Barefoot Bride for Three

by Barefoot Bride for Three (lit)

Hell if he knew. But he couldn’t go back into that bed and still be who he was, strong and alone, needing no one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They came, as Beth expected, when Trace, Simon, and Jack were in the mountains chasing cattle.

  She’d had a few weeks to practice her aim. With luck and a light wind she could hit the target with her rifle if it was braced on something. The pistol was another matter. Trace said she’d only be good at close quarters so she might as well hide it in her pocket.

  He was joking but she listened. She sewed strong pockets in each dress, just the right size to hold the pistol and her hand. If anyone tried to take her, he’d get a bullet in his gut. After that, all the piece of iron was good for was whacking someone on the head. If she had to, she would.

  Whenever the men went far, she kept her pistol in her pocket and rifle near. She’d just returned to the garden from the privy when Tony and Cleo alerted her with sharp yips that someone was coming up from the river. Three hard, dirty men approached riding tired, dusty horses they’d likely stolen.

  She got in the house before they got too close, calling the dogs in with her. She set her pistol on the table, grabbed the freshly loaded rifle and knelt to watch through the open kitchen window as they approached. Tony shoved at her arm, making space for his front paws on the window ledge to watch. Cleo whined low in her throat as she paced back and forth between the window and the door.

  Tony turned his head to Beth, licked her chin, and went back on guard duty. Beth’s stomach roiled with acid, a reminder of what had happened the last few mornings. They’d headed out early, leaving her still asleep. She hadn’t eaten anything different from the men, who showed no signs of sickness.

  Perhaps it was the heat this last week. It made her so drowsy she rested on the downstairs bed for an hour during the worst of the afternoon heat. How would she cope in July and August if she was this weak now? She’d just have to toughen up. After she got rid of these ruffians.

  “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot,” she yelled when their horses had approached close enough to the house that she had a decent chance of hitting one. Tony, as if adding his two cents, growled and snarled beside her. They pulled up about fifteen feet from where she knelt at the kitchen window.

  “There’s three of us, Miz Elliott, and your men folk are far away.”

  The pot-bellied man in a sweat-stained vest leered at her, revealing brown teeth. The one to her right, barely old enough to have a beard shadow, hung back. The other resembled the leader’s features, though he was muscular rather than running to fat. He stared at her with cold, hungry eyes. She cocked the rifle. The leader lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

  “Now, don’t get riled. We just wanna little visit.”

  Trace had instructed Beth to shoot first and ask questions later. She braced herself and slid the rifle out the kitchen window, resting it on the ledge. The man on the left snickered while the young one backed his horse up a few steps. She shoved Tony away with her elbow. He ran to the door with Cleo, both of them barking.

  Bracing for the recoil, she aimed, closed her eyes, and fired.

  The blast knocked her shoulder back, and she almost fell over. Her ears rang, the noise being far greater inside the house than out behind the barn. She heard screams over the sound of her dogs. When she got back in position the man on the left lay on the ground, clutching his left chest. His horse had bolted. The boss and young man fought to settle their horses as bright red blood pumped into her yard. It seemed only a moment before the body stopped moving.

  Beth gulped and turned to the leader. The man had no idea she’d aimed for him and hitting the other was a lucky shot. She trembled and fought her heaving stomach.

  “Dayam! You kilt Dan’l!” The leader lifted his pistol at her. “You’ll pay for that, Miz Elliott. To hell with Big Joe. I’m gonna take you for myself.”

  Though she shivered at his words, she glared at him, the rifle giving her strength.

  “Yep,” he continued, “you’ll bring a heap of gold when we’re finished with ya.” He spit in her direction but spoke to his side-kick. “Bet she takes two men regular.”

  Beth aimed at the leader again and fired. This time she kept her eyes open and managed to nick his horse. It screamed and reared in the air. The rider fought to hold and settle the horse but it bucked him off. The man landed heavily, grunting as he hit. The horse followed its herd mate past the barn.

