The Bounty Hunter's Bride

by Janis Jakes

  There were no easy answers and certainly no profound response from the One he’d once called Lord. Only the silence he’d come to expect any time he pressed into the pain.

  13

  Billie stood outside of Luke’s aunt’s home.

  “You’re welcomed here anytime.” The attractive older woman ran her hand familiarly down Luke’s shoulder. One gray brow lifted, and a dimple appeared in her chin. “And your pretty friend, too.”

  “Billie, this is my aunt.”

  Still pink-cheeked, Billie extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You may call me Louise.”

  “Louise runs a stagecoach stop,” Luke explained. “She almost always has a spare bed or two for a driver and passengers.”

  Morning light had begun to shine through the windows, but Billie was exhausted.

  “We just need a few hours of rest. Then we’ll be on our way.” Luke told his aunt.

  “On our way to where?” Louise asked, welcoming them both inside.

  Buttered cornbread sat on the oven. Bacon lay across a skillet.

  The delicious smell permeated the air, causing Billie’s insides to churn. “Arkansas,” she answered. “To stay with my family.”

  “Well, before your naps, why not enjoy a quick bite to eat? I just whipped up some breakfast. I’m expecting several visitors today, but there’s plenty to go around.”

  Later, with a full belly and a comfortable mattress, Billie slept for several hours. She awakened at the tap on the door and Luke’s voice from the other side.

  “Time to ride.”

  She groaned and sat up, legs dangling over the side of the bed. It would be three weeks before they arrived at her Arkansas destination. It could not come soon enough. With a deep stretch, Billie reached her arms over her head then dropped them in her lap. She straightened the collar on her dress and smoothed out the wrinkles from the hard sleep.

  “Now take some cornbread and bacon with you,” Louise said as she gave Luke a hard squeeze. “It’ll be a good supper later in the evening. And you remember what your momma always said. Look twice, for the night has a thousand eyes.”

  He chuckled. “That’s what my father always said, not my mother.”

  “Oh, well, I knew it was one of them. But your momma always said to say your prayers, that I’m sure of.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I prayed. Guess it was before—“

  “That’s not your fault, Luke.” Her voice turned stern though love still lingered in her gaze. “Think how it’d make your momma feel, knowing you were blaming yourself or worse, blaming God for what happened. No one could know the girl was sick in the head. No one.”

  “The Comanche knew,” he said, his words laced with bitterness. “That’s why they sent her away.”

  “They’ve always had their ways. Our people lock them up in a sanitarium and throw away the key. The Comanches send them outside the village to make it on their own or die. Which way is better and which way is worse? I can’t say. I only know that your momma is with the Lord, and she’d take a switch to your legs if she knew you hadn’t talked to Him.”

  A fleeting expression flickered on Luke’s face. “I know. I’m getting straight. But I need a little time, and God has seen fit to give it to me.”

  Billie’s heart soothed in a way she could not explain. If only God could remove the guilt from her heart.

  Malcolm was a good man. A believer. A widower who’d suffered so much, and then to die because of her. It was almost unbearable to ponder.

  “I’ll make the trip over the river real soon and meet Henry, Jr.,” Louise said, taking the conversation a new direction. “Does he need anything?”

  “A good blanket before winter arrives would be appreciated, I’m sure.”

  “A good blanket it’ll be.” She turned toward Billie. “Thank you for coming to visit. Maybe next time you can stay a while longer.”

  There’d never be a next time. But Billie smiled and let the older woman give her a quick hug before looking at Luke.

  He led Billie toward a nearby barn where he guided their horses out into the fresh air. Both appeared refreshed, frisky, and ready to go.

  A twinge of longing filled Billie’s heart as she glanced back at the small house. Would she sleep in another bed before Arkansas? Funny the things she’d taken for granted. Cold water from a deep well. A soft down mattress for weary limbs. And an outhouse. Those were things she missed the most right now.

