Bride of Shadow Canyon
Autor
Stacey Kayne
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26
Chapter One
Colorado Territory, 1870
I’ll stand before God before I lie under Maxwell Sumner!
The silent vow echoed in Rachell Carlson’s mind as she pulled the sheet tightly around her cold body, her narrowed eyes boring into the locked bedroom door. The stench of smoke and alcohol filtered up through the floorboards, along with the roar of a drunken crowd and the clanking of a poorly tuned piano.
If Maxwell’s henchmen thought taking her dress would keep her from running, they were in for a surprise. She’d ride out of this old mining town stark naked if she had to. She wouldn’t return to Missouri or to the man determined to make her his bride.
She turned and walked to the other side of the small room. Securing the bed linen around her chest, she shoved at the high window, and cringed with each creak of wood. The damp night air swirled inside. Chills rippled across her skin as the evening breeze tugged at her loose hair.
Outside, a full moon glowed ten times brighter than the oil lamp on the night table behind her, lighting up the deserted alley below. She pulled the sheet over her shoulders to shut out the cold as she surveyed the steep awning stretched across the back of the saloon. It was a good twenty-foot drop to the ground.
Using both bed linens, she might be able to reach the alley. Anticipation bubbling, she crept back to the door and pressed her ear to the wood. Holding her breath, she listened for signs of Maxwell’s son or one of his ruffians standing guard. The past six days of being dragged from Nevada to Colorado by the three heathens had been a living hell. It had taken months to squirrel away enough money for that train ticket to California, only to be pulled off the train in Lake’s Crossing.
I should have married an English lord when I had the chance. The gruesome matchmaking efforts of Miss Abigail’s Academy for Young Ladies had been a paradise compared to the rambling life she’d endured over the last five years. She’d been singing in saloons for so long, using so many stage names, she hardly recognized her own. California held the promise of a new start, and a life which included her sister.
Rachell sucked in a quivering breath. “Lord, give me strength.”
The whispered words no sooner left her lips than a man’s hand clamped over her mouth. Her startled gasp was trapped behind the warm, calloused palm. The man’s other arm banded her waist and lifted her bare feet off the floor. He silently backed toward the open window—the window he must have just come in through.
She tried to jab her elbows into his sides, but his firm hold prevented even the slightest movement.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m here to help you.”
Don’t be afraid? The man had just crept up on her like a warm fog. The heat of his body easily penetrated the thin bed sheet.
His grip on her waist shifted, spinning her around while he kept one hand over her mouth.
Hard silver eyes locked with hers. Fear shivered through Rachell as she looked at the man towering over her. Dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.
“You are Rachell Carlson, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed with growing skepticism.
His hand still latched over her mouth, she did her best to nod.
“I’m going to release you, but I’m warning you, if you scream, we’ll both likely end up with a bullet in our bellies.”
His fingers eased away from her lips.
“I’m Rachell Carlson,” she wheezed, her lungs straining for a full breath.
“Uh-huh,” he said, the deep rumble of his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you’ll know who sent me here to fetch you.”
“My sister.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Last name?”
“Coleburn,” she replied without hesitation.
The stranger cursed under his breath, filling her nose with an unexpected sweet scent. Apples. Before she could question his response, he took a step back and jerked the sheet away from her body with one swift tug. “Let’s get…holy…”
Rachell lunged forward and yanked the linen from his grasp. “They took my clothes,” she choked out, quickly covering herself.
“I see that.” He stared at the bed linen as though trying to penetrate the white barrier.
Rachell assured herself the dim lighting of the bedroom had concealed her brief nudity, but when he continued to stand there, stiff as a board, her skin began to sizzle with embarrassment. Spiteful women were always quick to comment on her scrawny frame. “Mr., um?”
“Jed.”
The single spoken syllable fell from his lips with the weight of a boulder. His eyes moved slowly up to her face. Another shudder claimed her body. She didn’t know if it was the lamplight reflected in the pale shade of gray or the intensity of his gaze, but his eyes held her captive, preventing her from even drawing breath. She lowered her gaze and another chill seized her spine.
The man could have been a shadow, a very large and masculine shadow. His shoulder-length hair was as black as the hat pulled low on his brow and the clothes clinging to his muscular frame. Only his piercing eyes and knee-high moccasins contrasted with his dark appearance. Every hard line of his body spoke of danger.
“Mr. Jed, what are—”
“It’s just Jed. Which one of the jackals downstairs put all those bruises on you?”
