Shotgun Bride (19 page)

K
ade was beginning to wonder if Mandy had changed her mind about marrying him when, later that evening, after his prisoner had settled down to snoring, the door of the jailhouse creaked open to admit a female figure.

The sudden leap in his chest dwindled to a flutter when he recognized Emmeline.

“Are you all right?” she asked, crossing the room to peer at his sore and swollen lip.

He did not want to be fussed over or mollycoddled; in truth, he did not even want to be noticed, but there was no escaping Emmeline’s concerned examination. “I’m
fine,”
he grumbled.

She frowned, her gaze still fixed on the place where Jeb’s punch had landed with the impact of a boxcar rolling downhill. “You don’t
look
fine. Maybe I ought to fetch Doc.”

Kade thrust himself up out of his chair, rising on a swell of impatience.
“No,
Emmeline. Just let me be.”

She smiled, undaunted by his temper. As a McKettrick wife, she’d learned to mark off a piece of ground and plant her heels on it. “Not a few people would say you got what you deserved.” Her expression turned serious and her hands came to rest on her hips. “That was a disgraceful thing you did, dragging poor Jeanette up in front of the whole town and saying you were going to marry her, when all the time you really wanted Mandy.”

Kade flushed. “Maybe it was.”

“Maybe, nothing. You’re lucky Mandy had the courage to step in. You might have ruined her life and Jeanette’s, not to mention your own.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “What the devil do you people want from me? I apologized to the woman, and my brothers took it out of my hide.”

Emmeline raised an eyebrow, surveying him pensively. “Do you think saying you’re sorry is enough? Talk is cheap, Kade. Unless you do things differently from now on, your apology isn’t worth a puddle of horse pee.”

A chuckle escaped him, rueful and raw. “Is that any way for a lady to talk?”

Emmeline was still framing her answer when the first shot splintered the door of the jailhouse.

Without thinking, Kade grabbed her by the arm and thrust her hard to the floor behind his desk, crouching beside her as another bullet fragmented the window.

“Stay down!” he ordered, jerking open the bottom drawer of John’s desk and grabbing the .38 he kept there for emergencies. His own gun was way over by the door, holstered and hanging from a peg.

“What’s happening?” Emmeline whispered, pale, one hand resting on her abdomen.

Outside, horses whinnied and stomped, and a man’s voice shouted, “Send Curry out!”

After another glance at Emmeline, Kade made his way across the floor, scrambling like a monkey, the pistol heavy in his hand. “The hell I will!” he yelled back. He took a chance, stole a glance out the broken window, and nearly got his right ear shot off for his trouble.

Probably a dozen men were in the street, mounted, their faces in shadow. He hadn’t recognized any of them in that instant of looking.

“I told you they’d come!” Curry shouted exultantly from his cell. “You’re a dead man, Marshal!”

“Stay down and shut up,” Kade responded, still hunkered down under the window.

“Kade,” Emmeline said, and her voice sounded weak.

Dread struck Kade, real as a bullet, and shattered something inside him. “Are you hit?” he asked, making his way back as more shots thunked against the walls and clanked off the stove.

She grasped his hand when he reached her, shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, and he realized that he’d been holding his breath. “I’m scared, Kade.”

“Don’t be. If they get to you, it’ll be over my dead body.”

There in his cage, Curry laughed like a demon. “A man can always hope,” he said.

“It’s Rafe I’m worried about,” Emmeline confided, in a desperate whisper. “Rafe and the others. They’ll come to help. They’ll be out in the open.”

He squeezed her hand. “They’re not idiots, Emmeline. Rafe will come, but he won’t make a target out of himself, and Jeb is the fastest gun I’ve ever seen.” That last part wasn’t something he would normally have admitted, except under pressure.

Behind them, another shot sounded, and Curry let out a yelp. “Christ,” he gasped, “somebody just tried to shoot me through the window! They’re looking to
kill
me!”

