The sun warmed her face, but George’s heart felt weighted down with lead.
Within an hour they arrived home. McGuire, who had been chopping wood, hurried out into the yard with the axe still in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously
“George had a fall from Brandy.”
“You all right, gal?”
“Yes. I hurt my foot and bumped my head.” She tried to make light of it when she saw his worried expression.
McGuire was a tough man, and in his abrupt, rough way he had been kind. Few men would have brought up a seven-year-old girl without the help of a woman, especially as she was only his niece. It had never worried her before about having no pretty clothes, even Johnny’s teasing about looking like a boy didn’t cause her any great concern up until now.
Billy practically leapt from the horse in the yard and waited with outstretched arms for her to slide from the saddle. She held on to him to steady herself. Even though he was young and strong he wouldn’t be able to carry her like Marcus had. Leaning against him she hobbled inside, thankfully collapsing into an old comfortable armchair.
McGuire, who followed them in, grabbed a bucket so she could rest her injured foot on it. Billy took the coffee pot from the stove, poured out a mug full and handed it to her.
The earth floor was bare, except for a large cow hide mat. The curtains were made of calico, yet this humble room had a warm comfortable feel, unlike the cold luxury of the Stanton mansion.
They had all spent many happy hours here around the big fireplace. Only three of them were left now. Tom was away, Danny dead, and Johnny was hiding somewhere in the Black Hills.
“I’m meeting Johnny tonight,” Billy said. “Dave got a message.”
“You watch it, son, the sheriff has spies everywhere.”
“He wants me to bring him a few supplies. I reckon he’s going to lie low for a bit. He knows they’re out in force, greedy polecats all hungry for the reward Stanton posted.”
“Will he ever be able to make a new life for himself somewhere else, do you think?” George asked through trembling lips.
“I doubt it, things have gone too far now. He’s not safe here yet he won’t leave. The boy’s a fool, got into trouble almost as soon as he set foot in Dakota.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“Look, gal, don’t put Johnny on a pedestal. He’s done dark deeds and got his secrets just like the rest of us.”
“What secrets?”
“I’ll tell you the whole story one day when the time is right. Better for you not to know now.” McGuire seemed so bitter and angry she dared not pursue the matter any further. I’ll get to the bottom of all this mystery one day.
Feeling depressed and sad, she hobbled off to bed straight after supper. Her ankle was aching and swollen, her head felt ready to explode. Once they removed her boot, the ankle swelled up to such an extent McGuire became worried.
She lay under the blankets staring up at the calico lined ceiling of this small room, which had been made by putting up a curtain and dividing the main bedroom. McGuire slept in his own section, while Billy had a closed off part of the back porch. What dark deeds had Johnny done? McGuire talked in riddles sometimes.
She turned her thoughts to Marcus once more. He hardly left her mind these days. Why did their backgrounds have to be so different?
Chapter Three
The next day George felt a little better but still couldn’t put any weight on her ankle. Billy had made a rough crutch, enabling her to get out of bed when the necessity arose. This sapped her puny strength, causing her head to pound so much she was thankful to lay still most of the time.
She must have been dozing when the sound of voices floated into her consciousness. Surely that wasn’t Marcus? Yet who else did they know with such a clipped, precise accent? Maybe it was a dream, but no, on pinching herself she was very much awake.
* * *
Marcus glanced around the kitchen and was shocked at what he saw. Though clean, the place looked primitive. He had always lived surrounded by luxury and wealth, and he had presumed conditions here wouldn’t be anything much, but a dirt floor, he could scarcely comprehend such a thing.
“I’m Marcus Lindquist. I came over to see how Georgina is.” He surveyed the elderly bearded man who must be McGuire.
“You want to see George?” The old man’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “She’s lying down, you can see her if you want. Billy told me what happened. We owe you.”
“I don’t wish to intrude if she’s resting.” Marcus followed McGuire through the kitchen to what was obviously a bedroom, watching without speaking as the old man pulled back a calico curtain.
“George, someone to see you.”
Marcus had never seen anyone look as lovely as Georgina did right now. Her skin was pale as porcelain, and her slightly shadowed eyes were the color of emeralds.
“How are you feeling, Georgina?” Surprise flickered in her eyes as she lay with the bedclothes pulled up to her chin.
What a pathetically furnished room. An iron bedstead covered by a patchwork quilt and a scrubbed wooden dresser with a chipped china jug on it. He stood with his hat in one hand, embarrassed about having dressed up so grandly. It only seemed to emphasize the huge social chasm between them.
“I’m really all right now, Marcus. McGuire told me to rest my ankle.”
“Well, if you’re feeling recovered I’d better go. I wanted to make sure the injury wasn’t serious.”
He felt awkward standing in her bedroom. It wasn’t the done, thing amongst his social circle for an unmarried man to be in a young lady’s bedroom when she wasn’t his sister or his betrothed. These people obviously did not concern themselves with such proprieties.
“Sit here.” She patted the bed. Her hands were tanned, a little work-roughened though still dainty.
Feeling self-conscious for the first time in years he did as she asked.
