Savage Thunder

Chapter Five

“Vanessa? Vanessa, are you all right?"

"You may ask me that later. Right now I honestly couldn't say."

Jocelyn was lying on the floor, or to be more exact, on the door. After that horrifying ride that had seemed as though it would never end, the coach had somehow tipped over on its side. Jocelyn had fallen against the door when the coach began to tilt, and presently had her back flat against it, with her long legs stretched out on the actual floor, which was now straight up in the air. Vanessa had not fared much better, though she had remained in her seat, which was now against the side of the coach above Jocelyn's head.

They both sat up at just about the same time, Vanessa with a moan, Jocelyn with a grunt. "I imagine we'll have a few bruises to show for this experience."

"Is that all?" Vanessa replied, sounding not at all herself. "It feels-"

"You are hurt," Jocelyn said accusingly, seeing how the countess was pressing her hand to the side of her head.

"Just a bump, I think. I was trying to brace myself, but my arm slipped."

"Turn around and rest your back against the seat. It's more cushiony than the wall."

Jocelyn helped her until she was settled, then got to her knees. They were both a mess, clothes askew, coiffures falling down. Jocelyn removed the few re-maining hairpins that hadn't rattled loose, then tossed her hair back out of the way. She would have grinned at that point for having escaped this experience intact, if Vanessa weren't grimacing in pain from the bump on her head.

"What do you think happened, Vana?"

"I think John Ixmgnose was up to his old tricks again, that's what."

"Do you really?" Jocelyn's teeth worried at her lower lip a moment as she considered that possibility.

"But how could he have gotten in front of us? How could he know which way we would come, for that matter?"

Vanessa didn't open her eyes to answer. "We weren't exactly hurrying through Mexico, my dear. There was time aplenty for him to get ahead of us. And as to his knowing where we were going, well, I wondered about that guide's sudden disappearance, I really did. Rather convenient, wasn't it, leading us right to the start of that mountain trail?"

"Why, that little traitor!"

"More likely he was in Longnose's pay first, my dear. He came to us, if you recall; we didn't find him.

Besides, I know an Englishman's voice when I hear it, and that shouted 'Now,' just before that crash we heard, was decidedly British. What was that crash, anyway?"

"I have no idea. A better question would be, what's become of our driver?"

Here Vanessa sighed. "I really don't think he was with us on that insane ride, or we would have heard him shouting at the horses, even if he couldn't stop them. That shot that was so close—"

"Don't even think it!" Jocelyn cut in sharply. "If we lost him, he no doubt only lost his seat — as we both did innumerable times."

"No doubt," Vanessa agreed, to keep the peace. They would learn soon enough what had really hap-pened. "But I think we've lost our horses too."

Jocelyn had also felt the difference in the pull of the coach just before they tilted over, so she didn't argue that comment. "They'll be found," she said with confidence. "And so will we be shortly. In the meantime

…"

Vanessa opened one eye to see the duchess getting to her feet. "Whatever are you doing?"

Standing on one door, Jocelyn realized that her head didn't quite reach the other. "I was going to see how we might get out of here, but even if I could throw that door open—"

"Don't even bother, Jocelyn. It won't be that long until our people reach—" She didn't finish, because they could hear someone approaching at a gallop. "You see? That didn't take long at all."

Ears attuned, they heard the first horse skid to a sudden stop very near, probably one of the guards ahead of the others, probably Sir Parker Grahame himself. He was ever diligent, and besides, he was sweet on Jocelyn, and so was prone to get more upset than the others each time Longnose made one of his attempts.

After another moment the coach groaned as their rescuer climbed on top of it, and then the door was lifted and dropped back with a bang. The overhead sun had been pouring in through the window, but nothing like what was now coming in through the open door. Jocelyn was momentarily blinded when she looked up, but as soon as a man's silhouette appeared to block some of the glare, it was easier for her to see, though not to recognize who he was at first.

