Isobel and Noah hurried to John Tunstall’s store, where Susan Gates and the Ealy family had taken rooms. Isobel talked briefly with her friend while Noah watched through a curtained window as John Kinney rode up and down the street, as if to say, “Look, folks, I’m here and I’m in charge.”
Noah was fingering his pistol in frustration when Isobel leaned against his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “Susan is better,” she whispered. “She started teaching school. That seems to have taken her mind off her loss.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Noah mustered a smile.
Isobel knew his thoughts. Maybe Susan had recovered from the death of her fiancé, but he would never get over the loss of his closest friend.
“Dr. Ealy says I should stay here,” she told him. She peeked out the window at Kinney. With a shudder, she took Noah’s hand. “I want to be with you.”
“Some of the Regulators rode for San Patricio. The others planned to hide at Chisum’s. I say we head to Chisum’s. If we ride fast, we may be able to catch them.”
Once they had agreed on a plan, it took only moments for Isobel to bid her friends farewell. Then she and Noah slipped out to the hitching post where their horses were tethered.
“Kinney and his men are roaming all around here, Isobel,” Noah warned. “Stay close to me. We’ll ride for the woods and keep under cover until we’re clear.”
She nodded, her heart hammering at the prospect of impending danger. Noah led their horses down a slope toward the Rio Bonito. Isobel was trailing not five paces behind when she heard a cry.
“It’s Buchanan!” someone shouted from the street. “He’s a Chisum man! Get him!”
Noah whipped out his six-shooter. “Isobel, ride around me!”
She spurred her mount forward while Noah covered them with his gun. Horses crashed through the underbrush behind Isobel as her gelding charged into the river. Holding the reins with one hand, she pulled her pistol from its holster. Branches raked her arms. A bullet smashed into a tree trunk just ahead. Splinters flew.
“Isobel, ride!” Noah shouted behind her as he fired at their pursuers.
She lowered her head to the horse’s neck. On the hill above the stream, the Huff house and the torreón flew past. “I’m headed for the hills, Noah! Follow me.”
Her horse galloped out of the streambed and began climbing the foothills. She glanced behind to see Noah riding only a few yards ahead of the outlaws. At their head rode a hulk of a man…a man with a lantern jaw and slitted eyes.
Snake Jackson.
Muffling a scream, Isobel watched the outlaw gang break into two groups.
“Rattlesnake, you and your men stay with those two!” Kinney shouted. “We’ll ride for San Patricio and round up the rest of ’em!”
“Keep going, keep going!” Noah flew past Isobel and gave her horse’s flank a slap. “Snake’s after you.”
Anger surged as Isobel buried her head against the horse’s neck and rode for her life. With each heartbeat, she saw her father’s face, his golden hair, his gentle hazel eyes. She saw John Tunstall in his dapper tweeds. She saw blue-eyed Dick Brewer, curly hair tossing in the breeze. And she saw Snake Jackson. She heard his mocking cries, hoots of derision, jeering laughter.
A bullet splatted into the dirt beside her. She swung around. Noah was returning Snake’s fire, his arm stretched behind him and his six-shooter blazing. Chisum’s ranch was a three-day ride, Isobel realized. How could she and Noah possibly hold off Snake Jackson and his men? Darkness was hours away. Their horses couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. In a moment Noah would be forced to reload.
She scanned the hills for cover. Nothing but scrub piñon and cedar. The horses crashed through evergreen branches, scenting the air with the sweet smell of tree sap. But Isobel’s nostrils were filled with fear. She was about to die by Snake Jackson’s hand—just like her father. In her besotted love for Noah Buchanan, she had forgotten her true purpose. Now she would pay for her failure with her life.
Gritting her teeth, she turned and fired three wild shots at Snake. The outlaw lifted his head and whooped. “Missed me, señorita! But I’m gonna git you!”
“Isobel,” Noah hollered, flying past her again. “Stay in front. Let me do the shooting!”
She lowered her head and surged past him. Why had she let herself grow lazy and sloppy? She and Noah had dallied on the road from Santa Fe. Then she had waylaid them to comfort Susan Gates. Now they would both suffer for her weaknesses.
