AFTER ROSLYN FUSSED OVER HER HUSBAND, SHE RETURNED TO UNPACKING THEIR THINGS IN BEAUREGARD’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM. As she left, he watched her hips sway invitingly down the corridor until she passed from sight.
He needed to get things done.
Picking up his Stetson, he set it on his head and pushed on the crown until it sat right. He flicked the rim and sighed. “It isn’t as easy as all that.” His wife was a tender soul. Beauregard knew it be a cold day in hell before Elstein let them be.
“I know it.” Wyatt placed a hand on his shoulder. He exerted enough pressure to hold him. Dug in his broad fingers to punctuate the message, ‘Stay.’ “Now more than ever you need to cool it.”
“You got a family to think about.” William smiled sheepishly. “And I am happy for you, Beau. Truly.”
Beauregard grunted.
Young Benjamin slouched deeper into the room and dropped into the chair Roslyn vacated. “Pa wants you dead.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed it,” Beauregard drawled, tone dry. “The beatin’ I got was a friendly pat on the back welcomin’ me into the warm bosom of your family.”
“Homer’s gone to burn your house down.”
“Guessed that. With their dander up, me and the Lioness not in residence to kick about they’ll be destroyin’ what we have.” It hurt. Not only had the little house he’d hated become home, but it was the place he and Roslyn made their love. Those hateful men tore down their foundations. He breathed deep and pushed away the pain. Come what may they would survive – he was resolved. “The animals will get spooked and head deep into the pasture. The rest can be rebuilt.”
Flushing in embarrassment over the grief his family caused, Benjamin looked relieved. “It’s good you set them loose. Homer has a mean streak.”
“That who did that to your face?” Beauregard asked. Pushing onto his feet, he headed to grab the medical tin from under the sink.
“Cupboard next to you,” William directed.
Beauregard dumped iodine, hunks of raw cotton and gauze in front of Benjamin. “Fix yourself.”
As he did, Beauregard and the Older Kellingtons discussed what could be done about the Roseberry’s while avoiding bloodshed.
“How many went with Homer did you say?” Wyatt asked steaming mad they’d dared set foot on Kellington land. And after they’d been warned not to trespass too. “Just the Twins?”
“And some others. About another eight, I think. Most of them was strangers passing through looking for trouble.”
“They could head this way,” William said grimly. “If they’re not satisfied with raiding and burning.”
“Homer might be stupid and rash, but he’s got a self preservation streak a mile wide.” Wyatt scratched under his chin. “He knows better than to come to the main house. He knows I’ll kill him. Hell, you’ll have a time of it convincing me not to bust out of here to remind him of our previous conversation.”
Beauregard’s eyebrow lifted.
“Wyatt told Homer you wouldn’t be the only dead man in Dawson Lake if he caught him or any strangers on Kellington land without an express invitation,” William explained.
Benjamin shook his head. “Y’all didn’t see how agitated he was. Pa’s been steamed since Beauregard shot Homer. He was supposed to kill you, but ended up shaming the family instead. At least, that’s how my father sees it. Homer won’t go home without hurting one of you. He can’t. Neither of us can.”
“Elstein ordered you boys to get even, huh?” Wyatt asked.
“Yeah. When we left I tried to talk Homer out of it but....” Sighing, Benjamin pointed at his mangled face. “I wasn’t persuasive.”
“We’ll sleep in shifts. To be safe.” Wyatt gave them a grim look. “I’ll let Ernest know, but don’t tell the women. They’ll just panic and get hysterical.”
Beauregard gained his feet. “Roslyn needs to know. She has a habit of movin’ about at night. Maybe if she’s more aware of danger some part of her will keep her from wanderin’ outside the bedroom.”
“She still does that?” Benjamin’s smile was lopsided. “As kids Homer and I would follow her around. Made a game of it. She did all sorts of mischief.” He sniggered. “Mostly she just ate.”
