Charity (Brides of the Rio Grande Book 4)

by Peggy McKenzie

  He waited for a clear shot, but didn’t trust his aim that far away. He might hit Willie and then again, he might hit Charity since her horse was right beside Willie’s.

  Instead, he had to watch as Willie led Charity’s horse down the road toward the west. And within a minute or two, he had rode out of range. Miles couldn’t hit him from here.

  Miles turned away and raced through the forest to get back to his horse. If he could get a little closer, he could get a clear shot and drop the bastard right where he sat.

  Miles reached his horse and pushed his rifle back into the sheath when he heard more horses coming fast. He untied his horse and led him to the edge of the forest where he could peer through the brush and thick cover of trees to see two more riders galloping down the road toward Willie and Charity.

  When they had passed his position, he jumped into the saddle and followed them. At the crest of the hill, he rode into the cover of the tree line and watched them approach Willie. They spoke to each other, and then all three men and Charity’s limp body across her horse headed west. He followed knowing they couldn’t travel fast and there were few places for them to hole up out here. He would track them until he could kill them one by one. And then, he would bring Charity home one way or another.

  His progress was slower going than he wanted, but he kept in the tree line to avoid detection. They were obviously nervous about being followed because they looked behind them frequently. He was knew he was going to have to break off the road and head down to the river to water his horse soon when he saw John Malone’s hunting cabin in the distance. Lucky for him, they rode their horses into the barn beside of it. That’s where they would hole up. It was a long way from reinforcements, but at least they had stopped moving.

  He tied his horse back down the road in the trees far enough away from the road to keep his gelding from greeting other horses that might pass by.

  He didn’t want to give himself away because he needed the element of surprise if he had any hopes of killing all three of them. He took his rifle and all of his ammunition and headed for the high ground to the north of the cabin.

  He’d get set up and then he’d start picking out the windows with his long rifle. Get them all stirred up and then he’d flush them out all at once or one-by-one. It didn’t matter to him. Either way, he was going to take them back to town stretched out over their saddles.

  He set himself up under the cover of some big boulders, beneath the cover of the gigantic Ponderosa pines. Even if they could shoot up this far, the rocks would protect him from their bullets.

  Settled and ready for a gun fight, Miles cocked his rifle and fired a shot into the closest window.

  22

  Charity heard gunshots off in the distance. She sensed she should take cover, but her arms and legs refused move. What was wrong with her? She forced her body to obey her commands and was rewarded with an excruciating pain in her right shoulder. The shock of the pain forced her wide awake and gave her complete clarity of her situation. She remembered now.

  Ben Carter had shot her on the road. Well, she was pretty sure it was Ben Carter. He was the only one she was aware of on the road that could have done it. But why? Only one reason she could think of. He was exactly who Miles had said he was. A criminal and a murderer. Anger pushed her to sit up, but her pain pushed her back down.

  She was in a small bedroom lying on a primitive bed. She heard gunshots going off all around her. What the hell was happening? A bullet hit the wall opposite the single window in the bedroom, the glass was already shattered leaving the window bare. Another bullet thudded into the log wall. Maybe the floor was a safer place to hide.

  Careful to keep her head low, she rolled off the bed in spite of the pain in her shoulder and scooted underneath the bedframe. Where was she and what was going on around her? She heard another volley of shots and then silence. She kept her place under the bed because she wasn’t sure who was shooting at who. Had the good guys won or lost? She heard a horse galloping away and then total silence. Someone ran away, but again who? She kept her position for twenty or thirty minutes to give herself time to think of a plan of escape in case Ben was still the one walking around.

  A horrible thought crossed her mind about then. What if it had been Miles coming after her and ran upon Ben unsuspecting and unprepared. What if it was Miles and his deputies who had been—she couldn’t finish the thought. She prayed that Miles hadn’t come after her although she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn he had. The thought he could get killed because of her actions…she couldn’t live with herself if he did.

  Charity stuck her arm and leg out from underneath the bed to find out what had happened, when she heard the door of the cabin bang open against the wall. Fear pushed her back under the bed to hide. She felt for her side arms and found her holsters empty. Damn it. She wiggled her foot inside her boot and felt it. Thank God Ben hadn’t found her pocket pistol. She inched her foot up and pulled the derringer out of her boot prepared and ready to defend herself.

  She heard boots scrap the rough cedar floor boards. Slow and steady, they moved about the main room of the cabin. Then, she heard the squeak of the hinges on the door to the bedroom. Her heart punched her ribs and she held her breath. If that son-of-a-bitch peeked underneath the bed, she’d blow his damn brains right out of his skull.

  A pair of boots appeared next to the bed. They turned first one way and then another as if their owner was looking for something. She knew what, or who, they were searching for. “Come on, you bastard rat. Come find me.” She whispered and steadied her hand to cock the pistol’s hammer.

  “Charity, what the hell did they do with you?” she heard a whisper.

  Miles? It was Miles. “I’m here, Miles. I’m right here.” She scrambled out from under the bed and tried to stand.

  “Miles, I’m sorry, I—” The room started to spin and she reached for him to steady herself. She felt his hands grab for her and called her name over and over again, but he sounded so far away. She tried to answer but the darkness overtook her.

