by Kari Trumbo
“The more I think on it, the more I want to get you back to your family quickly. You’re just too young to be out here.”
She let her breath out in a rush, but held as still as she was able. “I’m not concerned. There are plenty of women my age who are married and having babies.”
“I wouldn’t push yourself into life any quicker than you’ve already been pushed.” He stopped and the tip of the scissor raised from her back. “What drove you to accept Roy’s offer?”
Anger rose, white hot, within her. He hadn’t been there. He couldn’t know what it was like. She tried to bottle it but, like bicarbonate and vinegar, she couldn’t help but bubble over.
“I was trapped. Trapped at home with a pa who didn’t want us, then in Cutter’s Creek in a house where no one wanted us, and finally stuck with my brother-in-law on that wagon for over a month to get to Deadwood. And you know what? He didn’t want us, either. I never wanted to leave my home. I looked to get married and have a family of my own!”
His voice didn’t waver, nor did he raise it. “You’re forgetting, I’ve met Beau. I know he cares for you and all of your sisters. He thinks of himself as your father.”
He hadn’t seen Beau watching her to make sure she never got into trouble, or setting his jaw when he thought he’d caught her at something. “He doesn’t care about any of us except Ruby.” She spat out between clenched teeth.
“Why can’t you admit it had nothing to do with Beau or anyone else? It was you. You wanted all the whiskey you could manage and your family held you back.”
She lurched to her feet and flung herself around to face him. “And does your revelation make you so smart? Yes, that was part of it. If I was married, I could do what I wanted. Roy’s father told me he was looking to marry and I believed him! I believed him.” Her failure hit her square in the heart and she couldn’t breathe. Her breath held in her lungs until it choked her and finally escaped as a sob.
Hugh stood and his hands gently grasped her elbows, stabilizing her, but nothing could stop her seething anger at Roy and herself. She wanted to hate Hugh, but as much as she tried, she failed at that, too.
Hugh’s voice was little more than a whisper above her head. He held her arms but didn’t pull her close, didn’t take what she wouldn’t offer. “He tricked you and used you. I’m sorry. I pray that Bullock or one of his men get here soon and we don’t have to sit here and wait for a trial. I want to see you back home, with your family, where you belong.”
“What if I don’t want to go?” She fixed him with the angriest glare she could manage even as her lip trembled.
He dropped his hands from her elbows and a chill replaced his strength. “I signed up for the job to bring you home. I guess you’ll have to go.”
Chapter Eight
THE NEXT NIGHT, HUGH gathered sticks for kindling from around the small clearing near the cabin. He needed to keep himself from thinking too much about what Hattie had said the night before. She’d changed so much from how her sisters had described her. The last few months had stolen most of her pluck, though she’d given it a good try. The worst was yet to come. Giving up as much drink as she was used to could kill a man, he didn’t want to think about what it could do to her. She was only a bit of a thing. Her golden hair had been as soft as flower petals between his fingers. When her bruises healed and she started eating again, she would be a fair pretty sight. He just couldn’t allow himself to keep thinking about her. He’d done nothing but think about her as he’d tracked her; it was a difficult habit to break. Though, now that he’d met her, his thoughts about her had changed. She’d been sharp and snappy with him all day, so he decided to give her some time. That was another reason he was outside in the clearing and not the cabin.
He deposited the kindling by the small hole he’d dug for evening fires and arranged it like the spokes of a wheel in the bottom. Then he strode to the wood pile and collected enough wood for a few hours of burning. Hattie hadn’t come out since he’d cut her hair that morning. She’d looked so tired and stricken after his resolution to take her home, no matter what.
He strode to the door and waited, listening. There was the quiet shuffling of soft feet on wood. He still needed to get her shoes. He gently opened the door to find Hattie bent over, franticly searching through the medicine box in the trunk he’d opened earlier. She was panting and her skin had gone from ashen to apple red. The items she’d taken out fell haphazardly back into the trunk with a loud clatter.
