The woman could throw a punch. He couldn't argue there. Leo rubbed his cheekbone, grimacing as he watched her take a step, knees wobbling.

She didn't look too steady there, standing on both feet. The trickle of blood staining the denim fabric suddenly changed.

A good stream sluiced out of the bullet wound, her knees wobbled.

She went down like a rock. Boom.

Little clouds of dust fanned up into the air. Alarmed, her gelding whinnied and went to nose away her hat.

Well, at least she wouldn't argue with him now. Or try and knock him out with a right hook.

She seemed to be okay otherwise, so he quickly tied the band of cloth around the wound and knotted it tight. Immediately blood began to seep through, but not fast.

There. That did the trick. Leo studied the horse's concern over his lady.

Well, hell. It wasn't as if he could just leave her here in the road. If he took off with her horse, then he'd better bring the wagon too.

And the woman.

With a sarcastic grin, he shook his head. Yep, it had been a hell of a day. Judging by that sunset, it was almost over. With any luck, this was as bad as it would get.

He glanced over his shoulder, senses sharp. Wind rustled through the cottonwoods, where the creek gurgled as if nothing on earth could ever go wrong.

He knew better. This wasn't paradise. This was a land with little law and the wilderness between town was even more dangerous.

Especially for a man like him with a big fat bounty on his head.

They had no time to waste. Leo wondered where the gunman he'd shot had disappeared to. He listened for the sound of him in the woods, but heard nothing more.

He tucked his one arm beneath the woman's knees and the other beneath her shoulders. He could feel the curve of her ribs and the rounding of her bottom.

All female.

Her head bobbed from side to side, then gently rolled to rest against his shoulder. Her lustrous blond hair felt like silk against his chin.

Don't react. He tried not to remember when he held a woman last, his wife.

His chest ached. Hell, now why did he want to go and, think of that?

It wasn't a long drive back to his hideout, but the growing twilight wrapped silently around him. With the reins gripped in both hands, he watched the landscape roll by.

He feared that he sensed the shadowy presence of the wolves.

The human kind.

Leo urged Beauregard faster, always aware of the woman unconscious on the seat beside him.

---

I'm dead. Millie began to surface from a deep sleep. Yes, dead.

She was certain of it.

First, there was the complete and utter weightlessness of her body.

Second, there was the absolute darkness around her when she opened her eyes.

Pain. Sheets of it, sharp and biting, right along the outside of her thigh. Her entire body tightened against the torture.

Ouch. Major ouch. She clenched her jaw until her teeth hurt. She drew air into her lungs and realized a great truth.

Since she was breathing, she must not be dead after all.

Well, one thing was for certain. She wasn't sitting alongside the dusty road anymore. There was no smell of that powder-dry earth, no sound of a breeze through leafy trees.

And no daylight. Where was she? One whiff told her she was in no good place.

Whew, what was that smell? Day-old greasy cooking and something that smelled rather, well, bad.

Millie sniffed again. It was the scratchy blanket that covered her—an unwashed blanket. Realization skittered over her.

She remembered the shots ringing out like a thunderclap. A sensation bit through her leg. Her knee had buckled, and she'd sat straight down into the dirt.

There hadn't been pain then, only a cold wave of recognition that she'd been shot, washing over her with the fury of a prairie twister.

She was in some cabin somewhere in Montana Territory, near that Wild West town, of which her uncle's attorney had told her about.

Be very careful, he'd warned. There's nothing there but villains, outlaws and thieves.

Clearly, he'd been right. Millie summoned the strength to toss off the odoriferous blanket.

Good riddance. Now it was time to get the heck out of here and keep going as far and fast as she could. Don't look back.

She remembered the demon-man dashing up to her in the road, but that was all. Panic pulsed through her chest.

She had to calm herself. She had to think rationally.

She'd learned in her twenty-six years of living that there was always a logical solution to any problem, great or small, if only one took the time to think about it.

Not that it took much pondering.

There was only one thing to do. Escape.

The bed ropes creaked when she shifted her weight. Millie froze, waiting, but no one moved, no one spoke.

Relief washed over her. She was alone. No sign of her captor, so she dared to stand.

A light-headed buzz fluttered through her head, but she fought it. A little dizziness wasn't going to stop her.

No way, no how.

