Marrying Miss Marshal (20 page)

“I'm coming, too,” a second voice rang out, this one accompanied by hoofbeats. Chas turned in the seat of his saddle to see the livery stablehand, Will, gallop right up to the girl before reining his mount in. The girl didn't flinch away from him as she had from Creighton. “Katy and I both want to help the marshal.”

He knew Katy?

Winded, the boy must've run all the way across town to the livery, but he didn't complain, just swung the girl up in the saddle behind him.

Chas didn't particularly want the young man involved, but perhaps he could watch over the girl if they got into a troublesome situation.

Now
could they get going?

 

Danna's mind whirled as the three horses neared the crude campsite spilling out of the mouth of the yawning black hole that marked the cave. With her hands bound
in front of her, it had been all she could do to cling to the saddle horn and not topple as her horse followed O'Rourke's mount, traversing the difficult terrain in the foothills of the Laramie Mountains. Never mind reaching a weapon to help her escape or to overpower O'Rourke.

She looked over her shoulder again, seeing the kid who'd been shot wasn't doing well. His complexion about matched the color of the snow now swirling around them. If she could somehow get close to him, maybe she could get his weapon loose. And if his injury was getting worse, maybe she could convince O'Rourke to let her help him.

It was a risky plan, relying on an awful lot of maybes. But it was all she had.

O'Rourke reined in outside of the camp and dismounted. He hauled her off her horse, none too gently. Her ankle jarred when she landed on the ground, but he didn't give her time to even catch her breath before he shoved her in the direction of the cave. “O'Rourke—”

“No talking,” he ordered. “I've got a job for you. Now move it.”

She didn't argue. He unholstered his gun in an obvious silent threat. She ducked through the mouth of the cave, carefully stepping over a man laid out on the ground, snoring, and had to start breathing through her mouth at the overpowering stench of unwashed flesh.

O'Rourke kicked the sleeping man, who roused with a disoriented huff.

“You're supposed to be on watch, Wilson. If I catch you sleeping again, I'll put a bullet in you.”

The man didn't respond, but Danna read anger in the set of his mouth before he spit a stream of tobacco juice
against the cave wall. He stood up and moved outside the cave.

O'Rourke motioned her farther inside with his pistol. She walked around the small fire in the center of the cave, noting how little warmth it exuded, and moved toward a man with a distinctive handlebar mustache squatting next to a bundle of rags. Jed Hester.

“He any worse?” O'Rourke asked, and the man looked up, his face grave. “No change.”

That's when she realized the bundle of rags was a man. One who was seriously injured. Between the flickering firelight and shadows, his pant leg appeared nearly black with slick blood, coming from a wound in his upper thigh.

Well, that answered her question of why O'Rourke hadn't killed her outright.

The sheriff glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Fix him up. No funny business or yore dead.”

“I can't—I'm no doctor,” she stalled. The injured man already appeared close to death. He was so pale, she didn't know if there was anything she could do for him.

“I know you ain't a doctor, girl. But you saved yer Freddie-poo when he got shot up a coupla years ago, an I 'spect you to do the same for my boy here.”

She knelt next to the injured man, wobbling as her tied hands put her off balance. She pushed aside the ripped shirt used to bind the wound, and blood immediately poured from the leg. Hastily, she re-covered the wound as best she could.

“You're going to have to untie me. There's a few medical supplies in my saddlebag. And we'll need some clean cloths. How long has he been like this?”

“Stu! Get the woman's saddlebags.” O'Rourke nodded to the other outlaw. “Take off his gun belt. Then untie her.”

He didn't answer her question of how long the man had been injured, but she could guess. He must've been shot last night, during the melee in town. She didn't want to feel the guilt surging through her, so she focused on the best way to tend his wound.

Once her hands were freed she shook them, and pinpricks like needles of ice ushered the return of feeling to her fingers. Holding her emotions in check, she rummaged in the saddlebag that was thrust in her face. It was hard to think with the gun barrel mere feet away, focused directly on her. Was there anything in her bag she could use to affect an escape?

Even if there was, could she leave the man to die?

“Hurry up,” a voice from behind her warned. She wasn't sure who spoke, but she knew she was out of time. She would have to dig for the bullet and then stitch him up.

