by Merry Farmer
Olivia smiled at the early morning light that broke through the canopy of leaves above her. The birdsong seemed twice as lovely this morning, and the rustling of forest creatures was benevolent in every way instead of cause for suspicion. She drew in a breath, feeling the solid wall of Charlie’s naked chest against her back as she did.
She could feel all of Charlie naked, in fact. They were cozy and warm wrapped in the bedroll—even if it was a bit itchy—and had been for the better part of the last twelve hours or more. Their first time the evening before had been magical, powerful. After a quick supper, a check to see if the wagon train was still in sight, and a wash in the stream at the bottom of what turned out to be a much higher cliff than she had first thought, their second and third times together were magical as well.
Now, as morning light battled with her loose-limbed exhaustion, Olivia was sore, stiff in some places from bending and stretching in ways that were unfamiliar to her, and as happy as she’d ever been.
If she’d known this was what it would feel like to truly be married, she would have coaxed Charlie into it sooner.
No, that wasn’t fair. If she hadn’t learned the things about him that the last few weeks had taught, she would have felt even more betrayed when Chet spewed his tales of the past. It was a blessing that things had worked out the way they had, painful though it had been. Olivia still had questions—she suspected she would have questions for the rest of her life—but she had something else now too. She trusted Charlie. He was trying to be a new man.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he murmured against her neck. His arm moved across her stomach, coming up to cradle her breast and to hold her closer.
“Don’t what?” Her voice was foggy with sleep and with the sensuous cries Charlie had provoked in her through the night.
He shifted closer, kissing the back of her neck, teasing her nipple until it was hard and the delicious glow started between her legs yet again. “No thinking. I can tell you’re thinking about something.”
“Nonsense. It’s first thing in the morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and my husband is growing more amorous by the moment.” She swiveled her hips against his half-erect staff to prove her point.
Charlie laughed, low and tempting. “I can tell you’re thinking by the way your body feels like you’re waiting to pounce, the way your heart sped up.” He loosened his grip and shifted to his back, nudging her to drape half on top of him. “Tell me what it is. I don’t want any more secrets or mysteries in our marriage, now that it’s the real thing.”
“And it wasn’t before?” She arched an eyebrow in teasing.
He gave her a no nonsense look in return. Olivia heard that message loud and clear.
She let out a breath, tracing circles on his bare chest, and asked, “Who exactly was Josiah Hurst, and how did you really end up with his fortune?”
For a moment, Olivia bristled with nervous energy at her boldness, especially when Charlie let out a long breath. But then he smiled, and her anxiety turned to curiosity.
“I told you about my wretched childhood, didn’t I?” he began.
“Yes.” She lifted herself enough so that she could see his expression, without tugging the blanket so much that she exposed her backside to the cool morning air.
“And about how I spent my adolescence in the monastery of the Brothers of Saint Benedict.”
“Yes.”
He met her eyes, brushed back a lock of her wild hair as it fell forward. “Well, the former taught me to stay alive at all costs. The latter gave me the moral guidance and conscience I was sorely lacking. The Brothers also gave me an education that I never would have had otherwise. But Josiah…Josiah gave me a heart.”
Olivia blinked and lifted herself higher. He wasn’t teasing. The emotion of his words hung heavily between them.
“We’d been running together for about nine years when Chet came to me with information about a rich old widower in Nashville. Josiah was known far and wide to have as much gold as King Midas, so to speak. He was also known for having a soft heart and a love of giving that money away. He funded a college, a library, and several homes for orphans and women who had fallen on hard times. That’s where Chet got the idea of sending me in to get close to him.”
“Why would he want you to get close to an old philanthropist?” She settled by his side, watching him as he blinked up at the canopy of branches above.
“Chet’s plan was that I make myself indispensable to Josiah, get involved in his business as much as possible. If I was close enough, a day would come where I could snatch the keys to his safe and deposit box at the bank, and where no one would think anything of me accessing his money.” He twisted to look at her. “Well, that part worked.”
“How so?”
