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  “How do, pardner?” Ezra grinned at him, and George wondered if the kid was smart enough to hear the underlying menace.

  “Howdy.”

  Ezra’s stallion scented the mare and tried to get closer to her. Could Salida be in heat?

  “Hold still, you flea-bitten knothead.” Ezra yanked the reins, cutting the stallion’s mouth, and George could tell the big animal was going to start bucking.

  “Hold tight,” he warned Noelle in Spanish, but Ezra beat the stallion over the head with his quirt, and the stallion stopped. George wasn’t sure for how long

  “You gotta show ‘em who’s boss.” Ezra was a fool. One of these days, the stallion was going to get his revenge, but Ezra seemed totally unaware of how he was pressing his luck. “You a stranger in these parts?”

  The kid gave him an easy grin. “I reckon you could say that.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “Anywhere there’s a town where I can get a bath. A body gets tired washing in the creek. You gents know where the nearest town is?”

  “Nah. The only thing thataway…” Ezra gestured back the way they had come. “…is a whole lot of nothin’.” His glare at George ordered him to keep quiet, even though he knew that Willow Crick was about forty miles in that direction. “Seen some Injun sign, though. You’re better off ridin’ along with us. For protection. Eli’ll even share the woman with you.”

  “Hey!” Eli protested. “I ain’t had a taste of her yet.”

  “I said you’ll share,” Ezra snarled.

  And wouldn’t they all get a surprise.

  Eli grumbled but agreed. George had the feeling his brother was the brains of the outfit, not that that was saying much about the intelligence of either man.

  “That’s too kind of you.” The kid glanced at George. “How does the lady feel about it?”

  “She ain’t no lady. She’s nothing but a whore.”

  “She’s not dressed like a whore.”

  Eli scowled at the kid. “How would you know?”

  “I was a professor in a whore house.”

  “You? You’re just a kid.”

  The kid shrugged.

  “Well, it don’t matter. She’s just fine with it.” Eli reached around and squeezed her breast. “Ain’t you, woman?”

  This was the first time Eli had put his hands on George—the need to put distance between them and Willow Crick had been too great for even a quick grope—and he just hoped Eli didn’t realize he squeezed the extra material a sympathetic dressmaker had stitched into the dresses to “give the poor young lady what God had neglected to.”

  He needed Eli’s hands off him, and George elbowed him. It might cost him another blow to the head, but it would be worth it, especially when Eli almost fell off the black and white pinto he rode.

  “So sorry.” George said.

  “Why you—” Eli raised his hand.

  “Don’t you hit my b-big sister!” Noelle shouted, and George felt ice coil in his gut.

  Ezra slapped his hand over Noelle’s mouth and then yowled when she bit him. He cuffed her head, and George twisted in Eli’s grip, determined to get free. Eli smacked him so hard he knocked off George’s bonnet, leaving it to hang from the ribbons down his back.

  “Mind your manners, missy, or I’ll cut that pretty face of yours.”

  “Georgie!”

  “It’ll be okay, Chris.”

  “You two keep thinking that.” Ezra slid his fist around Noelle’s throat and squeezed. This time George’s insides knotted, and for a second he couldn’t catch his breath. Would he be able to move fast enough to save his sister?

  “You really want to do that?” the kid asked.

  “Stay out of this.”

  “Uh huh.” The kid gave Ezra a bland look, and Ezra let go of Noelle’s throat. Thank God. “Well, I reckon I’ll be heading on west.”

  “Hold on there a minute, stranger. There ain’t no need to rush off.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s that you’re carrying on your back?”

  The kid reached over his shoulder and ran his fingers over the canvas that covered the odd shape. “This? It’s a banjo.”

  “Yeah? You wanna play something for us?”

  “I don’t play.”

  “Right. Well…uh…” Ezra took out a green-black twist of tobacco and held it toward him. “Care for a chaw?”

  “No, thanks, never got into the habit.” The kid continued to watch him.

