Dorothy Garlock (36 page)

“Come, Brutus.” The dog came to him, glanced back toward the horses, then sat down on his haunches. He tilted his head in such a manner that Logan knew he was puzzled by the order. “I know it’s not what you’re used to doing, but this time you’re going to have to keep out of sight.” He pointed to the ground and the dog lay down. “Stay here,” he commanded.

Logan slipped inside the store and paused so his eyes could adjust to the gloom after the bright sunlight. He heard voices and moved out of sight behind a thick curtain of harnesses that hung from the rafters. The man McCloud was waiting on wore an old felt hat, the wide brim rolled up on the sides to form a sharp point in front. Chaps and spurs proclaimed him a drover, but he was wearing a tied-down six-shooter that announced he was handy with a gun, or thought he was. He slouched against the counter.

“I hear tell that Injun’s all horn ’n rawhide. That so?”

“He’s not a man to be messed with, if that’s what you mean. Is there anything else you want?” McCloud asked pleasantly. “If not you owe me two bits for the tobacco.”

“I hear tell that red ass fights with his feet. I ain’t never seen that done afore.”

“You’re
hear tellin’
a lot,” McCloud said dryly.

“It’s all the town’s talkin’ of. I reckon that Clayhill’ll wrap that Injun’s hide ’round a stump ’n kick the shit outta ’im when he catches up with ’im.”

“I reckon he’ll try.”

“Mister, you sound like you’re atakin’ sides with the redskin.”

“Is that any business of yours?” McCloud demanded loudly. “Right’s right, if it’s an Indian, a Mexican, or a know-it-all saddle tramp. The man bought the land, he’s got a right to live on it the same as you, if you’d bought it.”

“Hoo . . . ly sheeit! This country’d go straight to hell if’n the redskins owned all the land. In no time a’tall it’d not be worth doodley squat!”

“Who do you think owned the land before we got here?” McCloud snorted. “Ain’t you got nothin’ else to do but stand here and run off at the mouth about somethin’ you know nothin’ about?”

“Folks ain’t goin’ to like it a’tall, you takin’ sides with the Injun. Folks won’t do no tradin’ with—”

“That’ll suit me fine! Folks can do their tradin’ in Longmont or Denver. It’d be no skin off my ass!” McCloud’s voice boomed. “I’ll burn the sonofabitchin’ store down and go back to Springfield where folks have somethin’ between their ears besides horseshit!”

“Now . . . looky here—”

“You looky here! I think what I please and say what I please. This here’s my store and there ain’t nobody tellin’ me how to run it! Why don’t you get the hell outta here?”

Logan couldn’t help but grin at McCloud’s spunk. He was relieved, however, when he heard the bootheels of the angry drover pounding on the plank floor as he made his way to the door. A moment passed before McCloud came to the back of the store.

“How’d you make out with the preacher?” he asked when Logan stepped from behind the harnesses.

“It took a threat or two, but he’ll do it. Is Rosalee ready?”

The storekeeper went behind the counter and knocked softly on a door. It opened almost immediately and Rosalee, smiling radiantly, came out and hurried to the back of the store, her eyes searching its shadowed depth.

“Here she is, Horn. Can’t say as I’ve ever seen a more beautiful bride.”

Logan stepped out and she went to him, her eyes fastened on his. Her slightly flushed cheeks and the blue dress made her blue-green eyes seem all the brighter, clearer. Her hair was piled on the top of her head and a narrow blue ribbon was wrapped around the bun. She was lovely, and Logan’s heart lurched painfully at the thought of the hostile minister waiting to marry them.

“Sweetheart—” His voice broke off, shaking. “Sweetheart, you’re so . . . pretty!” His hands on her arms held her away from him and he looked at her with eyes that moved over her hungrily, lovingly. She gazed back at him, the ache of love in her tremulous mouth. “I wish I had been able to dress appropriately. I’m sorry I must wear these old buckskins for the most important event of my life.”

“It doesn’t matter what we’re wearing. Sylvia wanted me to wear this dress. I would’ve been just as happy in my old riding skirt.”

“We must go.” Logan forced his eyes from her glowing face and looked at the storekeeper. “Thanks, McCloud.” He extended his hand.

