Rebel with a Cause

by Carol Arens

If Wage hadn't gotten them safe away, Zane would have found the evidence closer to camp. This reasoning gave him hope since he had searched the area thoroughly last night. But in the dark he might have missed something. He turned to walk southeast, toward last night's campfire. He couldn't leave the area until he knew for sure Missy wasn't out here, wounded and needing him.

  Only after he searched every square inch of the area would he give up and go after Wage. If he had to follow to hell or beyond, he would find the man and, he prayed, his own wife-to-be.

  He was within five miles of camp when he spotted the buzzards. A dozen or more circled in the crystal sky, not even a mile to the west.

  It wasn't Missy they were waiting on...it was a wolf, or a deer. Maybe even Wage. But not his Missy.

  He began to run. It was wildlife that the vultures waited for. Wildlife...wildlife...wildlife...

  Then he spotted Ace, still a quarter of a mile in the distance, standing over a heap of white lace lying still as death. He didn't need to see blue bows before he roared a curse and raced forward on legs burning with a last surge of energy.

  He collapsed to his knees, his lungs aching with the run and the grief. He pushed Missy's hair away where it covered her face. Even under a crusting of grime, her skin looked too pale.

  "Missy?" He touched her cheek, then her throat, feeling for a pulse. She wouldn't be dead yet, otherwise the carrion birds wouldn't still be circling. He rejected the thought that it was Ace's presence keeping them aloft.

  Ace whinnied and nudged his shoulder.

  "There it is, fella. Just a flutter but it's there." He patted Ace's nose. A lifetime of luxurious care could not repay the horse for standing beside Missy through a tornado.

  Zane ran his hands over her body, checking for broken bones. Everything seemed intact. Nothing broken, no obvious bleeding, what, then?

  He lifted her shoulders and eased behind her. Pray God that he wasn't making an injury on the inside worse.

  He touched her head, feeling her scalp through her hair. There had to be some kind of injury keeping her unconscious.

  He found swelling at the back of her skull and a small cut.

  "Missy, darlin', wake up."

  Silence, deep and complete, answered him.

  * * *

  Had Missy not been unconscious she would have exclaimed over the charming house they were approaching. Since she seemed closer to dead than alive, cradled against him in the saddle, he did the exclaiming for her.

  "Just look at that!" Who knew what a person in her state might hear and rouse to. "Right out here in the middle of nowhere there's a pretty yellow house with flowers blooming in window boxes...and lace curtains, too. Blamed if I don't see a pie cooling on the windowsill."

  He glanced down to see if his words had any effect. If she were herself, Missy would be dragging out her copybook and writing everything down.

  "You know, darlin'," he said against her cheek, "your writing tools didn't get blown away. You recall how I tucked them into my saddle pack for safekeeping? I told you how precious those words were to me? Well, after I found you we went back by way of camp and picked up Ace's saddle. Everything was inside the way I left it."

  No response, not even a twitch of an eyebrow.

  "That's all right. We'll send for a doctor. You'll be yourself in no time."

  But Zane was not himself and never would be again. That other man, the one he had been before Missy, he never wanted to be again. Even though pain wrenched his insides, he welcomed it. He welcomed life.

  Before he had loved Missy, his emotions lay close to the surface. They never went deep, for joy or for sorrow. Over the years his line of work had turned him that way.

  His former line of work, that is. Now that his soul had woken up he could no longer face the grievous side of the profession.

  On Missy's behalf, he admired the pretty quaintness of the house. She would be surprised when she woke up and discovered that she was not so far from the place where her adventures had begun. Luminary was an easy ride away.

  A day's ride south was Dewton. That's where he would build Missy a home, like this one, and take up the career of lawman.

  He took note of the details of the house, setting them in his mind for the near future. Shade trees anchored it at both ends and flowers in full bloom edged the walk to the front door.

  A pair of rocking chairs on the front porch and more pots of posies in bloom declared that friendly folks lived inside. A painted sign hung on the white picket fence: The Reverend Raymond Gilroy, it read.

