by Jodi Thomas
She blinked and he was gone, disappearing into the night as soon as he stepped one foot away from her. Hugging his still-warm jacket to her, Lacy moved back into the little shelter. There, she had light, even if it was only the pale moon, and she could hear what was happening above her, even if she saw nothing but branches.
He had little more light, for the trees blocked the moon's glow. Someone might be only a few feet in front of Walker, and he wouldn't be able to see them.
She knew Walker hovered near, but she couldn't even make out his footsteps. Once she thought she heard leaves moving, but it was probably only a breeze.
Fighting pure panic, Lacy wanted to run back to the house and warn the others. If the trespassers got past Walker, they might make it to the house. Except for the guard at the barn window, everyone would be asleep. They wouldn't have a chance.
Her blood slowed as her heart forgot a beat. If they got past Walker, he'd be dead.
She wanted to scream for him to come back. Whatever was out there, they would face it together. She didn't want to think about tomorrow without him.
But he was trained, she reminded herself. A legend, the major had said. He knew what he was doing; she had to trust him. This was the kind of work he talked about being good at, even though he hated it.
Listening, she heard a thud, like a body hitting the ground. Then feet shuffling and whispered voices too far away to make out words.
The minutes ticked by like hours. Lacy unfolded the blanket and sat on it, forcing herself to be still.
Leaves rustled. A branch snapped. Someone moved closer to the opening above her.
Gunfire shattered the night, sounding like it rolled all the way to heaven and back. Sleeping birds took flight, screaming in protest.
Lacy's knuckles whitened as she gripped the sides of the blanket and fought to remain still.
Movement again, closer. Not the sure steps Walker would have made, she decided, but the hurried steps of someone frightened.
"You shot Sneed!" came a high, panicked whisper only a few feet above her. "Damn it, you shot Sneed!"
"I thought he was that devil, Larson," another man whispered back. "He's already took out two of my men, and I swear I can almost feel his breath on my back. When I saw movement, I shot."
"Well, you took out one of your own men with that shot," the panicked voice complained. "Didn't you know that if you heard someone move it couldn't be Larson? They say no one hears him until it's too late."
"Shut up. He's just a man."
The high voice mumbled, "I knew better than to go along with this plan. Sneed said it wasn't a good idea. We're lucky Larson didn't kill us the first time. If he sees us now, we're dead for sure. I'm seeing if Sneed's still alive, then I'm leaving back the way we came. I want no part of your plan tonight."
The other man bellowed in anger. "If you're not with me, you're against me, Gray, and I don't take kindly to those against me."
Lacy didn't hear Sneed's friend answer. She choked with fear. She knew the other voice. She'd heard it five years before: Zeb Whitaker.
Jumping up, she began to pace. Three steps forward, three steps back. At least the guard, and probably Jacob, must have heard the shot. They'd be on their way to the orchard now. Only, they'd have to cross the open field to get here, and in so doing, make themselves targets. Whitaker could wait in the trees and pick them off, then go after the women. Nell was too weak to fight, Theda would be too scared, Bailee would try to protect the children. She had no idea what the doctor would do, but he didn't look like he'd ever lifted a gun.
They could all be dead soon—everyone she loved except Sarah—and Whitaker would go after her next. If he found Sarah, she'd have no one to protect her except her husband.
Leaves rustled as if being kicked aside. Branches snapped. Horses whinnied. Somehow, they'd brought horse across the river. Lacy remembered the old woman and figured out how Whitaker and his men made it this far. The old woman had brought them.
"Where do I tie the horses?" a woman's voice sounded, little more than a whisper on the breeze.
"Over by that thicket," Whitaker answered. "And crawl down in those bushes. I don't want Larson finding you."
A few heartbeats later, Lacy heard the snap of branches and something tumbled down from her see-through roof. As she watched in surprise, the bundle of rags jumped to her feet. The old woman!
