Brides of the West

by Michele Ann Young

  She lunged at him, delivering a blow to his groin with her knee. He went down with a string of curses as she shot from the barn. He was close on her heels as she sailed toward the house. Wolf kept a loaded rifle propped behind the door and she prayed she could reach it in time. She also hoped he'd left an extra box of ammunition handy, because she was going to blow so many holes in Garrick Payne that no undertaker would ever be able to count all of them.

  Garrick tackled her, knocking her to the ground.

  "It’s time I teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

  He dragged her by one leg across the yard to the barn. Sharp stones bruised her body. She bucked and thrashed, her skirt and petticoats bunching up around her face where she could no longer see. At the very least he was going to beat her, but she knew he wouldn't kill her because he needed her alive if he wanted to gain control of Wolf’s ranch. As much as she wanted to fight him, she knew his strength. She’d been beaten many times by him and managed to survive each one. She would survive whatever he did to her now

  He flung her into a stall. On her hands and knees, she lifted her head and looked up at him. Before, she’d always feared his wrath, viewing him as a powerful and violent force from whom she dared not try to escape. Now she saw him as he truly was—a weak and desperate man who enjoyed bullying women and children into submission. He was nothing in that instant—not the powerful, indomitable Reverend Garrick Payne of Savannah. He was a mouse of a man with a deep perversity that rotted his soul from the inside out.

  She attempted to stand, to face her tormentor, but he kicked her legs out from beneath her. She fell upon the clean straw, her shins smarting from the blow. Gritting her teeth, she held back tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  "When I get through, you’ll damned well know you belong to me." A feral gleam lit his eyes as he produced a riding crop. "Remove your clothes, you little tramp. It’s been a long time since I’ve been forced to discipline you.”

  “Don’t you mean abuse me, Garrick?”

  He leaned over and slapped her face. "Take the goddamned clothes off or I'll slice them from your body!”

  "Go to hell! You'll have to kill me before I let you beat me."

  Garrick laughed. "Is that so? Would you prefer I whip your son, instead?" He stormed off to a neighboring stall and yanked a canvas tarp off a small heap, revealing Mac. Grabbing the child by his shirt collar, he yanked the boy to his feet and roughly dragged him back to her. Mac swayed unsteadily on his feet, his eyes half closed.

  “Mac!” What was wrong with him? Garrick pushed him down onto the hay and raised the riding crop again.

  Evangeline’s heart leapt in her chest. She flung herself over Mac’s form, crying out as the first blow stung through the fabric of her dress.

  She dared to lift her head. “Let him go, Garrick!” she pleaded. “Do as you wish to me, but don’t harm my son!”

  He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into another stall. She watched as he returned and yanked Mac to his feet and shoved the sleepy-eyed youngster away. "Get the hell out of the barn and don't come back unless I call for you!”

  “I won’t let you beat her!” Mac cried, staggering toward the man. “You leave her alone, you stupid asshole!” Garrick backhanded the boy, sending him sprawling on the hay.

  “Mac!” Evangeline pushed past, but Garrick yanked her back by one arm and shoved her into the stall again. He drew a knife from his boot.

  “I’ll slit the little bastard’s throat if he interferes!”

  “Mac, run! Run to the house and lock the door.”

  With much difficulty, Mac staggered to his feet and took off running toward the open barn door.

  Garrick turned her around and shoved her down on her hands and knees. He reached down and tore open the back of her dress. She stiffened, awaiting the slap of the whip, praying Mac might have time to escape or hide. Then her fingers curled around something cold and metallic in the straw. Wolf’s missing knife. Her heartbeat thundered wildly in her chest. She concealed it in the folds of her skirt.

  “This land and the house on it will be mine, Evangeline.” Garrick raged on as she opened the knife. “With Gray Wolf MacKinnon dead, you are free to remarry. I will assume another man’s identity—Mr. Jackson as I’ve been using this past year—and you will keep silent of this. You owe me for all you have taken from me.”

