Outlaw's Bride (20 page)

The board held and Clint sighed. He glanced up to see Andy drawn out of the hole and he closed his eyes, breathing a silent thank-you.

“You okay down there, Beaudry?” Herman hollered.

“Just waitin' for that rope,” Clint replied with a smile.

“Heads up. It's on its way.”

A moment later, Clint felt the slight sting of the rope as it struck his back. He turned to find it and the wood cracked menacingly. He froze, then the wood snapped with a sound like a rifle shot.

Clint twisted to grab the line, but his knuckles only grazed it as he floundered for a foothold that wasn't there. Pain arrowed through his side.

He plunged down the remainder of the shaft, his shoulders scraping the walls. He struck the water feet first, and the cold water stole the breath from his lungs. Then he was completely submerged, surrounded by blackness. Panic gripped him, but he forced himself to remain calm. Finally, he stopped sinking and the natural lift of the water pushed him upward. A few moments later, his head broke the surface and he gulped in air.

Fortunately, his father had taught him how to swim when he was a boy. He treaded water, keeping himself afloat even as his limbs began to complain about the frigid temperature. A few minutes earlier Clint had been sweating. Now his teeth chattered and his skin began to tingle.

“Clint! What happened?” Mattie shouted down, her worry obvious though her voice was faint.

“The board broke,” he yelled. “The water's freezing.”

“Can you make it up on your own?”

That was a damned good question. He shivered. His fingers and toes would be numb before long. “I'll make it,” he shouted, then muttered to himself, “Yeah, sure you will, Beaudry.”

He searched for the rope and spotted it above his head. Lifting a hand, he attempted to grab it. He was a few inches shy. Muttering an oath, he kicked at the water, propelling himself upward, and snatched at the line, but missed again.

“What're ya doin' down there, Beaudry? Takin' a nap?” Herman hollered.

Clint bit back a caustic reply. He needed to hold on to his strength if he was going to make it out of here.

He glared at the rope, wishing like hell he could add another few feet to its length by merely staring at it. Taking a deep breath, he impelled himself upward again and this time the fingers of one hand curled around the end of the line.

Carefully, afraid he was going to lose his tenuous grasp, Clint slowly drew himself higher. He managed to grip the rope with his other hand. With more confidence, he began to climb the rope, one hand over the other.

His damp palms abruptly slipped, and he dropped nearly two feet before catching himself once more. His heart thundered in his chest and sweat returned to his brow, even as he shivered uncontrollably.

“Clint! Are you all right?” Mattie's words echoed and reechoed down the narrow passage.

He panted, trying to regain his breath to answer her panicked question. “I'm … all r-right.”

“We'll try to pull you up,” she hollered.

“No. Stay back from the hole,” Clint called back. “I can do it.”

Herman's voice drifted down and Clint could make out only one or two words. It sounded like he was trying to reassure Mattie.

With his back braced against the wall and his feet wedged against the opposite side, Clint prepared himself for the long climb. He closed his eyes, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing.

The bullet's exit wound throbbed and burned. He'd be lucky if he could get out of bed tomorrow, much less mount a horse and ride for hours.

Provided he made it out of here at all.

“Maybe today, Em,” he whispered. It had been a few days since he'd spoken those familiar words, and a realization struck him like a thunderbolt: He
didn't
want to die anymore. For the first time since Emily's death, he had more to live for than to die for.

“
Not
today,” he said firmly. Flinching, he gripped the rope tighter and painstakingly climbed up the shaft. He worked hand over hand, shifting his feet against the wall with every advance. His muscles shuddered and sweat drenched his clothing, mixing with the dirt to cover him with mud. At one point, he paused to swipe the grime from his stinging eyes and nearly lost his hold.

He continued on as exertion began to take its toll. Although there were only about twenty feet left to scale, Clint had little confidence he'd make it. He went a few more feet, then using some of his meager strength, he lifted his head to gaze up at the well's opening. A silhouette moved across the dimness and Clint recognized Mattie.

She wasn't supposed to be so close to the hole. The edge could easily crumble beneath her, plunging her downward.

“Get back,” he called hoarsely.

She didn't move. “Come on, Clint, just a little farther.”

Her encouraging voice brushed across him like a physical caress, and he resumed climbing. She sounded like she actually cared about him. Could she?

After a few more feet, his movements grew clumsier and he slowed until he was only moving inch by inch. Nearly there….

“Dammit, Beaudry, I didn't save you just to have you die. Get up here!”

She could make a drill sergeant sound like a sissy.

He gathered what little strength remained and hoisted himself upward. The fingers of one hand curled over the outer edge, while he clung to the rope with the other.

He'd made it!

Then the ground crumbled beneath his fingertips.

M
attie grabbed for his hand as the dirt began to disappear beneath it. She managed to clasp his wrist, but his weight nearly took her over the edge. She cried out at the sudden jerk on her shoulder, but if she let go he would plunge to his death.

Her breath rasped in her throat and her fingers grew slippery around his wrist. Herman dropped down beside her and wrapped his bony fingers around Clint's hand.

“Pull,” Mattie said through thinned lips.

“Don't drop him,” Andy said frantically from behind them, far enough back that if the ground gave way, he'd remain safe.

