Loving the Lawmen

by Marie Patrick

  Why did Nat have to show up now?

  Damn him!

  Why must he look so virile and tanned?

  Why didn’t he speak?

  Why didn’t he say something—anything!

  The stage swayed and groaned like a giant cradle. The conductor and driver clambered aloft to take their seats. Mrs. Shanks and her daughter would appear any moment, and it would be too late.

  Christie slid her tongue across her bottom lip. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Why are you going to Sacramento?”

  “Business.”

  Something sank to the pit of her belly. She should have known. Spurs and a fringed buckskin coat were trail gear, not leisurely travel attire. “Concerning the Everetts, I suppose.”

  “That’s right. One left, and the job is done.” He sounded so cool and self-assured—like catching outlaws was like netting fish.

  “What will you do then—rejoin the Pinkertons, or gallop off with the first posse that comes along?” Her voice sounded bitter even to her own ears.

  His gaze flicked down the length of her. “Go back to my ranch, raise a few cattle, I suppose.”

  It was hard to believe a man like him would be satisfied with that. After years of living out of a saddlebag, how would he find contentment with the everyday existence of a ranch? Had he yearned for that all along? Or had the killing and the bloodshed finally taken its toll—making him realize how precious and short life really was?

  She had no more time to think of it.

  The driver cracked his whip, sending them bowling off down the dusty road.

  Christie grasped the rail to prevent herself from sliding across the seat. She glanced out the window, spying Mrs. Shanks and her daughter climbing into a buggy. So this was their stop after all. At least she wouldn’t have to suffer Mrs. Shanks’ dour looks along with Nat’s indifferent stares.

  And here she’d hoped he’d come to say goodbye. No. She’d hoped for something more. But he was only here because of Cecil.

  She wanted to plead with him to stop—it was over. Billy, the worst of the Everetts and Heather’s killer, was dead. But she knew it would do no good. Nat was obsessed. Nothing would stop him short of a bullet.

  All for a promise.

  But how could she fault him for that?

  • • •

  All the things Nat wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat. But hell, she wasn’t offering much encouragement, sitting cool and aloof with her face turned toward the window.

  What had he expected? That she’d throw herself into his arms? No, not his Christie. She wasn’t prone to bouts of hysteria. She kept everything bundled up tight inside. The sky could be falling and she’d insist everything was just fine.

  His Christie.

  He had to stop thinking of her that way.

  She was going home, where she belonged—out of harm’s reach.

  That’s why he’d come, to see her safely to the station.

  But seeing her without touching her felt like starving. The sight of all those silky curls and the sweet curve of her lips sent his blood pumping like a runaway train. Holt had volunteered to come. He should have let him. But the thought of Christie traveling by stage all the way to Sacramento made him nervous. Or maybe he just needed to see her one more time.

  Whatever the reason, he was here.

  And it was tearing his guts out.

  If things had been different, he might have asked her to stay. But his life wasn’t his own—not with one last Everett left to round up.

  Watching her without letting her know took all of Nat’s concentration.

  The terrain grew rougher and rougher.

  Soon he was more occupied hanging on to his seat.

  When they flew down a steep bank, Christie lost her grip on the rail. The sudden ascent up the other side catapulted her right into his lap. Her face landed squarely in his crotch.

  He expelled a low groan.

  “Ohhh, I’m so sorry!” Her muffled apology vibrated against his thigh as she scrambled to right herself. “I’m afraid that hill took me by surprise.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” He gritted, clasping her by the arms to avert further damage. “I think it’s fair to say it took us both by surprise. You’d better stay here beside me.”

  Her cheeks burned as red as a confederate flag. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No permanent damage.” He flashed a forced smile. “Of course I won’t know for sure until I see my first born.”

  “Oh!” she gasped with a hint of dismay. Then her voice stiffened. “Please extend my apologies to your future wife.” She wriggled to the far end of the seat to plant herself by the window, but not before he saw the tiny green sparks flash in her eyes.

