Colt smelled his fear, saw it, but he wasn't feeling very merciful at the moment. "We tried it your way, you loudmouthed son of a bitch," he hissed low, so only Riley would hear him. "Now you'll accommodate me."

With that Colt removed the gun from Riley's belly, arched it to the left, and brought it across Riley's face in a backhanded swing. The kid went stumbling to the side, and when he touched his hand to his cheek, it came away bloody. He didn't understand. He still didn't, even when Colt holstered his gun and stood there waiting, fingers flexing.

Riley's friends didn't understand either, but they weren't so doubtful about what to do. One reached for his gun. Simultaneously, Alonzo reached for his knife, and Robbie took a step forward. Neither man's assistance was necessary, however, or noted by Colt. He had been keeping Riley's friends in his sights, and out came his gun again, this time to fire.

The bullet struck metal. The cowboy dropped his revolver to the ground with a cry, his fingers numb.

The other one spread his arms wide and backed away, unwilling to take Colt on by himself.

Again Colt put his gun away and locked eyes with Riley, who hadn't dared to move even with Colt's attention momentarily directed elsewhere. "Come on, kid, I ain't got all day."

"Come — come on what?"

"You wanted a piece of me. Come and take it."

Riley took a step back instead, his eyes flaring with alarm. "You mean fight you? But you're bigger'n me!"

"My size didn't stop you from shoving insults down my throat, did it?"

"So I made a mistake, mister. Whyn't we forget it, huh?"

Colt slowly shook his head. "I'd rather beat the shit out of you."

Riley took another step back, his eyes like saucers now. "Would — would you shoot me in the back?"

Colt scowled at that fool question. "No."

"Glad to hear it," Riley gulped out and took off down the street.

For a moment Colt simply stared at his fleeing back with a mixture of surprise and exasperation. He'd had men back down from gunfights before when he'd got-ten the draw on them, but they'd never turned tail and run when he'd offered them another out so save face, especially with so many witnesses present.

Witnesses usually made all the difference in the way a man re-acted, turning cowards into brave men, even if those brave men knew they'd end up being dead men.


He could have dropped a few bullets into the dust around those running feet, but since he doubted that would bring Riley back to face him, he didn't bother. He turned away in disgust instead, oblivious to the murmurings of many spectators who were experienc-ing a full gamut of reactions, from shocked amazement to bitter disappointment to jeering contempt for Riley's cowardice. But mostly they were wondering aloud who Colt was.

It was going to be a source of frustration for the storytellers of the town that they were doomed to never learn his name, for who in their right mind would dare to ask him outright after what they had just witnessed, and there was no one else willing to supply the answer. Jocelyn certainly wasn't, though she heard the question several times on her way back to the hotel. Nor would her people volunteer his name, accustomed as they were to keeping a low pro-file.

But overhearing a scorn-filled "He's a savage. What else is there to know?" in answer to the same ques-tion, brought Jocelyn up short.

Already upset from the scare she had just experienced, as well as frustrated that Colt had disappeared into the crowd before she could speak to him, she turned to the well-dressed young man whose remark managed to rub her on the raw.

"How dare you, sir!" she lit into him without pre-amble, to the surprise of both the man and his companion, as well as of Robbie and Alonzo, who were close behind her. "They went out into the street to kill each other. That neither is dead is the mark of a civilized man, not a savage."

Feeling a good deal better for having vented a small portion of her anger on the hapless stranger, even though it was Colt she really wanted to upbraid for his careless risk-taking, she marched on without the least notion of the agitation she left behind.

"Nice going, Miles, or hasn't it dawned on you yet that by that accent of hers, it's a safe bet to say you've just offended Lady Fleming herself?"

The sarcasm, delivered so scathingly, put Miles Dryden on the defensive. "Well, how was I to know?

The way the countess spoke of her, I was expecting a raving beauty." And then he groaned. "A redhead, and a skinny one at that! I'll never be able to go through with it."

Maura, clinging possessively to his arm, was mollified at hearing that. Personally, she thought the duchess was stunning, but for a moment she had forgotten that Miles wouldn't think so. She knew from experience that his preference in women ran to wellshaped blondes such as herself. The older countess was likely to give her more cause for worry than the younger duchess.

