by Lily Graison
“Feeling better?”
She nodded. “Yes. Much better now.”
He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, lifting a hand to push her hair away from her face. “Anything I should worry about?”
“No. Something I ate didn’t agree with me. Edna says I’ll be fine in a day or two.”
She hated lying to him, especially when he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Him being tender toward her only caused the pain to increase. Hurting him cut like a knife but what choice did she have?
When he left, headed back to the jail with the promise of returning within the hour, Abigail climbed from the bed and reached under it for the bag she’d seen there one day cleaning. She searched Morgan’s clothes, finding a pair of trousers that wouldn’t be too big, a shirt and his extra boots, cramming the toes with a pair of socks so they’d fit better. She shoved everything into the bag and went to the kitchen, stuffing a few handfuls of dried meat and a loaf of bread into another sack. She hid everything in the cubbyhole under the stairs. Finding the perfect time to leave wouldn’t be easy but Abigail knew it had to be soon. If Fletcher was in town it would only be a matter of time before he tracked her down. Knowing him, he already knew where she was.
* * * *
The next morning, Morgan was called away to take care of something at a nearby farm. Abigail took it as a sign from God and made quick work of grabbing her stored items from under the stairs. She dressed in Morgan’s clothes, found a bit of twine to wrap around her waist so the pants wouldn’t fall down and braided her hair, tucking it under an old hat she found on the back porch.
A quick stop in Morgan’s office off the parlor gave her access to his guns. She picked up the lightest, made sure it was loaded and made for the back door.
Dressed and—she hoped—unrecognizable, she hurried out of the house, refusing to look back. Keeping her head down, the sack of food and gun carried close to her side, Abigail walked quickly to the livery stable. Percy Goins met her as she walked into the building.
“Can I help ya?”
“Yes. I’m in need of a horse.”
He stared at her for long moments before his eyes widened and he laughed. “I dang near didn’t recognize you, Mrs. Avery. Where ya going in that get up?”
Abigail smiled. “Oh, um… Morgan is going to teach me to shoot.” She lifted the muzzle of the gun a bit. “I thought we’d take a picnic while we were out. I’m supposed to meet him. Can I get a horse? The man didn’t even think about how’d I get out there.”
Percy laughed and nodded, heading toward the back of the stable, still talking. “The marshal aint never thinking straight where you’re concerned, Mrs. Avery. Why, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as he is now and I’ve known that Avery bunch my whole life.”
He brought her a saddled horse and she stared at its massive size with trepidation. It was much larger than any she’d ridden before. Her limited knowledge of horses left her weary of riding the beast but she ignored her reservations, stowed the rifle and bag and climbed up. Once she’d settled, she smiled down at Percy. “Thank you, Mr. Goins. Morgan will pay the fee for the horse when he returns.”
“Oh don’t be worrying none about that. Morgan’s been keeping his horse here for years. He always pays his bill on time. You have a good day, Ma’am, and tell Morgan I said not to be too hard on ya.”
Abigail smiled. “I’ll do that. Goodbye, Percy.”
It took a moment to get the horse to obey her command but once he got moving, Abigail turned him, heading down the stagecoach road. She gave the town one last look before nudging the horse into a gallop. As much as she hated the thought of leaving, the more distance she put between herself and Willow Creek—and Morgan—the better off everyone would be.
* * * *
Morgan frowned when he walked into the house. The usual scent of cooking food wasn’t present tonight. He’d gotten used to finding his supper on the table when he got home and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. Knowing Abigail hadn’t been feeling like herself made him instantly ashamed. He headed for the kitchen and looked in the larder, wondering what he could fix for her instead.
His cooking skills were limited but if she were feeling poorly, it really didn’t matter what he fixed her. She probably wouldn’t eat much anyway. Scrambling some eggs and filling a plate, he snatched a few of the leftover biscuits from breakfast, grabbed a glass of water and headed for the back stairway.
