Chapter 21

 

He sat in the chair opposite her, his eyes taking in her quiet beauty. In the few short minutes he had gone for the coffee, she had drifted off to sleep. And no doubt she needed it. The way she had concentrated on every move made to mend Mark’s arm and the attentiveness she’d given to the gash on his head, she must be drained of every ounce of energy that she had possessed.

There would be time to talk to her later. To be honest with her about his feelings for her. For now, she needed sleep.

 

 

***

 

 

“Missy?”

Her eyes fluttered open, not sure of her surroundings for a moment. Her hand went to her neck, stiff from it’s odd position. She turned her head to see Mark’s eyes on her. Out of the chair at once, she hurried to his bedside.

Relief rushed through her like a cool wind. At last the tightness in her chest let go and she could breathe. “He’s awake!” She announced through the doorway before going back to the bedside. “How do you feel?”

She touched his forehead and smiled. His temperature seemed only warm. If he had fever, it wasn’t much. Thank you, Lord.

He gave her a timid smile. “What happened to Frost?”

“Mark Murphy! You were almost killed and your only concern is for a horse?” Della, in the kitchen, rushed to his side, her voice joyful, despite her scolding.

Seth was in the room next, his face a huge grin. “He’s fine. I caught him out in the front forty just an hour or so ago. He’s safe in the barn, now.”

Missy stepped back and let the patient’s aunt and brother closer to him. Jared stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes bright with emotion. He looked at her and nodded as he moved around the bed, pausing next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“If we’d lost him our lives would be forever changed.” He squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, before letting go and stepping into the circle of his family.

Left apart from the group, she quietly walked out of the room and into the kitchen. It was good to be up. The short nap in the rocking chair had left her feeling sore and cramped. And a cup of coffee would certainly be welcome. The pot on the stove was empty, as well as the water pitcher. Picking it up, she headed out the door.

The sun barely peeked, pink and bright, above the distant hills and the night’s rain had left a fresh scent to the air. She breathed deep and stopped to listen to the calls of the mourning doves. There had been a special pair that lived in the field outside their small home in Kansas and she’d made it a daily practice to take her breakfast crumbs to them. Someone else was living in that little house now. Maybe they were feeding the doves.

The sound of the bucket splashing into the water below echoed up from the depths. She began to pull hard on the rope, the wench creaking with every turn. How had Mark managed to pull it up so quickly during the fire last night? Please Lord let his arm heal well enough to be able to do that again.

Balancing the heavy pail on the edge of the well, she bent to pick up the metal pitcher. Large, cold fingers clamped over her mouth, sending her heart spiraling to her feet. She struggled, but another hand and arm had managed to wrap around her, pulling her close to a smelly, bulky frame. She didn’t have to see his face. It was Mr. Howard.

 

 

***

 

 

Every fiber within her fought, her boot heel scraping down his shin. A loud grunt from her captor gave hope that she might get away. She wiggled side to side, trying to loosen his grip. An elbow in his stomach would give her some leverage. Taking his air away would create a chance to run. Or scream if he let go for even a moment. But it wasn’t going to happen. He was too strong.

Their buckboard was parked behind the small grove of trees just outside the yard. Mrs. Howard was waiting, a sneer on her thin, pink lips. “So I see you’ve found the little trouble-maker.”

Missy wrenched away from the man’s tight grasp, only to be greeted by the barrel end of a pistol in her face. Grandpa’s Colt. Probably the one they used to kill him.

“You recognize this?” She laughed, waving it around like a child with a toy. “You can pretend all you want, but I can see right through your little game. Now get up on the seat,” she motioned, keeping the gun pointed in Missy’s face.

The fight inside her dying, Missy climbed aboard and seated herself in the middle. All hope for escape was gone. At least for the moment.

Mr. Howard urged the horses forward, encouraging them to go faster. Her jaw clamped, Missy forced herself not to speak, or worse, try to grab the reins from his hands. The poor beasts would be bleeding before he was finished with them.

The wagon rattled, squeaked, and jolted, making it impossible to hear any other sounds. Missy’s fingers held tightly to the edge of the board seat, praying the wagon might come apart, or a wheel would break, anything to slow them down.

The gun in Mrs. Howard’s hands jerked with each rock and bump in the road. The woman finally gave up and put the pistol in her lap, giving her hand a chance to hold to the side.

Missy tried to avoid staring at the object. If she could get her hands on the revolver, there was no way the couple could keep her with them. But if she made a move to take it from Mrs. Howard’s knees, Mr. Howard was sure to take it away from her before she could do anything. She had to think of some other way.