Her mouth dropped open and she blinked at him momentarily before falling to her knees. A sob erupted from her. He came inside and closed the door. Should he be angry or act as nursemaid? What would she need? Hattie’s narrow shoulders shook and as he got closer, he saw the amber bottle in her lap. It was a tincture for muscles, he used it after a long bout of wood splitting. It had been in there earlier, but he hadn’t paid it much mind. He stepped closer and the strong smell of the medicated whiskey wrinkled his nose. He held out his hand for it but she clutched the bottle closer, flinching away from him and covering her face. He couldn’t bear watching her cower like that. Her even considering that he might inflict the same damage other men had curdled like milk and vinegar in his gut.
He squatted in front her and her eyes flashed as she shoved herself away from him. She tried to knock him away from her, but her arm was weak. There was some of that fire he’d been looking for.
He forced calm into his voice. “Hattie, you don’t need that. Hand me the bottle.” He reached out again but she cradled it beneath her chin. Wrestling it from her would only make her angry, and he didn’t want to be a brute. She’d had enough of that for ten lifetimes. She’d never trust him again if he didn’t do this with as much grace as he could muster. She had to come to trust him or he couldn’t help her get out of Keystone. Lord, help me to say what needs to be said.
Her breath came too fast and her hands shook more than he’d seen them. He reached out and took her elbow, drawing her to her feet. “Come outside, Hattie. You need some fresh air. You can rest in the shade.”
She shook her head, swinging her thick braid back and forth on her back. Her refusal to speak got to him, much more than he expected it to. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Come.” He took a quick step behind her and lifted her to her feet, waiting until she was steady. He led her out the door, determined he wouldn’t reach for that bottle, not yet anyway. Leaving her to sit on a cut log, he crouched in front of the fire pit with his back to her as he tried to coax the small flames, blowing on the kindling. If she let go of that bottle, he wouldn’t know it, but he suspected she’d rather boot him into the fire. She had to understand he trusted her, as far as he could. She made a soft noise and he turned to see her rocking on the stump she sat on, back and forth.
Her cheeks were as red as the sunset against skin too fair to bear the color. It gave her a sickly look. The wisps of hair by her temples lay damp against her ears. Her eyes were wide yet unseeing. The curve of her mouth tipped and moved quickly. Soft words escaped, but he couldn’t hear what she said. He turned back to the fire and continued blowing on the kindling, giving her the space she needed, but staying close by. As he stood, the bottle flew past him, smashing into the fire and exploding in a ball of flame. He jumped back to avoid the erupting wave of heat.
Hattie swung her gaze to him. “I didn’t want to drink it, Hugh. I didn’t.” Her shoulders quaked under the admission. He collected her from her stump and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest for her own protection and his. He didn’t know what else to do to help her.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispered into her hair. Her pulse slammed through her and into him. Her tremors wouldn’t abate and he drew her back and looked down at her. She shrank back from him and he let her go. He hadn’t meant to frighten her, only to comfort. Blast, how could he have forgotten so quickly that she was still tender from her time at the Garter. She probably would be for a long time.
Hattie sat back on the stump, her eyes staring into the fire, far from him. “Hattie, not all touch is bad. I won’t take advantage of you. I made a promise and I don’t take that lightly.”
Her eyes darted all around, but not at him. “It’ll take more than a few days’ worth of kindness to convince me of that. Roy could be kind if he wanted something, too.”
The words struck him hard. Of course she’d compare him to Roy, but how long until she didn’t? How long until she compared men she met to some other yardstick? His gut clenched. Someday, those blue eyes would look on some young man with adoration, they would be a beautiful clear blue, not dull and expressionless. Her hair would be shiny, and her skin like a porcelain doll. If he stayed with his brother at the ranch, and she with her sisters at the same, he’d be there to see her choose that man. He turned away from her, swiping his hand across his forehead as he shook the thoughts from his head.
