“So what did ya say?” Ridge finally asked.
“Told him the same Irish tale I told ye about a month past. Seemed to ponder on it fer a while. Then he tells me if her answer ain’t yes or she doesn’t give him a bit of hope at least, he’d be leavin’ in the mornin’ fer town. Thanked me fer me hospitality.” Angus was silent for a moment, and Ridge figured he was finished, but he spoke again. “If ye were to be askin’ me, I think the lad knows her heart is belongin’ to another.” He added, “Can’t blame him now, fer not wantin’ ta give up.”
The talk had encouraged Ridge at first, but knowing Dawson was going to speak marriage to Georgiana again had made him nervous. He had watched and waited for them to arrive at the social, and when they had been late, he’d wondered whether they had spoken before they’d arrived. When she and Dawson had danced, he knew the conversation had been serious and intimate in nature. If only he knew how Georgiana truly felt toward the man. Could Angus be right that she wasn’t in love with Dawson? If he was right about that, did that mean there was hope for him?
Suddenly, a sound in front of him drew him from his musings and commanded his full attention. He could hear voices less than a quarter mile up the road. He brought his horse to an abrupt halt and dismounted. Tying Storm to a tree, he withdrew his rifle and crept forward in the brush.
He spotted the wagon off to one side of the road. One of the wheels had lost its iron rim, and two men were sitting on the far side of the wagon, desperately trying to repair it.
“You’re doin’ that wrong,” the first man complained.
“Am not,” said the second.
“Sure are. When did ya ever learn to fix a wagon wheel, anyway? What makes you so smart?” the first man continued.
“ ’Cause I saw someone do it once . . . sort of,” the second man bragged.
“Here, give it ta me. You’re as blind as ya are deaf,” the first man said, trying to take over the repair.
Ignoring the two men’s bickering, Ridge looked around. He could see Georgiana and Samantha huddled together in the back of the wagon under a small blanket. A huge wave of relief passed over him that they seemed to be unharmed. Scanning the area further, he could not see Cordelia. Nor was he certain there weren’t any others around. It made him uneasy. He wished he at least knew where Cordelia had gone.
In the next instant, he got his answer when he felt the barrel of a gun shoved between his shoulder blades.
“Drop the gun, Ridge, and don’t think about trying anything stupid. I’ve already shot one man dead today.”
So it was Cordelia who shot the man at the cabin, Ridge thought as he carefully laid his gun down and stood up slowly.
“So who was the man you shot?”
“No one of any consequence . . . at least not anymore . . . now move!” she commanded, shoving the gun deeper into his back to prod him forward.
Ridge watched curiously as the sound of their footsteps went unnoticed by the two still arguing over how to fix the wagon wheel.
“If ya do that, we ain’t never gonna get out of here,” the second man criticized.
“Well, if ya’d quit lookin’ over my shoulder, I might get somethin’ done. You’re makin’ me nervous,” said the first, who had taken over.
“Shut up, you two,” Cordelia yelled. The two men turned to her and seemed quite surprised to see Ridge standing there at gunpoint. “Can’t you boys do anything right? I leave you here to take a look around, and when I come back, look who I find in the bushes aiming a gun at you.” She looked from one man to the other. “I’m surprised the women didn’t get the better of you two while I was away.”
“We didn’t hear . . . ,” the first man started, defending himself as he eyed Ridge.
“Course you didn’t—you’re both half deaf, but if you’d stop fighting and look around every once in a while, you might notice a man with a gun in the bushes behind you!” Neither man said a word in his defense as she glared at them. “Just get that wheel fixed so we can get out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said together and turned back to the wheel.
Ridge looked over at Georgiana and Samantha. Both girls looked relieved to see him despite his being at the wrong end of a gun.
“Now you,” Cordelia said, motioning to Ridge, “sit down right there and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Ridge sat down in the middle of the road and laid his arms across his bent knees in front of him. Cordelia stood a few feet away from him, the gun still pointed at his chest.
“Who came with you?” she demanded.
“No one. I came alone,” Ridge answered.
“Do you expect me to believe that?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Believe what ya want, but I came alone. When I told the sheriff I thought it was you who had robbed the bank and I had seen ya leavin’ in a wagon, he about laughed me out of town.” He looked Cordelia straight in the eyes and hoped he was believable. “They’re off chasing a band of imaginary outlaws on horseback.”
By the smug look on Cordelia’s face, he knew she believed him. When he glanced over at Georgiana, she turned her face slightly to meet his eyes directly. It was the first time he’d noticed the dried blood on her face. His anger ignited immediately. Who had cut her and why?
“Well,” Cordelia began, “you were wise to come alone. If you’d come ridin’ up in a blaze of fury, guns firin’, as you men so often like to do, there’s no tellin’ who might have got shot.” Cordelia glanced toward Georgiana to make her point clear.
“If she gets hurt,” Ridge said, swallowing hard and speaking between clenched teeth, “more than she already has . . .” He paused to get a grip on his anger, then continued, “Or if ya harm Samantha, I can promise you will regret the day ya ever met me, Miss Cordelia Jamison.”
