“You don’t understand. I have to do this.” Despite feeling weak, his words were strong.
Joe gave a slight nod, then let him go, though he hovered close just in case. His eyes, though, never left him. Brock squirmed beneath the scrutiny of his friend’s continuous stare and turned away, but it was too late.
“I’ll be damned.” Joe grinned. “You’re in love with her.”
He stopped moving long enough to shoot Joe a look, the denial on the tip of his tongue, but what was the point in lying? The truth always came out in the end anyway. And he didn’t want to deny what he’d been feeling for a long time. Stevie deserved that much. “Yes, I’m in love with her.” He smirked, then gave a small chuckle. “Never thought it would happen for me, did you, Joe?”
“The truth? I never had any doubts. Just knew it would take someone special.” He slipped a shirt, freshly laundered and smelling of sunlight, from a hanger in the armoire and held it up.
Moving slowly, grasping one of the bed’s four posts for steadiness, Brock slid his arms into the shirt, then buttoned it up. Despite his worry, a small smile curved his lips as he looked down and noticed the simple, white cotton drawers he sported. Both legs had been cut high above his knees and loosely sewn so they didn’t touch the bandage around his thigh. He looked up and met Joe’s amused smile.
“You kept kicking the sheet off. Stevie thought it would be best if you were ‘covered.’ She said Cora didn’t need to see…everything.” He pulled a pair of trousers from the armoire. “Frankly, I didn’t need to see everything either.”
Brock said nothing, just reached for the trousers Joe held out. He dropped to the edge of the bed and started pulling his pants on. The stitches pulled and sharp, shooting pain made him gasp, but it was tolerable and seemed to be less than before. One thing was for certain—no matter how bad the pain got, he wasn’t ever going to take laudanum again. He much preferred to be clearheaded and in control of all his faculties.
He reached for his boots and slid them on, sucking in his breath as he did so.
Fighting another wave of dizziness, Brock rose to his feet and reached for the gun belt Joe now held in his hands, the pearl handles of his pistols glowing dully in the sunlight coming into the room. Brock buckled his gun belt around his hips, then pulled one of the pistols from its holster. He flipped open the cylinder and counted six bullets. Satisfied, he snapped the cylinder back in place and slipped the gun into the holster, then repeated the process with the other revolver.
“I’m coming with you.”
Brock shook his head. A thousand excuses for why Joe should not join him flitted through his mind. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s best if you didn’t.” Emotion made his voice tight as his throat constricted. “We both know what Logan is capable of. Cora needs her husband, and I’d like for Joe Junior to grow up with a father.”
Joe’s scowl proved he wasn’t happy, but he didn’t argue. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
In short order, Brock said good-bye to Cora and Joe Junior, giving them both kisses on the cheek, accepted a burlap sack filled with food Cora thought might be easy to carry, and climbed into Resolute’s saddle, albeit slowly and gingerly. It didn’t matter how carefully he eased himself onto the leather, it still hurt like a son of a gun. Though the wound in his thigh had been stitched and bandaged and begun to heal, sitting on Resolute brought a new definition to the word pain.
He needed another day in bed. Maybe two. But he didn’t have a choice. Stevie Rae had more than half a day’s lead on him. He couldn’t afford to lose any more time. Though only sixty or so miles separated Mora and Little River, some of the terrain he’d have to travel was difficult—rivers to cross, canyons to navigate, mountains to climb. If he hadn’t been hurt, if he’d left earlier, he could have ridden hard and made it before nightfall, but as it stood at this moment, he’d have to stop at some point. He still had a few hours of daylight left. He’d have to make the best time he could and to hell with the pain.
He adjusted the reins in his hand, then looked at Joe. Emotion once again tightened his throat. “Thank you. For everything.”
“You’d do the same for me,” he said and flashed a grin. “You be careful now. Stay out of canyons.”
Brock tugged on the reins and turned a corner, but still heard Joe’s shout, “I expect a wedding invitation.”
