Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (11 page)

“You’ve got your work cut out,” he said. “And it goes without saying, you won’t have much to work with.”

She nodded slowly, lost in thought. “Malachi, what happened to your wife’s clothes?”

“They’re gone.”

“But where?”

He shook his head, willing the memory away. “It’s a long story. Don’t ask.”

“Help me. Did she have any cloth? Any scissors or needles? Did she sew?” Anna leaned forward, moonlight flooding the shadows that deepened the
V
of her unbuttoned collar, revealing a glimpse of satiny breast. In spite of his resolve, Malachi felt the stirring deep in his body. The night was warm, and she was tantalizingly close.

“She did a little mending, I remember.” He spoke with effort, his mind elsewhere. “But that was all. Last year a peddler came through and paid for his crossing with a half dozen bolts of cloth. Elise put them away—I don’t remember where—and never used them. Most of her clothes, and the children’s, were ordered from Santa Fe with her mother’s help. Needless to say…” He left the rest of the words unspoken. Aside from their efforts to take them, Elise’s parents had shown little interest in Josh and Carrie. No letters or cards. No gifts, not even on their birthdays.

“But the cloth—” Anna’s fingers caught his arm, the light contact igniting him like a match dropped
on dry tinder. “I can sew like a wizard, Malachi! I could work miracles with that cloth—”

Flinging caution to the devil, he kissed her.

Even Malachi was startled by the suddenness of it as he seized her waist, jerked her close and captured her unwary mouth. Caught off guard, she resisted for an instant. Then her ripe lips softened. Her body melted into him, warm and yielding and fragrant with her woman musk. The sweetness of it! Malachi drank her in, devoured the feel and scent and taste of her like a man starving in the desert would wolf a pomegranate. His tongue invaded her mouth, probing and licking, feeling the heat of her response. She moaned as his hand slid upward to cup her unfettered breast through the worn flannel, pushing the fullness upward so that it bulged over the open collar.

Dizzy with need, he bent lower and buried his lips in that buttery softness. She arched against him, demanding more. Her breath came in sharp little gasps as he freed her nipple and circled the soft mauve aureole with the tip of his tongue. Her head dropped forward, veiling him in the silky curtain of her hair as she held him, her frenzied fingers pressing him hard against her breast.

His free hand found the hem of the flannel nightshirt and, after an instant’s fumbling, the naked satin legs beneath.
Enough of this madness
, a voice in his head urged.
She’s your wife. Take her now. Just pick her up, carry her into the bedroom and end this game playing once and for all
!

Drawn by hungers he had no more will to resist, Malachi let his hand move between her thighs toward
the sweet, moist heaven at their joining—the heaven where he knew, at last, he belonged.

Anna whimpered as his fingers brushed her exquisitely sensitive flesh, their work-roughened tips sending rivulets of fire surging upward through her body. Need was a cry in her, an aching hollow that his love could warm and fill.
Just this once
, her heart whispered.
It doesn’t have to be forever, as long as it’s now
….

She pressed herself into the hollow of his hand, letting him claim her, feel her moistness, her urgent heat.

No
! The word exploded like a gunshot in her head. What was she thinking? Malachi didn’t love her. True, he was lonesome and woman-hungry, but his heart belonged to a memory. Anything that happened between them tonight would be a mockery of that early, all-consuming love.

And she was a hunted woman. She could not bind herself to this man, not even for a single night. She could not leave any part of herself in this place. And she could not carry anything, even a memory, away with her when the time came to run.

With the last of her remaining strength she wrenched herself away from him. “Malachi, stop—” she murmured, her words slurring with desire, her lips wet and swollen.

“Why?” He reached for her again and pulled her back toward him. “We’re married, Anna. Give me one good reason why we should—”

“We have a business arrangement!” she gasped, twisting away and staggering to her feat. “And for my own private reasons, I have to keep it that way!”

His eyes had gone cold in the moonlight, and Anna knew she had hurt him. How she ached to fling herself into his arms again, to lose herself in his loving until she forgot the sight of Harry’s murdered body, the blood smearing her hands and clothes, the terror of Louis Caswell and his hideous companion passing her on the stairs. It would be so easy, so tempting. But in the end, it would be no good. If she gave herself to Malachi, they would both pay a heavy price in pain and regret.

He had risen to stand beside her, as cold and remote now as the face of the moon. “All right, business it is,” he said curtly. “If you stay long enough to help me keep my children, you’ll no doubt want something in return.”

