerless to stop it, like being stuck on a runaway train that was about to run out of track and she could only hold on and watch as it flew over the edge of a cliff.
With Jake’s warning spinning around in her mind, Emmaline tightened her grip on the tray and slowly made her way to the table. She’d long ago become accustomed to the revealing nature of her outfit, but as she approached, she longed for the modest dresses she wore every day on the farm. The costume she wore at the saloon had been one of her mother’s gowns from her days in the brothel in Helena. Emmaline and her sisters had modified it by shortening the deep red silk to knee-length and adding two layers of black lace taken from another gown. The bodice had already been obscenely low, so they had only had to add the matching black lace there. It revealed a large amount of her cleavage with its nonexistent sleeves, mere scraps of fabric that dropped low off her shoulders to hang down her upper arms. Her legs at least were covered in sensible black, woolen stockings. She’d started out with her mother’s silk ones, but they had worn out years ago. She’d always disliked the costume, but never more so than now as she walked toward a table full of outlaws.
She shivered as she approached the doorway. Though the days were getting warmer, winter had refused to relinquish its grip on the nights. The other customers were drinking and keeping warm at tables near the cast-iron stove that sat further inside, but not the strangers. Apparently they preferred to keep their distance, as if she needed any further proof of their dubious intentions.
As she advanced, the pretty one with light hair—is that how she was referring to him?—turned the full force of his gaze on her. It licked its way up her legs and over her hips, settling on her breasts for a moment before finally making its way to her face. He’d sat back in his chair, one leg stretched out before him, almost lazy in his regard of her. She had worked at the saloon for almost five years, so she was used to the looks men gave her. She even encouraged them in the hopes that those passing through would leave a little extra on the table for her—the locals had nothing extra to leave. But with him...the look was different. It wasn’t merely taking in what the dress put on display. His eyes demanded her attention, demanded her response, demanded much more than she was willing to give, while his lips promised more than she could risk imagining. One corner of his mouth turned upward, a suggestive smile that had her blushing again. Holy hell, what was happening to her? Men didn’t affect her this way. She didn’t allow it, because she knew they couldn’t be trusted.
Tearing her gaze away from him, she focused her attention safely on the scarred, wooden tabletop as she sat the tray down and offered her customary greeting. “Welcome, gentlemen. Jake sends his regards.”
“Jake?” The pretty one spoke, his voice a deep rumble that warmed her deep down in ways she refused to acknowledge.
“The owner.” Without looking up, she gestured over her shoulder toward the bar where Jake stood watching...she hoped. Then she carefully sat a tumbler with a finger of whiskey in front of each man. On the rare occasions Jake thought it necessary, he’d preemptively send over a free drink to welcome a new customer. If the man felt indebted or grateful to the proprietor, he’d be less likely to leave a mess behind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.
The giant picked his up and tossed it back before she’d even finished.
“Rotgut.” The hard voice matched its owner.
Glancing up, she met his disapproving look with a challenge in hers. “We don’t serve rotgut, sir.” She actually didn’t know if that was true or not. Men complained that other saloons cut their whiskey, but nobody had ever complained about Jake’s. She wouldn’t put it past him, though. With the amount of business they’d had lately, it was barely worth her time to make the trip into town for work.
“My friend has expensive tastes.” The pretty one pulled a wallet out of a pocket hidden inside his coat. It was a smooth, chocolate-colored leather with no creases, almost brand-new, she’d guess. When he opened it to extract a note, she could see many others nestled inside. The confident way he carried himself, along with his clothing, had left little doubt in her mind as to his wealth, but this only confirmed that she was right to be suspicious. What were they doing in Whiskey Hollow? Bringing trouble, she was certain of it. “A bottle of your finest Kentucky bourbon.” His gaze licked over her and one corner of his mouth tipped up as he extended a ten-dollar note to her.
“We only have rye. Overholt?” The question forced her to look at him. She was struck anew by the strong, masculine beauty of his features. High wide cheekbones, strong granite jaw covered with a dusting of honeyed stubble, perfectly formed lips. This one was trouble in more ways than one.
He merely gave a single nod, indicating the substitution would be fine, and lifted an eyebrow when she hadn’t taken the money.
Remembering herself, she grabbed the note, deliberately making sure to not touch him, and gave a small smile to the other two. They did not return her smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Emmaline managed to keep her steps even and measured all the way back to the bar. But when she placed the tray down, her gaze speared Jake where he stood. “They want a bottle of rye. Come to the back and help me get one.”
He looked like he wanted to argue—she knew he kept a few bottles under the bar—but she needed to know what he knew of them. Some instinct warned her that their presence had something to do with her stepfather’s absence. He and her older stepbrother, Pete, were over a week late coming home from their latest job, which wasn’t entirely uncommon, but no one had heard from them. A hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach said that the job had gone terribly wrong. As much as she disagreed with their lifestyle, it turned her stomach to think of what would happen to her and her younger sisters without them.
“Who are they?” she asked the moment Jake stepped through the door to the tiny storeroom filled with crates of bottled beer and barrels of moonshine. “Does their presence have anything to do with Ship?” Though he was her stepfather, everyone called him Ship, even her younger sisters who were his blood.
“Calm down, Em.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know anything for sure and getting upset won’t help anything. You’ve heard of the Reyes Brothers? That could be them. That one in the middle, the one that looks like a Spaniard, I think he’s their leader.”
The Reyes Brothers. A chill prickled her scalp and cold ribbons of fear trailed down her spine. Ship had talked about them the last time he’d been home. Though she hadn’t gotten the impression the two had crossed paths, he’d described the successes of the gang with the glee and admiration only someone hoping to rise to those levels could summon. They moved cattle across the border. Lots of cattle. Which was only illegal depending on which side of the border they were on. But to hear Ship tell it, they’d made a fortune guarding mining and land claims and even that wasn’t technically illegal, unless it involved killing. She couldn’t remember anything else he’d said. The only detail she’d taken to heart from that conversation was that no one crossed them and lived to tell about it.
Had Ship done something stupid like try to steal from them? Had he taken Pete with him?
“That doesn’t make sense. They work down near the border. Las Cruces, or was it Santa Fe? Damn, I can’t remember. Why would they be here?”
Jake shrugged. “My buddy down off Green River swears he saw the Spaniard there last month buying supplies. He’d know because he spent some time near the border just last year. Says he was in a saloon down in Perez and in walked the Spaniard with a giant, I suppose that one he brought with him tonight. Both better dressed than normal outlaws. He walked in and called out to a fella playing faro. The man charged him with his gun drawn so they shot him. The Spaniard left and the giant followed him out. No one said a word and the poor son of a bitch was carted out the back and his winnings divided amongst those at the table.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck and glanced at the closed door leading to the bar. “Seems like if they were in Green River last month they could be here now. It’s not that far away.”
“Is this the same buddy you have to carry out every time he comes in because he drinks an entire jar of moonshine?” When he gave an irritated sigh, confirming her words, she continued, “That man could be anybody.”
“Sure it could, but how often do you see men dressed like that step foot in here?”
Not many passed through here if they could help it, not since all the mines had been bought out and the creek picked clean of gold, and certainly none dressed like those men. They were here for a reason. “Do you think they’re looking for Ship? Is he hiding?”
“I don’t know, Em. I wish I could say. I haven’t heard a word from him. Just go back out there and act as if nothing’s wrong. You don’t know anything.”
Grabbing a bottle of Old Overholt—how anyone could drink it, she didn’t know—she gave Jake a quick nod and headed back out. A small part of her had hoped they’d left, but there they sat, deep in discussion about something. Perhaps their next murder.
Jake followed her out and placed three fresh tumblers on her tray. He gave her a nod of encouragement and then she was off to the lion’s den. She kept her gaze down the entire walk over, unwilling to lock eyes with the pretty one again. If she could just get through this, then she could prove to the knot in her belly that nothing was wrong, that nothing had happened to Ship and Pete.
Without a word, she sat the tray down on the table and unloaded the bottle and three fresh tumblers, before retrieving the tray and turning to go. It was easy, simple. There was absolutely no reason to believe that these men meant her any harm. The pretty one had actually smiled at her earlier. And she knew that smile. He wanted to do something, but it didn’t involve hurting her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Everything was fine.
But then the Spaniard reached out and put a hand on her arm, his long, tapered fingers curling gently around her wrist. “A moment, please.” His voice was soft and quiet, commanding respect from the confidence and intensity of the tone rather than the volume. Though his grip was gentle, she could feel the strength he held in check.
She followed the length of his arm up to his face, afraid to hear his next words. But he held silent, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she did, she was startled to realize his eyes were the exact odd shade of greenish-gold as the pretty one’s. They were striking against his darker complexion. Could the two be related?
“Yes?”
“Tell us what you know of Ship Campbell.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_b51c2031-e802-514f-b1f6-98a5b860e5b6)
Emmaline froze, focusing very hard on meeting the stranger’s eyes to ensure that she wouldn’t flinch. Though she had known deep in her bones that he was there looking for Ship, it was still a shock to hear the words. A million thoughts went through her mind at once. What did they want with him? Had they really come all this way to find him? If the strangers were looking for Ship, then it meant that Ship was still alive. But what had he done this time? Dear God, the man was too foolhardy to go off robbing banks. Why hadn’t she tried harder to stop him? Lord knows they bumped heads more often than not, but she didn’t want him dead. He’d taken her in like she was his own daughter—though that wasn’t saying much—and they needed the meager supplies he brought them.