“Stewart Sumner,” she said, cinching her sheet a bit tighter. Stewart had more on his mind than taking her dress tonight. Thank goodness she’d convinced him she wasn’t worth the trouble. “He tried to…h-he tried…”
Jed Doulan felt an odd tug in his chest as he watched the petite woman tremble while tripping over her words. His body tensed, stifling an urge to pull the young auburn-haired beauty into a comforting embrace.
“I understand,” he cut in.
He’d seen the filthy lecher carrying a pile of scarlet silks and ruffles out of this room when he entered the saloon. He’d heard Sumner’s lewd comments when he’d joined his cronies at a poker table. Judging by the four bloody scratch marks on Sumner’s left cheek, she’d put up quite a fight during the removal of her dress. But, hell, he hadn’t expected her to be buck naked. Damn if he hadn’t seen a boot-print on her slender hip.
Anger lashed through him. No woman deserved such treatment. Jed’s gaze returned to her large green eyes. Relief had replaced the fear he’d first seen in them.
Jed felt no such relief. The nagging tension in his back told him he had just stepped into a hornet’s nest of trouble, and this was the first of many stings to come. At first glance, he would have sworn he’d tracked down the wrong red-haired woman. This little temptress certainly didn’t look to be the widowed boardinghouse keeper he’d come to retrieve.
Buck’s wife was a short redhead in her early forties and had said her sister was younger, but this woman didn’t look a day over twenty.
“How old are you?” he demanded.
Emerald eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“Your age,” he demanded in a low tone. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna haul the wrong woman clear to California.”
Her posture stiffened. “I’m twenty-three.”
“And what was the name of that boardinghouse you told your sister you ran in Kansas?” He and Buck had peeked inside the carpetbag they’d found on the train. Only one type of boardinghouse had a hostess who wore such scanty red dresses.
Her eyes narrowed until they were slits of green.
Lord save me, she’s gonna be a feisty one.
“I am Elizabeth Coleburn’s sister!” she all but shouted.
“Lower your voice, you fire-haired imp, unless you plan on walking out of here alone.”
Her expression instantly clouded with worry. She tightened her hold on the sheet and took a step toward the window.
She was in a tangle, all right. Clear up to her pretty green eyes. He aimed to find out why. Again, his gaze inadvertently moved across the white linen.
Hell’s fire. The impression of her smooth rosy skin had been burned into his mind. He’d never seen a woman blush clear to her toes. Damn if it hadn’t been a beautiful sight.
“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he assured her. “But you’ll have to do exactly as I say. For starters, tie that blasted sheet around you so it won’t be falling off.”
She did as he said, tying it tightly around the gentle swell of her chest. “Mr. Jed—”
She reared back, clutching the linen as he stepped forward. Jed stopped. “My name is Jed, and I won’t harm you, Rachell.”
“You believe me then?”
Aside from being too young and too damn attractive, she’d given him the one answer that mattered. She was Buck’s sister-in-law. As such, he’d do anything necessary to protect her.
Damnation, but he had thought his days of bloodshed were over. “Yes, I believe you. The man downstairs with the cat scratches, he’s the one who’s after you?”
She shook her head.
Why wasn’t he surprised? “Who’s after you?”
“His father, Maxwell Sumner. I worked for him in Missouri.”
Oh, now she’s from Missouri instead of Kansas. “Hold on to that sheet.”
“But—”
“Hush,” he ordered, lifting her into his arms.
She trembled against him. Jed’s muscles tightened in an unexpected lash of desire.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve seen more curves on a fence post!
The internal blaspheme did nothing to ease the heated stir of his body.
“You’ll have to hold on to me.” He lifted his foot to the rim of the window. Her body went rigid as his knee moved between her thighs. He wrapped her stiff arms around his neck then let go of her entirely, forcing her to cling to him. He pulled them up and through the open window. A low groan escaped his throat as she coiled her legs around his waist and pressed her face against his neck.
Buck, you’re gonna owe me dearly for this one.
Stepping out onto the slanted awning, he banded his arms around Rachell’s shivering body and concentrated on keeping his balance. He took broad steps, trusting only the wide-spaced beams to support his weight. Wood creaked beneath his feet with each slow advance.
Delilah ain’t gonna like this, he thought as he reached for the open window emitting a red glow and the heavy scent of perfume and smoke. The saloon owner had just harped on at him about men like the four downstairs and how they were ruining her business by bringing in their own girls. She’d been irate when he told her he planned to rescue the red-haired strumpet.
