“It doesn’t matter. If he truly loved and trusted me, he wouldn’t ask me to make such a terrible choice. How did you find out about me being taken to prison?”
“Dave sent a message.” Johnny frowned. “Billy’s safe, I told him to go stay with Tom until things cool down. They only wanted him for questioning, so it’s not as if he committed any crime. It’s me they want. I could kill those sonsofbitches for what they did to you.”
“It was horrible.” She shuddered. “I can still smell the prison on my clothes. I’ll never wear these things again, I swear.”
After Johnny heated up some water, she lay in the dented tin bath tub while he waited outside. It was heavenly feeling clean, warm water against her skin. She washed her hair, and by the time she dressed in fresh clothes her spirits had lifted a little. Just thinking of Marcus made her feel like a lead block had been lodged in her chest. Marcus didn’t love her, not really. In the cold light of day, he’d probably decided she wasn’t a suitable bride after all.
I shouldn’t have believed him. Lust wasn’t love, and this was all Marcus felt for her. He had admitted as much on that terrible afternoon down by the creek.
She slept in her own room while Johnny took McGuire’s bed. Sleep did not come straight away even though she felt exhausted. The happenings of the last few hours were still vividly etched in her mind. She would never forget them. It was dangerous for Johnny to stay in the cabin, but he would not let her sleep alone. Useless arguing with him about the extra risk, until McGuire came home, he would stay close by.
George awoke next morning feeling none the worse for her ordeal. Johnny brought her in coffee and toast. “You slept in,” he greeted her cheerfully. He had recently bathed by the look of him. His dark hair rested in a mass of damp curls against the collar of his shirt.
“You’ve had a bath.”
“No, a swim. Beautiful, too.” He waited until she propped herself up on the pillows before handing over a mug of milky coffee and a plate containing two slices of toast. “I’ve already milked. When you finish here I’ll give you a hand with the rest of the chores, then we can round up a few strays. I saw several not bad looking heifers down near Logan’s gully.”
“I’d like that.” She forced a grateful smile because he was trying so hard to be cheerful.
“Don’t blame yourself. If Marcus really loved me he wouldn’t have asked me to make such a terrible choice.”
“He acted out of jealousy. Maybe you should have told him I was your brother.” He thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip.
“How could I? McGuire made me promise not to tell a living soul until he thought it was safe. Marcus asked me if I was your mistress, I said no. Why couldn’t he take my word for it? He proposed to me last night in jail on the spur of the moment. Probably had second thoughts in the cold light of day and was glad to use you for an excuse to back out. He’s gentry. His father is an English Lord.”
“He was jealous. I saw the way he stared at you, eating you up with his eyes. There’s something quite fetching about you.” He leaned over and twisted a bright curl around his forefinger. “I’d get hitched to you in a flash if you weren’t my sister.”
“Do you know this big dark secret of McGuire’s?”
“Not really,” he said evasively. “He doesn’t want the authorities to know we’re related, otherwise they’d hound you into the grave. Oh, let’s forget about it.”
Johnny knew the family secret, but like McGuire he wasn’t going to tell her.
“Forget about it, George. It’s much better if you don’t know.”
* * *
They rode out to Logan’s gully. It was invigorating galloping flat out with the wind blowing through her hair. Johnny, a superb rider, was fearless, equally at home rounding up cattle on one of McGuire’s work horses, or out running the posse on his racer.
They stopped for coffee and biscuits, and by the time they rounded up twenty head of cattle, the sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains. It still felt warm, so Johnny suggested they have a quick swim in the creek to cool off. Stripped to his drawers, his bare chest tanned to a golden brown and his unruly curls flopping into his eyes, he looked young and proud.
If he had not been an outlaw, what manner of man would he have made? He had a quick intelligent mind, a lively wit, but a streak of recklessness always seemed to be the dominant force behind him.
“Johnny!” He broke into her musings by dumping her fully clad into the water. She shrieked and lashed out at him, but like a fish he quickly swam out of reach. They frolicked for a time until the sun disappeared completely, causing the air to become cold.
Later, by the kitchen fire they ate hunks of toasted bread, washed down with mugs of coffee.
“I won’t sleep in the cabin tonight, George, I’ve got a funny feeling.”
“You think the hired guns are about?”
“Could be.” He peered out the window. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but something feels, well sort of not quite right. I won’t be far away. If anyone should come, I’ll have a better chance outside.”
After he disappeared into the night, she sat by the fire for a time thinking of Marcus and what might have been. Perhaps it was for the best. She would never be able to keep up to the standards demanded of a wealthy aristocrat’s wife. Better for it to end now than leave herself open to even more grievous hurt. His parents would never accept her nor would his fine friends. Finally, she sought the comfort of her bed and lay listening to the noises of the night. Coyotes howling in the distance and the slight whisper of the wind, as it played in the trees outside her window, soothed her to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
The sound of gunfire awakened George. Diving out of bed, she rushed to the window, but could see nothing, and as suddenly as it started the firing ceased and silence closed in once more. She dragged on a pair of trousers over her nightshirt, pulled on her boots and headed for the back door. After lifting the latch, she hesitated for a moment, before stepping outside.
