by Renee Rose
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
When they returned it seemed Huff had overheard, because he held out his knife, hilt first. “I’m not going kill you,” he said.
He took the knife and tucked it into his holster, then folded his arms across his chest. “Just exactly what were you planning to do when you rode out here?”
“Oh, I did aim to kill you and collect the bounty. I got off in Greeley and bought a horse. I didn’t guess you would actually return mine and I figured I owed you for holding me at gunpoint.”
“Holding you at gunpoint isn’t the same as killing you.”
“True enough. I might have been a little hasty in my decision to take you dead rather than alive.”
“A little hasty?” Mabelle demanded, marching over with her hands on her hips.
Sam wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against his side. “Easy, little spitfire.” To Huff he said, “I told you she was feisty.”
Huff grinned, though his face had been in a grimace the whole day from pain, so it looked more like a wince.
“I did not ride to Wyoming to kill Sam Pride,” he said. “I came as a Pinkerton detective to deliver the letter I gave you back in Cheyenne. But when you gave me such a hassle back there, and took my horse and all, I figured I might as well come back and collect the bounty as well. A little extra money never hurts.”
“A little extra money to take someone’s life?” Mabelle’s voice had gone deadly quiet.
Huff removed his hat and held it over his heart. “I am truly sorry, ma’am. I made a mistake. I want you to know I don’t just consider us even now, I believe I am indebted to your man, here, and I intend to help see him out of his pickle with the law.”
“I would like to hear how you plan to do that,” he said dubiously, sitting down on a log nearby.
“Yes, so would I,” Mabelle said, sitting beside him.
He put his arm around her waist, savoring the small miracle of having a woman like Mabelle at his side, ready to go toe-to-toe with his enemies. Circumstance had thrown them together, but her loyalty showed true affection. And he sure as hell had it for her from the very start. Which made him the luckiest unlucky man around.
“The bounty on your head was placed by Mick Malone, not by a judge. And Mr. Malone does not necessarily need you dead. He knows his cowboys were in the wrong. It isn’t vengeance he seeks.”
“What does he want?” Mabelle asked.
“He wants that land,” Huff said. “And with you owning the deed and hanging around unconvicted of a crime, it’s still tied up. Even though he has most of the law in his pocket, he has not yet been able to convince a judge to let him have it.”
Bitterness at having his property, livelihood, and possibly his life wrested from him so unjustly made him grit his teeth. “Well, he isn’t getting it!”
Mabelle laid a delicate hand on his arm. “Sam,” she entreated. “Do not cut off your nose to spite your face. If you have a chance to buy your freedom, why not take it?”
He stared at her, emotions warring. She looked like she wanted to say more, but only said, “Promise me you will sleep on it, at least?”
He gave a half shrug. “Maybe,” he grumbled.
#
All her hope of having a lasting relationship with Sam ebbed away when he seemed too stubborn to bargain for his freedom. She had been fooling herself with her silly dreams of him returning to the ranch with her. And she only had herself to blame. He had been clear in his refusal to make love to her—he did not expect things to last.
She could not decide if he was just stubborn or if returning to his own ranch meant more to him than staying with her. And why should it not? She hated being away from her property and the care of the animals, even though they were probably fine for a week alone, so he probably missed his land and livestock as well.
They had never made any agreements or promises. All she had was a few tender moments after he spanked her. Not enough to recommend leaving Wyoming Territory and following him to Denver.
She spread her bedroll and laid down, not waiting to see where Sam would settle, since she had given Huff his bedroll.
She listened to the sound of Sam stoking the little fire before he settled down on her bedroll beside her. She did not roll to face him or acknowledge his presence, even when he draped an arm over her midsection.
From the sound of his breath, he fell asleep before she did, dreams eluding her busy mind as she turned the situation over in her head.
In the morning she resolved to take the train back to Cheyenne when they arrived in Denver. She would lose her wagon, but could bring the provisions along. Making the trip back alone was out of the question.
They set off early, Huff looking improved after a night’s rest. She kept things cordial but cool with Sam, ignoring his inquiring looks and attempts at affection.
They rode all day, making camp at dusk. Sam drew her aside after dinner. “Are you going to tell me what is going on?”
She gave him a blank look. “No. Nothing is going on.”
He shook his head, his brows furrowing. “Do not lie to me. I did or said something to make you angry and I want to know what it was.”
She flushed. She was not about to admit her fantasies of marrying him and bringing him back to her ranch. He had given her no reason to believe he even wanted such a thing and it had been pure foolishness on her part.
“I am not angry—honest. I’m just a little worn from the travel.”
He seemed to accept her explanation, rubbing her arms. “Well, get some rest. We’re almost there. Are you sorry you came now?”
She shrugged. “A little,” she said. She thought she saw disappointment in his face, but she brushed it away. It could easily be her imagination.
They continued much the same for the next day, and her inner conflict only grew, thoughts tangling like vines around her ears until she could scarcely think.
That night, when Sam laid down beside her, he rolled her over to face him.
