He heard the gun cock at the same moment Torres stepped out the doorway. The sun had come up and he could see that it was, indeed, open. For one moment that spun out in slow-motion, John wondered if this was the moment he’d die.
But Torres didn’t shoot. He kept his pistol trained on John as he moved toward his horse. “Start walking.”
John took a step away from Torres. With his hands still raised above his shoulders, he hiked his thumb toward his horse. “Over there.” He prayed that Torres wouldn’t see Michael where he was hidden.
Torres moved quickly toward his horse while John took the slowest couple of steps he could manage. He eyed the shack, fighting the urge to head that way, fighting the need to see Cecilia.
Leather creaked as Torres stepped into the saddle.
John realized he’d taken his eyes off the crook. Mistake, his mind shouted.
Everything seemed to happen at once.
A shot rang out from the copse of trees.
“John, get down!” Michael shouted.
Torres’s horse reared and Torres’s gun discharged. The shot went wild—
but it was clear he’d been aiming right at John.
John darted for the shack. Another shot rang out from Michael’s hiding place and hoofbeats signaled that Torres had bolted.
John took shelter inside, looking out the door to see Michael give chase as Torres galloped away. Only moments later, more thundering hoofbeats followed. The posse. John barely gave them a glance, trusting that his friends would run down Torres.
He had bigger worries right now.
It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the shack’s shadowy interior. He spied Cecilia in the corner of the room. She sat against the wall with her knees against her chest. She was all tucked into herself, huddling in a ball to stay warm. The room was bare, not even a blanket on the bed. John approached her.
Her gaze was locked on him, fear and wonder in the depths of her eyes. She mouthed his name.
Before she could get up, he lifted her and pulled her against him and held her tight.
Cecilia was so cold that she couldn't be sure if what she was seeing was real. Each breath made a cloud in the bitter air.
When she saw Torres walk out the door and soon after, John enter, she was afraid she’d succumbed to hypothermia.
And then John was striding toward her. The thud of his footsteps on the packed-dirt floor certainly sounded real.
She attempted to rise, but her toes were like blocks of ice, and her muscles abused from hours of shivering.
He was there, his big hands grasping her arms and drawing her to her feet. He folded her in his arms. He was real and solid and warm. He was here. He’d come for her.
She burrowed into his warmth, her nose inadvertently brushing against the skin at his neck.
He jumped. He let her go and shrugged out of his coat, quickly wrapping her in it.
His arms came back around her, holding her fast. He was rigid with tension. His hand came up to cup the back of her head. There was a rumble in his chest when he felt the bump there. Ruth must have a matching one.
"I was so afraid. So worried that he’d hurt you." His voice was choked.
She was too numb to feel anything but relief. The long hours in the wagon, the worry, the biting cold…
It was all over.
Now that John was here, her relief overwhelmed everything else. Tears stung her eyes, and she sniffled.
He gently set her away. "Your lips are blue. Let me start a fire."
Her brain was too foggy to protest. He went outside but was back quickly with an armful of icy logs. As he moved around the room, his movements were brisk and professional… and distant.
Perhaps he heard her noise of distress because he sent an inscrutable look over his shoulder. "Give me a minute, and I'll get this fire started. These logs were in the middle of the wood pile and don't seem to be too wet."
Why hadn’t Torres lit a fire? They hadn’t been at the shack for long. Cecilia couldn’t be sure, but it had seemed as if the wagon had turned circles. Had he been trying to hide his trail? Or gotten lost?
Maybe his plan had been rushed and unclear from the beginning, or maybe he'd been frightened after he’d discovered Ruth wasn’t in the wagon. When he’d discovered the girl missing, he’d backhanded Cecilia.
Oh, Ruth! "What happened to—?”
"Ruth is safe at home," he said.
Tiny flames were crackling into the logs, and he came to her again. Instead of reaching for her, he nudged her toward the stove with a hand at her back. It wasn't warm yet, but it would be soon. "She walked to a neighboring farm. She told us you protected her."
Cecilia had her arms wrapped around her middle, but even the warmth of his coat and the fledgling fire wasn’t enough.
He stood several feet away, in his thin shirt, his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking out the window. Watching for danger?
“Will he come back?" she asked through chattering teeth.
He kept staring out the window. A muscle danced in his cheek. “There’s a posse after him. They’ll catch up to him soon. Probably take him to the sheriff over in Petunia. I’ve got your coat tied to my horse. I’ll bring it before we ride home. But you’ve got to get warmed up before you go back out in the elements."
So it really was over. Tears filled her eyes.
John glanced at her. He noticed that she was upset. She could see in his eyes that he was burning up inside. But he remained distant.
“Why are you standing all the way over there?” Her voice was tremulous.
He pushed a hand through his hair. She could remember when she’d first met him. He’d always been in perfect control of his emotions.
Now, it was clear he was rattled. And he wasn’t hiding his emotions from her. “I think maybe it’ll be better if I keep my distance from here on out.”
She shook her head, a tear slipping free.
He made a sound of dismay.
“It’s not better,” she whispered.
