But she moved away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She sniffled again. “You’ll be leaving with the others, then?” she said, her tone stronger.
“I suppose so. Mr. Logan sent word that he was bringing a larger coach so that we can all get to the railhead together. He said he’d also send men to guard the stage should the Indians try to attack.”
“I still don’t think it was the Shoshone. Not Cody’s band at any rate.”
John craned his neck a bit more. Peter dismissed her remark with a wave and took her hand in his. “Will you at least have dinner with me tonight, just the two of us?”
“Let me think about it.” She pulled her hand free. “I need to check on Cody. Mamma’s worried that he hasn’t woken up yet.” She paused. “Damn. I brought up the wrong medicine.”
John gritted his teeth. Did Medina really need to put his arm around her waist to walk down the stairs?
***
When Vivienne came back upstairs to find John sitting at Cody’s bedside, she startled. “Is Kate next door?”
He shook his head. “I convinced her to spend some time outside with Jamie instead of keeping him cooped up here.”
Nodding, she shook the small bottle her mother had given her. “There’s not much any of us can do now, and I’m afraid she’ll worry herself sick. It’s only been two days, but her face is all sunken in, and I swear she’s lost some weight.”
“She really loves him and doesn’t want to lose him.”
Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
John shrugged. “Nothing. Just saying what I’ve seen, is all.”
Though she was sure his words held a deeper meaning, she didn’t dwell on it. “Do you want to give me a hand? I need you to tilt his head up a bit, so I can spoon some of this into him then try to give him some broth, so he doesn’t start wasting away on us.”
He nodded and moved closer to the bed. Vivienne gave the bottle another shake and reached into her pocket for the spoon. She dropped it and bent down.
“Is this more of the medicine that tastes like wet grass a buffalo slept in?”
“Oh, sto—” Sucking in her breath, she straightened slowly, her jaw dropping further when the corners of Cody’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Oh dear. I have to get Mamma and Kate and your ma—”
Cody grabbed the side of her skirt and opened his eyes. He still looked like death warmed over, but at least he was alive and well enough to make a joke. “Don’t.”
She was aware of John moving his chair around the bed. “You’d best sit down, Miz Medina.”
Vivienne whipped her head around. “You knew!” she said in a harsh whisper. “You knew he was alive and talking, and you didn’t say anything?”
She looked to her injured friend then back to John. “What is wrong with you people? We have been worried sick over this—”
With a beseeching stare, he pressed a long dark fingertip against her lips. “Just sit and listen. Please.”
Cody loosened his grip on her skirts, and she sat.
John shut and locked the doors to the hall and connecting room then crouched in the space between the bed and chair. “We heard what Peter said about Logan sending for a bigger stage. Cody thinks he’s the one behind these Indian attacks, and he’s planning another one. One big enough to get the Army involved and wipe out every Indian between here and the Dakotas.”
It wasn’t a surprise that Logan had a hand in things here, but would he take things to such an extreme? “But why?”
“Because they’re not white,” John said. “Because this being a rail stop will put him out of the freight and passenger business.”
Vivienne frowned. “The things men do for money and profits—” She feigned a cough. “All right, then. What is your plan? How will making Kate and your family worry about your health catch Logan if it really is him?”
“As soon as Bennett comes back, you tell everyone I died. Tell them I woke up long enough to take a gasp and was gone. It doesn’t matter what you say. You saw enough at that hospital to make it convincing. You need to make sure that newspaperman hears about it….”
***
Though spewing the lie was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, it was all too easy for Vivienne to shed very real tears when she saw the stricken expression on poor Kate’s face. John Avery had to restrain her, and tears brimmed in his own eyes, no doubt from the power of their friend’s pain and the look of abject loss on the face of Cody’s sister.
Just as Cody had said, Bennett quickly took charge. He prevented his mother from cutting her hair and marking her flesh as was the custom of her tribe. He told her Cody had made his thoughts known back during the war and that a white man’s burial would suit him out near the homestead Luc Dauville had settled.
The next morning, the town’s newspaperman arrived at the small ranch. He scribbled copious notes and took a photograph of a buffalo skin-draped coffin being lowered into the ground. Even Matt Logan and his son showed their faces. Decked out in their Sunday best, the Logans offered condolences to the grieving family and assured the ladies from Washington that they would have them and their husbands on the road within twenty-four hours.
The day dawned cold and gray, and a light but steady rain fell as if Cody had gotten the Heavens above to take part in his plan. Vivienne hadn’t had to do much to coax Matt Logan’s driver and ranch hands inside for a last quick cup of warm coffee while the Washington folk settled themselves into the stage.
John Avery entered the kitchen, drawing disgruntled looks from the Logan men. “Everyone’s settled in. Mr. Dauville is riding with you as far as Laramie to see his friends get on the first train East safe and sound. I’ll escort you part of the way.”
