To Protect a Princess. Gail Barrett

a desperate man to try to cross.

      But he knew all about desperation, the lengths it could drive a man. And if someone was out there, he needed to know. Only a fool headed into these mountains unaware.

      He wasn’t a fool. And he wouldn’t let any woman, no matter how appealing, turn him into one.

      But he was a man without a horse, without supplies.

      Without much time.

      “Come on.” He turned abruptly, stalked up the slope, shot a frown at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were moving into position over the mountains now, their lead-lined bottoms edging out the vibrant sky. And rain could be deadly out here, bringing on flash floods and mudslides. But they needed to find out who they were up against before they headed to higher ground.

      Dara caught up with his long strides a second later. They walked in silence up the slope, their boots thudding on the hard dirt. “So how do you know about the bridge?” she asked.

      He reined in the suspicion building inside, slid her a glance. If she was lying, he’d find out soon enough. “I use the old trails when I’m hauling silver or gold.”

      “You’re a miner?”

      “No. I’m not that desperate.” Not anymore.

      “What do you mean?”

      He paused, whistled for the gelding, then caught up to her again. “You’ve never seen a mining town? They’re slums,” he told her when she shook her head. “Worse than slums. There’s no running water, no sanitation, no laws. Just violence and disease. Mercury poisons the water, the air. Human waste runs in open pits down the roads.”

      His mind flashed to the squalor and suffering, the dull hopelessness in the children’s eyes. The same blank look he would have had in his eyes if he’d stayed.

      He thinned his lips. “The mines are worse. They’re not fit for animals. The operations up here aren’t modern, and there aren’t safety regulations or laws—at least none they enforce. Tunnels collapse. Men die. The miners chew coca leaves all day so they’ll be numb enough to dig.”

      “But…that’s awful,” she said, and stopped. And he saw the horror in her eyes, the shock. “Why would anyone live like that?”

      “Desperation.” A feeling he knew well. “They either dig or die. There’s nothing else they can do.”

      Her gaze stayed on his for a beat, and something moved in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding, empathy. She looked away.

      They started walking again, and for a long moment neither spoke. Their footsteps crunched on the hard dirt path. A hawk glided past, then banked on a current of air. “Is that why you have the dynamite?” she finally asked. “For the miners?”

      “Yeah. I haul the finished metal down to the nearest town and bring back supplies. I was supposed to meet a miner in that village, but he didn’t show.”

      Her gaze slid to the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and a small crease furrowed her brow. “Your job sounds dangerous.”

      He shrugged. “Most men leave me alone.”

      Instead, they’d attacked his wife.

      The thought barreled out of nowhere, catching him off guard, and he scowled. He never dwelled on the past, never discussed his wife. He didn’t have to. He would carry the burden of her death until he died.

      “Logan.” Dara touched his sleeve, and he stopped, looked into her sultry eyes. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to cause problems for the miners or keep you from your job.”

      The concern in her eyes drew him in, pulling him deeper, sparking a flicker of warmth in his chest, the flame of a long-buried need. Tempting him to move closer, to surround himself with her gentleness, her sympathy, her ease.

      He shook himself, jerked his gaze away.

      But he had to admit she seemed to care, more than his wife ever had. María had hated the mountains, resented the time he’d spent away from her, blamed him for taking her from the city she loved.

      In the end, she’d been right to despise him. He’d failed to protect her. He’d let her die. Hell, he’d even failed to find the men who’d killed her. Her murderers still walked free.

      And now he had another woman’s life in his hands.

      The earth vibrated under his feet then, and the drumming of hooves interrupted his thoughts. Tension whipped through him, and he grabbed her arm. “Back here.” Moving quickly, he jerked her behind a boulder beside the trail.

      “Isn’t that your horse?” she whispered as he pushed her down.

      “Maybe.” But he wouldn’t take any chances until he was sure. He blocked her from view, tugged the pistol from his jeans, took position behind the rock. But she pulled out her own gun, and he shot her a warning glance. She’d better not do anything rash. That had been damned reckless behavior back at the bridge.

      Behavior he’d better nip fast.

      The gelding trotted into view, and she started to rise. “Wait.” He clamped his hand on her shoulder and held her down.

      The gelding scented them, came to a halt, but Logan didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the trail, listened hard. The cool wind brushed his face. Sparrows chirped from a nearby bush. When a chinchilla crept into the path, he finally let Dara go.

      “It’s clear. Hey, Rupe.” He tucked his pistol away, strode to the horse.

      “Is he all right?” Dara asked from behind him.

      He circled the gelding and checked his hooves, eyed the lather dried on his coat. “Nothing a brush won’t fix.”

      “I’m glad.” She reached out and stroked the gelding’s nose. “He’s a gorgeous horse.”

      “He’s smart, loyal. That’s more important than looks.” In horses or people.

      Another lesson he’d learned the hard way.

      He checked the cinch, the packs, then glanced at Dara again. Her cheeks were flushed. Shadows smudged the skin around her eyes. Loose strands of hair had escaped her braid, and gleamed like black silk against her neck.

      She looked weary, disheveled. His sympathy rose, but he quickly crushed it down. He couldn’t afford to indulge her. He couldn’t even fully trust her. They had a long, dangerous trek through the mountains before he could get her to a decent town.

      Time to make that clear.

      “You’re in for a rough ride,” he warned. “The trails are narrow and steep, the air thin enough to make your lungs burst. And the rains are coming. That’s going to make it miserable, muddy, and cold.”

      Her full lips flattened. “Don’t worry. I can make it.”

      “And there isn’t much food. I work alone, so I don’t carry extra supplies. So if you’ve got some Roma rule about sharing food, you’re out of luck.”

      “I said I can make it. I’m stronger than you think.” She lifted her chin, and challenge glinted in her velvet eyes. “And I’ve never been one to follow the rules.”

      Heat bolted through him, and he scowled. This wasn’t the time to remember their kiss. “You’ll follow my rules. We’re not playing around out here. A mistake in these mountains can get you killed.”

      She straightened her back, opened her mouth as if to protest, but he drilled his gaze into hers. “I mean it, Dara. When I say run, you run. That was damned reckless what you did at the bridge. You either obey my orders or you’re on your own.”

      He saw the mulish look in her eyes, but he held her gaze, making sure she understood. Survival wasn’t a game. He’d seen too many people die to play around. She finally flushed and looked away.

      Satisfied,