Shelter from the Storm

by Patricia Rice

  Her courage almost gave way when she realized Marshall intended to take the back stairs to the kitchen rather than face the battle out front. She closed her eyes in brief prayer as Marshall half-dragged her down the narrow stairway.

  Cash had planned this confrontation; she had known it all along. Jonathan and Dr. Burke and Steve Breckinridge were all in on it. If she had only listened and left when they told her to, they would have trapped Marshall and his men and put an end to their marauding forever. It would be all her fault if the plan fell through.

  The least she could do was make it easy for them. Coward that he was, Marshall obviously thought he could sneak out and never be seen. She didn’t know what his plans were beyond that, but she knew they wouldn’t be pleasant. She would rather die quickly now than suffer slow torture later.

  Laura waited until they had slipped out the back door into the relative silence of the kitchen yard. The slave cabins along one side would be deserted. And Cash had taken all the horses from the barn, and probably the grooms too. With all the firing from the front, there would be no one here to see them leave. Unless she acted now.

  Marshall had relaxed the gun pressing at her side as he made his way to the horses still saddled in the paddock where his men had left them. He thought she was helpless. Perhaps she was, but it was time they both learned if she could be something different.

  It would be easier to act without thinking. Blindly Laura jabbed her elbow backward until it connected with Marshall’s ribs. The blow wasn’t strong enough to give him pain, but it was sufficient to startle him into loosening his grip. With another swift movement that she hadn’t thought herself capable of, Laura slammed her arm into his gun hand.

  The weapon exploded in the night air, sending the horses whinnying into panicked circles in the paddock. The commotion drew attention to this darkened corner of the yard. It wasn’t enough to save her, Laura realized as Marshall grabbed her waist and ran for the gate, but it had accomplished one small thing. Cash’s wild cry from the roof warned he had discovered their escape route.

  There still wasn’t anything he could do. Laura turned and caught sight of him as he ran over the roof like a mountain goat, rifle raised, but he couldn’t take aim with her in the way. For Marshall to die, she had to escape.

  She struggled in his grasp, but her efforts were futile. He dragged her into the saddle with him, and even as men ran around the corner, he sent the horse racing into the darkness, away from what little protection the presence of others afforded.

  ***

  Despair engulfed Cash as he watched the horse and rider ride away. Leaping to the roof of the cabins below, he clambered to the ground. Some of the men he had gathered joined him, while others held the gang trapped inside.

  Without a word, Cash slid under the porch, where he had planted some of the blasting powder with which he had meant to put an end to Marshall and his gang. It had seemed appropriate at the time, blowing up Stone Creek and the man who coveted it, putting an end to past dreams and lost hopes. He could carve whole new worlds with Laura at his side. He didn’t need old ones.

  But he needed Laura, and he couldn’t let her get away. He crawled out from under the porch, blasting canisters in hand. Steve Breckinridge grabbed one, but Cash held the other as he raced for the shrubbery hiding their horses. Cash could easily kill Marshall with his bare hands. He didn’t need any weapon other than his fists. First, though, he had to reach Laura. He shoved the canister into his saddlebag and swung onto the back of his horse.

  He was aware that some of the men followed, grabbing their horses as he plunged his stallion through the shrubbery and into the open field in the direction Marshall had taken. He didn’t care. All he could think about was Laura in the wretch’s hands, and his stomach churned and roiled as he kicked his mount to land-eating strides.

  There wasn’t a horse in the county that could match this one; Cash had made certain of that when he’d bought him. He could easily keep pace with Marshall, reduce the distance between them. The men behind weren’t so lucky, but they followed at their own pace. Breckinridge would have the best mount. He would be nearest. These wandering thoughts kept Cash sane as the muscles of the horse beneath him stretched and contracted and carried him closer to Laura.

  Laura. The images flew past him much as the familiar trees did. Laura in the too-big hat and solemn expression. Laura with his son at her breast and a look of love in her eyes. Laura reaching for him, holding him, welcoming him as no other woman had ever done. His hearth, his home, his wife.