"Parker?"

"No, ma'am," came a deep, lazy drawl.

If he had said more in that moment, Jocelyn wouldn't have begun glancing about for her reticule, where she kept the little derringer she had purchased in New Orleans. Not that she couldn't have been shot in the time it took her to locate it, hidden as it was under the hats and jackets that had been removed ear-lier that morning.

When he did speak again, it was with some impatience. "Do you want out of there or not?"

"I'm not so sure," Jocelyn said honestly, looking up again, and wishing she could see more than a black silhouette framed in the opening.

How did you ask a man if he was there to kill you? But would he have offered to get them out if he meant to shoot them? He could just do it. Then again, he might be under orders from John Longnose to bring them to him. It was too much to hope that he was just a stranger passing by.

"It might help, sir," Vanessa intervened in the prolonged silence, "if you would tell us who you are — and what you're doing here."

"I saw your team of horses racing toward the river and figured they'd left a stagecoach behind, though I've never seen horses like that hitched to a stage before."

"And you just thought to investigate? You aren't associated with — the Englishman?"

"I'm not associated, as you put it, with anyone, lady. Christ, what is this with all the questions? Either you want out of there or you don't. Now, I can un-derstand if you feel you'd be dirtying your hand put-ting it to mine for a lift up" — the impatience turned distinctly bitter here—"but I don't see much alternative just now — unless you want to wait for the next fellow who comes passing by."

"Not at all," Jocelyn said with relief, certain now he meant them no harm. "A little dirt can be easily washed off," she added with a smile, having misun-derstood his meaning.

She surprised him good with that answer, enough that he didn't immediately grasp the hands she raised to him. And then it dawned on him that she couldn't really see him. She'd change her tune when she did, quicker than spit. He'd be lucky if he even got a thank-you for his help.

Jocelyn gave a little gasp, she was grasped and lifted so fast. She ended up sitting on the coach with her legs still dangling through the door opening. She laughed then at how easily that was accomplished, and glanced back inside to Vanessa, who hadn't moved yet.

"Are you coming, Vana? It was really quite easy."

"I'll stay here, if you don't mind, my dear. I'd rather wait until the coach can be righted — if it can be done gently, that is. Perhaps this headache will have lessened somewhat by then."

"Very well," Jocelyn agreed. "It shouldn't be that long before Sir Parker finds us." She looked around, but her rescuer stood directly behind her. She started to rise, turning and saying to him, "She won't need a lift up. She hit her head, you see, and isn't feeling. quite…"

The words simply trailed away, forgotten. Jocelyn hadn't been struck so with awe since her first sight of the pyramids in Egypt. But this was totally different, for more senses than sight were affected. Her whole system seemed to go wild for a moment, sending off sig-nals she wasn't quite familiar with — breathlessness, accelerated heartbeat, a rush of adrenaline, signs of fear when she wasn't in the least bit frightened.

He stepped back from her, she wasn't sure why, but it gave her a better look at him, since he was so tall. Too handsome by half, had been her first im-pression, followed now by strength, which she had felt firsthand, darkness, and strangeness, in that or-der. Hair as black as pitch, perfectly straight, and falling well past incredibly wide shoulders. Skin darkly bronze with lean, hawkish features, a nose straight and chiseled, deep-set eyes under low, slash-ing brows, lips well drawn, and a firm, square jaw.

A long, sinewy body finished the picture, encased in a strange animal-skin jacket with long fringes attached, and knee-high boots without heels, of the same soft tan skin and also with fringes. Jocelyn was getting used to seeing the gun worn on the hip after her sojourn through Mexico, so his was no surprise, and the widebrimmed hat that shaded his eyes so she couldn't determine their color, except that they weren't dark like the rest of him.

