My throat tightens, heat climbing into my cheeks, my legs near failing me. He’s twisting me with his words. I know it, but I cannot stop the pull. Surely he’s done the same to a dozen women, at least. Convinced them they were goddesses just to have his way before leaving them like fools. Yet the truth spills from me.
“M-my father. Owed a debt to Sherman senior.” I’ve never spoken the words aloud, not even to myself.
“Your father sold you to the Shermans?”
I flinch, heat prickling my skin, searing from neck to cheeks. “He didn’t have a choice.” My protest is weak even as I speak it. “The land was all we had. My brothers and sisters…without the Shermans’ loan, they’d have starved.”
“Bullshit,” he says. His jaw sets hard, voice a growl. “Sherman would’ve found his head on a pike before I’d let him lay a hand on you.”
My knees nearly give; my chest seizes with a shudder I can’t suppress. It should horrify me. It does. But God help me, it stirs something deeper. No man has ever spoken of me this way. Not Father, who bartered me like livestock. Not Joseph, who took me like property. But this outlaw, this killer, says he’d spill blood to keep me safe, and the vow tears through me like a firestone ripping through the sky.
Shame prickles my skin, hot and unholy, because part of me leans toward him, drawn into the violence of his promise as though it were a kiss.
Kodiak’s gaze narrows, darkened under the brim of his stolen hat. He sees it—sees me unraveling beneath his words. A slow smile, dangerous and knowing, curves his lips. “That got to you, didn’t it?” He hushes, like his words are a secret meant only for me. “Little lamb, you tremble like I’ve already laid you down.”
The shame sears hotter. My lips part, but no sound comes. I want to deny it, to call him ungodly, indecent. But the truth is there in my pulse, in the fire brewing in my belly. He knows it.
“You ain’t afraid of me,” he says softly. “You’re afraid of how I make you feel.” Pulling me closer, his breath is hot against the shell of my ear. “You’re slick as rain, ain’t you? Soaking through your pretty slip.”
I gasp, the strain in my chest growing unbearable. How dare he speak to me this way? Yet I can’t push him away, don’t want to. And he doesn’t let me go.
“Thought so. I can feel the heat rollin’ off you. Never been near a real man, have you? A man who don’t flinch, don’t bow, don’t hide behind ledgers and laws. Joseph was a coward. Your daddy too. But a man worth his salt? He risks his life for what matters. Kills for it if he has to. That’s the natural order.” His hands tighten around me, making me shiver. “And now you’re near one, your body knows it.”
“Enough.” My voice breaks, limbs weak as I shove at him. “You will not speak to me that way.”
He tips his head with a chuckle, loosening his grip but not stepping back. His fingers linger at my waist. “There’s the teeth I was waitin’ on. Only makes me want you more.”
Gathering myself, I wrench free. “Mr. Archer—or Randolph, or whatever you choose to call yourself—you shall not steal from this house. I have funds set aside for just such a time, and if you’ll cease playing the brute for a moment, I will fetch them.”
He watches me long enough that my breath stutters, before he says, “Lead on.”
The barn swelters in the midday sun, the odor of hay and manure thick as the dusty air. I pry loose the plank, burlap sacks waiting where I left them. Kodiak crouches beside me, broad shoulders blocking the light.
“Would you look at that,” he says, surveying the gear, rations of canned food, and stack of bills. For a breath, I worry he’ll snatch everything and run.
Boots scrape the packed earth below. I start, heart thudding. It’s Gideon, his face pale.
“Miss Alice?” His voice cracks, then his focus shifts past me to the outlaw at my shoulder. Recognition sharpens his features. His hand fumbles to his hip, pulling a revolver he has no business carrying. He raises it, though it wavers in his grip. “You all right, ma’am?”
My breath knots tight. “Gideon, no!” I say quickly, pushing the words out steady as I can. “It’s all right. He won’t harm me.”
Gideon doesn’t lower the gun. “That’s the outlaw, Miss Alice.”
Kodiak shifts slowly, hands out and open as though calming a skittish colt. “Easy, boy. Ain’t here to hurt her.” His voice is a low rumble.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” I warn Kodiak. “Gideon, I’m safe. I promise.”
Gideon lowers his weapon, face drawn with apprehension. As he studies the scene, I see the truth become clear to him, the realization settle. “You’re leavin’ with him?”
I nod.
His shoulders sag. A breath escapes him, weary as an old man’s. “Reckoned the day’d come you’d be gone.”
It tightens my chest, but before I can speak, Kodiak cuts in. “If you give a damn about Miss Alice, then listen good, boy. When they come askin’, you tell ’em I killed Joseph and dragged her off. You do that, no harm comes down on your head. You understand?”
I glance at him, startled. Is this meant to shield me? To spare me the law’s noose when he casts me off somewhere on the trail?
Gideon’s voice breaks my thoughts. “Mr. Sherman’s dead?”
