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“I...I...”
“Now don’t you worry. It won’t hurt you.” He walked forward, the heat of her curves against him a lusty distraction, but he braced his nerves against the tightening in his britches. “There we are. Just reach out and put it in my hand.”
Naomi shook as she complied. Soon Bobby held the gun in the hand at Naomi’s waist. He continued to press the blade against her throat.
“Now his gunbelt, darlin’.”
“But I—”
“You’re not doin’ anything improper. But I need the belt and the ammo.”
Naomi deftly unfastened the belt.
“Just hold onto it for now, angel,” Bobby said. “Empty your pockets please, Sheriff. You know what I’m looking for.”
“Morgan—”
“Now, or the lady takes a bath in her own blood.”
Naomi’s warm body trembled against him. She was scared, and he felt bad about that. He truly did. She was a beautiful angel and she didn’t deserve to be in the middle of this mess. But he’d discovered long ago that life sometimes only coughs up one opportunity for each situation. He’d learned to identify it and take it. She was his opportunity to get the hell out of this town.
Stiles pulled out his ring of keys.
“Hand them to the lady, Sheriff, and show her which one opens the cell. Come on, you’d best hurry, before those drunks wake up.”
The keys clanked together as he pressed them into Naomi’s hand. “It’s this one,” Stiles said, indicating. “I’m so sorry about this, Naomi.”
“Save it, Sheriff,” Bobby said. “Now we’re all going to walk nice and slow over to the cell, and Naomi, you’re going to open it. All right?”
She nodded against his chest, and he caught a whiff of her scent. He shook his head to clear the fog. No time to get lost in a dream of lavender and soft woman.
They moved in tandem to the cell door, and Naomi’s fingers trembled as she turned the key in the lock. Bobby held the razor steady at her neck, though sweat trickled from his forehead into his eyes and stung. He blinked, but the blade never wavered.
“Step inside, Sheriff.”
Stiles obeyed, shutting the door behind him.
“Lock him up, angel.”
Naomi’s shaking hands turned the key with a clink.
“You got what you want, Morgan,” Stiles said from the cell. “Now let her go.”
Bobby chuckled, though he did let the blade rest a bit more lightly against her soft flesh. It’d be a shame to scar such a sleek, pretty neck. Such a neck was made for kissing and nibbling, not slicing to smithereens.
“’Fraid I can’t do that, Sheriff. She’d go runnin’ to her pa. And she still has the key.” He lowered his voice, speaking into Naomi’s ear. “How’d you get here, angel?”
“M-My pa’s buckboard is outside. W-We live on a claim...too far to walk.”
“Perfect. Your horse?” He backed away from the cell, dragging Naomi with him.
“A g-gelding. Barney. He’s...gentle. Don’t hurt him. Please.”
What an innocent. A razor at her neck, and she was worried about a horse? He shook his head as they left the sheriff’s office. Once outside in the warm summer air, he lowered the blade and pressed the pistol into Naomi’s trembling back.
“You can let me go now, can’t you? I won’t go to my pa. You have my word, Mister—”
“Morgan. Robert Morgan. Call me Bobby. And though it pains me, I’m sorry, I can’t let you go. You and I are going to take your horse on a ride out of this town.”
