by Joyce Wright
“It’s paper,” He said. “They’re packing the guns in paper boxes and returning them.”
“So what does it mean?”
“It means we have to start stalking returns. Get out of there, Asia.”
She logged off the computer and gathered her things. “I’m leaving in five minutes.”
“Coming here?” He asked softly.
“Looks like it,” she said. Hanging up, she glanced toward the warehouse. A return from Quantico had been scanned right before closing time. It would only take her a minute to find it, open the box, and see if their suspicions were right.
#
Finding the box took closer to thirty minutes. Staring into the open box at the gun parts, Asia could hardly believe her eyes. Who could be behind it besides Peter? Karen? Skip?
“Well, well, well, what do we have here, Mac? Little Miss Better Than Everyone Else.”
Not able to control the scream that came from her throat, Asia jumped up off the concrete floor. Peter stepped out from behind a tall shrink-wrapped pallet. Beside him was a big, mean-looking Hispanic man.
Peter folded his hands behind his back and walked toward her.
Busted. What could she do? “What’s going on, Peter?” She tried to sound strong, but her voice trembled.
“Do you see what I see, Mac? What could Asia Ferrell be doing with a box full of broken down government issue weapons?” He shook his finger at her. “What would your precious father say? Franklin is why you came back, isn’t he? Because he was suspicious of the books? Looks like we might need to make another deal to keep your father safe.”
He had been in on it with Skip all those years before. “You? You knew that Skip sent me away, blackmailed me?”
Peter laughed. “Knew about it? I told him to do it. I didn’t need my side girl trying to hang out in the same building as my wife. That wouldn’t have set well with anyone.”
Before she could stop herself she shoved him hard. Caught off guard, he landed on the floor. “You, snake. I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”
Then Peter was on his feet. “You stupid witch!” He shoved her hard. The air flew out of her and she doubled over, feeling like she was going to vomit.
“Peter, easy man.”
Everything was turning gray. Peter Shoved her again, then everything edged to black.
Chapter 11
“Are you okay, miss?”
Asia tried to open her eyes against the raging pain in her head. Through half closed lids, she could see a uniformed officer leaning over her. Blinking rapidly, she attempted to sit up, but couldn’t manage it. A cold weight rested on her forehead and something clutched her left hand. She turned her head to find Damien squatting on the floor beside her, his hand wrapped around hers.
“Damien! You’re okay.”
His face creased with worry, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth. “I’m fine. You scared me, princess. You were passed out on the floor when we arrived.”
“How did you get to me?” She dimly remembered the roar of motors and a lot of shouting.
“I called some of The Riders as soon as I hung up with you. They met me here.” He frowned down at her. “I didn’t trust you to leave things alone.”
“Excuse me, Damien. I’m going to have some questions for Miss Ferrell after the ambulance arrives—“
“Ambulance,” She wailed.
“Yes, ambulance. You need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”
“Where are Peter and the other dude?”
“It was Mac helping Peter.” He sighed. “They didn’t give up easily. They’re knocked out over there.” He gestured across the room.
“I’m sorry about Mac,” She whispered.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe I missed it. Peter was blackmailing him. Some of Mac’s family is here illegally. I can’t trust him again, but I guess I can understand why he did what he did.”
She nodded. She could understand, too. “So this part is behind us? I can put in my notice?” She asked hopefully.
He laughed softly. “Yep, this part is behind you. But, the worst is yet to come—telling your aunts your plans for that diner.”
She groaned. “That’s not all. I have to tell them about you, too.” She laced her fingers through his. “You saved me.”
“Haven’t I always saved you?” He kissed her nose.
Instead of getting mad, she brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed the bruised knuckles gently. “Yes, you always have.”
He took a deep breath. “God, I almost lost you, Asia.”
He leaned his forehead against hers and she felt the dampness on his cheeks. Her white boy biker was such a softie.
“Hey, hey,” she said, “It’s okay. You didn’t. You got the bad guys and,“ She grabbed his face in her hands and slowly brought his mouth to hers. “You got the girl.”
