Her heart had been breaking, and she hadn’t questioned who the first innocent had been. Was it Clarisse? Or was there someone else? Someone killed in an accident?
Her body ached as she rose and approached the mouth of the cave. She heard thunder in the distance. She didn’t welcome a storm, although the rain would provide water.
She knelt beside the small bundle of items she’d hastily gathered. She removed the canteen that she thought had belonged to the stagecoach driver. She and Kit had sipped what little water it had originally contained. Now she was incredibly parched and knew Kit would be thirstier. His voice carried a rough, scratchy edge to it. He’d spoken so often while unconscious. Fortunately, his low mumbling had not echoed within the cave and had not caught the attention of any wandering outlaws.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. His thoughts had seemed scrambled, darting between the past and the present. At one point, he’d told her he was craving the taste of bark from a tree. Another time when he’d awakened, he’d asked her how she enjoyed Ravenleigh, as though they were visiting his home.
Perhaps it was only the loss of his first love that had led him to state that he’d killed her.
During the night, she had not heard the outlaws nor seen any sign of a campfire. Hopefully, they’d gone elsewhere. She wasn’t certain where she and Kit were, but she had the impression that water was nearby. Otherwise how would all the foliage and greenery flourish?
As the sun rose higher, light sparkled off the dewdrops on the nearby leaves. If it weren’t for the manner of their arrival or the fact that Kit was hurt and outlaws were looking for him, she might think they’d arrived in paradise.
She slipped out of the cave. Thunder rumbled constantly but the sky was a brilliant blue that contained not a single cloud. The sky reminded her of Kit’s eyes when he laughed or when he watched her with amusement. She loved the expression that would cross his face when something brought him joy, as though the emotion were unexpected, undeserved.
Carefully, she made her way through the brush, tying scraps of her petticoat to the limb of a bush here and a tree there so she could easily find her way back to the cave. The roaring of the thunder grew louder, incessantly rumbling through the heavens, echoing around her, surrounding her. Yet the brilliance of the day was remarkable.
She ducked beneath the low, thick branches of a tree and stilled. A brook flowed before her, the current rushing over rocks with a purpose. But it wasn’t the brook that caught her attention or her imagination. It was the beauty of the waterfall that marked a new beginning as water from above cascaded down.
She released a sigh of wonder and walked toward what she’d originally thought was thunder. Incredible. It didn’t contain the magnificence of the sea, but it was still breathtaking. She sat at the water’s edge and wondered where the river above began and where the brook ended.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the songs of nature: the birds, the leaves rustling, and the wind whispering its secrets. Tranquility eased around her, through her. If she were to die here, she would die content.
“I’m not certain you were wise to leave a trail,” a deep voice rumbled.
With a tiny screech, Ashton twisted around, pressing her hand above her pounding heart. Holding his rifle, Kit wove his way toward her, dropped to the ground, planted his elbows on his thighs, and buried his head in his hands with a groan.
“Are you in much pain?” she asked.
“My head feels as though a blacksmith is using it as an anvil.”
“You should have stayed in the cave.”
He lifted his head. “I was concerned when I awoke and you weren’t there.”
She held up the empty canteen. “I came to get some water.”
She scooted to the brook’s edge and leaned over carefully. She placed the canteen beneath the surface and concentrated on the gurgling of the water. Except for the bandage around his head, Kit looked the same to her today as he had yesterday. The words he’d mumbled about Clarisse had to be untrue.
Yet he despised talking about Clarisse. Was it memories of his unrequited love that haunted him, or guilt that he had played God?
She eased back and extended the canteen toward him. He gave a slight nod.
“You go first, but drink slowly. If you’re as thirsty as I am, you’ll make yourself ill if you swallow too much or drink too quickly.”
She brought the canteen to her lips, savoring the cool water, studying the man who had married her. She considered all the things that he’d given her without ever asking for anything in return. Why would he murder the woman he loved?
She handed the canteen to him and watched his throat work as he took long, slow swallows. Sweat beaded along his neck. He stopped drinking and looked at her.
“This is a beautiful spot. All the greenery reminds me of Ravenleigh.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “You spoke often last night. Most of it didn’t make sense, but at one point you asked me how I enjoyed Ravenleigh as though you thought we were there.”
“Obviously a bullet grazing a man’s head can make him say nonsensical things,” he said with a rueful smile.
“I suppose we should be grateful that it didn’t stop you from talking completely. It could have killed you,” she pointed out.
“Yes, I was most fortunate, although right now I feel as though I drank a case of whiskey with no help. Have you any idea where the stagecoach is located in relation to where we are?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t leave a trail, but it took us a good hour to get to the cave.”
He furrowed his brow. “How did we get there?”
“You were conscious for a while and able to walk as long as I held you upright.”
“You held me upright?”
She nodded. “I used your rifle for support, so it wasn’t too hard.”
“Still, I’m impressed, Ashton. An hour’s journey must have been difficult for you.”
“I preferred it to the alternative of being discovered by those outlaws.”
