Their Bride (Marriage Lottery Series Standalone)

by Stasia Black

  “You ever think it might be good to know where we are so, I don’t know, when we want to head home we know where to go?” Ross couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Usually he tried not to stoop to Riordan’s level but he was hot and he was tired.

  Riordan rolled his eyes. “Stop being overdramatic. You’re so obsessed with doing things the right way. Jesus, you must be constantly constipated having that stick up your ass all the time. Have a little imagination. Live a little.”

  “Besides, we’ve been walking west.” Riordan pointed at the sun. “So we go back east. Worst case scenario we head north and hit the Blanco River and follow it back to town. It’s not rocket science. If you’d take your eyes off that damn compass for three seconds, maybe we’d actually find something to fucking shoot.”

  “Maybe if you’d stop talking so much and making such a damn racket,” Ross whispered, “we’d find something to shoot.”

  He was really not in the mood to stand here and have Riordan go on and on about imagination and what it meant to live.

  Ross knew plenty well what it meant to live. It meant not fucking dying. And if following rules meant he felt a little safer, so what?

  Riordan smirked, shaking his head like Ross was a child. “All I’m saying is that great men never made history by coloring inside the lines or following the rules.”

  “I’m not trying to be a great man or make history!” Ross tossed his hands up. “I’m just trying to feed our wife. So how about we both shut up and try to find some damn deer, sound like a plan?”

  Riordan just huffed out a sardonic laugh. “The shutting up part sounds great to m—” He cut off mid-word, his eyes going wide.

  Then he laid his index finger vertically across his lips and pointed silently into the thick oak forest, mouthing, Hog.

  Ross looked in the direction Riordan was pointing then nodded. There, off in the distance, was indeed a hog. It wasn’t in the northwesterly direction Ross had wanted to go, but if they could get a quick kill, it wouldn’t matter.

  Ross checked the breeze and positioned them so it was in their face. Hogs had good noses but shitty eyesight. If they were lucky, they could sneak up on it.

  Quietly, they crept through the brush, following the path of rounded hoof prints and listening as the snuffling and rooting sounds grew louder. They finally had a good view of the large, hairy sow digging in a patch of mud by the base of a broken fence.

  Ross pulled the crossbow off his back and quietly placed his foot in the stirrup. He pulled the string back until it cocked. When he had that right, he loaded an arrow into the barrel and tried to ignore the pounding in his ears.

  Follow the front legs up, Ross went through the instructions he’d memorized from the book Dad gave him. Then strike mid-chest.

  He brought the crossbow to his shoulder and steadied the bow. He exhaled slowly, taking his aim. Then, the second before he could pull the trigger, a loud boom sounded from beside him. Followed by ear-piercing squeals.

  What the—

  Riordan was standing beside him holding the gun out.

  “Well don’t just stand there!” Riordan yelled. “It’s getting away!”

  Riordan ran in the direction of the fleeing pig, a heavy blood trail in its wake. For a second, Ross could only stare. Oh, God…the blood. He choked down the urge to vomit and raced after his brother.

  Twenty minutes later, they were tired. It was dark. But they found their prize. She was sizable—at least one hundred and fifty pounds. She’d feed the clan for weeks.

  That was, if not for one teensy logistical matter they hadn’t adequately considered.

  “How do we get it home?” Riordan asked.

  Ross bristled, as irritated with the question as he was with Riordan for shooting the damn pig when he had a shot perfectly lined up. Maybe if Riordan would have just let him take the shot, they wouldn’t have had to chase the damn sow all over creation and wouldn’t be who the hell knew where.

  Not to mention the other problems.

  Should they butcher it here and wrap up the meat? Try to make some sort of litter and drag her dead weight home? It would probably take them all the next day.

  One other problem… The longer Ross stared at their kill and the bloody wound on its shoulder, the more lightheaded he was getting.

  He turned around to cover the fact he was about to have the dry heaves. What kind of hunter got sick at the sight of blood?