“No thanks are necessary. Go on with you, and get yourself hitched, legal and proper, to this pretty woman before somebody else gets her.” There was a kind of rough hoarseness to his voice.

Rosalee laughed. “That would never happen in a million years, Mr. McCloud. I’ve waited all my life for Logan Horn.”

“If you get in a tight, come on back and hole up here. I reckon I got guns and ammunition to hold off an army, if need be.”

“You’d do that?” Logan asked with a puzzled frown.

“There comes a time in a man’s life when he stands up for what he thinks is right. You’re doin’ it, aren’t you?” He held Rosalee’s hand in both of his. “Happy weddin’ day, Rosalee.”

Her eyes misted and she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Logan took a quick look around before he pulled Rosalee out into the bright sunlight. Brutus still lay beside the door.

They hurried around to the side of the building where the horses waited. Logan led her to the roan, lifted her to sit in the saddle sideways, thrust a foot in the stirrups, and swung up behind her. With Mercury’s reins firmly in one hand, he put his heels to the roan and they moved behind the buildings until they were at the far end of the street. When he was sure they were out of sight of the saloon window, he swung out toward the church and the preacher’s house beside it.

Rosalee knew he was taking extra precautions and didn’t speak. Nothing could dampen her bubbly spirit that day. The sun was shining, she was with the man she loved, and it was her wedding day. She leaned contentedly against him and her arm around his waist tightened.

A short way from the church, Logan stopped the horses behind a thick growth of wild honeysuckle and sumac. His brown fingers lifted her face and his eyes searched hers, before he lowered his head and kissed her softly, reverently. All thought left her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the joy of his kiss. There was no haste in it. Slow, sensuous, languid, he took his time. She kissed him back hungrily, her hand moving to the back of his neck to hold him to her. The kiss lasted endlessly, as if they each found it impossible to end it. When she felt his warm breath on her wet lips, she opened her eyes. His face was very close.

“I love you more than life,” he whispered. “I’ll love you with all my heart and soul and spirit until the end of time and to the hereafter. You’re my bright star in a dark night, the soft touch of the restless wind, the warmth of a spring day. I’ll spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”

“And I you, my love,” she pledged solemnly. “I give all of myself into your keeping forever.”

“No man has ever received such a gift before, and no two people will ever love as we shall.” The sincerity of his words brought tears to her eyes and they rolled from the corners into the soft hair at her temples. “There was never a more beautiful bride, or one who was loved and cherished more.” His lips kissed the wetness from her eyes. “Don’t cry, my love.”

“I’m crying because I’m happy,” she whispered joyously. “Happier than I ever dreamed I could be. I’ll always remember this moment when we pledged our love as our true wedding.”

“I wish it could have been in a more beautiful setting than behind a clump of sumac,” he said in a lighter, teasing tone. He kissed her hard and quick. “I want to do more than kiss you. I can’t now, but when night comes, my darling . . .” he threatened and put his heels to the horse.

Rosalee’s laughter bubbled up. “You’re not scaring me, Logan Horn!” Her eyes sparkled at him through the thick lashes.

“I hope not, my love.” His dark eyes were alive with smile lines that fanned out from the corners.

She laughed softly and tried to tuck the stray tendrils back under the ribbon around the bun on the top of her head.

They passed the church and moved on to the preacher’s house. Logan dismounted and lifted Rosalee down. She smoothed her skirt while he tied the horses, then with a hand firmly beneath her elbow, he led her up the walk to the door.

Reverend Abernathy pushed open the screen door and motioned them inside. Without saying a word, he turned his back to them and walked across the room to pick up an open Bible. When he turned to face them he kept his eyes on the book he cradled in his two hands.

Rosalee glanced at Logan, an amused smile on her face. “Hello, Reverend Abernathy,” she said brightly.

His eyes flicked up and back down. “Hello, Miss Spurlock. Are you ready?” His voice was so low it was bearly audible in the quiet room.

“We’re ready,” Logan replied, and laced Rosalee’s fingers with his in a tight knot of love.

“We are gathered here in the sight of God—”

“Just a moment,” Logan said. “We need a witness.”

“My wife is in the other room. She’s already signed the paper—”

“Tell her to come out.”

“Martha,” he called and his voice squeaked.

