For a long moment, the four of them simply stared at each other. Victoria stiffened her back against the unaccustomed tingle of fear. There was no way she was going to let them see she was intimidated by the mere sight of a criminal---even if he was the coldest, meanest, most vicious-looking man she’d ever seen.
The outlaw’s clothes were dirty, as if he’d lived in them for several days, and one sleeve was torn and stained with dried blood. The front of his shirt was likewise splotched with blood. Several days’ growth of beard roughened his jaw, and a red cut slashed one cheek. His black hair was long and shaggy. His skin was weathered, his face as hard and unmoving as granite. And his eyes---Victoria had never seen eyes that black or that cold. It was certainly no surprise that he was in chains.
The lawman with him was little better. He was shaven and clean, at least, but he had the same air of toughness, the same hard set to his face. All her life, Victoria had known rough men; it took that sort of man to tame the harsh land of Texas. But never before had she faced a man who was dangerous. And this man, star or no star, was dangerous.
The lawman’s cool green eyes flickered over her, and suddenly Victoria was very aware of the fact that she was wearing a plain, travel-stained brown dress and bonnet. She must look like a Quaker, she thought, and wished she had changed her clothes. Men had always told her that she was beautiful, and it seemed unfair that at this moment she should look so ordinary.
Something of her chagrin must have shown on her face, for the barest trace of a smile touched the man’s lips, and his eyes warmed a little. Color rushed to Victoria’s cheeks. What was she thinking of! Why should she care what this man thought, or how she looked to him? She didn’t even know him. She didn’t want to know him. He looked like the kind of man you would walk out of your way to avoid.
But she couldn’t help noticing that his face was handsome, his lips firm and finely cut beneath a rakish mustache, or that his shoulders were broad and powerful. And she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the long, smooth line of his legs and his narrow hips, accentuated by the wide leather gun belt he wore. It wasn’t at all like her. Her breath came a little faster, and her fingers curled into her hands. For once in her life, Victoria was uncertain.
Then Amy moved, startling them all. “Amy!” Victoria reached out to grab her arm, but it was too late; Amy was already past her, walking straight up to the men.
Amy had never viewed the world as others viewed it, and she didn’t now. She did not see, as Victoria did, an outlaw in the grasp of the law. She saw only a man who was dirty, tired and in pain, whose cheek was cut, and whose arms were weighed down by the heavy iron bands around his wrists, which had been rubbed raw by the manacles. Amy’s heart went out to him.
“You poor thing.” She reached out and took his hand, sliding the manacle up his arm to expose the broken skin where it had rubbed. She felt in her pocket, removed her handkerchief and wrapped it gently around his wrist to protect it from the rough friction of the metal.
Sam Brody stood utterly still. In his whole life he’d never seen a woman as beautiful as the one before him, all delicate pink and gold and white. She made him think of the painted angels that he’d seen as a child in St. Louis Cathedral when he’d slipped inside on a cold winter’s night to get warm—before the priest or nuns saw him and chased him away.
She stunned him by picking up his hand. Her flesh was soft and warm, her touch gentler than anything he’d ever felt. He’d known the hands of many whores, but no lady had ever touched him, and no woman’s fingers had been tender on his flesh. Amy looked up into his face, her pale blue eyes huge and serious. “This will keep it from rubbing so.”
Brody was stabbed with pure longing. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way he’d never known before, with his whole being. “Don’t you know what I am?” he asked, his voice roughened with desire and the knowledge that she was as far away from him as the moon.
She smiled a little. “No. I’m sorry.”
He was pieced by the sweetness of her words and voice, as if she had reached down inside him and laid her warm finger on the scars of his soul.
Slater was startled when Amy left Victoria and walked up to Brody. He had seen her beside the other woman, but he had barely noticed her, for he was too distracted by the vivid beauty of her companion to give this pale girl more than a glance. When she took Brody’s hand, he was able to do nothing but stare for a long moment, transfixed by the sight of an obviously well-bred girl daring to talk to and even touch Sam Brody.
When Brody spoke, it broke Slater’s trance, and he jerked Amy’s hand away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get away from him.”
