Leaving Independence (29 page)

Three miles out Abigail spotted a rider. Even if Rascal hadn’t been running at his side she would have known it was Hoke. Few men rode with such ease on a horse, and few men had a mount so beautiful as the stallion.

His face looked ominous as he approached. At first she thought he was going to ride right past her without speaking, but he stopped suddenly, wheeled around, and turned to trot beside her. Seeing him was a relief, but also troubling.

She loved him.

She allowed herself to think it at last: she loved Hoke Mathews. He might once have loved her, too, but love wasn’t presently reflected in his eyes.

Abigail had stopped wanting to find Robert weeks ago, in the moment she’d laid the blue crocheted bag into Hoke’s perfect, strong hand at the corral in Independence—before he’d ever held her dancing or kissed her behind the wagon. This was the man she wanted the freedom to love: This brooding man beside her. This man who would now never be hers.

Hoke wouldn’t want her if he knew how fickle she was. She had driven Robert away by not supporting him, and now, after coming all this way to patch things up, she’d given her heart to someone else.

Robert was alive. It didn’t feel real. She was outside her own body watching a scene play out, her heart turned as lifeless as a stone.

In moments Abigail would be her husband’s again, and Hoke would be left with nothing but the taste of hope gone sour. Hope deferred made a heart sick . . . he’d read that in Scripture. And while he’d felt abandonment and shame before, and experienced fear and all the ferociousness of nature, he’d never felt a knife cut as sharp as did the deferment of his hope for her.

When she had been shot he’d had something to do: check to see if the bullet was out, try to stop the bleeding, get her to the wagon and fetch the doc.

The memory of it washed over him and he longed to have her back at the Indian fight, trembling and needing him to calm her.

He wanted her to want him—
him!
Not that arrogant man he’d just met.
Damn Robert Baldwyn for being alive!

He kicked the stallion forward and blocked her path, unable for the first time to look her in the eye. “Don’t go.”

She didn’t answer. When he looked back up he saw her eyes were filled.

It ripped his heart out.

Could she really have once loved that man he’d just met? If so, then she wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be. Or had Hoke’s keen judgment become all twisted?

God amighty, he was miserable! He wished he’d never met this woman and never come on this train. Now what would he do? He couldn’t stay within a thousand miles of her if she was living with that man.

“I have to, Hoke.” He’d never heard her voice so strained.

He gritted his teeth. A group of riders appeared ahead—the 113th. Hoke had ridden hard; they had loped along. This was it, then . . . the last moment he’d ever have in private with her.

“Did you bring your gun?” he asked, thickly.

She looked surprised. “No. Why would I need it?”

Hoke unwound his pommel holster, dismounted, and reached for her saddle, fastening the holster to it. “Take this with you. It’s a little bigger than the one you’re used to, but you can handle it.” It was a .44 Army Colt. “Balls are loaded, caps are on. All six cylinders . . . ready to fire.”

Her brow was twisted. He wished to God she wouldn’t look at him that way!

“Hoke, I’m sure I don’t need it. I hate to take your—”

“Take it!” His voice was raw. “It’ll make me feel better.”

The soldiers drew up as he remounted the stallion.

“Mrs. Baldwyn?” said Sergeant Smith, who approached them with obvious trepidation. “The captain is waiting just ahead for you, ma’am. Not much more than a mile there by a creek. He was hoping he could see you alone before coming back to the rest of your family.”

Smith warily watched Hoke.

“Yes, of course,” said Abigail, also looking at Hoke, then back to the sergeant. “That’s best.”

Hoke sat still on his horse. It took every bit of effort he had not to move, not to kill every one of these men, take her in his arms, and ride off with her. That was what it felt like he should do. If he did that, he would be protecting her. But from what? Her own husband?

He willed himself not to move while Abigail urged the dun forward.

CHAPTER 27

Like a low-hanging storm cloud

The man stood by a stream in a small grove of aspens with his back to her, his boot propped on a fallen log. He heard her approach and dismount but didn’t turn around.

She’d come this far. Let her come a little farther.

Abigail noted how tall he looked. His shoulders had never been so wide. Robert had been a slender man—now he was robust. She tied her horse to a tree and walked toward him, her legs like jelly beneath her skirts.

“Is it really you, Robert? You seem taller. Stronger.” She was nearly to him.

He turned and took his hat off.

She stopped cold, her eyes frozen to his red beard and hair.

It wasn’t Robert.

“Hadley! What are
you
doing here? I was told Robert was waiting alone. Where is he?” She looked around but there was only one horse tied nearby.

Hadley laughed. “Abigail Walstone, I believe you’ve gotten prettier. How is that possible? What? No hug for good old Hadley Wiles?”

He opened his arms but she stayed rooted to the spot.

“I thought you’d be glad to see me again.” His eyes were icy. “To have a chance to make up for that last time when we parted on awkward terms.”

