Shot gun barrel pointing from one side of the room to the other, the lawman in him relaxed at seeing no one guarding his wife. The sight of his wife had him smiling in admiration. Not at her beauty. No, he smiled at her determination to free herself.
The woman sat amidst the pieces of a broken chair. She’d almost liberated her arms from the ropes. As he’d entered, he saw her moving and twisting her shoulders to do so. He had one spunky lady.
The panic on her heart-shaped face turned to relief. Something more shone from her tear-filled eyes. Could that be love?
Her next words had him doubting that. “Come on and get me out of these ropes. Unless you want me to take a piece of this chair to your head when I do get free.”
Relief caused laughter to erupt from him. He needed to get her to safety and here he stood laughing like a buffoon.
Willing himself to show more caution, he moved to her and pulled the ropes off her shoulders. She’d nearly freed herself and he couldn’t have been more proud.
Once Rol moved the ropes, Delia wiggled, slipping from the rest of them. Except for her feet. He knelt by her and cut those with a knife from his belt scabbard.
“We have to get you to safety.” As they both stood, he ignored his own caution and grabbed the woman close to him. He didn’t kiss her. Merely clutched her to his heart and mentally sent a prayer of gratitude to God.
Soft words whispered below his chin. “Shouldn’t we get moving?”
“I have to hold you and convince myself I haven’t lost another wife.” His hands trembled slightly as the words slipped from him.
“Did someone murder her because of your job?” The question didn’t seem to fit the situation they were in. Still, he answered it.
“Not really. She couldn’t stand to be alone. One night, she emptied a bottle of laudanum. Then she waded into the lake near our house.” A sigh that carried a groan hissed from him. “Deborah just couldn’t get past her glumness after having the baby.”
He rubbed his chin gently over her slick hair, thinking about the strength contained within her small frame. This was love, he was sure. It felt different from the feelings he’d had at nineteen when he’d married Deborah.
Sighing, he knew now wasn’t the time to voice those feelings. The marriage was new. Besides, they still faced danger. He’d be an idiot to spout pretty phrases in the middle of a gun battle.
Kissing her temple, he stepped back and told her to stay behind his back as they moved. She opened her mouth. Even began to question him about his wife’s death. He only shook his head and motioned for her to stay quiet.
Outside, he hunched but didn’t crawl on the ground like earlier. The shooting had stopped. Lord willing, that meant the gang had been subdued. The other possibility had his heart turning cold.
From the spot where Rol had left the sheriff, Knight stood and waved a hand. “All clear!”
Relief. It flooded like snow melt through him. Now that Delia could safely ride to the house, he had a job to do.
With her help, he found the mount she’d ridden to rescue Eenie. Before she was atop the horse, he kissed her. “Thank you for rescuing our daughter.” His emphasis brought new tears to her eyes. “Now, go home.”
She shook her head. “The sheriff said Eenie’s at the doctor’s home. I’m going to town.”
While he grumbled about stubborn women, his face wore a broad grin. Delia definitely showed stronger will than his first wife. They would be okay.
In town, word of the teacher’s race to rescue her new daughter from rustlers blew like the wind through the streets of Belle. In the mercantile, Jubal Yarborough heard it told from one gossipy woman to another. He stiffened at the words.
The land on the outskirts of Belle and beyond stretched out in a flat plain. It made it easy to see for a distance. On that horizon, the frightened gang leader saw a large group riding into town. Seeing that some of the horses were being led, he knew the sheriff was returning with prisoners.
Should he move out? Without sleigh runners on his wagon, he wouldn’t get far across the snowy Wyoming country. The train had already come through that day, only about an hour before. Rotten timing for him!
What options did that leave him? No doubt one of his men would finger Jubal as the gang’s leader. That is, if they weren’t all gunned down in a fight with the sheriff. With the lawman’s return, he’d be coming after Jubal.
Stepping quietly out of the mercantile, he slunk to his wagon. At the moment when he would have sneaked through its back flaps to gather money and a few belongings, a figure rode past.