But he couldn’t ride off with Rachell wearing nothing but a sheet. He also needed to flush out the source of Rachell’s trouble. Stewart Sumner wasn’t likely to greet him in a diplomatic fashion.
The moment his feet touched the floor of Delilah’s room, Jed set her trembling body away from him.
“What in tarnation?” Delilah cried out.
Rachell stiffened. Her wide eyes locked on Delilah still lying on her bed, cheroot in hand.
“Keep your voice down,” Jed grumbled.
“You weren’t worried about me makin’ noise just a bit ago.” Delilah rose from the bed and flicked blond hair over her bare shoulder. Glaring at Rachell, she thrust out her bosom which swelled from her well-fitted corset.
Jed bit back a smile. It had been a long time since his wild weekends with this particular woman. He’d been damn lucky when he’d spotted her tonight in this saloon, but he didn’t dispute Delilah’s bluff.
“Why’d you bring her in here?” she demanded.
“She needs a dress.”
“So go buy her one!”
“Delilah.”
She took a leisurely drag from her smoke, and scanned Rachell from head to toe. “It’ll cost you, and I ain’t givin’ up none of my nice silks.”
“Give her a damn shift for all I care, just so she’s not stark naked.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Delilah,” Rachell cut in. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would prefer a dress. Any dress.”
Jed was stunned by Rachell’s steady tone and charming smile as she held Delilah’s hostile gaze. Damn if the woman didn’t manage to look dignified, standing there in nothing but a sheet, her long hair a wild mess of tangles.
“Ain’t got nothin’ that’ll fit ya,” Delilah retorted. “Can’t imagine you draw much business. You got the build of a ten-year-old boy.”
The color already staining Rachell’s cheeks heightened. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ve not been blessed with your splendid figure,” she said softly, shocking Jed to his core. “I noticed your gown of lavender silk when I was brought in.” She smiled prettily. “A stunning gown, and quite flattering.”
Delilah’s face lit up like a Roman candle.
Well, I’ll be damned. The imp was a charmer, all right.
Walking toward Delilah’s night table, Jed took a thin rolled cigar from her tin. “You gonna give her a dress or not?” he asked, striking a match.
“I suppose.” Delilah crouched in front of a wooden chest at the foot of her bed. “Here ya are, sugar.” She tossed a green calico skirt and waistcoat onto the bed. “Ain’t as fancy as the one you had on when you was brought in.”
“Thank you, Miss Delilah. This will be lovely.”
“Aw, hell,” Delilah said, waving her hand. “It ain’t nothin’.”
“I do appreciate your help.”
Intrigued by the sincerity he heard in her tone and saw in her eyes, Jed couldn’t pull his gaze away from Rachell. She doesn’t seem the uppity sort. Course, what did she have to be uppity about? He knew she had attended some eastern school for upper-class ladies, but a refined, well-educated whore was still a whore. Not that he held her profession against her. Some of the nicest women he knew were saloon girls, or had been for a time.
What he couldn’t tolerate was a liar. So far, none of the information she’d written in her letters to her sister had been truthful. “Enough with the sisterhood display. Put the damn thing on so we can get out of here.”
Rachell met his gaze. “Mr. Jed, will you kindly turn around?”
“Sure.” Flashing a slow smile, he turned his back to her.
Hearing the wisp of her sheet falling to the floor, his mind flooded with the image of her ivory skin. The small room seemed to amplify the sound of the rustling fabric as his mind visualized her delicate limbs slipping into the green garment.
Blazing hell. Think about something else!
Staring at the door, he finished his smoke in a few hard puffs. “You dressed yet?”
“Land sakes, Jed,” cried Delilah. “Who stomped on yer tail?”
He spun around just as Rachell began to button the roomy waistcoat. With two strides he was in front of her. He flicked his cheroot into an ashtray and reached out, brushing her shaky hands aside.
“Woman, I don’t have all night.” He quickly fastened the row of small black buttons, all the while wondering what in the hell he was doing. Finishing, he looked up at her stunned expression. “Just so you know, there’s bound to be gunfire. I prefer not to have you shrieking in my ear. Hold still and keep quiet and we might get out of here lead-free.”
“We’re not leaving through the window?”
Her face lit with fear, and Jed grimaced. “To flush out the vermin you’ve got on your tail, I have to leave a good trail of bait. Sneaking out the back like a coward ain’t gonna get that done.”
Turning away from her, he pulled a pouch of coins from his britches pocket. “Delilah, I’m obliged for all your help. You take care of yourself,” he said as he stuffed the money into the top of her corset.
