Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  Her heart lurched when she spotted him leaning against the porch.

  “You’re making progress.” Slade nodded toward the cat.

  “Yes.” She moved toward him.

  He dropped down on the second step, his boots braced against the ground, arms dangling loosely between his knees. “What’s the point?”

  While Mariah pondered his question, she gathered her skirts and sat next to him. She glanced to where she’d fed Yellow, but he’d already left, running off as soon as Slade spoke.

  “I don’t really know.” She shrugged. “I hate to see him so lonely, and I want to be his friend.”

  Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Mariah sighed, too tired to wonder why his nearness didn’t send her heart rate soaring. Lack of sleep? Or maybe her encounter with Frederick, Sheriff Dawson, and the posse from Laramie had dulled her senses. Whatever the reason, she wanted to go back to bed and curl up for the rest of the day.

  “Are you ready to talk about Frederick?”

  She shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about really. I guess it’s a blessing I didn’t have any money. Or I might be Mrs. Frederick E. Cooper by now. Well, that or whatever Sheriff Dawson said his real name is.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She plopped her chin in her hands. “Do you think he wanted the ranch to settle his gambling debts?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “And I believed him. I thought he cared for me.”

  “He put on a convincing act.”

  Mariah stared at the woodpile. But not convincing enough. He couldn’t make me love him, no matter how hard he tried. Her eyes filled with tears. “I’d better go. I need to see about Grandma.”

  She gathered her skirts to stand, but he reached out and gently closed his hand around her wrist. Shivers of delight shot up her arm and straight to her heart.

  He moved his hand to cup her face. She relished the feel of his rough palm against her cheek.

  “I’m glad you’re not going to be Mrs. Frederick E. Cooper.”

  She stared, drowning in his blue gaze shadowed beneath the brim of his hat.

  Kiss me.

  She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers, letting her touch convey what she was unwilling to say with words. Just once more. Something she could hold close to her heart in the long, lonely years to come. Maybe he only played with her heart and these kisses meant nothing to him, but they mattered to her. Right now, she wanted to feel his arms around her one last time, his lips caressing hers.

  He leaned toward her, his attention zeroing in on her mouth. A tingle of expectation spiraled through her. His hooded gaze moved slowly over her face before he claimed her lips with his own.

  She sighed as he slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her closer. He tasted as good as she remembered. He pulled back, his fingertips caressing her cheek. She shivered, opened her eyes, and smiled up at him.

  “I love you.” The words popped out. She hadn’t meant to say anything, anything at all. For a moment in time, her world stopped spinning as she realized all she’d laid bare.

  Slade’s heart hammered against his rib cage. He searched her face, lingering on her eyes, filled with love but overshadowed with uncertainty.

  The realization that he loved her too hit him square in his chest and exploded into a million glittering pieces, but guilt held him back from confessing it.

  What had he done?

  How could she love him when they shared such a bitter past? His heart pounded out a rhythm of fear, his thoughts churning like a bucking bronco. How could he make it up to her?

  Suddenly everything became crystal clear.

  He shook his head, amazed he hadn’t thought of it sooner. They’d get married and share the ranch. The past didn’t matter. But the love in her eyes did.

  But first, there was something he had to do. He had to ask her forgiveness for what he’d done to her and her family.

  “Mariah, I need—”

  Before he could speak, she pulled away and stood in one jerky movement. “You don’t have to answer. I know you can’t forgive my father for what he did. And you can’t forgive me either.” Her face turned to stone. “Please, just forget I said anything.”

  “Wait—”

  She fled, leaving him on the porch with his apology and declaration of love unspoken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dear Amanda,

  I hope this letter finds you well. There have been some changes here at the ranch. I don’t know how to tell you everything that has happened, so I’ll start at the beginning.

  Mariah let the letter flutter to her lap and leaned against the tree.

  The gurgling creek did its best to soothe her wounded spirit, but nothing could, not even the scent of budding wildflowers drifting by on the breeze, or the steady chomping as her horse nibbled grass, or the swish-slap of the mare’s tail swatting flies.

  Her gaze wandered over the smooth stones, and she recalled the laughter as her grandmother, Amanda, and she had picnicked in this very spot. She remembered times her father had ridden by and stopped to sample their fried chicken and take a sip of lemonade before rushing off to tend to some chore on the ranch.

  Once he’d even removed his boots, taken Amanda in his arms, and waded in the shallows. Amanda had squealed with delight. Mariah sighed, the long-ago memories filled with love and laughter and family. When her father was alive, she didn’t think anything would ever change. The ranch made a profit. They were happy. They had hopes and dreams for Amanda.

  And what about her? She frowned. She’d assumed she’d marry some rancher or someone from Wisdom and her life would continue as it always had.

  But then her father had gotten sick. She’d spent so much time taking care of him that she hadn’t had time to worry about a family of her own. After he died, more than one man had asked for her hand, but it was obvious they’d set their sights on the ranch and she was just window dressing.

  Frederick had seemed different. He’d bought the old Crenshaw place not long before her father took sick. He’d been so nice and helpful during that time, even recommending Red to her father. And he hadn’t pressured her about marriage—until recently.

