The Lawman (The Willow Creek Series #1) (13 page)

She realized then that she still needed him. Her heart ached with it until tears burnt her eyes. She should have never left. Morgan would have taken care of everything if she’d just let him. He would forever rid her of the one thing that had plagued her life for months. Fletcher and the murder charge she assumed was hanging over her head.

Hearing the horse snuffle as he rooted his nose in the grass, a voice in her head whispered for her to go back to Willow Creek. To find Morgan and tell him everything. If Fletcher were still in town, he’d find him and everything would be all right. She knew it was true. Even though he’d never said the words, she knew Morgan loved her. He showed her every night in their bed. He wouldn’t turn his back on her when she needed him the most.

Hope soaring in her chest, she walked to the horse and untied him. It took three tries to climb into the saddle. Her legs felt too weak to hold her this morning. Finally finding the seat, she grabbed the reins and started for the road. She needed to find her husband. He was the only person who could truly help her now.

* * * *

She rode for hours, her back groaning with every step the horse made. She’d managed to get a few bites of bread down, and keep it down, but she felt uneasy. As if someone were watching her. She glanced toward the trees lining the road. Nothing moved in the shadowed recess. The wind had calmed and the air was stagnant with smells of the forest. Wet grass and rotten tree limbs. She ignored the uneasy feeling and nudged the horse into a trot, her aching back be damned.

Half a mile up the road the sound of gunfire startled the horse. He reared, tossing her off his back. The impact with the ground rattled her teeth and caused her stomach to cramp painfully. She gasped through the pain and briefly wondered what damage the fall had done to the baby. If she lost it now, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

Turning her head as a shadow moved in the trees, her worst fear was realized when Fletcher stepped out of the shadows. The pistol in his hand was still smoking and the look on his face was one of triumph. Her hope in finding Morgan was dashed in an instant. She should never have turned back.

“You never were very good at riding, my dear. Your grip was always too loose.” He walked toward her, his steps slow and measured. When he stopped by her feet, his gaze ran over her from head to toe. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter Eleven

Fletcher shook his head and snorted a laugh. “Look at you, Abby. You look like a beggar. Where is that fine dress I bought for you?”

She wanted to refuse to answer but knew him too well. A well-placed kick would cause the pain she felt to increase. “Sold it,” she said, looking at his feet. “I needed the money.”

“And all the jewelry?”

“I sold what I had on but I didn’t take the rest of it. I left it in the vault.”

“Then who took it?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t look as if he believed her. “I swear it, Fletcher. I didn’t take it.” She didn’t know who took the jewelry but she had her suspicions. She wasn’t about to voice them though. If someone was able to get one over on Fletcher, then good for him. Someone needed to. She sat up, wincing as pain traveled up her back.

He squatted to be eye level with her. “Do you realize how much trouble you’ve caused me, Abby? Why I’ve damn near spent every dime we stole from Crandall.”

At the mention of the name, Abigail tensed. Jacob Crandall was the richest man in all of Atlanta. Well, he was until Fletcher had gotten through with him. With her help, they’d swindled every dime out of the man they could. Then Fletcher had shot him, the man’s blood splattering her face when he did. She’d stood staring at that lifeless body for unknown amounts of time as Fletcher cleaned out what remained of the man’s safe. Staring down at that lifeless face, she knew Fletcher had set her up. The dinners he insisted she go on with the man had all been a ruse. The people who knew Jacob Crandall also knew he was planning on asking her to marry him. And they all knew she was the last person he’d been with when they found his body. Fletcher had set her up in more than one way. He’d turned her into the whore he claimed she was for his own gain and pinned a murder she didn’t commit on her.

He was still talking, the dull cadence of his voice a buzzing echo in her head. She lifted her eyes and looked at his face. He was grinning at her. “What do you want?”

The smile vanished and he lifted one eyebrow. “Why, I want you, darlin’. Same thing I’ve always wanted.” Fletcher reached out, fingering a curl next to her face. “I’ve missed you.”

Her stomach revolted at his words and touch. She leaned back so he couldn’t reach her. “You don’t want me,” she said. “You never did. You just needed someone to cheat all those men you’re always finding.”

