Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  She bit her lower lip. That was something she hadn’t thought of. She was depending on those women to work for her. “How do the girls get away with it?”

  “There’s another saloon in town run by that Italian fellow. He won’t sell whiskey—outright anyway—and his girls will present themselves as dancers, card dealers, bar girls.”

  “I’ll have to see them soon. See if they want to stay and help in the kitchen.”

  He stopped in his tracks, pulling back on her hand. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. You shouldn’t associate with Molly’s girls. I’ll see them for you and let you know. It’ll work out, if you don’t try to fly too high too soon.”

  “I know patience isn’t one of my virtues. God is always telling me to wait, and I’m always chomping at the bit.”

  “Well that only hurts you. Ask any horse.”

  They both laughed and continued walking. Lightning bugs sparked here and there. It would be nice to sit on the porch awhile. “Is it going to take you and Tom long to reupholster that buggy?”

  “Over an hour, maybe two.”

  They stopped at her front steps. The night air filled with nocturnal creatures tuning up their orchestra. “You’ll have to go home in the dark, and there’s only a sliver of moon tonight.”

  “I’ll be all right. Max knows his way home in the dark.”

  “All the same, you be careful.”

  “I will, good-night.” He squeezed her hand, and she watched until the shadows swallowed him.

  After closing the door behind her, she looked around for Henry, but he was gone. Doubtless prowling tonight as tomcats were wont to do. Nothing kept her from going to bed, but the prospect repelled her. What if the nightmare returned? She decided she’d read the Bible. There was a sudden need to grid herself for the night ahead.

  She read from the Sermon on the Mount and quickly found herself in prayer, her focus on Rhyan. What was keeping him from believing? Using Jesus’s yardstick, no one could measure up, and He was blunt about what one should do. If your hand caused you to sin, cut it off. If it was your eye causing the problem, pluck it out.

  She’d read those words many times before without understanding. Now she did. Ridding yourself of anything that might keep you from salvation was preferable to hell. What was keeping Rhyan from seeing the truth? His money? Jesus had told the rich young ruler to give away his possessions. No, Rhyan had no greed. He used his money for good, employed hundreds of people, gave liberally to those in need. Was it his appearance? No, he wasn’t vain, in fact, he didn’t even like his looks.

  The answer came clearly. His mind? Yes, that was it. His intelligence and knowledge were stumbling blocks. It caused him to accept the logic of the natural world instead of searching for God with faith. What should she pray? That he lose his mind? Surely not. A picture of Rhyan being reduced to an idiot repelled her. Yet maybe it would be temporary. After all, the Apostle Paul had lost his sight, but only temporarily. A bump on the head or a fever could render Rhyan senseless for a short time.

  What was she thinking of? Of course she didn’t want that to happen. In the end, all she could do was pray for God’s will to be done.

  A noise coming from the porch alerted her. Probably Henry wanting in. Reluctantly, she got up from her prayers. Why would Henry come to the front door? Normally he scratched at the back. As she approached the door, it shook with a loud knock, followed by a familiar male voice. “Carianne, let me in.”

  Rhyan? For a moment she was stunned. She’d been praying for him so fervently, it was as if she’d conjured him up. She opened the door a crack to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  “Pease let me in…theresh two men after me. Shey’ll kill me.” Rhyan swayed before her, the smell of whiskey making her recoil. She stared, befuddled. Rhyan never drank more than a little wine at dinner.

  He braced himself against the door frame. “Pleash.”

  Doubts argued in her head for a scant second before she swung the door open on whining hinges and pulled him inside. After a quick glance up and down the street to make sure no one followed him, she closed the door, bolting it.

  Rhyan slumped on the sofa, head in hands. She sat beside him. “What men? Why are you drunk?”

  He turned his head to look at her through blood-shot eyes. “Drunk? I never can hide anyshing from you, honey.”

  He was clearly out of his mind. “Lie down.” She pushed him back against an embroidered pillow. “I’m going to get Colt. He’s still at the livery.”

