Secondhand Bride (27 page)

Holt was already turning away, fixing to climb into the wagon box and take the reins. He stopped, though, and fixed Jeb with a gaze hot enough to scorch cured leather. “When I get the time,” he said tersely, “I will.” With that, he got aboard, released the brakes, and slapped down the reins.

The wagon shot forward so suddenly that Jeb nearly hurtled over the tailgate, now raised and latched. That would have been downright humiliating, when he’d just ridden the meanest horse in the Territory without getting thrown.

He pulled himself back into the wagon bed and held on with his one hand, all but choking on the dust that rose up around them in a smothering cloud.

They stopped in the center of town, and Jeb braced himself for an argument, having no intention of wasting time or money on an unnecessary visit to some sawbones, but instead of hauling him to a doctor, Holt got down and strode into the sheriff’s office.

Chloe put her arms around Lizzie, tight, and they sat waiting in the wagon seat.

Jeb let down the tailgate and eased himself to the ground. He was still a mite unsteady, so he gripped the edge of the wagon and waited until the ground stopped swaying. When he figured he could cover the distance to the entrance, he set out to follow Holt.

He felt Chloe’s gaze searing his back as he passed on her side of the wagon; but she didn’t speak, and he didn’t look back.

When he got inside, Holt was already shut away with the sheriff, behind closed doors, so the whole effort was for nothing.

F
or Chloe, the ride back to the Circle C was not only hard, but interminable, fashioned of stony silence as it was. Holt drove the team at a demanding pace and kept looking around, as if expecting Jack Barrett to set upon them at any time. Lizzie huddled against Chloe, both of them cosseted in the same cloak, and Jeb sat in the wagon bed, with a pile of feed sacks behind his back, the .45 resting loosely in his hand.

Chloe had tried to ignore him, but her gaze strayed in his direction every so often, and he always caught her looking.

“I thought you never wanted to see me again,” he said once.

She’d sniffed at that and summarily turned her back, straightening her spine.

They reached the ranch without incident, which was something to be grateful for. Chloe tried hard to ratchet her spirits up a couple of notches, hoping the others would be cheered, too, but it didn’t work.

Holt brought the wagon to a stop behind the darkened house, and a couple of elderly ranch hands came hobbling to unhitch the team. Meanwhile, he lifted Chloe down, then Lizzie. Jeb was left to manage on his own, which was fine by Chloe.

Inside, she lit the lamps while Holt built a fire in the cookstove. They were all hungry and tired, after a long and arduous day, especially Lizzie.

Despite Holt’s previous insistence that she’d been hired to teach, not keep house, Chloe assembled a supper of pancakes and fried eggs, and put water on to heat while they were eating, so she and Lizzie could wash up before bed.

By the time she’d tucked Lizzie in and read her a chapter from one of Charles Dickens’s novels, having convinced her that that would suffice for Saturday’s lessons, Chloe was bone tired.

She went back downstairs, carrying the basin from her room, intending to ladle in some hot water. She longed for a real bath, but the preparations were beyond her current strength. She thought with yearning of the fine porcelain tub at the Arizona Hotel and promised herself the use of it when she got back to town.

She got a shock when she stepped into the kitchen. Holt had either gone to the barn or to bed, and there was Jeb, splashing in a round washtub in front of the stove, the light of one lantern rimming his hair in a flicker of gold.

She froze, unable to go forward or back.

He grinned, probably well aware that her immobility was his doing. “Join me?” he teased.

She felt color rush into her face, and the indignation that went along with it served to stiffen her knees and align her sagging backbone. She still couldn’t move, though, and her gaze went straight to the neat though jagged line of stitches in the upper part of his right arm. He’d washed away the blood, but the skin looked angry, and there were gaps in the incision. He’d have a nasty scar, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t get an infection.

“Not a chance,” she answered, well aware that the response had been too long in coming.

“How about washing my back?”

“How about you go straight to hell?”

