She looked down the aisle to where Tracker stood, pistol drawn, pointed at a visibly shaking reverend with the most mutinous expression she’d ever seen on his face.
Why couldn’t they understand? “He is a man of principle. A threat won’t make him change his mind.”
Sam smiled one of his cold smiles. “He’ll change his mind.”
“Because thee say so?”
“Damn straight. This is my first time out as a best man and I’m not pleased he’s putting a tarnish on my image.”
“He is not the one ruining this day.”
“He is from my point of view.”
Since his point of view was what had Tracker pulling a gun on a preacher who’d refused to perform a mixed marriage, she wasn’t surprised. She picked up her skirts and marched past Sam. “This is ridiculous.”
The organ music picked up in volume. The pews were full of Montoyas, their ranch hands, Hazel and Davey and, surprisingly, Alma Hitchell. The rest of the town had expressed their outrage at the union with their absence. It hurt after all she’d done for them, but it wasn’t unexpected. She smiled at Alma when she passed. The woman, cripplingly shy, blushed and ducked her head. Sally Mae wondered if she’d get in trouble with her husband for being here. Dwight wasn’t the most broad-minded of men. Guilt put a rein on her anger long enough for her to stop at the end of the woman’s pew. “I thank thee for coming, Alma,” she said softly. “It means a lot to have thee here sharing our joy.”
The woman nodded, keeping her head down.
Since there wasn’t anything else to say, she continued the last few feet down the aisle, anger growing with every step. This was not the wedding she’d wanted. Tucker watched her come, his gaze assessing as if through studying her body language he’d discern the best way to handle her. He was dressed in a black suit and looking very formal in the white dress shirt she’d sewn for him, complete with sleeves. She would have thought him very handsome if he wasn’t armed to the teeth, looking as if he was headed to a gunfight rather than attending his own wedding. The tension in his shoulders didn’t bode well for her reception. She didn’t care. She was a little annoyed herself.
“I am not happy with thee, Tucker McCade,” she whispered as soon as she got close enough.
He folded his arms across his massive chest. “Seems to me I just heard you call this a joyful occasion.”
“It seems to me thee have very picky ears that only hear what they wish.”
“Maybe. Or it could be I’m more interested in getting the job done than worrying about some pissant’s sensibilities while doing it.”
She closed her eyes. Pissant. He’d called a man of God a pissant. Taking a steadying breath, she opened her eyes, meeting the reverend’s. “I’m terribly sorry for this—” she encompassed the men, the guns, the pistol pointed at his head, with a wave of her hand “—inconvenience.”
Behind her, chortles of laughter rippled along the rows.
“That’s one way to describe it,” she heard someone say.
“Next she’ll be calling a posse a wee get-together.”
At least someone was getting amusement out of this. She glared at Tucker before reaching up and snatching the pistol from Tracker’s hand. An explosion rocked the church. She screamed and jumped back only to scream again when Tucker snatched her up against him. The reverend swore and patted his chest, presumably looking for holes.
Tucker ran his hand over her from shoulder to knee. “You all right?”
Tracker reached over and took the gun back.
“Might want to be more careful about what you go to grabbing, Doc Lady.”
“Doc Lady?”
“Got to call you something,” Shadow said, “and ‘moonbeam’ just didn’t seem right.”
Dear heavens. They knew Tucker called her that? A blush heated her cheeks. “If thee can’t see thy way to using my given name, Doc Lady will do.”
Tucker’s hand slid over her hip. She pushed it away. “I’m fine, Tucker, let me go.”
He stood her up. She straightened her mantilla.
He grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake that sent the mantilla listing again. “You ever pull a fool stunt like that again, I’ll paddle your butt. You could have killed the reverend.”
She gave up and left the mantilla where it was. “I wasn’t the one pointing a gun at—”
“Aw, hell, I was just offering him some persuasion,” Tracker interrupted.
Her “watch thy language” coincided with the reverend’s “Watch your mouth.”
The reverend looked over at her, a slight lift to his brow. “Thank you.”
She inclined her head. “Thee are welcome.”
Tracker grumbled an apology.
“Now that you’re here, we can get started,” Tucker said.
