The Vigilante's Bride

by Yvonne Harris

  Luke thumbed a handful of bullets out of his gun belt and slipped them into her shirt pocket, then pulled one of the Colts from its holster and handed it to her. He pointed to a shelf of rock jutting over the edge. “Lie flat on that and wait till I get down there. When I start running toward the wagon, you start shooting at the back of it and keep shooting. Understand?”

  She bit her lips to stop them from trembling.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t hit him. You’re too far away, but I’m hoping he won’t realize that. Just keep him pinned down until I get close enough to get him.”

  She took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out. Gun in hand, she started crawling out on the piece of rimrock.

  “Emily?” When she turned, he said, “Remember to cock the hammer back each time.”

  She gave a little spastic nod and continued working her way out onto the jutting piece of rock.

  “Emily?”

  She looked back over her shoulder again.

  “Please don’t shoot me.”

  On her stomach, Emily elbowed herself forward and peered over the edge. Luke had pulled their wagon well off the road into a wide meadow with a tiny brook and a steep-sided butte. A small plateau topped the butte and overlooked the clearing a hundred feet below. Yellow sandstone boulders from an old rockfall lay at the base of the cliff, and a grove of young cottonwoods grew in the clearing beyond.

  She scanned the clearing. Those trees in the clearing weren’t big enough to hide her, let alone someone the size of Luke. With no cover he’d be out in the open, an easy target for someone with a rifle. Then, in a flash of understanding, she knew why he’d stationed her up there – to protect her. She squinted at the big Colt pistol clutched in her right hand. It was all she had to help him.

  She took in every detail of the clearing, the rock pile, the wagon, the horses, memorizing where things were. If Luke got into trouble, he’d need her help.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Who was she kidding? He already was in trouble. She shoved herself backward to the steep little path she’d come up on, a narrow strip of dirt, no wider than a rabbit run. Shoulders hunched, she started down, sliding some of the way on her backside. At the bottom she crawled through the underbrush up to the rock pile at the foot of the cliff. Slowly, she eased the bushes apart and peeked out.

  The wagon was twenty or thirty feet away, its long green side almost right in front of her. She wiped her sweaty palms down her thighs and mentally positioned Luke and herself. If the gunman was at twelve o’clock, she and Luke were at eight and four.

  Her mouth went dry. She was closer to the gunman than Luke was. She took a deep breath and stared at the gun in her hand. The gunman inside the wagon was tossing cutlery and metal plates around.

  She stretched out on her stomach under a thick, droopy bush and waited. The instant Luke broke into the open, she’d begin firing to hold the gunman off. She stiffened.

  Luke eased himself out from behind a boulder.

  There he goes!

  She thumbed the hammer back as Luke bolted across the clearing. Zigzagging, he headed for the wagon.

  The spotted horse saw him and whinnied. A rifle barrel poked through the curtains in the back of the wagon and pointed at Luke.

  Emily aimed at the curtain and squeezed the trigger.

  BANG!

  The Colt jumped in her hand. Her mouth fell open when the side of the wagon splintered. She did it! The rifle barrel jerked back inside.

  Luke fired three more shots into the wagon. Emily joined in, holding the gun steady and whispering to herself, “Cock the hammer – fire. Cock the hammer – fire.”

  The gunman leaped out the front of the wagon and squatted behind the wheel. Luke got off a shot that nicked the edge of the wheel.

  Emily shot again. This time, the gunman snapped his rifle around and fired back in her direction.

  SPANG!

  The slug struck a big rock alongside her and sent chips flying. Startled, she gave an angry huff and crawled away. Her fear faded, replaced with determination. Up on her knees, she held the Colt in a two-handed grip and fired twice more. One bullet went through the wagon and out the front; the other ripped through the canvas top and ricocheted, clanging the iron pots inside.

  Luke fired almost at once from the other direction, the shots so close together it sounded like a small battle. The gunman hunched toward his horse. He yelled something unintelligible, threw himself into the saddle, and kicked the horse into a leaping gallop for the road.

