"Like hell you won't."
"Go ahead, shoot me. I'll take you with me. I have time."
"I'd listen to him if I were you," Reese advised, sliding his gaze to Sanders. "He sounds like he means it."
"Shut up." Sanders kept his eyes trained on Connell, the tip of his gun wavering in his hand. "You don't have the guts to shoot me, Smith. Just like you didn't have the guts to shoot Donovan while he was escaping from my jail."
"Don't think so? Well, that's a distinction you'll just have to take a chance on, then, won't you, Marshal?" Smith answered hotly. "See, my wife already wrote to the military governor on Mr. Donovan's behalf. Told him all about how you hornswoggled Donovan into jail, how you trumped up all the charges and backed down witnesses—"
Reese's heartbeat froze in shock. He'd been cleared?
"It'll never stick."
"Oh, it will," the deputy replied, keeping his gun trained on Sanders's chest. "And you can count on that, Mr. Donovan. There's witnesses back in Pair-a-Dice who'll vouch for ya. Two of 'em come to me that night before we lit out after you. Told me the truth about what happened with Deke. How he provoked you, how he forced your hand and went for his gun."
"Hey, kid," Reese exclaimed, brightening, "there's hope for you after all."
"You think I care about that?" Sanders spat. "My brother's cold in the ground by now. And he did it. He needs killin' and I aim to be the one to do it."
"You'll have to go through me first, Ephram."
The marshal clamped a second hand on his first in an attempt to steady the shake.
"Go on!" Connell shouted, taking a step forward. "Try me. Unravel some cartridges! Pull back that hammer and fire! I'm sick of bein' your whippin' boy. Sick of your threats. Sick of wonderin' if my wife's gonna be a widow come tomorrow 'cause you took it in your head to kill me for upholding justice. That's our job, you know. Justice. The lady was right about that. There weren't no justice back in Pair-a-Dice for him. Only vengeance."
'"And vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,"' Sanders quoted, squeezing the trigger. The gun bucked, sending a bullet thudding into Smith's upper left arm. At the same moment the deputy's own gun exploded. His bullet struck the marshal squarely in the chest. The impact flung Ephram Sanders two feet backward, clutching his mortal wound with two hands.
Gasping for air, Sanders aimed a look of utter surprise at Reese, who tore the loosened rope up over his shoulders and head and flung it to the ground.
"Vengeance... is... mine..." Sanders managed in a rasping voice before his last breath rattled through him.
Reese hardly spared another look for the man who'd turned his life upside down. He wasn't worth it. Instead, he called out to Smith. "Kid, you all right?"
Connell Smith's knees buckled and he sat down hard, clutching his bloody left arm, and nodded. "It's nothin'. It's my nerve I was worried about."
"You did fine, kid."
Connell nodded. "Go on. See if she's all right."
"Thanks, Smith. I owe you."
"No, you don't. Get out of here."
Reese went over the edge feet first, skidding and sliding down the steep incline in a cloud of dust, half on his back and more on his backside. All the way, he shouted her name, but he couldn't see her anywhere. And when the hillside got too steep, he felt himself falling, clutching at nothing but air. He hit the ground again rolling and didn't stop until he collided abruptly with something large and hard.
"Ohhhghhh." He grunted, rolling off the other side of the felled log. Pain shot through his chest, and he gasped for air. He slid a few more feet downward, his arms and legs spread-eagled as he choked for a breath, waiting for his lungs to begin to function again.
"Reese! Oh, Reese!" A head-to-toe-dirty Grace dropped down beside him on her knees, leaning on his chest with both hands. "Speak to me! Are you all right?"
Despite his inability to breathe, relief, sharp and welcome, speared through him. She was all right.
"Did he shoot you? Reese?"
"Get—" he choked.
Her eyes widened. "Get—? Get what? Your gun?"
"Get off my chest, darlin'."
She blinked twice, then practically leapt off of him with a look of mortification. "Oh, I'm sorry!"
He coughed, sucking deep breaths into his lungs.
"Are you shot? Reese! Show me where." She began pawing all over him, searching for the wound.
