He only grunted a little when a hurled blade stabbed into his back as they rode off.
—from Dead-Eye Dan and the Outlaws of Devil’s Canyon
As Dan took the stairs two at a time, a dam burst inside him—exploded, really. All the emotions he’d contained for months, years—shoot, for the last few days—burst over him in a mighty wave.
Etta must have heard his boots pounding, for she opened her bedroom door and peeked out as he ran toward her. “Dan? What . . . ?”
He didn’t give her time to vocalize the rest of the question. Instead, he grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her into the air, and spun her around in a circle, so much joy surging through him he could barely contain it. She clutched his shoulders and gasped, her beautiful brown eyes wide as they met his. He lowered her feet back to the floor, but his hands never left her waist. “I love you, Etta.” The words emerged hoarse, unpracticed, but they vibrated with indisputable truth. “I’ve loved you for ages.”
She sucked in a breath, her mouth forming an O of surprise. He took full advantage, cupping her head in his left hand and tilting her face up to meet his. Blood surged in his veins, urging him to plunder, to conquer. But at the last moment, he gentled his descent, claiming her lips with all the tenderness she deserved.
The force of the contact shot through him like the crackle of lightning on a hot summer night. Heaven above, she was sweet. Better than he’d imagined—and he’d imagined this moment well and often. Yet none of his dreams could compare to the reality of holding her. Kissing her. Making her his. Finally.
Her lips softened beneath his, and her arms wrapped eagerly around his neck. She made a little mewling sound deep in her throat that set him to trembling. Man, but he loved this woman. More than he’d even thought possible. And the feeling was still expanding and growing beyond all boundaries.
He deepened his kiss, urging her closer, his hand stroking up her back. She responded by burying her fingers in the hair at his nape, tangling them in the strands and sending shivers of delight coursing through him.
His heart pounded. His lungs heaved. His pulse thrummed. Control warred with desire until, in a flash of sanity, he pulled back. Gentling his kiss, he relaxed his hold and eased his mouth away from hers. Etta’s lashes fluttered open slowly, then lifted, revealing the depth of her gaze.
“Oh, Daniel. I love you, too. So much.”
His chest swelled at her words, spoken not in apology this time but with strength and commitment—a commitment he aimed to match.
He cleared his throat and took a step back, needing a little distance to clear his head from the storm of passion still raging inside. His hands slid over her upper arms, grasping her lightly yet firmly.
“I aim to court you proper, Etta,” he vowed, nodding his head to make sure she realized he was serious. “But I need to make a few things clear.”
Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other and caught a glimpse of Etta’s teasing smile before she hid it away behind a more serious expression. The little vixen. Well, she could laugh if she wanted, but he had several issues he needed to clear the air on before they moved forward.
“I’m listening.” Etta nodded for him to continue.
Dan gave her arms a little squeeze then rattled off his list.
“I’m not Dead-Eye Dan. I gave up chasin’ bounties and don’t plan on ever goin’ back. I ain’t a dime-novel hero, but I’m steady, I work hard, and I’ll do my best to give you the life you deserve.”
Etta opened her mouth, but he shook his head at her, needing to get everything said at once.
“I know I’m a good deal older than you, twelve years by my count, and most young ladies would probably wish for someone younger, less tarnished. I’ve seen a lot of ugliness in this life, Etta. I won’t lie to you about that. I’m rather set in my ways and opinionated about how things oughta be done, but I’d like to think that God gave me some wisdom over the years, too. Wisdom that will help me be the husband and father I want to be, one who will lead his family in a way that honors the Lord.”
Dan slid his hands down Etta’s arms to clasp her hands, then he slowly lowered himself onto one knee and gazed up at her, drinking in her beloved face, her dancing eyes, her mouth blooming into a large, tremulous smile. “Etta, I swear that I will love you for all my days. I will provide for you, protect you, and devote myself to your happiness. I’m far from perfect, and I sure ain’t no hero, but I want nothing more in this world than to be your husband. Will you have me?”