Entering their bedroom, Morgan stood in the doorway staring at the empty room for long moments before walking inside. Abigail wasn’t there. He sat the plate on the bedside table and wondered where she was. Walking back into the hall, he saw the closed washroom door and smiled. “Abigail, I fixed you something to eat.”
When he got no answer, he knocked on the door and waited. When she still didn’t reply, he opened the door. She wasn’t there either. He searched the entire house, starting to worry when he didn’t find her. Heading for the front door, he looked out and wondered where she would have gone. The mercantile was the only place he could think of.
Mrs. Jenkins hadn’t seen her since the day before when she’d gotten sick and nearly blacked out. Thinking the worst, he checked with Ellie over at the stagecoach station, relieved to find out there hadn’t been a coach that day. No one had seen her, though, even Edna, and showing up at her door had been the last thing Morgan had wanted to do. Beginning to worry, he headed back home, only to run into Caleb Mitchell, the boy who helped Percy out in the stables in the evenings.
“Evenin’ Marshal,” Caleb said, shuffling his feet on the wooden sidewalk. “Percy wanted to know if you’d be returning that horse this evenin’ or not. He wants to get ‘em all bedded down for the night a’fore it gets too late.”
Morgan stared at him, puzzled. “I’ve already boarded my horse for the night. Tell Percy I took care of him myself.”
Caleb nodded. “Yeah. We saw yern, Percy was jus’ wonderin’ ‘bout the one Mrs. Avery took this mornin’.”
Abigail took a horse? Dread settled like a sickness in Morgan’s gut then. His earlier fear wasn’t as unfounded as he’d told himself it was. Regardless of Abigail telling him she wasn’t hiding anything, he knew better. Always had. He should have pressured her to tell him. Now, it was probably too late. “Where’s Percy at, Caleb?”
“Over at the hotel eatin’ his supper.”
Morgan turned and headed back down the street. He ignored everyone he passed, intent on getting to the hotel and question Percy. Miranda Talbert and her mother greeted him with smiles, even congratulating him on the happy news as he passed them. He wasn’t sure what news they were referring to but he thanked them and continued on his way. When Miranda called out her wishes for Abigail to have a girl, he stopped, turned back to face them and felt sicker. “A girl?”
She nodded eagerly. “I know we aint supposed to talk about it yet but I was so excited I couldn’t help it. Mrs. Edna even said since I wasn’t married yet, I might be able to come help out when the baby's born, if it’s all right with you and Mrs. Abigail, of course.”
Baby? Edna? The confusion Morgan felt didn’t last long. Abigail suddenly feeling poor, her mysterious black out in the mercantile the day before and now, the happy, smiling face of Miranda and her mother. “Abigail’s going to have a baby?”
Miranda’s eyes widening and her face turning ghastly white confirmed it. She didn’t even have to speak for Morgan to know the truth. His wife was having his baby and now, she was missing.
He left the two women on the sidewalk, their apology for ruining Abigail’s surprise a fading murmur as he tuned them out, his body vibrating with unease as he headed toward the hotel. He found Percy sitting at the corner table, his food mostly uneaten as he read one of the many newspapers the hotel always had on hand.
Approaching his table, the man looked up and smiled. “Evenin’ Marshal. How was the picnic?”
Morgan didn’t answer, cho
osing to ask his own questions. “Where did Abigail go, Percy?”
Percy laid his newspaper down and stood. “She said she was meeting you.” His eyes were a bit too wide, an apology already on his face. “There wasn’t no picnic today?”
Morgan knew he was one second away from panicking. “Which way did she go?”
“Down the stagecoach road toward Missoula.”
He turned to leave, Percy chasing after him. “Marshal, wait up!” On the sidewalk outside, Percy grabbed his arm. “She had yer rifle with her.”
He hadn’t been expecting to hear that. “My rifle?”
“Yeah and she was dressed in trousers and an old hat. I didn’t even know who she was at first.”
