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  “And how many times have I been your prisoner?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t have a bounty on my head.”

  “What now, Sheriff?” Simon asked, moving his horse away from her.

  For the first time, she saw a glint of respect in his gaze. She doubted he would bother her again.

  “Give me your gun. I’m taking you to jail. It’s what I should have done a week ago,” Zach said, reaching over his horse and pulling out Simon’s weapon. “We’re done playing games.”

  It’s what I should have done a week ago? What was he saying? It almost sounded like he’d deliberately not taken Simon to jail. Maybe the prisoner hadn’t escaped from Zach. Maybe Zach had never turned Simon in. But he was a lawman. Sworn to uphold the law.

  Meg had never seen Zach so determined, so manly. She almost wanted to turn herself in, but that was stupid. She’d done nothing illegal.

  Zach dropped down from his saddle and took Simon’s hands. He began to wrap them in rope. He tied him to his saddle horn, much the same way Simon had tied Meg.

  Once Zach had Simon secured, he turned to Meg.

  “What in the hell are you doing out here alone?” he asked. “It’s bad enough when you and Ruby are on the prowl, but alone? Do you want to die?”

  “I’m earning a decent living,” she said, “and this is my prisoner.”

  Zach and Simon both started laughing.

  A sizzle of anger zipped along Meg’s spine. Did they think she was funny? She’d earned more in the last year than she had the entire time she’d worked as a seamstress. More than both of her sisters had earned as a waitress and a housekeeper. They could laugh all they wanted, but they were doing much better.

  “Yeah, honey, you did real well with that one. I think I just saved your butt. You were tied up,” Zach said, climbing back on his horse.

  She shrugged. “It was only a matter of time before I had the upper hand. I wasn’t afraid.”

  Hell, who was she kidding? She’d been scared out of her mind, worrying what Simon planned for her. She’d known being alone would be tough, but this wasn’t what she’d expected.

  Laughing, Zach rode over to her side. He grabbed her reins and pulled her horse in close. “Damn it, woman. What if I hadn’t followed you? What if he’d taken you to his hideout? What would you have done then?”

  Okay, she’d give him a little credit, but not much. Being alone with Simon had frightened her, but she wouldn’t have surrendered to that fear.

  “I’m a survivor. I would have fought. I would have survived, and then I’d kick his ass for hurting me. Don’t ever think I’m weak.” She pulled her horse away from his and followed Simon.

  Zach watched Meg’s ass swaying on the back of the horse. She sat a saddle better than most men. She could shoot better than most men, she was smarter than many men, and yet, there was something soft and vulnerable about her that made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her.

  Even after the incident with the washtub, he wanted to safeguard her, and while he’d never concede it was his fault, it would have gone so much better if he had stood up to those men and told them she was beautiful, and he would be proud to call her his wife.

  A part of him didn’t want anyone to realize that Meg was a beauty because he wanted to keep her all to himself. And right now, most men in town were afraid of her. Most men in town were afraid of all the McKenzie girls, especially after Annabelle and Ruby had been fired from their jobs last year. Slowly, the news had travelled about how Annabelle had threatened to shoot Rusty, and Ruby had threatened to shoot Clay’s carrot.

  The stupid boy deserved her taunts, but still, that had a way of making men walk a wide path around the girls when they came to town.

  With startling clarity, Zach realized Simon was spurring his horse.

  “Simon, stop!” Zach yelled.

  “He’s getting away,” Meg screamed. “Halt or I’ll shoot.” She pulled out her gun.

  “Stop, Meg! You can’t shoot him,” Zach cried, knowing he could never let anyone shoot Simon. He was stupid, but he was innocent of the murder charges, and Zach had to prove he was still a good man.

  “Like hell, I can’t. He’s wanted dead or alive.”

  “I’m ordering you not to shoot!” Zach yelled, spurring his horse faster. He had to stop her. He couldn’t let her fire her gun.

