The Lawman (The Willow Creek Series #1) (12 page)

Suddenly drained of energy, she steered the horse toward the trees, aching to her soul as he slowly made his way there. Once inside the shelter of darkness, Abigail climbed down—falling to her knees as they gave out. She wasn’t used to riding all day, at all really, and sitting straddling the beast from sun up to sun down had taken more out of her than she’d wished.

It took long minutes before she could gain her feet and once she did, she hobbled the horse and found a nearby tree to sit under. It was cooler under the trees but she didn’t dare light a fire. She didn’t know how far the blaze would be seen in the dark and letting someone know she was there had stupid written all over it. She knew Indians roamed this part of the country and the thought of Fletcher finding her didn’t scare her as much as the thought of Indians reaching her first did.

The days stress washed over her then, those tears she’d been ignoring falling over her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. Scrubbing angrily at her face, she thought of Fletcher, letting her anger at him, and having to leave Morgan and her new home, replace the anguish she felt. This was all Fletcher’s fault. His lying, stealing and cheating. And involving her in a crime she had innocently helped pull off. He’d promised to take care of her and all he’d managed to do was turn her into someone she didn’t like very much. She’d find a way to rid him from her life once and for all if it was the last thing she did. If she had to, she’d resolve the problem the same way he intended to solve the problem of her. She’d kill him.

* * * *

Morgan was heading toward the livery stable when a light in the jail caught his attention. He cursed, rolled his eyes heavenward and cursed again.

He shouldered his saddlebag and walked to the building, pushing the door open angrily. Joseph Brighton was leaning over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. When he looked up and saw Morgan, he smiled and dropped the pen.

“Marshal, I was just leaving you a note. Percy said you were leaving and I thought maybe I had already missed you.”

“You just about did.” Morgan repositioned the saddlebag and nodded toward the desk, and the note. “What’s the problem, Joseph? I’m in a hurry.”

Joseph cleared his throat and nodded once. “Right. Well, there was a man who’s been in the hotel for several days now and he left a little while ago without paying his bill. I want him arrested.”

Morgan lifted an eyebrow. “Right now?”

If possible in the low light, Morgan saw the man blush. “Well, as soon as possible.”

Figures. Nothing ever happened in this town until he had something to do. “Write down a description of the man and anything peculiar about him and I’ll set out to find him as soon as I get back.”

“You’re leaving without even going to look for him?” Joseph wasn’t the sort of man who ever lost control. In all the years Morgan had known him, he was immaculately dressed, his mustache curled on the ends and never drooped and his voice never lost the refined lilt Joseph was so fond of. The way he said, “You’re leaving,” had made him sound quite feminine. The words lifted at the end and squeaked just a bit. “I can’t afford not to, Joseph. I’ll be back as soon as I can. That’s the best I can do for you. I promise you, I’ll find him as soon as I get back.” Joseph looked offended his problem was being left unattended. Morgan didn’t give a damn if the man demanded the town council fire him and run him out of town naked, barefoot and pulling his house by a rope behind him. Nothing was going to keep him from going after Abigail, especially not Joseph. He didn’t care how influential he, and his money, was to the town.

He turned and walked back out on the sidewalk, ignoring Joseph as he followed him out.

“Are you leaving town? I only ask because Caleb over at the stables said the man rented a horse and left on the main road. If you’re going that way, there’s no way you can miss him. He’s a big brute of a fellow, nicely dressed with a southern accent.”

“Noted. I’ll keep my eye out for him.” Morgan kept walking, Joseph dogging his step every inch of the way. His chatter was a dull buzzing in his ear and he barely heard most of it. When he said the name Abby, Morgan stopped. “What was that?”

Joseph inhaled, clearly out of breath from trying to keep up. “I said, he was asking about a woman named Abby Sanders. I told him there wasn’t anyone in town by that name.”

“He say anything else?”

“Nothing much. Just asking about the town. How long most of us had been here and if anyone was new to town.” Joseph smiled and straightened his spine as if proud. “I told him of your Abigail and how she was new to the area. He asked where to find her and I told him she was married to you. He acted a bit peculiar after that.”

