by Paty Jager
“This is sad.” Maeve’s voice wavered.
“Why?”
“How old do you think Barton is? Fifty? And he has nothing. This room shows me a man who is lonely. He has no family and apparently no interest in women or a wife.” She crossed her arms. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Hope swelled in his chest. This was the first time she’d voiced thoughts of having a family.
He stepped beside her, gathering her into an embrace. Her head rested against his chest. He breathed in the scent of freshly washed hair and floral skin. He’d give anything to be able to place her on the bed and show her she would never be alone as long as he lived.
She wiped at her eyes. “So now what do we do?”
“Find out where Jack Marsh and his friends hole up.” Her body stiffened in his arms, but she nodded her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She brushed a wisp of hair off his forehead. “I know.”
He resisted the urge to kiss her, knowing once he started, he’d lose sight of what they had to do. Instead, he gave her a brief hug and captured her hand.
“Let’s go back to the Umatilla and see if we can learn more about Jack Marsh.”
****
Several hours later, Maeve followed Zeke down the street to the livery. It had taken two bottles of whiskey for the old man and two beers for she and Zeke to get the codger to tell them everything he knew about Marsh. If it hadn’t been for the holes under the counter she slid her fingers into for support, she would have never been able to keep from falling down as Zeke finally cajoled the information out of the old man.
Her head felt fuzzy. She tried hard to remember if the old codger mentioned the name of the man who’d killed Marsh’s brother. Surely, her beer-saturated brain would have picked up on her father’s name had it been mentioned.
While Zeke saddled the horses, she wandered out behind the building to find a privy. Her head buzzed, and her body didn’t quite respond to what she wanted it to do. She found the privy, stepped inside, and sat. The small building closed in around her. Warm, putrid air convulsed her stomach; she closed her eyes against the swaying door. Closing her eyes didn’t help. She leaned her head against the side of the structure to stop it from moving.
****
The horses were saddled. Zeke looked around.
Where’d Maeve go? She knew better than to wander around this town unescorted.
“You see the woman I came in here with?” he asked the boy tending the horses.
“She stumbled out back a while ago.” The boy lugged two buckets of water down the aisle.
Zeke’s heart thudded in his chest. Jacks and Jezebels. He should have paid more attention to her. She drank the beer at the Umatilla like a thirsty cowhand. And he knew she’d never tasted the drink before today.
He stepped into the open alley behind the livery and scanned the area. Nothing moved. Where could she have wandered? A moan filtered through the night air.
Zeke cocked his head.
There it was again. He moved in the direction it appeared to originate. That’s when he spotted the privy.
Standing in front of the building, he ran over the proprieties of opening the door. When another moan echoed inside the shack, he grabbed the door and yanked it open. Maeve sat on the wooden bench, her head propped against the wall. Her eyes were closed and she gulped air like an animal taking its last gasp.
“Maeve?” He reached out and shook her arm. “Maeve.”
Her eyelids slowly rose.
“Zeke. Did you find my father?” A silly grin brightened her face.
“No. We’re getting ready to ride out and find Barton.” He grasped her arms, pulling her to a standing position. She flopped against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
In her condition, he couldn’t put her on a horse by herself. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into the stable.
“She need a doc?” the stable boy asked, scurrying over as Zeke placed Maeve on his horse.
“No.” He swung up behind the drunk woman. “Hand me the reins to that horse.” When the boy complied, he nodded his thanks and urged his horse out of the building. They wouldn’t be able to travel as fast riding double, but at least he wouldn’t have to keep stopping to make sure she was still mounted.
The arm circling the rag doll woman in the saddle in front of him, rested just under her breasts. What would she do if he slid it around and—He groaned. Now wasn’t the time. He’d never take advantage or any woman in this state and especially this woman. He wanted her trust. Taking her when she was drunk wasn’t showing her any kind of trust.
“Zeke?” Her head smacked back against his chest. Lucky for him she was short enough her head didn’t hit him in the chin.
“What?”
“Do you think my father is alive?”
“It’s hard to say. Don’t think about it, just go to sleep, you’ll feel better after you rest.” He kissed the top of her head and snuggled her against him.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his arm like she hugged a puppy or a pillow. Now why couldn’t she be this clingy when she was awake?
He shook his head. No, he didn’t want a clingy, needy woman. Maeve’s independence had captured his attention. Her insistence she needed no one pushed him to prove her otherwise. If she wanted to find out the truth about her father, she needed him. Would she find a reason to slip out of his life once she had the answers? The thought squeezed his chest. He’d find the truth, and then he’d prove to her he was nothing like the man.
To find Loman they needed Barton—who was missing and presumably with Marsh. He ran a hand over his face. Hopefully the information the old man gave him and the specific directions to the whereabouts of Marsh and his group were right. He didn’t know why they had Barton. But there wasn’t any other explanation for the man’s disappearance. He couldn’t think of anyone else who would have had a reason to keep Barton from them.
Except Brendan Loman.
Chapter 12
Maeve’s stomach was about to erupt. Where was she? And why was she rocking back and forth? She opened her eyes only to clench them shut again when her head pounded harder.