Her horse pounded around a bend, hooves kicking up dirt and old pine needles. The animal had begun to slow. Noah rode against her again, blue fire in his eyes.
“Find cover!” he called. “Your horse is going down.”
She skirted the base of a hill and spotted a stone outcrop halfway up. Pointing so Noah could see without giving them away, she guided both horses through the trees.
Wheezing, foam dripping from its mouth, her horse slowed to a trot. Fear acrid on her tongue, Isobel slid to the ground and began to run. She clambered over a boulder and slid across a rock ledge.
At that moment a burning pain tore through her shoulder, shattering flesh and muscle. She tumbled behind the rock.
“Isobel!” Noah’s urgent whisper came from a few paces away.
She clutched at the searing pain in her right shoulder. A warm liquid seeped onto her fingers.
“Snake winged you.” Noah was peering between two boulders as he spoke. “They’re coming this way. I need your help, darlin’. Please try.”
She attempted to sit up, but her stomach turned and bile rose in her throat. “Noah,” she groaned.
“Can you load this, Isobel?” He tossed a six-shooter into her lap. “If I can turn Snake and his men back, I’ll have time to work on your shoulder. But if we can’t hold them off—”
A bullet sent rock fragments flying past them. Isobel clenched her teeth and flipped open the pistol’s chamber. With effort, she pried the cartridges from Noah’s gun belt. Then she slid the bullets into their slots and clicked the gun shut.
Noah grabbed it and tossed a second empty six-shooter onto her lap. The hot metal burned through the thin fabric of her skirt. As she began to reload, bullets slammed into the stone around their heads. Cries rang out through the hills. Horses galloped past. Isobel continued loading Noah’s two six-shooters, his rifle and her own small pistol. Pain fogged her mind. Blood soaked her sleeve and trickled onto her fingers.
Now and then Noah peered at her, his eyes dark blue with concern. “Isobel, darlin’, hold on for me,” she heard him whisper. “Don’t give up on me now.”
Then the firing stopped. Smoke cleared. The tang of gunpowder lifted. Warm arms came around her. Noah laid her out across the ground, her head resting on a pile of soft pine needles. Streaks of orange, blue and purple painted the sky. Noah’s face appeared.
“Rest now, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Snake’s gone, and I’m going to patch you up.”
She heard her sleeve tear and shut her eyes. Noah’s voice drifted in and out. “Dear Lord, help me. The bullet’s still in here. Isobel, darlin’, I’ve got to take this thing out. Hold on to me, now.”
A searing pain in her shoulder cut through the fog and brought her sharply awake. A scream rose in her throat. Then it faded away with the pain, the knife, the bullet. Blackness swam over her and took her away.
Isobel opened her eyes to find Noah seated on top of the rock outcrop. He had lifted his face to the heavens, but his eyes were shut. His lips moved silently. Brilliant morning sky framed his profile, the straight nose and square jawline, the sweep of dark hair.
Shifting, Isobel tried to ease the throbbing pain in her shoulder. Noah heard the movement and scrambled from his perch.
“Isobel?” He crouched beside her. “Isobel, darlin’, are you awake?”
She tried to speak, but her throat felt parched as desert sands. Noah smoothed the hair from her forehead.
“I got the bullet out,” he whispered. He dug around
in his shirt pocket, then held up a flattened piece of lead. “Take a look at that, would you?”
She tried to grin, but the pain in her shoulder pounded unbearably. Noah adjusted the wool blanket that pillowed her head.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I need to get you back to Lincoln.”
“No!” she croaked. Snake and Kinney would find them there. She wanted to go someplace safe where they could be together and forget Lincoln’s trouble.
“Doc Ealy is the only one around these parts who can patch you up right. I’ve seen gangrene, Isobel, and I’m not going to let that happen to—”
“No!” She grabbed his arm with her good hand. “Not Lincoln.”
“We can’t stay here. Snake’ll be back. And soon. I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Chisum’s,” she mouthed. “Please, Noah.”
