by Jenna Kernan
Their men pushed the crowd toward the locomotive.
Quin raised the rifle. “They are not taking them on that train.”
Chance stared in horror at his brothers and then at the nightmare before him.
“Shoot, Chance. What are you waiting for?” It was Bowie’s voice.
Chance had never hesitated before, never felt this terror pooling in his belly at the prospect of drawing his pistol. What if he missed?
“Whitaker,” said Bowie, choosing his target and the man who had betrayed him all in one breath.
“Ira,” said Quin, picking the man who threatened his sister.
That left Johny and Don.
The Fitzgeralds had seen them now and they fired. The Cahills ducked back into the alley. They’d be gone in a minute, would have boarded the train and been safe behind the steel walls.
Chance drew his pistol, aiming at Johny.
“Now!” he shouted.
All three guns fired in unison.
Ira dropped to his knees, clutching his throat, blood pouring between his fingers. Whitaker stumbled, then fell backward, dragging Cassie along. Don continued to the steps of the train, turning to see Johny dropped like a stone, still looking up at the bullet hole Chance had planted between his raised eyebrows.
“Don,” yelled Quin.
Chance turned his pistol on Don, but he had no shot, because Don now hunched behind Maria like the coward he was.
Don never got that second foot off the platform, but the shot did not come from Chance’s gun. Don released Maria to grab his chest. Maria leaped free as Don stared out at his fallen sons strewn before him like butchered buffalo and pressed both hands to his chest, gasping. Blood welled between his fingers and soaked his vest. He turned to the shooter, staring, wide-eyed.
Leanna stood with her arm extended, the tiny pistol that Chance had told her to keep close now clutched in her hand. Don dropped to his seat on the bottom step of the train, hands over his heart. A moment later he slumped to the side, lilting like a drunk as he collapsed against the steel wall of the narrow stairwell.
Leanna stooped and retrieved Don’s pistol.
Two more shots sounded. Two more of Fitzgerald’s men, the ones herding the citizens from the depot, dropped.
“The roof!” yelled Quin.
Chance glanced in the direction he pointed. Oscar Jenkins and Cleve Holden were firing from the top of the Royale.
Bowie lifted his rifle as all three brothers advanced.
“Drop them!” he shouted at the remaining four men.
Don’s men did as he ordered, throwing down their weapons and lifting their hands. Bowie moved forward, shouting directions.
Leanna ran to Chance, hugging him, and then turned to Quin to do the same. Chance found Ellie, reaching her a moment later.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head. He dragged her into his arms.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered.
His ears must still be playing tricks on him because he thought she said, “Never.”
He drew her away from the carnage, away from the citizens gawking or making their way to safety. Away from Bowie and Quin, checking the bodies of the Fitzgeralds. Away from the revenge he thought he’d wanted more than life itself.
But now he held what he wanted most. Ellie was everything to him and he’d almost lost her.
He didn’t expect he’d make much of a husband and still believed she could do better, but he knew now what he wanted. Maybe she’d be foolish enough to say yes. Trouble was, he had nothing to offer her. All he had was the clothes on his back, his guns and his saddle. It didn’t sit well to have to work for her father and it didn’t sit well to ask Quin to take him back.
But he couldn’t have his pride and Ellie.
“Ellie, I got something to ask you.”
She stared at him, soot blackening her cheeks and her gray-green eyes shining up at him.
“All men to the bucket brigade!”
Ellie turned away. “The hotel!”
Together they returned to the Royale where Ellie was swept up by her mother, while Chance joined the line, throwing water first on the hotel and then on the charred remains of the restaurant. The bakery suffered damage to the roof; Rosa’s had survived with only a scorching, but the general store had burned to the ground. The bank, made of brick, had a hole in the back large enough to drive a wagon through and the vault had been destroyed. The Château Royale suffered structural damage from the dynamite, but the fire was staunched quickly thanks to Oscar’s natural ability to rally, organize and lead men. By late afternoon the remains of Fitzgerald’s men were locked up, the fires were out, the bank shorn up with wood and a guard posted. And the noon train had departed late for the first time since it had begun its daily stops in Cahill Crossing.
That evening, sweating and stinking of smoke, Chance stumbled over to Leanna’s home and took advantage of the bath and meal she offered. Afterward he joined her downstairs to find that Cleve had taken over the job of putting the boys to bed, leaving him alone in the quiet parlor with his baby sister whose hair was still wet from her bath.
“Everybody all right?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I couldn’t let him take Maria on that train.”
“You did right.”
They stared at each other. Was she thinking what he was, that it was finally over? Their parents could rest and they could rebuild.
“What will you do now, Chance?” she asked.
He knew what he’d like to do, but he scarcely dared say it aloud.
“I’d like to stay.”
Her smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad.”
“I’d like to ask for Ellie’s hand.”
“Wonderful.”
“It’s not. I got nothing, Leanna. No money, no job except killing outlaws. What kind of life is that for her? If I stay I’ll have to work for her father or ask Quin to take me back. I don’t favor being a hired man, but I can’t see any way out of it.”
“If you had money, what would you do?”
“Buy land. That’s what Ellie wants.”
