Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (9 page)

Malachi studied her across the table, struck by the courage that blazed in that small, voluptuous body. Her hair hung in damp strings around her tear-streaked
face. Her eyes were bloodshot. She looked awful, he conceded. But what a feisty little figure of a woman.

“And the dream?” he asked, remembering after a moment.

She seemed to wilt a little. Her throat rippled as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “For years I pretended that those women in the orphanage had lied to me,” she said. “I pretended my baby had been given away to some fine family, that she was growing up somewhere, safe and happy. But deep down I knew better.” She stood up and walked to the window, where the sky was just beginning to pale above the towering ledges. “I saw my baby in the dream, Malachi. She was lying there dead—just as I’ve always known she was. Those evil old witches killed her.”

Malachi sat holding his coffee cup, stunned and sickened by what he had heard. His gaze traced the rigid line of Anna’s back, only to lose itself in the wild mass of tawny hair that tumbled over her shoulders. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to walk up behind her, slide his hands around her waist and hold her against him, comforting her in the circle of his arms. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from the forces that had so scarred her young life.

He was about to move when a rooster crowed outside and the first beam of sunlight slanted through the window. Anna turned back toward him, her face a serene mask. “Isn’t it time we were starting the day?” she asked with forced cheerfulness. “Go put your pants on, Malachi. I’ll wake your children and start breakfast.”

Had she told him too much?

That question haunted Anna as she went about the morning chores, doing her best to take some burden off Carrie’s young shoulders. Early that morning she had watched as Malachi rode up the trail on the lead mule with Joshua clinging on behind him. Her worried gaze had followed him until he disappeared around the first bend.

What would the men talk about as they labored to clear the slide? Would Malachi tell Sam that his new wife had been a saloon singer, thus setting up one more link to the wanted Anna de Carlo? Would he tell Sam the story about her baby—the story that had laid her soul bare to him that very morning? There was nothing to prevent him from doing so, Anna realized, her spirits darkening. The very thought of her private agony being bandied about like a joke made her stomach clench.

Why had she lowered her guard with Malachi? Why had she opened herself and her poor baby up to gossip and ridicule? What had made her think she could trust him? He was a man, no better or worse than any other.

Forcing the worries from her mind, Anna picked up the egg basket and strode across the yard toward the chicken coop. The pants and green plaid cotton shirt that Malachi had bought off Eddie Johnson fit her remarkably well, and she was pleasantly surprised at the freedom of movement the new clothes gave her. She had brushed back her hair and tied it with a faded bandanna she’d found in one of the drawers. Not exactly
elegant. But it was far better than flapping around in Malachi’s old flannel nightshirt.

Most of the hens, she noticed, were outside foraging. There would be little danger of getting pecked—something that had happened often when she’d gathered eggs at the orphanage. Pushing that memory aside, she ducked into the coop and began reaching into the nests, slipping each warm, brown egg into the wire basket. One big red-speckled hen was brooding a clutch of a dozen eggs. Anna left her in peace, knowing those eggs were meant for hatching.

By the time she had checked the last nest, there were eleven eggs in the basket. Eleven eggs for two hungry men, two children and a near-grown boy who would probably eat more than all the rest of them combined. She would be wise to mix up a fresh batch of bread when she got back to the kitchen, and maybe have Carrie check the root cellar for more potatoes.

Before leaving, Anna paused to scan the shadows for any nests she might have missed. There in the darkness, the sudden memory of last night washed over her in a flood of sensation—Malachi’s body, iron hard beneath the worn underclothes, his rough, hungry mouth on her breasts, the urgent pressure of his hand between her thighs…Her knees melted as she considered what had nearly happened, and where it might lead if he came to her bed again tonight.

Would she have the will to resist him, or would she make a complete fool of herself, as she seemed to do whenever Malachi touched her? It was a question she could not even afford to ask. Not when the last thing she wanted was to bind herself to this man, these children, and this isolated place.

Pushing her concerns aside, she glanced around the coop one last time. Only then did she hear the throaty growl behind her. Anna’s heart dropped as she turned and saw the big wolf-dog crouched in the doorway, its black-lipped muzzle drawn back to show gleaming, yellow fangs.