Morgan blew out a frustrated breath. “Tell me everything, Percy, even if it seems unimportant.”
Percy told him of the entire meeting, the picnic Abigail told him they were going on and how she’d been smiling when she told him. He didn’t have a reason not to believe her. When he’d retold it all, Morgan asked him to saddle his horse and that he’d be back in a short while. He left then, heading home. He didn’t know where Abigail went, or why, but the sun was setting. If he didn’t find her soon…
He didn’t even want to think of not being able to find her. Anything could happen to her out in the middle of the wilderness alone and knowing now that she carried his child, left him feeling anxious with every passing second. Add in the fact he knew she was hiding something and that uneasy feeling grew and caused sweat to trickle down his spine. Abigail was in trouble and she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what it was, which meant it was serious trouble. The kind that always found you no matter where you hid. It had apparently found her and it was up to him to locate his wife before her trouble ended up costing them both.
Chapter Ten
Running had seemed the best option when she’d thought of it but as the sun settled behind the mountains and the road became difficult to see, Abigail knew she’d been wrong. She wasn’t prepared for this.
The meager rations she’d taken from the house and Morgan’s clothes wouldn’t be enough to keep her warm. The air had already cooled. She’d not spent enough time in Montana to know what the temperatures dropped to at night. Fall had settled in early, according to Morgan, so the thought worried her. The only blanket she had was the one under the horses’ saddle and covering herself in it, and smelling horse all night, wasn’t an appealing prospect.
A thicket of trees loomed in the distance and she debated on making camp or to keep going. When a coyote—or wolf, she couldn’t tell which— howled somewhere off to her right, the horse slowed his steps.
Abigail looked behind her, at the distance she’d put between Willow Creek and herself. Sorrow filled her as she thought of Morgan. What must he think? Surely he’s realized she’s gone by now. Would he come after her? A small part of her hoped he would. The part that loved him and hated leaving without telling him why. The other, well, it hoped he got so mad he cursed her name and vowed to never see her again. That he’d walked to the saloon, gotten drunk and taken his revenge out on her with one of the girls from upstairs. Tears burned her eyes as images of him doing just that filled her mind’s eye. She’d never forgive herself for hurting him.
Suddenly drained of energy, she steered the horse toward the trees, aching to her soul as he slowly made his way there. Once inside the shelter of darkness, Abigail climbed down—falling to her knees as they gave out. She wasn’t used to riding all day, at all really, and sitting straddling the beast from sun up to sun down had taken more out of her than she’d wished.
It took long minutes before she could gain her feet and once she did, she hobbled the horse and found a nearby tree to sit under. It was cooler under the trees but she didn’t dare light a fire. She didn’t know how far the blaze would be seen in the dark and letting someone know she was there had stupid written all over it. She knew Indians roamed this part of the country and the thought of Fletcher finding her didn’t scare her as much as the thought of Indians reaching her first did.
The days stress washed over her then, those tears she’d been ignoring falling over her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. Scrubbing angrily at her face, she thought of Fletcher, letting her anger at him, and having to leave Morgan and her new home, replace the anguish she felt. This was all Fletcher’s fault. His lying, stealing and cheating. And involving her in a crime she had innocently helped pull off. He’d promised to take care of her and all he’d managed to do was turn her into someone she didn’t like very much. She’d find a way to rid him from her life once and for all if it was the last thing she did. If she had to, she’d resolve the problem the same way he intended to solve the problem of her. She’d kill him.
* * * *
Morgan was heading toward the livery stable when a light in the jail caught his attention. He cursed, rolled his eyes heavenward and cursed again.
He shouldered his saddlebag and walked to the building, pushing the door open angrily. Joseph Brighton was leaning over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. When he looked up and saw Morgan, he smiled and dropped the pen.
“Marshal, I was just leaving you a note. Percy said you were leaving and I thought maybe I had already missed you.”
“You just about did.” Morgan repositioned the saddlebag and nodded toward the desk, and the note. “What’s the problem, Joseph? I’m in a hurry.”
