Outlaw's Bride (38 page)

“You frightened me,” Mattie said breathlessly.

He smiled, the firelight giving his complexion an orangish cast, and stood. “I'm sorry. I was just enjoying the warmth of the fire.”

His shadow cast from the fireplace appeared distorted against the opposite wall—looking like a grotesque phantom. Unease slithered through Mattie, and she gave herself a mental shake. He was merely a businessman, a boarder.

“How was the dance?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Fine.”

“Did you see the sheriff there?”

Mattie frowned, puzzled by the unexpected question. “As a matter of fact, I did. Do you know him?”

Layton shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. I'd heard you saved his life after he was ambushed.”

“That's right,” she said cautiously. “How did you learn that?”

“The liveryman told me. He also said you were a fine-looking woman.” Layton's gaze flicked up and down her body, pausing on her breasts. “As good-looking as Beaudry's woman was.”

Dread stabbed Mattie and her heart leapt into her throat. She took a step back, her knees quivering, and asked hoarsely, “Who are you?”

He narrowed his eyes and said matter-of-factly, “I'm the man who shot Beaudry and killed his wife.”

Mattie gasped and tried to run, but Layton struck like a rattler, grabbing her before she could even scream. Standing behind her, he wrapped his arm around her neck, threatening her supply of air, and whispered in her ear. “It's just you and me, Mattie. Let's enjoy it.”

Mattie's heart thundered in her chest. Tiny circles of changing colors danced before her eyes. She had to try fighting him before she was too weak to do anything. Feeling his legs directly behind hers, she lifted her foot and slammed her heel down on his instep.

The choking arm dropped away and she fell to her knees, gasping. Through her fear, Mattie saw Layton was smiling—a smile filled with the promise of pain and death.

“Oh, God, no!” She tried to scramble to her feet. The hem of her violet gown caught beneath her toe and she nearly stumbled to the floor again, but caught herself. “Stay away from me,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Or what?” Layton taunted, taking a step closer.

Mattie spotted the woodbox a few feet away. If she could just reach a piece of wood …

“Uh-oh, Ma's home early,” Andy said quietly.

“Uh-oh, is right,” Herman muttered. He hadn't expected Mattie to be home so soon. Maybe she'd finally come to her senses and called off her engagement with the doc. That would make Herman as happy as a flea on a hound dog. “I'll talk to her.”

Andy's young face appeared doubtful. “She's going to throw a fit that I was out after dark.”

Herman's step faltered on the porch. When it came to a woman's temper, Herman usually stayed far out of the line of fire, but he'd been the one to talk the boy into fishing. He had a feeling they'd be biting this evening and he'd been right—five fish dangled from the stringer in his hand.

“Maybe we could just wait until all the lights are off and you can sneak in,” Herman suggested.

Andy shook his head. “Ma always checks on me before she goes to bed. She'll know.”

Herman rubbed his grizzled chin. “How 'bout if you slip in the back door? Maybe you can get past her that way.”

“Maybe.” The boy didn't sound real sure.

A woman's cry sounded from within.

“What the—” Herman began.

He dropped the fish and grabbed Andy's arm as the boy dived for the door. It took all of Herman's strength to draw Andy over to the window. They peeked in and spotted Layton, the look of the devil on his face as he trapped Mattie in a corner of the parlor. A piece of firewood lay on the floor between them.

“Go get Beaudry and the doc,” Herman ordered.

“But—”

Herman gave him a shove toward the porch steps. “Go!”

After one more terrified glance, Andy raced off toward town.

Herman turned to the scene inside once more and he cursed the frailty of his old body. By God, though, he'd do what he could to protect Mattie.

Mattie cried out again. Herman shoved the door open and marched inside, willing his strength to be enough to help the woman he loved like a daughter.

Layton wrapped his fingers tightly in Mattie's hair, and tears of pain ran down her cheeks. He jerked her head back so far she was afraid her neck would snap.

“Let her go, you sonuvabitch.”

Herman's voice cut through Mattie's cries and Layton shoved her aside. She stumbled to the floor, bruising her knees on the hearth. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw Herman's enraged expression.

“Get out of here, old man,” Layton said, as if Herman were nothing more than a pesky fly.

“Leave her alone,” Herman ordered, deadly serious.

Layton laughed. Mattie had never heard anything so evil.

“
You're
going to stop me?” Layton taunted.

“The sheriff is on his way here, so if you got anything in that head o' yours but shit, you'd best get the hell outta here,” Herman said.

Layton's smile was almost painful to observe. He'd killed a woman and probably many men—he wouldn't hesitate to murder Herman.

“Beaudry's on his way here?” Satisfaction gleamed in Layton's dark eyes. “That's even better than I could've planned.”

“He's the one who shot Clint,” Mattie said hoarsely to Herman.

Her old friend's face paled even further and Mattie grew frightened for him. She watched in horror as he clutched at his left arm with his right hand and swayed slightly.

“All … the more … reason t-to leave,” Herman stammered between painful gasps.

Layton shook his head. “I don't think so. In fact, it works out perfectly this way.”

Herman tried to take a step closer, but he stumbled against the side of the doorway. He closed his eyes tightly and his complexion took on a grayish cast.