  He couldn’t help but smile. Even when she got riled, she could conjure up a haughty look. It was all he could do not to lean over, take her in his arms, and kiss it from her face.

  They clattered down a bank into a gulley where the tall oaks crowded the road, blocking out the sun.

  The team of six came to a skidding halt.

  Shouts came from above.

  Nat settled his hand on the butt of his Colt, strapped to his hip under his coat.

  Christie wriggled to the window to peer out under the flap. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Stay here. I’m going to take a look.” Nat turned with his hand on the latch. “No matter what happens, stay inside. Do you hear me?”

  He didn’t wait for her nod, but bounded from the vehicle, shutting the door with a firm click.

  Prickles chased over his skin.

  He rounded the back of the stage, keeping low to avoid being seen.

  His pulse hummed in his ears.

  It was like a nightmare, happening all over again. Except this time, he hadn’t cracked his head—this time he was awake.

  “Drop those rifles down here, then get down real slow!” a voice shouted.

  “We ain’t carrying any gold!” The driver called back. “Only passengers. If you don’t believe me, you can take a look.”

  The rustle of silk turned Nat around just as he heard the driver’s rifle hit the dirt.

  Dammit!

  Why couldn’t she ever do what she was told?

  “I told you to stay inside.”

  “I feel safer with you.” Christie crouched behind him, derringer clutched in her hand. “What’s happening? Are we being robbed?”

  “Put that thing away before you shoot me in the back.”

  “I said get down!” The robber demanded again.

  “Oh my God!” Christie whispered. “That sounds like Cecil.”

  It sure did. Well, that slimy son-of-a-bitch was in for a big surprise. He’d waited a long time for an opportunity like this. “Stay down,” Nat commanded. “Stay right here.”

  As he rounded the front of the stage, he found Cecil nudging the driver toward the stagecoach door, a pistol leveled at the driver’s head.

  Damn!

  He couldn’t get a clear shot.

  By the time Nat crawled under the hitch, they were at the stage door.

  “I thought you said there was passengers!” Cecil screeched. “I ought to shoot you right now.” A hint of glee crept into his voice. “If there ain’t no passengers you must be carrying something better.”

  Nat stepped out onto the road, Colt leveled in the air. “Put it down, Everett!”

  Cecil’s eyes bulged above his blue bandana. He shook his pistol at the driver’s head. “Stay back Randall, or I’ll shoot!”

  Sweat trickled down the side of the driver’s cheek from under the brow of his wide-brimmed hat. His black eyes shifted like a stag between two hunters. “There’s no need for shootin’! Take what you want!”

  Christie appeared at the back of the stage. “Drop the weapon Cecil!”

  At the sound of her voice, Cecil took a step back and swung his pistol toward her.

  Nat fired.

  Cecil flew backward like a scarecrow blown from a post.

&nbs
p; He landed with a thud in the dirt.

  Nat strode past the driver, who lay prostrate, wheezing for breath.

  Blood oozed down Cecil’s forehead from a hole in his skull, his lifeless eyes staring at the patches of blue sky between the trees.

  It was over.

  The last Everett was dead.

  • • •

  Christie searched over the heads of the crowd on the platform, clutching her small valise in one hand and her corn-colored parasol in the other. Nat told her to wait—that he’d be right back. But the conductor had already called twice for passengers to board.

  Nat was nowhere in sight.

  Apparently delivering Cecil’s body safely to the sheriff took precedence over saying goodbye. The driver could have provided an accurate account, but no, Nat had insisted on doing it himself to avoid any misunderstanding.

  How long did it take to explain a big hole in an outlaw’s head?

  Certainly not two hours. Perhaps she’d imagined Nat’s insistent tone—his hesitation, then lingering gaze before he’d strode away. He knew what time the train left. If he’d wanted to say goodbye he would have come.

