The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (31 page)

He glanced toward the sky. “Well, would you look at those clouds. ‘Blessed are the dead the rain falls on.’ I knew this was my lucky day. Get to digging.”

Tye judged the distance between him and his captor, and impotent rage coursed through him. Damn. For all his apparent inattention, the man was canny when it came to keeping Jenny under his gun.

Patience, McBride
, he told himself. This Bailey character would let down his guard sooner or later.

Jenny squeezed his shoulder as he helped her down from the wagon. “It’s all right, Tye. A little bit of digging won’t hurt me.” She lifted one of the shovels and headed for the graveyard.

“Come on, man!” he protested, glaring at Bailey. “The woman’s in a family way. She can’t be doing hard labor like that.”

Bailey shrugged. “Keep your mouth shut and get to work. Her condition don’t mean squat because you’ll both be dead by sundown. The only question remaining is how hard the dyin’ is gonna be.”

Rage rose like bile in Tye’s throat. He shifted his gaze toward Jenny, trying to reassure her. He’d be damned if he’d allow this sonofabitch to kill them. He had no intentions of dying. Not now. Not when his family was once again within reach.

“Now, grab hold of Frank. You’re gonna carry him over beside his mama. And don’t get any fancy ideas. I’m keeping my Colt pointed at the dressmaker’s heart.”

Tye quietly directed Jenny to grasp the foot end. Taking as much of the weight as he could manage, he and his brother’s wife unloaded the coffin and toted it inside the fence.

“You all right?” he asked as they set the burying box down.

She nodded. “Let’s just get this done.”

Bailey scooped up the second shovel and tossed it at Tye. “Get to work, McBride. I want my boy buried before sunset.”

Tye caught the spade, wishing he could fling it back at Bailey, but knowing he didn’t dare. Jenny was still in harm’s way. “Fine. But I’ll do it. There’s no reason for Jenny to dig—”

Bailey shot the dirt near Jenny’s feet. “There’s the reason.”

Tye cursed beneath his breath, the need to fly at Jack Bailey nearly overwhelming. Jenny placed her hand on his arm, gave him a reassuring smile, and spoke in a low voice. “Actually, I don’t mind the idea of digging a grave for Frank Bailey. I was with him when he died. Somehow, it seems right.”

Tye snorted and buried the shovel in the soft dirt. She’d told him a little bit about the night the gunslinger died. In his opinion, the local folk should throw her a parade.

Perched atop the wagon seat, Big Jack’s attention never wavered. He started telling stories about his children, from the time they were youngsters up to all the details of his new grandson’s birth. Never once did he put down his gun.

Tye knew if he waited long enough and watched closely, the opportunity to catch the man off guard would arise. Perhaps when they lowered the coffin into the ground, he mused. Bailey was liable to be distracted then. It might well be his best chance.

He doubled his efforts and began to make good headway on digging the grave. Glancing over his shoulder to check Jenny’s progress, he frowned. She looked as white and whipped as Sunday mashed potatoes. “Jenny?”

Her smile wobbled. “This is hard on a person’s back, isn’t it. But I’m all right, Tye. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry hell. If her back was hurting, could that mean something was wrong with the baby? He plunged his shovel into the dirt. Damn. He shouldn’t have waited to make his move.

“Hey, Bailey,” he called. “My side’s deep enough. Mrs. McBride and I are going to trade places.” Without waiting for a reply, he slipped beside Jenny. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “I won’t let him hurt you. If anything happens, hit the ground. It should be deep enough to shield you if bullets start to fly.”

Jenny nodded and they worked for a few more minutes.

Then, as he bent to shovel another load of dirt, he saw her grimace. “Jenny?”

Worry dulled her blue eyes as she looked at him and said, “I hope your moment comes soon, Tye. I’m a bit worried about my baby.”

That’s it, he thought. This nonsense had gone on long enough. He set down his shovel and lifted her into his arms, then laid her gently on the ground behind him.

“What the hell you doin’, boy?” Big Jack Bailey called.

“She’s done enough digging.”

Tye prayed Bailey would let it go, but it wasn’t to be. He jumped down from the wagon, his face mottled red with rage. “She’ll never do enough to make up for what she’s done. She killed my son!”

Tye shielded his brother’s wife. “That’s a lie, Big Jack. A scorpion got him. The doctor in town says so.”

“The doctor doesn’t know shit. She did it. She’s a jinx!”

He approached the grave, his furious stare raking Jenny. “The first accidents were bad enough, but when I got that telegram about Mary Rose, I knew you had to be stopped. I sent Frank after you and what happens? He turns up dead.”

