Smolder on a Slow Burn

by Lynda J. Cox

  “It’s a rather distinctive drawl, rather like my Tidewater accent. It gives me away every time I am tired or distraught, just as yours has done.” Archer’s fingers pressed into a spot under Allison’s jaw. “Her pulse is steady and strong. She’s breathing normally.” His gaze swept over A.J.’s gray coat. “You were cavalry.”

  “Yes. First Kentucky.”

  “Part of the Orphan Brigade. Quite a storied history with that regiment.”

  A.J. lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I missed about half the history. Someone else decided I had a more pressing engagement at a prison camp in New York.”

  Archer’s black brows swept all the way to his hairline. “I was about fifteen when the war ended, but as my family is from Virginia, you can be assured that we knew of men who were held in Union camps. I will assume that Elmira was even worse than was reported.”

  “You truly cannot imagine.” A.J. didn’t bother to correct Archer’s assumption as to where he had been imprisoned.

  Mrs. Morris and Doctor Hagar entered the room at the same time. Hagar grunted as he crossed the room, looking more disheveled than Archer and even less than awake. Graying russet hair stood at all angles to his head and like Archer, he hadn’t bothered to dress, merely pulled a heavy coat over his nightclothes. He dropped his medical bag onto the bed by A.J.’s knee. “What happened?”

  “She was thrown from a horse and hit her head,” A.J. repeated.

  “Yesterday,” Archer added.

  Hagar snapped the bag open. “Can you wake her up? How’s her pulse and respiration?”

  A.J. and Archer exchanged glances. Hagar demanded, “Well?”

  A.J. said, “I tried to keep her awake and talking but it got harder and harder to wake her up.”

  “Her pulse and respiration are normal, Mark.”

  Hagar pulled a vial of smelling salts from his bag, snapped it open and waved it under Allison’s nose. She mumbled something incoherent and her eyes fluttered. The older physician waved the vial again and her eyes opened.

  “Very good. Young man, help your wife sit up.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been a young man.” A.J. slipped an arm around Allison’s shoulders and eased her into a sitting position.

  “Compared to me, you certainly are.” Hagar pressed his finger tip to Allison’s nose. “Don’t move your head, my dear, just your eyes and follow my finger.”

  Allison followed his finger as he pulled it slowly away from her nose until her eyes crossed. He murmured in an undertone, “That’s good…” and just as slowly moved his finger from side to side. “Excellent. Do you remember what happened yesterday? Wiggle your fingers for me.”

  Allison complied, her fingers all moving. “I was thrown from A.J.’s horse when he stepped into a gopher hole.”

  “The horse or your husband stepped into the gopher hole? Move your toes, even though I can’t see them in your shoes. Move your toes and your feet.”

  Alison giggled and said, “The horse stepped in the gopher hole.” A.J.’s hand tightened on her upper arm and he didn’t let go. The relief at hearing her amusement tightened his throat and left him momentarily light-headed.

  “If you can laugh, you’ll be fine. Do you know your name, my dear?”

  “Allison Adams,” she said, without a moment’s hesitation. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Mark Hagar.” Hagar leaned back. “Give me your hands.”

  A.J. drew his hand down her arm before he released her.

  Hagar held both of Allison’s hands. “Squeeze. Hard.”

  She gripped his hands and it seemed to satisfy the older man. He let go of one hand and placed her other over A.J.’s hand. She immediately entwined her fingers with his.

  “Your opinion, Dr. Archer?” Hagar tried to stifle a yawn.

  “I think she’ll live and be none the worse for wear.”

  A.J. tightened his arms around her shoulders, holding her as if he was afraid to let go. Allison turned into him, her arms winding around his waist, and she buried her face in his chest.

  “I agree. A day or so of bed rest will have her feeling right as rain. Mr. Adams, if your wife develops a serious headache or if she says she is seeing double, let me or Cole know right away. Now,”—Hagar snapped his bag closed—“if you will buy breakfast for me and the young doctor here, I think we can consider our bills paid in full.”

