Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (7 page)

They had nearly reached the river before Malachi spoke, breaking the silence between them.

“I want to apologize for what I said to you last night,” he said. “I was tired, my guard was down—but that’s beside the point. No man should speak to a woman like that.”

“If you’re waiting for me to apologize for the slap, don’t hold your breath,” Anna said coldly. “You deserved it.”

“I understand.” He stared at the river for a long moment before he spoke again. “Whatever you might say about my being straitlaced, I’m no saint, Anna. Growing up, I was as wild as any fool kid in the territory. When I was twenty, I spent a year in Yuma Prison for beating a banker’s son half senseless in a bar fight. Came out of Yuma ten times worse than when I went in.”

He lowered his powerful frame to the flat top of a boulder, eyes gazing out at the river. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was telling her the story of his life. When he finished, it would be her turn, and Malachi would expect as much as he had given.

“Drinking, gambling, loose women—there was nothing along those lines I wasn’t well acquainted with,” he said. “I’d find a job herding cattle or busting broncs, and as soon as I got paid, I’d blow most of it on one big night in town. More often than not, I’d get myself fired when I didn’t show up for work the next day. Things went on that way for a couple
of years. Then, one night in Santa Fe, everything changed.”

Malachi’s long, callused fingers picked up a pebble and tossed it into the river. Anna gazed at his craggy profile, trying to picture him as the worthless young drifter he’d described. Only one thing could change a man like that, and Anna knew what it was. Nothing in the rest of his story would come as a surprise to her.

“I’d ducked into a hymn-singing service to avoid a deputy I’d had words with earlier in the week. He’d threatened to lock me up if I came into town again. Anyway, I was sitting there by myself in a back pew, feeling like a fool, when, suddenly there she was.”

“Elise?”

“Elise.” He spoke the name, Anna thought, like a worshiper invoking the holy virgin. She remembered the photograph in Carrie’s room, the haunting eyes, the perfect, porcelain features. How could any man not fall in love with such a woman?

“Her father was the minister, and she was playing the organ,” Malachi said. “As soon as I set eyes on her, I knew I couldn’t leave without at least knowing her name. I stayed until the service was over, and then—” He broke off with a rough-edged laugh. “But there’s no point in telling you the whole story, is there? You’re old enough to know how those things happen.”

Anna nodded when he glanced at her. She knew. Oh, she knew all too well. But that part of her life was buried, and she wasn’t about to dig it up just to satisfy a man’s curiosity. She kept her silence and allowed him to go on.

“There’s no limit to what a young buck will do for love, and I did it for Elise. By the time we got married, I’d been sober—and celibate—for six months. Her parents still weren’t happy about the match, but what could they say? I’d promised to reform, and I’d kept my word.”

He fell into silence, and Anna waited, her gaze following the flight of a raven across the canyon. If some man had loved her enough to change, as Malachi had, her own life would have taken a far different turn. But she knew better than to brood on it. Brooding only opened old wounds and let them fester again.

Malachi’s expression had darkened. He was staring at the river once more, not at her. “The only problem was, to most folks the change didn’t make much difference. When a man’s got a reputation as a rounder, it’s hard to convince anyone to hire him at a decent wage. We’d have starved those first few years if her parents hadn’t helped us.”

Anna saw the familiar tightening of his jaw and she knew the shame still burned him. Once more, she battled the urge to reach out and touch him, to lay a hand on his shoulder, to move close and rub the tension out of the taut muscles that bulged beneath his shirt.

“When an old friend offered me a partnership in this ferry—with him putting up the cash and me doing the work—it was like an answer to a prayer, a chance to finally have something of my own. I left Elise with her parents for nearly a year while I bossed the road crew and built the ferry and the house from the ground up. Then I went back for her and the children—Josh had been born while I was away. A few
months after that, my partner died and left me his share of the ferry operation. It’s mine now—all I have.”

Anna sat still, letting the river’s murmur flow through her senses. The water level had begun to drop, leaving a streak of wet, red sand along the bank. “And was your wife happy here?” she asked, thinking of the toll such isolation would take on a vibrant young woman.

Malachi tossed another pebble into the river. “She managed fine,” he said. “We all did.”

He fell silent, and Anna knew he was waiting for her to begin her own story. For one long, aching moment she was tempted to tell him everything—to pour out the dark pain, the regrets of her lost years and the fear that had dogged her footsteps in the months since Harry’s murder. She wanted to creep into the protective circle of his arms and lose herself there. To feel warm. To feel safe, if only for a fleeting moment.

But Anna knew such a thing could not be. Secrecy was her only protection. Take that away and she would be at his mercy.

