“And here are Mr. Simpson, Mr. Howes and Dr. Leverson,” Chisum continued. “Dr. Leverson has come down from Colorado to establish a colony here.”
Isobel stared at the man and wondered at the ill-fated timing of his arrival in Lincoln County. When the guests resumed their chatter, Noah started for the front door.
“Buchanan, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Chisum asked, blocking his path.
“Thought I’d check on my place.” Noah nodded in Isobel’s direction. “I’ll leave Belle with you, if you don’t mind. She’ll be safer here.”
“I certainly do mind.” Chisum glanced at Isobel. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate the company of such a lovely creature, but she’s your wife. You’ll need someone to tend that bullet hole of yours. Adios, partner.”
Laughing heartily, Chisum hailed McSween across the room and swaggered off, leaving Noah gazing at Isobel.
“You make one move to escape, and I’ll hog-tie you to this rail,” Noah vowed as he and Isobel wrapped their reins around the hitching post outside his adobe home.
Isobel decided not to respond to such a vulgar comment. When she pushed open the front door and stepped into the familiar room, her annoyance wavered. The house smelled wonderful—crisp starch in the lace curtains, old leather coats hung on pegs, the charred remains of their last wood fire. From the kitchen wafted the aromas of ground coffee, cinnamon, lye soap. From the bedroom, the eucalyptus and lavender Isobel had packed among her clothes mingled with the bay rum cologne Noah sometimes wore.
She shut her eyes and stood for a moment, swept away by memories…laughter, as she and Noah hung curtains, giggles over too many onions in the rabbit stew, the soft swish-swish of the straw broom, the clickety-clack of the Remington.
“I mailed your story to New York,” she said when she felt Noah moving behind her.
“Thank you, Isobel.”
She turned to him. “It seems we go in opposite directions, Noah. You are for the quiet life. I am for la venganza.”
He studied the oriental carpet beneath the velvet sofa. “I remember when you seemed happy with the quiet life, Isobel.”
“I remember, too.” Again, their eyes met.
“I’ve lived a rough life, Isobel,” he said. “A man’s life—rounding up cattle, warding off rustlers, going without decent food. My gun has sent three men on to their rewards—two cattle rustlers, a horse thief. Despite what you think, I’m no coward. But I’ve got to follow my dreams. It’s time.”
Noah gazed at her face, and she began to fear he could read her longing, her passion. Did he know how deeply she cared for him? Did he sense that she loved him?
“Then we’ll keep apart,” she said quickly. “Do as you wish. I’ll do the same.”
“Good. In a few days I’ll talk to Chisum about the land I want to buy. As soon as we hear Snake is in jail, you can get on with your own business.”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “I understand.”
But as she began removing her shawl, Isobel knew that every word she had spoken was a lie. She didn’t want to stay away from Noah, though he had no use for her. He understood her quest, but he would never help her. When the time was right, he wanted to be rid of her.
Isobel slipped into Noah’s life again as though it were something they had planned. He slept in the barn while she returned to the bedroom. Every morning when he walked into the house and smelled the eggs frying and the coffee bubbling, his heart lifted.
And there she always was—Isobel. Freshly scrubbed from her morning bath. Dressed in her blue cotton dress or one of the fancy Spanish outfits she’d refashioned. Her hair gleamed like sunshine, and her lips were always ready with a smile.
As they ate their breakfast at the white-clothed table, her plans spilled out in a gurgling stream. The house soon wore a new coat of caliche whitewash. The windowpanes sparkled. The floorboards squeaked of fresh wax. Noah repaired his fences and gave the barn a coat of red paint.
He sensed that Isobel was channeling her urge for revenge into labor as she spaded the deep, rich river soil beside the kitchen. In his storage bins she found seeds for corn, beans, peas and chilies. She cut the eyes from old cellar potatoes and planted them in rows beside the onion bulbs. Then he taught her how to dig irrigation channels from his ditch to her garden.