  The thoughts steadied Cash even as he watched disaster forming before his eyes. Marshall’s mount was tired, lagging, even before he aimed at the stone fence marking the boundary. Cash wanted to scream in warning, but the man was beyond common sense.

  But not Laura. As the horse gathered its waning strength to make the leap, she shoved free of Marshall’s grasp and dropped into the scrub brush of the fencerow. The horse sailed over the fence without her, its rider bent on escape from the hell-born stallion behind him.

  Crying, calling her name, Cash hauled on his reins. As if she’d known he would be there, Laura scrambled to her feet and reached for him. He jerked her up in front of him and turned the horse for the nearest gate. He was going to kill Marshall, but he’d be damned if he killed his horse in the process.

  Laura clung to Cash’s warm ribs as the wind whistled around them. Tears choked her throat and eyes and she could only take grateful breaths and hold on for dear life. She felt the rage in him, felt the hate and anguish steaming for release, but at the same time, his hold on her was gentle, protective.

  She didn’t know where he was going or what he meant to do, but she no longer cared. There were some things she knew and could do that he couldn’t, but she wasn’t a warrior. Laura buried her face in the security of Cash’s hard chest and prayed.

  When she looked up, she recognized the hill they traversed. She could see the scarecrow of the old Watterson place rise against the sky. She had known Cash owned it, had lived in it, had stayed here these past nights since Sallie’s death, but she had never been inside. She wondered at their destination until she caught sight of the horse staggering to a stop near the front door and the man racing for the protection of its solid walls.

  Marshall had known he couldn’t outrace Cash, so he’d chosen a fortress in which to take his stand.

  Cash reined the stallion to a halt. He kept no servants any longer, but the rooms were packed with stored goods. Marshall could hold out there for months, if he liked. Cash didn’t intend to wait months for freedom from the fear he had seen in Laura’s eyes.

  With grim determination he lowered Laura to the ground, out of range of Marshall’s gun, then edged his horse into the yard.

  “Come on out and give yourself up. Brown. You’ll get a fair trial,” he shouted at the house, well aware of the reception his offer would receive.

  A shot exploded in the dust at his feet as Breckinridge and the others raced up the hill to join him. They arrived in time to hear Brown’s reply.

  “You’re the criminal here, Wickliffe. You killed your wife and now you’re trying to steal mine. It won’t work, you know. Call the sheriff, if you dare. He’ll tell you who he’s going to believe.”

  Steve Breckinridge sidled his horse next to Cash’s. “The sheriff’s busy rounding up the gang back at the house,” he murmured. “Shall I send someone back for him?”

  “Only if you need a witness for the execution,” Cash replied grimly. Then, raising his voice, he called to the man who had done his best to destroy the life of the woman he loved, “The sheriffs back at the farm. Come on out and we’ll take you to him. I’m warning you now, I’m not leaving here until you come out, dead or alive.”

  Marshall laughed triumphantly. “Then you’d better come in and get me, Wickliffe. I’m not stupid enough to put myself in your hands.”

  Without another word, Cash swung his mount back to where Laura waited. Handing his rifle to the
man who rode beside him, Cash jumped down and pulled Laura into his arms, kissed her, then shoved her toward Steve. “Get her away from here.”

  Laura started to protest, but quieted at the steely look in Cash’s eyes. It was his turn now; she no longer had to fight alone. The relief of that knowledge overwhelmed her, and she let Steve guide her back down the hill to where the others waited. She could only pray that Cash would be careful and rely on the belief that he wanted to live as much as she did. Marshall wasn’t worth wasting his life on.

  Cash removed the explosive from his saddlebag and left his horse at the fence. With methodical determination, he took his flint from his trousers and climbed back toward the house. In the yard he bent down and gathered a pile of sticks from the old river birch hanging nearby. He set fire to the kindling, making certain Marshall watched his every move.

  Then, standing, Cash held out the canister of explosive where it could be seen. “This is your last warning, Brown. Come out now, like a man, or I’ll blow the house to hell around you.”

