Sam’s Creed (3 page)

“Get your ass back in the alley,” he hollered. “Kell, guard.”

He hoped the dog knew to guard.

Bullets hit the ground around Sam in rapid succession. Kell hesitated.

“I will help,” Isabella yelled. Sam didn’t know how much help she expected to be with her hands over her face.

He scanned the street, noting positions. “You can help by getting your butt to safety.” He glanced at the bristling dog. “And take Kell with you.”

Juan laughed from behind a post. “You cannot even get your woman to obey, and you expect us to fear you?”

“Nah, I just expect you to die.”

Rolling to his back, dropping the shotgun beside him, he palmed the hammer on his Colt, unleashing a spray of bullets. Three bandits dropped, two didn’t. Shit.

Return fire was immediate. He didn’t have any cover. A bullet struck him in the thigh with a hard punch and a sickening splat. Isabella screamed. He only had a few seconds to act before the pain came calling. Jumping to his feet, Sam ran for Bella, catching her around the waist as he got even, half carrying, half throwing her into the alley. Kell was right behind. Bullets peppered the building in the spot they’d been a split second before. He pressed his back against the wall. Splinters of wood flew, stinging his cheek as he shoved Isabella to the ground.

“When I say to stay put,” Sam growled. “Stay put.”

Pointing the shotgun around the corner, he fired blindly, relying on the scatter to do damage. A high-pitched yell told him he had hit something. The swearing afterward meant probably not fatally.

“Son of a bitch.”

There was a tug at his belt. He turned, another curse on his lips. He did not need an hysterical woman on his hands. Isabella grabbed his hand and slapped something into his palm. His fingers closed around familiar shapes. Bullets. He met her gaze. There was steel beneath that softness.

“Thanks.”

Bullets whined past the alley opening. He cocked the other barrel of the shotgun, waiting for a pause before pointing the barrel around the corner again and pulling the trigger. As soon as it discharged, he tossed it to Isabella along with the pouch of ammunition.

“Do you know how to load that?” he gritted out.

She didn’t waste time on words, just set to work with an efficiency that answered his questions. He shoved bullets into the chambers of his revolvers, keeping an eye on the movement beyond the alley as best he could. “It’s going to get messy here in a minute.”

Her glance fell to the blood on his thigh.

“It already is.”

He was bleeding like a stuck pig. Yanking his bandanna from around his neck, he held it out. “Do me a favor and tie that off.”

She did. He bared his teeth against the pain. “Thanks.”

She yanked the knot tight before handing him back the shotgun. “Do not miss.”

She was a bossy little thing. “I’ll do my best.”

“It would be best if you succeeded.”

Very bossy.

Things were too quiet out there. Sam inched along the wall, being careful his gun belt didn’t scrape. A rhythmic jingle of spurs approached. He shook his head at the foolhardiness of trying to sneak while wearing spurs. He leaned back and waited. The thin barrel of a rifle extended past the corner. Sam didn’t move, holding his palm out flat behind him to warn Isabella not to make a sound. Two heartbeats passed. The gun barrel jerked. Sam dropped to his knee. Fire burned up his thigh. The man leapt around the corner. Sam fired. The bullet hit the outlaw in the heart, stopping him midleap. He dropped, a stunned expression on his face.

Cocking the hammer again, Sam wiped the sweat from his brow with his shoulder and waited. There was no sound.

He spared a quick glance at Bella. Her face was white and her eyes were big with terror, but she was kneeling beside Kell, holding his jaws shut. Sam added quick-thinking to bossy.

Holding his finger to his lip, he indicated she should continue to be silent. She nodded back. Sam inched closer to the corner of the building, blood dripping down his leg in a warm flow. As soon as he took care of the last bandit, he’d have to see just how bad it was. At least the bullet had missed the bone.

“Your friends are dead,” he called out.

No answer.

“I’m willing to let you live, for a price.” Something crashed to the ground. From the splintering aftermath it sounded like a crate. “You promise to take a message to Tejala, and I won’t plug your sorry ass.”

Still no response.

“I’m going to count to three. If I get to three I’m going to take that for a no.”

Another crash. He stepped around the corner. A barrel tumbled off the stack against the livery. Beside it listed a broken crate. A quick scan revealed no guns poking out of windows, no new additions to the battle cluttered the streets. Apparently the citizens of the town were no more married to Juan and his companions than he was.

“One.”