In the dusky light, he could just make out her identity. And she was alone, perfect for his revenge. First, she’d be a hostage. Then, when he got to safety, she’d be dead.
In front of the doctor’s home, the teacher dismounted and tied her horse. So close to his wagon. Resisting the urge to rub his hands with glee, Jubal raced along the shadows of the buildings.
Grabbing her as she secured the horse, he put a large, skeletal hand over her mouth. A shiver coursed through her small body, bringing a ripple of delight to him. Sticking a pistol against her temple, he wheezed out his odd laugh.
“Got you this time, slut.”
With men riding on all four sides to surround the outlaws, Sheriff Knight led the group into town, holding the lead rope of a horse that hauled one of the wounded gang members. Another lay dead across the saddle of a fine bay gelding. Paps had the lead for another wounded outlaw.
Rol held the rope for the horse that carried Yancy, having arrested him using the warrant for robbery and murder he already held. Charges connected with the rustling were still to be added. Those wouldn’t matter much. The marshal knew he would haul the criminal back to Nebraska to stand trial for murder. With help from one of the sheriff’s deputies, he’d take Jubal Yarborough along. From there, he’d take the man to stand trial in Missouri, where he was wanted for his crimes.
The few prisoners were easily placed into their cells. Rol agreed to escort the wounded man to the doctor’s home while Knight and his men processed the others. While wounded, the rustler could still walk the short distance to the doc’s office.
With a rifle to the man’s back, Rol headed down the boardwalk. At the edge of an alley, a short form with a much taller one behind it stepped in front of Rol’s prisoner about 20 feet ahead of them. Shouting for assistance, Rol threw the wounded man to the ground, shoving a booted foot into his back while aiming the rifle at the figures standing before him.
“Back up, Anderson, or you lose a wife.”
The marshal recognized the voice threatening him. Jubal Yarborough! The very man he planned to search out after securing this prisoner.
“Why you hiding behind a woman, Yarborough? Not brave enough to face me with only a gun?”
Yarborough pushed his hostage roughly forward, causing Delia to stumble and grab for the post at the end of the boardwalk. A shovel stood there, probably left by someone who’d been cleaning away snow.
Rol heard the man growl at Delia to stand up. She moved her hand up the post. What happened next had Rol wondering if he’d taken leave of his senses.
Delia grabbed hold of the shovel and whirled. With the grace of a dancer, she swung it in an arc that connected with Yarborough’s head. His gun discharged harmlessly. That sound along with the man’s scream brought folks running from the direction of both businesses and homes.
His wife’s body continued downward, following after the man. Holding her total weight against it, she forced the handle across the outlaw’s throat. “Jubal Yarborough, I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of rape and robbery.” The dazed look left the man’s eyes at her words. He struggled like a wild beast, trying to escape the handle and her weight.
“Best just lay in the snow. My husband, who’s also a marshal, has a rifle pointed this way. Bet he’d love to put a slug through your head.”
“How about a third marshal? You can bet your grits and gravy that I won’t h
esitate to fire.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Looking over her shoulder toward it, Delia narrowed her eyes before widening them in surprise.
“Marshal Jessup? You’re alive!”
The older man’s eyebrows rose. “Certainly hope so ma’am. Got a few more rascals like those fellas to take care of before I give up my silver star and enter St. Peter’s pearly gates.”
Before Delia could respond, the man gave a rusty chuckle, as if he didn’t laugh often. “See you put the star I gave you to good use. Got your man, didn’t you?”
Looking at her husband, she and Rol exchanged a secret smile. “In more ways than one, marshal. Definitely got my man.”
Her man had turned his prisoner over to a deputy and now took charge of Yarborough. Pulling the man to his feet, he handcuffed the man none too gently. As he shoved the man toward the jail, Jubal yelled loudly to gain the attention of the people gathered around him.
“You gonna just let this go unchallenged. That colored woman hit me, a white man. Don’t none of you folks have enough decency to do something ‘bout that.” Spittle flew as he tried to stir up the crowd.