  Meg turned to glance back at Zach, shaking her head as she took off after Simon. Two ugly hombres pulled out from the side of the trail, and Simon raced toward them.

  One of them pulled his gun and pointed it at Meg. Zach’s blood turned colder than a dead man as he watched the criminal aim at Meg. She ducked just as he fired. She spurred her horse and pulled her own gun. She fired once and struck one of the hombres, sending him plummeting to the ground.

  Damn, she was good.

  Zach’s horse sped past Meg just as she raised her gun again. This time she was aiming for Simon. This time she was aiming to kill.

  Zach hated Simon for his cowardliness, he hated him for how he was living his life, but still…he couldn’t let her shoot him.

  He spurred his horse and pulled in front of Meg, just as she fired her gun. The bullet slammed into his shoulder, knocking the breath out of him. The reins slipped from his fingers, and he felt himself falling.

  The ground rushed up at him, and he crashed into the earth.

  Zach watched in slow motion as Simon glanced back at him, saw him laying on the ground, and continued riding.

  Darkness settled over him like a blanket, and Zach knew he was dying.

  Chapter 5

  Meg stared in disbelief as Zach fell off his horse, his body smashing into the ground with a wallop. Her heart slammed into her throat, and she stopped breathing. No. No. No. Not Zach.

  Not the man she’d almost married and who still held a tiny chunk of her heart, if she were honest with herself.

  And she’d shot the sheriff, the town of Zenith’s law official. What kind of crime was that? She never missed her target. She’d been aiming for Simon, but the bullet had struck Zach, and now, he lay sprawled on the ground, not moving.

  Simon glanced back and galloped away with the gang of outlaws, their horses kicking up the dust as they disappeared over the hill, leaving Meg and Zach behind. God, she wanted to go after them, but she couldn’t leave Zach. She’d shot him! It was her fault he was hurt.

  She pulled her horse to a halt beside his body. Oh, please don’t let him be dead. She hadn’t meant to injure him. She couldn’t live with herself if she’d killed him.

  Jumping down from her horse, she ran to his side. “Zach,” she cried. “Zach, open your eyes.”

  He lay unconscious, his lashes dark against his pale skin. She put her ear against his mouth. He was breathing, but barely. She placed her hand over his heart and felt its steady beat.

  Her lungs seemed to expand once more as relief surged through her. She almost felt light-headed. He wasn’t dead.

  The wound in his shoulder was a small hole that trickled blood. The bullet had passed through his back into the muscle of his arm, where it protruded from the frayed skin it had tried to exit. That piece of lead wouldn’t be hard to remove, unless he never regained consciousness.

  She checked the back of his head, and he appeared okay. Maybe the fall had just knocked him out. Gripping him, she ran her hands down his firm arms and legs, checking for broken bones. Finally, she sat back and gazed at him, guilt eating at her insides like a horse chewing a carrot. He seemed intact, just unconscious, but still raw shame crushed her.

  What if he never woke up? What if she’d killed him? All the pain from their breakup rose up, squeezing her chest and making her nauseous. He couldn’t die. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She had to get a grip and think about her surroundings. How could she take care of him?

  The sun was beginning its descent below the horizon, casting long shadows on the trail. Meg realized she needed to gather wood and build a fire before dark. She
walked over to his horse, grabbed the reins, and pulled him over to her own horse, where she staked the animals. Then she gathered enough firewood to last them the night.

  Over the years, she’d learned how to quickly set up camp, and soon she had a fire going and water boiling. She undid the cinch and tugged Zach’s saddle off his horse. Carrying everything over to their campsite, she went through his saddlebags to see what kind of rations he might have and if he had anything she could use to treat his wound.

  She unfurled his bedroll and laid it out along with the supplies she’d found. Then she rolled his heavy body onto the bedroll, close to the fire. He moaned as she turned him over and over gently and slowly, trying to keep from doing any additional damage.

  At least, he was making noises as she moved him. That was a good sign. Now she needed to remove the bullet and stitch up his wound.

