by Megan Besing
Grinding her teeth, she marched after the imposter.
Working his way through the dense cactus, Del ducked low to avoid the arm of a saguaro. He hadn’t gotten near as far into the mountains as he’d hoped, thanks to the threat of the posse on his trail. When he’d heard men’s voices, he’d hid out awhile until they’d passed, slowing his progress.
Lord, I surely didn’t intend on dumpin’ that pretty little gal. Please see her safely back to town.
The unusual action had so gnawed at his conscience that he’d repeated the prayer since he’d left her. Pa had taught him to escort a lady to her destination—be concerned for others, particularly his ma and sisters. Surely that gal was somebody’s kin.
But his current circumstances were anything but normal.
Lord, please…help me get clear of the mess I’m in…and get Pa’s ring back. He rubbed the conspicuous indentation on his right-hand ring finger. Then let me find Miss Hilliard and make this up to her.
It’d be downright awkward to find her with the real Frank Lovell, though. He didn’t want a fight, but he might be begging trouble from the devil himself. For Miss Hilliard’s sake, hopefully not. She seemed like a kind woman, not the type who deserved trouble.
He snorted. Perhaps that lightning-fast wedding had put him in a romantical mood. What could he really know of her from those few minutes?
That she was prettier than any woman he’d ever met.
That she was spunky and unafraid to give him what for.
That he’d hurt her but she was strong enough not to melt into tears like so many women would.
How could Miss Hilliard mistake him for her groom? When she thought he was Frank, she’d introduced herself, saying it was nice to finally meet him. What sort of courtin’ process did they have?
Del scanned every direction for the marshals. Alone, he turned into a small cactus-filled canyon and slid from the saddle. He patted the horse’s neck. “Let me change my clothes, and then we’ll figure where to camp. Sound good?”
The horse tossed its head and nibbled on the sparse grass.
“Good enough.” He seated himself on a nearby rock and set aside the borrowed hat. Satchel between his feet, he removed his worn duds and peered into the bag. Miss Hilliard’s threadbare ivory and pink dress, the pistol, and a letter from Frank Lovell.
Dearest Jolie,
Thank you for your candor about your difficulties with your brother. I now understand why you’d advertise yourself as a mail-order bride and why you’ve asked my secrecy.
After exchanging a few notes, sweet Jolie, I’m confident I’d like to marry you. I understand our union would be in name only, but you strike me as intelligent and hardworking, and I’m successful in my chosen profession. It would be a smart match.
If you’ll accept these terms, please meet me in the Meribah church at four o’clock Tuesday, the twenty-third. The schedule will be tight—I cannot arrive sooner, and the parson must leave on the afternoon stage an hour later. That leaves us a thirty-minute window to take our vows. Thus, please stop by the seamstress shop while going to the church and collect the suit I’m having made.
If that didn’t beat all. He’d stampeded in on this gal’s secret wedding. No wonder she hadn’t realized he wasn’t Frank. Their union was a mail-order arrangement. Lord, I didn’t mean to bust up her plans. Please let her reach Meribah and get hitched like she…
Recalling the preacher’s hurry to leave, Del scanned the letter again. Iffen Frank intended to marry her, they’d have to wait for the preacher’s return.
Why would God allow him to stumble into the middle of this? He had a crime to solve, was dodging the law…and now he’d be worried about some poor gal getting hitched to a stranger.
“Just stop.” He crammed the letter into the bag. “You got enough trouble without borrowin’ more.” He tucked the string tie in a pocket before stripping the suit off. He laid it neatly over the satchel. “She ain’t your sister, Delaney Adler. Or your wife.” He threaded his arms through his rumpled plaid shirtsleeves. “You don’t have to save the world. Take care of this business and head home to Ma and the girls.” In a wide spot in the path, he shook the wrinkles loose from his folded pants.
“Don’t move…” The metallic click of a gun’s hammer sliding into place punctuated Jolie Hilliard’s steely command.
