by Gem Sivad
"Give me your hand.” Deacon McCallister grabbed her right hand and jerked it above her head, showing the crowd the cut mark on her palm. His voice dropped to a lower octave, and he intoned as if giving a benediction.
"This man and this woman exchanged blood. Such an oath is common practice among citizens who wish to make a vowed pledge until the preacher can arrive. I say this woman is my cousin's wife. Any carnal knowledge that they shared was of the spirit as husband and wife as well as of the flesh."
Pressed as she was into the side of her newly claimed relative, she couldn't help but understand the danger. Nevertheless, Naomi corrected him, “I do appreciate your assistance, Mr. McCallister but I believe I have this situation under control and telling that story isn't necessary."
Cold blue eyes met hers briefly as he murmured for her ears alone, “Then, madam, you are a fool and the magnitude of your stupidity intensifies. Cease."
Deacon McCallister swept Naomi along behind Charlie, guarding his back as he was dragged toward the sheriff's office. Sam brought up the rear, carrying Justine, while the doctor urged the rest of the girls along between them.
They ended up in the sheriff's office arguing about the merits of matrimony, until finally Charlie said flatly, “Get the preacher."
"That won't be necessary.” Deacon nodded at his cousin. “I would be proud to perform the ceremony."
"I'm not doing it.” The teacher glared at Deacon's suggestion and refused to allow Charlie to make her an honest woman. “I am not interested.” Her flat refusal left no room for persuasion or negotiation.
"You don't have a choice,” Sam explained slowly as though talking to a not-too-bright child.
"Of course, I have a choice,” Naomi Parker snapped back tartly. “And I choose to teach school and remain unmarried."
"That won't be going back to Sparrow Creek or any other school in the territory,” Deacon broke the bad news. “You signed a contract with a morals clause. Something they all have in them.” Charlie watched her process his statement and don a look of stunned outrage.
"I don't have a school to go back to?” The outrage turned to panic. “But I have to go back. That's where I live."
"No, ma'am, not anymore. The Sparrow Creek School Board that you wired? The day before last, they sent word that you don't need to come back.” The sheriff looked pleased when he handed her the wire. Charlie wanted to tear him apart.
Miss Parker. Stop. Two weeks’ salary tendered. Stop. No longer need your services. Stop.
Charlie didn't enjoy watching bad news delivered, but it was better for Naomi to learn her circumstances now than have some old biddy in town gleefully impart the gossip, or the town drunk pull her into an alley and have his way without reprisal. Charlie's blood boiled thinking about that possibility.
The sheriff added, “Message included a trunk of personal items, mostly just books. Reckon you won't need them from now on."
Naomi bit her full bottom lip that was trembling and whispered in distress, “My books."
"Satchel filled with ‘em.” Charlie broke his silence, irritated that her nibbling teeth had distracted him.
Her head came up on that and she nodded stiffly. “Thank you for your helpfulness. I will not take more of your time.” She headed for the door but was stopped by the sheriff's next words.
"Best not go out that way. Safer if you take the back door.” Charlie watched the lawman look at her speculatively, measuring the worth against the trouble.
"What the sheriff means is—if we don't come out of this room hitched, I'll be hanging from the nearest tree this afternoon, and you'll be entertainment for Jake's regulars. If you're lucky, they'll put you on a horse and run you out of town tomorrow, after they finish taken turns on you tonight."
When she remained silent, lips pressed tightly together, stubbornly avoiding his gaze, he grabbed her chin. “Look at me.” He forced her to meet the demand in his eyes. “Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Deacon McCallister spoke to her in that rich, resonating voice that was meant to reassure and persuade. “Miss Parker, everything Charlie says is true. And it will happen just like he says. Now Charlie's my cousin and I can't let the fate of hanging befall him.” He let the words hover in the air, making it clear whom he protected.
"You, being a white woman and choosy, if Charlie doesn't suit, then my brother Sam McCallister will stand up with you, or I will. But you are not leaving this room until you are a married woman. What happens then is up to you. But a McCallister will make you an honest woman today. And then we all will leave together."