Kade swore under his breath, pushed Emmeline as far into the well of the desk as he could, and sighted in on the tiny, barred opening in the cell wall. Sure enough, the shape of a man loomed there, probably on the back of a horse. Kade took aim and fired, there was a cry, and the shadow gave way to a flow of moonlight.

Outside, there was more shooting, and more shouting. Then the thunder of hooves. The door crashed open, and Kade heard a blessed sound.

Rafe’s voice: “Kade!”

An hour before, he’d been ready to come up out of that horse trough and tear his brother apart, limb by limb. Now, he was hard put not to kiss his boots. “I’m here,” Kade responded.

The shooting receded farther and farther into the distance. Kade got to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Rafe demanded, furious with concern.

Kade set the .38 on the desktop and took in the damage to the place. Curry was unhit, having crawled clean under his cot, but the stove was dented, the front window was a memory, and everything was pockmarked. He nodded in answer to Rafe’s question, catching his breath, and leaned down to offer Emmeline a hand up.

Rafe’s eyes bulged at the sight of her. He gasped her name.

She took a stumbling step toward her husband, faltered, and fell.

Rafe rushed to her, knelt, gathered her into his arms. The look on his face was terrible to see; he crushed her against his chest, felt frantically for wounds.

Her lashes fluttered; she reached up to touch Rafe’s cheek. “The baby. Oh, Rafe—the baby.”

That was when Kade saw the blood staining the skirts of her party gown.

“Sweet Jesus,” he gasped.

Rafe’s gaze hooked into his and held. “This is your fault.”

“Rafe,” Emmeline interjected. “No—”

“You wanted this to happen!” Rafe spat. He got to his feet, a big man, awkward in his grace, Emmeline resting broken in his embrace. He glared at Kade for another infinite moment, then turned and rushed out.

Kade stood stricken in the center of his ruined office.

This is your fault.

You wanted this to happen.

Rafe was wrong on the second count, he thought, as something inside him shuddered mightily and then crumbled, but the first was another matter. If he hadn’t earned himself a punch in the mouth from Jeb and a dousing in the horse trough from Rafe, Emmeline would not have been there when the shooting started.

F
our men were lying sprawled dead in the street, but Mandy didn’t stop to see if she knew any of them from the old days. Angus had held her back when the shooting had started and had let her go only when Jeb and Holt and most of the other men at Becky’s party had chased the outlaws out of town. Only one person was on her mind from the beginning to the end, and she sought him with her eyes, with her heart, as she burst through the doorway at the jailhouse.

Kade stood in the middle of the floor, his head bowed, his hands limp at his sides.

She went to him. Hesitated, then put her arms around him.

He let his forehead rest on her crown, drew in a deep breath, and embraced her, tentatively at first, then with a ferocious need. She felt wetness seep through the strands of her hair to rest, warm, on her scalp.

“Emmeline,” he ground out. “She was here—”

“Shhh,” Mandy said.

“I threw her down—didn’t want her to get hit—she’s bleeding.”

She held him.

“I didn’t mean—Rafe thinks—”

“Shhh,” she said again. She pulled back, took his hand. “Come on. We’re going home.”

“I can’t,” he protested. “The prisoner—”

“Damn the prisoner,” Mandy replied, and led her man out of the wreckage.

“That one,” he said, inclining his head toward the corpse he’d just left, “is Jesse Graves. He gave Becky some grief at the dance tonight.” His gaze narrowed; the keenness of it cut like a fresh-stropped blade. “Kade?” he prompted.

Kade tried to shake off his mental fog, but it wasn’t going anywhere. He thrust a hand through his hair, while Mandy’s grasp tightened on the other one. “Emmeline,” he said miserably.

Jeb laid a hand on his shoulder, the same one he’d used to fatten Kade’s lip earlier in the evening. “What about her?”

“She shouldn’t have been there,” Kade muttered. “I pushed her down, out of the line of fire, and—I think she’s losing the baby.”

Jeb ducked his head for a moment, and his hold on Kade’s shoulder tightened briefly. He looked at Mandy, saw something in her face, and turned his gaze back to Kade. “I suppose Rafe blames you?” His voice was quiet.

