by Kathy Shaw
“Two days ago in the ravine, you missed a fifteen-hundred-pound horse in broad daylight,” Donovan slurred. “Unless you’ve been practicin’, no way can you hit a Langley in a dark alley.”
“Oh yeah?” Jackson growled. “Watch me.”
Donovan heard Jackson cock his pistol. He dove for cover behind a barrel. Jackson’s shot plugged the barrel just above Donovan’s head. Rain water gurgled out of the hole.
“Missed me,” announced Donovan, still hunkered behind the barrel. He needed an eyewitness to this exchange or he might get railroaded into jail. Surely, the sound of gunfire would bring someone out to vouch for his self-defense story.
Jackson moved closer. “You’re the luckiest sonvabitch I know. First the cabin, then the buggy wheel comes off before you get to the ravine and then you dropped that damned blanket just as I shot, making me miss you and wound your pretty little wife.”
Donovan saw red. Red-hot fury flamed through him. The idiot just admitted he’d been the one to hurt Rachel.
The Hell with self-defense bullshit!
Donovan stood, pulled his Colt and roared, “You’re going to die for that!”
“Sullivan, stop!” The sheriff materialized from the darkest corner of the alleyway, gun drawn. “If you kill him, you’ll go to jail in his place.”
Still aiming his gun at Jackson’s heart, Donovan let his father-in-law’s words diffuse his rage. Jackson would get what he deserved, and Rachel would be safe—even if that meant him leaving her.
Slowly, Donovan holstered his Colt then nodded.
Sheriff Hale moved to Jackson’s side and disarmed him. “I heard every word. You’re going to spend the rest of your life behind bars for multiple accounts of attempted murder.”
“I should’ve just killed him instead of trying to make it look like an accident,” grumbled Jackson as the sheriff replaced his sidearm into its holster and reached for his handcuffs.
Then everything seemed to happen at once.
The sheriff leaned sidewise to secure one of the cuffs over Jackson’s wrist. Jackson yanked the sheriff’s gun out of its holster and aimed at Donovan. “Die, you bastard!”
Donovan drew his gun and fired. “You first.”
Jackson fell to the ground, a bright red stain spreading over his chest. Hale squatted to check Jackson’s pulse and shook his head. “He’s dead.”
Donovan stepped closer and stared at the man who had killed his brother, the man who had almost killed the woman he loved, the man who had almost killed him—several times—and felt no remorse. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to hold his wife in his arms and beg her not to send him away.
He wanted the happily-ever-after only Rachel could give him.
Suddenly, the side door to the saloon flung open.
On instinct, Donovan spun around and drew his gun.
The saloon girl the two cowboys had been playing with earlier skidded to a stop, her arms up and her face pale. “It—it’s j-just me R-Rosie.”
Donovan dropped his weapon to his side and sighed. “Running up on somebody after they’d just been in a shootout is a good way to get killed.”
“S-sorry.” Lowering her arms, she stretched her shaking hand and handed Donovan a note. “I-I was supposed to give this to you earlier, b-but I got busy. Mr. Carter said it was im-important.”
Donovan nodded his thanks and moved into a swath of light to read the note. A lock of strawberry blond hair fell out of the envelope and into his palm.
No! God, no!
He reread the note, knowing what it meant. Knowing he was about to lose everything he held dear.
“Ethan, Carter has Rachel. I need your help getting her back.”
“As in kidnapped?”
Donovan nodded.
“What’s he asking for?”
“The truth.”
Chapter 13
Thirty minutes later, Donovan belly-crawled to the crest of a small rise overlooking the old lynching tree. An oversized campfire blazed brightly against the night, giving the area around the old oak the illusion of welcome.
Except for the woman tied to the massive trunk of the tree. And the asshole holding a gun on her.
“I’m going to kill him,” Donovan hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
“No, you’re not.” Hale shuffled up next to him. “We’re going to wait and watch. And then when our best opportunity to go in with the least about of bloodshed comes up we’re going to get our girl.”
