by Jo Goodman
His response was long in coming, as if he were shaking off the sadness. Mary swore she could see Ryder's slowly emerging smile when he finally said, "Celebrate, of course, and wait for the enemy to charge."
Bemused, Mary let herself be drawn to her feet and led between the tall racks of wine.
"Where are you going?" Anna Leigh called a little uncertainly. She squinted, trying to see. "Are you leaving me?"
Ryder ignored her. Running his free hand along the wall of bottles, he asked Mary, "Is there something in particular you'd like to try?"
Mary frowned. "Ryder, you know I don't drink much."
"I wasn't thinking that we'd drink it."
"Well then, what are we—"
"Break them," he said. "Break them all."
"And wait for the enemy," she whispered slowly, understanding. "Ryder McKay, I like the way you think." She took a bottle by the neck and removed it from the rack. "I'll start with this."
Ryder found her face, cupped it, and kissed her swiftly and sweetly on the mouth. "Be careful," he said. "I'll be at the top of the stairs."
She nodded. "I thought you would." She heard him tell Anna Leigh to get out of the way before he climbed the steps.
Mary had to knock the first bottle of wine against the floor a few times before it broke. The sound was not as satisfying as she'd hoped it would be. The thud was too dull and the bottle didn't shatter easily. "I don't think he'll hear that," she said.
Anna Leigh groped around in the darkness until she came upon Mary. "Here, let me try." She gripped one bottleneck and pitched it hard in the direction of where she knew a wall would be. It shattered nicely. "You have to know where to throw it. I've seen Wilson's cellar before."
"How nice for you," Mary said dryly. Anna Leigh's assistance now wasn't going to make her a fast friend. Mary hefted a bottle and tossed it. It broke easily. She tossed another, then another. Anna Leigh joined her and they pitched the bottles in unison. Overhead they could hear the heavy thud of running feet. Senator Stillwell was pounding down the hallway to save his beloved collection of vintage wines. "He's coming!" Mary whispered.
"Yes," Anna Leigh said. "He is."
The last thing Mary saw was the sliver of light at the top of the stairs as Senator Stillwell threw open the door. She remembered thinking it was a good thing the bottle Anna Leigh brought down squarely on her head didn't shatter.
"Look out, Wilson!" Anna Leigh cried. "It's a trap!"
Her warning came too late. The senator had already launched himself headlong onto the stairway, his revolver drawn. Ryder rose from his crouched position and drove a fist hard into his uncle's midsection. Wilson Stillwell groaned and lost his balance. The force of his headlong plunge knocked Ryder off his feet and for the second time in the space of an hour, Ryder twisted and dove down the length of the stairs.
Stillwell's gun discharged as it thudded against a step, its bullet exploding a magnum of Moet et Chandon. Anna Leigh screamed as she was struck in the face by champagne and shards of flying glass, and she screamed even louder when she tasted blood mixed with the bubbly.
Ryder wrestled the senator to the floor, taking a surprisingly stiff blow on his chin as they both grappled for the gun. Stillwell caught it once with his fingertips, but sent it skittering along the bricks when Ryder reached for it, too. The door at the top of the stairs began to swing shut slowly, cutting off the hallway's gaslight.
With the return of complete darkness Wilson Stillwell got lucky. His roundhouse punch connected with Ryder's temple, knocking Ryder sideways and further wrenching his knee. The senator threw himself in the direction where he'd last spied the gun and began flailing around for it. Ryder caught him by the legs and pulled him back. Stillwell's aggressive chin got a solid thudding as he was dragged belly first across the brick floor. He groaned as Ryder straddled him and yanked his arms behind his back.
"Now what?" Stillwell said tersely, one side of his face pressed uncomfortably against the floor. "You don't have anything for tying my hands."
Ryder had realized that as well. "I'm prepared to improvise," he said.
Without any more warning than that, he raised himself high enough to turn his uncle over, then he knocked him out with a hard right hook.