Kade nodded. “Yeah.”

“He’s probably out of his head, Kade. In time, he’ll see reason.”

Kade wished he could be so certain. “There’s another man behind the jailhouse. I shot him through the cell window.”

“We’ll see to him,” Jeb said. His gaze shifted to Mandy, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Anybody recognize any of the riders before they got away?” Kade asked.

“One of them was Davy Kincaid,” Harry put in from somewhere nearby. “He comes to our place sometimes, to see Ma.”

Kade’s blood froze at the realization that Harry had been close by when the bullets were flying. He didn’t dare turn toward the kid; if he did, he might shake him out of sheer relief. Instead, he focused his thoughts on Kincaid. He’d never really known Davy, who had a reputation for drinking a mite too much, but he’d seen him around a time or two, and he’d met his slow-witted brother, Avery, once, a couple of years back, when Kade was riding fence lines. Caught out by a freak snowstorm, he’d holed up in one of the line shacks to wait for better weather, and Avery had sought shelter there, too, coatless and wild-eyed, saying nary a word and hunkering down in the corner all night, like a dog expecting to be whipped. In the morning, Kade had awakened to find Avery gone, along with half his own rations and some tobacco. He’d shaken his head and put the incident aside, not being one to dwell overmuch on the curious workings of other men’s minds. The convolutions of his own kept him busy enough, most times.

Now, it seemed to Kade, it was time to get to know the Kincaids a little better. He’d start by paying a call on them, first thing in the morning. In the meantime, he needed to lick his wounds.

“What you require is a posse,” said Sam Fee, stepping out of the crowd. He wasn’t a big man, but he looked able, and agile, too. “I’d be willing to sign on.”

Considering that his place had been burned to the ground, and the McKettrick brand left behind, putting a signature to a clear statement, Kade was taken aback by the offer. “I didn’t figure you were on our side,” Kade said.

“I been talking to John Lewis,” Fee replied grimly. “He said it was probably that outlaw in there that burned our place, not the McKettricks. His word is good enough for me.”

“Obliged,” Kade said, conscious of Mandy beside him, holding his hand. He wondered what she’d think if she knew she was holding him upright.

After Sam stepped forward, a dozen other people volunteered, cowboys mostly, some from the Triple M, and some from the Circle C, but one or two townsmen threw in with them, too, including Ben Hopper, the manager of the telegraph office, and Wiley Kline, who printed the newspaper. They made plans to meet in front of the marshal’s office at sunrise, ready to ride, and the crowd finally dispersed.

Kade looked around, found Jeb standing close by. “I’ll keep watch here at the jail,” Jeb said. “You go on back to the hotel with Mandy.”

Mandy tugged at Kade’s hand. “There’s nothing more you can do tonight,” she urged. “Let’s go.”

He went.

B
ecky sat stiffly by John’s bedside, holding his hand and waiting. Her eyes ached with tears that would not be shed, no matter how vast the need, and she was past coherent thought, wandering in a reverie of sorrow.

Lamplight bathed her beloved’s gaunt face, and he opened his eyes. “I heard shots,” he said weakly. “What happened?”

“Some thugs tried to break Gig Curry out of jail to kill him, evidently.” Becky said.

“Anybody hurt?”

She swallowed, looked away, shook her head. It was a lie, and he probably knew it: Emmeline was down at Doc’s office right at that moment, probably losing her baby, and Becky felt as though her own soul were being torn asunder, but she could not leave John, not now. It was Rafe’s place to be with Emmeline, but knowing that didn’t ease her grief.

“You just concentrate on pulling through,” she said thickly, tightening her grip on his hand, as if she might somehow hold him back from the beyond, keep him with her for a little while longer.

He raised their clasped hands to his mouth, kissed her knuckles lightly. She felt an echo of the sweet shivers his touch had so easily stirred in her before the framework of creation itself had buckled at its core and come crashing down around her, pillar by pillar. “Somehow,” he labored to say, “I’m going to find a way to stick by you, Becky, and I won’t let the grave stop me. Once I know for sure that you’re going to be all right, I might move on to whatever’s next, but until that day, I’ll be waiting, just on the other side of your next heartbeat.”