“And Carter?”
“I’m going to throw his sorry ass so far behind bars, they’ll have to pump daylight to him just to see if he’s still alive.”
“He doesn’t deserve to live,” Donovan declared, never taking his gaze off Rachel. She looked both scared and seething angry, but basically unharmed. Carter had only tied her to the tree by her waist. Her injured arm and shoulder remained secure in her sling.
“No, he doesn’t,” Hale agreed. “He deserves a slow, agonizing death. I can make that happen.”
Donovan nodded. After a moment, he took his gaze off his wife and surveyed the surrounding area, trying to figure their best plan of attack. Tall cliffs on three sides of the little clearing made it impossible to circle around and catch Carter unaware. He’d positioned Rachel between him and the mouth of the clearing, ensuring he couldn’t be picked off with a rifle without endangering her life.
Hale was right. They’d have to wait for the right moment to move in. And even then, they’d have to be completely focused on the plan. Or someone could get hurt—or worse.
No surprises. No hesitation. No wavering on who to keep in their crosshairs.
It was time to come clean.
Donovan watched Carter wrap a blanket over Rachel. At least for now, Carter seemed concerned with Rachel’s comfort. The Pinkerton man grabbed a blanket for himself and returned to his post beside the fire. Looked like he was settling down for the night. Maybe if they gave him enough time, he’d fall asleep.
In the meantime, Donovan had a confession to make. He looked to his side at his father-in-law. Hale stared intently at the campsite below. Donovan took a bracing breath and whispered, “You know Carter is going to accuse me of being Donnie Langley again.”
The sheriff nodded.
“Ethan,” he waited until Hale turned to face him, wanting to see his reaction. “I am Donovan Langley.”
Hale remained silent and poker faced, so Donovan resumed talking. He explained how, after ten years of living the outlaw existence, he’d craved a quiet, peaceful life. He told of his scheme to fake his death and his need to let his family know of the deception.
He described finding his brother’s body only seconds after he’d been killed and how he thought it was a suicide. The opportunity had been too great to squander. He became Sullivan Langley.
He even admitted to going to the Hale’s home to break Sullivan and Rachel’s engagement, not knowing she was the daughter of the town sheriff or he’d find the Pinkerton man that had trailed him for months in the Hale’s parlor.
After a moment and Ethan didn’t speak, Donovan continued, “I will turn myself in when this is over. But first, I have to know Rachel is safe. I have to know Carter or anyone else from my past won’t ever hurt her again.”
Hale grinned, “I’ve been wallowing the idea of your identity around in my head for a while.”
Donovan glanced at the clearing below. No change. It was still going to be a while before they could move in. “What started you doubting me?”
“The way you look at Rachel, the way you touch her without seeming to realize you’re touching her. Sullivan was always so tense around her. I hoped that would change after they married.”
Donovan remember Sullivan’s reasoning behind his proposal to Rachel. She would be heartbroken if she knew the man she loved didn’t love her.
“I never should have insisted my daughter marry someone she didn’t love.” Hale continued. “I thought pro
ximity would cultivate caring. Now, after watching you and Rachel together, I know I was doing her an injustice.”
“Wait,” Donovan’s heart pounded against his ribcage, “she didn’t love Sullivan?”
Hale shook his head. “She only let him court her because I asked her to at least get to know him before rejecting him. And then when he proposed, I saw an opportunity for Rachel to have a family of her own, to have a life that didn’t revolve around me.”
“I guess it didn’t hurt that the Langley’s are one of the wealthiest families around,” Donovan muttered under his breath.
“No, it didn’t,” Hale admitted, obviously having heard him. “No man wants his daughter to live in squalor—especially, in a loveless marriage.”
Nodding, Donovan glanced at the clearing again. Not much change. Carter might be letting his guard down a little. Maybe getting sleepy.