“Yes, of course.” So things had come full circle, back to this. Anna willed her emotions to freeze before she spoke again. “Here’s my proposition,” she said. “I’ll do everything I can to help you. If we fail, you can take me to Kanab, put me on the stage, and send me back to Salt Lake City.”

“And if we succeed?” he asked cautiously.

“You give me stage fare to Salt Lake and train fare all the way from there to San Francisco. Either way, I’ll be out of your life for good.”

“Sounds fair enough.” He thrust his hands into his pocket and stood gazing up at the river of stars that glittered above the towering canyon walls. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to watching for that bobcat.”

“You said it wouldn’t come tonight.”

“I’ve been wrong before.” He turned away, his jaw set in a grim line.

Anna watched him stride across the yard with the dog trailing at his heels. There would be no bobcat, she knew. And most likely, at this late hour, Sam Johnson and his son would be sleeping somewhere along the trail. The only reason for Malachi to stay outside was the one she had just given him.

Malachi Stone was a proud, stubborn man. He would keep the bargain they had made. Anna knew he had come to her bed for the last time.

B
y the time Anna awoke the next morning, aching and weary after a fitful night, Malachi and the mules were gone. She stumbled into the kitchen to find Josh seated at the table, having a leisurely breakfast of bread and milk.

“Pa told me I was to stay here and help with chores,” he said. “See, I’ve already gathered the eggs.”

“That’s right fine.” Anna managed a tired smile. “Where’s Carrie?” she asked, noticing that the girl’s bedroom door was open, the bed empty.

“Gone to milk Patches.” The boy studied her earnestly, his round spaniel eyes following Anna’s movements as she wandered to the stove, rummaged for a mug and poured herself some coffee. Mornings had never been her strong suit. Especially with talkative children around.

A used plate, mug and knife sat on the counter. Malachi’s she surmised. And he had probably made the coffee as well, all very stealthily, to avoid waking
her up and having to face what had happened last night. The coward.

“Do you love my pa?” Joshua’s piping voice caught her off guard. Anna raked her hair back from her face and struggled to compose herself as she took a gulp of the thick, black coffee. It was strong to the point of bitterness and only lukewarm. Grimacing, she put the mug down on the counter.

“What kind of question is that?” she sputtered.

“It’s
my
kind of question,” Josh persisted. “
Do
you love him?”

Anna sighed. “Josh, at this point, it doesn’t make much difference whether I love your father or not.”

“Then you
do
love him!” Josh grinned and bounced in his chair, sloshing the milk in his spoon.

“Did I say that?” Anna weighed the idea of going back into her room, crawling back into bed and starting the whole day over in an hour or so.

“You didn’t have to. You let him sleep with you. And Pa told me that when a man and lady sleep together, it means—”

“I know what he told you!” Anna turned away to hide the rush of hot crimson to her face. The boy must have heard Malachi in her room the night before last. Sweet heaven, what else had he heard?

“It wasn’t what you think,” she said, feeling as if she had just stepped into a quagmire. “Your father was tired, that was all. He needed a place to lie down and rest.”

“Uh-huh. And you let him.” Josh was gazing at her in wide-eyed innocence. “And that means you want to be with him forever and make a family.”

Anna stifled a groan. “Josh,” she said, “someday
your father will find the woman he really wants. Then you’ll have a real mother and be a real family. In the meantime—”

“Patches is out!” Carrie burst into the kitchen, wild-eyed and out of breath. “I tracked her down to the river! She’s stuck in some mud—looks like it might be quicksand!”

Anna raced after the children. There was no time to dress, no time even to pull on her boots. She ran full out, ignoring the pain of sharp rocks and stickers. From the direction of the river she could hear Doubtful barking frantically and, as she came within earshot, the pained and exhausted lowing of the cow. Had Sam Johnson unlatched the barn door out of pure meanness as he was leaving last night, or had it been a simple oversight on someone’s part—the children’s or even her own? No matter. The cow was a friend and provider for Malachi’s children. The family could not afford to lose her.

Anna’s heart sank as she burst out of the willows and saw the brown-spotted cow. Patches stood belly deep in a spot about fifty yards downstream from the ferry, where the eddying current had left a swirl of treacherous, sandy mud. She could not have been there long, or Malachi would have discovered her, but she looked as if her strength was already spent. As Anna watched, the trapped animal bawled piteously and tried to lunge forward. The effort only caused her to sink deeper into the dark, sucking mud.

“Get a rope!” Anna shouted to the children. She had no idea how she would get a rope around the poor cow, let alone pull it out, but they had to do something.

