The Horseman (16 page)

Briney gasped then as something seemed to
jerk Nimrod from his horse. And then a bolt of lightning struck
nearby, illuminating the dark of the storm, and Briney saw
him—Gunner! He was astride Shakespeare, holding one end of a rope
in his hand as Nimrod struggled against the other end at his
throat.

Even still, Nimrod once more leveled his
pistol at Briney. But the Horseman was not called the Horseman for
any trivial purpose. Quickly tossing another lasso, Gunner easily
looped Nimrod’s hand that held the gun.

“You’ll hang for this, you son of a—” Briney
heard Gunner shout as he turned Shakespeare and rode hell-bent in
the opposite direction, Nimrod Fletcher trailing the ground behind
him.

Briney could only watch and sob with being
overwrought with relief that Gunner was alive. She felt Sassafras
come to stand near her—and both she and Sassy watched as Gunner
leapt from Shakespeare’s back and began to beat Nimrod with his
bare hands.

It was not long before Nimrod’s unconscious
body lay still in the grass, the rain pouring over him.

Sobbing, Briney raced to Gunner, flinging
herself against him and nearly collapsing with relief when she felt
the strength of his arms enfold her.

“Are you all right, darlin’?” Gunner asked,
taking Briney’s face in his hands, gazing into her eyes with
concern. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” he asked. Without
giving her a chance to answer, Gunner’s warm mouth met hers—melded
with hers in a desperate kiss of reassurance and love.

“I would die if anythin’ ever happened to
you, Briney,” he said. “I
would
die!”

He kissed her again, long and hard, and
Briney knew her thirst of his kiss would never be quenched.

“Marry me, Briney,” Gunner said over the
hammer of the rain. “Marry me tomorrow so I’ll never have to spend
another night or day without you. Will you marry me tomorrow,
Briney Thress?”

“Yes!” Briney cried. “Yes! Oh yes! I love
you, Gunner! More than life itself.”

“Boss! Boss!” Charlie called, reining in his
horse before them. “I heard gunshots, boss! Are you all right?”
Charlie looked at Nimrod as he moaned. “And who the hell is
that?”

Gunner smiled at Briney, kissed her again,
and answered, “Some Nimrod feller. Wanna help me tie him up and
haul him to the sheriff in town?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Charlie said without
another question as he dismounted.

Taking Briney’s face in his hands again,
Gunner smiled and said, “I guess I better check in with old Doc
Chesterfield and get stitched up a bit—bein’ as I’m gettin’ married
tomorrow.”

He brushed the tears from Briney’s cheeks
with his thumbs and then pulled her into his arms, kissing the top
of her head.

“What’s that, boss?” Charlie called as he
kicked Nimrod in one leg until the villain moved.

“I’m gettin’ married tomorrow, Charlie,”
Gunner hollered. Looking back to Briney, he repeated, “I’m gettin’
married tomorrow.”

“And you don’t mind what people in town will
think?” Briney asked, kissing him softly on the lips.

“You mean because I ain’t known you a whole
week yet?” he asked, kissing her in return.

“Because you’ll be marrying an orphan,”
Briney teased.

“Well, you’ll be marryin’ the grandson of a
Quaker man and a harlot,” Gunner offered.

“What a pair we’ll make then, hmmm?” Briney
asked.

“What a pair indeed,” Gunner mumbled against
Briney’s mouth.

“Boss, you want me to haul this guy onto his
own horse or what?” Charlie called.

But he received no response—for Briney Thress
was in the arms of the man she loved, kissing him with such shared
passion that even if the rain hadn’t been falling as heavy as any
waterfall there ever had been, neither Briney nor Gunner would’ve
been aware of anything in all the world beyond one another.

The fire burned warm in the bedroom hearth.
The comforting pop and crackle of the cedar burning there filled
the room with a sense of languid tranquility. Lightning struck
somewhere in the distance, and the soft rumble of the thunder over
the valley was to Briney as the soothing sound of a father’s voice
to his sleepy child.

Setting her stitching aside, Briney Cole
gazed at the sight before her on the woolen rug before the fire.
There, stretched out in his stockinged feet, lay Gunner—little
Adelaide sleeping peacefully on his chest. It was hard to believe
her baby was already four months old, and Briney shook her head in
the wonder of how quickly time seemed to pass.

