Gerrity'S Bride

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Had to get him out of the way,” the man told her bluntly. “Didn’t plan this quite the way it turned out, but I reckon it’ll all be the same in the end.”

  A muffled groan from the corner, accompanied by a thump against the wall, alerted her to the fact that the third person in this room was very much awake and aware.

  “Sorry, Jackson. Haven’t got a thing against you. I jest can’t afford to leave anybody to carry tales,” the man said darkly as he stepped into the light. A blanket was rolled across his back and he carried a bundle wrapped with a rope. Approaching the cot where she lay, he bent lower and touched her face with the back of his fingers.

  “Too bad I don’t have time to spend with you, lady. I think I coulda enjoyed an hour or so of your company, but I’m afraid the boss man will be hot on my trail before long, and I’m gonna have to make tracks.”

  She shuddered at his touch and turned her face away, her mind more confused than ever. “Why are you doing this?” she asked weakly.

  “You shouldn’ta married the man, honey. If you’d been half as smart as you thought you were, you’da gone back east and left things as they were here.” His chuckle was dry and rusty, and his face was too close for her to focus on.

  “What did it matter to you?” she managed to say, her voice wispy and querulous.

  “Not me, honey. The lady that hired me. She wants your man, and she don’t care what she has to do to get him.”

  “Where... What did you do with Tessie?” she asked, panic alive within her as she remembered the small child by the creek bank.

  “Nothin’. Didn’t do a thing. She wasn’t part of the bargain. Jest you, lady. Fact is, without the kid, Gerrity wouldn’t even need—” He glared at her suddenly. “You don’t need to know any more,” he said bluntly. “Won’t make any difference to you in a little while, anyways.”

  The muffled sounds from the corner erupted once more, and her assailant turned away to glare at the man who lay there in the darkness. “No sense in gettin’ yourself all in an uproar, Jackson. If you’d gone back to the ranch when I told you to, you’d be well out of it now.”

  “Kane...” The single word was a guttural sound in the room.

  “Got your gag off, did ya? Won’t do any good, ya know. Those knots are tighter’n a hangman’s noose.”

  The man called Kane stepped to the door, and Emmaline watched as he opened it wide, allowing the night air to enter, the scent of pine reaching her nostrils as the breeze filled the room.

  “‘Fraid this is it, folks,” he said. “Sorry I can’t stay to watch the fire, but I’m headin’ out to collect my pay. If I got it figured right, it’ll be dawn before the boss man gets here. He’ll never track me in the middle of the night. An’ by then, you’ll be a pile of ashes, and he’ll be—”

  “Don’t count on it.” Emmaline cut in, her voice growing stronger as she felt the anger surge within her. “He’s not stupid, you know. He’ll have this all figured out.”

  “Well, in that case, I’d better move on out and stay a step or two ahead of him, hadn’t I?” He reached through the doorway, to where a length of pine lay waiting on the ground. Bringing it into the room, he laid the green needles and the topmost part of the long branch in the fireplace, where it burst into flame, pitch spitting as it crackled with a radiant glow.

  Carrying it to where the small table sat, he put it on the floor beneath. Within seconds he had piled firewood loosely over the branch, and Emmaline watched in horror as the dry kindling caught the flame and blazed into an eager inferno that reached toward the underside of the table. Kicking the stools closer, until they, too, toppled into the growing fire, he stepped back and squinted at Emmaline, then grinned with satisfaction at the man in the other corner.

  “Sorry I can’t stick around, but I’m runnin’ behind like the cow’s tail as it is,” he drawled, backing to the porch as he spoke. The door slammed shut, and immediately the room was filled with heat, the flames reaching toward the fireplace as though drawn there by their counterparts.

  “Jackson?” Emmaline’s voice was edged with fear.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the man answered. “I’m tied tighter than a pig in a poke.”

  Emmaline lifted her hands to her mouth, her teeth fastening on the rope that bound her, even as she saw the first smoky haze surround the cot where she lay. She bit hard at the heavy rope and shook her head. A pain slashed through it from forehead to nape, and she groaned aloud and closed her eyes, but all the while her teeth tightened and tugged against the knot.

