“And how do you know, Mr. Aldman, that this Malcolm Shelton is the man we’re looking for?”
Daniel kissed his daughter’s head. “He came to Peshtigo before the fire and threatened Hannah.”
“Why? What was their relationship?”
“He was married to her, at one time.”
To his credit, Skinner didn’t raise an eyebrow. His voice hissed like the rustle of dry leaves. “And he was angry? Jealous? Displeased that she had left?”
“All three, I suppose.” Daniel had no intention of telling this man Hannah Shelton faked her death.
“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
Daniel shook his head. “Not unless he’s taking her back home to Pennsylvania.”
Skinner nodded. “I have men checking the train station, but I can’t see him taking a woman there against her will. It would be —ah —against her will, wouldn’t it, Mr. Aldman?”
Daniel clenched his teeth. “What the hell are you trying to say, that they’re in league? Hannah’s scared to death of Shelton.”
The sheriff lifted a hand in apology. “No offense intended, of course. I had to ask, however unlikely. If she would have gone willingly, he wouldn’t need to shoot the other woman.”
“How is Mrs. Tanner?” Daniel asked.
“The doctor’s in there with her. He hasn’t told us yet. But I’ve seen my share of saloon shootings. I wouldn’t say it’s promising. I’ve sent a man to fetch her parents. She’s a widow, I believe. Very well thought of in this town.”
Numbly, Daniel asked, “Does she have children?”
Skinner held up three fingers, then wiped his spectacles with a handkerchief. “May I ask your daughter a few questions?”
“Amelia?” Daniel asked gently.
Her voice tore at him like raw pain. “It was a monster, Papa! A monster with a shiny, awful face! I saw a monster grabbing Hannah!”
o0o
A prickly, itchy warmth brought strength to Hannah’s limbs, strength enough to clutch the woolen blanket tighter against her bare skin. Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled. Judging from the smell, the smoke had first backed up. But she didn’t care about the acrid odor, only the blessed warmth and the pain that each small movement brought her.
Her head throbbed viciously at the back where she had struck it. Other hurts, too, vied for her attention: her arm where he had grabbed her, her wrist, where she tried to catch herself when she pitched off the horse. Her cheeks felt swollen, and she imagined angry red handprints from Malcolm’s blows.
But warmth flowed through her now, thank God. That must mean she was safe. Daniel must have found her and brought her back to the hotel. She hoped he’d beaten Malcolm to a bloody pulp, or at the very least, had him arrested. She needed Daniel to hold her and let her sob out her fury at their spoiled wedding day.
Fingertips stroked her sore cheek, and she fluttered toward full consciousness. Daniel. She had to talk to Daniel now.
When she opened her eyes, ghostly shadows danced around the room. Only firelight kept it from total darkness. The figure crouching over her was silhouetted by the golden flickers, but even so, she knew it couldn’t be Daniel.
“Hannah, I have dreamed of this so long.”
The voice made her jerk as though she’d been doused in ice water. A jolt of alarm shot through her body, and she snapped upright, or tried to. A rough hand on her shoulder shoved her backward, and in her weakened state, she was no match for Malcolm’s strength. He pinioned her with a knee on her chest until she exhausted herself struggling. When she grew still, he spoke again.
“You almost disappoint me. There’s so little fight left now.”
The pressure on her chest made breathing difficult, words nearly impossible. She struggled with that one most urgent. “Why?”
Malcolm chuckled. “Business, at first. I only meant to take you back, and perhaps to punish you a bit for your deceit. But I was careless last time; I somehow let you get the upper hand. As always, you used it to devastating effect. How could I allow that, Hannah?”
Across the small room, a thick log settled deeper in the fire. A shower of sparks flew out past the hearth, only to fade out on the dusty floor.
“I fixed this shack myself, so I would have a place to bring you. We couldn’t begin our journey until you’d been prepared.”
His last sentence brought a whimper, though she’d been trying to disguise her terror. Something about his voice made her fear his “preparations” more than murder.
