The Bride's Prerogative

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Hiram got one of them, but—”

  “Shut up!” The man guarding them lunged toward Bitsy, pointing his gun at her midsection.

  Bitsy clamped her lips together and glared at him. The red feather on her hat quivered.

  Griffin noted the checkering on the stock of the gun the outlaw held. That was his shotgun—the one the robbers had stolen weeks ago. He looked away.

  “Keep your hands up,” growled Benny.

  Griffin turned slowly, his hands in the air. Vashti stood between him and Bitsy, her mouth set in a hard line. He looked down the line at the others. They stood still in the sun with the breeze fluttering the spruce boughs. Leo Rice, whom they’d picked up at the Democrat Station, had blood on his cheek. Not shot, Griffin decided. A splinter must have caught him when the outlaws peppered the coach.

  The leader and the fourth outlaw climbed up to the driver’s box and rummaged around. One of them lifted Griffin’s shotgun and examined it. The other held up the little canvas bag Vashti carried on her trips. He pulled out a skirt and a pair of pantalets and held them up, laughing. “Well, boss, I guess you was right.”

  Griffin scowled. He expected them to pull out Vashti’s pistol next, but he didn’t see them do that. Instead, the leader used his own handgun to shoot the lock off the treasure box. Griffin winced. More repairs to the coach. The two outlaws whooped.

  “Well, boys,” the leader called, “we hit pay dirt this time.”

  “All right,” said the one who’d threatened Bitsy. “If you folks have anything of interest in your pockets, now’s the time to hand it over.”

  Griffin sighed and reached into his pocket for Cy Fennel’s watch. He handed it to Benny, with a few coins and his case knife. “That’s it.”

  “And you, young fella?” The outlaw shifted his attention to Vashti.

  “I’ve got nothing of value,” Vashti said, stony faced.

  “That right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  While Benny relieved the cowboy, Hiram, and the third male passenger of their cash, his companion looked Vashti up and down. “I heard they was a girl driving stage out here, but I didn’t believe it.”

  Vashti said nothing, but her cheeks colored.

  “Leave the driver alone,” Griffin said.

  “I just want to know what he’s got in his pockets.” The outlaw reached toward Vashti’s vest.

  “Here! You want this? You can have it.” She swiftly unbuttoned the front and wriggled out of the vest.

  The shocked outlaw stared at it and then at her cream-colored shirt. “Well now.”

  Griffin caught his breath and made himself look away. When she’d peeled off the vest, Vashti had turned her back slightly toward him. Stuck in the back of her trousers’ waistband was her Colt revolver. The outlaw crumpled the vest in his hands and then explored its pockets, pulling out a snowy cotton handkerchief. While the robber was occupied, Griffin snaked his hand out and slipped the pistol from Vashti’s waistband. She never twitched, but he knew she felt him take it. Her body shielded his action as he tucked it behind him, in his own belt. He wished he had Libby’s voluminous skirts to hide it in. If the robbers decided to search him, he’d had it.

  The leader and his companion climbed down from the stage laden with treasure and Griffin’s new shotgun.

  “You got everything?” the leader called.

  “There’s two sacks of mail in the coach, boss,” Benny replied.

  “Could be some money in it,” said the man holding Vashti’s vest.

  “Leave it,” said the leader. “We’ve got plenty. But bring the driver.”

  They all stared at him.

  Vashti’s stomach lurched. He knew. That was why he’d attacked this stage. But she wouldn’t go with Luke, not if it meant losing her life.

  Libby spoke first. “You can’t take Georgie.”

  “Can’t I?” Luke strode forward, holding his rifle trained on Griffin. “Step back, mister.”

  Griffin hesitated.

  “I’d as soon shoot you as not,” Luke snarled.

  Griffin took one step back. Vashti wondered if she could distract Luke and give Griffin time to bring out her pistol. But it would be one gun against four.

  “Cover the others, Benny.” Luke seized Vashti’s wrist and yanked her toward him. “Come on, Georgia, you’re coming with me.”

