by Hebby Roman
“Of course.”
He patted her shoulder again. “Good. Thank you for all you’ve done. And for being Mallory’s friend, too.”
She flushed pink. “My pleasure, Colonel. I’m glad you’re going to marry.”
“Okay, Doc, change the bandage, give me a belt of whiskey, and some smelling salts in case I need them.”
“That bullet should come out, the sooner the better.”
“Nope, not now. After you finish digging on me, I’ll be in no fit state to get Mallory and Peggy back.”
“Can’t you trust Richter—?”
“What would you do if it was your daughter and intended bride?”
“All right. I’ll do as you ask. But if you keel over from the loss of blood, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”
***
Mallory knocked on the back door of the yellow house. After a few moments, the door opened a crack and the stranger grabbed her arm and pulled her in. The one-room adobe house was dark with the windows shuttered. But she could sense others in the room and hear their breathing.
Someone struck a match, and the light flared. She glimpsed a man who looked like Hiram, but his face was covered in a heavy beard. He lit a kerosene lamp, and the light picked out his features.
What she saw was disturbing. Along with the heavy beard, Hiram’s eyes were blood-shot, and his skin was covered in patchy red blotches. And he stank. He was as different from the well-dressed, debonair gentleman she’d known in Charleston, as a mule was from a Thoroughbred. She wouldn’t have recognized him in a crowd.
She heard a whimper and saw Peggy, bound and gagged, lying on the floor in a corner of the room. Her heart went out to the girl, and seeing her trussed-up like an animal, struck a spark of smoldering rage within her.
The room was almost empty, containing only a narrow cot, a table, two chairs, a dry sink, and a shelf with some tin mugs and plates. Why hadn’t they laid Peggy on the cot? Why had they left her huddled on the hard dirt floor?
Behind her, she was aware of the stranger with a rifle cradled in his arms. His red-checkered bandana had seen better days—now its red-and-white checks had bled into one dusty color.
“Where is the boy?” Hiram demanded in a raspy voice. Then he turned and coughed, spitting up a glob of mucous.
Seeing the man who had ruined her life and sensing his menacing attitude, she wanted to bolt through the door, to run back to safety. But she couldn’t leave Peggy.
She gazed at the girl, trying to send her a look of reassurance. But Peggy’s eyes were wide and bulging, and her cheeks were streaked with tears.
“Macon isn’t here yet, Hiram. He was at the Arledge’s home, but when they realized you were looking for him, they sent him west with the new Methodist reverend and his family. They’re coming overland from Galveston, so—”
“Shut your lying mouth, slut! I know he must be here.”
She put out her hand, to push back or plead with him, she wasn’t sure which. Perhaps just to appease him, like one tried to calm a ravaging beast.
“I’m not lying. You’ve had me watched for weeks.” She inclined her head toward the Pinkerton agent. “If Macon was here, don’t you think your spy would have caught a glimpse of him?”
“Lying slut, filthy, lying whore!” He lunged at her, his hands raised and forming two pincers, wanting to throttle her. She took a step back.
The Pinkerton man moved between them. “I don’t hold with harming women or breaking the law. I told you that when I hired on.”
Hiram dropped his hands and turned. He slumped down into one of the chairs at the table. He cradled his head in hands.
She snorted and glanced at Peggy. “Doesn’t look like you mind harming children.”
The man gazed at her. “I’m a private citizen, doing a job. But we Pinkerton agents uphold the letter of the law. The girl might not be comfortable, but she’s not been harmed.”
“What about the note your employer sent me, threatening to…” She stopped herself. Peggy was listening, and the poor girl looked as frightened as a rabbit caught in a snare. She didn’t dare say the word “kill.”
She wished she’d brought the note with her, so she could show the Pinkerton man, as he appeared to be more reasonable than Hiram. Perhaps she could make him understand and let them go.
“I don’t know nothing about what was in that note, Miss. And my employer has a right to his son.” He shrugged. “Sometimes threats can be effective. But threatening don’t harm no one, neither.”
She folded her hands and lowered her head. It appeared the Pinkerton man didn’t condone physical harm, but everything else was on the table.