  He never had a chance to find out because right then, a raspy voice filled the darkening woods.

  “Thanks for supper, boys. I was starving. And that loud gunshot letting me know exactly where to find you was mighty helpful too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  LOGAN

  “Thank God, you’re home, Logan,” Cam said as soon as Logan walked in the door. “You can talk some sense into her.”

  Logan frowned when he saw Vanessa tugging the straps of a hiking backpack over her shoulders. The damn thing looked heavier than she was.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cam quickly explained and Logan couldn’t keep a lid on his temper.

  “They did WHAT?!”

  “Exactly,” Vanessa said. “Which is why we have to go after them. It’s almost dark out and who knows what trouble they’ve gotten themselves into already.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Logan snapped, running a hand through his hair. Goddammit.

  The whole reason he’d married Vanessa in the first place was to watch over and protect her. Bang up job he was doing at that.

  He hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t gaining weight like she should. And if he hadn’t come home to grab some more script for the damn bar, she would have gone off into the Neutral Zone!

  But Jesus, none of it had gone like he planned when he’d headed to the church the morning of the wedding.

  He’d never meant to fucking touch her. But he had. And the wedding night… Jesus, it haunted him.

  Even sleeping down the hall in the same house was enough to keep him up at night. Especially knowing the twins and Cam were still enjoying her body every time the lights went out. In the mornings, they’d all have such smug, satisfied fucking smiles on their faces. The ridiculous jealousy was so thick sometimes he thought he’d fucking choke on it.

  Jealous of boys.

  So he spent as many hours as he could out of the house and when he had to be home, he kept his eyes off Vanessa as much as possible.

  But now that he actually looked at Vanessa, really looked, Jesus Christ, they were right. She was little more than skin and bones. They had dinner together most nights, at least four times a week. Logan might not look at her straight on but surely he would have noticed if she wasn’t eating. No, all the bowls were empty when dishes were done at the end of the night.

  But what about breakfast and lunch? Vanessa always packed their lunch and they were always full. Stew. Bread or cornmeal. Sometimes bits of jerky. Occasionally an orange

  The twins and Logan had to all weigh up to two hundred pounds with as big and built as they were and that required a lot of calories. Was she skimping on her own meals to give them more?

  “If those idiots had concerns, they should have come to me and we could have discussed it as a clan.”

  “Because you’ve been around so much lately,” Vanessa snapped, eyes furious. “And don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I spent eight years out there. I know how to survive better than any of you.”

  Logan took a step toward her until they were toe to toe. “You are not going.”

  She laughed. Laughed right in his face.

  “What authority do you think you have over me? It’s the twenty-first century, buddy. Husbands don’t get to tell their wives what to do. And even if they did, you barely count as a husband. You haven’t even consummated the vows.”

  That was a low fucking blow, and by the flicker of regret in her eyes, she knew it, too.

  It didn’t stop her from lifting her chin and pushing pa
st him, though.

  “Goddammit,” he swore, turning to look after her.

  “Well what the hell are you waiting for?” Cam asked. “We have to go with her.” He strode after Vanessa.

  “Fine,” Logan growled. It looked like apart from physically restraining her, there was no stopping their wife. “Just let me go get my—”

  “Gun?” Cam asked. “Oh, did I forget to mention those geniuses took your Glock?”

  “Son of a—”

  “Come on,” Cam said. “If we don’t hurry, she’s gonna leave us in the dust.”

  Logan growled out several more swear words as he watched Vanessa disappear out the front door. The very sight sent his heartbeat racing so loud he felt seconds away from a heart attack. Sweat beaded at his temple.

  No. No, she couldn’t leave.

  He couldn’t let her leave.

  He had to stop her—

  He had to—

  And all of a sudden, he wasn’t standing in the clan house and it wasn’t Vanessa he was watching walk out the door.

  “Logan, stop being so goddamned stubborn.”

