“I’ll never touch you again, if that is the way you want it, Sarah.” The words tasted bitter in his throat. Despite her stubbornness, she was the first woman in years that his arms ached to hold. A woman he thought it might be nice to come home to. The only one who’d stirred his blood when he looked at her. “I swear.”
She stared into the water, and he guessed she didn’t believe him.
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered, pushing her hair off her shoulder with her fingers as if she dusted away a bad memory. “I only hoped.”
“Sarah?” He waited for her to look at him. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever kept a promise to her.
When her eyes met his, they sparkled with unshed tears. “I’ll keep my word,” he swore. “Or I’ll give you back my Colt and you shoot me.”
She smiled. “I don’t know much about guns.”
“I’ll teach you just in case.” He turned to check the lines on the horses, thinking if he kept looking at her, he might as well hand her the Colt right now.
Sam ran his tongue across his bottom lip, remembering the taste of her. He hadn’t given her much of a first kiss, he decided. More like an attack. No wonder he saw fear in her eyes. She probably thought he planned to knock her down and mate with her right here in the clearing. He had his work cut out for him, trying to keep from touching her while figuring out how to hold her when she decided the time was right.
He waited a few more minutes before he said as softly as he’d ever issued an order. “Get in the wagon, Sarah. We’ll make it to town tonight, load up with supplies, and come back tomorrow, if that is the way you want it. If we stay here, we’ll all starve. You, me, the invisible children. I can drive the wagon on land, but I need help in the current. I can’t make it to town and back without you. Leaving is our only option.”
She turned away from him and walked to the tree line. After a long pause she yelled, “We’ll be back in two days! I’m leaving the blanket and the buffalo robe so you can stay warm!”
When she noticed him watching her, she raised her chin. “All right, Sam Gatlin, I’m ready.” She lifted her bundle she’d tied together with her shawl.
“You taking that?” he asked.
“Of course. A lady has to have belongings.”
He didn’t comment, but wondered what she carried. As far as he knew she was down to near nothing. One dress she’d been using for bandages. The knife she’d pulled out of his back. A half-empty bag she’d claimed an old woman had given her as medicine. Not much in the way of belongings, he decided.
They climbed into the wagon and started off without another word. The first few hours were hard, fighting the currents in the water. Sam held the reins as long as he could. When she took over, he circled his arm around her, bracing her in the seat, making it easier on her to drive without having to worry about tumbling from the bench.
He tried not to think of the way she felt against him. She might have married him to get out of jail, but she wanted no part of him as a husband. And he didn’t want her if she thought she was just doing her duty. Sometime soon he’d have to tell her about how he made his living, and then she wouldn’t stay with him.
But for now he’d hold her against him, acting like the feel of her didn’t affect him. For once he wanted to believe he could be a normal man. He didn’t want to think of the handful of outlaws who wanted him dead, or the places where folks swore when anyone said his name.
At first he’d done what he had to for money. He’d told himself he was in the right, he wasn’t breaking any laws. He accepted jobs no one else wanted. Fighting on the frontier, bounty hunting. The pay was good, and drifting seemed destined to be his way.
He thought he would walk away when he’d done his part, or made enough, but that day never came. Lately, he had even stopped thinking about the possibility of another life until one night at Cedar Point when he saw an angel.
Only problem was, that angel wanted more than he could give. She planned to be a wife to him, and Sam had no plans of remaining a husband.
Shadows covered the town when they finally saw it along the horizon. The horses didn’t speed up as they usually did with the promise of hay ahead of them. Like Sam, they were too tired.
He had to stay alert. Both their lives might depend on it. She didn’t know it yet, she hadn’t been married to him long enough to understand that a town or anywhere with people was not a haven, but a danger.
Ignoring the pain in his back, he pressed forward. The sooner they got to town, the sooner they could leave. He didn’t care where they traveled next as long as it was away from people and for a long enough time for him to heal.