She was staring too long. Say something! Damn Ship and Pete! She was the one in immediate danger just then, not them. Did the men know who she was? Her instinct said no, since they hadn’t immediately noticed her upon coming into the saloon. All three of them had looked over the other customers first. That meant they thought that Ship might be there. Did they know where he lived? Had they already ridden out to the farm and found her sisters alone?
Before she could let her fear run wild, she licked her suddenly parched lips and tried for a nonchalant tone. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t believe I know him.” Partial truths. That way the lies sounded more believable. Pete had told her that once and she’d wondered why it was something she’d needed to know. Apparently he’d been preparing her for the day someone came looking for them. Oh, God, what had they done?
The Spaniard stared at her as if trying to decide if he believed her. With careful precision, she removed her gaze from his stare and looked to the pretty one. He’d moved forward, elbows resting on the table with his hands cupped around the tumbler he’d just splashed whiskey into. He stopped swirling the liquid around the clouded glass to watch her. His gaze was narrowed on her face, trying to catch a tell, anything that proved she was lying.
And then he smiled. A small, almost imperceptible upturn of his lips on the left side. It was followed by a clarity in his eyes, a softening of the intensity that had been leveled on her as he’d tried to figure her out. That clarity was a knowing that hadn’t been there before. That’s the moment she suspected that she was a terrible liar.
“Can I get you anything else?” She did her best to level her gaze on the Spaniard. He didn’t bat an eye as he stared her down, but knowing that she was quickly losing her grip on her composure, she raised an eyebrow and glanced to her wrist where he still held her. She needed to get away from them.
After a moment, when she would have sworn her heart stopped beating, he let her go. Giving them a tight smile, she somehow managed to keep her walk steady all the way back to the bar. She couldn’t tell if they knew that she was Ship’s stepdaughter. She couldn’t tell if they’d bought her lie. The only thing she knew was that she had to get home to her sisters. The thought of Ginny and Rose home alone, vulnerable to those dangerous men, made a jolt of panic threaten to suck the air from her lungs. At twelve and nine, she hated to leave them home alone anyway, but she had little choice in the matter when they needed food and Ship left them with so little. Sometimes the meal she brought home from Jake’s was all she and the girls had. The small garden she managed to tend during the warm months barely kept them supplied with enough vegetables to last through the winter, and the chickens wouldn’t lay when the days got shorter. Not that they had many hens left after Pete’s last drunken binge when he’d demanded a feast for himself and the men.
Stifling her anger along with the disturbing images of what might happen if the outlaws found her sisters alone, she set her tray on the bar and tightened her hands into fists to stop their shaking. “I have to go home, Jake.” Trying to appear casual and in control, she dared not look back over her shoulder at the table.
“What did he say to you?” Jake topped off the beer he was pouring and set it on the bar, careful to not look too interested in what she had to say.
“He asked about Ship. I don’t know if they know who I am, but I have to get home and check on my sisters.”
He nodded in understanding, but in the very next breath warned her against leaving. “They’ll get suspicious if you turn tail and run now.”
“Maybe, but what if they sent someone there already? He could be hurting them.”
“Yeah, what if?” He wiped at a drop of beer on the unvarnished bar and slanted her a dubious look. “You think you can help them now?”
“I think my revolver could do some damage.”
Jake sighed and looked out at the men talking in small groups near the stove, anywhere but at the table with the three strangers. “You shouldn’t go alone, Em. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither, but I have to. I’ll wait a few minutes and pretend it’s the end of my shift.”
He grimaced, but didn’t argue. “At least take Bette. She’s over at the stable.”
Bette was a swaybacked horse that was at least thirty if she was a day. Emmaline figured she had a better chance of making the four-mile trip faster on foot. “Thanks, but you know how I feel about horses. Besides, it’s too dark to see the road and I’m afraid I’d break both our legs before I made it home.”
“I’ll come out after closing and check on you and the kids.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He gave her a nod and she made herself look busy until she could slip out the back. She didn’t even take the time to change as she would have on a normal night. Instead, she pulled Pete’s old coat on over her costume and tucked her winter dress under her arm as she stole out the back door, heart beating wildly, her only thoughts of getting home.
The hastily erected buildings of the town showed their age. Even in the light of the half-moon, it was clear they were nothing more than unpainted clapboard held together by a few nails. The alley she stepped into was a mess of mud and muck left over from the storm that had rolled through almost a week ago. She took in a breath as she stepped off the back stoop and into the bog, grimacing as it sucked at her boots and thankful the trail leading out of town would be an easier walk. Everywhere else had dried out, while the town’s roads stubbornly held on to the mud.
Her little part of the world was still cold in early April, particularly at night when the sun disappeared, leaving the valley to languish in the shadow of the mountains. A bitter wind blew in over those peaks and often didn’t let up until morning. Sometimes it blew so long, Emmaline feared that it would never let up, that it would just keep blowing until it blew every trace of their lives away. She’d oblige it and leave if she could ever scrape up enough money. But with Ship’s schemes, Pete’s drinking, and everyday expenses like food and clothing, it didn’t look like that day would ever come. Besides, there was only one way to get the kind of money she’d need to take her sisters with her and ensure their safety, but it was so abhorrent, she couldn’t consider it.
But then there were the nights that came later into spring and summer. The wind could be gentle and warm, and the moon was clear, lighting stars in the sky for as far as the eye could see. On those nights she loved it here in her quiet part of the world. On those nights she didn’t mind the long walk home. On those nights she could actually begin to think that everything would be all right, eventually.
This wasn’t one of those nights.
Casting a harsh glance toward the swells in the distance still covered in snow, she took a deep breath and pulled the collar of her coat up to cover her ears. It was going to be a long walk.
* * *
She had ended up half running the familiar path home, until she had to slow down a little while later from the stitch in her side. But with a trickle of sweat running down between her shoulder blades, she didn’t mind the cold anymore, so she alternated between running and walking.
She was about halfway home when she heard the sound. It might have been horse hooves hitting the dirt, or it could have been her own imagination. Either way, she decided it was time to delve into the long, brown grass instead of staying on the path. It gave her a better chance of hiding, if she had to. No sooner had she thought that, then the sound became clearer. Definitely horse hooves. Stopping for a moment to try to hear over the wind, the sound became sounds and she realized that it was more than one horse. She’d bet her life that three horses were coming her way.
Breaking out into a run, she half ran, half leapt over the knee-high grass that tried to slow her down. But the sounds kept drawing closer and she wasn’t getting anywhere fast. Heart in her throat, she decided the only option was to hide. The moon was only half-full, which meant there was enough darkness to keep her hidden if she stayed very still. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder to see a shadow of movement, but it was still far enough away that she was certain they hadn’t gotten a clear view of her position.
With no choice left, she darted for a thigh-high copse of brown grass and nestled inside it, all the while praying that it was too early in the season for snakes to be out of their dens. Blood pounding through her veins, she pushed her hand inside her coat to wrap it around the locket that hung down low between her breasts. It had been a gift from her father to her mother, passed on to Emmaline years ago when they’d still lived at the brothel. She didn’t know if it had really been from the father she’d never met or not, but she’d always loved it.
Foolishly hoping the tin trinket had powers of protection, but knowing from years of hoping to get away from Ship and his outlaws that it did not, she clutched it tight and waited. Her wide gaze stayed locked on the shadowy figures coming toward her.
* * *
From the moment they had ridden into Whiskey Hollow, Hunter Jameson had known they were in the right place. It was the perfect hideaway for scum like Ship Campbell. Decrepit and forlorn, the town was a blight on an otherwise beautiful landscape. Virtually abandoned when the gold had been scavenged and depleted, he couldn’t imagine why some had stayed. He was more than happy to leave it behind.
Two weeks and they were no closer to finding Miguel. To make it worse, this mission was a distraction from their real goal, which was to find the men responsible for the death of Castillo’s grandfather and to recover his stolen inheritance. A wild-goose chase in the middle of the night wasn’t helping matters.
“Dammit, Cas, she doesn’t know anything. We need to track down other men who’ve ridden with Campbell. The girl’s a waste of our time.” And no matter how attractive she was in the dance-hall dress, and how much his body liked her, she was off-limits. Her disturbing blushes and wide, soft eyes made him think there was more to her than met the eye. More to her than he had time to figure out.
“We’ll see what she knows,” Cas muttered and scanned the tall grass in the distance, hoping to catch sight of her.
They had caught her trail just north of town, exactly the direction the drunk from Campbell’s gang had said Ship lived. He’d then told them that Ship’s daughter could be found working at the saloon, but that had been all he’d known.
“I understand your reluctance,” Cas assured him, his voice only slightly accented. “But that was the only saloon in town. That drunk described the girl perfectly, down to her dark hair and light eyes. She’s Campbell’s daughter and she could know something.”
“He didn’t tell us her name,” Hunter argued. “Could be some other girl. Plenty of dark-haired girls in the world.”
Cas raised a brow. “Did you see another girl there?” They hadn’t seen any other people aside from those in the saloon; if there were any other residents of the tiny town, they were at home hiding. “You know it’s her. And you know she was lying as well as I do.”
Hunter couldn’t dispute that. Her eyes had widened at Ship Campbell’s name, and they were too innocent to hide lies. She knew the man they were tracking, but he doubted she knew anything about Cas’s younger brother. “She won’t be good for anything but slowing us down.”
