Charlotte swallowed and tried to look away. He jerked her braids harder, sending spikes of hot pain down her neck and forcing her to look up at him.
“Isn’t it, Charlotte?” he repeated.
Fear drove through her like a stampede. His icy eyes were wild with hatred as he gazed at her –no doubt imagining her money in his grip once she suffered the same fate as his other wives. She forced her mouth open, but no words would sound.
He shook her harder. “Tell him, Charlotte! Tell him now!” he taunted.
A half-whisper sounded from her throat and he lessened his grip.
“That’s better.”
Where was the Marshall and his deputies? If she could make eye contact with Sam, maybe she could reassure him that help was there. But he was concentrating on the man that held her captive.
“You’ll never get away with this, Fletcher." Sam's voice was cold. "Too many people know about the incident this morning. Right now there’s a posse on the way here to take you in.”
“I’m not too worried.”
As Sam and Justice sparred with words, Charlotte prayed fervently as her fingers reached slowly for the waist of her trousers. The broken stay from her petticoat was still tucked inside where she’d hidden it the day Sam had taken her off the stage! Gunshots echoed outside, followed by a loud crashing. Dust filled the air and a crack sounded as the back doors of the barn burst open, flooding the room with light, punctuated by splinters of wood flying though the air. Two of Brown’s deputies slid off their horses at once and began firing.
Justice pushed Charlotte to the ground as he quickly hid himself behind a pillar and raised his pistol. Shots rang out in the exchange of fire; she pressed her hands over her ears, casting a desperate glance at Sam's vulnerable position.
Two more reports sounded from the hay loft above, sending one of the deputies to the ground. The other leaped on one of Justice’s men rushing through the doors to defend his employer.
Keeping low, Charlotte crawled towards Sam. She had to cut his wrists loose before he was caught in the cross-fire–before the unthinkable happened to him. Gaze trained on his face as she reached his side, another round of shots sounding between the deputies and Justice.
“Get out of here, Charlotte,” he hissed, struggling to push her away even as her fingers felt the knots holding his hands bound.
"Not without you," she answered, whispering fiercely. From the corner of her eye, she saw Justice ducking between supports in the barn, his men attempting to force the deputies out under heavy fire.
“Hold it right there, Fletcher!” Marshall Brown shouted, as his suspect lunged from behind an old wagon. Gunshots sounded from outside and the gallop of retreating horses echoed through the barn as the deputies' horses fled.
Charlotte pulled the sharp stay from the folds of her belt and began to saw at the knotted rope that held Sam captive. The first fibers unraveled beneath the sharp edge before she felt Justice's hands close over her shoulders, yanking her up from the floor. The makeshift knife clattered from her fingers beside Sam's hands as Justice pulled her in front of him like a shield.
“You stay back,“ Fletcher shouted at the Marshall. In his grip, Charlotte struggled in vain, feeling the cold steel of a pistol barrel against her temple.
If he shot her, Sam would blame himself. She would be Justice's final victim after all–for there would be no escaping this time and the desperation in his voice gave way to his emotions. He knew this was his last stand against the law.
Marshall Brown faced them, his pistol drawn. “Let her go, Fletcher.”
“I’ll kill her if you come any closer,” Justice answered.
Charlotte flinched as he ground the weapon hard against her cheek. The lack of emotion in his answer reflected the fact that he had nothing left to lose.
“Just take it easy,” Brown said. “I’m going to put my gun on the ground. Nice and slow,” he said, his pistol dangling off his fingers.
“Just toss it,” Justice commanded. He waved the weapon briefly in Brown's direction before pressing it against Charlotte's head again.
As Marshall Brown dropped his gun, Justice's pistol whipped swiftly in the lawman's direction again, a shot ringing out so close to Charlotte's ear that it seemed a deafening explosion. She screamed as a patch of blood appeared on the lawman’s shirt as he slowly sank to the ground. Justice laughed, the hot metal barrel in his grip shifting against Charlotte's head again.
A blow struck Charlotte and her captor from behind, knocking them forwards. As Justice fell, his pistol escaped his grasp, falling to the floor. He reached for it with a muttered oath at the same instant Sam’s boot hit the gun.
Sam was free from his bonds; the broken piece of stay she had used lay next to a shredded cord around the post, the injured cowboy's strength now focused on his opponent. Her eye saw his movements, her heart skipping a beat at the realization that he was trying to save her.
As the pistol skittered across the dirt floor, Justice scrambled after it. Sam's grip closed around the man's shirt, spinning him around to receive a blow in the face. With a muffled cry, Justice reeled against the board walls, his face flaming with anger.