And then maybe she could figure out a way to get out of here.

“What's your name?” she asked softly, as she removed the blood-soaked cloth from the wound.

He didn't respond, instead focusing his pain-glazed eyes above her head.

“'Is name's Hank,” grunted the man who now squatted near the fire, gun in hand. Danna glanced around the small cavern, but O'Rourke was nowhere to be seen.

Every single one of Danna's muscles tensed as she returned her gaze to the man beneath her hands. So this was the man who'd killed Chas's sister-in-law, the woman he loved. The outlaw's breathing was irregular,
his face translucent. He was obviously in a lot of pain, and if Danna couldn't remove the bullet, there was a strong possibility he would bleed out.

It wouldn't take much to let nature take his course. To let him die.

Chas thought he deserved to die. She was inclined to agree.

But if she let him die, would God forgive her? Would Chas forgive her if she let him live?

And whether Hank ended up dead or alive, she knew O'Rourke would kill her once she was no use to him anymore.

B
itter wind cut through Chas's coat and all the layers he wore, but his soul felt frozen from more than the cold weather. If they didn't rescue Danna—if she died—he would be responsible. He'd hurt her by not standing up for her. Then he'd left. And she'd gone after Hank Lewis's gang alone.

He chafed at the delay, but the storm had worsened, and Creighton had insisted their party stop until the blizzard waned or morning light, whichever came first.

The torches they'd lit upon nightfall had been used to light a large campfire, and the horses staked in a tight group not far away. Creighton's men, along with the stablehand and the teen girl, had huddled under whatever blankets or bedrolls they could find, and dozed off.

But Chas couldn't sleep. He was too worried for Danna, sick with the desire to reverse time and change the events leading up to this moment. He had an awful feeling something was wrong, that Danna had been overtaken by Lewis or O'Rourke, or both. And he was stuck here, waiting for morning.

Sitting so near the fire reminded him of sharing another fire with Danna, and how she'd trusted him with her past, with feelings she hadn't even shared with her first husband. And he'd thrown that trust in her face when she needed him most.

He loved her. And he'd failed her.

“So you're married to my sister.”

The quiet statement shook Chas from his despondent musings. He hadn't realized the other man was still awake, but with a shift of his head, he saw Rob Creighton's eyes shining in the light from the campfire, though the man didn't look at him directly.

Chas didn't know what information the man was fishing for. So he went with a simple answer. “Yes. For a few days.”

“She's a special woman.”

No argument there. “She is.”

“And a lot to handle.”

Chas couldn't contain a rueful quirk of his lips. “I don't think there is any such thing as ‘handling' your sister. She makes her own way.”

“You're probably right.” Creighton shifted under his horse blanket. “Is that why she went off after this gang alone?”

Chas's shame made him unable to look at the other man. “I'm not good with women. I was heading to Cheyenne while she was going after Hank Lewis's men.”

“I ain't real good with them myself. She tell you I was the reason she left home?”

Chas nodded, but the words didn't make him feel any better.

“I didn't know what to do with a kid sister. It wasn't that I didn't want her around. She was a pretty good
kid. Hardheaded, but then so am I. I didn't know nothin' about raising a girl.”

Creighton's voice grew softer as he got nostalgic. “She scared the life out of me when she went off into the mountains by herself. I knew what could happen to a grown man alone, and she was just a girl. And then she
did
get hurt. It terrified me. But I never would have sent her away.”

Chas had guessed as much after reading Fred Carpenter's journal entries. Creighton went on talking.

“Fred loved her so much. Even then. I remember him telling me he wanted to marry her. I lost my temper and told him he could have her and good luck. She was a handful at sixteen. I couldn't imagine what she'd do at eighteen.

“Then, the next morning, she just marches out of her room—as much as she could with a broken leg—and announces she's ready to go marry Fred—right then.” He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I had a time convincing her to wait a couple of weeks while her leg healed. She was determined. Never did know what the rush was.”

“She overheard you and her first husband talking the night you rescued her. She took it to mean you didn't want her around anymore.”

“She tell you that?”

