Wildflower Harvest: Includes Bonus Story of Desert Rose

by Colleen L. Reece

  “And just how do you plan to do that?” a new voice demanded. A tanned hand shoved back the frail curtain partition and Desert Rose Birchfield stepped toward the men. “It takes a minister to marry folks, and somehow I just can’t see Uncle Nat taking kindly to performing a ceremony for us.”

  Magnificent! Mike wanted to shout. The sleep had given Rose new courage and strength.

  Evidently Sharpe’s men thought so, too, for Moffatt laughed and the others joined in.

  “Shut up, all of you!” Dan Sharpe glared at his men then at Rose. “Justices of the peace marry folks, too, and I just happen to know one not more than two miles from here due east.”

  “You’re lying,” Rose laughed scornfully. “No decent justice of the peace would be holed up out here in the winter unless—”

  “Unless he is a rascal who needed to get away,” Sharpe finished smoothly. “I’d rather have married you in the proper way then have a rascally man read the lines, but then circumstances don’t always allow for all the nicer things in life.”

  “And you think such a ceremony will hold? When the moment we get back to civilization I’ll tell what really happened?” Rose laughed in Sharpe’s face. “You must be mad.”

  Sharpe’s tawny eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “You turned eighteen yesterday, my dear girl. With both my justice of the peace friend and myself swearing this is an elopement and that you left the Double B and came after me of your own will, we’ll be married proper and binding.”

  Rose whirled toward the other men and cried, “You’re going to let him get away with this?”

  Moffatt shrugged and the others shifted uneasily. “We didn’t ask to get in on this an’ we’re agin it, but we’re ridin’ out soon as we can. This other ain’t none of our business.”

  “You—you—” Sheer fury cut off her indictment and Rose ran back behind her curtain and pulled it into place.

  Weak from holding himself back, Mike slunk away. Not until he could trust himself to speak rationally did he dare creep back to the little window. Rose sat huddled on the bunk, all the fight she had shown earlier gone. Mike tapped gently, then again. She turned. Hope replaced fear in her glorious eyes. She glanced at the curtain then imperiously waved Mike away from the window and opened it a crack.

  “What are you doing in there?” Sharpe bellowed.

  “Getting some fresh air,” she yelled back. “Who can stand all the smoke?” She defiantly pushed the window up more.

  “Don’t get any ideas about trying to run away from your bridegroom-to-be,” Sharpe taunted. “On foot in the snowstorm that’s coming you’d get maybe fifty feet.” He laughed delightedly.

  Mike reached for the two hands she held out to him. “Quick, don’t ask questions. Can you slip out after they’re asleep?”

  Her cheeks whitened. “I’ll try, but if they catch you—”

  “They won’t. God will help us.” He saw color return, but she clung to his hands.

  “Mike, you’re here, you’re involved?”

  “I can’t explain now. If you start out and anyone challenges you, tell them you’re going to the—the—”

  “I understand.” Her eyes looked enormous. “Where will I find you?”

  “I’ll be watching.” He pressed her hands, smiled, and fled into the safety of the woods.

  Endless hours after when the early November dark had come, Mike stood by Peso, ready and waiting. No danger of discovery now. The expected snow had come again, and the large lazy flakes showed every intention of multiplying and continuing for hours. The glow from the fire that had streamed through the window earlier dwindled. Silence replaced the occasional laugh and sporadic conversation. Still Mike waited.

  The cabin door opened. A bundled-up figure stepped onto the porch, silhouetted against the dimly lit interior.

  “Where are you going?” Sharpe’s voice followed.

  “Where do you think I’m going in the middle of a snowstorm in the dark?” Rose flung back and slammed the door. She ran down the single step and into Mike’s arms. He tossed her onto Peso’s back in one easy motion, swung up behind her, and started off. Mesquite, whose saddle lay in the cabin, followed.

  She didn’t speak until they were out of earshot of the cabin. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve asked myself that a thousand times this afternoon,” he said huskily. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes’ start on them, the way I figure. A few minutes before they miss you, more to saddle up and find our tracks. In this snow and dark it may take some time.”

