Teresa Medeiros - Nobody’s Darling

As the light faded, the sloping walls of a canyon loomed out of the land to embrace them. Esmerelda found herself yearning for the bleak desert plain, the broad sweep of the sky, the absence of shadows cast by the towering rock formations that seemed to watch them from the gathering darkness.

Something howled in the distance, making her skin crawl. “Mr. Darling?” she called out, cringing at the note of near-panic in her voice.

He hesitated for a nearly imperceptible moment before guiding his horse in a wide circle and loping back to her side. Even he wasn’t completely immune to their eerie surroundings. He rode with one hand resting lightly on the grip of the Winchester sheathed in the leather scabbard hanging from his saddle.

“Billy,” he said curtly, capturing the reins from her hands with enough authority to draw the mule to a halt.

“How far to Eulalie…” Esmerelda cleared her throat. The use of such an intimate nickname seemed to imply a fondness they did not share.“… Billy?”

He squinted at the hint of horizon visible through the narrow mouth of the canyon. “About a six-hour ride, I’d wager. If we start out at dawn, we should make town before noon.”

Esmerelda’s mouth went drier than it already was while her stomach recoiled at the prospect of subsisting for another day on beans, jerky, and libations that tasted more like rusty tin than coffee or water.

“We won’t reach Eulalie until tomorrow?” she asked faintly.

He nodded. “We’d best make camp now. After sundown, the desert can be a dangerous place. There’s outlaws, scorpions, rattlers, varmints…” He hesitated long enough to warn her that he just might be enjoying himself.“… Indians.”

Chewing on her lower lip, she cast him a dubious look. Sharing this man’s bedroll could prove more hazardous than any of those perils.

He leaned down to capture a tendril of hair that had been jolted loose from her coronet of braids. He threaded his fingers through the silky strand, the unexpected tenderness of his touch sending a parade of gooseflesh across her skin. “Why, I’ve known Apache who would sell their grandfather’s souls to get their hands on a scalp this pretty.”

Esmerelda’s first instinct was to flush with pleasure. Her second instinct was to snatch her hair out of his hand and berate him for deliberately trying to frighten her.

Before she could do either, a shot rang out.

Its echo hadn’t even died when Billy launched himself off his mount, Winchester in hand, and rolled her over the side of the wagon to the ground.

“Down, Sadie!” he shouted.

Whimpering in alarm, the basset hound dove into the bed of the wagon. Billy’s horse took off with a frantic whinny, galloping for the mouth of the canyon.

Esmerelda’s breath hitched in her chest. She tried to rise, but Billy pressed her into the sand, using his body as a shield. She didn’t comprehend why until a second shot struck the ground a few feet from the wagon wheel, sending up a blinding spray of grit. That was when she decided she just might be content to lie there all night, cradled beneath the shelter of his taut muscles.

With an ominous creak, the buckboard wheels turned half a revolution.

“Sonofabitch,” Billy breathed into her hair.

Esmerelda didn’t have the heart to chide him for his profanity. She understood their dilemma only too well. If the mule spooked and galloped away with their only shelter, they were done for. She could see the reins from where she lay, dangling just out of arm’s reach between the seat and the harness.

“Don’t move, honey,” he whispered. “Don’t even breathe.”

At first she thought his endearment was addressed to the mule. But that was before he inched forward on his elbows, dragging his hips across the softness of her bottom. Oddly undone by the contact, Esmerelda squeezed her eyes shut, once again mourning the absence of her bustle.

The chill night wind stung her skin as Billy rose to a crouch and peered over the bed of the wagon, Winchester in one hand, six-gun in the other. Esmerelda was surprised to learn that her curiosity was stronger than her terror. Ignoring his command, she wiggled to her knees and peered around the spokes of the wagon wheel.

The rising moon revealed a lone outcropping of rock sheltered by rubble on the far wall of the canyon—the perfect cover for an ambush. There was no way to determine how many attackers crouched on that makeshift platform. By squinting, Esmerelda could just make out the crown of one of their hats.

A shotgun blast thundered through the canyon. The mule bolted forward. Esmerelda made a panicked grab for the reins. She caught them just before they swung out of her reach, throwing her body’s entire weight against the beast’s forward momentum. Miraculously, he stumbled to a halt, his massive hindquarters still quivering with alarm.

“Nice mule,” she murmured, closing her eyes against a dizzying surge of relief. “Good mule.”

When she opened them, Billy was glaring at her. “I thought I told you to stay put,” he hissed.

“You should have told the mule,” she retorted, wrapping the reins around her gloved hands. If the beast took off now, she was going to be dragged the rest of the way to Eulalie on her stomach.

Still shaking his head, Billy rose to one knee with fluid grace and sighted the outcropping of stone through the eye of the Colt. Esmerelda’s blood froze. Had his arrogance blossomed into madness? she wondered. The pistol might have an advantage over the Winchester in accuracy, but not at such an impossible range.

The determination etched on his features made her breath come fast and short. If he hadn’t been about to get them both killed, his concentration would have been a beautiful thing to behold.

He closed one eye.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

He fired.

The hat flew off, making one of their assailants yelp like a girl.

Esmerelda frowned in bewilderment as the yelp gave way to a confusing muddle of grunts and curses, followed by the sounds of a minor scuffle.

A timid voice wafted across the canyon. “That you, Billy?”

Billy collapsed against the wagon wheel, paling as if he’d been mortally wounded. Weakened by relief, Esmerelda crawled to his side and sagged against him. “Friends of yours, I gather.”

“Worse.” The grim set of his mouth banished her exhilaration. “Relations.”