Another flash of lightning stirred Gunner
from his dozing, and he rubbed his baby’s back lovingly before
gently moving her from his chest and onto the warm woolen rug.
Briney smiled, touched and amused when Gunner stripped off his
shirt, using it to cover his sleeping daughter.

Rising to his feet, he strode the few steps
to Briney, pulling her from her seat and into his arms.

“What are you grinnin’ about, darlin’?” he
whispered.

“Just you,” she whispered in return.

“Why? Because Adelaide has me wrapped around
her little finger just the way you do?” he said, smiling.

“Maybe so,” Briney giggled. “But most of all
because I just can’t believe that I managed to capture the
Horseman’s attention…let alone his heart.”

“The Horseman,” Gunner said, shaking his
head. “It sounds ridiculous if you ask me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Briney insisted, “for you
are the Horseman—the greatest horseman in all the west.”

Gunner smiled, pressed a kiss to Briney’s
lips, and exhaled a contented sigh. “I’m glad you think so,
darlin’.”

“I know so,” she corrected him.

Kissing her again, Gunner inhaled deeply the
scent of her cheek—then of her hair. It was something he’d begun to
do every time he held her, beginning on their wedding night—to
inhale what he called “the Briney perfume.”

“Oh, quit sniffing me, Gunner!” Briney
giggled. “I smell like supper.”

A low, provocative laugh rumbled in his
throat. “You smell like apple pie, my girl,” he teased. “And is
that pie near to being cooled enough to eat or not? I’ve been
waitin’ on it for hours.”

“Yes, it’s cooled, you silly man,” Briney
assured him. Placing her arms around his neck and gazing into the
beautiful blue smolder of his eyes, she said, “I remember when you
found me much more interesting than my pies, Mr. Cole.”

Gunner grinned. “Oh, you mean before me and
Adelaide fell asleep in front of the fire just now?” he teased.

Briney kissed Gunner on the mouth and then
turned, intent on fetching a piece of pie for him. But he caught
her by the waist, pulling her back against him.

Placing a lingering kiss on her neck, he
asked, “And where do you think you’re goin’, horsewoman?”

“To get your pie, horseman,” she said.

Gunner kissed her neck again, tugging on the
neckline of her nightgown until it slipped down over her shoulder
and then kissed her shoulder.

It began to rain then—a gentle rain that
seemed somehow to tickle the rooftop of the house—and it made
Briney smile. Rain always reminded her of the first time Gunner had
kissed her, in the loft of the big stable. Her life had changed
forever in that moment. In many ways, her life began in that
moment. And every time the rain would come, the memory of how
wonderful it had been to discover that Gunner Cole—the
Horseman—loved her as she loved him.

“You know,” Gunner said, kissing her shoulder
once more. “Adelaide is sound asleep. As sound asleep as I’ve ever
seen her.”

Briney smiled and teased, “Oh good! Then we
can eat our pie together and not feel badly that she can’t have any
yet.”

Briney gasped with delight when Gunner
suddenly swooped her up into the cradle of his arms.

“Woman, why are you goin’ on about pie when
you’ve got the Horseman as your lover, hmmm?” Gunner asked as he
carried Briney to their bed. Laying her down upon it and covering
her body with his own, he pressed his face to her throat and
inhaled deeply. “It’s the perfume of heaven to me, you know? The
scent of you.”

Gunner placed a firm, moist kiss to the
hollow of Briney’s throat. “I love you so much, Briney,” he mumbled
against her neck. “I don’t know how I ever lived without you before
that day you walked in and won over Sassafras.”

Briney felt tears welling in her eyes.
“Remember, my love, that I loved you first…before we’d even met.
That voice of yours! Oh, how I longed to hear it, looked forward to
it each evening. Even now, just the sound of your voice makes my
heart flutter. I loved you even before that day. I just didn’t know
it was you I loved.”

“So you like my voice, do you, ma’am?” Gunner
whispered against her ear.

As goose pimples enveloped Briney’s body, she
giggled with delight. “Yes, Mr. Horseman, I do.”

