Mittman, Stephanie (43 page)

"Put
it down," Wilson said, close enough to reach out and take the gun away
from her. "Before I break the other arm."

She
sidled her way beside the tree and backed up a few feet until she was out of
his reach. "I deserve to give my love to someone who wants to love me
back. I deserve to be happy. I didn't come all this way to be raped by the
likes of you."

Wilson
took one step toward her, then another. For each step he took, she inched back.
The gun was heavy in her hand. Her right arm was useless. She could hardly keep
the barrel horizontal.

"You
ain't gonna shoot me," Wilson said, coming closer and closer to her and to
the truth.

"I
don't want to," she said honestly. "But I will if I have to."

"Gimme
the gun, Mary Grace, before I forget you've
got other uses than just bein' a
target." He bridged the gap between them, narrowing the distance to only a
few feet.

"Wilson,"
she warned, pulling the hammer of the gun back. "I'll shoot if you take
one more step."

"You
ain't gonna shoot me," Wilson said again in his smug, self-assured way as
he shifted his weight and raised one foot dramatically.

"Maybe
not, but
I
will," Sloan said, coming out from the trees into the
clearing, his rifle aimed at Wilson's heart.

"Sloan!"
She ran to him, wincing with pain as each step jostled her arm.

"How
many times am I gonna have to rescue you, woman?" he said. If his voice
hadn't broken, she might have actually thought he was angry with her.

"Where's
the baby? Where's Ben?" While she talked, Sloan motioned Wilson out into
the open and eased himself and Mary Grace over to a boulder so that no one
could come up behind them.

"You
do have a problem keepin' your clothes on by this creek, don'tcha?"

She
looked down at her open blouse. "Hold this," she said, handing Sloan
the gun so that she could use her left hand to close her shirt.

Sloan
looked at the gun as if he'd never seen one before. "What kind of gun is
this?" he asked.

She
shrugged. It hurt like hell, and she gasped.

"What's
wrong?" he asked, throwing an eye at her. It was all Wilson needed. His
gun was in his hand and smoking. At the crack of the gun, Sloan threw himself
over Mary Grace, flinging them both to the ground while he sent both barrels of
his rifle into Wilson Tate's chest.

***

Mary
Grace was screaming in his ear. He rolled off her quickly and looked down. On
her shirt was a fresh red stain covering her shoulder. "Oh, God!" he
yelled, ripping the shirt open but finding no wound. "Where? Where are you
hit?" He could feel the bone in her arm as it jutted nearly out of her
skin, knew how much pain it must be causing, but where was all the blood coming
from?

Her
eyes were full of terror and pain, and he felt the panic rising inside him. His
own shoulder burned like hell, but he would be glad to take the pain for her.
"It's you," she said. "You're bleeding, not me. Oh my God,
Sloan. Don't die!"

He
threw back his head and laughed. Harlin Tate had plugged him eight times and it
hadn't killed him. And
then he hadn't even had anything to live for. He looked at his shoulder. The
bullet had only grazed him. "It's nothing," he said.

The
sound of horses coming quickly sobered him, and he grabbed for Mary Grace in an
attempt to hide them both on the far side of the boulder. He could see the pain
nearly knock her out and realized he couldn't move her in time. He blocked her
body with his own and aimed his rifle at the oncoming riders.

"You
two all right?" He could hardly make out Sheriff Roberts. He put his hand
up to block out the sun coming over the canyon wall. Now he could see the
others with him, their rifles in hand.

"Where's
the baby?" Sloan asked Ben.

"The
old man's got him." He gestured with his head indicating that he wasn't
far away.

"I
see you got Wilson and Harlin," Roberts said. "Where's Mason?"

Sloan
squinted. Beyond the sheriff up on the natural bridge something moved. The sun
was nearly blinding, and until it glinted off Mason's rifle, Sloan wasn't sure
he wasn't seeing things.

"There,"
he said, and raised his rifle, firing before anyone seemed to know what he
meant.

Mason
Tate's body tumbled off the rocks and turned over and over. To Sloan he seemed
to be falling slowly, like a leaf or a snowflake, in no particular hurry to hit
the water. Mary Grace, hidden by his body, shivered beneath him. There was a
thud as Mason came down. It must have been the angle of his body, but damned if
there wasn't any splash.

The
deputy rode over to the water's edge. "No sign of him," he shouted
back. "You want me to search?"

