It also made for much easier targets.
Wyatt fired off a shot from his rifle, followed almost at once by shots from the other two.
The white caps reacted with sharp cries as a few of their ranks collapsed to the ground while others simply ducked. Oaths were released, and the Walsh home, so dark and easy a target before, suddenly became something far more challenging.
Jesse darted further back behind shrubs and fired another shot as Wyatt reached around his shelter with his pistol, firing two rounds himself.
Guns were quickly raised from the mob, and a volley of bullets began to rain down as a horrible, unintelligible war cry rent the air. Chills ran up and down Wyatt’s arms even as the rain began to pound harder.
He fired another round, as did the sheriff, while Jesse followed the plan and dashed into the house, lighting as many lanterns as he could, giving the impression of a wakening house, if not a madly scrambling one. He fired a rifle from every window, as they had stationed all available firearms within, and without anyone to reload, there was not much more that could be done.
If only they could take out enough of them, frighten them enough to reconsider…
Wyatt moved to Jesse’s original spot, firing again, then ducking to reload his pistol. He frantically looked back towards the oncoming group, now fewer in number across thanks to their creative efforts with the road, but seemingly without a reduction in total members from their guns.
He had a much clearer view of them now, and his heart sunk as he saw just how many of them there were. Even an entire battalion would have struggled against this many, and they had only cheap tricks and a few guns.
He felt a pained growl rise within him, and let it loose as he turned and fired as many shots as his pistol would allow, pleased by the hesitation the frenzy seemed to create. The Walsh home was alight now, and Jesse’s darting two and fro had done its best to create a proper illusion, but it would very quickly run its course.
The whole thing would be over far sooner than it should have been.
A tall man in the front of the mob strode forward, two burly men with massive clubs protectively walking before him. The rest of the men only waited and watched, their eyes trained on him and on the house before them.
Silence reigned for a moment but for the storm.
“Your defenses are no match,” the muffled voice called, deep and cold in its tone. “We far outnumber however many you are. Death is at your door, knocking and waiting. Give into the inevitable and face the sword of justice.”
The crack of a pistol echoed through the night, and the tall man cried out, grabbing his left arm in a seizing grip. His two protectors turned in horror, the shot somehow avoiding either of them. They looked at each other, then quickly pushed the leader back through the crowd, who roared in rage at the injury.
So much for giving in.
Wyatt jerked around, wondering who had managed the shot. The sheriff had picked up another rifle and fired it into the crowd, Jesse reappeared from the house, surprising Wyatt by darting over to the far side of their setup. In an almost amusing tribute to David and Goliath, stones began to be slung from his side into the crowd, and with some accuracy, but it would not hold them for long.
The guns from the mob started again, and without any attempt at hitting the house. Their covers were the target, and the wood splintered with the impacts.
Men from the mob began to spread out from the back, lighting bottles stuffed with rags and throwing them at the house. Even in the rain, the flames were effective, and the lanterns within would only aid in the destruction.
Shot after shot was fired from the crowd, no longer caring to march upon them, only to eliminate them. Wyatt had no arsenal, and only a few shots left.
The wood splintered again, this time near his shoulder, and he ran towards the next shelter, the pile of stones.
It was occupied.
“Diana?” he roared as he spied his wife, her hair braided tightly, her dress already torn in places.
She looked up at him, fear rampant in her eyes, yet her hands gripped a set of knives from the kitchen. “Wyatt,” she replied in a calm voice, her face hidden by what he recognized as a napkin from the Walsh home tied around her.
Then she dashed past him for the shelter he had just left, throwing her knives into the mob, somehow catching a man in the hand with one while the other whacked someone by its hilt.
“Diana!” he bellowed, rifle shots drowning out her name.
Another body slid next to him, and the panting personage of Sheriff George gripped his shirt. “We can’t hold them much longer.”
Wyatt looked up at the house, flames beginning to rise from the sides of the building and moving towards center. He looked down at his guns, knowing only a few rounds remained.
This was the honorable stand he would sacrifice himself for?
He looked up into the older man’s face, his mind spinning on nothing, and frantically so. “What do I…? I can’t… I can’t abandon them. I can’t let these people get away with this. I can’t.”
Sheriff George exhaled, then grimaced as a shot screeched over their heads. “All right. We continue to stand until we fall.”
“NO!” Wyatt grabbed the sheriff’s shirt in return. “No, you get out of here. You have a family. Your boys need you, and Eliza… Sheriff, go! And if you can, get Diana out of here.”
“Diana?” Sheriff George’s eyes widened. “She’s out here?”
Wyatt nodded as Jesse fired off two shots in quick succession, apparently forgoing his slinging in favor of firepower.
