Madeline prowled into the saloon, her gaze scorching the inhabitants into silence. These men who were lounging around in her saloon, drinking her liquor and fondling her whores were the same men who would not volunteer to help find out what happened to her coach.
The men shuffled in their chairs and looked anywhere but at those glittering brown eyes. Those who accidentally did lock glances with her swallowed convulsively, pinned to the wall by the ferocity of her anger, feeling their life drain away.
She swept through the room without saying a word, her look speaking volumes of unmentionable words and deeds.
A great sigh swept over the room as she slammed the door of her private chambers shut.
***
Doc watched as Miss Lucy replaced the cool cloth on Deputy Davenport’s forehead. “Just having you here has helped him. He was mumbling about death and graves before you came up. You seemed to have calmed him down.”
Miss Lucy smiled tightly, keeping her eyes on Chris.
Doc sighed. “The longer we can keep Madeline away from him, the better for him I say . . .” his comment was cut off at the moan of pain issuing from the unconscious Chris at the mention of Madeline’s name.
Miss Lucy laughed lightly, “Looks like Chris agrees with you.”
***
Walter paced in front of the empty telegraph/train schedule/post office window, muttering under his breath.
A medium sized, chunky, pale individual, belching softly behind his hand which was not raised sufficiently to cover his mouth, approached. “Hey Walter, how’s it hanging?”
“Simon! Where have you been?”
“Why? You in a hurry?” Simon sniggered, obviously believing himself to be a great wit.
Walter rolled his eyes and waited, albeit impatiently, for Simon to seat himself behind the partition and open the window for business.
“Now,” *belch* “what can I do for you?”
“I want to send a tele . . .” Walter paused, looking at Simon suspiciously as an idea occurred to him. “Simon, you don’t have any mail for me that hasn’t made it out to the Circle K, do you?”
Simon looked at Walter sheepishly. “Umm ... yeah, I do. I was going to deliver it, I swear. I just ... it’s just ... well Walter,” Simon straightened his habitual slump, “it’s just that I am so busy, I really don’t have time to deliver every piece of mail that comes in to the office, especially mail for people who live outside of the town limits.”
“Give it to me.”
“Huh?” Simon floundered.
“Give me my mail,” Walter hissed, his hand imperiously shaking inches from Simon’s nose.
Simon eyed the hand and the expression on Walter’s face and scrambled to find the missing mail. “Here,” Simon thrust the letter into Walter’s hand, his own trembling in fear.
Walter scowled at Simon for good measure and stepped away from the window for a modicum of privacy. He opened the letter after noting there was no return address and scanned the contents. “Dammit!!!”
**********
Walter barely allowed his horse, TNT, to come to a halt before he dismounted and rushed into the cabin calling out to Belinda at the top of his lungs. He was breathing hard as he skidded to a halt beside the wooden dresser and grasped the drawer handle to stay upright. Frowning at his self-perceived weakness, he hauled the drawer open even as he hollered, "Belinda?"
It was not Belinda who answered, but rather Birkoff, a piece of cold chicken in his hand as he sauntered into the room. "Hey, Walter. Belinda is at the well with the rest of the women. What's wrong? Is Chris okay?" Birkoff gazed at the old man, puzzled.
Walter shook his head, too agitated and breathless to berate Birkoff for eating again and so close to noon. "I have to go after Nik. She's in danger." Walter started dragging clothes out of the dresser.
"Danger!?!" Birkoff caught the old man's hands, stilling them. "What's going on?"
Walter stopped shaking, drew in a deep breath, and slowly released it in a soft whistle of sound. Under control once again, he turned and looked at Birkoff. His first concern was to lessen the look of anxiety on the younger man's face. He had great respect for Birkoff and his willingness to stand by and protect Nik. He knew that when he finally made it back to the Circle K, the situation he faced would have been worse if Birkoff and Gail had not stuck with Nik.
"Sorry, Birkoff." Walter shook his head in dismay at his extreme over-reaction. "She is not in immediate danger. It's just that ..."
"Walter?" Belinda's sweetly calm voice interrupted the conversation. "Mr. Hillinger told me that you were calling for me. What's wrong?"
Walter sighed, his soul calmer for her presence. "I was just telling Wild Boy here that I received a letter from George. I know who the man in black is."
"George?" Belinda's voice stayed calm and serene but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. She knew the things Walter had done during his time of service for his country. She had not always approved of his actions but she had believed in his motivations, if not those of others, for those actions.
Walter nodded wordlessly.
Birkoff looked back and forth at the two of them. "Who is George? What does this have to do with Nik?"
Walter sighed, dropping the clothes back in the drawer. "I used to work for George. He's a very powerful man. He is very intent on combining the territories."
Birkoff nodded. "All right, but what does that have to do with Nik?"
Walter sat down on the bed. "Seems the man in black works for George." He buried his face in his hands.
Belinda walked over to Walter and laid a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Did the letter tell you what the plans were?"
Walter shook his head. "Not a word. Just told me to keep an eye out for his 'nephew'." Walter slammed a fist against the bed. "Damn lazy Simon! I should have gotten that letter earlier."
"If you don't know what the plan is, doing anything, anything at all, could mess it up. Since George sent him without telling you what he is going to do, I am sure the man in black can take care of the situation himself," Belinda stated practically, attempting to placate Walter's grief.
"And, I hate to say this, but Nik expects us to keep harassing Madeline while she is gone. With Chris out of the picture for a while, we will have to do some scouting to determine her plans. We need you here for that, Walter."
Resigned, Walter nodded his head. "You are right, of course. I just hope my Sugar can handle him."
Belinda tilted her head curiously. "Who is the man in black, anyway?"
Walter's mouth tightened. "Michael."
Belinda paled and gasped, "Michael?" she questioned weakly.
Walter nodded.
"Who's Michael?" Birkoff questioned, bewildered.
"The Angel of Death," Belinda whispered.
***********
Michael laid on the hard ground looking up at the star-filled night sky and thought about her, the Scourge, the Angel of Light. Not unusual as she had been on his mind from the moment he saw her wanted poster. From the corner of his eye he could see her huddled body, shivering lightly in the cold. His lips quirked as he thought of her earlier reaction to his suggestion that they sleep together. The look in her eyes told him exactly what she had thought of his justification of sharing body heat. His smile faded as that look coupled with several other moments throughout their short time together caused the inescapable conclusion that Nik had been severely abused at some time in her life. He could not explain the fierce surge of rage that flowed through him at the thought. Frowning, he reviewed the little clues from earlier. It had started when he had asked her why she was “specializing” in Madeline’s coaches. The vehemence in her tone as she talked about Madeline and her trade had taken him by surprise. From the interaction he had seen the night of the party, the casual overheard conversations in town, and his own assessment of her personality, he knew this type of hostility was extremely unusual for her.
He was not unaware that some of the women in Madeline’s house were there involuntarily, due to life circumstances, but it had not occurred to him that they were “forced” into servitude, until now. Nothing in George's report had hinted at slavery.
