She looked away, closed her eyes. She was going to have to beat him to that horse. But she heard another horse approaching. She glanced around to see his brother riding up to them and dismounting—or attempting to. He fell halfway to the ground, groaning. Blood was pouring down one of his legs.
“You’re bleeding, Bert?” Curly said. It sounded like an accusation.
“He shot me. This is the second damn time he’s shot me! I want him dead.”
“Idiot, you’ve left a blood trail that will lead him here.”
“He won’t find it.” Bert smirked. “I rode down the stream until I was out of the mountains, then galloped on the flats straight here.”
“That skinny-ass stream that flows by his camp? Your horse would’ve still left some tracks around it.”
“Good, then we wait till he shows and shoot him, and her, too.”
“I’m not shooting her,” Curly said, giving Violet another glance. “She’s too pretty.”
“Can’t leave witnesses. Bad enough we can never live in Wyoming again with all those wanted posters hung in every town down there. Up in this territory, they don’t know us. We’re keeping it that way.”
There was no hiding her trembling now when she saw Curly grudgingly nod his agreement. And Bert managed to get to his feet to draw the gun from his holster, and then her Colt, which he’d stuck in his pants. But it was obvious that he’d been weakened by blood loss. The man hadn’t even stopped long enough to tie off the wound to try to lessen the flow. He seemed somewhat dazed from it, wobbling on his feet. She might be able to leap at him, knock him over and grab one of those Colts. But she’d never done anything so daring or aggressive in her life! It certainly wouldn’t be easy with her wrists tied together. She’d have to get the gun even as he fell, before she got shot for the effort. So grab, roll, shoot. What other choice—?
The bullet went right through Bert’s neck, blood splattering in every direction. Both of his Colts fell to the ground as he tried to cover one side of his neck. He fell over, face-first.
With blood on her face, her hands, her dress, and a dead man lying only feet away, Violet was screaming hysterically. She couldn’t stop, not even when the brother who wasn’t dead yanked her up and held her in front of him, his gun pressed to her cheek. He slowly turned in a circle as if he couldn’t find the shooter, had no idea from which direction the shot that had killed his brother had come.
“Show yourself or she dies!” he yelled. And then he hissed by her ear, “Shut the hell up. He can’t hear me with you yelling. Shut up or I’ll smash your head!”
She vaguely heard another shot as she fainted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SHE WAS BEING CARRIED, she guessed by Morgan. But when Violet opened her eyes she screamed and struggled, not recognizing whoever was taking her away.
“Wasn’t exactly expecting this reaction to my shaving. It’s still me, Morgan, you know.”
It was his voice, even if it wasn’t his face. She stopped struggling to gaze up at him, trying to process the change in his appearance. It truly wasn’t easy.
“You look so different,” she said as she clung to him. “But you rescued me. I knew you would. I was so scared!”
He held her tighter. “You’re safe now.”
“Are they both . . . ? ”
“Yeah. Faked or not, your fainting got you out of the way so I could take a clean shot at the last one. Smart thinking if you planned it, good timing otherwise.”
She wasn’t sure how to fake a faint, but now there were two fewer killers on the loose, so she should be glad. She should thank him for rescuing her, too. She would have died if he hadn’t.
He set her on the ground when he reached Caesar and wrapped a blanket around her, probably because she was still trembling. But when he tied the two horses he’d been leading behind them to Caesar’s saddle, she asked haltingly, “What are you doing? Are you taking the bodies with us, too?”
“No. Texas will retrieve them when he returns from Butte. They were both wanted in Wyoming, dead or alive, so there’s a reward.”
“How do you know?”
He picked her up and set her on Caesar before mounting behind her. “Because they were dumb enough to carry their own wanted posters on them.”
So Texas hadn’t been in the camp to help him? Morgan had come after her alone? But no one else had been needed. Just two shots, and he’d killed both men. He was more dangerous than she’d realized, like that gunslinger she’d seen in Butte. Was everyone in the West like that? Ready to kill if necessary—or, like those two outlaws, ready to kill for any reason? She couldn’t stay in this barbaric land any longer. She had to leave, with or without a partnership agreement, and return to the civilized world, her world, where men didn’t fall dead at her feet. . . .
He’d drawn her across his lap before starting off, his arms tight around her. “You’re still trembling,” he said after a few minutes. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, they only gagged me and tied my hands, but they would have . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Don’t think about it. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you and we’ll be home soon.”
Home? She could never call this wild, violent land home. But she felt safe in Morgan’s arms.
It was nearing dusk when they rode up the hill to his camp. He carried her inside the cabin and set her on her bed. “Will we be safe here? What if other outlaws show up? Texas isn’t even here to help guard.”
“You know you’re safe with me, Violet. And Bo doesn’t go far from you. And you have this.” He set the Colt that he’d retrieved from the claim jumper on the top crate by her bed. “Don’t hesitate to fire it, if only to summon me.”
She smiled weakly. She already knew she should have done that today. Next time—God, there couldn’t be a next time. She wasn’t stepping foot out of this camp again unless the bear was with her.
He knelt to remove her boots, then left. She didn’t move, simply stared at the floor by her bare feet. Even after he came back in and began washing the blood from her face and hands with cold water, she still just stared at the floor, letting him remove the signs of what had happened. But what would wash away the fear and terror that were lurking in her mind?
He lit a few lanterns and started the fire before he said, “You need to eat.”
She didn’t answer. After a moment he stood in front of her again and added, “Maybe you need this instead.”
She saw the glass in his hand filled with golden liquid, the stuff he drank, whiskey or rum. “No thank you.”
He tipped up her chin and looked at her closely. “How are you feeling?”
“I can’t stop thinking about the dead men and all that blood.”
“You were brave today. I doubt many London debutantes would be able to help take down two American outlaws the way you did.”
He was trying to make her laugh, but his grin, so easily seen now, just pointed out that this wasn’t her Morgan. His voice, his eyes were familiar to her, but the rest of his face wasn’t. It was too bloody handsome. Why’d he have to shave? The bear had been somewhat safe.
“They were bad men, Violet,” he added. “Now they won’t be able to hurt people anymore.”
But she’d watched them die! She began to shake uncontrollably. And cry, great wrenching sobs. She couldn’t stop either reaction. She’d been so sure she was going to die today.
“Sometimes a good cry helps, according to my ma. I’m sorry you went through this, but I promise it will get better.”
She covered her face with her hands and felt him sit on the bed next to her and draw her onto his lap to try to soothe her. She remembered that her aunt had said something similar about tears being beneficial, so she didn’t try to stop crying, but she did try to stop thinking. The tears finally wound down to sniffles. She didn’t feel better yet, but maybe she could more easily lock those memories away now. And thinking about the new Morgan helped. He was still safe, still protecting her. Even if he was too handsome, she sensed that deep down he was still the bear.
“You want some of that whiskey now?”
“No, I think your mother was right about a good cry,” she said with a smile to assure him the flood was over.