He got to the edge of the barrels, his leg aching like a son of a bitch. Ahead of him he could see the bandit scramble backwards across the ground, one arm held awkwardly at his side. Sam advanced, guns cocked, eyes watchful as the man tripped and fell back to his elbows. A hoarse shout punctuated his fall onto his injured arm. He pushed with his feet but there was nowhere for him to go. Behind him was the building and in front of him was Sam. The wall would be easier to get through.

“Two.”

The bandit finally realized he was trapped. He threw up his hand.
“¿Qué quieres?”

Sam didn’t answer. He let the man stew in his own sweat while he bore down on him. A trickle of blood rolled down his cheek and more blood seeped down his leg.

He kicked the gun away from the bandit’s useless arm. “What does Tejala want with this woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you.” Sam fired a bullet into his other shoulder.

He had to wait until the man’s shouts dropped to a panicked gurgle before he could repeat his question.

“To marry her! She is supposed to be his bride!”

So that part of her story was true.

“If she’s supposed to be his bride why isn’t she married to him?”

“Because I have refused the marriage contract.”

Sam should have known Isabella wouldn’t stay put. She stood beside him, staring down at the man, no expression on her face. “I don’t remember inviting you to this parley.”

Kell worked his way between them, his yellow eyes locked on the bandit. Bella folded her arms across her chest. “I do not remember asking you to capture me.”

He cocked the other hammer of the gun. “And yet we’re both here.”

“And here is where?”

It was the bandit that answered with a sneer. “Here is where you will die.”

Sam was tempted to end it right there. Instead, he placed his foot on the bandit’s injured shoulder and pressed. “Care to share what makes
here
so damn dangerous?”

It took very little for the bandit to spill what he knew. Pretty much one hard push and he was telling all. “Tejala owns this town. Owns this territory. No one will help you for fear of his retribution.”

“I never asked for help.”

The bandit leaned to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood. “You will need it.” He jerked his chin toward the dead. “You killed his cousin. He will not rest until he kills you.”

“Which one’s his cousin?”

Sam looked at Isabella. She shrugged. The bandit was more accommodating. “The one with the moustache.”

“The stupid son of a bitch who came between me and my dinner?”

The man spat again. “In a few days, we will see who is so stupid.”

“If you kill him, no one will know who did this,” Isabella interjected helpfully.

Kell growled as if he approved the plan.

“True.” Sam removed his foot from the bandit’s shoulder as he pretended to consider the notion. “Of course, the thirty or so townsfolk peeking at us from behind the window curtains might be a problem.”

“How many bullets are in your gun?”

Damn if she didn’t have a sense of humor. Swallowing back a chuckle, he shook his head. “Not that many.”

The bandit grimaced, showing rotted teeth stained red with blood. “There is no hope for you, ranger.”

Suppressing an urge to kick those ugly teeth down his throat, Sam kept his voice even. “I wouldn’t go that far. As long as I have the woman, I have a bargaining chip.”

Isabella gasped. A sly glint came into the bandit’s gaze. “Tejala would pay much for her.” He hitched his weight up higher against the wall. “I could bring you to him. We could share the profits.”

“I don’t share.”

“You will need me to find him.”

Sam caught Isabella’s hand, keeping her from getting any further out from his side. “Or I could just plant my feet somewhere and give a shout as to what I’ve got.”

He ignored Isabella’s “Bastard.”

“What do you think of that?”

The bandit spat again. He wiped his chin on his shoulder. “I think that you are a dead man.”

Sam straightened. “I think you’re right. Which means I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Curtains were fluttering like crazy down the street. The town’s residents were getting nervous. Nervous people made him anxious. Isabella tugged on his hand. He looked down.

“If you let me go,” she said, in a voice that shook, “No one will chase you.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?”

“You don’t want me.”

She had to be shitting him. The woman was a curvy little keg of dynamite that had a man thinking about making her explode with his first look. “Darling, there isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t want you.”

He didn’t like the assessing look in her eyes as she cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. “You also?”

“Sure. I’m as red-blooded as the next man.”

“Good.” The too-big hat fell over her face. She pushed it back with an impatient hand. “Then I will hire you.”

“I’m a ranger. I’m not for hire.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Then you can hire me.”

“For what?”

“You’re a ranger in Tejala territory who’s going to have
bandidos
on his trail in a very short time. You’re going to need a guide if you plan on surviving.”

He pushed his hat back with the back of his hand. “I suppose you’re offering your services?”

