Mary

by Raine Cantrell

  Rafe led them off the back of the mesa, opposite the trail where they had ridden up. He skirted most of the canyons, and found trails where Mary swore there were none to be seen.

  Twice he left them and rode off alone, only to return within the hour and change their direction.

  Mary couldn’t lie to herself. There was a level of pitched excitement mixed with the danger. It heightened her senses in a way she had only known in Rafe’s arms. She could compare it to nothing else. Every detail impressed itself on her mind, every scent was savored.

  They nooned in a dry wash, eating cold pan bread and bacon that Rafe had cooked in the morning. Mary longed for coffee, but Rafe said no fire, it wasn’t safe.

  A subtle darkening warned that nightfall was approaching when Rafe rode back and asked if Mary could ride another hour.

  “We’ve a stretch of flat, open land to cross, then we’ll be home.” He leaned over to touch Beth. “That all right with you?”

  Beth roused herself and nodded. She cuddled closer to Mary and promptly closed her eyes.

  “Mary, can you stand Shell’s presence one more night?”

  “It’s not for me—”

  “Yes, it is. I promise you that’s all the time he’ll be with us.”

  “You don’t make promises, Rafe.”

  He stripped the lead rope from her saddle. “Shell will take them across. You ride in front of him. When I move out, whip Owl after me. There’s a twisted pine and a boulder against the canyon wall. It looks like a dead end, but go around the boulder.”

  She reached out and caught his arm. “Rafe, where will you be?”

  “Covering you. Don’t look back. I’m depending on you.”

  He rode back to hand over the rope to Shell. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t do this. She was frightened. But to give in to the fear meant risking Beth’s life and her own.

  “Hold tight, Beth.”

  She urged Owl up past Shell. Her hands were wrapped around the reins, her heels poised in the stirrups to slam against her horse’s sides the moment Rafe moved out.

  Then Mary went very still. “Where will you be?” she had asked Rafe. “Covering you,” he’d replied.

  The Apache were here!

  Rafe raced out across the flat. She had no time to think. Mary loosened her grip on the reins, giving the horse her head. She slammed her bootheels into Owl’s sides, and the startled horse moved in a sideways hop before she took off in a ground-eating stride after Rebel. She saw something move in the rocks, but her shout was lost in a volley of shots.

  The roar of guns and the shrill cries of the Indians were all about her.

  Ahead, she saw Rafe slide from his saddle, giving her and Beth covering fire as they swept past him. Rebel had started up the trail. Mary caught up his reins and swept him along. Shell was coming up behind her with the pack animals and needed the room.

  But Rafe was down there, alone and on foot.

  Rebel came to a sudden stop. Pawing the earth, tossing his head, the horse wouldn’t move, despite her tugging the reins. Mary turned to ask Shell for help and found herself alone with Beth and the pack animals.

  Then she heard the alternate methodical firing, so at odds with the pounding that filled her ears.

  As quickly as the shooting had begun, it stopped.

  Mary waged war with herself. Rafe depended on her to stay with Beth. But she was afraid that Shell had gone back to kill him.

  Without warning, Shell limped into view on the trail.

  “McCade’s coming,” he said. “The Apache won’t follow. They believe this place is haunted.”

  Mary nodded. In her pocket, her hand remained on the gun Rafe had returned to her. She would believe him when she saw Rafe. She waited agonizing minutes.

  He arrived as Shell had, without warning. “Let’s go home.”

  All Mary remembered of the next hour was that they climbed higher. Once they had to get down and walk the horses through a tunnel formed by nature. The roof, Rafe said, was a slice of mountain. The muffled sound of the animals echoed from the walls.

  The cooler air warned her they neared the end of the tunnel. The difference in darkness was too faint to matter. The fact that Rafe had carried Beth told her they were safe. Rebel’s shrill cry was made in the open, and brought answering whinnies and the thunder of running horses.

  Grass tips brushed Mary’s knees, and the rich scent of pine and cedar filled every breath she drew. Rafe’s voice pierced her exhausted state. He spoke in normal tones as he moved among the milling horses toward her.

