Issued to the Bride One Marine (Brides of Chance Creek Book 4)

by Cora Seton

  God, everything was a mess.

  A sound brought her to full alert, and Lena suddenly realized she’d left her shoulder holster and pistol in the house in her room when she’d confronted Logan early this morning, then hadn’t stopped to put them on during her headlong flight to the barn. She was unarmed. What if it was another attack?

  Another noise, closer this time, brought her to her feet. She glanced around, looking for some way to protect herself, and her gaze landed on the ancient weapons hanging on the wall above her. The little fabric sack hanging next to the musket held the preparations for priming and firing the weapon, Lena knew. But no one had done that for years; not since before her mother’s death. Black powder rifles were the General’s pet hobby, and he used to take his collection out on the Fourth of July so the two of them could take turns cleaning and priming the muskets. Lena always made it a race, and she could load a charge and a musket ball in a twist of paper, ram it down the barrel, aim and shoot almost as fast as he could. But muskets were notoriously unreliable. It was no help to her now. She grabbed one of the swords instead.

  Her heart pounding in her chest, she listened again. If it had been one of her sisters, or one of the men, they would’ve turned on the light by the door. She had chosen to sit up here in the darkness because of her mood, and she didn’t want to risk being spotted while she figured out who it was.

  All was silent in the barn.

  Maybe she was imagining things.

  When a dim beam of light shone suddenly in her eyes, Lena called out in surprise and raised the sword high.

  “What are you going to do with that stupid toy? Bounce it off my head?” Logan demanded. He climbed the rest of the way into the loft.

  Lena lowered the sword in relief. “What the hell are you doing? Why didn’t you just turn on the light?”

  “I tried. Several times. The bulb must have burned out. And this flashlight is nearly dead, too. We’d better find some new batteries for it.”

  Lena thought about replacing the bulb high on the barn ceiling and stifled a groan. It was such a pain in the ass to reach. “You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.” This sword was no toy, no matter what he said.

  “You couldn’t have touched me,” he scoffed. He was angry still, she realized. Pushed past what he could take by their earlier argument. She needed to tell him she’d realized her mistake, but she couldn’t let that arrogant statement go by unchallenged.

  “Oh, really?”

  Logan walked over to the wall display and set down his flashlight, its dull beam immediately half-swallowed up by the layer of hay on the floor. He took down the other sword. Held it up. Tested its weight with a swoosh or two through the air. He was angry, that was clear, and he was looking at the sword like it disgusted him, too. She understood why. Both swords needed polishing. She’d neglected the old weapons shamefully.

  “You think you’re a match for me?” Logan asked. “Prove it.”

  “You want to have a sword fight?” In this low light, Logan looked dangerous. All Marine. No softness about him. She realized how much he’d been holding back around her all this time. Reining in his own strength.

  “Chicken?” he goaded her.

  “Hell, no.” This was a bad idea, though. The swords might be ill-cared for, but they were still sharp.

  “Then let’s make this more interesting.” Logan took a couple of practice swings.

  Where had she heard that before?

  At the Dancing Boot. Their bet over the pool table weeks ago had led to everything else that had happened. That had been the first time they’d danced.

  Lena shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “So, you’re chicken, after all.”

  Oh, what the hell. “Lay it on me, then. What’s this big wager we’re going to make?” She was beginning to remember why she’d run out here in the first place. Logan always thought he had the upper hand.

  Logan swung the sword a few more times. “If I win, you marry me. If I lose, I’ll leave the ranch.”

  He must be feeling as reckless as she was right now, if he was willing to wager their future on a fight. Anger flared in her. Men treated everything like a game. Logan’s eyes glittered in the moonlight that flowed through the window, brighter than the burning out flashlight.

  “Deal,” she snapped. To hell with trying to reason with him. He wanted to fight. They’d fight.

  “Ready?”

  “Whenever you are.” This was insane. The General had never allowed her or her sisters to play with the swords. Weapons are to be respected at all times, he’d always said. Apparently, Logan hadn’t gotten the same message from his parents. Or the military.

  Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he wanted to win so badly he’d throw caution to the wind.

  A moment later, she didn’t have time to think about any of that. Logan crashed his sword against hers with a blow so powerful he nearly knocked it out of her hand. Probably his plan—to end this battle before it even began. Lena wasn’t having it. Maybe she’d never trained with the sword, but that didn’t mean she be an easy adversary.

  The clash of their weapons reverberated in the small space, and soon Lena was fighting with everything she had. Logan didn’t hold back. He was treating her the way he treated any adversary. Gunning for the win.

  Her estimation of him rose in the next few moments, as she realized he wasn’t going to give her any quarter. She wouldn’t give him any, either. She fought back, parrying each of his thrusts with a blow of her own. Soon she began to wonder how long she could keep this up. The light in the loft was getting dimmer by the minute. The sword was heavy, but its weight didn’t seem to bother Logan at all. As a rancher, she worked hard and did a lot of heavy lifting in the course of her days, but she hadn’t spent years as a Marine—not like him.

  Her glance flicked to his bicep, so big the span of both her hands couldn’t encompass it. What had she been thinking taking this bet? She was going to lose—and that meant marrying him.

  Which she meant to do anyway, but he didn’t know that.

  Logan crashed his sword against hers again, with a blow that reverberated up her arm and made her wince. Lena was slow to parry back his next blow, and Logan moved in for the victory. Beneath them she heard Atlas moving in his makeshift stall, the clash of the swords making him nervous. This had to stop soon, or he’d spook. But Lena knew she wouldn’t be the one to end this fight. She couldn’t accept defeat—even at the hand of her intended.

  Logan crashed his sword against hers again, and again, and again, a series of battering blows that left her weaker each moment. She gripped the handle of her sword with both hands, not wanting to lose this contest, but she didn’t parry Logan’s next blow quite in time, and her wrist bent back with the force of it. She nearly dropped her weapon but held on, swung—and missed. Logan swooped his sword around, caught hers on the back swing, where her grip wasn’t nearly as strong, and knocked it out of her hands. It went clattering right over the edge of the hayloft, fell and landed with a thud on the wooden floor far below.

  Atlas whinnied nervously, but Lena was only half aware of him. Her chest heaved with her deep breaths, and her gaze was locked on Logan, who’d raised his sword in a victory salute like a fierce warrior of old. He turned the sword down, jabbed it into the floorboards and approached her as the flashlight died, leaving them in darkness. Lena didn’t move. Not even when he took her into his arms, pulled her close and claimed a victory kiss.

  Frustration warred with desire in her. Frustration at herself. She loved this stupid, reckless man. She loved him as much for the fact that he’d try to win her back with a sword battle as for the fact that he cared so much about her and her ranch he’d head out early each morning in order to patrol it. He was stubborn. All men were stubborn to the point of stupidity. But he was loyal, he worked hard, he loved this land and he loved her. Enough to put on this crazy display. And bet his heart—and his future—on the outcome.

  When Log
an stiffened, she thought it was because he expected her to be angry at him. But a second later, he covered her mouth with the palm of his hand and whispered in her ear, “Shh.”

  Lena stiffened, too, wondering what he’d heard. That was Atlas again, shuffling in his stall, unhappy about the strange noises from their swordplay, no doubt.

  “It’s just—” she began.

  He cut her off, his words barely a whisper. “Someone’s coming.”

  Lena stilled, every nerve on edge, and listened harder but stayed perfectly still, trusting the Marine’s instincts. Logan dropped his hand and crept toward the edge of the hayloft. The barn door opened. A light flared—a battery-operated lantern like the one Lena read by in the loft.

  “Help me over here,” a man’s voice called softly beneath them.

  Harley. She was sure it was him. Now she heard the footsteps Logan must’ve heard before. There was a rattling. That was the handle of the stall door. Atlas whinnied again, this time a sound of warning.

  Harley and Ray had come to steal her horse.

