Prologue

Saving the Gunslinger

Prologue

      The wind blew through Samantha's long red hair, whipping it wildly behind her. Bending over Athena's neck, the duo raced over the hills and across the plains. As she pulled Athena to a stop at the top of a hill, Samantha chest rose and fell rapidly. The sense of freedom coursed through her veins. 

      Out here, with the wild surrounding her and her best friend Athena as her companion, Samantha always felt the most at peace. "I believe our ride is going to be cut short today, Athena," Samantha sighed as she scratched at the palomino mare's neck and the scent of rain teased her nostrils. Storm clouds were gathering above them and the wind carried the promise of ugly weather. 

      Samantha was in no hurry to return home. Life had been hard for as long as she could remember, but it had gotten decidedly worse in the last several years. Samantha's father had always been a weak man addicted to liquor and the thrill of a gamble—and he was also a man who seemed unable to tell a good bet from a bad one. With the death of her mother five years ago to a sickness and the death of her brother in a drunken saloon brawl, Samantha's father had only grown worse. 

      Patrick lived for gambling. Samantha was left to attempt to keep them fed and warm with what little crops and money she managed to salvage from their tiny farm before her father gambled it away. She knew that selling Athena could provide a decent amount of money to live off for a while, but Samantha would sooner part with her left leg than her beloved horse. 

      A drop of rain fell on her cheek and Samantha turned Athena around. "We better get home, girl. Father will be expecting supper soon anyhow." 

      The rain had intensified, and Samantha was soaked to the skin by the time she reached home. She swiped her wet hair from her face as she hopped off Athena's back and led the mare into the tiny barn. "Charles?" she called out, wondering if perhaps the elderly man who lived in the barn and helped with farm had taken refuge in the loft. 

      Silence followed her greeting. The rain beating upon the thatched roof and the wind whipping through the cracks in the barn walls were the only sounds to be heard. A chill passed through Samantha's body that had nothing to do with her soaked clothes or the chill of the wind. Something was wrong. 

      Athena shifted restlessly, tossing her head. Samantha knew the mare was sensing whatever she herself was sensing. Leading a spooked Athena to her stall, Samantha was stopped in her tracks as she turned the corner. 

      "Charles!" Samantha cried, dropping Athena's reins and rushing into the stall. She dropped to her knees beside the lifeless body of the man who had lived and worked with her family for as long as Samantha could remember. "Charles, wake up," she all but begged as she gripped his shoulder gently and gave him a gentle shake. 

      There was no response. His open eyes remained unseeing and staring at the rafters above them. Tears blurred Samantha's vision. What had happened? Bile rose in Samantha's throat when she noticed the blood beneath Charles' head, soaking the straw and staining his gray hair. With trembling hands, Samantha turned Charles' head to the side and quickly vomited upon the straw when she saw that the back of his head had obviously been struck by something large and was nearly completely caved in. 

      Leaping to her feet, Samantha ran from the barn, back out into the rain. Gasping, she sucked in breath after breath of fresh air. Who would have done that to Charles? The man was kind and quiet and never had a mean or harsh word to say to anyone. Her father would be devastated by the loss of his friend...

      Her father! Whipping around, Samantha noticed a black cart parked beside her home. Due to her rush to get out of the storm, she hadn't noticed it when she had first arrived. Was that who had attacked Charles? Was her father the next victim? She had to help him. 

      Without putting much thought at all into her actions, Samantha raced to the door. Throwing it open and leaping inside, she was quickly stopped in her tracks by the sight she was met with. Her father and a man Samantha had never seen before were sitting together at the kitchen table. A cup of coffee sat before each of them and it was clear they'd been having a conversation before Samantha had burst in.

      "Papa?" Samantha's voice sounded small in the heavy silence. Her father met her gaze and she saw the tears in his eyes—his shoulders were drooped as if the weight of the world sat upon them. "Papa, what's going on? Charles is dead...." She spared a quick glance at the pale stranger, with a thin, pock-marked face and long, dirty black hair. "Who is he?"

      Patrick opened his mouth to speak but her father was interrupted by the stranger before he could utter a word. "My name is Mr. Matthews. I apologize for the death of your farmhand. I'm afraid he recognized me and knew exactly why I was here. He was hoping to stop me." The stranger slid a lock of greasy black hair from his face. "I couldn't allow that to happen." 

      Samantha swallowed hard as the stranger stood up and began to circle around the table in her direction. Her father's voice was shaking when he said, "Please, leave my daughter alone." 

      Icy blue eyes scanned across her body, lingering on her most intimate of places and causing Samantha to shiver. "You know I can't do that, Patrick," Mr. Matthews tsked. "A deal is a deal." 

      "Deal?" Samantha's voice trembled as she took a step away from Mr. Matthew's advance. "Father, what is he talking about? 

Do something.“

      The strangers cold smile did nothing to erase the predatory hunger in his eyes. "You truly are everything your father said you were. A true beauty in every possible way." Those eyes lingered on her breasts, outlined beneath her wet clothes. His tongue ran across his thin upper lip. "You're mine now, sweetheart." 

      "What is he talking about, pa?" 

      Patrick pushed himself to his feet, though Samantha realized her father was avoiding meeting her gaze. "I was drunk, Samantha. Don't worry. I won't allow this...." 

      Mr. Matthew's waved his hand dismissively. "You truly have no choice. You made a deal with me, Patrick, and I don't allow anyone to go back on their deals. I gave you that money and you gave me your daughter." 

      Samantha felt as if she had been punched in the gut. She shook her head. Surely this man was lying. Her father was a weak man with many vices but he would never sell her....

      "I can see you have your doubts," Mr. Matthews noted. "Ask him, Samantha. Recently he was gone for over a week. That was when we met. He was drunk, that is true, but he knew what he was doing. He needed money to continue his time at the poker tables. I was there to offer him that money but when he was unable to win and pay me that money back, I demanded something in return for my loan. That's when your loving father here told me about his beautiful daughter." 

      Hot tears of betrayal stung her eyes. All she needed to do was glance at her father to know that this Mr. Matthews was speaking the truth. "How could you?" she whispered, through the lump in her throat. 

      Patrick avoided her gaze. "Mr. Matthews, please, give me a month and I'll have your money. Don't hurt my daughter." 

      Mr. Matthews chuckled. "I have no intention of harming my own property."           

      Confusion, betrayal, sadness, and fear all coiled in Samantha's gut. She had to get away.  "I am no one's property," she countered, taking another step toward the door. "My father will have to have find some other way to pay you back the money owes." 

      "I don't think he will." Mr. Matthews reached for Samantha. She attempted to leap away from him but his long, thin fingers wrapped around her forearm and held her firmly in place. "You are mine." 

      "No, I am not." Samantha swung her free hand and caught Mr. Matthews in his temple. The addled man stumbled backward slightly and his grip loosened enough for Samantha to pull her arm free. She turned on her heel and ran for the door, throwing it open. 

      "Stop where you are or I'll kill your father." 

      Samantha froze. She turned her head to see that Mr. Matthews was holding a revolver in his hand and it was aimed directly at her father. 

      Patrick's throat was bobbing, his jaw trembled, and tears soaked his eyes. "Run Samantha." 

      "But....." Samantha's heart shattered in her chest. Despite all his flaws, that man was still her father and she loved him. 

      Patrick shook his head. "Run." 

      Samantha wanted to argue but her father's voice grew more stern. "Run." 

      With a nod, Samantha grabbed up her skirts, turned on her heels and raced out the door. At the sound of a booming gunshot behind her, Samantha spared a backward glance in time to see her father fall to the floor with blood on his face. 

      More tears and bile rose but Samantha fought them both. Her very life depended on her getting away. Charles was dead, her father was dead, Samantha would not let herself be taken... There would be time to mourn and fall apart once her escape had been made. 

      The rain was still falling heavily but through the droplets, Samantha saw Athena standing outside the barn. She raced to the mare, hopped on her back, and took off into the forest where Mr. Matthew's would not be able to follow on his cart. 

      From home, she heard his voice call out against the wind. "Run, little Samantha. I'll find you! You're mine!"

Chapter One

Chapter One

A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions. She was being followed. Hastening her pace, Samantha made her way down the boardwalk toward the mercantile. Keeping her eyes on the wooden boards at her feet, she avoided meeting the gaze of anyone she passed. Samantha was quite used to going unnoticed and that’s just the way she preferred it.

      For two and a half years, Samantha had been running. Running from the man who had murdered her father. Running across Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas from the man who had vowed he would find her—and have her. 

      The law had not aided her. They were all too afraid of the well-known outlaw Clinton Matthews. He had quite a reputation—and a long reach. Several times, Samantha had been near capture and always she had managed to slip away unharmed. She had hope that Clinton Matthews would give up his search—it had been five long months that she'd been living peacefully in this small Oklahoma town with no sign of him. 

      Slipping into the mercantile, Samantha attempted to stick to the shadows and hide herself from her pursuer among the hanging baskets of herbs. No such luck. 

      "Samantha. Why on earth did you not stop when I called your name?" Judith Channing wife of the preacher, and quite renowned town gossip, snapped as she came to a stop beside Samantha. She fussed with the graying dark hair that had slipping loose from her bonnet. "You were practically running down main street like some common hoodlum." 

      Samantha forced an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I didn't hear you. I was lost in thought." 

      Judith seemed a bit unconvinced but shrugged. "Well, no matter, I have your attention now." 

      "I was actually in a hurry," Samantha lied, attempting to step around the thin wisp of a woman. 

      "Nonsense, this won't take long." Those small brown eyes glared at her over Judith's beak-like nose. "I am concerned for you, Samantha dear." 

      Samantha adjusted the empty basket she carried and shook her head. When she and Athena had stumbled into this dusty town five months ago, they had both been weak, starving, and so very tired of running. After spending the first couple of nights sleeping in an alley and begging for food, it hadn't been the preacher and his wife who had shown concern and helped them—no, it had been the saloon owner Johnathon and his wife Barbara. They had put Athena up at the livery with proper feed and care. They had taken Samantha in without question, given her a home and a job at the saloon, and made her feel the first glimpses of safety and security that she had felt in a long time. 

      Samantha had learned what kind of woman Judith Channing was then and she knew the woman had no real concern for her—she simply wanted to put her pointy nose in business that it did not belong in. 

      "I'm doing well, Judith. There's no reason to be concerned for me." 

      With a click of her tongue and a tilt of her head, Judith had Samantha taking a step back and averting her gaze. "I believe there is. I pride myself in knowing the comings and goings of this town, and yet, you refuse to let anyone know anything about yourself. You're living with those sinners in their 

saloon where fornication, gambling and alcohol all flow freely. I want to help you save yourself from that life….“

      Samantha's grip on the basket tightened. Her jaw clenched so tightly, she feared that the entire mercantile—which had grown quiet during Judith's plea—would hear it popping. She rose to her full height, standing several inches taller than the preacher's wife, and squared her shoulders. "The Morgan's are wonderful people, Judith, and the only ones in this town who seemed to care about a young woman starving to death on their streets. My life, my business, is my own and I share it with those I trust—that list does not include you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be getting back to the den of sin I call home." 

      With that, Samantha strode from the mercantile and did not pause for breath until she walked into the back door of the saloon and came to rest in the storage room. Her hands were shaking as she dropped the basket and covered her face. She knew what most in this town thought of her—and that was largely her own fault. She had avoided making friends or sharing anything personal about herself. The less anyone knew—the better. If Clinton Matthews came here looking for her, he had proven he would hurt those she cared about to get to her—and caring about people made it harder when you had to run. 

      Even with the Morgan's, her only friends in this town, she kept a wall up. They knew her name was Samantha and she was twenty-one years old and alone in the world other than a horse she loved dearly—that was all. 

      Despite her best efforts to hold it back, a sob escaped her throat. Samantha had never allowed herself to fall apart—she'd never had time. The longer she stayed still in this town, the closer she got to believing she may have found peace, the harder it got to push her feelings aside. 

      "Samantha?" Barbara Morgan's voice interrupted her hurt. "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

      Samantha took a deep, steadying breath, swallowed down her pain and pulled her hands from her face. "It's nothing. I'm fine," she assured the other woman with the ghost of a forced smile. 

      Barbara shook her head, her kind blue eyes softening. "We've never pushed you to open up to us, Samantha, but you know you can, don't you?"

      Her heart broke a bit but Samantha forced herself to nod. "I'm okay. I promise." 

      Barbara sighed and pulled Samantha into a hug. For a moment, Samantha let herself lean into the embrace. Barbara was a full-bodied woman. Her voice was raspy from years of smoking, her face heavily-lined. She was not a 

proper lady, having made a living pleasing men before meeting her husband Johnathon twenty years ago and running saloons everyday since then. But Barbara was a warm, kind, and caring soul and one of the best people that Samantha had ever met.

      It made it so hard to keep the wall up around herself. 

      When Barbara pulled away, her eyes went to Samantha's empty basket on the floor. "Where are the things you were getting?"

      With a sigh, Samantha picked up her basket. "I decided to shop later." 

      Barbara let out a snort. "Ms. Holy and Righteous was there, wasn't she?"

      Samantha walked to the desk and sat her basket upon the ledgers she was in charge of organizing. "Yes." 

      "And is that why I found you in tears?"          

      "Of course not," Samantha replied honestly. "She's hardly worth crying over." 

      "Good." Barbara went to the door that led up the staircase to the apartment that Samantha had been living in with the Morgan's and calling home. "Now, come on upstairs. Johnathon and I have something rather important we need to discuss with you." 

      Something in Barbara's voice gave Samantha pause and told her she was not going to like the discussion that was about to take place. She prayed she wasn't about to lose her safe haven. 

      Once she was sitting at the table in the small kitchen, Barbara spared a glance at Johnathon as if waiting for the man to speak. He ran his hand over his rather large mustache and adjusted his glasses. "Barbara and I have some news to share with you. Perhaps we should have shared it sooner, but we weren't certain of our decision until today." 

      Folding her trembling hands in her lap, Samantha forced herself to meet his gaze. "What news?" 

      Silence greeted her question. A very heavy silence. The ticking of the clock seemed to echo in the thick air. Finally, Barbara cleared her throat. "We have sold the saloon, sweetheart. We will be leaving on the train tomorrow. We are moving back east. Our son lives there and he recently got married and his wife is expecting our first grandchild. We want to be close to our family." 

      Samantha took a moment to process that information. She couldn't blame the Morgan's for wanting to live near their family—if she had any family left in the world, she would want to be near them. But leaving tomorrow? And selling the saloon? What was going to happen to her? They certainly hadn't given her much warning or any real time to find a place to stay.... She could get a room at the hotel but her money would eventually run out—what was there for her to do in this town to make money other than keeping books and sweeping floors here in the saloon?

      "I believe you may have blurted all that out a bit too quickly," Johnathon scolded his wife as he got to his feet, filled a glass with water from the pitcher and placed it on the table in front of Samantha. 

      "Well, I apologize, but you didn't seem to be in any hurry and I thought it best to get it all out of the way quickly," Barbara grumbled. 

      Samantha was careful to hold back her storm of emotions. "I suppose I'll have to move into the hotel. I thank you all for everything you've done for me..."

      Barbara shook her head, cutting Samantha off. "Don't be foolish! We wouldn't simply toss you on the street. Before we agreed to sell, we had several meetings with the man purchasing the saloon and we ensured that he would honor our wishes when it came to you. You will be keeping your job here. He knows what your duties are and we've assured him that you do them well. You will be making ten extra dollars a month to help see that both you and Athena are fed. You will have to move into a room at the saloon since the new owner will be calling this apartment home." 

      Another rambling mass of information for Samantha to attempt to take in at once. Barbara was well-known for those. After several deep, steadying breaths, Samantha began to truly process Barbara's words and collect her own thoughts. She was about to lose the only two friends that she had left in the world—and while they clearly had done all they could to ensure she would be taken care off, that didn't change the fact that Samantha was once again going to be all alone. 

      "Who is the new owner?" she finally managed to ask, her voice strained. 

      "His name is Thomas Williamson," Johnathon replied, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "He seems a decent man and one that will honor our wishes when it comes to you and this saloon. The other women will be notified today as well and they'll be readying a room at the end of the hall upstairs that will be yours." 

      Samantha winced. The serving girls—that served more than just drinks. While Samantha tried not to judge them harshly for their professions, she knew it was something she herself could never do. And those women weren't friendly with her—though that had probably been due more to her own avoidance of their company than anything else. She didn't avoid them because of what they were—she avoided them simply because she tended to avoid everyone. 

      "Please don't be angry with us, Samantha," Barbara pleaded, her jaw trembling slightly. "While we may not know the details, we know that your life had hit a rough patch before bringing you here. You've been here nearly half a year and I think this town would make a good home for you. We did what we could to see that you would have a roof over your head and money in your pocket even after we've left town." 

      Samantha forced a smile to her face and swallowed her sadness and desperation. "I'm not angry at either of you. You've done more for me in the last five months than anyone else had in two years. Go. Be with your son and your grandchild. Thanks to you, I will be just fine here and I'll make sure your saloon is well taken care of." 

      "Wonderful!" Barbara tapped her hand on the table and shoved herself to her feet. "I have some packing to tend to and I'm certain you have work to be getting to. We will have one last dinner together tonight and in the morning we'll introduce you to Thomas Williamson before we catch our stagecoach." 

      That night as Samantha lay wide awake upon her bed, she could not seem to turn her brain off. Warning bells were ringing in her mind. Her every instinct was telling her that Barbara and Johnathon leaving was going to throw her life into turmoil once again—Samantha simply didn't know how and, most importantly, she had no idea what to do about it. 

A/N:  If life goes according to plan, this story will be getting regular updates now! At least every other day or so! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all are staying healthy, safe, and sane during this difficult time for our entire world.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Samantha’s meeting with Thomas Williamson had done nothing to ease her troubled mind. While there had been nothing outwardly threatening about the short, stocky man with a thick black mustache and ruddy complexion, something in the way his dark eyes had looked at her had caused Samantha’s unease to deepen.

      Still she had held her tongue. What could she have said? The saloon had already been sold and Samantha did not want to dampen Barbara or Johnathon's excitement about going to see their son. Her issues and problems were her own and she would not ask the Morgan's, who had done so much for her, to worry about her any longer. 

      A week had passed since that meeting and Samantha still felt uneasy. Thomas had proven to be much different than the saloon's previous owners. He was loud. He was angry. He mistreated the women and didn't seem to have a problem with patrons doing the same. Thomas was also very unhappy that he was paying Samantha to clean, manage the supplies, and occasionally tend bar. He seemed to think she should be entertaining the men to bring in extra money and he was becoming more vocal about that fact every day. 

Samantha knew she would have to leave soon. Her situation here was becoming precarious to say the least, but she was terrified. Leaving would mean worrying once more about where she would lay her head at night. It would mean hunger and uncertainty. She didn’t have much money stashed away—most of her pay for the work she had done while at the saloon had been in the form of room and board for both herself and Athena.

And then of course there was the fear that out there, wandering aimlessly, Clinton Matthews would find her.

Samantha was sitting in her new room simply staring at the walls and contemplating just how badly both her father and Clinton Matthews had destroyed her life, when a knock sounded and yanked her from her worrisome thoughts. Standing up, she walked to the door and pulled it open to find one of the serving girls, Eleanor, waiting in the hallway.

      "Are you busy?" she asked, a friendly smile on her red, painted lips. It was nearing the evening and clearly Eleanor was preparing for work. She was wearing her corset and petticoat and nothing else other than the heeled shoes upon her feet.  Her blond hair was styled upon her head with loose tendrils curling down and dancing against her shoulders. She wore powder on her cheeks and paint on her lips and eyelids to draw men's attention. 

      Samantha shook her head, feeling out of place and awkward. For two years she had worked hard to isolate herself—always running. For five months she had done her best to avoid forming friendships while living at the saloon. She wanted so badly to have a friend her age to confide in. Eleanor, despite her line of work, was proving to be a kind and caring soul which made it all the harder to maintain those necessary walls. 

      "No, I wasn't busy."

“You should have joined us girls for supper earlier,” Eleanor scolded with a knowing glance. “I respect that you’re a private person, Samantha, but us girls are family here and if you ever want to talk or anything, all you gotta do is say so.”

Samantha wrung her hands a bit as she swallowed hard. She wanted so badly to open up and have friends—but what if Clinton found her? What if he used those friends to hurt her? What if he killed them the way he had her father? And what if she opened up to the wrong person—someone who knew Clinton and let the man know just where to find her?

“Thank you, Eleanor. I may join you all another time.”

Eleanor simply sighed and studied her closely before smiling. “We’ll welcome you whenever you finally decide to.”

Samantha glanced down the empty hall. She could hear the music playing downstairs and the din of voices was carrying up from the saloon below. “I know you’re preparing for work. Did you simply stop to talk or is something wrong? Did Thomas send you up?” She sincerely hoped he hadn’t. It was a Saturday night which meant it would be a night off work for most of the hands from the surrounding ranches. The saloon would be a wild and rowdy place full of music, drinking, gambling, and plenty of men looking to blow off steam and be entertained.

      Eleanor sighed. "Unfortunately, he did. He wishes to speak to you and he seems to be in a raw mood tonight too. I miss Barbara and Johnathon. This place isn't the same without them." 

      Samantha's heart fell into her stomach. She knew that he was simply going to pressure her once again. She needed to hold onto this job as long as possible to save up money for a new start somewhere else—but she would never resort to prostitution to keep her home. She did not judge the other women here harshly for their careers but it was a career that she herself did not want. 

      Squaring her shoulders, Samantha forced a smile. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll head down to see what he wants." 

      Eleanor nodded and stepped aside to give her space. "I'll walk with you. The saloon is filling up and I've got to start serving men." 

      The two women maintained a rather awkward silence as they walked together down the staircase and into the bar. Dust floated in the glare of the numerous kerosene lamps illuminating the crowded interior. Samantha did her best to ignore the glances sent her way as she tried to remain as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. It was always a risk when she showed her face in the saloon on such crowded nights—or any night really. 

      If the wrong person saw her, recognized her, it would mean running once again—it would mean Clinton Matthews would once again be on her tail. A quick glance told her that Thomas Williamson was standing beside the bar having a conversation with the bartender, a short, broad shouldered man named Oscar. 

      Keeping her head down and her eyes on the rough wooden planks beneath her feet, Samantha made her way to the men. "You wished to speak with me?"

      Thomas spun around at the sound of her voice and sneered. "Well if it isn't the woman who thinks she's too good to do the work the rest of the women do." 

      Samantha bit her tongue and chose not to take the bait. "What did you need from me?"

      Thomas took her by the arm in a grasp that was just tight enough to elicit pain. He dragged her down the bar and to the relative privacy of the shadows beside the storeroom door. "I want you to work. Entertain these men. Earn your keep." 

      It took several earnest yanks before Samantha freed herself from Thomas' grasp. She met his dark eyed gaze directly and squared her shoulders. "I do plenty of work here." 

      Thomas snorted, waving away a fly that buzzed near him. "I don't need you for inventory and sweeping floors. I can do that my damn self. I'm not like those Morgans'. Damn fools was all they were. Feeling sorry for some worthless woman like yourself who is too good to do what needs to be done and earn her keep—a woman who wants to live off charity and nothing else." 

      Samantha bristled. Charity? In her entire life she had known very little in the way of 

charity . She certainly hadn’t seen any in the two years she’d been running for her life, and only with the Morgan’s during the five months she’d known them had she seen true kindness—even then Samantha had always done everything she could to repay them and earn her keep .

      "Mr. Williams, I refuse to serve men in this saloon. You had a deal with the Morgan's and if you're a man of any character, you'll honor that deal." 

      Thomas chuckled, clearly quite amused as he scratched at his thick mustache. "I'm not a man who troubles himself much about character. You do as I say or you'll be kicked out on your ass tonight and I'll be keeping that horse to cover the cost of keeping you up the last week." 

      "Athena is 

my horse,“ Samantha countered quickly.

      With a quick shake of his head and another swat toward that fly, Thomas fixed her with a gaze that showed he was done arguing. "You heard what I said. Either you do more to earn your keep or you can get the hell out of my saloon and I keep the horse. I already spoke with the town Marshall and he's on my side." 

      Samantha thought of the town Marshall. A one-eyed drunkard with a pot belly and a fondness for the women who serviced men here at the saloon. A man who kept his job simply because no one else wanted it and not on any merit of his own. She quickly ran through her options in her head. She could 

not lose Athena—that horse was all she had left. If she were to be kicked out in the dark with not even her only remaining friend….

      Hopelessness began to settle into her soul. Outwardly, however, she remained strong. "I will not 

lay with men for money.“

      Thomas crossed his arms over his thick chest and studied her carefully. "Fine." He relented, those dark eyes running the length of her body once. "You 

will change into something more pleasing to a man’s eyes and you will serve drinks, sit on laps, and provide the men with conversation and feminine laughter.“

      Samantha wanted to cry but what choice did she have but to agree? This town, this saloon, had so far proven a safe place from Clinton Matthews—and she couldn't very well go on the run again without even her horse as a companion. With a slow nod, and a stiff back, Samantha agreed with Thomas' demands. 

      Thomas' rotten teeth were revealed when he smiled, clearly quite happy with his victory. He called Caroline over, another of the serving women in the saloon. She was nearing middle-age with dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed, and quite lovely. "Caroline, take Samantha upstairs and find her something more appealing to wear. Make sure it looks good with all that red hair and pale skin." 

---

Twenty minutes later, Samantha stood in a full length mirror, doing her very best to gather up the courage to walk downstairs. Courage had never been something she’d struggled for in her life—she had always had plenty of it. But looking at herself in nothing but a deep green corset, white, lacy petticoat, and black heeled shoes, had her wanting to remain hidden in this room forever.

      Oil lamp light danced off her pale, freckled skin. Her red curls were styled in a messy side plait with loose tendrils dancing along her neck and collarbones. Knots twisted in Samantha's stomach and the trembling in her hands had her wringing them as she studied her reflection. 

      "You better come along now," Caroline urged. "Thomas is not a patient man." 

      Samantha spared a glance at the other woman who truly appeared sorry for the position Thomas had placed her in tonight. "I miss the Morgans." 

      Caroline nodded and the smile on her face was kind. "We all do, darling." 

      Stepping into that crowded barroom, Samantha was fighting the urge to vomit. She found a shadow in the back corner nearest the stairs and froze there. Perhaps, if no one noticed her, she could avoid attention altogether. 

      For a short while, it seemed luck may just be on her side—but it seemed luck had actually decided to take a night off. Thomas came storming her way with anger on his features. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He grabbed the arm he'd abused just a short while before, pressing his fingers in hard and, no doubt, leaving bruises. "You're looking the part, now get out there and act it." 

      He yanked her away from the wall, Samantha had taken refuge against and shoved her toward the crowds. She was noticed almost instantly by a table of poker players. They signaled her to come to them and somehow, Samantha's stiff legs managed to carry her there, though she nearly curled her ankle twice in the heels on her feet. 

      "Hey there, beautiful," one of the men, probably in his twenties with dirt-stained clothes, a boyish face and messy blond hair greeted. "Why don't you get us some drinks and then come on back and sit with us a while." 

      "Yeah, right on my lap," Another spoke up gruffly, this man a bit older than the first with a face beginning to need a shave and a scar above his eye. 

      "Why would she want to do that?" the blond man demanded, with amusement lighting up his features. "If you're that desperate to have someone on your knee, I'm sure Gavin would be happy to sit there." 

      This caused a brown-haired man at the table to sputter as he shoved his glasses up his nose and shook his head roughly. "No, Gavin most certainly would not!" 

      Samantha realized she recognized the blond man and Gavin. Gavin worked at the stage-office in town. He helped deliver mail and keep things running smoothly there. And the blond was a man she believed to be named Timothy—He came to the saloon often to play poker, and he was also known to do whatever odd jobs he could get hired on to do around town. 

      Timothy let out a hearty laugh. "We really would like those drinks, ma'am, if you don't mind. And you can sit and talk with us, no knee perching needed unless you simply like to sit on them. I could use some good luck and you might just be able to provide it."

      Samantha managed a smile she hoped did not resemble a grimace and she scurried off to the bar to order three drinks for their table. As Oscar went to fill three mugs, another man came bellying up to the bar beside Samantha—and it was an impressive belly. The scent of him nearly knocked her down—he was clearly already fairly deep in the whiskey. 

      "Thomas?" he bellowed, blowing a waft of offensive air directly under Samantha's nose.

      Fighting the urge to gag, Samantha attempted to move further down the bar but was stopped by the man's meaty hand as it closed around her wrist. Thomas came over and raised a brow. "What did you need?" he asked. 

      "I'm interested in some entertainment upstairs." 

      "Two of the girls are already busy at the moment. We still have several to choose from. Which would you like?"

      Samantha's blood ran cold as she tugged in vain to free her hand. The fat man swiped his free hand across his bulbous nose. "I want this one. I ain't seen her around here before." 

      "I'm not here for that type of entertainment," Samantha was quick to speak up. 

      Thomas's dark eyes narrowed and he reached out a hand and shoved her roughly. "Don't listen to her, Frank. She's nothing but an actress. Some men like a woman who puts up a fight and she's happy to fill that role." 

      Samantha shook her head in earnest. "No.. No, I am not a whore... please, Thomas... you promised..." 

      A drunken, lustful smile curved Frank's thin lips. "Yeah, I want her. How much?" 

      "She's young, beautiful, and damn near innocent.... Two dollars will buy you an hour. Take her to room 2C" 

      Samantha's heart thundered against her ribs. Bile rose in her throat. She yanked and pulled and tugged her arm but she could not free herself from Frank's tight grasp. She cried out for help as Frank agreed to the price and began to lead her toward the staircase. 

      "Don't pay any attention to that, men. This red-haired beauty started off as an actress on stage and likes to fulfill whatever fantasy her feller has—even if that's the part of an unwilling woman." 

      Samantha felt panicked, trapped, like a rabbit in a snare. Her head whipped around, glancing every direction at once. Surely, 

someone here would help her! Surely, there must be one decent man!

      But no one spoke. Eleanor approached Thomas with concern but he back handed her and she quickly backed down. Samantha's eyes searched for the table of men she'd been buying drinks for but their table was empty. They were no longer there—they didn't seem to be in the saloon at all. Where had they gone to so quickly?

      Samantha tripped on the steps and fell which only served to amuse Frank. "You sure do play your part well. Get up here." He yanked her to her feet with one harm and grabbed her backside with his other hand, giving it a firm squeeze. 

      Samantha became a wild creature, hell bent on escape. She hit, she kicked, she screamed, she was desperate with her need to free herself—but Frank was too powerful full of drink and lust the way he was and he continued to take her up those stairs. Soon the bar was out of sight and they were turning down the hallway. 

      Tears streaked Samantha's cheeks, her cries and Frank's laughter echoed off the floral paper adorned walls. They were nearing room 2C—Samantha's room. The room that was to be her safe haven in this saloon that had been her home for months. The room that was now going to serve as the location of her rape. 

      In an instant, the hallway fell silent as a throat cleared behind them. Samantha and her would be violator stilled. Frank turned his head and Samantha craned her neck to see who was interrupting. Please, let it be a decent man—please let this nightmare come to an end! 

      The man standing there was tall, his face hidden in the shadow cast by hat on his head. His clothes were tattered, dirty, and trail worn and he was clearly broad and strong beneath them. A bandolier full of bullets was strapped tight across his chest. A gun belt with an offhand holster slung low upon his hips with revolvers gleaming in the oil lamp light. A long knife strapped to his belt hung nearly to his knee, tied in place with a leather strap around his thigh, and a shorter knife adorned his other hip. The barrel of the rifle on his back stuck up behind his shoulder. 

      Danger. The man oozed danger. But Samantha did not care. If he could save her from Frank, she would gladly accept his help!

      "What the hell do you want?" Frank growled, holding Samantha tight against him. "The lady and I were busy." 

      "Please..." Samantha swallowed hard and looked into the man's eyes shrouded in shadow. "Please, help me..." 

      The man let out a grunt as he adjusted the gun belt on his hips. Then, without warning, and faster than Samantha could comprehend, his arm shot out and his fist connected sharply with Frank's jaw. 

      Frank's body quite simply crumpled and collapsed upon the floor, taking Samantha with him. She was quick to disentangle herself and leap to her feet. She attempted to cross her arms over her chest to allow herself a bit of modesty as her savior simply stood there acting as if nothing at all had happened. 

      "Thank you.." Samantha whispered, her entire body beginning to shake as the reality of what had just happened to her began to sink in. 

      "That your room?" the man asked, his voice was low with a gruff quality. 

      "Yes.." Shame was beginning to work its way into her mind. Shame that she was standing here dressed as a whore. Shame that she was living in a saloon. Shame that she had allowed Thomas to place her in this situation. Samantha had never been and was not a weak woman. 

      "Get your ass in there then. Lock the door, move something heavy in front of it. You'll be left alone tonight." 

      With that the man turned and strode away, heading back toward the stairs. Samantha was quick to sidestep the unconscious lump of Frank on the carpeted floor and let herself into her room. She did as the man had advised and locked the door before pulling a heavy wardrobe in front of it. 

      Once that was done, Samantha sat on her bed, pulled her knees into her chest and cried. She cried for her father. She cried for the Morgan's. And she cried for herself and what Clinton Matthews had turned her life into. 

A/N: Ahh I’m back! And I am beginning to feel that writing urge again! Fingers crossed that means my muse is coming back from her very very long vacation!

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Adjusting his hat upon his head, Zachary Marston stood on the boardwalk outside the Montgomery Hotel and glanced up and down the bustling main street of Hackney Oklahoma. It had been five long years since he’d been home and he had very little suspicion he’d be recognized easily. He sure as hell wasn’t that same nineteen year old boy he’d been the last time Hackney had been home—that person was long dead.

      Rolling his shoulder to work out the ache that the bullet lodged within caused, he spared a glance toward the Hackney Saloon and Brothel. Instantly his mind pictured the red-haired woman he'd helped last night. Zachary had no idea who she was or why she'd been dressed as a serving girl but he hadn't believed for a moment she'd simply been 

acting unwilling—and after the things he’d seen in his life, Zachary didn’t tolerate the mistreatment of women.

      He wondered if the lady was okay this morning. He'd paid Thomas Williamson a healthy amount of money to see that she was left undisturbed in her room the remainder of the night—had the man honored the deal? There was something shifty and untrustworthy about that man that made Zachary have doubt. At one point in his life Zachary had taken every man at his word—but life had a way of doing away with such naiveté. 

      Pointing his boots toward the saloon, Zachary headed that way, dodging horses, wagons, and pedestrians going about their mornings. He saw several familiar faces but none that seemed to know him in return—most people avoided meeting his gaze all together. Several even went as far as crossing the street to keep their distance. He supposed the last five years had done away with any approachable nature he might have once had. 

      Stepping into the saloon, Zachary took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light in the dim interior. Dust mote floated in the sunlight streaming through a back window and Thomas Williamson sat at a table in the beam of light, writing in a leather journal. 

      "We're closed until noon," he announced without looking up. 

      "You'll take the time to speak to me," Zachary countered, resting his gloved hand on the handle of his .45 revolver. 

      Thomas' head snapped up, his gaze angry. "You again? I'll have you know the Marshall has already been spoken to about last night. Frank wanted charges pressed but I talked him out of it." 

      "I'm not gonna worry myself over some charges for knocking out a fat-bellied, would be rapist." Zachary shrugged. "And I ain't the least bit afraid of Marshall Oxley." 

      Thomas' eyes narrowed. "You know Leonard? I wasn't aware that you were from around here." 

      "I don't reckon I told you I was from around here. Can't see how that's any of your business."

“What’s your damn name?”

“My business. Where’s the lady?”

      With a grunt, Thomas once again turned his attention to the journal on the table. "This is a saloon and brothel, sir. We don't have 

ladies here.“

      Deciding he'd wasted enough time speaking to someone unimportant, Zachary headed for the stairs. He knew what room he'd left her in the night before. Thomas shoved himself to his feet. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" 

      Without sparing him a glance, Zachary continued on his way. "Upstairs." 

      Thomas made the choice not to follow and Zachary was alone when he reached room 2C. He pounded one firm knock upon the door before crossing his arms over his chest and waiting. Several moments later, the door was opened and there she was. 

      She looked like hell. Tired circles surrounded puffy green eyes. Red hair hung in careless wild waves around her head like the mane of a lion. Freckles stood out in sharp contrast to pale skin and slumped shoulders provided evidence of her fatigue. Had the woman slept at all?

      "You shouldn't open the door without asking who it is on the other side." 

      Her expressive green eyes blinked several times as she stared up at him. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she pulled her robe tighter around her night clothes. "Who are you and why 

are you knocking on my door? Did Thomas send you?“

      "No, I don't run errands for pieces of shit. I guess you don't recognize me. The hall was dark last night and you were in a bit of a panic." 

      Recognition dawned as those emerald eyes looked him up and down, pausing at the guns on his hips. "You're the man who helped me." 

      Zachary simply nodded. She let out a sigh and her entire posture seemed to relax in an instant. "Thank you so much. If it hadn't been for you..." 

      A shake of his head had her falling silent. "I'm no hero, lady. What the hell were you doing putting yourself in that situation anyhow?" 

      Those green eyes narrowed. "I didn't put myself in any position; someone else put me there." 

      Zachary shrugged. He didn't care. He had his own problems. He wasn't interested in shouldering hers as well. "If you don't want drunken, jackasses to continue to drag you into rooms to have their ways with you, you may want to stop dressing like a whore while working in a brothel. I'd be happy to walk you out of here if you need help dealing with Thomas..." 

      "That won't be necessary," she replied quickly, her shoulders squaring as she gathered herself to her full height of just over five and a half feet—still nearly a foot shorter than Zachary. "I truly do appreciate your help. I would have been destroyed had you not done what you did and I have no problem admitting that. I won't ask you for any further help dealing with my situation." 

      Zachary studied her closely. Beneath the paleness and exhaustion, was something else—a vulnerability, a fear, and yet a strength that he could see himself admiring. But he wasn't going to force her to allow him to help—hell, Zachary hadn't lied when he said he wasn't a hero. He'd done plenty of bad things in the last five years—the unavenged death of his family was a constant reminder of that. 

      "Alright then." He adjusted the rifle strap on his back. "Take care of yourself, ma'am." 

      As he turned to walk away, her hand touched his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Looking down at those small, pale fingers against the tanned, scarred skin of his forearm had Zachary swallowing hard for reasons he could not—or would not—take the time to understand. 

      "What is your name?" she questioned, quickly pulling her hand away. 

      Keeping his gaze averted, Zachary pulled off his hat and shoved her hand through his thick, dark hair. "Zachary Marston, ma'am." 

      Without giving her time to reply, he walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway. 

      Thomas was waiting in the barroom for him when Zachary came down the stairs. "Are you satisfied that I kept my word?" 

      Approaching the man, Zachary towered over his shorter frame but Thomas was no coward and did not back down. Zachary's voice was calm when he said, "Hurt the woman again and Marshall Oxley will be arranging my hanging." 

      With that he strode from the bar, unsure why he was feeling such a need to protect a woman he didn't know anything about. Why was she living in such a dangerous place? Why had she been dressed the way she had been last night and working a barroom? Why did she have to look so vulnerable and strong at the same damn time. Damnation, what the hell was her name?

---

      It wasn't until Zachary rounded the corner and disappeared from view that Samantha stepped back into her room, closing and locking the door behind her. She put her back to the wood and simply stood there with her arms wrapped tight around herself attempting to calm her racing thoughts. 

      Zachary Marston. Friendliness and tact were clearly not characteristics he possessed. But he had saved her innocence and her mind last night—and he was right. She couldn't stay here any longer. This saloon was no longer a safe harbor. Samantha wasn't ready to live on the run again, however. This town had so far proven to be a safe place and she was hopeful it would remain that way. 

      There was nearly ten dollars hidden away with her meager belongings which was all the money Samantha had to her name. She would pack up, leave the saloon, rent a room at the hotel, and try desperately to find some way to earn money to keep a roof over her and Athena's heads. 

      Damn Thomas Williamson straight to hell. 

      After changing into her skirt and blouse and fixing her hair on her head, Samantha packed a small sack with her few extra clothing items, hairbrush, and money. With a determined breath, she left her room and headed down into the saloon. Thomas was sitting at a table scratching notes into his leather bound ledger. 

      "We need to speak," she announced. 

      With a sneer, he glanced her way. "If all you're gonna do is bitch and moan, I don't have time. I've done been warned and threatened all I'm gonna tolerate today." 

      "Threatened by who?" Samantha couldn't stop herself from asking—she also had a moment of disappointment that all Thomas had received were threats.. she'd enjoy seeing him knocked on his backside. 

      Thomas closed her ledger, tossed his pen on the table and leaned back in his chair. "Don't know his name. He didn't seem to eager to give it. The same fool that paid me ten dollars last night to see that you were left alone. 

      Samantha's eyes widened. Ten dollars? The only man that Thomas could be referring to was Zachary Marston. But why? Why would someone she did not know, who did not know her, spend such a large amount of money simply to see her remain safe? 

      "Why do you look like you were on your way out?" Thomas asked, his gaze going to the sack over her shoulder. 

      "Because I am. I am taking my belongings and moving into the hotel. I will look for employment elsewhere." 

      Slowly, Thomas shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. "No. You aren't going anywhere." 

      Samantha took a step toward the swinging front doors but he placed his body in the way. "I'm leaving, Thomas. This saloon is not the place it was when the Morgan's ran it and I will not be forced into selling my body to make you coin."

      Appearing thoughtful a moment, Thomas finally smiled—though the expression seemed awkward and forced upon his face. "No, you won't. I shouldn't have done that last night and it won't happen again. Stay. Provide drinks and conversation. I won't ask you to do any more than that." 

      With a shake of her head, Samantha glanced toward the door. "No. You've more than proven I can't trust you. I'll be moving to the hotel...." 

      Thomas' expression hardened as his dark eyes flashed. "Then your horse is mine to cover the cost of keeping you up for the last week."

      "You won't take my horse, Thomas. She is my property. You yourself said that you were paid ten dollars just last night for my work..." 

      "Work?" he snorted. "You sat in your room and did nothing. And at two dollars an hour, I could have made twice that off of you before dawn had you truly done your job." 

      Samantha shivered at the idea of not only one man forcing her, but more than five. "That horse is mine. You had a deal with the Morgan's...." 

      "A verbal contract sealed with nothing but a handshake. You show me proof of this so called deal and we'll take it up with Marshall Oxley. Though, I've warned you once, he's on my side with this matter." 

      Samantha thought of the one-eyed, pot-bellied Marshall and nearly scoffed. Of course, that useless excuse of an officer of the law would side with a man just as foul as him. Sidestepping Thomas, she headed for the door. 

      "Where do you think you're going?" he called. 

      Samantha chose silence. She was going to go get her horse and leave town. That was her only option. She would return to a life on the run—spending so long evading Clinton Matthews would simply serve as good practice for evading a crooked town Marshall as well. 

      Thomas' footsteps pounded along behind her as he yelled for the Marshall. Still Samantha moved on. She stepped out onto the street, squinting to shield her eyes from the sunlight as her feet carried her toward the end of town and the livery that stood there. Samantha's pulse thundered in her ears as she strode past the stable hand and made her way toward Athena's stall. The palomino mare tossed her head over the gate when she noticed Samantha's approach. "I want this horse saddled. I'm leaving town," Samantha called out to the stable hand—a young man barely twenty. 

      He was quick to nod and quickly went about saddling Athena as Thomas stood in the doorway simply watching with clenched fists. Samantha's hands shook, her foot tapped. She had to be gone before the Marshall arrived.....

      "There you go, ma'am," the boy said as he handed Samantha the reins. 

      "You aren't going anywhere, Samantha," Thomas countered as Samantha led Athena out the double doors. 

      Samantha leapt in the saddle but before she could urge Athena to move forward, Marshall Oxley's voice rang out in the early morning air. "Stop right there, young lady." 

      Turning her gaze to the overweight man, Samantha adjusted herself in the saddle. "I'm on my way out of town, Marshall." 

      A long stream of tobacco spit flew from his mouth and landed near the toes of his boots. "You want to hang for horse theft?"

      Anger roared to life in her veins. "Athena is 

my horse! Whatever crooked dealings you’ve done with Thomas Williamson are unjust and illegal.“

      Marshall Oxley seemed unfazed by her outrage. "You got two choices, little lady. Get off that horse and return it to its rightful owner or take one more step with that horse and get yourself hanged at the gallows. I'll leave the decision making up to you." 

      Samantha wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Athena was all she had left in the entire world. She would 

not leave her to the whims of a man like Thomas Williamson! Samantha would rather die than lose the only thing left in the world that she loved.

      Her mind made up, Samantha kicked her heels, let out a yip and urged Athena forward. Almost instantly, the Marshall pulled his gun and fired a shot less than a foot from Athena's head. The mare panicked and reared back, throwing Samantha from the saddle. 

      She was tossed sideways and the last thing she was aware of was Thomas' laughter filling the air before her head struck the corral fence post and her world went black.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The aching in his gut festered and grew until Zachary was certain a hole would be gnawed straight through his middle. Every step his black gelding made brought him closer to a place he’d once said he’d never set foot in again—a place he hadn’t seen in five long years.

      He should have made this trip yesterday upon arriving back in Hackney, but Zachary hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. Even now he was fighting the constant urge to turn tail and run—never in his life had Zachary been a coward but damn, the thought of what was waiting for him at the end of this road had him feeling yellow.

      The day was a pretty one at least. Bright sunlight filled a sky that was sapphire blue and dotted with cottony white clouds. Birdsongs filled the air. Spring was in full bloom and evidence of that was the aroma of wildflowers wafting on the gentle breeze as bees and butterflies swarmed about. 

      Yes, the day was beautiful indeed—and Zachary couldn't help but think it was simply mocking the turmoil that lived within him. 

      Pulling up on the reins, Zachary brought Blaze to a stop as soon as that white farmhouse came into view. Memories of the life he'd lived here came flooding back. The faces had become blurred now—a cruel trick that time played on the brain—but those memories were as vivid as if they'd been made yesterday. And, damn, they hurt.

      Doing his best to turn off emotion, Zachary urged Blaze forward once more. Time had taken its toll on the land and buildings. The homes' white paint was faded and chipping away revealing the graying boards beneath while the black painted shutters hung crooked and broken. The barns and outbuildings looked as if time had taken one hell of a toll on them as well. 

      It was going to take a ton and a half of elbow grease to get the family ranch up and running again, but Zachary would do it. His parents had always loved this place and he owed it to them to see it restored back to working order. He never should have neglected it for so long. 

      The weeds had overgrown his mama's once beloved flower beds and the yard needed a good cut with the scythe. Zachary brought Blaze to a stop at the edge of the dusty porch and slid from the horses' back. The boots on his feet seemed to have gained twenty pounds apiece as Zachary struggled to lift them up the sagging steps. 

      Nearing that black front door, memories of his family overwhelmed him. His mama pulling fresh baked bread from the oven, while his pa boasted about how he'd gotten himself the best wife in Oklahoma. His sisters giggling at his antics while they practiced their arithmetic. 

      Quiet snowy days with the wind howling outside the windows but the fire warm in the hearth simmering venison stew. The family all gathered around the sitting room while pa read tales from a story book to entertain them and mama worked on whatever knitting project she had resting in her lap. 

      Laughter. 

      Warmth. 

      Love. 

      Blood. 

      Bullets. 

      Bodies....

      Bile rose in his throat as Zachary turned and fled from the house, leaping off the porch and running until his tear blinded eyes failed to see a rock and he tripped before falling to his knees. Gasping for breath, Zachary fought back those tears and the urge to vomit. God dammit, he was nothing but a failure and a coward! Going in that house just how was something beyond his bravery—it couldn't be done.

      It took several long minutes of catching breath and shoving down emotions before Zachary felt steady enough to rise once again to his feet. Swiping his arm over his face, he dried the dampness on his cheeks. 

      The house might not be something he could manage just now but that wasn't where he was truly needed anyhow. The fences, the barns, the outbuildings.... Those were what needed to be brought back to working order for the ranch to get back on its feet. Those were the places he would start. 

      A quick whistle brought Blaze to his side. Zachary led him toward the nearest barn with a plan forming in his mind. He would examine as much of the property today as daylight would allow to figure out just what supplies would be needed from town to get things fixed right. He may have failed at avenging his family but he'd make his pa proud one way or the other.

      As evening approached, the only thing longer than the list of supplies needed for the homestead repairs was the list of needed repairs itself. Nearly every building seemed to have leaks in the roofs, hinges were rusted, the buggy and wagon both needed work. A lack of use and maintenance had rendered nearly every tool and piece of equipment either useless or in bad need of attention. He hadn't had the time to run every fence line on the thousands of acres that the farm possessed, but from what fence line he had observed, there wasn't a hell of a lot still standing strong. Not to mention the weeds, overgrown fields, weathered wood and peeling paint that seemed to abound—Zachary figured it would take months to get this place back to the condition his parents had always prided themselves on keeping it. 

      And he'd be doing it alone. Zachary didn't have anyone left. 

      Thunder rumbled off in the distance as the wind kicked up a bit. A storm was still miles away but it was moving in—the ache growing worse in his shoulder told him it would begin to rain within the hour. Which meant he could either hunker down here and sleep on his bedroll in the barn or he could ride back into town, possibly be caught in the rain a bit, but sleep in a dry, soft bed. 

      While Zachary didn't mind doing the first, his back much preferred the sound of the latter. 

      An image of the red-haired woman from the saloon suddenly came to mind. She was a puzzle. She seemed soft yet stubborn. Vulnerable yet strong. Innocent and yet dressed as a prostitute in a brothel. Instinct told Zachary she needed his help. The way his parents had raised his had him wanting to help her. The hell his life had been the last five years told him it truly wasn't any of his business and the woman was probably better off without his aid. 

      Shaking himself from his thoughts, Zachary went to the barn and downed the last of the water from his canteen before pulling a piece of jerked beef from the sack in his pocket and let it hang off his lip as he gnawed at it. 

      Hefting up the saddle, Zachary tossed it over Blaze's back and readied him for the trip to town—if he was to stand any chance of beating the storm, it was going to have to be a quick one. 

---

      Pounding in her head greeted Samantha as her eyes fluttered open. Letting out a groan she raised her hand to her hair and felt a welted lump that caused her to wince. Attempting to sit up, dizziness overwhelmed her and her stomach turned. 

      She'd never in her life hit her head quite that hard. Speaking of the situation that had led to this headache... why was Samantha back in her room at the saloon instead of in jail or at the docs? 

      Moving much more slowly than she had before, Samantha got to her feet, holding the bed post to steady her trembling legs. Her tongue felt rough and swollen so she shuffled to the water pitcher and somehow managed to pour a bit into a glass though some sloshed over the sides. 

      A quick glanced toward the window proved that it was growing dark behind the curtains and rain was steadily pinging against the glass. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Had she been unconscious the entire day? It would seem the answer was yes which only made her worry for the state of her head grow. 

      A quick glance around the room revealed that her belongings were nowhere to be seen—probably being held hostage by Thomas, though Samantha could not see what he stood to gain by doing so. Her brain was having trouble understanding anything at all. It felt slow and sluggish. Samantha wondered about Athena. Was the horse okay? As if her thoughts had drawn the man, the door to her room suddenly opened and Thomas was there. He wore a scowl on his face that tugged down the edges of his mustache. 

      "Glad to see you're finally awake." 

      "I'm leaving, Thomas. You'll do well to simply let me go." Samantha stated, somehow managing to keep her voice steady despite the unsteadiness she felt in her head. She was having trouble focusing her eyes as her vision swam and she was grateful for the chest of drawers she stood beside as she leaned her hip against it. 

      Thomas snorted as he rose to his full height and stared her down. "I spoke with the marshall and paid the money asked to keep him from throwing you in jail for resisting arrest and attempted horse theft. The horse is mine and so are those belongings you had to cover the money I paid. You can earn both back but you're going to have to work here just like the other women do for two weeks before I feel you've earned what's owed to have your things and your horse." 

      Samantha stood firm. "I won't. I'll be leaving here tonight. You can keep the belongings but Athena is mine." 

      "The law disagrees." Thomas didn't appear fazed by her false confidence. Samantha was having a harder time remaining on her feet. Her stomach turned again and had she had any food inside she would have lost it. Her head was swimming and it seemed the walls themselves were spinning around her. "Get ready for work, girl." 

      Samantha clutched at the dresser beside her in and swallowed hard. She should be angry, frightened, desperate—something! She couldn't focus on any one emotion with her mind so clouded and full of fog. Thomas was still talking but she couldn't make out the words—it all just sounded like a dull hum in the air. 

      "Goddammit, stop ignoring me!" Thomas bellowed. He strode forward and grabbed her by the arm in the same place his fingers had bruised her the night before. 

      "Stop..." she muttered just before she dry heaved, causing the pain in her head to become nearly unbearable and her vision to momentarily go black. 

      "I'm tired of your stubbornness, bitch!" A fist fell heavy on the side of her head. Stars exploded behind her eyes. 

      Voices filled the room. She recognized Caroline and Eleanor's concerned cries. Thomas continued to shake her as she whimpered through the pain. 

      That hand struck her again. Then suddenly the room stilled. Through pain-hazed eyes, Samantha saw a familiar silhouette enter the doorway. A low growl rumbled in the air. "Get your goddamn hands off that woman now." 

      Thomas released his hold on her so quickly, that Samantha's legs buckled. She was scrambling to find something to hold onto in her confusion and weakness when she was suddenly pulled into two strong arms, lifted from her feet and cradled against a broad chest that smelled of horse, sweat, and witch hazel. 

      Somehow, Samantha felt safe cradled against Zachary this way. She felt safe in a way she hadn't felt in two and a half long years—or perhaps longer if she were being honest. 

      It was getting harder to hold onto conscious thought—consciousness in general. The world kept coming in and out of focus. Zachary didn't speak as Samantha felt herself being carried through the saloon. She saw nothing other than the black, dusty fabric covering his chest and the metal of the bullets in his bandolier dug slightly into her cheek. 

      Rain drops fell upon her skin as the wind whipped against her hair. Samantha's eyelids grew heavier. Her head hurt bad. Very bad. Deciding to be vulnerable and depend completely upon someone else for the first time in so very long, Samantha gave in to the darkness and let unconsciousness overtake her.

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Zachary laid the woman’s still form on the bed. Samantha, he’d been told her name was. She had one hell of a welt beneath her red waves of hair which were dry with blood. And it looked like she may end up with a bruise from Thomas Williamson’s fists.

      Goddamn brute. 

      Using a woman who clearly was unwilling to work. Holding her belongings and horse ransom to get your way. Putting hands on her to attempt to force her hand. Thomas Williamson was not any kind of man worthy of trust or respect—as a matter of fact he was one of the worst kinds of men. 

      Zachary had warned him not to hurt Samantha again but clearly he hadn't listened. By God he was going to learn that Zachary Marston was a man who didn't make idle threats.

      Stepping away from the bed, Zachary turned his attention to the two saloon workers who had followed him to the hotel. They'd been talking the whole time, explaining the situation to Zachary. He knew about the incident at the livery and he knew about both Thomas and Marshall Oxley's roles. Zachary wasn't afraid of that good for nothing Marshall any more than he was Thomas Williamson. 

      He pointed to the older of the two women who had been studying him closely. "You're familiar..." she said. 

      Zachary tilted his head. Was 

she familiar? Zachary hadn’t spent much time in the Hackney Saloon and Brothel when he’d lived here before because he’d known his family wouldn’t approve. He had however played cards there from time to time and she had a vaguely familiar face—that was probably why.

      "I used to live around here," he offered in response. She would no doubt recognize his name if he gave it or the name of his family. Everyone from Hackney knew about the Marston family—and their murders. "Go get the doc and let him examine, Samantha." Then he looked at the other woman. "You stay here and keep an eye on her. They'll be bringing up a bucket of hot water to clean her off a bit." 

      With those parting words, and without waiting for replies, Zachary strode from the room. He hadn't beat the rain into town and it was still falling steadily so he was leaving a trail of droplets on the hardwood floors as he stepped back into the saloon. 

      Nearly instantly the room became quieter as eyes landed on him. He heard the hushed whispers begin to hum in the air—his name floating among them. Zachary ignored it. Instead he focused on Thomas Williamson who was standing beside the bar with Marshall Leonard Oxley. Thomas noticed his approach and Zachary admired the man's courage as he stepped up to meet him toe to toe. 

      "You had no right taking that girl out of here. She has a debt to work off and she's obligated to...." 

      Whatever Thomas deemed Samantha obligated to do remained a mystery as Zachary's fist shot out and silenced the man as it struck his jaw and dropped him to the floor at Zachary's feet. Complete silence fell in the dusty saloon as even the piano player ceased his banging on the keys and turned his attention to the scene at the bar. 

      Zachary simply stepped over Thomas' prone form and approached the barkeep. "Give me a whiskey. It's on the house." The bartender paused a moment but saw fit to do as Zachary bid. Downing the shot quickly, Zachary tapped the bar for another. 

      Taking his second shot, he approached Thomas, crouched down, and tossed the liquid onto the unconscious man's face. Thomas came up sputtering. Zachary grabbed him up by his shirt collar and yanked him to his feet. "I warned you not to hurt that woman." 

      Thomas was pale and his throat worked a little. He jerked himself from Zachary's grasp and swiped at his dripping mustache with his shirt sleeves. "That whore...." 

      Once again Zachary's fist silenced the saloon owner's angry tirade before it could begin. He signaled for another whiskey but before the bartender could fill a glass, one was placed in his hand. Glancing at the whiskey giver, Zachary was taken aback for a moment. 

      Timothy O'Neil. A man who had once been Zachary's best friend. They'd known one another since before they'd learned the alphabet or how to count to ten. Maybe they were still friends. Hell, Zachary didn't know. He hadn't seen Timothy in five long years—and those years had changed him. 

      Tipping his head in thanks to a grinning Timothy, Zachary threw this whiskey on Thomas' face and the man once again came up sputtering. This time he was wobbling as he got himself to his feet. 

      "Leonard... Arrest this man for assault!" 

      Zachary raised a brow as he studied the Marshall. Daring him without words to do as Thomas demanded. Leonard Oxley. The most crooked, alcoholic, worthless waste of breath that whoever created mankind had ever breathed life into. A bully—and a yellow-bellied, ground slinking coward. 

      Oh yes, Zachary remembered him well. And it was clear that Marshall Leonard Oxley remembered him too as the man simply stood there swallowing hard, his eyes darting around as if searching for the nearest exit. 

      Thomas swiped at his dripping face yet again and pointed at Zachary. "Marshall,

do something!“

      "It would be the first time that bastard ever has," Zachary announced. "And I don't think the Marshall wants to ruin his well-earned reputation just to arrest me for giving a woman beater what he deserved." 

      Marshall Oxley simply dropped his gazed to the scuffed up toes of his boots. Thomas was seething, that much was clear. He'd clearly thought the Marshall would be on his team and that Zachary would be put in his place. Clearly, Thomas didn't know Leonard as well as he'd thought. 

      Zachary crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as he popped his neck. "Let me make something clear to you, Thomas. Samantha doesn't work here anymore. I expect you to go fetch her belongings immediately. Also, that horse at the livery—the palomino mare—that's Samantha's horse and you'll drop any claim you're attempting to make on it." 

      Thomas sputtered as his face reddened and his mustache blew wildly with his breath. "

Samantha owes me money for keeping her up the last week without doing anything to earn her keep! That horse is to cover the room and board.“

      Zachary nearly rolled his eyes. He scanned the room until his gaze found Roland Henderson—a farrier and horse trader. Zachary had recognized the man when he'd walked in.  "Roland, do you know the horse I'm talking about?" 

      Roland stood up. "Sure do, Zachary. She's a fine horse." 

      Zachary nodded. "How much is she worth?" 

      "If I were to sell her, I wouldn't take any less than thirty." 

      Zachary let out a low whistle as he turned back to Thomas. "You must run one hell of a nice place here for a weeks worth of room and board to run a person thirty dollars." 

      Thomas seemed to realize he was alone and his game was finished. Whatever he'd been attempting to accomplish, whatever money he'd been hoping to gain off of Samantha, wasn't going to happen.  No one was rushing to his defense—and the patrons were clearly enjoying the show. Zachary waited to see what the man's next move would be. Thomas licked his thin lower lip and met Zachary's gaze. "I demand some compensation for the week..." 

      Zachary reached in his pocket and pulled out several paper bills and a few coins—about ten dollars in all. He held it out to Thomas. "This should cover it and then some." 

      Thomas was clearly not happy but seemed to know he had no choice. He spared a glance at Marshall Oxley. "You have nothing to say?"

      Leonard simply shook his head. "Sorry, Thomas. It seems that horse is worth more than you're entitled to and if Zachary here is willing to give you ten dollars to cover costs, there ain't a whole lot I can do...." 

      Thomas jerked the money from Zachary's hand. "And the assault?" he demanded of the Marshall. 

      "Everyone here saw him carry that girl out of here... and they know who did that to her..." 

      Zachary was tired of this conversation, tired of the stares, tired of having so many eyes on him. "Bring the belongings to the hotel and leave them with the clerk within the hour. Don't make me step foot back in here." 

      With that he turned and left the saloon without sparing another glance at anyone including Timothy. He could feel hundreds of eyes watching him as he went and left one hell of an argument kicking up between Thomas and the Marshall. Zachary wasn't concerned. Neither Marshall Leonard Oxley nor Thomas Williamson were men that went after anyone stronger than themselves. Zachary had seen things in the last five years that would make them curl up in bed and cry at night. He didn't scare easy and he sure as hell wasn't scared of them. 

      Making his way to the hotel, Zachary stopped to tell the clerk to be expecting Thomas before making his way upstairs. The doc was just finishing up his exam and met Zachary at the door to the room. "How is she?" 

      Doctor Reynolds shoved his spectacles up his nose and rubbed at his graying mustache. "Never thought I'd see you back around here, Zachary. It's been a long time." 

      Zachary adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. Maybe he hadn't become so unrecognizable in the last five years after all. "I wasn't real sure I ever wanted to come back, doc." Zachary liked the doctor. Doctor Reynolds had always been a stern, blunt,  no-nonsense, yet kind man and a decent one at that.          

      Doctor Reynolds nodded knowingly. "Can't say I'd have blamed you if you'd stayed gone. What brings you back?"

      Zachary glanced past the doc to the bed and the woman laying still and unmoving upon it. Was she okay? She looked so pale and helpless lying there. It brought back some memories he'd just as soon keep at bay—then again, at least she was breathing. He hadn't arrived too late to save her. "Wanted to get the farm up and running again." 

      Doctor Reynolds seemed to understand that Zachary's mind was elsewhere. He adjusted the leather satchel in his hand and gestured toward the room with his head. "I think she'll be just fine after some rest. She took one hell of a hit to her head earlier today and it addled her pretty badly. I'd say it's a concussion and then getting banged around by that brute at the saloon didn't help matters. I don't believe there's any lasting damage done but brains can be fickle things so we'll know for sure once she wakes up." 

      Zachary appreciated the honesty and the lack of false hope. "What do I owe you?" 

      "Not a dime, Zachary. That woman's been in town for a while now but she's always been a quiet, skittish, private woman. The only people who knew her were the Morgan's and now they're gone. I reckon she's all alone in the world so I don't mind helping the girl." 

      With that the doc patted him on the shoulder and left. Zachary watched the older man disappear down the stairs and then stepped into the hotel room. The two saloon workers were sitting by the bed and they got to their feet when he entered. "The doc said...." 

      "I know," Zachary silenced the older one with a nod. "I spoke to him in the hall. Why don't you two stay here with her tonight? She may be frightened when she wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings." 

      "But work..." the younger lady began, glancing down at Samantha on the bed. 

      Zachary shook his head. "Thomas won't mind. And if he does have anything negative to say just tell him to come whisper it in my ear and I'll take care of things." 

      Both women seemed to stifle laughter. Thomas sure did seem to lack friends. 

      Zachary grabbed up the saddlebags he'd tossed in the corner when he'd first rented the room upon coming into town that evening. He could easily rent another. "I'll be going now."  

      He spared one last long glance at Samantha. He wondered about her and what circumstances had led her to this town and that saloon. What could make her so private and closed off? She was young and she was pretty beneath that paleness and bruising. After seeing so much ugly in recent years, Samantha was certainly a sight for sore eyes. Women like her didn't hide themselves away without good reason. 

      He got the impression that one of the women was about to speak and so he quickly made an exit. Zachary had had quite enough conversation for one night.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

      "I think she's waking up..." 

      Caroline's voice began to break though the heavy fog weighing down Samantha's mind. 

      "Should I go for the doc?" Eleanor offered. 

      "Probably should.... And if you see Zachary you should tell him as well." 

      Samantha frowned. Why was the doctor needed? And why would Zachary care that she was waking up? Rolling her head to the side, Samantha winced and let out a groan. The pain brought back the memories. Thomas Williamson's threats. Her attempt to leave town on Athena and then having the Marshall spook the horse and send Samantha crashing to the ground, striking her head against the fence. More threats from Thomas when she'd finally awaken and his angry fists striking her face. 

      Samantha raised her hand to her cheek and tenderly touched the bruised skin that covered it. Zachary... Zachary had taken her away from the saloon. How long ago had that been?

      Opening her eyes a crack, she was greeted by Caroline's tired smile. "Good morning, sleeping beauty." 

      "M..morning?" Samantha whispered, pushing herself up to sitting and leaning against the headboard. A glance toward the window revealed that Caroline was telling the truth—there was daylight filtering thought the yellow curtains. Her dry mouth made it difficult to speak. "Where's Thomas.... Is Athena okay?"

      Caroline rose to her feet and walked the water basin across the small room. After filling a small glass she returned and helped Samantha hold it to her lips and take several long swallows. "Everything is just fine, Samantha. Zachary dealt with Thomas Williamson real proper." 

      Samantha rubbed at her throbbing temple, her eyes barely able to do more than squint as she looked at the other woman. "What about the Marshall? Zachary isn't in trouble, is he?"

      Caroline laughed lightly as she sat the glass on the end table and settled herself back down in the small chair beside the bed. "I don't think Zachary Marston is the type of man to worry much about getting in trouble—and I know for a fact he's the type of man Marshall Oxley avoids angering." 

      Samantha thought of that pot-bellied weasel and knew that Caroline was right. Samantha may not know who Zachary Marston was other than a man who seemed to be her own personal hero of late, but she knew enough to know he was dangerous, capable, and more than a little intimidating—Marshall Oxley was afraid of men like those. 

      "Roseanna came over from the saloon to check on you in the night and she said Zachary put both men in their place. Apparently, he knocked Thomas on the floor twice and had to wake the man up both times to let him know how things were going to be!" 

      Samantha would have laughed had her head not been paining her so badly. She would have loved to have seen Thomas Williamson knocked unconscious on the floor. But why? Why was Zachary so determined to help her? Should she be concerned that Zachary knew Clinton Matthews? They were both dangerous men, but Samantha doubted deep down that they ran in the same circles. Men like Clinton Matthews did not help women like her—they hurt them.

      "But what about Athena? Thomas said...." 

      Caroline shook her head. "The Marshall was seeing things Zachary's way by the time he was through. Said the horse was worth more than you could possibly owe the man. Zachary ended up paying Thomas ten dollars to see that he wouldn't have any more leverage over you. He even got Thomas to bring your belongings here—that's them in the corner." 

      Samantha's head spun and it had nothing to do with the recent injuries. Why? Why would Zachary spend such large amounts of money to see that she was safe? Samantha hadn't known much charity in the last two and a half years of being on her own—it made her slightly mistrustful of receiving it now. 

      But what ulterior motive could the man have? He clearly didn't mean to harm her and wasn't interested in using her body against her will—he'd had opportunity for both those things. So, what was it?

      Grabbing the glass from the nightstand, Samantha took another slow swallow and adjusted herself against the thin headboard, pulling the wool blanket tighter around herself. "Do you know Zachary? Is he from around here?"

      Caroline's dark eyes turned sad. "I never knew him personally, but I know of him. I expect most people in this town have heard his name and remember the story. I guess it's been about five years now...." 

      A knock on the door interrupted Caroline. "Come on in," Caroline called, getting to her feet. 

      The door swung open to reveal Doctor Reynolds. He seemed relieved when his small blue eyes fell on her. "Good to see you alive, well, and awake this morning."

      Samantha nodded. "It's good to be all those things this morning." 

      "Caroline, why don't you head down to the café and get some breakfast while I give Samantha here a once over and make sure she's doing as well as she seems." 

      Samantha waited patiently as the doctor listened to her breathing, checked her eyes and felt her head. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked. 

      "Not too much," she replied honestly. "Just some aching." 

      Doc Reynolds nodded as he placed his belongings back in his leather satchel. "That's to be expected. That Thomas Williamson is a monster of a man and you'd do well to avoid that saloon from here on out. I know the Morgan's were good people and did well by you but it's clear that he won't. There are other ways you can make a place in this town. There are good folks here that'd be happy to help you. I myself could use someone to come help clean my office several times a week—and I heard that Gavin Jones was looking for someone to help keep the mail organized at the post office. I'm sure there's other work out there as well if you look for it." 

      With that, and giving Samantha no chance to reply, Doctor Reynolds left the room, closing the door behind him. 

      Samantha sat there for several long moments thinking about what he'd said. She had always seen the saloon as her safe haven in Hackney and, without it, she'd assumed she would have to run again. But what if Hackney was her safe haven? She'd been here nearly six full months and had not heard of nor seen Clinton Matthews—it was the longest she'd ever spent in one place since he'd begun chasing her. Maybe she could be safe here. Build a new life, a new home. 

      Maybe Samantha didn't have to be so afraid anymore. 

---

      Zachary had just finished unloading supplies from the cart he'd borrowed from the mercantile when the horse and rider he'd noticed approaching, reached the barn. He watched Timothy O'Neil slip off the brown mares back, hitch her to a post and then stand there awkwardly as he rocked on his heels and stared at Zachary. 

      Swiping his arm over his sweat-slicked brow, Zachary stood straight and rolled his aching shoulder. "Timothy." 

      "Zachary." 

      Timothy glanced around the ranch as he rubbed his palms together slowly. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you around here." 

      "Yep." 

      Timothy clicked his tongue and patted the large, gray, shire mare that Zachary had bought from the livery that morning to help pull the wagons and farm equipment. "You've been gone a long time." 

      "Yeah." 

      Finally, with a roll of his eyes and a toss of his hands, it was clear Timothy had had enough of Zachary's aloofness. "Stop that one word answer shit with me!" he exclaimed. Reaching out, he put his hands on Zachary's chest, shoving him backward hard as hurt filled his eyes. "We were best damn friends and you just left and I never heard from you again! Where the hell did you go?"

      Zachary let go of the wagon he had grabbed to steady himself on after Timothy's shove. He swallowed back his temper, adjusted the rifle on his back and shook his head. "Don't put your hands on me unless you want the favor returned, Tim," he advised calmly. "And I think it should be obvious where I was given what happened before I left." 

      "If I feel like you need some sense knocked into you, that's what I'll do," Timothy assured him, unfazed by Zachary's words. "And I didn't come here to fight with you. I came here to see if you needed help after they told me you'd brought out some supplies." 

      Zachary sighed. Damn he was out of practice when it came to relationships of any kind. "There's a lot that needs done here. Don't you have a job? A wife? Kids? Something else that you 

should do?“

      Timothy laughed. "Job? Naw. I just take odd jobs as they come up and I make enough to take care of myself. A wife and kids? Nope." 

      "Why not?" Zachary asked. If he remembered correctly, Timothy had always been good with the ladies. 

      Timothy grinned, emphasizing his boyish features that hadn't changed much in half a decade. "I reckon no woman wants to have me for longer than a night." 

      Zachary wasn't sure how to answer that. He pointed to the sheets of tin he'd just unloaded. "Help me get a roof on this barn then. I need to keep the horse's heads dry when it rains." 

      The two men spent several hours working on the roof of the barn. Replacing tin and several weak boards. Many of the bigger repairs would have to wait because orders had to be placed for larger amounts of lumber and supplies and those orders would take time to arrive by train. 

      As midday passed, the men stopped to eat some jerked beef, beans and hardtack. They sat together on the back of the wagon and Timothy took a long swig from a canteen of water. "Seriously, Zachary, what happened to you? You seem....

different. “

      Zachary squinted at the horizon. "Different?"

      "Are you being difficult on purpose or have you developed a brain sickness of some kind?" Timothy grumbled. "Yes different. You're armed to the teeth with weapons, you haven't stopped scanning our surroundings all damn day. You talk even less than you used to. You look like hell. You won't speak a word about where you've been and you've become a lot more violent than I remember. I mean, sure, Thomas deserved to be knocked around a bit but the Zachary I remember wasn't the type to solve all his troubles with his fists." 

      Zachary was quiet for several long moments. Without any real direction his gaze was instantly drawn toward the house. It was an average two story farmhouse from appearances. Nothing on the outside could possibly warn an onlooker of the horrors the place had seen—the horrors that Zachary still saw quite often in his mind and his dreams. It wasn't something he was going to talk about—even with the man who had once been the person who knew him best. 

      "Life happened, Tim. Things. I've seen a lot and I've done a lot. It all has a way of changing a man." 

      Tim's eyes went skyward but his voice was sympathetic when he spoke. "That was ridiculously vague. What happened here was horrible, Zachary, and I miss those people every day. Your family was my family too." 

      Zachary simply grunted. He knew it was true. Timothy's father had died fairly young and his mother had remarried a man who didn't much care for having another man's son around often. Zachary's parents had seen the bruises Timothy sported more than once and quickly taken the boy in. Zachary was thankful that at least Tim hadn't seen the inside of the house that July morning five years ago. He hadn't seen the shape his second family had been left in. It wasn't something Zachary would wish anyone to see. 

      Timothy sighed and picked a loose bit of string off his fraying pants. "You've always been a closed book when it came to your feelings. I still wish you'd have come to me and we could have went after that asshole together. That's where you've been, right? Chasing him down?"

      With a grunt, Zachary took a drink from his canteen. "Yeah." 

      He could feel Tim's sideways glance. "And did you get him?"

      The guilt and the shame of failure fell hard in Zachary's gut. Twisting the lid back on his canteen, Zachary shoved himself off the wagon and stretched his back. "No. Now let's get back to work. We still have a lot to do before sundown." 

      Timothy didn't seem to be in any hurry as he grabbed another biscuit and took a bite. "I'm not complaining because I'm glad you're back and alive but why did you stop hunting him? I mean five years and you just give up and come back home?"

      "You've always talked too goddamn much," Zachary grumbled, grabbing up a bag of nails and a hammer. 

      "And you've always grumbled about it," Timothy agreed, sliding from the wagon and coming to stand beside him. He shoved his hand through his messy hair. "Are you gonna answer the question?"

      Zachary shoved the nails and hammer into Timothy's chest forcing the man to drop his biscuit in the dirt as he scrambled to grab them. Turning away, Zachary headed toward the nearest corral. "We can salvage a lot of this fence. Just need some new nails to hold it together." 

      Timothy's footsteps sounded behind him. "Is that a no?"

      Zachary tensed and stopped walking, turning his head to the side. "Don't walk behind me like that." 

      The anger in his voice made Timothy stop in his tracks. The man appeared confused. "Sorry." 

      Zachary adjusted his hat and resumed his trek toward the fence. "I'm back because I owe it to my family to get this farm back running. This place was mama and daddy's pride and joy and I've let it fall down." 

      Zachary knew Timothy couldn't possibly be satisfied with that answer. The man had always been more nosy than most would deem polite but it seemed that his good sense was overriding his urge to know the details. He simply fell instep beside Zachary and smiled. "Well then let's turn it back into something they would be proud of. I think they'd like that a lot." 

      Zachary's gaze went toward the hill and the oak tree his family was buried beneath. He hadn't been up there since the day he'd laid them in the ground. Sadness nearly closed his throat completely. "Yeah," he managed to grunt. "Yeah I reckon they would."

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

          Three days passed before Samantha’s head stopped spinning and aching. She knew that the blow she’d taken during her fall had been a bad one and it was nothing more than luck that she still had all her wits about her—she’d heard that head injuries could sometimes do strange things to people.

          After slipping into her clean black skirt and red blouse, Samantha styled her wild red curls the best she could upon her head and left the hotel. The doctor had given her two options for work in the town that wouldn’t involve being near the saloon and she was going to take those opportunities. Hackney was going to be home—Samantha was determined to finally put down roots and make a new life for herself. Two and a half years of running had been long enough.

          As she made her way down the boardwalk toward the doctor’s two story house that also served as his office, Samantha attempted to look at the farm and cattle town through fresh eyes. Eyes that weren’t scanning for dangers or watching for evil men lurking in shadows and behind corners.

          Hackney wasn’t so bad, she supposed. It was home to three saloons—though only the Hackney Saloon and Brothel served women as well as alcohol and it was the more popular drinking establishment because of that. There was a schoolhouse upon a hill behind a small sawmill. There was the hotel of course, but also a general store, a bakery, community center, butcher, tailor shop, laundry service, bath house, farrier, blacksmith, bank, two hotels, two diners, and a dry goods store.  The church was just outside of town but plenty close enough to hear the bells ring bright and early every Sunday morning.

          Down by the train station and post office stood several barns and corrals that filled the air with the scent of cattle twice a year when the auctions and cattle sales were held.

          Chickens and dogs milled around the town while Children laughed as they headed up the hill toward the white schoolhouse with their lunchboxes in hand. Men and women bustled up and down the street going about their days while wagons and folks on horseback splashed mud upon the edges of the boardwalk.

          Samantha worked hard to meet any gaze sent her way and return any smile or friendly greeting. She’d been living so long keeping everyone at arm’s length that it would take some time for her to let those walls back down. She could remember the woman she’d once been—someone vibrant and happy and full of life. She’d been quick to laugh and strike up conversation. Clinton Matthews had done away with that woman when he had shot her papa in the head and sent her on the run. Samantha wanted desperately to be that way again.

          Piano music coming from across the street had Samantha glancing toward the Hackney Saloon and Brothel. They weren’t doing much business this early on a Wednesday morning but she could tell by the tune playing that Elmer Poke was sitting at the piano. An image of the kind colored man’s face entered Samantha’s mind. He was quiet and didn’t say much but he could play a piano better than anyone Samantha had ever heard.

          She thought of Caroline, Eleanor, and the other women still working there with Thomas Williamson and his temper. She had begged Caroline and Eleanor to quit the saloon but they had declined. Caroline said all she’d been her whole life was a whore and she didn’t know how to be anything different—and she was getting too old to make a new start at a new brothel somewhere else. Eleanor had said no one in this town would look her in the eye, walk near her on the street, or sit at a table close to her in the diners—she wasn’t permitted to enter the church or the community center due to her line of work. What else was there for her to do in Hackney other than what she had always done?

           It made Samantha sad to know that people could be so cruel to one another—but it wasn’t surprising. She’d certainly had experience with cruelty….

          Shaking her head, she forced that thought from her mind. Clinton Matthews had stolen enough of her life—she wouldn’t give him any more time.

          Samantha reached the docs and walked in the front door. The downstairs held an exam room, surgical room, recovery room and a store front where the doctor sold a wide range of medicines, ointments, and tinctures to help folks on their path to wellness.

          Doctor Reynold’s nephew, who was studying to become a doctor under his uncle, worked the apothecary counter most days and he was there today. A smile split his freckled cheeks when she entered. “Good morning, Miss Samantha.”

          “Good morning, Lewis.”

          “You look much more rested today than you did yesterday. How are you feeling? Any headache?”

          Samantha returned his smile, the once familiar expression feeling somewhat strange upon her face. “I feel quite well this morning. The headache seems to have gone away.”

          “That’s real good.” Lewis’ cheeks colored as he fussed with several bottles in front of him. “I was worried about you.”

          Samantha studied the nineteen-year old. He was growing into a handsome man with boyish features that included dimpled cheeks, freckles and sparkling brown eyes. His reddish brown hair was always slicked back neatly upon his head with pomade and he dressed quite smartly in tailored suits. She had noticed the way he blushed and stuttered and fretted around her the last few days and while she was flattered, she couldn’t return his interest.

          Lewis reminded her far too much of her murdered brother. A man who had become lost in demons during his final months but had once been a shy, stuttering, boyishly handsome young man and her best friend. It made looking at the doctor’s nephew nearly painful at times. She knew he was leaving soon to study at a university and Samantha would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful.

          “Is the doc around?” she asked, eager to turn the subject away from Lewis’ worry for her. “I was hoping to speak with him.”

          It was clear that Lewis noticed her change of topic and lack of response. His face fell a bit and Samantha swallowed hard. She did not want to hurt the man who was clearly such a nice and gentle soul—but some things, quite simply, could not be forced and Samantha would not mislead the man.

          Lewis’ smile was resigned but still friendly as he shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s not, ma’am. He stepped out just a short while ago to make a few house calls. He should be back by noon or so.”

          Folding her hands in front of her, Samantha tipped her head in thanks. “I’ll just have to come back and speak with him then. Thank you, Lewis. And thank you for being a friendly face the last few days. I could certainly use friends to help me settle into a life here in Hackney.”

          Lewis nodded his understanding even as his face colored a bit more and he put a jar on the shelf beside him. “Of course, Miss Samantha.”

          Stepping back out into the mid-morning sun, Samantha glanced toward the bank clock to see that it was nearing ten. That meant the stage office would be opening. She supposed she would go there and see if Gavin Jones truly was looking for someone to work for him the way the doctor had stated.

          An approaching train filled the air with a drawn out whistle as Samantha stepped onto the stage office boardwalk. Stepping inside, her eyes went to the counter and Gavin Jones greeted her with a friendly smile as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Good morning, ma’am.”

          Samantha felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she remembered the last time she had seen Gavin Jones—it had been the night she’d been dressed as a whore. The night that she would have been raped had Zachary Marston not intervened and saved her.

          “Hello, Mr. Jones.”

          “What can I do for you this morning? Were you expecting mail?”

          “No,” Samantha forced a smile. “I came to speak with you, actually.”

          “Just a moment, Ma’am.” He turned his attention to a man who stepped into the office. Samantha stepped aside to allow the man to approach the counter. After Gavin had given him his mail and the man had bid them both a polite goodbye, Gavin returned his attention to her.

          “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

          “Please, call me Samantha,” she insisted, approaching the gleaming oak counter.

          “Of course, Miss Samantha.” Gavin smiled from behind the iron bars that were in place to deter any would be thieves from attempting to help themselves to the mail behind them.

          Samantha cleared her throat as she folded her hands in front of her and decided to get to the point of her visit. “I recently lost my employment, Mr. Jones, and I was told by Doctor Reynolds that you were possibly interested hiring help….”

          “Yes!” He pulled his glasses off and began to clean them with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Doctor Reynolds told me you may be coming by so I’ve been holding the job in hopes you’d come.”

          Samantha was surprised. “You have?”

          “Yes.” He slid the glasses back on his face, his brown eyes smiling. “Tim is good friends with Zachary Marston and both Zachary and the doc made it clear that you were to be taken care of….” Gavin’s rambling fell silent quickly He cleared his throat as he turned his attention to shuffling a few papers in front of him.

          Samantha suspected he’d noticed the look of shock on her face and it had been what had caused him to fall silent. She was shocked. Samanatha had spent so long believing that she was alone and that there were no friendly faces that would ever help her—outside of the Morgan’s of course.

          But now she was finding that she had been mistaken. Hackney was proving to contain many friendly faces. Gavin, Doctor Reynolds, Caroline, Eleanor, Lewis, Timothy, and of course Zachary. Samantha did not understand why that man seemed so determined to help her but she was not going to turn her back on that charity—she was going to take full advantage of it. Hackney could become her home….

          “If you’re available for work, Miss Samantha, you could start tomorrow. I need someone to come in Wednesdays, Friday, and Saturdays to help clean and sort the mail deliveries. You would start at nine in the morning and work until five in the evening. Does that sound like someone you could do?”

Samantha felt hope flaring to life within her—it was both unfamiliar and terrifying. “Of course, Mr. Jones. That sounds wonderful.”

          “Well, I’m glad, Miss Samantha. It’ll be a big relief to have some help around here.” Gavin checked the time on his silver pocket watch. “I’m afraid I need to get to some deliveries from the train. But I will see you tomorrow.” Gavin snapped his fingers, grabbing her attention. “And I forgot to mention your pay. I can pay you fifteen dollars a month. Will that be acceptable?”

          Samantha nodded whole heartedly. “Yes, of course, Mr. Jones. That’s more than acceptable.” Fifteen dollars a month was far more than she thought she would receive for working only three days a week. While it would not be enough to keep herself and Athena fed and housed each month, if the doctor hired her that would probably cover those costs—and perhaps the hotel would need a maid to help part time?

          Gavin reached his arm through the bars to extend his hand. “That’s a deal then, Miss Samantha. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”

          Samantha shook his hand before turning away and stepping back into the sunlight. A quick check of the bank clock showed the time to be ten minutes after ten. She still had quite a bit of time to kill before the doctor would be available. Perhaps she would saddle Athena and go for a ride?

          Just as Samantha was heading past the train station to go toward the livery, a familiar voice called out behind her. “Samantha? Stop a moment, would you?”

          Letting out a groan and attempting desperately to keep her eyes from rolling, Samantha turned to face the towns’ most judgmental gossip and bully. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, Mrs. Channing.”

          Judith Channing scoffed as she smoothed a hand over the graying dark hair that had slipped loose from her severe bun. “There’s no need to be rude, dear. I simply want to have a conversation.”

          Samantha stood straight and refused to avert her gaze as Judith Channing attempted to stare her down. Samantha was certainly not a fearless woman in any sense of the word, but she was also not a bit afraid of the preacher’s wife. “After our last conversation, I would think it quite clear that I do not wish to have any more conversations with you.”

          A group of women walking past, whispered and snickered as they glanced their way before hurrying on down the boardwalk. Judith Channing fussed with the lace on the edge of her bonnet as color stained her cheeks and that beak of a nose rose even higher. “Yes, well, I heard about that horrible head injury you suffered. Those can certainly impact a person’s behavior long after the blow to the head occurs.”

          Samantha’s gaze went skyward. “I should be going…”

          “Please, I need to speak with you. God has blessed you immensely don’t you see? I prayed and prayed that you would be freed from that horrible place and the Lord answered.”

          Samantha nearly laughed. She had no real belief in God or the Devil. Heaven or Hell. As far as she was concerned, if there was some all-knowing, all-powerful God and He allowed such atrocities to take place in the world, then He wasn’t any kind of god she wanted to know too intimately. It hadn’t been prayers or gods that had removed her from that hotel and Thomas Williamson’s grasp—it had been Zachary Marston.

          Samantha swiped a bit of dust from her blue sleeve and tipped her head. “You have a good day, Mrs. Channing…”

          As Samantha turned to leave, Judith’s hand closed around her wrist and stopped her. “Please, I am only trying to help you. I want to extend an invitation to you, Samantha.”

          Samantha pulled her arm out of the other woman’s grasp but before she could speak, Judith’s voice was once again assaulting her ears. “Now that you are no longer living in that den of sinners, I want to invite you to come and get yourself more involved with our church. We have a service every Sunday morning, and we also offer bible study classes for ladies twice a week.”

          “I don’t think I’m interested.” Samantha was doing everything within her power to bite her tongue and hold her temper. Everything within her hated the woman in front of her.

          Judith tsked. “Don’t be so quick to damn your soul, Samantha. Now that your living conditions have improved, you need to worry about your spirt—and your reputation.”

          Samantha’s brow rose. She was fed up with this woman’s judgments. “Reputation?”

          “Of course. All a woman has is her reputation and you shouldn’t have those ladies visiting you at your home in the hotel. And you also should be careful about being seen with Zachary Marston ..” she whispered his name as if it were some dark secret.

Samantha’s spine stiffened. Always the type to defend those important to her, she was quick to interrupt. “Those ladies are better women than you and Zachary Marston has been nothing but kind to me,” she snapped, though kind was probably pushing the truth a bit. Yes, the man had been a hero and had gone above and beyond to help her—he had also been quite bristly at best during their interactions.

Judith shook her head. “I’ve known him since he was a boy, Samantha. He’s a horrible sinful man. Tragic what happened to his family and there are those who think he may have had a hand in those murders….”

          A dark shadow fell over the women and Samantha quickly looked at the silhouette that had come to stand behind Judith. Even with the sunlight blinding her and that hat pulled low, shadowing his face, Samantha knew it was Zachary. “Still sticking your nose in things that don’t concern you I see, Mrs. Channing. Nice to know that even after I’ve been gone a good five years, some things haven’t changed and I can still count on knowing where to get the gossip.”

          Samantha and Judith had very different reactions to that deep voice growling in the mid-morning air. Samantha felt a tremor wash down her spine that had nothing to do with fear—it was a feminine wave of pleasure that had her swallowing hard. Never in her twenty-one years had Samantha felt anything that could compare. It both shocked and confused her.

          Judith, however, did not have such a pleasurable reaction to hearing that growl. She let out a sound that could very well be compared with a squawk before spinning around quickly and wringing her gloved hands. After letting out several unintelligible stutters, Judith found her voice. “I can assure you, Mr. Marston, that I am a good Christian woman and therefore I do not gossip.”

          Zachary pushed his hat back slightly and that rugged face was no longer hidden in shadow. Strong, high cheekbones, messy black stubble, dark brown eyes, and a guarded expression. Those tremors once again washed down Samantha’s spine when those eyes gazed into hers.

          Zachary was quick to look away and turn his attention back to the preacher’s wife. “I’m sure… and I’ve never killed anyone.” Samantha was sure she could hear sarcasm in his tone. Had he killed people? He certainly looked like someone who knew how to kill people armed to the teeth with weapons the way he was.

          “I’ll pray for your soul, Zachary Marston. Lord knows you need it. I just hope that you won’t bring any further trouble or death to this town than you already have.”

          Samantha saw pain flash across Zachary’s rugged features. Just as quickly as that emotion showed itself it was gone and his face was once again a mask of indifference. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Channing.”

          With nothing else said and without another glance in Samantha’s direction Zachary strode away toward the train station.

          Judith sniffed and turned back to Samantha. “As I was saying…”

          “I have never met anyone who seems to enjoy the sound of their own voice quite as much as you, Mrs. Channing. I believe I’ve heard about enough of it myself. Have a good day now.”

          Samantha rushed off after Zachary leaving Judith stuttering and scoffing behind her.

          “Mr. Marston!” Samantha called out, just before he could enter the warehouse beside the station. She let her gaze linger on the way his black clothes seemed to hug his solid, masculine frame from behind as Zachary came to a stop but did not turn around.

          Samantha came to a stop a few feet behind him and took a moment to catch her breath. He had been striding away quite fast and his legs were much longer than hers. “What do you need?” his voice interrupted her recovery.

          Samantha nearly laughed. Just as she’d thought to herself earlier— bristly at best. “I haven’t been able to speak with you since I left the saloon. I want to thank you, Mr. Marston. I owe you a huge debt for what you’ve done for me.”

          His broad shoulders heaved in a sigh as Zachary turned to face her. “Zachary. And, no, you don’t.”

          “Yes. I do,” Samantha insisted. “Had you not taken it upon yourself to help me…”

          She saw his jaw tighten as the muscles twitched. “But I did and you’re fine now.”

          “Thank you, Zachary.”

          At this the man simply grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. Samantha chewed at her lip. “I know you spent a considerable amount of money to protect both me and Athena and I want to let you know that I will find a way to repay…”

          Zachary shook his head quickly. “No, you won’t. That won’t be necessary.”

          “But…”

          He held up his hand. “Look, I did what I did because I wanted to and because it seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t do it because I wanted anyone to feel as if they owed me anything. You should probably do as Mrs. Channing says now and keep your distance from me. Folks will talk.”

          Samantha could not stop an unladylike snort at the mention of Judith Channing. “That woman is an intolerable harpy. She has been rude, judgmental, unhelpful, and unkind since I came to this town and the day I take advice from her will be the day I sign my own admission papers to the state asylum.”

          She saw Zachary’s eyes widen before he blinked several times. Samantha knew she’d probably said too much but she had never been the type to bite her tongue when she felt something needed to be said. It was then that a rather amazing thing happened—Zachary’s lips curved in a slow, lazy smile that took away the sad lines around his brown eyes and had them lighting up as a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Well alright then.”

          Samantha felt a bit of color rise in her cheeks. “Alright then.”

          She saw his expression once again become guarded almost as if a solid wall had just been erected around him. Samantha knew the signs—she was quite adept at keeping a wall around herself as well, though she was finding that more difficult to do with Zachary. Mainly because something inside of her knew that she did not need one. He was confusing, yes, and he seemed so different from all she’d known for so very long, but she found herself trusting that—trusting him.

          “People will talk if you continue to speak with me, Samantha. I have a reputation.” As if to reinforce his warning, she heard a group of people whispering nearby as they watched them closely and pointed in their direction.

          Samantha paused. A reputation as a killer? As a man who had something to do with the murder of his family? A murder she had never heard about until today. She saw that pain in his eyes. The sadness etched deep into his expressions and found herself feeling a kinship born from shared trauma. Zachary had not murdered his family but someone had just the same as Clinton Matthews had murdered her father.

          She squared her shoulders, throwing that group of onlookers a warning glance that had them lowering their heads and moving away. “I have never bothered myself much, or at all really, with the opinions of others.”

          Zachary studied her a moment and she wondered what was going on behind those dark eyes. Did he feel the same unexplainable pull toward her that she seemed to be feeling toward him? It made no logical sense—especially given the way she had lived her life the last two and a half years keeping everyone at arms-length—but Samantha did not want Zachary at arms-length.

          “I really should be going now, Samantha.”

          Before he could turn away, Samantha reached out and laid her hand over his forearm. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and her bare fingertips touched his tanned, skin. Zachary tensed. Samantha swallowed hard and removed her hand.

          “You’re a good man, Zachary. Athena and I would have been lost without you. I want to thank you again. Is there anything I can do to offer you some compensation for all the help you’ve given me? I don’t have money but is there a favor, work, anything that perhaps you might need help with?” Her father had been the type of man to take advantage of kindness and leave debts unpaid—his gambling and drinking addictions had been all he could focus on the last few years of his life. Samantha was not the same. She wanted to do something to pay Zachary back for all he had done for her.

          Zachary seemed hard in thought a moment. That tension was still quite visible in his posture as he averted his gaze and looked out at the sun, squinting into the light. Finally, after several long moments, his gaze once again found hers. “If it’s that important to you, then yeah I have a job you can do. I have a farmhouse outside of town a ways. It is in bad need of repairs. I have a friend helping me with the heavy lifting outside but I’m sure the inside could use a woman’s touch to ever be a home again. You help me with that and we’ll call it even.”

          Samantha nodded. “Of course. I would be more than happy to help you. I work three days a week for the post office and I’m hoping to get jobs at the doctors’ office and the hotel but I will use all my extra time fixing up your house. When would you like me to start?”

          “I’m heading that way today with a load of supplies. You can come out, take a look, figure out what you’ll need and get it ordered.” Zachary studied her. “But I don’t want you working yourself to the bone to pay back a debt I don’t consider necessary.”

          “I’m not afraid to work hard.”

          “Clearly. Three jobs?”

          “I have to keep a roof over me and Athena’s heads and food in our bellies,” Samantha replied, feeling a bit annoyed at the need to defend her decisions. Zachary was impossible to read as he simply studied her with that same indifference. She wished he would let that wall down and smile again.

          A group of children ran by laughing loudly as they chased a ball that was bouncing down the rutted street. Samantha smiled as she watched them. She wondered how it would be to feel that carefree again. When she turned her attention back to Zachary he was quick to avert his gaze. “Athena is a nice horse,” he admitted. “I’ve seen her in the livery a few times over the last few days.”

          Pride filled her as Samantha thought of her best friend. “I’ve had her since she was three. She’s all I have left in the world.”

          Zachary appeared as if he wanted to ask a question but then he adjusted the rifle sling on his back and waved off a fly that was buzzing around them. “Go get her saddled and ready. I’m picking up a load of supplies and then we’ll head out to the house.”

          “I was supposed to speak with the doctor this morning….”

          Zachary nodded down the road. “I saw his cart pulling into town so he’s at his office. Get your horse, speak to the doc, and I’ll pick you up.” With that, Zachary turned and walked away leaving Samantha thankful that he had given her an opportunity to repay the debt she owed and also confused as to why he was so bristly and what exactly had happened in his life to make him that way.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Stepping into the warehouse, Zachary took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. He saw a short, plump man with a clipboard walking down a row of crated goods and approached him.

      "Can I help you, sir?" the man asked, his grip on the clipboard tightening when he noticed Zachary coming his way. 

      Zachary was accustomed to being feared. Folks tended to find him imposing.  "I was expecting a delivery on the train today. Can you tell me if it came?"

      "Of course, sir." The man offered a bit of a shaky smile. "Name?"

      "Zachary Marston." 

      His eyes widened slightly at the name. Zachary had no idea who this man was but apparently he'd heard the Marston name. It made Zachary wonder exactly 

what he’d heard. Flipping through the papers on his clipboard, the man eventually tapped one with his index finger. “Right here. Yep, it came yesterday evening actually. It’s quite a big order, sir, do you have a wagon?”

      "It's parked out front with a gray shire mare hooked to it." 

      "Thank you, sir. I'll get the men to load everything up for you." 

      Zachary walked back out into the sunlight and made his way to his wagon. Leaning against the rough hewn boards of the warehouse wall, Zachary pulled his hat low, let his gaze drop to the ground and lost himself in thought with the sounds of town bustling around him.  

      Samantha. 

      Since he'd carried that woman out of the saloon she had taken up residence in his mind. Nearly any time he let his mind wander it took itself in her direction. The last five years of Zachary's life had been about vengeance and survival. He'd seen horrors most folks couldn't imagine and he'd been lost in a darkness that he'd had to claw and crawl his way out of—that he was still clawing and crawling his way out of. 

      But Samantha? She was... she was light. 

      What was her story? He still didn't know. He still had no idea what had led her to Hackney and that saloon. He had no idea why she was skittish and afraid the way the doctor had stated. Or why a horse was all she had left in the world. What he did know was that she had an innocence and a strength about her that made him want to know more. 

      He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her protected and safe. The sight of those healing bruises on her face—bruises that Thomas Williamson had placed there—caused Zachary's gut to burn. He'd seen softness brutalized far too often and yet, somehow, he never became hardened to it—it turned his stomach and riled his temper every time. 

      Part of him knew he should keep his distance from her. People 

would talk. He did have a reputation and he was the subject of countless rumors. Not only that but there was always a chance that Zachary’s past could come riding back into town to finish what it had started—though Zachary doubted that would happen.

      He had chased the bastard that had slaughtered his family for years and never once had that son of a bitch had the strength of spine to face him even as Zachary killed countless men riding for him. 

      Realizing his thoughts were taking a dark turn, Zachary was thankful when the men arrived wheeling crates and carrying lumber to load onto his wagon. 

      After his things were stored safely on the wagon, Zachary rolled his aching shoulder and hopped into the driver seat to head toward the doctor and the woman who would be waiting there. 

      Why had he invited her to his farmhouse? He honestly did not feel the woman owed him a thing despite her insistence that she owed him a debt. He wanted to keep his distance from her. She was beautiful and good and Zachary did not deserve either of those things in his life.But she also seemed to need him—and maybe, Zachary hoped that in helping her, in making a difference in her life, it could somehow atone for some of his failures in the past—at least slightly.  

      Starting down the road, Zachary had to pause several times to allow townsfolk and dogs alike to cross the street in front of him. He could see Athena hitched outside the docs' office as he neared it and just as he was pulling up, there 

she was.

      Wild red curls she'd desperately attempted to tame on the back of her head were slipping free and framing her face. Her skin was pale beneath her dusting of freckles and her green eyes seemed to seek him out and find him quickly. 

      Damn. 

      Zachary hadn't given much thought at all to women in the last five years. As a matter of fact, he hadn't given any thought to them at all. It had been five long years since he'd touched, tasted, or enjoyed intimate contact with a lady—any lady. And he hadn't missed it when he'd had plenty of other things to focus his attention on. 

      But now? Seeing Samantha? 

      Zachary shook his head to clear that thought. He was supposed to be helping her not lusting after her. 

