Texas Bride: A Bitter Creek Novel

by Joan Johnston

  She hadn’t expected Harry to resist, so she didn’t have a tight grip on his arm. To her surprise and dismay, he yanked free and ran after the other two. There was no question of Miranda staying behind. She hurried out onto the back porch to watch the showdown with the bad men.

  Miranda heard Slim say, “We’ve got them covered, Jake. Go get the stock.” She was glad to see Harry standing behind Slim, protected by—yet ready to push—his wheelchair.

  “Thanks, Slim!” Jake yelled as he edged past the mounted cowboys and ran for the barn door.

  Miranda’s heart leaped to her throat when Jake disappeared inside the burning building. A moment later, neighing horses began bolting from the open barn door, followed by the bawling milk cow. Miranda held her breath, waiting for Jake to reappear.

  There was no sign of him.

  Where was he? Had a burning timber fallen on him? Why was he still in there? Was he struggling with some animal too frightened to move? Jake was going to choke to death on the thick black smoke billowing from the barn door if he didn’t come out soon.

  Miranda wanted to rush into the barn and save Jake, as she’d saved Harry all those years ago. But her feet had somehow gotten rooted to the porch, and her knees threatened to buckle if she took another step.

  Her nostrils filled with the scent of smoke, and she heard the crackling of the fire as though she was surrounded by it. All the terror, all the horror and pain and suffering and grief of that fateful night in Chicago, came flooding back. Miranda couldn’t help Jake. She couldn’t help anyone. She was literally paralyzed by the awesome power and destructive fury of the distant fire.

  Her position on the porch gave her a perfect view of the dramatic standoff. She saw Call reaching for his gun and shouted, “Watch out!”

  Everything happened very quickly after that.

  Miranda felt her knees finally give out, and she collapsed onto the porch in a heap, watching the bloody scene playing out before her in slow motion. The fight was uneven, three grown men against a crippled old man and a boy. Was there any chance Slim and Nick could win?

  Slim shot first and he shot straight. One of the cowboys fell out of the saddle without a sound, his gun dropping from his hand before he’d even raised it to fire.

  Miranda heard Slim cry out and drop his rifle, apparently shot. But how badly? She cried out in terror when Harry picked up the rifle Slim had dropped. “No, Harry!”

  She stumbled to her hands and knees and shoved herself upright, running for the little boy, who was trying to lift the heavy rifle in his skinny, four-year-old arms. “Don’t shoot!” she cried to one and all. “Don’t shoot!”

  Her words fell on deaf ears. She heard two almost simultaneous shots and saw another of the cowboys sway in the saddle and fall from his horse. Two down, she thought.

  But Call was the worst of them, and he was still in the saddle.

  Nick was crouching near Slim’s chair, his rifle wavering as he tried to aim it.

  “Nick, you’re hurt!” Miranda cried as she pulled the rifle from Harry’s hands and dropped beside Nick behind the wheelchair. She could see a dark patch on Nick’s shirt that looked like blood.

  “Just a scratch,” Nick said, wincing as he cocked the Winchester.

  “A scratch so bad you can barely hold your rifle,” Miranda snapped, angry because she was so frightened.

  “Put down your gun, boy, and you, too, bitch, and I’ll let the old man live,” Call said, aiming his Colt at Slim. “Do it now!”

  Miranda dropped the rifle she was holding where Call could see it. “Put it down, Nick,” Miranda pleaded, when her brother didn’t follow suit. Call would kill Slim without a second thought. She could see it in the cowboy’s eyes.

  “Goddamn these useless legs!” Slim raged, pounding on his thigh with his fist. “You wouldn’t be so high and mighty if I had my legs, you varmint,” he yelled at Call from his chair.

  “Shut up, old man.”

  Miranda could see tears of frustration in Nick’s eyes when he laid his Winchester on the ground. When he stood again, Miranda lifted her chin and said, “What are you going to do now? Murder the four of us in cold blood?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” Call said.

  “Think again,” a voice said from behind him.

