by Joyce Armor
Duncan yanked up the man’s weapon and pointed his own rifle at him. “Yer a rank amateur at ambushing, laddie.”
The fellow tried to bluff his way out of trouble. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Duncan scoffed. “What are ye doing in this ravine?”
The man slowly got up. “Just resting my horse.”
Duncan smiled. “And ye shot at me horse because…”
“I…I…”
That was a hard one to answer, and because he couldn’t, the bushwhacker suddenly reached for his six-gun. It was barely in his hand before Duncan shot, driving the man backwards into the dirt. The Scotsman slowly neared him, kicking the revolver away. He had shot him in the chest, and blood was spreading rapidly across his filthy once-white shirt. Knowing what he would find before he checked the pulse on his neck, Duncan swore. Dead. He hadn’t had time to aim. Now there would be no one to point the finger at Shanley. There was no doubt in his mind the man was responsible for this attack. And if he was trying to eliminate him, that could only mean he still wanted Sophie.
“Bloody hell.”
He led the man’s horse, which became skittish as it neared the body. He couldn’t blame the horse; the man smelled. It wasn’t the smell of death yet. It was the smell of a man who apparently did not embrace any form of hygiene. Facing the animal away from the dearly departed, he lifted the dead man, who was stocky and quite heavy, across the saddle, tying him on with his own rope. He whistled several times, hoping to call his own horse back. Much to his chagrin, he even tried calling, “Rob!” to no avail. The ingrate was most likely eating his fill of oats at the barn by now. Though Duncan thought about climbing on the dead man’s horse behind the corpse, he decided the animal didn’t look all that robust. Sighing, he grabbed the reins and started leading the horse out of the ravine, trudging toward town.
* * *
“I’ll talk to Shanley, for all the good it will do,” Sheriff Sutcliffe promised. “As for the dead man, I have a poster on him.” He rifled through a stack of papers on his desk.” Here it is. Bank robbery and attempted murder. You’ll be receiving a five hundred dollar reward.”
“I never like killing a mon. I prefer saving lives.”
“I hear ya, Doc, but sometimes ya got no choice. As I said, I’ll talk to Shanley. One of these days he’ll make a mistake and I’ll have him.” He looked at Duncan ruefully. “I doubt that will be today, however.”
“Donnae give up.” Duncan shook his hand and headed for the livery stable. He would need to rent a horse to get back to the cabin. All the way back, he debated on whether or not to tell Sophie and Ainsley about the ambush. He didnae want them to worry, yet he finally decided he had better tell them the truth. They both needed to understand how serious and dangerous the situation was.
He was about a mile from the ranch when he saw two riders cantering up, both dressed in men’s clothes and both riding astride. He had to chuckle. Ainsley was born to the saddle, and Sophie looked good, too. She obviously had some riding experience somewhere in her past, before the despicable aunt and uncle came into the picture, no doubt. He decided he would look into her inheritance. If he could recover her money, it would certainly upset her relatives. He chuckled at the thought.
He reflected for a moment, as his two favorite women rode up, on how his view of women had evolved since he became a transplanted American. On the frontier, they could not be dainty or dressed for a cotillion or ready to swoon at the slightest scare. They needed to be tough and resourceful and courageous.
“Duncan, we were worried,” Sophie said before Ainsley had a chance to vent.
“Let’s get back to the ranch and rub the horses down. I’ll tell ye all aboot it.”
They headed back home, three astride. Duncan glanced over at Sophie and she was beaming. He probably would not have been surprised to learn she was thinking of them as the Three Musketeers.
The trio rubbed down their horses and fed and watered them. Ainsley trudged off and Sophie started to follow her, but he grabbed her wrist.
“’Tis a shooting lesson ye’ll be needing, Sophie.”
“Now?”
He let go of her. “Aye. Let me get me spare pistol from the tack room and we’ll walk back through the meadow so as not to disturb the cattle.” Then he shouted at Ainsley. “We’ll be back shortly!”
