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Elijah remained mute but wished he had spoken if it would have prevented his brother’s next words.
“Not every woman is like Emma, Elijah.”
“She is.”
“I doubt it. If that had been Emma today, when you brought her up to the cabin she would have still been in hysterics,” Joshua drawled. “While I loved Emma as much as you did, she did not have a spine in her backbone. She was like spun glass.”
All his life Elijah had trusted his instinct when dealing with other people, but it was damn silent now when he thought of Sheridan. “If and when I do take a wife again she will be strong, resilient, and able to defend our home and children, able to live and flourish in these wild lands. That is not Sheridan. I let those vermin live today but she still emptied her stomach. I restrained myself only because she was there. A woman like Sheridan is too weak for this land.”
“And you are certain of this?”
Elijah closed his eyes and forced himself to look past his nightmare. Emma’s bloodied body, his son’s gaping throat; Emma’s lifeless eyes condemning him for not reaching her sooner. But Sheridan had been fighting when he came upon them. She had been wild and defiant, not cowering in fear despite knowing the faith that awaited her. Damn. He had to admit she was soft as hell, but mayhap not like Emma.
I am not weak Elijah. I can be that woman. No, nothing like Emma. “She wants me to teach her to defend herself. To fight. Rifle, a six shooter and a knife.”
He felt Joshua start of surprise. “She barely clears five feet. She will not be able to take any man.”
“No,” Elijah mused, “but she is swift and strong. She can learn to throw a knife. She can shoot from a distance. If I teach her, there could be hope for her when she is accosted.”
It was not an if. A woman like Sheridan would always be accosted if she chose to stay in the West. He’d seen the naked hunger in her eyes when she spoke of home, and he would be a son of a bitch if he tried to keep that from her. If he kept pressing for her to leave. He couldn’t leave this land, and he finally understood her love and respect for it was the same. Even though she had not been born in the West like him. He’d not thought much on it, always having a place to call home. She should have that.
“So you’re thinking to teach her then?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will pitch in when needed.”
The cry of an eagle rode the night air and they identified their younger brother’s call. They shifted in unison and waited for Noah to appear. He came upon them silent and sure. Elijah arched his brow when he took in Noah’s appearance. His hair was plaited in two and had feathers interwoven in them. He wore pants tucked into moccasins with a large hunting knife sheathed at his hips. As usual he wore no guns, they were more Joshua’s style. Dancing green eyes met Elijah’s gaze, and he drew his younger brother into a fierce hug. It had been too long since he last saw him. Almost a year. As a Marshal Noah took on some of the most dangerous jobs, where he left the Triple K for months at a time. As Elijah understood it from Joshua, a few months ago he had gone undercover, riding with a bunch of criminal gang comancheros.
“What did I miss?” Noah drawled.
Elijah released him and Joshua drew Noah into another bear hug.
“Let’s go inside the cabin. If Sheridan is awake I will introduce you.”
Noah mocked stumbled “The Sheridan? Ma will be thrilled to hear this.”
Elijah ignored both his brothers’ low chuckles and walked toward the cabin. The tenseness from his shoulders eased and the rage in his gut settled somewhat. And he knew it had a lot to do with the fact that he was heading back inside to Sheridan’s arms more than his brothers’ presence.
And it was the most difficult thing he had ever admitted.
Chapter Fifteen
Sheridan and Elijah stood on the north side of the cabin. She glanced at his brothers as they gutted a deer and prepared it for the spit. She had met them in the night, and something had eased inside of her. Worry had dimmed to be replaced with hope. Not that she doubted Elijah. Even now she could see the rage that burned beneath his calm façade. She did not want him hunting Sullivan and his goons alone.
She’d come to realized his brothers were hard men, just as capable as Elijah. Last night in the cabin she had listened to them laugh and rabble-rouse each other and a yearning so intense it bordered on pain had filled her. That was what she wanted—a family. They had drunk coffee and eaten biscuits she had cooked with rashers of bacon, and stayed up late into the night talking. She had slipped away after the meal, leaving them alone with their tales. Hoping to pass the time reading, she had searched the small cabinet in the room and had been stunned when she found the dog-eared copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. She had given it to Elijah after reading the entire book to him a day at a time over the course of a week. To know he had kept it, and had obviously re read it, brought a rush of emotions to burst inside her heart. She had kept riffling through the content of the cabin until she found a few magazines with short, gory, and exciting gunslingers’ stories. She had read until Elijah had come up.
She had blushed something furiously when he had taken her into his arms in the wee hours of the morning. She’d been convinced his brothers would be able to hear them from the rooms next door. He had laughed at her and had simply drawn her into his arms until she fell asleep. Now as she looked at his handsome profile, she wished she had made love with him.
She had dressed in a supple brown leather skirt and vest that he told her belonged to his mother. They were plastered onto her figure, but the length was perfect. It had amused her to know his mother’s stature was as tiny as hers, and yet she had birthed such large strapping men as Elijah and his brothers. She had glared at him when he pointed out his mother birthed tiny babies and not grown men.
They trotted in silence and she tried not to feel too hopeful about how relaxed he seemed. “Will you teach me how to quick draw? I heard that Billy the kid and Jessup were lightening quick.”
Elijah’s lips curved in a smile. “Shooting a man is not only about how quick you are.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “That is not what Frank Tousey says in his dime novels. He argues the quickness of a draw is what determines a man’s faith.”
Pleasure uncurled inside of her as he tugged her close, sliding her body slowly and sensually against his. His head dipped and he pressed a soft kiss on her lips.
