Captivated By A Gunslinger (Emerald Falls Book 3)

by Ivy McAdams

  What had he discovered? They were obviously still looking for her. Deputy Bullock had recognized her.

  She shuddered at the very idea of being locked in that jail. If they sentenced her for murder, she’d likely hang.

  A hard knot formed in her throat as she cleared the edge of the campsite and approached the halting horse.

  Ace wore a smile on his face, eyes focused solely on her, but as she got closer, the life in his expression drained. He frowned, the muscles in his jaw growing taut. He slid off his horse and strode the last few feet between them.

  “Clara?”

  “What’s going on?” she spat. She swung an arm wide to motion at the group following her. “With you, and with Mason. What have you done?”

  Ace’s eyes jumped over her head, to focus on Mason she assumed, and they grew dark. They were soft again once they landed on her.

  “We’ve been trying to help, Clara,” he said. “Things are not as bad as you’ve thought.”

  Her frown deepened, and his words ricocheted in her head, unwilling to settle enough for her to focus. “What do you mean?”

  He reached a hand out to press his fingers into her elbow, a comforting gesture, and she allowed it.

  “Hollard never suspected you for murder. Or at least not officially. They put up posters immediately, searching for you. You were a missing person.”

  Her face skewed in even deeper confusion, and she had a hard time keeping her eyes on his as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

  “But I left Lloyd dead in the middle of the house. How could they not suspect me?”

  “Because you disappeared. Like a ghost. The only thing you took with you was the gun.”

  Images of the horrific night flashed through her mind. Lloyd’s body on the floor. Blood. So much blood. It’d only taken one shotgun round to the center of his mass to take him down. The boom of the shot in the small cabin had nearly deafened her, and she’d been lost in a cloud of smoke for a minute or two before she could move. Before she could breathe. As soon as she’d seen Lloyd’s body lying dead on the ground, she’d run.

  It was hours before she realized she was still holding the shotgun, and she’d dropped it in the forest somewhere between Hollard and St. Aspen. By the end of the day, the swelling he’d inflicted on her face was so uncomfortable that she’d laid down and slept for the night on the edge of the river. It was another two days before Ace found her.

  "The Law that picked up his body ruled it an attack on your home. Someone who wanted Lloyd dead for whatever reason. A fellow Mason talked to admitted Lloyd wasn't the most likable bastard ‘round there."

  Clara swallowed a tremble.

  “Since you didn’t take any of your clothes or possessions, no one figured you’d run away,” Ace continued. “They’d assumed you’d been taken.”

  His hand on her arm slid up to cup her face. “So you’re not wanted for murder, Clara. You’re safe.”

  For a moment, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. She pressed her fingers against his hand on her cheek. She felt lighter than she had in years.

  But it was short-lived.

  Her fingers tightened on his. “Except I did murder him, Ace.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Self defense is not murder.”

  “But who’s going to know that? It’s been nearly a year. They’re not going to believe me now!”

  His lips fell into a thin line, and he gave a lopsided shrug and nod. “It might have been best to come clean months ago, it’s true. But it’s still fine. The Law knows your story now.”

  The words clenched her insides like a vise of fire. She froze, stuck in her spot like a fly in a spider’s web.

  Her eyes jerked to his horse, down his nicely dressed clothes, his neat hair, all the way down to his boots scuffed with red-tinged mud. The kind they didn’t encounter in the forest. Only on the muddy streets of a small town. Like Emerald Falls.

  Her wide eyes popped back up to his.

  “What have you done?”

  Chapter 15

  Ace’s gaze on her never faltered, but his teeth clenched. The line of his lips pressed and straightened, and Clara knew she’d struck a nerve.

  “I’ve informed the Law of the truth that went on in that cabin.”

  Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deep and uncomfortable breath. “Who did you talk to?”

  His hand dropped from her face to her shoulder as he stood his full height in front of her. Rigid, defiant. She was afraid of his answer.

  “I spoke to Sheriff McGowen this morning.”

  Clara’s mouth dropped open just as fast as her heart plummeted into her stomach. It twisted, and she thought for a moment that she might be sick. Fear and disbelief surged through her, coiled in her gut, and tightened until she wanted to drop to her knees.

  “You what?” she breathed.

  “The sheriff can clear your name. He just needed your story. You had to know he’d been dying for it for months. To know that you―”

  Seething anger washed through her, obliterating the blow with a force that left her light-headed. She glared as she knocked his hand away.

  “Who told you to do that?”

  Shock contorted his face as he withdrew his hand.

  “Who told you to talk to my father about this?” The volume of her voice grew.

  "No one tells me what to do," Ace growled, his surprise morphing into anger that she didn't like seeing on his face. But she didn't care what rested on his handsome features at the moment.

  “And no one asked you to talk to the sheriff. Sure as hell not me!” She stepped closer as she stabbed a finger into his chest. “If I’d wanted him to know the story, I would have told him.”

  “Clara, he thought you were dead.”

  “I don’t care!” She did care, and it had eaten at her for as long as she’d been in the Van den Berg camp. But the longer she stayed, afraid to face her father, the harder it became to reveal the truth. “I’d rather have gone on living the lie than for him to know what I’d done.”