Sam unhitched the team while she got a room with a twenty-dollar gold piece he pulled from an opening in the leather of his gun belt.
Sleep seemed to have settled on the little no-name town. Tonight not even piano music drifted from the saloon.
Sarah thought of getting separate quarters, but wasn’t sure how much more money Sam had. It seemed as if he’d drawn his final stash for the night’s stay. When she wrote Mr. and Mrs. Sam Gatlin on the register, the night clerk raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. She carried her bundle upstairs to the same room where they’d spent their first night. A lifetime had passed since then.
Spreading out her belongings on the bed, she removed the knife she’d pulled from his back, the remains of the dress he’d bought her, and his extra shirt. She also had his comb and the thin box of matches.
Sitting in the only chair, she waited for him with the door open. If he wandered into the wrong room this late, she might find herself a widow again. She lit the lantern, hoping he would see the light when he headed down the hallway.
Unwittingly, she compared Sam to her first husband. Mitchell had not been so tall, or as thick as Sam. Mitchell had never yelled at her, or argued with her over anything. From the beginning, he’d shown little interest in her or in what she did all day as long as she did what was expected of her. They’d married one morning, then she’d moved her few things into a kitchen that had been set up by his first wife. By supper she had a meal prepared.
On their wedding day Mitchell had complained about a late start as they drove home from the preacher’s. He worked until dark that first day. When he finally came in from the fields, it was as if they’d been married forever. Like Granny Vee, he believed in rules. Sarah had broken the first one that night by moving things around in the kitchen. Mitchell reminded her that everything was to remain as his wife had left it.
Sarah touched her sleeve. Her dress, the only dress she owned, had once been Mitchell’s first wife’s. Sarah had always felt like a poor replacement for someone he had loved and lost.
He never looked at her with hungry eyes as Sam had today in the clearing He’d never grabbed her and kissed her so hard her teeth hurt.
Sarah closed her eyes and fought back tears. But late at night ... late at night Mitchell’s hands would slide along her leg and pull up her nightgown. Without a word he’d climb on her. Cold, almost impersonal, he’d take her. Then, without a comment or a caring touch, he’d leave. Rolling over to sleep. Not bothering to lower her gown. And every time ... she fought down tears as she remembered ... every time he hurt her deep inside where bruises never show.
She told herself she hadn’t minded the bedding so much. But she dreamed of more. This time she wanted to be a wife, a true partner. She would do all that was expected of her, but she would not be bedded by Sam until he made up his mind to be her husband. This time she would wait until she was ready to be truly married.
Sarah heard Sam lumbering slowly up the stairs like a great tired bear looking for his den. When he reached the door, she saw exhaustion in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” she asked as he moved into the room and closed the door. He hadn’t said more than a few words for hours. She didn’t know if he was mad about the kiss or simply saving all his energy for traveling.
“Just tired,” he answered
as he turned and set the rifle by the bed. A dark red stain spread across the back of his white shirt.
“You’ve reopened the wound.” Sarah hurried to his side, hating to see blood once more. The smell of it seemed to fill the room.
“It’s nothing.” He made a movement with his hand as if to shoo her away.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Lie down on the bed and let me have a look.”
Sam unbuckled his gunbelt and draped it over the side of the bed just as he had the last time they’d stayed here. “I’m too tired to argue, Sarah. Just shoot me. I’m not sure I can endure much more of your nursing.”
Sarah grinned, remembering how she’d thought of shooting him in this very room not so many days ago. “Don’t tempt me. Now lie down.” She wanted the blood on his back gone as fast as possible.
He almost fell atop the bed as she pulled his shirt from his trousers.
The wound wasn’t as bad as she feared. Carefully she cleaned the blood, letting the cold water aid in stopping the bleeding. As she pressed a rag against the opening, Sarah spread her other hand across his unharmed flesh. Lightly she stroked his skin as if her touch could brush away the pain she caused.
