Margaret Lily sure smelled pretty. He pulled her dainty, flowered hankie out of his breast pocket and held it to his nose. His mail-order bride was as crazy for him as he was for her. Carefully refolding the handkerchief, he tucked it away, and patted Jack. “Life is looking up, dog. Yes, it is.”
Gunfire exploded around him, booming as loud as a cannon in the narrow alley.
Collarbone stinging, he dropped to one knee, drew his Colt .45, and blindly returned fire. His breath sawed in his lungs. He peered into the gray shadows, frantic to spy his attacker.
A pitiful whine came from his left. “Dog!” Boone scrambled over the hard-packed snow. Jack was stretched out on his side, yellow fur stained red.
Anger and fear threatened to burst Boone’s chest open. “Hold on, boy. Don’t die.”
The hot barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. “My brother will put a second bullet in the dog, if you so much as flinch,” a deep voice growled.
A man with a grizzled beard stepped from the shadows, rifle aimed at Jack.
The face and voice didn’t ring any bells, but Boone recognized trouble when he saw it, and this pair was as deadly as they came. Whoever they were, they’d pay for shooting his dog. He ground his teeth. “What do you want with me?”
The gun barrel dug in deeper. “You killed our father, Jackass Joe, over in Deadwood. Shot him down like a dog.”
Boone’s stomach sickened as images rolled through his mind of a terrified girl pinned to an outhouse wall by an unwashed bear-of-a-man. “I caught your father raping some poor girl.”
“Why did you care? She was just some runway Indian squaw.”
Boone’s temper flared. “Her name was Summer Rain.” He’d reunited the traumatized girl with her family. Her pain had been his pain, and he’d felt helpless, wishing he could have done more. “I’d kill your worthless father again if I could.”
The grizzle-bearded man pointing the rifle at Jack laughed. “We would kill your folks again, seeing we had so much fun watching them die the first time. Pretty little ranch they owned. Hated to stain the ground with all that blood.”
Boone flinched. This disgusting pair had killed Pa and Ma, and not Blackwell? He twisted away from the gun barrel. “See you in hell!” he yelled, falling on his back, and firing his Peacemakers repeatedly.
Gunshots rang out from all directions. Smoke wreathed the alley, and a deadly silence descended.
Amazed to be alive, Boone rolled toward Jack. Blood still welled from a bullet wound near his hind quarter, but there was no new damage, and his yellow chest still moved up and down. “Keep breathing, dog,” Boone said, patting Jack’s wet nose.
A trigger was cocked and the pungent odor of a cigar cut through the smell of gunpowder. A well-dressed man, with cigar clamped between his teeth, stood at the end of the alley holding a pair of pearl-handled revolvers. Jackass Joe’s sons lay motionless in the dust.
Boone reached for his second six-shooter.
“Throw the guns down,” the man said calmly. “I pride myself on turning over the men I capture alive when I collect my reward money.”
Boone swore under his breath, threw his guns at the man’s feet, and turned his attention back to Jack. “I should thank you for saving my life, but I got a dying dog I need to attend to. Just my luck, you’d be a bounty hunter.”
A self-satisfied laugh bounced off the clapboard walls. “Not just any bounty hunter. The Cowboy Assassin has the honor of being taken captive by Lawman Frank Reed. I believe you are already acquainted with my daughter-in-law, Margaret Lily.”
Boone froze. He didn’t think he could feel any sicker. “Daughter-in-law?”
Frank Reed puffed on his cigar and grinned. “Quick thinking on Maggie’s part. Keeping you, ah…occupied, until I tracked you down. I will say, I was thrown for a loop when Maggie didn’t get off the train in Laramie. I’m surprise you never heard of the Lady Margaret Lily, Female Bounty Hunter.”
Boone’s hands balled. He refused to believe what he’d had with Margaret these past days was all a lie. “I want to speak to her.”
“Maggie’s role is complete. And you and I have a train to catch.”
Pain arrowing his heart, Boone gathered Jack in his arms.
“Leave him.”
“I’m not going without my dog.”