Fear congealed in the pit of her stomach as her predicament sank home. She moved the basket in front of her, though it offered scant protection. If the beast chose to attack her, she would be at its mercy.

“Hey, Doubtful,” she said, speaking softly. “It’s all right, boy. I know you think I’m stealing eggs, but you’re wrong. I’m doing my job, just as you are.” She gripped basket so hard that the wire handle dug into the flesh of her fingers. When she edged forward, the dog’s lip curled in response.

“It’s all right,” she murmured again. “Run along, Doubtful, and catch that bobcat. He’s the real thief, not me.”

The dog snarled and lunged toward her—only a threat, but the suddenness of it startled Anna and sent her stumbling backward. Her foot came down on a round stick that was lying on the floor. The basket went flying as she lost her balance and toppled backward to land hard on her rump.

Her eyes were level with the dog’s now, and as she stared into the gold-flecked orbs, Anna felt her courage shrink and wither. The beast could kill her if it chose to. She would end her hard-fought life right here. Hours from now, perhaps, someone would find her sprawled on the floor of the coop, her throat ripped open, her blood mingling with earth and chicken droppings.

As the dog growled again, her groping hand closed on the stick that had made her stumble. It was thick and solid, of a size that Josh might have used for a stick horse or a pretend rifle. She lifted it and swung it toward her tormentor.

Doubtful was intelligent enough to recognize a weapon when he saw one. He sprang back out of reach and began to bark furiously.

The explosion of sound echoed off the canyon walls, startling the chickens and sending a flock of crows into squawking flight. Amid the bedlam, Anna could hear Carrie’s voice shouting across the yard.

“Doubtful? What is it, boy? Have you caught the bobcat?”

An instant later she burst into sight, her willowy young body framed by the open doorway. Her face fell as she saw Anna sprawled on the ground, surrounded by broken eggs and chicken litter.

“Doubtful! Shame on you!” she scolded. “Go on, get out of here!” The dog lowered his tail and slunk around the corner of the coop. Anna scrambled sheepishly to her feet, dismayed at the sight of so many broken eggs.

“Guess it’ll be biscuits and gravy for breakfast tomorrow morning,” Carrie said. “Did Doubtful hurt you?”

Anna shook her head. “He was just trying to do his job,” she said, brushing dried chicken manure off the seat of her pants. “Your mother knew what she was talking about when she named that beast. I’ve got my own doubts about his worth.”

“Oh, but my mother changed her mind later on.” Carrie bent to pick up the basket and retrieve the two
eggs that were still unbroken, wiping them carefully on her apron. “She and Doubtful became the best of friends. He followed her almost everywhere.”

Anna sighed, beginning to understand. “So he was
her
dog?”

“As much as he was anyone’s dog.” Carrie checked the nests for any eggs Anna might have missed. Unfortunately there were none. “For the first few weeks after she died, he used to howl at night,” she said. “But he stopped after a while. I suppose he’s forgotten about her by now. Papa says animals are like that.”

“But not people.” Anna trailed her out of the coop, keeping pace with the girl’s coltish strides. “Not you or Josh or your father.”

“No,” Carrie said in a taut little voice. “We all needed her, especially Papa. She was the love of his life, and I don’t suppose he’ll ever get over her.”

Of course not. Anna ignored a jab of dismay. She would be wise to close the subject and walk away, she knew. But she had to understand what had happened here—had to understand how it had affected Malachi and his children.

“Where’s your mother buried?” she asked. “I don’t recall seeing a grave.”

Carrie hesitated. “There’s…not one. I mean, there used to be a grave, but not anymore.” A nervous little laugh caught in her throat. “I guess I should explain—”

Even now Anna was tempted to spare the girl. But something in her needed to know more about what had happened. She held her tongue.

“Mama disappeared while Papa was away,” Carrie
said. “When he came home, he took the dory down-river with Doubtful to help him search. A few hours later he came back with her body wrapped in a piece of canvas. I…remember wanting to see her, but he wouldn’t let me. He nailed some boards together to make a coffin, and we buried her up there.” Her gaze drifted to a low bluff that overlooked the ranch and the ferry. “There’s a stone up there that Papa carved her name on. But she isn’t there, not anymore.”

“You’re saying she’s in heaven?”