He glanced around. “I don’t remember our journey. I don’t remember anything that happened after I climbed to the roof. It’s all a blur. What happened to the driver and the man inside the coach?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and said in a low voice, “They were killed.”
He released a heavy sigh. “I hope they had no family.”
She swallowed, not certain if she should tell him what she knew, but she’d always believed knowledge was strength. That belief had made her read book after book. “Those outlaws seemed to recognize you.”
He snapped his gaze to hers. “What?”
She nodded jerkily. “They knew you were the marshal of Fortune, and it was obvious that they don’t like you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Were any names mentioned?”
“Jasper and Morton.”
He clenched his jaw. “Bloody hell. Jasper was the man shooting up Harry’s saloon. I’d planned to look over the wanted posters when I returned to my office, but I got distracted when I saw David.”
“They didn’t seem too happy that you’d killed two of their men.”
“No, I don’t imagine they were pleased. A pity I wasn’t able to kill them all. They shall be even less pleased when I bring them to justice.”
A tremor coursed through her. “You’re not going after them?”
“Not at this moment, no. We’ll spend a day here gathering our strength, and hopefully by tomorrow my wits will return and we can find a way to get back to Fortune.”
“But I wanted to go to Dallas.”
He touched her hand. Instinct made her jerk back. She saw the hurt flash briefly in his eyes before he retreated. She wished she hadn’t rejected his offer of comfort, but she’d been unable to stop herself.
He wasn’t a murderer. Her heart knew that, but the very thought of his killing Clarisse made her wary…and afraid. She treasured every moment of life and that he would deny someone
the opportunity to do the same was incomprehensible to her.
“I’m sorry, Ashton, but there is a possibility that when these men don’t find me here, they’ll seek me out in Fortune. I can’t risk their taking their revenge out on the innocent townspeople. I’m supposed to protect them.”
“But we’ve been gone for a little over a month.”
“The local merchants offered to enforce the law when needed, but they were not anticipating the arrival of a gang of outlaws.”
She opened her mouth to speak and he held up a hand. “Perhaps they won’t go to Fortune, but it is my responsibility to make sure that if they do, someone with experience is there to handle them.”
She swallowed hard. “To kill them.”
“If necessary, yes.”
She held his gaze. “How many people have you killed?”
“I don’t keep count,” he answered briskly. “But if you have no desire to stay in Fortune until I’m reassured that all is well, then I shall find someone to escort you to Dallas.”
Grabbing the rifle, he stood. He wavered and closed his eyes as though dizzy.
“Are you going back to the cave to rest?” she asked.
He opened his eyes, and she could see within them that he was still in a great deal of pain. “No, I’m going to find us something to eat. You should probably come with me.”
She shook her head. “I’ll follow my trail back to the cave.”
She watched him disappear within the brush. If she stayed with him, as she’d so often considered, would a day come when her illness would force him to take her life?
Kit awoke to discover the cave once again empty. He silently cursed his wife. Did she not realize the danger that lurked in the area? True, they’d seen neither hide nor hair of Jasper and his men the previous day, but that did not mean they were not nearby.
He knew he had wounded Ashton during their last night in Galveston, and he missed the smiles she’d previously bestowed upon him. Last night, he’d held her while they’d slept, but she’d been as stiff as a poker. She spoke only if he asked a question.
He often caught her watching him as though he were a specimen beneath a glass. He could not expect her to act as though all was well when outlaws were searching for him, but her constant wandering off confounded him. Now was not the time for her to exert her desire for independence. She should have been hovering closer than his shadow. How could he protect her otherwise?
He removed the bandage from around his head and touched the tender place near his temple. He’d been incredibly lucky and well he knew it. His headache had abated and his vision had cleared. Now all he had to do was discover a way to get them back to Fortune.
He picked up the rifle and walked out of the cave. Ashton had again marked her trail. He had to give her credit for realizing she might get lost, but he would have preferred she not leave at all. When had the woman become so stubborn? Or perhaps, it was simply her melancholy. Maybe she didn’t care that death could come to her in the form of a bullet. No doubt it was preferable to what she would endure at the end.
He followed the bits of her petticoat that she’d tied to branches. She’d gathered them up on her way back to the cave yesterday. He would have hidden them had he known she planned to use them again. He was not surprised by the direction of her path. She was headed toward the waterfall.
What did astonish him when he found her was that she was completely nude standing with her back to him.
His mouth went dry and the air backed up in his lungs as he watched the gently cascading water of the falls wash over her. She raised her arms, tilted her head back, and combed her fingers through her hair.
Never in his life had he wanted a woman more.
The temptation to remove his clothing and join her was almost impossible to resist. But resist he did because he didn’t know if this time he would find the strength to hold back. He wanted desperately to fill her with all that he possessed, to experience the ultimate pleasure while his body was joined to hers. If only he knew she would stay with him beyond Christmas.
