The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  “Does he expect us to wait around until he sends a note or something?” Topsy scratched his jaw.

  “Maybe.” Dash had no intention of waiting around, though. He may have lost the element of surprise, but he wouldn’t let Pitch get away. And if that blackguard laid a finger on Abby—

  His gaze landed on a fragment of snow ten or so yards away, where a path split off the main road. Why was there snow there, on an otherwise dirt trail? He guided Six toward it.

  “What is it?” Bynum followed.

  “Not sure.”

  It wasn’t snow. It was a handkerchief, soaked in the middle with blood, its edges clean and white, like it had been folded and pressed against a wound. He dismounted and picked it up.

  He’d seen it before, with the A stitched in the corner. Held it at the handkerchief dance.

  Fury tightened his stomach and fisted his fingers. “They went this way.”

  “You sure?” Bynum dismounted beside him.

  “They left a trail after all.” He held up the hankie.

  Bynum sucked in a breath. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You sure? You’ve got Hildie and little ones to consider.”

  “Abby’s part of my household, Dash. My family. I want to get her home. Hildie’d be the first to tell me yes.”

  All right, then. He looked up at the others. “Where does this path lead?”

  “Nowhere.” Mayor Carpenter shook his head. “At the end of it some pioneer built a sod house and gave up one winter. Still owns the property, but nobody lives there.”

  “Sounds like a good place to hide and think.” Dash mounted Six. “No one needs to come with me.”

  Isaac shook his head. “No way is Micah coming to that. He needs to go home.”

  “Agreed. Take him back.”

  “I’d rather help bring this monster in.” Isaac twisted in the saddle. “Is anyone else heading back?”

  “Sy.” Dash nodded at him. “You’re going back.”

  “Naw I’m not. I’m old enough.”

  “I need a man I can trust to get Micah back to his mother, and then tell the sheriff where we’re going. Tell them everything you’ve seen, and don’t argue with me. We’re wasting time.”

  With a ragged breath, he nodded. “Come on, Micah. Wanna gallop?”

  “Not that fast,” Isaac cautioned as they left. Micah whooped.

  “Let’s go.” Dash waved his arm and led the charge, clutching the bloodstained handkerchief in his hand.

  Pitch had done this to Abby. Dear Lord, protect her. And protect Pitch from me when I get ahold of him.

  Pitch squeezed Abby to him like he was wringing out a dishrag. Did he want her to suffocate? Try to breathe. Focus on something. Like using the wits God had given her, finding landmarks on the path. Two bare cottonwoods. A stump. If she managed to escape—

  “Whoa.” Pitch tugged Jasper’s reins.

  It was an old sod cabin, long abandoned, by the sunk-in looks of it. Come spring, flowers would probably grow on the roof. It might actually look charming then, instead of like a decomposing onion.

  Pitch alighted from Jasper’s back and tied the reins to a broken post beneath a dilapidated shelter that had once been a chicken coop, maybe. “Get down.”

  It ached, holding on to the saddle horn with bound hands, then swinging herself down. When her feet touched ground, she leaned her head against Jasper’s side to catch her breath.

  “Enough of that.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her around the sod house to a wood door held in place with fraying leather straps. Before going inside, he held her jaw and tugged it open to pinch out the handkerchiefs he’d stuffed there. She resisted the urge to bite him, but she didn’t want the gags again.

  Her mouth was dry, which reminded her—

  “Jasper’s wheezing. He needs a drink.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  Clearly he didn’t mean water. “I thought you didn’t approve of mistreating animals?”

  “You ever stop talking?” He shoved her inside the dark soddy.

  At least it was warmer in here. Not by much, without a stove, but it was out of the wind. A faint odor of stagnant water permeated the stale air. “Who lived here?”

  He pushed her onto her bustled bottom against the wall behind the door and pulled an upended crate to the window where he could sit. “It’s empty, is all I care. I’ve spent a lot of time exploring the area in case a need arose.”

  “Sure took you long enough to identify Micah.”