Sophie could not believe how much she enjoyed shooting the pistol, after she got over the weight of it, the loud report and the kickback. It was such a challenge hitting the stump, much harder than it looked. Duncan was a crack shot, hitting the little knot on the stump every time. At first, Sophie couldn’t even hit the dumb stump. While the Smith & Wesson No. 3 Revolver would not fit in her pocket, she could secure it in the waistband of her breeches and let her shirt cover it.
“Okay, now, lassie, ye load it and fire it, just as I showed ye.”
He handed her the gun and several bullets. She fumbled at first, dropping the first bullet. He said nothing, just watched, as she picked it up and loaded it and the other cartridges. Then she imitated the stance he had shown her and carefully aimed the weapon. By now she was used to the recoil and didn’t flinch when she fired the gun. She didn’t hit the knot but came close and shrieked with joy.
“Did you see that, Duncan? I was so close. You are a magnificent teacher,” she laughed, throwing herself into his arms.
He hugged her, enjoying her soft, lithe body against his hard frame. And then he remembered the upcoming annulment and tried to gently disengage himself from her innocent clutches. That’s when she leaned closer and kissed him on the lips. He truly wanted to push her away, but his lips took on a life of their own. They kissed her back and then some, his tongue gently opening her mouth and then plunging in. His little innocent bride thrust her tongue right back at his and came to life with a passion that shocked him. The kiss went on long enough for him to feel her nipples harden against his chest and his erection harden against her stomach. That’s when he heard Ainsley calling him and the spell was snapped. He stepped back, noting with amusement that Sophie looked rather flummoxed. He opted for ignoring what just happened.
“Ye’re an apt student, lassie. I hear me sister calling. We’d better head back now. I need to talk to ye and Ainsley.” He watched her as she placed the gun in her waistband. “Be careful where ye’re pointing that, Soph. Ye dinnae want to aim at any of me vital parts.”
She smiled and put out her hand to his. He momentarily thought about refusing to hold her hand before deciding that was just silly. So he laced his fingers with his young bride as they walked through the meadow back to the cabin. On another day, in another life, it might have seemed to be a romantic gesture.
Chapter 5
Ainsley was furious. “Duncan, donnae be a dunce. We cannae wait around for Charles Shanley or one of his hirelings to kill ye. We ken ye’re all powerful and all, but eventually someone is going to get lucky and snuff yer damn light oot.”
He smiled. “Aye, that would be lucky.”
“Yer an idiot.”
Sophie stood. They had sat at the table arguing for nearly an hour after the mid-day meal. She headed for the fireplace, stopped for a moment and then turned and walked back to the table. “I think Ainsley is right.”
“I’m an idiot, am I?”
“No, not that.” She laughed. “I don’t think we can wait around for more attacks. They could never end. It’s no way to live.”
“What are we to do then? As much as ‘twould please me to murder the mon, I donnae fancy facing the hangmon.” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It had long since turned cold.
Sophie looked pensive for a few moments and then said, “We need to set a trap for Charles Shanley.”
“A trap?” Duncan was skeptical. He would not put his sister or wife in danger.
“Aye!” Ainsley jumped up and clapped Sophie on her back.
Duncan shook his head. Finally his sister accepted Sophie and it was for all t
he wrong reasons. If they were not careful, it was going to get one or more of them killed.
“I read this book once…” Sophie began.
Duncan felt his frustration level peak. “Ye cannae find all yer answers in books, Sophie. Real life is nae like books.”
She was undeterred. “So you’ve said. Not all the answers, my bonny husband, yet you might be surprised what you can learn in books. I know how to build an irrigation system for your land, for instance, and how to best cross-breed cows. I also have an idea how we can trap Mr. Shanley.”
“Go on, Sophie. Pay no attention to the curmudgeon.”
Duncan made a noise that sounded a lot like “harrumph.”
“Maybe the sheriff has not had time to talk to Shanley yet.” Sophie was not even looking at them. She paced now, thinking out loud.
Duncan could not help but smile. He liked this new plotting, tricky version of his wife. The whole scenario reminded him of strategy sessions in the old country. He decided to test her.
