His Most Wanted (7 page)

“Ben, my new cattle handler, said I could see my ranch from up here. I thought if we had time, we might—” he broke off.

She glanced over her shoulder. Kit's eyes narrowed at the trail leading down the mountain, his body taut and alert.

“What?” she whispered.

“There's a rider down there.”

Before she could even steady her horse, Kit was already in his saddle, leading the way downhill to greet the newcomer. Perhaps he feared an Indian attack, being from back east where stories abounded, but Cora had lived in Fort McNamara long enough to know the nearest Indians stayed within the boundary of their reservation. And if they'd wanted to cause any trouble for travelers along the trail, they would move with greater stealth, as silent as the air around them.

After a few moments, they reached the base of Dillard's Peak where they met the lone rider, a man in his thirties or forties.

“Afternoon,” Kit called as they grew near.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” He waved in return. The man's saddlebags swelled with what looked to be his belongings, so she supposed he was only passing through.

Just passing through…

Her gaze flew to the stranger's face, her pulse kicking up a notch. Could it be Andrea's attacker?

Andrea had said her abuser had graying hair, freshly cut, leaving an old scar visible on the back of the man's head. As they came closer, Cora turned her horse sideways, cutting the stranger off in a wide circle. She felt Kit's look of surprise, but she wasn't concerned about him anymore. Rounding the man while keeping her distance, she called out, “What's your name, sir?”

“Rupert McGruder. Do I know you, young lady?” His eyes narrowed, as he seemed to try to place her face.

As she came around behind him, she noted the scar running around the back of his skull like a white whip line from one ear to the other. Her heart hammered against her ribs, longing to draw, shoot and scare the shit out of the bastard where he stood.
If only Kit wasn't here.
If she drew on McGruder now, she would expose her secret.

“Cora,” Kit said, his voice slicing through the thickened air between them. “Come over here.”

She clicked her tongue, setting her horse in motion to do just that, but McGruder's brows snapped together as if sensing trouble. He lowered his hand, and his saddle leather creaked.

“Cora, get behind me,” Kit yelled at her. “McGruder, you're under arrest.”

The stranger's gun came out before she could reach Kit, and a shot exploded.

Chapter Seven

Cora heard McGruder groan, and she wheeled her mount around in time to see him fall. As he hit the ground, his gun discharged, echoing off the surrounding mountains. Cold fear poured through her as the memory of shooting Sidlow flashed before her eyes. McGruder, however, was far from dead.

Frozen and lost in her thoughts, she wasn't ready when her horse tossed its head and kicked its back legs. The reins fell from her fingers, and she scrambled to retrieve them. But the animal suddenly swung left. She gripped the horse's sides with her calves, but to no avail. She slid from the saddle.

“
Ooff
.” She landed hard. Sharp pain ran through her, leaving her little time to react when the horse's hooves came down, missing her by inches before he galloped away.

As she pushed herself upright, Kit moved his horse between her and McGruder, forming a protective barrier. High above her, she heard the sheriff's hammer click, preparing to shoot Andrea's attacker again.

“No!” she cried, and grabbed his stirrup to pull herself up.

“I promised Miss Burns I'd put his ass behind bars.” He glanced at her, then back at his target. “Drop it, McGruder.”

Wanting to help Kit, she drew her pistol with a shaky hand, but another round of shots fired first, sending dirt into the air near her feet.

Kit's horse reared, but he stayed on
.
Aiming for the shooter, he fired again.

McGruder turned at the last moment, taking the bullet in his back as he ran. He stumbled forward from the blast, but momentum kept him going. Catching his horse as it circled past, McGruder latched hold of the saddle. The attacker half-dragged, half-pulled himself up, got a boot into the stirrup and rode away.

Cora stared at the gun in her hand. Why hadn't she shot when she had the chance? “I could've stopped him.”

Kit sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Are you hurt?”

She moved closer to him. “No.”

“I don't break promises. Stay here. I'm going after him.” He waved in the direction the animals had gone.

She considered doing as he'd ordered, but seeing the bloody trail McGruder had left behind, she turned around. “He's going to die anyway.”

Kit holstered his gun. “Doesn't matter. I told your employee I'd bring him in, so I aim to do just that.” Frowning, he scanned the woods around them.

“You're honorable to try to keep your word, but the horses are long gone. I can't even hear them anymore.”