  Had he actually come down to the barn without a real weapon? Logan bit back a curse as he realized he had. He’d showered after his workday was done, wanting to look his best when he asked Lena to reconsider her decision, and hadn’t put his holster back on. The two men below them were trying to steal Lena’s stallion. Because Lena had chosen him over one of them?

  Or because they’d been sent by the same criminal family from Tennessee that kept coming after the Reeds?

  The men who’d attacked the ranch before had been after significant amounts of money, though—money they thought they were owed because the Reeds had destroyed an entire shipment of drugs stored on their land. A breeding stallion was worth a lot of money, but nowhere near enough to pay that back.

  But Logan had been thinking over the last few days about the raids on the Reed place as he’d spent hours walking and riding its perimeter. What struck him as odd was that in some ways, with each successive attack, their enemies’ goals had seemed to get smaller. First they’d tried to mastermind a takeover of the entire ranch. Then they’d gone for a sum of money—far less than the worth of this place. Then they’d burned the stables, an act of revenge rather than one that would line their pockets. Now they were after a single horse?

  What was going on here? What was the real goal? What had started out as an operation worthy of a criminal organization was fast becoming the work of someone—

  Desperate.

  Unless this attempted theft had nothing to do with the other attacks at all.

  But Logan didn’t have any more time for questions. He could hear Atlas shifting and scrambling in his makeshift stall. The horse was getting riled up, and any country boy worth his salt knew that an angry stallion was a dangerous animal. Did those two yahoos really think Atlas would meekly allow them to lead him out of this barn by the halter?

  Speaking of which…

  Did those idiots really think they could halter the animal after they’d let it out?

  “You got your lighter?” Harley asked.

  “Of course. You heard what Uncle Beau said; this time the job’s gotta be done right. No one gets out alive.”

  Logan’s heart plunged, and behind him he heard Lena’s indrawn breath. As Atlas whinnied again, scrambling and shifting in his stall, Logan thought fast. The Tennessee goons had tried arson once before and failed. Were they about to try it again?

  No one gets out alive.

  That meant it wasn’t the barn or the stables they planned to burn this time. If it was, Harley would’ve said nothing is going to get out alive. No one meant people. And people meant Cass and her unborn baby. Alice, Jo and Sadie—and Brian, Connor and Hunter.

  Logan realized in a flash they couldn’t let these men free Atlas, because as soon as they did, they’d go set fire to the houses. And who knew what they had done in preparation for setting them alight? Set up explosives? Soaked the wooden cladding in gasoline? Or—Logan remembered seeing the twins in the hardware store—kerosene?

  He turned to tell Lena to stay right here, only to find her directly behind him. She stood still as a stone, listening to every word the men below them said.

  “I’m starting to think we should let this animal burn, too,” Harley said a moment later.

  “Uh, uh. Uncle Beau has got big plans for this horse,” Ray said. “It’s going to be the start of our empire. We’ll breed him until he gives up the ghost and then sell him for dog food.” Atlas shuffled in his stall again, letting out a sharp whinny. “Shit, you’re right; this animal’s a menace. Buddy,” he said to Atlas. “You’d better calm down right now, or I’m going to shoot you in the head.”

  Logan should’ve seen it coming. He knew Ray’s words would infuriate Lena. It still surprised him when she launched herself out of the hayloft with a rebel yell loud enough to wake everyone within a five-mile radius. Logan rushed to the edge, sure he’d see her twisted body on the ground below, but Lena had landed on Harley and Ray, and was locked in a wrestling match with both.

  Logan swore, grabbed the nearby sword and swore again at its uselessness. There was nothing for it, though. He rushed to the edge of the hayloft, slid down the ladder, landed hard, regained his balance—and charged.

  Harley yelped when Logan struck him with the flat of his sword, and Lena brushed past him, headed for Atlas’s stall. When she threw the door open and the horse charged out, Logan thought for one grateful moment it might do the trick. The stallion reared up, and both Harley and Ray scattered from under its hooves, but then Atlas, the ungrateful beast, raced straight for the door and out of sight. That left two men with pistols, Lena unarmed and him with his stupid replica Revolutionary War sword. He was afraid Lena would try tackling the men again and get herself shot, but in the first girlish move he’d ever seen her make, she raced for the ladder instead, clambered up it and into the loft.