Frantically she glanced around. A half dozen yards from the riverbank was a dead cottonwood, not as massive as the one upstream near the bathing spot, but it would have to do. Anna ran to it, kicked it, shook it, testing its strength. It felt solid enough to use as an anchor. But she could not be sure. The cow was so big and so horribly mired.

Through the willows she could hear the shouts of the children. Seconds later they burst onto the bank, Carrie staggering under a massive coil of rope. Both of them had been crying.

“Is Patches going to drown?” Josh asked, choking back tears.

“Certainly not!” Anna answered too quickly. “We won’t let that happen. See, we’ve got a good, strong rope and three good minds to figure out what we’re going to do!”

“But we aren’t strong enough to pull her out!” Carrie argued. “Patches weighs more than all of us put together!”

“Just give me the rope.” Anna seized the heavy coils, masking her own fear with action. “We’ll just make a loop, like this, toss it around her neck, and—”

“No, you’ll choke her that way!” Carrie objected. “Rope her horns. That’s what Pa would do.”

“Yes…I know.” Anna’s hands shook as she opened the loop and waded into the edge of the current. Years ago, in Kansas City, some friendly cowboys had shown her how to throw a lasso. She could only pray the memory would serve her now.

The sandy mud sucked at her feet as she approached the terrified Patches. The cow’s eyes bulged,
showing bloodshot white around the rims. Anna could feel the mud sucking at her own feet, but she knew she would need to get as close as possible or the rope would miss. She would be all right as long as she kept moving, she reassured herself. Yes, that was the secret of walking on quicksand. Don’t let your weight settle, and don’t stay too long in one place. It had become her credo for living as well.

For all her caution, she could feel herself sinking as she edged closer. The sandy mud was up to her ankles now, and she had to pause to position the rope. Holding her breath, Anna tossed the loop. It hovered for an instant, like a smoke ring on the air. Then, miraculously, it settled over the top of the cow’s head.

“Pull it tight!” Carrie shrieked from the bank. “Hurry, before it slips off!”

Anna jerked the rope hard. The effort sent her staggering backward. As the rope tightened around the base of the long horns, she lost her balance and toppled into the mud.

“Hang on to the rope!” Josh shouted. “We’ll wrap our end around the tree! Then you can pull yourself out!”

Anna groped for the rope in the swirling brown water. She was covered with mud by now, and sinking deeper by the second.

“Lie flat and spread out,” Carrie shouted. “That’s what Papa always tells us. It’ll keep you from sinking!”

Anna spread-eagled her arms and legs and found that it was true. The sinking had stopped, and she was able to drag herself hand over hand onto solid ground.
She staggered to her feet, coated in a solid sheet of mud.

“Too bad Patches doesn’t have hands,” Josh commented sadly. “She could pull herself out, too.”

“We’ll just have to do that for her,” Anna said. But her heart sank as she looked back at the cow. The rope on her horns might keep her head from going under, but no amount of pulling would free her massive body from the quicksand’s powerful grip.

“If only Papa was here with the mules!” Carrie sank dejectedly onto a log. “He could get a rope around her, and they could pull her out.”

“We’ve got to get word to him.” Anna could feel the mud shrinking and cracking around her in the hot morning sun. For any of them, walking the distance would take hours.

Aching with frustration, she stared out at the wretched cow. The dog whined and sniffed her muddy hand, as if demanding that she do something about this awful situation. Absentmindedly, she scratched the shaggy head.

“I’ve got it!” Josh shouted, bouncing up and down. “We can tie a message to Doubtful’s collar and send him up the road after Pa!”

“Yes!” Carrie was up in a flash. “I’ll get a clean dish cloth!” she called over her shoulder. “We can write on it with soot from the stove!”

“But writing will take a long time!” Josh argued, striving to keep up with her on his short legs. “What will you say?”

“Just one word,” Carrie answered. “
HELP
.”

Anna stood on the riverbank and watched them go. They were wonderful children, she thought. Strong,
spirited and resourceful. Malachi was raising them well. The last thing he deserved was to lose them.

The cow was panting, her mud-caked sides fluttering with each shallow breath. Anna pulled the rope taut and wrapped it securely around the tree trunk. Even if Patches didn’t drown, how much longer would the poor beast last out there in the brutal sun with big, blue flies swarming around her face? It might be kinder to shoot her now and put her out of her misery. But Malachi would have the rifle, Anna reminded herself. He always took it when he went up to the slide.

“Go, Doubtful! Find Papa!” She could hear the children shouting and cheering as the huge dog raced up the road. Yes, let them hope, Anna thought as she settled herself on the log. Let them believe Malachi would return in time to save Patches from a lingering death. She could not believe it herself. Sad, ugly things happened every day, and there were no miracles to stop them and make everything all right. Malachi’s children were too young to know that. But she wasn’t.

