Outlaw's Bride

by Maureen McKade

  “What’re ya doin’ down there, Beaudry? Takin’ a nap?” Herman hollered.

  Clint bit back a caustic reply. He needed to hold on to his strength if he was going to make it out of here.

  He glared at the rope, wishing like hell he could add another few feet to its length by merely staring at it. Taking a deep breath, he impelled himself upward again and this time the fingers of one hand curled around the end of the line.

  Carefully, afraid he was going to lose his tenuous grasp, Clint slowly drew himself higher. He managed to grip the rope with his other hand. With more confidence, he began to climb the rope, one hand over the other.

  His damp palms abruptly slipped, and he dropped nearly two feet before catching himself once more. His heart thundered in his chest and sweat returned to his brow, even as he shivered uncontrollably.

  “Clint! Are you all right?” Mattie’s words echoed and reechoed down the narrow passage.

  He panted, trying to regain his breath to answer her panicked question. “I’m … all r-right.”

  “We’ll try to pull you up,” she hollered.

  “No. Stay back from the hole,” Clint called back. “I can do it.”

  Herman’s voice drifted down and Clint could make out only one or two words. It sounded like he was trying to reassure Mattie.

  With his back braced against the wall and his feet wedged against the opposite side, Clint prepared himself for the long climb. He closed his eyes, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing.

  The bullet’s exit wound throbbed and burned. He’d be lucky if he could get out of bed tomorrow, much less mount a horse and ride for hours.

  Provided he made it out of here at all.

  “Maybe today, Em,” he whispered. It had been a few days since he’d spoken those familiar words, and a realization struck him like a thunderbolt: He didn’t want to die anymore. For the first time since Emily’s death, he had more to live for than to die for.

  “Not today,” he said firmly. Flinching, he gripped the rope tighter and painstakingly climbed up the shaft. He worked hand over hand, shifting his feet against the wall with every advance. His muscles shuddered and sweat drenched his clothing, mixing with the dirt to cover him with mud. At one point, he paused to swipe the grime from his stinging eyes and nearly lost his hold.

  He continued on as exertion began to take its toll. Although there were only about twenty feet left to scale, Clint had little confidence he’d make it. He went a few more feet, then using some of his meager strength, he lifted his head to gaze up at the well’s opening. A silhouette moved across the dimness and Clint recognized Mattie.

  She wasn’t supposed to be so close to the hole. The edge could easily crumble beneath her, plunging her downward.

  “Get back,” he called hoarsely.

  She didn’t move. “Come on, Clint, just a little farther.”

  Her encouraging voice brushed across him like a physical caress, and he resumed climbing. She sounded like she actually cared about him. Could she?

  After a few more feet, his movements grew clumsier and he slowed until he was only moving inch by inch. Nearly there….

  “Dammit, Beaudry, I didn’t save you just to have you die. Get up here!”

  She could make a drill sergeant sound like a sissy.

  He gathered what little strength remained and hoisted himself upward. The fingers of one hand curled over the outer edge, while he clung to the rope with the other.

  He’d made it!

  Then the ground crumbled beneath his fingertips.

  Chapter 12

  Mattie grabbed for his hand as the dirt began to disappear beneath it. She managed to clasp his wrist, but his weight nearly took her over the edge. She cried out at the sudden jerk on her shoulder, but if she let go he would plunge to his death.

  Her breath rasped in her throat and her fingers grew slippery around his wrist. Herman dropped down beside her and wrapped his bony fingers around Clint’s hand.

  “Pull,” Mattie said through thinned lips.

  “Don’t drop him,” Andy said frantically from behind them, far enough back that if the ground gave way, he’d remain safe.

  As Mattie and Herman hauled Clint upward, she could feel him using the rope to take some of the strain off them.

  Clint’s head cleared the hole, his face and hair dark with reddish mud—Mattie hoped it was merely mud. Then his upper body and legs followed, and he finally dropped onto his belly between Mattie and Herman.