***********
Michael came awake with the silent suddenness of a man trained for any eventuality. Without moving or opening his eyes, he cataloged his surroundings, seeking the discrepancy, the change. In moments he heard what had awoken him, the chattering of Nik's teeth and her breathless whimpers. Sighing silently, he turned his head to look across the slowly waning fire at the quivering hump that was Nik. She had curled into a ball in an attempt to ward off the cold of the desert night. Michael pondered his options. He knew he could not go back to sleep now that he was aware of her discomfort. He could stoke the fire back up but that would only be a short-term solution. Right now the fire was bright enough to keep the night creatures at bay, much brighter and the curious ones would be aroused. He could offer her his poncho, but that would leave him subject to the cold instead.
Michael threw back his poncho and sat up. With one last wary look at the trembling pile, he stood up. A few short steps and he was standing beside Nik. Startled, she looked up at him, her eyes wide even as she shivered again, her teeth chattering.
"Wh...hhh...aa...at?" Her voice was quaking too much to be threatening.
Michael said nothing but swooped down to pick her up. He frowned, troubled by the chill of her body.
Nik shrieked and started twisting and tried to strike out at him. "Put me down you brainless oaf! I'm not sleeping with you! PUT me down." Her hands flew out in all directions, hampered by her thin blanket, landing rather solidly on his shoulders and back.
Michael stifled an oath and quickly carried his squirming bundle over to his blanket and saddle.
"PUT ME DOWN!" Nik pounded on him some more, her voice echoing clearly throughout the still desert night.
Michael semi-dropped her onto his blanket, just hard enough and just high enough to knock the breath out of her. He quickly moved out of the way of her flailing limbs.
"OOF." Nik gasped, sucking breath back into her lungs.
"You are down," Michael stated, unconsciously rubbing his left shoulder where her sharp fist had connected.
Nik sat straight up and glared at him. "What in the hell do you think you are doing?"
"I could not sleep with you whimpering and your teeth chattering. It may be all right for you to travel with no sleep, but not me. I require my rest," Michael stated matter-of-factly, keeping his voice deliberately neutral.
Nik blinked at his tone and peered up at him. "I was whimpering?"
Michael nodded.
To Michael's surprise Nik blushed and turned away from him. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice raw with suppressed emotion.
Michael frowned. *What the hell just happened?* He liked the fiery angry Nik better than this oddly repentant one. "Look, let's just get some sleep. It is obviously too cold for you by yourself. . ." he started, but stopped as her head spun around, her eyes glaring at him, whatever melancholy emotion that had been plaguing her - gone.
Michael held up a hand to forestall her poised objection. "All I am suggesting is sharing body heat, nothing else. NOTHING. I have never forced myself on a woman and I'm not about to start now." Michael's soft voice held a firm thread of indignation.
Nik chewed on her lower lip for a moment and then nodded shortly. Without saying a word she lay down where he had dropped her and pulled her thin blanket over her shoulders.
Cautiously Michael circled her supine figure and stretched out behind her in spoon fashion. When she did not hurl an elbow at him or try to scratch his eyes out, he relaxed slightly. Carefully, he draped the poncho over the both of them and closed his eyes, waiting.
***
Nik sighed and unconsciously burrowed closer to the heat that seemed to flow off of the man in black in soothing waves. She felt her embarrassment gradually subside. Walter had told her that she sometimes cried out in her sleep and it pained her to think she might have done so tonight. There were times when her dreams were full of dark menacing figures and dreadful memories, so she was not surprised to discover that she has called out in fear. However, it was important to their partnership that she show no weakness to the man in black.
She listened for the smooth steady breathing of the man in black and slowly she heard it. His heartbeat was barely noticeable against her back but the rhythm of it seemed to flow through her body like a fine wine, touching on all her nerves, soothing while exciting. She did not understand her reactions to this man. After her term of indenture in Madeline's house, Nik knew she would never feel safe around men again. She had never felt this way about ANY man, even Gray had never engendered this type of ... awareness.
Nik allowed herself to relax even more, breathing deeply and slowly, strangely comforted by the presence of a man laying behind her, his body pressed up against hers.
*Very strange, indeed.*
************
"What was that you were eating last night?"
Nik almost spun Angel around in a circle, so surprised was she that Michael was the first to break the silence this morning. She looked at him blankly before his question sunk in.
"Oh, that. I don't have a name for it. Walter taught me how to make it."
Michael nodded. "I have never seen anyone do that to a biscuit before."
Nik laughed. "Well, Walter is ... different. The only real problem is that you have to use the ingredients the first night, no way to keep them fresh on the trail," Nik bemoaned, her disappointment evident in her tone.
Michael suppressed a smile. While it was true he had never seen anyone split a biscuit and crumble cheese, jerky, and vegetables over the halves and heat the mixture, he had mostly been searching for a way to break the harsh silence that had descended between them since Nik woke up this morning and realized that she had cuddled against him during the night. He supposed that was bad enough but there had been no way to hide his body's reaction to having the woman who was starting to haunt his dreams in his arms and his bed. She had stiffened upon waking, realizing and feeling and had very carefully extracted herself from their shared space, her eyes locked onto him as though waiting for him to strike. She had not said a word, not a single word until now.
"It's really delicious, you missed a treat when you turned it down last night."
Michael closed his eyes as her words fit so perfectly into the fantasy in his mind of Nik waking this morning with a smile and opening her arms in welcome. *It's going to be a long day.*
***
Deputy Bauer tracked the erratic weaving trails of Madeline's coach. He had already passed the spot where the attack had taken place. He recognized Deputies Zalman and Moen. He patted his left saddlebag which jingled with the coins, a watch, pistols, and other items that he had rifled off of the corpses. Well, almost corpses. Who would have believed that Zalman would still be alive after all this time, of course, only barely.
Deputy Bauer laughed evilly as he remembered Zalman begging for help, then water, then relief and finally cursing him with his dying breath.
Perry Bauer had one question in life, "How does it effect me?" He traveled on, following the slowly eroding tracks, unconcerned for the lives lost, his mind on the papers he was sure he would find casually thrown aside as the robbers plundered what was really important. *Maybe I should offer them back to Madeline, see if I can get a bidding war going?*
Deputy Bauer laughed evilly again, his cherubic face reddening slightly, his pale eyes and hair lightening in the sun. *Ah, yes. Life was good.*
************
"WHAT!?!?" Birkoff's voice rose an entire octave. "What do you mean, 'The Angel of Death'?" Birkoff glanced worriedly from Walter to Belinda and back again. He started for the door to Walter's room, "We have to save her ..."
"Seymour," Walter barely whispered the word, but it stopped Birkoff in his tracks just as if someone had jerked his leash. No one EVER called him Seymour.
Birkoff slowly turned around, trying to delay the inevitable. Finally, he looked into Walter's eyes and saw both the sorrow and the determination reflected there.
"It's too late isn't it?" Birkoff whispered.
Walter closed his eyes, wincing in pain and nodded. "It's been too late since he set his devil eyes on her."
"He's been watching her for a while. She told me so."
Walter nodded, resigned.
Birkoff slumped over to the bed and sank wearily onto the hard mattress. "What are we going to do?" he asked to no one in particular.
Belinda rubbed Walter's shoulder and chewed on her lower lip.
A depressed silence descended on the room, weighing down the shoulders of all the inhabitants with the vastness of despair.
***
"Dammit Paul! As much as it pains me, the gold is not as important as those papers." Madeline slapped the top of her dressing table so hard every item on it jumped and stood at attention.
"I just can't believe Nik would kill my deputies. She doesn't kill." Sheriff Wolfe shook his head in disbelief, his tone genuinely puzzled.