  Miles braced himself to find Charity’s body in the barn, but she wasn’t there. He had seen Willie bolt away on a horse so he knew he was gone, but he wasn’t sure where his amigos had gone. Cautious, he opened the front door and prepared to defend himself if necessary. Instead, he found one dead by the kitchen window and the other by the other back window.

  There was a closed door between the main room and he assumed a bedroom. That’s where he figured he would find Charity. He braced himself for what he would find on the other side of the door before he opened it. His fear and regret taunted him with the knowledge that his feeble efforts to keep Charity safe had failed.

  He pushed the door open, his gun at the ready. But the room was empty. Confused, he walked around the room. “Charity, what did they do with you?” he wondered out loud. And then a miracle of miracles happened. He heard her voice call back to him. She was hiding under the bed…and she was alive.

  He saw her arms and head peek out from underneath. He helped pull her out from under it, but when she tried to stand, she fainted. He grabbed the gun in her hand and lay it on the bed. Her shirt was crusted with her blood and he knew she had lost a lot of blood. “Charity, he pulled her to him and then lay her on the bed and went to work on her gunshot.

  He hurried to the kitchen and stoked the outlaw’s fire in the stove with more wood. He dipped water out of the water barrel and put it in a pan to heat on the stove.

  Scouring the primitive kitchen, he found a pair of barber scissor and a sewing kit. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table courtesy of his deceased hosts.

  He closed the front door of the cabin and bolted it in case Willie or more of their friends decided to come back and pay him a visit. He’d get rid of the dead bodies later and he’d rescue his horse on the mountain in a bit. Right now, Charity needed him.

  He carried the scissors and clean rags into the bedroom and cut away her dirty, bloody cloth
es. He snipped up one arm and across the chest. Then he cut away the other arm and across that side. Soon, her shoulder was exposed and he could see the extent of the damage. She was lucky. The bullet hit just below her shoulder joint so there was no damage to the joint or her shoulder blade. The bullet went clear through her muscle so he wouldn’t have to dig out the bullet. Just clean her up and bandage it. She was damn lucky to be alive. He was damn lucky she was alive.

  He went back to the main room and grabbed the whiskey bottle and the pan of hot water. When he returned, a pair of green eyes were watching his every move.

  “Well, hello there. I thought you were gonna sleep all day,” he teased setting the pan on the table next to the bed.

  “Nah, too much goin’ on I don’t wanna miss,” She joked back.

  He sat next to her on the bed and doused whiskey on to a clean rag. “This is gonna sting a little. Think you can take it?”

  “I reckon I can. I probably been through worse pains.”

  He frowned at her. “Have you been shot before?”

  She grinned at him. “No, but it’s something I always wondered about. Now that I know it ain’t so bad, I might try it again.”

  He pressed the whiskey soaked rag against her wound and listened to her hiss between the teeth.

  “Now what do you think about getting shot?” He soaked the rag again and repeated the process. This time wasn’t as bad as the first go-round.

  “Ain’t too fond of it, sheriff,” she admitted.

  “Charity, what were you thinking following Willie Faulkner out of town? I thought we talked about you taking the law into your own hands when you followed the man around behind the jail that day.”

  “Who’s Willie Faulkner? Ben Carter is the one that shot me, the damn gutter rat.”

  “Willie and Ben are the same person. I finally got the wanted poster I was waiting for. Ben’s real name is Willie Faulkner and his kin folk is Carl Faulkner, my prisoner. The one who robbed the train.”

  “The man I shot, you mean.” He could see Charity’s wheels turning in her head.

  “Yeah, but don’t go thinking all of this was your fault. It wasn’t, Charity. If you will remember, Carl had already shot one of the conductors. He could have very easily shot the Mabrys, The Putnams, you and Aggie that day.”

  “Yeah, he could have. But we’ll never know if he would have or not because I took the law into my own hands and shot him instead.”

  He could see tears swimming in her eyes. “We’ll never know. You are right about that, but the odds are in your favor, Charity. Look at what the man was willing to do to protect his kin. If you hadn’t foiled the robbery, who’s to say they wouldn’t have killed all the witnesses that day before they left the train? It stands to reason they would have done just that.”

  She searched his face for the truth and he was giving it to her. There was no way to predict either way what could have happened that day. He was just glad she was able to protect herself. It was something he admired about her whether he wanted her to know that or not.

  “Just to be clear, I wasn’t following Ben or Willie or whatever his name is.”

  “You weren’t? Then where were you going? You are under house arrest you know. You weren’t supposed to leave the house at all.”

  “I know, but I was leaving for good and I wasn’t planning on coming back at all.”

  Miles was shocked. “You were leaving Creede? But that’s your home. That’s where your sisters are and their families. And the Hanovers. Why would you leave?”

  Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “Miles, can I ask you something and I want you to promise me you’ll be honest. Promise me?”

  “Sure. I’ll answer you if I can.”

  “And you’ll tell me the honest-to-God’s truth? You swear?”

  “Of course.” He was a little nervous about her question since it seemed to mean so much to her.

