One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (12 page)

“Hogwash.”

“It's the right thing to do,” Emily insisted.

“Does Travis know about this?”

She shook her head. “I'll tell him later, when he's in a better mood. Besides, if I tell him now, he might not take me to Golden Crest, and I really owe it to Mr. O'Toole to explain my reasons for changing my mind.”

John came into the kitchen with her satchels in his arms. “I'll just give these to Travis,” he remarked as he hurried out the back door.

Emily spotted Travis leading the horses out of the barn. She stood up and turned to Millie.

“Thank you for worrying about me.”

“That's what friends do for one another, don't they?”

Emily became teary-eyed. “Yes,” she agreed.

“Will you stop by on your way back?”

“I'll try,” she promised.

Millie patted her on her shoulder. “You've got a good heart, girl. Don't let anyone tell you different.”

Emily felt as if she were leaving her best friend. She hurried out the door before she started crying, stopped long enough to thank John, and then ran to Travis.

The couple stood side by side as they watched Emily and Travis leave.

*  *  *

They'd been riding for almost an hour before Emily broke the silence to ask Travis a question. “How long will it take to get to Golden Crest?”

“A while,” he answered. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes,” she began. She was going to tell him that the sooner they got to their destination, the sooner they could leave, but Travis's blasphemy distracted her.

“Hell.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hell,” he muttered once again.

His mood obviously hadn't improved. She waited several minutes before speaking to him again. “I'd like to ask a favor of you.”

“No.”

She ignored his reply. “When we get to Golden Crest, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't contradict me. No matter what I say to Mr. O'Toole, please go along with it. All right?”

“You're going to pull your helpless act again, aren't you? If he isn't a complete idiot, and I have my doubts about that, he'll see right through your little charade.”

She let out a loud sigh in frustration. “Will you try to get along? And don't you dare call me crazy again,” she added when he turned in his saddle to give her a hard, you're-out-of-your-mind look.

“If the petticoat fits, Emily . . .”

“Oh, and please don't call me Emily in front of him.”

“The petticoat fits all right.”

She refused to argue. She thought about telling him what her plan was, then decided that because he was in such a horrible mood, he would just have to wait to find out. Besides, in his present frame of mind, she was pretty certain that if she admitted she was going to tell Mr. O'Toole the wedding was off, Travis would turn the horses around and head back to Pritchard. He wouldn't understand how important it was for her to explain in person instead of sending a note. She could never be so cruel to anyone. She knew firsthand how it felt.

Emily spent the rest of the journey worrying. She hoped Mr. O'Toole didn't have a temper, for the thought of having an out-and-out confrontation with him made her stomach ache, and by the time they started the climb up the last hill to the crest, she was so nervous, her hands were visibly shaking.

When they rounded the curve, Travis saw the shotgun trained on the two of them through the branches in the trees.

She saw the dilapidated shack leaning precariously to one side in the center of the dirt yard at the very top of the crest and frowned in reaction. Where was Mr. O'Toole's grand house? He had told her in his letters that his home was nestled in the clouds at the very tip, and since she and Travis couldn't possibly climb any higher without falling off the mountain, she could only come to one conclusion. Travis had obviously taken a wrong turn and Mr. O'Toole's fine house was on the other side of the crest.

“Emily, move closer to my right side. Do it now.”

The tone of his whisper didn't suggest she dally. She nudged her horse forward into the narrow opening between the rock ledge and Travis, but she didn't really become alarmed until she glanced over and saw his dark expression.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered back.

“Maybe.”

He was staring intently at a clump of trees to the west. Something fascinated him, all right. Emily leaned forward in her saddle, peeked around him, and gave the area a thorough once-over. She still couldn't see anything amiss and decided then that he was just being overly cautious.

