“No one ever found her? That’s so horrible…”
“Bill claimed with his last breath Cora disappeared from him, that he did not kill her. Malcolm killed him, and three of the bastards who rode with him, but Vole got away. I have come across a fair amount of wretched men in my time as marshal, men I would as soon see in a noose before sunrise, Aemon Turnbull included, but Vole remains one of the worst specimens yet, nearly as bad as Fallon Yancy. I wouldn’t let a dog I liked venture near either man without my protection.”
“And you think Vole is riding in the Territory again?” I curbed the odd urge to look over my shoulder. In my imagination Vole resembled a furtive, oversized rat, whiskers and all. I drew Flickertail closer to Blade.
“My instincts suggest he is, as much as I hate to admit it. Cole and I talked to ranchers across the Territory on our circuit. Vole isn’t choosy about inflicting harm, but he’s borne a black-dark grudge against the four of us for years, me in particular. My shot took him in the cheek. I only wish I would have split his infernal skull. If he appeared just now I wouldn’t waste time speaking, I would open fire on him.”
“I’m not shocked, in case you were worried.”
Miles looked my way, his eyes in the shadow of his hat brim. His hair was tied back, as usual, his lips solemn and his hips moving with the rhythm of the horse beneath him. I felt another burst of rampant desire, unchecked and insistent, thinking of kissing him last night.
“The killings east of here, out Yankton way, speak of his work. Men shot in the back, their guts sliced open. I hate to speak of such. And Vole has long been associated with the Yancys, at least from a distance.”
“Guts sliced out? That’s so brutal.”
“Cole was correct in his statement that we should have ridden the bastard to the ground and killed him, four years ago. Do you see now why I wished for you to accompany me here to my family’s home, where there is ample protection, where I know you are safe?”
“I do,” I whispered. “And I am so grateful for it.”
We spoke next of Axton; Miles was of the opinion that he should have returned by now. Patricia and I had harbored the same troubling thought for days; we spoke of it every night.
“Do you think the Yancys will come looking for her?” I wanted Miles’s opinion. “I worry about it all the time.”
“It all depends whether or not they believe she is dead. I knew both Dredd and Fallon as boys, as you know. Dredd was…perhaps ‘hesitant’ is the best word. Not one for action, and Fallon bullied him terribly. If either comes looking for her in Howardsville it’s my hope they will find no solid leads. No one other than Branch and Axton knows her location.”
“How much longer will we remain here?” This was yet another subject Patricia and I whispered about at night, but neither of us wanted to ask for fear of the answer.
Miles hesitated a long while. In the distance, I heard the low moaning of many cattle; ‘lowing’ was what Grant called the noise. And then the air shifted and the distant sounds were no longer audible. He finally spoke.
“Ruthann, I cannot bear the thought of taking you back to Howardsville, where you would be unsafe when I ride my route. I would that you remain here, with my family, under their protection and care, until I return. I intend to return to Howardsville within the week and from there I will wire the federal offices in Washington. I intend to request a position with a smaller range, so that I might…”
I gulped. My palms slipped over Flickertail’s reins.
He continued, with determination, “So I might settle and therefore be able to take a wife.”
“Miles…”
“I know this is improper, I truly do, and hardly romantic. Christ, I am doing this all wrong…”
I tugged Flickertail to an abrupt halt.
He drew on Blade’s reins and made a half-turn, so we faced each other. His features were stark with sincerity as he removed his hat, held it to his chest, and spoke quickly and solemnly, as if I might heel Flickertail and ride away before he could finish. “I am asking you to become my wife. I have never known something as absolutely as I know I am to be with you. You have my heart, Ruthann Rawley, and already my name, as inexplicable as it may be. But I would make you mine, in all ways.”
My heart seemed to plummet, landing with a dull thud between Flickertail’s hooves, and I imagined my horse kicking it up into the air to sail far away. Because surely I was about to break Miles’s heart; I couldn’t bear it.
