The Unexpected Champion

by Mary Connealy

  McCall eased her forward into a hug. She leaned against him. She rested her cheek against his strong shoulder and felt his press against her hair. The support, the simple decency of it, was as wonderful as that first sense she’d had of freedom.

  She’d had so little support like this from a man outside her family. She’d always worked hard. She had a family to provide for, a ranch to save for and plan on. There’d been no time for men.

  The embrace became more than comfort, more than warmth. Her arms crept around his neck, and the feel of him brought with it a sense of being fully alive, wonderfully strong, overflowing with hope for the future.

  And being a woman.

  She honestly hadn’t spent too much time thinking of that in her busy life. But now she came alive in a way she’d never known. Raising her head, she looked him in the eye. He seemed to be waiting for something. And then he lowered his head and kissed her.

  Her brain stuttered, tripped, and fell. Her first kiss. She’d had no idea a kiss felt so . . . so . . . Words failed her as her brain gave up on everything but feeling.

  He lifted away, their eyes met. But she wanted him back for another kiss, his arms offering their strength.

  A crack of thunder hit so loud, so close, that she jumped and smacked her head on the tree.

  A needed dose of reality. She tried pulling away, yet it wasn’t as smoothly done as it should have been, because he had to help her unwind her arms from around his neck.

  And she couldn’t help but sneak in a couple more quick kisses. And he did the same.

  At last she moved away and aimed her back at him. Finally able to think clearly again, she turned to look straight into his eyes. “What in the world are we doing?”

  McCall shrugged, looked a little sheepish, and said, “We were—”

  She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it.”

  Then she snatched her hand back, both upset and embarrassed by the warmth of her palm where it’d touched his lips.

  The message had been delivered, though. He didn’t answer her half-witted question but instead shifted to look between the tree branches that covered the front of their little cave. The topmost branches of that fallen tree were reaching inside. The rain came down like a curtain, so hard and fast that there was no sensible way to leave . . . which Penny considered doing anyway. A nice, long, miserable walk in the rain might be just what she needed. Then another blaze of lightning followed by a crack of thunder cleared her mind of that.

  McCall looked straight out. There was no reason on earth to stare at the pouring rain and yet he paid it strict attention, and she could only be grateful.

  It was a long time before the rain slowed, a long time more before it stopped.

  “It’s going to be a swamp out there,” McCall finally said. Those were the first words spoken by either of them, possibly for as long as an hour.

  Penny was usually a good judge of the passing of time, but right now she couldn’t decide if the rain had poured down forever, or if it just seemed like forever because she wanted to get away from this cozy den.

  “Let’s go.” McCall looked over his shoulder at her. “I have no idea where.”

  “And there’ll be not one single hoofprint to help us find our way back to Dismal.” Penny thought she could find her way on down the tight trail the wagon had been on, but with the cloud cover, the winding trail, the way she’d been hauled out here with a blindfold on . . . She thought she was right about what direction they’d headed out of town. She hoped she was right.

  “Nor will there be a single hint of a trail for us to follow to catch our kidnappers.” John sounded fierce and determined. And frustrated to a fare-thee-well.

  Speaking with confidence she didn’t really feel, she said, “I can find our way back to that trail where we followed the wagon. We’ll start there and find our way back to town. It’ll be simple.”

  It was complicated.

  “Why don’t these animals ever go to town?”

  Penny looked back at McCall. They’d been following deer trails that led nowhere . . . for days.

  She’d quit kissing him after that first time—or maybe it was more honest to call it the first five times—but there’d only been that one episode. She’d stopped thinking he was a city-born weakling on day two.

  And she’d caught on to his jokes about the hardship on day three. He was a strong man who’d keep going as long as it took. He knew how to keep her going and lift her spirits by making jokes at his expense. And he was a full partner in all the work.

  It was now day four and never once had he goaded her about getting them hopelessly lost. But today was the end of that. She’d found a trail. A real, for sure, trail. Not one used only by mountain goats. She smiled. “Look at that.”

