How long had he been lying in this lodge? And where was he? Ellie would be worried by now. He had to get back to the Circle P. She’d think the worst of him after he hadn’t returned to the gathering at the Red Cliff Ranch.
He moved his head from side to side. He struggled to clear his mind, and remember what had happened. Why had he ridden away? Images of Ellie’s smiling face mixed with the feelings of being angry. He’d been overjoyed that he could spend time at a public gathering with her, so why did the sensation of being enraged linger in his head?
He’d planned to talk to Tyler about going back to work for him so he could ask Ellie to marry him.
Edward Benton ran a tight command at Fort Peck.
The words echoed in his head.
Benton. Ellie’s last name. Lance gritted his teeth. Somehow, he’d come to terms and deal with his animosity for her father . . . in time. Perhaps he’d only dreamed it. Regardless, his feelings for Ellie hadn’t changed.
He grimaced. The way he’d left so abruptly, Ellie might get the notion that he didn’t love her anymore because of her father. The idea that she was the daughter of the man responsible for the slaughter of the village he lived in as a child seemed too unreal.
The dog whined again and seconds later, a warm tongue rasped along his cheek. Lance forced his arm to move, and he buried his fingers in his dog’s thick fur. Relief swept through him.
“You’re alive,” he murmured. The image of Mahto’s unmoving body lying in the dirt after that first shot pierced the quiet of the evening air flashed in his mind.
“He fared better’n you did.”
Lance tensed at the gruff voice that came out of nowhere. He raised his head and grimaced, holding back a cry when sharp pain sliced through his insides.
“At least yore finally awake enough ta talk.”
Mahto whined, his tail thumping against the dirt next to Lance. A man dressed in buckskin pants, a fringed leather shirt, and a wool cap smiled down at him. He bent forward, and held out a canteen.
“I expect you’ll be hungry about now. Yore dog sure has a good appetite.” He chuckled.
Lance shifted to lean on his elbow and drank, the cool water sliding down his parched throat. He ignored the pain that cut through every inch of his feverish body.
“Where am I?” He handed back the canteen.
The man rubbed at his chin. “We’re in the mountains somewhere between Deer Lodge and Butte, I suspect. Wanted to get to Missoula in a couple a days, but had to change my plans when I run into you. Jest as well, I ‘spose. The weather ain’t been too good. Been holed up here, tendin’ to ya.”
Lance blinked. The sensation of dense fog overtook him, and concentrating became more of an effort with each second. The large man chuckled.
“Didn’t know if ya was gonna live or die. Found ya a couple’a miles off the road between Deer Lodge ‘n Missoula almost four days ago. Wouldn’t have even seen ya, but yer dog was whinin’, and I thought he’d got his foot caught in a trap.” He shook his head, then added, his voice laced with disgust, “What low-down dirty scum shoots a dog?”
Four days ago?
Lance shifted again, pushing himself to a sitting position. His right arm refused to support his weight and the effort brought a searing pain to his chest and abdomen.
“I have to get to Elk Lodge. The Circle P,” he croaked.
The man laughed. “Son, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, not fer a while. Ya got a bullet hole in yer chest and another in yer leg. Been tryin’ my darndest ta keep ‘em from festerin’. Elk Lodge is at least a couple days’ hard ride away, and ya ain’t fit to stand, much less climb on a horse.”
He moved out of sight for a moment, then returned and set a wooden bowl on the ground in front of Mahto, patting the dog on the head. Then he knelt next to Lance, lifted the blanket that covered him, and pointed at his leg.
The air across Lance’s bare skin sent a shiver through him. He peered past his nude torso at the bandage wrapped around his thigh and the crude splint fastened to his leg. The fancy britches he’d worn had been sliced open to expose his upper left thigh.
“Can’t say fer sure if the bone broke clean through or not, but that bullet was a might hard ta dig out. Ya got a couple’a cracked ribs, too, and yer gut is likely to be minced meat, judgin’ by all them black’n blue marks. Someone shore didn’t want ya ta wake up again.”