The sheriff shook his head. “Your wife, McGrath...”
Wyatt grunted a laugh he couldn’t believe he had. “I know. Get her and go.”
“I’ll get her,” the older man said. “But I’m not leaving you.”
He gripped Wyatt’s shoulder tightly, then moved back against the house, crouching low and using the shadows for cover.
Wyatt swallowed hard, his throat suddenly burning just as much as the house before him would. He was supposed to feel settled before his death, wasn’t he? Satisfied and content that he had done right? This edge of panic and desperation, this blatant fear, was not supposed to bear any part of it.
He shook his head and stuck his pistol around the pile, blindly shooting at anyone and anything.
Jesse hissed loudly and ducked behind the wagon bed, gripping his arm and shaking his head. He looked up at Wyatt, his hand clenching and unclenching. “Just a scratch!” he called.
“Go!” Wyatt said, waving his arm away. “Go! Get as far away from here as you can!”
He saw the determination set in the man’s face, and it enraged him.
“Go!” he screamed now. “There’s no hope in this. You’ve given enough to them!”
The real meaning of his words sank into his friend, he could see, and Jesse sat back on his heels for a moment. Then he nodded, gave Wyatt a quick salute, and dashed away into the night.
Well, at least one of them would be spared.
Now if only the sheriff would listen to him.
And Diana…
He grimaced and fired the last shot of his rifle over the top of his shield of stone, then tossed the weapon away. There was no sense in keeping a makeshift club near him, hand to hand combat wouldn’t even have a chance when this all came to an end. He yanked his handkerchief down from his face, gasping as though he had run several miles.
“Wyatt!”
He jerked around, rising slightly. then ducked as another shot barely missed him.
Hands gripped his arms, and wildly he looked up. Diana’s hair clung to her, her napkin gone from her face, and she panted with desperation. “We have to go, Wyatt.”
Go? Go where? This was his end, this was all of it. There was nowhere to go, and he had sworn…
He shook his head before the thought finished. “No! No, I can’t do that. I can’t let these men get away with their perverted sense of justice, not without a fight.”
/>
“You have fought!” Diana insisted, clenching his arms hard. “You’ve done far better than I expected, stupid as this idea was.”
A sound like that of a cannon blasted nearby, and Wyatt pulled Diana into him, shielding her. “Get out of here, Diana,” he insisted as he let her up. “There’s still time, I think. You can…”
“I can what?” she shot back, eyes blazing. “Leave you here? To protect and stand for a justice that clearly doesn’t exist here?”
“It has to!” he demanded. “It has to!”
Diana rose to her knees and reached into a pocket of her skirt, somehow deep within, then produced the pistol he’d always wondered about. She leaned against the rock and pulled the trigger, apparently squarely hitting an approaching would-be assailant.
“No one is getting a taste of justice tonight, law abiding or mob determined,” she told Wyatt as she pulled back, crouching to meet his eyes. “The Walshes are at least a mile away now, and the mob doesn’t know that. You are outgunned, and by the way, more are coming and they have ropes for lynching.”
Wyatt blinked, not sure he heard her right. “You got the family out?”
She nodded quickly. “I got the family out, long before the fighting started. Now you might be willing to die here, but Sheriff George isn’t leaving without you, and I don’t think Eliza wants him dead.”
“I told him to go,” Wyatt insisted, trying to shake his head. “I told him to find you and go…”
Diana grabbed his face between her hands. “Wyatt! I’m not going to become a widow to a man I married for a job! We are partners, and if you’re staying, so am I.”
Wyatt gripped her wrists, squeezing hard. “No. No, Diana, you need to go. You need to…”
Her hands pressed harder against him. “Either we both leave, or neither of us do. The Walshes are gone. What would you be dying for, Wyatt? What would you be dying for?”
He searched her eyes, the color masked by the shadows of the night. What would he be dying for? Why would he be dying? To sacrifice himself, to die in the line of duty…
“Wyatt,” Diana hissed, bending closer to him. “You are no good to me dead. I need you, and I need you to come with me. Please.”
She needed… She needed…
He nodded before he realized he was, before he’d even meant to. But she was right. His death would serve nothing here, and he’d been too blind to see it.
He’d have abandoned her here, with people like this? Alone and unprotected, finding her way back to headquarters to face the others?
Never.
He nodded with far more determination now and pushed to his feet, crouching still. “Come here,” he told her, pulling her to his side and putting his mouth at her ear. “I am your shield. We make a run for it, and don’t stop until I say so. If I go down…”
“Stop,” she interrupted. “I still have three shots in this, and I know how to use them.”
For some completely absurd reason, that made him smile. “Right. Ready? Go!”