In a matter of moments, he picked up the trail beside the Mora River and rode along the river’s edge. He prayed he wouldn’t be too late. Stevie was reckless and headstrong, but she was smart and she’d learned a few things from him over the last couple months. She could shoot now and hit the target nine times out of ten, but a motionless target was different from a flesh-and-blood man. She’d wanted to be a doctor—could she kill instead of heal? Would she be able to pull the trigger if Logan stood in front of her?
A shiver ran through him as coldness seeped into his bones, not from the weather, but from his own fear. No matter how good a shot Stevie Rae was now, there was still the element of surprise.
Logan had taught him that on a dark day in Paradise Falls. He gripped the reins tightly in his hands as his brother’s face swam before his eyes. With effort, he forced the image away. He didn’t need a reminder of what could happen, but he was hell-bent on making sure it didn’t.
I failed once to keep someone I loved safe. I will not fail again.
Brock swiped at his face, surprised to find it wet, then dug his heels into Resolute’s sides and pushed the horse faster. “Not this time.”
• • •
Covered with sweat, Willow’s sides heaved as Stevie Rae brought her to a stop behind Martha Prichard’s boardinghouse. She’d ridden hard, pushing the horse when the terrain permitted, and taking it a bit easier only when circumstances demanded. She rode into Little River just as the clock on the town hall chimed ten times.
Lamplight spilled through the kitchen window as well as several other windows on the first floor of the house. It struck her as odd. Why would there be so much light at this time of night? Panic seized her. Her mouth dried and her body began to shake. Am I too late? Is Dan…gone? Is this his wake?
Stevie Rae jumped from the saddle and flung the reins over the porch rail. She should take the time to brush the horse down, walk her a little bit, but fear made Stevie race up the steps, her heart thundering in her chest. She tugged off her gloves and tossed them on the chair beside the door, then let herself into the kitchen, barely remembering to wipe her feet on the woven mat in front of the door.
The room was empty, but she smelled fresh coffee and glanced toward the stove. Steam rose from the coffeepot’s spout, but the sink overflowed with coffee cups, dishes, and silverware, so unlike Martha.
She stumbled down the long hall, remembering how many times she’d done so in the past. The familiarity brought a sense of comfort, but the fear in her heart forced her to push away that feeling.
She stopped at the doorway to the parlor, then stepped inside. All the wall sconces were lit and more lamps were spread out on lace-covered tables, shedding soft light to touch on the small bookshelf in the corner as well as vases of fresh-cut flowers. The chairs and the camelback sofa had been moved into a semicircle in the middle of the big room, as if several people had recently gathered, but no one was there now.
Relief slammed through her with such power, she nearly dropped to her knees. Dan Hardy was not laid out in the middle of the room; there was no vigil or wake for those to pay their last respects, but that didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t happened. She might still be too late. People had been here. A lot of people.
She turned, Martha’s name on her lips, but she did not have the chance to speak as the woman eased from a bedroom, and quietly closed the door. She still wore a starched white apron over a pretty blue gown with darker blue flowers, despite the late hour.
“Martha.”
The woman jumped, startled, her hand flying up to press against her chest, a co
ffee mug falling from her fingers to roll back and forth on a thick rag rug. “Land sake’s, Stevie Rae, you just scared ten years off my life!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She moved out of the parlor, searching for the courage to ask what she needed so desperately to know. “Where’s Dan? Is he…did he…?”
Martha stooped to pick up the mug, her movements slow, as if her back had stiffened and hurt with her actions. “What, child? Spit it out.”
“Is Dan…dead?”
“Oh, heavens no.” She straightened to her full height, the skin around her eyes crinkled with worry and exhaustion. “He’ll be just fine in a couple of days.”
“Oh, thank God!” Stevie Rae almost laughed, her relief was so profound. Her knees had not stopped shaking, though. “I got your telegram, then I saw all the lamps lit and thought… Why is the house lit up like there’s been a party here?”
“Deputy Parker and the rest of his posse left just a little bit ago.” Martha peeked over her shoulder into the parlor, her eyes scanning the entire room then turned toward the kitchen. “Is Mr. MacDermott with you?”
Stevie Rae shook her head.
