“Arnold only agreed because he feared the Ranger’s reprisal against the town should he refuse.”
Rachel was outraged. “Jake McCain is an honorable man. He wouldn’t terrorize this town because you disagreed with him.”
Lucinda sniffed once. “That is your opinion, and one I do not share.”
Rachel struggled to think around her anger. “Why won’t you let me teach here? What have I done but help a man in need?”
“It is the need you helped him with, Miss Hudson.”
“What do you mean?”
Lucinda Miller’s eyes blazed as she looked at Rachel. “I refuse to even speak the words necessary to describe a woman like you. In truth, we kept the children away this morning so you would know, once and for all, you are not wanted here. We won’t have your kind in our town.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.” But the memory of her night in Jake’s arms filled Rachel’s mind and color stained her cheeks.
“You’re lying,” Lucinda accused. “I can it in your eyes.”
“My sister never lies!”
Rachel snagged Nathan as he rushed the woman, fists raised. “No, Nathan. Violence won’t solve anything.”
Lucinda Miller stared down her beak nose at the boy. “This child should be taken from your undesirable influence and raised in the home of God-fearing people. I know all about your mother and your despicable upbringing. You aren’t fit to have a child in your presence.”
“That’s enough.” Wolf intervened.
“You dare to interrupt?” The woman turned on Wolf. “Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing in that cabin, you and this—this whore!”
Rachel slapped her. She couldn’t believe it, but the telltale mark of her hand glowed in livid red against Lucinda Miller’s pale skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“How dare you! This proves I was right. You’re nothing more than a common whore, like your mother before you. We can’t force you to leave, but never set foot in this town again. All doors will be closed to you. No merchant will take your ill-gotten money. You are not wanted here.”
Not wanted, not wanted, not wanted. The words echoed in Rachel’s head until she wasn’t aware of anything but the damning phrase. All her life, she’d wanted to belong. Now, her dreams were shattering—and the destruction was more than she could bear.
“Come on, Miss Hudson. There’s no reason to stay here.”
She allowed Wolf to turn her toward the door. She even took a couple of stumbling steps into the sunshine before she yanked free and stomped back inside the store.
“Rachel!”
The door slammed back from the force of her hand. “Lucinda Miller, you are without a doubt, the most wicked, deceitful, unpleasant woman I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. And, considering where I come from, that’s quite a crowd to choose from.” Rachel marched across the floor until she stood right in front of the speechless woman. “You run this town like everyone is here for the sole purpose of serving you, threatening anyone with ruin if they dare to stray from the narrow path you’ve chosen.”
Lucinda Miller backed up two steps, her eyes wide and unblinking. Rachel followed, stalking her backward until she was pressed into the counter.
“I may not have been raised among people you consider worthy, but they were kind, caring, loving, and generous women, and you are not fit to speak their names, you—you old biddy!”
Rachel whirled on her heel and strode from the room. The crowd that had gathered at the door parted before her. There was even a smattering of applause from one or two on the fringe of the group. She didn’t slow down to see who agreed with her. Wolf and the boys fell into step on either side of her. Nathan slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.
When they were well out of sight of the town, all the fight went out of her. She stumbled, and would have fallen, if not for Wolf.
“Easy there, Miss Rachel.” He steadied her with an arm around her shoulder.
“Oh, merciful God, what have I done?” She leaned into his strength as her knees began to shake.
“Something that needed doing, by my way of thinking.”
Nathan crowded close. “You were somethin’, Sis. You really told her.”
She smiled, or she thought she did, but the tears that suddenly welled from her eyes blinded her.
Wolf urged her forward, toward the house. “Come on, Miss Rachel. We need to get you home, where it’s safe.”
“I no longer have a home,” she whispered. “I destroyed it.”
She stumbled along beside Wolf, not knowing if the boys followed. The energy that had fueled her tirade drained away. It was over. Everything was gone now.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered to the wind.