"You'll do just fine, sugar, 'cause it looks like this is the one we've been dreaming about. A real English duchess, traveling just for pleasure, and in such style. She's got to be rich as sin."

"So you said the last time," Miles grumbled.

Maura didn't care for that reminder. "The widow Ames never lied about all her children being dead. She just failed to mention there were seventeen grandchildren patiently waiting to pick her estate apart. So they bought you off with a worthless silver mine that got us stranded in this godforsaken place. At least they never questioned the old lady's death."

"But she was old. This one's young."


"We won't use poison this time to make you a widower again. An accident will do just as well."

"And I suppose I'll have to see to it?"

She was getting tired of his negative attitude. "I took care of your last two wives, sugar. I'd say it's your turn. Of course, if you'd rather find me a hus-band instead…"

"Bitch," he growled jealously, as she knew he would. "The day you even look at another man I'll break your pretty neck."

"Now, now, love, I was only teasing." She grinned up at him. "You know very well I've been faithful to you since the day we met. Besides, I could never do what you do so well. I have enough trouble just pre-tending to be your sister."

"That was your idea, not mine. This whole lousy scheme has been your idea. 'Marry a rich widow, sugar, and you can give up your gambling,' " he mimicked in a high falsetto.

Maura's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Your cheat-ing, you mean, which got us run out of one town after another. And you jumped on the idea, if I recall."

"That was before the first wife wasn't rich enough to suit you and you decided she had to die so we could try again. and again. and again."

"All right!" she snapped. "So all four of them turned out to be bad choices. But this time is going to be different, I just know it is."

"It's already different, Maura, or have you forgotten how young this widow is? I'll likely have to work twice as hard to win her over, and even then my suc-cess isn't a foregone conclusion. This could be a total waste of time and effort."

"Not quite, love. We still have that other option to fall back on if the lady doesn't succumb to your fatal charm. But my money is on you. After all, I know how irresistible you can be when you really try. You won me heart and soul, didn't you?"

Chapter Twenty-six

“Good morning, Your Grace."

Jocelyn turned to smile at the young man who had caused her such embarrassment the night before when she was first introduced to him. It was laughable now, but at the time it had been quite mortifying to find that the brother and sister Vanessa had taken under her wing were the same pair Jocelyn had practically accosted right after the aborted gunfight yesterday. They had also been invited to dinner, so there was no easy escape from her discomfort.

But somehow, and she still wasn't sure how he had done it, Miles Dryden managed to put her at ease with his profuse apologies, wouldn't accept any she tried to offer in return, and even made her forget the incident for the remainder of the evening. He was, without a doubt, utterly charming. She had suspected he would be handsome too, and indeed he was, with his dark blond hair cropped just below the ears and his eyes the color of fine sherry. On the lean side and slightly above average in height, he had a pair of the most engaging dimples that appeared with every smile, and with a keen sense of humor, he smiled often, as did everyone around him.

Maura Dryden was just as interesting as her brother. There was little family resemblance between them with her ash-blond hair and large, dark green eyes, her much shorter height and voluptuous figure, but there was no denying they had both been blessed with exceptional looks. And where Miles' charm added to his attractiveness, Maura was possessed of a sultriness that enhanced hers, at least as far as men were concerned, if Sir Parker was any indication. He had also joined them for dinner, and to Jocelyn's amusement, had barely taken his eyes off the girl throughout the meal.

Vanessa had certainly been delighted with the whole evening and had no doubt gone to bed with* her worries put to rest. As a hoped-for distraction, Miles Dry den was proving eminently successful. Jocelyn had retired conceding that point, and even experienced a measure of relief that it was so — until it oc-curred to her that Vanessa's scheme could work both ways, for Colt as well as for herself. And the thought of Colt finding Maura Dryden to his liking, just as Sir Parker had, effectively squelched whatever relief she had briefly felt, and even added a new dimension to her confused emotions. To her chagrin, she was afraid it might be jealousy. But since it could just as likely be a misguided sense of possessiveness, what she might feel for anything that had cost her such an exorbitant sum of money, she wasn't going to worry about it.