Chapter Six
Elijah was comfortable with the silence. No words had been exchanged between them all morning. The silence was only now broken by the rhythmic beating of his horse’s hooves. He’d hardened himself against the surge of need when Sheridan had exited his cabin fully dressed in another of his shirts and the too tight damp pants. He only had his stallion with him at the cabin, so she had to ride with him. The feel of her against him as they descended the mountain trial was a torture he bloody deserved.
He was impressed with her silence. She had always been a vibrant thing, constantly chatting and laughing, bringing light to drive back the darkness that had tried to claim his soul. When he had left the ranch, for months he had woken up in the mornings feeling incomplete. The need had slowly dissipated, and now for the first time in weeks he felt the same niggle of dissatisfaction. She had always been responsive to his every touch and last night she had damn near killed him. She had been perfect. Too perfect. Her passion for him had been the same. Sweet, hot and wild, just a fleeting thought had his cock stirring. The texture of her skin had been so smooth and silky. All the resolve he had built against her had buckled the minute she had stepped into the room. He had felt sick to his stomach this morning, when he realized that he had emptied himself into her several times. He’d never figured himself to be such a weak man. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been without a woman for more than a year. He had been into the town. The saloons girls were always offering and not once had he been tempted. It was Sheridan herself.
He was not falling into that trap ever again. But, his plan to purge her from his system had certainly backfired. Instead, he was craving her even more, hungering for her smiles more desperately. He had been a bastard to her last night, and the way she had walked out, obviously torn, but head held high, had gutted him. He had called himself all kinds of fool for wanting to go after her. He should be pushing her away from him and this savage life. Yet…
“I was an ass last night.”
She stiffened, then a few beats later she relaxed into him. “That you were,” she said with a mocking western drawl. “And you admitting you were an ass is not an apology.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the bite in her voice. “I’m sorry, I did not intend to bruise your feelings.”
A soft scoff escaped her. “What do you intend…to offer marriage?”
When had she gotten so bold? “No,” he said gruffly.
Her shoulder lifted in an inelegant shrug. “Then we should perhaps discuss something else, shouldn’t we?”
He allowed his hands to tighten across her waist, and reflexively she clasped his forearms. She had changed. He could see it—stronger, less vulnerable, and less shy. He was not sure what had wrought the change and he gritted his teeth, furious with himself for he wanted to know. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted.
“Will your missing me change anything?”
“No.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because it’s the truth…and because I did not want you to believe I did not miss your presence in my life.”
He froze as he noted something he should have observed earlier. There were tracks. And they did not belong to him or Sheridan. He pulled on the reins and studied the forest floor.
She twisted around slightly. “What is it?”
“There are several tracks on the trail to the cabin. They did not find the fork but they came close.”
She clutched the reins in a tight grip. She was nervous.
Back tracking his horse for a short distance, he noted when they lost the trail to his cabin. Elijah studied the tracks. Some were deeply grooved in, indicating they stood waiting for a while. He counted three distinct horse tracks. A fourth horse had joined them, but it had not stopped. It had only circled, and the watchers had moved with him. He saw the point where they got confused at the fork and had turned back.
“They were trying to find you,” he murmured, deep in thought.
“Mr. Sullivan’s goons are persistent. The bastards,” she swore softly.
They came to the point where he’d found her. There was a pool of blood on the forest floor and then spatters that wetted the trail they rode on. He analyzed the blood trail. The man his knife had found had not died. The rains last night would have removed all tracks, so they had been there only a few hours ago.
He kept the pace slow and steady, even though awareness rippled through him.
“Elijah I…”
He squeezed her waist gently. “I need to be able to hear the forest.”
She nodded once. He listened and watched everything as they rode the trail. They came to the mesa overlooking his outfit. Elijah surveyed the scene below the rise. He could barely make out anyone in the distance. Their ranch spread across the valley in a neat organized sprawl with the three-story massive log ranch house settled in the middle.
He glanced at the tracks that peppered the forest floor once more. They had waited at the mesa as well before heading back down the trail. It had been years since he had to fight anyone for his land. The Whispering Creek was not as vulnerable to raids by the Comanche, because they were nestled deep in the valley. But his outfit was rich. Water gushed off the mountain in droves, filling up the creek. Below the ranch lay thousands of acres of prairie able to graze many cattle. They had hay and timber for cutting, and shaded areas scattered throughout.
He knew only a little about Jericho Sullivan. The man had never crossed Elijah’s path or his brothers’ so there had been little need to know any more than that he was powerful. If Sullivan wanted their ranch, he could buy the men to take it for them.