 

 

***

 

 

Jared stepped out the door and glanced around the yard. Surely she’d only gone out for a second. The moments with Mark had drawn all his attention and he’d not noticed her leaving the house. He stepped off the porch and walked to the well. The metal pitcher Aunt Della used for water lay on its side on the ground.

He stooped to pick it up, his fingers wrapped around the handle. The still wet ground told his eyes the story of the struggle that had taken place a short time ago.

Following the tracks, he rounded the trees to see the wagon wheel tracks. One glance at the horizon and he ran back to the house.

“Seth! Get out here and saddle up!”

 

 

***

 

 

Mr. Howard glanced behind them again, as he’d done every few minutes. Slapping the reins harder, he cursed the horses for their slowness. Missy gripped the seat even tighter, her hands aching from their hold. The swift ride had been hard on the already tired animals. How much longer could they run?

Missy dared a glance at Mrs. Howard’s face. Dark eyes, wide with fear stared out from skin white as a new snow. Had he threatened her, too? If so, maybe they could help each other. A spark of hope flamed for a moment, then vanished. The weeks she had spent with this couple told her that Mrs. Howard, despite her rebel words to her husband, would never defy him.

They turned their heads in unison as a gunshot sounded somewhere from the east. Missy scanned the direction eagerly, but no one rode into sight. Probably just a rancher or hunter out looking for their next meal.

Mr. Howard reached down and took a whip from under the seat. “Faster, you lazy beasts!” he shouted, whipping the horses with each yell.

Missy winced at the animal’s screams. If only there was some way to hinder him, draw his attention away and slow them down.

“Stop that!” Mrs. Howard shouted from beside her, reaching around Missy and grabbing her husband’s hand that held the whip.

Slinging his arm toward his wife, his elbow clipped Missy’s chin, sending her reeling against Mrs. Howard. The woman screamed as she careened backwards, losing her hold on the wagons side. “Help!”

Missy reached toward the Colt as it slid from its place on the woman’s lap. Her fingertips brushed the cold metal as Mrs. Howard went over the edge with a shriek.

The gun, not quite in her grasp, fell to the wagon floor, bouncing with every hole and rock the wheels rolled over. A strong hand grabbed the collar of her blouse as she closed her fingers around the butt of the gun. Jerking with all her might, she managed to free herself from him and followed Mrs. Howard over the edge.

She hit the ground hard, slamming her shoulder into the dirt. The air was forced from her lungs and she gasped for breath. Moving was impossible. Her limbs seemed paralyzed, fixed in the position in which she’d fallen. She struggled to inhale, closing her eyes and concentrating on filling her lungs.

A small breath gave her courage to try moving her hands. Her fingers touched cold metal beside her and she curled her fingers around the revolver that lay in the dirt and pulled it close to her side.

She could see Mrs. Howard a few feet away, lying flat on her back, yellow hair spilled out around her face. Her eyes were closed and her left arm curled under her body. She wasn’t moving. Had the fall killed her?

The wheels on the wagon were dragging and screeching over the rough road.

Mr. Howard’s voice bellowed above the noisy buckboard as it came to a halt. “Whoa! Whoa! You filthy beasts! You’ll stop or I’ll shoot you!”

She swallowed the fear that hung in her throat. He would be off the wagon and on the ground in seconds. Her fingers sweated as she pulled back the hammer of the pistol. She had to make a move at just the right time. But for now, she must remain still.

His feet pounded the ground as he ran past her. “Nancy! Nancy!”

Missy pushed herself to a sitting position as she watched him kneel next to his wife, his profile reflecting the panic in his voice. His fingers prodded her neck as he felt for a pulse. “Wake up, Nancy. Please wake up!” He begged, sobs rushing from his throat.

Missy swallowed and watched. Maybe now he would understand her own grief. Chances were, he would be joining his wife, soon.

He pulled his wife’s head and shoulders from the ground and held her to his chest, his eyes on the sky, he shouted, “You can’t take her, now!”

Missy started as a low moan sounded from his wife’s mouth.

“You’re alive!” He shouted over her cries.

Mrs. Howard opened her eyes and looked into her husband’s face. Her voice was strong despite her injuries. “She. . .she pushed me.”

At that moment he caught site of Missy, now standing and watching. His expression lost all signs of worry for his wife. His eyes bored into her, hatred plain in his glance. “You!” He all but dropped his wife back to the ground as he scrambled up.

Missy swallowed hard and swung the Colt up in front of her, the barrel pointed at his chest. “Put your hands over your head. And don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you and you’ll be as dead as you thought your wife was.” She took another breath, amazed at the calmness in her voice.

Anger flooded his face with red. His eyes were wild with rage. “You’ll pay for this, you know.”

She shook her head. “I have no idea how many people you. . .or the two of you have killed. But I won’t be the next. I’ll shoot you if need be. Now you just stay there.”