“She’ll talk before morning. Won’t slow us down for long.” This came from Zane.
In the years he’d been riding with his half brother Cas, the brooding Zane, and the rest of the gang, they’d never failed to make someone talk who wasn’t so inclined. That was partially what worried him, though they had never been forced to interrogate a woman. There was no doubt in his mind that she knew who Ship Campbell was, but every instinct he possessed said she had no idea about Miguel. She wasn’t a criminal like Campbell. Eyes didn’t lie and hers were deep, blue pools of undiluted innocence. “She doesn’t know anything. I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll take that bet.” Zane chuckled and spurred his horse forward.
“That bastard Campbell has Miguel. I know it, Hunter. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.” Cas picked up his pace and followed Zane.
Hunter spared them both a cutting glance. His black faltered slightly in his step, uneasy with the tension he sensed in his master. Patting his neck and murmuring gently to calm him, Hunter turned his attention back to the trail they were following. The drunk hadn’t known any more. If he had, he would’ve talked before Zane’s fist left him unconscious.
Zane was like that sometimes, too powerful for his own good, too caught up in protecting the family to allow anyone to threaten them. He was loyal to a fault. Generally that power and dedication made him excellent at his job. Men would spill what they knew at the sight of him, or at least with very little persuasion. Hunter cringed to think about using intimidation like that with the girl. Especially a girl who refused to talk because she legitimately didn’t know anything. She wasn’t a criminal. Her innocence wasn’t feigned. It was real. Her father might rob banks and outlaws, and ransom Cas’s younger brother, but that didn’t mean she’d had anything to do with it.
Or was it just simply his attraction that made him want her to be innocent of Campbell’s crimes? He wanted her. That much he had known from the second her gaze had connected with his. The attraction had hit him low, like a punch to the gut. And dammit if she hadn’t returned his interest. Raking a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath to clear his head. The last thing he wanted was to be involved with a Campbell, so it annoyed him that he found her intriguing.
He suddenly wanted to figure out why. Slapping the reins, he soon outpaced Zane and Castillo, his sharp gaze taking in the grasslands. There were copses of trees in the distance and if she’d made it that far then they might lose her. But some instinct—the same one that wanted her for his own—told him that they were very close.
After a minute or two, a movement caught his eye, but it was too shadowed to distinguish from the scenery. He might have disregarded it as unimportant had the moon not decided to aid in his pursuit and shine a shaft of light down on that particular spot. The ivory of her skin shone like a beacon in the night, as if the gods themselves were gifting her to him.
Smiling, Hunter set a path directly for her, anticipation already warming the pit of his belly.
Chapter Three (#ulink_a357dd45-6946-561a-a370-e7e387125ce9)
Emmaline’s heart sank the instant she realized they were riding directly toward her. Panic threatened to overtake her, but she managed to keep a grip on herself. There were only two choices: fight them or run and hide. Neither of those seemed to have a chance in hell of working out in her favor.
If she ran, she could try to make it to the trees to hide, but even as she looked to confirm the distance she knew that she wouldn’t make it. It was too far; the very reason she had opted to hide in the grass. Transferring her grip from the locket to the old Smith & Wesson Schofield hidden in the pocket of her coat, she pulled it out. Like her coat, it was a castoff of Pete’s, given to her when he’d bought his new Peacemaker. Despite the scoundrels Ship and Pete sometimes brought home, she’d never had cause to shoot a man. She didn’t want to shoot one now. She had to get home to her sisters, and on the small chance the strangers didn’t already know where she lived, she wouldn’t risk leading them to her home.
Her hands shook as she slid bullets into the cylinder, wondering why she’d allowed her fear that it might go off on its own to stop her from keeping the damned thing loaded for emergencies. She counted each one as she did, a simple way to keep her mind focused on the task and not give in to the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. The bullets were cold in her fingers, making her realize that she’d forgotten her gloves back at the saloon. Finally loaded, she ran her thumb over a bit of rust as she pulled back the hammer, her hands shaking. She didn’t want to shoot anyone. Maybe if they realized she had a gun, they’d leave her alone.
Closing her eyes to steady herself, she opened them and raised her arms to aim. They must have seen her gun, because they split up, each taking a different direction. She frowned, but it hardly mattered, she just wanted them to leave. Aiming in the direction of the nearest one, making sure her aim was a bit high, she fired.
The shot left her ears ringing and her hands vibrating from the shock, but she’d missed. The rider changed directions, galloping off to her right. Readjusting her aim, she followed him, but he moved too fast for her to get a clear shot. Dammit! Knowing she might not get another chance, she pulled the hammer back anyway, but then the grass rustled very close to her left side. She swung back around to that side, but before she could even get a glimpse of who had approached, she was knocked off balance by a large body. The momentum sent them rolling together through the tall grass until they finally came to a stop. She had managed to keep a grip on the butt of her gun, and pulled her hand up immediately, only to have it slammed back to the grass.
In a blind panic, she fought, but he wrestled the gun from her and threw it away before pinning her wrists to the ground over her head. She bucked to get him off, but he settled the full weight of his torso on her, effectively stopping her fight. His heavy, muscular thighs on either side of hers held her virtually immobile. Only then, when she was trapped, did she look up into the face above her own. Of course it had to be the pretty one staring back at her, his expression fierce and angry.
“You could have killed someone!”
“You could have left me alone.” Though she knew it was useless, she struggled beneath him anyway.
“It was stupid thing to do. You’re outnumbered.”
“What would you have done? Waited patiently for three strange men to come and get you?”
A sliver of moonlight crossed his features, creating hollows below his high cheekbones and showing the anger that lit his eyes. He was livid, but he smirked at her remark. His lips parted a bit to reveal a flash of white teeth, a predator toying with his meal. A shot of fear darted through her belly and it was as exciting as it was terrifying. Or maybe it was the wicked excitement that terrified her. She couldn’t bear to acknowledge its existence, much less contemplate it. Jerking her gaze away, she held herself rigid beneath him and asked, “What will happen to me?”
Her question must have settled him, reassured him that she was accepting her fate, because he relaxed above her, his muscles softening just enough so that she felt the weight of him pressing her down even more. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it might have been. He’d settled into the ease she remembered from the saloon, tempering his fierce edge just a bit. “That all depends on you, sweetheart. If you cooperate, you’ll be fine.”
She almost believed him, but then he called for rope, his voice hard as it rumbled through her. A coil landed in the flattened grass near them. He moved off her then, to grab her upper arm and pull her up to her feet. Only then did she realize how her legs trembled as her knees threatened to buckle. He must have seen, because his voice gentled as he pulled her wrists in front of her to tie them together. “Cooperate and you won’t be hurt,” he reminded her.
But she couldn’t stand there docilely to let herself be bound. Every instinct within her urged her not to let them take her. So she pretended compliance until he gave his focus to the task of tying her wrists and then she elbowed him hard in the ribs and took off. Though he grunted at the impact, she barely got two steps before he pulled her back against his chest. He was tall enough that she fit tucked beneath his chin so that he could look down to finish the task. His arms held her pinned while he fit the noose around her wrists and tightened it before she could do more than yelp in surprise. Pressure built up in her chest, but she fought it down and stared at her bound hands. She’d never before felt so horribly helpless and vulnerable and angry, all at the same time. She’d done nothing to deserve this. Damn Ship and every outlaw she knew!
She pulled at the binding and struggled against her captor’s hold, but then the Spaniard walked up to them, holding her gun loosely in his right hand. It wasn’t a threatening pose, but she knew that it could be aimed at her in the blink of an eye, so she stilled her struggles. She fervently hoped that he hadn’t been the one she’d shot at. But, then, that would only leave the giant and she really didn’t want him angry with her either.
“I’ll ask you once more and this time I’d appreciate an honest answer.” He paused to allow the importance of those words to sink in, his handsome face solemn and fierce at the same time. “What do you know of Ship Campbell?”
She pressed back into her captor’s chest, instinctively trying to distance herself from the gun. She might have imagined it, but his thumb traced lightly over the exposed skin of her wrist. The resulting involuntary shiver it caused unnerved her, so she jerked away, making him grasp her arms tightly. Instead of answering the question, knowing that her voice would only give her away, she shook her head.
The Spaniard sighed and looked down, shaking his own head at her. “Looks like we have an interesting night ahead.”
The deep voice at her back rolled through her. “The horses!”
At that, the giant walked out of the darkness and into her line of sight, holding the leads of all three horses. The dead weight of dread settled in her stomach, but she resolved herself to her fate. If they had followed her, then that meant they didn’t know where she lived and more than likely her sisters would be safe. If she could keep that information to herself until tomorrow, then Jake would find them alone at the farm by morning and take them back to the saloon. They’d be safer there with him.
She just had to make it through the night. The thought made her heart pound in her ears. These men wouldn’t give up until she told them whatever they wanted to know. They weren’t taking her to keep her tied up; they were taking her to force her to talk. She closed her eyes to fight back the treacherous tears that threatened. Whatever happened, she could endure it as long as she knew the children would be spared. She had to; they needed her.
The pretty one moved forward to his horse, a beautiful animal whose coat shimmered black in the moonlight with a pretty white star pattern between his eyes. What sort of outlaw owned such a magnificent creature? With the force of his body propelling her toward the horse whether she wanted to go or not, she didn’t have time to ponder the answer to that question. When they reached it, he stopped and looked down at her. She knew because his breath was suddenly very close to her ear, sending a strange tingle shooting through her, making her turn her head away to stop it.
