Valley of Fire (The Mississippi McGills)

by Peggy Webb

  “What's that, Martha Ann?”

  “Nothing. I was just clearing my throat.” She cleared her throat loudly. Rick chuckled.

  “Now don't get excited or anything....”

  “I'm not excited.” But she was beginning to get irritated. Why didn't Evelyn get to the point?

  “Oh, yes you are, my sweet,” Rick murmured against her breast. “And exciting, too.”

  “Stop that.” Martha Ann playfully punched his chest.

  “What?”

  “Not you, Evelyn.”

  “Martha Ann, what in the world's going on?”

  Martha Ann took a deep, exasperated breath. Goodness gracious. Sometimes the Riley girls were as dense as they could be. “You're the one who called, Evelyn. You tell me.”

  “Don't get excited...” If Evelyn said that one more time, she was going to scream. “...but I'm in the hospital.”

  Martha Ann sat bolt upright. “In the hospital?”

  “Here in Pontotoc. It seems Lucy Ann has decided to come early.”

  Martha Ann already had her feet over the side of the bed and was reaching for her underwear.

  “Listen, don't you dare have that baby till I get there. Do you hear?”

  “Well, I'll try.” Evelyn giggled, then groaned. “But you might hurry. It seems that Lucy Ann has a mind of her own.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She jerked on her blouse and buttoned it up crooked.

  “What's wrong?” Rick was already out of bed pulling on his pants.

  “We're having a baby!”

  “Not yet, sweetheart, but we will. I can guarantee that.”

  Rick refastened Martha Ann's buttons and handed her the hairbrush, which she swore had disappeared to China. Finally, he got her out to his car in one piece.

  “I'll drive,” he said. “I don't think nervous aunts should be allowed on the road.”

  o0o

  By the time they arrived at the hospital, Lucy Ann O'Grady had already made her debut.

  Evelyn was propped up in bed, holding the tiny red-faced baby girl, and Lucky was standing by the bedside beaming.

  Martha Ann, dressed in hospital gown and mask, started cooing the minute she saw her niece.

  “Just look at her. She has my chin.” She motioned to Rick, who was standing just inside the door. “Don't you think she has my chin?”

  He crossed the room, held out his finger, and the tiny hand closed around it. He was immediately smitten.

  “That's the first thing I noticed. She definitely has your beautiful, stubborn chin.”

  “And look at her eyes, Rick. Don't you think they look like mine?”

  He gazed from Martha Ann to the baby and back. “I do believe she does. Lucky little girl.”

  “Look at the size of those little feet. I believe she's going to be a tall girl—just like me.”

  Evelyn smiled and winked at Lucky. “The next thing you know, she's going to be claiming all the credit.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry about that, Martha Ann. This one's ours. You're going to have to have your own baby.”

  “And when you do, I'm going to be there with bells on saying she looks just like me,” Evelyn chimed in. Her sister leaned closer and cooed to the baby. “Does anybody in this room smell grapes?”

  Martha Ann and Rick both jumped and looked at each other.

  “Seems I do,” Lucky said. “Been smelling them from the minute you two walked in the door.”

  “Well, I'm trying out a new bubble bath.”

  “It must be a new room spray.”

  Rick and Martha Ann spoke up at the same time. Then they grinned at each other.

  “You go ahead,” Martha Ann said. “Your story sounds better than mine.”

  He cleared his throat loudly. “There's just no accounting for the room sprays they use in hospitals these days to kill the antiseptic smell.”

  Everybody laughed. Then Lucky handed Rick a cigar, and they went downstairs to the lounge so they could smoke and Lucky could brag.

  As soon as the men had gone, Evelyn gave her sister a thorough once-over. “Congratulations, Martha Ann.”

  “What are you talking about, Evelyn? You're the one who has just had the baby.”

  “I'm talking about those wedding bells I hear. And don't try to tell me he hasn't asked.”

  “He has.”

  “And?”

  “And... I told him I needed time.”

  “Time won't change a thing.”

  The sisters looked at each other in perfect understanding.

