by Lynda J. Cox
A.J. levered back from her for a moment. Her hands skimmed up his arms and across his chest. He started to move with slow and deliberate motions of his body. Allison spread her fingers against the width of his chest, braced against him until her hands slipped up to his shoulders and she grabbed on. Each long stroke of his body into hers, each retreat coiled tighter in her core.
Her breath left with each thrust. Of their own accord, her knees edged up. Her heels dug into the mattress and her hips arched up into him, pulling him deeper. She heard herself whispering his name, a near sobbing litany. That litany turned into gasps as A.J. hooked her knees and nudged them higher, almost bending her double. He sank his fingers into her hair, his lips on hers to catch her shuddering cries of his name.
She was spiraling, shuddering, burning in a firestorm of pure sensation. As she sobbed his name with the release of the unrelenting tension in her, felt his rasping breath scalding her, his whole body tensed and then shuddered in rhythm with hers. The length of him buried within her pulsed and her name broke from his lips, sounding as reverent as a prayer.
Chapter Eleven
There is no rampart that will hold out
against malice.
~Molière
Pre-dawn filtered into the room through the heavy curtains, filling the space with a delicate light. A.J. twisted his head to the woman sleeping next to him. Her arm was draped over his ribs, her face turned to him. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he finally felt at peace. Allison’s exoneration and instinctive understanding of his self-perceived guilt and shame for Cathy’s death and how severely he was broken had brought this peace.
He had never told anyone his role in Oakten being at Clayborne, or the guilt he carried for Cathy’s death and the death of his daughters—until Allison. Instead of turning from him, she had granted him absolution. And, when she realized just how physically broken and scarred he was, she had healed him. Not physically, but in his soul. She’d looked into the black abyss and instead of turning away, she’d pulled him more fully into her arms.
You are not a coward. I know what a coward is... That’s not you... You will never be damaged or broken in my sight.
He gently brushed the back of his hand along the slope of her cheek, then slipped from under her arm and slid from the bed. He paused to study her. She lay partially on her stomach, her arm stretched out over the spot he had slept. Her walnut tresses draped over her shoulders, a shawl of sable silk. Her lips were slightly parted and A.J. fought the urge to return to bed and kiss those delectable lips until she woke.
He felt himself tightening and forced himself to turn from the bed. As much as he wanted to wake her, he knew he had to let her sleep. She was exhausted. That hadn’t been a complete untruth he told Schaffer last night.
As quietly as he could, he dressed in the new denim trousers and heavy linen shirt. Maybe, he could sweet-talk Mrs. Oaks into letting him bring his wife—and as soon as he could, he was going to make this legal—breakfast in bed. And, maybe, he could persuade hell to freeze over. What he had seen of the German woman last night at supper had convinced him if Braxton Bragg had had that woman in the officer corps of the Army of Tennessee, the war would have been over in less than six months and the Union would have not only been petitioning for peace, but begging for it on any terms the Confederacy dictated. The woman was a martinet in the manner she ran her kitchen.
At most, he might be able to sneak a cup of coffee from the dining room. That was provided he signed an agreement in triplicate promising to bring the cup back within the half hour. A quiet snort broke from A.J. at his mental image of that imposing woman standing over him, rolling pin brandished at his head if he failed to return said coffee cup.
He pulled his boots on and let himself out of the room. The door clicked softly as the latch engaged. He started down the hallway to the front desk and the restaurant, halting and ducking back into the shadows of one of the recessed doorways when the murmur of voices reached him.
Tall, thin to the point of being skeletal, long dishwater blond hair pulled back into a pony tail and secured with a leather thong, Nathan Garrison stood leaning against the front desk. His black duster showed signs of wear and road dirt, as if he had ridden hard. Schaffer was backed as far from the man as the walls would allow him and he shook his head.
“I’m telling you, mister, the only woman we got here is a married lady.”