“Is he behind you?”
She shook her head again and glanced down at her dust-covered boots. “He’s…he’s still in Mora.” She touched Martha’s arm and wished the woman would pull her into her warm embrace and tell her everything would be all right as she’d done so often in the past. Martha made no such move. “I came as soon as I got your telegraph. Was it Logan?”
Martha studied her, the expression on her face one Stevie Rae knew well. She flinched beneath the inquisitive stare. She knew what she looked like—sweaty from her mad ride from Mora to Little River with barely a stop and dirty from the fall she’d taken when she urged Willow through a place she shouldn’t have earlier in the day. But those were physical things. It was the emotional things she wasn’t quite ready to share, but the way Martha scrutinized her, Stevie Rae was certain no secret would remain a secret for very long.
Can she tell by looking in my eyes that I fell in love with him? Does she know, just by looking at me, that Brock and I were…intimate?
Martha didn’t comment on Stevie Rae’s appearance or what secrets her silent perusal had exposed. No judgment colored her voice when she finally answered the question. “Dan says it was Logan, but I’ll let him tell you.”
“Can I see him?”
She hesitated, her brow wrinkling, then nodded toward the room she had just exited. “But not too long. He needs to rest.” Again, that look came over her face and her nose scrunched a bit, as if she smelled something horrible. “Take your hat off before you go in there.”
Obeying her as she’d done most of her life, Stevie Rae swiped her battered hat from her head and ran her fingers through the wildly curling mass. Several leaves fluttered to the floor. Martha tsked and shook her head. “If your mother could see you now.” An exasperated harrumph escaped her as she turned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, “Put your hat back on. No sense scaring the man.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A flush of embarrassment swept through her, heating her face as well as the rest of her body. She donned the hat, fitting it tightly to her head, took a deep breath, and let herself into the room.
Dan lay in bed, propped up by several pillows, wire-rimmed glasses low on his nose. He had a bandage swaddling his chest and shoulder, which she glimpsed beneath the unbuttoned shirt he wore, and another on his left hand. He didn’t look up from the paper in his hand. “For cryin’ in a bucket, Martha, leave me be.”
Hearing the annoyed tone of his voice, Stevie Rae smiled for the first time since getting Martha’s telegraph. She could just imagine how Martha had fussed over him, reprimanding him one moment then letting him know how much she loved him the next, but never with actual words. She was that way with everyone she loved.
“It’s not Martha.”
Dan’s gaze rose from the paper in his lap, his eyes widening, a warm smile lighting his whiskered face. “Hello, chickadee.”
Stevie Rae’s breath hitched in her chest at the use of his nickname for her, and the tears she’d tried so hard to hold at bay began to flow even though she didn’t think she had any left.
“Aw, come on now.” He held out his bandaged hand, beckoning her to come closer. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be good as new in a few days. Martha’s been taking good care of me.”
She sniffed and swiped at her face, then walked across the room and settled herself in the chair beside the bed.
“You look like hell, Stevie Rae.”
“I was so worried about you.”
“Shouldna been. I’m tougher than I look, as you well know. Both you and your father patched me up more than once.” He grinned again and time seemed to stop for a moment. Yes, she remembered those times when Sheriff Hardy had staggered into her father’s office, bleeding from a gunshot wound or stab from a knife, but those weren’t the only memories she had of this man. There had been many nights when he and her father played chess into the wee hours of the morning, sometimes talking as if neither one of them would run out of words, sometimes so silent, the only sound was an occasional humph as the chess pieces moved across the board. He’d been a part of her life for as long as he’d been sheriff, and she had no doubts he loved her like her father had.
“MacDermott with you?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Stevie Rae swallowed over the lump in her throat and shook her head.
“Hmmmm. Heard you were riding together.”
Stevie Rae didn’t acknowledge his statement, nor did she look at him. Instead, her eyes roamed to the paper spread out on his lap. She recognized the map. For many years, it hung over his desk in his office. “Tell me what happened. Was it Logan?”