His gun hand trembled with the force of his fury, and his voice cracked as he said, “Now I have a new grandson, one who has the chance to go places. I’ll not allow him to be put at risk.”

“You’re wrong, Mr. Bailey!” Jenny said, rising to her feet. “My luck—good or bad—had nothing to do with any of the accidents that happened to your family.”

“Jenny,” Tye said in a cautious tone, worried at the look on the other man’s face.

“Liar!” Bailey cried, raising his gun. He pulled the trigger and a bullet whistled past Tye’s ear. “You’re lying. You’re just trying to save your skin. Well, it’s too damned late for that. I have to stop you. I can’t have you hurting my grandson.”

Tye watched Big Jack Bailey’s eyes glaze and reacted immediately. Muttering a curse, he lunged for Jenny. He grasped her by the shoulders and tugged her into the grave an instant before a bullet whistled by her head. He covered her with his body. Another bullet smacked into the ground behind them. “Keep as low as you can. To get the angle on us to shoot, he has to come closer. No matter what happens, I want you to lie flat. You with me?”

She nodded.

Tye gripped the shovel’s handle and listened hard. He heard Jack Bailey approach. Sucking in a single deep breath, he gave a loud rebel yell and vaulted from the grave.

As he swung the shovel, he saw the gun swivel toward him. Pain slammed into him, and he smelled the coppery scent of his own blood even as the shovel connected with Jack Bailey’s head.

The man fell like an oak. Tye bent over and tried to catch his wind. Glancing down, he saw the stain seep across his shirt. Well, hell, he thought, just before darkness consumed him.

A WRENCHING pain gripped Trace’s shoulder as he left the marshal’s office.
Tye
. His brother had been hurt. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.

The fear that had churned inside him since beginning the search for Jenny intensified. He knew in his gut she was somewhere with Tye. He knew in his heart that they both were in trouble. He’d done his damnedest to convince Courtright of the same.

The marshal said Bailey hadn’t returned to Fort Worth. Courtright kept a pretty good eye on the comings and goings in town, but he couldn’t know everything. Instinct told Trace Big Jack had Jenny, and instinct was telling him to ride for the Lucky Lady.

He’d extracted a promise from the marshal to take the girls to Mrs. Wilson’s as a precautionary measure and begin a search of the town just in case Trace was wrong. He headed back to Fortune’s Design to retrieve his horse when he heard someone call his name. Glancing over his shoulder, he winced.

Wilhemina Peters was scurrying after him, pad and pencil in hand. “Mr. McBride, oh Mr. McBride. Please wait.”

He continued his pace for another moment before halting abruptly. Of course! He should have thought of her first. Wilhemina Peters made a career out of having her nose in everybody’s business but her own. If anyone knew anything about Jenny and Tye’s whereabouts, Wilhemina would be the one. Valiantly, he tried to hide his panic as he offered her a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Lifting one hand to hold her spectacles, she peered up at him intently. “Dear, dear, me. This does make my job more difficult. Which one are you? The architect/saloonkeeper or the brother?”

“I’m Trace, Mrs. Peters.”

“Good, good, good. It’s you I want to see then. I have questions for my column, you see. Now, first of all—”

Trace interrupted, “Mrs. Peters, I don’t have much time. I’m looking for my wife. Have you seen her in town today?”

Wilhemina wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be so impatient, sir. We certainly know where the Menaces inherit that unattractive trait, don’t we?”

“Mrs. Peters—”

“Your wife is part of what I wish to speak with you about.” She poised her pen above her paper and shot questions at Trace like a Gatling gun. “Have the fences been mended between her and the Baileys? Has the family finally accepted the change in the wedding dress’s status? Is that the reason behind your trip with him this morning? Or has he retained your professional services? Has he hired you to design a new home? What can you tell me about his reaction to the death of that gunslinger son of his? I never liked that Frank, you know. He had mean, beady eyes.”

“You saw me with Big Jack Bailey today.” A cold chill stole across his soul at the confirmation of his suspicions.

“Well, of course I did. Don’t you remember, Mr. Bailey commented on my hat. You were right there. You looked—” she broke off abruptly. “Oh. I see. It must have been your brother with your wife and Big Jack in that wagon headed out of town. That’s interesting.” She wrote furiously on her notepad. “What business does your brother have with Big Jack? I met your twin yesterday. Have I mentioned how much I like the man? Why, he told me—”

Trace’s mind was racing. The Lucky Lady’s main house lay to the southeast. The old homesite where Frank had taken Jenny to the southwest. “You say you saw them leaving town together?”

