by Linda Ford
“I don’t like it.” But he followed her. By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, he relaxed. They followed the narrow draw to the trees surrounding Minnow Lake. The water was crystal clear, the grass around it green and soft. She spread the tablecloth and put the basket on top.
“I brought you something.” She pulled out a flat package wrapped in brown store paper and handed it to him.
“What’s the occasion?”
“It’s for all the birthdays and Christmases I’ve missed sharing with you.” She’d meant the words to be teasing, but the thought of how many years she’d not been with him caused her throat to tighten.
He leaned over and kissed her gently then folded back the paper to reveal a picture. He touched it. “You did this for me?”
“I did.” It was the same picture she had drawn of Megan by the river, with gold touching the water and the veins in the rocks. She’d added the same words, touching every letter with gold, just as she had in the one she’d sent to her publisher.
He read the words aloud. “‘The most precious gold is found in a loving heart.’” He traced his fingers along the frame Harrison had made. “Birdie, this is the nicest gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.”
“Thank you for helping me find the gold.”
Their gazes held.
“I never expected I would feel this way,” she murmured.
He nodded. “What we have is pure gold.”
They kissed briefly then she put out the picnic Cosette had helped her prepare—fried chicken, yeast buns, baby carrots fresh from the garden, and cookies. They filled a dipper from the lake and enjoyed the cold water.
The afternoon was warm, and they sat with their backs to a tree and watched the ducks swim about.
“I will forever cherish the memory of this perfect day.” Birdie rose to cover the last of the cookies, which were attracting the attention of flies.
A noise drew their attention.
A young man she recognized from town stepped into view.
“Morris,” she said, “what are you doing here?” And why did he have a gun strapped to his side? Her heart kicked a protest with the answer even before he spoke.
“I heard about Clay Fisher, and I came to see if he’s as fast as they say. You’re Fisher, I take it.” He nodded toward Clay. “Get on your feet and let’s see how fast you are.”
Clay turned in her direction. “Who is this, Birdie?”
She understood Clay didn’t want her to move and perhaps invite a knee-jerk reaction. She spoke calmly. She certainly didn’t feel a smidgen of calm. Her heart thundered like a race horse in full gallop. “It’s Morris Cunningham. His father runs the feed store in town.”
“Howdy, Morris.” Clay spoke with a casual indifference that Birdie knew he must be faking. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“On your feet, Fisher.”
Clay stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles.
Birdie pressed her hand to her pocket where she kept her derringer.
Clay sent her a look, the flicker of his eyes warning her not to do anything. He spoke to Morris with lazy indifference. “I’m not interested in a gunfight. You want to be faster than me. Fine. I believe you are. Go tell your friends you are. But remember this—he who lives by the gun dies by the gun.”
“What kind of talk is that? You trying to scare me?” Morris’s fingers, just inches from his gun, curled and uncurled.
Birdie feared he would shoot Clay out of nervousness. She glanced to her right and left, seeking some way to create a diversion.
“Birdie, remember what happened to Mary.”
“I remember.” She turned back to Morris. “I haven’t seen your sister in a long time. How is she?” Inch by slow inch, Birdie eased toward the trees as she talked, her breath releasing silently when he didn’t object. She wasn’t sure what she would do when she reached the woods, but perhaps if she whacked a branch, it would divert him. Or she might even be able to slip around until she was close enough to threaten him with her derringer and force him to drop his gun belt.
Morris grunted. “Gone east to learn to be a teacher, but never mind her. Mister, on your feet.”
Clay yawned. “Feeling a bit sleepy. Think I’ll stay right here if you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’d say I do. What kind of gunslinger sits there like a sissy refusing to stand up and face me like a man?”
Birdie continued her slow movement to the trees. She was almost there.
“Guess maybe I’m not the gunslinger type,” Clay said, his attention focused on Morris.
Birdie made the last few inches to the trees. Now maybe she could do something to put an end to this nonsense.
She’d no sooner slipped behind a tree when an arm grabbed her around the neck. A man pulled her to him. She yelped. Clay was instantly on his feet, his gun drawn and aimed toward her captor. Morris drew his gun with a speed that impressed Birdie and aimed it her direction.
“Well, well. Isn’t this interesting?” The man holding her seemed amused. Then he pressed a gun barrel to her temple, and she understood why he wasn’t concerned with the two guns pointed his way. “Drop your guns or I’ll shoot her.”
She struggled against the hold around her neck. The man’s arm tightened until she could barely breathe. She pulled at his arm, tried to kick him, to stomp his foot. How dare this man threaten her and her family? How dare he threaten Clay? She was tired of being manhandled like a helpless spinster. Used by men for their own purposes. Enough was enough. She dug her fingers into the man’s forearm and squeezed. She slipped her other hand into the pocket of her skirt.
Clay narrowed his eyes, trying to warn her off. She held his gaze and kept her hand in her pocket. She wasn’t backing off, so Clay had better be ready. The slight narrowing of Clay’s eyes told her he understood her silent message.
He shook his head.
She widened her eyes. Clay was joshing, right? She was just supposed to stand there, to take this? To not fight back?