  “Because I was careful, Abby. A wise man bides his time. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

  “The blizzard worked well to your advantage, didn’t it? You had time to get to know the boys without arousing suspicion.”

  “The blizzard had help, where the school’s concerned.” His grin was impish. “I loosened a section of the schoolhouse roof several weeks back. Figured once we had a good storm, the roof wouldn’t hold and the students would have to come my way. Of course, if the blizzard had hit two hours later, everyone would’ve been home already. But the risk paid off.”

  “You sabotaged the school, endangered the lives of every one of those children, for a chance to talk to the boys?” If her hands weren’t tied, Lord help her, she’d grab her knife and put it to good use.

  But they were tied, and she couldn’t get to her knife without him seeing it. Maybe if he focused hard enough outside, watching for the men, she could at least unfasten the ribbons holding it to her stocking.

  “I make opportunities, Abby. That’s how I get by.”

  “You could’ve gotten by any number of different ways, as talented as you are. You could’ve been a famous artist, or engraved for the government.”

  His derisive laugh made her stomach burn. “No wonder Dash likes you. Such spunk. Were you like that in Chicago, when you were together? The banker’s daughter and the hostler? Micah’s mother liked to read stories like that, rich lady and the servant.”

  His gaze fixed outside the window, so she shifted position. The rustle drew his immediate attention, but she hadn’t done anything beyond getting more comfortable where her bustle was concerned. And positioning her right leg where all she had to do was lift her skirt and grab her knife.

  “You want to know how I knew Micah was my boy Junior? Not his looks or his build. He must take after a grandparent on Nancy’s side or something, but I saw all I needed to in my parlor, when the wind was lashing the house. When he’s scared, he gets a look just like his mother used to. That’s how I knew he was mine.”

  “You must have seen that look from Micah’s mother a lot. She had to have been afraid of you, to run from you.”

  “I could’ve made her understand, but she didn’t give me a chance. It wasn’t fair. I may be a lot of things, but I am fair.”

  “Not to the federal government, flooding the market with your phony bills. Not to the families of the people you’ve killed.”

  “Your father deserved it. He went back on his word. I can’t allow people to do that.”

  “You must know what you do is wrong, else you wouldn’t change your name and hide.”

  “How’d you find all this out, Abby?” He changed the subject. “How’d you know where Micah was?”

  She gulped. Half the truth would suffice. “The Secret Service paid me to come teach here. I was supposed to wire an operative when I identified your son.”

  “And now they’ll know what I look like. Micah and I will have to remain hidden from here on out, but that’s all right. How’s your neck? You’re not stanching the blood anymore.”

  “The hankie got full. May I use part of my, er, underthings as a bandage?”

  He thought a moment. “Go ahead.”

  “Turn away, then. I won’t have you ogling me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Chuckling, he shifted and stared out the window.

  She’d have to be careful. And fast. She reached beneath her skirts and found the seam of her cotton slip. Tugging at it would be ea
sier if her hands weren’t bound, but she’d die before asking Pitch for assistance. She yanked and stitches ripped. Then, so hasty her fingers fumbled, she loosened the ties around the knife so she could rub the rope against the blade—

  “Finished?”

  “No, but I do not require your help.”

  “Ten seconds, Abby.”

  She ripped more of her slip to cover the sound, then rubbed the rope against the edge of the knife for a few seconds. No use. Bundling the strip of her slip, she reached up to press it into her neck.

  Pitch was watching her when she finished. “I’m working out a plan, how to trade you for Micah. If all goes well, you’ll be back at the Elmores’ in a night or two. Depends on how easily I can get a message to Lassiter and make arrangements.”

  “I’ll be home, and you’ll have Micah?”

  “Of course. A woman shouldn’t take a boy from his father, Abby.” Pitch watched her, his stare cold and unblinking as a snake’s. “That’s kidnapping.”

  “So’s this.”

  His laugh caused her skin to break into goose pimples. It would be a long, frightening night if he kept watching her like that.

  A twig snapped outside the sod house—or an icicle broke. Something made noise, and Pitch stood and glimpsed out the side of the window. “Don’t see nobody. Must be the horse. Keep your mouth shut, anyway.”