“He's sick,” Mattie shouted, and scrambled to her feet.

Layton grabbed Mattie's arm as she tried to make it to Herman's side. She kicked and flailed at him as she fought to escape, but he held her tight. She struggled to breathe through her fear. Through hazy vision, she saw Herman slide to the floor as if his bones had turned to liquid. She heard a soft sigh.

Frantically, she stared at his chest, willing it to move up and down. But it remained still.

“No!”

Mattie's body caved in upon itself and Layton released her. She collapsed to the floor and managed to crawl over to Herman's unmoving body. She laid her ear against his gaunt chest, but heard nothing.

Turning to look at Layton, Mattie understood the hatred that had motivated Clint to make the promise to his wife. Her own loathing became a living, breathing beast, slithering through her veins. “You killed him!”

“He saved me the trouble,” Layton said with a shrug. “Too bad he had to show up before we had some fun. Oh, well, this way I won't have to chase Beaudry down. He'll come to me.”

Mattie's blood froze. Layton was going to use her as bait to lure Clint here and murder him.

“Well?”

Clint glanced up at the doorway of the dance hall and recognized Amelia. How long had he been standing outside? He'd watched Murphy escort Mattie to his buggy, then take her home.

“She doesn't love him,” he said quietly.

Amelia stepped out to join him, a joyous smile on her face. “That's wonderful.” She studied him a moment and her happiness faded. “What's wrong?”

Clint flushed his lungs with the cool air. “She's still going to marry him.”

“Why?”

“It has to do with promises,” he replied quietly. How did he explain that was the only thing Mattie believed in?

“I don't understand.”

His whole body sagged, as if he'd just been involved in a gunfight. Only this time the ammunition hadn't been bullets, but words. “It doesn't matter.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the door. “Orville's probably looking for you.”

Amelia shook her head stubbornly. “When he's talking about the town's future, he doesn't even miss me.” She frowned. “I can't believe you're giving up this easily. I thought you loved her.”

He stiffened. “I do, and she loves me. But it's not enough.”

Amelia huffed. “If you aren't the most pigheaded, stubborn man. Stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself, Beaudry. Your first wife was murdered because you weren't home. Have you ever stopped to think it could've happened even if you'd been a rancher or a pig farmer? You couldn't spend every minute of every day with her. Then you made a stupid promise to get revenge.” She paused, her eyes hard. “Men do strange things when they're mad or feeling guilty—believe me, I know. I know all about men.” She shuddered. “Ask yourself this, Beaudry. What the hell do you think Emily would want you to do?”

Clint stared at Amelia, but he saw and heard Arabella instead. She'd learned her lessons the hard way and she'd survived, and become the wiser for it.

Could he let go of the past? All he had to show for his year-long chase were two new scars and a hole in his heart that would never heal.

Had it all been for Emily? Or had it been for himself? Perhaps his vow
was
his attempt to purge the guilt that had nearly destroyed him the night she'd been killed. It was time to release the past and get on with his life.

He glanced up into the starry night. Was that what Emily wanted? The answer came as gently as an angel's caress.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the darkness.

A boy's frantic voice brought his attention back to the street and he stepped away from the dance hall. Watching the boy draw closer, he recognized Andy St. Clair.

His heart kicked his ribs and he ran out to meet him in the middle of the street. Catching the boy by the shoulders, he squatted down to eye level. “What's wrong?”

“Ma… Ma and … that m-man,” Andy struggled to say, panting.

“What man?” Clint demanded.

A hand settled on Clint's shoulder. “Go easy,” Amelia said softly. “He's scared.”

“M-Mr. Layton … he rented a room,” Andy said.

His body trembled so much Clint wondered how he stayed on his feet.

“What about him?” Clint pressed, though consciously keeping his voice low and calm.

“He was going after… Ma. Herman sent mme … to get you.”

Clint shot to his feet. “Amelia, watch Andy.”

She wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders.

“Herman said to get Dr. Murphy, too,” Andy said.

Clint nodded. “You two get him. I'm going to Mattie.”

He ran to the nearest saddled horse, panic flashing through him. Would he succeed this time or fail again?

Clint jumped onto the horse's back, then jerked the reins around and urged the mare into a gallop. Fear and rage pounded in his breast, keeping time with the horse's hooves on the hard-packed earth.

A few minutes later, he drew back the reins sharply and the horse dug its hooves into the ground. A flash of color in the corral caught his attention and he focused on the light-colored horse.

A palomino.

Fear balled in his gut. The man who'd killed Emily now had Mattie. Hatred hazed his mind. The bastard wasn't going to win this time.

Clint slid off the horse, then gave its flank a swat to send it back to town. Clint clawed at his hip for his Colt—and his fingers brushed only his trousers. Frustration and rage coursed through him.

Mattie's dislike of guns might be her death sentence.

Keeping to the shadows, Clint ran in a half crouch toward the house. He made it to the porch and pressed his back against the wall next to the door. He cocked his head to the side, listening, but no sound came from within.

His heart hammered in his chest. What if she was already dead? Used like Emily had been—battered and broken? Nausea crawled up his throat.

Was he too late?

Again?