“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m not worried about myself. It’s you I care about. I want to give you a good life.”
“This is as much our town as it is theirs,” she returned. “They have to learn they can’t go pushing people around to suit their desires. Someone has to stand up to them. You say you’ve got a fighting chance with Wendell, and I believe you. You go out there and teach him a lesson. Do it for Martha if you can’t do it for yourself.”
He blinked. Then he straightened up in his chair. “You’re right.”
He bent over his soup and wolfed the food in a few seconds. He kissed Betsy and headed for the door. “Gotta get back to work now, darlin’. See you in a few hours.”
When he left, Betsy returned to her own work. She went over every room in the house. She found fault with Jed’s cleaning methods and recleaned everything to her own satisfaction, but she couldn’t help being pleased with him. He did a lot more than most men would have. He did his best to give her a pristine house to come home to, and he did a mighty good job of it.
She dusted the parlor and smiled at the daguerreotypes on the china cabinet. One of these days, she and Jed would get a likeness taken for themselves to join the pantheon of family portraits. Another generation of voices would enliven this house. No one would ever have to sleep in the stable again out of loneliness.
She folded the linens in the closet and shut the door when she heard Jed coming in from the forge. She hurried to the kitchen to meet him and found him pouring hot water into the wash tub.
“You’re home early,” she remarked. “It must not have been as busy as all that.”
He didn’t answer. He stripped off his shirt and bent over the wash tub. He dunked his head in the water and started soaping the back of his neck.
Betsy stood back and watched him in rising anxiety. He could only have come in early for one reason. Now he was getting cleaned up for the showdown.
Without another word, she took a bucket out to the well and filled it up. She set another pot of water on the stove to heat and went upstairs. She got Jed’s suit from the bedroom where he left it last night.
She hung it up and smoothed out the wrinkles. In the act of brushing it off, her throat constricted to a hard lump. Why did this have to happen? Why did their happiness have to end like this? Why couldn’t they just live in peace like any normal couple?
She shook those thoughts out of her head. Jed offered to release her, and she chose to stay. She signed up for this, and she wouldn’t back down now. She put the finishing touches on the suit and carried it downstairs.
She didn’t find him in the kitchen. The wash tub hung empty in its place, and the soap was back on the shelf. She laid the suit over a chair and went in search of him.
She found him in the parlor. He stood bare-chested at the window. His suspenders hung loose around his hips, and he gazed out at nothing. Not until she came up behind him did Betsy realize he was staring out at the main street of town.
Her heart spasmed. She didn’t want him to go out there, but she loved him far too much to say so. She ached for him, but he had to go out there, regardless of the outcome.
She came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. She laid her face against his back and closed her eyes. All the passionate ecstasy of their first night together flooded her mind. It hurt almost more than she could stand.
She kissed his bare skin, and her hands stroked his chest. He laid one strong palm across her fingers to stop her, and he leaned his head back against her hair. “Darlin’.”
She couldn’t get her voice to work, so she whispered. “Your suit is in the kitchen.”
He turned around to face her. “Thank you.” He kissed her once. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You’ll see.”
She broke out of his arms and squeezed his shoulders. “You don’t worry about me. You just take care of yourself out there. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I hear.”
He went into the kitchen, and she watched him change into his suit. He straightened his jacket and combed his hair in front of the looking glass. The closer the time came for him to leave, the taller and sturdier he stood. His eyes flashed. He was ready.
The sun sloped behind the buildings of town. Long shadows fell across the windows. The sun was going down. Betsy felt her heartbeat start to quicken, but she kept her emotions hidden from Jed. He didn’t need to think about her at a time like this.
Still, she couldn’t stop her hands shaking. She knit her fingers together, but he wasn’t looking at her. He glared in different directions at enemies he couldn’t see. At last, he got every detail of his suit attended to and his hat perched on his head.
He went into the parlor and looked through the window. “It’s time.”
Instead of leaving, he went over to the china cabinet. He opened a drawer near the bottom and took out a gun belt Betsy never knew was there. He buckled it around his waist. Two shiny silver guns rested in their holsters on either hip, and a row of gleaming bullets studded the belt.
He hitched it into place. He pulled out one of the pistols and sighted down the barrel. He flipped open the cylinder and gave it a spin before he holstered the weapon again.
When he got everything ready, he glanced out the window. The sun was almost down. Betsy wanted to cry, but she held herself together with an effort.
He walked over to her and took hold of her shoulders. He fixed his eyes on her, and all the softness went out of his expression. “Listen to me, Betsy. I want you to stay here. Stay inside, and don’t go near Main Street.”
“But I want to come with you,” she exclaimed. “Please let me go with you. Don’t make me stay behind.”
“Stay here,” he ordered. “I can’t have you out there. I can’t think about you out there. I have to do this, and I don’t want you anywhere around. Understand?”
Her heart twisted in anguish. She didn’t want to be anywhere but with him, even now. If she was going to lose him the day after their wedding, she wanted to be there. She wanted to spend every last second she could with him.
He didn’t want that, though, and he had the harder job to do here. He had to concentrate on the task at hand, and she would only distract him. She swallowed hard. “I understand.”
