Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  Susan dug her nails into his back, holding him close and burying her head in the curve of his neck. Her teeth were wet and slick on his skin.

  “Is it over? The pain?”

  He nodded and fought for control, fought to think of anything but his wife and her rough, hurt voice.

  Then he felt her smile against his shoulder. “I thought it would be worse.”

  At her words, Daniel felt a burst of pride, a rush of adoration. “It can be better,” he assured, hoping he could hold off long enough to give her the pleasure she deserved.

  “Really?”

  He drew back, meeting her emerald gaze. “Really.”

  “Show me.”

  Restored by her limitless faith in him, Daniel began a rhythm as old as time. Slowly, achingly, he taught her a woman’s passion, just as he had longed to do since the day he’d seen her picture, the day he’d kissed her at the academy, the day he’d made her his wife.

  Together they moved toward the same goal, their lips meeting and breaking away, seeking and slipping free. Then, just when Daniel thought he would not be able to hold back any longer, Susan gasped. Her muscles shuddered and tightened around him, immediately bringing him to his own explosive release.

  She cried out. He heard the ecstasy in each syllable. Passion spilled over them both as their bodies strained, trembled, then fell into a blissful oblivion.

  Long endless minutes passed before Daniel could gather his wits enough to lift himself up on his forearms. He brushed the moist hair from her face. At first he thought she might already have fallen asleep, but she smiled, and her lashes flickered.

  “Daniel?”

  “Hmm?”

  Her expression held all of the adoration that Daniel had tried to run from for so many years.

  “I love you.”

  Chapter 29

  Timmy Beeb cantered toward the yawning cave where he and the Dooleys had camped the night before. His horse was breathing hard from the steep climb up the side of the mountain. Below, he could see an occasional flash of sunlight on metal. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed, and the Pinkertons were still hot on their trail.

  Shooting an impatient glance at the men in the valley who stuck to them like ticks to a hound, Beeb glared at his companions. A few of Grant’s cousins had managed to follow them into the hills. After mere hours of sleep, Beeb had followed the counsel of the voices in his head and had taken a horse. Under the cover of the black midnight shadows, he had returned to the site of the ambush to see if Crocker was still in charge. He had learned that Daniel had been sent away. Now Beeb was ready to ride.

  “Get up! We’re moving out.”

  Beeb noted the way Grant ambled toward his mount, drinking from a half-full bottle of liquor to ease the ache in his belly and the pain in his body. It was obvious he had missed his daily portion of morphine. In a few hours he would be shaking and pale. Beeb snickered, not about to tell Grant he had the bottle of morphine powder he’d taken from Gibby stashed in his saddlebags.

  One by one the remaining men mounted their horses. A tall slender Dooley was not quite so biddable, however. He gazed at Timmy in baleful rebellion. “Why?”

  In response, Beeb whipped his revolver from his gun belt and aimed it at the bridge of the man’s nose. He fired.

  “Any other questions?”

  The three men who remained watched in horror. Timmy laughed aloud at their pinched features. They were all a bunch of rabbits. They didn’t even have enough gumption to run, not realizing they were mere hours away from meeting their Maker. Beeb didn’t intend to take them with him when he went into hiding, and he didn’t intend to leave any witnesses. He would keep the Dooleys long enough to sacrifice their hides to the Pinkertons. Then he would go. Alone.

  “Where are you taking us now?” Grant asked, his tone carefully modulated lest it offend Beeb’s hair-trigger temper. He had plans of his own where Beeb was concerned.

  “Back to Ashton.”

  Grant’s eyes sparkled. “You mean you’ll help us get Floyd?”

  Beeb’s lips curled in disgust. “He’s dead! Your brother is dead.”

  Grant stared at the other man in disbelief. In the space of twenty-four hours, his family had dwindled to nothing. Nothing! He wanted to blame Crocker. His soul ached to lay his miseries at the Pinkerton’s door, but he knew Beeb was more to blame than anyone. It was Beeb who’d lured them into his plan. Grant never should have listened when Beeb approached him and his kin in that saloon in Barryville and tempted them with a scheme to free Floyd and capture Crocker at the same time. But the whole thing had seemed so perfect.

