The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Victoria Bylin

  Her decision to stay with Josh and Adie had nothing to do with Beau’s order. Dani needed to sort her thoughts, and Adie would listen all night if that’s what it took to understand why Beau couldn’t set down his hate for Clay Johnson. If Dani understood, maybe she could forgive him for leaving. As things were now, she felt wounded and alone. Earlier, she’d put Lucy’s hankie in her memory box. She took it out, pressed it in her Bible and added both things to the satchel. She carried it to the front porch where she saw Beau’s horse. A looped rope hung from the saddle, a leather scabbard held a rifle and the saddlebags bulged with provisions. Beau came out of the barn, leading the horse and surrey. Dressed in his duster and the faded clothes he’d worn the day they’d met, he looked like Cain.

  As he lifted Esther into the surrey, Dani strode across the yard. Saying nothing, he helped her on to the seat. She took the reins, watching as he swung his tall body into the saddle, pulled his hat low and clicked to his horse. He might have been clicking to her, too, but Dani paid no attention. She had to see Adie and Josh.

  When they arrived at the parsonage, Adie, as always, opened her home to them. Josh saw Beau and led him to the stable for a private talk. Ten minutes later, with Dani watching from the window, the men came out of the building. Josh headed to the parsonage. Beau rode west without a goodbye.

  She hated parting company with unkind words between them, but she had nothing more to say. She’d begged Beau once and wouldn’t do it again. He knew the stakes, yet he’d chosen to go his own way. Dani stood at the window, watching him grow smaller with every stride of his horse. When he turned to a speck against the mountain, she let the curtain flutter back into place.

  Pastor Josh opened the door. “How are you?”

  “Angry. Afraid.”

  “Let’s sit outside.”

  Dani followed him out the door and took the chair facing the church, the same one she’d used her first day in Castle Rock. She’d been grieving, confused and doubtful of God’s plan in her life. Now she felt sure of the Almighty’s hand but feared for everyone she loved.

  Josh walked past her to the railing and crossed his arms. “Beau’s an arrogant fool, but I understand why he’s going after Clay.”

  “You do?”

  “If someone harmed Adie, I’d be hard-pressed to practice what I preach.”

  Dani wanted an ally. “But we have to forgive.”

  “True.” Josh sat next to her. “But we’re not made that way. We need God’s mercy. It’s knowing we’re forgiven that gives us the grace to forgive others.”

  “Beau will never forgive Clay Johnson.”

  “Maybe, but God already has.”

  Dani understood the cross. Christ had died to set men free. Ever since, human beings had battled between their sinful desires and the goodness of God. As the soul prospered, the flesh died. Until a man surrendered, he lived with constant conflict. A lump pushed into her throat. “Beau’s at war with himself, isn’t he?”

  “And with God.”

  She thought of Josh’s sermon about a man walking by the light of his own fire. He’d described Beau that day. She didn’t want to be that kind of woman. “I have to stay strong.”

  “You will.” Josh sounded confident.

  “It’s a matter of faith.”

  “And knowing God loves Beau even more than you do.”

  Dani almost smiled. “Loving him can be a trial, that’s for sure.”

  Josh looked pleased. “Most men are. Beau’s stubborn and willful, just the way God made him. The Lord knows how we feel.”

  “Beau wants justice.”

  “So does the Lord.”

  “It’s hard.” Dani’s voice quavered.

  “We have a hard God,” Josh replied. “He loved us enough to sacrifice His own son. I don’t know what Beau’s going to face in that canyon, but I know with certainty he’s not riding alone.”

  The minister’s faith gave Dani comfort, but she had to face the facts. Beau had gone to war. Soldiers died.

  Dani’s stomach clenched. “I feel so helpless.”

  “We’re not. We can pray.”

  Before they could bow their heads, Adie opened the front door. “Josh? We need you. The girls are frightened.”

  Dani pushed to her feet. “Where are they?”

  “In the front room,” Adie replied. “I’m hoping Josh will tell us a story.”

  “Sure,” he answered.