“I can sit you in front of me without tying you down, if you promise to behave.”
“Go to the devil.” She bit the words out between clenched teeth.
His chuckle was anything but reassuring. Before she could anticipate his movement, he picked her up and sat her awkwardly across the saddle. When she would have kicked out, he grabbed her ankles and wrapped the length of rope hanging from her wrists around them, so that she was literally bound hands to feet. Then he mounted behind her and placed an arm securely around her waist and pulled her back against him.
His breath brushed her ear as he spoke. “We have a ways to go, so use the time to think hard about telling us the truth. No one wants you to get hurt.”
She almost scoffed, but held herself in check. Ship had brought home plenty of men like these. Ruthless men who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her if it got them what they wanted. Though Ship had taken care of her and her sisters in his own way, by giving them shelter and the most basic of necessities, their lives with him were far from safe. She lived in constant fear of his enemies finding them at home alone, or even Ship’s own men becoming disgruntled and taking their anger out on one of them. It was bound to happen eventually and it looked as if it finally had. She hated to admit it, but if it meant keeping Rose and Ginny safe, she would have already given him and Pete up if she only knew where they were.
* * *
The ride to the abandoned miners’ shack took a little over two hours. Though she’d held herself stiff for the first hour so that she wouldn’t touch him any more than necessary, the girl had eventually relaxed into him. Hunter had to admit that he liked how that felt. He liked her in his arms, warm and soft, her faintly floral scent teasing his nose so that he was imagining far more of her body than he wanted to. Once or twice her ragged coat had fallen open, revealing the creamy flesh that her dress put on display. He’d pulled it closed both times, because it was cold and because he didn’t want to dwell on how much he liked looking at her. She was an attractive woman, but still, the way he wanted her was embarrassing. His loyalty to his brothers was more important to him than anything else. But this was asking too much.
It was almost with relief that he pulled up in front of the shack and dismounted. A glance at her face confirmed that the fear she’d been fighting had taken hold. Her eyes were wide with it and her hands trembled as he massaged them to ensure good blood flow. When she met his gaze, he had to look away from the force of it and remind himself that they were doing this for Miguel. Miguel, a stupid kid with a big heart who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t deserve to be taken any more than she did. But there was no telling what that coward Ship Campbell had done to him, so if there was any chance at all that she knew where Miguel was, they had to find out.
Without a word to her, he easily lifted her over his shoulder and walked toward the shack they had staked out before heading into town. The word ‘shack’ was generous. It was a small, one-roomed affair, just large enough to keep a man out of the elements, with a crudely built hearth and place for a bedroll. If the four of them slept here tonight, they’d almost be shoulder to shoulder.
If Campbell hadn’t taken Miguel to retaliate for his pal’s death, Hunter would be at home in Helena by now surrounded by the luxury he’d once taken for granted, yet had come to appreciate in his years of riding with the gang. Their activities necessitated weeks camped outside and meals that were humble at best. The fact that Miguel had been kidnapped just after their last job, thus delaying his trip home, only angered him more.
Zane had already lit the lamp in the single room and was kneeling at the hearth to start a fire when Hunter walked in with her. No one was around to see their smoke, and even if there was, they’d be long gone before anyone came to check it out in the morning. Setting her on her feet, he took the knife from his belt and bent to cut the rope from her ankles and then her wrists. It only took a moment to jerk the old coat off her shoulders and down her arms, before catching her wrists again and tying them—despite her protests—and looping the end of the rope around the low rafter in the ceiling. She gasped when he pulled it tight so that her arms were raised high above her head and only her toes touched the ground. Though she didn’t say a word, her eyes were accusatory, making him feel like a bastard for putting fear into them.
He took a step back to get a good look at her in the light. Her dark hair had loosened so that it tumbled in disarray almost down to her waist. Her features were delicate and gentle, pretty in a wholesome way that wouldn’t normally hold very much attraction for him. He liked experienced women who expected nothing more than a fun night. But there was something more in her pretty face. A challenge. A secret. Something that made him want to study her longer.
His gaze caught hers and held as her eyes blazed at him, anger beating the hell out of the fear that was also there. It displaced but couldn’t completely hide her interest in him, lurking in their depths. Was she even aware that it was there shining out at him? No, she didn’t know what she was revealing to him. Her eyes were wide with an openness that was almost naive. It drew him in, even though he knew it couldn’t be real. She worked in a saloon. She knew men.
Turning on his heel with a muffled curse, he glared at Zane who was standing, having just finished with the fire. “Don’t touch her. She’s mine.” He’d meant that he would handle the interrogation, but the words felt too right. Too primal. This was a bad idea. Zane flashed him a knowing grin and held his hands up in compliance.
Hunter was fuming as he walked outside and over to where Cas was taking care of the horses. Without bothering to say a word, he tore into one of his saddlebags to make sure it was the one with the food he’d stashed there earlier in the day. Dried beef, not exactly the supper he’d been hoping for, but it was all they’d get that night and it looked like much of his portion would go to the girl.
“Hunter?” Cas’s voice cut through his anger.
“What?”
“Taking her was our only choice. Even if she doesn’t know anything, which I still don’t believe is true, we need her to exchange for Miguel.”
Cinching the leather bag closed, he glared at his brother. “Zane won’t talk to her. I’ll do the interrogating.”
“Hunter—” But whatever he was planning to say, he stopped when he noted the determination on Hunter’s face.
“You’re my brother, Cas. I joined up with you because what happened with your grandfather—his murder, the money stolen from your family—was horrible. I want to help you restore your family’s empire and bring his killers to justice. I vowed to help you do that and I meant it. But the girl isn’t part of that.” He nodded toward the shack. “She’s mine.”
Cas took in a deep breath, clearly torn between his need to find Miguel quickly and his respect for his half brother. Finally, he relented. “You have until morning. If she doesn’t talk by then, I’ll have no choice.”
“She will.” Hunter smiled, slinging the saddlebag over his shoulder and tucking his bedroll under his arm, before going to confront his captive. She’d talk by morning, because he had no intention of letting Zane—or anyone else—touch her. She was his.
Chapter Four (#ulink_87884fb8-06aa-571b-89ea-3160ccb7ee79)
The moment the pretty one had stepped outside, the giant lowered his hands and took the few steps necessary to cross the room and stand in front of her. Even with her extra height due to the fact that her hands were strung up to the rafters and her weight was supported by her toes, he loomed almost a head taller. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to control the trembling that threatened to begin in her limbs if she even dared to imagine what he might do to her. Just one of his large hands could break her. Bracing herself for the possible blow, she forced herself to look up to meet his stare, refusing to be cowed by him. Hard, black eyes stared back at her, a cold mask that left her longing for the comfort of the pretty one’s presence. She had no reason to expect that he would protect her, but he had seemed reluctant to hurt her. A scar slashed through one brow and a high cheekbone making the giant look forbidding and almost barbaric.
“My brother has a weakness for comely women.”
Brother? His darker complexion clearly proclaimed his native heritage. There was no way the men were brothers, but she couldn’t dwell on that with his next words. “You’d do well to confess your secrets to him.”
“And if I don’t?” As soon as the words were out, she longed to call them back. She’d become accustomed to verbally sparring with Ship’s men, but these men were predators and Ship wasn’t around to save her with his influence.
His lips parted in what might have been a smile, but as she stared at his even white teeth she could only imagine it to be the grin of a wolf as it toyed with its prey. “Then you find out if I share his weakness.”
The creak of the door opening and the scuff of a boot stepping inside the shack was such a relief that her entire body unclenched as her breath whooshed out. The pretty one stood broad and tall just inside the doorway, his brow furrowed as his sharp, narrowed gaze took them in. A hitch in her chest that she attributed to relief made it difficult to breathe for just a moment.
A part of her wanted him to scold his brother for daring to approach her while he was gone, but he just moved forward to set his saddlebag and bedroll on the floor in front of the fire. The giant joined him and they stepped to the door, murmuring in voices too low for her to hear, though she caught the occasional word in Spanish. Then the big man nodded and closed the door behind him as he left. Her gaze went back to the bedroll. It appeared they intended to stay the night in the shack. Would she sleep in the bedroll with him or hang like this all night? With her fingers already starting to fall asleep, both options seemed unsavory.
He shrugged out of his duster and folded it lengthwise before holding it out as if to drop it on a table, but the room was bare of anything save the lamp sitting on a crudely built stool. Noting that, he allowed the coat to drop behind him to the floor before looking back to her. His hands rested at his waist, guiding her attention to the impressive Colts with their pearl inlaid grips holstered at his hips. Searching for other weapons, she made a sweep of his person, her gaze raking down long, powerful legs to the knife tied at his ankle. Its blade was almost a foot long. It made her own tiny knife, hidden in her boot, seem like the pathetic security that it was.
Feeling just slightly more defeated than she had before, she allowed her gaze to rove back up to his hands. They were so large, just one had managed to wrap itself about both of her wrists with ease. In his position, his shirt was stretched taut across the muscles of his chest, revealing just how thick and solid it was. Sometimes the added layers of material from a thick coat and duster made a man seem much larger than he was. Often the men who rode with Ship or the ones who came into the saloon seemed formidable until they divested themselves of their outer wear to reveal a soft middle or a gaunt frame. Not this one. He was trim around the middle and just as muscled as she had imagined he would be. She’d ridden before him on the horse and had felt that strength at her back, but she’d hoped she’d been mistaken. The slender thread of hope that had made her think she might be able to survive long enough in a physical skirmish to reach for his knife or gun broke beneath the truth of his powerful frame. It was hopeless to plan that sort of escape. No, she’d have to come up with another plan quickly. Her sisters must be worrying themselves sick and her heart clenched to hug them against her and reassure them that everything would be all right.