After an initial awkwardness, they chatted on various subjects.
“What’s your home like in England? Do you live in a castle?” she asked.
He laughed “Not a castle although it is rather large.”
“And servants, do you have lots of them?”
“Yes, quite a few.” She was so refreshing, childishly engaging, really, and it surprised him that she could carry on such an entertaining conversation. Though poorly educated, she was obviously intelligent considering her lowly background.
When she laughed her eyes sparkled like jewels, emphasizing her flawless, alabaster skin. Strange how it did not seem affected by the hot sun.
“George, are you alright?”
Marcus hastily rose to his feet as someone charged into the room. The young man came to a sliding halt when he realized someone else was there also.
“Johnny, you shouldn’t have come,” George cried out. “It’s too dangerous.”
Marcus watched fear flare in her eyes, followed by something else he could not put a name to.
He was a tall, slim young man, this Johnny Valentine, maybe five feet eleven or so. He wore dusty trousers tucked into knee length boots, and a blue work shirt. His beardless face was well tanned. His over-long brown hair was unruly, with one wayward curl flopping across his forehead. He pushed at it with his fingers in a nervous gesture that only seemed to emphasize his youth. Blue eyes, restlessly darting everywhere, glowed with a reckless light, giving him a slightly wild look. He wore twin, bone handled Colts.
“They told me you had an accident, George.” Marcus was surprised because the young outlaw spoke with a slight Texas drawl.
“I fell off my horse, cracked my head and twisted my ankle.”
Johnny laughed, completely changing his appearance. “A good thing it was only your head, it’s as hard as a rock.” His eyes filled with merriment now and Marcus felt like an intruder.
“Johnny, this is Marcus, Marcus, Johnny Valentine, my my…” he picked up her hesitation immediately. “Friend.
”
The young man scrutinized him. “You’re related to Stantons aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stanton is my father’s sister.”
“Colonel Stanton has set the sheriff on me plenty of times, arrogant ….”
“Johnny, Marcus came over to see how I was.”
The boy kept glancing through the window and pacing restlessly.
“I wish you hadn’t come here.” George bit her lip. “The sheriff’s men could be watching this place, you take too many risks.”
“Billy’s keeping watch. I wanted to make sure you weren’t badly hurt.”
“Why don’t you give all of this up, Valentine, before it’s too late?”
“It’s already too late.” The young outlaw’s voice took on a husky note. The sudden transience about him filled Marcus with dread.
“Don’t say that, Johnny.”
The color drained from Georgina’s face leaving it ashen. She raised herself on the pillow; the blankets dropping to her waist, allowed him a glimpse of the faded man’s nightshirt she wore.
His first thought—she should be wearing silk and lace, was abruptly driven from his mind and replaced by a burning resentment. Yes, he admitted it—jealousy, as Johnny Valentine rushed over to the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t cry, George, I didn’t mean it. The law will never take me.” He rested his chin on her hair, his blue eyes flashing recklessly. “I’ll see them in boot-hill first.”
“I couldn’t bear it if they hurt you.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Feeling like an intruder, Marcus bid them a curt farewell and left. He shouldn’t have wasted his time visiting a poverty-stricken farm girl who was not worthy of attention from one such as himself.
He strode outside and mounted the large grey thoroughbred he had chosen to ride today. Angrily he spurred it into a full gallop and rode hard all the way to the Stanton property. By the time he handed the horse over to the stable hand his anger had burned itself out.
He was a fool for even giving Georgina a second thought. She obviously shared something special with the young outlaw. Probably his mistress. This thought felt like a sword thrusting deep into his stomach.
“There you are, Marcus,” Kathryn greeted him in the garden. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Mother thought we could go over to Judge Thompson’s house, his wife is holding a tea party.”
“Sounds pleasant, I should be glad to accompany you. I went for a ride and must have forgotten the time.” He forced a smile. What was wrong with him? Kathryn would make him a suitable wife, and both sets of parents were anxious for the match. They were first cousins, which wouldn’t cause problems, as the family had always been strong and healthy, with little inter marriage over the years. A man nearing his thirties needed a wife and for someone with his background, it was expected he make a good match.
* * *
“Look at the clothes he was wearing, prissy dandy,” Johnny sneered. “He wouldn’t know dung from wild honey.”
“I thought he looked handsome.” George leapt to Marcus’ defense.
“Yeah, well you would. You know he wants to seduce you.”
“He does not?”
Johnny rocked back on his heels. “I can see the lust in his eyes, and that’s all it ever would be. Lust. He couldn’t marry you, George, no matter what.”
Once she was alone, she lay back savoring the thought Marcus had been worried about her. He had looked so handsome in tight fitting white pants and a deep blue coat; no prince could have looked grander. For the first time ever, their humble cabin bothered her and she desperately wished circumstances could be different. Johnny was wrong about Marcus, he did care for her, but they had no future together. The gap between them was insurmountable.
* * *
A few days after her fall, George was well enough to help with the annual spring round up. How exhilarating, chasing cattle through canyons or groves of mesquite. It took her mind off her hopeless longing for Marcus.
