Authors: Jillian Hart
Calico Bride (17 page)
"But'"
"Go,"
he growled. "If you love me, do this."
"I love you. I do." She stumbled back, torn by what he asked, lost in the shadows. "I didn't believe what those men said about you. I know they lied. You are the best man, Burke."
"Go!" He sounded strangled, almost angry. Of course he was. Every moment she delayed put them both in more jeopardy, so she did as she promised.
She raced past the stable, slipped between the horses, untied Lucky and climbed awkwardly, slipping and sliding onto his back. With both hands full of black mane, she leaned against the horse's neck and whispered, "Fly."
The mustang snorted, gathered his muscles and leaped away from the others. She had no bridle to guide him, no saddle horn to grab. She squeezed with her knees just like she'd read about in so many Westerns and clung with all her might. His power glided beneath her and moved through her as he sailed across the yard. Surely Burke would grab one of the horses and follow.
But the rhythmic pounding of Lucky's hooves brought men running. The forest came alive. Gunfire echoed like cannons. Shouts rang and bodies thudded to the ground. The gunfire did not end. That's when she knew Burke wasn't coming. He'd never intended to do anything but defend her so she could escape.
How could he have done such a thing? She broke her promise and glanced over her shoulder. Burke pushed himself out of the mud and onto his knees with rifle raised. He must have been shot. He fired again and again before he tumbled backward, hit a second time.
"Stop!" she screamed but Lucky did not obey. He knew his duty and carried her far away into the night, where black clouds roiled across the endless sky and no outlaw rode out of the dark to chase her.
Chapter Seventeen
H
e had hit the ground hard and feared he couldn't get back up. The first bullet had sliced through his side, grazing neat as a pin between two of his ribs. The second burrowed into his left shoulder. He'd heard bone crack and pain radiated everywhere. Up his neck, across his back and chest, down his arm which hung limp. He couldn't feel it. If he hadn't been able see his arm, he wouldn't know it was still there.
You have to get up, Hannigan
. He was still breathing. As long as he lived, no one would charge down this road after Lila. His senses told him someone was untying some horses, a few men remained probably hunkered down behind a rock or a log making sure they were safe before venturing out. He'd lived and worked with criminals enough to know they put themselves first and wouldn't risk an unnecessary bullet wound unless they had to.
That gave him a few seconds to gather his strength and figure out a way to get off the ground. He clenched his jaw and heaved upward.
His body stayed flat in the mud. Wet and cold seeped through his shirt and trousers. Rain pelted his wounds and sluiced down his face. His gun became slick with rain, mud and blood beneath his grip.
He had two more bullets left. He'd taken down four men. That meant five were still alive and gunning for him. He didn't like those odds. It sounded like two were ready to mount up, which meant one thing. He was out of time. He had to stop them right now.
Lord, Lucky has a head start. Now give him wings.
He exhaled so his shot would be steady, straightened his right arm, drew the rifle an inch to line up a shot with the road and squeezed. The first rider tumbled off his mount and hit the ground. Another shot stopped the second.
"I told you he was still alive, boys," Cheever bellowed. "Now stick your chicken necks out and cover me."
Rain blurred his vision. Weakness made his teeth chatter. He turned his gun toward the squish of boots in the muck, splashing closer in a slow measured step that told him his nemesis knew he was out of bullets.
Defenseless, he stared up at the Heavens, infinitely black and cold. At least Lila had a fighting chance of making it back to town. Even if Cheever's men mounted up, Lucky had too big of a head start. It was a good chance they couldn't catch up with him. That meant Lila was probably safe.
She's worth it, Lord.
He gladly gave his life for hers. He coughed and felt a stream of blood rush warmly down his shirt. For the first time since he was fifteen, he was proud of his life and of what he stood for. He would die with love in his heart, not guilt and not emptiness. Love.
"Looks like we have a score to settle, Burke." Olly towered over him, gun in hand.
"Guess we do." He stared at the barrel of the .45 aimed at his heart. "I wouldn't have shot your pa if he hadn't shot me first."
"You got what you deserved then and you'll get it now. Only this time I'll make sure the job is done right. This time you will be good and dead." Olly spat a spray of tobacco juice, thumbed back the hammer and exhaled, ready to take his shot.