  The engine puffed out clouds of steam like smoke signals.

  “All aboard!”

  Christie rose on the tip of her boots for one last look, craning her neck in every direction. Perhaps she could wait for the next train? Would it be so bad if Meagan married Robby? A doctor’s salary wasn’t substantial, but it was enough. She’d considered marrying him herself before she’d discovered what a fickle devil he was.

  Christie heaved an anguished moan.

  What was she thinking?

  She couldn’t put her own happiness above Meagan’s.

  Ten paces to the train seemed like ten miles. Her legs grew heavier with every step—her heart so full, it felt as though it would burst. But she forced herself forward, tears pricking her eyes.

  He wasn’t coming.

  It was time to go—time to leave the west behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Christie swept the blue coverlet aside to throw her legs over the side of the bed. What heaven, to have slept so late. The train journey had been an exhausting ordeal with no company, other than strangers and her own regrets. But back home in familiar surroundings she breathed less painfully, felt more herself again.

  At least, she would soon—once this ghastly business with Meagan was resolved.

  But then what?

  Oh, certainly life would go on as it always had—minding the household, her father working himself into an early grave, Meagan and Evie squabbling from sunup ‘til sundown. The sadness would fade, but Nat would forever be a part of her—always at the back of her consciousness—his touch, his smell, the blue fire in his eyes.

  If only he’d come to say goodbye. Perhaps she could put it all behind her. Perhaps she could forget.

  A tremendous sigh eased past her lips.

  It was time to stop thinking about herself and focus on Meagan.

  The sooner she got this over with, the better.

  Now, where were her slippers? She could have sworn she’d left them right beside the bed. Christie cast a glance toward the walnut wardrobe, then back down to the floor. There they were, exactly where she’d left them.

  Gad!

  She was losing her mind.

  She slid her feet into the white satin slippers.

  A giggle floated up from under the bed.

  Christie bent down to peer between her legs under the four-post bed. “Evie! What are you doing under there? Come out, dearest. The floor is cold.”

  “Bess said not to wake you.”

  “Well I’m awake now, you goose.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” Evie’s strawberry ringlets hopped along the floor ahead of her as she wriggled her way out. She jumped like a frog to land on two feet. Even standing upright she appeared like a cat poised to spring. “We can’t eat breakfast until you come down.”

  “What nonsense.” Christie reached out to straighten the lace bow on the front of Evie’s white muslin frock. “Breakfast is always at seven.” Their father left for work at eight and abhorred any breech in punctuality. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

  Evie set her dimpled hands on her hips. “Today is Saturday.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Where has the time flown?”

  Evie blinked her earnest green eyes. “Father doesn’t go to the bank on Saturday,” she continued, as though speaking to a patient suffering from a head injury. “He works in his study. Breakfast is always at eight on Saturday.”

  “Yes, yes!” Christie’s gaze darted to the small brass clock on her bedside table. “Mercy! It’s a quarter to. I need to get dressed. Run along! Tell them I’ll be right down.”

  A light knock sounded against the door.

  “Come in,” Christie bid.

  Meagan hustled into the bedchamber looking as fresh as a peach in her organdie gown, her smooth mahogany locks coiled tight atop her head. “Good, you’re awake. It’s a quarter to eight. Father is pacing in the dining room like a caged lion. I’m not going in there without reinforcements.”

  “I was just about to get dressed.” Christie kept her tone as patient as she could. It seemed her mother hen duties would never end. “I’ll be right down.”

  Evie threw her arms around Christie’s waist, hugging her tight. “I’m so glad you’re home. No more boring lessons with Miss Grouch Bottom.”

  “Evie!” Christie tried to contain a smile as she and Meagan exchanged looks over the top of Evie’s head.

  “Well, it’s true. Even Father says so. He’s given her the boot. You came home just time, or I should have to suffer through Meagan teaching me my lessons. She doesn’t understand geometry. If Father lets her teach me, I’ll be stupid.”