He laughed. “Chloe, Chloe,” he scolded, stopping his one-handed scrubbing to sit back and soak. “Is that any way for a loving wife to talk to her husband?”

She didn’t trust her legs to carry her any farther than the chair at the head of the table, the one where Holt generally sat. She dropped into it, resting her forehead in one hand and shaking her head.

“What happened today, Chloe?” His voice was serious now, and earnest. “To Lizzie, I mean. I asked Holt, but he wouldn’t tell me a damn thing.”

Chloe felt a tear tickle its way down her cheek. “A man tried to carry her off,” she whispered, too tired to fight him anymore.

He rose out of the tub with a whoosh of water. “
What
?”

Chloe kept her gaze on the tabletop, watching a tear spread on the oilcloth. “She said it was the same man who robbed the stagecoach and shot those people.”
It was Jack Barrett,
she added miserably, in the silence of her mind.
It’s me he wants, and he’ll stop at nothing and no one until he succeeds.

Jeb was right beside her, looming over her, dripping wet and most definitely naked. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me that?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “Leave it alone, Jeb. Please.”

He grasped her chin, made her look at him. “Who was it, Chloe? And don’t say you don’t know, because I can see it in your face—you
do
know.”

Chloe swallowed. “It was Jack Barrett,” she said, with a sense of impending doom. “My former husband.”

“J
ack Barrett,
” Jeb said, through his teeth.

Chloe’s gaze was locked with his, and his grip on her chin was firm; she couldn’t have looked away, even if she’d tried. “Yes. I’m sure he was the one who shot you.”

His face hardened, and something quickened in his eyes. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

Everything within her seemed to wilt. She shook her head miserably. “Because we—I—knew you’d go after him, and I was afraid he’d kill you.”

He absorbed that, his breathing shallow and rapid, hissing in and out. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” he guessed. He was so firmly planted in himself, body and mind, that his powers of perception sometimes amazed Chloe.

There was no going back; she’d reaped the whirlwind, where Jeb was concerned, and even though she still believed with all her heart that if she’d done the wrong thing, it had been for the right reasons, she knew no power on earth would convince him of that.

“Once,” she admitted. “I saw him once.”

“When?” The word zinged through the narrow space between them, deadly as a bullet.

Chloe flinched, and her eyes stung mightily; she hated letting him see that she was crying, hated even more that he’d been the one to cause this assault on her pride. “Soon after you were shot,” she admitted. “I was walking back from the Jessups’ wagon—I went to see Ellen and Walter—and Jack was waiting for me when I took a shortcut through the cemetery.”

“
And you’re just telling me this now
?”

Her temper, at once her curse and her salvation, swelled, raising her with it, propelling her to her feet. He stepped back, and she was woefully conscious of his naked state, though he seemed heedless, in his fury.

“You were flat on your back, recovering from a bullet wound! What could you have done?”

He ignored the question. “Did my brothers know?”

“Yes.”

His blue eyes glittered, stone-cold. “By
God
, none of you had no right to make the choice for me!”

“We were trying to protect you!”

“I don’t need protecting, Chloe. I can do a fair job of that myself,
if
I know what the hell I’m up against in the first place!”

She snatched a towel off a chair back, shoved it at him. “A fair job? Oh, I saw that for myself, this very day,” she said scornfully. “You’re a reckless fool, and if you want to kill yourself, go right ahead, but don’t expect me to help you do it!”

He wrapped the towel around his hips, one-handed, deft even in his anger. “I did that for you!” he yelled. “I wanted to—oh,
hell,
just forget it. There’s no reasoning with you anyhow!”

“You dare speak to me of
reason?!”
she shouted.

The kitchen door swung open. “Would you two mind lowering your voices?” Holt snapped. “The roof is about to come off this place, you’re raising so much hell. I won’t have my daughter any more upset than she already is.”

Chloe sat down again, hard. In her outrage and injury, she’d forgotten all about Lizzie’s presence, and she was ashamed of that.

