Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (4 page)

What had he stumbled into? This wasn’t a group of cowboys intent on arresting a killer and carting him to town. Nevada reached for his gun and peered more closely at the stage. Looked like three men riding on top with others inside, like they did when transporting a Wells Fargo payroll to the mines outside of Tombstone.

Another gun exploded nearby, and Christy felt a searing pain in her arm, just above the elbow. She gasped and cried out, staring at the blood now soaking her sleeve.

The woman across from her screamed and then started to shriek, her voice escalating in fear. “They’re going to kill us all! Help! Somebody help us!” She buried her face against the chest of the man sitting next to her, but her now muffled screams continued.

The stage rattled and jumped over rocks in its hasty descent into the shallow valley below. Christy wrapped her gloved fingers around her arm, staring at the stream of blood gushing from the wound. She’d been injured more than once in her life, but nothing like this. Something akin to terror gripped her mind, and she struggled to push it aside, tightening her hold on her arm and praying it would slow the bleeding. She couldn’t die out here in the wilderness, only a short distance from her family.

She hadn’t had nearly enough time to experience life—at least not the kind she’d always hoped and planned for. Scenes from her past rushed at her faster than the jostling coach, reminding her of the years wasted in shameful living. She’d finally found her purpose in helping her mother recover her health, and hopefully gaining some kind of family relationship where none had existed before. Bleeding to death before she even arrived was not an option.

The stage finally drew to a halt, and loud, angry voices erupted outside. Christy sat up straight and gazed around. None of the passengers appeared to have much courage—even the men wilted into limp caricatures of the male race. If she had to demand that someone take care of this wound to ensure her safe arrival at her mother’s bedside, so be it. If the outlaws didn’t kill them all first.

Nevada scrambled the rest of the way down the hill, pulling his snorting horse with him. No way could he slip away now, not with women on board and someone possibly hurt. He eased his gun out of his holster. It was three against one, but he had the element of surprise.

He crept forward, dodging from bush to bush. The man he recognized as the leader had his gun aimed at the stage, as did the other masked man standing off to one side. The third had disappeared, and Nevada stopped to get his bearings.

A masked man stepped out from behind a boulder, gun drawn and trained on Nevada. “You got two choices. Help us, or get yourself shot.”

Nevada hesitated, weighing his options. He could probably take this man without too much trouble, but the gunshot would alert the others. The stage had rolled to a stop, and a glance showed two men climbing down from the top and a male passenger stepping out the door. If he moved forward with his plan and took this man down as he wanted to, it was highly probable some of the passengers would be killed in the ensuing gun battle. His gut clenched, and he tightened his grip on the butt of his gun. Something told him he would do better falling in with these men than trying to stop them, and getting himself and others killed—even if it meant pretending to be a criminal. “I’ll help you.”

The man’s eyes seemed to glow as he peered through the holes in the mask, but his gun didn’t waver or drop. “You don’t get nothin’ but what Jake promised, and you’ll get a dose of lead if you try anything funny.”

Nevada holstered his gun and raised his hands, palms out. “Sure. Take it easy, friend. Just want to lend a hand, that’s all.” He sent a prayer heavenward, his first one in years, and hoped this time God would see fit to listen. Maybe once he got close to the stage he could still overpower the outlaws and keep this robbery from happening.

“All right.” The gun dropped a couple of inches but stayed trained on his belly. “Ya still got the mask the boss gave you?”

“Yeah. In my saddlebag.”

“Put it on. Unless you want your face plastered all over the county on wanted posters.” He gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “That might be a good thing. They’d be chasin’ you, ’stead of us.”

Nevada stepped toward his horse. He withdrew the sackcloth mask from his saddlebag and drew it over his head, wrapping the string around his neck to keep it from slipping. The smell of mold almost gagged him. “What’d you have in here?”

“Some old grain that went bad. Now tie your horse and get a move on.” He motioned with his gun and waited for Nevada to follow his orders, then walked behind him toward the other two outlaws.

Nevada peered through the eye holes at the motionless stage and stopped short, still a number of yards away from the coach. His heart rate accelerated. A man climbed out and an older woman followed, her wails splitting the air. Her companion patted her back and drew her close, trying to quiet her sobs.

The outlaw leader stepped forward and uttered a low growl, then raised his voice in warning. “Shut your trap, lady. You don’t look hurt a’tall. Quit your caterwaulin’, or I’ll give you somethin’ to complain about.”

Her eyes grew round and she gasped, then her lips clamped shut. A slender woman wearing a green dress, a hat, and a veil stepped to the ground. The white glove gripping her arm was stained red and a distinct whimper came from under the veil.

The burly leader turned at Nevada’s approach and stalked toward him, stopping a good distance from the stage. “Came to help us, did you? Good thing you covered your head. Wells Fargo don’t look too kindly on havin’ the payroll stole off their stage.”

“You shot a woman?” A growl laced Nevada’s words.