As his breath slowly returned, Reese decided he rather liked the sensation of her hands on him and even rolled sideways to allow her a better view of his back.
Finally, she sat back on her heels in confusion. "You're not shot anywhere."
"No," he admitted with a wicked grin, "but don't let that stop you."
Her eyes went wide with indignation. "You! Why you let me think—"
He laughed. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her close and kissed her full on the mouth. "I couldn't resist it," he repeated, smiling against her lips, "or you." Her mouth opened for him and he deepened the kiss, erasing all the fears that he'd lost her. As she hugged him, he felt her shudder in his arms.
Miguel and Tipo burst through the cover of palo verde and into the opening, their guns drawn. They lowered them in confusion when they found only the two of them. Reese put up his hand. "Esta bien. We're all right. It's over. But there's a man hurt up there. I'd consider it a favor if you'd take care of him. He's a friend of mine."
"Sí, amigo," Miguel murmured, glancing at the woman in Reese's arms. The two men backed out of the clearing and headed up the slope for Connell.
Alone again, Grace dropped her head against his chest. "Thank God you're all right. I thought they'd kill you." She lifted her head. "Wait. What about Sanders? And where's Hidalgo and the deputy?"
"The marshal and the tracker are both dead. Smith shot them."
Shock registered on her face. "The deputy?"
"Aye. Who'd have guessed, eh? He was on our side all along." He ran a hand across her forehead, pushing the tangle of hair off her face. "And you? You're all right, scrapper?"
"I'm fine, mostly." She brushed at her sleeve. "A little dirty." She held up one palm. "I did hurt my hand in the fall."
He drew her ragged palm to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. "Better?"
"Mmm-hmm." She observed him through lowered lashes. "And, um, here, too." She pointed to her elbow and the minuscule cut there. He pressed his lips against it as well.
She pointed to the edge of her mouth, where he could see nothing at all. "And see? Right here."
"Ah, that's a nasty one. It'll take special attention." His tongue traced a path along the edges of her mouth, soothing all wounds, imagined and real. Gently, he captured her mouth again with his and kissed her with all the tenderness he couldn't put into words.
When at last he ended the kiss, she ran a finger alongside the raw abrasion on his cheek, then returned the favor with her lips. "You didn't have to come down the way I did, silly. You could have ridden down the path."
"I was in a hurry."
Her eyes sparkled up at him like a hopeful child's. "You were?"
He nodded. "I was afraid you'd hurt yourself on the way down."
"Well, after all, you did throw me down, you know," she pointed out with a tremulous smile. "Quite unchivalrous of you."
"It was, wasn't it? And I suppose you'll never let me forget it."
"No, I never wi—" She stopped, frowning at him. "I mean, I suppose that depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I get the chance to make sure you never forget it."
He drew her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. "What would you say if I told you we could have that chance together, after all?"
Grace couldn't believe she'd heard him right. Actually, she didn't dare move for fear the moment would disappear. Only the very real thud of his heart against her cheek told her this was real. "What did you say?"
"Connell Smith has cleared me in Deke's shooting. He has witnesses willing to testify on my behalf th
at it was self-defense. His wife sent a letter to the military governor of Texas, asking that the conviction be overturned."
Only then did she lift her head and let him see the tears streaking down her cheeks. "Oh, Reese."
"I'm free, Grace. Really free."
Laughter spilled from both of them as she flung her arms around him and sent them rolling several more feet down the hill. As they slid to a stop, with Reese's weight on top of her, he cradled her head in his hands and stared at her like a man who'd struck gold, but couldn't quite believe his luck.
Half laughing, half crying, she smiled up at him. "I knew it. I knew it would never hold up."
He kissed the tip of her nose and rubbed her tears away with the pad of his thumb. The moisture left a streak of dirt on her cheek.
"If not for you," he said, "they'd have hanged me before I could have appealed. No one's ever believed in me like you have, Grace. Why?"
"Because"—she laughed tearily—"because Lorna Lee Goodnight needed a hero. And so did I."