“I…” My tongue seemed swollen, unable to bring forth the necessary words.
Miles studied me with an expression of near-torture, already anticipating I would deny him. He whispered, “Is it…”
I found an ounce of strength. “Miles, I care deeply for you.” My voice broke but I forged ahead. “The truth is you deserve better than me. I don’t even know who I am. I can’t remember a thing beyond last summer, when Branch and Axton found me near the creek bed.” I started to cry and was both ashamed and embarrassed.
Blade snorted at my agitation, tossing his beautiful silver head; Miles kept him expertly in line. “I know who you are, to me. I only care that it hurts you not to know. I cannot imagine my life without you in it, Ruthann, please know this.”
The beauty and sincerity of these words only served to further gouge my heart, releasing a sharp burst of anger – I could not survive this pain if I allowed myself to feel it and so I welcomed the anger, letting it flood my senses. “We’re living here in some kind of sick denial, all of us. Celia is pregnant with your baby, back at Rilla’s! You can’t keep ignoring this fact, Miles. And Patricia refuses to accept that she is still married. She believes she’s in love with both Axton and Cole, did you know that?” My voice emerged in breathless huffs, as if someone was punching me with white-knuckled fists. I cried, “Don’t you understand? Patricia told me she’d help me find my husband. He’s out there, looking for me, I know it…”
Miles flinched, his jaws tightening, but he was honorable enough to say, “Then I will do everything in my power to help you. I wish to bring you happiness. I have never wanted anything more.”
Sobs clawed at my throat; I slid down from Flickertail and tugged at Miles’s right leg, wordless, wracked by weeping. But he understood, dismounting at once, holding Blade’s lead line in one hand and catching me against his chest with his other arm. I pressed my face to him, shocked at the depth of relief his body offered, inhaling his scent like someone coming up for the third time. Someone headed for certain drowning. My hat fell off and he bracketed the nape of my neck, kissing my forehead, my temples, murmuring soft sounds of comfort. I soaked his shirt with my tears but he didn’t release his hold.
“Sweet Ruthann, don’t cry.” I didn’t know how much time passed as we stood embracing. The sun seemed to be in a different place in the sky. “I will help you, I swear to you. And I will speak again with Celia, I promise you this as well.”
I rubbed miserably at my wet face, muttering, “I’m so sorry…”
“Do not apologize,” Miles said. “I aim to make you happy. You know this, do you not?”
My heart was bruised black and blue, swollen beyond repair. I stood on tiptoe to put my arms around his neck and hugged him with all my strength. He crushed me close; Blade and Flickertail hemmed us in, one on either side.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and then drew away.
Miles bent and collected my hat, which he handed to me. “You are most welcome.”
“I’m sorry I freaked out.” Sometimes my words popped out differently than everyone else’s; I was used to the way people’s expressions reflected this momentary lapse in the flow of conversation, while they sorted out what they thought I meant.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Miles replaced the hat on my head, stroking my jaw with his fingertips. “Not one thing.”
But that’s where he was wrong.
Chapter Nineteen
BY THE TIME MILES AND I RETURNED TO THE RANCH, IT was late afterno
on. Patricia was waiting on the front porch to speak to me. I found myself thinking her eyes had never looked bluer. She caught my elbow as I came near, snuggling against me as she was prone to do, and I squeezed her close.
“What is it?”
“I’ve something to tell you. Might we walk, just us two?”
“Of course.” I linked our arms. I wore Miles’s dark jacket and Patricia was bundled in her shawl, though it wasn’t especially chilly; the vivid sun had warmed the day. We walked out beyond the house, toward the mountains, in companionable silence. It wasn’t until we were well past the yard that Patricia stopped our forward progress, turning to face me and catching my hands. I studied this woman I loved dearly, who was as much a sister to me as any I could imagine. She squeezed my fingers as she whispered, “Cole has asked me to be his wife.”
