Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (14 page)

“It was the ravens,” he said. “I’d gone less than a mile when I saw them, circling the open spot down-river where travelers sometimes camped—where
he
would most likely have camped, and where she would have met him. As I rowed toward the spot, I saw the dory pulled onto a gravel bar. Elise’s clothes and other things were still in it, but the camp was deserted.
Someone had been there, but the ashes were cold through, the horse droppings two days old at least.”

“And Elise?” Anna could hear the sound of her own heart, pulsing like a drum in her ears.

“At first I didn’t see her. Then I noticed the ravens again, farther back in the trees.” He spoke with effort, his throat working. “They were flocking around her, where she—she’d hanged herself from the limb of a cottonwood. The birds had already been at her. Her eyes…”

He trailed off, swallowing hard, sparing Anna the rest of the description. But the image was already there, seared into her mind. She pictured the deserted camp, Elise arriving in the dory to find her lover gone. She imagined the hopeless grief, the despair that would lead a woman to take her own life. What a mad, selfish act it had been. What a devastating waste of all that was precious.

Suddenly she found herself raging inside. Elise had been blessed with two beautiful children and the love of a good man—the kind of love that she, Anna de Carlo, would give anything to know. That a woman could have so much and throw it all away—everything—

Anna became aware that Malachi was watching her. She turned abruptly and caught the naked anguish in his eyes. At that moment she knew, beyond doubt, that what he had told her was true. She knew this man. She had seen his integrity, his tenderness, his strength. Such a man could never have murdered the mother of his beloved children.

“I was going to bury her there,” he said, his voice
raw with the strain of holding back his emotions. “But I knew it would help the children to have a grave, a spot they could visit and feel close to her. So I burned her clothes, wrapped her body in a piece of canvas and brought her back to the house.”

“I know the rest of the story,” Anna said, wanting to spare him. “Carrie told me.”

“And it doesn’t make a nickel’s worth of difference, does it?”

Anna stared at him, caught off balance. “No,” she murmured, “I don’t suppose it does. Not as far as my own plans are concerned.” Feeling awkward, she turned away from him and gazed up at the scarred face of the moon. “At least, after I’m gone, I won’t waste time puzzling over it.”

“The way I’ve puzzled over you, Anna?”

She glanced sharply around to find him gazing at her, his eyes narrow and probing in the darkness. “I confess you’ve got me buffaloed, lady. You’ve pried every secret out of me, made me spill my guts till it hurt. And there you sit, buttoned up tighter than a virgin’s underdrawers. You’re hiding something, Anna. Something big. And I think I deserve to know what it is!”

Anna willed herself not to shrink from his demanding gaze. Malachi had her cornered this time, she knew. None of her skilled evasions would turn him aside.

But, dear heaven, how could she tell him the truth? Even if he didn’t turn her over to the law, he could be implicated for harboring a fugitive. He could go back to prison and never see his children again.

“I was watching your face when that bounty hunter
turned around to stare at you,” he said. “You looked as scared as a cornered rabbit. You’re in some kind of trouble aren’t you? That’s why you agreed to marry me in the first place. And now, that’s why you’re so all-fired anxious to leave. You’re afraid somebody’s going to find out who you are and come after you.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Anna snapped, taking the offensive. “I’ll admit I was out of money and needed a place to live when I contacted your cousin. But that hardly makes me a fugitive from the law!”

His eyes glittered coldly. “Nice try, lady, but I know when someone’s trying to feed me a crock of bull—”

“Oh!” Anna gasped, scrambling to her feet. “That is quite enough, Malachi Stone! If you think I’m going to sit here and be insulted in that kind of crude language—”

“Sit down!” His hand clamped around her bare ankle, its rock-solid grip threatening to jerk her off her feet if she resisted. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until you’ve told me what I need to know.”

“You’re hurting me!” Anna whimpered, although it wasn’t true. “Take a look at the way you treat women—”

“
Sit down
!” His fingers tightened. “No more evasions, Anna. No more lies. You give me the whole story now, or, so help me, I’ll hog-tie you, sling you over the back of a mule and haul you to the nearest U.S. Marshal myself!”

Anna lowered herself to the step, her mind still scrambling for a way out. “You won’t like this,” she said, stalling frantically.

“I don’t expect to like it,” he retorted. “Tell me anyway.”

She drew her knees against her chest, fingers rubbing the warm spot where his hand had gripped her ankle. “There’s…this man,” she said, milking time out of every syllable. “He’s after me. I was desperate to get away.” All true so far, she congratulated herself. Every last word.

“So why is this man after you, Anna?” he demanded coldly. “Did you take something from him? Swindle him?”