  “How did Floyd die?”

  Beeb grinned in genuine delight, setting Grant’s teeth on edge. “I don’t know. I saw them lifting him from the boxcar this morning. Floyd was probably dead before we left. Bet you Crocker put a bullet through his head.”

  Grant’s hands curled into fists. When he didn’t speak, Beeb continued to taunt him. “Don’t you understand? Crocker is responsible for everything that happened. That bastard did this to you.”

  Grant was beginning to believe differently, but for the moment there was nothing he could do. Crocker would die. Beeb would see to that. Then Grant would see to Beeb.

  “Mount up!” Timmy yelled.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Have you forgotten already? I know everything about Crocker—his habits, his fears, his weaknesses. I even know where he is.”

  Daniel’s eyes snapped open; sleep deserted him. He grew tense, not knowing exactly what had disturbed him. He waited, listening to the quiet of the morning. When he heard nothing further, he willed his muscles to relax and the pounding of his heart to slow to a more normal rate.

  Slowly his body responded. Even more slowly his mind. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. He was just jittery. And after all that had occurred the last few days, who could blame him?

  Managing to reassure himself, Daniel yawned and stretched, rolling onto his side. He encountered soft, feminine skin. Susan.

  A smile curved his lips. She was so beautiful. So warm. So passionate.

  Daniel tried to settle back into sleep, but couldn’t. There was something—some niggling worry—pressing in the back of his brain. He would go out to the barn and check his horse, make sure everything was all right. Then he’d return to her side.

  He paused only for a second, then eased from the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He fondly regarded his wife and found himself looking forward to the years and years to come when he would see the same sight each morning. She had taught him to laugh, to love. And to dream.

  Pulling on his underdrawers, socks, and shirt, he fastened a handful of buttons, then dragged on his trousers and boots. Silently he left the room, collecting his rifle from the kitchen counter in response to years of habit, and crossed to the door. Stepping out into the cold, he allowed his eyes to roam in a fascinated caress over his land.

  Heavy clouds scudded against the jutting faces of the mountains, their thick fleecy weight promising snow and warmer weather. Spring would come soon enough. Susan would love it here. They would make a home equal to no other, the kind he’d never had as a child and the kind he had never dreamed of having. They would be happy and—

  Something warned Daniel long before he heard the sounds. His head jerked up. Four horsemen loomed in sharp relief against the hillside.

  A pang of angry bitterness settled into Daniel’s soul and he whirled and ran into the house. Even as he rushed through the kitchen and into the bedroom, he could hear the muffled sound of approaching hooves. They’d seen him out on the porch.

  “Susan!”

  She was already sitting up in bed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in chaotic fiery waves. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “The Dooleys,” he rasped. “Get dressed. We’ve got to get you away from here. I’ll put you on the horse. I want you to ride to the orphanage.”
<
br />   “No, Daniel.”

  “Susan, listen to me!” He threw her clothes into her lap. Since his Peacemaker was still in the kitchen, he searched one of the drawers in the dresser and withdrew a second revolver that he’d hidden beneath a pile of shirts. “I won’t have anything happen to you! You’ll go where it’s safe!”

  “Only if you come.”

  “Susan, if they see me with you they’ll follow! Now get up!”

  She looked at him in frustrated silence, then began to fumble into her clothes, easing her skirt and jacket over her bare skin and fastening the garment. As soon as she was completely dressed, Daniel pulled her into the kitchen. Once at the door, he knew it was already too late. The four men were only fifty feet away from the house. There was no way she could run to the barn without being seen.

  “Quick! Hide in the cellar, and don’t come out until I come for you. Understand?”

  Daniel shoved the table aside, not allowing himself to waver when the color drained from Susan’s skin. He knew he was triggering old memories, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  “Daniel, no! I’m staying here with you. If we’re going to fight, we’ll fight together.”

