It was becoming dark real fast, too fast. Jethro had lain down as suggested on one of the bare mattresses in the room—there were several pushed up against the walls. It was doubtful, however, that the pain in his hand was allowing him to sleep, though he was trying.
Jack was sitting at the only table in the one-room cabin and had taken over the task of keeping an eye on Casey, while Jed piddled around getting a fire started and opening up several of the canned goods. These he was apparently offering still cold, since he did no more than shove an open can at Jack, who ignored it for the moment.
No food was offered to Casey, but then, she was too tense to eat anything anyway, so she hardly noticed the significant slight. Why waste food on someone you had every intention of killing, after all?
She was still biding her time, though she didn’t have all that much left. She had considered removing her empty gun belt to put it away, using that as an excuse to open her reticule and get at the gun inside. But the problem with that meant the action would have to be immediate. In other words, she’d have to bring the gun right out and start using it.
They knew, or rather thought, that she had nothing else in her bag, so there was no reason for her to rummage around in it. Yet she needed at least a few moments to check how many bullets were actually in the gun, which she foolishly hadn’t done before putting it away, and she couldn’t remember how many were left after the last time she’d used it.
If the gun was empty, she’d be getting herself killed real quick no matter what she attempted. If only one or two bullets were left, she’d have to do some serious threatening and make sure these men believed her, to keep from having to use the ammunition. But if she had at least three bullets left, which was what she was hoping was the case, then she’d have no problem if they insisted on shooting it out with her instead of surrendering. She’d be prepared for either of those possibilities.
But she needed to do something pretty fast, because she was afraid Damian was going to show up, just as they were hoping he would. And if they even suspected that he was within hearing distance, they could and would use her to bring him out in the open so they could kill him. And he could be out there already.
Even if he hadn’t seen in which direction they’d headed upon leaving town, with the little she’d shown him about tracking, he should have been able to find the cabin before dark. If he was out there, then he was wisely waiting for full dark, which was just a matter of minutes away.
What worried her the most, however, was what he would do when he made his move. He didn’t have very many options, after all, and trying to parley with these fellows would be the worst of them.
The cabin had windows, but those had been boarded up at some point. And the door had one of those old wooden-plank locks, which had been lowered firmly into place and would take more than a few attempts to break through. There was no easy way to get into the cabin or to see inside it beforehand. All of which put the safest and easiest way out of this on Casey’s shoulders.
Jed was the only one she really had to worry about. Jack had a gun, but whether he was any good with it was questionable. And young Jethro wouldn’t be using his right hand for quite some time. The odds were far against his being able to use his left hand with any accuracy, so he was the last she needed to be concerned with.
Actually, now that she considered it, one bullet was all she would really need. If she got Jed out of the picture, the other two men would be manageable, at least long enough for her to retrieve Jed’s gun, which she’d already seen him reload. Besides, she didn’t want to kill Jack. If at all possible, she wanted Damian to have the satisfaction of bringing him to justice.
And she had to have at least one bullet in the gun. Damian wouldn’t have slid her a completely empty gun when she’d asked for bullets, now would he? So there was no reason, really, to wait any longer.
Jack was even being cooperative—in a sense. He was staring right at her, but actually, he didn’t appear to be seeing her. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, no doubt worrying over his present predicament just as she was, so it was possible that he wouldn’t notice what she was doing until it was too late.
Casey made her move. And she didn’t bother with the removal-of-the-gun-belt plan that she had worried over. The long-strapped reticule was resting on the floor by her right hip. She simply lifted her knees so her skirt partially hid it from view and her hand inched toward it, also concealed by her skirt. In another moment she had the gun in her hand and was leaping to her feet.
Unfortunately, even with her weapon aimed right at Jed, who had immediately glanced her way with a “What the hell?” he still reached for his own weapon. She didn’t have time to waste on scrupulous morals this once. He was drawing to kill. She aimed for his heart and pulled the trigger—and felt as if her own heart had just stopped when she heard the soft click of an empty chamber.
Death. She was looking it in the face once again. And when she heard the resounding blast of Jed’s gun…but it wasn’t his gun that had made the sound that had drained all the blood from her face. It was the door crashing open, and not after several attempts as Casey had thought it would take, but in one solid heave. God love him, again she had forgotten to give extra credit to Damian’s huge size and strength. He came in with his rifle in one hand and his finger already on the trigger.