  At a nod from A.J., Mrs. Morris ushered both of the doctors from the room.

  He rose from the bed, only to bend and place a kiss on Allison’s forehead. “Let me go pay for this room for a couple of nights, pay for breakfast for those two, and see if Mrs. Morris’s son can take Sugar and that nag to the livery—if they’ve got one—and then I’ll be right back. Do not get out of this bed.”

  “Are you ordering me around all ready?”

  “A fat lot of good barking orders at you has done me.” He walked to the door. “Please, don’t get out of bed.”

  “Because you asked, I won’t.” She gestured out the door. “Go. I’ll stay right here.”

  ****

  The click of the door latch settling into place sounded in the room. Allison sat up straighter and pulled off her boots. She tugged the duvet on the foot of the bed up and punched a pillow into a more comfortable shape. Even though she didn’t feel that tired, just settling into the mattress and snuggling into the pillow brought about a sense of lethargy. She had almost dozed off again when A.J.’s weight settled on the bed.

  Allison roused herself enough to open her eyes. “You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” he admitted, dropping his head into his hands.

  Allison snagged an arm around his waist. “Why don’t you lie down then and sleep for a while?” Not giving him a chance to argue with her, she tightened her hold on him, until he fell back.

  She snuggled into his side, amazed at how natural and comfortable it felt to be held in his arms, her body molded against him. His arms tightened around her and a moment later, he was shaking. She tried to push back from him, and he wouldn’t let her.

  “I can’t breathe.”

  He eased his hold and she levered back to look up into his face. Her heart wrenched at the sight of the tears swimming in his eyes. “A.J.?”

  “I thought I’d lost you. When Dan threw you, I thought you were dead. And then when that bastard took a shot at you…and on the ride here…when I couldn’t wake you up...” He drew the back of his hand lightly along her cheek. Allison wondered at the gentleness in that simple caress. “The thought that I could lose you, after just finding out how much I need you…I’ve never been that terrified in my life.”

  He needed her? What in heaven’s name did he think he needed her for? “Alice always said I was too hard-headed for my own good. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it’s a good thing I am hard-headed.”

  The smile she had started to love so well, the one that was a mixture of smirk and surprising vulnerability, crossed his face. “Maybe, you shouldn’t believe everything your sister told you.” He yawned. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  Allison dropped her head onto his shoulder, repeating, “Go to sleep.”

  “You’ll tell me if you start to experience any of the things that doctor said to be aware of?”

  “Yes.” She smoothed her palm across his chest. She smiled when he caught her wrist, drawing the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. Within moments, his breathing deepened and leveled out, while his heartbeat slowed.

  For a long while, Allison lay wrapped in the security of his embrace, listening to his deep, rhythmic breathing. The steady cadence of his heartbeat lulled her into a drowsy state. Before she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “I love you, A.J. Adams.”

  ****

  Allison pulled the heavy velvet curtain back in the room, looking out through the set of lace curtains onto Federal Avenue. “I still don’t like the idea.”

  Even though they had argued this plan for the last day, Allison didn’t approve. Wh
y they just couldn’t disappear into the Wyoming wilderness, make their way to Montana and then even Canada, she didn’t understand. Even with the telegraph and the railroad reducing the distances, she was certain they could make it into Canada without being apprehended.

  “I’ve spent the last twelve years with the equivalent of a bounty on my head because of a rumor that I’m in possession of stolen gold. I’m fairly reluctant to actually put a price on my head, so, unless you have another idea, this is the best I’ve got. And, if you have a better idea, now would be the time for it.”

  “Why don’t we just go far away? What if that marshal has wanted posters for both of us?” She stared out onto the busy main street of Federal, toying with the edge of the lace curtain.

  “I’m tired of running from the past, Allison. I want to see Oakten dangling from the end of a hangman’s noose as much—if not more than you do.”

  The frustration in his voice felt as hard as a slap to the back of her head. She tightened her shoulders. His sigh sounded in the room.

