Shotgun Bride (19 page)

Hank shifted in the chair. “Then she must have it here, somewhere.”

He snapped his fingers. “Her bag. I bet it’s there. I’m going to Dodge.”

Mike rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and poured a cup of coffee. The stench of charred damp wood filled the air. His house was gone, his cowpunchers beat up and Kathleen taken.

“What you have in mind, boss?”

“One of you go fetch her bag. It’s still out there in that box canyon. With the deed, maybe I’ll have a bargaining tool. If I can find Kathleen.”

“Want us to come with you?”

“No, I want you two to watch Sally.” Mike drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “She has Jimmy wrapped around her finger and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Jimmy?”

“Yes. Sally tried to place the blame for my hasty wedding on Jimmy. Said he forced her to do it.” Mike snorted. “I caught her sneaking out to pay him a private visit.” He shrugged. “However, Jimmy swore he hasn’t seen Kathleen. Said Hawkins didn’t have her anywhere on the ranch. Oh, and that he wouldn’t mind if Hawkins turned up dead.”

“Course he wouldn’t mind. With Hawkins dead and a ring on Sally’s finger, he gets the ranch.”

“Exactly. But he probably does know what goes on around the ranch. He’s never been a slacker.”

“You believe him?”

“She’s not at that old miner’s cabin, not at the line shack, I checked.”

“If whoever took her plans on going to New York, they’re already on the way. How you plan on finding Kathleen in that big city?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t sit here and wait. Tell me what those men looked like.”

After Hank described the men he went to wake Juan. Mike stared at the empty cup and frowned. Talking it out with Hank did make it sound like a wild goose chase. He slapped the table and forced his emotions aside. He needed to think clearly, not go off halfcocked and unhinged.
Damn it
. Kathleen needed him and he didn’t have a clue if a mad dash to Dodge was smart or stupid.

A kick on her leg woke Kathleen and one of the kidnappers loosened her bonds. A dry biscuit and a canteen dropped into her lap. She ate and drank without protest.

The stocky one handed her a hat. “Stuff your hair up under the hat.”

Kathleen complied. Maybe, if she didn’t give them trouble they’d leave her unbound, giving her at least a chance to escape. She held no illusions that this time, Mike wouldn’t be coming after her. She swallowed the knot of grief at the base of her throat. How could Mike be dead? But he was. Her kidnapper had seen to it that he’d burned, along with Hank and Juan.

The leader crouched in front of her. “You ride quiet, keep your eyes down, and mouth shut. I’ll kill anybody you talk to. Now mount up.”

Kathleen did as requested and the men surrounded her. All through the long hours of riding, she studiously avoided eye contact with the few travelers they passed. She knew her assailant wouldn’t hesitate to kill another innocent.

Once dusk fell, they swapped horses and pushed on through the night. Kathleen’s legs and backside ached. Twice a rough hand kept her from tumbling off the horse and shook her awake. She needed to find a means of escape, not nod off.

Buildings rose like sentinels in the night and the tinny sound of an out-of-tune piano rode the air. She remembered the unique stench of this town. They were back in Dodge. Kathleen contained her emerging hope for escape and sagged in the saddle. Let her captors believe she was too exhausted to try to run.

The men dismounted in front of the hotel were all the mayhem started and Kathleen toppled off the horse and collapsed to the ground. She was hauled up by firm hands on each arm and drug up the steps.

“Hold it right there.” A tone of authority accompanied the voice.

“No drunks in the hotel. He can sleep it off outside somewhere.”

Kathleen hung suspended by the arms and smiled. At least one thing was going wrong for these men. And they couldn’t reveal she was a woman. She almost spoke up but three to one weren’t good odds and she’d be in the middle of flying bullets.

Her boots filled with dirt and horse manure as the men stormed down the street pulling her along. She forced herself to remain limp. When the men stopped, Kathleen bit her lip to stifle the cry as they dropped her in the muck. Laughter, cursing, and the chink of glass against glass floated out the door of the building. Must be a saloon.

Kathleen risked a glance at her captors. They were in a heated debate. She rolled under the boardwalk and ignoring the spiders and other various bugs she crawled under the building, thankful for the booming business above that allowed more than a tent.

At a shout and rushing footsteps, Kathleen scooped up some dirt and lay flat in the indention. She held her breath when a flicker of light brushed the top of the mound. Undiscovered, Kathleen wiggled deeper and added to her makeshift dam. If they renewed the search in the morning, she wanted to be invisible.

