.
of him fell to the floor, their guns clattering on the ground beside them.
Surrounded by silence and the scent of gun smoke, Jed stared at the thin kid left standing at the table.
Every bit Jed’s height of six foot three, the kid couldn’t be older than fifteen. Yet he’d been the only one with enough sense not to draw his guns.
Rachell straightened, forcing Jed to ease her a little down his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his skin. Jed remained motionless at the base of the stairs, holding the kid’s steady gaze.
“Shuck those guns, son, and hit the floor. Unless you plan to join those sorry bastards in hell.”
The kid didn’t flinch, looking him straight in the eyes without a trace of fear. Don’t make me shoot you, kid, Jed silently pleaded, certain the lanky lad could be a lethal adversary if he chose to be.
“You really takin’ Miss Nightingale to her family?” the boy asked, his pale-blue eyes flickering at Rachell.
“I am.”
Relief rushed through Jed as the boy tossed his guns onto the table then stretched out on the floor as ordered. Jed’s gaze swept the silent, smoke-filled room. In what he figured to be a routine drill for a town like Weaver, all had dropped for cover at the first sound of gunfire. His gaze settled on the bartender standing behind the bar, his shotgun in hand. “Sam. You plan to use that against me?”
“Hell, no, Jed. I’s makin’ sure no one else took a mind to join the fight. Yer still fast as a snakebite.”
“A snake headed straight to hell,” he mumbled.
Rachell tightened her grip, keeping her face pressed against his neck, clearly not about to give up her hold until she was out of the saloon. “You got a name, boy?” Jed asked, kicking the kid’s boot.
“Juniper Barns, sir,” the kid called out, keeping all four limbs stretched wide and his nose to the floor.
“Tell your boss Miss Nightingale is no longer in his possession. If he has a problem with that, he’s welcome to come and protest the matter in Shadow Canyon. Sam’ll even give him directions. Ain’t that right, Sam?”
“Sure thing, Jed. I’ll be glad to point the way to any man fool enough to go chasing shadows.”
More than a dozen pairs of eyes snapped up in his direction. Jed’s jaw flexed with tension. Folks sure had a knack for remembering tragedy.
His gaze dropped back to the kid. “Juniper, if you plan to live long enough to see hair grow on your chin, I suggest you use better judgment when choosing who you ride with.” He holstered his gun then grabbed a pair of red leather boots from the pile of scarlet silks on the table. “Sorry about the mess, Sam,” he said, backing toward the door.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Jed eased his hold on Rachell and released a hard sigh of relief. Rachell’s tight grip didn’t relax one bit as he carried her toward his horse.
“Loosen your grip, lady. I need air.”
Rachell pulled in a deep breath and eased away from the bend of his neck, the sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears.
“You killed them?” she asked, her voice shaking from the fear still ripping through her body.
“I wasn’t shootin’ daisies.”
He lifted her back over his shoulder like a sack of oats and swung into the saddle atop a large tan horse. Before she could protest his manhandling, he grabbed her waist and brought her down hard on his lap with her bare feet hanging to one side. A sharp cry escaped her throat as her hip hit against the saddle horn.
“Ah, hell. I plain forgot about that bruise,” he said in a shockingly gentle tone. She gasped as an even gentler hand smoothed across her aching hip. “I’ve got a coat.”
He took a dark range coat from behind his saddle and placed it between her hip and the hard leather.
A blush burned beneath Rachell’s skin. Lord above! He’d seen her entire body.
“You all right?” he asked a moment later as he guided his horse down the dusty, moonlit road.
“Am I?” she asked in a weak voice, feeling completely uncertain and wondering what had happened to the callous man who had carried her out of the saloon.
“We’re both alive. Sounds all right to me.”
Rachell glanced up at her rescuer. His softened expression stunned her. She noted too that he was older than she’d first assumed. He’d removed his hat, and his shadow of a beard and long hair were as black as a midnight sky, the bright moonlight shone on a touch of gray streaking out from his temples. He smiled, crinkling the tanned skin at the outer corners of his eyes.
His smile broadened, spreading charm across what moments ago had appeared to be a face carved from stone. White teeth flashed in the moonlight.
He was clean. She recalled how his skin had smelled of soap, a rarity among men. Could this be the same man who had just hauled her from that filthy saloon?
“Sugar, you plannin’ on giving me a thank-you kiss?”
It’s him, she thought, releasing a huff as she diverted her gaze. A handsome devil with all the manners of a jackass.
“So much for gratitude,” he retorted. “Maybe later.”
“Certainly not.” Real fear raced through her. Saints alive! She was riding off into the dark wilderness with this gunslinger. What type of man had her sister sent after her?
“I reckon you’re out of my price range anyhow.”
“I am not a—”
“Tighten your lip until we’re clear of this town.” He urged his horse into a faster pace.
Startled, Rachell clutched at his chest.
“Lady, there’s hair and skin under that shirt.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, releasing her hold.
“I won’t drop you.” His arm wrapped around her waist as he took the reins into one hand. His large palm slid across her side and covered the flat of her stomach. “Is that better?”
Lord above! No, it wasn’t better. Had she been able to find her voice, she would have told him so.
“We can slow our pace just as soon as we get some ground between us and Weaver.”
After a half hour of riding, Jed was growing increasingly annoyed. They were traveling at a nice easy pace, yet she continued to squirm and shift about, apparently searching for just the right spot to rest her tender backside.
“Sit still, goddamn it!” he finally shouted.
“I beg your pardon, but your lap is far from comfortable.”
“Yeah?” he quipped. “Well, you keep wrigglin’ your backside, and my lap is only bound to get harder.”
She stiffened like an iron rod, sitting perfectly still.
That did the trick, he thought. It obviously hadn’t been her intention to aggravate him, but he hadn’t been exaggerating. Her squirming about had quickly become slow torture.
Hell. He knew she was going to be a whole heap of trouble the moment he and Buck stepped onto that train and found her abandoned carpetbag. Elizabeth had become hysterical when they’d informed her that her sister had been escorted off the train by two men in Lake’s Crossing. Buck needed to stay with his wife, which was just as well. His best friend had helped him out plenty of times in the past, but stalking was not one of Buck’s finer skills.
Walter Buck Coleburn couldn’t sneak up on a deaf blind man, and Jed had a hunch the men who’d escorted Mrs. Rachell Carlson off the train were neither deaf