Kit swore beneath his breath and hung his head. “If the gunfire hadn't spooked our mounts, I'd have gotten him. All it would've taken was a bullet to the ankle.”

“It's not your fault.” She went to him and touched his arm, drawn to console him.

His blue eyes focused on her now, his smoldering anger dissipating. “Let me see that gun of yours.”

Hell's bells. She forgot she still held her pistol. A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it, and she put the gun behind her back.

Kit dismounted and stood over her. The corner of his mouth quirked up, humor lighting his eyes. “You know I've already seen it. You might as well let me get a closer look.”

He touched her shoulder, running his palm along her arm until he reached her wrist behind her back. The action brought him closer to her until she was staring at the dirt smudge on the front of his shirt and the tiny dark chest hairs peeking out from his open collar. If she took a step in his direction, their bodies would touch. The mere idea made her imagine his hands elsewhere on her skin, the same as she had when he'd been in her room, exploring her wardrobe. His fingers were warm and slightly coarse as he applied pressure to her wrist, tightening his grip, and her frenzied pulse gave away her reckless thoughts.

“Take it,” she blurted out in a breathy voice. She slid the gun into his hand and retreated a step to regain her sanity.

He examined the weapon, sighted it and then checked the chamber. “A nice little pistol. Are you a good shot?”

With the back of her trembling hand, she wiped the sweat that had beaded on her forehead. “Not at all.” She bit her lip, instantly regretting the admission.

His smile grew, and his white teeth shone against his tanned face. “In that case, I'll let you have it back.”

Rueful, she replaced the gun in its holder beneath her vest. “Now what'll we do?” Her side throbbed from her fall, so she pressed her fist against it.

He squinted and scanned the woods again. “Nothing we can do but walk to the nearest homestead.”

They spent the next hour following the old stage road in the direction of Fort McNamara, until they determined their best bet would be to follow the river. Soon they would need water, and they wouldn't find it on the rugged trail through the mountains.

As they made their way, the heavy underbrush opened to a fire-scorched pine forest where Cora heard the river running nearby. An open pasture appeared as the light of sunset slipped its fingers through the trees. In another hour or so, they would have nothing but stars to light their path.

“There's a house.” Kit pointed out the large building on the grassy slope ahead. “We can ask the owners if we can stay the night. Perhaps they'll take us into town in the morning. Is that okay with you?”

Cora nodded. She'd never asked for help from a stranger before, but the evening was already growing cooler, and her side ached from her fall. She'd noticed Kit walking slower too, his hip bumping hers occasionally. Though he'd made no complaints, she'd seen the brackets around his mouth indicating his pain.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, Kit slid an arm around her shoulders. She welcomed his warmth and walked closer by his side, drawing comfort from him and the fact that at least she wasn't alone. A strange feeling for her, since she'd depended on no one since she was old enough to take care of herself, but she found it oddly pleasant.

The homesteader's pasture was healthy and expansive, but the house itself had seen better days. Smoke rising from the chimney was the only sign of life from the outside as they stepped onto the porch of the two-story home, barely avoiding the hole in the rotten timbers beneath the eaves where a corner of the roof had fallen in.

She took a deep breath as Kit lifted his hand to knock at the door.

He glanced at her. “Have you changed your mind? If you're uncomfortable…”

She lifted her chin. “No. Of course not,” she lied. They were armed, had their wits, his badge, not to mention his raw strength. There was nothing for her to fear, and she'd be damned if she'd act the spoiled, helpless lady in distress.

When Kit's first polite knock brought no response, he tried again, pounding with agitation that had her reexamining him. Maybe he wasn't as unaffected by his fall as he wanted her to believe.

After a length, he reached for the door handle, but the door opened on rusty hinges. A man's face appeared with firelight at his back.

“Cora Reilly? What are you doing here?” he asked, his whiskey breath fanning their faces as he swayed on unsteady feet.

“Mr. Hughes?” She recoiled at the sorry state of the nice old man who'd always said hello to her at the feed store.

Hughes looked at Kit and blinked. “And the sheriff?”

Kit's mouth popped open in a look of horror and surprise. “Ben? Don't tell me this is
my
ranch.”

Open and closed. Open and closed.

Kit squeezed his hands into fists, restraining himself to keep from reaching for the neck of the man he'd entrusted with the care of his home and future livelihood.

