Revenge and the Wild(20)

It had been a great scandal and embarrassment. The only thing that kept her from sitting in the sheriff’s cells for her wrongful accusation was Nigel’s good word that she’d never pull a stunt like that again—and yet she would have yesterday if Costin hadn’t been there to stop her.

Because of past follies, there was no way anyone would believe her based on her word. To get the sheriff on board, she needed Nigel’s backing, and for that, she needed proof. Only way she knew to get it was to go back to the scene of her nightmares.

She left the note she’d written for Nigel on the desk in his study and went out to the barn, stumbling when she saw Alistair waiting for her.

Bena was beside him, brushing her horse. She gave Westie a questioning look that Westie replied to with a shrug.

“What are you doing out here?” Westie asked Alistair.

There was a long pause as they watched each other. Alistair was an athlete at the staring game. “Curious why you’re sneaking around.” He didn’t look angry like he had the night before.

“You’re spying on me?”

There were dark circles beneath his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. “Do you really think that after what happened at the docks I would let you out of my sight?”

He left out the part about her time at the saloon, but she wasn’t going to remind him.

Westie slung her saddlebag over Henry’s rump. She didn’t know what to do. Alistair was a hitch in her plans.

“You haven’t cared about anything concerning me for the last three years—why start now?”

“I’ve always cared about you.” His mask whirred and his face reddened.

Westie fought the smile rising up. It was the first time he’d ever admitted anything of the sort, but it was difficult to believe after all the time he’d spent avoiding her.

Alistair cleared his throat—though it sounded more like the clank of metal bits pinging off one another—and continued, “You’ve always been independent and competent for the most part, but after showing up at the house in the middle of the night, drunk and kissing vampires, no less, I’m not so sure anymore. Clearly you need some assistance with your decision making.”

There it was.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous,” she said, mimicking his statement from the docks.

He gave it right back. “It’s a good thing you know better.”

Westie ground her teeth. He was only copying the words that she’d said earlier, but they stung all the same.

“Does Nigel know you’re leaving?” Alistair asked.

“I left him a note saying I was going to Sacramento with Isabelle for a few days.”

“Where are you really going?”

“The cabin.”

Alistair moved so close he couldn’t be ignored. “The cabin . . . where your family died?”

She didn’t answer, just went on about her business, checking her saddle, Henry’s bit, and the length of her stirrups. When Alistair took her flesh hand in his, Westie looked down at their tangled fingers as if he’d grown tentacles. How unlike him it was to even stand near her. She could’ve easily slipped out of his hold, but his warmth and the firmness of his grip kept her grounded as her strength withered away.

He had big, strong hands that were rough to the touch. They were hands that had never shied away from hard work, but were still agile enough to dress wounds and assist Nigel in the surgical rooms.

Seeing their fingers laced together, she was reminded of the day they’d met, the day she and Nigel had found him. The men who’d attacked him and his family took off into the woods, and Nigel, with his cane and horse, went after them. Westie stayed back with Alistair.

The cannibal men had bitten his cheeks, but the worst damage was done to his throat, leaving scarlet craters. Blood gurgled from his open wounds. Air whispered from his lips. His voice was gone, but she understood well enough. His lips moved and he mouthed the words “Kill me.”

Though only fourteen at the time and small for his age, he gripped her flesh hand with the strength of a man twice his size, holding on as if she were his last tether to this earth. Westie was in agony as he crushed her fingers together, but she refused to pull away.

Heavy tears fell from her eyes into his wounds. She’d thought about strangling him with her new powerful arm, but looking into his glittering eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to end his suffering. After losing her family to cannibals, Westie knew losing someone else—even a stranger—in the same violent way would be too much for her heart to bear. And so she begged him to live. She kissed his forehead and begged and begged.

Nigel came back covered in the blood of the cannibal men and looked like a creature out of her worst dreams. She turned her begging on him and asked him to save the boy’s life.

He slid from his saddle and crouched over the boy, examining the wounds.

“You have to save him,” Westie demanded, tears blurring her vision.

Nigel smoothed the boy’s hair and whispered. “Westie, I don’t know if—”

“No! You have to,” she cried, her voice echoing off the trees.

He let out a long sigh and nodded. “I’ll try.”

Alistair sat on the edge of death for weeks after infection ravaged his body, but Nigel managed to save him. Westie stayed with Alistair through his recovery, through his nightmares and sorrow. She never once left his side. Like a silly girl, she believed he lived for her, so he was hers and she was his.