  “Shod hooves, even I recognize those,” McCall said. “I’d started to wonder if we were alone in the world. I’ve known for a long time the wilderness is vast, but I’ve never really realized it before this. Which way?”

  Penny fought down the urge to punch McCall in the nose because, drat it, she didn’t know which way. They’d found another stream and stuck with it, Penny reasoning that waterways often led to settlements. But it meandered into and out of deep woods, through one narrow valley or mountain gap after another. Sometimes the shores were wide and easily followed. Sometimes they were steep and treacherous, with waterfalls and white water churning over rocks. They had to veer far away from the water to find a path they could walk, then find the stream again and go back to following it.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she ignored it and hoped John couldn’t hear it. They’d been days with only the most meager food. Working hard, hiking, climbing, pushing on. She’d been skinny already, but after days of this, she’d probably lost ten pounds.

  “If we pick the wrong direction, we might end up lost again. I feel like the right answer is life and death.” She gave him an uncertain smile.

  John rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re just saying that because you’re excited. We’ll go that way.” He pointed right. “The freshest hooves are going that way. It has to lead somewhere. That rider is going between two places. We’ll end up at one of them.”

  Penny nodded, then pointed up to the mountain peaks. “That’s west.” Then she pointed north. “My guess is, that leads to Carson City. If we go left it might lead to Dismal, and this trail connects the two. Dismal is closer to home, but those outlaws might’ve gone back there, and I don’t trust the law to protect us. Let’s go to Carson City.”

  As if she knew that’s where it went. Optimist for sure. “We’ll go wherever this goes, and in the end, we’ll be somewhere.”

  “We’re somewhere now.”

  That didn’t deserve a proper response. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  “You’re Penny Scott?” Sheriff Walters seemed overly excited to see them.

  “This isn’t Carson City,” John whispered into the back of Penny’s head.

  She didn’t punch him, and that probably oughta earn her a medal. No, this wasn’t Carson City. They’d ended up back in Dismal, and Penny had no idea why she’d been so turned around or where they’d been.

  When they got to the familiar town, Penny had led them straight to the sheriff. She thought it showed a lot of restraint on her part. McCall wanted to eat first. But she insisted they report their kidnapping to the lawman.

  “You’re John McCall?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes, I am.” McCall sounded perky, like maybe the sheriff knew him by reputation. Maybe he thought he was famous. “And we’d like to report a—”

  “You’re under arrest.” The sheriff whipped out a six-shooter from under his barber apron and aimed it right at McCall’s heart. “Get your hands in the air.”

  Probably not the kind of famous he’d hoped for.

  McCall asked very calmly, while raising his hands, “Are you arresting her, too?”

  “Why would I do a st
upid thing like that? She’s the victim. Now start moving.”

  “Can I ask what you’re arresting him for?” Penny fell in step beside them. McCall marched along with his hands in the air. He was a little red-faced. Penny considered that it might be anger, but more likely he was feeling mighty embarrassed by this. He probably noticed that she was fighting a grin.

  “Kidnapping, assault, and possible murder.”

  “Who is he supposed to have kidnapped, assaulted, and murdered?”

  “It’s you. He done all that to you.”

  “Uh . . . I think you can drop the murder charge. And he didn’t kidnap or assault me.”

  “There’s those what say he did.”

  “I was there. Surely my statement would count heavily in his favor.”

  “I’ve known victims that’ve been too afraid to face the villain that harmed ’em.”

  “Afraid of him?” Penny pointed at McCall with her thumb. “Not one speck.”

  McCall, walking along at her side, took a second to narrow his eyes and glare at her.

  “I’ve even known a couple of gals who ended up liking the villain what harmed ’em. You might be denying the crime out of that sort of confusion. I understand if you’re addled, miss.”

  “Do I seem addled to you?”

  “I’d never be so rude to say it, but since you’re defending a man who kidnapped you, I have to wonder.”