Suddenly there was light at the top of the stairs as the door was opened again. Not certain what he could expect, Ryder rolled off Stillwell and sprang to his feet. Anna Leigh's screams had subsided into hoarse sobs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary lift her head weakly and search out the lump on her scalp. Nearby Lieutenant Rivers was finally stirring. Only his uncle was singularly still.
The figure filling the doorway above took a step down to let more of the light behind him filter into the wine cellar. He made a quick but thorough survey of the carnage, then looked Ryder squarely in the eye.
John MacKenzie Worth slowly raised his shotgun. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't use this on you."
Ryder didn't blink or miss a beat. "I was hoping you'd save it for the wedding, sir." At the top of the stairs, directly behind Jay Mac there was more commotion. Some of the voices he recognized, others he didn't. That gave him hope. He hadn't expected to know them all, though some were tantalizing familiar.
Jarret Sullivan pushed his way through the throng clogging the entrance, and Rennie followed closely on his heels. Moira shouldered her way into the fray and looked over her daughter's shoulder. "Jay Mac," she said firmly. "Put down that gun."
Ryder released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Finally," he said softly. "The cavalry."
Epilogue
New York City, July 1885
It wasn't a shotgun wedding. Judge Halsey, in spite of a lifelong friendship with Jay Mac, his position as godfather to Mary Michael, and his role in the marriages of all the Dennehy women, absolutely refused to allow the weapon in his chambers. Jay Mac, not one for accepting defeat easily, carried the shotgun as far as the courtroom and left it propped in the hallway against the wall.
The judge's chambers were really not big enough to accommodate the crowd gathered in them. He only permitted them access because they were all related to one another and didn't seem to mind the squeeze. It was the first reunion of the entire family since Mary Margaret's graduation from medical school over a year ago—and their numbers seemed to be swelling. Certainly the bride was.
The Honorable Judge Halsey thought he detected a slight roundness to Mary Francis's abdomen that hadn't been evident when she'd first approached him about the wedding ceremony. She had come to him in March, he recalled, just after Senator Wilson Stillwell's dramatic prison suicide had ended his sensational impeachment proceedings and criminal trial. Mary had told Halsey then that she was in no hurry for the marriage to take place, that in her eyes, in her mother's and the Marys' eyes, and she was certain that in God's eyes, she was already very much married to Ryder McKay. This formal ceremony was to appease Jay Mac and New York civil law. Judge Halsey didn't doubt that the former was more influential than the latter.
The judge looked around his private chambers now. He saw that Moira Dennehy Worth was quite content to preside at her husband's side over their brood of children and grandchildren. Jay Mac kept his arm around his wife's shoulder and occasionally, when his eye would catch one of the grandchildren in some antic reminiscent of his own daughters, he would whisper in Moira's ear. Her smile was beatific.
Mary Michael was there with her husband Ethan and their two children. Michael was the first to report the truth behind the Colter Canyon raid for the Rocky Mountain News. All the major eastern newspapers had picked up her story, and her byline was once again known nationally. She had had an advantage no other reporter had. She and Ethan were part of Ryder McKay's "cavalry." After following Jay Mac across the country to make certain he did nothing foolish, they had ended up being called upon to assist in the rescue. Michael's reporting had a slant that was the envy of all the news agencies.
Judge Halsey's eyes slid next to Michael's twin. R
ennie was kneeling beside her own twins, wiping sticky red and black licorice off their hands and asking where they had gotten the candy. Cait and Lilly were almost comically mute in their refusal to betray their father. As for Jarret, he was busy tucking strings of licorice out of sight in his inside breast pocket.
The judge's slightly crooked smile faded as he noticed one youngster had occupied the plush leather seat behind his desk and was energetically swiveling back and forth. He was about to say something when he noticed Mary Margaret's attention was drawn from the babe in her arms to her daughter. She poked Connor gently with her elbow and nodded toward Meredith. Connor put his hand out stopped the rotating chair, and that was that... until Meredith began rooting through the papers the judge had been foolish enough to leave out. At that point it was easier for Halsey to look away than watch the carnage.
