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  Wes took the knife from the man’s grip, then pulled a leather strap from his back pocket and bound the outlaw’s hands. He used the man’s own bandanna as a gag.

  Silently, Nick and Wes worked together until the man was safely deposited in the trees.

  As they moved away from him, Wes grabbed her by the shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, kid, for saving my life. I’d about convinced myself that you were wrong about the raid. I was half-asleep when I looked at that horse.”

  Nick rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re not supposed to kiss a Shadow. Show a little respect.”

  Wes laughed. “Respect isn’t enough of a word for you, lady. I owe you my life.”

  “I’m sure you’ll pay me back in time. Right now, we may have two more men to catch. If the others think you’re out of the way, they may already be working. We’ve got to find them before one has time to call in backup.”

  “But couldn’t he have acted alone? Maybe he was going to kill me, then signal the others to move in,” Wes whispered as they reached the edge of the trees. “There’s no reason to believe there were three.”

  Without answering, she lowered her body into the shadow of the supplies piled in one place.

  Wes stayed close beside her, frustrated that she wouldn’t talk to him.

  A man stood on a small rise, watching away from the cattle. The silver disks on his belt reflected the firelight. Every few minutes he glanced toward the horses as if waiting for a signal.

  Nick pulled a few rocks from her pocket and began tossing them in the water ten feet from the watcher. After a few plops, he moved down off the rise and walked cautiously over to the stream.

  They were on him with little more than the sound of air rushing from his body. Nick shoved him to the ground and Wes tied him. Within five minutes, he sat beside his friend in the total blackness of the trees.

  “Now what?” Wes asked as Nick circled along the tree line.

  “I don’t know. I figured there would be an assassin, and a lookout, but your guess is as good as mine where the third man might be.”

  “If there is a third man,” Wes added as he followed her along the tree line toward the campfire.

  Nick froze in place with her head high in the air. Listening. Smelling.

  Wes took another step, then tried to stop. But he was too slow. He stumbled over something, almost falling face forward.

  Nick knelt as he regained his balance and then joined her.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “Blood.” Her word floated on the air as her hands moved slowly into the undergrowth without making a single leaf rustle. “I smell blood.”

  Wes extended his fingers in the direction of what had tripped him. His hand brushed over Nick’s as hers rested on something warm.

  His fingers spread wider, covering hers and more. The feel of material. The warmth of a body. The wet stickiness of blood.

  She slowly raised a towel that had been tucked around the body’s waist like an apron.

  Suddenly Wes was pulling the injured man into the light.

  “Wait,” Nick warned, knowing that all he cared about was that a man of his was down. “Don’t go into the light!”

  Wes wasn’t listening. Carrying the body, Wes ran toward the campfire.

  She hung back in the shadows as she watched Wes pull the man close to the light.

  “Lloyd,” he said as he shook the lifeless body. “Lloyd!” Wes’s voice was hard as though he could order the cook to breathe once more.

  Nick fought all her training not to step into view. Wes needed her comfort as he tried to awaken his friend from a sleep that would never end. But she was a Shadow. She knew both their lives might depend on her ability to keep her head.

  She watched as Wes pulled the shirt away from Lloyd’s chest and listened for a heartbeat. When he turned the body to the light, Nick saw the two deep cuts on either side of the Irishman’s throat. A savage way to kill someone, sliding a sharp blade into one side and out the other in a second before the victim could move. Either side might kill a man, but both cuts would bleed him dry in a matter of heartbeats while it sliced through his voice box so that the victim couldn’t even whisper a death cry.

  Wes slowly closed Lloyd’s eyes and lowered him to the ground. “There’s one more,” he whispered to himself as he raised his bloody hands toward heaven. “One we haven’t found.”

  A stocky man stepped around the boxes and growled like an animal protecting his fresh kill. Wes had only time to glance in his direction before the man flew at him.

  For several seconds they rolled, slugging, fighting wildly.

  Nick drew her gun. She couldn’t help Wes, but if he lost, she cared nothing for stampeding the herd. If the stranger proved the victor, he’d feel her bullet as he stood.

  The men rolled near the fire, kicking and swinging wildly. Several men in bedrolls were awakened and drew near. But like Nick, they didn’t know how to stop the fight.

  Finally, Wes rolled on top and pinned the man down. “Get some rope!” he yelled at one of the men. “We’re taking Lloyd’s killer into town to the law.”

  All at once the camp was alive with movement and voices. Several men looked at Lloyd’s body, then suggested justice be carried out “trail-court” style. A few men helped Wes tie and gag the third outlaw.

  After watching awhile to make sure it was safe, Nick stepped from the shadows of the trees and listened to the men talk. She blended in among them as easily as she’d blended with the trees . . . a part of the whole, yet unto herself.

  When Wes calmed down, he told his men what had happened. No one thought of sleep as they sat around the fire discussing what had taken place and all that might happen farther on down the trail. A few thought it a bad omen that even before the long drive started there should be a killing. Others suggested it might help keep everyone on their toes. Each took a turn saying how grand old Lloyd was and how sad it would be for his family.

