The Unexpected Champion

by Mary Connealy

  “Two heads are better than one?”

  John smiled. “It’s better than too many cooks spoil the broth.”

  “I’ve always thought that was a stupid saying. Broth is broth. How can extra cooks spoil it?”

  With a shrug, John said, “Maybe one wants to put too many onions in, another too much salt. Have you ever tasted those fiery hot peppers from down Mexico way?”

  “Yep, Cam spent time in the southwest desert, so I lived down there.”

  “Those can have a strong effect on a broth.”

  “Okay, but oversalting broth is just wrong, no matter how many cooks you’ve got in the room. So, the saying should be ‘too many cooks spoil the broth if one or more of them are bad cooks.’”

  John’s smile widened and since he was pacing again, he paced right up to Penny and kissed her. She was taken by surprise.

  And then she was kissing him back.

  Penny’s arms came around his neck. Then John lifted his head so there was a whisper of space between them. She saw something in his eyes she couldn’t quite define. Intensity, interest, perhaps affection.

  “Penny, I’ve decided we need to figure out a way to make this marriage work. I’m going to have to stay, or you’re going to have to come away with me. I find myself very interested in being . . . um . . . that is, being . . . married to you properly.”

  “Properly?” She was a little dazed. The kiss had muddled her thoughts. Either that, or he was making no sense.

  “I mean, well, this is what I mean.” He lowered his head and quit talking.

  John only confused things when he talked. When he kissed her, things seemed very simple.

  He deepened the kiss, and Penny figured out what he meant when he said “properly married.” Part of her was all for it. And they were already married, after all.

  But there was a small place in her heart that balked.

  A small but very stubborn place.

  It took a huge act of willpower to pull her arms away from where they clung to him and press her hands flat against his chest. She tilted her head enough to break the kiss, to put a stop to the sweetest, most wonderful moment of her life.

  “John, wait.”

  He didn’t try to pressure her. Instead he held her close and rested his forehead against hers. He breathed deeply, but he didn’t speak.

  A surge of something flashed through Penny like a bolt of lightning. Something strong and bright and heated.

  Not love, it couldn’t be that. They were too different, and their marriage was not one they chose.

  But maybe . . . fondness. That wasn’t love, was it? But it was a good way to feel about a husband. It struck Penny that love was a confusing, rather mysterious thing.

  Of course, she loved her brothers and her niece and nephew. She’d loved her parents. But that was almost born in her. She’d never really thought about it beyond knowing family loved each other.

  But a husband. Loving a husband . . . that seemed like something to discover through a tidy courtship. Long conversations and a deep knowledge of each other, followed by choosing to get married.

  No noose or gun involved.

  And now she felt a great fondness for him. She’d even go so far as to call it a burning fondness.

  She stepped away from John. “I slept a few hours today so I could sit up and keep watch tonight. In case anyone spotted you today and followed you . . . home.” She said the last word with a complete lack of conviction. Was this now her home?

  John smiled. He was generous with his good humor, and Penny appreciated that about his character. Cam was a man with a very serious nature, so a man who saw the humor in life was a nice change.

  “I was careful not to be followed.” He reached up a hand and brushed a hair off her forehead, then with gentle fingers, tucked a strand behind her ear. “Do you really want to keep watch, or were you just planning ahead to have a good reason to be on the other side of the room from me?”

  Penny felt a blush warm her cheeks. John’s eyes didn’t miss much. His caressing hand brushed over one cheek, then he leaned in and kissed the spot he’d just touched.

  “It might be best if you do keep watch awhile. And do your very best to sit silently and not attract attention.”

  That was alarming, and she forgot her blushes. “You’re afraid they might be watching up here and see me moving around inside the cabin, maybe even hear me? Are they that close?”

  Another mischievous smile. Another sweet kiss on the cheek. “No, I’m thinking of myself. Every move you make, every sound, is going to keep me wide awake wanting to lure you into my arms. It’s going to be hard to get to sleep with you this close.”

  Penny smiled and stepped farther away. “Get on to bed, McCall. I’m going to hide in a corner still and silent as a church mouse. Don’t blame your sleeplessness on me.”

  “Why not? It’s all your fault.” He stole a quick kiss and turned away from her. He trudged to the bed. And that wasn’t easy to do since the room was about ten feet square.

  He lay down on the wrecked, lumpy bed with his back to her. It got cool up here at night, but they had the blankets from their bedrolls. She hunkered down in a corner with her own blanket pulled up to her chin and wondered if she’d made a mistake in turning her husband away.

  It might be time for her to be properly married. If not tonight, then soon.

  CHAPTER

  23

  He woke up in the still, gray light that came just before sunrise. He found a warm, sweet woman wrapped in his arms and wasn’t sure when she’d come to bed, nor when he’d pulled her close.

  But he was very sure he liked it. He was very sure she fit in his arms with absolute perfection.

  It wasn’t a full, complete marriage yet, but he saw now that it could be. They didn’t really know each other well enough that more intimacies should happen. But all in all, he thought he just might bring the treat of a good dinner for his wife every night. In fact, he was tempted to wait on her hand and foot for the rest of their lives, to advance the cause of their marriage. He even had a notion about the rest of his life that might make them both reasonably happy.