  He held Beth in one arm, his other arm was spread in invitation.

  Mary stepped closer. His arm tightened around her. There was no need for words, beyond his whisper of her name. It only lasted a few moments, this silent need to touch, to hold and be held. Mary became aware of how deeply frightened she had been when the wash of relief left weariness in its wake.

  Rafe pressed a kiss to her temple, nearly knocking off her hat. “Can you ride a little farther? It’s too long a walk to the house.”

  She mounted with his help. “Let me take Beth.”

  “She’s asleep, Mary. A heavy burden.”

  “Not to me.” She didn’t imagine his hesitation, or the underlying message they had exchanged. She felt as if she had won a victory when he lifted Beth up to her, but it was too much to sort out tonight.

  It seemed only minutes later, though she knew it was longer, that Rafe took Beth from her, then returned to lift her from the saddle. She wanted to protest that she could walk, but the words remained unspoken. She felt the give of the bed beneath her, the brush of Rafe’s lips against her own, then the tug of her boots coming free. Her eyes felt too heavy to open. The thick warmth of a blanket covered her.

  She murmured some protest, for she heard Rafe whisper in her ear. “No, you rest now, Mary. Let me be strong for you.”

  She tried to stay awake, needing to tell him that they could be strong together, but the soft pillow and the feel of Rafe’s hand stroking her hair urged her to sleep. She wasn’t fully aware that she turned onto her side and drew Beth’s small body into the nestling curve of hers.

  Rafe stood watching them. There was a rightness to the two of them lying there, the same rightness that urged him to lie down beside Mary and hold these two precious beings in his arms.

  There was more love and courage in this fragile-looking woman than any man could hope to find. And he wanted to keep her safe for all of her days.

  But Shell waited.

  He leaned over to kiss his daughter’s head, then couldn’t resist brushing his lips against Mary’s cheek. He touched the shadow beneath Mary’s eyes and knew he could wait a little longer to make his claim.

  Mary woke to a furball’s rumble. Yawning and stretching she blinked sleepy eyes at the kitten curled on her chest.

  Gently moving her to Beth’s side, Mary sat up in a stream of sunlight from the room’s single window. She had vague impressions of their arrival last night.

  A fire burned low in the stone fireplace across from the wide double bed. The mantel was a thick slab of stone, with a lone candlestick and a bluish-green pottery vase its only ornaments. The walls were lined with the pale red and cream streaks of split cedar.

  Nowhere she looked, from the wall pegs holding her hat, jacket and shawl, to the straight chair where her carpetbag sat unopened, to the plainly made yellow pine chest next to the chair, did she see signs of Rafe’s wealth. Even the water pitcher and washbowl on the pine stand were of the same dull glazed bluish-green pottery as the vase.

  The room pleased her in its simplicity. She slipped from the bed and noticed the small rugs scattered on the wide planked floor. Bright colors were woven in designs she knew were from Navajo weavers.

  The door was closed. Rising, she pushed back her tangled hair and realized she had slept in her clothes. Yesterday’s toll was measured in muscle twinges as she stepped across to her bag.

  A little while later, when Mar
y lifted the latch and opened the door, she found herself in a short stone hallway. The murmur of male voices and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lured her past a closed door, toward the curtained arch at the end of the hall.

  The large room’s stone walls were spattered with sunlight from a recessed window three times the size of the one in the bedroom.

  Mary looked at where Rafe and Shell sat on curved-backed chairs at a trestle table in front of the window. She had a brief glance at the view offered, the lush length of the valley they had traversed in the dark last night.

  But Rafe saw her and rose. She had eyes for nothing else.

  There were faint shadows beneath his eyes—a match, she thought, for her own, seen in the mirror. He was clean-shaven, and his high cheekbones were prominent. His black hair was mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it. That truant lock drew her gaze down to his open-necked shirt and the dark curling hair on his chest. It was an enticing peek at the muscled hardness beneath the sage-green shirt that intensified the gray of his eyes.

