Little Red: An Everland Ever After Tale (6 page)

She shivered as he paced towards her, his height making her feel small in a way that Hank hadn’t. “My dear, you ran off in Salt Lake, before we could even become acquainted.” And then he was holding her, his hand tight around her upper arm, and Rojita didn’t even have time to squeak.

“Get your hands off of her.” Hank’s normally-smooth voice held more than a hint of warning, of danger, but
El Lobo
barely glanced over her shoulder.

“Do mind your own business, gentlemen. This conversation is between my betrothed and me.”

Betrothed?
“Betrothed?” Hank’s question echoed hers, and she wanted to scream
No!
but she couldn’t seem to make her throat work properly.

“Soon to be, at least. Isn’t that right,
mi amado
?” Lobo squeezed, and Rojita winced. “No welcome kiss for me? You shouldn’t be so shy.” He leaned closer, and she shivered, to see his teeth up close. The last time he’d stood in front of her like this—thankfully in a public street in Salt Lake City—he’d told her with complete confidence that she would be his one way or another. She’d been terrified then, too.

“You
will
marry me, Rojita. Or you will sign the will and your inheritance over to me. It’s your decision.”

She finally found her voice. “I will
never
give you
Abuelo
’s orphanage. That’s all that
Abuela
has left! I’d sooner rot than let it fall into the hands of a low-down—“ She swallowed her words with a yelp when he squeezed harder.

“Now see here, betrothed or not—“

The gunslinger ignored Mr. Garrett’s interruption. “You’ll watch your tone with me, girl, if you know what’s good for you.”

Oh God
he looked ready to pull out that giant revolver—the one responsible for over a hundred deaths,
Abuelo
claimed—right now. Rojita swallowed, trying to cover her fear with bravado. “I was just answering your question. I’m not giving you the will, and I am
not
marrying you.”

She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she felt Hank finally step up beside her. “She said she’s not marrying you.” His voice was flat, but she heard the anger in it.
Oh thank Heavens
, he believed her. “So get your hands off of her.”

Lobo didn’t let her go, but his eyes did narrow thoughtfully as he stared at Hank. “Do I know you,
señor
?”

Rojita turned when she heard Hank’s snort, but Lobo’s grip kept her from going to him. Mr. Garrett had moved up behind her protector, and the angry frown he wore contrasted with Hank’s cold calm. She didn’t know what Hank intended, but she was suddenly afraid for him.

“Yeah.” Hank’s drawl was slow and mocking, and for a second she thought that he was agreeing with her fear for him. “You do.”

Lobo’s eyes narrowed further. “We met in Texas, did we not?”

“You shot me.” Why did her heart lurch at that bland confession? She wanted to go to Hank, to pat him down, to find out if he
had
been shot, and if he was okay now. But from the way the older man was glaring at him, Hank wasn’t going to be okay for long. No matter what he claimed about his history bringing in bounties, there was no way he’d be able to stand against a monster like
El Lobo
.

“I’ve shot many men. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Nope, and I ain’t going to be heart-broken that you don’t remember me, either. For now, though, I’ll give you one more chance:
Get your hands off of her
.” Oh my. He sounded quite…
heroic
, didn’t he? But Hank wasn’t wearing a gun—the only weapon she’d seen him carry had been the long-barreled Winchester rifle on the saddle of the horse he’d ridden yesterday—and Lobo was obviously skilled with his.

“And if I don’t?” Mr. Garrett shifted at the bland curiosity in the gunslinger’s voice, and Mr. Gunn had apparently disappeared, but Hank just watched emotionlessly. “If I decide that she has something that I want, and that I intend to keep, no matter what you or her filthy grandfather have to say about it?”

“Sir, that’s quite enough. I don’t want any violence in my hotel.” Lobo’s attention turned to Mr. Garrett, who’d stepped around Hank to move between the men, and his grip loosened. Hank wasn’t looking at Mr. Garrett, or even her. No, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of
El Lobo
, and she knew from his expression that he hadn’t forgiven the man. Lobo would regret shooting Hank, she knew it.

