She shook her head. "I mind that I'm not coming with you."
"You'll be safer coming with Iris." He rose and donned a clean shirt, buttoning it quickly and tucking the tails into his pants. "Shannon, I'm a wanted man. You're not, and neither is she. Just in case there turns out to be trouble."
"Malachi—"
"Shannon, we'll be staying in a brothel, you know."
"And that's where you're going now?"
He nodded.
She didn't say a word. She watched him finish dressing. He kept his eyes on her, and when he had pulled on his boots, he came over to her with the Colt. "If anyone bothers you on the way, shoot him. Don't hesitate, and don't ask questions, just shoot. You understand?"
She nodded, her lashes hiding her eyes. He caught her hands and pulled her into his arms. He kissed and touched her, as if he memorized her flesh and curves. Then he kissed her again and slowly released her. Shannon picked up her pillow and watched him as he walked to the door.
"Behave," she whispered softly at last.
He turned back, grinning slowly. "Why, ma'am, I'm a married man. I intend to be an angel."
She smiled, wanting to send him on his way without worry. It was difficult to smile. She didn't feel good about his leaving. She didn't know why, but she was scared.
"Be careful," he warned her.
"You be careful yourself."
"I'll be careful," he promised. He hesitated, as if he was going to say more. "I'll be very careful," he said after a moment, and then he turned away.
"Malachi!"
She leaped out of bed and raced to him naked. She didn't want him to go because there were so many things to say. But suddenly, she couldn't say them. She simply threw herself against him and he held her very tightly for a moment.
"I'm afraid," she told him.
"Afraid, vixen?" he whispered. "The hellcat of the west is afraid?" he teased in a husky voice. "Darlin', if you had just been on our side, the South might have won the war."
"Malachi, I am afraid."
"We're going to get Kristin, and then we'll all be safe," he vowed softly. Then he kissed her swiftly on the lips again and was gone.
Shannon closed the door in his wake and slowly, mechanically went to the bed and slipped into the flannel nightgown. She sat on the bed, then stretched out, and she tried to tell herself that she would be with him soon. Her eyes would not close; she could not sleep. She stared at the ceiling, and gnawed upon her lower lip, and worried regretfully about all the things she had not said. She was in love with him. It would have been so easy to whisper the truth. To tell him that she believed in him…
He was on his way to a whorehouse, she reminded herself dryly, and he had spent two nights in a saloon. But Shannon believed Iris, and she believed Malachi, whether it was foolish or not.
That wasn't what mattered, she thought, staring out the window at the moonlit night. What mattered were the things that lay between them. He had been forced to marry her, and his fury had been obvious. She couldn't whisper that she loved him because he didn't love her. She might have forgotten her hatred of the past, but she didn't think that he could forget the years that had gone before. She was his wife, and they had exchanged vows, but that wasn't enough for a lifetime. She couldn't hold him to a marriage.
She didn't mind loving him; she craved to be with him. But she couldn't hold him to the marriage.
She twisted around, determined that she would sleep. She started to shiver. All of a sudden, she was very afraid. She didn't like him out of her sight.
He was safe, she told herself.
But no matter how many times she repeated the words, she could not convince herself, and it was nearly dawn when she slept.
Mrs. Haywood was perplexed to see her go in the morning.
"You don't need to go traipsing off, young lady. Let the men settle things. You should stay right here, in Haywood."
Iris was already in the buckboard and they were packed. Chapperel was tied to the rear of the wagon, and they had a big basket of food and canteens of water and even a jug of wine.
"We're going to be just fine, Mrs. Haywood," Shannon assured her. "Iris and I can both take care of ourselves."
"Hmph!" Martha sniffed, and she wiped away a sudden tear. "You come back when things are all right again, you hear?"
Shannon nodded and gave her a fierce hug. "We'll come back, Martha, I promise." She hurried down the steps then and over to the buckboard. It was going to be a long ride.
She climbed into the buckboard and waved to Mrs. Haywood. Mr. Haywood was with her now, his arm around her. "You send for us if you need us!" Mr. Haywood called.
