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  Once a Hero

  The Kincaids, Book 4

  Raine Cantrell

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2000 by Theresa DiBenedetto

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition November 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-68230-946-9

  Also by Raine Cantrell

  A Corner of Heaven

  Calico

  Darling Annie

  Desert Sunrise

  Gifts of Love

  Silver Mist

  Tarnished Hearts

  The Homecoming

  Western Winds

  Whisper My Name

  The Kincaids

  Once a Maverick

  Once an Outlaw

  Once a Lawman

  Once a Hero

  Clan Gunn

  Fire and Sword

  Silk and Steel

  Magic and Mist

  The Merry Widows

  Mary

  Catherine

  Sarah

  Novellas

  A Time for Giving

  Apache Fire

  Miss Delwin’s Delights

  More than a Miracle

  The Bride’s Gift

  The Secret Ingredient

  To Anthony and Michael

  for battles won and battles lost—

  heroes through them all.

  Chapter One

  Kee Kincaid never set out to be a hero. His adopted family called him one. A practice he discouraged. Fact is, he found it downright embarrassing. Just as bad as calling a man a coward for not bucking odds stacked against him. Sure enough, since the time he’d lost his parents to an Indian attack he’d found himself risking his neck to help someone out. Those times, he’d figured he had just been doing what was right. Folks found it easy to hang labels like brave or courageous on a man. Truth was, he had been a mite faster doing what was needed.

  He wasn’t a trouble-hunting man; none of the Kincaids were. But if someone dealt him cards without his nay or yea, he’d play out the hand as it came.

  Which is why he found himself hunkered down at the opening of the small branch canyon where he’d camped, rifle in hand while the echo of shots died away.

  The gunfire rolled through the clear Arizona air just as he was breaking camp. His packhorse was saddled, and the four Appaloosa mares he had been hunting were strung out on the leading ropes. With a last tug the cinch was tightened while Outlaw stood sweet as a kitten under his hand. The mountain-bred mustang mix was a gelding who reacted to the shots by herding the horses to the far end of the small branch canyon. Docile to Kee, Outlaw was known to attack any man whose scent he didn’t like.

  Back on the Rocking K, there’d been arguments aplenty about turning the horse loose or shooting him, but Kee kept him. The mustang had shown him a lot of wild country, his hankering for the next trail as deep as Kee’s own.

  Kee had not seen another soul for almost two weeks. The gunfire bothered him. He glanced up at the fingers of color crawling across the night, a bright mix of yellows, pinks and purples that formed long, thin streaks in the inky sky. The spring air already held a hint of the heat the coming day would bring.

  And there was a stillness that prickled the hair on the back of his neck.

  Folks back East said the frontier was closed three years ago. They hadn’t been riding the Arizona territory. Cattle rustlers and horse thieves, train robbers and outlaws still rode the desolate badlands.

  Kee studied the rim of the canyon, searching out the shadows. The four purebred mares were a prize worth stealing. But those shots were not that close. Still he slipped the thong from his Colt. Outlaw snorted and pawed the earth.

  Kee thought if he had pushed on last night, he would be snug in his adopted mother’s old cabin, and that much closer to home.

  But a faint cry cut into his thoughts, followed swiftly by a shout that sent itchy feet crawling up his back. Someone sure as hell was in trouble.

  Kee knew he could turn back to his camp and wait out the day. Many a man would do so and none would think less of him for doing it.

  It wasn’t his way.

  When a scream rent the air, nothing could make him leave.

  He lived with a passel of females and had heard screams of outrage, delight and sheer fear.

  That scream came from a woman. A woman’s scream signaled trouble all its own.

  No man worth calling himself one would turn his back on a woman in trouble. Not if his name was Kincaid. Even when he knew women like those in his family that could do a sight of protecting themselves.

  Kee was moving as the sun rose to splash light on the upper walls of the canyon. He stood at the opening and stared at the still, murky shadows that covered the wider canyon’s floor.

  He carefully studied the boulders, fallen trees and brush. Again he wondered about the shots. Apache Junction in the shadows of the Superstition Mountains was the closest town. Miners hunting gold kept the place alive and these mountains were a draw to every treasure seeker and those who’d rob them. He’d hunted for color a time or two himself. So a miner could be protecting his claim.

  But the silence bothered him now as the gunfire had earlier. If it wasn’t for that scream he’d lay down the shots to an early hunter.

  His patient search of land and rock was rewarded. Two riders at the far end of the canyon dipped into sight and were just as quickly lost behind the tree line.

  A few minutes more told him they were hunting, and it wasn’t animal. Their noise carried up to him. He couldn’t make exactly what they were hollering, but the two sounded angry.

  Definitely trouble.

  Without a sound he went back into the feeder canyon for Outlaw.

  Mounted, he once more waited at the opening as light crawled into the dark. He watched the small clearing below, sure those riders would show there.

  A shout from one rider to the other made Kee tighten his grip on the reins. He heard another faint cry as one rider broke into the clearing. Kee could make out the cutting motions of the rider’s horse. He thought he saw a smaller figure dodging the rider.