The gunslinger opened his mouth to reply to Mr. Garrett—she could see his dismissive sneer already falling into place—and that was the only opening Hank needed. There was a blur, and then
El Lobo
was falling backwards, pulling her with him. Everything seemed to slow down…

Her scream was cut off when she was suddenly yanked backwards, and pulled—thrown?—into Hank’s chest. He was solid and comforting, despite the dangerous aura that seemed to surround him, and she wanted to curl up into his wood smoke scent. Was it her imagination, or did he give her a little squeeze before pushing her away to stand alone?

Rojita stumbled slightly, but managed to right herself before he noticed. Goodness, she
was
unsteady, wasn’t she? The roiling ball of emotions from this morning had been replaced with equal parts hurt and anger at his confession, and then immediately pushed out by the dull terror she’d felt in Lobo’s grip, only to be completely subsumed by the warmth and
safety
of his arms. And now, trying to stay upright after taking her emotions on such a wild ride, all she felt was emptiness without him. And didn’t
that
just make her sound like a ninny?

Hank stepped away from her, and that’s when time sped back up again and she finally realized what had happened.
El Lobo
was on the floor of the fancy hotel, his hands clasped to his face and blood seeping out from between his fingers. Hank had hit him. He’d been weaponless against the gunslinger, but not defenseless; Rojita saw blood dripping from his knuckles, and knew that he was a force to be reckoned with. Lobo shouldn’t have taunted him about their past.

Only a few seconds had gone by since Hank’s lightning-fast strike, and he wasted no time. Stepping forward, he grabbed a handful of
El Lobo’s
vest and lifted him upright. He thrust the man towards Mr. Gunn, who’d appeared out of nowhere—had he snuck around behind the gunslinger somehow? The white-haired hotel manager was stronger than he looked; he had Lobo’s arms twisted behind his back before Rojita could blink, and Hank quickly pulled the big revolver from its ornate holster. He turned and tossed the gun towards the young man in leg braces still standing at the desk, who caught it awkwardly. “You mind, Franklin? Keep him covered.”

Mr. Haskell nodded, and turned the revolver on Lobo, although he didn’t look pleased about it. Only then did Hank step back to Rojita’s side. “You okay, honey?” His question was curt, but when he flicked those soft brown eyes her way, she could almost believe that he cared. She couldn’t speak, so just nodded, dazed. “Good.”

“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want any violence in my hotel, Mr. Cutter.” Mr. Garret was glaring, but Hank just shrugged.

“I didn’t shoot him, did I? More’n he deserved, really.”

“He’s
bleeding
on my carpet.”

The gunslinger made an inarticulate noise of protest, and Hank’s lip actually curled up on one side. “I warned him not to touch her.”

She should’ve been angry at his high-handed attitude. She should’ve been shocked that he’d resort to such a primitive display in response to a situation that really didn’t involve him. But Rojita remembered the feel of
El Lobo’
s hand on her, and the relief that had coursed through her when she’d landed in Hank’s arms, and decided that this shortness of breath was almost certainly appreciation for his methods. It probably didn’t have anything to do with the way he’d dismissed Mr. Garrett and was looking down at her like… like she was
his
.

And then, without dropping her gaze, he spoke to the distinguished man currently restraining a livid gunslinger. “Do me a favor and store my saddle for me? I’ll be back for it.”

“Where are you going?” Mr. Gunn asked the question Rojita hadn’t be able to, what with her dry throat and lack of air in her lungs and
oh my
Hank had an intense stare, didn’t he?

“I’m taking Red to Everland, to her grandmother.”

He was? “You are?” Why did that announcement make her feel weak and buoyant and expectant and terrified all at once?

He smiled at her. He
actually smiled.
A real, honest-to-goodness smile, that just lit up his face and crinkled his eyes and—
Dios mio
!—she was lost. “You sound like you swallowed a frog, honey.”

“Will she be safe with you?” Mr. Garrett’s question didn’t seem to distract Hank one bit.

“I’ll protect her from this scum.” Without dropping her gaze, he jerked his chin towards
El Lobo
, growling in Mr. Gunn’s grip.

She could hear the grin in the hotel manager’s voice when he spoke up. “I can vouch for him, sir. Mr. Cutter is a fine, upstanding gentleman.”

“The hell I am.” Hank’s smile slipped away, but Rojita didn’t care; she would have the amazing memory of it to take out and examine whenever she needed. He’d smiled! “But I ain’t letting this son-of-a-bitch touch her, neither. If she says she’ll be safe in Everland, then that’s where I’ll take her.”