  “They’ll expect me and whoever has me to aim straight for home.” Rose shuddered. “There are so many of them. Do you have a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise you won’t use it unless—”

  “I promise.” His arms around her tightened. “Rose, if they catch us Sharpe will kill me and marry you the way he said. The others won’t interfere. I’m not so sure they’ll even follow us, but we can’t take that chance. I know this is all terrifying and I wish there were another way, but if there is I just can’t figure it out.”

  He took a deep, unsteady breath then let out a croaky little laugh. “Rose, will you go with me to that justice of the peace and marry me—tonight?”

  She jerked up and Mike added, “It’s for your protection. If you’re already married, there’s not a thing Sharpe can do about it. I doubt even he would kill me and marry my widow all at the same time.”

  Chapter 13

  A lifetime ago Laurel Birchfield had told her daughter, “I know that with your faith in our heavenly Father you will never act in any way except an honorable one.”

  Now, trapped by the storm and Dan Sharpe, Rose wondered. Could she live up to that trust?

  Faithful Peso continued to breast the storm under a double burden. Suddenly Rose said in a broken voice, “I can’t marry you, Mike, even to save my life. Marriage has to be between two persons who love each other or it can’t be blessed by God.”

  “I have loved you ever since I saw you,” Mike quietly said. “If you can’t learn to care, I’ll never ask anything of you except the right to protect you until I can get you back to your family.”

  He loved her. Mike Carey loved her. Why should the fear and gloom that closed in around them suddenly lift? Dazed, torn between an idol created through letters and a strong man who had braved both elements and man to save her, Rose’s feelings churned. Carmichael Blake-Jones suddenly seemed so far away, so vague…she had never even seen a picture of him! Mike Carey, cowboy, was here. She thought of his golden hair, his round, appealing face, and most of all the blue eyes anyone on earth could trust. When he vowed to protect her and ask nothing in return she knew she had nothing to fear. Too tired to sort through her fears any longer, Rose shakily said, “I’ll marry you.”

  How different she felt when Mike’s arms tightened protectively around her from when Dan had pinioned her against her will! One man gave freely, expecting nothing, while the other selfishly demanded and took.

  Mike’s hold tightened. “I hope you will never regret it, Rose. It’s the best I can do for you.”

  She longed to comfort him, to tell him she appreciated and cherished the dearness of him, but mute lips could not form the words. Her newly awakened feelings were still too fragile and perhaps born only from the perilous situation. A little sob came but she disguised it by saying, “You—I’m not really dressed for a wedding.”

  “I fell in love with a girl with an auburn braid on a roan horse,” he told her, and again Rose marveled.

  “You saw him kiss me?”

  “Yes, and I ran from it. I learned what you did when out on the range Sharpe said you struck him for the second time.”

  Rose felt the heat of gladness fill her veins.

  Long before they reached the renegade who still carried the title justice of the peace Rose felt they had come ten miles, not two. Yet she thanked God for the ever-increasing storm. There was little likelihood that Sharpe could trail them quickly
. Besides, why would he suspect their destination? A ripple of nervous laughter escaped, and Mike’s arms around her tightened.

  “Are you regretting your promise, Rose?”

  “No.” She shivered in spite of the warmth from Mike’s strong yet respectful hold. “It just isn’t—I didn’t think—you have to admit this isn’t exactly the kind of wedding a girl imagines.”

  “I know.” Did the husky voice whisper “dear” before Mike said, “Whatever happens, you’ll be safe.”

  She lapsed into silence and Mike concentrated on Peso. The strong horse carrying a double load snorted and hesitated at times but picked his way when Mike wisely let the reins lie loose. A lifetime later Mike wordlessly lifted Rose from the saddle and they stamped their way to the door of a crude hut. Mike pounded and called, “Business for you, sir. We’re eloping.”

  Eloping! Some of Rose’s confusion fled but when Mike held out his hand and said, “Come,” she obediently followed him into the dim interior of the hut. A quick survey in the lamplight showed it was clean. She sighed in relief and looked at the justice of the peace.

