A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  Then she sighed. No, she would not have preferred that. Terrifying though some of the journey had been, it had had its compensations. A tall, handsome Irishman was one that came readily to mind. If she had stayed home, she would never have met him, would never have tasted the passion they so effortlessly shared. Her affair with Mitchell would probably leave her heartbroken and, perhaps, unweddable, but she could not really regret that, either.

  As Mike told her that three aces did not beat two fours, Maura hoped that Mitchell was as smart as she thought he was, and sneaky, too. She needed him to come and rescue her, the sooner the better. It was getting harder and harder to play a lackwitted ingenue. If she had to endure much more of this blatant cheating, she was going to put everything at risk, and lose her temper. There was, after all, only so much a person could bear before cracking under the strain.

  Chapter Eight

  “SHE’S PLAYING CARDS,” MITCHELL whispered in utter disbelief as he peered into the cabin through a filthy little window.

  He leaned against the side of the cabin and shook his head. He suspected she had some reason for what she was doing, some plan in mind, but damned if he could figure it out. Although he had not really expected to find her terrified, too panicked to act when he moved to rescue her, he had not expected to see her seated at a table playing cards and sipping rotgut with her abductors.

  Then he realized that what she was doing could prove very helpful. The two men were completely distracted, lulled into complacency. That could allow him the element of surprise, and, after a little reconnoitering, he knew there were only the two of them, so surprise might be all he needed to win. Unfortunately, Maura was so close to them, she could easily get in the way.

  Very carefully, he moved to peer in the window again. If she had the wits to throw herself out of the way when he burst through the door, he could probably take the two men down before they drew their own guns. Just as he was wishing he could warn her somehow, she glanced up and looked right at him. Her eyes widened briefly and then she dropped her gaze back to the cards she held.

  He moved away from the window again and tried to think of some clear signals he could give her that would tell her when he would be coming in and what to do when he did. Glancing up, he grimaced. The moon would soon be a bright light in the sky and the men would be ready for him then. He could not believe they had not already set up some sort of watch for him. They clearly thought him fool enough to meekly do exactly as they commanded, to walk passively into their trap like a lamb led to the slaughter.

  Finally deciding what message he wanted to relay to Maura, he peered in the window again. It was a minute or two before she glanced his way. Hoping she did not think he was just waving at her, he tried to tell her, with just a few hand signals, that he would be coming through the door in five minutes and, when he did, she was to get out of the way. He was not sure, but he thought she nodded, and he quickly ducked back away from the window. Mitchell took out his watch and, using the faint light from the window as well as the increasing light from the moon, began to wait. It was going to be the longest five minutes of his life.

  * * *

  Maura stared at her cards, not even seeing them, as she tried to remain calm. It had only been a fleeting glimpse, but she was sure she had just seen Mitchell at the window. She desperately wanted to look again, even though she feared she was imagining things, but knew she had to be very careful. If she looked at the window too often or for too long, it could draw the attention of the men with her.

  Mike started to complain that Roy was drinking more than his share of the appalling whiskey. Maura took quick advantage of their distraction and looked toward the window again. When she saw Mitchell’s face it was all she could do to hide her elation. That faded a little when he mouthed a few words, made a few hand gestures, and then disappeared again. She wondered briefly if the knock on the head he had gotten in the alley had scrambled his brains.

  As she turned her attention back to her cards, she thought about Mitchell’s actions. He was obviously trying to tell her something, but she was not sure what. Door was one word, of that she was sure. He had also pointed to it. A fleeting glance toward the door revealed that Mike had left it unlocked after taking a quick trip outside to relieve himself. If Mitchell really was planning to come straight through the door, it would be easy enough. Five fingers held up and the word five was a little harder to understand, then, suddenly, she caught sight of the little watch pinned on her bodice. He was going to spring his attack in five minutes, although, if she accounted for the time it had taken her to figure out his message, it was probably more like four minutes now. The last signal he had made was one she easily understood, especially if she had guessed everything else correctly. That quick slash of his hand meant move.

  There was a very good chance she was about to see two men die and Maura tried to prepare herself for it. She had seen it happen when they had been attacked on the train, but from a distance. There would not be the shelter of distance this time. It would be nice if, when Mitchell burst through the door, the two men would meekly offer up their arms and surrender, but Maura sincerely doubted that would happen. And so did Mitchell or he would not have told her so forcefully to move.

  The problem as she saw it was that Mitchell would have only one gun against two. His would undoubtedly be drawn and ready to fire, plus he would have the element of surprise, but Maura wanted to even up the odds. After a little thought she decided to make use of the knowledge she had gained on the day Mitchell had strode into her life. Just as the five minutes she had been told to wait drew to a close, she curled up one hand into a tight little fist, and, using every ounce of strength she had, she punched Mike in the Adam’s apple.

