THE OUTLAW BRIDE

by Maggie Shayne

  "Elliot!" she cried. She dropped to her knees in the mud, looking around frantically and jamming her makeshift torch between two nearby limbs to free her hands. She pressed her palms to his wet face, bent closer. "Elliot, Elliot, wake up! Wake up!" Her lips pressed rainwater kisses to his face, quick, desperate kisses that were like prayers. "Elliot, please!"

  He was crushed. He must be crushed. She must see for herself, try to help him. Thunder laughed at her, a deep, vicious gust of ridicule. Lightning slashed arrows at her, as if threatening to strike her down, as well, should she remain too long within its reach. Wind howled its menace like a hungry wolf.

  Gently she lowered Elliot's head and took her hands away. They were bloody. Frowning, she scrambled for the fallen light, the one he had brought, and she shone its beam on his head. There was a rock just beneath him. She moved him off it and knew he'd hit his skull hard on that stupid rock when he'd fallen.

  And the tree…

  Turning, she aimed the light at the place where it crossed his body. Then she blinked and crawled closer. "Gracias, Madre de Dios, gracias!" she cried. For there was space. The trunk was not lying on his body. She could put her entire hand between Elliot and the bark. The tree's huge limbs were keeping it up off him, though how long they could hold, she did not know.

  She had to get him out from underneath.

  "Elliot? Elliot, I have to move you. You understand?"

  Nothing. No response.

  Esmeralda moved around behind him, sliding her hands underneath his arms, trying to be very careful of his head. Bending her knees, she pulled with all her strength.

  Elliot slid just a bit, and then her feet slipped in the mud and she landed hard on her backside. The thunder roared, amused by her pathetic efforts. "To hell with you," she shouted in defiance. Gripping Elliot, she tried again, and again, and again, moving his body inch by painstaking inch, until finally he was clear of the tree. It must have hit him hard on the way down. His left foot lay oddly, the toe of his boot pointing straight to the left.

  He was soaked, covered in mud. So was she at that point. She had to get him back to his home, to his family. He needed a doctor, a warm bed. But how could she move him? She could not carry him!

  "Esmeralda…?"

  She swung her head around, eyes wide. "Elliot! Oh, you are awake, gracias Dios, you—"

  "Call … my horse … back."

  She frowned. "Call … your horse? But how?"

  He was struggling to stay conscious, struggling to form words. She could see that. "Whistle…" he finally managed.

  "Whistle. Sí, sí, I will whistle." She licked her lips, put her fingers to them and tried to whistle in the way she'd seen Elliot do. It took three tries to make a sound loud enough for the horse to hear—maybe. If it hadn't run too far.

  She was rewarded, though, only moments later, by the sound of hoofbeats and finally a soft nicker, as the poor, wet horse stood on the other side of the huge tree, looking over it at his former rider.

  "You'll have to … lead him … around," Elliot managed.

  "I know. I will only be a moment." Scrambling to her feet, Esmeralda made her way over the fallen tree to the other side, scraping her elbows and knees on the rough bark as she went, scratching her face on tiny branches, too. She gripped the horse's bridle and quickly led the animal all the way to the end of the tree's massive reach, around the other side and back to Elliot. There she looped the reins over a limb, just to be safe, and quickly knelt beside Elliot again.

  "Can you get up?" she asked him.

  "I … I don't know."

  "I will help you." She bent to him, sliding her hands beneath his body, palms to his back, and eased him up into a sitting position.

  Elliot closed his eyes and seemed to sway from side to side as he lowered his head into his hands. Rain pounded down like a waterfall on their heads.

  "It's all right," she whispered. "Come, you must stand. Just get on the horse. That's all you have to do, just get on. I will do the rest. Come, Elliot, you can do this!"