  The young man, face pale, shook his head at Beth. “You said we was just to scare her. I ain’t a part of this no more,” he said. He reined his horse around and took off at a fast trot for the river.

  Eyes fixed on Beth, the leader hauled himself to his feet. When he straightened he looked almost as tall as Trace. The wind blew toward her, bringing his acrid stench. She gulped to keep her stomach contents where they were. He took a step forward. The dogs, knowing someone was outside, scratched madly at the door, howling. The bandit cocked his gun at her.

  “Your bullets are gone, Miz Elliott. Get your ass out here or I’ll shoot your dogs right through that door.”

  “No, please don’t hurt my puppies!” She cried, pretending to be hysterical. It wasn’t difficult. She prayed that Trace and the twins weren’t far. But if she had to do this by herself, then she would. Somehow, she would survive with body and soul intact.

  “Git out here. Now!”

  She rose to her feet with the help of a quaking hand braced on the window sill. She placed her hot rifle on the table and set her pistol in the deep right pocket she’d sewn in her skirt. She pulled out hairpins to let her long blonde hair down to catch his attention.

  She pulled the door open, fighting to get through and keep the dogs inside. They weaseled around her and raced outside, barking madly. Blonde hair gleaming in the sun, she stood in the doorway. She put her right hand in her pocket with her pistol and cried for him not to hurt her precious dogs as she checked his height. If she aimed the pistol up just a bit, she’d hit him in the belly.

  “Git down here!” he roared. “Now!”

  She nodded, blinking as if to hold back tears and gripped her weapon. She fluttered her other hand over her chest. She stepped out her front door and approached him with baby steps, down the few stairs and past her flower garden. She kept her shoulders back, shaking as if crying. He held his gun in his right hand and watched her approach. She held skirt with her left hand, her right still clutching the gun in her pocket. She stopped just far enough away so he couldn’t reach her. She shook her head so her hair floated around her shoulders.

  He watched her, his gun drooping toward the dirt, and then motioned her forward.

  She took the last step, aimed for the middle of his belly, and pulled the trigger. Both guns went off. Propelled backward by the recoil, Beth landed on her bottom in the front garden. Something prickly scratched her back.

  Her assailant curled into a ball, screaming like a banshee, high and wild as he attempted to hold his stomach together. Beth shoved her pistol back in her pocket. The bandit rolled, one arm flailing for his pistol. She scrabbled forward on her knees and grabbed it. She stood, backing away as the dogs danced around her, barking. She stepped on something and almost tripped.

  The dead man’s hand. Beth screamed and threw the bandit’s pistol far away. She ran into her house with her dogs, away from the macabre scene, and barred the door. Only then did her pounding heart and trembles begin to slow. Through the kitchen window she watched the man writhe, still making horrid noises. She turned away and leaned against the wall, hissing as sharp pains bit into her back.

  She pulled her gun out of her pocket and sank to the floor. She gathered her quivering dogs to each side of her, praising them and waited for the bandit to stop moving.

  When she heard crows flying close to investigate, she figured the men were dead enough. She slowly got to her feet. She watched out the window for a few minutes but nothing moved. She brought cool water into her bedroom, stripped down and washe
d herself off. She put on the white and pink dress Trace had bought her the morning after their wedding. She took her bloody clothes to the kitchen and set them to soak in cold water.

  Gathering up her courage she unbarred the door and walked out. She would not hide in the house like a silly Eastern woman. She was now a woman of the West, strong and brave. Even if her entire body shook with the remnants of terror, she would do what was necessary.

  The dogs whined, warning her once more. She reached for her empty pistol but it was only a riderless horse approaching the barn. Avoiding the bodies littering her yard, she focused her attention on the animal. Its sides heaved with every deep breath. She walked toward it making a crooning sound, then reached out and grasped the reins. She looked up into the liquid black eyes of a bay.

  “Aren’t you a beauty?”