  Suddenly Martha Ann smiled. “You are right. You are so right!” She whirled around and started for the door, pulling off her hospital gown and mask as she went.

  “Tell him I think a little Scottish blood is just what you need to tame that Irish in you,” Evelyn called after her.

  Martha Ann laughed and waved and kept on going. She found Rick in the lounge, stretched out on a love seat, pretending to enjoy his cigar. Lucky was sitting in a nearby chair talking about Lucy Ann's first piano recital.

  She paused just inside the door, propped one hand on her hip, and winked at Rick.

  His eyes lit up, and he pulled the big cigar out of his mouth. “By George, I always did love a woman who could pose.”

  “Get used to it, sweetheart,” she said, imitating his Humphrey Bogart drawl. “I'm going to be posing for you for the rest of my life.”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “Evelyn says to tell you welcome to the family, you big Scottish scoundrel.”

  Watching her, Rick took a big draw on his cigar and blew out a ring of smoke.

  “Not afraid of swindlers and thieves and blackmailers and such, are you?”

  “With you, I don't think I ever was.” She walked slowly across the room, swaying her hips in a manner he found exceedingly sexy. When she was only a few feet from him, she stopped. “This time around, my marriage will be built on complete trust—till death do us part.”

  Rick took another long, satisfying puff of his cigar. Suddenly he was enjoying it very much. It seemed just right for celebrating a marriage. He blew three more smoke rings in the air.

  “If you'll come a little closer, sweetheart, we'll seal the bargain.”

  She advanced on him, a vampish pout on her lips and a gleam in her eye. When she reached the love seat, she stood in front of him and held out her hand.

  “With a handshake, of course,” she said, deadpan.

  “Naturally.” He took her hand and gave it a solemn shake. Then he gave a tug that sent her tumbling onto his lap.

  “Rick, this is a hospital!”

  “The perfect place to be.” He gave her a quick but thorough kiss. “After I'm finished with you, we might both be in need of medical attention.” He took her lips again.

  Both of them had forgotten Lucky, but that didn't matter, for he had forgotten them also. He was talking to the walls now, describing Lucy Ann's first prom dress.

  o0o

  Six weeks later a large crowd was gathered inside the Episcopalian Church in Tupelo. Up front, Jacob Donovan, Rick's best friend, and Andrew McGill, his youngest brother, were lighting the candles. Evelyn was seated at the organ, playing a soft tune.

  In the third pew from the front, Velma and Clyde Running Bear, who had flown in compliments of the groom, were whispering.

  “That sounds like 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' to me, Clyde.”

  “I guess they can play anything they want to. It's their wedding.” He craned his neck to see if he could be the first one to catch a glimpse of the bride. “I think I see her, Velma.”

  “Shhh. Everybody's going to hear you.”

  Clyde turned back around and tried to look solemn. His solemnity lasted until Martha Ann Riley started down the aisle. Then he tugged on Velma's arm.

  “I knew that love potion would work.”

  “Shhh, honey. Here comes the bride.” They swiveled their heads around to watch Martha Ann. When the bride was at the fro
nt of the church, Velma leaned close to Clyde and whispered, “Are you sure you put it in the right place?”

  “Trust me, Velma. I took care of everything.”

  o0o

  Rick and Martha Ann left the church directly after the wedding and boarded his private plane. Then they headed for the Valley of Fire.

  They landed there just at sunset. While Rick gathered firewood, Martha Ann unrolled their sleeping bags on the exact bluff top that had sheltered them during their quest for Lucky.

  Rick came up behind her and circled his arms around her waist.

  “Is that any way to begin a honeymoon, Mrs. McGill? Separate sleeping bags?”

  She turned around and draped her arms around his neck. “I think the honeymoon started the last time we were here. Remember?”

  “I remember everything about that night, including how hard these rocks felt.”

  She grinned. “Then why do you suppose we're here instead of in some nice hotel with a nice comfortable bed and nice clean sheets?”

  “I hate nice.” He kissed her.

  “So do I.”

  “Do you think we should try naughty?”