When the children had quieted down, Anna sent them into the house to finish breakfast and do their lessons while she kept watch on Patches. The sun crawled across the sky, sucking moisture from everything its rays touched. High in the blazing turquoise sky, great black birds—vultures, surely—began to gather and circle.

Anna found a bucket by the pump and used it to fling river water onto the cow’s face, cooling her and washing away the flies. Patches continued to sink,
slowly but steadily. By now only her head and the top of her back remained clear of the mud.

Anna was scooping water from the shallows when she heard the children shouting. Her ears caught the sound of Doubtful’s bark and Lucifer’s wheezing bray. Her knees weakened with relief. Malachi had come at last. But she knew he had brought no magic with him. He would spend all his strength for the sake of the children, but in the end…

Anna forced the thought away as she waited for him to appear.

Malachi raced through the willows with the children at his heels. At the river’s edge he could see Anna, coated from head to toe with drying, crumbling mud. A stone’s toss beyond her, mired to the neck, was the cow.

He swore under his breath, sick at heart. Patches looked like a goner, but he had no choice except to do what he could.

Anna faced him, her eyes red-rimmed holes in the muddy mask of her face. “Carrie found her like this,” she said brokenly. “We don’t know how she got out. Oh, Malachi, what’s the use?”

“Maybe no use at all,” he said softly, so the children wouldn’t hear. “But Josh and Carrie won’t get over it anytime soon if we lose her. They’ve had enough bad dreams about their mother.” He turned away and surveyed the thick rope. “We’ll have to get it around her hind quarters, or there’ll be no chance at all,” he said. “Hold on, I’m going into the river.”

Josh and Carrie had emerged from the willows and stood on the bank watching him. Carrie had been crying
again and Josh looked as if he were about to start. “I’ll do what I can,” Malachi told them, “but she’s stuck bad. I can’t promise—”

He tore his gaze away without finishing the sentence, kicked off his boots and waded into the eddying river. The sandy mud gave way beneath his weight, pulling at his feet as he plunged forward. Only speed would keep him from going under. He lunged toward the cow, his fingers catching the sharp bony ridge of her spine. Patches shuddered beneath the familiar touch. Her eyes rolled, showing white as she lowed piteously. Malachi caught the loop of rope that encircled her horns. Then he turned and shouted at the trio on the bank.

“Anna, loosen the rope around the tree and play it out toward me! Then get ready to catch this end when I throw it to you! That way I can try to work the middle part around her rump! Josh, get a couple of shovels from the shed! Carrie, you bring the mules!”

He rested for a moment, breathing hard, while Anna freed the rope. Then he drew it toward him, hand over hand, until he had enough slack to toss the loop to Anna. She caught it awkwardly, then pulled it back until the ends were even and Malachi was holding the middle. “Good!” he shouted above the sound of the river. “Now hang on to those ends and give me just a little slack—that’s it—”

The cow’s hindquarters were imbedded in mud that had settled and solidified to the consistency of wet concrete. Malachi stretched his body along her length, taking care not to add his weight to her own. With his hands, he began clawing away the mud, flinging each handful into the current. It was excruciating
work. The mud flowed back into place almost as fast as his hands could scoop it away. His progress could barely be measured in inches.

Time crawled at the pace of slow-dripping blood. Glancing up, he saw that Carrie had brought the mules and that Josh was standing on the bank balancing the two shovels as if uncertain what to do with them. Malachi wanted to call out to his children, but the effort of staying above the cold, sucking mud and trying to work the rope behind the cow had drained his strength. His hands were growing numb, and he had long since lost all feeling in his legs and feet. But he knew he could not give up. Not with so much at stake. If only—

“Give me the rope!” Anna’s voice was so close that it startled him. He looked up to see her eyes gazing at him from the other side of the cow.

“For heaven’s sake, Malachi, don’t be such a proud fool!” she snapped. “You can’t do this alone! While you dig away the mud I can work the rope down behind Patches! It’s the only way we’ll get her out!”

Still numb, Malachi stared at her—this small, determined woman, caked with river muck and glowering at him over the butt end of a cow. She had lied to him, evaded him, inflamed and infuriated him at every turn. He had yet to find out who she was and why she had consented to become his wife. But suddenly none of it mattered. At that instant he knew he loved her—loved her to the depths of his lonesome, miserable soul. And he knew that he would move the whole world, if need be, to make her his.