“Daniel Barrett.” Her voice wavered, as did her smile, yet unfiltered love glowed in her eyes. “You are the only one I’ve ever wanted. Yes, oh yes, I’ll have you.”
Joy burst inside him, filling every corner of his heart with light. He leapt back to his feet and took her in his arms, but before he could kiss her, she held up one finger between them.
“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” she said.
Daniel looked quizzically at her. “What?”
Etta reached up to his brow and brushed his hair off his forehead with a gentle caress that set his blood to pumping. Then she tilted her head back and met his gaze. “You are a hero. My hero.”
And for the first time in his life, Dan actually felt worthy of the title.
Chapter Eleven
Dead-Eye Dan struggled to remain upright after an hour in the saddle, but strength leeched out of him along with his blood. He slumped against Mary Ellen.
“Dan?” She tried to twist around to look at him. “Dan!”
“Farmhouse,” he murmured. “Up ahead. You’ll . . . be safe . . . there.”
The last thing he remembered was Mary Ellen’s arms locking about his and her dire threat of never forgiving him if he fell off their horse. Nearly made him smile as he plummeted over the cliff of oblivion.
For two days, Dan battled an unseen enemy. He vaguely recalled a man with graying hair dragging him into a house and a woman with a plump middle and kind eyes bending over him with a threaded needle. The pain. The fever. The confused nightmares of not reaching Mary Ellen in time.
But then, he also remembered her voice. Mary Ellen’s. She was there, too. Her cool hand on his forehead, her demands that he get well, her agonized prayers when no one was around to see her tears.
Mary Ellen. He didn’t want to leave her. But he could feel himself slipping away. Perhaps it was for the best. She never would have been taken in the first place if she hadn’t been connected to him. But he couldn’t go without saying good-bye. He dragged himself out of the pit far enough to open his eyes and behold her beloved face one last time.
“Good . . . bye . . . Mary . . . Ellen,” he rasped.
She started and clasped his hand to her bosom. “Dan? I’m here.”
“Love you,” he managed, even as his eyes slid closed again. “Always . . . love you.”
Then with the sound of Mary Ellen’s quiet weeping surrounding him, Dead-Eye Dan let go of the pain and took that final ride to the great beyond.
Then Dead-Eye Dan passed out. He slept for three days and only woke up when the farm woman poured broth down his throat. On the fourth day, he recovered enough strength to keep his eyes open longer than five minutes, and after a week, he was sitting up in bed and driving Mary Ellen crazy with his complaining.
When he was able to stand on his own two feet again, he asked Mary Ellen to marry him. She said yes, and they were hitched the following Sunday.
Dead-Eye Dan retired from the bounty-collecting business to raise mules. Mary Ellen was never abducted again, and she and Dan went on to have three strapping sons and a little girl who looked just like her mama.
The End.
—from Dead-Eye Dan and the Outlaws of Devil’s Canyon
—revised by
Daniel Barrett,
mule trainer
“Three boys and a girl, huh?” Marietta looked up from the wedding gift her husband had just given her and smiled at the man sitting beside her on the sofa in the small
parlor of their new home.
Daniel shrugged. “I’d be willing to consider other combinations.”
Marietta laughed as she nestled deeper into her husband’s arms. They’d had a blessedly short courtship, enduring only a month of chaperoned calls with her father hovering over them like the hawk he was named for. Daddy had given her a stern lecture about the improprieties of coming to the ranch alone and trying to maneuver poor Dan into a proposal. Said he aimed to protect his favorite ex-foreman from her plotting by ensuring she was never left alone with him. Which led to Daniel moving up the date of the wedding. By six weeks.
With a contented sigh, Marietta closed the creased cover of the dime novel in her lap and smoothed her hand over the picture of the fiery-haired man with the long-range rifle in his hand. A man who bore a striking resemblance to her groom.
