Chapter Fifteen
Sheridan and Elijah stood on the north side of the cabin. She glanced at his brothers as they gutted a deer and prepared it for the spit. She had met them in the night, and something had eased inside of her. Worry had dimmed to be replaced with hope. Not that she doubted Elijah. Even now she could see the rage that burned beneath his calm façade. She did not want him hunting Sullivan and his goons alone.
She’d come to realized his brothers were hard men, just as capable as Elijah. Last night in the cabin she had listened to them laugh and rabble-rouse each other and a yearning so intense it bordered on pain had filled her. That was what she wanted—a family. They had drunk coffee and eaten biscuits she had cooked with rashers of bacon, and stayed up late into the night talking. She had slipped away after the meal, leaving them alone with their tales. Hoping to pass the time reading, she had searched the small cabinet in the room and had been stunned when she found the dog-eared copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. She had given it to Elijah after reading the entire book to him a day at a time over the course of a week. To know he had kept it, and had obviously re read it, brought a rush of emotions to burst inside her heart. She had kept riffling through the content of the cabin until she found a few magazines with short, gory, and exciting gunslingers’ stories. She had read until Elijah had come up.
She had blushed something furiously when he had taken her into his arms in the wee hours of the morning. She’d been convinced his brothers would be able to hear them from the rooms next door. He had laughed at her and had simply drawn her into his arms until she fell asleep. Now as she looked at his handsome profile, she wished she had made love with him.
She had dressed in a supple brown leather skirt and vest that he told her belonged to his mother. They were plastered onto her figure, but the length was perfect. It had amused her to know his mother’s stature was as tiny as hers, and yet she had birthed such large strapping men as Elijah and his brothers. She had glared at him when he pointed out his mother birthed tiny babies and not grown men.
They trotted in silence and she tried not to feel too hopeful about how relaxed he seemed. “Will you teach me how to quick draw? I heard that Billy the kid and Jessup were lightening quick.”
Elijah’s lips curved in a smile. “Shooting a man is not only about how quick you are.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “That is not what Frank Tousey says in his dime novels. He argues the quickness of a draw is what determines a man’s faith.”
Pleasure uncurled inside of her as he tugged her close, sliding her body slowly and sensually against his. His head dipped and he pressed a soft kiss on her lips.
“What was that for?”
He shrugged. “You talk too much.”
She narrowed her eyes and swatted him.
“Fighting is a craft, and it must be learned and practiced. If you have to be violent, do it quick, do it hard, make it work the first time.” He spoke coolly, distinctly. “Understand this Sheridan, mercy is taught...it is a learned behavior, and you are merciful. You will have none when it comes to those that wish to harm you.”
She assessed his intensity. Mercy was taught? She didn’t shy away from the knowledge she was soft and saw things differently. But that was what she wanted. To be as hard as him…or close enough where she could protect those she loved. Where she could protect him, for she did not want him to stand alone against Sullivan and she did not want to hide behind his protection forever. “I understand.”
He stepped in closer to her. “What do you understand?”
She inclined her head and met the cool distance of his eyes. “That as humans, we are not naturally kind and compassionate. In fact we are savage and merciless…and those that are merciful…chose to be.” She swallowed. “And I must be cold toward those who wish me harm.”
He nodded and stepped back.
“I do not think it so, Elijah. For there was never a time I was merciless. In fact I think we were born kind and compassionate, and then we grew hard because of our circumstances.”
He gave her an incredulous stare. “We are born untamed…and then we draw on the trappings of civilization and present what we wish to the world.”
She walked over to him and held out her hand for the wooden knife he had whittled for her. “And the hardness you present now…that is natural? And your kindness is what you fight to maintain?”
He looked down on her, his face closed. She waited patiently for his response, her heart clamoring.
His lips quirked. “Let us begin.”
She huffed at his lack of response and walked with him a few feet away from the horses. The hour passed for Sheridan in a painful blur. She knew Elijah was being gentle but it did not feel like it. He attacked her by simply banding his arms tightly around her, forcing her to find a way to get out of his hold, all the time whispering directions in her ear. After twenty minutes of dropping her weight, slamming her head back, stomping on his shin she had not loosened his hold at all.
She had only gotten loose when she wriggled her buttocks deliberately against him. He had swollen hard and sure and he had released her with a narrowed eye look of anger. He’d then tackled her to the floor resting his weight on top of her. After struggling for a few minutes, she had kissed him for freedom. He had launched to his feet with a snarl and the laughter of his brothers had cause heat to spread all over her body.
She was lousy when it came to freeing herself from the hold of a man. Elijah had then decided her strategy was to never get taken. He’d given her a bowie knife, its blade sharp and wicked. It had slipped into her hands like it had been made for her.