  In the desperation of the moment, Miranda had completely forgotten about Jake. It seemed he was going to sacrifice himself to give them a chance to live. She grabbed for the rifle Nick had dropped, but she heard three shots in quick succession and knew she was too late.

  “Jake!” she cried as she rose. She turned with the rifle just as Call fell from the saddle. In the bright light of the burning barn, she saw Jake was still standing, his face black with soot, a smoking gun in his hand.

  She dropped the rifle and ran, flinging herself into Jake’s arms. “You’re safe! You’re safe! I never saw you come out of the barn. I thought you’d burned to death in there.”

  “Lucky for me, my barn is in sad need of repair,” Jake said. “I kicked a hole in the back wall and crawled out.”

  “Where did you get the gun?” Miranda asked in wonder. “I didn’t know you had a gun.”

  “I had it tucked in the back of my jeans.” He hesitated, then said, “I thought I might need it if any of the animals were too badly burned to save.”

  She turned at last to observe the three bodies on the ground. “Are they dead?”

  One of the men groaned.

  “Apparently not,” Jake said. “Stay here.” He crossed, gun in hand, to kneel by the first cowboy who’d been shot. “He’s not dead,” Jake announced, “but he’s not long for this world, either.”

  Miranda joined Jake in time to hear the cowboy say with his last breath, “Sorry about the house, ma’am.”

  Miranda wondered what he meant. It was the barn they’d set on fire. She glanced over her shoulder at the house, and felt a sense of déjà vu. The house glowed and pulsed as though it was breathing fire.

  Miranda realized the cowboys must have set the front of the house on fire at the same time they’d fired the barn, knowing everyone would leave the house from the kitchen door to try and save the barn, and that the fire would remain undiscovered until it was too late.

  All of them had been so focused on the threat from the cowboys and the raging fire engulfing the barn, they’d never noticed the fire growing larger and larger at the front of the house.

  That was the smoke she’d smelled so strongly on the back porch. Smoke from the fire at the front of the house, not smoke from the distant fire in the barn. In the next instant, Miranda realized they were not all safe. She turned to Jake and cried, “Anna Mae! I left her sleeping upstairs!”

  Miranda didn’t think, she just ran.

  “Miranda, stop!” Jake shouted after her. “The fire’s too big. Stop!”

  Both Nick and Slim grabbed at her as she passed by, but she tore free and sprinted for the back door.

  “Miranda, stop!” Nick cried. “You’ll die if you go in there.”

  “Miranda, stop!” Harry screamed. “Stop!”

  She yanked the screen door open and ran through the kitchen to the hall. She was met by a blistering conflagration, a wall of flame taller than she was. She fell backward into the kitchen, stunned by the heat. Then she saw the pail of water Nick had pumped when they’d thought all they’d have to fight was the fire. She dumped it over her head, wetting herself from hair to heels.

  Then she took a deep breath and held it as she ran. She was already scampering through the licking flames by the time she heard Jake come pounding through the kitchen door after her.

  Miranda knew if she stopped, the fire would engulf her, so she kept running until she was free of it. A moment later, Miranda realized the fire wasn’t the greatest danger.

  She couldn’t breathe. Smoke was suffocating her. The whole bottom floor of the house was thick with acrid air that burned the back of her throat. She felt her way to the bottom of the stairs, holding her wet slee
ve against her nose, gagging on smoke. She felt dizzy from lack of air.

  Miranda was giddy with relief when she found the bannister at the bottom of the stairs. She held onto it as she ran to the top. The smoke was even thicker on the second floor and she realized Anna Mae must be having difficulty breathing, too. She shoved open the door to the children’s bedroom, frightened when she heard no sound from the crib.

  “Anna Mae!” she cried. “Anna Mae!”

  The child was balled up in a corner of her crib with a blanket pulled over her head. For a moment, Miranda thought the little girl was dead. She pulled the cover away slowly, and discovered a pair of wide, frightened eyes staring up at her.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  The little girl scrambled to her feet and threw herself into Miranda’s open arms. Miranda quickly wrapped a blanket around the trembling child to keep her safe from the smoke and fire and pulled her close. “We’re going downstairs now, sweetie. Close your eyes and hold on tight, and we’ll be outside before you know it.”