Finally, he strode toward her and swept her close. She pressed into his warmth. Feeling was beginning to steal into her skin, tiny needle pricks across every inch. It was painful, and shivers rocked her.
John held her closer, laying his cheek on the crown of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Silly man. Didn't he know it wasn't his fault? Torres had made a series of bad choices. Cecilia had happened to walk in on one of them. She was the one who’d tried to save Ruth. She was so very glad nothing had happened to the girl.
“I was terrified he’d kill you,” John whispered.
“But he didn’t,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m all right.” She was still shaken up, and would be for a while. But she was alive, and so was Ruth. There was much to be thankful for.
He still held so much tension in his body. He was comforting her but somehow still holding himself separate.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I thought that if I confessed my past, the worst that would happen was that I’d be ostracized. I feared I’d lose friendships. I feared I’d lose you. But Torres did this because of me.”
She shook her head, her face rubbing against his shirt. “He did it because he was a desperate criminal. No one forced him.”
She could feel the way his hands fisted against her lower back. Her words hadn’t eased his tension.
"As soon as Michael gets back, we’ll head for town. We should hurry, if you feel up to it. I don't want there to be any chance of your reputation getting tainted."
Cecilia tipped her head back so she could see his face.
Shadows hovered behind his eyes. "I gave a speech yesterday morning after worship service. Most of the town was there. I wanted to keep them from losing their money, but it seemed like all they heard was how my past shaped me. When your name got brought up, I shut it down but”—he swallowed audibly—"I don't want there to be any chance that your reputation is tarnished because of
me."
Oh, John. He knew her fears. More than that, he’d given value to her concerns.
He was a good man. It didn’t matter that he’d been a part of his parents’ schemes before he’d known any better. What mattered were the choices he was making now.
A fresh tear fell, and his thumb swept across her cheek and caught it. He cupped her cheek, and she let her overflowing emotions take over. She went up on tiptoes, and her mouth sought his.
She heard his soft gasp just before their lips met. When he’d kissed her during the snowstorm, his passion had overflowed.
Not now. Now he held himself back.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
She opened herself to him. She gave him all the fears she’d lived through in the past hours. She gave him the joy that had been gathering in her heart from the moment she’d seen him walk in the door at her interview. She mirrored the comfort he was giving her even now.
And she felt the change in him.
His hand at her waist drew her in tighter to his body. Where he cupped her jaw, his thumb swept across her cheek. His kiss was devouring, as if he were afraid of the moment when it would be broken.
She wasn’t frightened of loving John. Not any longer.
She drew apart slightly and dipped her head. Her face heated in anticipation of the words she was about to say. "If the folks of Granbury decide that you are no longer welcome, then I guess I won't be welcome either."
He went still. "Because?"
She looked up into his dear face. He deserved to see what she really felt. "Because we belong together."
He stared at her, his eyes filling with wonder. And then he crushed her to him. His lips pressed kisses into her temple, her hair, and then her ear and jaw. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you and I want to make you my wife, if you'll have me."
But then he drew back, putting several inches between them. His hands remained at her waist. “Unless it is too quick. We can wait. I’ll do whatever I have to do to prove myself—”
She placed a gentle finger against his lips. She didn’t try to hide the joy bursting from every pore. "I love you too," she whispered. Saying the words was easier than she had ever imagined. “There’s a lot we’ll need to figure out. I can’t abandon my classroom. But I do want to marry you.”
He pulled her close again, dropping gentle kisses against her lips.
Whatever happened, in Granbury or outside it, they would be together. And that was enough.
20
John marveled at the woman whose arms were wrapped around him, whose head was pressed against his back, as they rode back to Granbury. He guided his horse straight to the boardinghouse. He had a fierce need to get Cecilia safe and warm and to check on Ruth and Mrs. Fitzgerald.
Behind him, most of the group of men who’d made up the posse rode in a loose pack. Mr. Stauck, Jamison, and Kelly Sullivan were escorting Torres to Petunia, just like John had thought they would. The posse had surrounded Torres after a short chase. And the crook must’ve exhausted his supply of bullets, because no more shots were fired.
Everyone was safe.
The street was quiet, the normal mid-morning bustle missing. Mrs. Jamison was sweeping the boardwalk in front of the dry goods store and when she waved, he nodded and kept going. Getting Cecilia warmed up was more important than chatting. Plus, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what the townsfolk had to say. Would they run him out of town?
When they reached the boardinghouse, the door burst open. Ruth ran out onto the porch as John reined in the horse.
"Cecilia!" she cried out. “You’re all right!”
John held Cecilia’s wrist as she dismounted. He was stepping down from the horse when Cecilia turned to the porch.
Ruth threw herself down the steps and into Cecilia's arms. He smiled, seeing the two girls he loved the most embracing. He’d wondered how he would get Ruth to warm to Cecilia. He had no intention of breaking off the engagement, but it would be so much easier if Ruth came around.
And it looked as if his prayers had been answered.