Abby Sanders. Morgan didn’t have to be told that was Abigail because a gut feeling told him it was. He’d suspected she’d been hiding something from the beginning and this was it. She wasn’t who she said she was and now, some man had come looking for her. Why? Who was he to her?

He left Joseph standing, ignoring his demands to be heard and thanked Percy when he came out of the stable with his horse. He settled his saddlebag, told Percy to watch the jail for him, and rode out of Willow Creek as fast as he dared in the dark.

He rode for an hour before stopping. He jumped from his horse, letting the animal rest as he searched the ground for tracks. Spotting several sets, he looked out across the prairie. It was too dark to keep track of which way she’d gone and which tracks were actually hers. He’d have to take it slow ‘til morning or he’d lose the trail and have to double back.

Cursing the clouds, the absent sun and himself for not following through on his hunch about Abigail in the first place, he gathered the horses’ reins, remounted, and started off across the prairie.

* * * *

It was mid day when Morgan saw him. His silhouette was a dark splotch on the horizon and his pulse jumped as he spurred the horse into a gallop. The man was riding alone which meant he hadn’t found Abigail yet, assuming he was after her at all.

As he neared him, the man turned to look over his shoulder. Morgan expected him to race away but to his astonishment he slowed, turning the horse back toward him. As Morgan approached, slowing his own horse, he could see Joseph was right about the man’s size. He was a big fellow. Tall and wide across the shoulders. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit and had a refined air about him. Morgan disliked him in an instant.

When he stopped a few paces away, the man smiled and lifted his bowler hat in greeting. “Mornin’ Marshal. Goin’ to be a lovely day, I think.”

His accent was thick and his voice deep. Morgan wondered how the man knew he was a town marshal. His coat covered his badge. The man was still smiling but something in his eyes let Morgan know he was anything but happy about seeing him. Laying the reins loose in his hand, Morgan nodded to him. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t waste time out here in the west do ya?” He laughed and fidgeted on his seat. “Fletcher Montgomery, at your service.”

His mocking tone set Morgan’s teeth on edge. “I’ve heard tale you left the hotel back in Willow Creek without paying your bill.”

The man lifted one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “I was in a bit of a hurry, you see. I’ll make it right before too much time has passed.”

Morgan stared at him, trying to figure out the best way to go about all this. His first instinct was to just shoot the man and be done with it but the small niggling doubt that he may be wrong about him wouldn’t let him. What if this man really wasn’t looking for Abigail? He’d have shot a man for no more than skipping out on a hotel bill. It wouldn’t look good if he were that impulsive.

The sun was high in the sky and its light was casting a halo around the man. Morgan knew time was wasting. Abigail would take advantage of the light if she was smart and he knew she was. Hiding a secret this long proved it. Inhaling deeply, Morgan nudged the horse, edging it closer to where the man sat waiting.

Fletcher nodded his head toward him and said, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your name, Sir.”

Morgan wanted to refuse to answer but didn’t. “Morgan Avery, Marshal of Willow Creek.” He also cut to the chase and asked the man bluntly about his intentions for his wife. “What business do you have with Abigail?”

Fletcher looked surprised, his brow lifting. “She’s going by Abigail now, is she?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Gone all proper and picked up a ladies name. Something she’s never been and never will be.” He repositioned his hat again and glanced toward the guns at Morgan’s hip. “She’s not worth the trouble, Marshal. I found her in a back alley up near New York when she was too young to look after herself. I tried to make something of her but once a gutter rat, always a gutter rat. She’s not much use for anything other than to look pretty and suck a man’s cock.” He grinned. “I suppose you’ve already found that out, haven’t you?”

