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Sheridan flinched and Elijah did not shift his regard from Jericho. There was a surety in his voice when he spoke of her. He sounded too damn sure. Elijah did not like it.
“She was not lost. She came to inform me that certain parties had interest in my outfit, and my presence was needed on my land. Your presence here, uninvited, indicates to me that you are the interested party.”
The silence that reigned was an interesting one. He slowly met the eyes of each man, taking their measure and their intent. His way was careful. In case they mistook his greeting for an invitation, he centered his revolver on the leader’s chest.
“Your outfit?” The one Sheridan identified as Bartley stepped forward, his eyes glittering with sudden anger.
“My outfit,” Elijah responded coolly.
One of the men edged his horse closer and Elijah palmed his gun with casual ease and pointed at him. The man froze.
“And who might you be?” Jericho drawled in that unruffled way of his.
“Elijah Kincaid.”
Stillness came over Bartley and one of the men on horseback, and Elijah knew they had at least heard of him and his brothers.
“Of the Triple K’s Kincaid?” Bartley demanded looking flustered.
Elijah assessed them without answering. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “I hear talk of Mr. Sullivan wanting to do business with the Creek. I am the Whispering Creek. So you will deal with me.”
They looked at each other and something passed between them, something that had Sheridan tightening her hands on the colt dragoon. She sent him a pleading look and mouthed the words “forgive me.” He saw the bleak desperation in her eyes. His gut tightened and he went quiet inside.
“Sorry amigo,” the Mexican murmured conciliatory. “There seems to be some misunderstanding. We are only here for the woman. We will leave peacefully with her. If you resist, we will not leave peacefully.”
A soft cry hissed from her. So there was no threat to the ranch.
“Go inside, Sheridan,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. He did not want her outside in the event things got nasty.
She made to move in the direction of the main house and one of the men jerked his mount forward, stopping her. She went chalk white. Her gaze flitted over each man, carefully avoiding Sullivan’s own. She glanced at Elijah, her eyes questioning as to what she should do. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she did everything to bury it. If one did not know her, she seemed calm. His lips quirked in a small smile of admiration. “Just keep walking, sweetheart.”
She glared at the two men directly in her path.
“Go. If he tries to stop you I will put a bullet in him.” He made his voice flat and implacable.
“You are outnumbered five to one. We will take you. Just hand over the senorita.” The Mexican to the left of Bartley spoke.
Elijah shrugged. “Probably. I have never been a man to let the odds intimidate me.” He turned the revolver on the man closest to Sheridan as she walked around them toward the main house. The shotgun he kept lined up with Sullivan’s midsection.
“Is Sheridan your fiancée or your wife?” Sullivan asked with a queer smile on his lips.
“Neither.”
“Then what is your interest in my woman?” Sullivan’s mask shifted a little and Elijah could see the meanness that lurked.
“The lady is unwilling.” Elijah reckoned he didn’t need to say anything further.
“And if the lady proves to be willing?” Sullivan murmured, lighting a cigarette, studying him with his dead eyes.
Elijah shrugged casually. “If she is willing, she is yours.”
“Ah, so you are not fucking her then?” Sullivan dragged long on his smoke, watching Elijah intently. No doubt trying to gain his measure.
“Is it that you want to be fucking her?” Sullivan smiled, a twisted depraved slant of his lips. “Do not let that desire make you fight us my friend. I will still allow you to taste.”
Elijah held Sullivan’s scrutiny, erasing all of his emotions. They weighed each other, and Elijah did not like what he saw one bit. The men with Sullivan chuckled at his offer, and a kind of charged waiting permeated the air, a lustful charge, a predatory anticipation. Only it did not fill Sullivan’s gaze alone. It filled all five men’s eyes.
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