Deacon McCallister spoke in crisp tones that brooked no room for defiance or dissent. Naomi's shoulders slumped in defeat.
The eight students who had been rescued draped themselves wherever seating could be had. Five sat on the side bench, two on one chair, and Justine, her head neatly bandaged by the doctor, sat behind the sheriff's desk.
The room was crowded, and every one waited for the wedding to proceed, interested who the bride would choose as her groom. Naomi looked at the floor. “Mr. Wolf, then—it will have to be Mr. Wolf."
Naomi remembered it later as being a five-minute wedding consisting of, “Do you, will you, and I do.” She didn't feel married and relied upon Deacon McCallister's words, “After the wedding, what you do is up to you."
If the sheriff's attitude was any indication, Flat Rock would not be a good place for her to stay, even if she had funds to do so now that her two-week stipend had arrived. But before she could make further plans for her own future departure, the sheriff ignored her and spoke to the McCallister brothers.
"Best get all this trash out of my town. You didn't get all the Comancheros, and my jail ain't strong enough to hold the ones you've got. You'll have to take them in to the Territory Marshal.” Then he smirked, like he knew more than he was saying.
"Figure if you carry ‘em over to Eclipse, you can wire the law and collect your blood money there.” The sheriff shifted uncomfortably under the three bounty hunters’ stares. “Go on, then. I mean what I say."
He nodded at the eight students. “Girls can stay here until their folks fetch ‘em. They'll be safe enough without the taint of her around."
He'd been waiting to slap an insult on Naomi and delivered it with relish.
Justine Garner sat holding her bandaged head and glared at the sheriff, “I'm not staying here with you. I'm going with Miss Parker."
"It's Mrs. Wolf now, Justine. Miss Parker just married Charles Wolf McCallister.” Marta corrected her but then agreed. “I'm going where our teacher goes."
One by one the girls stood and began moving toward the door. Naomi followed. They would send a rider ahead to Eclipse and have the sheriff there notify the parents that the girls could be picked up in Buffalo Creek.
"We were on our way there. You should have let me continue.” She wanted to pull her words back as soon as they were spoken.
Charlie Wolf grunted his answer, “So I could rescue you and the girls all over again?"
Or I would still be an unmarried woman. His glance pulled her eyes and he tilted his head as if knowing what she thought.
Charlie Wolf didn't give Naomi time to argue before he nodded at Marta, who had appointed herself spokesperson for the Sparrow Creek young ladies. “Get yourselves ready to travel. If you need anything to make life easier for the next spell, we'll buy it at the town store."
The sheriff cleared his voice as if preparing to protest when Deacon stepped closer. “About those prisoners, sheriff, haul ‘em out front. I want cuffs on them and you out of the way."
The rough-spoken bounty hunter was back, the powerful and educated minister hidden once again. Naomi watched dispassionately as the three bounty hunters coordinated their plan and herded everyone in the direction they wanted.
Sam had melted from the room at the final “I do.” Naomi could see out the dirty window that the remuda of horses was lined up and ready for cargo. The wagon, now hitched to a workh
orse, stood waiting.
Evidently, it had never been in doubt that she would become a bride. She looked at her husband for the first time since the girls’ rescue—and remembered his question on the trail coming back, “Ever had an ass-beatin'?” Her sex clenched nervously as she met his gaze.
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Chapter Eleven
The three bounty hunters left the town together, accompanying the daughters of Texas who were on their way to Buffalo Creek.
Outside of town, when the trail split, Deacon and Sam McCallister took their loaded caravan of strapped-down bodies, turning toward Abilene and the territory law there.
The prisoners were handcuffed and tied across their saddles, riding face down. One man vomited before they ever set out, others groaned, one cursed steadily. The bounty hunters ignored the noise and proceeded toward the territory law at a steady trot.
Charlie Wolf rode his horse in the opposite direction, ram-rodding the journey to Buffalo Creek where the families of the eight girls would meet them. The wagon was driven by Rebecca Johnson part of the time, and Brody Quince, the rest.