He couldn’t afford to think of her as anything but his brother’s sister-by-law, no matter how much she needed him. And she did. Though she was strong-willed, he’d yet to see her eat more than a few nibbles of bread and perhaps a bite of bacon. He’d tried to give her an apple or even tempt her with rice pudding; she’d turned green at the mere words.
Hattie slid to the ground and tucked her feet under her, her shoulders tight. He could see it even through the loose-fitting dress. Soft evening light fell around them through the sparse canopy of trees and the gentle night sounds mingled with the pop of the fire. Distantly, they could hear the raucous noise of the saloons in Keystone. A piano played and a woman sang a bawdy song. He looked at Hattie over the fire and the hunted look she gave him spoke volumes. He wished they could have been further from town, but that would lead to other dangers. He’d placed his stump on the other side of the fire. It would’ve been better to be closer to her, and he again reminded himself that she needed space. He leaned back and watched the flames, his tired mind eager to drift away, until hoof beats interrupted the quiet moment.
A rider rode in and swung down from his mount even before the horse had fully stopped, spraying loose rock and gravel. A glinting badge bounced against his chest in cadence with the click of his spurs as he strode straight toward Hugh.
“You Bradly?” called the rider as he passed Hattie.
She clutched her knees closer, but did not run. Hugh gave her a steady look, praying she stayed put.
Finally, he turned toward the stranger. “I am.” He stood and met the man by the fire.
“I’m Deputy Cobble, from Deadwood. Bullock sent me with this urgent note.” He pulled a folded paper from his vest.
He took it and the man turned back to his horse.
“Leaving so quickly?” He hoped Bullock wasn’t pulling him away, leaving Hattie to fend for herself. He’d turn in his badge before he abandoned the job it had taken almost a year to finish.
“Read the note. It’ll tell you everything you need to know.” Cobble mounted his horse and was off into the darkness, the sound of his hoof beats bounced eerily off the hills around them.
The stark white paper in his hand stood out against the dark around him. He feared taking it to the fire to read it. What if it wasn’t something he could share with Hattie or something he’d need time to talk to her about? She’d want to know anyway and he couldn’t expect her to trust him if he couldn’t return that trust. He slipped the note into his pocket. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until the morrow when he had a free moment to think.
Chapter Nine
HATTIE SMELLED THE SMOKE from the fire the night before still clinging to her hair and dress. The night had worn her out so thoroughly that after the fire had burned to coals she’d just climbed into her bed without changing into the sleeping shift Hugh had brought with the dresses. The tight stays bit into her side and her chest burned with a cough, but her body couldn’t move from its spot.
She’d tried to lift her arm twice, but it was as if they were weighted by rocks. Her chest felt heavy and each breath was a chore. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms, yet she could see a sheen on them where they lay over the coverlet. Her tongue felt as if it were made of bread dough, though she couldn’t think on that overmuch or her stomach would wage a war against her, or try to. She hadn’t eaten for almost two days. The thought of food alone could send her to the privy, but now she was stuck. There would be no getting to the necessary or anywhere else.
She closed her eyes against the steady chop of Hugh’s ax, the thunk-thunk echoing through the cabin from outside. It would’ve been rhythmic if her head didn’t feel as if Hugh were whacking her with the ax. She pushed with everything she had and managed to roll to her side, a groan escaping her lungs at the effort. Would anyone ever care about the weakness and pain she was enduring? She was ruined, a drunkard and a prostitute. Drunkard. Prostitute. Those were words she hated, but there were no other words to describe how far she’d fallen. Her body convulsed.
Hugh had been there for her yesterday morning, even after their argument, helping her out of bed. Though she’d been mortified by it, he’d helped her with her stays and buttons up the back of her dress. Her fingers had shaken too much to do the job and she couldn’t walk around in her chemise. He was just too good to even lay his hands on her and he hadn’t. Even if she’d been a true flirt and actually wanted his attention, he’d already said he’d never touch her.