  He was stubborn? Jenny thought he was being stubborn? “It’s just a little infection. The fever will burn it off.”

  “That fever is going to fry your brain, and the ibuprofen isn’t working.”

  He opened his eyes and looked up. She loomed over where he lay on the couch, her hands on her hips. Never a good sign.

  Logan groaned and closed his eyes again. “So now you’re a doctor?” The words came out raspy, and he gasped for breath. Damn. Now it was affecting his lungs? How could a little tooth cause so much trouble, abscessed or not?

  “Don’t cop an attitude with me, mister. I may not be a doctor, but I got more good sense than you’ve got in whatever brain cells you have left. You wait any longer, and you’re going to be dead.”

  “It’s just a little—”

  She kicked the foot of the couch, and Logan felt it in his spine. “Infection. Yeah, I know. And that little infection has probably already spread. Burying a husband is not what I call a good time.”

  Logan grimaced. There were more new burial mounds in Austin than he cared to count, but they were wives, mothers, girlfriends, and daughters buried under all that dirt. Nothing was going to happen to him. He was going to beat this, then he could be the strong one again. He hated to see her worrying.

  “Listen,” Jenny said, exhaling and obviously preparing to play her last card. He could feel the determination brewing up in her, the way she lifted her chin… “I’ve heard of a clinic in San Angelo.”

  San Angelo? Was she crazy? San Angelo was a four hour drive away. “What about the penicillin tea you were talking about making? Have the oranges started growing mold yet?”

  Jenny didn’t listen. She kept on talking. “This clinic has a supply of penicillin—the real kind—and the doctor’s not charging an arm and a leg for it. Yet…”

  Logan winced against the pain and turned his head into the couch cushions. “I’m not going to San Angelo.”

  “Of course you’re not. You’re in no condition to travel. I’m going.”

  Logan’s eyes snapped wide. “You sure the fuck are NOT!”

  Jenny leaned down and got in his face. “You can barely get to the toilet to piss. You think you’re going to stop me?”

  Logan tried to push himself up. His body felt like it weighed a metric ton. “Jenny, I swear to God, you set one foot outside this house—”

  “And you’ll what?” She folded her arms. Damn this woman.

  “I’ve kept you safe and quarantined inside this house for months, and the virus hasn’t touched you. I’m not worth the risk. You’re not going out there.”

  “You are the only risk worth taking. You are my husband. I love you. And I will fight for you, Logan Washington, until I stop breathing.”

  Logan pushed himself up to one elbow, and his head spun. “Which is exactly what will happen. I forbid you to leave. You heard what they said on the radio. The mortality rate is now sixty percent. You are not risking those odds.”

  “Oh, but it’s fine for you to risk your life?” she asked. She marched to the kitchen and started slamming around the pots and pans.

  “It’s just a damn tooth. Get me the pliers. I’ll pull the damn thing out myself.” Logan got himself to a sitting position and he swung his feet over the side of the couch, placing them on the floor. Or, at least he thought he had. He couldn’t actually feel the floor. He stood, stumbled a few steps. His head seemed to separate and float away from his body. The next thing he knew, the floor was racing up toward his face. He didn’t even get his hands up to catch his fall.

  Jenny screamed, and Logan felt the floor vibrate as she fell to her knees beside him. “Are you all right? Jesus, honey. Are you okay?”

  Logan jerked away from her touch, grumbling. “Make me the tea. I’ll be fine.”

  Jenny didn’t respond right away. He waited. He expected her to say something. She was never happy unless she got the last word. But she rose silently to her feet and walked away.

  Logan crawled back onto the couch and, a few minutes later, Jenny returned with the tea. He swallowed the disgusting concoction and fell asleep. When he awoke, he didn’t know how much time had gone by. The house was silent and on the floor beside the couch, in a place where he couldn’t miss it, lay a note from Jenny.

  She was gone. She risked her life for him. And she never came home.