“I’m gone,” Jeb said, and turned his back on them both. A great deal of scuffling about followed, while he got back into his clothes, then his sling. Holt tried to help him once, but Jeb shoved him away.

“Dammit, Jeb,” Holt growled, “it’s dark out, and you’re in no condition—”

“Shut up, Holt,” Jeb warned. “You knew about Barrett all along, and that means you’re as big a liar as she is!”

Holt gave a gusty sigh. “Chloe’s not a liar,” he said. “She just has the bad judgment to love your sorry hide, that’s all.”

“I do
not
love Jeb McKettrick,” Chloe felt compelled to point out.

Holt gave her a look. “You’re not helping,” he said.

“It’s probably the first time she’s ever told the truth in her life,” Jeb seethed. He snatched his gun belt down off a shelf and strapped it on with an effort that was painful to watch.

Holt took a step in his brother’s direction. “Jeb—”

“Leave me the hell alone,” Jeb said, grabbing his coat and hat. A moment later, the back door slammed behind him.

Holt let out his breath, and there was a curse riding on it.

“You’re not just going to let him go!” Chloe marveled.

“How do you suggest I stop him? I guess I could lasso and hog-tie him; but, short of that, I can’t think of a way.”

Chloe doubled up one fist and slammed it down on the tabletop.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to keep this from him,” Holt said, with another weary sigh. He went to the stove and poured himself a mug of leftover coffee.

“Where do you think he means to go?” Chloe asked, in a small voice.

Holt stood looking out the window, though it was doubtful he could see much, with the moon in hiding. “Back to the Triple M, I suppose. I’ll let him get a start, then ride after him. If he ran into Jack Barrett along the way and got himself shot to death, I’d never forgive myself.”

Chloe stood, smoothing her skirts with damp palms. “I’ll go with you.”

At last, Holt turned to face her. “You’ll stay right here,” he said. “With Lizzie. Lock the doors and keep a gun handy.”

Chloe collapsed into her chair again. Much as she hated it, he was right. She couldn’t leave Lizzie alone and unprotected, especially now. Jack might be watching the place, waiting for a chance to finish what he’d started at the rodeo. If he wasn’t already tracking Jeb.

“I should have stayed in Tombstone,” she lamented, more to herself than Holt.

He laid a loaded .45 on the table in front of her. “Right now, I’d have to agree,” he said evenly. “Do you know how to use this, Chloe?”

A horse thundered past the house.

She nodded. The pistol was heavier than her derringer, and it had a better range, but the principle was the same.

“I’ll post some guards outside,” he told her. And then he was putting on his coat and hat, getting ready to leave. “Latch the door.”

“Be careful,” she said.

Chloe waited until he’d gone, then forced herself across the room to lower the latch. She checked the front door, to make certain it was locked as well, and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the .45 Holt had left for her. Its metal barrel was cold as well water.

A shudder went through her. The last time she’d faced Jack, she’d had Walter’s rifle, but hadn’t been able to use it. If he came to the Circle C, though, and took so much as a step toward Lizzie, she’d drop him in his tracks.

She tried not to think about Jeb, out there in the darkness, or Holt either, as she went back upstairs, a lantern in one hand and an instrument of death in the other.

J
eb braced his gun hand on the pommel of his saddle and rode out into the middle of the trail to await the rider he knew was a hundred yards or so behind him. It was stone dark, but his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he knew every inch of this ground anyway, like he knew the terrain of his own soul.

Startled to find him in the middle of the road, Holt reined in. “Shit,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“You must have been one pitiful Ranger,” Jeb observed, thrusting the pistol back into its holster. “I could have shot you six different times before you even knew I was here.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Holt said, his horse fitful alongside Jeb’s.

Jeb’s mood was not cordial. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

“I can do that on my own.”

“Get yourself killed? I have no doubts on that score.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you damn well know it.”

Holt sighed. “If I ever had any faith in your good sense, I lost it when you entered the rodeo.”