“The new version of the story is much improved,” she commented as she set the book on the cushion to her left then turned to curl up more deeply into the side of the man she’d married mere hours earlier. Daniel’s turn of phrase might be less polished than that of the actual author, but Marietta much preferred his ending to the original. “I was quite angry when I read the book the first time.” She tilted her head back to meet her husband’s gaze. “Imagine! Killing off Dead-Eye Dan. It was a travesty! What was the author thinking?”
Daniel dropped a kiss on Marietta’s forehead. “I suppose he thought killing him off would keep the legend alive.” His fingers danced over her hair and tugged a pin free. Then another. And another. “Retirement and mules don’t really fit Dead-Eye Dan’s larger-than-life image.”
Marietta lost track of the conversation as her husband continued pulling pins from her hair. He even sat her up a little so he could reach the ones she’d been lying on against his chest. Her hair spilled down, one section at a time, until it finally all hung free about her shoulders.
Daniel’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight. He ran his fingers through her tresses, and tingles danced over her scalp at the gentle tugging. Then he started massaging where the pins had held up the heavy mass, and Marietta couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure.
“There’s one good thing about Dead-Eye Dan dying in the last book,” she murmured as she placed a palm upon her husband’s firm thigh for balance. If he kept up his ministrations much longer, she was going to melt into a puddle at his feet.
“What’s that?” he asked, leaning his face close to hers, his lips stopping a breath away from her mouth.
“I don’t have to share you anymore,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to his lips. Warmth spread through her as she waited, silently pleading, for him to kiss her.
His mouth curved in a cocky grin, still not kissing her, the rogue. “I’m all yours, Mrs. Barrett.” He touched his lips to hers in a soft caress that was as frustrating as it was delightful. “Only yours.” Another barely-there kiss. “Forever.”
Finally, his mouth slanted upon hers, releasing all the passion and fervor she craved. Daniel leaned her back against the sofa cushions, shoving the dime novel carelessly onto the floor as he followed her down. Marietta didn’t protest in the slightest.
Daniel Barrett, the man, beat out Dead-Eye Dan, the legend, every time.
Chapter One
This cow would cross the river even if it killed her. Which it wouldn’t. Katie Ellen knew a thing or two about . . . well, about everything . . . and if she couldn’t lure Buttercup and her calf across the river, she’d have to reevaluate her claims to intelligence.
Going down the bank, she dug her heels into the slick grass to keep the wheelbarrow from pulling her forward. She parked it against the oak that would serve as her anchor and lifted the rope out. It was soaked. Nothing outside of her raincoat was dry today. Even a section of the split-rail fence that normally kept the livestock in the pasture had washed down the mountain. Just another mess to fix before her parents returned home.
Buttercup lifted her soggy head and bawled from the other side of the swollen river as her calf stamped nervously at her side.
“I hear you, you cussed nuisance!” Katie Ellen hollered. “If you would’ve stayed on this side in the first place . . .” But insulting the cow would have to wait. Planting her feet wide, Katie Ellen hefted the ratcheting winch out of the wheelbarrow and dropped it at the base of the tree. Finding the end of the rope, she wrapped it around the tree, then forced it through the gear. Turning it this way and that, she got it situated to its best leverage, which a couple of yanks on the crank proved beyond doubt. Now it was time to cross the bridge.
She tugged the edge of her leather gloves up beneath the protection of her sleeves. Besides a cold trickle down her neck that had invaded her armor while she bent over, she was completely dry. Quite an accomplishment considering the rain that’d pounded the land ever since her parents left five days ago. Gathering the rope, she headed toward the bridge. No use in waiting. The river surely wasn’t going down anytime soon.
This bridge was the only crossing from the Watsons’ farm. Built on the mountain, the rocky Ozark homestead was tucked into the curve of the river. The other side was a steep bluff, not good for anything besides growing cedars and collecting pinecones. Seeing how the bridge was used only by the family and their occasional visitors, Pa hadn’t put too much timber across the rock pillars that supported it. Now, looking at the black, slick planks and the river foaming against it, Katie Ellen wished he had. Her boots had a good grip and she could swim, but another look at the churning river and she knew she’d better not count on that ability to keep her alive. Better rely on her wits. They’d always been her strong suit anyhow. She twisted the rope around her slender wrist a few times and gripped it hard. She’d told Pa and Ma she could take care of everything. This was just part of the job.