In the second week, Noah woke one morning with the idea of taking Isobel out to see the land he hoped to buy. He had no illusions that she would want to stay on with him. Many a sunset he had seen her standing on the back porch and looking in the direction of Lincoln Town. She kept her pistol beside the bed, and he knew if she could, she would ride out again in search of Snake Jackson and la revancha.
“Can you leave your laundering for a day?” he asked that morning as they cleared the breakfast dishes. “I thought we might go riding.”
“To Chisum’s?”
“No.” He hung the iron frying pan on its hook. “Thought you might like to see the land I want to buy.”
She scrubbed the entire kettle before nodding.
As the horses cantered through belly-high green grass, Isobel was sure she had never been so happy. Dressed in her riding skirt, shirtwaist and boots, she had placed one of Noah’s old hats on her head.
She watched him riding just paces ahead, his shoulders broad above the straight line of his back. The wound in his arm had almost healed, and his hair had grown too long. She had considered asking if he would like for her to trim it, but they had not touched each other since returning to the house. The thought of lifting his hair in her fingers was… No, she could never cut his hair.
“I own a few head of cattle,” Noah said, beckoning her. “They range with Chisum’s herds. Now and again I round them up, see how many calves have dropped and send a few beeves to the railhead. I’ve saved a little money. Enough to buy a spread, anyway.”
“A small one, like Dick Brewer’s?”
“Smaller. Chisum staked his claim on this land, and he’s fought off rustlers too long to let it go easy.” He surveyed the rolling grasslands dotted with wildflowers and yuccas. The turquoise sky spread overhead like a clear lake. “Sometimes, I almost think I can look straight up into heaven and catch a glimpse of God.”
“I have never seen my land,” Isobel responded.
“Good country around Santa Fe. You’ll like it.”
Isobel nodded, though she knew she would never own that land unless she fought to reclaim it.
Noah led them beneath a tall tree and they dismounted. “This is a cottonwood,” he said. “Remember what I told you last month?”
“You said the leaves in the wind would sound like a river.”
“Listen.”
She stood beside him in silence, head bowed, eyes shut. For a moment the only sound was the thudding of her own heart. Then she heard it. Whispering, rushing—the gurgle of cool, clear water.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Noah.”
She lifted her head and let the winds play across her eyelids. Dappled sunlight warmed her cheeks. Grass swished against her riding skirt. A warm mouth covered her lips.
“Noah!” Her eyes flew open, and she stepped backward.
“Isobel, wait,” he said, catching her around the waist. “This has been too hard—you and me together like this. I’ve prayed day and night, and all I can see to do is ask you to stay here with me. I’ll protect you, I swear it. I can’t promise much, but I’ll give you what I can. I’ll give you a home.”
“A home? Is that what you think I want from you?”
“It’s better than what you’ve got now. It’s better than nothing.”
“Oh!” Pushing away from him, she walked around the cottonwood tree and leaned against the trunk. How could he be so blind? Didn’t he see the longing in her eyes as she cooked for him? Didn’t he feel it in his freshly polished boots, in the ruffles of white lace lining his kitchen shelves, in the neat rows of the garden? Didn’t he know she wanted his heart?
Noah’s love
was her only hope of healing. Without it, her pain would drive her toward a violent destiny.
“Now, Isobel,” Noah was saying, his head lowered like an angry bull’s as he circled the tree. “I just offered to make good on this crazy marriage of ours. I offered you a home and all that goes with it. Can you tell me what gives you the all-fired uppityness to huff in my face and go marching off like I’ve insulted you?”
Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat as she watched his blue eyes roam her face. She sensed the power in him, and the need. His stance—shoulders set, legs spread, feet planted firmly—said nothing would get past him now. He wanted honesty. He wanted answers. And he wanted her.
She lifted her chin. “You think a destitute woman has no choices. She must surrender her dreams in exchange for security.”
“So, I’m not good enough for you. Is that it?”
“I want more in my life than a house and food.”
“Well, what is it you want?” he asked.
She stamped her foot and tossed her head. “I want passion!”