  He nodded, lifting his head, his arms. He grabbed hold of a limb. She moved behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist. "Ready?" she asked, and when he nodded, she lifted for all she was worth, as Elliot used the limb to pull himself upright. "Good, good." She let go of him, and he clung to the tree. Coming around in front of him, she said, "I'll bring the horse closer." He nodded, but the moment he put weight on the crooked foot, he cried out and very nearly went down again. Instead, he wound up with his arms grasping her body like a padlock, hugging her hard about the shoulders as his entire body trembled. "Dammit to hell!" he rasped, looking down at his leg and turned-out foot. "It's broken."

  "I was afraid it might be. Hold on, my love, I will take care of you, I promise you that."

  He snapped his gaze to hers, even as she hurried to pry his arms away from her and guided them to the tree for support. "What did you say?" he asked her.

  "I said I will take care of you. This is all my fault. You shouldn't have come after me, Elliot." She left him there and hurried the three steps to the horse, then led it closer. "Lean on me," she told Elliot. He did, and somehow she managed to help him, pushing, pulling and tugging, to get into the saddle. But he didn't sit upright. He leaned forward over the animal's mane, his hands gripping the wet, slick pommel.

  "Come, pony. We go slow, eh? Be careful with him." She climbed onto the horse behind Elliot, one arm around his waist to keep him from sliding off, the other guiding the horse. They began the slow, plodding course back toward the ranch.

  It grew wetter and colder every single step of the way. And every step, she was more worried for Elliot. For though she shook him now and then, and spoke to him constantly, he never replied. She didn't think he opened his eyes again, either.

  Damn.

  It was a full hour before the house finally came into sight. Esmeralda was shivering so hard by then that she could barely hold the reins. Her knuckles throbbed, and the rest of her hands had gone numb. She felt as if she were soaked in ice instead of rainwater. Her feet were like lead blocks of throbbing agony. She rode the horse right up to the front porch, stopping at the foot of the steps. Then, lifting her head in the pounding rain, she yelled for help as loudly as she could.

  There was a commotion, the door flew open, and the next thing she knew, a half dozen Brands were tugging her from the horse, tugging Elliot from the horse. Someone ran inside shouting "Call Doc," while Garrett carried Elliot into the house, and Wes—she thought it was Wes, the dark one—scooped her up and carried her inside, as well.

  When Esmeralda next opened her eyes, it was the dead of night. She was clean and dry, and her feet were blessedly warm. She lay in a bed, covers thick and piled atop her. Pillows, soft and cloudlike, were beneath her head. The room was dim, but a faint light glowed from the hallway. Beside her bed the meanest Brand, the one called Jessi, was slumped in a chair, sound asleep.

  Elliot, Esmeralda thought. He'd been hurt. Where was Elliot?

  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, remembering everything, she sat up and flung the covers back. She was dressed in the white fleece nightgown they'd given her. It was thick and warm and soft as down. White stockings—the kind they called "socks," hugged her feet to keep them warm.

  For a family who hated her to the core, who had seen through her schemes from the start, and who were determined to protect their brother and their home from her, they certainly had taken good care of her.

  She didn't deserve their kindness.

  Getting to her feet, she winced inwardly when a rush of heat and prickly pain rushed through them. She had to go still for a long moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, gritting her teeth, fighting not to cry out at the sensation as the blood flowed into those poor, abused appendages once again. They'd been warmed, but they came to life more with use. Eventually she managed to stand on them, and, as quiet as a mouse, she tiptoed to the door, opened it very slowly and crept out of the room. Bit by bit she made her way do
wn the darkened hall to Elliot's bedroom, and there she saw light coming from beneath the door and heard hushed voices.

  "Doc said he'd sleep the night through," Garrett whispered. "Come on to bed, hon. He'll sure holler if he needs us. You know Elliot."

  "All right." That was Chelsea. "Let's leave the door open, though, so we'll be sure to hear him if he wakes."

  Neither of them said the words Esmeralda desperately wanted to hear. That he would be all right. That his injuries were not serious ones, and that he would recover.

  She flattened herself to the wall as they emerged from Elliot's bedroom. She didn't want to see them, couldn't face them. Surely they would hate her now more than ever. She had caused all this. She had hurt their brother just as they had feared she would.

  Oh, but she hadn't meant to!

