Shadow's Stand (3 page)

“Damn, that’s one woman that’s hungry for a man.”

She ignored the growing threat around her and focused on the man. He started to struggle and buck, fighting for air. “Stay still.”

His gaze snapped to hers. Wild. Defiant.

She put the knife against his neck. “It is not your jugular I wish to cut.”

With a discipline that shocked her, he went still. Biting her lip, she wiggled the knife between his neck and the rope. “Maternal grandmother,” she prayed, “let this work.”

Blood welled as the knife slid like butter through a pinch of skin.

And please do not let me cut an artery.

As hard as she could, she pulled the blade toward her. The thief didn’t move. The rope didn’t give. His color took on an alarming blue hue. Maybe his neck was broken. What did she know? She jerked the knife upward and the rope separated under the sharp blade. The uncontrolled movement cut her breast. She cried out. The men around her swarmed in. She didn’t fool herself that it was out of concern. They were like vultures, these men. Brandishing the knife, she ordered, “Stay back.”

They laughed, but at least they stopped. The thief just lay there, not kicking, not moving. She thought he’d slid too slowly off the horse to break his neck, but he was certainly injured. She stood there, brandishing the knife, blood running down her chest, her voice far from the well-modulated tones her father insisted she always use as was proper for a woman of her station. “Do not come closer.”

“You think you scare us, little girl?”

Shaking from head to toe, the knife clutched in front of her, bloody blade thrust out, she stepped down hard in the middle of the thief’s broad chest to get his attention. He sucked in a wheezing breath and coughed.

“We must leave,” she informed him.

His gaze met hers. There was no denying that he was a handsome man. It was an odd moment to notice such a thing, but with danger all about, her senses seemed sharper. She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t immediately answer. He rolled to his side displaying his hands and the thin rope binding them. A quick, harsh slash removed the bond. Pressing his hand up to his throat, he checked the blood. “You rescuing me or killing me?”

His voice was rough, masculine with a pleasant rasp. A shiver went down her spine.

“I have yet to decide.” The men pressed in. This time she shivered for a different reason.

“Get away from him, Fei.”

“No.” She couldn’t back down. Couldn’t go forward.

The thief looked around. “Make up your mind.”

“I have. You are not listening.”

One cock of his eyebrow and she was suddenly reminded that dragons had long memories and couldn’t always be trusted.

“You don’t need a man as bad as that, Fei,” Barney said. “I’ll be glad to take care of your needs.”

“Hell, if we’re getting in line, I’ve got first dibs. I’ve had my eyes on this sweet thing for months,” Damon said, licking his lips.

Fear leaped inside her. This was not good. The thief just watched her, waiting. For what?

I want her to ask me.

For her to make a choice, she realized. The circle around her got tighter. Dragon or vultures? There was not much of a decision to make. Barney stepped in. The sheriff laughed. Herbert swore and turned away. The padre spat. Damon reached out.

“Marry me,” she gasped.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

With a speed that left her blinking, the thief was on his feet, the knife she’d been holding now in his hand, redder now with Damon’s blood. Before her Damon was screaming and holding his hand. Barney was on the ground, clutching at his face from the thief’s kick, and everyone was backing up while he just stood there, the slightest smile on his lips.

Dragon.

The sheriff slid his hand down toward his guns.

“I wouldn’t.” It was a warning given with lethal softness. The sheriff didn’t complete the reach for his gun, but his bluster continued. “What do you think you’re doing, injun?”

The thief snagged her hand. With disconcerting ease, he tugged her into his side. When she looked up, it was to find him looking down. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t read his eyes and didn’t know what he was trying to tell her as he squeezed her waist.

“By the looks of things, getting married.”

CHAPTER TWO

H
IS
NEW
WIFE
WASN
’
T
MUCH
of a talker. She’d been silent ever since their “wedding.” Shadow wasn’t sure the procedure they’d gone through was actually legal—hell, he wasn’t even sure the drunken fool who’d married them was really a preacher—but whereas other women would have been completely concerned with the legality of the ceremony, his wife was more concerned that he get his ass in the wagon so they could head out. But not before asking, in that sweetly melodic voice of hers, that his feet be tied as well as his hands. The sheriff and his men had been more than happy to oblige and had even done her one better. They’d found shackles for his ankles. With a soft “thank you,” his wife had dropped the key into the lace-trimmed pocket above her breast.