  “If he has wanted posters for us, we can always hope he’ll listen to reason. It’s a chance we have to take.” A.J. ran his hand down her back. “I’ll be the first to admit the thought of wearing a pair of wrist shackles again and being put into a small cell isn’t appealing, but I don’t see any other way out of this. Not if you want Oakten brought to justice. Personally, I’d rather just shoot him.”

  Allison twisted away from the window, slipping her arms around him. He enfolded her into his embrace and lowered his chin onto the top of her head. She buried her face against his chest, inhaling deeply. How was it, just being held in his arms stilled the voice of fear whispering in her head, and made her feel so completely protected? A moment later, he stiffened against her and dragged her back from the windows.

  Allison pulled her head back, confused with the sudden change in him. He was pale, the depths of his eyes haunted. Even his breathing was shallow and the pulse at the base of his throat pounded. He staggered another step away from the window, pulling her with him.

  “Oakten. He’s here.”

  Allison couldn’t decide if it was loathing or fury or terror, or all three that shaded his voice.

  She pulled free of his arms, and cautiously peered out the window. Strolling down the boardwalk on the other side of the street with the same arrogance she had seen when he strolled through the streets of Coltown in Colton County was Gene Oakten. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off his wire rimmed glasses when he turned his head to the hotel. Allison took a step back. Had he seen her?

  “How’d he find us?”

  Her panic snapped A.J. out of whatever memories were pulling at him again. “Your train ticket. Where did your itinerary end?”

  “Cheyenne, and I had a ticket on the Cheyenne/Deadwood stage ending here. This place sounded as good as anywhere else to hide.”

  “When I said it would take Garrison a while to figure out you weren’t on the train, he must have found your bag and the tickets.”

  “We’ve got to go now.” She grabbed her short coat and pulled it on. Even as she said, “We’ve got to get out of town,” she tossed his gray greatcoat at him.

  He caught the coat and dropped it onto the foot of the bed. “We’re not leaving.” The words were delivered with a level calm that left Allison shocked. Something had shifted in A.J.’s expression, and the determination in his eyes matched the even tone of his voice.

  “What if he goes to the marshal? There won’t be any explaining anything then.”

  “He won’t. I know his type. When I told Garrison that Oakten has to come through me to get to you, I bearded him. He didn’t like it twelve years ago. I doubt he likes it any more now. He’ll want to handle this his way and that means no marshal. That would require him to explain why he’s so interested in seeing us apprehended.” A.J. buckled on his holster. “You and I are going to the marshal’s office, though.” He pulled the lace curtain back and glanced down the street. “He’s headed down to the saloons.”

  “Are you sure?” Allison could barely force her heart from her throat.

  “Yes.” A.J. pulled his greatcoat on. She was amazed at the transformation. Though she had never seen a knight of old donning armor it was the only image she could match to the difference in him when he wore that coat.

  He paused at the door, holding his hand out to her. “Let’s get the horses and go see the marshal.”

  The main street of Federal, Wyoming Territory bustled with activity. Wagons rattled over the frozen, rutted ground, children ran along the boardwalk, ignoring or just not hearing their mother’s raised voices admonishing them to be careful. Men and a few women rode past, all bundled against the knife sharp edge of the Wyoming wind. There were too many people, too many people who might see her and recognize her. Allison shot a worried glance at A.J. If he was nervous, he certainly didn’t appear to be.

  Allison copied his posture and ducked her head into the wind, pulling her hat down lower. When she did, she discovered it did as much to shield her face from the teeth of the wind as to hide as much of her features as possible. He tugged his horse’s head toward Lincoln Avenue and she followed on Sugar. “This isn’t a good idea. He’s going to find me here. We both saw him.”

  “The only way to make sure he gets what he deserves is to confront him in a town with a federal marshal. This is the only town in the whole of the Wyoming Territory where that’s even a possibility.” He reined to a stop in front of what was apparently a jail, if the bars on the windows were any indication. Allison decided the placard swinging from the roof overhang that announced “Marshal’s Office” was a fairly good clue too. A.J. swung down from the bay’s back and looped the reins around the hitching rail.