“Yes.”

“You got any references?”

She waved at the nearly unconscious bandit at their feet. “I have been evading men such as he for the last six months. That must mean something.”

What it meant was she’d been running scared longer than any woman should have to. “Well, I might be impressed if you could prove it was true.”

That chin came up. The hat came down. She rounded on the bandit. “You will tell him it is true.”

The man shook his head. Isabella kicked his calf, then his thigh. Sam figured the family jewels were next. The man grabbed her boot. “I’m not telling him shit.”

Kell lunged in and snapped at his arm. Isabella stomped on his fingers as he jerked it back. “Tell him!”

Sam chuckled as he pulled out a sulphur. They sure were a bloodthirsty pair.

The bandit lurched to the side, cradling his arm. Isabella drew her foot back. Kell stalked forward. It was probably time to step in.

“Hold up.”

Bella whipped around. “Make him speak.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think you’ve tortured him enough?”

“He must tell.”

He put his hand on her shoulder, soothing the panic rippling through her in visible tremors. “Yeah, he must.”

But not the way she thought.

Grabbing the injured man by his shirt, Sam yanked him to his feet. “You’re going to carry a message to Tejala for me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Stupidity ran deep in this bunch. “Because otherwise,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll let those two have at you. Make a choice.”

The bandit grunted. “What is this message?”

“You tell Tejala that if he comes after Bella, he’s coming after Hell’s Eight.”

The man shook his head. “He will not care. He is crazy that way.”

“Funny,” Sam said. “So am I.”

H
e was crazy. Isabella watched as Sam rested his rifle against the cave wall and propped three sticks shoved through several cleaned fish beside it. A dark stain spread downward and outward from the bandanna tied around his thigh. Blood from where he’d been shot, defending her. She did not know much about bullet wounds, but it looked like a lot of blood. Enough blood that they should have stopped back when she’d told him to instead of continuing on to this cave. Kell slid up beside Sam, sniffed his wound and then whined. The wag of his tail knocked one of the sticks. Sam caught it before it could tumble to the dirt floor. “Easy on dinner, mutt.”

Kell stepped back. Isabella wanted to move back, too, when Sam turned toward her. Except she couldn’t. The wall was to her back and her pride was in her face. After all her bold talk, it would be very humiliating to cower now that they were alone.

She motioned to the wound on Sam’s thigh. “You must take better care of yourself.”

Shadows hid his eyes, but she could tell from the angle of his head that he was looking at her. “Worried about losing your guide to San Antonio?”

“
Sí.
You are very important to me right now.”

He favored his leg as he brought the fish over. “Good for a man to know where he stands.”

From where she sat, it seemed he wouldn’t be standing much more. The firelight highlighted the paleness of his face and the lines carved deeper at the corners of his eyes. He was hurting and tired. Because of her. She motioned to the boulder across the fire and against the wall. “You will sit and let me tend to your wound.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” Standing, she brushed the dirt from her skirt. “Unless it is your wish for your wound to fester and for you to die.”

His gaze burned a path from her head to her toes. “I can’t say that I’m anxious to meet my maker just yet.”

The intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable, but oddly enough, not scared.

She pointed to the boulder. “Sit.”

“Is that an order?”

It had been, but maybe ordering a man like Sam around was not such a good idea. She crossed to the saddlebags and rummaged around. “You should think of it as a reasonable request.”

He followed her with that miss-nothing gaze of his. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in response to the look—so strong that it felt like a touch. Her fingers closed over a silver flask.

“When you were thinking of this reasonable request, did you stop to think I’d have to remove my pants to accommodate it?”

She had, but thinking ahead did nothing to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. She had never seen a man naked. It wasn’t done for a young woman of her station, but Sam did not need to know that. “I will do my best to preserve your modesty.”

While gaining as much of an eyeful as she could. She was very curious about the male body.

Sam didn’t answer immediately. His boot sole scuffed over the sandy cave floor. A glance wasn’t any more revealing as to his mood. The press of his lips could be anger as easily as it could be amusement. He was a very hard man to read.

“Well, I appreciate that.”

Uncorking the flask, she took a sniff. The odor of strong drink made her eyes burn.

Sam grunted as he sat down. “That you can pass on over.”

She tapped the cork back into the bottle. “You will drink it if I do.”

His holster scraped rock. “That’s sort of the point.”

He was always so on guard. “I will need it to clean your wound.”