From the time her boots hit the slick planks until she was safely on the other side, Katie Ellen didn’t breathe. She looped the rope over Buttercup’s head to form a halter and yanked on it to make sure it wouldn’t slip. One second to scratch the worried cow’s head before hurrying back across the bridge. She tried not to notice the water bubbling up between the planks. How long would it hold?
Back at the tree, Katie Ellen grabbed the handle of the winch and pumped at it vigorously. Getting the slack out of the rope was merely the prelude for what was to come. Already Buttercup had her legs braced against the tension and her head ducked, trying to pull out of the halter. Each pull grew more difficult as the rope stretched. Katie Ellen renewed her grip. Buttercup lowed. The gears clicked with every inch of rope that she tugged through the opening. Click. Click . . . click. Buttercup had stopped at the edge, but she hadn’t yet put a hoof on the bridge.
“Come on, you ornery thing!” Katie Ellen hollered. “You crossed that bridge to run away this morning, didn’t you?” Next to its obstinate mother, the calf added its opinion, as if Katie Ellen needed reminding that it was two against one. Throwing her weight against the lever, she moved it a few more inches, and then nothing. Straightening, she narrowed her eyes to look through the rain to where the cow stood, not budging. She was missing something. Time to call for help.
“Lord, please . . .” and then inspiration hit. The calf. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Katie Ellen released the gear mechanism to get some slack in the rope, then ran down the bank again. Now water coursed over the bridge. Gingerly, she eased one small foot at a time on the structure. The angry river splashed against her ankles, threatening to sweep her feet out from under her. Her heart sped. No time for fear, just get it done. Holding the rope with a death grip in one hand and her skirt in the other, Katie Ellen swallowed her anxiety, willed her heart to slow its wild cadence, and picked her way across the groaning bridge.
“Hurry,” she commanded herself. With deft movements she freed the cow and looped a halter over the calf’s head. The calf she could pull, and Mama Cow would surely follow. It was her only hope.
She spun. The river she’d seen every day of her life had never looked like this bef
ore. Jumping its bank, the river now covered the bridge completely, hiding the planks beneath angry brown water. It was rising fast, but how high would it get? She had to get across or they’d be separated from home until the waters subsided—and another bridge could be built. Pa would’ve never let that happen if he were here, and Katie Ellen couldn’t fail him.
The river splashed over her feet, which were still on the muddy bank. Where was the bridge? Stepping off into the deep would be fatal. Ma and Pa would never know what happened to her. She swallowed. The bridge was where it always was, she just couldn’t see it. Had to have faith like those priests at the Jordan who stepped into the river yet still ended up on dry ground.
Taking the rope, she molded her leather glove against it until it slipped no more. If she fell, the rope was her only chance. With her other hand she lifted her skirt and stepped into the coursing stream, praying for her foot to find the solid wood under the water. There. Fighting for her balance, Katie Ellen dashed across as quickly as she could. Once back on the home bank, she scrambled to the winch and set to ratcheting it up. The calf balked and she didn’t blame it. Only her determination to succeed at this task could have forced her across. But this was a battle she could win, and hopefully where calf went, mama would follow.
The slack out, the weight of the calf hit, but it was nothing compared to the cow. Despite the calf’s intentions, it was being dragged closer and closer to the bridge, bawling all the way. The water was halfway up the calf’s legs, but at least it’d found the bridge. Time to hurry it across.
“Let’s go. Let’s go.” Working to her own chant, Katie Ellen didn’t watch, but faced the winch and pumped for all she was worth. Judging by the resistance, the calf had reconciled itself to its fate and was hurrying along like it should. But what about Buttercup?
With This Ring? Page 7