His mouth whispered against her lips. “Did I?” he whispered. “Did I get the girl?”
“Truth or dare,” she challenged.
“Truth. I love you, “ he said and waited, his eyes that intense black again. “I dare you...”
Put up or shut up. “I love you more,” She said and pressed her mouth against his.
Chapter 12
Asia was walking down his stairs looking like a biker beauty, leather pants, leather jacket, leather boots. Damien leaned back against his bike for support as much as to enjoy the view better. Her hair bounced around her shoulders and the smile that took over her face was for him. How did he get so lucky? “You ready for this,” he called. Today, she was taking the Harley out solo for the first time. Nerves knotted in his stomach, but only because he loved her so much. Letting her out of his sight had become a true fight for him, but one he shared with her.
Brighter smile. “Damn straight.”
She kept walking until his space was her space, and she stood close to his chest, her thighs flush against his. All the nerves that were knotted in his stomach disappeared as he pressed his lips against the side of her mouth. “I can't believe it took this long to get you.” He said with a sigh.
Asia moved slightly so she could nip his lower lip. “Mmm, the truth is I loved you the whole time.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Word?”
“Word.” She said.
“Okay, baby, let’s do this.” He reached behind her for the helmet and slid it over her curls.”Buckle up.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he watched as she disappeared around the side of the house. He took in his garden, lush now at the end of July. Asia was taking vegetables into the diner nearly every day now. He smiled when he glanced at the sliding glass door. He saluted his father who leaned against it. His name was next on the waiting list for a kidney. By this time next year, he would likely be off dialysis and starting a life again with a new kidney.
Life was looking pretty good. The sound of his motorcycle returning made him smile. Asia pulled up in front of him, cut the motor and removed the helmet. Smiling, she climbed off the Harley and held out her hand. “Come on, Damien, let’s go upstairs. Put up or shut up.”
**THE END**
CHAPTER ONE
“Durnit!”
Gideon Mathieson pulled on the reins to draw Lucky to a halt. He didn’t have time to stop and bring that darn cow back to Mrs. Jacob’s spread. Just last week he’d caught the darn cow on his land again, wandering off by herself as if she wanted to visit the neighbors. He didn’t care about Lucy being on his property, but she could get into mischief or worse trouble, and Mrs. Jacobs set a store by that darn cow.
He jumped from the buckboard. He grabbed a rope from the back and hid it behind his back; that darn Lucy was too smart and then some and if she saw the rope, she’d take to running and like as not break a leg and then he’d have a hell of a time consoling old Mrs. Jacobs. Who ever heard of a grown woman having a pet cow?
He walked slowly, sauntering as if he just happened to be strolling by, neighborly-like.
When he was close enough, he sent the lasso twirling in the air, and it landed true, right on Lucy’s damned neck. But Lucy wasn’t having any of it. She pulled at the rope, Gideon held on, and they tugged for a bit, until Lucy realized that Gideon wasn’t surrendering. He tied the rope to the back of the buckboard so that she could trot along. This was not the first time he and Lucy had enacted this scene, but today was not a day when he had the time to spend playing nursemaid to a vagabond cow.
Mrs. Jacobs was appreciative as always.
“Gideon, I don’t know what me and Lucy would do without you,” she said when he knocked on her door and she saw her cow, now tied to the porch railing. “She’s just the most wandering creature God ever made. But you have a busy day today, don’t you?”
“That’s all right, ma’am,” Gideon said. But it wasn’t. The stagecoach was due in, and aboard was his wife. Well, she would be his wife once the preacher made it so. When Gideon turned 30 last winter, he’d vowed it would be his last Christmas in a cold bed. He wanted a wife and a family and all the women that he knew in Goshen were either wives, daughters, or other than ladies. He didn’t want a fresh filly who had her head filled with romantic notions, and he sure didn’t want a woman who’d been bed companion to half the cowboys in town. He wanted a woman, grown and able, someone he could love with hard work and faithfulness. In return, he’d offer her a snug little cabin that he’d built himself, the prettiest spread this side of the Goshen Creek, and a willingness to let his wife run the home while he ran the ranch.