A shifting in the gut, a change in the wind, a distant, wailing cry –
“Is that what you want?” It was growing stronger, the sensation of hurtling out of control, of events about to sweep us away from solid footing and into the fray. How was it I already knew there wasn’t a goddamn thing we could do to prevent it?
No, I thought. Please, no…
“Cole wishes for us to winter in Iowa, with his family, and return here in the spring to make our permanent home.” When I couldn’t find words to reply Patricia implored, “Have you any news for me?”
My forehead crinkled; I wasn’t sure what news she thought I might possess.
“Miles proposed to you this very day, did he not? He spoke of it with Cole last night.” Patricia searched my face as if for clues. “Did he not?”
I located my voice. “He did.”
Her voice flowed like water over smooth rocks long ago sunk to the river bottom; I heard the desperation beneath those slick, wet stones. “You and Miles could accompany us on the journey east. Miles has not returned home to Iowa in over two years. We could winter there together. We would not have to part, Ruthie, don’t you see…”
Misgivings swarmed my skull. I knew she saw it in my eyes.
I’m so scared. Something is so wrong.
I tried to believe what she suggested could happen –
We could spend the winter together in Iowa and return here in the spring. I could become Mrs. Miles Rawley.
Oh, dear God…
Tears bloomed in Patricia’s eyes and overspilled; her voice shook. “Something is dreadfully wrong.”
“I know,” I whispered, numb with certainty.
Her grip on my hands became almost feral. “Axton…”
“He’s all right. He has to be.” I could not think otherwise.
“Promise me,” she begged, almost childlike in her intensity to believe in my words.
But I could not promise anything.
As the autumn weather was so fine the men made music well into the evening. I sat at the fire in the company of many with a bristling spike planted in my heart, oblivious to the surrounding merriment. The firelight flickered over Cole, Grant, and Stadlar as they played. And Miles. My dear, honorable Miles, who had told me today, in so many words, that he loved me. I watched him without ceasing, studying his face, his body, his long-fingered hands which cradled a fiddle with such ease, such grace and tenderness, the same way he touched everything he cared for. When the men struck up a waltz, Cole took a break from fiddling and asked Patricia to dance; I saw the way his arms locked about her, I saw how he studied her face.
When the whiskey jug made the rounds, I damned it all and took a cautious nip, unable to keep from gasping as the alcohol seared the interior of my mouth. But after the initial burning shock the whiskey built a small, comforting blaze in my belly. By the jug’s fourth round the booze had allowed my limbs to relax and I stole another long glug, backhanding droplets from my lips. The men were fiddling a waltz, one I recognized and loved, one Miles and Cole had played around the fire that night at Branch’s. Tears made my face all sticky. The alcohol in my blood lent everything an amber tint. My bones felt rubbery and my thoughts were slow, struggling across my mind like tiny tadpoles through syrup.
One of the ranch hands, a man named Jem, sat nearby. I leaned way over to tug his sleeve, wondering aloud, “Don’t they know any Bon Jovi?”
Jem crinkled his eyebrows. “How’s that, Miss Ruthann?”
I forgot what I’d asked, instead mumbling, “I have to puke…”
Jem must have read my lips because he lurched to his feet and hauled me away from the fire. I was peripherally aware of Miles handing off his instrument and following us; Jem relinquished me to Miles’s arms about halfway to the house.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped as another round of vomiting doubled me over.
“She’s liquored,” Jem explained needlessly; this fact was obvious.
Miles held me while I threw up all the whiskey I’d consumed. When it was apparent I had nothing more to heave, Miles led me inside the house and up the steps to the room I shared with Patricia; within the familiar space he helped me sit on the bed and then lit a candle.
“I’m so sorry,” I moaned, cradling my head.
Miles knelt before me, grasping my hands and kissing the back of each one. “There is nothing to apologize for.”
I groaned as another wave of nausea struck but this time I had nothing left to expel.
Without another word Miles bent to unlace my shoes, setting them on the floor near the foot of the bed. “Lie down. I will bring a cloth for your face.”