“Did you ever give a thought to me when the fire struck in October? Did you even wonder if I’d even managed to survive?” The pressure of his knee grew greater, but Hannah’s silence seemed to infuriate him. “Well, did you? Answer me.”
He moved off her chest and shook her until her sore head banged against the filthy floor.
“Stop,” she told him. “Can’t — talk with you on top of me.”
Appeased for the moment, he released her. “Now answer.”
“I — I thought you’d gone back to Shelton Creek,” she whispered.
“How could I, after what you’d done to me?”
“You sound just like you did when we were married, Malcolm.” Contempt colored her voice, a defense against her rising panic. She struggled to sit up. “You’re whining, blaming me. Men who fancy themselves important should accept responsibility.”
“For this?” he bellowed, gesturing toward his ruined face. “Would I have been in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, in that hellfire, had it not been for you? This is your fault, Hannah! You’re the one who ruined me this way!”
“I had a hand in it, and for my part I am sorry. I never meant for you to end up like this, Malcolm. Please believe me.”
“I’d sooner take the counsel of a serpent.”
“Fine. But while you’re listening to my ‘slithering,’ listen to this too. Your choices set all this in motion. Yours. The lies you told about me, the campaign back home to steal my farm and destroy me. Your attack in Peshtigo. And last of all, your pride. The pride that wouldn’t allow me victory in even one small skirmish. You could have gone home to your new wife, Malcolm. You could have rebuilt your business. My business, on my land. You are still a Shelton, and even if they whisper, people will eventually ignore a few suspicions. Especially when no body turns up.”
“If you don’t cooperate, one will.” He ran a finger along the curve of her throat.
A deep emptiness yawned before her, and Hannah closed her eyes. If she returned with him, could her abduction be ignored? Would Malcolm, with his scarred flesh, play the victim and send her to jail for fraud? He still had friends in power, and Hannah yet remembered what they’d done to her last time.
Fearing Malcolm’s touch, too aware of her nude body tucked beneath the blanket, she lied quickly. “I’ll cooperate. I’ll go back home with you and face the courts.”
At least she’d have some chance there. Maybe somehow Daniel or Bess Brannon could be contacted for help.
“Judge Clarke will punish your deceit, but I have a more personal affront to settle.” Knotting his fingers in her hair, he smashed his mouth against hers.
A shock of revulsion swept through her, so strong she felt that she might vomit. Desperate to push him off of her, she pummeled his neck and chest with the heels of her hands.
He laughed, and she could see the firelight glinting off his teeth. “That’s my Hannah. This is just the way I wanted you.”
Then he curled his fist and landed a heavy blow near her right eye. Her vision grayed, but terror kept her conscious. Her nails ripped as he tore away the blanket.
“No,” she cried. “Please don’t!”
o0o
“I’m going out again,” said Daniel.
John took him by the arm. “You can’t. It’s far too dark to track them, and the weather’s worse than ever.”
Daniel went to the window for what must be the hundredth time and swept aside a heavy velvet curtain. “She’s out there in t
hat, waiting for me to come and get her.”
John gestured toward the second hotel room, the one that Bess had rented. “And your daughter’s right in there. Do you want her to wake up tonight and find you gone?”
Both men turned toward a soft tap at the door. Daniel crossed the room in two steps and let Bess inside.
“She cried herself to sleep,” Bess told them. She smoothed her blonde hair with a hand. “I thought she’d never let go. You look exhausted too. Both of you. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Daniel shook his head. “I’m going to see if I can get a lantern.”
“To do what?” Bess asked. “If you couldn’t make out tracks by daylight, what chance would you have now? We’ve been through this already. He didn’t go to the train station, and the snow’s too bad for him to get too far. Most likely, he’ll be close by. I’m sure Sheriff Skinner is doing everything he can.”
“Is he out there right now?” Daniel demanded, pointing to the window. “My God, how could they just disappear without a trace?”
