A Groom For Gwen

by Jeanne Allan

  Below Jake turned and walked toward the bunkhouse, taking such pains to avoid looking up at her window Gwen knew he suspected she stood there. She stood watching long after he’d disappeared through the bunkhouse door. Not that she thought he’d change his mind. She didn’t even know if he’d be here in the morning. He would. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Chilled, she clutched at the quilt, pulling it tighter around her. He wouldn’t.

  All her life she’d hated wandering from place to place. When her brother Dan had married Monica, a free spirit if there ever was one, Gwen had pitied him, but he was as much a vagabond as Monica. Only Gwen yearned for roots. Now she had them. And she’d fallen in love with a man who refused to settle down. The rolling-stone lifestyle wasn’t for her and Crissie. If she couldn’t persuade Jake to stay with her...

  She’d manage without him. His rejecting her tonight was undoubtedly for the best. If she decided to marry again, she’d find herself a solid, sensible man who didn’t care if he stirred ten feet from his home.

  She half turned, leaning against the side of the windowsill. Illumination from the ranch yard light reached partially into the room, lighting Marian’s photograph. The other woman smirked at Gwen. “Maybe you could have kept him,” Gwen said softly, “but you wouldn’t have made him happy. He’s a strong man who needs a strong wife. If he’d stay, I could make him happy.”

  He had no intention of staying.

  Hours later, Gwen lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, still wearing the sweat suit and wrapped in the quilt. If she’d hoped Jake would change his mind and return, she no longer indulged in such foolishness. She’d long ago admitted the reason she couldn’t sleep was because she was afraid if she shut her eyes, when she opened them in the morning, she’d find Jake had gone.

  Mack whined outside the bedroom door. Gwen got up and opened it. “Come in to keep me company?”

  He whined again.

  She sighed. “I thought big dogs could go all night without having to go out.” The coyote chorus had stilled long ago. Gwen padded down the staircase, the dog beside her, his nails tapping loudly in the quiet house. Taking care her quilt didn’t drag on the floor, Gwen opened the front door and followed the dog outdoors. The night was mild. She’d sit on the porch bench and wait for him. Mack stood sentinel on the porch, his muzzle pointed toward the road. “C’mon, Mack, do your thing, and let’s get back in the house.”

  Mack growled softly, then walked stiff-legged down the porch steps. Preoccupied with her thoughts, the significance of the raised ruff on Mack’s back didn’t immediately hit Gwen. When it did, she jumped to her feet and reached out to grab the large dog. She missed. He shot from the porch and sped across the yard and down the road. Gwen dropped the quilt, dashed into the house to jam her feet into Bert’s old boots and lifted down the old buffalo gun hanging on the wall. Whoever was messing with her horses didn’t need to know the gun wasn’t loaded. She ran out of the house, detouring by the bunkhouse to bang on the door, then took off running as fast as she could in Mack’s wake.

  By the time she spotted the vehicle a quarter of a mile down the road, footsteps pounded distantly behind her. Ahead of her Mack erupted in a frenzy of barking. He’d found the intruder. A man’s voice screamed obscenities. Gwen recognized the voice. Her eyes growing accustomed to the dark, she saw Mack streaking toward the man. Moonlight bounced off the metal object the man pointed at the dog.

  “Mack, stop!” she screamed. “Stay!” Hearing her voice, Mack hesitated. His frantic barking continued unabated. Shouts came from behind Gwen. Dropping the buffalo gun, she lunged for the dog, succeeding in catching him around the neck. “Get out of here, Gordon. Quick. I won’t be able to hold him long. Don’t come back or I’ll call the sheriff.”

  The man-shaped shadow didn’t move for a long moment. Finally he turned to leave. Mack burst from Gwen’s hold. Gordon whirled, his arm outstretched. He was going to shoot Mack. Gwen screamed and leaped for the dog, barely managing to latch on to his rear end. As he squirmed to get loose, someone hurtled past, shoving her and the dog hard to the ground. The sound of a gunshot cracked the night.

  Gwen struggled for air, the breath having been knocked out of her by the hard fall. She couldn’t speak.

