“I didn’t hurt her,” the stranger answered. “She’s tied up over by the trees.” He paused a long moment. “You know I wouldn’t hurt her, Gatlin.”
Sam made a sound. Sarah couldn’t tell if it was agreement or growl.
The stranger continued, “She’s not very big, Gatlin. You might want to think about throwing her back in and hoping for a bigger one next time.”
“You haven’t seen her in the light,” Sam answered. “She’s a beauty.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it, Gatlin. I don’t plan on staying around until daylight. I just came to see what your business is in Satan’s Canyon and to tell you, if you’re not gone by daybreak, you and your lovely bride will be buried here in this clearing.”
“I figured as much. I came with news.”
The southerner’s voice grew even lower. “I already know my Molly is dead. They said she was shot by stray bullets during the Fourth of July celebration. No one’s fault. I heard about it a month ago.”
He fell silent for a long time, then whispered, “I wish I could have said good-bye. We were married for almost ten years and never got to live together more than a few days at a time. I always thought it would be too dangerous for her to be here. Thanks, though, for coming to tell me.”
“I didn‘t,” Sam answered. “I brought you something. Come take a look.”
“No, thanks,” the stranger answered. “I remember the last time we met, you promised me that if our paths ever crossed again you would be the bounty hunter and I’d still have a price on my head.”
“That was my plan, but three blue-eyed surprises showed up in my life. They’re asleep in the back of the wagon.” Sam reached and lifted Sarah’s carpetbag from the supplies. “In fact, you’re welcome to the wagon if you’re interested in taking them off my hands. My job is done. I got them to you.”
“Drop your weapons!” The southern voice sounded suddenly angry. “I want to see them.”
Sam lowered the rifle. “I won’t shoot you, but I’ll not stand in Satan’s Canyon unarmed. For all I know you’re not the only outlaw hiding in the fog.”
Sarah twisted, trying to get free. She saw the outline of the stranger between her and the fire. He had a gun pointed right at Sam’s heart.
Leaves scratched her cheeks as she tried to see what was happening.
Sam’s voice sounded calm once more. “I wouldn’t have brought my wife with me to deliver the children if I planned to gun their father down. Is she all right? I’ve never noticed her being quiet for so long before.”
The stranger cradled his weapon and relaxed. “She’s fine. I can hear her wiggling in that pile of leaves I dumped her in. Remind her I used a clean handkerchief when she’s swearing at me later.”
Sam stepped away from the wagon, pulling the reins of his horse free of the back bar. “I’ll do that. Now, you’d best be on your way. Kids need to be home in bed by this hour.”
Leaves blocked some of Sarah’s vision. She only saw the stranger’s back as he neared the wagon. K.C. unfolded from the blanket as her father drew near. Without a sound she moved into his arms and the outlaw lifted her from the wagon.
“Daddy,” she whispered in a sleepy voice as her thin arms held on tightly. “Can we go home now?”
Without loosening his hold on his daughter, the man reached in and touched the other two sleeping bundles. For a moment his head lowered as if in prayer.
“Daddy?” K.C. patted his hair. “I knew it was you the minute I heard your voice.”
He raised his head and kissed the child. “Yes, let’s go home.”
He climbed onto the seat and picked up the reins. When he glanced back at Sam, he nodded once. “I’ll repay you for this, Gatlin. I swear.”
“No need. Just point me in the direction of my wife.”
The stranger motioned with his head as he flicked the reins.
Sam watched them go before turning in Sarah’s direction.
She wiggled, letting him know where she was. Leaves completely covered her. Trying to scream was useless, but she kept kicking her feet to let him know where to search.
For ten minutes she listened to Sam sifting through the dried leaves in the blackness before his hand finally touched her body. With a mighty tug he pulled her from the foliage. “Come out of there,” he said, as if she’d been playing some game and he’d finally caught her.
Sarah jerked as he wrapped his arms around her and began untying her hands. She mumbled through the gag and rubbed against his face.
Sam laughed. “All right. I can’t do everything at once.” He slid his hands up her body to where the gag was tied in her hair and pulled it free with a tug.
Sarah spit cotton from her mouth. “Who was that man?” she demanded.
“What man?” Sam pressed her against him as he worked on freeing her bound hands.
“The man who tied me up. The man who said he was the father of your children.”
“What children?”
She could feel laughter rumble in his chest even though his words sounded serious.
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t have any children? And, though it’s dark, I think we are the only two people standing here. I guess your invisible children were finally claimed by their invisible father.”
Sarah leaned away. “You’re not going to explain, are you Sam?”
He pulled the rope from her hands. “No,” he said, as if that were all the answer she needed.
Sarah didn’t have to ask, she had figured most of it out from the conversation between the two men. The stranger was obviously a wanted man whom Sam had let go for some reason. The children were his, but he hadn’t been able to live with their mother, or even go after them when she died. But they knew him, or at least K.C. did.
Sam worked on the rope tied around her knees as she tried to decide whether to push for an answer. Sarah didn’t think she would get one. His silence suddenly added character to a man she thought void of any.
