Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (19 page)

“Send the boy out!” Anna shouted. “When I can see that he’s all right, I’ll come out in the open. As soon as he’s safely back in the house, I’m all yours!”

Malachi felt his heart swell and shatter. She was a glowing flame of courage, his Anna. He could only hope the two old harpies who’d judged her an unfit mother were hearing every word.

In the brief tick of silence Malachi could hear the song of a canyon wren and the rushing sigh of the river. Then his chest jerked as Joshua appeared at the crest of the rock. The boy appeared white-faced and shaken, but otherwise unhurt, thank heaven. Anna had come out into the yard, making herself an easy target. Caswell or one of his cronies probably had a bead on her right now. Malachi’s tightly clenched jaw sent darts of pain up his face. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple as he willed himself to keep still.

“Come on, Josh,” Anna called, gently encouraging the terrified little boy. “That’s it. Down the rocks and into the yard. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them!”

Malachi watched, his heart in his throat, as Josh reached level ground and broke into a headlong run. Anna was moving toward him now, reaching out as he stumbled, catching him, enfolding him fiercely in her arms. Josh clung to her like a frightened little animal.

For a moment she held him tightly. Then slowly and gently she lowered him to the ground, saying
something that Malachi could not hear. Suddenly Josh leaped on her again, his small arms locking around her neck. The lump in Malachi’s throat all but choked him as she eased the boy away from her and turned him firmly toward the house.

“Run!” she commanded, and Josh did, his sturdy little legs devouring the distance to the porch, where Carrie waited to snatch him into the safety of the house.

Malachi’s eyes stung with unshed tears of relief. “So help me, I’ll make this right,” he whispered. “I swear it, Anna, on my life.”

Head high, Anna walked slowly toward the rocks. Malachi seethed helplessly, knowing he could not interfere now. Caswell would not murder her outright in front of so many witnesses, but if a gunfight broke out, with everyone shooting, Anna would be the first to die.

As she reached the foot of the ledges, the two bounty hunters stepped out of hiding, seized her roughly by the arms and half marched, half dragged her up the rocky path. She made no outcry, and Malachi knew that she would face Caswell with proud defiance. Anna—
his
Anna—would spit into the very eye of death.

How long would Caswell keep her alive? Would he wait until they got out of the canyon? Until the bounty hunters went their separate way? Or would he arrange an “accident” at first opportunity on the steep trail? Malachi could not predict what a monster like Caswell would do. He only knew that time was already running out.

Taking swift advantage of the distraction caused by
Anna’s capture, he slipped back the way he had come. Where the rough trail forked upward, he paused to glance back toward the clump of rocks where she had vanished. The thought of her there, at Caswell’s mercy, tore at his heart.

Suddenly he felt something cool and damp push into the palm of his hand. He swore softly as he looked down into Doubtful’s pale, wolfish eyes. The last thing he needed was the fool dog following him, giving his presence away. “Go home, boy!” he ordered, pointing furtively to the house. “Home!”

Doubtful’s tail wagged hesitantly. He whined, then, when Malachi did not relent and scratch his head, he slunk off in the direction of the house, disappearing behind a clump of mesquite. Malachi waited an instant longer to make sure the dog was not following him. Then, praying for time, he struck out for the high, rocky ridge that ran parallel to the road.

Anna sprawled in the gravel at Caswell’s feet, where the two bounty hunters had flung her. She was bruised, scratched, dirty and sick with fear—a fear she masked with defiant rage.

“There’s your murderer!” She pointed at Caswell but her words were meant for the two cold-eyed hunters who’d dragged her up the rocks. “He killed the man I was going to marry—he and his big, ugly stooge! Then they blamed me when I walked in and discovered the body! Why don’t you—”

Her words ended in a whimper as Caswell’s black, high-heeled boot slammed into the side of her head. Sparks exploded in her brain as she fought to stay conscious.

“Save your breath, you little whore!” Caswell spat out the words. “Nobody’s going to believe your lies!” He jerked his head toward the bounty hunters. “We’ve got what we want. You two go back up the road and bring down the horses. We’re getting out of here!”

Anna lay still, gathering the last of her strength as the bounty hunters trotted off toward the road. Her vision was blotchy from the impact of Caswell’s brutal kick. The ringing in her ears blended with the rushing sound of the Colorado, where it swept below the ledges, no more than a stone’s throw away.