  And the mortality rate was higher than sixty percent. So much higher. It was ninety percent. And she’d just walked out the door.

  The fucking kicker of it all?

  The goddamned penicillin tea worked.

  Within two days, he was up and walking again. He waited a week and a half for her to come home, agonizing every fucking day about whether to go after her or stay and wait for her to return. What if she came back and he was gone?

  But after ten days of waiting, he couldn’t fucking stand it anymore. The virus took more women every day and the Death Riots were only getting worse. Day and night, nightmarish visions of what could be happening to Jenny flashed through his head.

  Jenny had taken the car, but Logan was desperate. He stole a neighbor’s truck and made his way on the clogged roads toward San Angelo.

  It took him a week and a half to get there. Gas stations all along the way were shut down. They’d run out of gas and weren’t getting restocked because refill tankers feared rioters. Occasionally Logan would see a battalion of National Guard, but they were few and far between.

  After his truck sputtered out, Logan covered the last fifty miles on foot.

  Finally he got to San Angelo and the city looked like hell on earth. Thick black smoke filled the air from fires that burned freely—one entire strip mall was in flames. On another street, Logan saw a guy hawking men and women who were locked in a long row of cages behind him, like some sort of human kennel.

  Logan had run across the street and thrown up, both at realizing what human beings were capable of and at the fact that Jenny might have come here.

  Jenny was all that mattered, though, so he put his head down and after a day and a half of asking around and following dead end after dead end, he finally, finally tracked down the only dealer in town who supposedly sold penicillin.

  There was no clinic like Jenny had talked about. Just a small mouse of a man covered in tattoos with a mustache and bloodshot eyes.

  And he’d been out of penicillin for weeks.

  The dealer remembered Jenny though. He said he’d tell Logan what he’d told Jenny, but only for a price.

  Logan offered him everything in his wallet—four hundred dollars—but the man wasn’t interested. He’d laughed and said money wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on anymore. No, he wanted Logan’s gold watch.

  It had been Logan’s father’s, but Logan took it off and handed it over without hesitation.

  “North Austin,” the guy said, taking a long drag on a cigarette as he l
ifted the watch close, slowly examining it. “Little pharmacy in Pflugerville.”

  He dropped the watch on the counter and grinned. “I’m feelin’ generous. The thought of reuniting true lovers and all that shit. So I’ll give you the address… If you give me your shoes.”

  Logan wanted to punch his fucking face in but he bit his rage back.

  “This the same address you gave Jenny?”

  The guy nodded, smarmy grin still on his face.

  Logan gritted his teeth and took off his shoes, slamming them on the counter. They were nothing too fancy. Just a pair of Nikes that he’d bought before the world went to shit.

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  The guy scribbled an address on a Post-it Note and Logan marched out of the shop in just his socks. He didn’t fucking care. He’d crawl on his knees back to Austin if that was what it took to get home to Jenny.

  But two days later, D-Day happened.

  Austin was wiped off the map.

  Between Xterminate and D-Day, he knew Jenny was gone.

  Because he’d failed her.

  Over and over again.

  She’d died because of him.

  So there was no way in fucking hell he’d let another woman under his protection walk off into danger without him by her goddamned side.

  Logan, Cam, and Vanessa headed out of town on their two-up ATV, following the hunting path. Vanessa sat beside Logan. Cam stood on the back end, hanging onto the roll bar. Michael was nowhere to be found. Vanessa said something about having a misunderstanding with him earlier in the day but there wasn’t time to hear any more about it.

  They took the wheels as deep into the woods as they could, and then they had to continue on foot. Logan had a rifle he’d borrowed from Nix slung over his shoulder.

  When Vanessa tripped over a tree root, Logan caught her in his strong arm, quickly righting her on her feet.

  “You should go back to the four-wheeler. Wait for us there,” Cam said.

  “Cam’s right,” Logan said. “We’ll take it from here.”