“But will she be safe with
you
, Mr. Cutter?”

The question from Mr. Garrett drew Hank’s attention away from her. Without his fierce, wonderful gaze, she felt safe touching one hand to her chest, trying to understand the feeling that was near to bursting from under her skin. But she watched the two men staring at one another, and had to give Mr. Garrett grudging respect for not backing down from Hank’s dangerous scowl. Finally, her hero gave one curt nod, and Mr. Garrett nodded in return, and the two other watchers sighed in relief.

“Then go, Hank. We’ll keep your saddle, and we’ll have Sheriff Knighton lock up your friend here overnight. No promises, though; he hasn’t broken any laws, besides bleeding in my lobby.”

“Yes, go, Hank Cutter,” growled the gunslinger. Rojita could see the blood still dribbling from his nostril, caking his mustache and the front of his fine white shirt. Had she thought him scary before? Now the look in his eyes was positively terrifying, and she wanted to step between the two men, as if she could protect Hank. “Run away.” He sneered in his now-nasally voice, and Mr. Haskell raised the gun a bit, although he didn’t look comfortable doing it. “Run to Everland, where I’ll be able to find you.”

Hank took her hand and the warmth spread up her arm again. “Alright. Once Red’s settled in there, you and me can have a do-over of Texas.”

“I look forward to it. But first, I will make her mine. Her, and her grandfather’s property. And you will watch, before I kill you. I will be coming for you, Hank Cutter.”

“Fair enough.” He squeezed her hand, but didn’t look her way. “Thanks for the warning.” Rojita wondered if anything fazed him.

Then Mr. Garrett was standing beside them, handing Hank his hat and saddlebags and—oh good,
there
was his rifle—and then they were headed for the door. Well, Hank was
pulling
her towards the door, and she stumbled in his wake. Everything had happened so quickly! They were leaving? For the train station?
Together
?

“Hey, Franklin,” Hank called over his shoulder, “Let
Señor Lobo
know that his horse is over at Herb Water’s place.”

Rojita glanced back once, wondering if she should bother saying goodbye to the men standing in the lobby. Mr. Garrett waved to her jauntily, as if happy to have them out of his hotel, but Mr. Gunn and Mr. Haskell looked worried. She didn’t have time to wonder about
that
before the gunslinger’s curses drew her attention, and the hatred she saw there—and the determination—made her shudder.

Oh dear
.

He’d punched
El Lobo.
He’d
punched
the most notorious gunslinger in Texas.
Punched
him… when what Hank had wanted to do was pull out the Smith and Wesson in the back of his belt and
shoot
the son-of-a-bitch in the face, for daring to touch Red like that.

There’d been a moment there, when Lobo had called her his betrothed, that Hank had stopped breathing. His righteous anger at seeing
El Lobo
here in Wyoming—of all places—and seeing him put his hand on Red had been replaced with dread at those words. Dread that the older man really
did
have a right to touch her; dread that she’d been lying to him about why she was running.

But then, when she’d stuck out her chin and looked up at the gunslinger so bravely and told him that she wasn’t going to marry him, relief had swept through Hank, and snapped whatever control he might’ve had. All he could think about was making Lobo pay for hurting her. Pay for the fear he’d seen on her face, and for forcing her to be brave.

Good thing Haskell had a sheriff. Hopefully their little dust-up would be enough to keep the gunslinger locked up overnight, long enough for him to get her to her family. Then Hank would be able to face Lobo alone, knowing that Red was safe.

And the gunslinger would definitely be coming for him, because what Sheriff Knighton didn’t realize was that
El Lobo
was now a wanted man. He’d once been a gun-for-hire, but had killed a lawman two years back, down in Mexico.  Last time Hank had been through Haskell, he’d thumbed through Knighton’s wanted posters, and Lobo wasn’t there. If he’d had any idea that the gunslinger would ever have come this far north, he definitely would’ve mentioned it to Sheriff Knighton… but there wasn’t time now. Maybe he could telegraph the man after he’d gotten Red off the train in Everland. It was up to him to make sure that she was safe with her family when
El Lobo
came after him again.

He wasn’t going to let him hurt her again.

