Josie: Bride of New Mexico (American Mail-Order Bride 47) (14 page)

“Now don’t look at me like that. I read.” Gertie dropped into a chair that had been awkwardly fashioned and upholstered, perhaps out of rough lumber and denim fabric. “In fact, I read the newspaper about you two being in the territory, on a wedding trip. But by the looks of the state of your fancy clothes, and the fact you’ve already been so helpful providing your names, it’s obvious as a smeller you two are on the run.”

Unsure exactly how his altercation with the woman had turned from foe to friend, Adam thought it best to get as much information from Gertie as possible before she decided to point a gun at them again.

“What did the paper say?” he asked.

“Stuff and nonsense, mostly.”

But he needed to gather as much information as possible, and rehydrate. “Mind if I refill my cup?”

“No, now you go right on ahead.” Gertie turned her smile on Josie.

Adam filled his own cup, then Josie’s, watching the older woman’s wheels-a-turnin’, ready to ask a question.

“What?” Josie didn’t seem put off by Gertie’s unconventional welcome or anything she’d done thus far. “What is it?”

“Tell me something Mrs. Taylor. ‘Cause I’m wondering if it can possibly be true. The newspaper article
said you poisoned your husband’s knife wound and when that didn’t work, you tried to suffocate him in his sleep.”

Josie surged to her feet. Her chair toppled over backward, clattering on the floor as if she’d thrown it there. Her eyes rounded and her face suffused with color. “
Me
?” She gasped. “I did no such thing. I stitched him up after
some fool
attacked and sliced my husband’s ribs, but it was a superficial wound.”

“Settle down,” Gertie said in the most gentle, feminine tone Adam had heard her use. “Settle yourself down.”

“But I didn’t
do
any of those vile things.” Anger choked Josie’s voice, made her sound nearly as choked up as she’d been when in full-blown tears. “Why would someone write lies about me?”

Having lost all worry over Gertie and her guns, Adam rounded the table and put his arms around Josie. He cuddled her close and tucked her face against his chest. He kissed the crown of her dusty hair.

Even beneath the rubble of the day, the craziness of their circumstance, she smelled like Josie… like the beautiful memories of the woman he loved.

“I know you didn’t
poison
me, and that’s all that matters.”

“What I want to know,” she managed between sobs, “is why anyone in… this place… where are we?… even knows about the knife wound. How is that possible?”

Adam didn’t know.

“Thank you.” He smoothed a few stray hairs back into line and simply absorbed her sweet face. He’d nearly lost her. More than once.

No matter what, he had to find a way to ensure no more
accidents
happened. He took his role as her protector seriously, and thus far, their whole wedding trip had been a disaster. It sure seemed like someone was out to get them.

Speaking of that someone… what had Gertie said in her first question about those they ran from?

Suppose you two tell me who tried to kill you?

“Gertie,” Adam waited for the older woman to meet his gaze. She might be a little on the crazy end of the spectrum, but she was the best they had. “If you know the paper’s full of stuff and nonsense, why did you ask who tried to kill us?”

Chapter Seventeen

Josie nearly jumped through her skin when a noise erupted from the second room in the house. Clicking and clacking and making the most unnatural commotion she’d ever heard.

Heavens to Betsy.

A telegraph station.

In Gertie’s
home
.

“Why do you have a telegraph?” Weren’t telegraph offices in the railway stations? Or at mining camps?

“Hold your horses.” Gertie bounded to her feet and ran for the other room. She pushed the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall and bounced nearly closed.

The clatter kept coming.

Josie could barely read the printed word in English. She’d had no exposure to Morse Code and couldn’t have told one message along the wire from another… but she did comprehend one thing.

This wasn’t a short note.

Somebody kept up the transmission.

Josie turned to Adam, who still had his arms about her, his hands at her waist. She loved it when he stood near like this. It was like he gave her something to hold onto, an anchor, support. He had the kind of sturdiness of hundred-year-old oak trees.

One glance at the steadiness in his too-blue eyes and she somehow knew they’d find a way out of this. He’d figure it out. She trusted him.

He’d noticed the stark difference between Gertie’s first question and the report she gave from the newspaper.

“Not gonna happen.” Gertie’s voice had pitched low again, threatening, full of menace. “Not gonna happen.”

She clung to Adam, shared a brief worried glance. Oh, yeah. The minute that transmission stopped, if Adam didn’t ask her what kind of information had to come along the wire at this late hour, then she most certainly would.

Gertie came charging out of the second room, her telegraph-and-bedroom, Adam could see by the glimpse of a neatly made cot.

She grabbed a pouch of ammunition, made apparent by the single bullet that fell out of the leather draw-string bag and rolled over the floor. Much to his surprise, she thrust it at him, ripped the rifle off the wall and pushed it into his hands. “Douse the light.”