  * * *

  “This sure is takin’ a hell of a lot longer than I’d like,” Matt growled as he followed the sheriff up the steep grade. In the fading light, he searched the ground before him, looking for whatever the lawman followed so carefully.

  “We’re losin’ the moonlight,” Hailey said, urging his horse forward at a faster clip. “But I have a notion we’re not far behind them.”

  The wind blew steadily down the slope they followed and brought with it a tangy blending of pine and the humid scent of the night. Matt scanned the crest of the rise, then began the downward trek into the fertile valley below.

  “Damn. I’ve got two men down there,” he said angrily. “Sure hope they had their eyes open. Maybe they saw somethin’ goin’ on.” He turned to Hailey. “Why in hell would he come here? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”

  Hailey shook his head. “I’d lay money that’s where he took her, Matt.”

  “Let’s go,” was Matt’s guttural reply as he scanned the valley. He straightened suddenly, his hands clutching the reins in a reflexive grip. Before him, at the edge of a stand of trees, where the rough cabin stood, he saw a flare of light. Then a slender flame lit the sky, penetrating the eerie darkness that settled about the small shack. His head tilted back as the faint scent of woodsmoke reached him, and his heart began to pound with an increasing beat.

  “Hailey!” he called in a strident shout. “Look there!” He stretched forth the hand that held his rifle at the ready, pointing at the flames that licked the crest of the roof.

  “Yeah, I see it,” the lawman answered, already urging his mount into a gallop, skirting the rocks and shrubs that dotted the terrain. Within seconds, he was no longer in the lead, as Matt Gerrity overtook him. Bending low over the neck of his stallion, Matt rode with breakneck speed, his lips moving in a silent plea, his only thought the woman who was in peril.

  * * *

  Emmaline watched as the flames crackled and grew, enveloping the table and crawling up the legs, filling the small cabin with smoke. Fire shot upward, spreading to lick at the low ceiling, and then making its way down the walls. It’s too late, she thought in despair. The roof is on fire.

  Her eyes closed, and she felt helpless tears slide from her eyes. “Listen, ma’am!” came a shout from the corner, and she inhaled sharply, choking on the smoke that filled the small room. From somewhere on the outer edge of her awareness, she tried to focus on Jackson’s words, but then she heard another shout, and then another. She stilled, listening.

  As from a distance, a gunshot resounded, followed by more shouts. Once more a shot split the air, and she heard a commotion that seemed to come from nearby.

  “Damned if that don’t sound like the boss!” A grim laugh from the corner broke her concentration, and she inhaled another lungful of smoke, coughing harshly.

  “Hang on, missus,” Jackson told her. “I’d swear that’s Matt Gerrity thumpin’ around out there.”

  Emmaline’s head was throbbing with pain. Every cough vibrated within her until she sensed that the darkness was closing in once more. “Matt,” she whispered, raising her hands to cover her mouth as much as she could, ducking her head against her chest to escape the smoke that had crept down the wall behind her and was surrounding her body.

  “Emmaline!” The door burst open, and two men rushed in, Matt in the forefront, scanning the room. Spotting her body on the cot, he reached her quickly. Then, in tw
o long strides, he was halfway to the door.

  “Help me, Gerrity!” called the man from the corner.

  “That you, Jackson?”

  “I got him, Matt,” Hailey Baines told him, dragging the trussed cowhand outside, just as the flames reached the low ceiling of the cabin.

  Matt ran heedlessly, aware only of the need to carry his precious burden away from the scorching heat and soaring flames. His arms tightened about her as he fell to his knees and bent over to peer into her face.

  “Em!” he called urgently. “Emmaline, answer me, damn it!” He leaned forward and placed her on the ground, his hands pushing haphazardly at her hair, holding it back from her face. Quickly he ran his fingers over her shoulders and down her arms, finally reaching her hands. Working at the rope that bound her, he rid her of it in seconds, his hands gentle as he touched her swollen flesh.