      "Zachary, how are you?" Doctor Reynolds asked, joining Samantha on the porch. 

      Zachary tipped his head. "Fine. How are you?"

      Doctor Reynolds smoothed his hand over his gray mustache. "I'm doing well I suppose. I was going to go check on Samantha here but she showed up on my doorstep to say hello. Are you here to check up on her? You've asked me about her every day this week—you can ask her how she is for yourself today." 

      Zachary grumbled under his breath as Samantha's green eyes widened in surprise. Hell, he felt sheepish! Damn, the doctor and his habit of saying whatever came to his mind. "If you're ready, Samantha, it's time to go. There's a lot of work to do." 

      Without giving the doctor time to say anything else that would embarrass him further, Zachary urged the shire mare forward and steered the wagon away from the docs. 

      Soon, Samantha was riding along beside him on Athena. Zachary studied her from the corner of his eye. She was clearly quite comfortable on horseback which was surprising—most women he knew rode in carts or wagons or at the very least chose to ride side-saddle but not Samantha. Her body moved in time with the mare beneath her showing that she had spent a lot of time with the animal—the only thing she had left in the world. 

      They rode a long while with only the sound of birds, bees, rolling wagon wheels and hoof beats filling the silence. Zachary liked silence but this felt awkward. Forced. There was so much he wanted to know about Samantha but it just wasn't in his nature to ask those kinds of questions. 

      "Have you truly been to check on me every day?" Samantha's sudden question had Zachary shifting on the wagon seat as he swatted at a bee. 

      "Uh..." Zachary would be damned if he didn't feel color rising on his cheeks. "I just happened to be in town and saw the doc."

      When she remained quiet, Zachary spared a glance in her direction. Samantha was studying the horizon as she held the reins loosely and chewed her full bottom lip. She was breathtaking. 

      "Why?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and unsure. 

      "Why what?"

      "Why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

      Zachary grunted. He thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Just trying to be nice. Is that so hard to believe? Or have the kind townsfolks already warned you about what a monster I am?" He didn't know why it bothered him to think that she'd heard rumors and might believe them. Then again, if she believed them and had still chosen to ride out of town with him, it would make her quite stupid—and Zachary certainly didn't think that was a fitting descriptor for the woman riding beside him. 

      If anything, his answer seemed to annoy her. She glared over him, her eyes narrowing. "I already told you I don't bother myself with the opinions of others and, unlike the local clergyman's wife, I 

don’t listen to gossip.“

      Zachary felt a smile tugging at his lips. Smiling was something he hadn't done in a long long time. Until she'd made him do it just a while ago in town. He liked Samantha's attitude and spirit. It was nice to see that, despite the way they had met, she was not as helpless as she'd seemed—that mouth could quite clearly be a weapon. 

      Her next words erased that urge to smile. "And I've known very little kindness in my life, Zachary. It's made me a bit distrustful of it when I encounter it now." 

      Damn this world for being the ugly place that it so often was. A woman like Samantha should no nothing but kindness—but he supposed hoping for that was foolish. Kindness was a rare commodity and it seemed few folks were lucky enough to receive it. 

      "I can assure you, Samantha, that I mean you no harm. You can trust me." 

      She was quiet a moment and so Zachary spared a glance in her direction to see her studying him closely. He wondered what was going on in that head of hers. Finally, her full lips curled in the smallest of smiles. "I know I can." 

      Silence fell once again but it was filled with a bit less awkwardness. Zachary didn't have any of the answers to his questions about Samantha but he wasn't a man who appreciated prying and so he wasn't going to question her. If she wanted to share her story with him, she would. It would probably be best if she didn't. She could just work at the farmhouse until she felt her debt was paid and then they could go their separate ways. 

      There was no sense building up a friendship between them. Zachary didn't want to grow close to anyone—people close to Zachary tended to die. 

      That silence continued for the remainder of the ride and soon the farmhouse was coming into view—and with it the memories. Memories that immediately had his heart beating harder in his chest, his hands tightening on the reins, and his gut burning. 

      "Are you okay?"

      Samantha's quiet question, yanked Zachary from the past and had him dropping once again into the present. His gaze found her and those big green eyes were filled with concern and studying him closely. He quickly buried his emotions to ensure that they were no longer so easy to read on his face. Zachary hadn't meant to let Samantha see them. He had spent five years hiding emotions and he never slipped when others were around—until just now. 

      "That's the house. Nothing too big but I'd say it'll take a bit of work to make it a home again." Zachary said, choosing not to answer her question. He didn't add that that house could never really be a home again—not after what had happened within those walls. He'd thought about just burning the place to the ground. Just the other day he'd stood outside it with a bottle of whiskey, a rag and a match fully prepared to light it up, toss it in the house, and let those memories die in the flames—but then other memories had come to him. Happier memories. 

      His family had been a loving one. That home had once been full of love, laughter, respect, and happiness. As a matter of fact, there hadn't been any harsh words or fighting. His parents had always been quick to communicate, not argue or speak harshly, even with their children. Memories of him and his pa teaching his younger twin sisters to play poker before his mama had come up and wiped the table with all of them. Memories of his mama's soothing voice singing gentle songs while she had bustled around the kitchen or tucked the girls into bed. Memories of his pa roaring with laughter when little Sara and Susan had ruined their brand new Sunday dresses by rescuing tadpoles from a drying puddle. 

      With those memories, and hundreds of others, replaying themselves in his mind, Zachary hadn't been able to light that bottle. He hadn't been able to burn that house down. He'd simply swallowed back tears, turned quickly, and walked away from that rickety porch.

      "Zachary?" 

      Again, that quiet voice reached his ears. Zachary didn't dare look in her direction. He was worried what she would see written on his face. He was supposed to be better at hiding his emotion than this. What was it about having Samantha beside him that made him feel weaker—more vulnerable?

      "I have to take the supplies to the barn. You can hitch Athena under that shade tree by the house. Just walk through, decide what you'll need to clean the place and pretty it up. If repairs are needed make a note of those too..." 

      "What do you mean if repairs are needed?" Samantha asked, her brow furrowing. "Don't you live here?"

      Zachary shook his head. "Nope. I have work to do and so do you. Let me know when you're done with that list and I'll take you back to town." 

      With that Zachary left Samantha, and the twister of emotions she stirred in him, behind as he headed for the barn. 

      "Isn't that the woman from the saloon? The woman you've been preoccupied with for days?" Tim asked as he stepped out of the barn and approached Zachary with a long piece of grass hanging off his lip and a smile on his face. 

      Zachary hopped off the wagon and pointed to the supplies. "I've got what we need to repair the barn stalls today." 

      Tim nodded and slid a board from the stack. "So.....?"

      Zachary grumbled under his breath. Damn nosy friends. "We'll get more done if we work instead of talk." 

      Tim winked. "I'm a decent multitasker." 

      Zachary grabbed two boards, laid them over his shoulder and strode into the barn. He threw them down, the sound echoing off the barn walls as dust flew in the air. "Yes, that's the woman from the saloon. No, I haven't been preoccupied by her for the last few days. She felt she owed me a debt for helping with her situation and so she's going to be fixing up the house." 

      Timothy laid his board beside Zachary's. "One, you're a liar because you have most definitely been preoccupied by her. Not that I can blame you." He let out a whistle. "She is awful pretty." 

      Zachary's fist damn near took on a mind of its own and busted his best friend in the mouth. Instead, Zachary turned and left the barn to grab another load of lumber. "Can I ask a question?" Tim asked as he walked out behind him—but not directly behind him. Timothy had taken Zachary's warnings about not coming up behind him to heart. Zachary couldn't help it—he'd damn near been shot and stabbed in the back too many times to count. 

      "Would you shut up if I told you no?"

      Timothy grinned, wiping a bit of dirt off his gray shirtsleeve. "You know me better than that." 

      Zachary grunted, putting another three boards over his shoulder. "What?"

      "Does she know what happened in that house?"

      Tension worked its way thought Zachary's body. "No." 

      "Don't you think you should tell her?"

      "No." 

      "But..." 

      "I paid some folks from town to clean the damn house up after..." Zachary swallowed hard and carried his load into the barn. "The house is fine. Just lacking basic care for a while and that's what she's gonna give it."     

      "Why? You've already said you don't ever want to step foot back in there. Why fix it up?"

      "Why are you so goddamn nosy?" Zachary demanded, throwing his wood down on the pile. 

      Timothy shrugged as he tossed his down as well. "Why are you so goddamn evasive?"

      "I don't know." 

      Timothy's head tilted to the side. "You don't know why you're evasive?"

      Zachary ran his hand over his face. Damn, he felt tired. "I don't know why I'm having her fix the place up. I just... I guess I'm just hoping it will... somehow... make them happy..." Zachary was angry that he couldn't seem to figure out what he wanted to say. He wasn't a man who stuttered or wasted words. Finally, he let out a sigh. "I don't know." 

      He stood there, feeling quite pathetic. His shoulders slumped, his spirit tired. Timothy's eyes softened a bit and he patted Zachary on the back as he came to stand beside him. "I'm sure Samantha will make that house look real nice, Zachary, just like your mama did. Now let's get this barn fixed up the way your pa would have kept it." 

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! I wonder what Samantha will find when she steps into the farmhouse?

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

As Samantha hitched Athena beneath the large oak and gave the horse a good scratch on her neck, she found her gaze drawn toward the barn where a man had stepped out to speak with Zachary. Samantha recognized the man as Timothy O’Neil. That must be who Zachary had been talking about helping to fix up the ranch.

      Zachary's strength was plain to see as he hefted up lumber and strode toward that barn. She winced at the sound of the wood being thrown down. Clearly, whatever the two men were saying had Zachary's temper riled. Though, it seemed his temper was easily riled. 

Bristly . That was a good descriptor for Zachary Marston.

      But there was more to the man. There was sadness, a kindness, and the hint of a sense of humor that the man seemed to want to hide and bury.          

      Samantha didn't know the details but she knew enough about Zachary to know that he had lived a dangerous life for at least five years. The weapons, the guarded emotions, the very air the man gave off spoke of danger. But Samantha had a feeling that he hadn't always been that way. She had seen hints of a kind, caring man. He had to have learned those traits somewhere. The family that had been murdered perhaps?

      Her gaze went to the faded white farmhouse. She knew this had been his family home but exactly what type of family had he lost. A wife and children? Or parents and siblings? Who had been murdered? Where? Why? She would probably never know—Zachary definitely didn't seem the type to share anything about himself and she was not the type to pry considering she had secrets of her own she wasn't eager to share. The less people knew of Clinton Matthews obsession with her, the safer they were. 

      Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Samantha let her feet carry her to the house. It was nice—much bigger than the small home she had shared with her family. The two story farmhouse had faded white paint with a chipping black door and weathered black shutters. A porch wrapped around the bottom story lined with several rickety rocking chairs and benches. 

      A butter churn sat beside one of the benches as did a fabric covered box that looked a lot like a sewing kit. Samantha walked up the sagging steps and ran her hands over the flowered fabric before pulling the lid off and finding that it was indeed a sewing box full of stick pins, a pin cushion, a worn thimble, spools of thread, a threaded needle and a quilt square that had clearly been a project in progress. 

      Her heart hurt a little. Someone, most likely a woman, had once sat on this porch and sewed. Someone who had meant a lot to Zachary—someone who had apparently been murdered. 

      Closing the sewing box, Samantha went to the door and gripped the knob in a shaking hand. Taking a deep breath, she swung the door in and stepped inside. Instantly bumps covered her skin as a shiver washed down her spine. The dusty air inside seemed heavy and hard to breathe. Samantha stood still for several long moments as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. 

      The moment they adjusted, she realized she was standing in a kitchen. To the left was a line of cabinets and a sink with dusty and dirty curtains that appeared to have once been bright yellow covering a window. In front of her was an oak dining table, a fireplace, and a cookstove. To the right was a sitting room with a small sofa, an armchair and a rocking chair. 

But this home was like a moment frozen in time. Samantha swallowed hard. Evidence of a family once living here and their belongings were scattered everywhere There were two plates on the kitchen table with half eaten meals long since dried up and rotten sitting upon them. A dirty pot and pan sat upon the counter along with a sack of long rotten onions and a pan of dried up biscuits.

Knitting needles still attached to the wool they’d been working had been tossed on the floor. A cracked smoking pipe lay upon the floor in front of her feet. One of the kitchen chairs was toppled over and the glass in a cabinet in the sitting room was shattered. Pillows and quilts were tossed carelessly around the sitting room, drawers had been pulled open and there was even a crack in the plaster wall as if something had been slammed against it. What had happened here? Every bit of evidence pointed to a struggle. A struggle that had occurred a long time ago judging by the dust. Zachary’s family had been murdered… had it happened right here where she stood?

The air grew heavier still and Samantha’s heart raced as her hands shook. She stepped around the table and saw the staircase that led up. Her eyes went to the floor at the foot of the staircase and she froze. The floors were dusty, dirty and worn but it wasn’t mud or dirt staining those boards beside the stairs.

The stain was dark and large as if a puddle of something had been left there to dry—and the color of that stain could not be mistaken. Blood. A puddle of blood had dried right there upon the boards. Samantha’s stomach turned. She was standing in the very spot where Zachary’s family had been murdered. And the more her eyes adjusted, the more she saw.

Blood was smeared across the floor in many places. There as a second large, dried puddle nearer to the kitchen sink. Boots had tracked prints of that blood into the sitting room and across the large thick rug that covered the floor there. More of those dried brown smears and spatters marred the cream-colored plastered walls.

Why in the world had that man sent her in here to clean the place? Had he realized it was such a horrific scene inside?

A framed photograph on the mantle drew Samantha’s attention away from the blood. Was that Zachary’s family? Stepping across the dusty wooden floorboards, she went to the photograph and lifted it from the scarred wood. Swiping her hand across it to clear the dust, pain clogged her throat when she recognized Zachary standing proudly—though he looked so different. Clearly, he was younger than now, probably not even twenty but that wasn’t what made him hard to recognize. As he stood there with his handsome features and his dark hair a wild pile atop his head, it was the openness on his face, the carefree smile curving his mouth, the brightness in his eyes that seemed so very unrecognizable.

Seated in chairs in front of Zachary were a man and a woman. They were clearly his parents. Zachary bared a striking resemblance to his father but had his mother’s eyes. And sitting upon their father’s knees were two young girls—probably ten or so—and they were clearly twins. They had light hair, braided pigtails and crooked smiles.

      Some of her questions had been answered. Zachary had once lived here with his father, mother, and sisters and those people had been murdered right here in the place that had once been their home. 

      Gingerly, Samantha placed the photograph back upon the mantle. A door in the kitchen drew her attention but opening it revealed only a pantry full of old cans of food and sacks of dried goods that it was clear mice had been making their own. There was also a broom, mop, bucket and duster. Those would certainly be needed. 

      Stepping out of the panty, Samantha glanced around. There was one other door off the sitting room but a quick check revealed it was a water closet. There were no bedrooms down here. They must be upstairs. Did she dare explore the house further? Or should she go tell Zachary this was something she could not manage? Should she tell him it had been horrible of him to send her into such a gruesome scene? 

That thought gave her pause. Something told her Zachary did not know. The dust covering everything had not been disturbed anywhere and her footprints were the only ones leaving fresh tracks on the dirty floors. Zachary hadn’t been in here. That didn’t mean he didn’t know the home was covered in blood but something inside Samantha told her that he did not.

Zachary had gone above and beyond to protect her since they had met. Not only that but he was a private, quiet man who kept his thoughts and emotions locked away. He would not have sent anyone—especially her—into this house to see what had happened here. He wouldn’t want her seeing the evidence left behind and asking questions he wouldn’t want to answer.

      After everything Zachary had done for her, Samantha would swallow her own fear and discomfort, her own pain and the memories being stirred within her own tortured mind, and she would clean up the evidence of these horrors and make Zachary's family house a home once again. 

      Now to see what was waiting upstairs. Her heart dropped when she saw more of those dry bloody boot prints leading up the staircase. Please, let there be nothing horrific to be found on the second story. She would already be seeing those pools of blood and splattered walls in her dreams—right beside the images of that bullet striking her fathers' face.

      Samantha's grip on the handrail was tight as she went up the stairs. At the top there was a hallway that led in two directions. Straight forward led to one door and to the right led to three. She contemplated a moment before going to the right. 

      The first door she opened revealed a large bedroom with a four poster bed, two wardrobes which had been opened and rummaged through, a chest of drawers, and hope chest (all of which had been ransacked), two armchairs and personal mementos through the space. A dress laid over one of the chairs, a pair of worn work boots tossed haphazardly in the corner, a brush, perfumes, a shaving kit—a family's entire life lay in this house and Samantha felt as if she were intruding. 

      Closing the door to the room that must have been used by Zachary's parents, Samantha moved to the next room. This was a much smaller bedroom with only enough room for the brass bed, chest of drawers and floor chest that sat inside it. A dusty rifle sat in the corner, a pile of discarded clothes beside it, and a hat on a hook by the door. Other small personal touches were here as well including a set of antlers, some wood that had been being carved into something, and a tin of tobacco with rolling papers. 

      Samantha knew that this must have been Zachary's bedroom. Her gaze dropped to the unmade bed, the white sheet, and twisted green blanket. It felt oddly intimate to be seeing into this part of his life. Part of her wanted to go through his drawers to see what clues she could learn about the man, but she also did not want to snoop. Stepping out of the room she closed the door and headed to the third. This door opened to reveal an office that had been ransacked and torn upside down—though the dust covering everything made it clear that the intrusion had happened long ago. 

      There was only one door left and that was down the other hallway. Those bloody footprints that ran throughout the house were darker coming back from that final room than they were going in. That did not seem good. Blood was smeared on the wall as if someone had bumped against it making their way down the hall. 

      The air was so heavy. So thick. It felt oppressive as it pushed down around her. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to that final door. Pushing aside memories of her father and Charles, memories of some of the horrible things she had seen during her two years running for her life, Samantha swallowed hard and pushed that chunk of wood aside. 

      True horror filled her. Looking inside this room it was easy to tell that it had once belonged to the two young girls—and easier yet to see what had happened within it. Two small brass beds sat in either corner beside windows with frilled pink curtains. The walls were papered halfway up with flower patterns and the floors were adorned with soft green rugs. The furniture was white and delicate, dolls, stuffed toys, and toy horses lined shelves on the far wall. It looked every inch the perfect room for two perfect girls—except that every single bit of this room was splattered, smeared, drenched in blood. 

      Blood had clearly soaked the white floral blankets, it was sprayed upon the walls, dripped across the floor, splattered upon even the ceiling! The dolls, the stuffed animals, the dainty vanity in the corner—everything was at least touched in some way by that dried brown evidence of murder. 

      The girls had clearly been in bed when they had been attacked. A knife with a rusty blade lay on the ground between the beds. 

      Tears burned Samantha's eyes. Her stomach rolled. Her heart raced. The air was too thick—too heavy! Turning on her heels, she made a run for it. Racing down the stairs and turning toward the sitting room to take the back door out of the house. She wanted to avoid Zachary if she could. 

      Stumbling off the porch, Samantha fell to her knees upon the grass in the yard and retched—losing the contents of her stomach among the weeds. Straightening herself, Samantha sucked in gasps of air and tried to erase the horrible images burned into her mind. 

      Those girls that had been sitting so sweet and innocent upon their father's knees, blood and brutalized upon their beds in their perfect room amid their dainty furniture. True, she had not actually seen them but Samantha had always had a healthy imagination—just now she was wishing it could be a tad less robust. 

      "Ma'am?" 

      Samantha's head whipped around to see Timothy approaching her with worry in his green eyes. He rushed her way and reached out his hand, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet as her legs shook. "What happened? Are you sick?" he asked, putting his wrist to her brow. 

      Samantha took several moments to steady herself before pulling away. "I'm fine." 

      With a shake of his head, Timothy pulled a bandana from his pocket and began to clean off her face. "You're awfully pale," he stated as Samantha attempted to swat his hand away. "I'm gonna go get Zachary." 

      "No," Samantha quickly countered, wiping dirt off her skirt and tugging at her sleeve. "No, I'm okay..." Her gaze went back to the house. 

      Timothy followed her gaze and frowned. "Is something wrong in...." He stopped speaking suddenly. 

      Samantha was sure he would be able to read her emotions when she once again looked in his eyes. He paled considerably. "Zachary paid folks to clean that place up after...." His throat bobbed. "What did you see?"

      Samantha had to pull herself together. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and raised her chin. "It would seem Zachary wasted his money." 

      "Oh hell..." Timothy rubbed the back of his neck. "He's gonna be mad. I'll go tell him..." 

      "I don't want Zachary to know. He seems... 

haunted when he looks at that house and it’s my job to turn it back into a home, not make it worse in his eyes.“

      Timothy frowned as he studied her. He scratched at his chin. "Haunted is one word for it."

      "How long have you known Zachary?" Samantha asked quietly. 

      "Nearly my whole life." 

      "What happened, Timothy?"

      Timothy's eyes took on a far away look and she knew he was seeing the past. "They were murdered by some men riding through about five years ago. Zachary and I had been gone doing what nineteen year old boys do when they get some time away from their parents." Samantha saw him blink tears from his green eyes. "Those folks in there were good people. That was the best family I'd ever known and they took me in as their own when my own family didn't want me. Zachary buried his family without letting anyone see their bodies, other than the doc in town and Marshall Oxley—and that was only because he hoped the Marshall might help and the doc needed to sign death certificates. As soon as the bodies were buried, Zachary was gone. We figured he'd gone chasing after the killers but none of us heard from him again until he showed up that night in the saloon when he helped you." 

      Samantha wrapped her arms tight around herself as she took in what Timothy said. Part of her knew she should let Zachary be the one to tell her these things but another part of her truly wanted to know what had happened—especially after seeing the inside of that house. 

      "I found a picture inside of all of them. They looked happy—even Zachary." 

      Timothy seemed to understand. He sighed and shoved his bandana back in his pocket. "I reckon he was. He's always been a little on the quieter and more reserved side but he knew how to laugh and have fun." Gazing toward the horizon, Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I reckon my best friend has lost that now." 

      "Maybe not." Samantha wiped a bit of sweat from her brow. "I don't want you to tell Zachary about this. I will get that house turned back into a home and wipe away any visual reminders of that tragedy. There's an office inside where I'm sure I can find paper and pen—I'll make a list of what I need and tomorrow you can find an excuse to get Zachary away so I can 

dispose of some things.“ Samantha knew she’d been supposed to start her new job with Gavin tomorrow but she would have to tell him it would be another few days before she could start. She had to help Zachary. After all he’d done for her, it was the least she could do.

      "Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking... why? Why go through all that?"

      Samantha gave a tiny shrug. "Zachary showed me kindness and saved my life when he did not have to. I will do this for him now."

A/N: Tough chapter to write! Next chapter will have more Zachary/Samantha interaction! I promise!

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

       Zachary stood outside that damned farmhouse and stared up at the porch and that black front door he still couldn't force himself to open. Samantha and Timothy would be arriving from town soon. Samantha was going to start on the cleaning today since the supplies needed for anything more would take up to a week to arrive by train. 

      Zachary wondered if it was all a waste of time. No matter how much she polished and shone the inside of that house, Zachary had a feeling he would never be able to step foot inside it. And, if by some miracle, he could convince his boots to walk on in, he had a feeling all he would see were the people he loved bloody, broken, and lifeless. 

      That farmhouse would never—could never—be his home again.

      Zachary hadn't been home when his family had been murdered. He'd been out being a stupid, selfish fool—but he had been able to piece together what had happened easily enough when he'd returned. 

His mother and father had been at the kitchen table eating a late supper, something they sometimes did just to have quiet time for the two of them when their murderers had come barging in the front door. His father had been on his way to the stairs, probably to get his gun from his office, when he’d been shot in the back of the head at close range. The exit wound had left none of his face intact.

      His mother had been next. Zachary would never forget the look of fear etched onto her lifeless face. Her clothing had been torn from her, they'd stripped her of her modesty and forced her right there upon the kitchen floor only feet away from her husband's warm corpse. She had been shot twice. Once in the chest and once in the head—either one would have been enough to kill her on its own, but apparently the killers had been attempting to be thorough. 

      Zachary could still remember the raw terror that overrode the shock and pain at finding his parents—the terror for his sisters. Never in his life had he run as quickly as he had run up that staircase. Praying, hoping, begging that somehow, someway, the hell that had occurred downstairs had spared those angels and they would be safe and sound in their room waiting for their older brother to come save them. 

      Opening that door had shown him otherwise. 

      The room had been soaked in blood. It had been spilled, splattered, and sprayed on nearly every surface. And his sisters? Their tiny ten-year old bodies had been lying undressed upon their beds covered in so many stab wounds, Zachary hadn't even bothered trying to count them. 

      He'd gathered those innocent girls in his arms and simply sobbed for a long while. 

      Zachary had been covered in his family's blood when he had ridden into town at midday. Folks had noticed. Fearful glances had followed him. The air had filled with the hum of whispers. Rumors had swirled. Zachary hadn't wasted any time attempting to speak to anyone or explain what had happened. He had simply fetched the Marshall and the doctor—though he knew his family was past saving. 

      Zachary felt his hatred for Leonard Oxley grow as he remembered that day. The Marshall had been useless. He'd thrown up at the sight of the bodies and ran from the house. And when Zachary had shown him the letter that had been left by the killer—signed by the murderer's own hand—Leonard had turned completely yellow, stated it was all out of his jurisdiction and high-tailed it back to town. 

      The doctor had offered to send for men to come collect the bodies—that was what his family had become...

bodies— and take them to the undertaker but Zachary had refused. No one else was going to see his loved ones looking the way they had. His loving, warm mama. His proud, caring pa. His beautiful, innocent sisters… No. Zachary had sent the doctor away, gotten the shovel out of the toolshed, and buried his family himself.

      Then he had left with nothing but the murderer's name, a burning, aching, gnawing hatred deep in his gut, and a gaping hole in his chest where his soul had once been. He had been a man with one purpose—vengeance—and he had failed. For five long years he had chased, and killed, and arrived at crime scenes just a little too late to help the growing number of victims the murdering bastard was leaving behind. Zachary had learned to kill or be killed. He had learned to be ever vigilant and always on guard. 

      But he had failed.

      Rolling his aching shoulder, Zachary thought of the bullet that was still lodged within. The bullet that had caused the infection that had damn near taken his life. It had broken him. Zachary had been tired—so damn tired. Too damn tired to keep chasing. Too tired to keep seeing the horrors that devil was leaving behind him. 

      And now he was too damn broken to even bring that farmhouse back to life. 

      No matter how much Samantha painted, dusted or polished, all Zachary was ever going to see when he looked at that house was the murdered bodies of his family. 

      Zachary was pulled from his tormented thoughts by the sound of horses and voices in the distance. Turning away from the house, his gaze went up the road and he saw Timothy and Samantha approaching—though they were still a good ways out. 

      He let himself simply take in the sight of that woman sitting so comfortably atop her horse—all she had left in the world. For some reason those words were still replaying themselves in his mind. 

      She was beautiful, she was light, and she made Zachary want to simply be nearer her so he could bask in it. He snorted under his breath. How very 

poetic of him. But it was true. Samantha was soft and beautiful, fiery and proud, brave but afraid.

      Damn, he wanted to know her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to know a bit of softness and tenderness again after living so hard for so long. He became lost in thoughts of her and him and a future that could never be. Before he knew it, those horses were coming to a stop just a few feet from where he stood.

      "Good morning, Zachary," Samantha greeted with a smile that rendered him speechless. 

      "Good morning," he managed reply gruffly. His emotions were raw today—he needed to get control of them. Unfortunately, being near Samantha made that difficult. 

      Stepping forward, Zachary held out his hands to help Samantha from Athena. She paused a moment before sliding down into his waiting grasp. Her body was close as he sat her on her feet—so very close. He could smell the lavender scented soap in her hair, and he didn't miss the way the pupils in those green eyes dilated while she gazed up at him. Samantha's head could have rested perfectly against Zachary's heart if he chose to pull her into him. 

      And he was tempted. 

      Instead, he released his hold and stepped away. "Did you sleep well last night?" he asked, busying his hands by searching his pocket for a rolled cigarette. He had been a bit concerned about her when he'd taken her back into town the night before. She had seemed quiet, withdrawn, and pale. But she had insisted she was fine and with Timothy riding beside them, Zachary hadn't felt comfortable pushing the issue. She looked better this morning, though her eyes held exhaustion. 

      Zachary knew she was lying when she replied. "I slept quite well. You?"

      He wondered why she lied but knew he couldn't fault her when he himself said, "Just fine." Zachary had slept 

fine in five long years.

      He would swear from the expression on her face that Samantha saw his lie for what it was. How was that? How could they read each other so well after knowing one another such a short time? Why was she able to break through the stone wall he normally kept around his emotions?

      Timothy clapped his hands together. "Well, Samantha's got a list of things she's hoping to accomplish today. I figure while she's busy, you and I could ride out and check some of the outer fences." 

      "There's plenty of work to do here," Zachary countered, though that was an understatement. 

      "Yeah, but the weather is nice today and, judging by the way the doc was grumbling about the pain in his hip when I saw him this morning, it won't be nice tomorrow. You know how spring is, the weather is unpredictable. Might as well get those fences fixed in the sunshine instead of waiting to do it in the rain." 

      Zachary grunted. Damn Timothy talked too much. Zachary struck a match and lit the cigarette he had found. Taking a long draw, he glanced at the horizon. It 

had been a while since he’d spent some hours riding the plains. He had always found a certain peace on horseback and Blaze could use the exercise.

      "Alright." His gaze found Samantha. He frowned when he realized she was looking at the house, her expression haunted. Had someone told her what had happened there? "Will you be okay here alone?"

      Her brow rose a bit as she tilted her head and looked up at him. "Of course." 

      Zachary tossed his cigarette down and killed it beneath his boot. "There's a handpump behind the house for water. There's some food in the barn in a burlap sack by my bed if you get hungry. I'll be back well before dark so I can get you back to town safe." 

      "She'll be just fine, Zachary. Let's get going. The sooner we leave, the sooner you'll back with your lady love." 

      Samantha seemed to choke on the air itself as Zachary felt his face flame. He glared at Timothy before patting Samantha on the back several times in an attempt to offer her aid. His friend was a damned idiot. 

      Samantha swatted at his arm as she moved away from him. Apparently, she didn't appreciate his help. Zachary adjusted the gun belt around his hips and turned quickly, heading for the barn "Well, let's go then." 

      Timothy's laughter filled the air leaving Zachary to wonder just how bad he would miss the jackass if he shot him in the face. 

---

      After watching the men ride away, Samantha turned her attention away from them and the words 

lady love and her own battered ribs from Zachary’s attempts to help her, and placed it onto that farmhouse and what she knew lay inside.

      After placing Athena in the barn with some water and food, Samantha rolled up her shirt sleeves and headed for the house. Doing her best to avoid focusing on the blood stains, she went in the pantry and grabbed the broom and duster before setting to work. 

      After a couple long hours, Samantha's arms were wearing out and her clothes and skin were covered in dust and grime but she had nearly every room swept and dusted. She had righted the belongings that had been scattered everywhere, placing things back in drawers and on shelves while doing her level best not to snoop or pry into things that weren't hers. 

She had been ever so careful with those knitting needles and yarn—so very gingerly she had picked up that broken pipe. These were clearly things that Zachary’s family, his parents, had been using just before something horrible had happened to them. She had placed both things on the mantle beside the photograph of Zachary’s family. She had yet to tend to the kitchen table and counters but bigger issues were calling her name–bloody ones. 

Everything in the home would need to be wiped down with hot soapy water but that would require a fire to heat the water. She didn’t want to use the stove in the house because there was no way of knowing what that chimney looked like—it would be foolish and potentially burn the house to the ground to start a fire in that fireplace or stove before the pipes and chimneys had been cleaned.

      Samantha found matches in the office and carried them outside. Gathering up some scrap wood from the projects that Zachary and Timothy had been working on, Samantha quickly and expertly started a fire. Going back into the house, she grabbed the metal bucket and went out to the handpump to fill it up. 

      After placing it on a rack over the fire to heat, Samantha stepped back inside. The blankets, bedding, and splatter stuffed toys upstairs would have to be dealt with—there would be no getting them cleaned. Burning was the only option. 

      She paused at that blood stain at the bottom of the stairs as she stood beside the kitchen table. An image of her father flashed through her mind. His face so pale, so frightened, so ashamed as Clinton Matthews had told Samantha about his betrayal. Samantha saw Clinton put that gun to her father's face. She heard the resounding echo of the gunpower igniting as that bullet released from the cylinder and flew from the barrel. She saw her fathers' blood....

      Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Samantha sucked in quick gasps of air and willed those memories away. She had a job to do and she would focus on that now. 

      The air in the girls' bedroom felt just as heavy and thick as it had the day before. Samantha was still just as horrified by the evidence of the brutality that had happened to them but she forced herself to distance herself from those feelings and simply do what needed to be done. 

      The water above the fire was warm when she dragged the blankets into the yard, so she removed it and added her load of bloodied bedding. The smoke and flames grew higher as the stiff, dusty fabric caught fire quickly. She would have to burn the mattresses as well.

      Returning to the room, Samantha sighed. The mattresses on these beds had been spared from bloodstains but the heavy feather tick toppers that had laid upon them had not been. It took quite a bit of grunting and sweating before Samantha got the first topper on the fire and she returned for the second, taking a moment to swipe some sweat from her brow. 

      She was getting there. She still needed to get the second topper as well as all the blood spattered toys taken care of and then she would be ready to begin washing the smears and splatters from the walls and floors throughout the house—though some of the bigger blood stains would have to be sanded or perhaps even have floorboards replaced. 

      Hefting up the second mattress topper, her arms shaking as her muscles ached their protest, Samantha was just heading for the stairs when she heard the yells from outside. 

---

      After nailing up another board, Zachary stood straight to stretch out his back and swiped his black shirt sleeve across his sweat slicked brow. The sun had already reached its peak and was beginning to descend downward—he figured it was around two in the afternoon. He would head back to the farmhouse soon, pick up Samantha and take her back into town. 

      He was sure she would be tired. Maybe he'd take her to get dinner as a thank you for all the work she was doing? He found his gaze drifting in the direction of the farmhouse and he frowned. Was that....?

      Without a word, he leapt on Blazes' back and rushed to the top of a small hill nearby to get a better view. The farmhouse was too far away to see but that 

was smoke, big black plumes of it, in the distance and it was coming from the direction of the farmhouse—from the direction of Samantha.

      Panic sprang to life inside him. Samantha was in trouble and Zachary wasn't there to keep her safe. He was going to fail her—just like he failed everyone. 

      Letting out a yell, Zachary urged Blaze into his fastest pace and raced toward the smoke. He faintly heard Timothy yell from the fencerow where he'd left him, but Zachary didn't take time to listen. He had one focus and that was saving Samantha. 

      Racing over the plains, Zachary pushed Blaze hard. Every minute that passed, his fear and desperation increased. He didn't want to fail again. He couldn't be too late—he 

wouldn’t be too late.

      Even as he neared the farmhouse and realized that it was standing safely and the smoke was coming from a fire that had been set outside to burn something—his fear did not decrease. Until he saw Samantha, until he could look in those green eyes and know that there would be life in them looking back at him, he wouldn't be comforted. 

      Pulling a panting Blaze to a stop, Zachary leapt from his back and ran for the house. "Samantha! God dammit, where are you!"

      Zachary's feet skidded to a stop at the base of those porch steps. He wanted to go in. He needed to go in. Samantha might be in trouble. Try as he might, he could not make his legs take him any closer to that damned black front door. 

      "Samantha?!" his voice roared in the deafening quiet. He was faintly aware of the sound of hoofbeats thundering closer as Timothy caught up to him. All his attention was on that door. 

      "Zachary?" That voice was like a balm to his battered soul as that door suddenly flew open and Samantha came rushing out.

      That got his feet moving. 

      He rushed forward, grabbed hold of her, and pulled her into him, hugging her as closely as he could while burying his face in those wild red curls that now smelled of dust and smoke covered lavender. "I was damn scared, lady," he growled into their softness. 

      He felt her body stiffen momentarily before melting into his. Her arms went around him and clutched at the back of his vest. She was so small, so soft, so vulnerable. He wanted to hold her this way and protect her always—and her head rested directly on his heart, just as he had suspected it would. 

      Slowly, loathfully, Zachary raised his head. His gaze went momentarily through that open door to a kitchen he hadn't looked inside in five long years. 

      Swallowing hard, Zachary realized the kitchen table was still home to the same plates of food that had been there that early morning five years ago—and there, right at the foot of the stairs, he saw the dark stain. The place where his father's life had drained out of him. 

      Pulling away from Samantha, Zachary felt a desperate rage and disbelief fill him. He grabbed her by the upper arms and looked down into her eyes which were now wide with uncertainty. "What are you burning?" 

      She didn't answer right away. Instead, she glanced behind him toward the fire and licked at her full bottom lip. "I.. Just...There were things I couldn't clean..."

Please… Zachary begged the universe to stop being such an evil son of a bitch for two goddamn minutes. He had paid good money to see that house cleaned and all evidence of that day wiped away from it five years before. But through that door he saw the proof.

      Giving Samantha a little shake, Zachary felt that desperation grow. "What are you burning!" he demanded, more loudly this time. 

Timothy’s voice came from behind him. “Come on, Zach, let go of the woman….”

      Zachary quickly did and took several giant steps back, leaving the porch. Turning quickly, he went to the fire and while the flames had turned much of what was burning to ash, he saw the edge of a blanket. A blanket that had once been white with flowers printed on it. A blanket that had once been on his younger sisters' bed—and covered in her blood. 

      His fists clenched tightly. Damn that damn house. Samantha never should have seen that! Zachary knew how horrific the scene must have been. He knew exactly how much blood and gore she must have been forced to look at. And instead of complaining, the damn woman had been trying to wash—and burn—it away. 

      Enough was enough. That wasn't a home, it was a haunted house full of memories that Zachary would never escape if he had to keep looking at it day in and day out. 

      It was time to burn it down. 

A/N: Baptism by fire anyone? Thoughts, feelings, give ’em to me, y’all! Hope you’re enjoying the story even if it is an emotional one! Thanks for reading!

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Pain clogged Samantha’s throat, stealing her voice as Zachary paced angrily back and forth, his hat clutched in one hand while he growled unintelligibly under his breath and shoved his other hand through his thick black hair over and over.

            Tortured was the only word to describe the expression on his rugged face. Guilt ripped Samantha apart. This was her fault. She never should have let the fire get so big, she should have cleaned better, she shouldn't have let Zachary see this...

      Stepping toward him, determined to help, Samantha was stopped when Timothy grabbed her arm gently. Turning her questioning gaze to him, he gave a quick shake of his head. "Leave him be... I've never seen him like this..." 

      Was Timothy worried that Zachary would hurt her? Should Samantha be worried that Zachary would hurt her. She looked at Zachary again and pulled her arm from Timothy's grasp. "I'll be fine." 

      She was not afraid of Zachary. Call it instinct, call it naivety, but something inside of her simply knew that she could trust the man. The way he had grabbed her at the door, the way he had held her so gently and yet so firmly against his strong, broad chest, the way he had buried his face in her hair and whispered gruffly—no, Samantha was not afraid of Zachary. And right now, he needed her. 

      She went to him and laid her hand on his forearm, bringing the man to a sudden stop. His dark eyes met hers. There was a war going on in those brown depths. Sadness and anger all swirling together and making Samantha's own heart ache for him. 

      "Zachary..." 

      He pulled away from her, shoved his hat back on his head and strode to the barn, coming out moments later with a metal rake. Samantha frowned as she watched him storm to the fire and gather up a rake full of burning fabric and embers. 

      "What are you doing?" she demanded as he carried that rake toward the house. Was he going to burn the place down? "Zachary no!" 

      "I won't be talked out of this," Zachary warned. "I'll never know peace until this damned place is gone."  He paused a split second before starting up the stairs. Samantha tried to go to him, to stop him from what he was doing. That was his family home! He hadn't even been inside. What if there were things he wanted? Mementos and treasures that he would never see again if he destroyed the place with fire. 

      Before she could reach the house, Timothy was grabbing her around the middle from behind and pulling her back. "You'll get hurt," he warned. 

It was then that Zachary tossed that rake into the house, grabbed a kerosene lamp off the porch that was still full of the combustible liquid and threw it with all his might into those flames.

      The sound was one that Samantha would never forget. The very air within the house roared as if caught up in a twister. Zachary walked backward down the porch steps and Samantha watched in horror as those flames, fueled by the kerosene, quickly spread in that old wooden farmhouse. 

      Tears filled her own eyes as she watched him go into the barn and return with a metal kerosene can. She knew there would be no saving the house—it was already catching fire quickly and once he threw yet more fuel on the flames, it would go up like a tinderbox. 

      But surely there were things in there he would one day want back! Samantha had been forced to leave her home and flee for her life and now had nothing to remind of the family she had once had. She didn't want the same for Zachary. 

      Twisting quickly to free herself from Timothy's hold, Samantha lifted her skirts and ran. Her heart raced as she leapt up onto that porch. Zachary cried out her name, ordered her to stop, but she didn't obey. 

      Instead, Samantha took the deepest breath she could before rushing into the smoke-filled house. Her eyes instantly began to burn as she struggled to see through the haze. The heated air around her caused her skin to burn as she stayed to the side of the wall and did her best to avoid the flames—flames that were licking at the furniture and the walls and spreading toward the green rug that ran up the staircase. 

      Her mind focused on her task, Samantha went to the mantel above the fireplace and scooped the photograph, knitting needles, yarn, and pipe into her arms. 

      The sound of bootsteps pounded behind her over the whistling rush of fire sucking the very air from the room. A hand grabbed her arm, spun her around, and she found herself looking up at a very angry Zachary. 

      Her lungs burning with a need for air, Samantha knew she had to get back out that door. If she was forced to draw a breath in here, the smoke could do damage to her chest and throat.  Zachary, still holding tight to her arm, spun around and ran for the door, dragging her behind him. 

      The moment they were off that porch and in fresh air, Samantha released the old air from her lungs and happily sucked in new. Her burning eyes were watering, and she squinted against the sunlight. Zachary swooped down and began patting at the bottom of her skirt causing Samantha to realize it had been on fire. 

      Once he stood straight, those dark eyes met hers. "What the hell were you thinking?!" his deep, angry growl echoed in the afternoon air. 

      Samantha was breathing hard and she wanted desperately to swipe at her burning eyes but her hands and arms were covered in black soot and ash. "I just wanted to save a few things..." She held out the photograph and belongings she had pulled off the mantel. "I thought they'd mean something to you." 

      Zachary stared hard for several moments at her offerings. She saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. Then he grabbed the things, tossed them to the side in the dirt, and shook his head. "You're a foolish woman." 

      Samantha frowned. He had just insulted her but his voice had sounded so tender as he did so, she wasn't entirely sure if she should be offended. 

      Zachary pointed at the metal can with worn blue paint. "Tim, get that kerosene and pour some in the windows. I want that house gone."   

      Timothy seemed unsure but he also seemed to realize that no amount of arguing would change Zachary's mind—the house was already burning anyhow. He nodded. "Sure thing, Zachary." 

      Samantha still chose silence as Zachary took hold of her hand in his and led her around the house to the back where the water pump stood. He released his hold on her and pulled a bandana from his pocket. The muscles in his forearms twisted beneath his skin as he worked the pump handle up and down several times to get water flowing and wet the bandana. 

      Zachary wrung it out before stepping back to Samantha. Her breath caught in her chest as he moved in close. Those dark eyes seemed to be avoiding looking into hers as he began cleaning off her face. Samantha swallowed hard and tried to focus on simply breathing. 

      "You shouldn't have run in there. You could have been hurt." 

      Samantha felt herself trembling as those calloused hands brushed against her skin—though Zachary still avoided her gaze. "Those things are important," she managed to whisper. 

      For a fleeting moment, those dark brown eyes looked into hers. Then he was once again looking away as he ran that bandana over the tender skin of her throat. "There's not a thing in that house worth your life, Samantha...not to me." 

      Samantha had no idea what to say or how to respond. This was a new side of Zachary—a side that none of their previous interactions had truly prepared her for. He seemed so caring—gentle even. Slowly he pulled his hand away and tossed the wet bandana over the well pump. 

      The sound of shattering glass had both of them turning their gazes toward the house. Timothy had certainly done well with that kerosene. The house was, quite simply, engulfed, and it was burning quickly. Plumes of black smoke and hungry orange flames licked up into the sky above it. 

      "Why did you do that?" Samantha asked gently as she turned to face the burning farmhouse. 

      Zachary turned and stood side by side with her, his body touching hers. He was quiet for several long moments and she wondered if he was going to ignore the question. Finally, his quiet voice said. "I couldn't keep looking at the goddamn black door." 

      "I understand," Samantha whispered, and she did. Zachary was clearly someone who, while he tried to hide them, felt emotions deeply. He had found his entire family slaughtered in that house—it would never again have been his home. No matter how much paint covered the once blood smeared walls, no matter how much the furniture changed and got rearranged, no matter how many floor boards they tore up and replaced—all he would ever see when he walked in that door was bodies and blood. His soul would have never been at peace. 

      "I apologize for yelling at you," he stated as they watched those flames devour the house he once lived in. "I shouldn't have done that—or called you foolish." 

      That surprised her. Samantha hadn't realized that Zachary would be a man who bothered with apologizing. He seemed too proud. 

      "I'm sorry I worried you..." 

      "Worried me?" He let out a snort. "You scared the hell out of me. I... I don't want anything to happen to you." 

      Samantha felt her heart hammer against her ribcage once again when his pinky found hers and wrapped around it. She opened her mouth several times to speak but couldn't seem to form any coherent words. 

      What was happening? Samantha had spent so long running and keeping up walls. Her life had been survival and little else even before her father had sold her to Clinton Matthews in a bet. Samantha hadn't had time to waste daydreaming about love or romance or any other fanciful ideas that filled dime store novels. 

      But now... now this brooding, quiet, protective, haunted man had her suddenly contemplating things Samantha would have once thought impossible. 

      "I wanted you to have a piece of your family. Something to remember them by," Samantha finally stated softly when she regained her voice. "I know how it feels to have nothing." 

      She didn't have to turn her head to know that Zachary was studying her. She could feel those brown eyes gazing down at her. "What happened to you, Samantha? Why is a horse all you have left in the world?"

      Samantha wanted to answer him. For the first time in so very long she wanted to let someone in. She wanted to let him know what had happened and why she had spent so long running. She wanted to share her fears with him....

      And she would have—if Timothy hadn't chosen that moment to come around the house. "I used all that kerosene, Zach. I think it's...." 

      He stopped speaking when he saw them standing so close together. Quickly, Zachary removed his hand from Samantha's and placed distance between them. "Thanks Tim." 

      Samantha could see that Timothy seemed to be fighting back tears. He turned his gaze to the house. "We had some good memories there." 

      Silence reigned as the trio simply stood and watched the house burn. The flames raged even as the sky began to grow darker above them. It wasn't until the house had collapsed and become little more than smoldering embers and rubble that the silence among them was broken. 

      "I need to be getting you back to town," Zachary stated, and without looking at her, he walked away. 

      Timothy walked beside her as they followed after him. "That was real nice that you got those things for Zach." 

      "I thought they might mean something to him." 

      "And they do, or they will, as soon as he has time to think about it." 

      When they came around the house, Zachary was picking those belongings up off the ground. His seemed determined to not really look at them though as he carried them into the barn and returned a few moments later leading Athena. 

      They walked over to the oak tree where Timothy had hitched Blaze and his own brown mare earlier to keep them from running off in fear of the smoke and flames. Samantha didn't miss the way Zachary's hands lingered on her as he helped her into the saddle. 

      The ride to town was quiet and awkward. Whatever tender openness Zachary had been willing to show Samantha when they'd been alone, he clearly wasn't willing to show in front of Timothy. 

      Arriving in town, Timothy parted ways with them and Zachary pointed to the hotel. "Let's get you settled in at the hotel and then I'll take Athena to the livery and get her put up."   

      "I can do it..." 

      "It's dark. You need to be getting inside where it's safe. I'll tend to the horse." 

      Samantha's first instinct was to insist that she didn't need to be coddled but she swallowed that back. His words weren't spoken in a gentle tone but she knew they were well-meant. Zachary cared about her and she'd done enough to worry and frighten the man today.

      Slipping off Athena's back at the hotel, Samantha found herself standing beneath the glow of the kerosene lamp with Zachary. She nearly told him she would see him the next day but paused. She wouldn't. Now that there was no more farmhouse, there was no more reason for her to be at the ranch to fix it up. 

      Zachary cleared his throat. "I reckon I'll be heading back home now." 

      She nodded. "What will you do with the house gone?"

      He shrugged, his gaze going to the street and a group of men who saw them standing together and began whispering as they walked past. Zachary attempted to take a step away as if to place distance between them to save her from the gossip. Samantha simply rolled her eyes and moved with him. It was clear he noticed as he let out a sigh. "Samantha...." 

      "I don't care what they think, Zachary. Now answer me. What will you do now that the house is gone?" She worried that maybe it meant Zachary would leave. He had been gone for a long time before returning the night he'd first saved her in that saloon. Maybe, without the farmhouse to look after, he would go back to a life of wandering. 

      "The barns a decent place to lay my head," he replied. "Timothy and I still got plenty of work to do to get that place turned back into a functioning ranch and farm." 

      "So, you're staying?" she found herself asking, averting her gaze as her cheeks heated. 

      Zachary reached out and ran those calloused fingers from her elbow to her wrist before giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, I'm staying." Letting his hand fall, Zachary stepped away. "I gotta be getting Athena put up and get back to the ranch. Go on in now." 

      Samantha nodded and turned to walk inside, her mind swirling with questions and thoughts that she had no answer to or way of sorting out. She already knew that she wanted to stay in Hackney—she wanted her future to be here. Could that future be with Zachary Marston?

      "Samantha?" his voice stopped her. She looked over her shoulder at him, waiting for him to speak. He pulled off his hat and gripped it tightly in his hands, appearing unsure and awkward. "Thank you for getting those things. That.. that picture... I had forgotten what they looked like without the blood..." 

      Without giving Samantha time to respond, Zachary placed his hat back on his wild black hair, turned quickly and strode away, leading both horses along behind him. 

A/N: Thanks for reading, y’all!I hope you liked the chapter. Perhaps Zachary is really ready to start healing now… maybe the fire will end up being the therapy the man needed. Thoughts, feelings, random comments–share them with me!

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Zachary stood in the barn and watched the fat droplets of rain dripping from the door frame and plopping loudly into the puddle formed by the drops that had come before. He took a deep breath of smoke scented air and sighed. This rain was set in to stay for the day at least. The sky was nothing but an endless expanse of dull gray. In the past, days like this would have served to deepen his melancholy and blacken his mood. But not today. Today, Zachary was feeling the closest thing to peace in his soul that he had felt in five long years.

      That house was gone. That damn black front door would never taunt him again. As he had stood there yesterday and watched those flames devour those boards and beams, as he had watched that dark smoke swirl away into the blue sky—Zachary had imagined the souls of his family had been riding on it. The wispy clouds of ash and soot had given them freedom—had liberated them from the prison their murderers had placed them in. 

      Zachary may not have avenged their deaths but he no longer felt such a sting from that knowledge—he knew their souls were finally at peace.

      Glancing back toward the stall he was using as his temporary home, Zachary thought of the photograph that lay there. When Samantha had held that out to him yesterday and his eyes had seen his family for the first time since the day he'd found them bloody and mutilated—Zachary had damn near broken down and sobbed. 

      Time had played such evil tricks on his brain and robbed him of the details of their faces. Even in his good memories, their features had begun to blur. The only images of them he had been able to see plainly were soaked in blood. To see their faces so clearly and so free of all evidence of that day... There was nothing he could ever give or do for Samantha that could repay what she had given him when she had handed him that photograph. 

      Samantha.....

      She made him feel.... Hopeful. Hopeful that he had a future that wasn't limited to guilt, blood, and vengeance. A future that could include happiness, a real home, a family.... And love? Zachary had never given much thought to falling in love. He had been too young before his vengeance mission to have ever thought of settling down—all he'd wanted to do was sow wild oats and run free. And after his family had been murdered romance had been the farthest thing from his mind. 

      But now....

      He was back in Hackney. He was fixing up the ranch. He was going to be settling down and staying put. This ranch had been built to be a place for happiness, love, and family. Zachary had sworn for a long while that it could never be that again. But maybe...

      Hoofbeats drew Zachary from his thoughts. His pulse quickened but then his heart dropped when he realized it was only Timothy heading his way—Samantha wasn't with him. Of course she wasn't. It was raining and Zachary wouldn't want her out in this weather but, he sure would love to see her. 

      Then he looked toward the ash pile that had once been a farmhouse. Damn. There was no longer a house for her to be turning into a home and therefore Samantha's reason for coming to the ranch was gone. Zachary would have to do something about that.

      Zachary stepped out of the way as Timothy rode his horse directly into the barn. Puddles formed in the dirt beneath the mare, and then beneath Timothy as he hopped off shook himself roughly. "Damn, it's wet." 

      "That's what happens when it rains." Zachary crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you here?"

Timothy frowned. “To work.”

“Can’t get much word done in this weather.”

“Why not?” Timothy slapped him on the back. “You won’t melt.”

Zachary had spent a lot of years spending his time out in all types of weather. He wasn’t real eager to spend today out in the rain. Unless he could think of some excuse to go into town and see Samantha.

None came.

Timothy ran his arm over his dripping face. “We could work fixing hinges and stall doors,” he offered. “Eventually you’ll have more than two horses taking up space in here. That is, if you still plan on staying around.”

“Of course I’m staying around,” Zachary stated as he made his way to a spare stall to get a sack that contained hinges and nails.

“Just for the ranch or for another reason that has red hair, freckles, and big green eyes?”

Zachary thought about punching that shit-eating grin right off the other mans’ face. “The ranch.”

Laughter filled the barn as Timothy led his horse to an empty stall. “Whatever you say, Zach. You wanna know what I think?”

      Zachary grabbed the hammer from the wooden toolbox by the door. "Nope." 

      Timothy clearly didn't care and had only been asking to hear himself speak because he chose to reply anyway. "I think Samantha is a good woman and I think she'll be good for you." 

      Zachary merely grunted. "We ain't got time to sit and talk about our goddamn feelings all day. We got work to do."      

      Timothy simply sighed and the two got to work. Zachary's mind was elsewhere. He knew that Samantha was a good woman. He also knew that she would be good for him. The question was, would he be any good for her?

---

      Shortly after midday the men decided to take a break to fill their stomachs. The rain was still falling steadily against the tin above their heads. 

      "I sure am glad we got that roof fixed or else we'd be sitting in a puddle," Timothy stated as he flopped himself down on a stack of hay bales and began munching on some biscuits he'd brought from town. 

      Zachary dug around in a burlap sack and pulled out some jerked beef. He sure was getting tired of living off warmed up beans, jerked beef, and biscuits. He would like to have a real cooked meal—would Samantha want to join him for supper in town?

      "I know we still have a lot of things to repair around here. Lots of buildings that need tended to but.... What about a house? Or do you plan on living in the barn forever?" 

      "I've slept in worse places," Zachary replied, his gaze focused on water dripping steady in the puddle at the door. Rain thundered loudly on the tin roof above them and pinged against a broken metal plow outside the barn door. 

      "Such a tough man," Timothy mocked with a chuckle which caused a smile to tug at Zachary's lips. "I wonder just how rough of places Samantha has slept in. I'm sure she'd prefer a house, a bedroom, and a real bed. Then again, maybe she won't mind a barn stall and a bedroll with a pillow of hay." 

      Zachary chose not to take the bait. He was 

not going to encourage the pain in the ass. “We can finish up all these hinges today at least and repair the stall doors. Tomorrow, if the weather’s better, we can start fixing up some of the outside walls of this barn—weatherproof it good, finish it up, and move on to something else.”

      "We'll be lucky to have everything here fixed up and ready by winter," Timothy stated with a long sigh. "We still have another barn, the corrals, toolshed, smokehouse, fence lines...." 

      Zachary pushed himself away from the stall door he'd been leaning against. "I get it," he snapped, cutting his friend off. "We have a lot of work." 

      "Maybe Samantha knows how to swing a hammer?"

      Zachary frowned and turned his gaze to Timothy. "What are you talking about?"

      Timothy took a big bite of biscuit and crumbs fell down his chest. "Just trying to give you an excuse to invite her back." 

      Zachary grabbed his canteen and yanked the lid off more roughly than necessary. "Do you know how to leave something alone?" he demanded before taking a long drink of water.

      A grin split Timothy's face. "Nope." 

      Zachary grabbed himself a biscuit and went to the door, staring hard where the farmhouse had once stood. Another home. It 

would have to be done. But what kind of house would he have put there? He honestly didn’t have an idea—and truthfully didn’t care. What kind of house would Samantha like?

      Growling under his breath, Zachary tore a chunk of biscuit off with his teeth. He 

had to stop thinking about that woman so damn much.

      For a few quiet moments, Zachary simply lost himself in thought. Then Timothy kicked at some hay as he came to stand beside him. "Why'd you burn it down, Zach?"

      Zachary spared a quick glance at Timothy. The man's eyes were red-rimmed as he swallowed hard and his nostrils flared. Zachary quickly looked away. "I didn't want to look at it anymore." 

      "I understand, I reckon... I just hate it. I had some good memories in that place." 

      Zachary chose not to respond. What could he say? He had good memories of that place too—but the bad one had been more than he would have ever been able to move past. 

      "You realize you chased Samantha into that burning house without hesitation? You always said you'd never step foot back in there." 

      Zachary tensed at the memory. When he had seen that woman run into those flames his heart had nearly dropped into the dirt at his feet. Saving her had been all he'd been able to focus on—nothing else had mattered. 

      Timothy nudged him with his shoulder and let a strip of jerky hang off his lip. "Gonna try to convince me one more time that she isn't special?"

A/N: Is Zachary beginning to heal?  More Zachary and Samantha togetherness in the next chapter! I hope y’all are enjoying the story! I’m loving reading all your comments! Keep them coming.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday dawned brightly outside the red floral curtains of Samantha’s hotel room. She had not seen nor heard from Zachary in three long days. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe those gentle touches, tender gazes, and softly spoken words hadn’t meant to him what she had thought they had. Maybe she had been wrong to think that he might possibly be someone she could begin to build a future with.

      Maybe the man was just busy. 

      Rising from bed, Samantha slid from her night clothes and began to dress for the day. She had nowhere to go and nothing to do when she got there. Thursday she had spent the day locked up in her hotel room staring out the window as rivers of rain had run in rivulets down   the panes. 

      Friday and Saturday had been spent working at the post office, learning her role at the job and also feeling her heart nearly beat out of her chest when unfamiliar faces would walk in—perhaps she shouldn't be working so out in the open where Clinton or his men could find her. Then again, she could not possibly simply hide herself the rest of her life—what kind of life would that be? 

      Samantha could only hope that Clinton Matthews had finally given up on his obsession with her and she would never see his scarred face or ice blue eyes again. 

      Slipping into her black skirt and red blouse, Samantha clipped her red curls away from her face, allowing them to hang down her back and have their freedom—most days that was easier than attempting to tame them. Making her way downstairs, Samantha ordered breakfast from the hotel diner and enjoyed her meal alone in a back booth. 

      Stepping into the sunlight and feeling the warm spring breeze blow across her face, Samantha decided what her plans were for the day. Athena had been cooped up in the livery for three days and she knew the horse would be craving a bit of exercise. Samantha had not gone on a ride simply for the sheer enjoyment of it in a long while. Today was a beautiful day to do just that.

      Samantha was heading for the livery when she saw heard footsteps coming up behind her. Tensing and ready to run if necessary, Samantha spun around quickly. Timothy was standing there smiling, raising his hands in surrender—causing Samantha to realize she had been prepared to strike him. 

      His green eyes sparkled. "You're just as jumpy as your feller." 

      Samantha frowned. "My feller?"

      "Tall, dark, moody? You remember him, don't you?" 

      Her gaze went skyward before she responded. "Just barely. I haven't seen or heard from him in days." She quickly cleared her throat and averted her gaze. 

      "He's been busy working," Timothy acknowledged. "And missing you." 

      Samantha cursed under her breath, knowing that he would be able to see the color that rose in her cheeks. She smoothed out her blouse and changed the subject from how badly Zachary may or may not have missed her.  "How are you and Zachary friends? You seem so very different."  

      Timothy's laughter rang out.  "Yeah I reckon we are. We've known one another since we were real young. I didn't have the best home life and his family became my family." Timothy shrugged as he watched a wagon load of wood go down the street. "We weren't quite so different then. Life has changed him." 

      Quiet fell over them. Samantha swallowed hard. Life certainly had a way of doing just that to people. Timothy cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. "So, what were your plans today?"

      Samantha was happy to have the conversation moving to something else—she wasn't in any hurry to dwell on the past or the pain it caused. "I'm taking Athena for a ride. It's a beautiful day for one." 

      "That it is. I got some work lined up for the day at another ranch. I gotta be heading that way. Be careful out there, Samantha, and have a good time." 

      "You're working on Sunday?" 

      "Yeah, I'm trying to get some money saved up so I can buy me a place of my home. I'm getting tired of calling a hotel home." 

      Samantha nodded. She understood that. She so badly wanted a home again. For two years she had run, for nearly six months she'd laid her head in a tiny bedroom above a saloon, and now she slept in a hotel—a home sounded so very nice. 

      "You know, if you happened to be out riding and you happened to wander in the direction of Zach's place.... I'm pretty sure he'd be happy to see you." Throwing a wink in her direction, Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and walked on down the road whistling a tune.

      Samantha felt a moment of temptation. She wanted to see Zachary so badly. She was worried for him. How was he doing after burning down his family home? She could have asked Timothy but she knew that Zachary was a private man—he wasn't someone who would want her asking around about him and she did not want him to think she was prying or gossiping about him. If Samantha wanted to know how he was doing, she would have to ask him in person. Which brought her back to Timothy's teasing suggestion. 

      Should Samantha ride out to the ranch and see Zachary? She wanted to badly, however, he hadn't attempted to see her since the day the house had burned, and she did not want to force her presence upon him. Perhaps she would simply hop on Athena'a back and simply go wherever her best friend carried her. 

      Smiling at the silly direction her mind had taken her, Samantha continued on her way to the livery. It was then that she saw Judith Channing and the bird-like woman was heading straight in her direction with that nose in the air, judgement in her eyes, and what was bound to be a lecture on her lips. 

      Today was such a beautiful day and that harpy was going to come along and ruin it. Samantha took a look around, desperate for any route of escape—unfortunately everything was closed this time of day on a Sunday. It was nearly time for church services to be starting, why was Judith going to waste her time cornering Samantha once again?

      "Samantha, I wish to have a word with you!"

      Samantha came to a stop just outside the livery doors and clenched her fists as she pleaded for patience. "I would think that after our previous interactions, it would be obvious I do not wish to have any more words with you, Mrs. Channing." 

      Judith fussed with her hair beneath her blue bonnet which matched the blue dress she was wearing. "Please, Samantha, your hostility is quite unbecoming. I've heard about you spending time with that Zachary Marston and I warned you he would be a bad influence. I am merely attempting to help you." 

      "You will not speak ill of Zachary Marston to me, especially when the man is not even here to defend himself," Samantha scolded. "Surely there are other wayward souls you could be wasting your time on, Mrs. Channing, because I did not ask for nor do I need your help."

      "I reckon if she 

does need help she’s got more dependable folks she can turn to.“

      Zachary's sudden voice over her shoulder caused Samantha to let out a gasp before turning quickly to see him standing behind her. As always, when her eyes fell on him, her breath caught and her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest. He was tall, broad, strong and wrapped in well fitted black trousers and a dark gray chambray shirt. His black bandolier was pulled across his chest, a low slung black gun belt sat on his lean hips, a bowie knife was hooked to both legs, and a rifle was slung over his shoulder and resting on his back. The sharp features, the dusting of black stubble, those intense dark eyes, firm lips.... Samantha felt herself tremble as she imagined those lips against her own. Claiming her. Devouring her. 

      Zachary's gaze met hers and narrowed. Could he read her mind? Were her thoughts plain for him to see in her eyes. That gaze dropped to her lips and, quite unconsciously, Samantha ran sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and ran her teeth along it. 

      Zachary's jaw tensed and he swallowed hard. Samantha drew a shaky breath as Zachary took a step toward her, standing so very close—close enough that she could feel his heat and had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. She was powerless under those dark eyes. Samantha recognized the feel of his calloused fingers on her wrist as they grabbed hold gently and gave her a tug, pressing their bodies together. 

      Samantha was trembling uncontrollable, her breaths were becoming more ragged, her heart pounded against her ribcage. Zachary's free hand came to her face, those fingertips were gentle as they traced her cheek but they might as well have been lightning bolts. A moan slip passed Samantha's lips. Zachary's brown eyes darkened with want and Samantha knew, as his head lowered, he was preparing to kiss her. Her eyes slid closed. Their breath mingled in the morning air. Thought was impossible, she was simply full of want for the man in front of her. 

      "Honestly? You're acting no better than those common brothel whores you lived among all those months." 

      Judith Channing's voice had Samantha coming back to her senses. She realized then just how closely her and Zachary were standing—just how hot the air around them had become. And just how out in the open they were standing where anyone could see them bedside the livery. Shaking her head to clear her want-filled thoughts, Samantha leapt away from him and tried to calm her breathing and steady herself. 

      "What the hell did you just say?" Zachary's voice was barely more than a low, animalistic growl as he stepped around Samantha and stood over the preacher's wife. 

      Judith clearly had more bravery than sense as she stood her ground. Her hands were folded in front of her and she raised that nose in the air as she met his gaze. "Samantha spent far too much time around those women and now with your influence on top of that, I'm afraid nothing I say is going to convince her to save her own soul." 

      "Samantha is good damn woman, better than you, and that's the last thing I have to say to you. You see me, you see Samantha, you cross the street and keep going, understood?"

      Judith began sputtering and stammering, but Zachary was clearly done with the conversation. He reached back, took Samantha's hand gently in his own, despite his obvious temper, and led her across the road to the boardwalk by the laundry service. It seemed Judith had the good sense not to follow. 

      "That woman is a monster," Zachary warned, his gaze sharp as it stayed locked on Judith Channing, who was huffing as she headed down the road in the direction of the church on the outskirts of town.   

      Samantha's mind was still spinning. From the near kiss, those hungry looks, Judith's accusations, Zachary's warning, and the gentle way that Zachary was still holding her hand, his thumb caressing her tender wrist. She let out a long breath, steadied herself and shook her head. "She's a judgmental harpy, that is certainly true, but I wouldn't label her a monster." 

      Zachary nodded, his gaze was still watching Judith's retreating back but it was clear to Samantha that he was no longer seeing main street. His eyes had once again taken on that haunted expression. "I paid her good money to hire men from the church to clean the house before I left town. She's a monster." 

      Understanding dawned and Samantha shivered when she recalled the blood stained farmhouse. "I'm sorry she did that." 

      "And I'm sorry I sent you into that house. I... I didn't know..." 

      Samantha offered a comforting smile, placing a gentle hand on his cheek in an attempt to ease the pain she saw there. "I know you didn't, Zachary. I'm sorry I wasn't able to hide it from you—I wanted to badly." 

      "You never should have seen the house that way," Zachary insisted. "It wasn't your responsibility to clean that and I would never want you seeing sights like that one." 

      Samantha was surprised by Zachary's openness with her. Sure, his gaze was averted and he kept swallowing and seemed unsure of himself but he showing more of that tenderness that she knew lived inside of the man. Whatever he'd done in the last five years had taken a large toll on him, but the man he'd been before was still in there. 

      She let her hand fall to her side.  "Horrible sights happen."

       Slowly his gaze found hers. Those brown eyes seemed to be looking straight into her soul. "Talk to me, Samantha. Why are you in Hackney? Why is Athena all you have left in the world?"

      It was the second time that Zachary had asked her that question and just like the time before, Samantha felt an ache deep within herself to open up and tell him. Always before she had kept the truth hidden. She had been certain that telling anyone about Clinton Matthews would place them in danger. Something about Zachary took away her fear. She wanted him for an ally—even if only against her memories. 

      Just like the time before, Samantha opened her mouth to let Zachary in, to tell him the truth, but then her gaze was drawn to main street. "Honestly?" she demanded, pulling her hand from Zachary's grasp and clenched her fists. "She's coming back." 

      Judith Channing was coming back down the street with Marshal Oxley in tow. Zachary tensed and Samantha could tell he was about to head toward the approaching woman. She put her hands on his chest and instantly his gaze dropped back down to hers. "Stay here. I will deal with this." 

      "Samantha...." 

      She stood her ground. "Stay. As soon as I handle Judith, I am going for a ride on Athena and I would like for you to join me." 

      Zachary's jaw was tense but he gave a small nod after several moments and Samantha turned and strode away, meeting Judith and the Marshall on the street. "Can I help you both?" she demanded, having no respect for either of the people in front of her. 

      "Mrs. Channing, you...you uh didn't say it was Samantha and Zachary causing a problem when you told me to come help...." Marshall Oxley stammered, his one eye darting between Samantha standing in front of him and Zachary back on the boardwalk. 

      "I can assure you that the only person causing any problems this morning was Mrs. Channing herself. She seems obsessed with me, Marshall, and it's through no fault of my own I assure you." 

      "Obsessed?" Judith scoffed. "I am merely attempting to help you! Zachary Marston is not a man with which you should align yourself." 

      Crossing her arms over her chest, Samantha glared at the woman. "And I suppose you 

are a person more suited for aligning myself with?“

      The nod following her question was whole-hearted. "Of course." 

      "I see." Samantha tapped her fingers against arm several times and then sighed. "Tell me, Mrs. Channing, just how much money did you steal off of Zachary before he left town?"

      Judith's eyes widened nearly comically. She squeaked several times sounded much like a newly hatched chick and her gaze went to Marshall Oxley, who seemed torn between wanting to flee because of his fear of Zachary and wanting to stay so he could hear the gossip.

      "I have never stolen a thing in my life," Judith finally vowed. 

      "He told me that you were paid to send men out to the farmhouse shortly after he left town. Those men were meant to do a bit of work there. That work was never done. Either those men stole from you or you never sent any men and simply pocketed his money for yourself. Which is it? I'm inclined to believe it was the latter." 

      Judith's mouth moved up and down several times as if she were desperately gulping for air. She stomped her foot once and waved her hand toward the Marshall. "Are you going to allow her to speak to me this way?" 

      Marshall Oxley scratched at his oversized belly. "She's not doing anything illegal, Mrs. Channing. Now why don't we just...." 

      "You are useless, Marshall and a disgrace to our town! First you let that monster Zachary Marston get away with slaughtering his family and now you let this whore....." 

      Whatever further venom Judith Channing had been going to spew from her mouth, no one would ever know, because upon hearing her say such a horrible thing about Zachary, Samantha's arm took on a life of its own. She drew back and swung, throwing all her weight into the punch that sent her fist careening into Judith Channing's jaw.

      Judith cried out as her neck snapped back and she fell sideways. Her eyes were wide and her hand was covering her abused jaw when she turned to face Samantha again. "I want her arrested," she gasped, moving to stand closer to the Marshall—apparently thinking that would offer her protection. 

      Samantha was shocked by her own actions. She had just punched the preachers' wife on main street, in broad daylight, right in front of the only law in the town. What had she been thinking? Samantha was not a violent person and never had been. But hearing Judith, who had been a thorn in her side for months, spread such terrible lies about Zachary—it had been more than Samantha could tolerate.   

      Marshal Oxley cursed under his breath, bringing Samantha's attention to the man. She should be frightened of him—he had caused harm to come to her before when he'd fired that shot to spook Athena and caused Samantha to strike her head. But she wasn't afraid of Marshall Oxley. Of course, that probably had more to do with Zachary's footsteps she could hear approaching from behind than her own bravery. 

      "Samantha, you're under arrest for assaulting Mrs. Channing." 

      Judith offered a haughty sneer which simply reignited Samantha's anger. She was gathering herself up to launch her body at the horrible woman when Zachary's hand closed firmly on her shoulder and stopped her in her tracks. 

      "I think you'll want to rethink that decision, Leonard." 

      Marshall Oxley paled considerably and adjusted his dirty brown eyepatch. "Uh.. Now Zachary she hit her..." 

      "And the good woman of the church called Samantha a whore."

Leonard Oxley swallowed hard. “Name calling ain’t the same as throwing punches.”

Zachary grunted. “Then I want Mrs. Channing arrested as well. For theft. I paid a good deal of money to her for a job and that job was never completed.”

      Samantha realized they had a lot of attention on them. Folks were watching from many different directions. Hackney Oklahoma didn't often see such excitement on a Sunday morning.

      "How about we all just go our separate ways now and uh... calm down?" Marshall Oxley offered, holding up his hands. 

      Samantha was more than willing to do just that but Judith seemed enraged. "Marshall Oxley, 

do something!“

      Zachary's low chuckle rumbled close to Samantha as he pulled her closer to him, pressing her back into his chest. Dear lord, she couldn't seem to draw a full breath being held near him this way! "It would be the first time he ever has," Zachary assured the preacher's wife.  

      Then, in true Zachary Marston fashion, it seemed he was through with the conversation whether anyone else was or not. He released his hold on Samantha's shoulder and took her hand in his. "Let's go for that ride now," he offered before leading her away from a stuttering Marshall Oxley and an irate Judith Channing.  

A/N: When Zachary is done talking, the conversation is over ha! Who knew Samantha could throw such a good punch? And damn but the two of them nearly set the streets of Hackney on fire with those sparks ❤❤ Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

      "How's your hand?" Zachary's sudden question drew Samantha's attention from the flowing long grasses around them and the mesas in the distance. Her eyes went to him as he rode strong and tall in the saddle of his black gelding.

      "It hurts," she replied honestly as she flexed her fingers and felt the tightness in her red knuckles. 

      "I'd say so. That was quite a punch." 

      Samantha felt her cheeks redden. She was aware of just how horribly the entire town must be speaking of her as they gathered at the church service and discussed the way she had knocked the preachers' wife's head off right there on main street. "Yes, well, I was quite angry." 

      A low chuckle rumbled from Zachary's chest. "I'll do my best to never make you angry. I'm not sure my glass jaw could handle one of your fists." 

      Samantha didn't have to fake the surprise she felt. "Zachary Marston, was that a sense of humor?" She smiled. "I wasn't aware you had one of those." 

      Zachary's eyes met hers and he flashed another slow lazy smile, identical to the one he had shown her nearly a week ago when they'd been standing outside the train station. Once again, the sight of that smile, the dimples it placed in his cheeks, the light it put in his eyes, stole her breath. "I don't." 

      Samantha found herself laughing and it felt good. She felt so lighthearted and free in that very moment and she had Zachary to thank for it. 

      But she knew the lightheartedness couldn't last. She had to tell Zachary the truth about herself, why she'd run to Hackney, who she was running from, and why being around her could be dangerous for him. The man had a right to the truth and if that truth made him walk away from her—Samantha would simply have to go back to a life with no real hope for a future—the life that her father and Clinton Matthews had chosen for her.    

      She didn't want to do that right now, however. Right now she wanted to enjoy his company at least a little longer. "What brought you into town today?" she asked him instead. 

      Zachary picked at a tangle in Blaze's black mane, his gaze locked on his task. "You. I mean.. I uh wanted to see you." 

      Samantha bit her lip as her stomach fluttered a bit. "Oh." 

      "I've missed you, Sam." 

      "Sam?"

      Zachary shifted in the saddle and suddenly appeared so awkward that Samantha nearly laughed. "I'm sorry... I..." 

      "Don't be." She steered Athena around a large boulder. "I've never been called Sam." 

      "I won't do it if you don't like it." 

      Her face flamed red as she bit her lip and averted her gaze. "I like it." Then she smiled. "And I missed you too." 

      Samantha knew she had to tell him the truth about her past. She had to let him know his very life could be in danger if they continued spending time together. After their near kiss on main street, (the thought of which had a heat spreading low in Samantha's stomach and causing her to squirm a bit), Samantha knew that there was an attraction and a growing 

something between them—but if Clinton Matthews did find her, Zachary’s life could be in danger simply because they were growing closer.

      It would be best to tell the man and end this now, no matter how badly her heart ached at the thought of watching Zachary ride out of her life. 

      "Zachary, I think I should warn you about something...." 

      Zachary's brown eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Warn me?" 

      Samantha guided Athena toward a nearby stream, surrounded by long grasses, budding wildflowers, fluttering butterflies and buzzing bees. Stopping at the edge of the stream, she let Athena have her head so the mare could get a drink. "You were worried about me being near you because of what gossips might say—but you being near me could very well endanger your life." 

      She didn't look Zachary's way but she didn't need to in order to know that his gaze was on her. "I'm gonna guess this has something to do with why you're in Hackney?" 

      Her stomach twisted in knots, Samantha drew a deep breath through her nose and nodded. "I haven't spoken about who I am, where I'm from, or why I'm here to anyone." 

      "The Morgans?" 

      Samantha shook her head. "Took me in without those details. They were good people who simply saw someone who needed help and helped her. I never felt safe enough to tell anyone the truth." 

      "You feel safe with me?" 

      Samantha watched tiny minnows as they darted beneath the shimmering surface of the stream. "Yes. But I shouldn't. He wouldn't hesitate to kill you." 

      "I'm not real easy to kill." 

      "I've been running for so long, Zachary." 

      "Running from who?"

      A shiver ran down Samantha's spine. "I don't say his name," she countered, rubbing her arm. "He's the devil and if I say his name it might make him come." 

      "I've faced devils before, Sam. I'm not too afraid of them anymore." Zachary pulled a cigarette from his pocket, struck a match and took a long draw after he'd lit it. "Why are you running from him?"

      Samantha felt strange speaking about her past and her family and Clinton Matthews. She had kept all those things to herself, hidden and locked inside for so very long. She slid from Athena's back and walked to a boulder, taking a seat upon the rough sun-warmed stone. "I grew up in Kansas in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere. I can remember laughter and happiness when my mama was alive. She was a good woman married to a man who didn't deserve her and made her life so much less than it could have been. No matter how bad things got though, mama was a light. Happiness seemed to follow her." 

      "Like mother like daughter," Zachary's deep voice stated quietly from where he still sat atop Blaze. 

      Samantha swallowed hard against the emotion that lodged in her throat. Zachary's simple words, stated with such quiet assurance, meant more to her than she could explain. Samantha had loved her mother dearly. 

      "My papa was a drunk and a gambler, but not a good gambler. We went hungry quite often and did without most more than we did with because of his addictions. It was hard but Mama somehow made it all work—then she got sick. After we buried her, pa got worse. And I had one brother, older than myself, he inherited pa's addictions. I tried, Zachary, I tried to keep our home standing, keep clothes on our backs and keep food in our bellies. I took what odd jobs I could sewing and cleaning but there was never quite enough. Then my brother was killed in a drunken saloon brawl over a game of poker. Can you believe that? A young man lost his life over a game of cards."

      Samantha was quiet a moment as she thought of the unfairness of life and blinked away tears. Zachary didn't speak—or move as far as she could tell from the corner of her eye. He simply sat there on his black gelding and waited for her to speak again. 

      Taking a deep breath, she did. "After that, there was no saving my father. He would stay gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. I had to hide money from him. I had to learn to farm and hunt and, while I'm not proud of it, I sometimes had to beg to ensure we had a home and food. One day about five years after my mother passed away, I was just coming back from a ride on Athena. A hard rain had hit unexpectedly so I raced straight into the barn without paying attention to the house. In the back stall I found Charles—an elderly man who had worked for my family for longer than I'd been alive, even though it had been years since I'd been able to pay him any real wage." 

      A tear did slip down her cheek then as she thought of the kind old man and recalled the terrible way he'd been left in that stall with his head smashed open. "Charles was dead. Someone had hit him in the head and broken his skull. I immediately thought of my father and ran to the house. There was a cart outside I hadn't noticed before and when I went inside 

he was there sitting at the kitchen table with my father, drinking coffee and discussing something.

      "I can't explain it but there was something about the man. The air around him just felt.... Evil. My father was scared and when his eyes met mine, I saw his guilt. The stranger informed me that he had killed Charles and that he was there to collect the debt my father owed him—me." 

      "You?" 

      Samantha swiped desperately at her eyes. She did not want to break down. Not in front of Zachary. "My father had been gone nearly a week not too long before that on a drinking and gambling binge. That's when he'd met this man who had loaned him money to gamble with—which my father had then lost and been unable to pay back. So, he had told him he had a pretty daughter that would make a good wife for him and that he could have me to cover the debt." 

      Saying that out loud hurt worse than it should have. The truth of her fathers' betrayal ripping at her heart. "I told the man my father had been drunk and foolish and I wasn't going anywhere with him... My father told me to run. The man told me if I did he would kill my father.... Maybe I should have stayed.. Maybe I should have went with the man.. If I had my father would still be alive..." Samantha wrapped her arms around herself as her body began to shudder with the force of the emotion she was holding back. "But I didn't. I ran. Though I did look back just long enough to see him murder my father...." Her breath caught but somehow Samantha pushed on. "I hopped on Athena and ran into the woods and I just kept running. For two years I ran. He found me several times and I would have to run again. Then I ended up in Hackney and the Morgan's took me in. It's been six months and so far, he hasn't found me here. I have spent so long running and pushing everyone away... I've had no one and I haven't felt safe in so damned long..

      "You have to get away from me, Zachary... if you don't, he'll kill you too. The last two years he's killed so many people in his efforts to find me. I don't want him to kill you...."

Samantha couldn’t hold it back any longer. Every ounce of sadness, despair, hurt, fear, and longing came tearing from her chest as she buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

---

      Blaze stomped with agitation as Zachary sat frozen in the saddle and listened to Samantha's sobs. He tried desperately to wrap his mind around the emotions swirling in his mind and his gut. 

      Rage was first and foremost in his mind. Rage at her father, rage at whoever the man was chasing her, rage at knowing someone out there thought they had some claim to Samantha. Desperation was also there. A desperation to protect Samantha, to keep her safe, the way he hadn't been able to do for his family. Samantha was light. She was the first damn thing to give his soul its first taste of happiness in such a long damn time. He couldn't lose her. He 

wouldn’t lose her. No man was going to do her harm or take her away.

      His gaze dropped to her as she sat upon that rock. Her red curls were loose and falling around her shoulders as she kept her face buried in her hands and her shoulders heaved violently with sobs that were body wracking yet nearly silent. Zachary might not be able to do anything to fix her past, he might not be able to do anything in this moment about the man who was after her, but those tears? That was something he could remedy. 

      Slipping from the saddle, Zachary went to her quickly, scooped her off that rock, sat down in her place and pulled her body into his lap. He cradled Samantha's shuddering body against him, buried his face in her hair and whispered soothingly into her ear while she pressed her face into his chest and clutched at his shirt. 

      Five years Zachary had spent cold, distant, surrounded by nothing but the harsh, ugly side of life. But with this woman held in his lap, Zachary knew he hadn't been as lost in that darkness as he'd once thought. He had once thought that he would never again be happy—that any chance he had for a future had died with his family and the years of rage that had followed. Samantha made him want more than that darkness. 

      He had already known that Samantha was sunlight and now he was realizing that maybe she was his sunlight. She was his future. He was going to comfort her, he was going to protect her, and he was going to hope that she would let his world orbit around her always. 

      It was a long while that Zachary simply sat there holding Samantha against him as she sobbed and trembled. He stroked her red curls and whispered assurances that he would never let anything happen to her—a promise his gut rebelled against making but that his heart believed completely. 

      Finally, Samantha gave one final sniff and raised her head. Zachary reached in his pocket and pulled out his bandana, drying the dampness from her cheeks. He let out a growl and grew colder when she pulled herself from his lap, walked to the waters edge and stared down into the trickling stream with her arms wrapped tight around herself. 

      Zachary knew he needed to speak. He wished he was better with words. Letting out a sigh, he shoved himself to his feet. "Sam...." 

      "Zachary, I'm serious. He will kill you just the same as he killed Charles, my father, and countless others as he's chased after me. No matter how badly I want what's growing between us it won't work." 

      Zachary swallowed hard. She wanted what was growing between them to continue to grow? She felt it too. Damn. 

      He strode forward, took her shoulder gently, and spun her around. Those green eyes, so red and swollen from her tears, were full of questions as she gazed up at him. Zachary couldn't think of anything to say so he didn't say a thing. 

      Instead, he dropped his gaze to her mouth, swooped down, and caught her lips with his. Instantly, Samantha stiffened and Zachary was preparing to tear himself away from her when her body suddenly went soft, liquid, and molded against him. 

      A soft moan left the back of her throat as her fingers clutched at his shirt and she rose on her toes. Zachary drank her in. He breathed in the scent of lavender and tasted the sweetness of her lips. One hand went to the back of her head, burying his fingers in all those thick red curls. The other hand ran down her back and he felt her trembling beneath his touch. 

      Zachary lost himself in the scent of her, the taste of her, her gentle moans, the way her hands clung to him, and her body molded against him. All else disappeared. Zachary was consumed.  Her eager yet submissive response to his kiss and his touch pleased Zachary—not because he wanted Samantha to be obedient but because he wanted her to trust him, to have faith in him, to know that he would take care of her. 

      He let his hand move to her low back and pulled her flush against him. When she felt the proof of his want pressed against her, Samantha let out a gasp and pulled enough to look up into his eyes. Her face was flushed beneath her dusting of freckles, her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips were red from his assault on her mouth, and her green eyes were dark with her desire. 

      Zachary had been a long time without seeing desire on a woman's face, without feeling a woman's desire in the air around him, and he knew that no other woman would ever do again. Samantha. Her name had consumed his thoughts since the first night he had met her—and it always would. 

      "I'm not running scared from you, Samantha."

      "He could kill you..." 

      "Who?" Zachary tucked stray curls behind her ear. "I'll protect you, Sam." 

      She looked so confused. So lost. Hopeful and yet terrified. "I don't want you to protect me, Zachary. You don't understand how evil he is.. how cruel.." 

      Zachary put his hands on her cheeks, cradling her face gently. He held her gaze. "I don't scare easy and I'm not afraid of him. What I feel for you—this pull between us—I'm willing to let it grow if you are. I've spent the last five years living hard, Sam. Living in darkness. You're a light. I won't let him hurt you and he won't be good enough to kill me." 

      He saw her open her mouth to speak. He could see the argument in her eyes. He spoke before she could. "Your days of running are over, Samantha. I'm in your life now and I'm not going anywhere. So tell me who the hell I'm supposed to be so damn afraid of." 

      Her body sagged against him as if a giant weight had suddenly been lifted from her. "Clinton Matthews. His name is Clinton Matthews." 

      Zachary's hands fell to her shoulders. His blood ran cold in his veins. It wasn't until Samantha squirmed a bit that he realized his hands had clenched her tightly. Quickly he removed them and took a step back. 

      He wasn't sure how he found his voice as his body felt frozen and yet red hot with rage all at once. His jaw popped. "What the hell did you just say?"

A/N: I know at least one reader will be happy that there was a KISS! (you know who you are  🤣)  Any guesses on how Zachary knows Clinton Matthew’s name? Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Zachary was pacing back and forth. His hat was clenched in one fist by his side and he kept shoving his other hand through his thick black hair. Samantha couldn’t make out what he was saying but she could hear his deep voice muttering as he strode left and right. Zachary’s face was a tangled mask of rage and pain.

      Samantha simply stood there beside that stream with pain in her heart and the feel of Zachary's kiss still lingering on her lips. Her mind was swirling with the shock and confusion of recent events. Riding along with Zachary, laughing, feel so at peace. Opening up to him, reliving the terrible events that had led to her life on the run. Zachary holding her so tenderly against him, those strong arms making her feel safe, secure, and protected. The hunger in his eyes, the fire in his touch, and the passion in that kiss as he had all but devoured her on the streambank. His assurances that he would keep her safe, that he wanted to stand at her side. Finally saying the name she had kept hidden for two and a half years—and now Zachary's reaction to hearing that name. 

      It was obvious that Zachary knew Clinton Matthews. But how? Had he met him during the five years he'd been chasing his family's killer? Was he friends with Clinton? No. No, she knew that wasn't the answer. Not only was Zachary too good a man to be friends with someone like Clinton Matthews, but his reaction to hearing that name certainly didn't invoke feelings of friendship. 

      So, what was it?

      Samantha had to calm Zachary down if she wanted to find out. The man was as lost in his pacing and his thoughts as she'd seen him the day he'd burnt the farmhouse down. Saying his name once didn't seem to reach the man so instead, Samantha approached him, stood in his path and reached out her hands, placing them firmly on his chest to stop his pacing. 

      Zachary's dark eyes were tormented when they met hers. Samantha swallowed hard, hating to see the man so lost—and yet knowing his expression was matched by her own. "Zachary, what is it? How do you know that name?"

      His free hand was suddenly on her hip, sending shockwaves that ricocheted throughout her body as firmly yet gently gripped her and pulled her closer. "That's the bastard that killed my family." 

      Samantha could not hide her shock. Her jaw dropped as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. "He.. he was?"

      Zachary nodded. He glanced out over the horizon and squinted at the midday sun. "Yeah. My pa came from money—a lot of money. He inherited everything his parents had when they passed young and he had investments in oil and the railroad that made that money grow. He met my mama, and she was a dirt floor poor farm girl from Kansas. She wasn't a bit impressed by all his money when he used it to try to woo her and she refused his advances. Pa claimed she laughed at him and it wasn't until she saw him taking care of her grandmother that she realized the man was more than just his coin purse. Once she opened up, they fell in love quick and knew each other less than a month before they married. 

      "When my mama's grandmother passed away shortly after that, she wanted to go somewhere else with pa and start their life together. He told her she could have whatever she wanted—whatever life she craved. Big cities, mansions, foreign counties, he offered her the world." 

      Zachary paused a moment as the ghost of a smile curved his lips. Samantha wasn't certain why he was telling her these things or what they had to do with Clinton Matthews, but she was happy to see Zachary opening up and discussing his family—she was humbled that he trusted her enough to let his guard down and do so. 

      "What mama wanted, all she asked her wealthy husband for, was a simple farmhouse, some cattle, some horses, some crops, and a garden full of flowers. So that's what pa gave her. And they built that life and that family and worked side by side to do it. They were married for twenty-three years and never had a cross word between them." 

      Samantha laid her hand on his cheek. "People who find that kind of love are blessed, Zachary. Your parents were blessed to have one another." 

      Zachary gaze lowered to meet hers. Those deep brown eyes spoke words that left her speechless just before he lowered his head and pressed the lightest of kisses to her lips—barely more than a brush of skin on skin that left her legs shaking and her heart pounding. 

      "They didn't get a happy ending though, Sam," he reminded her as he pulled away and walked back to that boulder, sitting down on it and staring down at his calloused hands. "I was nineteen when it happened. My sisters were ten. Susan and Sara were good girls—angels really. My parents had a boy between me and the girls but he didn't live more than a few days. My mama took it real rough and I think that's why they waited so long to have the girls. 

Clinton Matthews had asked around and realized my family was wealthy. He tried to befriend my pa to scam him out of money but my pa saw through him especially after my mama told him that Clinton made her feel uncomfortable. He sent the bastard on his way and we thought that was the end of it.“

      Samantha went to the rock and was going to sit beside Zachary but he was quick to grab hold of her and pull her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tight around her. Their bodies so close together caused a strange combination of heat and peace and swirl in Samantha's blood. She didn't pull away or argue that such contact wasn't proper. She didn't care about propriety. Sharing this intimacy with Zachary somehow felt natural, and she knew that while Zachary was physically very strong, he very much needed her to help him with his heartache. 

      So, Samantha laid her head against his chest, looked down at the water bubbling past, and waited for him to speak again. "I had been gone playing poker and drinking and spending time with paid women—just like most nineteen year old boys do if they get a few days away from their parents. When I came home, I knew right away something wasn't right. It was mid-morning and my mama should have been out in her flower gardens. She was always humming or singing while she weeded and pruned them—she took a lot of pride in those things. My pa should have been tending to the horses. The girls should have been running around chasing chickens or playing jump rope. There should have been laughter, talking, humming, singing, happiness.... But there was nothing. Just this heavy, oppressive silence that chilled me to the core. I never imagined it would be anything as bad as it was. I just thought maybe they were ill or someone wasn't feeling well. I put Blaze up in the barn and headed inside." 

      His arms around her tensed. His voice was tight. His brown eyes simply stared at the grass but she knew they weren't seeing the blades swaying in the breeze. They were seeing the past. "I don't need to give you details on what I found. I don't want you having that in your head and you saw enough. Just by seeing the scene, I knew they'd been killed the night before—and if I'd have been there instead of out being foolish I could have saved them..." 

      "Don't do that," Samantha quickly interjected, raising her head. His brow raised as he turned his gaze down to her. "Don't blame yourself, Zachary. You couldn't have known the evil that lived inside that man or what he would do." 

      "But if I had been there..." 

      "You'd be dead." She knew her answer was blunt but she also knew it was the truth. "I saw enough to know he surprised your parents—you would have been just as surprised. And I'm sure he wasn't alone. Do you know how many people Clinton Matthews and his men have killed trying to get me? I carry that guilt, Zachary, because had I just gone with him..." 

      Anger flashed in Zachary's brown eyes and possessiveness deepened his voice. "He won't 

ever touch you, Samantha. And nothing he’s done is your fault.“

      Samantha trembled, some primitive force within her appreciating that this strong, able man was now on her side and she was no longer alone with her fear. She offered a gentle smile and pushed a lock of dark hair from his brow. "It's not yours either." 

      He simply stared hard at her a moment, fighting some unseen, unheard battle within his mind. Finally, he let out a long sigh and laid his forehead against hers as his eyes closed. "Thank you." 

      Silence reigned for several long moments as they remained there. Eyes closed, brows together, breath mingling. A curious bee buzzed around their heads and Zachary waved it away with a grumble. Finally, he raised his head. Samantha rested herself once again against his chest. "Zachary, how did you know know that Clinton Matthews was responsible?"

      Zachary snorted. "The bastard left me a note telling me he'd done it and letting me know he'd done it because my ma and pa had insulted him by refusing his friendship. Him and men that ride with him took my families lives and took more from my mama as well as my sister's innocence, all because that bastard had his pride wounded." 

      Samantha swallowed bile. She had known that Zachary's family had been killed but she hadn't realized that his mother and sisters had been raped as well. What kind of man saw ten year old girls as anything more than innocent children?

      "Did you go to the law?" 

      "I tried. First thing I did was ride into town. That's why the rumors started. I was covered in blood and full of rage as I rode down main street. The lone survivor of the Marston family massacre. I must have killed them myself." 

      "That's absurd. How could anyone that knew you think you'd harm your own family? I haven't known you long but I've known from the start you were good. You're no killer." 

      Zachary's expression became guarded. "I 

have killed, Sam. I have taken a lot of men’s lives. And it wasn’t always fair fights. When you’re chasing men like Clinton Matthews and those that run with him, you can’t afford to fight fair.“

      "You 

are a good man, Zachary. A good man who was forced to do things he shouldn’t have been forced to do. I’m going to guess that the law was no help because they’re afraid of Clinton Matthews?“ When Zachary nodded, Samantha sighed. “I know because I tried to get help as well. No one would help me and I tried Sheriffs, US Marshalls, anyone I could think of but no one cared. The moment I said his name, they let me know they couldn’t help and walked away.”

      "Fucking cowards." 

      Samantha laughed, though it wasn't an overly humorous one. "My thoughts exactly." 

      After several more moments of simply sitting curled together upon that rock, Zachary rose up without a word and sat her on her feet. He stepped to Athena who had been busy munching grass and placed her reins in Samantha's hand. "We'll head back to town. From now on you stay at the hotel. You don't leave for any reason and..." 

      Samantha squared her shoulders. "No." 

      His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean no? I'm trying to keep you safe..." 

      "I won't hide away in fear anymore. I lived my life that way for too long and I can't, I won't, go back there." 

      "Samantha.." 

      "No." She stood her ground. "I already gave Clinton Matthews two and a half years of my life. I won't give him anymore. I have to have a life, Zach. I didn't die when my father did..." Her voice broke. "I have to have a life." 

      Zachary growled, turned his back, stormed away a few steps, and then came back. "Fine.  You can leave the hotel but never alone. Only with Timothy. And I'll be back as soon as it's done." 

      Samantha frowned. "Where are you going? When what's done?"

      Zachary put his hat on his head and adjusted the rifle on his back. "I won't let him hurt you, Sam. I'm going after him and I'll do a better damn job of it this time." 

      Samantha could not believe her ears. Zachary had lost his mind. She shook her head and met his gaze full force. "No. You won't be doing that." 

      Zachary seemed taken aback for a moment. He yanked his hat back off and let his arm drop. "Don't be thinking that because I showed some weakness with you, you can tell me what to do, Samantha. I won't be talked out of this." 

      "Why?" she demanded, throwing up her hands. 

      Zachary seemed equally as frustrated. "Because I won't let him take anything else from me.... Or from you. You should understand that." 

      "If you don't want him to take anything else from us, then don't waste any more time chasing him." 

      "Goddammit, what do you expect me to do, Samantha? Stay here and twiddle my damn thumbs until he shows up to take you?" 

      She let out a tired sigh. "Zachary...." 

      "No." Zachary turned his back. "Let's get back to town." 

      He hefted himself into Blaze's saddle and urged the horse back toward town. Apparently, Zachary Marston had decided he was done with the conversation. Slipping onto Athena's back, Samantha followed after him while letting her thoughts wander. 

      When they arrived back in town, not another word had been spoken between them. Zachary stopped at the hotel and motioned for Samantha to get off Athena. She did. He hitched both horses and headed inside, with Samantha simply following his lead. 

      Standing outside her hotel room door, Zachary finally met her gaze. His brown eyes were haunted. Conflicted. "I'll be back when it's done Samantha. I'll have Timothy move into the room next to yours. Don't be going out alone..." 

      "I told you I'm not doing that, Zachary." Samantha insisted. 

      Zachary growled. "Well why the hell not?" 

      "I've already explained that to you. I have spent two and a half years running and hiding and I am done. I want to have a life—preferably a life with you—and I won't let 

him take that away from me.“

      Zachary's throat worked as he swallowed hard. "For us to have that future, he needs to be dead." 

      "Why?" Samantha crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to hold her sadness and her desperation inside of her. If she let them free, she would once again be sobbing and Samantha did not want that to happen. 

      Zachary's fists clenched. "You know why." 

      Samantha softly kicked the rug at her feet with the toe of her boot as she kept her gaze on the floor. "Zachary, I want a life with you. I think we could have something quite special between us—something like what you described your parents having. But we can't have that if you live your life for vengeance. I won't sit here wondering if you're ever going to come back or if you're going to die. I refuse to do that to myself."

      Samantha didn't dare look up as silence reigned. She didn't want to look at Zachary—if she looked at him, she would lose control of the tears she was carefully holding back. 

      Zachary's voice was tight and thick with emotion when he spoke. "I will do what I have to do to keep you safe, Samantha, whether you're happy about it or not." 

      Samantha nodded. She went to her door and opened it. Stepping into the room, Samantha stared at the cream plastered wall. "Then I guess you have a choice to make, Zachary. You can either stay here with me, take care of what's growing between us, and build a life together." That sounded so good—why would he possibly choose anything else? "Or you can spend your time chasing devils and let Clinton Matthews steal your life from you like he has so many others—and he won't even have to kill you to do it." 

      Zachary was silent. He did not say a word for a long while. Samantha wanted to scream. Why was this a hard decision? Hadn't Clinton Matthews stolen quite enough away from them? "I'll do what I have to do," he repeated, his cold voice causing Samantha to wince.

      She heard the door close and when she turned around, Zachary was gone. Samantha went to the bed and curled up upon it, bringing her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She stared at the sunlight shining in the window and the dust motes dancing around in the rays. 

      Samantha was so tired. For a day that had started off so promising with its laughter, tender touches, and passionate kiss, it sure had went to hell in a hurry. Clinton Matthews had stolen her father, her home, her sense of safety, and two and a half years of her life thanks to his obsession with her. And now, she was losing Zachary—because of 

his obsession with Clinton Matthews.