That summer so long ago rolled back to him, the scent of growing grass and sun-scented wind and daisies nodding lazily. Before Olly's betrayal, before a life of crime, before his soul had shattered. He could almost feel the boy he'd been, lost and lonely but innocent.
One last try, he pushed with all his strength. Surprised his body responded, he didn't move fast enough. The gun went off, but he grabbed it out of Olly's hands. Before his old friend could draw his holstered second shooter, he fired. He knew it wasn't a fatal wound, he wasn't trying for it. Light bled from his vision, sound from his ears and he hit the ground he could not feel. Darkness claimed him, cold and final. His last thought was of Lila and the first time he'd stumbled into her store and asked to buy a bandage. It was her beautiful face he saw and then there was no more.
He knew nothing for a long while. Pain invaded out of the darkness even when he could not reach consciousness and finally the pain vanished, too. In dream, he heard the rustle of wheat in a mild breeze. Ripening fields rolled around the shanty in every direction. The Dakota sky stretched blue overhead and puffy white clouds sailed through it. The warmth of summer wrapped around him as he pulled a blade of grass from its leafy sheath and popped the raw stem between his teeth. The green taste filled his mouth.
"What are you doing, son?" Pa looked up from hoeing Ma's garden, strong and healthy and whole, his easygoing grin wide.
"I'm lookin' at the cloud pictures." When he tipped his head again and held his hat to keep it from falling, he saw shapes just like his pa had taught him to look for. "It's a wagon!"
"Let me see." Pa came around to look and sidled up close. His big comforting hand settled on Burke's shoulder, engulfing it. "Yep, you're right, son. It's a covered wagon. Looks to me like it is heading west."
"And there's the horse that goes with it." Excited now, he poked his finger toward the sky. "But it's grazing. They must be done travelin' for the day."
"I wonder who they are and where they are goin'?" Pa swept off his hat to rake his hand through his hair.
"Rob, what about my garden?" Ma asked in her gentle, amused way. "Thistles are trying to take over my green beans."
"I see a thistle up in the clouds, too. Want me to weed it?" Pa quipped and everyone laughed.
Ginna came running from helping in the garden. She dusted the dry prairie dirt off her hands and brushed it from the corner of her apron.
"I see a little girl." Her braids bobbed as she tipped her head to study the entire sky. "I see a family stopping to camp for the night. A happy family."
Something warm brushed his jaw and settled on his forehead, a soothing comfort that drew him up out of his dream to surface. Before his eyes opened, pain invaded. He couldn't feel his arm or his shoulder, but everything else hurt. That had to be a good sign. It meant he was alive.
He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth, to endure it. He did not want to sleep, not even to escape the agony. Gradually he became aware of a rocking movement, the incandescent glow of starlight and the faint flutter and snap of a skirt hem as the winds snatched at it. His eyelids fluttered knowing she was near. His Lila.
"You came." The words croaked out of his dry throat. "You disobeyed me."
"I'm difficult that way, ask Eunice." Humor polished her. She'd never been more beautiful. Gratitude stung his eyes. He'd never thought he would see her again. God had been kind to allow him to gaze upon her one last time.
"The doc says you are hurt pretty bad. You had to go and play the hero, didn't you?" She brushed at his hair, smoothing it out of his eyes, her touch infinitely caring. He heard what she did not say.
"Only a fool lets himself get shot at." Words that were too vulnerable caught in his throat, and he could not say them.
"Exactly. The day I met you, you had two bullet wounds. The day I say goodbye to you, you have three bullet wounds. I'm starting to think you are a dangerous man to be around."
"Finally." The smile cost him, and he couldn't hold it for long. He held up his hand for her to take. Her soft fingers fit between his, a perfect fit. Love brimmed over, leaving him defenseless. "I tried to tell you."
"Everybody did." Her fingers tightened around his in a single affectionate squeeze. "I didn't believe it for a moment."
"You should have." He wished he could sit up. All he could see was the patch of starry sky overhead beginning to gray. Dawn was not far away. "You should have believed it, because it is true."
"Hardly." She looked at him as if he'd hit his head, as if he were talking nonsense. "Just close your eyes. We should be in town before long."