“No.” Carrie scuffed at the ground with the toe of one worn-out boot. “I mean, that’s not what I’m talking about. Two months after Mama died, her parents came with a couple of workmen. They dug up Mama’s coffin, put it on a wagon and took it back to Santa Fe. They said they wanted to bury her with her people, in the graveyard next to their church.

“And your father just let them take her?” Anna asked, her throat dry.

“Not without a lot of arguing. He gave in, finally, when Grandma broke down and cried. But when they said they wanted to take me and Josh, too, he wouldn’t stand for it. He threatened to get his gun and drive them off the place. They left without us, but they haven’t given up.” Carrie’s dark eyes narrowed. “Two months ago Papa got a letter from Santa Fe. I found where he’d hidden it and sneaked a look while he was out running the ferry. It was from a lawyer that my Grandpa and Grandma had hired. They’ve filed papers with the court—” She blinked back furious tears. “They claim that Papa can’t give us proper care, and they’re asking the judge to take us away from him.”

“Oh, Carrie—” Anna restrained the impulse to gather the girl into her arms, fearing it might only make her more emotional.

“Sometime before the end of the month, two ladies from the Children’s Aid Society are coming here to check on us,” Carrie said. “If Papa can’t prove we’re being well cared for, we’ll be taken back to Santa Fe. For good.”

A
nna picked her way along the bank of the river, gathering chunks of sand-scoured wood that had been left by the receding flood. The water had gone down fast, leaving a broad, wet ribbon of sediment in its wake. As soon as the road was clear, Malachi would be opening the ferry to wagon traffic again. Strangers would be passing this way, some of them enemies. Anna could feel the danger closing in, tightening around her like a noose.

Carrie’s revelation churned in her mind like fallen leaves in an eddy. Only now did she understand the desperate measures that had driven Malachi to take on a mail-order bride. And only now did she realize how sadly she had failed him.

He had needed a respectable mother for his children, one whose fitness would withstand the scrutiny of any court. Instead, he had gotten Anna de Carlo, a saloon floozy and accused murderess whose face was posted in five states. If Elise’s parents got wind of the truth, Carrie and Joshua would be snatched
from this place in a twinkling, and Malachi would never see his children again.

The sand lay in delicate ridges where the water had rippled along the bank. Down toward the bend, two ravens were tearing at some small dead animal the flood had left behind. Was that how Malachi had found his wife, by seeing the ravens? Anna wrenched the thought from her mind as she retrieved one last precious stick of firewood, dropped it into the basket she carried and struck out for the house.

She had every right to be furious with Malachi for hiding the truth. But then again, she had been far from honest herself. They were two strangers, each using the other for their own desperate ends—a conclusion that gave her no comfort at all.

As she neared the house Anna heard the dog barking. Her instincts shrilled an alarm. Her pulse jumped, and her muscles tensed. Someone was coming. Maybe a lawman or bounty hunter. Maybe a traveler who would remember seeing her face. Hide—yes, that would be the smart thing to do. Disappear into the canyon until the coast was clear.

She was slipping back into the tamarisk when she remembered that Carrie was alone in the yard.

She froze, deliberating for only an instant before she turned once more and raced back toward the house. Whatever the danger, she could not slip off and leave the girl. If anything were to happen to Malachi’s precious daughter she would never forgive herself.

She was out of breath by the time she reached the dooryard. But it was no stranger she saw. It was only
Eddie Johnson, unsaddling his bony horse at the corral gate. A dozen paces away, Carrie stood watching him, her nervous fingers twisting one long, black pigtail. The dog, no longer barking, crouched at her feet.

“I got a bellyache,” Eddie explained before Anna could question him. “Pa said I could go back to the house and lay down for a spell.” His low-lidded gaze flickered over Carrie, who blushed and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. Anna’s protective instincts seethed. Carrie was only a child. This insolent boy had no right to look at her in such a manner.

“You can rest in the shed until the men come back,” she said coldly. “And since you have a bellyache, I don’t suppose we should plan on you for supper.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his skinny throat as he swallowed. “Don’t count me out right yet, ma’am. With a little shut-eye, I should be feelin’ fine by the time supper’s on.”

“We’ll see.” Anna turned away, not bothering to hide her distrust of his motives. “Come along now, Carrie, we have work to do.”