  She was yet again surprised at how effective the blow was. Mike immediately began choking so badly, struggling so hard to stop choking, that he fell off his chair. Roy stared at his companion in utter amazement for a moment before turning a narrow-eyed gaze her way. Maura quickly got up and started to move away from the table. After another look at his still-writhing friend, Roy stood up, making himself the perfect target, she thought, and tried to will Mitchell to enter right now.

  Even though she had been expecting him, it still stunned Maura when Mitchell kicked in that door at that precise moment. She raced back to the bed as just one gunshot sounded. Praying that Roy had not somehow freed his gun from its holster before Mitchell could even fire his, she glanced back and breathed a hearty sigh of relief. Roy was sprawled on top of the table, his blood staining the cards and his hand still clenched around his gun handle. Mike was still lying there gasping like a fish on a dry land.

  Mitchell turned to look at her, and she did not wait for him to come to her. Maura raced into his arms. Except for the ride to the little shack, she had not been hurt, but she had known she was not safe nor would she leave the hut alive. She had been terrified, the feeling twisting her insides beneath her facade of calm, not just for herself, either, but also for Mitchell. Neither one of her captors had made any real attempt to hide their plans to kill Mitchell and they would have added to the horror of her own death by leaving her knowing she had brought Mitchell to his.

  “Are you all right, darlin’?” Mitchell asked, smoothing his hands over her body in a mixture of relief and a need to check her for any injuries.

  “I’m fine. A little bruised where they tossed me over the saddle, but nothing else.”

  “They didn’t—”

  “I’ve the oddly insulted feeling they did not really even consider it.” She grinned when he laughed. “Although, I think the man you shot was slowly coming round to the idea. He was becoming almost, well, pleasant.” She looked at Mike who was trying to sit up, and the way he was rasping as he struggled for each breath made her think that she might have seriously injured him. “What do we do about him?”

  “Not sure, but I do have a question. Why is it that, when I gallantly rush to your rescue, I always seem to find a man choking?”
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br />   “You didn’t rush that other time,” she murmured, a little embarrassed by the violence she had committed and sure that Mitchell would not really appreciate her efforts to even the odds for him.

  “Very amusing. Why?”

  “That time we met, I had just kicked the man in the throat. It seemed to work very well at incapacitating him. So, this time, I punched him in the throat.” She blushed faintly under his wide-eyed stare.

  “Amazing. And probably a better way for a woman to do it sometimes rather than going for his groin. A lot of men anticipate a woman trying to get him in the groin. They’d never think to protect their throat.”

  “That first time, I couldn’t reach his—er—groin. Deidre told me about that other method of bringing a man down, but, when I saw how this worked, I felt it was a little, well, more genteel.” She met his wide grin with a frown that did nothing to hide his amusement.

  “I’m sure this fellow is right glad he met with a lady who was too delicate to kick him in the balls.”

  “Mitchell,” she gasped, but could not completely suppress a smile as he laughed.

  It seemed a little heartless to stand there laughing and grinning while one man lay dead at their hands and another might be wishing he was, but Maura suspected it was a sense of relief that they were still alive that prompted it. She also knew neither man deserved any sympathy or grief over their passing. They would have killed her and Mitchell, had probably killed others. It said a lot about what sort of men the Martins were that they could find such criminals to do their work for them.

  She glanced toward Mike, realizing that he did not sound quite as bad as he had a minute ago. It took her a moment to understand the meaning of what she saw. Mike was reaching for something tucked in his boot. She cried out a warning and shoved Mitchell out of the way even as Mike raised his pistol to aim it directly at Mitchell’s heart. A burning pain seared its way across the top of her arm and she fell to the floor so hard she was dazed. The sounds of gunfire filled the small shack and she prayed Mitchell was successful once again as she struggled to regain her senses.

  Mitchell scrambled to his feet even as Mike sprawled facedown on the floor. He went over to the man, made sure he was dead, and then looked for Maura, intending to soundly scold her for her actions. His heart stopped in his chest when he saw her lying on the floor. Even on her black dress the spreading stain of blood was visible.

  “Maura, damn you, you had better be all right,” he said, his voice unsteady as he knelt by her side and began to undo her gown.

  “Mike?” she asked, peering at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Dead. I should have tied the fool up at the start or searched him for weapons.”

  “Yes, we should have thought of that.”

  Mitchell pulled open her gown and breathed a hearty sigh of relief. It was merely a graze, a furrow cut out of her soft skin by the passing bullet. He searched the cabin for water, found the canteen, and, dampening his handkerchief, wiped the wound clean. Out of the pocket of her gown he got her own handkerchief and wrapped it around the wound. The whole time he worked, Maura lay very still and that worried him a little.

  Once he was done, he pulled her up into his arms and just held her. The first sight of her lying there, not knowing how badly she had been wounded, had been one of the worst experiences he had ever had. Mitchell hugged her a little more tightly, savoring the feel of her lithe, warm, and very alive body. Ever since she had been taken, he had been scared to death for her, and, now that they were safe, he was feeling a little unsteady.

  Maura began to regain her wits and strength as she rested in Mitchell’s rather tight hold. The wound hurt, but she did not need to see it to know it was not a bad one. She decided it was simply the fact that she had been shot that had made her so faint for a moment. This amount of violence was not something she was accustomed to.