Lance grimaced. It wasn’t difficult to guess who had ambushed him. He’d let his guard down when his head had been filled with thoughts of his past, and it had almost cost him his life. He glanced up at his rescuer.
“Thanks for patching me up.”
The man laughed. “Thank me when ya can walk outta here. Name’s Amos. Peddler by trade. Figgered it was best ta bring ya into the mountains so whoever was after ya don’t come back and finish ta job. Figgered anyone with a dog for a companion ain’t a bad man. Found a loose horse a few days later. Figgered it was yors.”
He patted Mahto’s head again, then probed Lance’s face with a sharp eye. “Yor fancy duds don’t match the way ya talk. Ya’ve been outta yore mind for days with fever. Talkin’ in Lakota most o’the time. Kept saying the word ellie over’n over, but I ain’t familiar with that word.”
Lance blinked, and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. With each passing second, his head became heavier, and what little clarity he’d had was fading fast.
Ellie. He had to get back to her. If he’d been gone four days, what must she be thinking? Would someone be looking for him? No. It was common knowledge that he didn’t like to stay in one place too long, and he’d left the party without saying anything to anyone about returning. Even his camp would look deserted, unless they found his belongings where he’d hung them in the trees a good distance away.
Lance closed his eyes. Maybe if he slept for a while, he’d be well enough to leave soon. He breathed in slowly to minimize the pain. Mahto whined nearby. The dog’s soft fur tickled his nude side as his faithful friend curled up next to him. Lance raked his fingers through the thick coat. Ellie’s smiling face followed him as he drifted back into oblivion.
Lance shifted his weight in the saddle to ease the discomfort in his thigh. The first outbuildings of the Red Cliff Ranch became visible in the distance, and he nudged the gelding forward. He could rest once he reached Trace Hawley’s place. Until then, he’d have to grin and bear the pain.
Two days ago, he’d said farewell to the peddler who’d found and saved him from certain death. Amos had advised against leaving, that he wasn’t mended enough for the strenuous ride out of the hills, but Lance hadn’t listened. He’d been laid up much too long already. Several weeks, by all accounts.
The hole in his chest was healing well, although he had limited use of his arm for now. Bending and lifting were an ordeal while his cracked ribs healed. Keeping them tightly wrapped offered some relief. The bruises to his back and abdomen had mostly faded, changing from shades of deep purples and blues to greens and yellows. The most damage had been done to his leg.
His thigh bone had stopped the bullet from probably passing straight through, and Amos suspected it had caused a crack in the bone. While he could walk on it, he couldn’t bear full weight. Lance had tried to get on a horse several times over the past week, but had to concede each time that he wasn’t ready.
Mahto had suffered a bullet to his chest, but it hadn’t punctured his lungs, and Amos had successfully dug it out. The dog was certainly healing much faster, but it had become obvious after several miles that Mahto tired quickly.
He dismounted when he reached the ranch house. He would have much rather ridden straight to the Circle P, but the Red Cliff was on the way, and he owed Trace Hawley an explanation. He and Mahto could also use a short rest. Hawley stepped out of the house and covered the surprised look on his face with a broad smile.
“Changed your mind and decided you’d come back?”
Lance peeled his right leg over the saddle and stepped down off his horse.
He limped toward Hawley and held out his hand.
“More like come back from the dead.”
Trace frowned. “Come inside.”
Lance followed him. He accepted a cup of coffee and recapped what had happened after he’d left the Red Cliff that night. Trace cursed under his breath and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Taggart. I should have searched harder for you. We could have had you with a doctor. Why didn’t that peddler who found you get help?”
Lance chuckled. “I ain’t so sure he was above the law, to tell you the truth. He probably didn’t want to be seen by anyone in town, so he stayed in the mountains.” His face sobered. “And don’t be sorry. Everyone who knows me would have figured I’d moved on. Can’t blame them, because that’s what I’ve always done.”
Trace smiled. “But now you have someone to come back to.”
Lance nodded. “And I’d best get going. I want to get to the Circle P before dark.”