A.J. slipped out of the shadows and back-tracked to the room he and Allison shared. He had to get her up and out of there as quickly as he could. Just how he was going to get her out of the hotel without being seen was the real question. Behind the rice screen, a large window beckoned. That would have to work as the avenue of escape.
He bent over Allison, shaking her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open and when she met his gaze, she sat bolt upright. “What’s wrong?”
“Nathan Garrison is here.”
Her hands flew to her mouth and she looked around the room in what he could only define as panic.
“Get dressed in those denims I got for you yesterday. Put that short coat on.”
She was already out of bed, fear quelling any lingering sense of propriety. She tugged the denims on and jerked a flannel shirt over her head. She managed to get into the new boots without stamping on the floor to force her feet into them. While she dressed, A.J. shoved all of their belongings into the saddle bags. As she pulled the coat on, A.J. pushed the window up.
“Come here,” he said, and gestured out the window. “Stay behind the buildings and head to the west side of town. Go to the livery and wait for me there. Tell the livery owner or the stable hand to saddle both horses.” He thrust the saddle bags at Allison. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but if I’m not there in half an hour, get on Dan and get the hell out of here. Go to Federal, in Wyoming Territory. The only federal marshal in a two day’s ride is there.”
“Dan won’t go without you.”
He shook his head. “If I’m not there, he’s fine.”
She hesitated. “A.J., I don’t want to leave without you.”
A.J. caught her chin in his palm and tilted her head up for a quick kiss. “I’ll be there if I can. I promise. Now, go.”
He watched her shimmy out the window. He waited for a few moments and when no shouts of discovery or worse—Allison’s yells for help—sounded, he let himself out of the room. He strolled down the hallway as if he truly was just on his way to breakfast. “Good morning, Mr. Schaffer,” he called.
Garrison turned with Schaffer and Garrison’s dark eyes narrowed. “Adams?”
A.J. shook his head. “Name’s VanBuren. You are…?”
“Garrison. Captain Nathan Garrison.”
A.J. glanced up and down the man’s attire. Dual revolvers, both with the butt facing forward. So, Garrison fancied himself a fast draw. Just wonderful. “Your lack of uniform means I can infer you’re a scout for the cavalry, Captain?”
It was Garrison’s turn to shake his head. “No, just a habit I didn’t lose from the war. I keep forgetting it’s over.”
Even though his gut was twisting into knots, A.J. forced a smile to his face. “Perhaps, Mr. Garrison, you might wish to consider how long that war has been over.” He then glanced at Schaffer. “Mr. Schaffer, do you think there is any possible manner I could use to convince Mrs. Oaks to make up a tray for my wife? She is feeling very poorly today and I don’t want to ask her to leave her bed just yet. I’d also like to keep the room another night. Perhaps a few nights of good sleep will help her.”
“I’ll go tell Helga that your missus is feeling under the weather. Once I explain to her why, she’ll be more understanding.” The clerk was already sidling out from behind the desk, eager to make his escape from Garrison. “She wouldn’t do anything to cause a mother-to-be any discomfort, despite her rather brusque nature.”
Garrison snapped his gaze over to A.J. “Your wife is in a delicate condition?”
A.J. nodded. “I’m
finally going to be a father in about five months.”
“I suppose congratulations are due, then, Major.”
Either Garrison was about as dense as the proverbial rock, or he thought A.J. was, if the man thought that little slip was going to trip him up. “I’ll take the congratulations, but I have never served in the military. A very bad back prohibited me from service to my country.”
“And, which country would that have been?” Garrison fully turned to A.J., making a show of drawing the duster fully away from the reversed butts on the revolvers.
He let his gaze flicker down to the matching revolvers before looking up. “Mr. Garrison, I’m afraid I don’t understand your overt aggression. There has been only one country, even in the midst of that ill-thought out war.” A.J. was acutely aware he didn’t have his revolver; it was in the saddle bags he had sent with Allison. Besides, even if he ever fancied himself a fast draw of any kind, the manner that Garrison wore his guns told A.J. he could never outdraw the man.
