LITMIR.BIZ

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of the way she’d felt in his arms, of the way her stunned little mouth melted under his. As if she’d never been kissed before. As if he’d been the first. Which made no sense at all, considering the kid.

      Shad scraped off his hat and slapped it against his leg. The hell with her. The hell with them all. “You got that lunch basket stowed up there, Eb?” he called to the driver.

      “Right here.” Eb tossed the heavy basket down. “Don’t look like I’ll be breaking any records today, does it, what with the Captain’s daughters lollygagging so?” The old man clambered down to stand beside Shad. “Been so long since I’ve been around women, I’d pretty near forgotten just how dawdling they can be.” The old man shrugged then sauntered toward the men who were unhitching the horses from the coach.

      “That wouldn’t be a lunch basket, would it, Mr. Jones?” Her voice came from just behind him. A soft, musical tone in contrast to her sister’s strident dramatics. Shad turned slowly and lowered his gaze to Miss Libby’s upturned face.

      About to give her one more “yes, ma’am,” he suddenly changed his mind. “Hungry?” he asked.

      Her eyes widened in surprise, as if he had asked her for her measurements instead. “No,” she said. “Not really. But I imagine Andy is. The poor child’s hardly eaten a thing in the last two days.”

      “Andy. I expect that’s short for Andrew.”

      Again she blinked. Anybody’d think he was mouthing indecent proposals, the way she kept being taken aback. All he’d done was ask a friendly question.

      Her prim little mouth quirked into an unexpected grin. “Actually, Mr. Jones, it’s short for…”

      Libby’s next words were drowned out by Shula’s screams as she came running, her lilac skirt rucked up about her knees. She pushed Libby aside in order to yank open the door of the coach and, without ceremony or dignity, hauled herself inside.

      “Snakes,” she screeched. “If there’s anything I hate worse than spiders, it’s snakes.”

      “Where’s Andy?” Libby asked frantically.

      Shula aimed her chin out the coach window toward a nearby mesquite bush. “Back there.” She shivered. “I told the child to run. Especially when I heard that horrible rattle.”

      Libby gasped and pulled up her skirt, ready to run.

      Shad grabbed a handful of bustle and dove-gray dress. “Stay here,” he growled, tacking on an oath for emphasis before he strode to where the boy was standing. Still as a statue. Staring.

      The snake was about as big as they came—seven feet of coiled muscle with a death rattle at one end and just plain death at the other. Death for a boy who didn’t weigh much more than a fifty-pound sack of grain.

      “Don’t move, kid.” Shad’s voice was low and calm, unlike his mind, which was scrambling over options. Ordinarily he would have drawn his gun and put a bullet right between the rattler’s eyes. But he couldn’t trust the kid to stay still a second longer. He looked about ready to bolt right now.

      Shad’s eyes swept the ground. He needed a pitchfork or a sturdy limb, but there was nothing within reach. Nothing but one of his own limbs. Well, hell. It had to be him or the kid. If he was lucky, the fangs would catch him on the boot. If he wasn’t…

      Libby rounded the corner of the mesquite bush. The stillness of the scene was chilling. Andy like a tiny statue. Jones like a massive oak. The gray diamond-patterned snake rattling ominously and poised to strike.

      “Do something.” She wasn’t sure if she had screeched the words or merely felt them searing across her brain, but a second later there was a flash of denim, a sweep of arms lifting Andy up and out of harm’s way as the snake snapped from its coil, struck, then went slithering away.

      Libby struggled to release the breath she’d been holding. Andy was safe. She was safe. The big cowboy had her planted on his hip, holding her against him with one big, bronze hand splayed across her chest. But by the time that pose fully registered on Libby, it was already too late. Andy had already begun screaming in Jones’s arms—kicking, hitting, scratching, fighting for her very life. No longer afraid of the snake, the little girl was terrified of her rescuer.

      

      “She’s asleep now,” Libby whispered inside the dim interior of the coach. They had pulled the side curtains down in the hope of calming the hysterical little girl. Finally, over Libby’s strong objections, Shula had poured a liberal dose of laudanum down Andy’s throat.

      “I told you that would do the trick,” Shula said with a little cluck of her tongue.

      Libby edged away from the sleeping child now, inching back one of the canvas side curtains to peer outside. “Where do you suppose everybody went?”

      “Probably in the shade,” Shula said, lifting her damp hair from her neck, “trying to stay cool in all this heat.” She flicked her gaze toward Andy, then lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Not to mention trying to get away from all the crying and fussing.”

      “She was terrified, Shula. Andy thought—”

      “I know what she thought,” Shula snapped, “but it doesn’t make any sense. First she’s making up stories about seeing her father in the hotel. Then she’s convinced he’s way out here in the middle of nowhere, attacking her.”

      “She’s confused,” Libby said.

      “Obviously.”

      “You’re a heartless person, Shula Kingsland.”

      “No, Libby. I’m a hot person. And I want to get on to our father’s ranch. Why don’t you go find our driver.” She closed her eyes. “I’d go myself but that snake might still be lurking out there.”

      If it was, Libby thought as she climbed out of the coach, she was going to catch it and then wrap it around her sister’s neck. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the bright noon sun. Eb Talent was stretched out in one of the few patches of shade the relay station had to offer. He got to his feet with some difficulty as Libby approached.

      “You got that little one all settled down now, Miss Libby?” he asked.

      “I believe so, Eb. We’re ready to continue on to Paradise if you are.” Libby’s gaze drifted around the relay station. “Where’s Mr. Jones?”

      “Down by the creek.” The old man turned his head and spat into the dust. “We didn’t know, Miss Libby. Why, that little girl coulda fooled anybody. She don’t care much for men, I take it.”

      “She’s had some rather nasty experiences.” Libby looked around again, noticing a thin line of cottonwoods against the intense blue of the sky. “Where is the creek? Over there? Shall I inform Mr. Jones that we’re ready to leave?”

      “That’d be fine, ma’am. Save me some walking and some shouting. I’ll go on and make sure the horses are all set.”

      On her way to the creek, Libby ran her fingers through the damp curls at the nape of her neck. She had taken off her hat, or rather Andy had knocked it off during her hysterics earlier, and at the moment Libby had to admit it felt good to be bareheaded and ungloved beneath the sweltering sun. There wasn’t a breath of breeze, still the leaves of the cottonwoods were shimmying up ahead. She could hear a faint ripple of water running over rocks as she approached, and she could see the long dark hair skimming the broad shoulders of Shadrach Jones as he sat, his back to her, on the bank of the creek.

      “We’re getting ready to leave, Mr. Jones,” she said as she neared. “Before we do, however, I wanted to thank you and tell you how much I appreciate what you did for Andy.”

      He angled around, cocking his head, squinting against the sunlight. One leg was bent, its denim covering rolled up past his knee. Two bright, bloodred lines were streaming down his calf.

      Libby gulped in air,

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