The pinto beans, seasoned with molasses and wild onion, simmered on the back of the stove, their pungent aroma floating through the warm kitchen. Crisp, brown loaves of bread, fresh from the oven, lay cooling on the counter, ready to be sliced and spread with the butter Carrie had churned. The table was set, the garden weeded, the laundry washed and hung and the chickens locked safely in their coop.

At last Anna had a moment to catch her breath.

She stood now, gazing out at the play of fading
light on the walls of the canyon—the long, moving fingers of shadow, the subtle deepening of colors from gold to sienna, tan to umber, that she was already coming to love.

Carrie had gone off to what she called the bathing place to swim and wash her hair before the men came back. Anna had worried about her going alone, but the girl had insisted that she always bathed by herself and would be fine. “I always take Doubtful with me,” she’d added, tossing her braids. “Nothing would dare to bother me when he’s around—except maybe a few mosquitoes.”

At last Anna had relented and let her go. She was being overprotective of the girl, she had chided herself. Carrie would be fine. All the same, she had taken a moment to tiptoe out to the shed and check on Eddie. She had found the youth spread-eagled in the hay, snoring soundly and dead to the world.

Maybe she had misjudged him. It was only natural, after all, for an adolescent boy to be curious about girls, even girls as young as Carrie. But there was something about the way he looked at her that stirred Anna’s memories of those boys in the orphanage, and she knew she would not relax until Eddie and his father were gone from the canyon.

How much did Carrie know about men and women? She had surely seen animals mate, Anna reminded herself. But no, for all that, Malachi’s daughter was as innocent as a drop of pure spring water. Her mother would have died too soon to tell the girl anything about life. And as for her father…Anna shook her head as she imagined big, taciturn Malachi
trying to explain the facts of life to his young daughter.

Turning away from the window, she dried her hands on Elise’s old calico apron and walked past the table, down along the whitewashed wall to the open door of the bedroom. Malachi would be home soon. Her pulse skipped irrationally at the thought of him riding into the yard, swinging down from the mule and striding onto the porch. She pictured his powerful frame filling the doorway, blocking out the sunset’s red glow for an instant before he lumbered inside, hot, thirsty and coated with dust. She imagined his steel gray eyes devouring her, as if he had been thinking of her all the way down the trail….

The daydream burst like a soap bubble as Anna turned and glimpsed herself in the mirror. The face that stared back at her was dusted with flour, smeared with soot across one cheek and framed by strings of sweat-matted hair. She forced herself to laugh. Anna de Carlo had come a long way from the glittering vixen who had posed on the edge of the stage and charmed every male in hearing range with her sultry songs of love gone wrong.

She filled the washbasin, humming a little tune as she wrung out a cloth and wiped the dirt from her face. The bed, its coverlet carefully smoothed, seemed to mock her with its silent presence, challenging her to come to terms with what had happened last night. Damn it, she knew what had happened—or nearly happened. She had wanted that big, rough man with all her soul—wanted his hands on her body, his weight bearing down on her, his manly lust filling her, warming all the cold, lonesome places deep inside.
Only the ruckus with the bobcat had stopped her from making a complete fool of herself.

What would stop her tonight, if Malachi came to her bed again? Would she have the willpower to resist him? Anna jerked the kerchief off her hair, snatched up the brush and began working out the tangles in swift, agitated strokes. What was the matter with her? She knew she couldn’t spend another night next to Malachi. If he took her in his arms again, she would be lost. She would fall in love with him, causing her to stay too long and ruin the lives of these dear, innocent people. Worse, even—”

“Oh!” Anna gasped with dismay as the brush caught on one pearl earring and tore it out of her ear. She heard the subtle click as the pearl struck the floor, then bounced and rolled under the bed.

Anna dropped the brush as her fingers flew to her earlobe. No blood, thank goodness. It was the gold fastener that had given way. The mangled wire still hung from her earlobe but the pearl was gone. She could only hope it had not rolled into a crack and vanished beneath the floorboards.

Dropping to a crouch, she groped under the edge of the bed, her wrist skimming the hem of the coverlet. She found a thin layer of dust and a shirt button that she judged to be Malachi’s, but no pearl.