  When she had him next to the fire, she brought out her knife. She wiped the blade with a clean handkerchief then stuck it in the fire for several moments, sterilizing the blade.

  She tugged his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoned the garment. His hard-muscled chest gleamed in the firelight. Tenderly, she pulled his arms and gently lifted his injured shoulder, removing the shirt from his body. He lay there naked from the waist up, and she couldn’t help but admire his hardened muscles, his abdomen a rippling cascade of firmly toned skin.

  Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she picked up Zach’s head and put it in her lap. She tilted his body, so she could see the damage in the firelight.

  Carefully, she wiped away the dried blood from the wound with a damp rag. Brushing his hair back from his face, she gazed at the man she’d almost married. Why did she feel more attracted to him now than she had over a year ago? Why did the thought of him dying have her chest tightening and her eyes brimming with tears?

  She had to help him. She had to remove the bullet. She had to save this aggravating, tin-star wearing man.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice quivering almost on the verge of tears. She reminded herself to remain strong for Zach. There was no choice, but to remove the bullet.

  With a deep breath, she placed the tip of her knife into the wound and began to dig the lead out of his shoulder.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her arm. She glanced into his big brown eyes dilated with pain. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Her heart slammed into her chest, racing like a puppy running for joy. “Zach, you’re awake.”

  His eyelids drifted down over his eyes then back up woozily. “When someone’s poking you with a knife, it’s kind of hard to sleep.”

  “You were shot,” she said, hoping his mind was clear and he remembered what had happened. “I’m digging the bullet out.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not you. Anyone, but you. You tried to kill me.”

  She stopped what she was doing. How could she explain it hadn’t been intentional? “No. I didn’t. And there’s no one else to dig the bullet out. We’re alone on the trail.”

  “You shot me,” he said, his brown eyes flashing with painful annoyance, his voice accusatory.

  She paused and bowed her head for a moment as regret washed over her. Raising her head, she stared back at him directly, unflinching. “Not on purpose. I was aiming for Simon, and then there you were in between me and the outlaw.”

  “You shot me,” he said again, stunned like if he said it several times he could believe she’d actually hurt him.

  “You rode in front of me just as I fired,” she said, all her defenses riding to the forefront.

  “You didn’t have to pull the trigger,” he responded, his eyes squinting with anger.

  “You didn’t have to ride in front of me,” she replied, trying to remain calm, yet getting agitated. She hadn’t done it on purpose. Holding the knife to the side, she didn’t touch the wound, but waited for him to give her the okay.

  Zach took a deep breath and sighed. “You’d argue with a dead man.”

  “You came pretty darn close today.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat convulsing over his Adam’s apple. “I guess they got away?”

  What did he expect? They’d ridden off and left them over an hour ago. The sun was sliding down below the horizon. They’d be alone tonight.

  “Yeah, it’s just you and me and the horses. So let me finish before rigor mortis sets in.”

  A bewildered look crossed his face. “That’s for dead people.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  His eyes contemplated her, his brows drawing together in a frown. “You’re not going to make it worse, are you?”

  “Not unless you accuse me of shooting you again,” she responded, guilt gnawing at her insides, like a dog with a bone. She’d been horrified when she saw the damage her bullet had done to his shoulder. Watching him fall from that saddle, knowing he’d been shot was the worst.

  “Well, you did. You shot me.”

  “I know,” she said, hating that it was true. “But you rode in front of me.”

  He stared at her with resignation. “Do it quick. It hurts like hell.”

  “I will. Now take a deep breath. This won’t take long.” She started digging into his flesh with the knife tip, cutting the tissue away from the bullet. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably less time than it took to make coffee, the lead slipped into her hand. A trickle of blood flowed from the open hole in his shoulder.

  She sighed, releasing the breath she’d been holding. That had been worse than the time Ruby had sliced her hand with the butcher knife or when Annabelle had fallen into a prickly pear cactus and Meg had had to remove all those stickers. Digging out the very bullet she’d put in his shoulder had to be right next to watching her father die. Why did this cowboy seem to cause her nothing but anguish?