"Thank you! Thank you both so much!" Shannon turned. She smiled. What more could they possibly do her? No one could help a man condemned as an outlaw with-out so much as a trial.
"Ready?" Iris asked her.
"Ready," Shannon said. Iris lifted the reins. They started off. Shannon waved until they had left the little one-road town behind them, and then she turned and leaned back and felt the noon sun on her face.
She felt Iris watching her and she opened her eyes. "Are you really all right?" Iris asked her.
"I am extremely well, really. I've never felt healthier. Never. Honest."
"It's a long ride, that's all."
"I've already come a very long way," Shannon told her.
They rode in silence for a while. Then Iris asked her about her home, and about the war, and Shannon tried very hard to explain the tangled events that had led her to be living in the South—and being a Union sympathizer.
Iris was silent when she finished. Shannon looked at the other woman curiously. "You knew Malachi before. And if you found Cole, I assume that you knew him before, too."
Iris smiled. "And Jamie. They all used to come into a place where I worked in Springfield. Before the war."
"I see."
Iris looked at her curiously. "No, you probably don't see. You were raised by a good man, and you loved him, I hear it in your voice when you talk about your pa. I was raised by a stepfather who sold me to a gambler on my thirteenth birthday. You can't begin to see."
"I'm sorry, Iris. I didn't mean to presume to judge you." She hesitated. "You speak so beautifully, and when you dress like you so often—"
"I don't look like a whore, is that it?"
Shannon flushed, but she didn't apologize. She looked at Iris and smiled. "I just think that you are too good and too fine a woman to end up…like Reba."
"You're going to try to make me go straight, huh?" Iris asked.
"You could, you know."
"And do what?"
"Open up an inn."
"Miss Andre's Room and Board for Young Ladies?" Iris asked.
"Why not?"
Iris laughed and flicked the reins. "All right. I'll think about it. And what about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"When it is over, what about you?"
"I—er—I'll go home."
"Alone?"
Shannon lowered her face. "You know he didn't mean to marry me," she murmured.
Iris was quiet for a minute. "I know that you're in love with him."
"He doesn't love me."
"How can you be so sure?"
"He—he's never said so. And…Iris, you can't imagine, we were enemies. I mean bitter enemies. Remember, the North and South will still clash for years to come. His favorite name for me is brat. There isn't a chance…"
Iris laughed delightedly. "You listen to me, young woman. If he were mine, if I had this chance, I would hang on for dear life. I would fight like a tiger. If you've any sense, and if you do love him, you'll do the same."
"But, Iris, I can't force him to stay with me!"
"Then sleep with your pride. Lie awake night after night, and remember that you have the cold glory of your pride to lie with you instead of the warmth of the man you love."
Shannon fell silent. They rode awhile longer, then Iris suggested they stop for lunch.
They found a brook, and as they dangled their feet in it, Shannon entertained Ms with stories about growing up with Kristin and Matthew.
"You'd like my brother," she said impulsively.
Iris sniffed. "A Yankee."
"I'm a Yankee, remember? And you're living in Kansas. Yankee territory."
"No. The whole country is Yankee territory now," Iris said. "And I'm a working girl. Confederate currency doesn't put much food on the table these days."
They left soon after.
They didn't pass a single soul on the road. Close to sunset, they came to a rise overlooking a valley. Shannon climbed down from the buckboard to look down at the town of Sparks.
It was obviously thriving. There were rows of new houses, and more rows of businesses. Ranches spread out behind the town, and the fields were green and yellow and rich beneath the sun. In the distance, she could see railroad tracks, and a big station painted red. Iris told her that the town was a major junction for the stagecoaches, too.
She came back to the buckboard and looked at Iris. "It's a big place," she murmured uneasily. "A very big place. And Hayden Fitz owns it all now?"
Iris nodded gravely. "He owns most of the land. And he owns two of the stagecoach lines. And the saloon and the barbershop. And the sheriff and the deputies. Come on. Climb back in." She pointed down the valley to a large house surrounded by a stable and barns. It was a fair distance from the town. "Cindy's place."