  Dani followed Adie into the house, with Josh ushering both women through the door. She saw the girls on the divan. Stephen had gone to a friend’s house, but Adie had set up his checkerboard. It sat untouched on the table. As Dani settled next to Emma, Josh and Adie took their usual chairs. They traded a look that made Dani ache.

  “Adie thinks we need a story,” Josh said to the girls.

  “What’ll it be?”

  Ellie spoke up. “The one Dani told us.”

  “About Daniel and the lions,” Emma explained.

  “Good choice,” Josh said. “Who knows how it starts?”

  “I do,” Ellie said. “The king put Daniel in a cave.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “There were lions,” Esther said. “Hungry ones.”

  “They roared,” said Ellie.

  “That’s right.” Josh sounded serious. “Was Daniel afraid?”

  The girls said nothing. Dani took the lead. “I know he was, because I’m scared right now.”

  “Me, too.” Emma’s voice trembled. “What if Uncle Beau doesn’t come back?”

  Josh looked at the girls one at a time, then focused on Emma. “Your uncle isn’t in a cave with a real lion, but he’s locked up with something just as big.”

  “What?” Ellie asked.

  Josh looked to Dani for help. The girls had heard about their Aunt Lucy, but they didn’t know she’d been murdered. How did an adult explain hate to a child? Dani didn’t know, but she understood love. She wanted the girls to understand that part of Beau. “Do you remember about your Uncle Beau being married?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Your Aunt Lucy died because of bad man in Denver.” Dani skipped the details. “The bad man got away. Your Uncle Beau wants to put him in jail.”

  Esther looked puzzled. “Is he in a cave with the bad man?”

  “Sort of,” Dani answered. “He can’t stop being angry. That feeling roars all the time, just like a real lion.”

  Josh chimed in. “Who knows what happened to Daniel?”

  “I do,” said Emma. “God put the lions to sleep.”

  “He kept Daniel safe,” Josh said. “I’m praying the bad things around your uncle go to sleep just like the lions.”

  “Me, too,” Dani said.

  Josh looked at Adie. “Feed our guests, but I won’t be having supper tonight.”

  “Why not?” Ellie asked.

  “We can pray in all different ways,” he said. “We can talk to God out loud or think in our heads. Tonight I’m praying with my whole body. Every time my belly growls, I’ll be saying a prayer for your uncle.”

  Dani looked at Adie. “I won’t be eating, either.”

  “That’s three of us,” Adie said. “We’ll spend the evening on our knees.”

  “Four,” Emma said. “I can pray, too.”

  “Five,” said Ellie.

  “Seven!” cried Esther.

  Emma frowned at her. “You mean six.”

  “No, I mean seven. I’m counting Jesus.”

  Dani’s eyes misted. How could God not honor the faith of a child?

  Beau rode down the same trail he’d traveled with Dawes, only farther. Pressing his roan, he went past the cave where he’d seen the ash and straight down the throat of Sparrow Canyon.

  He’d been riding for three days now, almost four. If he turned around this instant, he’d get back Saturday afternoon. He’d have time to clean up and have a word with Dani before they took the vows Beau now feared he wouldn’t be able to keep. He loved her. He’d be faithful to her
in body and mind, but his soul would still be hunting Clay.

  Clay…When had Beau started thinking of the outlaw by his given name? He tried to pinpoint the moment but couldn’t. Neither could he decide whether to go forward or turn around. He had a few more hours of daylight. The ride back, all downhill, would be quicker than the ride up the canyon, but he had to consider the weather. The afternoon had turned sultry. The still air promised a storm, anything from a drizzle to a downpour.

  Beau looked carefully at the sides of the ravine. The trail cut deep into the mountain about ten feet above the streambed. Boulders secured the base. Even if the stream flooded, a distinct possibility if it stormed, Beau felt certain he’d be secure. Looking ahead he saw a bend around a ridge. He knew from Dawes that Sparrow Canyon opened up beyond that spot. A meadow would offer grass and fresh water, the perfect place for Johnson to linger. One more mile…Beau couldn’t turn back now. He nudged the roan up the trail.

  A hundred yards later, he heard thunder. Clouds boiled over the mountains and turned the sky gray. A drop of rain hit his hat. Another landed on his gloved hand. Ten feet below him, Sparrow Creek rushed past the boulders like an animal on the run.