With an impatient sigh, she flattened herself on the floor and thrust her arm as far under the bed as she could reach. Her fingertip brushed something small and hard, nudging it farther away. Yes, it had been the pearl. She stretched, trying to capture it once more, but she was too late. The precious bauble had rolled out of reach.

Muttering a curse, she flipped up the edge of the coverlet to let in more light and shoved her way forward beneath the frame. Motes of dust swam in the dim light, and she could make out a large spiderweb suspended between the rails. Clearly no one had cleaned under the bed since Elise’s death. Perhaps tomorrow she would do the job herself.

Anna’s attention was riveted by a glint of reflected light. Yes, there was her pearl. It had rolled into a wide crack and lodged there between two boards. Sliding forward she struggled to free it with her finger. The pearl seemed tightly wedged—but strangely enough, one of the boards seemed loose. When Anna pushed against it, the crack widened and the pearl dropped out of sight.

Edging closer, she worked a forefinger into the crack and pried the loose board upward. It came out easily, and Anna found herself looking down into a shallow hole, hollowed into the sandy earth beneath the floor joists. Her pearl glimmered whitely in the half light. When she reached for it, her fingers brushed against something else—something soft and smooth. Only when she touched it again did Anna realize that it was the worn leather cover of a book.

Anna tucked the pearl into her left fist, then reached gingerly into the hole, slid her right hand carefully around the book and lifted it out. It was small in size, the embossed cover soft from handling and mildewed from the dampness beneath the floor. A journal, Anna guessed; and as she brought it into the light, she saw that she’d been right.

She dropped the pearl into her shirt pocket for safekeeping. Then, still on the floor, she sat leafing slowly
through the mildewed pages, her eyes skimming the delicate, unmistakably feminine script. This was wrong, she chastised herself. She had no right to be reading the private thoughts of a woman who had clearly meant these pages for no eyes except her own.

But Anna could no more put away the journal than she could stop breathing. She had taken up the thread of Elise Stone’s life. She had slept in Elise’s bed, fussed over her children, embraced her husband. The urge to know this woman’s thoughts was too strong to dismiss in the name of propriety.

Perhaps she would even learn why Malachi had loved Elise so much.

Anna shifted her position on the floor. Then, unable to wait any longer, she opened the little volume to a random page and began to read in earnest.

Anna stared down at the mildewed page, the handwriting on it so fine and regular that when she allowed her eyes to blur it took on the appearance of delicate Belgian lace. But the things that writing contained—even now the revelation stunned her. Beautiful, perfect Elise Stone had been miserable in this lonely canyon. This journal had been her only friend, her only confidante. Its pages contained the private outpourings of her heart.

Anna closed the book, hesitated, then slipped it beneath the foot of the mattress. A wiser woman, perhaps, would have left well enough alone and consigned the book to rot away in the hole beneath the floor, with the board nailed firmly in place. But wisdom had never been Anna’s strong suit. She would not rest, she knew, until she had read every page of the journal. Perhaps, if it contained nothing hurtful, she would even give it to Carrie—

Carrie.

The silence in the house struck Anna like a sudden blow. Her gaze darted frantically to the small clock on the dresser. Time had seemed to stop when she’d
found the journal. But no, it was all right. The girl had been gone less than half an hour.

So why did she have this terrible feeling that something was wrong?

Goaded by a fear too awful to name, Anna scrambled to her feet and raced outside. Nothing. The door-yard was empty except for a few chickens scratching around the coop and Eddie’s horse swishing flies in the corral. The slanting sunlight gilded the massive stone towers and cast long shadows that pooled in the hollows of the canyon. High overhead, a golden eagle drifted on its vast, silent wings.

The place was too quiet, Anna thought. Too peaceful. She plunged across the yard to the shed where Eddie had been sprawled asleep not twenty minutes before. A moan of dismay escaped her lips as she peered through the fading light and saw his bedroll lying on the hay, rumpled and empty.

Raw panic shot through Anna’s body as she sprinted toward the river, where the trail led off through the willows toward the bathing spot. Where Carrie’s long, narrow feet had pressed the sand, the tracks were filled with seeping water, as were the rounded pawprints of the dog. The larger boot tracks, however, leading off in the same direction, were still empty. Eddie had passed that way no more than a few minutes ago.