  She started to get up, but he grabbed her arm. “No, don’t leave me. I almosh shot a man in the back.” He gulped a couple of breaths. “If my hansh hadn’t been shaking so bad, I would’ve. What’s shappening to me?”

  “I don’t know, but we need help. I’ll be right back.”

  “No.” He tried to get up but she pushed him back down. He was too weak to resist. “I shank I’m dying, Carianne, I don’t want to die alone.”

  “You’re not dying. I’ll be back shortly.” She broke away and raced to the door.

  Outside, she shrank back from the darkened street and sent a glance over her shoulder to Rhyan’s prostrate form. Dear Lord, what to do? I can’t leave him.

  The Lord sometimes answered quickly. The Miller’s boy, Tommy, came running past her yard. She knew he often ran errands for old Mrs. Yancy down the street. “Tommy,” she yelled, and he came to a skidding stop.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I have an emergency. Please go to the livery and tell Colt Holliman to come here fast. It’s very urgent. Don’t dawdle, please. I need him to come now.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do it.” Tommy ran off.

  Throwing up a prayer of thanks, she went back inside. She had no idea what she’d do if the men who were pursuing Rhyan showed up. For that matter, she didn’t know what she could do with him.

  She’d seen drunkenness before. An old man lived in the tenement building where she and Aunt Jewell lived. He had a habit of stumbling down the stairs every Friday night. She’d felt sorry for him and had even more sympathy for his wife.

  Rhyan wasn’t a drunkard. In all the time she’d known him, he’d drunk nothing stronger than a shot of brandy. What possessed him to do this?

  She pulled his legs up onto the sofa so he could lie flat. His chest rising and falling as if he labored for breath frightened her. She took his hand. “Colt is coming. He’ll know what to do.” She hoped he would, because she certainly didn’t. Anxiety churned her stomach and kept her fingers trembling as she took his tie off and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

  He opened his eyes and moved his head as if trying to bring her into focus. “I’ve missed you, Carianne.”

  The words made her want to weep. “I’ve missed you too.”

  “You know I had to tell you to leave. I didn’t want to.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” He tried to get up, but his features congealed in pain, and he fell back against the pillow, color draining his face. His bruised ribs must still hurt.

  A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped. Could it be Colt? This fast? Or was it the men chasing Rhyan?

  “Carianne, it’s me.” Colt’s muffled voice gave flight to her feet. Unbolting the door, she flung it wide and pulled him in.

  He sent a startled look from her to Rhyan. “What’s he doing here?” He went straight to the sofa.

  Carianne came up behind. “He said…he’s intoxicated.”

  “I can see that.” Colt squatted down beside Rhyan. “Hey buddy, what’s happened to you?”

  She marveled at Colt’s calm control. She’d wanted to jump up and down with agitation, go screaming into the night, run and hide somewhere. Now Colt’s voice quieted her nerves. “He said there are two men after him. They want to kill him.”

  “It’s Velford and Falcon. They say I sheated ‘em. I pulled the gun on ‘em,” Rhyan managed to say. “I didn’t fire, but I came close.”

&n
bsp; He said he was going to shoot them,” Carianne said.

  Colt took Rhyan’s gun from its holster, broke it and checked the chambers. He snapped it back in place and sniffed the muzzle. “It’s not been fired.”

  Rhyan raised up on one elbow. “I told you I didn’t. They want—” He grimaced and closed his eyes.

  “I know what they want,” Colt said, rising. He pulled a number of bills from his pocket, then searched Rhyan’s pockets, taking out a couple more bills. “For a rich man, you never have any cash.”

  “I have money,” Carianne said. If that was all that was needed, they could have it all.

  “You do?”

  “I’ll get it.” She flew to her bedroom, coming back within seconds with a large roll of bills.

  Colt counted it all. “This should do it. They claim they were fired without being given their promised back pay. This should be enough to convince them to leave town.”

  He stuffed the money in his pocket and placed the gun on a side table. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If anyone tries to get in here, you take that gun and use it, all right?”