"That's true." Madeline paused in her tirade. She tilted her head to the right and tapped her lips with a fingertip. "She's vehemently opposed to killing. Whole family was like that."
The Sheriff nodded. "My point exactly. I just can't believe she would do that. She knew Davenport and Zalman even. And to do that to Davenport ... it's just amazing."
"But, just for argument's sake, if Nik didn't do it then who did??" Madeline looked at the sheriff in perplexion.
The two of them stared at each other, their eyes narrowed in concentration. The sound of their breathing echoed off of the velvet wallpapered walls. Comprehension lit upon them at the same time and their eyes widened as they breathed a name in harmony, "Leon."
***
"Is he so very lethal then? Is she dead already?" Birkoff's mournful voice broke the leaden silence.
Walter shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not."
"Well that's a lot of help," Birkoff snarled sarcastically.
Walter grimaced.
"Why is he called 'The Angel of Death' anyway? Does he kill everyone in his path or what?"
Walter sighed. "No, he's not that bad." Walter stood up and walked over to the window. As he looked out the window, staring sightlessly, he began his tale. "I was on my last assignment the first time I heard him called by that name. Before then, well, he had just been Michael. An extremely talented operative by all accounts, if a little cold. I had never met him but I had heard about him. Seems he was good enough that gossip was prevalent. For a while I didn't believe all of the stories, you know how people love to embellish. But, after a while, the stories of his successes continued, always dealing with his efficiency, his accuracy and his ruthlessness, and I started to believe. Still, it had nothing to do with me. He worked in a different section than I did. He worked undercover most of the time. Romeo missions."
"Romeo missions?" Birkoff interrupted.
Walter turned and flashed a brief grin. "Romance. Seems the ladies found him irresistible." The grin faded.
Birkoff grunted in comprehension.
Walter turned back to the window. "So, he worked Romeo and I ... worked another section. As I was saying, I was just starting my last mission when I heard what happened and that's when he got his nom de plume."
"What happened?"
"Can't really be sure. Rumor has it a woman, his target, killed herself when she discovered his true objective. Did it right in front of him."
Belinda gasped.
Walter turned away from the window and looked at her with understanding eyes. "That's not the worse part," Walter whispered, his eyes locked with Belinda's.
"What was the worst?" Belinda whispered, sympathy coloring her tone.
"Everyone was sure that he was in love with her. He went off profile for her a couple of times. Rumors abounded that the Romeo without a heart had finally met his match. He had even convinced her to leave her husband so the two of them could run away together. Then ..."
"Yes?" Birkoff prompted him.
"When she finally learned it had all been part of the plan, all of it, she drank poison, at a party. They say he calmly stepped over her body and took her husband, who had witnessed the whole thing, into custody. That's when he was dubbed 'The Angel of Death.' Nothing, it seemed, deflected him from his deadly business."
Belinda closed her eyes in pain. "Oh Dear God, and Nik is out in the desert with him."
The silence was deafening in its despair.
***********
Deputy Bauer shaded his eyes as he peered through his brand new spyglass. Moen had been particularly rich with takings. He blinked his eyes and squinted, trying to adjust to the new fangled contraption. *What will they think of next?* he shook his head in silent wonder, *and how will it benefit me?* He scanned the horizon once, twice, still playing with the novelty of the item when he froze. His lips parted and his moist tongue flicked out, slithering wetly over his lips as a small moan escaped him. *Could it really be?* He felt his heart start to pound and his manhood stirred at the idea.
***
Nik glanced up, feeling a chill despite the blazing heat. She glanced around, trying to calm the hairs on the back of her neck. The only thing in her view was Michael. With a quick hidden smile she had to admit this view was certainly worth lingering on. She was learning to accept her visual appreciation of Michael. She still did not understand it, but she was accepting it. She had been thinking all morning about the amazing fact that she had been able to relax enough in his arms to sleep, much less cuddle. What was even more astonishing, however, had been the fact that despite his obvious arousal, he had not attempted to touch her in any way this morning. She could still feel the imprint of his erection burning on her stomach, tingling in a most uncomfortable way. She shifted on the saddle, attempting to ease this strange ache that had blossomed.
***
Walter sat on the veranda, swinging on the porch bench in a gentle rhythm, slowly gliding the cloth over the barrel of his shot-gun, again and again until the metal gleamed with a glisten that reminded one of the sun hitting the water. His eyes restlessly scanned the horizon in tempo with his methodical strokes.
Belinda stepped out onto the veranda. "Walter, you are going to wear that barrel down if you keep rubbing it," she chided him gently.
Walter looked up, startled, and then looked back at his hand which still polished the long barrel. "Sorry, I guess I was just thinking."
Belinda sighed and sat down next to him on the bench. "Do you really think she's in danger?"
Walter shook his head, "I don't know," he sighed. "When he worked for the agency, he had a sterling reputation. He was extremely competent, chillingly so it seemed at times, but he was not a random killer, in it for the fun. Unlike some people we know." Walter and Belinda exchanged grimaces at this statement both thinking of their friendly neighborhood Sheriff.
"I just don't know," Walter whispered as he continued to polish the gun.
***
Diablo fell back a step or two, his eyes roving appreciatively over Angel's hindquarters. His nostrils flared as he caught a whiff of her scent. Michael patted his neck, *I know how you feel,* he commiserated with Diablo silently, admiring the firm line of Nik's back as she rode with enviable ease and comfort.
Angel put a little extra flounce in her step, feeling Diablo's interest. She glanced over her shoulder at him and fluttered her long lashes in a deliberately coy movement. *Stop that, you shameless hussy,* Nik silently scolded her mount's flirtatious behavior. She patted Angel's neck. *Does that fluttering of the eyelashes really work?*
************
Birkoff resolutely paced in front of the line of three men and two women that had volunteered to go to Section One and find out what was happening. These volunteers were individuals who had become "displaced" mostly due to Sheriff Wolfe's lust for land and power. They stayed on at the Circle K because Nik had opened her land for those who had suffered from the terrible twosome's wrath. In exchange for her kindness, the families helped work her land and performed "secret" missions. Most of them were only too eager to get their own back against the Sheriff and Madeline. Besides, Nik paid out all the money she stole from Madeline to them.
"I need to know how Chris is doing as well as what the current rumors are regarding what happened to Chris. Do they think Nik attacked the coach or do they have another theory?" Birkoff stood at attention in front of his troops, "You ready?"
The volunteers nodded in unison.
"Disperse."
***
To call it an oasis would have been ambitious, but whether it deserved the name or not, both Nik and Michael were only too happy to see it. The cluster of pitiful trees crowded around a pond of water was a welcome sight. The noonday sun beat down upon them as they crossed the last hundred yards seeking shelter.
Nik yawned as last night's stress, lack of adequate sleep, and the marked coolness of the shade caught up with her. She dismounted and sleepily led Angel over to the pond. A quick check around revealed no bones of unfortunate animals and upon the sight of a frog jumping around at the edge of the water, Nik allowed Angel to drink.
Michael and Diablo followed suit, both riders taking care of their mounts before either of them leant down to splash the tepid water across heated brows.
Nik stifled another yawn and looked at Michael drowsily as he told her, "Go ahead and take a nap. It is a good idea to get out of this sun and I doubt we are going to find a more suitable place to do so anytime soon."