  Common sense told Beau to go home, but he ignored the nudge. He had to see around the next bend.

  Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder rolled through Beau like an erratic heartbeat. One minute it pounded; the next it stopped with a hint of death. Rain fell in buckets. He flashed on Emma dousing him in the garden, but he kept going. Below him, Sparrow Creek had picked up speed. A new roar filled Beau’s ears. Unlike the thunder, it came from the earth itself. Suddenly skittish, his horse backpedaled. Beau looked up the ravine and saw a wall of water, six feet high and rolling over itself, rushing down Sparrow Canyon.

  He had considered the possibility of a flash flood, but he’d expected two or three feet at the most. He’d never seen anything as high and deep and wide as the water coming straight at him. He believed the trail would hold, but his horse didn’t have the same hope. The animal balked. At the same instant, a boulder the size of a melon tumbled down the mountain. It caught the roan’s back leg and knocked the animal half off the trail. To give the horse a chance, Beau rolled out of the saddle. He smacked facedown in the mud and lost his wind. The roan’s churning legs cut away at the mountain. Beau started to slide. The horse found purchase and heaved itself to safety, but Beau couldn’t get a toehold in the mud. He slid a foot, then another. Water filled his boots. The current sucked at his knees.

  He lost his gloves and clawed with his bare hands. When he found a stringy root, he gripped it. No thicker than a pencil, it bore his weight. He found a second root, thicker this time, and pulled his legs out of the water. A boulder tumbled past his head. He looked up, saw another ready to fall and slithered on his belly until he reached a stable part of the trail.

  With his sides heaving, Beau pictured red apples, little girls with pink cheeks and Dani in a white dress. He heard milk hissing into a bucket and imagined her rose-petal lips. Rocking with the rhythm of their one dance, he called himself a fool. He had business to do with God and he knew it, but movement up the canyon caught his eye.

  Peering into the rain, fading now, Beau saw a man on a gray horse. He hadn’t seen Clay Johnson in five years, but he knew the slope of his shoulders. When the outlaw went for his rifle, Beau cursed the weapon that had killed Lucy.

  Johnson raised the Winchester to his shoulder.

  Beau went for his Colt.

  Clay squinted down the barrel.

  Beau took aim and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened. No recoil. No smoke. Only the empty click of a misfire. Beau cursed himself for a fool. Mud and rain had dampened the gunpowder.

  Looking at Clay now, he expected to die. If the rifle shot didn’t kill him, the ride to Castle Rock would. He’d grieve Dani and the girls. He’d die without telling her that he loved her. She’d go back to a lonely life in Wisconsin, and the girls would be doomed to tea parties with Harriet Lange. This moment, Beau realized, had been born of his own arrogance. Life and death—only God could make the call. Beau knew that now.

  Have mercy on me, Lord.

  He saw the next two seconds the way he’d seen Lucy die. Every detail came alive. Water dripped from Clay’s hat and splashed on his glove. His oilskin poncho turned from black to silver and cast a bluish light on his hollow cheeks. His eyes, black and empty, couldn’t have been more lifeless. Beau could have choked on the irony. He’d spent five years chasing a man who was already dead, at least on the inside.

  He steeled himself for the bullet, but it didn’t come. No blast. No smoke. Only the rush of the stream as Clay lowered the weapon. Wordless, the outlaw turned his horse and disappeared into the mist, leaving Beau to wonder what in the world had just happened.

  A hundred yards up the canyon, Clay slid off his horse, dropped to his knees and threw up. When he’d seen Morgan crawling in the mud, he’d instinctively aimed his rifle. He’d told himself to fire, but his finger hadn’t pulled the trigger. Not even when Morgan shot first had Clay been able to do the deed. Why not?

  With mud soaking his knees, he thought about Goose and Andy driving him crazy with their taunts. Spring had filled the canyon with pink flowers, and Lucy Morgan had haunted his dreams every night. This morning when a horse went missing, Clay had ridden down the canyon alone to search for it. The gray had good instincts, but he’d missed Ricochet so much he’d cried. All morning, he’d wondered if horses went to Heaven.