He was watching her, but hadn’t yet moved. “What do you plan to do with me?” she asked because she couldn’t keep quiet under the force of his scrutiny any longer.
“That’s an interesting question. One with an answer that depends more on you than on me.” He smiled. A slight upturn of his mouth on the left side that made her once again note how beautifully sculpted those lips were. It was a ridiculous observation, but there it was and, once noted, it wasn’t something that could be unseen. Forcing herself not to look at them, she instead watched how he moved with ease and control as he closed the distance between them. Lazy indifference was the phrase that came to mind. Without a care in the world, almost as if he hadn’t strung her up at all and they were about to have a drink back at the saloon. The thought almost made her laugh and she realized that her very real fear must be making her daft.
“You’re toying with me.”
Genuine amusement flashed in his eyes as he came to a stop before her, too close to be decent, but then the entire situation smacked of indecency. “Regretfully, no.” He breathed out the words. “Answer my questions honestly and you’ll be fine, sweetheart.” His hand rested on her waist as he moved to stand behind her. With her arms strung up, she couldn’t turn her head to watch him so she waited as he came to a stop behind her. The sudden silence in the room was only broken by the crackling of the fire and her own breath. He was close, his body heat actually warming her backside, but if it was because he was purposely standing close or if it was just an unfortunate accident of the room’s dimensions, she had no idea. Until his fingers touched her ribs. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip to stifle her gasp of surprise and managed not to squirm as he ran his hands down the sides of her hips and then her legs, coming to a stop at her ankle boots. When he began to untie one, she kicked out.
“Don’t take my shoes!” If she managed to escape she needed her shoes, but more importantly, she didn’t want him to know about the knife.
He ignored her protests and clamped an arm around her legs, effectively turning her into a twitching worm with no limbs. The extra weight pained her wrists, so she stopped fighting and hung her head, accepting the momentary defeat. The left ankle boot was the first to be tossed across the room, followed soon by the right. He stood and his boots came into her line of vision as he moved around to her front. Though they were dusty, the hint of a sheen that lurked beneath implied they were impeccably cared for. Outlaws were scruffy creatures who could barely get their hands on two coins to rub together, because they drank away everything they stole. Who were these men?
Taking her chin in a chillingly gentle hold, he forced her to meet his gaze. He wasn’t smiling as he held the knife he’d found in its leather sheath before her face.
“Ever use this before?” His warm breath fanned her cheek.
“A few times.” She jerked her chin from his grasp. “I’m used to dealing with unsavory men.”
But none so handsome as him, an inner voice chided. With him standing so close to her, it was difficult not to notice his beauty. The planes of his face, his cheekbones, the bow of his lips, the strong jaw and chin, he could have been sculpted in granite by a master craftsman. The coarse sprinkling of a few days’ worth of beard only made his classic beauty more rugged and masculine. Oh, dear Lord, Em, of all the men Ship has brought home to you, you pick this one to become a fool over? A pretty face did not equal pretty intentions, and this one had some fairly dubious intentions toward her. The fact that he was beautiful was an atrocity against nature, not something to become weak in the knees over.
Without warning, he unsheathed the blade and threw it across the small room so that it embedded itself in the wall, the wooden handle vibrating.
“Do you have anything else in that dress that I should know about?” His smooth, deep voice caressed her ears in a way that was entirely too unseemly for their current situation.
Her locket! Her eyes widened before she could stop them and her heart gave a jolt in her chest. She’d been so concerned with physically fighting him that she had forgotten all about her locket and the sleeping powder it contained. Of course! It should have been her plan all along. When she turned twelve her mother had presented her with a pouch of white powder, left over from her days at the brothel. With shrewd eyes and in a conspiratorial whisper, she had shared with Emmaline its secret. A little bit put into a man’s drink would leave no taste and would leave him well rested and certain that he’d had the best tumble of his life, albeit too embarrassed to admit that he didn’t remember the actual act itself. Too much and he’d be left groggy, disoriented, and suspicious the next morning.
Emmaline had used it before and knew that it worked well. While her mother had lived, the men Ship rode with had kept their distance and usually slept in the barn if he brought them home. After her death, they found their way inside more often than not. Generally they kept their distance from her, regarding her as the child of their boss and off-limits, but occasionally—especially if Ship was drunk or preoccupied—one would make an advance. Sometimes she was able to verbally put them in their place, sometimes a flash of her knife had done the trick, but when that hadn’t worked she’d smiled and sweetly offered them a drink. Thinking they had won her over, they had eagerly accepted and grinned lecherously as they anticipated the night to come. Emmaline had always slept well on those nights.
She’d been stupid to forget the powders and now she was terrified of losing her only advantage. “No, nothing.” She shook her head as vigorously as she was able given her awkward position. When his gaze narrowed, she held a breath and forced a calm she didn’t feel, lest she give herself away. “The knife was all I had.”
He didn’t seem convinced and she tried not to gasp when his big hands tore at the lacing on the front of her corset, before pushing up underneath. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer but reached behind her to the ties in the back. Panic gripped her as the strings gave way. “Please, don’t!” His arms were around her almost like an embrace, and her struggles only seemed to emphasize that as with every movement she somehow twisted closer to him. Suddenly he became every nightmare she’d ever had about the men in Ship’s gang. She was trussed, more helpless than she had ever been, and this man was so much stronger than her. Making sure to get both sets of toes on the ground, she pushed upward with her last bit of strength and bent her knees, hoping to catch him in his groin or middle, anywhere soft where a kneecap could hurt.
His hands dropped immediately to catch her, gripping her at the top of her thighs and pressing downward, holding them steady so that her one jolt of momentum had been lost and she flailed helplessly until she could get traction on the floor with her toes again. Except that when she did, her front was almost entirely pressed to his, so there was no space to attack him. “Whoa...easy... I won’t hurt you like that, Em.” His voice was low and deep.
She was so shocked when he spoke her name that she gasped aloud. His lips tipped upward in an attractive smile. It was knowing and teasing, hinting at an awareness between them that she had no intention of acknowledging aloud. Damn him, it made her aware of the hard, strong length and breadth of his body pressed against hers and the way his big hands held her thighs tight against his own, and the fact that those things weren’t entirely unpleasant. Nothing about the moment should have reassured her about his intentions, but it did. He didn’t mean to force himself on her.
“You know my name.”
“The man at the saloon called you Em.” He explained. “What’s it short for? Emily? Emma?”
The fact that her eyes had slipped down to watch his mouth form those words only made her angry. “That’s none of your business.”
His brow rose and with that same lazy amusement, his hands slipped from her thighs and he moved to stand behind her to deftly finish unlacing the corset until it fell to the floor at her feet. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip when his hands roamed her torso, making sure that there were no pockets hidden in the dress where she had stashed a weapon. He was back to being a ruthless outlaw when he stood before her again. She tried not to notice how the dress gaped open now that the corset wasn’t there to hold it in place. She wasn’t as buxom as her mother had been, but the corset had held the extra fabric in place nicely. Without it, well, there wasn’t much to keep the bodice from exposing her. He had no qualms about noticing and allowed his gaze to roam at will. When he reached toward her bodice, she sucked in a quick breath, but he only fished the locket out from between her breasts and turned it over in his fingers.
She held that breath, willing him to put it back. Finally, he looked up from his study of the tin trinket with its faux onyx locket. The stone would open on a hinge to reveal the real treasure of the powders inside and his thumb absently stroked that very hinge, taunting her as she imagined just how easily it would pop open to reveal her secret. “Please, don’t take it. It was a gift from my father.”
“Stolen no doubt,” he remarked as he examined the locket in his palm.
“Not Ship,” she corrected. “My real father. That’s all I have of him. Please don’t take it.”
“Not Ship, huh?” His knowing glance filled her with dread. “You mean not Ship Campbell, the man you claim to know nothing about?”
Dammit! She wasn’t any good at this. She’d walked right into that. This was the worst night of her life and she was being a complete idiot. First the powders and now this. She was always the one in the family with a level head. The one making sure they had canned enough food to last through winter, making sure the eggs they sold in town went for the best price, but now she was being an idiot. The fear she had been holding back so well was finally starting to wear on her.
He grinned and gently tucked the trinket back between her breasts, the backs of his fingers stroking against her skin as he did. Biting down on the inside of her lip to stop the shiver that threatened to move through her, she watched his face for any indication of what he planned to do next. Taking a step back, he crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, you can keep it, but only if you tell me what you know about Campbell.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell again, but that would simply be letting her anger talk and do her no favors. He might even take her locket, leaving her situation even more dire. Anger wasn’t the way to handle him or her predicament. It was time to start using her head and stop simply reacting to what was happening. She was smarter than this, smarter than him. She just needed to get herself out of her bonds and the only way to do that was to appear to cooperate and earn his trust.
Swallowing back the words she longed to hurl at him, she managed a grave expression and gave him a contrite nod. “Ship Campbell is my stepfather.”
“How long have you known him?”
“About thirteen years.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Five weeks ago. He was supposed to be home last week, but he hasn’t come back yet.”