“When I saw you draw on Jackson in the alley tonight, I knew.” A long pause pressed between them before Hale asked, “Do you love her?”
Donovan answered without hesitation. “With every fiber of my body and soul.”
“Then let’s get our girl.”
Donovan touched his father-in-law’s shoulder. “It’s going to take both of us to get Rachel out safely.”
“Yep.”
“No matter what happens, no matter what is said, you get Rachel to the horses and tear-ass out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”
Hale frowned.
Donovan squeezed Hale’s shoulder. “I swear on Rachel’s life, I won’t run out on you.”
Rachel’s heart almost leaped from her chest when she saw Donovan step out of the darkness. He’d come for her!
Then she remembered what Sam Carter had said when he’d taken her from her house. The Pinkerton agent had sworn, “Your husband won’t live to see another sunrise.”
Fear engulfed her, sending waves of nausea and regret washing over her. Please, God, don’t let Donovan die!
She’d been such a fool. She’d let pride blind her to the happiness standing right in front of her.
She hadn’t told him she loved him. But she would. If they got out of this alive, she’d tell him every day just how much she loved her outlaw husband.
“No!” Rachel shouted when she saw Donovan move farther into the firelight. She strained against the rope tied around her waist. “Go away. He’s going to kill you.”
“I doubt that,” he replied, never taking his gaze off her captor.
“I don’t.” Carter leveled his pistol on Donovan’s chest. “Now, real easy like, unbuckle your gun belt and let it drop to the ground.”
Donovan did as he’d been told.
Carter grinned. “Still think you can convince me you’re not Donnie Langley?”
“Nope. No need to deny who I am now.” Donovan inched farther from Rachel and a tick closer to Carter. “I’m here. Now, let the woman go.”
“The woman?” Carter echoed. “As though you don’t care. I’ve seen how you hover over her, seen how protective you are of her.”
“I am her husband. Husbands, especially newly wedded husbands, are attentive.” Donovan shrugged a shoulder. “I played my part.”
Rachel gasped. Was he just saying whatever it took to keep her safe? Or did he mean what he was saying?
Had he been duping her this whole time?
“Really?” Carter countered. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I, say,” he turned his pistol on Rachel, “killed her first.”
Rachel felt the blood drain from her face, too scared to speak.
Donovan studied Carter, still maintaining his indifference.
Carter laughed. “Damn, Langley, you must have ice water for blood.”
Donovan shrugged a shoulder but remained silent.
Oh, God, Rachel thought, she was going to die. And Donovan didn’t care.
Beyond heartbroken, she wept. Her soul ached. She ducked her head, allowing her hair to hide her face, so neither Donovan nor Carter would see her tears.
“Have you heard,” Carter said, “my wife left me? She said my obsession with bringing you in was more important to me than my family.” Carter sighed, still holding his gun on Rachel. “She was probably right.”
“Let the woman go, Pinkerton,” demanded Donovan, seeming to ignore the other man’s woes. “You got what you want.”
Carter laughed bitterly. “Pinkerton? No. They called me back to Chicago a couple months ago. When I didn’t return, they fired me. Got the telegram to prove it.”
Rachel looked up in time to see Donovan blanch slightly.
Oh no, this was not good. Without any ties to law enforcement, Carter didn’t have to answer for his actions. He was just one more bad guy with a gun.
A gun pointed directly at her heart.
“Kill me f-first?” she asked, finally finding the nerve to form words.
Carter glanced her way then turned his focus back to Donovan. “You didn’t think I’d let you go so you could run tell your papa what I’d done, did you?”
Suddenly, chaos exploded through the clearing..
Snap! A twig broke from somewhere behind her.
Donovan dove for Carter.
Carter’s gun went off.
Another gun somewhere in the darkness fired.
Rachel screamed.
Donovan grunted then fell to the ground—hard.
Carter slumped forward, his eyes expressionless in death.