“Stay here,” he repeated.
He gave her shoulders one last squeeze, and he was gone. He marched out through the kitchen and through the forge. A moment later, she saw him striding away toward town.
Chapter 6
Betsy raced through the house. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t stand around in this house alone. The house itself wouldn’t let her.
Now she knew how he felt when his family died. This house wouldn’t tolerate someone living here alone. She had to get out. She had to be near Jed and find out what happened to him, even if he never knew she was there.
She charged out of the parlor. She snatched her shawl from the kitchen and ran back to the entrance hall. She went out through the front-back entrance door to the opposite side of the building.
She came out in an open field behind the forge. Wagon tracks led around the forge to town. Betsy stole a peek around the corral to make sure Jed was gone. She couldn’t let him see her. He had to keep his head clear if he was going to win this fight.
When she didn’t see him, she raced into town and ducked behind the nearest saloon. She had to see the outcome of his confrontation with Wendell. She couldn’t wait for someone to come and tell her.
She trotted to the next building and peeked around it. She spotted Jed walking down Main Street. She hid until he passed out of sight. Then she dashed for the next building. In this way, she followed him down the street to the Brimstone Hotel.
When she stole a glance out the next time, she didn’t see him. He must have stopped. She ran behind the Hotel before she dared to look again. This time, she saw Wendell Fox standing in the middle of the street.
He wore the same suit as yesterday, but his boots shone wi
th fresh polish. He faced the other way, toward the church. He and Jed must be confronting each other. Betsy crept up the Hotel’s side wall until she could see both men.
They stood about thirty feet apart. They appraised each other through their squinted eyes under their hats. Wendell showed none of the blasé dismissal he evinced yesterday. He concentrated on his enemy. He must have seen the same intensity in Jed’s eyes that Betsy fell in love with. He could only discount this man at his own peril.
Betsy’s blood screamed in her veins. She wanted to run into the street and stop them, but she had to stay out of sight. Jed had to do this on his own. She made her promise to stand by the outcome of this confrontation, and she would do it. She loved him too much to do anything else.
Jed held his hands at his sides. Tension sizzled all around him. He didn’t explode in rage at the man who killed his sister and probably his father, too. He measured his adversary in deadly earnest.
Ever so slowly, Wendell raised his hand and unbuttoned his jacket. He swept the side tails behind his guns, and Jed did the same. Now nothing stood in the way of them both drawing their weapons. No one could pretend they just happened to meet on Main Street at sundown one day.
Betsy’s fingers tightened on the corner of the Hotel. Was she about to watch her new husband gunned down in a battle to the death? The other option was for Jed to kill Wendell. Did she really want a killer as a husband?
She had no choice now. Besides, Jed wasn’t a killer. He never raised a weapon against anyone, and the Foxes pushed him to this. She wanted to hide her eyes so she wouldn’t see until it was all over, but she had to go on looking. She had to bear witness to Jed’s sacrifice. She owed him that much at least.
Dear God, when would they start? She couldn’t bear the agony of waiting. She wanted it all over and done with. Which of them would draw first? Was Wendell as good a shot as Jed?
Maybe Jed hadn’t practiced for a gun battle. Maybe he just did a little target shooting. Maybe he would drop his gun when he tried to draw it. A thousand nightmare scenarios plagued Betsy’s mind.
She should have stayed indoors. She should have spent the time preparing supper so she wouldn’t think about the gunfight. She should have done anything instead of standing here, watching these two men size each other up.
From a distance, neither man seemed to move. A cloud of vibrating energy surrounded them both. The town fell silent all around them, or was that just Betsy’s imagination? Who else in this town knew Jed and Wendell were confronting each other?
They studied each other in the minutest detail. They examined each other for the slightest hint of movement. Was one man twitching his hand slightly toward his holster?
Just when Betsy couldn’t stand the anxiety a second longer, the whole scene exploded into action in an instant. Wendell’s hand flew back to his right-hand holster. Jed matched him, but Wendell got the upper hand by drawing first.
A deafening concussion thundered down the street. Betsy clapped her hands over her ears. She didn’t think she screamed out, but she could have been mistaken. Everything happened at once.
Jed pulled his pistol and aimed it at Wendell. Before he could fire, a bullet came tearing down the street and struck him in the shoulder. His body recoiled, and his pistol sailed into the air.
How he kept hold of it, Betsy couldn’t figure out. The next minute, his whole body followed him backward. His feet left the ground, and he landed flat on his back. Wendell started striding down the street toward him.
Betsy rushed forward. At that moment, Jed flipped over. He squirmed around onto his hands and knees. Wendell was already halfway down the street. He aimed his weapon at Jed’s face.
In a heartbeat, Jed’s arm rocketed forward, and his gun went off. Wendell buckled and went down on one knee. His free hand flew to his leg, but he recovered in an instant. He raised his pistol to fire.
Jed launched himself to his feet and fired. Wendell whipped backward. His hat sailed off somewhere, and he spun around like a top. For a fraction of an instant, he faced Betsy, and she saw a bloody hole where his eye used to be.