He didn’t reckon that he was much to look at. Big-shouldered and broad-backed, with a nose that had been broken a decade ago when a bronc threw him, Gideon didn’t figure that he was much to look at and the only reason he had a mirror at all was so that he could shave without slitting his throat. His black hair grew thick and unruly, and his dark brown eyes could look any man in the eye without shame, but he wasn’t one for frills. He’d left the army after the war as a raw nineteen-year old who was anti-slavery and pro-states’ rights and made his way to Texas, where he figured he could leave Union and Confederate sides behind and just be an American.
“You’re a good man, Gideon,” Mrs. Jacobs said with her accent that told him she’d started out somewhere east of the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe she came from somewhere where cows were pets; he didn’t know much about those other places.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You bring that bride of yours by some night for supper, you hear me? I want to meet her.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I reckon she’ll be glad to have a neighbor lady close by.”
He tipped his hat to Mrs. Jacobs and began to walk away. But Lucy hadn’t forgotten her grudge. As he walked quickly to gain back the time he’d lost, he failed to look down. The next thing he knew, he had slipped and fallen to the dirt, where soil and the smeared remnants of a cow patty left marks on his best trousers.
“Lucy!” Mrs. Jacobs scolded. “You know better!”
She was down the stairs in seconds with a wet cloth to wipe his trousers clean. “Gideon, I’m so sorry, she knows better than that.”
“Well, ma’am, she’s a cow and I don’t know that she knows better at all.”
Mrs. Jacobs continued to brush the cloth. “There!” she said triumphantly. “I think most of the stink is gone!”
Gideon started to laugh. Hell of a way to meet his bride. She might as well get used to what Texas smelled like, he reckoned.
Mrs. Jacobs peered up at him, puzzled by his amusement. “You’re a good man, Gideon,” she said again. “I will give Lucy a scolding such as she has never heard.”
“Ma’am, you don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s a spirited cow, that’s all.”
Mrs. Jacobs beamed. “Remember, supper as soon as you and the Mrs. are ready to meet the neighbors.”
Lucky knew the way to town all on his own, so Gideon kept a light hand on the reins while he thought about her, his mail order bride. Catherine was her name. Catherine Smith. Was she a Kate, he wondered, or a Cathy? No matter, she’d be his darling in time. He’d be kind and patient while she got used to him. He’d remember to wipe his feet before coming inside he recalled his mother’s ire when the men failed to do so, tracking mud onto her floors. In the eleven years since he’d been in Texas, he’d been so busy working that there hadn’t been time for such niceties, but he’d spent every night for the past month cleaning the cabin so that it would look nice for the woman who would live there. Mrs. Jacobs had helped him, bringing a fair-scented soap with her that left a fine smell in the rooms, and giving the furniture a sturdy polishing so that the wood shone. He’d paid Paint Chandler’s wife to make a couple of brightly colored rag rugs for the front room and the bedroom.
The bedroom. Gideon thought of that room now. He’d wake up tomorrow with Catherine’s hair spread out on the pillow next to his, and her soft body beside him. He didn’t know what she looked like, but if he didn’t frighten her with his big, calloused hands and cowboy ways, he reckoned they’d make out alright. Pretty would be nice, but he wasn’t asking for more than the good Lord could send him in this wild country.
As he entered town, Lucky leading the way down between the two sides of the street that housed the stores, saloons, sheriff’s office and the schoolhouse, he noticed that a crowd had gathered at the far end where the stagecoach let off passengers. Likely the townspeople, knowing that his mail-order bride was coming, had gathered to welcome her and reassure her that late didn’t mean he wasn’t coming. They all knew how eager he was for this day.