  Chilled to the bone, he hung his head. If Morgan’s gun had fired, he’d have made the trip to eternity himself. He’d have been worm food. Dry bones. Maybe something worse…A man being eaten alive for all time in the belly of Reverend Blue’s whale. But Clay hadn’t died. Neither had he killed Beau Morgan. He’d done something right. How could that be?

  Blinking, he thought of his mother reading him Bible stories. He could see her brown hair piled on her head. He smelled bread and candles and recalled one night in particular.

  Jesus loves you, little boy. I do, too. But I have to leave.

  Why, Mama? Where are you going?

  She’d coughed until she was breathless. She’d done that a lot in those days. He recalled the handkerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve, a cotton square dotted with blood. A month after that talk about Jesus, she’d died of consumption. Recalling her stories now, Clay knew she’d gone to be with the Lord. Blinking, he recalled asking her a question.

  Can I go with you?

  Not now, but someday.

  She’d prayed with him. He’d been a mere boy, but he’d understood that Jesus loved him. After his mother’s death, for a time he’d gone to church with his cousin, but that had changed when Clay got his height and muscle. He’d been an angry young man and life’s temptations had called to him. He’d put his boyhood prayer out of his mind, but then Ricochet died. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about eternity.

  “Help me, Lord.”

  As he bowed his head, he expected to feel the whack of his father’s fist breaking his nose. Clay had done terrible things. He’d stolen. He’d maimed. He’d killed six men. Worst of all, he’d shot Lucy Morgan in the back. He didn’t deserve to live, yet here he was…breathing in gray mist when Beau Morgan’s bullet should have sent him to eternity.

  Someone had spared his life and it hadn’t been Beau Morgan. Startled, he opened his eyes. Where did a man look for God? In the sky with its promise of Heaven? In a meadow full of pink flowers? Clay didn’t know, but he understood a simple truth. God had been in the canyon. For reasons Clay couldn’t grasp, the Almighty had spared his life. He’d spared Morgan, too. The men had made a trade of sorts. An eye for an eye…a life for a life. As a boy, Clay had learned about another trade. Jesus had died for Clay’s sins. But what about now? How did a man wash a woman’s blood from his hands? The answer came in a whisper.

  A man told the truth.

  He paid a price.

  If need be, he face
d the gallows. Jesus had paid for Clay’s sin for the sake of eternity, but Beau Morgan had a right to justice in the here and now. Clay had the power—the need—to give it to him. Feeling as if he’d set down a fifty-pound stone, he climbed on the gray. Rain had washed the dust from the canyon. Grass glistened as if covered with morning dew. Not even the smell of mud filled his nose as he neared camp, where Goose and Andy were splitting a pint of whiskey.

  Goose saw him and frowned. “Where have you been?”

  Clay ignored him. “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re what?” Goose said.

  “We’re splitting up.”

  “Why?” Andy asked.

  “I’m done.”

  Goose looked him up and down, taking in his muddy hands and the stains on his knees. “Did you fall and hit your head?”

  “I’m sick of it,” Clay said. “I’ve had enough.”

  Andy chimed in. “What about the horses? We agreed to a three-way split.”

  “I’ll buy you two out.”

  Clay wasn’t worried about going to jail for stealing horses. He figured he’d hang for Lucy Morgan’s murder. Returning the horses was a matter of pride. It made him feel like a man.

  Andy knocked back a slug of whiskey, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “How much?”

  Clay named the amount of cash he had in his saddlebag.

  “We’d get more in Durango,” Goose said.

  “You don’t know what you’d get,” Clay said mildly. “This is a sure thing.”

  Goose wrinkled his brow. “I don’t get it. What are you going to do with the horses?”

  “Give ’em back.”

  Andy knocked his head as if he had wax in his ears. “What’d you say?”

  “I’m taking them back.” Clay didn’t want his partners to think he’d gone soft. A man had his pride. “I’ve got a plan. I just saw Morgan.”

  “Did you kill him?” Andy asked.

  “I had a misfire.” Not the gun. Clay’s finger had failed.

  “If I were you, I’d head south. This fight is mine.” So was the surrender.