William looked tickled. “She sleepwalks?”
“Sometimes.” Beauregard headed out the room. “Keep that in mind when on watch.”
“What if she, uh, ends up outside her room?” Wyatt asked.
“Put her back.” Beauregard paused then rethought that. Thinking of Wyatt feeling the curves he’d seen naked and carnal made him a tad crazy. “Or come get me and I’ll carry her back to bed. Don’t worry she’s not violent. Just totters about touchin’ stuff until she finds me.”
TRY AS SHE MIGHT, ROSLYN COULDN’T SLEEP. There was tension in the air. Beauregard slumbered lightly next to her with his rifle within arm’s reach. His arm was tucked around her waist as if to anchor her to the bed.
Irritable, she shifted on her side then thumped her pillow to beat out the lumps. The wooden bed frame creaked as she moved. The sheets itched her skin, and smelt mildewed. She missed her old bed. The scent of her and Beauregard mingled in the fabric.
Pregnant.
She still struggled with it. Still, she knew joy unlike anything she thought possible. There had been quiet moments with Beauregard where it was blissful. She could feel his love, even if he never said the words. And now she had a part of him growing inside her. It was a miracle, not only because them coming this far together was unthinkable, but also because Beauregard took such a harsh beating. She’d wondered if he would ever be able to father children.
Inevitably, her thoughts turned to her family, chiefly, her father. Her stomach roiled. Homer was a problem, but his hatred was a weak thing inspired mostly by his need to impress their prejudiced old man. If only she could make her father see that Beauregard was a good, honourable man that made her happy....
Foolish dreams would do her no good. Benjamin had come to his senses of his own accord, and she’d be grateful for that. When their latest strife passed she’d ask if her younger brother could live with them. Life for Benjamin now he’d begun to rebel would only get worse. It pained her to think of him being abused, the gentleness crushed from him.
Her fidgeting increased with her nausea. Soon she was upright and gagging. Slipping from under Beauregard’s hold, she crept out the room and tip toed down the hallway. She retched, and clapped a hand over her mouth, afraid she’d vomit over the garish hallway rug. Steadying, she descended the stairs and gently called out to whoever took over from Beauregard on watch. “Hello?”
“Roslyn?” Wyatt stepped into view holding his blunderbuss at ease by his side. Hazel eyes swept the landing then her. He looked alert. “Are you awake?”
She flushed. Beauregard told her he’d mentioned her sleepwalking to his brothers. How embarrassing. “I am. I feel sick. I need the outhouse.”
Relaxing, he gave her a stern look. “There are pots under all the beds so we don’t have to go outside.”
“Beau was so tired when he came to bed. I don’t want my noisy heaving to wake him.” Her stomach pitched and she groaned softly. She wasn’t sure she could hold back much longer. “Please?”
He hesitated, relenting when he saw how green she looked, clutching her stomach, her other trembling hand hovering at her mouth. “It’s quiet, but be quick. If you’re not back in ten minutes I’m coming after you.”
“Thanks, Wy.” She minced past him to the back door. “I’ll be quick.”
Vigilant, and already regretting his decision, Wyatt watched her carefully make her way into the sturdy privy out back. His gaze restlessly combed the surrounding land silently urging her to hurry. A feeling of danger began to creep on him, and soon he repeatedly looked over his shoulder towards the front of the house, thinking he’d heard something in the yard.
Something like a muted footfall.
Holding the mass of her hair back with both hands, Roslyn puked her guts out in the gloomy, smelly outhouse. She didn’t know if it was her pregnancy, Caroline’s greasy food, or the thought of her father hurting her husband and baby that made her sick, or a harrowing combination of them all. Soon, she retched nothing but air. Her stomach squeezed so hard she feared it would be forever knotted. Sweat slicked her brow and beaded on her upper lip. She wiped bile from her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked through the small glass window out into the night, waiting just a moment in case she had anything else to bring up.
