“Who said that?”
“Well…you did.”
Sophia twisted around to look back. “You’re all right. Especially when you get spitting mad at the Reverend.”
Pleasure flared in Temperance’s chest. Coming from Sophia, the words equaled effusive praise, and with Gray’s cage closing around them, unity felt more critical than ever. And she’d always liked Sophia, even more so now that her icy demeanor had thawed. “Was that all it took?”
Sophia turned away—maybe smiling, maybe not. They rode in silence, and up ahead, Henry veered off into the brush.
Temperance tugged Bea to a stop. Sophia dropped Larkspur’s reins, then drew her revolvers and squinted ahead.
At first, Temperance saw nothing—only a thicket of fir trees and spangled fuchsia fireweed. Yet as she eased Bea in among the trees, she caught movement. Beyond the twining foliage, Henry stood in a muddy clearing.
It was a claim—five hundred feet by five hundred feet, stripped bare, bristling with the stubble of axe-chewed stumps. Rough-hewn windlasses crouched over sunken mineshafts. A network of sluice boxes snaked through the earthen wreckage, diverting the creek through a flowing maze before pouring water back onto the hillside.
Sophia drew alongside her, silent as a circling hawk.
Temperance glanced over. And somehow, despite herself, despite the circumstances, she found herself staring.
Normally, Sophia’s extraordinary beauty was impossible to ignore. Here, though, with the guns in her hands and the blue-eyed paint horse beneath her, she shone among the trees like a coin glimmering at the bottom of a well. Her effortless fluidity appeared otherworldly, as if a lithe forest enchantress had escaped from some fairytale.
An old, familiar sweetness awakened, swimming in Temperance’s blood.
Sophia met her gaze, her midnight eyes dancing with their own hidden light. “What’re you staring at?”
Temperance blinked.
“Henry’s over there.”
Chest tight, Temperance faced forward. What was she doing? How, with her home—with her very way of life—at stake, could she gape at someone who’d only just become her friend? “Sorry,” she said. Still, sun filtered through the branches, finding the bare sliver of neck beneath her bonnet and heating it to a shine.
“What’s he doing?” Sophia whispered.
Shoving her thoughts into a tight bundle, Temperance refocused. Up ahead, beyond the screen of trees, Henry crouched, rummaging through his buckskin sack. The bag flopped open, revealing a pile of dull red cylinders.
Confusion froze her in place. Where were the nuggets, the gold dust? “What’re those?”
“Shotgun shells.” Sophia sounded thoughtful.
Dozens of them, from the looks of it. Henry pulled a shotgun from his coat, selected two red cartridges, then fitted them into the chambers. He snapped the weapon shut and aimed at the nearest dirt mound.
Wet earth sprayed skyward. A half-second later, the percussive blast hit Temperance’s ears.
BOOM.
She recoiled. Beneath her, Bea gave an alarmed whinny and danced backward, straining against the reins.
Sophia flashed a warning glance. “Don’t let him hear.”
Temperance fought for control, hauling at the leads until the mare quieted.
It was too late, though—Henry’s bellow reverberated in the sunlit air. “Who’s there?”
“Damnit.” Sophia blew out a sigh. For a moment, she contemplated, then urged Larkspur forward.
Fear pulsed through Temperance’s veins. This wasn’t the plan—Henry was supposed to be carrying the Reverend’s gold. Their gold. Not a bag full of ammunition. And if they couldn’t reclaim what was rightfully theirs, there was no sense starting a gunfight in the wilderness, where anything might happen.
There had to be another way—some solution that would allow her to keep the Blossom and redeem the Reverend’s soul. “Stop,” she whispered. “Let’s go back.”
Yet Sophia guided her horse forward, heedless. She flowed through the clustered trees like rain coursing through cracks in stone, emerging onto the stake with her Colts raised.
Temperance’s gut twisted. Beyond the shroud of branches, Henry betrayed no surprise. Instead, he smiled—a sluggish baring of the teeth that struck fear into her heart.