  He inched to the door and opened it a crack.

  A resounding boom sounded in Abby’s ears. Pitch flew backward, landing faceup, his eyes wide.

  CHAPTER 22

  The door opened with a violent crash. Bodies filled the sod house, men—oh, it was Dash, grim expression flattening his lips, rifle in his hands. His sweeping gaze took in Abby but didn’t linger as he moved to stand over Pitch. He glanced at the blood soaking the top half of Pitch’s pant leg.

  Pitch blinked. “Huh. Not only did you find me, but you actually hit me, hostler. Impressive.”

  “I’m not a hostler. I’m an operative for the United States Secret Service.”

  Pitch’s smile was disarming. Perhaps that’s why Abby screamed when he swept one leg beneath Dash’s feet, sending him to his knees. He knocked the rifle from Dash’s grip and pummeled him in the face.

  Abby reached to her calf and worked the ropes against the knife. No use, but she could untie the knife. She clutched it with her bound hands and scrambled to her feet. Someone—Isaac—shoved Abby outside, into someone’s arms. Bynum. Glad as she was to see him, his weren’t the arms she wanted.

  Bynum’s eyes softened at the sight of her neck. “Let’s get you where it’s safe, Miss Abby.”

  “No, Bynum. Dash—”

  “It’s decided. We each have a job, and mine is to get you away from here.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.” She wriggled from his gentle hold and hurried back into the sod house.

  Dash and several other men aimed guns at Pitch, but Pitch held a pistol at Isaac’s head.

  Dash cocked his pistol. “Drop the weapon, Pitch.”

  “Like killing a postmaster is going to add any jail time?” He licked his lips. “Drop your weapons, all of you, or his brains’ll be—”

  “Enough.” Nodding at the others to do the same, Dash lowered his pistol to the floor. “You aren’t the shy violet you pretend to be, are you?”

  Pitch grinned. “Now tell your friends outside to toss their weapons in here and then lie down in the snow, or I kill Flowers and then your Abby, who stupidly rushed in after you.”

  Had she made things worse? Abby hugged herself.

  “Do what he says,” Dash yelled outside. His hands rose in the air.

  One by one, the men outside came to the threshold and tossed weapons inside. Knives, hunting rifles, shotguns, and—were those hammers and a saw? “Lie in the snow on your stomachs, hands over your heads.” Pitch watched to ensure they obeyed. When he was satisfied, he jutted his chin at Dash. “Now you fellas. Get out.”

  Mr. Topsy and someone she didn’t know filed out of the sod house, leaving Dash last. Surely he had a plan. But so did she.

  “Dash! I’m sorry,” she said in her best fake blubber.

  He glanced at her, tender-eyed, before she held out the knife, hilt first. His sad eyes widened and he reached, but Pitch stretched out for it too.

  It left Abby’s hands, but into whose, she wasn’t sure. Pitch and Dash tussled, too close together for her to assist. Isaac dashed back inside, gathering the rifle and turning it on its end, ready to hit Pitch with the butt, but Pitch and Dash rolled over one another, kicking, grappling, wrestling for the knife. Dash punched Pitch in the jaw once, twice, thrice before Pitch kneed him, flipping him onto his back.

  The knife was between them as they thrashed. Dear Lord, help.

  “Don’t do it, Pitch.” Dash’s voice was strangled. Was he begging for his life?

  No. Something else, because Pitch went still and fell atop Dash.

  Abby gripped Pitch’s shoulder and tugged, but he was too heavy for her. Isaac hauled him off, revealing the knife lodged at a steep angle in Pitch’s gut.

  Scrambling to his knees, Dash yanked his scarf from his neck and plunged the blue yarn into Pitch’s stomach. “Isaac, we need the doctor, now.”

  “Don’t think it’ll make much difference,” Isaac said.

  “It was an accident. I had the upper hand, but he kept fighting—I warned him. I’ve gotta keep him alive to serve his time.” Dash pushed with both hands, but blood soaked the scarf, pooling on the floor. The color drained from Pitch’s face.