Was it any wonder that his insides were just a mess, by the time he dragged her down Main Street and hustled her on the train? The anger, at seeing her pain; the fear, from wondering if he’d be able to protect her; the rightness of feeling her hand in his? Hank could barely breathe, could barely think straight. They were still standing when the porter shut the door and the train began to inch away from Haskell, and Hank took what felt like his first real breath since she’d walked in from the dining room, looking all prim and perfect and kissable.

She chose that moment to look up at him, and her smile was hesitant. “That wasn’t how I expected my morning to go.”

It was no use. Her gentle teasing wasn’t going to distract him from how darn kissable those lips looked right now. Maybe something showed in his expression, because her eyes widened slightly.

His saddlebags dropped to the ground, and he leaned the rifle against the wall beside them.
Kissable
. That’s what he’d been thinking about, right before
El Lobo
sauntered back into their lives.
Kissable
. He wanted—he needed—to touch her. To remind himself that she was safe, that she wasn’t the gunslinger’s.

Leaning back, he let the wall take his weight, and pulled her towards him. She was breathing heavily from their jog through town, but her slight frown let him know that she was irritated, not scared. Good.
Good
, he could deal with irritation.

He cupped her cheek in one hand, and watched those gorgeous eyes go wide, felt the delicious shock of her skin against his. Groaned, when he realized he was lost.

Kissable
.

She tasted like sugar cookies. And Heaven, once her lips began to move under his, and she matched his desperation stroke for stroke. It wasn’t until he felt her fingernails scraping through the hair on the back of his neck that he realized she’d wrapped her arms around him and was holding on. He groaned again, and cupped her other cheek too, and tried to pull her even closer.

Any closer, though, and he’d be inside of her, and now wasn’t
that
thought interesting? The train swayed under them, and he braced his backside, pulled her hips against his thighs, and made love to her with his mouth.

When her tongue touched his, he darn near came undone, and realized that he
would
, if he let this go on any longer. With a gasp, he forced his lips away from her, his resolve weakening when she came after him. But he held her cheeks in both hands, and dropped his forehead to hers, breathing heavy.

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he knew that she was gasping—panting—too, and it made him want to kiss her again. To sweep her off her feet, to climb down from the train at the very next town, to carry her to the nearest bed, and to bury himself in her the way she’d been inviting him to do since he’d met her. Oh, maybe she didn’t realize it, but those looks she’d been giving him? The way she snuggled up and surrounded him? They were all the encouragement a typical man needed.

Too bad he wasn’t typical. He had to get home to Arizona… or at least, what would become home. He didn’t have time to get all involved with a woman like Red.

Opening his eyes, Hank pulled away just enough to see her. Only problem was that he was already involved, whether he liked it or not.

Scratch that. He liked it. He liked it very much.

Her deep blue eyes were glazed with desire, and it was all he could do to not lower his lips to her again. But the sight of his bare hands on her cheeks stopped him. His right knuckles were broken and bleeding from their run-in with the gunslinger’s face, and reminded him of the fear he’d seen in her eyes when Lobo held her.

“Why did you…” Red blinked, as if she was trying to regain control, and he knew that she was about to ask him something uncomfortable. How to explain why he’d kissed her? How to explain how, after the anger and fear in the hotel lobby, he’d needed to touch her, to know that she was safe and… and
his
? He couldn’t explain that, because she wasn’t his at all.

But she surprised him. “Why did you hit him?” That wasn’t what he’d expected her to ask, and when her small fingers—she hadn’t had time to put on gloves, either—came up to caress his right hand, he had to pull back farther, just to make sure that she wasn’t teasing him.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, why’d I hit him? It was either that or shoot ‘im, and I knew Charlie wouldn’t appreciate that option.”

She touched his split knuckles, maybe without even realizing it, but it didn’t hurt. Nah, having her like this, in his arms, looking all concerned and stroking him like he needed petting… it didn’t hurt at all. Felt
good
. “You were angry at him for shooting you?”

Shooting him? Then Hank remembered the brief exchange he’d had with Lobo, and lowered his forehead to hers once more. She honestly thought
that
was why he’d been so angry? Why he wanted to kill the gunslinger with his bare hands? “No, I wasn’t, honey. I mean—” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I ain’t going to forgive him for that, but…” Another deep breath, while he tried to get his emotions under control.

