Forever His Texas Bride (Bachelors of Battle Creek #3)

by Linda Broday

  Two

  Brett must’ve lost consciousness. Panic gripped him when he came to. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was behind bars.

  When it came flooding back, he called, “Rayna, are you still here?”

  “Oh dear Lord, I thought you were dead. You haven’t made a sound for hours.” Surprise colored her voice. Clothing rustled as she moved closer to the bars separating them.

  “Not dead yet, so don’t get your hopes up,” he joked weakly.

  The iron door separating the cells from the sheriff’s office rattled. Footsteps sounded, then a key grated in the lock to his cell. He turned his head to see a slight, spry man carrying a black medical bag.

  “Doc?” Brett murmured.

  The doctor hurried to the bunk and felt Brett’s forehead. “Sheriff, he has a raging fever. This bullet has got to come out. I want him transported to my office right away.”

  Brett heard the sheriff’s gravelly voice. “Nope. Ain’t leaving here.”

  “Get me some light then,” the doctor snapped. “Lanterns. Three of them, plus a pail of clean water and some cloths. And quick.”

  “A lot of fuss for a stinking half-breed,” the sheriff grumbled.

  Doc turned Brett onto his belly, and pain shot like a thunderbolt through him. He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep from crying out. He couldn’t suppress a moan though.

  “It’s all right, son. Not everyone in this town shares the sheriff’s views. I’m going to take care of you.”

  Compassion showed in the gentle way the doctor removed Brett’s shirt, and Brett relaxed for the first time since this nightmare began. His mind drifted like a lazy cloud on a summer’s day. His ranch and beloved horses filled his mind. The smell of lush, sweet grass surrounded him, and the vivid blue sky stretched overhead as far as the eye could see.

  Please help me get back to the Wild Horse. That’s all he asked. The thought of not seeing his ranch again brought jagged pain. The Wild Horse was a buffer between him and the outside world. It was the one place where he’d always been happy and safe.

  “Will I die, Doc?”

  “Not if I can help it, son.” Doc sounded reassuring at least.

  A few minutes later, the sheriff and his deputy were back with the requested items. Brett could feel the hate from their eyes boring into him as Doc removed metal instruments from his bag and set them aside. Finally the pair left, turning the lock in the door between the cells and the office.

  “About damned time,” the sawbones muttered and finished examining the wound. He asked Brett to sit up for a moment and held a bottle of whiskey to Brett’s lips.

  When Brett tried to refuse, the kindly man pressed, “You’ll need something for the pain when I remove the slug. Don’t try to be a hero.”

  Finally, Brett accepted a drink but instantly regretted it. The liquor left a burning trail down his throat to his belly and released a fit of coughing. “No more. I’ll deal with the pain. Just get on with it.”

  “As you wish. Lie back down on your belly then, and I’ll get started.”

  A few seconds later, Brett wished he’d not been so hasty in turning the whiskey away. The pain was far worse than anything he’d experienced, even in the orphanage when Mr. Simon took off his belt and whipped him as he curled into a ball on the floor.

  He heard screams and realized they came from him. And then everything went black as he slipped beneath murky, swirling water.

  *

  In the next cell, Rayna plugged her ears with her fingers to block out the noises. Though Brett’s screams had ceased, fragments still echoed in the dim light. A drop of water fell onto her dress, and she realized she was crying.

  The Indian was in such agony. And she couldn’t help.

  His plight told her he was one of the have-nots, like her. Though she’d only just met him, it would kill a part of her if he died. He reminded her of a wounded animal—like the hawk she’d secretly cared for years ago after a storm snapped its wing in two.

  Her father had raised a ruckus when he discovered she’d hidden the hawk in the wagon amongst the pile of bones. He’d cursed her, then yelled that bone-pickers had no business trying to be softhearted. Their only job was to collect the bleached buffalo skulls and fragments left behind after the hunters had passed through. The pickers received eight dollars a ton when they delivered them to be shipped back East, where factories used them to make bone china and ground them into fertilizer. That eight dollars barely kept them fed.

