The Texan's Bride

by Dawson, Geralyn

  She liked the man. It’s a shame, she thought, that he’d be the one to get hurt.

  A harmonica played a melancholy song in the distance as they made their way to the hotel. The proprietor gawked at Katie as he led her and the sheriff up the stairs to a room at the end of the hall. Inside, all small objects had been cleared away; only heavy furniture and the brass bathtub filled with steaming water remained. Katie smiled with satisfaction.

  She turned to the sheriff, a God-fearing, family man she’d been told. “Will you be inside or out, Sheriff Llewellyn?”

  Color crept up his face. “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I gotta stay in the room. I’ll give you privacy as best I can, though.”

  “Very well,” Katie said, shrugging. She inhaled a steadying breath. So far, everything was going according to plan.

  But now, with the moment upon her, could she follow through? Could she physically assault a man she respected, a man who acted only as his position required?

  It’s either that, or die, she told herself. She had to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. No one was coming to save her. She could depend only upon herself.

  And that’s the way it ought to be. She’d forgotten it for a while, that’s all. Da had always told her, “The Good Lord helps those who help themselves.”

  She’d not forget again.

  Lifting her chin, Katie presented her back to Sheriff Llewellyn. “If you’d be so kind, sir, to undo my buttons?”

  WHUMP. THUD. One jailhouse guard went down.

  Whack. “Ugh.” Both men lay unconscious on the floor.

  Shaddoe St. Pierre, disguised in buckskins and the traditional Cherokee turban, turned to the cell ready to speak and stopped. The door stood open wide.

  Kathleen was not there.

  He stared, gawking, and was therefore taken by surprise when the tall, ugly, loudmouthed woman burst through the door wailing, “You can’t kill her. Not now. I tell you, I work at Gertie’s place, and Katie Kincaid came there not two months ago asking for a way to rid herself of a babe. Well, of course we didn’t tell her, us knowing her husband so well and all. You cannot put her to death, Sheriff. She’s pregnant!”

  Then her sharp brown eyes gleamed at Shaddoe. The handkerchief came away from her face, and a gun came out of her pocket.

  “Don’t I know you?” a gruff, male voice asked.

  Shaddoe said, “You are Garrett, Chase Garrett.”

  In that moment, a billowing cloud of black smoke gushed from the potbellied stove.

  Daniel Gallagher grinned as the sound of choking coughs came from the jailhouse. He picked his way over the side of the roof. Then, to his dismay, his damaged hand lost its grip and he slipped.

  He fell square atop a man who was standing on a box and peering inside Katie’s cell window. “What the hell,” Keeper McShane gasped, attempting to catch his breath.

  “Keeper? Is that you, Keeper?” Daniel asked in a whisper as he rolled off the other man.

  “Gallagher? Well, I’ll be damned. How are you doing, Daniel? It’s been a while, ain’t it? Whatcha been up to? Been in the Territory all this time?”

  “McShane, you are as dense as ever,” Daniel growled in a whisper. “My sister’s going to hang tomorrow unless I save her, and you’re interrupting my plan.”

  “Your plan! You’re the one interrupting my plan.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Well, never mind. Listen, I’ve blocked the stove pipe, and the place is filling with smoke. I’ve got to get in there now and get her out.”

  He got to his feet and sneaked around to the door with Keeper following on his heels, whispering, “Say, I rigged the scaffold. There’s no way she’s gonna hang off that bit of lumber tomorrow. My plan’s perfect, I’ve got a wagon all set to go and black powder charges hidden all over town.”

  Daniel crashed through the doorway, pistol drawn. Through the smoke, he saw the craziest sight he’d ever witnessed. A big, ugly, shorthaired woman was bent over double, coughing like a lung-shot sailor, holding a gun on Shaddoe Dancer, who beat at the stove with a lady’s scalp.

  Keeper held a kerchief to his face and drawled through the cloth, “Well, I’ll be dipped in shellac.”

  With the fire out and the door wide open, the smoke began to clear. The four men stared at one another, then straightened as one at the clicks of a pair of guns.

