your head down, lady.” Noah rode through the trees, one arm around the woman’s waist, the other controlling his horse. “They got Tunstall, didn’t they?”
“The man called Rattlesnake killed him,” she cried. “Give me your rifle and horse. I shall make them pay.”
“Whoa, now.” Noah reined his horse to a halt beneath an overhanging sandstone ledge. As he lowered his bandanna, he looked the woman up and down. Emerald gown, red ruffles, crimson boots. “Give you what?” he asked.
“Your horse. Your rifle. For revenge.”
Around them, all had calmed—the wind, the horse, the trees, Noah’s pounding heart. He studied her eyes, her nose, the high curve of her Spanish cheekbones and her lips.
“My father,” she choked out. “My father was…” Covering her face with her hands, she folded inward. Her shoulders convulsed as a sob welled from her throat.
Noah set a gentle hand on her back. “Now then, little lady, don’t you know revenge never did a lick of good? The Good Lord’s in charge of that. One way or another, He’ll see that those men pay. You put everything you saw right out of your head, hear?”
She nodded, dabbing her eyes. “They even killed his horse.”
Noah shook his head, then spoke. “The woods are clear. The posse’s gone to Lincoln to tell Dolan they’ve done his dirty work. I’ll take you back to your people. I passed them on the trail. They’ll keep you safe.”
He turned his horse, and the rhythmic gait eased the tension in his shoulders. Darkness like velvet silk enfolded them. Noah knew he must weigh the implications of Tunstall’s murder. But for now, he drank in the stillness, the quiet.
The woman had draped against him, her cheek resting on his chest. He recognized this was an improper, even dangerous, situation for a man in his position—single, bound to a mission and lonely. He had rescued her, and now, by all that was moral, he should move his arm from around her.
But she had closed her eyes. Her breath stirred the hair in his beard. Her hand…each individual finger…warmed the skin on his arm.
The horse picked its way up a hill. Noah watched the moon rise above the pines on a ridge, his heart heavy. John Tunstall had been a good man. And young, maybe in his early twenties. Now a powder keg had been lit. Though Alexander McSween was a citified lawyer, he would go after Tunstall’s killers.
Noah shifted in the saddle, and his thoughts swung away, too. The woman intrigued him. Her accent was Spanish, and she looked the part of a rich Mexican doña—green dress ruffled with red lace, red boots, jeweled comb. All this, yet her hair gleamed golden in the moonlight.
He gazed at the silken ringlet that curled down her back. If he took out her comb, the whole mass of hair would come tumbling down. Its mysterious, spicy scent would waft out into the air and—
“There is my party, vaquero,” she said suddenly. “And your amigos, too. You see the fire?”
Caught by surprise, Noah shook off his wayward thoughts. He had been on the trail with Chisum’s cattle many months. What else could be expected of a man who found his arms wrapped around a fine-smelling lady? He sent up a quick prayer to help him stay on task.
Tunstall’s men were standing with the other travelers around the fire. There was Dick Brewer—Noah’s closest friend and Tunstall’s foreman—along with Billy Bonney and several others.
“Miss Matas!” A young, spectacled gentleman hurried forward as Noah guided his horse into the clearing. “We’ve been worried. Thank you, sir. I’m sure Miss Matas’s family will reward you for saving her.”
“Not necessary,” Noah said. “Glad to help.”
“Oh, Isobel, are you all right?” A pale woman rushed to her side. “When we heard the shots, I was terrified for you!”
Isobel’s expression softened. “I’m all right, Susan. I was walking in the forest.”
“Did you see what happened, ma’am?” Dick asked her. “A man was shot and killed.”
Noah dismounted and lifted his hands. Isobel slipped into his arms, but when her feet touched the ground, he set her aside. He had been distracted by the woman long enough.
As Tunstall’s men gathered around, she lifted her chin. “The one called Rattlesnake shot first. Then Evans. The killers must be brought to justice.”
“Yep, and you belong with your friends,” Noah spoke up. “Leave justice to these fellows.”
“But, Noah,” Dick argued, “she’s a witness. She could help us. She could testify.”
“Dolan’s men saw her,” Noah told them. “Snake swore he’d kill her. She needs to get out of the territory fast. Where are you headed, ma’am?”
“To Lincoln Town,” she replied. “To speak with the sheriff.”
“Someone murdered Isobel’s father here five years ago,” the pale woman, Susan, explained in a soft voice. “Isobel is determined to find out who did it.”
Noah shook his head. “Bad idea. If you’re going to Lincoln, señorita, you can bet Snake will find you.”
“If one of us could protect her,” Dick said, “we could use her testimony.”
“How about you?” Noah suggested. “Your place isn’t far. She could lie low there until the trouble blows over.”
Dick looked away, his gray eyes troubled. “Noah, they killed John. It’s not that I wouldn’t protect a woman, you know that. But I was Tunstall’s foreman and his friend. I’m going after them.”
“We’re all going after them!” Billy Bonney stepped up. “C’mon, Buchanan, you can’t expect one of us to babysit the señorita. You’re not a Tunstall man, and Chisum’s in jail. Why don’t you take the job?”
Noah held up a hand. “Not me, kid. I’ve got papers to deliver to Chisum and my own business to see to.”
“But you told us John Chisum ain’t gonna sell you no land unless you can prove you’re willing to settle down and knock off that reputation you carry around. Now, say you come along with this pretty señorita—hey, what say you marry her? Chisum would sell you the land quick if you did that. You know how sentimental he is about families.”
“Marry her?” Noah felt the blood siphon from his face. “Billy Bonney, you’re a fool. There’s no way—”
“Can you be serious?” Isobel interrupted. “Never would I marry this…this dusty vaquero! I am betrothed to Don Guillermo Pascal of Santa Fe. Nor do I need a protector. I am a better marksman than most of the men in Catalonia and I ride like the wind. I shall go with you on this journey of revenge.”
“You can’t come with us,” Billy exclaimed, eyeing Isobel as if she were possessed. “The men who killed our boss have the law on their side. And the law in Lincoln County is as crooked as this trail. You’d best get on up to Santa Fe and marry your rich muchacho.”
“Not