  “Splatter molasses from here to kingdom come; it’s your loss,” Marshall mocked. Then, shooting again in Cash’s direction, he retreated into the safety of the house. A single charge of powder could scarcely penetrate the old log walls.

  Cash had known that would be the coward’s choice, but he felt only a fleeting regret as he set the fuse to the dying blaze and heaved the explosive toward the rear window and his personal storehouse of powder.

  As he flung himself to the ground and rolled down the hill, Cash felt only satisfaction at the blast of the old house shattering into oblivion, blowing his past to the hell from whence it had come.

  Flames shot from the hilltop as Cash staggered to his feet. A small figure in skirts ran across the ragged lawn to greet him. He grabbed her and swung her up in his arms as fire erupted through the old cedar-shingle roof of the house once owned by a man he’d hated.

  The touch of Laura’s lips, the soft warmth of her body, eased the hurts and the hatreds that had led to this moment, letting them leach out and dissipate in the same way the fire became smoke. Cash clasped her tighter, burying his face in her hair.

  “We’d better get Laura back to town now.” Breckinridge arrived to impose his propriety on the new scandal emerging from this night. “They’ve brought a wagon ’round by the road. Laura can ride in that.”

  Arms around Cash’s waist, head against his chest, Laura felt him stiffen. Lifting her head to meet his dark gaze, she smiled at his concern, then turned to Steve with a look not to be denied. “Only if Cash goes with me,” she murmured in the polite tones that covered the steel of determination.

  Steve and Cash exchanged looks over her head. Behind them another small explosion rocked the old Watterson place as some combustible material caught fire, and the flames flared anew, carving a beacon against the heavens, a memorial to the innocent who had worked and given their lives there.

  As if taking warning from the flames, Steve nodded and walked away. Laura’s fingers crept into Cash’s sturdy hand as they followed him down the hill to the waiting wagon.

  Chapter 40

  “I changed my mind. Take us back to the farm,” Cash ordered. “It’s closer, and I have horses there.”

  “I’m going with you.” Laura wrapped her hand firmly in Cash’s as the driver clicked his horses into motion.

  Around them, the bushes rustled with men emerging on foot and horseback to examine the damage to the house burning on the hill. It was beyond saving, and no one seemed in any hurry to determine the fate of the occupant. But a singular number of horses formed a protective circle around the wagon. One of the bigger horses rode close, and Laura made out the outline of Steve Breckinridge’s broad shoulders against the dying glow on the horizon.

  “Let me take her home with me. She’ll need the women around her.”

  Laura squeezed Cash’s hand as she once again defied Steve’s authority. “Mark is still on the train. I have to go after him.”

  Both men answered at once, Cash’s furious “The hell you will!” mixing with Steve’s “Don’t be foolish!” Steve backed out gracefully, nodding to the man who not only had more reason for concern but also seemed to have a better technique for handling her.

  “We’ll find him, Laura,” Cash promised. “You’ve had enough for one day. I’m taking you home.”

  Home. The only real home she had ever known was now an empty shell, but Laura relaxed at his promise. Steve interrupted before she could say anything at all.

  “I’ll ride into town and wake the telegraph operator. We’ll have a wire at the station before the train arrives. I’ll also have a wire sent to Uncle Taunton at the same time. He’ll find the boy.”

  “I put Cousin Bessie’s address in his coat. If there’s some mix-up, they might take him there. You’d better warn her too.”

  The familiar cadence of family names and homely conversation created a circle of security that Cash could only marvel at. Sitting tensely on the hard bench of the wagon, his arm protecting Laura’s back from the wagon’s jostling, he felt uncomfortably uncertain of his position. He had the woman he loved in his arms, but the world she belonged to was pulling at her, trying to fence her in, and he figured he was being excluded.

  “Cash?”

  Steve’s questioning tone caught him by surprise, but he understood what was being asked. It was hard, this asking something of others, accepting favors from people who had once turned their backs to him. On his own, Cash would never have agreed. But feeling Laura’s weight sagging against him, he swallowed his pride and nodded agreement.

