Wyoming Heather

by DeAnn Smallwood

  “Man,” Whip repeated, his voice loud. “Man, Jesse? Man?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Mman. Hhh.” She gulped again as the words tore from her throat. “H-Heather. Man-Heather.”

  “Oh, God,” Whip moaned to himself. “Jesse, you’re doing real good, honey. Are you telling me a man has Heather?”

  Jesse nodded emphatically. Then she raised her small arms, extending one in front of the other miming a rifle. “Bbb, BANG.” The word exploded.

  “Can you show me? Can you take me to Heather?” His words were tangled with fear and anguish. He had to get to Heather, and he had to get there quickly.

  Jesse nodded.

  By now, several of the hands had rushed over. Whip motioned to one of them.

  “Get horses. Get my horse and you come with me. I’ll need you to bring Jesse back if we don’t find Heather. Go, man. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  In minutes he had Jesse in front of him, her hands clutching the pommel as Whip spurred the horse faster and faster.

  Time stopped as they sped toward the pasture following the little girl’s points and gestures. Every so often, a word formed on her lips as she directed them to where she had left Heather. That she was speaking was lost on Whip. He had thoughts only for the woman he loved. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose again.

  When they broke through the trees, Whip saw the pasture and the churned up ground. There was no sign of Heather. He vaulted from his horse and rushed over to the trampled ground. He put one lean finger on a spot of red soaking into the ground. Blood. He stood up, a haze engulfing him as his heart beat with deafening cadence. He took a deep breath. It would do Heather no good if he gave in to the fear and hopelessness washing over him.

  “Take Jesse back to the ranch. I’ll go on. When Buster shows back up, tell him what happened. Tell him Heather’s been shot and the dirty.” He swallowed back the epithet, seeing the horror on the child’s face. “The man that did it has her.”

  Without waiting to see his orders followed, he mounted his horse. Leaning over its side, Whip’s eyes never left the ground as they searched for tracks. Seeing them, he spurred the horse forward.

  Chapter 40

  The trail wound up into the hills. The man either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that he was leaving a map behind him. A map that Whip was following as quickly as possible.

  Whip slowed his horse to a stop as he neared an open area banked by a rock-strewn mountain. He was familiar with the area and knew of several small caves around there, any of which would offer protection for the man while placing Whip out in the open, an easy target. Time was running out. He knew that if he moved too quickly or without thinking through every angle, he would risk getting shot, or he would risk Heather’s life, if she was alive. He stopped that thought before it could grow. She was alive. He knew it. He felt it.

  He spent a precious minute studying the situation. Then, resolutely and with purpose, he turned his horse back the way he came. He’d have to use valuable time and circle the mountain, coming in from the back side, picking his way easy and slow with the hope of catching the culprit off guard. It was the only way.

  Minutes went by like hours. When he was as close as he dared ride, he slipped from his horse, tying it to a tree branch. Whip took off on foot. Gratitude filled him for the lessons taught when he was with Buster’s people. He put those lessons to good use now, making sure each step was carefully placed before allowing himself to move forward. No pebble was loosened; no sound was made.

  Finally he saw what he’d hoped for. He was looking down on a cave ledge and the flattened body of a man and a gun. The man was scanning the open meadow where Whip would have been picked off as easy as a bear picking berries. His throat was dry. He searched for a glimpse of Heather, but saw only the man’s back. She must be further inside the cave.

  With a supple movement, Whip crouched over and picked up a couple of rocks. With a snap of his arm, he threw them into some bushes at the edge of the meadow. The man reacted the way Whip had hoped he would. He rose to his feet and fired off a shot in that direction.

  “Whip Johnson,” the man called. “I know it’s you. Been watching you and your woman. She’s right pretty. Pretty like your first one.” The maniacal laugh floated up to Whips ears. “You got that one killed and, if you don’t show yourself, the one inside the cave will be next. I come back for you. I got nowhere else to go, I’m tired of spending my life running from you. You hear me, Johnson? I got nothing to lose. But you? You got lots. You got another woman to bury.”

  Whip fought back the bile rising in his throat. He fought down the strong and primal urge to come roaring at the man, to get his hands around the killer’s throat. But he was a lawman, sworn to uphold the law. He’d hunted this man too long to let anger and hate rule his good sense.

  The man’s every nerve focused on the meadow before him.

  Whip lowered his rifle to the ground. He tensed his body into a coil of muscle and, pushing with the balls of his feet, flew off the mountain rim. When he hit his target, the impetus carried them both dangerously close to the overhang’s edge. The man underneath made no attempt to shake him loose. The air had been knocked out of him. There was no fight left, and he lay there, unconscious. Whip kicked the outlaw’s rifle away from the body. He bent over, hands on his knees, and took in deep gulps of air, glad he hadn’t been the one on the bottom.

  Scared of what he’d find, Whip rose shakily to his feet and went to the back of the cave. Heather, hands tied behind her back, lay on her side, blood trickling from the wound at the side of her head. He saw the rise and fall of her chest. She was alive. He didn’t take precious time to exam the gunshot. The killer might come to any second. Quickly, he untied Heather, aching at the sight of the raw burns the rope had made around her wrists.

  Using the same rope, he threw the outlaw onto his stomach, and with the ease of someone used to roping calves, tied his hands to his feet. It was an uncomfortable position, but one that would render him helpless.