“I say he stays,” Frank said, then casually fired a bullet into the snow inches from Jack.
Boone buried his face in Jack’s fur. Emotion clogged his throat. “A cowboy never had a finer dog.” Staggering to his feet, he wiped his sleeve across damp eyes, and pointed at Frank Reed. “You picked the wrong man to rile.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As another snow storm raged outside the ranch house and nightfall descended like the executioner’s ax, Ella paced in front of the stone fireplace sick with worry. Ty had left the ranch before first light in his ongoing mission to rescue more of the longhorn herd. Over the last three weeks Wyatt, Ace, Levi, and White Wolf had helped in the effort, but no one had spent more hours braving the unrelenting deep freeze than Ty.
White Wolf was searching for Ty, but the wait felt interminable.
Wyatt intercepted her, holding out a mug of cider. “White Wolf won’t stop until he finds him.”
Seth, Billy, Garrett, and Ox were gathered around the pine table picking at their meager meal. Feeling their eyes on her, she clasped the warm mug in jittery hands. “Ty will keep his wits. He’ll build a shelter to hole up in.”
Seth made a face. “Better hope the storm don’t last three days.”
Garrett slugged Seth’s arm. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
Ace and Levi occupied the chairs by the fire. Ace jumped to his feet. “I can’t sit here doing nothing. I’m going out to look for Ty.”
Levi stood. “I’m going with you.”
Wyatt blocked their path. “You can’t. You know what Ty said.”
“Ty’s orders stink,” Ace said, trying to push past Wyatt.
Wyatt bumped chests with Ace. “Sit back down.”
Ace’s eyes narrowed. “You want Ty to freeze to death out there?”
“Of course not.” His face a picture of desolation, Wyatt pointed to the table and drew himself to his full height. “What will happen to the boys if we perish in the storm searching for Ty?”
“We can take care of ourselves,” said Ox, indignant. Garrett, Seth, and Billy scowled with equal disdain at the suggestion.
Levi put his hand on Ace’s rigid arm. “You know Wyatt’s right.”
Ace cussed under his breath, dropped into a chair, and hung his head on his hands.
White-faced, Wyatt cast an apologetic look at Ella. “Sorry about that, Miss Ella.” The apology was half for himself—he was worried she was upset with him.
She pressed the mug of cider into his hands. Though it broke her heart, she knew Ty would want them to choose the boy’s welfare over their own. “Y’all would make Ty proud.”
She returned to pacing. Once Ty was back safe and sound, she would tell him she was going to stay. Denying what she felt for him was futile. Her conscience would eventually cease squawking.
A loud banging sounded at the door. Her pulse leaped and she rushed across the room. “Ty! Dear Lord let it be him.”
Wyatt reached the door first and flung it open.
White Wolf stumbled inside, dragging Ty by the waist. “He needs dry clothes and blankets.”
Wyatt and Ella relieved White Wolf of his burden. Ty slumped against her shoulder, radiating an icy cold that renewed all her fears. He mumbled unintelligibly, his eyes glassy. Ace and Levi stripped Ty of his clothes. His sagging weight too much for her, she waved for assistance. “Ox, come help carry him.”
Thirteen-year-old Ox knocked Ace out of the way and hefted Ty in his arms, a remarkable feat as Ty weighed almost two hundred pounds and was half a foot taller than the boy. Ox rumbled toward the bedroom.
“Bring th
e warmed blankets and every soapstone we have,” she ordered, hurrying after them. Anticipating this crisis, the potbellied stove had been kept stoked, making the bedroom as toasty warm as could be.
She pulled back the covers and Ox gently deposited Ty on the bed. The Haven men swarmed in with the heated blankets and soapstones, and quickly had Ty bundled up tighter than a baby.
Ty muttered more nonsense between heavy yawns.
“Keep him talking,” White Wolf said, coming into the room dressed in dry clothes.
Gripped by smothering fear, Ella sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Ty’s red-weathered cheek. “Ty Haven, don’t you dare go to sleep.”
He thrashed awake, blinked, then drifted off again.