“Passion? Why didn’t you say so?” He bent and kissed her. When he lifted his head, his eyes were deep pools. “I’ve been pussyfooting around you so long I’m about to go stark raving loco. Now, come here and kiss me.”
Before she could stop them, her hands slipped around his neck and her fingers threaded through his hair. She stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his again and again.
Noah smiled down at her. “We can make it work, darlin’.”
“I’m so weak in your arms. How can I say no when you do this to me, Noah?”
“This is why we’re good together. This and everything else that’s happened between us in that little house.”
She kissed him again, and when she drew back, his blue eyes grazed over her. “Oh, Isobel,” he breathed. “Oh, darlin’…”
She sighed, her eyelids heavy. “Noah, how can I ever leave you?”
“Don’t leave me, Isobel. We’ll head for Chisum’s right now, and I’ll get him to sell me the land.”
She studied the nodding heads of silver grass in the distance. “Why not?”
He ran a finger down the side of her neck. “Not a reason in the world.”
Arriving late that afternoon at South Spring River Ranch, Noah and Isobel walked hand in hand up the steps of the front portal. John Chisum opened the door before they could knock.
“Why, it’s Goldilocks and Papa Bear!” he chortled. “Come on in! Plenty of guests here—two more won’t hurt.”
Clearly in no mood for Chisum’s nonsense, Noah took his boss’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “John, I want to talk to you.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Chisum held out a hand in the direction of the hall. “Kindly excuse us, Mrs. Buchanan,” he said.
Isobel nodded, watching them go and wondering whether Noah’s dream would come true at last. Dusting her skirt, she sat on the edge of a blue sofa.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news,” Sue McSween said.
“News?” Isobel looked around her at the earnest faces of the woman, her husband and three other guests. A chill slid into her stomach.
“Rumor has it,” Sue said, “that Sheriff Brady is threatening to place my husband in confinement.”
“Jail,” Alexander McSween clarified.
“The jail in Lincoln is no more than a hole underground.” Sue glanced at her husband. “Some say the sheriff intends to run water into the jail and drown Mac.”
“You cannot allow yourself to be taken,” Isobel told the lawyer.
“I’m duty bound to be in Lincoln for the opening of court on April first—three days from now.”
“But I was told the opening was April eight,” Isobel declared.
“It’s been garbled,” Sue said. “We think District Attorney Rynerson, that great hairy ape, may have switched it deliberately so that in the confusion Mac could be arrested. Or ambushed and shot.”
“No!” Isobel rose to her feet. “Not another good man. We won’t allow it.”
“We’re all riding with Mac, Mrs. Buchanan,” another of the guests put in. “Mrs. McSween, Mr. Chisum. All of us.”
Isobel looked at McSween’s protectors—every one of them soft-handed and pale. None wore a gun.
“Well, Miss Goldilocks,” Chisum said as he stepped into the room. “Looks like you and your husband are landowners—soon as Buchanan produces the pot of gold he claims to have. Congratulations!”
Noah wore a broad smile. “I’m a mighty blessed man,” he said. “A beautiful wife. Land. Good friends.”
“I’m so happy,” Isobel murmured as he drew her close.
Noah smiled. “Let’s head for home, honey. I’ve got some digging to do.”
“Noah,” she said with a sigh. “First we must escort Alexander McSween to Lincoln Town. Sheriff Brady plans to kill him.”
Chapter Fourteen
While Isobel recounted her conversation with the McSweens, Noah studied the determination in her face, the hope in the eyes of Sue McSween, the fear in the posture of Alexander McSween and the others.
“You go on home, boy,” Chisum said. “Plow your land. Start a family. We’ll watch over Mac. Some friends of yours are…uh…taking care of things in Lincoln Town. The Regulators.”
“What about Dick Brewer? Is he with them?”
“No, I reckon Dick’s still at his farm, mending fences and keeping a sharp eye on his own back.”
Noah could never knowingly allow an innocent man to ride into an ambush. “I’ll go with the rest of you,” he announced. “You’ll need protection.”