His trousers were dark blue and fairly tight around nicely shaped legs. Nothing unusual in that. But he wore no shirt. The jacket hung nearly closed, but still, there was no shirt beneath it, just the same smooth bronzed skin as on his face — smooth, hairless skin. He actually had not a single hair on the several inches of chest and stomach that she could see, definitely unusual as far as she knew, though of course, how much did she really know about Americans, and how much about a man's chest, for that matter?

Truthfully, she had never seen anything quite like him. His strangeness unnerved her, but not nearly as much as his swarthy handsomeness.

"Do you always go about — half dressed?"

"Is that all you have to say to me, ma'am?"

She could feel the heat seeping into her cheeks. "Oh, dear, please don't take offense. I can't imagine where that question… I'm not usually so imperti-nent." A loud "Ha!" came from inside the coach, and Jocelyn grinned. "I believe the countess dis-agrees with me, and rightly so. I suppose my outspo-kenness does border on rudeness more times than not."

"Ask a stupid question…" the man mumbled as he turned away and jumped to the ground.

Jocelyn frowned, watching him move toward his horse, a beautiful, big-boned animal the like of which she had never seen before, with black-and-white spot-ted markings on its rump and loins. She would love to look the horse over, to ride it even, but at the moment, her only concern was the man's intentions.

"You're not leaving, are you?"

He didn't bother to look back. "You mentioned someone would be along shortly. No point in my—"

"But you can't go!" she cried in alarm, not certain why it was alarm she felt, but it was. "You haven't let me thank you yet, and — and how am I supposed to get down from here if you don't assist me?"

"Shit," she heard, and felt her cheeks heating again. But he was coming back. "All right, jump."

She looked at his hands reaching up to her and didn't hesitate. He had already proved his strength. Not for a moment did she consider how likely he was to miss her if she just threw herself down at him. He didn't miss her. But she did slam into him. Only that wasn't so startling as being set on her feet and away from him almost in the same breath. And again he turned away.

"No, wait." She put out a hand, but he didn't stop to see it, so she lifted her skirts to follow him. "Are you really in such a hurry that you must rush off?"

She plowed into his back when he stopped this time, and heard him swear again before he whipped around to glare at her. "Look, lady, as it happens, I left my gear, and my shirt, back at the river, where I was fixing to wash up before heading into town. You can't just leave things lying around in this country and expect them to be there when you get back."

"I'll replace anything you might lose, but please don't leave us yet. Since my people haven't come along by now, they must have been trapped in the mountains behind us. We honestly need your—"

"You've left a trail anyone can follow, ma'am."

"Yes, but we were separated when some men set upon us, men who mean to do me harm. They are as likely to come along as my people."

"Your 'people'?"

"My entourage." When that failed to erase his frown, she added, "My guards and servants, those I travel with."

His eyes moved over her at that, taking in her velvet skirt and ruffled silk blouse, the kind of clothes he had only seen worn back East. And then he spared another look at the shining teal-blue coach that one glance inside had made him think he was doubting his eyes. Them fancy private railroad cars didn't come as luxurious as this.

When he'd seen it downed, he hadn't expected to find women inside, especially women like this, one a countess of some kind. Wasn't that royalty or something? Whatever it was, it wasn't from this country.

And this one with her flaming hair and, Christ, eyes brighter than new spring leaves. His first sight of her had brought back all the old bitterness. But it didn't stop the surge of sexual awareness he'd been hit with.

That scared the shit out of him, because he hadn't been attracted to her kind in years.

"Just who are you, lady?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself right off. I'm Jocelyn Fleming," she said, determining there wasn't much point in using a false name this time with Longnose so close behind them.

He stared at the hand she held out to him, just stared, until she was forced to lower it.

"Maybe I should have asked, what are you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You one of those rich miners' wives from Tomb-stone?"

"No, not at all. I've been widowed now for several years. And we've just come up from Mexico, though our travels originated in England."

"That mean you're English?"

"Yes." She smiled at the way he had of chopping up the mother tongue, though she could understand him perfectly, and rather liked the slow drawl to his words. "I assume you are an American?"