  Abby couldn’t move, much less breathe. Four years of agony, grief, pain, all stemming from the actions of this man, culminated in this moment. For so long, she’d wanted to see Pitch brought to justice, feel the satisfaction of knowing he would pay for what he’d done to her and so many others. Yet now, knowing full well he would have killed her and every man here, those things fell away, replaced by a need so great, she fell to her knees in his line of sight.

  She felt the weight of Dash’s gaze. “You got something to say, you better say it now.”

  Lord, give me words. “Look at me, Pitch.”

  His blue gaze was cold as ice.

  “You think I’m going to tell you how much I hate you, but I’m not. I wanted to tell you … we have something in common. Our hearts.”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw.

  “I’m pretty sure yours has been an open wound, just like mine, since our true loves left us. Dash and Nancy. Fairness is important to you, right? Well, it wasn’t fair, what they did, leaving without a word, as if everything we’d been through didn’t count for anything. As if we’d imagined those moments of tenderness. My dreams died. I expect yours did too. How do you heal from a betrayal like that?”

  He stared into her eyes, his breath gurgling, but he didn’t try to speak. Just as well. She’d rather he listened.

  “I didn’t want to forgive Dash, ever, but I did for two reasons. One, hate turned me into a person I didn’t like. Two, I’d forgotten that God chose to forgive me even though I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t earn it. All I could do was ask for it, and it was there. He helped me forgive Dash and my father, for getting involved with you. And now, I forgive you too, because I refuse to waste another minute of my life drowning in bitterness.”

  Pitch leaned his head back, exposing his throat like the pain was more than he could bear. His gaze bore into hers, however. Hateful. Unrepentant. But he was still listening.

  “One other thing. Dash left me because he thought it was best for me. Nancy left you because it was best for Micah. Because you’ve done awful, awful things. You still have time, but soon, you’re either going to meet the county judge or meet your Maker. The judge won’t be lenient, but God’s willing to forgive you. The choice is yours.”

  Folks mumbled, something about the likes of Pitch not belonging in heaven. But Abby didn’t belong there either. Not on her own merit. Only God’s grace saved her. Nothing else.

  Pitch didn’t answer
. Just wheezed.

  She rose and joined Bynum outside. Things were between God and Pitch now.

  Dash fought the blood pumping out of Pitch’s stomach until the doctor arrived with Sheriff Grayson. His arms ached, but his efforts might not have been worth it. “Will he make it, Doc?”

  “Too soon to say.” The doctor glanced up. “He lost a lot of blood.”

  “Lassiter.” The sheriff drew him outside, where it was colder but the air didn’t reek of blood. “Guess the world knows you’re not a hostler now.”

  “The secret’s out.” Dash leaned against the sod wall, resting his head.

  The sheriff nudged Dash’s face to the side, where Pitch had landed a good punch. “Ought to have the doctor look at that.”

  “Abby’s more important.” Dash’s gaze met hers. She sat on the crate several yards from the house, three men tending her like hens. Bynum packed snow into a handkerchief to numb the pain in her neck, and Knapp stood by with his loose necktie, probably to wind over it like a bandage. Topsy stood by with furrowed brow, instructing them what to do.

  The sheriff spit in the snow. “She’ll turn out well enough.”

  “Mr. Lassiter.” Mayor Carpenter approached, hand extended to shake. At seeing Dash’s bloody fingers, he offered a clean handkerchief instead. “Job well done. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you later, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.” Probably legalities. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get to Abby.

  “A celebration is in order. The blizzard is past and our community is safe again. Tomorrow at two, town hall for cake. I’ll order it from the café.”

  “I’ll be there,” the sheriff said as the mayor went off, sharing the news of the celebration with the others. He glanced at Dash. “I can tell your attention is elsewhere. Go be with your woman.”

  Dash didn’t need any more of an invitation. He held her gaze as he crunched over the snow.

  Bynum patted Abby’s hand. “I’m gonna check with the doctor, see when he can take a look at you, Abby. Later, back at the house? You aren’t bleeding much anymore.”