As Mattie and Herman hauled Clint upward, she could feel him using the rope to take some of the strain off them.

Clint's head cleared the hole, his face and hair dark with reddish mud—Mattie hoped it was merely mud. Then his upper body and legs followed, and he finally dropped onto his belly between Mattie and Herman.

Panting, they all lay there.

Mattie's heart pumped like a steam engine as she rested her trembling hand on Clint's back. His warmth seeped through his wet, filthy shirt and reassured her that he had survived. He had risked his own life to save her son. If he hadn't been there, Andy would have died. Mattie knew it with a certainty that sent chills skating down her spine and into her soul.

Andy crawled up to kneel beside Clint and laid a small, dirty hand on the man's shoulder. “Are you okay, Mr. Beaudry?”

The fear in his voice gave Mattie the strength to sit up and examine Clint. “Are you hurt?”

He moaned and tried to roll over. Mattie slid her arm beneath him and helped him sit up. His green eyes appeared bright against the grime streaking his face, and his anxious gaze flitted from Mattie to Andy. His expression eased into relief, though he continued to breathe heavily. “No. Just need to … catch my … breath.”

What would they have done if he hadn't come into their lives? She would have lost her son, and her heart would have been ripped out. She owed Clint more than she could ever hope to repay in a lifetime.

Mattie's throat constricted. “Thank you, Clint,” she said huskily.

“I'm … s-sorry, Ma.” Andy's lower lip trembled. “I d-didn't mean to get so close.”

Tears blurred her vision and she leaned over to gather Andy in her arms. “I'm just glad you're all right.” She gazed at Clint over Andy's shoulder and stretched out her hand to him. He took it tentatively, as if he weren't quite certain what to do with it. Mattie squeezed his hand.

“Thanks to Mr. Beaudry you'll be fine, Andy,” she said with a husky voice.

Her son drew away from her and turned to Clint. “Thank you, Mr. Beaudry.” Then he wrapped his arms around Clint's neck.

Hesitantly, Clint hugged him, then tightened his embrace and closed his eyes. “You're welcome.”

Mattie heard a catch in Clint's voice and realized just how much he had come to care for her son. Who would have thought that the dangerous gunman who'd come to her door nearly a month ago would become such an important part of their lives?

She glanced past Clint to Herman, who sat quietly, his face pale and his shoulders moving in irregular gasps. Concern shot through her and she hurried over to him. “Are you all right?”

He raised his head slowly and pain filled his rheumy eyes. “Don't know. My left arm hurts some.”

Mattie gingerly lifted his arm, examining it for injuries. “I don't see anything. Maybe you strained a muscle while we were pulling Clint up.”

Herman grunted. “S'pose I ain't as young as I used to be.”

“None of us are,” Clint said with a smile, his straight white teeth a startling contrast to the mud on his face. “Can you make it back to the house?”

“I ain't
that
old,” Herman said irritably.

Mattie saw how his hands trembled and his skin remained pale and clammy. “I'm going to have Kevin check on both you and Andy.” She turned to Clint. “And you, too.”

“I'm fine,” Clint said with a dismissive wave. “Let's get back.”

With all of them injured and weak, Mattie didn't know who to help first. Clint stubbornly climbed to his feet, then lent a hand to Andy, so Mattie helped Herman.

Andy tried to take a step and grimaced, favoring his right foot. “Ow!”

“Maybe you should wait here until I can bring the wagon back for you,” Mattie said.

“I'll carry him,” Clint volunteered.

“You're hurt.”

“I'm fine.”

Though Mattie knew by the white creases around his mouth that he was lying, she bit her tongue. Clint had more stubbornness and compassion than she had ever seen in one man.

He leaned over to retrieve his hat and gunbelt, then handed Andy the holster and gun. “You have to hold this while I carry you. I don't want to get it wet.”

She took a step forward.

Herman tugged on her arm. “Hush, Mattie.” He paused for a breath. “The man … jist saved … your boy's life.” His voice ended in a scratchy whisper.

Mattie clamped her lips together. Herman was right.

She glanced up to see Clint watching her, and she gave him a slight nod. The lines in his brow eased and he picked up Andy, holding the boy in his strong arms, while Andy kept hold of the gunbelt.

Tears pricked her eyes. She'd always been so certain she could take care of Andy herself. Yet she hadn't been able to save him from a simple accident. It had been Clint who had risked his life to go down into the well to rescue her son, and who now cradled Andy against his chest as if he were a small child instead of a ten-year-old boy.

Just as a father would do.

And a father was the one thing she hadn't been able to give her son.

Swallowing her despair, she wrapped an arm around Herman's waist, and with a shuffling gait, they followed Clint and Andy.

“You could do worse,” Herman murmured.

Startled, Mattie shot him a glance. “What're you talking about?”

“Beaudry. He's a good … m-man. Lot better … than that f-feller you … married,” Herman said in between panting breaths.

Mattie recognized the truth in his words, but Clint wouldn't settle down until he had killed the man who murdered his wife.

Or died trying.

She stumbled slightly. She'd almost lost both Andy and Clint today.

A man who lives by the gun usually dies by it.