Hiram pulled a flask from inside his vest, fetched one of the cups, and pulled a small bottle, half-filled with a reddish-brown liquid from his pocket. He filled the tin cup from the flask and poured a shot of the reddish-brown liquid into the cup. He tipped up the mug and drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
She noticed his hands were trembling.
When they’d been courting, she’d realized Hiram drank heavily. Many men, especially in the defeated South, found succor in hard liquor. At the time, she’d been so besotted, she’d made excuses for him.
Heavy drinking was bad enough, but wasn’t the reddish-brown liquid laudanum? If so, and he was mixing it with liquor, it would account for his appearance and erratic behavior. Not to mention the tremor in his hands.
For now, the liquor and laudanum mixture appeared to have calmed him. She decided to try again. “Hiram, your son, Macon, will be arriving in the next few weeks with Reverend Whitehead. If you can be patient—”
“No!” He brought his fist down on the table so hard it jumped. “I’m through with being patient, and besides, I don’t believe you. You’re a Jezebel, woman!” He pointed his index finger at her. “I came to see you when I learned you were in the family way, offering to set you up as my mistress in a fine townhouse in Charleston.” He thumped the table again. “You turned me down flat, you whore.”
She had tried to forget the time he’d come to her father’s plantation. It was the one detail she hadn’t told Will or Sally because the encounter had been humiliating and pointless. Hiram had come when she’d been laboring to birth Macon, and at the time, she’d wondered if his presence had been a delusion brought on by her labor pains.
As it was, she’d been lucky her father had been in town, and Astarte was helping her to birth the baby. She remembered screaming at Hiram, telling him to go home to his rich wife and to leave her alone. It had been fortunate her father hadn’t been there. Otherwise, the two men might have dueled.
Now, she needed to try and reason with a drunken madman who’d forced himself on her, deserted her when she became pregnant, and nursed a grudge because she’d refused to become his “kept” woman.
Evil, pure evil.
She looked the Pinkerton man squarely in the eye. “If I can’t produce my son to satisfy your employer’s whim, what do you propose doing—keeping Peggy and I as hostages for several weeks?”
Hiram rose and tottered toward her, his fisted hand raised in the air. “No need for that, I’ll beat it out of you! And if that don’t work, I’ll cut the kid’s face so no man will want her.”
She gasped and gazed at the Pinkerton agent.
He raised his rifle and sited it at Hiram’s shoulder. “No beating of women on my watch, sir.”
Hiram pushed the rifle barrel aside and roared, “Then git out, git out! I don’t need your lousy help.”
The door behind her burst open.
Will towered over her, pointing his Colt at the Pinkerton agent. “Colonel Gregor, United States Army, Commander of Fort Davis. Drop your gun!”
The Pinkerton agent let the rifle slide from his hands. It clattered on the floor. He raised his hands. “I’m not here to break any laws or go against the United States Army.”
“Good.” Will pushed him to one side. “Then you can
unbuckle your holster and drop it, too.” He glanced at her, and then stepped around her, kicking the rifle out of the way. He was focused on his terrified daughter.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Hiram reach inside his coat. She’d already drawn the derringer. Corporal Walsh and Lieutenant Richter stepped inside, backing up Will.
She noticed Will’s left arm was in a sling. He was hurt!
He put his Colt into its holster. Intent on his daughter, he rushed to Peggy’s side, thinking his men would cover him.
But like the snake he was, Hiram had dropped to the floor with his revolver in hand, pointing the barrel at Will’s back.
She’d never fired a handgun before, only a rifle when shooting quail. She raised the tiny gun and took aim at his outstretched arm. No recoil and barely a sound, the tiny gun went off with a poof of powder. Had it misfired?
Hiram’s eyes widened and he screamed. Blood poured from his forehead. She’d missed! He grimaced and managed to lift his revolver, struggling to pull the trigger with blood streaming in his eyes.
Will whirled around and went for his Colt.
She wished she had a second shot. Desperate, she ran forward and kicked the revolver out of Hiram’s hand.