Wolf bent his head close. “Ma’am?”
“It’s gone. My life is gone. Everything I worked for, the only thing I wanted, gone. Ruined.”
•♥•
Wolf caught her when she stumbled again. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her the rest of the way to the cabin. He stopped the boys as they ran ahead to open the door. “Stay back until I’m sure it’s empty.” He eased Rachel onto the porch as far from the door as possible. The windows were still bolted, and the door didn’t look as if it had been opened. No tracks marred the light layer of dirt he’d scattered in front of it so any intruder would leave a sign.
“How’d that dirt get there?”
Wolf spun toward Calvin. “I told you to stay back.”
“I’m sorry.” The boy stumbled back a step. “You didn’t draw your gun so I figured it was safe.”
Wolf stared at his empty right hand. “I guess my gut knew it before the rest of me did. All the same, stay here until I’m sure there’s no one inside. And keep an eye out around you.”
He did a quick circuit of the cabin and found nothing out of place. Returning to the door, he motioned the boys inside and lifted Rachel into his arms to follow.
“Calvin, put some water on to boil. Nathan, does your sister have any tea?”
“I think so. Ms. Winston comes over and drinks it on Sunday afternoons.”
“Well, see if you can find some. She’s going to need it.”
While Nathan rummaged for tea and a cup, Wolf dragged the rocker close to the fire with one foot. Rachel stared at nothing, seeing her own private hell, he was sure. Trying to be gentle, he settled her into the chair and covered her knees with a blanket. Calvin disappeared into her bedroom and returned with a woven shawl for her shoulders.
“It’ll be fine, Miss Rachel.” Calvin draped the soft yarn around her and patted the back of her hand. “They aren’t important. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
Wolf smiled down at his son. There was a gentleness in him that was so reminiscent of his dead wife it almost hurt too much to see. He was so intent on noting the similarities he didn’t hear the visitor approach until a knock sounded on the door.
Shoving Calvin behind him as it opened, Wolf turned to face the danger, gun drawn. Nathan stared at him from across the room, his hand suspended above the bar on the door.
“It’s just Ms. Winston,” he choked out.
Without answering, Wolf crossed the room to make sure their visitor was alone, ignoring the second knock. Satisfied there was no one but the older woman waiting, he nodded for Nathan to open the door and returned to Rachel’s side.
“It’s about time,” Abby bustled into the room, bringing the scent of vanilla with her. “Nathan, I heard what happened. I cannot abide that Lucinda Miller. She thinks she owns this town just because that lily-livered husband of hers owns every building in it. I swear, I’m catching the next wagon out of here. After her treatment of...”
Her diatribe halted abruptly when she spotted Wolf standing guard over Rachel. “You leave her alone!” Abby stormed into the room, headed straight for him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
William Harrison cursed, loud and long, at the injustice of it all. He should be
enjoying the comforts of a woman right now, not riding around in the dark, bleeding like a stuck pig and hungrier than he could ever remember being.
“Someone will pay for this,” he howled to the moon, then cursed again when his horse stumbled, jarring his wounded shoulder.
He’d slipped around behind the Ranger, back through the slot canyon, and over a high hill, turning south toward Mexico. His men should be working the cattle in this region, choosing prime head to steal. If he didn’t find them, perhaps a homesteader would take pity on a wounded man.
The thought had no more than formed when he crested a rise and saw a campfire. There was a single wagon parked beside it, the white canvas covering glowing against the stark desert landscape. Harrison set his face into a mask of pain and rode toward the fire.
The only person Harrison could see was a bent old man, with wiry gray hair sticking every which way. But there must be a woman, he thought. No man traveled in a wagon if he was alone. It was just too much trouble.
“Good evening,” he called, careful to sound injured and a little helpless. “I wonder if you could help me?”
The long Kentucky rifle remained steady in the man’s hands, pointed at Harrison’s belly. He walked his mount forward until the light from the fire illuminated his face. “I need help.” He let himself sway a little in the saddle and was distressed at how close to real it was.