He moved to leave the house. Trace stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“She’s gone, Lance.”
Lance frowned, staring at Trace Hawley.
“Her father sent for her. She left to go to Kentucky a few days after you disappeared.”
Lance clenched his jaw and cursed silently. Ellie had really thought he’d left out of anger. He limped toward the front door. He had a lot of apologizing to do.
“Then I guess I’d better get on a train and go after her.”
Trace wished him luck and waved as he climbed back on his horse and pointed the animal in the direction of the Circle P. He urged the gelding into a lope, ignoring the pain in his leg, and cursing his decision to leave Ellie’s side that night. He should have told her right away that it didn’t matter who her father was.
Lance rode into the hills in the direction of his camp. He’d collect his clothes and the rest of his belongings before heading to Patterson’s place. Hopefully they were still where he’d hung them in the trees. Most importantly, he needed his saddlebags, which contained a spare knife and his revolver. Those cowards who had attacked him had taken his other knife and rifle.
Good thing they’d been smart not to take his horse, otherwise he would have been at the mercy of Amos the Peddler to bring him out of the mountains, and that could have been weeks, or even months from now.
Mahto, who’d been trotting contently next to him, stopped suddenly. The fur on his back rose, and he growled. Lance reined his horse to a stop and listened. The clearing to his camp was a short distance away through the trees. A horse snorted, then a man laughed. Lance tensed, every muscle in his neck tight as anger welled up inside him.
That dark, sinister laugh had haunted him in his sleep during his recovery. He’d woken more than once, drenched in sweat, reliving the ordeal he’d been put through. What was Hank Marvel doing at his camp?
Another familiar voice spoke up. “We ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. She can’t scream.” He joined his companion in laughter.
“Sure is nice of her to come all this way out here all alone. Been looking forward to this day, ever since that Injun cut my hand.”
Lance dropped the reins to his horse and made his way through the trees to his camp. His heart thumped hard against his ribs, making them ache all over again. The pain in his leg made it difficult to crouch as low as he’d like. They were talking about Ellie as if she was there.
As they neared the clearing, Mahto growled again. Lance reached down and put a hand on his dog’s head to keep him from darting out in the open. His shelter was still there. Three figures stood next to it, two men and a woman.
The blood drained from Lance’s face. Ellie! Hawley had said she was in Kentucky. She faced Hank Marvel and Fred Hanson, her eyes wide with fear. They advanced on her like a pack of wolves about to take down a lamb.
Anger and fury unlike any he’d ever felt rushed through Lance. He reached for his belt and cursed that he didn’t have his knife. The trees where he’d stashed his saddlebags were too far away. Mahto must have sensed the danger to Ellie. The moment Lance moved his hand, the dog sprang forward with a menacing bark and growl.
The two men turned at the sound, looks of surprise on both their faces as the dog charged them. Hank drew his pistol. Lance ran into the clearing, fighting against the pain and weakness in his leg. He cursed again. He was defenseless against these two men with their guns. If only Mahto hadn’t jumped out of their hiding place.
“Ellie, run,” he yelled. Maybe the dog and he could create enough of a diversion for her to get away.
A shot rang out. Hank Marvel dropped to the ground like a felled tree. In the next instant, Mahto sprang at Fred Hanson, knocking the man to the ground. His growls had never been as loud or ferocious before. Fred screamed in pain, flailing his arms and legs to ward off the attack from the dog.
Lance reached Ellie, pulling her away from the two men on the ground. He wrapped his body around her to shield her from any more gunshots. His lungs burned, his heart slammed into his ribs, and his leg was on fire, but it didn’t matter. Ellie was in his arms, and he had to get her out of harm’s way.
Somewhere behind him, Mahto yelped. Another shot rang out. Lance’s arms around Ellie tightened. He raised his head. The shot hadn’t come from behind him, but from somewhere in the distance, same as the first shot. Ellie squirmed in his embrace.
Lance glanced over his shoulder. Mahto panted, standing over the lifeless body of Fred Hanson. Hank Marvel lay a few feet away, equally as still.