“You don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing, Miss Harris. Now you just give me the gun.” He lowered his hand and held it out as he started to step forward.

“You killed my grandfather! Don’t think I won’t do the same to you,” she threatened, her finger burning to pull the trigger. Please give me strength, Lord. Help me to keep my head about this. Don’t let me do anything rash. Please, please send someone. Send Jared. He will know what to do.

Mr. Howard’s face lost all color as her words sunk in. He shook his head. “Now, Miss. That was an accident. I swear it was. The old man should have done what we said. He should have left that Colt in his holster. If he had, he’d still be here.”

She grimaced and kept the revolver aimed on his chest. “You shot him in the back of the head. You’re nothing but a lying coward. You killed a good man. A man who would have helped you with anything.”

Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop shaking. This was no time to give in to sorrow. The two of them had murdered her only family in cold blood. She would never again enjoy a quiet meal with her grandfather, hear his soft voice when he read the Bible aloud each night. Never again would his laughter ring in her ears.

Hands back in the air, Mr. Howard’s laugh was hard. “Now don’t get all self-righteous on me. A man has to do whatever it takes to survive. You’re no different. You’d do the same if you were in my situation.”

His comparison sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. “I am nothing like you.”

Mrs. Howard seemed to be recovering from her fall. Missy watched her push herself to a sitting position, holding her injured arm close to her chest. Would it be possible to control both of them if the woman got up to help her husband?

The sound of a horse galloping in from the north reached her ears. Relief began to flow through her limbs. She could only hold this stance for a moment more. All the courage and strength she had summoned was beginning to fade. Her legs were shaking. It took all of her will to keep them from collapsing beneath her.

She didn’t want to have to shoot them. . .or allow Mr. Howard to take the pistol from her. Turning them in would be the last thing she could ever do for her grandfather.

 

 

***

 

 

The wind whipped his face, stinging his eyes with specks of dirt and sand. He pushed the bandana high over his nose to block the dust and kicked the horse a little harder, urging him on. Riding hard for half an hour, time had seemed to stand still. Surely by now Seth had reached the sheriff’s office and there were men on their way to cut off the wagon that held Missy.

It was his fault. He should have talked to people, found out who the woman at the church dinner was that had seemed so interested in Missy. He’d seen the odd way the stranger had looked at her. But he had passed it off as mere curiosity, like the rest of the town folk, wondering how a half-drowned woman had ended up in Chance Creek.

And this morning he’d been so wrapped up in Mark that he hadn’t noticed her leaving the house. Why hadn’t he made sure that she was alright?

 

 

***

 

 

Daring a glance to the north, she saw the familiar big bay come into sight, the rider leaning into the horse, as if he was in a terrible hurry. Jared. She blinked back the tears of relief that sprung behind her eyelids. She should have known that he would come. Thank you, Lord.

Two more riders approached from the east, their silhouettes dark in front of the rising sun. One of the horses seemed familiar. She was sure it was Seth’s Mustang, Coal.

Mrs. Howard, who had managed to stand, took one look at the coming riders and was consumed with tears. She fell to the ground and sobbed. Her husband, resigned to their fate, knelt beside her, the fight gone out of him.

 

 

***

 

 

She stood to the side as Jared and Seth helped the sheriff secure the two prisoners in the buckboard.

“I’ll drive ‘em in,” Seth nodded to the Sheriff. He turned to Jared. “You want Missy to take my horse?”

Jared shook his head. “She can ride with me.”

Sitting in front of him on the horse, she leaned back into his chest as his arms went around her and held her securely against him. She closed her eyes for a moment. If only she could stay like this, safe in his arms.

“You’re sure you aren’t hurt?” he asked.

She smiled. It was the third time he’d asked. “I’m fine. My shoulder will be sore for a few days, but I’ll be alright.”

“You could have been killed falling off that wagon,” he said, holding her a little tighter.

She shrugged, then regretted moving her shoulder. “What about Mark? Was he OK when you came to check on me?”

“He’s doing fine. Just a little bit of pain. I’m sure Aunt Della’s taking good care of him.”

She smiled and nestled her head closer into his chest. “She’ll have him nice and spoiled by the time he recovers.”

 

 

***

 

They lapsed into silence for the next hour. He took the reins from her as she dozed off and on. He dared laying his cheek on the top of her head for a moment as she slept. If she left them, he was going to miss her more than he could stand to think about.

His heart had grown used to her voice, her laugh. But he wanted her to be happy, to do with her life what she wanted to do. And he had no doubt she would make a good doctor, if that’s what she desired.

Jared stared as they passed the cross-roads that led to the ranch. In a few moments they would be on top of the rise that overlooked the house. There wasn’t much time left to talk to her.

