by Linda Broday
“Everything’s fine outside.” Clay sat on the side of the bed and removed his boots. “A few of the men are keeping watch for Montana Black in case he decides to come back. I don’t expect to see him for a while, mind you. He’s too hurt right now.”
“But you do think he will return someday.”
“Hope I’m wrong, but yes, I think he’ll have to come, if only to defy me.”
Clay unbuckled his gun belt and laid it aside, then removed his shirt. Tally longed to run her hand across his broad back where the muscles rippled. He was taller than her brother’s six feet, but Clay struck a better figure. She tried to turn away yet found herself watching him undress. He certainly didn’t appear to mind.
She’d felt his lean, hard body when he’d held her in his arms. The barely restrained power emanating from him said he would deliver swift punishment to those who wronged him.
Wearing only the bottoms of his long johns, he crawled next to her and blew out the lamp. What she’d thought would be plenty of room in the new bed for them both was suddenly gone. His large presence swallowed up the space—both in the bed and in her thoughts.
Their legs and arms touched, and she had to steel herself to keep from jerking away.
For a moment, she struggled to breathe, fighting to force air into her lungs. But when Clay didn’t reach for her, she relaxed.
“Tally, you can trust me.” Clay turned on his side to face her. “From now until you decide differently, all we’ll do when we go to bed is sleep.”
“I just have to get used to this is all. I vowed to be a wife to you and I will.” She couldn’t see him in the pitch black, but she could feel his eyes on her.
She yearned to reach out and touch him but thought maybe that would invite problems.
“There’s no hurry.” His voice rumbled in his chest and throat like the words were fighting to get out. “Like I said earlier, we’re not running any race. But I’m going to reach for your hand now, Tally. I need to hold it because you already ground me in a way nothing else does.” Then he added, “Don’t pull that gun from under your pillow. I know it’s there.”
“I promise. You’re a strange man, Clay Colby.”
He chuckled softly and took her hand. “I won’t deny that. Too much time spent alone, I expect. Tell me about a happier time. Something from when your mother was alive.”
“In the summer, I used to sneak off and go swimming at this pretty little creek that runs through our land. My brother tied a rope to a tree limb that stretched over the water and we’d swing out and let loose. I loved that. We’d laugh and tease each other until the sun started going down. Then we’d hurry home.” Tally’s voice softened. “Wonderful smells would come from the kitchen, and Mama would have a peach pie baked.”
She squeezed his hand. “Peach is my favorite. What’s yours?”
“My mother used wild blackberries because they were prevalent in East Texas. Lord, that was a long time ago. I’d forgotten how good it tasted. But you won’t find me backing up from any kind of pie. I’ve been known to make a glutton out of myself.” He chuckled again and the sound seemed to vibrate inside Tally. Then his voice turned dark. “It all ended at fourteen-years-old and I went off to fight in the war.”
“Why when you were so young?” She couldn’t imagine. Had they let boys fight?
“They needed me. My father was a cripple, and it ate him alive that he couldn’t join the fight. I figured I’d do my part and his too. More than anything in the world, I wanted to make him proud that I stood tall for what our family believed in.”
Pain filled Clay’s voice and Tally wanted to cry. Damn the war!
“My brother went at the same time I did—he was eighteen. I never saw John again. I guess he got killed. Who knows? Things were in such chaos it was hard to find anyone.” Clay let out a deep sigh. “I like to think he’s alive and happy somewhere.”
“I’m truly sorry. Maybe he’ll turn up sometime. Stranger things have happened.” Tally wiggled and her leg pressed against Clay’s. She didn’t move it back. She’d been so frightened before, but now the contact made her feel safe and connected to life again in a way she hadn’t since her mother had passed.
“But didn’t you go home at war’s end to see your mother?”
“It was the first place I went, but my parents had died and strangers lived in our home, farming our land.” His voice came thick, tight.
“Clay, I’m so sorry—what it must’ve done to you.”
“I got over it—or so I lie to myself.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“You have a most gentle touch.” She closed her eyes to soak in the closeness she’d longed for in her dreams. She could almost forget that she’d vowed to trust no one.
Except that would be dangerous.
“For you, always, pretty lady.” He brushed her cheek with a finger and she could feel his warm breath floating against her face.
The declaration washed over Tally like warm honey. Lying in the darkness, it was easy to talk about things, to be with him. Against her better judgment, she inched a little closer. “That brings me to something. I notice how Josie calls Luke ‘sweetheart,’ and it fits. I don’t know what to call you.”
“Your heart has to decide that. When it does, you’ll know.” Clay brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I think we’re good for each other, Tally. I’m going to tell you something I’ve been thinking a lot about.”
“What’s that?” She was curious what her new husband had found to while away the time.
“I know neither of us feel love for each other yet—it’s too soon for that. But love can take all sorts of forms. You can love someone without being in love with them. Like a mother for her baby or siblings for each other. Love without the physical part.” He laid her hand on his chest and Tally could feel his strong heartbeat. “Do you understand what I’m saying in my bumbling way?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I’ve made a conscious decision in my head to love you until it can seep into my heart.” The bed shifted when he raised on one elbow and let a finger drift down her throat. “I love you, Tally Shannon.”