  She coughed again, gagging and choking as the night air flooded her lungs. A groan escaped from between her open lips, and she gasped once more, turning her head to one side as she drew in another breath.

  “Emmaline.” The single word was choked within his throat, and he felt the misting of his eyes as he scanned her pinched features. She looked so fragile, he thought, one hand lifting to brush at the smudge that marred her left cheek. Her breast rose and fell as she sucked fresh air into her lungs.

  “Em...I almost lost you,” he whispered, damning the blurring of his vision as his eyes filled and overflowed. “Oh, God, Emmaline...” he groaned, leaning over her and lifting her against himself. She was warm and alive, and his heart cried out a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the God he had all but forsaken. Emmaline’s God...who had heard the cry of his soul and given him back the woman he held.

  She murmured against his face, her mouth soft as she brushed his cheek. “Matt? It was you? You’re really here?” The words were broken and breathless, but he rejoiced in them.

  “I’m here, Em,” he assured her, his mouth pressed against her throat. “I’m here, sweetheart.”

  “I like it when you call me that,” she breathed. And then a shiver trembled throughout her body as she curled into his chest.

  “Let me put my shirt around you,” he said quickly. “You’re cold, Em.” He placed her on the ground and undid the buttons, stripping it from himself, then wrapped her in the warm cotton, unaware of the cool night air that touched his bare arms. His body was clad in the light undershirt he wore, and her eyes sought him, running with concern over his chest and arms.

  “The gunshots— You didn’t—?” she asked, seeking reassurance about his well-being.

  “I’m fine,” he told her, rising to his feet. “I’ve got to take care of things. You just lie there and wait. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

  The night air was cool, clean, and smelled like every good thing Emmaline had ever imagined. She lay on the hard ground, curled on her side, Matt’s shirt wrapped around her shoulders and back, and closed her eyes. Breathing deeply, she coughed once, and then again. Her wrists hurt where she’d tugged at the knots, chafing her skin, before Matt untied the ropes.

  “Hang on, Em, I’ll be right there.” Matt’s voice came from across the clearing, at the edge of a stand of trees. She watched as his form emerged from the shadows. Behind him, a horse with a burden draped across its saddle followed, led by the reins he carried.

  “He’s set to go, Sheriff,” Matt called out.

  “So is old Jackson here,” Hailey answered, mounted on his horse and trailed by the man who had shared the cabin with Emmaline.

  “You all right, Jackson?” Matt asked, leading the horse toward the two riders.

  “Yeah, just kinda embarrassed to be caught with my pants down, so to speak. He caught me off guard, boss. I swear I didn’t have a suspicion till he laid me out cold. He told me to go back to the ranch on a cockamamy excuse, and I thought maybe he had a lady friend comin’ out to visit, what with all the quick trips to town he’d been makin’ lately. But I told him no anyways. Next thing I knew, he bushwhacked me.”

  “Well, he won’t be causin’ any more trouble for anybody,” the sheriff said soberly. He tugged at the reins, and the horse fell in behind his own. “Can Emmaline make it back all right? Is she doin’ okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Matt told him gruffly. “Don’t wait on us. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Emmaline heard the hoofbeats of the three horses fading as they ran away at a steady pace. Above her, a dark shadow formed, limned by the fire that was still blazing across the clearing.

  He was big against the shadows. His fists were clenched at his sides, his feet were spread, and his pants were tight against the muscled length of his legs. Her eyes were nourished by the sight of him. He squatted next to her and reached one hand out to brush the hair from her face, his gentle touch a sharp contrast to the rugged silhouette he presented.

  “I’ll take you home, Emmaline,” he said roughly. Reaching for her, he lifted her, rising easily and holding her against his wide chest as he turned to where his horse was tethered.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, through the veil of tears that would not be denied, despite the rapid blinking of her eyelids, she peered up at him. His face was drawn in harsh lines. He was stern and forbidding in his anger, but she smiled anyway.