  Grateful for something to do, Beth brought the horse to the far side of the barn and tied it there. She stripped off the saddle and blanket. The horse shook itself out, rippling its skin. She took what she needed from the barn and wiped it down. She focused on the needs of the horse rather than what waited in the yard. Keeping her hands busy kept her from running to the mountains and Trace, screaming her fear.

  She groomed the delighted animal with long, soothing strokes. Hearing a horse blow, she turned to find the leader’s horse, reins dangling. Her bullet had grazed its flank, scoring the flesh but not too deeply.

  “I’m sorry, I hit you,” she crooned. “Come here and I’ll make it better.” The bay nickered and walked forward.

  Beth kept her mind blank as she worked on the second horse. The two dogs panted in the sun beside the corner of the barn. Tony faced the mountains while Cleo kept an eye on her. She knew their senses were far more acute than hers but every few minutes she looked up, hoping to spot a trail of dust descending toward her.

  * * * *

  Trace pushed his horse faster than was good for either of them. If they made it home to find Beth safe, without either of them breaking a leg or worse, the gelding would have nothing but hot mash the rest of its life.

  “Beth!”

  He screamed as loud as his broken voice box allowed. The wind blew up the mountain so there was no way she could hear him, but he wasn’t thinking. Uneasy, he’d turned for home a few minutes before he heard a rifle shot. The second, a few minutes later, sped him up. They told Beth to give two shots, a few minutes apart, if there was trouble. He had a ten minute lead on Simon and Jack, minutes that might save Beth.

  Big Joe hadn’t been to town for a few weeks, but that meant nothing. He could be holed up anywhere between here and Virginia City. On top of that, Sheldrake was too lazy to do his own work. He’d hire someone who couldn’t be traced back to him.

  Halfway home, he saw a man trotting his horse toward the river. Trace’s keen eyes spotted an unmoving man lying flat in the yard in front of the house. Beth had actually shot one? He bared his teeth in something between a grin and grimace. As he descended and the land flattened, the back of the house shielded him from what was happening out front.

  His heart almost stopped at the double pistol shot. The cold and pain of Hell hit him as if the bullet had pierced his heart. Was Beth dead?

  No. She couldn’t be. God would not do that to him.

  Please, I could have died many times. You must have saved me for something. If I am to die saving Beth, my life will have had meaning.

  Without Beth, there was little reason to live. She brought life, light, and laughter to his miserable existence.

  He’d sworn he’d never love a woman as much as his father did his mother. Trace ate those words with every pounding hoof as he raced home to the woman of his heart.

  “Beth!”

  His horse took the corner of the house like a born cattle horse. Trace leaped off his back and stared around wildly.

  Two dead men. No Beth.

  He ran toward the house. The rose bush he’d shipped from back East was crushed. Beth loved that rose.

  Her dogs sped from the barn, barking like mad fools. They danced around him for a moment then ran back silently, turning their heads to see if he followed, tongues hanging.

  “Sweetheart? Where are you?”

  He almost beat the dogs to the far side of the barn. Beth stood with a pair of unfamiliar horses, curry comb in hand. His heart stopped for a moment before pounding even harder. He blinked to clear his tears.

  “Trace?”

  Her shaking voice, the most wondrous sound he’d ever heard, reached out and clutched his heart. He swooped her into his arms, both laughing and crying.

  “Ouch, my back! Put me down!”

  “You’re alive, Beth!”

  “I won’t be if you squish me any harder.”

  “Oh, God, Beth, I’m sorry.”

  Careful of her back, he held her tight to his chest, his heart pounding, blood louder than his rasping breath.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if you…Are you…” He couldn’t say the words. “They didn’t—”

  “I’m fine. They didn’t.” She smiled, though it wobbled. “I managed to get close enough to shoot him without him touching me.” She shuddered. “I killed two men. Oh, my God, I’m going to be sick!”

  She tried to pull away. He carried her beside the horse trough. She retched, the same as she had that morning. He gently cared for her then brought her a dipper full of fresh water.

  The dogs set up another round of barking as Simon and Jack came around the corner and scrambled off their lathered horses. Beth took one look at them and burst into tears.