  “We always have.” He bent over and picked up her sleeping bag. “Let me put this superfluous bedding away.”

  He gave the bag a brisk shake and out rolled a small, smelly mesh bag.

  “It looks like our friend Clyde Running Bear has been at it again.” He picked up the love potion, grinning.

  “It worked the first time, didn't it?”

  “It did, but, sweetheart, I don't relish the idea of keeping a bag of dead cow's ears in our bedroom for the rest of our lives.”

  “The rest of our lives. That has a nice ring.”

  “It certainly does. Come here, Mrs. McGill.”

  Martha Ann walked into her husband's arms, and the small mesh bag went sailing over the edge of the bluff.

  Epilogue

  “How could you do this to me, Martha Ann?”

  “I had a little help.”

  Evelyn pushed past her brother-in-law to get a better look at the babies. Three of them. And all of them boys.

  Martha Ann held on to the soft bundles and smiled. “Evelyn, meet Michael and his brothers. Say hello to your auntie, boys.” Michael began to squall.

  “Here. He wants his daddy.” Rick McGill reached down and scooped one of the tiny infants into his arms. “Don't you cry, big fellow. Daddy's going to sing you a song.” He began crooning 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” off-key.

  “Isn't he wonderful?” Martha Ann said to her sister.

  “Well, if you ask me, he would have been more wonderful if he had fathered at least one girl.” She leaned closer and inspected her sister's babies. “However, little Mark does have a mouth that looks suspiciously like mine.” She picked up the baby and posed with him. “What do you think?”

  “The spitting image of you,” Martha Ann said.

  “And I do believe his hair is going to be blond like mine.”

  “Without a doubt.” Martha Ann winked at her husband. He winked back.

  “Of course, I think little Matthew is going to have that stubborn Riley cowlick.” Evelyn leaned down and swapped babies. “Just like mine.” She cooed a little baby talk to Matthew, and then handed him to his proud daddy. “I'd say you did well for the first time around. Next time, though, I'm expecting you to present me with three nieces.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  Evelyn kissed each of her nephews on the top of his head, then left the new parents alone.

  Rick came to the bed and sat down on the edge.

  “Three girls?” Martha Ann smiled at him.

  “Three girls.” He bent and kissed his wife soundly on the lips. “And I never make promises I don't plan to keep, sweetheart.”

  -o0o-

  Until Morning Comes

  (The Mississippi McGills, Book Two)

  Peggy Webb

  Chapter One

  “Hold it right there.”

  Colter Gray Wolf thought he was hearing things. Maybe he'd been in the desert too long. He shook his head to clear it and knelt closer to the stream.

  “I'm talking to you, Indian.”

  He felt something poke into his bare back. It was unmistakably the barrel of a gun. Automatically, he lifted his hands above his head in an act of surrender. The person speaking was obviously a maniac, and he wasn't going to take any chances.

  “Don't shoot. You can have whatever you want.”

  There was the unexpected sound of giggling behind him, then wheezing and snorting.

  “I don't want anything you've got. I just want you.” Colter felt his hands being dragged down and lashed behind his back. Then the gun dug into his flesh again. “Now get up real slow and turn around.

  Colter stood up and faced his captor. The person holding him captive was a bantam of a man, with a full head of curly gray hair and bright blue eyes staring out from a deeply tanned and wrinkled face. And he was holding a twelve-gauge, double-barrel shotgun. The man didn't look like a hardened criminal. Perhaps he was just frightened. Colter decided to try a friendly approach.

  “I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Colter Gray from—”

  “Quiet.” The gun stabbed toward his rib cage. “If you're a doctor, I'm the Queen of England.” The old man giggled again.

  Colter's diagnosis was swift. Senile dementia. The old man was probably harmless, but he was holding a gun. Speaking slowly and clearly, as if he were talking to one of his patients, Colter tried to reason with the man.

  “I mean you no harm. I'm camping two miles from here, and if you'll untie these ropes, I’ll leave and you'll never see me again.”

  “Heck, what do you think I captured you for? I've been looking all over these parts for somebody just like you.”