  Panting, they all lay there.

  Mattie’s heart pumped like a steam engine as she rested her trembling hand on Clint’s back. His warmth seeped through his wet, filthy shirt and reassured her that he had survived. He had risked his own life to save her son. If he hadn’t been there, Andy would have died. Mattie knew it with a certainty that sent chills skating down her spine and into her soul.

  Andy crawled up to kneel beside Clint and laid a small, dirty hand on the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Mr. Beaudry?”

  The fear in his voice gave Mattie the strength to sit up and examine Clint. “Are you hurt?”

  He moaned and tried to roll over. Mattie slid her arm beneath him and helped him sit up. His green eyes appeared bright against the grime streaking his face, and his anxious gaze flitted from Mattie to Andy. His expression eased into relief, though he continued to breathe heavily. “No. Just need to … catch my … breath.”

  What would they have done if he hadn’t come into their lives? She would have lost her son, and her heart would have been ripped out. She owed Clint more than she could ever hope to repay in a lifetime.

  Mattie’s throat constricted. “Thank you, Clint,” she said huskily.

  “I’m … s-sorry, Ma.” Andy’s lower lip trembled. “I d-didn’t mean to get so close.”

  Tears blurred her vision and she leaned over to gather Andy in her arms. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” She gazed at Clint over Andy’s shoulder and stretched out her hand to him. He took it tentatively, as if he weren’t quite certain what to do with it. Mattie squeezed his hand.

  “Thanks to Mr. Beaudry you’ll be fine, Andy,” she said with a husky voice.

  Her son drew away from her and turned to Clint. “Thank you, Mr. Beaudry.” Then he wrapped his arms around Clint’s neck.

  Hesitantly, Clint hugged him, then tightened his embrace and closed his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  Mattie heard a catch in Clint’s voice and realized just how much he had come to care for her son. Who would have thought that the dangerous gunman who’d come to her door nearly a month ago would become such an important part of their lives?

  She glanced past Clint to Herman, who sat quietly, his face pale and his shoulders moving in irregular gasps. Concern shot through her and she hurried over to him. “Are you all right?”

  He raised his head slowly and pain filled his rheumy eyes. “Don’t know. My left arm hurts some.”

  Mattie gingerly lifted his arm, examining it for injuries. “I don’t see anything. Maybe you strained a muscle while we were pulling Clint up.”

  Herman grunted. “S’pose I ain’t as young as I used to be.”

  “None of us are,” Clint said with a smile, his straight white teeth a startling contrast to the mud on his face. “Can you make it back to the house?”

  “I ain’t that old,” Herman said irritably.

  Mattie saw how his hands trembled and his skin remained pale and clammy. “I’m going to have Kevin check on both you and Andy.” She turned to Clint. “And you, too.”

  “I’m fine,” Clint said with a dismissive wave. “Let’s get back.”

  With all of them injured and weak, Mattie didn’t know who to help first. Clint stubbornly climbed to his feet, then lent a hand to Andy, so Mattie helped Herman.

  Andy tried to take a step and grimaced, favoring his right foot. “Ow!”

  “Maybe you should wait here until I can bring the wagon back for you,” Mattie said.

  “I’
ll carry him,” Clint volunteered.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Though Mattie knew by the white creases around his mouth that he was lying, she bit her tongue. Clint had more stubbornness and compassion than she had ever seen in one man.

  He leaned over to retrieve his hat and gunbelt, then handed Andy the holster and gun. “You have to hold this while I carry you. I don’t want to get it wet.”

  She took a step forward.

  Herman tugged on her arm. “Hush, Mattie.” He paused for a breath. “The man … jist saved … your boy’s life.” His voice ended in a scratchy whisper.

  Mattie clamped her lips together. Herman was right.