Schaffer returned at that point. “Mr. VanBuren, Mrs. Oaks says she’ll make up a tray of toast, some jam, and a weak tea for your wife. She did say, that you, on the other hand, must make your presence known in the dining room if you wish to have breakfast.”
A.J. laughed, in spite of the knife blade he was walking with Garrison. “Please give my thanks to Mrs. Oaks for her consideration. I’ll go let Alli know. Thank you.”
He returned to the room and locked the door. He pulled his gray overcoat on and left a five dollar bill on the table top, then grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand next to the bed and wrote a quick note to Schaffer, thanking him for all his troubles and apologizing for his unorthodox manner of exiting the hotel. Lastly, he penned another note to Garrison.
Captain Garrison, we only have one country right now. Please try to remember the war has been over for more than a decade. I must correct a deliberate misinterpretation on my part. I did serve in the War of Northern Aggression. However, no matter how brutal that war became, unlike you, I never stooped to killing children.
Even as he wrote that last sentence, the memory of holding Jed’s painfully thin body in his arms hammered into him, and once again he felt the boy’s blood—hot and sticky—seeping through his fingers as he tried to stem the flow from Jed’s chest, heard the child saying he could hear the drums sounding the advance and asking for his permission to rejoin his regiment. A.J. gripped the edge of the table, trying to force that memory back into a buried recess, but it wasn’t retreating. Once more, he felt the bitter cold of that day, heard the sharp crack of the rifle shot, saw Jed spin around with the bullet’s impact and slowly collapse to the ground. The helplessness and rage he felt at that moment returned to choke him.
He screw his eyes shut. He couldn’t let them drag him back. He had to get Allison out of this town, away from Garrison. Allison…he latched onto her memory. Allison in that horrid serge travelling suit of green and that ridiculous feathered hat. Allison telling him eating rattlesnake was disgusting. Allison kissing him to pull him free of the chains he still wore, chains forged of betrayal, pain, and hopelessness. Allison…waiting for him at the livery.
A.J. slowly opened his eyes. The flocked wallpaper of the room came into focus, replacing the high stockade walls of Infernum. He forced a deep breath and seized the paper from the table and crumbled it into a wad. Tossing it into onto the embers smoldering on the hearth, he waited until the paper caught and flames were licking through the center of the wad. Without a backward glance, he climbed out the same window he had sent Allison out of earlier.
Allison paced the barn aisle, and every time she stopped at the wide open door, she risked a look out onto the street. Dan and Sugar were saddled. Where in the world was A.J.? She made her way down the aisle again, pausing to pat Dan’s neck.
The gray softly nickered and nudged her.
Allison shivered even though she wasn’t cold. Had it been half an hour? What was taking him so long? Part of her wanted to pull Dan from his stall, drag herself onto his back and ride as hard and fast as the horse could carry her from this town. The other part of her refused to leave without A.J.
She turned and as she passed the gray again, she heard rapid boot steps on the boardwalk just outside the stable. She ducked into the stall, using the horse’s bulk to hide behind.
“Alli?”
Allison rushed into the aisle-way and flung herself into his arms. “You’re here.”
He hugged her to himself, and ran a hand down the back of her head. “I told you I’d be here as soon as I could. But, we’ve got to go. I’ve bought us a little bit of a head start.”
He took the saddle bags from Allison and slung them over the seat of Dan’s saddle, and then took out his revolver and holster. He spared a moment to buckle the holster on and tie it down over his thigh. He then tethered the bags at the back of the saddle, and finally led the horses from the stable.
Allison let him boost her onto Dan. In a few short days, she had become much more comfortable in the saddle. Before he swung up onto Sugar, he paused and said, “Remind me later to tell you how good you look in a pair of denims.”
Heat filled her cheeks and some of the choking fear was banished with his smile. He then grabbed a hank of mane on Sugar, stepped into the stirrup, and swung up into the new saddle. Putting heels into Sugar’s sides, he whistled for Dan and they took off at a fast gallop.