The man spat toward the fire. “Who are you and what are you doing alone way out here?”
“My name’s Harrison, William Harrison. I’m on my way to join my family, south of here. But I ran into a bit of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Thieves,” he lied. “I was ambushed. I fought them off as long as I could, but was forced to retreat when I took a bullet. I only managed to escape with my life.”
“You were shot?”
Harrison nearly smiled at the ring of a female voice from inside the wagon.
“Daddy, bring him to the fire. I’ll gather what I’ll need.”
Harrison dismounted with some difficulty. When both feet were on the ground, he held on to the saddle for a moment, mostly for effect. But when he turned toward the man, the ground seemed to tilt and he stumbled. The man lowered the rifle to steady him. Harrison smiled his thanks and accepted help to a seat near the campfire.
The man poured a cup of coffee for Harrison. “I’m Henry Bradley. This is my wife, Rosa.” He nodded toward the ample woman who climbed from the wagon to join them.
“I didn’t dare to hope I would find an angel of mercy in the middle of this wasteland. I’m very grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Bradley.”
“Nothing to it,” she dismissed. “It’s our duty to help others in need. Says so in the Good Book. Now, let’s take a look at that shoulder.”
All business, Rosa helped Harrison remove his coat, then unbuttoned and peeled off his blood-soaked shirt. She laid it aside with some care. “I should be able to clean that up some for you.” She turned him so the light fell on the wound. “This has been in here for some time.”
“Yes. I’ve been riding for hours, desperate to find another living soul to aid me.” Harrison jerked and bit back a curse as she probed deep for the bullet.
“You were lucky to find us,” Bradley volunteered from the other side of the fire. “Mama’s good with this sort of thing. We should have been miles from here, with the rest of the wagon train. But we broke a wheel and it took me some time to fix it.”
Harrison smiled in more than polite interest. If the rest of the wagons were ahead of them, no one would stumble in before he was through here. He could take his time and not be concerned with interruptions. He’d never taken a woman so amply built, but the new experience might be enjoyable.
“Here, you’re gonna need some of this.” Bradley held out a bottle of golden liquid. “It ain’t necessarily good, but it gets the job done.”
Assuming it was whiskey, Harrison nodded his thanks. He lifted the bottle and took a mouthful. The burning sensation it caused had him gulping in air and looking around for water.
“Drink some more,” the old man urged. “The next mouthful won’t taste as bad.”
Harrison’s eyes watered, but he managed several swallows of the vile elixir. In only minutes, he began to feel the effects. His head swam. When he tried to shake off the effects, he found he could barely sit up.
Behind him, Rosa Bradley eyed him closely. “That should do it. Let’s get that thing out of there before it festers.”
With no more warning than that, she grabbed the knife heating in the fire and began cutting flesh. Harrison’s scream could have been heard in Mexico. Mercifully, the pain stopped when he pitched forward in a faint.
Henry caught him before he tumbled into the dust and held him steady for his wife. “That worked fast, Mama.”
“Probably hasn’t eaten in a while,” she muttered, concentrating on her work. Long minutes passed where the only sound was the fire and her whispered instructions to herself.
“Thieves, he said.” Rosa finished sewing up the wound and bandaged it with the ease of practice. “He wasn’t fighting them off when he took this bullet. He was running away.”
“Now, Mama...”
“Don’t argue with me, Daddy. I can see with my own eyes and the good Lord knows I’ve seen my share of wounds. There ain’t a scratch on him other than a bullet hole—in the back.”
Henry waited while she spread a blanket near the fire. “Maybe they had him surrounded.”
“Could be, or maybe it was the law trying to stop him from getting away.” She helped her husband lay Harrison on his belly. “I don’t know that I trust him.” When the man was settled to her satisfaction, Henry dug out his pipe.