  Dismal, Nevada, was a quiet little place.

  Population: one sheriff too many.

  Penny walked along, long-legged, relaxed—sure, she could be relaxed. No apron-wearing, mustache-trimming lawman had a gun aimed at her back. John wondered if the sheriff would give him a shave and a haircut. He’d spent days in the wilderness, and he was a mess.

  John would’ve started arguing with Penny, to get her to take this more seriously, if he didn’t think the sheriff might decide to shoot him just to protect her from her confusion.

  “We were both kidnapped, Sheriff.” Penny at least seemed to be trying to clear this up. He could see she was fighting back a smile, fighting real hard. “That’s the crime he was going to report before you drew your gun.”

  “So, you admit there was a kidnapping.”

  “No. I mean yes. Yes, there was definitely a kidnapping, and assault, though he, Mr. McCall here, was the one who was mainly assaulted.”

  “He looks fine to me. If he didn’t take you, who did?”

  “Four men. Tough, armed gunmen. They grabbed us right off the streets of Dismal, as fast and slick as I’ve ever seen men move.”

  “Where are they now?” Sheriff Walters asked.

  “We escaped.”

  “These gunmen just let you slip through their fingers? That doesn’t sound all that slick.”

  “We escaped days ago. They took us a long way into the woods, and we were a while making our way back to civilization.”

  They reached the jail. John got the door since he was leading this little parade. Once inside, the sheriff said, “Keep moving right into that cell.”

  “No, don’t lock him up.” Penny sounded purely annoyed. “You can’t accuse him of a crime committed against me if the only witness you have—me—denies there was a crime.”

  “Turn around.”

  John obeyed, very slowly . . . making no sudden moves. He lowered his hands as he faced the lawman.

  Penny came close to his side and rested one hand on his arm. He appreciated her support and patted her hand.

  “I did not kidnap her, Sheriff.” He did his very best to sound reasonable, responsible, and noncriminal. “I am a Pinkerton agent and have been for years. I can send a telegram back east. My employer will vouch for me. He’ll tell you—”

  “Shut up, McCall.”

  The gun didn’t waver.

  Silence settled over the room. Sheriff Walters’s cold eyes shifted from John to Penny and back. “You seem to have formed some kind of . . . of bond during the week you were missing.”

  “Bond?” John had no idea what the man meant by that.

  “Yes, during the week the two of you were alone together, somewhere private.”

  “Has it been a week?” John looked at Penny.

  “I’d say more like five days.”

  A plump woman entered the sheriff’s office at that moment. A skinny youngster, probably fifteen or so, came in with her. Behind the boy came two girls, ten years old maybe. John wasn’t around kids much, so their ages were anyone’s guess. The girls dressed alike and were so close in looks and size they had to be twins. Behind them came a boy another stairstep younger. And then an older girl came in with a baby still in diapers in one arm and her hand holding a small boy who didn’t look school age yet. All seven of them had ice blue eyes that matched the sheriff’s.

  The woman gasped when she saw John and Penny. John didn’t know what he looked like, but Penny’s hair resembled a muskrat’s nest, and he’d recently seen one so he was a fair judge.

  “Are you the woman who was kidnapped?”

  “Well, yes. But not by—”

  The woman threw herself into Penny’s arms.

  A cloud of dust puffed out of Penny’s clothes. Penny raised her hands, much as John had just a few minutes before. Surrendering to a power more fearsome than a gun.

  Salt water.

  The woman wept deep, wrenching tears. “You poor, poor dear.”

  The sheriff looked worried, but not enough to lower the gun.

  Finally, tears spent, the woman drew back, grabbed a kerchief out of her sleeve, and dabbed her eyes. She darted a glance at John—he saw murderous anger—then her gaze skidded to her children. The woman’s voice dropped, as if her children, standing two steps away, suddenly couldn’t hear her.