“Stop,” she moaned. The rocking stopped, but her head still throbbed.
“She wakes,” the deep voice rumbled against her back.
She snapped her head around and started a spasm of pain ricocheting within its confines. The pain encouraged her stomach to heave.
Her feet hit solid ground as a hand roughly flopped her over what felt like a solid rail. She retched upon the ground between two sets of boots. Hers and Zeke’s.
His hand lightly brushed loose strands of hair away from her face. “Done?”
She nodded shakily and was rewarded with gentle hands helping her stand. Those hands also drew her backwards.
“Sit.”
The word was followed by her body being lowered to a boulder. The whooshing in her ears calmed and the sound of running water registered. Following the sound, she watched Zeke dip a black neckerchief into a stream.
He returned, handing her the wet rag. Maeve wiped her clammy face and then her mouth. He handed her a tin cup of water. She took the offer, swishing water around in her mouth and spitting before taking a long drink. Emptying the cup, she wiped her sleeve across her mouth.
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking away from his concerned gaze. How could he show concern when she’d just proven herself weak? She’d known better than to drink two glasses of beer.
Disgusted with herself, she stood. The world spun, and her knees buckled.
“Whoa!” Zeke caught her before she landed in a heap on the ground. She shoved at his hands. She hated weakness.
Tears burned in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She clenched her fists and ground her teeth. Both acts did nothing to quell the pounding in her head.
“You need to stay put.” He crouched in front of her. When she wouldn’t look at him, he
tilted her chin up. “Hey, what’s with the tears?”
He flicked the offending beads of humiliation off her cheeks with his fingers.
“Don’t be nice to me.”
His head snapped back like she’d slapped him. “Why shouldn’t I be nice to you? Because you didn’t realize how the beer would affect you?” He slid her over, taking a seat on the boulder next to her. “I’ve seen men drink less than you did and get sicker.” He placed a hand on her chin, making her look at him.
“I hate weak people.”
“Honey, you’re anything but weak.” Zeke grinned and pushed stray hairs behind her ear. His soft touch sent shivers down her neck and tightened her breasts.
She moved her head away from his hand and wished she hadn’t. The pounding grew. “I’m weak because I didn’t swap my drink with the empty glass of the man beside me like you did.”
“You saw that?” Zeke straightened and a frown creased his brow. “Do you think the old man I was questioning did?”
“He was enjoying the whiskey too much to notice. Where are we?” she asked, feeling her stomach start to convulse again.
“Following Eightmile Creek.” He followed her when she hurried away from the boulder. His strong hands held her as she emptied her stomach once more.
Zeke helped her back to the boulder and returned to the stream to wash out his neckerchief. He handed it to her along with the tin cup full of water.
“The old man said Marsh liked to hang out at Boyd. I figure if he’s got Barton, someone is bound to know.”
She swallowed the last of the water. “How do you know so much about following a person?” Ever since Barton didn’t show, Zeke had become obsessed with finding the man. And he’d shown he knew how to go about doing it.
“I’ve helped track down outlaws and murderers.” He turned away from her as if the information made him uneasy.
“Is that where you learned to kill a man?” Her soft question jolted Zeke. He didn’t want her to know about that side of him. He only wanted to show her gentleness and caring.
When he didn’t answer, she took his hand and squeezed.
“I know you would never kill someone without proper cause.”
Her conviction in him, made his toes curl. If she knew the rage that pushed him to do the unthinkable, she wouldn’t be so quick to side with him.
“That still doesn’t make it right.” He stood. “Are you able to ride your own horse now?”
Maeve handed him the tin cup and stood on wobbly legs. “I’m ready.”
Her confession about weakness was something he already knew about her. Watching her walk to her horse, his admiration for the woman went up another notch. She had more grit than half the men he’d come across in his lifetime.
He hurried up behind her, lifting her onto the saddle. “We’ll go slow, but we do need to keep moving.”
Her glassy eyes proved her head still gave her fits.
“I’ll be fine.”
Zeke filled her canteen and hung it from her saddle horn. Cool, fresh water was the only thing he had to help ease her discomfort.
He mounted his horse and continued along the stream. If they continued through the night, they would make Boyd mid morning. His plan was to scout the outlying areas and talk with anyone they came upon. The three knew who they were, and he wasn’t about to waltz into town and let them know they were followed. He didn’t have the back up of two burly men, only one feisty woman who could handle a gun. He hoped it was enough.
****
The sun started to skim the tops of the eastern hills when Zeke glanced back at Maeve. She slumped in the saddle, barely holding on. He circled his horse back to her and stopped. It wouldn’t hurt to rest the horses and let Maeve take a nap on the ground.
He slipped from his horse and drew her down into his arms. She roused enough to wrap her hands behind his neck. He spied a grassy ravine. The perfect spot for a nap. He carried Maeve and led the two horses. Dropping the reins, the horses went straight to munching on the ankle-high bunchgrass.
Zeke untied the bedroll from Maeve’s horse and spread it the best he could with one hand and a woman in his arms. Once it was on the ground, he knelt, placing her on the blanket cushioned with tender, spring grass.