Wyatt shook his shoulder. “Stay with us, Brother.”
“Wake up, Ty,” she begged.
Ty drifted in and out of consciousness. She and Wyatt kept up the cajoling and Ty’s shivering gradually slowed.
She kissed Ty’s brow. “Talk to me, sweetie. Say something.”
His mouth quirked. “Did you hear that, Wy? She called me sweetie.”
His brothers and the boys laughed with relief.
“Sweetie, sweetie, sweetie,” she said, grinning and pecking his cheek.
His amber eyes opened and sparkled with beautiful clarity. “I’m mighty parched.”
Wyatt grinned. “How does warm cider sound?”
“Good. Real good.” Ty pushed himself up higher on his pillows. “They might be all dead.”
“Who?” Wyatt asked, alarmed.
“Our longhorns. Blackwell’s.”
“Blackwell has four thousand head of cattle,” Ace said, voice rife with disbelief.
The air backed up in Ella’s lungs. Ty and his brother had managed to rescue sixty-five steers…out of thousands. Sweet Creek’s herd had numbered three hundred. So many dead animals would have been shocking by itself. But four thousand?
Levi’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
Ty nodded soberly. “Eclipse crested a ridge, and I blinked and rubbed my eyes, hoping I was seeing things. But I wasn’t. Carcasses littered the plain as far as the eye could see.”
Ella glanced among the men’s stricken faces. “Did they starve or did the cold kill them?”
“The snow is just too deep,” Ty said. “They either starved to death or succumbed to the freezing cold because of their weakened state.”
A funeral-like atmosphere hung over the room. “Has this happened before?”
Ty clasped her hand, and his thumb massaged her inner wrist. The rugged lines of his face had grown deeper over the past month. “We’ve never had a winter as brutal as this one.”
Wyatt looked ill. “How are we gonna survive this?”
Ty’s mouth firmed. “I don’t know. But I’m not ready to give up. Not by a long shot.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Still chilled from almost freezing to death, Ty smiled watching petite Ella shoo his burly brothers from the bedroom.
She closed the door and turned back to him, her cornflower blue eyes sparkling. “Why are you looking happier than a pig in sunshine, Mr. Haven? After going and scaring the life out of me like that.”
The whole time he was fighting his way through the blizzard, half certain he would die, his biggest regret—he hadn’t told Ella he loved her.
He shifted, making room for her in the bed. “Come warm me, Mrs. Haven, and allow me to prove I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip in hesitation. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Shouldn’t you rest?”
He lifted the quilt and made a show of looking under the covers. “I was afraid my important parts might have frozen and dropped off, but nope, everything is still there.”
Rolling her eyes in mock exasperation, she crossed to the bed and reached for the lamp.
“No. Leave the light. I want to see you undress.” From the beginning their lovemaking had had a furtive quality, as if they were stealing something they shouldn’t have. He wanted more.
Her gaze darkened, and she pulled her braid forward and slowly unlaced her raven locks.
He swallowed. “You’re beautiful. You know that, don’t you?”
“Hush your mouth,” she said, sliding her calico dress down her body, revealing soft curves making him want to weep for joy.
She joined him in bed, kissing him hungrily. He rolled on his side and trapped her roving hands. “Ella, honey, I—”
She twined her legs with his. “Don’t talk. Kiss me.”
He threw his leg over her hip, trapping her against the bed. “Let’s not rush things.”
She wiggled under him. “Please, Ty.”
“Stop moving,” he hissed, his self-control on a hair trigger. “Just listen.”
“Don’t say it,” she begged.
“Why not?”
She ceased struggling and tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m afraid.”
He kissed her temple. “I love you, Ella.”
“I’ll stay.”
His heart somersaulted. “You mean that? Are you sure?”
“I was terrified for you when the storm struck,” she whispered. “I can’t deny what that means.”
He ought to be rejoicing over her decision to remain at the ranch, only her misery over her feelings for him stung. “But you don’t like it?”
She looked as sad and lost as a calf separated from its mother. “Granny Bessie would be disappointed with me.”
