The cowering man stiffened and raised his hands. Slowly, he straightened.

And straightened.

And straightened.

He had a lot of straightening to do.

"What. Did. You. Say?"

The sheriff swallowed. Then he slowly readjusted the barrel of his revolver upwards, so at least it was pointed at the other man's chest instead of his shins. That didn't seem to make him feel any more confident about his chances, though. Throwing pebbles at a mountain was never a particularly successful strategy.

"S-step towards the light! Show your face!"

The tall figure did so—only to reveal a weathered, dark, undoubtedly Indian face. And not the kind you might reasonably expect to encounter in the Wild West.

"So," Mr Ambrose enquired, casting a questioning look towards the lawman. "Was he one of the people who escaped from your prison?"

"No!" Gallagher ground out.

"So, that means...?"

"That you're gonna get out of my way!" Shoving Mr Ambrose and Karim both aside, the sheriff rushed further down the tunnel, until—

"Ha! Found you!"

Hastening after the man, the crowd right behind me, I arrived just in time to see Gallagher approach around a dozen figures huddled on the ground. He advanced on them, revolver raised.

"Get up! Hands in the air!"

There was no reaction. The men in tattered miners' clothes continued to cower on the floor, unmoving.

"What are you waiting for? By my authority as an officer of the law, I order you to get to your feet!"

Still, nobody moved. They truly had to be terrified.

Either that, or something was going on. Hm...considering this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose's place, which was more likely, I wondered?

I grinned.

"You refuse? Very well!" The sheriff cocked his revolver. "You have till the count of three to move! One...two...three!"

Bam!

A bullet slammed into one of the men's legs. It jerked—then lay still.

As did all the rest of them.

Nothing moved.

Not even the drops of blood one might reasonably expect to dribble out of the hole in the trousers.

"What the hell...! Move, I said!"

Bam! Bam!

Not a single twitch in response. By now, even the marvellous intelligence of the pitchfork mob was sufficient to realize there was something off. A realization that also dawned on Gallagher. Leaping forward, he grabbed one of the figures on the floor by the shoulder and turned it around, only to be faced with—

"Goddammit! What the—?!" Leaping back, he stabbed a finger at the straw and twig monstrosity on the ground, glaring at my hubby. "What the hell is this?"

"This?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Ah, of course, someone not involved in agriculture might not recognize it. This called a scarecrow, a farming tool commonly used to scare away—"

"I know what a freaking scarecrow is! What I want to know is what they are doing here!"

"Why, is that not obvious? I always pay attention to local developments. Seeing how much Señor Navarra has recently invested in local agriculture, helping local people to get their hands on so much farmland, I felt I had to do my part. So, I obtained these," he gestured towards the scarecrows, "and thought I would distribute them to the new farmers. After all, one should always be helpful to one's neighbours."

By this time, the sheriff's face was twisting and convulsing. I gazed at him with interest. Overcome by gratitude, was he?

Yeah, that was probably it.

"Rrraaaah!"

Raising his revolver with a roar, Gallagher pressed down on the trigger.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Gritting his teeth, he shot bullet after bullet into the scarecrows, then whirled to face Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his eyes glinting with murderlust.

"You son of a bitch! You did this on purpose!"

"Did what?" Mr Rikkard Ambrose's face didn't even twitch. "Being neighbourly?"

God. After the little session in the saloon, I thought I had a good poker face. Note to self: never ever ever play against Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"You know exactly what I mean, you bastard!" Gallagher hissed, once more raising his revolver. "Where did you hide the fugitives? Tell me right this moment, or—"

"Now, now, Sheriff." Stepping up beside the lawman, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, at a place that just happened to be rather close to his jugular. "You'll want to be careful with that revolver. Especially considering the little fact that, you know, you just completely emptied it of bullets?"

"You...! Do you want to be arrested for obstruction of justice?"

"That's not the important question," the voice of Mr Rikkard Ambrose suddenly came from right beside him. The sheriff's face stiffened, which meant he had probably realized what the hard, cold thing pressing into his side was. A little hint: it wasn't the hard thing my dear husband used on me. "The important question is: do you wish to try and arrest someone while unlawfully on someone else's property, unarmed?"