She turned back to the shack just as the front door opened with a loud groan and a ridiculously attired man came hurrying outside. Her eyes widened, for, honest to Pete, she'd never seen anyone like him. He was tall, skinny, and so filthy he could have blended into the dirt if he hadn't been wearing a ludicrous formal black top hat and red satin suspenders over a stained undershirt and brown pants.

She watched him adjust the straps as he moved toward her. “Good Lord,” she whispered.

Travis waited until the man had reached the center of the yard before ordering him to stop. “Tell your friend to drop his shotgun or I'll shoot him.”

The stranger didn't like being told what to do. He squinted his eyes into slits and stared at Travis a long minute before he gave in.

“Git on out of them trees, Roscoe,” he shouted before turning his attention to Emily.

“Are you the Finnegan woman?” he demanded.

Travis didn't give her time to answer. “Who are you?”

His gaze darted back and forth between the two of them. Emily thought he was trying to decide if he should lie or tell the truth. The disgusting man reminded her of a rodent, and every time he glanced her way, she could feel her stomach tighten.

“O'Toole. Clifford O'Toole. Is she our bride?”

Emily let out a gasp. Dear God, the rodent and Clifford O'Toole were one and the same.

“No, I'm not your bride,” she blurted out.

“Our
bride?” Travis asked at the very same time.

“We're sharing her,” Clifford explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “Like brothers do,” he added with a shrug, and Emily could have sworn she saw a bug fly out from under his hat.

“How many brothers?” Travis asked in the same mild tone of voice that Clifford had used.

“Just Roscoe and me,” he answered before his gaze settled on Emily once again. “You're her, ain't you?”

She frantically shook her head. “No,” she insisted.

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, she realized. His hand moved toward the gun tucked in his waistband. Clifford gave Travis a quick glance, then suddenly changed his mind. His hand dropped back to his side.

“Then who are you?”

She straightened her shoulders, gave him a scathing look, and said, “I'm Mrs. Travis Clayborne.”

If Travis was surprised by her lie, he didn't show it. His attention remained on the brother, Roscoe, who was now running toward Clifford.

Emily was too shaken to look at him. The meaning behind Clifford's explanation had finally sunk in. The two brothers intended to share the same woman, and, dear God, just thinking about it made her want to throw up. She continued to stare at the loathsome rodent in front of her, and, oh, how she wanted to lash out at him for lying to her in his letters.

She shook her head. No, he couldn't have written them, she realized. The letters were written by a refined gentleman, and it was apparent that there wasn't a refined bone in Clifford's body. He couldn't have written poetry either, of course, and she sincerely doubted he could even read or write his own name.

What in God's name had she gotten them into?

She made the mistake of looking at Roscoe then. He resembled his brother and was certainly just as filthy. His hair wasn't covered with a formal top hat though He had a red silk scarf wrapped around it like a turban, and from the way he was grinning up at her, she thought he believed he was quite fashionable.

Emily wanted to leave with all possible haste. She found Roscoe vile and disgusting, but Clifford was worse. He frightened her. There was a mean look in his eyes that made her skin crawl.

Travis also wanted to leave, but at the moment he had his hands full. He knew there had to be at least one more man stalking them, and he was trying to find him and keep his attention on Clifford and Roscoe at the same time.

“If you ain't ours, what are you doing here?” Clifford asked.

“We took a wrong turn,” she lied. “Travis, we should leave now.”

“Don't go rushing off nowhere,” Clifford insisted.

“If she ain't our woman, then where is she?” Roscoe asked his brother.

“You seen a woman going by the name of Finnegan?” Clifford asked her.

She was going to tell them no, then changed her mind. If they thought their bride was on her way to them, they might be more willing to let her and Travis leave in peace.

From the looks on the brothers' faces, she knew it was a remote possibility, but it was all she had and she latched onto it with a vengeance.

“As a matter of fact, my husband and I did meet a lady named Finnega. Now, what did she tell me to call her? Barbara? No, that wasn't it. Emily,” she added with a nod.

“Is she perty?” Roscoe asked.