Corporal Walsh grabbed the Pinkerton’s discarded guns. Lieutenant Richter rushed over and picked up Hiram’s revolver. Then he searched him for other weapons, pulling a wicked-looking Bowie knife from his boot.
Hiram tried to roll away, cradling his head in his hands and writhing on the floor. He looked up at her and screamed, “You, filthy slut, you! You shot me!”
Will kneeled beside his daughter, ungagging her and untying her hands and feet. Peggy was sobbing and gasping for air. Will gathered her into his arms and lifted her. She clung to his neck as if she was drowning and her father was a lifeboat.
“Corporal Walsh, get two of the men and take that piece of vermin to the doctor. If he lives long enough.”
The Pinkerton agent stepped forward. “I have two good men with our horses in a mesquite thicket out back. If I may, sir, I’d like to join them and head for El Paso.” He glanced at his erstwhile employer, thrashing on the floor. “I believe our business here is concluded.”
Will glanced at the Pinkerton agent, spearing him with a steely gaze. “My soldiers have your men under guard.” He looked the man up and down. “You say you haven’t broken the law? Like hell, you say! You abducted a child. I don’t know what law you go by in Chicago, but out here, that’s a serious offense, mister.”
He swung around and commanded, “Lieutenant Richter, escort this man and his friends to the guardhouse.” He nodded at the Pinkerton agent. “You want to go to El Paso? I’ll see you get to El Paso and, as a bonus, you’ll pay a visit to Judge DuVal, of the Western District Federal Court. Let’s see what he thinks about you helping to abduct an innocent child.”
The Pinkerton man muttered and cursed under his breath, but when Lieutenant Richter came forward to tie his hands, he didn’t resist.
Watching Will in action, with his daughter in his arms and blood staining the bandage on his shoulder, her heart swelled with pride. He was like an avenging angel, putting everything right.
This was the man who loved her, honest and brave as the day was long. And she loved him more than life itself.
Tripping over her skirts, she rushed to join Will and his daughter, kissing Peggy’s cheek and promising, “I won’t let anybody hurt you again. You have my word.”
Peggy threw one arm around her neck and kissed her back.
Will enfolded both of them in his embrace. “Nothing is ever going to harm either one of my girls, not while I’ve breath left in my body.” He looked Mallory directly in the eyes. “And you’re going to be my wife and the mother of my daughter. No more hiding and shame. All right?”
She nodded and swallowed back her tears, kissing his cheek.
He kissed her back and then he kissed Peggy, hugging them tighter.
She bowed her head and offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Home… she’d finally come home.
***
Mallory urged her mare forward. Will, his shoulder still in a sling, touched his spurs to Boots’ flanks. They’d received notice from the stagecoach driver, earlier this morning, that a buckboard with Reverend Whitehead and his family were only a few miles outside Fort Davis.
When she’d gotten word, she knew she couldn’t wait to see her son. She’d begged Will to let her have a mount and escort to meet Macon. He’d obliged her but refused to let her go unless he went along. Peggy was waiting at home with a lop-sided cake she’d baked, all by herself, for her “new” brother.
They passed the fork in the road that led to the Lazy M. She allowed herself a small shudder, realizing what they’d all been through, since that long-off day she’d come west as a mail order bride.
Will’s shoulder was healing. The bullet had buried itself in his muscle, missing the joint by a fraction of an inch. Doc Winslow had dug it out, but he’d cautioned Will his shoulder might be sore and stiff for a long time.
Hiram’s wound had proven superficial, grazing the top of his head. He’d bled a lot, but the doctor had patched him up. Locked in the guardhouse with his Pinkerton men and the surviving Comancheros, he’d suffered, getting free of his addiction to the laudanum.
Two days ago, Will had sent the prisoners with a military escort to El Paso to await trial for their crimes.
She’d shot a man. Her son’s father. And she’d vowed to herself never to lie again. She was stunned by her audacity. But she’d shoot Hiram all over again, if it would save Will’s life.