Johnny joined them near the slow flowing Sully’s creek, and they shared coffee and beans under the shade of the cottonwoods. They laughed and teased each other, forgetting for a time the problems plaguing them. Just like the old days when Tom and Danny had been with them. Even though she was a girl, they had never left her out of their activities.
* * *
A benign sun shone from a blue sky intermittently spotted with fluffy balls of white cloud. Perfume from the blossoming fruit trees wafted on the breeze.
Shaded by a large cottonwood tree, George sat listening to the creek babbling its way over pebbles so white they became dazzling in the sunlight. She thought wistfully of Marcus. Even though she knew she loved him now, the social divide was too great between a rich English gentleman and a poor girl who lived in a humble log cabin.
Nelson flopped down beside her on the grass, worn out from his morning game of chasing butterflies. A big, black slobbering dog, she had loved him since he was brought home as a wet, whimpering bundle of fur by McGuire.
He was old now as dogs go, and because he tired easily, never wandered too far from the cabin. Sometimes, he might follow her to the corral if she rode into town and he would lie nearby in the shade of a large tree until she returned. If she went out rounding up cattle with McGuire or Billy, he would wait with devoted patience on the back porch to welcome her home with a joyous bark.
“I have to go into town now, boy.” Nelson’s hot panting breath moistened her hand. “You have a nice rest until I get back, I might bring you a special treat.”
* * *
That afternoon when George returned to the cabin, Nelson was not waiting in his usual place. After setting a pot of stew on the stove for supper, she went in search of him. She called his name several times and received no eager answering bark.
“Don’t worry, he’s probably taking a snooze somewhere,” McGuire comforted when she finally trudged in to the kitchen. “He’ll come home when he’s hungry.”
Of course, Nelson would come back to eat; even though he was old, he still had a hearty appetite.
“Ugly old brute probably wandered off to die,” Billy stopped eating long enough to taunt.
“What a horrible thing to say.” George raced outside. Tears pooled in her eyes before overflowing onto her cheeks.
She searched in all the outbuildings, down by the creek, around the corral, all his favorite haunts, but to no avail. After half an hour of fruitless searching, desperation overwhelmed her.
“George, where are you?” Billy’s voice crystallized in the darkness. “I’ve come to help you search.”
She ignored him.
“Come on. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” He sounded so upset she finally answered. Two of them could cover a wider area. The thought Nelson might be lying sick or injured somewhere brought fresh tears to her eyes.
Together they searched in every place they could think of, only when it became pitch black did they return to the homestead. McGuire had cleaned up the dishes and the coffee pot bubbled on the stove. After having a drink, George sadly traipsed off to bed.
* * *
For two days, her search continued. Even to find Nelson’s body now would be something she thought desperately. The uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to him was terrible. He might be lying in agony somewhere waiting for her to come to his rescue. Maybe someone had picked him up on the road. This thought came suddenly. Perhaps she should have been searching further afield.
She saddled Brandy and rode off at a fast trot. An hour’s riding proved fruitless. The faint hope she had nurtured withered and died, leaving in its place black despair.
It was hot now. Both she and the horse needed a drink, so she rode toward the creek. Circling buzzards alerted her that something was amiss. She dismounted, tethering the horse to a bush. She pushed her way through knee high brush and discovered Nelson lying in a small clearing.
“Nelson,” she screamed. His back leg wa
s cruelly caught in a vicious steel trap.
She sank to her hands and knees. He was in a pitiful state, having tried to drag himself to the water. His tongue was swollen and he had started frothing at the mouth.
Racing to the creek she filled up her hat, but he was so weak he could not even lap at the water, so she sprinkled it on his tongue. “Nelson. Oh Nelson.” Her tears fell on to his matted coat as he stared at her with big suffering eyes.
Frantically she worked to free him, but the steel jaws imprisoned his leg firmly. Nausea rose into her mouth, because his leg had been torn to the bone, leaving the flesh putrid and covered with maggots. Blinded by tears she struggled with the trap until her own hands became sore and bleeding.
She needed help—a man’s strength. “I’ll be back, boy,” she promised patting his head. Tears filled her eyes as he gallantly tried to lick her hand. Running back to the horse, she mounted and galloped away, urging the mare on to greater and greater speed.
In a wild dash across the valley floor, she was heedless of anything. When a horseman galloped up beside her and grabbed at the reins she recognized Marcus.
“Georgina, what is it?”
“Oh, Marcus, thank goodness I found you. It’s my dog.” Tears poured down her face. “He’s caught in a trap.”
“Show me.” He followed her to the clearing. He dismounted, and by the time he tethered his horse, she was kneeling beside the stricken dog, with its head resting on her knee. Marcus strode over to them, flicking a speck of dust from his trouser leg as he did so.
What he saw took his mind away from his clothing. What a sickening sight.
“Can you free him?” she asked frantically
“It wouldn’t do any good, even if I could. What happened?”
Between sobs she told him as grim faced he checked the trap.
“You can save him, Marcus, I know you can.”
Outlaw Girl Page 4