“And last time I checked, that woman was my wife. Means she’s comin’ with me.”
Sophia glanced around. A circle had cleared, as though she and Samuel were a stone dropped into a pond and the crowd had ridden the waves outward. She scoffed. “Everyone knows the Flower of the North isn’t married.”
That angered him; dark brows burrowed downward. His Colt swung up, staring her in the eye. “The hell she ain’t.”
What was it Annie had said? That he couldn’t stand to lose? He seemed like the type—easy to provoke.
Samuel growled. “Tell ‘em, wife.”
Annie paled, her freckles standing out like spattered stars. “Naw. Don’t got no husband. I reckon I’d remember a thing like that.”
Nervous chuckles erupted.
Samuel’s creepy, chimeric eyes darted over the throng; the laughter died quickly. “Y’all find that amusing?”
“I do,” Sophia said, trying to recapture his focus. Annie needed to go. Now. “Sure, you’re ugly enough to be desperate. But kidnapping an imaginary wife after the gentleman’s paid for her, fair and square? Hilarious. And pathetic.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed to vicious slits. For all his hard-angled handsomeness, sneering just made him ugly. “This here ain’t no gentleman.”
“More of one than you’ll ever be.”
“Holster your gun and say that again, little girl.”
She kept aim on Samuel’s blue eye. “You first. Then we can find out who’s the better dancer.”
He chuckled, his smile as cold as iron. When he lowered his weapon, she snugged her Colt into the beautiful holster vest, then lifted empty hands in a show of innocence.
“Sophia.” Annie sounded strangled. “Don’t—”
Sophia never heard the rest, because Samuel lunged at her.
He was fast. Much faster than she’d expected. She dove, catapulting into the space between his arm and his side, and managed to squeeze out behind him. His fingers tangled in her hair, yanking a clump out by the roots.
Tears sprang to life; colors blurred as she whirled.
Samuel leapt again.
Sophia threw herself into a tuck roll and came up beside him. Again, he lunged, and again, she avoided him by mere inches.
Blood bellowed, muscles shrieked. She wrenched and whirled. Samuel came relentlessly, his mouth set in a grim line. In the background, the crowd roared, a dim hurricane over the storm rushing in her ears.
“Five dollars says she lasts another minute!”
“Ten dollars says she don’t!”
Holy hell, she thought, as a glancing blow nearly knocked her shoulder from its socket. He’s going to tear me apart.
She retreated with a back handspring, then dove again, somersaulting between Samuel’s legs and coming up behind him. The maneuver earned a bare second of reprieve.
“Go!” She peered up at the outlaw, into the shadows between bandana and hat. “Get Annie out of here.”
The outlaw obeyed. The black horse thundered out, scattering men in every direction.
Samuel wheeled. His Stetson had come off, swallowed by the crowd. One lone blue eye fixed on her, somehow harsher and deader than its brown companion. “You’re fast,” he said, toneless.
“And you’re one ugly son-of-a-bitch.”
He smiled—a leaden, hostile thing that shook her to the core. A thin seam of enjoyment glimmered underneath, the sadistic glint of a blade shivering in the dark.
Annie had married this asshole?
When he charged again, Sophia stood ready. This time, she evaded by dropping and kicking his feet out. He crashed to the carpet, then scrambled up again, his fist aimed like a battering ram.
“Stop!” a woman shouted, somewhere. Temperance?
Samuel didn’t listen. He came again and again, graceless and brutish and efficient.
I’m losing, Sophia thought, panic flaring. Her movements grew sluggish. In the mirror of the distant window, a bedraggled, sweat-sheened face panted, pale as a sickly moon.
That wan reflection sparked something within her. Just as it had the night she’d threatened the Scotsman in the alley, her blood awoke and sang within her veins. And for the first time, she recognized the source of that thrill.
It was anger—anger at her mother, anger at Adrian, anger at a world that had tossed her aside and broken her. She let it flower within her until it burned, and in that moment, she felt…whole.
Feinting to one side, Sophia sprinted for the window. The crowd parted, whooping and hollering. She leapt onto the sill, scrabbling for the latch.