After another fifteen minutes of riding, they cantered into the range. In the distance, he could see four men standing in loose formation between the house and the barn. They were unfamiliar. Questions that he should have asked the night before buzzed inside of him. He had been too damn distracted by her sudden presence in his mind to focus on all that she had said.
“Sheridan.” He felt the caress of her eyes as if she had touch him. “Are they new hires?”
“No. They are not ours.”
“Who do they belong to?”
Swallowing, she faced forward once more. “I am only familiar with the large, swarthy man in the middle. He is called Cassidy Bartley. The others I saw for the first time yesterday when they came here. There are whispers in town that Mr. Bartley has been employing hired guns for Mr. Sullivan, most of them from Santa Fe.”
“I am not familiar with Bartley.”
“Mr. Bartley is the cousin to the town judge. He came in a little over a year ago and has made himself into a powerful man in that short time. He and his brothers own the Crazy T outfit. He has also approached me for watering rights. He is…he is scary.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and when he glanced down at her lowered head, her face was red.
He analyzed her reaction and buried the flare of rage. “He touched you?”
She lifted her chin almost defiantly. “Would it matter?”
“If you were willing, no.” His gut burned at the thought of her in another man’s arm, but Elijah was careful to keep his face emotionless.
“I was never willing, but he only kissed me. Since Mr. Sullivan has made it known to the entire town of Blue Lagoon that I belong to him, Mr. Bartley has been very polite.”
He said nothing for a few minutes, his mind shifting and calculating their surety. “They know nothing of me and my stake in the ranch?”
“I do not think so. Mr. Sullivan seems very sure that he will control the ranch through me. Thomas hardly ever mentioned you after—.” She cleared her throat and continued, “After what happened between us.”
Elijah saw no sign of the ranch hands or his foreman. “Where is Miguel?” He had entrusted more than the fate of his ranch to the foreman’s hands when he left him in charge.
“He is not yet recovered.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Recovered?”
“He was caught in a stampede on the last round up to Abilene. Something spooked the cattle and he was caught in the mix of it. With Miguel down, things became very uncomfortable.”
He observed the fiery blush in her cheeks, and her reluctance to meet his eyes. “How uncomfortable, Sheridan?”
“Mr. Sullivan is very persistent.”
“Is there something I need to kill him for?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “No.”
His instincts were his best friend and he had learned to trust them. They had kept him alive more times that he could count. Sheridan was more than apprehensive. He assessed the situation with infinite care. The air was still, and a kind of waiting was present in the men stationed in the path of the house. No cowhand loitered and the place seemed deserted. He did not like it at all. “Where are the rest of the ranch men?”
“After Thomas died, they did not want to work for a woman, especially one that Thomas treated with contempt. With Miguel injured, they soon drifted and many went to work at Bartley’s spread. The few that remained are driving cattle to the markets.”
“How many remain?”
“Less than thirty, and all but six are on the cattle drive.”
Elijah’s gut hardened. A spread this size would need a team of at least one hundred men to be efficient. A sharp whistle pierced the air as they were detected. His horse jerked when one of the men raised his pistol in the air and fired a single shot.
“Easy,” Sheridan murmured, rubbing his stallion’s neck with soothing motions.
Elijah scanned the prairie, looking for who they signaled. He saw no one. He kept their pace slow and steady as they met the men coming towards them. Those that approached them were killers, with flat cold eyes, easy rolling strides. Three mounted their horses, but the one she had identified as Bartley continued on foot.
She exhaled a nervous breath. “Mr. Sullivan plans to return with the preacher.”
Elijah summed up the situation with cold calculating thoughts. A fifth man strode from the main house and Elijah recognized Sullivan.
“Beth!”
Sheridan urged the horse forward and Elijah grabbed the reins, slowing his horse.
“Easy. Let them come to us,” he murmured, watching the tall man stride toward them. Sullivan’s walk was arrogant, and assured. Not the assurance of a man who hired those with power, but one that wielded power himself. The three approaching men flanked Elijah, and he assessed them carefully.
Sheridan tried to hide her fear, but her knuckles were clenched in a tight grip.
“Sheridan.”
Her eyes were a wide pool of fear when she glanced up at him.
“Why do you fear, Sullivan?”
At her silence he grew cold. “Did he attack you?”
She inhaled shakily. “No, not in the way you mean. He kissed me rather forcefully, but nothing beyond that. But he means to have me…at any cost it seems. I don’t want him, Elijah. Don’t let him take me, please.”
It infuriated him that she would believe that he would allow anyone to take her against her will. His thoughts stilled as he remembered what he had said to her. “When I said I did not care who you went with, Sheridan, I meant willingly. I would never stand by and watch harm come to you. I would kill them before I allow them to take you forcefully,” he said calmly.