The Darling gang came charging down the embankment, whooping and hollering like schoolboys on the first day of summer. For a moment, Billy appeared to be nearly as paralyzed with shock as Esmerelda was.

Then he snatched her up by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his frantic gaze. “You’ve got to do whatever I say, gal. Swear you will.” When she just gaped at him in dumb surprise, he gave her a slight shake. “Swear it, Esmerelda. Your life may depend on it.”

It wasn’t the strength of his grip that swayed her, but the desperation in his smoky green eyes. In that one elusive moment, Esmerelda would have promised him anything.

At her tremulous nod, he reached over into the bed of the wagon and snatched down a length of rope. Before Esmerelda could so much as murmur a protest, he had the thick length of hemp twined around her wrists. He jerked a knot in it, binding her hands in front of her.

“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, sir? I never intended—”

“You promised,” he reminded her sternly.

“I don’t care what I promised! You have no right—”

“Shhhhh.” He laid a finger across her lips, stilling them in midsputter. Their tense silence only emphasized the sound of his brothers stampeding across the canyon like a herd of drunken steers. Billy shook his head at her, his gaze softened by tender regret. “If you don’t hush, sweetheart, I’m afraid I’ll have to gag you.”

“But I—”

As quick as that, Billy plucked the lace handkerchief from the breast pocket of her basque and stuffed it into her mouth. If she hadn’t still been reeling from shock, she might have been able to spit out the wad of cloth before he secured it with the dusty bandanna he’d been wearing around his neck.

As he knotted the bandanna at her nape, his warm breath stirred her hair. “You’ll thank me for this later,” he whispered, causing her skin to tingle with an awareness that had as much to do with his absolute power over her as her sudden helplessness.

She was left with no recourse but to stamp her feet in outrage and emit a muffled shriek.

He circled back to the front of her, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “That’s perfect, angel. Pretend you hate me.”

Even through the gag, it was possible to make out Esmerelda’s mumbled “I do hachoo.”

His brothers were nearly upon them now. Billy studied her through narrowed eyes. “Your color’s sure high enough, but we might need to make a few minor adjustments.”

She glared daggers at him as he dragged off her poor beleaguered bonnet and carelessly tossed it aside. He plucked out her hairpins and raked his fingers through her coronet of braids, sending her hair spilling in a wanton tumble around her shoulders. As galling as that assault upon her person was, it was nothing compared to the shock of his lean fingers dancing down the high-necked collar of her basque. His deft skill with the tiny hooks only served to remind her that he’d probably had more experience undressing women than she had.

He didn’t falter until the back of his hand brushed the naked swell of her breast, betraying the fact that she wasn’t wearing a camisole, corset, or much of anything else, beneath the basque. His gaze flew to her face. Esmerelda felt a perverse flare of triumph at his stunned expression, his quick, indrawn breath.

His knuckles lingered against her skin in a motion too uncalculated to be called a caress. Yet it shivered Esmerelda to the bone. As their eyes met, the distant roaring in her ears drowned out everything but the harsh rasp of his breathing and the wild throb of her pulse.

“Where the hell you hidin‘, Billy? Ain’t you glad to see us?”

The nearby shout startled both of them out of their reverie. A fierce scowl shadowed Billy’s brow. His fingers flew back up her basque, hooking with even more haste than they’d unhooked only seconds before.

“We want you to look ravished, not ravishing,” he muttered between clenched teeth, securing the hook beneath her chin with such enthusiasm she feared she might choke to death. “And try to look terrified,” he commanded as the hoots and curses swelled to near deafening volume.

Esmerelda didn’t have to fake it as he grabbed her by the elbow and shoved her ahead of him. But her worst fears were never realized. Before the scream building in her throat could escape the gag, Billy was snatched away from her and enveloped by a howling, back-thumping circle of men. One of them yodeled a rebel yell while another fired a volley of reckless shots into the air. They all reeked of whiskey, making it easy to understand why none of their shots had struck true.

Esmerelda stumbled to a halt, standing forgotten and invisible on the fringes of their reunion. The moon drifted over the lip of the canyon, giving her her first clear look at the notorious Darling gang.

The largest of the four men, a burly giant of at least six feet six, slapped Billy on the back hard enough to stagger him, then swept him up in a bear hug and swung him in a wide circle. “I knew that had to be you. Nobody but my baby brother could make a shot like that.”

From the shocks of gray at the man’s temples, Esmerelda deduced he must also be the oldest Darling. She might have been touched by the genuine affection in his embrace if Billy hadn’t hung so stiffly in his arms.

He finally managed to struggle free, his nostrils flaring with distaste. “Hell, Virgil, with all the stagecoaches you’ve been knocking off, you could at least spare a nickel for a bath and a shave.”

Virgil threw back his head and roared with laughter, his white teeth gleaming through his sandy beard in a wolfish grin. Even Esmerelda had to admit he was handsome, in a brutish sort of way. “Now, Billy, you know Jasper’s always been the pretty boy in the family. Shaves twice a day. Splashes on so much lilac water he ends up smelling like a two-dollar whore.”

“Better a whore than a hog,” retorted the man Esmerelda assumed must be Jasper.

His jibe initiated a brief shoving match with Virgil.

Esmerelda cringed, fearing the two towering men were going to come to fisticuffs.

But Billy pushed his way between them without betraying an ounce of apprehension. “I wouldn’t care to be downwind of either one of you.”

Jasper knocked off Billy’s hat and ruffled his tawny hair. “Where you been hidin‘, little brother? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you been avoidin’ your own kin. Your very own flesh and blood.”