Besides, there wouldn’t be any more lies, not really. When Macon had been five years old, he’d asked why he didn’t have a father, like his friends. She’d lied to her son then—telling him that his father was dead. To her, the man who’d ruined her and caused such pain and sorrow, was dead.
Macon’s father would go to prison and when her son was older, she would tell him the truth. Then Macon could make his own decision, whether to meet his father or not. For now, she hoped Will and Macon would form a strong bond, and her son would learn to care for his “new” father.
She topped a rise and glimpsed a cloud of dust. She dug her heels into the mare, and a few hundred yards away, she saw a lumbering buckboard, being pulled by a team of four mis-matched mules.
Raising her hand, she called out, “Macon, son! Reverend Whitehead!” She raced toward the wagon.
Will rode beside her and grinned. She smiled back at him.
The driver of the wagon, a man in a clerical collar, pulled back on the reins, calling out, “Whoa there, whoa mules!”
Before the wagon could halt, her son clambered over the side and dropped to the ground. She reined her mare in, and she jumped down, running to her son with her arms outstretched.
Macon rushed into her arms and hugged her. With joy overflowing her heart and tears welling in her eyes, she hugged her son back. “Macon, oh, Macon, I’ve missed you so much! I’m so glad to see you!”
She kissed his cheek and held him at arm’s length. “Let me look at you, son.” And with those words, she gazed at her child, thinking he’d grown almost a foot since she’d left him in Georgia.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she hugged him again, cooing, “Oh, Macon, my son. I can’t tell you how happy I am.”
Reverend Whitehead got down from the wagon and greeted her. They shook hands and he introduced her to his wife, Katherine, and their two children, George and Emily.
Someone cleared their throat, and she glanced up.
Will dismounted from Boots’ and offered his hand to the Reverend and then his wife, introducing himself, “I’m Colonel Gregor, Commander of Fort Davis. And this is a blessed day, you bringing my fiancée her son.” He put his arm around her.
The Reverend glanced at her. “I hadn’t heard about your engagement. I hope you’ll allow me to officiate at your wedding. Glad
to make your acquaintance, Colonel.”
Then Will bent down and looked Macon in the eye. “I’m the Commander of the fort, Macon. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, too.”
Her son gazed at Will’s navy-blue uniform with the brassy buttons and shiny epaulets. He looked at Will’s sling. His hazel eyes widened. “You’re a real commander of a fort and all. The kind that shoots down Injuns?” He pointed at Will’s bandaged shoulder and asked, “Did an Injun hurt you, sir?”
He glanced at her and grinned. Then he turned his attention back to Macon. “As a matter of fact, it was an Apache war chief who shot me.”
“Why Mister Commander, I’m right glad to meet you.” Macon thrust out his hand. “Can I meet a real-life Injun, too?”
Will shook his hand and solemnly said, “I can introduce you to Pale Hawk, one of our Apache interpreters.”
Macon let out a whoop. He looked at her and said, “Mama, it’s just like the books and all. Ain’t it?”
“Isn’t it?” she corrected.
Will put his hand on her son’s shoulder. “What would you say, Macon, if I told you that me and your Mama are going to be married?”
Macon looked down and scuffed his high-top boot in the dirt, a shock of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead.
“Well, since my Pa’s already gone…” He glanced at her.
She nodded and smiled.
“And since you’re an Injun fighter and the commander of a fort, I’d say I’m honored, sir.”
“Good.” Will patted Macon’s shoulder. “What if I told you that I have a daughter who’s twelve years old? You’ll be getting a big sister in the bargain.”
Macon gazed up at him and wrinkled his nose. “A sister! Do I have to?”
She looked at Will. He caught her gaze and smiled. Then they both broke out laughing and hugged Macon.
***
Will stood at attention by the altar rail. Dr. Winslow had removed his sling the day before, and he was decked out in his dress uniform. He’d appointed Macon as his best man. Peggy would be Mallory’s maid of honor.
Doc Winslow had offered to give the bride away, and Reverend Whitehead was officiating. Reverend Finley, sporting a slight limp, had left Fort Davis, traveling east, as soon as the new preacher had shown up. The young man had been singularly relieved to put the wild frontier behind him.
