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Elijah looked at the men on the ground. They had intended to rape Sheridan, pass her around, break her spirit, slowly and completely. The memory of Bartley’s hands up on her skin had Elijah’s rage growing colder. But with calm he walked over to where Bartley lay on the ground. The man tried to push up himself and stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping and groaning.
Elijah flipped him over on his back with his boot and put a rifle he borrowed from the ground in Bartley’s face. Elijah looked down the barrel at Bartley. The man went white with fear, but Elijah felt no mercy. “It seems as if I was not clear before when you visited Whispering Creek. Sheridan belongs to the Kincaid’s. Spread the word to your men. If she is harmed, we will start hunting. You will be the first.”
Bartley’s eyes widened. “You marrin’ her?”
Elijah smiled coldly. “She is mine. That is all you need to know. Mine.”
“You do not know what you are inviting, Kincaid,” Bartley rasped coughing up blood. “Sullivan has made it known that no one should marry her. She is his. You cannot claim his woman. He will not let you. You do not understand what you are pitting yourself against.”
Elijah had a fairly damn good idea and did not care. After only being on the ranch for a few days and in town only once, he had come to understand more about who Jericho Sullivan was. The Sullivan Ranch was a tremendous power with many riders, all of whom were hired for their ability with guns as well as with ropes and cattle. Many referred to him as King Sullivan and he himself strutted around, referring to himself thus. He even owned the law in Blue Lagoon. He had called an election to choose a sheriff and a judge, and many had bowed to the men he wanted in office.
Something hard and brutal settled in the pit of Elijah’s stomach as he took on the storm he knew his words would unleash. “What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded toward where Sheridan stood. “And the woman’s mine.”
He looked in each of their faces memorizing them. They understood what he did and paled. “If anyone of you approaches this woman again, so much as looks in her direction, I will come hunting, and I will kill you,” he said in a bland neutral tone as if he spoke about the weather. When he was sure they understood his message, he slung the rifle to his shoulder and exited the alley.
They would heed the message, but Jericho Sullivan would not. Elijah needed to let the man understand first hand that when a Kincaid claimed a woman, that claim was absolute and unchallengeable.
He paused when he saw Sheridan still leaning against the side of the bank. Tears streaked her face, but they were silent ones. He walked toward her, his rage still clamoring, but the nightmares quieter.
Chapter Twelve
Sheridan leaned against the side of the bank trembling. Everything had happened so fast. Mr. Sullivan had summoned the town preacher, but the preacher had taken one look at her and had stuck to his guns, refusing to marry an unwilling woman. Mr. Sullivan had been furious, but the preacher had remained unruffled eve
n though his bible had been clenched in a death grip. Sullivan had then ordered the preacher to be at the Crazy S ranch where he would find a willing bride. His words to Bartley, ‘teach her a lesson’ was one of the most petrifying things she’d heard her whole life.
Elijah walked toward her in quick strides. She pushed herself off the side of the bank. Tears burned her eyes and she wiped them away. The last thing she wanted to do now was appear weak, reminding him of his wife. Pain filled moans came from the men in the alley and her eyes scanned them frantically. She dimly heard their groans and realized they still lived. Even though they were vermin, relief flooded her. She did not want Elijah to have their deaths on his hands.
The day was warm and the metallic stench of blood rose hot and fetid in the air. One of the men clutched his face where Elijah’s blade had sliced, leaving a horrid gaping wound. She vomited, emptying her luncheon in the blood-spattered alley. She staggered to her feet. He gave her his canteen and she rinsed her mouth a few times. She gratefully popped the mint he handed her, sucking on its sweet wintry flavor. She prayed he would not mention her apparent weakness in the face of blood and gore.
She tipped her head towards him. “Thank you, Elijah.”
His thumb dragged gently against her bottom lip wiping away the blood. “Do you want me to kill him?” His voice was low and fierce, his expression raw and intent.
“I...no.” She gasped when his fingers caressed her even softer.
“Never come into town without me again. Until you leave, you either travel with me or Miguel, understand?”
She nodded mutely, heart aching that he still spoke so casually about her leaving.
He bent down and kissed her gently. Her heart lurched at his action, only a brief pass of his mouth over hers. His fingers sank into her hair, ruthlessly holding her gaze to his. His voice was rough with some unnamed emotion when he questioned her. “Are you hurt? Do you need to see Doc?”
Sheridan realized his other hand rubbing up and down her back was shaking. “No.”
“Are you certain, Sheridan?”
“Yes I am. They…they didn’t get to do what you are thinking.”
He pressed another quick kiss to her lips. “Let’s go.”
“The sheriff will—”
“Fuck the sheriff. Let’s get you home.”
He scanned the alley, and she noted how empty the street was. They had all fled indoors at the fighting. Elijah’s movements were quick when he launched onto the horse and drew her up in front of him. He nudged the massive stallion into a run and she held onto his arms, the sick feeling of fear still lingering. They had intended to rape her. A harsh sob tore from her and tears spilled down her face. She did not want him to see her cry but she couldn’t help it.
“Sullivan will rue the day he thought to inflict harm on you,” he promised softly at her ear.
“Elijah, no.” She didn’t want any more violence. She only wanted to be at home, in his arms, safe and comforted.
