The Innocent And The Outlaw. Harper George St.
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his brother for daring to approach her while he was gone, but he just moved forward to set his saddlebag and bedroll on the floor in front of the fire. The giant joined him and they stepped to the door, murmuring in voices too low for her to hear, though she caught the occasional word in Spanish. Then the big man nodded and closed the door behind him as he left. Her gaze went back to the bedroll. It appeared they intended to stay the night in the shack. Would she sleep in the bedroll with him or hang like this all night? With her fingers already starting to fall asleep, both options seemed unsavory.
He shrugged out of his duster and folded it lengthwise before holding it out as if to drop it on a table, but the room was bare of anything save the lamp sitting on a crudely built stool. Noting that, he allowed the coat to drop behind him to the floor before looking back to her. His hands rested at his waist, guiding her attention to the impressive Colts with their pearl inlaid grips holstered at his hips. Searching for other weapons, she made a sweep of his person, her gaze raking down long, powerful legs to the knife tied at his ankle. Its blade was almost a foot long. It made her own tiny knife, hidden in her boot, seem like the pathetic security that it was.
Feeling just slightly more defeated than she had before, she allowed her gaze to rove back up to his hands. They were so large, just one had managed to wrap itself about both of her wrists with ease. In his position, his shirt was stretched taut across the muscles of his chest, revealing just how thick and solid it was. Sometimes the added layers of material from a thick coat and duster made a man seem much larger than he was. Often the men who rode with Ship or the ones who came into the saloon seemed formidable until they divested themselves of their outer wear to reveal a soft middle or a gaunt frame. Not this one. He was trim around the middle and just as muscled as she had imagined he would be. She’d ridden before him on the horse and had felt that strength at her back, but she’d hoped she’d been mistaken. The slender thread of hope that had made her think she might be able to survive long enough in a physical skirmish to reach for his knife or gun broke beneath the truth of his powerful frame. It was hopeless to plan that sort of escape. No, she’d have to come up with another plan quickly. Her sisters must be worrying themselves sick and her heart clenched to hug them against her and reassure them that everything would be all right.
He was watching her, but hadn’t yet moved. “What do you plan to do with me?” she asked because she couldn’t keep quiet under the force of his scrutiny any longer.
“That’s an interesting question. One with an answer that depends more on you than on me.” He smiled. A slight upturn of his mouth on the left side that made her once again note how beautifully sculpted those lips were. It was a ridiculous observation, but there it was and, once noted, it wasn’t something that could be unseen. Forcing herself not to look at them, she instead watched how he moved with ease and control as he closed the distance between them. Lazy indifference was the phrase that came to mind. Without a care in the world, almost as if he hadn’t strung her up at all and they were about to have a drink back at the saloon. The thought almost made her laugh and she realized that her very real fear must be making her daft.
“You’re toying with me.”
Genuine amusement flashed in his eyes as he came to a stop before her, too close to be decent, but then the entire situation smacked of indecency. “Regretfully, no.” He breathed out the words. “Answer my questions honestly and you’ll be fine, sweetheart.” His hand rested on her waist as he moved to stand behind her. With her arms strung up, she couldn’t turn her head to watch him so she waited as he came to a stop behind her. The sudden silence in the room was only broken by the crackling of the fire and her own breath. He was close, his body heat actually warming her backside, but if it was because he was purposely standing close or if it was just an unfortunate accident of the room’s dimensions, she had no idea. Until his fingers touched her ribs. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip to stifle her gasp of surprise and managed not to squirm as he ran his hands down the sides of her hips and then her legs, coming to a stop at her ankle boots. When he began to untie one, she kicked out.
“Don’t take my shoes!” If she managed to escape she needed her shoes, but more importantly, she didn’t want him to know about the knife.
He ignored her protests and clamped an arm around her legs, effectively turning her into a twitching worm with no limbs. The extra weight pained her wrists, so she stopped fighting and hung her head, accepting the momentary defeat. The left ankle boot was the first to be tossed across the room, followed soon by the right. He stood and his boots came into her line of vision as he moved around to her front. Though they were dusty, the hint of a sheen that lurked beneath implied they were impeccably cared for. Outlaws were scruffy creatures who could barely get their hands on two coins to rub together, because they drank away everything they stole. Who were these men?
Taking her chin in a chillingly gentle hold, he forced her to meet his gaze. He wasn’t smiling as he held the knife he’d found in its leather sheath before her face.
“Ever use this before?” His warm breath fanned her cheek.
“A few times.” She jerked her chin from his grasp. “I’m used to dealing with unsavory men.”
But none so handsome as him, an inner voice chided. With him standing so close to her, it was difficult not to notice his beauty. The planes of his face, his cheekbones, the bow of his lips, the strong jaw and chin, he could have been sculpted in granite by a master craftsman. The coarse sprinkling of a few days’ worth of beard only made his classic beauty more rugged and masculine. Oh, dear Lord, Em, of all the men Ship has brought home to you, you pick this one to become a fool over? A pretty face did not equal pretty intentions, and this one had some fairly dubious intentions toward her. The fact that he was beautiful was an atrocity against nature, not something to become weak in the knees over.
Without warning, he unsheathed the blade and threw it across the small room so that it embedded itself in the wall, the wooden handle vibrating.
“Do you have anything else in that dress that I should know about?” His smooth, deep voice caressed her ears in a way that was entirely too unseemly for their current situation.
Her locket! Her eyes widened before she could stop them and her heart gave a jolt in her chest. She’d been so concerned with physically fighting him that she had forgotten all about her locket and the sleeping powder it contained. Of course! It should have been her plan all along. When she turned twelve her mother had presented her with a pouch of white powder, left over from her days at the brothel. With shrewd eyes and in a conspiratorial whisper, she had shared with Emmaline its secret. A little bit put into a man’s drink would leave no taste and would leave him well rested and certain that he’d had the best tumble of his life, albeit too embarrassed to admit that he didn’t remember the actual act itself. Too much and he’d be left groggy, disoriented, and suspicious the next morning.
Emmaline had used it before and knew that it worked well. While her mother had lived, the men Ship rode with had kept their distance and usually slept in the barn if he brought them home. After her death, they found their way inside more often than not. Generally they kept their distance from her, regarding her as the child of their boss and off-limits, but occasionally—especially if Ship was drunk or preoccupied—one would make an advance. Sometimes she was able to verbally put them in their place, sometimes a flash of her knife had done the trick, but when that hadn’t worked she’d smiled and sweetly offered them a drink. Thinking they had won her over, they had eagerly accepted and grinned lecherously as they anticipated the night to come. Emmaline had always slept well on those nights.
She’d been stupid to forget the powders and now she was terrified of losing her only advantage. “No, nothing.” She shook her head as vigorously as she was able given her awkward position. When his gaze narrowed, she held a breath and forced a calm she didn’t feel, lest she give herself away. “The knife was all I had.”
He didn’t seem convinced and she tried not to gasp when his big hands tore at the lacing on the front of her corset, before pushing up underneath. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer but reached behind her to the ties in the back. Panic gripped her as the strings gave way. “Please, don’t!” His arms were