Of all the things that pissed him off about the last day, it was her drawing his attention to her breasts that he resented the most. He wasn’t a marrying man. All he had to offer a woman was the pain and violence of his own upbringing and no decent woman deserved that. Hell, no woman deserved that, but his little wife had tucked that key into the pocket, and suddenly he was thinking in terms of rights and possibilities. Like how those small, pert breasts would look all creamy and white against his darker skin. How the nipples would feel, centered in his palm as he plumped them for his mouth. How she’d moan and whisper his name.

Shadow pulled himself up short. With what? Love? Who did he think he was kidding? Tracker might have found love with his Ari, but there were differences between him and his twin brother. Differences that Ari had seen. Differences Tracker refused to acknowledge, but, safe to say, the parts of his brother that Ari had found to love didn’t exist in him. Inside him there was only darkness. If there wasn’t, murdering the man who’d tried to kill his sister-in-law and her daughter would have given him pause rather than satisfaction. He was a killer, plain and simple. Despite all those years he’d been a Texas Ranger, now, with a price on his head, he was on the correct side of the law. An outlaw.

We’ll get this settled, Shadow.

Tracker’s promise the last time they’d met up had slipped past Shadow’s guard, lingering in that weak place he’d never been able to kill off. The part of him that wanted to be worthy of softer things. Tracker had a way of saying things that made a man believe. Back that with the fact he was tenacious and loyal and his promises had weight. Shadow knew Tracker would never stop fighting and believing in him. Fighting even when Shadow stopped. He’d been Shadow’s conscience all his life. His barometer for what was good, because for Shadow sometimes the lines blurred, as if all those beatings during his years growing up had broken something in him that had hung tough in his brother. When necessary, Tracker would kill without batting an eye, but he found it a lot less necessary than Shadow did. Maybe it was patience or some latent belief in good triumphing over evil, but whatever it was, Shadow lacked it. And he’d long since stopped searching for it.

Just stay out of trouble until we do.

Shadow leaned back against the backrest and smiled at Caine’s warning. Caine might be as tough as nails and the leader of Hell’s Eight, but he couldn’t control everything, least of all the wildness inside Shadow that needed to lash out. Metal clanked against metal as Shadow shifted his feet. He wondered what Caine would think of this situation. A smile tugged his lips as he imagined the other man’s curse.

The woman jumped at the sound.
Fei,
they’d called her. She eyed the shackles and licked her lips before releasing a slight sigh of relief and turning back to the road. Shadow didn’t echo her sigh of relief. It took a whole lot of trouble to send a woman to the hangman’s noose looking for a husband. And he wasn’t feeling charitable.

“You know leaving isn’t going to be the end of it?”

She nodded and snapped the reins against the old workhorse’s back. It irked him that she didn’t even look at him.

“You don’t seem overly concerned.”

“I have you.”

He did like the sound of her voice, so soft and melodic. It made him think of a delicate flower swaying in the breeze, likely to be crushed by the most careless of steps. It was an interesting image, considering this was a woman who had climbed up his body as he was strangling for breath to cut the rope and free him. Those were not the actions of a delicate flower. Those were the actions of a fighter. And damn it! The contrast intrigued him.

“What makes you so sure? As soon as I get the shackles off I could be planning on robbing you blind and then heading out.”

“You won’t.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. He’d done a lot of things in his life as Hell’s Eight. Hell’s Eight weren’t too picky about how they got the job done, but once they’d become Texas Rangers they’d usually stayed on the right side of the law. Keeping the women of Hell’s Eight safe had cost him his badge and put him squarely in outlaw territory, but he hadn’t found the adjustment too strenuous. Hell’s Eight or outlaw, he was still only going to do what he decided needed doing. It just wasn’t dressed up fancy now.

“You sound awfully sure.”

She nodded again. “You are too arrogant to be a petty thief.”

That might have been a shot right along with being a justification. The corner of his mouth twitched in the first glimmer of a smile. It had been a long time since he’d smiled. “Arrogant people don’t steal?”

“Not those that carry your arrogance.”

Interesting theory. People generally formed quick opinions of him when they met him, usually something dark. She apparently saw in him some sort of honor. “Well, arrogant or not, those men back there are likely going to head to the saloon to keep drinking. And the more they drink the more they’re going to start thinking about the one that got away.” He gave her a pointed look. “That would be you.”