They weren’t more than two hours out of town when A.J. shouted, “Grab a hold of his mane, Allison, and hold on. Git up, Danny-boy.”
A moment before the gray exploded in a full out gallop, Allison risked a glance over her shoulder. Four men were riding hard after them. Dan’s gallop left A.J. and Sugar behind.
Reacting to an instinct she didn’t even know she had, Allison crouched down lower over Dan’s shoulders and the gelding’s stride lengthened. After several hundred yards, Dan stumbled, fell forward, and rolled. Allison’s felt herself pitched over Dan’s head and she couldn’t stop her frightened scream. The ground rushed up to meet her and she flung her arms out, hoping to break her fall. Her head hit the rock-hard ground, she saw stars and then nothing.
A.J. kicked Sugar, forcing another burst of speed from the mare. He didn’t even have her reined to a full stop when he vaulted from her back and ran the last few feet to Allison’s side.
“Alli…dear God, no…no. Please…” He didn’t even know who he was begging for her to be all right.
Allison lay motionless on the ground, face down. A.J. collapsed to his knees next to her, dropping a hand onto her back. She was still breathing. Relief left him momentarily light-headed.
Dan struggled to get up, drawing his attention from Allison. The gelding’s right front leg hung at a strange angle and a glistening piece of white bone protruded through the skin in his lower leg. Sparing the approaching riders a glance, A.J. caught the gray’s bridle, pulling his head in to his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Danny-boy. Easy, Dan. Easy.”
The gelding instantly calmed and stopped his struggle to get to his feet. A.J. ran a quick hand down Dan’s face, lingering for a moment between the horse’s wide-set eyes, mentally mapping out exactly where to place the muzzle of the revolver on the gray’s forehead and allowing himself that slender moment to mourn the loss of a constant companion for more than a decade. “I’m sorry, Danny-boy.” He put the muzzle to Dan’s head and squeezed the trigger.
Giving the riders another glance, he scooped Allison into his arms, and carried her closer to Dan’s body. The gray’s bulk provided a fairly good shield. He then knelt next to her, using Dan’s body to give him some protection. He pulled the box of shells from the saddle bag, opened it and felt his stomach sink. Less than half a box remained. Why was it, when he needed it the most, he always found himself short? Shaking his head, A.J. reloaded, chambering a round under the hammer. The least of his worries at that moment was an accidental discharge.
When the riders closed to about two hundred fe
et, the lead rider fired a shot. The bullet thunked into the makeshift bulwark of Dan’s body. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the way that hollow, dull thump turned his stomach, A.J. picked off the lead rider with a single shot to the head, sending him tumbling backwards off his horse.
The riders wheeled around and moved out of range. Garrison shouted, “We can wait you out. We just want the woman.”
Allison stirred next to him. A.J. caught her shoulder. “Stay still,” he said, without looking down.
A slight whimper broke from her. “My head hurts.”
“I bet it does.” He sank to his heels. Damn, but this felt all too familiar. Outgunned, under-manned, unhorsed with nothing to do but wait for the painful, inevitable end… The only difference in this battle was he couldn’t pay for ground with a retreat. “We’re in a bit of a quandary here. There are three of them, four guns if you count Garrison’s matched revolvers, and we’ve got only one horse and half a box of rounds.”
“What are we going to do?”
One of the riders began to swing far out to the right and the other swung far to the left. A.J. didn’t bother to fire at them, merely tracked their movement.
“I’m trying to stall for as long as possible while I figure out how to get us out this mess.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. A.J. glanced down at her. Tears rolled down her face. He looked back to Garrison and then the two outriders. None of them had moved closer, apparently content to sit and wait for his next move.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Breaking Dan’s leg.” A laugh that bordered on hysteria rippled from her. “You could walk away from this if you just shoot me for breaking Dan’s leg.”
