Wyoming Bride

by Joan Johnston

  She was horrified when she turned to see a vulture perched on the farthest body, pecking out an eye. She lurched toward it, screaming like a banshee and waving her hands frantically to scare it away.

  The bird took flight. But so did her horse.

  “Concho! Stop! Come back!”

  Emaline watched in horror as the gelding wheeled and galloped away in fright. By the time Concho calmed down he would be long gone. She wondered whether the gelding would be able to find his way back to the barn at the Double C. A saddled horse with no rider would be an immediate clue to Flint that something was desperately wrong.

  She realized almost as soon as she felt that flash of hope that it was unlikely Concho would go back to the Double C, since he’d only been stabled there for a day. Would the gelding return to the fort, where he was usually stabled? Her father would have the whole Second Cavalry out looking for her if that happened. It was possible. But not probable.

  Most likely, Concho would simply wander. If that happened, what were the chances her saddled horse would be found by some rancher? Even if he was, how would that person know the horse belonged to her? They’d certainly have no idea where to come looking for her.

  “You stupid, stupid girl,” Emaline muttered. “You should have staked Concho first. You saw he was skittish around all those dead bodies, and what did you do? You scared the dickens out of him and sent him racing across the prairie.”

  Her situation had been dire before. Now it wasn’t only Ransom’s life at risk. Flint didn’t expect to be gone for more than a week, but as she very well knew, accidents could happen. He could easily be gone for longer. If help didn’t come before the scant water in the barrel ran out, she would die, too.

  Flint was feeling grumpy. Who’d have thought, when Hannah said she was tired, that she’d meant it. As soon as she got into bed, she turned her back on him and went to sleep. He lay there wide awake, frustrated and feeling sorry for himself.

  In the morning, she’d woken up looking delightfully tousled, delectable, in fact, but she got out of bed almost the instant she woke up. She dressed herself and then chided him for being a slugabed. A slugabed!

  He hadn’t slept a wink. He’d spent the night feeling deprived and depraved, because he’d had visions of undressing and seducing the woman who slept soundly beside him.

  Some honeymoon he was having. He couldn’t get back to the Double C fast enough.

  He wasn’t in the mood to talk, and they were halfway home before Hannah said anything other than, “I hope we’re home in time to have supper with Emaline.”

  He had no intention of sitting down to supper. He was going to ride out and find his brother and then spend every minute he could on the range until Ransom and Emaline tied the knot.

  The second half of the ride was as silent as the first, which gave Flint too much time to think.

  No one had held a gun to his head to make him marry Hannah. He’d done it of his own free will. She was his wife, like it or not. He didn’t think it was necessary for them to love each other, but his life with Hannah was going to be a lot easier if he made an effort to get along with her. So maybe he shouldn’t go running off the instant they got home.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  He glanced at her in surprise and blurted, “That I’m going to have to learn how to be a good husband.”

  She smiled at him, revealing those two entrancing dimples, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

  “I think I have far more to learn than you do,” she said. “At least you know how to survive out here.”

  “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “You won’t always be around,” she said. “I think I’d like to have those shooting lessons sooner, rather than later.”

  “That can be arranged.” Flint was so busy watching the play of the sun on Hannah’s golden hair, which hung down her back in that solitary braid, and listening to the litany of things she wanted to learn, that they were home before he knew it.

  He was torn between staying and going, and compromised somewhere in-between. “I’ll help you put away the supplies and have something to eat before I head out to find Ransom.” Which was a good idea, since he’d skipped breakfast.

  “How do you know Ransom isn’t at the house with Emaline?” Hannah asked.

  The thought of Ransom and Emaline together in the house didn’t give Flint the same sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that it usually did. He wondered why not. He still considered Emaline a lost love. The difference was, she was truly lost. What had once been a possibility could never happen now except in his dreams.

  “It’s awfully quiet,” Hannah said, looking around as they rode up to the back of the house.

  “Cookie and the boys are working the fall roundup. Ransom’s likely with them.”

  “I can already see the advantages of having another woman in the house,” she said. “It must get awfully lonely for women in the Territory when their men are gone all day.”

  “I suppose it does.” Flint had never thought much about loneliness because he’d always had Ransom to talk to during the long winter nights. And although they often went their separate ways in the morning, he knew he’d see his brother at the end of the day for supper.

  Flint sensed something was wrong the instant they entered the kitchen. He set a hand on the stove and said, “There’s been no fire here today.”

  Hannah walked down the hallway leading to the staircase calling, “Emaline? Are you up there?”

  When she turned back, Flint was right behind her.

  “Wait here,” he said tersely.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do as I say!” He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The bed in Ransom’s room was made up. Either it hadn’t been slept in, or Emaline had gotten up early to make it. He checked the pitcher of water that usually sat on the sideboard. It was empty. And bone dry.

  He checked his bedroom, just in case, but it was as he and Hannah had left it. He ran back downstairs, told Hannah, “Don’t move!” and quickly searched the downstairs rooms. They were all neat and untouched and vacant.