Not even close
. “He—uh—wants me,” Anna said, still clinging to a thread of truth. Louis Caswell wanted her, all right. He wanted her dead.

Malachi’s eyes seared her through the thin nightshirt, their heat touching every inch of her, from her tousled blond hair to the tips of her bare toes. “Wants you? Now that much I can believe. I can’t imagine any male with blood in his veins not wanting you.” He paused, sucking in his breath. “But I’m not buying it, Anna. Not after that brush with the bounty hunters. You’ve stumbled over the line somewhere, and unless you tell me—”

“Papa!” Carrie’s thin, frightened voice shattered the tension. She burst through the screen door and onto the porch, her eyes huge dark pools in her white face.

“Papa, it’s Josh! I heard him through the wall, and when I went into his room, he was crying. He says his head hurts, and his skin feels like it’s on fire. Hurry, Papa, he wants you to come now!”

M
alachi’s breath caught as he strode into Joshua’s bedroom. The air that closed around him was rank with the smell of fever. Josh lay on his bed with the covers flung back. His eyes were closed, his small, sharp-boned face flushed crimson, the skin as dry as parchment. He was burning alive.

The boy stirred and opened his eyes as Malachi bent over him. “ Pa…?” he asked with effort.

“I’m here, son.” Malachi kept his voice low and calm, betraying none of the churning fear he felt inside. Elise’s words, spoken in the heat of anger, echoed in his memory, haunting him now.
What if one of the children takes sick and dies for want of a doctor? It will be your fault, Malachi Stone! Your fault for bringing us to this Godforsaken hole in the earth
! That impassioned argument, above all others, had come the closest to moving him. But for all its implied peril, his children had been as robust as young woodchucks, scarcely knowing a day of sickness.

Until now.

“Pa…my eyes hurt,” Josh whimpered, “and my legs hurt, too…. Make it stop. Please.”

Malachi brushed his palm across the boy’s forehead, smoothing back the tangle of mahogany curls. Dear God, he was so small, so precious, and he was as hot as fire. “I’ll do what I can, son,” he murmured, feeling helpless. “You lie still now. Close your eyes and rest.”

“He needs fluids.” Anna had appeared behind him with a tin cup in her hand. Pushing her way to the bedside, she dropped to her knees. “Drink this water, Josh. All of it.”

She tipped the cup to his fever-cracked lips. Josh took a tentative swallow, then closed his mouth in tight resistance. “My throat hurts,” he croaked when Anna pressed him. “I don’t want to drink.” His eyes rolled imploringly toward Malachi. “It
hurts
, Pa. Make her stop.”

Anna’s amber eyes flashed upward, reflecting Malachi’s own worry. “He’s got to drink,” she whispered. “The fever’s burning all the moisture out of him.”

“Here.” Malachi’s hand brushed her cool fingers as he took the cup and lowered himself to the floor beside her. Josh lay still on the worn flannel, his eyes half-closed, his bony little body exuding heat like a furnace—heat that Malachi could feel without even touching his skin. Lord, how high was the fever? How high could it go without killing him?

“Drink it down, son,” he rasped, forcing the cup between the small, swollen lips. “Even if it hurts. That’s an order.”

Josh sipped the water whimpering as he swallowed.
The terror of a small, frightened animal flickered in his heat-glazed eyes. “Pa,” he whispered, “am I going to die like Ma did?”

Malachi felt his diaphragm jerk as if he’d been gut-kicked. “You know I’d never let such a thing happen to you,” he said. “You’ve got a bit of fever, that’s all. You’ll be fine once we get you cooled down.” His gaze flicked toward Anna. She was watching him, her expression all too sad and knowing.

“Do you know what it is?” She mouthed the words, barely speaking above a whisper.

“Maybe.” Malachi bent closer and began to examine every inch of his son’s burning skin—the feet, the ankles, the wiry young legs that were always running, jumping, moving. Josh moaned but did not resist as his father slid the flannel nightshirt up the fiery little body, Malachi’s fingers and eyes probing for something he hoped to heaven he would not find.

“There.” His heart contracted as he found it—a bluish lump the size and shape of a teardrop, nested in the boy’s armpit. Malachi cursed under his breath.

“What is it?” Anna whispered beside him.

“Damned tick. I’ve come to believe they carry fever.” He’d gotten a terrible fever himself during those long months alone here—had nearly died from it, in fact. Only after the crisis had passed did he discover the blood-engorged tick clamped on the back of his knee. Over the years, he’d heard stories of men and women dying from similar fevers. The odds of a child surviving the awful ravages were too grim to contemplate. He kept that knowledge to himself as he turned to Carrie, who had crowded in on Anna’s right.