“What do you want?”
“Land. Land of my own.”
“Chance, you remember all those bounties you gave me?”
He didn’t like the way this was going. “I don’t expect you to pay me back, if that’s where you’re headed. That money was meant for you, to keep you safe.”
“And so it did. I just wanted to say that I couldn’t have gotten on without your help. Especially at the beginning. If I didn’t have you supporting me, I might have ended up like one of those girls in the red-light district. I owe you for that, Chance, and I’ll never be able to pay you back. Because of you, I have a business and we’re building a ranch. I have a husband and two beautiful boys.” Leanna gave him one of her mysterious smiles. “Oh, and Chance? You’re going to be an uncle again. Cleve and I are expecting a child.”
His jaw dropped. Leanna patted his forearm. He recovered enough to kiss her cheek and clasp her hand.
“That’s wonderful,” he stammered, a little afraid for Leanna. But she glowed with a happiness that reassured him.
“Don’t you see? None of this would have been possible without your help.”
“You don’t owe me. It wasn’t a damned loan.”
“I know that, but the thing is, I’m good at business. Very good. I only ever used the first two bounties you brought in.”
Chance remembered the first. Two hundred and fifty dollars for the man who’d killed the driver on a Fargo stage. The second was for six.
“I put all the rest in the bank in an account under your name. There’s over three thousand dollars in there, Chance.”
“The same bank that got robbed?”
“Oh, we got all the money back. Bowie said so. Stop dodging, Chance. You have the money. So go ask Ellie to marry you.”
He remained where he was. He had enough to buy land. So why was he more afraid now tha
n before?
“Well?”
“What if she says no?”
Leanna gave him a gentle smile. “She won’t.”
He stood and took a step toward the door, then turned back. “This is harder than tracking outlaws.”
Leanna gave him a push in the right direction as she had always done.
But what if she was wrong? What if Ellie didn’t want him, after all?
Ellie directed the workers, deciding what to keep, repair or discard. The dynamite hadn’t killed anyone, because of her father. He’d cleared the lobby and sent all the guests out the back entrance facing the depot as soon as the Fitzgeralds had started torching the general store four businesses down. But the explosive surely had played havoc on the interior. Debris was strewn all over the floor, splintered wood, charred upholstering, hunks of wall still hung with wallpaper and pieces of the crystal chandelier all lay scattered across what had been the lobby. She was filthy, reeked of smoke and her muscles ached from the cleanup. She’d never felt so utterly exhausted.
“Ellie?”
She looked toward the familiar voice and saw Chance heading straight for her. The purpose in his stride and the grim expression on his face set her on guard, for he looked like a man on business he wished dispensed with in haste.
Ellie felt her feet stick to the floorboards. She stood as immobile as the broom she held except for the bead of perspiration rolling between her breasts. Chance Cahill had done what he’d set out to do and now he had come to say goodbye.
Ellie set the broom against the wall and placed a hand over her pounding heart, surprised to feel it still beating. Would he stay if she fell to her knees and begged him?
She would, if she thought she had the least chance of success. But this was a man who knew what he wanted and no one, not even her father, could dissuade Chance Cahill once he’d fixed his sights on something.
He drew up before her. “Hello, Ellie.”
The awkwardness between them hung like a fog.
“Hello,” she murmured.
Making love to Chance, being in love with Chance, had changed her forever. Ruined her, but not in the way her mother meant. This man had ruined her for any other because now she was not willing to settle for a decent man whom she did not love. She wanted Chance and, like him, she would have what she wanted or nothing at all. She swallowed, but the knot in her throat only seemed to grow.
“I came to say something.”
She folded her hands before her and told herself not to cry. But her throat was already closing up and his image swam before her eyes. He was leaving.
“I wondered…” He stopped, glanced about and then rubbed his neck as if it pained him. Perhaps all that pained him was the task at hand. He was clean-shaven and his damp hair curled against his neck. She drank in the sight of him, trying to capture every detail, trying to seal his image in her mind, to save it for the endless nights without him.
How could she have been so stupid as to fall in love with the wildest of the Cahill men, the one they all warned her would ruin her reputation and break her heart?
He remembered belatedly to remove his hat and stood turning it nervously in his hands.
When he finally spoke, his words were a rush, as if he raced to get them out. “I came to ask you to marry me, Ellie.”
Ellie’s knit brow dropped low over her flashing eyes. “I’m not marrying you.”
Chance wrinkled his brow, feeling the sting of her rejection.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I’ll not marry a man who wants nothing more than to leave me behind, but who has too much honor to do so.”
“Ellie, you got it all wrong.”
“I don’t. This is not your fault, Chance. It’s mine. I tempted you—I knew what I was doing.”
He dropped his hat to his side and stood still and silent, scowling at her now, his eyes stormy. “That’s not why I’m asking.”
She threw up her arms in frustration. “Well, why, then, Chance?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so sharp, but having a man propose out of guilt, especially the man she loved with all her bruised heart, was worse than watching him leave.
“I’m asking because I love you, Ellie, and I reckon I can’t give you up even though I know it would be best for you if I did.”