Seven
Tally stiffened, pondering Clay’s words. Finally, she realized they were true, and maybe she could choose to love him back.
Only she didn’t dare. One chink in the armor would let hurt inside.
“Don’t expect too much this soon.” She paused, her breath hitching and unsteady as fear of the darkness rose. “Sometimes the night presses against me. Would you hold me until I fall asleep?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He slid his arm around her and drew her close.
She laid her head on his shoulder, her palm on his chest. She wasn’t afraid of this man who’d chosen to love her as easily as he’d chosen to look up at the stars. She’d seen his gentleness with Violet and the pain in his eyes at her fear of him. “Tell me about your goats.”
Clay’s soft laughter filled the space. “My goats? Your curious mind can think of nothing else?”
“Stop laughing. I don’t know anything about goats,” she said defensively. “My family dealt in cattle. Now, as the wife of a goat herder, I should probably learn about them.”
“First of all, Mrs. Goat Lady, we have to milk them every day just like bovines. The milk Violet drank this morning came from the goats. She must have loved it, since she asked for another cup. Milking the animals works about the same as cows, only everything’s smaller. We can make cheese and butter from it, and the milk makes great soap. Violet will have nothing to fear from them. They’re harmless.”
“Do you pen them up at night?”
“Nope. Doesn’t do any good. They’re notorious for finding ways to get out. I gave up trying and just let them roam.”
His voice rumbled
in Tally’s ear. She loved the warm sound that sent delicious prickles through her.
Clay continued, “Another good thing is that they’re very loud, and they let me know when trouble is about.”
Tally drew tiny circles on Clay’s chest. “That’s all the good stuff. What’s the bad?”
“They eat everything,” he answered without hesitation. “They’re very destructive. And don’t bend over when they’re near or they’ll butt you.”
“Sounds like some people I know.” She smiled in the darkness. “I think I might like being a goat herder’s wife.”
They lapsed into silence. Tally lay listening to Clay’s heartbeat and feeling the strength of his chest beneath her palm.
Tomorrow she would write a letter to Hester Mason and all her friends in Deliverance Canyon and pass it to the woman who would come to give Tally a report. This endeavor was better than she’d ever let herself imagine.
Clay already loved her inside his head.
She mentally shook herself and prayed she wasn’t seeing only what she wanted to.
* * *
Clay dove into work the next morning with a vengeance. After demonstrating the goat milking to Tally, he left her to that chore and tackled the burned buildings. He’d meant to try to spend time with Violet, but when she refused to take his hand, he’d dropped the matter. There’d be other days. He wouldn’t force her. He stopped every so often, his gaze drifting to his lady as she walked the perimeter with Violet, looking at everything. They’d made great strides in their relationship last night as they talked in bed. Tally had wanted his touch and that made him a happy man. He knew he’d never grow tired of holding her.
While she hadn’t spoken of her time in Creedmore, he’d gotten enough from Luke and Josie to know it was a miracle she had emerged sane.
His heart swelled with pride. Tally’s freshly washed hair shone in the light and her lively blue eyes glistened. This wife he’d gotten was as tough as a piece of shoe leather. He was happy to have eased the pain in her misshapen feet for a little while last night.
Jack Bowdre followed his gaze. “She’s a good one, Clay. I hope Darcy has the same steel in her spine. Darcy won’t say what happened to her in that asylum, but anger comes through loud and clear in her letters.”
“Don’t give up on her, Jack.” Clay laid a hand on his friend’s back. “It’s only been two days and Tally has already changed my life. Darcy may be just what you need.” His gaze swept to Tally, who’d plopped down to let Violet play with one of the baby goats. Bullet lay beside the girl, looking none too happy to share her attention with smelly animals that bleated.
Although they still had work to do on their marriage, Clay was happier than he’d ever been.
* * *
The days passed, and two weeks had gone by before Clay knew it. He loved having Tally next to him every night, although they’d yet to do more than kiss and touch. He knew he had to go slow and give Tally time to adjust, but he prayed they’d see a breakthrough soon. He’d also made some progress with Violet, and the girl didn’t panic when he touched her now. She even talked to him some. Those were mighty big steps and heartened him.
Clay was helping Jack and Ridge with chores around the town when suddenly the goats panicked, bleating and bounding for cover. Bullet sprang to his feet, barking furiously. The dog raced toward riders coming through the secret path in the rock wall of the canyon. The fact that they used the back way, not the main entrance, shot a warning through Clay.
The hair rose on the back of his neck. He threw down the charred lumber and hurried to Tally. “Get Violet inside and stay there.”
“Be careful, Clay.” Tally didn’t have to say a word to Violet. The child appeared to have sensed danger and clung to her dress, her face colorless. “Did they see us?” Tally asked.
“I don’t think so. They’re not close enough.” He gave her a quick kiss and went to intercept the three riders.
The riders halted in front of him. Clay’s arms hung loosely at his sides, and he stared at them through narrowed eyes. “You must be lost, gentlemen. This is private property. State your business.”
Thank goodness they were about two hundred yards from the house and Tally wouldn’t be able to hear. However, she would see what was happening, and he hated that.