The girl glanced up at him with wide innocent eyes, not angered, just surprised and questioning. Brody’s lips drew back from his teeth in a feral snarl. Slater released Brody’s arm and lifted his rifle to hold it ready in both hands. But it was not from Brody that the attack came. It was from the other woman, the black-haired beauty with the vivid blue eyes.
She threw herself between Slater and the blond girl, as though to protect her. Her eyes were flaming. “Get your hands off her! How dare you!” Her voice was vibrant and rich, even though it was quivering with fury.
Slater’s loins tightened involuntarily, and his response to her irritated him. This was no time to be thinking below the waist, with Sam Brody beside him and these two women creating confusion. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped. “Get out of here, and take her with you.”
“Amy’s not hurting you. There’s no need to yell at her,” Victoria retorted. She, too, was confused and more than a little irritated by the strange effect this man had on her, and it was a relief to be able to vent some of her feelings in healthy anger.
“No need? Lady, she’s interfering with my prisoner. This is Sam Brody, for God’s sake!”
“I don’t care! You have no right—”
“I have every right. I’m transporting him to Austin today. You and this girl are interfering with that. What’s the matter with her, anyway? Is she crazy?”
Had he not cast a slur on Amy, Victoria might have subsided. Frankly, she couldn’t understand what had impelled Amy to take care of this criminal’s arm, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to pull Amy away. But when Slater questioned Amy’s sanity, all Victoria’s protective instincts rushed up inside her.
“No, she’s not crazy! She’s simply a decent person who can’t stand to see another human being hurt. She’s not an animal who doesn’t care whether someone’s bleeding or not!”
Slater’s mouth tightened, and he moved forward. “Meaning I am?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” The dark haired girl was as crazy as the other one, but so beautiful it was hard to care.
Could Brody somehow have arranged for this bizarre distraction in order to escape? Slater cast a sideways glance at his prisoner, but Brody was just standing there, letting the blonde wind another handkerchief around his other wrist and staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
“Stop swearing at me!” Victoria snapped. “You have no right to swear at me.”
“I beg your pardon.” Slater’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I was addressing a lady. I thought I was talking to a shrew who consorts with criminals.”
“How dare you!” Victoria thought with real pleasure about slapping him. She couldn’t think of anyone, ever, who had infuriated her so completely and quickly. The man was crude, suspicious, overbearing and—well she couldn’t think of a word bad enough. “It’s obvious that you wouldn’t recognize a lady. You can’t possibly ever have been in the company of one. No gentleman would strike a lady.”
“I didn’t hit her!” Slater retorted indignantly. “I pulled her hand away from my prisoner!”
Slater’s and Victoria’s angry voices spiraled, but Brody heard them only as a meaningless buzz of noise in the background. He was aware of nothing except the smooth glide of Amy’s fingers over his skin as she wrapped his wrist. He stood perfectly still, afraid that she might stop if he made any move at all. How could she not be scared of him? How could she remain there doctoring him when every movement she made brought her into contact with his chains? Surely she must realize that he was a criminal. Yet she stood within his reach as innocently and trustingly as a child. He wanted to touch her face, but he held back, unwilling to break the fragile beauty of the moment.
So entranced was he by Amy’s ministrations that at first he paid no attention to the rest of the street. He should have; it was part of the plan that he had drilled into his gang. But he didn’t even glance around. So he didn’t see a man in the next block leave the post he’d been idly leaning against and go inside the saloon, returning moments later with three other men. Nor did he see the four men mount up and start down the street, leading a riderless horse.
But when they suddenly spurred their hoses forward, pulling their pistols from their holsters as they went, some sixth sense warned Brody, reminding him of his plan and his men. He looked up and saw them an instant before the sudden pounding of hooves penetrated the consciousness of the sheriff and Slater. Just as Slater spun around, Brody dived off the sidewalk onto the dirt street, curling a protective arm around Amy as he did so and taking her with him. He didn’t think; he just reacted—there was no way he was letting this woman get shot.