  “No. You left me in Cheyenne, Luke Hatley. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She twisted her arm, but his grip clamped her wrist like a vise.

  He twisted her arm and pulled her closer. “Oh yes, you are, sweetheart. You can come along peaceful, or you can watch these good people die one by one. Which is it?”

  Sick dread shot through her. The Luke Hatley she’d known wasn’t a violent man, but that was eight years ago. She’d changed immeasurably. Perhaps he had, too.

  He pulled her arm back farther, and she gritted her teeth.

  “All right.”

  Luke loosened his grip but kept hold of her wrist. “That’s better. Come on. I’ve got a horse for you across the bridge.” He looked at Griffin and the passengers. “Don’t try to follow us, folks, or your darling little driver will wind up dead.”

  He pulled her toward the bridge. The other three outlaws followed, walking backward and still brandishing their guns. Vashti stared at Griffin. He stood stock still, watching, a look of pain and disbelief on his face. Would she ever see him again, or would Luke take her far away? And if he did, would Griffin even try to find her? No man she’d trusted had ever come through for her before.

  “Come on now.” Luke jerked her around and dragged her past the horses.

  Griffin watched in shock as the outlaw leader pulled Vashti with him. Luke Hatley must be the man who had given her to a brothel owner. He wanted to kill the man, but with three others holding him at gunpoint, he was helpless. The only thing he would accomplish by drawing the pistol would be to get himself and his unarmed friends killed. Then who would help Vashti?

  When Luke got to where the team still stood, with one lead horse down and moaning, he hauled Vashti around the horses, onto the span of the bridge. The other three outlaws turned and ran after them.

  Griffin whipped the pistol from behind his back.

  “Hiram!” Bitsy called. She bent and pulled the right leg of her bloomers up to her knee.

  “Griff, wait,” Hiram said.

  Griffin looked over at him. Bitsy thrust her tiny, genuine Deringer pistol—made by the master gunsmith Henry Deringer himself—into Hiram’s hand.

  “All right, now!” Hiram ran a few steps forward.

  The outlaws were still on the bridge. Hiram took cover behind the horses and aimed. The Deringer popped, and one of the outlaws fell.

  The leader had reached the far end of the bridge. He looked back and saw one of his men had fallen. He raised his rifle. Vashti wrenched away from him and leaped over the side of the bridge.

  Griffin fired once and ducked behind the team, near Hiram.

  “They’ll likely drop the rest of the horses,” Hiram said.

  “You got another shot left?” Griffin asked.

  “Nope. Single shot.”

  “Then take Vashti’s sixer.” Griffin handed him the revolver. Hiram was a better shot than he would ever dream of being. “There should be five shots left. I’ll distract them.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Griffin glanced over his shoulder. Libby, Bitsy, and the other passengers had retreated into the trees, out of sight. He peeked around the lead horse’s muzzle, preparing if necessary to run into the open and draw Luke’s fire.

  Luke stood on the bridge, looking down over the side. The other two outlaws were scrambling for the far side.

  “He’s going to get Vashti.” Griffin leaped into the open. “Hatley!”

  As Luke swung toward him, Hiram stepped out from the shadow of the near wheeler’s side and took aim, holding Vashti’s Colt with both hands, and squeezed the tr
igger.

  CHAPTER 33

  Vashti lay in the icy water, stunned. The fall was farther than she’d bargained for, and the bottom rockier. She’d had the breath knocked out of her. Both ankles and one wrist throbbed, but she didn’t move. She lay with her head to one side, hauling in gulps of air and concentrating on keeping her face out of the six-inch-deep water.

  Above and behind her, several shots rang out. She didn’t care. She only wanted to breathe.

  A closer explosion jerked her into reality. She craned her neck and looked up at the bridge. Luke was up there, still wearing the ridiculous mask. He’d spotted her in the creek. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and pointed the barrel at her.

  “What’s the matter, Georgia? You used to like me.”

  She turned her face away. Let him shoot her if he wanted. That would be better than going with him again. Lord, if You want to take me home, I’m ready, she thought. Then she remembered Griffin and the others. She looked around at Luke again. He was still aiming at her.