She must have felt his gaze boring into her, because she turned slowly. His gut clenched. She’d gained weight while they were in Galveston and soft curves graced her body. She stepped beyond the falls, grabbed her skirt, and began to use it to dry herself.
Kit set the rifle aside, unbuttoned his shirt, and shirked out of it. He set it on the ground. “Come sit here, and I’ll dry you.”
She hesitated before strolling over and gracefully lowering herself to the ground, her eyes watchful, never leaving his. He knelt beside her, took the skirt she was using to shield herself, and began using the hem to dry her foot.
She snatched the other end of the skirt and brought it up to her breast. Kit gave her a lazy smile as he tugged on the skirt. “Let me enjoy looking at you.”
“I don’t think it’s wise.”
“Nothing we’ve done has been wise, but I would not trade a single moment that I’ve had with you for a seat in heaven.”
Ashton allowed the skirt to slip through her fingers. With her body carrying the drops of water from the falls, she should have been cold, but his touch, his presence, always made her feel incredibly warm. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, wanted them to make love as a true husband and wife, without death’s shadow spoiling what should be a glorious experience.
“I should think all you’ve done for the people of Fortune will guarantee you a place in heaven,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, sweetling. My destination shall be hell.” He moved closer and cupped her cheek with his palm. “I am already in hell. I desperately want to make love to you.”
She felt the tears burn her eyes. “You make love to me, and I want you to make love with me. Teach me how to pleasure you, and I will, but I can’t take what you offer any longer if I can’t give something back.”
“You’ve never taken, Ashton. I’ve given what I could because it pleased me to do so. Emotional pleasure is as gratifying as physical pleasure.”
She looked at her hands “But it’s not enough for me, and it’s too much to ask of you. That’s why I have to go back to Dallas.”
He began drying her thigh. “I don’t know if I can let you go.”
She snapped up her head. “What?”
“You place too much value on the physical. I enjoy bringing you pleasure. I love your smiles and your laughter and the burned crabs you cook. I like waking up with you in my arms.”
“When death hovers, will you like it then? Will you wait patiently for it or will you hasten its arrival, as you did with Clarisse?” She slapped her hand over her mouth, wishing she’d been able to stop the words before they were spoken, but they’d been running through her head all night and she’d awakened with them screaming in her mind.
She felt his fingers dig into her flesh as he narrowed his eyes into glittering slits of anger. “What are you talking about?”
She snatched her skirt from his hands and wrapped it around her body, shielding herself as much as she could. “Right after you were wounded, you woke up and thought I was Clarisse. You said you’d killed me and that I couldn’t tell Christopher.”
“Is that the reason you didn’t want me to hold you last night, the reason you’ve been avoiding me?”
She licked her lips, tasting the lingering purity of the falls. She had so felt a need to be cleansed. “Did you kill her?” she dared to ask.
He sat back on his heels, his eyes hard, shuttering all emotion, hiding any thoughts. “What do you think?”
She felt a shiver slither along her spine. “I keep telling myself that you were delirious, that the bullet knocked something loose in your head, that you would never commit such a vile act as murdering an innocent woman, regardless of the circumstances. I keep telling myself those things.”
“But you don’t believe them.”
Her entire body tensed at the lack of emotion in his voice. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Yes, you do,” he said with certainty.
She wanted to run but his gaze pinned her to the spot, and the words she uttered caused the bile to rise in her throat. “You did kill her.”
“Yes, madam, I did. You married a murderer.”
Chapter 19
Christopher walked out of Fortune’s telegraph office not at all pleased with the latest bit of information he’d received. Could anything else go wrong?
“Marshal Montgomery!”
With a suppressed groan, Christopher recognized the termagant’s voice. Calling upon every bit of gentlemanly resolve within his possession to hold his temper in check, he turned to face her.
Déjà vu slammed into him. She was again holding her daughter’s arm and the young man’s ear. Her daughter’s face burned a bright red as she kept her gaze averted, but the young man didn’t display any remorse.
“Madam—”
“He was doing it again. Unbuttoning my Lauren’s bodice.”
His patience wearing thin, he glared at the lad. “I told you—”
“I turned sixteen today, and you said I could have a look-see if she was willing to take money. I give her two bits.”
Mrs. Fairfield’s eyes narrowed with fury that was amazing to behold. “You told him he could unbutton my daughter’s bodice if he paid her?”
“Not exactly. He misinterpreted my instructions,” Christopher tried to explain.
“You worthless son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled as she thrust the lad toward him. “I want him in jail, and you along with him. I’m going to the town council.”
He watched her march off, righteous indignation in every determined step. He shifted his gaze to the boy. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Tommy.”
“Where in God’s name are your parents?”
“Dead.”
Christopher sighed heavily. “Come with me.”
“I ain’t afraid of jail.”
“I’m not taking you to jail.” Christopher walked along the boardwalk, his steps not quite as soft as they had been a week ago. If he stayed here another week, he’d no doubt be sending his feet through the planks. He shoved open the door to the saloon.
Never Marry a Cowboy Page 19
