Frontier Secrets

by Anna Zogg

  Rhett told him to meet him at the back of the house. There, they could access Ellie’s room. Once inside, they could rush Bartow. When Blade entered, one of them would break away and attack him.

  After Ellie and the others were safe and the house secured, they could hole up and decide what the next course of action would be.

  Pete nodded.

  Rhett rose. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “The bleeding won’t stop,” Mrs. Johnson worried aloud about her husband.

  With shaking fingers, Ellie tore more strips of fabric to use to staunch the men’s wounds. They were running low. All the while, her mind frantically searched for a way to end this nightmare.

  Nearby, Guy watched with an expression of mild amusement. He leaned against the large table in the room as he bit into slice of bread, slathered with jam. Several times he had made snide comments about nature taking its course—giving up on Will and letting him die. Then apparently changing his mind, Guy started admonishing her to hurry to finish up before the preacher returned. Unless she didn’t mind getting married in a bloody dress.

  Her heart froze at the thought. She could not think about being his wife—had not considered that possibility—when she said “yes” to him.

  “Cookie needs to be stitched,” Ellie told the woman. “If you apply pressure to Will’s leg, I’ll tend to him.”

  Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Your uncle needs help first.”

  Guy snorted, probably because the housekeeper did not yet know that Will was Ellie’s father.

  “I cannot tend to him while worrying about Cookie.” She indicated that Mrs. Johnson should take over caring for the ranch owner. “Press here. Hard.”

  As soon as Mrs. Johnson did as she bade, Ellie rose and wiped her hands.

  “Where you going?” Guy stepped in her way.

  “To my room. I need my medical supplies. And more fabric.”

  “Oh no you don’t. You’ll disappear out the window.”

  She planted one fist at her hip. “Do you really think I’d leave now?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Besides,” she added through clenched teeth, “it’s the middle of the night. Where would I go?”

  “Okay, but to make sure you don’t...” He pulled out his gun and aimed it at her father’s head. “Leave the door open so I can see you.”

  Gulping, she went into her room. Ellie knew exactly where her bag was, but she needed to stall so that she could put a candle in the window. The idea struck her to pull down the curtains.

  “What’re ya doing in there?”

  “Getting more material. For bandages.” She dared not meet his gaze or Guy would know she was up to something.

  After she removed the curtains, she lit a candle, then pretended to search for the items she needed.

  “What’s taking so long?” The distinct click of the gun’s hammer filled her with terror. Guy would have no qualms about ending Will’s life.

  Taking a deep breath, she set the candle on the windowsill then marched to the doorway of her bedroom. “Stop distracting me with your yammering. How do you expect me to find anything?”

  She was taking an awful chance, challenging him like that.

  His mouth settled into a hard line, then he unexpectedly uncocked his gun and holstered it with a chuckle. “I like a plucky woman. We’re gonna get along just grand.”

  The reminder of his marriage plans sent a shaft of fear through her. She would not—could not—dwell on that.

  Ellie soon retrieved her bag and carried it and the fabric back into the main room. But she left the candle. As she crouched before Cookie, she could see the flickering flame, reflecting off the glass.

  Would Rhett notice it in time?

  “Please, God...” she whispered as she retrieved her astringent powders to deaden Cookie’s pain. “Please help.”

  The older man’s gaze met hers. He whispered back, “Amen.”

  Working as quickly as was wise, she stitched Cookie’s head. Her gaze kept returning to the candle, but when she realized Guy watched her, she forced herself to stop.

  “There. I just need to bandage your wound.” After nicking the edge of the curtain fabric with small scissors, Ellie tore the material into long strips. Soon she bound Cookie’s head. All the while, she was aware of the three people who stared at her while she worked.

  Mrs. Johnson was about to leave her post by Will’s side when Ellie shook her head. “Wait. I need to tear more bandages.”

  “I’ll do that. You care for Will.”

  They traded places.

  Pressing her hand to his wound, she studied her father. “How’re you doing?”