The colour drained from Gallagher's face. But then he glanced back, and seemed to take courage at the sight of the mob.

"Don't get cocky, you son of bitch! I still got my men!"

"Ah yes, you do indeed." Raising his hand, Mr Ambrose snapped his finger, and on a ledge up above, dozens of figures armed with rifles appeared, surrounding the pitchfork mob. "You were saying?"

"You! Lower those guns at once, or I'll—"

His words were cut in half the instant Mr Ambrose's hand grabbed him around the throat.

"There are a few things you should know about me," Mr Rikkard Ambrose said, his voice as soft as it was cold. "First. I am always prepared for anything. Second. To me, that scrap of tin on your chest isn't worth a single penny. Last. Never ever threaten me or mine."

Whirling the lawman around, he shoved him towards the crowd of frozen thugs. "Now...what are you going to do next?"

The sheriff's gaze flicked between Mr Rikkard Ambrose and the shadowy figures armed with rifles high above.

"I..." He swallowed. "I have decided that, for the moment, there is nothing to find here. We will return to the sheriff's office."

Mr Ambrose nodded. "Adequate choice. You know where the exit is."

"I do." The lawman's eyes narrowed. "And I also know where your house is. Remember tha—"

Bam!

Stone dust floated down from the hole in the wall that had suddenly appeared beside the sheriff's head.

"I said," Mr Ambrose repeated, the hand that held the revolver perfectly still and steady, "Do. Not. Threaten. Me. Or. Mine."

The man trembled—then whirled around and rushed away, back up the tunnel. It wasn't long before Karim, Mr Ambrose and I were the only ones left down here. Except for the lovely gentlemen in the gallery, of course.

"So..." Glancing up at the shadowy figures above, I stepped towards Mr Ambrose. "These people have been around how long exactly?"

Reaching out, he captured my chin in one hand while the other slid down my side, coming to rest on my stomach. "What? Did you think I would leave you unprotected?"

One corner of my mouth quirked up. "I can't help but notice that the heavily armed guards only showed up when your goldmine needed protecting."

"The mob was easier to surround and cow inside the tunnel. Pure strategy."

"I'm sure."

Right then, I realized something.

"But, wait a minute...didn't you say this mine goes all the way to the mountains? What's this, then?"

I gestured towards the massive wall of rocks that barred the way, with the scarecrows piled in front of it.

His eyes flashed in the darkness, challenging me. "Think for a moment, Mrs Ambrose. Really think."

Think? I frowned. What did he mean?

"You know me passably well by this point. Think about it. Am I the kind of man who would go out to buy a pile of scarecrows, merely to mock and enrage a petty and corrupt law enforcement officer?"

My frown deepened. No. No, he wouldn't. In fact, that was exactly the opposite of what Mr Rikkard Ambrose would do. Everything he did had a purpose. Everything—

Whirling around, I stared at the pile of scarecrows. Scarecrows that almost completely covered the gravelly ground below.

"No," I said. "No, you didn't."

"Oh yes. Yes, I did." Striding forward he bent down and grabbed a scarecrow by the leg. "Angry men are very useful. They tend to make mistakes. Such as overlooking what is right underneath their nose."

And, hurling the scarecrow aside, he pushed away the gravel, revealing a trap door set into the floor.

Son of a—!

...very clever woman.

Slipping his foot underneath the trap door, Mr Ambrose flipped it upward, and voilà, there it was: a stone ramp leading deeper underground, farther into the mine.

Turning towards me, he held out a hand. "Well, Mrs Ambrose? Shall we return home?"

***

I had to hand it to Mr Rikkard Ambrose—he knew his stuff. If anyone else on this earth was capable of making a mine inspection romantic, I didn't know about them.

"Tell me," I asked, as I stood at the exit of the mine on the side of the mountain, surrounded by the fiery red glow of the sunset that just so happened to light up the golden glitter of the walls like sparkling fairy dust, "did you time this?"

"Of course," he told me, his arms sliding around me to pull me against his rock-hard chest. "Knowledge is power is time is money, after all."

Dammit! That's the line he used to use to rush me around and threaten me with pay cuts! And now he thinks he can get away with making it sound romantic?