  Every two hours men came in off guard and the stories were revisited.

  Nichole listened to campfire stories, feeling at home with the men as she had during the war. No one said much to her, a few slaps on the back, a few nods of approval. The group hadn’t yet bonded to one another and she seemed no more a stranger than most.

  When dawn washed over the land, Wes told everyone to settle in. They’d be camped here for a time while he took the men into town and waited for the rest of the herd. A few decided to make breakfast while several returned to their bedrolls until the next shift change.

  Following Wes to the stream, Nichole watched as he tried to wash off Lloyd’s blood.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered when he looked up at her. “I wish we could have found the third man before he got to Lloyd. I should have guessed. A cook moves around too much checking the fire. He would be a man the outlaws would have wanted out of the way.”

  “Listen, kid, if it hadn’t been for you, we’d all look like Lloyd this morning. They might have moved around in the night and killed us one by one. I owe you a great deal, Nick.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” She sat down beside him as he leaned back against a tree. “I’m glad my skill could be of some use.”

  He opened his arm in a friendly gesture and she leaned against it, letting all the tension of the night pass away with the sound of the stream dancing over pebbles and the sun warming her face. It felt good to be with Wes. He was the kind of friend who she knew she could always count on. The kind who would save her from any situation or anyone, even herself.

  Wes closed his eyes and relaxed at her side. Within moments, they were both sound asleep.

  Neither heard the wagon approaching from the direction of town.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ADAM HELPED THE men unload the wounded cowhand named Franky from the back of
the wagon as he looked around for Wes and Nick. Stitched properly, Franky’s leg would heal nicely, leaving only a thin scar to remind him of his days on the trail.

  Several men told Adam what had happened during the night and how Nick had saved the camp. A few of the men confessed they’d been shy in thanking a woman, but that didn’t stop them from praising her to Adam. By the time he finished reloading the wagon, some were bragging about her as though they were the proud papa of such an outstanding woman.

  A rider had already left to fetch the deputy so he could take the raiders off their hands. Everyone felt sure that the cattle thieves would confess who rode with them after a few days in jail.

  Lloyd’s body was wrapped in a blanket his wife had quilted and would be buried as soon as the deputy had a look at him. Several of the men thought it would be a good idea to use the extra horses as packhorses so that Franky would have more room to ride in the wagon till his leg healed.

  When Adam had heard the stories more than once, he asked about Wes. Someone pointed to the trees and commented that they thought the boss went to wash up an hour or so ago.

  Adam moved slowly toward the creek. He felt relief that Wes and Nichole were all right, and a nagging anger that they might have known something was amiss before they sent him off last night. What was he, some child to be pushed from harm’s way? Did his brother think him so weak or helpless he didn’t want him around during any battle? Did Nichole think him a coward?

  The two were alike . . . born to fight. Surely they understood his fights were elsewhere. Logic told him they both understood him, but Adam couldn’t help feeling a little left out.

  As he turned into the trees, the sight that greeted him shattered any remaining calmness. Wes leaned against a tree trunk, his cheek resting on the top of Nichole’s head. Adam saw her curled against Wes’s side as easily as she’d curled against his own. Both of them were sound asleep.

  Fury and hurt blended with the relief that they were both safe.

  “This is what you wanted!” He voiced the words in his mind, slamming them against his brain. But no matter how many times he repeated them, he couldn’t stop the pain of seeing Wes and Nichole together.

  Adam watched as though made of stone as Wes’s fingers touched her hair. The hair Adam loved to touch. She stretched against his brother as she awoke. Adam felt his blood stop moving.

  This is right, Adam told himself, but if it was right, how come he felt so wrong inside? He’d thought Wes and Nichole were well matched, would be good for one another . . . but he’d never thought of Wes touching her hair, or of her resting her head against Wes’s heart and not his own. He’d never thought of them sleeping side by side.

  “We’d better get back, kid,” Wes mumbled as he squeezed her shoulder.

  Nichole rubbed her eyes with her fists like a child and leaned forward, stretching her body awake.

  Wes looked up and met Adam’s gaze.

  Adam couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move, and he knew he wasn’t hiding any of the anger he felt inside. Wes could always read him. If Wes read him now, he’d better walk softly.

  But Wes took Nichole’s hand and helped her to her feet, keeping her back to Adam. He bent close to her and whispered something, then kissed her full on the mouth. If he cared that Adam was watching, he showed no sign of it.

  Adam stared as she tilted her head slightly, just as she’d done when excepting his kiss. Only it wasn’t his kiss, it was Wes’s. He stayed only long enough to see that Nichole did nothing to shove Wes away, then he turned and walked back to camp feeling like something had died inside him. Somehow in his world of logic the sun was dark at midday, the earth had stopped rotating, the air was liquid and he could no longer breathe.

  Within minutes, Wes and Nichole joined him. She seemed happy and excited about all that had happened the night before. Adam didn’t miss the way her smile came easy to Wes, or the way his big brother touched her lightly, comfortably, like old friends.