“I showed up on the doorstep of one of Josiah’s orphanages, telling him my story and saying that I wanted to thank men like him, who had made such a difference in my life. I befriended him, helped him out in his charity work.” He paused, glancing up at the trees—or more likely, off into the past. “I liked doing that work,” he continued in a different tone. “It felt good, noble, accomplished.”
Olivia smiled and spread her hand over Charlie’s thumping heart.
“Josiah saw more in me than I wanted him to see,” he went on. “He knew that the work I was doing was touching me on a deeper level. He started inviting me to his house for supper—which was part of Chet’s plan—then invited me to stay with him instead of the boarding house where I was living. Also part of Chet’s plan.
“But what wasn’t in Chet’s plan was that I developed a real…fondness for Josiah. I never had a father. I don’t even know if Mama knew who he was. But for the first time in my life, I had a man of character and compassion take an interest in me.”
“What about the Brothers?”
Chet shrugged. “The Brothers were wonderful, but there were more than a dozen of us boys and their spiritual conviction kept them from forming any distinct bonds with the boys. It was just Josiah and me. He and his dear wife, Margery, never had children, much to his regret. He told me that he enjoyed sharing the wisdom of his twilight years with someone.”
“You.” Olivia breathed out the word, reaching to understand how wonderful that must have felt for her clever, sad husband.
“Before six months were out, I’d moved well beyond Chet’s plans. But I was still in almost daily contact with Chet as he pestered me about how things were going.”
“He still wanted to steal Josiah’s fortune.”
Charlie nodded. “I was more and more resistant to the idea, but I didn’t want to just up and disappear out of Josiah’s life. I didn’t trust Chet to leave him alone if I left, and by that point, Josiah knew his days were numbered.”
“Was he sick?”
“Bad heart,” Charlie confirmed, then huffed an ironic laugh. “Which is preposterous, considering how good that man’s heart was. He wanted me to stay with him until the end, keep him company without smothering him with sympathy, the way his doctors and the townsfolk who loved him were doing. So I did.”
“That’s beautiful. And so noble.”
“Yeah, well, Chet was livid. He kept telling me to take the money and run because the ‘old coot’ was on his last legs. I made up some story about waiting until Josiah was dead, because I thought he’d put me in his will. Turns out I was right.”
He let out a hard sigh and raised his free hand to rub his face. “Josiah died, everyone mourned, I was a pallbearer and participated in the funeral. I was just about ready to leave town and disappear from Chet’s life—and my old life—altogether, when Josiah’s lawyer came and told me I needed to be present for the reading of Josiah’s will. To make a long story short, Josiah donated the bulk of his fortune to his charities, but he gave the house and all of its contents, as well as managerial responsibility, to me.”
“How wonderful.” Olivia snuggled closer to her.
Charlie rubbed his face again. “It
was, but I knew it would make trouble with Chet. I left that will reading—after signing all the legal papers they needed me to sign—and I went straight to the house and cleaned out all of the cash and jewels.”
“Which are what you have in your box.” A thrill of accomplishment at putting the pieces together made Olivia smile.
“That’s part of it.” Charlie nodded. “I deposited the rest of it—the bulk of it, really—in a bank in St. Louis. I knew Chet would chase after me if I lingered for so much as a second.”
“Why?”
Charlie laughed bitterly. “Because he thinks the money is his. He thinks the whole thing was his idea, and that he did half or more of the work that led to me being in the will.”
“But he didn’t. I’m certain Josiah included you because of the kindness you showed him.”
“I’m certain of it too, but would you like to explain that to Chet?”
Olivia cringed. Nothing she knew about Chet indicated that he would see even half a lick of sense.
“I left the house in the hands of Josiah’s lawyer, and when I was in St. Louis, I had a telegram that it had been burglarized.”
“Chet?” Olivia gasped.
Charlie nodded. “I have no proof, but who else? Several items of art were stolen, but they weren’t what Chet was really after. I have that all tucked away in a bank and, well, right under our heads.”
