The Lawman’s Frontier Bride

by Maya Stirling

  Both riders halted in front of Tate and Gretchen. Leaning on the pommel of his saddle, the man on the right smiled, revealing uneven, yellow teeth. "Howdy," he said. His voice was dry and scratchy.

  Tate nodded once and said nothing. He fixed the man with a steady look. Tate figured the man was in his thirties. Tate saw the other man, who was younger and had a scar on his right cheek, glance approvingly at Gretchen. That one look made Tate sit up in his saddle.

  "Where you folks heading?" the younger man asked.

  "Inspiration," Gretchen blurted out before Tate had a chance to counsel her to silence. He wished she hadn't said that. The less people knew here he and Gretchen were going, the better, as far as he was concerned. But it was too late now.

  "Fine little town," the older man said. "Except for that sheriff they got there." He frowned. "He's an ornery type, and no mistake."

  Tate finally spoke. "Maybe he doesn't like troublemakers in his town."

  That comment made both men straighten in their saddles. Tate shifted his gaze to the older man. He seemed to be the one with authority. The man scowled and then sighed heavily. Maybe he'd been expecting no resistance from himself and Gretchen. If so, he was mistaken.

  The man tilted his head. "Now that ain't friendly, is it."

  Tate shrugged. "I've no call to be friendly to strangers today. Now, why don't you two fine gentlemen be on your way."

  The younger man shook his head. "I don't think so. We're in no hurry." He turned to his partner. "Are we?"

  The older man shook his head. "Not when we've got other business to attend to in Refuge."

  "What kind of business?" Tate asked, suddenly curious. He wondered if they had any connection with Frank Wolfe's outfit.

  "Let's just say we got some good friends there," the younger man declared.

  That comment got the man a scolding look from his older partner. Maybe the younger man had volunteered too much information, Tate told himself.

  Tate glanced at Gretchen. Her brows were furrowed into deep ridges. She looked frightened. She understood what was going on. Tate knew it was up to him now.

  Resting his hand against his Colt, Tate peered at the older man. "We'll be on our way now." Lifting a brow he added firmly, "I assume you two aren't going to block our path. I don't think I'd like that."

  Both men peered back at Tate and said nothing. The older man stroked his stubble-covered chin. "We can't let you pass, mister." Lowering his hand, the man rested it on his holstered pistol. The younger man made the same move. "You see, me and my partner are kinda low on money. There's a good card table waiting for us in Refuge. And I'm sure you folks will be able to help us out." He frowned at Tate. "If you know what I mean."

  Tate knew the moment for action had arrived. Moving quickly he drew the pistol out. The movement had been so swift that neither of the two men could react quickly enough. He saw their eyes widen as their hands froze above their holstered guns.

  Tate pointed the Colt at the men. "The talking's over, boys. I gave you a chance to act civil and polite." Tate smiled sarcastically. "Seems like you declined my generous offer."

  The older man made to move for his gun, but Tate yelled out, "Don't!"

  The man froze. His gaze locked on Tate. Now there was hate in the man's eyes. Glancing at the younger man, Tate saw the same look in his eyes. He'd made instant enemies, but he didn't care. He was the one pointing the gun.

  Tate glanced at Gretchen and saw that she was staring at him with wide-eyed disbelief. Tate knew this was a side of him she hadn't seen before now. Maybe she found it shocking. But Tate knew it was necessary.

  "You men best be on your way now," Tate ordered.

  Both men glared at Tate. He knew he'd won, but he wouldn't be sure until the men were out of sight. Tate was already thinking how he could change the path he and Gretchen were following. Even if the men tried to track them, Tate was sure he could throw them off. He knew enough about tracking criminals to know the tricks he'd need to employ. But first he had to get the men going on their way.

  "Take your reins, boys," Tate ordered. "I like to see hands away from guns."

  The younger man grunted in frustration. For a moment, Tate thought the man might make one last, desperate move. If he did, Tate knew what he had to do. Shooting was the last resort, but he'd act if he had to.

  The older man scoffed. "You're pretty quick for a country boy. You sure you ain't got some lawman in you?"