He was aware of the posse still behind him. And several women approached on foot from the direction of town. But John’s eyes were glued to the man who exited the boardinghouse through the door Ruth had left standing open. The man with a tin star shining on his chest.
John's gut dropped like a rock.
Cecilia noticed the lawman, too, or maybe she noticed Ruth’s tension at the sound of the man's boots on the wraparound porch.
She looked from the lawman to John and moved to John’s side as he approached the porch.
"I'm looking for Torres,” the lawman said without any introduction.
"He’s probably in the jail in Petunia." John was relieved to be able to say the words. It was no more than he deserved.
The lawman’s eyes narrowed. He was sharp.
"If that’s true, I’ve got time to chat. You John Morgan?"
John kept his hands out in the open. Didn’t want the lawman to get any ideas. He couldn’t stop thinking about the terror on Ma’s face and the blood on her dress when she’d been running out of that bank.
He was also aware of the townsfolk who stood behind him, listening to every word.
"Seems like I've seen your wanted poster before. I’m Brice MacDowell, U.S. Marshal.”
Ruth gasped.
Cecilia put her arm around the girl’s shoulder.
John’s jaw clenched.
MacDowell missed none of it.
“Torres kidnapped my sister and Miss White last night," John said. "Miss White’s been out in the elements for hours, and I aim to take her inside."
The lawman’s gaze swept between the two of them.
Cecilia smiled warmly at the man. "I'm sure we could all use a cup of coffee. Would you like to join us?"
MacDowell gave Cecilia a small smile.
Ruth looked up at John with wide, terrified eyes. He winked at her, hoping to ease her strain. It didn’t work. She was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Same as him.
Lucy met them in the parlor with a tray. Steam rose from several coffee mugs. She even had a glass of milk for Ruth.
“How’s Flo?” John asked in a low voice.
“She’s recovering. Still in bed, but only because I promised to stay and take care of you.”
John was glad to hear it and thankful for Lucy’s help.
Lucy jutted her chin toward the sofa. "Miss White, I put out a blanket for you. Wrap yourself up, dear."
Cecilia shared a private smile with John under the woman's motherly demand. She let go of Ruth and did as Lucy said, wrapping herself in the quilt and then settling on the couch. John passed a cup of coffee to her. He didn't know whether he should sit next to her or across the room. He’d promised himself she wouldn’t be tainted by association with him. It couldn't be good that the law was here.
There was a strident knock on the front door. Lucy left the tray to answer it. Voices sounded from the front hall.
John recognized Bart’s voice. “We deserve to know what's happening with John."
Cecilia hadn’t dropped his gaze. She tilted her head to the seat next to her. "Sit down."
John frowned, but when Ruth tugged on his hand, he acquiesced. He perched on the edge of the sofa in between his two girls.
Lucy re-entered the room, bypassing MacDowell, who stood next to the fireplace. The man had to be sweating with the fire roaring like it was.
Several folks followed Lucy, and she shrugged at John, mouthing something he couldn't make out.
She crossed to the big window and unlatched it and then threw it wide. Several more folks crowded around the window from outside, their heads and shoulders visible. They were standing on the wraparound porch. He could see Mrs. Jamison and Mrs. Stauk and several other townsfolks.
"I'm interested to find out what you've been up to here, Mr. Morgan." MacDowell’s eyes were hard and glittering.
"He's our mayor," Mrs. Sullivan sai
d from the front hallway.
“And a mighty fine one," Bart added.
John was surprised to hear murmurs of agreement from both inside and out the window.
It was an effort not to show any emotion. Cecilia snuck one hand out of the blanket and wrapped it around his back.
"I've been tracking Torres for weeks,” MacDowell said, “and I know you've worked with him before."
John shook his head and dove into the whole story—about his parents and their deaths. The bank robbery and how he’d repaid the money.
MacDowell listened with his full attention. Finally, when John was finished, MacDowell said, “The bank dropped the charges against you and your family."
Relief swelled inside John. That was one good thing, at least.
MacDowell put his hands to his hips. “To be honest, I rarely saw you mentioned in the reports I’ve looked at. You weren’t a part of that stage robbery, were you?”
John shook his head. That had been Pa and Torres.
"You're looking at a man who’s changed his ways," said Collins from outside the window. When had the school board member shown up?
Again, there were murmurs of agreement. Several folks called out about the things that John had done since he’d come to town. Providing jobs with the mill, rebuilding the schoolhouse, helping keep struggling businesses alive.
MacDowell finally held up his hands. "It seems the folks around here sure do admire you."
John had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat. Maybe he even had to blink a couple of times against the unexpected moisture in his eyes. After what happened in that church building, he’d feared he’d lost every friendship in town. But now, the way the townsfolk were supporting him… he’d had it all wrong.
"I’ll be heading to Petunia to pick up Torres,” MacDowell said. “You should bring charges for the kidnapping."
MacDowell took his leave, and several folks shouted their good-byes before walking away.
John was stunned, sitting on the couch between his two girls. Not behind bars. Not thrown out of town in disgrace.
Bart crossed to him and extended his hand.
Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14) Page 16