He didn’t make a sound, but his flesh was warm and seemed to welcome her caress. Strange, how she liked touching him. In a small way, he belonged to her, this powerful man. He didn’t have to tell her no one ever touched him. She knew. Just as she knew his soul must be as scarred as his body. But fate had put her in the lion’s cage, and she’d lived too long in fear to be afraid anymore.
When she finished bandaging his wound, she heard his slow steady breathing and knew he was sound asleep. Too tired to give it much thought, Sarah curled up next to him and fell asleep.
EIGHT
GUNFIRE RICOCHETED DOWN THE HALLWAY. JARRING Sarah awake. She heard people running. A woman screamed. Thuds rattled against the walls as if bodies were being tossed. Chaos rode full speed toward her door.
“Hurry!” Sam ordered as he pulled on a new white shirt. “Get dressed.”
Since she’d fallen asleep in her clothes, Sarah had nothing to do but stand. “What is it?”
Angry voices drew nearer. Sam didn’t bother with the shirt’s buttons as he strapped on his gunbelt.
“My guess is Levi Reed is looking for me so he can finish the job he started with his knife.”
“What makes him want to kill you?” She tried to pull on her shoes.
“I sent his brother to prison.”
“But—”
Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the window. “I don’t have time for a discussion, Sarah.” He opened the window. “I’ll lower you down as far as I can. You’ll have to drop from there.”
She stretched for her bundle. “What about you? It’s not me he’s looking for but you. If you hide, I’ll tell him I don’t know where you are.”
He took her parcel and tossed it out without bothering to look at where her collected belongings landed.
“My things!” she cried as he reached for her next.
“They’re waiting for you,” he grunted as he lifted her over the windowsill. “And don’t worry about me,” he said, as if he thought she was still thinking about him. “It will take more than the likes of Reed and his men to kill me.”
Sarah glanced at the drop below. “I can’t ...”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He locked his hand around her arm and shoved her off the ledge.
Clinging to him, she whispered as she dangled, “Don’t drop me ... I’m fragile. I’ll die!”
“No, you won’t. I promise. You’re about as fragile as I am lucky.”
Her hands slipped along the sleeve of his shirt.
“Go to the mercantile and buy what you need. I have credit there. I’ll get the horses and pick you up as soon as I can.”
Sarah’s shoe slipped off and sailed downward, landing with a plop. “I can’t do this!” She clung to his arm. He didn’t understand. She wasn’t brave.
“You can,” he ordered more than encouraged as he swung her away from the building and released his grip.
Sarah held her breath, too frightened to scream as she dropped. The hard hit she expected ended as more of a thump in the weeds growing between the hotel and the wooden walkway.
Jumping up, she straightened her skirt and lifted her knotted bundle, trying to act as if she hadn’t just tumbled from a hotel window. Luckily, the street was deserted. No one saw her graceless fall.
Slowly she moved onto the uneven walk, gingerly testing each bone for breaks. Glancing back, she frowned at the window where Sam had been only a moment before. What kind of husband drops his wife over the ledge? What kind of man figures any trouble coming is bound to be looking for him?
The racket from the hotel window grew. Pandemonium rumbled down to the street below.
Sarah ran toward the mercantile. She heard shouts. An angry voice answered back. Then gunfire.
“He’s dead,” she whispered to herself as she stomped away in shoes she’d never had time to tie. “My no-good, drunkard, backstabbed husband is dead. Left me with three kids and no roof over my head.” She laughed without humor. “Just when I think things are as bad as they can get, they take a turn for the worse.”
Ten minutes later she wasn’t surprised to learn that she couldn’t touch any of the money Sam had at the store. The shopkeeper, a short, barrel-chested man who introduced himself as Mr. Moon, claimed he might need the balance to pay for Sam’s burial expenses.
He greeted other women who came in the store to browse, and did his best to ignore Sarah. She guessed Mr. Moon thought, as she did, that Sam must have died amid the gunshots the whole town had heard.