Then he didn't have much time. The wagon bounced and jostled on country roads, making the wagon bed bite into his spine. He lifted his head a scant inch off the blanket he was lying on. It looked like Jed was driving. She must have rounded up half the town when she'd arrived back in Angel Falls. Ardent concern and unspoken affection polished her, made her more lovely than ever. He cleared his throat.
"I was an outlaw. When I was fifteen I rode with Cheever in his father's gang for a year. We robbed stages and banks, innocent folks and not-so-innocent folks. What Olly said was true." He nearly choked on the words. He wished he could erase that time from his memory. He wished he'd never picked up a gun. "I'm wanted for the murder of a deputy in Wyoming. I've committed crimes in the Dakotas, which I've never paid for."
He watched while she shook her head adamantly, fighting disbelief and denial. Her denial wouldn't last. His words would sink in and she would believe him. Her love would die, her regard for him vanish. What would his life be without her love? He was about to find out.
"But you are a Range Rider." Even in the thick dusk, he could see her feelings change. Distance settled between them like the leading edge of a storm. She sat up straighter, away from him, still in denial. "I saw your badge."
"Yes. We had a job go wrong. Olly's pa was furious at me because I refused to gun down anyone else. I'd been pushed too far. I was a kid, but I grew up. I finally learned how to have the courage to stand up to someone that terrifying and tell him I was out. He shot me. So I shot him. The gang left me to die." He could remember the chill of that cold December day when he'd been left for dead in the snow. "A unit of Riders from town got there just before I lost consciousness. I knew they recognized me. I knew I was looking at a hard prison sentence or worse."
"You murdered people?" She shook her head, as if dazed, as if she couldn't make the pieces fit.
"I tried to hurt them instead of kill them, but the one deputy died of his injury anyway." Remorse and guilt of the strongest kind battered him, greater than any physical pain. He would never forget opening his eyes that day and seeing the Rider towering over him, hands on his hips, starkly familiar. "One of the Riders was the first man I'd shot. I thought he'd died, but it turned out the bullet missed his heart and he lived. He remembered me. He saw what Old Man Cheever did to me. He offered a deal and got the governor to agree. If I worked for them and made up for what I did, I would have the chance to earn clemency for my crimes in Montana."
Here is where she would say she despised him. She would turn away. Perhaps regret ever knowing him. He steeled his heart. He gathered his courage. He was man enough to face her rejection, although it would hurt.
"That explains why you are so good with a gun." The sorrow haunting her belied the attempt at humor. "Jed said it was incredible shooting you did."
"I tried my best." For her. All that mattered was her. That she would have a happy future. She deserved a good man to love her, children and a fairy-tale ending to her life. He would give anything to be that man.
Not in Your plan for me, I know, Lord.
He swallowed hard, his confession done and his strength, too.
But I wish.
"I never wanted you to know." His eyelids drifted shut, he couldn't keep them open. "But you needed the truth. The man you think I am doesn't exist."
"You are wrong, Marshal. In novels, the hero always has a past." Her fingers in his did not move away but remained strongly entwined. "I saw the man you are on the day you stumbled into the mercantile shot and bleeding, on the day you drove the delivery wagon to keep me safe and last night when you took bullets for me."
"All flukes."
"Hardly." She straightened her spine, let the cool early-morning breeze buffet her face and the first rays of dawn brought illumination. "A character's true nature is revealed in the choices he makes through the book. I have seen yours."
"You saw me kill men right in front of your eyes." A muscle ticked along his clenched jaw, as if that tortured him. "You saw me being violent."
"I saw you being protective. We both know what those men would have done to me. You were the only thing stopping them." Her love for him renewed. It felt as fresh as the new day, as hopeful as the pearled light shining over the world.
"You were the one who picked the padlock holding us," he argued as if determined to be humble. "You could have escaped all on your own. I was unnecessary."
"Yes, well, you are a man," she quipped, too choked up to say what she really meant. Although his eyes were closed, he pressed his jaw against the curve of her palm and she knew he heard the symphony of love in her heart.
He did not speak again as unconsciousness claimed him. She sat at his side until the wagon rolled up to the depot. Jed, Dr. Frost, Mr. Winters and Pa carried him to the platform. The whistle could already be heard. She leaned against the edge of the depot building and watched as the train rumbled to a stop, a unit of Riders disembarked and that was the last she saw of the love of her life.