Seeing her determination, Clay spoke to the man holding her. “We’ll put our guns down. Just let her go. She’s done nothing to hurt you.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
Birdie palmed the derringer and slowly began to pull it from her pocket as Clay and Morris took their time easing their guns to the ground. Please God, help me pick the right moment. She needed to do this before they dropped their guns so the man could be stopped.
Now. Now was the time. She must be quick.
She might die. But she’d die fighting, not being docile and allowing another man to take advantage of her.
She pinched the arm at her throat and at the same time, twisted, dropped to the ground, and shot her derringer. Two more shots rang out, and he fell to the ground.
She scrambled to her feet and steadied her derringer on him.
Clay and Morris joined her, their guns leveled at the man.
Clay wrapped an arm about Birdie. “I can’t believe you did that.” He sounded both impressed and exasperated. “You could have died.”
“I’m tired of men taking advantage of me.”
Clay’s laugh was not amused.
Birdie studied the man on the ground. Blood soaked his sleeves and ran down his shirt front. One pant leg grew dark with blood. “I know you. You’re the man my brother fired last year. Stu Edmonds? Right?”
Stu groaned. “He had no right to fire me.”
“So you threatened his daughter, tortured his animals, and set fire to the prairie?” She had to know if he was the one responsible for it all.
“He deserved it. You all do. Think you’re so high and mighty.” He moaned and pressed his hand to his chest.
Relief swept through her. It was over—the threats, the fear, the worry. She turned to Clay. “Should we leave him here?”
“Let’s put him on his horse and take him to Harrison,” Clay said. He turned and held a hand out toward Morris. “Thank you for your help. You’r
e fast. You could be a gunfighter, but I’m here to tell you, it isn’t the sort of life a man wants.”
Morris shuddered. “First time I shot a man. Think I’ll try and make it the last.”
Stu groaned, but the others ignored him.
Birdie didn’t care if he suffered pain from his wounds. Wouldn’t hurt him to feel a little sorry for what he’d done.
“I’ll find his horse.” Morris strode up and over the hill. He returned a few minutes later leading a sorry looking black horse.
He and Clay helped Stu to the saddle and tied him so he couldn’t escape. The man wobbled in the saddle.
“Take him to Harrison,” Clay said. “We’re on foot, so we’ll be a little while.”
“My horse is hidden down the draw.” Morris led Stu away to retrieve his animal.
Clay and Birdie watched as the pair rode over the hill toward the ranch.
She pocketed her derringer and turned to Clay. “It’s over. He’ll go to jail for a good long time.” Her heart floated in her chest, and she reached for Clay.
He stepped back and stared at the gun in his hand. Slowly, he holstered it. “It will never be over.”
“What do you mean? He admitted to being responsible for everything.”
“Morris knows who I am. There’ll be more like him wanting to test their skill against me.” He shook his head and backed away. “I know how this will end.”
“Clay, no. It doesn’t have to be like that. And even if it is, isn’t it worth it for a chance at our happiness?”
“I wonder how Mary and our little one would answer that question.” He strode to the picnic blanket and started stowing their things.
She scurried to help, silent, frantically trying to think of what she could say to change his mind. The picture she’d given him sat by the basket. She lifted it, studied it, and held it out to him. “How can you turn your back on the gold we have found?”
He took the picture but wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I will cherish this.”
“I don’t want you to cherish a picture. I want you to cherish me, be willing to face life with me and all the trials and joys it’ll bring.”
He grabbed the basket. “Let’s go.” He strode away.
“I don’t want to go. I want to finish this discussion.”
“It is finished.”
She ran to catch up to his long strides and caught his arm. “Clay, don’t do this.”
He shook her fingers from his arm, strode forward.
How could an outing that had started with such joy and promise end like this? And what could she do to fix it?
Chapter 9
Only his continued desire to protect Birdie made Clay walk slowly enough for her to keep up. All he wanted to do was swing to Buck’s back and ride away. For her sake. He could not abide the idea of another man grabbing her. Stu would no longer be a threat but there would be more like Morris.
He looked at her, though he knew he shouldn’t. She was a strong woman, strong and confident. And oh, so beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed after the afternoon in the sun and the excitement in the copse of trees. The pins in her hair had come loose, and blond strands framed her face. Her eyes were filled with tears and fear, but not because of what had just happened. Those tears, that fear—they were all his doing.
He looked away.
He’d nearly died of heartbreak when Mary was shot. He couldn’t survive if anything happened to Birdie, which left him no choice but to leave her to live her life in peace. She’d probably stay with Harrison until Megan was grown, then stay on and run Harrison’s house for him. She’d forget him
He faltered. What if Harrison remarried? What would happen to Birdie? Would a new wife allow her to stay? The thought was almost enough to give him pause. But then he thought of Morris, the foolish young gunslinger wanting to test his skills. There’d always be another Morris.
They crested the last hill and saw the ranch buildings spread out before them.
Birdie didn’t touch him but stood close. “You could have home and family, too, if you were willing to take hold of life.”
He stared straight ahead. He couldn’t look at her. To do so might break him in two. “What I want and what life will allow me are two vastly different things.”