He exercised control and didn't bawl out Naomi for the ten different things he had to yell about. Instead, he put her up on the buckskin mare without comment. At least that was so until she reined her horse toward the other side of the wagon.
Charlie's fuse had already been lit when she'd run off from Flat Rock. It had sparked back into life when she took out after the Comancheros by herself. His hand had itched to tan her behind when she'd crawled into the outlaw camp, and the distance between the end of the fuse and Charlie's control shortened considerably now.
Each time he thought he had a handle on who she was and what she would do next, she proved him wrong. When offered the choice of marrying either one of the McCallister men, she'd stared at the floor and called his name instead, then she'd turned around outside and tried to weasel out of it.
Oh, she'd been discreet, checking for curious listeners before she mentioned Deacon's promise. “Mr. McCallister said once I married, my future was my own choice."
Charlie admired the way she folded her arms across his buckskins, pulling them taut. He'd wanted to taste her again.
"...Should've married Deacon, then.” He'd folded his arms and matched her stare. He wanted to ask her about that, why she hadn't chosen a white man. He'd laid the bad news on her, expecting denial and hysterics. “He's ordained."
She looked confused until he added, “A minister, ordained. His words are legal—binding."
"So you really are my husband? I'm a married woman?” When he nodded silently, she dropped her arms and stepped toward the door. “All right."
All right? What the hell does that mean? Not for the first time in his life he was thrown off stride by a woman's words, which was why, except for bedding one now and again when he got the chance, he'd just watched. There was something about the teacher, though, that made him want to learn her ways.
His horse, Old Mossy, had ideas about the buckskin mare as well. He sidled close and nipped the horse's withers, right above where Naomi's knee rested.
The mare flicked her ears flirtatiously and resisted when the teacher tried to steer her away from the big stallion.
"Figure she'll throw a nice colt early summer next.” Charlie leaned close to Naomi and straightened the reins in her suddenly slack fingers.
As he watched her face suffuse with color, bright enough red to scorch his fingers, his cock stirred. What was it about this woman that had him lusting after her like a randy bull? As he watched, her mouth trembled and her teeth again caught that plump bottom lip. He reached across to touch her cheek, feeling her heat travel straight to his groin.
Jesus. He kicked Old Mossy into a trot and moved to the front of their caravan, the motion of the horse giving him the painful pleasure of the slap of the saddle against his rigid prick. But aside from the log riding in his pants, he was settled and comfortable. He had his own woman.
He was feeling so smugly pleased with himself, he almost missed the tracks—unshod horses mixed with the smaller prints of Indian ponies.
They'd known that Jericho's numbers were low. Charlie was betting the lives of Sparrow Creek Academy's young ladies that they'd just crossed tracks with the rest of the gang.
If what he claimed, was true—Deacon McCallister being an ordained minister—then she was a married woman. Naomi thought about that as she rode and a secret smile curled inside of her belly. So much had happened to her in three days, and the most exciting was the way Charlie Wolf had claimed her.
She was so absorbed she didn't notice at first that they had left the trail. What they had been following had been rutted and rough, but at least it was a path. Charlie Wolf led the wagon full of young women across the open range until they hit desert land.
She rode to his side and asked, “I thought we were going to Buffalo Creek?"
"Change of plans,” he answered and then turned away and rode to Rebecca who was driving the wagon. “We need to move fast before we lose our daylight."
Rebecca obeyed without question, slapping the horse into action. The old wagon rattled and shook, but held together as they bounced across the rough ground.
Naomi knew something was wrong by the set of Charlie's shoulders. Strange how he was so newly acquainted, and yet she recognized his moods as plainly as if he'd shouted them. She frowned, nudging her mare into a faster trot until she rode beside him.
"What is it?” she asked as soon as she came abreast of the other rider.
"Comancheros,” he answered grimly. “We need to get this wagon out of sight. I'm going to drop back, try to throw them off our trail."