"Cindy's place," Shannon echoed. She shrugged, and a smile curved her lips. "Let's go."
In another thirty minutes they reached the house on the plain.
It was a beautiful, elegant place with cupolas and gables, numerous stained-glass windows, and even a swing on the porch. It looked like the home of a prosperous family.
But when Iris reined in, the front door opened and a woman burst out, running down the stairs and dispelling any vision of family life.
She was clad in high heels and stockings and garters and little else but a short pink robe. She had midnight-black hair and a gamine face, and it wasn't until she was almost at the buckboard that Shannon realized that she was not a young girl at all but a woman of nearly fifty. She was beautiful still, and outrageous in her dress, and when she laughed, the sound of her laughter was husky and appealing.
"Iris! You did make it back. And this must be Malachi's blushing little bride."
"I'm not little," Shannon protested, hopping down from the buckboard. She extended a hand to Cindy. She might be slim, but she was taller than Cindy by a good inch or two.
"I stand corrected," the woman said. "Come on down, Iris. Do come in before someone notices that Mrs. Slater here is a newcomer."
"You're right. Let's go in," Iris said.
They hurried up the steps to the house and came into a very elegant foyer. Shannon could hear laughter and the sounds of glasses clinking. Cindy cast her head to the right "That's the gaming room, Mrs. Slater. I don't imagine you'll want to wander in there. And there—" She pointed to the left. "That's the bar. Don't wander in there, either. Not that you're not welcome—the men just might get the wrong idea about you, and I don't want to have to answer to Malachi. Come on, and I'll show you to your room. Then I'll show you the kitchen. You're perfectly safe there. It's Jeremiah's domain, and no male dares tread there."
Cindy started to lead them up a flight of stairs. Shannon caught her arm, stopping her.
"Excuse me, but where is Malachi?"
"He's, er, he's out at the moment," Cindy said. "Come on now, I've got to get you settled—"
Shannon caught her arm again. "I'm sorry, but he's out where? Is Cole here? Has Jamie slipped in yet?"
"Cole is just fine, and Jamie looks as good as gold," Cindy said.
She came to the second-floor landing and hurried down the hall, pushing open a door. "It's one of the nicest rooms in the house. See the little window seat? I think that you'll be very comfortable in here, Mrs. Slater."
Shannon stood in the center of the room. It was a beautiful room with a large bed, a marble mantel, chairs, and the promised window seat. It was missing one thing. Her husband.
"Thank you for the room, and for your help and hospitality, for myself, my husband and my brothers-in-law. And excuse me for being persistent, but where is my husband, please?"
Cindy looked uneasily from Iris to Shannon.
"He's…"
"You might as well answer her," Iris advised. "She won't give up asking you."
"I won't," Shannon said.
"He's holding up a train."
"What?" Shannon gasped in astonishment.
"Wait a minute, I said that badly, didn't I?"
"Is there a good way to announce to his wife that a man is holding up a train?" Iris demanded.
"Well, he isn't really holding it up—"
"What are you saying!" Shannon demanded.
Cindy sighed and walked over to where a pretty little round cherry-wood side table held brandy and snifters. There were only two snifters—the room was planned for a party of two, and no more.
"We'll share," Cindy told Iris, and she drank a glass of brandy before pouring out two more and handing one glass to Shannon and the other to Iris.
"Cindy, explain about Malachi," Shannon insisted.
"All right. All right. Kristin is being held in the Hayden house. They've got bars on the windows, and at least twenty guards in and around the house. There was no way for the three men to break in and carry her away." She hesitated. "The boys just might have some friends around here, but we don't really know that yet. A lot of decent folk aren't pleased
that Hayden Fitz is holding a lady, no matter what legal shenanigans he tries to pull. Anyway, Jamie heard tell that some bushwhackers on the loose were planning to hold up the train south. And there's a Federal judge on that train. They're going to seize the train from the bushwhackers and then try to explain the whole story to the judge."