Wilhemina scowled. “Interrupted me again, just like those Menaces. If a person doesn’t—”

“Mrs. Peters!” Trace shouted, his patience completely gone. “This is important. Do you know which direction they were going?”

She snapped her notebook closed and pursed her lips in a sour-lemon look. “West. Southwest, actually. I must say, Mr. McBride, you’ve demonstrated a surprising lack of manners.”

He was already rushing away. “Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have time for manners,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m afraid Jenny is in danger.”

When you find a horseshoe, spit on it, throw it over your left shoulder, and without looking back to where it fell, walk away and you will have seven years’ good luck
.

CHAPTER 18

BLOOD COVERED JENNY’S HANDS like heated cream. Silence gripped the afternoon as she closed her eyes and centered her attention on defeating the panic that threatened to consume her. She would not surrender to fear. Tye needed her. This child growing inside her needed her. The girls needed her.

Trace needed her.

She trembled, shaking like leaves in a gale. She wanted more than anything to lie on the ground and sob.

Be strong, Jenny
, the words whispered in her mind. In her mother’s voice, in Trace’s voice. In those of Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina.

And they did their job. Purpose flowed into her, replacing the numbing fear. She opened her eyes and resumed her efforts, ripping another strip of cloth from her petticoat and binding it tightly around the wound in Tye’s shoulder. When she removed his shirt, she’d discovered the round hole marking the spot where the bullet had entered his body. On the backside of his shoulder, its exit had created a bloody, mangled mess. She’d applied pressure to the wound until the bleeding had slowed, then flushed it with water from the canteen in the wagon.
Please Lord, let this be enough.

What she wouldn’t give for a needle and thread right now. She had no idea how much blood a man could lose before it caused his death. Tye had lost so very much. At least, that’s how it appeared to her. His shirt, her hands, even her dress were stained red.

Jenny swallowed hard as she scrutinized the makeshift bandage for signs of bleeding. A minute passed. Two. She breathed a tentative sigh of relief.

Now, to deal with Big Jack.

She remembered the rope he had used to secure the coffin in the bed of the wagon. Standing, she tried to ignore the ache in her back as she hurried to retrieve it. Tying Bailey’s hands and wrists required a good amount of pushing and rolling his unconscious weight, but finally she accomplished the task. As she backed away from his prone body, she was breathing hard. “You won’t get loose. My embroidery knots never fail.”

She pressed her hand to her back as she considered what to do next. She glanced toward the wagon where the horses, still skittish from the gunshots, snorted and pawed the ground. Should she take the buckboard and dash for town and a doctor for Tye? Unless he awoke she stood no chance of getting him in the wagon, but the idea of leaving him alone with Big Jack Bailey—no matter how securely tied—filled her with unease.

She gazed up toward the sky, judging the time. They had an hour, possibly two, before sunset. The cloud hanging on the northern horizon likely meant weather on the way. Still, she believed they had time enough to spare for a little rest. Tye needed it and she did, too. Instinct told her to get off her feet.

She sat on the ground beside Tye. His complexion was parchment pale and she touched his face gently, wishing she knew more about the healing arts.

Ripping a clean section of cloth from his discarded shirt, she dampened it with water, then gently bathed his brow, humming a soothing tune. She’d gone through all verses of four different songs before she realized that the ache in her back had lessened, and relief washed through her.

Then a groan of pain from Big Jack Bailey reminded her of a problem rest wouldn’t cure. His body rolled, his biceps flexing as he attempted to move his arms. Curses spilled from his tongue. Slowly, he opened his eyes and fastened his gaze on Jenny. “Christ, woman,” he groaned. “Now your bad luck has rubbed off on me.”

Temper flared inside her at his words. “I am sick to death of hearing about the Bad Luck Wedding Dress, Jack Bailey!”

Blood dribbled from the cut across his forehead into his eye. He blinked hard and dipped his head toward his shoulder in a fruitless attempt to wipe it away. Jenny gave an exasperated sigh and stood. Rag in hand, she moved closer. “No funny moves, Mr. Bailey. I’m the only one here to help you so you’d best be nice to me.”

“Nice to you?” He laughed without amusement, then yelped in pain when she touched the cloth to his head. “You’re the one who has caused all my trouble.”

“No, I am not.” She grabbed hold of his upper arm and tugged him to a seated position. Making certain she had his attention, she said, “I didn’t make anything happen. Life made it happen. That’s what life is all about. People make mistakes; they get hurt. People die. But good things happen to them, too. They win contests, laugh at picnics. They fall in love. It’s life!”