The Reverend’s “no” coincided with hers.
Again he gave her a look.
“What in hell is your problem?”
Sally Mae wasn’t sure whether Tucker was talking to her or the reverend, but when Reverend Schuller opened his mouth, she held up her hand, cutting him off. “Thee are in a church, Tucker McCade. It is not a place for gun or force.”
“The son of a bitch won’t marry us without some incentive.”
“Then we will wait to be married.”
His jaw set. “I promised you a wedding today.”
“Thee cannot force a man past his principles to serve thy own.”
“Seemed to be working fine until you stuck your oar in the water,” Shadow pointed out.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“The level of his shakes told me different,” Tucker countered.
“Then thee read him wrong.”
The reverend wiped his brow. He was a small man who wore spectacles and dressed neatly. He might not have Tucker’s size, but he had a will of iron. “Thank you.”
“If you’re so grateful to her, Schuller,” Zacharias called, “start reciting the vows.”
Reverend Schuler wiped his neck. “As I said. I cannot in good conscience marry this woman to this man without speaking to her first.”
She turned on Tucker. “All this because the reverend wanted to talk to me?”
“No, all this because I don’t take kindly to his implication that I’d drag you kicking and screaming to the altar.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thee couldn’t just let him ask?”
Tucker’s mouth took on that stubborn set. “He should have taken my word for it.”
“We’re burning daylight,” Sam called.
“Shut up, Sam, and let me handle this.” It was the rudest thing she’d ever said. She expected gasps of horror. All she heard was another ripple of laughter. She straightened her skirt and faced the reverend. “Thee wanted to talk to me.”
“In private.”
“The hell you will.”
She snapped at Tucker, “I am not married to thee yet, Tucker, do not push me.” Then she turned back to the reverend with a hint more patience. “Why?”
“Well, I was going to say to keep you from being bullied…”
“As thee can see, I am not being intimidated.”
“More’s the pity,” Tucker muttered.
She glared at him again. “He is just joking. He’d be horrified if I feared him.”
“Don’t bet the farm on that, moonbeam.”
The reverend tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Do you truly wish to marry this man?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The first man to hear of her love was not going to be the virtual stranger Tucker had rustled up to marry them. She took her place beside Tucker and straightened the mantilla once again before yanking the veil back down. “I told thee we should have waited until we got to Hell’s Eight.”
Tucker watched her carefully. “So you did.”
“Wait.”
Bella came running up. With deft hands, she realigned the lace and the veil, rearranging them back into graceful
folds. “There, once again, you are beautiful.”
She cut Tucker a hard glance. “Do not mess with her clothing again.”
“At least for a few hours,” someone murmured just loud enough to be heard.
Bella blushed. So did Sally Mae. Good grief, her wedding was turning into a farce.
“I think you’d better get on with it, Reverend,” Tucker suggested. “I think the crowd’s getting restless.”
The reverend looked around the pews filled with hard-eyed men with ammo strapped across their chests, knives in their belts and impatient expressions on their faces. He swallowed, shifted his glasses on his nose, opened his Bible and nodded. Sally Mae barely had time to take a breath before he got to the “I do’s.” While she was still trying to catch up, he pronounced them man and wife. Tucker lifted her veil. His hand cradled her face. His expression was somber while indescribable emotion darkened his eyes. She searched his gaze, wanting to know what it was, sensing it was important.
“Hell, kiss her, Tucker,” Zacharias called. “You’ve kept her waiting long enough.”
She couldn’t look away as his thumb stroked over her lower lip. “Yes, I have.”
He kissed her gently, sweetly and ever so tenderly. As he pulled back, letting their lips part in reluctant increments, he whispered, “Do you remember asking me once why I stayed in Lindos?”
“Yes.”
He smoothed his thumbs across her cheeks. “I stayed for you.”
Five hours later she wasn’t feeling beautiful. She was hot, sweaty and irritable. The men were testy because they’d gotten a late start, and the wagon in which Tucker had insisted she and Bella ride had her rear end feeling permanently bruised. And they were only halfway to their stop for the night on the way to Hell’s Eight. The wagon hit another rock. Bella groaned and grabbed for the side. Her face was shiny with sweat and she looked as miserable as Sally Mae felt.