"Oh, those fools!" Shannon cried. "They're going to get themselves killed."
Iris slipped an arm around her. "Honey, come on! They aren't fools. They know what they're about."
"If the bushwhackers don't shoot them, the judge will!"
"Well," Cindy said dryly, "you can be sure of one thing."
"What's that?"
"If Cole Slater is killed, Hayden Fitz won't need your sister any more. He'll let her go."
"I don't know," Iris murmured miserably, staring at her glass. "Knowing the perversions of Hayden Fitz, I imagine—"
"Iris!" Cindy said.
Iris quickly looked at Shannon and flushed. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I really am…"
"It's all right, Iris. You don't need to hide the truth from me," Shannon said. She sank down on the bed. "Oh, God!" she murmured desperately. "He said that we'd be together tonight. He said that we'd be back together."
Iris and Cindy exchanged looks over her head. Shannon leaped up suddenly. "Iris, I can't just sit. here. Let's go into town."
"What?"
"Iris, you can get in to see Kristin, can't you? I would feel so much better if you saw her."
"Shannon, I don't know—"
"Iris, I can't just sit here. What if—" She hesitated, feeling her heart thunder hard against her chest "What if Cole and Malachi don't make it? Iris, we have to discover some other way!"
"Malachi would hang me if—"
"Iris, I'm going with or without you."
Cindy shrugged, lifting her brandy glass. "You both look like respectable young women right now. Can't see how a ride into town could possibly hurt. Besides, if Hayden is around, he probably will let you in to see Kristin, Iris."
"Iris, I'm going with or without you. Iris, please. I'll go mad sitting here wondering about Malachi and Jamie and Cole and that stupid train!"
Iris sighed. "All right," she said at last. "All right. Shannon, I hope to God that this works out! He'll flay me alive if it doesn't."
"We'll be fine," Shannon assured her. "Just fine."
&nbs
p; She would have plenty of time later to rue her confident words.
Maybe, if Shannon could have seen Malachi, seated comfortably in the club car of the train along with both his brothers, she might have felt a little better.
The three Slater brothers were seated in velvet-upholstered chairs around a handsome wood table drinking whiskey from crystal glasses at the judge's invitation. Cole was intense, straddled across his chair, leaning on the back, his eyes silver and his features taut as he spoke. Malachi leaned back, listening to his brother, more at ease. Jamie was, for all appearances, completely casual and negligent, accepting his drink with ease. He wore a broad-brimmed Mexican hat, chaps and boots, and looked every bit the rancher. Only the way his eyes narrowed now and then told Malachi that his younger brother was every bit as wary this night as he and Cole.
Two friends of Jamie's from Texas were playing lookout while the brothers spoke with Judge Sherman Woods. Cole, seated to Malachi's left, was earnestly explaining what had happened at the beginning of the war, how his wife had been killed, how the ranch had been burned and how, sick with grief, he had joined up with the bushwhackers for vengeance.
"But I never gunned down a man in cold blood in my life, judge," Cole said simply. "Never. I always fought fair. I wasn't with Quantrill more than a few months, then I went regular cavalry. I was assigned as a scout. I took my orders directly from Lee. I was in Kansas, and I did kill Henry Fitz, but it was fair. Any man who was there could tell you that."
Judge Woods lit up a cigar and sat back. Malachi liked the man. He hadn't panicked when the masked bushwhackers had seized the train, and he had barely blinked when the Slaters had reseized it from the robbers at gunpoint, sending them on their way into the night. He was a tall thin man with a neatly trimmed mustache and iron-gray hair. He wore a stovepipe hat and a brocade vest and a handsome black frock coat and fancy shoes, but he seemed to be listening to Cole. He looked from one brother to the other. "What about you?" he asked Jamie.
Jamie smiled with innocent ease. "Judge, this is the first time I've been in Kansas since 1856. I was damned stunned to hear that I was a wanted man. And amazed that any fool could think that my brother was a murderer.''
The judge arched one brow. He turned to Malachi. "And what about you, captain?''
Rides a Hero sb-2 Page 23