When Slater whirled and saw the men riding at them hell-bent-for-leather, he, too, knew what was happening. Normally he would have jumped for the nearest cover and started firing. But this time there was the woman. She was standing beside him, staring in amazement at the approaching men, even as the first gunfire spurted out. Slater grabbed her arm and flung her to the sidewalk, dropping down beside her. He rolled and came up on his knees firing the rifle.
The street was in turmoil as people screamed and ran for cover, and the gunfire was deafening. The sheriff drew his gun but fell with a cry of pain as he raised it to fire. The horses danced nervously, and the riderless horse bucked, whinnying. Brody jumped to his feet, yanking Amy up with him. She was stunned, the wind knocked out of her by their fall.
Slater made his way, shooting, to the porch post. Victoria, aware now of what was going on, knew enough to crawl after him, keeping low to the sidewalk. A bullet thudded into Slater’s left arm, but in the heat of the battle, he didn’t feel the pain. He cursed vividly as he fired, furious that he hadn’t seen the raid coming, that he’d let himself be distracted. He’d be damned if he would let Brody get away now, when he’d finally captured him!
When Brody jumped to his feet, Slater swung his carbine toward him. But Victoria, too, saw the outlaw rise, carrying Amy with him.
“No!” Victoria screamed, reaching out and knocking Slater’s gun up so that it fired harmlessly into the air.
“Damn it!” Slater brushed her aside, but she came right back, grappling with him for the gun.
“No! No! You’ll hit Amy!”
He flung Victoria away again, and she reeled back. Brody took the opportunity to grasp the reins of the rearing horse and brought him down sharply. Instinct rather than reason impelling him, he grabbed Amy and threw her up onto the horse. He was hampered by the manacles and chain between his wrists, but she was small and unresisting. He swung up after her.
By now Slater saw it was too late to make the shot. He jumped to his feet and ran out into the road. He raised his carbine, sighted and fired. One of the men jumped and swayed in his saddle, but he kept on riding. It was not Brody.
Slater slammed his gun to the ground, cursing vividly. Behind him Victoria struggled to her feet and stared down the street after the quickly disappearing men, her face as white as paper.
“Oh, my God! Amy. We have to go after them!”
Slater whirled, frustration and fury boiling in him, so angry he didn’t even notice the blood oozing from his arm. “What the hell is the matter with you? You’re as crazy as she is! Or maybe you’re a friend of Brody’s. Is that it?” He strode up to her, his green eyes shooting icy rage, his voice vicious. “She’s his woman and you’re---what, one of the other men’s sluts? Or maybe you’re Brody’s, too.”
“What! How dare you imply that I’m—” Victoria bit back the words. “This is insane. You’re insane. Why are you standing here slandering me? You should be chasing them.” She stabbed her finger in the direction the outlaws had taken. “But I can see that it would be useless to expect you to do something that competent. You’re obviously unable to handle the situation. After all, you just managed to lose your prisoner and allowed him to kidnap my cousin, too!” Victoria whirled, calling, “Sheriff? You’re—“
She stopped abruptly. The sheriff lay on the sidewalk, blood staining the wooden planks around him. “He’s been hit!”
Victoria and Slater reached the sheriff simultaneously. Victoria ripped off a long ruffle from her petticoat and pressed it against the sheriff’s bloodstained stomach. The man’s skin was gray, and he lay unmoving. Slater laid his fingers against the sheriff’s pulse.
He sighed. “He’s gone.”
“What?” Victoria stared at the sheriff. Her stomach flip-flopped and she thought she might be sick. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a dead person. Her mother had died when she was twelve, and Victoria had been standing beside her bed, holding her hand. And three years ago, one of the ranch hands had been thrown and trampled by a horse he was attempting to break. But never before had she seen one man die at the hands of another.
She swallowed hard and glanced over at Slater. He was squatting down beside the sheriff, and his eyes were closed, his head propped against his hand. It penetrated Victoria’s consciousness that he looked peculiarly sallow. He swayed and had to brace his hand against the supporting post to keep from overbalancing.
Automatically Victoria reached out to steady him, and it was then that she noticed his arm. Slater’s sleeve was soaked with raw, red blood, and there was a dark hole on his upper arm. “Good Lord,” she breathed. “You were shot, too.”