  Her body trembling, Evangeline turned slowly, her eyes lifting to meet his. “And what about what you’ve taken from me, Garrick, or from Mac, an innocent child? I didn’t hit you in the head with the iron. Nor did I shove you down the stairs. Nell was only protecting us. No, Garrick. I owe you nothing, and even if Wolf is dead as you claim, I’ll not marry you. I’ll not allow you to spend one moment on my land, in my house or in my bed, abusing me or my son ever again. I will expose you for the sick, indecent bastard you really are and you will be hanged for Wolf’s murder.”

  With every ounce of strength she possessed she stood, keeping the knife hidden within the folds of her skirt. Her legs trembled and her heart pounded out a near deafening tempo in her ears. His expression was fierce, his face drawn, teeth clenched. “You are finished, Garrick Payne!” she shouted and thrust forth the knife.

  The crack of a rifle split the silence of the barn. Evangeline screamed, tossed the knife aside and fell back on the hay at the deafening blast, then lay perfectly still. Garrick’s lifeless body fell on top of her.

  She lay numb beneath Garrick’s dead weight. Silence settled over the barn. After a moment, she squirmed and wriggled from beneath him, then scrambled to her feet expecting to see her savior in the open doorway. No one was there. Something warm and wet in her hair caught her attention and she panicked. At first she feared she’d been shot, too. Then she realized it was Garrick's blood and not hers. Trembling hard, she took a few wobbly steps, her knees barely supporting her. She had to find Mac, to make certain he was all right. She dared a glance back at Garrick who lay face down on the bloody hay. Most of the top of his head was gone. Her stomach turned at the sight and she leaned over and vomited. From outside, John called her.

  "I’m in the barn!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  John appeared in the doorway, lantern in hand. He froze when he saw her. "Godamighty!" He hurried to her. "Your head's bleeding.” He tilted her head toward the lantern light to look at it. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

  "It's Garrick's blood." Numbly, she stood shaking all over, staring at John’s Adam's apple while he examined her head. The back of her dress was open, her bare shoulders exposed. But after all she'd been through she was too numb to care about modesty. Then John looked beyond her to Garrick’s body and swore softly under his breath. He whisked off his vest and draped it around her shoulders.

  "You saved my life, John.”

  John shook his head. "No, ma'am, I didn't shoot him. That husband of yours managed to get off that shot even as he stood in the barn door, swaying and bleeding and about to collapse. I was just lucky enough to ride up in time and witness every bit of it."

  Her heart soared with hope.

  Wolf was alive!

  Tears of joy flooded her eyes. "Garrick told me he was dead."

  "He’s not dead, but he's shot up pretty bad, ma’am. I’m going to need your help getting the bullets out of him—a sharp knife, some scissors and clean bandage material. You sure you're all right?” He stopped in front of her and lifted her face to his, then grimaced. "Your face is bruised."

  "Garrick struck me, but I'll be fine.” She clutched his arm as they made their way toward the house. “Tell me what happened to Wolf? How serious are his injuries? Where’s Mac?"

  "Mac is fine," he assured her as they hurried to the door. "The little rascal’s shaken up, but otherwise he says he’s okay. Said that Payne fellow made him drink something that made him sleepy.” He assisted her up the steps.

  “I'll get the water kettle on to boil, John.”

&nb
sp; "From what I've been able to get out of Wolf,” John said as he opened the door, “Payne ambushed him on the road about two miles north of here. He put three bullets in Wolf and left him for dead. How he did it, I'll never know, but your man made his way home on foot.”

  Evangeline rushed past John to where Wolf lay on his back in the middle of the floor.

  “I rode up and saw Mac runnin’ toward his Pa with the shotgun, hollerin’ that you were in the barn with Payne. Wolf fired once, staggered a few feet and collapsed He’s lost a lot of blood. We need to get him onto the bed and get them bullets out or I expect he might not make it ‘til morning."

  It was no easy task lifting a man of Wolf’s size, but between the three of them they managed to heft him onto the mattress. John was right. Wolf had three wounds—one in his left side, another in his right forearm and one in the upper thigh. Fortunately the bleeding had slowed, but she’d never seen Wolf so pale and lifeless. She feared the worst. There was no time to send for a doctor. With her and Mac’s help, John assured her he could remove the bullets. After that, they could only hope for the best.