  Despite the rider swinging a rope and yipping as if he were heading off a stray, Kee couldn’t rid himself of a cold snake of fear for whoever was running from them.

  The gelding pricked up his ears. He sensed trouble, too.

  Kee felt every muscle in his horse poised with eagerness to take out and run. His spur caressed the mustang’s flank, ready to nudge him into action.

  Still Kee was forced to wait. He had to know where the other rider was.

  He picked out the stumbling run of the woman. She cried out and ducked the flung rope. Kee freed his rifle and sighted down the barrel. He squeezed the trigger and the bullet tore through the hand holding the rope.

  Kee cursed as he saw her run from the wounded man where her best chance lay. And then the second rider appeared, and his rope didn’t miss.

  Burning rage filled Kee. He didn’t give a damn what she had done. No woman deserved to be roped like an animal. She fought the lasso, but the rider had enough skill in roping to keep the loop tight and bring her to her knees as he took up the slack rope and closed in on her.

  No
w Kee couldn’t shoot. And he was out of time.

  His spurs raked Outlaw’s sides.

  The rock-strewn path offered no threat to the mustang. He’d run with a thundering herd before and behind him where to hesitate meant death.

  Kee’s wild yells seemed to freeze the two riders. And to his luck kept them separated. Coming at them at a dead run, Kee freed his belt knife. Every second as he closed with them saw a fluid body move as he put to use the skills learned in a summer with a Wild West show.

  He ignored the shots that barked over his shoulder, hugging close to his horse’s neck. He kicked one boot free of the stirrup, laying his leg lengthwise on the mustang’s back. He held the reins tight and with that same hand grabbed hold of the pommel. The wickedly honed knife blade gleamed in a flash of sunlight.

  “We’re in for it now, boy.” Kee felt the cold sweat break out on his body. He could almost feel the gunsight tracking him.

  Pressing his boot into the stirrup, he slid his body to the side of his racing horse. His gaze remained on the woman struggling to her feet.

  A whisper from Kee made Outlaw veer sharply to the left. Another shot went wide of them. The rider had wrapped the rope around his pommel, pulling it taut and freeing his hands for the rifle he brought to bear on Kee.

  Outlaw had no more wish to be shot than his rider. And this was a game they had played out many times. The mustang veered on his own toward the wounded rider, putting him in line to get shot.

  One swing of Kee’s arm and the taut rope parted. Outlaw, at his signal, nearly turned in place, his head angled down, teeth bared as he went after the shooter’s horse.

  Kee hit the saddle and just found the swinging stirrup when Outlaw reared, screaming a challenge as if he were still a stallion.

  “Run!” Kee shouted at the woman.

  His yell seemed to free the two men from whatever had gripped them. Just as Outlaw’s hoof came down on the flank of the nearest horse, the wounded man tried to send his loop flying at Kee.

  Without help from his rider, the mustang dodged the rope. He knew the tricks of men trying to catch him. He spun on his hocks, his front hooves hitting the earth with a bone jar to his rider, then he was moving again.

  Kee despaired when he saw the woman was either hurt or too frightened to move. He swung his knife at the man closest to her and yelled again for her to run. A second swipe with the knife brought a grunt of pain as the blade sliced flesh.

  He ignored their shouts as he raced past, turned and headed back. Trusting to his horse, Kee freed his hand of the reins. He extended his arm, leaned out and grabbed hold of the woman to fling her belly down across his saddle.

  The one he’d shot first tried to sight his gun, but Kee slashed out with his knife barely nicking the man’s horse, and forcing him to control his rearing mount.

  Kee was still between the two men, Outlaw doing his best to keep their horses from closing in on them.

  That little bit of safety was all that kept them from shooting him.

  Blood and dust, frantic whinnies from the horses mixed with the shouts of who was to get him.

  On top of that, the damn woman was struggling under his hand to push herself off the horse.

  Having put himself to a hell of a lot of trouble to rescue her, Kee was of no mind to be gotten by anyone.

  And he’d be double damned if this blistering female was jumping back into the fire.

  “Hold still! I’m trying to save your life!”

  It was all he had time to say before he gripped his knife handle with his teeth and drew his Colt.

  His boot heels banged the mustang’s sides. Kee laid covering fire over his shoulder as the horse took off.

  The mustang wove his own erratic path toward the small branch canyon’s mouth.

  Kee held on to his ungrateful burden, feeling every muscle of the horse bunch and strain as he carried the two of them.

  The whine of flying bullets came too close. Rock fragments were thrown high to the side. Kee emptied his gun with little hope of hitting either man. He needed two hands free to get his rifle and use it.

  The woman’s long black hair might once have been a braid. Now it was a cloud that entangled his hand. Her shriek of pain forced him to look down at her.

  Blood welled from a tear in her pant leg. He hoped it was nothing more than a bullet graze, but the way those two behind him were throwing lead, it could be worse. And he had no time to do more than look.