  Flint didn’t know why he had such a feeling of foreboding. It was entirely possible Ransom had decided to take Emaline with him this morning, that she’d felt abandoned and had wanted company for the day. But there was no residual smell of bacon or coffee. Could Ransom possibly have taken her out to the roundup last night?

  Flint didn’t think his brother would subject Emaline to the hardships of a camp on the prairie. But maybe Emaline had talked him into letting her spend a night at the roundup. Anything was possible.

  “Where do you think Emaline is?” Hannah asked.

  “I don’t know. I better ride out and see if I can find the two of them.”

  “I want to come along,” Hannah said.

  “It might be dangerous.”

  “What is it you think is wrong?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know that anything is wrong. It’s a feeling I have. And I’ve learned to listen to my gut.”

  “I know what you mean,” Hannah said. “When I walked in, I thought the same thing, but everything’s in perfect order. Wouldn’t things be awry if there was a problem?”

  “Not necessarily,” Flint said.

  “Which means Ransom and Emaline might be in trouble wherever they are,” Hannah concluded. “I want to come and help.”

  Flint debated whether Hannah would be safer if she stayed at home or came with him. She was defenseless here alone. At least if she was with him, he could protect her. On the other hand, she might not need protection if she stayed at the house.

  She met his gaze and said, “Please. I don’t want to stay here alone.”

  That settled it. “All right. Let’s grab something to eat, make sure we have water and food for the trail, and then go.”

  “Do you really want to stop and eat?” Hannah asked. “If something’s wrong—”

  “If things go haywi
re out there it could be a long time before we have another chance to eat. Better to stoke up now.”

  Flint wasn’t any hungrier now than he had been yesterday before the wedding or at the reception afterward or at breakfast this morning. But his growling stomach was telling him he needed sustenance. He’d learned during the war to eat when he had the chance, because the next chance might not come for a good long while.

  He forced himself to sit down and swallow the leftover stew that he and Hannah found sitting in a pot on the cold stove. It looked like it had been there overnight.

  “I wonder why Emaline cooked this if they weren’t going to eat it,” Hannah mused.

  “Maybe something happened to draw them both away from the house.” Flint was remembering how he’d warned Ransom to stay away from Ashley Patton. And how Ransom’s neck hairs had hackled at the idea of obeying orders from his older brother.

  “I hope to hell he didn’t do something foolish,” Flint muttered.

  “What?” Hannah said.

  “Nothing.” He rose abruptly from his chair, leaving his stew half-eaten. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a bad feeling Ransom’s in trouble.”

  “And Emaline?” Hannah said.

  Flint’s stomach knotted. If Ransom was in trouble, Emaline was, too.

  He grabbed Hannah’s arm and pulled her along behind him. “Come on,” he said. “The sooner we get on the trail, the sooner we can find out what’s happened to the two of them.”

  Flint had enough common sense left to know that he might have created a mountain out of a molehill. It was entirely possible he would find Emaline and Ransom enjoying supper at Cookie’s campfire. He was going to feel pretty ridiculous if he did.

  On the other hand, Ransom was a young man with something to prove, and Sam Tucker was a fast gun who enjoyed showing off. Flint didn’t want to think what might have happened if the two of them had met up on the prairie. That was a gunfight waiting to happen.

  He was impatient to be gone, but he made sure that he and Hannah both had full canteens, enough food for three days, and bedrolls tied behind their saddles. He didn’t want them to end up in a situation where they needed rescuing themselves.

  “Which way should we go?” Hannah asked.

  Flint knew the decision he made now could be important, especially if Ransom and Emaline were in trouble. “I sent Cookie and the hands to round up cattle on the northeast corner of the ranch. If Ransom and Emaline are with the hands, they’re fine.”

  Hannah frowned. “Then why are we in such a big hurry?”

  Flint sighed. “I’m concerned that Ransom might have decided to ride fence along the border I share with Ashley Patton and ran into Patton’s hired gun. I think we should go there.”

  Hannah was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes looked frightened. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Maybe you should stay home.”

  She shook her head. “I’d be more afraid to stay at the house by myself. I presume you don’t intend to get into any gunfights.”

  Flint snorted. It wasn’t a question, so there was no need for a response, but he could tell from the look on Hannah’s face that she thought he wouldn’t fare well if he did. He didn’t wear a Colt .45 because he’d had enough of killing men during the war. Hannah didn’t know that. Neither did Ashley Patton or Sam Tucker.

  But woe betide the man who made the mistake of thinking he wouldn’t defend himself … and those he loved.

  “What’re you doin’ here, Creed?”

  “Looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”

  Hannah stared at the Colt .45 in Sam Tucker’s hand. Ashley Patton’s gunman sat on horseback on the other side of a wrought-iron gate. Tucker hadn’t waited for Flint to make an overt threat. He’d simply pulled the Peacemaker from his holster the instant he saw the two of them and held it on them the entire time as they approached.

  Hannah had never had a gun aimed at her, and she was finding it hard to catch her breath. Her heart kept trying to pound its way out of her chest. There was so little distance between them now, Tucker couldn’t miss. She would have been happy to turn around and come back another time, but Flint kept riding, so she kicked her mount and remained by his side.

