The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) (5 page)

Willow
shivered despite the added protection of Boden’s slicker.  Water had found ways beneath the oilcloth coat and the more she shifted to avert the leaking, the wetter she became.  And she was cold.  Her fingers were stiff from gripping the cold, wet reins.

“How you holdin’ up?” Butcher Boden asked as he rode his horse close to hers.

“A bit cold.”

Would he take her honest answer as complaining?  It hadn’t mattered how she had answered Roberts; he had always taken her answers the wrong way.  He’d shout his displeasure with her or hit her depending on whether or not he’d liked her response.  If she’d been completely silent, she’d definitely incurred his wrath.  She hoped now it was safest to answer honestly.

“I’d say you’re more than a bit cold,” Boden said.  “Your lips are practically blue.”

He said everything in a conversational manner.  There was nothing accusing in his tone.  She relaxed.  “I suppose you’re right. I am more than a little cold.”

“It won’t be much longer now.  We’ll be in front of a warm fire before you know it.”

Was he trying to reassure her?  As much as she hated to admit it, he comforted her with his small talk.

“Are we near your home?” she asked, anxious curiosity propelling her to do so.

“We have a creek to cross, and then we’ll be at the ranch,” he responded.

He looked quietly proud as he mentioned his ranch.  Perhaps he would like it if she asked him something more about it.

“Ranch?”  Well, that was all she could come up with.  She wasn’t used to conversing with men in a friendly manner and feeling half frozen wasn’t helping.

“The Box B,” came his brief answer.

Willow
couldn’t think of anything else to say.

It didn’t matter though, because the creek he’d mentioned appeared within view.  The creek wasn’t a creek anymore.  It had graduated to a small river.  A rushing current of water flowed over the banks, and the water churned a muddy brown.

“It’s not so little, is it?” Boden asked, studying the situation.

She shook her head.

“We have to cross it to get home.”  His face showed his concern as he searched for a way across.  “We can wait it out if you’d like.”

“Can we make it?” she asked, drawing her horse closer to his.

“Yes,” he answered.  “You should be fine on Beast.  He’s a strong animal.  And you ride well.”

The compliment warmed
Willow.  It slipped past her defenses, and she re-enforced them quickly.  Compliments had been used to get her off guard too many times before.

“All right, then,” she replied and began to move Beast closer to the water.  Roberts had always put her life on the line before his.  She expected this man would want her to go first and test the water’s power.

“Whoa, there.” He rode alongside her and pulled on her horse’s reins, bringing the animal to a stop.  “If we’re going to cross, I’ll go first.”

Willow
caught Boden’s eye from beneath the hat she wore, his hat.  Rain had long since plastered his hair to his head, his clothes to his skin, and all because he’d given her his slicker and hat.  What made this man so different from Roberts, from the rest?  How had he earned his ruthless reputation?

“Wait till I get across, then come after,” he directed, letting go of her animal before propelling his forward.

The mare stopped before the swelled creek, side-passing in protest.  He worked patiently with the animal, steering and prodding until the mare complied and stepped into the water.

He stopped in the water and turned back to look her way.  “You will follow, won’t you?”

She weighed the options and striking out on her own wasn’t looking so appealing anymore.  “I’ll follow.”

The answer she gave assured him, and she wondered why she wasn’t going to run again.  Was it because she was cold and hungry?  Or was it that she was coming to trust him a little bit?

He was her last chance, and she knew it. That was the ugly truth.  The reality of the untamed West.  Even on her own, she doubted she would last long.

She watched as he made his way across.  A few times Kitty had to swim, but otherwise horse and rider made it across uneventfully.  They did end up on the banks a bit downstream, however.

He motioned her across.

Willow
expected Beast to bulk at the swift water, but unlike the mare, he charged right into it.  Everything was going smoothly until she heard Boden call out to her.

“Mrs. Roberts!”

She really had to speak to him about calling her that.  For one, she’d never been Mrs. Roberts, and for another, she hated that name.

“Mrs. Roberts!” He called again.

The urgency in his voice propelled Willow's head up. He gestured upstream.  She looked in that direction and saw a large log hurtling toward her and Beast.

She urged the animal to go faster.  It did, but it wasn’t fast enough.  She dove off the right of Beast just as the log rammed into the stallion’s left side.
Willow sank beneath the cold water, her nose burning as she accidentally inhaled water.  She kicked her legs out and swam as fast as she could away from the struggling horse.

Despite her efforts, she caught a hoof in the chest, the air in her lungs exhaling in one big woof.  Then all was dark for the second time in as many days.

THE WOMAN HAD THE
worst luck.

The infamous Butcher Boden waited with bated breath for Mrs. Roberts to escape the churning, brown water of Two Creeks.  As his usually steady nerves strangely weakened, he anticipated her surfacing a bit downstream, but she didn’t. When Beast struggled ashore, there was still no sign of Mrs. Roberts. His heart beat faster in his chest.

Then he saw it, the edge of a crimson skirt floating on the water.  Without thought, he galloped Kitty down the bank, dismounting before the mare slowed.  He dived into the water, boots and all, and swam in his bride’s direction.

Below the water’s surface, he kicked hard against the current, his hands stretched out before him.  Boden was nearly out of breath when he finally felt her.  Grabbing tightly what he could, he pulled her near him.  He propped her head above water and swam toward shore.

He pulled them onto the bank.

“Willow,” he called, shaking her slightly, formality forgotten in his worry.

No response.

He lifted her up into a sitting position.  Her dark head drooped over his arm while he patted her back.

“Come on,” he commanded her.  “Breathe.”

He pounded her back harder in his desperation.