  She said to Penny, “Was it . . . was he . . . did he . . . oh, poor child. Poor ruined girl. The nightmare of it. The lost chance, the shattered life, no possible happy future.”

  John had to give her that. Penny didn’t look one bit happy.

  “You must be so upset, so terrified. Was he . . .” Now the voice dropped to a whisper, yet John could still hear her and so could everyone else. But he was glad because the woman was acting furiously mad, and he was fascinated by any clue she’d give to what in the world was going on in her churned-up mind.

  “You’ve been . . . been . . . my dear. To be trapped in the clutches of such a ravening beast.” The woman smacked John right across the face with the back of her hand. He put his hand up to his jaw. The woman had a wallop.

  “If by ‘ruined,’” Penny said, wincing as John rubbed his jaw, “you mean I really need clean clothes and a bath—”

  “You definitely need that,” John said helpfully. “And your hair hasn’t seen a comb nor a pin in too long. It puts me in mind of that muskrat nest we used for kindling the first night on the trail.”

  Penny’s eyes narrowed until John planted his feet, ready for the next blow.

  “No, no bath or new clothes will solve this. Though I don’t doubt you feel utterly soiled. Conrad, I declare this man deserves hanging.”

  “Did you hear her say I didn’t kidnap her?” John wasn’t sure just when the woman had joined their little meeting.

  “He didn’t ruin me, either. I’m fine. Tired and dirty and hungry, but no more so than he is.”

  “Really?” He looked down at his black pants. His formerly black pants. “I look as bad as you? I bet you wouldn’t say that if we had a mirror.”

  “He has ruined you, Miss Scott. No doubt you’ve been so bitterly abused you’re not capable of rational thought. We have only two possible choices here.”

  “Two?” John hoped one of them was to eat.

  “Yes, you foul man. Hanging would be preferable.”

  “Not to me.”

  “And if she won’t accuse you and testify against you properly, then the only other possible choice is—” the woman held a dramatic pause worthy of the theater—“she must marry you.”

  All thoughts of a meal and clean clot
hes went flying straight out of his head.

  His eyes met Penny’s. Hers wide with alarm. No, worse than alarm . . . horror. His had to look the same.

  “Marry her? Do I look crazy?”

  “There ain’t enough ‘ruin’ in this world to make me marry him.”

  Their voices sounded at once, and it made them both stop.

  “Conrad, you’re going to have to hang him, then. You can’t let them behave as though they did nothing wrong, and do it right in front of your wife and children.”

  “Mayme Belle, honey, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” The cold-eyed sheriff suddenly looked like a slightly disobedient eight-year-old. There was no doubt who wore the pants in this family.

  “Yes, it’s absolutely the only possible thing you can do. God will demand no less of you than that you hang him and cast her out.”

  John wondered what exactly was the religion this woman held to, because these rules didn’t sound familiar to him. Of course, he was Lutheran, and she might be Methodist. He wasn’t up on the differences between the two.

  “A woman like her, right here in front of the children.”

  “Now, just hold on one blasted minute.” John was getting mad, but he sure didn’t want to sound like a ravening beast.

  “Hush.” Mayme Belle had a voice she could crack like a whip. “I’ll hear no more of that profane language.”

  “You think blasted is the worst language you’re gonna hear?” Penny said, sounding impressively dangerous . . . at least to John.

  “Why, you’re as good as taking pride in the monstrous impropriety that has passed between you and this man.” Mayme Belle didn’t seem impressed with Penny’s dangerousness.

  “There was no—”

  “It’s a disgrace.” The sheriff cut her off, throwing in with a will stronger than his own . . . Mayme Belle. “No doubt about it. And she is defending him, too. Claims he didn’t kidnap her, when her brother was in saying he did.”

  “My brother wasn’t even there. I was, and I’m saying he didn’t—”

  “And now she stands there, clinging to him. Of course she would defend him after spending so much time in wild abandon with him. If she wasn’t kidnapped then they must’ve run off together.”