“Like hell.”

Frowning over her shoulder at him, she pulled out a flat packet tied with rawhide. “There is no need for such language.”

“You ever had rotgut poured over an open bullet hole?”

“I am not so foolish as to throw myself in front of a bullet.”

It angered her that he had. Even more that he wasn’t taking the wound seriously. People died from infection.

“Duchess, I was saving your life. That makes me a hero, not a fool.”

She opened the packet and found a needle and catgut inside along with plenty of strips of material for bandages. She didn’t want to think how dangerous Sam’s life must be that he carried such things with him. Nor did she like how little catgut there was compared to bandages. He must be injured often. She snapped the packet closed and brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. “You were needlessly reckless.”

“That’s my job.”

He said that as if it was the truth, but she did not think so. Grabbing up the items, she headed back toward him. He watched her the whole ten steps. There was something in his eyes that had not been there before.

She dropped to her knees by his injured leg, wincing as her muscles protested. She was not used to riding so much. “I think you are too enthusiastic in your doing of this job.”

The soft leather of his glove skimmed her temple, tangled in her hair before curving behind her ear, taking the annoying strand of hair with it. “Pardon me, duchess, but what you know about about my job wouldn’t fit on the head of a pin.”

She carefully placed her hands on his thigh, feeling very bold. Women of her station did not get this close to strange men. It was nothing like touching her leg. There was no softness beneath her fingertips. Just rock-hard muscle. Which only led her to wonder how else men were different. “I do not think I need to know a ranger’s job to know what I see.”

“And what do you see?”

Muscle bunched under the press of her fingertips. She glanced up, catching his gaze. The answer just popped out. “Trouble.”

For one heartbeat Sam didn’t react, and then he laughed, a deep soft sound that slipped over her nerves like warm honey. She slid her hands higher toward the blood-soaked bandage.

“On that you’ve got the right end of the stick.”

“So maybe I have the right end of other sticks, too.”

“I wouldn’t lay money on it.”

She noticed he didn’t deny it outright. Sam MacGregor was an honest man, if maybe a little evasive. The makeshift bandage was stiff with dried blood. It took her a few minutes to work the knot free.

When she parted the edges, she had full view of the hole in his pants and a glimpse of the raw wound beneath. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed it back. She no longer had the luxury of weakness.

“I think I will decide for myself where to put my money.”

And right now everything she had was riding on Sam. Placing the dirty bandanna on the floor, she indicated his pants. “As I have laid my money on you, I would appreciate your help.”

The humor clung to his expression as he pushed his hat back. “You want me to shuck my pants?”

Her blush rose and her mouth went dry. “This would be helpful.”

Again the brush of his fingers over her temple. And then his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face up. Her senses tuned to the four points of pressure, the softness of the leather glove, the scent of his skin, the cool blue of his eyes.

“You ever ask me that with something more lighthearted in mind, I’ll have them off before you can blink.”

It took her a second to process the meaning through the intensity of awareness arcing between them. He was telling her no. She blinked the cobwebs from her mind. That was unacceptable. “They need to come off now.”

So she could get to that ugly-looking wound, among other things.

The fire popped. The aroma of roasted fish drifted closer. Isabella wrinkled her nose. Sam grinned. His thumb touched her lips.

“Hand me the flask and the kit.”

He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. “Why?”

“Because I’m tired, and hungry, and I’m not wearing long johns.”

Now, that was an interesting fact. “You cannot treat yourself.”

His smile broadened. His thumb pressed harder. Her breath caught as her lips parted. The scent of leather and smoke—the scent of Sam—invaded her mouth on a lazy drift, strong enough that she could savor the illusion of his taste. “I can do a lot of things that would stretch your imagination.”

“We are no longer talking about stitching your wound, are we?”

“We should be.”

His fingers pressed upward in a silent command. The stiffness in her legs made standing more difficult than it should be. The hunger in his eyes made staying put even more difficult. Even Tejala had not looked at her with such want.

“For future reference, Bella, getting on your knees in front of a man is not a good idea.”

“Why?”

His grip shifted to her upper arm as he helped her up the last few inches. “That you will have to ask your husband.”

It was not her imagination that his fingers lingered on her upper arm. Nor that where his fingers lingered, tiny fires seemed to start under her skin. “I am not married.”

“Then you’ll have to wait for the why until you are.”

“This would require patience.” She stepped back, the heat from his gaze strangely finding a home under her skin. “I do not have much patience.”