  He would need the services of Reverend Gilroy the moment that Missy woke up. For now, he needed a place for her to recover. Surely they would not be turned away from the home of a man of God.

  If it had been the man of God stepping out on the front porch he would not have told what some might consider a bold-faced lie. To Zane it was only a minor stretch of the truth.

  But the woman greeting him with her hands folded at her waist looked less welcoming than a snapping turtle.

  She resembled the creature, too, with a sharp beak of a nose and a shallow chin. Her high-necked collar looked like a shell that was too tight to pull her head into. He felt a jab of pity for her until she opened her mouth.

  "Another whore from Luminary for Reverend Gilroy to redeem?" She frowned, gazing through slits in eyes so piercing that they could likely spot every indiscretion between here and town. "And this one not even decently clothed. Is she drunk as well?"

  "Mrs. Gilroy--"

  "That's Miss Gilroy, and kindly keep riding. This is no place for her kind."

  Miss Gilroy sniffed, turned on her heel and ran smack into a man coming out the door.

  "Please excuse my sister," the man said, looking at Zane with apology. He blocked his sister's retreat into the house. "Hortense, as we have discussed in the past, this is exactly the place for her kind."

  "Her kind," Zane said through gritted teeth, "is my wife. She was injured in the tornado last night. We need shelter and a doctor."

  "By all means." The reverend, a tall, muscular man with apparent strength to spare, rushed down the flowered path and reached for Missy. "Please, make your horse comfortable in the barn, it appears the animal has been through an ordeal as well."

  The preacher, clearly much younger than his sister, bounded up the steps with Missy cradled in his arms.

  "Hortense," the preacher directed, "prepare the guest room."

  "She is hardly dressed, Raymond. You will bring shame on us both."

  "Don't be a prude. This woman is a lamb of God, the same as you, clothing not withstanding."

  Zane watched Hortense Gilroy's stiff gait as she followed her brother into the house.

  One of the Gilroys might be a lamb, for all his size, but the other was a snapping turtle with a wicked bite.

  * * *

  "I remember your lady." Dr. James Griffen inspected the back of Missy's head, probing gently with long slender fingers.

  "My wife," Zane corrected because Miss Gilroy stood in the doorway, listening.

  "Your wife?" The doctor touched Missy's wrist, checking her pulse, then he listened to her heart through his stethoscope. "She did what she could for that poor girl, Harriet. Not many folks would have. No sirree, Luminary hasn't been the same since she wrecked Pete's saloon."

  A loud sniff brought Zane's and Dr. Griffen's attention to the doorway, but all that remained of Hortense Gilroy was a flash of her starched skirt.

  "Did Pete rebuild?" Zane asked, uncomfortable with Missy being only miles from that greedy man.

  "No, he's moved on. Some say to one wild place, some say to another. With Pete gone, there's talk of the town going respectable. There are rumors of a school and a church, even a music hall. People still talk about your wife and her skill at the piano. There's a fresh wind blowing through Luminary and it doesn't leave room for a place like Pete's. Even Maybelle is considering taking on a partner and turning her place into a hotel."

  The doctor
rolled up his stethoscope and put it in

  his bag.

  "Will my wife be all right?"

  "She took a blow of some kind to the back of her head. I'm afraid there isn't much I can do to help. Modern medicine can't cure everything. When it comes to the brain it's hard to predict."

  Zane felt as though the floor had opened under his chair. "What can I do?"

  "Read to her. Talk to her. There's so much we don't know about head injuries, but it makes sense that keeping her mind stimulated might bring her around." He touched Missy's forehead with his palm. "If there's something that you know she hankers for, offer it to her. And pray."

  "I'll admit that my knees have become a bit rusty of late."

  "A common ailment, son, but easily cured." Dr. Griffen picked up his bag and walked toward the hallway door. He turned before closing it and smiled. "I'll be in Luminary for a day or two if you need me. There's a new baby coming. It's quite the occasion for the town since its ma and pa are legally wed."

  "Thanks, Doc."