Together they bolted from their hiding place, sprinting away from the fight, dodging only one or two shots, and wrapped around the back of the house. Wyatt released her and their sprinting turned more frantic. Sheriff George followed hot on their heels and the three of them only slowed when the sounds of the abandoned battle were muffled, the storm raging harder now.
Then they silently, carefully, made their way to the safety of the Georges’ home, where the oldest son had been keeping watch, and would continue to do so until he was relieved.
Or until the need to run for it became apparent to any of them.
Chapter 9
Wyatt would kill her.
Or he would try to, at any rate. The moment they’d been ushered into the guest room of the George’s home, he had begun to pace and mutter, gripping the towel around his sodden shoulders as though he couldn’t decide if he should tear it in two or strangle himself with it.
She wouldn’t help him decide between the two. Nor would she stand by while he railed at her about whatever it was.
Not this time.
“I cannot believe you,” he eventually managed through gritted teeth. “I can barely see straight I’m so furious.”
Diana sat without moving, her own towel draped around her, not seeing the need to protest until she knew just what he was so enraged about.
“You were supposed to protect the family,” he said as he turned on his heel, facing her now. “You promised me.”
“I did protect the family,” she retorted. “I got them out. I never promised to stay in the root cellar, and nor did I plan to. I took stock of the entire situation while you were planning some grand show of force. I had Jesse’s wagon moved to a safe location and stocked with what the family would need to get away. I had the children dig holes in the ground on the off chance that it would make everything more muddy and difficult if men tried to avoid your blockade which, by the way, many did.” She smiled to herself in amusement. “It was an entertaining enterprise. I scouted the house for the best routes in and out so I would be undetected by you and the mob and better able to act when the fighting was going on. And when I knew everyone would be distracted, I let the Walshes out of the cellar and sent them to the wagon as fast as they could and told them not to stop until they reached Ohio. Jesse is meeting up with them and will see them safely settled.” She folded her arms across her towel and raised a brow at him.
That didn’t help matters. “You risked your neck in a reckless move that could have gotten us both killed!” he raged, taking three steps towards her.
“And you were more than halfway to your grave because you couldn’t see past the end of your nose.” She snorted softly and shook her head. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Wyatt shoved one hand into his hair. “Diana, that was dangerous!”
Diana huffed and pushed to her feet. “So is being married to you, but you haven’t seen me griping. My choices were to let you get yourself killed on a principle or save my partner and actually accomplish something. Excuse me for taking the high road.”
She hadn’t yelled, she hadn’t even raised her voice, but his expression altered as though she had bellowed in his face. He stepped back, eyes wide, cheeks pale, and he slowly turned, moving towards the bed, then sank down onto it, facing her once more. “You’re right.”
Diana blinked. “Say again?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I said you’re right, and you are.” He swung his head from side to side in disbelief. “I’ve been stubborn, bullheaded, and obsessed with…”
“With avenging your father?” she offered.
He stared at her without speaking, a question in his look, but without any hint of accusation or anger.
“I heard what you told Jesse and Sheriff George,” she explained softly. “About your father.”
She watched as Wyatt swallowed and nodded. “It’s probably for the best,” he murmured absently.
“These aren't the men who killed him, Wyatt,” Diana told him, “though they smell of the same stink. You’re not going to do him proud or maintain your honor by sinking to their level. Or by turning into a martyr. No one knows us here, so it wouldn’t work anyhow. I’d wind up avenging you, and nobody needs that.”
He managed a wry chuckle “You’d do a fine job of it, I'm sure. That was a hell of a shot, you know.”
Diana shrugged, her cheeks heating with the compliment. “I had an excellent teacher.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, and Diana felt her toes curl in her soaked stockings. There was so much in his gaze… So much she somehow understood and echoed and wanted.
And the heat…
Diana turned towards the looking glass to catch her breath, knowing her face would be a flaming red that would hide nothing. She untied the tattered ribbon at the base of her braid and methodically began to unravel the whole drenched expanse of it. She could see Wyatt in the mirror, and he watched her with the same heat and fascination she
had caught from him before.
Always when her hair was down.
She pulled the towel from around her shoulders and began to rub her hair with it, forcing herself to breathe and swallow in her usual manner. Surely that couldn’t be too hard.
“I was twelve,” Wyatt began in a low voice, warm and gravelly yet with a sad, nostalgic note. “My friend Tom Howell and I liked to sneak around our town and pretend we were covert operatives. Most of the locals were used to us and let us do as we pleased. Dad always told me that I’d make a fine sheriff when I was older, provided I didn’t terrorize too many people.”
An Agent for Diana (The Pinkerton Matchmaker, Book 10) Page 12