“He’s something of a dandy, I’ll grant you that.” He puffed twice, fire flaring in the bowl of the pipe. “Did you see that shirt? All them pleats down the front? And a string tie, to boot. Who in their right mind wears a tie way out here, unless they’re heading to church?”
Rosa clucked her tongue at the foolishness of men as she scooped up Harrison’s bloody garments. “Do we have enough water for me to try and clean these up a mite?”
“We can spare a bucket or two. We’ll be at the Rio Grande in a few days. We can share with someone else in the wagon train if we run too low before we get there.”
She grabbed an old leaky bucket and filled it half full of water from the barrel hanging on the side of the wagon. “Daddy, why’d you tell him the rest of the wagon train had gone on ahead when they’re camped just over the next rise, within shouting distance?”
Henry sucked hard on his pipe, winding lazy puffs of smoke into the night air. “Didn’t want him getting any ideas about robbing the others. Guess I don’t trust him, neither.”
She smiled at this man with whom she’d shared nearly forty years of marriage. “Thought as much. Maybelle told me the other morning that she’d heard tell of a bandit in these parts who was real nice to look at, but black clear through his soul.”
“Reckon it’s him, Mama?”
She studied the unconscious man. “I believe it is.”
Henry didn’t seem very concerned. “Want me to stake him out for the varmints to git?”
“No, Daddy. I don’t want to answer to the Almighty for it. But we ain’t gonna help him any more than necessary. Besides, if the law is after him, I don’t want to waste my time fixin’ him up just so they can hang him.”
She left her husband to his pipe and set to work on Harrison’s shirt.
•♥•
The sun was up when Harrison finally came to. For a moment he was confused, unable to recall where he was. Then the events of the previous night returned. That woman could have killed him, stabbing him in the back like that.
He sat up, moaning in pain when he moved his shoulder. It hurt, but not as bad as before. His head hurt much worse. Blinking against the light, Harrison looked around in growing disbelief. He was alone. The only evidence that a wagon
had been there were the tracks leading away to the south.
His clean shirt and coat lay folded nearby. A small paper-wrapped packet by the fire turned out to be a piece of dried meat. They’d covered his face with his hat, and left him.
His horse had wandered a distance, looking for food and water. He could just make out his shape. He whistled, but the animal ignored him. Harrison struggled to his feet, jarring his shoulder and knocking his hat into the dirt. He yelped as the bright sunlight stabbed his unprotected eyes.
“What the hell was in that bottle?” He hurled a few obscenities at the absent couple, then settled his hat low on his brow and looked around.
There was no one in sight. The sun was well over the horizon. If they’d left at first light, they had several hours on him. “As does that damned Texas Ranger,” he seethed.
Remembering he was being chased dampened his fury a little. He whistled again for his horse, but it continued to chomp on the sparse sprigs of grass it found growing between some rocks. He considered shooting the ornery thing, but decided to wait until he was away from his pursuers. He had no desire to walk all the way to where his men waited.
Grabbing his shirt, he examined it. The old woman had gotten most of the blood out, but the cloth was stained a sickly pink around the repaired hole. She hadn’t bothered to sew the matching tear in the coat, but some of the blood was gone from that garment, as well.
Taking care not to reopen the wound, Harrison pulled on his shirt. It was so badly wrinkled he considered taking it off again, but he didn’t want to be exposed to the midday sun. It would have to suffice until he could acquire another one. He dropped the coat into the dust. He refused to wear it and he certainly wouldn’t need it in this heat. He should meet up with his confederates before nightfall. If not, he’d just steal one.
Snatching the packet of meat from the dirt, he tore off a strip with his teeth and chewed. It was leathery and tasted sour. He spat it out in disgust.
He strode the three steps to the gear they’d stripped from his horse. Everything was laid out in a neat stack. “How the hell did you do all this—and leave—and I didn’t hear you?” The screamed question finally brought his horse’s head out of the grass. He yanked his canteen from the saddle. They’d refilled it for him, too.
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