  He had no choice but to leave Heather while he clambered up the side of the mountain to his horse. Leading it back down, Whip dropped the reins at the mouth of the cave. With his heart pounding in his throat, he hurried to Heather’s still form and curled her into his arms. For a moment, he closed his eyes in a prayer of thankfulness as he felt her heart beating steadily against his chest.

  He cushioned her body with his as he rode back to his ranch. Tears formed in his eyes as the realization of how close he’d come to losing this woman that held his heart and his reason for being. He tenderly brushed his lips across her forehead.

  They were nearing the ranch when she stirred, a moan passing between her lips. She opened her eyes.

  “Whip,” she said weakly. “I-I’ve been shot.”

  “I know you have, sweetheart. But thank God the bullet only grazed the side of your head. A hair more and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He hugged her even tighter against him.

  “Jesse?” Her voice faint.

  “She’s okay, honey. She came through for both of us.” Then, realization dawned on him. “She’s talking, Heather. Jesse is talking. She told me about you. She . . .” Then he stopped, looking down at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were closed and she had once more surrendered to the pain and shock. This time, though, his heart was lighter. His Heather was okay. Jesse was okay. And his quest was ended. The man who had stolen five years of his life, to say nothing of the woman he’d loved, was tied in a cave, waiting for justice.

  He hadn’t gone much farther when a group of riders approached riding hard, but it was the man in the lead that gave him the relief he needed. Buster.

  In a few minutes the brave was briefed, and he and the men left immediately to go to the cave. Whip spurred his horse on. Heather needed care. She needed rest and she needed him. He needed her, and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t waited too long to tell this precious woman what she meant to him.
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br />   In minutes, he was kicking open the cabin door and laying Heather gently on his bed. Taking the teakettle from the stove, he poured some warm water in a pan and, getting a cloth, set to cleaning her wound. Just as he’d first thought, the bullet had grazed her forehead. It would be painful, but it would heal. Wringing out the bloody rag, he started to tremble. The close call swept over him. He staggered over to the stove and, with shaking hands, poured himself a cup of coffee. He was taking a gulp of the strong liquid when he heard a weak, but beautiful, voice, a voice necessary to his life.

  “None for me, cowboy?”

  With a smile on his face, his heart in his eyes, he knelt by the side of the bed and gently raised her head, placing the cup to her lips.

  “You scared the hell out of me, Heather Campbell.”

  “I scared myself, Whip.” She paused, taking another sip of his coffee. “Tell me what happened. Tell me everything. But first, tell me, did I hear you right, Jesse is talking?”

  “She is. It’s an effort, but I have a sense that she’ll gain ground quickly.” Then, sitting beside her, he told her what had happened after she’d been shot. He downplayed his role, but Heather could read between the lines and knew she owed this man her life.

  She reached out her hand and placed it over his. “Whip, I’m so sorry. He-he killed your wife, and then after five years came back for you.”

  Whip nodded. “But it’s over, Heather. I’m free. I’m free of the despair and doubt that has plagued me. I promised justice, and justice has been served. But in the process, I almost lost again.”

  Her look was one of puzzlement. “What, Whip? What did you almost lose?”

  “You. I put you in danger and, with my stubborn focus on my mission, I almost lost the person I value most.” He pulled her to him, his hand tenderly brushing her hair from her face. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose.

  “I love you, Heather Campbell. I want you in my life forever. I want us to combine the two ranches and our two lives. I want us to be together until we’re old and gray.” Then he paused. He’d taken for granted she felt the same way.

  “Do you? Do you, Heather? Do you love me?” He waited, not daring to breathe, not wanting to live if her answer wasn’t what he hoped.

  “I do. I love you so much that the thought of life without you scares me. Oh, Whip. I never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

  A smile creased his face. “You know, Heather, your father was right. I understand what he meant.”

  “My father?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Yes. He said that as long as he had you, he had his heather. Well, he was right. As long as I have you, heather will grow and thrive in Wyoming. You are my Wyoming Heather.”

  She closed her eyes, her heart full. “Whip, you meant it? We’ll combine our ranches?”

  “You bet, honey. And if beef prices stay up, we’ll be sitting pretty.”

  “Pretty enough to build on a couple more rooms to my, our house?”

  “Well,” he said, “yeah, but why? It’s plenty big enough for you, Toby, Jesse, Molly, and me.”

  “Mmm, hmm.” She smiled. “But Alice said there’s an Orphan Train coming through next month and I thought . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, her eyes twinkling at the look on his face.

  “Well now, Heather,” he drawled apprehensively.

  “Yes, Whip?”

  For more from DeAnn Smallwood,

  read about Callie Collins in

  Unconquerable Callie

  Callie Collins, a proud woman in the late 1800’s, is a liar and a darned good one, a master of the dubious art. She is also a dreamer. Her greatest hope is to reach a new life in South Pass City, Wyoming, where she can open a bakery and live an independent life. To be successful, she will need her greatest deception to date, a mythical fiancé who waits at the end of the line. As a woman alone, she has to prove to Seth McCallister, the wagon master, that she has the wherewithal and the stamina to survive months of drought, dust, hardships, and even the risk of death.

  Seth McCallister is mystified by the audacity and determination of Callie Collins. His initial distrust and concern for Callie, a woman traveling alone, opens first to admiration, then friendship, then love, a love that he is forced to hold at bay. What he doesn’t realize is that there is no fiancé. To make matters worse, Callie develops feelings for Seth McCallister, too. Yet she feels certain that once he realizes her deception, he’ll turn away, ashamed of his love and trust in her.

  Available from Amazon and Soul Mate Publishing

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