by Jillian Hart
It likely wouldn't be fast enough, he couldn't get there soon enough to save her. But he would die trying.
* * *
In the merry sun-lit kitchen of McPhee Manor, life went on as usual. Daisy had rushed back from making breakfast for Beckett and Hailie to mix up the next cake order for Helen Hutchinson's tea party. Rose was whipping up a batch of butter cream frosting. Magnolia, busily chatting with her beloved Tyler in the hallway, was oblivious to everything. Iris carefully busied herself slicing the layers of cooled cakes into more layers. And Verbena, exhausted and emptied-out, wiped the last of the breakfast dishes and put them away.
"We have a busy day lined up," Daisy was saying as she measured butter into her mixing bowl. "Helen's party. Another batch of bread for the mercantile. Little Harvey Mason's birthday cake."
"In the shape of a horse," Iris added, grimly butterflying another cake layer and gently laying it on a cake stand. "Rose, you said you were feeling artistic?"
"I can make a horse out of anything. Frosting, cake, sugar paste. I can even fold one out of paper." Rose dipped a clean spoon into her frosting, gave it a taste-test, nodded, and set the bowl on the counter. "I have Helen's frosting and filling ready. Looks like the cake is ready too."
"Yes, it is." Iris set the knife aside and straightened, admiring her work. "Perfect. Hand me the filling, and let's get this finished."
Verbena crossed the kitchen, armed with the clean plates still hot from the rinse water and went up on tiptoe to scoot them into place in the cupboard. It felt good to have the morning busy and life back to normal for her sisters. They were safe, they were happy. That's really all she wanted. And if her soul whispered for something else--someone else--then she did her best to ignore it. Not that it was working very well, but still, she was trying.
"Does that sound okay with you, Verbena?" Daisy asked, mixing bowl anchored in the crook of her arm.
"What?" She blinked. Oops, guess she hadn't been paying attention.
"She'll do it." Magnolia skipped into the room, answering for her. "You know how we love to do deliveries. I was going to teach her to drive anyway and this will be a good opportunity."
"Wait. Not while you're delivering one of our cakes," Rose protested. She looked a little faint at the thought. "Don't do that to me. We've already been through enough with you, Magnolia."
"Yeah, yeah." Magnolia took the teasing good-naturedly. "I've only hit anything once, and it was Tyler. But it turned out to be a good thing."
"Oh, I don't know about that," a male voice joked--Tyler--as he climbed the stairs, hammer in hand, heading up to work on Rose's room. "It depends on your perspective."
"Funny. Oh, he thinks he's a comedian, but he's wrong." Magnolia rolled her eyes playfully. "No worries, Rose. We'll be safe. I'll run down to the barn and ask someone to hitch up for us. The cake should be done by the time I get back."
"I'll go." Verbena hung the damp dishtowel to dry. "I could use the fresh air."
"You keep saying you're all right this morning, but I don't believe you." Daisy set down her bowl, her batter perfectly mixed, and brushed a lock of hair out of Verbena's eyes. Always the caring, big sister. "Remember, we think you're fabulous."
"Not as fabulous as you are." What would she do without her sisters? She gave Daisy a hug, grabbed her coat and bundled up. It looked cold out there. But invigorating. Maybe the cold would make her forget her heart was in pieces.
Determined not to think of the man who'd left her, she grabbed her scarf, stuck her hands into her knit gloves, and bounded onto the porch. As she shut the door behind her, a memory popped into her head, uncontrollably and against her will. The morning when she'd opened up to find Zane standing here. The morning he'd strode in, took her in his arms and kissed her. That lip-tingling, soul-stealing, claiming kiss.
Oh, boy, she thought, rolling her eyes. So much for not thinking of him. She needed to find a way to stop. She really did miss him so much.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"Knock, knock." Verbena closed the door behind her, shivering in the little entry way of the ranch's kitchen house. "Is anybody here?"
"I'm here and glad to see you." Aumaleigh looked up from the work table, where she sat with a pencil and paper. "Just making a shopping list. I've relied on Maebry to do it for so long, it feels as if I've forgotten how. Goodness, you look cold. Come in and get warm. Is Cal hitching up Marlowe for you?"