Faces turned to look at the teacher and then at each other in question. Finally, a voice spoke up at the back of the group. “What ya mean? Teacher’s white as you.”
Jubal’s head shook from side to side and then he strained to pull himself away from Rol’s restraining hand. The lawman’s grip tightened so he gave up and directed his gaze to the crowd. “Got a cousin lived in Evergreen. Sent him a letter and got the low down on the woman. Her ma’s a former slave. Now, she’s married a white man.”
A growl from Rol pulled the gaze of the crowd his way. “Who says I’m white?”
Delia could imagine the thoughts as the townspeople examined Rol. With his olive-tinted skin and dark eyes, he could pass as a mulatto she thought. Evidently others thought so too since they murmured and nodded at him.
Frowning, Mr. Stewart pushed out of the crowd to face Delia. His expression darkened as he looked between Yarborough and her. His thundering tone sounded like a pronouncement. “What kind of community do you think this is, Mr. Cobbler Man? We don’t pretend to like someone and then turn our backs on her. Teacher’s a good woman.”
Agreements echoed around Mr. Stewart. The moment she’d dreaded—the realization of who she truly was—had come and nothing changed. Praise God for a community that really lived out His love.
A blur burst from the doctor’s home. Rushing toward her father, Eenie threw herself into strong, waiting arms. He crushed her against him, kissing her hair as he squeezed her.
“Sweetie, I’m so thankful to God you’re safe.” Emotion made his voice hoarse. It was a sound Delia had never heard. He certainly hadn’t sounded that way when he’d rescued her.
Even though Eenie hid her face in her father’s shirt, Delia still made out her words. “It was scary, Pa. I’m glad you got the bad men.”
“All that matters is that you’re safe now. I love you, sweetheart.”
Something squeezed tightly in Delia’s chest. Those were the words she wanted. She’d faced danger, but it hadn’t made him realize he loved her.
Delia stood, free and safe in town. Suddenly, she felt trapped in her marriage.
Chapter 11
She wanted her mama. Being an adult seemed too painful lately for Delia. It wasn’t the responsibility of her daughter. No, even though Eenie had thrown a few tantrums since her father had left, she had been able to deal well with the little girl. In part, the girl merely needed the assurance that her father would come back, and they would be a family.
Delia wanted her mother’s soothing touch. The calm voice that would tell her everything would be fine. That her husband would love her one day.
Longing for that ate at her. She loved him. This feeling couldn’t be anything else.
Nights stretched out in long, lonely hours since Rol had traveled east with Marshal Jessup to deliver the prisoners. They’d waited a couple days before leaving since Yancy had been shot in the gun battle. Secretly, Delia had hoped he’d die so her husband wouldn’t be needed to escort the second prisoner. Terrible, she knew, but she badly wanted him with her.
Yancy had recovered enough to be taken to Nebraska. Jubal Yarborough would stand trial in the east somewhere. She couldn’t remember exactly where. All that mattered was that her husband’s part would be done when Yancy arrived at his destination.
She’d received one telegram to let her know Rol had arrived safely. Though that eased her worry, it did little to console her heart.
She chastised that heart more than once. Once Rol Anders slipped past her wall of reserve, her love had totally and forever been given to him. Supposedly, a wife should love her husband. She’d even vowed to love him in the vows she said before the preacher.
The trouble was she didn’t want to be the only one who loved in this marriage. And, she wouldn’t tell him until he told her of his love. Not that she thought he felt that way. No, he’d been maneuvered into the marriage. She filled a need he had for a wife and a mother to Eenie. A lover wasn’t the same as the one you loved.
If he loved her, he would have said something when he rescued her from the line shack that day. Or, maybe later when they’d been entwined in their bed. He’d held her close and whispered words that told her how important she was to him. He never mentioned his heart.
During the long nights in the next week, Delia worked on a pair of red dresses. Her husband might be absent. No matter, she and Eenie were going to the Sweetheart Dance. They’d be a mother-daughter couple on the dancefloor.