A tall, thin woman in a black dress with a small white collar appeared in the door. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, small knot and she held her hands behind her. Rosalee glanced at her and thought she looked as if she had been sucking on a sour pickle. She had to press her lips tightly together to keep from laughing.

“We are gathered here in the sight of God and man to join this . . . man and this woman in holy matrimony.” The preacher’s thin mouth turned down at the corners in a grimace. “Do you take this man?” He scarcely gave Rosalee time to answer before he continued. “Do you take this woman?”

“Yes, I do.” Logan’s voice was firm and he looked at Rosalee with a consuming tenderness in his dark eyes.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister said rapidly in a sing-song voice, and for the first time he looked up at them.

They had eyes only for each other. It was as if they were alone in the room. She lifted her face to his and Logan kissed her upturned lips gently. Their eyes clung, hers like bright, new stars, his, a shiny dark mirror. He held her tightly to his side and squeezed her hand so hard her fingers were white.

“Here’s your paper.” The cold words jarred between them. There was no mistaking the hostility in the preacher’s voice. It was as if he was no longer intimidated now that the ceremony was over.

They turned back to the preacher. Logan gave him a quelling look and snatched the paper from his hand. He scanned it carefully before he tucked it inside his shirt.

“Thank you, Reverend.” Rosalee smiled happily at the man despite the fact he stood stiff with disapproval. He didn’t move as much as an eyelash as he stared into her eyes. She cared not a whit. She continued to smile at him while Logan dug into his money belt. She was determined to not let him dampen her spirit on this wonderful occasion.

On the way to the door, Logan flipped a coin onto the table. He held the screen open for Rosalee to pass through, then turned. His dark eyes bored into those of the man who professed to be a man of God. He stared at him for a long moment, and then coldly recited the ancient Cheyenne prayer of those about to die:

“Nothing lives long, nothing stays here,

Except the Earth and the Mountains . . .”

The preacher’s jaws clenched as the color left his face. His trembling hands grabbed the back of a chair for support. “You . . . promised—” he croaked.

“If you lay your tongue to one filthy word about me or my wife, I’ll forget that promise,” Logan warned in a voice as cold as ice. His eyes were hard, his face stoic; he’d never looked more Indian than he did at that moment. He lingered until he was satisfied the man knew the meaning of the words before he turned and let the screen door slam shut behind him.

On the porch he grabbed Rosalee’s hand and they ran down the walk to the horses. Their laughter mingled. They were like excited children: Everything was new and wonderful. Rosalee mounted the roan; her blue dress scarcely reached mid-calf, but it was of no concern to her. The big horse skittered sideways, sensing the excitement. She held him firmly in check until Logan mounted. He looked at her and the smile on his face was the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. He put his heels to Mercury. The stallion half squatted on his powerful haunches, then launched himself into thundering flight toward the thick stand of spruce and pine beyond the town, his body stretching longer and lower to the ground with every giant stride.

In joyful abandonment, Rosalee gave the roan the necessary encouragement to follow Mercury. She was happy, so happy! There was no past, no lonely future; only Logan. She felt cleansed, enriched, newborn.

Two miles from town they pulled the running horses to a halt. Mercury danced on a tight rein and the roan pranced. Rosalee had forgotten about Brutus until, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, he caught up with them and sank down on his belly in the cool grass. Her laughter rang in the quiet stillness of the woods. It had a joyous, earthy quality, like the wind; it was full of love and happiness and the sound soared, pure and sweet, right up to the tops of the giant pines.

Logan’s dark intense gaze clung to her. It traveled lovingly over her thick, wind-tousled hair, over her radiant face with its passionate mouth and searching, laughing eyes, and down the tight, slim body and firm, round breasts. This was his bride, his mate forever and always. He was not a religious man, though his uncle had insisted he have religious training. He had never called on the white man’s God for anything. Now, a silent prayer was in his heart, thanking God for bringing this woman into his life, and asking help to keep her safe and happy until the end of their days together.

“Oh, Logan, they were so . . . funny! The reverend was scared to death. I think he thought you’d . . . scalp him! And his wife . . . poor thing! She looked as if she lived in a sauerkraut barrel.” Laughing words gushed out of Rosalee’s mouth like water from a fountain. “But I’d look sour, too, if I were married to that dried up old prune!”