“Our heads?” Olivia pushed herself up to one arm to frown down on him.
Charlie laughed, scooting around to sit himself. He reached for the sack of clothes and things they’d been using as a pillow, untied the opening, and fished around until he came out with the locked box. Olivia gasped.
“That’s been here all this time?” She touched her head. So that’s what she’d bumped several times in the night.
Charlie’s grin grew to wicked proportions. “You didn’t think I’d leave it behind, did you?”
“I suppose not,” Olivia said.
“Neither did I.”
Chet’s voice and the sound of a gun cocking shot like ice through Olivia’s veins. She twisted to find Chet slinking out of the shadows of the undergrowth, revolver pointed straight at her and Charlie behind her. Fear jolted through her. A moment later, her body caught up to her brain, and she hugged herself to hide her bare breasts from Chet’s leer.
“Now that’s a sight I didn’t expect to see in the middle of the wilderness,” Chet said. “You picked a fine specimen for a wife, Charlie boy. But then, you always did know how to pick the ladies.”
Charlie was already jumping to his feet. Ignoring his own nakedness, he stood in front of Olivia, blocking her from Chet’s view. Olivia scrambled out of the bedroll to find her chemise and petticoat as Charlie growled, “Leave her out of this, Chet. You want me and you want Josiah’s fortune, not her.”
“You’re wrong there, old friend.” Chet shifted his grip on his revolver, his eyes slipping past Charlie to watch Olivia as she searched for her clothes. “After what I’ve just seen, I want her too. I’m just trying to decide if I should kill you first or shoot your kneecaps off and make you watch as I fu—”
Charlie charged him before he could finish. Chet’s gun went off, and Olivia screamed, dropping the blouse she’d just picked up. Charlie continued to hurtle forward. He slammed his shoulder into Chet’s gut, and the two of them tumbled to the ground, grunting. Chet dropped the revolver. They lay there for only a brief, stunned moment before Charlie raised a fist and pummeled Chet across the face.
That wasn’t the end of things. It was hardly the beginning. Chet fought back, landing a punch across Charlie’s face. It was enough to throw him off-balance. Chet took advantage of the moment and pushed up, sending Charlie sprawling. Olivia shouted—in fear and in protest—as Chet rolled Charlie over and tried to pin him. Charlie kept rolling, bringing Chet with him. The two of them wrestled, sprawling across the leaves and pine needles of the forest floor, Charlie completely naked, and Chet fully dressed.
The two men continued to struggle. Olivia jerked toward them, desperate to find some way to help. Sense kicked in, urging her to find at least some clothes and to retrieve Chet’s gun. She scooped up her chemise and drawers and climbed into them, regardless of the pine needles clinging to them, then dashed to retrieve the revolver.
Charlie and Chet were still grappling by the time she grabbed it. Neither had the upper edge. They threw punches when they could, kicked when they had an opening. Both were covered in dirt and leaves. Chet was trying to grab or punch Charlie’s exposed crotch. The sight startled Olivia as she raced up to them, revolver pointed at them and shaking, until she realized that if Chet landed a blow in that sensitive spot, Charlie would be helpless.
“Stop,” she shouted, aiming the revolver as best she could. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
The men paused for a moment and flinched as they looked at her, but they were still so close and tangled together as they wrestled that Olivia couldn’t risk pulling the trigger.
Chet figured that out as soon as she did and laughed, sick and spiteful. He threw a punch and landed a blow to Charlie’s side before Charlie was ready. Charlie dropped, but when Chet pounced on him, he grabbed Chet by the jacket and hurled him over to the side, nearer to the edge of the cliff.
Olivia saw what was about to happen a moment before it did. Chet threw a punch from his prone, tangled position with Charlie. Charlie dodged and surged to the side to avoid it. They were too close to the edge of the cliff, and when Chet pulled back to try another blow, they tipped over the edge. Both men flailed as the ground vanished beneath them. Olivia screamed as they disappeared.
