Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

stuck her head through the curtains to wait for him.

      The noon heat caused the green dots of sagebrush and mesquite to shimmer into wavy patterns along the prairie. The endless heat. Thank God she still had half a barrel of water. More than enough to last until they reached Crooked Creek.

      She ignored the trickle of sweat running down her spine; her gaze fixed on the advancing horse and rider.

      Mr. Douglas’s gelding was a chestnut brown, not a grayish tan horse with black mane and tail!

      Noelle’s heart pounded; her breath caught in her throat. The stranger who was riding toward her wasn’t the man she knew and trusted.

      For good measure, she pulled out the old spare rifle that Mr. Douglas had brought with them. Two rifles were better than one, even if one was a relic.

      Her hands shook while she clutched the powder horn and loaded the old weapon. Willing her fingers to stop trembling, she forced the panic from her mind. With teeth clenched, she laid the spare beside her and grabbed the Hawken, poking the barrel through the crack in the canvas.

      The rider was well within her sights.

      Dear God, she had never shot a man. But Mr. Douglas had coached her on what to do if the need arose. She pushed back the images of what terror might have befallen him. If only the wagon wheel hadn’t broken...

      She could shoot a man if she must.

      The rider, dressed in black, brought the horse to a stop. Although Noelle hid inside the wagon, she sensed the man knew, somehow, that he was being watched.

      Tall in the saddle, the dangerous-looking stranger studied the wagon. Maybe, she hoped, he’d think the prairie schooner was deserted and leave.

      She pressed the walnut stock against her shoulder until it hurt. No, if he thought the wagon abandoned, he might rummage through her goods for anything of value.

      “Put down your rifle. I mean you no harm.” The man’s deep voice rang with authority. He dismounted and ambled toward her. Sunlight glinted off the pistols riding low on his gun belt. She saw with alarm that his right hand hovered close to his holster.

      Tall, with a black hat tipped low over his eyes, the man’s face remained hidden. She was certain his features were ugly. Only ugly, dangerous men sauntered in that sneaky way.

      When he was within twenty feet of the wagon, she yelled. “Stop right there or, I swear, I’ll shoot.”

      He froze. He raised his head. Dark eyes glittered menacingly below the black hat’s wide brim. She knew he was deciding how to separate her from her weapon.

      “Save your gunpowder. I’m here to help.” Noelle’s only answer was the click click of the hammer of the Hawken rifle.

      “Are you alone?”

      “No,” she lied. “My men have you covered.”

      His deeply tanned hand shoved the wide brim from his forehead, revealing an unsmiling, lean and angular face. His dark brown eyes trapped her with their unblinking stare. The well-defined jaw and chin was hidden beneath a week’s growth of black beard. Her scalp tightened in reaction.

      A black eyebrow lifted. “If your men are hiding behind your skirts, they’re not the sort who’ll do you much good.” His mouth curled, creasing the dimple like scar under his cheekbone.

      “Get back on your horse or I’ll shoot you dead.” Noelle’s voice held a control she didn’t feel.

      A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Charitable of you for offering to put me out of my misery.” He took a step forward, his dark brown eyes glittered in earnest. “Found a man on the trail. Need to know if he’s one of yours.”

      A well of fear ran through her. “Mr. Douglas?” she cried out before she thought.

      The man scuffed the prairie sand with his scarred boots. “Was Mr. Douglas about fifty, sandy grey hair, and did he come to about my shoulders?”

      Noelle’s breath caught; her heart pounded. “Yes. Is he all right?” she added, hoping to sound less desperate than she felt.

      The man took off his hat, the breeze parting his longish black hair. “Sorry, miss. He’s dead.”

      The stranger’s image blurred with her tears. She bit her lip, forcing back the reality of his words. “Why should I believe you? If he’s dead, where’s his body?”

      The stranger’s right hand brushed his gun belt, then slipped behind to pull something from his hip pocket. Noelle tightened the grip on the Hawken. But when the man retrieved a square cloth to wipe his face, she realized how tense she felt.

      “I covered the body with rocks until he can have a proper burial. When we get to Crooked Creek, you can give the sheriff the necessary details.” The man glanced at the sun, high in the cloudless sky. “We better get a move on. It’s a good day’s ride.”

      He took a step toward her.

      “Stay where you are.” She poked the end of her rifle farther into the sun. “How do I know you didn’t shoot him and aren’t planning to shoot me, too?”

      “The man wasn’t shot. Heart attack, from what I could make out.” He cocked his head to one side and raised his hands in the air. “You’re holding the rifle, not me. Besides, what would I want with a prairie schooner with a busted wheel?” He squinted one eye and waited, as if challenging her for an answer, but she gave none.

      Finally he said, “Look, miss. You’d best ride back to town with me. I noticed Indian tracks following your Mr. Douglas’s trail back here. Only God knows why the Indians veered from the hunt. Otherwise, they’d have attacked by now.” He put his hat on, then gathered the reins of his horse.

      Tears welled at the corner of her eyes, and she fought down the whimper in her throat. “All I know is that Mr. Douglas was a decent, God-fearing man, even if he liked a nip or two. All he spoke of was wanting to see the Pacific.”

      The stranger shook his head. “Damn fool greenhorns come out here...” He paused, then pulled the hat brim low over his eyes. “Hurry, lady. We’re losing valuable daylight.”

      “I won’t go with you.”

      She heard him swear under his breath. “I’m sorry about your loss, miss. Truly I am. But patience isn’t my strong suit. Now gather your water jugs and any whiskey you’ve got. Hop on back of my horse, and I’ll give you a ride into Crooked Creek.”

      “You don’t understand!” She poked her head out from the canvas opening. “I can’t leave the wagon.”

      “Pardon?” He tipped his hat at a rakish angle and studied her. The sunlight bounced off his cheek, and he didn’t appear quite so menacing. “We’re in big trouble, miss. Those Indians could attack any minute. Now, I’m riding out of here, with or without you. If you stay, you’ll end up just like your Mr. Douglas, only—”

      “He’s not my Mr. Douglas. I-I mean, Mr. Douglas is...was my trail guide, not...” She felt embarrassed to explain anything to this man. “I-I won’t leave. You’ll have to fix the wagon wheel.”

      He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Won’t leave? Why the hell not?”

      “I’m carrying precious cargo. That’s all you need to know.” She brushed her fingers across her damp collar. “And I’d prefer that you speak to me without profanity, Mister...?

      “Savage.” She sniffed.

      His mouth curled, revealing the dimpled scar. “Luke Savage.”

      “I’m Noelle Bellencourt. I’d be obliged if you’d fix the wagon, then guide me into Crooked Creek. I’ll pay you most handsomely.”

      His black eyebrows rose, and wary dark eyes appraised her. “Miss, I’ve been on the trail for six straight days. All I want is a bloody steak, a bottle of rye