Sam's Creed. Sarah McCarty

straggling ends of the right side. “The woman you have with you looks familiar.”

      “Who rides with me isn’t any of your business.”

      Two of the bandits fanned out in a loose flanking maneuver. Sam glanced around the streets. The smattering of locals that had been walking about had disappeared inside buildings faster than he could wave his hand. Down the street a door slammed shut.

      “Isabella, I thought I told you to get inside.”

      “You did.”

      “Then why are you still standing out on the street?”

      “Because the people of this place seem to want me outside.”

      A lanky man with a black hat, dirty chaps and shiny guns headed toward Isabella. Sam adjusted the point of his revolver. “Mister, you take one more step, and it will be your last.”

      “You’re awfully unfriendly for somebody who just came to town,” the leader said with deceptive civility.

      Sam gave him back an equally civil smile. “Consider it a character flaw.”

      He glanced over at Isabella standing on the walkway. She was too exposed. “Duchess, I want you to go around to the alley over there.”

      She waved toward the man at the edge of the walk between her and her goal. “How?”

      “Just walk on by.”

      Her tongue flicked over her lips. Not a single man missed the provocative sight. Damn, that woman had a mouth made for loving. “But—”

      “If he moves I’ll put a bullet in his brain. You can trust me on that.”

      Two breaths and then she turned those eyes on him. “You promise you will shoot him?”

      “I promise.”

      “You will not miss.”

      “Not likely.”

      “Likely is not a guarantee.”

      “Get moving.”

      “Fine, but if you miss I will be unhappy.”

      Even from here he could see her hands shaking at the thought of passing by the bastard.

      “Then for sure I won’t miss.”

      With a short nod she headed toward the alley. Sam waited until Isabella disappeared around the corner of the building, and then he straightened, settling easily in the saddle, letting the coldness that preceded battle cloak him. “Now that she’s gone, we can talk.”

      “There is nothing to talk about.”

      “Fine, then I’ll just lay it out for you. It’s been a bitch of a day. I’m hungry, tired and been stuck on the wrong end of that woman’s tongue for the last four hours.” From the alley came the faint echo of a gasp. He smiled. He thought that would get her going.

      “If the woman is such trouble, my friends and I would be happy to take her off your hands.”

      He just bet they would. Leather creaked as he shifted his weight in the saddle. “And who would you be?”

      “Juan Zapatos.”

      “Well, Juan, I only mentioned that because pretty much all I want is a couple shots of whiskey and a soft bed.”

      The man near the walkway moved. Sam met his gaze and gave a small shake of his head. He settled back.

      “There’s no reason you can’t have what you want,” Juan said.

      “As long as I give you what you want?”

      Juan nodded. “Sí.”

      “That’s not going to happen.”

      “The woman is Tejala’s.”

      “Then Tejala is going to be disappointed.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded toward the alley where Bella hid. “And the woman’s mine.”

      Another gasp.

      “And who are you to think you can take what is Tejala’s?”

      Centering the revolver on Juan, Sam answered. “Sam MacGregor. Texas Ranger.”

      There was a murmur from the man near the walk. A whisper of unease spread through the group. A little of the starch left Juan’s stance. But not all of it. After all, Sam’s reputation notwithstanding, they had him six to one.

      Juan spat. “Your badge means nothing here.”

      Sam shrugged. “A badge means nothing anywhere. It’s the man behind the badge you’ve got to be afraid of.” He smiled. “And quite frankly, y’all are wearing on my last nerve. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with.”

      “And what is ‘this’?”

      “This is me either peaceably passing through or plugging a hole in some of you.” He turned the revolver on the bandit closest to the alley. The shotgun he lined up with Juan’s midsection. He didn’t need accuracy with a shotgun. “Which way I go is entirely up to you.”

      Metal slid across leather in an audible hiss as Juan’s men drew their guns. Behind him, the unexpected scuff of a boot on sand. Sam dove to the ground, turning and pulling the trigger as he fell, swearing as he saw his target jerking the gun to the left just in time. The bullet whizzed past Isabella’s head. She screamed and crouched down, covering her head with her arms.

      “Son of a bitch!” She must have circled around the building.

      He rolled under the horses’ hooves toward the center of the street, taking the line of fire away from her. At least he knew why Kell hadn’t given a warning.

      “Get your ass back in the alley,” he hollered. “Kell, guard.”

      He hoped the dog knew to guard.

      Bullets hit the ground around Sam in rapid succession. Kell hesitated.

      “I will help,” Isabella yelled. Sam didn’t know how much help she expected to be with her hands over her face.

      He scanned the street, noting positions. “You can help by getting your butt to safety.” He glanced at the bristling dog. “And take Kell with you.”

      Juan laughed from behind a post. “You cannot even get your woman to obey, and you expect us to fear you?”

      “Nah, I just expect you to die.”

      Rolling to his back, dropping the shotgun beside him, he palmed the hammer on his Colt, unleashing a spray of bullets. Three bandits dropped, two didn’t. Shit.

      Return fire was immediate. He didn’t have any cover. A bullet struck him in the thigh with a hard punch and a sickening splat. Isabella screamed. He only had a few seconds to act before the pain came calling. Jumping to his feet, Sam ran for Bella, catching her around the waist as he got even, half carrying, half throwing her into the alley. Kell was right behind. Bullets peppered the building in the spot they’d been a split second before. He pressed his back against the wall. Splinters of wood flew, stinging his cheek as he shoved Isabella to the ground.

      “When I say to stay put,” Sam growled. “Stay put.”

      Pointing the shotgun around the corner, he fired blindly, relying on the scatter to do damage. A highpitched yell told him he had hit something. The swearing afterward meant probably not fatally.

      “Son of a bitch.”

      There was a tug at his belt. He turned, another curse on his lips. He did not need an hysterical woman on his hands. Isabella grabbed his hand and slapped something into his palm. His fingers closed around familiar shapes. Bullets. He met her gaze. There was steel beneath that softness.

      “Thanks.”