“Thank goodness, the clouds cover the sun,” Isabella said, letting go of the wagon with one hand to clutch her hat with the other.
Sally Mae grunted as the wagon lurched back to the right. “I cannot understand how riding in this is better for the baby than riding on horseback.”
Bella nodded. “I think it is one of those old women legends.”
Sally Mae had to think on that. “Old wives’ tales?”
“Yes. One of those.”
Zacharias laughed and clicked the reins against the team’s back. The two horses picked up the pace a notch. Sally Mae exchanged a glance with Bella. More speed just meant harder bumps.
“I bet thee are reconsidering thy insistence on accompanying us.”
“A little, maybe.” She glared at their driver. “Especially when Zacharias aims for the bigger bumps.”
“You should be home.”
Bella rolled her eyes at Sally Mae. “Always Zacharias wants me off the horse, in the house, under guard.”
“He just cares about thee.”
“Too many care about me that way.”
Zacharias said something to Bella in Spanish. She snapped something back. Sam dropped back until he was alongside. “Trouble?”
Bella glared at Zacharias. “You should have left Zach home. It is dangerous for him to be here.”
Zach didn’t look at Bella or Sam. He just snapped the reins. He was a tall man, whipcord lean with eyes that looked through everyone and saw everything. Sally Mae had no doubt that he was every bit as dangerous as Sam or Tucker. He had the same unnerving calm confidence. “La patrona should be at el rancho where she is safe.”
“La patrona should be with her Sam, riding to meet his family.”
“I made the decision she could come, Zach,” Sam said.
“It was unwise.”
“I would only have followed.”
“Hush, Bella.”
“It is not his place—”
Sam cut her off. “If trouble comes, his will be one of the bodies between you and the bullets, Bella, that gives him a right to his opinion.”
Bella subsided back in her seat. “I do not like it when you are right so often, Sam.”
He tipped his hat and smiled. “I’ll make it up to you later we get to Hell’s Eight.”
“I do not see how you can make up to me for this wagon.”
“Not even if I tell you there’s a hidden pond for you to swim in at the Hell’s Eight, and the water is always cold and refreshing?”
Just the thought had Sally Mae wanting to groan. She pulled her bodice away from her chest. “Any chance Tucker knows where this pond is?”
Tucker’s deep laugh drifted back.
Sam leaned his arm on his saddle horn and chuckled. “You can take that as a yes.”
She closed her eyes and imagined it. Cool water rippling around her overheated body. Tucker on the bank, watching with those incredible eyes. She opened hers. He was watching her and she knew he was imagining it, too. Sam was looking at Bella with the same heat. Sally Mae blushed. Tucker laughed again. So did Bella and Sam. Zacharias didn’t. He stopped the wagon and reached under the seat, pulling out a rifle and settling it across his lap. “I don’t like the look of that pass ahead.”
“Tracker’s checking it out.”
Zach nodded. “Bueno.”
It looked like any other pass they’d ridden through over the last day to Sally Mae. Beside the wagon, Crockett whined. The poor pup. The day was hot and his tongue was hanging out. She patted the wagon seat. He jumped, made it halfway and faltered. Leather creaked as Sam leaned over in his saddle, caught him by the scruff and hoisted him up.
The puppy scrambled across Bella, giving her a sloppy kiss on his way to Sally Mae. He landed in her lap, too big now and too gangly to fit comfortably. From there it was only a lean to get to Zacharias.
“Do not think it, perro.”
Whether it was the tone of Zach’s voice or the canteen Sally Mae opened, Crockett didn’t push his luck.
The attack came out of nowhere. Splinters of wood exploded by Sally Mae’s feet followed quickly by short explosions of sound.
“Get down!” Sam and Tucker hollered.
Zach shoved her over as the horses reared.
Isabella screamed. So did Sally Mae. Everywhere, guns sounded, and men shouted until she couldn’t tell whose voice belonged to whom. From the back where he was tied, Crockett barked and snarled. Sam spun his horse in a circle, firing at the ridge. Tucker stood in his stirrups, a big target backlit by the sun as he sighted up the ridge. A bullet whined past Sally Mae’s ear.