Too tired to argue, even if she were so inclined, Nik nodded and loosely wrapped Angel's reins around a drooping tree trunk near a scraggy patch of grass. With one last pat to Angel's flank Nik laid down in the shade, pulled her hat down and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep within moments, the heat and fatigue catching up with her.
Michael watched her from below his brim, gladdened by her rapid descent into sleep. He had watched her start to wilt and had become concerned. He slouched against a tree trunk, not too close and yet not too far away, crossed his arms across his chest and prepared to doze himself. His own sleep from the night before had been less than restful.
***
Madeline stared unseeingly at her reflection in the mirror mounted on top of her dressing table. Her mind was churning the available facts through the grinder and reshaping them until she was satisfied with the results. She finally had to admit that Nik was very unlikely to have attacked her coach, this time. The violence was too extreme and careless for Nik to be the culprit. Madeline did not doubt, unlike the Sheriff, that Nik could and would use violence to achieve her results, but when she did, Madeline was sure she would not be so sloppy as this most recent attack was. Indeed, each of Nik's attacks on her coaches had been methodical and achieved with the minimum of fuss. In fact, had it been happening to someone else, Madeline would have approved of the efficiency of her raids. No, Nik did not perform this latest atrocity. That narrowed down the field of available suspects somewhat. With Doc blocking her access to Deputy Davenport, Madeline had no way of verifying her suspicions. Four deputies did not make it back, but did they all die in the attack? Madeline compressed her lips in frustration. There must be some way to get in and talk to Davenport ...
***
Perry Bauer's piggish eyes roved over Nik's sleeping form with greedy delight. He quietly crept closer to his quarry. He licked his lips as memories of Nik's struggles surged to the forefront of his mind. *AHH, what a delight she had been. Why having the guard watch had been only a bonus.* Perry knelt down next to her recumbent form and so very slowly drew his knife across her throat with just enough pressure to wake her up, the blade causing a tiny flow of blood to trickle down her throat. "Hello Blondie, miss me?" he asked, his voice thick and coarse with lust.
************
Sheriff Wolfe leaned against the porch post of his office and watched as people went scurrying in and out of the Red Cell Saloon. Now that he and Madeline had decided to consider Leon as a viable candidate for the taking of her coach, it seemed to him there had been a lot of activity going on at Red Cell. He inhaled on his cheroot and pondered the situation.
***
Miss Lucy looked up from her knitting as Doc politely knocked before entering.
"How's our patient doing?"
Miss Lucy smiled and reached out to adjust the cool pad on Chris Davenport's head. "He seems to be resting much easier."
Doc nodded, "Good. After the amount of blood he lost, that is what he needs to be doing, resting. No aggravations, no attempts to wake him, nothing too disturbing ..."
Doc broke off and both he and Miss Lucy looked toward the stairs where the delicate tip-tap of feminine shoes heralded a visitor.
"Speaking of disturbing aggravations ..." Miss Lucy murmured as she looked down at her lap and picked up her knitting.
Doc sighed and moved to block Madeline's latest attempt to enter the room and harass Deputy Davenport.
Miss Lucy frowned as Chris stirred agitatedly without waking.
***
Belinda watched in silent anxiety as Walter measured out another piece of fuse and cut it. He laid it on a stack of fuses of similar length. He had been working since mid-afternoon, measuring and cutting. She sighed as she glanced at the barrel of gunpowder and realized what his next project was going to be.
"What are you doing?"
"Just in case," Walter grunted, not looking away from his task.
***
Michael sat up, his gun drawn and cocked. His eyes were all but invisible in the shade of the oasis.
"Well, well. Aren't you a pretty one?" Bauer drawled, his eyes lingering on Michael's black clad form while his hand kept the blade at Nik's throat.
Nik laid still, feeling the wet warm trickle of her blood as it glided down her throat. She felt her stomach churn and roll as she realized who it was that was crouched next to her. She dared not swallow the bile that was building up and was afraid she would disgrace herself by throwing up anyway. Not that she would mind vomiting on Bauer, it would be just what he deserved, but besides the fact that it was not a good idea to do so when you have a knife at your throat, she really did not want to vomit in front of Michael. *Michael.* Immediately her stomach started to calm as she realized she was not facing Bauer alone. She had a partner now. *Michael.*
Bauer looked down at Nik and smiled oily. "You running with the pretty boys now? Gave up on real men, huh?"
Michael inched forward.
Bauer glanced back up at Michael, his gaze insulting in its sexuality. "You like girls, pretty boy?"
Nik watched Michael from the corner of her eye and saw him contemplating his answer. With a flash of insight she realized what he was going to say in an attempt to pull Bauer's attention away from her. Nik's heart lightened with the knowledge but she could not let him do it. He did not know the disgusting acts Bauer was capable of and it suddenly became imperative to her that he not be exposed to Bauer's particular brand of scum.
"Boy does he," Nik affirmed, the motion of talking scraping her throat against the blade and opening the small wound. "Why do you think I'm taking a nap in the middle of the day? He wore me out." Nik attempted to put just enough resignation in her voice to make Bauer believe her. He knew from his past encounters with her that Nik did not enjoy sex. So if he were to believe that she was having sex, she would be doing so reluctantly. No reason to get his massive ego involved in the situation.
Michael stayed motionless as Nik lied to the sweaty pig-like man crouched over her. It was too late to speak the words that could have possibly distracted the man's attention away from Nik. Michael was not offended by the insinuation the man threw at him. He was somewhat used to it, having been propositioned by both sexes numerous times while he was working. That was not what troubled him. What troubled him was that it was obvious from the whole conversation and this man's attitude that Nik had a history with him. Michael tamped down the involuntary rage that flowed through him and threatened to blind him to caution. The thought of this man forcing Nik to have sex with him, and Michael did not doubt it was forced, made his blood boil. Somehow, someway, he would make him pay.
***********
"He's a girly-man."
Madeline looked up, her expression shocked.
Vizcano's lips took on an unattractive mulish cast. "It's true! I went over and did what you told me and he was not even mildly interested," she said, her tone piqued with feminine outrage.
Madeline scrutinized Vizcano's outfit and could find no fault with it. Vizcano's breasts were squeezed into prominence so tightly they were almost falling out of the top of her dress, her nipples semi-visible behind the lacy flower design. Her waist was drawn into an impossibly small span and her hips flared out sweetly, just right for a man's hands. Her legs were encased in a lovely black fishnet design and displayed almost up to the knee with her petticoats more than adequately able to fly up and reveal up to the garter. Her face was made up to accentuate her fine eyes and her mouth was painted a brilliant red.
Madeline frowned. This declaration was in direct conflict of her own information and instincts. She could not believe her estimation could be that far off. Maybe Vizcano was not his type? Perhaps he preferred blondes or redheads?
"Tell me everything that happened. Everything he said to you. I want to know it all."
Vizcano swallowed her wounded pride and concentrated on providing Madeline with the most exact details she could, well aware of Madeline's ire with slipshod work.
***
Leon smiled and sipped his whiskey. *Really, the least she could do is come over here and try to seduce me herself.*
***
Belinda unhappily stared at the growing stack of gunpowder loaded sticks on Walter's work table. With one last worried look at his intensely concentrated face, she stepped out of the room.