A shadow ghosted across the backyard, a raised gun barrel held in its hands.
Roslyn strangled a scream and reached for the door. She froze. Her first instinct was to run back to the house screeching for her husband. That was no good. Not only would she end up shot, she’d distract the men from protecting themselves and the ladies. Fingers curling under, she slid to the ground and panted into the dark. “No, no, no.” She didn’t know what to do. She had no gun, and God knew where Wyatt was. He’d been watching her, so where did he get to?
Bracing herself, she shuffled on her knees to the window and peeked.
Four men pointed guns at the backdoor.
She didn’t recognise any of them, and decided they were gunslingers Homer hired to stir trouble. That sounded like him. There’d be no reasoning with such dishonourable men.
A volley of shots from different directions rang out from the front of the house.
Roslyn’s heart shrivelled in her chest as the four men opened fire at a male shape darting past the back door.
A noisy burst of gunpowder lit the darkness inside the house.
Grunting, one of the men stalking the yard fell, hit in the chest. His hat rolled off his head as he moaned and writhed pitifully in the dirt before lying still in death.
Cussing out those who dared defend themselves, the three others backed away firing into the windows and door.
Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Flashes of light and booming discharge rang in her ears.
Roslyn thought she’d go mad as she imagined those bullets tearing holes into her family. Most of all, Almighty God help her, she imagined the rounds slamming into her husband. The thought of it made her weak in the knees and stuffed her head with cotton.
As the gunslingers paused to reload, Beauregard dashed from the house and fired as he dove for cover behind the veranda.
Another nameless shadow went down.
More gunshots and shouts sounded from the front of the house.
The sounds of a lady screaming accompanied the yells of a man ordering, “Get back in the house.”
Handsome William strode into the backyard after Beauregard. Even in the dark his eyes glinted hellfire. “Bastards.” Standing upright, bold as you like, he extended his arm. “Think you can ride our land and threaten this family? Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences? That we wouldn’t beat the shit out of you?” A bullet whizzed past his head and smashed glass. “There are no cowards here. This is our house.” He took careful aim as bullets peppered the wall around him and took down another with a shot to the head. “Go straight to hell, asshole.”
“Quit bellyachin’.” Beauregard took his legs out to get the stubborn male behind cover. “Get over here.”
Whole body trembling, the last man swore. He frantically reloaded as he shuffled backwards.
Beauregard stuck his head up to see what was going on.
Looking for her. Deep down in her soul she knew he broke cover to seek her out.
Twin revolvers swung his way, and he ducked trying to avoid the bullet. He jerked, head flying back. Beauregard dropped from sight.
Shrieking, “No,” like a banshee and bursting from the outhouse, Roslyn realised she’d done just about the stupidest thing ever.
The outlaw spun.
Time seemed to slow. Our baby, she thought.
Bursts of light. A boom, a blast. Time accelerated.
“Roslyn.”
The hoarse bellow was followed by a hail of bullets.
Cold dead silence.
In reality it happened in seconds. Her jump from the privy. The gunslinger wildly firing both pistols in her direction.
Throwing herself back into the safety of the structure, she threw her hands over her head as a round shattered the wood and skimmed her arm. Another jolt of pain, a spasm in her shoulder that radiated across her chest, and her arm burned.
She screamed like a murder of crows knowing she’d been hit.
Swinging back from the force with which she’d entered, the door slammed shut muting the outlaw’s last disturbing moments.
His plea for mercy echoed in the abruptly quiet night, a shrill screech of pain strangled into silence.
Quivering hands closed over her ears, Roslyn sank to her knees. Beauregard. What had they done to her beautiful Beauregard? Wide eyes dry, too overcome to weep, her mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. Warm liquid ran down her front. She barely noticed it. It felt as if the world outside the dank four walls crushed the darkness into a solid, wielded it as a weapon to breach her hiding place and pulverise her.
