Shadow's Stand (4 page)

She tugged at his hands. “At the moment, yes.”

There was an edge of panic in that calm statement. He looked into her eyes. As calm as her expression was her eyes flared with the emotions she was trying to hide. He paused. He’d never terrified a woman before. That he was doing it now didn’t sit well with him. He might be going to hell for a lot of things, but he wasn’t his father. He wasn’t going for preying on those weaker.

“You can relax, Fei. I’m not a man for hurting the weak.”

She jerked upright. “I am not weak!”

That’s what got her dander up? “Compared to me you are. And that’s a truth you’d best be accepting before that pride of yours gets you in trouble.”

Her fingers tightened on his wrist, her short nails dug into his skin. Fear? Anger? “You will let me go after you look?”

“Providing it’s not bad, yes.”

“Then look and be done with it.”

Anger. And pretty close to the surface. The woman had a temper. “Thank you. I thought I would.” As Shadow hooked his finger under the camisole, Fei subsided against the seat, spine straight, chin up, her dignity drawn around her like a shield. Shadow didn’t care. She could trot out as much dignity as she wanted. He was checking that wound. The fabric was stiff around the edges and stuck to the wound with drying blood. She stiffened as he gently pulled.

He paused, glancing up in time to catch her expression in a moment of vulnerability. “I’ll be careful.”

Her fingers tightened on his wrist. “You do not need to be anything.”

Further investigation revealed a two-inch cut on her breastbone. A couple inches lower, a little deeper and the wound could have been fatal. He touched his finger to the softness of her skin. So creamy and pale. So perfect except for the mark of his entry into her life. A reminder that for him nothing changed.

“You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

She leaned away. Shadow let her. “We do not have time for this. As you said, they will come.”

Shadow eased the camisole back up, over the wound. There was an awful lot of fear in her voice. He might bring hell to those he loved, but he could also bring it to anyone who threatened those under his protection. And as his wife.

“Let them.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“Unlikely.” He caught her chin between his fingers and examined her face. There was a faint discoloration on her cheekbone. At least he had a way to repay her for the sacrifice. “But in the meantime, you’re my wife, under my protection and your care comes first.”

“You speak like a fool.”

“And here I thought I was speaking like a husband.” She jerked away. “It was a mistake to choose you.”

He touched the faded bruise on her cheek. Someone would pay for that. He smiled into her defiance. “No, honey. I think this time you finally chose right.”

F
EI
’
S
HOUSE
WAS
SET
OFF
the road a fair piece. At some point, someone had tried to give it a bit of boundary with a white picket fence, but that was now falling down. Faded red curtains graced the windows. The place was a nice size, unusual for a railroad worker’s compensation. Usually the best a worker could hope for was a crowded, tattered tent. Fei’s father must have some worth, after all.

The house smelled of exotic spices—lemon and something Shadow couldn’t quite put his finger on. The interior was spotless. Everything in the house was neatly hung in its place. It appeared there were two separate bedrooms, a parlor and a kitchen. Fei led him to the kitchen and then waved him to a chair at the table.

“Please sit. I will get water.”

“Take off the shackles and I’ll fetch water for you.”

Her gaze started at his feet and traveled up to his knees and then just kept on climbing until it reached his face.

“Is Shadow your real name?”

“The only part that’s pronounceable.”

He hadn’t gone by that name for over a year. He wasn’t sure why he’d used it at the ceremony. There was a price on his head. A hell of a price. Things like that tended to happen when you killed a man under the protection of the U.S. Army right in front of them. It didn’t matter that the killing was necessary or that the man was a cold-blooded murderer gunning for women and children. The army had a reputation and Shadow had sullied it. His brother and Hell’s Eight were working to get him a pardon, but the governor wasn’t feeling real friendly. The man Shadow had killed had been wealthy and connected, so right now Shadow was wanted dead or alive. And from the way people were taking shots at him, he had a feeling someone was offering a second bounty if he was brought in dead. That being the case, it was pure foolishness to have declared himself Shadow Ochoa during the wedding ceremony. But when it had come to identifying himself, he’d wanted Fei Yen to know to whom she belonged. Which was more foolishness. The marriage wasn’t going to last. As soon as his wife got what she wanted out of him, she’d be gone. And he’d be ready to go. He’d stay because he owed her. A life for a life. But when it was over, it would be time for him to move on. Without Hell’s Eight as an anchor, he preferred to keep moving.

With a brisk bow, Fei reclaimed his attention. Picking up a large bowl and a towel, she headed for the back door. “I will fetch water.”

“Be easier if you took off the shackles and let me do the heavy lifting.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “The shackles stay on.”