"Yes." Verbena unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat. "Thought I'd pop in for a few minutes to keep warm, with the added benefit of seeing you."
"Excellent." Aumaleigh rose out of the chair, elegance in calico. Sympathy carved little crinkles around her eyes that were so kind. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Oh, I'll live. I just got my hopes up more than I realized." She liked having Aumaleigh to talk to. She was almost like a mother. "My sisters are blaming him for leaving."
"I am, too." Aumaleigh reached out, patted Verbena's cheek gently, with a caring hand. "How can anyone leave you, I don't know. It just proves he wasn't good enough for you, my dear, sweet girl."
"Oh, he's good enough, and I never thought that someone could be. Not after Ernest." The confession made her feel vulnerable, as if every broken piece of her heart lay undefended. She sighed, miserably. "He just didn't love me enough to stay."
"Did he tell you that?" Aumaleigh's forehead crinkled. She looked a little angry. "Is that what happened in the sunroom before he walked out, when we found you crying?"
"No, he never said that." Her chest felt all shredded up, like it had been all night long when she'd tried to sleep...and couldn't. "It's just that he could leave. You know, he just told me all these remarkable, heart-wrenching things and left."
"Now I don't understand." Aumaleigh pulled out another chair and pointed at it. "Not that I understand men. No, after a lifetime of dealing with them I don't understand them at all. But I am a good listener."
"Did you know he used to be an outlaw?" She took the seat, relieved to finally be able to talk about this. Goodness knew, if she confessed all this to her sisters, they might be too upset about the contents of the story to see the point. "His father was a notorious outlaw, and Zane grew up with him in his gang. He ran with them, but then he did a brave thing saving someone his father had kidnapped, and turned his life around."
"I see." Aumaleigh sat down, looking shell-shocked. "He must have been young."
"He was eighteen when he left." She bit her bottom lip, clasped her hands in her lap, thought about that youth Zane must have been. "He said I wouldn't want a man like him."
"And that's when he left?"
Verbena nodded. "He just walked away so easily. He didn't even look back. I know he cares about me, but it wasn't enough to make him even stay to talk about it. He didn't even want to try to make it work."
"I do think he loves you very much." Aumaleigh turned thoughtful, falling silent for a moment as if she were considering all the angles before speaking again. The tea kettle on the stove rumbled lazily, the fire popped in the stove. "He changed for you, Verbena. When he came he could scare away a charging grizzly with one look. He was distant and remote, kept to himself. But last night with you, he laughed, he looked at you as if you were the only star in the sky. As if he'd lay down his life for you in an instant. You could see the love in his eyes."
"I know." She shrugged. "I thought I saw it too."
"You know, once there was a handsome young man who gazed at me like that." Sadness swept over Aumaleigh's face. "When we were together, it felt like we were a perfect match in every way. Like I'd known him forever. When his heart beat, mine matched it. When he held my hand, it was as if he held my heart too."
"That sounds familiar." Verbena nodded, thinking of those times with Zane when they were alone, just the two of them. The emotional connection that bound them, the physical charge, the amazing rightness. "What was his name?"
"Gabriel." Aumaleigh smiled through the sadness, her beauty shining t
hrough. "He was my kindred soul, my great love.
He looked at me with forever in his eyes, the same way your Zane looked at you. That is a rare gift. In all the years since, I've never come close to finding it again."
"What happened?" Okay, call her curious, but she had to know. "Did he leave you?"
"Worse." Tears stood in Aumaleigh's eyes but did not fall. "I never told him how I truly felt, I was shy, I was afraid to bare my heart. Worst mistake of my life. I let him walk away. I never should have let him go, not without putting my fears of being too vulnerable aside and telling him how very much he meant to me. Maybe things would have worked out differently."
"I would have wanted that happiness for you." Verbena watched her aunt blink away tears from decades of pain. That was a long time to hold onto heartbreak. Poor Aumaleigh. Verbena ached with sympathy. "But for me, things can't turn out any other way. Zane would have left even if I told him the depths of my true feelings. He's not exactly domesticated."
"He's not untamed either." Aumaleigh blinked back her tears, lifted her chin, stronger than her past. "But if it really is too late, then at least try to get some closure. That way all the pain you're feeling doesn't overshadow everything else. It could make you forget the beauty and joy of what you found with him."
