Fair Is the Rose (19 page)

She clawed at his back, desperate to stay with him. "They're going to kill you!"

"Or they're gonna kill both of us." His eyes heated with anger. "Do it. Go to him."

An arm went around her waist. She held on to Cain, but Kineson was too strong. He had her in his lap in seconds.

"Let go of me!" she spat, doing her best to dismount and stop the outlaw who held the rifle on Cain.

But suddenly a man's panicked shout echoed through the prairie. She turned her eyes to the cottonwoods and gasped.

Like spectres in a graveyard, dark-coated men astride army-issue geldings had sentineled behind the trees, surrounding the outlaws' tethered horses. Christal held her breath, torn between elation and fear.

The outlaws running for their horses skidded in the tall grass. They took barely a moment to assess the situation before they scattered through die brush like ferrets.

Kineson cursed. The man who held the rifle behind Cain had run too. Cain was now the only one armed.

"Let her go," Cain said ominously.

Kineson's horse reared; he spun it on its hocks, holding her to his lap with an arm of iron. "She's my insurance now." Viciously he spurred his horse into a gallop.

Christal fought to be free, but Kineson was almost as strong as Cain. She looked behind her with frightened eyes. Cain
followed,
his face a mask of unadulterated rage.

They flew over the train tracks and into the wide-open prairie. "I'll take you down, Cain!" Kineson roared. He drew his six-shooter; Christal released a cry of fury. She tried to get it from his hand, but he knocked her back with his elbow. Undaunted, she fought, her fists hitting the gold stuffed in his shirt, her fingers clawing at his sweat-drenched chest. She clamped down on his wrist, but Kineson backhanded her with the arm that held the gun. She drew back, holding her cheek, moaning from pain. Kineson aimed at Cain again, but she lashed out once more and gave a violent tug on the side of the horse's mouth. The animal slowed. That was all Cain needed.

He released a savage yell and threw himself on Kineson. All three tumbled to the ground.

"You'd let yourself hang for this woman? You're a fool, Cain! Let's get on our horses and get out of here!" Kineson growled when he scrambled to his feet, gun in hand, only to come nose to nose withdain's Colt
.45.

Cain dragged her to her feet and shoved her behind him. In the distance, she could see dark-coated men loping across the railroad tracks like steers. It would only be a matter of time before the marshals caught up.

Cain said softly, "You'll never have her, Kineson.
Never."

"My God," Christal sobbed from behind him. "He's right. Get on your horse and get out of here. Kineson doesn't matter anymore, Macaulay. Whatever I say in your defense, they'll hang you anyway. So go. Go!" she nearly screamed.

The two men were in a standoff, both with guns drawn beneath the bright prairie sun. But Kineson seemed to be the more desperate. He eyed the marshals again and again. Cain kept his eyes only on him.

"Forget the woman," Kineson begged. "We're men of the Sixty-seventh. We've got to stick together. We can't surrender to Yankee scum!"

"I'm sorry," Cain whispered
,
his face ravaged by an honor the war had torn in two directions. "It's not Georgia we're fightin' for anymore. It's just us, Kineson. Just us . . ."

Rage distorted Kineson's features.

Christal cried out and tried to pull herself from behind Cain, but he held her to his back with an arm like a manacle. She screamed that Kineson was going to shoot, but Cain just stood there.
Staring at Kineson's eyes.

He'd once told her that a gunman knew when to shoot by watching a man's eyes, not his hand. But Christal was no gunman. Her gaze was riveted on Kineson's finger. Later she didn't know if the loud ringing in her ears was from the shot or her own screams.

The report echoed across the wide-open grassland. She grabbed Cain, expecting him to fall to the ground, mortally wounded, as she had pictured it a thousand times in her head. But he didn't fall. He put his unfired gun into its holster and watched Kineson.

Shock riddled the man's features. The outlaw stared down at the hole in his chest that poured gold. But it was not really gold at all.
Kineson's eyes widened in horror as he looked at the ground.
At his feet were chipped, gold-painted tin tokens splattered with his own blood. With a gasp of betrayal, he fell backward, dead.

"Well, I got that one just by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin," said an unfamiliar voice.

Christal whipped around to see a rotund man ease off his horse. His Winchester still smoked. He had a huge mustache and wore a red shirt common to miners, but she saw the army-issue dark blue greatcoat strapped to the back of his saddle. There was no mistaking the gleam of the
silver star
pinned to it. Her heart shattered.

"How are you, ma'am?
Name's Mr. Rollins."
He tipped his Stetson and walked to her. She drew back, helplessly watching other marshals—hundreds it seemed —trot up to them on their mounts.