“Where’s Robert?” she whispered. It was as loud as she could make her voice work.

“Come on, Abigail. Aren’t you even going to hug me? Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me?”

The strange edge to his voice frightened her. She was trying not to panic, but . . . why was Hadley here? And where was Robert?

“You know, you’ve thrown me like a wild mustang coming out here. I mean . . . I got your letters, of course.” The turn of his mouth grew hard. “You haven’t given me a lot of choice here, Abigail. Things could have gone a little easier for you if you’d acted glad to see me this time.”

Hadley was poison. She had hoped to never see him again.

Abigail willed herself to move, to take a step back toward her horse. Her horse . . . there was a gun on the pommel! James had once told her Hoke had a sixth sense. She should have taken that to heart. She should have put Hoke’s gun in her pocket.

Hadley stepped left, putting himself between her and her horse. “Where you goin’ so fast? We got a lot to talk about.”

Abigail’s eyes shot to his chest. His shirt said
Baldwyn
on the pocket. His stripes were captain’s stripes.

Hadley cocked his head. “I realize it may take you a while to get used to the idea, but I . . . this wasn’t how I had planned to break the news to you.”

Abigail inched backward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hadley. I’m looking for Robert. What have you done with him?”

“I am Robert.” He stepped closer. “The new edition.
That
Robert died some time ago. Only weeks after he left Marston, best I can calculate.”

He took another step toward her. Then another.

Abigail shook her head. “Liar! He’s been sending me letters.”

Hadley threw his head back and laughed, stepping closer. “That wasn’t him, love. That was
me
. Haven’t you figured this out yet? I thought you were smarter than that.”

She looked at the name on his chest again. “You’re impersonating Robert?” She was going to be sick.

“Yes, love. It was me sending you those sweet letters. I’ve been Robert Baldwyn for a while now. Since just after the last time I saw you, matter of fact. Maybe now I’ll get that kiss . . . and more.”

He stepped closer.

Abigail swallowed to keep the bile down as the truth swept over her. She looked at Hadley’s right hand. Two fingers were missing.

He held out the hand and flicked his remaining fingers. “That part was true. Which is why I had to keep my gloves on last time I saw you.”

What a fool she’d been!

The content of the letters had reflected an altered Robert, but to think that Hadley had stepped into his shoes and clothing . . . who had ever heard of such a thing? She suddenly thought of the children: the children would be crushed.

She and Hadley had grown up together. He had asked her to marry him when they were young. Even then he’d sent chills down her spine. Then, not long after Robert had left, Hadley showed up on her doorstep.

Corrine had seen the whole thing, she’d discovered later—how Hadley had swaggered up the sidewalk to where Abigail was pruning her plants.

“Hadley! We heard you had been killed.”

“Army makes mistakes sometimes.” He grinned, then started to chuckle.

The hair at the base of her scalp had prickled then, like it prickled now. “What’s funny?” she had asked him.

“I was just thinking how I know something about your husband I bet you’d like to know.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you for a kiss.”

When Abigail told him to leave, he grabbed her wrist and said, “If you knew what it was, you’d do more than kiss me. You’d let me in your bed.”

She jerked her hand free and slapped him for such an insult, then ordered him off her property. He got halfway down the walk before he turned. “I’ll give you one more chance, Abigail Walstone.” His eyes were narrow, his tone menacing. “Would you marry me if you had it to do over? Me, instead of Robert Baldwyn?”

“Never.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “You sure about that? You sure you don’t want to give it a try?”

An equal anger flashed in her own. “Don’t come back here, Hadley.”

The memory of the encounter washed over Abigail as she took another step back.

“Why?” she asked.

She needed to get out of here. No one else was coming. But—hope rose in her chest—there was a gun on her pommel! Hoke’s words came back to her:
Balls are loaded, caps are on. All six cylinders . . . ready to fire.

“Robert Baldwyn had some things going for him,” Hadley was saying. “A title, the respect of men . . . you. But he had the misfortune of getting killed in a battle where the troops were widely scattered.”

“You fought for the Confederacy.” She searched her mind for the details. “In a regiment from Nashville. Same regiment as Robert’s cousin. We heard you’d been killed. Somewhere in Virginia.” Abigail took another step back.

“It didn’t take me long to see the writing on the wall,” he said, stepping closer. “The Union was better dressed, better fed, better supplied. And they had Henry rifles. There was no way we were going to win. I admire Robert Baldwyn for figuring that out so early. He was an intelligent man, Abigail. You did all right.”

Hadley’s nonchalance made her blood boil. “How did you get his jacket?”

Hadley took another step forward. “As fate would have it, I was coming through Virginia when I happened on a field of dead soldiers that hadn’t been ransacked yet. I was looking for better boots in my size when I turned over your dearly departed, shot in the—” He cocked his head. “Do you care to know where he was shot?”

Tears slid down her cheeks. What a monster. How could he be so cavalier?