It wasn’t working. With a groan, he pressed against her, harder, and blurted out, “Good God, Red. Do you have any idea what it did to me, to see him touching you like that? To think that you might’ve wanted it?”

She sucked in a breath—they were close enough that he felt it—when she understood. He opened his eyes and met hers. “You mean…” Her voice was suddenly as tiny as the rest of her. “You were angry because of… of what he did to me?”

He stood up, but didn’t let her go. “I would’ve liked to kill ‘im for it, Red.”

“I thought that you were holding a grudge.” The amazement in her expression, in her voice, was adorable. Did the little fool honestly have no idea what it’d done to him, to see her in that kind of danger? She looked so flabbergasted that he had to grin, and that got another reaction from her.

Her eyes widened again, and she pulled away from him. He let her go, dropping his hands. “You’re smiling.” It was an accusation.

“Sorry.” He didn’t stop, though. In fact, her irritation made his grin grow.

“Don’t be.” She cocked that pretty little head of hers. “I like it when you smile. You look…nice.”

“I’m not nice.” He wasn’t nice. He wasn’t a gentleman. He wasn’t the kind of man who courted and married… but Red had him thinking all sorts of things lately.

She shrugged, and pulled out her gloves from a pocket in her cloak. “I think that you are.” And then, while she was pulling them on—Hank was disappointed to see her skin disappearing under the dark leather—she asked too casually, “Why’d you kiss me?”

He snagged her hand, and forced her to look at him once more. Focused on making sure she understood. “To remind you that you don’t belong to him. I won’t let you forget.”

“Who do I belong to, then?”

Her question was hesitant, and tiny, and made him ache to reassure her, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t say what he wanted to say—
me
—because it wasn’t true.

He was saved from having to lie by the porter, who glared at them as he passed, reminding Hank that they were standing in the aisle of a moving train. “Come on, honey.” Picking up his bags and rifle in one hand, he pulled her towards two open seats.

Neither spoke, but he didn’t let her hand loose, either, and she didn’t seem to mind. They had long enough before they reached Everland that they’d have to worry about lunch, and a few hours after that. But they couldn’t spend the day just staring out the windows, either. He needed answers.

Hank pulled off his hat and threw it on the bench across from them. Scrubbing his bare hand over his beard and through his hair, he sighed. She was still turned away from him, but he could see the curve of her jaw. “Why did
El Lobo
think that you were going to marry him?”

“When he accosted me on the train from Salt Lake City, he told me that it was because I’m going to inherit my
Abuelo’s
property, and he wants it.”

“He wasn’t real subtle, was he?” Actually, Hank could think of any number of reasons to marry her, and her inheritance wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately,
El Lobo
was the kind of man who took what he wanted, and damned the consequences. More often than not, for a man of his ability with a gun and dangerous reputation, there weren’t consequences.

There would be, this time.

She shrugged. “
Abuelo
warned me that he might come after me.”

“This is the man who adopted you?”

“The man who raised me. I don’t think he and
Abuela
ever officially adopted any of us.” She looked down at their joined hands. “She runs the town orphanage, technically, but she treats us all like her children. Grandchildren, I guess.”

Her grandparents—or whatever they were—had enough money to run an orphanage
and
offer a stranger a hundred bucks? “And
El Lobo
wants the orphanage?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “He must, because he’s going through an awful lot of trouble to get it.”

Try as he might, Hank couldn’t figure why a gunslinger like Lobo, who was wanted in two states and some territories, would want an orphanage. Remembering the conversation they’d had that first night—had it only been a few days ago?—he asked, “If your grandfather’s been dead since the summer, why does Lobo think
you’re
going to inherit?”

Gently, she pulled her hand from his, and began to fiddle with the edge of her cloak. Hank had noticed that she did it when she was uncomfortable, and thought that it was kinda adorable. He missed her warmth, but figured that it was for the best. “I was… I wasn’t
Abuelo
’s favorite, but… maybe I was.” She sighed, and looked out the window again. “
Abuelo
made shoes for years. I don’t honestly know what their name was before they came north, but he’s been ‘Zapato’ for longer than I’ve known them. He always told us that he wasn’t going to get close to any of us, because we were his wife’s business.”