  “Come on. I haven’t got all day. Get up.”

  She closed her eyes.

  Two more shots rang out. Something splashed in the water beside her. She opened one eye. A rifle was caught in the current but snagged on the rocks. It lay there in the burbling water. Had Luke dropped his gun?

  A bigger splash threw gallons of freezing water over her. She raised her head. Luke lay facedown in the creek, on top of his rifle.

  Vashti huddled, shivering in the stagecoach. Libby and Bitsy rubbed her hands and feet. Both had donated their shawls to keep her warm, and they’d recovered her leather vest.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Bitsy said, wrapping Vashti in her arms. “Griff and the other men will get the team straightened out, and we’ll take this coach back home.”

  “No,” Vashti said. “We’ve got to get the mail through to Nampa.”

  “We’ll go back to the Democrat Station, and they’ll get a new team,” Libby said. “Then we’ll take you home. Someone else can drive to Nampa.”

  They wouldn’t have an extra driver on hand, but Vashti knew it was useless to explain the quirks of the stage line.

  A gunshot sounded, very close and loud. She jumped and grabbed Bitsy’s hand.

  “There now, honey. Griff said they’d have to put the one horse down. I’m sorry.”

  Vashti squeezed her eyes tightly shut. A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

  Hiram came to the door of the coach. “How are you doing, ladies?”

  “We’re all right.” Libby’s usually cheerful voice was subdued as she looked to her husband for news.

  “Griff’s unhitching the lead horse that wasn’t hurt. He’s going to send the cowboy to get the men from the Democrat Station.”

  “What about the outlaws?” Bitsy asked.

  “Mr. Rice and the other passenger are guarding the two that Griffin captured.”

  Bitsy frowned. “So … two dead?”

  “Three. That one we got first thing—” Hiram stopped and swallowed hard.

  “The one you shot out the window? What about him?” Bitsy asked.

  “We took all their masks off. It’s Cecil Watson.”

  Vashti stared at him for a moment, then collapsed against the back of the seat. The man who’d run out on her in Nampa had joined the outlaws. She felt as if every ounce of energy had been drained from her.

  Outside, receding hoofbeats told her the cowboy was leaving for the swing station. A moment later, Hiram stepped aside and Griffin appeared in the doorway.

  “We’ve decided to wait until they bring another team out. One of the wheel horses has a flesh wound. He’ll heal up, but I don’t want to ask him to pull right now.”

  Vashti sat up, finding new strength. If Griffin could keep going with his knee all smashed up, she could, too. “What about the leader? The one blocking the bridge?”

  Griffin winced. “We’ll have to move him. I figure when Mr. Jordan and his boys get here, we’ll hitch the new team to the horse and drag him off the road. Maybe we can get a crew out here this afternoon to dig a hole. Don’t want to leave something dead that big so close to the road.”

  She nodded, thankful for that. She wouldn’t have to pass the horse’s carcass every time she drove this road.

  Griffin leaned his big body inside so that he was half in the coach and blinked in the dimness. His gaze focused on Vashti. “How you doing?”

  She nodded, frowning. “I’ll be all right. I’m a little sore in places.” He reached out and touched her cheek gently. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll have Doc check you over.”

  She nodded and on impulse grabbed his hand. “How about you? Hiram said one of the outlaws was Cecil Watson.”

  “That’s right. He’s dead. Him and Hatley and the one they called Benny. So now we know: They had an insider who knew when there would be treasure in the box.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Thank you, Griff. You and Hiram.” Her tears let loose, and she turned her face away.

  Two hours later, Griffin and Vashti rode together in the stagecoach. Mr. Jordan had insisted he could drive a team of mules back to his station. It wasn’t that far, and the injured parties needed to sit inside, in relative comfort.

  Libby, Bitsy, and Hiram opted to ride on the roof with Jordan, and the other passengers rode the two healthy horses from their original team. Griffin thought they’d all gone to great lengths to put him and Vashti alone in the stage together, but he didn’t mind. If his knee didn’t hurt so much, he’d have been tickled.