  She shuddered. How could she have been so naive? How could she not have known he only wanted the ranch? Or the money it would bring? At least Slade hadn’t pretended to be something he wasn’t. He’d been honest with her from the beginning.

  A pang of regret shot through her at the thought of Slade. She’d written the letter that had brought him to the Lazy M, and that same letter would send her away.

  He would never forgive her father for what he’d done. He’d proven that this morning when she’d told him she loved him. An empty ache hollowed the spot between her heart and her stomach as she remembered the look on his face.

  Surprise, shock, disbelief, guilt, maybe even pity.

  Mariah blinked back the tears and picked up her letter. She wanted Amanda to know she and her grandmother would be arriving in Philadelphia. It was time to go. Slade could manage the house however he saw fit until his mother came.

  It is impossible for me to remain in Wisdom. I . . . I have given my heart to someone who cares nothing for me, and I cannot bear the pain any longer. It is much too complicated to pen here, so I won’t try. Be assured I will explain all when I arrive in Philadelphia.

  Amanda, please forgive me for not telling you what Father did all those years ago. I only did what I thought best. We will survive somehow; I promise you that, dear heart.

  She glanced up at the late-afternoon sky. Time to head home and start supper. Then she’d begin packing. She folded the letter and placed it in the small leather bag she carried. She’d mail it tomorrow and hope it arrived in Philadelphia before she did. She stood and brushed off her skirt before she turned toward her horse.

  And came face-to-face with Giff Kerchen.

  He grinned. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
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  “Let me pass.” She lifted her chin.

  “I don’t think so, pretty boss lady.”

  Giff scared her spitless, but she tried not to let her fear show. “They’ll be expecting me back at the ranch soon.”

  He leered at her. “You mean Donovan will be expecting you? Well, he’ll just have to wait . . . maybe for a very long time. I’m taking you with me.”

  Mariah threw the bag at him, hiked her skirts, and raced toward her horse. But she didn’t get far. Giff grabbed at her from behind, and she went sprawling on the ground. The fall knocked the breath out of her, but she came up swinging. Her nails raked Giff’s face, and he howled with fury.

  He wrapped one arm tight around her waist, the other twisting in her hair. “You do that one more time, and I’ll slit your pretty little throat.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let him see her cry.

  “Donovan and Bucky-boy aren’t here to take up for you now, so I’ll just have a little fun. Come on.”

  Mariah clenched her teeth as he dragged her toward her horse. Lord, please help me. She could barely think the words, let alone pray. Where was he taking her? Bile rose in her throat as terrifying images of what Giff planned to do ricocheted through her mind.

  He jerked her hands together and tied them with a piece of rope. “Mount up. And don’t try anything stupid.”

  She heaved herself into the saddle and watched with mounting panic as Giff reached for the trailing reins. Raw desperation clawed at her. She grabbed the pommel and kicked him as hard as she could.

  When he doubled over in pain, she jabbed her horse with her heels, ducking low as the mare scrambled through the trees toward the open grassland away from the creek.

  Her horse flew past trees, branches clawing and grabbing at her hair, ripping the pins loose. Mariah hung on, praying her horse wouldn’t step on the reins and Giff wouldn’t catch up to her before she could make it back to the ranch.

  “Jim said you wanted to see me.”

  “It’s Mariah.” Mrs. Malone looked up from her rocking chair, her face lined with worry. “She went riding several hours ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I checked with Jim, and he said she headed downstream. I’m afraid something’s happened. It’s unlike her to be gone so long, especially as it’s getting on toward time to fix supper.”

  A knot of fear lodged in Slade’s chest, but he tamped it down. He didn’t want to worry Mrs. Malone any worse than she already was. “It’s probably nothing. The days are getting longer, and the time probably slipped away from her. I’ll go look for her. Any place in particular she likes to go?”

  Mrs. Malone’s hands fluttered. “Several spots along the creek where she likes to sit and think. One in particular is about a mile downstream. We used to have picnics there all the time when the girls were small.”

  “I know the spot.”

  Her troubled brown eyes gazed up at him. “Please find her, Slade.”

  “I will.” He patted her veined hand.

  “I’ll be praying.”

  Slade headed downstream. No more than a quarter of a mile from the house, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Mariah!”

  No one answered.

  Maybe she’d passed him and gone back to the ranch. Or maybe she’d gone in a different direction when she’d ridden out earlier. But Jim said she’d gone downstream, so he’d have to keep looking. Hopefully he’d find her at the family’s picnic spot.

  He rode slowly, searching for signs. Anything. A broken limb. A hoofprint. Finally he came to the copse of trees Mariah had shown him the day they’d taken Jim home. He glanced around, noting the sunlight filtering through the willows, the water gurgling along to his left.

  He listened. No sounds at all. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. Something had happened here, though; he could feel it. He dismounted and walked in an ever-widening circle, his gaze eventually landing on a small leather bag on the ground. His heart jumped in his chest as he hurried to the bag and picked it up.

