To Protect a Princess

The trail wound along the bluff above the plunging gorge, through tall, parched clumps of grass. He picked up the pace, anxious to find his horse, feeling too exposed on the open cliff.

But then another flash of light caught his eye.

He stopped, scanned the opposite cliff. He hadn’t imagined that flash this time. That had been sunlight glinting off glass.

He watched, his lungs still now, his pulse drumming a slow, steady beat. The wind teased the hairs on the nape of his neck, ruffled the tufts of dried grass. There was no movement, no sign of life on the opposite ridge.

“What’s wrong?” Dara asked, stopping beside him. “Are those men still there?”

“I doubt it.” He didn’t move his gaze from the trees. “They’re probably heading to the nearest bar by now.” They’d lie in wait, drink up their courage, plan to ambush them when they came off the hills.

Someone was out there, though. He knew it, as surely as he knew how to breathe. He scanned the cliffs again, the sunbaked earth sloping to the blown-up bridge. Nothing moved. But he’d learned the hard way not to ignore his instincts. And his nerves screamed that someone was on their trail.

Someone more deadly than the local thugs.

“Is it…there isn’t someone else out there?”

He caught the anxiety in her voice, and his heart rolled. He shifted his gaze to her. “You have reason to think there’d be?”

“No.” Her dark eyes slid from his.

Was she lying? He studied the nervous pull of her lips, the worry creasing her delicate brow. And his suspicion rose. If she’d led him into a trap…

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked, her voice pitched higher now. “I mean, nobody can get across since you blew up the bridge.”

“There’s another place,” he said, still not taking his eyes off her. “Another bridge about an hour ahead.”

She nibbled her lip, met his gaze, the worry clear in her eyes. “And someone could cross there?”

“Maybe. It’s on an old trail. Most people don’t know it exists.” And the bridge hadn’t been maintained in decades, not since a landslide blocked it off. It would take a desperate man to try to cross.

But he knew all about desperation, the lengths it could drive a man. And if someone was out there, he needed to know. Only a fool headed into these mountains unaware.

He wasn’t a fool. And he wouldn’t let any woman, no matter how appealing, turn him into one.

But he was a man without a horse, without supplies.

Without much time.

“Come on.” He turned abruptly, stalked up the slope, shot a frown at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were moving into position over the mountains now, their lead-lined bottoms edging out the vibrant sky. And rain could be deadly out here, bringing on flash floods and mudslides. But they needed to find out who they were up against before they headed to higher ground.

Dara caught up with his long strides a second later. They walked in silence up the slope, their boots thudding on the hard dirt. “So how do you know about the bridge?” she asked.

He reined in the suspicion building inside, slid her a glance. If she was lying, he’d find out soon enough. “I use the old trails when I’m hauling silver or gold.”

“You’re a miner?”

“No. I’m not that desperate.” Not anymore.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, whistled for the gelding, then caught up to her again. “You’ve never seen a mining town? They’re slums,” he told her when she shook her head. “Worse than slums. There’s no running water, no sanitation, no laws. Just violence and disease. Mercury poisons the water, the air. Human waste runs in open pits down the roads.”

His mind flashed to the squalor and suffering, the dull hopelessness in the children’s eyes. The same blank look he would have had in his eyes if he’d stayed.

He thinned his lips. “The mines are worse. They’re not fit for animals. The operations up here aren’t modern, and there aren’t safety regulations or laws—at least none they enforce. Tunnels collapse. Men die. The miners chew coca leaves all day so they’ll be numb enough to dig.”

“But…that’s awful,” she said, and stopped. And he saw the horror in her eyes, the shock. “Why would anyone live like that?”

“Desperation.” A feeling he knew well. “They either dig or die. There’s nothing else they can do.”

Her gaze stayed on his for a beat, and something moved in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding, empathy. She looked away.

They started walking again, and for a long moment neither spoke. Their footsteps crunched on the hard dirt path. A hawk glided past, then banked on a current of air. “Is that why you have the dynamite?” she finally asked. “For the miners?”

“Yeah. I haul the finished metal down to the nearest town and bring back supplies. I was supposed to meet a miner in that village, but he didn’t show.”

Her gaze slid to the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and a small crease furrowed her brow. “Your job sounds dangerous.”

He shrugged. “Most men leave me alone.”

Instead, they’d attacked his wife.

The thought barreled out of nowhere, catching him off guard, and he scowled. He never dwelled on the past, never discussed his wife. He didn’t have to. He would carry the burden of her death until he died.

“Logan.” Dara touched his sleeve, and he stopped, looked into her sultry eyes. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to cause problems for the miners or keep you from your job.”

The concern in her eyes drew him in, pulling him deeper, sparking a flicker of warmth in his chest, the flame of a long-buried need. Tempting him to move closer, to surround himself with her gentleness, her sympathy, her ease.

He shook himself, jerked his gaze away.

But he had to admit she seemed to care, more than his wife ever had. Mar?a had hated the mountains, resented the time he’d spent away from her, blamed him for taking her from the city she loved.

In the end, she’d been right to despise him. He’d failed to protect her. He’d let her die. Hell, he’d even failed to find the men who’d killed her. Her murderers still walked free.

And now he had another woman’s life in his hands.

The earth vibrated under his feet then, and the drumming of hooves interrupted his thoughts. Tension whipped through him, and he grabbed her arm. “Back here.” Moving quickly, he jerked her behind a boulder beside the trail.

“Isn’t that your horse?” she whispered as he pushed her down.

“Maybe.” But he wouldn’t take any chances until he was sure. He blocked her from view, tugged the pistol from his jeans, took position behind the rock. But she pulled out her own gun, and he shot her a warning glance. She’d better not do anything rash. That had been damned reckless behavior back at the bridge.

Behavior he’d better nip fast.

The gelding trotted into view, and she started to rise. “Wait.” He clamped his hand on her shoulder and held her down.

The gelding scented them, came to a halt, but Logan didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the trail, listened hard. The cool wind brushed his face. Sparrows chirped from a nearby bush. When a chinchilla crept into the path, he finally let Dara go.