“Let’s think about this Shelton,” John said. “You said he wanted to take her back to their hometown. Where is it? Maybe someone there would know his whereabouts.”
Daniel shook his head. “She never said the town’s name.”
“Shelton Creek. She wrote me in a letter. It was Shelton Creek,” Bess volunteered.
“Am I the only one who didn’t know all this?” John asked.
Daniel shook his head. “By the time she told me, you’d already washed your hands of Hannah. I didn’t see as telling would do anything but hurt you more.”
John’s eyes flicked to Bess, and Daniel guessed he was uncomfortable discussing his earlier relationship with Hannah.
John sighed and stared at Daniel. “And this divorce —this complication with her former husband —it didn’t bother you?”
“All it did was make me want to keep her safe.” Daniel strode back to the window and stared out into the snowy night. “A hell of a job I did with that.”
Bess crossed the room and put her hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known he would come back. Even Hannah thought she was safe.”
If Daniel heard her, he gave no indication. “What if he’s already killed her?”
“If that was his aim, he would have shot her at the church, like Mrs. Tanner,” John said. “He wanted her alive.”
Daniel raised his fist to his forehead, but he couldn’t block the memory of Hannah on that cottage bed, her dress slashed open by Malcolm.
He knew why Malcolm wanted Hannah. The knowledge detonated in his brain, so appalling that he began to shake with rage.
“I’m going to kill that bastard,” he swore, “if it’s the last thing that I do.”
“No,” Bess argued. “You can’t kill him, Daniel. There’s a little girl in the next room who needs her papa. Not in jail, or dead of a bullet. She needs you with her. Hannah knew that, didn’t she?”
“Doesn’t — doesn’t she. Don’t talk about her like she’s dead. You don’t understand. Shelton will —there are things men do to women, to hurt them.” He remembered hauling another Union soldier off a woman in Missouri. The man had sneered and told him ‘spoils of war.’ That had been one of the few occasions he had ever lost his temper. He nearly beat the man to death.
Bess lowered her voice. “I know about rape, Daniel. I’m not a little girl.”
Another knock interrupted. John opened the door, and Mrs. Brannon burst in.
“Bess, what in heaven’s name are you doing here? I had to hear it from a neighbor that you were back in town, and now —” She gave a haughty sniff. “—to find you in a hotel room with these two —”
“Mother, I was at the church this afternoon. You heard about what happened?”
“You —” The stout woman hugged her daughter and changed her tone completely. “You poor dear. You’re upset, then. I know the Shelton woman was a friend.”
“Is,” Bess corrected with an eye toward Daniel. “We don’t believe she’s dead.”
Mrs. Brannon peered up at him. “No, no. Of course not. And I am sorry, sir, about your wedding. A terrible tragedy. Nothing like this has ever happened in Marinette before.”
“I was caring for Mr. Aldman’s daughter in the next room, until she fell asleep. Mother . . . I’d also like you to say hello to John Aldman. You’ve met before, at church.”
He took her hand. “Your daughter has been a great help to us,” John said politely, “and I’m pleased you’ve come. Bess tells me so much about you. Your approval means so much to her.”
Mrs. Brannon jerked her hand away. “My approval might be more forthcoming had I not found her in a hotel with two men after dark. You might be more sensitive as to a young lady’s reputation.”
“I apologize. The circumstances —” John began.
Daniel interrupted. “—Ma’am, my bride has been abducted, a woman’s been shot, and my little girl only just stopped crying. Right now, I can’t stop thinking about what that madman might be doing to my Hannah. Your daughter offered help because we needed it. Do you honestly think —can you honestly imagine that we’ve had the time or inclination to get everything we do approved by you, the minister, and a half-dozen stuffy old ladies from the garden club?”
Mrs. Brannon lowered her head like a bull. “Bess, we’re leaving now.”
She started toward the door, but Bess held her ground. “I’m staying in the next room with Amelia, Mother. She needs someone to care for her and keep her calm. These men can’t do that right now. I have to be here. It’s what Hannah would want.”