She wavered, balanced on the edge of the trees. Logic screamed to flee. Yet as she watched Sophia brave Henry’s chilling smile alone, that slumbering darkness inside her awakened in a roar of silence and rushing blood. It was the same scorching force that had taken over when Gray had threatened to burn the Blossom, and now it swept her up again, white as rage but purer, a blazing tide of movement that drove her heels into Bea’s flanks.
The trees slid by and she exploded into the clearing.
This time, surprise drew a blank veil over Henry’s face. “I expected the minx. But you…”
Red-hot courage girded her, strengthening her words until she scarcely recognized her own voice. “Where’s the money?”
Henry planted his shotgun muzzle against the ground and leaned on the stock. In the shadowed depths his cap afforded, his eyes glinted, scornful. “I figured you was the nice one. But you’re just as bloodthirsty as the rest of ‘em, aintcha? How’s your neck?” He grinned.
“Better than your finger is.” Sophia cocked both hammers. “Answer her question.”
Henry laughed—a dry, ugly rasp that scraped down Temperance’s spine. “You got no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
BOOM.
Bea reared. Temperance nearly toppled, but she clamped her thighs together and held on. When hooves found earth again, she laid a hand against Bea’s heaving neck, her pulse pounding along with the mare’s.
Henry stood board-stiff, his eyes wide. A perfect round hole, black and smoking, pierced his cap. Daylight streamed through from the other side.
“You don’t seem to understand how this works. See, I have guns.” Sophia gestured toward him. “And you have our money.”
“What is this, a stick-up?”
“Did you figure that out all by yourself? Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look. No, forget that. But even an imbecile like you can probably figure out what happens next.”
Henry’s voice lowered, heavy with either fury or fear. “I’ve got me a gun, too.”
“Mmm hmm. Good luck getting it off the ground in time.”
Struggling to keep her expression neutral, Temperance marveled at all the bluster. Sophia wouldn’t actually hurt him—at least, she didn’t think so.
She probably should have clarified that in advance.
“Shoot me, then.” Henry’s dull blue eyes went even flatter. “Rev’ll know exactly what happened. He’ll let George burn you.”
Temperance tensed. The plan hinged on—
The bushes exploded. In a riot of blurred motion, a horse and rider tore into the clearing, spraying Henry with a shower of mud.
The newcomer made a fearsome sight. Above a black cloth mask, furious eyes lanced out from beneath a wide-brimmed black hat. Jet hair streamed down, catching on a shapeless buckskin tunic and trousers.
The horse was the color of coal.
Henry’s mouth fell open. “You? But…” He trailed off.
The rider pulled out a shotgun and aimed at Henry’s chest. “Your bag.” The voice was a gritty scrape, genderless. “Now.”
Temperance tried to gather her fractured thoughts. What did Henry’s sack have to do with anything? Why all this fuss over shotgun shells?
Sophia murmured under her breath. “Just stick to the plan.”
Then everything happened at once.
Henry scooped up the bag and tossed it to the rider, raw hate in his eyes.
“Hey!” Sophia yelled at the outlaw. “This is our robbery, not yours!”
Except the rider was already off and running, hunched low in the saddle with the sack clutched tight.
Sophia’s revolver came up. A thunderclap tore the air, then blood exploded from the
outlaw’s side. The black horse careened into the trees, its rider listing sideways.
Yet Temperance hardly saw any of it. Bea skittered, dancing in place for a few faltering moments before finally deciding to bolt.
The reins flew from Temperance’s hands as she bounced in the saddle. Jagged granite boulders whizzed by, reaching up to snatch at her as she fought to stay astride. She clutched at Bea’s mane, pulling herself low. If she could only reach the leads…
Inching forward, she strained toward the bouncing reins. Ahead, the mighty rushing Klondike loomed, drowning out everything but the blood roaring in her ears. Water came into view, swollen and white-capped, swallowing everything in its path. And just as she wondered whether Bea would stop in time, the mare skidded to a halt.
Except Temperance kept going. Air whistled past as the horizon dipped in and out—then icy dark closed in, swallowing her, stabbing her from every direction at once.