“It was. Never saw him before, but I got to tell you, he’s uglier in person than he is in his Wanted poster.” He rolled the paper in his hand into a tube and slid a circlet made of string over it, placed it on the bedside table, and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “I didn’t see him ride into town, but I heard from a couple of people how bold he was. Heard his horse was almost dead, too, sweat glistening on his sides, blowing steam.” He scrubbed at his face with his bandaged hand, then winced when the action caused pain.
“I was sitting in Nate’s barber chair, soap all over my face, when I heard a shot. Jumped outta that chair as quick as you please and went racing outta there to see him—Logan—stealing Johnny Rhodes’s horse, Johnny dead in the street. I tried to draw, but I was wearin’ that stupid cape thing Nate puts on you when you’re gettin’ a shave and haircut and the wind was blowin’ like it does and I couldn’t get to my gun. Bastard was laughin’ when he shot me, then sank spur and hightailed it outta town. Parker and a bunch of men rode out soon as they could after Parker brought me to Martha’s, but Logan hasn’t been seen since.” He drew in his breath after speaking for so long and let it whistle through his lips with his exhale. “Coulda been worse, though. He coulda shot up the town like he’s done other places.”
Her eyes drifted to the map on the bedside table. “How far into the mountains did the posse go?”
Dan squinted, scrutinizing her face, then pulled his glasses down to his nose to get a better look. He grabbed her hand and squeezed lightly. “What are you planning to do, Stevie Rae?”
When she said nothing, he warned, “Now don’t you be goin’ after that man, not without MacDermott. You promise me.”
How well he knew her. She couldn’t promise him, though, couldn’t force the words from her throat. She’d never lied to Dan. She didn’t intend to start now. She studied his face and the concern shining from his eyes and finally nodded. Appeased, Dan released her hand and she rose from her seat. “I should let you rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She slipped out the door, already making plans Dan wouldn’t be happy about.
Martha was up to her elbows in soapsuds when Stevie Rae entered the ki
tchen, half the dishes that had been in the sink now on the sideboard, draining on a towel. “He tell you what happened?” she asked without turning her head.
“Yes.” Stevie Rae dropped her hat on the spindle of a chair, then picked up a towel and a coffee mug and started to dry it.
“Oh no!” Martha grabbed the towel and mug from her hands and put both down. “As dirty as you are, I don’t want you touching my clean dishes.” She started nudging her toward the hallway and the bathroom. “Why don’t you go take a bath? I still have some of your clothes upstairs.”
Stevie Rae scooted out of the way. “I have to see to Willow. I worked her hard today.”
“Already took care of her. Had Annie bring her down to Wilson’s Livery.” She pushed hair out of Stevie Rae’s face and tucked it behind her ear, her touch gentle and so comforting, it nearly brought her to tears. “Thanks for sending her, by the way. She’s a good girl and she’s been a godsend these past couple of days.” Her quizzical gaze went from Stevie Rae’s head to her feet. She tsked again. Several times. A sound all too familiar. “All skin and bones. You eat today?”
“Yes.”
An eyebrow rose and lips tightened until she asked, “You lying to me, Stephanie Raelene?”
Stevie Rae had no choice but to smile. The tone, the use of her full name, the familiar expression on Martha’s face—all made her feel loved. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around the older woman and squeezed. “I love you, Martha!”
“Aw, get on with you.” Voice gruff and tight with emotion, Martha pulled out of Stevie Rae’s embrace. “Gettin’ me all dirty.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron, but it was there, a certain look that couldn’t be denied: the love was reciprocated, though Martha would never admit it, nor would she probably ever say the words aloud. She showed her feelings with food, comfort, and kindness, with some hard truths thrown in, which, in itself, brought more comfort. One always knew where one stood with Martha.
She grabbed Stevie Rae by the shoulders and spun her around until she faced the doorway and the long hall. “By the time you’re done with your bath, I’ll have a nice hot meal waiting for you. Everything will be better after your bath.” She gave a slight push and Stevie Rae found herself propelled down the hall. “And while you’re eating, you can tell me all about Mr. MacDermott. Know you been ridin’ together.”
A Kiss in the Shadows Page 26