“What do you know about his plans when he left?” he asked, continuing his rapid-fire assault.
Torn between playing along and risking revealing something that he shouldn’t know and possibly compromising Ship’s safety, she bit down on her bottom lip to contemplate her answer. His gaze immediately darted to the movement and she froze as an intangible and warm current moved between them. Lord, this man was dangerous in more ways than one. In completely inappropriate ways that didn’t bear thinking about now trussed up like she was.
With an infinitely gentle touch, his thumb pressed against the flesh just below her lip and pulled it free. “No lying. Tell the truth and I promise you’ll be safe.”
Just the touch of his thumb felt a thousand times better than it should. She took in a shuddering breath as a ripple of pleasure moved through her from that touch before answering him. It wasn’t as if she knew that much anyway. “He was going to rob a bank in Crystal City, I think. It was supposed to be a quick job and then back.”
“It takes about a week and a half to ride to Crystal City from here. A week and a half back. What did he plan to do with that extra week?”
He’d mentioned a detour to meet an old friend, to hide out so no one followed him from the bank, but the presence of the Reyes Brothers made her wonder if that hadn’t worked out. “I don’t know,” she answered. “He doesn’t share the details with me and I don’t ask.”
“Why doesn’t he share the details? Aren’t you involved with his gang?” That same thumb traced a lazy path across her chin before he grimaced and drew his hand back, as if just catching himself in the act of touching her.
“No,” she snapped at him, unreasonably angry at herself for missing his touch.
He was quiet for a while, his gaze piercing, making her want to fidget beneath his scrutiny. He didn’t believe her. The skepticism was plainly written on his face. She couldn’t blame him, though, because she knew herself to be a horrible liar. She wasn’t involved with his plans, but she knew where his friend lived. Ship had always told her to look for him there if he ever went missing. If Ship was actually visiting that friend, she had no idea, but it was something she needed to keep to herself, which was why she needed a distraction. She’d feed him faulty information about the farm, make them go somewhere else so they would leave her alone.
“Go to the farm if you don’t believe me. He’s not there. But he keeps a chest at the foot of his bed and it’s full of notes. You might find something there that will tell you where he’s gone.”
His expression didn’t change as he brought his thumb up and slowly ran the side along the crease below his well-formed bottom lip. Perversely, the movement held her mesmerized until she forced herself to look away. “You still don’t believe me?”
“Your sudden cooperation seems a little too convenient.”
It was too convenient. She was planning to lie. “My hands are numb and my arms hurt. That changes things.”
“Where’s the farm?” he asked, without addressing her complaints.
“Oh, no, you don’t get that information so easily.”
Raising a brow and crossing his arms over his chest again, he was apparently willing to stare her down as he awaited her capitulation. When she didn’t speak, his gaze went to the dangerously gapped-open bodice and the locket gleaming in the firelight. Unwelcome butterflies fluttered along with the nerves in her belly. “You wanted to keep your trinket,” he reminded her.
“Please.” She tugged on the bonds at her wrists, wincing at the pain. “This is horribly uncomfortable. Cut me down and I’ll tell you where the farm is.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_18eaca46-7287-5a8f-986e-d82827626156)
Hunter allowed his gaze to linger on the swell of her breasts before bringing it upward to settle on her eyes. They held his attention just long enough to make her squirm as he pretended to weigh her request. He’d cut her down because what had begun as a game to expediently get information from her had turned into something more dangerous. There was something provocative about having her bound before him, but he’d never taken a woman by force and he wouldn’t start now. The same instinct that made him want to protect her made him want to make her his.
Despite her attractive face, he’d expected her to be different than she was. These past years, they’d traveled through many backwater hells avoiding the law, avoiding outlaw hunters, avoiding all the sons of bitches looking to make a name for themselves by taking one of them out, but all the women he’d ever come across in those dark places were just like their men. Uneducated, coarse and almost willfully ignorant in their spurning of the outside world.
She was different.
The way she spoke made him think that she’d had some education, but he didn’t know how that could be, considering what he’d seen of Whiskey Hollow and what he knew of her stepfather. Her deep blue eyes sparkled with an intelligence that was intriguing with the challenging way she looked at him, as if taunting him to figure out her secrets. Those eyes coupled with the unexpectedly soft curves that he’d felt as he’d searched her for weapons had been damned pleasing. The mere memory made blood rush to his groin. The firelight flickered, gave her skin a golden hue as she hung there, tied like an offering to him. Her unbound breasts begged for his palms, as they were all but revealed to him, the black lace at the edge of her bodice only just managing to keep the pink of her nipples hidden. The locket taunted him from its prized position nestled between them. It didn’t help that the looks she gave him said she was as attracted to him as he was to her. She tried to hide it, but she wasn’t as afraid of him as she should be, at least not afraid for her safety like a normal captive would be. Her fear stemmed from what crackled between them.
Pushing a hand through his hair, he forced a breath out and decided he’d been too long without a woman, a situation he’d have to wait until he got back home to Helena to rectify. Damn Campbell to hell! He’d happily kill the man with his bare hands once they recovered Miguel. She startled when he made a quick grab to pull his knife from its sheath strapped to his boot. He approached her more slowly so she knew his intention, the knife raised to the rope securing her to the wood beam above her head.
When her arms fell free she stumbled forward into him. “Whoa, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around her small waist, his fingers noting each fragile bone as his hand rested along her rib cage, and a shard of anger tore through him. Campbell had done a piss-poor job of taking care of her. It was clear that she hadn’t had a decent meal in months. He could break her in two if he wasn’t careful. He gentled his hold as he half bent to sheathe his knife. She was trembling, but probably more from muscle fatigue than fear, or at least that’s what he wanted to believe.
Before he could suppress it, a wave of tenderness for her moved through him. She must lead a very lonely life with Campbell gone for months at a time. The thought brought back unwelcome memories of his own childhood. With his mother living so far away in Boston and his father working all hours of the day and night, he’d known what it meant to be lonely. His hands tightened on her waist as he straightened.
Nostrils flaring, he took in her scent, a faint undercurrent of wildflowers. The silken waves of her dark hair brushed against his knuckles, giving him the urge to tangle his fingers in it and pull her head back to taste her. He closed his eyes as he stifled the notion. She was his captive, not his woman. That line could not get blurred. What in hell was wrong with him?
Slipping a fingertip underneath the rope that still held her wrists tied together in front of her, he made sure that it was loose enough that it wouldn’t hinder circulation while still keeping her somewhat restrained. His palms settled on her hips, helping her to find her footing before moving on to her arms, stroking up and down her forearms in a massage to help get her blood flowing again.
“Thank you,” she murmured a few moments later, her voice slightly hoarse.
He stifled a twinge of guilt that she would thank him for cutting her loose, as the soft catch in her voice brought his eyes to hers. He saw reflected there the same awareness that thrummed through his body, that attraction that refused to be cowed whether it was appropriate or not. Like lightning drawn to iron, his gaze moved down to her small mouth and lush, red lips that made his breath quicken. As if readying themselves for him, they parted and it was all he could do not to take them.
But he wasn’t that man. He didn’t need to take advantage of a woman who was at his mercy.
Annoyed at his own response to her, he demanded in a low voice, “The farm. Where is it?”
* * *
Caught in their dangerous spell, it took her a few seconds to realize what he had said. He was so close that his scent enveloped her. Leather, the subtle salt of perspiration, the spice of some long-ago applied aftershave—none of which were overpowering, but combined in a heady blend that was pure male and unexpectedly appealing. It was more than his scent and his handsome-as-sin looks that intrigued her. Though he was an outlaw and danger poured off him, she recognized gentleness beneath the harsh exterior. He’d not been rough with her at all, when any one of Ship’s men would have gloried in their power had they been in his position. And, though at first she hadn’t been sure of his intention, she knew he wouldn’t force himself on her.
A grudging respect for him had grown within her. True, she was his captive, though she didn’t really think that was a situation he had wanted. But she also knew that he was an outlaw, probably wanted from here to Texas, and she couldn’t forget that. And despite the fact that he had checked the bindings on her wrists to make sure they weren’t too tight, he had put them there.
Buying some time to get her thoughts in order, she pulled away from him and rubbed her hands together. “I’m cold.” It was true, but she said it more to stall because she had no idea what she planned to tell him about the farm.
His nostrils flared slightly as he took a deep breath and moved away, walking backward the few steps it took him to reach his saddlebags. When he stood back up, holding the winter dress that she was sure had been lost back when they’d taken her, she found herself smiling for the first time since she’d left the saloon. The brown wool was a welcome sight. It wasn’t the prettiest dress in her paltry wardrobe, but it was warmer than the dance-hall costume and much less revealing. “Here.” She automatically held up her wrists so that he could cut the rope free.
Except he didn’t move but to raise a brow at her.
“Well, how else am I to get that on?” she challenged and reached for the dress, but missed because he raised the wad of fabric higher.
“I’ll help.” The lazy, teasing smile had returned to his mouth now that the fire had been banked...slightly.
“Thank you, but, no.” Holding her hands out for him again, she nodded to the knife sheathed to his boot. “Just untie me. You can tie me back up after I’m done, if you think I’m such a threat to you. Please,” she added at the end when he just stared back at her.