  Evangeline wanted to comfort Mac after all he’d been through with Garrick, but John needed her immediate help with Wolf. While John collected a couple of knives from her kitchen, she undressed Wolf and bathed his bloodied body quickly, taking care to clean each wound carefully. Mac brought wood for the stove, then hurried off with a pail to draw water from the well.

  When she’d finished cleaning Wolf, she covered his trembling body with a fresh quilt and lay her head gently on his chest to listen to his weak, erratic heartbeat. She wept silently. All of this had been her fault. If only she’d never placed an ad in the mail order bride catalog, Wolf wouldn’t have found her and she wouldn’t have led Garrick Payne to him.

  "You will survive this," she whispered. "I promise. You're going to recover and we're going to be a family again.”

  "E-van-ge-line.” Her broken name was a whisper on his dry lips. "Forgive me."

  "Oh, Wolf!” She kissed his cheek, her tears splashing onto his face. "I should be begging your forgiveness. All of this is my fault.”

  "I’m going to die," he said weakly.

  "No, you're not going to die. I won't let you!" she cried, furious that he would say such a thing. "You can't leave us now, Wolf. We have to raise Mac together.”

  He lifted a trembling hand. "I must talk to John. My son, too."

  Evidently John had overheard and rounded the bed. "Right here, MacKinnon."

  "If I die, I want you to marry Evangeline," Wolf began slowly. "She needs a man who will be kind to her. My son needs a decent father."

  John snorted. "Dad-blame it, Wolf. You're too mean to up and die on us. Besides, you got your boy to raise now. The good Lord ain't gonna take you yet.” John lowered a flask of whiskey to Wolf’s lips. "Take a good long swig, my friend. Time's a wastin' and this is goin’ to hurt like hell."

  Wolf turned his face away. "No, John, you must promise me—you’ll marry her and take good care of my family. I must have peace."

  Evangeline felt her face warm when John looked at her. As Wolf’s best friend, she had no doubt John would marry her in the event Wolf didn't survive. But she couldn't think of marrying anyone else—not even a kind and decent man like John. No, there would never be another man for her. She would go to her grave Gray Wolf's widow.

  "All right, buddy," John answered. "I give you my word I will look after the missus and your young’un in case you don't make it."

  "My son? Where is he?"

  Evangeline rose from the bed and crossed the room. No sooner than she’d reached the door, Mac returned with the water bucket. He’d been so brave throughout this ordeal. Still, the thought that Garrick might have beat or abused him again tore at her heart. The bastard lay cold and dead in her barn now, and still she felt like storming out there and killing him again for terrorizing her child.

  “Come with me, Mac.” He set the pail down and she guided him to the bed, but Wolf had fallen unconscious again. She took a seat beside her son, who stood, watching Wolf. With the exception of his straight dark blond hair, Mac resembled Wolf in every way. He was dark complexioned, with eyes as black as the midnight sky. He had the same stubborn-set jaw, the same dimple in his right cheek—the one Wolf always denied having. Mac would grow into a handsome man some day, no doubt breaking dozens of girl's hearts along the way.

  She took Mac's small hand and placed it on Wolf'’s. "This is your father, Mac.” She fought back tears and and added, "Your real father. His name is Gray Wolf MacKinnon, not Adam Smith. That’s only a name on paper.”

  Mac nibbled his lower lip. "I kinda figured he was my real pa.”

  “You did?”

  Mac nodded. “Well, we look alike. My skin is dark like his and we have the same eyes. You also named me Mac.” Mac looked up at her with big, sad eyes. “Is he gonna die?”

  She shook her head, then rumpled his hair. "I don’t know, sweetheart. He’s very weak. We must pray for a miracle."

  Mac toyed with a loose thread on the quilt. "So he really is my pa, huh?" He avoided her eyes.

  "Yes."

  “I’m glad, ‘cause I like him . . . even if he did threaten to eat my turtle.”

  She smiled through her tears. Even John, who’d since pulled up a chair and was seated on the other side of the bed, had tears in his eyes.

  John cleared his throat and stood. “Ma’am, I think the boy could use a bowl of warmed stew.” He placed the knives on the bed. Evangeline realized it was an excuse to get Mac away from what would likely be a gruesome sight. She nodded.