  “Why do you want someone like me?”

  “The two of us are going to be a team. I'm the Lone Badger, and you'll be Toronto. We’ll make a fortune with our act.”

  Colter stifled his chuckle, for he knew the man didn't consider his bizarre suggestion funny. And once again he marveled at the Father Creator's wisdom. Having a loved one become senile was a devastating blow for a family, but God had added the humor to compensate.

  He decided to try one more tactic.

  “That's a great idea. All we need now is a horse. Why don't you untie me so I can help you catch one?”

  “And let you run away? Shoot, I wasn't born yesterday. Nor the day before, either.” The old man poked the gun into Colter's ribs. “March.”

  Colter briefly considered kicking the old man's legs out from under him and trying to get away, but that posed too many problems. The gun could go off. Even if it didn't, even if he managed to kick the gun away, too, his captor might get to it quickly enough to shoot Colter in the back. And he hadn't come all the way to Tucson to get shot.

  He did as he was told.

  o0o

  Jo Beth was feeling great. She'd had a successful outing with her camera—photographing the giant saguaro cactus—and her dog hadn't scared up a single rattlesnake. That was one of the things she'd been worried about when she'd taken this assignment in Arizona. Rattlesnakes. That and her parents. Sara and Silas McGill were getting old. And although her brother Rick had hired full-time help for them, she felt guilty leaving them with strangers so much. So when she'd left Tupelo, she'd brought them with her.

  Her mother hated the desert, but she endured it with good grace, as she endured everything. It was her father Jo Beth worried most about. His mind was getting worse and worse. Lately he'd begun to think of himself as Rooster Cogburn. He'd even begun to talk like that crusty old outlaw.

  She lengthened her stride when her borrowed cabin came into view. The Santa Catalina Mountains rose up behind it, and lights glowed in the window. It looked homey and cozy. But the lights reminded her that it would soon be dark. She hadn't meant to leave her parents alone for so long.

  Her golden retriever ran ahead of her, waving his t
ail in the air and panting with happiness. Suddenly the dog stood still, the hackles rising on his back. Jo Beth caught up to him, bent down, and put her hand on his collar.

  “What's wrong, boy?”

  He growled once, low in his throat, then went streaking toward the outdoor privy. When he reached the ramshackle, unused outhouse, he began to bark.

  Jo Beth laughed. “I agree with you, Zar. It's an eyesore. What can I say? The owner thinks it adds a bit of local color to the place.”

  Zar barked at her twice, and then put his right front paw on the door of the privy and whined. There was a muffled sound from within the structure.

  Prickles of fear rose on Jo Beth's arms, but she was no coward.

  “Hold 'em, boy,” she yelled as she unhooked her camera and ran toward the woodpile for a big stick. The first one she selected was too heavy, but the next one was just right. She hefted it in the air a couple of times for practice. She wasn't a McGill for nothing. She could hold her own with a passel of wildcats. Nobody messed with a McGill.

  She ran hack toward the privy. Zar was still standing guard at the door, growling. Jo Beth took the bold approach. Holding the stick of wood high above her head with one hand, she jerked the door open with the other.

  A bound and gagged man stared at her from the toilet seat. Not just a man. An honest-to-goodness Native American complete with braids and buckskin britches and beaded moccasins and bare bronze chest. It was the chest that held her attention the longest.

  “What are you doing in my outhouse?”

  She saw the man's eyes crinkle with laughter. He wriggled around on the seat and made a few muffled sounds.

  “Well, of course. The gag,” she said, feeling foolish.

  Impulsively she reached toward the gag, and then she pulled back. Zar was no longer growling, and the man certainly didn't look like a criminal, but she didn't want to be too hasty.

  “Listen, my dog will attack on command, and I'm very handy with this stick. I'm going to take off your gag so that you can talk, but don't any tricks. Okay?”

  The man nodded. It was strange how he could maintain his dignity, bound and gagged in an outdoor toilet. Jo Beth supposed it must be his heritage. Maybe Native Americans looked dignified at all times.