She prepared to fight when she saw Lacy backed into a corner but recovered when she realized Lacy had no weapon. "Well, what have we here?" The woman no longer sounded old, and her voice had lost the accent. She wasn't one of the gypsies who lived next to Carter, but she must have played her part well to get them to take her in and trust her.
Lacy would have given anything for a gun or even a club, but there was nothing. She had to face the woman alone. Even the dried branches that had fallen in were behind the intruder, out of Lacy's reach.
The woman's smile shone in the moonlight as she pulled a knife. "I owe that husband of yours, and I'm "about to even the score."
When she lunged, Lacy tossed Walker's coat at her and darted into the blackness of the entrance. For a few steps she saw nothing, but she kept running, feeling her
way. Then she was back in the orchard, in the open air.
Gunfire sounded to her left and was answered in the distance. The men were coming. Lacy ran toward the firing, stumbling over roots in her bare feet, jerking away as branches pulled at her robe, trying to slow her down.
She stumbled and fell, rolling until she hit something that gave slightly. Scrambling to her feet, she touched what had stopped her. A body! Her hands brushed across damp clothing, and the smell of blood filled her lungs. She turned and ran back in the direction she'd come. Twigs cut into her feet. Branches grabbed at her hair and ripped her gown, but she didn't cry out.
Without warning, a trunk of an arm grabbed her, swinging her off the ground in a hold that cut off her air.
Lacy fought as she heard the deep laughter of a man she'd once confessed to killing.
"Got you, little rabbit," he said. "Let's see if you make a sound when you die." He raised his arm, and Lacy saw the wide blade of a hunting knife coming toward her. "I'd like to take my time killing you after all the grief you've caused me. How about I gut you so you'll be able to talk while you bleed to death?"
She closed her eyes, refusing to scream.
"You'll be surprised how much blood is inside of you, little rabbit." Whitaker laughed. "I'll kill you fast, if you tell me where my gold is."
Lacy bit her lip. She couldn't bargain for her life. She had no idea where his gold was. What did it matter if she died fast or slow? She'd be just as dead. The pain of leaving Walker would be far greater than anything Zeb Whitaker's knife could do to her.
The blade slid along her abdomen as if looking for the perfect spot to slice through her flesh.
'Tell me!" he demanded.
Lacy squeezed her eyes tight, trying to picture Walker in her mind. She wanted him, not the old buffalo hunter, to be her last thought.
Gunfire exploded from a few feet away at the same time a knife whistled through the air, inches from her ear. Whitaker coughed as if choked and loosened his hold. Before Lacy could break free, he tumbled to the ground, taking her along with him.
She opened her eyes, then scrambled away from him. It was too dark to see much, but it looked like a bullet had hit the side of his head and a knife had pierced the center of his throat.
He jerked once as if trying to fight off death, then stilled, his eyes staring up at the sky.
Steps ran toward her from different directions. Several yelled, and her name seemed to be echoing off the trees. Walker reached her first, swinging her up into his arms. Jacob, Carter, and three of his men followed close behind.
Lacy cried, finding her voice for the first time since her husband had left her. "The old woman... she's back there ... she has a knife."
"It's all right," Walker said as his hands moved over her
. "She's tied up. I saw her follow you out of the cave."
Jacob holstered his gun. "I shot one on the way into the orchard." He knelt, making sure the old buffalo hunter was finally dead. "Did you leave any more for us, Captain?"
Walker ignored his comment. "Anyone hurt?"
"Carter's arm was grazed by the first shot at us. Can't believe they missed him. He stormed the orchard like a bull. But with that first shot, I knocked him down, and after that, we didn't give them a chance at any more target practice."
Lacy raised her head. "Who's guarding Nell and the children?"
"Bailee's got the kids playing underground, and Theda's watching the back door while the doc watches the front." Dalton stood, satisfied Whitaker was dead. "When I tossed the rifle at the doc, he caught it like a man familiar with weapons."