  He slipped out of bed and dressed as silently as possible. He was hard pressed to be completely silent though.

  “A new disguise?” Penny’s voice, husky with sleep, sounded from behind him.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I was a bit slow getting into town yesterday morning. It’s a crowded, bustling town, especially when the men are heading to the mines and back. I feel like I can slip into that flowing crowd and not be noticed this early.”

  “What are you going to be today, the old man again?”

  “I’m going to be old. Graying my hair and adding whiskers are a handy way to disguise myself, but today I’m going to be thin and a bit taller and quite a bit older. And I probably should be a drunk.”

  Penny sat straight up in bed. “If you’re planning to come home reeking of gin, you’re going to need to get your own hut, husband.”

  John laughed. He was amazed anew at all the things she did that charmed him.

  “I never drink, Penny. And most certainly not when I’m working. But I’ve been known to sit with a glass in my hand to make people think I’m a sot. It helps them to ignore me. They certainly never take me seriously. And that helps me to ferret out clues.”

  Penny shoved back the blanket and stood, fully dressed except for her boots. Maybe she’d worried about kicking him in his sleep.

  “How are you going to be taller?”

  John lifted up a pair of floppy leather shoes she hadn’t seen before. Almost moccasins, but a darker leather. “I put lifts in these shoes—higher than the ones I wore yesterday.” He held up a leather pad about two inches thick. “I can fit this into the bottom of my shoes and lace them up looser than with the lower lifts.”

  He adjusted the shoes and put them on, then stood.

  With a gasp of delight, Penny said, “You really do look much older. What�
��s that in your hair?”

  “It’s talcum powder. I streaked it in to make my hair look gray. And this coat is tighter and cut in a way that makes me look thinner.”

  “This business of disguises is really interesting. I wouldn’t think two inches taller would be that noticeable. But you also look almost gaunt. And much older. And you move as if you’re older.” Penny’s eyes sparkled. “Do you think you could teach me this? I don’t even know as I’d ever have a reason to actually be disguised, but it’s so interesting.”

  John shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “It can be a quirk of our marriage. One night a week we can come to the supper table dressed in disguise.”

  Penny laughed. “That would definitely qualify as a quirk.”

  He kissed her pretty, laughing mouth, and she fell silent and kissed him back. When the kiss ended, she said, “The disguise doesn’t reach to your kissing, John. That was all you.”

  “That was all us.” He snuck in one more kiss. “I brought a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese and a couple of apples. They are in the gunnysack.” He nodded his head in their direction, and Penny brightened.

  “Thank you. I have jerky and hard biscuits, but this will be much better.”

  “Remember that,” he said with a wink. “I am a fine provider.”

  She laughed again and punched him in the shoulder.

  He tossed something at her, and she caught it by reflex, “What’s this?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” His grin said he knew he hadn’t.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That’s your disguise. Today you’re going with me. Hurry up.”

  Cam had slipped into his house before sunrise, leaving Trace to ghost around in the woods. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found much new information. But today they planned to confront the spy.

  At the crack of dawn, Cam left the cabin, carrying his rifle, hoping the man on lookout would assume his family was still here, just staying inside. Clouds gathered overhead, barely visible in the first light of the morning, but a storm was coming, and it suited Cam. That would be ample excuse for Gwen and the youngsters to keep to the house.

  They’d been watching, one at a time, and not taking any action against Cam or his family. He stepped out boldly, planning to saddle his horse, ride away, and circle back.

  The clouds sifted and cruised along, and a gap opened up that let a few rays of sun through. The sun hit something in the woods that grew thick on the rising mountain outside Cam’s cabin. A flash of light caught his eye, and his old soldier instincts took over. He twisted sideways and threw himself back.

  A crack of gunfire sounded a split second later.

  The heat of a bullet burned Cam’s side under his right arm, inches from piercing his heart.

  He landed, grimly ignored the pain, and scrambled for cover. A rifle—sounded like a Winchester—blasted away. He dove around the corner of his house. Another bullet fired, then another. A second gunman opened fire, splattering chips of wood just above Cam’s head. Two men, and the second one was on this side of the cabin.

  It turned his shelter into a shooting gallery. He moved, clawing his way fast, keeping low to make a poor target.

  A boulder just ahead promised refuge . . . maybe. A bullet kicked dirt into his eyes. Blinded, he rolled and leapt for the stone. Another bullet pinged the stone, ricocheting inches over Cam’s head. Now he was in a narrow alley between the cabin and the boulder. Safe, unless the shooters changed positions. Or unless there were more than two men.

  There should be three of them. Where was the third?

  A new rifle opened up. One shot, then silence. With grim relief, Cam hoped he was hearing Trace’s Winchester getting into the fight. It was the second Winchester he’d heard, but the single shot sounded like Trace’s gun. Cam knew guns, and he hoped he was right.