  “Shouldn’t you take it?”

  “No, I couldn’t fight those gun slingers. I’ll be safer unarmed.”

  She walked with Colt to the door. “What about Rhyan? Why did he do this?”

  “I don’t know. He isn’t used to drinking much, so we’ll hope it’s just a case of not being able to hold his liquor. You might try making him drink some coffee.”

  “You be careful.” She sent the request after him and locked the door, then made for the kitchen.

  What bothered Rhyan was more powerful than the liquor. No time to think about that now—or to make fresh coffee. She shook the pot, gratified to hear it slosh. Cold, but it’d have to do.

  “Carianne,” Rhyan called out in a strangled voice. She poured cold coffee in a mug, wet a tea towel, and rushed back to his side.

  “I’m here, try to drink this.” She held the mug to his lips, but he clamped them shut and turned his head. “Please, Colt says it’ll help.”

  Those dark eyes smoldered as if he probed into her soul. He accepted a small sip, and she put her hand under the back of his neck to steady him. She continued to force the coffee into his mouth until it dribbled down the sides of his mouth.

  “No more.” It was barely a whisper.

  She mopped the liquid from his chin with the moistened towel.

  “Carianne, I’m going to die.”

  “Stop saying that.” He wouldn’t, would he? She knew men had died from drinking too much, but he was young and healthy. Still, he looked so pale his beard showed through the whiteness of his skin. Please God, don’t let him die.

  “If I’d shot that man, they’d hang me, wouldn’t they?” he asked.

  What a question. Shooting an unarmed man in the back with a roomful of witnesses…that was possible. “But you didn’t.”

  “They’ll come after me and kill me, or I’ll kill them and get hanged. Either way—” His voice quavered. Broke off. Choked up.

  How could he’ve done something this stupid? Rhyan wasn’t a stupid man, and finding the gold had solved his money problems. He’d admitted that. Hadn’t he planned to go to San Francisco and start a new life? What had possessed him to do such a thing?

  The word “possessed” struck out like a coiled snake in her mind. The connation suggested evil influence, but what other explanation could make a man get drunk and fight men who might kill him. “Stop talking about dying. You have everything to live for, and Colt will settle with those men.”

  “I have nothing,” he said. “Do you think I’ll go to hell?”

  He was only rambling as drunk men did. Talking out of his head. Even as she tried to reassure herself, she sensed the lion, staring with demon eyes, circling them. “You don’t have to. God doesn’t want you to go to hell.”

  “He’s given up on me.” Rhyan struggled to lift his head and rubbed his mouth with the knuckles of his fist. “Think I’m dying now.”

  She realized he was going to throw up and rushed to the kitchen to grab the first basin she found, returning just in time. She held his head as he retched up the foul smelling whiskey over and over again.

  Finally he fell against the pillow. She gazed at his handsome features, taunt with pain, and her heart broke.

  His stomach had to be empty, and surely it was good he’d thrown up all that poison. She took the basin to the back door and threw it out, basin and all.

  Scurrying back to his side, she crouched down and wiped his face, watching for any signs of improvement. There were none yet. The pulse in his neck was racing and his black damp hair stood out starkly against his wet forehead. She brushed the hair back and found him cold. She longed to hold him, give him her warmth as he’d done for her out on the prairie.

  How happy she’d been that night. He hadn’t taken advantage of her, and she’d taken that as proof he loved her. And he had. But love had slipped away so suddenly, she’d not seen it happening.

  She hadn’t realized she was weeping until a teardrop fell on his face. Lord, please help us. Don’t let Satan win. Do what you must to reach this man. I love him, but there’s nothing I can do.

  A tinge of color returned to his face, and she realized he’d fallen asleep, his breathing less labored. She hovered to assure herself it wasn’t a trick of the light. Some force compelled her to press her lips to his, so lightly she barely touched him. “I’ll always love you,” she whispered.

