Matt raked a hand through his hair. Emma was going to have a baby, leaving Frederick watching four children. When this was all settled he owed George and his family a lot. And he paid his debts.
* * * *
Matt helped April into her nightgown and into bed. They should be on the road right now, but he didn’t need Mrs. Brown to tell him April was in no condition to travel. He could plainly see that himself.
She closed her eyes. “I feel so dizzy and sick to my stomach.”
The chambers of his heart constricted, making it harder to pump blood. Seeing April ill worried him. He couldn’t have anything happen to her or the baby. “Just rest.”
She put a hand on her chest and drew a raspy breath. “My pulse is racing.”
“Shh.” Perspiration covered her skin. She looked like she had a fever. Matt wetted a cloth and ran it across her forehead and down her neck. “Try to relax. Everything will be all right.”
She squeezed his hand and he wondered if she was in pain. “No,” she said, panic in her eyes, “it won’t. I can feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Doom,” she said, “We’re all in grave danger.”
“We’re not doomed. It has been a long day, but I will protect you.”
The fear in her wide eyes did not diminish.
“I’ll pack tonight and we’ll be ready to move out of town in the morning. It will be safer out of town. We’ll let things cool off.”
April tried to sit up and then laid right back down. “I wish we could go tonight, but I’m so weak.”
“You’ll be stronger after a night’s sleep. This will pass.” I hope.
“Where are we going to go?”
“Not far. Just to the next town. And it will only be temporary.”
“Temporary? Whoever this person is who is threatening us isn’t going to stop just because we leave town. When we return…” She didn’t say it, and she didn’t have to. He shared her fear. As soon as they came back home this person could resume their threats.
If only he knew who this person was. He hadn’t had time today to confront Baxter and he had decided it was in his best interest to wait. If he went off half-cocked and got himself thrown in jail he wouldn’t be able to protect his family. The banker likely wasn’t behind the threats anyway. He didn’t seem the type. If only he knew the identity of the bastard. He could confront him, fight him if necessary. He didn’t want his wife to live in fear every minute.
“Are the children going to come with us?”
“No. George said they would be fine at the farm for a few days. They are enjoying being around the horses and chickens and the other children.”
“I don’t know why I feel so sick…I’m sorry to delay your plans.” In the lamplight he saw her paling skin, reminding him of when Caroline took ill. His insides tangled, anxiety snaking through his veins.
He couldn’t get worked up. He had to stay focused, on alert.
Matt kissed her cheek softly. “You’ve been through a lot for one day, and now that you’re pregnant—you just need to take it easy. We’ll leave in the morning.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry to put you through this.”
April brushed her hand across his cheek. “It isn’t your fault. Can you lie with me?”
Matt exhaled. Sharing his bed with her tonight would help soothe his anxiety. Caroline had had the same calming effect on him. But he couldn’t sleep tonight even if he wanted to. An entire barrelful of adrenaline bubbled in his stomach.
“I will protect you,,” Matt said, heading to the door. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
She closed her eyes, but continued to draw rapid breaths. “I know you will. I feel safe with you.”
Damn. April wasn’t feeling well. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and hold her all night long, but he couldn’t. Being unable to take care of her pained him.
He left the room, retrieved Patches from his slumber on the loft’s quilted floor and carried him into April. Setting the small ball of fluff beside her, he was pleased when the kitten cuddled next to her side. April smiled and petted him. Cats were always soothing. Hopefully the kitten would earn his keep and help put his wife to sleep.
Matt blew out the lamp and left the room, softly shutting the door behind him. Matt retrieved his rifle from a peg over the door. Opening the chamber, he made sure it was fully loaded. He’d gone hunting from time to time, but he hadn’t shot at a man since the war ended.
He looked out the kitchen window, not seeing anyone. It did little to ease his anxiety. Standing sentry, he paced in front of the door. No bastard was going to get inside his house on his watch.
As a sharpshooter he’d killed many Confederates, so many he hadn’t bothered counting. After the peace treaty was signed he’d hoped he’d never have to shoot a man again.
That was war. And this was, well in a way it was war, too.
And he was ready for a fight.
Chapter 21
Mr. Baxter stood at the bar next to Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Wheatly. “The Seever brothers are ruined,” he said, raising his glass to his lips.
Mr. Wheatly grunted. “It was a shame about that fire.”
“Sure was,” Mr. Baxter said. “A string of rotten luck they’ve been having.” He clinked the empty glass on the bar. “Fill it up,” he told the barkeep.
“Are you sure?” the Irishman asked. “You’re not much of a drinking man.”
“I said fill it up,” Mr. Baxter said, irritation lacing his words.
“Yes, sir.” The barkeep poured him another cup of beer.
Mr. Jefferson grinned. “Our plan is set in motion.”
“Now we must go to Atlanta,” Mr. Wheatly said. “We have to meet with Ross, get the supply line operating.”
Mr. Baxter nodded. He’d be very happy to rid himself of these two companions. “How long will it take to get the supply line in order?”
“Not sure. Obviously we have to make sure the other stops along the way will also be ready.”
