by DiAnn Mills
This can’t be. Morgan will go mad. This can’t happen to him again.
She prayed for wisdom. Jenkins had wanted her once. “We can ride together again,” she said. “It can be just like you want it.”
He tightened his grip around her waist until she choked back a scream. She’d do anything to spare Morgan the horror of finding her dead in the cabin. Anything.
*****
“I’m ashamed of myself, Reverend.” Morgan paced the kitchen of the parsonage. “A rider brought Casey’s pardon late last night. I wanted to tell her this morning, but she left church before I had a chance to talk to her. I know I have to accept whatever she says about us, and that has my insides feeling like curdled milk. Guess I needed to talk to you before I head out to the ranch.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve really gotten prideful about this. I should have chased her down this morning. She’s waited too long to be free.”
“You’re being honest. I’ve seen her the past few months in church, staring back at me as though she wanted to cry.”
Morgan crossed his arms and stopped in front of the window. He remembered all the times when Casey had been afraid of him. “I think I ruined it between us, and it’s my fault. I shoved my bad temperament at her one too many times. Mama reminded me that she’s never known a decent man. No wonder she’s afraid to trust.”
The reverend stood beside him. “I’ll be praying you two will be rejoicing with the good news.”
“We both worked so hard on this pardon.” He turned from the window. “Lots of folks did. I think I’ll head back to the boardinghouse and get a clean shirt.”
“Facing our problems is the best way to solve them. If you two make it to church tonight, I won’t ask you about my sermon. Something tells me you’d have a hard time concentrating.”
“Maybe so, but I need to listen more instead of stepping into life each morning like a stubborn mule.”
The two said their good-byes, and Morgan made his way down the street to the boardinghouse. He thought about how he missed the ranch. Even the bunkhouse was more homelike than his room here. The proprietor waved at him.
“I have a note for you from Miss Flanagan. It’s under your door.”
Taking two steps at a time up the stairs, Morgan rushed down the hall to his room. He opened the door and snatched up the folded piece of paper. With the door open, he read each word, then read it again. He shut the door with his boot. “Thank You, Lord!” His words bounced from the walls inside his small room. In two minutes, he had on a clean shirt. Cramming the note inside his shirt pocket, he grabbed his hat.
At the livery, he saddled his horse, all the while frustration creeping through him. He couldn’t get to the ranch fast enough. But as he swung up onto the saddle, Ben walked in.
“Morgan, we need to talk.”
“I’m in a hurry. Need to ride out to the ranch.”
“There’s trouble.”
Alarm sounded through Morgan’s body. “What do you mean?”
Ben made his way closer. “Tim O’Hare was seen earlier this morning riding toward your land. He was alone. But what about Jenkins?”
*****
In all of Casey’s days at the ranch, she’d never been this close to the cabin—the scene of Kathleen’s murder. Morgan wanted to burn it to the ground, but it was also the cabin his father had built. Recently he’d cleaned up the weeds and underbrush with the idea of asking Jesse and his family if they’d like to live there. All of that seemed forsaken with what Jenkins now planned.
Jenkins rode up behind the cabin, dismounted, and tied his horse to a pine. Casey started to swing her leg over the saddle, but he pulled her to the ground onto a patch of prickly thistles. She waited for him to empty his revolver into her, but that would have been too easy.
“Didn’t I tell ya not to ever leave me?” Jenkins bent to her face. His foul breath reminded her of a hundred other times he’d come after her. “Were you fool enough to think I’d never catch up with you? I don’t ever give up, Casey girl.”
“I guess I knew it. Expected it.” How stupid I’ve been. I shouldn’t have stopped running.
Morgan, I haven’t told you in so very long how much I love you.
Jenkins yanked her from where she’d fallen and dragged her to the front of the cabin. Forcing her to her feet, he grabbed her waist and limped inside. Even with his bad leg, his strength was something to be reckoned with. Fighting him would only make matters worse. Those nightmares screamed against her senses. He slammed the door shut, and the cabin shook. Shadows from the overhanging trees intensified her fear of what Morgan would find. She blinked and searched for a way to defend herself.
As though Jenkins knew her thoughts, he pinned her arms behind her. White-hot pain shot up her fingers to her shoulders. He wrapped rawhide around her wrists until it cut into her flesh. All the while he cursed. Casey understood his game. She refused to give in to any semblance of anguish that would spur him on to inflict more agony. He shoved her onto a chair and reached for a nearly empty bottle of liquor on the table.
“Casey girl.” He swayed with the effects of the alcohol. “We’ve got us a reunion—you, me, and Andrews. But I ain’t killin’ you now. Not until he shows up. Why, we’ve got ourselves a party.” He took a gulp from the bottle. “Been resting and drinking all mornin’, thinking how I was going to make you pay for all the trouble you’ve caused me. I should have sold you to Rose since you couldn’t handle one night there. You always were uppity.” He sneered. “And I loved you, too. I’d have given you anything you wanted. But you lit out.”
He took another swallow. “Purdy dresses. A ranch in Mexico. Anything. But I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Jenkins paced across the wooden floor. She calculated how fast she could get to the door before he caught her.