“I’m sorry, love, but it was significant because he was shot in the head. That meant no holes in the uniform, which was important for me. And the luck of coming across someone I knew . . . that was gold, Abigail. I couldn’t have pulled it off without that. I didn’t know Robert so well as some, but I knew he only had one brother, who conveniently died himself before the war was over—thanks for letting me know about that. And I knew you, having grown up with you. I knew you
well
, having been in love with you once already.”

Hadley inched closer—too close.

When Abigail turned to run he caught her arm and yanked her off balance. Then he twisted her arm behind her back.

She cried out as pain shot up her shoulder. Another inch and the bone would snap.

“You can’t leave. It’s rude! I’m in the middle of a story here.”

His breath rolled into her nose. For all his spit and polish, it was foul . . . perhaps because it bubbled up from a foul, cold soul. The bullet holes in her side that hadn’t hurt in days began to throb and pulse again.

“I hatched a quick plan and swapped coats and boots.” Hadley pointed her toward his horse. She had no choice but to go where he guided her, but she dragged her feet as slowly as she dared.

“His jacket was a little snug but it had lieutenant’s stripes. That was sure better than what I had. I slipped on over to Ohio, putting enough distance between me and the next regiment to the south that nobody would know what Robert Baldwyn was supposed to look like. Luckily they reassigned me fast and didn’t send me back—but the men in his original unit had all been wiped out anyway.”

Hadley eased up on her arm a little. But when Abigail tried to straighten it out, he jerked it back up, sending a shooting pain through her elbow.

“I suddenly had power, Abigail. Men listened to me and respected what I had to say, all because of that jacket and those stripes.” He laughed, putting his mouth close to her ear. “And there was a letter from you in the pocket. Your picture, too. I’d show it to you, but I gave it to a man who was supposed to stop you. Let that be a lesson—if you want a job done right, you need to do it yourself.”

He continued to push her forward. They were close to his horse, now. “Every man I showed that picture to was pea-green jealous. Bonnie, too.

“I started writing you letters. And even better, you started writing
me
letters. You were finally talking sweet to me, Miss Stuck-Up Little Walstone.” He dug his elbow in her back.

Abigail cringed.

“I
had
you! You didn’t know it was me, but I had you, Abigail.”

The look on his face was like that of a happy spider, ready to wrap its prey.

Abigail fought to draw breath into her lungs. The pain in her arm and side was shooting and sharp but now overshadowed by the efforts of her chest to rise and fall.

What did it feel like to die?

Hoke thought she was with her husband. He wouldn’t interfere. He wouldn’t come for her. She’d made Charlie stay back at the wagon train to wait for her, too. Now she understood why the letters had never talked about the children.

Would Hadley kill her?

She would not die, so help her God! She would not leave her children as orphans. Hoke had been an orphan.

Hadley’s breath blew hot on her neck. “Do you have any idea how much I loved your letters? You have written me the sweetest things. That you loved me . . . that you missed me and wanted me to come home to you. Which I did once, but”—he clucked his tongue—“you didn’t know it.

“I offered to tell you, for a kiss. It’s going to take more than a kiss this time, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t easy dragging Abigail toward his horse.

“When it looked like the war was nearly over,” he grunted, kicking at the feet she’d planted on the ground, “I asked for the transfer out here. I was a better Union soldier once I switched sides and became Robert Baldwyn. I was promoted to captain—remember when I wrote you about that?”

He stopped to catch his breath and studied a spot at the top of her collarbone.

“I haven’t been celibate,” he admitted. “Bonnie’s the bastard child of a supplier I traded with, but I’m thinking we’ve made our last deal. She’s not too bright. I’ve never had bright. So this will be a nice change for me.”

Abigail tried to free her arm to slap him. “If you have defamed Robert’s name, so help me, I’ll kill you.”

He tightened his grip and jerked her next to his horse, where he had some rope in the saddlebags. Abigail groaned in pain, which he found thrilling.

Leaning close to her ear again he said, “I’d like to see you try, wife.”

“I am not your wife.” She pulled and jerked.

He held her tight. “That’s right. You turned me down. How old were we? Thirteen? But now, I’m Robert Baldwyn. And you said yes to Robert Baldwyn. It’s time I enjoyed my privileges. If the game’s about over, then by God I
will
enjoy my privileges.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes, you are. I got a nice little cabin. Bonnie’s not going to like it, but I can deal with her. I figure we got one good night before your new beau comes looking for you.”

“I don’t know what beau you’re referring to.”

“Yes, you do.” He had a hard time holding her, but managed to keep her arms pinned and get the rope he needed. “That dark-headed scout—he was sick to see me. Wanted to hit me so bad he couldn’t hardly sit on his fancy horse. I figure he’s got it bad for you, and look at you . . . who wouldn’t? Now be a good wife and remember you’re married to me. I’d hate to mess up your pretty face, but don’t think I won’t. Just ask Bonnie.”