He knew the word, but he'd never heard anyone use it before. Folks usually associated themselves with the state or territory they were from, not the country. And now he recognized her accent too. Though he'd never heard a woman speak with those cultured tones before, he'd met several Englishmen touring the West. But her nationality explained why she hadn't minded touching him. She hadn't been in the West long enough to recognize what he was. So that wasn't why she had stared at him for so long up on that coach, as he'd assumed. Again his body tightened with a familiar hardness.

For half a second he considered not telling her. He'd probably never see her again anyway, so why put the distance he was accustomed to between them? Because he needed that distance. She was off limits, and this hell-cursed attraction he felt for her was dan-gerous. But he wasn't used to saying it. He dressed as he did so he wouldn't have to, so there'd be no mistakes.

"I was born in this country, but folks got a differ-ent name for me, lady. I'm a half-breed."

"How interesting," she said, aware his tone had turned bitter again, but choosing to ignore it. "It sounds like something to do with stock and cross-breeding. What does it have to do with people?"

He stared at her for a moment as if she were crazy; then he swore under his breath before snarling, "What the hell do you think it has to do with people? It means I'm only half white."

His tone gave her pause, but still she asked, "And the other half?"

Again he gave her a look that said she ought to be locked up for the safety of others. "Indian," he bit out.

"Cheyenne, in my case. And if that doesn't set you back on your toes, it ought to."

"Why?"

"Christ, woman, you ought to learn something about a country before you visit it!"

"But I always do," she replied, only slightly wary that he had shouted at her. "I know a good deal about this one."

"Then you must have missed the part about Indians and whites being sworn enemies," he sneered. "Ask in the next town you come to. They'll give you an earful about why you shouldn't be standing here talking to me."

"If you have something against the whites, as you call them, it hasn't anything to do with me, does it?" she replied, undaunted. "I'm not your enemy, sir. Good Lord, how could you even insinuate that I might be, when I feel nothing but gratitude for your timely assistance?"

He shook his head at her, and then he actually chuckled. "I give up, ma'am. You'll learn better if you stay here long enough."

"Does that mean we can be friends now?" At his grunt, she added, "You haven't told me your name."

"Colt Thunder."

"Colt, as in the revolver? How unusual to be named after a gun."

"Well, Jessie has an unusual sense of humor."

"Is Jessie your father?"

"My father's daughter, though neither of us knew it until a few years back. Before that she was my best friend."

"How interesting. I take it, then, that Colt Thunder isn't your real name? I have had to use false names myself quite frequently, though it isn't necessary now that my nemesis has found me again."

He wasn't going to ask. If it killed him, he wasn't. The less he knew about her, the sooner he would forget her — Christ, if he could. That hair, flowing down past her waist, like hot flames licking at her hips.

He was going to see that hair in his dreams for a long time to come, he knew damn well he was. And those eyes too. Damn, why did she keep looking at him like that, as if she were as attracted to him as he was to her?

She had said something else to him, but he hadn't heard a word, for she had stepped closer when she said it and put a hand to his arm. Her touch, delib-erate, unnecessary, sent his heart pounding against his ribs. It gave him ideas he didn't dare dwell on. Damn it to hell, she was playing with fire and didn't even know it.

The shot took his hat off, bringing him out of the mesmerizing spell she had cast. He whirled and fired without thought, two rounds that both struck home. One of the two men who had been racing hell-bent toward them hit the dirt but didn't stay there, his foot caught in the stirrup. The other had dropped his gun when the bullet struck his right shoulder, and was now whipping his horse around to head back the way he had come. Colt let him go. He didn't shoot men in the back, didn't shoot to kill either — most times.

The riderless horse still came on. The easiest way to stop him was to mount him as he passed, which Colt did.