  Gordon swore and ran. Summoning all her energy, Gwen screamed at Gordon to come back. A car door slammed, the engine started, and the pickup disappeared in the distance.

  Clouds blotted out the moon. Gwen strained to hear. Only her breathing broke the stillness of the dark, oppressive night. “Mack? Jake? Tom? Doris? Who’s there?” Silence answered her. Pulling herself to her knees, Gwen groped frantically around on the ground. She bumped into Mack first. Passing her hands over his body, she found no evidence of any wound. His heart beat steadily, yet the dog lay motionless. She felt his head and scraped her hand on the rock under his ear. He must have landed on it and been knocked unconscious. She could do nothing for him now.

  She had to find Jake. She knew he’d been the one who’d pushed her down. The gunshot echoed ominously in her brain. Crawling carefully, she headed hopefully in the right direction. Her knee ran into a man’s boot. “Jake?” He didn’t answer. Half numb with fear, she ran shaking hands slowly over his body. “Jake, wake up. Jake, talk to me.”

  Warm liquid on his chest oozed between her fingers. The moon slowly emerged from hiding to show her a spreading darkness. Terror lodged in her throat. “No, Jake, no. Don’t die. You can’t die.” Yanking her sweatshirt over her head, she folded it and pressed it cautiously to his chest. She had to go for help. She didn’t want to leave him. Carefully she folded his arms over his chest to hold the sweatshirt in place. Her eyes grew gritty with unshed tears. There wasn’t time to cry.

  Gwen forced herself to her feet. One of her boots had fallen off. She couldn’t stop to look for it. A hoof struck a rock. The horses. Looking toward the pasture, Gwen saw the dark shapes milling nervously around. Bert had told her the smell of blood frightened horses. If she could catch a horse, she’d reach the house much quicker. Stumbling to the fence Gwen tried to whistle. Only air passed her lips.

  “Vegas, Susie, please, come help me. Please.” One shadow detached itself from the others and pranced tentatively toward her, snorting anxiously. Gwen’s heart almost failed her when she recognized Granada, the big horse Jake rode. The horse Bert had called the greenest, wildest horse he owned. Granada would never allow Gwen near him. And if he did, she couldn’t get on him, much less ride him.

  She slipped between the two upper strands of barbed wire. “Okay, Granada, you have to help me.” A sob caught in her throat. No, she couldn’t cry. Not now. Granada was too tall. Scratching his neck and grabbing his mane, she tugged him toward a large, nearby rock. To her surprise he came along. Scrambling up on the rock, Gwen held on to the gelding’s mane and pulled herself up on his back. If she couldn’t stay on...

  She would stay on. She had to. For Jake.

  He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “HAVE some hot coffee. You look like you could use it.”

  Gwen looked up and took the steaming paper cup from Prudence. “Thanks.” It gave her something to hold on to. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Doris called me.” Prudence sat in the chair next to Gwen. “She said to tell you Crissie is still sleeping and Tom says Mack is a little groggy, but he’s going to be fine.”

  “He crawled over and put his head on Jake’s chest,” Gwen said dully. “Helped stop the bleeding. I had to leave Jake.”

  Prudence touched Gwen’s knee. “Doris told me. You did the right thing. You saved his life.”

  “Did I? Nobody will come and tell me. They’ve been in there hours.” Her voice rose in pitch. She saw a man in the emergency waiting room look her way. She swallowed hard. Hysteria wouldn’t help Jake. “It seems like hours.” Stretching her feet out in front of her, Gwen absently noted she wore one of Bert’s old boots and one of her tennis shoes.

 
“Would you like me to get you something to wear?” Prudence asked. “Maybe a comb and some makeup?”

  “Why? Would that help Jake? Will he live or die depending on whether I look like a fashion plate?”

  “I thought you might be more comfortable in something other than Bert’s old slicker. Why are you wearing it, anyway? Are you cold?”

  Gwen looked down at the yellow garment she clutched around her. “I don’t have anything on under it. I used my sweatshirt for...” She couldn’t continue. “After I called emergency, I guess this was the first thing I grabbed. I had to get Tom and go back to Jake.”