She threw the gun away and rushed to the cliff. She gasped as she reached the edge, only to find Charlie clinging to the base of a small tree that grew from a patch of ground only a foot from the top. He could easily have climbed back up, except that Chet hung from his other hand. Chet flailed, scrambling to find some purchase in the cliff wall, but his shoes slipped. He clawed at Charlie’s bare skin with his other hand, but there was nothing to grab hold of. Every desperate movement Chet made destabilized both him and Charlie. At least twenty feet or more below them, jagged rocks lined the ground under the cliff, along with a broken and splintered stump.
“Stay still,” Charlie ordered Chet. “I can’t hold on if you don’t stay still.”
“It’s mine, it’s mine,” Chet growled, continuing to scramble for anything to hold on to.
“Calm down,” Charlie shouted.
Olivia dropped to her hands and knees at the edge of the ledge where Charlie hung on. She was close enough to see the feral fear in Chet’s eyes, his teeth bared in a rictus. The man was beyond sense with fear. Her heart went out to him, in spite of everything.
“What can I do?” she panted.
“Get the rope from Barnaby’s saddle.” Charlie sounded unnaturally calm giving the order. His muscles bulged with effort, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the base of the tree. “Stop struggling,” he shouted down to Chet.
“You’re trying to kill me. You’re trying to take what is mine.” Chet gnashed his teeth.
“Go,” Charlie ordered Olivia.
She jerked up, searching for Barnaby. Where had he gone? Charlie had tied him to the tree the night before, but he was nowhere in sight now. Was it possible that Chet had found their camp a long while before showing himself, that he’d gotten rid of Barnaby somehow?
“He’s gone. The horse is gone.” Olivia dropped to her hands and knees again. She reached out her arm. “Let me help you.”
Charlie’s grip slipped. “I love you, Sweet Pea, but you’re not strong enough.”
“I am. I swear I am.” Tears flooded Olivia’s eyes. She reached down to grab Charlie’s wrist near the base of the tree. She couldn’t lose him now, not after everything they’d been through, not after everything they’d shared. He was her husband.
His wrist was rock-hard in her grip, and her heart sank as she realized she truly wasn’t strong enou
gh to stop him from falling. There had to be something else she could do. She narrowed her eyes, studying the tree that Charlie clung to. Its base was about six inches thick, so it was more than just a sapling. It may have grown out of the cliff, but if its roots were deep enough…
Keeping her grip on Charlie’s wrist, she swiveled to sit on the edge of the cliff.
“Olivia, no. What are you doing?” Charlie shouted. His grip on the tree slipped. Below him, Chet hollered in horror. His grip on Charlie’s hand had slipped as well as both of them sweated with the effort of holding on.
“I’m saving you,” Olivia said. She swung her leg around so that her arms were between her legs, and braced both of her feet against the bottom of the tree. As soon as she tested the tree and her own strength, certain neither would give out, she grasped Charlie’s wrist with her other hand too, holding on for all she was worth. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Charlie laughed—he actually laughed—although the sound was borderline hysterical. “I can’t, Sweet Pea. I can’t. But I know you’ve got me.” That seemed to be enough for him. He pulled his eyes away from her and looked down to Chet. “Grab my wrist with your other hand, we’ll find a way to pull you up.”
“You’ll let go,” Chet growled. “You’ll let go and watch me die.”
“I won’t. You have to trust me.”
“No. You took what was mine. You—” Chet gasped as his grip slipped further.
“Grab my wrist,” Charlie shouted at him.
It was all Olivia could do to hold on to Charlie’s other wrist and brace herself against the tree. Chet was thrashing so much that Charlie had all but lost his hold on the base. Fingers of panic stretched up Olivia’s back as her palms dampened. She could hold Charlie for a while, but not forever.
“I won’t let you fall,” Charlie told Chet. His muscles rippled with tension, sweat beading his brow and dripping down the sides of his face like tears. “I’ve got you, if you’ll just grab hold.”
“No, you won’t. You’re a liar and a cheat,” Chet insisted, breathing hard.
“Trust me.”