  Emily scrambled to her feet and tore out of the bushes after him. Reloading on the run, she and Luke chased the rider, firing until they heard the frantic, fruitless clicks of their empty guns.

  Luke swept up his hat, which had fallen off in the run. Looking at her, he brushed the dust off. “Why didn’t you stay up there where I told you? You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he said, his lips barely moving with the words.

  Her chin shot up. “And so could you. There was no way you could dodge across that clearing and not get shot. You needed help down here, not up there.”

  He dropped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “You’re right. Didn’t mean to snap at you, but you scared me to death. Coming in close like that and both of us shooting is what drove him off. You probably saved our lives.”

  That night Emily held the lantern while Luke dug Jupiter’s grave. Driving the shovel in savagely, his dark shadow swept over her as he attacked the ground, wrenching out the earth, propelled by sorrow and grief and anger. When he finished, he leaned on the shovel for a moment, rib cage heaving. His face, when he climbed out of the grave, frightened her.

  “I loved this old man,” he said, wrapping Jupiter tenderly in a blanket. Together they lowered him into the hole and covered him over with dirt. Luke placed three heavy stones to mark the grave, then stood silently, hat in his hands, his head bowed.

  Shoulders sagging, he turned to her. “That’s the best we can do for now. We’ll talk to Sheriff Tucker and bring him back here. Jupiter’s family will want a proper burial.”

  “You were praying back there, weren’t you?” she said quietly.

  A mixture of surprise and embarrassment flitted across his face. “I didn’t realize it. I guess I was.” Not looking at her, he led her away from the gravesite.

  “No one knew we were going to Billings, so it must have been a robber, someone looking for travelers on their way to Billings,” she said.

  Luke took her hand. Winding his fingers through hers, he shook his head. “I’m afraid he was hunting us. The horse belongs to Axel’s new hired gun, Haldane. He wanted something, and the only thing we’ve got that Axel would want is the deed. I’m afraid Haldane found it.”

  “No, he didn’t. I put it in a safe place.” From under her shirt she withdrew a large piece of heavy tan paper and held it out to him.

  Puzzled, he frowned at the deed in his hand. “Why did you put it there?”

  “To flatten my front after your remark in the wagon about bustlines.”

  The corners of his mouth dug in. “Guess I’ll have to watch everything I say to you. In a way, it was kind of a compliment.”

  She met his gaze directly. “I didn’t think so.”

  “Then you know nothing about men.”

  In case Haldane returned after dark, they dragged their bedrolls up the cliff and spread them out under an overhanging tree away from the edge.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m going to watch for a while.” He sat and leaned against the trunk, the Colt within easy reach.

  In minutes he heard her squirming. She rolled over and sighed, evidently trying to find a soft spot. He barely noticed how hard the ground was. In ten years of trail-bossing and chasing cows, he’d probably slept on the ground more than in a bed. Came natural now. But not to this soft-skinned little teacher.

  Holding the Colt, he sat motionless, listening. A low overcast moved in and hid the stars. Night stretched. Shadows deepened. The silenc
e was profound.

  His throat ached with the hurt of losing Jupiter. Raw anger welled up again. Mentally, he ticked off ways to get even with Axel, then shook his head hard, as if to clear it. In Lewistown, perhaps, but not here. He lived at New Hope now, and so did Emily, which meant there could be only one way: the law.

  An owl ghosted in, feathered wings sweeping soundlessly. It landed in the branches overhead and went into its nightly routine. The ominous snarls and whistles sent Emily crawling for Luke, fast. Her knee rammed his leg in the dark, and she sprawled across him. He hauled her up and sat her beside him.

  She shuddered. “What is that?”

  “An owl.” He smiled in the dark.

  “I thought it was a wildcat.” Her confident little teacher’s voice cracked.

  “It’s all right, City Girl,” he said, and covered her hand with his.