  “How’d you know I lived here?” the paunchy, balding man demanded, laying a rifle on the table.

  “Sharpe told me. I work on the Circle 5. Can you marry us?” Mike’s voice sounded strained.

  “I’ll hitch you tighter than a peach and its skin,” the older man bragged but turned a sharp look toward Rose. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Names?” The justice of the peace stuck a pair of pince-nez on his nose and procured from a makeshift bureau a stubby pencil and a dirty piece of paper.

  “Desert Rose Birchfield.” The words had trouble getting out of her parched throat.

  “Michael Carey…” A loud crash cut Mike off. He backed into a chair and it overturned. “Sorry.”

  Rose would remember the brief ceremony only in flashes. “…take this man…love, honor…take this woman…love, honor…” The only words that sounded clearly in her tired brain came when Mike answered the questions with a ringing, “I do.” Her own whispered responses evidently satisfied the justice of the peace for he concluded, “…pronounce you man and wife.” He slowly removed his glasses and added, “You may kiss your bride.”

  Rose saw the poignant look in Mike’s blue eyes before he caught her close, whispered in her ear, “We can’t let him be suspicious,” then tenderly, almost reverently kissed her lips.

  “Sorry I can’t offer honeymoon accommodations, but she can use the extra bunk and you’ll have to roll up in front of the fire,” their unwilling host grudgingly told them. “Night’s not fit for critters, let alone humans.”

  “I’ll take care of the horses.” Mike’s warning glance stilled the protest forming on Rose’s lips. “We thank you.” The bewildered girl admired his coolness, but when he stepped out into the storm to stable Peso and Mesquite, she nearly panicked. Something in the justice of the peace’s knowing look infuriated her.

  “Well, Desert Rose Birchfield eloping with a ranch hand!” He slapped his thigh and cackled. “Never thought I’d live to see it.”

  She summoned up every bit of ancestral southern pride to sustain her as she looked through him. “My husband and I appreciate your hospitality. I’m sure you will be well paid.”

  Greed brightened the small watching eyes, and when Mike came back in and pressed money into his hand he grew positively affable. “Don’t forget to sign the wedding certif’cate,” he reminded.

  “Go ahead, Rose. I’ll just dry my coat first,” Mike told her. She shakily wrote her name where the justice of the peace pointed, not reading the remarkable documents. She did wonder why it took Mike so long to sign his name. Perhaps he felt as unsure as she. Too tired to care, she roasted in front of the fire until her riding jeans and shirt and socks felt dry then gratefully crept into the rough but clean blankets on the extra bunk, knowing she would never sleep. Fatigue and strain thought otherwise. Long before Mike closed his eyes and shut out the walls of the hut, Rose’s soft breathing showed that she slept.

  Had he done the right thing? Had his love for her prompted his bold action? Or had there been no other choice? Dear God, he prayed, and shifted on the hard floor, examine my heart and forgive me if I have done wrong.

  Sometime in the night the snow stopped. The Wyoming sun burst over a nearby mountain peak in a glorious flood. It first touched the tall, evergreen tree tops, then the snow-crowned roof of the shack. At last it sent an exploring finger through the single window and into the hut. Still the weary three who had been up until the early morning hours slept. Climbing higher, the sun began to melt the snow. Rose awoke when a plop-plop outside the window warned that the storm had passed. At the same time Mike sprang up and the justice of the peace stretched himself and muttered something inaudible.

  How could he have slept so long in time of danger? Mike chastised himself and pulled on his boots. “May we trouble you for some breakfast?”

  Mellowed by the generous money donation of the night before, their host produced bacon, surprisingly good coffee, and a mountain of flapjacks. An hour later Mike and Rose rode away down a trail they were told was a shortcut back to the Double B, mentally making note of the location so a posse could come as soon as weather permitted. The going proved hard. Rose insisted on riding Mesquite bareback for a time, but the roan’s hide grew wet and slippery from kicked-up snow. Again Peso resumed his stalwart pose and carried double.

  When they reached the familiar bald knob that meant home lay near, Rose’s eyes filled with tears. Everything seemed so unreal. She turned to Mike and again saw the poignant blue light in his eyes that betrayed so much.