He looked offended and lifted a hand to lie over his heart. “That’s not true, Abby. I’ve always wanted you. As a matter of fact, despite all the trouble you’ve caused me, I still do.”

“What is it this time, Fletcher? Or better yet, who is it?”

The look on his face told her she’d guess right. He shifted before meeting her eyes. “I met a man in Missoula who has more money than he’ll ever need. You, my sweet Abby, will help me divest him of it. It’s the least you can do for all the trouble you’ve caused me.”

“Then what?”

He smiled but it looked more feral than anything. A flashing of his teeth and a deadly glint in his eyes. “Then, I’ll rid myself of you forever.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet. Abigail gasped, the cramps in her stomach increasing.

Dragging her with him toward the trees, she saw his horse. She recognized it. It was the spotted mare from the livery stable in town. “How long were you in Willow Creek?”

He glanced down at her before shoving her toward a nearby tree. “Long enough to know you’d taken up with the town Marshal.” He laughed, the sound abrupt and without mirth. “I have to admit, Abby, that was the smartest thing I’ve ever known you to do. Why, I’d applaud you for it if it hadn’t caused me so much trouble.”

Something in his eyes caused a hint of fear to run up her spine. She’d seen that look before. It had been on his face the night he’d shot Jacob Crandall. “Don’t hurt him, Fletcher. He has nothing to do with this.”

That feral smile returned. “Don’t you go worrying that pretty little head of yours now, darlin’. The marshal is the least of my worries.”

You should be worried
. Abigail didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Fletcher laughed.

“And why’s that?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, instead chose to look toward the mountains and pretend he wasn’t even there.

“You think the good marshal is going to come riding to your rescue?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate to answer. She knew Morgan would come after her, if for no other reason than to berate her for leaving in the first place.

“I wouldn’t waste your time thinking so.”

Something in his voice caused Abigail to turn her head and look at him. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes were. The glee she saw there caused her heart to skip a beat. She could see the nervous energy bouncing through him as he stood by his horse. He knew something she didn’t and he was bursting to tell her. Why he hadn’t yet, she didn’t know.

When he turned to look at her, that gleam in his eyes brightened. “You didn’t honestly think I’d let him come after us, now did you?” He turned his body, angled it toward her and squared his shoulder. “You’re mine, Abby, and you always will be. I own you.”

“He’ll come for me.” Her voice trembled. Even to her own ears they sounded a bit desperate.

Fletcher shook his head, the smile she knew was hiding there now surfacing. “I’m afraid not, darlin’. I don’t think he’ll recover from our encounter. As a matter of fact, I’m sure he was quite dead when I left him.”

* * * *

Dead.
The word beat against the inside of her head like a drum. Abigail hadn’t been able to hold the sickness at bay then. She’d turned and emptied what little was in her stomach while Fletcher stood by the horse and laughed. Tears followed, burning her eyes as her throat grew tight and she thought she’d choke on the pain as she sucked in gasps of air.

Sitting by the tree, its solid weight the only thing holding her upright, Abigail saw Morgan in her minds eye. Saw him the day she married him, standing before the preacher and promising to love, honor and cherish her until the day he died. He’d never said as much to her but he’d kept that promise. She’d felt all those things from him and now Fletcher had taken it all away.

She hated Fletcher more then and as images of Morgan played in her mind’s eye, the need to rid herself of Fletcher grew to staggering proportions. If Morgan weren’t in Willow Creek, there wasn’t a reason for her to be either. Her stomach still cramped and the baby they’d made probably wouldn’t survive that fall from the horse. Her hatred for Fletcher burned in her stomach more fiercely, ached in her head, and she was trembling with it by the time she wiped her mouth and stood.

Turning toward him, Abigail watched him walk the short distance to her horse before leading it back over to where she stood. She could see the butt of the rifle jutting up over the saddle from where she’d tied it. She’d never taken a life, but today the thought caused something inside of her to jump with nervous energy. Could she really point a gun at someone and pull the trigger? You damn right she could.