A/N: 

 

Poor Sam. Poor Zach. I’m a monster. Truly. Where do we go from here? Zachary out chasing devils and Samantha trying desperately to continue to build a life without him there? We shall see how things unfold.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Samantha woke the next morning with an aching heart but a determined spirit. Zachary had not come back. Timothy had brought her something to eat yesterday afternoon and informed her Zachary had ordered him to ‘guard her with his life’ and then simply hopped on Blazes’ back and ridden away.

Timothy seemed to want an explanation since Zachary had failed to provide one, but Samantha had simply taken her tray of food and closed the door on him. She hadn’t been strong enough to admit to Timothy that Zachary had chosen to continue his quest for vengeance instead of continuing his life with her.

Samantha stepped to the window and gazed down at the quiet morning street below her. Through the swirling fog that hung low in the air waiting until the sun became strong enough to burn it away, she could see people beginning to mill around and begin their days.

Sliding into her brown wool skirt and cream cotton blouse, Samantha readied herself to begin her day as well. Today was Monday. It meant she started work at Doctor Reynolds office, cleaning and organizing. Her mind went to Zachary. Where was he? Was he okay?

She knew he felt strongly that he had to kill Clinton Matthews but Samantha felt just as strongly that he didn’t. It had been six months since she had seen the man—always before he had caught up to her within a week, two or three at the most, and sent her running again from wherever she’d taken shelter. If he were still looking for her, Clinton would have found her by now. Samantha was not naïve enough to believe that he was no longer a threat altogether. She knew that if he somehow ended up here and saw her, that could once again spark his obsession, but couldn’t they simply deal with that when, or if, it happened?

Was there any real reason to go running across the country chasing a man who killed for sport? For joy? Who would not hesitate to kill Zachary? Zachary had already given Clinton Matthews five years of his life. He had chased him and seen and done horrible things—while Samantha didn’t know the details, she didn’t need to in order to know they were ugly. She wondered if Zachary had truly left yesterday to chase Clinton because he worried for Samantha’s safety, or if he had simply used her safety as an excuse to justify returning to the chase?

There was no point worrying about that now. Samantha was going to build a life for herself here in Hackney. She had hoped Zachary would be a part of that but he had chosen a different path. She wasn’t angry about the choice he had made, but she was sad.

After pulling her hair away from her face and securing it with pins, Samantha slipped into her boots and opened the door to the room. A large body was there and moving into her space the moment the door opened. Samantha let out a yell and swung, determined to defend herself from whoever was attacking her.

It wasn’t until her fist connected solidly with a jaw that she realized the owner of that jaw was Timothy. He let out a loud grunt before chuckling as he rubbed at his abused mouth. “Dang, now I know how poor Judith Channing felt yesterday.”

Samantha felt blood rush to her face as even her ears heated. She was certainly the talk of Hackney because of her interaction with Judith yesterday. “Why were you hiding outside my door that way? You scared the life out of me!” she exclaimed, holding her hand over her racing heart.

      The only descriptor for those green eyes was mischievous as he smiled down at her. "Guarding you with my life—I just wish Zach would have left someone to guard me. You're mean." 

      At the mention of Zachary's name, Samantha stiffened. "I don't need a bodyguard. You can go find something else to do." 

      "Nope." Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Zach's never asked me for much of anything, so I reckon I'm obligated to do this."     

      Samantha simply rolled her eyes and slipped past him, leaving the room and heading down the staircase. She took a moment to glance up and down main street as she stepped on the boardwalk. A rooster crowed in the distance causing a dog to bark. She heard the laughter of children and the call of the town baker urging people to come buy his products fresh from the oven. 

      Timothy came to stand beside her. "Gonna be a pretty day." 

      "I'm going to the diner for breakfast. Since you're going to follow me anyway, I suppose I'll invite you to come along." 

      "That's real nice." Timothy grinned. "I could use a bite to eat." 

      Making their way down the boardwalk toward the diner, Timothy sighed. "I wish you'd tell me where Zachary went and why he left. Last time he took off without a word he was gone for five years and I thought the damn man was dead."

      Sympathy broke through Samantha's annoyance. She stopped and motioned for Timothy to follow her. She stepped into the alleyway between the saloon and the diner to award them a bit of privacy. "Yesterday, Zachary and I realized that the man who murdered his family is the same man who murdered my father and chased me for two years before I ended up here in Hackney six months ago." 

      Timothy's eyes widened. "Shit." He nodded as he looked back toward the street. "And I guess Zachary took it upon himself to go gunning after him once again." 

      Samantha wrapped her arms around herself. "I tried to talk him out of it. I tried to convince him to stay here with me...." 

      Timothy sighed. He put his finger under Samantha's chin and forced her gaze to meet his. "Zachary is stubborn, Samantha. Stubborn, closed off, and set in his ways. He's over-protective, but you know as well as I do, he has his reasons. He'll come back." Timothy shrugged. "He loves you."

      Samantha felt color rise in her face as she bit her lip. "I don't...." 

      "I suppose this should be expected from a woman like you!" 

      Judith Channing's shrill voice had Samantha leaping away from Timothy and spinning to face the street. Judith was standing there with her thin arms crossed over her chest and her small foot tapping on the rough-hewn boards of the boardwalk. 

      "You again?!" Samantha demanded with annoyance. "Do you enjoy getting punched?"

      "Why, you going to punch her?" 

      Fear lodged in Samantha's gut at that familiar voice. She turned and saw Thomas Williamson coming up behind them. Samantha was afraid of Thomas. He was big, he was strong, and the man did not like her—pure hatred radiated from him as his hard gaze studied her. 

      Timothy was quick to put Samantha behind him, shielding her from Thomas' view. "I reckon Zachary made it pretty damn clear to you that you aren't to speak to Samantha," he warned. 

      Thomas appeared unfazed. "According to the most recent rumor, Zachary left town yesterday and I reckon it seemed like he'd be gone a while. And if Samantha doesn't want to be treated like a whore then she should stop taking private rides with men and meeting men in allies. Or at least come back in here and get her job back so she can make both of us a little profit while she spreads her legs." 

      Samantha gasped. Timothy tensed. "You'll apologize to the lady now." 

      Thomas laughed. "I don't blame you for snatching her up, Timothy. You like whores pretty damn well, I've seen you in the saloon. And she is a damn pretty one." 

      Timothy surged forward, clearly about to begin throwing punches. Samantha just wanted to get away. She grabbed his arm and gave him a hard tug, dragging him toward the main street. Judith Channing was quick to leap out of the way and let them pass. 

      "I need to kick his ass, Samantha," Timothy warned, as she led him toward the diner. "Zachary would want me to kick his ass." 

      "Zachary isn't here," Samantha reminded him, her heart hurting and her nerves on edge. Why did evil men seem to 

want to torment her? Clinton Matthews. Thomas Williamson. Would there be more? Was that just the way her life was now? And Judith Channing?

      "Samantha?" Speaking of annoying birds. 

      "Judith, you'll leave me alone. I've had it with being bothered by you." Samantha warned, whirling around to face her. 

      "I have no intention of being a bother, and you'd do well to keep your hands to yourself. Marshall Oxley has made it clear that he will arrest you the next time you assault me." 

      "Because Zachary isn't here to kick his ass into next Tuesday," Timothy mumbled. 

      "You're right. Zachary isn't here." Judith raised a brow at Samantha. "I tried to warn you away from that man. Instead of listening, you slipped off alone with him, gave him what he wanted, and then he left you here alone once again. Less than a day later, you've moved on to a new man—and Zachary's friend no less!" 

      Samantha sighed and rubbed at her tired face. "Can you please leave me alone, Judith?" 

      Judith sneered. "Of course. I've realized you are a lost cause, Samantha. I give up. Even the Lord cannot help you."

      Samantha glanced at Timothy, saw him preparing to speak, and nudged him in the elbow with her gut to silence him. Judith simply sneered, spun on her heel, and strode away. "I've never been so happy to be given up on," Samantha grumbled. 

      "You should have punched her. I didn't get to see you do it yesterday." 

      Samantha glanced down at her knuckles, which thankfully showed no evidence of yesterday's encounter. She said nothing and simply stood there feeling defeated and alone even though Timothy was standing with her. 

      "Samantha?" he asked gently. "You want to go get breakfast now?"

      Her stomach turned a bit. "I've lost my appetite, Tim. You go ahead. I'll just go to the docs and get started on my work a little early." 

      Timothy frowned, grabbed her arm gently and led her to a bench. He pushed her to sit down before taking a seat beside her. "What's wrong? You might as well tell me." 

      "Nothing is wrong." 

      "Don't try that with me," Timothy scolded with a smile and a nudge of his shoulder. "I don't fall for the tough guy act. I've seen Zach do it too many times to hide his feelings. Talk to me, Samantha." 

      She leaned back against the bench, folded her hands in her lap, and watched as the town came more alive as the morning grew later. She could open up to Timothy and trust him. He was Zachary's friend—maybe even her friend if she allowed him to be. Samantha was tired of being alone. "I ran for two years after that man killed my father and vowed he'd have me for himself. He caught up to me a few times but I always managed to get away before he could get his hands on me. Then I ended up here." She motioned around them. "The only people who seemed eager to help me were the Morgan's so I took a job in their saloon cleaning and helping with inventory and they gave me a room in their apartment. For nearly six months I was with them and I began to feel just a little safer with every passing day. I'd never been able to stay in one place so long before with Clinton finding me. Then the Morgans left and Thomas Williamson came into my life. Zachary saved me from him and got me away from that saloon.  I found a job and a place at the hotel and I was truly starting to believe I may have a future and a home here in Hackney." 

      Timothy crossed his arms on his legs as he leaned forward. "And now?"

      Samantha shrugged one shoulder. "Now I'm not so sure." 

      "Why? Because of Judith Channing?"

      "Not only her... Though, she seems to have her venom aimed at me, Tim, and she's respected in this town...." 

      Timothy's laughter cut her off. She glared at him as he attempted to sober himself. "No Samantha.... No, she's not respected. Everyone talks about how horrible she is. She's an angry, mean, two-faced, gossip and the entire town knows it. But there's only one church and one preacher in Hackney so she gets away with it." 

      Samantha felt a smile tug at her lips. "Well, she shouldn't. And it's not just her. What about Thomas?" 

      Timothy's green eyes narrowed a bit. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?"

      Samantha adjusted her shirt sleeve. "Of course I am. He's proven that he's not afraid to use his fists on me. I'm not foolish enough to think I can handle him alone." 

      "But you're not alone. You have the doc, you have them women from the saloon that seem pretty fond of you, you have Gavin, you have me, you have Zachary...." 

      "Zachary's gone. He left me here to fend for myself while he goes chasing devils across the country." Samantha winced. That sounded much more bitter and childish than she had intended it to. But she couldn't control her own emotions and that was how she felt. She felt as if the man had promised to help her—finally made her feel safe enough to lean on someone else and then he had simply walked away. 

      "That's not fair, Sam," Timothy scolded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. "Zachary has every right to chase that man. A man has a right to protect his woman. It's instinct. Nature. You can't argue with it."

“I know,” Samantha admitted, staring down at her hands.

“And he didn’t just leave you alone,” Timothy continued. “You have all those people I already mentioned. Plus, he made it clear to me that I’m supposed to look after you and make sure no one hurts you. And he left me with plenty of money to make sure if you needed anything, or if anything came up, you’d be taken care of.”

      Samantha rolled her eyes. "I don't want his money...." 

      Timothy laughed. "Well why not? He's got plenty of it. One thing my drunk of a step-dad taught me was to never turn your nose up at free money."         

      Samantha glared at him and he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "You had a bad afternoon yesterday and a bad morning today but don't let that stop you from being happy here in Hackney. Keep making friends, keep living your life, keep making your place here, and soon, Zach will be back and you can get married, have a home, make some babies with your red hair and his temper... Life will be perfect." 

      Samantha cursed under her breath as her cheeks flamed. "You're an idiot," she scolded, rising to her feet and smoothing out her skirt. 

      "Are you saying you don't want that future?" Timothy asked, the teasing in his tone would have been obvious to even a deaf man. 

      Samantha's heart practically sang at the thought of that future. A happy home, children, a loving husband—Zachary. She was not able to completely stop herself from sighing. Timothy just laughed. "You go on to work then, Sam, if you're sure you don't want breakfast. I'll hang around town and come pick you up around lunchtime to eat." 

      "I truly don't need a body guard," Samantha assured him.

      Timothy simply grinned as he winked. "I'll guard your body just the same." 

A/N: Timothy and Samantha bonding! I’m thinking we might have some best friends in the making. Poor Zachary will never win any battle once the two of them are teamed up against him HA!  Judith has finally given up her crusade. Thomas Williamson is begging to be beaten again. Now, where is Zachary. Let’s check in on him next chapter, shall we?

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Zachary stood in the early morning sunlight with mist and fog still swirling all around and stared at the graves surrounding him. He hadn’t seen these graves since he had laid the bodies to rest in them five years before. Those four wooden crosses with names and dates painstakingly etched into the grain were all that remained of the family Zachary had once had. The family Clinton Matthews had stolen. Now, Zachary had a chance at a new family—one with Samantha. If Clinton didn’t steal her away from him too.

      Zachary squatted down and removed some thick weeds from one of the crosses. 

Evelyn Marston B. Sept 1835 D. June 1878. A tear slid down Zachary’s rough cheek and he swiped at it quickly. He wished he could hear his mama’s voice. She had always given the best advice. And she hadn’t kissed a persons’ ass as she’d done so. She would tell you exactly what you needed to hear in exactly the way you needed to hear it. Zachary wished he’d appreciated that more when she’d been alive—but as a young boy wanting desperately to prove he was a man, he hadn’t always wanted to listen to his mother.

      Zachary shouldn't be here. He should be gone hunting for Clinton Matthews. That had been his plan when he had ridden out of town just yesterday. But instead of leaving, he had simply wandered in circles never going too far from town, before finally ending up here a few hours before dawn. 

      Zachary's heart simply wasn't interesting in riding away—it didn't want the chase. Zachary had chased Clinton for five long years. He'd killed dozens of men, ridden up on hundreds of scenes of Clinton's handiwork, slept on rocks and known gut-wrenching hunger and tongue swelling thirst as he'd wandered the plains. Zachary didn't want to do that again. What if it took another five years? And what if he still did not manage to catch Clinton?

      Did he want to do that? No. No, he didn't. Zachary wanted only one thing and that was a life with that fiery red-head back in town who was no doubt very angry at him. Damn her. Angry at him for trying to keep her safe. 

      Zachary sighed and shoved himself to standing. He wasn't angry at her. He understood her view and he had spent the entire afternoon yesterday and all night last night thinking on it. Leaving Samantha while he went chasing after Clinton and removed the man from the face of the earth seemed the obvious route, but it wouldn't guarantee her safety. What if Clinton showed up while he was gone and harmed her? Zachary knew that Timothy would protect Samantha with his life—Zachary could lose the woman he loved and his best friend since boyhood. 

      No. No, he wasn't going to be leaving them and 

chasing devils as Samantha called it. Zachary was going to stay right here. He was going to build that life with Samantha. He was going to let himself continue to experience the happiness and the light that she brought into his life. He was going to give Samantha everything she ever wanted because she had known far too much pain in her life and Zachary was not going to be responsible for causing that woman anymore.

      Letting out a sigh, he spared one last glance at those graves. They were so plain and lacked any color. Knowing his mother and her love of Botany, she wouldn't like that. Maybe Sam would help him plant some flowers that could make it more beautiful? 

      Pulling his hat down low, Zachary went to Blaze at the edge of the hill, hopped on the geldings' back and pointed his nose toward town. If he was going to give Samantha that future, he was going to need to give that woman a place to live. It was time to go buy a new farmhouse. 

---

      Zachary put Blaze up at the livery and stepped back out in the mid-morning sun. It was Monday morning which meant Samantha would be working at Doctor Reynolds' office. Pointing his boots in that direction, Zachary was stopped halfway there by the sound of Timothy calling his name. 

      He turned and saw his oldest friend jogging across the street—clearly, he'd been at the diner. "You're supposed to be watching Samantha," Zachary growled, folding his arms over his chest. 

      Timothy simply shrugged as he came to a stop beside him. "She's with the doc. I figure that old grump will keep her safer than I ever could." 

      Zachary simply grunted and did not respond. He fought the urge to punch his friend as the man's smile simply grew broader on his face. He could practically hear the gears in Timothy's brain moving as the man thought of something clever to say.

“So….” Timothy rocked back on his heels. “What brings you back to town.”

      "I never actually left." 

      "Why not? Samantha said you had important things to take care of."

      "Priorities changed." 

      Timothy clicked his tongue. "I'm gonna have to give Sam an I told you so."

      Zachary frowned. "Sounds mature. Why?"

      "Because she didn't seem to believe me when I said you loved her and would come back in a hurry." 

      Zachary glared. "What?"

      Timothy's eyes widened with feigned innocence. "Oh... you 

don’t love her?“

      Clenching his fists, Zachary glanced up the street toward the docs house. "Whether I do or I don't ain't no business of yours and it's not your place to tell her." 

      Zachary damn near yelled out his shock when Timothy reached out and shoved him hard. "Well, it 

is her business, you damned idiot. What were you thinking just riding off and leaving her here without making sure she knew how you felt?“

      "You'll keep your hands off me, Tim," Zachary warned which only made the other man roll his eyes. Zachary shifted his feet and cleared his throat. "I'll take care of things." 

      "She's not a thing, Zach, she's a woman—a lady. And a damn good one. Don't get so lost in this," Timothy poked Zachary fairly hard on the temple. "That you mess this up and lose her." 

      Zachary swatted his hand away and rubbed at his abused head. "Are you done?"

      Folding his arms over his chest, Timothy shrugged. "I reckon."

      With a roll of his eyes, Zachary turned and strode away from his loud-mouthed friend. Tim meant well but that didn't mean Zachary appreciated his input. 

      As Zachary stepped up on the boardwalk at the docs, he froze in his tracks when he heard a conversation taking place inside. "Allow me to take you to lunch, Samantha." 

      "Lewis, I'm flattered truly..." 

      Zachary dropped his hand to his gun, closing his palm around the handle as he listened to a man he didn't know ask his woman to lunch. 

      "As a friend," Lewis insisted. "I'll be leaving town soon and well.. I just wanted to spend some time with you."         

      Zachary released his gun, reminded himself he couldn't use violence to solve all his problems, and stepped into the doctor's shop. Medicine bottles lined the shelves behind the counter. Different candies and herbs good for common ailments were for sale in glass jars on the counter. 

And standing in front of the back window, holding a broom and looking like a damn angel surrounded by sunshine and dust was Samantha. “The woman already has plans for lunch.”

      Those big green eyes were wide when they fell on him and her grip on the broom tightened. "Zachary?" 

      Zachary glanced toward the register and saw the red-haired boy standing there appearing disappointed. He wasn't sure who the damn boy was, but he did know that he was barking up the wrong tree. Zachary wasn't about to lose Samantha to a freckle-faced kid. 

      "Zachary, what are you doing here?" Samantha asked. 

      Zachary showed his back to Samantha's would-be suitor and let his gaze fall on the woman once again—and just like she always managed to, she stole his breath. "Let's go talk." 

      A frown tugged at her lips. "Zachary, I'm working." 

      "You don't need to work two or three or however many jobs it is you've gotten for yourself," Zachary countered. He motioned toward the door. "Come on now, I wanna talk with you." 

      "Sir, I don't think the lady is in the mood to speak with you," the boy behind the counter warned. "Perhaps you should be on your way now." 

      Zachary glanced in his direction. Was the kid attempting to protect Samantha? From him? Zachary opened his mouth to speak but Samantha beat him to it. "Lewis, could Zachary and I have a few moments alone, please?"

      Lewis frowned and looked Zachary up and down. "Are you sure? What if he has bad intentions?"

      Zachary nearly laughed. This kid 

was attempting to protect Samantha so Zachary couldn’t be entirely angry with him. And if Lewis was willing to protect her against a man as dangerous as himself than that meant the boy was brave.

      He saw Samantha open her mouth to speak again so he held up his hand to silence her. "Lewis, I appreciate you looking after Samantha. I promise I don't mean her any harm." 

      Lewis seemed unsure as he stepped around the counter. "Alright then. I'll step outside for a while but, Samantha, if you need me you just holler okay?" 

      Samantha tipped her head. "Thank you, Lewis." 

      Once the two of them were alone, Zachary could not fully suppress a smile. "New suitor?"

      Samantha didn't seem amused by the question. Instead, seemed confused as she clutched the broom and studied him. "What are you doing here, Zachary?"

      "You know why I'm here, Sam." 

      "No." She shook her head. "I don't know why you're here. Yesterday you seemed very determined to leave and you made it very clear you wouldn't be back until 

he was dealt with. So, why are you here now?“

      Zachary sighed, hating the distance between them in the dusty store front. He wanted Samantha in his arms. He wanted the peace that her nearness provided him. "I changed my mind." 

      Still, she simply stood there, her knuckles white as she clutched that broom. "Why?"

      "I rode out of here yesterday with every intention of hunting that bastard to the ends of the earth, but I didn't make it far out of town before I just started going in circles with my damn wandering and warring with itself. You're right, Sam. That bastard has stolen enough from us. Not only the people we lost but the time. Five years of my life. Two and a half of yours. It's enough. I want to stay right here with you and build that life you talked about."

      "And if he shows up here while we're building that life?"

      Zachary shrugged. His hands itching to hold her. Why was she simply standing there clinging to that broom like a weapon? "Then I'll kill him." He met her gaze and held it. "I won't let him take anything else from me. From you. From us. I'll promise you that here and now."  

      Silence followed his vow. Zachary pulled off his hat and clutched it tight. He wished she would speak, move, blink, something.... Finally, that careful mask she'd been keeping over her features fell away. A smile curved her soft lip, placing those crinkled lines around her nose and lighting up that dusty store like the sun itself. Samantha tossed the broom aside, closed the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around him tight.

      Zachary was quick to put his arms around her as well and pull her body close. He loved the feel of her body against him. Her head on his heart. Her red curls teasing his nose as he pressed his face against them. "I missed you, Sam." 

      "You weren't even gone a full day," she reminded him, her tone teasing as she made no move to pull away or leave his arms. 

      Zachary simply smiled into her lavender scented hair. It had been one day too long and he didn't intend to ever be away from her that long again. Zachary slowly pulled away and placed his hat back on his head. "Come on now. Let's go," he urged, motioning toward the door. 

      Samantha smoothed out that cream blouse which of course drew Zachary's attention to her full chest and tiny waist. He felt his hands begin to itch yet again, aching for the chance to truly feel that soft body against his. He longed to know what that soft, smooth skin would feel like as he traced it with his fingertips. Would she taste as sweet as he imagined she would as he licked lazily at her most intimate spaces?

      "Did you hear me?" Her voice drew Zachary from his carnal thoughts and he cleared his throat roughly while adjusting his gun belt. 

      "No, sorry. What did you say?"

      "I said, I can't leave. I'm working." 

      This again? Zachary shook his head. "And I said you don't have to work so much. Now, come on." 

      "I won't be bossed around." 

      Zachary's gaze narrowed. Damn the woman. She was a walking contradiction of light innocence and stubborn temper. "I have plenty of money to tend to you, Samantha. Now come on. There's something I want to take care of and I need your help to do it." 

      "It will have to wait." 

      "No, it wont." Zachary stood his ground. "You took a job for me. You're supposed to help me get the farmhouse fixed up, remember?"

      Samantha frowned. "You burnt the farmhouse to the ground, Zachary. I can't do much to fix up a pile of ash." 

      Zachary felt his lips twitch. He motioned toward the door again. "Come on." 

      "Let me at least tell Doctor Reynolds I'll be back in a while..." 

      "No need," Doctor Reynolds stepped in through the back door that led to several patient rooms. "You're fired, Samantha. Your employment here simply won't be necessary."  

Samantha gasped. “But I….”

      The doctor held up his hand to silence her. He then pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. "You need to go with the man. I gave you the job here because I knew you were desperate. You're no longer desperate and I daresay you'll enjoy spending your time with Zachary doing whatever it is he has in mind more than you would here arranging medicine bottles, sweeping dusty floors, and dodging my nephews' infatuation." 

      Zachary crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't see how Samantha could possibly argue that. And she didn't. With a sigh of annoyance, she headed for the door. "Well, thank you Doctor Reynolds. I suppose you just helped Zachary get his way." 

      Zachary tipped his hat to the doc and followed Samantha out into the sunlit late morning air. "Are you always going to simply grunt, give out orders, and expect to get your way?" she asked him as they stood side by side. 

      He shrugged. "Only when I know I'm right." He smiled when he felt her annoyed gaze land on him. "Now come on," Zachary urged. "I really do need your help with something."

A/N: Doctor Reynolds still ships it. I wonder what exactly Zachary wants Samantha’s help with… and did I mention he’s not really good with communication?  HA! Also, I apologize if you find typos toward the end of the chapter. I did my best to edit but I currently have  my seven pound toy poodle curled up on my arms while I desperately attempt to reach /my laptop keyboard and she licks my hands because apparently she wants to be helpful? 

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

      As badly as Samantha wanted to be truly annoyed or angry over Zachary's bossiness at the docs', she couldn't manage it. She was filled with far too much happiness. Zachary was back. He wasn't going to be running around the country chasing a cold-blooded killer, and he had made it clear he wanted a future and a life with Samantha. 

      How could she possibly be mad at that turn of events?

      And so, with a smile she couldn't seem to erase, Samantha followed along behind him down the street lost in her thought. She was pulled from those thoughts when Zachary suddenly stopped walking and glanced back at her. 

      "What's wrong?" she asked, glancing back as well, wondering if something was going on behind them. 

      Zachary held out his hand. "Why are you back there? Come walk with me." 

      That smile simply grew bigger upon her face as a blush rose on her cheeks. Samantha wasn't certain why she suddenly felt a bit shy with Zachary. She slid her palm into his and those calloused fingers circled her softer hand gently, their fingers entwining. 

      Never had Samantha felt more proud than she felt walking down the street hand in hand with Zachary Marston. She didn't care about the glances, the whispers, the gossip and rumors that swirled.

      Samantha realized they were heading toward the lumberyard. She frowned. "What are we doing?"

      "Like you said, you can't fix up a pile of ash."  

      "So, we're ordering lumber for a house?" That wasn't quite what she'd been hoping for when Zachary had pulled her out of the docs house. What had she been hoping for? Samantha glanced up at Zachary's face and trembled as she remembered how those firm lips had felt against her own and the way his passionate kiss had dominated her so completely. Samantha had always been a headstrong girl which had led to her being a headstrong woman but something about Zachary had her wanting to give all control over to him—in one area at least. 

      Zachary sighed. "Just come on." 

      Samantha found herself led through the gate of the lumber yard and Zachary approached a pot-belled man with wire rimmed spectacles, a blue velvet coat with tails and a black top hat. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of his appearance. 

      "Can I help you, sir and ma'am?" the man greeted jovially, his eyes falling momentarily to Zachary and Samantha's joined hands. Samantha gave a small tug in an attempt to pull her hand away, fully aware that this public display was inappropriate. Zachary, however, gave her hand a firm but gentle squeeze and held fast. 

      He cleared his throat. "I need to see about buying a house." 

      The man's face brightened as he smiled and held out his hands. "Of course. Of course. I have a catalogue of available homes right over here. We have some in stock and some that will need to be ordered but we can get you any home you want out of the book." 

      The man was still talking as he turned and led them toward a tent at the corner of the lumberyard. "Order a house from a book?" Samantha whispered to Zachary. "I've never heard of such a thing." 

      Zachary grunted. "You can order just about anything nowadays I reckon." 

      Stepping through the open tent flaps, Samantha realized the man had taken a seat at a desk. He pointed to the two chairs on the other side. "Please sir and ma'am, have a seat." 

      Samantha gave one more gentle tug of her hand and Zachary was mumbling under his breath as he released his hold on her. She sat down awkwardly in one of the offered seats and waited for Zachary to sit down beside her. He didn't. Instead, he went to the side wall of the tent and stood against it. Samantha frowned up at him. Zachary shrugged. "I don't put my back to doors." 

      Samantha winced. Of course, he didn't. With his gentle attentiveness toward her and his quiet strength, it was often easy to forget that Zachary's life had been hard the last few years. Easy to forget that he was always just a little on edge and waiting for something to happen. 

      The man in a top hat and tails seemed a bit confused by Zachary's behavior a moment, but being a true salesman, he plastered that friendly smile right back on his face. "I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Joseph Anders. I tend to travel around a bit and haven't been in Hackney long. Who might you fine folks be?"

      "Zachary Marston. And this is Samantha." 

      "Nice to make your acquaintance," Joseph tugged at the lapels of his coat after Zachary's short reply and Samantha nearly laughed. Zachary was extra 

bristly today—except with her of course. She could still hear his deep quiet voice as he had held her so tightly in the doc’s office, ‘I missed you, Sam.’

“Here is our catalogue, sir, if you’d like to come take a look. We can get you any home you take a liking to.” Joseph laid a big blue catalogue on the table. “Did you have anything particular in mind, sir?”

      Zachary tipped his head. "The lady is sitting right there. You can show her the catalogue." 

      Samantha frowned. "You want me to pick your house?" 

      Zachary's throat worked as he swallowed hard. He spared a quick glance at Joseph before returning his gaze to her. Samantha knew he didn't feel comfortable being 

soft with an audience. She simply sat there and waited for him to speak. “I want you to pick….” His jaw tightened a bit before he continued. “ Our house?“

      Samantha could have sworn her heart skidded to a stop in her chest as she simply stared up at the man. 

Their house? She pushed herself to her feet—and her slightly shaky legs carried her to Zachary. “Our house?”

      He pulled his hat off his head and thick black hair fell over his brow as he gave a little nod. "Yeah. Sit down there and pick out the one you like." When Samantha remained silent, Zachary grumbled under his breath. His dark brown eyes searched hers. "A life together, right? That's what we wanted? We'll need a house for that." 

      Samantha felt tears gathering behind her eyes and she fought desperately to blink them back as she chewed her lip. "If that's your attempt at a proposal, Zachary Marston, I'll be expecting more." 

      Color rose on his stubbled face. That slow lazy smile curved his lips, placing those dimples in his cheeks. "Yes ma'am." He dipped his head low and caught her lips in a gentle kiss. Samantha's legs went unsteady beneath her and she reached out to grip his shirt in her hands. The kiss became a little less gentle—a little more needy. 

      The clearing of a throat had the pair flying apart. Samantha adjusted her blouse and smoothed out her hair as she quickly went back to her seat and sat down upon it, unable to meet Joseph's gaze. "Sorry about that..." she mumbled, staring down at her hands. 

      "I'm not," Zachary chimed in. "Now show the woman the houses so she can get to picking one." 

      "Zachary, are you sure you don't want to look at them?"

      "Pick your damn house, Sam." 

      Samantha grew frustrated. "Don't you even have an opinion on what house you'd like to have?" 

      Zachary came to her chair and crouched down so she could look into his dark eyes. Eyes that she seemed to lose herself in far too easily. He reached out and slid a stray lock of red curls behind her ear. "No, I don't. I'm not a man who needs much, Samantha. Give me my horse, my guns, some food, some water and I'm fine. Creature comforts are lost on me."

      "And those four things are all you need, huh?" she asked, hoping for a teasing tone but fearing she was far too breathless. 

      Another of those slow lazy smiles followed her question. "You already know the answer to that." Those calloused fingers danced gently over her cheeks before Zachary shoved himself to his feet and placed his hat back on his head. He turned his attention to Joseph Anders, whom Samantha had all but forgotten existed. "Show her the damn catalogue." 

      Samantha focused on the other man as he gave her a knowing smile and laid the book in front of her. "There's quite a few different models to choose from. Is there a certain price point we should be staying under?" he asked. 

      A quick glace at Zachary had him shaking his head. "Nope."    

      Joseph Ander's eyes widened. "Are you certain? There's quite a large difference in the price of some of them..." 

      "Anything she wants. Price doesn't matter." 

      Any other man saying such a thing would have annoyed Samantha. But she knew Zachary and she knew that he wasn't simply throwing those words and his money around in an attempt to impress her. He was far too honest a man to play games such as those. 

      Joseph Anders eyes nearly bulged from his head behind those spectacles he wore. "Don't you even want to know the prices?" 

      Zachary shook his head and shifted his feet. She could tell by the way he rolled his shoulders that he was growing restless. "Nope." 

      "Most men don't let their ladies make such costly purchases without at least some input. Women don't always make sound financial decisions..." 

      Zachary's gaze narrowed and Samantha hid her smile behind her hand. "If you don't want to sell the goddamn woman a house then we can just leave..." 

      "No!" Joseph stood quickly and held his hands out. "I'm terribly sorry for offending you sir, and you ma'am. I most certainly did not mean to." 

      "It's quite alright," Samantha assured him motioning for him to retake his seat. "I'm afraid Mr. Marston can be a bit hot-headed at times." 

      "Hot-headed?" Zachary muttered. He stepped forward once again. "You got a blank bill of sales handy? I'll just sign my name to it and you can fill out the rest once Samantha makes a decision."

      As Joseph Anders quickly opened a desk drawer to produce the requested document, Samantha glanced up at Zachary. "Where are you going?"

      "I'll just wait outside in the air," he assured her. She knew better than to argue with him. Zachary Marston was going to do whatever it was that Zachary Marston wanted to do. 

      Samantha watched him quickly scratch his name down on the document Joseph had indicated. Then after pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, Zachary turned and was gone, leaving her alone in the tent with a very eager looking Joseph Anders. "Time to get to business, ma'am. Since the gentleman said price is no option, why don't we begin with our nicer models...." 

---

      Samantha stepped out of the lumberyard gate after a good hour of having her ear talked off by Joseph Anders. She had expected to see Zachary standing outside the tent when she'd left but he hadn't been there. Leaving the lumberyard, Samantha looked up and down the road. Where was that damned man?

      "Looking for someone?"

Samantha nearly screamed before turning around and seeing Zachary standing just outside the lumberyard. He was lounging against the tall wooden fence with his arms crossed over his chest and a cigarette dangling from his lip. “You nearly got yourself punched,” she warned, laying her hand over her pounding heart.

      Zachary tossed the cigarette down and put it out with his boot. Shoving himself away from the fence, he pushed his hat back a bit. "Did you get the house you wanted?"

      Samantha sighed. "I suppose. He said they had it in stock and the men would deliver it to your ranch tomorrow afternoon. It would have been nice to pick it out together." 

      Zachary frowned. She hadn't meant to let him see the sadness in her eyes but it was clear that he had. The man was far too observant.  He took her wrist gently and pulled her body close. "I just wanted to let you have what you wanted. I didn't think you'd need me there..." 

      She rolled her eyes, though it felt far too good to be held close to him this way to offer any resistance or attempt to pull away. "I didn't 

need you there. But I would have liked to have you there.“

      His gaze softened as his hands went to rest on her hips. "I'm sorry, Sam." The sincerity in his words had her swallowing hard. "I didn't realize... We can go back in. You can show me what you picked out."

      Samantha shivered. "No." 

      "What's wrong?" Zachary's grip on her tightened. "Did he do something to you?"

      "Other than talk my ear off for an hour as he attempted to sell me nearly everything he had in that catalogue? Did you know he sells more than just houses? He has everything you need to furnish them too. Rugs, tables, chairs, sofas, beds, even candlesticks. He also sells pre-made barns. Wagons. Carts. Buggies. Everything a person might ever need." 

      A quiet chuckle rumbled from Zachary's chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. "I'm sorry. You can punch me if you'd like. I deserve it." 

      Samantha swallowed hard, heat swirling low within her as her body stood flush against his. "I don't want to punch you," she promised. "But if you ever leave me alone with a salesman again after you've let him know that money is no option and the lady is to have whatever she wants, I'll be shooting you in the kneecap." 

      Zachary winced. "Fair enough." 

      Samantha sighed and simply stood in his arms, enjoying the closeness. Her rumbling stomach had him pulling away. "Come on. Let's go tend to your stomach." 

      He took her hand in his once again and began to lead her down the road. "This surprises me," Samantha admitted as they made their way toward the diner. 

      "What does?"

      "How openly you display your affection," she replied honestly. "I just assumed you'd be a man who kept those things hidden." 

      Zachary was quiet for a moment and Samantha wondered if she had hurt his feelings. She bit her lip and glanced up at him to find that he was staring off down the street, his expression distant. "Why would I?" he finally asked.

       "Most men I've known aren't open with their affection."

      "Most men are fools," Zachary snorted. He was quiet a few more moments before continuing. "I've known a lot of bad and ugly in this world, Sam. There's darkness out there and I've seen it, I've touched it, I've been lost in it. You know because you've seen it too." He paused and Samantha squeezed his hand. "If a man gets lucky enough to find a woman who brings light into that darkness and he lets his pride stop him from giving her every ounce of affection and love that she deserves—then he's a fool." 

      Samantha fought back the rise of emotion in her throat. "You really are a welcome surprise, Zachary Marston."

      He released his hold on her hand and slid his arm around her shoulders, holding her gently as they walked, their feet in perfect sync as they made their way down the dirt road. "I'll do my best to keep you happy always, Samantha." Then he grinned. "Plus, keeping my hands on you lets the other men know you're mine." 

      She laughed even as a delicious little tremor ran down her spine at the way he said the word '

mine’. “So, you’re marking your territory then?”

      He kissed her hair. "Yes'm." 

      She simply rolled her eyes and leaned into him. The conversation and easy banter flowed naturally and comfortably between them as they made their way into the diner and at their lunch. "What would you like to do now, Sam?" Zachary asked once they made their way back outside.      

      Samantha bit her lip. What she wanted to do was have Zachary alone to herself again. She smiled up at him. "Why don't get the horses and take another ride?"

      Zachary's brown eyes darkened and his gaze became possessive. Clearly, he knew exactly what she had in mind for their ride and it was also clear that he had no objections. 

      They were heading toward the livery and passing the Hackney Saloon and Brothel when Eleanor and Caroline came rushing out in a flurry of skirts and corsets. "Samantha! We haven't seen you in forever!" 

      Samantha did her best to seem happy to see them as she hugged them both. Normally she would have been very happy to see her friends, but just now she had other things on her mind. She spared a glance up at Zachary and it was clear from his gloomy expression that he wasn't happy with the turn of events. 

      "How have you been?" Samantha asked them both. 

      "Miserable," Eleanor replied. "Thomas is a monster to work for and this place just isn't the same. Are you okay? I saw him hassling you out in the alley earlier. We heard those horrible things Thomas said to you."   

      "Thomas had you in the alley?" Zachary's voice was ice and it froze the blood in Samantha's veins. She couldn't seem to form words as she simply swallowed hard and nodded. "And you didn't tell me?"

      "What's going on over here?" Timothy's good-natured tone rang out as he approached the group. 

      "Eleanor and I were just checking on Samantha after you both had that run in with Thomas in the alley this morning," Caroline announced, fidgeting with her skirt. "Thomas has been on a rampage since then. Says if Samantha is going to be doing 

those things in alleys with random men she should at least be working for him. He thinks Zachary is still gone and he plans on coming after her….“

      Caroline stopped speaking when Zachary suddenly broke away from them and strode toward the saloon. 

      Samantha cursed under her breath. She rushed to him, grabbing at his arm, digging her heels into the dirt, and trying her best to stop him—she might as well have been tugging on a runaway bull for all the good it did her. "Zachary stop. It's not worth it." 

      Zachary shook her off as if she were nothing but a pesky fly. "I won't be talked out of this, Samantha. Wait out here." 

      Samantha felt dread lodge in her gut. What the hell was her man about to do?

A/N: Well that took an unexpected turn. As always, thank you for reading and commenting and please let me know what you think!

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

      Zachary threw the saloon doors open with enough force to have them bouncing off the walls. The resounding echo had the piano player ceasing his pounding on the keys and the bartender Otis, dropping the glass he'd been wiping out, shattering it on the floor. 

      "Thomas Williamson!" Zachary roared, wondering if the goddamn bastard would have the balls to come out of whatever hole he had crawled into and face him. 

      Apparently, he did. Thomas came out of the storeroom behind the bar and approached Zachary warily. "What the hell are you doing here? I was told you'd left town..." 

      Zachary didn't waste time on words. He had used enough of those on Thomas Williamson. So, instead of speaking, Zachary simply took three large strides forward, clenched his fist, and swung. Shockwaves were sent through his arm and up into his shoulder as his fist made contact with Thomas' jaw. Thomas' head snapped sideways. He stumbled back, tripped over a chair behind him and fell to the ground. 

Zachary glared down at the pitiful excuse of a man. “I warned you, Thomas. I warned you to leave that goddamn woman alone.”

      Thomas's small dark eyes seemed to have trouble focusing and he mumbled a few incoherent words as he laid on his back on the dusty floorboards. Zachary slid his knife from the sheath on his leg and stepped toward the man. Thomas whimpered and attempted to scoot away as Zachary came down on him, straddling him and gripping the collar of his shirt in his free hand. He jerked Thomas' head off the ground. 

      Zachary pressed the cold metal blade against the pounding pulse in the saloon owners' neck. "I warned you what would happen if you didn't leave that woman alone." Zachary had lost too much in his life. He wasn't going to have to worry that every time he turned his back, Thomas Williamson was going to be cornering his woman in alleys or laying those angry fists on her. 

      "Don't kill me..." Thomas whimpered, those dark beady eyes widening

      His plea's fell on deaf ears. Zachary tightened his hold on the knife. It broke skin. Red blood oozed along the edges of the steel blade. Thomas screamed, he whimpered, he begged, he pleaded, he thrashed in a desperate attempt at escape but Zachary held firm. No one would harm Samantha. No one would take anything else from her—or from him. 

      Just as Zachary was preparing to slide that blade deeper and slice Thomas' neck wide open, a body suddenly slammed into his side, throwing him off Thomas and sending him sprawling to the floor. Zachary was back on his feet in an instant, with that knife ready to handle whoever had attacked him...

…Only to find Timothy standing between him and Thomas—who was now sitting up and seemed to be struggling to get to his feet.

      Zachary frowned. "What the hell are you doing, Tim?"

      Timothy rammed his hand through his hair and shook his head. "Stopping you from committing cold blood murder, you idiot. Jesus Christ, Zach, what the hell are you doing?"

      Zachary gripped the bone handle of his knife just a little harder as he stepped forward, hoping Timothy would get out of his way. No such luck. Timothy stood firm, keeping himself between Zachary and the bastard that deserved to die. "I won't let him hurt her, Tim. I 

won’t lose her!“

      Timothy motioned toward the door. "

She’s just fine.“

      Zachary let his gaze go in that direction. There Samantha stood with her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her lips were parted and her green eyes were wide. Was that fear in them? Fear of what? Of him? Without a word, Samantha turned on her heel and all but ran from the saloon. 

      Zachary shook his head, trying to clear the rage clouding it. He saw the piano player cowering by his instrument. The barkeep holding his shot gun. Several women who had been upstairs had been drawn to the landing by the noise and were watching with wide eyes. Caroline and Eleanor were quick to leave the saloon, chasing after Samantha. 

      Thomas used a table beside him to help pull himself up onto shaking legs. The man's jaw was welted and swelling. Blood flowed from his nose and his busted lip. His eyes still seemed to be having trouble focusing. Blood dripped from the deep cut on the side of his throat. 

Zachary’s gaze went down to the knife in his own hand. He swallowed hard. “Shit.”

Timothy sighed, his posture relaxing a bit as he realized Zachary had come back to his senses. “Ya reckon?”

      Slowly, Zachary wiped his knife clean on his pants before sliding it back into the leather sheath on his leg. He stepped forward once again and this time, Timothy moved. Zachary approached Thomas who was still addled and trembling. 

      Zachary glared down at the shorter man. "I think it would be best if you find a new buyer for this saloon, get it sold, and get the hell out of town, Thomas."

      "I... I won't bother her again.. I swear it..." 

      Zachary clenched his fists. "I know you won't because next time there won't be a man alive I let save you. I'll kill you and handle anyone else who tries to stop me." His gaze momentarily shifted to Timothy who simply raised his brow. 

      "I can stay then?" Thomas whimpered, those dark eyes pleading. "If I swear to stay away from her?"

      "No." Was the man a complete idiot? "No, you can't stay. I'm a killer, Thomas. It's all I've known for quite a while now. I've been working hard to put that life behind me.  Every time I see your fucking face—" Zachary rolled his shoulder which was aching from the force of the punch he'd delivered to Thomas' face. "—I find my hand itching to put a goddamn bullet in it." 

      Thomas' lips trembled as the man's eyes reddened. "Please... please Zachary..." 

      "I'm done talking. You have one month to sell the goddamn saloon and get out of here. If you're not gone by then—I'll kill you." He began to turn away but paused. "And another thing... If you speak out of turn to the ladies working here, if you use your hands and your fists to knock them around again, if I catch wind that you've put another bruise on any of them..." 

      Thomas swallowed hard. "You'll kill me?" 

      Zachary nodded. "Slowly." 

      With that he turned and strode from the saloon. Once outside, he took several deep gulps of fresh air. Damn. He'd damn near killed a man in cold blood in room full of witnesses! His mind was suddenly flooded with memories. Memories of men begging for their lives and Zachary refusing to spare them. Bad men. Clinton's men. But men just the same. 

      Zachary felt that darkness seeping in. He clenched his fists so tightly he felt blood on his palms. 

      Samantha had seen him—the real him. The killer. The ruthless bastard who took any life he felt needed to be taken without remorse. The fear he had seen in her eyes...

      Zachary felt an empty gnawing ache deep in his middle. That fear had gutted him. He'd known. Dammit, he'd known. He had known he was no good for her. He had known that he didn't deserve that happiness. He was a failure. A murderer. A killer. Samantha was softness, light, goodness. 

      Zachary had only wanted to keep her safe and in doing so he'd lost her.  

---

“Samantha, are you okay?” Eleanor asked cautiously.

      Her hands shaking as she fastened Athena's saddle, Samantha nodded. "I'm fine." 

      "Are you going somewhere?" Caroline spoke up. 

      "For a ride," Samantha replied as she busied her hands securing Athena's breast strap. 

      "Alone?" Eleanor questioned. "I don't think that's a good idea...." 

      Samantha checked Athena's bridle before grabbing her reins. "No, of course I'm not going alone." She led Athena to a nearby stall and opened the door. Blaze looked up from the oats he'd been munching on. He was already saddled and ready to go so Samantha took his reins and began to lead both horses outside. 

      "Samantha, maybe you should just put the horses back and go to the hotel for a while?" Caroline offered. 

      "Why?"

      Eleanor pointed to Blaze. "That's Zachary's horse... Zachary isn't thinking clearly just now. Maybe you shouldn't go out alone with him." 

      Samantha frowned. "Do you think he'd hurt me?"

      Caroline's voice was cautious. "Do you? Aren't you afraid of him?"

      Samantha swallowed hard. She thought of the scene she had just witnessed. Zachary's rage heavy in the air. His powerful body moving with a deadly grace and a deadly purpose as he had done as he had vowed he would—protected her. Samantha felt a jolt of longing deep within her core that made her thighs clench.  She had known that Zachary was strong and able but to see him in action....

      What the hell was wrong with her? He had nearly killed that man while he'd been helpless and whimpering. Then again, that man had nearly forced Samantha to be raped, had placed bruises upon her skin, had ignored multiple warnings to keep his distance, had said he'd hurt her as soon as Zachary's back was turned....

      Given Zachary's past and the life he had led in recent years, there was no other response he could have had—and while it had been startling to see him so willing to slice a man's throat, it certainly hadn't frightened her. 

      No, it wasn't fear that had her heart pounding and left her feeling unsteady on her feet. 

      "Samantha?" Eleanor pulled her from her thoughts. 

      She smiled at the two women who were eyeing her with true concern. "Zachary would never hurt me," she promised. "Thomas should have realized Zachary was not a man to cross. He should have kept his distance when Zachary gave him the option to." 

      "Are you certain he won't hurt you?" Caroline asked. "We care about you and don't want to see you trusting someone you shouldn't..." 

      Samantha felt anger at her friends' doubts. "I am certain that Zachary would never hurt me." 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Eleanor pointed toward the saloon. “There he is…”

      Samantha followed her gaze to see Zachary and Timothy stepping off the boardwalk of the saloon. She approached them quickly, though she didn't miss the way Zachary gaze avoided her. 

      "Going somewhere?" Timothy asked, glancing at the horses. 

      "Yes. Zachary and I were about to go for a ride." 

      Zachary's head whipped around and he frowned. Samantha's heart ached. Those brown eyes were full of such profound sadness that it nearly stole her breath. "We were?"

      Samantha nodded. "Yes." 

      Timothy cleared his throat. "You'll all be relieved to hear that Thomas is going to be selling the saloon, ladies, and leaving town. And you should find that he'll be a nicer man to work for until he gets it sold and gets gone." 

      Eleanor rubbed at a dark bruise on her forearm. "He's selling the saloon?" 

      Zachary's jaw tightened. "Yes. He has a month to get the hell out of town. And if he puts another bruise on any of you or treats any woman in that saloon with anything less than respect, let me know and he'll be dealt with." 

      Caroline and Eleanor shared a surprised expression before Caroline tipped her had at Zachary. "Thank you." 

      Zachary didn't respond. He kept his gaze on the dirt as he motioned toward the livery. "Go put the Athena back, Samantha." 

      Samantha shook her head. What was wrong with the man? Why was he avoiding even looking at her? Samantha knew better than to ask him in front of an audience. She would never get him to open up if anyone else was around hear him. 

      So instead, she stepped forward and shoved Blaze's reins into Zachary's chest. "You 

will come for a ride with me right now, Zachary Marston.“

      His voice was tense. "Samantha...." 

      She simply swung herself up into Athena's saddle and clicked her tongue. "Come along, Zachary. I won't be talked out of this." 

      Using Zachary's line against him, Samantha simply headed down the street. She knew he would follow after her. Zachary wouldn't want her to leave town alone.

      She heard Timothy chuckling and didn't have to look back to know that Zachary had just swung himself onto Blaze's back. 

      Samantha was done allowing him to call all the shots in their relationship. He was going to be listening to her today. Zachary was going to come with her for a ride. He was going to let her know exactly what was on his mind. He was going to tell her what had him so sad and suddenly unwilling to meet her gaze. And he was going to love her body with all the power and passion he had showed her lived within him. 

A/N: So angry Zachary gets Samantha hot and bothered… we should tuck that nugget of wisdom away for later! Another threat has been dealt with. I’m still uncertain if Timothy will get a romance or not… i’m not sure i want to dedicate the time to writing it into Saving the Gunslinger–and i’m not sure I can make a full story of his own out of it… We’ll just have to see! So probably not in this story but perhaps in a spin off or sequal of sorts?

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

      Zachary was confused. Samantha had been leading him in random directions for over an hour. Not a word had been spoken between them. What was going on in that woman's mind? He had been so damn sure she would be terrified of him—so sure that she would realize she deserved better than a man with his past—but instead she had readied both their horses and angrily shoved Blaze's reins in his hands and demanded he ride with her before taking off and giving him no choice but to follow her. 

      Zachary had a feeling that was simply his life now. No matter where that woman led him, his heart was going to leave him no other choice but to follow her. 

      He regretted his actions in the saloon. Zachary normally had fairly good control of his temper and actions but learning that Thomas had cornered Samantha in that alley had filled him with protective rage. And then to hear that because Thomas had thought Zachary was out of town, he planned to get his hands on Samantha and put her back in that brothel.... that had been the last straw. 

      Thomas had placed too many bruises on that woman's pale skin. Had nearly caused her to be violated. Had done everything in his power to force her to work for him as a whore. Thomas had proven he was a threat to Samantha's safety—a threat to her life. Zachary would do 

anything to protect that woman. But he was damned glad that Timothy had stopped him from slitting the man’s throat. If Timothy hadn’t been there, Zachary would have been hanged for murder and any future he’d been hoping to build with Samantha would have been gone.

      It might still be gone. Samantha had acted damn angry with him. Maybe this ride was her way of telling him goodbye? Zachary's hands were shaking as he folded them on his saddle horn. 

      "Sam? Where are we going?"

      Without a word, Samantha pulled up on Athena's reins, bringing the mare to a stop. Zachary mirrored her movement, though he stayed behind her and simply studied her closely. The afternoon sun was shimmering off her wild red curls as she sat tall and proud in that saddle. 

      Zachary's heart yearned to hold her. His body yearned to feel her. His hands yearned to touch her. His lips yearned to taste her. Damn, that woman made him ache. 

      "I have no idea where we're going," her gentle voice finally responded, filling the quiet which had moments ago been filled only with the sounds of birds and the breeze. "I've been lost and simply wandering since shortly after we left town." 

      Zachary saw some small trees and shrubs in the distance. "We could head over there and rest in the shade a while. If you want to that is." 

      Without saying another word or looking his way, Samantha began to guide Athena toward their new destination. Zachary sighed and followed her. He was angry with himself. Angry that he had ruined such a perfect day. A day where Samantha had been talking with him about a future and he had been free to hold her hand, caress her face, kiss her lips... 

      When they reached the shade, Samantha slid from Athena's back and walked to the tallest of the small trees. She leaned her back against the rough bark and simply stood there, crossing her arms around herself in a gesture he had come to recognize. It was something she did whenever she was unsure or afraid. Maybe he had been right when he'd looked in her eyes in that saloon. Maybe she was afraid of him. 

      Zachary slowly dismounted Blaze and simply stood beside the gelding, wondering what he was supposed to say or do. "Sam....?"

      "Is there a reason I had to force your hand to come out here with me?"

      Zachary was caught off guard by the question. "You didn't have to force my hand, Samantha. I reckon I'd follow you anywhere." 

      Those green eyes turned in his direction and Zachary quickly lowered his gaze. He didn't want to see her fear of him—it hurt too bad. 

      "Look at me, Zachary." 

      "Samantha, we should head back." 

      "Why won't you look at me?"

      Her question took Zachary by surprise. He spared a quick glance her way before returning his gaze to his boots. His first instinct was to scoff or lie. Those walls he had spent so long building up around himself were strong—but his feelings for Samantha were stronger and she gave him the courage he needed to be open and honest in her presence. "I saw your face in the saloon. You were afraid. You're afraid of me and I don't want to see that in your eyes again. Once was enough." 

      Silence followed his statement for several long moments. A rustling in the grass and her quiet footsteps signaled her approach. "Zachary, I'm not afraid." 

      "You were," he countered quickly. "You thought I might hurt you." 

      A sigh escaped Samantha's lips and Zachary felt those gentle hands on his shirt. She splayed her palms across his chest and Zachary found his eyes draw to her. Swallowing hard, Zachary let himself meet her gaze and what he saw in those deep green eyes had his legs weakening. 

      There was no fear there. There was want and longing and.... Love? Or was he only fooling himself?

      "I can assure you right now, Zachary Marston, that never for one moment was I afraid of you or worried you would harm me." 

      His fingertips itched to dance across her cheek so he let them. "I would never lay an angry hand on you," he vowed without hesitation. "But there was fear in your eyes, Samantha..." 

      She leaned into his touch and smiled. "I was afraid you were going to kill a man and be hanged for it. I was afraid that I was going to lose you." 

      He let his hand drop. "You ran away," he reminded her. 

      Her gaze went skyward a moment, and despite his tangled emotions, Zachary felt his lips twitch as she looked to the sky for patience. "Yes, I ran away to get our horses. I knew you would want to get away from town and have some time to calm down." 

      He wondered how the woman seemed to know him so well. "And you're not the least bit worried now that you've seen what I'm capable of? I saw the way Eleanor and Caroline looked at you and at me. They didn't want you coming out here alone. Aren't you bothered to see proof that I'm a killer?"

      "You're no killer, Zachary Marston." 

      "I am." 

      "You're not." Her voice was stern and had his jaw snapping shut. "If you were a killer you wouldn't have stopped killing and come back to Hackney to start a ranch and be a farmer. There were plenty more men out there for you to satisfy murderous urges on if that was all you wanted to do." 

      Zachary moved away from her. He went to the tree and stood against, leaning his back on the bark and staring out over the horizon. Baring his soul was something he wasn't well practiced in but being near Samantha made it seem almost natural. "Killing takes its toll on a man. You start to see faces in your sleep and be haunted by the lives you've taken. I had never killed a man until I started chasing Clinton. When I took a bullet and nearly died a few months ago, I'd had enough. I couldn't live that life anymore." He rolled his aching shoulder. "I have killed, Samantha. And I'll kill again to protect you without hesitation. If Thomas corners you in any more alley's, if he puts his hands on you again, I'll end his life, Sam. I'll just be a bit smarter about the where and the how next time." 

      Samantha was quiet a moment as she remained standing where he had left her. Zachary wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, but he wanted to make sure she knew who exactly who was holding her. 

After several long, quiet moments, Samantha approached him and ran her fingertips along his knuckles. Zachary was quick to take her hand in his and entwine their fingers—he loved the intimacy of holding her hand this way. Samantha’s voice was soft when she spoke. “You’re a good man. You are a good man who was forced to chase bad men and take the law into your own hands because the men wearing badges refused to help. And as far as Thomas goes, that man is a monster. If not for you I would have already been raped, brutalized, and very possibly murdered because of him.” Her eyes closed as she shivered and Zachary felt his fists clench and his jaw tense at the images her words stirred in his head. Her gaze rose back up to meet his. “You had warned him more than once to stay away and still he threatened me—your actions today were simply those of a man trying to protect and defend his woman.”

      Zachary felt a slow smile curve his lips. Damn, this conversation was certainly going better than he'd imagined it would. "My woman?"

      "Of course, I'm your woman." She winked. "You 

did just buy me a house.“

      Zachary's hand went to her hip and pulled her closer to him. "People will talk if you're with me, Samantha. Especially after today..." 

      Samantha rose on her toes and pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, causing his grip on her to tighten as his heart began to pound against his ribcage. "I've told you already I don't care about the opinion of others. I am your woman and you are my man, Zachary Marston. My protective, strong, dangerous, bristly, attentive, affectionate, gentle, contradiction of a man and I will be nothing but proud to walk down any road anywhere with you." 

      His heart swelled with the love he felt for the strong, gentle woman in front of him. Dropping both hands to her hips, he pulled her body against his and dropped his forehead down, resting it against her brow. "I don't know about the rest of what you just said but there is one part of that I know for sure you got right. I am yours, Samantha." 

      They remained just like that. Eyes closed, heads together, bodies flush, breathing the same air and simply enjoying the closeness and the quiet. 

      "Zachary?" she finally whispered. 

      "Yeah?"

      "I..." She paused and he heard her swallow hard. "I want you." 

      Oh hell. Those words, and the way she had spoken them, could only mean one thing. Zachary should refuse her. He was not yet her husband. Samantha was innocent. She was a lady. She deserved a wedding vow and a real bed to lose her innocence in. Zachary had every intention of doing the right thing and telling her love making would have to wait—he truly did—until those full, soft lips suddenly danced across his throat.

      Damn. What was it they said about the road to hell and good intentions? Zachary let out a growl, swooped down and captured those lips beneath his own. Zachary turned them around so that it was Samantha's back against the tree. He placed one hand behind her head to cushion her from the bark. His other hand slid up from her hip, dancing across her waist before brushing against her full breast. 

      A moan left the back of Samantha's throat. Zachary felt as if the very blood in his veins had caught fire as he deepened that kiss, warring for dominance that Samantha eagerly submitted to. Her back arched from the tree as Zachary's thumb found her hardening nipple. 

      Samantha knocked his hat from his head as her hands buried themselves in his dark hair. Zachary continued to devour her, never breaking the contact of their lips as he moved both hands to the buttons of her blouse. Undoing them swiftly, he pushed it from her shoulders and only then did he remove his lips from Samantha's. Brushing his mouth across her jaw, Zachary cock hardened painfully when her soft voice whispered his name and her body trembled against him. 

      Lower still his mouth continued on its path, nibbling at her ear, caressing the hollows of her throat, tasting the smooth, freckled skin of her shoulder. "Perfection woman. You are goddamn perfection," he moaned against her as he tossed her shirt aside and saw her hardened nipples highlighted beneath the white fabric of the chemise she wore. That thin bit of cotton was all that stood between his hungry mouth and her skin. 

      Bending low, Zachary let his teeth graze against her nipple, drawing a cry from Samantha's lips as her legs nearly buckled. Fueled by her eager reactions, Zachary showed the same attention to her other nipple as his hands undid her skirt and let it fall down her legs, pooling around her feet. 

      Grabbing her hands, Zachary held her wrists in one calloused hand and put them above her head. His lips once again found Samantha's and he kissed her. Hard. She was panting as he pulled away. Those full lips red from his assault on them, her cheeks flushed beneath her dusting of freckles, and those green eyes as dark as emeralds with her want. 

      "Zachary..." she whimpered, straining to get her body as close to his as she could. "Please... I need...I need you..." 

      Oh, how wrong the woman was. She didn't need him. He needed her. All of her. Now and forever. "Don't worry, Sam. I'm gonna take care of you," he vowed.

      He placed one more long, slow, tender kiss to her lips before taking a step back. Slipping off his rifle and bandolier, Zachary tossed the weapons aside. He wasn't worried about anyone sneaking up on them out here. They were in the middle of nowhere, secluded amongst the bushes and trees—and Blaze was close. If anyone came within sight or scent of the loyal horse, he would let Zachary know. 

      Zachary was free to focus on nothing but the beautiful, frustrated, aroused woman in front of him. 

      He stepped closer to her once again and let his mouth lead him where it wanted to go. Her throat, her collarbones, her breasts. Zachary dropped to his knees and hooked her underclothes with his finger. He glanced up at her, seeking permission, and found her watching him with so much hunger in her eyes, it nearly had him self-combusting then and there. 

      Sliding those underclothes down her legs, Zachary lifted her feet to help her step out of them and tossed them aside. Lifting the bottom hem of her chemise Zachary bit his lip at the sight of those red curls between her thighs. Damn, he felt like a man who'd been lost in the desert far too long and he was gonna drink his fill from this oasis. 

      Samantha cried out his name when Zachary buried his face between her legs. Her hand went to his hair, clutching at the strands. Her legs buckled but Zachary kept one hand on her stomach to offer her support as she clung to him. 

      Goddamn, she tasted like heaven—and every bit as sweet as he'd imagined. Teasing her with his tongue, Zachary took his time taking her higher and higher. As her moans grew more urgent, her hips bucked against him. Zachary knew she was close. He slid a finger into her wet folds that had never before known the touch of a man and after several  quick thrusts and a hungry growl from his throat, Samantha was sent careening over the edge. 

      Never had his name sounded as erotic as it did when it flew from her lips as her body shook and trembled with the force of her release. The grip she kept on his hair was painful but Zachary offered no complaints as he drank down more of her sweetness before rising to his feet once more. 

      Seeing her there in nothing but her white cotton chemise with her curls a wild mess on her head, her legs trembling, one hand still resting on the bark above her head and her other hand resting against her own breast was the most arousing sight Zachary had ever seen in his life. 

      Wasting no time, he removed his gun belt and undid the knives from his legs. Tugging off his boots, Zachary tossed them aside as well and his fingers were moving to the buttons on his vest when Samantha recovered enough to step forward. 

      "Let me," she whispered. 

      Zachary swallowed hard, let his arms fall, clenched his fists and nodded. His body shook with restraint as Samantha's trembling hands undid his vest and slid it from him before going to the buttons of his shirt and quickly relieved him of it as well. 

      When those smooth fingertips danced across the newly exposed skin of his torso, Zachary hissed. Damn, her touched burned him, branded him. Those lips were soon dancing across his skin and Zachary struggled to remember how to breathe. She paused suddenly, her fingertips tracing the worst of his bullet scars—the one on his shoulder that had nearly taken his life with the fever that followed it. 

      For a moment, he was worried she would begin to ask about the scars he was covered in. Scars from bullets, knives, burns, and even mountain lion claws. Zachary didn't want to think about any of them just now. Just now he only wanted to focus on the woman in front of him—his woman. 

      Samantha surprised him when instead of speaking, she pressed her lips to that scar on his shoulder, then to another on his side. Slowly she circled around him, those gentle hands and that hot little mouth caressing his skin. Zachary swallowed hard and fought to control himself. Damn, she had no idea what she did to him. 

      "Sam, I need you...." He whispered, his voice hoarse and desperate. 

      She let her breasts brush against his back before she came to stand before him once again. A blush covered her cheeks as she began to undo his pants. Sliding out of them and the long johns he wore beneath, Zachary prayed like hell Samantha wouldn't be frightened away when she saw proof of just how badly he wanted her. 

      Zachary hadn't been this hard in his entire life—it was the most arousing pain he had ever experienced. He was about to speak, to comfort her, to assure her that he wouldn't hurt her. He was sure she would be shy and unsure. What he didn't expect was for Samantha to look up at him through her long lashes, flash a coy smile and drop to her knee. When that wet, pink tongue ran across his tip, Zachary let out a string of curses that would have made the devil himself blush. 

      Soon he found himself completely enveloped in Samantha's perfect mouth. He buried his hands in her soft red curls and found his hips thrusting in time with her movements. She clung to his legs as she pleasured him, hearty moans leaving the back of her throat and sending shockwaves up his length. 

      After only a few minutes, Zachary knew he had to stop her. If he didn't, this was going to be over before he had buried himself between her legs—and Zachary wanted nothing more than to bury himself between her legs. 

      Placing his hands on her cheeks, Zachary pulled her off him and she stood slowly, placing her hands on his chest for balance. Swooping low, his lips found hers and he kissed her long and slow, lapping lazily at her tongue as he moved them both back to the tree. Gripping the bottom hem of her shift, Zachary pulled back and raised it. 

      Lifting her arms in the air, Samantha allowed him to remove the last barrier between their bodies. His eyes feasted on her high, full breasts, small pink nipples, and tiny waist, flaring out into rounded hips. Reaching around her, Zachary gripped her deliciously rounded backside and pulled her close. 

      His other hand went to that haven between her legs, his finger sliding into those wet folds, drawing a long moan from her throat as Samantha threw her head back. He could feel her trembling with want and knew that she would feel him as well. 

      Zachary moved his lips to her ear, nipping gently. "Tell me you want me, Sam." 

      She turned her head, catching his lips in a hard kiss. "I want you." 

      Zachary braced his back against the tree, took her by the waist and lifted her up. Samantha's legs instantly went around his hips. Slowly he lowered her down on his aching arousal. Inch by painstaking inch, he slid inside her, felt the barrier of her innocence and pushed through, catching her cry of shock with his lips. 

      "I'm sorry," he whispered against her skin. "It only hurts the first time."

      Zachary was sure his heart would pound straight through his rib cage as he fully slid himself inside her and simply stood there motionless for several long moments. Samantha had buried her face in his neck and her grip on his shoulders was tense. 

      "Zachary?" she whispered. 

      "Yeah?" he somehow managed to grunt through his clenched jaws. 

      "Aren't you supposed to be moving?"

      Zachary nearly chuckled even as a jolt of lust shot through him like a lightning bolt. "Yes ma'am." 

      Samantha threw her head back as Zachary thrust into her again and again. Her hips met his and moved in unison. Zachary lowered his mouth to her breasts, feasting on them. Her whimpers and moans filled the early evening air and Zachary had never heard anything so damn erotic in his life.  

      He felt her body tensing as her moans grew more urgent. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she let out a loud cry and her entire body began to shake with the force of the release that suddenly tore through her. Feeling those tight walls clench around him was the last bit of pleasure Zachary could stand. 

      Her name left his mouth along with a string of curses as he poured himself inside her. As the aftershocks of his release continued to course through him, Zachary laid his head on her freckled shoulder. Her fingertips moved a bit of sweaty black hair from his brow before she rested her cheek on his head. 

      "We... we should probably get dressed," Samantha whispered after several long moments. "Someone could come by." 

      Zachary shook his head. He was in no hurry to move just now. His legs were weak and Samantha felt too damn good in his arms, those long legs wrapped around him and her bare body flush to his. "Let's just say right like this forever," he countered, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. 

      He felt her tremble. "Sounds good to me." 

      As an evening breeze blew across their bare bodies, Zachary held her tighter. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the woman in his arms but one thing was certain, he wasn't ever going to lose her. 

A/N: Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Plenty more story left to come. We have a house to build and a ranch to get going! Thank you all for the support you’ve shown so far! Comment, vote, make me feel good about myself HA! Love ya!!

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

      Timothy watched Zachary and Samantha ride out of town and said a quick prayer that Samantha would be able to reach into Zach's thick skull and pull out the sense that Timothy knew had to be in there. He was worried about his oldest friend. Zachary had always been a bit closed off when it came to his feelings but the way he was lately.... Timothy could only hope that he was opening up to Samantha. The man needed 

somebody and while Timothy would gladly be there for his best friend, he had a feeling that feisty red-head with big green eyes and quiet strength, was what Zachary really needed.

      A commotion behind him had Timothy turning to see the bartender Otis, helping a shaken Thomas out of the saloon. Blood was still dripping steadily from the cut on his throat, his nose was swollen and crooked, his lips were split and bleeding, and he was clearly still too addled to stand on his own as he leaned heavily on Otis.

      "Did you learn your lesson?" Timothy asked, raising his brow. 

      Thomas seemed as if he had been deflated. He looked scared, small, and no longer resembled the strong, cocky, angry man he'd been an hour ago. "That man was going to kill me..." Thomas's voice was thick and garbled and Timothy wasn't sure how much of that was because of the state of his nose and mouth, and how much was emotion he was fighting back. "Thank you for saving my life." 

      Timothy laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't do it for you, asshole. As far as I'm concerned any man who puts bruises on ladies—" Timothy's gaze went to Eleanor and the dark bruise on her arm that was clearly fingerprints from being grabbed. He looked back at Thomas. "—deserves exactly what Zach wanted to do to you. No, I stopped him for him. Because you aren't worth being hanged over." 

      Timothy motioned down the street. "You might want to get him to the doc, Otis. And, Thomas, if you see Leonard I'd suggest you tell him you fell on the bar and broke a bottle with your neck. I wouldn't push Zachary any further than you already have. I might not be able to stop him next time." 

      Thomas' small beady eyes grew wider than Timothy had ever seen them and he nudged Otis to get the bartender to begin helping him hurry down the street. 

      Timothy found himself laughing again. 

      "We should go get ready for work," Caroline's voice drew Timothy's attention back to the two women standing with him. He suddenly found himself feeling as awkward as a preacher caught with his pants down when he realized that he had, on several separate occasions, paid to lay with both of them.       

      He rubbed the back of his neck and motioned toward the saloon. "If uh.. if he gives y'all any more trouble, just let me know." 

      "Why? Are you going to fight him too?" Caroline asked with amusement as her dark brow raised. 

      "I ain't much of a fighter, ma'am," Timothy admitted, doing his best to keep his gaze from straying to the blond, Eleanor. "But I won't stand to see women mistreated either, so like I said, just let me know." 

      "Thank you." Eleanor's voice was quiet, and while she stood only a few feet away she sounded distant. Timothy saw her rubbing at that bruise on her arm and he wondered if there were more. She seemed different from what he remembered. Standing on the boardwalk she seemed quiet, withdrawn, almost haunted—the last time he'd interacted with her at the saloon she'd been full of laughter, unashamed sultriness, and plenty of spirit. What had happened? 

      Then again, maybe she only acted that way to lure men in and earn herself more money. Timothy had never taken the time to think that a whore might be anything other than she put on while working—but maybe there was more to these women. Timothy internally smacked himself. Of course, there was. Everyone had a story. What was Eleanor's?

      "Uh..sure..." Timothy rocked back on his heels. "Are you hungry? Come to the diner with me and I'll treat you ladies to lunch." 

      Eleanor's big blue eyes finally moved away from the saloon door and looked up into his own. She frowned. Her cheeks reddened. Timothy thought she looked ashamed. "No thank you," she quickly whispered  before all but running away from him and disappearing inside. 

      Caroline patted his arm, drawing his attention back toward her. A gentle smile deepened the lines that age had begun putting around her eyes. "We're whores, Timothy. We're not allowed to sit in the diner and eat with everyone else. And you don't have to waste time taking us out to eat, you know that. If you want to spend time with Eleanor, she starts work at seven and I'm sure you remember how much it costs." 

      Timothy stood there unsure of exactly what he was feeling after Caroline walked away. It had only been a couple of weeks since he had last paid for Eleanor's company in that saloon and brothel and when he realized that despite that he didn't know anything about the woman, he felt guilt creep in. 

      Timothy had always had fun with working women, poker, and drinking. He hadn't ever seen anything wrong with it. He figured those women had a job to do and so he was going to let them do it. But meeting Samantha had begun to change that thought. She had nearly been raped because Thomas had 

forced her to work. True, he didn’t think that Eleanor, Caroline, or any of the other women in the brothel were being forced to be there against their will, but that didn’t mean they were there entirely by choice. Did any little girl want to grow up to be a whore?

      Hell, Timothy didn't know. He'd never taken the time to have a real conversation with any working woman. He simply went with them into a room, slid inside them, found release, and left. Damn.... 

      Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way toward the diner. What kind of man was he? He'd never laid with a woman he actually cared about, had never had a conversation with a woman he cared about in any way other than friendship and that was only Samantha... Timothy was pretty damn sure he'd never even taken the time to ensure the paid women he laid with found any kind of pleasure from him—he hadn't figured it was his job since he was paying them. What kind of man was he? 

      Hell. 

      He sat down hard on a bench outside the diner and put his face in his hands. Here Timothy had been so damn worried about his friend and hadn't taken the time to realize that he was just as lost. 

His father had died when Timothy had only been three, so he didn’t have any memories of the man. His mother had been a cold and distant woman who didn’t show affection to her only child and the man she married when Timothy was five had been an angry, abusive drunkard who hadn’t liked having a reminder of the man who’d come before every time he looked at Timothy. More than once Timothy had sported bruises from the man’s angry fists and so he had gotten pretty good at simply staying out of the way.

      Zachary's family had been his saving grace. If not for Zach's friendship and the love that his parent's Paul and Evelyn had shown him, Timothy could have turned into a very different man. At the age of ten he'd moved in with them, calling their sofa his bed. His family hadn't missed him—had actually been glad to see him gone. 

      The Marston's had been the best people Timothy had ever known. Their house was a warm, loving home full of laughter and peace. Then 

that day had come around.

      Zachary and Timothy had been nineteen and out running wild like boys wanting to act like grown men were prone to do. Zachary had wanted to go home but Timothy hadn't been ready because he'd wanted to compete in a poker match that night. So, Zachary had gone home alone and he'd found his family slaughtered. Timothy felt bone deep guilt over that. He should have been there for his best friend. Not to mention he should have been there to keep his adopted family safe. 

      Timothy had come back to Hackney two days later expecting to be welcomed by his family only to find that 

everything in his life was gone. Zachary had packed up Timothy’s belongings and left them with the doc making it clear that he wasn’t to go back to the house. Paul’s quiet strength was gone. Evelyn’s no-nonsense, tell it like it was way of caring was gone. Sara and Susan’s sweet voices and gentle innocence was gone. They’d been stolen by a murdering outlaw and his gang of evil. And so had Zachary. Timothy’s entire world had, quite simply, disappeared.

      Timothy had lost a lot in his life. He'd lost his blood father, his cold bitch of a mother, his abusive step-father, and the place he'd called home until the age of ten—none of that compared to the loss he felt losing the Marston's. 

      And he had been stuck since that day. What had he done the last five years? Nothing. He gambled, he drank, he slept with paid women, avoided relationships with unpaid ones, he didn't work a steady job, had no home, hell he hadn't grown up at all—it was like he'd simply stopped trying to move forward a bit after his life got taken away from him at nineteen. 

      It wasn't until he'd realized Zachary was back, had seen the man in that saloon knocking Thomas Williamson around and defending Samantha's honor that Timothy had begun to realize he'd been living 

without living…. And now, after having his best friend back in his life, getting to know Samantha, and coming out of the fog that he’d been stranded in, Timothy was left wondering. What did he want to do with his life? Who did he want to be?

      He wanted love—he knew that. He'd seen how good love could be when he'd watched how completely Paul Marston had loved Evelyn and how devoted she was to him right back. He saw love bringing his best friend back to life and envied the way Samantha looked at him—not because Timothy had any interest in Samantha but because he wondered what it would feel like to be looked at that way. 

      What else did he want? Pushing himself to his feet, Timothy decided he would think long and hard about all that over some lunch. His stomach growled its agreement and he let out a sigh before going into the diner for some soup and introspection. 

---

      While Samantha knew that it would sound a bit cliché to most, but she felt as if she were floating as she rode back into town with Zachary that night. Darkness had already fallen. After making love, Zachary had taken Blaze's saddle blanket, spread it out upon the grass, and the two of them had simply laid curled up together talking, laughing, and dreaming about what their future would look like.

      Zachary had heard her stomach rumble and had taken a can of beans from his saddlebags, warmed them over a small fire, and they'd eaten them together straight from the can, sharing a spoon. Not the fanciest meal Samantha had ever eaten—but definitely the best. To be alone under the setting sun with Zachary Marston, feeling his strong arms around her as she had leaned back against his chest and hearing that deep, quiet timbre of his voice whispering how much he wanted a life with her....

      "You okay?" Zachary's voice broke through her thoughts and Samantha realized her sigh had been quite loud. 

      She smiled even as color flooded her cheeks. "Yes." 

      That slow smile spread across Zachary's face and Samantha loved the sight of it. He led her to the livery where they dropped off the horses. "Aren't you going back to the ranch tonight?" she asked him, as he put Blaze in a stall. 

      "No. I fed the shire mare out there this morning and she's taken care of. I reckon I'll stay at the hotel tonight and go out in the morning. You said they're delivering the house supplies tomorrow, right?"

      "That's what Mr. Anders said." 

      "You'll come out tomorrow too, won't you?" Zachary pulled Blaze's saddle from his back. "Even with you, me, and Timothy working it's gonna take a while to clean up the mess and get the new house put up." 

      Samantha laid Athena's saddle in the corner of the stall and patted the mare down. "You know I'll be there. I wonder if we could hire a crew to help build it?" 

      Zachary seemed thoughtful. "We can ask Mr. Anders in the morning. We won't be ready to build right away—there's a mess to clean first." 

      Samantha heard the tension in his voice and knew he was thinking about the charred remains of the farmhouse he'd burned to the ground. Giving Athena a quick kiss to the nose, Samantha left the stall and secured the door before going to Zachary and wrapping her arms tight around him from behind, resting her cheek against his back. "I'll be right there with you, Zachary." She smiled when he leaned into her. "And so will Timothy." She gave him a squeeze and winked as he turned his head to look back at her. "We're not much but you have us."  

      A low rumbling growl left Zachary's chest as he spun around cupped her face with his hand. "

You are everything.“

      Samantha bit her lip, her heart swelling at his words. "And Timothy?" 

      His chuckle filled the quiet livery. "I reckon I'm pretty fond of him too." 

      "Well, if you're done loving on Blaze, let's get to the hotel. I could use a bath, Mr. Marston." 

      He kissed her nose before releasing his hold on her and hoisting up his saddlebags. "Let's go then." 

      As they made their way down the lantern lit streets, Samantha chewed the inside of her cheek. Zachary sighed. "What's on your mind?"

      "Are... I mean.. Do you want to...share that bath with me?"

      Zachary studied the stars glittering in the blanket of darkness above them. "Are you saying you'd like me to?"

      She rolled her eyes. She knew he was still worried about what people would think of her for being with him. Samantha wished she could convince him that she did not care. Those who were going to think ill of her in this town already did—she wasn't going to sway their opinions no matter what she did or who she spent her time with. 

      "I can't wash my back by myself." 

      Zachary reached out and took her hand, stroking the sensitive skin of her wrist with his calloused thumb and causing her blood to warm as her thighs trembled. He leaned low, his warm breath blowing across her ear. "Well then, what kind of man would I be if I refused?"

      Samantha's mind went to the love they had made. She had never in her life imagined the pleasure a man could give to a woman would be so all consuming—so powerful. He had taken his time to worship and devour every inch of her body and Samantha had never felt more treasured. She had given more than her innocence to Zachary Marston out there on that prairie amongst the flowing grasses and the shade of the trees. She had given him her heart, her soul, her entire being—and she knew that Zachary had given her his as well. Samantha had no doubts about his devotion to her. 

      She looked up into those deep brown eyes and she could see the want in them—apparently his mind had been drifting back in the same direction hers had. She couldn't help but smile. "You wouldn't refuse me, Mr. Marston. You just don't have it in you." 

      Those dimples in his cheeks deepened. "You know me too well, Sam." 

A/N: As you may have gathered from this chapter, I have decided to include Timothy’s story in Saving the Gunslinger. It will mean the book will be a bit longer because I want to give both Zachary/Samantha and Timothy/‘whoever she ends up being’ a fair amount of time for their relationships! I promise you’ll still get just as much Zach/Sam time–you’ll just also get a lot of Tim/insert female name time as well. 

Any guesses on who that woman for Tim might end up being? New saloon owner? Current working lady? Future working lady? A character from town I haven’t introduced yet? Also, did you like seeing a bit more of Timothy’s back story?  I’d love to hear your thoughts so send them to me! 

Love y’all!

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Wow.. You weren’t exaggerating about the mess.”

      Zachary sighed as he slid from Blaze's back. "No, I wasn't." 

      Samantha swallowed hard as she looked at the pile of burned rubble and ash that had at one point been a home. Not much was left. A few charred timbers, smoke-stained remnants of the chimneys, and fire ravaged bits of crumbling furniture here and there. 

      "We'll have to get that cleaned up to make room for the new house. We'll just put it in the same spot, we can hook it into the cellar that's already there and the well is close by. No sense in putting it in a new spot and having to dig new wells and cellars." 

      Samantha nodded at Zachary's logic. Zachary reached out and took her by her hips, pulling her from Athena's back and holding her close to him as his gaze remained locked on that pile of rubble and ash. Samantha sighed, laying her hand gentle on his stubble covered cheek. "We'll make it a home, Zachary. 

Our home.“

      Those brown eyes turned to her before he bent down and pressed a tender kiss to her brow. "Yeah." 

      "Well, let's get the horses put up and get to work sorting through the rubble," Samantha urged. "There may be some things in there worth saving." 

      Timothy had stayed behind in town to ride out with the wagons delivering the building supplies later in the day. Zachary had also talked to Joseph Anders and the man agreed to put together a team of eight men together to work for Zachary, not only cleaning up the old house but also building the new one. 

      With those eight men plus Zachary, Timothy, and Samantha, Joseph Anders had seemed certain they could have all the work completed in about two weeks time. Of course, then they would have to paint, decorate and furnish the house to make it a home but Samantha knew it would have to be something they took one step at a time—if she focused on everything that needed to be done, she would get overwhelmed. 

      Samantha followed Zachary to the barn and marveled at how different it looked. New boards had replaced the rotting ones, the hinges and latches were new and gleaming, it didn't seem like the same building. 

      "It could use some paint but Tim and I have been working hard out here," Zachary admitted. "We have this barn done, the other is almost done and the corrals have all been fixed up. We still have to get the stable fixed up for the horses we'll breed and sell and fix up the other outbuildings...." 

      "Zachary?" Samantha cut in to stop his out of character rambling. It was obvious he was desperate to not only impress her but also assure her that this would be a good home and ranch for them. His mouth slammed shut and he rubbed at the back of his neck.  She smiled. "Your parents would be proud of you and the work you've done. And so am I."  

      He simply grunted but said nothing. Once they settled the horses into the barn with plenty of hay, water and a bit of oats, Zachary led her to the blackened ruins of the farmhouse. "I'm gonna get started digging a hole to bury all this in. Probably over behind the barn. We'll use the wagon and the wheelbarrow to haul loads and dump them." 

      "It's going to be a lot of work," Samantha admitted, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of charred wood they were going to have to move.

      "You don't have to help with this, Sam. There will be plenty of folks here to help me." He smiled as he took her hand and pulled her into chest. 

      Samantha felt that quickening of her pulse and that breathlessness in her lungs as she pressed herself against his warm, hard body with those strong arms holding her in an embrace that was protective and possessive and tender somehow all at the same time. Her mind instantly went to the bath they had shared the night before and the way his fingers had expertly taken her to heaven before he had laid her down in the hotel bed and loved her body back to earth. 

      A low growl rumbled from Zachary's chest before he swooped down and captured her lips. For several long moments, Samantha simply allowed herself to stay lost in the heat of his kiss. With a groan, she pulled away, placing her hands on his chest to hold him back when he attempted to come toward her again. 

      "Work. We have work to do." 

      Those dark eyes flashed with hunger. "I'd rather work on lovin' you." 

      The ache that rocked through her core nearly had Samantha leaping back into her arms but she somehow managed to stand strong. They truly 

did have work to do and no real idea when Timothy and the crew from town would arrive. Samantha knew if she let Zachary get started on what he had in mind it would take him hours to finish.

      She winked. "How about we focus on the work we need to do here and then tonight I'll let you wash my back again."

      Zachary's brow rose as his tongue ran across his bottom lip. "It's gonna be warm tonight and there's a nice secluded spot where the river gets deep not too far from the house spot." 

      "Sounds like the perfect spot for a bath." 

      "Yes ma'am." 

      Samantha gave him one last quick kiss and nearly laughed at his grumbling when she pulled away. "Okay, so you were going to dig a hole. Do you have two shovels? I'll help." 

      Zachary shook his head. "I only have one. They're bringing a few more from town when they come." 

      Samantha looked around. "So, what do you want me to do?"

      A shrug followed her question. "I already told you I brought you out here for company." 

      Samantha sighed. She knew his motives were not quite that pure. While she knew that Zachary did indeed want to spend time with her, he also wanted to be able to keep an eye on her. He couldn't protect her if she stayed in town while he worked on the farm. Given his past, and the enemy they had in common, she understood his overprotectiveness. And she wasn't going to complain. She happened to like Zachary's company—and being near him gave her a sense of security she had never felt before. 

      "If I'm going to be here, I might as well be doing 

something .“

      Zachary sighed. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the rubble. "You could..." he paused. "You could start picking through that mess if you want. See if there's anything that can be salvaged." 

      The pain she heard in his voice caused her own heart to ache. Zachary had burned that house for a reason and she didn't want to make him look through all the remnants of what he had been attempting to destroy. 

      "I can do that," she assured him. 

      His gaze finally returned to her. "You sure? You're gonna get filthy." 

      Samantha rolled her eyes. "I'm not afraid of working hard or getting dirty, Zachary. And, besides, we're washing off in the river tonight, remember?"

      His calloused fingertips slid across the tender skin of her forearm. "Yeah." 

      Samantha sucked in a deep breath to steady herself, took a big step back and pointed toward the barn. "Go dig your hole. I'll see if there is anything worth saving before the men arrive to start hauling it away." 

      Zachary nodded and began to walk away. Samantha turned her attention to the house only to be stopped when he called out her name. "Sam? Be careful. There's probably nails. And it's not sturdy, you could twist an ankle. Hell, why don't you just let me do that and...." 

      Samantha placed her hands on her hips and fixed him with a glare. "Go dig your hole, Zachary Marston. I'm not helpless and I won't break." 

      "Dammit, woman, I'm just looking out for you," he muttered, rubbing his neck. 

      "No, you're being overprotective. Go." 

      With a grumble he turned and stomped off. Samantha felt a moment of guilt but pushed it aside. She knew that given all he had lost in his life, Zachary being protective over her was simply going to be part of their relationship—but there had to be limits. She wasn't a china doll and hard work wouldn't break her. 

      Deciding that she could tend to Zachary's wounded pride at the river later, Samantha focused on the job she had been tasked with. 

---

      Zachary stood straight and swiped his dirt covered forearm across his brow to clear the sweat. He'd been digging for a good two hours, and while the hole was coming along, it wasn't near big enough yet. But he needed a break. His shoulder was aching, the sun was hot, and he wanted to check on Samantha. 

      The damn woman. Getting angry at him for worrying about her. Zachary didn't see anything wrong with being cautious about her safety. Didn't she realize what he would lose if something happened to her?

      Heaving out a sigh, Zachary hoisted himself from the hole he'd been digging and rolled his shoulder as he rubbed at the aching joint. His only consolation for the pain he was in, was knowing that the bastard who had shot him was feeding worms underground. 

      Coming around the barn, Zachary's eyes instantly sought out his woman. Her cream blouse and brown skirt were black with soot and her pale skin was streaked with ash. Zachary went to the barn, grabbed some tin cups from his saddlebags and made his way toward the remains of the house. "Come on, Samantha, it's time for a break." 

      Slowly she made her way out of the burnt remains. She pushed several sweaty red curls behind her ear and pointed to a pile of things she'd obviously pulled out to salvage. "I found a few things..." 

      Zachary shook his head. "I'll look in a bit. First, let's get you something to drink." 

      Taking her hand, Zachary led her to the well pump. He handed Samantha the tin cups before lifting the handle several times to welcome a spurt of cold well water. Samantha held them under the water, filled them, and then handed one to Zachary before pressing hers to her lips and downing it in several deep swallows. 

      Zachary watched her throat work as her lips pressed against the cup. He quickly cleared his throat, adjusted his gun belt and threw back his cup of water in one quick drink. That woman was temptation, and now that he'd had her body, all he wanted was more of it. But now was not the time. He could hear wagons approaching and voices on the breeze. He couldn't see them just yet but Timothy and the crew were arriving. 

      Zachary took Samantha's empty cup and tossed both down by the well pump. She let out a surprised gasp when he grabbed her arm and tugged her against him. He had something to say to the woman before they had an audience. 

      Wiping a bit of soot from her cheek, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry I made you angry earlier, Sam." 

      "I wasn't angry," she assured him, her hands gripping his biceps. "I know you're overprotective...." 

      "Overprotective?" he grumbled. "I just want you safe." 

      "I know you do." Samantha pressed a quick kiss to his lips that left Zachary wanting more. Always more. "And if you'd have let me finish, I was going to say that your protectiveness is one of the things I love most about you." 

      Zachary smiled. "Is that right?" 

      Samantha laid her head against his heart and he wrapped his arms tight around her. "Yes. I haven't felt safe in a long time—probably since my mother died. But when I'm with you, I know it's the safest I've ever been." 

      Zachary swallowed hard against his rising emotions and buried his face in those dirty red curls, breathing in the lavender scent that still clung to them from the bath they had shared. "You 

are safe, Sam.“

      Zachary glanced up and realized the wagons had come into view. He sighed. "Time to get back to work." 

      Taking her hand gently, Zachary led her to the wagons as they came to a stop. Timothy jumped down, his laughter filling the air. "Samantha, well look at you all pretty in soot." 

      "Don't worry, Tim, by the end of the day we'll match." 

      He batted his lashes. "You think I'll be as pretty as you?"

      Chuckles came from the men getting off the two wagons. Zachary stepped forward. "Back behind the barn I have a hole started. It still needs to be made quite a bit bigger to hold the mess. Half of you can take care of that and the other half can start unloading the wagons. We'll need them to haul things to the hole." 

      "And what are you going to do?" Timothy asked, as the rest of the men split off to do as Zachary had ordered them to—they were clearly eager to earn their five dollars a day.

Zachary pulled off his hat and wiped his arm over his brow. “Samantha pulled some things out of the ashes. I’m gonna look through what she found, figured out if it’s worth keeping, and then we’ll help y’all with whatever needs done.”

Timothy frowned a moment and Zachary thought it looked like he wanted to ask something. He wondered what was keeping his usually overly inquisitive friend from simply saying what he wanted. Timothy glanced toward the pile of things that Samantha had set aside and scratched at his jaw. After several moments of awkward quiet, Timothy nodded. “Alright then, y’all have fun with that.”

Zachary didn’t miss the way Timothy’s green eyes would no longer meet his as they stood there. His best friend suddenly seemed sad and distant. What was wrong? “Tim, you okay?”

Just as quickly as that sadness had appeared on Timothy’s face, it was gone and he smiled. “Of course. Let’s get to work. You aren’t paying me to stand around.”

“What was that about?” Samantha whispered once Timothy walked away.

Zachary scratched at his thick black hair before plopping his hat back over it. “I have no idea.”

“Do you..” Samantha chewed her lip. “Do you think he wants to help you look through those things?”

His first instinct was to say no but he swallowed that response down and looked at his friends retreating back. “Should I have asked him?”

Samantha laid her hand on his arm. “I’ll go get him and then I’ll go in the barn and grab a snack from the saddlebags and rest a while until you’re done.”

      "You don't want to go through what you found with me?" Zachary asked, his jaw tensing. 

      She let out a sigh, rose on her toes and kissed his jaw. "It should be you and Timothy. From what you've told me that was Timothy's family too and you're more brothers than friends. I didn't find much but there are a few things that might mean something to him—to both of you." 

      Zachary knew Samantha was right and he felt ashamed for not realizing it himself. Timothy had lost a family that day too and Zachary had never once asked the other man if he was okay. Hopefully, Timothy would forgive him for failing as a friend the last five years. He would make a conscious effort to be a better one. 

      Pressing a gentle kiss to her dirty brow, Zachary swallowed hard. "Thank you, Sam." 

      Her arms went around him and she rested her head against his dirt covered vest.. "You're welcome." Pulling away, she took a step back. "I'll go get Tim."

      Zachary pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, taking several long, slow drawls off it as he stared at the blue expanse of cloudless sky above him. Footsteps signaled Timothy's approach. "Hey, Zach. Sam said you needed me. Is something wrong?"

      Zachary tossed down the cigarette and killed it under his boot. "Wanna help me look through that pile of stuff?" 

      Timothy's throat bobbed as his gaze went to the pile of charred belongings. "Really?"

      Zachary reached out and gripped Timothy's shoulder. "I reckon you have a right to. They were your family too, Tim. I'm sorry I haven't been a good friend since that day."

      Redness surrounded Timothy's green eyes. "I couldn't imagine going through what you went through and seeing what you saw, Zach. I'm sorry I didn't just come home with you that day. I should have just come home with you and you wouldn't have had to go through that alone." 

      Zachary's released his hold on Timothy's shoulder as his fists clenched and his jaw tightened. Images of that damn day flashed through his mind. He shook his head to clear them and took a deep breath. He'd never realized that Timothy blamed himself for anything or carried guilt over what had happened. "I wouldn't have wanted you to see it. There wasn't anything pretty about what happened to all of them."  

      Zachary stiffened when Timothy suddenly jumped forward and wrapped him in a hug. He felt emotion rising in his throat, but he fought it down and simply patted Timothy's back twice. Slowly, Timothy pulled away and swiped at his face, cleaning the tears that had stained his cheeks. Tears that Zachary chose not to mention—He had cried quite a few of his own since that day five years ago so he wasn't going to judge the man. 

      "Well come on then, Zach. Let's go see what we can find and share some stories about the best folks I've ever known in my life."

A/N: Brotherly bonding and healing. Samantha knew what her boys needed. I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! I love reading your thoughts and comments so let me hear them!

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cricket songs and frog bellows filled the air as Samantha stood by the river, her bare feet enjoying the feel of the soft grass beneath them. A cool breeze blew through her loose curls as her gaze went to the fading purple of the twilight sky to the west. It had been a long day. They had worked until the sun had begun to set before finally sending the men back to town for the night.

      With so many hands doing the job, a lot had gotten done. The hole had been dug and already much of the bigger debris had been loaded up and tossed inside. The ash they could salvage was being stored separately to spread over the garden plot before they turned the soil which would provide good fertilizer for the ground. 

      Tomorrow the men could easily finish the first part of their task and then the real work would begin. Building a house. 

      Samantha was pulled from her thoughts when Zachary's strong arms slid around her from behind and he rested his chin on her hair. "I got the fire going. Do you want to eat or get cleaned up first?"

      While Samantha's stomach was growling, she was also filthy. The idea of getting clean proved stronger than her hunger. "I want to wash the soot off myself." 

      Zachary's mouth moved to her neck, his warm breath teasing as his teeth grazed across her tender skin. "If anybody is gonna be washing your body clean, it's me." 

      Her knees weakened. "That water will be cold," she warned. 

      He smiled against her neck. "I'll keep you warm." 

      "I'm sure you will." 

      Zachary's fingers went to the buttons on the front of her blouse and Samantha was trembling as he undid them swiftly and slid the fabric from her shoulders, kissing her pale, freckled skin as it became revealed to him. 

      "Zachary, I'm filthy," she warned, her breath catching in her throat when those calloused fingers grazed across her breasts through her chemise. 

      "You taste damn good to me," he growled, against her. 

      Samantha threw her head back and simply allowed him to devour her neck and shoulders—those work roughened hands cupping her breasts and teasing the hardened peaks of her nipples. A hungry moan left her throat when one of his hands dipped lower, sliding into her skirt. She knew he would be able to feal the heat of her though her underclothes as his fingers rubbed against the sensitive juncture between her thighs. 

      Turning her head, Samantha caught his lips with hers and lost herself in the taste of his kiss. Zachary undid her skirt and slid it and her underclothes to the ground. A breeze blew against her bare legs and Zachary pulled away and took a step back. Samantha turned as well so she could watch him as he slid off his weapons and tossed them into the grass. 

      Biting her lip, Samantha stepped out of her discarded clothes  before grabbing the bottom hem of her chemise and lifting it over her head. 

      Zachary's gaze nearly burned her as his eyes raked across her body. Feeling emboldened by the want he so openly displayed for her, Samantha tossed her chemise at him before covering her breasts with her hands and running into the river. The water 

was cold but not shockingly so and she found the deepest part of the river which came to her hips and she hooked her finger, beckoning him to come to her.

      Zachary did not hesitate. His clothes were shed in an instant and Samantha watched his lithe, powerful body as it moved through the moonlight. Her man was breathtaking. 

Whatever chill had been in the water, seemed to vanish the moment Zachary’s body found hers and he pulled her into him, his lips branding her own. Samantha let him have the dominance his mouth sought. Knowing the kind of pleasure this man could give her, Samantha was happy to submit. She was his completely.

      When his hand found her aching core and his finger slid inside her, Samantha called out Zachary's name in the growing darkness. "You're fucking perfect," he whispered gruffly. His mouth trailed down her chest, found her breast, and sucked hard. 

      Her hips bucked, taking his finger deeper inside her. Samantha was already soaring into heaven as that band of pleasure built within her. He added a second finger with the first, thrusting in and out of her with a vengeance. The pad of his thumb found her pulsing clit causing her to lose all ability to speak and breathe as she simply rode his hand and he continued to devour her aching nipples.

      Within moments that band of pleasure was snapping. Samantha's body shook as her release took her over. Every inch of her was overheated, liquid, and yet still wanting more—always more. 

      Zachary stood straight. A hungry moan left his lips as those dark eyes looked into hers. He grabbed her hips, lifted her in the air, and with the aftershocks of her first release still coursing through her trembling body, Zachary slipped her legs around his waist and slid his hard length inside her. 

      Samantha could do little more than cling to him as Zachary took her hard and fast. She pressed her lips to the column of his throat before nipping her way to his ear, loving the way he growled, gripped her backside tighter, and moaned her name. 

      "I can't get enough of you, Sam," he whispered against her ear. 

      "You can have as much of me as you want, Zachary," she assured him, feeling that pleasure building within her once again. 

      Zachary's hand came between him, he found her clit once more, taking it between him thumb and finger. Samantha felt a jolt in her blood and almost instantly she was once again sent tumbling over that edge. 

      Zachary's hands gripped her hips tightly and she felt his body stiffen just before he too found release and her name flew from his lips on a moan with a string of curses. 

      Slowly, they made their way back down to earth. Samantha had her head against Zachary's pounding heart and he kept his face buried  in her thick red curls. The only sounds were the gentle crackling of the   

fire, the soft rush of the river, and the serenading of the crickets and frogs. That cool breeze blew across her body once more and Samantha felt bumps cover her skin.

      "The water 

is a little cold,“ she admitted quietly.

      Zachary nodded as he slowly released his hold on her and put her on her feet in the river. The water made her hiss a bit as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I'll be right back," he whispered, his lips finding hers and kissing her gently. 

      Samantha watched him walk back up the bank. He grabbed his saddlebags and dug around in them, pulling out a bar of soap. After stoking up the fire, Zachary made his way back to her. Her heart swelled as he tipped her back and helped her wet her hair, before using that soap to cleanse every trace of ash and dirt from her skin. His every movement was tender and gentle and Samantha marveled at the complexity and contradiction that lived inside the man. 