  Ezra cut off a slice of the tobacco and stuffed it in his mouth. “That’s a mighty fine-looking mare you got there. Would you be willing to sell her? We’ll even throw in Eli’s pinto.”

  The kid studied the gelding, and George could tell by the way he did that he knew something about horses.

  “I don’t reckon. Sorry.”

  Ezra grunted. “You got any grub you’d be willing to share? We got a long way to go, and with these two extra mouths, we’ll wind up running low.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Well, now, that ain’t very neighborly of you.”

  The kid didn’t seem concerned about what Ezra thought of him. “I spotted some white-tailed deer a mile or so back. They lit out when they caught my scent, but if you get a move on, you can catch up with them. If you get close enough, you might be able to shoot them with your revolvers.” Of course he’d noticed the brothers’ rifle scabbards were empty.

  That had been Frank’s doing. He’d managed to get off the shots that caused the brothers to lose hold of their rifles, and while George was proud of his marksmanship, he couldn’t help wondering how Frank had learned to shoot like that.

  Ezra gave the kid a dirty look.

  The kid continued. “You can leave the woman and the kid with me, if you like.”

  George bit back a groan. Did he realize what he was asking? Was he that stupid?

  “Nah, that’s okay. I got plans for the boy.” Ezra sent Eli a glance, and George knew he’d have to take some kind of action or he, Noelle, and the kid would be dead.

  But then the kid shifted in the saddle, and if Papa hadn’t taught George similar movements, he would never have realized that was the reason Salida began backing away.

  “Whoa, pard! Where you going? That’s no way to be.” Ezra had his hand resting on his thigh, and he inched it toward the big Colt on his hip.

  This could lead to nothing but bad things, and George had no intention of waiting to see how this hand played out. George jammed the heel of his hand up under Eli’s chin, and Eli’s chin snapped back.

  “My tongue! My tongue!” Eli howled as blood dripped down his chin.

  The kid sent Salida barreling into the pinto, and while the exhausted gelding staggered, George slid out of Eli’s loosened grip and darted across to where the stallion, dancing in agitation, distracted Ezra long enough for George to grab Noelle and get them out of the line of possible gunfire.

  “Georgie,” Noelle whispered. “Are you okay? Eli hit you awfully hard.”

  “I’m fine.” His jaw ached a little, but it could have been worse—the angle had been awkward, and Eli hadn’t been able to put his full weight behind the blow. George wasn’t going to worry his sister over something like that.

  “Is that mare Salida?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get her, Eli!” Ezra bawled. “Goddammit! Get him!”

  George swore and covered his sister’s body with his own.

  Before Eli could do anything, the kid had his revolver out. He fanned the hammer, and Eli spilled out of his saddle. The pinto started to move, but the reins dropped to the ground, and he came to a halt, shudders rippling his hide.

  The kid shifted again in the saddle, and Salida picked up on the almost unnoticeable signal. She wheeled around on her hind legs, which gave the kid the opportunity to turn his gun on Ezra and fire once more.

  The bullet hit him in the gut, and George felt a sense of savage satisfaction. It wasn’t an easy way to die, and it took a long time.
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  They’d sat around the campfire one night after the little ones had been put to bed in the wagons, and Steve had spun a tale of how a quarrel on one of the wagon trains he’d led resulted in a gunfight and a man being gutshot.

  At the time, George’d had the feeling Steve had been the one doing the shooting, even though he’d denied it.

  Ezra stared at the kid in shock. “Goddammit, what’d you have to go and shoot me for?” He had the nerve to look insulted. And then he toppled off the gray stallion.

  The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds.

  The kid dismounted and left Salida ground tied. Papa had suggested George teach the buckskin mare to stay in place with the reins hanging free.

  “You okay, ma’am?” He would have approached, but George pretended to shy away from him, and he made a placating gesture.

  “Yes.” George gathered Noelle into his arms.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this.” The kid turned and walked toward Eli.

  “He got what he deserved.”

  “I reckon.”