Joseph cleared his throat and nodded once. “Right. Well, there was a man who’s been in the hotel for several days now and he left a little while ago without paying his bill. I want him arrested.”
Morgan lifted an eyebrow. “Right now?”
If possible in the low light, Morgan saw the man blush. “Well, as soon as possible.”
Figures. Nothing ever happened in this town until he had something to do. “Write down a description of the man and anything peculiar about him and I’ll set out to find him as soon as I get back.”
“You’re leaving without even going to look for him?” Joseph wasn’t the sort of man who ever lost control. In all the years Morgan had known him, he was immaculately dressed, his mustache curled on the ends and never drooped and his voice never lost the refined lilt Joseph was so fond of. The way he said, “You’re leaving,” had made him sound quite feminine. The words lifted at the end and squeaked just a bit. “I can’t afford not to, Joseph. I’ll be back as soon as I can. That’s the best I can do for you. I promise you, I’ll find him as soon as I get back.” Joseph looked offended his problem was being left unattended. Morgan didn’t give a damn if the man demanded the town council fire him and run him out of town naked, barefoot and pulling his house by a rope behind him. Nothing was going to keep him from going after Abigail, especially not Joseph. He didn’t care how influential he, and his money, was to the town.
He turned and walked back out on the sidewalk, ignoring Joseph as he followed him out.
“Are you leaving town? I only ask because Caleb over at the stables said the man rented a horse and left on the main road. If you’re going that way, there’s no way you can miss him. He’s a big brute of a fellow, nicely dressed with a southern accent.”
“Noted. I’ll keep my eye out for him.” Morgan kept walking, Joseph dogging his step every inch of the way. His chatter was a dull buzzing in his ear and he barely heard most of it. When he said the name Abby, Morgan stopped. “What was that?”
Joseph inhaled, clearly out of breath from trying to keep up. “I said, he was asking about a woman named Abby Sanders. I told him there wasn’t anyone in town by that name.”
“He say anything else?”
“Nothing much. Just asking about the town. How long most of us had been here and if anyone was new to town.” Joseph smiled and straightened his spine as if proud. “I told him of your Abigail and how she was new to the area. He asked where to find her and I told him she was married to you. He acted a bit peculiar after that.”
Abby Sanders. Morgan didn’t have to be
told that was Abigail because a gut feeling told him it was. He’d suspected she’d been hiding something from the beginning and this was it. She wasn’t who she said she was and now, some man had come looking for her. Why? Who was he to her?
He left Joseph standing, ignoring his demands to be heard and thanked Percy when he came out of the stable with his horse. He settled his saddlebag, told Percy to watch the jail for him, and rode out of Willow Creek as fast as he dared in the dark.
He rode for an hour before stopping. He jumped from his horse, letting the animal rest as he searched the ground for tracks. Spotting several sets, he looked out across the prairie. It was too dark to keep track of which way she’d gone and which tracks were actually hers. He’d have to take it slow ‘til morning or he’d lose the trail and have to double back.
Cursing the clouds, the absent sun and himself for not following through on his hunch about Abigail in the first place, he gathered the horses’ reins, remounted, and started off across the prairie.
* * * *
It was mid day when Morgan saw him. His silhouette was a dark splotch on the horizon and his pulse jumped as he spurred the horse into a gallop. The man was riding alone which meant he hadn’t found Abigail yet, assuming he was after her at all.
As he neared him, the man turned to look over his shoulder. Morgan expected him to race away but to his astonishment he slowed, turning the horse back toward him. As Morgan approached, slowing his own horse, he could see Joseph was right about the man’s size. He was a big fellow. Tall and wide across the shoulders. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit and had a refined air about him. Morgan disliked him in an instant.
When he stopped a few paces away, the man smiled and lifted his bowler hat in greeting. “Mornin’ Marshal. Goin’ to be a lovely day, I think.”