But the voices that he heard didn’t sound welcoming. He heard yells, and curses, and then he saw a clod of dirt sail through the air. As he neared the scene, he saw a tall woman, loose black hair lifting in the stray breeze beneath a bonnet, standing alone.
“What’s an Injun doing here?” he heard someone—sounded like Al Jessop, the manager of the general store—call out. “Who sent Gid a half-breed squaw for a wife?”
“Half-breed!” someone else yelled; a woman this time.
Gideon drove the buckboard to the crowd’s edge and got out. Al came over to him.
“Gid, you’ve been cheated. That mail order place sent a half-breed for a wife. You go on and send her back; we’ll pay the fare. What were they thinking, sending an Injun for a wife?”
The mail order place that Al referred to was a mission; Gideon had figured that he didn’t care what religion she was, as long as she was a good woman, and a mission was likely to be reputable.
“Catherine?” he asked softly.
The woman met his eyes impassively. He saw that her dark blue skirt and white blouse were marked in places from the dirt that had been thrown. Lord, she was pretty! Prettier than he’d have had any right to expect. Dark eyes, dark hair, a slim, straight figure. He could see the mixture of white and Indian in her bones and skin color.
She nodded. “I am Catherine,” she said. Her voice was low-pitched, not shrill. He was glad of that. Cam Gestetner’s wife Laura was a dab hand at cooking, sewing, and childbearing but she had a voice so shrill that he thought it a wonder she hadn’t sent cattle into a stampede.
A pretty woman, a soft, low voice. He had a bride.
He smiled. “I’m Gideon Mathieson, ma’am. We’d best get over to the parson’s so we can head on home.”
“Gideon!” Al Jessop was outraged. “You can’t mean to marry this squaw and bring an Indian into this God-fearing community?”
“She’s from the mission, I reckon she’s as Christian as any of us,” Gideon replied, moving into the circle to stand by Catherine. He offered her his arm; he didn’t know many fancy Eastern ways but he knew that much.
She looked at his proffered arm, then her gaze swept up to look at him. The scrutiny was a measuring one. “I ain’t much to look at,” he admitted softly.
She smiled faintly. “You look very well, Mr. Mathieson,” she said.
It was funny how they both were talking so low and no one could hear them.
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Her arm linked through his, they moved forward, Gideon tipping his hat to the cold-eyed women they passed. He didn’t quite understand why everyone was behaving this way; there hadn’t been Indian trouble in the last five years.
“You send her back, Gideon, if you want to be part of this town.”
That was from Lizzie Bertram, the sheriff’s wife.
“I’m as much a part of this town as anyone, Miz Bertram, and I and my wife will be pleased to welcome you to our home.”
Her face grew red and, sad to say, ugly with her anger. He’d always thought her a fair-looking woman but as rage swelled her cheeks and made her eyes bulge, he noticed that she looked like a big, red frog. “We’ll never welcome an Indian! You’re one of us, Gideon, but an Indian will never be!”
“Bible says a man and a woman become one. I reckon that Catherine and I, we go together, as soon as the Reverend makes it so.”
CHAPTER TWO
But Rev. Hale refused to marry them. “I can’t, Gideon. She’s a heathen.”
“She’s not a heathen, Reverend, she’s from the mission. Same God.”
“Gideon---let’s talk privately about this.”
Catherine began to relinquish his arm but Gideon placed his hand over her elbow, keeping her fast. “What you say to me, you’ll say to my wife.”
Rev. Hale had been a citizen of Goshen for twenty years. He’d seen the community grow from a raw frontier to a settlement with a church the residents had built, a school that was always advertising for a teacher because as soon as a new one arrived, she was snapped up by some love-hungry cowhand who offered marriage, stores that sold everything from frying pans to bullets, even a dressmaker, Madame du Pres, who kept up with the latest fashions back East thanks to Godey’s Lady’s Book. They were good people, righteous, upright people who followed the Lord. But they’d all seen or knew of a time when the bloodthirsty savages who resisted the white man’s claims to their land had committed terrible, godless deeds.