      Once she was clean, Samantha took her time cleansing Zachary as well. He moaned as her fingertips danced across his heated skin. Samantha didn't miss the way he winced when she rubbed at his shoulder—the one with the bullet scar. She had seen him rolling and rubbing at it several times throughout the day and she knew he was in pain. 

      "It's fine, Sam," he assured her, recognizing the questioning look in her eyes. 

      "I don't like knowing you're in pain," she countered, laying her hand on his cheek. 

      That slow smile spread across his face, deepening his dimples. "What pain?" he questioned, before pressing a long, lazy kiss to her lips. 

      When another breeze blew against them and Samantha shivered, Zachary sighed. "Come on now, Sam. Let's get you by the fire where it's warm and I'll tend to your stomach." 

      He took her hand gently and led her up on the bank. Samantha frowned and bit her lip. "Zachary, I forgot my clean clothes in my saddlebags back at the barn." 

      "You won't hear any complaints from me," he vowed, those dark eyes caressing her body as she stood there in the glow of the fire. 

      Samantha felt her cheeks heat as she wrapped her arms around her chest to hide it. "Zachary....." 

      He chuckled. "I have a clean shirt and a clean pair of long johns in my saddlebags. You can wear them tonight and change into your clothes when we get back to the barn in the morning." 

      "Morning?"

      "Yeah. I want to sleep under the stars tonight and I want to do it with you in my arms." 

      Samantha offered no argument. That sounded perfect to her. He grabbed the clothes from his saddlebags and pulled on a pair of pants before helping Samantha into his long johns and shirt. The long johns were far too long and pooled around her ankles and he had to tie a knot in the waist of them to keep them from falling down her legs. The shirt hung nearly to her knees and swallowed her hands so Zachary rolled the sleeves up a few inches. Samantha felt warm and comforted all wrapped up in Zachary's clothes this way. 

      "Won't you be cold?" she asked, laying her palm against his bare chest. 

      He laid his hand over hers. "With you laying against me? I don't think that'll be a problem." 

      Her growling stomach interrupted the romance of the moment and had Zachary chuckling. 

      They sat together under a blanket of stars and dined on their supper of jerked beef, cheese, biscuits, canned apples, and water. "Did you and Timothy find anything you wanted from the house?" Samantha asked. They had been so busy all day that she hadn't any time alone with Zachary to talk to him and she knew he wouldn't have wanted to speak about something so personal with any other ears around to hear him.    

      Zachary took a long drink of water as his gaze focused on the gently flowing river, glistening in the moonlight. "Yeah. I kept all the cast iron cookware you found—my mama loved them."

      "What was in the small safe?"

      "Some money and paperwork. There was a pocket watch of my pa's in there too and I gave it to Timothy. He seemed to like it." 

      Samantha smiled. She was happy to hear that the two men were mending and rebuilding the brotherhood they had once shared. Grief was hard on people, and while everyone handled their grief differently, the healing they could work on together. 

      "It's good that you and Timothy have each other," she acknowledged. 

      Zachary shook his head, his gaze finally moving away from the river and meeting hers. "I think it's good that Timothy and I have you. You're a light, Sam, and you make life just a bit brighter for everyone around you."  

      Samantha swallowed hard and blinked against the tears filling her eyes, but it was no use. She could not fight the emotion rising within her and those tears spilled over her lashes. Zachary reached a gentle hand out and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. 

      Pushing himself to his feet, Zachary went to his saddlebags and pulled out a small drawstring patch from inside. "What's that?" she asked, using the sleeves of her borrowed shirt to clean her face.

      Zachary reached out and took her hand, pulling Samantha to her feet. He pulled the pouch opened and dumped a necklace into his palm. "This.. uh.." His free hand rubbed at his neck as he seemed to struggle to find the words he wanted. "This was my mama's necklace." 

      Samantha took it from his outstretched hand and held it toward the firelight. The gold chain was constructed of delicate but strongly forged links that glittered in the glow of the fire. A heart shaped, vividly green emerald about the size of a nickle dangled from the chain, catching the light. 

      "Zachary this is beautiful!" Samantha gasped. She had been raised poor and never seen gem stones and gold necklaces unless they were behind store windows or beneath glass cases. 

      Zachary nodded and ran his knuckle down her cheek before tilting her head up so she was looking once again into those deep brown eyes of his that always seemed to captivate her. "My pa gave it to my mama when he asked her to marry him. She wore it nearly every single day for twenty-three years. It was her most cherished possession." 

      "I can see why. Your father sounds like he was the romantic type." 

      Zachary nodded. "He was. Mama laughed at him sometimes because she wasn't much for big gestures but when he'd do the small things, you could see the love she had for him." 

      Samantha thought that was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard. Her own parents hadn't been loving with one another—her father had been too worried about his own wants and needs to waste much time showing affection to his family. 

Samantha let her gaze drop once again to that breathtakingly beautiful emerald before holding the necklace back out to Zachary. “They were blessed. You should put this somewhere safe so nothing happens to it.”

Concern filled her when she saw the way his hand shook as he took the necklace from her outstretched hand. Her gaze instantly went to his face to find that his jaw was tight and he his brow furrowed. “Sam, you told me once that you thought there was something special between us. Something special like what my parents shared. I think you’re right. I’ve known it since…” he paused as if thinking. “Since the night I carried you out of that saloon. I was lost in a darkness so damn deep I never thought I’d see light again—and then there you were. You made me want to live again, Sam. Nothing I could ever give you or do for you could possibly repay what you’ve given to me. It won’t always be easy. There may be days I seem distant. There may be times I have a hard time saying what I need to say. I’ll be overprotective and probably hang on to you a little too tight sometimes. But I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never give you reason to doubt my love, my devotion, or my loyalty to you. If you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life being your safe place. Will you marry me, Sam?”

It was Samantha’s turn to shake as she looked up into those dark eyes and saw the depth of his emotions shining out at her. How had this happened? It seemed surreal. Her life had been so hard for as long as she could remember. Every day she had been met with some kind of struggle just to survive. Then Zachary Marston had come into her life–throwing punches and rising up to protect her against anyone who dared do her harm. Zachary was her safe place. He was the man she loved. He was her forever. There was only one answer she could possibly give.

      "Of course I will." 

      The smile that split Zachary's face was the largest Samantha had ever seen there, lighting up his eyes and deepening those dimples. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close, burying his face in her wet curls. Samantha held him right back, loving the steady sound of his heart beat beneath her ear. 

      "Would you like to wear this necklace, Sam?" He pulled away enough to look down at her. "I know it's not a ring but..." 

      Samantha rose on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his firm lips. "I would be proud to wear that necklace, Zach." 

      She turned and lifted her hair to allow him to drape the necklace around her neck. His fingertips danced across her skin, causing her to tremble. "I love you, Samantha," his voice whispered in her ear as his warm breath breezed across her. 

      Samantha had known he did—he made it obvious every moment that he was in love with her. But to hear Zachary say those words had new tears filling her eyes as she let her body lean into his and lost herself in the strength of his touch. Her fingertips traced the emerald laying against her chest.  "I love you too, Zachary Marston. Forever."  

A/N: Some heat. Some sweetness. I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

      Freshly bathed in a clean set of clothes, Timothy felt a bit sheepish as he stepped into The Hackney Saloon and Brothel. Thomas Williamson was still the owner of this business and after what had happened yesterday, part of Timothy felt as if he were betraying Samantha and Zachary by being here. His loyalty was being tested, and while there were other saloons he could go into to play cards and drink, those saloons didn't have what he was really hoping to see tonight. 

      After ordering a beer and making his way to a back table, Timothy scanned the saloon for who he hoped to see. It was Tuesday night so there wasn't much of a crowd in the dusty saloon. Most men were home with their families or out on the ranches they worked at getting ready to work again at dawn. 

      Timothy didn't have a family of his own. He didn't have a home. And he had known that Zachary wanted time alone with Samantha at the farm so he'd ridden back into town with the men from the lumber yard to give his best friend that privacy. Timothy was happy for Zach and Sam. They deserved the happiness they gave each other. 

      With a twist in his gut of an emotion had could not identify, Timothy realized 

she wasn’t in the saloon. That meant the woman he had been hoping to spend time with was already upstairs spending time with someone else. He supposed he would just have to wait until she was done and made her way back downstairs.

      "Hey there, Timothy," a feminine voice pulled Timothy from his thoughts and he turned to see a brown-haired beauty named Rosalynne approaching him, in a red corset and white petticoat. She laid her hand on his shoulder before running her fingernails down his arm. "How are you tonight?" she purred. 

      Timothy swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. After taking a big swig of beer, he offered a smile. "I'm doing good. How are you?" 

      "I'd be doing better with some nice strong company," Rosalynne admitted, stooping low and placing her rather impressive cleavage directly in his peripheral. 

Timothy made a conscience effort to remain focused on the beer in his mug. “There’s not too many to pick from in here tonight but I’m sure you can find a strong one.”

Her breathless giggle blew against his ear causing his pants to tighten in a purely male response. Those fingertips tapped on his knuckles as he gripped his beer tight enough to cause worry over the integrity of the glass. “I think I’ve already found a strong one. Why don’t we take this upstairs?”

Timothy nearly said yes. He had never bothered denying himself fun before in his life. But he was trying to grow the hell up. He was trying to figure out what he wanted from life. He wasn’t entirely certain yet what that was but he did know that he was nearly twenty-five years old and couldn’t spent his entire life chasing after meaningless fun with paid women—even if they were entirely desirable and far too eager for their own good.

“I don’t think so, ma’am. I’m just gonna sit here awhile.”

She pouted out her red-painted, full bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

He tipped his head and took another drink. “I’m sure.”

“But we could….”

“The man said no, Rosalynne,” Caroline said with a light laugh as she approached the table. “Go look somewhere else.”

Rosalynne stood straight and crossed her arms under her breasts, simply emphasizing exactly what Timothy had turned down. “Can’t blame a woman for trying. Have you seen my other options in here tonight?”

Timothy glanced around and felt sympathy grow. Most of the men were either old, extremely hairy, or on the uglier side of ugly. Caroline waved her hand. “We don’t get paid to look at the scenery. Go on now.”

A sigh of relief whooshed from Timothy’s lungs as Rosalynne quickly sauntered away to find another man to tempt. Caroline sat herself down across from Timothy and crossed her legs before folding her hands on her lap. “You’ll have to forgive Rosalynne if she seemed a bit over eager. All of us are worried about the future. With Thomas making plans to leave town, we’re wondering if we’re going to have a place to work soon. The girls are trying to earn as much money as they can before there’s no more to be earned.”

“Can’t y’all find a job in another brothel if it comes to that? There’s always gonna be men eager to bed willing women.”

Her laughter was humorless as she ran a hand over her temple causing Timothy to notice the small amount of gray hair beginning to streak among the black strands. “For the younger girls there are options. Not all of us will find the future so bright if things don’t go a certain way here.”

Timothy didn’t know what to say so for once in his life he chose to say nothing. Again, Caroline was making him see another side of her—of all working women. He was ashamed that he had spent so long seeing them as a place to find his pleasure and nothing else. Caroline was a human with fears and feelings—all these women were.

Caroline clicked her nails on the table to draw his attention back to her. “I have to say I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Why’s that?” Timothy asked, swirling his beer around his glass.

“After what happened with Thomas I didn’t expect you, Samantha, or Zachary to step back in in until he sells the place and is gone.” Guilt nagged at him. Before Timothy could respond, Caroline tapped leaned back in her chair. “If you were only wanting beer and cards, there are other saloons. Which leads me to believe you’re here for female company—but you turned Rosalynne down.”

Timothy took another drink of his beer as he nodded. “Yeah uh.. I was wanting company.”

“I’ve never known you to be picky. Did you have a particular girl in mind?”

He nodded.

“You’re here to see Eleanor, aren’t you?”

Another nod.

Caroline seemed thoughtful as she studied him carefully. Timothy was uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny. “She’s upstairs right now.”

He felt tension in his shoulders and rolled them to attempt to loosen it. Timothy wasn’t someone who was accustomed to being on edge or uncomfortable—he didn’t like the feeling. “I know she is. I reckon I’ll just have to wait until she comes down.”

      "You'll be waiting awhile, Timothy. Eleanor isn't working tonight." 

      Timothy would be lying if he said he didn't feel relief at knowing she wasn't entertaining another man as he sat there waiting. "She isn't?"

      Caroline smiled as she reached out took Timothy's beer and downed some herself. "No. She isn't feeling well tonight. And thanks to recent events, Thomas is feeling much more lenient about allowing women to take a night off." 

      Timothy sat up straighter. "She's sick? What's wrong with her?"

      Caroline sat the mug of beer on the table. "You truly sound like you care." 

      "Uh..." Timothy glanced toward the staircase. 

      Caroline patted his hand in a comforting, almost motherly way, which was odd considering Timothy had laid with her more than once. "You know you could go up and check on her. Thomas is in his office so he won't be around to give anyone any trouble. Eleanor might enjoy seeing you." 

      Timothy was tempted. But what the hell would he say? What would he do? "Naw, if she doesn't feel well, I'll leave her be." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll be going now, Caroline. You take care of yourself, ma'am." 

      Stepping back out into the growing darkness, Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky. He wasn't in the mood for drinking and he didn't really want to go play any poker. A feeling of loneliness settled down hard on him so suddenly, Timothy had to grab the banister beside him for support. 

      He was alone. 

      Kicking at the dusty boardwalk, Timothy headed for the hotel. Since he didn't have anyone to pass any time with, he might as well go back to his room, curl up in bed, and try to fall asleep alone.

---

      Eleanor stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, staring hard at the dark, angry bruises marring her pale thighs. She ran 

her fingertips over the battered skin before letting her nightgown fall and hiding the proof of Thomas’ abuse—until she looked at her arm and saw the handprint bruise he had placed there.

Thomas had not been the first man to take her by force and given the way of the world for women like her, he probably would not be the last. Eleanor was a woman who had been through a lot in her twenty-six years of life. Her mother and father had died of fever when she had only been fifteen. They had been dirt floor poor and Eleanor had been left with nothing and suddenly found herself alone in the slums of the city.

Starvation and desperation had led Eleanor to begin using the oldest profession known to man in an effort to feed herself and put a roof over her head. She was pretty, desirable, and good at what she did—but she hated her life. There wasn’t a little girl alive who sat on her father’s lap and listened to him telling her that she could have any life she dreamed and chose to be a whore.

She was also not a woman who made a habit of wasting time feeling sorry for herself. This was her life and it had provided well for her for eleven years. Selling her body kept her stomach full. It kept a roof over her head, gave her a bed to sleep in, and protected her from the horrors of being a woman alone with nothing out the world. And this brothel, which had been her home for nearly five years, had been a good, safe place to work when the Morgan’s had owned it.

      But then Thomas Williamson had taken over. He enjoyed taking them by force and didn't feel he owed them any pay for the use of their bodies. Thomas had placed bruises on many of the women and the whores in the saloon didn't have a knight in shining armor to save them the way Zachary had saved Samantha. Not that Eleanor was angry at the other woman. She was thankful that Samantha had been saved from this place and the life Thomas had tried to force her into. And at least, thanks to Zachary, Thomas Williamson would be gone soon. But she would give anything to have a Zachary of her own. 

      A humorless laugh left Eleanor, echoing in the silence of her empty bedroom. Eleanor was a whore—there was no good man who would come sweep her off her feet and take her away from this life. And even if, by some miracle a knight came riding into her life, he would be sent running once he learned what she had learned that morning. 

      Eleanor had been feeling ill for a while. She had been growing nauseated, staying tired beyond belief, and struggling to come up with the energy necessary to entice the men and give them what they paid for. 

      And now her monthly cycle was officially two months late. She had spent so long hoping against hope that it would arrive and those hopes had gone unanswered. A babe grew inside her. She had become something nearly laughable. A pregnant whore. 

      Eleanor went to the bed and sat down hard upon it as she laid her hand over her flat stomach and thought of the life that grew within her. There was no way to know who had placed that babe there—Eleanor was a highly requested girl in the saloon and, on a busy night, could service up to twenty men. That meant there was no way to find the father and convince him to take responsibility and give her, and their baby, a different life. 

      A mother. 

      Tears filled her eyes as she laid down and curled up against her pillow. Eleanor would love to be a mother. To have a babe of her own that she could love and coddle and tend to. She could sing lullabies and rock at night. Eleanor's own mother had taught her well how to take care of a child. Eleanor would be an amazing mother—if her life had only taken a different path. 

      What choice did she have? She wouldn't be able to work once her belly swelled—and once the babe was born, how would she continue to work in a brothel? Would she take breaks between men to nurse her child? No child should be raised to see their mother and other women being poked to death by lonely men desperate for release. 

      No, a whore could not be a mother and Eleanor didn't know how to be anything else. She didn't have a lot of money saved—most of her money went to pay the rent for her room, buy her meals, provide her wardrobe, and her face paint. If she left this brothel, she would have nothing. And a woman alone out there with nothing and a child to care for? That wasn't possible. 

Eleanor could not be a mother.

      She knew there were ways to end the pregnancy. She wouldn't be the first brothel woman to use them. But her heart shattered in her chest to think of ending her babe's life and she simply did not know if she could. 

Why was life so damn unfair?

      A knock on her door had Eleanor jumping from the bed and wiping her face dry. She grabbed her robe, slid it on and wrapped it tight around herself. She shouldn't have any clients tonight—she had made it clear that she was not working. 

      "Who is it?" 

      "Caroline."

      Eleanor unlocked the door and swung it open. Caroline was done up for work with paint on her face and a bright red corset accentuating her curves. "Is something wrong? Is Thomas wanting me to come downstairs?"

      "No," Caroline's smile was comforting. "Thomas is still quite swollen and hidden away in his office. How are you feeling?"

      Eleanor shrugged as she went to the small armchair beside her tiny brass bed and sat down upon it. "I'll be okay."  She hadn't told Caroline, or anyone, about the life growing within her—or the bruises on her thighs from Thomas' recent rape. 

      "Of course you will. You're strong." 

      Eleanor wanted to scream. Yes, she was strong—but she was also tired. 

      Caroline pointed toward the hallway. "I have a man waiting for me in my room so I can't stay long. I wanted to tell you that Timothy O'Neil was here tonight hoping to see you." 

      Eleanor pictured Timothy's face in her mind. Those boyish good looks, green eyes, and infectious smile.  "He asked about me?"

      "Yes." Caroline shrugged. "And when he learned you weren't working, he left. Even though Rosalynne seemed quite eager to bring him upstairs."

      Eleanor couldn't understand why Caroline was telling her this or why it mattered. Timothy O'Neil was a nice enough man. He had never been forceful or cruel. He laughed a lot and smiled easily. But he also truly enjoyed sampling every woman the brothel offered, didn't seem to take much of anything seriously, and most importantly, Eleanor was a whore. 

      "You shouldn't keep the man in your room waiting," she muttered, turning her gaze to the window beside her. "I'm going to get some sleep so I can get back to work soon." 

      Caroline sighed, bid her goodnight, and left the room. Eleanor got to her feet quickly, engaged the lock on the door, and crawled back into bed. Within seconds her tears were once again soaking her pillow.

      She didn't want to live this life anymore. She didn't want to be a whore. She didn't want to live with the loneliness, the hate, the judgments. She didn't want to kill her child.  

A/N: Poor Eleanor. I’m glad I was able to add her to this story–And Caroline as well! She will play a larger role soon. Adding this depth to Saving the Gunslinger makes it so much more than just a love story between Zachary and Samantha and those are the stories I love to write. Romance is the center but not the entire story! 

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!  Thank you so much for all of your love and support so far!

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

      The sunrise on Samantha's sleeping face was the most beautiful sight Zachary had ever seen. He wrapped one of her soft red curls around his calloused finger and pressed a tender kiss to her brow. He hated to wake her, but the crew would be out soon to begin working. 

      "Sam? It's time to wake up, sweetheart." 

      Zachary found himself gazing into those deep green eyes as they fluttered open. A smile curved her sleepy face. "Good morning." 

      "Good morning." Zachary gave that curl wrapped around his finger a gentle tug. "We need to get up and get dressed. The crew will be here soon." 

      Samantha groaned and buried her face in his bare chest. "Let's just lay like this and sleep all day.' 

      Zachary had to admit that was damned tempting. They had spent most of the night all wrapped up together, gazing at the stars and talking about the future. Morning had come far too early. "Probably be best to get you dressed before they show up. You look mighty tempting in my shirt and I'd hate to have to knock another man's eyes out of his head." 

      Samantha's light laughter rang out in the early morning air. She pulled away and sat up, letting out a loud yawn as she stretched her arms high above her. Zachary's mouth went dry at the sight of his woman all wrapped up in the blue fabric of his shirt, the collar open and unbuttoned to reveal the swell of her breasts and the heart shaped emerald that laid between them. An emerald that was so much more than just a necklace. Samantha was his forever, just as he was hers, and now she wore proof of that. 

      "I have to get to town," Samantha said, dropping her arms and rubbing at her sleep lined face. 

      Zachary frowned. "Why?"

      "Because I work at the post office today." 

      Zachary watched her get to her feet and he laughed out loud when the long johns she wore fell to the ground, clearly the knot he had tied to hold them up had come undone—of course that laughter died when his eyes took in the curves of those creamy, freckled legs. 

      Samantha quickly yanked the long johns back up and her cheeks were glowing red. "I think you should probably take me to the barn so I can get dressed." 

      Zachary shoved himself to his feet. "I'd say you're right." He sure as hell didn't want another man seeing his woman looking so damn tempting.  The fire had died in the night so Zachary simply stomped around on it a bit to ensure there were no glowing embers left. He packed up their small camp quickly, tossed the saddle on Blaze and hopped on the geldings' back. 

      When Samantha slid up behind him her arms circled around him, those soft hands burned his skin—branding him as they laid against his bare stomach. Zachary knew he would never get enough of her. As they rode slowly back toward the barn, Zachary laid his hand over hers. "You don't need to work in town, Sam. I want you here to get the farm going." 

      "It's only three days a week, Zachary, and I like working there. Gavin was kind enough to give me the job so I don't want to just abandon him." 

      "Gavin worked there for years without any help. I'm sure he'll survive." 

      "Zachary Marston, I may have agreed to be your wife but that doesn't mean you can tell me what I will and won't do. I want to work with Gavin and so I'm going to. It's only three days a week—the rest of my time I'll spend here building back your ranch and farm." 

      "

Our ranch and farm,“ Zachary quickly amended. Damn stubborn woman. “And I’m not trying to control you, Sam. Do you remember that there is a man out there that has spent quite a few years after you? Not to mention Thomas has made it clear he can’t be trusted if I’m not around. I can’t protect you if you’re in town and I’m here.”

      Samantha tensed behind him. "Of course I remember. Do you remember that I said I would not hide and live in fear any longer? I did that long enough." 

      Letting out a grumble, Zachary rubbed at his jaw. "You are stubborn. You know that?"

      She laid her head against his bare back and when she sighed, her breath against his skin caused Zachary to tremble. "I've been told that a time a two. I also think I'm worth putting up with, don't you?" 

      Zachary chuckled as he rode Blaze into the barn and slid off the saddle, helping Samantha down as well and taking the time to press a long slow kiss to her lips before releasing his hold on her. "Get dressed, Sam. If you're determined to work in town then I guess that's what you're gonna do. We'll pass the crew on the way into town and I'll tell Timothy he's in charge today. I reckon I'll find something to do in town while you're busy." 

      Samantha rolled her eyes as she went to her saddlebags and pulled clean clothes from them. "No, Zachary. I can ride Athena into town, work for the day and come back to the ranch when I'm done." 

      Zachary shook his head as Samantha went into an empty stall to change. He sat down in a rickety chair by the barn door, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't think you will ride to town and back alone. You don't even have a gun." 

      He grumbled under his breath when his rolled up blue shirt was suddenly tossed over the stall door and collided with his face. "I'll be fine," she insisted. Damn stubborn woman. "And I used to have a gun, but it was stolen from me shortly before I arrived in Hackney and I haven't had the money to replace it." 

      Zachary's first instinct was to put his foot down and demand she do things his way—all he wanted in the world was to keep her safe. But Samantha was not a woman who could be controlled, even if it were for her own good. 

      "You won't be riding into town or back out here alone. Don't bother arguing. You are my world, Sam, and I won't let you be harmed simply to save your pride."

      "Oh," came her muffled response and Zachary could practically hear her blushing. He wasn't sure why she seemed so surprised when he spoke of how much she meant to him. Shouldn't the woman already know? 

      "I'll take you into town and as long as you promise to stay with Gavin, or one of the women from the saloon all day, and not wander around alone, I'll come back out to the ranch to work. I'll head back to town and pick you up from work later this evening and we can get dinner at the diner and call the hotel home tonight so you don't have to travel all the way back into town for work tomorrow. Will you agree to that at least?"

      Silence came from that stall for several long moments. Finally, Samantha stepped out, tucking her clean blue blouse into her tan skirt and smiling. "I think I can agree to those terms." 

      Zachary watched those wild curls shimmer as she tossed them over her shoulder. "And before I leave town this morning, we'll be going to the gunsmith and getting you a new gun and gun belt." 

      He had expected her to voice some argument since she seemed to be in that kind of mood this morning. Instead, her gaze softened. "Of course. I would love to have a gun again. It would make me feel safer." A slow smile curved her lips as she began walking toward him. The way her hips swayed held Zachary captivated. "I think you just want to see me wrapped in leather and bullets, Mr. Marston."

      Swallowing hard, he tilted his head. "You'd probably look pretty damn good in my bandolier." 

      "I'll try it on tonight," she promised, settling herself down on his knee. 

      Zachary growled, wrapped his arm around her waist and locked her in place. "You are amazing." 

      "So are you. Thank you for giving me freedom and space, Zachary. I know you worry, and I know you have good reason to, but we can't let fear of that man dictate our lives any longer. I promise I won't be foolish. I won't take risks. I will keep my wits about me, and if I see anyone or anything that makes me even the slightest bit uncomfortable, I will cling to someone I trust like glue and send someone else to fetch you."

      Zachary sighed and rested his head on her shoulder. "I never want to control you. I just want you safe. I know you kept yourself safe a long time before I came along so I'll just have to trust you know what you're doing." Pressing a kiss to her jaw, he raised his head. "We should probably get going now. It'll take us a while at the gun shop to find just the right gun, so you'll probably be a little late to work." 

      Samantha stood up and touched her curls which were wilder than normal this morning due to drying in the night breeze. "I don't know what I'm gonna do to control this hair. They may run me out of town before I get there." 

      Zachary chuckled. "Come here and sit down in front of me. I'll fix it for you." 

      "Are you going to cut it off?" she asked with a frown, though he noticed she didn't hesitate to do as he asked and get to her knees in front of him, putting all those red curls in his lap. 

      "I'd cut my own leg off before I'd ever cut off this damn hair," he vowed. Zachary grabbed the canteen from Blaze's saddle and used the water inside to dampen Samantha's hair, making it easier to work with and run his fingers through. Then he began to work.

      "Are you braiding it?" Samantha was clearly surprised and not attempting to hide it. "I had no idea a man like you would know how to braid hair."

      "I had little sister's remember?" Zachary smiled at the memory. "They used to love braiding the ponies manes and tails and they taught me how. Sara made it clear that any true horseman or horsewoman had to know how to make their pony presentable." 

      "Did you just compare me to a pony?" Samantha asked, a smile in her voice. 

      Zachary grunted before reaching out and tearing a strip of leather fringe from Blaze's saddle. After quickly tying the bottom of the braid to hold it in place, he kissed her hair. "Well, I

would ride you all day.“

      "Zachary!" 

      His laughter filled the barn. Damn he felt good. Light hearted even. Zachary had never in his life since that horrible day five years ago imagined he would ever feel so free to laugh and simply be. Samantha had given him that back. For that alone, Zachary would walk through the flames of hell and never think twice for the woman. 

      Zachary was about to tell her yet again just how much he loved her, when she shocked him into silence by turning on her knees to face him and offering a sultry smile. "Since you're being so agreeable this morning, allow me to return the favor." 

      She blew a warm breath against the front of his trousers and Zachary felt his cock respond instantly. Damn, this woman was something else. She was confident in herself and what she wanted. She was eager and hungry and it aroused him unlock anything else in the world ever had. 

      "Sam, what are you doing?"

      "Do I need to explain it to you?" she whispered. Those green eyes gazed up at him through long lashes as her hands undid his pants and he chose not to mention the way they were shaking. 

      Zachary was already long and hard as she freed him from the confines of his trousers and she never broke eye contact as she slid her tongue along his tip and drew a string of curses from his lips as his hand flew up and grabbed the wooden beam on the wall behind him. 

      "God dammit, Sam..." he groaned as she moved her mouth away several inches and smiled. "Don't tease me, damn you. Give me that mouth." 

      She didn't leave him waiting any long. Fucking hell. Zachary certainly hadn't expected the morning to go like this, but he wasn't going to complain. And if anyone showed up before Samantha finished, Zachary would not hesitate to run them off at gunpoint. 

      He lost all ability to think, move, breathe as Samantha pleasured him. His hips moved in time with her mouth and one of his hands rested on top of her braided hair while the other continued to grip that wooden beam behind him. 

      When she took him to the back of her throat and let out a humming moan, it nearly sent him over the edge and his fervent whispers of her name grew more urgent. Samantha clearly recognized the urgency. She moved faster and with more determination. 

      Zachary felt that tightening in his legs, working its way up to his core. Tighter and tighter—hotter and hotter—Zachary tried to move her head away, but she waved his hand off. One last moan left her throat and it was the last bit of pleasure that Zachary could stand before he found himself erupting in her mouth. 

      "I fucking love you, Sam..." Zachary panted as he felt the aftershocks of his release pulsing through him and attempted to catch his breath and return to earth. 

      "I love you too, Zachary," she replied, rising to her feet. "Now get dressed, we have company riding in."

      Zachary heard the hoofbeats in the distance and the voices. He realized she was right. Rising to shaky legs, Zachary buttoned his pants and found his shirt. Damn, he could hardly stand. That woman had done a number on his legs. 

      Samantha took several long drinks from the canteen by the chair before fastening it once again to Blaze's saddle.  Once Zachary donned his shirt and his weapons, he swept Samantha into his arms. "I'm sorry I couldn't repay the favor this morning. Tonight, you're mine." 

      Samantha smiled and pressed herself tight against him. "I'm 

always yours.“

---

      Samantha had never in her life felt more powerfully feminine than she did since Zachary had awaken that hungry, passionate side of her that she hadn't even realized existed. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as they entered town. He was so powerful, so strong, so proud. 

      A flush covered her cheeks. She had probably been a bit too forward in the barn that morning. Proper ladies were supposed to mild and meek when it came to their sexuality, weren't they? Then again, Zachary certainly hadn't seemed to mind her eagerness—as a matter of fact she recalled him being quite fond it. 

      "Alright let's head to the gunsmith and pick you out some leather and iron." 

      Samantha was pulled from her memories of their time in the barn and realized Zachary was leading her to the edge of town and the gunsmith shop that sat there. They hitched their horses and Zachary took Samantha's hand gently and led her inside. 

      "Well hello there, Zachary," the owner, Norman Derk greeted as they stepped into the dusty interior. Samantha had never been in his shop before and she took a moment to appreciate all the guns gleaming behind glass doors and under glass counters. 

      "Hello, Norman, this is my fiancée Samantha." Samantha felt herself glow at her new title. Fiancée. It sounded nice. 

      "Nice to meet you, Samantha." Norman's smile curved his large mustache which was curled at the tips with a bit of grease, and it deepened the harsh lines in his sun-weathered face. His bushy brows hung over friendly blue eyes. "I've heard a lot about you around town." 

      Samantha felt her face heat. She was sure he had. Probably all horrible things if Judith Channing had been the wagging tongue spreading the gossip. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Derk." She held out her hand and he shook it firmly. 

      Then he released his hold and folded his hands on the counter in front of him. "What can I do for you both? You seem to have plenty of weapons, Zachary. I don't believe there's room for another." 

      Zachary raised his brow. "There's always room for another," he countered. "But I'm not looking for a gun for me. The lady here is needed a gun and a gun belt." 

      Norman's eyes widened a bit. "The lady? I have to say most ladies I know don't wear gun belts and six shooters." 

      Zachary tensed a bit and Samantha recognized the sign that his temper was beginning to be riled. It truly didn't take much to rile it when it came to her. "Sam isn't like most women," he assured the other man. "And she wants a gun belt and a gun to fit it." 

      Normal held his hands up in surrender. "I meant no offense, Zachary. But she is such a delicate lady—perhaps she would be better suited for a small derringer? We have a new lady's model that would fit her hands just right..." 

      Zachary released Samantha's hand, stepped forward, and clenched his fists. "If you don't want to sell the goddamn woman a goddamn gun then we'll just go elsewhere...." 

      Samantha was reminded of his interaction at the lumberyard with Mr. Anders. Did Zachary know how to shop without threats? She stepped forward quickly and placed her hand on his arm to silence him. "Mr. Derks, I understand your concerns. I know most ladies aren't accustomed to large revolvers and you're attempting to sell me something I can use properly. Zachary is correct when he says I am not like most women. I have been shooting guns—both rifles and revolvers—since I was only around eight years of age." 

      "Of course, ma'am!" Norman seemed happy to turn his attention to her. "I hope I did not offend you, ma'am." 

      "You didn't," she assured him. 

      "I have plenty of weapons and belts to choose from." His eyes shifted back to Zachary. "Is there a price point the lady and I should be mindful of?"

      "No. She gets what she wants. I want her to test it out back and make sure it's a weapon she's comfortable with before you sell it to her." 

      "Of course." Now it was Norman's turn to seem offended. "I've been selling weapons longer than you've been alive, Zachary Marston." 

      "Well, alright then," Zachary adjusted his gun belt. "Sam, I'll just go put Athena up at the livery while you shop and let Gavin know you're gonna be a bit late." 

      Samantha's eyes widened when he turned and attempted to stride for the door. She clutched at his sleeve. "Oh no you don't, Mr. Marston. Don't you remember what I said the last time you dropped me in front of salesman, told him money was no option, and the lady was to have whatever she wanted and then simply walked away?" 

      His expression was sheepish as he rubbed his neck. "I uh... I don't care much for shopping." 

      "And I don't care much that you don't care much for it," Samantha assured him. "You will stay here and help me pick out a gun and belt and you'll be happy while you do it." She rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lip. "Please?"

      It was Zachary's turn to blush a little as he glanced at Norman from the corner of his eyes and then pressed a kiss to Samantha's brow. "Yes ma'am."  

A/N: I’m back! I’m alive! I’m feeling much better and recovering from pneumonia. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Just wanted to show a bit more growth in Sam and Zach’s relationship and how they interact! Love y’all!

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

      Eleanor slipped out the back door of The Hackney Saloon and Brothel. She needed sunlight and air and neither of those things were going to be found if she remained locked in her bedroom. It was nearing lunch and she had dressed in the most modest and decent pink short-sleeve blouse and black wool skirt she owned in an attempt to camouflage herself among the other townsfolk. With her blond hair pulled back on her head, a lack of paint on her face, and her modest clothes she resembled any other lady walking down the street. 

      Her stomach rolled. The nausea was not easing. Though whether it was the pregnancy, her own nerves, or a combination of the two—Eleanor couldn't be sure. Her reason for walking into town wasn't just air. She needed to stop at the apothecary and get the herbs necessary to end a pregnancy. 

Her pregnancy. Could she do it? She still wasn’t certain. Did she have any other choice? She wasn’t certain of that either.

      Wrapping her arms around herself, Eleanor made her way to main street and headed for the doctors' office and apothecary. Lewis, the doctors' nephew, was standing behind the counter. He frowned when she walked in. 

      "Can I help you, ma'am? I don't believe I've seen you around before." 

      He had. He had even paid for her services a time or two. But he wouldn't recognize her outside of her work costume and make up out in the broad daylight dressed as a lady. "I was wanting to purchase some herbs," she replied, wringing her hands as she held them down in front of her. "I'm hoping you might have them in stock." 

      "Of course, ma'am. We carry a wide selection. Is there a particular herb you're needing? If you tell me what you need it for, I can help you choose the best herbal medication for you." 

      Eleanor shook her head. "I know what I need." She glanced around the storefront at all the bottles laid out for display. Her hands were shaking as she wrung them so tightly it caused pain. "I need some rue if you have some."

      His friendly eyes widened slightly as he pulled off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt sleeve. "Rue? We don't get many requests for that herb, ma'am. It can be quite dangerous. May I ask what you're using it for."

      Eleanor was not about to utter the truth. She licked her shaking bottom lip. "I have stomach issues from time to time and it helps with those." 

      Lewis shook his head, setting his spectacles back on his nose. "I don't know many doctors who are giving rue for stomach upset. It truly is a dangerous herb, ma'am. There are much gentler methods to soothe your stomach. Peppermint is often...." 

      "I don't want peppermint," Eleanor quickly snapped with a stomp of her foot, cutting him off and causing his jaw to drop. She swallowed hard and tipped her head. "Lewis, I want rue. Will you sell it to me or not?" 

      A shocked expression studied her closely for several moments. Then she saw recognition enter those eyes and she nearly turned and ran. "You're from the brothel, aren't you? Yeah, I recognize you." 

      Eleanor felt tears spring behind her eyes, though she fought them with everything she had. "Yes, Lewis. I work in the brothel. I hardly see how that has anything to do with this sale...." 

      "Rue is a very dangerous herb, ma'am. It can cause a lot of harm..." His gaze dropped to her stomach. "I beg of you to think through the choices you seem to be making." 

      Laying her hands on the counter, Eleanor stood her ground. "And I beg of you to use discretion. Will you sell me what I'm asking for or not?"

      He shifted his feet, his face paling. "Perhaps you should talk to my uncle...."

      "And will your uncle raise this child, Lewis?" she snapped in an angry hissed whisper. "Either sell me what I'm asking for, show me where it is and I'll get it myself, or be prepared to become an adoptive father when I drop this child on your doorstep. I have no other options—trust me when I tell you I have 

thought about it. It is all I have thought about.“

      The bell above the door signaled someone entering. Eleanor jumped to the side as and elderly couple entered the store. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Wynn," Lewis greeted, plastering a friendly smile once again on his face. 

      "Hi there, Lewis," Mr. Wynn replied in an aged and shaky voice.

      Eleanor stepped to the side and folded her hands, lowering her head. Her mind was racing. Damn Lewis for making this so difficult. Why couldn't the man simply sell her what she needed and let her be on her way? Why did anyone have a right to judge her? Especially when they were offering no real alternatives or solutions. 

      She ignored the conversations going on between the Wynn's and Lewis. If they spoke to her, she had no idea. Her mind was simply too jumbled. 

      It wasn't until Lewis was suddenly in front of her, taking her hand and laying a bottle of herbs in her palm that Eleanor was pulled from those tangled thoughts and brought back to the present. "Eleanor, I'm sorry. All I ask is that you use caution. Rue can work but it can also be very dangerous. You only need a small amount in your tea. Don't use too much."

      Eleanor glanced around and realized they were once again alone. A tear slipped down her cheek. "Thank you, Lewis." 

      He let out a long sigh. "Please don't tell anyone you got this from me and I won't tell anyone you were here for it. If my uncle found out I gave you rue he would be very angry."

      "I can promise I don't intend to tell anyone," she vowed, swiping at her face. He simply nodded as she slipped the bottle into her pocket. "How much do I owe you?"

      "Nothing." 

      "I'm not looking for charity..." 

      "Just go, Eleanor. I'm leaving town in few days. Consider it a going away present from me to you." 

      Eleanor wanted to insist but she also knew when to simply take something and keep her mouth closed about it. With one last whisper of thanks, she lowered her head and left the store. Eleanor didn't pause as she raced back toward the brothel. 

      She wasn't even paying attention to where she was going until she found herself running into someone. "Eleanor?" Samantha's voice reached her ears. "Are you okay?"

      Eleanor forced her raging emotions down into her gut and managed a smile. "I'm fine," she assured the other women as they gripped each other to steady themselves. "I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." 

      "Neither was I," Samantha laughed. "I was paying more attention to my stomach than my footsteps." 

      Eleanor noticed the definite change in the woman. For the first six months that she had known Samantha, the woman had always seemed scared, pale, small, and withdrawn. She had never seen her smile or act free spirited or happy. Samantha was all of those things now. Eleanor's heart cried out with happiness for her friend—at the same time as it cried out with sadness over her own situation. 

      "Gavin and I were going to go to the diner for lunch. Would you like to join us?" Samantha offered. 

      Eleanor saw the small, quiet, bespectacled post office clerk standing behind Samantha. She was surprised that Zachary's overprotectiveness had allowed Samantha to wander from his sight. "Where is Zachary?"

      "At the farm working." Samantha waved her hand. "Will you join us for lunch?"

      Shame colored Eleanor's cheeks. "I'm not allowed to dine with everyone else, Samantha." 

      Eleanor's eyes were drawn to Samantha's hips and the gun belt that rested there as the other woman adjusted it. "I'm willing to put my foot down and insist they allow you to." 

      "A gun?" Eleanor laughed lightly, surprising herself. 

      Samantha put her hands on her hips. "Yep. Zachary seems to appreciate how I look in leather and iron." 

      Gavin let out a quick laugh which he attempted to then camouflage by a cough as his cheeks reddened. "He 

did seem to have a hard time saying goodbye to you this morning.“

      It was Samantha's turn to redden. "So, what do you say, Eleanor?"

      Most days Eleanor would agree to fighting the unfairness of town but today she simply didn't have the strength of mind or spirit. Samantha seemed to recognize her signs of exhaustion. Her expression softened. "How about I go order us some lunch and you and I can go sit under the tree behind the post office and eat together?" 

      "But you were going to eat with Gavin..." 

      "Don't worry about me," Gavin insisted. "I can take my lunch into the post office and get some work done while I eat." 

      Eleanor was tempted to still say no. She didn't have much of an appetite and she knew that Samantha was going to push her to speak... But she also did not want to push the other woman away—Eleanor needed her friendship. 

      "That sounds good, Samantha." 

      "Great!" Samantha reached out and wrapped Eleanor in a warm hug, surprising her and nearly causing her to break down in tears right there as she held her back. "I'll get us something to eat and we'll sit down and have some woman time. I think we could both use a bit."

---

      Samantha was worried about Eleanor. As the two women sat down together beneath the shade of an old oak behind the post office, Samantha couldn't help but notice that she seemed tense, sad, worried, and distracted. Eleanor had always been vibrant, beautiful, and confident—she seemed a shell of her former self. What was wrong with the woman?

      "How have you been, Eleanor?"

      "Fine," the other woman quickly replied, picking at the piece of fried chicken on her tray. 

      "Are you sure?" Samantha frowned. "You don't seem fine." 

      "I've been a bit sick lately," Eleanor admitted. "Stomach issues and I haven't been working much. But I'm beginning to feel better." 

      "Did Thomas do something to you?" She pointed at the healing bruise on Eleanor's arm. "Is that from him?"

      Eleanor rubbed at that bruise and nodded. "Yes, but it was before Zachary's warning to him the other day. He hasn't done anything to me since. He's even been allowing me to take some time from working while I've been ill." 

      Samantha took a bite of her own chicken. "Well, that's good I suppose. You know you can talk to me, right? I would help you anyway I could if you needed help." 

      Eleanor smiled, the expression so sad it made Samantha's heart ache for her. "I remember not too long ago when it was me begging you to let us girls in and open up." 

      "Our roles have reversed it seems," Samantha agreed. "You 

can talk to me, Eleanor.“

      Eleanor reached out and laid her hand over Samantha's. "I know." Her gaze caught sight of the delicate golden chain around Samantha's neck. The necklace disappeared into Samantha's shirt. Golden jewelry was expensive—and not something Eleanor had ever seen Samantha with before. 

      Samantha glanced down, following Eleanor's gaze. She smiled and pulled the heart shaped emerald from under her blouse. "Isn't it beautiful?"

      "Where did you get that?" Eleanor gasped because it was indeed beautiful. 

      "Zachary. His father gave it to his mother and Zachary gave it to me—it's to symbolize our engagement." 

      "Engagement?" Eleanor's eyes widened. 

      "Yes," Samantha's cheeks reddened as she took a sip of tea. "He asked me to be his wife last night and I agreed." 

      Eleanor leaped forward and pulled Samantha into a hug. "I am so very happy for you, Samantha! I was worried about Zachary at first—worried that with his history and temper he might hurt you." Eleanor pulled away and smiled. "I can see now I was wrong. Zachary has been so good for you." 

      Samantha was happy. So happy. But that did not take away the worry she felt for her friend. Something was wrong with Eleanor—and it was clearly not something she was going to open up about it as they sat here eating their lunch. 

      After several moments of both women quietly eating, Samantha cleared her throat. "Maybe your Zachary will come soon, Eleanor. And he'll give you the strength to open up and fall in love and have a different life." 

      Eleanor pushed her food away, brought her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she stared off into the distance. "Whores don't get to fall in love, Samantha. We don't deserve that life." 

      Samantha's heart ached and she knew that Eleanor was wrong. Eleanor was a good woman. Caroline was a good woman. Most of the girls from that saloon, the ones that Samantha had spoken to at least, were good women. 

      "

Everyone deserves that life, Eleanor. Everyone deserves love and happiness.“

      Eleanor sighed as a tear slipped from the corner of her blue eye. "I wish I believed that, Sam." 

A/N: Poor Eleanor. Maybe things will get better for her soon. There will be Zachary/Samantha time next chapter of course but I’m also thinking it might be time to start having a bit of Timothy/Eleanor interaction. What do you all think? Thank you for reading and commenting! Y’alls support means the world to me! 

Love ya

Nicole

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Zachary settled Blaze in at the livery stable, took a few moments to give Athena a good scratch, and then stepped out into the weakening daylight. His mind had one focus and that was finding Samantha and feeling the woman safe in his arms. He knew she needed space and independence, and she had managed to keep herself safe for two and a half years without his help—but he sure felt powerless whenever she was out of his sight. If anyone were to hurt that woman, Zachary would bring the fire of hell down on their heads.

      "Where's that woman of yours at?" Timothy asked, stepping out of the livery and standing beside him. It seemed his best friend knew the direction his thoughts had taken—of course it wasn't hard. Samantha was the direction Zachary's thoughts were 

always taking.

      Zachary glanced toward the large clock which indicated it was nearly six in the evening. "I reckon we'll head toward the post office. She may still be there."

      The two men made their way down main street and Zachary saw a flash of red hair step out of the building they were heading toward. Relief flooded his senses. His woman was safe, alive, intact, and smiling as she caught sight of him and made her way in his direction. Zachary knew most would find it unacceptable the way he missed and worried over her whenever Samantha was out of his sight, but their opinions wouldn't change the way things were. That woman was his oxygen and he needed her. 

      "You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Samantha!" Timothy greeted brightly as he rushed forward and reached Samantha first, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Maybe now Zachary will do something other than sulk and pout and be a grouch." 

      Zachary 

did do something else then. He glared. Take that Timothy.

      Samantha smiled as she disentangled herself from Tim's grasp and those big green eyes met his. "Surely you weren't that grumpy today?"

      A smile tugged at his lips as Zachary pulled her into his arms, burying his face in those lavender scented curls and breathing her in. "I missed you." 

      She held him just a little tighter. "Okay then." 

      "Well, I don't know about the two of you but I'm starved." Timothy stated, wincing as he laid his hand over his stomach. "That man of yours was a slave driver all day, Sam. Barely gave us time to eat a bite." 

      Zachary heard Samantha's stomach growl as if in agreement. "I could definitely eat," she agreed, pulling away from him. 

      "Let's go get some dinner," Timothy pointed toward one of the diners down the road. 

      "I thought Sam and I would go to eat together...." 

      Zachary stopped speaking when Samantha threw a sharp glance in his direction. She looped one arm around Zachary's and held the other out for Timothy. "Let's go then, gentleman. A lady can never have too many good looking men on her arm when she goes for dinner." 

      Zachary sighed as Timothy took her offered arm and they led her down the road. "We're awful dirty, Sam," Timothy lamented. "I guess we should have cleaned up before we came to take you to dinner." 

      Thoughts of cleaning up made Zachary think of the hotel room waiting for him and Samantha and the hot bath they would share when they got there. Her tiny body dripping wet as steam swirled around them and Zachary tasted that sweet haven between her thighs.....

      "Did you get a lot done today?" Samantha's question pulled him from his hungry thoughts. Damn. Zachary had never been a man who got lost in or blinded by want and hunger—until Samantha had come along and shaken him to the core. 

      "We got a good start on the foundation. We spent part of the day just laying things out and getting the layout just the way we wanted it," Zachary replied, opening the diner door so Samantha and Timothy could step inside. "The footprint of the new house is quite a bit bigger than the old one, but we were able to line it up and make it work with the cellar." 

      "I for one am glad you chose a one-story house," Timothy admitted. "I don't care much for heights." 

      Zachary pulled out Samantha's chair and slid it to the table once she sat down. "I just wanted something different," she replied simply, her gaze knowing as it meant Zachary's. 

      As Zachary took a seat in the corner facing the door, he marveled at just how damn lucky he had gotten when Samantha had fallen in love with him. He didn't deserve a woman as good as her—not even close. He would spend every day for the rest of his life making sure she stayed happy, and he never took her for granted. 

      The atmosphere between the trio was light and enjoyable as they ate their meal. Thankfully, Timothy was talented enough at conversation that not much was required from Zachary as he simply enjoyed his beef strew with fresh bread and kept an eye on everyone that passed the window. 

      "So, what did you do all day, Samantha?" Timothy finally asked, which drew Zachary's attention back to the table. 

      "Organized mail mostly," she replied, blowing on a spoonful of stew. "And answering the question, 

‘Do you actually know how to use that thing?’ at least a dozen times from men who came into the post office and saw the gun on my hip.“

      Zachary chuckled, recalling the way Samantha had quickly and accurately taken down every target placed in front of her with that .45 Colt just that morning. Yeah, his woman definitely knew how to use that thing. And it was equal parts alluring and terrifying to watch her do so. 

      "I'm gonna guess by that look of admiration on Zach's face there, that you do indeed know how to use that thing." Timothy pulled his newfound pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time. He had  checked the time on that thing at least twenty times throughout the day—Zachary suspected he simply liked having it and the connection it provided to the family they'd both lost. He was glad Samantha had pushed him to allow Timothy to look through those belongings. His friend had needed it. 

      "Yeah, she knows how to use it." Samantha's cheeks colored at Zachary's praise. 

      The trio finished their meal and left the diner. Again, Timothy checked that damned watch. "Well, I'll be heading and getting a drink and unwinding a while before I head to the hotel. You wanna join me?" 

      "Nope," Zachary took Samantha's hand in his and pulled her closer. "I reckon we're wore out and gonna head to the hotel." 

      Samantha feigned a massive yawn behind her hand as she blinked innocently. "So sleepy." 

      Timothy laughed and patted Zachary on the back. "Alright then. Y'all rest well," he winked. "Just don't forget we'll leave town at eight to head back out to the ranch for work." 

      Zachary simply grunted and began to lead Samantha away as she offered Timothy a quick goodbye. "Zachary, I'm worried about Timothy..." she admitted. 

      "Why?" Zachary asked, not pausing on his trek toward the hotel and the pleasure he knew they would find there. 

      "Doesn't he seem sad to you?" 

      Zachary frowned. Did he? Hell, Zachary didn't know. He'd been a bit too distracted by his own thoughts all day to pay much attention. Timothy would have had to have come straight out and said, '

Hey, I’m sad ’ in order for Zachary to have taken notice. But Zachary did care and if Timothy was upset, he wanted to be there for him. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he assured her. “For tonight, I only have one thing on my mind.”

      "And what's that?" Samantha asked with a coy bat of her lashes. 

      Zachary chuckled. He stooped low, his warm breath teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear, causing Samantha to tremble against him. "You." 

---

      Samantha sighed with contentment as she slid into the steaming water of her bath and felt her muscles instantly relaxing. Zachary had left the room a short while ago, vowing to urge the maids to put a rush on the water. The water had arrived, Zachary was still gone, but Samantha had chosen not to wait for him. The temptation to simply slide into that bath had been too great. 

      She had the changing screen pulled in front of her for privacy and could not see the door, but she knew that Zachary had a key and would let himself in. Her body trembled with anticipation. She had seen the obvious want and hunger in the man. He clearly remembered their interaction in the barn just that morning and was eager to continue where Samantha had left off. 

      A knock sounded on the door just before she heard a key in the lock. Despite knowing that it was Zachary, Samantha still reached out and laid her hand over the revolver she had resting in the chair beside the tub. 

      "It's just me, Sam," Zachary's voice assured her quietly as the door closed and she heard the lock reengage. 

Samantha relaxed once again beneath the lavender scented bubbles she was surrounded by. “It took you long enough,” she scolded gently.

      She couldn't see Zachary yet but she heard the familiar sounds of him undoing his gun belt and sliding from his bandolier. When he stepped around that changing screen, Samantha's breath caught in her chest. He had taken off more than just his weapons. Zachary's powerful body was completely bare and gleaming in the lamp light. 

      That deep growling voice rumbled from his chest. "Damn woman, you're breathtaking." 

      "I could say the same to you," she whispered, her mouth dry and her hands shaking. 

      His movements were deliberate and predatory as he came to the tub and crouched beside it. Zachary's hand slid behind her neck and pulled her forward, crushing her lips beneath his own. Samantha lost herself in that kiss—in the heat and the hunger. She felt his calloused fingertips trail up her thigh beneath the water. When his finger slid inside her, Samantha threw her head back, arched her back, and filled the room with moans of his name. 

      "Goddamn, I love seeing you wanting me," Zachary growled. 

      Samantha couldn't form words or cohesive thoughts for that matter as Zachary's hot mouth went to her breasts and those fingers continued to pleasure her aching core. Samantha's hips moved in time with his pumping hand. She gripped the sides of the metal tub as steam swirled around them and her panting breaths mingled with Zachary's hungry moans. 

      "Let yourself go, Sam," Zachary urged, his hot mouth finding her neck and nipping at the sensitive flesh there. When he used the pad of his thumb to apply pressure to her clit and vibrate it, that band of pleasure that had been building up within her, snapped so suddenly, Samantha screamed out his name, though Zachary captured most of the sound against his lips. 

      Slowly, Samantha began to come back down from the heaven Zachary had sent her to. She was aware of him sliding into the small tub behind her, cradling her against his chest, his hard arousal pressing into her back. He grabbed a rag from beside the tub and ran it gently against her skin. "I love you, Samantha." 

      "I love you too," she vowed, laying her head back against his shoulder as he ran that rag along her collarbones. 

      "I'm buying us a tub when our house is finished," he announced. "At least twice as big as this one." 

      "Are you saying you want to make a habit of bathing together?" she teased. 

      "Of course I am." 

      Zachary took a moment to scrub the dirt from his own skin before standing up and pulling Samantha up with him. He helped her from the tub and Samantha simply allowed him to continue to pamper her as he took a soft cotton towel and dried the water dripping down her skin. 

      "Are you going to dress me too?" she teased, her eyes simply feasting in the sight of all his tanned skin and hard muscle gleaming in the glow of the oil lamps. 

      Zachary smiled, that slow, lazy smile that deepened his dimples and made her heart thud just a little harder. "You won't be needing clothes tonight." 

      Samantha feigned confusion. "I won't?"

      Zachary took her by the hips and backed her up to the edge of the bed before lifting her up and tossing her down upon the soft mattress and blankets. Samantha bit her lip as she stared up at him. 

      "No. You won't." 

      Zachary dropped to the bed and crawled across it, covering Samantha's body with his own. His lips caught hers in a quick hard kiss, before heading to her neck, her collarbones, her breasts. He teased her nipple, rolling the hard bud between his tongue and teeth. Samantha buried her hands in his thick dark hair and raised her hips. "Take me, Zachary." 

      With a hungry growl, those dark brown eyes looked into hers as Zachary slid himself inside her, filling her completely. Samantha's head went back as she arched from the bed and Zachary feasted on her exposed throat. 

      Zachary pulled back and then slammed into her one hard time. Then another. Samantha clung to him, her nails digging into his back with each thrust he made inside her. "More Samantha. Damn you, you always have me wanting more." 

      Samantha nipped at his neck, pressing her breasts into his chest. "I'm yours, Zachary. All of me. Whenever you want me." 

      Zachary's movements quickened and Samantha lost herself in the pleasure that only this man would ever give to her.  "And I'm yours, Sam. Only yours." 

---

      "You will work tonight. I am still the owner of this business and still need to make a profit. I can't continue to pay you to sit in your room and do nothing." 

      Eleanor stared at Thomas' reflection in the mirror behind her. He was still swollen and bruised form the beating Zachary had given him but his fear was fading. As was his patience. Eleanor had hoped that she could have one more night off work to use the herbs she had gotten today—clearly that wasn't going to be possible. 

      "Dammit, are you listening to me?" Thomas demanded, taking a step closer to her. 

      Eleanor winced. She didn't want to be afraid of the bastard but she was. He had already raped her several times and had beaten her more than once. And knowing that there was a life growing inside her made Eleanor feel weaker somehow—more vulnerable. "Yes, I'm listening." 

      "Then get your ass dressed for work." He glanced at his pocket watch. "You were supposed to be ready thirty minutes ago." 

      She was so very tired and weak. "I was hoping for one more night..." Eleanor whispered, only to be cut off when his hand closed tightly around her upper arm, bruising the flesh beneath it.

      "You've had enough time off. You'll either get dressed and get to work or you can leave the saloon and make your own way out there." 

      Eleanor shook her head and yanked her arm free of his grasp. "Fine. I'll get dressed." 

      Thomas grumbled under his breath and took several steps back. "You're going to have to work hard to make up for all that time of I gave you." 

      Eleanor's heart cried out for freedom. She did not want to lay with any more men for coin. She did not want to let one more man slam his dirty pecker inside of her in exchange for fifty cents. But that was what she was. A whore. It was all she'd known for eleven years and it was all she would ever be. 

      "Aren't you supposed to be selling this place?" Eleanor asked, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. 

      Thomas snorted, rubbing his thick black mustache. "Why? Because Zachary Marston says I should?"

      "Because he said he'll kill you if you don't." 

      Thomas clenched his fists, those small, dark eyes narrowing. "I won't run scared from that bastard. If I sell and leave, it will be my own choice." 

      Eleanor simply nodded. She wasn't going to push his temper any further by saying anything else. "You have ten minutes to get your ass ready and get downstairs before I come back up here and get you." 

      "I'll be down," Eleanor promised.          

      She found herself alone once again as Thomas left the room and slammed the door behind him. Eleanor changed into a black corset and a pair of white bloomers trimmed in lace. Her legs were bare beneath her mid-thigh and she placed a matching black lace garter on her low thigh. 

      It took only a couple of moments to braid her long blond hair and loop that plait on the back of her head, pinning it up out of the way. Some red paint emphasized her full lips, dark paint outlined her blue eyes, and a quick brush of rouge brought out her cheekbones. Eleanor splashed a tiny amount of rose scented perfume on her neck and slid into her high-heeled ankle boots. 

      She was ready for work. 

      Leaving her room, Eleanor could hear the slight din of noise from the saloon below. It was seven thirty on a Wednesday evening so the saloon wouldn't be too crowded. Most ranch hands and cowboys would be at the ranches and farms they called home getting ready to work the next morning. 

      But there would be some and Eleanor would be expected to keep them company and tend to their needs. She simply wasn't sure she had it in herself tonight to do so. Her stomach was on edge and her body simply felt tired—not to mention the heaviness weighing down her mind and heart. 

      "Eleanor!" The moment Eleanor entered the saloon a loud cry came up from a back table of regulars who had clearly missed her during her absence. 

      Plastering on her sultry, engaging smile, Eleanor threw them a coy wave and made her way to the bar to get a tray of drinks to carry to them. As she waited for Otis to ready the drinks, Eleanor was surprised when a man was suddenly sidling up to the bar beside her. 

      She glanced over and realized it was Timothy O'Neil. Messy blond hair, a tanned complexion, boyish good looks, good-natured green eyes, and a shaky smile. "Hello there, Miss Eleanor." 

      Trying hard to keep her false persona intact, Eleanor leaned in and tapped her fingertips on his arm. "Hi there, Timothy."  If she was going to 

have to go upstairs with someone, she would prefer it be someone like Timothy. At least he provided a decent view and would be kind.

       "I'm glad to see you, ma'am," Timothy offered, shoving his hand through his hair and causing several blond locks to fall over his brow. "Caroline said you hadn't been feeling well." 

      "I'm feeling just fine," Eleanor lied, flashing a wink toward Timothy as Otis placed four beer mugs on the tray in front of her. "Did you miss me, cowboy?"

      He stuttered several times as his face turned red. Eleanor was struck by how odd his behavior seemed. She didn't remember Timothy as being a shy man. "I was worried about you," he admitted quietly. 

      This caused Eleanor to completely still. She froze as she simply stared up at him, searching those green eyes—though what she was searching them for, she couldn't be sure. "Eleanor!" That back table of regulars called out again. "Bring them beers and your sweet self back here, darlin'!" 

      Eleanor snapped herself from her confusion over Timothy's behavior and lifted up the tray of beers. "I'm in high demand there, Tim." 

      Timothy took the tray of beers from her hand, surprising her yet again. She blinked several times as he started toward the back table, leaving her no choice but to follow him. "I was hoping we could spend some time together. Maybe talk?"

      Eleanor saw Thomas watching her intently from the other side of the bar. It was clear that he was angry. Eleanor felt her own temper rise. She did 

not need this right now. Turning, she yanked the tray of beers out of Timothy’s hands, sloshing a bit of the amber liquid from the mugs. “I don’t get paid to talk. And those men are wanting my attention so if you’ll excuse me…”

      She shouldered her way past Timothy and went to the table. One of the men was quick to grab her around the waist and pull her into his lap. Eleanor could feel his arousal in her backside and it made her stomach roll. "Why don't you give me a kiss for luck, Eleanor, and if I win this next hand, I'll split it with you." 

      Eleanor did what was expected of her and pressed a lingering, sultry kiss to the half-drunk cowhands bearded lip. "Sounds good to me, cowboy," she purred. 

      If he won the next round of poker she could stand to make a few cents at least—though seventy-five percent of that would go to Thomas. Seventy-five percent of everything she earned in this saloon and brothel always went to the owner. The easiest way to earn quick money was on real busy nights when Otis could charge and extra ten cents a drink, Eleanor would convince men to buy her those overpriced drinks, and then she would toss most of the alcohol away while pocketing that dime—even if only about three cents of it remained in her pocket. 

      Eleanor attempted to focus on the flirting and the card game. Her gaze was drawn several times to Timothy who was now standing with his arms crossed beside the bar. Now and then their eyes would meet before he would quickly avert his gaze. 

      "Look at that! You brought me luck after all!" the cowhand, whom Eleanor thought she remembered being named Frank, exclaimed, slamming his hand down happily. He scooped up his winnings and dropped thirty cents into Eleanor's waiting palm. "There you go sweet thing." 

      Eleanor slid the coins into a small pocket built into her corset. "Glad I could bring you some luck." 

      Frank winked. "Let's head upstairs and you can bring me some more." 

      "Sounds good to me," Eleanor lied. Such was life. Frank wasn't a long laster if she remembered correctly. Eleanor could quickly earn another fifty cents which would put a smile on Thomas' face. 

      She got to her feet but moved too quickly and her head swam. Swooning, Eleanor grabbed out for the table, her legs seeming to disappear from beneath her. Yells arose from the men around the table when Eleanor's sudden weight caused it to tip. Beers spilled and poker chips scattered. 

      The world went completely black for a moment and Eleanor expected to wake up in the floor—instead she found herself pulled into a strong set of arms and lifted up against a broad chest. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, nausea swirling in her gut as her rescuer cradled her as if she were a new bride. 

      "Eleanor? Are you okay?" 

      That was Timothy O'Neil's voice close to her ear and his breath against her temple. Timothy was the man holding her. "I'm okay..." she mumbled. Cracking open one eye Eleanor realized that plenty of people were staring at her. She glanced up and saw those deep green eyes full of concern as they looked down at her. "You can put me down..." 

      Timothy shook his head. "No. You're still sick. I'm taking you upstairs." 

      Eleanor was too dizzy and nauseated to offer much argument. As they were heading up the staircase, her stomach suddenly rolled. Eleanor gagged and Timothy held her head over the staircase rail as she lost the contents of her stomach so violently she nearly passed out from lack of air. 

      A man who was now wearing soiled boots let out a string of curses and shook his fist toward Timothy. "Might wanna go wash those off," Timothy offered before taking the staircase two at a time. Eleanor was having trouble staying awake. Her head would not stop swimming and now a steady, drumming ache was forming behind her temples. Her stomach cramped and ached and she felt as if she were going to vomit again. 

      Timothy seemed to realize her situation as he entered her room, carried her straight to the washbasin in the corner and held her over it. Eleanor heaved but there wasn't much left in her stomach to come out. Her world went black from lack of air and she clung to Timothy, whimpering as he curled her against his chest once again. "Help..." she whispered. 

      "What the hell is wrong with her?" Thomas bellowed, striding into the room. 

      Eleanor felt herself be laid gently upon her bed and the blanket was draped over her. She looked at Timothy's face so very confused by his presence and yet too sick to think on it too determinedly.  What was wrong with her? She was struggling to hold onto consciousness as she laid upon her bed, terrible shakes beginning to rattle her body. 

      "I don't know," Timothy's voice was quite clearly panicked. "Caroline? Hell, go get the doc..." 

      "These women have to work!" Thomas countered. 

      "She can't work if she's fucking dead!" Timothy countered. "Now Zachary done warned you about how you treat these women." 

      Timothy's voice was angry and panicked. Eleanor was faintly aware of him pacing beside her bed, shoving his hands through his hair and waving them around. Eleanor continued to shake as her head swam and that pain intensified behind her temples. Her stomach hurt so badly. Her eyes kept slipping closed and only sheer determination gave her the strength to reopen them. 

      "Caroline, the doc. Go now." Timothy ordered. 

      "You're going to owe me money, Timothy. I have a business to run." 

      "Go to hell, Thomas." 

      "Timothy....?" Eleanor called out, the world spun more. She couldn't make sense of anything. "Timothy help...?"

---

      Timothy flew to the bed and laid his hand on Eleanor's cheek when he realized the woman had lost consciousness. What the hell was wrong with her? She was still shaking. Was she cold? He grabbed a spare throw blanket off the arm chair and laid it over her as well, tucking her in tight. He laid his wrist to her brow but she didn't seem to be fevered.

      Caroline had run out for the doctor. Thomas was still bellowing about needing money for lost wages for Eleanor and Caroline. "If you want that woman untouched for the night I'm gonna need some compensation!" 

      "You'd let men come in and have their way with her now? The woman isn't even conscious!" Timothy exclaimed, rising to his feet and standing toe to toe with Thomas. 

      He shrugged one shoulder. "She doesn't have to be awake. Most of the men aren't that picky." 

      Timothy fought the urge to punch the bastard. "No one is touching her. And Caroline is taking the rest of the night off to sit with her." 

      "This place doesn't pay for itself." 

      Timothy pulled his pocket watch from his pocket and looked at that piece of his lost family he had just gotten back. He didn't have any money on him other than a dollar and he knew that wasn't going to buy Thomas' cooperation. Without hesitation, he held the watch out to Thomas. Zachary would understand. "This is worth plenty enough to give Eleanor all the time off she needs and to free Caroline up for tonight." 

      Thomas opened the watch and turned it over in his hands. "I can give her a few days to recover but then she has to get back to work, Timothy." 

      Timothy just waved his hand and turned his attention back to the bed as Thomas left the room. He couldn't explain why he cared so much about the woman lying there. Grabbing the armchair, Timothy pulled it closer to the bed and sat down upon it, his eyes never leaving her pale, painted face. Something was very wrong with Eleanor—and Timothy was afraid he might lose the woman before he even got to know her. 

A/N: Zachary will never get enough of Samantha. Do you think the doc will figure out Eleanor’s secret? Also, it seems Zachary may end up needing to have another ‘conversation’ with Thomas Williamson. Thank you for reading! I love reading your comments and getting your feedback!

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sunlight streamed in on Eleanor’s face and she cursed, realizing she had forgotten to pull the curtains closed before going to sleep the night before. She moaned as she snuggled deeper into her pillow and pulled the covers over her head.

      "If you're awake, I believe we need to have a talk." 

      Eleanor heart slammed into her ribs as she shot upright in bed, her eyes immediately falling on Doctor Reynolds where he sat in the arm chair pulled close to the bed. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. 

      His expression was tight. "Take a moment to gather your wits. You'll remember." 

      Frowning, she rubbed at her face and glanced around the room. Her mouth was dry and her head dizzy. Her body felt weak and tired and everything ached. What had happened? An image of Timothy O'Neil came to mind, and with it, the events of the evening before. Eleanor had gotten very ill and she'd lost consciousness. That would explain the docs' presence. 

      Doctor Reynolds got to his feet and filled a glass of water from a small pitcher beside the door. He placed it in Eleanor's hand and waited as she took several small swallows. "I ran Timothy out of here around two this morning because if the man had paced one more time across this floor he very likely would have fallen through to the saloon below." 

      Eleanor was confused. Why would Timothy care what happened to her?

      "You and I need to have a talk, Eleanor. Timothy wanted answers as to what was wrong with you, as did Caroline. I was as honest with them as I felt I could be. You are malnourished from improper diet. You are severely dehydrated. You're exhausted from lack of sleep. All in all your rather dramatic display of last night was caused in most part by those three things." 

      Eleanor winced but she was relieved. If the doctor thought that was all that was wrong with her then it meant he hadn't realized she was with child—if anyone found out it could be a disaster.

      "I'm sorry, doc. I'll take better care of myself," she promised, taking another long sip of water before setting the cup on the side table. She wrapped the blanket around herself, feeling a chill as she sat there in her corset and bloomers.

      Doctor Reynold's heavy graying mustache tugged down at the corners as he took a seat beside her bed once again. "It's too late for the rue to work, Eleanor."

      She froze. Her eyes blinked several times. Her heart dropped to her stomach. "What?"       

      "You heard me. I would guess based on the heartbeat I could hear with stethoscope and the measurements I took, that you are nearing three months along. Rue has to be taken within the first month to be safely effective. To end your pregnancy now would require more of the herb than your body could survive. You would die." 

      "How... how did you know?" Dear God he knew. That meant others would know. What was she going to do? Eleanor had no idea. How could she be a mother and a whore? It simply wasn't possible. 

      "Breathe, Eleanor." The doctor reached in his pocket and pulled out a vial of peppermint oil. Pouring several drops on a rag, he held it out. "Breathe this in, it will help with the nausea. You're looking rather green." 

      Green? Hell. Eleanor did her best to take several steady deep breaths. Doctor Reynolds sighed. "When Caroline came racing into my office last night and told us you had lost consciousness, Lewis panicked. He knew he had given you that rue and he was terrified that you had used too much and done harm to yourself. He admitted to me that he had given it to you and he has been dealt with severely." 

      Eleanor shook her head. "It's not his fault...." 

      "It is. As doctors our first and most important duty is to help and heal our patients. Had he taken the time to realize how far along you were, he would have known that in order to have taken enough rue to end your pregnancy, you would have to take an amount that would also end your life. You should have come to me sooner, Eleanor, and I could have helped you." 

      "And now?" she laid her hand over her stomach as she stared out the window. "What now?"

      "Now, you have to make a life for yourself and your child." She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. "I'm going to guess you've been at least two months without your courses?"

      Barely hearing his question, she nodded. "Yes."

      "I would say by mid to late fall, you will be a mother." 

      A mother. While part of her heart soared at hearing those words, she knew that part was nothing but a dreamer. Eleanor had no idea what she was going to do. 

      "Who knows? Does Timothy know...?" She wasn't certain why she didn't want him to know. Why did she care what he would think?

      "No one knows except you, me, and Lewis. Lewis and I won't tell anyone. It's not our place. But you should. You have friends. Friends who could help you." 

      "Friends?" 

      "Samantha. Zachary. Timothy. 

I would also do anything I could to help you given your situation.“

      Eleanor frowned, turning her gaze to the doctor. "Why would anyone help me? It's my own fault for getting with child. I've always taken a tea that prevented it before.. I'm not certain why it failed. No one is going to feel sorry for a pregnant whore, Doctor Reynolds. And no one is going to help me. I've made this bed myself." 

      "Horseshit." He shoved himself to his feet and grabbed the black leather satchel from beside the chair. "No woman gets herself with child, Eleanor, that does require a male contribution. And you might be a 

working lady but you are also a lady and you are with child and vulnerable and you need help. There are good people in this world if you’ll allow yourself to lean on them.“

      A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily Eleanor had never leaned on anyone—she had never had the luxury. Doctor Reynolds sighed. "You need to leave this brothel. I have a spare room at my home if you'd like to stay there or I could put you up at the hotel for a time." 

      "I live here," she countered stubbornly. 

      "Not anymore. As your doctor I have to insist that you stop working here. If not for your own well being than for that of your unborn child. I saw the bruises." His gaze dropped to her thighs and Eleanor felt her cheeks flame red. "I'm smart enough to know what they're from. Thomas is a violent man and even if he leaves soon, it will only be a matter of time before a drunk or disagreeable man gets too rough with you.  I will send Caroline up to help you pack your things. Timothy, I'm quite certain, is probably already pacing the boardwalk outside and I'll let him know you're awake." 

      "Don't tell them about...." Eleanor swallowed hard. 

      His gaze softened, at least a little. "I already told you I wouldn't. But I meant it when I said that you should. It won't be long before you start showing and it would be best if they hear about it before then." 

      Without another word, he opened the door and left the room, closing it with a soft click behind him. 

      Once she was alone, Eleanor broke down in body wracking sobs that stole her breath. What was she going to do? What could she do? It seemed life had made the decisions for her. She was going to be a mother. She was going to have this child. She had no idea how she would support them both, how she would feed them both. An unmarried whore alone with a child... How was that going to work? Maybe she could have the babe and find a nice family who would want it?

      Her heart shattered anew. She didn't want to lose her baby. She realized just how sick she had allowed herself to get. She hadn't been eating, drinking, or sleeping enough. She was lucky that Timothy had been there last night. Timothy O'Neil. She might as well forget any confusing thoughts she was entertaining about that man. 

      No man would saddle himself with a pregnant whore. 

      Eleanor dried her tears and rose from the bed. There was no point in sitting around crying and feeling sorry for herself. Life was what it was and it was her fault that she had made hers so much harder recently. 

      Eleanor would get dressed, pack her meager belongings, and move in to the doc's house for now. Tomorrow would worry about tomorrow—for now Eleanor just needed to get through today. 

---

      Timothy watched Doctor Reynolds walk toward his home and he turned his gaze to stare up at The Hackney Saloon and Brothel. The doc had let him know that Eleanor was awake and feeling better inside and Timothy was relieved. The doctor had made it seem like she would be just fine given proper food, water, and rest. Why had she made herself so ill to begin with? 

      Glancing down the road, Timothy knew he needed to find Samantha and Zachary so he could tell them what had happened. Samantha would want to know that Eleanor was sick. Eleanor and Sam were friends, weren't they? And Zachary needed to know that Thomas Williamson wasn't cooperating with his demands. While Timothy would do all he could to keep his best friend from killing the other man—it was still his hope that Zachary could intimidate the bully into leaving once and for all. Not to mention he needed to apologize to his best friend for trading that watch. There simply hadn't been any other way to buy Eleanor's safety for the night. 

      While part of him wanted to see Eleanor first, Timothy knew it wasn't his place. Doctor Reynolds had already sent Caroline to her room to tend to her and that was who Eleanor needed. Eleanor didn't know him, not really. All Timothy was to her was some dirty cowhand from the saloon who had paid her several times to shove himself inside of her and then walked off. Why would she want to see him?

      So instead, he headed down the road toward the hotel. It was nearly eight in the morning. The crew would be heading out to the ranch soon to work for the day and yet Timothy was pretty sure Zachary and Samantha were still locked up in their hotel room. Young love. It made him both immeasurably happy for his best friend and a bit jealous of him all at the same time. 

      He went to their hotel room door and knocked twice. "Who is it?" Came Zachary's voice from inside. 

      Timothy clicked his tongue. "Someone who would rather you don't shoot him since I know you're probably standing on the other side of the door with your gun out."

      The door was opened and there stood Zachary with annoyance on his face as he holstered his revolver. "Are you checking up on us? We were getting ready to head out." 

      Timothy nodded, glancing at Zachary and realizing that both him and Samantha appeared dressed and ready to start their day. Before he could say anything, Samantha stepped forward, placing several small pins in her hair. "Tim, what's wrong? You don't look like you've slept at all." 

      Timothy's entire body sagged as he realized just how tired he was. "I haven't." 

      Samantha took his hand and led him into the room, pointing to the arm chair and pushing him down on it. She fussed over him like a mother fussing over a child as she poured him a glass of water and placed it in his hand.  Zachary simply closed the door and stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "Okay, now what's going on, Timothy?" Samantha asked, perching herself on the edge of the bed and watching him with concern. 

      Timothy sighed. "I went to the brothel last night." 

      "Is that why you didn't sleep?" Zachary spoke up, nearly causing Timothy to chuckle. It seemed his friend was regaining the sense of humor life had stolen from him for a time. 

      "Actually yes," Timothy replied, a ghost of a smile curving his lips at the sight of the blush that colored Samantha's cheeks. "I went hoping to spend time with Eleanor." 

      "Eleanor?" Samantha sat up a little straighter. "I ate lunch with Eleanor just yesterday. She didn't seem okay but she wouldn't open up to me about what was wrong." 

      Timothy rubbed his face. "She's not. She got real sick in the saloon and I ended up carrying her up to bed. She lost her stomach a couple times, couldn't stand on her own two feet, and her entire body shook like a leaf—and then she lost consciousness. I ain't never been so scared in my life." 

      "What?" Samantha leapt to her feet. "Is she okay?" 

      Timothy held up his hands. "The doc said she's awake this morning. I sent Caroline to fetch him last night and I stayed in the room most of the night until Doc Reynolds finally ran me off around two."

      "I'm gonna go check on her." Samantha went to the door. She paused in front of Zachary, rose on her toes, and kissed his jaw. "I love you." 

      "I love you too," he replied quickly. One arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tighter against him. "Watch out for Thomas." 

      "He won't find me so easy to bully anymore," she promised, drawing Timothy's attention to that gun belt around her hips. With one final goodbye to Zachary, Samantha left the room. 

      "What else is going on, Tim?" 

      Timothy got to his feet now that Samantha's motherly presence was gone. "Thomas wasn't happy last night. I tried to scare him but he doesn't seem real intimidated by me. I don't think he's taking your threat seriously. I had to buy his cooperation to keep Eleanor untouched last night..." 

      "But you said she was unconscious?" 

      Timothy's fists clenched. "She was. He said most men don't care." 

      "That son of a bitch." Zachary shoved himself off the wall and adjusted the rifle on his back. "Let's go have a goddamn talk with Thomas Williamson. And then you're going to tell me why Eleanor is so important to you and why you're sad lately."

       "Sad?" Timothy asked, having no choice but to chase after Zachary because the man was already striding away.

“Samantha noticed yesterday that you seemed sad. I didn’t pay enough attention to see it then but I see it now.”

Timothy chose silence—one of the first times in his life that he had done so. He wasn’t in any hurry to have the conversation that Zachary was speaking of. Timothy had no idea his answers would be to the questions Zachary asked. As they stepped into the early morning air outside, Timothy cleared his throat. “Hey Zach? Remember I said I had to buy Thomas’ cooperation?”

      "I do have a decent short term memory, Tim." 

      Timothy swallowed hard. "I didn't have any money, Zach... All I had was the watch." 

      Zachary paused, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he stared hard at Timothy for a moment. Timothy had no idea what was going through the man's mind. His jaw tightened until it popped, his fists clenched, and without a word, Zachary pointed his boots toward the brothel and strode that way. 

      "Hey Zachary!" One of the men from the building crew from the lumberyard came jogging to them. "We're ready to head that way if you are." 

      Zachary shook his head. "You go ahead and get started without us. Just continue laying out the foundation the way we agreed yesterday. I'll be out when I'm able." 

      "Alright then, boss, you got it." The man jogged away. 

      "Zachary?" Timothy spoke up as Zachary was once again one the move. Zachary merely grunted. "What do you plan on doing to Thomas?"

      A low growl rolled from his chest. "Talking. We're gonna have a nice long talk." 

---

      Zachary let the swinging door of the saloon slam against the wall as he threw it open and stepped inside. He entered the empty saloon, and glanced up at the landing to see Samantha, Eleanor, and Caroline making their way toward the staircase. Eleanor had luggage in her hand and Samantha carried a bag over her shoulder. It appeared Eleanor was moving out.

      "Thomas Williamson!" he called out, his gaze leaving the women and going to the door that would lead up toward the apartment Thomas called home. 

      That door slowly opened and Thomas peeked out—greatly resembling a rat. Zachary nearly laughed out loud when he saw the revolver in Thomas' hand. "I don't want any trouble with you, Zachary Marston. Marshal Oxley let me know I can kill you if you come in my place of business and threaten me." 

      "It would take more than you to murder me," Zachary assured him. He crossed his arms over his chest and motioned Thomas forward. "Come here. We need to have a talk."

      Thomas didn't holster his weapon as he stepped forward, though Zachary noticed he didn't have it pointed at him either. It seemed his bravery had its limits. Coming to a stop about five feet from Zachary, Thomas swiped his hand over his trembling mustache. "What do you want, Zachary? I ain't touched any of these damn women or done a damn thing for you to see fit to come in here slinging threats over." 

      Zachary simply held out his hand palm up. Thomas frowned. "What?"

      "Give me the goddamn watch." 

      Those beady dark eyes blinked several times. "No. No, that watch was payment." 

      Zachary sighed. Wrong answer. Closing the hand that was held out, Zachary swung without warning and knocked Thomas in his jaw, which was still a bit swollen from the last punch he had sent into it. Thomas stumbled sideways, clutching at his face. He made a move to aim that revolver in his hand and Zachary rolled his eyes before reaching out and snatching the gun from his trembling fingers.  From the corner of his eye, he realized that Samantha had pulled her revolver as well. She holstered it slowly and Zachary knew he'd be having a talk with that woman later. Just because she had a gun didn't mean she needed to be pulling it that way—folks who pulled guns were taking a chance on getting guns aimed back at them. If he ever saw anyone place gunsights on that woman Zachary would probably slaughter them with his bare hands. Slowly.

      "Hold this," he said, giving the piece of iron and wood to Timothy who simply nodded and stuck it in the waist band of his pants. "Let's try again, Thomas. Give me the goddamn watch."  

      Thomas was clearly angry but he was also very clearly terrified. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the watch that had once belonged to Zachary's father. Zachary kept his movements slow and deliberate as he took the watch from Thomas' outstretched hand. "That watch was payment." 

      "Yeah, a payment Timothy gave you so that you would leave a woman untouched. A woman who was ill, unconscious, and helpless." Zachary shook his head and laid that watch in his best friends' hand. "You're lucky Timothy didn't just kill you instead. You're lucky 

I don’t kill you.“

      "I'm tired of the threats," Thomas warned, wiping a bit of blood from his lip. 

      "And I'm tired of you not heeding them." 

      "Dammit, I've left Samantha alone!" 

      "I told you to leave town, Thomas." 

      "You said I had a month." 

      "I changed my mind. I want you on either a train or a stagecoach out of here no later than tomorrow evening. That gives you all day today and tomorrow to find someone to sell this place to and make a bit of your money back. Don't let it ever be said I'm unreasonable." 

      Zachary turned his back on Thomas. He was done talking. He waved for the ladies to come down the stairs. "Are you leaving?" Timothy asked, stepping forward and pulling the small suitcase of belongings from Eleanor's hand when they reached the saloon floor.

      Zachary saw the surprise on Eleanor's face. The woman didn't look well. She was far too pale and those dark circles around her eyes could pass as bruises. "I'm going to the doctor's house. He has a room there..." 

      "Well let's go then." Zachary motioned for the door. He gave Thomas his back, refusing to give the man another moment of his time as he followed everyone out the door. 

      "Timothy, my gun!" Thomas called out. 

      Timothy paused in the doorway, causing everyone else to pause behind him as well. He glanced back at Thomas and pulled the gun from his waistband. "Catch."  

      Thomas' mustache blew wildly with his exaggerated exhale as he fumbled for the weapon, barely managing to keep it from clattering to the floor. Zachary tensed a bit, waiting for Thomas to attempt to aim that weapon. Slowly, Thomas holstered the gun. 

      Zachary decided he had once more thing to say to the saloon owner. "You have until tomorrow. If you aren't gone by seven we'll be meeting on the street and settling this for once and for all, Thomas. Consider yourself challenged."

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! More Eleanor/Timothy interaction will be taking place in the next chapter! Do you think Thomas will heed Zachary’s warning this time or will it come down to a duel in the street?  As always I love hearing y’alls comments and feedback! Thank you for reading!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Confusion. That was the main thing Eleanor felt as Timothy led her into Doctor Reynold's office. Lewis looked up from behind the counter and his guilt filled his expression as his eyes widened. "Hello Miss Eleanor." 

      Eleanor prayed the man would keep his mouth quiet. She didn't need Caroline, Timothy, Samantha, or Zachary finding out her secret. Not here. Not like this. "Hello Lewis. Is Doc Reynolds here? He said there was a room I could use..." 

      "He had to go make some house calls, but I can show you to the room."

Lewis reached out for the suitcase in Timothy’s hand, but the other man held it closer and waved his hand. “Show us the way, Lewis.”

      Eleanor didn't have time to wonder at the oddity that was Timothy O'Neil's behavior. The man was a puzzle and Eleanor had never been good at solving puzzles. Lewis simply nodded and led them through the back of the store and up a staircase to the Doctor's living quarters.

      He opened a door off the kitchen and motioned them to enter. "This is the room. The blankets and sheets are all fresh on the bed—he had me change them this morning. That wardrobe is empty if you want to hang your things. There's that small dresser that's yours to use and I can bring you up some water for your wash basin..." 

      "Thank you, Lewis." Eleanor hoped he would understand the dismissal. She was so very tired—and every moment he spent around the four people with her was another moment he might accidently let her secret slip. 

      "Right." His expression was tight and she suspected he was fighting tears. Dear Lord, that was something Eleanor certainly didn't need. She knew he must be feeling guilty over giving her that rue the day before but he had no need to be sorrowful—she would talk to him later.  "I'll let you get settled in." 

      Lewis quickly left the room leaving several curious glances behind him. Zachary cleared his throat and rolled his shoulder. "If no one else needs me, I'm going to go wait outside."

      Eleanor would have laughed if she had had any kind of good humor in her at the moment. Zachary appeared completely awkward. Clearly the guard dog had realized there was no one that needed attacking at the moment and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. 

      "If you're okay here, I'll head back to the saloon," Caroline spoke up as well. "I need to check on the other girls now that Thomas has been riled up." 

      "You won't have to worry about that son of a bitch much longer," Zachary promised, his voice practically snarling with the rage he felt toward the saloon owner. Eleanor didn't miss the way Samantha laid a gentle hand on his arm or the way her touch did indeed seem to soothe his temper. "He'll be gone by tomorrow evening one way or the other." 

      "Eleanor, I'm going to walk Zachary out," Samantha spoke up, laying the bag of belongings she'd been carrying onto a small arm chair. "I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you." 

      "I'm really okay," Eleanor insisted. 

      Samantha's smile was gentle. "I'll come back and check on you just the same." 

      And just that quickly, Eleanor found herself alone with Timothy O'Neil. He sat her suitcase down at the foot of the bed and shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "It's a nice room you've got here. It was nice of the doc to offer it to you." 

      Eleanor nodded, glancing around. The furniture was polished until it shone and quite delicate. The wood floor gleamed and the plush rug felt like a cloud beneath her feet. It truly was a nice room—the nicest that Eleanor had ever had. "Yes. It was very nice of him." And it was. But it also made her suspicious. Why would the doctor help her? And what would he expect in return? 

      Eleanor's stomach turned as a wave of nausea swept over her. Her legs weakened and she reached out of the bed post. Timothy was at her side in an instant. His hands were gentle as he steadied her on her feet, guided her to the bed and sat her down upon it. "Should I go get Lewis and let him look at you?" he offered, the panic she had heard in his voice the night before edging its way back in.

      Eleanor shook her head. "I'll be okay." 

      Timothy didn't say a word as he grabbed the ceramic water pitcher and walked out of the room. Eleanor wondered where he'd gone and she wondered more why she found herself wishing he would come back. She did not have to think long on those puzzling thoughts because Timothy returned within moments carrying that pitcher, now full of water. Some of the droplets ran down the dark floral sides and dripped on the rug. 

      Grabbing a clean glass off the bedside table, Timothy filled it with water and held it out to her. "You need to drink. And you need food. I'll go get you some breakfast." 

      "Stop," Eleanor snapped, causing Timothy to pause and frown. "Please just stop." 

      "Stop what?"

      Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the toes of her worn ankle boots. "Did you truly trade your watch to Thomas?"

      "Uh..." He shifted his feet and let out a long sigh before going to the arm chair, moving the bag out of it, and sitting down. "Yeah, I did. Thomas made it clear he wasn't going to back off without some form of compensation." 

      "And the watch is special?"

      "Yeah. It belonged to Zachary's father. I'm guessing you know about what happened to his family?"

      "I think everyone in town knows about the Marston family." 

      Eleanor never glanced up from her shoes, but she could see Timothy out of the corner of her eye. He sat back in the chair, rubbed at his face with one hand and tapped at his thigh with the other. "You haven't been around long enough to know that I was raised from the age of ten by the Marston's. My own pa died when I was real young and my mama was a cold woman who never did seem overly fond of having a child—and when she remarried, that man didn't like seeing proof of the man who had come before him living in his house. Zachary's folks saw the bruises and took me in. When they were murdered, I lost my family too. Nobody had been in that house since that day but Zachary recently found the watch and he gave it to me so I could have something to remind me of the only real family I ever had." 

      Eleanor took several long moments to let that information soak in. She had no idea that Timothy had such a sad backstory. He had always seemed fun-loving, quick to laugh, a bit of a goof when he played cards and raised hell in the saloon. He hadn't seemed like a man who took anything in the world very seriously—but he certainly seemed serious just now. 

      "Why?" she whispered. "Why would you trade something so valuable just to help me?"      

      "Why wouldn't I? When it comes right down to it, it's just a watch. You're a person." His words carried such certainty—as if he worried for her sanity for even asking the question. 

      "But why do you care? I'm a whore in a brothel and you've paid for my services a few times. We've never had any real conversation. People don't just help people for no reason, Timothy."   

      "You needed my help so I helped you." His voice was tight causing Eleanor to sneak a glance at him. There was sadness etched so deeply on his face, it nearly stole her breath. "And I'm sorry for the times I treated you with anything less than respect." 

      Her laughter rang out but it was humorless and hollow. "Respect? You paid for my services and I never wore bruises from your hands so I would say that's respect enough." 

      Timothy let out a long, tired sigh. Eleanor realized he looked exhausted. Had he slept last night? She remembered that the doc said he had run Timothy out of her room around two in the morning. "We'll just have to disagree on that," he muttered. 

      "Don't pity me for what I am." Eleanor snapped. "I am a whore and I won't apologize for that. It provided me a good life—or a better one than I would have had otherwise." 

      Timothy shrugged. "I'm not the judgmental type, ma'am, and I wouldn't judge you. You seem to be judging me awful hard though. I didn't help you for any other reason than it seemed like the right thing to do. I'll go get you some breakfast." 

      "No. Don't. Just go, Timothy." Eleanor didn't understand the man or her own thoughts surrounding him. She wanted so badly to believe that maybe he was simply good. That maybe he was interested in knowing her—the real her. Because if that was the case then it might also be possible that somehow, someday, 

someone might be able to love her. Falling in love sounded nice. It also sounded like a dream and Eleanor had never been the type to fall for pretty dreams. “I’m sure you have things to do. Samantha was going to come back and I’ll have her get me something.”

      She was no longer looking at Timothy but she didn't have to in order to feel his tension as he stood in the doorway. "I don't mind buying you something to eat, ma'am." 

      "I don't want to owe you anything," she countered. "You've done quite enough for me and I do thank you."      

      "I don't want your thanks." 

      Finally, she met his gaze. Those green eyes which were usually full of light and good-nature were tired, sad, and dull. His boyish face was drawn. Eleanor wanted to scream but she kept her voice quiet. "What 

do you want from me?“

      Timothy shook his head. "Not a damn thing." 

      And then Eleanor was alone. 

---

      The moment fresh air hit his face, Zachary pulled Samantha into his chest, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. The last thirty minutes had left him on edge and tense but holding his woman close soothed him. Samantha's soft, tiny body relaxed against him and her hands rested low on his back, simply allowing him to hold her for as long as he wanted. 

      "I love you, Sam." 

      "I love you too, Zach." 

      Slowly, Zachary pulled away. The last thing he needed was for someone to come wag their tongue about the display of affection—Zachary would probably simply knock teeth out without hesitation if anyone came up to them with something negative to say. 

      Samantha laid a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned into her touch shamelessly. "What do you need? Do you want me to go tell Gavin I won't be working today and you and I can saddle the horses and slip away? We could spend the day out riding together." 

      Zachary groaned. Damn, that sounded good. Samantha never failed to amaze him—she seemed to read him like a book and know exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, he had to turn her offer down. "As much as that sounds like my idea of heaven, I can't." 

      She didn't look disappointed. Instead, her gaze was knowing. "Your best friend needs you, doesn't he?"

      Zachary rubbed at his neck. "Unfortunately," he muttered. "You were right, yesterday. Something is wrong with Tim and I've never seen him quite like he's been lately. He's been there for me, so I reckon it's only right that I be there for him." 

      "I hope you can help him," Samantha said, glancing toward the doctor's office. "I hate knowing that he's hurting. Do you think it has something to do with Eleanor?" 

      "It certainly seems that way," Zachary replied, taking her hand and holding it gently in his own. "But he hasn't mentioned her a single time so I don't know for sure." 

      "Eleanor seems different lately too. I tried to get her to open up to me yesterday but she wouldn't." 

      "Looks like we both have a job to do today then, don't we? I'll talk to Tim and you talk to Eleanor. I'd say you'll do better than I will. You make everyone around you better."  

      "My poor Zachary." Samantha's tone was teasing even as her face reddened at his praise. "I know how much you aren't looking forward to a talking about 

feelings .“

      He shivered. "I'm truly not. Especially with Tim. Once the man does open up and begin talking, it's likely he'll never stop." 

      Her light laughter filled the air even as Zachary moved her out of the way of a group of rowdy children that were barreling down the boardwalk in the direction of the schoolhouse. "How about this? How about, since I know you're going to have a hard day, we agree that tonight when you pick me up from work, we go back to the ranch, wash off in the river, eat a supper of whatever you've got stashed in those saddlebags and sleep all wrapped up around each other under the stars?" 

      "That sounds damn good to me, Sam." 

      She rose on her toes and kissed his jaw. Zachary's hands went to her hips and the gun belt that was resting there. That reminded him....

      "Hey Sam?"

      "Yeah?" she asked, laying her head against his chest. 

“I don’t want to see you pull this damn gun again when I’m right there to do the gun pulling.”

      She stiffened a bit and took a step back. Those green eyes narrowed as she met his gaze. "What are you talking about?"

      He didn't back down as he held her gaze. "At the saloon when I was dealing with Thomas. I saw you pulling your gun. Don't be doing that."

      "Don't boss me around, Zachary Marston. I had to do something. You didn't seem to be too eager to pull your gun and he seemed ready to shoot you." 

      "I'm not afraid of many things, Samantha. Thomas Williamson certainly doesn't make that list. He wasn't a threat to me and I don't need your protection." 

      Her eyes narrowed to barely more than slits as her lips formed a thin line. Zachary held up his hand to silence whatever she'd been about to say. "I protect you. Not the other way around. You won't win this argument." 

      A whoosh of air left her lungs as her gaze went skyward. "As far as I'm concerned there is no argument. I have a gun, I know how to use that gun, and I 

will use that gun to keep not only myself but also the man I love, safe. If that’s a problem for you then that is something you need to work out for yourself.“

      Damn stubborn woman. Was everything always going to be a battle of wills? Zachary laid his hand over his own revolver and thought carefully about what he wanted to say. "When you pull a gun, you make yourself a target for every other person around who has a gun. I bought you that gun so you could protect yourself if necessary when I'm not around to protect you. I promise you that I am more than capable of protecting myself." He glanced around to ensure no one else was within listening distance, swallowing hard at the image his next words brought to mind. "I've seen the bloody bodies of too many people I love, Samantha. I'm not eager to see anymore." 

      Samantha stepped forward, took his hands, and offered a gentle smile. "I love you, Zachary. I understand how you feel and I respect your fears—but that won't stop me from doing what I feel I need to do to keep you safe. Remember, I've seen the bloody bodies of too many people I love as well and I can't add yours to that list." 

      Zachary felt the fight leave him. Hell, he didn't want to fight with Samantha—never with Samantha. She had every right to be overprotective of him just the same as he was with her. Sam had lost her entire family too. Zachary pulled her close and kissed her brow. "You won't ever lose me, sweetheart." 

      "Speaking of.. Are you honestly going to duel Thomas tomorrow?" 

      Zachary chuckled. "It won't come to that. Cowards don't duel in the street. He'll leave." 

      "What if he doesn't? What if he has Marshall Oxley help him and doesn't fight fair?"

      Zachary sighed and laid a kiss to her soft red curls. "Then I'll deal with it. If I thought either of those men were any real and credible threat, I would be handling things differently. They're cowardly bullies, Sam, and nothing more. I've spent the last five years chasing and dealing with men far worse than either of them." 

      Samantha just held onto him a little tighter but said nothing. He knew she was worried but he wasn't lying to her. Those two men were vile, disgusting wastes of humanity, but they weren't cold-blooded murderers. They weren't going to shoot him in the back and they certainly didn't have the guts to shoot him from the front. Zachary was no fool. He had thought things through.

      The sound of approaching footsteps had Zachary pulling away and turning quickly. Hell, Timothy looked rough. His expression was drawn. Exhaustion lined his eyes and heaviness hung on his shoulders. It was a shock to Zachary to see Timothy look that way—the man had always been unflappably upbeat and good-natured. 

      "You ready to get to the ranch?" Timothy asked, adjusting the brown vest he wore over his blue shirt. 

      "Sure." Zachary gave Sam one more quick kiss. "Be careful today. Thomas has had his pride hurt again. Don't wander alone." 

      "I won't. I promise." She turned to Timothy and wrapped him in a warm hug. "I don't know what's wrong, Tim, but remember I love you, okay?" 

      Zachary saw the way Timothy's face brightened, even just a fraction, as he patted Samantha on the back. Sunshine. That damn woman was sunshine. "I love you too, Sam." 

      Samantha disappeared into the doc's house, leaving Zachary and Timothy alone on the boardwalk. "Well let's go get the horses," Zachary urged, starting on his way toward the livery. "And you can get to telling me why you look worse than that hound pa used to have." 

      Timothy fell in step beside him. "The one with one eye, busted teeth, and a heavy limp?" 

      Zachary nodded, glancing up toward the rising sun. "Yeah. That one." 

A/N: Timothy is hurting and I don’t like it. What have I done? This must be reconciled.

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Timothy focused on the fly buzzing around his mare’s mane instead of on the awkward tension that filled the silence between himself and Zachary. From the corner of his eye, he saw Zach rummage in his pocket before pulling out a pack of matches and a rolled cigarette.

      Those dark eyes that never missed much, turned in his direction. "Never known you to be so quiet." 

      Timothy shrugged and managed a grin. "Guess I just ran out of things to say." He knew what Zachary wanted. He wanted to talk about Eleanor and Timothy and the mood Tim had found himself in lately. What the hell could he say? That something about Eleanor had gotten to him? That he wanted to have what Zachary and Samantha had? That he wanted to have some kind of life other than just doing whatever the hell he wanted all the time? 