  Prudence reached for the wobbling paper cup of coffee and set it on the side table. She took Gwen’s hand. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “No, I can’t.” Gwen clung to Prudence. “I’ve already talked to the sheriff. The hospital called him. I can’t tell it all over again.”

  “All right.”

  “It was Gordon. I recognized his voice. Somebody cut the fence once before, but I never thought of Gordon,” Gwen said. “The sheriff came back and told me. Gordon was so scared he spilled his guts.” Terror exploded in Gwen’s brain. “Jake spilled everything. So much blood. Gordon shot him.”

  “Jake will be fine. You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “No, I can’t talk about it.” Releasing Prudence’s hand, Gwen pulled at the knee of her sweatpants. “Gordon brought a gun this time. To shoot Mack with. But I called him by name so he wasn’t going to, but then Mack went for him and he started to shoot him and I grabbed Mack and Gordon was going to shoot anyway and he would have shot me and I should be in there being operated on but Jake shoved Mack and me out of the way and he took the bullet Gordon meant for Mack or maybe he meant it for me.” Gwen stopped to breathe.

  “I never dreamed Gordon was dangerous.”

  “Me neither. I can’t bear to think about it.”

  “We can talk about something else,” Prudence said gently. “Or not talk, if you prefer.”

  “Not talk. I’m too worried to talk. I can’t think.” Gwen pulled at the fabric on her other knee. “Gordon was drunk when the sheriff found him, so who knows what he meant, but I would have been shot except Jake got in the way, he always does that, has to do things his way, always thinks he knows best and getting shot serves him right because he should have let me do it my way and I could have been shot and if I hadn’t let Mack out none of this would have happened and I shouldn’t have called Jake when I went after Mack because I know Jake always has to do things his way and he thinks he knows everything and now he’s been shot—” Gwen came to a full stop at the last word. The sound of the gunshot reverberated painfully in her head. Rubbing her hands together she tried in vain to remove the remembered feel of Jake’s blood seeping through her fingers. Not all the soap in the hospital could remove that.

  “Mrs. Stoner?” A man in green stood in front of Gwen. “I’ve just come from surgery. Your husband is in recovery.”

  “He’s okay? Oh, thank you, Doctor, thank you.”

  The doctor frowned. “He made it through surgery, but the next few hours will tell the story.”

  Gwen pulled the slicker tighter around her in the suddenly chilled room. “What does that mean?”

  “In all honesty, Mrs. Stoner...” He hesitated. “There’s a lot we don’t know about the human spirit. It may depend on how badly your husband wants to live. I’ve seen worse injuries where the patients recovered. And from his scars, I’d say your husband is pretty tough. Meanwhile, we’re doing all we can for him.”

  “May I see him?”

  “Not yet. Someone will tell you when.” In the doorway, he turned back to her. “You might pray for him, Mrs. Stoner. Doctors do what we can, then we hope for miracles.”

  Music woke Jake. Crystalline notes of such exquisite beauty he opened his eyes in search of the musician. A tunnel of shining white beckoned irresistibly to him. Jake stepped hesitantly into the soft swirl of clouds. No floor supported him, but he sensed no danger of falling. Peace and joy bathed his limbs, washing the pain from his chest. An uneasy sensation nagged him from behind, but he ignored it as the far end of the tunnel pulled him compellingly toward it.

  A man stood in the mouth of the tunnel. Drawing near, Jake recognized Michaels. A different Michaels. Gone were the bowler hat and string tie. This Michaels wore a long robe of bright, luminous white. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

  “Your work on earth is done. Congratulations, Jakob. You’ve earned the right to be here.” Michaels chuckled. “As you humans like to say, you’ve earned your wings.”

  Pleasure and satisfaction flowed through Jake’s veins. Then, faintly, he heard his name called. Frowning, he looked around for the caller. He stood in the midst of a thick fog, so dense he should have felt cold drops of moisture, but he felt only warmth. He saw no one. He and Michaels stood alone. Once more Jake felt an uneasy, nagging sensation. As if he’d forgotten something. He heard his name again. Fainter this time, yet the call disturbed him. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Michaels asked serenely.