The evening of the dance, the two arrived by buggy at the hotel. The weather had been fair so she’d stayed at the ranch rather than in her room behind the school.
One night, she and Eenie had stayed in that room. Being there made it seem like her marriage had never happened. The nearly unbearable sadness drove her back to the ranch the next evening.
Pulling the buggy to a stop, Delia looked in surprise at her giggling daughter. Eenie only pointed at the hotel, decorated for the occasion.
Red fabric had been entwined like a river above the door and across part of the building’s front on each side. Ribbons had been tied on the handle of the door. A young man took charge of her horse and buggy, allowing the mother-daughter couple to enter.
Above the entryway, a sign read, “Gateway for Sweethearts”. She pointed at it as she teased Eenie. “You’re my sweetheart for the night.”
Eenie gripped her hand, a serious frown on her face. “I want to be your sweetheart always, Ma.”
Delia squeezed the child’s hand and smiled. How perfect this would be if only her husband were there.
Inside, it seemed like all of Belle’s residents took a moment to speak with her. The doubts and fears she’d lived with when she hid her heritage no longer existed. These people went out of their way to make her feel a part of their community. She appreciated it, treasured it.
Looking around the room for Paps Johnson, Delia realized he wasn’t there. She spotted his livery assistant. He only shook his head when she asked about the old man.
“Ma’am, he got a customer just as we wanted to close up for the dance.”
The young man asked her to dance. Delia only shook her head. “I’m saving all my dances for my daughter.”
Her words brought a pull on her hand. Delia’s attention returned to her date for the evening. “Ma, can’t we dance yet?”
While Delia had never danced, neither had Eenie. They moved from one foot to the other in a sort of rocking motion, giggling awkwardly each time they bumped into something or someone.
“Well, Eenie, do you think we’ve embarrassed ourselves enough? Maybe it’s time to stop dancing.”
A low, velvety voice sounded softly behind Delia’s ear. “Not yet. I want at least one dance with my ladies.”
His arms encircled both, hugging them close to him. Rol danced them to a shadowed corner at the edge of the dance floor. Th
ere, he put loving arms around Delia’s waist and sandwiched their daughter between them. Not trying to do anything more than the rocking motion his two females had been using, Rol continued to dance them without moving out of the corner.
Delia’s trembling hand crept up to his cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She felt roughness, the stubble of many days on his face, and rubbed her hand meaningful across it.
He grinned. “Yeah, I didn’t get a chance to fancy myself up for you ladies.” Laughing, he admitted ruefully “I didn’t even wait for the train on the last leg of the trip. Bought a horse and rode hard to be here with you both.”
Eenie’s head bumped against Delia’s middle as she looked up at her father. “That means I got two sweethearts then, you and Ma. We’re a real family again.”
“Yep,” he pulled one hand from Delia’s waist and stroked his daughter’s hair. “I had to have a dance with my girl.” Then he gave Delia a warm glance. “Both of them.”
Though she tried to keep her expression happy, Delia suspected that some of her longing showed on her face. He looked confused as he looked down at her.
“Has something happened, Delia?” His low tone lost its warmth as dread made it brittle.
“I…I just—”
Stopping them, he whispered into Eenie’s ear. The little girl stepped out from between them and stood near the wall.
Cut off from the rest of the party goers by the shadows, Rol wrapped her tightly in his arms. His words held a depth of emotion that assured her of his sincerity. “You are my one true love, Delia Perkins Anders. Be my valentine for the rest of our lives.”
She felt her jaw drop. He put a finger under her chin and closed it for her. “Why the shock? You had to know how I felt about you.”
Struck dumb yet, she shook her head. Tears crept out the corners of her eyes.
“Don’t cry, honey. Have I hurt you somehow?” Tender concern clouded his face. How it made her love him all the more.
Arranging her thoughts, she finally spoke. “At the line shack, and later in town, you never once said you loved me. I was sure, if you did, you’d say it then.”
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