  Meagan’s cheeks flushed pink, lighting the dusting of freckles on her nose. “I understand it perfectly. I simply don’t like doing it.” Meagan had never enjoyed her lessons. By the age of seventeen, with many of her friends betrothed or already married, she resented them all the more. Hence her sudden compulsion to rush to the altar and the predicament she now found herself in.

  “Geometry isn’t for everyone. God gives us all different gifts,” Christie said with brisk diplomacy. “Meagan can name every country in the atlas. Perhaps she’ll take a grand tour one day and take you with her.” Christie smoothed Evie’s curls with one hand, then dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “But before any of us does anything, we shall need to have breakfast. Now scoot, and let me get dressed.”

  Evie flounced out the door with a happy skip, no doubt relishing the idea of no lessons today, and the details of Christie’s adventures, which she had avoided relating thus far. Recounting her stay in Nevada would only dredge up painful memories of Nat—something Christie had no wish to do.

  Meagan remained, hovering just inside the door.

  Christie could guess why. With her train arriving so late, there hadn’t been a moment of privacy for Meagan to plead her case. Clearly she was bursting at the seams to get it out before their father swayed Christie beyond repair.

  “Perhaps you should close the door.” Christie crossed to the dressing table, then sat down to brush her hair.

  “There’s no need to pretend.” Meagan came forward wringing her hands as soon as she’d closed the door. “I know you must hate me.”

  “Hate you?” Christie spun round on the chair, brush poised in midair. “Whatever for?”

  “Father told me that you were in love with Robby.” Meagan cast her eyes downward. “That you hoped to marry him.”

  “Well he was wrong,” she stated flatly. “I have never been in love with Doctor Turner. In fact, there was nothing between us at all. I admit, I did toy with the idea to avoid Father’s ultimatum, but going to Nevada changed all that.”

  Meagan came forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Because of the kidnapping?”

  “No. Because I met someone else.” Seeing Meagan’s eyes w
iden with curiosity Christie rushed on. “And that is why I feel very strongly that you should wait.”

  “Wait!” Meagan came to her feet. “Why should I wait? I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you think. I know you and Father think I’m too young—that I don’t know my own mind. But I do. Robby and I are in love and nothing you can say will change that.”

  “Calm down. Sit for a moment and listen to what I have to say.” After Meagan perched on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, Christie continued. “I don’t question your feelings for Doctor Turner. I only question your haste. If he truly loves you, surely he can wait.”

  Meagan rose to her feet to begin pacing the room. “It doesn’t matter how long we wait. Father will never agree.”

  “I’m not thinking about Father. I’m thinking of you. You’ve been so looking so forward to your coming out. For the past two years you’ve talked of nothing else. Why should you be cheated out of your debut? Think of all the hours we’ve spent designing your gown. I just don’t want you to look back years from now with any regrets.”

  Meagan stopped in midstride, her voice turning wistful. “I never thought of that.”

  “And what of Aunt Madeline, all of her plans to take you on a grand tour? Do you want to give all of that up?”

  Meagan threw her hands in the air. “I know, I know, but what am I to do? I must make a choice.”

  “I’m not suggesting you call off the engagement, just delay it a few months.”

  “Yes. Perhaps we could,” Meagan said hopefully. “We could announce our engagement after my coming out; that is, if Robby agrees. Aunt Madeline and I would only be gone a few months. We could marry when I return home.”

  “Yes, and Father will have had plenty of time to consider the match.” It would also allow more time for Robby to show his true colors.

  At mention of their father, Meagan’s mouth tightened. “I’m not making any promises. I shall have to speak with Robby first.”

  “Of course not, promises can be hard to keep.” Except if you were a man like Nat. His face swam before her. Her eyes misted over. The image washed from her sight. Had she waited at the train station, would he have offered her a promise?

  If he had, he would have kept it forever.