  Jake had never seen Michaels like this. The harsh, uncompromising judge had been transformed into an angelic presence from whom flowed tranquility and comfort. Jake’s cares and concerns ebbed away. He’d found peace. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t hear anything now.” Michael’s body wavered around the edges and disappeared into the mist. Only his face remained clearly defined. He didn’t appear to move, yet Jake felt a touch on his arm.

  “Come,” Michaels said. “Everyone is waiting.”

  “Yes,” Jake said, “I hear her calling.” He stopped walking with Michaels. Something held him back. “I hear her again. It’s Gwen. Where is she?”

  “It’s not her time, Jakob. You did what you were sent to do. Someone messed up and Crissie’s parents died before their time. You were sent so Crissie would have someone. You saved Gwen’s life.”

  “This time. What about next time? Gordon Pease meant to shoot her. He wants the ranch. Next time he might kill her.”

  “She’s safe. She recognized his voice and told the authorities. They’ve already found him.”

  “He confessed?”

  Michaels’s eyes flashed. “Yes. His advocate advised against it, but Gordon was granted an instant of seeing into his own darkened soul and in that instant he saw what envy and avarice had lowered him to. He’d bought the gun to use against the dog, but when Gwen called him by name and the dog charged him, Gordon panicked. He tried to convince himself and the authorities he was aiming at the dog, but the shock of actually killing a man may eventually save Gordon from eternal darkness. He admitted he went crazy for a second and thought if he killed Gwen, not only would no one know he’d been there, he’d inherit his uncle’s estate.”

  “Gordon killed a man?”

  Compassion shone on Michaels’ face. “He killed you, Jakob.”

  “Me. Then I’m really dead,” Jake said flatly.

  “As you wished. You no longer have to walk among men who lie and cheat and steal and maim and kill.”

  “They’re not all like that. Gwen’s not. And Crissie.”

  Light, airy wings flashed from nowhere to gleam in the soft light. “Two people, out of a multitude of men with evil in their hearts. You said it yourself. There’s no hope for humans.”

  “I was wrong. A person can make a difference by doing what’s right.”

  Michaels gave him an arch look. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Jakob? You tried to save Luther and he laughed at you and continued his outlaw ways. You saved that child after the bank robbery and got yourself killed. You married Gwen because you thought doing so would save her ranch, and she accused you of trying to steal the ranch. How many times have you cursed yourself for not minding your own business?”

  “Am I to be punished for being wrong?”

  “Punished?” Arms unfolded from the glittering light and spread wide in an expansive gesture. “Most
people don’t consider coming here as punishment. Up here we have only beauty and peace and love.”

  The clouds disappeared. Jake stood at the edge of a spectacular field of Texas bluebonnets dotted with scarlet Indian paintbrush. In the middle of the field his pa and ma, their arms entwined, waited under a huge cypress tree. Luther stood at their mother’s side. Jake heard a giggle of laughter and looked above his brother’s head. A red-haired sprite bouncing on a child-size cloud waved at him. Except for the tiny white wings sprouting from her back, she reminded him of Crissie.

  Luther grinned ruefully. “Howdy, Jake. Betcha never thought you’d see me here. When you died saving that kid, I saw what I’d become. Thanks, brother.”

  Jake’s mother repeated his name over and over. Tears streamed from her eyes. His father hugged her close and gave Jake a look filled with meaning. Jake understood his father was telling him his mother had done her best, and wasn’t to be blamed for her weakness. Pa wanted Jake to let go of his anger and hurt and hatred. Jake looked at his mother, then slowly gave her a loving smile. Her tears turned to tears of joy. He knew then Ma had loved him as best she could. Love radiated from his family, embracing him with warmth and happiness.

  “Your family’s been waiting a long time for you, Jakob. Everyone’s here. Everyone you love.”

  The distant voice called his name again. Much fainter, yet the call tugged at him, and he knew. Not everyone he loved was here. “I have to go back.”

  “Go back, Jakob? Why? You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve your reward. What’s back on earth but stupidity, pollution, crime, wars, evil? Going back to your ranch would mean hard work, floods, droughts, blizzards, taxes, politicians, and no guarantee of success.”

  “I wouldn’t be fighting alone. Who do I talk to about going back?”