“Get down.” Bella grabbed her and dragged her to the back, swearing in Spanish as Sally Mae’s skirt caught on the rim of the seat. She fell headfirst. Stunned, she lay dazed, blinking against the sun. Bella tugged on her arm. Zacharias shoved at her rear.
“Goddamn it, Bella, get your ass down,” she heard Sam yell.
Bella yelled right back, “If you would not make me wear these skirts, it would be much easier.”
Sally Mae shook her head and forced herself up on her elbows. Yards of material blocked her view. Bright red material. Bella’s skirt. Bella was caught like her. She reached up, unhooking the folds from the metal rod across the back of the seat. There was the thud as Bella flopped into the back. The wagon jerked as Zach drove the horses forward to the rock ledge.
Bullets popped like corn over a hot fire, splatting into the wooden sides, pinging off rocks.
“Son of a bitch, they’re shooting at the women.”
That was Tucker.
With a suddenness that jarred her forward and freed her own skirt, the wagon stopped. Sally Mae struggled upright. A hand grabbed her arm with bruising strength, lifted her out and tossed her to the ground. She hit on her hands and knees. She heard a horse scream, Crockett bark, and then there was the thunder of hooves.
“Got to be they think she’s Ari!” she heard Sam holler.
“Son of a bitch!”
That meant they’d be shooting to kill. She didn’t know much about Ari, but she knew th
at about the men pursuing her. And they weren’t nice.
“No!” A soft body landed on top of hers. Bella.
“Get off me.”
“They shoot at you.”
“All the more reason for thee to get off me!”
“No.”
“Thee will be hurt.”
Bella clung tighter. “No!”
“Patrona, over here. Now.”
Bella muttered above her, but in a few seconds, Sally Mae was free of her weight. “All the men in my life are bossy.”
Sally Mae couldn’t laugh. As soon as Bella moved, she pushed to her hands and her knees. A bullet between her hands sprayed her face with dirt. Through a haze of tears, she saw Zacharias lifting on the wagon.
Catching her gaze, he snapped, “Ahora. Ayuda me.”
She didn’t need a translator to know he needed help. Heart pumping, breath rasping in her lungs, she ran, ignoring the bullets pelting the ground around her until they came so fast and hard she could only yank Bella back and cringe.
Please, Lord, give me the strength…
“Goddamn it, Sally Mae, I told you to get down!” Tucker shouted.
Yes, he had, but there was no place to hide. Tucker and Sam returned fire, covering the rest of her and Bella’s dash toward Zach. As soon as they got near, Zach ordered, “Grab an edge and lift.”
“See,” Bella grunted, hefting up on the wagon. “Bossy.”
“Very,” Sally Mae agreed, striving to match Bella’s calm.
The wagon groaned and shifted. She braced her hand under the side and pushed, adding her muscle to Zach’s and Bella’s. The wagon went over with a thud and a jangle of metal. Fire burned in her thigh as she scrambled behind. She screamed and grabbed for it.
“Sally Mae’s hit,” Zach yelled, snagging her around the waist before throwing up against the bed.
“How badly?” Tucker called, backing his horse up toward the wagon.
With efficiency that gave no thought to her modesty, Zach tossed up her skirts. “A graze.” He shoved her down so hard that pebbles scraped her cheek. “Stay there.”
She caught a glimpse of Tucker’s face as he sighted his gun up the ridge. Cold angles. Deadly intent. A single shot rang out, followed immediately by a scream. She didn’t need to see to know the bullet had found its mark or to know the man was probably dead. She wasn’t as sickened as she should be. Tucker had been right when he’d said she didn’t understand the necessity of killing, but she was seeing it now. It was kill or be killed here. She’d always thought of fighting or walking away as a choice, but there was no choice here. To do nothing was more than suicide for herself. It was also suicide for her husband and their unborn child. That wasn’t an option. She huddled against the rim of the upturned wagon, keeping her face pressed to the ground, struggling with the reality, the fear.
Tucker’s Claim Page 24