“Ellie,” he whispered. He let go of her but clasped her face between his hands. Tears streamed down her face. She stared up at him, smiling with pure joy.
He brought his mouth down on hers, seeking her lips in an eager kiss. Ellie reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. She trembled as he held her to him, burying his fingers in her hair, then wrapping his arms around her. He couldn’t get her close enough.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rasped when he drew back to catch his breath. She nodded, then pulled him down for another kiss.
Lance shifted on his sore leg, holding her, caressing her, kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. The weeks he’d spent recovering from his wounds faded away. Ellie’s touch removed any lingering pain.
She finally let go of him and moved a step back, then raised her hands to sign,
You came back. I thought I’d lost you.
He shook his head, drawing her back to him. “I never meant to leave. I’m sorry it’s what you thought. I could never leave you.”
Lance kissed her again, then crossed his wrists over his heart. She did the same. Next to them, Mahto barked happily, jumping at Ellie and almost knocking her over. She beamed a bright smile and gave the dog a hug.
“Are they dead?”
Lance stiffened at the sound of a man’s unfamiliar voice. He’d forgotten about the shooter. He stepped in front of Ellie, pushing her behind him and out of view, ready to face whatever danger approached. She moved around him and grabbed his arm. She smiled at him in encouragement and shook her head.
“Looks like you’re still as good a marksman as you were when you taught Henry and me how to shoot, Vincent.”
Two men on horseback headed into the clearing from the direction of the trail that led to the Circle P. One was about John Patterson’s age, the other man was elderly, wisps of white hair poking out from under his hat.
“It’s a good thing we followed you, Ellie,” the younger of the two said, getting off his horse. His sharp eyes were on Lance as he approached. “I know you were eager to come to this camp, but you should have waited. When Vincent saw those two cowpokes ride after you, he alerted me and we followed.”
The elderly man dismounted his horse, walking toward him slowly and slightly stooped over, his eyes widening with each step.
“My God, it’s like seeing a ghost,” he rasped.
Ellie turned to Lance. She motioned with her hands.
This is your gran
dfather
She hesitated, then added,
And this is my father. So much has happened, and I can’t wait to tell you everything.
Lance stiffened. He looked from one man to the other. They both stared at him with astonishment in their eyes.
“My grandfather?” he murmured, studying the old man.
He held out his feeble hand. “You look just like your father . . . my son, Henry Taggart. My name is Vincent Taggart, from Lexington, Kentucky.”
Lance hesitated. Nothing made sense, and his mind went blank. He looked at the man, then at Ellie, who nodded with a bright smile. All he could do at the moment was trust her. He finally shook the old man’s hand, who clasped him with both of his as if he were afraid to let go.
“We have a lot of catching up to do, Lance Taggart,” he rasped.
The other man loudly cleared his throat, and stepped forward. “Yes we do,” he said in a firm voice. “First and foremost, however, I want to get one thing cleared up straight away.”
Edward Benton. Ellie’s father, and the man who’d killed his mother. Lance tensed. What could Major Benton possibly need to clear up with him? The older man’s sharp eyes pierced into Lance’s.
“After what I just witnessed here a moment ago concerning you and my daughter, what are your intentions?”
Lance’s forehead scrunched. Anger slowly built in him, and he tensed. He faced Ellie’s father unflinching.
“Intentions?” he echoed through clenched teeth.
Edward Benton’s lips twitched. His dark eyes held a hint of humor. “As Ellie’s father, I can’t stand by and witness a kiss such as what I’ve just seen without asking what your intentions are toward my daughter.”
“He’s a Taggart, and he’s gonna marry her, of course. Any fool can see that,” Vincent Taggart said gruffly, and laughed.
Lance stood puzzled for a moment, his gaze darting from one man to the other. They both looked amused. The reality of what these men were saying sank in. A slow smile stretched across his face and he reached for Ellie’s hand, gripping it tightly in his. He drew her close to him. “I do plan on marrying her, Sir, if she’ll have me.”
In His Kiss: Blemished Brides, Book 4 Page 18