He released her hands and pulled her slender back to his chest. “Tell me about your Granny.”
***
Sheltered in the cocoon of Ty’s body, Ella’s only comfort came from the fact that she was helping to warm him. Usually, he radiated heat like a fireplace, but his chest was still cold to the touch.
He caressed her arm in soothing fashion. “Ella, honey, talk to me.”
Shaken when he said he loved her, she’d wanted to shout, that’s easy for you to say. Her panic and heartache when she thought the blizzard had claimed his life revealed the truth. She loved Ty Haven. What’s more, she couldn’t and wouldn’t leave him. But it was a defeat. How could she make him understand?
She exhaled a shuddering breath and stared at the cherrywood dresser and the white pitcher and basin resting on a lace doily. “Granny Bessie wasn’t my real grandmother. Everyone in LaGrange called her Granny. She didn’t have anything in the way of worldly goods, but she was the bravest, wisest, kindest person I’ve ever known.”
She pictured Granny marching and drilling with the Nancy Harts, preparing to confront the Union army. “I wanted to grow up to be just like Granny. She helped me take care of Momma after the war, and took me in when Momma died.”
Ty brushed a kiss across her cheek. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Granny was failing by then.” Grief welled. “She died three years later.”
“How did you come to live in Georgetown?”
A shiver went through her. “One of the other Nancy Harts was acquainted with the Widow Bonnell and arranged for me to become her companion.”
Ty hugged her closer. “I’m surprised you didn’t marry.”
“You may have noticed I’m stubborn.”
“You don’t say.” His laugh whispered over her skin. “Surely, men came calling.”
“A few…well maybe a bunch. But I was never ready, or they didn’t seem right for me.”
“Maybe you won’t allow yourself to be happy.”
She stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He shifted. Eyes full of sympathy, he brushed her hair off her face. “You probably feel guilty for surviving the war.”
She batted his hand away. The war and the spare years afterward wreaked havoc in LaGrange. Businesses bankrupted. Widows and orphans barely scraped by. Maimed war veterans crushed in body and soul. “Don’t feel sorry for me. What would you know about it anyway?”
“Because I’m a Yankee,” he said
, a sad note to his voice. “And no Yankee could understand what it’s like to be alone and frightened and desperate.”
“It’s not because you’re a Yankee devil. I don’t think of you that way. You’re a good man.”
“But not good enough to be your husband.”
Why was he pushing her? “I said I’d stay.”
“Against your better judgment.”
“I feel the same way about you that you feel for me.”
Hurt showed in his golden brown eyes. “But you don’t want to. And you can’t say it. Can you?”
I love you. Three little words. Saying them shouldn’t be difficult. But they stuck in her throat. “Granny Bessie would want me to take Johnny’s saber and return to LaGrange.”
Ty frowned. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes.”
He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Maybe she would want you to make a fresh start. Stake a new claim. The West is a place of hope. A chance for a new and better life. I started over. You can too.”
“Granny wouldn’t want me to marry you.”
He flinched. “I won’t settle for begrudging love. If you can’t love me freely, it’s best for both of us that you head back east come spring.”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t talk.”
He gently removed her hand, rolled out of the bed, wrapped a blanket about his naked body, and shuffled toward the door.
Panic set in. “Where’re you going?”
His brow furrowed. “Are you with child?”
She sat up and clutched her middle. “No.”
Was that regret or relief crossing his face? “I’m moving back into the bunk room.”
She held her arms out. “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. Make love to me. Make me forget.”
His face was a mask of grief. “We deserve more.”
“You’re still half frozen. Let me warm you. I’ll never forgive myself if you catch an ailment and die.”
He exhaled heavily. “Don’t you go worrying about me, Miss Ella. Cowboys are hard to kill.” And he abandoned the room.
Chilled air raised her flesh. She hugged her bare arms. The blasted man. Afraid to be happy. What did he know? Granny wanting her to make a new start with Ty. Impossible.
The Mail-Order Bride Carries a Gun: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 1) Page 12