  Ace’s face skewed into an even deeper frown. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I don’t care about that either.” She huffed, teeth grinding. “It may be silly, but he didn’t need to know that my marriage was over. That I’d done such a horrible thing to my husband.”

  “But he did need to know what horrible things your husband had done to you!” Ace boomed.

  She flinched a little but held her ground. Her reaction to his voice only spurred her frustration further. Men were not going to keep pushing her around, making her feel tiny and helpless.

  She stepped into him again, shoving into his chest with her palm. “That wasn’t your decision to make. It was mine. You took it from me.”

  “I was helping you.” Ace stood as hard as a wall against her assault. “Your father was appalled by what he heard. He wants to grant you pardon.”

  “No!” She shrank back from him, covering her ears. “I don’t want his pity. Or yours.”

  Ace’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up against him.

  “No one’s giving you pity,” he growled. “You’re an amazing woman, Clara. You don’t deserve to be living in a tent in the woods. You have so much to offer. You should be―”

  “Stop,” she shrieked, pulling back against his hand, but his grip on her was too strong. “I won’t see him. I won’t go back.”

  Ace’s fingers pinched into her skin as he whipped her around, locking her back against his ribs, their arms barred over her chest. She struggled against him, but he was too strong.

  “I’ve done nothing but free you from the chains you’d created for yourself,” he growled in her ear. “Your family now knows you’re alive, and they want you home. If that’s enough to enrage you, then so be it. I’m not sorry.”

  She ground her teeth, pulling her head away from the tickle of his breath on her ear. It felt good, and she hated that. She didn’t want to like anything about hi
m at that moment. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to help her. He’d gone about it all wrong.

  The last thing in the world she'd wanted was to admit to her father how much she'd ruined her life. That she was incapable of having the beautiful marriage he had with her mother. She was a failure. And not only had she done the most awful act of killing someone, but she'd also run off to live with a group of outlaws.

  How could she ever face her strong, lawful sheriff of a father with any of that?

  The heat in her body ebbed as she rested against Ace’s chest, unable to fight him any longer. As the anger eased away, a new wave of anguish and regret replaced it.

  She was a horrible, ungrateful daughter. An awful wife. And she’d done it all to herself.

  Unable to face the pain in her chest, she broke down into tears. As soon as Ace’s arm relaxed on hers, she wiggled away and ran.

  “Clara,” he called after her, but she didn’t stop.

  She wouldn’t let him see her tears. She ran across the field, pushed through her group of friends that still stood gathered on the edge of camp, and bolted for her tent. Once there, she threw herself onto her bed pallet and broke down even further.

  She cried for her family, for all the years and dignity she’d lost to her horrible husband, but most of all, she cried for Ace.

  He’d swept her clear off her feet over the last few days, and she’d gotten completely lost in it.

  Then he’d pulled this stunt.

  Even the first time he’d taken her to the river’s edge, Mason had been snooping through her old house, in her old town, digging up information on her. It was violating, and she coughed back another fit of tears.

  Ace’s need for control all around him was too much. Some secrets were better left buried.

  * * *

  Clara shoved the ladle through another soupy pot of beans and rabbit. It was the third time that week they’d eaten rabbit for dinner. It was the sixteenth time that month they’d had a liquid-based stew. She curled her nose as she stirred.

  The rabbit was fine. The vegetables were fresh. There was nothing wrong with another stew, but she sure missed cooking in an oven.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the idea of soon coming into a large sum of money, enough to leave the nomadic outlaw lifestyle, or the words that Ace had thrown at her that morning, but living in the forest and stretching meat to feed a group of ten every day was weighing heavy on her that evening.

  She let out a heavy sigh as she scooped the stew into a bowl.

  “Smells good,” Mason said over his shoulder as he passed to take his seat around the circle.

  She gave him a polite smile. The awkward lopsided grin he gave her back told her he knew the smile was fake.

  She’d spent the majority of the day huddled up in her tent. No one came to bother her, and she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or hurt. When she’d finally come out looking for food after lunchtime, Sadie had swooped in to escort her to the fire pit. The poor girl was still sick, and Clara set to work fixing her a honey ginger tea to ease her discomfort.

  Getting back to her work had been good for Clara, and she set out the rest of the afternoon to do laundry and prepare dinner. She’d done it much less meticulously than normal, but it at least distracted her and allowed her to avoid Ace as much as possible.

  He’d met with his men in and around his tent most of the day. They’d discussed strategy further and cleaned their weapons. Whatever all they were up to, Clara was glad it was away from her.

  “Are you going to be mad at him forever?” Bridget whispered near her shoulder, and Clara jumped.

  She realized she’d been staring at Ace’s tent again and frowned down into the kettle in front of her.

  “I’m fine. He can do whatever he wants.”

  “Really? ‘Cause you don’t seem fine.”

  Clara glowered, scooping another bowl of stew and shoving it into Bridget’s hands. “He has to stick his nose in everywhere. Like he’s the big boss of everything. Can’t he just butt out sometimes?”