Kathleen spent the day wedged in her dirt bed. One thing she learned from living in Apache country was patience. Not moving from her hiding spot increased her chances that those men had finished their search of the town and were now spread out along the trail home looking for her.

Her throat was parched and she needed water and food but she didn’t hurry. The boisterous crowd above indicated the night was in full swing. Still, she hesitated at the edge of her shelter and scanned the area.

She eased to her feet and, hugging the shadows, made a quiet way to the mercantile. There, she broke in, stuffed some bills beside the register, and helped herself to some supplies for the long trek West. At the corral behind the stables, she glanced around in the moonlit night. Horse thieves hung. She couldn’t afford to get caught ‘borrowing’ a horse. But staying here wasn’t an option.

Gate open, Kathleen snagged a horse and shooed the rest out. Maybe if all the animals were loose the owner wouldn’t assume the one she took had been stolen. Mounting, she took off at a brisk trot.

At a perceptible lightening of the sky, Kathleen stumbled upon a group of wagons loaded with goods waiting for morning to ford the river. Even though she could swim, Kathleen hesitated to cross. Slipping off the horse, she slapped its rump and sent it back toward Dodge. There were no trees to hide behind. She glanced longingly at the wagons but backed away and found a nearby clump of tall grass and stretched out to wait. She didn’t want to bring trouble to this group of people.

As the sky brightened, the low sound of oxen mixed with shouts. Kathleen parted the grass and watched as the wagon train fought through the mud and currents. Soon they disappeared over a small rise and Kathleen debated staying put or daring to venture across.

She had just started to rise when a lone rider galloped to the opposite edge and lunged into the river. Sunlight glistened in a shiny sheen on the black horse and Kathleen squinted.
Mike?
Was she hallucinating? Mike was dead. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared at the approaching man.

It
was
Mike. On Blackie. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks as she clambered to her feet and ran, waving her arms. Mike was alive! And he’s come for her!

In the oversized boots, she tumbled and slid in the mud. Mike bailed off Blackie, yanked her up, and hugged her to his chest. She wrapped herself around him and their lips met in a fierce kiss. He broke off and smiled.

“Now that we’re all muddy and smelly, how about we get off the trail.”

“I don’t know where those horrid men are. Did you see them?”

“No. But we’re too exposed here. You all right?”

“Now that you’re here with your guns.”

He dug his fingers through her tangled hair. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Kathleen melted into Mike, her husband. She had given this man, who’d always managed to rescue her, her trust, her body, and now her heart. She lifted her chin and planted a kiss on his lips. “You found me.”

“Let’s go.”

Mike tossed her onto the saddle and mounted behind her. On the west bank of the river he nudged Blackie into a trot. Kathleen reclined on Mike’s chest.
Home.
She loved the sound of that word. And no more loneliness. “Juan and Hank? The homestead?”

Her chest tightened when Mike shook his head. “Juan and Hank made it, but the homestead’s nothing but ashes.”

Relief loosened the knot, but her gut clenched at the grief in Mike’s eyes. His home, everything he’d worked so hard for gone.

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asked gruffly.

“Not as good as you, but yes.”

He handed her the rifle.

“Keep this handy. If we run into them out here on the plains, there won’t be time to do more than start shooting.”

“I don’t want to ever see them again.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to.”

By mid-afternoon of the next day, Kathleen hated horses. The insides of her thighs felt raw and blistered, there was no feeling left in her backside, and she smelled absolutely awful. Mike hadn’t allowed any time to dally, and muck and manure still coated her clothes and hair. A bath was top priority on her list. Food could wait.

“I see trees. Can we rest for a while?”

Mike swiveled and scanned their back trail. “I guess. But Trinidad isn’t far. We can be there by dusk.”

“I won’t go into town looking and smelling like an unwashed bum. The forest can provide ample hiding spots. I want water and off Blackie.”

Mike chuckled. “Coming right up.”

He veered off the trail and shortly a ribbon of silver glistened in the sun dappled forest floor.

“This’ll do?”

“Oh, my. Yes.”

Kathleen kicked off the loose boots before Mike had stopped up. She started to jump off, just as a flash of blue rounded a nearby tree.

“Duck.” Kathleen shoved Mike off Blackie then plunged to the ground. She rolled to her elbows, aimed at the cold, gray-eyed monster that had tried to choke her, the one who’d ordered Mike’s house burned with them inside, and fired. He jerked behind a tree.

“We have to move.” Mike grabbed her by the hand and together they made a desperate dash toward the trees. Bullets kicked up dirt at their feet and Mike stumbled.

“Keep going.”