Jeb grinned in spite of the ache in the center of his chest. Chloe had left her mark on him, and it would be a long time scarring over. “I owe you some money,” he confessed. “You should find a better hiding place for that tobacco tin. Easy pickings.”

“Maybe I’ll just take it out of your hide, a strip at a time.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“I like an even fight, and right now, you’re a cripple.” Leather creaked as Holt shifted in the saddle. “Let’s go, cowboy. It’s too cold and too dark to sit out here jawing in the middle of the trail.”

Jeb turned his horse toward the Triple M. He didn’t particularly want to go there just now, but town was too far away. Short of shooting Holt, he didn’t see how he could stop him from riding along, so he resigned himself to unwanted company. “You shouldn’t have left Chloe and Lizzie alone.”

“In case it’s escaped you,” Holt said, “Chloe can take care of herself and Lizzie in the bargain. You’re the one who hasn’t got the wits to stay out of the way of a bullet.”

Jeb offered no argument, though he figured he could have come up with plenty of good ones. Given a little time.

They rode at an easy trot and reached the Triple M an hour later.

It was late, but there was light glowing at the kitchen window, and that troubled Jeb. He’d intended to put away his horse and find a place in the bunkhouse, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he made sure nothing was wrong. Holt evidently felt the same way, because he dismounted and left his horse standing in the dooryard, just as Jeb did.

Angus was in his place at the head of the table, wearing blue long johns and drinking coffee from a mug. He narrowed his eyes when Jeb came through the door, with Holt right behind him.

“Fine time for calling on your neighbors,” the old man grunted, but the look in his eyes revealed a more complicated state of mind. He was curious, and worried, and maybe a little pleased, too.

“I’m not a neighbor,” Jeb said. “I live here. Are you all right?”

“Just going over a few things in my mind. The older a man gets, the less sleep he needs.” Angus sized him up. “Don’t go bursting into your room. That Sue Ellen Caruthers woman is in there, and she’s under the weather.”

Holt stepped past Jeb, jostling him a little. “Who?”

Angus’s gaze flickered over his eldest son now, surmising. “You heard me the first time, boy,” he said. “One of the hands fished that poor gal out of the creek day before yesterday. She damn near drowned. Wakes up now and then; but if she can talk, she’s decided against it for now.”

Jeb watched his father and Holt as he hung up his coat and hat in their customary places. He’d put his horse away in a few minutes, then bed down in the spare room, though he didn’t reckon he’d get any more sleep than the old man.

Holt dragged back a chair, still wearing his outside gear. He seemed to have forgotten everything at the mention of his former housekeeper’s name. Jeb supposed he’d wind up looking after two horses, instead of one. “What the hell happened?” Holt demanded of the old man. “How did she wind up in the creek?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Angus said, pondering. “We figured she was long gone, after you sent her packing. Never expected to see her again.”

Jeb took up a position that allowed him to see both men’s faces. There was something more going on here than a discussion of the leftover mail-order bride Holt had hired to look after his house. She’d set her cap for Kade, poor girl, but he’d only had eyes for Mandy.

Holt’s jaw was hard as steel. “She told me she was going back East,” he said.

“Well, I guess she lied,” Angus answered. His gaze drilled into Holt’s face. “Take off your hat,” he said. “It’s the middle of the night, and everybody but me is asleep, but since you’re here, you might as well make yourself at home.”

Holt scowled, but he took off the hat. For a moment, Jeb thought he was going to fling it across the room, but in the end he just set it on the bench beside him.

Glad of the distraction this little interchange offered, Jeb sat down in Concepcion’s chair and settled back for the show.

Angus lowered his bristly brows at him, saying nothing. Jeb shifted his weight, well aware that he was expected to make himself scarce, but he didn’t budge. “Is Miss Caruthers going to be all right?” he asked, making his voice and expression as ingenuous as he could. If he left that room, he’d have to think about Chloe, and he wasn’t up to that yet.