It was then he caught Mary Schyler's eye. She was laughing at him and making no effort to hide it. The sheer brightness of Skye's flame red hair and flashing emerald eyes made the judge feel decades younger. He found himself chuckling in return, glad for all the clan that Skye had been able to return from China for Mary Francis's wedding. Her husband Walker was the groom's best man. Now Walker tapped Skye on the shoulder lightly and passed their son into her arms.
It was then Judge Halsey realized they were all waiting on him. His complexion reddened a little, and his starched collar suddenly felt tight. He cleared his throat, more out of necessity than for dramatic effect, and nodded to Mary and Ryder. "It appears we're ready," he said solemnly.
Mary Francis looked around the room once, taking time to acknowledge everyone individually, to thank them silently for all they had done. When she turned to face Ryder a faint wash of tears glistened in her eyes. The full measure of her family's love swelled her heart.
Ryder took her hand and drew her close as Judge Halsey began the ceremony. Later they would both admit they remembered almost nothing of what was said or done. Separately, yet together, they had been transported to a still and silent clearing in the Arizona Territory where their marriage, like all other life, had been given its nascent moment in cool, crystalline water.
It was the judge's expectant look, his nod of encouragement to each of them that brought them back to the present. Mary raised her face and Ryder bent his head. There was a collective sigh among the witnesses when the kiss finally ended.
Flushed and a little breathless, Mary smiled, radiating joy. Ryder selfishly kept the warmth of that smile for himself a moment before he turned her gently so they might greet the family together.
They were mobbed.
* * *
A warm breeze swept up from the Hudson River, crossed the field of wildflowers, and fluttered the lace curtains in the corner bedroom of the summerhouse. The scent of water; the fragrance of larkspur, zinnias, primroses, and yarrow; the gentle, almost ghostly movement of the gauzy curtains teased Ryder's senses into wakefulness. He rose from deep sleep slowly, turning on his side with a lazy stretch, and buried his face into the coolest corner of the feather pillow. His hand slid beneath the covers, searching for the familiar contour of Mary's slender arm or the shape of her rounded hip.
He opened his eyes to confirm what his blind seeking had already divined. He was alone.
Ryder smiled to himself, not alarmed by her absence. He knew where he could find her.
* * *
Mary surfaced and shook her head. The spray of water sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight before each droplet was absorbed by the larger pool. She turned in a slow circle, letting her bare arm skim the surface and creating a ripple with her at its center. Except for Mary's own light, off-key humming, the clearing around the pool was quiet.
She never heard Ryder's approach, yet she knew almost immediately that he had arrived. It was as if there had been a shift in the very air. She stopped humming and completed her lazy rotation until she faced him.
Moonshine glanced off his naked shoulders and set his features in sharp relief. He was hunkered on the lip of a rock, his predatory posture familiar to her now, more exciting than threatening. He watched her closely, his gaze gliding over her face, her neck, her bare shoulders. His quiet scrutiny infused Mary's skin with warmth, and the water suddenly felt several degrees cooler.
Ryder's voice had a deep, husky edge. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting." She said the word simply, but could not have imbued it with more meaning. She knew about the pleasures of waiting.
He nodded and stood. "I thought you might be." He undid the button at the waist of his jeans, the only one he'd buttoned, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed the pants off, diving into the water the moment he kicked them free. His body skimmed Mary's as he surfaced. "I missed you," he said.
Treading water easily, she placed her hand on the curve of Ryder's neck and flicked away a strand of dark hair from his nape. She leaned into him and placed her mouth across his. They sank beneath the water, their lips fused in a breathless kiss. Mary wrapped her legs around Ryder's thighs and pressed her breasts against his chest. Her hair fanned out in the water, waving and undulating as they floated back toward the surface.
They headed for a shallower part of the pool. Mary's arms circled Ryder's shoulders as he lifted her. Her thighs clutched his hips. Buoyed by the water and supported by him, she felt nearly weightless. She arched her back. Sensation rippled from their joining to her fingertips. His mouth was on her breast, sucking. Cords of pleasure tugged deeply within her, as deeply as her womb. Her fingers spread widely across Ryder's damp skin, and she clung to him. His hands were on the small of her back, pressing her close. As she flung back her head, his mouth found her throat, his lips almost intolerably hot against her skin.