“That’s a three-day ride for a fit horse and a healthy rider. I don’t imagine you can even sit up straight, and you’ve been in and out of consciousness all night.”
But the thought of being so close to Noah’s little adobe house drove Isobel to struggle up from the pallet. Blood siphoned from her face, but she threw the blanket back.
“All right,” Noah said, grabbing her shoulders before she fainted. “I knew you were mule-headed, Isobel, and I can see you mean business. Come on, you’ll ride with me.”
He tethered her gelding behind his horse and then settled Isobel in his arms. They kept away from the river’s edge for fear of ambush and stopped often to drink, rest or tend Isobel’s shoulder. In the midst of her daze she could hear Noah growling about Jimmie Dolan and Snake Jackson. In between she heard the soft refrains of hymns.
Once Noah prayed out loud, a fervent plea. He spoke in that tone Isobel had heard so often—as if God were a father with whom a man could talk about his deepest needs.
Somewhere in the feverish mists, she remembered the wedding ceremony in the Lincoln County forest and her fears that God would punish her for such a hasty, selfish union. Perhaps this was God’s chastisement—her wounded shoulder, her terrible fears, her hopeless love for Noah Buchanan.
But even as she pondered a rebuking, angry God, she heard Noah’s voice. “God is love,” he sang.
“His mercy brightens
All the path in which we rove;
Bliss He wakes and woe He lightens:
God is wisdom, God is love.”
Several times each day Noah bathed Isobel’s shoulder and changed the dressing. The slightest jolt sent a searing pain that nearly made her scream. Noah fashioned a sling to hold her arm close against her body. She couldn’t eat. Only water from the Rio Hondo kept her going.
Their journey took many more than three days, but they could go no faster. Accepting that, Isobel nestled against Noah, her mind wandering from memories of her father to hanging lace curtains, typing pages of a story, galloping along mountain trails, baking biscochitos.
Through these memories wove a deep baritone.
“E’en the hour that darkest seemeth
Will His changeless goodness prove;
From the gloom His brightness streameth:
God is wisdom, God is love.”
June was nearly gone when Noah’s horse trotted the last few yards down the road to Chisum’s house. The scent of blooming roses perfumed the air, and Noah’s spirits rose in spite of his fears for Isobel.
About the only words she had said were how much she wanted Noah to stay with her, never leave her, always be near. As hard as it was to acknowledge, he now knew without a doubt that he loved Isobel Matas Buchanan.
In the frozen instant he’d watched her tumble behind that pile of rocks, his heart had nearly stopped. When he’d made it to her side and had seen her life’s blood oozing out of that shoulder wound, a red rage had filled him. The fear of losing her had convinced Noah that he loved her.
If Dick Brewer meant a lot to him as a pal and confidant, Isobel meant far more. They could laugh, talk, even cry together. He had told her his dreams of writing, his ambitions and hopes for his land and future. And she shared hers with him. The thought of losing her was more than he could bear.
But the trouble with Snake Jackson would continue unless somebody stopped him. With Jimmie Dolan and now John Kinney fueling his fires, Snake wasn’t about to back off. All three needed a dose of strong medicine. Lead poisoning would do the trick, and Noah knew just the man to deliver it.
“Darlin’, after I settle you here I’m going back to Lincoln,” he whispered into Isobel’s ear as they neared the hitching post in front of the Chisum house. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled about it. When I’m sure you’re in good hands, I’m going after Snake and Dolan.”
“Noah, they almost killed me!” Her hazel eyes filled with terror. “Please don’t go.”
“I’m going because they almost killed you.” He took her hand. “The way I see it, Isobel, the only way to stop killin’ is to kill. You were right about that. My big speeches about being strong enough to stay out of the trouble were like spittin’ in the wind.”
“Noah, I can’t lose you. Not again.”
But he was already handing her down to the waiting arms of Mrs. Towry and the men who had rushed to meet the riders. She recognized the faces of several Regulators before she was carried into a cool room, tucked into bed with a damp cloth on her forehead and abandoned.
“Noah!” she croaked. “Noah, please!”