  “You—you promised—” She swallowed hard. “Mike, could we just keep still?” She hardly believed the look in his face. Relief? A lessening of strain?

  “Whatever you say.” He laid his hand over her gloved one. “It might be better not to shock your family just yet.”

  Rose shivered at the just yet but managed a wavering smile. “What shall we tell them then?”

  “The truth.” He acted surprised, and she straightened. “Let me do the talking,” he said quietly.

  She numbly nodded, and the horses picked their way down the slope and across the level ground to the ranch house. The warm sun had melted snow in the open and the earth felt soggy from the moisture.

  “Thank God, Mike has her!” rang from Nate, who raced toward them on Piebald, his raven hair tossing wildly. “Where have you been?” He stopped his horse in front of them.

  “Wait until we reach the ranch,” Mike told him. “Rose is worn out, and we don’t want to explain but once.”

  A little later, warmed and fed, Rose quietly listened while Mike told her grandparents and Nate a condensed version of what had happened. “Rose decided on a midnight ride and ran into Sharpe and his band of rustlers stealing Hardwick’s cattle. I happened to be trailing Sharpe and saw the whole thing. Sharpe took Rose to a cabin he must have had built for his secret meetings. I managed to get her attention and let her know I was there. She slipped out in the night and the snow covered our tracks. We found a shack for the rest of the night and came home.”

  “Is that all?” Nate looked at them suspiciously and acted disappointed. “We looked and looked for you, but the snow defeated us.”

  “What more do you want?” Rose demanded. “Seems to me that cattle rustling, being abducted and carried away and rescued all in the same night should be enough for anyone, even Columbine,” she mischievously added.

  “I would have been scared to death,” Columbine confessed, then blushed. “I–I’m sorry I ever felt sorry for Dan Sharpe!”

  Rose escaped to her room in the wave of laughter that followed, but not before Thomas Brown said, “Mike, are you too tired to take a ride over to Hardwick’s with me?”

  “Not at all.” His voice floated to where Rose stood halfway up the stairs. “Except—I don’t think Sharpe knows I saw him. Maybe it would be better for me to he
ad for the Circle 5 and poke around, see if I can find anything incriminating.”

  “Good idea,” Thomas agreed. Rose heard the stamping of his heavy boots. “Come on then, Nate.”

  Only after the men left did Rose realize that she hadn’t even thanked Mike for saving her. Remorseful, she sprang to her window, but Mike and Peso were too far away to hear her call.

  All the way back to the Circle 5, Mike sternly suppressed the desire to gloat over the way things had turned out. Suppose Sharpe turned toward the justice of the peace when he could find no trace of Rose? On the other hand, why should he? The deep snow should have obliterated their tracks. Sharpe would probably think Rose had ridden off on Mesquite and headed home. Even if he did go to the justice of peace he would find no evidence of Mike Carey, unless he could get that name out of the Carmichael Blake-Jones signature Mike had used. Back and forth, back and forth his mind seesawed until he reached the corrals at the Circle 5.

  “Where in tarnation have you been?” Joe Perkins, ruddier than ever, met him at the corral gate.

  “Got caught out. Stayed in a shack.” Should he confess to Joe who he really was? With all the intrigue and danger swirling around him, Mike knew he could use some staunch support. He searched Joe’s loyal face and made a snap decision. “Come up to the ranch house with me, and I’ll tell you a story.”

  “What kind of story?” Joe followed Mike’s brisk steps after Peso had been freed and rubbed down. Clinking spurs and the rolling gait of the cowboy on foot made Mike grin.

  “First, we’re going to search the house.”

  “We’re what?” Joe gasped and his blue eyes popped. “Are you plumb loco? If Sharpe catches us we’ll be goners.” He drew a brown forefinger across his throat.

  Mike figuratively fired both barrels at once. “I saw Sharpe and four men steal about thirty head of Hardwick’s cattle last night, but it’s my word against theirs. If I can find proof—bills of sale, that kind of thing—we can get him.” His face hardened. “Joe, those cattle came right to that piece of land where you got shot.”