  Having made his own head-to-toe survey to assure himself that she was all right, Rafe smiled.

  “Come and join us, Mary. I’ll make the official welcome with coffee and breakfast.”

  “Just coffee, please.” The male appreciation in his gaze and the slow smile creasing his lips were food enough for any woman. Despite having picked out the dark brown skirt and white shirtwaist as the least wrinkled of her clothing, she knew she didn’t look her best. Rafe made her feel beautiful. Pinching her cheeks hadn’t brought too much color to her face, but she could feel the heat of a blush spread now.

  Shell, who sat with his back toward her, had not turned around. Mary knew she had interrupted them. She became aware of the tense air between them.

  She approached the table and saw not the expected remains of breakfast, but coffee cups. In the center of the table were a folded piece of paper, with a deck of cards on top, and a gun. Rafe’s gun.

  “Beth’s still sleeping,” she volunteered, as if it mattered, as if anything mattered but that gun on the table. Her legs were trembling. She sat down opposite of Rafe. She sipped the coffee that Rafe poured for her. He resumed his seat. There was some sensible reason for that gun being on the table.

  “I’m glad you’re up, Mary. I wanted you to hear the deal I’ve offered Shell. This way, we’ll both have a witness.”

  “A witness?” she repeated, unable to tear her gaze from those three items. There was nothing to fear, she told herself. Rafe is speaking so calmly, there can’t be any reason for this stomach-tightening sensation.

  “I’ve offered to play a hand of poker with Shell,” Rafe explained. He saw her pale, and wanted to reassure her, but she didn’t look up or question him.

  “You know what Shell was hired to do, Mary,” he continued. “I’m offering Shell an opportunity to take another path.”

  “Hell, spell it out plain for her, like you did to me, McCade.” Shell tossed down the last of his coffee and pushed his cup aside. “He wants to play poker for your lives.”

  “Our…what?” Mary had to look at Rafe. She had seen his face through a range of emotions, but never so set with a hardness that chilled her. A denial went begging on her lips, but Rafe nodded.

  “It’s true, Mary. And simple enough. If Shell draws the high card, he wins the hand, and he walks away a rich man. I told him I’ll sign over my shares to the Cañón del Agua mine to him. But he’ll have to deal with the men who hired him. Vargas, Trent and Malhar are his problems.”

  “And if you win, Rafe?” she asked, unable to keep a quiver from her voice. She wanted to scream that they were both crazy. She sat there.

  “If I win, I’ll have to kill him. Shell has his own code of honor, as I explained to you once before. He won’t stop hunting me until he kills me. Remember, Mary, nothing personal. Just business.”

  “No. No, you can’t—”

  “I can and I will, Mary. I did mention to him that despite his reluctance to make war on women and children, he’ll have to eliminate you and Beth. Then he needs to return to Hillsboro. Sarah and Catherine know about him. And I warned Shell not to be fooled by townsfolk calling them merry widows as if they were flighty bits of fluff. Those two are handy with their guns. But that’s something Shell will find out for himself. He’ll worry, too, who else they may have told.

  “I’ve made no secret of the letter I sent to my lawyer naming Shell Lundy and Balen as hired killers. I also authorized him to take twenty-five thousand dollars from my estate as a reward for each man who brought them to justice.”

  “A damn high price you put on yourself, McCade.”

  Rafe looked at Shell. He smiled at the younger man with his lips, but there was nothing but a cold promise in his eyes.

  “No, it’s not that I place a high value on my life. I want to make sure that every bounty hunter, even worms like Balen, will crawl from their rocks to track you.”

  “Rafe! For the Lord’s sake, stop this. You can’t mean to—”

  “Why not? It’s civilized, Mary. A bloodless business deal.”

  His emotionless delivery infuriated her. She pushed back the chair and rose, her hands gripping the table as she felt her control slip. She closed her eyes, then shook her head. She looked at Rafe again. No. She had not been mistaken. There was a plea for understanding in his eyes. A plea to trust him as she never had before.