  George whispered into his sister’s ear, “We’re going to make a break for it soon. Be ready.”

  Noelle stayed silent but nodded.

  “For the love of—would you look at this?” The kid seemed upset as he studied the gelding intently. “How could any man treat his animals this way?”

  Whether the question was rhetorical or not, George didn’t bother answering. He hoisted his skirts, scooped up his sister, and raced toward Salida. He tossed Noelle onto the mare’s back, swung up behind her, and kicked Salida into a run.

  “Hey!” The kid let out a shrill whistle.

  George leaned low over Salida’s neck, protecting Noelle in case the kid decided to shoot, and spoke to the mare in Spanish. Salida ignored the kid’s summons and kept going.

  Chapter 45

  “Do you think he’ll shoot us?” Noelle asked as they raced through the afternoon.

  “No.” George hoped he wasn’t lying. But he had the kid’s rifle, which was in the fringed scabbard secured to the saddle, and Salida put distance between them so quickly the kid’s revolver wasn’t likely to have the range. George was also pleased to note Salida was in better condition than the slate gray stallion and the pinto, and she was covering the ground at a good clip. The kid had seemed nice enough—George had known he was trying to get his attention to offer reassurance, but George had kept his gaze down. He was supposed to be a frightened woman.

  After a couple of miles, George slowed Salida to a walk and straightened. Noelle sat up and glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “I’m scared, Georgie.”

  “I’ve got you.” He held her close for a minute, then stopped the mare and dismounted to adjust the stirrups. They were too short for him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He smiled up at her.

  “Not for me—I know you’ll keep me safe. I’m worried about Charlie and Frank and Bart.” Her voice hitched. “Do you think they’re all right?”

  “I’ll bet the ranch on it.”

  “The ranch we’re going to?”

  “Yeah.” He got his skirts out of the way—he’d stopped wearing the bustle once they’d left Pennsylvania—stepped into the stirrup, and swung his leg over Salida’s back. A tap to the mare’s sides got her moving again. He rubbed her neck. It was wonderful riding her. He’d missed it.

  Noelle rested her head against his shoulder. “Why did they shoot Mr. Fox?”

  “I don’t know, Christmas angel.”

  * * * *

  “You go on into town,” Captain Marriott said. “I’ll stay with the wagons.”

  “I’ll stay with Captain Steve too,” Thomas announced.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you mind if I accompany you, Mrs. Hall?” Mr. Fox asked. “Mrs. Fox isn’t feeling well, and I’d like to get her something that will settle her stomach.”

  “Sure.” George remembered how Mama would get sick when she was expecting and wondered if that might be the case with Mrs. Fox. He thought it was funny that Mr. Fox asked him instead of Bart or Frank.

  “Stay with your mother, children, in case she needs anything.”

  “Yes, Father.” The oldest one, a boy, put his arms around his two sisters. They were a nice family.

  George rode behind Bart, taking the opportunity to slip a hand under his belt when no one could see. “Behave,” Bart murmured, “or I’ll make you pay later.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll tan your hide.”

  George’s prick hardened. “Is that a promise?” He nipped the back of Bart’s neck and chuckled when Bart reached back and pinched his thigh.

  “Get a move on, you two!” Charlie rode with Noelle on Socks.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charlie giggled. She enjoyed dressing like a boy and got a kick out of being referred to as one as well.

  Frank and Mr. Fox fell in beside them, and they rode into town.

  They tied their mounts to the railing in front of Weatherford’s Mercantile and entered the store. Mr. Fox purchased chamomile tea for his wife, and George bought some rock candy for Bart and his sisters and saved a few pieces for Thomas and the Fox children.

  “Is there any place we can have a bath in this town?” Frank asked the man behind the counter.

  “As a matter of fact, there is. It’s just down the street, adjacent to the hotel.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to a bath for the last three hundred miles.” Frank tipped his hat.

  They went out into the midmorning sun, untied their horses and the pony, and strolled down the main street with the horses trailing behind.