Before he could recover, Sam struck him again, his footing almost slipping as weakness began to creep into his movements.
Charlotte ran to Marshall Brown’s side, her fingers trembling as she ripped open his shirt where the bullet had struck him. The bleeding wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, her handkerchief pressed over his wound. She jerked as his fingers grasped her arm, her eyes meeting his.
His voice was gravelly and weak. “My gun. Get my gun, Miss Turner. Be careful.”
She glanced at the fight between the two men. Justice had torn free of Sam's grip, now throwing himself on his wounded hostage. The two fell to the floor with a loud thud, grappling fiercely in the dust.
Her glance searched the board floor wildly, spotting the pistol a few feet away. Crawling forwards, her hand clasped the solid steel of the cold revolver.
There was no time to return it to the Marshall–not without risking Sam's life. She could see his body weakening with each second, Justice's energy overtaking even Sam's fiercest effort.
Holding the pistol over her head, she fired. Sam froze, Justice's grip upon him loosening momentarily as she leveled the gun at the murderer. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
Something in her eyes must have convinced him. And at that moment, given the last thread of Sam's strength, she had never meant any words more in her life.
Chapter 15
Charlotte stared in the mirror. Her blonde hair, lightened even more from the hot Texas sun, was braided and coiled back in perfect place, the rosy hue on her cheeks beginning to fade from weeks of nursing Sam. Even the bruise on her cheek was losing its purple appearance. At this moment, her image denied the fact that she’d ever left Springfield. Momma’s pin was fastened securely on the collar of the muslin dress, transforming her into a proper lady. The ladies sewing circle would be proud.
She reached for her striped bonnet and put it on her head, tying the strings beneath her chin. In the reflection, behind her, she could see her bag, packed and ready to go. She swallowed hard. She would not cry. The stage ticket was waiting on the table downstairs for her, just as he had promised.
Luther was also waiting outside to take her to Black Well after she said her farewells. She would never see Sam again. Or Rosie, or Luther, or Mrs. Anderson. She would miss the shady trees, and the dust and flies, and Coffee and Smoke, and. . .and. . .
A knocking sounded at her door. “Come in.”
Rosie opened the door and stepped inside. “Mr. Sam would like to see you a minute before you leave. Miz Anderson, too.” Her voice was calm and she kept her gaze toward the window, as if she couldn’t bear to look in her direction. Charlotte had grown close to the faithful couple who tended the Anderson's ranch, more so than she had been with many of the neighbors she had known in Missouri.
Charlotte s
wallowed hard before she answered. “Of course. I’ll just stop in and see Mrs. Anderson first.” Saving goodbye to Sam for last. How could she bear it?
Sam’s mother was sitting up in bed, her eyes brighter than Charlotte had seen them. Maybe knowing Lucinda’s killer faced punishment had given her an easier mind and a new reason to live.
“You look pretty this morning,“ Charlotte smiled, seating herself on the bed.
Mrs. Anderson laughed. “I guess I’m feeling a little more like myself today. I see you’re ready to go.”
Charlotte nodded. There didn’t seem to be much to say. “I just have to say goodbye to Sam.”
His mother patted her hand. “I wish you’d stay on another week. We could do with a little of your sunshine around this house.”
Charlotte leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to miss you, too. And I’ll write as soon as I get home.”
Sam was dressed and sitting in a chair near the window of his room. The bandages around his broken ribs were bulky under his shirt and gave his chest a barrel appearance. His eyes met hers and she smiled to see the swelling in his face almost gone. The doctor had said the damage should heal in the next few weeks and then he would be good as new. Not that she would be there to see it.
“I didn’t want you to leave without saying goodbye.” He held out his hand for her.
She placed her fingers in his and ignored her pounding heart, the yearning to throw herself into his arms. “Of course I was going to come see you.”
She ached to say more, but she had no right to burden him with her feelings if he wasn’t interested. And he mustn’t be, as he’d had several weeks to bring the subject to their conversations.
He looked away and seemed to concentrate on the window. “I want to apologize to you. . .”
She gave a shaky laugh. “For what? Saving my life?”
He pulled his fingers from hers and met her eyes. “As it turned out, you saved mine. And I ended up putting you in plenty of danger by bringing you here. You could have been killed Charlotte. And there I was. . .not able to. . .”
She shook her head. “You did what you thought was right. What had to be done. And everything turned out. . .I mean, he won’t be harming anyone else.”
He nodded, his lips slowly turning up at the corners, as if he was forcing a last smile for her. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, Miss Turner.”