"I apologize for your ordeal, ma'am. When we knew the stage was likely to be ransomed, we didn't figure there'd be a woman aboard." Rollins sensed her discomfort. He looked down at the mound in the grass that was Kineson's body. "Why didn't you pick him off, Cain? God knows you were born with the devil's hand when it comes to shooting."

Cain's words were terse and unfathomable. "You got him.
Saved me from having to kill one of my own."

Rollins just nodded, as if respecting Cain's reasons.

Other marshals dismounted. Cavalry had been sent with them. They were surrounded by men in blue. Choking back a sob, Christal waited for them to take Cain away in irons. She formulated in her mind everything she could say in his defense, but when Rollins stepped toward them, her reasoning flew. She could only step in front of Cain as if to shield him and
blather
nonsensical words in his defense, unable to drink of anything except the picture of him swinging from the gallows, his strong, scarred neck snapped in two.

"You don't have to protect me, Christal."

Cain's words broke her. She turned and threw herself in his arms. She'd always thought herself a strong woman, but suddenly the thought of them taking him away was more painful than a shot through the heart.

"What's this?" Cain asked softly, clearly taken aback by her emotion. He laid a gentle hand on her brow to brush the hair away from her glistening eyes. "You're safe now, Christal. Everything's gonna be all right."

"No," she choked, unable to take her eyes from him. "Everything's not all right. Can't you see? They're going to take you away and hang you." Desperate to find his salvation, she watched the men approach. She ached to turn back the clock, unable to accept that any second they were going to take him away and demand justice for his crimes. A bitter regret seeped into her soul. They had never had a chance. From the beginning, everything including their past and their future was against them.

The seconds ticked cruelly by.

Rollins stepped toward them; she dug her fingers into his arms to hold Cain more tightly.

"Girl, it's gonna be all right," Cain whispered against her hair.

"They can't take you. They can't . . ." she said, fiercely clinging to his shirtfront.

His arms tightened. He made a hush noise as if to reassure her. Then he said, "But I'm still armed, Christal. Think about it. Would these men let me hold you like this and leave me with my guns?"

She tilted her head to look at him. He didn't appear afraid, or even worried. Around her, marshals were tending to Kineson's body. In the distance, cavalry shackled the other gang members. She counted five. They'd captured all of them.

But Cain.

Her gaze again lifted to his. He was almost smiling.

"I—I don't understand . . ." she murmured, unsure of herself.

"He's with us, ma'am," Rollins piped up, a broad grin on his face.
"Has been all along."

"But he's an outlaw . . ." She looked at Rollins, wild-eyed with confusion. "He's even been hanged once.
In Landen."

"You want to explain that one or should I?" Cain said dryly to the man.

Rollins winced. "Ah, well, that was a mistake." He couldn't help himself and laughed. "But then, mistakes happen, don't they? On behalf of the U.S. Government, we're just glad that this one went off without a hitch." His gaze went to Kineson's body,
then
dragged to Christal, who clearly had not been in the plans. "Well, almost without a hitch . . ." he finished.

Christal stared at Cain. They weren't going to hang him. He was safe. He would live because . . . Her knees gave way. Cain caught her; she almost fainted.

"Easy there, girl," he whispered.

"You're—you're a marshal?" she stuttered, her heart constricting with fear.

"Were you really so afraid for me?" He looked tenderly down at her.

She stared at him wild-eyed. She didn't answer.

His knuckles, rough yet tender, stroked her cheek. "We got a lot to talk about, Christal."

She still said nothing. He was a U.S. Marshal.

Unconsciously, her palm curled over her scar. If she'd wanted to escape before, now the need had multiplied tenfold. Her blood fairly gushed with the desire to run. Her gaze traveled to all the men surrounding them. She was standing in the middle of an empty prairie with more lawmen than she'd ever seen in her life. Her eyes settled on Cain. She couldn't accept it. He was a U.S. Marshal.

"We found the other prisoners and the man who held them at Falling Water," Rollins said, shattering her concentration. "The gang'll go directly to Fort Laramie for trial—we got a judge there. But we're taking the passengers to old Camp Brown to recuperate,
it's
closer. Then Overland's promised coaches to wherever they want to go." He tipped his hat to Christal. "That goes for you, too, ma'am. I hope you don't mind riding once more with Cain to the fort."

She didn't protest. She was numb. All she could do was woodenly
comply
. She had to get through the formalities and do her best to hide her identity. Then she had to
run.