Chas nodded and the other man was silent for a long time. “Things weren't the same after she married Fred. Didn't see her much at all, and then they moved away. I stayed away because she didn't seem to want me around. It makes sense now, if she thought I wanted to get rid of her.

“Fred wrote once a month and kept me up-to-date
on how she was doing. But he never said she asked about me.”

It was obvious the man cared about Danna, even if he didn't know how to show it. Chas had a strong urge to give him some kind of comfort.

“One thing I know about your sister, is that she hides the most important things close to her heart. She misses you. I'm sure of it.”

Rob Creighton stared into the fire. “I hope you're right. I feel like I've lost too much time with her already.”

“Well, let's find her and you can tell her.”

Creighton grunted in response, but Chas was only half joking. The waiting was killing him. His feeling that Danna was in danger intensified by the minute. But the snow continued falling, and he knew he wouldn't convince the others to leave until it let up.

His inner turmoil was compounded by Creighton's presence. On one hand, he was grateful the man was here to help him find and rescue Danna. On the other, Rob's presence meant that Danna had someone to take her in once all this craziness was over. If the town wouldn't return her badge, it sure sounded like her brother wanted her to come back to the ranch with him.

Which would be great for her, once Chas got the annulment and they'd gone their separate ways.

So why did the thought leave him empty inside?

 

Danna shifted on the frozen ground, brought her knees up in front of her as she tried to conserve her body heat in any way possible. Her hands had been tied again, this time behind her back. Around a tree. Tightly.

She was going to freeze to death if she couldn't get loose.

Hank Lewis's wound had been deep, and with her every move being scrutinized by the outlaw O'Rourke had left behind, it had been nearly impossible to snitch anything that might help her escape.

But she'd done it. She had a small knife slipped up her sleeve, and O'Rourke hadn't found it when he'd brought her out here—well away from the cave—and tied her up, leaving her to freeze.

She was surprised he hadn't just shot her, now that his purpose for her had been fulfilled. But whatever had made him tie her up—she thought it was God's hand—was enough for now. She was alive and she'd get out of here.

She'd done her best to save Hank Lewis's life, but there was no guarantee that he'd live. Not in the crude surroundings—a cave filled with empty food tins and some trash. Even Doc, in his sterile environment, would be hard-pressed to save the man.

But she'd done her best.

And she'd spotted a flash of gold under some blankets piled on a crate in the rear of the cave. She'd bet anything it was the stolen money from the bank.

If she could get out of this pickle—alive—she had a chance of bringing back Castlerock's gold. Not that she expected it to get her her job back, but at least she'd have done her duty.

Only problem was, by her head count, there was another outlaw out there somewhere. After the robbery, there had been four sets of tracks, but one man—the kid—had been injured. So that was probably three men on horses and one horse with no rider. That accounted for Jed, Hank Lewis, Earl Wilson. O'Rourke had gone
back to the cave. But what about the fourth man who'd been involved in the bank robbery? Where was
he?

 

Hours later, Danna hadn't managed to free the knife from her shirtsleeve, no matter what she tried.

Settled in a small dip at the base of the tree, snow had been piling up against her left side, providing insulation against the colder night air, but it wasn't enough.

She was getting sleepy.

She knew better. How many times had Fred told her that, once a person dozed off, hypothermia would set in and then they were a goner? Probably dozens.

Even the panic building in her throat didn't seem so important anymore.

She was going to fail. She was going to die. She didn't want to, not with all the unfinished business between her and Chas, and not without bringing to justice the man or men who'd killed Fred. But it looked like her time was almost up.

It was a shame she'd rushed out of town alone. And been so careless that she'd allowed herself to get captured.

She hoped Chas remembered her with less pain than he remembered Julia. She didn't want him carrying around another load of guilt for something that wasn't his fault.

She wished she could see him one more time. If she saw him, she'd tell him she loved him. She'd never told Fred, and even though her first love felt more like a comfortable friendship, she regretted that Fred hadn't known before he died.

She also regretted that no one had ever told her the same. All these years, she'd thought she didn't need the
softer things in life, didn't need love. But she'd been wrong.

She wanted it.