“No matter how I try to put you in good company, you always find some charity case to befriend. Did you learn nothing from your visit to my sister’s?”
“Yes, I did. I learned to watch where my heart goes and follow it along. Tonight, my heart is here. In this place.” Bess took John’s hand. “And with this man.”
“Your father is waiting in the lobby,” Mrs. Brannon said. “If you don’t come down right now —”
“—Will you shut me out of your life the way you did Aunt Nora? That would hurt me, Mother. It would hurt me very much, but I couldn’t let it stop me. So think about it before you lay down an ultimatum you don’t want to keep.”
For a long moment, Mrs. Brannon glared. Daniel admired Bess’s resolve. The older woman had a formidable will.
Silence stretched, taut as a drumhead. Finally, Mrs. Brannon punched through with her words. “All right. I suppose the staff here could be persuaded to bring a cot into the child’s room. I’ll be staying there with you, to help.”
“You’ll be sleeping on a cot?” Bess asked.
Mrs. Brannon shook her head. “Certainly not. You will. I shall share the child’s bed. I’ll return shortly with a few things.”
“Thank you.” Bess hugged her mother. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In the morning, Malcolm tended the horses, then brought in a pot of snow to melt for water. At least ten inches had fallen since yesterday afternoon, yet the sky today was clear and brilliant blue. As he opened the cabin door to go inside, sunlight fell across Hannah, and he winced.
She didn’t even look like the same woman. Purplish bruises marred her delicate face, and the right eye had swollen grotesquely. Where one forearm lay outside the blanket, he saw his fingerprints, as if in ink, against her wrist. If he removed the blanket, he knew he would see more painful-looking marks, even places where his teeth had broken skin. But instead of filling him with satisfaction, as he’d imagined, her beaten body only caused him shame.
Had any Shelton ever served a woman so? She must be the very soul of evil to drive him to this extreme. Because of her, he’d shot a woman and possibly a child. Because of her, he’d beaten and he’d raped.
Her words came back to haunt him. Men who fancy themselves important should accept responsibility. Could he be responsible for this? He shook his head. She had
a serpent’s tongue, but for now it would be silent. For now, he’d shoved her proud words down her throat.
After melting water near the rebuilt fire, he placed some in a cup beside her. Certainly, he was capable of kindness, now that she lay still. The injection he had given would help to ease her pain. The morphine would also keep her quiet, so he could plan what he must do.
While he recovered in Marinette, he’d thought about his plans a great deal, and they had seemed so simple. After the abduction, he would take her to a hidden place until the authorities stopped looking. The supply of morphine he had stolen would help keep his former wife in line. In a few days or a week, they would ride southward to Green Bay and board a train for home.
If only he hadn’t lost his head and shot the other woman. He hadn’t planned to, but events had moved far faster than his reason. He had known her from the hotel hospital, and he had feared that between her testimony and Daniel Aldman’s knowledge, he’d face trouble back at home. Questions at the very least would certainly await him when he arrived with Hannah.
Questions her bruised face would help to answer.
He could be forgiven some things. A woman of Hannah’s reputation, and one who’d been his wife, could never have him charged with rape. But the other shooting would undo him, if he were linked with Hannah’s disappearance from Marinette.
Malcolm groaned. Perhaps the slut never told Aldman where she’d lived in Pennsylvania. Perhaps no one would track him down. But the hope was thin, for the entire village bore his name.
His best chance would be to return without his former wife. He could concoct a story about tracking her to Peshtigo, trying to save her from the fire. It would be in the newspaper, and if he played it right, his scars might elicit sufficient sympathy to shield him from the harshest questions.
He began to boil coffee using some of the snow water. God, how he hated compromise. He’d come to this godforsaken state to bring Hannah back and avenge his wounded pride. Though he’d certainly made her pay for her attack, he would never completely set to rest the gossip.
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