“Shut up. Just shut up! It’s your fault Frank’s dead. You sent the telegram saying Mary Rose was hurt, when all she was doing was having a baby, and now you’re trying to make me believe that Frank’s death was my fault.”

“Mary Rose wasn’t burned?”

“No. You know that. You sent the telegram, and now you know I’m going to hurt you, and you’re trying to talk your way out of it.”

Jenny swallowed her denial and stepped away. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the gun she’d retrieved from his hand while he was unconscious. “You need to get a grasp on reality, here, Mr. Bailey. I’m not the one who is tied up. I’m not the one who is unarmed. You cannot do me injury, not any longer. As soon as we get back to town, I’m going to turn you over to Marshal Courtright. He’ll see that you—”

His smirk stopped her. Belligerence shone from his face. Wasn’t he threatened by the law even a little bit? By the looks of him, no. Jenny recognized the danger.

She considered her options. If she hauled him into town and turned him over to the marshal, he’d certainly go to trial. Kidnapping and attempted murder were serious charges. But such action carried a definite risk. She had no guarantee he’d end up in prison. Bailey had the money to buy every juror in town if he wanted.

Even if he were convicted and sent to prison, eventually he’d be released. He’d be a threat to her and her loved ones all over again. That she could not abide. This needed to end here and now.

What, short of killing him, would eliminate the peril Big Jack Bailey posed to her family?

She folded her arms and stared at the man whose superstitions had caused her such grief. From the shamrock pin on his hatband to the horseshoe designs on his boots, Big Jack was nothing but trouble. Why, he—

She broke off abruptly. Superstitions. Of course! Superstitions ruled his life. All she need do was to use that quirk of his nature against him to solve her problems. She absently rubbed the small of her back as she considered how to go about it. The idea that came to her was mean, true, but not as mean as killing him, which was one option. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to explain the truth. The man simply refused to listen.

For her family’s sake, she needed a permanent solution. He had brought this upon himself. She would not feel guilty for what she was about to do.

Jenny took a deep breath and said, “I had hoped not to do this, but you leave me no choice. You said Mary Rose had a baby boy?”

Bailey’s eyes took on a wary look and he nodded.

“It’d be a shame for any of the Bailey bad luck to rub off on the innocent little baby, now wouldn’t it?”

Fear kindled in his gaze. “What are you saying, lady?”

“Have you met my mother, Monique Day?” she asked innocently. “She’s French, you know, and when I was a girl we spent some time with her family in the Caribbean.”

Bailey’s body jerked and he gasped. “Voodoo?”

Jenny folded her arms and smiled. “You shouldn’t have quibbled over the price of the wedding dress, Mr. Bailey.”

He strained against the rope. “You put a curse on it, didn’t you? I knew it. You’re a witch. A blond-headed witch.”

“I am a seamstress, Mr. Bailey,” she replied with a laugh. “I sew all sorts of garments. Ladies’ dresses, gentlemen’s suits.” She paused significantly, then added, “Children’s clothes.”

“I’ll kill you!”

She stepped close to him, bent down, and snapped the chain and pendant from around his neck. Swinging the gold rabbit’s foot from side to side in front of his eyes, she dropped it into the pocket of her dress. “If you ever cause harm of any kind to me or to any of those I love, I guarantee that a similar injury will return to you and yours tenfold. That’s not a threat, Big Jack. It’s a promise. Now, do we understand each other?”

His eyes were round as teacups and brimming with fear. Jerkily, he nodded. She turned away, intending to see to Tye, and he spoke. The bravado in his voice couldn’t hide his fright. “If it weren’t for the boy, I’d fight you.”

Jenny looked over her shoulder. In all seriousness, she said, “Family is everything, isn’t it, Big Jack? I do believe we’ll all go to great lengths to protect our families.”

At that, a sharp pain low in her back brought her mind back to matters at hand. “I need help with my brother-in- law. That dark cloud to the north is moving faster than I had anticipated, and I want Tye sheltered before the weather worsens. I’ll untie your hands, and you are going to lift him and place him gently into the wagon. And don’t doubt I’ll shoot if you try anything foolish, Big Jack. I’m not in the best of moods right now, and I’d love the excuse to do away with you once and for all.”

“Wait a minute,” Bailey said. “What about my son? We can’t leave him like that.”