He praised her that she was a natural and she agreed. Her throws improved and she was even quicker than him if the wicked slice that opened his flannel shirt had anything to do with it.
She panted, knife held low away from her body in the manner he’d showed her. He hooked a finger through the slash in his shirt and grinned at her.
“Good Sheridan, but this cut is too shallow. You should put the strength of your entire body into your slice and thrust so that you maim. This is too shallow.”
She walked over to him studying the ripple of muscles showing through the sliced flannel. “I do hope you are teasing, Elijah. If I had used my strength you would be bleeding now.”
Elijah chucked her under her chin. “That is your aim. I will protect myself. Do not hold back. Again!” He ordered and then mock attacked her.
She danced with him for a few minutes before a sharp pain in her thighs pulled her up. She stumbled and cried out kneading knotted muscles.
“Easy,” he murmured, stooping and pressed his fingers deep into her muscles unknotting them. The minutes passed in silence, and he used the soft sign of pleasure she expelled to guide him as to where to rub.
He rose from his crouch and lifted her and carried her to a large boulder. She leaned against the warm rock, too sore and too tired to care anymore how weak she looked to him.
“You are improving. We will do this three times per week and you will be proficient in no time. After I feel you have learned enough we will move onto you handling yourself better with a rifle.”
She nodded, too tired to speak. She lifted her head as Noah called out, “Grub is ready.”
She glanced at him and rolled her eyes at the wink he gave her. Whereas Joshua was serious and more than a little scary, Noah was all playful and flirtatious. He flirted with her every chance he got, ignoring Elijah’s scowl.
Sheridan laughed and slithered off the rock. A sense of pride and accomplishment filled her as she walked toward the cabin. Acting on impulse, she gripped Elijah’s hand and laced their fingers together. Her smile widened when he did not tug his hand away from hers. Instead, he drew her even closer to his side.
***
She fitted in with his family. Well his brothers at least. Sheridan’s laughter spilled from her as Noah regaled her with another of his wild and highly unlikely stories. She licked her fingers, and the sensual glide of her tongue did not rouse Elijah. Instead, he only felt a sense of peace, of comfort watching her so clearly enjoying their teasing.
He could not imagine what it had been like for her to grow up so isolated. His mother and father had always been there. His brothers had always been there. Even when stricken mad with grief over Emma and Nathan they had each been there in their own way, strengthening him, anchoring him. Elijah never wanted Sheridan to endure such loneliness again. So, he would remove all threats to her so that she could stay at the Whispering Creek in peace.
Her head canted to the side as she listened to Noah with earnestness. Elijah clenched his teeth to prevent himself from smiling each time she chortled. He loved seeing the shadows that had been haunting her eyes since the attack disappear. Most of the change had come today as he taught her how to defend herself. She was a quick student. She was fast and lithe, graceful and elegant. In only a few hours, she could throw a knife so that it found its target better than men who had practiced for days. She was a natural and she would only get better.
He was eternally grateful that she was such a quick study. It made the decision to leave her at the ranch more palatable. After he dealt with the threat of Sullivan and ensured the ranch had enough men, Elijah would leave. There was a reason he preferred solitude. He liked to be alone with his terrors, away from prying questions and pity.
He hated to interrupt the merriment. “Sheridan.”
Laughing eyes turned to him. “Yes.”
“I will be riding into town tomorrow.”
Her breath hitched and she glanced at his bothers, and then swung her gaze back to him. “I am coming with you.”
He scowled at Noah’s laugh. “Do not be silly. You will be staying here with Noah. Joshua and I will ride into town. Noah will travel down with you to the Creek when the sun goes down. And you will wait there for us.”
“But, Elijah—”
“There is no but, Sheridan.”
Her lips thinned, but she nodded her acquiescence. “Will you kill him?”
“Bloodthirsty little thing isn’t she?” Joshua drawled.
It was her turn to scowl at Joshua. Between him and Noah, they had been teasing her mercilessly about her size.
Elijah sighed. “No, Sheridan. I keep my promises.”
Relief lightened her eyes and she tried to give him a brave smile, but he saw its wobbliness.
“Good. If you gentlemen will excuse me?”
Without waiting for a reply, she leapt off the stool and fairly ran from the room.
He frowned at the look of admiration on Noah’s face as he watched her run up the stairs.
His brother glanced at him. “That is a fine woman you have their, Elijah. She did well today,” Noah said.
“She is not my woman.” His response was automatic but for the first time it felt wrong.
“You’re serious about being her protector?” Noah asked.
“I am.”
“Then Joshua is right, marry her. You would be a fool not to.”
“No,” Elijah growled and it sounded weak to his ears, because his heart hungered for something more with her. Fucking hell!
