3

Seven years might have passed, but Logan remembered every detail of this terrain. His youthful explorations had left indelible marks in his mind, as if printed there by a mapmaker. Rather handy when one wanted to get around unseen.

He wound down a sloping creek bed, using an elm tree to steady his descent. Low ground made the best cover due to the dense vegetation of the area, and since the prickle that had been shivering against his nape for the last ten minutes warned he wasn’t alone out here, cover seemed a wise idea.

At the base of the hill, a set of tracks caught Logan’s eye. He squatted near a bramble that had grown up in the dry creek bed. The dual ovals imprinted in the damp soil indicated a four-legged critter instead of a two-legged one. Could be a deer, but the more likely culprit was a pig.

Feral hogs. He shivered. Nasty creatures. Logan had gotten between a sow and her piglets once. He still bore a scar on his right calf where the enraged female had slashed him open with her tusks. There only seemed to be one set of tracks here, though, so he probably wasn’t about to stumble upon a sounder again. Thank the Lord for small favors.

Logan brushed his hand against his thigh to wipe away the dirt as he stood. A single boar posed no problem. Loners were more apt to run away from people than attack.

As he followed the creek bed east, a noise caught his ear. A horse whinny. Logan dropped into a crouch. Shamgar. He’d left his mount secured inside a corral fashioned by tying rope around a set of trees on the outskirts of his camp. An ex-cavalry horse, Shamgar had been trained for silence. He only whinnied when someone approached with a treat. Apples and carrots in particular. But who would be out in the wild armed with a treat for his horse?

Reaching across his body, he eased his revolver from its holster and crept toward his campsite. It couldn’t be Zacharias. Logan had left his nemesis slaving away in a sorghum field less than an hour ago. And from what he’d observed this past week, the other Hamilton male didn’t venture far from the house. Some kind of namby-pamby who preferred woman’s work to a man’s labor. That left the female. She was harder to monitor. Always flitting about. Inside. Outside. He only seemed to find her when she started singing.

Arabelle at the Lucky Lady had nothing on the Hamilton gal. The saloon singer’s husky tones were probably supposed to pass for sultry, though the little Logan had overheard brought a mournful hound dog to mind more than an enticing siren. Zacharias’s sister, on the other hand, spewed tunes like a geyser, full tilt, with no care as to who might be listening. Even a trespassing scoundrel determined to rain justice down on her family.

Logan rolled his shoulders against the tightening in his neck as he climbed the slope leading to his camp. What happened to the girl as a result of the coming confrontation was not his concern. Hamilton hadn’t cared about repercussions to his opponent’s wife and son when he’d lured Logan’s father into deep play, then cheated him out of his home. Logan could be equally callous. He had to be. It was the only way to set things right.

His head inched above the embankment near his camp, and his gaze immediately sought out Shamgar.

Logan blinked. Twice. What in the world?

His highly trained cavalry mount was prancing around like a colt. Tossing his head and showing off like an adolescent youth trying to impress a pretty girl. And the girl was pretty. At least from what Logan could see from this distance. Rich, auburn hair glinting red in the sunlight. Slim figure. And a smile that punched him in the gut even from here. She laughed at Shamgar’s antics, then held her hand out to the horse. An empty hand.

Logan frowned at the old boy’s susceptibility to the female’s wiles. Apparently no treat had been needed. Fool critter. Did he remember none of his cavalry training?

Shamgar raced to the girl’s side, nuzzled her hand, then preened as she cupped his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his face. She had him completely enthralled.

Snap!

Logan jerked, then dropped his chin to spy the dry twig beneath his boot. Of all the careless, idiotic—

A whistle pierced the air, bringing his head back up. His self-castigation would have to wait. The little filly was on the move.

Logan scrambled the rest of the way out of the creek bed and positioned himself behind a pair of oaks as he debated whether or not to go after her. She’d found his camp and would no doubt tell her brothers. Was it worth the risk of exposing himself to try to convince her to keep quiet?

