An Outlaw's Silence (manxman)(second story in The Crane Gang series)

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Wyatt sat in the darkness with the woman sleeping fitfully beside him. His pounding heart thumped in the quiet and his swirling mind had the tiny tent spinning. He couldn't believe what he'd done outside!

Wyatt's lips still tingled and burned from their contact with Zachariah. What had he been thinking? All he'd been able to focus on was the pain in Zachariah's voice as he'd talked about his sister and the stubborn jealousy he'd heard when Zachariah had learned Wyatt would be sleeping with the woman.

Had Zachariah truly wanted Wyatt to sleep with him? As in share a bedroll? As in hold each other all night and do what lovers did when the rest of the world was sleeping?

Suddenly the little tent was feeling one hundred times smaller and a thousand degrees hotter. To cool down his blood, Wyatt tried to focus on the woman. She hadn't said a word other than to ask Wyatt not to leave her alone in the dark. Her name, where she'd come from and what she might know about Eleanor were still a mystery.

Wyatt wanted to help Zachariah. He wanted the woman to tell them anything and everything she might know to find the man's sister. But Wyatt knew that rushing her or pressuring her for answers would only scare her and possibly cause her to lock herself deeper away.

Due to his racing thoughts, it took a long while, but Wyatt slowly felt sleeping coming to claim him. Just as his eyes began to slip closed, an echoing scream filled the tent.

Wyatt had his gun in his hands before he could stop himself. When he realized there was no threat, at least not one he could see, Wyatt tossed his shotgun aside and went to the woman. Her wide green eyes shone bright just before she threw her arms and legs around him and they toppled to the ground.

"Don't let them get me. Don't let them get me. Don't let them get me." She chanted those words over and over and over again.

Wyatt wished he could speak to comfort her but instead he simply held the trembling woman against him and rubbed her back. Pity and sadness filled him. He could only imagine what the poor woman had been through and no one deserved that fate.

As Wyatt lay there on the thin blanket with the woman shaking and sobbing against him, the tent flap was pulled back and Wyatt could barely make out Zachariah's large frame.

A low growl filled the darkness. "Having a good time?"

Wyatt couldn't reply because it was far too dark for Zachariah to read his lips. So he simply shrugged and waved his hand. Zachariah merely grumbled and shook his head. "I heard her scream so I wanted to check on you. I'll let you get back to keeping her company."

Wyatt rolled his eyes as Zachariah let the flap fall and disappeared. The man was being unreasonable. What was Wyatt supposed to do? Peel the terrified woman off of him, tell her to toughen up and leave her alone after what she'd been through?

Wyatt sighed. Zachariah was struggling because he felt guilty and worried about his sister. But Wyatt was only one person. He'd have to make sure that tomorrow, he made time for the ex-bounty hunter to cry on his shoulder—if tough bounty hunters did things like crying.

***

Wyatt could barely move the next morning as he stepped out of the tent. He'd spent the night flat on his back with a rock in his spine and a stick in his shoulder.

Before he could glance around for a sign of Zachariah, the man's large hands were suddenly on his shoulders and the heat from his muscular frame was radiating against Wyatt's back.

"You look like you're in a bit of pain."

Pain? Had he been in pain? All Wyatt could think of now was the pleasure currently coursing through his veins. It was as if a bolt of lightning had shot down from the blue sky above and lit his entire body on fire. With every stroke of his calloused fingers, Zachariah was causing Wyatt's insides to feel more and more—unsteady.