He turned and rode toward the remuda of horses that followed behind the wagon on a lead line. Unhooking the rope, he tied the line to the saddle pommel and told her, “Get the wagon to those rocks ahead and into cover so that it can't be seen."
He started to turn away and then looked back at her. He handed her his saddlebag. “Money inside is yours now. Use it to get yourself home."
She clutched the leather pouch, unable to say anything, not even good-bye. She felt aching fear as she watched him spur his mount into a lope across the trail they'd just made, then turn and ride west, the line of horses stretching out behind, stirring up dust as they ran hard where his big stallion led.
She turned back to the wagon. “Hurry. Mr. Wolf thinks trouble's on its way. We need to get to those rocks ahead and hide the wagon."
None of the girls questioned the plan. All held on as Rebecca slapped the horse into a faster pace, bouncing them across the rough ground. The rocks seemed near, but they travelled in that direction until the sun had shifted westward in the sky before they began to draw closer.
Naomi worried about the man who had ridden away, using himself as a decoy. The saddlebags she'd slung across the mare's withers and his last words indicated that he didn't expect to return to her.
Her throat ached, holding back terror, tears—and more emotions she couldn't name. She only knew she didn't want anything to happen to Charlie Wolf.
Daylight was fading into darkness quickly when the ground underneath became rockier and the sheer face of the rock formation loomed in front of them.
Rebecca drove the wagon straight toward the incline and slapped the reins across the draft horse's back to force it up until the ground leveled out into a stony plateau.
As soon as the wagon stopped, the girls were out, unhooking the traces and shoving the cart deeper into the shadows.
Naomi, thinking of her childhood when she and Pa Lancaster had erected a screen of camouflage when hunting deer, said, “Sage brush. Push the wagon back against the rock wall and cover it with sage brush."
"With all due respect, teacher—” It was Emily Erdman who wore glasses and now pushed them higher on her nose. Naomi wondered how she had managed to preserve their safety during the harrowing abduction. “—We might need the wagon for shelter, Miss Parker."
"Of course, forgive my foolishness.” Naomi was flustered and ill-prepared to establish a camp with the girls. She wasn't sure what to do first. As she stood trying to decide, her students took charge.
They chattered about the getaway, the ugly outlaws, a torn dress, and Justine's head wound, but no one spoke of Charlie Wolf.
Justine crawled out of the wagon carrying tins of peaches and canned beans. Brody had a knife she produced, pulling it from her boot. She grinned at the astonished looks of her classmates.
"Pa gave it to me and said to keep it close ‘cause I might find myself in a tight spot some day and need it."
"Bet your Mama was scandalized at that.” Emily snickered. “My mama says a lady doesn't carry such things."
Brody used a rock to drive the knife through the top of the tin of peaches, cutting it open with relish. “My mother taught me to shoot. My Pa insisted I be able to handle a knife.” Her words were sincere and no one doubted her ability as she handled her knife with dexterity.
"I'll have to figure another carry-all spot. Had I been able to get it out of my boot earlier, we could have rescued ourselves."
Naomi didn't know what to say. None of her deportment lessons applied in this situation. She tried to help set up the camp, but the Texas born and raised ranch daughters knew more than she did about surviving in the desert. Worry for Charlie Wolf dominated her thoughts.
Most of the wares that Harvey Collins carried in his Wagon of Interesting Items were useless trinkets and beads. But the girls wrapped themselves up in the thick wool blankets they found, passing them around until they all had one. Before lying down, Brody Quince took a length of rope from the side of the wagon and laid it in a circle.
"Snakes,” she explained, “won't crawl over a rope, so we should be all right except maybe for scorpions.” Brody had an inexhaustible interest in bugs, reptiles, and animals, and was a fountain of knowledge, sharing with anyone who would listen.
The girls accepted her wisdom and rolled into their blankets inside of the rope as if it could ward off all danger. Soon the sound of sleep-breathing drifted to where Naomi kept watch. The girls depended on her to protect them. She swallowed back tears, feeling the inadequacy of her abilities.