Fern's pride rebelled at sharing with anyone what had passed between her and Madison, but she realized her life could depend on making Belton loathe and despise her.
"Madison came out to the farmhouse after the McCoy's party. He stayed all night."
"Bitch!" Belton screamed and struck her. "Whore!" He slapped her again.
He glared at her, his fists balled into tight knots. Fern was certain he was going to hit her again. But even as she prepared herself for the blow she felt certain was coming, a gleam appeared in his eyes. She saw his expression lighten, and then something akin to a cunning smile appeared on his face.
"You're lying. You're just trying to make me believe you've been whoring for that man so I won't touch you."
Fern saw her advantage slipping away. Praying Madison would forgive her, she said, "Shall I tell you what a man looks like when he undresses, how he looks when his body is inflamed with lust?"
"No!" Belton shouted, his eyes wild. "You're lying. You're pure." His seemed to be caught in a web of his own making, unable to touch her because she wasn't pure, unwilling to leave her alone because he hoped she still might be.
"Madison has touched my skin," Fern said, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. "Let me tell you what he said. Let me describe what he did."
"Slut!" he shouted.
Belton staggered around the room like a man wrestling with an unseen adversary.
"I wanted him to touch me," she taunted him. "I begged him to touch me all over, to--"
"Stop!" Belton screamed. He took Fern by the throat and squeezed so hard she thought he would kill her.
"Nobody knows about your loveliness but me," he shouted. "You kept it all covered up. You wouldn't let any man touch you."
He seemed to be slipping into a world of his own, one so far away Fern's taunts couldn't reach him. She had to talk, but her throat wouldn't work. A dry rasp was the only sound she could make.
Then Fern's attention focused on a faint sound coming from outside the soddy. Hoofbeats. Someone was coming at a gallop. Please, God, let it be Madison. She knew she had to distract Belton. Maybe his head was so full of his crazy thoughts he couldn't hear the rapidly approaching horse, but Fern wasn't willing to take a chance. She had to distract him. Swallowing several times, she was finally able to rasp out a few words.
"I begged Madison to touch me," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "I couldn't get enough of--"
"No!" Belton screamed. He slapped her once and had raised his hand to slap her again when Madison plunged through the doorway.
Madison struck Belton a vicious blow from behind, but he didn't go down. Screaming like a wild animal, he turned to attack Madison, his fingers curved like talons. Tangled together like two snarling beasts, they lurched around the soddy, crashing into the few pieces of furniture, until they fell through the doorway. In the greater space, Madison was able to use his boxing skills and quickly reduced Belton to staggering helplessness. One last blow sent him crashing to the ground.
"Are you all right?" Madison asked when he reached Fern's side. He began untying the ropes that bound her to the bed. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. I made him so angry he forgot he intended to rape me."
Madison finished untying Fern, and she threw herself into his arms.
"He wanted me because he thought I was pure, untouched. When I told him we had made love, he went crazy."
"He was already crazy," Madison said, holding Fern close.
"One good thing came out of this," Fern said once she was nestled securely in Madison's arms. "I got so furious I wanted to kill him. I wasn't afraid of him at all."
"I'm glad, but--"
"Madison!" Fern screamed as she jumped to her feet and pushed Madison as hard as she could. Belton stood in the yard, his gun drawn, pointing at Madison.
Wrapping his arm around Fern, Madison threw them both into the safety of the shadows. But it wasn't completely dark, and Belton charged toward the doorway, gun drawn.
Madison cursed himself for a fool. In his anxiety to reach Fern, he had failed to tie Belton up and he had laid down his rifle. His years in Boston had caused him to lose most of the survival instincts he had developed in Texas.
"Stay against the wall," Madison whispered to Fern. "I'm going to get the rifle."
"He's just outside the door. He'll see you."
"It's our only chance. He'll kill us like fish in a pond if I don't."
Gathering his muscles, Madison lunged across the space. Guns barked and bullets buried themselves into the walls of the soddy, but Madison reached the rifle. His finger had just closed on the trigger when Belton charged through the doorway, guns blazing. Belton tossed aside an empty gun, drew another from his belt, and turned toward the corner when Fern was hidden.
Madison felt a searing pain in his side. He had been hit, but he had to stop Belton. Even now his gun was pointed at Fern. Bringing his rifle level, he fired into the silhouette in the doorway.
The concussion of the rifle shot nearly deafened him.