  Silence hung like the smoke on the air. Then a voice familiar to them all growled, “Damn! She’s gone and done it again.”

  SHERIFF LLEWELLYN’S fingers trembled as he worked the buttons at the back of Katie’s dress. Poor man, he was as nervous as a hen on a hot griddle.

  She’d caught him by surprise with her request for assistance in undressing. He’d had to choose between helping her himself or leaving her to hunt down a woman who could act as lady’s maid, and he’d approached her as though he were the condemned.

  Katie had rather hoped, for his sake, that he’d leave her alone. As it was, she’d have to hurt him, and she dreaded that as much as he flinched at undoing her dress.

  She almost made her move while his fingers fiddled with the buttons and hooks at the back of her neck. His gun was in easy reach, and he appeared unaware of his vulnerability. But she hesitated, unsure, as her teeth nibbled at her lower lip.

  She’d only get one chance.

  Besides, she thought, seizing on the first excuse that flitted through her mind, if I act now, I won’t get my bath. After almost a month in jail, she wanted a bath almost as much as she wanted to avoid the hangman.

  The sheriff managed to finish the job, then he marched to the door where he stood with his back to her. The skin above his collar scorched red. Rocking on his heels, he shoved both hands in his pockets and waited.

  Katie didn’t wait. She stripped off her clothing and climbed into the warm, lilac-scented water with a heartfelt sigh. Never again would she take such a simple pleasure for granted. A bar of soap and a washcloth sat on a chair within reach. After scrubbing the stale scent of the jail from her body, she stretched her neck and dipped her head back into the water. The soap didn’t lather nearly as well as what she once made, but she washed her hair as best she could.

  A wooden bucket of fresh water sat at the foot of the tub. Should she do it? The more flustered he was, the better. Aloud, she said, “Sheriff, I hate to bother you anymore, but I need to rinse my hair and I can’t lift the bucket. Would you please help me?”

  “Oh, umm, ah, Mrs. Kincaid, I don’t think so,” he stammered.

  “Please? I know this whole situation is a bit difficult, but Sheriff Llewellyn, it’s very important to me that I meet my end with as much composure as I can muster. A clean person will help me so much in that regard. Please, sir?”

  “Oh, all right.” He shuffled to the tub. Lifting the bucket, he started to pour the water over Katie’s long hair. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as his eyes darted a look. He dumped the rinse water in a rush, dropped the bucket, and scurried back to his position by the door.

  A quick little smile flashed across Katie’s face as she climbed from the tub, wiping water from her eyes. He really was a nice man.

  Drying herself, she considered her plan of action one last time. Was this the right thing to do? Would it work? She had no earthly idea how she’d get out of town, but then, a few days ago she’d had no idea how she’d get out of jail. Surely, even if she got caught, it would be better than sitting around waiting to feel the noose tighten around her neck.

  And she really didn’t want to die.

  Chatting all the while, she quickly slipped into her underthings. She consciously milked every rustle out of every feminine frill that she could as she donned her dress. She talked about the weather; how she hoped the visitors in town wouldn’t be hurt by the heat expected the following day. The first time she sat on the bed, the ropes didn’t creak. She sat again and they did.

  Sheriff Llewellyn jumped.

  Katie kept talking. Changing her topic, she began to speak of Branch.
“He was such a fine husband. Why, for such a strong man—he’s big like you, sheriff—oh, let me tell you, he was just the most gentle thing. Those hands of his, his touch, umm, so soft.” She sighed. “I miss him. But I guess I won’t have that problem much longer. Still, I wish I could have felt a man’s touch just one more time.”

  She stood and lifted her hair, presenting her back to the sheriff. “I need you to do me up, Sheriff,” she said.

  Katie could hear his strangled gurgle. His footsteps approached as though he were climbing the scaffold steps. His fingers never touched her skin, but she could feel him tug at the button, and his nervousness stood like a third person in the room.

  Now, she thought. She whirled and grabbed his gun. Before he had the presence of mind to as much as speak, she scooped up the empty water bucket and whacked him on the side of the head.