He was waiting for her to speak. She could feel his gaze on her, burning through her tough facade, leaving her naked and defenseless. She had to counter now, while she was still able.

“I know this sounds crass,” she began, “but you didn’t, by chance, save any of your wife’s clothes, did you? I could really use something to wear.”

She felt his own defenses go up with suddenness of a slamming door. “No,” he said, “there’s nothing. As soon as I’m able, I’ll ride one of the mules into
town and pick up a dress for you. Until then you’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got.”

“I’ve got
nothing
!” Yes, it was working. He was becoming so annoyed with her that, any moment now, he would get up and go storming back to the house. “My only dress is ruined! You can’t expect me to walk around all day in
this
!” She tugged at the faded flannel nightshirt for dramatic effect. “I demand that you find me something decent to—”

“Pa!” Josh’s urgent voice rang out along the riverbank. An instant later the boy burst into sight, out of breath from running.

“What is it?” Malachi had already sprung to his feet.

“There’s somebody coming down the road, on two horses!” Josh panted. “Can’t tell for sure, but it looks a lot like Eddie Johnson and his pa!”

Malachi muttered something under his breath, turned, and strode off toward the house. Anna stared after him, her pulse suddenly racing. For all the discomforts of this remote canyon, at least she had felt safe here. Now that precious sense of security had vanished.

She fought down rising waves of panic. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that there would be visitors? Why hadn’t she thought about it beforehand and planned what she would do?

Now it was too late.

A
nna’s stomach churned with apprehension as she rose to her feet, then hesitated, glancing upstream. Maybe she could find some rocky shelter and hide out until the unexpected guests were gone. Or maybe, if she could make it to the bedroom without being seen, she could crawl into the bed, burrow under the quilts and play sick for the duration of the visit. No, Anna decided swiftly, neither plan would work. She might succeed in keeping out of sight, but then she would have to answer to Malachi.

Still uncertain, she gazed at the river, her fingers twisting a loose button on the nightshirt. Judging from what she’d overheard the night before, Sam Johnson was neither a lawman nor a bounty hunter. Perhaps she had no reason to fear him. But there was no way to be sure. The fact that he was Malachi’s friend didn’t mean he hadn’t seen the Wanted poster. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn her in for the reward money.

“Hey, come on!” Josh came bounding back along the trail, waving his straw hat. “We’ve got company
—my friend Eddie and his pa! They’ll want to meet you!”

“I’m not exactly dressed for company,” she protested, hoping he would leave her alone.

“You look nice and slick, like a wet squirrel! Come on!”

Anna forced herself to follow him, her footsteps heavy with dread and dismay. Unless she wanted to throw herself into the river and drown, there was no way out of this mess. All she could do was hope she would not be recognized.

As they emerged from the willows, Josh seized her hand and tried to tug her forward. “Wait,” she insisted, halting behind the house. “Give me a minute to catch my breath.”

“You haven’t been running.”

“Hush.” Anna pressed herself against the adobe wall and edged forward. Sam Johnson and his adolescent son were just dismounting from their mud-coated horses. Malachi had opened the corral gate and was leaning lightly against it, one boot resting on the lower rail. Only the twitch of a muscle in his cheek betrayed his unease.

“Had a helluva time getting the horses over that slide!” Sam Johnson had a ruddy, bearded face and a belly that hung over the waistband of his grease-stained pants. “That road’s gonna take a heap o’ clearin! And what’s this I hear topside?” He belched out loud as he swung heavily off his horse. “Hell, man, word has it you’ve fetched yourself a wife! Bring the little woman out here! I want to meet the female who’d hitch up with the likes of you!”

He guffawed, then took off his hat and wiped his
sweaty face with the back of his sleeve. Where the hat had covered it, his scalp was the color of lard, the sparse hairs long and greasy. His son had come up behind him, a pimply lad whose bony wrists dangled a good eight inches below his cuffs.

“Come on!” Josh was pulling at Anna’s hand, threatening to make a spectacle of her if she didn’t comply—although she would be spectacle enough in any case, she reminded herself. Especially if Sam Johnson or his son had seen her face plastered on some telegraph pole.

As fear welled up like bile, she felt herself retreating into the playacting game. It was a game she’d invented in the orphanage and played often in the bleak years that followed.

The premise of the game was simple enough. All she had to do was pretend she was an elegant lady in a fine house and behave accordingly. It was a bit like wearing a disguise, and Anna had often used it to put off people who frightened her. She was frightened now. Badly frightened.

Gulping back her terror, she squared her shoulders, fixed a smile on her face, and strode out into the yard. Sam Johnson’s jaw dropped as he took in her strange attire. Malachi’s face was an expressionless mask.