  Raymond Harper had made her dump the hawk out beside the trail, saying that nature would take care of things.

  Rayna shut her eyes against the memory of how it squawked and hopped around, desperately trying to fly. Her father calmly took out his gun and shot it, then turned to her. “Now quit your sniveling.”

  Six months ago, after her father passed out under the wagon, she finally ran away.

  The lonely expanse of prairie was better than staying with him. Anything was better than being a bone-picker’s daughter. Bone-pickers had no soul. But she did. She did her best to make sure of that. She removed her fingers from her ears to wipe away her tears.

  The doctor was muttering to himself in Brett’s cell, sounding frustrated. She guessed he was having a hard time finding the bullet fragment. She opened her eyes.

  “Can I help, Doc?” she asked softly.

  He whirled. “Rayna child, I didn’t know he’d thrown you in jail again. Yes, I wish I had your good eyes. I can’t see as well as I used to.” Doc Perkins left Brett’s cell and returned a moment later with Sheriff Oldham.

  “I’ll open her cell, but she better not try to escape. I hold you responsible for her,” Oldham muttered.

  “For God’s sake, Sheriff, you have the door separating the cells from your office bolted. They don’t even have a window.”

  “Can’t be too careful.”

  The minute the key turned in the lock, Rayna rushed out and into Brett’s cell. “Tell me what you want.”

  “The bullet fragment, child. There’s so much blood. Take these forceps and see if you can get it.”

  As the sound of the sheriff’s footsteps faded and the lock turned in the heavy metal door, she took the pointed metal instrument from him. He held a lantern up high. She stared at the open wound and again thought of that hawk. She couldn’t save that bird, but maybe she could save Brett Liberty.

  With a trembling hand, she moved the torn, raw flesh aside, trying not to gag. So much blood. Her stomach threatened to revolt. After willing her belly to settle, she took a deep breath and blocked out everything except her task. Repeated tries found no success, however.

  Tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks. She wasn’t a failure. She wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to give up.

  Minutes ticked by and Brett’s breathing became more and more shallow. She had to do this, not only for him, but for herself. She couldn’t fail again and prove Raymond Harper right, especially when a man’s survival hung in the balance.

  Finally, the light glinted off a piece of metal. Grabbing onto the spent bullet with the forceps, she pulled it out and dropped it into a tin pan beside the bed before she could lose it inside him again.

  “You did it, child. He may well owe his life to you.”

  “Do you think Brett will live?”

  “He has a lot better chance now.” He took the stained forceps from her and added them to the pan with the metal fragment. “I’ll wash the wound, and you can help me apply a bandage. Did you know you make a fine nurse?”

  It was news to her that she made a fine anything. She was nothing but a picker. Of bones, of pockets, and now of bullet wounds. “I’m glad I could help. He seems nice.”

  Doc Perkins dipped a cloth into the water and began cleaning away the blood from Brett’s shoulder. “I agree. He’s not a monster to be locked up like some wild animal.”

  “I don’t know why the sheriff wants to hang him.”

  “Hate.
Pure hate. The Comanche massacred his entire family when he was a boy. Oldham never got over it.”

  Rayna rolled Brett onto his side so the doctor could get to the blood that had run down to the thin mattress beneath. Minutes later, she helped wrap the wound with gauze overlaid with strips of muslin they tied together.

  Doc stood back. “We’ve done all we can for him. The rest is up to the good Lord.” He began gathering everything and putting it back into his bag. “I’ll check on him again in a few hours.”

  “Thank you, Doc. I’ll sit with him as long as Sheriff Oldham will let me.”

  “I’ll tell him I’ve ordered you to.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m guessing your life has always been between hay and grass, but you have a big heart. That’s plain to see.”

  “I do care, and that’s a fact.”

  The room felt empty after he left. She sat on the edge of the bunk and touched Brett’s dark hair, which was tied back with a strip of leather. It was soft, just as the hawk’s feathers had been. “Yes, I care. More’s the pity.”

