Charlotte stifled a gasp. It was Mark! She hoped he hadn’t come alone—he’d be outnumbered. If only McNab would let her go. Then she might be of some use.
“We just going stand here all night, aiming at each other?” Polson said.
“You planning to shoot first?” Mark replied.
With a grunt of impatience, McNab pulled her with him to the door that led to the kitchen. It was darker in that room, with the lamplight failing to penetrate the darkness. But Charlotte’s eyes had already adjusted to low light, so it wasn’t long before she could make out Mark, standing in front of the open back door, and Polson, immediately next to her.
Mark’s gaze moved to her. “Charlotte. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said in a voice she hoped wasn’t tinged with fear.
“Charlotte, huh?” Amusement laced McNab’s voice. “Finally found yourself a worthwhile suitor, Miss Montgomery?”
When she looked up at him, he fairly leered at her.
“Ruby told me how you didn’t put much stock in those Baltimore dandies.” He returned his gaze to Mark. “Not sure I’d put much stock in this one either, if I was you. Not too smart, seeing as how he’s still standing there, even though we have him outgunned.”
Charlotte couldn’t make out Mark’s expression, but he didn’t move an inch. And it appeared hehadcome alone.
Which meant the only person he could rely upon for help was her.
And Charlotte would not let him down.
Without a second thought, she raised her foot and stomped down hard on McNab’s toes. The sudden movement and surprise worked. He howled in pain and let go of her arm just enough that she was able to yank it away.
Before he could recover, she drew back her hand, intending to aim for his throat in the way her oldest brother had shown her years ago when she convinced him she wanted to learn how to fight.
But before she could follow through, a shot rang out.
A squeak flew from Charlotte’s mouth as both she and Mr. McNab ducked. Next to her, Polson looked down in surprise at the hand that used to hold his revolver. It was now covered in blood, the gun on the floor.
Charlotte grabbed hold of his discarded pistol and pinned herself against the wall. Across the room, another man had appeared next to Mark, his revolver still smoking. Charlotte didn’t recognize the man, but she did know what the star on his chest meant. He must be one of the sheriff’s deputies.
Mark hadn’t come alone.
Relief rippled through Charlotte. How many more men were there outside?
Out of the corner of her eye, McNab moved—toward her—breathing heavily with his gun outstretched.
“I want my money,” he said.
Charlotte raised the pistol she’d picked up, her hands shaking. But before she could make the decision to pull the trigger, another shot rang out and McNab crumpled to the ground.
She stood perfectly still, watching him lie on the floor with a dark puddle forming around him. Two secure hands wrapped themselves around her arms, and half a moment later, one of them gently pulled the revolver from her hands.
“It’s all right.” Mark’s voice, low and soothing, drew her attention away from the man on the floor. “He can’t hurt you now.”
“You shot him?” It was the only thing she could think to ask.
He nodded. “I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t about to let him hurt you.”
Emotions surged through her, choking off the air. She fell into his arms as more men swarmed into the house and surrounded both McNab and Polson, who was still moaning in pain.
“You’re safe now,” Mark said in her ear.
She closed her eyes and breathed him in. He was everything to her, and she’d almost lost him. She could have ended up spending her life without him, but here he was. And here she was.
And nothing, she decided as she felt his arms tighten around her, would ever pull her away from him again.