She felt him shudder, and the vibration of his body seemed to roll into her. Mary absorbed it as Ryder continued to stroke her. He kissed her deeply and kept his body flush to hers. Her tender breasts rubbed slickly against his chest.
She was expecting the climax, still, the power of it took her by surprise. Mary cried out, her body rocking hard against Ryder. He held her close but not tightly. His loose embrace secured her afterward when she sagged weakly against him, replete and radiant.
Ryder carried her out of the water. She pointed to the blanket she'd brought from the house and he set her on it. Her cotton shift was bunched in one corner. She raised her arms languorously as he helped her put it on. He gave her a brief parting kiss that was more promise than passion before he went around the pool to retrieve his trousers.
"You didn't have to put those on on my account," Mary said when he returned.
"I know." He dropped to his knees beside her and then stretched out, propping himself on an elbow. "I put them on because it's warmer in the water than it is out here."
"Do you want to go inside?" she asked.
He smoothed tendrils of her damp hair away from her temples. Her complexion was bathed in silver-blue moonlight. "No," he said, studying her serene, uncomplicated beauty. "No, I want to stay right here."
She smiled. Only that. It wasn't important to say anything in return.
Ryder's fingers continued to sift the slick and silky strands of her hair. "Did you ever think we should have had our wedding here?" he asked after a time.
"It occurred to me," she said. "But I didn't want to share this place that way." She imagined that he felt the same way. After all, he hadn't broached the idea before their wedding. "I'm quite happy with the current arrangement. My sisters and their husbands and all those children are running up and down the stairs in my parents' home while you and I honeymoon right here at the summerhouse."
Ryder's palm slid from beneath Mary's breast to the gentle swell of her abdomen. "Our child will be running up and down those same stairs someday," he said.
Mary shook her head. "I'm going to teach him how to use the banister. It's the quickest way between floors."
He chuckled. "I believe you will." He rubbed her belly idly, thinking.
&n
bsp; "It's not a magic lamp, you know," Mary said tartly.
Frowning, Ryder stopped. "What?"
She was hard pressed to keep her stern expression, but she managed to point to his splayed hand on her abdomen and tell him, "Your son won't appear in a puff of smoke no matter how hard you rub."
Ryder couldn't have removed his hand any more quickly if he had been scorched. His grin was sheepish. "Sorry. I didn't realize..." His voice trailed off as Mary placed his hand back on her swollen middle.
"I don't suppose I mind so much," she said. "Just so you know these things take time."
By Ryder's reckoning it would take four more months. He had a particularly fond memory of a shared bathing tub at Doc Stanley's boarding house. Their child, like their marriage, had been conceived surrounded by water. "Do you really think it will be a boy?"
"No. I don't have a sense of it one way or the other." She studied his face. Did he want a boy because he'd already had a daughter? Was the memory still too raw, even after so many years? "Does it matter?"
He shook his head. "A daughter would be fine, Mary. I'll cherish her as much as I do her mother." He raised his hand again, but Mary brought it back to her belly quickly this time. Her expression cautioned him to be still. Beneath his palm he felt the surprisingly firm kick of his child.
"That's approval," Mary said softly.
Ryder laughed lowly. He removed his hand and lay back. Mary nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder and laid her arm across his chest. Blanketed by stars in a midnight blue sky, they enjoyed this moment in silence. Too many times over that last five months they had wondered if they would ever reach the sanctuary of this Hudson Valley clearing. The thought of being here, in just this place and in just this way, was the vision they each had held as they'd faced down their critics and accusers.
Mary Michael's story in the Rocky Mountain News had gone a long way to helping Ryder and Mary, but it hadn't cleared every obstacle. The story was too big, the scandal at once abhorrent and compelling. Even John MacKenzie Worth couldn't stop the Army from interrogating Mary. She'd endured hours of questioning, days of defending herself for assisting Ryder in his escape and for every subsequent action that she'd taken on his behalf or at his side.