  Sitting on the floor beside him, she held his hand. For how long, she couldn’t tell. Time ceased to exist as she prayed, stopping only to wipe his brow.

  A rap at the door alerted her Colt had returned.

  Almost reluctantly, she rose to let him in. Rhyan would now be taken from her, and it was unlikely she’d ever have a chance to be with him, to touch him so intimately, again.

  Colt answered her questioning glance. “I paid them off and they’ve left town.” He stooped over Rhyan and slapped his face to wake him. “Time for us to go home, buddy.” He helped Rhyan stand. “I found your horse. You think you can stay in the saddle?”

  Rhyan nodded, tottering and staring at the floor. He let Colt assist him, while Carianne held the door.

  He didn’t even glance her way.

  She watched them mount the horses and leave. Closing the door, she went to her bedroom to prepare for what little sleep the night held.

  Tomorrow she’d visit Brother Hal and ask him to probe into Rhyan’s spiritual state.

  Chapter 22

  Every tick of the clock sent a jab of pain through Rhyan’s head. He flipped the pages of the report he held and began reading the pages again. If he read it enough, it was bound to make sense. If the clock would stop its infernal ticking. Why couldn’t they make a clock that didn’t tick?

  Disgust got the better of him as he leaped from his chair to rip the clock off the wall. He took it into the bathroom, then returned, closing the door behind. Sitting back down, he tried to focus on the words that swam before his eyes.

  Sharp rapping stabbed through his brain, and he looked up to find Colt standing in the entrance. “Can I see you a minute?”

  Rhyan threw the paper down and pointed to a chair standing against the wall. Colt plopped it with a loud thud in front of the desk and straddled it. Rhyan grabbed his head with both hands.

  “Headache?”

  If it were possible to throw something at Colt without making more noise, he’d have done so. “Yes, you’ll be pleased to know it’s pounding, so I’m paying for my sins.”

  “I’m not particularly pleased,” Colt said. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I’m working.”

  “Don’t you have a perfectly good office downstairs off the library?”

  “I do, but can’t I choose where I want to work?”

  “Suppose so.” Colt gripped the back of his chair. “I talked to the sheriff about the incident last night. He’s going to send out a wire to
all law enforcement in the state. Welford and Falcon are going to be turned out of every town, and if they return, they’ll be arrested on sight and charged.”

  “Charged with what?”

  “Threatening to kill a prominent businessman. It did cost you five hundred dollars, though, and you owe Carianne four hundred and eight-five of it.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” Rhyan said. “Thanks for helping me last night.”

  “What are friends for? By the way, you and I both know if your name wasn’t Rhyan Cason, you’d be in jail yourself right now.”

  “Why?”

  “You took a firearm into the saloon and drew on an unarmed man. Why did you take a gun in there? As I recall, you were the one who insisted on the rule that firearms weren’t allowed in the saloon.”

  “I forgot,” Rhyan said, then to change the subject, and because he really wanted to know, added, “I hear Carianne went ahead and bought the saloon.”

  “That’s right. Molly has to be out by the fifth of next month.”

  “So you approve of Carianne turning the saloon into a theater?”

  “If that’s what she wants…and a library. And in time, a rodeo.”

  Maybe that was for the best after all. If Colt didn’t care about Carianne getting involved in a business venture, it must mean he thought she’d have to support herself. Which meant he didn’t expect to support her himself. “You’re going to continue seeing her?”

  “Definitely. I intend to ask her to marry me.”

  Rhyan forced himself not to flinch, knowing Colt was looking directly at him. “Well, I guess it could work out.”

  “I don’t know that she’ll accept me, but if she does, it doesn’t mean she has to give up her dreams.”

  “No? How is she to have time to be a wife? What if she has children?”

  Colt laughed. “As to children, you know Ma would be happy to help out, and I don’t think Carianne is the type of wife who’ll be content to sit around with needlepoint.”

  Rhyan combed his finger through his hair, trying to at least give the appearance of disinterest. “You surprise me. I figured you for the type who’d want your wife to stay home.”