The outlaw dropped backward, his burly body thudding as he hit the ground.He never twitched, never moved.
The sound of the gunshot echoed off the hills and peaks, like thunder in a receding storm, slowly subsiding.
For a moment, neither of them moved.The night seemed to hold its breath around them.
Caleb walked over, drew his knife from Dodger, cleaned it off, and slid it back into his boot.Taking Sheila’s knife from where it had fallen, he wiped it on the man’s coat and turned to her.
She was sitting close to the edge, holding Dodger’s revolver, staring at her foe.When Caleb held out his hand to her, she took it and got to her feet.
“I saw you put your hand in that pocket, and I was wondering if you were still packing that pistol I gave you.”He looked at the knife before offering it to her.“Wendell’s?”
She nodded and took it from him.
“Well, that’s sorta fitting, don’t you think?”he asked.
Sheila gazed at it for a long moment, then slipped it into her pocket before suddenly throwing her arms around his neck.
They stood there together, and Caleb felt the faint tremble running through her body.It was only natural.They had come within a breath of disaster.She’d spoken before about the dangers of New York City, but he doubted she had ever faced death staring her straight in the eye the way she had today.
This time, he did not back away.He held her carefully, one hand spread against her back, the other resting at her shoulder, feeling the tremors move through her beneath his hands.She had been brave because she had no choice.But brave in the face of danger did not mean untouched by it.
Slowly, she leaned back just enough to look up at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.“You saved my life.”
“You did real well,” he said softly.“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Sheila smiled then—small and unsteady—and rose onto her toes to press a kiss against his cheek.But at that same moment, Caleb turned his head toward her without thinking, wanting to say something more.
Instead, her lips brushed his.
The touch lasted no more than a heartbeat, soft and startled and warm enough to send a jolt straight through him.
They both froze.
Sheila’s eyes widened, color rushing into her cheeks as she stepped quickly back out of his arms.Caleb felt heat climb the back of his own neck, his pulse suddenly hammering far harder than it ought to.
For one suspended moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Sheila turned abruptly and took several steps away before stopping near Dodger’s body.She frowned down at the dead man, though Caleb suspected she was trying to gather herself again.Probably as hard as he was.
“I’m glad you killed him.”She glanced back over her shoulder, her cheeks still faintly pink.“If you hadn’t, I would have done it myself.”
Without another word, she started back along the boulders and disappeared into the gathering dusk.
Watching her go, Caleb realized maybe Sheila Burnett truly was tough enough for frontier life after all.
And maybe that was going to be a problem for him.A serious one.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Early the next morning,Doc sent Sheila to fetch Caleb, who was drinking coffee by the campfire, keeping an eye on Lucas, and trying to decide what he wanted to do with the boy and his mother.
Sheila told him that the fever had broken, and Mrs.Fields was awake.The woman was weak, but Caleb could speak to her if he promised not to wear her out.
By rights, he knew he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all.He should simply truss them up and haul them back to Elkhorn to face justice.They were stagecoach robbers and accessories to murder, even if he believed Lucas and the stories Zeke and Preacher told about them.
If he did take them back to face the judge, however, Elkhorn would be having a mother and son hanging.That was the punishment for murder.No matter how he thought of the Fields gang, two men were dead in the last stagecoach robbery.And there were no witnesses who could testify Dodger had actually been the one who killed them.