Chapter 4
Jolie rose after retrieving her gun from her satchel. The man lifted his hands, pants dangling from one fist. He was a comical sight. Bedraggled plaid shirt just covering his rump, and his legs swathed in a faded red union suit and stocking feet.
“How in the name of Pete did you track me down?” The imposter glanced over his shoulder.
“Wasn’t hard. Once you got into this dense vegetation, you’d stick to areas you could traverse with a horse.” She scanned the several varieties of cactus, ocotillo, yucca, and other desert plants. “You’d stay on the more traveled paths, so once I knew your direction, I cut across country and picked up your trail farther along.”
“Well, I’ll be…” His tone held a grudging respect.
“Why did you do this to me?”
“Look here, little lady, I didn’t mean you no trouble. That’s for sure.” He started to turn.
“I said don’t move!”
He faced front. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s your name—your real one? I know it’s not Frank.”
“No, ma’am, it’s Delaney Aaron Adler. You can call me Del.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of choice names I’d rather call you.”
“Reckon you’d have that right.”
Yes, she would, although she wouldn’t do it. She’d committed to always act like the lady Ma raised her to be, despite the rough life Brand exposed her to.
“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I’m at a real disadvantage. Can I put on some britches so I ain’t standin’ in my drawers?”
Cheeks flaming, Jolie kept the pistol level while she reached for the bundle that must be his trousers. As the fabric unfurled, the shears, razor, and other gear clattered to the parched ground.
She scooped up the shears and razor and put them in her pocket. “You were trying to get me to hand over that shaver, weren’t you?”
“No, ma’am.” His voice shook a little. “I forgot that was there.”
Lies. “Just for that, you can stand there in your drawers awhile longer.”
His shoulders slumped. “Please, ma’a—”
“Let’s get something clear, Adler. You tricked me this afternoon. To make it right, you’re going to accompany me back to Meribah, and, first thing tomorrow, see a judge to be sure this mix-up isn’t binding. Understand? Then I can marry Frank.”
“Ain’t tryin’ to get your dander up, ma’am, especially with you aimin’ that peashooter at me, but…I can’t go to a judge.”
Jolie scowled. “Can’t…or won’t?”
“Both, I reckon.”
“Start making sense, mister, or I might just pull this trigger.”
He hung his head. “It’s just that…those men at the church were lookin’ for me. I ducked inside to hide, and I found your man’s suit. Figured God was offerin’ me a way to change my look and slip outta town. Only the preacher’s wife shoved me down the aisle and…the marshals came bustin’ in. You didn’t know I wasn’t Frank, and I couldn’t come clean about the mix-up without gettin’ caught.” He shrugged.
Her thoughts ricocheted through the hasty ceremony. One of the lawmen said a name…something like Adler. Lord, of all the people to get mixed up with…Why did this addlepated dolt barge in on my carefully laid plans? “You’re an outlaw then?”
“No!” He shook his head fiercely. “I’m a rancher from Colorado. Came here on business some weeks back and got accused of robbin’ a bank. I got railroaded, sentenced to serve time at Yuma Territorial Prison. Thing is, I never set foot in that bank.”
Sure he hadn’t. Criminals were practiced at professing innocence. “I
’m afraid I have to insist. Once we see that judge, you can go and I’ll wish you the best of luck.”
Hands sinking, he shook his head. “I set foot in a courtroom, and that’ll be the end of me clearin’ my name and gettin’ back to my kin in Colorado. Surely you understand that.”
“And surely you understand that my future nuptials can’t happen if I’m already hitched to you.” Her belly flip-flopped at the thought.
“Like I said, those vows can’t be bindin’.” Again, he twisted to face her. “Not when I used a wrong na—”
She squeezed the Peacemaker’s trigger, and the pistol roared, raining moist cactus flesh over him.
Adler faced front and, squatting, dropped Frank’s pants to cover his head.
“Unless you want the next one aimed at your skull, don’t turn around.”
Slowly, he straightened. “I understand.”