34. Sophia.
The moment Bea bolted, Sophia abandoned Henry and gave chase, but she hadn’t caught up in time. Now Temperance’s mare stood on the riverbank, sides heaving, her saddle empty. Beyond her churned the deadly hurricane of the springtime Klondike.
Sophia’s breath fled. Temperance is gone.
The realization struck her like a physical blow. But then, miraculously, Temperance’s head burst through the roiling water.
Sophia allowed no time for relief, only fastened on that red bonnet, as dark and wet as blood.
Her horse hurtled forward. With her guns still in her hands, she guided Larkspur with her knees. He moved as if he were part of her, as if he were made of light.
Barreling past a lathered, aimless Bea, Sophia turned hard at the riverbend and raced along the bank, following the water. Leaning in, she pushed with the full weight of her desperation, trying to outrace the current.
The blue-eyed paint answered her call. He stretched into one long, fluid line, until she couldn’t say whether his hooves touched the ground or not.
There was no time. If the frigid water didn’t drown Temperance first, it’d rob her of consciousness in minutes. Sophia couldn’t see over the churning waves, but with everything in her, she hoped Temperance was swimming.
Cursing her wretched skirts, she pushed up out of the stirrups. She lifted herself, the motion still so familiar it felt like breathing, and found the saddle with her feet.
She stood. Wind snapped hair into her face, but she pushed the strands away. The ground streaked by, a blur of green and shadow.
From up here, she could see—Temperance fought the river, spitting gray water whenever her head broke the surface. Sophia drew alongside. Briefly, their eyes met. Then the current swept Temperance away again, pushing her down beneath stone-colored waves.
Sophia’s mind sprinted. In the distance, the river curved. If she could somehow get out over the choppy waves…
There. A pine tree, half-dead, leaned precariously toward the water.
Sophia raised her guns. Adjusting for the pitch and roll of the saddle, she loosened her shoulders and pulled the triggers. One Colt bucked, then the other.
In the distance, the tree splintered and bent.
Crack. Crack. The sharp reports, the burnt gunpowder stinging her nose, the sizzling shells pinging off her cheeks—nothing could distract her. Ahead, lead thundered into the base of the tree.
She pulled the triggers again and again. The trunk groaned in protest, shuddering.
Crack. Crack. Ten, eleven—then empty. To Sophia’s screaming relief, the tree toppled into the river, still clinging to its stump.
No time for celebration. She glanced back. Temperance lagged behind, but the current would deliver her in seconds.
Sophia slid into the saddle and lifted her skirts, jamming the Colts into their holsters. The barrels smoldered; hot metal singed the tender skin of each thigh. Ignoring the pain, she hauled on the reins.
Larkspur skidded to a stop and Sophia launched onto the fallen tree, praying it would hold. If the river tore the trunk free, she’d drown.
The red bonnet flashed upriver. Sophia’s boots found purchase against wet bark. Icy water assaulted her, dragging at her skirts.
The red bonnet. That was all that mattered. She lowered herself, bracing. The Klondike screamed, searing her skin with impossible cold.
Temperance clawed to the surface, battling for air. The whites of her eyes swallowed her face.
Sophia opened her arms. Closer, closer…
Temperance slammed into the trunk.
Sophia shouted over the raging maelstrom. “Grab hold of me!”
Temperance scrabbled, trying to climb, but the current sucked her back. Sophia thrust her arms beneath Temperance’s and fought. Water poured into her dress, frigid enough to stop her breath.
She heaved until every muscle screamed.
Pain rocketed through her. Everything stretched as something wrenched deep in her back. It didn’t matter. She gathered determination and bellowed, clawing her way to the very edges of her strength. Every tumble, every flip, every jump she’d ever performed collided into a single enormous effort.
Unimpressed, the Klondike roared back, drowning out her battle cry.
Then Temperance kicked, jamming one foot against the tree. With a sudden jolt, the river surrendered. Sophia fell back, bringing Temperance with her, caught within a net of branches. Scrabbling to her feet, she scurried along the trunk, ushering Temperance toward the safety of shore.
On the riverbank, Madam Hyacinth collapsed into a puddle of crimson taffeta and shivering limbs. White teeth chattered behind blue lips.