  Miranda left the bedroom and hurried to the landing at the top of the stairs. That was as far as she got. Fire had snaked its way down the front hall and engulfed the stairs.

  There was no way out.

  Jake had spent his life making painful choices in a land where every decision had life-and-death consequences. When he’d seen how the fire raged through the house, he’d known the chances of rescuing Anna Mae were small. But he had to try. He loved his daughter, and she was all he had left of Priss.

  He’d yelled for Miranda to stop, because if there was any risk to be taken, he would be taking it. If there was any saving to be done, he’d do the saving. Or die trying.

  But Miranda hadn’t hesitated. She was gone before he could stop her, running into a burning house to save a child that wasn’t even her own flesh and blood.

  “That fool woman! She doesn’t have the sense God gave a grasshopper,” Jake muttered as he raced after her. He caught up to Nick and Harry, who were running for the kitchen door, too, and grabbed each boy by an arm.

  Nick yelped and said, “My arm!”

  Jake let him go. “You were shot?”

  “I’m okay,” Nick said, cradling the wounded arm. “We have to save Miranda.”

  “You boys stay out here and take care of Slim. I’ll go get your sister.”

  “I can’t believe she ran in there,” Nick said, tears streaking the soot on his face. “She’s scared to death of fire!”

  Yet, she’d run into a burning house anyway. Jake marveled at the courage of the woman he’d married. He went down on one knee and put an arm around each boy and pulled them close enough to smell the smoke on their shirts and the stench of fear in their sweat.

  He looked first at Nick, then at Harry, and said, “Do you trust me?”

  Each nodded in turn.

  “Then believe me when I say I’m going to get both of our girls out of that house. Alive. Now go take care of Slim.”

  He gave them each another quick hug, then jumped up and ran for the house. He expected to find Miranda trapped in the kitchen, because the fire seemed to have consumed the front half of the house. He was praying the hall wouldn’t yet be blocked by fire. If it was, he would have to think of some other way of getting to Anna Mae’s bedroom. Maybe he could use the ladder to climb up to the bedroom window, if that side of the house wasn’t already on fire.

  First, he had to get Miranda out of the house.

  Smoke filled the kitchen and he could hardly see a foot in front of his face. “Miranda!” he called. “Where are you?”

  He’d made it halfway across the kitchen when he caught sight of Miranda—her hair plastered to her scalp and her clothes soaking wet—running straight into a wall of flames.

  His heart clutched with fear, and he was robbed of breath. He gasped, but there was no oxygen to be had. He dropped to the floor, looking for air that wasn’t full of smoke. He found enough to fill his lungs and lurched toward the hallway.

  He was met by a searing wall of flame that stretched high over his head, reaching out to lick at the paint on the kitchen walls, curling it into ashy feathers that flew into the air, making it even more difficult to breathe.

  “Miranda!” he shouted again. He could barely hear himself over the sound of the roaring flames and the crash of falling timbers as the wooden beams in the front of the house fell, eaten away by the fire.

  Jake saw the empty bucket by the pump and thought about wetting himself down, as Miranda obviously had, and following her into the fire.

  He couldn’t make himself do it. He would have given his left arm to save her. But a fire didn’t take parts of bodies. It stole entire lives. He couldn’t help Miranda if he got himself burned to death in the fire. He had to find another way to rescue her.

  If she’d made it up the stairs, she would head for Anna Mae’s bedroom. He stumbled back out of the smoky kitchen to the back porch and started around the side of the house toward his daughter’s room.

  The boys came running toward him.

  “Where is she?” Nick cried.

  “Where did you leave the ladder the last time you used it?” Jake asked.

  “I put it away in the barn, like you told me,” Nick said.

  Both of them looked toward the barn. The barn, and the ladder inside it, had been consumed in a ball of fire. Jake brushed at the cowlick on Nick’s head and said, “Good boy.”

  Jake realized he wasn’t going to be using a ladder to climb up to Anna Mae’s window. “Stay with Slim,” he ordered.

  “I want to help!” Nick said.