“Well, Malachi, dear,” she bubbled, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Malachi flinched as if he’d been stung. “Mr. Samuel Johnson and Eddie,” he muttered, gesturing awkwardly toward the pair. “This is Anna…my wife.”

Anna forced herself to ignore Sam Johnson’s leering eyes. She concentrated on her game, pretending the unkempt father and his shifty-eyed son were
landed gentry who’d ridden over to pay a call. “We’re honored, simply honored to have you visit our home,” she replied, smiling with such graciousness that Malachi shot her a distrustful glance. She was not fooling him, Anna knew, but it was too late to retreat.

Flinging him a challenge to join her masquerade, she crossed the distance between them and looped her arm through his. “Malachi, dearest.” She squeezed his bicep and felt the muscle harden. “Would you mind entertaining our guests while I check the kitchen? Perhaps they’d like to wash or have a little something to drink.”

She released him and glided away without waiting for a reply. Malachi probably thought she’d lost her mind. Little did he know that this playacting was the only thing standing between her and stark panic.

By the time she reached the porch, her legs were jelly. If Sam Johnson had recognized her, he’d shown no sign of it. All the same, she would not feel safe again until he had gone.

The stew was still simmering on the stove, but Carrie was nowhere in sight. Anna’s game did not extend to casting the girl in the role of housemaid, but she was grateful that the meal was nearly done and that there was plenty to eat. Finding a set of chipped white china dishes in the cupboard, she began setting six places at the table. She had added knives and spoons and was slicing the bread when Carrie walked out of her room. Her face was damp from washing and she had taken off the oversize apron she wore so much of the time. The taut little nubs of her breasts strained against the thin fabric of her too small dress.

The child was developing early, Anna noticed, remembering all too well how it had been in the orphanage when
she’d
begun to flower—the stares, the lewd jokes, the groping hands that waited for her in dark hallways; the sick, dirty feelings when things happened that she was too innocent to control. Looking at Malachi’s daughter now, Anna felt a fierce protective surge. She would do anything, she thought, to keep this tender girl from having to grow up too soon, as she had.

Carrie gazed at the table. “Oh,” she said, “I could have done that.”

“I had time to help,” Anna said. “Besides, you made the stew.”

“But you’re a
guest
.” Carrie emphasized the last word as if reassuring herself that Anna was, indeed, just a temporary member of the family.

“Even guests should do their share.” Anna finished slicing the bread and arranged the pieces on a blue-glazed platter. “Are the Johnsons close friends of your family?”

The girl shrugged. “Neighbors. I guess that sort of makes them friends. They’ve got a homestead a few miles north of the rim. When they come this far, it’s usually because they’re short on money. Papa’s too generous to turn down anyone who’s in need. But he’ll make them work for what they get. That’s his way.”

“So, how long do they generally stay?” Anna asked, dreading the reply.

“That depends.” Carrie toyed with straightening a fork that Anna had laid down too hastily.

“Depends on what?” Anna realized her nerves were screaming.

“Last time they were here, they stayed for two weeks. Came near to eating us out of house and home.”

The silence that followed Carrie’s revelation was broken by the scrape of boots on the porch. The door swung open and the men came tramping into the kitchen. Malachi brought up the rear, carrying a bundle wrapped in brown paper and twine. His gaze avoided Anna’s eyes as he thrust it into her hands.

“Sam happened to mention that he’d been to town and picked up some clothes for Eddie—a pair of denim pants and a couple of work shirts. It struck me that the boy’s clothes might fit you, so I talked Sam into selling them.”

“At a nice profit, too!” Sam Johnson grinned, showing a wide gap where his two front teeth had been. “Ain’t no limit to what a man’ll do when he’s cuckoo over a pretty little female! Right sorry about your regular duds ma’am, but you won’t likely get ’em back. If they ain’t buried under the slide, they’ll like as not end up down the canyon on some Havasupai squaw!” He guffawed at his own joke. Anna, remembering the game she’d begun earlier, suppressed a groan, then forced herself to glance fondly up at Malachi and smile.

“Why, thank you, Malachi, dear,” she cooed. “That’s so thoughtful! It
will
be nice to have some clothes I can really work in.”

Malachi’s eyebrow twitched. Suspicion glittered in his granite eyes, all but shattering Anna’s hard-won
composure. Before he could speak and finish the job, she turned swiftly toward the boy.

“And Eddie!” she exclaimed. “How unselfish of you to give up your new clothes for me!”

“Can’t say as I had much choice.” Eddie fingered a ripe pustule on his left cheek, looking unhappy. The kindest response, Anna knew, would be to simply hand the bundle back to the boy, but that would discomfit both Sam and Malachi. And the truth was, she needed those clothes. She needed them even more than poor Eddie did.