  Tate felt heat race to his cheeks. He wasn't about to reveal his true identity. That would take too much explaining with Gretchen. "I'm no country boy," he barked. He flicked his Colt. "Get going," he instructed firmly.

  Both men exchanged one last look. The older man nodded once and then both men started their mounts moving. Tate shifted his mount to one side, making room for the men to pass. He watched them carefully, keeping his pistol pointed straight at them. As they passed by, Tate caught the aroma of whiskey drifting on the air. Mingled with the smell of unwashed clothes, it was nauseating.

  Finally, a few moments later, the men disappeared around the bend in the trail and were lost to sight. Tate turned quickly to Gretchen. "Quickly. Follow me. Hold on tight to those reins."

  Gretchen's eyes widened. "What?"

  But Tate was already riding past her. Glancing back he saw Gretchen dig her heels into the pinto's side. The horse jerked forward, following Tate's lead. Heading down into the gully, Tate led Gretchen across the flat valley. A narrow creek flowed northwards.

  "This way," Tate called out. Turning his horse into the creek, the animal stepped carefully. Luckily the water was only a few inches deep in this part. The horse moved gingerly, probably sensing the unsteadiness of the creek's stone-covered bed.

  Tate looked back and saw Gretchen's pinto following close behind. "You're doing well," he said to Gretchen.

  Her brows rose. She didn't look completely convinced by that comment. Tate knew he had to stop the men from getting the idea that they could track him and Gretchen. He knew they weren't going to take what he'd just done to them.

  Up ahead, he saw that the creek twisted into a dense grove of trees. He rode his mount into the overhanging canopy of trees and turned. Gretchen followed him and halted at his side. Gazing down the length of the creek, Tate waited. His heart was pounding.

  "You think they're going to come after us?" Gretchen asked breathlessly. The quiver of fear in her voice made Tate feel revulsion at what the men had tried to do.

  "Maybe. They don't seem like the type who like being told what to do."

  Suddenly, Gretchen reached across and laid a hand on Tate's arm. "I thought what you did was very brave."

  Tate smiled and shook his head. "It was nothing new for me. I know that kind of man. They think the world owes them a living."

  "Desperadoes," Gretchen murmured. "I've read about them in novels."

  Tate frowned. "We're not living in a dime novel, Gretchen. The guns at those men's sides fire real bullets. Not paper ones."

  Gretchen nodded and was silent for a few moments. Tate heard the pounding of hooves. He reached out an arm and drew Gretchen's pinto into the shadows of the overhanging trees. "Stay quiet," he whispered.

  She nodded, wide-eyed at him.

  Moments later the two riders came thundering down the hillside. They'd obviously decided to pursue Tate and Gretchen. Pistols held high, both men held their reins with the other hand. Their mounts splashed across the creek and raced up the other side of the valley. Soon the valley was silent.

  Tate sighed and turned, gazing up the length of the creek. It continued on up into the dense forest. He figured he and Gretchen might be able to make it up the creek. It was the best way of throwing the men off their track. In any case, Tate was sure the men would give up when they discovered that himself and Gretchen weren't on the trail any longer.

  Tate saw Gretchen shiver. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

  Gretchen gasped. Lifting a hand to her throat, she nodded. "I just f
eel a little light-headed. That's all."

  Tate wanted to stop and take care of Gretchen. But the priority was to put distance between themselves and the two riders. Pointing northwards, he spoke: "We'll make our way up there. Maybe there'll be a place where we can stop and rest." He looked urgently into her eyes. "Do you think you can make it?"

  Gretchen nodded quickly. "Let's go," she said abruptly. Tate smiled, appreciating her determination.

  Tate turned his horse northward. He and Gretchen started to follow the path of the creek. They'd had a lucky escape, he reflected. Hopefully they'd be able to pick up another homesteader trail. And then they'd be able to continue on the journey to Inspiration.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  An hour after the encounter with the riders, Gretchen and Tate found a fresh trail.

  Halting by the side of the trail, facing westward, Gretchen saw Tate grin. "Good. This is what I was hoping to find," he declared. "We might even get lucky and find a helpful homestead. Maybe they can put us up for the night."