She searched his face and whatever she saw reassured her. Some of the tension seeped from her shoulders. He did not say anything when she pressed her back firmer into his chest. Easing her forward slightly, he reached in his carpet bag, and handed her a colt dragoon.
He could see that one of men fancied himself a gunfighter. A Mexican, tall and slim, he had two guns strapped onto him. He strutted over with a cocky jaunt and sneer on his lips. Elijah dismissed him as the least dangerous. He scanned them, probing and seeking. Then he found him, the one he had to watch the most. Slim, more a boy than a man, with pale sandy hair and silver grey eyes. The boy had a look in his eyes that Elijah did not like. They were the eyes of an accomplished killer, empty, distant and they were glued to Sheridan. The other man beside Jericho Sullivan, large and swarthy, also stared at Sheridan, and only a blind man would miss the lust that poured off him. He licked his lips as he observed the pants which clung to her curves.
“Slowly dismount,” Elijah murmured.
Without hesitation she obeyed, and he aided her without removing his attention from the vermin polluting their ranch. Steadying herself, she gripped the gun in a confident hold, and Elijah got the feeling she would do anything not to be taken. And he would be there with her, come hell or high water. He would be damned several ways in hell if she got hurt today.
He pulled the rifle from the gun scabbard, resting it against his pommel as they came closer. With deceptive ease he cradled his Spencer .56 on his saddle, and pointed it in line with Sullivan’s belt buckle, Elijah kept his right finger over the trigger guard.
They halted in their tracks at his slow deliberate movements. Elijah had to hand it to Jericho. He neither twitched nor appeared ruffled. Not every man would face down the power of a Spencer with such ease, especially knowing the damage it could do. Jericho had a strong boned face with a square jaw and a pair of the cruelest eyes Elijah had ever seen, and he had seen plenty. Jericho stared at Elijah, his blue eyes unblinking.
“I see you have found my fiancée. Who might you be so that I can reward you?” Jericho drawled coolly, ignoring the rifle and stepping a mite closer.
“Reward?”
“Are you not responding to the poster in town?”
Sheridan inhaled sharply. “You had posters of me drawn?”
Elijah’s lips twisted in a slight smile, noting how the three men fanned out. They were all strapped with six shooters and bowie knives. Two eased their horses wide, walking toward him, hoping to get behind him. He had seen many men boxed in before, and killed before they could comprehend what was happening. He shifted the rifle sight to the boy with the dead eyes, ignoring the one that fancied himself as an outlaw.
“My horse is mighty skittish. He doesn’t like other horses positioned behind him. He could shy, and my hand could press the trigger.” As if to emphasize his point he stroked the trigger guard almost sensually.
Jericho raised his hand slightly and they halted. A flash of something came and went in his expression before Elijah could decipher it.
“We do not want any trouble, stranger. I will happily compensate you for the return of my fiancée. A reward of five hundred dollars had been posted for her safe return.”
Sheridan flinched and Elijah did not shift his regard from Jericho. There was a surety in his voice when he spoke of her. He sounded too damn sure. Elijah did not like it.
“She was not lost. She came to inform me that certain parties had interest in my outfit, and my presence was needed on my land. Your presence here, uninvited, indicates to me that you are the interested party.”
The silence that reigned was an interesting one. He slowly met the eyes of each man, taking their measure and their intent. His way was careful. In case they mistook his greeting for an invitation, he centered his revolver on the leader’s chest.
“Your outfit?” The one Sheridan identified as Bartley stepped forward, his eyes glittering with sudden anger.
“My outfit,” Elijah responded coolly.
One of the men edged his horse closer and Elijah palmed his gun with casual ease and pointed at him. The man froze.
“And who might you be?” Jericho drawled in that unruffled way of his.
“Elijah Kincaid.”
Stillness came over Bartley and one of the men on horseback, and Elijah knew they had at least heard of him and his brothers.
“Of the Triple K’s Kincaid?” Bartley demanded looking flustered.
Elijah assessed them without answering. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “I hear talk of Mr. Sullivan wanting to do business with the Creek. I am the Whispering Creek. So you will deal with me.”
They looked at each other and something passed between them, something that had Sheridan tightening her hands on the colt dragoon. She sent him a pleading look and mouthed the words “forgive me.” He saw the bleak desperation in her eyes. His gut tightened and he went quiet inside.
“Sorry amigo,” the Mexican murmured conciliatory. “There seems to be some misunderstanding. We are only here for the woman. We will leave peacefully with her. If you resist, we will not leave peacefully.”
A soft cry hissed from her. So there was no threat to the ranch.
“Go inside, Sheridan,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. He did not want her outside in the event things got nasty.