  “She’s okay,” whispered Trace, unable to even croak. He kissed her forehead, her face, anywhere he could reach.

  “Great,” gasped Jack, his shaking voice proving his concern. “The cavalry arrives and the fair maiden breaks into tears.”

  Beth held out her arms. Trace released her so that Jack and Simon could hold her.

  “Careful of my back. I landed on my rose bush.”

  They carefully hugged her, blinking hard.

  “You did a damn fine job,” said Simon, choking out the words.

  “I killed them,” she wailed.

  “Better them than you,” said Jack. “Come on, Sy, let’s walk the horses.” He caught the reins of Trace’s lathered horse and, along with Simon, walked the animals to cool them down.

  “I love you, Beth,” whispered Trace.

  “You’re just glad I’m alive,” said Beth. “It’ll pass.”

  “No.” Trace shook his head. “I finally realized what my father meant when he said he loved my mother.”

  He pressed a finger against her mouth when she tried to speak.

  “My parents died of a fever. Ma was still pretty sick when Pa started to get better. They were in the same bed, together as they’d always been. When Ma got worse, Pa said he couldn’t live without her. That he loved her so much, life was empty without her. They both died that night. Holding hands.”

  “Oh, Trace.”

  “I swore I’d never love anyone like that. No woman would have such power over me that I’d give my life for hers.”

  He lifted her chin and gently kissed her lips.

  “I was wrong, Beth. I love you. Just as my father and mother, I’d give my life for you.” He dropped his forehead to rest it against hers. He ignored the tears rolling down his cheeks to blend with hers.

  “Forever, Beth. That’s how long I’ll love you. But don’t, for God’s sake, make me choose between you and our children.” He kissed her gently once. Twice. “Damn, woman!”

  * * * *

  “Don’t it make you want to cry,” muttered Simon as he watched Trace tenderly kissing Beth’s eyes. He couldn’t hear what Trace said, but he could lips read well enough to know Trace said the L-word.

  “Looks like big brother finally admitted what we’ve known all along,” continued Simon. “’Bout time. Now we can do the same.”

  “I guess he gets first dibs at her since he’s her husband,” groused J
ack half-heartedly.

  “Great. He gets to bury himself in Beth’s hot body while we clean up the yard.”

  “Did you see the new horses? Must belong to the guys Beth beefed.”

  “Wonder what was in their saddlebags.”

  “Stolen gold, you think?”

  “Do we check or bring them to the sheriff as they are?”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Let Frank go through their pockets.”

  “There’s an old canvas tarp in the barn. We can use that to carry them in the wagon. I’ll lift the feet.”

  “I think I saw pictures of both of these men hanging in the jail. Maybe we’ll get a reward.”

  “Let’s surprise Beth with some new rose bushes,” said Jack.

  “We’d be better off using it as a reward.”

  “I’ll have a word with Frank. He can let Sheriff Plummer know anyone even thinking of hurting Beth will have every Elliott and MacDougal hounding him to Hell.”

  “I wouldn’t want Nevin or Ross on my tail.” Simon snorted and shook his head. “I swear those boys can read the sign of the wind and leave no trail a white man can follow. If someone hurt a woman they cared about, dying would be a relief.”

  Finished in the barn, they followed Beth’s voice outside. Beth, stark naked, had her arms wrapped around Trace.

  “When do you think she’ll be ready to celebrate our helping to save her, even if we did arrive a bit late?”

  “Trace was late, too,” said Simon.

  “Good point.”

  “Hey, what about my hero’s welcome?” called Jack.

  “Had to check my wife for injuries,” said Trace when Simon frowned. “The recoil from the pistol knocked her into the rose bush.”

  “Yep, I heard rose thorns can be dangerous,” said Simon. “We’d best make sure none are stuck in you.”

  Trace turned to Beth. “Sy, Jack, I love this woman.”

  “So do we,” said Simon. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

  “He must have bashed his head one too many times getting towed behind that horse,” said Jack to Simon.