Sucking in a breath, she straightened. Fletcher gave her a look then held the reins out to her. “Get on,” he said. “And if you try to ride away without me, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

She wasn’t about to ride away. Not yet at least. Walking to the horse, and taking the reins from him, Abigail lifted her foot and placed it in the stirrup. Her hand was on the rifle, the string holding it to the pommel of the horse an inch from her finger. She’d rather not be on the horse while firing that gun but she’d take her chances. She knew she’d never get it untied and lifted before he saw her.

Climbing into the saddle, she shifted, trying to get comfortable. When he climbed onto his own horse, she reached down, grabbed the string holding the gun, and gave it a jerk. The bow she’d tied knotted, cinching tight. A hushed cursed hissed past her lips and she turned her gaze toward Fletcher. She’d never be able to pick the knot out without him seeing.

“Stay close or I swear you’ll regret the day you clapped eyes on me.”

I already do.
Abigail gave him a single nod and nudged the horse. When Fletcher turned toward the road, headed toward the mountain pass, and Missoula, her grip tightened on the rifle. It swung freely by the horses’ side and she was able to push on the butt and raise the barrel into the air. Maybe she didn’t need to untie it to shoot the bastard. Pulling back the hammer, she lifted it as far as she could, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

As before, her horse shied, reared up on its hind legs and let out a terrified squeal. She grabbed the reins, holding on this time, fear stealing her breath before the horses’ front feet hit the ground again. When the horse began to settle she saw Fletcher was already on the ground, his face a mask of fury.

“You little bitch!” He crossed the distance between them in four large steps, grabbed her arm and jerked her from the horse. He grabbed the back of her head with his free hand, his fingers digging into her scalp. He hit her, his fist connecting with the side of her head hard enough for her to see bright flashes of light. Abigail knew he would kill her, his plan to swindle another rich man from his money be damned. She could see the truth of it written on his face. Waiting for the next blow to come, she saw Morgan, the vision of him hovering near the trees. He was looking at her, a strange look on his face. He lifted his arm, his hand shaking and Fletcher’s face came back into focus. He struck her again, knocking her to her knees. A glance back at the trees and again, she saw Morgan. She blinked. Was he only an image her mind conjured or was he real?

The blast from the gun in his hand echoed across the space, smoke filling the air around him. Fletcher’s shout was music to her ears. He stumbled to one knee and Abigail crawled to her feet and ran.

She realized when she was close enough to see Morgan what that strange look on his face was. It was pain. His skin looked sallow and his eyes seemed too large. There was a muddy spot on his left shoulder, the entire side of his shirt ruined with it. When she reached him, the muddy spot bloomed red. Blood. It wasn’t mud. It was blood. His. “Morgan!”

He glanced at her and licked his lips. “Run, Abigail. I’ll come for you.”

Leaving him was the last thing she wanted to do but one look behind her at Fletcher and she did as he’d told her. Fletcher had climbed to his feet and was charging toward them. She’d made it into the thick of the trees before the sound of the gun firing again rang in her ears. She turned to look, watching as Fletcher’s body collided with Morgan’s. The two men tussled and rolled, punches impacting flesh with dull thuds. Morgan dropped his gun, his fist connecting with Fletcher’s face. Blood spurted from his nose before Morgan hit him again and again.

Fletcher grabbed Morgan’s shoulder, the bleeding one, and Morgan let out a yell that chilled her to the bone. He hit the ground, Fletcher following him down and in seconds the fight had changed course. Tears burned her eyes as Fletcher hit Morgan repeatedly. The need to end it all grew until she was numb. Seeing a thick tree limb lying nearby, she grabbed it, broke off the end so she could wield it better and raced back to the two men. The first thump to Fletcher’s head dazed him enough that he raised up. Abigail hit him again. She didn’t stop until he’d fallen, his body lying prone across Morgan’s.

Abigail dropped the limb, a harsh sob escaping her before dropping to her knees beside Morgan. She pushed at Fletcher, shoving his body away. “Morgan?”

He blinked up at her and sucked in a deep breath before coughing. “Find the gun, Abigail.”

She did as asked, rooting around in the leaves and grass until she’d found it. Handing it to him, she glanced at Fletcher. “What are you going to do with him?”