The girl was fast.

And heading in his direction.

Shoot.

Logan holstered his revolver and ducked to the far side of the tree. She ran past and whistled a second time. He winced at the sharp sound. No fingers had been required for the shrill call. Impressive.

Then a rumbling started downstream in the creek bed. From the direction Logan had just come. Snorting. Charging. The vegetation shook in a path leading straight for the Hamilton gal.

Logan’s mouth went dry.

Double shoot.

He leapt away from the tree and set off after the girl. His boots slipped on the loose soil of the embankment, but he kept his balance. He took his eyes off her long enough to plot his course out of the dry wash, then panicked when he couldn’t find her green skirt amid the vegetation. Sensing she’d head west toward home, he veered left.

There. A flash of white. Her blouse. Logan churned up the earth. Earth that rumbled with the approach of a rogue boar. The grunting grew louder. Closer. Sweat dripped down Logan’s temple. He had to get between the girl and the hog.

He stretched his stride. Caught a glimpse of her between the trees. Heard the grunt of the boar. Spied its black hide barreling down on the girl from the right. Only one chance to get between them.

Logan sprinted over a lip of higher ground and launched himself into the air.

Before his feet hit the ground, his chest hit her back. His arms cocooned her as he twisted to the right in order to absorb the impact and use his body as her shield.

The girl squealed, not unlike the pig. He released his hold on her, intending to draw his pistol. That was a mistake. The female turned on him. She flipped around and brought her knee up into his groin. Air whooshed from his lungs as pain radiated through his lower half. He would have thrown her off him except he was too busy dodging the fingers jabbing at his eyes.

Good gravy. She fought dirtier than a saloon brawler. If he hadn’t spent so much time in disreputable establishments learning how to stay alive, he’d no doubt be down at least one eye by now.

When the heel of her hand narrowly missed the bridge of his nose, Logan decided the time for chivalry had passed. He grabbed her wrists, wrapped a leg around her hips, and rolled her onto her back, taking extra care to pin her legs with his weight. He had no intention of joining the soprano section of the church choir.

She writhed beneath him, terror etching her face.

“Be still, would ya?” he growled, rearing back as she tried to butt him with her head. “Land sakes, woman. I’m not tryin’ to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she demanded.

“From the—”

Boar! A black shadow caught the corner of his vision a heartbeat before the beast’s head plowed into Logan’s side, bowling him off the girl. Fearing she’d be trampled, he snaked an arm around her midsection and dragged her back under him as he pulled up on all fours. Using his body as a barrier, he gritted his teeth against the force of the hog’s shove, bracing his arms and digging the toes of his boots into the soft earth.

At least his damsel had the good sense to cease her attacks. In this position, all his tender parts were at her mercy. She did keep shouting “No” at him, though, in the same stern voice his mother had used when scolding him as a boy.

The boar backed away—probably to get a running start at him again—and Logan snatched the opening. He sat back on his haunches, drew his revolver, and swiveled to face the feral hog.

“No!” the girl screamed, panic more than scolding resonating in her voice now.

Logan tuned it out as best he could, concentrating on lining up the head shot. A hog’s skin was so tough, a miss would just anger the beast and put them in more danger.

Time slowed as he fit his finger to the trigger. Then the crazy female lurched upward and grabbed his gun arm.

“Don’t shoot!”

He tore free from her grip and shoved her back to the ground none too gently.

“Look at the bow,” she cried as she scrambled back to her feet.

Logan took aim, his focus glued to the area between the animal’s eyes.

She launched herself onto his back and tackled him to the ground. “He’s not wild,” she insisted even as Logan bucked her off and rolled her to the side. “Please!”

The desperate plea and tremulous voice tugged at a heart he’d thought long ago hardened past all sentimentality.

Logan paused. Took in his adversary. Snorting, ugly, black creature. Yet not charging. And a ridiculous, gargantuan red bow hung wilted against its right shoulder.