  The man who’d been aiming at Cam shot in a new direction, aiming high, up toward where the second Winchester had sounded.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Cam jumped up and ran for the edge of the woods, sprinting for all he was worth. He charged past the first big trunk of an ancient oak before bullets peppered the ground he’d just covered. Plunging into the forest, Cam was now surrounded by places to hide, which left him free to maneuver.

  Gunfire above, two guns, at least one a Winchester for sure. Trace drawing fire. Cam ran toward the closest assailant, the dry-gulching skunk who’d covered the back of the house.

  Silent as a ghost and fast as a striking snake, he closed in on the first man. Easy to stay out of sight in the woods and still go in the direction of the gunfire. He finally saw a barrel poking out from behind a massive ponderosa pine. He circled the tree to come up behind the coyote, and without one second’s hesitation, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s head.

  The man went down without a whimper.

  Cam had come prepared to take prisoners. He uncoiled a short length of rope from his waist, whipped the man’s hands and feet together as neatly as a hog-tied steer, tucked the man out of sight in a copse of aspens, and moved on.

  More gunfire. It sounded like only two men. Cam hoped that meant Trace had taken an outlaw down. There should have been three men after them. Cam had gotten one. Trace hopefully had taken down the second. That left a single outlaw still firing.

  He listened to the gunfire. Cam only had a second to make a decision. Knowing he was running straight into a blazing shootout, Cam charged forward and hoped he wasn’t running toward Trace. Not being sure would force him to hesitate.

  And that hesitation could be the difference between life and death.

  CHAPTER

  24

  The skinny old man with the aching joints and the fat old lady with an extra chin went into the diner and glared at each other through breakfast.

  John had told her to be grumpy, like they were in the middle of a fight. It kept people away, and it gave them an excuse not to speak. Which gave them more opportunity to listen.

  Penny had never heard the poem about Jack Sprat and his chubby wife. John quoted it to her word for word as they walked down the blasted hill to the town.

  “If I’d’ve tripped and fallen, I’d’ve rolled like a barrel all the way to town.”

  “I’d have paid good money to see that.” John had a flare for acting because he was a man prone to smiling, and he was teasing her, but he did it without giving up being grouchy as an old bear.

  Penny didn’t have much acting skill. She was a straightforward, plainspoken woman. Luckily for John, she was irritated at being made fat, so it wasn’t hard to maintain the correct attitude.

  He gave her a few pointers about how he wanted her to act. Shrewish, critical, whiny. “In fact, just be yourself.”

  She looked closely, but he never cracked a smile.

  Then he ordered her a double breakfast. She saw the glint in his eyes, but he was careful that no one else did.

  Penny didn’t hear anything interesting, but John set out after the meal. He clearly had a target. They walked along the sidewalk. Him bent over, moving slowly like his joints ached. Her waddling along like a duck.

  She really didn’t think anyone gave them a second look. As ridiculous as she felt in this outfit, mostly they just looked boring and regular, like many other people in this town.

  They reached a building, and John said, “Remember how I told you to act. I’m a broken-down old man with outrageous demands, you’re the wife who’s goading me into making them. But don’t talk much. Mostly jab at me and mutter dire insults. I knew Payne was the name of the man who was so feared. But I couldn’t get anyone to tell me how to find him. Then I found this building. I’m hoping someone in here will tell me where he lives.”

  Penny looked up at the words Payne, Logan, and Pratt Mining Office painted in what looked like pure gold on the window of the front door.

  The killer owned a mine.

  And he had the people in this town too scared to do more than breathe his name.


  John went straight in. Penny forgot all about being annoyed with her husband and tried to be ready to react to whatever John said or did.

  In other words, she got ready to tell a passel of lies.

  Another sin.

  Penny had corralled herself a very different kind of husband than she’d planned on.

  John walked a bit more unsteadily than he’d been doing a few steps ago. It aged him. What a strange talent her husband had.

  A man sat behind a desk, the only person in what had to be the front office, because the building was imposing, yet this first room was small. The desk was to their right when they stepped in. An elegantly paneled wall, with a beautifully carved oak door, cut the room off just a pace beyond the desk.

  Penny wondered what business went on in the back room.

  The man had the look of a secretary. Account books lay open on his desk. He had a pen in hand and held it poised over the book as he looked up.

  “This is a mine office. We have no services here for customers.”

  Not much about that to encourage talk.

  “Name’s Mack Johnson.” John’s voice cracked with age. “This here’s my wife, Mayme Belle.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. He’d named her after that crazy woman who’d forced them to get married. He had a pure knack for irritating her. And since she was supposed to be cranky, she didn’t bother to hide a scowl.

  “I left off mining a few months back but find myself short of money and unhappy in idleness. I want my job back.”

  The man’s lips curled in a sneer as he ran his eyes down John’s bent-looking body. Calling him too old and disabled for any use without saying a word.

  “If you’re hunting work, you need to report to the mine.”

  “Speak up, sonny.” John leaned forward and said in a voice that vibrated from his elderly, feeble throat, “I’m nigh onto deaf from all those years working with loud equipment in your mines.”