  “This is still not a good idea. What if the marshal has my wanted poster? Or one for you? Or even both of us?”

  “We’ll take that chance and hopefully be able to explain it. You’ve asked what we’ll do at least a dozen times and my answer isn’t changing. This is our best option.”

  “That’s not any more comforting than it was in the hotel.” Allison slipped off Sugar and tried to slap the reins into a loop as A.J. so easily did. When her rein slid off, he looped Sugar’s drop rein onto the rail for her.

  “It takes a lot of practice. It also helps if the first couple of times that you try it you’re roostered up.”

  “Roostered?”

  “Drunk,” he explained.

  “Thank you. I’ll take that under advisement.”

  A.J. tipped his hat back slightly and glanced down the street. Allison followed his line of vision. He stared at a fairly young horse hitched to the rail, his coat as black as pitch. What appeared to be a scar on the horse’s flank was a brand, Allison realized. It was composed of the letters “H”, “R”, and “T” nestled inside of either the number seven or the letter L on its long axis.

  “That’s no mustang. That horse is blooded,” he murmured. He suddenly straightened and she heard his breath catch. “It’s impossible. He’d be older than that.”

  She caught his arm. The tension in his voice, coupled with his suddenly shallow breathing alerted her the large black had triggered another of what she knew to be A.J.’s fall into a wide-awake nightmare.

  “A.J., look at me.” When he didn’t, she forcefully repeated, “Look at me.”

  A shudder passed through A.J. but he finally looked down at her.

  “You’re right,” she said, in the most calming voice she could manage. “It’s impossible for that horse to be any animal in the war.”

  His eyes closed and his jaw clenched. Allison gripped his arm tighter. “We’re in Wyoming. You aren’t there. You’re here, with me.”

  His shoulders rose with the long breath he pulled in.

  “Where are you?” Allison asked.

  “I’m here,” he said, finally opening his eyes. Though the ghosts of his past still danced a macabre step in the cobalt depths, he managed a self-depreciating grin. “H
ow is it you can pull me back?”

  “I won’t let the past have you.” Allison stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the marshal’s office and A.J. followed. She pushed the door open and hadn’t taken more than three steps across the threshold when A.J. grabbed her coat between the shoulders. Staggering back toward the door, Allison managed to look around at him.

  A.J. held a perfectly steady revolver on the man seated behind the desk while he stared across the room. He still held onto her coat with the other hand.

  She shifted her gaze back to the man with a tin star on his shirt. Sandy brown hair dropped over his forehead. It still carried the fading gold from the summer sun. This was a man who didn’t spend a lot of time behind that desk. He was lean, with chiseled features.

  “Harrison Taylor.” The derision in A.J.’s voice cut through the silence.

  Harrison Taylor? Harrison Taylor?

  Taylor continued to stare at A.J. as if he had seen a ghost. Allison had the sensation of being completely and fully invisible. Wordless, the marshal pushed himself to his feet. The ludicrous thought crossed her mind that they certainly grew them tall in that part of Kentucky. The buttoned collar of her coat tightened on her throat as A.J. pulled her closer to him. “Why is it just my luck that you’re the federal marshal?”

  Allison unbuttoned her collar, whispering, “A.J., let go.” Even though he didn’t acknowledge her in any other manner, he released his hold on her coat.

  Taylor gaped across the room. “Oakten said you were dead. I went to Infernum the day Lee surrendered, actually went without official leave to do it, so I could bring you home. He said you were shot the month before for crossing the dead line.”

  “As he’s in your town right now, maybe you can ask him about that, why the day after Lee surrendered I was sitting in a three by three metal box for a fifth straight day and he refused to sign my parole papers until the camp was finally shut down.”

  The tension in the small jail increased. Allison was sure it was thick enough to be cut with little more than a butter knife.

  “Oakten’s here? Why in the hell…” Taylor’s gaze shifted from A.J. to Allison. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head.