Footsteps pounded closer and a hand grazed her arm. Jerking away, Kathleen tripped when a body slammed into her legs. She rolled up and snatched the outlaw’s gun. Time slowed as she watched Mike fumble for his gun with a bloody hand. The leader, with a crimson stain spreading on his shirt, aimed at Mike’s head. Kathleen clutched the pistol with both hands, held her breath and fired.

Mike dove for his gun, twisted around, and dropped the remaining outlaw. He clambered to his feet and limped to her side.

The heavy gun in her hand still smoked. An eerie silence descended as the rancid smell of gunpowder drifted upwards. The roar of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. She kept her gaze off the dead man sprawled at her feet.

A bitter coldness closed around her heart. She had just killed a man. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Yes, it was kill or be killed, and these men had already proven their willingness to murder. She had wished them dead as the flames on Mike’s house filled the night sky. But, stark reality wasn’t the same as vicious thoughts.

Mike pried the gun from her clenched fist. He murmured something but the words didn’t register. Trembles started in her fingers and soon encompassed her body. Mike’s arms wrapped around her and she dropped her head onto his chest. “Will I ever be safe?”

She edged back and stared through the blur of tears into Mike’s eyes. “I can’t take this anymore. Can’t you make it stop?”

Kathleen heard the wail in her voice. She slapped a hand over her mouth, lunged to her feet, and ran behind a tree. She lost her lunch and sagged to her knees. Gasping for air through a throat that burned and lungs that suddenly felt too small, Kathleen fought to control her runaway emotions. A small part of her brain said to calm down, but the churning in her stomach and the awful coldness seeping into her bones won the feeble battle against commonsense.

Mike hobbled to Kathleen. The sick bleakness in her eyes tortured him. He knew what it felt like to kill, but he had learned how to detach himself during the war. It was kill or be killed. And Kathleen just killed to save not only herself, but him also.

For the first time in his life, he was learning to hate. Sure, the cattle rustlers had kept him up at night on more than one occasion and he’s been forced to fight the enemy during the war, but this was different. This was personal, and he hated Hawkins and his minions for what they’d put Kathleen through. Hated them enough to kill for no other reason but the anguish and trauma Kathleen suffered and continued to suffer as she fell to pieces.

“I-I want to go home.”

He didn’t have the heart to remind her there was no home to go to. “I’ll get you there, honey. Try not to think about this.” He wiped the tears from her grimy cheeks and brushed the tangles from her eyes. She was filthy, stinky, and tired, but in his eyes she was the most beautiful in the world.

“Let’s get you down to the river.” Mike ignored the burn in his thigh and tugged Kathleen to her feet. At the waters edge, he stripped her clothes off, took her arm, then led her into the cool current.

“Come on, honey, sit down, and I’ll wash your hair.”

“I can do it.”

He released his hold, allowing her to pull away when he tied his bandana around his bleeding leg. Kathleen’s movements were sluggish and she drifted further from him. Mike glanced at her, then at the three dead men who had attempted to murder them. He bent and splashed water on Kathleen’s face as her ragged breaths scraped his insides. He couldn’t seem to keep Kathleen out of danger and he didn’t like it one damn bit.

He sloshed out of the river and dunked Kathleen’s soiled clothes and got most of the grit and grime out of them. At least he’d thought to bring her bag. She had dry, clean garments to put on. He trudged to Blackie and fetched her bag. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

Mike sighed. He wanted to take her into his arms and make passionate love to her, but her chilly withdrawal stopped him. He raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe this was better. He spun away and gave Kathleen some privacy.

A wet hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry I went a little hysterical on you.”

Mike kissed her knuckles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Be so casual about killing?”

“I’m not. But during the war, I learned how to cope.”

She slid both arms around his neck. “They were after the deed to my land.”

“Hank told me. Why’d you tell them it was in New York?”

“To stop them from killing you. When the fire started, I thought you were dead.”

“Where is the deed?”

“I hid it in the chicken coop.”

Mike swallowed. He had all the information he needed to put a gut-wrenching plan into action. She wanted him to stop this and he could. The cost was almost too high to pay, but Kathleen’s life was more precious to him than his own happiness. Or hers. She’d get over him.

The horror reflected in her eyes ripped his soul and shattered any illusions of what could have been. Hawkins had money. A reputation as a solid, respectable citizen and a bought-and-paid-for sheriff. To stop him, he was going to have to kill him. Which meant one of two outcomes. He’d hang for murder or get killed. Either way, that left Kathleen in a delicate position. The wife of a murderer wouldn’t have an easy time of it, nor would the wife of a man six feet under who had taken Hawkins with him.