She hesitated a moment. Then, remembering something Malachi had said, she loosened the string and slid a finger under the edge of the wrapping. The shirt she tugged loose was made of green-and-red checked cotton twill, stiff with newness. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into the boy’s hands. “There are two shirts, and I only need one.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the shirt mechanically, without any show of pleasure or gratitude.

“Eddie and his pa are going to help us clear the road!” Josh came bounding in from the porch, dodging the legs of his elders.

Anna fought back the urge to reach out and smooth back his unruly curls. “Did you wash?” she asked him, startled by the motherly tone of her own voice.

“Uh-huh. Pa made me.” Josh slipped into his accustomed chair, his face wet and shining. “Boy, am I hungry!”

“You just ate an hour ago.” Carrie ladled the thick stew onto the plates. The stringy-looking meat had a gamy aroma—venison, Anna surmised, not her favorite but far from the worst thing she’d eaten in her
day. Carrie had put too much thickening in the gravy, causing the meat, carrots and potatoes to cling together in a gluey brown mass, but no one was picky enough to complain.

After a moment of grace, everyone fell to eating. Sam Johnson and his son picked up their bowls and used hunks of bread to push the thick stew into their open mouths. Malachi’s children had obviously been taught better manners. They held their utensils properly, Carrie staring down at her food and taking birdlike nibbles, Josh eating too fast and jabbering between bites until a scowl from his father silenced him.

Malachi sat at the head of the table, eating slowly and saying little. Anna studied him furtively from her place at his right. He had washed his face at the pump and raked his damp hair back with his fingers. It lay against his leonine head, gleaming like wet bronze in the lamplight. A drop of water glistened like a tear on his sunburned cheek. It was not a real tear, of course. A man like Malachi would bury his tears so deeply that no one would ever see them.

But the tears would be there, Anna knew. Only now did it strike her what desperate hopes and dreams must have gone into his sending for a wife. She imagined the anticipation, the fears, the sleepless nights, the putting aside of precious funds to pay her expenses.

What a disappointment she must have been to him—a cheap little bundle of fluff with unskilled hands and dubious morals. What a fraud she was! And what a cruel thing she had done to this family!

Her gaze drifted downward to Malachi’s hands—hands so large and strong that the spoon he was holding
looked like a child’s toy. His big, square nails were scrubbed clean except for the one on his left thumb, which was crushed and blue from some small accident he had not mentioned. Anna imagined picking up that hand, brushing the callused knuckles along the curve of her cheek and skimming the poor, ravaged nail with her lips, as softly as the brush of a feather….

“So what do you think of the canyon, Missus Stone?” Sam Johnson had finished the last morsels of stew and bread. “More to the point, what do you think of Malachi here now that you’re wed?”

“The canyon is big,” Anna replied quietly, “and so is Mr. Stone.”

Sam stared at her, then chuckled. “I say, Malachi, you got yourself quite a prize there. And I’ll wager she’s as good lyin’ down as settin’ up!”

Silence fell over the table as Malachi glanced up from his meal. “That’s enough, Sam.” His voice had scarcely risen above a whisper, but its tone was as menacing as the snarl of a cougar. “When you’re gone from here you can say whatever you please, but under my roof, you’ll speak respectfully in front of my wife and children.”

Sam’s face paled for an instant. Then he grinned and licked a drop of gravy off his mustache. “Shucks, Malachi, I was only funnin’. Didn’t mean no harm by it.” His little pig eyes glittered as he turned toward Anna. “Right sorry, ma’am. No offense intended.”

“Apology accepted,” Anna murmured, hoping someone else would change the subject. The last thing she wanted was to call more attention to herself. Glancing around the table, she saw that Josh was taking
in every word of the strained conversation, his eyes bright with interest. Carrie was staring intently at the bottom of her bowl, looking as if she wanted to sink into the floor. As for Eddie—

Something dark and ugly turned in the pit of Anna’s stomach as she looked across the table. Eddie was leaning back in his chair, a slow grin playing around the corners of his mouth. Beneath half-lowered lids, his eyes were clearly fixed on Carrie’s budding young breasts.

Anna lay awake in the darkness listening to the night sounds that drifted through the quiet house. She had cleaned up the kitchen while Josh and Carrie labored over their books, then sent the children off to slumber. Not long after that, she had crawled into bed herself. She was exhausted, but now her churning mind would not release her body to sleep.

Restlessly she turned onto her back and lay staring at a patch of moonlight on the whitewashed wall. From somewhere outside, she could hear the snort of a mule and the sharp cry of some small animal that had fallen pray to claws or fangs in the darkness.