He placed his hand on the butt of his gun but kept his gaze trained on the man. Conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. No way could he get into a shooting scrape now. Avoiding more bloodshed must be his primary focus, even if it meant quelling his own desire to end this thing. He fought a hard battle inside—and all the years of violence and living by the gun almost won out. But a glance at the woman standing so silent, gripping her arm with only the one whimper, decided the question for him. He loosened his hold on his gun and relaxed his arm.

“Not a’purpose, we didn’t. One of the men got nervous when the driver wouldn’t stop and shot at the stage. Winged her. Come on, you kin help us relieve them of their valuables.”

“I don’t care about the money you offered.” Nevada dug out the gold coin the man had paid him and tossed it toward him. “I agreed to stay with the horses, and that’s all. I had no idea you planned on robbing a stage.”

“Good.” The leader snatched it and walked back to the scene playing out in front of the coach. He walked to the far side and stepped up onto the wheel, dragging down a case from on top of the stage.

The woman still gripped her arm and drops of blood dripped on the ground. The hat and veil covered her hair and most of her face, revealing only a nicely shaped chin and curved red lips drawn down in pain. “I say, you over there.” She tilted her chin in his direction. “I don’t care to bleed to death. Can’t someone help me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nevada stepped forward. He walked up to her, marveling at her near perfect form and slender waist. He reached for her arm, but she pulled back.

“Not here in front of everyone.” Her hand clutching the wound trembled. “I’d appreciate some privacy, please.” Nevada cast a look at the outlaws, but they didn’t appear to notice, as two were busy relieving the driver and passengers of their belongings and the third unstrapped the small box taken from the top of the stage.

“All right. Let’s step over here.” He motioned to an outcropping of boulders and brush. He reached out, hoping to help her over the rough terrain, but she shrank away. Hot anger drenched his skin with perspiration. Why hadn’t he paid attention to his gut back at the camp? Those three men were obviously up to no good, but he’d ignored the warning. The woman believed him to be part of the gang. He’d never be party to harming any lady, and this was most certainly a lady.

A sudden shout went up from the coach and a gleeful voice drifted toward them. “Hey, looky here. Someone hid this bag in the seat. It’s got a real pretty doodad in it, and some gold coins. Whoo-whee!”

The woman walking beside him suddenly sagged, and he reached out to steady her. “What is it? Are you feeling faint?”

She placed her hand over her heart. “My grandmother’s brooch. I can’t lose it. Oh, please…” Her breath caught in a ragged sob, and she bowed her head.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m more concerned with this gunshot wound and getting the bleeding stopped.” He paused and studied her. “I’ll not touch you unless I need to, but you’ll have to let me look at that wound.”

She stopped behind the dense brush, then removed her grip on her arm and hesitantly offered the injured member to him. “Can you stop the bleeding?”

“I think so.” He peered at her sleeve. How to get to the wound without destroying the sleeve? Of course, it already contained a bullet hole that would need to be repaired. “Can you push your sleeve up above your elbow?”

“I’ll try.” She gritted her teeth and pushed at the material loosely draped between wrist and elbow. It slid partway up but didn’t quite reveal the affected area. “You’ll have to help.” She raised her head, and he barely caught a flash of green behind the veil.

The sackcloth mask kept slipping, making it difficult to see clearly through the small eyeholes. He tugged it back in place and bent over her arm, only to have it move again. There was no hope for it. Either he took the thing off so he could see properly, or he wouldn’t be much good to this woman. “Ma’am?”

“Yes?” Pain spilled from her voice, and she bit her bottom lip.

“I can’t see much through this blasted mask.”

“Remove it, then.”

“I need to tell you something first, and you have to make me a promise.” He could see she struggled to keep from crying, but he had to extract the promise first, as much as he hated seeing her suffer. “I’m not part of this holdup.”

Her chin raised and she frowned. “You’re wearing a mask and carrying a gun, and you’re here, aren’t you?”

“I know. I rode into these men’s camp last night looking for a meal and they asked me to stay with the horses this morning.” He shrugged. “I knew better, but I was in no hurry to go anywhere.”

She sucked in a quick breath. “Right now I don’t care. I’m going to bleed to death if you don’t do something.”

“I’ll take my mask off and help, but you’ve got to promise you’ll never tell anyone what I look like, or point me out if you see me in Tombstone.”

Christy lifted a determined chin. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone what you look like. But please hurry and bind this wound.”

Nevada jerked off the mask, thankful for the fresh air and better vision with the musty piece of burlap removed. “I need to cut your sleeve.”

Christy nodded but didn’t speak, afraid to trust her voice now that the bandit had removed his mask. Deep brown eyes tried to probe the veil. Her heart jumped to her throat, and she struggled to breathe. The outlaw was undoubtedly one of the handsomest men she’d ever encountered. She’d always thought Alexia’s husband Justin attractive, but this man with his broad shoulders, narrow hips, cleft in his chin and dark, wavy hair was downright rugged and masculine.