The door slammed shut behind her as she left him in the kitchen with a nice selection of well-honed knives in the block at the end of the table. Shadow set his hat on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. Fei clearly thought, with his legs shackled, he didn’t pose much of a threat. Smiling, Shadow picked up a butcher knife and sawed at his bonds until his hands were free. Grabbing a small paring knife, he started working the locks on the shackles. The first was a breeze. The second was a bit more stubborn.

The kitchen door creaked. Fei’s small, black-booted feet came into view. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her skirt swish abruptly as she stopped. Water sloshed over the side of the bowl and splashed on the floor.

“What did you do?”

Motioning to the heavy shackles as if they were nothing, he explained, “These things chafe.”

No response. The mechanism gave. He eased the shackle open. He glanced up. She still stood there staring at him with something akin to horror.

“I won’t hurt you, Fei.”

She straightened and her chin lifted. “I am not afraid. I am annoyed. My knives—you have ruined them.”

“I’ll sharpen them back up. Any more complaints?”

He stood. She flinched. This close, it was hard to miss the why. Her head only came up to his breastbone. Her waist was so tiny he could probably span it with his hands. Hell, no wonder she was frozen. There wasn’t enough of her to stand up to a gnat, let alone a grown man. He jerked his chin toward the kitchen table. “Sit.”

She touched the towel draped over her shoulder. “Your neck—”

“Is only bruised,” he finished for her. “You’re the one who’s cut.”

He took the bowl from her hands, ignoring the wariness of her expression. On his best days, he intimidated, but he hadn’t had a bath in two days, and being stretched by a rope probably hadn’t put any shine to his appearance. He motioned to the table again, albeit this time with a bit less force. It was as close to gentle as he was getting.

“Sit down.”

Fei stayed put. “I do not require your help.”

“That wasn’t the impression I got.”

She motioned to her injury. “With this.”

He motioned to the chair. “I’m particular about things being done right.”

“So am I, which is why I shall care for it myself.”

The angle of that chin was just more proof that her sweet, submissive air was just a good fake.

She looked at the shackles heaped on the floor by the table. It wasn’t hard to tell which way her mind was working. Shadow set the bowl on the table. “You weren’t any safer when I was wearing them, you know. You just thought you were.”

She eyed them again. “I liked the thought.”

She sounded as if she intended to hold a grudge about it. The thought made him smile. Shit. Twice in one afternoon. That had to be a record. “That wound is going to need stitches.”

“I have a…” She motioned with her hands, pantomiming smoothing something over her skin as she said a word in Chinese.

“You mean salve?”

“Yes. This I have.” With a cut of her hand she finished, “You no worry.”

He made note of the grammar slip. It would be helpful to know when the woman was riding the edge. “You wouldn’t be saying that just so I won’t be seeing your br—” He bit off the word and substituted, “Anything inappropriate, would you?”

“My wound can be treated without exposure. This is not one of my worries.”

It took a second to identify the emotion that took him then. Desire. The woman wasn’t his usual type, but there was something about her. He’d dismissed her as a bored wife come to a hanging for the dark thrill when he’d first seen her hiding in the shadows. Mousy had been his first thought, but then she’d come flying across the distance, grabbed a knife, scaled his body as if it was a welcoming oak tree, and well, hell, he’d changed his mind. The woman had the ferocity of a badger under all that quiet. She was beginning to intrigue him.

Taking the towel, she dipped it in the bowl and wrung it out before holding it out. “You should keep the cloth wet and around your neck. The coolness will help with the bruising.”

He took the cloth. The damp material was cold. “If the worst I get out of a hanging is a bit of bruising, I got off light.”

“You were very lucky.”

He shook his head, wincing as the tight muscles protested. “Any luck I had, you made.”

“I would disagree.”

Wrapping the towel around his neck, he gave her a smile, hoping to put her nerves at ease. The cool cloth did feel good. And hopefully it would lessen the swelling that was adding a harsh rasp to his drawl. He swallowed to ease the constriction. “I’ve noticed that you’ve got a habit of being contrary.”

Her gaze flashed to his. He took the look like a punch in the gut. So much was revealed there. Fear. Determination. Uncertainty. She didn’t know what to make of him. Didn’t know what to do, but she was clearly mixed up in something where she felt she was out of options.

“Just how desperate are you?”

Again a flash of those beautiful, exotic eyes, but this time impatience was the predominant emotion. “I married a man about to be hanged,” she snapped. “That would make me very desperate.”

She had a point. Cold water dripped down his chest. He flipped the towel end over his shoulder, stopping the flow. “That you did, but that doesn’t tell me why.”