Jocelyn had seen it all, but she still didn't believe it, especially how fast that gun had come out of Colt Thunder's holster and fired. Nor had she ever witnessed anything as incredible as someone mounting a racing horse. The odds on his not falling flat on his face in the attempt were astronomical, yet he did it by simply twisting a hand in the animal's mane and leaping on.

Bemused, she answered Vanessa's worried inquiry that she was all right, and hurried toward the horse that had already been brought under control only a few yards away. She got there just as Colt ground-tied the animal and moved to release the man's foot from the stirrup. He then bent down to check on the man's condition, and she was treated to another one of his colorful swear words. She could see for herself the man was dead of a broken neck, though Colt's bullet had grazed his temple, so he was likely uncon-scious when it happened.

"The bastard ducked," Colt said in disgust as he rose to his feet.

"You were aiming at something in particular?"

"The right shoulder bone. Easiest way to disarm a man who's coming right at you. You know him?"

He looked directly at her then, treating her to the full force of his eyes. Without the shadow cast by his hat, she could now see that his eyes weren't light or dark, but the clearest, purest blue, so very startling in such a deeply bronzed face. They quite literally took her breath away, forcing her to lower her own eyes before she could answer him with any degree of normal intelligence.

"No, I've never seen this man before, nor the other. But I have little doubt that they were both John Longnose's hirelings. It's his habit to employ the natives of whatever country we're in at the time to do his dirty work. It looks like your assistance now includes saving my life."

"Lady, no man in his right mind would want to kill you. There's many things I could think of that a man would want to do to you, but killing isn't one of them."

He had turned away to say the last of that as he moved to retrieve his hat, but she had heard him anyway and blushed pleasurably. Not many men found her attractive with her wild coloring, but she could usually tell when one did. Not so with this man. He had glowered at her, shouted at her, couldn't wait to ride off and never see her again. So it was a distinct surprise to find that he might, just might, be as aware of her as she was of him — that was, if she could con-strue those comments as complimentary.

She quickly followed behind him again to try to explain. "It's only been this last year that he's been trying to kill me, you know. Before that his purpose was just to return me to England. Mine was to avoid that at all costs. It's rather a long story, but the gist of it is that I have been running from that man for three years now, and quite frankly I'm tired of it."

He dusted his hat off by hitting it against his leg, then set it back on his head with the brim tilted for-ward rather rakishly. "It's none of my business, ma'am."

"No, of course it isn't. Indeed not. And I wouldn't dream of embroiling you in my problems, especially after all you've done for me already."

He gave her a level look after so many words when a simple nod of agreement would have covered.

"Glad to hear it," he replied dryly.

"I wasn't exactly finished, Mr. Thunder."

"Look, don't tack any 'mister' on my name. Call me either Colt or Thunder. I answer to both."

"As you wish. But as I was saying, I couldn't help noticing how superbly adept you are with that re-volver you carry."

"Superbly adept?" He grinned. "Lady, you sure have a fancy way of calling the kettle black."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. So what about it?"

"What about — oh, yes. So are you by any chance for hire?"

"You want Longnose killed?"

That disturbed her, how easily he said it, without the least bit of emotion, but she tamped down the feeling. "No, just apprehend him and turn him over to whatever law officials there are in this territory.

He's wanted in New York for the murder of my solic-itor."

"Your what?"

"My American lawyer."

"Why'd he kill your lawyer?"

"We have only been able to determine that the unfortunate man discovered him in his office, in the process of stealing the will I had just had executed that same day. It was the only thing missing from his office, according to his partner. And there were sev-eral witnesses whom he asked for directions to the lawyers' office. They all swear it was an Englishman who questioned them. And besides, it's not the first will I have made that has turned up missing."

"Sounds to me like all you need is a bounty hunter, ma'am, and that I'm not. Or better yet, just report what happened here to the town marshal over in Tombstone when you have the body turned in. All that's needed is this fellow's name and a description."