  Harley lurched after her. “Lena, stop it! I’m not going to hurt your horse, I’m trying to save it. Just like I wanted to save you!”

  Logan went after him, but when Ray took a shot at him, he dove for the floor, rolled behind a cord of stacked wood and thought fast. How the hell could he fight these guys? All he could hope was that someone up at the house had heard that gunshot and would come to investigate—armed. He hoped to God Lena stayed hidden up in the loft. She might buy herself enough time until the cavalry came.

  “Forget about her. Split up,” he heard Ray say. He peeked around to see what was happening and was rewarded with a shot that ricocheted off the top of the stack, the wall of the barn and buried itself in a wooden post. Logan ducked down again. Sooner or later one of them would be able to get an unobstructed shot at him. He needed more cover, and that meant he had to move. He waited until he thought both men were in motion before he lunged into the far corner of the barn where stacked supplies and tools made a barrier of sorts. Another shot rang out, ricocheted off a metal shovel and penetrated the wooden floorboards. The twins had definitely split up and were circling around trying to get an angle on him. Logan realized if he was careful he might be able to give Ray a nasty surprise. Moving ever so slowly, judging each step before he took it, he edged around the back of the stacked supplies, trying hard not to betray his position. The other men didn’t seem to realize that he had moved. He saw Ray slipping carefully toward where he’d just been. Come on, he thought. Just another step. That’s right. One more—

  Thunk! He brought the hilt of his sword down hard on Ray’s head, and Ray keeled over, unfortunately dropping his pistol more than a yard away from where Logan stood. If he tried to get it, he’d expose himself.

  But it was his only hope.

  “Ray? Ray, where are you?” Harley hissed.

  Logan held his breath. Thank God Ray was out cold on the floor. If only he could reach that pistol before Harley came to look for him, he’d get the situation well in hand.

  But Harley was smarter than that. When he edged toward Logan’s position, he
held his pistol out in front of him, his finger on the trigger, and Logan knew the other man would get a shot off if he lunged for Ray’s weapon. His sword wouldn’t do him any good.

  “I’ve got you,” Harley said. “I can see you back there, Hughes. You think you’re invisible, but you’re not.”

  Logan didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t sure if Harley was bluffing or not, but Harley’s Glock was pointed mighty near his heart. This was all going to be over in a few moments, and the most he could hope to do was lunge out of the way. After that, he didn’t have a plan.

  “Come on out of there, fight like a man, you little shit,” Harley said. “If it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have happened. Lena would have fallen for me, and I could have saved her. Put your hands up, drop whatever it is you’re lugging around. Now.”

  If Harley couldn’t see the sword, then he didn’t have as good an angle on him as he was making out. Maybe there was still time—

  Harley took two steps forward and pointed the gun right in Logan’s face.

  Or maybe his time was up.

  Hold the gun. Grab the paper twist that holds the black powder. Open it with your teeth, pour it into the barrel of the musket. Keep your shaking hands from letting it spill all over the floor. Drop in the lead ball. Ram it home.

  Find the flint. Where was it? Where was the damned flint? The musket wouldn’t fire without it. Lena searched the little fabric bag with shaking fingers, located it, dropped it, fell to her knees and scrambled around to find it again. Finally—after what seemed like hours—her fingers located it, wedged in a crack between two floorboards. She pried it out, found its place, primed the weapon and scrambled to the edge of the hayloft, crouched on her knees.

  Ray lay in a heap on the ground, and Harley was crossing the barn, his pistol outstretched, pointing it unflinchingly in one direction. Lena followed the trajectory and swallowed when she took in Logan, sword raised, backed into a corner, covered for now, but not for long.

  She had one shot, she realized. One shot with an ancient gun, primed with powder that had been hanging here for more than eleven years. This was insane. If she missed, Logan would die. And she didn’t want him to die.