      "Well, you might as well be finding things to say," Zachary encouraged, striking a match and lighting the cigarette hanging off his lip. "Samantha will be expecting you to be a cured of your melancholy by the time she sees you again this evening." 

      Timothy thought of Samantha and sighed. He knew she was concerned about him and he didn't want to be the cause of her worry. She was a good woman and had been good for Zach—hell, good for him too really. "So, Samantha is the real reason you seem eager to hear my thoughts?"

      Zachary blew out a stream of smoke, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I have never once in my life been eager to hear your thoughts, Tim. And I don't reckon even that woman, amazing as she is, could accomplish that."

      Timothy chuckled lightly and patted his horse's brown neck. "I'm just fine, Zach. You can tell her I'm okay." 

      "No, I've never lied to her and I won't start now. You're not okay. Talk to me." 

      Frustration bubbled in Timothy's gut. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

      Zachary seemed surprised by his sudden display of temper, but he recovered quickly and shrugged. "The truth. Now, I know I ain't been a good friend of brother the last five years. I disappeared when I shouldn't have and wasn't there for you. I'm here now." Zachary took a long draw off his cigarette, his eyes focused on the horizon. "You've always been obnoxiously upbeat and here lately you're damn depressing to be around. Talk." 

      Timothy had three options. Option one, he opened up and talked to his best friend. Option two, he told him to shove his questions up his ass and possibly get his own teeth knocked out in the process. Option three, he simply turned and high-tailed it back to town and away from the conversation. 

      A sigh left Tim's lips. He'd always been a talker. 

      "I don't know how to explain things," he admitted. 

      Zachary rolled his shoulder, rubbing at the joint and reminding Timothy of the bullet still lodged within it. "Just start somewhere. I'm a quick study, I'll catch on." 

      "I came home one day five years ago, expecting to find everything the way I left it, only to find that everything was gone. My family was dead. You were nowhere to be found. My things had been boxed up and taken to the hotel making it clear I didn't have a 

home to go to any longer….“

      "I'm sorry for that," Zachary muttered, interrupting him. "I wasn't thinking real clearly....." 

      Timothy waved his hand. "I never blamed you and I've never been angry at you over any of that," he assured him honestly. "But it doesn't change the fact that everything I knew and loved was gone. I got stuck. It was like I froze in time. I never moved forward after that. I still live in the hotel. I spend all my free time playing poker, drinking, raising hell... I don't have any real job. I just do enough odd jobs to make money to support my 

hobbies . I haven’t done a damn thing with myself.“

      That awkward silence fell again, and it stretched on for several long moments. Timothy rubbed at his thigh, swatted at that fly buzzing his horse, and over analyzed every damn word that had just left his mouth. 

      Finally, Zachary spoke. "Why are you so hard on yourself? You're stronger than me in a lot of ways, Tim, and you weren't the only one who got stuck after that. I wasted five years of my life chasing devils—at least that's what Samantha called them. I killed a lot of men, I rode up on a lot of bad scenes, and I never really got anywhere. I thought if I could just kill 

him then I could move on with life. I was wrong. It took me nearly dying and ending up back here to realize that life didn’t stop the day they died—it was me that stopped living. I had to choose to start living again—and now you do to.“

      Timothy simply took a moment to ponder what his friend had said. Zachary had always been a man with deep thoughts—though his tight jaw often had him keeping those thoughts to himself. "You found Sam," Timothy reminded him. "What do I have?"

      Zachary snorted. "You have Samantha too and don't let her hear you say any different. And you have me, for what good that does anyone."  Timothy opened his mouth to speak but Zachary's next words had him falling silent. "And uh.. I mean you seem to..Well.. What about Eleanor?"

      His gut twisted. "What about her?"

      "Sam seems to think she might have something to do with your recent change in mood and I think Sam might be right. It seems that Eleanor is just as depressed as you are." 

      Timothy thought about lying and saying Eleanor didn't mean a thing and didn't have anything to do with his recent mood change. But he knew that Zachary wouldn't believe that—and he didn't 

want to lie to his best friend. Zach wasn’t a man who opened up often. For him to be attempting to do so now in an effort to help him meant Timothy couldn’t shut the man out.

      "Whatever is wrong with Eleanor has nothing to do with me, I can promise you that. I haven't done a thing to hurt the woman. As a matter of fact, I've tried to help her." He thought of the way she had refused his aide, judged him, questioned him, and eventually forced him away. Those memories stung and caused an unpleasant bubbling in his gut. 

      "I didn't think you hurt her," Zachary replied quickly. "I've known you for twenty years and I've never known of you to hurt anyone on purpose. Samantha is going to try to talk to Eleanor today, maybe she'll have better luck getting the woman to open up. Now I know that Eleanor's sour mood isn't your doing but I reckon I still think that your sour mood 

is her doing—at least partially.“

      "And I reckon you're right. The woman won't let me in at all. I've done all I can to try to help her and she just shuts me out at every turn." 

      "She has a right to turn you down, Tim. You can't force a woman to want you." 

      Timothy glared at his best friend. "Well, I damn well know that, Zach. Thanks for those words of wisdom and comfort in my time of suffering." 

      Zachary's laughter rang out in the mid-morning air and as much as Timothy was hurting, the sound of that laughter warmed his heart. "Women are complicated creatures, Tim. How long have you had feelings for Eleanor?"

      Timothy sighed. How long 

had he had feelings for Eleanor? “I don’t know exactly,” he answered honestly. “I reckon I’ve always been attracted to her. She was confident, and beautiful, and full of life and I liked seeing her.”

      Zachary scratched at his jaw. "And have you... uh.. that is to say, have you 

hired her?“

      It was Timothy's turn to laugh. Zachary was squirming so damn much on Blaze's back, Tim wasn't sure if it was the conversation alone making him uncomfortable or if perhaps he'd gotten a burr in his saddle. "Yeah, I have." 

      "Oh." Zachary cleared his throat. "Well, I reckon that makes a man fall for a woman..." 

      "No, actually..." Timothy was ashamed of himself but he knew he could be honest with Zachary. "I barely remember laying with her. It was only a few times and I was always real drunk. I told you I stopped moving forward. I wasn't looking for a relationship with anyone. She was a whore in the saloon and that's all I ever saw her as." 

      "And now?"

      "Now, I..." Timothy threw his hands up. "I don't know, dammit! Now, I see you and Samantha and I want that! I want love and a partner and a friend and a lover. I want to be someone's and have someone be mine. And the only damn face I see when I think about that future is hers!" Timothy snorted. "You got me out here sounding like some lovesick damn fool." 

      Zachary was quiet a moment. "You don't sound like a fool, Tim. Eleanor seems like a nice enough woman. I don't know her, but Samantha likes her and she's a pretty good judge of character. But, I recognize demons when I see them and there's something Eleanor doesn't want folks to know. Something that's eating at her." 

      "I know. I want to help her, Zach...." 

      "You can only help her if she'll let you. As nice a woman as she seems, she is, or was, a 

working woman. There had to be something that led to her taking that job and having a job like that has to change something inside a woman… She might not be able to be the woman you want her to be.“

      Timothy rubbed at his face and thought of Eleanor. She was beautiful but those blue eyes were scared and haunted. Tim wanted to help her. He wanted to be a hero for her—never in his entire life had he been anything more than a jester and a fun-chaser. Eleanor made him want to be more. 

      "I just want her to be the woman that she is," Timothy finally replied after riding along for a while in silence. "I don't want her to be anything more than that." 

      Zachary took the last draw off his cigarette, killed the end against his boot, and nodded. "You're a good man. You are brave, loyal, strong, kind, entertaining, and a born charmer with that mouth of yours. Give Eleanor time to deal with whatever it is she's working through and she'll come around eventually. Just keep showing up and someday she'll appreciate the effort." 

      Emotion clogged Timothy's throat. He cleared it roughly and scratched his horses' mane. "Thanks Zach." 

      "And there's something else I want to talk to you about. Sam and I discussed it last night in the hotel and I told her I'd bring it up to you today." 

      "What?" Timothy couldn't take bad news. Not today. 

      "I'm not about to tell you that you're dying, Tim, so relax." Zachary shook his head. "The ranch, farm, and property is a lot. It was always meant to be a family place. Clinton Matthews stole that for a while but we're building it back and we'll make it better than it was before." 

      "Damn straight you will," Timothy agreed. 

      "No. 

We will. I want my brother with me every step of the way as more than just a hired hand . That property is yours just as much as it is mine. Tomorrow morning we’ll go to the land office and have half the assets put in your name. You can have a house of your own put on the land and have a place that is yours to start your life and eventually raise your family. Mama and pa would have wanted that.“

      Well so much for not crying like a fool. Emotion welled up in Timothy's chest with so much intensity that some of it escaped and rolled down his cheeks. He quickly swiped at them, desperate to keep Zachary from seeing the weakness—but he knew Zach saw it. That man didn't ever seem to miss much. In true Zachary Marston form, the man simply averted his gaze to the horizon and didn't say a word. 

      "Are you sure that's what you want to do, Zach?" Timothy asked, his voice thick. 

      "Of course I'm sure. Like I said that ranch is a family ranch—and you are my family." 

      Timothy couldn't think of words to say. After five years of running in place and going nowhere his life was suddenly moving forward once again. Zachary was back, Tim had a family again, he was going to be living on the ranch he'd called home for so long once again, and there was a woman in town he was going to do his level best to earn the trust of... It was all a bit overwhelming—but in a damned good way. 

      He glanced over at Zachary to find the man was watching him closely. Timothy simply nodded in a gesture that Zachary returned and then another silence, this one without the uncomfortable tension, fell over the men as they continued down the road toward their ranch. 

---

Eleanor wanted fresh air. She had been alone in this room for hours. Samantha had come up, brought her some breakfast, attempted to initiate conversation, and then given up and left for work. Eleanor rubbed at her tired face. She wasn’t being difficult on purpose. Life had taught her well that people always had ulterior motives for being kind to her. Not only that, but how different would her newfound friend treat her if she knew her situation? Would Samantha truly want to be seen on the streets with not only a whore, but a pregnant unwed whore would be seen as even more of a pariah?

      She rose from the bed and made her way downstairs. Lewis was placing bottles on the shelf in the storefront when she entered, and Eleanor cleared her throat to catch his attention. "Hello, Miss Eleanor." 

      "Hi Lewis. Is Doctor Reynolds around?" 

      "Yeah, he's back in his office." Eleanor was about to go that way when Lewis stopped her. "I owe you an apology, ma'am.... "

      Managing the ghost of a smile, she shook her head. "You don't owe me anything, Lewis. You gave me what I asked for." 

      "But I shouldn't have." Lewis let out a shaky breath and ran a hand over his slicked back red hair. "My uncle was right. I should have asked more questions. I was too worried about being uncomfortable and making you uncomfortable. I have a lot to learn about being a doctor..." 

      Eleanor shook her head. "I shouldn't have placed you in that position," she assured him. "And for that, I apologize." 

      Lewis' gaze turned quite earnest. "I'm leaving town Monday. I'm traveling east to continue my studies. I know you're in a tough position in this town now given your profession and your.... 

Condition . I would take you with me if you wish to leave. You could start over somewhere new.“

      Eleanor took a step back. Leave? Did she want to leave? And with Lewis? Hackney had been her home for years. The only friendly faces she knew lived here in Hackney. But would she be better off somewhere else? Somewhere where she wouldn't have a reputation? How would she? She would still have no way to provide for herself, her child, and she would be completely alone. 

      "You don't have to make any decisions now," Lewis assured her, appearing a bit uncomfortable as he grabbed a medicine bottle from a crate. "It's only Thursday and I'm leaving Monday so just think about it? I would make sure you were tended to and provided for." 

      "I'll go speak with the doctor now." Eleanor quickly walked down the short hallway and stopped at Doc Reynolds office door. Taking a deep breath to steady herself she knocked twice. 

      "Come on in." 

      Eleanor swung the door open and stepped inside. "Hello doctor." 

      He pulled off his reading glasses, sat down the pen in his hand and leaned back in his chair. "Hello Eleanor. How are you feeling?"

      "I ate a good breakfast and took a nap," she replied honestly. "I feel quite a bit better." 

      "That's good. You'll be surprised by how much proper food, water, and rest will help you." He motioned toward the chair on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat, please." 

      Eleanor did. She sat down and folded her hands over her black wool skirt. "I want to thank you for giving me a room here." 

      "You're welcome." 

      She dropped her gaze to her fingers. "We never discussed payment or what I would owe you for allowing me to stay here. I don't have much but I have a small amount of money..." 

      He grunted. "That won't be necessary. The room is free of charge. I wasn't using it and it's been simply sitting empty for as long as I've lived here." 

      "I don't want pity, Doctor Reynolds." 

      "And you won't find any in this office. You are a grown woman who knew how babes were made when she spread her legs for coin." She bristled but he continued. "You also won't find judgment here either. Humans are not perfect and we do what we must to survive the circumstances life hands us." 

      Eleanor had no idea what to say. She glanced up and saw that Doctor Reynolds was watching her closely as he scratched at his mustache. She let out a sigh. "I've always earned my keep in life, Doctor Reynolds. No matter what your opinion is on the methods I used to pay my way, my way was always paid. I don't want to live here for free." 

      He chuckled. "You are a hard one, aren't you? I don't want your body, Eleanor, if that's what you're worried about. You are a beautiful young woman—and if I had a daughter, she would be your age."

      Eleanor felt her cheeks redden. She hadn't said it aloud but she had been wondering if his fee for helping her would be bedding him. Since the age of fifteen that was what she had had to provide to earn assistance from anyone. 

      "No payment is necessary for your room here and you are welcome to stay for as long as you need or want."

      "I've been thinking that once the babe is born, I can go back to work at the brothel and figure something out for childcare while I'm working..." 

      "No." Doctor Reynold's voice was firm. "That is no life for a child." 

      "You said I'd find no judgment here," Eleanor reminded him. 

      He tipped his head. "And you won't. But being raised by a whore in a brothel is no life for a child and you have to think of your child now." 

      "What would you know about it?" Eleanor snapped, though the doctor was only voicing what she herself knew to be true. Brothels and saloons, no matter how well ran, were not safe places for children to be brought up. Trouble was, Eleanor didn't see many other options. Could she give her child up for adoption after bringing into the world? Eleanor truly didn't think she had the strength to do something like that.

      Doctor Reynolds folded his hands on his belly. "Plenty. My mother was employed by a brothel and I called that brothel home until I was eight years old. I never knew my father because my mother was quite good at her job and it would have been impossible to say who helped create me. Despite the brothel being considered higher class and 

safe , when I was eight, I was beaten nearly to death by a drunken man who became enraged when I walked in on him and my mother. My mother knew then that she had to find another life for me. Instead of leaving and bettering herself to give me that life, she gave me to a wealthy doctor who frequented the brothel. He was moving west to open a new medical practice, had no children of his own, and took pity on my bruises and broken ribs. Thankfully, he was a good man who gave me a good life and ended up adopting two young girls who became my sisters. I’ve never seen my mother again. I tried to find her when I grew up, but she had moved on and I had no way of tracking her. Trust me when I say that I know all about being a child raised in a brothel and trust me when I say it is not a safe place for a child and not an upbringing that any child deserves.“

      Eleanor swallowed hard against the tears in her throat. "Doc..." her voice was thick and she hated the weakness. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to have give my child up." 

      Doctor Reynolds smiled warmly as he tilted his head. "You 

will be okay, Eleanor. Lewis is leaving here Monday and I know he planned on offering you the chance to leave with him and start over somewhere else—that is one option available to you. However, with him gone I will need help keeping the storefront stocked and dealing with the easier sales throughout the day. You can have that job as well as some training from me to learn your way around simple ailments and medicines if you choose to stay.“

      "But.." 

      "Don't argue. You want to earn your room here and that's what I need done. In exchange for your employment, you will have a room here, whatever meager food supplies I keep in my bachelors' kitchen, as well as thirty-five dollars a month. Most of that salary can be saved and put toward building a life for you and your child."

      Eleanor sat there in stunned silence as Doctor Reynolds got to his feet. "I'm throwing a going away party for Lewis Saturday afternoon at the community center. You are welcome to attend. I have some patients to go see. I'll be back this evening and escort you to supper if you would like." 

      "I can't go to the diner...." 

      "And why is that?" Doctor Reynold's asked, grabbing his black bag from beside the desk. 

      Eleanor wanted to scream. What was going on? "Because I'm a whore, Doctor Reynolds. I am not allowed." 

      "You are no longer employed by the brothel and you will be coming as my guest. I recently saved the daughter of the diner owner when her appendix needed to be removed—you'll find that she may be willing to bend her rules and allow my guest to dine with me. Perhaps, given time and persistence, we can do away with such horrible judgmental rules that cause people to feel guilty for doing what they have to do in order to survive and provide a life for themselves. My own mother never dined in a diner—I think it's time." 

       With that, he left the office and Eleanor simply sat there in stunned silence. She had spent so long feeling so hopeless. But now... Now, when her life had fallen apart more completely than it ever had before, she was finding hope. Could the doctor simply be that good a man? She could have a home here, a job that did not involve selling her body, a safe place to raise her child—Eleanor laid her hand over her stomach, willing that hope she was feeling into her unborn babe. 

      Thing would be alright. They would be okay. Eleanor still had to find a way to tell her friends about her condition and she could only hope that they would be as understanding as the doc. An image of Timothy's face, full of sadness as he'd stood in her room upstairs and she had pushed him away, appeared in her mind. Pain lanced her heart and so she quickly shoved that image away. Timothy O'Neil was nothing for her to be concerned about. No man, no matter how good he seemed, would ever love a pregnant whore. 

A/N: So many feels between Zach and Tim in this chapter! Some backstory on the doc and what has helped shaped him into the open minded, awesome feller that he is! Eleanor is finally feeling a small sliver of hope–though how will Timothy react when he learns that she’s with child? Will her face still be the one he sees when he thinks about a future? And something tells me that good ol’ Judith Channing is not going to be happy about a “brothel whore” dirtying up her streets and attempting to make a life in town. So much drama! Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

      Samantha was exhausted when she stepped out of the post office that evening. She had stacked boxes of deliveries, sorted mail, dealt with customers, and worried over her friends all day—it took a lot out of a woman. All she wanted was to fall into her mans' arm, hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, and feel the peace that only his embrace provided. 

      And she did not have to wait long. Nearly the instant she stepped onto the boardwalk, Zachary's strong arms snaked around her and she was pulled against his hard body as he buried his face in her curls. "Damn, woman, I missed you."

      Samantha closed her eyes and sank into his embrace. "I missed you too." 

      Zachary's warm breath teased her ear. "I reckon I'm ready to get back to the ranch and get started on those plans you had for us tonight." 

      A tremble-inducing warmth spread over Samantha as she imagined all the ways her man would love her body beside that river. "That sounds good to me." 

      Zachary pulled away and took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. "Let's go get Athena and head that way then. Blaze is hitched at the livery." 

      Samantha leaned into him as they walked, resting her head on his arm. "Did you talk with Tim?"

      "Yeah." Zachary sighed. "He wants a future with Eleanor and she doesn't seem to want the same thing, at least not right now."

      Samantha felt her heart ache for her friends. "Something is very wrong with Eleanor. Something she won't talk about. I tried and I couldn't get her to open up." 

      "If you can't get her to talk, no one can." 

      She was humbled by the love and faith the man had in her. "Not until she's ready to be honest," Samantha agreed. "Where is Timothy? Is he okay?"

      "He went to the bathhouse. Said he wanted to clean up before heading to the diner. I reckon he seemed in better spirits and determined to do all he could to convince Eleanor he was a good man for her." Zachary gave her hand a squeeze. "I also talk spoke with him about putting his name on everything at the ranch and making it his just as much as it is ours." 

      "And did he agree to it?" 

      Zachary grunted. "Yeah." 

      "Good. Your family was his family, and they'd want him to have a place there." 

      Zachary kissed her hair as he blew a long breath through his nose. "You're right. Thank the stars for you, Sam. You keep my head on straight. You've made everything in my life better." 

      They paused to allow a hound dog to pass in front of them. "I could say the same about you, Zachary Marston. I was hopeless before you came along." 

      "You're a smart woman," he was quick to counter. "You'd have figured things out." 

      "Well come along then, sir," Samantha purred. "You've sweet talked me right into that romantic evening at the river and I'm ready to get started." 

      A low growl rumbled from Zachary's chest. "Yes ma'am." 

      Just as they were nearing the livery, a voice called out from the other side of the road. "Zachary? Samantha?" 

      Samantha glanced that way to see Caroline rushing toward them. "Do you think something is wrong at the saloon?" she demanded, pulling away from Zachary and meeting the woman halfway, aware of Zachary staying in step behind her. 

      "I'm glad I caught you both together before you left town," Caroline admitted, sliding a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear and smoothing out the red blouse she wore. 

      A million different scenarios of bad news swirled in Samantha's head. "Is something wrong? Is someone else sick? Did Thomas do something?"  

      Zachary's hand fell gently on her shoulder and gave a small squeeze, calming her nearly instantly. Caroline shook her head and smiled. "No bad news. I 

did speak with Thomas today and that’s what I was hoping to speak with Zachary about.“

      "I have spoke about enough for one day. I reckon we were on our way home. If it's nothing bad or life-threatening you can speak to me about it tomorrow morning when I come back into town." 

      Her face fell. Samantha sighed. "What is it, Caroline? He's not going anywhere without me since I'm a key pawn in his plans for tonight and I'm going to stand right here and hear what you have to say." 

      Samantha nearly laughed at the unintelligible grumbles uttered under Zachary's breath. Caroline nodded and led them both to a bench at the edge of the boardwalk. Samantha took a seat beside the older woman while Zachary stood beside them, leaning against a pillar as he hunted his pockets for a cigarette. 

      "Come on now, let's get to talking," he mumbled. Samantha rolled her eyes at his rudeness, but she couldn't blame the man. He 

had spoken to Timothy about serious topics today and that had no doubt taken a lot out of him. Zachary was not a man who appreciated dialogue.

      "What is it, Caroline? And how can Zachary and I help?"

      Caroline folded her hands in her lap. "I spoke with Thomas today about the business. I have been a paid woman my entire life, but I am nearing fifty years old and my days are numbered. Men won't pay to sleep with an old lady." Samantha winced at her bluntness, but Caroline seemed unbothered. "I have been thinking very hard lately about my future and what it will be. With Thomas' newfound desperation to leave town, an opportunity has presented itself."

      "What opportunity?" Samantha questioned with a frown. 

      Caroline smiled, though Samantha couldn't help but notice the way her hands were shaking as she wrung them on her lap. "I want to buy The Hackney Saloon and Brothel." 

      Samantha could not hide her surprise. "You do?"

      "Yes." Caroline chewed at her lip. "I have worked there most of my life. I worked closely with the Morgans' when they owned the business and learned the ins and outs of running the place. I know how to keep up with inventory, place orders, deal with customers, and there is no one who knows more about brothels than I do." 

      Samantha let that sink in. She had no doubts that Caroline knew 

how to run the business. Caroline was a very smart woman who had spent her life making her living in the very business she was hoping to run. But not many women owned businesses—and even less paid saloon women owned business. How could Caroline ever hope to have enough money to buy The Hackney Saloon and Brothel? And would Thomas honestly sell his place of a business to a woman who had been employed by him?

      "I don't mean to be rude, Caroline, but you said you needed to speak with me," Zachary spoke up. "Can we get to what it is you're wanting me to do? I worked all day, it's getting late, and I'm tired." 

      "Zachary!" Samantha scolded. "Caroline, I'm sorry...." 

      Zachary grumbled and took a draw off a cigarette he had found. Caroline waved her hand. "He's right. I'm rambling. Zachary, I spoke with Thomas about selling me the business today. He is desperate to get back at least some of his money before he leaves and that made him a bit more open-minded to hearing me out. However, when I went to the bank today to see about a loan, I was laughed out of the building. They have no respect for women—especially one of my profession."

      "How much does he want for the business? Are you asking me for money?"

      Caroline was quick to shake her head. "No, of course not. I'm not interested in handouts." She shifted on the bench and met his narrowed gaze. "I would like for you to accompany me to the bank tomorrow morning. I think if they see you with me, they may be more inclined to hear me out." 

      Zachary took a long draw off his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. "And why would you think I would have that kind of influence at the bank?"

      Caroline's gaze went skyward. "Don't pretend, Zachary. I've asked around and have come to the conclusion that you may just be the wealthiest man in Oklahoma." 

      Samantha was once again stifling laughter as Zachary grumbled under his breath. "People talk too damn much," he growled. 

      Caroline sighed. "I know I have no right to ask for your assistance, Zachary. But I thought this might solve both our problems. It will get Thomas out of town and it will provide me with a way to support myself as I get older. If you come to the bank with me, and are willing to co-sign the loan, I guarantee the bank will give it to me." 

      Samantha wanted to say yes and assure her friend that Zachary would help her, no questions asked, but she couldn't do that. It wasn't her place to make decisions for Zachary. And Caroline 

was asking for a lot. The business would not be cheap and if she couldn’t pay the loan it would fall back on Zachary if he co-signed. Still, it was in Samantha’s nature to want to help so it took a lot of willpower to simply sit and keep her mouth closed.

      Zachary rolled his shoulder. "How much is Thomas asking for?"

      It was clear that Caroline was nervous, but she sat with her shoulders squared and her gaze proud. "I was able to talk him down to one-thousand seven-hundred and fifty dollars." 

      *

A/N: around $45,000 in todays money*

      Samantha swallowed hard. That was a lot of money. More than she had ever seen in one place—or imagined hearing someone ask for. She spared a glance at Zachary but the man's face was an unreadable mask. 

      He took one more draw off the cigarette on his lip, tossed it to the ground, killed it beneath his boot, and nodded. "I'll be at the bank at ten in the morning and I'll expect you to be there. I'll co-sign the loan for you if they require me to, and then we'll go see Thomas and get the business signed into your name. I want no part in running it—that'll be up to you. If you're ever short on money and going to miss a payment, let me know so I can handle it and you won't hurt your standing with the bank."

      Samantha's heart swelled with pride. Zachary was a good man—the best she knew. 

      Caroline leapt to her feet and was on Zachary in an instant. There was a flurry of skirts and arms as she threw herself against him and hugged him tightly. "Thank you so much!" she exclaimed. "You have no idea what this means to me!" 

      Samantha watched in amusement as Zachary raised his arms and appeared quite awkward as he threw her a helpless glance. Finally, Caroline pulled away, adjusting her shirt, clearing her throat, and glancing around to see the passerby's eyeing them curiously. 

      "I'm sorry. I got excited and that wasn't very professional. Thank you, Zachary." 

      "No problem." Zachary motioned for Samantha and she quickly jumped off the bench and went to his outstretched arm which he wrapped around her shoulders. "Is that all you needed?" 

      Caroline's face was nearly splitting in two as she smiled brightly. "Yes! Thank you. I was so nervous to ask... I know I had no right to, but I had to take advantage of the opportunity." 

      Zachary shrugged. "I'll co-sign any damn loan of any damn size if it means getting that jackass out of town. We're gonna be going now, Caroline. Don't forget to be at the bank at ten." 

      "I'll be there," she happily agreed. 

      As Zachary led Samantha back toward the livery, she smiled and rose on her toes to press a quick kiss to his jaw. "I'm proud of you, Zachary. That was a very nice thing to do." 

      Color rose beneath his black stubble. "I almost didn't do it. I almost said no because I figured it wasn't any of business of mine." 

      "What changed your mind?"

      "You. I thought about you and what you would do. What you want me to do. Once I did that, I knew I had to help her." 

      "You're a good man, Zachary Marston." 

      "You've made me a better one," he agreed, kissing her hair. 

      They entered the livery and Zachary hoisted Athena's saddle onto her back. "Do you think they'll give her the loan if you're there?" Samantha asked doubtfully. She knew that Caroline deserved that money, but she also knew that the world was not a fair place—especially to women. 

      Zachary merely shrugged before tightening up the saddle. "Doesn't matter. If they do, great. If they don't, I'll just loan her the money myself and she can pay me back like she would the bank. Caroline deserves a chance to run her business." Zachary finished up saddling Athena and pulled Samantha into his arms, pressing a quick, hungry kiss to her lips. "Now, what do you say we get outta town? I reckon that river is calling our name." 

---

      The sun was getting real low in the sky when Timothy came out of the bathhouse smelling much better than he had when he had went in. It was six in the evening and his stomach had already eaten its way to his backbone. Supper was gonna have to happen soon. 

      He wondered if Eleanor might be getting hungry as well. He knew that she claimed she couldn't eat inside the diner because of her profession, but, since she had moved out of the brothel that wasn't her profession any longer—maybe if she came in with him they'd let her stay. 

      That is if the woman would even speak to him. 

      Timothy had no idea why she was so determined to keep a wall up. When she had been sick in the brothel that wall had come down a bit. She had leaned on him, asked for his help, trusted him.... Timothy had been honest when he had spoken to Zachary. Every time Timothy looked toward that future he was hoping to build, he saw Eleanor's face. What did that mean? Hell, he wasn't sure. But he was hoping for a chance to find out. 

      The doctor's shop was closed so Timothy walked around to the back, went up the wooden staircase and knocked on the door that led into the doctor's apartment above the office. It took several long moments for anyone to answer, and Timothy was about to give up and walk away, but the door was finally pulled open. 

      "Oh, hello Timothy," Lewis greeted. 

      "Hi there, Lewis." Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was hoping to speak with Eleanor." 

      Lewis shook his head. "She's not here. Her and my uncle left a little bit ago to go to the diner and eat." 

      Timothy's shoulders slumped. "Oh. Which diner?"          

      "Down by the mercantile," Lewis replied. "That's his favorite one. He loves their cobbler." 

      Timothy nodded, tipped his hat in thanks, and made his way down the steps a bit slower than he had made his way up them. If Eleanor had gone to the diner with the doc, it meant she wasn't pushing 

everyone away, only him. That hurt. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t put anything in it since that slice of jerked beef at midday.

      Stepping back onto the main street, Timothy let his gaze go toward the diner beside the mercantile. He 

was hungry. And the doc was right. That diner had the best cobbler for three states at least. He adjusted his hat, ensured his shirt was properly tucked in and headed that way.

      The moment he entered the crowded diner, his gaze found her. It wasn't hard. The patrons of the restaurant were all crowded to one side leaving the back table where Eleanor sat with the doc empty all around. Tim's heart hurt for her. Why were people so judgmental and cruel to each other? He would never understand. 

      Tim stopped at the kitchen window, ordered a meal of steak, potatoes, and cobbler, and then made his way toward Eleanor and the Doc at their lonely table. Pulling off his hat as he approached them, Timothy felt more than a little nervous when their eyes found him. 

      "Well hello there, Timothy," Doctor Reynolds greeted jovially. "Would you care to join us for supper?"

      Timothy kept his gaze on the doc, but he could see Eleanor in his peripheral vision as she watched him closely. "I'd like that, if it's alright with both of you." 

      Doctor Reynolds waved his hand. "It's just fine with me. Is it fine with you, Eleanor?"

      "Sure." Her voice caused his heart the pound and his stomach to churn. Damn. What was wrong with him? 

      "Thank you, ma'am," Timothy replied, taking a seat at the table, placing his hat in his lap, and sparing a real glance at Eleanor for the first time. She looked better than she had last night and this morning. She had a better color to her skin and no longer seemed so pale or green. And it seemed as if her shoulders were a little straighter—like some of that weight had been lifted off them. 

      "You'll find that the atmosphere in the diner is a bit hostile tonight," Doctor Reynolds grumbled, glancing around at the many eyes watching them. 

      Timothy could hear the whispers, but he simply smiled. "Hell, so many folks owe you a fortune, it's no wonder they don't want to sit and eat near you." 

      Doctor Reynold's chuckled. "I'm a reasonable man. Just the other day I took a five pound sack of flour in exchange for some medicine. What am I going to do with flour? I don't know how to bake anything." 

      "You could always sell it to the baker in town. He must go through a lot of flour," Timothy offered. 

      The doc tipped his head. "You're a smart man, Timothy O'Neil." 

      It was Timothy's turn to chuckle. "You're the first person to ever say so." 

      "Yes, well, people say and don't say a lot of things. That's the problem with them." 

      Timothy simply shrugged and was happy when the waitress finally brought his food to the table. Digging in quick, he glanced up to realize that Eleanor had turned a bit green as she watched him and pushed her food around with her fork. 

      "You okay?" he asked, around a mouthful of steak. 

      "You seem hungry," she muttered. 

      Timothy felt his cheeks heat a bit as he swallowed hard and took a big drink of water. "Well, yeah. I've been working pretty hard all day." He wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "Sorry if I offended you." 

      "You didn't," she quickly assured him and Timothy was sure her cheeks flushed. 

      "Aren't you hungry?" he asked, feeling his concern for her flare back to life. "You've barely touched your dinner and the doc's plate there is nearly empty." 

      "I'm a big eater," Doctor Reynold's spoke up. 

      "My appetite has been lacking lately," Eleanor replied quietly. "But I feel much better than I did last night, and I want to thank you, Timothy. You went above and beyond to see that I was okay and instead of being thankful, I treated you with suspicion. I'm sorry for that." She spared a quick glance at Doctor Reynolds before meeting Timothy's gaze again. "Life has taught me that everyone has ulterior motives when they help me and it was unfair of me to treat you that way." 

      Timothy wasn't sure what to say. That was the most Eleanor had ever said to him at one time. He had gotten a bit lost in the softness of her voice and the way it gently rose and fell with her words. He felt like an idiot as he sat there and simply stared at her. Here the woman was, finally opening up a bit, and he had been rendered speechless. 

      "Uh.. you're.. you're welcome, ma'am." 

      Doctor Reynold's cleared his throat. "Yeah, I heard about that watch. That it belonged to Paul Marston?"

      Happy to have something to focus on so he no longer sounded like a bumbling idiot, Timothy nodded. "Yeah, Zach gave it to me." 

      "May I look at it? I want to see if it's the same watch I'm thinking of." 

      Timothy shrugged as he pulled the ornate silver watch from his pocket and laid it in the doc's open palm. The doc studied it carefully a moment as Timothy continued to eat his meal. 

      "Yes, this 

is the watch I remember Paul carrying quite often.“ Doctor Reynolds’ shook his head as he handed it back to Timothy who took the watch, ran his hand over it carefully and then slid it back into his pocket. “Do you have any idea what that watch is worth?” Doc asked.

      "No," he replied honestly, before shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth. "It means more to me than any amount of money ever would." 

      "And yet you traded it without question to help Eleanor here." 

      Timothy's gaze drifted to the topic of the doctors' statement to see that she was studying him as if he were a complicated puzzle she couldn't solve. He shifted uneasily in his seat and swallowed hard to get those potatoes to go down his throat. "Things are just things, doc. People are a bit more important." 

      "That watch is easily worth one hundred dollars, Timothy. Paul Marston only carried top quality items."

      This simply made Timothy smile. "And if Evelyn had known he had a one hundred dollar watch she probably would have slapped him." 

      "You've got that right," Doctor Reynolds laughed lightly before taking a drink. "Evelyn was a simple woman who appreciated simple things." 

      "She was special, that's for sure," Timothy admitted, his heart aching a bit. "I would have been a lost cause if not for those folks." 

      "No one is a lost cause," Doctor Reynolds' countered. "But you

were dealt a poor hand. When was the last time you heard from your mother, Tim?“

      Timothy sighed and ate the last bite of steak on his plate. It didn't bother him to answer the doc's questions. Timothy had always been an open book and didn't mind talking about things. "I haven't seen or heard from her in over twelve years, doc. I reckon she moved out west somewhere with that jackass husband of hers. The last time I saw that woman was here in town. I was about twelve I guess and saw her on the street. I tried to speak to her, but she made it clear that she never wanted to have children, was happy I was out of her hair and living with the Marston's, and that if I ever saw her on the street again, I was to simply keep walking."

      "I never liked that woman," Doctor Reynolds' grumbled. 

      With a shrug, Timothy used his finger to swipe up the last traces of potato from his plate. "Me either. If there's one thing that I learned from the Marston's it's that blood don't mean much. And I always thought that if I ever had a chance to be a family for a child the way they were for me, I'd do in a heartbeat without question." 

      Timothy saw the pointed look that the doctor tossed Eleanor's way and he also saw the way her blue eyes widened a bit and looked at him as if he had just sprouted three heads. Timothy ran his hand through his hair. Still just one head. Then he downed the last of his water and decided to ignore their behavior since he didn't understand a bit of it. 

      "I had a good family," Eleanor spoke up, drawing Timothy's attention fully toward her and away from the cobbler he had been about to dig into. She wasn't looking at him, she was still pushing her half eaten meal around her plate with her fork. "My mama was an amazing woman who taught me what family means and how important mothers are. Then a fever came through town and my family was gone. I was only fifteen. We were dirt floor poor living in city slums back east. There was no food and no money and I was too old to receive much sympathy—besides most folks around us couldn't feed themselves let alone someone else's child. But I learned how to survive and did what I had to do." 

      Timothy frowned. He had known that Eleanor must have a story—everyone did. And he had known it couldn't be a happy story because happy, well-provided for girls with stable families and warm homes didn't tend to turn to prostitution to make a living. It still broke his heart to hear how hard things had been on her. 

      "I'm sorry you went through that, Eleanor. And I'm sorry you had to do what you did to survive—I was lucky and had the Marston's. It's easy to forget sometimes that not all folks are as lucky as I was and not all people are as warm and charitable as the Marston's were." 

      Eleanor met his gaze, her eyes holding more emotion in them than Timothy had ever seen in them before—he just wasn't any damn good at deciphering them. "I don't want pity, Timothy. I've told you that before." 

      "What 

do you want?“ he asked.

      She was quiet a moment before a quiet sigh left her lips. "Acceptance....To be treated as more than just a woman who works...

worked …in a brothel.“

      Timothy smiled. "I reckon I can do that, ma'am." 

      When a smile spread across her angelic face, Timothy's heart thundered violently against his ribs, leaving him to wonder if it was gonna tear straight from his chest. She opened her mouth, no doubt to say something, but her gaze suddenly went over his shoulder and her face went blank as her eyes widened. 

      Before Timothy could turn to see what had caused the change in her, a familiar shrill voice was chirping. "How dare you bring such filth into a family establishment! You should be ashamed of yourself Doctor Reynolds! This 

whore needs to leave immediately!“

A/N: A long chapter for y’all! What Zachary lacks in friendliness  he makes up for in his willingness to help without fuss… and in the loving, sweet, tender way he speaks to Sam! And here’s the doc, being a real hero again and bringing up family to have Timothy opening up and saying just the right things (even if Tim doesn’t realize Eleanor needs to hear the things he’s saying). Eleanor seems a bit more ready to open up to him–maybe she’ll start letting our poor guy in soon!  And who is interrupting dinner? Shrill voice? Chirping? Judgmental harshness. Judith Channing has arrived! I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! The next one should prove fun!

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

      Sitting across the table from Timothy, hearing him speak about family and his beliefs concerning that topic had Eleanor's heart becoming much more tempted to simply open up and let the man in. He seemed so good. Away from that saloon, the alcohol, the cards, the crowd, and the brothel, she was seeing him in a different light. She had known that Timothy was a happy man with a good-nature and a smile that was infectious. What she hadn't known was the loyalty and simple goodness that the man possessed. 

      Even with the help the doctor was giving her, Eleanor knew her future was going to be a hard one if she were a single, unwed, former whore attempting to raise a child by herself. Eleanor hadn't thought that there was a man alive who could possibly see past those things and build a future with her but maybe.....? 

      And when Timothy smiled so warmly and told her that he could give her that acceptance and treatment she desired so badly, Eleanor's heart seemed to roll in her chest—so very tempted to open itself up to the man sitting across from her with such earnestness in his warm green eyes. 

      Then a flash of movement caught her eye. Eleanor looked up to see Judith Channing striding their way with her nose high and her shoulders tense. Eleanor winced. She had always hated that woman. Eleanor was not a fighter. She had always been one to simply walk away from conflict and hide herself. She was used to the judgments and the harshness—had been experiencing them since the age of fifteen. But Eleanor wanted a new life. A life where she could be something other than what she had been. Judith Channing was not someone who would make that easy. 

      "How dare you bring such filth into a family establishment! You should be ashamed of yourself, Doctor Reynolds. This whore needs to leave immediately!" 

      The diner fell silent. Every gaze was turning in their direction as folks were eager to see the drama and have something new to gossip about. Eleanor was about to get to her feet and leave quickly—she did not need the stress a scene would cause. Her health had been struggling since becoming pregnant and she had to protect her child.

      Before she could get to her feet however, Timothy had leapt to his and whirled around to face the small, skinny, woman with judgment in her eyes and hatred in her heart. "You'll watch your mouth when you're speaking about Eleanor, Mrs. Channing. We were enjoying our supper, why don't you just go get to yours?" 

      She scoffed and looked him up and down. "I'll do no such thing. That is a whore, Timothy O'Neil, and as such she has no place dining here with good Christian families. Not that I'd count you among them. Your fondness for poker, drinking, whores, and Zachary Marston damned your soul a long time ago." 

      Eleanor wanted to leap to Timothy's defense but Doctor Reynold's laid his hand on her arm. "You need to stay calm," he whispered firmly for only her to hear. "Your health hasn't been well lately, and you could make it worse if you get too worked up." 

      "But that woman..." 

      "And women like her will always be around," Doctor Reynold's assured her. "You will always face judgement whether it's deserved or not. And so will he if he chooses to build a life with you. Let's see how Timothy handles this." 

      Eleanor could tell the doctor that he was insane to think that she was thinking of building a life with Timothy. She wasn't. Was she? Who was she kidding? He was a good, kind, loyal, and caring man. Any woman would be lucky to have him at her side. But Eleanor didn't want him to suffer to be with her—she wasn't worth that. Surely, he would realize it and walk away. 

      "Now, I ain't no expert on the bible, ma'am, and I'll be the first to admit that," Timothy replied, his voice calm but his posture tense as he stood toe to toe with the preacher's wife. "But I reckon Jesus dined with thieves, and whores, and gamblers. I don't reckon he ever stood in judgment and deemed them unworthy of his time. Since it was the good doctor here that invited Eleanor and I to eat with him, I'd say he's a bit closer to Jesus than you are, so I won't take your word to mean much." 

      Eleanor nearly burst out in laughter at the rage and indignation that contorted Judith's face. The woman snorted, she stomped her foot, she opened her mouth several times looking like a fish out of water as she searched for something to say. Finally, she stuck her finger under his nose. "That

woman has no right being here. She needs to leave. You can pay her a bit of coin and have your fun with her somewhere else—not where good families are attempting to eat their meals.“

      "Who the hell do you think you are?" Timothy demanded, his voice rising a bit. "You are the most judgmental, hypocritical, bitch of a woman I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. No one likes you, Judith. No one. They only tolerate you because they respect your husband as their preacher. You are a gossip and a liar and there is not a soul alive that trusts you enough to ever be your friend. You spout your lies about Zachary and his family. You run your mouth about Samantha. And now you're gonna stand here and think you can spout hatred about Eleanor? I might go to hell one day, Judith, for being a gambler and laying with women I shouldn't have, but I can promise you that you'll get there before me and your seat will be hotter." 

      A pin could have been heard dropping in the diner. Eleanor noticed the owner, a middle-aged woman named Cathy, heading in their direction. She got to her feet but before she could urge Timothy to leave with her, Judith raised her hand and swung, catching Timothy sharply across the face. 

      "Hey now! There's no need to be putting hands on folks," Doctor Reynolds got to his feet. "Judith, I believe you need to leave." 

      "I've never in my life hit a woman, ma'am, and I won't start now," Timothy stated, her handprint bright red upon his cheek. "But I might just hit a harpy and that's what you're starting to resemble." 

      Eleanor came around the table just as Cathy reached them. "I'm going to have to ask all of you to leave, even you Judith," Cathy ordered. "You've caused a horrible stir and folks are trying to eat." 

      Timothy snorted. "We didn't cause anything. We were dining peacefully and having a good time until 

she came in here spouting her mouth off.“

      "Timothy, that's enough," Eleanor snapped and this had him falling silent and turning his gaze to her. She saw that handprint on his jaw and touched her fingertips to it gingerly. He'd taken that slap to defend her. Timothy's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his tongue slid across his bottom lip as he gazed down at her. Eleanor knew lust when she saw it, but this seemed like something deeper—something more. Or was she simply seeing what she hoped to see when he looked at her?

      "Eleanor is right, Tim," Doctor Reynolds insisted. "It's time to leave." 

      Eleanor was surprised when Timothy wrapped his arm around her shoulders as if shielding her from the eyes and the whispers as he led her out of the diner. Once on the street, she didn't pull away—and neither did he. 

      Doctor Reynold's sighed as he smoothed his hand over his mustache. "I apologize, Eleanor. I knew you would probably face judgement but had hoped that it wouldn't get hostile." 

      "And it wouldn't have if loud-mouth Channing had stayed away," Timothy grumbled loudly enough that Judith clearly heard him as she stormed down the street in the direction of the church. Timothy placed his hat on his head as he removed his arm from her shoulders and stepped back. "I apologize, Eleanor. I lost my temper in there and shouldn't have. I was enjoying speaking with you." 

      Eleanor wasn't certain how romantic conversation took place between two people. Sexual flirtation she knew by heart but not romance. "I was enjoying it too," she assured him. "And I'm sorry you got slapped over me." 

      Timothy chuckled, the sound warming her heart. "I got slapped because I never did know when to shut up. It always earned me extra punches from my step-father too. Got me extra whippings at school. My mouth gets me in trouble sometimes." Then his expression sobered. "I 

am sorry. I don’t usually have much of a temper to speak of, but I won’t let anyone I care about be mistreated either.“

      "You care about me?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she barely kept hand from smacking against her brow. 

      Timothy nodded. His throat worked as he swallowed hard and studied her face as if searching for something. "I do. I'm hoping maybe you'd like to spend some more time together? We could eat supper together tomorrow. We could take out a couple of horses and a picnic supper and spend some time getting to know one another away from the town gossip." 

      Eleanor should say no—but she couldn't. She wanted a future that included some shred of happiness and some instinct within her was telling her that Timothy could give that to her. And while they spent time alone she would tell him the truth about her pregnancy and give him the opportunity to walk away. Part of her hoped and prayed he wouldn't choose to leave but another part knew that she could not blame him if he did. Timothy would face constant judgment just for being with her—it wouldn't be fair to expect him to raise another mans' child as well. 

      "I think I'd like that very much." 

      The smile that split his boyish face, lit up his green eyes and had Eleanor's pulse racing. He seemed to want to kiss her but instead cleared his throat and took a step back. "You have a good evening, Eleanor. Don't let what happened in there bother you. Judith always needs a target for her hate and, unfortunately, she's setting her sights on you. She'll find a new one eventually and things will settle down." 

      He turned his gaze to Doctor Reynolds. "I'll see you around, doc. Thanks for letting me eat dinner with you." 

      "No, thank 

you for eating with us, Timothy. It was nice to see Judith Channing turn so many shades of red.“

      Timothy was chuckling as he threw one more awkward wave in Eleanor's direction, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away whistling quietly. 

      "Looks like your future is looking up, Eleanor," Doctor Reynold's stated as they slowly made their way down the road. 

      "He doesn't know I'm carrying a child, doc. Surely that will change his mind." 

      Doctor Reynold's snorted. "Did you not hear the man say he would willingly give a child a family? Without question, I believe is what he said." 

      Eleanor rolled her eyes even as her heart fluttered. "Yes, well, 

saying that and actually doing that are two different things. I will tell him tomorrow while we’re out together and we’ll see.“

      A sigh left the older man. "Whether you believe it or not, Eleanor, you deserve happiness. You deserve a good man to love you and a baby you can both love and a home and all the things you ever let yourself imagine as a child."  

      Eleanor felt the emotion clogging her throat and the tears welling up behind her eyes. Crying had always been something she hated. She despised feeling sorry for herself or wasting time on tears since neither had ever helped her survive. But it seemed lately all she could do was cry and dwell on her situation. 

      The doc wrapped a warm, fatherly arm around her shoulders and began to lead her toward his home. Footsteps suddenly sounded behind them and they turned to see an angry man approaching them. A man Eleanor recognized from the brothel—he'd been one of her regulars. 

      He was a tall, thin man with a heavy mustache and a surly disposition. "Doctor Reynolds, I'd like to speak with you." 

      Doctor Reynolds sighed. "The lady and I are rather tired, Greg, and heading in for the night. Can we talk another time?"

      "No." Greg crossed his arms over his narrow chest and glared at Eleanor before turning his gaze once again to the doc. "How dare you bring that whore into the diner. Do you have any idea how awkward that was for me? I was sitting there with my wife and son and you bring 

this woman in there?“

      "You didn't have a problem with me a week ago," Eleanor spoke up quietly. She normally kept her mouth shut—knew that being quiet was the best option. And yet she was tired and she was raw and she simply wanted to be left alone—and those things had her lips loosening. 

      Greg's face reddened. "Doc, you should not have brought her in there. It made for a tense meal with my family. My wife has insisted that she is staying the night at her mothers." 

      Doctor Reynold's laid his hands over his middle and shrugged. "Your inability to honor the vows you shared with your wife are none of my concern. And they are not Eleanor's concern either. That is between you and Catherine, bless her heart." 

      Greg stepped forward with his fists clenched, though he wasn't directing his anger at the doctor any longer—his focus had moved to Eleanor. He stood so close to her that she could feal the heat of his breath and when he began to yell his spittle hit against her skin. "You are nothing but a whore and you belong in that brothel! How dare you have the audacity to think you deserve to sit around good women like my wife!" 

      Eleanor's legs shook but she stood her ground. "I no longer work in that brothel." 

      "You are a whore! Whores don't have a right to be seen in public. Take your ass back where it belongs!" 

      Before Eleanor or the doctor could respond, a body came slamming into Greg, throwing the other man threw the air. The bodies came down together in the dirt, and in the glow of the lantern lights, Eleanor recognized Timothy as he straddled Greg and threw wild punches at the man's face. "You'll shut your goddamn mouth!" Timothy roared. 

      Greg managed to block a punch and send one of his own into Timothy's jaw, knocking Timothy off him and throwing him sideways. The two men became a tangle of fists and feet, rolling around in the dirt and beating each other senseless.

      Eleanor kept calling Timothy's name, begging him to stop, but it was clear he was beyond reasoning. Cries rang out around them as other folks going about their evenings noticed the wrestling match taking place. 

      "That's enough!" Marshall Leonard Oxley's voice called out above all else. The pot-bellied man came jogging over, holding his revolver in one hand as he adjusted his eye patch. "Break it up you two!" he ordered, cocking his gun. 

      Timothy and Greg instantly came apart. Tim was quick to get back to his feet and Eleanor felt her gut twist. His face was welted, his lip was split, and from the look of the swelling around his eye, it would probably be turning a nice shade of black soon. He was panting and angry and his fists were still clenched at his side, emphasizing his bloody knuckles. 

      A quick glance at Greg revealed he was in worse shape. One of his front teeth was missing, blood was pouring from his nose, and he was staggering a bit as he attempted to stand. Timothy pulled a bandana from his pocket and tossed it at the man. "Clean yourself up. You got some bullshit on your face." 

      "You need to arrest that man, Marshall," Greg announced, his voice muffled as he held that bandana over his face to stem the flow of blood. "He attacked me for no good reason." 

      "No good reason? I heard the way you were talking to the lady," Timothy countered. 

      Marshal Oxley sighed. "What's gotten into you, Timothy? I already heard about the way you spoke to poor Judith and now this? You've never been a man to let his temper get the better of him. Come on. You can cool your heels in a cell tonight." 

      "But Marshall...." Eleanor stepped forward. 

      Timothy shook his head. "It's alright, ma'am." 

      "Timothy..." she gingery touched his swollen bottom lip. "It's not alright. I'm not worth this..." 

      Timothy's gaze softened. He caught her wrist in his hand gently, held her hand still and pressed a tender kiss to her fingertips. "We'll just agree to disagree on that." His gaze left hers as he released his hold on her. Timothy turned to face the Marshall. "Let's go then, Leonard. I'm surprised you're sober enough at this time of night to remember where jail is. Is it still as nice as I remember? I haven't been there in a while. I think the last time was when that brawl broke out in the saloon and I broke a chair with my head." He chuckled. "Fun times." 

      Eleanor watched the Marshall leading him away as she attempted to understand what she was feeling. The heat from that kiss he had laid to her fingers had sent a trembling awareness through every inch of her. Never had Eleanor felt anything that compared. 

      What was it about Timothy O'Neil that rendered her unable to think clearly? The man was clearly insane. Why else would he curse out preacher's wives, brawl men in the street, and get himself thrown in jail just to defend a whore? 

      

‘I reckon I can do that, ma’am.’ Eleanor heard his words from inside the diner replay themselves in her mind. When she had told him what she wanted—to be treated as something other than a whore—that had been his response. Timothy O’Neil saw her as a woman and not a whore. If he could look past her profession and deem her worthy of his affection, maybe it was time that Eleanor do the same for herself.

      She let out a sigh. That man. 

      The crowd around them had dissipated once the Marshall led Timothy away. Greg had stumbled down the road toward The Hackney Saloon and Brothel—he certainly did seem upset that his wife had left him. 

      "Doc, go on home. I'll be there shortly. I'm going to go speak to Timothy." 

      He seemed uncertain. "You should probably just come home...." 

      "I wasn't asking permission," she assured him. "I want to speak with Timothy and I'll be home right after." Without giving him time to argue further, Eleanor turned and headed for the jail. She walked right in, finding the office empty. She opened a door that led down a short hall with cells on either side. There were two large cells in the Hackney jail and several cots filled each of them. One of the cells contained a man who was clearly passed out drunk if his scent was any indication—the other contained Timothy. 

      Marshall Oxley was just locking the cell door and turned to frown at her. "You aren't allowed back here." 

      "I want to speak with Timothy."

      "I can't be making exceptions to rules," Marshall Oxley countered. "You need to leave." 

      "Go on, Eleanor. I'll be alright," Timothy insisted. 

      Eleanor squared her shoulders. "Marshall, this is ridiculous. Let the man go. He was only defending my honor." 

      "What honor?" Marshal Oxley snorted. "Whores have no honor. Hell, I've paid my fifty cents to have you myself more than once." 

      Eleanor bristled at the insult but did not let her hurt or anger show on her face. Timothy, however, slammed his hand against the bars. "Why don't you let me out of this damn cell and repeat yourself, Marshall."

      "Timothy, enough," Eleanor warned. "Marshal, I understand that he used his fists when he shouldn't have but surely you can understand the situation. Please? Let him go." 

      Eleanor laid her hand on the metal bars of Timothy's cell, surprised when Timothy's hand suddenly rested over hers. The warmth of his calloused fingers soaking into her soul. Her eyes met his and she swallowed hard. The way he was looking at her... Eleanor had never in her life allowed herself to believe a man would ever look at her that way. 

      Marshall Oxley cleared his throat. He stepped close, his pot-belly bumping against her hip. His hot breath washed over her cheek as he ran his fingertips down her arm, causing her to shiver. "I can think of one way I might be convinced to let him out....." 

      Eleanor was about to tell him to go to hell, but before she could, Timothy removed his hand from hers and reached through the bars. He grabbed Leonard by the front of his shirt and yanked him as hard as he could into the bars. The sound of the Marshall's head thumping against that cold iron resonated inside the tiny jail. It was as if his legs simply disappeared from beneath him as he slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap. 

      "I reckon I'll just staying here tonight," Timothy stated, his busted lips curving in a smile. 

      A small laugh left her mouth before Eleanor could stop herself. "You're making things worse, Tim. What's gotten into you tonight?" 

      He shrugged. "Zach's a bad influence." She rolled her eyes. "Speaking of Zachary, he's coming to town in the morning so if you could send him this way to bail me out of here, I'd appreciate it." 

      Eleanor nodded, "Of course I will. Of course now that you've assaulted an officer of the law, I'm sure it'll be a bit harder." 

“Leonard will do whatever Zachary wants him to do. Zach has a way of talking folks into things.”

Eleanor sighed. “I’m sorry about all of this, Timothy, but you have to understand something.”

      He leaned against the bars and those green eyes studied her carefully. "What's that?"

      "People like Judith, and Greg, and the Marshall will always be judging me. They will always have things to say and hate to throw out. I have faced that my entire life and I am fairly good, most of the time, at letting it roll off my back and ignoring it. You have to learn to do the same, Timothy." Eleanor dropped her gaze to her feet as her face reddened. "I mean, that is, if you are serious about wanting to spend more time with me..." 

      His fingertips were suddenly dancing across her cheek before his knuckle came under her chin and raised her head, so her gaze met his again. "I've spent most of my life not being serious about anything, Eleanor. I'm serious about this. About you. I'll do better with my temper." He made a big show of crossing his fingers. "Honest." 

      "You are....

unexpected ,“ Eleanor whispered slowly. “My hero.”

      His laughter filled the jail. "Hero? I've never been a hero before, ma'am. Seems like a rough way to go. All it's earned me is a swollen jaw, busted knuckles, and a night on a hard cot." 

      Eleanor swallowed hard. She had to open herself up to Timothy. Had to trust him. Had to take a chance that he 

could be her future and her happily ever after. Surely she deserved one. Didn’t she? “I think it’s earned you a bit more than that.”

      That happiness in Timothy's eyes was infectious as he gazed down at her. "Is that right?" 

      She motioned him closer and he put his face against the bars. Eleanor gently took his chin in her hand and turned his face so she could press a soft kiss to his freshly shaven cheek. Her hands were shaking as she pulled away and took a step back. 

      She didn't miss the way Timothy's throat bobbed before he cleared it roughly and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I think I just found my new middle name. Timothy 'Hero' O'Neil." He winked. "It has a nice ring to it." 

      Eleanor offered a shaky smile. "I'll see you in the morning, Timothy. Thank you for defending me." 

      "I'll defend you anytime, ma'am." 

      Eleanor turned and left the jail feeling jumbling emotions warring in her heart and mind. Hope, fear, doubt, the beginnings of what could be love.... Damn, she was terrified. Tomorrow, she was going to be having a very difficult conversation with the man—a conversation that could cause her to lose him, and the future she'd begun to imagine, forever. 

      Tonight was certainly going to be a sleepless one. 

A/N: Timothy ‘Hero’ O’Neil wears his busted lips and black eye proudly!  And he said all the things to Judith that we’ve all wanted to say! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading!

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

The sun was beginning to rise to the east. Birdsongs filled the quiet morning air as Zachary lay upon his bedroll, holding the woman he loved in his arms. He felt a peace in his soul that he had never imagined he would ever feel.

      It was amazing the way Samantha had somehow managed to change him. He'd been a gunslinger, a killer, and nothing more than that. He'd been lost in hate and anger and self-loathing. With a few tender words, warm touches and knowing looks, Sam had saved him. She was his lifeline, his lighthouse, his oasis in a desert and there would never come a day when Zachary would be foolish enough to take her for granted or forget that she was more than he deserved. 

      Zachary wished they could lay like this all day, but the smell of rain was heavy in the thick air and he had several things to take care of in town. Burying his nose in Sam's thick red curls, Zachary breathed in the scent of lavender and dreaded the day. Yesterday had been enough. Zachary was not a man who appreciated constant stress—he already lived his life on edge worrying that a threat could come from around any corner. Adding other people's worries to that was overwhelming. But for Samantha, for the faith she had in the man he was and could be, Zachary would accompany Caroline and go to battle with the bank and their prejudice. Then he would go to the land office with Timothy and give his brother his rightful share of everything. That was something that should have been done a long time ago and would have been had Zachary been thinking clearly five years before. 

      Natures' call was urgently begging Zach to get up. He knew that Samantha could sleep just a little longer. The growing cloud cover made it a bit harder to gauge but he would guess it was around six or seven in the morning which meant they had plenty of time before their ten o'clock meeting at the bank. 

      Sliding from her arms, Zachary got to his feet, taking time to stretch out his stiff muscles as he did so. He wasn't old but he had lived hard, and his body was full of plenty of aches and pains to remind him of that. He was ready to have a warm bed of their own to fall into every night         and rise out of every morning. 

      A breeze blew across his bare torso, reminding Zachary that a storm was coming. He quickly walked several feet away, relieved himself behind a bush, and went to stand beside the river. Samantha had insisted on wearing his shirt to bed even though she had remembered to bring clothes of her own. She said she liked the way it felt to be wrapped up in his clothes while she slept.  Zachary hadn't offered up any complaint. He happened to like the way she looked all wrapped up in his clothes. 

      Staring into the water flowing slowly past him, Zachary thought about how drastically his life had changed in just a few short weeks. It was a strange reality how quickly things could become permanently altered—good and bad. In a heartbeat Zachary had lost his family—and in another heartbeat he had saved a woman from being raped by a fat man in a brothel and found the love of his life. There was a voice in his head, a part of his brain that would be forever terrified of life throwing him yet another blink of an eye change and that voice spoke of what would happen if he lost Samantha. Zachary would be forever broken. There would be no vengeance to be sought—no life to attempt to build back. If something happened to that woman, Zachary would have no choice but to put his revolver in his mouth and eat a bullet. 

      Those dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Samantha's gentle footsteps approaching him.  Her arms slid around his middle and her body pressed against his back. "Good morning, handsome." 

      "Good morning, beautiful," he replied, his body trembling at the feel of her against his bare skin. "I didn't mean to wake you."

      "You didn't." Those lips laid several long kisses to the muscles and scars on his back. "You seemed so sad standing here. What's on your mind?"

      Zachary laid his hands over hers on his stomach. "Just thinking of life and how quickly things can change." He knew he couldn't lie to her. Not just because his heart wouldn't allow him to but because Samantha was far too perceptive to fall for it. "How quickly things can be taken away." 

      Her warm breath washed against his skin as a sigh left her lips. "No one is going to take me away from you. I'm far too stubborn to allow that." 

      A chuckle rumbled from his chest. If there was ever a woman stubborn enough to simply tell death no it would be his woman. "I reckon there's a storm coming," he finally spoke after several long moments of simply letting Samantha hold him close. 

      "Yeah, it seems that way. Will the crew work in this weather?"

      "Probably not. If it was only rain they would but with the looks of that sky and the way this breeze is picking up, we're in for a bad storm."

      "We should probably get to town then, shouldn't we? Try to beat the weather?"

      Zachary turned to face her, looking down into the green eyes and feeling his hunger for the woman in front of him roar to life. "I reckon we've got a few hours before it sets in." 

      His own hunger was mirrored in her gaze as Samantha all but purred and pressed herself against him. "Whatever shall we do with ourselves, Mr. Marston?"

      Zachary bent a bit and laid his fingertips against the bare skin of her leg, happy that she had slept in his shirt—and 

only his shirt. Running his hands up, Zachary lifted that shirt, sliding his calloused hands up her pale thighs. “I can think of a thing or two,” he growled before grabbing her hips and lifting her.

      Those long legs wrapped tight around him as her arms slid around his neck. "Tell me what you had in mind," she teased, her breath warm against his neck. When she began to nibble at his ear, Zachary's entire body shook.

      "I tend to be a man of actions not words," he reminded her as he began to carry her back toward their bedroll. 

      Those damned lips trailed down his neck and those teeth nipped at the column of his throat. "Show me then." 

      "Don't you worry none, ma'am. I'm gonna show you plenty." 

      Without wasting time on any more words, Zachary caught her lips beneath his and plundered her mouth—devouring the woman in his arms. He dropped to his knees at the bedroll and then laid Samantha down upon it, bracing himself over her and never breaking the hungry joining of their lips. 

      His let his fingertips dance once again over her exposed leg. Trailing slowly, dragging out her anticipation as she moaned and pressed herself against them, he brought his hand up her thigh, tapped his fingers against her hips, smiled as she growled out his name. "Zachary, stop teasing me." 

      He lifted his head and smiled. "I would never dream of teasing you, ma'am." 

      Raising up on his knees, Zachary straddled her hips and moved his hands to the button of the shirt hiding her delicate body from his roving eyes. Slowly, button by button, he removed that barrier and gazed at her sprawled upon his bedroll—her body trembling with the want she felt for him. 

      Damn a man could get used to seeing something like that. 

      Lowering his head, Zachary nipped at her freckled shoulders, ran his lips along her collarbones, dropped lower still and took her taut nipple into his mouth. Samantha's back arched from the ground as her hands buried themselves in his hair. 

      Spurred by her moans of pleasure, Zachary slid his hand up her thigh and found those red curls between her legs. As his finger slid inside that haven, Zachary found her already wet for him. Sam's grip tightened in his hair as his name flew from her lips. 

      Zachary continued to feast upon those breasts and pleasure the heat between her thighs. His own need grew as Samantha's moans gained urgency. When those hot walls tightened around his finger and her cries of pleasure filled the air, Zachary pressed one hot, fast kiss to her lips. 

      He pulled away and simply took in the sight of her. Samantha was still trembling upon the bedroll, her wild curls spread out around her and her skin flushed with passion as she gasped and gazed up at him through her long red lashes. Zachary shed his pants quickly, braced himself over her once again, and slid himself inside her. 

      Zachary kept his movements slow and deliberate as he moved in and out of her and her nails dug into his back and her hungry lips sought his. Damn the passion that lived inside this fiery woman made his blood pound and his heart race.

      Zachary nearly cried out in shock when her legs went around his hips, tightened their grip, and twisted. He found himself lying on his back with her sitting atop him. Instantly, Zachary's gripped her hips and met her thrusts as she flashed him a wickedly alluring smile. 

      "Holy hell, woman, are you trying to kill me?" he growled, finding his gaze drawn to her breasts as they moved in time with her motions. 

      She leaned down, that wild red hair encircling him as she nipped at his neck. "No, that's certainly not my goal." 

      The kisses turned hungrier, the touches hotter, and the movement of their hips more frantic as they moaned and panted and lost themselves in ecstasy. Zachary knew he wouldn't last much longer and the moment he felt Samantha's walls tightened around him—he let himself go. She tossed her head back and called out his name as Zachary arched upon the ground and cursed. 

      Samantha fell down upon him and Zachary encircled her with his arms, holding her sweat slicked body close. Her head was resting on his chest and he knew she was listening to his thundering heart—she had admitted many times that it brought her comfort. He figured that was just fine—he could lay here just like this with her warm in his arms for the rest of his life and die a happy and contended man. 

      Zachary didn't know how long they laid there. The breeze chilled his skin and the sky kept growing darker with the promise of rain. Slowly, Samantha began to stir in his arms. "We should probably head to town," she whispered, sounding sleepy and content.

      "We'll go to town, take care of business this morning, and spend the rest of this stormy day locked up in the hotel so I can spend some time showing you just how much this gunslinger loves you." 

      Her green eyes were smiling as she raised her head to gaze at him. "You aren't a gunslinger anymore, you're a rancher and a farmer. And, trust me, I know just how much you love me." 

      Running his knuckles down her arm, he offered her a slow smile. "Never hurts for a man to be certain." 

      "Well, come along then, Mr. Marston." Samantha got to her feet. Zachary swallowed hard. That goddamn woman was a masterpiece standing in front of him. "You have a lot of people to talk to this morning and I'm certain you'll be in need of a long nap by lunchtime." 

---

      Zachary had grumbled at Samantha's suggestion that he would need a nap. Now, he was thinking she knew him better than he knew himself. They had beaten the rain to town but the moment they had put Athena and Blaze in the livery and stepped onto main street, Eleanor had come rushing in their direction and it had been clear that she'd been upset. 

      Now, Zachary was heading toward the jail and wondering how a man went about getting by with killing the local law enforcement. Samantha and Eleanor were following along behind him arm in arm. In Zachary's opinion, Eleanor tended to be a quiet and bit timid woman but Samantha seemed to be providing her with a certain amount of strength and confidence. Zachary wasn't surprised—he'd known since the start that his woman brought the best out of those around her. 

As he stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the jailhouse, Zachary was faintly aware of Sam warning him to control his temper. As if she had any room to talk. When Eleanor had told them about the run in with Judith at the diner, that damned woman’s response had been to vow to punch the woman a bit harder the next time she saw her. Zachary nearly chuckled at the memory—yeah, his Samantha couldn’t talk to him about controlling tempers.

      "You can wait for me out here," he said, stopping at the door. 

      "I don't think we will," Samantha quickly countered.

      Zachary sighed. He was a man who knew how to pick his battles and he wasn't going to fight this one. Having Samantha near him while he dealt with Marshall Oxley may prove to be a good thing—it might just save that bastards' life. 

      Stepping into the jail, Zachary quickly scanned the dusty surroundings. The main office was empty. A half empty bottle of whiskey sat on the desk beside several unorganized piles of paperwork. Where was the damn Marshall?

      "When I left last night he was unconscious in front of Timothy's cell," Eleanor admitted quietly. "Timothy had knocked him out cold after Leonard had...had suggested a certain way 

I could ensure he let Tim go.“

      Zachary grumbled. "I hate that fucking coward." 

      "So does everyone else who meets him," Samantha assured him. Then she frowned. "Is that someone singing?"

      Zachary listened and sure enough the sound of a male voice singing poorly came through the thick door that led to the cells. 

“Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’, Clementine. You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorrow, Clementine.”

Eleanor seemed to be fighting a smile. “Is that Timothy?”

      Zachary nodded, wincing at the assault on his ears. "Sounds that way. Your man always did sound like a cat with his tail under a rocker when he took a notion to sing a song." 

      "He's not my man." 

      Zachary shrugged. That wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. Glancing behind the desk, he saw a ring of keys and grabbed them before opening the door that led to the cells. 

      Timothy's singing was even louder and more off key without that slab of oak to deaden it. 

‘Drove her ducklings to the water every morning just at nine. Hit her foot against a splinter and fell into the foaming brine. Ruby lips above the water blowing bubbles, soft and fine. But, alas, I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine.’

That was a rather depressing tune. “Maybe I should leave you locked up in here as punishment for that horrible racket coming out of your mouth,” Zachary spoke up.

      Timothy leapt off his cot and scrambled to the bars, a smile lighting up his face—and emphasizing the split on his bottom lip. "You wouldn't dare do something like that to your brother, would you?"

      Zachary felt his temper flare at the sight of that bruising around Timothy's eye. "Who did that to your face? Eleanor wouldn't give me a name." 

      Timothy's gaze went behind Zachary and he saw the way his best friends' eyes lit up and knew that they must have fallen on Eleanor. "Don't worry, Zach. I gave worse than I got. Good morning, Eleanor." 

      "Good morning, Tim." 

      Zachary held up the keys. "Would you like to get out of here?"

      "Sure would. Wanna come lay on the cot for old times sake? You remember that time we got locked up in here together? We'd spent the night out tipping Crosswells cows and Granger was Marshall then. Him and Crosswell was cousins so Granger locked us in here good and tight to teach us a lesson on causing mischief." Zachary smiled at the memory. Timothy laughed. "Didn't work though. Hell, we tipped his cows every night for a month before we finally got tired of it." 

      "You've tipped a cow?" Samantha questioned. 

      He looked down into those amused green eyes of hers and shrugged. "I've tipped quite a few cows." 

      With laughter filling the room, Zachary went to Timothy's cell door and began testing keys. The third one slid into the lock and undid it quickly. Timothy was quick to step into the hall, stretching out his arms and rolling his shoulders. "Feels good to be out of there."

      A sudden unexpected blast of thunder shook the very timbers beneath their feet. Zachary, unsure what the noise was at first, quickly grabbed hold of Samantha, pulling her close. Eleanor stepped closer to Timothy. 

      "Jesus Christ, I thought that was dynamite for a minute," Timothy grumbled, putting his hand over his heart. "I think I might have died...." 

      Zachary took several deep breaths. "Bad weather was moving in fast when we came into town." 

      "Well, let's go get some breakfast and spend the day together," Timothy suggested to the group, though his eyes were only on Eleanor. 

      She smiled, tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear and nodded. "I'd like that." 

      The four of them turned toward the door to find themselves staring at a very angry—and rather bruised—Marshall Oxley. The scent of liquor coming off the man would sedate a buffalo. He had his gun in his hand and his blue eye was narrowed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

A/N: Uh-oh…. Yes, Zachary just took it upon himself to walk into a jail, steal the keys, and free a prisoner. I wonder what Marshall Oxley is going to have to say about that. We shall find out soon. And, of course, I had to give Zachary a bit of fun with his woman before he deals with all of the business in town…. Could you imagine how many folks would die if he wasn’t tended to and relaxed before dealing with this nonsense? 🤣🤣 I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

          Zachary instantly moved Samantha behind him and took a step forward, blocking all three of his companions from the Marshall’s view—and the aim of that revolver.

          “Put that goddamn gun back in its holster, Leonard.”

          Marshall Oxley swayed a bit on his feet. Clearly the man was so damned drunk, he was having trouble managing to stand. It was only a little before ten in the morning so it would seem the good Marshall had been working on that drunk all night.

          “What do you think you’re doing, Zachary?” he asked, his words slurring both from drink and the swelling around his mouth and nose. “This is my jail…”

          “Unless you’re going to shoot me, Leonard, put that gun away before I put it away for you.”

          For a brief second, Zachary wondered if the Marshall was going to pull that trigger. Finally, his arm dropped and as he attempted to holster his gun, he lost his balance and stumbled sideways. The wall kept him from falling, and after several pathetic  and rather awkward attempts, the man managed to holster his weapon.

          “You ain’t got no right to do that,” he muttered, pointing toward the cells. “You ain’t got no right to free my prisoner.”

          Zachary rolled his shoulder. Decided he wasn’t going to waste much time on this conversation and stepped forward. “You had no right to lock him up. That man on the street was mistreating a lady and Timothy stepped in because there ain’t a lawman in this town worth a damn. If anything, you should have been thanking him for doing your job.”

          Marshall Oxley stepped forward, weaving heavily. “He assaulted me.”

          “You assaulted that lady first. And as far as anyone is going to hear from us, you were dog drunk, fell, and assaulted the damn bars with your face and no help from anyone else.” Zachary growled. “Now, you either let us walk out of here now or I’ll be doing worse than assaulting you, Marshall.”

          Leonard sneered. “Is that a threat?”

          Zachary’s gaze simply went upward. He motioned for Samantha, Timothy, and Eleanor to follow him and headed for the door. “Where are you going? I’m an officer of the law and I’m speaking to you!”

          Zachary motioned for everyone to go ahead of him and stopped at the door. “You’re nothing but a pot-bellied, drunken coward with a tin star attached to him. Goodbye Leonard.”

          Marshall Oxley took a step forward, got his feet tangled up in his drunkenness and fell on his face on the wooden floor. He made one attempt to get up before slumping down onto the crooked floorboards with a moan. Zachary simply shook his head at the pathetic sight, turned his back on the half-conscious man, and walked out the door.

          Hanging the keys back on the hook where he had found them, Zachary made his way outside to join the others. The weather had definitely taken a bad turn. Rain pounded upon the boardwalk roof, the sky was black, lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and the wind was whipping.  “Maybe you shouldn’t have just taken me out of the cell like that, Zach,” Timothy acknowledged. “You could have paid bail.”

          Samantha scoffed as she moved into Zachary’s arms. “Paid bail for what? You didn’t do anything wrong, Tim, and you shouldn’t have been there to begin with. Besides, the Marshall is so drunk he probably won’t remember much of this whenever the drink wears off.”

          “I’m not worried about Leonard Oxley,” Zachary admitted honestly. “He shouldn’t have that job.”

          Timothy laughed. “Maybe that badge will just leap off his chest in shame and find someone better suited to wear it.”

          The wind gusted and Zachary saw Eleanor shiver and wrap her arms around herself. He saw the way Timothy slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him—and he saw the way Eleanor’s eyes lit up as she gazed up at him. Zachary chose to say nothing about those things he saw. It wasn’t his business. He was just happy to see that his best friend seemed to stand a decent chance with the woman who had been occupying his thoughts. Samantha had brought Zachary nothing but happiness—he wanted the same for Tim.

          Glancing toward the clock tower, Zachary sighed. “I gotta head to the bank and meet Caroline.”

          “I should probably go get cleaned up,” Timothy admitted glancing down at his clothes which were covered in dirt and a bit of blood from his brawl the night before.

          Eleanor’s posture stiffened a bit. Her expression became guarded. She pulled from Timothy’s arms and wrapped her own arms around herself. “Samantha? Could… could we go talk?”

          Zachary saw Samantha bite her lip and turn a questioning gaze in his direction. He nodded. “You go ahead. I can handle the meeting with the bank.” While Zachary was selfish when it came to Sam and wanted her near him, he also knew that if anyone could help Eleanor with whatever the woman was obviously dealing with, it was Sam. The sooner all of that was dealt with and Tim could be happy—the better. Zachary was tired of tension.

          “And the saloon?” Samantha raised a brow. “I know you’ll be going to see Thomas when you’re done at the bank.”

          “I won’t hurt Thomas, I promise.” He shrugged. “I might have to kill him but I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer.”

          Her hand struck his arm as she glared up at him. “Not funny.”

          “Wasn’t joking.” He kissed her brow. “Go with Eleanor. I’ll be fine. He won’t give me any trouble.” 

          Samantha studied his eyes a moment before seeming satisfied with the answer. She turned to Eleanor. “Sure, we can talk.” Samantha smiled gently at her friend.  “Zachary, just come to her room at the docs to pick me up when you’re done.”

          Zachary nodded. He pulled off his duster coat, wrapped it around her shoulders to protect her from the rain, pressed a quick kiss to her lips and then headed down the boardwalk. He pulled his hat down lower against the wind and glanced at Timothy who was walking with him. “I’m surprised you brawled in the street, Tim. I thought I was the hot-tempered one.”

          Timothy grinned. “I told Eleanor you were a bad influence.”  

          “So… she seemed happy to see you this morning.”

          “Yeah. I think she just might like me too.”

          “That’s real good.” Zachary prepared himself to step off the boardwalk and brave the rain he’d have to get through to get to the bank. “I gotta get to the bank. Caroline wants a loan to buy the saloon and they aren’t wanting to give it to her.”

          “Look at you.” Timothy nudged him with his elbow. “Who’d have thought that Zachary Marston would become a regular old hero.”

          Zachary grumbled. “I ain’t got no interest in being a hero.”

          Timothy just laughed and slapped him on the back. “You’re doing a pretty bad job at not being one. Me, I got a dinner date with Eleanor tonight so being a hero is working for me.”

          “Except it got you thrown in jail,” Zachary reminded him.

          He simply waved his hand. “Minor detail. Are we still going to the land office?”

“I reckon.”

“Should I just meet you and Sam at the doc’s after I’ve cleaned up?”

Zachary nodded. “That works. Shouldn’t take me long with Caroline.”

          “Alright then. Have fun not being a hero at the bank.”

          Timothy as chuckling as Zachary grumbled. Some days he wondered why he was friends with that damn man. Holding his hat in place against the wind, Zachary stepped onto the muddy street and jogged his way toward the bank. He was instantly soaked to the skin from the driving rain. His boots slipped and slid and more than once he nearly lost his footing but managed to arrive on the bank porch without a muddy ass.

          Water was dripping steadily from the brim of his black hat as he scanned the porch and found Caroline sitting on a bench, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Good morning, Zachary. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”        

          “It is what it is.” Zachary motioned for the door. “You ready?”

          She stood up and smoothed out her black skirt and blue blouse, both of which were dry indicating that she had been waiting at the bank a while and beaten the rain there. Zachary noticed the way her hands shook, and the tense set of her jaw but he chose not to mention either. “I’m ready.”

          Holding the door open, Zachary let her enter first. He left muddy boot prints and water drips on the polished wooden floor as they approached the counter. “Mr. Marston!” the teller greeted brightly—a small-bodied man with more mustache than face and bright red bowtie. Zachary didn’t recognize him, but the owner of the bank Preston Michaels had clearly insured all his workers would recognize him when he entered. “What can we do for you today at the Hackney Bank and Loan?”

          Zachary shook his head. “Not a thing. You can help the lady here.”

          His friendly expression faltered. “Mr. Michaels already spoke with her yesterday…”

          “And he’ll speak with her again today,” Zachary insisted. “Let him know we’re here.”

          “Mr. Marston, Mr. Michael’s is a rather busy man….”

          Zachary pulled off his hat and rested his free hand on the handle of his revolver. He kept his posture and expression relaxed and held the teller’s gaze. “I don’t like asking for something twice.”

          The man looked like he may cry. He swallowed hard against that red bow tie, nodded quickly, let out a squeak, and turned on his heels as he rushed off to deliver Zachary’s message.

          Caroline was frowning as she tapped Zachary’s arm to get him to look her way. “I’d prefer my loan not be approved at gunpoint.”

          “I didn’t threaten anyone at gunpoint, ma’am.” Zachary’s lips twitched. “I’ve been told, from time to time, that I’m an imposing figure.”

          She ran her fingertips over the small lines beside her eyes and pressed them into her temples. “Impose a little less.”

          Zachary shrugged. “You’re the one that asked me to be here. I can leave.”

          Before Caroline could reply, the teller reappeared, stepping around the counter and approaching them. “M…Mr. Michaels said he’ll see you. Foll…Follow me.”

          Zachary motioned for Caroline to go ahead and he took up the rear as they were led down a short hall to a large cherry door. The teller knocked twice before opening the door and allowing them to enter.

          “Hello, Mr. Marston!” Preston Michaels greeted brightly, rising from his desk.

          “Hello Preston.” Zachary disliked the banker. Of course, Zachary disliked most people. But the banker was a greedy, pompous asshole who was only showing friendliness now because Zachary had more money and investments with this bank than any other person in Oklahoma had in any other bank. And it wasn’t Zachary’s doing. He hadn’t touched much of anything since his family had died—his father had been the one who was good at dealing with finances.

          “What can I do for you today, Mr. Marston?” Preston asked, glancing at Zachary’s feet.

          Zachary glanced down at the puddle forming beneath him. He dug into his pocket and found the matches and cigarette inside—both still relatively dry. “Is the lady invisible, Mr. Michaels? Or do you have issues with your sight?”

          “No, of course not,” Preston replied quickly.

          Zachary put the cigarette between his lips and struck the match. “Then it’s your manners that are lacking then. Greet the goddamn woman.”

          Preston’s face reddened beneath his impressive black sideburns as he nodded and turned to Caroline. “Hello, ma’am .”

          Caroline stood straight and proud with her shoulders back and her chin held high. Zachary was impressed. She was a smart woman and one that seemed confident and sure of herself. She would probably do pretty damn good at owning a business and running it well.

          “Hello, Mr. Michaels. Thank you for seeing me. I would like to talk to you about that loan we discussed yesterday.”

          Preston frowned. “I can’t see what we have to discuss, ma’am. I told you yesterday that we cannot help you with your loan.”

          Zachary took a draw off his cigarette and shook his head. “Sit down and talk to the woman, Preston.”

          “Mr. Marston, I already explained to the lady yesterday that this loan is simply too high risk for us to assist her with.”

          Zachary pointed to the desk. “Do you always leave your clients standing by the door, Mr. Michaels? You seem to have some chairs there by the desk and I assume they’re for sitting in while discussing business.”

          Preston quickly motioned for the chairs. “Of course. Of course. Have a seat and I’ll explain to you what I discussed with the lady yesterday.”

          Zachary waited until Caroline had taken her seat before he turned his chair sideways to keep the door in his line of vision and sat down beside her. Preston placed an ash tray in front of Zachary, adjusted the jacket of his suit and sat himself down on the other side of the desk. “I understand the lady wants a loan for one-thousand seven-hundred and fifty dollars. That is a rather substantial amount of money.”

          “I reckon this is a bank. It should be full of a rather substantial amount of money.”

          Preston Michael’s sighed. “It is. And we have utmost respect for you, Mr. Marston. But when we give loans we have to look at the risk we are taking. A lady such as Miss Reeves may not be able to pay back such a loan. We have no reason to think this would be a smart investment for us to make.”

          Zachary scratched at his jaw. “Why?”

          The banker seemed confused and annoyed by the question. “Because she has no experience in running a business…”

          “That’s not true,” Caroline spoke up. “I helped the Morgan’s run that business for years. I know the ins and outs of running a brothel and a saloon. I know how to keep inventory, manage profits and expenditures, and deal with the public…”

          “Yes, ma’am, I know you have experience dealing with the public.” Preston folded his hands over his red vest.

          Zachary saw the color raise in Caroline’s cheeks. “I know you doubt my business sense, sir, and that’s why Mr. Marston is here. He has faith in my ability to successfully run The Hackney Hotel and Brothel.”     

          Zachary nodded. “I’ll cosign the loan.”

          Preston Michael’s was clearly surprised. He rubbed at his sideburns, shuffled some papers on his desk and cleared his throat several times. “Mr. Marston, I don’t know what the lady promised you in return for your investment but, please, this isn’t a wise business move…”

          Zachary had had enough. This conversation was pointless and going nowhere. He had heard enough pompous hot air come out of the bastards’ mouth.  “Let me get something straight with you, Preston. Caroline here is a smart woman and I have no doubts in my mind that she can run a business and run it successfully. I’m willing to cosign for that fact and nothing else. We all know I have enough money to cover the amount of that loan plus interest at least a hundred times. That means your ass is safe even if she fails—which she won’t.” Zachary killed his cigarette on his boot and leaned forward, blowing smoke toward the banker’s pale face. “And you’re going to stop saying lady and ma’am as if they were dirty words when you refer to Caroline. You are going to treat her with the same goddamn respect you would any businessman or businesswoman coming in that door, and you are going to apologize for the hell you’ve given her because of your prejudice against her chosen profession.”

           Preston Michael’s stuttered several times and his eyes darted quickly between Zachary and Caroline. Zachary growled. “You’ll give her that apology now.”

          “Yes… Yes, I am sorry Caroline…uh, I mean Miss Reeves.”

          Another growl left Zachary’s throat. “And the loan?”

          “We.. We would be glad to assist Miss Reeves in securing her loan for The Hackney Saloon and Brothel. Though, I will say, we could simply loan the money to you Mr. Marston… it would look better on the paperwork…”

          “But the loan is for me,” Caroline countered quickly.

          “And I don’t give a damn about your paperwork or what it looks like. Get your papers drawn up in Miss Reeves names, let us sign, and give the woman her damn money before I lose my goddamn patience, pull every dime I have out of this backwater bank, and take my money somewhere else.”

          “No!” Preston quickly jumped to his feet. “No, don’t do that, Mr. Marston. I am terribly sorry to both of you if I have caused offense. That was certainly not my intention. Paperwork for loans typically take a day or two to draw up….”

          “Don’t have a day or two.”

          “Of course not. I wouldn’t think of making you wait, Mr. Marston. I will go have that paper drawn up now.” Preston pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest and checked it before flipping it shut. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Once you both sign, we will be happy to give Miss Reeves her money and let you both get on with your day.”

          “Thank you, Mr. Michael’s,” Caroline replied with a polite tip of her head. Zachary didn’t have anything else to say. He simply motioned toward the door to hurry the pompous bastard on his way.

          After Preston had scurried from the room, Caroline let out a happy burst of laughter. “This is happening!” she exclaimed in a hushed whisper as her hands clapped silently. “I am going to have my business!”

          “You would have had it with or without the banks’ help, Caroline. I would have loaned you the money if they hadn’t.”

          Her dark eyes studied him a moment. “You truly are a good man, aren’t you? I worried at times that you might be dangerous for Samantha. I saw your temper, heard the rumors, and thought you might hurt her…”

          Zachary snorted. “Folks like to judge me and that’s alright. I don’t know much about the type of man I am. I’ve done good things and I’ve done bad things. One thing I would never do is hurt that woman.”

          “I know that now,” she admitted, and Zachary could see the honesty in her expression. “Thank you, Mr. Marston.”

          “You’re welcome.”

          “Did you have to resort directly to threats and bullying to help me though? Couldn’t we have attempted polite dialogue?”

          Zachary leaned back in his chair and plopped his hat on his head. “Nope. Don’t pretend like you didn’t know that’s how this conversation would go. You had this planned. You saw me for what I can be—a dangerous man who isn’t afraid to use threats and fists to get his way and you knew I could help you get your way.” Her eyes widened and he shrugged. “And that’s how I know you’ll do alright in business. You know how to take advantage of the resources around you in order to get what you want.”

          “I should argue with you but I’m not going to. You’re right. I knew you had money and a temper and with Samantha’s influence you would feel motivated to help me.” She smiled and Zachary was surprised to find himself returning the gesture. “I might be a whore, Zachary Marston, but I’m no fool.”

          A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “No ma’am, you most certainly are not.”

---

          The moment the two women were locked inside Eleanor’s room, Eleanor began to pace with agitation. Samantha frowned at the sight and took a seat in the armchair. The room was a small one and with the way Eleanor was pacing, she had been at risk of being run over if she had continued to stand.

          “Eleanor? I think it’s obvious that you’re not okay and that you haven’t been for a while now. What’s wrong?”

          Eleanor stilled instantly. The tension in her body seemed painful as she stared hard at the yellow curtains covering the window. “Timothy.”

          Samantha’s frown deepened. “Timothy? Timothy is fine. And I saw the way you looked at each other at the jail—you both seemed happy. But you’re not happy now so….”

          Eleanor’s gaze remained locked on that window. “Timothy is an amazing man. He is kind and funny and gentle and genuine and earnest and…. Any woman would be lucky to have him show interest in her.”

          “But?”

          “But he won’t want me once he knows the truth about me….”

          Samantha attempted to pick her words carefully. “Eleanor, I’m not saying this with any judgment so do not take it wrong. You spent a lot of years making your living laying with men and Timothy still seems pretty earnest about wanting a future with you. I don’t think there’s anything else you could be hiding that would make him turn away.”

          “Oh, but there is.” Eleanor went to the bed and sat down hard. “Timothy is a fool for wanting me, Samantha. I’m a whore.”

          Samantha stood up and went to the bed. She sat down beside Eleanor and took her hand in hers. “No. You are not a whore. You may have worked as one but that was your job not your identity, Eleanor.  You are a sweet, strong, warm woman who showed me nothing but kindness when I was at the brothel even as I attempted to keep everyone at arms-length. You worked as a whore but you are not a whore.”

          Samantha was shocked when Eleanor suddenly burst into tears. They were quiet but they were powerful and her entire body shook with them as she buried her face in her hands.

          Samantha rubbed her back. “Eleanor, please, talk to me….”

          “I’m pregnant.”

          Samantha blinked several times. Had she heard those words correctly? Eleanor’s voice was muffled—perhaps her sobs had made Samantha misunderstand.

          “Pregnant?”

          Eleanor gave one finally sniff, wiped her hands across her face, and looked at her with puffy, blue eyes. “Nearly three months along. I should have ended the pregnancy—I was going to, but I waited too long. I… I think I waited too long because I didn’t truly want to end it…”

          “Of course, you didn’t. I always thought the women that worked the brothel had ways to prevent getting with child…”

          “We do. There’s a tea we drink that stops pregnancies—and a lot of men won’t finish inside us.” Samantha blushed at her bluntness. “I did what I was supposed to do to prevent it. It still happened.”

          “Does anyone know?”

          “Only the doc and you.” Eleanor’s gaze went down to her stomach as she laid her hands over it. “I had a good childhood, Sam. We were poor but my parents were good people. They taught me about family and I grew up wanting that. I wanted a family and a love like I saw them share. I wanted a good husband and children I could love and raise. Then, when I was fifteen they died—and I was left with nothing. No money, no help, no one to turn to. But I was pretty and men liked me so….” Eleanor shrugged. “Life didn’t go as I had planned.”

          Samantha took her hand once again. “Life rarely does. My mother was a good mother. Somehow, even with my father’s drinking and gambling, she made life seem good. She was sunlight for all of us. She got sick and died. My brother died shortly after her in a saloon fight over cards. I did my best to keep our home going. I farmed and hunted and took odd jobs for money, but my father often spent more than I could make. He got drunk one night in a saloon while gambling and he took a loan from a man—when he couldn’t pay that man back, he told him all about his beautiful, red-haired, innocent daughter who would make a good wife.”

          “Samantha…”

          “That man showed up at our home a few weeks later. He killed the old man who worked for us.” Samantha swallowed bile at the memory of Charles’ head smashed open in the barn stall. “I found out about my father’s betrayal then. And the man insisted I had to come with him—that I belonged to him now. I ran, and because I ran, he killed my father, and chased me. He chased me for two years before I ended up here. I’ve been here six month or so and haven’t seen him again. My life didn’t go as I had planned either—but that’s turning out to be a good thing.”

          “Because you have Zachary. You have a man who loves you.”

          “Yes. And you have Tim.”

          Eleanor sniffed and shook her head. “No, I don’t. He’s already going to face so many judgments for being with a whore…” At Samantha’s sharp glance, Eleanor sighed. “For being with a woman who worked as a whore. He’d be a million kinds of fool to be with a pregnant whore.”

          Samantha simply sat in silence a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Timothy might be happy to be a million kinds of fool if that means he can be with you.”

          Eleanor let out a quick sob that she swallowed down. She shook her head. “No, he won’t. No man would.”

          “You need to leave that choice up to him.”

          The other woman nodded and let out a long breath. “I know. I’m going to tell him tonight. I’m terrified.”

          “I wish I could say everything will be fine but… I can’t. I can say that Timothy is a good man and I think he’ll be very accepting of you and that babe.”

Eleanor surprised her when she laid her head on her shoulder. “That’s a pretty dream. I’d love to have a happy marriage, a home, a man who truly loves me and our children…. But it’s dreams.”

“Dreams can come true, Eleanor.”

          “Not for women like me.”

The sadness and finality in the other woman’s voice broke Samantha’s heart. She rested her head on top of Eleanor’s. “Even if Timothy doesn’t do what you’re dreaming he will, you will be okay. The doc seems like he is taking you under his wing and you have me and Zachary. You and your child will not be alone, Eleanor. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

The two women remained that way a long while, both lost in their own thoughts while only the sound of the ticking clock on the wall filled the silence. It wasn’t until a knock sounded on the door that they moved away from each other and stood up.

“Who is it?” Samantha asked, having learned long ago not to simply throw open a door.

“A handsome gentleman caller.”

Samantha smiled at Timothy’s foolishness. She met Eleanor’s gaze. “You have to tell him tonight.”

“I will.”

Samantha opened the door. “Well, you certainly look a bit cleaner,” she admitted.

“Smell cleaner too. Want a sniff?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Your loss.” Timothy’s green eyes lit with amusement. “Zach’s waiting outside. He said everything went good at the bank, the deed and all the paperwork for the saloon are now in Caroline’s name, and he’s ready to get the business at the land office over so he can go take a nap—with you.”

Samantha felt herself flush red. “I’ll just head down and go meet him then.” She smiled at Eleanor. “We’ll talk again tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Sam.”

          Samantha paused before leaving the room to hug Timothy. “You’re a good man, Timothy O’Neil. Remember that.”

          Timothy scratched at his hair as she pulled away. “Okay….” He frowned at Eleanor. “You look like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?”

          Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself and managed a small smile. “I’ll be just fine.”

          “Do you uh.. are you still wanting to spend some time with me this evening?”

          “Of course.”

          That had a boyish smile curving his lips. “Well alright then. How about I pick you up around five? Even if the weather is still bad, I’ll think of somewhere we can eat and talk without fear of loud-mouth Channing and her flying judgment of fury.”

          Eleanor’s smile was a bit happier. “Sounds good.”

          Samantha reached out and grabbed his sleeve, giving him a yank. “Come along, Casanova. The sooner we can get all this done, the sooner we can get Zachary that nap.” She winked. “I’m sure he’s exhausted.”

          Samantha found herself pulled into Zachary’s arms the moment she stepped onto the boardwalk. Lightning and thunder still tore from the clouds and rain poured down. Zachary was soaked and Samantha let out a grumble. “You’re getting me all wet.”

          His lips found her ear. “That is my job.”

          Samantha trembled. “I’m serious.” He let her go slowly. “How did things go with Caroline?” she asked, meeting his gaze.

          “It went. She got her loan, Thomas signed the papers, and he’s going to catch the next stage out of town.”

          Samantha would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. She was still doubtful, however, that it had been that smooth. “Did Thomas say anything to you?”

          “I never spoke to him. I stood by the door while him and Caroline dealt with the paperwork. I stood by another door as he packed up his things and gathered his suitcase. And I stood by yet another door while he bought a ticket to the stage that’s leaving in about ten minutes.”

          “I’m surprised you didn’t stay to watch him get on it and ride away.”

          Zachary chuckled. “Gavin is making sure he leaves and knows to come get me if he doesn’t. Thomas has no reason to stay here now.”

          “Zachary ‘the hero’ Marston. That’s your name now,” Timothy teased.

          Zachary grumbled. “Let’s just get to the land office and take care of things. We’ll have to make another trip to the bank as well to have your name put on those accounts.”

          “The bank…. You’re giving me access to all that money?” Timothy’s eyes were wide as his jaw dropped.

          Samantha nearly laughed as Zachary pulled off his hat and shoved his hand through his hair. “What did you think I meant by giving you your share of everything?”

          “Holy shit… that’s…. I just thought you meant the land…”

          Zachary just rolled his eyes, took Samantha’s hand, and headed down the boardwalk. “Come on, Tim. Let’s get the paperwork done and you can get started on spending your fortune while I get started on my nap.”

A/N: A busy chapter! Thoughts and feelings, let me hear them! I love interacting with y’all! We have one problem taken care of–or at least leaving town. It remains to be seen if we’ve heard the last of Thomas Williamson. And what about Marshall Oxley? Do you think he’ll remember the interaction once his drink has worn off? Eleanor opened up to Sam and she’s finally going to be honest with Tim. Zachary bullied a banker into giving Caroline her loan. Timothy is smelling better. Oh, and Zach is quite serious about his naptime. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

      Timothy paced his bedroom in the hotel. Hell, he was nervous. He had never taken a woman out with the intention of simply talking and getting to know her. And that was all Tim had intentions of doing—sure, he'd laid with Eleanor before, but he had been drunk, and while he was ashamed of himself, those times hadn't meant anything to him. He hadn't truly taken the time to think about the woman he was laying with, hadn't worried about giving her pleasure, hadn't been thinking of anything at all really. 

      Damn, he'd been an ass. He was lucky that Eleanor would even spare him a glance—let alone that kiss on the cheek and a dinner date. 

      Timothy smiled at the memory of that kiss. Sure, it had only been to the cheek but it had been like whiskey—burning him in a real good way. 

      Then he recalled the tears that had still be drying on her cheeks and her puffy blue eyes when he had gone to fetch Samantha from her room at the docs. Something was still wrong with Eleanor—something she didn't seem to want to talk about. Had she talked to Samantha? Timothy hoped so. Would she open up to him? Hell, he hoped for that too. 

      Letting out a long steadying breath against the nerves swirling in his stomach, Timothy glanced in the full-length mirror beside the wash basin. He had splurged a bit of his new found fortune on a brand new outfit. Crisp black trousers, a white buttoned shirt, and a red vest with paisley designs on the front and a black silk back. He had attempted to polish his boots but the worn leather had simply refused to shine so he'd bought new ones. He had even gone so far as to pomade his blond hair and slick it back for the first time in his life and had gotten a shave. He felt more than a little foolish as he stood there looking at himself. Tim had never in his life thought about what he was wearing or worried about what he looked like, but he wanted to impress Eleanor—and women liked a well-dressed man. Didn't they?

      Damn. 

      Maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe the woman would laugh at him if she saw him all gussied up like this. Maybe he should just change into his regular work-stained, worn at the seams, and well broken in clothes. Maybe he should just breathe and stop worrying so much.  Glancing at the clock, Timothy realized it was nearly time to go pick Eleanor up. He had everything all set up for their evening out—all that was missing was the woman herself. 

      Scowling as he took one last glance in that mirror, Timothy grabbed his duster coat off the chair, left his room and made his way down the stairs and out of the hotel. Glancing up and down Main Street revealed a nearly desolate town. The storms had passed but the rain was still falling steadily, and most folks had yet to leave their dry sanctuaries to brave the weather. 

      Slipping his coat on, he stayed under the protection of the boardwalk roof until he was across the street from the docs. Pulling his coat over his head, Tim jumped down onto the street and made a run for the protection of the doc's porch. Once there, he glanced down at himself and saw the mud coating his new boots and splattered nearly to the knees of his brand new black trousers. Well hell. 

