The Chosen by Theresa Meyers

she’d brought back from the dry goods store before they’d left. She’d just pulled out clothing from the first two things she’d opened and put on whatever was in the package. She rolled her dirty clothes, with the exception of her fringed leather jacket, into a ball she stuffed down into her saddle packs. The stiff, high white collar of the shirt was too prim on her. He realized that now. But at the time he’d been thinking it would keep the sun off the pale skin at her nape. She’d folded her jacket carefully and tied it over her bedroll and blankets at the back of her saddle.
    She’d been less fortunate in the second package she’d selected. While split down the middle, with buttons that ran up along the leg on either side, the garment was more or less a skirt. She’d frowned when she’d held it up. “Well, at least I can ride in it,” she’d muttered. The store hadn’t carried pants that would fit a woman, and the smaller boys’ sizes wouldn’t accommodate the curve of her hips.
    “What about my gun?”
    Remington had balked at that. “I think you’re well-armed enough between your wit and your barbed tongue and whatever claws you can create out of thin air, don’t you?”
    She’d grumbled. “I want a gun.”
    He could just see her shooting him in the back and taking the piece of the Book of Legend along with whatever else they discovered along the way. “We’ll wait on the gun.”
    She’d balled her hands, resting them on the curve of her hips, and had spoken plainly and firmly. “You get me a gun or we ain’t leaving.”
    “We don’t even have a horse for you yet. I’ll go to the livery and—”
    “I already got one.”
    “Where?”
    “Tied waiting at the hitching post downstairs in front of the hotel.”
    He’d narrowed his eyes. “And where did the horse come from?”
    “Why does that matter?”
    Remington had plowed his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You stole it, didn’t you?”
    “I prefer to call it borrowed without asking.”
    “As far as folks around here are concerned I’m on the side of the law. And horse thieves get hanged. You can’t just go around taking what you want.”
    She’d arched one brow. Remington had gone to the window and glanced down into the street. Down at the hitching post was a beautiful palomino. Its deep golden coloring and flaxen mane and tail reminded him of the color of China’s coat when she’d been a mountain lion. “Holy hell, woman, you took the mayor’s horse?”
    She’d shrugged. “If you are going to borrow without asking, you might as well borrow exactly what you want.”
    There hadn’t been time to debate things further. In the end he’d tossed her one of his revolvers and replaced it with one Marley had modified to include a sight scope, then had hustled her out of the hotel and gotten them out of town on the double.
    He’d briefly toyed with the idea of putting the iron shifter restraining cuff back on her, but thought better of it. Doing so only would have broken the fragile sense of trust beginning to build between them. And he did have to admit, she’d been both a mountain lion and a hellhound and hadn’t ripped him apart either time. That had to count for something.
    “Is your mount suitable, Miss McGee?”
    She turned for a moment and looked at him. “You know you ain’t got to be all stiff and formal with me; you might as well call me China.”
    An unwanted wash of something hot and acidic roiled in his gut. “Colt called you China.”
    She huffed. “Well, it’s my name, dammit. What else was he supposed to call me?”
    He raised a brow. “I take it by your tone that you are no longer enamored of my brother.”
    “If that means I ain’t after him no more, then you got it right.”
    Interesting. And dangerous. For both of them. “And why is that?”
    “Colt made it plain he don’t have no more use for me. He’s got that red-headed tramp Darkin of his now to help him find the piece of the Book