“I always do, Jed. If you ever get back this way, be sure to stop in for a visit. It’s always a pleasure. That is, if you’re still an unclaimed man,” she added, glancing at Rachell.
“Since when has that ever mattered to you?” he asked. He pulled her against him and planted a firm kiss on her mouth.
She laughed and pushed him away. “Sugar, you know it don’t, but it would matter to you.”
As he turned toward Rachell, she cast him a look of pure fire, hot as her flaming hair.
Without warning, he grabbed Rachell and strode toward the door. She shrieked as he hoisted her dainty frame over his shoulder. “I said no screaming,” he reminded her as he pulled the door open then slammed it shut behind him.
“I can walk on my own two legs!” She twisted in his grip and jabbed her pointed elbows into his back.
“I won’t have you running off or stepping in front of a bullet.” Keeping his arm wrapped tightly around her backside, he descended the stairs.
As expected, the four men sitting at the poker table near the staircase spotted Rachell and jumped to their feet. Hopefully their speed with a side iron matched the meager mentalities he’d witnessed earlier. He hadn’t had a chance to assess the skinny blond kid now standing at the table. He’d been tending their horses when Jed had first entered the saloon.
“Mister, jus’ what the hell do you think yer doin’?” shouted the man who’d been tagged by Rachell’s sharp claws.
Sumner. “Takin’ the lady back to her family, where she belongs,” Jed said as he reached the bottom step.
“The hell you are!” Sumner drew his gun. Jed was faster, dropping Sumner and firing two more consecutive shots. The men on either side 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 nor blind. As usual, he’d been right. He wasn’t about to lead Satan’s army back to his ranch. Rachell wouldn’t be stepping foot in California until he was sure she was free of trouble.
A grumbling sound distracted Jed from his thoughts. When it sounded again, he grinned, realizing it was Rachell’s stomach.
“You tryin’ to tell me you’re hungry?”
“How kind of you to notice,” she said in a dull tone.
“It’s either that or there’s a grizzly on our tail.”
Rachell glanced up at the man above her, surprised by his unexpected show of humor. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Somehow, his soft expression increased her uneasiness. She wished those chiseled features would return to stone.
“What?” he asked, holding her gaze.
Rachell shook her head, annoyed that she’d been caught openly staring at him, again. She felt a jolt of alarm as he tugged on the reins. “Why are you stopping?”
“Relax. You’re safe with me.” He lifted her from his lap and gently eased her down. She shivered as her bare feet touched the damp ground.
“Sage could use a rest,” he said, dismounting. “I have some dried beef in my saddlebags, and I thought you might want your boots.”
“You have my boots?”
“Red leather’s hard to miss. I grabbed ’em off the table while I was chattin’ with Juniper.”
She’d been such a bundle of nerves, unable to bear the sight of more bloodshed, she probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d taken the piano. She hadn’t even thought about young Juniper being left alone in that town. He’d been so brave to tag along with the others, doing his best to protect her. “Do you think Juniper will be all right?”
Jed pulled her boots out from under a rope tied around the pack behind his saddle. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sympathetic toward your captors?”
“I would hardly refer to Juniper as one of my captors, Mr. Jed. He’s just a boy. June isn’t like the others. He’s not bad.”
“If he doesn’t change his line of work, he soon will be,” Jed said with dark certainty as he held out her shoes.
“Only my boots?” she asked with a ring of disappointment.
The coldness came back into his eyes, firming his features. “I had you in one hand and my gun in the other.”
She avoided his harsh glare as she accepted the boots. “Thank you. I didn’t intend to sound ungrateful.”
“Just put your boots on. I want to get as far from Weaver as I can before sunup. We won’t be making camp tonight.”
“The sooner we reach California, the better,” she said as she pulled on a boot. “I was eleven when I last saw my sister.” Sadness washed over Rachell like a winter chill as she recalled the day Elizabeth’s late husband had carted her off to California. Never knowing her mother, she’d been raised by Elizabeth and their housekeeper, Amity. Six months after her sister’s departure, their father had sent her away to boarding school.
For six years she’d lived at Miss Abigail’s Academy for Young Ladies. Six years of being an outcast, a dandelion in a garden of roses. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t dreamed of returning to the farm and people she loved. When that day finally came, she’d returned home to nothing but a brick chimney stack surrounded by rubble, ruined crops, and the state torn apart by war, along with the family who’d given her up.