“Ooh, is that a threat?” She gave him a pointed look. “For your information, it wasn’t me who cut the face of your little lovely, and . . .” She paused, considering whether she should continue, then daringly added, “You might like to know, he had much bigger, more carnal designs for her.”
Ridge’s heart pounded, and his anger rose again.
“I can tell by the way you look right now, you’d like to kill the man.” Cordelia stared at him a moment and gave a hollow laugh. “Well, I already beat ya to it.”
“You want me to thank you. Is that why you’re tellin’ me this?”
“I did it for me, not for you,” she spat the words at him. “He had it comin’, didn’t he, Miss McLaughlin?”
Ridge looked over at Georgiana. He could not accurately read her expression, so he looked back to Cordelia. There was something in her eyes . . . some kind of sorrow mixed with triumph. Not triumphant for killing a man, but rather for overcoming some personal test. He was missing something, some secret she and Georgiana now shared.
“You’re not going to get away with this. Think about it, Cordelia. Eventually the posse will come this way, maybe even decide what I told them might be noteworthy. There will be at least fifteen or twenty armed men.” He looked over to the two men still not looking like they were making any progress. “Do ya really think you’ll hold up in a shootin’ match with those two at your side?”
“That’s why I have them,” she pointed toward Georgiana and Samantha, “and you.” She looked down at him. “Someone else might die, but that’s a risk I’m willin’ to take. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
Cordelia walked over and stood behind him. Pointing the shotgun at him with one hand, she took the other and began playing with his hair.
“There is one other possibility,” she continued to play with his hair, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. For the longest moment she didn’t move or say anything else. Finally, she tore her eyes away from him and glanced at Georgiana. Ridge stiffened, worried what she was planning. Cordelia didn’t seem to notice and began speaking again. “I know she’s beautiful, Ridge,” she continued, staring at Georgiana as she spoke. “A
nd . . . and you’re quite taken with her.”
Ridge tensed his muscles, preparing himself to act quickly if she made a move to harm Georgiana.
“But . . . ,” she said, looking back at him, and he relaxed slightly. “I do have something she doesn’t have.” Cordelia paused, and Ridge didn’t say anything, just waited. “Why, I have all this money,” she suddenly blurted out, gesturing toward the wagon. “Just think . . . one bag is enough to live comfortably on for at least two years and there are more than ten in the wagon.” Her voice became excited. “We could go someplace, another country, perhaps. I’m supposed to meet up with my father at the Utah/Idaho border. We thought we’d get lost in Mormon territory for a while. They’re pretty accepting of outsiders. Who knows . . . maybe they’ll even convert me.”
She laughed at that and added, “Though Father would be awfully disappointed if I suddenly grew a conscience and gave the money back.” She laughed again, almost hysterically. Ridge watched carefully as her hand relaxed on the gun. “But I don’t care about my father. He has never cared about me or my mother.” Cordelia turned her full attention back to him and once again her voice took on the same dreamy quality as before. “I . . . I know I could make you happy . . . if you’d only let me.”
Ridge knew he needed to keep her distracted. If he could, he might be able to get the gun from her without harming anyone. Or maybe he could talk her into leaving with him and get her away from Georgiana and Samantha.
So slowly he reached up with one hand and gently grabbed hold of her fingers that were wound in his hair, bringing her hand down to lie against his cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as he guided her hand further down toward his mouth and with his lips, kissed it softly. He could feel her hand trembling. He felt a pang of guilt, but he knew he had to do something, anything, to keep Georgiana and Samantha safe and to end this all before it became a heated battle.
“Maybe I did make a mistake. Your offer is tempting.”
He spoke the words low and seductively, all too aware that Georgiana was watching, listening. It was going to work—she was weakening, becoming even more distracted. Just as he was about to make his move, she abruptly pulled her hand away from his and placed both hands back on the shotgun. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with emotion.
“You’re almost as smooth as Jake.” Her voice broke. He was surprised to see tears spill from her eyes. “Though you’re even more dangerous because . . . I . . . I could more easily believe you,” she added. With the back of one of her hands, she swiped at the tears on her face and quickly put it back on the gun. “I may want you . . . or want what you could give me and my . . .” She paused, and her expression turned hard. “But I’m not a fool. I saw the way you kissed her. You wouldn’t have kissed her that way unless you were in love, deeply in love.” She took a minute to wipe another tear. “You’re not going to go anywhere with me. You’re just sayin’ the things I want to hear.”
Georgiana looked sadly over at Cordelia. In spite of everything, she felt sorry for her. Even with her hardened and calloused attitude, she could see Cordelia was frightened. When stripped of her defenses, all she had left to cling to was her anger and her hate. When she’d shot Jake, she’d lost the direction for all those negative feelings. She would not aim them at the child she carried, Georgiana knew that. The protective way her hand went to her abdomen so often spoke volumes. Now, only left with the fear and worry of raising a child on her own, her desperation had culminated. She was looking for a way out but was still not willing to give in.
“Cordelia,” Ridge pleaded. “Just give the money back and turn yourself in. They’re going to catch ya either way. You’re a woman. The judge will go easy on ya.”