Stabbing pain pierced her thigh when she put weight on it. Millie drew in a slow, steady breath, refusing to give up.

She hadn't failed at anything before this, and she wasn't about to lose her gumption now. What was a little pain when compared with losing one's life?

Silvery moonlight crept through the cracks around the door, guiding her way. The door whispered open to the sounds of the night.

She heard crickets and owls and wind blowing through the leaves of many trees. The wood creaked beneath her feet as she limped across the threshold.

A nearly round moon peered between scattering clouds, casting light upon the land. She could make out tall, majestic trees and a faint ribbon of a path.

No one or nothing moved. More assured of her chance of escape, she hobbled into the yard.

"Going somewhere?"

Millie jumped. Her heart pounded like a scared rabbit. She fisted her hand, dread filling her.

Just like that, her bid for freedom was dashed. She cut her gaze sideways to the man's shadow.

Mocking seemed to drip from him, and he seemed as dark as the night. Twice as deadly.

She'd run if she could. The best she could do was to hobble, but not fast enough.

The man stalking toward her was the same one with the gun. But not the same man she'd spotted when she'd been attempting to re-hitch Beau to the wagon.

Now she remembered it. There had been two men, one mounted on a big dark horse, another the one who'd approached her, rifle in hand.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded, but her voice wobbled a bit.

Too much, in fact. Okay fine, she was scared. "What are you going to do with me?"

Silence. He strode closer with the physical power of a hunting wolf. "A bullet didn't stop you, I see. It would stop most men, you know."

"I'm no man." Her chin went up. "Plus, I'm tougher than I look."

Millie raised her chin in a challenge and fisted her hand for good measure. Let him think she was tough. All fight.

When she was nothing but bravado. Full of hot air.

But she could bluff with the best of them. "You had better not try to hurt me."

More silence. She heard nothing, no soft footfalls and no whisper of movement as he stalked toward her in the night.

Powerful. Captivating. Dangerous.

Wow, she'd never seen a man with such broad shoulders. Not that she made it a habit to gape at men's bodies.

But sometimes a woman just couldn't help noticing. Because this man, why, he made her stomach flutter.

Oh, stop fluttering, Millie told her midsection.

No man thought she was worth the trouble. She knew this from personal experience. Or worth the disappointment and heartbreak.

"Answer me. What are you going to do to me?"

"As little as possible."

"What did you do with Beau?"

"I gave him to the first horse thief to come along." Low and deep, that voice. "What do you think?"

"Is he s-safe?" She gulped.

"You'll have to live to find out. Are you gonna punch me with that fist? Or will you lower your hand?"

Oh. Only then did she realize she was ready to clock him alongside the head again.

Not that she could do more than annoy him. No, he towered over her, mighty and strong. Much more powerful than she could ever be.

And twice as fierce. He looked like a villain, no doubt, and certainly an outlaw. An outlaw of the worst kind.

"I went through your wagon. I wanted to know what kind of woman I would be dealing with. You know, since you tried to give me a lump on the head and a black eye. You came close, too."

"You took my money, didn't you? You found my savings. My horse had better be in that stable over there. I mean it."

"There's one thing I can't stand, and that's a mouthy woman. But you're feisty too, and I like that."

"I don't care what you like. You had better not shoot me."

"Oh, I'll try and do my best. Restrain myself. Go ahead and check the stable." He followed her as she limped toward the small ramshackle building listing to one side.

The thatch roof looked like a group of wild turkeys had once lived in it and recently abandoned it for better prospects.

"But I don't think your leg is gonna want to carry you that far." He strolled around her and into the sweep of moonlight. "Don't worry. Your horse is just fine. Guess I took good care of him, after all."

Millie's knee buckled. Stupid wounded leg. She hated being injured or sick. It put a crimp in her plans. Just like this stranger did.

He wore Levi's and a cotton shirt stretched over a muscle-hewn chest. He no longer looked threatening, but radiated that dangerous handsome quality.

"As long as you aren't going to fetch your gun," he said wryly. "Let's get you off that leg."

She didn't know what to say. He took her breath away.

Worse, he was exactly the sort of man that a sensible woman should never trust.

Ever.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I'm gonna have to call you something?"

"What's yours?"

"That's none of your business. But you can call me Leo. Leo Ryder. And you and I are gonna help each other. What do you think about that?"