Angus didn’t like relenting, but he did. “She’s scared as hell. We’ve been able to figure out that much.”

“I want to see her,” Holt said, starting to rise.

Angus laid a hand on his forearm and stopped his progress. “You’ll scare the spit out of her,” he said. “Anyway, Concepcion says she’ll be fine, once she’s had some time to rest up.” His gaze swayed back to Jeb like a cattle gate to the latch. “You here for a visit, or to stay?”

“I’m staying,” Jeb said. “Not that I want to.”

“What about Lizzie?” Angus wanted to know. It was plain the question was meant for both his sons. “She up at that place alone?”

“She’s with Chloe.”

Jeb felt the name like a well-aimed creek rock.

Holt cleared his throat, shifted in his chair. “I’d like to bring Lizzie here for a while,” he said carefully.

“She’s welcome anytime,” Angus replied. “But you haven’t exactly been eager to let her be a part of this family. What’s this about, Holt?”

Holt stiffened visibly at the gentle note in Angus’s voice. “I’m heading back to Texas,” he said out of the blue. “I’ll sell you the Circle C, if you want it.”

Angus had lusted after that land for as long as Jeb could remember, but now that it was actually within his grasp, he brushed the idea aside with a wave of his hand. “Where the hell did
that
come from?” he demanded, shooting to his feet and looming at the end of the table like a geyser of steam straight from hell. “You never said a word to me about going back to Texas. Now all of a sudden you just
announce
it?”

“I don’t have to explain my decisions to you, old man.”

Angus slammed his fist down on the table, causing the sugar bowl to make a leap. “This time you damn well do!” he roared.

Holt clenched his jaw. “I did what I came here to do. Got a look at you and your sons and this ranch. Now I’m ready to head back where I belong.”

“You’re a liar as well as a coward!” Angus bellowed. Upstairs, the baby took to squalling. “You’re starting to give a good God damn about this family, and you can’t stand that. It scares you to death!”

Holt kept his temper, even looked a little ashamed, but the glitter in his eyes said he wasn’t about to give ground. “I’ll come for Lizzie in the spring.”

“The way I came to fetch you?” Angus challenged, breathing so hard that Jeb thought his shirt buttons might pop off.

Holt glared. “No, old man. I’m actually going to do it.”

Angus reflected for a long time, and with every passing moment he seemed to get older. His back and shoulders had always been straight, but now they stooped. “If you’ve made up your mind,” he said finally, “I’ll give you a fair price.”

Holt only nodded. He wouldn’t look at Angus again, though, or even at Jeb. “Good,” he said without conviction.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Angus ventured. Jeb hoped the old man’s ticker wouldn’t give out, because beneath that crusty exterior it was breaking for certain.

“I’m sure,” Holt said, but he didn’t look or sound that way. By Jeb’s reckoning, the old man had stuck a little too close to the bone for Holt’s liking.

An insight struck Jeb then, one he couldn’t share with his father.

This was about Chloe.
But here’s where you’d best do some fancy listening, little brother,
Holt had said when Jeb had stepped into the Circle C kitchen and caught him holding her.
If I thought she’d have me, I’d take her for a wife as soon as I could round up a preacher.

At the time Jeb had figured it for a gibe. Now he reckoned different. He should have known Holt wouldn’t speak lightly of something like that.

Jeb ached inside, just to think of Holt bolting for Texas, but under the circumstances he was all for it.

Angus’s weary gaze groped for and found Jeb. “Good night, boy,” he said pointedly. “See to the horses, if you haven’t already done it.”

Jeb was almost too thunderstruck to speak. “I’ve only got one good arm, you know,” he said lamely.

Angus didn’t look away. “Doesn’t seem to keep you from doing whatever the hell else you want to do.”

Jeb went back to the door, reclaimed his hat and coat from the pegs beside it, and whistled for the horses, but he was just going through the motions. His mind was on the Circle C, with Chloe.

Did she feel the same way Holt did?