“Get my skinning knife and lay the tip of the blade
on the coals,” he told her. “When it’s red-hot, bring it to me—carefully now.”

The girl nodded, looking pale and fearful. It would be good, he thought, for her to have something to do.

“Pa?” Josh’s fingers plucked weakly at Malachi’s sleeve. “What is it? What are you going to do with your knife?” His eyes were round with terror.

“Nothing that will hurt you.” Malachi could have kicked himself for frightening the boy. “We’re just going to give Mr. Tick a hot poke in the rump so he’ll pull his head out of your skin. If you hold still, you won’t even feel it.”

He glanced at Anna. “If we just pull the tick off, the head will stay in place….” he explained, the words trailing off into silence as he saw her amber eyes reflecting his own thoughts. Getting the tick out wouldn’t make much difference now. Josh’s vital young bloodstream was already infected, and the fever was raging like wildfire through his small body.

Carrie appeared in the doorway holding the knife carefully in front of her. “Is it hot?” Malachi asked, glancing down at the blackened point.

“It was red when I took it out of the fire.” Only a quaver in her voice betrayed her fear. The girl’s courage raised a lump in Malachi’s throat. She was trying so hard to be brave and grown-up.

“Josh, do you want me to hold you so you won’t flinch?” Anna asked gently, and the boy nodded. She moved to the far side of the bed and, crouching low, slid her arms around him from behind, cradling his curly head against the curve of her throat.

Josh raised his arm without being asked as Malachi approached with the knife. “Be careful, Pa,” he said.
Then he clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and waited.

Swiftly now, before the blade could cool, Malachi leaned close. Willing his hand not to tremble, he touched the heated point to the tick. Anna grimaced, holding Josh tightly as the creature loosened its grip and began to squirm.

A dizzying rage surged through Malachi as he plucked the tick from Josh’s skin and crushed it hard, again and again against the knife blade. If this tiny bloodsucker had set in motion the forces that would end his son’s life…

He became aware of Carrie’s startled fawn eyes staring at him from the foot of the bed. Anna, too, was watching him, her soft, ripe lips parting in horror. Probably thought he was crazy. Well, maybe he was.

“You’re bleeding,” Anna said, and Malachi saw that she was right. He had pricked his own finger on the blade.

“It’s nothing.” Feeling foolish, he wiped the bead of blood on the seam of his trousers. Josh had relaxed in Anna’s arms, his fevered eyes only half-open.

“Did you get all of him, Pa?”

“All of him.” Malachi said, wishing fervently that he could trade places with the stricken boy. Josh’s life was in the hands of heaven—or fate as the case might be. If his son died, Malachi knew he would never believe in the heavenly powers again.

Anna eased Josh out of her arms and laid him gently back on the pillow. Where his small body had rested, her skin was damp with sweat. It didn’t take a doctor to tell her the fever was dangerously high. A young girl at the orphanage—her own friend—had
survived such a fever, but afterward she had a been a leaden, dull little thing who whimpered rather than spoke, as if the searing heat had burned away her very spirit. The thought of Josh suffering the same fate clawed at her heart with talons of dread.

She glanced up at Malachi, feeling his pain, his anguish. “We’ve got to cool him down,” she said quietly. “I’ll wet some towels at the pump. We can use them to wrap him.”

“And I’ll cut some willow bark for tea. There’s nothing better.” Malachi stirred beside the bed, animated by the hope of doing something useful. “Carrie, you fire up the stove and heat some water—”

“Never mind that,” Anna interjected quickly. “You go with your father, Carrie, and hold the lamp while he cuts the bark. I can have the kettle on by the time you get back.”

Father and daughter hurried from the house, stopping only long enough to light a lantern. Anna remained in Josh’s room a moment longer, watching the boy from the doorway. He had closed his eyes, and his lashes lay like dark silk fans against his skin. Her mind’s eye saw him bounding off the porch to greet her arrival, his welcoming grin lighting up his face like the Fourth of July. She saw him in motion—running, swimming, climbing—and at rest, sucking his lip in concentration as he bent over his sums and take-aways.

Josh had been her first friend in this hostile place. He was so loving, so full of life; and now he drifted in and out of stupor, the fever burning the flesh off his sturdy young bones.