“Let me tell you about the things I learned about making folks pay,” he said. “There’s a heap of fun we’re gonna have with a knife and a little fire. But most of it will wait for Andrews. That man has bad luck when it comes to women.”
Panic ripped across her mind. Living meant enduring his threats. His torture . . . or whatever he chose to do to her.
“Do you remember all the promises I made you? Do I have to remind you? I’m a man of my word, Casey girl. You’ll see. I’m going to take care of you and Andrews together. Seems fittin’, doesn’t it? And that no-count brother of yours is miles away.”
With each threat, he lifted the bottle and drank until he sent it crashing to the floor. Bits of glass splintered about the room. She held her breath and understood that the shards fueled his mind for what he planned to do next.
Jenkins’s eyes narrowed, and his laugh grew louder. He moved her way. As long as his garbled, deranged shouts of insanity spun around her, she had time to think. The ranch hands saw what happened. They’d help Grant and send word to town for the doctor and Ben and Morgan. Watching Jenkins swerve and bump into the side of the cabin, she prayed he would pass out.
I can’t even fight back. If only I could get away long enough to make a run for it.
She tried to work her hands free, but the rawhide knots only tightened. Casey clung to a prayer for deliverance as soundly as she clung to life.
She heard a horse. A rider? A man called out. She strained her ears and tried to move. That voice. Tim.
Jenkins stomped outside. With his back to her, Casey made her way to where Jenkins leaned against the open door of the cabin.
“Jenkins,” Tim shouted from the small clearing in front of the cabin. “What are you doing in there?”
“O’Hare, I thought you had better things to do than trail me.”
“I wondered where you were headed. I hadn’t been in this part of Texas before, so I thought I’d find out what you were up to.” Tim sounded friendly. “You’re a hard man to find.”
“Well, now you found me. Get on out of here. I want to be alone.”
“Who do you have in there with you?” Tim dismounted from his ho
rse and slowly ambled toward the cabin. His right hand rested on his gun belt.
“Nobody. Just me and my bottle.”
“I think you’re lying. This is Andrews’s land. Morgan Andrews.”
“What do you mean?” Impatience seemed to mount with Jenkins’s every word. Casey wanted to warn Tim, but Jenkins would shoot him.
“I want to come in and take a look. I wouldn’t want you to be drinking by yourself. I’ve come a long way.” Tim stared at the drunken outlaw.
Jenkins raised his revolver. “I don’t think so.”
The click screamed at her mind. “Tim,” Casey cried, “he’ll kill you for sure. Do what he says.”
The muscles in her brother’s face tightened. “Jenkins, I told you too many times to leave my sister alone. I’ve been trailing you for a long time, knowing you’d not give up on finding her. Casey, come on outside.”
“She stays put,” Jenkins said.
“Then you and I will settle this for good.”
“I could shoot you where you stand.” Jenkins limped off the porch.
“But you’d rather fight me square. You’ve wanted to for a long time.” Tim’s hand rested near his holster.
“Yer pushin’ me.”
“Come on out in the open, Jenkins. Show me what you’re made of. This business with my sister has to stop here. I told you to leave her be. She ain’t no good to you alive or dead.”
“I’m faster than you.” Jenkins spit tobacco between them.
“Prove it.” Tim whirled one quick glimpse her way.
Casey gasped. Her mind scrambled. Was Tim faster?
“I don’t want to kill ya,” Jenkins said. “We were partners.”
“Didn’t stop you from killin’ Franco. Let my sister go.”
“She’s mine. Always has been. You’re not giving me any choice but to gun you down, O’Hare.”
She realized Tim allowed silence to strengthen his challenge. She well remembered his tactics. “Are you afraid of me?”
Jenkins made his way into the clearing. She followed, no longer afraid that he might swing his gun back her way.
Tim met Casey’s gaze. One brief moment of compassion. “That’s my sister you’re treatin’ that way. I’m ready, Jenkins.”
In the midst of anger’s fury, two men fired. And two men fell.
Casey screamed as her brother’s body slumped to the ground. He rolled over on his back. Blood rippled over his chest and onto the dry ground. She stumbled down the steps to his still form. “Tim. I’m coming.” She struggled with the rawhide binding her hands. “I can’t touch you.” She stared in horror at the sight of his ashen face. “Why did it have to come to this?”
He groaned and opened his mouth to speak. She tried to stop him, but he ignored her pleading. “Cas, I’m sorry . . . I never did right by you.”
She blinked back stinging tears. “It’s all right. Save your strength and rest. I’ll go get help.”
“Not this time, little sister,” he whispered. “Jenkins’s bullet did me in.”
And with the red pool at his side, she saw his words were true.
“Tim, do you still remember Jesus?” Sobbing broke her words.
“No . . . only through Ma.”
“It’s not too late to ask Him into your life.” All the things she wanted to tell him about Jesus flowed through the recesses of her mind, but time stole them from her heart.
He struggled to breathe. “Someday, when you see Ma again, tell her I’m sorry. I never kept the promises I made to take care of you proper.”