  Adam thanked her for saving his brother’s life. He knew his words were too formal. Her stare told him as much, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt like someone had plowed through his heart. The logic he’d always depended on didn’t work now. Why waste time telling himself that this was what he wanted to happen between them? That they were right for one another? That Wes deserved a little happiness? All the reasons in the world couldn’t explain the way he felt.

  What made matters worse was that Wes kept smiling at him. He was still smiling when he helped Nichole on her horse and told them he’d drop by later to let them know how it went at the sheriff’s office. He even laughed about going out on the town now that Nichole had no reason to hide. When she didn’t say no right away, he offered to buy her a dress, something that had never crossed Adam’s mind.

  Touching his hat in farewell, Adam didn’t wait for Nichole before kicking his animal into a gallop. As he rode out of camp, he thought he heard Wes laugh.

  It took her a half mile to catch him. Adam might claim to be no great horseman, but today he was riding as though racing a twister.

  “What is it?” she yelled. “Is something wrong back in town?”

  “No.” Adam wouldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at her and hold to his pride at the same time. “I just want to get back.” He urged his horse faster.

  Nichole fought to stay even. “What’s wrong, Adam?” Her mind filled with all kinds of worries that might have happened. “Is Nance hurt? Sister? What’s happened?”

  “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong!” His words were so angry they boomed like sudden cannon fire.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “You’ll kill our horses at this pace.” The ground was too uneven for such speed. Surely Adam knew this. But he’d gone mad.

  “Stop!” Nichole yelled again as Adam turned into the high buffalo grass. “This grass is full of prairie dog holes.”

  “No!” he yelled back without looking at her.

  She couldn’t endure another moment of his insanity. Without hesitating, she pulled her feet from the stirrups and jumped toward Adam, hitting him hard and full against his side.

  He rolled from his saddle into the tall grass with her knocking the breath from him as she landed on top of him. Shaken, he jumped to his feet and turned on her. “You could have gotten us both killed.” Finally, he was too angry to allow the beauty of her to affect him. He faced her. “Must you always be so wild? We could both be dead with broken necks right now.”

  She dusted herself off, moving her head from side to side as if testing her neck. “Better killed than crazy.” She shrugged. “Which is exactly what you are, Doc. I knew I might kill you by hitting you like that, but I had the horses to consider. They don’t deserve to break a leg because you’ve gone loco.”

  Adam marched away from her for several feet, then turned and stormed back. “I’m not the one who’s crazy. You knew there was trouble in that camp last night before I left. That’s why you stayed, but you didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “I felt something, sure. You felt it too when we rode in, remember. But you don’t trust your feelings, and I do.” Nichole rubbed her elbow. “I wasn’t sure anything would happen, but I wanted to stay and find out. I could have been wrong and you needed to doctor Franky.”

  “You could have also gotten yourself killed. What if there had been four raiders?” Adam questioned. “You could be the one wrapped in that quilt back at camp.”

  Nichole looked up in surprise. “Is that what you’re so all-fired mad about? I could have gotten killed by a few tough riders who think they’re mean? I could have taken all three of those drifters on at the same time. Not one of them had a chance of getting within ten feet of me and my not knowing. Surely you weren’t worried about me?”

  Adam pulled off his hat and rubbed his scalp. “Yes,” he started, realizing he’d insulted her pride. “No,” he changed. “Oh, shut up. I do
n’t even want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you either!” Nichole snapped. “I save your brother and you go crazy on me. So much for good deeds. And as for dying, I’ve spent most of my days with Death riding shotgun everywhere I go. Why should last night have been any different?”

  “You didn’t save Wes to do me any favors. I saw the two of you at the stream. I saw the way he kissed you, and you didn’t look like you were fighting.” Adam was so angry all the control he’d spent a lifetime accumulating vaporized. “Tell me, was he a gentleman while he held you, or was he more to your wild liking?”

  She swung before he had time to block, delivering not a feminine slap, but a full-blown slug knocking Adam off his feet.

  Adam, flat on his back, stared at the sun as he felt his jaw.

  She moved above him. “Get up!” she shouted. “I want to hit you again.”

  He rose to one knee before she did what she wanted, sending him rolling across the grass with another punch.

  “Stop it!” he yelled as he stood.

  “No,” she answered. “You want a fight, then fight like a man.”

  “No.” He watched her closely, guessing he’d be counting his teeth in his hand if he didn’t stop her. “You’re not a man.”

  Nichole took a step toward him. “I’m not a woman to you either. What am I, Doc? I’m not woman enough for you to bed, or man enough for you to fight. You don’t want me. So get out of my life.” Her voice lowered slightly. “When I’m around you, I don’t know who ‘me’ is anymore.”

  He turned his back, unable to look at her any longer. If she thought he was confusing her, it was nothing compared to how greatly he was disturbing himself. She was about as practical for him as indoor rain, but he still wanted her so badly he felt he’d die without her near.

  She came closer but continued to shout as if he were having trouble hearing as well as thinking. “I thought I was helping you last night by saving Wes. I thought finally I’d do something right. Wes isn’t just your brother, he’s my friend. And so what if he kissed me? It’s something you’d never do in the broad daylight.”