  Skin gray, he could only manage a faint smile. Under her fingertips, his pulse raced. His symptoms indicated that he would die if she didn’t do something drastic soon.

  “Get my pillow,” she directed Mrs. Johnson, glaring at Guy to keep him from challenging her. “And blankets. We need to lie him down.”

  The woman was soon back with the items. They maneuvered Will so that his legs were propped up. Mrs. Johnson covered his torso with the quilt, then rolled the smaller blanket for under his neck.

  With care, Ellie cut the material from around his wound while Mrs. Johnson tried to keep pressure on it.

  “Light.” Ellie squinted at the ragged hole. “I need more light.”

  The woman again complied, bringing a candle.

  “Better.”

  But as she peered past the woman, her heart stopped. Mrs. Johnson had grabbed the lighted candle from inside her room. The door stood ajar, revealing a dark room.

  Ellie gulped. No candle meant no signal. He wouldn’t know she needed him. I can’t think of that right now. Her father’s life hung in the balance.

  After she cut away the pants material, she felt around his thigh, but could not find an exit wound. That meant the bullet was still lodged in his leg. The powders she’d used on Cookie would do no good because of the unstemmed flow of blood. She had to remove the bullet. Breathing hard, she plunged her fingers into the wound. Spasming, Will let out a loud groan.

  “Hold him,” Ellie commanded.

  Cookie scooted across the floor to assist his wife.

  Tension engulfed Ellie as she searched for, then found, the hard, jagged metal. Grunting in disgust, she dropped it to the floor. After making certain no fabric from his pants remained in the wound, she washed away the gore, then sprinkled the powder liberally. Working quickly, she placed a large compression bandage on his injury, held in place by long cloth strips around his leg.

  Exhaling in relief, she sat back on her heels. The older couple met her gaze. Cookie gave her a small nod. “You done good, miss.”

  “I hope so,” she managed to whisper.

  Guy’s raucous laughter broke the silence. “Yeah, you done real good, Ellie. But what’s the point if he’s gonna die anyway?”

  She glared at him. “We all die. But God decides when and where. Not you.”

  He snorted.

  With shaking limbs, she rose. Brushing by Guy, she washed her hands and forearms in the basin by the kitchen. Ellie had just dried them when the sounds of footsteps on the porch made her blood run cold. Was Whitey back already? She had been so intent on Will, she had not heard the horses.

  “Time for a wedding.” Guy winked at her, then turned as two men entered the house.

  Blade came in, expression stony. Behind him, with his head lowered, a man in a coat and hat followed. The preacher? Her befuddled brain told her Pastor Charles looked different. This man seemed too tall. Were her nerves so frazzled that she was seeing things?

  Feeling faint, Ellie grabbed a cloth and rubbed at the bloodstains on her gown. God, please do something. I can’t marry Guy. With renewed vigor, she scrubbed a red splotch. She was so intent on
her task that she didn’t even look up when the back door slowly opened.

  “Dietmeyer?” The foreman barked. “What’re ya doing in here? You’re supposed to be—”

  “Guy, it’s a trap!” Blade swiveled, then grappled with the man behind him.

  Someone charged by Ellie, knocking her against the wall. She shrieked.

  Guy was reaching for his gun when the newcomer rammed into him. Together they rolled on the floor, smashing against chairs and knocking over a bench. Blade and the preacher were also fighting.

  Rushing to her father, Ellie covered him with her body. The struggling men grunted and yelled. The sound of splintering wood and shattering porcelain filled the room. When a shot rang out, she screamed.

  In an instant, the room grew quiet.

  When she raised her head, she fought to take in the sights around her.

  Huddled on the floor, the Johnsons clung to each other. Across the room, Guy lay unconscious, sprawled across a broken chair. Several feet from him, a man who seemed familiar stood over Blade. Prostrate on the floor, he slowly raised his hands as he stared at the gun pointed squarely in his face.