Good advice, Verbena thought as the back door slammed open, interrupting them.
"Miss Verbena?" Cal called out, his boots stomping in the foyer. "I've got your buggy ready to go. It's awful cold out there, so the horse shouldn't stand too long in this wind."
"Okay, I'll be right there." Her concern and love for her aunt made it hard to bound to her feet, harder still to walk away, so she gave Aumaleigh a hug first. "Will you be okay?"
"Me, I'm right as rain." Aumaleigh stood, patted Verbena's cheek lovingly. "I have you and your sisters in my life. What could be more of a gift than that? Now you drive safe. Are you sure you can handle that horse?"
"He's a sweetheart, he'll be gentle with me." She swirled away, buttoning her coat. "Can you come to supper again tonight? We'd love to have you."
"I'd love to be there. With Louisa managing things so well, I'll be able to make it. Now you get along." Aumaleigh led the way to the door. "You and Magnolia try and stay out of trouble, will you?"
"I'm sure we'll try, but trouble always finds us." Verbena gave the end of her scarf a toss over her shoulder and sauntered onto the porch. "Don't forget about supper."
"See you then." With a loving smile, Aumaleigh closed the door, leaving Verbena alone as she clomped down the steps. Cal had retreated back to the warmth of one of three barns up the way. A big bay gelding stood patiently waiting, hitched to their little buggy.
"Marlowe." She went straight to the older gelding and kissed his graying nose. "How is my favorite gentleman? I see you're handsome as always. This will be the first time I'm driving you without Magnolia with me. Do you think we can handle it?"
Marlowe's big brown eyes filled with horsy love. He blinked his long curly lashes, which was answer enough.
"Excellent. Then let's get moving. It is freezing. Understatement of the year." She'd thought Chicago winters were cold, but this was a major brrr. Shivering, she hopped onto the cushioned seat. Cal had been thoughtful enough to leave a buffalo robe, so she spread it over her and gathered the reins.
"Let's go, Handsome," she said, giving the thick leather straps a gentle shake. "We have a busy day. Two deliveries."
Marlowe seemed encouraged as he lunged forward, pulling the buggy down the rolling slope, head up, tail swishing. He'd come a long way from the frightened, hopeless animal they'd rented from the livery owner in Deer Springs that summer day. Wow, that felt so long ago now. Although whip scars from previous owners and rental drivers crisscrossed his shoulders, back and flanks, he no longer dragged his feet when he walked, he no longer plodded along with his head down.
These days Marlowe trotted along with his eyes bright, ears pricked, interested to see where they would go. His gait was snappy as he turned onto the road without needing much instruction from her.
Driving him was so easy, and it felt great to be out, to be free even in the biting wind. The sun was fading but still cheerful as clouds moved in. She was free from Ernest, Aumaleigh's story and advice had eased some of the anguish in her own heart and she thought of Zane, knowing he was out driving in this same cold somewhere on the high plains or mountains. She hoped he was thinking of her too.
Suddenly the rhythm of Marlowe's clip-clopping gait became scrambled, chaotic, a clip there, a clomp there, the buggy rocked to a stop. She blinked, realizing her thoughts had wandered and she hadn't been watching the road. A shadow emerged from the shady grove of cottonwoods at the edge of the road.
Fear beat through her, kicking up her pulse, spilling adrenaline into her veins even before her eyes could see the face of the man on horseback who galloped up to the side of the buggy, trapping her. The slant of his hat hid most of his face, but she recognized the set of his shoulders, shoulders that could never be as impressive as Zane's, and the long, slender soft hands of a man raised in the lap of luxury. Ernest?
No, it couldn’t be. But the adrenaline spiking through her shot up a notch. Her throat went dry, her palms went damp, her mind started spinning. This wasn't happening, she had to be wrong. The marshals had taken him away.
"Get out of the buggy," he growled, jamming a gun toward her head. "I'd rather not kill you like this, but I will. Don't mess with me."
"Ernest." Acceptance rolled through her. He really was here. "But how did you get here?"
"Do you think two stupid, country-bred marshals could outsmart me?" He hooked an arm around her waist and tried to lift her off the seat.
