Silky skin warmed his arm all the way to his fingertips. A cheek and a palm resting on his chest settled his heartbeat. Maggie. She moaned in her sleep, and a smile crept up on him. Relaxing into the straw mattress, he closed his eyes.
In the darkness, muted hoof beats and creaking saddles still echoed. Would he never be free of the guilt? Bridle hardware rattled.
Bridle hardware? They’d muffled the metal to eliminate the sound.
A hot stab raced through his veins.
Maggie stirred, but didn’t wake, when he slid from beneath her. He slunk to the window beside the door, flattened his shoulders against the wall, and peered into the pre-dawn. Five mounted shadows left the trees along the bayou on a track toward the cabin.
Dammit. He spun to fetch his revolver.
Maggie’s nakedness, enchanting in the waning moonlight, begged him to slip back into bed and love her again. No time. He yanked on his trousers and boots; grabbed the Colt from his belt on the floor.
Five cartridges. Five shadows. This could be tricky.
The dim forms kept coming, taking shape in the light peeking over the horizon. Rough looking. Rough talking. If he could get to Saber and his second revolver… Little help there. The Navy Colt carried a full load, but his cartridge case held only air, as did the Spencer.
A whiff of spring sunshine drew near to his back. “What is it?” Even her whisper held rustic music.
“I don’t know.”
She peeked around him and sucked an audible breath.
The strangers reined up in a clutch some distance from the porch. They neither left their saddles nor stifled their high spirits. Rigged for heavy traveling, every man carried at least one long gun. Revolvers rode their pommels and hips.
Not Federals, at least not anymore, but one wore red leggings. Ben pushed the fear from his lungs through pursed lips.
A bearded ape in a Yank kepi pointed a Henry to the sky and called to the cabin. “Maggie!” The other four hooted.
Ben glanced down into wide eyes. “Friends of yours?”
On a hard swallow, she trained a stare on the men. Stiff as a rifle barrel, she spoke in a tight whisper. “Declan’s.”
Apprehension stuck in Ben’s throat. His heartbeat ratcheted up a notch.
Ape reined his skittish mount in a circle and bellowed again. “Maggie darlin’, c’mon out and welcome us home.”
Calico bunched in Ben’s hand when he laid a grip around her arm and gave her a gentle shove. “Get back to the bed and stay there.”
Still staring outside, she moved only two steps.
“Aw, hell.” Red Legs spat a long, brown stream. “Just barge on in. Don’t aim to poke the skinny bitch out here anyway.”
Rage hit Ben like a cavalry charge, clenching his fingers around the shoulder-high Colt. The degenerates nudged their mounts closer to the steps.
The hurried fall of bare feet on boards swung his gaze to the door. Shotgun in the crook of her arm, Maggie raised the bolt. Before he could reach her, she slipped onto the porch.
Battling shaky knees, Ben snagged her elbow, flung her behind him, and faced down the Jayhawkers. “That’s close enough, boys.”
Five pairs of glittering eyes pinned him.
A malicious grin split Red Legs’ face. “Well, looky here. We done flushed us one o’ them leftover graybacks.”
The man in the kepi lowered the Henry’s barrel. “What say we have us a li’l fun?”
“Randal.” Maggie’s clipped snarl sliced through Ben. She stepped up beside him. The shotgun’s barrels caught the first rays of the rising sun. “You pull that trigger, I’ll blow your ass to Kingdom-come.”
A band tightened around Ben’s chest. “Maggie, get inside.”
Pure meanness stretched a grin from one of Randal’s ears to the other. “You hidin’ secesh trash in your skirts now, Maggie darlin’?”
“What’d I tell you ’bout callin’ me darlin’?”
Red Legs eased a hand toward the gun on his hip.
Ben covered him with a glare and the business end of a Colt. “I wouldn’t.”
Replacing his hand on the saddle horn, the marauder spat another long stream. “There’s five of us and one of you. Them ain’t good odds, Reb.”
No, they weren’t. Scanning the pack of mangy mongrels, Ben growled a command through gritted teeth. “Maggie, get inside.”
She ignored him again. “You boys just get on outta here.”
“We got us a deal, Maggie darlin’.” Randal braced the rifle butt on his thigh, untied a burlap sack from his saddle, and pitched the bulging bag toward the porch. It thudded to the ground just shy of the first step. “There’s your food and supplies. Ain’t none of us leavin’ ’til you pay up.” The sidewinding grin slithered back onto his face. “And I’ll have the first poke—soon as I take care of a varmint.” The Henry took aim at Ben’s middle.
The shotgun thundered. Randal fell. Four hands went for leather.
Ben squeezed off two shots. Slugs hammered the wall to his left. Spinning to his right, he cinched Maggie around the waist and ducked for cover, slamming the door with his heel. Pulse pounding in his ears, he bore her to the floorboards beneath him.