“What has you so worried? Are you afraid you can’t make it back alone if I don’t make it out of Denver? Because we could turn around and head straight back to Wyoming right now, if you are. Huff can make it on his own from here.”
“But what then?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.” The heaviness in his voice made her aching heart contract.
“Sam, the reason I wanted to go to Denver was to help you clear your name but—” she stopped, reluctant to expose her dilemma.
“But what?”
“But what happens afterward?”
He seemed to comprehend her question, because he threw one leg over her, drawing her part way under him and trapping her in his arms.
“Well, there’s a ranch back in Wyoming Territory I had my eye on. I’m hoping to marry into it, but I’d settle for being a ranch hand. So long as I’m close to the pretty little lady who runs it, because she stole my heart and I don’t want it back.”
Relief turned her giddy. She giggled and shoved at his chest. “Do you mean you would let your ranch in Colorado go? Trade it to free yourself for me?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess my answer has to be yes.”
“Wise decision, Pride,” Huff piped in from the other side of the fire.
“A little pretense of privacy would have been decent!” he snapped in reply, then chuckled when she started giggling uncontrollably.
She laughed until her belly ached and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, all the stress of the past two days coming out in fits of giggles until spent, she snuggled against Sam’s chest.
“Will you marry me, little ranch girl?” he asked softly.
Her heart expanded in her chest, waves of love flowing in all directions. “Yes, sir, Sam Pride. I will marry you.”
#
“So, what’s your plan?” Huff asked the next afternoon as they rolled into Denver.
Sam
had been trying to figure it out all day, without any luck. He wanted to marry Mabelle first, because he couldn’t wait to make her his bride, and also because if the letter from the lawyer could be believed and he did stand to inherit money, he wanted to make sure she got it if he died meeting Malone. The trouble with marrying her would be revealing his name to a preacher, who might then turn him in for the bounty.
“No idea,” he admitted.
Mabelle shot a shocked glance at him. He gave her an apologetic shrug. “My general plan is marry Mabelle, visit Malone, and attend the reading of the will. I’m having trouble deciding the best order, since all three of those may get me killed.”
“The reading of the will ain’t gonna get you killed, nor will getting married, so long as you clear your name first. So it seems to me like you only have one option.”
He glared over his shoulder at the know-it-all detective. “Right, and I only have your lousy word on it being a safe venture.”
Huff grinned. “I never said it was a safe venture. All I can promise is to broker a meeting. Do you want my help or not?”
He glanced at Mabelle, whose brown eyes were wide. “What do you think?”
Her cheeks reddened as if she had not expected to have her opinion asked.
“If you’re going to be my wife, you have a say in all this.”
She swallowed, still looking worried, but his little ranch girl never lacked for courage. “Well, you outdrew three outlaws at once, so I think you can handle Mick Malone. And if Mr. Huff here thinks to double-cross you,” she turned to glare over her shoulder at the man, “You’d better believe I will not hesitate to shoot you dead.”
Huff grinned. “Wouldn’t expect any different, Miss Lawson.”
When they arrived in Denver, Huff gave directions to the boarding house where he lived. “Would you like me to see if there’s a room available for you, too?”
Sam rubbed his face. He still didn’t wholly trust Huff, but he also believed in keeping his enemies close.
“Yes, please,” he said. “We will wait in the wagon.”
After just a few minutes, Huff appeared in the doorway and beckoned them in. “Stables are on the side, there. Bring your goods in, though, or they might be stolen.”
He unhitched the horses and made sure all three were settled before carrying their supplies to the room the owner, Mrs. Owens, had shown Mabelle.
“Mrs. Owens said there’s a bathhouse nearby,” she said when he had finished moving in their things.
He made a show of sniffing himself. “I suppose that is a hint?”
She laughed. “I only know I cannot stand another minute in this grubby dress or with my hair full of dust!”
“Well, by all means, let us go to the bathhouse!” he said, holding out his arm like a gentleman.
She took his arm, picking up a wrapped package to bring along. Eyeing it, he said, “I guess I need to buy a clean shirt and jacket if I’m going to get hitched.”
“Oh!” she cried, reaching for her pocket. “Do you need some money?”
He snorted. “I would rather not take money from my bride to buy a wedding jacket! No, my dear, I have a few things I can trade. Can you find your way to the bathhouse on your own?”
When she nodded, he said, “I’ll meet you back here in a little while.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I can’t wait to see you all cleaned up.”
“Hmph!” she said in an exaggerated protest. “Now I think my hygiene has been insulted!”
He picked up one of her braids. “No, little ranch girl. I’ve just been dying to unwind these, that’s all.”
Her face turned the pretty pink he loved to see on her. “Well, you’ll just have to wait a little longer,” she said, pulling it from his fingers and walking out the door, throwing him a seductive look over her shoulder.
He couldn’t believe his fortune at having Mabelle Lawson as his bride.
So long as he lived through his meeting with Malone.