  Things were changing in the Wild West. Civilization was coming as fast as the trains could carry it.

  He was changing, too. Now, as his knees hit the floor, he was aware of the lie standing between him and his prayer.

  He wouldn't mind discussing this with the good reverend; his job was all about dealing with sinners. It was the sister that would keep him quiet, though. A private word in this house would be impossible with her ears hearing every secret confessed behind a closed door.

  * * *

  Zane hadn't expected to find a collection of dime novels at the parsonage, but it seemed that the Reverend Gilroy had developed a fondness for them when a "wounded dove" had left them behind on her way to respectability.

  "Johnny Swiftdraw Encounters the Indian Chief Great Thunder Sky," Zane read the title out loud. "Darlin', you sure you like this stuff?"

  As he had expected, she gave no response, not even a twitch of an eyebrow to show that she had heard him. Still, he thumbed the worn pages until he had read the story to her, cover to cover.

  "Here's one about a bounty hunter." It must have been someone's favorite for the pages nearly fell apart in his hand. After an hour, he closed the book. "Sorry to say so, but there wasn't an ounce of truth in this one, either."

  "It's all trash." The spinster Gilroy stood in the doorway with a tray in her hands. "See if you can get some of this broth down her. It will do her more good than those nasty words."

  Zane stood up, crossed the floor and took the tray from her.

  "Some folks live and breathe the adventure between these pages. Look, they're nearly worn through."

  Zane set the tray on a table beside the bed. Steam rose from the bowl in a swirl of life-giving nutrients that he doubted Missy would be able to swallow.

  Hour by hour his worry had grown. How long could a body last without food or drink?

  Hortense Gilroy snorted through her beaked nose. "Empty minds filled with foolish thoughts, if you ask me."

  There had been a time when he'd thought the same. But Missy didn't have an empty mind. What he used to consider foolish thoughts had turned out to be wisdom, a fresh and joyful look at a weary world.

  Zane knew he shouldn't do it, but the smug set of Hortense's mouth as she gazed down at Missy pushed him toward an act that he would regret in the morning, maybe.

  "You are a wise woman, Miss Gilroy, this is trash." Apparently her vanity had been appeased. She gave him a stiff, superior-looking smile and a nod. "Here is something that my wife wrote that I think you might find...well, educational."

  "Anything of an educational nature in this house would be uplifting. Please, Mr. Coldridge, do read it."

  He shouldn't do it really, but he reached for Missy's journal where he had placed it in her motionless hand, hoping that she might sense it and come around.

  The pages fell open to one of his favorite passages, one that he had read over and over, to himself and to his bride-to-be.

  He cleared his throat and swallowed a gulp of self-reproach. Still, it would do Miss Hortense Gilroy good to learn an ounce of humility.

  "'My breasts swell with yearning,'" he read aloud and with confidence. "'The very nipples twisting with the need to be touched. Not only by his strong brown fingers...'"

  Miss Gilroy turned pale. One hand clenched nervously at her tightly buttoned bodice. The skinny fingers of her other hand looked like bleached sticks splayed across her belly. She didn't appear to be breathing.

  He was wicked and couldn't stop even though the spinster's face had blossomed with crimson splotches. "'...but...his...suckling...lips.'" This last he drew out for emphasis and, mercy forgive him, he smacked his mouth.

  "You--" she gasped in a lungful of air "--are vile!"

  "And you are not the first to have noticed."

  She backed out of the room with both hands pressed to her flaming cheeks. "Vulgarity...and in this house of all places. My brother will hear of this."

  "What happens between a man and his wife is holy, Hortense, not vulgar."

  To say that he and Missy were man and wife stretched the truth a bit, but what was between them did feel holy. If she hadn't been hit in the head, this would be their wedding day.

  A few moments later, he guessed that Reverend Gilroy was hearing about the vulgarity under his very roof. The intensity of his laughter booming down the hall must have brought the man to his knees.

  The front door slammed. Miss Gilroy showed off a temper that probably left the hinges bent. With all that he would be happy never to cross paths with Hortense again, Raymond Gilroy was a man he might like to call friend.