Sloan
looked at Mary Grace, knowing what she must be thinking. On her wrist was some
sort of paper
bracelet which hadn't been there before he had hauled her up to the Bridge to
Somewhere Else. He fingered it, rolling it around her wrist until he could find
his voice.

"I
thought you were gone," he said huskily. She was quiet. Obviously she was
in pain, but it was more than that. "You
were
gone then, weren't
you?"

She
nodded.

"But
you made it back. Is that how your arm...?"

Again
she nodded, her eyes watching the halfhearted search being carried out in the
creek. When the sheriff finally told the deputy not to waste his time on the
likes of Mason Tate, Sloan couldn't have been more in agreement.

"The
baby," she said, trying to sit up. "Are you sure the baby is all
right?"

The
sheriff sent his deputy off after the old man and Little Ben, then focused his
attention on Mary Grace.

"She
all right?" He dismounted and came slowly toward Sloan and Mary Grace.
Sloan closed her shirt for her and nodded at Roberts.

"Broken
arm. She'll be fine."

"You
look like you took one in the shoulder." The sheriff kneeled by the pair,
touching Sloan's wound gingerly. "Just grazed you. Always the bleeders,
those."

He
offered a hand to Sloan, who rose awkwardly. Then the two helped Mary Grace to
her feet.

"I
owe you an apology, ma'am." The sheriff tipped his hat to her.

"What
made you decide to come back?" she asked.

"I
got to thinkin'. When Mr. Ben Westin came to my office lookin' for his son, he
said he got a telegram saying his son was alive. He also said that his son told
him to take care of one Mary Grace O'Reilly if he wasn't to come back from what
he had to do."

Mary
Grace looked up at Sloan with that awestruck
look she got every time she realized that
he was in love with her. Hell, he thought, she ought to be used to the idea by
now. He'd like to think she didn't go jumping off cliffs for men that could
just take her or leave her.

"You'da
been set for life if your man didn't come back, but you went off after 'im,
anyway. Maybe it's your kid, maybe it's Emily Tate's. I don't rightly know. But
I know if you're willin' to take him to your heart and call him your own,
bearin' the shame of it, I ain't got no business stoppin' you."

Before
they could actually see him, they could clearly hear Ben crying. Sloan's
father, still mounted, rode off, and the crying ceased. A few moments later,
with a big smile on his face, Ben Westin, Sr., rode into the clearing, carrying
the baby in his arms.

"Whoever's
son he is, there's no question he's my grandson," he said proudly.

Sloan
looked down at Mary Grace, begging her not to say anything. He should have
known it wasn't necessary. He saw her relief at the sight of the baby, and he
reached up and took Ben in his arms. He held him close enough for Sweet Mary to
touch him, but not that close so as not to jostle her injured arm. The first
thing she did was inspect the wound on his leg, clearly healing well and not
bothering the boy at all.

Her
smile of relief was warmer than the Arizona sun as it shined on him.

"Well,
Sweet Mary, as I recall, you got three nevers in yer life. That right?"

"Three
nevers?" She was paying him no mind. With her good hand she was checking
the cuts on Ben's chubby leg, touching his hair, trying to see if his new tooth
had come in.

"You
was never gonna be with a man, never go home, and never go to church. Wasn't
that it?"

Now
he had her full attention. He waited for her to show some sign of agreement,
though he was certain he'd gotten it right. She nodded hesitantly, wary. Didn't
she know just what he was getting at?

"Well,
you already broke your first one, right?"

"You
know I did." Her cheeks reddened, but she didn't look away.

He
thought it was going to be easier than this. He swallowed before continuing.
"Now I think we gotta break the other two."

"What?"

Hell,
she could say no. Just like that. How come he hadn't thought of that before? He
was so good at anticipating all possibilities. How could he have forgotten that
one?

"The
church. Home. You know."

A
smile lit her eyes and he let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was
holding. Like a flirt she asked him, "What church? What home?"

"It
don't matter what church, just so long as we get married up proper." She
was trying to keep the smile from her lips, but she wasn't having a lot of luck
at it.

"And
home is the Bar W," Ben said, taking his namesake from Sloan so that his
son could kiss his bride. "It was always for you, anyway."

The
baby's little arms went around his grandfather's neck and squeezed. Then he
squirmed around and put his arms out for Mary Grace.

"Ma!"
he squealed, trying to get to her. "Ma!"

She
stared at their son, tears streaking down her cheeks, while Sloan held her.

"Come
on, little mama," Sloan said quietly, leading her toward one of the
horses. "It's time to take our son and go home."