The gun dropped from Belton's hand and an expression of incredibly agony turned his face into a twisted, horrible mask. Both hands gripped his crotch and Belton staggered backward, screaming over and over again. Stumbling, he fell and lay writhing on the ground; blood stained his pants between his legs.
Keeping a grip on his rifle, Madison helped Fern up. "It's over," he said. "He won't bother you again."
They stepped out into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. Not fifty feet away Hen sat his horse, an unused gun in his hand.
"Mighty sloppy shooting, brother. What the hell were you aiming for?" he demanded, pointing to Belton's bloody crotch.
"He caught me by surprise," Madison explained. "I guess my aim was off."
"I'm glad you were better eight years ago," Hen said, matter-of-fact. "It's probably just as well though. He'll live to stand his trial, but he won't be bothering any more women."
Fern felt something wet, warm, and sticky oozing between her fingers. She looked down to find her hand covered with blood.
"You're hurt," she cried, turning Madison so she could get a better look. She felt terribly guilty. This was the second time she'd caused him to be shot.
Madison grimaced as he twisted so he could look down at his side. "I'm either going to have to head back to Boston on the next train, or learn to shoot again."
"Boston," Fern said quite positively. "I'm not going to have you shot again."
Chapter Thirty
"Stand still," Rose scolded. "You can't get married with your dress half buttoned."
Fern studied herself in the mirror. She was wearing the second of the dresses Madison had bought her, and she didn't like what she saw. "I can't marry Madison in an everyday dress. I bet Samantha would have ordered her dress straight from one of those fancy foreign places Madison is always talking about."
Fern couldn't entirely keep her mind off the fact that Samantha and Freddy Bruce had returned to Abilene for her wedding. She knew people would make comparisons. Try as she might, she couldn't help but worry that Madison would, too.
Not that she worried he would change his mind. Despite a wound that made it very painful for him to get around, he had been positively foolish over her these last several days. Even George had commented on it. She didn't want to remember what Jeff had said. She could easily understand why people didn't always like Jeff very much.
She wasn't even sure Madison remembered Samantha was here. He hadn't had a thought for anyone but her. Fern had tried to understand it. She'd spent hours cataloging her attributes, positive and negative, and she couldn't figure out why Madison should be so crazy about her. She finally decided there was no reason. He just did, and she would have to accept it.
So she had, and she'd never felt so happy in her life.
"Madison isn't marrying Samantha," Rose said patiently. She had been calming Fern's fears all morning. "And I'm sure he won't care what you're wearing." Rose finished the buttons up the ba
ck.
"That yellow dress would have been just perfect," Mrs. Abbott moaned, "but there was a rip right through the bodice. I couldn't do a thing with it."
Mrs. Abbott hadn't creased to bemoan Fern's destruction of the dress she'd worn to Mrs. McCoy's party.
"I should have gone to Kansas City. Maybe even St. Louis. I knew there was nothing in Abilene I could wear." She had bought six dresses and decided against all of them in favor of the one Madison had bought.
"Stop worrying," Rose said, giving Fern a kiss on the cheek. "You look lovely."
"I'd have ordered a dress from Chicago if my catalogs hadn't been blown away."
"Madison would probably marry you in your pants and sheepskin vest if necessary."
"He wouldn't!" Mrs. Abbott exclaimed, horrified.
"You think so?" Fern asked hopefully.
"You've spent years hating dresses, but here you are wishing you could go shopping in half the cities of the world just to please him. Don't you think he could put up with your pants for the same reason?"
A blissful smile transformed Fern's features.
"I guess you're right. He doesn't seem to mind a thing I do."
Rose made a last-minute check on her own dress, and turned back to Fern.
"You're going to have to have more confidence in yourself."
"That's what Madison keeps saying, but it's hard. Everything feels so different it's hard to get used to."
Rose smiled. "I'm sure it is, but you'll have a wonderful time learning."
* * * * *
Fern paused at the threshold of the tiny church. Madison had had a piano brought over from the Old Fruit Saloon and the pianist was regaling the audience with a selection of Stephen Foster's most romantic tunes. She doubted "Beautiful Dreamer" was the most suitable tune for a wedding, but it exactly reflected her mood. She was living her dream, the most beautiful dream any woman could have.
At the front of the church, Madison stood waiting for her, George at his side. Just like when she'd first seen them. Hen and Jeff were there, too. They had invited the boys from Texas, but they hadn't made it in time.
"See you in a minute," Rose whispered, then started down the aisle to the front of the church. The babies were two weeks old, and Rose was her petite, trim self again.