  She sensed a wound much deeper than that left by the bullet. One that had scarred his soul. Her brother had once told her that kisses held magic, healing. They never had for her, but maybe they would for Brett.

  Rayna lightly traced his lips with her fingertips. She could steal a kiss and he’d never know. It was too tempting. She’d never kissed anyone before without being forced. Just one time, she wanted to know how it felt because she wanted to. Bending her head, she gently placed her mouth on his.

  It felt nice. Real nice.

  So much that she tried it again.

  *

  Brett forced his eyes open, then promptly shut them against the glare of the lanterns. Why were there lanterns there? Where was he?

  Someone moved beside him, and a cool hand touched his forehead.

  “Who?” he murmured.

  “Rayna. Don’t you remember?”

  Images of his flight from the posse, the bullet slamming into his back, and the jail in Steele’s Hollow came flooding back. “Are you holding a wake? Am I dead?”

  “No, silly.”

  “What are you doing in my cell?” He tried to joke. “Did you escape so you could steal my moccasins?”

  “I thought about it. I do believe they’re the right size if I stuff the toe with newspaper.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he muttered, but his lips curved a little against his will.

  The light finally allowed him to see her clearly. He couldn’t say she was especially pretty—not traditionally so, in any case—but her cloud of auburn curls reminded him of the flames of a campfire on a cold night. Her eyes danced with mischief. Their color was as difficult to nail down as she was. One minute they were blue, the next green. They changed with each movement. They, he decided, were beautiful.

  As he pondered that, sleep overtook him again.

  The next time he woke to find a hand in his trousers. His head jerked around as he flared back into full consciousness, and Rayna pulled away with a gasp. “Trying to pick my pockets now? I’m afraid you’ll be sadly disappointed. I’m one of the have-nots.”

  Color flooded Rayna’s cheeks. “I was only giving you something.”

  Brett threw his long legs over the side of the bunk and, with great effort, struggled to a sitting position. “Giving me something? Now that’s a new wrinkle.”

  “It’s true.” She sat down beside him.

  “Then I suppose I need to see what you left in my pocket. Does it bite?”

  “Good Lord, what kind of a person do you think I am?”

  “God only knows.” He allowed a smile as he stuck his hand in his trouser pocket and found a small object. He pulled it out. It was a smooth piece of wood someone had carved into the shape of a heart. He stared into her blue-green eyes and raised a brow.

  “You need it more than I do,” she said. “My grandfather carved it a long time ago. It’s always brought me good luck.”

  Brett fought the impulse to laugh and, except for a quirk of his lips, managed to keep a straight face. His gaze swept the iron bars, the plank floor, and the grim, windowless space. “Yes, I can certainly see that this brought you all manner of good fortune.”

  Rayna twisted a piece of her dirty, threadbare dress. “Well, it did before I got here to Steele’s Hollow.”

  He caught the sorrow in her eyes before she looked down. Acting on impulse, he reached for her hand, only to stop, unsure of himself. But it was so clear she needed comfort. Finally, he took her small hand in his, keeping his grip light, fearing he might break it.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s the best present anyone ever gave me.”

  “So you’ll keep the heart? It would mean a lot.”

  “In that case, I can’t refuse.”

  She brightened. “When they hang you, I’ll take it back.”

  “Such overwhelming faith you have in this talisman.” He tucked the small heart into his pocket. “You never told me why you’re in my cell.”

  Her hand curled inside his, and he found the feeling shooting into his chest very pleasant. “I was helping Doc. He can’t see well and had trouble locating the bullet fragment, so he got the sheriff to let me try.”

  “Then I owe you a debt of thanks.” He squeezed her fingers just a tiny bit.

  Strange sensations traveled the length of his arm. Rayna was the first woman he’d touched in this way. Her skin was as soft as the down on a baby wren.