  It was three hours later before they stopped for a rest, letting their horses sip from a clear, running stream.

  Billie wasn’t sure if they’d ventured into Arkansas yet, but the relentless heat had let up. Trees were taller and more plentiful.

  Luke leaned on a boulder; one leg propped against the surface while the other remained on the ground. “Do you want me to get out the blanket so you can sit and stretch out a while?”

  “No need for that. I’ve had plenty of sitting time.”

  “So now that we’ve spent a couple of days together and you know I’m not out for the bounty, why don’t you tell me your version of what happened in the bank that day?”

  She grimaced, looking away.

  The horses continued to drink from the dancing stream, neither lifting their head. Several birds chirped and complained about the intrusion into their secluded forest area.

  “So, why exactly are you helping me, Luke? If it’s not for money, then why?”

  He shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”

  “People usually do have a reason for risking their life.”

  “Then, I guess I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do. I believe you’re innocent.”

  “And that’s it? That’s the only reason?”

  His expression held steady. “For now.”

  His response wasn’t satisfactory, but she stayed quiet. For now.

  “I’ve answered, so you owe me the same honesty. What happened at the bank? What part are you not telling?”

  She swallowed hard, looking past him and the horses, gazing downstream.

  His voice broke the silence binding them together as his strong arms crossed his broad chest. “All right, then. I’ll tell you what I know from Molly. You worked for Caldwell part-time helping your friend Malcolm at the Justice City Bank.”

  The horses’ slurping pushed water from one side of the bank to the other.

  Her heart beat faster. “Malcolm figured out that Caldwell was dipping into the miner’s gold. So, he wanted me to verify what he found out. Then, once we were both sure, Malcolm called Sheriff McGregor. Only McGregor didn’t show up alone. He showed up with Clovis Caldwell, and McGregor shot Malcolm.” She paused, letting her words hang in the air before finishing. “I barely escaped with my life.” She lifted her gaze toward him. The heat from barely contained tears burned her eyes.

  He leaned against the boulder as if he had all afternoon to enjoy a leisurely rest.

  “I left out one important detail.” Her voice sounded flat, even to her own ears. “Malcolm didn’t want to go to McGregor. He wanted to go to the Texas Rangers since the gold was coming in from out of state—said he trusted them to get the proper authorities involved.”

  “That would’ve been smart,” Luke said. “Why didn’t he?”

  “Because of me,” she said. “I told him to tell McGregor first. I’m the one who brought the sheriff and Clovis to the bank.”

  ~*~

  Luke stared at her, his mind returning to Molly’s words in the store. Billie Jo wouldn’t purposely hurt anyone.

  “It’s my fault Malcolm is dead. If I’d just let him do what he thought was best—” Her voice broke and her chin quivered. “I thought I was so smart. Thought I was doing the right thing. If only I’d—”

  Luke pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest as the tears flooded her eyes, poured over her cheeks, and dampened his shirt. Her shoulders shook, and limbs grew weak against him.

  He held
on as her knees folded, keeping her close and secure within a strong embrace. Minutes and countless tears passed before either said a word.

  “Billie Jo, listen to me,” he began, his voice a whisper against her ear. “I know what it’s like to carry that burden. It’s not your fault McGregor is a dishonest sheriff, or Caldwell is a thief.” It’s not your fault that girl was insane. He ignored the voice in his head. “You know Malcolm would never want you to blame yourself.” Just as your mother would never want you to blame yourself.

  Luke grimaced. How easy it was to toss out words when someone was hurting or needed answers. Advice never sounded quite as good when it boomeranged back and hit one square between the eyes.

  In a sense, they were the same. Both felt responsible for another person’s death—a person they’d genuinely loved. There was no turning back the clock. There was no making a wrong suddenly right. Justice and revenge would not bring back loved ones. Only God could heal their guilt and soothe the pain of their regret. Only God could carry the burden of their past. Even still, they had a part to play in the process. They had to release their hold, and that was easier said than done.

