The Wedding Ransom

by Geralyn Dawson

  “What’s that, love? Am I holding you wrong?”

  “No. It’s just right.” You’re just right. She lay her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Rain drummed against the rooftop, punctuated by an occasional crack of lightning and boom of thunder. As he carried her from the bedroom into the kitchen, the scent of burning cedar drifted like ribbons on the air. Cedar and Rafe Malone. Maggie breathed deeply of the combined fragrances and sighed with more pleasure than pain.

  “Fair warning, fair lady. It’s time for the big dip. Yell if it’s too hot, and I’ll yank you out.”

  For all his talk of dipping and yanking, Rafe lowered her into the oval tin tub like the most fragile of fine crystal. She leaned her head back against the tub’s hard rim. Seconds later Rafe tucked a folded towel between her and the metal lip, and Maggie smiled her thanks for that and more. The heat from the water seemed to soak into her swollen joints, soothing them and bringing her relief. Questions nagged at her mind, but the fatigue washing over her convinced her they could wait. Sleep beckoned and she surrendered to it, saying in a soft, drowsy voice, “Thank you, Malone. You’re good medicine.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  As Rafe lifted a poker to stir the smoldering logs in the fireplace, he realized his hand was shaking. Taking a quick inventory, he discovered the rest of him pretty much had the shivering fits, too.

  Maggie hurt and it killed him to see her this way.

  He’d about shed a shoe when he first got a good look at her. Pale as new milk and weak as a sick kitten. When she’d looked at him with those beautiful eyes grown dull and glassy with pain, Rafe had felt a stab of hurt in the general vicinity of his heart. She was such a strong woman, and to see her brought down like this just tore him apart. If he could have freed her from her suffering by taking it on himself he’d have done it fast as double-geared lightning.

  He glanced back at the tub where she lay sleeping and wondered if too long a soak could adversely affect her condition. She’d been napping now for a good twenty minutes. He’d added hot water twice. Maybe he should try and wake her up. It would be just his luck to cause her harm when he was trying to help.

  Lord knew she needed some help. He wished one of the pirates were here to answer some of the questions buzzing around his brain. He wanted to know how long spells like this one usually lasted. More than a week seemed like a hell of a long time. Also, was it normal for her to lose weight like she had? The poor thing was skin and bones. Why did she refuse the laudanum? Was there a medical reason, or was it Maggie’s own stubbornness—something she had in abundance?

  A little groan from the bathtub sent him hurrying to her side. Was she awake? No. Her eyes were still closed and she lay without moving. Rafe started to turn away when he spotted something that froze him in his tracks. A tear. A single tear had slipped from under her long lashes and was running down her cheek.

  Maggie was crying in her sleep.

  Rafe took it like cannonball to the gut. This strong, stubborn, doesn’t-know-the-meaning-of-the-word-surrender female hurt so fiercely that she was crying in her sleep.

  Rafe closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, his hands clenched at his sides. He felt helpless as a field mouse in a hawk’s shadow. If he’d been a few days earlier, then he could have ridden to Lake Bliss for more water, instead of Lucky. He’d have made better time. He could have gotten the water back to her sooner. Damn it all, she needed relief.

  And he needed to give it to her.

  The significance of that thought washed over him. Never one to lie to himself, Rafe admitted that what he was feeling wasn’t solely about Maggie’s needs. He couldn’t stand to see her hurting. He couldn’t bear to see her cry. He needed to help her.

  He loved her.

  His eyes going wide, Rafe took a step backward. Good Lord. It was true. He’d gone and fallen in love with Mary Margaret St. John. Maggie with her hard head and harder-headed grandpas. Maggie with her crystal laugh and Caribbean eyes. Maggie with a curse on her body that sapped all the strength and joy and spirit from her being.

  He loved her. The knowledge flowed like whiskey through his blood, warm and intoxicating. How had he gone so long without realizing it? Rafe wasn’t a stranger to love. He’d been in love before, a number of times. He liked being in love.

  But you’ve never been in love like this.

  Rafe backed up until his knees hit a chair, and he sat down abruptly. He rubbed his palm across his jaw and considered the thought. Was it true? How could it be true? Take Elizabeth Perkins, for instance. He’d been in love with her. He’d courted her for months, even proposed marriage. Hadn’t it hurt like a son of a bitch when she turned him down to marry another man? Hadn’t he still been wallowing in misery almost a year later when she gave that other man a son?

  Yes, but it was your pride that was hurting, not your heart.

  Maggie had the power to rip his heart plumb in two.

  Well, hell. It was true. What he felt for Maggie was bigger than anything he’d ever felt for any other woman. What he felt for her was greater than his feelings for all the other women who’d passed through his life combined.

  In the bathtub Maggie stirred, and Rafe stood and crossed to the tub. As her eyes fluttered open, he smiled at her. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s about time you woke up. I was beginning to fear Martha would come in and try to make prune pudding out of you for dessert.”

  Maggie gave a tired smile. “No, peach cobbler is on tonight’s menu.”

  Rafe lifted her from the water, helped her dry herself with a towel, then gently laid her on a soft pallet he’d prepared before the fire.

  “I want my clothes,” she weakly demanded.

  “I have some liniment I want to rub on you first. I think it might help.”

  “Not horse liniment,” she said. “I’ve used that before. It doesn’t do any good, and the stink doesn’t wear off for days.”

  “This isn’t horse liniment. It’s something Martha fixed up for you. You’ll like it. She used her rose—scented soap to make it.” He brought the bowl over and knelt beside her.

  “Onions,” Maggie said weakly.

  “Just a little bit. What I smell most is the brandy.” He dipped his fingers in the thick, slick mixture and said, “Lie still and let me work this into your skin. Let me know if I rub too hard.”

  At first her muscles remained tense. “This embarrasses me,” she admitted.

  “Don’t waste any energy on something as silly as that, honey. You need all your focus on getting well.”

  As he gently worked the ointment into her skin, Rafe distracted her with a story about Honor and Luke’s girls. Slowly she relaxed, and soon he realized she’d drifted back into sleep.

  But Rafe didn’t stop his tender touches. His hands massaged her swollen joints, silently speaking of his sympathy, his admiration for her strength, his need to exorcise her pain.

  His desire to act out his love for her in a million large and small ways each day.

  “Aw, hell, darlin’.” He cupped her swollen knee joint, absorbing its heat between his palms and fingers. He wished he were a good enough thief to steal this pain away from her. He’d give damn near anything to make her better. That’s how a person felt when he was in love.

  And God knows, he did love her. Passionately. Profoundly. Blissfully.

  Bliss. Lake Bliss. Lake Bliss water. Good God, he was in trouble.

  His hands fell away from her. Absently he used the towel to wipe them clean of greasy liniment. Then, with the gentlest of touches, he reached out and brushed away the teardrop that clung tenaciously to her cheek. Bliss water. The pirates had searched the world to find it for her. Bliss water helped save her from this misery.

  How could he love her and not do everything within his power to spare her this pain? How could he love her and allow Lake Bliss to slip through her hands?

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. So where did that leave him? He damn sure wouldn’t let her marry Barlow H
ill. While he could set up a scheme to obtain water for Maggie and her crew even if they didn’t live at Lake Bliss, he didn’t see how he could duplicate the mud baths anywhere else. If she needed the mud baths when she got this sick, then she should have them. She would have them.

  Rafe didn’t have enough money to meet Hill’s price for the hotel. He could try and secure a loan, but in cash-poor Texas he knew of no one who had the kind of funds he required readily available. Luke certainly didn’t. His money was all tied up in the Winning Ticket Ranch.

  Rafe inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out with a heavy sigh. His choices were limited. Real limited. A man couldn’t beg upward of fifty thousand dollars in the short time they had left before Hill threw the pirates out of Hotel Bliss. Neither could he borrow it. That left only one option.

  He had to steal it.

  Chapter 13

  Rafe took a quick glance at Maggie, assuring himself she was in no danger of drowning in her sleep during this second bath of the evening, and crossed the room to the door. Pulling it open, he stared out into the rain.

  Could he do it? After all that had happened in the past, could he break his word and steal the money Maggie needed? The question had haunted him for the past two hours. A man’s word. A man’s honor. What was it worth?

  A lot, that was for sure. Damn near every horrible thing that had ever happened to him could be traced back to a man’s lack of honor, either his own or someone else’s.

  A scene from the past flashed across his eyes. His father standing in the front parlor of their home, confessing his sins only when the truth—the two wives, the two young sons—stood face-to-face.

  Rafe’s thoughts leapt forward. Brothers reunited. Captain Nick Callahan of the Army of the Republic of Texas. Too selfish to keep his word and too cowardly to admit it. Blaming others for his own mistakes. Where was the honor when he and his lies put the noose around his brother’s neck? That memory led back to one Rafe had buried the deepest—the instance of his own broken word.

  Luke, leaving home headed for the Alamo, hugged his children and kissed Rachel good-bye. Then, he held out his hand for Rafe to shake. “Watch over them for me, will you?” he asked.

  “Sure, I will,” Rafe replied. “You can count on it.”

  But two weeks later Nick Callahan had arrived and convinced Rafe to join up with the Texian army. Shortly afterward, rumors of the advancing Mexican army convinced Luke’s adored wife to take her children and flee in the panic that became known as the Runaway Scrape. The three of them had died while trying to ford the Colorado River.

  Because Rafe had broken his word and wasn’t there to protect them.

  Though he and Luke had never discussed it, Rafe knew it was the truth. Luke’s family had died because Rafe had broken his word to Luke. A shudder raked Rafe’s body. Here he was contemplating the dishonorable act all over again. Could he go through with it?

  He turned his back to the rain and reentered the small cabin. His gaze sought and lingered on the woman asleep in the tub. A man’s word was worth a lot, true. But Maggie St. John was worth a hell of a lot more. For her, he could do it. Anything was worth sparing her more pain. For Maggie, he would willingly sacrifice his honor.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Rafe smiled. Maggie’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze focused on his face. He was pleased to see that the strain in her eyes had eased a bit. “Feeling better? Has that Bliss water had time to go to work yet?”

  She nodded. “I do feel better. The baths are a help. What will you do?”

  “Wake you up,” he lied. “I’ve been afraid you would get waterlogged if you stayed in the bath much longer. It’s a good thing you woke on your own. Now I don’t have to give the cold water splash a go.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were going to pour cold water on me?” she asked, her voice strong with affront.

  Rafe made a show of scratching his cheek. “Well, no, probably not. You’re a vindictive woman, Maggie. You’d have paid me back in a way I wouldn’t have liked.”

  “Bet on it.”

  He flashed her his pirate’s grin and said, “Now, let me warm up a towel and then I’ll help you out of there.”

  “I’ll do it myself.” She sat up straight, her movements easier than Rafe had seen since his arrival.

  “Let me help—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Rafe, please. I’m feeling much better. I can do this myself.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you swooning on me or anything.”

  She gave him a reproachful look. “You told me once before you didn’t take me for the swooning kind. Have you changed your mind?”

  “I don’t guess so,” he replied truthfully. Trusting her to know her own limits, he turned around and walked back to the fireplace. He lifted the poker and jabbed and prodded logs as he listened closely to the sounds of Maggie rising from her bath. He heard the splash of water and a slight footfall on the puncheon floor, and held his breath as he waited to detect the near-silent swish of the towel against her skin. At first groan, all bets were off.

  But Maggie didn’t groan. Instead, he heard her walk slowly into the bedroom. A minute later the bed ropes yawned, and he sneaked a look. Maggie had donned a demure white cotton gown. She sat on the bed with her hair draped over one shoulder, a silver—backed brush in her right hand.

