shoulders and forced a small, polite smile. “I’m quite fine, thank you. Please, take me to my cousin.”
He nodded.
Christie wasted no time hoisting herself up onto Blossom’s back, feeling an urgent need to see Leigh and know that he was alive.
Nat’s friend took the black gelding’s reins.
Christie followed behind.
As they picked their way down the hill, it struck her as strange that Nat hadn’t come himself. His friend said Leigh would be fine — not that he was fine. Had he been injured? The closer they got to the shack, the more anxious she became.
By the time Nat’s friend pushed opened the rickety plank door, she was bristling with impatience — ready to take charge. She squeezed by him before he could get through the door.
A crimson pool on the floor brought her to a stumbling halt. She’d never seen so much blood. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
Someone had been shot.
Her anxious gaze darted about the small shack. When she spotted Leigh, her heart beat in frantic relief. He sat by a small table on a crude bench with his arm in a makeshift sling.
Christie rushed forward to throw her arms around his neck. “Leigh! Are you alright?”
He groaned in protest, but brought his good arm up to give her a reassuring pat. “I’ll live.”
“He just threw his shoulder out of joint,” Nat drawled. “Though you’d have thought he’d been shot the way he was hollering when I fixed it.”
“You might have warned me before you did it!” Leigh shouted over her shoulder. “You loco bastard!”
Christie swung round to give the bounty hunter an accusing glare.
Nat shrugged, then sent a sidelong glance to his friend. “Holt throws his shoulder out all the time — pops it right back in himself.”
“Holt!” Leigh gave a loud snort. “What kind of a name is that for an Indian?”
Holt’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “The kind my white father gave me when I was born.”
This information caused Christie to give him a closer look. Though his features were slightly exotic, he looked more white than Indian in the soft glow of the lantern-lit room. His eyes were hazel, not brown, and his hair wavy, rather than perfectly straight. If you were to cut his hair and put him in a frock coat, he could easily walk the length of any drawing room in Boston without anyone blinking an eye.
“Don’t let him kid you.” Nat gave a low chuckle. “His father’s more of a savage than his Cherokee mother ever was.”
Christie turned to Leigh with her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you know who these men were? You might have been killed.”
“Like I told Randall, they had me over a barrel.” Leigh’s voice held a hint of a whine. “I didn’t have any choice. It was the only way I could repay my gambling debt.”
Christie stared at him aghast. “Why would you gamble with men like that in the first place?”
“They didn’t give their names, and I didn’t ask. They said they were just killing time until the post office opened. I didn’t know they were planning to rob the place!”
Christie shook her head, not knowing whether to believe him or not.
“I’m telling the truth!”
She raised her eyes heavenward and heaved a great sigh. “We need to get you home.” She was weary of intrigue. Right now she didn’t care if he was lying or not. All she wanted was to crawl into a nice warm bed, where she could pretend she was still in Boston — safe from outlaws and gunfire. “If you gentlemen could help him up on my horse, we’ll be on our way.”
“That little mare can’t carry you both,” Nat said with a note of irritation.
“I don’t mind walking,” she said stoutly.
“You can ride with me.” He didn’t sound pleased.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
Again, he ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’d best be on our way. I’d like a few hours of shut-eye before we set