“So I’m beginning to understand.” He reached into the top of his boot. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

Pulling out a wicked-looking knife, he slid it into the hole in his pants. Material ripped under the lethal blade. “Because today’s been bad enough without you puking up your guts on the floor.”

He saw too much. “I can control my stomach.”

He stuck the knife blade in the fire. A quick glance showed the furrow carved in the hard muscle of his thigh. Blood seeped out in a sluggish flow. Her gorge rose and for a split second she thought she would actually throw up.

With a sigh, he stood. She felt like a monster when he winced. As a result, she offered no resistance when he took her shoulders in his hands. “Do us both a favor and show me how tough you are tomorrow.”

With that, he turned her around. The weight of his hands was not unwelcome. Her reaction to him was very confusing.

The minutes stretched. No sound came from him. Isabella would have felt better if he had moaned or groaned. The silence left her with nothing but her own imagination to fill the emptiness.

“You should let me help.”

He grunted. Something fell to the ground with a small thunk. “Nothing much to do. It’s just a crease.”

“Then why do you need the knife?”

“The bullet was stuck a bit under the skin.”

The small thunk. “It is out?”

“Yup.”

She turned around. He was tying a fresh bandage over the wound. “You did not sew it.”

“No need.”

“It will scar.”

The thought of that bothered her.

“One more isn’t going to kill me.”

“It is unnecessary.”

“A needle and thread is what’s unnecessary. Especially with dinner waiting.”

Isabella couldn’t forget the size of the furrow now hidden by the white bandage. The scar would be large. Unnecessarily so, forever marring the beauty of his thigh. The danger of infection was very real. “Your leg is more important.”

He grabbed up the flask. “Tell that to my stomach.”

Anger, unreasonable and hot, snapped through her. He hadn’t sewn the wound, and now he would waste the only thing they did have to treat it? She snatched the container from his hand. “You are not so big and bad that an infection will not visit.”

“Hand that back, Bella, before I paddle your butt for messing with a man’s liquor.”

The warning in his tone just fed the resentment pouring through her. He had no right to talk to her so, threaten her like a child. Risk himself so needlessly.

She dumped the liquor over the bandage. Too late, she realized what she’d done. She dropped the flask.
“¡O, madre de Dios!”

Sam’s face flushed red and his mouth settled into a grimace of agony. She’d never heard such words as what came from his mouth as he grabbed at the soaked bandage. Nor the ones that followed once the alcohol found his wound. He would kill her.

Sam stood. Isabella ran. He caught her before she made it five steps.

“God damn, you get back here.”

She went with his tug, spinning around, fists up as she’d seen her guard Zacharias do when he was going to throw a punch.

Sam just stood holding her, breathing as if he’d run miles, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a flat line…and stared.

And then, catching her fists in his hand, he laughed. A real laugh that scalded her pride. A laugh that made her not care how handsome he was. A laugh that had her struggling wildly as he drew her arms wide and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. And then her mouth. Their first kiss, and he had not asked!

She struggled harder. He paid no mind, just kept his lips on hers, letting her struggles dictate the pressure in soft slides and quick jerks. Her thighs brushed against his, her chest against his abdomen. Her struggles slowed as anger changed to something softer, something as fragile as the next skim of his mouth over hers. Her arms were pulled wider, bringing her body flush against his much bigger one. His lips parted just a hint. There was the moistness of his breath and then the shocking glide of his tongue, gentle and tantalizing, along the seam of her lips. Lightning flared in a brilliant arc along her nerve endings, jerking her up onto her toes before tossing her back.

Sam let her go. She did not immediately back away, anger and something else keeping her feet planted in place. Though he stood a foot away, Isabella could still feel the pressure of his lips, the heat of his breath, the temptation he presented. Why did he fascinate her so?

She clenched her fists. “You had no right to do that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry, but she was. “I am sorry I poured the spirits on your wound. Though it needed to be done, I should not have done it like that.”

He cocked his head to the side and a grin ghosted his lips. “You just can’t help it, can you?”

“What?”

“Sounding so high-and-mighty.”

“I think my poor English gives the impression of arrogance.”

Sam’s smile broadened. “Yeah, that’s likely it.”

She had the distinct feeling he was laughing at her. He had no right to laugh. He was as wrong as she was. Putting her hands on her hips, she challenged him. “Kisses should not be stolen.”

“I agree.”

“They should be given freely.”