Or pretending to. With such deadly winters, the windows didn’t actually open, but a Texan cheechako like Samuel wouldn’t know that. Boot falls charged behind her. She watched the pane’s reflection, gauging his approach.
She’d done this a thousand times, back in the circus—crouched on the first saddle in a string of cantering horses, then leapt into the air, landing on the one behind. Again and again, back-flipping down the line.
She’d grafted the movement into her marrow long ago.
“You ain’t escapin’ that easy!” Samuel bellowed.
“I’d hope not,” she murmured, and jumped.
The moment welcomed her. Up became down, down became up, and she danced with emptiness for a pure and timeless instant. Unbound from gravity, she flew, weightless, the thrill just as fresh as the first time. Pirouetting on the air, she arced toward earth, hooking her arm around Samuel’s neck and wrapping her legs around his back.
He hit the windowsill hard, but she held on. Clamping the crook of her elbow against his throat, she pulled her shoulders back and squeezed.
This move, less practiced, she’d learned from Viktor, the Strongman. Qvickest vay to make zem sleep is cut off blood, not air.
Predictably, Samuel went for his Colt.
She hissed in his ear. “Cheater.”
Thankfully, Viktor’s strategy proved brutally effective. With Samuel’s arteries crushed to insufficient trickles, he staggered, still struggling for his revolver.
Sophia dragged her shoulders back, relentless. Samuel’s hands scrabbled upward, but the gesture felt feeble, like an angry butterfly flitting at her arm.
Crash.
He toppled, face first, and held the floor down with two-hundred-plus pounds of lax muscle. Still, she didn’t let go. He wouldn’t stay down long once blood started flowing again.
The crowd lapsed into stunned silence. A cough here, a shuffle there.
“Is he dead?” someone said.
“One can only hope.” Sophia stood up.
A sea of pale faces greeted her, along with one dark one. Temperance hovered, a length of firewood clutched in her upraised hands.
A spark of pleasure flared. “Why, Madam Hyacinth. What were you going to do, hit him with a stick?”
Confusion and relief battled on Temperance’s face. Lowering her arms, she frowned. “Dear Lord. I think I was about to try.” The log clattered to the carpet with a muted thud.
In the ensuing silence, a man said, “Does this mean I lost my ten dollars?”
Sophia stared at the firewood. Her heart expanded, even as Samuel emitted a protracted groan. Temperance had been about to defend her.
“What happened here?”
She turned.
Corporal O’Cahill filled the doorway, all red-and-blue regalia. Glacial eyes scanned the crowd. “Who here assaulted a U.S. Marshal?”
Silence.
“Which man? I’ll not be asking again.”
Sophia cleared her throat. “No man. It was me. But he attacked me first.”
From the floor, Samuel groaned again. Frowning, the Corporal inspected the scene.
Even with her Colts on full display, Sophia refused to cower. If the Mountie threw her in jail, fine. At least Annie was safe. “If you’re looking for the outlaw, you’re too late, anyway. He’s already gone.”
“Outlaw?” Surprise leached from O’Cahill’s tone.
“Is
n’t that why you’re here?”
“No.” His eyes dimmed like a candle blowing out. “I’m here to take Miss Temperance Hyacinth into custody.”
47. Temperance.
Leaning low, Temperance drove Bea through the glittering wilds.
Connor had looked straight at her, back in the parlor, then watched calmly as she’d slipped out the back door.
Now, tearing over the hills, she tried to outrun the broken canter of her heartbeat. Annie had been right. In befriending Connor, she’d forfeited the Blossom, along with her future.
Now she’d have to accept the consequences. Yet what of Annie and Palmer? What of Sophia? Even now, thinking of the strong, small sharpshooter, with her unapologetic courage and newly unveiled smile, kindled an ache in Temperance’s chest.
She should’ve told Sophia how she felt, at least, should’ve admitted what had truly happened that day she’d almost drowned. How, shivering and cold and absurdly thankful, she’d fallen in love, lying on a riverbank. It had been a singular, pointed, lightning bolt of a moment, full of gratitude and the grace of being alive.