Vivienne walked out with them. The outside leather covers had already been pulled down on the coach windows, and after offering her a longing gaze and sweet smile, Peter unrolled the door’s oilcloth cover halfway. Vivienne swept her gaze across the street and saw Kate like a ghost, peering out the front window of her apartment. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to run over and tell her Cody was alive. But then there was a very real chance he might not survive the day if his supposition about a false attack was true.
There was no point in making the poor soul live through the heartbreak twice. There was also no point in even starting to dwell on the danger that lay ahead for John, Peter, and Bennett either.
Chapter Sixteen
The going was slow as the rain picked up. But with each clop of his horse’s hooves, John’s senses became more alert, just as they had so many times on patrol. He could see the same trained concentration in Bennett Dauville’s eyes when the younger man lifted the window cover to peer out. John had to admit it was a perfect day to stage an attack. The injured would succumb to their wounds, and the trail would be wiped away long before anyone came on the scene. It was just a matter of waiting for them to make the move.
That time arrived not long after the Devil Tree came into view a few miles outside of town. War cries, sounding a hell of a lot like rebel yells, broke the air, and arrows sailed crookedly toward the stage.
“Turn back, I’ll hold ‘em off!” John shouted, drawing his Spencer carbine.
Unsurprisingly, the driver came to a dead stop. John dove from his horse and took cover behind the stage.
Like a twister on the prairie, all hell broke loose as the attackers thundered from the tree line. Yet parts of it unfolded in that confounded slow way that battles often did. The rain washed the paint from their faces, but they charged forward, screaming and drawing their bows.
“Where’d the sheriff go?”
“Shit hisself and ran,” one of the driver’s cohorts shouted and lowered himself from the top of the stage. No sooner had he grabbed the handle than Bennett shoved the door forward and jumped on him. John drew his revolver on the second man, trying to take aim on Bennett.
On the other side, Peter Medina shot the driver and ordered
another of Logan’s henchmen to lie face down beside him.
Shots rang out from the false Indians. A bullet hit Medina’s thigh beneath the cover of the stage door. Others whizzed past Bennett’s ear to hit the side of the stage, sending splinters into his neck. John caught another and fell backward. “I’m good,” he shouted to Bennett, shaking off the sting of the bullet, hitting the armor-like leather vest he wore beneath his shirt.
In an instant, the bloodcurdling shouts of true warriors cut through the air, catching the attackers off guard. The distraction gave John time to reload and Bennett a chance to scramble through the stage to tend to Medina.
Cody’s brother, White Bear, and his band made quick work of Logan’s fake Indians, killing a few, chasing down and capturing the others who tried to escape.
John wiped the rain from his face and approached the big warrior who fancied Cody and Bennett’s sister. He gave the other man a nod of thanks for leading his horse back and tethered his mount to the stage. He and the Indian tied the prisoners, secured them in the coach and piled the dead on top.
John untied his horse and mounted up. “We might as well head back, so we can resurrect Cody and put Miz LeMaster’s mind at ease once and for all.”
***
Cody slipped into the newspaper office’s back room and watched the scrawny newsman repeatedly check his watch while he set up a page of type on his hand-cranked newspaper press. He ran a test page, fiddled with the press, adjusted a mechanism here and there, and printed another, giving this one a nod of approval. Looking at his watch once more, he took off his apron, cleaned his hands, and peeked outside.
He stepped back in, the color draining from his face, his eyes growing wide to find Cody standing there, the freshly typed broadsheet in his hand.
“You’re looking a might peaked, friend. Kind of like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I-I—”
He pivoted toward the door. Cody flung his knife. The blade whizzed past the man’s head to embed in the wood. The reporter turned slowly, a dark wet stain growing on the front of his trousers.
“Aw, now ain’t that a shame? A grown man like you, pissing yourself.” Cody kicked a chair forward. “Sit.”
The reporter sat just like an obedient puppy. No wonder Logan had picked him for a lackey. “Here’s a bit of advice, friend. I don’t think the West is the best place for you. I suggest you pack up and hightail it back East real soon.”
He nodded but didn’t utter a word.
Cody looked at the sheet of newsprint and read it aloud.
Blood on the Plains!
Citizens outraged as senators and their wives are murdered in cold blood
by rogue savages bent on the destruction of the white race.
This cannot be tolerated.
The citizens of Freewill beg—nay—we DEMAND the United States Army
take up arms to protect us and eradicate these savages forthwith,
so that the westward progress of God-fearing white men may continue.
“My, my, my.” He crumpled the page and tossed it to the ground. Drawing his Colt, he aimed it between the reporter’s eyes. He approached slowly with the calculating precision of a cougar, his gaze steady and cold. “Those are some strong words coming from a man who pisses himself.”
He cocked the pistol and touched the barrel to the center of the newsman’s forehead. The man cringed, and Cody’s nose prickled as the smell of feces wafted upward.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going back in that little room of yours and clean the piss and shit off yourself. Then you and me are going to go over to the jail and wait for the sheriff to come back. While we’re waiting, you’re going to put those words of yours to good use and write down every single thing you know about Matt Logan and the killings he set up. Do you understand me?”