  “I got it. We’re done. All I have to do now is stitch you up,” she said with relief.

  Zach moaned and gritted his teeth. “If you look in my saddlebags, there’s some whiskey I’ve been saving. Use it to wash out the wound.”

  When he’d been out cold, she’d already found the fire juice. “It’s right here beside me,” she said, opening the bottle. She took a big swig then poured the alcohol on the wound.

  “Damn woman!” he gulped a big breath of air. “You could give a man some warning before you set him on fire,” he said, wincing from the pain.

  Ah, she hadn’t considered how the alcohol would feel in an open wound. That must burn a hundred times worse than a scrap to the knee. “Sorry, I’m not a doctor. You’re doing well I didn’t kill you.”

  “Not once, but twice,” he said, his brown eyes filled with pain. “Hand me that bottle.” After she passed it to him, he took a big swig of the alcohol.

  “Yeah, about that. I don’t know what happened. I was aiming for Simon. I never miss and then you were falling,” she said, taking a clean rag and wiping his shoulder. His skin felt smooth to the touch, and she enjoyed him lying here in her lap, a little too much. Warm little butterflies were flitting through her abdomen like they were chasing each other, leaving her warm and tingly.

  “Guess you’re not as great a shot as you thought,” he said, taking a second swig from the bottle.

  She frowned. She never missed. Never. “I’m a damn good shot,” she responded, wondering, could he have ridden in front of her on purpose? No, he wouldn’t be so foolish. He wouldn’t have acted so stupidly. Would he?

  “You went through my saddlebags,” he accused.

  She nodded. “I know all your secrets, Zach Gillespie.”

  “What secrets? There was nothing in there but some clean clothes, rope, and hardtack.”

  “And a bottle of whiskey,” she said, liking the way the alcohol made her feel warm and cozy and safe and secure. Like everything was going to be fine.

  “Doesn’t every man carry a bottle of whiskey?” he asked, looking up at her as she finished holding the clean cloth to the wound to stop the blood flow. The bleeding was minimal,
but she still wanted to stitch him up to keep the dirt out.

  She hated hurting him yet again, but she had to take care of him, since it was her bullet that had laid him low.

  “I guess Papa did. He never told me.” She gazed down into Zach’s earthy brown eyes, and a warmth she hadn’t expected filled her. He had beautiful eyes with lashes that were long and brows that arched with expression. Why was she still attracted to him after what they’d been through? “You better take another sip of that whiskey. I’m about to start sewing you up.”

  “I don’t think I want you sewing on me.”

  She glared at him. “Fine. Then ignore my comment about the whiskey.”

  “You’ll probably stitch your initials in my shoulder. You worked for Ho Chinn until he fired you. Was it because of bad stitching?”

  The urge to jam her needle into his flesh was overwhelming, but she knew that wouldn’t be nice, and he’d already suffered a lot at her hands today.

  “Why in the world would I put my initials in your shoulder?” Like she wanted some woman to come bringing him home to her? She had no use for this cowboy. She’d done her good deed, and now it was time for him to stand on his own.

  He took another swig of the whiskey. “Because you’d leave your mark on me?”

  She laughed. “I don’t lay claim to you. I don’t want someone to bring your dead body back to me.”

  He grabbed her hand, halting the needle. “You almost did.”

  The way he said those three little words brought back memories of the night they’d kissed in the moonlight. The hope she’d had after he left that evening that maybe, just maybe, she’d found a man who would help her and grow to love her. But that was a silly dream, which had burst in the bathhouse like a cloud in a thunderstorm.

  “But I learned the truth about how you really felt about me, so you’re still free as a bird. I’m surprised some dress-wearing woman hasn’t claimed you yet.”

  There were other single women in town who would have hitched their wagon to the sheriff. In the past year, why hadn’t some stupid, proper woman calf-roped him?