He bit back a smile as Noah started whistling a bawdy tune about a man fighting for his woman. Joshua joined in, and without acknowledging them, Elijah rose from his stool and followed her up the stairs. He entered the room in time to see her throwing a pillow into the wall.
“Why are you angry, Sheridan?”
She spun around with a small growl. “I am not angry.”
He raised his brow at the pillows on the floor.
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Are you not in the least bit worried about facing Sullivan alone with Joshua?”
Elijah walked over to her, grabbed her hips and lifted. She squeaked and clung to him as he tumbled her to the bed twisting so she landed on his chest.
She gripped his shirt. “I am worried…scared. My staying on the ranch is not worth your blood.”
“It will not be my blood being spilt. It will be Sullivan’s and his men.”
“And will that not make him more furious?”
Elijah thought and everything he knew of the man. “No…he is a bully with power. I will strip him in front of the people whom he wants to revere him.”
She pulled away from him and sat on him. “You think he will just allow this?” she demanded incredulously.
“Do you want to leave, Sheridan?” he asked her quietly.
Shadows chased across her face. “No, but I could not live with myself if—”
He slid his hands up to her thighs and squeezed. “Trust me Sheridan.”
She leaned over him so there lips were scant inches apart. “I do trust you.”
“Good.” He claimed her lips in a deep kiss. They were soft and yielding to his kisses, and he allowed himself to be immersed in her taste, burying the flare of guilt. Her expressive eyes had warmed with love and trust and he felt like a worm, for he would leave and retreat back into the mountains as soon as he made sure she was safe.
***
Elijah and Joshua rode into Blue Lagoon just after sundown. The town itself seemed subdued, not bustling as a Tuesday evening was usually. It was as if the town’s people themselves waited. Elijah scanned the storefronts, and the lighted hotel at the end of the street. The only raucous laughter came from the Velvet Lady’s Saloon.
“I can kill him before anyone realizes what is happening,” Joshua murmured. “Avoid the potential fallout.”
Elijah said nothing. Sullivan was a vicious bully, and there was only one way to deal with such a man. A part of Elijah wished he could plant a bullet in him and be done with it. But Elijah had never been the type to kill in cold blood, no matter how much the bastard deserved it.
He glanced at the bank and then the livery near the saloon. “Where will you position yourself?”
Joshua looked toward the livery. “I will be able to cover the saloon and the streets from there. There will be blind spots. I can only see so much through the grimy windows. Ensure you watch your back,” he drawled.
“Try not to kill anyone,” Elijah ordered.
He ignored Joshua’s mocking gaze, dismounted and led his horse to the hitching post and loosely tied its reins onto it.
Elijah walked along the boardwalk instead of the street preparing for the fight. He would only kill Sullivan if he had no alternative. He stared at the sheriff’s office next door to the saloon. As if on cue, Vincent came to the door and leaned on its frame. He tipped his hat at Elijah and there was a knowing look on his face.
“What do you think Vincent will do?” Joshua asked, “He seems mighty calm for a man who knows his brother’s reckoning is on its way.”
“He is a fair man.”
Elijah felt Joshua’s gaze.
“A fair man who knew of the assault on Sheridan, but his jail cell is empty?”
Elijah heard his brother, but he also understood blind foolish loyalty. And that was what Vincent had for his brother Sullivan in spades. Sullivan was reputed to own the law in the town, but Elijah was sure he did not own his brother Vincent. And from their history Elijah knew Vincent to be an honorable man.
A few of the town’s folks tipped their hats to Elijah and he nodded in acknowledgement. Many glanced at the guns strapped to his hips, then retreated into their homes and businesses drawing the shutters. Yet many remained outside.
When Elijah reached the Velvet Lady he pushed open the double door and stepped in. Each of his senses were concentrated on the man that sat in the left corner of the saloon. Jericho Sullivan. Elijah heard a distant hoot and knew that Joshua was positioned outside on the roof of the livery. Watching and waiting.
The dancing females stumbled to a halt and peered at him in curiosity through the dim lighting. Laughter spiraled from some of Jericho’s cronies but was swiftly swallowed. Elijah stepped deeper into the smoky interiors and the silence spread as the patrons slowly noticed him. Dozens of eyes assessed him, noting the guns, and his demeanor.
The sandy haired killer rose to his feet at Elijah’s approach, but Sullivan remained slouched in his chair, a bottle of whiskey cradled in his palm. His eyes, though, stared at Elijah hard and vicious. Sullivan believed Elijah would be calling him out, forcing a gunfight. But that was the furthest thing from the truth.
“Jericho Sullivan,” Elijah’s voice was soft, but he had everyone’s attention. Even the bartender had stopped polishing the counter. “You are a coward. A yellow bellied coward that would threaten and terrorize a woman, because you think she is alone.”