It was dark. A deep ominous blackness. Fear gnawed at the pit of her stomach until she felt sick with it. Stealthily she crept toward the lookout where Johnny said he would spend the night. Only a mile from the cabin, yet his mountain eyrie gave him an uninterrupted view over the countryside. Thick undergrowth shielded his hideout; men could pass within feet of it and never know.
Few people knew about this place, and because of the roughness of the terrain it could only be got to at night on foot. Voices floating clearly on the night air alerted her of danger.
“I know I got him”
She stifled the screams rising in her throat by thrusting her fist in her mouth. Men were searching the bush close by. She froze against a tree trunk, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Johnny Valentine is as good as dead. Can’t have got far without a horse, especially when he’s bleeding like a stuck pig. The others are watching the horses and the McGuire cabin so he won’t get away. All we have to do is wait ‘til daylight. I can almost smell that reward money.”
Two men walked past, they were so close she could have put out a hand and touched them. Sheriff’s deputies talking about Johnny. They must have discovered his hideout and cold bloodedly waited in ambush.
She broke out in a cold sweat. Her palms became clammy, and the sickening sensation of fear churned her stomach. It was agony not knowing how badly hurt he might be.
Like a shadow she flitted from tree to tree, using the darkness for cover. Wounded, perhaps weak from loss of blood, where would he go? Her brain strived to grapple with the possibilities. The cave and his little valley were the logical places, but could he make it so far?
On foot, she dared not try to get a horse in case one of the men saw her. The stars shed the only light in the darkness. She could never remember a night being as black as this.
“Help me to find him please, God,” she prayed desperately. Except for the rustle of bush animals going about their nocturnal business, there w
as no sound. She moved like a shadow making no noise, and though she wanted to run, forced herself not to.
Caution was required now, lest she lead Johnny’s pursuers to his hideout. Once away from where she first encountered the deputies, she risked calling out. “Johnny, where are you?” She wanted to scream out loud so he would be sure to hear, but instead used a loud whisper.
“George.”
Finally, she was rewarded with an answer.
“I’m hurt real bad.”
She followed his voice to a fallen tree trunk half hidden by undergrowth.
“I’m inside this hollow log.”
A hasty glance around, then she pushed her way through the bushes to where a giant tree had lain for years.
She dropped to her knees, frantically searching for his hand. When their flesh touched, she started dragging him out. He could not climb to his feet unaided, and it took all her strength to get him standing. Even then, he swayed like a drunken man.
“Hang on to me, Johnny. We’ll go to the old Ransom cabin, it isn’t far from here. I want to see how badly hurt you are.”
“It’s on Stanton’s place,” he said in a throaty whisper.
“Without a horse, I can’t get you anywhere else, it will be safe. No one would think of looking for you on his property.”
What a nightmare trip. Johnny passed out twice, and by the time they reached the derelict cabin, George was exhausted. He was slightly built, but leaned so heavily on her, she was almost bent double.
As atonement for the pit like blackness, the moon suddenly disgorged itself from behind the banked-up clouds to light their way. A one-roomed cabin, its dilapidation softened by the translucent moonlight, waited with a silent invitation for them to enter. It had been deserted since the original family had been run off it years ago.
“Only a few more yards, then you’ll be safe.”
Where he got the strength from she didn’t know, but he straightened himself and staggered the last few yards. This effort drained his puny strength and he passed out near the doorway.
Sheer desperation somehow gave her the strength to drag him inside, and she pushed the door shut before collapsing on the floor. It was too dark to see properly, but she guessed he was hit somewhere about the chest or shoulder region, as blood from this area had seeped, hot and sticky, into her shirt.
“George.” He grabbed weakly at her hand. “Listen to me.” His voice sounded rasping and husky. “I’ve got a son.”
“What!” His confession slammed into her with the force of a whirlwind and she almost toppled over.
“Danny’s with the Shannons, his mother’s people. They’ve got a small spread just out of Londrigan on the Settlement Road. It’s a couple of hours ride from Deadwood.” He started panting now. “Promise me. Look after Danny. Sarah’s dead, and his grandmother is dying with the cancer.”
“I promise. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He didn’t answer and she realized he was unconscious. Johnny had a son? Was he delirious? He had never mentioned it before? This was the least of her worries. His breathing sounded loud and rattling now. On her own, she could do nothing. Who could be trusted to help? Marcus had once professed his love for her before bitterness and misunderstanding drove them apart, but surely true love would not be destroyed so quickly.
She thought of Dave Gleeson; an excitable youth at the best of times, he would be hopeless in a situation like this.
“I’ll be back soon, Johnny,” she promised, even though he could not hear her.
She ran. Ran, as she had never done before, desperation driving her on even though her heart beat like a bellows and her legs wobbled.
Everyone would be in bed by now as it was only an hour or so before dawn. Which room was Marcus in? Her tortured brain tried to remember. Directly above the big oak tree, yes, he had complained about branches scraping against the window.
Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and make sure the barking dogs were not roaming loose she started to climb. Climbing had been one of her childhood achievements and it was an easy tree with plenty of footholds.
His window was closed. “Marcus, Marcus.” She knocked on the window a couple of times. Finally, she heard his irate voice.
“What the hell.” He poked his head out the window. “Georgina.”
“Help me, please. You’ve got to help me. There’s no one else I can trust.”
She grasped his hands. One savage jerk found her inside his room and confronted by his anger.
“What in the name of God are you up to now?”
“Help me.” She went on desperately. “Johnny’s been shot.”
“Hardly unexpected,” he grated. “What do you expect me to do about it?”
“Help him.”
“You made your choice, Georgina. You can expect no help from me.”
Was this hard-voiced stranger her Marcus?
“Please, he’s been shot. You’ve got to help him. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Even become your mistress,” she babbled in desperation, clutching him in the darkness.
“You would become my mistress? My God, he must mean a lot to you. I’ll have to get dressed, you better wait outside.”
“I want to stay here, please, I’ll turn my back.” She heard him fumbling around in the dark. A lamp flared but she kept her eyes averted.
“All right, I’m decent.”
She swung around.
“Georgina.” At his horrified gasp, she glanced down at herself. The whole front of her shirt was soaked with blood, the red standing out starkly against the white cloth.
“Have you been wounded too?”
“No, only Johnny.”
A pulse convulsed in his jaw. “If he’s bleeding so badly there’s probably little I can do.”
“Please.”
He muttered a curse. “All right, I’ll do what I can. Where is he?”
“There’s a tumbledown cabin on Stanton’s further most boundary.”
“I think I know it.”
“Hurry.”
“I’m trying to find something to use as a bandage.”
He was wearing moleskin trousers, his shirt left hanging half open. He snatched up a couple of towels off the dresser.
“We’ll need this.” He thrust a silver brandy flask at her. “Is there a lantern in the hut?”
“I don’t know.” She started toward the window.
“We can go down the stairs and through the side door.”
“Someone might see us.”
“At three in the morning? I doubt it.”
Stealthily they crept downstairs and out on to the porch without mishap. They made their way to the stables, and by the lamplight Marcus saddled his horse.
A sleepy groom called out to them. “It’s all right, boy, I couldn’t sleep and felt like a ride. Don’t trouble yourself about coming down, I can saddle up.”
George watched from the shadows as he saddled the grey who whickered nervously. “It’s all right.” He soothed the skittish animal.
He led the horse outside, hoisted George up before swinging up behind her.
“You carry the lamp,” he instructed abruptly. Within a few minutes, they were on their way with George giving him the directions.
“Hurry, Marcus please.” His arms tightened around her, as if he was trying to hurt her on purpose.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I have no intention of risking my horse’s legs because of you or your outlaw lover.”
They arrived at the cabin within a short time. She glanced around, still no sign of any other presence, thank goodness. Leaping to the ground she almost dropped the lantern in her haste, leaving Marcus to collect the towels from where he had placed them in the saddlebag.
All was silent as she charged inside and knelt beside Johnny, who appeared not to have moved.
“George?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’ve brought Marcus, you’ll be all right now. He’s going to help us.”
S
he blinked suddenly as the lantern flared in the darkness. “Johnny,” she screamed his name.
“Quickly, out of the way.” Marcus pushed her to one side and dropped to his knees. The towels would be of little use he saw at a glance. Johnny Valentine looked as if half his chest had been blown away. Blood seeped from his wound, and one arm lay in an ever-widening pool of blood.
His face was unmarked. The damp tendrils of hair curling on to his forehead only seemed to emphasize his youth. Marcus glanced at Georgina who cringed in the same position he had pushed her. Heart rendering sobs racked her slender body.
“Are you in pain, Valentine?” Slightly glazed blue eyes stared at him.
“Here, drink this.” Marcus held a flask to the young outlaw’s lips and he drank greedily, but started coughing and choking as the brandy burned down his throat.
“George.”
“I’m here, Johnny.” Marcus watched a white-faced Georgina crawl over to grasp a bloodied hand and hold it to her heart.
“Don’t leave me, George.”
“I’ll never leave you, Johnny. Never, I promise.” This seemed to satisfy him for his eyes closed once more.
“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”
The tortured look in Georgina’s eyes pierced Marcus straight through the heart, and he knew he would never forget it. He would have given up everything he owned if it would have eased her pain.
“Yes.” She had stopped her wild sobbing now, although the terrible silence was even more piteous. “I really am sorry, even a doctor couldn’t save him.”
“George.”
“Yes, Johnny, I’m here.”
“Am I going to die?”
“No, Marcus will save you.”
“Englishman,” it came out in a husky whisper, and Marcus leaned closer. The end was near now, the towels were soaked yet the blood still came. It was dreadful watching this boy’s life literally flowing into the ground.
“Take, take.” The blood started spilling from his mouth. “Take care of George for me and find my son, promise.”
What was Valentine raving about now? He was obviously delirious. There was no time to ask him what he meant, so Marcus gave his vow out loud.
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