  Flint didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the gunman. Hannah wondered why not. There wasn’t another soul around.

  Patton’s sprawling ranch house sat on a majestic rise a quarter of a mile away. She wondered if the sound of a gunshot down here would carry all the way up there. It seemed to Hannah that Tucker could shoot them both dead and bury them, and no one would be the wiser.

  She eyed Flint askance and whispered, “I’m scared, Flint. Why aren’t you?”

  “Tucker is a bully and a backshooter. He doesn’t have the guts to pull the trigger when I’m staring him in the eye.”

  Hannah wasn’t reassured. She figured there was always a first time for everything. Her heart fluttered like a frightened bird as they closed the distance to the man with the gun.

  When they reached the fancy gate, which had an arch at the top with the OOX brand in the center and was flanked on both sides by a whitewashed split rail fence, Tucker said, “You can turn around now and go home.”

  “I asked you a question,” Flint said. “Have you seen Ransom?”

  “That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” the gunman said.

  “Is Patton at home?” Flint asked.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Go get your boss.”

  “What if he don’t wanta talk to you?”

  Flint leaned over in the saddle to release the latch that held the iron gate closed, and a deafening gunshot reverberated in Hannah’s ear.

  She pulled the reins taut to keep her horse from bolting but then sat frozen in fear. Her overworked heart had jumped to her throat, preventing speech. It took her a second to realize she hadn’t been shot. She slanted her gaze toward Flint, expecting at any moment to see him topple from the saddle. Instead, she saw his hand gripping the stock of his Winchester.

  He had the rifle halfway out of the boot when Tucker said, “That was me, callin’ my boss. Put it back, or I’ll blow your head off.”

  Hannah gasped, found her voice, and said, “That would be murder!”

  “No, missy,” Tucker said with a crooked, toothy grin. “That would be self-defense.”

  “Let’s go, Flint,” Hannah begged. Tucker was clearly hoping to provoke Flint so he would have an excuse to shoot him. Actually, it didn’t look like he needed much of an excuse.

  Flint eased his hand off his Winchester, sat back in the saddle, and stared daggers at Patton’s hired man. “I always figured you were crazy, Tucker.”

  The gunslinger kept the .45 aimed at Flint and smirked. “Trespassin’ is a shootin’ offense.”

  In the distance, Hannah saw a rider loping his horse down the hill. She pointed and said, “Flint, look! Is that him?”

  “Yeah,” Flint said through tight jaws. “That’s Patton.”

  Tucker’s lip curled. “The boss can tell you hisself he ain’t seen nothin’, ain’t done nothin’, and don’t know nothin’.”

  It seemed strange to Hannah that Tucker had his boss denying knowledge of doing Ransom harm when Patton hadn’t been accused of anything yet.

  Hannah watched a muscle work in Flint’s cheek, but he remained silent, apparently waiting for Patton to arrive.

  When the rancher pulled his horse to a stop beside his hired man, Flint said sarcastically, “Appreciate your range hospitality, Patton. I don’t usually get greeted with a bullet.”

  Patton seemed unperturbed as he replied, “It’s a long way up to the house. I asked Tucker to fire a shot to let me know if I had company. Sorry if the noise bothered you.”

  Hannah found herself being examined like a prime piece of horseflesh Patton was considering buying, before he said, “Who’s this?”

  “Mrs. Hannah McMurtry,” Flint said curtly.

  “Why haven’t
I met you before, Mrs. McMurtry?” Patton said.

  Hannah glanced at Flint, wondering if he realized the mistake he’d made. She watched him flush, turn to her with a look of regret, resettle himself in the saddle, and say, “I mean, Mrs. Hannah Creed.”

  Patton smiled, an expression that never reached his eyes, touched the brim of his hat with a forefinger, and said, “I see congratulations are in order. Welcome to the Territory, Mrs. Creed. This is rather sudden, isn’t it? I hadn’t heard we had such a lovely lady in the neighborhood. Where did you and Flint meet?”

  Hannah opened her mouth to answer, but Creed interjected, “Where’s my brother? What have you done to him?”

  “I have no idea where Ransom is,” Patton replied with a bluntness equal to Flint’s.

  “You threatened him.”

  “I threatened to take Emaline from him, if I could,” Patton replied easily.

  “So where is she?” Flint snarled.

  For the first time, Patton looked surprised. “At home with her father, I expect.”

  “You know damned well she was traveling with Ransom.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Patton said. “Where were they headed?”

  Hannah saw the trap Flint had set for himself. If he said Ransom had gone to Denver with Emaline, why was Flint looking for him on the range? “When I left the house, Ransom and Emaline were there. Now they’re both gone. I have to wonder why you’re keeping me away from your place. Do you have Emaline up there?”

  “I do not.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  Hannah heard the menace in Patton’s voice and wondered if Flint was going to provoke him into a gunfight, especially when Tucker had never holstered his weapon.

  Flint glanced at her, seemed to reconsider, and said, “I suppose it’s possible they’ve gone to the fall roundup.”