Nobody's Darling

If she lived to be a hundred, Esmerelda didn’t think she would ever forget the look of shock and betrayal on Billy’s face. Her ears were ringing in earnest now. The caustic stench of gunpowder seared her nostrils, stung her eyes. Billy’s knees seemed to buckle an inch at a time, sending his lanky frame crashing to the floor.

Esmerelda might have remained frozen in shock while his life seeped away if Sadie hadn’t trundled over, still trailing the frayed cord behind her, and began to lick his face. Esmerelda couldn’t tell if the frightened whimper she heard was the dog’s or her own.

Easily disengaging herself from Bartholomew’s limp body, she scrambled on hands and knees to Billy’s side. The badge lay where it had fallen, only inches from his bloodstained fingers. His shirt was already soaked with blood, the ugly stain rapidly spreading to his vest. His chest hitched with each shallow breath.

Her fingers trembling, she gently brushed a lock of hair from his brow. With those thick lashes of his resting against his pallid cheeks, he looked terribly young, terribly vulnerable.

He groaned as Esmerelda gathered his head into her lap and pressed her gloved hands to the wound, instinctively trying to stanch the welling blood.

“Look what you’ve done,” she spat at her brother over Billy’s fallen form.

Bartholomew was gazing in mute horror at the gun dangling from his flaccid hand. It struck Esmerelda that it must be the first time he’d ever actually pulled the trigger and witnessed the destruction it could wreak. Once she might have felt pity for his predicament. Now she felt only scorn.

Blistering tears spilled down her cheeks. “Is this how you want to live life, Bartholomew? By taking another man’s away from him? Have you something clever to write about now? Some profound new insight for your ludicrous melodramas?”

He slowly lifted his gaze to hers. She had hoped to find shame, or even repentance, in his eyes, but saw only panic. The instant they came back into focus, he shoved his gun into its holster and bounded to his feet.

He crossed the bank in two strides, grabbed her by the arm, and tried to jerk her to her feet. “We have to get out of here, Esme! It’ll only be a matter of time before the law arrives.”

She snatched her arm out of his grip, her voice surprisingly firm. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Bartholomew shot the main door a frantic glance, plainly torn between argument and flight.

“Go with him.” They both started at the rusty rasp of Billy’s voice. Esmerelda looked down to find his eyes open and glaring fiercely at her. “Go,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “If you stay, I’ll just arrest you,” he swallowed hard, droplets of sweat bleeding from his clammy brow, “for giving aid and comfort to a known outlaw and obstructing justice.”

Esmerelda summoned a teasing smile with an effort that nearly matched his own. “Then I’ll just have to surrender myself into your custody and throw myself on the mercy of the court, won’t I?”

“No mercy,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

Although his words sent a faint shiver through her, she still bowed her head to tenderly graze his hair with her lips.

When Esmerelda lifted her head, her brother was gone. His disappearance only underscored the differences between the two men. She’d known Bartholomew since the day he was born. She’d known Billy only three days. Bartholomew had left her. Billy never would have.

Her brother’s flight was marked by shouts from the street and fading hoofbeats. Esmerelda’s alarm escalated to panic when Billy opened his eyes and began to struggle to his feet.

She tried to shove him back down, her gloves already slick with his blood. “Be still! We have to wait for a doctor.”

He caught her by the frill of lace trimming the neck of her dress and hauled her roughly up against him. Near enough to see the pain furrowing his face, the savage desperation distorting his features.

“You’re a clever girl, Esmerelda,” he bit off. “I want you to listen very carefully. Winstead is the marshal your brother double-crossed. He promised to call off the local law while I apprehended your brother, but his men will soon find out it went bad. If Winstead gets wind that Bart told us he was in on that robbery before I’m back on my feet, I won’t need a doctor. I’ll need an undertaker. And so will you.”

Esmerelda hesitated, torn by indecision. He couldn’t take three steps on his own. He might die if she helped him flee. But if what he said was true, he would surely die if she didn’t.

She finally nodded. “Then we’d better go. I’d hate for the undertaker to sell that cursed suit to another unsuspecting buyer.”

“Back door,” he rasped, hissing beneath a fresh onslaught of pain.

Esmerelda had to agree with his choice. Although the mule and wagon were tethered out front, the din coining from the street was growing louder and more strident by the second. Wrapping her arms around Billy’s lean waist, she braced one shoulder beneath his, wishing desperately that she were taller. He refused to inflict the brunt of his weight on her slight form, choosing instead to brace himself against the counter until they reached the gate leading to the rear of the bank. As if their journey wasn’t already torturous enough, Sadie kept insinuating her plump body between their legs, plainly terrified to let Billy out of her sight.

When their legs became tangled for the third time, Billy staggered to a halt and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “C-can’t go on. You go. Alone.”

Esmerelda struggled to keep from collapsing beneath his weight. She was surprised to find the thought of going on without him nearly as terrifying as leaving him there. When she opened her mouth, it was not her voice that emerged, but her grandfather’s, in all of its astringent glory.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Darling. When I hire a man to do a job, I expect him to see it through. Of course, if you decide to just he down here and drown in a puddle of blood and self-pity, I won’t have to worry about paying you for all your trouble, will I?”

He lifted his head to glower at her. His slumped posture brought them eye to eye, mouth to mouth. In that moment, she would have almost sworn he hated her.

“What difference would it make?” he growled. “You never planned to pay me anyway.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Darling. I always pay my debts.”

Before she could lose her nerve, Esmerelda pressed her mouth to his, determined to kiss the snarl from his lips, no matter the cost to herself. At first his mouth was as stern and unforgiving as she feared. Then he yielded to her, taking her mouth with a primal ferocity that left her limp and trembling. She could taste the salty tang of sweat and desperation in his kiss, on his tongue. Her knees threatened to crumble. She dragged her lips away from his before she could swoon. One of them had to stay on their feet long enough to get them out of that bank alive.

This time when Billy buried his face in her hair, his groan was one of sweet agony. “Hell, woman, are you trying to kill me or give me a reason to live?”

“You’ll just have to last long enough to find out, won’t you?” she taunted, urging him into motion.

Billy had not exaggerated. His strength was nearly spent. By the time they reached the door left standing wide open by the fleeing tellers, Esmerelda was all but dragging him.

The narrow alleyway provided a welcome respite from the racket in the street. Her frantic gaze darted both ways. Billy’s mare and a second horse were tethered to a nearby post. She blessed his foresight even as she realized that the second horse must have been intended for her brother. Her instincts had been right. Billy had never had any intention of returning to that hotel room for her.

Swallowing her bitterness, she steered him in the direction of the mare. He was weaving like a drunk now, barely maintaining his balance, even with her guidance.

“Dark,” Billy muttered. “Didn’t realize it was… so damn late.”