  “Susan, do as I say!” He lifted the trapdoor and carried her protesting form to the opening. Forcibly he led her down the steps into the cellar. When she shouted at him and refused to go, Daniel cupped her cheeks with his hands and gave her one long kiss, letting her feel all the tenderness and love she had taught him to give in the past weeks.

  “Please, Susan,” he begged. “Please, just do what I ask.”

  He pressed the revolver into her hands, and an unspoken message flashed between them. Then he was pushing her deeper into the dark cellar and closing the trapdoor over her head. Susan cringed when the scrape of the table being moved over the trapdoor filled her ears. She scrambled up the stairs to pound on the planks.

  “Daniel!”

  He didn’t answer.

  Darn it! He couldn’t do this to her! He couldn’t! This was her home, too. And she could shoot. She could! She could defend herself against the Dooleys just as well as he. He wasn’t going to leave her helpless and afraid, the way her mother had done. This time Susan intended to fight.

  She pounded until her skin was raw, screaming for Daniel to let her out. From above she could hear him lifting the windows and smacking the butt of his rifle on the planks that covered them from the outside. Muffled shouts and curses were coming from the Dooleys, but she was too well insulated to make them out. Sporadic gunfire sounded above her. Susan’s heart beat in her ears; her limbs grew numb. She had to get out. She had to! She couldn’t let him protect her this way. She had to help him.

  With all the strength she had left, she slammed her shoulder against the trapdoor until it began to move—ever so slightly—and she knew she was causing the table to skitter out of the way.

  Again and again she banged until the heels of her hands were bruised and bloody. But with each jarring smack, the door moved a little farther and a little farther, until the table skidded out of the way and the trapdoor popped open far enough to allow her a glimpse of the kitchen.

  She scrambled out of the opening, then cursed when the hatch slammed shut on her skirts. Reaching behind her, she jerked them loose, not heeding the rending sound of her dress tearing. Wildly she gazed around her, searching for the man she loved. Then she noted the back door was open. Daniel was kneeling behind a snowbank in the yard firing at the men who lay amid the scrub surrounding the house. One man already lay crumpled on the frozen ground near Grant while two others fired their weapons over the top of the well casing.

  Daniel ducked, then ran and crouched behind a water barrel by the barn. Susan knew he was trying to lure the men away from the house and the sound of her pounding.

  Damning the man’s foolish sense of honor and his pigheaded stubbornness, she held the gun more firmly. It was heavy in her palms and strangely familiar. She knew how it worked, she knew how to cock the hammer and pull the trigger—she’d even killed a man. And she was willing to do it again if it would help the man she loved, just as she had tried to help her mother.

  Pausing only enough to see that the chambers were loaded, she raced outside in time to see Timmy Beeb spring from the brush and run for the stables, his revolver aimed at Daniel’s head.

  “No!” she shouted.

  Beeb looked at her, and for one split second, his aim wavered. She lifted her gun and fired. He jerked, the bullet striking his chest as his finger closed over his own trigger.

  A raw scream burst from Susan’s throat when the bullet plowed through her shoulder, slamming her body backwards, knocking her head on the steps. In dazed awareness, everything began to move slowly … slowly. Her fingers relaxed. The revolver tumbled from her grasp. She heard someone calling her, the cry filling her senses with the horrible sound of loss. Her hand automatically went to her head, feeling the exploding pain where she’d struck the step. And somewhere, from a great distance, she saw Daniel racing toward her.

  A low moan ripped from her throat. She clutched thick handfuls of snow, but she didn’t acknowledge the icy temperature as the pain spread through her body like a numbing wave.

  She saw him. She saw Daniel bend over her.

  “K-kiss me?” she begged. She tried to smile. Tried to reassure him that everything would be all right.

  Daniel closed his eyes, and she thought she saw a gleaming track of wetness leak from his lashes. Then he pressed his lips to her own. Susan sighed. How she loved this man! How she would love him for the rest of her days.

  Then, as if her body had found all that it needed, she drifted into a cool, welcoming darkness.