Birkoff wandered in, encouraged by Belinda's silent urgings and head nods.
"What's going on?" he asked, his eyes huge as he surveyed the arsenal being constructed around him.
"Just doing a little advanced planning," Walter grunted as he slipped the fuse into the blasting cap, his hands steady and sure.
Birkoff wandered around the room, taking care to not touch anything. He always figured if he did not know what it was, he shouldn't touch it, especially if Walter built it. It had only taken one scary incident to teach Birkoff that lesson.
"So, what are these sticks for?" he questioned, pointing to a small rack of dynamite sticks located, in his mind, uncomfortably close to the fireplace.
Walter looked up and with a small smile of satisfaction, picked up a glass tube and a pair of tongs. He walked over to the fireplace. Birkoff was standing a healthy distance away from the equipment Walter noted.
Walter picked up a slightly sweaty stick of dynamite with the tongs and delicately scraped the sweat into the glass tube before carefully replacing the stick in the rack. Walter handled everything with the care and concern usually reserved for newborn children.
He repeated the procedure with the three sticks and then showed Birkoff the small pool of dynamite sweat glistening in the glass tube.
"Pretty, ain't it?"
"What is it?"
"Well, it's not much to look at, but this stuff is pure dynamite. They call it nitro."
***
"Here's the deal," Perry Bauer began, his tone slick like a snakeoil salesman. "Blondie and I are going to ride along ... together ... right Blondie?" He paused to squeeze Nik's right breast. "And you are going to walk ... until one or the other of you tells me what I want to know." Perry leaned forward, his arm clasped around Nik's upper body causing her to lean with him, making a mockery of his supposedly "confidential" whispering to Michael, "My money is on Blondie here breaking first." Perry's glance traveled down Michael's body, admiring the way his chest was thrust into prominence by the fact that his arms were tied behind his back. "You look like you have a higher tolerance for pain," Perry concluded and sat back up, dragging Nik's bound form with him.
***
Nik gritted her teeth, rage replacing the terrible horror and fear that had swamped her at the realization that Perry Bauer once again had his hands on her. She welcomed the anger with a sense of relief. Anger was much better than feeling so helpless, at least anger allowed you to do something. She controlled her feeling of repulsion as Bauer's hands slithered across her skin, making her feel as though her clothes could never be thick enough again.
Nik risked a glance at Michael's impassive face, caught by the fierce blast of hatred blazing forth from his eyes. Whatever was happening, Nik felt sure Bauer would pay for his treatment of Michael.
Nik allowed herself to feel a little lighter, a little relieved, a little hopeful. It seemed her partner did not suffer fools gladly. She flexed her wrists again, the heat making her skin sweaty and the sweat helping her move her hands a little more each time. The weight of the knife hidden in her thigh sheath burned into her skin with an urgency she chose not to ignore. All it would take was time.
***
Michael flexed his shoulders as the desert sun beat down on him. Luckily for him he had always been able to regulate his body temperature, something he had learned a long time ago when he had started wearing black clothing in this desert country.
If only he had been able to draw Bauer's attention to himself instead of Nik. He grimaced inwardly at Nik's rash actions which had assured she would continue to be the main object of Bauer's affection. Never had someone sacrificed themself for him, even in a small way. He did not know what to make of it. Michael logged the puzzle to the back of his mind for later perusal. Right now, he needed to work on their current problem.
He knew he could not look at Bauer groping Nik again without losing his control. The same control he needed, the control that would save them. The same control Bauer thought Nik did not possess. Michael felt a flash of pride for his partner. All he needed was time.
************
Some Graphic Stuff - figured a warning was necessary =>
The scream rent the air with its shrillness. There was a moment of absolute silence and then, once again, a horrifying scream wafted through the barred window of the jail.
"You really are being unreasonable," Sheriff Wolfe stated calmly as he took another drag on his cheroot. The sheriff flicked his ashes in the general direction of the prisoner and nodded his head at the man and woman who were standing in the cell with him.
The man pulled the prisoner's hands further onto the table and flattened the left hand down against the table. The woman calmly inserted a cactus spike up and underneath the pinkie nail of the prisoner with a sharp flick of her wrist.
The prisoner jerked in the chair so hard it jumped several inches into the air, landed with a thud, and scraped the rope tying him down across his skin. Already pale to begin with, his skin turned a sickening shade of gray. The three free occupants in the cell watched with a detached interest as the prisoner slumped forward, succumbing to the pain for a moment of blessed oblivion.
The woman glanced at her companion and then casually slapped the cactus spikes protruding from the ends of the prisoner's index and middle fingers.
The prisoner gasped awake. Tears streamed down his face as the return of reality smacked him in the face.
"Now then ... about Leon ..." Sheriff Wolfe started the interrogation over from the beginning.
***
"Did Blondie ever tell you how we met?" Bauer called out to Michael's steadily plodding form.
Nik struggled against Bauer's firm hold in reaction to his question and the moment of unrelenting horror that Bauer's words evoked. She avoided looking at Michael as the memories flooded through her blood, chilling her to the bone.
"Yup. Old Blondie here was working at Madeline's, paying off her debt, but it seemed she didn't enjoy the job too much. Did you?" Bauer asked, just before he slobbered his tongue in her ear.
Nik shuddered in revulsion and clamped her mouth shut, her upper body already ached from Bauer's little pinching "punishments" for talking back. Unconsciously, her hands tightened on the handle of the parasol Bauer had insisted she hold, once the sun had started to beat down on them mercilessly. While he and Nik were in the relative comfort of the parasol's shade, Michael walked along in the full blaze of the sun, his naturally smooth gait defeated by both the heat and the ever shifting sand under his feet.
"Of course maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Blondie enjoyed being tied to the bed? Maybe she got off on being forced?" Bauer leered at Nik. "Is that what was going on? Did I read the situation wrong there, Baby?"
Nik remained silent, despairing of what Michael must think of her now that her most sordid secret was laid out in the open between them.
Bauer chuckled hoarsely and shifted her rigid body next to his, pressing his fully erect cock against her butt. "I guess we will find out tonight," he promised, his voice thick with both lust and promise. "Good thing Zalman had some rope with him, eh?"
**************
Walter carefully bundled the six sticks of dynamite together, wrapping them tightly. Humming slightly he twisted to lay the new bundle onto the ever-growing stack behind him. To his right, several vials of clear liquid were sitting upright in a padded secured rack. To his left was a table-top of cheap whiskey bottles, half full with semi saturated rags sticking out of their tops.
Belinda surveyed the arsenal but said nothing. She knew from past experience that Walter was "in the zone," at his creative best. She could only hope they would not need the firepower he was happily building.
***
Madeline faced Miss Lucy toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth in frustration. This simple school marm was proving to be a more formidable opponent than the doctor ever could be.
"And, I am telling you he has not awakened. Therefore, it would be useless for you to try to talk to him," Miss Lucy repeated.
"But ..." Madeline started.
"No," Miss Lucy repeated firmly, her tone brooking no compromise.
Madeline twisted her lips, her mind churning with possible threats.