“Why would that matter, lassie? It willnae solve anything, and we know Shanley is the guilty one.”
Sophie stopped and turned around abruptly, causing her honey-blond braid to flap over her shoulder. Looking fierce yet excited, she leaned on the table. The highlander tried to focus on what she was saying. It was difficult, though, with her breasts heaving in and out with every breath she took.
“If the sheriff has not spoken with him yet, we can have him tell Shanley the man was killed and you were shot. Maybe we’ll put you at death’s door.” Sophie beamed at her own brilliance.
Duncan frowned. Did she have to sound so happy about that?
Ainsley jumped up. “Aye!” She tapped her finger on her lip, thinking. “He must say that ye’re here on the ranch, and Sophie is taking care of ye whilst I’m doing the ranch work. As usual,” she couldn’t help adding.
“It’s too dangerous for Sophie.”
“Oh, pish,” Sophie said.
“Pish?” Duncan raised an eyebrow.
“It means ye’re an idiot,” Ainsley said.
Sophie took one of Duncan’s hands and pulled him to his feet. “If you’re not going back to see the sheriff right now, I am. We have to get the timing right.”
The Scotsman studied the determined set of his wife’s jaw and knew she was not bluffing.
He sighed. “I will go, me braw lassie, but the two of ye ken this. We will talk aboot this when I return and figure oot a way to keep the two of ye safe.”
They both grinned, allies at least temporarily, and he shook his head. Women!
“I’m going to move the herd a ways up the valley,” Ainsley noted as the three of them walked toward the barn.
“Do either of you want me to go with you?” Sophie asked with enthusiasm.
“Nay!” they both said at once.
Feeling a little guilty at his fast retort, Duncan glanced at his wife, expecting to see hurt or at least disappointment in her eyes. Instead, she was smiling. Again. Would he ever get used to this woman’s daft responses?
“All right,” Sophie said. “I’ll go think about the plan while I do some baking and start the stew for supper.”
Before Duncan could stop her, she fairly skipped back to the cabin. Ainsley watched and just shook her head, while Duncan smiled.
“Oh, Duncan!” Sophie turned and called out. “You have probably thought of this, but when you get to the cut-off to Stonehaven, head to the right so you can go around the back way you told me about and make sure no one sees you going into the sheriff’s office.”
He waved. “I ken, Soph.” In truth, he had not thought that far ahead. It was a given, however, that Shanley could not know he was hale and hardy for the plan to work.
Duncan ground tied his horse at Walker Creek a little over a quarter of a mile from town and walked the rest of the way. He didnae mind all the miles he was putting in on foot lately. Besides the health benefits, it gave him time to think. What was he to do with Sophie? He didnae realize he was missing anything in his life until she had brought her bright light into it. Oh, he felt lonely sometimes, even with Ainsley around, but it was a small price to pay for…for what? For letting Catriona die?
On the ride and the walk to town, he tried to think about his late fiancée totally objectively. Had he put her on a pedestal since her death? Mostly, he realized, he tried not to think of her at all; it was too painful. She was a wonderful, beautiful person. She was also spoiled. And willful. Knowing Catriona the way he did, he realized for the first time that she was not coming to the school just to visit him. Almost certainly she left home in that impending blizzard to try to talk him into quitting school, giving up his dream, coming home with her and marrying her. And just that realization lifted a burden he had carried for more than half a decade. She was thinking about herself, not him, just as she always did. Now, for true and good, mayhap he could bury her and let her rest in peace.
He managed to slide into the sheriff’s office, just as a harlot was walking out of the saloon down the street. He didn’t think anything of it. Unfortunately, it was one of Shanley’s whores, Carrie, and she had witnessed his arrival in town.
The good news for Duncan was that the lawman had had to break up a saloon fight and had not had a chance to seek out the bordello owner yet. When he heard Sophie’s plan, the man smiled.
“That’s a devious wife you have there.”
“She does a lot of reading, she does,” Duncan answered, as if that explained it. He remembered Sophie giving him a similar answer as if it were obvious.
“I have been waiting for two years to nail Shanley, and I appreciate you putting yourself up for bait.”