  Daniel felt the strength draining from her body even as he held her. In disbelief, he held her limp body close, pressing her to his heart. His throat worked.

  “Shoot him!”

  Daniel’s head shot up. From across the scant distance that separated him, he saw Timmy Beeb writhing on the ground, clutching his chest where Susan had wounded him.

  “Kill him, damn it!” Beeb shouted again. “An eye for an eye! Can’t you hear the voices? They’re shouting for you to get rid of the devil’s seed once and for all.”

  Daniel saw two other men crouch at the corner of the barn—Grant Dooley and his cousin Nate.

  Nate lifted his gun, but in a move Daniel had not expected, Grant’s hand snapped out and stopped him. “Let Beeb do his own murdering. He’s the one who hatched this idiot plan in the first place. He’s the one who got Floyd and Marvin killed. He murdered Bart in cold blood.”

  The muted thump of hooves and the jingle of bridles pierced the air.

  Nate blanched. “The Pinkertons. They’ve heard the shots and they’re coming!” He scooped his revolver from the snow and strode to his horse.

  Beeb watched him leave with half-crazed eyes. “Where are you going?”

  Nate glared at him in disgust and disbelief. “I’m getting out, damn it! I’m not sitting here like a rat in a trap, waiting for them to ride down on me.” He mounted and fled to a sheltering screen of trees.

  Daniel’s eye caught a sudden flash of movement. Timmy Beeb lunged in the snow for the revolver that had tumbled out of his reach. Daniel saw him lift it, saw him pull back the hammer.

  An explosion split the silence. Beeb wavered and fell face down in the snow.

  Holding the still smoking revolver, Grant Dooley regarded Daniel for some time. “That wasn’t for you,” he said. “That was for Floyd. And Marvin. And Bart.” Then he ran for his horse and swung into the saddle.

  In the aftermath of the gun battle, the approach of the Pinkertons was quiet, ghostly, the sounds concealed by the drifts of powder. Daniel watched in numbed detachment as Grant rushed past the body of Timmy Beeb lying crumpled in the snow, his fingers still curled around his revolver, his face contorted in the throes of death.

  The Pinkertons rode by, heading in the Dooleys�
� direction, but as Daniel watched the two men being apprehended once and for all, he felt nothing. No distaste, no remorse, not even gratitude that Grant had spared his life. His body curled protectively over the woman he held. His wife.

  Don’t let her die! his heart cried out. Dear God, don’t spare me again to see death take someone I love.

  His brow creased in a frown. She was growing cold. So cold.

  Gently, tenderly, he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the house. Crossing to the bedroom, he laid her on the mattress and drew the blanket over her. Then, after kissing her cheek, he hurried into the kitchen to fetch water and the torn petticoat Susan had left on the table.

  He stripped her dress from her body and bathed her wound. Her skin grew ashen, cool. Daniel tried not to think of what he would do if she died. As Mama had died. And Annie.

  “Susan? Hang on. Please hang on,” Daniel crooned softly. Susan was so small, so frail in his arms. She wasn’t made to withstand the pain he’d brought to her. The fear.

  “Susan? Susan, can you hear me?” He scooped her up and held her against his chest, rocking her softly. “Listen to me. I still have so many things to tell you, to show you.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “There’s a fresh spring up on the hill. During the summer it’s cool and sweet, and the banks are lined with wild watercress.” His voice grew raw. “And the big oak tree … in the backyard. I thought I’d hang a rope swing on that thick branch.”

  Her arms hung limp at her sides, mocking his memories of the way she’d touched him. Held him.

  “I never told you how much I loved you, did I?” he whispered. “I thought if I never said the words, I could protect you. Keep you … safe.”

  His throat closed over a burning knot of pain as he breathed in her scent and remembered her joy.

  Time crawled by, but Daniel remained oblivious to its passage. At some point, much later, Kutter came into the room. “I sent for the doctor.”

  Daniel didn’t hear him. He merely rocked Susan in his arms, murmuring soft incoherent phrases in her ear.