  She glanced up to see Clint watching her, and she gave him a slight nod. The lines in his brow eased and he picked up Andy, holding the boy in his strong arms, while Andy kept hold of the gunbelt.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She’d always been so certain she could take care of Andy herself. Yet she hadn’t been able to save him from a simple accident. It had been Clint who had risked his life to go down into the well to rescue her son, and who now cradled Andy against his chest as if he were a small child instead of a ten-year-old boy.

  Just as a father would do.

  And a father was the one thing she hadn’t been able to give her son.

  Swallowing her despair, she wrapped an arm around Herman’s waist, and with a shuffling gait, they followed Clint and Andy.

  “You could do worse,” Herman murmured.

  Startled, Mattie shot him a glance. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Beaudry. He’s a good … m-man. Lot better … than that f-feller you … married,” Herman said in between panting breaths.

  Mattie recognized the truth in his words, but Clint wouldn’t settle down until he had killed the man who murdered his wife.

  Or died trying.

  She stumbled slightly. She’d almost lost both Andy and Clint today.

  A man who lives by the gun usually dies by it.

  The cold words returned to haunt her. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being shot down, nor did she want him to leave.

  “I know,” she finally said to Herman, then forced a lightness she didn’t feel. “But what do I need another man for? I have you and Andy.”

  They followed Clint silently for a few moments.

  “I g-got a bad … feelin’,” Herman said. He drew a thin hand across his face. “I ain’t … l-long for this earth, Mattie.”

  An icy ball of fear settled in her chest. “You’re going to live to be a hundred,” she said firmly. “You just wait. Kevin’ll tell you the same thing.”

  She wouldn’t let him die. There’d been too many changes in her life since Clint had stepped into it—she couldn’t handle another one. The problem was, she had as little control over Herman’s life as she had in protecting Andy from the unforeseen.

  The house came into view and Clint stopped by the pump so they all could wash off most of the mud before going inside.

  Five minutes later, Andy and Herman were settled at the kitchen table. Mattie knelt down in front of Andy and removed the shoe and sock from his injured ankle. It had already begun to swell, ballooning like bread dough on a hot summer day. A bluish purple bruise told her he had probably twisted it.

  “I need some ice,” she said. Rising, she brushed her hands across her skirts impatiently. “I don’t have any here, so I’ll pick up some when I get Kevin.”

  “Give me a minute to change into dry clothes, then I’ll go so you can stay with Andy and Herman,” Clint said.

  He left the kitchen before Mattie could reply and she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  Mattie wet a cloth with cold water from the kitchen pump and wrapped it around Andy’s swollen ankle. The boy flinched and her heart skipped a beat. She hated seeing her son in pain. “It’ll be all right, Andy. Dr. Murphy will make it all better,” she reassured with false cheerfulness.

  “He’ll do what he can, Ma.” Andy sounded so grown-up, she lifted her head to make sure it was he who’d spoken.

  “He’s right, Mattie,” Herman wheezed. “No need to be talkin’ to the boy like he’s still a tyke.”

  Troubled, she remained silent. She’d never really thought about Andy growing up, and he was doing it right before her eyes. Only she had kept her eyes closed, refusing to see what was right in front of her.

  Mattie dampened another cloth and pressed it against Herman’s forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Better. Just wore out, is all.”

  The sound of footsteps made her turn to see Clint reenter the kitchen. He had changed into another pair of black jeans, but instead of a completely black shirt, he wore one with white vertical stripes running through the material. It clung to his chest and tapered down to his trim waist.

  The sight stole Mattie’s breath.

  “I’m going to get Dr. Murphy and the ice now,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say.

  In spite of the pain he had to be experiencing, Clint strode away. Mattie followed, catching up to him as he stepped onto the porch.

  “Clint,” she said.

  He stopped and turned to face her in the dusky light. His long hair brushed across his shoulders, increasing the illusion of wildness about him … increasing her attraction to the unattainable.

  “What?” he asked.