Duncan set down his coffee cup and stood. “When ye poot it that way, it doesnae sound so appealing.”
The sheriff laughed as he straightened up several papers on his desk. “You head on home, and make sure no one kills you along the way. I’ll give you a twenty-minute head start, then I’ll go see Shanley.”
“Why donnae ye give me thirty or forty minutes? I tied me horse by the creek a ways from town.”
“That’s fine.” The sheriff stood. “Just be careful. He might try something as soon as tonight. I can’t stay out there—too much to watch over in town and there’s May-Ling—but I’ll try to get to your cabin at least once a day.”
“I donnae think the mon will wait long. He doesnae strike me as a patient fellow.”
“You got that right. He’s lost his temper with many of his young whores. I just can’t get any of them to press charges against him. They’re too afraid.”
“I willnae let him hurt my family,” Duncan said, and Sheriff Sutcliffe could see why the highland Scots had such a reputation. The man looked positively formidable.
“You do what you have to, Doc. I won’t condone murder, but you have a right to defend your own.”
Duncan had talked with Sheriff Sutcliffe for nearly an hour. Soon after his arrival, Carrie had hurried back to the bordello, anxious to curry favor with Mr. Shanley. She didn’t know what the doctor wanted from the sheriff, but she knew her boss wanted to know his whereabouts. Moments after she gave Shanley the news, he was galloping toward Duncan MacGibbon’s ranch.
* * *
Sophie was so keyed up about their clever plan and the thought of being free of Shanley’s threat that she decided to bake a cake as her venison stew simmered. She had rounded up all the ingredients for the dessert, except for the eggs. In all the excitement today, she had forgotten to gather them. After stirring the stew, she grabbed the egg basket and headed out to the chicken coop. She had gathered seven or eight eggs and turned to start back toward the cabin when an arm roughly grabbed her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth. She somehow held on to the basket; she needed those eggs for the cake. The assailant had grabbed her under her breasts and hadn’t felt the gun at her waist. If she could just get to it.
“Don’t struggle, my little dove. It’s no use. I have big plans for you.” He dragge
d her backwards, into the barn, where she saw an unfamiliar saddled black horse. It must be his.
Shanley. He smelled musky. It sickened her.
While one part of her brain was horrified and petrified, a bigger part knew she had to fight this monster with everything she had. As she struggled, the basket fell from her hand, and she heard the eggs breaking. Somehow that sound sent her into a full-blown panic. Her fear was tinged with anger, though. She wanted to make that cake for Duncan and Ainsley. As he dragged her toward the horse, she threw her head back as hard as she could, cracking against Shanley’s nose at the same time she kicked his shin. He let go of her with a howl and she scrabbled to pull out the pistol. But before her shaking hands could get it out of her waistband, Shanley went crazy. She saw out of the corner of her eye that his face was so red it was almost purple. The next thing she knew, he was stabbing her, again and again as she tried to fight him off. She registered that it was happening, yet it almost seemed as if it were happening to someone else.
And then it was quiet, so quiet she could hear herself breathing. It didn’t sound quite right. Her breath was raspy. Shanley was gone. Somehow she had made him go away. She didn’t think she had shot him, although she wanted to. How long was he gone? She didn’t know. She thought she might have passed out. She was lying just inside the barn door. She didn’t feel very well. Barely raising her head, she saw a lot of red. Blood. Shanley had stabbed her! It hurt. It hurt a lot. Her mind was fuzzy, but she thought she’d better think. Yes, think. She needed to stop the bleeding somehow. Her hand hurt. She looked at it. She was cut across her palm. There was blood on it, too. She looked around then—it even hurt to turn her head—and saw the egg basket lying on its side, the towel she had laid in it, hanging out of it. She had an odd thought that she might not have enough eggs to make the cake now. The basket was near the barn door. Carefully, painfully propelling herself on her rear, she managed to just grab the edge of the towel. She just barely snatched it, feebly shook it out and then placed it on her chest, trying to press it down. That hurt more than she could have imagined and she passed out again.