The words were like a slap to her face. Miss Turner? He was calling her Miss Turner? As if nothing had ever happened between them. As if they were strangers passing their time with polite conversation that held no substance. She blinked and forced back the tears that were so anxious to escape her eyes.
Her voice was raspy when she answered. “Yes, I guess it is. You. . .you get well now, Sam Anderson.”
She turned and walked out of the room before he had a chance to reply, her eyes straight ahead. Looking back would be a mistake. Her heart would never let her leave the house if she dared give it a chance.
***
Charlotte searched her reticule for a small piece of candy, a lump of sugar, anything to appease the child on the lap of the woman across the stage. Her head pounded like a hammer on bricks and the child’s screams were only adding to the pain. An entire day with this small boy was unthinkable.
The man seated next to her came to the rescue when he produced a stick of peppermint from his pocket. Charlotte offered a grateful smile as she leaned back in the seat, grateful for the reprieve from the cries. Now she had only to hear the clacking sound of the wheels, their every turn carrying her further away from the man she loved.
Her eyes opened quickly and she straightened herself in the seat. She must have dozed, she thought, looking at the confused faces of the passengers. “What is wrong?” she asked the woman passenger, the pacified child now asleep on her lap.
The woman shook her head. “We’re not sure. Someone thought they heard a shot behind us.”
“A shot!” She exclaimed, a spasm of fear and disbelief rushing through her as the driver’s call of “Whoa!” sounded from above. Her heart raced ahead as the stage slowed. Whatever the problem, this was the last stage ride for her. She had had enough excitement to last for years to come. And how could she ever ride a stage again without thinking of Sam?
“It’s alright folks,” he shouted down to them. “No need to worry. Just a quick stop. Probably another passenger to board.”
Charlotte pulled her arms closer, encouraging her shaking limbs to relax. No doubt the driver would have this cleared up soon and they’d be on their way.
The stage jerked to a stop as a gray horse galloped up beside the door and a man slowly dismounted. The passengers all silent as they stared at the interloper.
Charlotte’s breath froze in her throat. Sam. What was he doing? He wasn’t even supposed to be up, much less riding a horse.
The door by her side swung open and his eyes met hers. “Excuse me folks,” he apologized, his gaze steady on her. “I need to speak to Miss Turner.”
Charlotte stood and took a step forward, ignoring the questioning stares of the others. The woman with the child offered a disapproving glance as Charlotte took Sam’s hand and stepped down.
She felt her cheeks flame as she guessed what the woman might be thinking. A small spark of anger lit inside as she looked up at him. “You. . .you shouldn’t be riding,” she scolded, reaching up and touching his pale face. “The doctor said that–”
“I don’t care what the doctor said,” he interrupted, wrapping his fingers around hers, brushing a kiss against them. “I had to come. I had to tell you I’m sorry, Charlotte. I made a mistake. . .I…”
Charlotte bit her lip as she stared into the indigo eyes holding hers. “You’ve already apologized to me,” she swallowed and paused. “Mr. Anderson.” Why did he persist in prolonging the anguish in her heart?
Confusion swam across his handsome face. Then he shook his head. “Mr. . .?” His fingers found her cheek and slid underneath her chin. “You misunderstand. I was wrong to let you go. I should have. . .should have told you. I just didn’t think you would want me after all that happened.”
Everything inside of her ached to embrace him. But it could only be for the right reasons. If he was asking her out of guilt for the way things turned out, or a sense of duty, she could never agree, no matter how much she wished to
“Sam. . .you’re better now," she said, gently. "I’m sure that Rosie can take good care of you. And I can't stay where–where I'm not needed.” She dropped her gaze with these words.
He put his arms around her, drawing her closer. “I don’t want you to take care of me, Charlotte. I want to take care of you. I love you. I want to marry you.”
She concentrated on his face, wanting to believe the desperation in his voice. It was too painful for her to think he wanted her and then find she was wrong. “Sam. . .are you sure?”
He tilted her chin upward and leaned his face down, his lips a whisper from hers. “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life. I don’t think I can go on without you, Charlotte. My heart needs you.”
His words mirrored her own thoughts as her eyes brimmed to overflowing with tears. He really loved her. No sense of obligation or guilt stained his words.
Her soft voice broke when she replied. “I love you, too, Sam. More than anything. I just didn’t think that you-”
“Well, I do.” He pulled her closer and his mouth covered hers in a sweet kiss.
Her arms around his neck, she joyfully surrendered herself to his embrace. At last, her heart was home.
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riggs, Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride)
Chance Creek Brides (Volumes 1-3 & the Stagecoach Bride) Page 44