  But the man who held the gun riveted her attention.

  “Rh-Rhett?”

  He didn’t move while his companion bound Blade’s hands. When Rhett finally looked her direction, Ellie shivered at the expression on his face. One other time she had seen that look—when he had crouched on the overturned stagecoach.

  Relief and residual fear bubbled up inside her. She clapped one hand over her mouth as she burst into tears.

  The Johnsons drew closer and put their arms about her. Ellie shook her head, trying to let them know she was all right, but she was too distraught to speak. By the time she gathered herself, both Blade and Guy were tied up. When Rhett’s companion turned, she realized who it was—Pete, the stagecoach driver. But his face and hair appeared blackened with soot. He guarded a collection of weapons, arms crossed as he glared at his prisoners.

  When Rhett turned to her, his face relaxed. She saw a welcoming, eager smile that she had learned to love.

  She rushed into his arms. For the longest time—though not nearly enough—he merely held her.

  When she pulled back her head, all she could say was, “You came.”

  A small smile graced his lips. “I saw the flickering candle. Didn’t you tell me that was the sign?”

  “Yes, but how...?” She shook her head, unable to comprehend how he had arrived so quickly. And how he had subdued Guy’s men.

  “Explanations must wait.” Rhett gripped her shoulders. “Whitey will be arriving any minute. We need to be ready.”

  How did Rhett know? Through fresh tears, she merely nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

  “You, all three of you,” he said, pointing to her and the Johnsons, “get into Ellie’s room. After Whitey arrives—”

  “I won’t leave my father out here.” Ellie lifted her chin.

  Rhett’s eyebrows rose. After studying her face, he nodded as though her announcement was the most natural thing in the world.

  “We’ll carry him to your room. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes.” The escaping word was barely above a whisper, she was so overcome with emotion. “Let me prepare the bed.” She grabbed the still-lit candle.

  In moments, she was ready.

  The three men carried Will, then stepped back so that Ellie could make him comfortable. Mrs. Johnson joined them, crowding into the room.

  “Stay in here,” Rhett instructed them. “No matter what happens in the next room.”

  Retreating, he and Pete shut the door behind them. Ellie sat beside her father on the bed, holding his hand. Under his waxen skin, he appeared to have regained some color, but his eyes remained closed.

  From the other room, she heard furniture scraping the floor, then what could only be a body being moved. Blade began to curse, but the sound abruptly stopped. A muffled growl soon followed, indicating that they had gagged him.

  “The foreman stays,” Rhett’s voice commanded behind the door. “Lock Blade in the root cellar. And make certain the bunkhouse door is still barricaded.”

  Blade’s muted profanity faded and the kitchen door banged. After a few minutes, Ellie again heard Rhett speaking to his friend. “Let’s put Bartow in front of the fireplace, back to the door.”

  Shuffling sounds and grunts of exertion ensued until the room grew quiet.

  Were they now ready for Whitey?

  For many tense minutes, Ellie merely listened, the Johnsons’ scared eyes staring back in the shadowy room. She gasped at the sound of horse hooves. Two sets? Or more?

  Scarcely able to breathe, she waited. The riders slowed as they reached the house.

  “Go in.” Whitey’s gruff voice ordered from outside.

  Reluctant feet climbed the steps, then the door banged open.

  “He’s here, boss.” Whitey’s voice grew louder.

  Footsteps moved into the room.

  “Boss? I said...hey!”

  Another tussle ensued. From the sounds, it didn’t take long for Rhett and Pete to overpower Whitey.

  Another voice arose, that of Pastor Charles. “Would someone please explain what is going on?”

  Murmuring voices followed, then the bedroom door opened. Rhett’s visage appeared. He motioned for Ellie to come out, but she shook her head. “I’m not leaving my father.”

  His smile let her know he understood the double meaning. But did Rhett understand she couldn’t let him go either?

  Holding out her hand, she waited for him to join her. He hesitated a mere second before lacing his fingers with hers.