“I can untie that one.” She twisted, trying to reach the knot.
He shifted his shoulder into her hip, attempting to move out of her way.
With a sudden gasp Sarah tumbled backward. She grabbed his arm as she fell, pulling him off balance.
She landed atop the leaves and he landed atop her.
For a moment they remained perfectly still. His body pressed against her from her shoulder to her knees.
He pushed away. Without a word he moved his hands down her skirt to the rope. The warmth of his fingers seeped through the layers of her clothing.
“Don’t touch me like that, Sam,” she said, embarrassed at the way he’d handled her in the darkness. “And don’t land on me. I’m fragile. You could have broken every bone in my body.”
He stood. “I should have left you tied up and gagged. Maybe I can get the invisible father to come back and hide you better next time.”
“You didn’t have to feel my whole body, or tumble atop me.” Embarrassment, more than anger, forged her words.
“I had to find the rope.” He walked toward the firelight. “How else was I going to untie you in the dark?”
He whirled so suddenly Sarah almost ran into him. “And another thing. I didn’t touch your whole body. When I do, you’ll know it.”
“‘There is no when, there is not even an if.”
She was only an inch away, poking her finger into his chest.
“You said once that I could touch you. You said there were touches that were all right. Well, that’s what I was doing.” He turned around and resumed his track back to camp.
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. Just because I asked you to kiss me doesn’t mean I’m ready to be bedded. Maybe I’ll just go back to being a virgin and stay an old maid all my life. Your flattening me when you fell atop me isn’t that much different than what my first husband did in mating. Seems to me it’s something I can do without.”
He turned again, only this time she sidestepped him. “I wasn
’t bedding you out there, Sarah. I slipped and fell. You just happened to be beneath me.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should be the one getting mad for you being in the very spot where I tumbled.”
“Then how come you said the same thing Mitchell used to say every time he mated with me?”
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look at him. “He always said I’m sorry like it was something dirty that he was doing.”
Sam opened his mouth to argue, than closed it again. Now was not the time to have this discussion. He had to think of her safety first, then he’d think about strangling her for driving him crazy.
She picked up her bag and checked to make sure she had all her things.
“We can’t stay here,” he said, as if they hadn’t been yelling at each other. “I’ll get you to a safe place, if the weather holds.” He swung up into his saddle and held his hand down to her. “This may not be as comfortable as the wagon, but it’ll be faster.”
She took his hand and he lifted her up behind him. She hung on for dear life as he rode with speed and skill through the black night.
The weather didn’t hold. Within an hour rain drizzled down on them. Without a word he slowed and pulled her in front of him, opening his coat around her. She melted into his chest and held tightly across his heart.
It was almost midnight when they reached a small settlement built around a train station. Sam lowered her in front of a café that faced the tracks and told her to order him coffee while he saw about getting tickets and his horse shipped on the next train.
Sarah nodded as if she understood and forced herself to open the door to the café, She wasn’t about to admit to Sam that she’d never been on a train, or in a café. She had about decided never to talk to him again. The man made no sense.
Tables were scattered around a room layered in dust and neglect. Several men, all travelers, she’d guess from the amount of luggage piled around them, played cards and drank near one comer. A mother had put chairs together for her sleeping children in another comer. She glanced up at Sarah and smiled. Three soldiers huddled close to a stove, passing a jug around and laughing among themselves. They had no luggage. She remembered seeing a supply wagon pulled near the tracks. If she were guessing, she’d say they were waiting for something, or someone, to arrive.
She’d seen cafés like this in small towns. When she and Mitchell passed through settlements, the idea of stopping to eat seemed a foolish one as long as they had supplies stored in the wagon.
“You want anything?” a bald man shouted from a doorway leading to the back of the café. “We close as soon as the train comes. With the rain, it’s bound to be late, so you got time to order something.”
“Coffee,” Sarah answered. “Two coffees.”
The man disappeared. Sarah took a seat close to the mother and children and unwrapped her wet shawl. The air in the room was warm and smelled of stew, but tiny drafts, where the poorly made walls didn’t fit together, chilled her. She curled into herself, hoping to get a bit warmer.
She was almost asleep when the bald man sat two coffee mugs in front of her. “You want some soup?” he asked. “We got enough left for a couple of bowls, but you have to pay for it up front. That way if the train pulls up and you run for it, I still got my money.”
“Two bowls,” Sarah said. “And bread if you have it.”
The café owner stared at her. “It’ll cost you two bits extra.”
Sarah fished for the coins in her bag and paid him for the meal.
When he brought the soup, she almost asked if she could have her money back. As far as she could see there was no meat in the stew. Odd bits of vegetables floated like tiny roots on the top. She drank her coffee and tore off a piece of bread.
The door slammed against the wall as Sam entered. He carried his saddle draped over one shoulder and his rifle in his free hand. She watched him scan the room carefully, then move toward her.
He didn’t say a word as he downed half the coffee in one draw and stared at his soup.
Sarah giggled. “Stew,” she whispered.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? Looks more like the dishwater.”