Slater nodded. He felt suddenly light-headed, and he slipped down to a sitting position, leaning back against the post. “Damn.”
“Don’t you ever do anything but curse?” Victoria ripped another ruffle from her petticoat, noting that her fingers were bloodless and shaking. She wadded up the strip and pressed it against his arm.
Slater winced and let out a grunt of pain. “Easy, will you?”
“It has to be tight to stop the bleeding.”
Victoria looked around her for the first time. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t noticed it, but several people had emerged from the nearby stores and offices and now stood in a ring around Victoria and Slater, staring, drawn by the drama and blood, yet seemingly afraid to come too close.
“Somebody get the doctor!” Victoria snapped, irritated by the blank stares. “Can’t you see he needs help?”
As if her words had broken the spell the crowd was under, the people began to move. Two men came forward.
“Luther’s already run for the doc.”
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Of course I am.” What was the matter with these people? Couldn’t they see she wasn’t the one who was wounded? She didn’t know that her face was ghostly white and her eyes huge. Nor did she realize that the men took her cool competence for shock that would momentarily be followed by screaming hysterics. She was accustomed to dealing with people who expected her to be calm and in charge.
She turned back to Slater. His eyes were open, and they didn’t yet have the dull glaze that forewarned a loss of consciousness. “Are you hit anywhere else?”
Slater shook his head. “Till just a minute ago, I’d forgotten I was hit there.”
“Most people would be aware that they were bleeding,” Victoria responded tartly.
Slater’s lips twitched up into something resembling a grin. “You’re a hard one.”
Victoria’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disdain. “I’m as hard as I have to be. Most women are.”
He shook his head slightly. “Not like you.”
“Well, I’m not a member of that criminal’s gang, if that’s what you’re trying to imply again.”
“I’m not.” Slater had spoken before in the heat of anger, but he knew that what he had said wasn’t true. It had been obvious that she hadn’t expected the gang to come riding in--after all, he had had to pull her down to keep her from getting shot. Slater could also tell that she was shaken by the sight of the sheriff’s dead body and his own blood, despite her calm efficiency. She had a cool head, but she wasn’t indifferent or inured to bloodshed. And she had urged him to follow Brody’s gang. She wanted him to get the other girl back. Slater was still confused about her, but he was sure she wasn’t in cahoots with Sam Brody.
The crowd around them grew with each passing moment. A man muscled his way through the onlookers to Victoria and Slater. He stopped short and stared at the sheriff’s still body. “Oh, my. Oh, my.” He looked vaguely around him, then back at the sheriff. He sat down heavily on the steps and rested his head in his hands. Victoria studied him. He was young, probably no more than twenty-two, and badly shaken. He wore the badge of a deputy sheriff.
Victoria’s heart sank. She had hoped that the deputy would follow the gang that had taken Amy, but it was obvious that he was not a person to take charge. And the lawman beside her was shot. He couldn’t lead a posse.
What was she to do? She had to get Amy back, and quickly. It made her shake inside even to think of what those men would do to her sweet innocent cousin. She remembered how terrified Amy had been when she first came to live with them. She was repulsed and frightened by any sort of violence. Even angry voices raised in a quarrel were enough to send Amy scurrying away. She would be horribly frightened. By the time they got through with her, even if they didn’t kill her, Amy might be a mindless wreck.
Victoria shivered, and her hand trembled on the bandage she was holding. Slater’s eyes darted to her face. He reached out with his good hand and took hold of her arm. “Are you going to faint?”
Victoria shook her head. “No.”
She looked at him. Her eyes were huge and a deep, fathomless blue, the kind of eyes that could pull a man’s heart right out of him. She appeared scared to death, and Slater found himself wanting to put his arm around her and promise that he would make everything all right. Good God, he thought. In the space of a few minutes he’d gone from wanting to throttle her to wanting to reassure her. Loss of blood must really be making him weak.
“I just realized,” Victoria told him, “that you’re my only hope for finding Amy. And you’re wounded. You can’t go after them.”
“The hell I can’t. I got shot in the arm, that’s all. It’s not even my gun hand.”