Then again, Temperance had always fallen in love that way, in a great flash of color, between one heartbeat and the next.
Now, though, the inside of her chest felt like an empty, frozen tundra. Would she ever see Sophia or Annie or Palmer again? What would the Reverend do to them, once he claimed the Blossom as his own?
She flew through the billowing valleys. Far in the mountains’ upper reaches, snow glittered in the slanting light. All around, swaying fields of fireweed melted to a crimson blur as Bea galloped beneath her. The sky stretched overhead, a limitless temple of fleecy clouds and buttercup sunshine.
Temperance drank it all up, imbibing the Klondike’s beauty like sacramental wine. She wasn’t running, though. No, she simply needed the taste of freedom still on her tongue when the bars clanged shut around her.
Reaching a meadow carpeted with wildflowers, she let go of Bea’s reins. The mare slowed, drifting to a stop.
Temperance slid to the ground, soaking up the view. Minutes passed, each precious moment measured by the cadence of her heartbeat.
When Connor found her, a jangle salted the air as he dismounted. Footsteps drew close behind her. “Miss Hyacinth.”
The Irish lilt sounded stronger than ever—his voice echoed with emerald fields and quaint churches, with heather and gorse and things she’d only read about in books.
Would they allow her books, in prison? A Bible, at least?
“Connor.” She stared ahead. With her back turned, she could pretend he wasn’t a Mountie. Just a simple man—the same one she’d confessed her darkest truth to, once. The same man she’d done her best to help.
“I’ll be taking you in now.”
She nodded, forcing herself to turn. Yet when she caught sight of Connor’s face, her heart stumbled to a standstill.
He looked more tormented than ever. Pain and regret swirled in the pools of his eyes, and she knew, without asking, that he hated the idea of taking her to jail just as much as she hated the idea of going.
Even so, the knowledge gave her no hope.
“I have to do this,” he said, almost pleading. “I’m a lawman. And you’re a criminal.”
“You’re right.” She straightened. She still had her pride, at least. “I won’t resist. Do what you must. I only hope it brings you peace. And no matter what happens, I’ll keep you in my prayers. I’ll pray that you forgive yourself, some day, and find freedom from your grief.”
Connor stood there, his expression chiseled in stark lines. “Why did you run?”
“I didn’t. I just…needed to see this one last time.” She gestured at the heartbreaking majesty of the Klondike. “I needed to say goodbye.”
He nodded. He took a leaden step toward her, and another.
Her chest squeezed cruelly. She’d never been arrested before. Would he bind her hands? Make her walk back to town? What would happen to Bea?
As the questions swirled, the swish of trampled vegetation invaded her ears. A flash of movement; Temperance turned her head.
She sucked in a lungful of air and hung on to it for dear life. Connor turned, too.
A great, hulking beast stood amongst the wildflowers, watching them.
Temperance’s blood froze in her veins. She knew a grizzly when she saw one, with those humped shoulders and rounded ears. Her eyes darted around the meadow. She didn’t see a cub, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one nearby.
Slowly, Connor raised his hands and stepped between her and the bear. “Easy, Miss Hyacinth. Whatever you do, don’t run.”
She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Fear pierced her like an icy harpoon, fixing her to the earth.
The bear lowered its head, flattening its ears. It slapped the ground with a great, hulking paw, driving a shiver into Temperance’s bones.
Connor stepped toward the beast.
“Don’t,” she managed, her voice choked.
“When she attacks,” he said, without a trace of the fear that paralyzed her, “then you run. Get on your horse and go. And don’t be looking back.”
“But—”
Her words turned to vapor as the grizzly charged. Yet, miraculously, Connor stood his ground. The bear stopped just short of him, treating him to a bellow that sent her innards coiling.
Connor spread his arms wide. “Do your worst,” he snarled.
The beast eyed him. Everything—the glade, the sky, the rising tide of her own breath—seemed to pivot, orbiting around a single moment.
