"I was born in this country, but folks got a differ-ent name for me, lady. I'm a half-breed."
"How interesting," she said, aware his tone had turned bitter again, but choosing to ignore it. "It sounds like something to do with stock and cross-breeding. What does it have to do with people?"
He stared at her for a moment as if she were crazy; then he swore under his breath before snarling, "What the hell do you think it has to do with people? It means I'm only half white."
His tone gave her pause, but still she asked, "And the other half?"
Again he gave her a look that said she ought to be locked up for the safety of others. "Indian," he bit out.
"Cheyenne, in my case. And if that doesn't set you back on your toes, it ought to."
"Why?"
"Christ, woman, you ought to learn something about a country before you visit it!"
"But I always do," she replied, only slightly wary that he had shouted at her. "I know a good deal about this one."
"Then you must have missed the part about Indians and whites being sworn enemies," he sneered. "Ask in the next town you come to. They'll give you an earful about why you shouldn't be standing here talking to me."
"If you have something against the whites, as you call them, it hasn't anything to do with me, does it?" she replied, undaunted. "I'm not your enemy, sir. Good Lord, how could you even insinuate that I might be, when I feel nothing but gratitude for your timely assistance?"
He shook his head at her, and then he actually chuckled. "I give up, ma'am. You'll learn better if you stay here long enough."
"Does that mean we can be friends now?" At his grunt, she added, "You haven't told me your name."
"Colt Thunder."
"Colt, as in the revolver? How unusual to be named after a gun."
"Well, Jessie has an unusual sense of humor."
"Is Jessie your father?"
"My father's daughter, though neither of us knew it until a few years back. Before that she was my best friend."
"How interesting. I take it, then, that Colt Thunder isn't your real name? I have had to use false names myself quite frequently, though it isn't necessary now that my nemesis has found me again."
He wasn't going to ask. If it killed him, he wasn't. The less he knew about her, the sooner he would forget her — Christ, if he could. That hair, flowing down past her waist, like hot flames licking at her hips.
He was going to see that hair in his dreams for a long time to come, he knew damn well he was. And those eyes too. Damn, why did she keep looking at him like that, as if she were as attracted to him as he was to her?
She had said something else to him, but he hadn't heard a word, for she had stepped closer when she said it and put a hand to his arm. Her touch, delib-erate, unnecessary, sent his heart pounding against his ribs. It gave him ideas he didn't dare dwell on. Damn it to hell, she was playing with fire and didn't even know it.
The shot took his hat off, bringing him out of the mesmerizing spell she had cast. He whirled and fired without thought, two rounds that both struck home. One of the two men who had been racing hell-bent toward them hit the dirt but didn't stay there, his foot caught in the stirrup. The other had dropped his gun when the bullet struck his right shoulder, and was now whipping his horse around to head back the way he had come. Colt let him go. He didn't shoot men in the back, didn't shoot to kill either — most times.
The riderless horse still came on. The easiest way to stop him was to mount him as he passed, which Colt did.
Jocelyn had seen it all, but she still didn't believe it, especially how fast that gun had come out of Colt Thunder's holster and fired. Nor had she ever witnessed anything as incredible as someone mounting a racing horse. The odds on his not falling flat on his face in the attempt were astronomical, yet he did it by simply twisting a hand in the animal's mane and leaping on.
Bemused, she answered Vanessa's worried inquiry that she was all right, and hurried toward the horse that had already been brought under control only a few yards away. She got there just as Colt ground-tied the animal and moved to release the man's foot from the stirrup. He then bent down to check on the man's condition, and she was treated to another one of his colorful swear words. She could see for herself the man was dead of a broken neck, though Colt's bullet had grazed his temple, so he was likely uncon-scious when it happened.
"The bastard ducked," Colt said in disgust as he rose to his feet.
"You were aiming at something in particular?"
"The right shoulder bone. Easiest way to disarm a man who's coming right at you. You know him?"
He looked directly at her then, treating her to the full force of his eyes. Without the shadow cast by his hat, she could now see that his eyes weren't light or dark, but the clearest, purest blue, so very startling in such a deeply bronzed face. They quite literally took her breath away, forcing her to lower her own eyes before she could answer him with any degree of normal intelligence.
"No, I've never seen this man before, nor the other. But I have little doubt that they were both John Longnose's hirelings. It's his habit to employ the natives of whatever country we're in at the time to do his dirty work. It looks like your assistance now includes saving my life."
"Lady, no man in his right mind would want to kill you. There's many things I could think of that a man would want to do to you, but killing isn't one of them."
He had turned away to say the last of that as he moved to retrieve his hat, but she had heard him anyway and blushed pleasurably. Not many men found her attractive with her wild coloring, but she could usually tell when one did. Not so with this man. He had glowered at her, shouted at her, couldn't wait to ride off and never see her again. So it was a distinct surprise to find that he might, just might, be as aware of her as she was of him — that was, if she could con-strue those comments as complimentary.
She quickly followed behind him again to try to explain. "It's only been this last year that he's been trying to kill me, you know. Before that his purpose was just to return me to England. Mine was to avoid that at all costs. It's rather a long story, but the gist of it is that I have been running from that man for three years now, and quite frankly I'm tired of it."
He dusted his hat off by hitting it against his leg, then set it back on his head with the brim tilted for-ward rather rakishly. "It's none of my business, ma'am."
"No, of course it isn't. Indeed not. And I wouldn't dream of embroiling you in my problems, especially after all you've done for me already."
He gave her a level look after so many words when a simple nod of agreement would have covered.
"Glad to hear it," he replied dryly.
"I wasn't exactly finished, Mr. Thunder."
"Look, don't tack any 'mister' on my name. Call me either Colt or Thunder. I answer to both."
"As you wish. But as I was saying, I couldn't help noticing how superbly adept you are with that re-volver you carry."
"Superbly adept?" He grinned. "Lady, you sure have a fancy way of calling the kettle black."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind. So what about it?"
"What about — oh, yes. So are you by any chance for hire?"
"You want Longnose killed?"
That disturbed her, how easily he said it, without the least bit of emotion, but she tamped down the feeling. "No, just apprehend him and turn him over to whatever law officials there are in this territory.
He's wanted in New York for the murder of my solic-itor."
"Your what?"
"My American lawyer."