He tied the horses to a couple of trees, providing enough slack for them to eat. Zeke returned to the blanket and the sleeping woman. He sat down, leaned his back against a tree, and pulled his hat over his face.
****
A nicker and the click of a hammer being pulled back on a pistol, snapped Zeke awake. Fear for Maeve rolled his body toward where she slept. The flat, rough blanket smacked his body. He shot to his feet, taking in the scene of an angry, frightened Maeve being passed between several men.
“Let go of her!” he shouted, disregarding the gun pointed at him and diving into the melee. He grasped Maeve, pushing her behind him as he backed away from the group. “Keep your hands off my wife,” he said in a low, commanding voice and stared at each man, defying them to take a step toward him. There was only one who compared to him in size. The rest were average men. But they all had guns pointed at him except for the man with long, blond hair and a sneer.
“We didn’t know she was your property,” said the unarmed man, pushing his way through the five men smirking like they were ready to take him.
Maeve took offense to being called property. It was bad enough Zeke kept calling her his wife. The men had pulled her from the blanket and a deep sleep, but she now had all her faculties working. She slipped her pistol from the holster and aimed it at the man who’d called her property.
“I’m no man’s property.” She stepped from behind Zeke and heard his exasperated sigh as she pointed the gun at the man in the front of the pack.
“That so.” The man grinned and stepped closer.
Zeke put out his arm to keep her from moving ahead of him. She shot him a sideways glance. The twitch in his jaw proved he was just a tad bit upset with her. She smiled. He had to learn she didn’t belong to anyone. Not even him. Her mother taught her a long time ago, she couldn’t rely on anyone.
“We’re just on our way to Boyd and don’t plan on causing you boys any trouble,” Zeke said, again pushing her behind him.
She shook her head, planted her feet, and kept the pistol aimed at the man, now standing half way between them and the others.
“I don’t plan no trouble.” The man spread his hands and aimed a disarming smile their way. “Fellas, put your guns away.” The men with the guns aimed at Zeke scowled, but they dropped the muzzles of their rifles to the ground.
She studied the man edging closer. He was a good ten years older than Zeke and not nearly as handsome, but still not hard to look at.
“If you aren’t looking for trouble, why did your friends handle my wife?” Zeke’s accusing tone did little to wipe the smile from the man’s face.
“They were just having a little fun.”
“Did that feel like fun to you?” Zeke turned and asked her.
She narrowed her eyes and glared at the intruder. “No, I wouldn’t call that fun.” She scanned the group gathered behind the man. They were all grinning like they were about to get a gift. She wasn’t it.
“I’m tired of every man who gets within arm’s reach, grabbing me. The next one is getting a bullet in them.” To make them see her point, she squeezed the trigger, shooting at the ground between the closest man’s feet. Everyone jumped but Zeke and the man. He just grinned broader.
“Looks like we got us a hellcat boys.” He offered his hand. “Ezra Cutter.”
She nudged Zeke to extend his hand. It was a good idea to be friends rather than foes when you were outnumbered.
“Zeke Halsey and this is my wife, Maeve,” he said, taking the offered hand.
She cringed, but knew it was in her best interest to play out the lie.
“Zeke, Mrs. Halsey.” Ezra dropped Zeke’s hand and tipped his hat to her. The man seemed cordial enough, but there was
something…
“That’s a fancy six-shooter you got there, Mrs. Halsey.” The way the man said missus sounded almost condescending.
She slid the gun into her holster, and Zeke stepped in front of her, blocking the man’s approach.
“We’ll be leaving now.” Zeke grasped her arm, moving them to the horses without taking his eyes off the group. “Untie the horses,” he told her when she bumped into her mare.
Her fingers shook as she tugged on the reins, releasing the knots Zeke had made. Holding her back straight and keeping her hand near her pistol, she handed the gelding’s reins to Zeke and swung up onto her saddle. When she was seated, Zeke swung onto his horse.
“I look forward to meeting you again,” Ezra’s voice carried to them as they urged their horses into a trot.
Her stomach churned. What if those men had been bent on more than just having fun? They could have killed Zeke without him even knowing they were there and done—she shivered. Why had Zeke stopped?
“Why were we sleeping in that ravine?” she asked, when he finally slowed his horse and twisted in his saddle to scan the trail behind them.
“You fell asleep on your horse.” Why did he always have to look so concerned? “I figured a couple hours sleep wouldn’t hurt either of us.” He fiddled with the reins in his hands. “I’m having trouble keeping you from harm.”
“There was no way you could have known those men were around. And you did fine getting us out of there.” She pulled on his reins stopping his horse beside hers. “I don’t expect you to protect me. I know I’m the only one I can depend on.”
His eyes blazed. “You don’t have to be. I should have been more vigilant.”
She put a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your caring, really I do. But I’ve had years of being on my own even when I lived with my mother. She taught me I am always on my own.”
His large, gloved hand cupped her head. “You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.” He tilted his head to keep their hats from knocking together and kissed her.