Faster than she had imagined possible, even having seen him grab it before, he smoothly reached for the knife and stood with it in his fist. Slowly, not quite so certain now that he held the weapon, she offered him her wrists and he held them tight with his left hand, stuffing the dress beneath his arm, as he sawed at the rope with his right. The rope loosened and partly fell away, aided by her when she was finally able to get a hand loose. She threw the rope into the fire before he could stop her, but she needn’t have worried because he only smirked at her as he handed over the dress. “Change.”
“Turn around.”
The smirk didn’t leave his face as he half turned, facing the door and giving her his shoulder.
“All the way around.”
He only gave her a shake of his head and kept his eyes on the door. “You haven’t earned my trust yet, sweetheart. This will have to do.” Then he gave her a glance and a wink. “Unless you’ve reconsidered my help.”
When she only glared at him and began unbuttoning her costume, he gave a low laugh and looked back toward the door. Turning her back to him, she did her best to shield herself from him in case he dared to look back over at her. It wasn’t difficult, she left her drawers and camisole on while quickly stepping out of the costume and shimmying into her dress. She made quick work of the buttons up the front and turned back to him just as he turned to her, making her wonder if he’d been peeking. He wasn’t smirking anymore though. In fact, his brows were narrowed over his eyes, bringing to mind the fierce outlaw she’d seen walking into her saloon.
“The farm.”
Just like that, she missed him smirking and a little playful. She hadn’t realized he’d backed her across the tiny space until her spine touched the wall and she let out a little sound of surprise. Eyes wide, she took in the breadth of him as he loomed above her. Her heart pumped hard in her chest as he crowded her even more until her entire body was flush with the wall. His greenish eyes had darkened, with the fire at his back, making him appear almost otherworldly for one brief moment.
“You don’t scare me.” It was a brazen lie and they both knew it. Though she didn’t think he would physically hurt her, this man wielded too much power over her present and future, and inexplicably too much power over her body.
“Really? That’s interesting.” His hand came up out of the darkness, and she watched as his long, tapered fingers came toward her to reach for her locket. She grabbed his wrist before he reached it, but she couldn’t get his hand away no matter how hard she pushed. Before she realized it, he’d grabbed both of her wrists in one hand and pressed them flat to the wall above her head. All she could do then was watch as his palm closed around the only weapon she had, the backs of his fingers resting against her breasts. She was certain he could feel her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Her eyes were glued to his fist, well aware that one tug was all it would take to break the slender chain so that it would fall away from her neck and he’d hold her only hope of escape. “Tell me again how I don’t scare you.”
She couldn’t help but to raise her chin, refusing to be cowed by him, even though it was a different experience entirely to be totally restrained by him rather than the rope. It gave the situation an intimacy that the binding hadn’t. While fear pounded through her, it was tempered with something else that she wouldn’t dare to allow herself to think about. “As I said, I’m used to dealing with men like you.”
“Sweetheart, I seriously doubt you’ve met anyone like me.”
“All men of your ilk seem to think that they’re an original.”
A quick breath tickled the hair at her temple, a laugh. “Men of my ilk,” he repeated. “You talk like a schoolmarm, not a saloon girl. Who are you, Emmy?” His voice lowered a bit on this last question, so that it was soft, but still so deep that the vibrations rumbled through her.
Emmy? A name that he’d made up. Something about the way he whispered it made it more of an endearment. The notion was ridiculous, but it wasn’t the outlaw looking back at her anymore. She saw him. Time stood still as he stared right back at her, his greenish eyes locked to hers, seemingly caught up in the same realization eating away at her rationality. That, maybe, this was someone she’d like to know better. That maybe there was more to him than his good looks and dangerous exterior. Slowly, his gaze moved down to her lips, touching her with the sudden heat that flared in their depths before moving back up to her eyes again. Attraction arced between them. When he licked his lips, her own lips tingled as if he had touched them. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth again. That look was so hooded and dark, she was sure that he was going to kiss her. He moved forward so slowly that she was certain he was giving her time to object. There was no chance of that, because she was caught and couldn’t even breathe.
His breath brushed across her lips, tinged with the whiskey he’d drunk back at the saloon. He didn’t kiss her though, leaving her bereft for that touch when he simply stopped and let his breath touch the sensitive flesh just below her bottom lip. It wasn’t a kiss. It was too soft to be a kiss. It was more like a restrained exploration, an acknowledgment of want. When he moved along her jawline, still not kissing, still just that gentle almost-there touch, she turned her head to allow him access, eyes falling half-shut as the flicker of warmth that had begun deep in her belly began to flare higher. The stubble on his jaw rasped pleasantly against the softer skin of her cheek. He stopped when he reached the sensitive shell of her ear, his breath hot and somehow loud in the quiet space of the room. Chills of excitement ran through her body. Not even realizing she had moved until it had happened, her back arched, pushing her breasts into him. Immediately, his fist unclasped, settling his palm against her chest over her pounding heart. He still covered the locket, but his fingertips were so close to the tip of her breast that her nipples beaded, begging for his touch.
“Still not afraid of me?” His words were a hot whisper, followed by a gentle scrape of the stubble near his mouth against the tender lobe of her ear.
Her heart plummeted and she wanted to whimper, but was too proud to utter a sound that would give her secret pleasure away, although she was fairly certain it wasn’t so secret. He was so confident it must be plain for him to see. Or maybe she was simply that easy to read. Maybe he didn’t feel anything that she did and had been playing her the entire time. This was her greatest fear come to life. That she would fall for someone like him, only to be used and discarded, exactly as her mother had been by Ship. Emmaline had spent her entire life being guarded. Why had this one man been able to sneak right past her defenses and make her want something more? Her mother had been a whore who had lost herself to exactly this type of man. Maybe Emmaline’s fate had been sealed the moment she was born in the brothel.
“Please...don’t take my locket.” She kept her eyes closed and said the only thing she could think of that wouldn’t give herself away.
He took a deep, ragged breath, not immune to her after all. His breath shifted, hot against her throat now. The back of his fingers gently stroked a circle around the smooth metal and faux gemstone of her locket, teasing her skin through the material of her dress and drawing a shiver from her though she tried to hide it.
“You lied to me. This is your last chance to tell me the truth.”
Whatever he might have done to make good on his promise, the knock that shook the thin door in its frame cinched her decision. A firm, single knock that made her imagine the giant or the angry Spaniard standing out there waiting to interrogate her. “It’s two miles northeast of where you found me,” she blurted out.
Just that quickly, he released her from his hold and turned just as the door was opening. She didn’t miss that the smirk was back on his face, but sagged with relief that his attention was away from her, however briefly. What was happening to her?
Chapter Six (#ulink_535b6c2a-6557-58c9-8d1d-dca7f26d13de)
The knock on the door didn’t come as a surprise. Castillo and Zane weren’t patient men and with Miguel’s life in the balance, Cas wasn’t inclined to wait any longer than necessary to have the information they needed. Hunter didn’t blame him. Miguel was like a brother to him as well, but he knew that the girl didn’t have any idea where Campbell was keeping the foolish boy. His gut said that she was innocent in Miguel’s kidnapping. It was obvious that she was hiding something from them, but it wasn’t about Miguel.
Facing his half brother, he made sure to keep her shielded behind him. He acknowledged the move as soon as he’d done it, but he refused to examine why she stirred up his protective instincts. Her tiny hand automatically went to his back, not to push him away, but he thought to reassure herself in some way that he was there between her and danger. He knew he was right when she moved a few inches toward him, her smaller body almost completely hidden behind him. Without thinking, he moved his left hand back a little until his fingers found the thin, rough wool of the skirt of her dress. The strange thought went through his mind that she should be clothed in something finer, something softer.
“Has she told you anything?” Cas spoke in Spanish, his eyes hard as they sought those of the girl. From the corner of his eye, Hunter caught her glaring back at his brother over his shoulder.
The entire gang spoke Spanish, so Hunter was fluent after riding with them for years, and replied back in that language. It was best the girl not know what they were saying. “She admitted to being Campbell’s stepdaughter, but she doesn’t know anything about Miguel. This was a waste of time.”
Cas’s booted feet sounded heavy on the bare wood floor as he took a step to cross the few feet separating them from the door until he stood before them. “She’s all we have.”
“Campbell took your brother to get to us. Miguel didn’t have anything to do with the shoot-out. Campbell will make contact soon enough once he’s figured out what he wants.”
Cas scowled, the anger vibrating off of him almost tangible. “And that coward will pay with his life.” Nodding to the girl, he said, “We’ll keep her until he comes out of hiding.”
Hunter swallowed a curse, even though the proclamation came as no surprise. The last thing he wanted was to sit with the girl while they waited for Campbell to crawl out from whatever hole he’d disappeared into, though he knew his brother was right. They needed leverage when dealing with Campbell. He still thought they had a chance to track him down, a chance that dwindled the longer they wasted time chasing the wrong lead. There were still plenty of scum out there who knew Campbell and someone knew where he was hiding. “Send Zane back to town and put out the word that we have her. Afterwards, we can take her to a safe place and keep looking. Campbell will come out of hiding soon enough. He wants you more than he wants Miguel dead.”
Cas shook his head and his brow furrowed. “I’d like to believe that. Hate is a bitter thing. He could kill him just to spite me.”
“He won’t. We’ll find him, Cas. Campbell’s been around too long to hold a death grudge over Hardy’s death. There were witnesses there that day. They saw him draw on you first. Campbell just wants to shake us up. It’s extortion.”
Cas nodded and his gaze jumped back to the girl. “Has she told you where she lives?”
“Northeast of town. We hadn’t got to the specifics yet.”