      Should he go change? He would just get muddy again. Goddammit he wasn't a damn schoolboy. He was a twenty-five year old man and it was time he quit being so nervous and act like it! Squaring his shoulders, Timothy stepped into the doc's office and saw Lewis behind the counter. 

      "Hey there, Lewis." 

      "Oh..." Lewis frowned and averted his gaze. "Hello Timothy." 

      That was a less than friendly greeting. Sure, the doc's young nephew and Timothy had never been friends, but they'd always been friendly. "Is something wrong?"

      "Yes. No. Yes. I don't know." 

      Timothy chuckled. "Thanks for clearing that up." 

      Lewis slammed a crate down on the counter and glared at him. "I'm guessing you're here for Eleanor?"

      "That's right. Is something wrong with her? Is that what's got your bloomers so tied up in a knot?"

      Lewis came around the counter, shoved his hand over his slicked red hair and stuck a finger in Timothy's chest while Timothy stood there torn between amusement at being threatened by the red-haired, freckle-faced boy and confusion over why he was being threatened by the red-haired, freckle-faced boy. "You better be good to her. She's a good woman in a bad situation and doesn't need to be hurt by a man who's gonna just walk away when he finds out....." 

      Lewis paled and fell silent. He took a step back and swallowed hard. Timothy's amusement had faded. He was now feeling anger mixed in with that confusion. Eleanor 

was a good woman. And she was in some kind of bad situation that she didn’t seem eager to talk to him about—a situation that she must have talked about with Lewis. That hurt a little bit. But what pissed him off the most was being told he was a man who would just walk away from her—Timothy might have spent much of his life wasting his time but there was one thing he had in bucket loads. Loyalty. He knew how bad it hurt to have someone you thought you could trust turn their backs on you. He wasn’t a man who simply walked away from any one he cared about—no matter what kind of situation they might find themselves in.

      "I know she's a good woman, Lewis, and I understand that there's something going on with her that she doesn't seem real eager to talk to me about. And while I can't see how my relationship with her is any of your business, I do appreciate you looking out for her. I don't have any plans on hurting the woman." 

      Lewis crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "You better not." 

      "Is everything okay down here?"

      Both men turned quickly at the sound of Eleanor's quiet voice. Timothy's breath caught in his chest at the sight of her slender body in that pink blouse and black skirt with that blond hair pulled half up and hanging down her back, shimmering in the light from the oil lamp lit on the wall beside her. Timothy wished he was better at deciphering the wealth of emotions in her big blue eyes and guarded expression. 

      He threw his hand up. "Hey there, Eleanor." 

      Her pink lips, the top just a little thinner than the bottom, curved in the slightest smile. "Hi Tim." Her gaze turned to Lewis and Timothy was almost certain she appeared afraid or maybe worried. "Lewis, I don't need protecting." 

      Lewis' expression turned sheepish as he stepped back to the counter and wrung his hands. "I'm sorry, Miss Eleanor. I just don't want to see you hurt...." 

      "I don't want to see her hurt, either." Timothy assured him. He turned his gaze back to Eleanor. "You ready to head out?"

      Her eyes went to the window and the rivulets of raining running down it. "It's raining, Tim. We could just stay here and talk." 

      Timothy shook his head. He pulled his coat out to the side. "There's plenty of room under here for you to stay out of the rain. Besides, our supper is all set up in a dry spot." 

      She hesitated a moment before her posture relaxed a bit and she came to his arms. Eleanor curled herself up beside him under his arm and he kept her covered with the jacket. Damn it felt good to have her this close. He felt stronger somehow knowing that she seemed to trust him—even if it was only to keep her dry. 

      "So, where are we going?" Eleanor's asked from beneath his coat as they stood on the boardwalk. 

      "The post office. It's closed but Gavin let me set us up a picnic dinner in there so we could stay dry and not have to worry about Judith coming around with her nose in the air." 

      "Okay." 

      Out in the rain they rushed and after several near face plants caused by slipping and sliding on the muddy street which caused their laughter to ring out in the evening air, they arrived under the protection of the post office porch. Timothy pulled his coat off her and felt his heart thundering at the sight of the happy smile curving her full cheeks, lighting up those blue eyes, and taking away every bit of sadness, worry, and guardedness from her expression. 

      Holy hell, to see her look up at him like that every day from now until the day he died, Timothy would do just about anything. He was so tempted to kiss her—so tempted to taste those lips that he had never before tasted despite the drunken times he'd laid with her. Instead, he swallowed hard and slid a stray blond hair from her face and opened the door. "Ladies first." 

      Eleanor ducked her head and stepped inside. The lamps were lit but turned down to a soft flickering glow. Timothy had laid a soft blanket out on the floor and a basket containing their supper sat upon it as well as a pitcher of lemonade and some cups. He'd even gone so far as to swipe some lilies and tulips that had been blooming in Widow Allens' garden and had them in a glass sitting beside the picnic basket. 

      "You... You did all this?"

Damn. Maybe he’d done too much. Did she think he was a fool? He kinda felt like a fool. Timothy tossed his duster coat aside, shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, avoiding her gaze. “Is it too much? It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“No…” Her voice sounded thick. Shit. Was she about to cry? He turned his gaze to her quickly and saw that Eleanor had her hand on her throat and was gazing around the room—and her blue eyes were bright with tears. “This is.. I’ve never had a man take the time to do anything like this.” She turned and looked up at his face. “I don’t deserve all of this, Tim. The flowers? The picnic? The lighting? You all dressed up and looking so handsome… I’ve never been treated like this…”

Timothy felt shame. Bone deep shame. He’d been one of those men who had treated her bad—treated her like a whore. No woman, even one who worked in a brothel for a living, deserved to be treated like a whore. “You deserve this and more,” he assured her, reaching out and taking her hands in his. “I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again. I’m real damn sorry for any and every time that I treated you with anything less than respect and caring. I don’t deserve the chance to treat you right but I’m glad you’re giving it to me.”

      Her blue eyes were confused and her brow furrowed as she searched his gaze. "You've always been kind, Timothy." 

      He sighed and decided to drop that subject. He knew he had been an ass, but it was also clear that Eleanor had been treated so badly by so many men, that even his poor treatment had seemed good to her. That was damned sad. Timothy knew that, if she would let him, he would treat her like gold for the rest of his life. 

      Giving her hands a squeeze, Tim leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her brow. He released one hand and pointed toward the blanket. "Let's get some food." 

      Leading her to the blanket, Tim watched her take a seat before he settled himself down beside her. "You really do look handsome, Tim. You didn't have to dress up for me." 

      Timothy chuckled. "I feel pretty foolish to be honest with you. I've never once in my life gotten gussied up." 

      Eleanor smiled, causing Timothy to nearly spill the lemonade he'd been pouring for her. "Then why did you do it now?"

      He shrugged, holding the cup of lemonade out to her. "Because I knew I was taking out a pretty lady." 

      Eleanor took a sip of the lemonade and reached out her hand to his slicked hair. "I don't think I like your hair this way." Timothy was shocked into laughter when her hand began to ruffle it roughly, freeing some of it from the confines of the pomade so it fell over his brow. "That's better." 

      "I reckon I'm glad you don't like it all slicked back—I felt pretty ridiculous while I was doing it." 

      Tim grabbed two plates from the basket and placed some fried chicken and green beans from the diner on each plate. "Make sure you save some room for cobbler. I didn't get to eat mine last night so I got extra today." 

      They began to eat and Timothy had never felt more at peace in his life than he felt sitting there with Eleanor. How hadn't he realized sooner that this woman was made to be at his side? "Tell me more about yourself, Tim," Eleanor urged. 

      Tim took a big bite of chicken. "What do you want to know?"

      She broke a small piece of chicken off with her fingers and held it to her lips. "Anything you want to tell me," she encouraged before placing that chicken in her mouth. 

      "Uh... There's not a whole lot to tell...." 

      "What about you and Zachary's cow tipping adventures?"

      Tim laughed loudly. "Yeah, we had fun. Zach was always a bit more serious and reserved than I was, but I could nearly always talk him into getting into mischief." 

      "And you lived with him and his family?"

      "Yeah. My real pa died when I was three so I don't remember him. My mama remarried a mean alcoholic when I was five. He never laid hands on her I don't reckon, but he hated seeing the reminder that she'd had a man before him. I tried to stay out of his way most of the time. I spent a lot of time at the Marston's—more time there than at home. They'd seen the bruises and Evelyn, that's Zach's mom, she wanted to take on that step-pa of mine but there wasn't much they could do. Then came the day when I was about ten that he beat me so bad, I couldn't get out of bed for two days. Broken ribs, eye swollen shut, and a broken arm." 

      "Tim...." 

      He smiled gently at the horror in her voice and took another bite of chicken. "I reckon I healed up okay. When I went two days without showing up, the Marston's knew something was wrong. Evelyn was a woman who took charge and had a temper when those she loved were wronged—Zach is a lot like her. She showed up at my house, told my mama and step-pa at gunpoint that I was her son now and would be coming home with her, and she took me out of there. I never went back."

      Her expression was sad. "I'm sorry that happened to you." 

      Timothy waved his hand and took a big swig of lemonade. "Don't be. The Marston's were the best people I ever knew. They loved me and gave me a real family." 

      "Tell me more stories about them," Eleanor insisted. "I like seeing how happy they make you." 

      Timothy smiled. Hell, if the woman wanted to hear him talk, he'd always been good at that. And so he did. For a long while he told her stories of growing up with the Marston's and the trouble him and Zach caused from time to time. She would laugh and tease and ask questions now and then. Timothy loved seeing that side of her—open, light-hearted, 

happy . To keep seeing that brightness in her eyes and smile on her face, he would do anything she asked.

      Timothy had no idea how much time passed as they talked but he realized it had fallen dark outside so it had to have been hours. He felt so at peace and at ease with Eleanor this way. She had even laid her head on his shoulder and begun to talk a bit about her happier memories growing up with her family before they had died. 

      Timothy realized the rain had stopped falling outside and he shoved himself to his feet. "Come for a walk with me?" 

      Color stained Eleanor's cheeks as she took Tim's hand and he pulled her to her feet. "Of course I will." 

      Timothy took a moment to clean up the mess they'd made and tuck the basket, blanket and dishes into the corner out of the way. He killed the kerosene lamps and led her to the door. 

      "I've had a really nice time with you, Ell," he admitted as they walked hand in hand down the lamp lit boardwalk. A few people were milling about town but not many. 

      "Ell?" 

      "Is it alright if I call you that?" 

      Eleanor smiled up at him and Timothy nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight. "Yes. I like it. Now I really fit in.  Zach and Sam, and Tim and Ell." 

      Timothy swallowed hard. "I uh... I really like you, Ell." 

      Tim had hoped that she would say she liked him too, offer him a smile, and maybe even lay her head on his shoulder again or move closer. But the opposite seemed to happen. Eleanor tensed. Her entire posture changed. Timothy could practically see that wall come back around her as she let go of his hand, moved away, and her blue eyes that had been looking at him with such softness and affection were suddenly guarded once again. 

      "Tim.... I want to go back to the docs' now." 

      Timothy's heart fell as he swallowed hard. "Did I do something wrong?" 

      She shook her head. Her face looked pale in the lamp light as she wrapped her arms around herself. "No. I'm tired. I want to go home." 

      "Sure..." He tried his best to offer a comforting smile. "Eleanor, you can trust me. You can tell me anything. I want you to know that. Whatever it is that you're hiding, whatever is wrong, I'll help you." 

      Instead of saying a word, she turned her gaze down to her shoes and simply began walking toward the doctors' house, leaving Timothy no choice but to simply follow along behind her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wondered what was going on in her mind. They'd been having such a good night. Tender touches, holding hands, sharing stories, and laughter, and truly getting to know one another. What the hell could be so wrong that she would close herself off to him so completely without warning. 

      They walked up the back steps of the doctors' house and stopped at the door. "I know you were probably hoping to come in and... well..."

      Timothy frowned. "Is that why you thought I was taking you out tonight? So, I could come to your bed?" Goddamn, that made his gut twist. "I want a future with you, Eleanor. Not just a night." 

      She never met his gaze as she simply continued to stare at her feet. "No.. I'm sorry. I just.. I'm not used to a man 

caring and I don’t know how to act or what you expect…“

      Timothy sighed. He put his finger under her chin and forced her gaze up to meet his. "I do care. I care a lot. And I don't expect a thing from you, Ell. Like I said, I'm hoping we might have a future together—I'm hoping you might want that too." 

      A tear slid from her eye and Timothy caught it with the pad of his thumb and wiped it away gently. "I do," she whispered. 

      "Really?" Timothy couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Hell, Eleanor, you have no idea how happy that makes me." Then he frowned. "But something is wrong with you. Something you're hiding from me and I want to know what it is. You can trust me." 

      Her entire body was trembling. She wrung her hands and the fear in his eyes made Timothy's heart ache. What could possibly be so damned bad?

      "I'm going to tell you something and I don't want you to say a word. I want you to listen and then I want you to let me go inside and I want you to leave. I want you to think about it and what it means and how it would impact your life. Whatever you decide is fine. I won't be angry. I won't blame you. You are a good man. I don't want your pity. I don't want you to simply agree to stay because you feel obligated. I want you to truly think on things before you come back to me with a response." 

      Fuck. Now Timothy was scared. He let his shaking hand fall and took a step back. "Okay...." 

      Eleanor squared her shoulders, licked her trembling lips, and took a deep steadying breath. "I'm with child, Tim. Nearly three months. I have no way of knowing who the father is. That's the main reason I left the brothel because I couldn't keep working there and risking my child. I did what I was supposed to do to prevent this but it happened—and I waited too long to try to end it. I guess because a part of me, the part that remembered my family and the love that we had, wanted that for myself. So, that future with me would include raising another mans' child."  

      Timothy's mind whirled as he tried to process what she had said. His eyes dropped to her stomach and he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Eleanor, I...." 

      "Stop." She raised her hand and shook her head. "I said I didn't want you to say anything. You have no obligation to me. I will not hate you. I will not blame you. Thank you for a wonderful night." 

      Silence was not something Timothy had much practice with but he kept his jaw tight as Eleanor turned, opened the door, and disappeared inside, closing it with a click behind her. 

A/N: Ahhhh! Tell me what you think. Eleanor was finally honest with Timothy. What do you think his response will be?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

Zachary grumbled upon waking up and realizing that Samantha wasn’t wrapped in his arms. He preferred mornings where he could simply breathe her in and gaze at her while slept peacefully against him. He opened his eyes and saw his woman sitting at the vanity in the corner of their hotel room. Her soft curves were wrapped in a robe and she was running a brush through her long red curls.

      Pushing himself to his feet, Zachary crossed the room silently and came behind her taking the brush from her hand. She jumped a bit and looked at his face in the mirror. "You scared me...." 

      "I didn't mean to. You were lost in thought," he replied, taking over in the job of brushing out all that soft hair. "Just like you were most of the day yesterday. I didn't push then, and I won't push now but if you want to talk, I'm here." 

      She let out a sigh and leaned back on the stool she was seated upon, resting her back and head against his bare stomach and chest. "I know. It's Eleanor. She told me something yesterday and I'm worried about her... and about Tim." 

      Zachary sat the brush down on the vanity and laid his hands on her shoulders before dropping a kiss to her hair. "Timothy really seems to like her. And I thought after seeing them together that she liked him too."

      "She does," Samantha quickly assured him, turning her head and looking up to meet his gaze. "But.. there's something he doesn't know and she just told me yesterday and... I would love to be able to tell you but she trusted me.." 

      Zachary smiled and stooped again, this time to press a tender kiss to her lips. "I would never ask you to betray your friends' confidence, Sam. I really hope she doesn't hurt Tim. He deserves a bit of happiness." 

Samantha chewed at her lip a moment. “I know that she has no intention of hurting him. But what she has to tell him could change things.”

Zachary sighed as he stood back straight. “Alright then. When it comes to dealing with our friends and their feelings , I’ll let you take the reins. I think you’re better suited.”

      "You're probably right," she teased. Then her gaze drifted down and her eyes widened when she seemed to realize for the first time that Zachary hadn't taken the time to put clothes on before approaching her. "Well, Mr. Marston... good morning." 

      "Good morning, ma'am." 

      Zachary's blood coursed hotter and harder as she turned on that stool and raised an arched brow while gazing up at him through those long lashes. "I know how I can make it an even better one." 

      Those fingertips seared his skin, branding him as they danced over his stomach and down his lean hips to his thighs. Damn this woman had a power over him that was terrifying. Already he was hard for her and his legs were shaking as she held him captivated in that hungry gaze. 

      A sudden knock on the door had Zachary growling and Samantha to leaping to her feet. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown. Zachary willed his cock to calm the hell down as he searched for his pants. "Who the hell is it?" he demanded when the knock sounded again. 

      "Tim." 

      The subdued tone of his friends' voice had Zachary's temper fading a bit. He finished buttoning his trousers and nodded at Samantha to open the door. Tim looked like hell. His black pants were splattered with mud, his white shirt was unbuttoned part of the way down and his red vest was hanging open. Messy blond hair fell over his brow and it was clear from the circles around his tired eyes and the pallor of his face that the man hadn't slept. 

      "Oh Tim..." Samantha instantly threw her arms around the other man and held him tight. Zachary smiled at the desperate way Tim hugged her back. Samantha always seemed to know what people needed—her warmth and caring always left him in awe. 

      Timothy slowly pulled away and shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced toward Zachary and then again at Samantha and frowned. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to interrupt anything." 

      Samantha waved her hand. "You're our brother and we'll always have time for you," she assured him. He stepped in and closed the door behind him before leaning back against it. "You don't look like you've slept," Samantha said, pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher and carrying it to him. 

      Zachary crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He would leave this conversation up to Sam unless for some reason one of them pulled him into it. Tim took the glass of water and downed it quickly. "I haven't." 

      Samantha sat down in the arm chair, crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap. "I'm guessing she told you?"

      "Yeah, she told me." Tim tossed the now empty glass from hand to hand. 

      "And..... what did you say?" 

      Timothy sighed. "Nothing. We spent the whole evening together. We ate supper, we talked, we laughed... I've never felt the way she makes me feel, Sam. We went for a walk and that's when she changed. She put those walls right back up around herself and wanted to go home—so I took her back to the docs and that's when she told me. We were outside the door and she told me—but she told me not to say anything. She wanted me to take time to think about things before I gave her a response." 

      Zachary frowned. What the hell could be that damn serious? He wanted to know—and his curiosity was overwhelming his private nature. "What exactly did she tell you?"

      Timothy sat his glass on the small table by the door. "She's with child. So, a future with her would include a baby." 

      Oh. Well, that was definitely big news—but it made sense. Her sickness, her worry, her sudden exit from the brothel. Zach studied his best friends face for any signs as to how he felt about it. Timothy didn't look sad, or depressed, or worried at all. He looked tired but other than that he seemed fine. 

      Zachary shrugged. "You wanted a family of your own—and it seems you've got a head start." 

      Timothy cleared his throat loudly, rubbed at the back of his neck and rocked back on his heels. "I uh... well...." 

      "Zachary, you said you'd leave these talks up to me, remember?" Samantha stated pointedly. He simply shrugged and went to find his vest so he could get his cigarette and matches from within it. "It's complicated and I'm sure Timothy needs to think about things..."

      "Why is it complicated?" Zachary found what he had been hunting for, placed his cigarette in his mouth and struck the match. After lighting the cigarette and taking a long draw, he shrugged. "Eleanor is still the same woman she was, and Tim seemed pretty sure he wanted a future with her. A babe might be unexpected, but it shouldn't change that—it wouldn't have changed my mind about you."

      Samantha's cheeks colored and she picked at a string hanging off her robe. "Oh." 

      Zachary met Timothy's gaze and saw that his friend seemed lost in thought. "You gonna go talk to her?" Zach asked. 

      "Uh..no..not uh..not yet." 

      "Don't rush it, Tim," Samantha encouraged gently as she got to her feet. "Make sure you're positive about your decision before you talk to her." 

      He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Don't worry, Sam. I will." 

      Zachary grunted. Seemed an obvious choice to him but what the hell did he know. He lifted the curtain to see that the sun was already burning through the clouds to the east. It was going to be a pretty day. "You coming out to work on the house today?" he asked Tim. 

      "Uh..no.. I had something I wanted to take care of." 

      "I'm working at the post office," Sam added. "But we're closing early because Lewis' going away party is at three." 

      "I'm not going to that," Zachary quickly informed her. 

      The look she fixed him with told him differently. "Yes, you are. I want to go and I want you to go with me." 

      Zachary sighed. "Why?"

      She batted her lashes. "Because I love you."           

      With Timothy chuckling, Zachary shook his head. "I know you love me and I love you too—but why are you so determined to go? You don't work tomorrow so we could just go for a long ride, spend the night out under the stars..." 

      "That sounds nice." Samantha walked his way and laid her hands against his bare chest. "And we'll do that right after the party." 

      Zachary trembled at her touch but raised his brow. "You that eager to spend time with your hopeful beau Lewis?"

      Samantha's gaze went skyward. "Don't feign jealousy. We both now you're too confident to ever be jealous." 

      "She knows you well, Zach," Tim spoke up. 

      Zachary chuckled. "There will be people at the party. A lot of people. Didn't we have enough people time yesterday?"

      "You anti-social grump. We can have a people free day tomorrow. I want to go to the party. Lewis is a friend. Eleanor will be there. And you can go to support the doc. I know you have fondness and respect for him." 

      "Fine." Hell, all this woman had to do was ask and he would do anything for her. "But I'm holding you to that people free day tomorrow." 

      Rising on her toes, Samantha pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Zachary slowly pulled himself away from her. His blood was beginning to run hot and they had an audience. "I need to be getting to the ranch to work, the crew is probably already on their way there.... Unless you need me, Tim? I can just let them handle things..." 

      Timothy smiled. "I'll be just fine, Zach. Gonna spend the day thinking about a few things." 

      "Are you sure, Timothy?" Samantha asked, tilting her head as she studied him. 

      "I'm sure." Zachary thought the man seemed pretty sure. He didn't look sad or confused—just thoughtful. "I'll see y'all at the party." 

      Tim opened the door to leave and Zachary scooped his shirt off the floor. "Hey Tim?"

      Tim glanced at him expectantly. Zachary took another draw off his cigarette. "You know what it is to be a kid that needs a family. And you know more than most that blood don't mean much when it comes to what family is all about. If you care about the woman as much as I know you do, just keep that in mind." Remembering a previous encounter he'd had with his best friend, Zachary walked over to the man and tapped his finger against Tim's temple several times. "Don't get so caught up in here that you mess up and lose her." 

      Timothy's smile was a grateful one even as he rubbed at his abused head. "Thanks, Zach. I'll keep that in mind." 

      Zachary just shrugged and went back to getting dressed. He'd had enough with conversation for the time being. 

---

Eleanor stood in the full-length mirror and simply studied her reflection. She had been told many times that she was beautiful and the living she had made selling her body proved that to be true. Her facial features were angelic in a way. Big blue eyes, full cheeks, a small delicate nose, rounded chin, and gentle smile. Her hair was a bright golden blond that shone with highlights when the sun touched it.

Her throat was delicate, her neck long, and her shoulders slender—as was the rest of her build. She had small but high breasts, slightly rounded hips, and long, shapely legs. Her body was free of any freckles, scars or blemishes other than a small brown mole on her collarbone. Yes, she knew she was beautiful—but that didn’t matter. She was damaged goods. A whore. A pregnant whore.

It was nearly time to leave for the party and Eleanor had changed into her black skirt—though it taken some doing to get the mud splatters off the fabric—and her peach blouse. She wished she had other clothing but the only other clothing she owned were brothel costumes… certainly not anything she could wear to a party at the community center.

Eleanor longed to say she wasn’t going. She wanted to curl up in this room and simply hide away for the rest of her days. What if Timothy was there? She hadn’t seen or heard from the man all day—that had to mean something, didn’t it? She had wanted to give him time to truly think about the sacrifice he would be making by being with her, but she hadn’t realized how painful that time would be for her to live through.

Was he going to turn away from her? His silence made it seem that way. It was what she had expected. She had known that if she had let him speak last night, he probably would have vowed to stay at her side simply out of obligation or pity—and so, Eleanor had given him a way out. Time to think and the opportunity to distance himself.

It was for the best—Eleanor knew that. But it still hurt. She had allowed herself to begin to dream the prettiest of dreams—she’d been foolish to do so.

Yes, she wanted to hide away but that would be cowardly and Eleanor would not be a coward. Not only that, but the doctor truly wanted her to come. This party meant a lot to him because his nephew meant a lot to him and he would miss Lewis once he was gone. The doctor had already done so much for her and had given her a place and a job and future that, while not as pretty as those dreams she’d allowed herself to have, would be safe and secure for herself and her child.

Eleanor would go. She would face the townsfolk and their judgments. She hoped Samantha would be there—that would make things a little easier. She hoped Timothy wouldn’t be there. She didn’t want to have to look into those gentle green eyes and know that he hadn’t chosen her—she was selfish.

After letting out a final steadying breath, securing her hair in a chignon upon the back of her head, and adjusting her blouse, Eleanor left the safety of her bedroom to find Lewis and the doc in the kitchen. The doc smiled warmly at her arrival. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, gripping the back of a kitchen chair to steady her legs. “You’ve done so much for me, the least I can do is help give Lewis a proper goodbye.”

“Are you certain you feel up to going?” Lewis questioned. “You look pale and as if you haven’t slept.”

That was because she hadn’t slept. It was hard to sleep while your dreams slipped away. She simply offered him her best fake smile and waved her hand. “I feel perfectly fine.”

Both men shared knowing glances. She knew they had an idea about what had happened the night before. Neither of the men before her were fools. Both knew she had gone out for the evening with Timothy, both knew she had come home and locked herself in her room in tears, and both knew the man had not been around today.

Doctor Reynolds was the first to speak again. “Well, let’s get going then. The party starts shortly and I’d like to make sure all the refreshments and decorations are ready.”

The trio headed out, Eleanor safely cocooned from prying eyes and hushed whispers as she walked between the two men. As they stepped into the community center, Eleanor found her eyes drawn to the hanging lanterns, the long tables full of foods including cakes and cookies. More tables lined the walls, covered in white tablecloths. A banner was upon the back wall bidding Lewis goodbye and a band was set up on a nearby stage—though they weren’t playing music yet.

Eleanor had never been in this large, open building. Whores weren’t allowed in the community center—they may speak to a child or a proper lady and lead them down a path of sin. Eleanor winced. She sincerely hoped that Judith Channing wouldn’t show up tonight. Doctor Reynolds had assured her that the lady hadn’t been invited but invitations probably meant little to the woman. She would feel entitled to show up based on her status in town alone.

“I’m going to go speak to the band, you make yourself comfortable, Eleanor.” Doctor Reynolds turned to his nephew. “Lewis, stay near the door, guests will be arriving soon.”

Eleanor made her way toward a back table, swiping a chocolate chip cookies from one of the refreshment tables as she went. She settled herself in a corner, hoping that would keep her unbothered and unseen for the afternoon.

The doc had been right and within minutes, guests began to arrive. The band began to play and the community center was soon full of the din of conversation as folks ate, talked, danced and simply enjoyed themselves. Eleanor didn’t recognize many of them. Her job at the brothel had kept her out of all social circles. Some of the men were familiar—She shifted uncomfortably in her seat when she realized how many of them she had laid with.

If the wrong wife saw her she may end up having to fight her way out of this party. Eleanor should not have come. She should not have thought for a moment she had a future here that could include public gatherings and acceptance.

She was about to rise from her seat and slip out the back door when a woman looked her way, squared her shoulders, and began to approach. Eleanor remained in her seat and pushed her half-eaten cookie away. Perhaps the woman would be less likely to strike her if she simply kept her eyes down and stayed low.

“Is your name Eleanor?”

“Yes.”

She was faintly aware of the woman folding her gloved hands in front of her. “And you were in the diner with the doctor the other night?”

“Yes.”

The woman suddenly pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. Eleanor spared a glance up. She was a pretty woman, near middle-age with brown hair, tanned skin, and gentle features. She also did not seem angry or hostile. Instead, she smiled in an almost apologetic way and seemed embarrassed.

“I thought I recognized you. My name is Catherine. I believe you know my husband Greg.”

Eleanor paled. Her hands shook and so she hid them in her lap. The woman didn’t look hostile but that could be an act. Yes, Eleanor knew Greg. She had laid with Greg many many times—and Greg had attacked her on the street just two nights ago. Greg was the reason Timothy had spent a night in jail.

“Please, Eleanor, don’t look so worried. I’m not here to fight with you.”

She didn’t have to fake her surprise. “You’re not?”

Catherine shook her head and offered a smile. “No. I’m here to apologize to you. I heard the things he said to you. My husband is an unbearable ass. The way he spoke to you was beyond disgusting.”

“Oh….”

Catherine’s cheeks colored a bit as she fussed with a napkin on the table. “I may not understand what leads a woman to your previous profession, but it is not your fault that my husband was unfaithful. He is the one who chose to dishonor the vows he made to me and it was no fault of your own.”

“I…” Eleanor was embarrassed by the tears she could feel burning behind her eyes. This conversation was surreal. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that while there might be some women that blame you for their husbands’ indiscretions, I am not one of them. You can consider me a friend, Eleanor. I’m divorcing Greg. And a big part of that is the way he spoke to you. We have a son and I don’t want our boy growing up watching his father and thinking that behavior is appropriate for a man. Men seem to enjoy judging women as whores and yet they forget that they are the ones paying those women to do the exact acts that they then judge them for!”

Eleanor’s head was whirling. Of all the things she had imagined when she had seen Catherine approaching her table, this had not been one of them. She laid her hands on the table and managed a shaky smile. “Thank you, Catherine. I’m going to do my best to start a new life here. Friends are something I wasn’t expecting to have many of.”

Catherine’s smile was genuine as she laid her hand over Eleanor’s on the table. “A person doesn’t need a lot of friends, Eleanor. Just a few good ones.”

“Is everything okay here?” Samantha’s voice had Eleanor’s head whipping around to find that Sam and Zachary were standing beside the table. Samantha looked ready to take on Catherine with her bare hands if needed—Zachary in his work-stained clothes with dirt on his face, just looked awkward, out of place, and ready to leave.

“Of course,” Catherine stood up and held her hand out to Samantha. “My name is Catherine.” Samantha still seemed a bit wary but shook her hand. “I was just telling Eleanor here that I would love to take her out to lunch anytime she’s free. A woman needs friends in this world.”

Eleanor met Samantha’s protective gaze and nodded. “She’s been nothing but kind.”

Samantha’s posture relaxed and her smile was friendly when she once again turned her attention to Catherine. Eleanor found herself surprised by just how different Samantha was from the woman she’d been before Zachary had come to town. Samantha had been quiet, closed off, reserved, and fearful—she certainly wasn’t any of those things any longer.

“It’s nice to meet you, Catherine. My name is Samantha. This is my fiancé Zachary.”

“Yes,” Catherine held her hand out to Zachary. He hesitated a moment before shaking it quickly and then pulling away. “I knew your mother. Evelyn was a wonderful woman and little Sara and Susan were beautiful girls. I know it’s been a while since they were taken but I want to offer my sincerest condolences. The world lost a light when it lost your family.”

Eleanor saw Zachary’s jaw tighten as his eyes turned red and he quickly averted his gaze. Samantha’s hand found his, squeezing it tightly, as Zachary’s throat worked up and down several times. Finally, he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’m going to go get myself something to eat and mingle a bit.” Catherine smiled at Eleanor. “I meant what I said. If there is ever a time you’d like to go to lunch or simply talk, I’m staying with my mother in the blue house just outside of town to the east. You’re welcome to come visit.”

Eleanor watched Catherine walk off into the crowd before turning her attention to Samantha and Zachary. She tapped her fingers on the table and frowned. “That was… unexpected.”

Samantha took the seat that Catherine had just left while Zachary stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling, Eleanor?”

Eleanor sighed and picked at the half-eaten cookie she had laid on the table. She wanted that chocolate—but at the same time her stomach rolled at the thought of food. Pregnancy was confusing. “I’m fine.”

“Have you seen Tim?”

Her heart ached. Laughter rang out from a nearby conversation and the band began a fast-paced dancing tune. “No. He’s not here.”

Samantha frowned up at Zachary who simply shrugged. “I’ve been working all day. I haven’t seen Tim since he left our room this morning.”

“Do you want Zach to go look for him?” Samantha offered.

Eleanor was quick to shake her head. “No.” Eleanor picked at the white tablecloth. “What he chooses has to be his choice, I won’t push him. I told him last night to take his time and think about things. I also told him that if he chose to walk away from me, I wouldn’t be angry and I wouldn’t blame him. I can’t send someone chasing after him now.”

Samantha sighed. She stood up from the chair. “Come on, Eleanor. Let’s go get you something to drink and stretch our legs.”

“I was just going to hide in this chair for the evening and hope no one notices me.”

Zachary chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. Maybe I’ll join you.”

“No, you won’t,” Samantha warned. “Come on, Eleanor. You can’t hide forever.”

Eleanor knew Samantha was right—that didn’t mean she appreciated the woman’s stubbornness. With a grumble, she pushed herself to her feet. Samantha reached out and looped her arm through hers. “No one will say anything to you while we’re with you,” she promised. “I have a scary feller.”

Eleanor found herself laughing lightly despite the nerves dancing in her stomach. They made their way through the crowd to the refreshments table and Zachary poured both women a glass of lemonade. Eleanor did her best to return friendly smiles and waves as she stood there awkwardly with one arm wrapped around herself.

Samantha did her best to keep the conversation light and Eleanor knew the woman was attempting to put her at ease and help her relax and she appreciated her friend even more for the effort.

Doctor Reynold’s approached them with a smile on his face. “Nice to see you here, Zachary. I figured you would avoid the crowd.”

“I wanted to, doc, but when Samantha sets her mind to something there’s no reasoning with the woman.”

Samantha batted her lashes. “He just can’t tell me no.”

When Eleanor and the doc laughed, Zachary simply shrugged and hid his amusement behind his cup of lemonade. Doctor Reynold’s glanced at Eleanor, pulling off his spectacles and cleaning them on his sleeve. “I trust you haven’t had any trouble so far?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Everyone has been just fine.”

“Well good!” he put his glasses back on his nose.

Zachary cleared his throat. “Sam, we showed up. We’ve seen the doc. How long until we can leave?”

Samantha tapped her chin while Eleanor laughed lightly. Zachary truly did look out of place. Covered in dirt and weapons, eyes scanning his surroundings, shoulders tense. He oozed danger and threat—which was a sharp contrast to the lacy tablecloths and glowing lamps. “Just as soon as you dance with me.”

“Guess we’re staying forever then. I don’t dance, Samantha.”

“Just one?”

“Nope.”

She snorted. “Fine. I’ll go ask Lewis to dance with me. I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“More than happy to,” Doc Reynolds agreed. “He’ll probably suffer a stroke the moment you ask him.”

Zachary tilted his head. “Go for it.”

Eleanor watched on in amusement as Samantha made her way to Lewis. They were too far away to hear the conversation, but Lewis did indeed look near fainting as Samantha spoke to him. He cast a rather nervous glance in Zachary’s direction but Zachary simply took a drink of lemonade and leaned his shoulder against the post beside him.

The happiness on Lewis’ face as he led Samantha to the dance floor made even Eleanor’s heart feel just a bit lighter.

Doctor Reynolds cleared his throat. “The boys head will be swollen so large with his inflated ego that we’ll be lucky to fit him back out the door tonight.” He turned his attention to Zachary. “I want you to come speak with Hosea Thompson for a moment. He’s a cattle man from down in Texas and is going to be selling a few hundred head soon. I thought maybe you might be interested. And even if you’re not, it wouldn’t hurt to make a good contact in the ranching business.”

Zachary sighed. “I guess you’re right. Will you be alright, Eleanor?”

She nodded, though her stomach turned a bit at the thought of standing here alone. Perhaps she would go hide once again at her table. “I’ll be just fine. Go on and have a good talk about cows.”

Eleanor found herself alone beside the refreshment table. A group of women approached, whispering behind their hands as they stared in her direction.

Yes. She was going back to her table. Turning quickly, Eleanor headed that way only to be stopped when quick footsteps approached and a throat cleared behind her. “As if dirtying up the diner was not enough, you had to come show your sinful face in the community center? This is a place for decent folks and families—not whores who spread their legs for a bit of coin!”  

A/N: For a man who says he’s going to leave the ‘feelings’ conversations up to Samantha, Zachary is rather good at them! And dang Judith Channing just has to come along and ruin a perfectly nice party. Also, where has Timothy gone?? Thoughts, comments, feelings, random ramblings you’d like to share–I love all the interactions so feel free to comment away! Love y’all

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Timothy let out a long breath and gave himself a once over in the mirror. His hair was a careless mess on his head but he hadn’t done anything to attempt to tame it—Eleanor had said she liked it messy. He still looked a bit tired but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Sleepless nights were rough on a man. He had spent the night simply riding aimlessly around on his mare and thinking. Thinking about the future and what he wanted out of it—how it would look.

Timothy had thought about buying a new outfit to wear to the party since the nice one from the night before was still at the laundry service but had decided not to—mainly because he had run out of time with everything else he had done today.

After leaving Samantha and Zachary’s hotel room that morning, Tim had gone to the hotel café and gotten a quick breakfast and then attempted get some sleep—it hadn’t come. So, after an hour of flipping and flopping, Tim had gotten up, gotten dressed, and gotten started on his plans.

And so, he stood there with messy hair, a tired face, worn brown trousers, a clean but work-stained blue shirt with a brown vest, and a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

Time to go to a party. He opened his pocket watch and winced. Damn. It was already three-thirty. He was thirty minutes late. Without wasting another moment, Timothy left his room, stowing his watch back in his pocket as he went.

The streets were fairly empty for the time of day indicating that a lot of folks from town were at the community center. Not much entertainment was ever to be found in Hackney, so people rushed at the chance for music, mingling, and free food.

When Timothy entered the community center, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the change in light. Glowing lanterns lit the dusty interior and people were everywhere. The din of their conversations competed with the quick-paced music of the ban for his ears attention. Instinct alone had him returning a few quick greetings as his eyes scanned the community center for who he had truly come to see. He had to give Eleanor a response to what she had told him the night before—honestly, his choice hadn’t even been a difficult one to make.

Like a moth to a flame, his eyes were pulled in one direction. There she was. Beautiful and glowing in the dusty lamp light—and currently being harassed by Judith ‘loud-mouth’ Channing. Clenching his fists, Timothy headed that way.

“Judith, leave me alone. I’ve done nothing to you.”

“You have helped bring sin to this town and now you walk around as if you belong here. Tell me, Eleanor, because I have been wondering, why did you leave the brothel?”

Eleanor wrapped her arms tight around herself. “That’s hardly any of your concern.”

Judith’s beady eyes dropped to her stomach as she sneered. “There is only one reason I can think of that a woman would leave so suddenly….”

“That’s right, Mrs. Channing,” Timothy came to stand beside Eleanor, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pressed a tender kiss to her hair, feeling his knees weaken at her nearness. “I fell hard for the woman and begged her to stop working at the brothel and marry me.”

Timothy felt Eleanor stiffen. He could feel her big blue eyes on him, searching, questioning, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Timothy didn’t waver. He stood proud with his arm around her and held Judith Channing’s judgmental gaze.

“Marry you? You’re going to marry a whore ?”

“I’m going to marry a beautiful, strong, enchanting woman, Judith.” Tim was working hard to reign in his temper. “I’m sure your husband wishes he could have been so lucky.”

“How dare you!” Judith exclaimed, causing quite a few people to turn in their direction.

A flash of red hair appeared in Timothy’s line of vision and Samantha was there. She shoved the preacher’s wife hard, causing the woman to stumble backward and have to steady herself on a nearby party guest to save her ass from a nasty tumble. “No, Judith, how dare you!” she hissed. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Whores defend each other I see,” Judith spat, steadying herself.

A low growl sounded behind Timothy. “I’m about to hit a woman for the first time.”

As it turned out, Zachary’s fists weren’t needed. At Judith’s words, Samantha had clearly had enough. She launched herself forward, leaping upon Judith and swinging punches as both women went to the ground. Zachary surged forward as well, probably to pull his feisty woman away and save the preacher’s wife’s life, but he stopped quickly when another man approached.

“That’s quite enough!” Reverend Channing’s booming exclamation had Samantha rushing back to her feet and taking a step away from Judith who was curled up upon the floor in a whimpering heap. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I reckon you should have kept a shorter leash on that wife of yours,” Timothy replied with a chuckle. “That mouth of hers got her in trouble.”

As Zachary took Sam’s arm gently and pulled her to him, examining her red knuckles, Reverend Channing helped his wife to her feet. Tim let out another bark of laughter when he saw the blackening around her eye—it kind of matched his own.

“Judith?” Reverend Channing questioned.

She merely sniffed and curled up against her husband seeming more subdued than Timothy had ever seen her. Zachary stepped forward and stood toe to toe with the holy man who was only about five and a half feet tall, thin, gray-haired and quite weak in appearance, which contrasted with the booming quality his voice possessed that had people fearing fire and brimstone so completely on Sunday mornings.

“That bitch of yours called my woman a whore,” Zach growled, his jaw popping. “Not to mention what she has said to Eleanor. You need to get her out of here and put a muzzle on her.”

For a moment, Tim thought that the reverend might snap back at Zachary which would be a grave mistake. Zachary was angry enough right now to probably break the man’s jaw without much thought given to the consequences. Instead, Reverend Channing held tight to Judith and glanced around at the wealth of onlookers. “I’m terribly sorry for the scene caused here. I will take her home to rest and I will pray for all involved in this mess.”

“Leave me out of your prayers, Reverend.” Zachary replied. “I sure as hell don’t want them.”

Reverend Channing led Judith to the door but before he was out of hearing range, Timothy heard him speaking to his wife. “I told you to stop causing trouble, Judith. Look what you’ve done. You’ve got that murderer looking eager to kill us both.”

“Well that was…fun,” Tim offered, rocking back on his heels.

Zachary pulled Samantha close. Her cheeks were red and she was chewing her lip as she glanced around—they had everyone’s attention. “Can we go now?” Zachary asked. “I think we’ve done all we can do here.”

“I think we probably should.” Samantha agreed. Doctor Reynolds and Lewis approached and she appeared near tears. “I am so sorry….”

Doctor Reynolds’ waved his hand. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’ve had some beer here today and it’s dulled my inhibitions… That bitch deserved to be knocked on her ass.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Samantha,” Eleanor spoke up for the first time. Her voice was so quiet, so lost, so confused. It made Timothy’s heart ache for her.

Samantha smiled and wrapped Eleanor in a warm hug. “Yes, I did. The only way to get through to that woman is with fists.”

Eleanor swallowed hard as she pulled away and wrapped her arms tight around herself. “Thank you.”

Timothy pulled her into his arms, hating how stiff she stood against him. “Ell, will you take a walk with me?” he asked gently. She nodded but said nothing.

The four of them bid farewell to the doc and Lewis and headed toward the door, only to stop in their tracks when Marshall Leonard Oxley came in with his gun drawn and the band fell silent. “Stop right there. Samantha you are under arrest for assaulting Judith Channing.”

The man was shaking so badly, if he had been a dying leaf in a wind storm he’d be laying on the ground. His jaw trembled and his voice was shaky. “Mrs. Channing deserved what she got,” the doc called from behind them.

Marshall Oxley swallowed hard. “That makes twice that Samantha has assaulted her. I can’t keep letting that stand.”

“You’ve never in your life done anything about anything,” Zachary countered. “Why break that streak now?”

“I am the law in this town and will be listened to,” Marshall Oxley warned. Then, in a move that Timothy knew had to indicate the man was suicidal, Leonard Oxley raised that shaking pistol in his hand and aimed it directly at Samantha’s chest. “Are you coming willingly or by force?”

Like lightning from a storm cloud, Zachary erupted. He grabbed Leonard’s arm, swung up his elbow, caught the man in his already battered face and ripped the gun from his hand. In less than ten seconds, Leonard was left lying on his back on the ground looking up at a deceivingly calm Zachary who now had those gun sights resting on the Marshall’s chest.

“I’m an officer of the law, Zachary Marston….” He stammered through the blood oozing from his split lip.

Zachary snorted. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you for pointing that gun at my goddamn woman. You’re a no-account coward, Leonard, and you always have been.”

“She…s..she needs to be under arrest…”

“I don’t reckon I’ll be letting you arrest anyone today, Leonard.”

The cowering man on the floor let out a squeak as Zach stooped low and grabbing the badge on his chest, tearing it from his shirt. He held it up in the lantern light and glanced around.

“Who wants it?” he demanded.

No one spoke up—though Timothy suspected that was caused by shock more than an actual lack of interest. Zach shrugged and tossed the badge at the doc. “Keep that in a safe place until someone comes along who will wear it and make it mean something.”

“Maybe you should wear it,” Roland Henderson, the farrier in town spoke up. “Since you’re the one who ripped it off our lawman.”

“No. I don’t reckon I care enough about any of you to put my life and sanity on the line to deal with your problems and complaints day in and day out,” Zachary admitted honestly. “And Hackney hasn’t had a lawman in a long, long time so a few more days without won’t hurt. I suggest y’all hold a meeting and pick someone because Leonard is leaving town today.”

“I… I am?” Leanord stammered, still laying on his back on the ground with Zachary holding that gun on him.

“Sure are.” Zachary grabbed him by his shirt and hoisted him to his feet. “Gavin?”

“Yes?” Gavin approached, adjusting his glasses and appearing quite unsure about the entire situation.

“Is there a stage or a train soon?”

Gavin frowned. “I don’t have the time…”

Quickly, Timothy pulled his watch and glanced at the time. “Almost four.”

“Yes, there is a stage due to pull out at four-fifteen.”

Zachary nodded. “Let’s go get your shit together, Leonard, you got a stage to catch. Sam, go ready our horses, I want to take that ride once the good ex-marshall is gone.”

Zachary strode for the door, dragging the Marshall with him as Samantha followed behind, casting glares at anyone who dare whisper as they passed.

“Well….” Timothy clicked his tongue. “Zach sure knows how to crash a party.”

Doc Reynolds sighed. “I suppose a town meeting will have to be held soon to discuss law and order. Zachary was right. Hackney hasn’t had a good lawman in a long time.”

“Timothy?” Eleanor’s quiet whisper had him looking down at her. She was pale, nervous, and those blue eyes were full of questions.

He smiled gently. “Wanna take that walk now?”

“Yes.”

Timothy bid farewell to the doc and Lewis, waved at all the nosy townsfolk who were watching, and led Eleanor out the door.

He saw Samantha stepping into the livery down the street and he saw Zachary shoving Leonard into the jail to collect his belongings. “Why don’t we go back to the docs and talk where we can have a bit of privacy?” he offered.

She simply nodded, pulled away from him and walked several paces ahead the entire way there in silence. Once they were settled down at the doc’s kitchen table, Eleanor broke her silence. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?” Hell, Timothy hadn’t spoken in a good ten minutes.

Her eyes narrowed. “At the party. What you said to Judith. Why did you say that?”

“Oh.” Tim tugged at his shirt collar a bit and popped his neck. “Because….”

“If you said it only to make her be quiet and leave me be then I understand. It’s okay. I just want you to know I don’t expect anything more….”

“Eleanor stop.” Her jaw snapped shut. Timothy reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “You told me to think things through and come to you when I made a decision. Well, I made a decision.”

Pulling away, he got to his feet, walked around to her, and then dropped to his knee beside her as he pulled the shimmering golden band adorned with a single glistening diamond from his pocket. “Marry me?”

Her jaw dropped as she stared down at him as if he had lost his mind. Had he lost his mind? He didn’t think so. Silence reigned heavy and awkward. Tim cleared his throat and offered a shaky smile. “Marry me, please ?”

“Tim…?” Eleanor shook her head as if clearing thoughts. Her brow furrowed. “If this is about pity….”

Tim hated that damn word. He grumbled under his breath and held the ring out closer to her. “It’s not. I don’t pity you and you don’t need me. But, I want to be with you, Ell and I’m kinda hoping you might want the same thing with me. You’re my future—you and that babe in your belly. Let’s be a family. Marry me.”

“Have you.. have you honesty thought about this?” Eleanor asked, her lips shaking. “Have you thought this through?”

“Yes. I spent all night long riding around in circles and thinking. I thought and thought and gave myself a headache and then thought some more. No matter how much thinking I do, I can’t come up with a single reason not to build a life with you. I worried at first that I wouldn’t be able to support a wife and child but then I remembered I’m a rich man now.” He winked. “And then I worried I wouldn’t know how to be a father because I didn’t exactly have the best influence when I was young but then I realized that Paul Marston taught me all I need to know about fatherhood. I will be a good husband to you, Ell. I swear that. And I’ll be a good father to this child. I swear that too. Folks in this town love to talk so let’s give them something worth talking about. Be my wife.”

Eleanor simply stared in his eyes a moment as if searching for answers to questions she didn’t voice. And so, Timothy attempted to let every emotion he felt shine out of them. Would she see his earnestness? His hope? His longing? The honesty within them telling her that a life together was truly what he wanted? Damn, he hoped so.

Tears shimmered in her deep blue eyes and then finally she nodded. “Yes…” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Timothy’s hands were trembling violently as he took her hand and slipped that golden band with a single shimmering diamond on her finger. It fit perfectly. He gazed up at her and when his eyes met hers he saw her emotions clearly for the first time. Her guards and defenses had come completely down.

He saw the hope, the fear, the want, and the longing and Timothy vowed then and there that he would not let this woman down. He was going to be everything she had ever let herself dream she might have. Tim wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb before raising up and pressing the gentles of kisses to her unsuspecting lips.

It was barely more than a brush of their lips and yet it left Timothy breathless, weak, and off balance. Slowly he pulled away and took her hand. “I won’t let you down, Eleanor. I’ll be a good husband.”

Another tear slid down her flushed cheek. “I..I know you will.”

“I’ve been a nervous wreck all day,” he admitted, running his finger over her ring. “It took me nearly two hours at the mercantile to pick this out—and they only had three choices in stock. And I visited that Anders man at the lumberyard—he sells houses out of a catalogue. I narrowed it down to three that I liked but figured I’d let you make the final say—and if you don’t like any of them, you can pick out a different one….”

He stopped because she seemed overwhelmed. Swallowing hard, Tim cleared his throat. “Are you okay? If you don’t want to marry me, Ell, you don’t have to… I don’t want you to feel pressured…”

“Stop.” This time it was Tim’s jaw snapping shut. Her hand came to his cheek and rested there while her thumb ran against his lips lighting the very blood in his veins on fire. “Of course I want to marry you. You… you are so much more than I ever imagined I would find, Tim. I don’t deserve you…”

He frowned. “Of course you do. Hell, you deserve every good thing in the world to happen to you. And I’m going to spend my life doing all the things you deserve.”

Tim got to his feet. “And now I’m gonna go make sure that Zach got the good Marshall out of town. You rest.”

“Don’t you…” Her gaze darted to her bedroom door. “Don’t you want to stay?”

Damn…. The answer to that was yes. That or take her back to the hotel and lock her up in there for a day or two. But he wasn’t going to. Squaring his shoulders, Tim stepped back. “No. Not until we’re married.”

“Tim?” She got to her feet. “You don’t have to worry about my honor, remember? You’ve had me before. We can go to my room, or the hotel if you’d rather…”

Nostrils flared, fists clenched, blood burning, Tim took a step away from the temptress. “No. I’m doing this right, Ell. I’m damn ashamed of those times before and I won’t treat you like that again. I won’t share your bed with you until we’re husband and wife. That’s something you deserve.”

Eleanor smiled and launched forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. Timothy put his arms around her and hugged her tight. He dropped a kiss to her soft blond hair. “But I think we should get married in a hurry,” he admitted. “Because I want you something fierce.”

Eleanor didn’t raise her head and her voice was muffled against his shirt. “The only person in Hackney who can perform marriages is Reverend Channing—I don’t think that’s the wedding I want.”

Timothy squeezed her a little harder. “Then I guess we’ll be taking a trip soon, won’t we?”

A/N: They’re getting married, y’all! Of course Tim wasn’t going to walk away from Eleanor! But most of you already knew that!  And Sam’s back at it with those fists of fury, knocking harpy’s on their asses one by one! Zach has now kicked yet another problem out of town–he’s cleaning up the streets. But no, he will not be the lawman–he hates dealing with people so a job in which he has to serve the people doesn’t seem like a place he’d want to be! Thank you all so much for your support so far! I love reading your comments. 

Love ya!

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Zachary had never in his life been so grateful to see a sun-soaked morning as he was when Sunday dawned brightly. The last two days had been stressful to say the least which made today all the more peaceful.

No crews were coming to the ranch to work today. No meetings needed to be had in town. He had a full day ahead of him with nothing but the open landscape and Samantha—who was currently laying sound asleep in his arms.

Holding her tenderly against him, Zachary thought back over the last two days. So much had happened and changed. Thomas Williamson was gone and no longer a threat to Sam or any of the women who worked at the brothel—a brothel which was now owned and being run by Caroline. That pathetic coward Leonard Oxley was gone. Zachary had tossed his ass on the stagecoach himself. He thought back to the party and the sight of that gun aimed at Samantha’s chest and felt his blood freeze and boil simultaneously. If Leonard had pulled that trigger….

He shivered and buried his face in those red curls, breathing in the scent of lavender and reassuring himself that the woman he loved was alive and well.

His mind drifted again. Hackney no longer had a lawman—not that they’d had any real lawman in Leonard Oxley. He grumbled under his breath when he recalled Roland’s suggestion that Zachary become lawman. That would be a cold day in hell. Zachary had enough of his own worries without adding an entire town full of worries to them. And he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t care enough about ninety percent of those people to risk not only his life but his sanity on their issues and complaints. Then there was Samantha and the life and family they were building. Zachary had to worry about that and making sure he was around to be a part of it—he wouldn’t go putting a big shiny tin target on his chest for folks to shoot at. The townsfolk would figure it out—they could hold a meeting and if no one volunteered for the job they could post a listing in the newspapers. Someone would be interested in pinning on a badge and the authority that came with it.

Thinking on things that had happened at the party, Zach found himself going back to Timothy and Eleanor. Tim had found him at the stagecoach office just after putting Leonard on his ride out of town and had told him that they were indeed engaged. Zachary was happy for his best friend. Eleanor seemed like a decent woman, quiet and reserved perhaps, but that was okay—Tim would talk enough for both of them.

Speaking of marriages….

Zachary felt Samantha stir against him as she slept. She turned slightly and his gaze drifted down to the emerald resting against her pale breast. He was ready for Samantha to be his wife. There was no real reason behind their delay in getting married—it just seemed that there was always something happening in their lives and the lives of their friends and they’d been focusing on that. In another week the house would be built. It would need exterior paint, interior decorating, and furniture before it could be a home, but the hardest part would be done.

A trip north to Anberina was sounding like a good idea for then. There would be someone there who could officiate their wedding—because there was no way in hell that Zachary would allow Reverend Channing to be the one to marry them. They could spend a few days away from Hackney and the work at the ranch and simply focus on each other, become husband and wife, and come back to make their finished house into a home.

That sounded good to him. They could use this week to finish up the house, order furniture, pick out the paint and wall paper and all the finishing touches the home needed, spend the weekend gone to Anberina, and come back as husband and wife to a home ready to be filled with their lives.

Peace filled Zachary. For so long life had been so damned hard but it seemed those days were over. While the threat from Clinton Matthews was always a lingering worry in the back of his mind, it didn’t consume him any longer. The man was becoming a distant memory as more time went by. Finally, after spending so long as a wandering gunslinger facing death day after day, Zachary was settling down.

Zachary buried his face in Sam’s hair, let his hand rest gently against her breast, and allowed the sound of nearby bird song and the flowing river to lull him back to sleep.

When he awoke a short time later, the sun had gotten brighter and he was alone on the bedroll. Sitting up quicky, his eyes sought out Samantha but he didn’t see her. Fear lodged in his gut.

“Sam?” he called out. No answer. Grabbing his rifle as he leapt to his feet, Zachary scanned the surroundings. Had something happened? Had someone taken her? How in the hell would he have slept through his woman being abducted? Zachary was not a deep sleeper. “Samantha!”

Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself so he could think more clearly, Zachary realized that Samantha’s clothes were gone. Wherever she was, she had taken the time to get dressed before she had gone there. Athena was still grazing peacefully nearby so unless someone had taken her, she hadn’t gone far. And Zachary knew that one could have ridden in here and taken her because he wouldn’t have slept through that. That meant Samantha must have walked somewhere on foot.

But where?

Zachary walked in small circles around their camp by the river until he found what he was seeking. Her footprints in the dew dampened grass leading toward the ranch. Why would she have gone on foot that way? And why wouldn’t she have gotten him up to come with her?

Zachary slid into his clothes, adorned his weapons, and followed her tracks.

He realized that now and then he was seeing canine tracks heading in the same direction. A dog? Had she wondered off after a dog? Or was the dog after her? There were packs of wild dogs that joined up from time to time out here. Dogs that had gone feral and would hunt anything they thought they could make a meal out of. But there would be more than one set of tracks if that was what was happening here, and Zachary should be able to hear them—they weren’t known to be silent.

As he neared the barns, he called out again. “Samantha?”

“I’m here!”

Relief flooded through him at the sound of her voice. At least he knew she was alive—though he might just kill her himself for causing him so much damn worry.

Heading toward the barn where her voice had come from, Zachary stopped when she came walking out. As always, the sight of her stole his breath. Those wild curls free and glowing in the sunlight. That pale skin. Those freckles. Full lips that were curved in a happy smile and green eyes shimmering as they gazed at him.

Then he saw the squirming ball of fur in her arms and frowned. “Look what I found!” she exclaimed. “I named him Creed.”

“A dog?”

She walked closer and held the pup up higher. “A puppy. Isn’t he cute?”

Zachary sighed. It was cute. More fur than dog, it was clearly an Australian Shepherd pup. Most of its body was black, with a bit of white on his chest and legs and brown around his paws and muzzle. “Where’d it come from?”

Samantha shrugged. “I don’t know. It was sniffing around our camp when I woke up but ran from me so I chased it here.”

“You should have woke me,” Zachary scolded, reaching out a calloused hand and scratching at the pups small ears. It seemed friendly enough as it squirmed in Sam’s arms and looked up at him with warm brown eyes. “You scared the hell out of me lady.”

“Oh…” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know you didn’t.” Zachary smoothed a bit of her wild hair behind her ear. “So, Creed huh?”

“Yeah. I fed him a bit of jerked beef from the saddlebags but he’s hungry.”

“Our first ranch animal and it’s a flea-bitten pup.” Zachary took the dog from Sam and held it against his chest, grumbling when it raised its head and licked his chin. “We’ll have to get some food for him. I can do a bit of fishing in the river and catch something for all of us to eat today.”

“I always wanted a dog,” Samantha admitted as they made their way toward the dilapidated tool shed. There had been fishing poles stashed away inside years ago and Zachary hoped they still here. “But my mama was afraid of them and after she passed, I had a hard enough time keeping food in the mouths that were left to add another one.”

Zachary adjusted his hold on the pup to free one arm and wrapped it tight around Sam’s shoulders, kissing her hair. “We can have a hundred dogs if it makes you happy, love.”

Her light laughter made his heart happy. “I think I’ll be happy with one for now.”

Zachary handed the pup back to her and stepped into the shed, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness as he glanced around the dusty, cobweb filled interior. “I guess we’ll take him with us to Anberina at the end of the week.”

“Why are we going to Anberina?” Zachary didn’t need to see Samantha to know that she had tensed with fear—he could hear it in her shaking voice. “I haven’t left Hackney in a long time, Zach… What if he’s out there…”

Zachary growled under his breath, found the pole, and stepped back outside. “Then I’ll kill him. You’re the one that said we can’t live in hiding and fear.”

Her breath whooshed out as her shoulders sagged and she buried her face in the pup, Creed’s, fur. “I know. I’m not afraid of much but he terrifies me.”

“After seeing those fists fly at Judith yesterday, I have to say that Clinton is the one that should be afraid of you,” Zach teased, hoping to bring a smile to her face.

Instead, her gaze was sharp. “I’m serious, Zachary.”

He nodded, feeling a bit annoyed. He wanted Samantha to trust him. Wanted her to realize that no matter what came, she was safe if she was at his side. “So was I when I said that he won’t take anything from either one of us again.”

After several moments of walking toward their riverside camp in silence, Samantha spoke. “Why are we going to Anberina?”

“We’ll finish building the house this week. We can order furniture, paint, and supplies from the lumberyard catalogue. I figure it’ll take all that a few days to come in so we can get out of town a while. They’ll be better shopping in Anberina and plenty of folks who can officiate a wedding.” Zachary offered a small smile. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about becoming Mrs. Marston.”

Her entire face lit as her smile beamed up at him. “I would never change my mind about marrying you, you know that.”

Zachary bent low and kissed her gently. “That’s real good to hear, Sam.”

---

Eleanor’s head was spinning as she jotted down notes in an effort keep everything the doc was telling her straight. She had thought that Sunday was traditionally a day of rest but not for Doctor Reynolds. He had decided to skip the church service after their run in with the preacher and his wife the day before and was instead dedicating his Sunday to teaching Eleanor all about running the storefront and the properties of certain over the counter herbs and medicines available so she could better assist customers.

Eleanor doubted anyone would want to purchase their treatments from someone of her standing within the community, but she wasn’t going to argue with the doc—mainly because he’d made it clear he would not take no for an answer. Eleanor had a feeling she was going to let the doc down. She had never once in her life gone to school or received much of an education—she knew how to read and write to a degree but wasn’t too advanced at either.

“You’ll do just fine,” Lewis assured her quietly as the doc began addressing stomach upset and the helping properties of both ginger and peppermint in those suffering such an ailment.

“I’m not so sure,” Eleanor replied, tossing her notepad and pencil on the counter, and flopping herself down on a stool. She rubbed at her face and let out a long sigh as her gaze drifted to the window.

Where was Tim? He had come back to the doc’s the night before and brought her some supper. They had sat and talked for hours about their lives, their pasts, their likes and dislikes. They had lost themselves in each other’s company until well into the early morning before he had finally given her a tender kiss to her brow and left.

Eleanor had fallen asleep close to dawn with her heart so full of hope and so overwhelmed with her feelings for that man she had scarcely been able to breathe. Timothy O’Neil was amazing. He was kind, gentle, warm, loyal, and protective. He tended to know how to lighten her mood and put a smile on her face.

He was going to marry her. He was going to give her child a father. Give them a home. And he seemed… excited to do so. Eleanor hadn’t known that men like him existed.

And then the doc had been banging on her door at nine in the morning, telling her to eat quickly and begin her lessons.

“That’s a real pretty ring,” Lewis whispered, as the Doc continued his tutorial.

Eleanor felt color rise on her cheeks as she bit her lip and gazed at the simple diamond and gold band—she had never owned anything that was so beautiful or costly. It still amazed her that Timothy had cared enough to get her a ring. She hadn’t expected one—would have never asked for one. And yet, to him, it had seemed a natural step. With him treating her with such romance and care it was almost possible for Eleanor to imagine she were a true lady instead of a soiled dove.

“Thank you. He picked a beautiful one.”

Lewis nodded, his brown eyes earnest as he met her gaze. “He did. You are beautiful, Eleanor. Tim is a lucky man.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Are you paying attention?” Doctor Reynold’s interrupted their whispering. “You stopped taking notes. I am telling you important things you’ll need to know when you begin working tomorrow. I can’t stay here all day to teach you when I have patients to see.”

Eleanor quickly grabbed her notepad and pencil. She blew a loose strand of blond hair from her face. “Sorry, doc. I’ve never been real scholarly.”

“Lucky for me. If the woman had a lick of book smarts, she would have taken off running from me.”

At the sound of Timothy’s voice, Eleanor was off her stool and rushing around the counter. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of him that she realized she’d just behaved like some love struck school girl. Biting her lip and glancing up at him, Eleanor watched that good-natured boyish grin spread across his face, bringing that happy spark to his green eyes.

Timothy held his arms out and tilted his head and Eleanor needed no further urging before jumping into them and hugging him tight, feeling him holding her just as tightly in return. Remembering that they had an audience, Eleanor slowly pulled away and put a bit of distance between them.

“I don’t reckon I’ve ever had anybody be quite so happy to see me, Ell,” Tim stated as he swooped in and pressed a tender kiss to her temple that had her legs shaking as her pulse quickened.

Doctor Reynolds took his glasses off and wiped them clean on his shirt sleeve. “While the woman is quite fond of you, Timothy, I think her real joy at your sudden intrusion is based solely on the fact that you have interrupted her lessons.”

The docs words did nothing to erase the joy on his face. “What are the lessons about?”

“Doc’s been teaching me the prices of each product for sale out here and what medicines to recommend for any patients that happen in while he’s busy. He seems to have mistaken me for a smart woman.”

Tim’s smile faded. His eyes locked on hers and he slid his arm around her shoulders. “You are a very smart woman, Ell. And plenty capable of doing any job the doc puts in front of you.”

“Of course she is,” Doc Reynolds agreed.

“But I need to steal her for a while, doc, so the lesson will have to continue later.”

“Where are we going?” Eleanor asked with a frown. Surely not the diner for lunch—church would be letting out soon and the diner’s and café’s would all be full of folks in their Sunday best with Reverend Channing’s words still fresh in their ears—words that had no doubt been all about fornication and violence given the incident the day before.

Timothy offered the doc and Lewis a quick farewell before leading Eleanor out the door. It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the spring air was warm. “We have to go pick out our house,” Tim said as he led her down the boardwalk.

“Our house?” Eleanor frowned. Of course, she knew Tim had already talked to the lumber yard about buying one but she hadn’t realized he’d be whisking her away the very next day to do so. “It’s Sunday. Aren’t they closed?”

“Usually.” Tim reached down and took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers as they made their way slowly down the road. “But, he was happy to set up a meeting with us. I mean we are buying a house and furniture to fill it and he is a businessman who enjoys making money.”

Eleanor bit her lip as she looked down at their joined hands before glancing around the street. Several passerby’s took notice of them. Eleanor could see the curiosity in some gazes and the judgments in others. She heard the whispers. Tim should pull his hand away. He should place distance between them. People were going to judge him always for being with her. They were going to whisper and laugh behind his back. Yes, Tim needed to let go of her hand right now.

He ran his thumb along her wrist, gave her hand a gentle squeeze and kissed her hair, pulling her closer to his side. “It sure is a pretty day, ain’t it? How about, after we see Mr. Anders, we saddle the horses and take a ride?”

Eleanor felt her eyes burn and her throat tighten as emotion filled her. Timothy had to notice. He had to realize that they were being watched. Had to know that he was being judged and condemned a fool. Didn’t he care? Why didn’t he care?

Timothy stopped walking and turned to face her, never releasing his gentle hold on her hand. His free hand came up and those fingertips danced across her face before he rested his palm tender against her cheek. “What’s wrong, Ell?” He dropped his hand to her stomach and covered it with his palm. “Is it the babe? Are you feeling bad? I can take you back to the docs’ and I’ll sneak you in the back way so you can skip the lessons and rest if that’s what you need.”

She shook her head and laid her hand over his. “The babe is fine. It’s just….” Her gaze darted around as she bit her lip. “Them…”

Tim sighed. “Them? To hell with them.”

“Tim… they.. they think you’re a fool…”

He sighed and lowered his head, resting his brow against hers. Eleanor went cross-eyed attempting to look into his gaze. “I don’t care what they think.” She could hear the honesty in his voice. “And they’re right. I am a fool. A good woman will turn a man into one every time. Hell, Ell, I’d do anything for you. You tell me to jump, I’ll ask how high. You tell me to fly and I’ll get busy crafting wings.” That breathtaking smile curved his lips. “I’m your fool, Eleanor.”

Eleanor wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to kiss the man senseless… She was such a jumbled mess of emotion that she wasn’t entirely certain how she was supposed to feel. But one thought, louder than all the rest, kept resounding in her head. And that was the thought she gave a voice to. “I… I don’t deserve this…”

Tim pulled away so he could properly look into her eyes. She saw the pain in his expression as he frowned and studied her face. “You are so much more than you think you are. So much more than I ever thought I deserved to have… I wish you could see that.”

It was Eleanor’s turn to frown. “You are an incredible man, Timothy. Why would you ever doubt what you deserve?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied, sliding her hair behind her ear. “As far as I go… There’s a certain worthlessness a person feels when their own parents don’t want them. I wasn’t good enough for my own mother to give a damn about me so why would I be good enough for anyone else?” Eleanor hated the pain she saw in his expression so she rose on her toes and kissed his jaw—desperate to ease it any way she could.

Timothy swallowed hard and pulled her in closer, their bodies flush as they stood there on the boardwalk—neither caring any longer about what the townspeople might think.

The air became hard to breathe as she looked up into those green eyes and lost herself inside them. “You are not worthless, Timothy O’Neil. Anyone who could have you in their lives and simply walk away never deserved to have you at all.”

Timothy’s mouth opened as if he were searching for words to say before he shut it once again. Those eyes simply gazed into hers, stealing her ability to think clearly. It was as if time simply ceased to exist as Timothy’s head moved lower and their breath mingled.

Eleanor could feel the heat of his body as she pressed tight against it. Her body trembled and her lips shook, anticipating the feel of his against them. And Tim did not keep her waiting long.

Those full, firm lips covered hers and Eleanor’s entire body went liquid in his arms as one of his hands cradled her face and the other arm slid around her, holding her body tight against him and keeping her from falling as her legs went slack.

This kiss was different from the quick brush of lips they had shared before. There was a need and a hunger in this kiss that caused Eleanor’s entire body to ache with want for the man against her. Never had she felt such a desire—such an all-consuming need for a man.

Tim nipped at her lip and she knew what he wanted, so, she gave it to him. Sliding open her lips, Timothy’s tongue quickly slipped inside her mouth—tangling with hers and tasting her long and lazily. Her core tightened and her breasts heaved against him as she struggled to breathe. His hand slid down her back and gripped her backside, his hips pressing tighter into her until she felt his hardness—proving the kiss was having just as strong an impact on him.

Her mind drifted back to the times she could recall laying with Tim before. He had always been gentle and kind. She could still feel that gentle kindness even in this moment but there was more. There was a deeper hunger in his touch. A more earnest desire in the way he moaned against her lips.

With a groan, Tim pulled away, taking a step back and rubbing at his neck while rocking back on his heels. Eleanor stood there on shaking legs trying desperately to steady her heart rate as she pressed her trembling fingertips to kiss reddened lips. Tim chuckled as he adjusted his gun belt around his hips. “Well, that certainly gave them something to talk about.”

Eleanor glanced around. Oh yes. Folks had indeed noticed, and they were indeed talking. She felt her cheeks flame. “We should probably get going,” she said, tugging on her black skirt. “Mr. Anders will be waiting.”

Timothy reached out and took her hand. He led her down the road toward the lumber yard but now, Eleanor chose to ignore the stares and the whispers and focus instead on the feel of his calloused hand around hers and the way his arm would randomly brush her shoulder as if he simply couldn’t get close enough.

Eleanor had never in her life laid with a man and received any real pleasure from the encounter—none of them had bothered with how she felt. The only releases she had ever experienced were ones she had given herself. She wondered what it would be like with Tim now that things had changed between them. Would he take time with her? Would he care about her pleasure?

When his thumb ran tenderly across her hand, Eleanor smiled. Yes. Yes, Tim would care. 

A/N: Sam and Zach have their first animal! And both couples are needing to take a trip to get married–perhaps they’ll all take a trip together! And poor Tim–I was abandoned by a parent so I know that feeling… and no matter what, no matter how many good people come in your life to fill that void, that pain is still there. You still wonder why you weren’t enough.  I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Sorry it took a bit longer to get up, I’ve been super busy–project fixing up our 120 year old house is well underway but still has lots and lots of work–if only we could hire a crew. But we don’t have crew hiring money! Thanks for reading!

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Damn Zach,” Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You’ve got yourself a house.”

Zachary used his bandana to clean the sweat from his face and neck and nodded as he stood in front of his home and felt pride fill him. Sure, it was just a barebone house with no paint, no furniture and not one ounce of a personal touch just yet but Zachary had a feeling that his Sam could turn any house into a home.

“So what color you gonna paint it?”

Zachary bid the work crew fair well as they loaded the last of their supplies on their wagon and headed off. “Don’t know. Whatever Sam picks I reckon. The supplies for you house should be in by the end of next week.”

“Yeah, thanks for helping me with it, Zach. I know you’re probably eager to get the rest of the buildings around here done…”

Zachary simply shrugged and headed toward the barn where Blaze was waiting to be saddled. “I reckon you’re gonna have a family soon and need a house. And we have enough done here that I plan on bringing in some cattle soon. We can fix up as we go.”

“You gonna bring Sam out tonight and let her look at the place?”

“Of course,” Zachary hefted up Tim’s saddle and handed it to him before grabbing his own. “The woman has been chomping at the bit to see it finished all week.”

“She picked a nice house for sure.” Timothy tightened his mare, Kitty’s, saddle.

Zachary grunted his agreement. The single story home was indeed nice. It had a front and a back door. The back door opened into a small entry room for storing coats and outdoor gear and for changing out of muddy boots to keep from tracking through the house according to Sam. That entry room led into a hallway with three rooms on either side. Two that would serve perfectly as bedrooms or a bedroom and an office and one that led to a water closet with a surprise he was excited to show Samantha.

That hallway opened up at the end to a large main room with a sitting room on one side and a kitchen on the other—the front door opened into the sitting room. Off the kitchen was a large pantry and a storage closet. And off the sitting room were two more bedrooms—one large master and one smaller.

Sam had done a real good job picking a home they could build a family in—and it had a completely different layout from the home he’d shared with his parents and sisters in that spot. But then again, she had known that and that was why she had picked it. His woman’s ability to always think of others amazed him.

“What type of house did Eleanor pick?”

“She didn’t,” Timothy replied, hooking his saddlebag over Kitty’s saddle. “She made me do the picking. The only input I got from the woman was that as long as it had sturdy walls, a roof that didn’t leak, and actual floorboards instead of dirt, it would be a nicer house than any she had ever lived in growing up.”

Zachary was chuckling as he led a saddled Blaze from the barn. “Well, you and Samantha can bond over the unhelpfulness of the partners you chose when it comes to making decisions surrounding home ownership.”

The men hopped on their horses and pointed them toward town. Samantha would be getting off work at the post office and Eleanor would be finishing up her shift at the docs. Zach thought about the quiet woman. She’d been working at the docs for the entire week and Zachary knew that she faced judgment from time to time and some people avoided going to the doc’s office unless they knew he was there himself to avoid dealing with her—but all in all she was fitting in and finding a place.

Hell, Zach himself still faced judgments every time he walked down main street. There were still many who believed he had slaughtered his family and other that were afraid of him after seeing him in his various confrontations since coming back to town. And Samantha still faced judgments for being a woman with no past who had lived at the saloon and who had no last name—or none that she told anyone. And Tim was judged both for being Zach’s friend and for being engaged to a whore , as some deemed Eleanor. Yes, judgmental pricks would spend their lives judging—they didn’t know any different. If Eleanor could learn to ignore them and focus on the people that cared, then she’d be alright.

At least Judith Channing hadn’t been a problem since the evening of the party. She hadn’t been seen out at all actually. Zachary grinned as he laid a cigarette against his lips. She was probably waiting until all those bruises healed up.

“Hard to believe we both managed to find women willing to marry us, Zach. And even harder to believe we’re leaving in the morning to go marry those women.”

Zachary nodded. It hadn’t been his intention to have his getaway with Samantha become a group activity but upon hearing that they wanted to get married away from Hackney, and knowing that Eleanor and Tim needed to move with a bit of haste with that baby in her belly, Samantha had insisted that they all go together.

And Zach wasn’t angry. It seemed fitting that he have his brother by side and that he be by his brothers’ side as they take this next step in their lives.

“I wish they could be there,” Tim admitted, his green eyes focused on Kitty’s mane. Zachary’s own heart ached. He didn’t have to ask who they were. “Your mama would have loved Sam.”

“She would have loved Eleanor too,” Zachary assured him. When Timothy frowned doubtfully, Zach shrugged. “She might have worried at first that you’d get hurt given Eleanor’s past profession, but once she got to know the woman she would have loved her. Mama never was the judgmental kind, you know that.”

“I know.” He let out a sigh. “What time are we leaving out tomorrow?”

“Around ten. I’ll have the wagon ready and in town. Samantha and I have to go see Joseph Anders about ordering furniture and I’ll ask him about your house. Make sure those supplies are still due in next week so they can start getting it built.”

“It’ll take until evening to make it all the way to Anberina.” Timothy noted. “It would be quicker if we took the train and just rented a wagon to bring back anything we need to haul.”

Zachary shook his head, took a long draw off his cigarette and replied on his exhale. “I don’t do trains.”

“Why?”

“Too many people. Too enclosed. And I’ve seen a few get robbed. I’m not too eager to be on one if that happens.”

Timothy’s laughter rang out in the late afternoon air. “Alright then, Zach. Fair enough.”

The rest of the ride to town went about how most rides with Timothy went. He talked—a lot—while Zachary simply grunted, nodded, and spoke a word here and there. Once they were riding down Main Street, Zachary’s eyes were drawn toward the doc’s office where Eleanor and Samantha both stood together with Creed secured to a leash in Samantha’s hand. That pup had been after Sam’s heels since she’d found it and Zachary loved seeing the happiness it brought her.

The women hadn’t noticed their approach and Zach simply took a moment to admire the beauty that was Samantha. Her hair shimmered in the early evening sunlight. Her freckled face was bright and those green eyes shining, as she smiled and laughed at something Eleanor said.

“Damn Zach….. We are the luckiest men alive.”

Zachary simply nodded his agreement, hopped off Blaze, and led the horse by foot toward the doc’s. The moment Samantha noticed him she lit up brighter than a lightning strike and headed his way. Zachary couldn’t reach her fast enough and it was completely without shame that he jogged the last few steps and wrapped that woman tight in his arms.

“I missed you, lady.”

“I missed you too, man.”

He breathed her in. She smelled of dust from working with the mail all day but that hint of lavender still rested in her curls. It was a scent that soothed him like nothing else ever had. Slowly, he pulled away. As he did so, he realized that Eleanor and Tim were still locked in an embrace—and a kiss that was more than likely considered improper to be sharing in the middle of town.

Zachary simply averted his gaze and smoothed a bit of Sam’s hair from her brow. It wasn’t any of his business. Besides, he had shared a few improper kisses with Sam right on Main Street—and would probably share more if he had any say in it.

Samantha smiled up at him, those crinkles forming around her tiny nose. “We saw the crew come back a little while ago. Is the house done?”

“It’s built,” Zachary replied. Creed was whimpering and jumping on his leg for attention, so he stooped down and lifted the pup into his arms. “Now it just needs paint, furniture, and for you to make it into a home.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and scratched Creed behind the ear. “I think I can do that.”

Timothy and Eleanor finally came up for air and her face flamed red as she seemed to realize they had become lost in that embrace right there with an audience. Timothy seemed unfazed, however, as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Y’all want to come to the diner and eat with us?”

Zachary shook his head. “A riverside dinner sounds better to me. Besides, I don’t think the diner accepts canine patrons.” He tipped his head toward Creed. “And I want to show Samantha the house.”

“Zach, they’re having a meeting at six at the community center.” Samantha raised her head. “It’s for the whole town to attend. They’ll be discussing the need for a new lawman in town.”

“We won’t be going to that.”

“What if I want to go to that?”

With a raise of his brow, he stared her down. “You expect me to believe you want to go listen to townsfolk bitch, moan, and complain for hours while arguing over who is better suited to deal with every dispute and squabble that ever occurs around here?”

She grumbled under her breath. “You know me too well. I was only wanting to give you a hard time.”

“I don’t know why you’re so mean to me, woman.”

“Oh hush,” she swatted his chest and kissed his jaw. “I treat you like a king.”

Zachary felt his cheeks color a bit as he cleared his throat. “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, we’ll let you two get to your riverside dinner together,” Tim said with a grin. “Ell and I will meet you at the lumberyard around ten tomorrow if that’s still the plan.”

“Alright then,” Zachary agreed. “See you then.”

Samantha and Eleanor bid each other a quick goodbye and the group parted ways. After saddling Athena and placing Creed in a basket slung over Athena’s saddle horn, Zachary and Samantha began to trip back to the ranch. “Be honest.” Samantha suddenly spoke.

Zachary looked her way, taking a moment to admire the portrait she painted sitting atop Athena before responding. “I’m always honest with you.”

“Do you want the lawman job?” She didn’t meet his gaze, simply stared ahead.

“Why would you ask me that?”

One of her slender shoulders rose and fell. “You’re the right type for the job, Zach. You’re fair, honest, strong, confident, capable. People would listen to you. And you’ve done a lot to help the town since you came back to it. I just want to make sure you aren’t saying no because you worry what I’ll think.”

“I don’t have any interest in being a lawman, Sam. I promise. I spent enough years chasing bad men and I ain’t got the stomach to keep doing it. The things I saw….” He paused and swallowed hard against some of the images flashing in his mind. “There is only one thing I want in this life.”

“What’s that?”

“You. A life with you. A quiet, full life on our ranch with our cattle and our horses and our one hundred dogs. Maybe a youngin or two.” Zachary smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

Samantha sighed, her gaze seeming far away as a smile pulled at her full lips. “That sounds like heaven.”

Zachary had to agree. The rest of the ride was peaceful—just as was every moment he spent like this with Samantha at his side. They talked about their future. They spoke about the ranch and what they wanted for it—the crops they would grow and the animals they would tend. They talked about children they would one day raise with her fiery hair and his quiet nature. And more than once they laughed at Creed who kept poking his furry head out of the basket to nip and growl at flies that buzzed around.

“Zachary, the house looks amazing,” Samantha beamed as it came into view.

“Still needs paint and decoration but I’ll let you worry about that.”

Her gaze went skyward. “Of course you will. Don’t you have any preferences for color?”

He was quiet a moment before nodding. “The front door. It can be any color but black. Don’t give our home a goddamn black front door.”

Her gaze was gentle and knowing as she nodded. “Of course. I’ve always favored red.”

Zachary nodded. “Red it will be then.”

They slid off their horses, leaving them beneath the shade of an oak. Samantha pulled a squirming Creed from the basket and sat the pup on his feet. Finally free to run, he did just that. Not a bee or butterfly was safe.

Taking her hand in his, Zachary led Samantha up to the house. Stepping up onto the wraparound porch, Samantha smiled, her eyes bright with tears. “This is… this is beautiful. I’ve always wanted a big porch that wrapped around… I never dreamed I’d have a home like this.”

Zachary tilted his head and studied the house. Technically it wasn’t anything too special. It was a mansion and wasn’t made of bricks or stone. It was a simple one story home with a decent attic and a pretty porch—but it was their home and that made it the most important building Zachary had ever stood at the doorway of.

“I promise, Sam. You’re going to have everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ll make sure of that.”

Zachary’s heart pounded against his ribs as Samantha slid in close, laid her palms on his chest and kissed his jaw. “As long as I have you, Zachary Marston, I’m a happy woman.”

He swallowed hard as he wrapped one arm around her, placing his palm on the small of her back and bringing her in closer. “You’ll never be without me, lady.”

Holding her just a few moments longer, Zachary pressed a kiss to her brow and pulled away. “Now let’s take a look inside.”

Her excitement was palpable as Zachary grabbed the door handle and swung it open. She hadn’t been inside since the walls had begun to go up. Samantha had wanted to be surprised by finished project, so Zach was eager to show it to her.

He led her into the spacious sitting room. The evening sun shone in through the wide windows. A stone fireplace was on the far wall with a thick oak mantle resting above it. “I think you’ll like the kitchen,” he said, leading her to the right. The kitchen connected to the sitting room and had a cookstove. Countertops and cabinets lined the wall and another wide window sat above the sink, awarding a view of the plains stretching out to the east. Hooks hung from the ceiling to hold cooking pots and an island sat in the center of the room to give more cooking space.

“We can put the table here,” Samantha said, standing in an empty space near the pantry door.

“Wherever you want it,” Zachary agreed.

She bit her lip as she glanced at the hooks hanging above the island. “Can I order copper pots? I know they’re expensive and I don’t truly need them but…”

Zachary chuckled. “I don’t know a damn thing about pots, Sam. If you want some copper ones, order them.”

“Thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Zachary held her close, loving the feel of that soft, tiny body against him. “This is beautiful. This kitchen is nearly the size of the entire cabin I shared with my family!”

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of it.”

Taking her through the house, Zachary showed her every room and they talked more about children and where each would sleep, which room would become the office, and how the room that sat right beside theirs would make the perfect nursery.

“I’ve got a surprise for you with the water closet,” Zachary admitted, opening the door to it and revealing the vanity, mirror, bathtub, and shower inside.

Samantha gasped. “A shower? We have running water in here?”

“Yep. Just pull that handle and you can shower. It’s not the warmest in the world but it runs.”

She was practically bouncing up and down. “That is amazing!”

The happiness on her face made the price he’d paid to have that shower crafted and plumbing done well worth it. “You didn’t notice the faucets in the kitchen, did you?”

She blinked several times. “I have running water in my kitchen sink?”

“I figured it would save time on packing water to cook and clean with.”

Those big green eyes shined as they gazed up at him. “I believe I just fell even more in love you with, Mr. Marston.”

A smile spread across his face. “Anytime I can make that happen, I reckon I’ve done alright.”

Her entire face lit up and a guilty grin spread across her face. “I’ve never actually seen running faucets in a kitchen sink.” Just like that she was gone.

When Zachary caught up to her she was lifting the handle causing water to sputter and spurt from the spout. “If only my mama could have had this. She would have loved it.”

Zachary leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, my mama wanted it but never got around to having it done.”

Samantha bit her lip as she turned the faucet off. “Thank you. You really are a good man, Zachary Marston.”

While outwardly he grumbled at the compliment, he couldn’t ignore the way it warmed him on the inside. Zachary didn’t give a damn what most of the world thought of him. But Samantha? He wanted to live up to her expectations—exceed her expectations. He wanted to spend his life making sure she was happy, content, satisfied, and sated.

Speaking of.

Zachary stepped in closer and he saw her teeth graze her bottom lip as those green eyes darkened and gazed up at him. Clearly, she recognized the look in his eyes.

Sliding his hand along her jaw, Zachary tipped Samantha’s head back, lowered his mouth, found her lips, and devoured her. Desperately, Samantha clung to him. He felt her body go slack and knew her knees had weakened. With a growl, Zachary grabbed her by her hips, lifted her up and sat her on the wooden countertop.

As he continued his assault on her mouth, Zachary cupped her breast, sliding his thumb across her nipple and feeling it harden beneath the layers of clothing separating their skin. Zachary moved his mouth to her jaw and Sam threw her head back as he nibbled at her long neck.

She was moaning and whimpering, her hand in his hair pushing his head lower. Zachary knew his woman well enough to know what she wanted—and he was more than happy to oblige. Dropping to his knee, Zachary lifted up her skirts and pulled them over his head. Darkness enveloped him, but Zachary knew these curves well and did not need his sight to guide him to his paradise.

Grabbing the waistband of her underclothes, Samantha lifted her hips and allowed him to slide them down her pale legs. He pressed hot kisses to her creamy thighs as they fell apart. Zachary wanted to taste the sweetness he knew awaited him and so he did.

As he licked and sucked at her warm, wet haven, Samantha cried out his name and wrapped her legs around him, holding him firmly in place. Zachary growled against her before bringing his hand up and sliding his finger within her, feeling her tight walls clench and pull him deeper.

Her moans grew in intensity. Zachary knew exactly how to touch and taste his woman to bring her to release and with one final hook of his finger, Samantha let out a cry of release. Her thighs tightened around his head and her body arched as she trembled and shook with the force of her pleasure.

Slipping from under her skirts, Zachary took a moment to simply watch Samantha as she sat there panting upon the counter. Her head thrown back, those red curls loose around her shoulders, her full lips parted and her cheeks flushed. Damn, she was breathtaking.

Zachary stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

He pressed a kiss to those red curls and growled. “Gonna make love to my woman in our bedroom.”

“Zachary?” she nibbled at his neck, causing his legs to nearly buckle as he walked. “We don’t have a bed.”

“I think I’ve proven I don’t need a bed to love you, Sam.” He tightened his hold on her as she nipped at his ear. The damn woman knew what she did to him and she did it shamelessly. “I want you so goddamn bad, I’ll take your delicious little body against the wall.”

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! As always thanks you for reading and, please, let me know what you think! Zach and Sam finally have a home! A home with actual faucets and a shower! She’s a lucky woman! Wedding bells next chapter perhaps??? Stay tuned…..

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

“Have you heard?!” Eleanor exclaimed, popping into Samantha’s line of vision just as her and Zachary left the lumberyard gate.

“Heard what?” Samantha demanded, laying her hand over her racing heart, faintly aware of Zachary relaxing the arm that had instantly gone toward his gun.

Timothy laughed and wrapped his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders. “The latest town gossip.”

Zachary rolled his eyes. “If it has anything to do with Sam or me, we don’t want to hear it.”

“For once, best friend, it has nothing to do with the infamous four.”

Samantha leaned back against Zach’s chest as his arm slid around her. “What is it then? You both look awfully happy with whatever gossip you heard.”

Eleanor glanced up at Tim and he grinned and kissed her brow. “You tell them. You’re the one that heard it first.”

Samantha’s mind raced. What on earth could it be? Eleanor cleared her throat and tucked a blond strand of hair behind her ear. “Judith Channing is gone.”

“Gone?” Zachary spoke up with a frown. “Somebody kill her?”

“Um..no…” Eleanor shook off his comment while Tim laughed. “Apparently at the town meeting last night they discussed more than just the need for law enforcement in town. A petition was started to have Reverend Channing removed from the church because of the actions of his wife. Apparently, nearly everyone signed it because they are tired of her judgments and mouthiness.”

“Judith ‘Loud-Mouth’ Channing,” Timothy agreed.

Samantha tried hard not to smile—it was wrong to be so happy at someone else’s misfortune. But truly, the Channing’s were horrible people who had certainly earned their bit of misfortune.

Eleanor nodded. “Exactly. So, they delivered the petition to the Channing’s last night and this morning the Reverend and his rather bruised wife hopped on the train out of town.”

“So now Hackney is short a lawman and a preacher,” Samantha acknowledged.

“So, it’s in no worse shape than it was before,” Zachary assured her.

Timothy rocked back on his heels, that boyish grin proving his mind had turned to mischief. “Hey, Zach, I know you said you don’t want the lawman job but what about the preaching position? Do you reckon you got what it takes to be a member of the clergy?”

Zachary chuckled as he held onto her just a bit more tightly. “If there’s one thing I am most certainly not, it’s a holy man.”

Samantha’s mind went to the evening before. No, Zachary was certainly not holy—though he had taken her to heaven. The way he had loved her with his mouth right there in the kitchen and then taken her again and again against various walls of their new home. He had then vowed that just as soon as they were settled in, they’d be taking their showers together. Her body trembled. That water would certainly never feel cold—they would heat it up just fine.

“I think her face says it all,” Eleanor spoke up with a knowing smile, which only served to make Samantha flame bright red and clear her throat loudly.

“Yes, well, if we’re going to make it Anbarina before dark, we should probably be going,” she announced, probably far too loudly.

Laughter rang out from her so-called friends and fiancé. “Yeah, judging by that expression and that impressive blush, I’d say the two love-birds had a wonderful first night at their new house,” Tim agreed.

Shooting a glare in Tim’s general direction, Samantha moved out of Zachary’s arms and headed toward the wagon they had brought into town with them. Betty, their gray shire mare, was attached to the wagon and appearing eager to get to work. Athena and Blaze were tied off at the back.

“So, was there any other gossip to be found this morning besides the good news that the witch has finally left town?” Samantha asked.

“Actually….” Tim drew out the word before winking. “There was.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.” Zachary pulled a cigarette from his pocket and struck a match. “Just tell the woman so we can be on our way.”

“This isn’t gossip, honestly. We saw it with our own eyes,” Eleanor amended.

“What did you see?” Samantha’s curiosity was piqued.

“Do you remember Catherine? Greg’s soon to be ex-wife and the woman at the party that came up and spoke to me?” Ell asked. Samantha simply nodded. “Yes, well, she ate her supper with the doctor at his home last night and, while I went to bed before they did, I did see her slipping out the back door looking quite satisfied at just after dawn this morning.”

That bit of news made Samantha stop in her tracks. “The doc and Catherine?”

Timothy laughed. “That sly old dog still has it! He was whistling and smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen this morning when he tipped his hat to me and headed for the diner. He told me he was having breakfast with a client but I reckon I saw Catherine and her boy heading that way too.”

Samantha recalled the smile on the doctor’s face and the spring in his step when they had dropped Creed off with the man before coming to the lumberyard. He was babysitting the pup and had seemed happier than Samantha had ever seen him. Now she knew why.

After taking a moment to process the surprising news, Samantha nodded. “They’ll be good for each other. The doctor is a much better man than that Greg could ever be. And now the doc won’t be lonely without Lewis living there and with Eleanor moving out to be with Tim.”

“Don’t you have anything to say about it?” Tim questioned Zach.

Zachary simply took a long draw off his cigarette and shook his head. “Why would I? It’s not my business. I’m not a nosy busy-body like my woman here. I tend to keep to my own affairs and leave others alone.”

Samantha could not completely hide her laughter behind her snort of indignation. “Eleanor, I couldn’t talk you into switching fiancé’s, could I? I’m feeling a little less than romantic toward mine just now.”

Zachary’s hand closed around her arm, twirled her around and pulled her into his chest. She was pressed tight against that broad, hard body as he gazed down at her with those intense brown eyes and laid his hand over her cheek. “I reckon you’re feeling romantic enough.”

Her legs trembled, as her pulse quickened. Damn the man. He knew exactly what he did to her. She smiled and kissed his jaw. “Let’s go get married, Mr. Marston.”

---

The four of them reached their destination early that evening. Anbarina was a town that Eleanor had never been to before. From the outskirts it seemed to be a livestock town but as you rode further in those dirt streets gave way to cobblestones and the buildings rose up higher and closer together. The roads were bustling with life. Carriage and wagon wheels bumped along loudly on the stone streets and horse hooves clopped against the rocks. Vendors called out from corners, men and women chatted and laughed. Children ran and played, winding their way in and out of traffic.

The smell of cattle and factory smoke was heavy in the air, as was the blending scents of heavy population, cafes, and different shops. It was all a little overwhelming to Eleanor’s senses. Her nose wrinkled and Timothy chuckled beside her. “That good, huh?”

“It reminds me of growing up….” Eleanor felt her heart ache a bit. “I prefer smaller towns now.”

Timothy leaned in close and pressed a tender kiss to her temple causing Eleanor’s heart to swell as she trembled. “You’ll never have to live in a place like this again, Ell. I promise.”

Eleanor smiled over at him, wondering how a man so good could want to be with her. “I definitely don’t want to live in a place like this ever again, but it wasn’t all bad… there was a lot of love in our little hut.”

Timothy’s hand slid into hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I promise that you and our babe will have plenty of that too.”

Our babe. Eleanor smiled. That sounded nice. She laid her head on Timothy’s shoulder and simply enjoyed his nearness as they continued down the road.

“We’ll leave the wagon at the livery stables,” Zachary’s voice spoke up from beside them as he rode along on Blaze.

“And us women will have to go find a dress shop and get ourselves something nice to wear while you men go figure out the best spot to get married around here,” Samantha announced.

Eleanor felt her cheeks heat. Married. She was going to get married. It seemed surreal.

And before Eleanor knew it, Timothy had given her a hungry kiss goodbye and Samantha was leading her into a dress shop. “I really don’t need anything to wear,” Eleanor insisted, rubbing at a stubborn stain on the sleeve of her blouse.

Samantha nodded. “Yes, you do and so do I. We’re getting married, Eleanor! We’re only going to do it once.”

Eleanor sighed. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get a new blouse and skirt to get married in—she had been wearing the same two or three garments since she had left the brothel.

A rather prim and proper man with measuring tape tied around his arm, scissors sticking out of his pocket, and a pin cushion full of pins dangling from his belt approached them. “May I help you ladies?”

Samantha nodded. “Yes sir. We are in need of dresses to get married in and I was told to tell you…” She winced. “That price is no concern.”

His eyes widened a bit behind his glasses. “Unlimited budget?”

Eleanor nearly laughed out loud but managed to hide it behind a cough. Zachary had insisted that they let the dress maker know that there was no budget and then he had rushed off, leaving Samantha cursing under her breath about him feeding her to the wolves. “Yes sir. Unlimited budget,” Eleanor spoke up.

His thin mustache curled as he smiled and clapped his hands. “Well congratulations! And I can definitely help you with dresses. Alterations generally take a few days but for an extra fee I can put a rush on them if you’re in a hurry…”

Eleanor shook her head. “We need the dresses today—now.”

He frowned. “Surely you can wait until tomorrow? I can do so much to make them fit just right in just a day…”

Eleanor felt her cheeks heat as she folded her hands in front of her. “Timothy doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He was quite adamant that we get married today.” Eleanor didn’t want to wait either. Timothy had stood firm in his vow to not make love to her until they were husband and wife—her body practically burned with the want his kisses stirred within her.

It was Samantha’s turn to hide laughter behind a cough.

“Well… okay… I suppose, if you insist…”

Samantha gave a nod. “We do.”

He waved his hand for them to follow. “I have a fine selection of wedding gowns right back here. Lace, silk, simple, elegant, a vast assortment to please every woman.”

Eleanor’s eyes fell on all those white gowns glistening in the glow of the lamps and she swallowed hard as her stomach turned. “I…I don’t want a dress…”

“What are you talking about?” Samantha demanded gently. “You have to have a dress.”

Eleanor wrapped her arms tight around herself as her gaze fell to the floorboards at her feet. “I don’t want a white dress.”

Silence reigned for several tense seconds. Samantha cleared her throat. “Sir, could you give us a moment?”

“Of course.”

Eleanor heard his footsteps fade quickly into the distance, though she never looked up from the floor. Samantha tucked a strand of blond hair behind Eleanor’s ear and rested her hand on her shoulder. “Talk to me, Ell.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eleanor countered. “I don’t want a white dress. I’ll just get a new skirt and blouse….”

“You can have a new skirt and blouse—our men are quite rich so we can have all the skirts and blouses we want.” Her gentle tone was teasing. “But you’re also going to have a white dress as you marry the man you love. You deserve to have that.”

Love. Timothy and Eleanor had never spoken that word to each other. Did she love Tim? Of course she did. Did he love her? She hoped so—he had to, didn’t he? To marry her and give her child a father?

Her jaw was tight as she let out a snort. “White is the color of purity, Sam. Wearing that would make me a bit of a hypocrite, don’t you think?”

Samantha’s hand fell away and Eleanor saw her foot start tapping with annoyance. She spared a glance at Samantha and realized the other woman looked very agitated indeed. “I am so tired of hearing about your self-doubts. Let that go, Eleanor. You have a man who loves you. You have friends. A family. You are a strong woman who did what she had to in order to survive in a world that is not at all friendly to women on their own. Your heart is as pure as they come and you are going to marry Tim and you’re going to do it wearing a white dress because if you don’t, he’ll be disappointed and I won’t stand for having anyone disappointed on my wedding day.”

Eleanor blinked back a tear as she gave a trembling smile—so very thankful for the strong, kind, and generous woman standing in front of her. “It’s my wedding day too.”

“Yes, it is.” Samantha took her hand. “Now, are you thinking lace or silk? I’m partial to the silk myself…”

---

An hour later the pair left the shop with dress bags draped over their arms. While Eleanor still felt a bit like an imposter with the white lace dress she had picked out, she had to admit that it had looked beautiful against her skin.

“I don’t know where the men are,” Samantha stated, glancing up the street.

“Me neither,” Eleanor agreed. Why hadn’t they made a plan or where they would meet up? Anbarina was a big city—they would never find each other.

The hair on the back of her neck stood. Footsteps were approaching them quickly—too quickly.

Samantha’s gun was in her hand in a heartbeat as she spun around. A heavyset man in a butler’s suit let out a cry of shock, threw his hands in the air, and stopped in his tracks. “Don’t shoot!” he whimpered. “Zachary Marston sent me to fetch you!”