The door to the privy ripped open.
A tall, broad-shouldered body filled the space.
Shock held her immobile and mute.
Releasing a string of curses, Beauregard grabbed her off the chilly ground and pulled her into his strong arms.
Outside he dropped to his knees and roughly pawed at her clothes. “Where?” His body shook and his face was bone white. “Where?”
There was a loud roaring in her ears. Heart racing, her body was as stiff as a board, and her mind labyrinthine. Like steam from a kettle, the pressure built and erupted in a thin, shivery peal screaming past her numb lips.
The sound froze Beauregard on the spot.
She convulsed, and lurched in his arms. Crashing into him fully, she wrapped her arms tight around him, her movement startling in its swiftness when she’d been so still. There was a twinge of pain in her shoulder, but she was numbed by the discovery of his good health.
Nothing was more important than that.
Her breath came, finally, in heaving, juddering gulps that dried her tongue to sandpaper. She felt woozy. Words clogged in her throat, but as she sobbed raw pain, she managed to breathe a tortured, “I thought he killed you.”
Shuddering, Beauregard held her as if he’d never let go.
He was alive, in her arms. Though she felt joy the darkness won.
Her death grip loosened.
BEAUREGARD FELT HIS WIFE GO LIMP. She breathed softly, and he pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling her scent deeply into his lungs and wondering if anything had ever smelt so vital, so much like life. Wyatt told him she’d been in the outhouse surrounded by those murdering cowards, but he’d hardly believed it until he saw her bust out of there with his own two eyes. When the gunslinger aimed at her Beauregard thought he’d die right then and there. All he could think was, “Not her. Me instead.” Holding her safe in his arms the full depth of his feelings for this woman blindsided him.
There was no living without her.
He’d ghosted through fifteen years of separation, but another day, hell, any span of time without her was slow death.
Beauregard had developed a fondness for living now she was his.
“Beau, you hit?” William asked urgently. His eyes roamed the surrounding hills as he slowly stalked towards his brother from the side, cannons still drawn and held high.
“Naw.” He cleared his throat. “A graze. Bastard skimmed my ear.”
Guns lowering a fraction, hesitating, William appeared lost at sea. His eyes flickered over the bloody tip of Beauregard’s ear then down to his middle. “Then where’s all that blood coming from?”
Beauregard jerked and peeled Roslyn’s body from his. Her head lolled on her neck. Her arms slid from his shoulders to land with hollow thuds on the ground. He trembled. Blood drenched the front of her nightgown, a vivid bloom of red spreading from her chest. Her nightgown was so God damn thick to meet her ladylike sensibilities it’d taken a while for the blood to soak through.
For a suspended moment of terror, he sat utterly still. Then he broke. Scooping her slight body into his arms, he bolted towards the house yelling for his brothers.
Stunned by the panic gushing from his younger brother, William dismissed the fear of any remaining threat and wheeled around to sprint after them.
Hearing the panicked commotion, Wyatt powered down the hallway with his blunderbuss raised. Coming upon them he dropped it and blanched.
Frantic, William used an arm to clear the kitchen table with a single swoop of his arm. “Wy, we need Caroline now.”
Calling for his sister-in-law at the top of his lungs, Beauregard set his bleeding wife down with painful tenderness. He brushed her hair from her pale face leaving a smear of blood on her cheekbone. “Stay with me. Lioness? Caroline.”
“God damn it, Carrie. Get down here.” Wyatt strode into the room intending to help. He winced when Beauregard ripped Roslyn’s nightgown down the middle and pulled it back to expose her bloody shoulder. As her breast was bared he averted his eyes. Mumbled, “Is there anything I can do?”
William lifted the shoulder on her wounded side to peer at her back. His expression darkened. “Shit.” He set her down gently. “Bullet’s still in there.”
“Get it out.” Beauregard shook so hard it was hard to see straight. He couldn’t dig into her delicate flesh so unbalanced. “Take it out.”