She made to move in the direction of the main house and one of the men jerked his mount forward, stopping her. She went chalk white. Her gaze flitted over each man, carefully avoiding Sullivan’s own. She glanced at Elijah, her eyes questioning as to what she should do. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she did everything to bury it. If one did not know her, she seemed calm. His lips quirked in a small smile of admiration. “Just keep walking, sweetheart.”
She glared at the two men directly in her path.
“Go. If he tries to stop you I will put a bullet in him.” He made his voice flat and implacable.
“You are outnumbered five to one. We will take you. Just hand over the senorita.” The Mexican to the left of Bartley spoke.
Elijah shrugged. “Probably. I have never been a man to let the odds intimidate me.” He turned the revolver on the man closest to Sheridan as she walked around them toward the main house. The shotgun he kept lined up with Sullivan’s midsection.
“Is Sheridan your fiancée or your wife?” Sullivan asked with a queer smile on his lips.
“Neither.”
“Then what is your interest in my woman?” Sullivan’s mask shifted a little and Elijah could see the meanness that lurked.
“The lady is unwilling.” Elijah reckoned he didn’t need to say anything further.
“And if the lady proves to be willing?” Sullivan murmured, lighting a cigarette, studying him with his dead eyes.
Elijah shrugged casually. “If she is willing, she is yours.”
“Ah, so you are not fucking her then?” Sullivan dragged long on his smoke, watching Elijah intently. No doubt trying to gain his measure.
“Is it that you want to be fucking her?” Sullivan smiled, a twisted depraved slant of his lips. “Do not let that desire make you fight us my friend. I will still allow you to taste.”
Elijah held Sullivan’s scrutiny, erasing all of his emotions. They weighed each other, and Elijah did not like what he saw one bit. The men with Sullivan chuckled at his offer, and a kind of charged waiting permeated the air, a lustful charge, a predatory anticipation. Only it did not fill Sullivan’s gaze alone. It filled all five men’s eyes.
Elijah tensed. “We are not friends.”
“It seems, amigo, a little foolish to die for a woman that you have no interest in, si?” the Mexican murmured regretfully, reaching for his weapon.
“Don’t, Ramon! That’s a Kincaid!” Bartley snapped.
Elijah turned his head slowly at the direct challenge and for a long minute he said nothing, letting his eyes burn into the Mexican. The man stopped in the motion of drawing his gun, his face creasing with mingled astonishment and fear.
Sullivan remained unruffled, but Elijah could see the slow spasm above his eyebrow. Elijah kept his rifle trained on Sullivan right above his belt buckle.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way gentlemen.” His voice was hard and steady. “Now, being a man that has been on the trail for hours and wanting to get some grub and some sleep, I would prefer the easy way. The easy way is accepting that Lady Sheridan is under my protection, thus she is under the Triple K’s protection. The hard way is deciding to make a play for her right now.”
He met each man’s eyes slowly, keeping the rifle trained on Sullivan, and his colt aimed at the sandy haired killer. “Now, doing this the hard way all of us will die.” When he saw the killer’s eyes narrow, he nodded his head coolly. “Yes, all of you, possibly including me. Not just some. So if you want the hard way, then no one is making it off this range today. I dare you to test the truth of my words.” He let the truth swirl into the air and sink into that cold place that dwelled within him.
Bartley’s brows furrowed, his face white yet angry. He looked uncertain. “We have no war with the Kincaids. You are dipping your nose in business that ain’t yours,” he growled.
“Anything that happens on this ranch is my business,” Elijah stated flatly.
Sullivan smiled, and it made Elijah uneasy.
“Sheridan is not yours or the Whispering Creek’s business. You can say the land is yours...” Sullivan shrugged. “But the woman is not.”
His eyes then went cold and cruel and Elijah understood why Sheridan asked for his forgiveness. This man did not want his land. It was only a pretext, and she was savvy enough to see that. This was all about her.
“So it’s the hard way then?” he drawled and lined his Spencer with Sullivan’s chest. “I’ll shoot the next man that moves,” Elijah said unemotionally. It did not seem as if they doubted him. No one moved. There was a charged silence and the sandy haired boy twitched. Elijah smiled and kept his eyes on Sullivan, letting him see the promise of death, for he would be the first one Elijah took out.
Sullivan was cool and unruffled as he tipped his hat and said, “Kincaid.”
Cool as he pleased he walked to the hitching post, untied his horse, launched into the saddle and rode away. Without giving any command, his guns for hire followed him.
Elijah lowered his weapon, his mind churning cold and logical. They would return. He was dealing with a dangerous man and Sheridan was in a hell of a lot more trouble than she had let on. And his life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.