They descended the hill, skirted the corrals, and marched up to the house, where Harrison was questioning Stu. Someone had tied bandages around his arm and leg.
Megan was nowhere to be seen, likely under Cosette’s care inside.
Harrison acknowledged Clay’s arrival with a nod then turned to Morris. “Appreciate you taking him to town. Turn him over to the Mountie. Might be the Mountie will find it in his heart to see that his wounds are tended. Tell him I’ll be in tomorrow to make a statement.”
Morris took the reins of Stu’s horse and led it away. Stu looked a mite peaked.
Harrison waved them off then turned back to Clay and Birdie. His gaze lingered on his sister. “Morris told me what happened. Said you were okay. Don’t look like you are though. What is it?”
Birdie climbed the steps to the verandah and paused at her brother’s side. “Ask him.” She swept indoors without a backward look.
Clay watched her go, continued to look at the door long after she’d disappeared beyond it.
Harrison turned his blazing gaze to Clay. “Did you offend my sister?”
“I’d say my debt to you is paid. If you’ll allow it, I’ll go back to the line cabin and watch your cows.” He waited for the other man’s verdict, hoping his eyes revealed nothing but calm indifference.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Fine. The man deserved the truth. “You know what will happen now that someone has realized who I am.”
“Morris left you a message. Said he’d learned his lesson and as far as anyone would hear from him, the gunman Clay Fisher ain’t the same Clay Fisher who works for me, so you can stop running.” A beat of demanding silence. “If you’ve a mind to.”
“Easier said than done.” He set the picnic basket on the verandah and retrieved the picture Birdie had given him. He’d allow himself the memory of these few days, touched with the gold of love. “Thanks for framing this. I’ll be on my way.” He whistled for Mutt. “About the line cabin?”
Harrison gave a dismissive wave. “If you want to hide out, you might as well be doing some good keeping an eye on the cattle.”
Clay headed for the barn. He had to leave now while the pain in his chest reminded him of the dangers in his life. How Birdie had been threatened. How he’d almost lost her. He feared if he lingered, he would weaken and change his mind.
He’d just finished saddling Buck when Megan burst into the barn. “Papa says you’re leaving.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He’s mistaken, isn’t he? You can’t leave, Fisher isn’t big enough to go with you. Besides I want you to stay.”
He lifted the crying child into his arms. “I have to go. You take care of Fisher for me.”
“Will you come back for him when he’s old enough to leave his mama?”
“I’m sorry, Little Bit, I won’t be back.”
Megan buried her face to his neck and soaked it with tears. He let her cry a moment, then set her on the ground. “You be a good girl now, hear?”
She nodded.
He straightened to see Birdie in the doorway. She’d taken the loose pins from her hair, and it hung in blond waves to her waist. He forced himself to not think of seeing her like that more often, of watching her hair stream out as she ran in joyous abandon.
“You’re leaving, just like that?”
“You’re safe now. It’s time for the bodyguard to go.” He grabbed the reins and led Buck toward the door, but Birdie made no move to get out of the way.
“Let me by.” Please don’t make leaving any more difficult than it is. It would take so little for him to change his mind. He pressed his hand to ribs bruised by the slam of his heart and remembered why he had to do this.
“If you go,
you sentence me to a life of loneliness.”
The pain in his ribs worsened. “You have your family.”
“I’m a lonely spinster.”
“You are—and will continue to be—a beautiful woman with a joyful spirit. You are not a prune-faced spinster.” He could imagine her growing more sweet and thoughtful as time passed. If only he could enjoy it.
Her eyelids fluttered.
He touched her cheek, let his fingers trail down her long, blond hair, and then gently placed his hands on her shoulders and moved her out of the way.
She caught his hand. “I ask for a goodbye kiss.”
A kiss? Could he give one and still walk away? He had to. He couldn’t refuse her this one thing. He leaned closer, intending it to be a quick. He should have guessed she had more in mind.
Her arms went around his neck and pulled him close. She gave him a kiss he would remember to the end of his days. When he thought he would melt at her feet, she released him.
“At least now you’ll know what you’re walking away from.”
He nodded, too stunned to speak.
“If you change your mind, I’ll be here.” She stepped aside to let him pass.
Somehow he managed to plant himself in the saddle. Mutt followed even though Clay forgot to call him. Halfway back to the cabin, his senses returned. He should have told her not to wait. Find happiness with someone else. Maybe he should return and tell her that.
He allowed Buck to stop and sat staring at the mountains, unable to think clearly. Then he rode on. Sooner or later she’d realize he wasn’t coming back, and she’d find someone else.
He imagined that, Birdie in the arms of another man. Birdie kissing another man.
It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? But pain speared through his innards.
This wound would take time to heal. A lifetime, likely.
He’d survived loss in the past. He would do so again.
In fact, he should be an expert by now.
* * *
Birdie went for a long walk after Clay and his horse rode out of sight. She prayed he would find the healing he needed and return to her, ready to love and be loved. But he had said one thing she didn’t intend to forget. He’d said she was a beautiful woman with a joyful spirit. She would live that to the best of her ability.