Adam swallowed, hard.

The light tunneled, then disappeared into the darkness. Josie must’ve obeyed Gertie’s order.

“Gertie?” Adam called to the woman who’d darted back into the bedroom— at least he thought she had. You want to tell me what’s going on? What did that message say that has you so riled up?”

Just then another transmission came clicking across the wire in a barrage of dots and dashes. If he lived through this crazy week, he was going to learn Morse.

Not that he’d ever need it again.

Because he and Josie were going to live a long, prized, quiet life somewhere.

But first they had to survive this.

He fumbled his way through the rifle, ensuring it was loaded. He slung the pouch of ammunition over his head to make for easy access. The bag hung open, right at his breastbone. A little high for comfort, but it would do.

“Gertie?” He called.

“I’m kinda busy.”

He found his way to the door, wished for the slightest bit of moonlight to see her by. He couldn’t be sure in the near pitch-black, but he thought she might have been operating the telegraph key rather than just listening.

“Gertie— so help me, if you’re telling somebody where we are I might have to hold
you
at gunpoint.”

“Shush up.” Gertie kept clicking away.

Josie touched his arm.

A rush of protectiveness, every bit as powerful as it had been those last minutes in the rail car, in those moments where he’d stared death in the face and had leaped, on the off chance of saving Josie’s life, struck him and he nearly swayed.

He kissed her brow, her cheek, her eyelid. “I love you, Josie Taylor. No matter what happens, you’ve got to believe that.”

She grabbed his collar, tugged his head down for a kiss and touched her lips to his. Something told him he didn’t have the luxury of time to stand there, kissing his wife, that he ought to have his eyes and ears trained on the perimeter of Gertie’s homestead, ought to be watching for any signs of riders.

Or gunmen sneaking up like thieves in the night.

If Gertie had seen or heard something to alert her to his approach with Josie, chances were, if he focused his attention, he’d be able to see someone else creeping close.

But… Josie’s kiss. Hot and powerful and full of an emotion he could only assume was love. He broke the kiss, long enough to reassure her, to remind her of his love for her.

“I love you,” Josie whispered. Crystal clear. Certain.

His heart skipped a beat, then two. Elation filled him with wonder. Perfectly, marvelous awe.

“Nobody’s gonna die here tonight.” Gertie. Standing nearly as close to him as Josie was.

Adam jumped. Josie flinched.

Could the woman see the dark?

“Gertie!” Adam hissed, unwilling to yell in case the bad guys were already within ear-shot. “Do you mind? We’re having a tender moment here and you’re not giving us an ounce of privacy.”

“Actually.” Josie cleared her throat, a delicate, ladylike sound. “I told you I love you last night. But you’d already passed out.”

Gertie patted his chest— more like thumped it with an
atta-boy
kind of congratulations. Then the woman shoved past and into the main room of her home. She clattered around in the kitchen until she found something… a pistol from the sound of the rounds she loaded in the chambers.

“What are we doing?” Adam needed answers. “You going to tell me what that transmission was all about?”

“No time.” Gertie brushed past again, dragging a gentle breeze along behind her scented with campfire and gun oil and clean soap.

What an
odd
woman.

Adam grabbed Josie by the hand and followed their hostess. “Gertie— I can’t defend us against an enemy I don’t understand. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Gertie must’ve dropped low, maybe pulling something from beneath her cot because a clatter of mischief sounded from the floorboards.

“A-ha!” Gertie scuttled back, must’ve pushed to her feet because her hot breath washed over Adam’s neck. “Take this.” She pushed something into Adam’s already full hands.

Another pistol.

But it was already warm. Must’ve been the first pistol she’d claimed in the kitchen.

So what did she pull out from beneath her bed?

“Can you shoot?” Gertie demanded of Josie. “Surely you can handle a weapon.”

“Yes?”

Adam sure as shotin’ heard the question mark on Josie’s answer, but Gertie seemed not to because she muttered “good” and darted away.

Prying an answer at out Gertie was as impossible as forcing the clock to turn backward. He might as well cut his losses, accept he’d never hear a straight answer, but he simply couldn’t shake the feeling that something big, something bad was about to happen.

“Gertie, I’m only going to ask you once more. What the hell is going on?”

Chapter Eighteen

Josie’s hands trembled around the pistol she didn’t officially know how to use. But how hard could it be? From what she’d seen, all one had to do was aim and pull the trigger.

She’d heard a low rumbling… thunder? An oncoming train?— were they near the tracks? For the past few seconds when the sound finally clarified and settled.

Horses. Dozens, from the sound of it. Approaching Gertie’s house at breakneck speed.

“Get down!” Gertie flitted past, palmed Josie’s head and pushed her to her knees.

Somehow, Josie and Adam were separated. She crawled into the deeper shadows in the far corner at the front of the house.