Jed had barely turned in Damian’s direction when the rifle shot, at such close range, lifted him completely off his feet and slammed him into the wall behind him. Jethro sat up, terrified and enraged at the same time, when he saw his brother’s dead body slumped against the wall. He didn’t have a weapon handy though—hadn’t been smart enough to take one to bed with him—but Casey, being nearest to him, did—an empty gun still had some uses. She slammed it against the back of his head.
Jack, however, was digging in his pocket for his gun as well. He didn’t have much choice, life in prison or taking Damian down first.
Which choice Damian would prefer Jack make, Casey wasn’t sure, but he did attempt to get Jack to halt all movement by aiming the rifle directly at his head. “It’s not pretty, what a bullet from a weapon like this can do to someone’s face,” he explained. “Of course, that someone won’t care much afterward…”
Jack decided prison might be a better option, after all. He froze completely. Casey moved over and retrieved the gun in his coat pocket, a small derringer.
They had done it, or at least Damian had done it, gotten them both out of this dilemma and without bloodshed—theirs anyway. Her first instinct was to throw herself at Damian and kiss the hell out of him, but, of course, that was out of the question. First of all, he still needed to keep his attention on both Jack and Jethro. So she resorted to her second instinct.
“What took you so long?” she demanded in a tone about as grumpy as it could get.
He gave her only a brief, surprised glance before he answered in a sarcastic tone, nearly as surly as hers. “Nice to see you, too, Kid. Is there any rope around here to tie these two up with?”
“Probably not, but I’ve got lots of useless petticoats under this skirt that will make do.”
That was said just as caustically, yet it had the opposite effect on Damian. It made him smile. Probably because he knew she’d rather be in her jeans than in a confining dress, which she was stuck with for the time being.
She didn’t resent his humor—well, yes, she did—but she didn’t remark on it. She got busy looking for some rope instead. She didn’t find any even after locating a small shed out back that contained odds and ends, but a knife made quick work of her petticoats, and the tough cotton did serve just as well as a rope.
It was a few hours after dark by then, and Casey had no desire to spend the rest of the night in that cabin, nor was she the least bit tired. Her adrenaline was still flowing, in fact, though she couldn’t imagine why, now that they were safe. So she suggested they head back to Culthers immediately, and Damian agreed.
Jed was rolled up in a blanket and tied to the back of his horse. The other two men were left outside, fully trussed up and gagged—they weren’t going to be making any plans they could discuss together if they got left alone. They did get left alone when Damian went into the cabin one final time to put out the fire.
Casey wasn’t sure why she followed him, but she did. And then she kind of figured out why her blood was still pumping so strongly.
“I thought you were going to die today,” Damian said when he turned and found her behind him.
“So did I,” Casey replied in a small voice.
And then he yanked her to him and was kissing her in the way she’d wanted to kiss him earlier. So he felt it, too? A need to reaffirm life after thinking more than once today that they were each not going to see another sunrise? And damn, it was a powerful need. It didn’t matter that there was blood on the floor, or that there was no sheet on the bare mattress that he lowered her to, or that Jed and Jethro had been dumped on the ground outside. For her, all that mattered was the contact with someone she cared about—and the blazing desire that sprang immediately to life and blocked out every other thought.
He didn’t undress her, there was too much urgency for that; just raised her skirt and ripped off her drawers, probably not intentionally—the thin material simply didn’t withstand his strong tug. But she didn’t even notice until later. All she noticed at the moment was the welcoming taste of him as he continued to devour her mouth with his, and the incredible pleasure as he entered her.
Such a feeling of rightness, as if she had been missing something intangible but was now whole again. And the passion flared brighter. Yet it was over too quickly. It was almost immediate, the swift climb and then the soaring burst of ecstasy. Yet it was more intense than before, more wildly satisfying in a different way as well. And such peace settled over her afterward.
It was something she had needed, apparently, and needed very badly. It was just a singular, blaring misfortune that she was afraid Damian was the only one she’d ever experience it with. Had she admitted she cared about him? Dammit all, she cared too much.