  He heard her swallow. “I’m not upset anymore. I don’t know how to thank you. You saved my life today.”

  “And you saved mine, so we’re even.”

  “I think I’m all right now.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Luke pried her twisted hands apart and wound his fingers through hers. She gripped his hand in response.

  Guilt tightened his chest. So much had happened to her today. She’d seen things, done things that no woman ought to. She needed someone now, needed the closeness and comfort of another human being. He puffed his cheeks and let out a quiet breath. And so did she.

  He’d never held her like this, and never at night. She made a satisfied little sound and inched closer to him. He composed his face and concentrated on keeping his emotions in check.

  She knew what he was, what he had been. She was a lady. Under other circumstances, she wouldn’t have let him get within a mile of her. But the attraction between them got around that. He held her tighter.

  Miles away, the horizon flickered with silent bursts of lightning.

  “Looks like Jupiter was right about the rain,” she said.

  “True, except that one is someone else’s storm. The last thing we need tonight is to get soaked.”

  The owl shrieked again. This time, Emily yawned. “I feel better just knowing you’re here. I’m so tired, I’m falling asleep sitting up.”

  He relaxed his hold on her as she moved toward her bedroll.

  He debated with himself about kissing her good night.

  No. Definitely not.

  Kissing her wasn’t a good idea. He was still churned up inside, and the way he felt tonight, it wouldn’t end with just a kiss.

  He pushed to his feet. “Go to sleep. I’m going to check things out up there.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  The clock on the Billings depot said nine fifteen the next morning when Emily and Luke rattled across the railroad tracks into town. Except for a sweeper pushing a broom and a cowboy asleep on a luggage wagon, the train station was deserted.

  Nicknamed Magic City, Billings had sprung out of the prairie almost overnight when the Northern Pacific came through on its way west.

  The city was only two years old, but you’d never know it, Emily thought. Workmen were everywhere. Hammers pounded and saws whined, building more hotels, shops, and saloons. There were fortunes to be made here, and cowboys, gold prospectors, cattlemen, and settlers flooded in by train, steamboat, and wagon.

  It was rough and noisy, with a saloon every thirty feet, a place where cowboys unwound and relaxed – or wound up and hoo-rawed – after a long cattle drive to the railroad. The streets of Billings, unlike those in Helena, the territorial capital, ran straight as an arrow. In Helena, the streets twisted back on themselves, snakelike curves laid out deliberately to cut down on the gunfights.

  Billings struggled for respectability, realizing its prosperity was tied directly to the success of the big ranches. To ensure this, the town and the Northern Pacific jointly appointed a yardmaster to oversee the honest shipment of cattle.

  Emily wrinkled her nose as they passed the stockyards. A line of cattle cars stood empty on a nearby siding, doors open. Only a few steers milled in the muddy lot.

  “A few hours ago,” Luke said, “that stockyard was a cloud of stinking dust, bawling cattle, cussing yard hands, and hooves running up the ramps to the cars.”

  She shook her head. “Sounds awful, and you just love it.”

  Laughing, he reached over and patted her hand. “It’s my business.”

  Luke drove the wagon to Stuncard’s Livery, where the horses would be unhitched and fed and watered. After he’d seen to the animals, he led her across the street, smiling down at her on his arm. A little thrum of pleasure skipped through her. He’d been doing that a lot this morning.

  She looked nice, and she knew it. Instead of the boy denims she’d worn yesterday, today she’d changed into a rosy pink dress she’d made last week especially for this trip to the land office. Her hair was held back with ribbon that matched the dress.

  A guest came out of the Headquarters Hotel and tipped his hat at her. Luke gave him a curt nod and hurried her on by. Every time she stopped to look in a store window, he kept looking over his shoulder for Haldane.

  When a screen door slammed, Luke shoved Emily against the wall of the building alongside. He spun around into a half crouch in front of her, his gun out and up and in his hand. Across the street, two ladies in big hats dropped their packages and ran squealing into a store. Emily hustled him into a café behind them to get him off the street and calm him down.