Trailing lingering, moist kissed from her
chin, down her neck, and over her shoulder, Gunner continued. “Then
prove it,” he mumbled against her mouth.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Briney
kissed Gunner. And it was the kiss of not only impassioned desire
but also the promise of an unending love that would endure far
beyond mere mortal life.

“I’m your wife,” Briney breathed as Gunner
tugged the ribbon from her hair. “I still can’t believe it
sometimes.”

Gunner grinned at her, brushed a strand of
hair from her forehead, and teasingly asked, “That baby asleep
there on the rug ain’t evidence enough for you, woman?”

Briney winked at Gunner and said, “I just may
need a little more confirmation tonight, that’s all.”

“Oh, believe me, darlin’…I’m gonna give you
some confirmation,” Gunner promised.

And as the baby slept warm and safe before
the fire—as the rain played a quiet melody upon the rooftop—Briney
knew there was nothing more perfect in all the world than having
the love of her husband and daughter, all of them safe and warm in
their home. It was all she had ever hoped for—dreamt of. It was
real, and it existed because of the Horseman.

###

The fact of the matter is that I’m a
homebody. I like to be home. Home is my haven—the one place in all
the world I most like to be. I don’t like to travel very much; it
stresses me out in a way few people understand, I think. I like my
bed, my pillow, my apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg simmering on the
stove, my
A Charlie Brown Christmas
music softly wafting
through the kitchen and family room. I like to watch my
grandchildren play on the family room floor, laugh and laugh and
laugh with my husband, children, in-law children, and very close
friends—all inside my home. I like to sit at the kitchen table
after a meal and just bathe in conversation with loved ones (I
think I miss my grandparents most in those moments)—or play a
rousing game of cards and whoop and holler, be silly, sing along to
my favorite ‘80s tunes at the top of my lungs with my daughter,
sister, or friends. I like to put little tealight candles in the
crackle-glass votives on my mantel, sit on my couch, and drink a
not too hot, but hot enough, mug of Stephen’s Gourmet Candy Cane
flavored hot cocoa, and watch my favorite cop shows, holiday
movies, or documentaries. I like to bind my quilts by hand while
sitting on the same couch and watching the same cop shows, holiday
movies, or documentaries. I love to bake and think back to when my
mother used to bake and fill our home with warm, sweet smells and
tell us we could have as much cake as we wanted. I like to lie in
my bed at night and read a children’s book or two—books with
beautiful illustrations and perfect phrases that relax my mind and
help me to settle down and go to sleep. I love to lie in my bed and
listen to the wind chimes and crickets, the coyote calls far in the
distance, and feel the cool breeze on my arms and face. I just love
my home—especially when it’s quiet and serene and I can think above
the noise of life and take a break from the
sometimes-insurmountable stress of it.

Recently I was explaining my lack of desire
to travel to a couple of close friends of mine. I had been
receiving some insistent pressure to “take a vacation” and was kind
of feeling like a loser for not wanting to take a vacation. In
fact, I had recently been introduced to the term “staycation”—when
one stays home and just takes a vacation from certain
responsibilities or social obligations. Wow! Talk about an
epiphany! “STAYcation? Eureka!” But I digress. I was explaining to
a couple of friends my lack of desire to travel and was so
encouraged to hear that neither of them liked to travel either!
They both expressed their desire to just stay home and relax. One
friend even said, “To me, the best part of a vacation is getting
home!” Well put, I say!

Now, I’m not in any way criticizing those who
enjoy vacation and travel. More power to you! In truth, I wish I
were a bit more amiable to it, but I’m not, and that’s just one of
my character flaws—or strengths, depending on how you look at it.
My point is simply this: Briney’s desire for a home, her relief at
not having to spend the rest of her entire life traveling the way
she had been forced to do during her tenure with Mrs.
Fletcher—well, yep, she gets that from me!

As I was thinking over Briney’s life as an
orphan and then as Mrs. Fletcher’s companion, I just knew she had
been miserable about never having a home. I also knew that the kind
of home she wanted was a home she would never have to leave—one
that was so wonderful and filled with love that she wanted to
protect it, linger in it, and savor the atmosphere of it, the way I
do mine.

So to put it simply, herein lies so much of
the inspiration for the bits and pieces that make up the heart of
this story. I love to be home, and so does Briney.