Elijah stood silent, waiting. He understood the depth of his insult and from the tightening around Sullivan’s lips he had not missed it either. Bartley’s eyes had widened into a comical dismay and he stared slack-jawed at Elijah. One did not go around calling a man like Sullivan a yellow-bellied coward.
The sandy haired killer lurched forward drawing his gun in one smooth movement. Before he could hammer back his weapon, a sharp crack sounded in the room. The two other men flanking Sullivan who had been rising to their feet froze.
The sandy haired killer stared at Elijah with incomprehension, and then the boy looked down in a daze at what remained of his hand. Hell. Joshua’s Spencer had torn right through the boy’s wrist and blood spewed in an arch. He passed out cold. The sandy haired boy would never draw with his right hand again.
“I have every man in here covered,” Elijah said walking closer. “This is between me and this coward. Anyone who moves to interfere, will fall. Test the truth of my words.”
The problem with Sullivan gaining a reputation as a tough, ruthless man was that a time would eventually come when he had to become that man. He would need to prove his mettle to everyone by not relying only on his foot soldiers. Knowledge seeped into his eyes and a surge of hatred lit up his blue sneer.
“You want to be a big man, Sullivan. But you’re nothing but a nasty bully, and I aim to teach you what it feels like to be powerless,” Elijah said coldly.
“I have no need to fight you for a whore,” Sullivan snarled into the painful silence.
Elijah smiled. He was not sure what Sullivan saw in his face but he blanched before wiping his expression.
“I expected a yellow-bellied snake to use such an excuse.”
Sullivan fancied himself tough, a gunfighter, when in truth he didn’t want anyone beating him, or taking the fight to him. Elijah had seen enough of his ilk in the war.
A round of murmuring swept the saloon and Elijah heard what he was waiting for. Soft questions and angry whispers of how tough Sullivan was and how scared Elijah should be. Sullivan heard the words as well and Elijah enjoyed the moment Sullivan realized he had been backed into a corner. His face flushed a furious color. He didn’t like having no way out unless he wanted to look small before the townsfolk.
Sullivan rose slowly from his chair and removed his gun belt and hat. He was tall and brutish and weighed at least sixty more pounds than Elijah. Elijah unslung his guns, removed his hunting knife and dropped it on the table nearest to him.
Sullivan charged and Elijah dipped into a crouch and slammed his fist into Sullivan’s gut, dropping him on his ass. With a roar he was up, and he charged Elijah head butting him. They tumbled out, rolling through the saloon doors and over the hitching rail fencing.
Elijah felt the rattle deep in his body as they slammed into the dirt. There were several exclamations and a short scream which was cut off rather abruptly. Before Elijah could recover, Sullivan slammed a fist into his ribs then another. And Elijah realized some of the rumors about Sullivan were true. The man was a fighter. He rolled him in the dirt, but Elijah got to his feet first. He smashed a left to Sullivan’s head splitting his cheekbone wide open, and then smashed him on the jaw with a powerful right. Elijah took a few jarring fists from Sullivan before he allowed himself to sink to that cold bitter place that had saved him countless of times. Fist fighting was Elijah’s element and he had the bully right where he wanted him, and now he would break him. Elijah ducked under a right hook, responding with his own right fist to the ribcage and a quick left to the jaw. Sullivan stumbled backward, and Elijah let his combinations fly, dancing around Sullivan’s punches and defenses. Elijah’s relentless rage penetrated through to Sullivan’s befuddled brain, but he was sobering up fast. He staggered, but Elijah did not let up. He used the memory of Sheridan’s tear stained face, her fear, and the hands of Bartley beneath her skirt, the knowledge they would have raped and broken her for money, to subdue any mercy he had.
Elijah did not know how long had passed before he realized it had been awhile since he had been hit. The sweat cleared from his eyes and Sullivan was still standing, but the man’s face was a mess of purple bruises, small cuts, and streaming blood. Sullivan wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve with a hand that shook. Elijah stepped to him and slammed his fist into Sullivan’s jaw and he fell into the dust, hard. No one made any sound and none of his men intervened.
Bartley made a move toward them, and dust kicked at his feet from a rifle shot. A few people scattered but most remained frozen. Elijah scanned them and then settled on Sullivan. “Mrs. Galloway belongs to the Triple K. I will kill you if you do not relinquish the claim you believe you have on her. If any harm befalls her, even if they were not of your bidding I will hold you accountable. But the next time I will not whip you, I will kill you.”
Sullivan nodded under Elijah’s piercing scrutiny. Sullivan’s shoulders drooped and Elijah was sure the fight had gone out of the man. Sullivan knew he had been beaten and beaten well. He lurched to his feet, and stumbled into the saloon, not looking anyone in the eyes.