“I lost touch with Elizabeth during the war,” she said in a neutral tone, pushing the painful memories from her mind as she tugged on her second boot. “It was a miracle I managed to locate her. I had no idea her first husband had died or that she had remarried. A man came up to me after a show while I was working in Kansas and said he’d heard my last song once before, sung by a little redheaded woman in California as she hung out her wash.”
Securing her boot laces, Rachell smiled at the single stroke of good fortune she’d received in so many years. “He gave me the name of her husband’s horse ranch and Elizabeth and I have been exchanging letters for the past seven months. She was kind enough to find a job for me, at my request. Her husband’s nephew has a ranch not far from his. I only hope Mr. Darby hasn’t hired another housekeeper. I don’t wish to be a burden on my sister.”
“Ben hasn’t hired anyone else.”
Kneeling over her unlaced boot, Rachell looked up in sharp surprise. Jed stood beside his horse, his arms crossed over his wide chest as he stared down at her. She suddenly realized she’d been prattling on without regard to his presence.
His expressionless gaze sent a shiver down her spine. Just who is this man?
“You know Benjamin Darby?”
“Yes.”
“How was it that my sister came to hire you, Mr. Jed?”
“Your sister didn’t hire me. Buck’s a friend of mine.”
“Buck?”
“Your sister’s husband, Walter ‘Buck’ Coleburn. I volunteered to find you and bring you back safely. You’d make that job a whole lot easier if you’d be truthful with me.”
She dropped her laces and glared at him. “I’ve not said one untruthful word thus far.”
Jed grunted. “Why is Sumner after you?”
“I’ve been working in his establishment for the past four months. I knew he’d be angry when he discovered I’d left, but I never imagined he’d send men after me.”
“You worked in a brothel?”
“A saloon!”
“You’re a whore.”
She sucked in a hard breath before shouting, “I am not!”
Her sharp response surprised Jed. He hadn’t said it as an accusation or a question. Just the simple truth. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to be truthful.
She sprang to her feet, her posture stiff as a soldier’s, her expression as hard and lethal as a warrior ready for battle.
“I sing, Mr. Jed. Nothing more.”
“He hired all those men to fetch a songbird?” Jed shook his head. “I don’t buy it. You must have taken something of his or be something of his. You’re not his mistress?”
“No, I am not. Nor am I a thief. Maxwell knew I was intending to leave. He had gotten it into his mind that I was his woman and had tired of taking no for an answer.”
Jed knew there had to be more to the story than she was telling. He turned away from her harsh glare and mounted his horse. He held his hand out to help her up, but Rachell didn’t move a muscle.
“Comin’?” he asked when she continued to stall.
He couldn’t hold back a grin since she stomped toward him making some sort of growling sound. “Sugar, you can’t weigh a hundred pounds,” he said as he lifted her up and onto his lap. “If he wanted you, what was to stop him from taking you?”
“Titus.”
“What?”
“Titus. He’s been with me for the past five years. When I began to sing in saloons, he protected me from Sumner and others like him.”
Jed noted the distinct sadness in her tone as he urged Sage into motion. “I take it this Titus fellow is no longer around. Your boyfriend ran off?”
“He was a friend, not my boyfriend, and no, he did not run off. Maxwell Sumner had him killed.”
“If you’re so all-fire sure of that, why didn’t you just turn Sumner in to the law?”
“Because the sheriff of Mason County wasn’t about to investigate the murder of a black man. More than likely, he’s the one who shot Titus. Maxwell owns the law in that town.”
The words he’s been with me took on a sour meaning for Jed. “I don’t suppose Titus received wages for his protective services?”
“Half of anything I earned.”
Jed’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That’s awfully generous for a hired guard.”
She shifted, lifting her hate-filled gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Are you deaf? Titus was more to me than a hired guard. He was the closest friend I’ve ever had. And now he’s dead, because of me.” She twisted, putting her back to him.
“Here,” he said, holding out the large piece of dried beef he’d taken from his saddlebags. She snatched it with a mumbled thank-you.
Jed guided Sage through the moonlit countryside, silently contemplating her story. He wasn’t a man easily swayed by succulent pouting lips and water-filled eyes, but something about Rachell pulled at the hollows of his chest.
A droplet of moisture hit his hand, telling him the glaze of tears he’d seen in her eyes was cascading down her fair cheeks. Yet she didn’t make a sound, refusing to brush the wet trail from her face and draw attention to her emotional release.
Damnation. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was lousy at playing the part of a damsel in distress.
He gave himself a silent word of caution. Imps were cunning little creatures, known for their mischief and trouble.