Walker sat Lacy down and touched her hair. "Are you all right? I heard you take a fall." His hands moved gently over
her once more as if he had to know that she was unharmed.
"I'm fine," she lied.
"Good. Go with Carter back to the house and make sure he has that arm seen by the doc. I'll help Dalton round up what's left of Whitaker's gang." Though his words had ordered her to leave, his hands still lingered for the feel of her.
"I don't want to leave you," she whispered before she thought.
"I know," he answered. "But I need to know you're safe. We'll finish here as fast as possible."
"If the talk about you is true, Walker," the ranger swore, "it's going to be a regular egg hunt finding bodies tied up and dead all over this place. I've heard tell a dozen to one is about even with you."
"I only killed one, Whitaker. He shot one of his own men, but the fellow is still breathing."
Dalton straightened. "I killed Whitaker. Shot him in the head."
Carter moved to Lacy's side and lifted her up with his good arm. She didn't protest as he carried her out of the orchard. She knew he was hurting, though he didn't say a word. She also knew it would be hard for her to walk. If Carter didn't carry her, Walker would see that she was hurt. The sooner she let Walker do his job, the sooner they would be together.
Lacy held to Carter as he walked across the field toward the house. She heard Dalton and her husband arguing, and she had to smile. No matter who killed Whitaker, it was all over. The nightmare that had followed her for five years would never bother her again.
Two hours later, the outlaws were loaded into a wagon. Carter's men rode along with Dalton to take them to town. There had been some talk about waiting till morning, but no one wanted the trash on Carter's farm any longer than necessary.
The doctor and Theda took care ,of Carter, then Sneed, who looked like he might make it, and last Lacy, whose feet were soaking in cold water while she waited.
As Theda cleaned Lacy's wounds and bandaged her cuts, she whispered, "I've had so much excitement tonight, and I haven't died from it." The old maid seemed surprised to be still alive. "I asked Timothy about it, and he said my parents must have told me never to get excited as a way of disciplining me since they were so old when I was born, but as far as he can tell, there's no medical reason for it."
'Timothy?" Lacy smiled.
Theda blushed. "He said he wishes he could afford a nurse like me. He said I'm a natural as an assistant. He says he wishes I'd stay a while."
"And are you?" Lacy swore she saw years dropping away from the old maid's face.
"I think my heart could stand just a little more adventure."
CHAPTER 33
Sheriff Riley's voice could be heard inside the house, even though he was on the porch. "I'm getting mighty tired of having folks confess to killing Zeb Whitaker. It's getting to the point I probably couldn't put together a twelve-man jury without at least one of them swearing he killed the man."
Lacy looked out the window. Walker and old Samuel had taken the wagon she'd driven into Texas five years ago down to the orchard and picked up the buffalo hunter's body. Carter had fixed the wagon when he'd first married because it belonged to Bailee and he figured she'd want to keep it.
Lacy thought it interesting that Whitaker would be taking his last ride in the very wagon he'd tried to steal.
The sheriff had ridden back with the men after they took the other outlaws into Cedar Point. He'd locked them up, woke one of the deputies to watch them, and came out to check for himself what had happened.
"So, whether Whitaker died by a knife in the throat or a bullet in the brain don't matter. The man is double dead. He was a fool to walk onto Carter's land, and going after the captain's wife was downright crazy. I think I'll just list the cause of death as suicide."
Dalton laughed. "The tough old hunter would hate that."
Walker agreed.
Theda walked onto the porch with a tray of coffee mugs. "The doctor says you men can come in now; everyone's been seen to. But I'll have to ask you to keep your voices down. We've sick people inside."
Lacy smiled. Theda was a natural.
The men accepted their cups and moved indoors. It was long after midnight, but no one seemed to want to call it a night.
Dalton crossed to sit next to Nell. She was awake enough to ask questions. The ranger quietly told her the story of all that had happened, including the part about him saving Lacy with one shot.
Nell laughed softly, but everyone in the huge room stopped and listened. The girl was coming back to them one painful inch at a time.