As Fern waited for Rose to reach the altar, her gaze narrowed until she saw no one but Madison. No one else mattered today. Or tomorrow. Not ever. He was the center and the outer limits of her universe. She still found it difficult to believe she was standing in a church, mere seconds away from starting down the aisle to be married to the man who waited for her.
But it was even harder to believe it was Madison who waited.
"It's time to go," Mrs. Abbott whispered. "Now make sure you walk slow. It'll give everybody a chance to see how pretty you look."
But Fern didn't care about everybody. Only Madison. And as she started forward, it was all she could do to keep from running to him.
"Piss and Vinegar!" she muttered. "I'm crying."
* * * * *
Fern had never spoken to so many people in her entire life. They couldn't have all been in the church. It wasn't big enough. Marshal Hickok must have emptied every saloon on Texas Street. She'd have sworn she'd shaken hands with every cowhand in the state of Texas.
"Where are you going on your honeymoon?" Hen asked.
"I have to go back to Boston first," Madison said, "but as soon as I can get away, we're going to New Orleans."
"After he's shown me how proper ladies behave, he's promised to show me the improper ones," Fern said, smiling happily.
"When will we see you back here?" George asked.
"Before winter. I'll let you know."
"And what are you going to do while Madison is hard at work?" Rose asked Fern.
"Go shopping." Fern made a face. "He told me I could buy all the dresses I want."
"I also told her she didn't have to buy a single one," Madison said. "I fell in love with her in pants. I won't mind being married to her the same way."
"But I will," Fern said. "People might not say anything to me, but they'd say a lot you."
"It won't matter what anybody says."
"Yes, it will," Fern said. "I can't have you fighting half the people in Boston. It can't be that terrible to wear dresses all the time. Rose does it. But I sure wish I didn't have to find out."
Her new in-laws laughed at her.
"Madison has promised to take me to visit you in Texas. Please say I can bring my pants."
"You can bring anything you like," Rose promised, "hat, vest, or spurs. As long as you're on the Circle-Seven, you can do what you like and nobody will say a word."
Just then three riders turned the corner up the street and headed toward them at a gallop. A smile split George's face.
"Unless I'm badly mistaken, Fern, that's the rest of your in-laws."
"They're a little late," Madison said, sobering. Fern could tell he wasn't looking forward to meeting Monty.
Hen's double practically galloped his horse over the hem of Fern's dress before he threw himself from the saddle. "I rode hell-for-leather all the way from Texas."
Two boys hit the ground close behind him, one a towering beanstalk and one a spitting image of what George must have looked like at twelve or thirteen.
"I been trying to tell him he's got the wrong date," the younger one said, going straight to George, "but Monty never listens to nobody."
"You said get here the 20th," Monty said to George.
"That I did, but today's the 21st. Madison and Fern were married an hour ago."
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Monty cursed.
"This is James Monroe Randolph," George said introducing his brother to Fern. "You'll have to forgive him. He's been talking to cows so long he's forgotten how to talk to ladies.”
"Sorry, ma'am," Monty apologized, a becoming blush rising in his neck. "I'm just mad as hell at missing the wedding."
"These other two tramps are Tyler and Zac," George said. "Be especially careful of the younger one. He looks harmless, but he's as treacherous as a sidewinder."
"I am not," Zac said, stepping forward. "I like ladies, especially pretty ones."
"Now I know where William Henry gets it," Fern said to Rose.
Monty shoved his little brother aside and stepped up to Madison. "So you finally came home, you son-of-a-bitch!" Without warning he slammed his fist into Madison's jaw sending him to the ground. Then, to the amazement of his family, his scowl turned to a welcoming smile and he helped Madison to his feet. "Glad you could clear Hen's name. It had George and Rose in a stew." He looked around at the town with disfavor. "This place don't look like much. What say I bring the boys up and burn it to the ground."
"Is that how you show your brother you've forgiven him?" George asked, stunned.
"I didn't shoot him, did I?" Monty responded.
"A little rough and ready," Madison complained, massaging his chin, "but it's quick and to the point. On the whole I prefer it."
"Before you do something else crazy--" Rose started to say but stopped abruptly. Fern had stepped forward and delivered a powerful right to Monty's stomach. The air left his lungs with a loud "ufph" and he doubled over.
"Is that how you greet your brother-in-law?" Monty gasped.
"I didn't shoot you, did I?" Fern replied.
About the Author
Leigh Greenwood is the award-winning author of over fifty books, many of which have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Leigh lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. Please visit his website at http://www.leigh-greenwood.com/ .
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