  She slowly became aware of the strong emotion in the man who held her. It touched a strong chord inside of her, but she fought that connection. A part of her wanted to believe that this meant he might care for her, that if she tried, she might actually find the joy of a shared love. It whispered that she could trust Mitchell Callahan with her heart. Maura fought the allure of that voice and pulled forward all the harsh lessons learned while listening to her mother weep.

  Although she got her own emotions back under control, she still felt disturbed by the ones she could sense in Mitchell’s taut frame. Whether it was a fear for her or the realization that he had killed two men, something made him cling to her. Not sure how to make him more at ease, she began to stroke his head.

  Mitchell smiled faintly against Maura’s bosom. He slowly pulled himself together. Maura was probably a little confused about the way he was acting. Sometime soon they were going to have to have a serious talk about their future, but now, sitting in a cabin with two dead men, was certainly not the time.

  “Stop patting me on the head, Maura,” he said, laughter in his voice.

  “I was being consoling,” she said as she watched him stand up.

  “More like motherly and, believe me, that is not what I want from you.”

  There was a strong undertone to his words, as if he was giving her a message. As he helped her to her feet, she decided she was too tired to figure it out. Some instinct told her that she did not really want to, either, that what he wanted from her was not what she wanted to give. It was all there inside her, but she was terrified to set it free.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  “Mitchell, it’s a little late to go anywhere, isn’t it? Or are we going back to the town? That isn’t so far away, I suppose.”

  “Maura, darlin’, you have two choices. We can either stay here with these charming fellows or ride.”

  “Ride? As on horses?”

  “As on horses. I got you a very sweet-tempered mare.”

  “She could be an angel on four hooves, but I suspect I shall still embarrass myself.” She glanced at the two bodies. “The alternative is worse. Just why can’t we go back to town for the night and then head out in the morning?”

  “I don’t think the sheriff can hold those three men much longer. Also, this all shows that we have been found. That town is no longer safe for us.”

  “And riding through the night will be?” She knew he was right, but she hated the thought of getting on a horse now when she would much rather crawl into a soft, warm bed.

  “Sorry, darlin’.”

  “Oh, it’s not your fault. Well, let’s go then. It’s best if I don’t have to think about it too long.”

  He laughed softly, then kissed her on the forehead. “Just wait here a moment. I’ll get the horses. You need to get into some warmer clothes.”

  Warmer meaning ugly, she thought as he left her. Then she realized she was alone in the cabin with two dead men. Fighting the slightly panicked urge to chase after Mitchell, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the door. Maybe if she did not look at the bodies, she would not be terrified by them.

  When Mitchell returned and held out a vast collection of wool and flannel, she sighed. It was sensible to dress as warmly as possible, but that did not mean she had to like it. While he ripped the graying, rat-chewed blankets off the bed to toss over the bodies, she changed into her new clothes. Several times she got the distinct feeling that Mitchell was watching her, but a quick glance over her shoulder never caught him in the act. Carefully folding her silk underwear, she donned the more practical wool and flannel. She hoped there would be a night or two when they reached Paradise where she could wear such things for Mitchell again.

  Mitchell watched Maura take off her scandalous lavender underthings and quelled the urge to make love to her immediately. He was going to miss those scraps of silk and lace. They could not get to Paradise and back to a more normal life too soon to suit him.

  Once thoroughly bundled up to Mitchell’s satisfaction, Maura followed him out to the horses. She p
ut her things in her bags on the packhorse and then got on the mare. She did seem to be a sweet animal, but the horse’s nature, no matter how perfect, could not improve Maura’s hopelessly inadequate skills.

  “What happens with those men?” she asked as Mitchell headed his mount away from the cabin and she quickly fell into a matching pace at his side.

  “I told the sheriff there might be some bodies to collect tomorrow, but I don’t think he’ll be coming here.”

  That meant the two men would not get a decent burial and that troubled her a little. She beat down her sense of guilt, by reminding herself of just who they had been dealing with. Maura doubted Mike or Roy would have given a second thought to leaving hers and Mitchell’s bodies unburied. They probably would not even have taken the minute or two to toss a blanket over them. And now that she considered what Mitchell was saying, the sheriff would not have bestirred himself, either. People had said that the West could be a hard place, she had just never realized how hard.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as she struggled to fall in with the rhythm of her horse. “To another town?”

  “No, to a little cabin in the hills.”

  “Oh. One of yours?”

  “Belongs to my family. We’ve got a fair number of stopping places scattered from Paradise all the way to the Mississippi. Pa didn’t completely trust the trains or the stages.”

  “His mistrust will obviously serve us well now. Is it far?” she asked quietly, dreading the answer.

  “I’m afraid we won’t get there until nearly dawn.” He smiled gently when she groaned. “We can rest there for a day or two before continuing.”

  “And how far is this cabin from Paradise?”

  “About a week’s ride.”