  She moistened her lips and kept her gaze above his gunbelt, away from the Colt strapped to his thigh. “Be careful.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Your wounds …”

  Clint raised his hand to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his palm. “What is it, Mattie?” he asked softly.

  She lifted her gaze and found herself trapped in the depths of his unusual eyes. How had she ever believed him a murderer … a hired gun? Wrapping her fingers around his forearm, she welcomed the comfort of the simple contact. “I would have lost him,” she whispered.

  His thumb brushed her cheek in slow, sensual motions. “You would have saved him.”

  “No. If you hadn’t been here, Andy would have drowned. And I’d be alone again.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  One tear spilled down her cheek to be caught by Clint’s thumb. His mouth opened but he didn’t speak. Instead, he gathered her in his arms and Mattie pressed her cheek against his chest. She clutched his shirt in her fists, clinging to him, to the haven he offered. His heat burned through the material and his heartbeat thudded in unison with hers.

  His familiar scent eased the tension within her. She’d been so terrified for Clint when he’d gone down into the well. If something had happened to him, part of her heart would have died. A very large part.

  The revelation shocked and frightened her, and she crushed his shirt tighter in her hands. She couldn’t release him any more than she could have let go when the ground had crumbled beneath his fingers.

  “I have to go,” Clint said softly, his warm breath skimming across her neck.

  “I know.” She continued to hold him.

  He shifted so his chin rested on her crown and he rubbed her upper arms gently. “Let go, Mattie.”

  Mustering every ounce of willpower, she uncurled her fingers, leaving his shirt wrinkled. She tried to smooth the material, but nothing short of a hot iron would help. She took a step back, her throat burning.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

  Unable to trust her voice, Mattie nodded.

  As he walked away, she wrapped her arms around her waist to hold the growing inner chill at bay.

  Why did she suddenly feel like she was standing on a high precipice … completely alone?

  Less than half an hour later, Clint returned with Dr. Murphy and a block of ice. Clint sat down at the table to chip pieces of ice into a bowl.

  Kevin checked Andy first, removing the cloth Mattie had placed on his ankle. He probed and shifted the ankle, making Andy grimace. Mattie knew
her son was hurting, but he didn’t cry out. Her little boy was growing into a man and she hadn’t even noticed.

  “It’s not broken, is it?” Mattie asked.

  Kevin shook his head. “Just twisted.” He squatted down so he was eye level with the boy. “You won’t be able to put any weight on that ankle for a few days, which means no running around or fishing.”

  Andy scowled. “What can I do?”

  Kevin’s spectacles caught the lantern light, winking brightly as he turned. “What do you think, Mattie? Maybe some early school lessons?”

  The boy moaned as if in agony. “Is that my punishment for gettin’ too close to the well?”

  “Be glad it’s not any worse,” Mattie said. “And when that ankle heals, we’ll be having a little discussion about listening to your mother and helping out more around the house.”

  Clint raised his head and caught her eye. She read approval in his slight nod and smile, and warmth suffused her cheeks.

  “I’ll even come by and bring some of my medical books if you want to look at the pictures,” Kevin said, gazing at Mattie hopefully.

  Kevin hadn’t been around much since he’d come back to town, but it appeared he wanted to make up for lost time. A month ago, Mattie would have eagerly welcomed his attentions, but now …

  She looked over at Clint, then back at Kevin. One man tall and lean with the keen eyes of a predator, the other slightly built with compassion written in his pale complexion and gray eyes.

  One man would leave and the other would stay.

  She managed a smile for the doctor. “I think Andy would like that.” She paused and forced herself to add, “And I’d like that, too.”

  Kevin’s smile was almost puppylike. “Then I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  He stepped over to Herman next and pressed the stethoscope to the old man’s chest.

  Herman jerked away. “You keep that thing on the ice?” he demanded. “It’s cold enough to make a man go into a fit.”

  Kevin ignored his complaints and, after a minute of listening to the man’s heart, he straightened. “He needs to stay in bed for a day or two,” he said to Mattie.