“Oh, yes, she's very pretty.”

“Where'd you meet up with her?” Clifford asked.

“We were just leaving the Perkinses' home when she arrived. Her escort will probably bring her to you tomorrow.”

“Just one man riding shotgun with her?” Clifford wanted to know.

Emily nodded. “Yes. I recall his name too. Daniel Ryan. Perhaps you've heard of him.”

The brothers shook their heads. “We don't recollect him,” Roscoe told her. “Why'd you suppose we would?”

“Because he has quite a reputation,” Emily said. She was grimacing inside over the tremor in her voice and prayed they couldn't hear it. If they knew how afraid she was, they might jump to the conclusion that she was lying, and then her game would be over.

“He's a United States marshal.”

Clifford scowled. Roscoe spit on the ground. “A lawman coming up here?” Roscoe muttered to his brother. “I don't like the sound of that.”

“I don't like it neither,” Clifford said.

Travis wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. His gaze continued to scan the trees, looking for the enemy.

“Maybe we can get us two brides,” Roscoe whispered loud enough for both Emily and Travis to hear.

Clifford nodded, and it was apparent from the way he was staring at Travis that he'd already made up his mind.

Travis saw the silver gleam coming from the tree to the east just as Clifford let out a shout.

“Shoot him down, Giddy.”

Travis's gun was out of his holster and firing before Clifford had finished bellowing the obscene order. A scream came from the trees, a branch snapped, and everyone but Travis turned to watch the brothers' cohort crash to the ground.

Clifford and Roscoe were smart enough not to go for their weapons. Roscoe dropped the shotgun and put his hands in the air, but Clifford stubbornly kept his hands down at his sides. They were balled into fists.

“He killed Giddy,” Roscoe muttered.

“There weren't no call for that,” Clifford said.

The two brothers shared a nod and then began to slowly edge apart.

They stopped when Travis cocked his gun.

“Take the lead down the hill,” Travis told Emily.

He didn't have to repeat himself. She was so terrified now she almost dropped the reins when she forced her mount to back up and turn around.

Travis hadn't spared her a single glance from the moment he'd spotted the bastard hiding in the trees with his shotgun. He ignored her now while he continued to search for more brothers lurking about, waiting for an opportunity to ambush him, but, damn, he couldn't find them, and time was running out.

He made Roscoe and Clifford remove their guns and toss them in the water trough and then made them do the same thing with their boots. Once they were finished, he ordered them to lie on their stomachs with their hands up over their heads.

He still didn't take his gaze off them, trusting his horse to find his way down the path while he turned in his saddle so he could keep his gun trained on them.

He didn't turn around until the brothers were out of sight, and when he did, he goaded his stallion into a full gallop. He reached Emily's side, slapped her mount on his hindquarters, and sent him flying into a gallop too.

He deliberately stayed behind her so that he could protect her back, and for that reason, he was an easy target. The shot still caught him by surprise. The bullet went into his back, and damn, but it burned. He could feel himself slipping to the side, and with his last ounce of strength, he threw himself forward. He grabbed hold of his horse's mane with his left hand and tried to turn so he could fire his gun with his other hand.

He was too weak to lift his weapon. Emily was stopping now to help him. He tried to tell her to keep going, but all he could get out was one harsh word.

“No.”

And then she was by his side and taking his gun away from him. He tried to focus on her, but the blackness before his eyes was making it impossible. He knew it would only be a matter of seconds before he passed out, and he desperately wanted to get her to safety first.

“Get out of here,” he whispered.

“Hold on,” Emily cried out.

She reached over, took the reins away from him, and forced his stallion to veer with hers toward the cluster of trees near the base of the first incline. Shots echoed around them as they entered the protection of the pines. The horses made another sharp turn before coming to an abrupt stop at the edge of a bluff.

Travis tried to sit up, but realized his mistake when he felt himself falling. He heard Emily scream his name a scant second before the darkness claimed him.