"What are you going to threaten me with, Madeline? Are you planning to quit allowing your girls to come to me, like you threatened poor Doc? I only wish you would let your girls come to me, maybe I could help them escape that house of yours. I know you are not going to threaten to cut off my supply of alcohol or whores since I do not drink and Lord knows I do not make use of those poor girls. Maybe you will have your little toy, the Sheriff, arrest me? Well, I would not recommend it, since I am the only school teacher this town has been able to keep for any period of time. I doubt his actions would be too popular with the good citizens and parents of this town, you can not own them all. But, perhaps your biggest threat would be to have Chris fired from his job as a Deputy? Well, go ahead. I would welcome it. I have been trying to convince him to quit for some time now."
Madeline stared at the ... the ... little school teacher, in shock. *Who does she think she is? Doesn't she know who I am? How dare she speak to me like this!?*
Miss Lucy extended one graceful hand and pointed an imperious finger at the door. "Now go."
Madeline moved to the door in a daze, unable to comprehend the turn of events.
***
"So, you are saying that Madeline and Wolfe are looking at Leon as the most likely suspect for what happened to her coach?" Birkoff questioned the two women sitting in front of him. They nodded. "Yes, it seems that one of Leon's men is an involuntary guest of the Sheriff's. We could hear the most dreadful screams ... " the speaker shuddered in memory. Her companion took up the tale, "We peeked in the window and could see the Sheriff and those two, you know," she said, trembling.
"Those two?" Birkoff questioned.
"Those twins," she shuddered, "they are un-natural. Why, they don't even look like twins!"
"Oh, THOSE two." Birkoff nodded. Everyone in town knew the twins. They had arrived in town just after Paul Wolfe had become Sheriff and seemed to know him, but they remained a scary secret to the rest of the townsfolk, interacting only when necessary and then as briefly as possible. There was something about their bland faces and never changing expressions that made most everyone who came into contact with them uneasy and more than willing to leave them alone. Of those that did have any contact with them, most remained silent either through the grave or by choice. The few that talked could not recount much of the encounter before fading out in horror.
"So," Birkoff pulled his informants back to their story, "you looked in the window. What was happening?"
"Well, we couldn't really tell, the three of them were doing something to the man tied to the chair. He was facing away from us so we don't know who it was, but I did hear the Sheriff ask him about Leon."
Birkoff nodded, pleased.
************
Some pretty disgusting thoughts and some violence
Bauer jiggled the canteen, letting the water slosh inside, the sound mocking in the still desert air. "Want some?" he offered Nik, running the open top underneath her nose in a tempting movement.
Nik struggled with the heat and thirst and shook her head, her eyes fixed on Michael's stumbling figure. Nine hours in the unrelenting heat had taken its toll on him. The heat had seared and burned his skin and his lips were dried and chapped, scaled to resemble the shedded skin of a snake. She watched him in wonder. Still he plodded along, refusing to tell Bauer what he knew, refusing to sell her out for his own skin or comfort. Nik had never believed a stranger to her would show such loyalty. When Gray had realized that she was rapidly sinking into debt and would lose the Circle K he had abandoned her, and he was supposed to marry her! Nik twisted her hands, the rope no longer scraping against her wrists as the sweat has loosened the fibers. She ignored the stinging of the same sweat on the open wounds that she had incurred and instead focused on freeing her hands.
Bauer shrugged and with a wide grin tilted the canteen above his head, pouring the precious water out in a splash, recklessly letting some of it fall unheeded, wherever it landed. Once he had a mouthful, he swished it around before leaning over Nik's shoulder and drooling it down her shirt front, watching as the water brought her breasts into partial view.
Nik fought back the nausea and focused on her goal. So far Bauer had not asked her a thing about the coach and its treasure. She knew, from several comments that he had made, Bauer was waiting to question her until tonight, when he planned on systematically raping her in front of Michael.
The thought of that spurred her on, lending her a brief surge of strength and she finally slipped one hand free of the rope.
***
Michael concentrated on keeping a steady pace. He made sure that he portrayed just enough stumbling to keep Bauer happy. It wasn't that this wasn't a grueling day in his life, but honestly, he had lived through worse. His own physical discomfort did not begin to compare to the torment Bauer was visiting upon Nik. Michael knew he would kill the man for having ever laid a single finger on Nik, no matter that it had been before he knew her, much less now. Ever since the first moment he had sighted her, Michael had known, had felt it in his gut, that this was his woman. No one else could have her.
He had watched her struggle with her own horror and fear and conquer it with a sense of pride. He had also watched her work her wrists free. The warrior in him recognized the amazon in her. Despite his own feelings, he could not deny her the chance to take her own vengeance on the man who held her captive in so many ways.
Michael watched from the corner of his eye as from one second to the next, Nik's hand went from empty to holding a knife whose blade was so sharp it gleamed like a beam of sunlight. Without a sound she whirled around in the saddle, thrusting the blade deep into Bauer's chest with the swiftness of a rattlesnake. The razor blade sank quickly and deeply, slicing through cloth, skin, bone and tissue.
Bauer squealed like the stuck pig he was, kicking his legs out straight and then thumping into the flanks of his horse. The brown gelding started and began to buck in protest of the treatment. Nik, too intent on stabbing the knife all the way through her tormentor, was taken by surprise and lost her balance, falling off of the horse on its third buck. Her hand clenched the knife and her fall wrenched it out of Bauer's chest causing another squeal to erupt for his throat. The gelding, further distressed from Nik's feet thudding into it on her way down, gave a great shudder and took off over the sand, running and bucking, taking Bauer with it.
***********
Michael rushed over to Nik as she shook her head and cursed under her breath.
"Nik," Michael breathed as he anxiously scanned her trembling body, stopping a few feet away from her.
"Shit! He's still alive," she muttered as she slapped her thighs and the seat of her pants, knocking the loose sand off of her clothing.
Michael unconsciously grinned at the sound of frustration in her voice. "Yes, a Valkyrie all right," he murmured, too low for Nik to hear.
Nik hurried toward him and sliced his wrists free before sheathing her knife. "Oh, Michael! Are you all right?" Before he could answer, she started to scan the horizon searching for any kind of shade. Off to the far east she saw something that looked similar to the little oasis they had rested at earlier. "Can you make it just a little while longer? I think there is an oasis just to the east."
"I'm fi ..."
Ignoring his attempted reassurance, she snapped her fingers as she remembered something and started to search the ground where Bauer's horse had bucked and stampeded away. There, lying on the ground, in a haphazard fashion, was the silly little parasol that Bauer had insisted on using to protect his "delicate" skin. Nik snorted at the thought of anything of Bauer's being delicate and hurried over to pull the parasol out of the sand. As she had hoped, it was relatively undamaged. She shook the sand out of it and opened it. No matter what happened to it, it would never be an impressive sight. The ghastly colors of lime green and royal purple swirled together was bad enough but then to make matters worse, the little pom-poms dangling around the edge were a shade of blazing red ... well ... Nik shrugged. After all, the parasol reflected its owner to a tee, it screamed out "Perry Bauer." Besides, Michael needed shade not a fashionable accessory.
She rushed back to Michael and held the parasol over his head as she took in the sight of him.
Michael glanced at the parasol, a look of pained disgust on his face. "Nik, please. I'm fine."
Nik glanced at him disbelievingly. "Yes, of course you are," she stated in the tone of someone placating a fractious child.
Michael frowned.
