Chapter Nine

After three more days of hard riding, Zachariah called a stop two hours earlier than usual. He needed some good rest and he knew that Wyatt and the horses did as well. They wouldn't do Eleanor a bit of good if they were all on their last legs when they found her.

He was happy they'd reached a pond, fed by a runoff stream and clear for drinking. That meant they could refill their water supply and wash a bit of the trail dirt off themselves. Zachariah had never been a man who minded hard work and getting dirty but he didn't like to stay that way.

As he went about setting up camp, Zachariah noticed Wyatt gathering up a spare outfit and a bar of soap. He headed toward the other side of the pond and Zachariah chuckled. "Where are you going?"

Wyatt turned to him and frowned, holding up the bar of soap. "You don't have to walk so far away."

Wyatt nodded enthusiastically. He pointed to Zachariah, then to his eye and then to his chest. Zachariah chuckled. "You're worried I'll see you? Are you shy?"

A sheepish nibble of the lip was Wyatt's only response. Damn, but that man lit a fire in Zachariah when he nibbled at that full bottom lip that way. "You don't have to be shy, Wyatt. You've seen me without my clothes. It's only fair that I get to see you."

Wyatt's eyes widened so dramatically, Zachariah feared they may pop right out of his head before he turned and darted swiftly away to the other side of the pond and the cattails that offered him privacy there.

Zachariah nearly smacked his own head. What had he been thinking saying that? Sure they'd been riding together nearly a week and Zachariah's want for the man was growing but that didn't mean he needed to help the temptation along! Hell, he didn't even know for sure if Wyatt wanted men or women.

Though, he had his suspicions that he knew the answer to that given Wyatt's bashfulness in certain situations and the way he'd caught the man staring at him during their days together—Hellfire! Thinking about those things only made it worse!

Attempting to ignore the throbbing in his trousers, Zachariah began gathering tinder for a small fire. Jerked beef and hardtack was getting tiresome and he wanted to cook a pot of beans and fry up a few potatoes.

He worked hard to ignore the sound of Wyatt splashing in the water as he brought the fire to a good roar. He was just melting a bit of lard in his cast iron skillet when a noise behind him had Zachariah whirling around.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Zachariah cursed under his breath and eyed the three men on horseback. They were dirty and unkempt but had the look and posture of men who knew well how to handle themselves.

He was supposed to be a man who knew how to handle himself! How in the hell did people keep sneaking up on him?!

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Zachariah asked calmly. He had his revolver on his hip and his knife on his leg. His rifle was resting against a rock ten feet away. All three men were armed but the man who had spoken hadn't pulled a weapon. His two riding companions had their guns resting in their hands.

"My friends and I are feeling a bit wore out from traveling. We'd like a warm meal and a place to sleep," the leader announced.

Zachariah didn't turn his head but was aware of one of the men dismounting his horse and beginning to rummage through the supplies on the pack mule.

"I've got plenty of food if you'd like some," Zachariah assured them.

The rummager frowned as he pointed toward the hitched horses. "He's got an awful lot of horses and supplies for someone out here alone."

Alone? They hadn't seen Wyatt. Hopefully the man would have the good sense to stay hid. Zachariah didn't want anything to happen to him.

"I wasn't always alone. Buried my friend a few days ago. I'll be looking to sell that horse there if you're interested."

"Well, ain't that interestin'. He's all alone, boys."

Zachariah remained quiet and still as the other man who had yet to speak slid from his horse and began to go through his supplies as well. They were tearing everything from the saddlebags and tossing it without care.

"You really shouldn't be out here all alone, injun," the lead man noted. "It's not safe. Even for a giant bastard such as yourself."

Zachariah grunted. He felt breath on his neck and realized one of the men had stopped searching and was behind him—looming. Zachariah assumed he was trying for intimidation but all Zachariah felt was annoyance.

He didn't have time for all these good for nothing, no-account thieves to be bothering him!

"We want your money, sir. Your money and your supplies. We'll take your horses too," the leader announced from atop his horse.

"I don't think you will," Zachariah growled.

The leader clicked his tongue and Zachariah had two guns pressed against him. One in his back and one his gut. "I don't see how you have much of a choice," the leader mused.

Zachariah grinned. "There's always a choice."

He took a steadying breath before throwing back his head and cracking it hard against the temple of the man behind him. He grabbed the arm of the man holding the gun at his gut and twisted, snapping bone. The man howled in pain and dropped the gun, while Zachariah kicked him to the ground and whirled around.

He grabbed the gun from the hand of the man still reeling from the blow to the head and took aim at his chest before pulling the trigger. As Zachariah turned, he saw the man with the broken arm going for a knife and he put a bullet in him as well, killing him instantly.

Zachariah turned his attention to the man on the horse and found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle, as that man stared down the barrel of the revolver in Zachariah's hand.

"I believe we've hit an impasse friend," Zachariah warned. "You might as well just ride on now."

"I don't think I will. Those were my friends, you scarred up, no-account injun."

"You either ride on or I'll be forced to kill you too."

"I'm a real quick trigger, friend. You might kill me but I can promise that I'll kill you too. I'm gonna count to three and you better have that gun dropped before I get there."

Zachariah rolled his eyes. The man licked his shaking upper lip. "One. Two...."

A gunshot blasted loud in the evening air and suddenly the man atop the horse no longer had a head. His body hovered there a moment in the saddle before toppling to the side. His horse reared and took off at a gallop.

Zachariah saw Wyatt standing there in nothing but his trousers with a grin on his face and that shot gun in his hands. He winked at Zachariah and held up three fingers.

Zachariah chuckled. "Yeah. Three."

Wyatt glanced at the two men Zachariah had killed and he grinned. He pointed at Zachariah. 'Good,' he mouthed.

Zachariah nodded in agreement.

It was then that Zachariah took real notice of the fact that Wyatt was bare from the waist up. Hellfire and damnation! Zachariah had been working so hard to not give into temptation. Didn't Wyatt know how hard Zachariah had been working?

His eyes fell upon that smooth, dark skin pulled across a leanly muscled chest and arms. His stomach was flat and his hips tapered. The veins his forearms were well defined leading down to his calloused hands. Wyatt's dark skin shimmered in the sunset. Zachariah let his eyes drift to the muscles low on Wyatt's lean stomach and then he stopped when they fell upon the puckered scar.

A bullet scar.

"Who shot you?" Zachariah demanded, unsure why he was so angered by the sight of that mark. Zachariah was carrying quite a few bullet scars of his own so they weren't anything new to him, but seeing one upon Wyatt's smooth skin just didn't sit right with him.

The moment Zachariah asked the question, Wyatt's demeanor changed. His eyes darted side to side and he edged backward a step.

"Wyatt?" Zachariah asked, his anger and lust fading as suspicion and confusion took their places.

Without a word, Wyatt scurried away, heading back around the pond and disappearing once again into the cattails.

Zachariah realized something then. He knew nothing about Wyatt....Yes, he knew how to read the man thanks to studying him over the last week. He knew how his body moved, the nuances of his facial expressions. He knew that the man was overprotective—nearly insanely so. He was afraid of going into town, especially alone, and he nearly cried when you gave him a gift.

But other than that, Zachariah didn't know anything. Who was Wyatt? Who were those people he'd lived with? Why had they been concerned about a bounty hunter on their property? What were those things they'd gone through to give them reason to be paranoid? Who the hell had shot the goddamn man?

Zachariah didn't know—but he intended to find out.