  He was hers and she loved him, and that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Twenty

  The ride back took longer than he’d planned. He rode easily, not willing to submit Emmaline to any more jostling than necessary. Then there was the matter of his horse carrying a double load, what with Emmaline riding before him. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and her eyes closed—for now. He feared that any moment her eyes would open to search for a trace of her Thoroughbred mare.

  Matt gritted his teeth, remembering the moment he’d put his rifle against the proud head of Fancy and pulled the trigger. When he found her, she’d been lying there, blood still pulsing from the wound, soaking into the dry ground. She’d been barely alive as she lay in the crimson pool, with her left hindquarter shattered by the blow of a bullet. The sight had come close to breaking his control, so angry was he at the futile loss of the animal. Not to mention the personal loss to Emmaline.

  He hesitated at the crown of the southernmost ridge of the mountains and made a deliberate choice. Although it would take an extra hour of riding, he swung to the east to detour around the area where Emmaline had been thrown from her stricken horse.

  She hadn’t even noticed, so weary and headsore was she. Her occasional murmur told him she was awake and aware of his arms about her, but the limpness of her form against him sent a message of its own. Once more she had been hurt, again she had barely escaped grievous injury. The memory of the flames that had come within scant feet of her bound body brought a shudder that racked his spine.

  Involuntarily he held her closer, bending his head to bury his face against her curls. She responded, resting her fingers against the back of the leather glove that held the reins. In the faint light of dawn, he looked down at her hand, noting the dark bruises, the scratched fingers, the dried blood on her forearm.

  Was it her own? Maybe it had come from the scrape on her cheek, or the abrasion on her forehead where the swelling had begun to subside.

  “I should never have gone to town yesterday,” he whispered, almost silently, condemning himself without pity. “Should have stayed close by, kept a better eye on things.”

  She stirred against him and squeezed his hand. “No...don’t say that, Matt. It was my fault for not watching Tessie.”

  He pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt, wrapping the leather around the saddle horn. His callused hands lifted her from the saddle before him and turned her until she was lying across his lap, her head cradled by his left arm, her legs across his thighs. Stripping his gloves from his hands, he pocketed them. Gently his fingers brushed at her face, wiping away a trace of ashes, leaving a smudge against her cheek.

 
His heels touched his horse lightly, and the animal tossed his head and broke into an easy trot.

  “You and Tessie are my responsibility, Em. I wasn’t there when you needed me.” It was a statement of failure, and he felt the dark tentacles of self-censure envelope him.

  “No, Matt,” she said, more firmly, her blue eyes focused on his face. “I was in charge of Tessie. Don’t blame yourself.”

  He smoothed back her hair and bent to kiss her forehead, careful lest he press too firmly against the injury there. “I reckon there are three of us totin’ around a pile of guilt this mornin’. Tessie felt pretty bad when we found her, and by now she knows that you were in a peck of trouble, too. I’ll warrant she’s parked on the porch, waitin’ for us to hit the horizon along about now.”

  “How much farther?” Emmaline asked him, her lashes drooping once more as she nestled against his chest.

  “An hour or so,” he answered, reining his mount to swing past the eastern side of the creek, having crossed it farther north, where it barely made a stain on the dry ground. Coming from a deep spring, it flowed year-round, but during the summer it soaked up a lot quicker than in the cooler months.

  “Want to stop and rest awhile, Emmaline?” he asked, his eyes intent on the rise and fall of her breasts, the even measure of her breathing. She had coughed and choked at first; but once he had her in the air outside the cabin, she’d settled down, only occasionally inhaling deeply, as if she needed a cleansing breath to fill her lungs.

  Jackson had done enough gasping and gagging for both of them, he decided. He’d been closer to the source of the fire, surrounded by the heavy smoke before Hailey was able to get to him. It had been a close call, and once more his anger at the man who was responsible rose within him. Futile anger, with no target to vent its fury upon.

  Except for the woman who waited at the ranch house. The quiet, ladylike female who had come close to costing him the woman he— His thoughts focused on the word, one that been almost foreign to his vocabulary.