Her father rushed into the clearing to her and sawed the rope loose with his knife. “Are you all right?”
“Donovan!” Rachel scrambled to his side. A bloody gash on his side colored his shirt rusty red. She lifted his head and shoulders to lie in her lap. Her hand came away sticky with bright red blood. “Papa, help!”
Ethan cursed when he saw the amount of blood streaming from the back of his son-in-law’s head. “Look at that rock. It’s covered in blood. He must have hit his head when he fell.”
“Sunshine?” Donovan whispered.
Rachel tore a long strip of her petticoat then wrapped it around his head. “Shhh, we’ll talk later.”
“No, now.” Donovan groaned. “I didn’t mean a word of it. I swear.”
“I know. Now lie still.”
“I love you, sunshine,” Donovan mumbled then closed his eyes and went limp in Rachel’s arms.
Chapter 14
It’s only been a week.” Doc Weaver laid his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Head injuries are hard to doctor. Mostly, they just need time and rest.”
“But—”
“Patience, Mrs. Langley, he will come around when he comes around.”
“But five days ago, you said it could be any time.” Rachel moved to sit beside the bed and took Donovan’s hand in hers. Worry pressed heavy on her heart.
“I also said it could be next week or next month or…er…maybe much, much longer.”
Much, much longer, Rachel thought, which meant maybe never. She refused the think about life without her husband. If she had to sit by him day and night, if she had to beg him to wake, she would.
Doctor Weaver tugged at his collar, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. “I should get back to New Dawn. If there is any change, let me know.”
Rachel nodded then squeezed Donovan’s hand and said, “Sully, Doctor Weaver is leaving. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
Both Rachel and the doctor watched intently when Donovan took a deep breath, but his eyes remained closed. After a moment, Doctor Weaver sighed and picked up his medical bag.
“Keep talking to him. He might be able to hear what’s going on around him.”
Rachel promised she would.
For hours after the doctor left, Rachel talked to Donovan about the ranch, about the bird singing outside their window, about what Nessa was making for supper. When she ran out of things to talk about, she read to him.
Finally, her throat raw from days of incessant talking and her eyes gritty from lack of sleep and strain, her temper snap
ped. She slammed the book closed, the sharp bang ricocheting off the walls.
“Donovan Langley, open your eyes this very instant!” She stood and marched to the foot of the bed. “I’m tired. I’ve talked. I’ve read. I’ve prayed. And you’re not cooperating. You’re just lying there like a bump on a pickle.”
She looked to Donovan. Nothing.
“I’ll have you know, Mister Lollygagging-In-Bed-All-Day, I have other things to do.” She headed to the door, needing some fresh air.
“Not a pickle,” Donovan croaked from the bed.
Rachel froze, halfway out the door. “Wh-what?”
“I’m not a pickle,” he repeated, his voice raspy. “And I don’t lollygag.”
She raced to his side. “Donovan!”
“Water?”
“Of course.” She brought him a glass of cool water then helped him prop himself up to drink.
“Ouch!” His hand instinctively went to his side where a bandage covered a sizable bullet graze. “What happened?”
Pressing the glass to his lips, she helped him sip water. “Drink and then we’ll talk.”
He drank greedily then fell back on the mound of pillows Rachel propped behind him. “Tell me.”
Unwilling to be too far from him, she sat on the side of the bed facing him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“That asshole pointing a gun at you.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. Rachel could almost see a memory float through his mind. Frowning, he took her hand in his. “I’m so sorry, sunshine, I didn’t mean a word I said to Carter. I hoped, if he thought I didn’t care, he’d let you go.”
“I know. You told me before you lost consciousness.” She squeezed his hand. “Carter is dead,” Rachel began. Moments later, she’d recounted the event of their night in the clearing.
Still holding her hand, he laid his head back, closed his eyes and sighed. “How long have I’ve been out?”
“A week.”
“Has your father been here?”
“Every night. He’s very concerned for you.”