This time, she did look at him. A sidelong glance. “And you.”

“I’m used to it.”

“And you think I am not?”

He’d seen more than his fair share of women used to men coming after them when he’d been searching for Ari. Shattered shells of whatever they’d been before. He had no doubt that this woman was not accustomed to being any stranger’s plaything. There was an innocence about her that had yet to be broken. “No.”

“Oh.”

That
“Oh”
was very small. It annoyed him that she kept the fighter in her hidden. “Are you deferring to me as your husband, or do you really not have an opinion?”

“I do not consider you my husband.”

That was said with a scathing calm. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What if I consider you my wife, and tonight my wedding night? What are you going to do, then?”

There wasn’t a heartbeat between his question and her response. “Evade your advances until such time as I can rectify the situation.”

Shadow didn’t think she was talking about a trip to an attorney. He shifted on the seat. The rough wood picked at his clothing. The woman picked at his curiosity. She was small, with delicate bones and the slender build common to Asian women. But it was clear that she wasn’t pure Chinese. Her skin was too fair. And her features were more those of a white woman with a touch of exotic in the slant to her eyes and the height of her cheekbones. Her eyes were beautiful, though. Large and dark green with amber flecks that reflected the brilliance of the setting sun. There was nothing about her that would imply a threat, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Interesting plan. Too bad you don’t have the muscle to back it.”

Was that the slightest bit of tension in her hands? She gave the reins another flick. The horse continued to plod on at its slow, even pace.

“Muscle is not required.”

“Why not?”

She clearly didn’t want to tell him. “Because there are other ways than force.”

He wasn’t in the mood to humor her. “Such as?”

She blew out a breath and shot him a glare. “I saved your life.”

“What makes you think that makes a pig’s snort of difference as to how I’m going to treat you?”

She shook her head. “You have arrogance.”

“So you said before.”

“Arrogance needs a sense of honor to keep it happy.”

“You think I’m honorable?”

Her fingers tightened on the reins. It was the only indication that his skepticism gave birth to any uncertainty in her.

“Yes.”

He rattled the chains on his shackles, just to rattle her nerves. He had the satisfaction of seeing her jump. “So, you’re banking your life and virtue on my arrogance and some illusion of honor?”

She shook her head and set her jaw. “You talk too much.”

And she didn’t want to answer his question. “Never been accused of that before.”

Another sidelong glance out of those pretty eyes. “This I find hard to believe.”

“You calling me a liar?”

The pitch of his voice turned her head around. She swallowed, once, twice. At least she had the sense to know when to be cautious. In the fading light, he noticed the dark stain on her dress. In the next second, he saw the tear above it. A slit similar to many he’d put in men’s clothing over the years. All inclination to tease left. Leaning forward, he grabbed the reins and pulled the horse up. As Fei snatched them back, he grabbed her arm, turning her toward him. “How badly are you hurt?”

She looked down, her dark lashes fanning her cheek, not meeting his gaze. “It is nothing.”

The hell it wasn’t. “That’s a knife wound.”

“The blade slipped as I freed you.”

He remembered the jerk as she’d sawed at the rope around his neck. He reached for the buttons on her dress. She slapped his hands. He persisted.

“Don’t get your feathers ruffled. I’m just going to check your wound.”

“This is not necessary.”

The dress tore as she twisted away. “Stop.”

“Unless you want to end up naked, I suggest you sit still.”

She continued slapping at his hands. He continued ignoring her protests, keeping her in place with his grip on her dress. She glared at him as the fifth button came undone and he could see the blood on her camisole.

“This isn’t fair.”

Life rarely was. “Next time, I’d suggest making sure your husband’s hands are tied behind his back, not in front.”

Her mouth worked. He waited for the inevitable retort. It died under a facade of calm. He shook his head. Damn, a man had to admire a woman with that much control, even as he had to wonder how she’d developed it.

“You keep swallowing bile like that,” he said as he continued to unfasten buttons, “and you’re going to find an early grave.”

She looked back down the road they’d traveled. “I do not think bile will be what sends me there.”

His promise to himself to not give a shit about anything that didn’t concern him faded under that worried glance. He told himself it was because the woman had saved his life. “You’re in bigger trouble than you let those yahoos think, aren’t you?”