“Yes.” His curiosity got the best of him. He was tired of being kept on the need to know basis, with Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Wheatly thinking he deserved to know very little. “I should go with you,” Mr. Baxter said. “I’d like to meet Ross.”
Mr. Jefferson shook his head. “No.”
“Why not? Haven’t I deserved the right after all I’ve done for you? For the cause?”
“Ross will come to you when the warehouses are operating again.”
Mr. Baxter huffed. They were patting him on the head and sending him on his way as if he were a little boy. “I expect to see where my money and other donations have been going.”
“No need to get surly,” Mr. Jefferson said. “You’ll be handsomely rewarded. All the Confederate states will need governors.”
“I expect more for my money than a governorship.”
“Sure, sure,” Mr. Jefferson said. “You might have to start there, but you will get elected to the senate easy.”
Mr. Baxter let the beer burn his throat. It was going to take forever. Of course, there would be another war before the Confederacy gained their independence. Damn it. He didn’t want to wait another four years to enter politics.
“I don’t like being kept in the dark,” he complained.
“Don’t feel that way,” Mr. Wheatley said. “You have to keep your hands clean. We’re doing you a favor. It will be safer for you to stay here and wait.”
Mr. Baxter took a drink of his beer. He rubbed the scratch marks on his cheek. He wasn’t so sure about that.
“What happened to you?” Mr. Wheatly asked.
“April, Mr. Seever’s whore attacked me.”
Mr. Wheatly snorted. “You should teach that bitch a lesson.”
Mr. Baxter drank his beer, silently brooding. She had no call to attack him. “When will you be leaving?”
“In the morning,” Mr. Jefferson said. “We have steamer tickets.”
Mr. Baxter downed the last of t
he beer. “Give me another,” he asked the barkeep.
The Irishman shook his head. “I don’t think you should, sir.”
“Don’t tell me what I should do. I want another drink.”
The Irishman shrugged and poured him another beer. The buzz from all the alcohol felt good. He felt his strength, his adrenaline, his fury building.
Mr. Wheatly nodded to him and paid for his drinks. “I think we better turn in. We have to get up early.”
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Baxter said.
“We’ll be in touch,” Mr. Jefferson said, following his partner out the door. He stopped in the doorway and turned around. “That wench sure scratched you good. You’ll have to tell how you got those marks a hundred times before they heal.” He laughed and the door swung shut behind him.
Damn. Mr. Jefferson was right. The whole city would be laughing at him. He couldn’t even handle one black female. He paid for his drinks and gave the barkeep a generous tip.
“Thank you, sir,” the Irishman said, pocketing the extra change.
“She won’t get away with it,” Mr. Baxter said, his teeth clenched.
“Who?” the barkeep asked.
Mr. Baxter turned the side of his face so the man could get a good look at his cheek. “This,” he hissed.
He’d show her. He’d get the last word in their private argument. Hands folded into fists he strode out of the tavern and untied his chestnut stallion from the hitching post. Mounting, he headed the horse to the waterfront.
That haughty April would be weeping at his feet before he finished.
Chapter 22
April woke in the middle of the night from the strangest dream. She was on the Queen Bee again and the steamboat had caught fire. The snapping and popping of flames on timber continued. Slowly the daze wore off and she felt the heat in the room. Heart racing, panic seized her nerves. Smoke. Angry red flames snaked across the bedroom floor and climbed up the wall around the window.
“Fire! The house is on fire!” she screamed.
Matt ran into the room, rifle in hand. “Son of a bitch!” he growled. “I was expecting them to attack the front of the house.”
April coughed, the acrid smoke burning her eyes. “What are we going to do?”
“Are you strong enough to run, or do I need to carry you?”
April got to her feet, a burst of strength and energy filling her muscles. “I feel some better. Let’s get out of here.”
It wouldn’t be long and the bedroom would be engulfed in flames and smoke. He took her hand, and they ran into the parlor.
She stopped, coughing and gasping for breath.
“We just have to go out the front door and then we’ll be safe,” Matt said, encouraging her on.
She put an arm over her mouth and nodded. He ran ahead of her. As soon as he got to the door he came to an abrupt halt. The way he tensed she knew something was wrong.
“There is someone out there. I hear a horse.”
April’s lungs seized. Someone or a whole yard full of white cloaked men? April really didn’t want to know.
“Whoever is out there is watching the front door, waiting for us to run out. We’ll have to find another exit.”
He walked through the kitchen to the table and stared out the large window. Using the butt of his rifle, he broke window. The pane shattered sending bits of glass flying across the floor. He peered out the window and then quickly pulled his head back in.
“There’s a man on horseback riding back and forth close to the window.”
“What?” April emitted a high pitched screech.
“Of course he heard me break the glass. It is like he is waiting for us to climb out.”
“Is he armed?” Her chest tightened and she imagined him man shooting Matt and then her.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see.” He peeked out again and his lips molded into a bitter line. “Yes. He has a pistol.”
“We’ll stay here,” April said, sitting in another chair at the table, careful to avoid stepping on shards of glass with her bare feet. “The firemen will get here and put out the fire. We’ll be fine.”