  “We’ll get more light,” Mrs. Johnson volunteered. She and her husband left, bringing in more lanterns to dispel the darkness.

  As soon as the pastor entered the room, his eyebrows shot up. His gaze took in Ellie’s patient as well as her hand linked with Rhett’s.

  “Guy shot my—my father.” Ellie choked on the words that were beginning to mean more to her than ever before. Rhett squeezed her fingers.

  The news didn’t seem to faze Pastor Charles. “I see.”

  “I got the bullet out. Bandaged him.” She looked at Rhett, recalling that not too long ago, she had done a similar procedure on him with a thorny twig.

  The pastor stepped closer. “Will he make it?”

  “I hope so.” Her words came out barely a whisper.

  Her father’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on the man standing at the foot of the bed. “Charles.”

  “Haven’t seen you darken the church’s door for years.” He moved closer. “So the only way to see you was for me to get kidnapped at gunpoint in the middle of the night? Oh, and for you to get yourself shot?”

  A faint smile passed her daddy’s lips. “I reckon.”

  “As soon as he’s well enough, you’ll see him more.” Ellie spoke with certainty.

  Pastor Charles tilted his head toward her father. “I’d like it to be up to him.”

  “Will you go to church with me, Daddy?” She stroked his hair from his forehead.

  Her heart soared at his awkward nod. “I promise, Sunshine.”

  Ellie swiped a tear that slipped down her cheek.

  “You know I’m gonna hold you both to your word.” Pastor Charles grew silent, gaze flickering from Will to her.

  She turned to Rhett. “You too, right?”

  His eyes twinkled as he grinned. “It’d take more than a lil’ old posse to keep me away—” he leaned closer and whispered “—from you.”

  Heat blossomed in her cheeks at his soft expression. Only the clearing of a throat reminded her they were not alone.

  Pastor Charles was studying them. His gaze again drifted down to their entwined fingers. “I was told I’d be performing a wedding. That still true?”


  Ellie inhaled sharply, then stared at Rhett. Would he want her after all the trouble she’d caused him?

  The intense look in his eyes left no doubts in her mind.

  “I’d like that.” His gentle voice caressed her. “Very much. If you agree.”

  Unable to speak, she could only nod.

  The light in Rhett’s eyes dimmed. “But I need someone to give us his blessing.”

  From the bed, Will Marshall stared up at them.

  Rhett stepped forward. “Sir, may I have the privilege—and exceeding honor—of wedding your daughter?”

  The man she had grown to believe was her father visibly struggled to answer. “Only if you first tell me your name. Your real name. And who you are.”

  Rhett drew a slow breath, as though the words were too sacred to utter. “Everett Michael Walker Callaway.” One corner of his mouth creased as though he attempted to smile, but his expression remained sad. “My mother’s second husband—Russell Callaway—may not have legally adopted me, but I consider him my true father.”

  Our stories are so similar. Ellie studied the two men dearest to her in the world. Even though Frank Marshall was legally her father, she would honor Will with that title for the remainder of her life.

  “Who I am,” Rhett continued as he took both her hands in his, “well, that is up to you, sir. Regardless, I will never stop loving Elinor Marshall.”

  Her daddy took his time answering. “Then, yes. You may marry my daughter. But you must do it now. While I still have breath in my body.”

  Though his words sounded ominous, Ellie had no doubt he would recover—as long as she could watch over him.

  However, as she studied Rhett, her joy melted into shock. He was covered in dirt and a raised bruise darkened the skin above one eye. No doubt she looked equally a mess with her filthy, blood-streaked gown and hair askew.

  “I—I...” she stuttered as she spread her hands. She couldn’t ask everyone to leave so that she could take a bath and change clothing.

  Apparently guessing her dilemma, Pastor Charles grinned broadly. “Welcome, m’dear, to the wild frontier. You belong now.”

  A near-hysterical giggle escaped her. Had she truly once been offended by dirt?