Caswell stood over her, smiling his oily smile. “Well, my dear,” he said, “it seems we’ve come to the end of the trail. Sorry we didn’t get to know each other better. I might have found you…amusing.” His hand lifted a lock of her hair, his fingers slowly twisting it into a tawny rope.

Anna knew, then, that he was going to kill her. He would do it here. Now. That was why he had sent the bounty hunters away. All he had to do was throw her over the ledge into the river. Then he could claim that she’d drowned trying to escape.

Caswell glanced at his hulking companion. “Do it,” he said. “Then let’s get out of here before that big lout she married decides to make a hero of himself.”

“Why did you do it, Caswell?” Anna stalled desperately as The Russian moved toward her, his eyes as cold and flat as a snake’s. “At least I’m entitled to know that before I die.”

Caswell smiled. “My dear, you are not entitled to anything—except the satisfaction of knowing I’ll
sleep better after you’re gone.” Again he nodded, and the big man caught Anna’s wrists, whipped her upright and began dragging her toward the precipice.

“Stop right there.” Malachi stepped into sight from behind a rock, the barrel of the rifle leveled at Caswell’s heart. “Tell your plug-ugly friend to let her go, or you’re a dead man.”

Caswell froze, his hands inching upward, his small, black eyes darting nervously from the rifle to his hulking cohort. “Do it,” he croaked. “Let her go.”

The Russian flung Anna roughly to the ground. She landed sprawling, the rough gravel cutting into her hands. Malachi caught a flash of crimson—was she hurt?

He glanced toward her, distracted for a split second. Too late, he realized his mistake as the enormous figure of The Russian hurtled down on him, slamming into his body with the force of a runaway locomotive. The rifle flew into the air as Malachi went down under the crushing weight. “Run, Anna!” he gasped, struggling. “Get out of here!”

A giant fist seized his throat, and Malachi found himself fighting for his life. His adversary was an immensely powerful man, but Malachi’s own arms, the muscles hardened by years of backbreaking work, fought free, allowing him to scramble to his feet. Now, with both of them standing, their fists came into play. Malachi was outweighed by a good forty pounds, but rage and desperation gave him strength. The soulless monster would have killed Anna. He would likely have killed Josh, as well.

Chest heaving with fury, Malachi drove his enemy back toward the ledge that overhung the river. The
Russian swung hard, landing a glancing blow that threw his own huge body off balance. He stumbled, his arms waving grotesquely like the wings of a fledgling vulture. Then, with a hoarse, animal cry, he pitched backward over the precipice.

The drop was not far, but here, where the canyon narrowed, the water was deep, the current too strong for any swimmer. By the time Malachi checked his own forward momentum and glanced over the edge, his foe had vanished beneath the swirling brown water.

The rifle—he saw it, then, wedged where it had fallen between two rocks. Wrenching it free he swung around—only to find Caswell a dozen paces away, holding Anna against him with one arm as he pressed the blade of a long, sharp knife to her throat.

“Drop the rifle, Mr. Stone,” Caswell said. “Do exactly as I say, or Anna dies here and now.”

Anna watched as Malachi’s expression froze in shock. Carefully he lowered the rifle and let it drop to the ground. “You were about to have her killed anyway,” he said. “Now your hired killer is gone. If you want her dead, Caswell, you’ll have to bloody your own hands. Are you ready to become a murderer?”

Caswell did not answer. Anna willed herself to keep perfectly still. She could feel the razor edge of the knife against her jugular vein. She could feel the fear, the exquisite tension in Caswell’s trembling body. Her slightest motion could be enough to send the blade slicing into the tender flesh of her throat.

Her gaze locked with Malachi’s across a distance that had suddenly become too great to bridge. She
could feel his fear for her, his helpless rage.
Go back
, she would have told him if she could speak.
Go back home, my love, and be a father to your children. Be a loving husband to the new mother you’ll find for them. Forget me, Malachi. It’s all over
….

Caswell’s grip tightened around her ribs. The cold steel slipped against her throat. She felt it slice through her skin, felt the first thin trickle of blood.