  As they walked, Bart and Frank talked about what Frank would do once they reached Woody Draw. Charlie teased Noelle to let her take Socks’s reins on the ride back to camp. Mr. Fox told a joke, and George laughed at it.

  The next thing they knew, all hell had broken loose, shots were being fired, and George and Noelle had been snatched. They both fought, and they both wore the marks of the struggle, but so did the men who’d grabbed them.

  * * * *

  “Why didn’t Frank and Bart come after us?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. He’d wondered about that, and he hoped to God it wasn’t because they’d been shot. The thought of Bart lying bleeding in the street, much the same way as Mr. Fox, tore at George’s heart, and he had to push the image from his mind in an effort to stay alert to save his sister.

  “Do you think Charlie is okay?”

  The men had hustled out of town so quickly, they’d lost sight of everyone.

  “Bart will make sure she is.”

  “Georgie…what are we going to do?”

  “We’ve got the kid’s rifle. We’re going back to the wagons to make sure everyone is okay.” George ran his hand over Noelle’s hair. It was sweaty, and her face had reddened from the long hours in the sun. It was a good thing the sun would be setting soon. George reached down to tear off a strip of the petticoat he wore and reached for the canteen that hung from the saddle horn. He dampened the material and patted his sister’s face, then draped the cloth over her head, hoping it would cool her down.

  “And then, Georgie?”

  “And then we’re getting away from Willow Crick.”

  * * * *

  George didn’t know how hard Salida had been ridden that day, so he didn’t push her, just kept her at a steady pace. He planned to avoid Willow Crick, since no one had come to their aid, and he wasn’t certain if the man who ran the town would try to carry out the brothers’ plans to take Noelle back to her uncle.

  As if George would let that happen. He’d never aimed a gun at anyone, but if they tried to take his sister from him, he’d shoot them without thinking twice about it.

  After about ten miles, he slowed Salida to a halt.

  “George?”

  “We’re going to take a break.” He lowered Noelle to the ground, then dismounted himself and took the canteen fro
m where it hung around the saddle horn. He knew his sister must be thirsty, but he unscrewed the top and sniffed. It didn’t have the alkaline smell of Eli’s canteen, but just to make certain, he took a sip. It was fresh, and he nodded and handed it to Noelle.

  “Take your time, okay?” He didn’t tell her to drink sparingly; even though he wasn’t sure how long it would take them to get back to the wagon train, she’d need the water.

  And so would Salida.

  “I’m done, Georgie.” She offered him the canteen and blotted her lips daintily. She’d grown up to be a lady, just like Mama.

  It was a good thing his bonnet was still hanging down his back. He removed it, poured some water into it, and let the mare drink.

  Noelle took the saddlebag and searched its contents. “Meat!”

  “Is there anything else?” He didn’t want to start a fire and possibly attract attention.

  “There’s jerky and hardtack.”

  “We’ll have that.”

  “There’s some oats also.”

  “I’ll give a few handfuls to Salida.” Further search of the other saddlebag revealed a curry comb, brush, and hoof pick.

  “The man was a good horseman, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah. You rest, now. I’ll take care of Salida.”

  * * * *

  It was full dark by the time they saw the lights of Willow Crick. George skirted the town, giving it a wide berth, but the wagons weren’t where he expected to find them. The grasses were flattened, though, and he was able to track the trail to them.

  “Georgie!” Noelle tugged his sleeve as he bent low in the saddle, studying the ground. She pointed.

  “I see it.” About a dozen yards ahead was the muted glow of a campfire. “Stay quiet.” He brought Salida to a halt and called softly, “Ho the camp.”

  He could hear a gun being cocked, and then Charlie answered. “If you’re not my brother, I’ll shoot you dead.”

  George swallowed a laugh, the first one since this nightmare had started. “You don’t want to shoot me, pequeña, and I don’t want to be dead.”

  “Georgie!” Charlie squeaked. “Oh, Georgie!” She came running toward them.