Maybe he should shoot the creature. Out of pity. The shame of being subjected to such a prissy accessory would mortally wound any male’s pride. The boar would probably thank him for putting an end to his suffering.

The girl lunged to her feet and rushed to the boar’s side. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the beast’s neck. “Hezekiah’s no threat to you, mister. Please, just let him be.”

Logan lowered his gun as he shook his head. “Hezekiah?” He pushed to his feet and tucked his pistol into its holster. “Doesn’t exactly strike me as the kingly type.”

She grinned, and her face lit up with what could only be called joy. The purity of it took Logan aback. One didn’t see expressions like that in saloons or lumber camps, and he’d spent little time elsewhere these past years.

Then she ruined it by turning that glorious smile on her pet and putting her face disastrously close to the boar’s teeth.

“Whoa, now.” Logan jumped forward, grabbed the girl’s elbow, and yanked her away from the hog. “Those things have nasty teeth. I don’t care how tame he is, he’s still a creature with animal instincts. And tusks.”

“Not Hezzy,” she said as he pulled her to her feet and twirled her toward him. She brought up her hands to catch herself before she rammed into his chest. Her palms flattened against the cotton of his shirt, and his heart did an odd little hiccup at the contact. “My brother removed his cutters when he was a few months old. Zach wouldn’t let me keep him otherwise.”

Smart man. Logan had long respected Hamilton’s intelligence. It was his character Logan despised.

All thought of Zacharias fled Logan’s mind when the girl finally tilted her chin back and hit him with the full impact of her eyes.

One blue. One brown. Just like Dunn had said. Startling in their difference, yet so vibrant that he couldn’t describe them as anything other than stunning.

She stared back at him, unblinking. Until, that is, her gaze fluttered to his scar. He steeled himself for her reaction. He knew the blemish was unsightly, leaving a slashing void in his eyebrow and puckering the skin along his cheekbone.

Something soft flashed in her eyes, just for a moment. Not disgust, nor even discomfort. Something that felt oddly like . . . kinship.

He shook his head to rid his mind of the disturbing sensation and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Why’d you name your pig Hezekiah? Kind of insulting to the king who served God so faithfully, don’t you think?”

Her mouth quirked up on one side. “You saying my Hezzy doesn’t have a regal bearing?”

The pig in question grunted and set about rooting in the dirt near the base of the closest tree, covering its snout with a thick layer of muck and leaves before turning his side into the trunk to rub against the bark. The beast had all the manners of a drunken oaf scratching an indiscriminate itch with no care as to who was watching. All that was missing was a loud belch to complete the picture.

Logan raised a questioning brow. The girl glanced at her pet, then burst into laughter. The sound tinkled like the crystal chandelier he’d rammed his head into once in a fancy hotel lobby.

“I suppose you have me there,” she finally admitted. “Hezzy’s not exactly cut from the royal cloth, but when I found him alone and abandoned in the woods, half dead, I knew he needed a reason to live. A reason not to give up hope. So I called him Hezekiah.”

A memory clicked into place in Logan’s mind. “Because Hezekiah became ill and was supposed to die until God granted him an extra fifteen years.”

Her eyes glowed as if proud of his answer. Like he was some ragamuffin pupil in a classroom. He should be insulted. So why did his chest expand under her unvoiced praise?

“That’s it exactly.” There was that smile again. All sunshine and rainbows. As if this girl had never known a single hardship in her life.

Logan scowled.

Her smile dimmed. Just a bit, but enough to make him feel more in control. All this frivolous laughing and grinning was bad for his digestion.

Her eyes found his again, and the playfulness vanished from her gaze. “Everyone deserves to be treated like a king, even if they’re only a humble pig.”

The bald statement stunned him momentarily. Then opened a Machiavellian door in his mind. This girl had a bleeding heart, an undeniable drive to right wrongs and champion the cause of the downtrodden.

The perfect ace to hide in his sleeve.