And...it worked.

Damn and blast!

"Tell me, Mrs Ambrose..." Gently stroking my hair, he captured the back of my neck in his grip, holding me in an inescapable grasp as he leaned down towards me. A moment later, I could feel his hot breath tickle my skin. "How are you enjoying your honeymoon so far?"

"It...it's atrocious!" I somehow managed to answer. "Bar fights, being thrown in prison, blowing things up..."

"Yes." Cocking his head, he gently stroked my cheek. "I did put in a lot of effort into providing you with pursuits and pastimes just to your liking, didn't I?"

"You...!" Cheeks flushing, I moved to slap his hand away—and ended up holding it instead.

"...are a born romantic?" he finished, leaning down until his lips were only inches away from mine, and the cold ocean of his eyes filled my vision. "That's what you were going to say, is it not?"

"N-no, I—"

His lips sealed mine, cutting me off midway. All thoughts in my head were blown away, and in their stead rose pure, unadulterated need. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. And another moment. And another. Not a single sound was to be heard. Well...except for the occasional moan and groan.

I swear, it was the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. They should really be checked for structural integrity!

Finally, the two of us broke apart and he gazed down at me, his eyes intent and inescapable. "Now," he repeated. "What do you think? Am I a born romantic?"

"Y-yes."

Another deep, devastating, bone-searing kiss. "Is this the honeymoon you've always wished for?"

"I...I didn't even think I'd get married for most of my life."

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "That didn't answer my question."

Shit! He had noticed that, had he?

I wet my lips, feeling a flush stain my cheeks. "Y-yes."

Thank God I was so tanned! He probably couldn't notice my blush, right?

A moment later, I felt his thumb stroking over my blushing cheek. Heck! He noticed!

Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to mine.

"Do you love me?"

This time, there was no prevarication. No hesitation. Wasn't as if I could lie about this even if I tried.

"Yes."

His eyes suddenly looked fiercely determined. "Then let's head home, shall we? We have business to take care of!"

And, before I could get another word out, he snatched me up in his arms and carried me over the threshold. Sure, it was the threshold of a dusty old mine, but so what? I didn't even mind the off-duty miners gaping at the two of us as he strode by, clutching me tightly against his chest. It was incredible. How could being in the arms of such a cold, ruthless man make me feel this warm inside?

Well, probably the very same way he got you to marry him.

"We're here." By this time, we had passed through the forest and the clearing. In three more steps, he was up the porch stairs and in front of the cabin's door. Pushing it open, he stepped inside. "We're home."

Home.

That was more than a mere word. I'd never had a home before. And now I was here, in the arms of this man, in this lovely little house that just made me want to cuddle into a comfy corner and never ever leave.

Sneaky bastard! All part of his secret plot to turn me into a housewife, no doubt.

And you could tell how angry I was about this by the way I was staring at him with rampant desire.

"Bed?" he enquired.

Brevity is such a wonderful virtue in a husband.

"Bed," I agreed.

Without bothering to set me down, he raced off towards the bedroom. And he wasn't the only thing that was racing. My heart was pounding against my ribs like this was an international drum festival. Far faster than his bloody feet! Why the heck was this taking so long?

Wham!

Finally, the door to the bedroom slammed open. Someone wonderful, who probably wasn't getting paid enough for their job, had lit the fireplace, spreading warmth throughout the chamber. Gently, Mr Ambrose placed me down on the bed. In the flickering firelight, I watched as he removed first his tailcoat, then his shirt, then his under—

Who was I kidding? Why would Mr Rikkard Ambrose waste money on an undershirt?

I knew there was a reason I loved him.

"Now," my husband told me, his ripped, topless body gleaming in the light of the flames as he climbed onto the bed above me. "Let's resume our honeymoon, shall we?"

----------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today, I have a question for you. Recently, due to problems with one of my book distributors, the printed versions of my books became unavailable outside of Amazon. They currently aren't available to order via traditional bookstores. It might be possible to restore that avenue of sale, but the books will most likely be more expensive than via Amazon.

So, the question is: in your opinion, should I make the books available outside Amazon even if they end up being more expensive?

I look forward to hearing what you think.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob