“And he’s liable to be a dead man, once Dent comes around.”
Amy looked up, her heart suddenly racing like a wild river. “No. He’s got to walk away. He has to let it go. All of it.” She surged to her feet, a sudden desperation propelling her. “All of it, even if it means leaving Evergreen.”
Amy rushed to the sheriff’s office, but it was empty. The only other place she could think to look was Doc’s. She hurried over and knocked just as the door opened. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She had to step out of the way for a woman with an enormous abdomen.
“I’ll see you, Tuesday, Mrs. Jenkins.” Doc scratched his chin. “If not sooner.”
“Thank you, Doc.” The woman raised a hand and waddled on her way.
He winked at Amy. “Twins.”
“Yes.” She shook her head in amazement and followed Doc. She trailed him as he strode toward his desk. “I’m looking for Dent. Have you seen him?”
“No, not since lunch.” His brow furrowed. “You’ve seen Susan, so you know?”
“About Ben’s son, yes.”
Doc huffed loudly, shook his head, and sat down on his desk. “He’s at the lowest point I’ve ever seen him.”
“I want to find him.”
“And I think you need to. If he’s not in town, Amy, he must be out at the ranch. Buggy’s all ready to go; I’ll drive you.”
He started to rise, but she threw up her hand. “No. I need to go alone.”
“You’re sure?”
She almost laughed. Those same words again. Truth was she wasn’t sure of anything. Dent’s ranch was six miles outside of town. And it was late in the afternoon.
But she could do this. Had to. For Dent and herself. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The shadows cast by the hills crept longer and longer, the setting sun painting the snowy, open landscape in hues of purple and orange. Amy raced against the approaching darkness, at least, as much as she dared. She had the horse going at a steady trot, but wasn’t all that skilled at driving a buggy, especially in snow.
She focused on the road, prayed for Dent, and stuffed her fears into the back of her mind. She was afraid to be alone, but not terrified anymore. Not paralyzed. What mattered now was Dent. He needed her. She hoped he knew it.
Twilight settled, and she pulled into the front yard. Ginger munched on fresh hay in the corral. He was here somewhere, but the house was dark. The shattered windows and looming darkness of the cabin tried wrapping icy tentacles around her heart. She would not panic. She would not become paralyzed by fear.
I’m stronger than that. “Dent,” she called out. No answer. She tried again, louder and longer. “Dent!”
Frightened for him now, she jumped from the wagon and studied the snow. She followed tracks over to the corral. They were jumbled here, but then she discovered one set walking away ... up the hill.
He was at the graves.
Amy lifted her skirt and hurried through the snow. The closer she got, the faster she moved, till she was running, struggling, staggering over the slippery landscape to the top of the hill.
She found him, staring down at Ben’s grave. And, now that she’d found him, she didn’t know how to even begin healing his wounds or the gap between them.
“Eight years,” he said in a lifeless voice. “Eight years he knew his son was the one who killed my pa.”
Hoping the comments were an invitation, she took a deep breath, and slipped up beside him. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”
“All those years of huntin’ men, arrestin’ ’em, hangin’ ’em, trying to get some justice for Pa.” He shook his head. His clenched jaws and pursed lips signaled his struggle for control. “What was it all for?”
“Dent ...” She slipped her gloved hand into his, at a loss. She couldn’t think of any words to help him, except for three, and she wasn’t sure she had the courage to say them.
He dragged his stare away from the grave to her. “I can’t ....” he struggled for the words. “I can’t live in this darkness anymore.”
She searched his eyes, trying to touch his tortured soul. “Then you have to forgive ... all of them.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You let Israel go. Now let this go.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “It’s a choice.” Give me the words, Lord, please. “Dent, it’s Christmastime. It’s the celebration of a birth, of a life that changed everything. He changes everything. He’ll help you. You can walk away from all the death and start over.”
He brushed her face with the back of his hand, gently caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I heard you were thinking about leaving.”
Could she be so bold? Could she tell him how she felt? Could she tell him his touch, his smile, his heartbreak moved her in a way she couldn’t fathom? “I … don’t want to. I thought it might be best. I thought I couldn’t love you, if you hung Israel … I didn’t realize it was too late.”
“Too late?”
She took a deep breath. “I am already in love with you, and nothing you do will change that.”
His jaw went slack, then sadness poured over his face. “You don’t mean that.”
She laughed at his incomprehension as the tears pooled in her eyes. “Why else would I say it?”
“Amy,” he grasped her shoulders, “I need to let all this settle in. I don’t know what I think … about anything, I’m so tangled up inside.”
“I understand.” At least, I’ll try to.
He cupped her face and kissed her, tenderly at first, but then she sensed his desperation as he folded his arms around her, drew her in, kissed her hungrily, wildly. She clung to him, breathed him in, tasted his fear and his hope. After a moment, he stopped himself and rested his cheek on the top of her head. She could feel his heart pounding crazily, even through the thick coat.
He exhaled a long, heavy breath. “I’ve got choices to make, Amy. Give me time?”
“All that you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
She stepped back and tugged at his hand. He resisted. She tugged again and he relented. Together, arm-in-arm, they headed back down the hill in the final light of the day.
Amy, her heart full of joy, was smiling up at Dent when something slammed into her chest. She gasped as what felt like a sledgehammer knocked the air out of her lungs.
Dent saw the tiny explosion of wool and fibers from Amy’s coat before he heard the rifle shot. She was gazing up at him with an expression so sweet, so serene, his knees were on the verge of buckling. But then her red coat twitched, her shoulder jerked back, wool and blood flew into the air as if by blown by an invisible mouth. Her brow furrowed in confusion, she touched the place, and pulled her gloved fingers away, shiny with blood.
“Dent?” Her face paled, and she looked ghostly in the low light. “I–I ...”
She fainted into his arms, but he was running for the buggy with her before she closed her lids all the way. He laid her in the back as gently as he could then whipped the surrey’s little horse like hell was chasing them.
And maybe it was, but it would not catch her.
It didn’t occur to him until they were halfway to town that the gunman could have easily taken another shot. Why hadn’t he? The light? But all Dent cared about was saving Amy, getting her to Doc.
Dent paced like a man about to hang. He kept peering at the closed door, wondering if Doc was saving Amy ... or watching her slip away. He wanted her to live. He’d never wanted anything so badly in his life. He knew the bullet had been meant for him. He had enough enemies to fill the Great Salt Lake. Not her. All she did was give a man swimming in death a second chance at life. He couldn’t lose her.
He strode to the window and stared out at the shadowy street, but saw Amy’s face, her confusion and fear, the blood on her fingers. What if he never heard her voice again? His heart writhing in agony, he clutched the curtain with a death grip, and prayed.
God, please, anythin
g. I’ll do anything. Don’t let her die. I never even told her I love her.
Reaching out to a God he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with ... comforted him some. And that puzzled him. The white hot terror of losing her, though, remained.
The door opened and Doc Woodruff stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. Susan followed him, carrying a tray of bloody instruments.
Bloody instruments.
Amy’s blood.
He rushed up to Doc. “Well?”
“The bullet hit her left clavicle, nicked it, and traveled through her coracoclavicular ligament, lodging deep in the Pectoralis Maj—”
“Doc, English,” he begged through clenched teeth.
“The bullet hit her in her shoulder. She’s going to be a in a sling for a bit, but she’ll be all right.”
The weight of the world lifted off Dent.
“Whoever shot her,” Doc continued, “used a Springfield, but the distance was great enough the bullet’s velocity was significantly diminished.”
“Much closer, though, and Amy—” Susan cut off the thought and hurried to the sink. “But that didn’t happen. Thank God.”
Dent barely heard her. The distance was great enough repeated in his head ... That was a risky shot in low light and he nearly hit the mark. Nearly. Maybe that’s why he didn’t try again? He panicked when he shot Amy?
“Dent?”
He came back to Doc. “Sorry, yeah, I was thinking about the shot. Has a sniper feel to it, but it was almost dark and he was too far away. Not a lot of cover out there.” The color drained from Doc’s face, leaving him pale as milk. Alarmed, Dent peered closer. “Doc?”
“She’s asking for you. Go see her ... then we’ll talk.” He blinked and walked away, joining Susan at the sink. “Oh,” he spoke over his shoulder, “she’s pretty loopy, though. The laudanum.”
Guilt consuming him, Dent hesitated for an instant then slipped in to see Amy.
Dressed only in a camisole, her auburn hair spilling around her, Amy sat propped up in the bed, a wide, white sling encasing her left arm and shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open when the door squeaked. Dent jerked his hat off and slipped into the seat beside the bed. “Amy, how do ya feel?”
Her eyelids worked independent of each other, and she offered him a dreamy smile. “I hurt some, but mostly I feel wonderful.”
Dent allowed himself a little chuckle. High and tight and cute as a button. But the humor died. “I’m sorry, Amy, this is my fault. I know that shot was meant for me.”
She fell asleep, or so he thought, but her head lolled in his direction and she flopped her hand out, searching for him. He took it and she squeezed his fingers. “Not your fault. Don’t think that.” She drifted off, shook her head, tried to finish her thought. “Promise me something.”
He leaned forward, willing to promise her the world.
“Promise me you won’t kill him,” her words slurred together. “No more killing. No more hanging. Promise ...”
She fell asleep in the middle of the word, leaving Dent speechless. He had to go after whoever had taken the shot. And there were few people in his life he wanted to kill more ...
He touched her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. Cheeks as soft as silk. Pale lips so full and tender. He could wake up every morning for the rest of his life looking at her.
All she asked was that he walk away from who he was. Letting Israel go had been one thing, maybe he could even forgive Ben, but whoever had shot her … had it coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Goin’ somewhere, Mayor?”
Mayor Coker spun at the sound of Dent’s voice, cash spilling from his arms. His eyes round like full moons, he positioned himself in front of the open safe behind his desk. Hiding its contents, Dent assumed.
“What are you doing here, Sheriff?”
Dent squeezed the butt of his gun on his hip, but forced his arm to be still. He approached the mayor’s desk, staying behind a tall, leather chair. “Somebody took a shot at me this evening, Mayor. But they hit Miss Tate.”
“That’s terrible. Is she all right?”
“Doc says she will be.”
The man visibly relaxed a little. “Well, that’s good to hear. Um,” he licked his lips and set the wad of money on his desk. “Is there something else I can help you with?”
How many times in his life had Dent pulled his gun and fired at another human? A hundred? Of all those times, he’d been under fire. He’d never dropped an unarmed man. That was flat-out murder.
And he was capable of it. He saw Amy’s shoulder jerk back, saw the tray of bloody instruments. He could shoot the mayor. Shoot him down like a rabid dog …
Promise me you won’t kill him …
But then he’d have to deal with the aftermath. The possibility of losing Amy outweighed his need for vengeance. “You’re under arrest for attempted murder.”
“You can’t prove a thing.”
“Doc said you were a sniper during the war. I see your Springfield sitting over there in the rack.” Dent walked over and lifted the rifle from its supports. He sniffed the barrel. “It’s been fired recently. You didn’t brush your horse down, either. Sweat’s dried on him. You rode him hard somewhere tonight.” He returned the rifle to its place. “And it looks like you’re clearing out your holdings.”
Coker rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Like I said, you can’t prove a thing.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve got enough to arrest you. And, once I start asking around, I bet I’ll find a witness or two who saw you ride out to my place.” Dent watched the mayor’s hands. The left fiddled with the stack of cash. The right one slowly crept backward. “I don’t doubt, Coker, you’ve got a pistol in that desk drawer.” He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Don’t pull it. I don’t want to kill you. You’re not worth what it will cost me.”
That sound of death had crept into Dent’s voice. Some men could hear it. Some couldn’t. The mayor could. He paused, seemed to consider things, then raised hands. “I didn’t get rich by being stupid. And an arrest is far from a conviction.”
Snow began falling as Dent drove the buggy down Fraser Street toward the church. Crazy, swirling flakes filled the amber pools of light cast by the street lamps. Evergreen rested in the sublime peace of an early winter night. He smiled down at Amy, and she reached across her bandaged arm to touch his elbow. Relief that she’d lived swept over him for the millionth time.
As they gazed at one another, the voices of children singing drifted to them on the air. Soft, angelic, indistinct at first, but then Dent could make out the serene melody of “O Holy Night.”
The church came into view, its windows glowing, warm and inviting.
He pulled up beside the other buggies and set the brake. At the entrance to the church, the pastor handed folks candles, and, one by one, lit them from his own. No one spoke. They merely nodded, and entered the sanctuary with quiet reverence.
“What’s going on here tonight?” he asked softly.
“It’s Christmas Eve. They’re telling the story of the Child who was born to die ... for you, for me.”
For some reason, his heart started hammering. He stared at the door, afraid to look at Amy, afraid he’d see a love he couldn’t resist. A love that would change everything.
“Jesus is the only One who can bring life from death, Dent. And He will … if you’ll let Him.”
Her words soothed him like a balm. The song, the snow, the church, Amy on his arm, it all overwhelmed him. With gratitude. So many reasons he shouldn’t be here now, so many ways he could have died in the last eight years. Amy could have died, and yet, here she was beside him. Blessings surrounded him, but to claim them, he had to let something go.
His gift for dealing death.
And suddenly, he knew. He wanted to stay in Evergreen, put down roots. He wanted to get his arms around a pretty girl, the one beside him, and watch his child perform
in this play some Christmas. He wanted to seek justice with his badge and leave the vengeance to God.
He wanted to let Christ bring life to his dead soul.
He pivoted to her and tried to speak. For a moment, he couldn’t, but he fought past the knot in his throat. “I told you I was tangled up inside. I’m not anymore, Amy. I know exactly what I want.” He looked around. “I want this. I want to start over … in Evergreen. With you, if you’ll have me. “
Her eyes shining, her smile trembling, she nodded.
He sighed and whispered against her lips, “I love you, Amy Tate.”
“I love you, Sheriff.”
EPILOGUE
Dent pushed through the heavy oak door to Judge Lynch’s chambers, marched up to his desk, and tossed his U.S. Marshal badge down. The judge rested a hand on the star, then straightened, and looked at him. “I didn’t ask for this back. I said you were suspended, not relieved of your duty.”
“I can’t wear it anymore.” Dent sat down opposite the judge, and started bouncing his leg nervously.
Lynch laid down his pencil and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what happened. Not the three sentences in your telegram. Tell me what happened.”
Dent laced and unlaced his fingers. “I let the boy go. I could have shot him, wounded his horse, something, but I let him go.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t guilty of murder but his father was going to let him hang for it.”
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes.”
Lynch stared at him for several moments before finally speaking again. “Doc Woodruff told me you rode out twice trying to find those bank robbers. Roamed half the territory.”
“Yes sir.”
“Was that the first time it didn’t have anything to do with your father?”
Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1) Page 16