  Hortense, pleading a sick headache, took dinner in her room.

  Raymond turned out to be pleasant company, a compassionate man with a robust sense of humor. If Missy hadn't been sick to death in the other room Zane would have liked to pass an hour or two at the table with him. As it was, though, every minute spent away from her stretched like an hour.

  "There must be something we've not thought of to bring your wife around," the reverend said, twirling a dollop of cream into his cup of after-dinner coffee.

  Zane's brew sat in front of him, untouched. He watched the steam curl across the dining table as though an idea might come swirling out of the vapor.

  "Has she any family?"

  Zane nodded. He'd made every effort to keep a step ahead of her folks, but now he would have to let them know what had happened to their girl.

  "In Boston. A mother, brother and twin sister." He tapped his dinner fork on his plate. "I'll send them a wire first thing tomorrow."

  "Boston, that's a long way off." Raymond swallowed a deep swig of his coffee then added more cream. "They will be some time in getting here."

  But come they would, and without Zane having admitted to Missy his sorry role in the whole bounty mess.

  In the beginning, contacting Edwin had been simple business and the best way to keep Missy safe. Falling in love was something he had never anticipated. If she discovered what he had done before he had a chance to explain, she might see his actions as the worst sort of betrayal.

  None of that could be helped now, her life was at stake and she needed her family. If she didn't come around before they arrived and he didn't get a chance to explain...well, he'd dwell on that problem later. For now he waited, living for every twitch in her sleep to be her awakening, praying to see her beautiful blue eyes blink open.

  "What does your wife favor, other than--" Raymond grinned in the direction of his sister's open bedroom door then whispered "--literature?"

  In spite of his heavy heart, Zane grinned back. "Well now, there's..." He stood so abruptly that his chair fell backward, clattering on the floor. "Her dog, Muff!"

  The reverend looked puzzled. "I don't recall seeing a dog."

  "I assumed he had been lost in the storm, but maybe not." There was a chance that he was with Wage.

  "A good-sized dog might have made it to safety."

&nb
sp; "The mutt does have a good-sized spirit." Zane set the chair to rights. "I'll go looking for him...now...tonight, if you can do me the favor of caring for my wife."

  "I'll tend to her as if she were my own sister." He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Make that my own dear cousin."

  "I can pay you for your trouble," Zane said, backing toward Missy's room and anxious to be on his way. He should have thought of Muff hours ago.

  The Reverend Raymond Gilroy raised his hands, palms out. "No need. I'm pleased to be of help."

  "There you go again, brother," came the whiney voice of his bitter sister, from somewhere down the hall. "We could use that money and you well know it."

  "She wasn't always so..." Raymond shrugged his shoulders again. "I pray for her hourly. And don't worry about that wire, I'll ride to Luminary and send it first thing in the morning."

  "Much obliged." A short thanks, Zane knew, but every second mattered when finding a small white dog on a vast and dangerous prairie.

  Inside Missy's room, he rummaged through his saddlebag, making sure he had what he needed for a fast trip.

  After the quick check, he knelt beside the bed. Lord, if Missy didn't seem smaller and paler every time he looked at her.

  "I've got to go, darlin', but just for a little while. I'm going to find Muff." Did her eyes twitch just now? He'd bet his life they did. "Hold on, Missy, don't you go anywhere. We'll have our wedding day. Soon as I come back that's just what we'll do."

  This time, her eyes rolled as though she was struggling toward the surface. The sooner he found that scrap of dog, the sooner he would have his intended back.

  He kissed her lips then dashed out of the room.

  In his rush to be on his way, Zane nearly plowed down Hortense, who was passing in front of Missy's doorway. Her sour frown would be enough to curdle the dinner he had left on his plate.

  As he rushed through the dining room, toward the front door, he snatched a biscuit that he hadn't had the appetite for earlier.

  Action was what he needed. Somehow he would find that pup and bring him back to Missy's arms. She would wake and they would begin a new life together.

  * * *