Lois Greiman Read online

  No answer came, and she felt a sob jerk at her chest. “Mr. Ryland?”

  His eyes opened groggily. “You been flaying me with an oak sapling?”

  She winced, her hand still on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You were too heavy for me. I had Soldier drag you into the woods.”

  Travis bent his neck slightly, noting the wet leather still tied about his chest like an instrument of torture. His brows rose, and he leaned back again, his mouth turning up in a shadow of a pained smile. “Always were,” he whispered, lifting a hand weakly to touch Katherine’s cheek, “a clever girl.”

  The afternoon stretched on interminably. Fear and fatigue battled in Katherine’s shocked system. It was cold in the shadowed ravine, and she shivered. It had taken a bit of doing to get Soldier to join them, but he stood now, chomping on the dried grass she had gathered for him, his bit rattling quietly as he chewed.

  Ryland was covered with his thin bedroll, which was slightly wet but better than nothing. He moaned in his sleep, and she moved nearer.

  Perhaps she should try to wake him again, but her previous efforts had been to no avail and only seemed to increase his pain. And even if she managed to wake him—what then?

  Katherine studied Ryland’s face. It was broad at the cheekbones then narrowed in gaunt lines to be hidden under the mass of his beard, which was trimmed and similar in color to the weathered leaves that covered the forest floor. His nose was straight, his eyebrows sun-bleached, as was his long, unkempt hair, which had dried and remained swept back, away from his forehead. She found herself wondering at his heritage. Scandinavian perhaps. There was something about him that reminded her of the Vikings she had studied with her schoolchildren not so many months before.

  A scraping in the woods above scrambled Katherine’s thoughts, causing her breath to freeze in her aching chest. Seconds stretched her nerves into raw bands of tension as she watched the slope above.

  A squirrel scurried over a log and into view, jumping at the sight of them before settling down on its haunches to scold her for its fright.

  Katherine drew a deep, quivering breath of relief, but could not still the thundering of her heart.

  What if it had been something more treacherous than a squirrel? What if it had been their pursuers? Eventually they would find them, wouldn’t they? She’d read stories about these western trackers. Men who could follow week-old trails in the dark. But perhaps the stories had been embellished. Or perhaps not.

  Should she venture from their relative safety to hide their trail? She glanced at Soldier, who seemed to have no opinion, then, scowling worriedly, she pulled Ryland’s blanket higher on his chest and scurried up the slope.

  It was dark! Katherine’s heart thumped against her ribs, and her feet felt numb from the cold. Perhaps she had slept for a moment. Fragments of details filtered back to her scrambling mind. She’d come to Colorado to inherit Aunt Dahlia’s business.

  Patterson had died.

  Ryland had appeared.

  There’d been shots.

  Water—cold as ice.

  A branch snapped up above. Inches away, Soldier lifted his head, the black points of his pricked ears hidden in the darkness. Moonlight filtered weakly through the freshly leafed branches.

  Nearby and above a horse nickered!

  Katherine’s chest ached from lack of breath. She was on her knees, her frigid fingers reaching pleadingly for Soldier’s nose, entreating him to be silent.

  “Red! You scared the shit outta me.”

  “Find anything?”

  The men were close enough for her to hear their horses restlessly shuffle their feet. Katherine remained frozen, too afraid to do more than pray.

  “No, I ain’t found nothin’. It’s blacker than hell. We ain’t never gonna find nothin’ in here. And anyhow, I’m tellin’ y’, I blasted him clean through the chest. He couldn’t a made it this far nohow.”

  “Then where’s the body?”

  “How the hell should I know? I’m just tellin’ y’ he’s dead, is all. Unless you’re believin’ them stories ‘bout him being a ghost.”

  “Shut your damn mouth. Ryland’s just flesh and blood. Same as me.”

  “Same as you, only dead,” corrected the other. “We might just as soon head downriver to New Prospect. Have us some whiskey and a soft—”

  “You ain’t gonna rest your sorry ass in Prospect!” growled Red. “Y’ hear me? I done too much work already to stop now. We ain’t quittin’ till we can drop Ryland’s bloody carcass on Grey’s doorstep.”

  “And the girl?”