Victoria cocked a disbelieving eyebrow, but before she could express her opinion of his ability to ride in his condition, there was a rustling in the crowd behind her, and she turned to see the doctor elbowing his way toward them. He knelt quickly beside the sheriff and felt for a pulse that he didn’t really expect to find. Then he turned to Slater and Victoria.
When he saw Victoria, his eyebrows rose. “You again?” Victoria nodded. She still held the bandage on Slater’s arm. The doctor gently removed her hand, then peeled off the blood-soaked cloth. “It looks like you did a decent job of stemming the bleeding.” He ripped away the sleeve and examined Slater’s arm. “No sign of an exit. I’ll have to go in and get the bullet out.”
“Damn.” Slater released a breath. Victoria could see the beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He might have forgotten his wound in the heat of battle, but he was doubtless fully aware of it now.
“You’ll have to come to my office. I’ll ask some of these men to carry you.”
Slater shook his head. “My arm’s shot, not my legs. I can walk there.”
“Don’t be a fool. You don’t have to be a hero.”
“No hero. Being carried will jostle me more than walking.”
“You have a point there—if you can make it to the office without passing out.”
“I’ll get there. Just help me up.”
The doctor gripped Slater under his right arm and lifted, and Slater stood up. His color turned even paler.
“I’ll help.” Victoria stood up also. “You can lean on me. I’m strong.”
“So I noticed.” Slater curled his arm around her shoulders. She fit very naturally there.
Dr. Bauer’s office was three blocks away, and Slater felt every step of it. At first his arm was around Victoria more for balance than support, but by the time they reached the door of the office, he was leaning heavily against her, his fingers digging into her flesh. Victoria suspected she would have bruises on her arm the next morning.
She glanced up at his face. It was drawn with pain and covered by a sheen of perspiration. She looked at his arm; the wound was bleeding again.
Together she and the doctor helped Slater into the office and onto the operating table in the back room. Slater lay back with a sigh. Dr. Bauer turned toward Victoria. “Since you’re here, you might as well help.”
Victoria nodded. She wanted some work—anything—to keep her mind off what might be happening to Amy.
“Swab off the wound while I prepare the chloroform.” He gestured toward the washbowl and pitcher on the other side of the room.
Victoria found a washcloth, poured water into the bowl and returned to the table to clean Slater’s arm. He had been lying in a half-conscious state, but he came to with an oath when Victoria touched his arm. He glared at her. “What are you still doing here?”
“Helping Dr. Bauer,” Victoria replied with ta falsely sweet smile. “He knew you’d be such an ornery patient it would take more than one person to handle you.”
“Why’d the doc say ‘You again?’ when he saw you?”
“What? Oh. Because we met earlier today. My cousin…” Her voice faltered almost imperceptibly on the word. “My cousin and I and our chaperone were on the stage to San Antonio, but my chaperone fell as she was getting off and broke her leg. I helped the doctor set it.”
Slater winced as Victoria cleaned the wound, and his words came out a trifle unevenly. “Sounds like you’re a dangerous woman to be around.” His breath hissed between his teeth “Ouch! Damn, lady, what are you trying to do?”
“Clean you up a little. I’m sure that’s quite a task.”
She had a slicing tongue on her, Slater thought. A man would be a fool to want her, even with those huge blue eyes and that porcelain skin. Thank God he was in no shape to make a fool of himself right now.
The doctor returned, carrying a small bottle and a pad of cotton. Slater narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“Chloroform. So you won’t feel the pain.”
“No. I don’t want to be knocked out.”
“Captain Slater, be reasonable. I have to probe for that bullet. It’s buried in your arm. If you’re conscious, there will be a great deal of pain.”
“I’ve had a bullet dug out of my leg with nothing to kill the pain but a few slugs of Tennessee sour mash. I survived that.”
Dr. Bauer looked pained. “I’m afraid I don’t recommend Tennessee sour mash as an anesthetic.”
“I’ve had chloroform, too. It’ll knock me out for hours, and when I wake up, I’ll be sick as a dog. It will put me out of commission too long.”
“Exactly what do you think you would do in those hours?” Dr. Bauer asked in the tone of one humoring a madman.