“You believe her?”
Hunter smiled. “Not a damn word. She’s smart.”
“You seem impressed, Brother.”
“Intrigued.”
“Don’t get too intrigued. She’s not just another one of your women. She could be the key to Miguel.”
“She could be.” Hunter shrugged, aware of the heat of her small body at his back. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy her company.”
“Save it for Susanne Harris when you get home.”
Grimacing at the reminder of Susanne and all the other scheming socialites waiting to throw themselves at him upon his return to Helena, he shook his head. Their attention came from the fact that he was heir to a mining fortune and almost no one there knew he was an outlaw. It didn’t hurt that he wasn’t hard to look at as well, but his looks weren’t what had them all scheming for marriage. Aside from a couple of indiscretions when he’d been too young to know better, he gave socialites a wide berth. “You’re an ass. You deserve Susanne.”
Cas flashed a smile, but the moment of levity was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Just don’t forget our purpose.”
“I’ve never let you down, brother. This one is smart, but she’s also afraid. If she knew where Miguel was taken she would’ve given him up. I have the feeling her loyalty to Campbell doesn’t extend as far as you think. I’ll find out where she lives and you can ride out there.”
Cas nodded in agreement. “I’ll take Zane with me. If Campbell isn’t there I’ll send him into town and come back here to question her myself.”
Hunter leveled a long stare at his brother. Though they’d only discovered each other’s existence in adulthood, Hunter knew him as well as if they had been raised together. It was Cas’s loyalty to his younger brother mixed with a heavy dose of guilt that made him talk so hard.
Switching to English, Hunter turned back to the girl and asked her exactly where her farm was located. Still glaring at his brother, she told them, keeping her voice firm and full of the contempt she felt for Cas. A little spark of pride surprised him as he watched her face them down. Fear and uncertainty shone in the depths of her eyes, but she kept her voice steady and her body didn’t tremble. Her chin even rose a notch in that cute little way she had. He found himself smiling at her before he even realized it and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing down briefly as he forced himself to look as fierce as he was supposed to be.
Despite what had happened before they had been interrupted, Cas was right. She was Campbell’s daughter. As much as Hunter would enjoy that seduction and especially how it would rankle the old son of a bitch, he wasn’t in the habit of seducing his enemies. Besides that, there was a purity about her. She must have seen horrible things living with her stepfather, but they seemed to have left her unmarked. She wasn’t like the others in her world and for some reason he admired her a little.
“If you’re lying, querida, you’ll have to face me come morning,” Cas warned in his slightly accented English, a wink and the hint of a smile softening the words, but not the threat. Hunter placed a hand on his brother’s chest and lightly pushed him back, not stopping until they reached the door.
“We’ll find him.”
Cas nodded, holding her gaze just a little longer before turning to leave, but the moment he opened the door, a shot rang out and a bullet splintered the flimsy wood at the top of the frame.
“Get down,” Hunter called back to Emmy, and drew his Colt as he moved back to crouch in front of her. Cas drew his own gun and immediately shot back, the inside of the cabin filling with the explosion of the bullet being fired, before he laid himself flat against the wall. Another shot quickly rang out, this one so close that it had to be Zane returning fire.
“He’s taking off!” Zane’s voice carried inside as he ran toward his horse. “I’ll get him.”
Cas looked out, keeping an eye out for any other shooters. “Campbell’s man. Looked like O’Brien.”
Hunter looked to the girl for any reaction, but she didn’t seem particularly upset if she recognized the name. “We can’t stay here. There could be others out there.” Staying could put her in danger and they couldn’t risk that.
Nodding in agreement, Cas said, “Go to the cavern. We’ll find her farm, get the word out that we have her and meet you there.”
Cas took one more look into the darkened clearing around the shack and then made for his horse. Hunter holstered his gun, intending to collect the saddlebags.
There was another shot, this time much further away in the direction Zane had ridden chasing O’Brien. He looked up to make sure there were no riders coming toward them and saw that her face was pale. “You okay?”
She nodded, a jerking motion that she tried to disguise by turning her face to the fire, making him think she wasn’t.
Pausing in the act of repacking, he gripped his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to her. “Do you know him?”
“O’Brien? No, I mean, the name is familiar.”
At that, he rose to his feet and walked the few steps to stand beside her. Before he could stop himself, he was touching her shoulder. “This isn’t me interrogating you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” To his surprise, she didn’t flinch away from him and her eyes were wide with fear when she looked up at him, making his gut tighten with something he couldn’t risk identifying.
“Ship only just met him a few months ago. I don’t really know him.”
“I don’t like that you had to be pulled into this.” He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t allow Cas to hurt her, that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t say a damn thing to reassure her until she told them everything she knew. Yet, even knowing that, he couldn’t stop himself. Before he quite realized what he meant to do, he was lifting her chin up just a fraction higher so that she looked him in the eyes again. “Campbell took someone very important to us.” The flair of surprise in her eyes confirmed what he had already suspected—that she knew nothing about what her stepfather had done. “I believe that you had nothing to do with it, but you will be with us until we can get him back.”
Her heavy eyelids sank closed as she realized exactly what he was saying. In the flickering light of the fire, he could faintly see the blue veins beneath the pale and delicate skin, only emphasized by the fan of her incredibly long lashes. Dark smudges of color marred the skin beneath her eyes, fatigue making her appear only that much more delicate, but strong at the same time, he conceded when she opened her eyes again to stare up into his. The spark, the fight, was there just as strongly as it had been before. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to fight him. There were so many other more enjoyable ways they could spend their time.
Hell, all he really wanted to do at that moment was kiss her. He wanted to pierce the heat of her mouth with his tongue and taste her. He wanted to pull her tiny body against his and feel her melt into him as her resistance faded and hunger took over. Only the realization that he was on the brink of closing the short distance between them and taking her mouth made him rein in his thoughts, but he still couldn’t stop touching her. His thumb traced along the line where her alabaster skin met her red bottom lip, smudging the rouge a bit, touching her without crossing that ever-changing line in his head. He imagined the blunt tip slipping into the wet heat of her mouth to press against the rough silk of her tongue.
“And what if something bad happens...what if you don’t get that person back?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Do you think that will happen? Would Campbell risk you like that?” She flinched, jerking her chin from his grasp and making him feel like an ass for asking the question. She was worth so much more than Campbell’s petty vengeance. Hardy had been a consummate drunk and an incompetent bank robber who had almost been strung up twice before. He’d wanted to make a name for himself by taking out one of them and Cas had responded in the only way he could. By drawing faster. It wasn’t fair that she would pay for that.
“Let’s get out of here while we can. Put your boots on.” He grabbed the bedroll and saddlebags and went out to tie them to his horse. Once they were secure, he went back inside and used his boot to scatter the small fire until it went out and then turned down the lantern. She had put on her boots and looked ready to bolt, so he took her arm and led her to the horse. Grabbing her waist, he lifted her up and then mounted behind her before taking one last look around. There were no signs of any other men, but he wouldn’t rest easy until they were miles away.
He took a moment to put on his gloves before pulling her into the cradle of his thighs and picking up the reins. “Tell me your name.” He didn’t think he imagined the slight jump she gave at his question, but when she answered her voice was as firm as before.
“Tell me your name,” she challenged, turning her head just a bit to catch a glimpse of him.
This was the girl he liked. He liked her bristly and challenging so that he could break down her defenses as he had earlier. He liked how she had become almost supple in his hands. He liked teasing her.
Dammit, he liked her.
Fighting a smile, he inclined his head in graceful defeat. “All right... Emmy...we can do it your way.” He pressed his knees to the black, nudging the horse forward to take a path along the creek. It’d be the best way to hide their tracks.
“No, tell me your name. What am I to call you? It seems like we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”
“Will we? Is that because you just gave us the wrong directions to your farm?”
But she was quick and didn’t rise to that particular challenge. “It’s because Ship isn’t at my farm. I told you I don’t know where he is and until you believe me—which I don’t see happening—we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”
A vivid image of all the many ways he wanted to spend time with her came to mind, but he pushed it aside and cleared his throat. “My brothers will be back tomorrow and we’ll see. If you’ve been truthful then you have nothing to worry about.”
But she wasn’t being truthful and he could sense the guilt on her as she quickly turned her head away. She was a terrible liar. He didn’t know if he should be pleased or worried for her. It seemed to him that anyone associated with Campbell and his men would need to be proficient at lying if nothing else. Their survival would depend on it. It occurred to him then to wonder what her life with her stepfather was like. Was he cruel to her? Did his men treat her harshly?
His gaze wandered down her pretty profile, the light from the half-moon making her skin alabaster, before moving further down and noting the softness of her breasts, the trim line of her waist and the flare of her hips pressed against his thighs. She was pretty in a silent way that drew him in the more he noticed her. Had she had that same effect on one of those men? Did she belong to one of them? The thought was distasteful, but he had to acknowledge that it was probably true. One of them would have laid claim to her. And, damn his baser impulses, the fact that she had known a man’s touch made her seem a little less out of reach, a little bit less of an innocent whom he’d be debauching.
Needing a distraction, he reached behind him to dig out some of the dried beef in his saddlebags. “Here.” She eyed him warily and he couldn’t stop the slight upturn of his mouth. “Take it.” Shoving it into her hand, he grabbed another piece for himself. “Eat it, sweetheart. We won’t get more than a couple hours’ sleep if we’re lucky and you’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
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