  “You can help by staying with Slim,” he said grimly. He didn’t want Nick to hear his sister’s screams, if Miranda was trapped in Anna Mae’s room and the fire came hunting her.

  And he didn’t want anyone to see his face when he discovered whatever was waiting for him around the side of the house. Would Anna Mae’s room be filled with flames?

  Jake held his breath as he turned the corner. The air whooshed out of him in relief when he saw the upper window was still intact, not blown out by the heat of the fire, as the windows had been on the front of the house. He hoped she’d made it up the stairs. He hoped she’d had made it all the way to Anna Mae’s room, and that his daughter was still alive when she got there.

  “Miranda!” he shouted. “Come to the window! Miranda, open the window! Can you hear me? Open the window!”

  There was no answer. He doubted she could hear him over the noise of the fire. He found a rock that Miranda had used to edge her rose garden, where deer had eaten away all the buds before the roses could bloom, and heaved it as hard as he could at the window twenty-five feet above him.

  The window exploded as the rock sailed through it.

  A moment later, Miranda’s face appeared in the hole he’d made in the glass. She held a bundle in her arms.

  She set the bundle aside, carefully shoved the window open wide and called down to him, “Anna Mae is fine. But we’re trapped, Jake. The fire is blocking the stairs. Go get the ladder—”

  “The ladder was in the barn.”

  “Oh, no!”

  Jake surveyed the side of the house, looking for any way Miranda could climb down the side of the house. There were no footholds he could see. The fire was moving fast. The fierce heat was already peeling off what little paint was left on the side of the house.

  He gauged the distance from the window to the ground and said, “Throw Anna Mae down to me.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” she said.

  “Do what I tell you!” he shouted. “Throw my daughter down to me and do it now!”

  “Don’t you yell at me, Jacob Creed!” she shouted back.

  “Please, Miranda. Do it.” He held his arms out, so she would have a place to aim. He could see her talking to Anna Mae, watched her wrap the blanket more securely around his daughter, and then lean out the open window with the bundle in her arms.

  “Here she comes. Don’t drop her, Jake.”
<
br />   “Let her go. I’m ready.”

  Anna Mae screamed all the way down.

  Jake was unnerved by his daughter’s wail of terror but forced himself to stay focused and calm. The window seemed a terrifying height above the ground. He kept his eyes on the wriggling bundle and lunged at the last moment, catching her just before she hit the ground.

  He pulled her close and hugged her tight, then pushed the blanket away so he could see her face, to assure himself she was all right. “Daddy, I fell,” she whimpered.

  “You sure did. But you’re fine now.” He wrapped Anna Mae tightly in her blanket and set her at the base of the nearby well, where she’d be safe from the fire. “Sit right there, honey, and don’t move.”

  When he turned around, his heart nearly pounded out of his chest. He could see a glow beyond the bedroom window. Anna Mae’s bedroom was on fire.

  He focused his gaze on Miranda, who was still leaning out the window and yelled, “Your turn, sweetheart. Jump!”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I want to, but I can’t.”

  “Come on, Miranda. If you can run through fire, you can jump out a window. It’s easy. Come on, jump!”

  She shook her head, then stared back over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide with fright. “I can’t. I love you, Jake.”

  He realized she was saying good-bye to him. It seemed she was more terrified of falling than she was of the fire. But the fire wasn’t close enough yet to burn her. When it was, it might be too late. He had to convince her to jump now!

  “Miranda Creed, if you don’t obey me, I swear I’m going to come in there and get you.”

  “You can’t, Jake. The fire—”

  “Fire or no fire,” he roared. “I love you, Miranda. And I’m not about to lose you and our baby this way. Get your pretty little butt out that window! Now!”

  He heard a voice calling his name and turned to find Nick leading Call’s horse toward him. Slim was following behind, half wheeling himself and half being pushed by Harry.

  “Slim and Harry and I had an idea how to get Miranda down from Anna Mae’s room,” Nick said excitedly. “You can stand on the saddle, and Miranda can tie some sheets together and hang them out the window and crawl over the sill and drop into your arms. It’s perfect!”