  When Garrett and Chelsea had vanished into their own bedroom farther down the hall, Esmeralda dared to breathe again. She had to stiffen her spine and force herself to move on. She was so afraid of what she would find when she stepped into Elliot's room.

  Bracing herself, she did. They'd left the light on, dimmed, but on. Esmeralda stood for a long moment in the doorway, just staring at the only man besides her father ever to claim he loved her.

  Elliot lay on his back in his bed. Some sort of rack had been positioned over the bed, with pulleys and cables, and this rack held his injured leg up, so it dangled above the mattress. From the knee down, Elliot's calf was encased in a plaster cast that made it appear twice its size. Only his toes stuck out the end. The rest of him was all covered in warm blankets, just as she had been. His head cradled on pillows, a big white bandage taped to the back of his skull. Snuggly warm, he was. Except for his poor toes. How cold they must be, without a thing to warm them.

  Creeping closer, Esmeralda put her hands on his toes. "Like ice," she whispered. She held them there, between her hands, for a long moment, letting her body heat warm them. Eventually she took her hands away and, bending down, peeled off one of her socks, and then carefully put it over his toes, to keep them warm.

  Elliot stirred just a little. Esmeralda stilled, lowering her eyes to his face. His eyes remained closed, his body relaxed. She moved closer to him, pulling a chair up beside the bed to sit down. "Elliot? Can you hear me?"

  "Mmm."

  She pressed a hand to his face, and found it warm. A bit too warm. He was feverish, no doubt. And no wonder. "Dios, I hope you're going to be all right. You must be all right, do you hear me?"

  He moved his head slightly, turning it toward her, and then tucking in his chin, almost as if in an effort to nod.

  "Sí, you must be all right. I could not bear it otherwise. You never should have come after me, Elliot Brand. You are a foolish man to risk so much for a woman like me."

  Her throat seemed to tighten. She cleared it forcibly. She had things to say to him, and she didn't know when she would have the nerve to say them again. "Only a fool would believe he could love a woman such as I am. I am no good for you, Elliot. No good for you. Your family, they were right about me all along. You should have listened to them."

  She put a hand over his. He turned his and weakly closed it around hers. Yes, he was hearing her; he was aware of her here.

  "I had a plan, you know," she told him softly. "I planned to seduce you, Elliot. To take you inside me only so that I could become pregnant with your child. I was going to trick you into marrying me and then divorce you and claim the right to take part of this ranch away from you." She lowered her head, her eyes watering now. "But I could not go through with it. And that is why I had to leave. Now you know the kind of woman I am. Now you know the truth, Elliot. I used you. That's all that was between us. A lie. My lie, and my scheme. My need to avenge your ancestors' crimes upon you. And now I've realized you … you are nothing like them. You are a good man, Elliot Brand. A good man."

  The hand holding hers eased its tentative grip. Esmeralda leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Elliot's cheek. But he weakly turned his head away. And she thought there was a dampness at the corner of his closed eye that hadn't been there before. "I am so sorry I hurt you," she whispered.

  Then she turned to hurry away, back to her own room. She would stay until daylight. Just long enough to ask one of the others about Elliot's condition. No longer. Then she would go away and never again torment the sweetest man she'd ever known.

  Jessi woke to find Esmeralda gone, and she didn't figure it would take a rocket scientist to figure out where to find her. Hell, there was something going on between Esmeralda and Elliot. If she wasn't trying to scam him out of the ranch, then maybe it was just gratitude. Or something.

  She didn't want to think about the "or something" right now.

  But when she got to Elliot's door and heard Esmeralda's tormented voice speaking softly from the other side, she got a whole earful of "or something." And she leaned softly against the wall, listening, and feeling more and more ashamed of herself.

  "Land sakes," she whispered. "She's in love with him. And I don't even think she knows it!"

  When Esmeralda said her goodbyes to Elliot, Jessi straightened up and hightailed it back to the bedroom that had once been her own. She got to the chair beside the bed, slouched down and slammed her eyes shut tight just before Esmeralda came creeping back into the room. Jessi tried hard to look as if she'd been sound asleep the whole time. Then finally, Esmeralda crawled back into the bed, pulled up the covers … and proceeded to cry herself to sleep.