The newsman whimpered and nodded.
“And, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll go to Cheyenne and tell the judge how helpful you’ve been just now, see if he can’t keep you out of jail. I don’t think you’d survive very well cooped up in a cell with cowboys and killers.”
***
John leaned back at his desk, hat covering his eyes, and pondered a trip back East to see his family. A tap on the jail’s open front door caught his attention.
“John, are you awake?”
He pushed his hat back and got up. “Why, Miz Medina, I do believe that’s the first time you’ve ever called my by my given name.”
She gave him a pissy look. Chuckling, he sat on the edge of his desk.
“My mother asked me to bring you this salve and see how those wounds were healing up.”
“Oh, they’re fine. I don’t think I need the salve, but I’ll hang on to it for future use.”
She set the ceramic jar on the desk beside him and folded her arms across her middle, accentuating that fine, full chest of hers.
“So how’s your cous—Peter doing?”
“He’s fine. He sent a telegram saying he was thinking of relocating to Chicago. He has some business prospects there. He said he’s even been asked to advise a few widows on managing their inheritances.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll excel at advising those women on all sorts of things.”
Vivienne slapped his shoulder, but the twinkle in her eyes said she thought the same. “He does have a persuasive way about him, and it can be very hard to resist, though it can be done.”
She paused as though waiting for him to challenge her. He wouldn’t—there was no reason to. Whatever he might have thought after that party of hers, the incident at the hotel had told him their being together had been more imagination and jealousy on his part than anything.
Though he wanted to sweep her into his arms and never let go, he resisted the urge. “Cody was looking kind of glum yesterday. You think Miss Kate will ever forgive him?”
The sweet smile that lit up her face sent his blood racing south. “Oh, she forgave him days ago. She’s just not ready to tell him yet, especially since he hasn’t realized that the big project she’s been sewing is her wedding dress. She didn’t think it was proper to make it white, but I told her to hell with propriety. Life is too short to waste living up to society’s expectations.”
He laughed. “Why do those words coming from your mouth not surprise me?”
She shrugged, and he reached for her hand, his heart warming when she clasped his in return. Encouraged, he tugged her closer and slid his arms around her waist. She placed hers upon his shoulders.
“So what are your plans?”
“I suppose I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing since I first came here…. Well, I’ll do most of what I’ve been doing, with Mamma’s help.” She paused and brushed a stray thread off his shoulder. “I hope Cody and Kate stay in town. She’s a good friend, and Lord knows the only one I have now. Except for Cody’s sister and the reverend’s wife, of course.”
He stroked her smooth cheek with the back of his fingers, loving the contrast between their skin tones. “I’ll be your friend and more if you’ll let me. I can’t offer you gold and jewels and trips to Paris, but I’d be honored to be your friend and lover. Maybe someday, the father of your children.”
She gave him a light, sweet kiss as though unsure of her feelings or his sincerity. “You are a good and honorable man, John Avery. Cody’s told me so much about you in the past I feel like we’ve knew each other long ago.” She gave him a smile that contained a hint of sadness. “I imagine you’ve seen my bad side, but I suppose it could be worse. And maybe you should see what your relations think. They might not want me in the family.”
“They’ll like you just fine. And besides, it’s me who’s seen enough of what kind of person you are to want to marry you.” He grinned. “And you know, Cody and Alton might have told me about you in the letters we exchanged after the war.”
She grimaced, and he laughed.
But when she kissed him this time, there was no holding back, no fear that his feeling
s were one-sided. She kissed him with a fierceness he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his days holding on to.
~ About the Author ~
Award winning novelist Barbara Sheridan grew up a fan of historical novels, TV westerns and all things paranormal and that leads her writing interests to this day. She loves old movies, character driven movies and has become fascinated with the show Dancing With the Stars. She also loves feedback from readers.
You can visit Barbara at:
http://www.barbarasheridan.com
Also by Barbara Sheridan
All or Nothing
Roberta "Bobbie" Richardson is looking for a mechanic to work in her floundering auto repair shop. The last person she expects to see is her first love, the man who unceremoniously dumped her over a decade earlier. Irresistibly sexy Marine, Justin Hastings, has returned home to start his civilian life and try to win custody of his daughter who is now living with her wealthy grandmother.
Justin offers to return to his former job and help Bobbie get the business back on its feet but only if she marries him to boosts his chances in the custody battle. The sparks start to fly when the couple is forced to live under the same roof and eternal tomboy Bobbie must play the role of the perfect little homemaker.
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Hawk Blackwater thought Freewill, Wyoming was the place to get his life back together. Riley Scott thought it the best place to hide, half a country away from those hunting her. For Hawk his focus was on finding the killer of the previous sheriff and discovering the cause of the mysterious lights in the Laramie Mountains. Neither realized they were on a collision course, or that the explosive chemistry between them would change both of their lives.
Dreams, Deceptions and Desires Page 12