“That’s what the man said.”
“Can you cook better than this?”
“If I can‘t, you can always come here for a meal,” she answered.
“I’d rather starve.”
She saw Sam’s smile die as he watched something behind her. Before she could even turn, she heard his Colt clear leather beneath the table.
“It is!” one of the young soldiers shouted loud as a carnival barker with a full crowd. “It’s Sam Gatlin!”
The noise woke one of the woman’s babies, and he began to cry.
Sam lifted his weapon onto the table, but didn’t pull his fingers from the handle. “I’m just waiting for the train, soldier.” His deadly calmness frightened Sarah far more than the man’s yelling. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”
Another soldier joined the first. They were now only a few feet from her back. Sarah could feel them near. She didn’t need to turn around. “We’re not trouble,” the young man said again. “But from what I hear of you, trouble follows you like thunder follows lightning.” He slapped his silent companion on the back. “I heard one time down in San Antonio—”
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, my wife and I were about to have a meal, and we’re not really interested in any story.”
Sarah shifted so that she could see the men. They were young, very young. One pulled back, heeding Sam’s warning, but the other leaned closer. His eyes were wide with excitement and adventure.
“I didn’t know you had a wife.” He smiled at Sarah. “And a beautiful one at that.” His forehead wrinkled. “Now, what would an angel like you, honey, be doing with a killer like Sam Gatlin?”
Sam raised the Colt to the table. “Did you hear that once down in San Antonio,” Sam began in almost a whisper, “I shot a man in the leg for beating a homeless dog?”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “Actually, I heard you killed him.”
“Most stories get exaggerated with the telling. Only one I can think of that doesn’t.” Sam moved the barrel of the Colt slightly.
“And that would be?” The soldier’s voice sounded higher.
“That would be the one about where I shot the man who insulted my wife.” Sam’s aim held steady just below the soldier’s belt.
The soldier took a step backward. “I meant no disrespect, ma‘am. I call my own mother honey, I swear I do.”
He hurried back to his friends. For a few minutes the café was silent, but before Sarah finished her coffee, the group of gamblers began mumbling about how it wasn’t right for a man like Sam Gatlin to be around polite folks. She couldn’t hear most of what they said, but the talk grew louder, faster, harder.
Sam sat his coffee down and lifted his saddle as the train’s arrival sounded. “We’d better go, Sarah,” he said, pulling her along. “Before cowards drink themselves full of bravery.”
FOURTEEN
SAM HURRIED SARAH THROUGH THE FOGGY NIGHT TOWARD the train. With his saddle over one shoulder, he swung her onto the platform with his free arm, thinking she weighed less than his gear. Three short toots of the whistle warned them to hurry.
“What’s happening?” she whispered. “I don’t understand. All we were doing was having a meal. That’s what people do in cafés.” She said the words as if she had suddenly became a great authority. “Those men had no right to bother us.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He held her close as they moved along the corridor. “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.” Sam pushed her into the private car and locked the door behind them.
The seats were worn and tattered. Cigar smoke hung in the air. Sam frowned; at least they were safe. A soot-covered lantern cast a flickering light around the room that neither of them seemed in a hurry to move farther into.
The train jerked. Sam widened
his stance so that Sarah could brace against him.
“No,” she finished her thought. “It does matter.” She dropped her bag onto the nearest seat without letting go of the fistful of shirt at his waist. “Why did those people look at you that way?” The tiny compartment was forgotten as she stared up at him. “Why did we leave? What’s wrong with us, Sam? We had money. We paid for our food.”
Sam stared at her as the train rattled, gaining speed. “It’s not you, Sarah. Those people were not angry at you. They were mad at me.” He closed his eyes, dreading the questions to follow. Where would he begin to tell her all he’d done over the years? He had been a soldier, a Texas Ranger, a frontier fighter, and now a bounty hunter. Not yet thirty, he felt he had fought his way through several lifetimes.
“How often?” she whispered still holding to his shirt.
“How often what?”
“How often do people treat you like that?”
The sway of the train moved her against him in an action that warmed his blood. Leaning closer, he let the aroma of her honeysuckle skin calm his tired nerves. He rested his hand over her fist, which still gripped his clothing. “Most all the time. Now and then. Never. What does it matter?”
Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the feel of her skirts brushing around his legs. He didn’t really care how others treated him as long as she was near, but he knew she needed to know the truth. “Once in a while someone doesn’t know who I am. This is a big state. There are still a few places to hide. Sometimes I’m in a small town for a week or so, then a drifter, or a gambler, or a stagecoach driver remembers me. From then on I’m no longer a person. I’m just a hired gun they’ve heard stories about.”
He waited for her to react. He’d been a fool to think she’d go on talking to him, arguing with him like he was just a man. How many days would it take before she realized how living with him was going to be?
He decided he must be a coward because he didn’t want to look down and see the fear reflecting in her face. He didn’t want to hear the questions. How many showdowns? How many battles? How many men have you killed? What stories are true about you? They were basically all true, changing only by degree.
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