He’d received an important note last night. Important enough that Bullock had sent a rider all the way there to deliver it. But he hadn’t read it in front of her. She’d waited until the last bit of flame had died into coals and he’d led her back to the house with her eyes so tired she couldn’t see. But he didn’t read it once they were inside, either.
It had taken a long time for her to fall asleep, despite her exhaustion, because she couldn’t stop thinking of Bullock’s messenger. Hugh couldn’t know she was as on-edge about the possible trial as he was, or more so, because she didn’t ever want to go back. No, she wouldn’t go back. No matter what.
Hugh strode in and stood just inside the door, blinking his large blue eyes until he saw her. She still hadn’t seen him smile and this morning was no exception. His chin, covered in dark stubble, was set in a hard line. He ran his hands up and down the front of his trousers and approached her little corner with caution.
“Do you need help up?” He leaned against the beam separating her space from the rest of the cabin and waited until she admitted him, but she couldn’t, not today.
She tried to reach up, but couldn’t make it and gave up after just a few inches. At least she’d been able to accomplish that much.
He watched her hand intensely then glanced up to her eyes. “Perhaps today is a good day to let you rest. I’ll make you some broth. Maybe that’ll sit in your stomach and help you get strong. I need you to be strong, Hattie.” He paused and the room filled with his unsaid words. They were at war in his head, she could see as much as sense he had something important to say and he was weighing the proper way to do it.
“Just say it, Hugh. I’m too weak to fight. What did the message say? Don’t act like it didn’t involve me.” Her voice lumbered from her throat with as much effort as lifting a boulder.
His eyes flashed with hard emotion, then he banked them. “That’s my worry, Hattie. What I’ve got to say is too important to spring on you when you’re too weak to speak your mind, but I’m afraid if I don’t do it soon…we’ll run out of time.”
Her throat dried like the granite rock sticking out of the peak overhead. What could be so urgent except news about her former masters. “Please, don’t keep it from me, Hugh. I can’t stand not knowing what’s going to happen.”
He sighed and bowed his head, raking his hands through his short hair. He was worried and a knot grew in her stomach.
“Oh, Hattie. I don’t want to do this to you.” He swiped his hands down his face and her heart thumped in her chest. He was going to send her back…abandon her. She wanted to cry but her body refused to give
up even a little moisture for the effort.
“That note was from Sheriff Bullock. He can’t make it in time for the hearing and he advised your family not to come because of something that’s happened locally, he didn’t say what. Though, he did say they wanted to come and be with you. His advice, to keep you away from the Garter permanently—” He paused and she could see the tension pulling the tender skin between his eyes together. “The only way is to marry.”
She misheard him. Certainly. She couldn’t have heard him just say they were supposed to get married, or did he have some other idea? Her heart slammed against her ribs, desperate to beat itself free, and she tried to take measured breaths. “And just who am I supposed to marry?” Her head throbbed against the rough fabric of the tick and she closed her eyes against the pain.
“The deputy ordered me to marry you to keep you away from Lady Ros. She’s sent a few wires to lawyers in Pierre in the hopes they’ll take her case against you. It means she’s desperate and knows they don’t have enough to win. We have to act quickly, and we have to do it in Hill City because there isn’t even a church in Keystone. Also, we don’t want Ros to know.”
It wasn’t the comforting thought Hugh obviously intended it to be. If losing to a lawyer was such a worry, it was doubtful a certificate of marriage with ink still wet would do much to hold back their case.
“And that’s my only option?” Where did that leave Hugh? He’d be stuck with her all his days. A woman almost ten years younger than him and one he didn’t want. He’d only signed on to search for her, not save her. How could Bullock even ask such a thing of him?
“As far as I can see it, yes. I may have to pay a fine, but he said your family is willing to cover it. We still have to be here in case there’s a trial. If she’s looking for lawyers, I’d count on there being one.”