  Katherine’s lungs ached.

  “Grey wants her…pronto.”

  “I’d think we could at least—”

  “Grey don’t pay y’t’ think, Cory.” The horses shuffled about again.

  “And he ain’t payin’ me enough to be riskin’ my hide out here in these goddamn woods. Why ain’t Delias here doin’ the dirty work?”

  “I told you before,” Red snarled. “I don’t need that old man doin’ my job.” He paused. “You say you got Ryland in the chest?”

  “Yah.”

  “And I hit his leg—or maybe his horse.” He paused. “They couldn’t a made it this far. Come on.” Hoofbeats moved away. “We’ll head upstream.”

  The voices faded off in a rustle of leaves and underbrush.

  Time slipped away unnoticed. Katherine’s muscles felt cramped. Her knees hurt from the pressure of the rocky soil, but her hand remained pressed tightly to Soldier’s dark muzzle.

  She eased back on her heels, her chest aching from the breath she’d held too long, her gaze falling to Ryland’s face.

  His eyes were open, his body still as a rock. “It ain’t going to help to swoon,” he reasoned quietly.

  “I’m not going to swoon.” She spoke without thinking, her voice sounding distant and strange.

  “Good. Then you better have a plan.”

  The world shifted. The dark edges of Katherine’s consciousness tilted queerly.

  “Lady!” His tone was sharp. “You better have a plan cuz I hurt like hell and I’m blamin’ you.”

  “Me?” The single word seemed to roll down a long tunnel and echo quietly in the night.

  “Yah.” His hand caught her arm, jerking firmly. “So let’s go.”

  “Go?” She stared at his hand. It was square and large. “Go?”

  “Listen, lady, this is fascinating conversation, but I know you couldn’t a been sitting here doing nothing the whole day. Not a smart woman like you. So tell me what you’ve figured out.” He watched her face like she imagined a hawk would watch its prey, his eyes unblinking and sharp.

  She said nothing, her mind wandering blearily, and he jerked her arm again.

  “Woman,” he growled fiercely. “It’s your fault we’re in this hole. Now get us out.”

  Reality snapped in place with a click and a start. Katherine raised her nose, drawing her arm haughtily from his grasp. The lousy ingrate. She’d save his worthless hide, and he dared treat her like some mangy, stray dog!

  “New Prospect,” she said with hard finality, rising rapidly to her feet. “I’ve got friends there.”

  Chapter 6

  The town was quiet, the streets dark.

  Katherine waited in the deep shadows of the pines, watching the Red Garter. She’d lied outright to Ryland. She had no friends in New Prospect. But Daisy did.

  Stroking one grubby, scratched hand absently down Soldier’s broad neck, Katherine wet her sun-dried lips. What now? It would be dawn in a couple of hours. Ryland was slumped over the stallion’s neck like an overused rag doll, scraps of her nightshift tying him in place.

  What if Red and Cory had come to New Prospect after all? What if word of Patterson’s death had spread from Silver Ridge and the entire state was armed and searching for them?

  Ryland moaned, the sound weak and eerie, and Katherine’s hand froze on Soldier’s neck. Her options were few. She’d made her best choi
ce, had labored along the river’s rugged wandering course for hours without end, and she had no strength to go farther. Besides, New Prospect was the only place the man called Red had said they wouldn ‘t go.

  “Stay here.” Her hand slipped to Soldier’s face, not realizing she expected him to understand. “I’ll be back.”

  Moonlight cast its wavering shadow along her skittered course toward the dance hall. The back door proved to be locked when she tested it. Katherine bit her lip, glancing furtively about, looking for another way in and finding none.

  There was nothing to do but knock. The rap of her knuckles against the heavy portal sounded ominously loud in the darkness, and Katherine squeezed closer to the door, hoping to be swallowed by the shadows.

  No answer. She let her air out in a quiet whoosh, grimaced, and rapped again, slightly louder.

  “We’re closed, laddies. Go sleep it off elsewhere.”

  The voice from inside was husky and confident, laced with tired good humor, and staunchly Scottish.