  “I’m not sure why I was keeping all that inside. As if I had to carry my pain as punishment for what I’d done. But I know that’s not God’s will. He is loving and kind and overflowing with mercy and forgiveness.”

  He nodded, suddenly unable to speak. She was right, but he didn’t want to hear it. Not yet.

  “Abigail told me about the woman who set fire to your mother’s home. We share similar scars, Luke. Maybe that’s why God brought us together.”

  Pain sliced his heart. He wished she’d quit talking.

  “Is the woman who set fire to your momma’s house still in the woods?”

  “I don’t know. But I wonder what I’d do if I ever saw her again.”

  “What would your mother want you to do?”

  “Something impossible.”

  Billie Jo leaned back to look at his face. She did not find an answer.

  “She’d want me to forgive her. And myself.”

  14

  The next two weeks held unexpected joy at unexpected times.

  Luke watched her on occasion as if he had something on his mind. But he never put the thoughts into words. Was his affection toward her growing as rapid as hers toward him? It certainly seemed that way, but was that the truth or the wishes of an appreciative woman?

  Luke was masculine and handsome. The few times they entered a town, women would take a second glance. But it was his spirit that captivated her heart.

  There was kindness in the way he always accommodated her needs and in the care he gave the horses. Even the occasions when he had to kill for them to eat, he did so swiftly and treated the gift of nourishment with respect—thanking God for it. And he’d begun to pray.

  Most were brief sentences thanking God. For the sunset. For another morning of life. For a soft place to rest their head. And, for no bears. She realized that Luke delighted in the simple things in life, and she found herself deeply moved at that part of his being.

  He talked about his father some, but most of the memories he shared with her were of his sister, mother, and grandparents. They were a close family, much like her own—minus a steadfast father.

  She dreaded saying good-bye. They’d shared a closeness and camaraderie on the trail that would not have come from months of courting. He knew she groaned in her sleep, and she knew he never slept soundly. If she even rolled over, his head would turn her direction.

  He’d talked more about his family and the love he had for the natives and the settlers. He even talked about his job and how he almost had enough money saved to buy a small ranch and start building a herd. He had hopes and dreams and didn’t mind sharing them.

  She shared hers, too. Her heart ached to return to teaching. She loved what she did and felt honored to have such a profession. “I’d do it for free if I had to, but it’s in my blood to teach.”

  They’d started praying for one another—for the desires of their hearts to be met and for the Lord to keep them safe. They prayed for wisdom and discernment, and they prayed for a heart that was quick to forgive and let go of the guilt that was never theirs to carry.

  They were in Arkansas now, she was sure. Less than a week away from her destination. While her excitement soared at seeing her family and finally being able to stop looking over her shoulder, her heart shredded at the thought of leaving Luke.

  The sun had started to descend when Luke pointed upward toward a cliff. A rocky ledge capped the top, providing shelter. “Let’s camp up there tonight. Even if the weather turns bad, we’ll be protected.”

  The path was steeper than any other they’d used. “Is it safe to travel up that grade on horseback?”

  “We’ll leave the horses here,” he said. “They won’t venture far and can find shelter in the trees if it starts to rain.”

  She’d gotten so used to sleeping outside, that the sounds of crickets and frogs no longer bothered her. She welcomed their song, knowing it meant that predators were not around. It was when the sounds stopped that she grew tense.

  Thankfully, that had only happened a couple of times, and Luke had to run off a fox and a rogue coyote. Otherwise, the nights had become peaceful, and the canopy of stars more beautiful every time she looked upward and said her prayers.

  Luke never seemed as relaxed as she, but she figured that was just because of what he did for a living. A bounty hunter was always on edge—always on the hunt, and always looking out for whoever else might be out to do the same.