  Tate lifted a hand to his eyes, protecting them from the bright sun. It was a warm day, now. Gretchen felt hot. She'd been sweating profusely for the last half hour. But that wasn't all she'd been feeling. Tiredness had swept over after she and Tate had left the creek behind and had made their way across country again.

  Gretchen leaned forward, grasping the pommel firmly. She gasped and dipped her head. Suddenly, every muscle in her body felt painful. Tate came to her and got down off his horse. Gretchen saw his eyes widen with concern. Tate glanced quickly toward a nearby enclosure of trees.

  Reaching a hand up to Gretchen, Tate spoke firmly. "Give me the reins, Gretchen."

  She handed him the reins and he led her horse over to the trees. As her pinto stepped across the grass, Gretchen felt herself sway in the saddle. She held on to the pommel, determined not to tumble from the saddle.

  Finally, she saw Tate reach up both hands. "Let me help you down," he said softly.

  The prospect of tumbling gently into Tate's embrace suddenly seemed irresistible. Gretchen nodded. Tate laid his hands gently on her waist. Propriety didn't matter any longer. All she wanted was to let him help her. Just like he'd been doing since the moment she'd met him.

  Gretchen felt her body sink down. She felt like a heavy, dead weight. Tate caught her and held her tightly. Then she crashed softly against his body. Her booted feet sank into the soft grass.

  Looking up into his eyes, Gretchen smiled weakly. "Thank you," she murmured.

  Instead of the expected delight, she saw Tate's eyes narrow with worry. He released her and took a blanket from her saddlebag. He laid the blanket down on the grass beneath the shade of the trees. Tate guided her to the blanket. Holding her, Gretchen sank down onto the blanket. Kneeling by her side, Tate peered into her eyes. He touched her forehead and frowned. "We can rest here a while," he told her. "I'll get you some water."

  Tate brought his mustang over and tied it next to her pinto. He took some more things from his own saddlebag and came to Gretchen. He laid a folded blanket behind her head.

  "How does that feel?" he asked.

  Gretchen looked up at Tate and told herself he looked even more handsome when he was worried. She smiled. "It feel just fine."

  Tate went back to the horse to retrieve the water he'd promised her. Gretchen let her head sink into the soft material. It felt good to be resting now. She hadn't realized just how tiring it could be to ride across wild country. Even with someone like Tate to guide her, she was starting to feel overwhelmed by the whole experience.

  And, on top of that, she was sick. She knew that to be a fact, now. She was no longer pretending to herself that she was simply tired. The cold temperature of the Montana summer night had taken its toll on her. Maybe Tate was right. It was going to take her a long time to get use to this kind of life.

  Tate returned with the canteen containing water. She'd watched him filling it at the creek. She sat up, leaning on an elbow. Tate placed the canteen at her lips. The water spilled out quickly and made her cough. She swallowed, feeling the gloriously cool liquid sinking into her stomach. She wanted more and started gulping it down, but Tate drew the canteen away from her mouth.

  "Easy," he said softly. "Take your time."

  Gretchen smiled at Tate. "I didn't realize how thirsty I was."

  The corner of his mouth creased with the beginning of a smile. He sat down next to her. "There's plenty more where that came from. This territory is full of rivers and creeks."

  Gretchen took some more water, this time sipping slowly, just like Tate had suggested. After a few moments, she started to feel better. Maybe she'd been suffering from some kind of dehydration, she told herself. Whatever it was which was causing her to feel so bad, one thing was for sure. Tate was giving her a lesson in how to survive in the wilderness.

  "You handled that really well, back there," Gretchen said, looking at Tate. "In fact, you looked like you knew exactly what you were doing."

  Gretchen saw Tate shift slightly. He shrugged. "I've met men like that before," he said curtly.

  "You sure you haven't had some lawman experience before?" she asked.

  Tate straightened and drew in a sharp breath. Now he did look uncomfortable, she told herself. She wondered why her question would have unsettled him.

  Tate cleared his throat. "I did some work with a sheriff's posse when I was younger," he stated.

  "You did?"