Morgan’s dislike for the man multiplied after hearing him speak of Abigail in such a way. She wasn’t perfect, no one was, but she deserved respect all the same. To hear this man talk, she wasn’t good for anything other than being some mans whore. Was that all she had been to this man? If he could talk of her the way he was, he assumed she meant nothing to him. Shooting him would satisfy his need to defend her honor. Reaching toward his side, he laid his hand on the butt of his gun. His fingers twitched to pull it from his holster but he knew he had no right. Not really. He couldn’t shoot a man for no other reason than he’d offended him. But he could lock his sorry hide up. He’d skipped out on his hotel bill. That was reason enough. He tightened his hand around the hilt of his gun. “You’re under arrest, Mr. Montgomery.”

Fletcher threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing across the prairie. “She must have been especially good in your bed, Marshal, for you to arrest me. Tell me… does she still do that thing with her tongue…”

Morgan pulled the gun, raised it and leveled the barrel with the man’s head. “Shut your mouth and get off the horse. Slowly.”

The mirth on the man’s face vanished then. He stiffened, his lips compressed into a thin white line. He stared at the gun before rolling his eyes up to look at Morgan’s face. “You’re making a dangerous mistake, friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Morgan said. “Now get off the horse or I’ll shoot you off of it.”

Fletcher did nothing for long minutes, then shrugged his shoulder, smiled and proceeded to climb down. Morgan did the same, keeping his eye on the man. Before his feet hit the ground, Morgan realized his mistake. He should have waited. Waited until the man was on both feet before moving. Fletcher pulled a gun from his back, aimed and pulled the trigger before Morgan could move. The impact flung him backwards to land at his horses’ feet. Pain shot through his chest, his vision blurred, and the man’s laughter was a dull ringing in his ears. Blinking into the sun, a shadow fell across his face. It was Fletcher, smiling as he loomed over him.

“I’ll be sure to let Abby know how offended you were with my thinking her a whore. She never liked the title much regardless of all the baubles I bought her. She’ll never be good for anything but a whore, Marshal, and when I find her, she’ll be a dead whore. Want me to bring her back to you? You can both rot in the same grave.”

The pain in Morgan’s shoulder was nothing compared to what it was after Fletcher kicked him, his ribs cracking from the impact. He gasped for air as he was kicked in the side of the head, his vision blurring until he saw nothing but fading shapes. Fletcher’s voice, him telling Morgan to, “have a nice death,” was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

* * * *

A noise startled her and Abigail grabbed for the rifle by her feet. She blinked, the sun blinding her, and tried to see what it was she’d heard. She saw nothing but the horse.

She’d been jumpy all morning. Waking to find a dense fog rolling over the valley had left her feeling more alone than she’d liked. Add in the uncomfortable realization that Fletcher could be anywhere by now, even out there in that fog, watching her, and she’d worked herself into a nervous mass of emotions.

Lying the gun back down, she scrubbed at her face. She’d slept sitting up, leaned back against a tree, and had woken to find her bottom wet. The dew had soaked through the denim of her trousers. The wind had been cool that morning and caused shivers to race laps up and down her spine. Luckily the sun had crested the mountain and warmed her, and her wet denim, in record time. Stopping for a break mid-day had been the last thing on her mind but her back hurt and her queasy stomach demanded she do it but she dare not dawdle. The longer she sat there, the more likely of Fletcher finding her. Gaining her feet, she leaned back against the tree, her stomach giving that queasy sway she was getting used to feeling every morning. She’d yet to eat. Looking at the bag hanging from the saddle’s pommel, she debated on it now but just the thought made her sick. This baby would give her a fit for the next seven months. She just knew it.

Thinking of the baby made her think of Morgan. She wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time what he would do when he found her gone. Would he hate her for not telling him what she feared the most, especially after he’d asked so many times? Would he miss her like she already missed him? Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, her loss more profound in the stillness around her. As much as she wanted to deny it to save herself the pain, she knew she loved Morgan. Surly old goat that he was at times, she loved him all the same. He made her feel cherished, something she’d never felt before. Being someone’s mistress, a kept woman, wasn’t the same as being taken care of because a man loved you.

Despair washed over her all of a sudden and she knew she should have told him about the baby and how much she adored him, and thanked him for rescuing her when she had nowhere else to go. And she should have told him about Fletcher. Morgan would have protected her. He would have done so for no other reason than she needed him.