Slowly Samantha put the gun away as Eleanor looked at her friend in a new light. She had known that Samantha wore the gun—had heard that the woman was pretty good with the weapon—but hadn’t actually seen proof of that until now. “You shouldn’t sneak up on women that way,” Samantha scolded as her cheeks reddened. “And I’m sorry I pulled a gun on you. I shouldn’t have done that….”

The man tugged at his jacket as his chins shook. “It’s entirely my fault, ma’am. I was told to catch both of you as you left the dress shop and I was afraid I was going to miss you.”

“Where are Zachary and Tim?” Eleanor asked.

“Busy. I was told to escort you to the Grand Hotel where there are hot baths and a small meal waiting on you. You are to ready yourselves and then I will escort you to your waiting grooms.” He held out both arms to allow the women to hook theirs through. “Let’s go then, ladies. The men seemed quite eager to have your company.” 

A/N: I’m back! Sorry for the two or three week absence… But I’m here! Here’s the new chapter! Wedding bells and wedding nights will be ringing in the next one! Ding Dong the witch is… well she’s not dead but she’s gone! And go doc, get you some of that lovin! 

Love y’all! Thanks for your patience while I dealt with some mental health stuff. I think I’m doing better now. Hopefully the next chapter will be in a day or two instead of weeks! 

Nicole

Chapter Forty-One

A/N: After five and  half months of feeling like a medicated zombie, I have finally stopped taking my bipolar meds (I’m going to find other less damaging ways to manage my disorder) and the urge to write is returning! I hope y’all enjoy the chapter. 

Chapter Forty-One

Zachary stood beneath the large oak, his back resting against the rough bark as he puffed the cigarette between his lips for all he was worth. Lamp and lantern light illuminated the darkening park. Water trickled in the large stone fountain and the aroma of flowers filled the evening air.

It hadn’t been hard to decide that this was where he wanted to become Samantha’s husband. Neither of them were church going people and most of their most loving and intimate moments had taken place outdoors among nature. And so, Zachary had found a preacher, found the nicest place in the park, and now was simply waiting for his woman to show up.

“You sure you don’t mind sharing your wedding?” Timothy asked, tapping his fingertips on trousers of his dapper black suit. Zachary was wearing a similar suit and he felt awkward as hell.

“Of course, I don’t mind. I would want you here as my best man even if you weren’t getting married.”

“Why don’t you look nervous?” Timothy demanded, tapping his fingers harder. “I’m scared as hell the woman is gonna change her mind.”

Zachary blew out a long puff of smoke. “She would be a fool to change her mind, Tim. She would never find a better husband than you’ll be to her.”

Tim’s green eyes widened. “Oh…” He smiled. “Thanks Zach.. that means a lot.”

Zachary tipped his head. “I mean it. And if it makes you feel any better, I am nervous.” Something he wouldn’t have admitted to most people. “Nervous that something will happen to take this away. I just want to marry the damn woman and get our lives started. I’ve wasted too much of my life and lost too many things in my life and I’m not eager to waste or lose anything else.”

Tim nodded as he patted Zach on the back. “You won’t lose anything else. Neither one of us will. Only good things for Zachary Marston and Timothy O’Neil from here on out.”

A chuckle rumbled from Zachary’s chest. “That sounds damn good, Tim.”

Tim put his hands in his pockets and rocked back. “Sure does. Don’t it?”

The clearing of a throat behind them reminded Zachary that the preacher was there. He turned to face the man who offered a friendly smile. “Do you men want to say special vows to your ladies or simply repeat simple ones after me?”

“I’m not much of a public speaker.” Zachary shook his head. “I’ll just repeat after you.”

“Me too.” Tim agreed.

The preacher nodded and went back to scanning a piece of paper. Zachary took another puff of his cigarette. “I’m surprised you don’t want to say your own vows,” he admitted. “You’ve always been a talker.”

“Haha.” Timothy kicked at the stones. “There’s a lot I’d like to say but Eleanor is a lot like you. She’s not much for public speaking.”

Exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke, Zachary smiled. “Don’t worry, Tim. You’ll have the rest of your life to talk the lady’s ear off.”

Silence fell between the men. In the distance the faint laughter of children could be heard as could the din of the city. Zachary hated cities. He was growing more and more anxious about the fact that Samantha was out in that city without his protection. Sure, he knew Sam could handle that gun of hers just fine but Zach knew all too well that an evil enough group of men wouldn’t be deterred by a woman with a gun—Clinton Matthews and his followers were evil enough men.

Letting out a growl, he tossed his cigarette down and killed it beneath his boot. Shoving himself away from the tree, Zachary decided he was going to have to find his woman and if he had made a mistake in trusting that big-bellied man, Charles Finn, from the hotel, Zachary would kill him so slowly he would be begging to simply die.

“Hey, there they are….” Tim’s nervousness was plain to hear in his squeaked out announcement. Why was the man so nervous? Surely he realized that any woman would be lucky to have such a loyal and good man as a husband. And the life he was offering to Eleanor, the future he wanted to give her and the babe, was better than any Eleanor could have without him—Eleanor was a smart woman, surely, she realized that for herself. Not to mention the rather steamy kisses the couple had been sharing all week on every boardwalk in Hackney—they loved each other even if they hadn’t admitted as much to one another just yet.

And maybe they had. Hell, Zach didn’t know. It wasn’t any of his business.

His eyes found Samantha and his throat seemed to slam closed as he struggled to swallow.

His woman was goddamn breathtaking.

Her wild red curls were barely tamed, pulled back from her face and falling across her slender shoulders. She was all wrapped up in white silk that glistened in the growing lantern light around them, illuminating and accentuating every curve of her feminine body. The dress flared at her hips, hiding the shape of her legs but that didn’t matter—Zachary had every inch of her memorized and he was pretty good at using his imagination.

Her eyes met his and Zachary nearly ran to the damn woman, wanting nothing more than to taste those lightly painted lips that curved into a smile at the sight of him. The din of the city disappeared, the bird song seemed to cease and the faint laughter of children could no longer be heard. Not a thing in the world existed except his Sam as she began to close the distance between them. As a matter of fact, Zachary hadn’t even noticed Eleanor’s presence at all until the woman gasped, raised the skirt of her white lace dress, and took off at a run in the other direction and away from her waiting groom.

---

        Eleanor had no real idea of where she was going, she only knew she had to get away. It was too much. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think—only one resounding word kept repeating in her mind. Fraud. She was a fraud. A pregnant whore all dressed in white lace and preparing to marry a man far too good for her as if she deserved it. She didn't. Neither did Timothy. He was an amazing man. A man who deserved a woman he could proudly walk down the street with without hearing whispers of what a fool he was.

       In her tear blinded state, Eleanor could barely make out where she was running as she dashed down the darkening city streets. She found herself crashing into a man's back, nearly knocking them both to the ground. He turned quickly and caught her arm to steady her. "Are you okay, Miss?" 

Eleanor yanked away and shook her head before continuing her desperate attempt at escape. No. No, she was not okay. She had tried so hard to make herself believe she deserved a good life with a good man but she didn’t… she didn’t deserve Timothy O’Neil. And he didn’t deserve her—he deserved so much better.

“Eleanor?!” Timothy’s voice rang out behind her and she cursed under her breath, turning a corner quickly and slipping into an alley as she continued running.

“Ell! Stop!” His voice was closer. “Would you just stop and talk to me?”

Eleanor didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see how close he was. Her lungs were beginning to burn and the tears were falling harder.

“I think you should know….” He managed to pant out around breaths as he continued to chase her—she could hear his boots pounding the bricks and cobblestones behind her. “I’m pretty good at running…. And I won’t stop chasing you… until you stop… and talk to me…. I deserve better than you continuing to shut me out…and running off…”

His words slammed into her and Eleanor knew he was right. She stopped her running and placed her hand against a brick wall beside her to steady herself and catch her breath—keeping her back to Timothy.

She could feel his presence behind her as he too came to a stop. He was close and her body trembled. Timothy held such a power over her. Simply knowing he was there, feeling the sensation of him near her, had Eleanor’s entire body aching with a want and a desire for not only his sexual touch but also simply his touch in general. Timothy made her feel a peace and a contentment when he simply held her close that Eleanor had never felt before in her life.

How would she ever live without him?

“Care to tell me what this is about?” Timothy asked after several long moments of silence. His voice sounded strange. She slowly turned and felt her own throat clog with emotion when she saw the tears in his red-rimmed green eyes.

“Tim.. you’re crying…”

He sniffed and swiped the sleeve of his black suit across his face. “Damn right I am. What did you expect? My woman, who had seemed eager to have me as her husband all week, just caught sight of me standing there ready to marry her and took off running like the hounds of hell were on her heels.” He stopped and swallowed hard, his throat working as he shoved his hands deep in his trouser pockets and dropped his gaze. “Do you not want me, Ell?”

Eleanor’s heart ached. She hated seeing Timothy look so broken—and hated more that she had caused his pain. He shrugged as a tear plopped on the toe of the dusty boot he was wearing. “I won’t force you to marry me, Eleanor. I won’t get angry and I won’t cause trouble if you walk away from me.”

Just as his mother had walked away. Just as his stepfather had beaten him and walked away. Just as Zachary had gotten lost in his rage and walked away. Eleanor wanted to kick herself. She did not want to be one more person who walked away from Timothy O’Neil. He was the best man she knew. He made her feel safe, warm, protected, and wanted in a way she had never felt wanted. She wanted to be his woman—she wanted to build a life and a family with him, but couldn’t he see that she didn’t deserve him at all?

“Talk to me, Eleanor.” He raised his gaze to meet hers, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. “I deserve that at least.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and swallowed hard as she wrapped her arms tight around herself feeling such an imposter in her white lace gown—she felt dirty in a way she never had before. A nasty whore all wrapped in a pretty, white lace lie. “Why?” she whispered. “Why do you want to marry me so badly?”

His brow furrowed as he wiped his arm across his face once more and offered a frustrated shrug. “This again? Ell, I don’t know how to be any more open, honest, and plain with you than I’ve already been.”

She wanted to scream. But instead she turned away from him, unable to look at the pain she was inflicting on him any longer. Didn’t he realize that her own heart was shattering?

“You deserve better, Timothy.” She finally whispered, her gaze was on the dirty stone alleyway beneath her feet and yet her eyes weren’t seeing it—they were busy working with her imagination to create a happy future with Timothy and the baby growing within her—pretty little lies she did not deserve.

“Dammit, Ell… I don’t want better. I happen to think there is no one better. You are who I want.”

Eleanor shook her head. Before today she had convinced herself that marrying Timothy was right. She had let herself believe those pretty little lies her imagination dreamed up—but when she had seen him standing there in that suit looking more handsome than any man ever had before it had all become too real. The white lace against her skin, the happy smile on his face as he’d taken in the sight of her—it was wrong.

“Why? Don’t you realize how many men have touched me? I’m dirty, Timothy. I’m not fit to be a wife.”

Eleanor nearly gasped at the uncharacteristic string of curses that flew from Timothy’s mouth. After a rather colorful thirty seconds, she heard him take a deep breath and she could practically picture him pushing his hand through his messy blond hair, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Okay. Maybe you’re right. Do you know how many women have touched me? I’m dirty. I’m not fit to be a husband.”

Eleanor felt her temper flare. “Tim, this isn’t a time for jokes.”

“I’m not joking—just showing you how ridiculous you’re being. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times in a dozen different ways and I’m tired of having it. I want to be with you but I can’t make you want to be with me and I’m tired of getting hurt every time you change your mind about our future.”

“Dammit, Timothy!” Eleanor threw up her hands and whirled around. “Why are you so damned determined to be a hero?”

His sad face nearly had Eleanor leaping into his arms to soothe his hurt. His lips curved in the faintest of smiles that did not reach his eyes. “Timothy ‘Hero’ O’Neil, remember?”

Her mind drifted back to the night at the diner. The night she had gotten her first real look into the man Timothy was. The night he had gone to battle with every single enemy that dared present itself to her. Yes, she remembered her hero. But it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have to be a hero simply to be with her. He would always be facing fights because of the judgements of others. Timothy deserved a better future than that.

When she didn’t reply, Timothy sighed. He reached out and took her hand in his, his touch so very gently as he stroked her wrist with his calloused thumb. “You have to stop this, Eleanor. I want to be with you. And as far as being a hero goes, I never have been the heroic type. I’ve always been the man standing behind the hero throwing out a wise crack now and then.” He shrugged and swallowed hard. “What can I say? You inspire me.”

Eleanor tilted her head, unsure what to make of that statement. “I inspire you?”

“Yes.” Those deep green eyes were earnest as they seemed to look into her very soul. “You inspire me to be a better man. I want to be your hero. I want to make you smile. I want to give you more happy days than sad. I want to ease that weight you seem to carry around on your shoulders all the time. I want to go to battle against any and every person who wrongs you. I want to be your man and give you everything you’ve ever wanted and will ever want.”

Eleanor couldn’t seem to breathe as she listened to his passionate words and saw the emotion shining out of his gaze. Tim seemed to be running out of things to say. He heaved out a sigh. “Dammit, Ell, I love you.”

She was certain her heart ceased to beat for several seconds. Drawing a breath seemed impossible. Love? A man loved her? Timothy O’Neil loved her? Even knowing all he knew about her he loved her.

Following her silence, his shoulders fell as he swallowed hard. Eleanor wanted to speak but could not seem to remember how words were formed. “I love you, Ell, and it’s okay if you don’t love me back. It won’t change how I feel about you or the life I’ll build for you and that babe. I’ll be a good husband to you and a good father to our child if you’ll stop running away and just give me chance.”

The words he was saying seemed too good to be true and yet the raw honesty in his eyes made it impossible for her not to believe him. Surely a man could not fake what she saw staring back at her. “Love? You love me….how?”

Timothy frowned as he scratched his jaw. He looked down at her hand held gently in his and ran a finger over the diamond ring he had placed upon it the night he’d asked her to marry him. “I don’t know exactly when it happened or how. All I can say for certain is that I do love you and anytime I look in my future, the only person I can see beside me is you.”

“But people will say….”

“We’ve talked about that until I’m blue in the face, Ell,” he reminded her, though his voice remained gentle. “I don’t give a damn what people say. They say lots of things. They say I’m a no good gambling drunk who does nothing but fool around spend too much coin at the brothel. They’ve been talking about Samantha the woman with no last name who lived among drunks and whores before moving on to Zachary—and lets not forget Zachary. Folks say he’s a no good murderer who has spent the last five years killing everyone he met, not to mention that he slaughtered his entire family and is now a violent, angry, dangerous man who may just kill everyone in town if the mood strikes him.”

Eleanor snorted. “That’s ridiculous. You are an amazing man and they can choke on their judgements. Samantha is the kindest woman I have ever met and Zachary—while he is quite bristly—has done nothing but help that town since he came back to it.”

Timothy nodded. “Exactly. Folks are gonna talk about everyone no matter what. It doesn’t mean they’re right. You can’t live your life worried about what they’re gonna say. They don’t matter. All that matters is you and me and the life we can build together.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is that easy,” he promised. “If you choose to marry me, I’ll be a good man to you, Eleanor. I’ll never judge your past because it’s over and done and there’s nothing that can be done to change it—just the same as I can’t change the things I’ve done before. I will love you, honor you, respect you and never make you question or doubt how I feel. Maybe, someday, you’ll find yourself falling in love with me too.”

Suddenly Eleanor knew. Everything became clear to her in that very moment and all the broken pieces of her life fell into place. She could have a happy future with Timothy, the baby in her womb, and the family they would build. She could be a good wife. She could be a good mother. She did deserve a happy life—a happy life with Tim. She had been so very foolish to so stubbornly believe otherwise.

“Tim?” she whispered, reaching out her free hand and laying it on his cheek. “I love you too.”

The smile that split his boyishly handsome face took away any and all traces of the sadness that had been there moments before. “You do?”

She nodded, hoping he would see the sincerity in her eyes. “I do.”

Timothy let out a quiet laugh and brought his brow down to rest against hers. “I’m damn happy to hear that.” He lifted his head, pressed a kiss to her brow, and stood straight. “No more running away? I can’t watch your back walking away from me again.”

Eleanor shook her head and stepped closer, pressing her body close to his and resting her head against his heart. “I’ll never leave you again. I’m sorry I hurt you….”

Tim’s arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. She felt that familiar warmth begin low in her core and spread throughout her. Timothy lowered his lips to her ear and when his teeth grazed her tender flesh, Eleanor’s knees buckled. Only Tim’s arms holding her tight kept her from falling on the stone alleyway.

“I think we should go get married now,” Timothy warned, standing straight, pulling away and adjusting the trousers of his suit in an attempt to hide the arousal Eleanor could see there.

A blush stained her cheeks as she averted her gaze. “I think you’re probably right.” Eleanor was going to become a wife—Timothy O’Neil’s wife—and she was finally going to experience true lovemaking with a man who wanted to see to her pleasure instead of only his own. Though she had laid with Tim before, she knew this would be different. He was different. Her body trembled with anticipation.

Timothy held out his arm and Eleanor slid hers through. “Let’s go then, Ell. We may not be having that double wedding after this. Zachary is not a patient man. He probably already made Sam marry him, tossed her over his shoulder and locked her away in the hotel.”

“As long as I become your wife today, I don’t care about anything else—except maybe finding my own self locked up in that hotel.”

At the sight of her wink, Timothy nearly tripped over his own feet. His cheeks flamed red and he nodded, tugging at his shirt collar. “Let’s get going then. I sure would hate to disappoint you.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

“There you are!” Samantha exclaimed gently as she leapt from the bench she’d been sitting on and rushed toward Tim and Eleanor. “Are you okay?”

Timothy smiled at the woman who had quickly become his sister in the short time that he had known her. She was beautiful, kind, patient, and strong while also being one hell of a protective firecracker when need be. So much about Sam reminded Tim of Evelyn Marston. Zach was a lucky man and Samantha was good for him.

He gave a squeeze to the soft hand wrapped firmly around his own and swallowed hard against the emotion rising in his throat. He had gotten pretty damn lucky himself.

“We’re fine,” Eleanor spoke up, sounding quiet and embarrassed. “Sorry I worried everyone and made you wait.”

Samantha’s smile was warm. “Don’t you worry about that. We didn’t mind waiting just so long as you’re okay now.”

Tim heard Zachary grumble something under his breath as he tugged at the collar of his starched shirt. Samantha shot the man a warning glance but was nothing but bright smiles when she turned back to Timothy and Eleanor. “No more running off, Eleanor.” She stated firmly. “You deserve this.”

“Damn right she does,” Tim agreed.

Eleanor’s answering smile was shaky and her blue eyes were damp but her tone was sure when she said, “I know.”

“Are you ready ladies and gentlemen?” the preacher called out. “The hour is growing late and this groom is getting more impatient by the second. The bride may have to resort to holding him down once again if we don’t get him married.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened and Timothy laughed. “Hold him down?”

Sam’s cheeks reddened. “He’s stubborn and tired of waiting.”

“I’m not the only stubborn one in this relationship,” Zachary assured her.

Tim glanced down at Ell to find her smiling back at him. His heart seemed to somersault in his chest. Damn he was in love with this woman. “We’re ready,” he assured the preacher, leaning down to kiss Eleanor’s brow.

“Been ready,” Zachary agreed gruffly.

Again, Timothy laughed. His best friend certainly had never had much in the way of patience.

The four of them took their places before the preacher. With fireflies dancing around them, the sound of the fountain trickling nearby, and faint saloon music floating on the cool evening breeze vows were spoken. They were simple words and had been spoken by countless people countless times before them but never had they been spoken with more conviction than at that moment in that park.

When the time came for Tim to kiss his bride, sealing the vows they had just shared, he did so without hesitation knowing that for the rest of is life Eleanor’s soft gaze and warm lips would be all he would need to survive.

“Do we all want to go get something to eat?” Samantha offered after the preacher had gone and they were standing together in the glow of oil lamps.

Timothy was a bit hungry and food didn’t sound bad—or maybe he was simply delaying taking Eleanor to the hotel because he was nervous as hell. He loved the woman and he wanted her something fierce but what if he disappointed her? Ell had been used and abused by so many men for so long—himself included. Timothy wanted to show her a different side of what happened between a man and a woman but how could he when he himself had never truly experienced it? He’d never cared about the women before, never taken the time to show them pleasure—Dear god what if he messed this up? What if he disappointed his wife?

He cleared his throat. “Sure we can….”

An impatient growl rumbling from Zach’s chest cut off his reply. “Food can wait. We’re going to the hotel now.”

A flush covered Sam’s cheeks but she stood her ground as Zachary stared down at her, his expression making it clear his hunger was for something other than food. “Zachary, I’m starving.”

He grumbled, took her by her hips and pulled her body flush against him. “And I’ve already arranged food to be sent to both hotel rooms.”

“Oh,” came her breathless response.

“Any other arguments, stubborn lady, or can we head to bed now?”

Samantha barely cast a glance over her shoulder. “We’ll see you both in the morning.”

Timothy was chuckling as Zachary scooped a shock Samantha into his arms bridal style. “People will see!” she gasped.

Zach pressed a kiss to her wild red curls. “Since when have we cared what anyone might think?”

Sam’s response was simply a contented sigh as she relaxed against Zach’s chest, running her finger over the rifle strap he’d insisted on wearing.

Moments later, Timothy found himself alone with Eleanor in the cool night air as the gentle breeze blew loose tendrils of her blond hair around her captivating herself. She was chewing her lip, had her arms wrapped tight around herself as if they were a shield, and her gaze was distant making it clear her mind was somewhere else.

Timothy swallowed hard, shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well…..” He tried to think of something to say. Since when had he ever struggled to find words? They normally flew out of his mouth without much effort at all on his part.

Eleanor didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she continued to stare off into the distance. “Well…”

Heaving out a sigh, Timothy held out his hand. “Wanna take a walk?”

He was sure he saw a flicker of frustration cross her face but she shrugged and laid her hand in his. “Sure.”

Timothy wanted to kick himself as they began walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. “I really don’t want to walk,” Eleanor finally spoke again, her voice quiet.

Tim glanced down and took in the way the lantern light shone off her blond hair and danced against her pale skin. “You don’t?”

“No.” She removed her hand from his came to a stop. When she turned to face him, those blue eyes finally looked into his once more. In them he saw hurt and confusion—shit. What had he done to cause that? “Is there a reason you’re avoiding being alone with me at the hotel?”

“I’m not avoiding it,” he quickly denied. Too quickly. El’s head tilted as she studied him. The hurt faded from her gaze but she still seemed a bit confused.

“Yes you are…. I thought maybe it was because of my past at the brothel but—”

“When have I ever made you think I cared one damn bit about your past at that brothel? I’ve never once judged you and you know it.”

Her arched brow raised. “Can I finish?”

Timothy nodded. “Yes’m.”

Eleanor took a steadying breath and folded her hands in front of her. “I said I thought that but that thought only lasted a few moments. I have a new thought now.”

Timothy wasn’t certain if he was supposed to speak. Hadn’t she just scolded him for doing so? “And…what’s your thought now?”

Color rose on her cheeks as she ran her hands over the white lace skirt of her dress. “You’re nervous. You’re avoiding the hotel because you’re nervous.”

Timothy wanted to scoff. He wanted to tell El she had no idea what she was talking and that he was too tough a man to ever be nervous. Who was he kidding? He was nervous as hell. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“You want to go to the hotel?” He held out his arm. “Let’s go.”

Tim would be damned if it didn’t look like Eleanor was fighting back a smile as she looped her arm though his.

Squaring his shoulders, Tim led her down the road. When they entered the hotel, the clerk smiled. “Well, hello to the second set of newlyweds. You have a warm bath waiting in your room as well as a special dinner the chef here prepared. We hope you both enjoy your stay.”

Timothy glanced down at Eleanor and felt his heart nearly pound clear out of his chest when she gazed back up at him through those long blond lashes and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, grazing her teeth across it.

“Uh…” He yanked on the collar of his shirt and let out a cough. “I’m uh.. I’m sure we will.”

The clerk was smiling as Timothy quickly led Eleanor down the hall. For weeks, he’d wanting nothing more than to lay Eleanor down, touch her, taste her, love her body in every possible way and feel her loving his as well. It was finally going to happen.

When they reached their room, Timothy fumbled around in his pocket for the key and then fumbled more as he attempted to slip the key into the hole of the lock. His trembling hands causing him to fail over and over again until finally Eleanor reached out, took the key, and had the door unlocked in an instant.

Tim felt his face flame. He was supposed to be showing Ell a good time, not proving to her that he couldn’t find the hole. She swung the door open and motioned with her arm. “After you.”

Timothy wanted to glare but one look at the way those full lips of hers were fighting an upward tilt had Tim’s ego evaporating. He pulled her into his arms, kissed her head, and laughed. Eleanor opened her mouth to speak but fell silent with a gasp when Tim scooped her up bridal style and carried her into the room.

He kicked the door closed behind them as Eleanor let out a small sound of surprise. “This is nice….”

Timothy glanced around the room and nodded. It was nice. The room was one of the best the hotel had to offer. The furniture was rich and dark and clearly cost more money than anything Timothy had owned in his entire life. The rug was plush and soft beneath his feet, the papered walls were flawless—even the furnishings screamed elegance.

A large copper tub sat beside the lit fireplace, rose-scented steam rising from the water. There was a table with two chairs sitting on the far side of the room beside a window with heavy red curtains. On the table sat two covered trays with what must have been there dinner—the scent coming from that direction made Timothy’s mouth water.

Eleanor wiggled a bit in his grasp. “Are you going to stand here holding me all night or….”

Without much thought, Tim sat her on her feet. She let out a sigh and Timothy glanced down at her and was certain he saw disappointment in her features.

Shit. That or had been an invitation, hadn’t it? Here he was acting like a bumbling idiot instead of showing the love his life exactly what she meant to him. Before Timothy could fix the mistake he’d made, Eleanor was walking to the table. He stood mesmerized by the suggestive sway of her hips all wrapped in white lace.

Eleanor lifted the lid from a tray and bent low, taking in the aroma of their waiting meal. Timothy could not take his eyes off her—hell, he couldn’t manage to speak either. His heart pounded against his ribs and a knot in his throat stole his voice.

Eleanor replaced the lid and stood slowly, flashing him a smile as she looked over her shoulder. “I believe I’ll take a bath.”

Tim was fairly certain he nodded like a man struck with idiocy as she sauntered her way toward the tub. Fucking hell. His cock tightened in his pants and he tugged desperately at the collar of his shirt. Where did all the air go?

“Hey Tim?”

Tim. That was his name. He shook his head and attempted to focus. “Yeah?” he mumbled, watching the way the low lamplight seemed to glisten off the gems in her hair.

“I’m gonna need help undoing this dress.”

In a rush, Tim went to her, tripping over the arm chair in the process and falling sideways. He struck his head against the heavy footboard of the massive bed and fell to his knees as the room spun.

“Are you okay?” Eleanor gasped as she rushed forward. Timothy pulled himself onto the bed and flopped onto his back upon the soft blankets, holding his throbbing temple and praying for the world to stop whirling around him.

A soft, gentle hand was suddenly on his cheek. Delicate fingertips danced along his heated skin. Timothy opened his eyes and saw those deep blue eyes full of concern as Eleanor knelt beside him on the bed and gazed down at him.

“Timothy? Are you okay?”

Tim should say some words. He was good at words. He knew a lot of them and he used even more than that. But just now words wouldn’t come. Those fingertips were setting him on fire and his gaze dropped to those full lips pulled down in a worried frown. All thought left his mind. He’d wanted to romance her with dinner and a bath. Take his time. But what was that saying. The path to hell was paved with good intentions?

In a rush, Timothy rose on his elbow and covered those full lips with his own. For a moment, Eleanor stiffened. Timothy moaned against her mouth, teasing her lips with his tongue, begging her without words to grant him access.

And she did. Her lips parted and their tongues warred for dominance. Rising to a sitting position, Timothy moved his mouth to her neck, feasting on the delicate skin there. Ell trembled against him, pressing her body into his.

Tim wrapped his arms around her and found the buttons on the back of her lace dress. Clumsily he began to undo them—Timothy had never undressed a woman in his life. It hadn’t been necessary at the brothel. Reminders of just how cold and cruel he’d been filled his mind. This wasn’t his first time with Eleanor—not really—but in so many ways it was. He was going to be a good man for her. After tonight, she would never have any reason to doubt his feelings for her again.

Finally, the buttons were freed and Timothy slid the dress from her shoulders, feasting on every inch of her smooth skin as it showed itself to him. Her dress pooled around her hips and next came the thin chemise she’d worn under the dress. Timothy slid the straps off her shoulders which were glistening in the low lamp light.

He licked his way across her collarbone and felt Eleanor’s entire body shake with want. His name left her lips on moan and Timothy nearly found his release then and there. He buried his face in her neck and took several deep breaths to steady himself. Tonight was not about him or his release—tonight was about Eleanor.

“I love you,” he whispered against her ear.

Eleanor’s hands gripped his shoulders. “I love you too.”

His heart soaring at her open admission, Timothy slid the chemise from her body and her full, pink tipped breasts were suddenly exposed. Timothy’s entire body tensed. Perfect. She was perfect. While her breasts were large, they were full, round and his for the tasting.

So he tasted.

Never before had he tasted Eleanor this way. He’d never even seen her bare skin layed out for him. The room they’d shared for moments in the brothel while he’d found his release had always been dark and she’d always been dressed with only her skirts hiked up and her underclothes taken off to grant him access.

Timothy felt guilt fall heavy in his stomach as he licked her tightened nub. He hated the man he’d been to her before. He would never be that selfish man again.

Timothy sucked and nibbled at one of her tight nipples while his hand caressed and pulled at the other. Her moans, gasps, and small mews of pleasure filled the quiet of their room. Timothy lost himself in the taste of her, loving the sounds she made and the way her body trembled and pushed against him.

It wasn’t until something warm and wet splashed against his cheek that Timothy stopped. He raised his hand and swiped at the moisture. With a glance he realized it was clear. A tear? He wasn’t crying so that had to mean….

Pulling away from Eleanor’s chest, Timothy rose up on his knees and looked at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth parted as those full kiss reddened lips glistened. He tore his gaze away from that temptation and looked in those blue eyes that he so often found himself lost in.

They were red-rimmed and glistening with tears even as another slid down her cheek. Timothy caught it with his thumb and gently wiped it away.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Timothy saw that wall rising back up around her. That wall that she used to hide her real feelings. Damn what he wouldn’t give to blow that wall to hell with a thousand sticks of dynamite.

“Don’t lie to me, Ell.”

Another tear fell and again Timothy caught it with his thumb and stopped its trek down her soft cheek.

She laid her brow against his and their eyes slid closed. “Nothings wrong, Timothy.. it’s just that.. No man as ever… I’ve never been…”

Timothy grumbled and pulled away. “Men are idiots.” He met and held her gaze. “You deserve to be worshipped, Ell.” Then he smiled. “Mind if I get back to it?”

Her eyes widened just before her gentle laughter rang out. Eleanor pulled away slightly and laid down upon the pillows, her full breasts rising and falling with her breaths. “Worship away.”

Timothy’s heart thundered. Could a persons heart beat hard enough to break a rib? He figured he was about to find out.

Timothy found her mouth once more with his own and kissed her until he was completely senseless—lost in her scent, her taste, the feel of those fingertips dancing across his back, pulling him closer.

Leaving her lips behind, he let his mouth taste her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, and then traveled further south still. Sliding her dress and underclothes down, Timothy removed them from her body entirely, slipped her shoes from her feet and simply let himself take in the sight of her.

His wife was a masterpiece all laid out against the dark maroon of the hotel blankets. Her blond hair, falling loose of the intricate coif it had been styled in was spread across the pillows, her blue eyes, dark with want were locked on him. Timothy’s gaze raked over her breasts, down her taut stomach which was just slightly beginning to swell from the life within her, and then to the triangle of blond curls that seemed to beckon him to the oasis between her legs.

Her hands gripped the sheets at her sights. “Timothy… I need you…”

Eleanor’s desperate voice caused his cock to grow tighter yet. He was going to make sure Ell got everything she needed tonight. Standing from the bed, Timothy undid his suit jacket and slipped out of his. Next came his vest and then his shirt. He felt a bit self-conscious standing there as Eleanor’s eyes took in the sight of him.

He knew his body was lean but strong with muscles born of hard work. He had a dusting of tawny colored hair that ran from his tanned chest, down his stomach and into the waistband of his pants. Did Eleanor like what she saw? He knew he wasn’t the tallest, broadest or most muscular of men…

There was a rustling of blankets and then Eleanor was standing. Timothy stood still as stone as she circled around behind him, moving close, her full breasts rubbed against his back causing him to bite his lip as a moan left his throat.

Her hands went to his hips and then around to the front of his trousers. She undid them and slid them down his legs, kissing her way up his back as she stood. It was Timothy’s turn to tremble. His legs threatened to give out beneath him. Quickly he hopped on one foot at a time to remove his boots and take his pants completely off. Turning to face Eleanor he saw that she was fighting laughter.

“In a hurry?” she teased. Then her gaze dropped lower and her teasing stopped with a sharp inhale. Tim knew his cock was hard and throbbing and straining to reach her—desperate for the release she could give him.

“Tim….” Her gaze rose back to his and she mirrored his hunger.

Their bodies crashed together, desperation for some relief from the aching want within them driving both of them forward. Tongues warred, hands explored. His cock rubbed against her midsection and Eleanor pressed herself against it.

Time lost meaning. Eventually, they fell upon the bed and Timothy flipped Eleanor to her back upon the soft blankets. “Please… Timothy… I need you….”

Her whimpered pleas caused him to smile against the skin of her neck he’d been feasting on. Raising his head, Timothy met her gaze. “I need you, Ell. I need you more than you know. Let me take care of you.”

Timothy began a downward trek. Tasting and nibbling every inch of her until he reached those curls between her legs. Her thighs fell apart, beckoning him in and Timothy didn’t waste time. He used his hand to pull apart the warm lips of her core and buried his face inside it.

The sweet scent and taste of her overwhelmed his senses. Timothy licked up her core and then found her nub pulsing and waiting for attention. Running his tongue across it, Eleanor suddenly called out his name and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling the strands while still shoving his head down deeper.

Timothy smiled. Looked like he found something he was good at.

He continued to lick, nibble and tease her. He slid one finger deep inside her, feeling her warm, wet walls tighten around him. Eleanors entire body was trembling, her grip on his hair was nearly painful and yet he didn’t stop. One finger was replaced by two and he drew her clit into his mouth, sucking it, knowing she was close to tumbling over the edge.

And tumble she did.

Eleanors entire body tensed, her thighs pressed tight against his head, she cried out his name as she trembled and shook beneath him. Timothy drank down every last bit of moisture he could. He was trapped in her core, held tight by her tense muscles but he didn’t struggle or attempt escape. He figured if he died down here, he’d die a damn happy man.

Slowly, Eleanor’s body relaxed, her thighs fell to the side and Timothy rose from between her legs. Her cheeks were flushed as she lay against the pillows appearing more than a little satisfied and completely in shock.

“Tim..I’ve never… No man has ever…”

Timothy smiled and kissed her hip causing her to tremble once more. “Are you telling me that was your first time finding release?” he asked.

Her ears reddened and she bit her lip. “My first time not finding it myself.”

An image of Eleanor in the throes of passion as she pleasured herself flashed through Timothy’s mind and he felt his cock leak a bit. Damn. He couldn’t wait anymore. Rushing forward, he kissed her hard and she returned the kiss with matching passion.

Timothy positioned himself at her entrance and when her hands reached down to grab his backside and pull him closer, he slid inside her fully, not stopping until their hips collided.

Kisses grew hungrier and moans more urgent as they began to move in unison. Once again his hand found her breast, squeezing it before he circled her nipple with his tongue. She cried out his name and her hips began to buck wilder in time with his thrusts.

Timothy knew he was getting close. He could feel the pressure building inside him. He wanted to make sure Eleanor reached another peak as well. Reaching low, he found her core and rubbed that nub as he thrust himself roughly in and out of her.

Those walls tightened around him as her body spasmed and his name once again left her mouth in a passionate cry. Timothy let himself go then, calling out for her as he lost himself inside her and found that release he’d been holding back.

Timothy collapsed atop her. His body felt satisfied and weak. Movement seemed an impossible task. He felt her kiss the top of his head as he rested his cheek against her chest. “That was…. Amazing…” she whispered.

Timothy smiled. He managed to gather enough energy to move off of her, roll onto his side and pull her body against him. “You are amazing,” he countered.

She blushed and lowered her gaze as if embarrassed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, gently running his fingers up and down her arm.

“I….” she paused and he waited patiently. Opening up was hard for Eleanor. He wouldn’t push her. “I don’t know what to do…. After… No one ever stays…”

Swallowing back his temper, Timothy forced a smile and put his finger under her chin raising her gaze back to his. “I will always stay, Ell. You’re never going to be alone again.”

She kissed him softly and Timothy heard her stomach growl. He chuckled. “I believe my woman and child are hungry,” he stated.

He rose from the bed and pulled her up as well. “I can get my own food…” she insisted.

Timothy scooped her up bridal style and carried her to the tub. He tested the water which was no longer steaming but still warm and then stepped into the tub, lowering them both down inside it. “Let me take care of you, Eleanor.”

She smiled and curled up against him as he wet a rag and ran it across her body, cleansing her with the rose scented water. “You’re more than I deserve, Tim….”

Pride swelled inside him at knowing just how much this woman loved him and how much he loved her in return. “You deserve the world, Ell.”

They bathed in a comfortable silence, taking turns to touch and memorize every inch of each others bodies. After their bath, Timothy dried them both, helped Eleanor slip into a sleep gown, pulled on his trousers, and led her to the table to eat.

It was nearing midnight when they killed the lamps and curled back up in the bed burrowing beneath the covers. Timothy slid his arm around her waist, pulling Eleanor’s back against his chest and burying his face in her soft blond hair. He laid his hand over her stomach and the life that grew there. Never had a man felt as complete as he felt in that very moment.

“I love you, Eleanor O’Neil.”

He heard her smile in the darkness as she covered his hand with hers. “I love you too.” 

A/N: Ahh sorry it took so long to post this! I couldn’t seem to get in the right mood for this chapter for a while and even once i did i had trouble finding time to write it. I’ve been doing a lot of sewing, crocheting and diamond art lately and I’ve been volunteering full time at our local community outreach thrift store. But here’s the chapter! Smexy times for Timothy and Eleanor (finally) and who can actually picture Samantha sitting on Zachary attempting to hold him down to keep him waiting?

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Think of it as a Christmas, or yule, or solstice, or whichever holiday you celebrate this time of year present! Love y’all!!

Chapter Forty-Three

Forty-Three

Samantha woke the next morning with the feel of the sunrise on her face. She buried herself deeper within the covers, cursing the curtains that had been left open to allow the morning light to assault her. Sleep was something she hadn’t gotten much of last night.

A smile curved her lips as she felt Zachary’s arm tighten around her middle and pull her back tight against him. A grumbling growl left his chest. Clearly Zachary wasn’t ready to wake up and get out of bed just yet.

Samantha wasn’t either but natures call would not be denied. She slid from his grasp and rose from the bed, grabbing her nightdress from the chair and slipping it on her bare body. Going to the changing screen, Samantha stepped behind it and relieved herself in the pot that waited there.

After cleansing herself in the cold bathwater from last night, she returned to the bed. Her husband quickly pulled her into his arms once again, this time she lay on her side facing him and rested her face against his chest. Her husband. Finally. Zachary Marston was her husband.

For so long her life had been nothing but running and fear—even before Clinton Matthews she had never known true security or contentment given her fathers addictions and poverty. But with Zachary that had changed. Zachary made her feel safe, warm, cherished, protected. He was everything she could have ever hoped for in a husband—and she knew that she had given just as much to him. She had made his life just as complete.

“We need to get to the cattle auction,” Zachary’s deep voice, still raspy with sleep announced as he pressed a kiss to her red curls.

“You have your new wife laying in your arms in the early morning sunrise and your first thought is of cattle?” Samantha teased.

A chuckle rumbled deep in his broad chest. “Oh there are plenty of other things on my mind,” he assured her, squeezing her tighter. “But considering we just finished doing those things for the third time in a night less than two hours ago, I’m guessing we could both use a break.”

Samantha sighed and lifted her head to kiss the bottom of his jaw. He was right. Her body was sore—it was a deliciously sated type of sore but sore nonetheless. And she was tired. She could simply remain curled up like this all day and do nothing but be held in Zachary’s arms and sleep. That sounded like such a nice plan to her.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Time for a nap.” His pointed silence followed and Samantha grumbled under her breath before opening her eyes and looking over his shoulder at the grandfather clock that stood against the wall. “Seven-thirty.”

“The auction starts at nine. We need to get dressed, get Tim and Eleanor, eat breakfast, and head that way.”

“Do I have to come stare at cow asses all day?” Samantha muttered, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the bed as she threw her legs over it.

Zachary chuckled, sitting beside her and tracing the delicate chain of the necklace that fell between her breasts. The gift he had given her to show the depth of his love. “You speak like such a lady,” he teased. “And no, you don’t have to. You and Eleanor could always go shopping for things we’ll need for the houses.”

A fear Samantha was not proud of gripped her. Wandering the city shopping without Zachary…. What if Clinton Matthews or one of his men were near. What if they found her…

She didn’t realized that her breathing had become labored until Zachary was on his knees in front of her and urging her to look at him. She did just that. She lost herself in those deep brown eyes. He laid a hand on her cheek and she leaned against it, feeling her breaths growing calmer. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, knowing that shame colored her cheeks.

Zachary shook his head. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

“I don’t like how weak he makes me… how afraid…”

She could see the anger in those dark eyes. Anger that was not directed at her but at the man who was after her—the man who had stolen his family from him and was a constant threat looming in the distance. Zachary breathed deep several times before speaking. “You are the strongest, bravest woman that I know. Do you know how often I’ve been in awe of you? The way you don’t back down and stand up for those you care about?” Zachary smoothed a loose red curl behind her ear. “If you feel safe enough with your gun to shop with Eleanor, then go. If you don’t, then I will go with you after the auction. You know I will always protect you, Samamtha.”

“And you won’t think of me as a coward if I say I’d rather wait until after the auction?”

He kissed her tenderly. “Never. Would you think of me as a coward if I said I was afraid of shopping and simply told the store keeps that price is no option and leave you to it.”

Samantah fought back a smile and put her finger under his nose. “I’ve warned you that if you ever do that to me again, I’ll kill you.”

“Yes you did,” he acknowledged. “And yet, I’m still trying.”

“Stubbornness is not your finest quality.”

Samantha stood up and went to the suitcase her clothes were stowed inside. Zachary was to her in an instant, his bare body all her eyes could focus on as he helped her dress. “What is my finest quality?” he asked, as he braided her hair. Samantha knew he loved these quiet moments of intimacy between them—and so did she.

Samantha glanced back at his nude body and winked while she bit her lip. “That backside is pretty nice.”

His low growl filled the air as he finished the braid and spun her around, pulling her flush against him. “Is that right?”

Samantha was laughing as she swatted the topic of conversation and then slipped from his arms. “Get dressed, Mr. Marston. I’ll go make sure Timothy and Eleanor are awake.”

Grabbing her gun belt from beside the door, Samantha slipped from the room. She was fastening it around her hips when she felt eyes on her. Glancing up quickly, she looked down the hall but didn’t see anyone—though a door did click closed as she glanced to the left. Had someone been watching her?

Samantha felt nerves dance in her stomach before scolding herself. She was safe. The odds of Clinton Matthews or one of the few men he had that would recognize her being here was slim to none. She had her gun, her wits, and her husband. Nothing in the world could harm her.

Going two doors down from her and Zachary’s room, Samantha knocked on the door. Silence greeted her and stretched on. She knocked again.

“Who is it?” a very sleep and rather grumpy sounding Timothy called from inside.

“Your sister,” Samantah replied with amusement. “Long night?”

The sound of rustling sheets came from the other side of the door and after a few moments it was pulled open and Samantha smiled at Timothy who was standing there in nothing but his trousers. He had lines on his sleepy face from his pillows and his blond hair was a mess atop his head. He looked exhausted—but happy and it made Samantha happy to see that.

“As much as I love you, sister , it isn’t even eight in the morning.” He let out a massive yawn. “What do you want?”

“Be polite, Tim.”

He reddened a bit at Eleanor’s scolding. “Sorry.” He rubbed at his stubbled face. “What brings you here so early?”

She looked past time and offered Eleanor a wave which the other woman returned from deep within the blankets she was wrapped in. “Zachary wants everyone to get up and ready for breakfast. The cattle auction starts at nine.”

“Cattle auction?” Timothy grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He clearly wasn’t a morning person. “The day after we get married and we’re going to a cattle auction.”

“That’s right,” Zachary’s voice broke in as he came to stand behind Samantha and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Of have you forgotten that we own a ranch that we’re trying to bring back to life?”

Tim grumbled under his breath. “I haven’t forgotten. Just thought we’d have a bit more of a honeymoon…”

Zachary shrugged. “Then stay here and have your honeymoon. Sam and I can handle the cattle.”

Timothy seemed tempted for a moment but then he sighed. “No, we’re coming. The ranch is my responsibility too.”

Samantha smiled. “Just meet us down at the hotel diner when you’re ready.”

Timothy offered another sleepy nod and closed the door. Samantha laughed light. “He certainly isn’t a morning person.”

Zachary chuckled, leading her down the hall. “Never has been. But he’s right. We do need more of a honeymoon.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Zachary stopped and pulled her body flush against him. Her breath caught in her chest as he lowered his mouth to hers. Barely brushing their lips together, Zachary smiled. “We take care of business today and stay another day or two locked up in our rooms.”

Samantha trembled against him. “Sounds good to me, Mr. Marston.”

---

Zachary unhooked his gun belt and tossed it in the chair by the bed once he and Samantha were locked inside their hotel room that evening. “I thought you loved me, Sam, but after shopping all day I’m having doubts.”

Her laughter was like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Zachary had never been good with people. He liked quiet. He liked peace. The auction hadn’t been bad until they’d realized who he was—or more so who his father had been—and then it had been nothing but bootlicking and kissing his ass in hopes he’d let loose more of his money.

Then had come the stores. Store after store. Furniture, decorations, household supplies… it had seemed as if the shopping trip would never end. Endless conversations tossed in his direction that he had tried his best to take part in—he honestly had. But by the end of the day he’d been done and it had been clear to him that Eleanor had been too—she seemed to share his dislike of shopping. Timothy and Samantha had seemed to enjoy themselves, however.

“You know I love you,” she replied, laying her gun belt with his and kicking off her boots. Zachary sat on the edge of the bed and growled when Samantha sat herself down upon his lap, straddling him. She had let loose her red curls and they enveloped him as she kissed him softly. “And we needed everything we got today unless you want to sleep on floorboards and stumble around in the dark.”

Zachary pulled her closer, loving the feel of her pressed so tight against his hardening cock. Damn, the woman did something to him that was unexplainable. His desire for her was never eased and every thought he ever had was for her. She had given him purpose and a reason to live. Samantha was his entire world and he would do anything to see her happy—even stand for hours in shops.

“All I need is a bedroll and moonlight,” Zachary assured her, his hungry mouth finding her neck and nibbling at her soft skin. “And you.”

Samantha threw her head back, granting him easier access to his feasting grounds. “Just how many days do we get to stay here in this room now that business is done?” she asked, her voice raspy with want.

Zachary would like to say forever. He’d like to stay in this room—this bed—and never leave. But deliveries would be arriving within a week and work had to be done. Still, there wasn’t too big of a reason to rush back. “Two days.”

“Better make the best of them,” Samantha stated thoughtfully just before she jumped off his lap and moved across the room.

“Get back over here,” Zachary growled, standing slowly.

She bit her full bottom lip and swung her hips to the side. Zachary clenched his fists. Samantha knew exactly what she was doing. She put her hands behind her and within moments her skirt was sliding down to the floor.

Zachary took a stride forward but she shook her head, those thick red curls bouncing around her face. “Stay.”

He grumbled a bit at the way she commanded him the way she would have their puppy Creed but did as she said just the same. Hell, he was whipped just as bad as that dog by the woman—there was no point in denying that. He would do anything she ever asked of him—even if it caused him physical pain to simply stand and watch her undress without having his hands on her.

Samantha stepped out of her skirt, kicking her foot and tossing the fabric at him. Zachary caught it mid air and fought a smile as he tossed it aside. Next she undid her red blouse, sliding it from her shoulders, exposing the pale freckled skin that he had seared in his memory.

The shirt was the next thing he was catching midair but this he held onto squeezing it tight, fighting for control as she stood there in her satin chemise and her thin underclothes. He could see the outline of her nipples as her breasts pushed against the satin—begging him to touch them, taste them, send her to paradise.

“I want you, Samantha.”

He saw her tremble at his words.

She ran her fingertip across her collarbone and then along the edge of her breasts causing Zachary to nearly lose himself right then. His cock was so tight in his pants it was causing pain but it was a delicious pain. A pain he would suffer again and again if it meant being here with Sam just like this.

Slowly she turned and as she bent to slide her underclothes down her legs, Zachary was awarded with a clear view of her backside as she presented it to him. His control snapped. Striding across the room, Samantah barely had time to let out a yelp of surprise before Zachary was to her.

She stood straight and spun to face him just in time for Zachary to stoop low and crush his mouth against hers. Instantly her arms went around his neck, her body molding against him. Zachary cupped her face with his hands, propelling their bodies backward until her back was against the wall.

Taking his mouth lower, Zachary licked, nipped and nibbled his way along her neck, drawing moans and whimpers from deep within her. Lower still he went, drawing her nipples into his mouth through the thin satin chemise she still wore.

Samantha’s hands found his thick dark hair and he smiled against her as she pushed downward, urging him toward the destination he’d already had in mind.

Zachary dropped to his knee and lifted the thin white fabric, holding it in place against her hip as he held her in place. Using his free hand he pushed apart her folds and ran his tongue gently up and down her wetness, circling slowly around her clit and causing her legs to nearly buckle.

Zachary had become an expert at loving Samantha’s body in their time together and in no time at all he was bringing her to release as she cried out and gripped his head tightly, holding him against her pulsing wet core. Slowly, the trembles and tremors began to subside and Zachary stood.

He lifted Samantha into his arms and carried to the bed, even as her fingers worked to undo the buttons of his shirt. Setting her down on the edge of the mattress, Zachary held up his hand. “Stay.”

The corner of her mouth rose, and for a moment he lost himself in the beauty of her passion reddened face. “How long will you leave me waiting?” she asked, leaning back on her elbows and shoving her breasts forward while her legs fell open.

Zachary nearly choked. “Not a second too long,” he vowed.

Sliding from his clothes, he felt her green eyes watching his every movement. Once he was fully undressed, Zachary hooked his finger and beckoned her closer. “Come here.”

Rising from the bed, she sauntered his way and as soon as she was within arms distance, Zachary grabbed her and pulled her close. In one fluid motion, he took her by the hips, lifted her in the air and brought her down, impaling her on his aching cock.

Samantha cried out his name as she threw her head back, clinging to his shoulders. Zachary didn’t waste time with slow and easy. There would be plenty of time for that late. For now, he took her hard and fast. His name left her lips with whimpers and pleas for him to keep going.

Bracing her against the wall, Zachary drove into her over and over. The pressure built in him and he knew his release would come soon. This woman always sent him over the edge in a hurry. Reaching between them, Zachary found her dripping core and pressing his thumb tight against her clit, keeping a steady pressure on it as he rotated his thumb back and forth.

It seemed that was the last bit of pleasure Samantha could stand. She cried out his name, no worry given if they disturbed the other guests, and as her walls tightened around him, his own release tore through him like an earthquake. Zachary grabbed her read curls, tilted her head up and kissed her hard as he poured himself inside her and his legs shook with the effort to stay standing.

The kisses turned gentler as they fell upon the bed, all wrapped up in each other. Zachary pushed her hair from her face and his lips traveled lightly across her brow and cheeks. “You are my world, Sam.”

“And you’re mine,” she replied, running her fingers down his arm. “I’d be lost without you, Zachary.”

“You’ll never be without me,” he vowed.

Grabbing the small blanket at the end of the bed, Zachary brought it up to cover them with. Samantha’s green eyes were heavy with sleep. A glance at the clock revealed it was only eight-thirty but he hadn’t allowed her to sleep much the night before. “Rest, Sam.”

She smiled and buried herself in his chest. It didn’t take long before her breathing evened out and her gentle snores filled the quiet hotel room.

Zachary tried to sleep as well but it wouldn’t come. Something had him on edge but he couldn’t explain the feeling. It was a tingling in the back of his mind that something was wrong. He wondered if it was simply anxiety born from the life he’d lived so long—some leftover trauma from losing his family and living a life of kill or be killed. That was probably all it was—but what if it wasn’t?

Rising from the bed carefully so he didn’t wake his peaceful wife, Zachary tucked her in tight before sliding his clothes back on. After fastening his gun belt, he left the room, locking the door tight behind him.

He needed to just walk around the hotel, maybe check the horses, and simply assure himself there was no threat lurking around. As he went down the hotel hall, he heard the muffled sounds of lovemaking coming from Tim and Eleanors room. Color stained his cheeks a bit as he hurried his pace—though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy for his best friend. Timothy deserved the happiness that Eleanor had given him.

As he neared the end of the hall and was about to go down the steps, a cold chill passed down his spine, Turning slow, Zachary scanned the hall. He would swear he’d felt eyes on him but he didn’t see anyone. He scolded himself for being a paranoid fool. Too long he’d lived too hard—and he was terrified of the past repeating itself. Terrified of losing Samantha. It was causing him to perceive threats that weren’t there.

He tapped his own temple roughly with his knuckle. ‘Don’t get so caught up in here’ , he remembered Timothy saying to him once. Now he repeated that to himself.

Stepping into the hotel lobby, Zachary realized there was no one behind the desk and the guest book was simply lying there open. His paranoia got the best of him and he turned the book to toward him and began reading over the names there, looking for any he might recognize as a threat. Not that he knew the name of every man working with Clinton Matthews and not that he thought that bastard would actually sign into a hotel using his own name. But, looking over those names and seeing nothing of interest did seem to calm him a bit.

Leaving the hotel, Zachary went to the stables and ensured that both Blaze and Athena were settled in nicely and safe. After giving them both a handful of oats, he returned to the hotel.

This time there was no feeling of being watched as he went back to the hotel room he shared with Sam and quietly entered. His wife was still sound asleep upon the bed. Zachary slipped from his clothes once more, laid his gun belt on the bedside table within reach, and curled himself up around her, sighing with contentment when she immediately buried herself in the cocoon of his arms.

Life was good now and it was going to stay good. He had to find a way to make himself believe that.  

A/N: woot woot two days in a row i’ve posted. Call it a double holiday present!  Hope y’all enjoyed the update.

Chapter Forty-Four

Forty-Four

Zachary’s nerves danced in his stomach as he sat atop Blaze with Samantha at his side on Athena. Their house was finally completed. He had kept her away the last week while the furniture and decorations had been put in. He’d done his best to make it look like a home she would be proud of. Never in his life had Zachary hung curtains or arranged furniture but for Sam he’d done both and more. He had made up beds, laid out rugs, arranged pots, pans, dishes and decorations to create a home she would be proud to live in. Samantha had lived most of her life in a rundown cabin in the woods and the rest in brothel and hotel rooms. She deserved a real home—and Zachary was proud to give it to her.

Her laughter rang out and Zachary quickly turned his attention to her and as always he found himself mesmerized. Those full red curls shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Her freckles shone on her red cheek and that smile put those crinkles beside her nose as her green eyes lit up and she laughed at Creed as the pup lifted his head from the basket he rode in and snapped at a bumble bee.

“He’ll learn his lesson when one stings him,” Zachary warned, a smile spreading across his own face.

Samantha waved the bee away and patted Creeds furry head. “He’s just protective.”

“Good. I knew I liked him.”

Samantha smiled and Zachary’s heart thundered. Damn that woman got to him. He was still thinking about how lucky he’d gotten when she gasped. “Zachary, it’s beautiful!”

Zachary turned his gaze forward and saw their home coming into view. Fresh white paint covered the walls, the shutters were painted black in sharp contrast and behind the wraparound porch was their bright red door. Never again would Zachary have to come home and walk through another goddamn black front door.

“I hope you like the inside.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I should have let you style it, but I wanted to surprise you.”

Samantha graced him with a smile and the love shining out of her green eyes nearly knocked him off his horse. “I’m sure you did a good job, Zach.”

When they reached the house, Zachary slipped from Blaze’s back before helping Samantha from Athena. He knew she didn’t need the help but he looked for any excuse to touch her soft body—and the fact that she waited for his help let him know she enjoyed it too.

She lifted Creed from his basket and sat the pup on the ground and he immediately took off for the barn, yipping and wagging his tail. The pup had developed a rather interesting relationship with the gray shire mare named Betty that Zachary had bought to pull the wagons and plows. The two animals seemed to have become best friends.

Pulling his attention away from the Australian Shepherd pup, Zachary motioned for Samantha to go toward the house. He remained a few steps behind her and waited with nerves eating at his stomach. He really wanted her to like what he’d done. It was stupid. He should have let the woman put her own home together—but he’d wanted to do something for her. So, he had taken all the things she had picked and he had done his best to take those items and turn their barebone house into a home.

Samantha was unnervingly quiet as she entered the house and looked around. Her gaze went all around them, taking in the work Zachary had done. The yellow curtains Sam had picked were draped over the windows, her copper pots hung from the hooks in the kitchen, and a red checked table cloth covered their large kitchen table.

Samantha reached up and ran a finger along one of those copper pots before moving into the living room. A soft sofa and matching cushioned arms chairs sat before the fireplace. A soft quilt, something she’d been excited to buy when they’d been in Anbarina, was draped over the sofa.

Zachary wished Sam would say something. Did she like what he had done or had she had other plans and ideas for the space? “We can change anything you don’t like,” he offered.

Samantha still didn’t speak. She continued her inspection of every room of the house. Zach took his rifle off his back, leaned it against the side table and settled himself on the sofa to simply wait for her. He was supposed to be a man with strong nerves who didn’t fear much—but not knowing what was going through Sam’s mind as she walked through their home was testing his resolve.

Her soft footsteps came behind him and Samantha’s arms were suddenly draped around his neck. Her warm breath teased against Zachary’s ear causing the nerves in his gut to be replaced with hot desire for his woman.

“Our home is perfect,” she whispered, those full lips as hot as brands against his skin. “Thank you.”

Zachary turned his head and caught her lips with his in a tender caress. “Anything for you, Sam.”

She pulled away and nipped at his neck. “Anything?”

Zachary’s fists clenched as he fought the urge to grab the woman by the arm, yank her over the sofa and have his way with her right here on the soft cushions. “You damn well know it.”

She traced a finger along a cold metal bullet slid into the bandolier strapped across his chest. “I believe I’m ready to test out that shower. Could I get my big, strong husband to come wash my back?”

Zachary rose fluidly to his feet and stalked around the sofa. Samantha watched him her green eyes darkening and her teeth grazing across her full bottom lip. “If I come in that shower with you, I won’t be stopping at washing your back.”

She batted her lashes several times, feigning innocence. “Are you going to wash my front as well?”

Zachary couldn’t stop the laughter that rumbled from his chest. Sam’s laughter rang out as well and then she turned on her heel and raced toward the bathroom. Zachary wasted no time in chasing after her.

---

“Do you really like the house?” Zachary asked as they lay curled up around each other on the porch swing some time later. The darkening evening around them was peaceful and quiet. The only sound was the occasional moo from the nearby cattle and Creed’s quiet snores as the dog slept below the swing.

Samantha’s bare body shivered, her wet curls causing her to feel a chill in the air. Zachary held her tighter, wrapping the quilt higher around them, nearly burying her beneath it completely. She smiled. He was always so protective.

“I love it, Zach.” And it was the truth. Her heart swelled knowing how hard he must have worked to get every single detail put together just right in an attempt to please her. She knew he had done it all on his own—not allowing anyone to help him put it all together. Despite being busy with the new cattle they’d acquired and finishing up repairs on fences and outbuildings, he had taken the time to make a home for them. Zachary Marston was truly the best man that Samantha knew—and she loved seeing him become more and more the man that Clinton Matthews had nearly destroyed.

Safe and secure she lay there with her husband, never having felt a peace like the one in his arms. She could feel his love, his happiness, and it made her heart feel lighter knowing she had helped give that to him.

Zachary grunted his approval at her assurance and kissed her hair. She rested her head against his bare chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart and teasing the dusting of black hair that covered him with her fingers.

“How much longer until Timothy and Eleanor’s house will be done?” she asked.

“A month at least.” Zachary sighed, fatigue plain to hear in his voice. The man was working himself too hard. Readying their house, helping build Timothy’s, and getting the ranch up and running once again. “The house they chose has two stories and is a bit more difficult to build than ours was.”

Samantha chewed her lip a moment. She knew what she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how she would talk Zachary into it. “Might as well say what you want to say,” he encouraged. “Your ears are starting to smoke.”

Her gaze went upward. “And here I was thinking about how kind and charming you are.”

Laughter rumbled from his chest beneath her ear. “Two words no one will ever use to describe me.” He gave her a squeeze before sliding some damp curls from her face and kissing her brow. “Now what’s on your mind?”

Might as well just get it out there, Samantha decided. “We have plenty of extra rooms here, Zachary.”

“Mmhm,” he grunted in acknowledgment.

“Rooms we’re not using.” His next grunt of acknowledgement was much more suspicious. Samantha sighed. “We should ask Tim and Ell to come live with us until their house is done.”

“We should?”

Zach’s voice was quiet and Samantha avoided his gaze by staring out over their land. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they are family, this ranch is theirs too, and they’re living in a hotel. Timothy is having to make the trip out here every day to work on the house and leave Eleanor alone in town where she sits at the hotel alone most of the time.”

“She has Doctor Reynolds to keep her company. And that woman Catherine. Plus the brothel women….”

“Doctor Reynolds is busy between work, training Catherine for the job at the office, and…” She blushed a bit. “Uh…”

“Romancing?” Zachary offered, a smile in his voice.

Samantha cleared her throat. “Yes. Romancing Catherine. Caroline is busy running the saloon and brothel and the other women are busy working there. The….”

Zachary cut her off when he laid his hand over her mouth. “You’re right. We’ll invite them tomorrow. Now, I’m starving let’s cook supper.”

Samantha smiled behind his calloused palm. Zachary Marston was nothing if not consistent. He had heard enough about it, didn’t care what more there was to say, had ended the conversation whether anyone else was done with it or not, and had moved on to the next topic.

“I’ll get dressed and cook something,” Samantha said as she stood up, bringing the quilt with her and keeping it wrapped tight around her bare body—leaving Zachary sitting upon the swing wearing nothing but a lazy smile.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” he stated, acting as if he didn’t notice the way, Samantha’s eyes roamed over his muscular frame, taking in the scars, the lines, every inch of him that she had already memorized a hundred times.

Samantha’s tore her gaze away from him and focused on the wall behind his head. “Of course I can cook. I’m a woman of many talents.”

Moving so fast, Samantha had no time to register he was coming, Zachary came to her and wrapped her tight in his strong arms. She could feel the heat of him through the blanket she was wrapped in and felt herself tremble. “I’m well aware of your talents,” he assured her.

Samantha attempted to remove herself from his arms but she would have had better luck picking up a train. “Let’s get dressed, eat, and then explore those other talents.”

Zachary chuckled as he scooped her up bridal style. Her arms instantly went around his neck and he pressed a hungry kiss to her lips before pulling away and letting out a growl. “Not in that order”

---

Anxiety was eating a hole through Jenson’s stomach when he saw his boss’s house come into view. Shit. Damn. Fuck. He shouldn’t have gotten drunk and run his mouth about what he’d seen— who he’d seen. And Samuel had been far too eager to go rushing to the boss with Jenson’s drunken confession.

What had Samuel been thinking?! There weren’t very many of the original gang left—and it was damn near impossible to find new members thanks to the ghost that had been haunting them all for the past five years. Things had been calm for a while now, why the hell would Samuel want to go and stir up that hornets’ nest once again?

Now Jenson had been summoned to see the boss and he knew it was going to spell disaster. The way he saw it, if that bastard was leaving them alone, they should leave him alone. He hoped that his boss would agree with that logic—but Clinton Matthews had never been a man to let bygones be bygones.

Arriving at the house, Jenson slid off his sorrel mare and hitched her to the post. Wiping his sweat slicked hands on his pants, he headed for the front door. Before he could knock, it was pulled open and the butler, an older man named Edgar greeted him with a stiff smile. “The boss had been waiting for you.”

“I got here as quick as I could.”

“I’m sure that won’t lesson his temper.”

Yeah, Jenson had already suspected as much. He followed Edgar through the house to the sitting room where a tall, thin silhouette in a black suit stood with his back to them looking out the window. “Hello, Jenson.”

“Hey boss.”

“You can go now, Edgar.”

Jenson found himself alone with Clinton Matthews. Clinton turned slowly and Jenson swallowed hard. Clinton was an ugly man. Thin to the point of being gaunt, dark greasy hair that was always a tad too long and unruly, pock scars littering his cheeks, and blue eyes that were so light they were nearly translucent. Even if he wasn’t a cold blooded killer, just the sight of him would give people nightmares. But Clinton Matthews was a cold blooded killer. Hell, so was Jenson. And if they didn’t just let sleeping dogs lie, their sins were going to come back and haunt them.

Without a word, Clinton grabbed a decanter of scotch and filled two small glasses. Keeping one in his hand and holding the other out to Jenson, he waited expectantly. Jenson took the offered glass, careful to still the trembling in his hand.

“Let’s have a seat and chat, shall we?”

Clinton’s voice was polite, his expression welcoming, and his posture at ease but something was simmering below the surface. Jenson had known him long enough to see what was the mask was hiding. Clinton was angry—very angry.

Following his boss to the arm chairs, Jenson sat down in one while Clinton took a seat on the leather sofa. “I had a rather interesting visit from Samuel.”

Jenson took a sip of the scotch in his hand. “I’ve never found visits with him to be something I’d call interesting.”

A small chuckle left Clinton’s lips but his expression never changed from cool indifference. “He says you might have some news for me.”

Jenson sighed, wrapping both hands around his glass. “I was in Anbarina a couple of weeks ago and I might have seen someone we know.”

A tic moved Clinton’s cheek as his eyes narrowed slightly. “Might know?”

Jenson swallowed hard. Might as well get it all out and be done with it. “I saw Zachary Marston. He was in Anbarina with another man and two women—it looked like one of the women might have been a new wife.”

Clinton slowly sat his scotch glass on the table in front of him, sat back on the sofa, and adjusted his suit jacket. His expression was unreadable. Silence reigned for several long moments. “I had hoped he was dead. I had hoped someone had finally bested Zachary Marston and the man was no longer a concern of mine.”

Jenson shook his head. “No man can best Zachary Marston…” He realized what he’d just said and snapped his jaw closed.

The chuckle that left Clinton was a cold one that caused a shiver to run down Jenson’s weak spine. “Is that right?”

It was too late to back out now. “He’s killed dozens of us, boss.”

Clinton shoved himself to his feet and strode to the window, clasping his hands behind him. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “For five years that man has plagued me like a rock in a shoe. He’s taken most of my men from me and made it nearly impossible for me to find new men willing to work—they all fear the great and deadly Zachary Marston.”

Jenson wasn’t sure what he should say so he said nothing. Any response he made would no doubt be the wrong one. Clinton had started the feud with Zachary when he’d ordered the man’s family to be murdered—even those small girls. Jenson shivered. He hadn’t had a part in those girls’ deaths. He might have raped the woman, but he wasn’t someone who hurt children.

Clinton turned back to face him. “And now, according to you, it would seem that he has simply given up his vendetta against us and chosen to return home, settle down, and play house as if he hadn’t murdered so many men I cared about.”

Jenson nearly laughed. Nearly. Clinton Matthews didn’t care about anyone but Clinton Matthews. Jenson was proud to serve the man, would follow him to hell itself and never turn his back on him, but he also knew that Clinton was incapable of caring about anyone.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Jenson offered. Clinton raised a brow and waited for him to continue. “I mean, maybe we should just get on with our lives while Zachary gets on with his. He killed our people, we killed his people, and it could be an endless cycle with more dying if we keep down that road. If he’s willing to get off that path, we should to. There’s plenty of other places we could be focusing our attention.”

Clinton rubbed at his pointed chin a moment before shaking his head. “I never took you for a coward, Jenson.”

Shit.

Jenson stood up and held his hands up in surrender. “I’m no coward, Clinton. I just don’t want to see anyone else die when there’s nothing in it for us. You tried to get your hands on the Marston’s money and it didn’t work then. It won’t work now. We just need to let that ship sail.”

Clinton smiled, his thin lips pulling back over rotting teeth. “Spoken like someone with no spine and no real idea how power works, Jenson. Zachary Marston has made a fool of me for years. He’s killed my men. Chased me all over the country. People whisper and laugh about my cowardice because I’ve run from him instead of facing him head on. My men have failed me. Each and every one he has killed has failed me. And now you, who I trusted more than all the rest, are showing your true colors.”

Sweat trickled down Jenson’s spine. He licked his quivering lip. “Now boss…”

Clinton’s voice never raised a bit from his rage was clear to see in those ice blue eyes. “Zachary Marston has to pay for what he’s done. I stole one family from him—I can steal another. If I want to hold on to the power and influence I have, I can’t allow anyone to stand against me and live to talk about it, do you understand?”

Jenson nodded so hard he feared his neck might snap. “Yes, of course.”

Clinton’s eyes bored deep into his. “Good.” In a fluid motion so fast, Jenson missed it until it was too late, Clinton pulled his revolver. The last thing Jenson saw was the sneer on Clinton’s face as he pulled the trigger. 

A/N: Trouble may be on the horizon for our lovebirds! And who else can picture Zachary attempting to hang curtains and arrange pillows? Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Five

Timothy pulled his wife close and kissed her golden hair as she slept peacefully in his arms. His wife. Eleanor was his wife. They’d been married nearly two weeks and yet it still didn’t feel real at times. Timothy had spent much of his life feeling as if he didn’t completely belong—as if he didn’t truly have his own place or anyone who would love and pick him over everyone else. He had found that in Eleanor.

“Good morning.” Her sleepy voice greeted in the silence.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Timothy replied, running his finger down her smooth arm.

Eleanor yawned and stretched out beside him, drawing Timothy’s attention to the curves and outline of her body beneath the sheet they were wrapped in. “What time is it?” she asked.

With a sigh, Timothy grabbed his watch from the bedside table and clicked it open. “Time for me to get up and get ready to head to the ranch and work on the house.”

He saw the disappoint cross her delicate face. It caused his heart to ache a bit. He knew that she was tired of sitting in town alone every day while he worked. Most of the people in town still wouldn’t have anything much to do with her. Doc Reynolds and his new lady love Catherine would be happy to spend time with her, but she insisted she did not want to intrude on their budding relationship. Caroline and the ladies at the brothel would also keep her company but they kept different hours than Eleanor did lately and Eleanor didn’t seem eager to spend time at the saloon and brothel—She didn’t like remembering the things she’d done there, or the things that had been done to her.

“Do you have time to come to breakfast with me before you leave?” she asked.

Tim smiled. “Of course.” He put his finger under her chin and lifted her head so he could press a tender kiss to her soft lips. “I always have time for you, Ell. You know that.” His lips turned down into a frown. “Do you want me to stay in town today? I could catch the workers before they leave and have them let Zach know I won’t be there.”

Her big blue eyes lit up a moment but then she shook her head. “No. No, you’re needed out there, Tim.”

Timothy kissed her long and slow. “But if I’m needed here then here’s where I’ll be,” he countered.

Her long blond lashes rested on her cheeks as Eleanor’s eyes remained closed and a tiny smile curled her lips. “I know you’d stay, Tim, and I’m tempted to tell you to, but I know that we need our home complete. I don’t want to live in this hotel forever.”

Tim sighed. “I know you’re lonely here while I’m gone. Do you want to come with me? Sam should be home, she doesn’t work at the post office today.”

“I don’t know.. I don’t want to bother her.”

“She’d probably punch you if she heard you say that. And Mrs. Judith Loud-mouth Channing could tell you, you don’t want that to happen. Sam packs a mean punch.” He smiled when she laughed. “Come with me, Ell.”

Those blue eyes that had a way of making him feel ten feet tall and all types of heroic gazed up at him. “Okay. But breakfast first.”

Timothy’s stomach rumbled in response. “Of course. I don’t work on an empty stomach.”

Leaving the bed, Tim took Eleanor’s hand and helped her up as well. She swooned a bit and he knew she’d been hit by another dizzy spell. Worry gnawed at him. Her pregnancy had not been easy for her. She’d been doing much better with proper food and rest but she still suffered from frequent dizzy spells and headaches. Doc Reynolds had insisted that she rest as much as possible and permanent bed rest might be called for the further she got into her pregnancy.

“You don’t feel good. How about I just tuck you back in and I’ll go get breakfast and stay with you today?”

Eleanor laid her palm against his cheek and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I just got dizzy because I got up too quick.”

Tim studied her closely, her face had gone pale with her dizziness but the color seemed to be coming back. “You’re sure? Does your head hurt?”

“No.” She kissed him quickly and pressed herself tight against him, reminding Timothy that neither one of them had bothered with putting clothes back on last night. “Now, take me to breakfast. I’m starving.”

He lowered a hand to the swell of her hip before letting his fingertips rest against the slight swell of her low belly—the place where their child was growing. “Reckon we should get dressed first or go as we are?”

Her light laughter made his heart swell—she was laughing more and more lately. Timothy loved seeing his wife so happy. “Clothes would probably be a good idea,” she mused. “I’m sure the diner has a policy or two about it.”

Timothy nodded and helped her dress before yanking on his own clothes and boots. Fastening his gun belt, he watched Eleanor place her long blond hair in a braid with practiced ease. He had a feeling his own fingers would knot themselves together if he ever tried to braid something.

Leading Eleanor down the road, Timothy glanced around main street. It was still fairly early but Hackney had already begun coming alive. Children laughed as they made their way to the schoolhouse. The din of voices and tools could be heard coming from the sawmill. Men and women milled the streets, going about their mornings and enjoying the peaceful breeze that was blowing.

Just as they were approaching the diner, Samantha’s voice stopped them. “Good morning, you two!”

Tim and Ell turned to see Samantha and Zachary approaching on the boardwalk. “Hey guys. Is everything okay? We were just gonna eat some breakfast and come out to the ranch.”

Samantha’s bright smile is infectious as she replied. “Great! We’ll eat with you. There’s something Zachary and I wanted to talk to you about.”

Tim nodded, taking a minute to study Zach’s unreadable face. The man was a steel trap when it came to his emotions, and it was almost always impossible to tell what he was thinking. What could they be wanting to talk to them about? It couldn’t be bad news. Samantha was smiling and she wasn’t a good liar—that meant the news had to be good. Right?

The foursome entered the diner and Tim was instantly aware of the eyes on them. He squared his shoulders, kissed Ell’s cheek and walked proudly beside her. He chuckled quietly to himself as he realized he, Ell, Zach, and Sam were probably the most gossiped about people in town.

Zachary growled at the onlookers, clearly daring them to speak. Timothy’s chuckle turned into laughter. The infamous foursome had their own personal guard dog. Samantha rose on her toes and kissed Zachary’s jaw. Timothy watched his best friend melt under Sam’s touch as the tension left his broad shoulders. “Come on, Zach. Let’s enjoy our breakfast.”

The four of them settled down at a back table—Zachary of course sat in the corner with a clear view of each door and window. After they had ordered their meal, Samantha turned to Eleanor with a warm smile. “Zach and I talked last night and we’d like to make you both an offer.”

Ell glanced up at Tim and he shrugged. “What kind of offer?” he asked.

Samantha turned her gaze to Zachary who simply raised a brow and stared back at her. She cleared her throat and nudged him in a very non discreet matter with her elbow. Tim did his best to hide his smile behind his hand, aware of Eleanor looking away as she too attempted to hide amusement.

Zachary cleared his throat and put a gentle arm around Samantha’s shoulders. “After breakfast y’all can go gather up your things and we’ll head out to the ranch together. You’ll stay with us until your house is done being built.”

Timothy blinked several times. Eleanor opened her mouth twice but shut it each time as no words came out. Samantha gently slapped her own brow before turning to Zachary. “You were supposed to ask, Zach. Ask them if they’d like to move in with us until their house is done.”

Zachary shrugged. “I don’t waste time with beating around a bush.”

Before anyone could respond, the waitress brought out their breakfast. Timothy took a bite of bacon and met Zach’s gaze. “You want us to move in your house at the ranch?”

Zach shrugged. “Why not? You work out there every day. Eleanor can’t enjoy being holed up at the hotel. Most folks in this town are judgmental assholes you can’t get along with.” His gaze went around the diner at all the other patrons who were giving their table a wide berth and glancing their way now and then. “You’d be foolish to stay here and put up with that nonsense when you can come out to the ranch and stay.”

Leave it to Zachary Marston to be overly blunt and to the point. Samantha pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “What he means is, we’d really like for you both to come stay with us. You’ll be closer to the house while you work on it and Eleanor and I can keep each other company while we work around the ranch. The company will no doubt be better than the company here.”

Zachary paused having just shoved a large bite of eggs in his mouth. He frowned. “That’s what I just said,” he muttered around his mouthful.

Samantha simply kissed his cheek and Tim saw his brown eyes light up as he seemed appeased and went back to his meal. Timothy thought about what they both had said.

He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t like living back on the ranch sooner rather than later. He wouldn’t have to travel so far to work on the house everyday which would mean more time he could spend with Ell. Plus, he wouldn’t have to worry about her, the baby, and the health of them both while he was away from them every day. He wouldn’t have to worry that someone would treat her harshly while he wasn’t around to defend her.

Turning his attention to Eleanor he attempted to gauge what she was thinking but she was frowning and picking at her oatmeal. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“I don’t want to be a burden….”

“Bullshit,” Zachary’s deep voice snapped, causing their attention to go back to him immediately. Timothy was surprised by the anger he saw. “A burden? Don’t be so damn ignorant, you’re not a burden. You’re married to my brother which makes you family. Now stop wasting time, eat your breakfast, and get packed. There’s work to do.”

Timothy shrugged as he turned back to Eleanor. “So, what do you want to do? If you want me to kick his ass for calling you ignorant, I’ll try my best, but I think we should take the offer. I’d feel better having you closer to me and it would be nice to not live in the hotel anymore—I’ve called that place home a long time.”

She bit her full lip and he could see the want in her eyes. “I say we go then. I’d much rather spend my days with Sam than holed up at that hotel. And with the possibility of bed rest, I’d rather be there.”

Tim laid his hand on her stomach and nodded. “Everything will be just fine.”

He turned back to Samantha and Zachary. Zachary seemed to be pointedly avoiding glancing their way as he simply ate his food but Sam was watching them with a happy smile. “So, you’ll come?”

Tim chuckled and took another bite of his bacon as he leaned back in his seat. “We’ll come.”

---

“Zachary!” Zachary grumbled at hearing his name called out. He just wanted stand here, wait for Tim and Eleanor to finish packing, and then go home. Turning toward the sound of that voice, Zach saw Gavin Jones approaching quickly—running as a matter of fact.

Immediately, his gaze went to Sam who was standing on the boardwalk a short distance away talking with Caroline. He put a hand on his gun and addressed Gavin. “Is something wrong?”

Gavin slid to a stop, panting a bit as he shoved his glasses up on his nose. “No. Nothing’s wrong.” A nervous glance went to Zach’s hand on his gun. Zachary forced his hand away.

“Probably shouldn’t come running down the street yelling out my name like that, Gavin. Makes me nervous.”

You nervous?“ Gavin swallowed hard. “Right. Anyway, I thought you might want to know that someone arrived on the train this morning.”

“Lots of folks arrive on trains.” Zachary crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s what trains are for.”

“Yes, but this man….”

“Good morning, Gavin,” Samantha’s voice rang out as she approached Zach’s side. Instantly, he slid an arm around her shoulders pulling her close.

“Good morning, Samantha.” Gavin adjusted his vest and fixed his glasses once again. “I was telling Zachary about a man I met that arrived on the train today.”

Samantha met Zach’s gaze. “What man?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.”

Zachary turned his attention back to Gavin. The man finally seemed to have caught his breath but the look on his face showed his concern. Concern about the new arrival in town. Zachary felt tension course through his muscles as they tightened. He became hyperaware of his surroundings and his grip on Samantha tightened, pulling her closer into the safety his body would provide her.

“Talk Gavin.” Zachary growled.

Gavin nodded quickly. “Of course. He says his name is Arthur Thomas and he’s come to serve as the new lawman in town.”

Zachary ran that name through his mind but it rang no bells. He’d never heard it before. “How would he know about the lack of law here?” Zachary asked. Tim and Eleanor had just approached with packed suitcases but thankfully they and Sam were simply listening. They clearly recognized his tension.

“Because we put word out in the papers and to the law in other towns.”

“And what does any of that have to do with me? If he’s decent at his job, he’ll be the best lawman this town has had in over a decade. If he turns out to be another Leonard, I’ll send him away on the same damn train he showed up on.”

Gavin tugged at his vest once again and cleared his throat as he tried to maintain Zach’s gaze despite his obvious nerves. Zachary didn’t like this. What the hell was going on? “When he got to town, he stopped in the post office and introduced himself. He also asked about you.”

Zachary froze. “Me?”

“Yes. He was asking if you’d settled down and moved back to the ranch. I didn’t tell him anything. I told him if he wanted to know anything about you, he’d have to ask you.”

Zachary had heard enough. There was someone new in town. Someone Zachary had never heard of. Someone who had obviously been threatening enough to scare Gavin. And whoever that someone was had been asking questions about him. Clearly the bastard wanted to die.

“Where is he?”

“Uh…the jailhouse. He said he wanted to get right to work and settle in.”

“Don’t the townsfolk have to vote or something?” Samantha demanded with a frown.

Zachary shook his head before Gavin could answer. “Leonard Oxley was Marshall for over a decade. Clearly this town doesn’t care enough to get involved with who the law is in their town.”

With that, Zachary strode away. He had nothing else to say and heard quite enough to know his next course of action. Townspeople saw him and quickly skirted out of the way as he strode down the road toward the jailhouse. He could faintly hear Samantha, Tim, and Eleanor insisting that he needed to calm down and that there had to be a plausible explanation—but Zachary ignored them.

He had seen the fear on Sam’s face when Gavin had mentioned a stranger. It would be a cold day in hell before someone rode into town and harmed that damn woman—she was an angel. She was light and hope and everything that Zachary had lost for so long. If Clinton Matthews or his men thought they could slip into town and take her away, Zachary would let them know they’d been wrong—dead wrong.

When he reached the jailhouse, he insisted everyone else remain outside just before he threw the door open, banging it off the wall and nearly breaking the hinges. Hackney’s newest lawman leapt to his feet behind the desk and nearly fell backward over his chair. Zachary took in the sight of Arthur Thomas. He appeared to be in his forties with a lean build, thick dark hair that matched the handlebar mustache on his face. Gray eyes, wide with fear, stared back at Zachary while his thin lips trembled. Zachary never forgot a face, so he knew he had never seen this man in his life.

“Wh…Who are you?” Arthur demanded, standing up straight and attempting to straighten up his chair and act as if he hadn’t nearly pissed his damn pants mere seconds before.

Zachary’s gaze narrowed. “You should know. You’re the one that’s been asking about me.”

Those gray eyes widened and every ounce of color drained from Arthur’s face, though he attempted to hide that with a shaky smile as he adjusted his gun belt. “You must be Zachary Marston?”

A grunt was Zachary’s only reply.

Arthur stepped around the desk, keeping his hands on his gun belt in a stance that was no doubt supposed to seem casual. Zachary was no fool. Arthur was scared. Of him. Why? “I was hoping I’d get a chance to speak with you,” Arthur acknowledged, settling himself casually against the desk. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I don’t know you.” Zachary stated. “And I don’t take kindly to anyone asking other folks about me.”

Aruthur swallowed hard, grabbed a flask from the desk and took a quick swallow. He held it out to Zachary but he ignored the offered drink and Aruthur slowly sat it back down. “I wasn’t trying to pry,” he insisted. “I’ve been in law enforcement for a while and heard about you and the way you were single-handedly taking out Clinton Matthews gang. When a chance to work in Hackney came around, I was hoping you’d be back here, and I could meet you.”

Zachary took a moment to let that settle in. He was sure he was known by quite a few law men. But to have one follow him to Hackney and claim to be excited to meet him while clearly scared shitless? That was more than a little suspicious.

“I’ve put that life behind me,” Zachary replied, his voice calm and even. He gripped the handle of his gun and didn’t miss the way sweat slicked Arthurs’ brow as he followed the movement. “But I won’t hesitate to protect what’s mine if Clinton Matthews or any of his men attempt to ride in and take it.”

“Of course.” Arthur crosses his arms over his chest as he remains perched on the desk. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Marston. I’m not a threat to you.”

“I know you’re not.”

The new lawman blinked several times and nodded, clearly understanding the double meaning of Zachary’s reply. “Good. And I want you to know I’ll be a good lawman here. If I hear of Clinton Matthews or any of his men sniffing around, I’ll deal with them.”

Zachary simply grunted. The conversation was over. He didn’t trust this man at all, but he couldn’t simply kill him—not while the man was currently posing no threat and wearing a badge on his chest.

He turned and strode from the jail, taking Samantha’s hand and leading her back toward the livery where Athena and Blaze were hitched. “What was that about?” Timothy demanded, he and Eleanor following along behind.

Zachary stopped by the horses and shook his head as he thought back over the encounter with the supposed law man. “I don’t know. He says he’s a lawman and he’s heard of me because of my run ins with Clinton and his gang.” Zachary felt Sam shiver at the mention of that name and his temper simply grew hotter. “Said coming to Hackney was what he wanted to do because he’d hoped to meet me or some shit like that.”

“You don’t believe him?” Samantha asked, her voice quiet and shaking as she curled herself against his chest.

“No.” Zachary wrapped protective arms around her. “He’s hiding something. He was scared of me.”

“Anyone with half a brain is scared of you,” Timothy replied, rocking back on his heels and obviously attempting to lighten the mood.

Samantha’s hand gripped Zachary’s shirt. “What if… what if they’ve found me, Zach….”

Zachary looked into those deep green eyes. Those eyes that he planned on spending the next sixty years looking into. “You’re mine, Sam. Nothing and no one will hurt you or take you away from me. I’m not losing anyone else.”

A/N: Is the new lawman friend or foe? Only time will tell!  It’s snowing hard outside my house, we already have about 6 inches (which is alot of our area) with more steadily falling so we may lose power (though i hope not!) Stay safe and stay warm to anyone else currently experiencing the snow!

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Six

The air in the saloon was thick with the scent of smoke and whiskey as Clinton made his way up to the bar. Bodies were packed in the place and the din of conversation was all around. The bartender saw his approach and immediately selected a bottle of whiskey, filled a glass and slid it to him.

Clinton was a regular here—or had been for the last couple of days. He had been laying low in this tiny Oklahoma town waiting on word from the man he’d sent to Hackney to gain information on Zachary Marston. That bastard. Thinking he could take everything from Clinton—his reputation, countless good men, his pride… and then simply ride back home and go on with his life as if he’d done nothing? He was wrong. Dead wrong. Clinton was going to finish things once and for all and Zachary Marston would be groveling at his feet begging for death before he was done.

Clinton settled onto a crooked bar stool that wobbled beneath him. This saloon was barely more than a hole in the wall and it suited this town just fine. It was the kind of town Clinton enjoyed staying in now and then. While it was true, this town provided none of the luxuries he typically enjoyed, it was also true that there was no law in this town. No rules. It was a town full of drifters, rovers, outlaws, and all around bad folk. The perfect town to recruit new men when he made his move on Zachary.

Sipping at his whiskey and lost in thought, Clinton was startled when the bartender slammed a hand on the bar top. “Marshall Oxley? What the hell are you doing here?”

Attempting to act uninterested and yet wanting to see the newcomer, Clinton glanced to the side. Marshall Oxley had the complexion of a long time alcoholic. An eyepatch sat on his ruddy face and his vest was tight on his pot belly.

“Thomas?” he demanded with clear surprise. “I didn’t figure I’d see you again.”

“Well, this is my saloon now,” the bartender, apparently named Thomas, stated holding out his arms and glancing around the dilapidated saloon.

The apparent lawman, Marshall Oxley, chuckled as he sat on the stool next to Clinton. Clinton wasn’t worried about the lawman—he was a fairly quick judge of character and this man was a coward. No one for Clinton to be concerned about.

“This is a pretty big fall from the place you had before,” Marshall Oxley noted.

Thomas snorted, filling a mug with beer and sliding it down the bar to a waiting patron. “I won’t get rich here for sure but it sure beats dealing with that bastard back there.”

“Fucking Zachary Marston,” Marshall Oxley practically snared as he took an offered shot of whiskey from Thomas and downed it quickly. “I hate that bastard.”

Clinton’s attention firmly piqued, he remained focused on the conversation between the two men. Thomas chuckled. “Yeah, he’s an arrogant son of a bitch for sure. I take it he’s the reason you’re here instead of back in Hackney?”

Marshall Oxley adjusted his eyepatch. “Yeah, him and that friend of his Tim and their little whores.”

“That bitch Samantha ruined my life,” Thomas growled, his grip on the glass in his hand tightening until his knuckles grew white.

Samantha? Clinton frowned. No. It couldn’t be his Samantha. His men hadn’t been able to find her in nearly a year. She had either finally run east or was dead—he certainly hoped she wasn’t dead.

Clinton took the final sip of his whiskey before waving his glass for Thomas to refill. “I didn’t mean to listen in but couldn’t help but overhear the man’s name you both seem to dislike. Zachary Marston?”

Thomas and Marshall Oxley shared a look before Thomas nodded and refilled Clinton’s glass. “Yeah. You know him?”

Clinton chuckled, hatred for Zachary Marston burning his gut more than the cheap whiskey. “Yes, I know him.”

“Yeah, you sure look like you do.” Thomas put his elbows on the bar and leaned in a bit closer. “And I’m guessing you don’t like that arrogant son of a bitch any more than we do.”

“You would guess correctly,” Clinton admitted. He studied the two men. Marshall Oxley was clearly a coward but Thomas seemed a bit more formidable. Perhaps he’d make a good ally in taking own Zachary Marston—recruiting men had become harder after five years of Zachary slaughtering them left and right.

“Well tell us,” Marshall Oxley encouraged, laying a hand over his gut. “What did you do to incur that bastard’s wrath?”

Clinton took a long sip of whiskey to give him time to prepare an answer. He couldn’t be completely honest. He wasn’t sure either of these men would be on his side if he admitted to having Zachary’s family killed—some men grew uptight at the thought of murdering children.

“We met about five years ago. I was doing some gambling and met Zachary at one of the tables. He gambled himself out of money and took loan off me. When I came to collect, Zachary murdered some of my men and ran. I tried for years to get my money back but he is a lucky bastard and slipped away each time—normally after killing several more of my men.”

Thomas snorted and rubbed at his mustache. “That arrogant son of a bitch probably felt like he shouldn’t have to pay his debt. Sounds like something he’d do.”

Clinton shrugged and ran his hand through his thin black hair. “I’d love to find that bastard, get my money back, and pay him back for all he’s put me through.”

Marshall Oxley tapped his glass to let Thoams know he needed a refill. “He’s living in Hackney just a few hours away.” Then his eye narrowed. “What’s your name?”

Clinton could lie. It would be easy to give a false name. But if he wanted these me to go gunning for Zachary with him, he had to be careful to maintain a certain level of trust between them. Would Marshall Oxley recognize his name? It didn’t matter if he did. Clinton had no fear of that coward.

“Clinton Matthews.”

Color drained from Marshall Oxley’s face. He scooted back on his stool so quickly he nearly fell off onto the saloon floor. “You’re Clinton Matthews?”

Clinton simply nodded and took a sip of whiskey. Marshall Oxley spared a quick glance at Thomas who was simply watching with mild curiosity. “I know what you did to the Marston family—I saw with my own eyes what you did. There’s a reason he’s chased you and it wasn’t because of gambling debts.”

Clinton fixed Marshal Oxley with a firm gaze and turned on his stool to face him. He rested his hand on the handle of his revolver. “Do you have a problem with that, lawman?”

Marshall Oxley swallowed hard before shaking his head and sitting up a little straighter. “No… No, I don’t. And I aint’ a lawman anymore. There’s no badge on my chest.”

Thomas tapped the bar. “So, you’re the one that murdered Zachary’s family?”

“My men and I.” Clinton moved his hand away from his gun and laid it on the bar. “His father cheated me out of money so I showed him what happens to men who cheat me. Zachary wasn’t home at the time or I would have killed him too.”

Thomas chuckled. “Maybe not. After all, that was over five years ago and from the sound of the rumors I heard, Zachary killed a lot of folks while chasing after you.”

Clinton bristled. More of that disrespect because of Zachary Marston’s actions. Exuding a calmness he didn’t feel, Clinton smiled, causing Thomas to take a small step back. “Zachary Marston is a coward who likes to shoot men in the back or kill them while they’re sleeping. It’s hard to fight with a man who won’t face you.” He clicked his tongue. “Besides, it seems like Zachary sent you running with your tail between your legs as well.”

Temper flared on Thomas’ face but the man was smart enough to let the insult slide. “Zachary Marston stole my livelihood in that town away from me. All because of that stupid whore.”

Clinton sat up a little straighter. “Samantha? I heard you say that name a while ago.”

“Yeah Samantha. Because of her I lost my saloon and the Marshall here lost his badge.”

Clinton felt that gnawing ache in his gut. That instinct that told him he needed to know more about the woman. Samantha. Could it be his Samantha? “She must be quite a woman to have caused so much trouble.”

Thomas snorted. “Oh she’s pretty all right. Thick red curls, pale skin, freckles, green eyes, womanly figure…” He paused, tightening his grip on the bottle of whiskey he’d been holding to fill a glass for a patron down the bar. “Backstabbing, whore wants a free damn ride from everyone and acts like the world owes her something. Snobby bitch thinks she’s too good for anyone and anything.”

Anger festered in Clinton’s gut. The physical description fit his Samantha. His gut told him that he’d finally found the woman he’d been searching for for years. And he’d see that Thomas paid for speaking about her that way.

Before Clinton could speak, Marshall Oxley chimed in. “I never felt more satisfaction in my life than I did when that bitch fell and hit her head trying to steal your horse. Remember that, Thomas?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Thomas’ deep laughter filled the air. “You almost killed her, Leonard. I hated her. Put some bruises on her myself and would have liked to have done more but she went running to Zachary and that was that.”

“You harmed her?” Clinton’s voice was ice.

Both Thomas and Marshall Oxley shared a look of confusion. “Don’t tell me a man who murdered two small children is opposed to woman beating?” Thomas demanded.

Clinton stood slowly. “I am when that woman is mine. No one is allowed to harm Samantha. She belongs to me.”

Without giving either man a chance to speak, Clinton pulled his gun, fired two shots and watched them both fall dead to the floor. The saloon fell silent. He spun his gun around his finger twice before holstering the weapon.

Clinton helped himself to the remainder of Marshall Oxley’s whiskey before turning and leaving the saloon without sparing a glance at any of the ogling crowd inside. He wasn’t worried about trouble. This town had no law. No one to care when two fellow drifters were shot dead.

Those bastards deserved it. They had harmed Samantha. Clinton would not let anyone harm her and live to talk about it. He had hoped he’d found two allies in his fight against Zachary Marston but there were certain boundaries that Clinton would not allow to be crossed—Samantha was one of those boundaries.

His rage was so all-consuming that Clinton didn’t hear Leroy or Tex following him out of the saloon and down the muddy street until Tex spoke. “What the hell was that about, boss?”

Clinton’s fists clenched. He adjusted his duster coat and cracked his neck. “Our plans have changed. It’s going to be a bit longer before we can go after Zachary.”

He pretended not to see the relief on both men’s faces before Leroy asked. “Why’s that?”

“It would seem that Zachary is married. Jenson said he thought he was with his new wife in Anbarina. She changes everything.”

“We knew he had a wife because that’s what the last letter said but it didn’t mention a name. Who’s this wife and why does she change things? We’ll just kill her the way we did his family,” Tex insisted.

“No!” Clinton’s voice carried through the night air causing both men walking with him to startle. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “If anyone harms her, they’ll pay in blood.”

Tex and Leroy shared a knowing look and Leroy sighed. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Clinton pictured Samantha in his head. Her full, feminine curves that he’d been dreaming off for nearly three years. Those big green eyes. That pale skin. He had to have her. No other woman in the world would do. And she belonged to him. He had won her fair and square. “Yes,” his voice was tight. “It’s her.”

They stopped outside the rundown hotel as Clinton pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Tex laughed, though the sound didn’t contain much humor. “The universe sure has it out for you, boss. Putting Samantha with that fucking bastard.”

That coiling hate in his gut, flowed through his veins, coursing throughout his body. Zachary Marston had touched Samantha. She was his, dammit! And Zachary had had the nerve to attempt to steal her.

“So, what’s the new plan, boss?” Tex questioned.

Clinton took a long draw on his cigarette and looked toward the glowing oil lamp hanging in front of the hotel. “We know where they both are, we know they’ve settled down on their little homestead and aren’t going anywhere. So, we wait. The man I’ve placed in Hackney will send us word and let us know when the time is right. We get Samantha first—I don’t want her in harms way when we finally gun down Zachary Marston.”

“I don’t mean to sound doubtful, boss, cuz Lord knows I hate that bastard but, are you sure we can take him?” Tex questioned.

Clinton fought the urge to blow that doubtful look off Tex’s face. He had few original, loyal men left and he couldn’t afford to murder the ones that remained—even if they deserved it for their doubt.

Tex must have recognized the glint in Clint’s eyes because he raised his hands in surrender, took a quick step back, and lowered his gaze submissively. Clinton took a steadying breath. “We will have something he wants. He’ll come for my Samantha and when he does, we will end his life once and for all.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Seven

Cool night air blew across their bare skin as Samantha lay wrapped in Zachary’s arms beside the river. The chill caused her to tremble and bumps to cover her skin. Zachary quickly grabbed the blanket laying discarded and forgotten beside them and wrapped it tightly around them.

“Better?” he questioned, his deep voice muffled in her hair as she lay upon his chest.

“It’s going to be getting too cold at night for this soon,” she stated, hating the truth.

Zachary used his free arm to toss a piece of wood on the roaring fire. “Until then, I’ll keep you warm.”

Samantha smiled and gazed up at the sky. The stars were bright dots in the black sky and the moon was full and shining. “The sky is beautiful tonight.”

“I never feel more peaceful than when I’m laying with you in my arms this way. The night sky above us and the breeze blowing on our skin. You’re my world, Sam.”

Samantha raised her head and lost herself in those dark brown eyes, illuminated by the dancing flames beside them. How had she gotten so lucky? “And you’re mine.”

His hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her down, pressing their lips together and drinking her in. Slowly, he pulled away and she once again rested her head against his chest. She felt so relaxed and at peace that she nearly fell asleep until Zachary’s deep gentle voice began naming constellations and telling stories about the stars.

At one point he paused and Samantha raised her head. “How do you know so much about the sky?” she asked, smoothing a lock of black hair from his brow.

His eyes never left the stars above them, and she could see a bit of pain etched in his face as his brow furrowed. “My mother. She loved the stars. My father bought her a telescope and she would sit outside for hours on clear nights with her books and study the sky.”

“And she taught you?”

The ghost of a smile softened his face. “Yeah. Learning the constellations and planets from her is one of the best memories I have of my mother.”

Sam kissed his stubbled jaw. “Then I’m glad you have that memory. Where is her telescope now?”

A sigh heaved from his chest. “Gone. It was stolen when..” His voice tightened. “Well, it was stolen.”

Samantha laid her head back on his chest and caressed his stomach with her fingertips. Damn Clinton Matthews and his men for taking so much from Zachary. Not only did they take his family, they also had to take his favorite memory and taint it.