  “I’ll get things ready here while you get the boy settled down. Perhaps you might also tear us some clean bandages while you’re at it.”

  Evangeline did as John asked, then hurried back to assist. She found he’d already removed the bullets from Wolf's forearm and upper thigh and was now preparing to take out the one in his side. She marveled at his surgical knowledge and silently thanked God he’d been there.

  She washed the blood from Wolf's arm, then wrapped it carefully with a fresh bandage she’d cut from a new tea towel. John worked at digging out the bullet in his side. Wolf moaned as if in terrible pain, but he lay still. Every so often she glanced at Mac to make certain he was all right. He’d finished eating his stew, most of which he now wore down the front of his white shirt.

  John dislodged the last bullet, but the hole, freshly re-opened bled copiously. She held a compress at the site, hoping to staunch the flow. Once the bleeding was under control, John quickly put in two sutures, then wiped his bloody hands on the towel before handing it to her.

  "I've done all I can do, ma’am. The rest is up to the good Lord." Heading for the door, he motioned for Mac to follow him. "I'll take the boy to my cabin so you can have some time alone with your husband. Once he’s asleep, I’ll bury Payne’s body in the woods. ” He tipped his hat to her. “I'll come back and check on you in the morning, ma’am. If you need me sooner, just put a lantern on the porch and I’ll come when I see the light.”

  She knew from the look on John's face and the tone of his voice he wasn’t certain Wolf would survive the night. He was too kind a man and didn't have the heart to admit her husband was dying.

  An eerie silence settled upon the house, except for the sounds of Wolf's heavily labored breaths and the occasional scratching of doves that had built nests in the porch eaves. She prayed Wolf wouldn’t linger for days, suffering horrible pain or even gangrene and that if God sought to take him that his passing would come soon. Although they had only known true happiness for little more than a few weeks, Wolf had given the gift of himself in their son, Mac. She could go on, knowing that a part of him continued to live on in the world. She placed a palm over her tummy and prayed a new life already budded within.

  Numbly, she rolled up the blood-soaked quilt that had covered him and set it in the corner for washing. Then she bathed Wolf's ashen face, combed his thick, dark hair and c
overed him with a fresh blanket. If he died, she would have John bury him on the rocky hill beneath the stand of towering sycamores. She and Mac would visit his grave every day.

  Pouring fresh water into the basin, she shed her blood-stained dress, then bent forward and rinsed Garrick’s blood from her hair and Wolf’s blood from her hands. She sponged the side of her bruised face and lips with a cloth dipped in cool, clean water before pinning her wet hair up tightly on her head. She turned around to look in the mirror at the red mark on her back, the one Garrick had made with the riding crop. Never again would he lift a hand against her and Mac—nor any other defenseless woman or child. He was truly dead now, and the hideous past buried.

  After her bath she dressed in a gown, whisked a thin cotton shawl around her shoulders and took a chair beside the bed. She watched Wolf for the longest time, listened to his deep, labored breaths, his soft moans of pain. The man she loved was dying and there was nothing she could do to save him.

  Waiting for him to go was the hardest part. She wasn't certain she could go on living without him. Even during those dark years when they’d been separated, his memory continued to burn brightly in her heart. The hope that they’d one day reunite and live happily ever after had kept her sane in spite of the abuse she’d endured at Garrick’s hands.

  She studied Wolf’s face, committing every inch of it to memory, promising never to forget a single detail. Then she realized she didn't even have a photograph of him. She hugged herself tightly, the tears bursting forth. The pain of losing the only man she'd ever loved, the father of her child was unbearable. She wished it was his arms holding her like this again. She wished she would awaken and discover all of this had been a horrible nightmare.

  She clenched her eyes shut and prayed for a miracle.

  ***

  Evangeline awoke with a start at the sound of Wolf’s voice. The room was almost pitch black, the oil in the lantern burned out. Pink rays of dawn streaked the eastern sky beyond the open window. Where were John and Mac? At first, she thought she was still dreaming when she saw Wolf's dark silhouette sitting on the side of the bed. She blinked. Was he alive? Perhaps in her grief she was hallucinating. She’d seen it happen to people many times before.