She coughed at last, and much to his relief, water poured from her nose and mouth.

“How do you feel?” he questioned as her eyes fluttered open.

She shook her head as she coughed up more water.

He rubbed her back then in an attempt to comfort her. When the fits of coughing ceased, he asked, “Can you stand?”

He stood and offered his hand.  In answer, she gripped his offered hand with her icy one.  He hauled her to her feet.  She swayed slightly once she stood, and he put a steadying hand about her waist.  She gasped for air, and he wondered what he should do.

His gaze swept over her.  She looked utterly small and vulnerable.  Water dripped from her lashes, and her formerly red dress had turned burgundy from being wet.  She would have been defenseless against men like Roberts and French.  Suddenly, he was sure Roberts had deserved what he’d gotten.

A surge of protectiveness swept through him.  He reached out a hand and swept damp tendrils of hair behind her ear. His voice sounded tight as he asked, “What happened?”

“Beast’s hoof caught me in the chest,” she managed between gasps for air.  She placed her hand over her left breast, indicating the injury’s location.

He picked her up then and carried her along the river’s edge back toward the horses.

Since she did nothing to protest his carrying her, Boden reckoned she must really be in pain.  He looked down into her pale face.  Her eyes were closed.

She was either out cold or…

He maneuvered a hand to her pulse…

He waited a heart-stopping second…

She was out cold, but very much alive.

BEAST PICKED HIS WAY
through the mud and Kitty followed behind of her own accord.  The animal knew where to find shelter and food.  Ezra held tightly to the woman resting across his lap.  He studied her.  Her face was amazingly soft, but the bruises and rope-burns on her neck looked painful.  Her face was also dangerously white.  With a glad heart, he saw the ranch appearing ahead.

“We’re nearly there,” he spoke to her unconscious form.

“That you?” Marshall called once the Box B came into view.

“Yeah,” Boden called back.

“Who’s that you got with you?” another voice, Benjamin’s, chimed in.

“My wife.”

“You ain’t got a wife,” Marshall said with a little laugh.

“I do now,” Boden returned.

“Well, I’ll be,” Marshall exclaimed like a man twice his age.  “Pa never thought you’d get married.”

“That’s right,” Benjamin interjected.  “Because of what your father did to your mo–”

Marshall silenced his brother with a kick to the shin.

“What’d you do that for?”

“We weren’t supposed to hear that particular conversation, remember?” Marshall reminded his little brother.

Boden supposed he’d talk to Nathan about making sure the boys were really in bed when they were talking in the future.  Nathan and his boys occupied a home close to his own on the Box B, a home Boden had helped Nathan build when he’d decided to become his foreman.  The kitchen table was pretty close to the boys’ room and with no mother to guide the mischievous pair, they tended to eavesdrop on the men’s conversations.

Right now he had bigger problems than snoopy boys.  Willow felt feverish and the continuing rain wasn’t helping her condition any.

“Boys,” Boden said as he dismounted and took Mrs. Roberts in his arms, “did the chores get done tonight?”

“Yes, but…” the pair began simultaneously, casting a glance to the unconscious form he held.

“I’ll explain later,” Boden said, stopping their curious inquiries.  “Right now, she needs my attention.”

“Okay,” the boys complied and hurried off to take care of the horses.

With that, Ezra strode into the house and into his bedroom.  He laid his wife gently on the bed and quickly undressed her.  What he saw stopped him cold. The freshest bruise was of a horse’s hoof in the middle of her chest. But the other bruises and scars were unmistakably the work of a human hand. His empty stomach tightened.  Who could have done this to her?  He knew who one was, the deceased Roberts, but a sneaking suspicion had him guessing Sheriff French, among others, had added to the artwork.

He heard footsteps clomping down the hallway and hastily covered her with a blanket.

“Yes, boys?” he asked the two small figures standing in his doorway.

“She gonna be all right?” Benjamin asked as he stepped closer to the bed.

“I hope so,” Boden answered.  “You boys better get on home now.  Your pa won’t want you sleeping late in the morning.”

“Pa stopped by earlier today to check on us.  Said we was to stay up and wait for you,” Marshall explained.

“Well, you can head home now.”  Boden supposed he should feel insulted that Nathan had ordered a couple of younguns to keep an eye out for him, but he wasn’t.  The man was good at making his boys feel important, and it gave them a confidence Boden hadn’t possessed as a boy.

The pair looked at each other, then back at him.

Benjamin spoke, “Good night, then.”

“Yeah, good night,” Marshall added.

They left him alone with the bruised and broken Willow Roberts.

THE CAMPFIRE FLICKERED AND
cast shadows in the night.  Two people sat by a dying fire, both nearly as hot as the flames before them.

“You were supposed to make sure she hanged!” one shouted at the other.

Sheriff French cleared his throat before attempting to speak, but the words still came out a little high.  Damned if this man didn’t make him nervous.  He hated being unable to see the man who shouted at him.  The man stood just beyond the circle of light cast by the fire’s glow and was known to French only as the Boss.

“I didn’t see any point in her hangin’,” the sheriff dared from his seated position at the fire.

“You’re not on my payroll to think!”  The man called the Boss had had enough.  “Maybe you’re hoping she’ll end up warming your bed again.”

“Maybe I am, but that’s not why she didn’t hang,” French shouted, standing to his feet.  “You said to give her what she deserved.  I did that.  She’ll have a life of misery with a man like Butcher Boden.”

The Boss’s hand sliced angrily through the darkness.  French nearly expected a bullet to follow the gesture and put an end to his comfortable life.  Well, maybe it wasn’t too comfortable right now.  But he had plans, if he could stay alive long enough.