  The mustang was laboring. With his double burden the horse couldn’t keep up this fast pace much longer, not over the rough, broken ground.

  The opening to the branch canyon appeared like a gateway to salvation.

  Kee knew how false the thought was. He could easily hold the men off, but the reverse held true, too.

  They could just as easily keep him pinned down.

  Two to one. Not the worst odds he’d faced. Still, he’d shorten them. He grabbed hold of his knife.

  “Just hang on tight. Don’t fight my horse,” he ordered the woman.

  Outlaw swept through the opening. Kee slid free and, rifle in hand, turned to meet the men that followed.

  His first shot cut up dust in front of the lead horse. He barely kept his rage in check not to make it a killing shot.

  The man was smart enough to jerk his horse still.

  His partner drew rein alongside him.

  Kee figured he was dead, coffin nailed and grave dug by their looks.

  He was in a killing mood himself, but no murderer.

  “You two figure on eating again, shuck the guns and rifles where I can see them.”

  “The hell I’ll—”

  “Do it!” Kee ordered and sent a bullet over their heads. “I’ll bury you right here if I’ve got to wait.”

  He planted another shot between the horses to show he meant business.

  “You ain’t got a call to interfere,” one yelled.

  Kee saw the gun belts drop, then the rifles.

  “She stole somethin’ that’s mine.”

  “You’ll give her over if you know what’s good for you, stranger.”

  “You the law?” Kee demanded. Then, before they answered, he motioned with the rifle. “Dismount and take off your boots.”

  “Like hell I’ll—”

  This time Kee’s shot took the man’s hat off.

  “The boots, now. And since I don’t see a badge, you’re not the law. You call her a thief…get a town marshall or the territory sheriff to arrest her. Then she’ll stand trial. Hear tell the truth comes out then.”

  Kee had shut them up with his talk about the law. He studied the two men who dropped to the ground to remove their boots. He couldn’t hear their whispered talk. He had to be satisfied for now that he had the upper hand in the bluff he was running.

  Kee didn’t know either man. The lean, taller one who had his hand shot was doing most of the talking. A curved scar pulled down one side of his mouth. His clothing was worn, like his gear. Boot heels run-down, lank, dark hair hanging to his shoulders. Not a bit of shiny metal anywhere. A hunter, all right, Kee confirmed.

  A quick look showed handguns well cared for and both Winchesters were new. With their boots tossed aside, scar mouth tugged his worn felt hat low then faced Kee.

  The close-set eyes held a promise of retribution.

  Kee almost laughed. The man had never faced down a Kincaid bent on extracting revenge. Still, they weren’t a pair of eyes Kee wanted to face on a dark night. And he had a feeling that dark nights, in even darker alleys, were where this man hunted.

  He had started to rise when the other man grabbed his arm. He was shorter, thin as a rail post, his face covered by a straggly beard.

  Kee passed men like him on every street in every town. Deep-set eyes, a broken nose and a habit of hitching up his belt when he talked. He noted the notches on the gun butt. No one but a tinhorn marked his weapon.

  He’d seen a gun like this and heard tell of men who notched their kills. Hard n
ot to when his uncle was sheriff of Sweetwater.

  He figured them both for cheap hired guns, but Kee didn’t lower his guard. He didn’t like the sneaky looks the smaller man shot toward him. He could almost follow those thoughts of getting the jump on him.

  Kee cocked the rifle. “Time’s a-wasting. Start walking.”

  “Now just hold on…” scar mouth started to say.

  “The thing is, gents, I’m holding my rifle. It speaks with a bark that’s mighty hard to argue with. You boys feeling testy and want a piece of this, come and get it.”

  More whispers. Kee grew past impatient. He wondered if the woman was all right. He hadn’t heard a sound from the canyon. Outlaw would have ridden straight back to the mares and stayed there. After all this, he hoped the woman wasn’t dead. He wanted some answers.

  The hell with it! He’d had enough.

  He fired off three shots, startling the horses into running, and the men into backing away.

  “Move out!” Kee wasn’t about to give them time to grab a gun. He placed exact shots on the boulder nearest them. Then fired two shots into the earth.

  Since they weren’t running fast enough after their mounts, Kee spurred them on with a few more shots. The horses were hell-bent for leather, and if this wasn’t so deadly serious, he might have smiled seeing their jerky dance down the trail.

  Kee figured he had five shots left. Careless of him not to have kept better count. A man could lose his life that way.

  Much as he hated to do it, he lifted the rifle and sighted. They were barely wounded, and he had a feeling they’d lie in wait for him.

  And he had no idea if they were riding alone.

  For good measure he nicked one’s belt, then creased his thigh. The man stumbled, but it wasn’t enough to slow him down. The other wore a bullet crease across his shoulder. Kee emptied the rifle high over their fleeing heads.

  Before he moved, he reloaded his Colt, then shoved .44s into the rifle. When he spied them down in the clearing, then and only then did he turn to find out what kind of thief he’d rescued.