"But I don't know his name or what he looks like." At his frown, she quickly added, "John Longnose is just what we call him. All I know about him is that he's as English as I am."

"Well, chances are there's not another Englishman within a hundred miles of here, but you never know.

I've seen others passing through, so it'd be easy enough to make a mistake. Your best bet, then, is to entrench and let him come to you. You did say you have guards?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you don't need another gun."

Before it registered that he was refusing her offer, his gun was out again and going off. Jocelyn turned to see a long snake now minus its head, though the body was still wiggling, and she shuddered at how close it was behind her. She hadn't heard it or sensed the danger. She didn't need another gun? He had just proved that statement false.

Colt glanced at her sideways after he tossed the snake away from them. He had to hand it to her. She'd been shot at, near snake-bit, and that was after her coach had crashed. And no telling what had happened before then. Yet she hadn't made a fuss about any of it. Of course, that snake had managed to shut her up. She was the talkingest woman he'd ever met. Not that he minded. That accent of hers was real soft on the ears.

He turned to stare at the dust cloud making its way toward them. Her people, he hoped, considering the size of that cloud indicated quite a few riders. He replaced the rounds in his gun just in case.

He glanced at her again and saw that she had pro-duced a small lacy square of cloth from somewhere and was dabbing it at her forehead. That sweet scent of hers drifted more strongly to him, stirring his blood again. Damn, but she was dangerous. Each time he looked at her, she somehow got prettier and definitely more desirable. And each time she looked at him with those beautiful green eyes, he had to fight down old instincts. If he had come across her six years ago, he would have simply ridden off with her and made her his. But he was "civilized" now and so couldn't fol-low his natural inclinations anymore.

But those instincts were strong, too strong, the rea-son that he didn't dare stick around to help her out with her troubles. It'd be different if she didn't already have help, more than enough help from the look of it. Then he would have no choice, because he damn well didn't like the idea of someone wanting to hurt her. She might not belong out here, but she was here, and she had crossed his path. He was going to worry about her now until she was safe. Just what he needed.

"Those your people riding in?"

Jocelyn started at his question, barely heard through the ringing in her ears from the gunshots. She had been trying to think of some way to change his mind about working for her. She didn't want him to just ride off to where she might never see him again. That was imperative, though she had yet to wonder why.

She saw the riders now, and recognized Sir Parker Grahame out in front. "Yes, my escort, and quite a few of the servants, by the look of it."

"I'll be taking off, then. Your men can find your team staked out at the river, less than a mile east of here — that is, if someone hasn't come along and sto-len them by now."

The unspoken words were implicit in his tone. If her horses were gone, so would be his gear.

"Thank you. I'm sure they will be easily recov-ered. But are you certain you won't change your mind and-"

"Ma'am, that's a small army you have bearing down on us. You don't need me."

"We will need a guide, however."

"You can find one in Tombstone."

Jocelyn gritted her teeth as she followed him to his horse and watched him mount. He obviously wasn't for hire, for any reason.

"Where is this town you mentioned?"

"About six miles or so directly across the San Pe-dro. It's big enough that you can't miss it."

"Do you live there, by any chance?"

"No, ma'am."

"But will I see you there, do you think?"

"I doubt it."

He hadn't looked at her since he headed for his horse, but he did now, and had to grip his saddle horn.

The disappointment was vivid in her expression, pulling at his gut with invisible cords. What the hell did she want from him? Didn't she know she was courting trouble with that look?

"I really wish you would reconsider," she said in a soft, imploring voice that wrapped around him, making him groan.

It was too much on top of everything else she made him feel. He had to get the hell out of there.

"Forget it, lady. I don't need that kind of trouble."

She didn't know he was referring to her and not her problems. She stood there and watched him ride away, feeling guilty for trying to embroil him in what was a very dangerous situation. He was right to refuse her. He had helped her enough as it was. But blast it all, she didn't want to see the last of him.