Suddenly she could scarcely draw breath. “You love me?”
He nodded once and then replaced his hat, pulling it low, so she could barely see his eyes. He fidgeted with a bullet in his gun belt as he waited for her to speak.
“You love me.” This time it wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact, as she grew accustomed to the idea, bringing the sentiment into her heart. A smile blossomed across her face, but she didn’t say anything else.
Chance squirmed. “Ellie. You got to answer the question.”
She stepped forward so that they almost touched and then looped her arms about his neck. “Yes, Chance Cahill, I will marry you, because I love you, too!”
Chance gave a holler and threw his hat. It sailed across the room, but before it hit the ground, he was kissing her.
Epilogue
To Chance, Bowie looked about ready to faint. He swayed in his place beside the altar, waiting for his bride to make her appearance and Quin had had to right him once already.
“Still time to run for your life,” said Chance, standing between Quin and Lucas Burnett, all dressed in black suits and white dress shirts with the scratchiest damn collars this side of the Red River.
Bowie shook his head. “I’m afraid she’ll change her mind. Can’t get that ring on her finger fast enough.”
Chance knew how he felt, for it was the same with him and Ellie, not because he feared Ellie would get cold feet. He just wanted to be alone with her. Since announcing their intention to marry, Minnie had had Ellie occupied every spare second with invitations and guest lists and seating charts. It all made him long for her father and his shotgun.
“She won’t change her mind,” said Quin, staring from his place across the aisle to his wife, Adrianna, the matron of honor, who was just taking her place on the opposite side of the altar. She was dressed in a soft rose-petal-pink dress that dimmed next to the radiant smile she offered Quin. She had a row of small rosebuds threaded in her hair that made her look like some goddess of the spring. The woman obviously liked a challenge, for he could think of no other reason to wed someone as pigheaded as his eldest brother.
Next came Rosa Burnett, wife of their neighbor Lucas Burnett and cousin to Quin’s wife. Rosa proceeded down the aisle and into her place. Her pretty blond hair was swept up in an elaborate hairstyle of braids and cascading curls and she also had pink roses in her hair. Quin had had them shipped by rail from Sacramento. Roses in October—what would that railroad bring them next? Leanna arrived three steps behind Rosa, in a dress the color of the inside of a lime, except for the wide pink ribbon about her waist that was a ringer for the roses in her hair. She glanced back at Cleve, sitting on the groom’s side of the aisle, holding a baby against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around Melvin next to him. Her husband had more patience than any man Chance had ever met. He poked Melvin as the boy waved enthusiastically at Leanna. Directly across the aisle, sitting on the bride’s side, was Lefty Gorman, one of Merritt’s good friends, looking so happy his eyes were watering. It seemed Merritt had invited the entire town. Chance looked down the aisle at the sea of faces, searching for one in particular.
Chance found Ellie, scrubbed and dressed in forest-green that made her eyes look the same color as cedar boughs. She didn’t need roses in her hair to outshine all the women before the altar, but Chance thought that a coronet of white roses would look lovely in her dark hair and determined to ask Minnie to add that to her wedding list.
Ellie sat between her mother and father. Minnie had taken wholeheartedly to the idea of Chance as her son-in-law only after she’d discovered that Quin, while keeping his promise to pour back the profits from the ranch into the 4C, ha
d nonetheless seen that each of his brothers and his sister took all the revenue from the rents paid in Cahill Crossing, making them all wealthy in their own right. Quin had turned over the accounts to his siblings and that, combined with the money Leanna had put aside from his bounties, was more than he needed for land and livestock. He was glad they hadn’t purchased land yet, because he still hadn’t decided how far from Minnie they needed to be.
Oscar had wanted Chance all along, it seemed, seeing something Chance never saw in himself. He was grateful for the confidence but still had his doubts about whether he could be a proper husband. But he had no doubts about how much he loved Ellie.
The piano began to play something classical and the doors swept open. There stood Merritt in the door, a vision in a dress of soft moss-green satin that shone with flashes of silver as she moved, like fishes darting through the current. Chance smiled at the picture she made, carrying a bouquet of pink roses to match those threaded in her attendants’ hair. Merritt’s father, Thomas Jensen, also wore a pink rosebud in his lapel. The big man escorted his daughter slowly down the aisle, as if in no hurry to give her away again. Did she know how lucky she was to have both her parents here to see this day?
Chance felt his throat burn, realizing that his folks weren’t here to see Bowie wed. It was a hard truth that finding the culprit had not brought them back. Quin placed a hand on Chance’s shoulder and squeezed.
“I was thinking of Ma,” Chance said.
“I know. We’re all missing them today.”
Jensen told Bowie to take good care of his daughter and then took his place beside his wife, Carolyn, who smiled as she dabbed her green eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Soon the service was underway. Chance listened to the vows, words he would soon speak to Ellie, if Minnie could ever decide on the color of the damn napkins. He’d never realized how much preparation went into weddings and he had been considering throwing a ladder up against Ellie’s window and avoiding the entire thing.
Bowie finally got to slip that ring onto Merritt’s finger; at that point Leanna was crying, of course. She always cried at weddings.