  “My sisters and Aggie all told me you had feelings for me but that something was holding you back and the only way I would ever get the answers as to why was to get you alone.”

  She reached for his hand and he let her have it. She pulled it up to her cheek and stroked the back of his hand on her face.

  “So, now that I have you alone, I have to know the reason why you won’t let yourself love me? What is it about me that you just don’t cotton to?”

  He looked at their joined hands and the sadness he saw in her eyes. How could he tell her what was behind his resistance? How could he tell her that he did love her. He had fallen in love with her almost at first sight, but he knew he wouldn’t risk her life, her future, by giving in to those feelings. Love and the law just don’t mix.

  “I’ve done everything I know to be the kind of woman you can be proud of, Miles. I even went to that fancy school for two whole years to learn how to be a proper lady. One you would be proud to call your wife. And you still didn’t want me. What is it about Selina Watson that you like so much? I just need to know before I go.”

  He struggled with his answer. He knew if he told her he had real feelings for her, he’d never be able to drive her away. But he couldn’t stand her wanting to leave her home and everyone she loved because she thought he wanted someone else. Thought she was flawed in some way. Because she wasn’t.

  His conscious encouraged him to tell her, but his fear reminded him of the very real danger if he did.

  “Please, Miles. I have to know.” Charity pleaded with him.

  He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slow and easy. He had made up his mind. She deserved to know the truth. He wanted her to know.

  He pulled his hand out of hers. “Scoot over. This is a long story and it might take a while.”

  23

  Charity picked up her derringer off the bed and shoved it underneath her pillow. Then she scooted over on the bed to make room for Miles. She finally had him in her bed but not under the circumstances she had always dreamed about.

  He took off his gun belt and set it next to the bed on the table beside the bottle of whiskey. He lay on the bed next to her and fluffed the pillow behind his head and stared up at the ceiling for a minute or two.

  She turned toward him and snuggled against his body and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders careful to avoid her injury. She lay her head on his chest and listened to the sound of his heart beat strong and steady beneath his shirt. She could die right here, right now and be the happiest woman in the world. But first, she had to hear his story.

  “It all began when I was ten years down in Waco, Texas, and—”

  “What does that have to do with you not liking me?” She was confused about where this story was beginning.

  “Are you gonna listen or do you want to talk?” He was teasing her so she decided as long as he was talking and holding her close to him like this, she’d lay here forever and listen to his tales.

  “I’m gonna listen.”

  “Good. Now, like I said, I lived in Waco, Texas with my family. My father was a Texas Ranger for a lot of years. He worked long hours and I’d like to think he made a difference in the lives of the people who depended upon his protection.

  “But arresting bad people just like a lawman will do, makes a lot of enemies for a man.” He stopped again, but this time she wasn’t gonna interrupt. Instead, she lay next to him reveling in his warmth and waited for him to begin his story again.

  “We lived in a little house just outside of Waco, not more than half a mile from town along the Brazos River. It was a nice place my pa bought from a farmer who moved out west with his family. We all lived there together—my pa, my ma, my little sister and me.”

  “I didn’t know you had a little sister.” Charity was intrigued by the news.

  “I had a little sister.” He admitted, his voice heavy with sadness.

  “What happened?” Charity sat up and watched his face, but he pushed her back down to lay on his chest.

  “One day while my pa was in town, i
t was just my ma, my sister and me at home tending to the horses and milking the cow. It was just a normal day. Nothing out of the ordinary to indicate how the day would end.

  “Around noon, we seen a group of riders coming down the road. Ma sent us kids into the house while she greeted them at the gate.” He paused and she sensed he was dealing with his emotions from that day. She lay quietly and waited.

  When he spoke again, his emotions tightened his throat and he whispered to get the words out. “They shot my ma right there at the gate where she had planted her rose bushes. I remember seeing her blood on her dress. It was the same color. As the roses. She planted.”

  She heard him stumble over his words and she squeezed his hand. He wiped at his face with his other hand and continued his story, his words strong and deliberate. “Then, my little sister, hysterical and beyond reason at seeing our mother murdered in front of us, ran out of the house before I could stop her. The dirty bastards shot her dead before she could even reach our ma’s body.”

  “Oh, Miles. I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you. I had no idea,” Charity pulled his hand into hers and kissed his palm. Then she intertwined their fingers together and squeezed. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “I heard them laugh. My mother and my little sister lay dead in the dirt and the dirty bastards laughed. I didn’t know what to do but I knew I had to get my pa, so I snuck out the back door and rode my horse bareback all the way to town, hanging on to his halter and his mane to keep from falling off.

  “They seen me go, but they didn’t care if I got away. They had inflicted their revenge on my pa and they were long gone when me and pa got back to the house. While I was gone, they had set fire to the house and burned it to the ground.”

  “Oh, Miles. I’m so very sorry.” Charity placed her face against his and felt his tears. She tasted their saltiness and she did her best to kiss them all away wanting to take away the hurt of that ten year old little boy. “What did your pa do? Did he track them down and kill every last one of them? I hope he hung their hides on a fence to bake in the sun.”