  Tate nodded. "When I was working in the mercantile, sometimes we got robbed. After a while, I got sick of it and I decided to help catch the robbers." Tate shrugged. "The sheriff was looking for volunteers for posse work. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do."

  "How old were you?"

  "Twenty."

  Gretchen sat up and turned to face Tate. "What was it like?"

  Tate smiled and then tilted his head as if he was recalling something with fondness. "At first it was exciting."

  "How many times did you work with the posse?"

  "I did it for a few years."

  "That long?" Gretchen exclaimed. "You must have enjoyed it. Wasn't it dangerous?"

  "Not any more dangerous than what those men did back there," he explained. "Don't forget I had a dozen other men watching my back. And the sheriff." Tate sighed. "I was young at the time. Maybe I didn't know what I was getting myself into." He smiled. "But it was fun. I can vouch for that."

  "Did you catch the criminals?" she asked.

  Tate smiled. Now he looked proud. "Every time. Not one of those critters got away. The sheriff at Laramie has a reputation to keep up. He doesn't like criminals escaping justice. And they never do. Not even if it means chasing them down across the state."

  Gretchen sank back, laying her head down on the makeshift pillow. "Now that does sound like something from a tall tale."

  "Mostly it involved long riding across rough territory. It taught me how to survive the wilderness. So I guess it was useful experience," Tate said. "It came in handy later on."

  Gretchen's brows furrowed. She looked up at him. "In what way?"

  Tate's cheeks flushed with sudden color. His eyes clouded. She saw the familiar barrier go up. The one she'd seen back in Refuge when she'd asked him some questions about his past.

  Tate stood. "I'll get some food from the bag. You need to eat."

  "Don't tell me." She lifted a brow. "Biscuits and beans."

  Tate shrugged. "The kitchen has a limited supply," he joked. Then he headed to the horse and busied himself with the saddlebag. She saw a flash of the Colt as he rummaged around in the bag. Recalling the way he'd held the gun, the directness of the way he'd dealt with the two men, she understood now why he had looked so confident. He had a past in enforcing the law. His experience of helping the law in Laramie explained something which had been gnawing at her since they'd left Refuge. Tate seemed unusually assured about being out here in the dangerous wilderness. Now she knew why. She couldn't help wondering if there were other se
crets he wasn't sharing with her.

  Laying her head back, and gazing up at the canopy of tree branches swaying in the wind above her head, Gretchen offered up a silent prayer of thanks to her Lord.

  Thank you, Lord. You saved us from those evil men. And I am grateful. Just when I needed someone to help me in that dangerous situation, You made sure I had the right man by my side. Thank you Lord.

  Gretchen's heart filled with joy. It always did when she prayed. Her muscles still ached, but now the delight of thinking about her Savior had strengthened her. Just like it always did. The world and its dangers might threaten her. But her Lord was always by her side. Without that, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to come all the way to Montana.

  Tate returned with the plate and the food. Soon they were both eating. Tate had been right. Once she had eaten food, drank some more water, and rested a while, Gretchen began to feel better. Not completely healed, but significantly improved.

  After he'd put away the eating utensils, Tate came and sat alongside her. Looking down at her, he rested his arm on one upraised knee. His gaze softened and she saw him swallow. Was he nervous about something? For a long moment, she felt captivated by his gaze. He certainly was handsome. There was no doubting that. Gretchen's gaze drifted to his lips. They were full and moist. Gretchen felt her heartbeat quicken suddenly. Heat flushed her cheeks and she knew it wasn't because of her weakened state. Just looking at Tate was proving to be a source of secret delight.

  Tate suddenly dragged his gaze away from Gretchen. It was an abrupt gesture, and one which too her by surprise. Had he sensed the subtle change in her? Even the slightest hint that she found him attractive?

  Tate looked at her. "Do you need to rest a while longer?"

  Gretchen shook her head. "I feel better. For now, at least."

  Tate stood quickly. "I'll get the horses ready."

  He seemed to be in a hurry now, she told herself. Had that eagerness been caused by her probing questions? Or had it been prompted by the way they'd both been looking at one another a moment ago?