He didn't smell so good--like desperation and malice. She planted her feet, but he strong-armed her, hauling her across the seat in his direction. She planted her feet, trying to stop him.
"Those backwoods hicks thought I was too weak to fight them," he spat out with disgust and yanked on her harder, zipping her across the seat to the edge of it. "So they let down their guard. Now they're dead."
"Let go of me." Even more horrified, she grabbed onto the braces that held up the buggy top.
"Stop fighting," he commanded, knocking her knuckles with the nose of his gun, breaking her grip. She fell, suspended in mid-air, caught in one of his arms. He growled. "I told you not to cross me."
"I'm not going with you." She shot out with her left elbow, hitting him in the throat. He grunted, momentarily unable to breathe and she wiggled out of his grasp, falling straight to the ground.
She landed on her knees. Pain rocketed straight up her thigh bones, and she ignored it, put her feet on the ground and grabbed the buggy's running board to haul herself up. Run and escape, that was her plan, but she hadn't taken more than one step when something caught her by the scarf and hauled her off the ground.
The pressure against her windpipe and throat was excruciating. Choking, gasping, unable to breathe, she dangled there, strangling on her own scarf. She clawed at it, yanking at the knitted yarn, stretching it as much as she could, trying to get her chin under it, but Ernest grabbed the back of her coat with his other hand, hefting her up and along the animal's shoulder trying to get her onto the saddle.
Not going to happen. Determined, enraged, she reached behind her, fisted her hand and started hitting with all her might. Every ounce of it, pummeling any part of him she could reach. He swore, gave her scarf a vicious twist, tightening it so much that spots danced before her eyes. The edges of her vision turned black and she fought it, trying to throw her body at the ground even as he hauled her onto his lap and clamped an arm around her, and retrieved his revolver.
"Let her go, Craddock." A man's familiar baritone boomed from a ways down the road behind them. "Or I'll drop you where you are, I swear it."
Zane. She squeezed her eyes shut. Still strangling, her lungs burning, her body spasming, desperate for air, but warmth filled her. He'd come to save her. Tears burn
ed her eyes, hope lifted her soul.
"The bounty hunter." Ernest laughed, she felt the vibration rock through his chest and into her, felt the mocking of it. He wheeled the horse roughly around to face his adversary and grinned. "I was going to come after you when I was finished here. I have some scores to settle and one of them is with you."
"I have a score to settle too." Zane towered astride his horse, rifle aimed, pure contained and controlled masculine fury, his face lined with concentration, his intent deadly. "Put her down. Last warning."
"Okay, you got me. Don't shoot. Don't hurt me. Guess I'll just let her down nice and slow, then." Ernest sounded beaten, so deeply sincere, but she felt his intent. Tension rolled through his body, his grip tightened on his revolver. He was lying, she knew it, trying to trick Zane, into letting down his guard.
Terrified, she fought with every last scrap and shred of strength she had, to knock against Ernest, to deflect that bullet that he intended to launch through the air whizzing toward Zane. But it wasn't enough, she couldn't make any difference as she felt Ernest release her from his chest, but not his hold on the scarf. She fell, the scarf turning into a noose, and heard the pop-pop-pop of simultaneous gunfire.
The last thing she saw was the red blossom of blood on Zane's shirt as the darkness claimed her. She was tumbling through that black until she hit something hard--the ground--and she lay there unable to move, with tears on her face, gasping in air. Not dead after all.
Someone struck the earth beside her. Ernest, eyes open, on his back with a bullet hole in his forehead.
"Verbena!" Zane's voice, Zane's footsteps rushing up to her, his strong arms wrapping around her, lifting her up, holding her safe against his chest. "When you fell, I thought you were dead."
The relief on his face, the terror, the love. She looked into his eyes and saw his infinite, unassailable love for her. Moved beyond words, she touched his unshaven jaw with her fingertips, just drank in the amazing sight of him alive, thankfully alive, her one true love. With a wrenching sigh, he pulled her against him, rocking her, cradling her to his chest. He held her with such desperation, as if he never wanted to let her go. She clung to him, so thankful for the solid feel of him, for the reliable thud of his heart against her ear, for this man who had saved her in every way.