Chisum shook his head. “Buchanan, you just spent a good quarter of an hour in my library explaining how you planned to lay down your six-shooter and start a family. How you’re a loyal husband now. How you want to be a peaceful rancher. You’re not changing your mind, are you? I’d hate to have to change mine.”
Noah bristled. “I will lay down my gun, John. And I do mean to ranch. But I’ll never let the bunch of you ride into Brady’s trap without my protection.”
“All right, calm yourself.” Chisum clapped Noah on the back. “You can ride with us—you and your wife. We’ll make it a jolly jaunt, how’s that?” Turning about, he leaned in the direction of his kitchen. “Mrs. Towry, we’ve got more company! Tell the cook to add two extra places to the dinner table!”
Early on April first, Noah and Isobel rode into Lincoln ahead of the others. They would make sure the Regulators were in place to guard the arrival of the McSween party.
“What do you think of Sue?” Isobel asked him.
For most of the journey, the two women had ridden together, surrounded by the men. Noah watched them talk and hoped they were forming a friendship.
He shrugged. “Never gave her much thought. Folks say she’s got money smarts.”
“Am I very much like Sue?”
“Sure you are. You’re smart. You’re determined.”
“I’m also angry, opinionated, unforgiving.”
“Whoa, now,” he said. “I’ve seen those in you, but you have good qualities, too.”
“Noah,” she whispered. “I don’t like Sue McSween.”
“Aw, she’s not so bad. Give her time.”
“But you don’t understand….” Her words trailed off. “In Sue, I saw a mirror of myself—a woman driven by a desire for land, power, wealth. I saw a bitter woman, Noah.”
He reached over and took her hand. There were a lot of things he could have said—quick assurances, shallow denials—but he was beginning to appreciate what he saw in Isobel’s face. A softness was growing, a melting of anger, a gentleness.
“I have been praying,” she said as they rode past Juan Patrón’s house. “Praying as you do. I may…it’s possible I may have been wrong about God…. I think He might be listening to me after all, and I need His help. I want to wipe away the reflection I saw. I want to change.”
Before he coul
d reply, Noah spotted Sheriff Brady. A rolled sheet of white paper under his arm, the sheriff stepped into the street. Four armed deputies accompanied him, two at each side.
“I wonder where they’re headed,” Noah said under his breath. “Courthouse, I’d bet.”
“Maybe it’s the mix-up in court dates,” Isobel speculated as they rode past the torreón. “What time is it? No one’s out.”
Noah opened his pocket watch. “Nine o’clock.”
An uneasiness seemed to hang over the street. The usual morning scents of piñon smoke and baking bread were absent. No children laughed or played outside. No women bustled toward the stores.
“Do you see any of our people?” Isobel asked. “Dick or Billy?”
“Squire Wilson hoeing his garden yonder. His son is out in front of the Wilson house. But—” Noah stopped short as a Winchester barrel appeared atop the adobe wall of John Tunstall’s corral. Billy the Kid’s face emerged behind it.
“Isobel, look out!” Noah shouted. A row of rifles bristled up from behind the wall, followed by the men holding them—all Regulators. A fusillade of gunfire shattered the quiet. A hail of bullets slammed into Sheriff Brady. For a moment he hung in midair, mouth open. Then he toppled to the street. One of his deputies staggered toward the courthouse, moaning for water. The other three fled.
Noah drew his six-shooter as he tried to steady his horse. “Get off the street, Isobel!” he roared.
In shock, she stared as Ike Stockton ran from his saloon with a mug of water for the bleeding deputy. Billy the Kid jumped the adobe wall and dashed into the road where Brady’s body lay. He bent to grab a fallen rifle. “This is my gun!” he snapped at the dead man before tearing open the sheriff’s coat and searching the pockets.
“Billy!” Noah yelled. A shot cracked from the window of a nearby house, and a bullet tore through the Kid’s left thigh. Yelping, skipping for cover, he left a trail of blood across the dirt road.
“Noah—it’s Squire Wilson!” Isobel cried, observing the man lying in his garden patch.
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