His Substitute Mail-Order Bride. Sherri Shackelford
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her. She was done being a victim.
When the outlaw reached for another bag, she lunged at him. Caught off guard, he flailed in startled surprise. The blade tore through her sleeve, piercing the skin of her forearm. She winced and stumbled backward. The outlaw followed her retreat and caught her around the upper arm.
“That was real stupid, lady.”
Russ charged. “Let her go.”
The lead outlaw lurched between them, his gun extended. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you both!”
The man in the blue bandanna gave her a shake, and his sour breath puffed against her cheek. “What’s so valuable that you’re willing to throw yourself in front of a knife?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Russ spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Everyone calm down.”
“Calm down?” The lead outlaw spat into the dust. “You must be the dumbest feller in the state walking into a holdup all by your lonesome.”
“It might look that way,” Russ declared, an ominous flicker in his exotic hazel eyes. “But I’m actually the decoy. While you’ve been flapping your lips, my men have been surrounding you. If you make one threatening move toward the lady, they’ll shoot, and they don’t miss.”
“You’re bluffing.”
The second outlaw struck Russ in the head with the butt of his gun.
Anna cried out as Russ crumpled to the dirt.
The leader clutched her arm and spun her around. “Leave him be.”
She craned her neck, searching for any sign of life. Russ lay sprawled in the middle of the road, his arms akimbo, his black hat crushed beneath his shoulder. Vivid red blood flowed from his forehead.
“Let me tend his wound,” she pleaded. “He’s bleeding.”
“Later.”
The outlaw shoved her away from the prone man. “If you don’t have anything of value, maybe we can ransom you.”
A gunshot echoed through the canyon, and the outlaw’s hat flew off. Shocked by the unexpected violence, Anna and the man stumbled apart.
Her captor yanked his blue bandana off his chin and spun around. “What the—”
“That feller wasn’t bluffing, Bucky!” his partner shouted. “They’re hiding in the creek bed.”
“Don’t shoot.” Bucky dropped the knife and reached for his gun. “Or I’ll kill her!”
Another shot sounded, and Bucky jerked. The gun dropped from his slack grip. His knees twitched, but he stayed on his feet. Tearing open his duster coat, he revealed a red stain blooming over his chambray shirt.
The wounded man gaped at something behind her. “I’ve been hit.”
Anna followed the outlaw’s gaze, and her jaw dropped. Russ stalked toward them, a smoking pistol dangling from his fingertips. Blood obscured half his face, and a growing scarlet stain darkened his shirt collar.
Unable to reconcile the sudden change of events, she stared in stunned silence. Russ had been unconscious a moment before, and now he was swooping toward them like an avenging savior.
A shot whizzed past her ear. Stifling a shriek, Anna pressed her hands against her mouth. Without slowing his stride, Russ shoved the stunned outlaw, dropping the wounded man instantly. Shock rendered her immobile, and she remained rooted to the spot.
The remaining outlaw took one look at the gun in Russ’s hand and stumbled toward the ditch, then disappeared behind the derailed cattle cars.
“C’mon, Anna.” Russ grasped her around the waist. “Stay down.”
The urgent note in his voice cut through her torpor, and she willed her legs to move.
Russ urged her toward the wagon. He crouched behind the spoked wheel, shielding her with his body, his gun at the ready. With the back of his hand, he swiped at the blood streaming down his face.
“I’ve got two men hiding near the creek,” he said. “Stay out of the crossfire.”
A thunderous volley echoed over them. Russ fired several shots at the overturned cattle cars. Her ears rang, and the pungent scent of gunpowder filled the air. The frightened mule lunged, jerking the wagon. Anna dove forward and grasped the trailing reins. Bracing her heels in the dirt, she leaned back, tugging with all her might. As the mule brayed and bucked, the leather dug painfully into her palms.
Russ reached to help, and she shook him off. “I’ve got this. You keep shooting.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s over.”
The chaotic scene went eerily quiet. The mule stilled. Anna dropped the reins, collapsing against the buckboard. For a long moment, the ominous silence was broken only by the steady tick-tick-tick of the watch in Russ’s pocket and the harsh sound of her labored breathing.
He turned and cupped her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I’m f-fine. What about the driver?”
“He’s safe, don’t worry.”
For the past five years, hatred for this man had been her constant companion. He’d broken her sister’s heart, he’d torn apart their family, and he’d set in motion a chain of events that had ended in disaster. Yet his striking hazel eyes held nothing but concern.
Where was the villain she’d clung to all these years?
An earsplitting whistle sounded, startling her.
Russ heaved a sigh. “You’re safe, Miss Darby.”
“It’s Mrs. Linford now,” she corrected automatically.
“Is your husband traveling separately?”
“I’m widowed.”
That one innocuous word did little to encompass her current situation. Her late husband had been murdered in broad daylight by an unknown assailant. Shot dead on the walkway outside his office building. The police had assumed the brazen killing was a crime of passion. Rather than having too few suspects, they had too many. Her late husband’s philandering was well known around the city. The extensive list of scorned women had produced plenty of enticing leads, but no conclusive evidence.
Following an unflattering story on the front page of the morning post, she’d been outright shunned by the people she’d once considered close friends. The newspaper had gone into great detail about her husband’s numerous infidelities. Though she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing by the lead detective, vicious rumors had forced her from town.
Everyone who mattered was convinced she’d murdered her husband.
* * *
His head throbbing, Russ stood. “We obviously have a lot to catch up on, but now isn’t the time. Can you stand?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Anna pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. “But you’re bleeding.”
Russ touched the spot. Their fingers brushed, and she quickly pulled away.
He raked a hand through his hair. She was as skittish as a newborn foal, and his appearance probably wasn’t calming her nerves any. He retrieved his plain handkerchief and wiped away the rest of the blood as best he could, his fingers brushing the growing lump.
Satisfied he was somewhat respectable once more, he held out his hand, and Anna clasped his fingers. She leaned heavily on his aid with a mumbled apology. Once she’d steadied herself, he placed a firm hand on the small of her back.
She eyed him warily, and something shifted in his chest. Perhaps it was their previous acquaintance, or perhaps it was her slight frame,