  “He has control issues.”

  Clara coughed out a laugh. “You think?”

  Bridget shrugged with a small wince. “I think he’s been trying his whole life to make up for what happened to his family.”

  Clara stopped and frowned. “What happened?”

  The redhead’s eyes widened a little, and she rubbed an arm. “Oh, I suppose he doesn’t talk about that. Mason mentioned it to me once.”

  “Well?”

  "His father passed away when he was a boy. Apparently, he was pretty close to him. Then he had to care for his mother and younger brother for years. But she got sick and died too."

  Clara winced, her fingers tight on the ladle.

  “He took care of his brother another year or two,” Bridget continued, “but they lost the house, and Ace couldn’t get him to stick around.”

  “Stick around?”

  "His brother was a rotten kid from what I heard. A lot of issues. He was always running off and getting into trouble. Finally, he left for good and Ace had to move on."

  “That’s horrible. But, what does that have to do with him being so bossy?”

  “I guess when such bad things happen to you, you focus on what you can make happen yourself.”

  "Whatever happened to his brother?"

  “Mason didn’t really elaborate on that. But it sounded bad.”

  Clara scrubbed a hand over her face. A sliver of guilt pricked in her chest, but she refused to let the man’s past overshadow what he’d done.

  She clenched her teeth. “But he talked to my father.”

  “I know.” The redhead rested a hand on her shoulder.

  She was much taller than Clara, and something about her height was comforting. A gentle giant. The air deflated from Clara’s lungs.

  “It had to be shocking and feel horrible,” Bridget continued, “but his intentions were good.”

  Clara's lips pursed. She kept her eyes on the stew as she ladled out two more bowls. "He may have thought so, but I'm not convinced."

  “Well, what are you going to do now? Just ignore this thing you two have that has made you so happy?”

  The words felt like a slap in the face. “I was happy. Back when my family thought I was dead.”

  “Clara―”

  “Bridget, where is your family?”

  “Back in Boston.”

  “Do they know where you are? What you’re doing?”

  The redhead’s eyes twitched. “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. You came all the way out here to marry a wealthy rancher, but you were stolen by a band of dirty outlaws, that―” she paused, unable to even speak the words. Bridget fidgeted, dropping her eyes for a moment before Clara continued. “But then Mason rescued you. It’s beautiful. I’m happy for you. But he’s still an outlaw too. Have you written back to your family about all that? All the dirty details and your new truth? What do they think you’re doing now?”

  Bridget lifted her chin a little higher, and Clara thought she could see a glisten of tears in her eyes.

  "I have written to them. I told them I was in love, and that I love being out in the wide-open country. That I have wonderful friends, and that I enjoy my life."

  Some of the frustration eased from Clara’s muscles, and she set a hand on Bridget’s arm, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re happy out here, Bridget. But you’re not quite honest with them either, are you?”

  Bridget’s nose flared, but she remained silent.

  “I don’t judge you. Not in the least. I was just trying to protect my family too. I didn’t want them to know all those horrible things about me. They don’t deserve that.”

  Bridget shook her head. "You don't deserve to be left out in the cold either. I'm sure your family is overjoyed to know that you live, no matter what happened."

  Clara pressed her lips together with a slow nod. "I hope you're right because there's no changing t
hings now."

  Bridget’s eyes lowered, and she turned to join Mason, but Clara pulled back on the woman’s arm. Bridget’s gaze leapt back up.

  “I’m glad you have friends out here good enough to write home about. I do too.”

  Light returned to Bridget’s eyes, and she gave Clara a brighter smile.

  Once the woman had settled in next to her cowboy, Clara delivered bowls around the fire pit. Otis and Nelson took theirs in somber silence. Clay and Sadie sat close to one another, a nearly awkward quiet about them.

  They would hit the bank early the next morning, and the tension around the group was high.

  Jack and Jeremiah came to the circle late and picked up a bowl. Once they were set, Clara grabbed her own and settled in next to Sadie. Everyone had come to eat but Ace.

  "I know it would make you feel better," Clay spoke low, under his breath. His hat was tilted over his face as he leaned in close to Sadie. "But it's not safe."

  “I don’t care that it’s not safe,” Sadie hissed quietly. “It’s important to me.”

  Clara shifted in her seat as she toiled her spoon in her bowl. She tried to offer a little more privacy to their conversation by turning in the other direction, but who was she kidding? She wanted to hear a more normal-seeming couple argue for once. She’d blown up on Ace that morning and they weren’t even an item. Clay and Sadie were like lovebirds, and even they argued?

  “It’s important to me that you’re nowhere near that town when things happen,” Clay said.

  Sadie snorted, shuffling in her seat. Clara wanted to peek to see what was going on, but she bit into her lip and held still. She cast her eyes across the fire in hopes of a distraction, and she found one.

  Ace stepped out of the falling dusk into the firelight. His eyes met hers briefly as he filled a bowl of stew.

  Clara’s cheeks warmed, and she looked back into her bowl, finally scooping up her first bite, even if she wasn’t too keen on putting it in her mouth.

  “You don’t think I can take care of myself?” Sadie asked.