Page 11 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
“Vaquero?” she called, eyes still on Kane’s prone body.
She jumped as Vaquero appeared beside her.
“The others were taken care of,” he said complacently. He grinned at her. “Worried about me?”
Molly snorted. “Just wanted to be sure none of them slipped past you before I went over to Kane.”
They hurried towards the body, and stood looking down at the unconscious killer.
He had fallen with his head turned to one side. Molly stood over him and stared down at the face that had haunted her for weeks, and let the knowledge wash over her that it would never haunt her again.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Vaquero suddenly thrust his bandana at her.
Molly looked down at it blankly until Vaquero asked, in an oddly sober voice. “Hurt much?”
Molly had forgotten about her wound. She jerked away as Vaquero dabbed at her cheek and snatched the bandana from him.
“I can do it myself,” she mumbled, wiping her cheek and not looking at him, afraid that he would see that her eyes were wet, though not from pain. His gesture had reminded her of a moment, years ago, when her grandfather had carefully cleaned out a wound on her hand.
Which was ridiculous, since this scruffy, no-account bounty hunter was nothing like her grandpa. Not in the slightest.
“Cover him,” Molly said gruffly, cramming the bloody bandana in her pocket and untying the rope fastened to her belt.
“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you?” Vaquero remarked, standing with his thumbs in his gun belt, making no move to do as she asked.
“Please,” Molly said between gritted teeth, as she played out the rope.
Vaquero gave a little bow and complied, pulling his gun from his holster once more.
“Seems it took two to capture Kane,” he remarked.
Molly finished tying Kane up, pulling the rope tight with a surge of something that felt far more like relief than triumph as she rose slowly to her feet.
“I suppose it did. But it’s over now.” She glanced at him, half-surprised, half-leery that he was still standing there. “Where’s your horse?” she prompted, a broad hint that he could leave.
Vaquero smiled a little. “Hidden behind the old church, right next to yours. I was following you, remember?”
“Of course,” Molly muttered, chagrined by the reminder of how she had neglected to check her back trail. “Well, you’d better get him out of the sun,” she added pointedly. “You go on and clear out; I’ll see that your half of the reward gets to you.”
“What are you talking about? It isn’t over by a long shot,” Vaquero snapped. “You’ve still got fifty miles of open territory to cover before you can turn Kane over to a marshal—territory that’s full of Kane’s friends.”
Molly bit her lip, but didn’t respond.
Vaquero holstered his gun and tipped his hat back on his head, suddenly casual-like. “You’ll probably need some help. You’re not so bad with that shotgun.” He glanced at her, then down at Kane. “Perhaps we could work together again, one more time.”
Molly had to admit, the last five minutes of actually working with Vaquero instead of against him had been a heap easier. She imagined trying to get Kane onto a horse by herself, imagined traveling those fifty miles alone again, with nothing between her and the wolves and bandits and a dozen other hazards.
“I . . .supposewe could work together,” she said at last. “Just one more time.” She tried to sound reluctant but, secretly, she already felt braver knowing Vaquero would be with her, though she’d sooner be shot than admit it.
Afraid that her relief showed on her face, she added grumpily, “I’ve been riding solo for a while, Vaquero. Don’t reckon on sharing a saddle with me for long.”
Vaquero smirked. “The feeling’s mutual, child.” He shrugged. “I’m just making sure I get my half of the reward.”
“Of course,” Molly snorted.
But when they shook hands, they were smiling.
However long this trail might be, at least Molly wasn’t on it alone anymore.