Sheriff Riley sat at the kitchen table visiting with the doc about Sneed. As soon as the man could be moved, he'd need to go to jail. Riley wasn't sure exactly what Sneed's crime was, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe. He wouldn't be tried as one of Whitaker's gang, since Whitaker was the one who shot him, but it didn't seem right to set him free. He'd been showing some rather strange behavior lately, including showing up in town totally nude.
Bailee came down from putting the children back to bed. She moved behind her husband's chair and touched his shoulder. He pulled her hand to him and moved his fingers over her open palm. She smiled and nodded. Without a word they walked toward the trapdoor. Bailee smiled and waved good night as they disappeared.
Walker crossed to where Lacy sat by the fire, wearing one of Bailee's gowns that was far too long for her. Without asking if she needed help, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the small bedroom.
He placed her on the bed and returned to the door. "Miss Theda," he asked with formal politeness, "would you mind if my wife and I had a few minutes alone?"
Lacy almost giggled, wondering what the captain would do if anyone refused his request.
"Not at all," Theda answered. "I've already told Timothy I'll be sitting up with the injured tonight. Please, feel free to get some sleep."
"Yeah," Dalton yelled from behind the divider. "Get some sleep."
Lacy watched Walker's face harden, then relax. "Thanks, Ranger, I think I will," he said in a none-too-friendly tone.
She heard the ranger's laughter as Walker bolted the door.
He pulled off his shirt as he walked toward the bed. But instead of going to his side, he moved to hers and lifted her feet while he pulled the covers from beneath her. For a long moment, he stared at the bandages.
"It's nothing," she answered his unasked question. "I only have a few cuts from running."
"Where else are you hurt?" he demanded, and she realized he hadn't noticed that her feet had been cut in the orchard.
"I'm fine, Walker."
His frown didn't lift. He knelt above her and began to unbutton her nightgown.
"I'm fine," she insisted. "Just a few bruises and scratches, nothing more." She stopped his hand. "I'll not be examined."
He relaxed, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled off his boots and trousers. "But, dear, you know that's one of my favorite things to do."
She laughed. In truth, he'd spent a great deal of time touching and kissing every part of her body. But tonight, she didn't want him to worry over all the bru
ises. She didn't want to relive what had happened.
"Could you just hold me tonight?"
He brushed her hair back from her face as he stretched out beside her. "If that's what you want. I'd love to."
She cuddled against his arm. "It's all over, isn't it, Captain?"
"It's all over," he whispered into her hair.
She pulled away and rose up so she could see his eyes. "You have ten days left." She didn't know how to say what needed to be said. She wanted to beg him to stay and spend the time with her, but she knew tomorrow or ten days from now, saying good-bye to him forever wouldn't be any easier.
"I've already thought about that." He watched her closely. "I thought we could go on a honeymoon. Away from people."
Lacy couldn't have been more surprised. "But why? Where?"
"Why? Because we never had one. And where, I thought maybe a little town called Cottonwood. It's calmed down since the range war, and I'd like to make right a mistake I made there."
"A mistake?"
Walker moved his hand over her shoulder and slowly down to her hip. "You see, I met my wife there, and I did the wrong thing. I made her hate me when I should have made her love me."
"I never hated you." She realized that even in the darkest hours after she'd returned, she couldn't put the blame for what happened on Walker.
"But could you learn to love me?" His fingers played with the buttons at her throat.
"Perhaps," she answered, knowing she already did.
"And would you be willing to be my wife? My real wife? Every day, every night?" He moved his hand beneath the cotton of her nightgown and touched her breast.
"I already am, but it would never work. Where would we live? I don't belong at the fort, and you could never settle down to life in Cedar Point."
He tugged her gently to him, kissing her neck. "We'll fight about it later," he whispered. "Somewhere there's got to be a compromise."
Lacy forced herself to pull away. "Captain, I want the words."
"What words?"