  Inside, he found Mariah’s letter to Amanda. He skimmed it, a dull ache forming in his chest when he read that she intended to leave Wisdom immediately without giving him a chance to make things right between them. He looked up from the letter, knowing she wouldn’t have deliberately left it behind.

  He searched every square inch of the leaf-strewn ground surrounding the spot where he’d discovered the leather pouch. Minutes later, he found what he was looking for: the prints of a small boot and a much-larger boot heel.

  He followed the prints, trying to see where they led. Then, mixed in with the boot prints, he found two sets of hoofprints. First, a jumble of tracks, smudged markings of boot heels, a scuffle, then running horses. He tamped down rising panic, his gaze on the tracks, trying to find something, anything, that could identify the other rider. And when he did, his heart nearly stopped.

  The second horse threw its left hind hoof out when he ran. Just like the horse one of the rustlers had ridden.

  He wanted to run, to hurry, to save Mariah.

  But he took his time, doggedly following the trail that led away from the Lazy M.

  “So you thought you could get away from me, huh?”

  Giff jerked the rope tied around Mariah’s wrists. It cut into her skin, and she almost cried out from the searing pain. He tied her bound hands to the pommel of the saddle and then tied a lead rope to her horse. There would be no escaping this time.

  “This is payback for those eggs you dumped on me.”

  Mariah glared at him.

  Giff set a fast pace. Hope of rescue fell with the encroaching darkness and every mile he put between them and home.

  Oh, God, please help Slade find me.

  Her fingers had grown numb by the time a shack came into view. Giff untied her and yanked her off her horse. She landed with a thud against him and would have fallen to the ground if he hadn’t grabbed her by the arm and held her upright.

  Inside, she blinked at the light spilling from a lantern.

  “Look what I found wandering around all by herself.”

  The sound of chair legs crashed to the floor. “Giff, what have you gone and done now?”

  Mariah jerked her head up at the familiar voice.

  Frederick moved out of the shadows, the smooth, gentlemanly demeanor completely gone. In its place stood a haggard man, his once-white ruffled shirt sweat-stained and dirty. His cold eyes raked her from head to toe, and she shivered. Then he turned to Giff.

  “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  “She deserved it. Always staring down her nose at me. Thinking she was too good for everybody.”

  “After all I’ve worked for, you had to pull a stupid stunt like this.” The deadly calm in Frederick’s voice snaked down Mariah’s spine. “Do you realize everybody within miles of Wisdom will be after us now? You could hang.”

  Giff shrugged. “I could hang for rus—”

  “Shut up.”

  Mariah’s gaze swung between Frederick and Giff as the pieces all clicked into place. These two were involved with the rustlers. She searched the shadows, and her heart sank as she recognized Red’s big, rawboned frame. She’d know him anywhere.

  Frederick leaned against the table and reached for a cigar. “Yes, we were doing quite well for ourselves until Donovan came along. I thought it would all work out, but then you let him swindle you out of the entire ranch.”

  “I wasn’t swindled.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Then how else do you explain handing the Lazy M over to him?”

  Mariah lifted her chin.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. After tonight, Donovan won’t have enough cattle to stay in business anyway.”

  “You can’t get away with this.” Mariah speared him with a glare.

  “I can, and I will.” He puffed on the cigar and studied her, face devoid of emotion. She shuddered. How had he fooled her so completely? “You kno
w, Giff, now that I think about it, you might have done me a favor by bringing pretty Miss Malone along for the ride.”

  Giff looked pleased. “I did?”

  “Maybe. All right, you both know what to do. Round up the others and head out. I’ll meet you in Cheyenne. And, Giff, I need your horse. That old nag I picked up in Laramie is just about done for. You can switch horses when you get to the canyon.”

  “What about her?” Giff asked.

  Frederick snubbed the cigar out on the table. “She’s going with me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “YOU DIDN’T FIND HER?” The lantern in Buck’s hand cast eerie shadows on the barn walls.

  “No.” Slade shook his head. “I tracked as far as I could before it got dark.”

  “Did you find anything? Any sign?” Mrs. Malone stood beside Buck, wrapped in a thick shawl. Her quavery voice had taken on a strong, determined cast.

  Slade glanced at Buck.

  She straightened, the backbone that had seen her through an entire lifetime of trouble surfacing. “Slade, I’ve been through Indian raids, droughts, tornadoes, and more fires than a body can count. I buried three children and my husband. Don’t hold anything back.”

  “All right. She’d been down by the creek just like you said. But somebody else had been there too. Looked like a scuffle; then she got away.”

  “Frederick?” Mrs. Malone’s chin trembled.

  “I don’t think so. It’s a big man, and he rides a horse that has a hitch in its stride.”

  Buck frowned. “What kind of hitch?”

  “The horse throws out its left hind hoof when it runs.”

  “That’s Giff Kerchen’s horse.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I noticed it the day Giff and I went to the water hole.”

  “I saw those same tracks when Rio and I found the broken fence. Giff must have been involved in the rustling. As soon as I get a fresh mount, I’m going to head out again.”

  Mrs. Malone put a hand on his arm. “You can’t find her in the dark.”

  “She’s right,” Buck said. “You’ll have to wait until daylight.”