  The more ruthless bounty hunters were known to kill other bounty hunters to get the reward money. She knew that wasn’t Luke, but that didn’t mean someone else wasn’t on their tail, looking for the perfect opportunity to rid him of his captive.

  ~*~

  Luke opened his eyes, hearing the muted movement of heavy feet. He slid down from the tree where he’d made his bed for the night amongst the thick red maple bows. The sound came again. Whoever it was didn’t intend on remaining unseen. He stopped in his tracks, speaking into the faint breeze. “Show yourself.”

  The sound evaporated. He glanced over where Billie had fallen asleep. His heart slammed into his chest. She was gone. He took off running toward where he’d last seen her.

  “Billie!”

  She screamed just before a hard thud hit him on his right shoulder, knocking him off balance and twisting him sideways. He scrambled to regain his footing, still moving forward. Another thud hit him, this time on the back of the head. Luke’s feet slipped out from underneath him. A flash of light shook his vision just as darkness came with the heaviness of a hammer.

  When he awoke, daylight surrounded him. The back of his head throbbed, and his shoulder ached. His boots and shirt were missing. All he wore were his trousers and incessant pain.

  Where am I? His memory returned with a flood of questions. Where’s Billie? He was lying face down on a wool blanket. He rolled over, staring up into the top of a teepee. Luke tried to rise.

  A low, rumbling voice came from nearby. “Lay back down.”

  Luke snapped his head sideways then groaned in agony at the sudden movement. It was Mighty Bow, the war chief, and the last person he wanted to see. He held onto his composure, knowing he could not lose it now, or he’d be as good as dead. “Where’s Billie?”

  “You prefer the white woman over my daughter?”

  The man was the most respected council leader in the tribe. He had a six-inch scar down one side of his cheek from a fight he won and another eight-inch scar down his right arm from a fight he’d lost. His hooded eyes held nothing but contempt.

  Luke had to be careful how he answered. “I am taking Billie to her family. She is not my woman.”

  A low growl rolled across thin lips.

  “Where is she?” Luke repeated, trying to keep his voice at a respectful level.

  “Safe.” Mighty Bow stood up and walked out the teepee f
lap.

  Luke tried to rise but lay back down. Nausea rushed to the back of his throat. The man had given him a concussion and maybe knocked his shoulder out of joint. He’d used an old trick. Got him to react without thinking when he saw Billie gone.

  Where was Billie anyway? Probably scared out of her wits. He needed to find her—to make sure she was all right and to explain to his tribesmen what was happening. Before he had a chance to think another thought, White Feather entered the teepee.

  Though a good ten years younger than him, she was a beautiful woman who could marry any man in the tribe. Why she’d set her heart on him, he didn’t understand. Probably because she knew he was the last person her father wanted her to marry.

  “I brought you soup,” she said. “It has medicine. For your head.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You would not return to marry me. So, my father brought us together. The celebration will take place tomorrow.” She kneeled beside him then held out a spoon filled with steaming liquid. “Eat.”

  He did as she said, thinking of a thousand ways to escape but knowing he would have to get Billie out with him. Then what? Could they make it to Arkansas without getting an arrow in the heart? He wasn’t sure, but one thing he did know—he was far more worried about the natives than Caldwell’s men. At least with Caldwell’s posse, he had a chance.

  Luke pushed the spoon away after several slurps. “How long have you followed us?”

  “Weeks,” she said.

  “White Feather, isn’t there someone else you’d rather marry? I’m much older, and I don’t know how to live the native way. I was raised by my mother, remember?”

  “To the shame of your father.”

  He gritted his teeth, more from her words than the pain that still held him captive. “You don’t have to remind me of that.”

  “I choose you,” she said, lifting her chin in a serene pose that spoke of her finality. “You will not change my mind. I will teach you the native ways. Even old mules can learn new paths.”

  He thought about being offended but shrugged it off. “I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m trying to make you think about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. If you’re wanting to annoy your father, there are other ways—not nearly so permanent.”