  Katherine straightened, hope stiffening her spine. “Please.” Her voice sounded pathetic to her own ears. “Please. Open up.” She leaned against the door, feeling weakness flood up like a consuming wave. “I need hel…” she began, but before she’d completed the word, the door opened with a snap and she was pulled into Daisy’s hearty embrace.

  “Miss Katherine. Oh, miss.” Daisy hugged her tightly, stroking the wild mass of her tangled hair. “I was so worried, I was. What with you running after Ryland like you done. I was ‘fraid I’d never see you again. But I says—she’s smart, Daisy. What would a smart lady do? And then I remembered telling you about the Red Garter. And I thought you’d come ‘ere, if ever you could. So I come straight ‘ere, ‘oping against ‘ope that you’d be along—that you’d get away from that crazed killer and—”

  “He’s outside.” Katherine could barely press the words past her overwhelming fatigue.

  “Out—side?” Daisy pushed Katherine slowly to arm’s length. “Outside?”

  “Where?” asked another voice.

  For the first time Katherine noticed the woman by the window. Her hair was just a shade brighter than the scarlet gown she wore, her expression harder than pressed steel, and in her hand she held a rifle with casual familiarity.

  “Lacy. Lacy MacTaggart,” Daisy explained with a pert nod. “A friend.”

  “Where is he?” asked the woman solemnly, her Scottish burr strong.

  “Ryland?” Katherine asked, straightening a little to pull from Daisy’s arms as she watched MacTaggart’s taut expression.

  “Is there someone else about that I might be speakin’ of?”

  Katherine’s gaze dropped to the rifle, then lifted to Lacy’s face, her hand still clasping Daisy’s sleeve. “He didn’t kill the mayor.”

  The room was silent.

  “Daisy.” Katherine turned her face desperately to the English girl’s. “You know he didn’t.”

  “But ‘e killed plenty others, miss. ‘E’s dangerous, and—”

  “Oh, hell. We know he’s dangerous, Daisy. Now where is he?” snapped Lacy.

  Katherine wondered if there was a bounty on his head. She’d read all about bounties in her novels. She backed against the door now, fatigue causing her knees to shake. She’d gone through a great deal of trouble to keep Ryland alive, and wasn’t quite ready to see him dead yet. “He’s well hidden,” she said soberly. “You won’t find him. He didn’t do it.” Katherine held Lacy’s gaze, fighting back the swirling cloud that threatened to spill her onto the floor. “You won’t find…” she said, but Lacy’s face dipped and swerved. The floor bucked upward, and she fell, her dark hair spilling around her like a black tide.

  The unearthly beauty of the music stopped, the melodious strains peacefully floating into darkness to finally become mixed and confused with screams of terror.

  “Nooo!” Travis shrieked, clawing his way to the surface of reality, fighting back waves of memory and sleep. “No!” He jerked himself upright, frantically searching for a weapon.

  “It’s all right.” Both Katherine’s hands clutched his arm. Her face was close to his, her eyes beautiful in the flickering candlelight.

  “Rachel,” he breathed. “Rachel.”

  “It’s all right.” Her face was so solemn and sweet. Her hair loose and dark. “We’re safe.”

  Travis could not lift his gaze from her face. She was just as she should be. Soft and sweet and strong. “Safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “My leg hurts.” The words were right. It was his voice that surprised him. It was deep and mature and confusing.

  But, of course, if Rachel had grown, he would have done the same.

  “They got the bullet out.” Her tone was soothing and husky, having lost the girlish lisp she had had as a child. “You’re going to be fine now. Lie back.”

  Her fingers were warm against the bare flesh of his arm as she helped him settle against the pillows. “Sleep,” she ordered gently, but he could not. Awful things waited for him in the guise of dreams.

  “You’re safe?” he asked tentatively. His hand had caught hers.

  “Yes.”

  “Not hurt?”

  “No.”

  He nodded, loosening his grip with an effort. “So smart,” he breathed softly. “You were always so smart.” His head hurt, but he scowled and tried to think. “Soldier?”

  “He’s fine, hidden where no one will find him,” Katherine soothed. “He sends his love.”

  Travis nodded again. Rachel always knew what to do. Always knew. His lids drifted shut, but darkness threatened to take her, and he wrestled them open, shifting his eyes quickly to find her face again. “Rachel?”