“Damn close to her vitals. Damn close.” William’s breathing was harsh, adding his own fear for the ashen woman on the table. “I’m afraid to–”
Eyes burning, irises fiery pits filled with molten gold, Beauregard grabbed his brother by the throat.
Years of engrained fear took over and Wyatt simply reacted. He lifted the blunderbuss. Stilled when rationality pushed through the instinctive response to protect. He gasped, comprehending the enormity of almost pointing a cocked gun at his brother’s head.
“Oh, you go right ahead.” Numb as he was, Beauregard still missed nothing. He glared at Wyatt. “You might regret it if you don’t. Once this is over we will come to terms.” Fury tore through him. “I put my trust in you. You let her go out there alone.”
Strong body shaking with a ruthless fusion of shame and rage, all directed at himself, Wyatt nodded stiffly. There was no denying his culpability.
“I ask no adds of you, brother. Ever. This one time I depend on you....” He turned back to William. He felt unable to deal with the bone-deep loathing surging like poison through his veins while he looked at his eldest sibling. Beauregard’s fingers flexed as they tightened. “This is the last time either of you betray me.”
Feeling no trepidation, William met his younger brother’s turbulent gaze. The crazed desperation chilled him. Just a month ago had Beauregard had hold of him like this he’d fear for his life. But now.... William saw a special strength hidden within this man. Selflessness they’d consciously ignored so as to appease their own self-righteous behaviour. Beauregard wasn’t lashing out because he was feral. He begged for help the only way they’d ever let him. The only way he knew how because they’d never offered it freely. “My hands are too big. I’ll make things worse. Wait for Caroline, and we’ll get it out. I swear it I won’t let you down again. Never again, Beau.”
Sweating, Beauregard saw comprehension in William’s gaze. He understood. Taking a leap of faith, he released the throat he held and staggered back. Avoiding the supporting hands that tried to help steady him, he stumbled back to his wife’s side and took hold of her hand.
Unsteady, Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “How did it come to this? Why are we like this?”
Neither of them answered.
Trussed up in a robe, Emmalee stormed barefoot into the room breaking the strained silence. “I need boiling water, towels, and hot iron. Put pressure on that wound. We can’t leave her bleeding.”
As she steamrolled in, Wyatt shifted to block her march. “Where’s Carrie?” His eyes moved over her head to the hallway in search of his wife. As head of the household this was her obligation. His jaw worked when her absence sank in. His voice acquired the qualities of steel. “Where is she?”
Wisps of flaxen hair clung to Emmalee’s brow. Her feline eyes sparked angrily, the green intensified by emotion. Her pretty face creased in disgust as she flushed to her hairline. “Cowering under the bed in her room.”
“Hie up there and tell her she needs to get down here and help.”
Emmalee dug her heels in as dragged her from the room. She grabbed the doorframe and latched on. “Nothing doing. She told me she wasn’t getting shot for an Injun’s wife.”
Wyatt’s face infused with deep red. He let the young woman go before he hurt her by accident. His fist clenched and his hold on his blunderbuss turned white-knuckled. “They’re long gone. She–”
“Oh, I told her they were gone. She didn’t care. My husband is pretty much the same kind of yellowbelly for refusing to help protect us, so don’t feel too bad.” Emmalee squared her shoulders and pushed past him. When he thrust out an arm to stop her, she stared him right in the eye. “You’ve got me. I know I’m not family, and you have a hard time trusting people not kin, but there you go. Roslyn is family to me. I let her down before, letting people besmirch her good name knowing she’d never defend herself as she should considering her nature. I’ll be damned if I let her down now. We’ll make do.” Not waiting for his reaction, afraid he’d refuse her, Emmalee ducked under his arm. She busied herself washing her hands in the sink with strong soap. She repeated her previous request adding a need for laudanum. “My hands are small and steady. I’ll get that bullet out. Watch.”