  Sheriff Llewellyn slumped to the floor. Following a quick apology, she hit him again and he lost consciousness.

  Katie ran to the window and peered out, reaching around to fasten what buttons she could. Pursing her lips, she made a decision. She’d go out the window.

  Stripping the sheets from the bed, she tied them together, then looped one end around the iron bedstead. She frowned. The white would be a beacon hanging down the side of the hotel, but there wasn’t much else she could do.

  A prolonged creak announced the opening of the window, and Katie winced. Tossing the sheet-rope out, she cautiously began her descent to the street.

  BRANCH KINCAID walked down the deserted street, cursing beneath his breath. He’d been at it most of the past ten minutes, ever since he realized the jail cell was empty. The fact that four other would-be rescuers muddled the picture hadn’t helped his temper much either. No one, not a cursed one of them, knew where the hell she’d gotten off to. What an ineffective bunch of clods they all were, himself included. It had never occurred to him that the sheriff might move Katie from the jail.

  Branch had demanded explanations from each man. They’d all had pretty good plans, although he’d had to shake his head at Chase’s ill-begotten plot. “I thank you for your help, cousin,” he’d said, “but I’ve got to tell you, as a woman, you’re a two-bottle nightmare.”

  Chase agreed, declaring he’d arrived in Shelbyville just that afternoon and had taken the only course he could think of on such short notice.

  After a brief discussion, the five men concluded that Keeper’s plan would be the one upon which they relied. His was the only scheme set for daytime. Katie’s life depended on them, and they were prepared to do anything to save her. Branch had set a meeting place and time for the following morning, and each man declared to do his best to discover what had happened to the missing prisoner.

  “I wonder where they’ve put her,” Branch muttered as he headed for his hotel room and a bit of thinking. “But I’ll find her, and when I do, hangin’s gonna look to be a peaceful bit of living.” Humph! The damn fool woman had done her level best to get herself killed and he’d known nothing about it. He never would have seen the newspaper if Señorita Montoya hadn’t stormed into his sickroom complaining about Chase’s abrupt departure. Branch had been shocked to read the newspaper account of her trial wondering all the while just what she’d done to get tangled in Strickland’s net. It must have been bad, for him to have staged this medicine show.

  Yes, his bride definitely had some explaining to do— and not just about this Strickland business either. For one thing, she up and ran off before he even got the chance to look her baby over good. In those few seconds in the courtroom before everything went black, he’d seen something in that child that left a funny feeling in his gut.

  Then, too, was the fact that she’d left at all. That’s what really chewed his jerky—that she’d hightailed it when he lay there squirting blood like a patio fountain spurts water. His wife left Austin not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

  The thought brought Branch to a halt at a bench on the boardwalk in front of the mercantile. He sat, propped his elbows on his knees, and thumped his chin with his fisted hands. Above him, a wooden sign squeaked as it swung slowly in the light breeze.

  Maybe she didn’t care whether he was dead or alive.

  Well, hell. He pushed to his feet and turned toward his hotel, kicking along a rock as he walked Shelbyville’s Main Street. He was gonna find his bride and do some serious talking. There were certain things he just had to know.

  Maybe she didn’t love him anymore.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE ROPE WAS TOO short. Dangling fifteen feet above the street, Katie twisted her head, looking for signs of life below. Empty. Good. So far, her guardian angel was hard at work.

  She inhaled a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let go. She landed in the dirt with a thud. On her behind. “Ouch.” Cringing, Katie climbed to her feet. She glanced over her shoulder and checked to see if anyone noticed her not quite-silent descent. All quiet. “Thank you, Lord.”

  Now where? Off the street first. She took a step toward the alley beside the hotel when a board squeaked somewhere behind her. She dashed for the darkness. Hide, Katie, hide, she told herself. You can’t outrun anyone barefoot. Fool, what were you thinking of when you left your shoes upstairs?

  There, a shadow, at the end of the alley, big and dark. Moving toward her. “Oh.” She ducked behind a staircase, flattening herself against the wall, thankful her dress was forest green. A whisper of wind touched her as he passed. Boots crunched debris, then silence.