  Jeez-Louise, what a mess, Jessi thought fiercely. Ah, hell, it was tugging at her heart to hear the soft, sobbing sounds the woman poured out into her pillows. She was hurting … seriously hurting. Now that Jessi knew she'd been right all along about Esmeralda's plans … she thought maybe she'd been dead-solid wrong about the woman herself. And much as she hated to admit when she was wrong, particularly since it was such a rare event, anyway, she had to admit she'd probably messed up big-time in this case.

  Well, hell. At least it wasn't entirely too late to fix things.

  She hoped.

  Sometime near dawn Elliot came awake to a splitting headache, a throbbing shin bone, and a bad, bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Then he thought back, remembering, piecing things together. And he remembered it.

  All of it.

  Culminating in Esmeralda's bedside confession last night. She'd never really wanted him. Never truly cared for him at all. She'd only been using him. She'd slept with him as part of her plan to trick him, and then she'd changed her mind.

  It hurt. It hurt more than the damned broken leg, and it hurt more than the knob on the back of his head. It felt as if it would be fatal, as a matter of fact. He'd loved the woman. He'd stuck up for her, defended her to his entire family, vowed to turn away from them all if they didn't ease up on her…

  And she'd been lying. Plotting. Using him.

  Faking everything? That night together … my God, it couldn't have been make-believe, could it?

  Why the hell had he let himself fall for her? Why? God, he'd been such a fool. She'd told him as much last night, hadn't she? That he was a freaking fool to have fallen for her little game.

  Damn her.

  Damn her.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "Morning, Elliot."

  The cheerful voice of his sister brought his attention slightly away from the bleeding, gaping wound in his pride and the even bigger one in his heart. "Morning, Jessi."

  "Hell of a night, huh?"

  "Guess so."

  Jessi came in, carrying a tray loaded down with sick-folk food. Tea, toast, juice, fruit. "What the hell do you call that?"

  "You've been running a fever. So you get a light, healthy breakfast, lots of liquids, and a dose of aspirin. Like it or lump it, brother."

  He muttered under his breath, eyeing his leg as he struggled into a sitting position. Jessi set the tray on his lap and plumped the pillows under his back. "You suck at playing
the hero, you know," Jessi said, pulling up a chair and sitting down as if she planned to stay a spell.

  "Why's that?"

  "Heck, you went off to rescue Esmeralda and instead, she wound up hauling your sorry butt back home."

  "Hmmph." He didn't want to discuss Esmeralda. "So the leg's broken?"

  "Yup, clean through. You're lookin' at six weeks in that cast. And the first one flat on your back in bed."

  He nodded. "We'll see about that. And the head?"

  "Doc said you were lucky to be born with a hard one. Brand trait, he says." She grinned. "Eat your toast."

  Lowering his head a little, Elliot wondered if Esmeralda had been hurt at all. With the storm and the rain … that tree falling. Hell, he didn't remember a lot.

  "I'm just glad Esmeralda came back," Jessi said, sounding cheerful. Disgustingly and suspiciously cheerful. "I mean, I sure don't intend to be the one waiting on you for the next week or so."

  "Yeah? What makes you think she'll be sticking around that long?"

  "Duh."

  He searched Jessi's face and finally dropped the rapidly cooling toast back to the plate and sighed. "You were right about her, you know."

  "What?" Jessi blinked at him with her wide, doe-in-headlights expression—the one that fooled lots of folks into thinking her harmless and innocent. It didn't fool him for a minute.

  "You know exactly what I mean. She was using me. Planning to scam me out of the ranch. That's all she wanted me for. Nothing else. You knew it all along. You were right, I was wrong, and that's the first and last time you'll hear me say those words, so enjoy them."

  "Really?" Jessi asked, not sounding at all surprised.

  "Yeah." Elliot had to pause a minute to breathe. His voice wanted to crack, and that would give away too much. "She, uh … she came in here last night and confessed everything."