He sold Curly’s saddle for thirty dollars and bought a clean white shirt, waistcoat, jacket and tie. At the bathhouse, he washed up and shaved the stubble he had grown since his last shave over a week ago, leaving the sideburns, as was the style. The new vest and jacket constricted his movement, making him glad he had never lived the sort of life in which he had to wear them on a regular basis.
When he returned to the boarding house, he found the occupants gathered in the living area, waiting to be called to supper. He stopped short when he caught sight of Mabelle. She wore a blue gown which accented her narrow waist, a bustle lifting the fabric on her bottom, which cascaded down the back. She had pulled her thick hair up in the front to tumble in ringlets down her back, much like the fine fabric of her skirt.
Unlike him, she did not appear uncomfortable in the formal dress and she stood speaking to another lady, though he could see her eyes dart to him and her cheeks took on a heightened color as he approached.
He offered his arm, wishing the other lady was not there so he could whisper something dark and heated in his bride’s ear. She turned and flashed a brilliant smile in his direction, then gaped, her eyes wide. He grinned, assuming he looked as transformed as she.
“Uh, Mr...er...Jones,” she stammered, likely realizing the use of his real name could be dangerous. “May I present Mrs. Morrison? She runs this boarding house with her mother.”
He nodded to the lady. “Pleased to meet you.”
“We just discovered the most interesting coincidence. Mrs. Morrison’s brother, Mr. Owens, will also be in attendance at the meeting with the attorney Hobart St. James.” She gave him a meaningful look, but it still took him a moment to comprehend.
He swallowed. “You mean...is he my brother?” he choked.
Mrs. Morrison looked at him with interest. “If the cleft in your chin is any indication...I would say yes.”
#
Sam looked as though the possibility of the letter being real, and the existence of living family members made his head swim.
“Does that mean you’re my sister, too?” he asked Mrs. Morrison.
“No, no. Jackson and I had different fathers.”
“Oh,” he said, appearing dazed.
“Forgive my husband,” she said. “The death of his father came as a surprise.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Morrison said, eyeing him thoughtfully. She looked like she wanted to say more, but knew it would be impolite to discuss the subject of a gambler and his illegitimate sons.
She excused herself and Sam promptly turned her to face him. “You look absolutely exquisite.”
She smiled, looking into his handsome face. With his jaw clean-shaven, her outlaw’s good looks stunned, particularly the dimple in his chin Mrs. Morrison had mentioned.
Huff appeared, joining them for dinner. “I brought you something,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving what looked like a legal document.
“What is it?”
“Marriage license. So you can marry tomorrow. And your meeting with Malone is at high noon at his office.”
“What did you tell him?” Sam asked, sounding suspicious.
Huff shook his head. “I didn’t tell him where you are staying. In fact, I told him you are under my protection and are willing to sell your deed in exchange for a full clearing of your name.”
“And?”
Huff shrugged. “Can’t say. The rest is up to you.”
Sam looked troubled for a moment, then shot a look at Huff. “Thank you.”
Huff nodded. “I owed you.”
After supper, Sam took her elbow. “I am going to marry you tonight. Let us go in search of a preacher.”
“What?” she giggled. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, completely mad for you. I want you as my wife, and I cannot wait a moment longer.”
He tugged her out of the boarding house and onto the street.
“But Sam, I thought you needed to clear your name first? Otherwise you cannot give it to me without gettin
g turned in?”
“I’m going to risk it.”
She stopped, digging in her heels and forcing Sam to stop and look at her. “Sam, no. What if you are taken?”
He gave her a look that appeared dead serious. “Then at least I know you will get my inheritance, as my legal wife. The deed to my ranch and anything that comes of the meeting with the lawyer—all will be yours.”
She must have looked frightened, because his expression softened and he stepped closer to her, clasping both her hands. “We have come this far, Mabelle. I’m not going to get hung or shot tonight—not with you by my side. You have been good luck to me since the day I met you.”
She gave him a wobbly smile. His confidence made it impossible to argue. Nodding weakly, she began to walk again. He squeezed her hand and replaced it on his arm, leading her into the thick of Denver and stopping to ask until someone pointed them to a preacher who sat at the bar of a saloon.
“Reverend, can you spare a few minutes to marry us?” he asked.
The man’s eyes were slightly unfocused and his breath smelled of liquor. “What is the rush? Who has the shotgun?” he asked, looking around. He squinted at her and whistled. “Yes, I can see why you would want to…” the preacher trailed off, catching Sam’s glower. “Right. You’re a fine-looking couple—both of you. Of course you are ready, no need for a shotgun…” He shook his head as if trying to sharpen his mind. “Well, come along, my church is right next door, here.”
“That explains it,” Sam muttered and she stifled a giggle.
The preacher looked over his shoulder at Sam. “A lot of folks in a saloon require my ministry.”
“I do not doubt that, sir,” Sam answered with a grin.
“Come on, Edgar and Harold, I need two witnesses,” the preacher said, beckoning to two men sitting by the door.
The strange crew trailed after the preacher to his one-room church, where they gathered near the pulpit.
“What’s your name, young man?”
“Samuel Pride,” he said without the slightest hesitation.