A glowing thought lanced through her haze of terror. This is an opportunity.
Some higher part of her, untouched by the poisonous fear churning in her blood, understood: she could save Connor, just as she’d yearned to. She could bring him back to the world of the living, show him there was still light in this life. She could make him understand that he mattered. That someone cared.
“A moment of grace,” she murmured.
Temperance thrust panic away from her, stashing it deep within the same abyss that housed her guilt over Peony. Her mind raced as she inspected Bea’s bare saddle. She’d taken no saddlebag, no weapon. But Connor…
His great black bay stood steps away. She sidled toward the horse, her eyes fixed on the bear. It charged again, this time swiping a massive paw against Connor’s outstretched arm before pulling back. Blood leapt from the wound, a crimson-dark flower blooming on his maple-red sleeve.
He didn’t make a sound. Instead, he stepped toward the bristling grizzly, seeming to abandon all sense of reason.
“Stop!” Temperance cried. “Back away from her!”
He didn’t listen, but it didn’t matter. In another moment, she reached the bay and thrust her hand into the saddlebag. A roaring tide of relief rocketed through her as her fingers found the grip of a revolver. She pulled the weapon free and ran full-tilt toward the massive beast.
A fierce rage possessed her, then, lighting her up from the inside. She’d lost Peony, and Irene, and the Blossom—but she would not lose Connor.
A cry leapt from her throat as she raised the gun. She’d never fired a revolver, but Sophia made it look easy enough. Temperance thumbed back the hammer and, just as the grizzly charged again, pulled the trigger.
A puff of dust and wet exploded from the bear’s shoulder. Bellowing, the beast checked its attack, mere feet from Connor’s face. Temperance pulled the hammer back and fired again.
The shot went wide, but the grizzly recoiled from the sharp report—or from the ferocious sound coming from Temperance’s mouth. Either way, the bear wavered, looking furious and frightened.
Temperance pulled the trigger again.
This time, half the grizzly’s ear disappeared. Black blood leaked onto matted, tawny fur. Still shouting, Temperance reached Connor and careened right past him, even as he caught her arm and pulled her up short.
The bear considered her with wary, amber eyes. Then, after an i
nfinite moment, it turned and disappeared into the wildflowers, faster than she’d thought an animal that size could possibly move.
She lowered the gun. Her breath sawed through her chest in ragged bursts and her heart punched against her ribs like an avalanche, but she was alive. And she’d saved her friend.
Connor watched her, his eyes as wide as the sky. “Why did you do that?” He ignored his bleeding arm, even as the rifts in his flesh drew her attention.
“She was going to kill you.”
“So she was. And yet you stopped her.”
His tone stabbed at her, accusing, and, too late, she understood that the shimmering force filling his gaze wasn’t gratitude, but desolation.
“Sweet Lord,” she said. “You wanted to die.”
He regarded her for a too-long moment, then crumpled to his knees. She knelt with him, casting the revolver aside before tearing a wide strip from her flannel skirts to bind his bleeding arm. He stared ahead, looking past her, his eyes empty.
“I might have seen my family again.” His voice was raw, as brutalized as his arm. “Yet instead, you kept me here, where’s there’s nothing for me at all.”
Temperance leaned in. “That isn’t true.”
“It is.” He turned his windswept gaze on her. “Why did you stop her?”
“I told you when I met you. I help people. It’s what I do.”
He scoffed. “Help? The only kind of help I’m wanting is the kind that bear was offering.”
Doubt licked along the edges of her mind. Should she have let him go? “Honey…”
“The only reason I haven’t done it myself yet is because, if I do, I’ll be going down below. And Maggie and Justin are up there.” He pointed a finger skyward. Blood blackened the soft leather of his glove, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ll see them some day. Just not yet.”
“There’s nothing for me here.” Despair claimed his face. “You told me to find a purpose, and so I did. Yet it means nothing, bringing you in. I can’t even find it in me to care that you robbed the Trading Company, though I know I should.”
“What?” Temperance frowned. “I never robbed the NTC.”
The Wildflowers at the Edge of the World Page 26