Cordelia looked tired and desperate. The two were not a good combination. Shaking her head, she looked at the ground for a moment, placing one hand on her stomach. Then they all heard the sound of approaching horses.
Cordelia’s head came up immediately, and her eyes turned hard.
“You,” she said, motioning to Georgiana, “get down here . . . now!” She pointed the gun at Ridge’s head. “Or you can say good-bye to your man.”
Georgiana quickly scrambled out of the wagon as best she could with her hands tied. Gratefully her feet weren’t tied too. Nevertheless, she stumbled. She fell a second time before she managed to get close to Cordelia. When she did, Cordelia turned the gun on her, just in time for the posse to appear in the bushes behind Gil and Wyatt. The two men were totally unaware of their presence.
“If you come any closer, I’ll shoot her.”
“Put the gun down, Miss Jamison,” the sheriff spoke. “You’re only gonna make things worse for yourself.”
“I’m not givin’ in that easy, Sheriff.” She turned her attention to Ridge and ordered, “Mr. Carson, fetch two of those money bags and tie them to that horse over there.”
Ridge looked at the sheriff, who nodded his head.
“I suggest you take your orders from me, Mr. Carson, and not the sheriff.” She shoved the gun closer to Georgiana. “If you want your woman back still breathin’, that is.”
Ridge stood quickly, obediently walked to the wagon, and hoisted two of the money bags out. Walking over to the horse, he began securing the bags to the saddle. When he was finished, he stepped back to the middle of the road.
“Now, bring the horse over here.”
Ridge walked back, untied the horse, and began leading it toward her. It was at that moment that Gil finally looked up and noticed Ridge walking with the horse, money bags hanging.
“Hey, what’s going on . . . ?” Gil shouted. Wyatt looked up.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Wyatt echoed.
The distraction wasn’t much, but it had startled Cordelia enough that Ridge was able to lunge toward her, knocking the gun from her hands. The gun went off.
Simultaneously a shot came from the direction of the posse.
Ridge was horrified when Georgiana flung herself in front of Cordelia, knocking her down, and shouted just as he heard another shot being fired. “No, sheriff! She’s going to have a baby!”
Georgiana fell limp on the ground.
With Samantha’s scream ringing in his ears, Ridge ran to Georgiana, knelt beside her, and lifted her upper body onto his lap. Blood was quickly soaking through her dress, and an immense fear seized hold of his heart. He couldn’t lose her, not now!
Please . . . please . . . please! he prayed.
22. Home at Last
“Mother?”
Georgiana had tried opening her eyes and could have sworn she’d seen her mother’s face hovering over her before she’d quickly shut them to avoid the bright light. Someone squeezed her hand, and she once again attempted to open them, this time successfully.
“Mother, is that you?”
“Yes, my dear. It’s me.”
“But how . . . when . . . ?” Georgiana looked around her. She was lying in her bed at her grandfather’s house, so her mother was here, in Colorado.
“Shhh . . . you need your rest. Go back to sleep and I’ll fix you something to eat. You must be famished. After you’ve eaten something, we’ll talk.”
Her mother bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. Georgiana tried to keep her eyes open, but it was a battle she wasn’t destined to win. Despite the slight pain in her head, sleep quickly overcame her.
When next she opened her eyes, she was alone. She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she had been dreaming. How many of the thoughts and memories assaulting her were dreams and how much of what she remembered was reality?
Trying to sit up, she felt a deep pain shoot through her shoulder, knocking the breath out of her and causing her to fall back onto her pillow. Well, the memory of getting shot was real enough. Reaching up, she unbuttoned her nightgown so she could slip it slightly off her shoulder, just far enough to examine the ugly red wound.
Closing her eyes and leaning back against the pillow, she tried to think. Suddenly her eyes flew
back open. Ridge! She remembered hearing two shots go off. Had he been wounded too? Then she vaguely remembered seeing his worried face leaning over her, hearing his voice speaking softly . . . the feel of his hand caressing hers as he held onto it for what seemed like forever. He had stayed at her side. She was sure, but where was he now? And where was Samantha?
Just then, there was a soft knock at the door, and her mother entered carrying a tray and smiling brightly at her.
“Hello, again,” she said, a warm smile still on her face.
“Mother!” Georgiana’s heart was overjoyed. “I was worried I only dreamed you.”
“Here,” her mother said, sitting next to her and placing the tray before her. Reaching over, she squeezed Georgiana’s hand like she had earlier. “Do I feel real enough to you?”
“Yes.” Georgiana squeezed her hand back. “You feel wonderful.”
“Now, you must eat.” Georgiana inhaled the smell of the soup, and her stomach growled hungrily. “I see your stomach agrees.”
Although she was starved, Georgiana was starved more for answers.
“But, Mother, when did you arrive, and how long have you been here?”
“Eat first,” her mother scolded gently, “then we’ll talk. Your body needs sustenance.”
Dutifully, Georgiana lifted the spoon to her mouth. The taste was heavenly and filled with memories.
“Nana’s stew!” she exclaimed, and her mother smiled.
“Yes, she taught me to make it years ago when I was a young bride.”
The Kissing Tree Page 25