Jack, Ridge, and a dozen outlaws formed a formidable line on either side of Clay. The strangers’ stares were as hard as their faces. The older rider had a neatly trimmed beard that matched his red hair. Clay put him in the vicinity of forty or so. Another was stocky and around Clay’s age. One word—hostile—described the set of his face and body.
But the third rider—he brought a layer of ice snaking up Clay’s spine. A gold tooth flashed in what appeared to be a permanent sneer. His hooded eyes were sullen and filled with contempt. The way he sat in the saddle, gazing at Clay with superiority, said he was the leader of this trio.
Bullet stopped barking and bared his teeth, ready to tear into them. Clay ordered him to quiet down. The dog obeyed but kept a wary gaze on the strangers.
“We’re looking for a dangerous woman.” The red-haired speaker started to thrust a hand into his vest.
“I wouldn’t do that, mister.” Clay pulled his gun from the oiled holster before the older rider could swallow.
“I was getting the reward poster. May I?”
“Nice and slow,” Jack drawled. “Or you won’t get a second chance.”
“My name is Pollard Finch. We’re looking for some dangerous escapees from the Creedmore Lunatic Asylum.” The man held out a hand bill with Tally’s picture front and center. “I know that woman’s in the area. She might have a child with her.”
Clay’s eyes never left Finch’s. “Haven’t seen her.”
“Look again,” Finch insisted.
“Mister, this Remington says demands will be a mite unhealthy for you.” Clay wanted to strangle this trio with his bare hands and feed them to the buzzards. His gut said at least one of them had hurt Tally. His bet was on Gold Tooth. The man had that smug look Clay hated. He ached to drag him from his horse and let Bullet have some fun.
“Get off this land!” Clay’s sharp order burst forth hard and unyielding.
Finch backed his horse up. “We didn’t come looking for trouble.”
“Even so, you found it,” Jack Bowdre ground out. “If you value your hide, I’d heed the warning and turn around. Go back where you came from.”
“Tally Shannon is as crazy as an owl-hoot, and she’d as soon shoot you as look at you,” snapped Gold Tooth. “Though God Almighty, she’s a wild tiger when it comes to pleasuring a man. I especially enjoyed taming that one.”
Rage blinded Clay. An uncontrollable need for justice for Tally exploded inside him. He yanked the surprised man from his horse and jammed the seven-and-a-half-inch barrel of his Remington into the space between the bastard’s hooded eyes.
Eight
Tally’s heart pounded against her ribs. Had the men outside tracked her here? They were too far away for her to make out, but the horses were another matter.
“They’re here,” Violet whispered, rocking back and forth.
“No, I’m sure it’s just men who got lost.” She desperately tried to loosen the iron fist of fear that gripped her chest. She hurried Violet to her enclosed bed, to safety behind the curtain. “We have to hide, honey. Be very quiet.” She placed the girl’s doll in her hand.
“Don’t let them take me back.” Violet’s fingernails dug into her arm.
“I won’t, honey. I’ll shoot the first one who tries and any others who follow.” Tally needed to comfort the child, but she also had to see what was happening, to see if the men had started moving their way. “I have to go look now. You stay right here and don’t make a sound.”
Tally gave Violet a kiss and closed the curtain, then moved to the side of the wind
ow to peek out. From there, she watched the scene unfold between Clay and the men from Creedmore. Her cold hands shook, but a calm had begun to erase her panic—until she noticed the big grullo. The horse was unusual, and she knew only one man to ride one: Slade Tarver. Just then, sunlight glinted off the gold tooth of the man she hated with every fiber of her being. She feared and abhorred all three of the Creedmore men, but she reserved the most for Slade Tarver. He’d gotten a thrill out of causing her pain and had devised many, many methods of torture.
Clay yanked Slade from his horse without warning and stuck his gun to the man’s head. She didn’t know what Slade had said, but she could hazard a guess or two.
She muttered a silent prayer that the other two men, which had to be Pollard Finch and Jacob Abram, wouldn’t shoot Clay. Only a fool would try. But if they did, both men would be dead in an instant. The outlaws had formed an impenetrable line of defense.
Still, Finch and Abram had followed Tarver, and that didn’t say much for their judgment.
In the midst of it all, she found herself praying that Clay wouldn’t send Slade to hell. Never mind how much the man deserved it—killing a person scarred your soul.
Tally knew firsthand. During her desperate escape, she’d stabbed a guard in the heart when he’d tried to stop her and the other women from fleeing. She’d never forget the feel of the knife sliding into his chest, the way the light went out of his eyes as life ebbed from him. He hadn’t been the only one to feel the sharp blade.
Furthermore, if it came to her life or theirs…she’d do it again in a heartbeat.
A painful memory flashed. Slade had locked Agatha into one of the cells they’d built under Creedmore. Her crime was not moving fast enough to suit him when he’d given an order. He wouldn’t give Agatha water or food. A week had passed before Tally found out where her friend was—she’d pocketed her ration and snuck down while everyone slept.
Slade had found crumbs on the cell floor and was furious. He took Agatha out onto the grounds and made everyone watch while he shot the woman in the head.