Ben staggered across the room to light a lantern for them. “The bedrooms aren't ready yet, I'm afraid.” He belched into his hand and wiped his fingers on his shirt. “This morning, I chased a coon outta the master's bedroom, but I reckon her babes are still around. I fixed the hole in the wall where they were coming in.”

“I have holes in my walls?” Kit bellowed, barely able to hold back a string of curses.

“And little kits. How appropriate.” Cora smothered a laugh behind her hand.

He glared at her before shoving a hand through his hair. “I'm glad you find this so amusing. You realize you'll be sleeping in this house of horrors tonight along with the stray wildlife.”

Ben turned an empty bottle upright on the table beside the sofa. “Oh, I doubt there's anything else to worry about. 'Cept maybe the draft.”

“And the smell.” Cora waved her hand dramatically in front of her nose like a stage actress.

Kit narrowed his eyes at her. How could she find humor in the situation? “You're only gloating because the house you live in is a mansion by comparison.”

“Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment for the Willows.”

Ben smiled beneath his bushy gray mustache. “Yep. The Willows is one of the finest buildings in town, but not half as pur-r-ty as her ladies.”

Kit felt a growl in his throat that would rival that of the vermin infesting the place, so he pushed away from the fireplace and paced across the room, putting distance between him and his odious ranch hand.

“Do you have any clean linens, Mr. Hughes?” Cora asked sweetly.

“Why, yes, ma'am. I found some the last owners left behind in the dresser in the second bedroom upstairs. You're welcome to them. I've been making my bed down here by the fireplace for now.”

Kit moved a cane-backed rocking chair out of his path. “What about the barn I saw on the way here? Is that on my property as well? Perhaps you could take your whiskey out there.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Really, Sheriff,” Cora snapped, taking the lantern from the old man. “He doesn't have to stay in a barn.”

Ben waved off her objection. “Oh, I don't mind. I used to be a soldier. I've slept in worse places. Besides, the barn's in better shape than the house.”

Kit's gut grew nauseous. Could the day get any worse? “Please take your things and make a place for yourself there. At least until you've sobered.”

Ben's head bobbed in agreement. “I'm sorry to be such a nuisance. It's just I was here alone with nothing to do in the evening. Then I found a jug of moonshine in the pantry. It won't happen again.”

Kit's face heated. The old man's actions sounded all too familiar. “Very well. We all make mistakes.” He sighed.

After Ben showed them the kitchen pantry and the food staples they could assemble for dinner that night, the old man left, taking his blankets from the sofa with him.

Cora continued to glare at Kit across the kitchen table as he opened a jar of blackberry preserves.

“What?”

“Are you always so polite?”

“I
am
polite, usually. I just expect my employees to have more decorum and restraint.” He cut a slice of stale bread for both of them, then poured a dollop of the berries on each.

“Because you take such pride in your own propriety?” Her eyes danced, daring him to argue as she rolled up her sleeves.

He let it drop. This was one duel he couldn't win. Besides, it was hard to stay angry in the company of Cora with her lively green eyes and intriguing half smiles. Her compassion made it easy to like her, and harder to remember she was wanted for murder.

When they finished eating, he took a moment to sniff the air and discovered how right she'd been earlier. The place still reeked of grain alcohol. He grumbled, “If we're lucky, the bedrooms will smell better.”

“I thought your uncle brewed beer. I would think you'd feel at home.” She licked her thumb of the last of her bread and preserves.

“Funny. Yes, he ran a brewery, and that aroma is infinitely better than this.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, Cora, I'm sorry I brought you into this mess today.”

“Don't worry about me.” She stood from the table and headed into the living room. “We're both armed in case of wild raccoon attacks.”

He chuckled and followed her to the stairway, relieved at her ability to find humor in the situation. Heading up the stairs, however, his throat tightened and his pants grew a size smaller as he caught sight of her firm, perfect bottom again in the fitted men's breeches. Though it seemed impossible in the middle of the ramshackle house, his ribs aching from his fall and with her wearing men's clothing and a layer of dirt, but he wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman in his life.

Staying with her under the same roof again, alone, was a bad idea. There were a hundred reasons why he shouldn't touch her. Yet instinct told him he'd buckle at one word or touch that gave him an opportunity to spread her beneath him.