I love her, Lord. But I want the best for her. Whatever you think that is. It’s in my heart to ask her if she wants to stay. I’ll take her answer as Your will.

Jared pulled back on the reins and gently woke Missy from her slumber. “I thought we might talk a minute before we go on down to the house,” he said, assisting her down from the saddle.

“Is anything wrong?” She asked, pulling back a strand of hair that touched her cheek.

He smiled at her sleepy green eyes. Eyes he couldn’t bear to live without. He cleared his throat. “I, uh. . .well I was just wondering. . .I mean. . .”

This was harder than he had imagined. Why did the words keep sticking in his mouth? Maybe he just needed a drink of water.

He reached for the canteen that hung on the saddle horn. “Are you thirsty?”

 

 

***

 

 

Missy blinked away her sleepiness and smiled at the uncertainty in his eyes. She had grown to love everything about him. And listening to him stumbling over his words was sweet. He was probably just searching for the right words to thank her again for what she’d done for Mark. Maybe someday she would let him know how she felt about him. But the time was too soon. He was still hurting from an old heartache.

“Did we stop just to drink water?” She asked, taking the canteen from him and turning to look down the hill at the house. “We’re almost ho– . . .I mean, to the ranch.”

His cheeks flooded with scarlet and he took the canteen back from her grasp, hanging it on the saddle horn. “Well, no. I mean that’s not why we stopped.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you. . .? You mentioned your grandpa wanted you to go to medical school. Is that what you’re planning on doing now?”

She hesitated before she answered. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I know I’ll have to do something, but medical school was his dream, never mine.”

He let out a breath and shook his head. Fingering the reins in his hands, he straightened the canteen again. “I see.”

She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. What in the world was the man talking about? “Are you trying to ask me about something, Jared?”

His eyes met hers and he hastily snatched the hat from his head and hung it on the saddle with the canteen. “It’s about. . .” he cleared his throat and pointed down toward the house. “All that land to the south there, that’s part of the ranch.”

She gave a questioning glance at his face. “I know. And it’s beautiful.”

A smile flashed across his face. “True. But someday it’ll be even better. We’re going to expand. Raise more cattle. And more horses. There’s good money in selling quality horses to the army.”

She nodded, uncertain of the direction his thoughts were moving.

He swallowed hard. “And the house. I know it’s small, but I’ll be adding on to it, too.”

She shook her head. “But the house is big enough the way it is! There are only the four of you.”

He shook his head “But it’s not big enough for a family. My family that I hope to have, that is.”

She turned away from the view and set her eyes on his face. “But. . . Jared. I thought. . .”

His fingers touched her cheek and he hesitated for a moment. “I’m wanting to ask you to–” he swallowed hard “– to marry me.”

Her heart raced as she stared at the relief in his face, as if he’d been about to deliver bad news and finally had it over with. “Jared?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Are you saying that. . .that you love me? I thought you were a confirmed bachelor. That you didn’t want to marry anyone.”

She blinked hard. It seemed more than she could ask for if he was revealing his true feelings to her.

He dropped the reins and pulled her closer to him. “I tried not to like you,” he grinned, “especially not to love you, but it happened anyway. I do love you, Missy. I want you to be my wife.” He touched her cheek again and kissed the top of her head.

She pulled away and stared into the cobalt eyes. The wistful expression on his face sent her heart spinning. “I love you, too. But are you sure about this? I can’t cook, you know.”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I know. But I figure man doesn’t live by cornbread alone,” he teased.

“And I’m terrible at laundry. I’m liable to ruin things once in a while,” she added, thinking of that scorch mark he now had to hide under a jacket or vest.

He grinned. “I could always buy a new shirt, but I’m kinda getting used to that one. Makes me think of you,” he grinned.

Her eyes opened wider. “Well what about a woman’s right to vote? You know I’m still going to pursue that. I mean, in a lot of ways, I’m just all wrong for you.” What was she doing? She loved this man beyond measure. Why couldn’t she stop talking?

His twinkling eyes narrowed and he stared into hers. “I’m sure the women in Texas would appreciate your efforts to get them the vote.” A moment later his expression sobered. “Unless you’re trying to talk me out of this?”

Never. Thank you, Lord, that he loves me. She shook her head and dug deep inside for her lagging courage. She stepped closer to him and said matter-of-factly, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that now, Mr. Murphy. You’ve already asked for my hand. And I accept.” She tilted her head toward his and stood on her toes.

His face flooded with relief as his finger brushed under her chin, sending tingles of heat through her face. He leaned in and his lips met hers. Lost in his kiss, she curved her arms around his neck and pulled him ever tighter, her heart racing in time with his. As she knew it would for years to come.