  “You’d better have Doc check out that knee,” Vashti said. She hadn’t protested when he sat beside her on the cushioned seat at the back of the coach, instead of one of the other seats. He took that as a good sign.

  “My knee will be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “I’m just bruised up. Nothing’s broken.” Her clothes were still damp, but she’d dried out considerably. She probably would heal up within a couple of weeks, but it wasn’t her bumps and bruises that worried him.

  “What about Luke?” he asked.

  “What about him?”

  Griffin drew in a deep breath. “Did you know he was in these parts?”

  She was quiet for a moment; then she looked at him. “I thought I saw him in Boise, that one time I drove through. Trudy was with me. I saw a man come out of a saloon, and I thought it was Luke. Scared me something awful.”

  “Did you tell Trudy?”

  Vashti nodded. “I decided it wasn’t really him—just my imagination.”

  “Do you think he came here looking for you?”

  “No. He probably came looking for a chance to make some easy money. When he heard about me, he probably thought it was a streak of luck.”

  “Folks have been talking about the female driver,” Griffin said. “Yes. And if he heard my name was George Edwards …”

  “He knew you as Georgia?”

  “Yes. I changed my name after I left Ike’s.” She sighed and shrank away from him, into the corner of the seat.

  Griffin reached over and found her icy cold hand. He cradled it in his and stroked it with his thumb. “That’s all in the past.”

  “I know.” Her voice had gone tiny, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

  He inhaled deeply and let the breath out in a puff. “So why did you pick the name Vashti?”

  She blinked at him. “You sure you want to chitchat now?”

  “Might as well.”

  She looked out the coach window. They were going uphill, only half a mile or so from Democrat. She sat back with a sigh, still letting him hold her hand. “When I came here to Idaho, I wanted a new name. Somebody told me once that Vashti was the name of a queen in the Bible.”

  “I reckon that’s right.”

  “Yeah. But see, after we got the parson and I started going to church, I found out the king got mad at Vashti and kicked her out. He got himself a new queen.”

&
nbsp; Griffin nodded. “Esther.”

  “That’s the one. And Esther was the really pretty one, and she ended up being the honorable queen. Vashti was thrown out of the palace in disgrace. Esther saved her people.”

  “That’s true, but I wouldn’t be so hard on Vashti if I were you.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Nope. From what Reverend Benton says, I’d say Queen Vashti was quite a lady.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. Her husband wanted her to act in an unseemly manner, and she refused.”

  Vashti pondered that. “I thought she was bad because she wouldn’t do what the king said.”

  “Maybe. But I think she had a reason for that. Maybe if you ask Miz Benton, she can tell you more about Queen Vashti.”

  “I might do that.”

  “Good. Because I happen to think the name suits you more than you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. You don’t stand by convention, and … well, if anyone was to ask me, I’d say you had a regal way of moving, and you’re pretty enough to show off, too.”

  She eyed him critically, as if she thought he was making fun of her.

  “I mean it,” he said softly. “I think a heap of you, Vashti Edwards.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Honest?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Honest.”

  Halfway back to Fergus they met the welcoming party. Jordan had taken the stage and its paying passengers on to Nampa himself, driving the mule team and taking one of his hostlers along as shotgun messenger. He’d loaned Griffin his farm wagon. With Hiram driving, they’d headed out with the two sound horses from the stage team in harness. Libby and Bitsy sat on the seat with Hiram, and Griffin and Vashti sat in the back on a quilt.

  From the road ahead, a whooping broke out with the sound of pounding hoofbeats. Vashti held on to the side of the wagon and raised herself until she could see three horses approaching at breakneck speed.

  Ethan and Trudy Chapman galloped toward them, and out in front came Justin on Griffin’s gelding, Pepper.

  “Uncle Griff!” When Justin saw his uncle in the wagon, he halted Pepper and slid to the ground. Hiram stopped the team, and Justin climbed over the wheel into the wagon bed. He flung himself into Griffin’s arms. “What happened? Mrs. Chapman and I were worried, so the sheriff telegraphed Nampa. They said you were late.”