“You did keep—” Her words fell on lifeless ears. Casey heard the click of a revolver. Her gaze bore into the crippled, mangled outlaw who had stalked her and killed her brother. He’d crawled to her, and now he aimed his revolver directly at her face. If she hadn’t been on her knees, she could have kicked the gun from his hands.
“Go ahead, Jenkins,” she said. “Do it now. I dare you.”
He raised the weapon to fire, but movement caught her eye. Morgan raced from the trees beside the cabin and slammed into Jenkins. In the shuffle, the gun slipped from Jenkins’s fingers.
Morgan grabbed the revolver and towered over him. “Don’t try anything.” He shoved Jenkins aside. Blood oozed from Jenkins’s side, and he groaned. Morgan whipped around to her and pulled a knife from his pocket to cut the rawhide binding her wrists.
“Are you all right?”
All she could do was nod.
“Shoot me.” Jenkins’s words sounded more like an animal begging to be put out of its misery.
“Not this time,” Morgan said. “That’s what the law’s for.”
Morgan knelt at Casey’s side. “It’s all over. No one will hurt you now. No one will ever hurt you again.”
“Tim tried to stop Jenkins,” she said. “He died trying to save me. He died without Jesus.”
Morgan stared at Jenkins, who clutched his bleeding side. He pulled her closer. “There was a time I’d have filled you with every bullet I had,” he told the outlaw. “But a judge and jury will make this decision.”
Horses and riders approached them—ranch hands.
“Jesse, get this man to the house. The doc can look at him after he sees to Grant. Then Ben can have him.”
“Grant? Is he all right?” Casey’s tears refused to stop, but she didn’t care.
“He’ll be just fine. It’s not too deep. Rafael went after the doctor.”
Casey wet her lips. “I’m so sorry for not trusting you. I love you . . . I never dreamed you would come.”
“Oh, my dear sweet lady, how could you ever think such nonsense? My nightmare was that I wouldn’t make it in time. Thank God, I found you.”
“Do . . . you still want to marry me? I don’t care about the pardon.”
Morgan planted a kiss on her forehead. “Honey, the papers came yesterday evening. President Arthur granted the pardon. You’re free. Free from Jenkins. Free from ever running again.” He gathered her up and carried her away from the sight of Tim’s body. “I’m taking you home, sweetheart. It’s all over.”
Epilogue
“Into this holy estate this man and this woman come now to be united. If anyone, therefore, can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else forever hold his peace.” Reverend Rainer smiled out over those sharing in the marriage celebration.
Casey longed to look out at her friends, too, but gazing into the eyes of her beloved Morgan was where she always wanted to be. She saw the love glistening there and silently promised her devotion.
“Morgan Andrews, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” Morgan nodded his head to affirm the fact.
The reverend turned to Casey. “Casey O’Hare, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, obey, and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Thank You, Lord. “I will.” Casey swallowed a sob. I will not cry. This is a day of happiness. Too many tears have been shed in the past. Oh Sarah, I pray you’re watching this.
Casey stood confidently beside Morgan, their hands firmly locked in the midst of their vows. A bouquet of Sarah’s vibrant red roses trembled in her hand, and a single tear slipped from her misty eyes. Bonnie managed a quivering smile beside the bride, and Grant grinned broadly from his position as best man. The reverend stood like an old Indian chief whom Casey had known in years gone by. The same white hair and dignified stance characterized both men. She longed to find Jocelyn, but not at this moment. This moment belonged to Morgan.
A wide smile spread over the reverend’s face. “I d
on’t think anyone here objects to me pronouncing you man and wife,” he said. “Morgan, you may now kiss your bride.”
A whoop and a holler rose from Grant. Others began to clap. But Casey’s attention focused on her husband, the only man she’d ever loved or would ever love. As his lips touched hers, sealing their commitment for a lifetime, she remembered the words of Sarah. “He cannot be perfect, but will he try? There lies your answer, and only you can know his heart.” Morgan would always love her, and he’d always try to be a godly husband. What more could she want?
Morgan smiled and with featherlike softness brushed away the dampness on her cheeks with his finger. “I love you, Casey Andrews. I’m not a perfect man, but with God’s help, I will do my best to cherish you always.”
“I love you,” she whispered. “The past is behind us. We have today and tomorrow.”
DiAnn Mills Bio
Award-winning author DiAnn Mills is a fiction writer who combines an adventuresome spirit with unforgettable characters to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels. DiAnn’s first book was published in 1998. She currently has more than fifty books published.
Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists and have won placements through the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Carol Awards and Inspirational Reader’s Choice awards. DiAnn won the Christy Award in 2010 and 2011.
DiAnn is a founding board member for American Christian Fiction Writers and a member of Inspirational Writers Alive, Romance Writers of America, and Advanced Writers and Speakers Association. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country. DiAnn is also the Craftsman mentor for the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild.
She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.
Website: www.diannmills.com
Copyright
Leather and Lace
Copyright © 2006, 2012 by DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.
Previously published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., under ISBN 978-1-59789-127-4.
First electronic printing in 2012 by eChristian, Inc.