“Find Sam Brody.”
The doctor stared, then glanced at Victoria. She shrugged.
“But, Captain Slater, that is unthinkable,” Dr. Bauer told him. “You’ve been shot.”
“It’s happened to me before.”
“Obviously. Well, whatever the medical practices you have been used to, here you will receive the best in modern care. I promise you, I have a light hand and will render you unconscious for the shortest possible time.” Dr. Bauer placed the pad over the bottle and upended it. Slater reached out his free hand for the bottle. Dr. Bauer gave Victoria a significant look. “Miss Stafford, I require your assistance.”
Victoria nodded and came around the table to grab Slater’s good arm with both hands. She leaned on it with her full strength, pressing it back down to the table. Dr. Bauer stepped in nimbly and placed the pad over Slater’s nose and mouth, muffling Slater’s roar.
Slater’s eyes blinked, and the strength went out of his arm. The last thing he saw before he slid into darkness was Victoria’s face. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes.
Dr. Bauer stepped back. “I’ve given him a light dosage, so we must work quickly. Please hold his arm still to make sure he doesn’t twitch in his sleep.”
He picked up a scalpel and a pair of long tweezers and began to explore the wound. Victoria held the injured arm firmly and watched the doctor find and neatly extract the dented bullet. Triumphantly, he held it up, then dropped it into a pan.
They both looked down at the sleeping man on the table.
“They say Captain Slater is one of the best there is,” the doctor commented.
“The best what?”
Dr. Bauer looked nonplussed by the question. “Why, one of the best Texas Rangers, I suppose. But, I forget, you are not from here. You know nothing about the excitement this Slater has caused in our little town.”
Victoria shook her head. “Something to do with Sam Brody, I presume.”
“That’s right. You know who Brody is?”
“I imagine everyone in Texas does. He’s robbed banks and stagecoaches for years, but they’ve never been able to catch him.”
“Yes. Well, Captain Slater has been after him for years. And he captured him the day before yesterday. Right here in Santa Clara.” The doctor beamed, proud of the town’s sudden rise to fame.
The doctor seemed inclined to talk more about the exciting events of the past few days, but Victoria washed up and made her escape as soon as she could. She had no use for the doctor’s stories right now. She had to learn what was being done to find Amy.
She supposed she should hurry back to the hotel and tell Mrs. Childers what had happened. After all the time they had been gone, the woman was probably frantic with worry. But Victoria didn’t have time to waste. Instead, she returned to the sheriff’s office.
Inside she found the young deputy she had seen earlier, an older deputy who seemed equally ineffectual, and several of the men from the town, discussing the possibility of a posse. When she entered, the men turned to look at her, and all conversation stopped.
“Please, go ahead,” she told them. “I want to hear what you plan to do to find Amy.”
“Who?”
“My cousin. The woman who was kidnapped.”
“Oh.” Several pairs of eyes shifted away from her.
Finally one of the older men said, “Ma’am, I’m real sorry about your cousin. We’ll do our best to find her.”
“I’m sure you will. What are your plans?”
The man looked a little taken aback. “Uh, I know you aren’t from around here…”
“No. We were traveling on the stage to San Antonio.”
“Maybe we could get in touch with your father. Or an uncle who could—”
“I plan to send a telegram to my father as soon as I’m through here. He’ll come immediately, of course, and he’ll do everything he can to help you find Amy. But it will take him a day to ride here, and we have to do something immediately. The colder the gang’s trail gets, the harder it will be to find Amy.”
“Well, yes, ma’am, of course we’re planning on setting out right away. Just as soon as we talk to the Ranger.”
“Captain Slater? He’s out cold and will be for some time.”
“He’s one of the best.” The older deputy echoed the doctor’s earlier sentiment. Victoria decided that was a phrase she could grow tired of easily. “We’ll be better off getting his advice before we do anything. We’re all agreed on that.”
Victoria looked around the room. It was just as she had feared when she first saw the young deputy. With the sheriff dead and Slater laid up with a gunshot wound, there was no leadership for a posse. This bunch would never be able to find Brody’s gang, let alone bring them in.
She would simply have to do it herself.