“Dear God…” Anna’s lips moved in the first
prayer she’d uttered since the loss of another child, long ago. “I’ve tried not to bother you over the years—figured I wasn’t fit to ask you for anything. But now I’ve nowhere else to turn. Please don’t take this precious boy. Don’t break his father’s heart and his sister’s. If you have to take somebody, Lord, make it me. I’ve led a wicked life. I’ve cheated. I’ve lied. I’ve broken most of the ten commandments. And if I live on, I probably won’t change much. But this boy…he’s got so much promise. He’s got a chance to do so much good in the world with his pure, loving spirit. If you’ll settle for my life instead, I’m ready, Lord, here and now….”

Anna closed her eyes and stood perfectly still, waiting. Had her prayer traveled beyond the ceiling of the room, all the way to the ear of the Almighty? Not likely, she reasoned, opening her eyes again. If it had, she would already be dead, and Josh would be leaping out of bed, blooming with health. Her time would have been better spent firing up the stove, putting the kettle on to boil, and wetting down the sheets and towels.

As she turned to leave the room, she felt something cool and damp nudge her palm. Doubtful stood beside her in the doorway, thrusting his muzzle into her hand. Anna stoked the great, shaggy head, too preoccupied to wonder at the big wolf-dog’s acceptance of her. Through the kitchen door, left open, she could see the lantern bobbing in the darkness, winding toward the willows that screened the river. “It’s all right, boy,” she murmured to the dog. “Go with them. Go on, now.”

Instead the dog slipped past her into Josh’s room,
padded over to the bed and laid his chin on the quilt. His pale wolf’s eyes, pained and puzzled, watched the feverish boy. His tail wagged, then dropped low, as if in understanding that his young master was seriously ill.

Anna left the two of them together and hurried into the kitchen to fire up the stove.

The sun had risen, crawled across the sky and set in a ball of flame above the canyon walls. Malachi had scarcely noticed the passing of time. The balance of his whole universe hung on the fate of one small boy who lay in a dimly lit room, his young body racked with fever. Again and again, with Anna and Carrie’s help, he had wrung out wet cloths and wrapped Josh’s burning limbs and body in them to ease the fever. After the morning chores, Carrie had gathered more willow bark and boiled it into tea, which Anna spooned into Josh’s mouth while Malachi held him. The taste was bitter, and at first the boy had fought every mouthful. He no longer had the strength.

The routine of wrapping and dosing had been repeated so often during the day that Malachi had lost count. And still the fever raged. Josh was growing weaker by the hour. The progression of his sickness seemed much faster than had Malachi’s own bout with tick fever. Maybe this was a different kind of tick, or a different kind of infection; or maybe the tick he’d pulled off Josh had nothing to do with the fever at all. Lord, the uncertainty alone was enough to drive a man crazy! What he wouldn’t give for a
doctor—but in terms of getting medical help, they might as well be living in the bowels of hell.

It will be your fault, Malachi Stone…your fault
…Elise’s damning words gnawed at his conscience. If anything happened to Josh, he would never know peace again.

“Papa, I’m going to bed now.” Carrie stood in the doorway, looking like an exhausted wraith in her white nightgown. “Will you call me if anything changes?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you. Get some rest, sweetheart,” Malachi answered, catching the weary kiss she blew him. If Josh were to die, he would lose Carrie, too, he realized. Not even he could justify raising a young girl alone in a place like this, with no mother and no other child for companionship.

The door to Carrie’s room opened and closed. Malachi felt the dog stir beside him, whimpering anxiously. Strange, how animals seemed to sense when something was wrong. Even the noisy mules had been subdued today.

The screen door closed as Anna came in with an armful of firewood. The sounds of her rummaging in the kitchen—rattling dishes, pouring water and poking at the fire in the stove, were oddly comforting, as was the smell of coffee that drifted slowly to his nostrils. Even under the circumstances, it was good having her here.

A few minutes later she walked into the bedroom with two steaming mugs. “You look as if you could use this,” she said, handing him a cup of the dark,
steaming brew. “Better yet, why don’t you get some rest? I can sit with Josh for a while.”

“You know I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes.” Malachi sipped the scalding coffee. She had made it too strong for his taste, but what did it matter?

He studied her over the brim of the cup. The day had been hot, and the plaid shirt and denim pants clung damply to her body. Her hair, hastily twisted and pinned at the crown of her head, had loosened into sweaty tendrils that hung around her haggard face. Her eyes were red with weariness. She had tended Josh all day, fussing and fretting as if he had been her own child.

“You look like the one who could use some sleep,” he said gently. “Go on, I’ll wake you if Josh needs anything.”

She shook her head, staring down at her coffee as if she were about to fall into the cup. After a long moment she took a sip, set the cup on the washstand and gathered up the pile of gingham she was making into a dress for Carrie. She had been sewing off and on for much of the day, leaving her work on the foot of the bed when Josh needed care. Little by little, now, the dress was coming together.