  “Yes? I’m here.”

  “I love you,” whispered the small boy in the man’s body.

  Travis slid unsteadily from a dream, not sure whether to hurry from the disturbing remnants of slumber or hold to the dark images allowed by sleep. Past experience had proven reality to sometimes be worse than his nightmares.

  He opened his eyes warily.

  The ceiling was white. His arm hurt like hell, and his right leg was numb, but no ropes bound his hands, his ribs didn’t burn, and it wasn’t raining.

  He’d learned to be grateful for the little things.

  It was a woman’s room. He wasn’t certain how he knew, but he knew. There was a window to his right. It was curtained with lacy drapery, holding back the bright light of day.

  He turned his head, drawing in his perceptions carefully.

  In the past—however long it had been since he’d first met the lady with the seductive voice—he’d been bound, nearly hanged, shot, half drowned, and dragged by his horse over some godforsaken side of the Rocky Mountains. He remembered it all so vividly now that the images startled him, making him decide it might be wise to be cautious.

  Examining the room further, Travis stopped his gaze as his attention snagged on a curled feminine form that slumbered by his bed. It was her! Travis closed his eyes and swore in silence. Why was she here? She should be long gone by now, halfway to Philadelphia, or wherever the hell it was she came from.

  He opened his eyes. She was slumped in a nearby chair, close enough for him to touch her. Her hair was braided again, but coiled now atop her small head, which rested against the padded wing of the floral fabric.

  Her pale, scathed hands were lax in slumber. Her dress was not noteworthy, but her face… There was something about her face that made his chest ache to look at it. It was heart-shaped, with a shallow, delicate dimple in the center of her chin, and a dark peak of hair extending just a smidgen of an inch down the middle of her forehead. Dark, thick lashes rested over her hidden eyes, and her strawberry-tinted lips were slightly parted, exposing small, even teeth as she exhaled softly.

  “Rachel.” He breathed the word without realizing, and the woman scowled, her hands fluttering gently as she drew herself quickly from sleep.

  He knew the exact ins
tant when she came fully awake, for her lovely, dimpled jaw dropped slightly and her eyes opened to enormous widths.

  Her eyes! They were not honey brown as he’d imagined, but were an unearthly shade of silver-blue, like the mountain sky after a heavy rain.

  “Mr. Ryland.” She breathed his name almost like the prayers Rachel had taught him as a child. Travis felt the words quiver like a well-aimed arrow in his gut.

  She was a dark-haired angel, like a faded memory so dear he dared not pull it out for scrutiny.

  “Mr. Ryland.” Her small hand touched his arm with gentle slowness. “You’re awake.”

  Travis was unable to answer her for his insides twisted into knots of hopeless mush.

  “I feared…” She stopped and studied him. Her delicate face was so close to him now, her hand feather-light on his hale arm. She smiled, the expression tremulous, making Travis feel as if he were falling like an axed lodgepole sliding toward oblivion. “But you’ll be fine now. I know it.”

  He needed her. Like no one else. Like he hadn’t needed anything for years. Her very presence spoke to him, begged him to be a better…

  No! Travis squashed his soppish longings and remembered the school of survival with well-rehearsed practice. Never become attached. Never become involved.

  “Where the devil, am I?” he asked, his voice rumbling low and gravelly through his parched throat.

  She blinked twice and drew her hand away, caution returning to her mesmerizing features. “We’re in New Prospect.” She stood slowly, her back straightening. “At Lacy MacTaggart’s…establishment.”

  “A whorehouse?”

  He felt her retreat, though she didn’t move, and an empty place near Travis’s heart twisted while his mind nodded in smug satisfaction.

  “A dance hall,” she corrected stiffly.

  “How far from Silver Ridge?”

  “I don’t know. It took me all night to—”

  “Why didn’t you get the hell outta here like I told you to?” he snapped.

  She watched him, speechless for a moment, and then, “I couldn’t leave you,” she whispered softly.

  His heart wrenched at the words, threatening to spill him back into living nightmares, but he’d learned to survive and survive he would. “Why the hell not?” he demanded gruffly.