  “When the doctor left, he told Sheriff Oldham that he needed me to watch you. I’m awful glad you’re doing better. Looked like you were a goner for a while. Doc said you had an infection, but it looks like you might beat it.”

  He took in the woman who’d saved his life. He doubted the top of her head would reach his chin. Both delicacy and strength showed in her face. It seemed apparent she’d had her share of disappointments. Still, it hadn’t beaten her down. She had plenty of spunk and then some.

  “What time do you think it is?” he asked, releasing her hand.

  “Near to midnight, I would say.”

  “Then I think I’ll lie back down if you don’t mind.”

  She rose and stood beside the bunk, then hesitated. “I wonder…do you think I could stay? Just for a while? Maybe watch you sleep? Just in case you start feeling poorly again and need…something.”

  Brett studied her face and noticed the worry and fear darkening her eyes. Through the haze of his pain, he could clearly see that Rayna hungered for human contact. He couldn’t deny her that. He turned on his side to make more room. “Lie down beside me. We’ll watch each other sleep.”

  “Try not to snore too loud.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t know I did at all.”

  “Just a little but it was probably from the pain.” She curled up next to him and laid her head on his arm. “Good night, Brett.”

  “Good night.” He hesitated a long minute, impulse warring with reserve…then slowly laid his other arm protectively across her stomach.

  A sense of peace flooded over him. This slight woman who seemed to have no one had awakened a long-buried dream. He silently vowed to protect her for however long he had left.

  Three

  Brett woke sometime later. He had no idea of the hour. In the lantern light, he stared at his bunk partner’s mass of riotous curls, blowing one away from his nose.

  Having a woman in his arms felt nice. It was something he’d never allowed before, something he’d never sought. Yet deep inside, his heart had desperately yearned for this sort of moment. She was very different from anyone he’d ever known. Somehow, even though he lay in a jail cell and listened to a gallows being constructed outside, she made him feel alive and happy.

  Rayna stirred. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes. Just curious about the time. I don’t want the sheriff or anyone to catch us like this. I would feel great pain if he harmed you because of me.”

  She sat up, pushed back her cloud of russet
hair, and got to her feet. It was then he saw that she wore a heavy pair of men’s brogans. Where on earth had she gotten them? The shoes looked as though they might’ve come off a very poor dead man.

  Her dress was dirty and had been mended so many times it looked like a patchwork quilt with none of the squares matching. But she seemed so spirited, so brave.

  If society had ever allowed him to take a wife, he’d want someone like her. He hated to think he’d have spent all his life never knowing what it could be like to be happy like his brothers now were. While he waited to die, maybe they could pretend.

  Maybe he could know what it was like to be loved.

  Until they led him through those doors to a hangman, maybe he could have the bride prejudice had denied him. The bold notion made ripples dance under his skin.

  Brett raised to a sitting position, ignoring the pain shooting through his back. “This may sound crazy, but I’m going to ask anyway. Rayna, do you think you could pretend to be my wife? Just until they take me away? No one will ever know but us, so they can’t hurt you.”

  Turning, she dropped down beside him. Surprised tears bubbled in her eyes. “No one ever asked me to marry them before.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “I’d be honored to be your pretend wife,” she whispered, brushing his face with her fingers. “What do we do now?”

  “Do you mind if I kiss you?”

  “I’d like that…husband.”

  Under her bright gaze, he lowered his head. But before their lips touched, the sound of a key grating in the lock made him jerk back. “Quick, go to your cell before they catch you with me.”

  Rayna scurried into hers and quietly eased the door shut.

  Just then a deputy sauntered in, taking care to keep his distance from Brett’s cell. “You alive, breed?”

  Brett glared. “Disappointed?”

  The deputy—a squat man who reminded Brett of a possum with little weasel eyes, grunted, shifting his gaze to Rayna. “Give any thought to my offer, woman?”

  No one had to spell out what the deputy meant. Brett sought to tamp down his rising anger. He watched Rayna tilt her head at a defiant angle.

  “The answer is the same as all the other times.”