"Lorna Lee who?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you later." She brushed back a strand of dark hair that fell over his forehead and made him look young, even hopeful. "You just needed someone to believe in you until you could believe in yourself. That's all. The truth is, you did the same for me. Quite a team, huh?"
He kissed her again then, a languorous meeting of mouth and tongue, a deliberate lingering answer to her question. In a hundred years he'd never get enough of her. Of this. Of the taste of her mouth against his, the smell of her hair filling his senses; of her warm vibrancy beneath his fingertips. His mouth a heartbeat from hers, he murmured, "I don't deserve you."
"Fiddle-faddle," she said with a teasing smile. "You can't live without me."
"No," he answered with no smile at all. "I can't. I know that now. What I was doing before I met you wasn't living. It was existing." He ran the knuckle of his index finger cherishingly along her jawline. "I don't have much to offer you, Grace. Just myself. I've got two hands, a strong back, and a need to settle down. But I'm askin' you to marry me anyway. I'll take care of you, protect you, and God willing, give you children."
"I want lots of children, Reese."
That earned her a grin. "Then, lots. They'll be spilling out of the trees."
She settled back with a wistful smile, then looked back at him. "And you'll listen to my stories?"
"You mean you'll actually read me something from that little notebook of yours?"
"I suppose that's only fair," she said, giving close scrutiny to a broken fingernail, "since the hero has taken on more than a few of your more shining attributes."
He threw his head back and laughed at the thought. "Then listening to them will become one of my favorite pastimes. And when we're sitting on the porch thirty years from now, with grandbabies on our knees, you can tell your tales to them, too."
Her dreamy smile made it all the way to her eyes. "And you can tell the one about the time we went to Mexico and outsmarted the emperor."
"All about the heroine with the sassy know-it-all smile and eyes like Texas bluebonnets." He nuzzled her neck, just behind her ear. "Did I mention I like your hair this way?"
"Mmm-hmm, it's coming back to me."
"Say yes, Grace, and I'll nab the first priest we pass."
She pulled back. A mischievous gleam lit her eye. "Not the one we left tied in the rectory, I hope."
"The first one after him."
She looped her arms thoughtfully around his neck. "You know, it occurs to me that Lavinia Butterworth, of the Philadelphia Butterworths, faced a decision similar to this at the conclusion of Revenge on the Bayou."
He grinned. Life with Grace would never be dull. "She did?"
"Mmm-hmm. You see, she loved the hero, this stubborn man who'd snuck into her heart and stolen it like a thief in the night. And, after a particularly hair-raising adventure, he asked her to marry him. But there was just one, small problem."
"Really."
"Mmm—you see, she thought he cared deeply for her, at least she hoped. But she'd never heard him say the words. And for some reason, they were very important to her."
"You mean, the ones where he tells her how he feels?"
Her cheeks went high with color and her lashes dropped so he couldn't see her eyes. "Yes, those were the ones."
Reese shook his head. "An unforgivable oversight on his part."
"I thought so."
"So what did she do, this Lavinia Butterworth of the Philadelphia Butterworths?"
"Well, she did the only thing she could think of. She asked him."
"Clever girl. What exactly did she say?"
Grace swallowed hard. "She said, 'Do you love me?' And he said—"
Reese silenced her answer with his finger against her lips. "And he said, 'I love you like I've never loved anyone before. With every fiber of my being. I love the sound of your laughter and the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I love the way your hair feels in my fingers and the way the wind lifts it like it was silk. I love the way the sunset catches the light in that little dimple of yours."' He touched it with his fingertip. "I love holdin' you in my arms, and dreamin' about feelin' that way for years to come. I love everything about you, my darlin' Grace. I always will."
He paused, dropping his gaze deliberately to her mouth. "Was that about the gist of it?"
Her smile was slow to come and tremulous when it got there. "Oh, yes," she said. "That'll do just fine."
"And after this stubborn man convinced her he loved her, what did Lavinia do then?"
"Why, the only sensible thing, of course. She kissed him soundly and took him home."