Jenny glanced at the coffin and sighed. A little rain wasn’t going to hurt them, but it was beginning to look as if she’d be spending the night in the cabin, and she had to admit she’d sleep better if Frank Bailey were in the ground.

“All right, you may bury him. But try anything and I’ll shoot you, Big Jack.” Cautiously, she untied his hands. While he freed his feet, she sat beside Tye, keeping the gun constantly trained on Big Jack as he clumsily maneuvered the coffin into the ground.

Jenny glanced toward the sky. “Hurry with the dirt, Mr. Bailey. I’ll give you another five minutes and that’s all.”

He shoveled quickly, glancing warily at her throughout his efforts, and he finished within the time she’d allowed. “Be gentle with my brother-in-law,” she instructed. “Do you understand?”

“He’s really not your husband?” he asked, stooping over Tye.

“He’s Trace’s twin, and that makes him part of my family. Don’t forget my promise.”

Bailey grunted as he hoisted Tye into his arms and placed him in the wagon. “Your curse, you mean.”

Jenny kept the gun trained on Big Jack as he drove them the short distance down the hill to the homestead cabin. Small and stark, it rose from the ground like a nightmare come to life. The last thing she wanted was to walk inside those walls and face the memories of the worst night of her life.

No, that isn’t true, she thought, following Bailey and Tye inside. Tears stung her eyes as she finally admitted her greatest fear.

The last thing she wanted was to lose her baby.

The ache returned as soon as she’d stood. If she moved too fast or jounced herself at all, the drawing pain intensified. Even if weather wasn’t bearing down on them, she had no business riding a wagon on the bumpy road back to town.

Be glad this cabin is here, Jenny McBride, she scolded herself. Instead of her nightmare, it might be her salvation.

She shuddered a bit as she walked through the door and her gaze went unerringly to the spot on the floor where Frank Bailey died. It was obvious someone had cleaned the cabin since that awful night. The layer of dirt had disappeared and a quilt lay across the bed. She hurried to pull down the covers, careful to keep her gun trained on Bailey.

“Fresh linen, too. Good.” She gestured with the gun for Big Jack to lay Tye down. Her brother-in-law groaned as his shoulder hit the mattress and Jenny took that as a good sign. As long as he was moaning, he wasn’t dead.

And as soon as she could lie down and put her feet up, she wouldn’t have any more cramps. She wouldn’t lose her baby.

“Take his boots off,” she instructed Bailey. When he’d completed the task, she added, “Thank you. You may leave now, Mr. Bailey. Go to Fort Worth. In fact, go all the way to New Orleans.”

His brow lifted in surprise. “You’re letting me go? Just like that?”

She shrugged. “I want you to take the first train or stage leaving town—after you stop by the doctor’s office and send him out to me.”

“But—”

“Did you know voodoo is a form of religion?” she interrupted. “I prefer privacy when I… pray.”

“You’re not gonna curse my grandson! You promised.”

“It’s a delayed thing, Mr. Bailey,” she said with a smile, pulling his chain from her pocket. “I’ll feel better about our agreement once it’s in place. You see, I don’t quite trust you not to have a change of heart and attempt to continue your vendetta against me. Go on now. Take one of the horses, but leave the wagon. And don’t forget to send the doctor.”

“You want me to leave now? But it’s miles back to town and there’s weather moving in.”

“You’d best get a start on it then.” She swung the chain in a circle.

“But—”

She pinned him with a glare. “Not all curses are delayed ones. I could change it to begin immediately.” The gun still aimed at Big Jack, she laid the chain on the table and said in a chant, “Oh, Methumiasma, goddess of stomach ills…”

Big Jack disappeared through the door in a flash.

Jenny heard a weak chuckle from the bed. “Methumiasma?”

She whirled around. “Oh, Tye, you’re awake. Thank God!”

“Why not this Methumiasma? She seems to work miracles. She got rid of a snake in the blink of an eye.”

Jenny smiled. “Methumiasma is an ingredient in a recipe for a make-believe cake Katrina concocts for her tea parties. How are you, Tye?”

“Weak as twice-steeped tea leaves,” he replied. “I sure don’t feel much like moving. How bad is it?”

The light inside the cabin dimmed as she gave a brief description of the wound. She was explaining about the voodoo threat when a strong cramp gripped her womb and she gasped.

“What is it?” Tye asked sharply.

“Nothing,” she lied. “Just a twinge.”

“You’re holding your back. Does it hurt?”

Her worry escalated to fear when a second cramp struck her. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m afraid my back does hurt. It comes and goes, though. I’m certain I just need to sit down.”