“You don’t have to kill her!” Malachi’s voice rasped with desperation. “We have no proof against you, Caswell. Let her go and leave us in peace.”

Caswell’s laughter was tinged with madness. “Why, Mr. Stone, you can’t really expect me to—”

His words ended in a gurgle of astonishment as a snarling, snapping ball of fury erupted from the direction of the road, hurtling into his legs and throwing Caswell off balance. The knife flew out of his hand, but he had not lost his grip on Anna. As they staggered like drunken dancers toward the ledge, with Doubtful’s huge canine teeth locked into the flesh of Caswell’s leg, she heard Malachi shout. He flung himself forward—but too late. In one last desperate act Caswell spun Anna toward the precipice and shoved her away from him, toward the river.

Anna’s feet slipped over the rocky edge. Then she went down, clawing and fighting as she slid over the lip of the rock. Her flailing hands caught the end of a tree root that twisted outward from the side of the cliff. Reflexively she seized it, clinging frantically as the root sagged with her weight, sending a shower of pebbles into the boiling river below.

Above her pandemonium reigned. The air rang with Doubtful’s snarls and Caswell’s terrified
screams. “Get him off me, Stone! I’ll tell you anything—anything you want to know! It was the Russian who killed Harry—the Russian, I tell you, not me—”

Anna felt the root giving way. “Malachi!” she screamed. “
Malachi
!”

Suddenly he was there, his fingers reaching down toward her, his eyes dark with love and with fleeting shadows of terror. “Catch my hand, Anna,” he said in a calm voice. “It’s all right. I won’t let you go—not for as along as I live.”

Paralyzed with fear, Anna willed herself to move, to reach upward. Their hands brushed. Then caught. Then locked tightly in a clasp that would never be broken again.

Little by little he pulled her upward into his arms.

May, 1890

A
nna and Malachi sat close together on the front steps of their home, watching the twilight shadows steal across the canyon. Among the rocks and willows, a thousand tiny night creatures were awakening to a cool night. Swallows swooped above the river, their iridescent wings catching the clear amber light. Frogs croaked in the shallows, singing in a hundred different keys, life calling to life.

From within the house, the wistful notes of “Beautiful Dreamer” floated on the evening air. After only a year Carrie was becoming a fine pianist; but the song, which the girl had learned so eagerly, never failed to take Anna back to that terrible night in St. Joseph when she had passed Louis Caswell and The Russian on the dark stairway.

Caswell was in prison now, serving a life sentence for murder, attempted murder and extortion. As Anna had long suspected, the oily little police chief had
been collecting protection money from every saloon in St. Joseph, including the Jack of Diamonds. Harry Solomon had died for threatening to expose Caswell’s crimes.

Anna herself had been cleared of all charges. Her bad dreams had eased over the past months, but there were still nights when she awakened in the darkness, needing the comfort of Malachi’s arms. Always, Malachi was there.

“Look, Pa! Look, Ma!” Josh raced across the yard with Doubtful at his heels, chasing the stick the boy had tossed. “Doubtful almost caught it this time! Maybe next time he really will!”

Malachi chuckled, drawing his wife closer. “I’ll wager the blasted dog will never learn that trick,” he said. “But then I guess nobody’s perfect.”

“No, and that’s all right,” Anna murmured, grateful that Sophronia and Lucy had been willing to accept her own imperfections. The sacrifice she’d made to rescue Josh had been enough to change their minds about her. “No one but a true mother would offer her life to save her child!” Lucy had declared, settling the matter once and for all.

Only a few weeks ago, word had come from Santa Fe that the judge had granted Malachi permanent custody of his children. They were a true family now, all five of them, in every sense of the word.

The tiny bundle in Anna’s arms stirred and whimpered drowsily. Anna smiled a tender smile, her heart all but bursting as she cradled her baby close. Little Susan Jeanette Stone, to be called Jeanie, had entered the world in the midst of an April storm. She had her
mother’s golden curls, her father’s silvery eyes and a double dose of stubborn temperament from both parents. Hers would be a life of warmth and security, Anna vowed. A life of laughter, music and boundless love.

“I’ll take her.” Malachi’s huge hands worked their way beneath the blanket, lifting his daughter into the light of the rising moon. Anna wrapped her arms around them both, her joy too great for a solitary heart to contain.