“Good. Now put these on.” She tossed his britches, the balled fabric hitting him between the shoulder blades and falling to the ground. He slipped them on then lifted his hands again. “Can I get my boots, ma’am?”
The sky was streaked with pink and purple hues, far too late to make it to town before nightfall. Jolie had no desire to camp alone with this brigand, so she retrieved the coiled rope from his saddle. “Turn around.”
He complied.
“Sit down.” She pointed to the rock he’d sat on earlier then backed away, making room.
“Pardon?” His eyebrows arched.
“Sit.” Jolie motioned. “I’m going to tie you to that rock, and come morning, I’ll return with the posse.”
“You intend to leave me tied up all night?” His voice was incredulous.
“Since you frittered away our travel time, yes.” Even an extra half hour of daylight could’ve meant getting back to Meribah that evening. “Sit. Now.”
With a harrumph, Adler complied.
She tossed the rope at his feet. “Tie your ankles.”
He complied, scowling. Legs secured, she had him sit in front of the rock, his back braced against it. She bound one wrist, looped the remaining length of rope tightly around the back side of the boulder, and tied his other.
“That oughta hold you till morning.”
In the waning light, his gaze reflected frustration, trepidation, and ire. “How am I supposed to defend myself? What if some varmint thinks I’m easy pickin’s?”
She glared. “You should’ve thought of that before you crossed me.”
No sooner had she spoken the words than regret enveloped her. Since when had she turned into Brand? She shoved her belongings into her satchel and strode to the horse. There, she removed the canteen from the saddle and hung the satchel in its place. Glancing at Adler, she sighed and withdrew Frank’s coat. Looking at it a moment, she dropped the canteen within reach of his hand then draped the garment around his shoulders.
“Nighttime gets cold in these mountains. I’ll leave you this. Try not to dirty it, please. I’ll expect it back in the morning.”
Del seethed as Jolie Hilliard mounted his roan and rode into the growing darkness. Blast that wicked woman, leaving him like this. He’d have no way of defending himself if a varmint wandered near. God forbid she get delayed in returning. He’d bake to a crisp in the sun. Bless her for leaving him the canteen, but…the way he was tied, he couldn’t bring it to his lips.
Lord, this here’s a predicament I hadn’t planned on. I’d be obliged if You’d help me out of this fix.
He rolled each wrist, the stiff rope biting into his flesh, and his left hand struck something hard and cold. He felt the ground, fingers grazing it again. This time he latched on, fumbling to identify it.
The razor. Del cast a humble glance heavenward. “Bless You, Father.”
He shrugged the suit coat from his shoulders and struggled to open the blade. After several attempts, he pried it free from its protective covering and aimed the sharp edge toward the rope.
The blade made easy work of the stiff fibers and they gave way, releasing his wrist. Drawing the rope from around the rock, Del worked the other knots loose.
He looked toward the ever-darkening sky. “Now…You know exactly who robbed that bank. Just how am I to clear my name?” He listened for the answer. When nothing other than Jolie Hilliard’s face came to mind, he shook his head. “Forgive me for remindin’ You, Lord, but I escaped the US Marshals’ custody so I could take care of this. Last thing I need is trouble of the female persuasion.”
Free of the ropes, he tucked the razor safely in his back pocket. Thankfully, Miss Hilliard had left his boots. Bless her, even if it was an oversight. Her pretty porcelain features, ice-blue eyes, and auburn hair danced through his mind as he tugged his boots on and pulled his pant legs into place then rose to coil the rope. Where to? The picture of Miss Hilliard atop his roan bubbled into his thoughts. “Dad-blame it. Are You telling me to track her down?” She was likely headed to town to round up that posse.
He’d caused the woman enough grief. He’d almost be willing to let her ride away on his horse, except for the part where…she rode off on his horse. The roan was a mighty fine animal—best he’d ever owned. He blew out a long breath and snatched up ol’ Frank’s suit coat.
