Page 4 of West Wind

He stepped back, and she flew to the bottom of the stairs, brushing past him.

“How?” He followed her, as she took a wide berth around the man who was slumped against the wall of the general store.

“Is he dead?” she asked, her voice small.

Shelley continued to follow. “No, so you’d better hurry. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know.” She started down the boardwalk, stepping quickly. He grabbed her arm and spun her around.

He’d opened his mouth to chastise her, but didn’t. Her eyes were full of unshed tears. “Stop and think a minute,” he said kindly. “You can’t just walk out of town.”

“I don’t have any choice,” she said, her voice still small, but steady. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but...”

“Why don’t you hire me to take you where you’re going?” he offered. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. Why had he said that?

She took a step back. “I... I don’t have very much money.”

“How much?”

“Thirty-six dollars.”

He shrugged. “Thirty dollars is fair salary for a month’s work as a cowhand.”

“Is that what you are? A cowboy?”

He shook his head. “Nah. They work too hard. But escorting a lady to her destination shouldn’t be too much work, even for me.”

“For thirty dollars?” she asked suspiciously.

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a crooked grin.

“I’ll make you a deal. Thirty dollars and you sing me a song every night.”

A slice of moonlight lit the lower half of her face. A smile transformed that face pleasantly. “Then we have an agreement, Mr...”

“Shelley.” He offered his hand and they shook on the deal. “Just Shelley. Where are we headed?”

“San Francisco.”

He took her arm and led her toward the livery. “San Francisco? Hell, woman, you plan on getting your money’s worth, don’t you?”

“You can back out any time, Mr. Shelley,” she offered, sounding sincere.

“Nah. I’ve got a brother in San Francisco. Haven’t seen him in... hell, I think it’s been five years. And it’s not Mr. Shelley. It’s just Shelley.”

Far behind them he heard the detective’s muttered oath. Shelley quickened his step. The lady beside him needed no encouragement to follow suit.

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me why that man’s after you?” he asked as they stepped into the shadow of the stables.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He tied her bag behind the cantle and lifted her into the saddle. He sat behind her, studying her profile as she looked to the ground and tried not to lean against him.

San Francisco. Goddamn.

CHAPTER TWO

They rode most of the night, stopping only when the sky was gray, promising daybreak. She hadn’t complained, even though she was unaccustomed to riding and had never spent so many hours in the saddle. Her body rigid, she held herself away from her escort. Even though she was exhausted, she’d not once suggested they stop.