"Here, hold this, I'll be right back." Nik thrust the parasol handle at him and ran over to Angel, thankful at this moment for Bauer's greed. He had been unable to abandon their two fine horses and was taking them to sell at a later time. However, he underestimated both Angel's and Diablo's intelligence and their loyalty to their owners. Neither had bolted when his gelding had been spooked, instead they had stood still and let the movements of the gelding yank their reins loose from the carelessly tied knots holding them to Bauer's saddle. Nik, again, sent a silent prayer that Bauer was as inefficient with knots as he was with everything else in his life.
She patted Angel's flank and murmured praise to her for standing her ground as she rummaged through her bulging saddle bags. Triumphantly, she returned to where Michael was holding the parasol, with two fingers, as far away from himself as possible while still being shaded.
"Here, Belinda makes this out of some of the cacti on the ranch. It helps keep your lips wet." She held out a small jar full of clear gel to him. "Just dip your finger in it and rub some on your lips," she prompted.
Doubtfully, Michael did as directed. He felt a slight sting and then the return of some moisture to his dry lips. "Thank you."
Nik smiled and handed him the jar. "Keep it, I have another. As Belinda says, 'it keeps your lips kissably soft,'" she unthinkingly quoted.
"Yes, yes it does," he agreed, his meaning clear as his green eyes blazed with a heat that had nothing to do with the desert.
Nik turned silent and red at the intense look he bestowed upon her mouth. For the first time in a long time, she wondered ... wondered what it would feel like to be kissed.
Flustered, Nik looked down at her hands and promptly blushed. "Oh, and here." She held out a canteen to him.
Michael smiled as he reached out for the canteen. He deliberately brushed his fingers against hers and enjoyed the heightened blush his touch brought her immensely.
***
Fred kicked a dry branch into the fire. "Whose turn is it to cook?" he groused loudly.
The three men gathered around the small fire all looked at him and each other with a "Not Me" look.
Fred sighed loudly and rested his hand menacingly on the pistol butt sticking out of his holster. "Weeeelllll," he drawled the word out, "It sure as hell isn't me."
Stan stood up, his stance and tone belligerent as his hand also rested on his gun butt. "It's not mine. I made breakfast, remember?"
The other men all nodded gloomily, unable to forget Stan's attempt at breakfast. It still sat like a rock in their stomachs, actually rock was the right description for his biscuits, they could have shoed their horses with his creation.
Fred looked at the other two men crouched by the fire. "Well, who's it going to be, Bill or Bob?"
Bob groaned and stood up. "I'll do it," he announced, his tone surly. Even his normal good nature was beginning to fray from being out on this desert detail.
All of the men were one hair short of a major loss of control. They had all been banished back into the desert by an extremely "disappointed" Leon when the case they had captured from Madeline's coach had yielded nothing but dirt and rocks. Leon had made it very clear they were not to return without their intended capture. For days they had wandered around in circles trying to find a clue as to what had happened to their booty. Nothing, and the nothing weighed heavier and heavier as the sun beat down upon them unforgivingly and their food supply started to run out and they were all starting to get on each other's nerves.
"What's it going to be then?" Fred broke the depressed silence.
"Beans," Bob replied. "You got something to say about that?" he snapped.
Fred whirled, automatically taking a gunfighter's showdown stance. "Yeah," he gibed back, "I got something to say about it."
The air shimmered with tension.
"What?" Bob growled, settling his weight on his heels as his fingers slid across his belt, intent on his gun.
Before Fred could open his mouth and say the fateful words that would finally spur something, anything, to happen, Bill spoke up.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
Fred and Bob grudgingly abandoned their showdown and moved over to where Bill was standing.
"What do you see?" Bob questioned, peering over Bill's shoulder but unable to see anything but heat.
Bill passed him the spyglass and pointed.
Bob squinted and peered through the elongated tube. There, in the distance, were two horses and two riders heading their way.
"Well, ain't that cute? He's got himself a little umbrelly," Bob chortled.
The men all grinned at the thought of some sport coming their way and relieving the unrelenting boredom.
"She's a beauty, too." Bob lowered the spyglass and licked his lips. "Looks like we are going to have ourselves some fun tonight."
***********
Birkoff was surprised by Walter's reaction to the news that Madeline was becoming convinced that Leon was behind the latest raid on her coach.
"Well, shit."
Birkoff blinked. "What? I thought you would be pleased to discover that Nik is no longer a prime suspect."
Walter tilted his head quizzically. "Why would you think that? I don't care what suspicions Madeline and the sheriff have, the little pissants."
Birkoff frowned. "Then what's the problem?"
Walter shook his head. "Can't you see? If the two of them go after Leon, it will destroy what is left of that town. Everyone will have to chose sides and it will turn into a war zone. We need to gather all the money we can together and buy up as much of the essentials as we possibly can. Who knows? It might be a long time before you see any cookies again, amigo."
Birkoff blinked rapidly in terror.
***
Sheriff Wolfe nodded and stepped back out of the doorway as his two interrogators calmly walked out of the jail. The quiet but continuous sobbing from the back cell was a rhythmic counterpoint to the twins' movements.
Wolfe smiled as he started to the back cell. It had been a lucky day indeed when those two had shown up on his doorstep. Seems they had created a "situation" with their games and were looking for a place to lay low for a while. Hell, he was always happy to accommodate true professionals, he decided expansively.
***
"More cleavage."
Madeline walked a little further down the line. "Suck it in, you can get another inch out of that corset." She snapped her fingers and her lady's maid scurried behind the line to untie the back knot on the unfortunate corset, place her foot on the woman's back, and tug as the poor receipent of Madeline's command breathed in.
Madeline walked a little further down the line. "Tease your hair more. Bigger! I want it bigger."
Madeline continued down the line. "Very good Rachel, I'm pleased to see you continue to be a blonde." Rachel trembled in both relief that she passed inspection and masochist joy that Madeline gave her a compliment.
Madeline frowned as she thought of the only "natural" blonde she had ever had in her stable. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she immediately smoothed her face out. Frowning caused wrinkles she could ill afford. *Besides,* she reassured herself, *one day I'll have that little hussy back in my establishment. Then,* she nodded, *then she will pay off her debt to me . . . one customer at a time.*
The women standing at attention all shuddered in horror at the look of malevolence that crossed Madeline's face. They all prayed silently that they had not been the one to incite such an expression.
************
Michael knew as soon as they entered the staggered opening of the oasis that trouble was afoot. He glanced at Nik and was pleased to see the almost indiscernible shifting of her body weight and the creeping of her hand to the thigh that had produced the lethal blade earlier that day. He smiled, grimly feeling an animal kinship with the woman at his side.
The three men already lounging around the small pond, seeking respite from the blazing heat, all looked up at the newcomers, quiet suspicion plainly showing on their faces.
Michael nodded at them and watched as they hesitatingly nodded back. A tentative greeting at best. He was interested to note that one of the men's eyes had flickered briefly behind him before returning to gaze at Michael with polite boredom. Michael breathed in the still air, filtering out the smell of his horse as well as Angel's and Nik's scents. The air was loaded with sweat and nervous tension, a most inappropriate nervous tension considering the circumstances.
Michael fiddled with the hideous umbrella, twirling the handle casually with his fingers.
"Hello," Nik broke the silence that had descended upon the group, weighing heavily in the already leaden air.
The men turned their attention to her now dismounted, figure the boredom quickly replaced by lascivious interest. They returned her greeting with far more enthusiasm than they had Michael's.