One lonely star and a sliver of a moon hung in the velvety blackness above. “Fine, Lord, I’ll hunt her down, but You’re gonna have to lead me iffen You expect me to catch her in this darkness.”
Chapter 5
Jolie awakened to the crackle of a blazing campfire. Instantly alert, she sat up. Heart pounding, she grabbed the Peacemaker then looked around. All was still.
She hadn’t built a campfire. She’d stripped the saddle from the roan and draped the saddle blanket over hersel—
The roan! The big horse wasn’t where she’d tied him. She fisted the blanket in her lap, only it wasn’t the scratchy blanket. It was the fine suiting material of Frank’s suit coa—
“Oh, Lord Jesus, help me….” Jolie bolted up, sleep fleeing as anger coursed through her veins. Land sakes, how had Delaney Adler gotten free of that rope and tracked her down? She’d forgone a fire so as not to draw attention. And with only a tiny slice of a moon, there was hardly enough light to travel this far, much less track her through the mountains. But track her he had.
Unless…
Her heart lurched. Was it Adler who’d built the fire, exchanged the coat and blanket, and taken the horse—or had Brand found Mr. Adler, taken the coat, and followed her here? Her brother loved to toy with her that way. Tears brimming, she examined every shadow beyond the firelight. Lord, You know what Brand is capable of. Her brother would be harsh with her. He might kill Mr. Adler for meanness’ sake.
As firelight danced against the desert plants, Jolie kicked dirt at the flames. They flickered a moment then reignited. She tried again.
“What’re ya doing?” a distant voice called, more curious than angry.
Jolie stilled, nerves primed. She gripped the heavy Peacemaker, thumb on the hammer. “Mr. Adler?” Her voice shook.
“Yeah…?” He strung the word out like a question. “Who else did you reckon it’d be?” At the almost teasing question, two fat tears streaked down her cheeks. She squared her shoulders. “None of your business.”
Silence stretched for an instant. “Missy, you were about as a-feared as a hen standin’ eye-to-eye with the fox raidin’ her house. Then, when you heard it was me, you settled some.”
Jolie balled her calico dress in her fingers. “What if I did?”
When Mr. Adler spoke again, his voice was closer. “You in some kind of trouble?” She drew back from the fire. “No.”
To her left, a rock skittered across the ground, and she leveled the Peacemaker and cocked it. Del Adler appeared off to her right, hands raised in surrender.
She faced him, heart pounding, limbs shaking.
“Easy, now. I ain’t lookin’ to get myself shot.” He took a single sliding step into the firelight. “Keep in mind, I coulda taken that peashoot
er when I fetched my horse. That oughta go some distance toward makin’ you believe I ain’t out to harm you, oughtn’t it?”
Blast him, but it did. A long way.
“Just wanna talk, ma’am.”
Hesitating, Jolie lowered the gun. Again, her eyes filled with tears, and she shifted to hide them, feigning it was so she could safely ease the gun’s hammer down.
Adler’s posture eased. “Thank you kindly, missy.”
“What do you want to talk about—at this hour, especially?”
“Am I trustworthy enough to set a spell, or should I keep standin’?”
Eyes still brimming, she glanced into the darkness. “Sit if you like.” She folded her arms, rubbing warmth into one arm with her free hand.
“Here…” He spoke directly behind her.
Startled, she spun as he attempted to drape the coat around her. “Thought you were gonna sit.”
“You looked…cold.” He cocked his head. “Why’re you cryin’?”
She rubbed her eyes dry. “You’re awful nosy.”
Hesitating, he held out the coat as if to help her into it. “Think of it as concerned, and it’s awful cold out here. Please put this on.”
Jolie eyed him then slipped into the garment. The night’s chill dulled. “Why do you care?”
“My pa died when I was young, makin’ me the man of the house. I learned to know when my four sisters or our ma was upset, figure ways to fix it. You remind me of them.”
Her brows arched. “You have…four sisters.”
Mr. Adler nodded.
“You said you’re…a rancher?”