After a few more moments of silence, Zachary went back to talking about the sky. Samantha simply listened. She felt more than blessed to have Zachary opening up and sharing with her. She knew it was hard on him to speak about his family and the memories he had of them.

“Tim and I have to make a trip to Anbarina in a couple of days.”

Zachary’s sudden change of topic had Samantha frowning. “You do?”

“We have to pick up a load of things for their house since construction is complete and we need to sign some contracts with the army for cattle and wheat for the next couple of years.”

Samantha nodded. Timothy and Eleanor had been living with them for about a month and a half as their house had been built. Samantha had loved having the company of another woman during the days—though Eleanor’s pregnancy was taking a toll on her and she was on fairly strict bedrest. Samantha spent her days making sure Eleanor was taken care of—at least until Timothy came home from working on the house and took over. He truly was a devoted and loving husband. Eleanor could not have done any better.

“How long will you be gone?”

His grip on her tightened. “I don’t want to leave you at all.”

Samantha swallowed back her own worry. She hated that she felt the fear she felt. She was not a weak woman but could somehow never completely shake the fear that Clinton Matthews would someday find her—would come for her. She knew that Zachary worried as well and so she didn’t voice her fears often—she didn’t want to worsen his anxiety.

“Eleanor and I will be just fine,” she assured him. “How long do you and Tim have to be gone?”

“Shouldn’t be any longer than two days. I could send him and stay here. Technically he’s half owner of the ranch…”

“Yes, but the people you’re doing business with will recognize your last name. You need to be there and so does Tim.”

“I don’t like the thought of leaving you here alone…”

Of course he didn’t. The last time Zachary had left his family for a few days he’d returned home to find them murdered. But they couldn’t live in fear. They couldn’t spend their entire lives terrified of the demons of their past.

“Everything will be fine,” she assured him, finding his hand and running her fingers along his. “Eleanor and I will stay here at the ranch, I’ll keep my gun handy, and Creed won’t let anyone sneak up on us. You and Tim need to go to Anbarina together and take care of the business and get what they need for their home.”

“What if…”

Samantha silenced him with a quick kiss. “What if? We can’t live our lives full of what ifs. Didn’t we agree that we weren’t going to let the past control our lives? It’s been close to a year since I’ve seen or heard anything from his men,” Samantha refrained from saying the name because of the anger that shone from Zachary’s eyes each time he heard it. “Life goes on, Zachary.”

Zachary was silent for a moment, his eyes simply locked on the stars above them. “You promise you’ll keep your gun with you? Even when you sleep.”

She nodded. “Promise.”

“I’m still not sure about that marshall….”

“It’s been a month and a half, Zach. He’s been nothing but polite and seems to be a better lawman than Hackney has had in a long time. I’m sure Tim was right and he acted a bit odd that day because he’d heard your reputation and you made him nervous.” Zachary frowned and she smiled. “You can be rather intimidating.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he trailed his fingers down her back and gripped her backside, pulling her body tight against him. “Do I intimidate you?”

“Not a bit,” came her breathless reply.

Samantha found herself flipped to her back as Zachary braced his broad, hard body over her. His hungry brown eyes traced her face, her neck before landing on her breasts. Samantha’s back arched from the ground as Zachary’s mouth closed around her nipple, his teeth grazing the tender flesh.

A whimper left her throat when Zachary ended his assault and pressed his lips to her ear. “You intimidate me, Samantha.”

---

Zachary was not happy about leaving. Betty was hitched to the wagon and Blaze was saddled and ready to leave. But Zachary kept dragging his feet and putting off the inevitable. He knew that Samantha was right. He knew that they couldn’t live their entire lives in fear of Clinton Matthews. That, however, didn’t change the worry that was eating its way through his stomach. Those damn what ifs kept running through his mind and giving him no rest.

What if he left and someone rode in and took his life away from him once again. What if he came home and found Samantha lying in a pool of her own blood? What if Zachary wasn’t around to keep her safe? What if….

“Everything will be just fine, Zach,” Tim assured him as he walked over and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ve checked the wagon wheels and our supplies, ten times. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back home to our ladies.”

“This is… I don’t like this,” Zachary growled.

Timothy sighed and patted his back. “I get it, Zach. I’m not real fond of leaving them either. Do you want me to stay here?”

Zachary shook his head, even though a voice inside his head truly wanted to say yes. “No. Samantha is right. We both need to be there. We need to start putting your face with the business too so we can take turns from now on when it comes to contracts and deals.”

“Alright then.” Timothy stepped away and adjusted his gun belt. “Let’s get going then. I already said my goodbyes to Ell and nearly made a fool of myself by blubbering like an idiot so I’m ready to go. If we leave now, we can do our meetings tomorrow, gather up the supplies, and be home by lunch the next day.”

Without a word, Zachary stepped back into the house. Eleanor was resting on the sofa and Samantha rose from the chair. “Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Yeah. We’ll be back day after tomorrow.” His eyes dropped to the gun on her hip. “Keep that with you.”

A smile curved her lips and her green eyes were full of reassurance. “I will. I promise. And Eleanor will keep the extra rifle near her.”

“And make sure you keep Creed close,” he added, glancing at the pup who was standing in the corner watching him and wagging his tail.

“He never leaves my side,” she assured him.

Zachary nodded before pulling her into his arms and placing a tender kiss to her lips. “Be careful.”

Samantha laid her head on his chest and squeezed his hand. “Stop worrying so much, Zachary. Everything will be just fine.”

Zachary simply nodded, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and turned and headed for the door. Without a word to anyone he hopped on Blaze and headed away from the ranch, leaving Timothy to catch up. Riding away from the ranch, away from Samantha, was the hardest thing Zachary had ever done in his life. His nagging mind kept telling him that something horrible was going to happen while he was away—but he couldn’t trust that feeling. He couldn’t trust the fear that came from past experience.

He had to trust that Samantha and Timothy were right. Had to trust that everything would be just fine and he would ride home the day after tomorrow to find his wife healthy, happy, and waiting on him.

But his gut simply wouldn’t stop telling him something bad was coming—and Zachary wouldn’t be there to stop it.

---

“They just rode out,” LeRoy announced riding back into camp. “The women are alone.”

Clinton rose from the stump he’d been sitting on. “Good. I was worried he wouldn’t leave her. I’m glad he’s still just as foolish as he’s always been.”

Tex stopped whittling on the stick in his hands. “Are we leaving now?”

As much as Clinton wanted to say yes and finally have Samantha in his arms, he shook his head. “No. Samantha has always been good at running and I’m certain Zachary left her armed. If we ride in today her guard my still be too high. We will wait until tomorrow when Samantha and the whore will be a bit more comfortable and relaxed.”

“And what’s the plan tomorrow?” Leroy questioned, crouching beside the fire.

Clinton sat back down on the stump and stared into the dancing flames. “I’ll send three of you in to get her. You can have your fun with the other woman and then kill her. I have no use for her. Samantha is to be brought to me as unharmed as possible—and none of you better touch her in any way that could be considered inappropriate. She is not for you to have your fun with.” Clinton clenched his fists and felt want for her rising in his blood at knowing Samantha would be in his arms in only a day. “That woman is mine and mine alone.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

“It’s beautiful outside, Ell. Let’s go out there and enjoy the breeze for a while.”

Eleanor looked up from the blanket she’d been sewing and nodded. “That sounds nice. Bed rest is going to make me go completely insane.”

Samantha smiled as she finished wiping down the counter to clean up the breakfast mess. “It will all be worth it when you’re holding that little one in your arms.”

Eleanor sighed, getting to her feet and stretching out her arms. “That’s what I keep trying to tell myself.”

Samantha laid her hand over her own stomach and felt joy swell her heart. She hadn’t told anyone but she too was going to be a mother. A piece of her and Zachary was growing in her womb and Samantha had never been more proud. She had known for a few days but had kept the secret to herself. Zachary had already been so worried about leaving her—if he had known there was a baby he’d have never gone. And they couldn’t live that way. They couldn’t live their lives controlled by fear.

Still Samantha couldn’t wait to see him riding back in tomorrow, throw her arms around his neck, and let him know he was going to be a father. Zachary Marston with his protective nature and his eagerness to take care of those he loved would be an amazing father.

Samantha gathered up Eleanor’s sewing box and the blanket she’d been working on and carried them out to the porch whistling for Creed as she did so. The pup woke up from his nap instantly and leapt to his feet beneath the kitchen table before darting out the door with a happy bark.

“Maybe having a kid around will help Creed burn off some of that energy,” Eleanor mused, stepping onto the porch and taking a moment to simply breathe in the fresh air.

Samantha knew bed rest had been hard on the woman. She had finally gained her freedom from life in a brothel only to be once again confined and unable to get out and do as she wanted. Samantha hoped her own pregnancy didn’t put her in a similar situation.

“We can hope. That pup is wild for sure,” Samantha replied as she helped Eleanor settle down in a chair and ensured the woman had everything she needed for her sewing within reach.

Creed went running through the yard chasing butterflies—or more specifically their shadows. The pup hadn’t quite realized that the shadows were something he couldn’t catch and his true quarry was floating along on the breeze above him.

“I need to go tend to the other animals,” Samantha said as she ripped a loose thread from her brown skirt. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Eleanor laid her sewing box over her lap and shook her head. “I believe I’m all set.”

Samantha nodded before going into the house, grabbing the spare rifle they’d left laying beside the sofa, and bringing it back out to rest against the wall beside Eleanor. “Just in case,” she offered in response to Eleanor’s questioning gaze.

“You and Zachary worry too much,” Eleanor scolded.

Samantha shrugged, adjusting her gun belt around her hips. “Life has taught us there’s no such thing as too much worrying,” she admitted. Then she shrugged. “But we’re trying.”

“Fair enough.”

Samantha stepped off the porch. “If you need anything just yell for me.”

Eleanor grumbled under her breath. “I’m too independent for bedrest.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Samantha replied. “Ranch living is a lot of hard work and you’ll miss all this rest one day.”

She was laughing lightly as she left Eleanor grumbling on the porch and made her way toward the barn. There were plenty of stalls to clean up, she needed to feed the chickens, collect eggs, tend to Athena, and then eventually get to washing the laundry that needed done and hang it on the line in the backyard.

Yes, ranch life was a lot of hard work but she loved it. She loved knowing that this place was hers, Zachary’s, Tim’s and Eleanors. She loved knowing that she had a family now—a family that was growing. Once again Samantha found herself laying her hand on her belly. Would their child be a boy or girl? Would they be dark and brooding like their father or would they take after their mother and be red-haired and out-going? She smiled. One thing was for sure—their child would be loved and spoiled and definitely have a temper.

As Samantha went about her barn chores, Creed wandered in and went to Betty’s empty stall. He whined a bit as he sniffed at the hay and Samantha sighed. “Don’t worry, Creed. Your best friend will be home tomorrow.” And tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. Last night had been the first night Samantha had spent alone in a long time and not having Zachary’s strong arms around her or his heartbeat beneath her ear had left her feeling cold and caused the night to drag on.

A chill ran down Samantha’s spine and instantly her gaze swung toward the open barn doors. The rake she’d been using to clean Blaze’s stall, clattered to the ground. The man standing there tipped his hat as he kept the revolver in his hand trained on her. “Hello there, Samantha. It’s wonderful to see you again. I don’t believe I’ll let you run away this time. My boss wouldn’t like that.”

Fear gripped her. Paralyzed her. Clutched her within its grasp so tight that Samantha wondered if maybe it was going to kill her. She had seen this man several times over the last few years. She knew who he worked for and she knew what he wanted. Always before she had escaped him but this time he was closer than he’d ever been before and she had nowhere to run.

“Why don’t you come on out of the barn now before I have to come in there after you. I’d hate to leave the men alone with your friend for too long—they might grow bored.”

As if on cue, Eleanor let out a scream and a gunshot sounded.

“Eleanor!” Samantha rushed for the barn door, fully aware of the mn still holding his gun sights on her. The sunlight assaulted her eyes when she left the barn, blinding her momentarily.

As her vision cleared, Samantha saw Eleanor fighting over her rifle with a man on the porch. There was a third man standing in the yard in front of the porch, grunting with pain as he tied a bandana around his bleeding leg.

Apparently, Eleanor got a shot off with that rifle.

The man fighting with Eleanor gave one last rough jerk of the rifle and yanked it from her grasp before throwing out his fist and catching her hard in the jaw.

Eleanor let out a cry of pain and fell backward, hitting the wall behind her and covering her abused face with her hand.

“You son of a….” Samantha’s voice was stopped as was the hand going for her revolver when she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against her temple.

“Don’t even think about it, Samantha.”

Slowly, loathefully, Samantha moved her hand away from the gun. She was barely aware of the man behind her as he kept his gun pressed to her temple while removing hers from her gun belt and tossing it aside.

“Good girl. Clinton didn’t want us to harm you unless absolutely necessary. Let’s not make it necessary.”

“I’ll not go to Clinton, you jackass. I’ll make you kill me first. I’d rather die.”

The man holding her at gunpoint snorted. “I won’t kill you. Killing you would be as good as killing myself. You clealry don’t understand his obsession with you.”

“And you clealry don’t understand my hate for him.”

The man behind her clearly had nothing more to say on the matter. Samantha cursed the fact that her body was quaking with fear. She knew he would notice. Samantha had to do something. Going with these men, or dying trying to escape them was not an option. Zachary could not lose her. She could not let him ride home tomorrow to find more people he loved and cared about dead. That would destroy her gunslinger.

Eleanors’ cursing drew her attention back toward the porch. Samantha saw the man who had struck her, grab Eleanor by the arms and yank her from the porch. Eleanor was doing her best to fight him off with one hand while shielding her swollen belly with the other.

“Who wants a ride on the whore before we kill her?” the man demanded, laughing behind his scraggly mustache as Eleanor spat in his face.

“Go to hell,” she snarled. “You’re not the first man to threaten you.”

“I’m not threatening you, little one,” he assured her before grabbing her breast so tightly she cried out in pain. “I’m going to be shoving my cock on you so damn hard it rips your guts out.”

Samantha saw the color drain from Eleanor’s face. Her struggles worsened, becoming frantic and animalistic but the man holding her was easily three times her size. All Eleanor’s struggles seemed to do was excite him further.

He licked her face before turning to the man behind him who was just finishing up tiying his bandana aroudn the bullet wound on his upper leg. “You want a go at her?” Big Man demanded with a laugh.

Bullet Wound Man shook his head, wiping his bloody hand on his clean pant leg. Anger twisted his features. “Fuck no. But I’ll gladly be the one to kill the bitch when you’re done.”

“What about you?” Big Man asked the man behind Samantha.

“I don’t fuck used up whores—or pregnant ones,” he stated sounding disgusted. “Hurry up with her. Clinton won’t want to be kept waiting long.”

The sound of tearing fabric pierced the air as Big Man shredded the top of Eleanor’s vest revealing her underclothes beneath. Eleanor screamed but another hard punch from Big Man silenced her and he took advantage of her addled state as he threw her to the ground.

When Big Man began to throw up her skirts, something within Samantha snapped. She would not let these men do this! Eleanor deserved a good life with Tim and their child. Tim deserved a good life with the woman he loved. Why did anyone think they had the right to that from them?

Samantha could feel Gun Man behind her as his breath blew against her hair. He was close to her. Good. Fighting was the only option. Winning was the only option. She had an advantage over these men. They couldn’t kill her—Samantha, however, was under no such orders.

Gathering her courage and her strength, Samantha threw her head back and it cracked loudly against Gun Man’s face. He let out a howl of pain as he stumbled away from her. Samantha spun quickly and attempted to drive for her gun but was stopped when his hand closed around her arm and jerked her into his chest.

“Stupid whore!” he spat wettly, blood from his nose soaking his mouth and spraying across her face. His fist swung hard into her temple and Samantha fell to her knees as stars exploded behind her eyes.

A growl filled the air and suddenly Creed was there, latching on Gun Mans leg. Gun Man yelled out his shock and pain before punching the pup on the head, dislodging his teeth from his calf. He kicked Creed hard and the pup flew away.

“No!” Samantha screamed as Creed came again and Gun Man pulled the trigger of his revolver. Creed’s pain filled whimpers filled the air as the pup ran back into the barn, leaving a blood trail behind him.

Rage filled her. Samantha pulled the knife from her boot and lunged. She swung the blade at Gun Man whose eyes widened comically at the onslaught. He stumbled backward but not quickly enough to escape a deep slice across his chest. Using his moment of distraction, Samantha once more leapt for her gun.

Just as she reached it a gunshop sounded and pain exploded in her shoulder as the bullet slammed into her.

“No, you idiot!” Gun Man bellowed. “She’s not to be harmed!”

Samantha realized it was Bullet Wound Man who had shot her and he looked ready to do it again. Before he could, Gun Man fired off his own shot and the bullet slammed into Bullet Wound Mans chest, dropping him dead.

Samantha closed her hand around the handle of her own revolver, breathing hard against the pain coursing through her veins. She turned to see Gun Man shaking his head at her. “I saved your damn life,” he reminded her.

She nodded. “Thank you.” Then Samantha pulled the trigger. His head snapped back as the bullet entered his forehead and the man crumpled to the ground.

Immediately she turned to Eleanor and Big Man. He had realized the way the situation had turned and leapt to his feet, his pants still pulled up and fastened much to Samantha’s relief.

Throwing out his foot, Big Man sent a punishing kick into Eleanor’s head and then took off running. Samantha tried to take aim at him but he was a good distance from her, her shoulder was screaming in pain, her blood was soaking her dress, and she felt dizzy.

He hopped on one of the waiting horses. Samantha used her left hand to attempt to steady her right arm and fired off a shot. The man let out a grunt and slumped a bit in the saddle but didn’t stop as he galloped off into the distance and out of the range of her gun.

When he could no longer be seen and his horse could no longer be heard, Samantha breathed a small sigh of relief. But that relief was short-lived. Clinton was still out there and because Big Man had gotten away from her, Clinton would know that his men had failed and he would send more—or come himself.

“Eleanor?” she called out, but the other woman simply laid there motionless upon the dirt and didn’t respond.

Painfully, Samantha shoved herself to her feet. She holstered her revolver and made her way across the yard to her fallen friend. Dropping to her knees, Samantha took Eleanor’s shoulder and shook her gently. “Ell? Ell, wake up.”

Still there was no response. Eleanor’s chest was rising and falling but there was a large, bloody welt on the back of her head and it had clearly rendered her unconscious. Eleanor needed Doctor Reynolds.

Blood trickled down Samantha’s hand from the wound in her shoulder. She needed Doctor Reynolds. How was Samantha going to get them both there?

Zachary and Timothy had taken the large wagon but the smaller cart was sitting beside the barn. Samantha would have to hitch Athena to it, somehow get Eleanor into the back, and then get them both to the doctor.

Once again, Samantha painfully got to her feet. Her head hurt from the punch she’d taken and she felt as if there was a knife lodged into her shoulder and every movement simply drove it deeper—Samantha had never known such physical pain. When she walked past Gun Man’s dead body, her stomach rolled and she was forced to look away. Violence and death were such ugly things and she hated knowing she’d been forced to take a life.

Samantha made her way to the barn and heard Creeds whimpers. Her heart fell to her feet. The poor dog was suffering. Samantha followed the whimpering to a back stall and found Creed there. She dropped to her knees as tears ran in rivers down her cheek. She saw the bullet wound in Creed’s back hip.

Samantha wondered if she should put the pup out of his misery—but knew she couldn’t. She could not kill him while he looked at her with so much pain and so much trust. No, Samantha would load him up in the cart with Eleanor and take him to the doc. Surely there would be something that could be done to save the pup. Please, let there be something. Zachary had lost enough in his life—she couldn’t allow Clinton to take anything else away from the man she loved—not even the dog they both cared so much about.

Her head swam from pain and blood loss as Samantha stood. She had to hurry—she wouldn’t be any help to Eleanor or Creed if she let herself pass out and bleed to death.

It took longer than it should have given the limited use of her arm for Samantha to hook Athena to the tiny cart. She grabbed a saddle blanket and spread it across the bottom of the cart before grabbing another and lifting a whimpering Creed into her arms, wrapping him in the blanket and biting her tongue to keep from crying out with her own pain as she did her best to shift all his weight to her good arm.

Laying the pup in the back of the cart, Samantha then led the cart to Eleanor. After several unsuccessful attempts to wake the unconscious woman, Samantha realized she was going to have to lift her into the cart.

And so she did. And she did scream. It was loud and animalistic and it seemed to give her the boost of strength she needed to get Eleanor into the back of the cart.

Samantha took several moments to simply lean against the cart and try her best to breathe deeply. Her stomach rolled again and this time, Samantha heaved and lost the contents of her stomach on the ground at her feet.

Sweat slicked her brow as she hoisted herself into the front of the card and grabbed up the reins in her left hand. “Come on, Athena. Take us to town girl.”

Samantha hoped the horse would understand her and do as she asked—because Samantha wasn’t entirely sure she could stay awake until they got there.

A/N: Take that, stupid bad guys! What do you think is gonna happen when Zachary comes home and finds the mess left behind? And how proud are you of Eleanor and Samantha who both managed to fight back? Thank you for reading!

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Forty-Nine

Samantha was barely hanging onto consciousness when she finally reached the main street of town. Eyes were instantly on her and shocked gasps and whispers filled the air. Samantha knew she probably looked quite scary. She was pale, covered in dirt and blood and barely holding her head up as her hair hung loose around her. Eleanor was still unconscious in the back of the cart and Creed let out tired whimpers whenever the cart hit a rut or bump in the road.

“Samantha!”

The sound of Gavin Jones’ voice had Samantha finding a bit more alertness. She managed to raise her head just as he reached the cart and pulled Athena to a stop. His eyes were wide behind his glasses as he rushed to her. “Samantha, what happened?”

“We were attacked.” Samantha’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Eleanor and Creed need the doctor.”

“Hell, Samantha, you need the doctor!” Gavin exclaimed, his voice nearly hysterical.

“Probably do….”

“You men! Over here. Help me get these ladies to the doctor!” Gavin yelled at several men walking past. They were quick to come forward and Samantha nearly cried out with pain when two of them lifted her from the cart.

“Don’t forget about Creed,” she insisted, struggling to keep her eyes open, aware of men lifting Eleanor from the back of cart.

Gavin nodded and scooped up the whimpering pup. “I’ve got him, Sam, don’t worry.”

“Who the hell attacks a couple of women and shoots a damn dog?” One of the men demanded as they were carried toward Doctor Reynold’s home.

“Somebody who wants Zachary Marston to rip their heads clean off their shoulders, that’s who,” Gavin replied. “Samantha, I know you’re hurt but can you tell us what happened?”

She wanted to but she simply didn’t have the strength as she rested her head against the chest of the man carrying her and her eyes slipped closed. Sleep. All she wanted was sleep.

“Samantha, stay with us!” she heard Gavin insist. She did her best to do as he wanted her to, but it was impossible. Unconsciousness claimed her.

---

That damn unease in Zachary’s gut hadn’t eased a bit—as a matter of fact it had simply increased with every hour that passed. He hadn’t slept a bit the night before—without Samantha in his arms, sleep simply wouldn’t come. Was she okay? His gut told him no. Zachary had ignored his gut since yesterday. He had told himself that everyone was right and that he was worrying for nothing and stuck in the past but it was getting harder to ignore. His instincts were practically screaming at him.

He rolled his aching shoulder, once again cursing the man who had shot that bullet into it. Zachary wished he could turn his mind off. But if he lost Samantha—if something happened to her because he wasn’t there to keep her safe…. He would never forgive himself. Zachary had lost too much in his life—he couldn’t lose Sam.

With a growl, Zachary grabbed his rifle, slung it across his back, shouldered his saddlebags and strode out of the hotel room. He went two doors down and knocked roughly on Timothy’s door. He was raising his hand to pound on that chunk of wood when it was thrown open. Timothy looked like hell—it seemed his best friend hasn’t slept either.

“What’s wrong, Zach?” he demanded, coming alert instantly.

“We’re going home.”

“Home?” Timothy frowned, before rubbing at his face. “Don’t we have contracts to sign today?”

Zachary shook his head. His gut was telling him this was right. They needed to go home. Their women needed them. “The damn papers can wait. We need to go.”

Timothy seemed doubtful but there was fear creeping into his voice. “Zach….”

“Something is wrong, Tim. I’ve spent over five years living rough and the only reason I lived was because I trusted my gut. I’ve ignored my gut since yesterday when it told me not to leave Sam. I’m done ignoring it—something is wrong.”

Timothy simply nodded and turned around. He went to the chair, grabbed his gun belt and slid it around his hips. “I’ll go get the wagon.”

“There’s no time,” Zachary shook his head. “The wagon will slow us down. We’ll just get a saddle for Betty and get gone.”

“Do you think it’s that serious?” Tim asked as they practically ran down the hall.

Zachary felt his gut swim. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s that damn serious.”

---

Clinton leapt to his feet when Winslow came riding into camp, his large frame hanging off his horse and covered in blood. “What the hell happened?” Clinton bellowed.

“They fought back,” Winston grunted as he slid from the saddle and landed in a heap on the dirt at Clinton’s feet. An entry wound went in his back and came out his chest. It was clear the man was dying.

Flashbacks of the last five years raced through Clinton’s mind. So many of his men dying all around him because of Zachary fucking Marston.

“Zachary wasn’t supposed to be there!” Clinton hissed.

“He wasn’t,” Winslow groaned as he lay there on the ground bleeding out. “I need a doc, Clinton.”

“You’re dying, Winslow. A doc can’t help you.”

Tex came running over and dropped down next to Winslow, laying a hand over the bleeding exit wound. “Who shot you? And where’s LeRoy and Franklin?”

“Where’s Samantha?!” Clinton demanded, kicking Winslow’s leg. “You had one job!”

Winslow winced and took a rattling breath. “The women fought back. Damn blond whore shot Franklin in the leg. I was about to have my way with her but Samantha got away from Leroy and went for a gun. Franklin shot her and so Leroy shot him but that gave her time to get the gun and she shot and killed Leroy. I knew I was next so I hopped on a horse and rode like a bat out of hell but Samantha got a shot off on me….”

“And a damn good one,” Tex lamented sadly. “You and Leroy was my best friends.”

Clinton clenched his fists. “Samantha was shot?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t look…fatal…”

Winston’s words were becoming weaker and his eyes less focused. “Sorry we.. failed you boss…”

Clinton watched one of his last remaining men die in the dirt at his feet. Tex appeared near tears as he bowed his head. “Jenson was right. We should have just let Zachary live his damn life while we lived ours, boss.”

Clinton roared with rage and shoved pulled his revolver, eager to do away with anyone who dared doubt him—but then he remembered that he only had three men left with him here and one in town. He couldn’t afford to kill Tex. Not until Samantha was at his side.

He slowly holstered his gun, as Tex held up his hands submissively. “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t mean it. I just lost two good friends….”

Clinton nodded and strode to his tent. Throwing back the flap he entered it and paced the tiny interior. His Samantha had been shot! If Leroy hadn’t killed Franklin, Clinton would have. Now she was wounded—if she were to die what would he do? Clinton couldn’t bear to think it. Samantha was his. He would have her.

Now to figure out what happened next. Clinton had four loyal men left. One in town and three at camp with him. They would follow him to hell and he knew it. Zachary was still gone which meant he would be no threat. If Samantha was wounded, she would need a doctor which mean going into town.

Clinton could practically taste the woman on his tongue and he smiled before leaving the tent. He let out a sharp whistle.

“Come on, men! Samantha has gone into town and we’re going after her. Zachary will come looking for his wife and we’ll end this once and for all.” And teach Zachary Marston what happened when you put you hands on something that belonged to Clinton Matthews.

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

The evening sun was glowing orange in the sky when Zachary saw the home he shared with Samantha come into view. Blaze was tired but the horse was strong and Zachary was glad for that—he’d pushed the gelding too hard today. Betty hadn’t been able to keep up and Zachary had lost sight of her and Timothy hours ago. That hadn’t mattered. All that had mattered was getting home and finding Samantha safe and sound.

Never in his entire life had Zachary wanted so badly for his gut to be wrong.

The closer Blaze carried him toward the ranch house, the more memories of the past blasted through the protective walls he’d built to keep them at bay.

His family.

The blood.

The bodies.

Eyes once full of happiness and laughter staring up at him with nothing but cold lifelessness that ripped his heart from his chest.

If Samantha’s eyes looked through him that way…..

Zachary hardened his heart as his pulse thundered in his veins. They wouldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her.

The moment Blaze’s hooves reached the yard, Zachary was leaping from his back. He saw bodies. Two of them. His gut clenched a moment before he realized they were too big to be Samantha or Eleanor. They were very clearly the bodies of men.

Paying no more attention to them, he raced to the house, his boots pounded up those steps, his hand touched the door handle—and he froze.

Memories so full of blood, fear and pain had him squeezing his eyes tight as his breath came in short pants and terror clutched at his heart. If he swung open this red chunk of wood and found her lying there in a pool of blood….

Zachary opened his eyes and clenched is jaw so tightly his teeth ached. If that was what he found then Timothy would find his cold body lying right there beside Samantha’s when he arrived. Zachary could not live through that pain again—he would not live through that pain again.

Not even vengeance would keep him going if he lost Samantha. His light.

Zachary a deep steadying breath, his soul crying out desperately for him to stop. To leave. To not see what waited in that house. Zachary pushed open the door—the creaking of the hinge echoing loudly in the quiet of the evening as if taunting him.

Slowly he stepped inside.

And froze.

For five years Zachary had seen countless scenes that had rendered him terrified, horrified, speechless… He had come up on so many of Clinton’s crime scenes—seen the aftermath that him and his men left behind. The blood and the death and the destruction.

And yet none of that had caused true terror to grip his heart the way the eerie silence and seeming hominess of the scene before him did.

Clean dishes sat on the counter covered by a soft towel. A basket of biscuits sat on the table along with a pitcher of lemonade and a newspaper.

Glancing toward the living room he saw the bright quilt folded neatly over the back of the sofa and a bowl of uneaten nuts sitting on the side table—something Eleanor had found herself craving during her pregnancy.

There was nothing out of place. No broken or overturned furniture. No shattered glass. No destroyed decorations. No sign of any struggle. There were no bloody handprints on the walls, no smears along the floor, no pools and puddles. No bodies.

Slowly, Zachary walked through the silent home. “Samantha?” his voice sounded small, broken, and insignificant in the oppressive silence. It didn’t take him long to search each untouched room and realize his wife was not here. But there were dead bodies outside which meant someone had been here, the house had been attacked, and if his wife wasn’t here that meant….

“Eleanor!!”

Timothy’s roar of desperation and rage broke though Zachary’s own tormented thoughts. He rushed outside to find his best friend running out of the barn and continuing to call out for his wife.

“They’re not here, Tim,” Zachary assured him, forcing a calm he didn’t feel into his voice. Zachary knew that Tim would need him to be strong. Tim was a good man but he didn’t have the experience Zachary had. He didn’t know the things that Zachary knew. Hadn’t seen the things Zachary had seen.

“Fuck, Zach!” Timothy ran his hand through his messy blond hair, his green eyes wide. “Where the hell are they?”

Zachary didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to say the words out loud. If Eleanor and Samantha weren’t here there was only one explanation. They’d been taken.

But where?

Zachary went to the man’s body that was closest to the barn. He had a bullet wound through his head. Clearly a revolver round and from fairly close. As Zachary continued to study the ground, the bodies, the smears, puddles, and trails of blood, the tracks and scuffs in the dirt—the story began to show itself to him.

“Zach…” Timothy began impatiently. “What are you…”

Zachary held up his hand. “For once in your life, Tim, be quiet.”

And, surprisingly, the man did.

Zachary spent close to an hour simply studying and examining everything he could. Eleanor, Samantha, and Creed had left the ranch. They’d left in the small cart that Zach had bought not too long ago—and Athena had been pulling them.

A man had left on horseback as well but he’d been running—and bleeding.

After taking in everything, Zachary felt the closest thing to relief he could feel—at least until he was able to feel Samantha warm and safe against him again.

“They’re hurt, Tim, but they were okay enough to hook up a wagon and leave.” Zachary didn’t add that one of them had been bleeding badly. He knew which one it had to be and maybe that’s why he didn’t say the words out loud. He knew his own heart couldn’t stand to whisper the truth out loud.

Samantha was hurt—bad.

“How do you know that?” Timothy demanded. He had went up to the porch and was holding the blanket that Eleanor had been working on the last month in his arms as if somehow it could bring his wife back to him. His knuckles were white as they clutched the fabric. “Where is my wife?”

“I spent a lot of years tracking bad men. I can piece together enough from all this chaos to know that there were three men that rode into the ranch. That rifle has been fired, I smelled gunpowder on the barrel which means Eleanor must have gotten a shot off—I’m guessing into that bastards leg because that wound is too big to be a revolver round. I can’t tell details but somehow both these men were killed and the third took off on horseback but right about here—” he’d been following the hoof prints but stopped when a spray of blood joined them. “—he was shot and wounded.”

“So, the women fought them off?” Hope bloomed in Tim’s voice for the first time.

Zachary clenched his fists. “It seems that way. But like I said, they’re hurt. Sam….” He swallowed hard. “Sam’s bleeding but she must have been the one to ready the cart and Athena. Athena is her horse and wouldn’t have listened well to anyone else—especially with gunshots and blood in the air.”

Tim nodded slowly. “So they weren’t.. they weren’t taken?”

Zachary shook his head, feeling his own relief grow. “No.”

But that didn’t mean they were safe. Samantha was losing a lot of blood.

“They took the cart toward town—they must be going to the docs. We have to go.”

Without another word, Timothy raised the quilt to his face before dropping it back on the porch and striding toward their waiting horses. Both men mounted up and took off like the hounds of hell were on their heels toward town.

“Zach?” Timothy called out. Zachary merely grunted and glanced over at him waiting for him to continue. “Were those Clinton’s men?”

Zachary’s fists clenched tighter around Blaze’s reins as rage swam through his blood. “I didn’t recognize them,” he admitted. He’d never seen the man with the shot through the chest and the other man had had part of his face missing from the close range gunshot he’d taken. And yet something inside Zachary knew. He quite simply knew. Even if he wasn’t gong to say it out loud just now.

“Who else would have attacked the ranch?” Tim questioned. “And if it was Clinton, how did he know we’d be gone and the women would be alone?”

Zachary didn’t answer, simply urged Blaze faster and caused Timothy to fall too far behind to maintain conversation. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that when Zachary found out who had attacked his family—who had harmed his wife—there wouldn’t be a safe place on earth or in hell for the bastards to hide.

And if Zachary made it into town only to find that Samantha’s injuries had been to great….. His gut swam and his swallowed back the hot sting of bile. If that was the case then it would be up to someone else to hunt down those responsible because Zachary wouldn’t live without her.

---

Samantha sat in the hard kitchen chair at the doc’s house and simply listened to the steady rhythm of the ticking clock upon the wall, losing herself in it. Her thoughts were far too jumbled, too full of fear to clearly piece together.

Clinton had found her.

The pain in her shoulder was worse than any physical pain she had ever endured. Though the doctor had done his best to treat her wound, the bullet was still inside her. Doctor Reynolds had begrudgingly admitted that fishing around and removing the bullet would cause more damage to her shoulder and her range of motion than simply allowing the hunk of metal to remain where it was.

Her shoulder had been cleaned, sewn up, bandaged and her arm was now in a sling to prevent too much movement and aid in healing. Doctor Reynold’s had wanted to give her something for the pain but Samantha had refused. Clinton Matthews was somewhere—more of his men were somewhere—she couldn’t afford to be delirious with pain medication just now.

She also had the baby to consider.

Samantha laid her hand over her stomach and closed her eyes. The babe was safe. She was safe. Creed was safe and sleeping soundly in the spare room with Eleanor, his leg wrapped up tight in white bandages. And Eleanor was safe. The other woman was still sleeping soundly but she was no longer writhing in pain and gripping her stomach. Doctor Reynolds had thought she was going to go into labor and lose the babe but that hadn’t happened.

For the moment everyone was safe.

But it wouldn’t last.

Clinton was out there. His men were out there. And Samantha knew deep in her heart that he was coming for her. She never should have stayed in this town. Never should have let herself feel safe. Never should have pulled Zachary, Eleanor, Timothy, or any of her friends into this mess. Everyone would have been better off if Samantha had simply remained on the run and vanished. It would have spared them all Clinton’s wrath and his obsession.

Samantha felt tears leak from her eyes and stream down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms tight around herself. A small knock sounded from the doorway and her gaze leapt up as her hand left hand closed around the revolver on the table. She couldn’t shoot well left-handed but whoever was coming for her didn’t need to know that.

Quickly, she relaxed her hand and released the gun when she saw Catherine—the doctors’ new wife—standing in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Samantha,” she assured her, offering a gentle smile. “Are you okay to talk with the sheriff? He’s waiting in the shop to have a word with you about today.”

Samantha tensed. The sheriff? He was fairly new to town and had shown an interest in Zachary when he had first arrived. Zachary had immediately been suspicious of the man but Sheriff Arthur Thomas had been a decent and fair man during his time in Hackney. He hadn’t done or said anything to raise any further suspicions.

But what if?

“Samantha?” Catherine was clearly alarmed. “You’re pale as a ghost? Are you okay? I’ll tell the sheriff to leave and get the doc…”

Samantha shook her head quickly as she pushed herself to her feet. “No.. No, I’ll speak with him.”

She had no way to holster her weapon and still have it easily accessible. Cursing the bastard who’d shot her and wondering why he couldn’t have aimed for the left shoulder, Samantha grabbed her revolver and simply held it in her left hand as she approached Catherine.

“I’ll come with you,” Catherine insisted. “You have been through enough today and I don’t want him to badger you.”

“No,” Samantha’s response was forceful. She did not want anyone else in harms way if the sheriff turned out to be working with Clinton. If this was a trap, it was better that no one else she considered a friend be caught in it. “Please, go check on Eleanor and Creed. I can speak with the sheriff alone.”

Catherine seemed torn a moment before nodding and walking away. Samantha had not yet told anyone details of what had happened at the ranch. She hadn’t uttered Clinton’s name or her own fears that he and whatever remained of his men were near and watching. Fear clogged her veins and pain rocketed through her shoulder.

God, she wanted her husband. If Zachary could simply wrap her in his strong, steady embrace she would feel less pain—and less fear. But Zachary would not be home until tomorrow and she was a strong woman. Squaring her shoulders and breathing deep, Samantha walked down the staircase into the shop.

Arthur Thomas was standing with his back to her, his hands folded behind him as he gazed out the window. The bottom step creaked when she put weight on it and he turned quickly, his blue eyes widening a bit at the sight of her.

Samantha didn’t have to wonder why. Her clothes were covered in blood. Her red curls tangled and unruly on her head. No doubt her face was pale and dirty. And she was holding a revolver aimed steady at chest, though chances of her actually hitting him while aiming left handed from across the room were slim to none—he didn’t need to know that.

Quickly he held his hands up in front of him as if to placate her. “Mrs. Marston, I can assure you that I’m no threat. You can put the gun down, ma’am.”

“Mr. Thomas, I can assure you that I am not going to do that,” she replied, entering the room and leaning against the counter to support her weight. Her body was still weak from blood loss and simply standing caused her head to swim a bit.

He moved a few steps closer. “You’re not well, ma’am. Let me help you…”

She laid her finger on the trigger of the revolver and he froze. “You will stay right where you are,” she warned. At only three feet away, he was already closer than she would prefer in her weakened state. She did her best to keep the revolver aimed at the shining star on his chest.

He simply nodded and kept his hands raised in front of him palms out doing his best with body language to show he was no threat. “You think I’m working with Clinton, don’t you?”

It was Samantha’s turn to freeze a bit. She held his gaze refusing to show fear. “Are you?”

He gave a slight shake of the head. “I promise you right now, Mrs. Marston, that I’m not working with Clinton Matthews.”

Samantha wasn’t convinced. “But you do know him?” Damn, she was so tired. So weak. So scared. All she wanted was her husband. Tomorrow could not come fast enough.

Rage and hatred flashed in Arthur Thomas’ blue eyes and Samantha was positive that none of it was directed at her. “Yeah, I know that good for nothing, belly crawling, murdering, fucking bastard.” Venom dripped from his words. “And it’s my sincere hope that one of his growing number of enemies in this damn town puts a bullet in his head and sends that devil straight to hell.”

Samantha blinked several times. Now that she did believe. It seemed Sheriff Arthur Thomas truly did hate Clinton Matthews. But why?

Before she could ask, the door to the shop flew open, banging loudly against the wall. Samantha didn’t need to see who it was because she would know that deep, growling voice anywhere.

“Get the hell away from wife.” 

A/N: Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!  Samantha is definitely not a helpless wallflower and I so love her for that. So often, my characters simply take off and end up writing their own stories (without much help from me at all) and that’s what happening here with several of these characters!

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-One

Zachary quickly took in the scene as he held his revolver in his hand and contemplated shooting the sheriff where he stood. Arthur Thomas was standing only a few feet from Samantha.

His eyes took in the sight of his wife. Seeing her alive and whole—even bloody and worn as she was—filled Zachary with relief. He could see the pain in her eyes, the fatigue and weariness etched into her face, and the way her hand shook as she held that revolver aimed at Sheriff Arthur Thomas’ chest.

“Zachary….” Her voice was a beacon calling him home as Zachary strode across the room, keeping his gun aimed at the sheriff as the other man took several steps away from them both and kept his hands raised in surrender.

Keeping the sheriff in his peripheral vision, Zachary reached his wife. He looked down in Samantha’s green eyes for several long moments, simply taking in the love and light still shining so brightly out of them—still so full of life.

She swayed on her feet and Zachary was quick to wrap his arm around her and pull her body into his offering her his strength. “You rest now, Sam. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The breath rushed out of her and her arm wrapped around him, gripping the back of his dusty black vest. “I love you.”

He pressed a quick hard kiss to the top of her head, burying his face in her red curls for a moment as he fought back a wave of emotion and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall.

Once he was certain he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of the sheriff, Zachary turned toward the man, keeping Samantha’s body held against him with his gun still aimed steady at the sheriffs’ chest. “I warned you that I protect what’s mine, Sheriff.”

“Yes, you did, Mr. Marston.” Arthur Thomas tipped his head. “And any good man does. I’m not your enemy.”

Zachary’s jaw tightened. “And yet I found you alone with my wife, standing feet away from her after she was attacked and she’s holding you at gunpoint. I would say that makes you my enemy.”

Samantha stirred and he glanced down to see her looking up at him. “I think he’s telling the truth, Zach. I think we can trust him.”

Zachary raised a brow. “You were the one holding him at gunpoint.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “I said I think we can trust him but I’m also not an idiot.”

Zachary knew she was no idiot. The love and respect he felt for his wife grew every moment. Though he didn’t now the details of what had happened today, he knew one thing for certain, he had underestimated her strength. Zachary would never make that mistake again—his wife was strong and smart and nowhere near helpless. She was truly amazing.

Zachary longed to kiss her but now wasn’t the time. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the sheriff. “She just saved your life—at least for a few minutes. Why should we trust you?”

“He hates Clinton just as much as we do. Don’t you, sheriff?” Samantha added.

Zachary saw the anger in Arthur Thomas’ gaze. He saw the man’s jaw tighten and his knuckles whitening as his fists clenched. “Ma’am, I would say that is a goddamn guarantee.”

Zachary didn’t lower his gun but his grip on it did loosen slightly. “Why?”

Arthurs gaze dropped to the floor. His throat worked as he swallowed hard several times. Slowly, he took a deep breath and met Zach’s gaze once again. “Because three years ago Clinton Matthews came upon my home while I was away. Him and his men slaughtered my family. My wife, my daughter, my son…. I lost all of them in a single afternoon and rode home to find them….” His voice broke and he took another shuddering breath. “Hate is too weak a word for what I feel toward that son of a bitch.”

Zachary believed him. The emotions he was showing were not faked or forced. Zachary immediately felt a small kinship with the sheriff. He holstered his gun but before he could further the conversation, Timothy came barreling into the store.

“Where’s Eleanor?”

Samantha attempted to pull away from Zachary but he held her tight. The woman was dead on her feet and after the fear of today he wasn’t at all ready to let go of her just yet. “Timothy, she’s okay!” Samantha quickly assured him. “She’s upstairs in her old room sleeping. She hasn’t woken up fully since…. Well…” Samantha’s grip on Zachary tightened. “She took a couple hard hits to the head…”

Timothy’s curses filled the air. He headed for the stairs but paused, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Do you need help with him, Zach?” he asked, tipping his head toward the sheriff.

Zachary shook his head. “No, Samantha and I can handle him. Go be with your wife.”

Timothy simply nodded once before racing up the stairs taking them three at a time.

“Why don’t I help you to bed, Sam, and I’ll come back and talk to the sheriff?” Zachary offered.

“No!” Samantha’s refusal was nearly desperate. “I want you with me, Zachary.”

Zachary sighed. “You’re tired…”

“I am. Which means we need to finish this conversation with the sheriff and then go up to bed.”

“I understand your mistrust, Zachary,” Arthur admitted. “But I can promise now that I am a friend. I want Clinton Matthew’s dead more than anything else in the world.”

“And when we met? You’d been asking about me in town and you sure seemed scared shitless when I walked in the jailhouse.”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. “You didn’t walk in, you damn near broke the front door.” He sighed. “And I had heard your reputation, knew how dangerous you were. I was scared.”

Zachary felt Samantha shaking lightly. The woman needed to lay down. He rubbed her back gently and kept his attention on the sheriff. “How did you know about me?”

“When Clinton killed my family, I wanted justice. So I went to the law but they claimed they couldn’t help. Over and over I was told that he was untouchable.”

Zachary nodded as that helpless rage resurfaced in his mind. He knew exactly how that felt and what Arthur would have been told.

“When it became clear that justice was off the table, I decided vengeance would do. But I’m not made for that life.” Shame filled his voice. “I wasn’t made for chasing after men that way. So, I became a lawman and decided that I would do the best I could to keep Clinton from doing what he’d done to anyone else while I served whatever town I happened to be in. That’s when I learned your name. Folks talk—especially drunk folks causing hell in saloons. Clinton Matthews was afraid of a man named Zachary Marston because Zachary Marston had been chasing him for years and killed dozens of his men. I even learned where you came from and so when I saw a job opportunity in Hackney listed in the paper, I had to take it. I asked about you because I knew you would be the one person who could help me take down Clinton Matthews.”

Zachary tensed. “Did you lead that bastard here? Did you help him find me so you could see your vengeance done?”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he was quick to shake his head. “No. I was going to approach you and have you help me hunt him down but when I got here and realized you had a wife and a family of your own now… I changed my mind. I couldn’t ask you to risk your life for my vengeance.”

“But you stayed here…”

The sheriff shrugged. “I guess a part of me hoped that Clinton would come for you in retaliation and I would be here to help kill him.”

“Well you got your wish,” Zachary practically snarled. “It was Clinton’s men, wasn’t it?” he asked, glancing down at Samantha.

She nodded. “Yes. It was his men.” Zachary could tell there was more she wanted to say but she wasn’t going to say it just now.

Zachary studied the sheriff. Could he trust the man? Zachary’s gut told him yes. And since he’d damn near lost his wife because he’d ignored his gut, he wasn’t about to do it again.

“Okay sheriff. There’s two horses out front and they’re damn near dead. Take them to the livery and have them put up. I’m locking up this house tight and you’re gonna stay outside as guard until I get Samantha settled in. Got it?”

“Of course,” the relief on the sheriff’s face told Zachary he knew how close he’d come to being killed. “No one is going to sneak up to this house while I’m on lookout. I swear it.”

“Sheriff?” Samantha asked as the man headed for the door.

He paused and met her gaze. “What is it, ma’am?”

“Thank you.”

He tipped his head. “Thank you for not shooting me—and for not letting your husband shoot me.” He adjusted his gun belt. “I’ll go tend to those horses now.”

Zachary was happy to finally find himself alone with Samantha. But the woman needed a bed. He stooped down and put his arm behind her knee before lifting her up and cradling her body against him.

She didn’t say a word as she simply rested her had on his chest. Zachary went to the door and bolted it shut before going up the stairs to find the doc and Catherine in the kitchen. “Doc, if there’s weapons in the house I suggest you get them and keep them close. Make sure all the windows and doors are locked. Clinton Matthews and his men are somewhere near town and I can guarantee we haven’t seen the last of them.”

“We shouldn’t put the doc in danger,” Samantha spoke up, raising her head a bit. “We should go somewhere else…”

“I don’t think you will,” Doctor Reynolds scolded, laying a rifle on the table. “You’re my patient and my friend and I’ll be tending to you, to all of you, until this is over. No one is going to come in here and harm a hair on your heads.”

Zachary frowned at Catherine. “Where’s your son?”

She sighed and took a sip of her coffee. “He’s with his grandmother. I thought it best to let him stay there.”

“I wish you’d go as well,” Doctor Reynold’s grumbled.

She kissed his whiskered cheek. “Not a chance. You may need my help so right here is where I’m going to be.”

“Just be careful,” he warned them both. “Clinton Matthews is as cold-hearted a bastard as they come.”

Doctor Reynolds nodded as he sat down at the table. “Samantha, do you want to tell us what happened today?”

“Later,” Zachary cut in when she opened her mouth to speak. “Right now she needs rest.”

And he needed to lay down and hold her. He needed to breathe her in without prying eyes. He needed to know that she was safe and he needed her to know that he was sorry—so damned sorry that he had ignored his gut and left her. That he had forced her to have to deal with whatever the hell had happened back at home alone.

Timothy and Eleanor were in the only spare bedroom so Zachary carried Samantha to the patient room downstairs. Darkness was falling but he didn’t light a lamp—he didn’t want to throw any shadows and help Clinton or his men have a clear shot. He laid her in the tiny bed and stretched himself out beside her holding her tight.

“What the hell happened today?” he asked, burying his face in those thick red curls.

Samantha’s breath hitched and she buried her face in his shirt. He could feel her body trembling as hot tears soaked through the black fabric. “It was horrible…” she whispered, her voice strained. “I was in the barn and a man came to the door. I recognized him as being one of Clinton’s. He held a gun on me and then I heard the rifle…”

As Samantha told him the entire story of the attack at the house, Zachary felt his guilt grow. He should have been there. He should have kept her safe.

“Don’t you dare do that,” her sharp warning drew Zachary out of his own head and he realized she was staring at him. Her green eyes were swollen and red-rimmed and tears had streaked the dirt and blood that had been on her face.

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself. This was not your fault, Zach.”

He felt his own eyes begin to burn as he fought back emotion. “I should have been there. He gently traced his fingers over the sling that held her shoulder steady. “I should have kept you safe.”

“You can’t take all that responsibility on yourself. I kept us safe. I got us to town. And now you’re here and anything else that happens we’ll face together.”

Zachary looked in her eyes for a moment before swooping in and crushing his mouth against hers. Pouring every ounce of love, worry, pain, and relief he felt into her, knowing that she would feel each of his emotions without him ever having to say a word. She kissed him right back just as fiercely.

Loathfully, he pulled away. “Rest Sam. I’ll keep watch just in case that bastard sets fire to the place.”

“He won’t,” Samantha assured him.

Zachary grunted. “He’s coward enough to do it, trust me.”

“Yes, but he won’t. He doesn’t want me dead, Zachary. Remember when the man shot me, his friend killed him for it. Clinton won’t do anything that might end with me dying. He doesn’t want me dead, he wants me at his side.”

Zachary growled and held her just a little tighter, staying mindful of her shoulder and the bullet wound she never should have suffered. “That’s not gonna fucking happen.” 

A/N: Hope y’all enjoyed the chapter!  I have a feeling the next one will be a bit action packed. And now we know that the sheriff is a friend (or is he?) But we also know that Clinton has a rat in town so who is it? Thanks for reading and don’t forget that I love comments!!

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Two

Pain is what brought Eleanor to consciousness. It felt as if her head were in a vice and someone continued to tighten it. With a moan, she brought her hand to her head and winced at the lump she felt there. Slowly her eyes fluttered open. The room was dark but she recognized the shadows she saw. She was in her old bedroom at the doc’s house.

But why was she here?

Thinking and concentrating were hard things to accomplish when your head felt as if a blacksmith was inside hammering away but she forced herself to push past the pain and attempt to remember why she was here.

She’d been at the ranch with Samantha. She’d been sewing on the porch. That’s when men had arrived….

“Samantha?!” she cried out as she sat bolt upright in bed and her head swam forcing her to slam her eyes closed once again.

“Ell?” Timothy’s voice broke through the darkness and the bed dipped as he climbed onto it and took her face gently in his hands. “Everything’s okay, Ell. I’m here and everything’s okay.”

Eleanor let out a sob and threw herself against his strong chest as Timothy wrapped himself around her and held her tight. She could hear him whispering softly against her hair as she soaked his dusty blue shirt with tears.

“Samantha?” she finally gasped. “Is Sam okay?”

“She’s fine,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her brow. She looked up at him in the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light and she was certain that his green eyes were bright with tears. Lifting a hand, Eleanor caressed his cheek and felt the moisture there as he leaned into her touch.

“What happened, Ell?”

She shivered, making no attempt to remove herself from warmth of his embrace. “It was so fast. The men seemed to come out of nowhere. If Samantha hadn’t insisted I keep that rifle near me… I shot one of them but the other grabbed me and he said he was going to…” Eleanor froze. She laid a hand over her pregnant belly and felt fear grip her heart. Had that man…

She tried to pull away from Timothy. She already didn’t deserve him after the number of men who had touched her body—if she had been unfaithful to her husband even by force….

“Where the hell are you going?” Timothy grumbled, not loosening his hold. “I’m not ready to let go of you yet.” Eleanor bit her lip hard and thought the tension didn’t leave her body, she did stop attempting to move away from him. Timothy pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “Talk to me, Eleanor.”

She took a deep breath. She had to tell him. He deserved the truth. She’d done enough running away from Timothy in their short time together and it wasn’t fair for her to do more now. “I think he may have.. That man wanted to force me and he knocked me unconscious and I can’t remember if he did…”

“He didn’t,” Timothy’s quiet assurance interrupted her. “He didn’t get a chance to before Samantha chased him off.”

Relief washed through her like a river. More tears gathered in Eleanor’s eyes and Tim’s fingertips gently wiped them away when they fell down her cheeks. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Positive. The doc talked to Zachary who had already heard everything from Samantha. And when Doctor Reynolds came in here to check on you and Creed, he told me the story.”

“Creed?” Eleanor frowned. “The puppy was hurt?”

Timothy smoothed her hair. “He was shot in the leg but he’ll make a full recovery.” He chuckled. “And he’s rather happy with his warm bed in the floor and the endless supply of meaty bones Catherine’s been supplying him with.”

Eleanor finally let herself relax in Timothy’s arms. He seemed to sense her calmness and he kissed her hair tenderly before laying them both down upon the bed and pulling the blanket around them. His hand splayed across her pregnant belly. “I thought I lost you both,” he whispered in the darkness. “When I rode up to the ranch house and saw the bodies and the blood…”

Eleanor felt him tremble and she turned her head to catch his lips gently with hers. She pulled away barely, still able to feel the heat of his mouth. Her hand covered his on her belly. “You still have us, Tim. We’re still yours.”

With a growl that was somewhere between hunger, desperation and relief, Timothy buried his hand in her hair, avoiding the lump that had been placed there, and crushed his mouth to hers.

Her headache forgotten, Eleanor lost herself to his kiss, meeting his hunger. She had been so certain that she was going to die. So certain that she would never again feel her husbands’ strong hands on her body or his firm lips caressing hers. Never again see his lopsided grin. Never again watch him rock back on his heels and see that mischievousness in his green eyes as if there were a giant secret that only he was in on.

Slowly, Timothy pulled away and relaxed upon the bed, pulling Eleanor down so her head was resting on his chest. “I love you, Ell.”

“I love you too,” she replied, knowing it was the truth. “Tim? What time is it? Where is Sam and Zachary?”

She heard the familiar sound of him opening the watch that Zachary had given him. The watch that had belonged to Zachary’s father—who had been very much a father to Timothy as well. “It’s too dark for me to see the time but it’s sometime between midnight and dawn.”

“That narrows it down.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. He kissed her hair. “Best I can do, sweetheart.”

“It’ll do then.” She yawned, that ache in her head worsening a bit and making her stomach roll. “Sam and Zach?”

“Downstairs sleeping—or at least I think Sam is sleeping. I’ve heard Zachary’s boots make about two-hundred trips around the place keeping watch. I should probably be helping but I didn’t want to leave you until you woke up.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling a million times grateful that he hadn’t let her wake up alone. Eleanor had spent years alone and taking care of herself but after only a couple months with Timothy and the steady devotion he showed, she knew she could never go back to that life. “The men that did this, they’re the ones that killed Zachary’s family, aren’t they? The ones that have been chasing Samantha?”

She felt Timothy’s arms tense around her. “Yes. But at least two of them are already dead—possibly three going by that blood trail the third was leaving. Clinton can’t have too many more working with him. The sheriff is apparently on our side too. It’s all gonna be alright, Ell.”

Eleanor knew he was only saying what she wanted to hear. There was no way to know that everything would be alright. Those men were killers. Eleanor loved her husband but he was no gunslinger—but Zachary was. There’d once been a time that Eleanor had thought that Zachary would be violent with Samantha given his temper and nature—which seemed ridiculous now after watching how tenderly he treated his wife. Could Zachary take on Clinton and whatever men he had left? She told herself yes—with Timothy and the sheriff having his back, Zachary would get them all out of this. That was the only possibility she would accept right now.

“I should go help keep watch, Ell. I bolted the back door and moved the wardrobe in front of it so no ones getting in that way. Rest. I’ll bring you something up to eat soon.”

Food was the last thing on Eleanor’s mind but she nodded as Timothy slid away from her and got to his feet. “Please be careful, Tim….”

He flashed a reassuring smile in the darkness. “Don’t worry, Ell. I vowed to protect my wife and child and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And then we’re gonna go back to the ranch and make our life in our new home.”

“That sounds good to me.”

Tim swooped down and gave her one last long slow kiss before standing straight and rocking back on his heels. “I’ll bring you food shortly. I love you, Ell.”

She knew he was putting on a brave face. She knew he had to be terrified. So, Eleanor did the same. Crying and whimpering wouldn’t help a thing just now.

She smiled up at him. “I love you too.”

He went to the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “Oh and no lights. Zachary doesn’t want anyone making themselves an easier target.”

With that he left the room leaving Eleanor alone in the dark room with only the ticking of the clock and Creeds gentle snores for noise.

---

Caroline had never felt more afraid in all her life. Not fear for herself, but fear for her friends—because the four men sitting inside lamp lit saloon seemed more than eager to kill several people that Caroline held dear.

It was nearing dawn and the saloon was empty except for those four men, herself and her bartender Edgar. He was a fairly new hire and had been working for her for around two months –maybe a little less. She had tried to convince Edgar to leave hours ago when the men had rushed everyone else out of saloon, but he had refused insisting that he couldn’t leave her alone. And she couldn’t leave. The intruders had made it clear at gunpoint that she was to stay

“Whore?!” the lead man of the group, named Clinton, barked from the table.

Caroline felt her spine stiffen but kept her face free of emotion as she approached them. “What can I do for you?”

“Ride my damn cock,” one of the men replied with a chuckle.

“No amount of money would ever make that happen,” she assured the dirty, heavily bearded man. His small eyes flashed with anger but the other men at the table laughed heartily.

“She sure told you, Joe,” one of them said, patting him roughly on the back.

“Shut the fuck up, Clyde,” Joe snarled, seeming prepared to throw a punch. Clyde was still laughing even as he raised his hands in surrender.

Caroline turned her attention back to Clinton and the quietest of the men sitting beside him. The quiet man seemed solemn, sad, resigned.

Caroline had gathered enough to know that three men who had worked for Clinton but were now dead had attacked Samantha and Eleanor at the ranch while Zachary and Timothy had been away. Caroline knew the women had made it back into town but she had no way of knowing if they were okay—though there had been whispers that Zachary and Timothy had come back early and now were holed up at the doctors office. She’d heard that right before Clinton and his men had run everyone out of the saloon.

Perhaps that’s why the quiet man seemed so resigned. He knew that they were going to die. Caroline had no doubts that Zachary Marston was a dangerous and deadly man—a man that could and would slaughter anyone that dared threaten the woman he loved.

“Whore…..”

“My name is Caroline and you will use it when addressing me. I may have been a whore for a long time but this is my place of business and you will respect me.”

Clinton’s eyes narrowed. He got to his feet slowly and Caroline fought the overwhelming urge to turn and run. Instead, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and simply glared. Clinton came to stand in front of her and without a word, he sent a hand slamming across her cheek.

Caroline saw stars as she stumbled backward, nearly falling to her knees. Edgar came barreling around the bar. “Hey! Keep your hands off her!”

Clinton turned to him. “Watch yourself barkeep. I don’t allow disrespect.”

Edgar grabbed Caroline’s arm and pulled her into him. She was shocked by the movement and found herself unable to speak as he wrapped his arms around her. “And I won’t allow her to be harmed. If you want to pick a fight, go do it with whoever that bastard is in town you’ve been carrying on about all damn night.”

Caroilne tensed. Why would Edgar pick a fight with Clinton. The man was going to get himself killed.

“He’s right,” quiet man spoke up. “We mgiht as well get this over with, Clinton. We already know we’re going to die. You’ve killed all of us with this damn obsession of yours.”

Clinton’s face, which had been startlingly emotionless suddenly contorted with rage. He spun around to face the quiet man with his hands fisted at his sides. “Goddammit, Tex, the only reason I haven’t killed you for your constant doubt is because I need your damn gun out there against Zachary. But if you keep it up, I’ll blow your damn brains out.”

Tex simply shrugged as he sighed and sat back in the chair. He looked completely unafraid as he held Clinton’s gaze. “Either you do it now or he does it later, I don’t reckon it makes much of a difference.”

“Are you still sore over Winslow and LeRoy?” Clinton demanded. “People die, Tex. Get the hell over it.”

“They were my best friends !” Tex snarled, rising to his feet.

“Yeah, they always was close,” Clyde snickered, elbowing Joe in the ribs and bringing a chuckle from the other man.

Clinton simply stood there seething and for a moment, Caroline thought he was going to kill Tex—she hoped he would. That would mean one less man for Zachary to take care of. She felt disappointment in her soul when Clinton took a deep steadying breath and simply turned his back to Tex.

“Barkeep, take the whore in the back and clean her up. She has blood on her face.”

Caroline raised her fingertips to her lip and winced when she felt the split across it. Edgar cursed under his breath and put his finger under chin to tilt her head up and his dark eyes dropped to her lips. Caroline’s breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. What was going on?

His eyes snapped back to Clinton. “Don’t you put another mark on her,” he warned, his voice vibrating with rage.

“Take your whore and clean her up. It’s nearly dawn and the men and I have work to do.”

Caroline didn’t speak as Edgar kept his arm tight around her and led her into the storage room. When they were alone inside, she quickly scrambled from his arms. “I have to go,” she whispered, eyes going to the back door. This was the first time she’d been out of Clinton’s sight since the man had come in. “I have to go warn them…”

Edgar nodded. “Of course you do. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t want you putting yourself in the middle of this,” she countered. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Edgar just pulled a bandana from his pocket and gently wiped at her lip. “I’m not scared of those assholes.”

Caroline had no time to think of what this meant or the feelings that Edgar was suddenly displaying toward her. She had to warn her friends. So, she nodded, accepted this turn of events, and rushed for the back door.

Once outside, she slipped down the lamp lit streets until she reached the doctors’ home. Before she could knock, the door was thrown open and she found herself staring down the barrel of a rifle held by Doctor Reynolds.

“Don’t shoot,” she squeaked, holding up her hands.

Doc Reynold’s was quick to lower the gun. “What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

“No.. No, I came to warn the others. Clinton and his men are at the saloon. I think they’re just waiting for daybreak…” Which Caroline realized was less than an hour away.

“Come on in,” Doctor Reynold’s encouraged, moving out of the way. His gaze went to the bartender. “Edgar, are you okay? They haven’t hurt you have they?”

Edgar shook his head and shoved hand through his shaggy blond hair. “No, I was serving them drinks, they wanted me alive.”

Doctor Reynold’s closed the door once they were safely inside and bolted it. Caroline wrapped her arms tight around herself. “Where is everyone?”

“Samantha is in the patient room. Zachary is somewhere prowling around the house, same with Tim. Sheriff Thomas is out back making rounds around the outside of the house, Eleanor is upstairs in bed and Catherine is in the kitchen starting breakfast.”

“So, everyone is okay?” Caroline asked, her heart lightening. “I heard there was an attack…”

Doctor Reynolds looked exhausted as he fell down on a chair and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “There was. Eleanor has a head injury but nothing long lasting. Samantha was shot in the shoulder and won’t be able to use her arm for a while but should be fine.”

“You need to rest, doctor,” Caroline urged. “Give Edgar your gun, he can help keep watch while you take a nap.”

The doc paused a moment but his exhaustion won out and he hefted up the rifle and laid it in Edgar’s outstretched hand. Caroline bent down and kissed the doc’s weathered cheek. “Rest. Everything will be fine. We have Zachary Marston on our side.”

“I’ll just rest my eyes for a few short minutes,” the doc agreed. Caroline smiled as the man seemed to fall asleep in an instant.

She turned to Edgar. “I’m going to go see if Catherine needs help.”

He nodded, his dark eyes suddenly looking a bit more guarded as he gripped the rifle in his hands. “Be careful.”

She turned her back on him and began to walk toward the stails. A sudden sickening thud caused her to whirl around and she saw Edgar standing over the doc with that rifle butt aimed at the doc’s head where a bloody welt was forming.

Caroline realized her mistake but it was too late. Edgar was not on their side, Doctor Reynold’s slumped unconcious form was proof of that. Edgar had taken advantage of her. He had used her to gain access to the house and her friends. Clealry the man had been working with Clinton the entire time and Caroline had brought the snake right into the den.

She opened her mouth, prepared to yell for help but was silenced when Edgar swung the rifle and it slammed against the side of her head turning her world to black. She heard his voice as consciousness faded. “Sorry about this, darlin’.” 

A/N: The shitteth is fixing to hit the fannith, y’all! Thank you for reading!!

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

Samantha woke with a start and glanced around the room to catch her bearings. Judging by the dim light coming through the window, dawn was approaching.

Nerves ate ravenously at her stomach. She had a feeling that daybreak was going to bring a fight with it. People were going to be hurt today—people were going to die. All Samantha could pray for was that it wouldn’t be the people she loved that payed the price for Clinton’s obsession with her.

Part of her was tempted to simply leave the house and surrender herself to the monster to spare her loved ones any more suffering—but she couldn’t do that to Zachary. If Samantha allowed Clinton to take her, Zachary would never stop hunting, never stop killing, until he saw her free again. She laid a hand over her stomach and the baby growing there—the baby that Zachary still didn’t know about.

She should tell him, she knew that, but not now. Not until Clinton was dealt with. She didn’t want her husband to have anything more on his mind than he already did.

Slowly, Samantha got to her feet. Her head swam a bit and so she kept one hand on the bed until her legs steadied beneath her. The pain in her shoulder was intense and throbbing. She wanted nothing more than to take soemthing to ease that pain but she didn’t dare. She couldn’t allow her mind to be the least bit foggy or clouded.

Samantha’s stomach growled a bit and she sighed. She needed to find Zachary and let him know she was awake, then go figure out something for breakfast. If daylight was going to bring a fight with it, everyone needed some food in their bodies to keep them going.

Bootsteps sounded on the floor behind her—entering the room. Samatha stiffened. That wasn’t Zachary. Zachary moved silently. She turned her head and immediately felt an unsettling mixture of fear and confusion swell in her chest.

Why was Edgar, the bartender from the Hackney Saloon and Brothel standing in her room with an unconscious Caroline tossed over one of his massive shoulders and a rifle in his hands? “Hello Samantha.”

She opened her mouth but he shook his head. “Don’t make a sound. And don’t go for that revolver on the side table either. You and I are going outside and if you fight or you make a sound, I’ll kill your friend here and it’ll be all your fault.”

Suddenly the reality hit her like a ton of bricks. Edgar was one of Clinton’s men. He’d been watching them for weeks, learning their routines and infiltrating their circle by his association with Caroline. That was how Clinton knew Zachary and Timothy were going to be gone and her and Eleanor would be alone at the ranch.

A sense of betrayal burned in her gut. “Zachary will kill you,” she whispered, her gaze flitting to the table where her gun sat six feet away.

“Not before I kill her. And you. If I’m going to die, I’ll take you both with me.”

Samantha couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t fight back and let Caroline die for it. No. She had to play this smart. Go along with what Edgar wanted, surrender herself to Clinton, and figure out everything else later.

She nodded. “Okay. I’ll come with you. Please, don’t hurt Caroline anymore…” A frown pulled her lips. “You haven’t killed her already, have you?”

The man let out a quiet chuckle. “No. She’s very much alive but won’t be for long if you don’t get your ass moving.”

Samantha’s movement were stiff as she walked out fo the patient room with Edgars large form hovering behind her. She saw the doc slumped in the chair inside the store and turned an accusing eye at Edgar. He nodded. “One more person I’ll finish off if you don’t go out that door right now.”

She could see the nervousness in his gaze as he kept looking toward the staircase. Samantha tried to will Zachary into the room by sheer mind messages but apparently she lacked that particular talent.

Her entire body shaking, Samantha let Edgar push her out the door and onto the street. With jerky footsteps, Samantha headed down the road, Edgar’s rifle in her back.

“Stop right there!” Sheriff Thomas’ voice rang out.

Samantha whirled her head around but before she could shout a warning, Edgar had swung the rifle up and the gunblast echoed off the storefronts around them.

The bullet slammed into Arthur Thomas’ head, knocking off his hat and sending the man crumbling to the ground.

“Go!” Edgar bellowed, once again turning that rifle to Samantha. She put up her hand and rushed in the direction he’d indicated, onto the porch of the Launders. Edgar held that gun on Samantha as they took cover behind a wooden sign.

“Samantha!” Zachary’s voice bellowed in the early morning air.

“You’ll wanna stay over there, Zachary Marston, or I’ll kill your bitch myself!” Edgar warned.

“I would not recommend that.”

Samantha’s blood froze in her veins. It had been close to three years now since she’d heard that voice but she had never forgotten it in all that time. Turning slowly, she saw the man who had stolen her father from her. The man who had sent her running for her life and chased her for years. The one person in the world that Samantha hated with every breath within her.

“Hello Clinton.”

A smile curved his gaunt, pock marked face. “Helly little Samantha. The time since I last saw your face has only made you more beautiful.”

Her stomach rolled as her heart thundered against her ribs. “And it’s only made you more ugly.”

Instead of anger, his icy blue eyes lit with amusement. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her body against him. “You will keep me on my toes, won’t you?” Then he looked at the sling securing her right arm and frowned. “I hate that they hurt you, little Samantha. They weren’t supposed to.”

She snorted. “I hurt them back.”

A cold smile curved his thin lips. “Yes, you did.”

“Clinton Matthews?” Zachary’s deep voice called from the street. “Why don’t you come out and face me like a man instead of hiding behind my woman?”

Now there was anger in Clinton’s expression. “Your woman! She was mine first and only mine! You had no right to touch what I’d already claimed!”

“She’s a woman, not a goddamn prize at a festival,” Zachary growled. “And she’s my goddamn wife so you’ll be wanting to send her over here to me now.”

“I’m okay, Zach!” Samantha called out. “This bastard won’t hurt me.”

“Don’t lie to him, Samantha,” Clinton whispered, his warm breath washing over her face and causing her to wince. “I want you, yes, but I want to live more. I’ll kill you if he makes me.”

---

Zachary had thought he’d known fear in his life. He’d thought he’d known the deepest dread that could settle itself in a man’s gut and make him forget how to breath, speak, think… But he’d been mistaken. Nothing he had ever felt before, none of the moments that had brought him to his knees, could compare with walking into the room he’d left Sam in and finding it empty after seeing the doc had been knocked unconscious in the next room.

Before he’d fully been able to process the soul crushing desperation in his chest, a gunshot had blasted outside and he’d rushed to the window to see Nathan Thomas falling to the ground and Edgar, the bartender from the saloon, leading Samantha at gunpoint across the street with Caroline tossed over his shoulder.

Which could only mean that Edgar was working for Clinton. He’d been keeping an eye on town and he’d been the one to know that Zachary and Tim would be gone and have Clinton send his men to the ranch for Samantha.

When Zachary got his hands on that son of a bitch….

“Charles!” Catherine’s voice cut through his rage and Zachary went back into the store to find her bent over the doctor with tears in her eyes as she attempted to rouse him. Timothy cam barreling down the stairs next with his gun drawn.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“They have Samantha,” Zachary ground out, every muscle of his body tight with pent up emotions too strong to dive into. “And it looked like they used Caroline to get her. Edgar must have used Caroline to get into the house, took out the doc, and then threatened Sam to get her to leave with him.”

Timothy’s jaw was set and his gaze hard. “Okay. Where’s the sheriff? Tell us what to do.”

“The sheriff is down in the street, possibly dead. It’s just you and me, Tim.”

“How many of them are there?” Tim asked, his throat bobbing a little.

“I have no idea More than two I’m sure.”

Zachary wanted to tell his best friend to stay inside and let him handle things. He didn’t want anything to happen to Tim. But Timothy deserved his vengeance just as much as Zachary did. Timothy deserved to do this—and it was clear the man was determined. “Tell me what to do, Zach. I’ll follow your lead on this.”

Zachary forced his anger aside. Anger would only serve to get people he loved killed. He had to turn off his emotions. It wasn’t hard. Zachary had spent years doing just that.

“Go upstairs and out the back door at Eleanor’s room. There’s a ladder that leads up to the top of the store next to us. Get up there. I need someone up high.”

“Okay then.” Timothy turned and headed back toward the stairs.

“Tim?” he turned and looked back at Zachary expectantly. Zachary’s jaw tightened. “Have you ever killed a man?”

Tim’s eyes widened a moment before he shook his head and squared his own shouders, holding tight to the rifle in his hands. “No. But I have lost people I loved before and I’m not about to let that happen again. We’ll get her back, Zach. I won’t let you down.”

Zachary didn’t trust himself to speak as he watched Timothy disappear up the stairs. Doctor Reynold’s stirred in the chair. “Zachary…” he moaned, sitting straight and wincing as Catherine patted at his bloody head with a bandana.

“You rest, doc.”

“But.. Edgar is…” his voice was weak and strained. “He’s working with them..”

“I know. And they got Samantha. I have to go get her back.”

The doctor tried to stand up but fell back down hard. “I’ll help….”

Zachary shook his head, sliding his rifle off his back. “You stay here. I’ll take care of those bastards.”

---

Timothy stepped into the room and found Eleanor on her feet, holding the bed post. “I heard a gunshot!” she gasped, blue eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

Creed whimpered from his bed on the floor and Timothy sighed. “Edgar was working with Clinton.”

Her brow furrowed. “The bartender?”

“Yeah.” He wanted to hold her in his arms but if he did that she would feel him shaking, she would know how damn afraid he was to go outside and get in a gunfight. “He used Caroline somehow to get inside and knocked the doc out—then he took Samantha.”

“Sam’s out there?” Eleanor grabbed the derringer pistol from the bedside table. “I want to help.”

Timothy felt fear damn near bring him to his knees. “No!” Her eyes narrowed and Timothy shoved his hand through his hair. “No, Ell. I need you and the baby to stay here safe.”

A frown pulled down her lips as a tear gathered at the corner of her eye. “Tim….”

Cursing the trembling he knew she would feel, Tim took two steps to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He prayed it wouldn’t be the last time he ever got to experience the feel of her soft body pressed against him. He prayed he would get to spend the next sixty years at her side and raise their children and grandchildren together—have the family he’d never truly had of his own.

Without a word, Timothy pressed a hard quick kiss to her lips, moved away from her and went to the back door. Sliding the wardrobe out of the way, he didn’t even spare a glance back as he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

He leapt down the stairs quickly and went to the ladder. As he slid his rifle over his shoulder and began to climb up it, he heard Zachary call for Samantha and knew his best friend was outside. A tense conversation began between Zachary and Clinton. Timothy felt his own hatred for that man grow.

Clinton had murdered the closest thing to family that Timothy had ever had—Tim would be damned before he let that bastard take another from him.

Swallowing his fear and hardening himself for what he knew had to be done, Timothy climbed that damn ladder.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Four

Zachary stood on the doc’s porch, using a post for cover while fighting the urge to simply charge to where Clinton was hiding and kill the man with his bare hands. If Zachary were to do that, Clinton could very well kill Samantha before he got there.

The morning was eerily quiet. The town was lifeless. Folks knew that trouble was brewing. Women and children had been kept indoors and locked up tight. Men had refused to leave their families and go to work. The silence went beyond even that—the birds, the dogs, even the insects seemed to know that the safest place for them was anywhere but Hackney.

He glanced toward where the Sheriff lay only to realize the only thing still laying in the street was Arthur’s lost hat. Zachary had thought the man was dead but clealry he’d been wrong. Where the hell had Arthur Thomas gone? Zachary didn’t see any pools of blood where the body had been. He followed some scuff marks in the dirt and realized they led to a water trough nearby.

Zachary crouched and rushed toward that water trough. Arthur Thomas sat behind it, propped up against the scarred wood as he gingerly touched the bloody gouge across his scalp.

“You okay?” Zachary asked.

“Son of a bitch shot me in the goddamn head,” Arhtur grumbled.

Zach quickly examined the wound. “Just a graze. You’ll be fine.”

Arthur chuckled. “I’m seeing four of you and just as soon as I figure out which one is the real one, I’ll take a swing.”

“Are you fit to fight?”

“Yeah.” The sheriff pulled his gun. “Yeah, I’m fit. And I got plenty of bullets so I can hit all the multiple targets I’m seeing just now.”

“Good. You stay here and cover the street. Tim’s on the roof above you.”

“And what about you? We don’t even know how many men they have…”

“Clinton has four men working with him! There’s five total!” Caroline’s voice suddenly cried out from across the street. The sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded followed by a cry of pain.

“Stop hitting her, you big jackass!” Samantha’s angry voice rang out. Another sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded, followed by silence.

Zachary barely contained his roar of fury.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Five of them. Three of us. We can do this, Zachary.”

“I have you outnumbered, Zachary Marston!” Clinton called out. “I’m leaving this town with my Samantha.”

“You’re leaving this town in a pine fucking box, you son of a bitch!” Zachary called back.

“I have five on my team….”

Clinton’s voice was cut off by the sound of a gunshot on the roof where Zachary had sent Tim. Zach’s heart ceased to beat for a full second before a body toppled over the roof and fell with a resounding thud on the dirt nearby. The man was large framed and bearded—defnitely not Timothy.

“Make that four!” Tim called out.

Zachary remained crouched and moved back the post on the doctors’ porch. “I’ve been killing your men for a long time, Clinton. It ain’t gonna bother me a bit to kill the last four of you!”

“Zachary Marston?”

Zachary’s attention was pulled down the street when a tall mustached man walked out of cover and began to stride down the street.

“Tex!” Clinton’s voice was full of desperation—and it made Zachary’s heart smile. “Get back in cover! What the hell are you doing?”

The man, apparently named Tex, just shook his head as he came to a stop about fifteen feet from Zachary’s position. “You’ve killed a lot of my friends, Zachary Marston, and yesterday your bitch killed the last two best friends I had.”

“Pick better friends,” Zachary stated bluntly as he slung his rifle over his back and checked both his revolvers to ensure they were loaded and ready.

“I tried to get Clinton to let this go. I knew that if we faced you, it would be the end of us. But he wouldn’t hear of it. It seems he got us all killed when we murdered your family all those years ago. At least I got to fuck your mama one good time.”

Zachary swallowed his temper. His rage and anger were what Tex wanted. Zachary knew damn well the man was baiting him and attempting to get inside his head.

Putting his trust in Timothy and the sheriff to keep him covered from taking any shots from the other three hidden men, Zachary walked out of cover and stepped into the street to face Tex.

The man’s eyes were sad as he stood there and stared Zachary down. “I knew you’d face me like a man. You always have been a brave one. Not like that fucking coward I’ve been riding with my whole life. You hear that, Clinton? I said you’re a fucking coward. Sending all of us to fight your goddamn battles and get ourselves killed when all it would have taken was you meeting Zachary in the street like this to save us all.”

Zachary frowned. It was possible that this was a trap. Some kind of show to distract him or get him in the open but he didn’t think so. He’d heard the desperation in Clinton’s voice when Tex had stepped out, and he could hear the sadness and hate in Tex’s voice now. It’s seemed Clinton was losing his men left and right.

“I’m not much for monologues, Tex.” Zachary lowered his hand, letting his palm hover over the worn handle of his revolver. “Let’s just get to killing each other.”

Zachary didn’t focus on Tex’s hand. He focused on his face. That’s where the tell would be. The sign, the givaway, that Tex was about tow draw. And there it was. A twitch of his mouth and a narrowing of his brow, forming a crease.

Zachary had drawn before the the other man fully cleared leahter and sent a bullet through his heart, dropping him instantly.

In that moment, the street exploded.

---

Samantha heard the gunshot and panic welled inside her. She made a leap for freedom but Clinton grabbed her arm roughly and slammed her against the post beside them. The breath rushed from her lungs and more gunshots filled the air.

“Kill him!” Clinton bellowed and Samantha felt relief nearly make her fall to her knees. Clinton was taller and could see over the sign they were behind. Zachary must be alive. “Go Edgar! You and Clyde have to finish him!”

Edgar tossed Caroline to the ground, the woman was far too addled from several hits to the head to be able to pose a threat or get away. Edgar disappeared onto the street as shots continued to roar, deafening in the quiet morning.

And then just as suddenly as the shots began—they ended. Complete silence stretched on and tortured Samantha worse than the gunshots.

Clinton cursed under his breath, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into his chest. She felt his gun press tight to her temple as he positioned himself behind her. “Fight and I’ll kill you,” he whispered in ear. “Do as I say, and we’ll leave this town together.”

Samantha wanted to tell him to shove his offer five feet up his backside and choke on it, but she chose silence. Her compliance would get him out on that street and once Clinton was on that street his time left to breathe would finally come to an end.

His arm was wrapped tight around her chest, his free hand pressed tight against her wounded shoulder, causing her vision to blur a bit with pain. Samantha refused to cry out or let him know the pain he was causing. She simply took deep breaths through her nose and focused her gaze on Zachary the moment he came into view.

Her husband’s eyes locked on hers and the anger she saw there caused her own knees to shake—and she knew that Clinton was feeling the same. She could feel him trembling against her as he held that gun to her temple. She also knew that Clinton was being careful about his movements. He was hiding himself behind her and keeping their backs to the boardwalk behind them. Which meant that he knew any bullets coming at him would come from the direction he had her facing.

“You’ll be wanting to pull that gun away from my wife’s head now, Clinton.” Zachary’s voice was ice and Clinton quickly stopped walking.

“I don’t believe I do want that,” he countered, his voice trembling nearly as badly as his legs. “You’re no longer in a position to give me orders.”

Zachary’s eyes never left hers. “All these years, Clinton. Why don’t you stop hiding behind a woman and face me like a man for once?”

“You’re an arrogant bastard,” Clinton snapped, his hand tightening on her shoulder and causing the pain to intensify. Samantha could no longer hold back her cry of pain as stars swam in her vision.

Even through her hazy eyes, Samantha saw Zachary reach for his revolver. Clinton shoved his gun harder against her temple causing her to wince. “Don’t even think about it, Zachary.”

Her husband stilled. She saw the fear breaking through his anger. Clinton chuckled. “Now, let me tell you how this is going to be. You’re going to tell your men to stand down and toss out their weapons. Then you’re going to toss down all of ours. And I’m going to hop on that horse there with Samantha and we’re going to leave town. If you’re dumb enough to try to chase us, you’ll be responsible for her death.”

A tense standoff followed Clinton’s orders. Samantha knew she couldn’t leave her life in Zachary’s hands—that wasn’t fair to him. She wouldn’t be a helpless woman who made her husband put himself in harms way simply to save her life. Zachary was a gunslinger, a warrior in his own right, and he didn’t deserve to feel powerless or helpless. Not after everything he had been through.

“Don’t listen to him, Zach,” she managed to gasp, though the pain Clinton was inflicting on her wounded shoulder. “He won’t kill me.”

She let her hand drop as Zachary watched her.

“Don’t’ listen to her, Zachary,” Clinton leaned up and bit at her neck causing a pain-filled curse to fly from her lips.

Zachary tensed, that fear in his eyes growing. He glanced up toward the roof and Samantha knew he was about to tell Tim to toss down his gun. She gave a little shake of her head and his eyes narrowed. “Zachary, after you kill this bastard, I have something really important to tell you,” she stated as she raised her foot carefully, doing her best to keep her balance steady so Clinton wouldn’t notice.

“You can’t tell him anything if I blow his or your brains out all over this street,” Clinton warned.

Samantha simply smiled through her own pain, knowing that Clinton couldn’t see her. Her hands closed around the hilt of the knife in her boot. “Zachary?”

Her husband was watching her carefully but working hard to give nothing away to Clinton. “Yeah?”

“Make it painful.”

She pulled the knife out and in one fluid motion, she drove the knife deep in Clinton’s thigh, while yanking herself hard out of his loosened grasp, screaming in pain as her shoulder protested

Clinton bellowed and Samantha dove forward and went belly down in the dirt to give Zachary a clear shooting lane. And her husband didn’t disappoint. Faster than she could blink his revolver slid from the holster like silk and he unloaded it into Clinton Matthews.

Samantha felt herself hauled to her feet and she threw hereslf into Zachary’s chest, clinging to him as hot tears stung her eyes and he buried his face in her red curls. “Goddammit, woman, you’re amazing.”

Samantha wiped her face dry on his shirt before pulling away. She turned in his arms, Zachary clearly wasn’t going to be letting her go any time soon and she was in no hurry to make him, and looked at Clinton lying in the dirt.

Blood was pooling around his body and pouring from his chest with every weak beat of his heart. He was mumbling as he lay there, blood spraying from his mouth when he coughed. Samantha hated violence and death but she felt the smallest sense of satisfaction at seeing the suffering he was in. Clinton had caused so much pain to so many people—it was good to see him hurting.

She realized that Arthur Thomas was walking up to Clinton and was relieved to discover that the man wasn’t dead and was okay enough to walk around. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he walked to Clinton. Clinton’s fingers desperately tried to grab his gun but the sheriff kicked it away.

“Do you even know who I am?” Arthur demanded, his voice barely more than a growl.

“N..no…” Clinton gasped, coughing on the blood gathering inside him.

Arthur pulled his gun and aimed it down at Clinton’s face. “My name is Arthur Thomas. Three years ago you rode up on a farmhouse and found a woman and two kids alone. You raped my wife…my daughter…you killed my boy. You killed them all.” Arthur’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the revolver and Samantha felt her stomach roll. Clinton truly was the devil—the man was pure evil. “Ellen was only seven, Marcus was five. They were the sweetest, most innocent children in the world. And Annabelle…” He took a deep breath as his voice broke. “Annabelle was the love of my goddamn life. I lived and breathed for that woman.”

Clinton coughed again. The man wasn’t going to be living more than another minute or two before he bled out completely. “You should have… kept them… safe…”

The gunshot echoed off the surrounding buildings as Arthur squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet slamming into Clinton’s face.

Samantha sank into Zachary’s embrace as the man simply held her close. No one spoke for several long quiet moments. Finally, Arthur raised his head, swiped his arm across his tear dampened face, and walked over to them.

“Well, that’s done,” the man stated bluntly.

Zachary nodded. “Yep.”

Timothy came around the doc’s and out onto the street. Samantha pulled away from Zachary and rushed to him, throwing her good arm around him and hugging him tightly, feeling him hug her just as tightly in return. “Thank you for keeping him safe,” she whispered.

Tim smiled against her hair. “Thank you for keeping us all safe. You saved my wifes’ life, Sam. Nothing I ever did could pay you back for that.”

Samantha recognized Zachary’s deep growl just before the man grabbed her and pulled her back into his arms. “I wasn’t done holding you yet.”

Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Glad you didn’t die, Zach.”

Zachary nodded. “Glad you didn’t die, Tim.”

Samantha gasped. “Caroline! She’s over there and she’s hurt….”

“I’ll take care of her, ma’am,” Sheriff Thomas assured her. “You get on in and tend to that shoulder.”

Samantha could feel blood running down her back and knew that the stitches had been ripped. She looked at Zachary. “Is the doc okay?”

He nodded. “Just a sore head.”

“I’m gonna go to Eleanor,” Timothy stated before disappearing into the house.

Arthur pointed toward the launders’ porch. “I’ll tend to Caroline and then I’ll get the street cleaned up. The undertaker will be happy for the business.”

Zachary bent down and lifted Samantha into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “And I’m gonna go tend to my woman,” he growled, causing a delicous little shiver to run down her despite the pain and stress of the last twenty-four hours.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Five

Caroline stirred a bit as she began to come awake. Immediately her eyes flew open and she took in her surroundings. She’d expected to be lying on the boardwalk porch where Edgar had tossed her but instead she was in her own bed in the apartment at the saloon and brothel. She was fully dressed, laying on top of the covers with a thin throw blanket draped over her.

How had she gotten here? If she was home that had to mean the fight was over. But how had it gone? Surely if Clinton’s men had won they wouldn’t have tucked her into bed, would they?

Caroline got to her feet, weaving a bit as her head swam. She needed to check on her friends. Before she could take a step toward the door, it swung open and Sheriff Arthur Thomas stepped inside. Caroline took several quick steps back, her weak legs gave out and she fell sideways onto the bed.

“Stop right there!” she warned as he approached with a look of concern on his rather handsome face.

Caroline had no idea who she could trust. Arthur had come into town around the same time that Edgar had. Was he one of them?

“Ma’am, I’m not a threat to you,” he assured her calmly. It was then that Caroline noticed the tray of food balanced in his hands. “I didn’t realize you were up or I would have knocked. I just thought you might be hungry.”

Her stomach roared in response. Caroline propped herself on the edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary, ma’am,” he replied, setting the tray down on the bed beside her. Caroline saw a bandage on his head sticking out slighly beneath his hat.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “Where are my friends? Are they okay?”

Arthur scratched at his tanned forearm. “Edgar shot me in the head but luckily it just grazed me. And everyone else is fine. Clinton and all the men he had working for him are dead.”

Caroline breathed out her relief heavily. She picked up a piece of chicken from the plate of food and tore off a bite with her fingers before plopping it in her mouth. Guilt filled her as she chewed and stared off in space, lost in her thoughts. She should have realized that Edgar was bad. Should have known she couldn’t trust him. Instead, she had led him straight to her friends and nearly caused their deaths.

The sheriff’s throat cleared, reminding Caroline that the man was there. She glanced up at him as he pulled off his hat and held it tightly in his hands. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles around the bandage wrapped around his head. His blue eyes were warm but there was a sadness in them that caused her own heart to ache.

What was his story? Caroline didn’t know. She had seen him many times since he’d been in town. He frequented the saloon but he always simply sat at a back table and didn’t drink much. He never sampled the women and he never got drunk. He simply always sat there seeming lost in himself.

“I know guilt when I see it, ma’am, and trust me when I say you don’t need to feel any. Those were evil men, the worst of the worst, and they built their lives on lying, using, and hurting folks. Your people are just fine and the danger is gone. None of them blame you so don’t go blaming yourself.”

Caroline blinked several times. She wasn’t used to such kindness from men. Most men either treated her as an object of lust and attempted to rut with her, or treated her as a soiled, dirty woman not worthy of much respect.

“Thank you for your kindness, Sheriff.”

He stuck his hat back on his head and took a step away, his jaw tensing. “Don’t mention it, ma’am. This is my town and I take care of my people.”

She nodded, swallowing her disappointment as she took antoher bite of chicken. Of course, it was duty that had him here treating her kindly. What else could it possibly have been?

“I should be going now, ma’am. I just wanted to make sure you got something to eat and see that you were okay. Your friends will be happy to know you’re alright.”

“Thank you again, Sheriff Thomas.”

He simply tipped his hat, those blue eyes giving away no emotion as he turned his back and left the room, closing the door behind him.

---

“Sorry our house isn’t ready yet,” Timothy said as he slid into bed beside Eleanor in Samantha and Zach’s guest room and pulled her body close to him. Nothing in the world felt as good as this woman did when she snuggled her body into him.

“I wouldn’t care if we were sleeping in the dirt. I’m just glad to feel your arms around me and know that we’re safe and together.”

Tim felt his heart swell at her words and he’d be damned if he didn’t feel tears pricking at his eyes. He buried his face in her golden hair and kissed her head. “I feel the same way holding you, Ell.”

She turned her head and kissed his jaw tenderly. Timothy laid his hand over her stomach and their child that was still nestled safely inside her. “I could have lost you both—I almost did lose you both,” he shivered. “I never want to lose you, Ell. You and this baby, the life we’re making, it means everything in the world to me.”

“It means everything to me too, Tim. I never let myself imagine I could have this life. I never thought I deserved it. But you… you make me feel so loved and so…. worthy . You are the best thing to ever happen to me, Timothy O’Niel.”

“Aw hell,” he muttered as those tears he’d felt gathering broke lose and began to fall in her hair. He was blubbering like a damn babe but he hoped she wouldn’t think less of him for it. “I love you more than you could ever realize, Eleanor O’Niel. If you could see yourself through my eyes, you would never, not for one moment, doubt your worth.”

The two of them simply curled tighter around each other in the darkness, neither wanting to feel a single inch of space between them. “Tomorrow, Zach arranged for someone from Anbarina to deliever the supplies we’d planned on bringing back. So, within a day or two we can move into our house.”

“I’m in no hurry just now,” Eleanor admitted, running her hand down his arm. “I just want to spend a few quiet days here with you and Samantha and Zachary—just knowing that everyone is okay and safe and that no one else is coming for us.”

“That sounds good to me,” Timothy agreed. He would give Eleanor anything and everything she ever wanted. And a few quiet days sounded damn good to him.

He was exhausted. He hadn’t done much sleeping since him and Zachary had first left for Anbarina. Combined with the fear and stress of the last couple of days—it was catching up with him. Timothy had never killed anyone before but today he had killed that man on the roof—and he had put a few bullets in the two men on the street. So had Zachary and the sheriff so it was impossible to know who had actually killed them.

Tim wasn’t sure how Zachary had lived like that for so long. He couldn’t have done it. Killing people, even when they deserved it, wasn’t something he had in him and not a habit he wanted to make. It made him have a deeper understanding of his best friend and a better appreciation for the way Samantha had helped heal so many of his broken pieces.

“I’m exhausted Tim. Let’s get some sleep,” Eleanor whispered.

“Sounds good, sweetheart. It’s been a long day.”

And it had. After taking out Clinton and his men, the doc had tended to Sam’s bullet wound which had been painful and nerve wracking. She’d bit her teeth into Zachary’s rifle strap to stifle cries of pain as the doctor had sewn her back up and Zachary had looked ready to rip the head off the world with his bare hands.

Then Zach and Tim had helped clean up the street so it would be safe for families to go about their day. Caroline had shown up shortly after that and they’d spent hours simply talking about what had happened and assuring each other that it was no ones’ fault but Clinton’s.

Sheriff Thomas had sent men out to the ranch to get the bodies and clean the mess that had been left there. It had made coming home this evening much easier without the evidence of what had happened at what was supposed to be their safe place.

Tim felt Eleanor twitch a bit against him and knew she was asleep. He held her closer and kept one hand on her belly, protecting the life that grew there as he closed his eyes and kissed her head. Slowly he felt himself drifting off to sleep as well as he held his entire world in his arms.

---

Zachary finished checking the locks on the window and doors ensuring that his family would be safe from intruders for the night. He knew that Clinton was dead and he knew that all the men loyal to Clinton were also dead—if Clinton had any other men he would have sacrificed them before meeting Zachary on the street. But he couldn’t turn off the fear that something would happen to those he loved the moment he let his guard drop.

Slowly, he made his way back to the bedroom. Samantha was sound asleep against the soft pillows in her white night gown, her red curls splayed across them, glowing in the low lamp light. Zachary simply stood there a moment, letting his eyes soak in every inch of her.

Every curve and line and dip of her body were seered into his memory. A road map to his own personal oasis. She was the sunlight to his darkness and he had almost lost her.

Zachary sat in the chair by the bed and tugged off his boots. He removed his gunbelt and laid it on the beside table before propping his rifle against the wall within arms reach. His gaze went to Creed who was sleeping peacefully on his bed beside the wardrobe. Zachary smiled. He was glad the damn dog had made it. That pup was a hero for what he’d done and would make a real fine dog once he grew up.

“Zachary?” Samantha’s tired voice had him turning his head. She was still laying there but her big green eyes were open now and watching him with concern. “Are you okay?”

Zachary nodded, removed his clothes, and slid into the bed beside her before covering them both with the soft quilt that Samantha had bought for their bed. “Better now,” he stated as she slid against him and laid her head on his chest.

“You’re one hell of a woman, Sam.” He took one of her long curls in his hand and wrapped it loosely around his finger. “I thought for sure I was gonna lose you but you….”

“I wasn’t about to let him take anyone else away from you,” she cut in, raising up to look into his eyes. “We told each other at the beginning of this that we were losing anyone else, remember? That we weren’t going to let Clinton Matthews take anything else away from us?”

Zachary smiled. Yeah, he remembered. This fiery, stubborn, strong, powerful, amazing woman had broken through every defense he had back then, every boundary he had set, every wall he had built. Samantha had done away with them brick by brick and given him a reason to do better, a reason to be better, a reason to live.

Samantha was stronger than he was by a longshot. No matter what she had ever gone through she’d maintained a strength and a resilence and a belief that life would get better and hope still existed—she had given those things to him and Zachary would be forever in debt to the beautiful woman in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, finding no other way to put into words what he was feeling.

Samantha put her lips to his in a featherlight touch that left him growling as she pulled away. He wanted more. So much more. But he wouldn’t take it, not tonight. He knew his wife was in pain and suffering with her shoulder.

“I love you too, Mr. Marston,” she smiled down at him, rendering him damn near unable to breathe. “And I have something important I need to tell you.”

“You’ve been saying that all day,” he reminded her. He wasn’t happy that she kept teasing him with whatever this mystery news was. Samantha knew him well enough to know he appreciated bluntness and honesty. “When are you going to get around to telling me whatever it is?”

“You don’t have to grumpy about it,” she scolded, her smile fading a bit. “I didn’t want to tell you at the docs with so many people around. It felt like something I needed to tell you while we were alone.”

Zachary raised up enough to nip at her chin, making her laugh. “And now we’re alone, aside from Creed who is no doubt over there dreaming about sturdy draft horses and butterflys. So, tell me what you’re wanting to tell me.”

Samantha grabbed his hand and brought it over to rest against her stomach. “We need to get the spare room ready for a nursery. We’ll be needing a cradle in about eight months.”

Zachary was sure his heart stopped beating. He looked up into those emerald green eyes gazing down at him with so much love and devotion and simply tried to wrap his head around what she had just told him.

“A baby?” he whispered, awestruck.

She nodded, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “Yes. Our baby.”

Zachary moved his hand to her red hair, cupped her head, and pulled her mouth down to his, kissing her hard. When he pulled away her eyes stayed closed as a peaceful, gentle smile spread across her face. “I take it you’re happy?”

“Happy?” Zachary nearly choked on the emotion in his throat. “Hell yes, I’m happy. You’ve already given me so much, Sam. Now you’re giving me a child? We’re gonna fill this house with so much love, sweetheart.”

She kissed his jaw and settled back down against his chest. “Damn right we are.”

Zachary reached out and turned off the lamp before burying himself deeper inside the covers and laying a kiss to those red curls. This woman had saved him in so many ways.

She was amazing. She was strong. She was so damn beauitful.

He would spend forever loving her. 

A/N: And we’ve reached the end of ‘Saving the Gunslinger’! Thank you so much to all of you who have stuck with me through this one! It took a while, I know, and i went months between updates at times but you all were always right here when I came back! You’ll never know how much your love and support means to me! 

I also want to add that I left this ending somewhat open because there is a chance I might come back and write a story for Caroline. No promises, and no timeline on when that might get started but it is something that I’ve got swirling around in my mind!

Thanks again! Love y’all!

Nicole