"Do you mind if we camp here for a couple of hours?" Nik requested, playing the role of the open, friendly female unable to see anything not in front of her.
The men moved quickly to reassure her that she was welcome to stay for as long as she liked.
Michael noticed that he was not included in the invitation while not deliberately excluded as well. He fought against the knot of rage which threatened to burst through his chest as he acknowledged the men already had plans for his beloved. He took several surreptitious breaths to distill the blaze of anger that threatened his control. He knew in his semi-weakened state that the beast within him lurked closer to the top than normal and he tamped down on his control with a savage touch.
"Say, don't I know you?" the one who had introduced himself as Fred asked Nik.
"I don't think so," Nik replied, keeping the sound of mild confusion in her voice as she slid her hand up her thigh well away from the gunbelt she wore.
"Yeah, I'm sure I do. Let me think a minute," Fred insisted deliberately, "pretending" to be thinking as he tapped his chin and looked upward in a parody of concentration. The tension in the secluded oasis tripled as the players waited.
He snapped his fingers after a few seconds. "I know," he crowed triumphantly, "You're 'The Scourge of Section One.'"
As if the proclamation was the cue to act, Michael swung around and closed the umbrella around the head of the man "sneaking" up behind him. Absently he noticed the unmistakable sound of a knife thudding into bone as Nik took down Fred. Continuing his circle he pulled the now blinded, squawking man around to his left and in front of him as the other men scrambled to get to their feet.
The blinded gunman swung his pistol around in a frantic circle, disoriented by the umbrella and the spin. His mates called out for him to not shoot but not before he had instinctively fired several shots at the sound of voices.
With a flick of his wrist, Michael opened the umbrella, raising it off just enough so that his would-be assailant could see his friend fall to the ground clutching his chest. Michael continued lifting the umbrella in a smooth motion, pressing the button to close it and brought it back down on his foe with a loud, heavy crack. At the same time, he pulled his left gun out of its holster and fired at the last of the men standing.
Dazed and disoriented as well as grief-stricken, the last standing man tried to turn around, his confused senses telling him only to avenge his comrades. Michael rapped him hard on the right shoulder, so hard his hand involuntarily dropped the gun as his whole arm went numb.
Almost casually, Michael brought the umbrella up and over the man's head and grasped it on either side of his victim's throat, his gun already neatly re-holstered, and applied pressure. His would-be assailant gasped and tore frantically at the umbrella with his left hand, his eyes starting to bulge as the blood supply to his brain began to dissipate.
The cocking of a gun brought Michael's attention back to Nik. With dismayed surprise he saw that she was pointing a gun in his direction, a resolute expression on her face. He weighed his odds and prayed that he had not misread her. A shot rang out and he involuntarily flinched, expecting to feel the bullet's impact on the body he held in front of him, a body weakening but not as rapidly as a gunshot would have caused. Michael glanced at Nik and saw the dazed look in her eyes, the gun held loosely in her hand by her side and her eyes locked at a place beyond his shoulder. He swung his now catatonic burden around in silent grace and saw the dead body of Fred, Nik's blade clasped loosely in his hand, almost within striking distance of himself. As Michael dropped his now dead burden, he looked at Nik and realized with sudden clarity she had never taken a life before. While bombarded with sympathy and grief, part of Michael gloried in the fact that she cared enough for him to take that final step to protect him.
***********
Michael gloried in the fact that she cared for him until the exact second he saw the spreading stain coloring the side of her shirt. At that moment, he cursed himself for being so foolish as to ever place her in danger to begin with.
Nik saw the change in his expression. His eyes were glued to her side and she looked down at her body in wonder as to what had happened. She saw the rapidly expanding stain at her side, curiously unable to understand the cause. It slowly dawned on her that she was in pain. Apparently a lot of pain as her vision started to blur and the sound of Michael's voice, as he rushed over to her, was slow and drawn out so that none of the words made any sense. She knew she was in trouble when the words started to sound like they were not even English.
Michael leapt over the recumbent forms of the attacking gang, his attention fixed solely on the rapidly fading Nik. He tried to talk to her, to keep her aware, to have her respond to him, but nothing worked. Nik fainted before he could reach her. Michael called out as she hit the ground, mere inches from his fingers.
Frantically, Michael ripped at her shirt as he sought to discover the extent of damage which had been done. She had obviously been shot by the man he strangled with the umbrella. Michael searched her back and discovered, to his relief, that there did appear to be an exit wound. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood that seemed to be literally pouring out of her.
Michael calmly ripped the rest of her shirt off of her and proceeded to rip the remains into padding and wrappings. He cleaned the wound and was pleased to see that it was a clean shot and was finally starting to clot some.
As he examined the wound more closely, Nik stirred awake with a small gasp of pain.
Michael explained in a calm soothing voice what had happened and what he had to do. Nik turned to look at him and kept her eyes on his face the whole time he explained things to her, saying nothing, seeking comfort.
Michael tried to keep his panic and self-recriminations out of his voice and expression. He tried to remain calm and sure for her sake. There would be plenty of time later for dealing with his guilt.
Once he had finished making sure she was as comfortable as possible, he walked over to his saddlebags and pulled out a bottle of reasonably smooth whiskey. He handed it to Nik silently and equally silently she pulled the cork out and slugged back a swallow, shuddering as the whiskey burned her throat and landed in her stomach where it immediately began to spread warmth. Michael left her to her 'medicine' and moved over to the almost extinguished campfire the men had been babying along during the day and stoked it back to life. As the campfire began to blaze, Michael retrieved Nik's knife from Fred's hand, wiped it off on Fred's shirt, and placed it near the fire for heating. He threw more wood on the fire and checked on Nik, where she was resolutely drinking from the bottle once more. Taking a small slim branch out of the wood stack, he lit it torch fashion and moved over to where Nik lay.
As he heated the blade he again explained what he was doing, trying to calm her fears with information. He glanced down at Nik and was surprised and pleased to see a resigned acceptance of what was going to happen. No hysterics, no tears, no avoidance and no fainting, only acceptance mixed with a sense of frontier hardiness to endure. *A Valkyrie.*
Michael's opinion of her strength did not diminish when she fainted from the application of first the whiskey to cleanse and then the heated blade and, indeed, he was thankful that she did not revive for the second application, this time to her back. He tried to keep the burns as small and localized as possible, not wanting to scar the perfection he now saw before him as his body brought his attention to the fact that he had stripped Nik bare from the waist up. Michael immediately covered her with the first shirt he found in her saddlebags.
***
Although they received some strange looks and rather pointed questions, Walter noted with satisfaction that their behavior did not stop the shopkeeper from selling them what they requested.
Walter drove the buckboard, with Birkoff at his side, back to the Circle K. The buckboard was loaded down with all the flour, sugar, grain, molasses, and other essentials they had been able to afford. At Birkoff's urging there was also a box of special favorites to be hoarded and given out when, if, Walter amended silently, the worst broke out and people needed a treat.
Belinda and the women were, at this moment, clearing, organizing and stacking the supplies they already had so that this trip's cargo could be stored.
Walter thought of the Circle K with a sense of paternalistic pride. Belinda raised bees for honey and there was a patch of scraggly but still producing apple trees on the property. They could do worse, much worse, he acknowledged.