EMMALEE WORKED UNTIL THE SUN CRESTED THE HORIZON. Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief when Roslyn’s breathing steadied and her colour improved. She was waxen, but the slight blush of colour high on her cheeks gave him hope. Enough to break away from his vigil over Beauregard, who hadn’t strayed a step from her side since setting her down. His hair was dishevelled and his face gray. The corners of his eyes were pinched in pain, and Wyatt would’ve thought he wasn’t breathing if not for the slight flaring of his nostrils every now and then. His large hand covered her stomach while the other clasped her hand. At times his eyes lost focus, turned heated, and it was as if he willed her recovery.
As boys they’d pretended he had Indian magic.
Standing over him as a man, for the sake of them all, Wyatt wished it were true. For all the pain Beauregard’s mixed heritage caused him, surely God would grant him a boon, enough mystical energy to heal his wife and unborn child.
Sighing at his maudlin thoughts, Wyatt trudged outside rubbing his itchy eyes.
Covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, an exhausted William and Benjamin heaved the last of the bullet-ridden bodies onto the back of a hitched wagon.
Flies buzzed over the lumpy tarp-covered cart. Already the heat of the day made the stench horrendous.
Wyatt flipped aside the stained tarpaulin and hissed. A grotesque expression of pain stared back at him. “Tom Twin.”
“Yeah.” William hawked and spat. The dead smell bothered him. “Tim will hold a grudge. Going to have to watch our backs when we visit the Touch.”
Flinging the sheet back over the stiffening corpses, Wyatt snorted. “Addle-headed fools. Nobody told them to come out here looking for a gunfight.”
“My sister?” Benjamin held onto the side of the wagon worrying his bottom lip. “She’s going to be alright, isn’t she? And the baby? Beauregard got to them in time?” He swallowed hard. Still, his squeaky voice cracked as his chin wobbled. “She won’t die will she?”
“Emmalee is doing everything she can. We’re hopeful.” Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed Roslyn to live. His brother would paint the town red with blood if she didn’t. He might have been foolish and overlooked the justifications of brother’s past deeds, but Beauregard’s fierce temperament was the same as ever. Once his pretty wife no longer held the wolf by the leash things would get ugly. “Is the other wagon ready?”
“Yeah. Padded it with as many blankets and pillows as we could find. Need help carrying her?”
Wyatt was going to respond with the affirmative, but the front door opened and Emmalee rushed out. Beauregard was behind her, Roslyn cradled in his arms.
Though his face was haggard, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he moved steadily to the second wagon and gently placed her on the mountain of quilts. Wordless, he climbed in and settled, wrapping his arms around his wife and holding her tenderly to his chest.
Hurriedly tying her bonnet ribbons, Emmalee rushed across the yard. “I’ve done all I can.” She tucked her shambolic braid under the woven straw. “She seems fine, considering, but we need the physician.”
“Where’s Ernest?” Wyatt asked.
He helped her with her shawl since she seemed to keep tangling the tassels in her haste.
“My husband barricaded himself in your guest bedroom. I think it’s best we leave him there.”
“Well, he and my wife can keep company shouting through the walls.”
They shared bleak smiles of understanding.
“I don’t know about this.” Benjamin worried his hands. “Shouldn’t we ride to town, give the bodies to the Sherriff then bring Bert back here?”
“It’s a two hour ride to town with the wagon,” Wyatt said. “It’ll take at least an hour to set things right with the Sherriff. Add that to the ride back and we’ll be gone too long.”
“But surely moving her is–”
“The danger hasn’t passed,” William interjected on a sigh. “Beau won’t leave her side, and we can’t risk being separated. We’re stronger together.” He clapped Benjamin on the back. “It’s the Kellington way, and you’re one of us now.” He grinned. “And the youngest.”
Benjamin’s face curdled. He kicked the dirt. “Always the damn youngest.”