  He slouched into a chair in a corner at the back of the café, red-faced. She went to the counter and ordered coffee for both of them.

  “What’s the matter with you? You’re scaring everyone to death, including me,” she said, putting the cups on the table.

  “Just jumpy, I guess. I wish we hadn’t come. I’m afraid something else is going to happen.” His eyes softened in a slow smile for her.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down at her coffee cup. He wanted to kiss her. “Don’t look at me like that in public,” she whispered.

  “How am I supposed to look at you?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  She looked over the cup at him. His mask of cool indifference didn’t fool her a bit. He wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be. He was as unsure of himself as she was in this relationship, seemed torn between wanting to stay and wanting to run away. He picked up his coffee cup and slid his free hand over hers on the table. She smiled. For now, at least, he’d decided to stay.

  “The other day in the buggy, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?” Inside her chest, her heart waited for the answer.

  With a long, deep sigh, he turned her hand over and worked his fingers through hers. “I meant it, but I didn’t mean to say it,” he said. “Not yet, anyway,” he added softly.

  His face had gone soft, his lips somehow fuller. “We’re going to do this right, you and me. And we both need more time. You especially.” He paused. The café owner was wiping off a nearby table.

  When the owner moved to the front of the store again, Emily turned to Luke. “More time for what?”

  “To get used to living out here, for one thing.”

  She gave a small huff. “To get used to you, you mean.”

  “That too. Give yourself six months, maybe a year. You’re a little city girl. You know nothing about western men.”

  She smiled. “I think you’re the one who needs time – to get used to me.”

  He chuckled and sipped his coffee. “I’m already used to you.”

  “Yes, but you don’t like me that way.”

  He gave her a look she didn’t understand and let his breath out slowly. “I like you very much that way.” He pulled back and touched his thumb to her chin. “I thought you knew that, also, from the other day in the buggy.”

  When she’d prayed for him.

  Understanding washed over her. Luke didn’t say it – couldn’t say it yet – but he was just
beginning to get things straight with God, and he didn’t want to mess it up.

  Out in the street again, Luke stopped a workman carrying boards on his shoulder and asked where the land office was. The man pointed to a nondescript log building squeezed between the blacksmith and the saddlery. From the sawmill across the street came the shrieking whine of a ripsaw and the resinous smell of cut pine.

  Luke and Emily spent two hours at a long mahogany counter with the land office’s big registration book opened out flat, painstakingly comparing the boundaries listed there with New Hope’s original deed signed by Monsieur Olivier.

  Ed Watson, the registrar, tapped his finger on the deed. “As you can see, Mr. Sullivan, the deeds are identical, even to the note up here in the corner. I don’t speak French, so I don’t know what it says, but I reckon it just clarifies something in the deed.” Ed Watson pushed his small, round glasses up onto his forehead.

  “It does,” Luke said. “When Olivier wrote this deed, there was no Yellowstone River. He called it what the Indians called it – E lk River. That’s what this note says.”

  Ed Watson flipped his glasses back down and peered at the words again. “I don’t read French, sir.”

  “Neither do I, but Miss McCarthy here does,” Luke said. “Emily, would you translate, please?”

  When she finished, Watson whistled softly and shook his head. “That’s a fair-sized chunk of ground you’re talking about, Mr. Sullivan. I’ll have to talk to Helena about this. I don’t see a problem, mind you – this deed is good as gold, but it’ll take time to straighten out, verify the French, and get the proper name of the river put on it. It’s been eighty-some years since this deed was filed.”

  Watson pointed to the chimney-shaped piece of land belonging to both New Hope and the Crows. “But this section here” – he shook his head – “now, that may be a problem. Montana Territory has nothing to do with that. It’s a federal matter, you see. Or was. You have to talk to Washington about that.”

  Luke stiffened. “Washington? How long will that take?”