Exhausted, Sophia crumpled, too. The throb in her back shot down her leg, a blazing arrow of pain.
“Did you make the shot?” Temperance managed, between shivers. “Before Bea bolted?”
Sophia’s eyes widened. Was that really the first question? “Of course I did.”
“Are you hurt?”
And was that really the second? “You’re the one who just took a joyride down an angry river. I should be asking you.”
Temperance explored her torso with her hands. “My ribs hurt. And I’m so cold I can’t imagine ever being warm again. But aside from that, everything’s…beautiful.”
“What can I do?”
Temperance just lay there and grinned at the sky. “Accept my undying gratitude.”
Sophia pillowed her head on one arm. The grit sticking to her damp arms meant nothing, nor did the wet river of her hair in the dirt. Nor did the pain in her back, really. “Easy enough.”
Adrenaline ebbed. As she studied Temperance, she let it go—let her heart slow and her limbs relax. In the silence left behind, warmth flowered in her veins like heated honey. She didn’t fight the soothing spread; she was too exhausted. And maybe it was better not to. After all, weeks of keeping Temperance at arm’s length had accomplished nothing.
Why had she taken such a dislike to Madam Hyacinth? Because Temperance had reminded her of Adrian?
That seemed ridiculous now. Beyond their regal composure, the two women were nothing alike. Underneath, Adrian had always desired life’s comforts most of all. Her truest love had been money. But Temperance harbored a heart full of charity and compassion.
Sophia wondered if she’d simply wanted a scapegoat, someone to punish for Adrian’s sins. How absurd. “I’m sorry.”
Temperance’s shivering subsided. “For what? You saved my life.”
“For being awful.” Sophia hunkered into the sun-warmed ground. “And for not guessing Bea would spook. I’m so used to shooting around circus horses, I didn’t even think about it.”
“If I were a better horsewoman, I would’ve gotten her under control.”
“No. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“Says the woman who rides like sunlight on wind.”
At that, Sophia let herself smile. Not tightly, not even halfway, but a full-fledged grin that transformed her inside.
Adrian was gone. And Mad
am Hyacinth was someone entirely different—someone she could respect, someone she could call a friend.
Temperance smiled back. The river’s sunlit remnants shivered on the autumn-dark curve of her cheek. “A moment of grace,” she murmured.
Hoof beats rose in the distance, driving Sophia to her feet.
“You are hurt!” Temperance cried.
Sophia quelled the agony with another smile, this one probably less convincing. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re limping.” Temperance scrambled up. Concern carved two lines between her brows. “Let me help.”
Sophia waved her off and limped over to Larkspur, who stood precisely where she’d left him. A few feet away, the felled tree gave an ominous groan, then splintered apart with a mighty judder. The current claimed it in moments, sweeping the wreckage around the bend and out of sight.
The blue-eyed paint horse didn’t even flinch. Impressed, Sophia struggled into the saddle and wheeled him around.
The hoof beats drummed closer and the bushes parted before a black horse. Its masked rider towed Bea by the bridle. Fresh blood stained the buckskin tunic red.
On the riverbank, Temperance stilled. Her crimson dress streamed wet rivulets, dampening the silt to mud.
The rider offered her Bea’s reins. “You dropped something back there.”
Temperance turned her smile upward. “Oh, thank the Lord. You’re safe.”
35. Annie.
In the stale heat of her black mask, Annie grinned. Nothing could dampen her spirits—not even the red tunics she’d glimpsed in the distance.
Damned if the plan hadn’t gone off without a hitch. And damned if she didn’t love playing the outlaw.
“Quick.” She handed over Bea’s reins, along with the buckskin sack she’d taken from Henry. “Keep these safe.”
Temperance blinked. “What do we want with all these shotgun shells?”
Annie laughed. “Sugar, that ain’t no bag of lead. Didn’t you see what Henry was up to?”
“Holy hell,” Sophia interjected. “I thought maybe…those shells’re loaded with gold dust, aren’t they?”
“Bingo.” Annie tipped her black hat. “Point for the sharpshooter.”
The Wildflowers at the Edge of the World Page 18