"Home," he echoed, brushing her lips with the heat of his own. The word had lost its meaning for him until the day he'd met her. It seemed like a lifetime ago he'd had one. But it wasn't until she'd spoken the word aloud that he'd understood the power of it. Because now he knew that "home" and "Grace" were one and the same thing and wherever she was, that's where he wanted to be, too.
Her hand, which had been drawing languorous circles on his back, slid southward, deliciously, insistently. He went perfectly still as it snaked its way toward its illicit goal. And when she reached it, she grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him. "So what do you say, Mr. Donovan? Shall we go home now? Or shall I have my way with you first?"
"In all my livelong life," he murmured. "You are a corker, Grace Turner. I think we'll do both at once." And that's exactly what they did.
Epilogue
Late Spring, 1869
"Are you sure we need to do this now?" Grace asked, as Reese tugged her toward the spot beneath the huge oak overlooking the sprawling fields of sweet potatoes they'd planted.
She was juggling a squirming fifteen-month old Lucas on her hip, and Reese watched her touch her newly expanding waistline self-consciously, not at all sure she wanted it recorded for posterity.
"I was just about to put Lucas down for his nap," she said.
The baby, Reese mused, had his dark looks, but Grace's irrepressible smile and sense of timing. So when he chose that moment to let out an ear-splitting shout of joy at the sight of the box camera poised a few feet away, no one was surprised, except, perhaps, the silver-haired photographer Reese had brought back from town. Sam Weissman grimaced and ducked under the black cloth.
Reese laughed, scooped the child out of Grace's arms, and blew on his chubby neck with a sound that made Lucas squeal with glee. It was a sound Reese couldn't resist evoking in his son and one he seldom missed the opportunity to indulge himself in.
"There, you see?" Reese said, lifting the baby above his head like a flying bird. "He's not even tired. Are you, Peanut?"
Lucas beamed at him and reached down for his nose.
Whatever doubts Reese had harbored about his capacity to love anyone as much as he did Grace had vanished the first instant he'd looked in his son's sea green eyes. As long as he lived, he'd never forget that moment. Nor would he ever be able to re
pay the debt he owed Grace for giving him back his life and sharing hers with a man who'd lost his way.
He settled her onto the stool, brushing his hand against the spot where their second child grew. Grace looked up at him and smiled a secret smile. For a moment, Reese wished he hadn't brought Sam Weissman home with him to record the moment, for he could think of a hundred other ways to celebrate in private with this woman in his arms.
"So are you going to tell me what this is all about? You're up to something." Grace held her arms out for the baby and tried to decipher the expression on Reese's face. "It's not my birthday. Or yours."
"Nope."
"It's not our anniversary." She looked suddenly unsure. "Is it?"
Reese deposited Lucas in her lap and grinned. "Uh-uh."
Her eyes went wide. "You got a letter from Luke?"
Luke's letters were too few and far between to satisfy Grace's concern for him. Last they'd heard, he had gotten a job working for the railroads out west, but they knew little else. If she weren't with child again, Reese felt sure she'd be tempted to climb aboard one of those trains and find out for herself how her brother was faring.
"Did you?" she repeated.
"No. Not today, but you're getting warmer. Here's part one of the surprise." He withdrew a letter from his pocket with a Tucson, Arizona, return address.
She gave a little gasp along with Brew's name.
Tearing open the letter, she scanned it quickly. As she read, a smile tugged at her mouth. "Oh! They're coming for a visit at the end of August." She touched her belly. "In time for the baby. Reese, isn't it wonderful?"
"Aye. Go on. What else do they say?"
"Elena says that the dry air of the Arizona Territory agrees with Brew and he's doing well. They've seen Luke. He's well, too, but she says they'll tell more when they come. What do you suppose that means?"
"Knowing your brother, it could mean just about anything."
With a sigh, she kissed the top of Lucas's head as he tried to fit his pudgy fingers around a sunbeam. "August. It's so far away."
"I have a feeling you'll have your hands full until then."
She smiled up at Reese. "You said 'part one.' Does part two have anything to do with that box over there?"
The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) Page 31