Her throat closed with the intensity of all she felt. “I love you,” she said. She’d uttered those words too seldom in her life, and heard them too rarely, until she’d met John. Now, they were infinitely precious, all that was important or true.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I love you. But I don’t want you wasting your tears over me, Becky, now or when I’m gone, and I won’t have you wearing black and pining for me, either. You’ve got to promise that you’ll live as long and as well as you can. Emmeline needs you, and so do a lot of other folks.”

She put her free hand over her face and let out the small, desolate sob that had been strangling her. “Can’t you stay?” she asked, moments later. “Can’t you hold on, and get well—for me?”

He shook his head. “The decision wasn’t mine to make, but it’s been made all the same. I’ve had my turn.”

She wept openly then, from the depths of her shattered soul. She’d begun to hope again when she met John, to believe and trust in fate. Now, he was slipping away. “It isn’t fair,” she protested. “We didn’t have enough time.”

He smiled. “I don’t think eternity itself would be enough time.” He was weakening, and yet something was gathering in him, visible in his eyes, something he wanted to say before it was too late. “We need to talk about Chloe. I asked Kade to send for her, but I don’t think she’s going to get here soon enough, if she comes at all.”

Becky smoothed his forehead, trying to erase the worries that furrowed his fine brow. “Your daughter.”

John let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry now that I never told you more about her.” Every word was costing him, and Becky wanted to tell him to save his strength, but she knew it would be wrong. He had a right to die in his own way, and to empty himself of words first, if that was what he needed to do. “We were never married, Chloe’s mother and I. Rachel found herself a respectable husband while I was in prison, though, and they raised Chloe together, in Sacramento. I’ve visited her a few times—Chloe, I mean—but she thought I was an uncle.”

“I wouldn’t have minded knowing about Rachel, John. It isn’t like I thought you’d lived your life as a monk.”

John chuckled hoarsely. “Rachel hasn’t mattered to me in a long time. I’m not sure why I couldn’t bring myself to talk more about my little girl, though. Maybe because it hurt too damn much, and I was a coward.”

“You might be a lot of things, John Lewis,” Becky scolded, watching him through a glaze of tears, “but you’re no coward. Some things are just too private to share with anybody, that’s all.”

“Chloe’ll be a handful, if she shows up at all,” John went on, with a mixture of amusement and fond lamentation. “I’ve had half a dozen letters from my daughter over the years—like I said, she thinks I’m a brother to her late pa—and she is not one to hold back on her opinions. She’ll have a lot of questions once the truth comes out, and she’ll make some judgments, too. Maybe harsh ones.”

Becky dashed away her tears and smiled. “You’re saying she’s headstrong.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now there’s an understatement for you. Chloe is a pain in the hind end, is what she is. She’s full of fire, but she’s mine and I love her.”

“Then I’ll love her, too, if she’ll let me,” Becky promised. “One more willful woman oughtn’t to make much difference around here.”

John gave a raspy, rattling chuckle. “Oh, she’ll make a difference, all right. Brace yourself, Becky. And warn everybody who’ll listen.”

She was astonished that some laughter was still left in her, for all that her heart was breaking. “You make her sound more like a hurricane than a young woman.” Humor twinkled in John’s pain-weary eyes, and she knew she would cherish the memory of it, along with so many other things about him, most of them profoundly ordinary.

“That’s a fitting description of her nature,” John said with certainty, and then they were quiet for a long time. “Once she hits this town, things will never be the same.”

“Maybe that’s good,” Becky allowed gently. “Indian Rock could use some shaking up.”

They fell into an easy if poignant silence after that.

When John closed his eyes for the last time an hour later, Becky didn’t move, or let go of his hand, nor did she call for anyone to come and hear the news. She just sat, still as a snowy morning, listening to the steady ticking of the mantel clock, the sound bearing her, against her formidable will, into a world where there was no John Lewis.