  Slowly, Katie counted to one hundred. She’d have liked to make it five hundred, but Sheriff Llewellyn could be waking up at any moment. She’d had no rope with which to tie him, and she didn’t think wrapping his wrists with her petticoat would hold him for long. He’d spit the pillowcase from his mouth and call for help, if nothing else.

  Time to go. A horse, she needed a horse. Stepping out from behind the staircase, she moved on silent feet toward the back of the alley. An arm snaked out of the darkness and grabbed her about the waist, pulling her back against a wall of hard muscle. A hand covered her mouth.

  Fear. Despair. She didn’t want to die!

  Then, the scent of him—oh, Merciful Lord.

  “Well, well, well. If it ain’t the missing Mrs. Kincaid,” a familiar drawl whispered.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Terror gushed from her head to her toes, and her knees went weak. “But you’re dead! Oh, my God, they must have hanged me after all.”

  Branch was so relieved that he was furious. Damn the woman for putting him through this. No doubt she’d shortened his life by at least a decade with her shenanigans. He felt her sag against him, and he grumbled in her ear, “That’s it. Get comfortable. I’m not letting you loose anytime in the near future. You’ve a nasty habit of disappearing on me.”

  “Oh, Branch.” Katie twisted and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest. “Are you really alive? Am I still alive? What are you doing here? I’m so glad you’re here. How did you get here? Is Johnny here?”

  “Here, here, hush.” He tilted her chin and gave her a quick, hard kiss before saying, “I’m alive and you’re alive, and if we want to stay that way, we’d best get moving.”

  “But Branch, he told me you were dying! And there was so much blood—I didn’t see how—”

  “Come on, Sprite. There’ll be time for questions later. And believe me, there’ll be plenty of them. Now, though, I’ve got horses hidden just outside town.”

  He pulled her back toward the street just as Sheriff Llewellyn stuck his head out of the upstairs window and shouted, “Escape! Sound the alert. Prisoner escape. Mrs. Kincaid’s disappeared.”

  Branch muttered, “Damn,” as the immediate uproar in the street indicated a search would soon be underway.

  Nervously, Katie babbled, “I should have tied him and gagged him better, I guess. I didn’t have much. He’s just such a nice man and I didn’t want to hurt him and…”

  “And your benevolence will get
you hanged, woman. Just be glad I’m here to help you. Now hush and let me think. We need a place to hide—fast. We’ll have to hole up and wait for the posse to head out of town before we make a move to the horses.”

  Branch cautiously stuck his head around the building’s corner. Already a dozen or more men gathered, carrying lanterns and flickering torches, waiting for instructions. Katie tugged at his shirt. He waved her back. She tugged again. Pulling back into the alley, he snapped, “What?”

  “I don’t need to be grateful to you—I was doing just fine on my own. I escaped. You didn’t help. Of course, I thought you were dead, so I didn’t expect you to help. But I did do it all on my own, so quit being so all-fired mannish about it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

  Branch gritted his teeth. “Save it. Sprite. You’ve bigger problems to deal with. Come on.” He dragged her to the back of the alley, looked up and down the back street, then led her north.

  “Where are we going?” Katie whispered.

  “I want to be nearer the horses before we settle in.”

  “Do you have a hotel room? We could wait there.”

  Branch shook his head. “They’re liable to search the buildings first, especially if they’ve heard I’m in town. We need a spot where nobody would think of looking.”

  They sneaked behind a tavern where news of Katie’s escape swept through the drunken crowd like a flame. Branch sneered in disgust as he heard a man’s loud voice complain, “I rode over a hundred miles to get a looksee at a woman bein’ hanged. Heard she’s a right pretty gal too. I’m gonna be pissed as hell if they don’t get her back in time to stretch her neck.”

  Katie gasped. Branch gave her hand a comforting squeeze. They worked their way across town, hiding in shadows, darting across streets when the moon disappeared behind a cloud. By now the sound of fists banging on doors and shouted demands filled the night. Lamps burned in places previously dark.