Matt shook his head. “By the time the firemen get here they will be containing the fire—making sure it doesn’t spread. I doubt they’d put out the house in time.” His attention darted toward their bedroom where the fire started. “It won’t take long for the fire to get out of hand.”
“Oh.” She chewed her lip, pulse racing with every breath of smoke she inhaled. They needed to get out. Now. “Perhaps we could try another window?”
“I’m afraid the man would just ride around the house and patrol whatever window we chose to climb out of. I’ll have to take care of him first.”
“Take care of him?” April asked, her voice shaking.
Matt tightened his grip on the rifle. “Shoot him. He’s not giving me another choice.”
*
His lungs ached, burning from the black smoke. There was nothing wrong with taking a life in self-defense, Matt told himself. The same line he’d said over and over again during the war. It hadn’t made the kill shot any easier though.
He cocked his rifle and stuck it out the window. He glared down at the man on horseback. He wasn’t recognizable dressed in a black suit, blending into the darkness. At least he wasn’t wearing the feared white cloak.
“Get away from my house,” he roared.
“That bitch deserves to burn,” the man growled.
Matt blinked and focused his attention and his sights on the man blocking their exit. His voice sounded familiar.
“Why does she deserve to burn? Why do I deserve to burn, Mister?” Matt asked. “We haven’t done anything to you.”
“Your sham of a wife did. She dug her nails into me like a wildcat.”
April gasped. “Mr. Baxter.”
It all clicked into place, his adrenaline soaked brain processing the information quickly. Damn. He never thought the bank manager would get this violent. It wasn’t like him.
The fire had raced down the hallway, now entering the parlor. Flames spread across the floor. Bits of ash swirled in the air, coating the table and landing on his skin. Soon it would be too smoky to breathe. The only exit now was out this window.
He didn’t have time to negotiate with a mad man. He cocked his rifle. “Get away from the window or I’ll shoot.”
Baxter reined his horse to a stop, tipped his head back and glared at him. “We don’t need your kind around. Just a few more minutes and my plan will be complete.” He rode away and Matt exhaled loudly. He didn’t want to kill the man.
“April, climb out the window.”
April hesitated and looked like she wanted to argue with him. “Now, woman,” he said, pointing to the window.
She winced stepping on the shards of glass, swinging one leg out the window she screamed. “He’s back!”
A shot whizzed by her head, nailing Matt in the shoulder.
Matt’s fingers gripped her arm like a vice and he yanked her back inside the room and onto the floor. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he raised his rifle, aimed at the banker and fired.
April screamed again.
Matt focused his attention back on the banker. The man lay on the ground beside his horse, not moving.
“April, out the window.”
Again, April padded across the broken glass to the window and swung her legs out.
Matt stayed behind her, eyes glued on the man who had been intent on keeping them all prisoner.
April dropped the short way to the ground. She landed and pitched forward, dropping to her knees in the grass.
“Are you all right?” Matt asked.
“Yes. Hurry now.” Her gaze shifted to Baxter and then back to him.
Matt pushed himself out the window, rifle in hand.
“You killed him,” April exclaimed, staring at Baxter, hand flying up to cover her gaping mouth.
“No. I just wounded him in the side. I was a sharpshooter during
the late war. I hit where I aim.”
Matt walked over to the banker, pointing his rifle at him. “Get up,” he ordered gruffly.
Baxter moaned, pushing himself to his feet. Blood spurted out his side, and he moved a hand to cover the open wound.
The firemen and police officers arrived. The firemen got to work spraying water on the burning house.
Matt motioned for Baxter to head toward the police officers. “This man shot me,” Matt said, thankful his adrenaline hadn’t faded yet. His shoulder was going to hurt something awful. “He also set fire to my house.”
The officer stared at Baxter, wide-eyed. “Is that true, sir?” he asked the banker.
“Yes,” Baxter said. “Now get me to the doctor!”
The officer looked from Matt to Baxter. “It looks like you both need a doctor.”
“Take care of him,” Matt said. “I’ll see to my family and then get myself looked at.”
“And then come to the police station,” the officer said
“Yes, sir.” Although he didn’t know why that was necessary Baxter had just confessed his crimes.
Matt ran to April who was stood in the road, watching their house burn. Patches appeared out of nowhere and trotted over to them. April bent down and picked him up. The kitten purred and rubbed his head against her chin.
“I am so glad you’re safe,” he said, hugging her, despite the pain in his shoulder. Blood smeared on her nightgown from his wound, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel his wife close to him.
Boyd ran down the street toward him, panting. “I saw the fire. I was afraid…oh, Matt! You’re shot.”
“I’m fine, Boyd.” He smiled down at his wife. “We all are.”
“Your house isn’t,” Boyd said, pointing to the building now engulfed in flames.
Matt blinked back tears. Everything he had to remember Caroline by had gone to ashes. But he wasn’t going to start the next chapter of his life without April and Seth and Hannah. That was what mattered.
“We will rebuild the house,” Matt said, “and pick up the pieces of our lives.”
“I saw the police escorting Mr. Baxter. Did he—?”
Midnight Kiss (Moonlight Romance) Page 15