  Rafe caught her wince as she twisted her shoulders, and he decided that was close enough to a groan to warrant his interruption. He stepped into the bedroom and approached the bed. Slipping in behind her on the mattress, he swiped the hairbrush from her hand before she could manage a protest.

  “You have beautiful hair, Mary Margaret.” The silky golden-red strands washed across his fingers, reminding him of gentle waters of the Caribbean island lagoon at sunset. He glided the brush through her hair, his strokes long and repetitive and tender. Emotion swelled in his chest, and Rafe felt compelled to voice the words that rumbled up from deep inside him. “It hurts me to see you hurting.”

  Her spine stiffened. “Don’t, Rafe.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t feel for you? Or don’t tell you how I feel?”

  “Either one.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll distract me and I can’t afford to be distracted. Standing up to you requires a lot of energy, and I simply don’t have it right now. You’ll run right over me.”

  “I won’t run over you,” he chided. “I’m not running anywhere, Maggie. I’m staying right here.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Rafe’s hands stilled on her hair. “Don’t be afraid of me, Maggie. You don’t ever need to fear me.”

  “Papa Ben must have told you where to look for me. Why are you here, Rafe?”

  He didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t want to cause her any more upset; it couldn’t be good for her condition. But he didn’t want to lie, either. He set the brush down on the night table beside the bed and divided her hair into three sections. After braiding it loosely, he fished in his pants pocket for a string, which he tied at the bottom of the braid. He stood, propped the pillows against the headboard, and eased her back against them.

  Maggie watched him expectantly as he pulled a chair close to the bed and took a seat. He took her hand, holding it gently, and studied her face. “You’re awful peaked-looking, Maggie. Why don’t we wait and discuss this when you’re feeling better?”

  “Tell me why you followed me.”

  Rafe shook his head slowly. The woman was laid out like a corpse, but still stubborn as a mule. He might as well put it all on the line or she’d get herself riled and to hurting again. “Ben believes you were headed to Triumph Plantation, but he doesn’t think you intended to stage a reunion with your long-lost father. The pirates think you were out to steal the treasure. Were you?”

  She didn’t reply, just stared at him with her mouth firmed.

  Rafe let go of her hand. He propped his feet on the end of the bed, leaned b
ack in his chair, and folded his arms. “Of course, it’s possible you only intended to have a chat with your father, to try and convince him to work out a deal with the buccaneers.”

  Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t speak to that man if he were the last person on earth. I know Ben felt he had to offer me the choice to acknowledge the man whose seed gave me life—I won’t call him a father, and I wish you wouldn’t either—but Ben should have known me better. I won’t kowtow to Montgomery. Him and his cryptic notes and contemptible demands. My papas need me, and they need Lake Bliss. You were there, Rafe. You saw Papa Snake. He might have died without a dose of Bliss water.”

  Ah, Maggie. I see how it is with you. That’s all it takes. “So, you’re admitting that when you left Lake Bliss you intended to steal the treasure from your, uh, from Montgomery?”

  “It’s not stealing, it’s just taking back. Did you leave your ranch thinking you were going to stop me?”

  He allowed the barest hint of his frustration to filter into his voice as he said, “From the looks of things, Maggie, you’ve already been stopped, and I had nothing to do with it.”

  “I’ve been delayed, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll be back on my feet in no time. And I’ll get the treasure, you just wait and see.”

  Rafe set his feet on the floor with a thud. “Since you seem to be feeling well enough to argue, why don’t we talk about that? How did you plan to do it? Waltz right into your father’s house and ask him where he stashed the treasure? And what were you going to do once you had it in your hot little fingers? Slip it into your handbag and carry it off? How much would a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars in gold weigh, anyway?”

  “You are so-o-o funny, Malone,” she drawled, folding her arms across her bosom.

  Rafe noted the movement and was distracted enough to flash a little smile. It was the first time he’d seen her move naturally since he’d arrived at Gallagher’s. Rafe stood and leaned over her. He lowered his head and kissed her cheek. “Quit your fretting, Maggie-mine. It’s bad for you.”