The next instant, Wendell pitched face first onto the ground. He slammed down into the dust and lay still. Betsy couldn’t hold herself back a second longer. She broke out of her hiding place and ran to Jed.
He stood slumped and panting where he was. Before she got near him, she saw blood staining his shirt and running down the arm of his nice suit. It trickled off his fingers into the dust. She didn’t care about the suit. She could wash the blood out of the fabric, and it wouldn’t show up against the black.
Right now, her soul burst with love for him. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. She sobbed into his neck. “Oh, Jed!”
He tried to hug her with his good arm. “It’s all right now, darlin’. Don’t worry about a thing.”
She couldn’t stop crying. She did her best to kiss him, but her lips wouldn’t work. She broke away and wiped her face on her apron. “Let’s get you home and take a look at that shoulder.”
He didn’t move. He swayed in place for a moment. Betsy saw him and ducked under his arm. “Here. Lean on me.”
Once she took some of his weight, he rallied enough to take a few steps. She walked him back down the street the way he came, back toward their own home. How wonderful that word sounded to her now! Home. Her own home, with her own husband.
He’d done it! He killed Wendell Fox. She couldn’t contain all the happiness welling up inside her. They got as far as the saloon. Betsy started to turn toward the forge when she spotted a familiar shadow emerge from the door of the Jail across the street.
The Sheriff stepped onto the sidewalk, but he didn’t come near them. His flinty eyes darted from Jed down the street to the still form lying in front of the Hotel.
Jed muttered in her ear. “Now we’ll catch it. He’s been sitting in there waiting to pounce.”
“We knew this would happen,” Betsy murmured back. “This isn’t over. You may have gotten rid of Wendell, but he and Merrill Fox won’t give up, especially now that you killed Mr. Fox’s son.”
Jed looked away. “Let’s get out of here. My shoulder hurts something awful.”
They turned to the corner leading to the forge when someone walked out of the saloon and stopped on the sidewalk in front of them. Betsy looked up to see the man from the church. What did Jed call him? Fred Anglesey. He was the bartender at the saloon.
“Don’t worry about a thing, sonny,” he rasped. “I saw the whole fight. If you need a witness to testify in court that Wendell drew first, I’m your man.”
Jed panted when he tried to speak. “I’m grateful to you. Just do me a favor and don’t go broadcasting that fact all over town. I wouldn’t want them trying to shut you up for it.”
Fred nodded. “You got it, sonny. Anything you need, you just let me know. That rat Wendell extorted money from me for ten years, and now he’s dead. You can count on one man in this town to stick up for you.”
He went back into the saloon. The door woofed shut behind him, and Jed sighed. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Betsy staggered under his weight, but she got him to the forge and into the kitchen. She let him sink into a chair by the fire. “Let’s get that jacket off.”
Jed snarled in pain when she tried to peel his jacket off. “After everything that dirt bag did to me and my family, he had to go and ruin my nice suit, too.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Betsy chided. “I think I can clean it. If I can’t, I suspect you can afford a new one.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better,” he shot back. “Let me hate the son of a gun a little longer.”
She didn’t argue. She took his jacket and helped him take off his shirt, which was truly ruined. She took her sewing scissors and ripped it into strips for a bandage.
She went to work cleaning the wound. The bullet went through the outer muscle of Jed’s shoulder and did little damage. “I don’t suppose you ha
ve any alcohol to clean the wound.”
Jed’s head shot up. “Alcohol?”
“Yes. Whiskey or something like that.”
“A shot of whiskey sounds pretty good right about now,” he mused.
Betsy snorted. “For the wound, silly. Not for you.”
“You’re a hard taskmistress. I can see that right now,” he grumbled. “No, I don’t have any whiskey in the house. You go ask Fred. I’m sure he’ll give you some. Just don’t drink it all on your way back home.”
She laughed again. “Never mind. I’ll use some soap in the cleaning water. It will sting, though. Do you want something to bite on?”
“Bite on? No. Just do it and get it over with.”
She kissed him on the head and went back to wiping the blood off his shoulder. “You’re a real bear, aren’t you? That’s okay. Anger is just your way of dealing with the pain. I still love you as much as ever.”
He caught her around the waist and pulled her back from her basin of water. He circled her hips with his bare arms and gazed up into her eyes. “I never meant to growl at you, darlin’. You don’t know how happy I was to see you after the fight.”
She bent down and kissed him. “I love you more than anything. I’m proud of you for killing him. Now let’s get this bandaged, and I’ll get supper.”
Chapter 7
Betsy bandaged Jed’s shoulder and put his arm in a sling. Then she went to work making cornbread and beans for supper. She took a slab of roasted ribs out of the oven and put it aside. The windows went dark as night set in.
Jed bent down and unlaced his nice shoes. “At least the fool shot me through the left shoulder. I’ll still be able to work, at least. I would probably be dead now if he shot me in the right shoulder. I wouldn’t have been able to shoot him back.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Betsy replied. “It’s over, and I’m glad.”
The Blacksmith's Bride (Brides 0f Brimstone Book 1) Page 4