  “I’d appreciate it, Breckinridge. I’ve got to see that Laura’s safe first, then I’ll ride into Lexington to bring Mark back. Just make certain someone wires back that they’ve found him and let us know.”

  “It’s your decision,” Steve replied gruffly, “but Laura knows her relations well. Her Aunt Bessie will spoil the kid and will jump at the chance to ride the train back here, if someone pays her way. But she’ll have heart failure if she discovers Laura isn’t staying with us. You might do better to send her on until this is straightened out.”

  Steve discreetly omitted the reason he would defer the decision-making on Mark to Cash, but always alert to the slurs against him, Cash stiffened at the reference to Laura’s relatives. Before he could say something cutting, Laura quietly intruded.

  “I’m not a piece of luggage, Steve, I can speak for myself. And if Aunt Bessie has any problem with my behavior, you can send her to me. It’s not your concern.”

  Cash chuckled as the mighty Steven Breckinridge seemed at a loss for words in reply to this defiance. Finally he bowed his head in acceptance.

  “All right, Laura, if that’s the way you want it. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She murmured a weary “I do” and rested her head against Cash’s shoulder, letting him handle the rest of the situation.

  “I won’t see her hurt,” Cash answered the other man’s silence. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her.”

  Steve gave an ungentlemanly snort of agreement. “You’ve made that point very clear. I’ll not stand in your way, that’s for certain. All right, I’m riding into town. I’ll get you word as soon as I have it.”

  There wasn’t time to do more than settle Laura more comfortably against Cash’s shoulder before another rider approached, this time on a long-eared mule. The man’s face was unclear in the darkness, but Cash thought he recognized one of the county’s smaller farmers.

  “Me and some of the others been talkin’, Mr. Cash. When you’re ready to rebuild, we’ll be there to help you. Can’t rightly do more than that, things bein’ as they are, but we owe you. What those . . .” He cut the expletive off with a glance to Laura, then continued, “What they did to my Edna Mae shouldn’t have been done to a livin’ soul.”

  Anger tinted every word, although the speaker strove to control it. “She’s gone now. She never did get well after that. Those
bastards deserve to roast in hell just for that alone. What I mean to say is, we all got reason to be grateful for what you did. You just get the word out, we’ll be there.”

  He rode off, but the message was the same from every man who walked or rode by the wagon. Cash remained largely silent at the unexpected accolades, but Laura could feel the tension building inside him. Unused to kind words, he was undoubtedly waiting for the next cannonball to explode. He would have to find out for himself that people weren’t all what they seemed.

  The wagon twined through the darkness of country lanes, turning up the rocky road to Stone Creek despite Cash’s protest that they could walk the drive. When the driver stopped before the now-empty house, he merely tipped his slouch hat at Cash’s offer of gratitude.

  “My boy fought for the Union and came home with only one leg. Those varmints shot it out from under him. There ain’t a soul in the county won’t be glad to see the end of this feudin’. You done us all a favor tonight. We won’t be forgettin’ it. Take care of Miz Laura, now, and we’ll see that the boy gets back home.”

  The wagon pulled away, leaving the two of them standing before the darkened house.

  Without a word, Cash lifted Laura into his arms and carried her over the threshold, into the house where she had always lived and which would now be theirs together. There was too much to be said to say it now. Laura wrapped her arms around Cash’s neck and held him close as they ascended the steps. She knew where he was taking her and why, and she offered no protest. The time for proprieties was gone.

  ***

  When Laura woke, the sun was streaming in a newly cleaned window, and she luxuriated in the golden rays warming her nakedness. A hint of autumn cooled her skin, but rather than reach for covers, she gravitated toward the source of heat next to her.

  Cash reached for her and hugged her close, and Laura turned in his embrace, her breasts brushing against his muscled chest as she met his dark gaze. A day’s growth of beard roughened his jaw, his hair made a disheveled mat across his forehead, but the look of wonder in his eyes was as gentle and loving as she could request. She pressed a kiss to his bristly cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.