  As abruptly as she rose, Mary sat down. She held on to the cup with her hands wrapped around it. Suddenly she was cold.

  “There, Shell, it’s now your call. Cards or—”

  “McCade, I’ve met some men in my time, men as crazy as sheepherders trying to settle on a cattle range, but you…Ain’t never met a man like you.”

  Mary heard admiration in Shell’s voice, and she thought of what he said. She wished she was dreaming. Then every breath wouldn’t hurt so much. She tried glancing around the room, but couldn’t take in one detail. And she found herself answering Shell.

  “You’re right. You never met a man like Rafe. And what’s more, you never will.”

  The slight inclination of Rafe’s head made her feel proud. Absurd, but true. Mary realized that Shell had tilted his head and was watching her.

  “You’ll do the honors and shuffle the cards.” He passed the deck to her before she could protest. “To keep it all fair. McCade won’t object.”

  “Rafe?”

  “Go ahead, Mary. Like he said, to keep it fair.”

  This wasn’t happening. She told herself that, even as she reached for the deck. The words strung together like a litany, but she couldn’t keep her hands from trembling so badly that all she could do was divide the cards into small piles and restack them. She managed that much twice before Shell took pity on her and passed the deck to Rafe.

  “Let’s keep it honest and simple, McCade. One cut. High card wins.”

  Mary watched Rafe. He wasn’t even looking at the cards. He split the deck evenly, fanned a pile in each hand, then smoothly fit the deck into a whole again. There was no hesitation in his long fingers as he spread the deck across the table in front of him. With the flip of one card, the row was faceup and once more formed into a piled deck.

  “Enough?” he asked Shell.

  “You put the stakes on the table, McCade. You draw first. And you’ve got more riding on that one card than I have.”

  Rafe sliced a small pile of cards from the deck. He set it facedown in front of him.

  Mary wasn’t sure if he knew the card he’d drawn. He didn’t smile, nor did Rafe look worried. She tried to take heart from the firm set of his granite-cut features. All she saw was the tarnished silver of his eyes.

  “Before I make my cut, McCade, I want you to know that I like you. I think we’re two of a kind. Another time and place we’d have been friends. You’re a man I’d ride the river with.”

  “We can be friends, Shell, if you draw the high card.”

  Shell nodded. He shifted his body in
the chair and hoped no one saw his swift move to wipe his palm on his pants. He raised his hand to the deck. He’d done a share of gambling, and he was not easily bluffed, but McCade made him fight to keep his hand steady.

  “Go on, Shell, cut.”

  “How do you know I’ll keep my word, McCade? I could take that paper you signed and still hunt you.”

  “You could.” Rafe sat back in his chair, one arm hooked over the curved edge. “But if a man gives his word, and can’t abide by it, what kind of a man is he, Shell?”

  “He can’t be called a man at all.”

  The words were whispered. Shell cut the deck. He held the cards faceup toward him. His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Rafe.

  “Set them down. Let’s see what you’ve drawn.”

  Shell’s pile was almost half the deck. The seven of diamonds lay on top.

  “What are the odds—”

  “About sixty-forty that I’ve drawn the higher card,” Rafe answered before Shell finished his question.

  “Mary? Are you praying?”

  “What?” She looked up to see a smile on his lips.

  “I asked if you were praying.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m praying.” The words were torn from her.

  Rafe turned over his cards. The two of spades was on top.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She worked through the day as if a devil were riding her, when she should have felt relief. Rafe had packed supplies for Shell and led him out of the valley, where he’d cross the Plains of San Augustine then go north to Santa Fe.

  There was little to do in the kitchen, which was no more than an alcove off the main room. Rafe and Shell had stocked the storeroom with the supplies. There was a well, and a stream that ran down the far side of the valley.

  She checked on Beth, who was seated beneath the spreading branches of an ancient pine, where she served a lunch of pinecones and needles to her doll and the sleeping kitten.

  Slabs of stone formed a path from the back door that led to a stone overhang. The small herd of horses, her mare among them, cropped the lush grass.