And if by some miracle she got out of this mess, she was going to find it. Even if she had to make herself into the most ladylike woman in the West. Wear dresses. Learn to read.

She might not have all her toes by then, but she'd make do. Danna kicked both feet against the ground in turn to keep the blood flowing, keep them from going numb. It wasn't working.

She would try one more time. She bent her wrist to a nearly impossible angle, biting back on the cry of pain that wanted to slip past her lips. There! Somehow, she'd managed to wedge the knife into her palm. Now if she could just angle it this way…

The tip of the knife slipped off the frozen rope and she almost dropped it. Her numb fingers weren't working right. The ties were so tight that her circulation was nearly cut off—she couldn't operate the knife like she needed to.

She wouldn't give up!

Knowing this might be her last chance to do something, she began to sing. Loudly. All the hymns she could remember. The effort it took to sing sent blood pumping through her veins and made her feel more awake.

And she remembered the last time she'd been trapped on a mountain, this mountain. Back then, she'd believed the words to the hymns. Believed God was faithful, that He would take care of her. Maybe it had been naive. Had she been blind in her faith?

Was Chas right, thinking God didn't really care about individuals?

Just like she couldn't give up, she couldn't believe that, either.

Hadn't He kept her from freezing on this mountain once before? He'd brought Rob to her in time, and her leg had healed from the fracture. She hadn't suffered any lasting effects from her near-disaster getting tossed from her horse. And marrying Fred had been a blessing in her life, even if she hadn't seen it as such in the beginning. Fred had taught her about being a lawman, about being a wife, even though she hadn't been a conventional one.

But what about all of the bad things that had happened to her lately? Fred's death, getting fired from her job?

All of a sudden, a sharp whine broke through the silent blackness and shook her from her thoughts. Danna sang louder, determined not to get eaten by a wolf while she was out here, either.

The sound of a branch breaking nearby had her craning her neck to try and see where the intruder was coming from. A shape took form, a shadow darker than all the others. It grew bigger as it neared, and she prepared to kick out with her feet.

It came even nearer, and the whine turned into a yelping bark. One she recognized.

“Wrong Tree?” Her incredulous question must not have offended the dog, because it came nearer, right up next to Danna, and snuggled into her side, offering the warmth of another body, albeit a furry one.

“Good boy,” she cooed, and for the first time since Fred had brought the mutt home, she meant it. “You're so good! How did you find me? Did you bring someone with you?”

The dog whined again, a pitiful sound.

And the hope that had sprouted when she'd recognized the dog waned as precious minutes ticked by.

“Okay,” she said, when it was obvious no one else was coming to her rescue. “Well, I guess you're better than nothing.”

The dog barked, as if he agreed with her. He moved away, the loss of warmth instantaneous, then turned back a few feet away, as if beckoning her to follow.

“I can't, boy. I'm stuck here.” She pulled against her bonds, shaking her head that she'd fallen so far as to talk to Fred's dog.

Wrong Tree tipped his head, looking at her with a quizzical, lopsided doggy grin.

“Come on over here, boy,” she urged, shivering as another gust of wind sliced through her clothing and made her insides quake.

For once, the dog listened to her, scooting up real close to her midsection, all his weight leaned against her.

“What a good boy,” she cooed. “You'll keep me alive.”

Thank you, Father.

She now had a speck of hope she could survive the night.

She'd never been more thankful for the smell of damp dog, but he was
warm
. She nuzzled her face into the ruff of fur on his neck.
God, please don't let him leave again.

 

The warmth covering her from chin to thigh shifted, and cold blasted through the layers of Danna's clothing, jarring her into wakefulness.

The dog grunted and moved away, leaving only freezing air to take his place.

Had she fallen asleep? She'd been sawing against the frozen ropes binding her hands for what seemed like forever—hours, at least.

The first fingers of light showed slate-gray against the horizon. She'd survived the night. And it had stopped snowing.

She had to get away quickly. If O'Rourke returned and found her alive, he'd probably kill her.

She shifted the knife in her numb hands, trying for a better grip, straining to get even one coil of the rope to break.

A limb snapped behind her, cracking like a gunshot in the early morning stillness. Wrong Tree turned, hackles rising.

“Danna?”