The room spun when I attempted to lie flat so I shifted to the side, drawing up my knees and concentrating on the sphere of light cast by the lantern. Miles was absent only moments before he returned with a cup of water and a dampened linen cloth, which he folded over my forehead. The mattress sagged as he sat near my hip. I held out my hand and he enfolded it, face again in shadow while the candle seemed to strike me in the eyes. “Rest. I won’t leave your side.”
“You are so good to me,” I whispered.
“I am in love with you,” he said somberly, and the despair that overtook me was so forceful I thought I might be split in two. I shook with it, the gashes reopened along my heart. I wanted Miles – but not exactly him. I couldn’t explain it any better than this. I only knew something deep inside me understood the disparity and perceived the depth of my need. I wanted my man, wherever he was; I needed him with all my heart. I had once been loved so completely and passionately even the echo of its memory was unbearable, now that it was gone. For whatever reason it was gone and I could not accept it.
“I want…I want…” I was repeating myself like a child, like a fucking idiot drunk. I sobbed, “I want…him. Oh God…oh God…where is he?”
“Ruthann.” Miles’s voice was husky with compassion. “Come here.”
He removed his pistol from its holster and placed it on the nightstand before collecting me in his arms, cupping the back of my head, drawing it to his chest. I clutched the material of his shirt, choking on sobs; his collar was soon soaked with my tears, for the second time today. He stroked my hair; his heart beat against mine. After a long time I fell silent, exhausted and spent, and Miles whispered, “I wish more than anything in this world I could give you what you want. Do you speak of your husband?”
A sighing shudder wracked my body as I nodded.
“Had I the power, I would return him to you, I swear this.” He pressed his lips to my forehead; his mustache was soft against my skin, his lips warm. “But I fear he is gone.”
No, I wailed, without sound. Deep inside, I could not accept this as truth.
“You sleep, sweet angel, I will hold you.”
I froze. “What did you say?”
He cupped my jaws and with utmost gentleness kissed my lips, which were wet with salty tears. “I said I will hold you. Trust me. I wish for you to trust me.”
I whispered honestly, “I do trust you, Miles.”
“For now, that is enough,” he whispered against my hair, and held me close to his heart.
La
ter I was to wonder what might have happened after that night, had fate taken a different direction. I was human, after all. Images replayed, rapid-fire, through my mind. I saw Miles as he appeared the first afternoon we’d met, astride Blade and smoking a cigar; I saw him gently administering a cloth to my bleeding forehead; playing his fiddle with all of his devoted love; lying near a banked fire along the trail while I contemplated crawling to his side and holding him and never letting go.
Oh Ruthann, oh God, you should have gone to him.
Why didn’t you?
Why…
Hours passed, carrying us into the deep black bowels of night. The music had long since ceased, the men on night rounds saddling up; Patricia had not appeared in our bedroom, leading me to believe she and Cole were somewhere together. Miles kept me close, my arms folded against his chest, his even breathing indicating he slept. When I jerked awake there seemed no apparent reason. I lay motionless and stiff, stretching out with my senses to recognize what had ripped me from sleep. At first I could hear nothing but the creaks of a house at rest; there wasn’t a breath of wind outside. Something was terribly wrong.
“Miles,” I whispered urgently, sitting up.
Miles rose, swift and soundless as a striking hawk, collecting his pistol in one smooth motion.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered, my heart sounding off like a gong.
He moved to the window, peering into the yard below from the edge of the glass. He murmured, “I’m not certain, but you woke me from a bad dream, I’ll not deny it. Something isn’t right.”
I slipped into my shoes, head aching and vision wavering, but determined to stay at his side. Miles’s posture changed, becoming threatening as he zeroed in upon something outside. I dropped to a crouch, terror sizzling through my center.
“Rider,” he said. With rapid, efficient movements, he grasped my arm. “Come.”
We clattered down the wooden steps.
Miles yelled, “Grant!”
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