Only My Love by Jo Goodman Page A

hadn't been shot at all. He rolled closer to the drop and sprawled. He heard Michael scream but he didn't have time to think about it. Ethan's booted foot was shoved in his ribs and the force of it drove him over the side. He slid on his belly, rolled, scrambled for purchase, then slid and rolled some more. Bits of gravel, rock, and snow, clumps of wiry bushes, and a discarded railroad tie, made the journey with him. Something hit him on the head and his vision was suddenly blacker than the night. His last thought before losing consciousness was that being shot probably wouldn't have hurt as much.
    Before Ethan could swing around from the drop he was attacked from behind. Michael managed to get her entire forearm under his chin and press it against his throat. For a moment it seemed the impetus of her charge would send them both over the drop. Instead they fell backward onto the tracks with Michael under Ethan. He turned quickly and pinned her down, straddling her waist with his thighs and holding her wrists on either side of her head.
    Air had been driven completely from Michael's lungs. It was the only reason she wasn't swearing like the man above her. She stared into a face that was so hard with rage a muscle worked spasmodically in each lean cheek. Now that the cursing had subsided the mouth was drawn flat, the teeth clenched. The chin was strong, the jaw square-cut and rigidly set. It occurred to her suddenly that she was seeing the lower part of his face for the first time.
    But not for the first time. She struggled again to hold onto the memory that would put that face in the proper place. She had seen him before. She was certain of it. But where?
    "You killed Drew," she said accusingly. "I saw you."
    "I killed him."
    Obie stood over both of them with his shotgun. "Lady, you're lucky he didn't kill you, too."
    "Perhaps he will when I tell you who I am."
    Ethan sighed. "Aw, hell. You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?"
    Michael ignored him. "Drew wasn't just a friend, he was my—"
    Ethan clipped her on the jaw.
    "Whaddya do that fer?" Obie asked. Michael's head lolled to the side, her eyes closed. Her spectacles rested askew on her face. "Who the hell is she?"
    Ethan stood, gave Obie his gun, then pulled Michael to a half sitting position before he bent and lifted her in his arms. "My wife," he said and started walking toward the train.
    * * *
    Michael woke in pain. The entire left side of her face throbbed. Initially she was disoriented, unable to place her surroundings, the steady movement under her, or the object that was holding her so securely she couldn't move. Several minutes passed before she understood she was traveling on horseback at night and the man who nearly broke her jaw was the same one holding her.
    "You're awake," he said.
    His tone gave nothing away, she noted. He seemed neither pleased nor upset by the fact that she was conscious again. She turned her head slightly, leaning away from her captor to see the terrain and count her companions. There were three other men on horseback, two of whom she remembered from the train. The robber who had forced the doctor to help her, the one she assumed to be the leader, was nowhere in sight.
    The ground they were covering was treacherous, steep and rocky. Patches of ice and crusty snow made the climbing slow and the sudden, sharp descents frightening. The man she rode with had positioned her securely in front of him, her hip wedged intimately between his thighs. The saddle horn bore uncomfortably into Michael's flesh as they rode but beside the pain in her jaw it didn't deserve, and didn't get, a second thought.
    In addition to the horses and men there were pack mules. Their braying echoed in the narrow passes when they stubbornly refused to follow the lead. The sound of the flicking whips was chilling.
    Michael worked her jaw slowly from side to side, realizing for the first time that it wasn't broken. "Where are we?" she asked.
    Ethan didn't answer