But her voice echoed off the bare walls.
Chapter Nineteen
Noah sat at Isobel’s bedside for three days. She was exhausted from the ride, but her pain had eased. Better still, the shoulder wound was healing well.
Mrs. Towry tended Isobel like a mother hen. Tongue clucking, she bustled back and forth, fetching ointments from John Chisum’s medicine box, chicken soup, fresh bandages and cool, sweet lemonade. Finally Isobel was able to sit up on her own and then walk about the room while leaning on Noah’s arm.
One morning after breakfast he settled on a chair by her bed. “Today’s the Fourth of July,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Know what that means?”
“A celebration of the day the United States declared its independence from England.” She smiled at Noah’s patriotism despite the fact that New Mexico was still a territory.
“When I lived in Texas,” he said, “Mrs. Allison used to fix a picnic for everybody. Feel up to a picnic today, darlin’? Me and some of the other Regulators thought we’d ride over to the Pecos.”
“What about Sheriff Peppin’s posse?” she asked. “Aren’t they staying in Roswell?”
Isobel had heard that the hastily assembled posse included notorious outlaws known as the Seven Rivers Gang—led by deputies Marion Turner and Buck Powell.
“Aw, they’re just a bunch of rascals,” Noah said.
“But they’re fifteen men, and we have only twelve. Some of ours will have to stay behind to keep an eye on Mr. Chisum’s place.”
“Regulators have been riding between the Pecos and the ranch without any trouble from that posse. I just thought it would be fun to get you out of the house. You can ride in the buckboard. Take in some fresh air. Think you’re up to it?”
A day in the outdoors appealed to Isobel. If she rode in the buckboard, she could wear a dress. Just the idea of putting on a fresh gown, brushing her hair into artful waves, setting her feet in a pair of slippers instead of heavy leather boots—
“I’d love it!” she exclaimed.
He bent over the bed and kissed her cheek. “I’ll give you half an hour. Mrs. Towry’s fixing a basket. She might come along with—”
“Buchanan!” Billy Bonney kicked open the door and charged into the room. “Buchanan, hit the rooftop! It’s Buck Powell and the Seven Rivers Gang.”
“What do they want?”
“Who knows? Me and the Coe boys was ridin’ back from Ash Upson’s store this mornin’.” Billy brandished his six-shooter as he spoke. “Twelve of ’em jumped us! It was a ru
nnin’ gun battle all the way back to the house. Now they’re takin’ potshots at the boys on the roof. You gotta get up there and help afore somebody gets killed!”
Noah glanced at Isobel, but before she could say anything to try to hold him back, he dropped his hat on his head and drew his gun.
“Stay away from the windows, Isobel,” he called back as he and Billy ran from the bedroom. “And don’t go looking for trouble!”
She watched the door slam shut as their boots pounded down the hall. “I found trouble when I married you,” she murmured, settling back against her pillow. “And you found it when you married me.”
The shooting went on all day and most of the night. The picnic was abandoned, though Mrs. Towry got a big holiday meal onto the table anyway. The Regulators took turns coming down from the parapet roof to eat before heading back upstairs.
It was clear to Isobel that the Regulators were confident in their position. With Chisum’s fortifications and a large supply of ammunition, they were having no trouble holding off Buck Powell and his posse. Isobel and Mrs. Towry spent the night in the central courtyard of the house. If not for the occasional burst of gunfire, it would have seemed idyllic.
Roses in full bloom scented the air. Beds dragged onto the patio offered down comforters, pillows, bolsters, shams and embroidered sheets. But the two women sat up most of the night, speculating on how the battle was proceeding and worrying about the men.
At dawn the following day, Isobel woke with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Buck Powell and the others have gone,” Noah said. “We think they’ve headed to Lincoln for reinforcements.”
“Has anyone been hurt, Noah?” she asked.
“We’ve had the upper hand the whole time.” He gave her the hint of a smile, then his face grew solemn. “I’ve been talking with the other Regulators, Isobel. We figure we can’t end this trouble without all-out war on Jimmie Dolan.”
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