Sarah circled inside the store trying not to listen to the whispers of other customers. “He’s finally been killed,” one said. “I’m not surprised. Men as mean as him don’t live long round here,” another muttered. “Did you hear what they say he did in Fort Worth one time ... ?”
Sarah concentrated on the clocks for sale behind the counter. Granny Vee had an old clock on her wall. It hadn’t worked in years, but Granny still dusted it twice a week, telling Sarah that folks have something fine when they have a clock.
The gossips’ voices invaded her thoughts. Sarah focused on the ticking. She didn’t want to listen. They said that Sam was no better than a hired gun. “Some men hunt bear or deer,” one said. “What kind of man hunts men even if they are outlaws?”
“That’s his wife, I’ve heard,” another whispered back. “She’ll be leaving him when she finds out about him.”
“Not a woman in the state that would stay,” the other replied, “not married to Sam Gatlin.”
Munching on a cracker from the barrel beside her, she tried to pick out her favorite clock as though she had the funds to consider such a purchase, but each tick eroded her thoughts to worries.
With the coins left from the twenty-dollar gold piece Sam gave her for the room, Sarah would have to make each selection count. Taking her time, she examined every item she put on the counter. Beans, flour, coffee, salt, matches. All musts. Crackers, soap, a little sugar, a dozen eggs, and bread. All needs. With each item Mr. Moon kept a running total, making sure she wasn’t spending a penny more than she’d pulled from her pocket.
Sarah looked at a sewing box made of tin and a bolt of sturdy gray wool for winter as she tried to figure out if she had enough money left to buy both. The sewing box was stuffed with supplies, but cost almost two dollars. The wool was three more.
A blue dress hanging beside the blankets caught her eye. Though several sizes too big, it was the kind of dress she wished she had. Not fancy by any means, but stylish with lace on the collar and buttons down the front for no reason other than that they looked good. She brushed her hand over the soft cotton.
“That just came in, yesterday,” the shop owner said with a raised eyebrow. “I’d rather it not be handled unless you’re buying.”
Sarah lowered her arm.
/> “She’s buying” came a voice from the back of the store.
She couldn’t hide her smile as Sam’s big frame stepped from the shadows. One hand rested easily on his holstered gun handle. He’d slung his jacket over one shoulder like a cape.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Gatlin.” The shopkeeper hurried to pull down the dress. “It may be a little big for your woman, but she can take it up, I reckon.” Suddenly Mr. Moon was all sunshine.
Sam stood on the other side of a huge table of supplies. “Wrap anything else she needs; I think my account can stand the hit.”
He remained perfectly still as Sarah added bacon, canned goods, and the wool to her selections. She touched the bolt. “For the kids?”
Sam grinned. “Invisible children shouldn’t need many clothes.” But he nodded at the shopkeeper as Sarah set the sewing kit atop the material.
“My wagon’s out back,” Sam said without offering to help load. “Add a couple bottles of whiskey to the order and a basket of those apples you’ve been unloading.” He glanced along the top row of shelves behind Mr. Moon. “Add a few bars of honeysuckle-scented soap if you have it and the largest carpetbag you got.”
When the man disappeared with his first box of food, Sarah moved around the table, noticing that all the women spreading rumors had hurried out the front door far more silently than they had arrived. “I thought you were giving up the bottle.” She stood by Sam’s side, expecting him to argue with her. “You told me you never drink except when you’re hurt, yet the first time we’re in a place that sells—.”
Without turning to face her, Sam took her hand. “You’ll be needing that bag to carry your belongings in.” He didn’t even act as if he heard her as he squeezed her fingers.
Trying to pull away, Sarah looked down at the huge hand holding hers. Warm blood dripped across her fingers, and she realized his draped coat hid a wound beneath his shoulder.
“You’re hurt!”
Jodi Thomas Page 7
