Wyoming Bride (19 page)

REST IN PEACE

No more? Who was buried beneath that cross? Mr. McMurtry? Hetty? Both? Hannah surreptitiously put a hand to the growing child in her womb, and made a silent vow to the man she believed was buried there.

I promise to love this baby and take care of it, no matter what I have to do to make sure that he—or she—has a wonderful life
.

Seeing the grave made her husband’s death very real, and her own dire situation very clear. Hannah’s pregnancy didn’t show now, but it wouldn’t be long before it did. Which meant she didn’t have time to go hunting for another husband, let alone for a lengthy courtship with someone she hadn’t yet met. She had a proposal from a man who wanted to marry her. She should say yes, and the sooner, the better.

The only question was whether she should tell Flint about the baby. Instinct told her to keep her secret until she was safely married. There was too great a chance Flint wouldn’t want to raise some other man’s child.

Hannah was smitten with guilt. Maybe after the babe was born, she would tell him it was McMurtry’s child. But what if he divorced her for deceiving him? What if he threw her out?

Hannah gripped her fingers together. Why should she tell him the truth? Flint might not treat another man’s child as well as he would treat a child he thought was his own. Her child’s well-being was more important to her than anything else. And who would be hurt?

Only her own conscience.

Both men had blue eyes. Both men were tall. Her blond hair would be excuse enough if the child was born with red hair. And if the poor thing had Mr. McMurtry’s beaked nose, she could blame that on her father.

Hannah was a woman alone, without the means to go anywhere, assuming she had somewhere to go. She had no idea where to find the rest of her family. Even if she sent another message General Delivery to Miranda in San Antonio, she didn’t have time to wait for a response that might not come.

There was no telling whether Miranda and Nick and Harry had reached their destination. No way of knowing whether Miranda was married or not. Maybe the rancher who’d advertised for a mail-order bride had decided he didn’t want a ready-made family.

Hannah’s throat constricted when she considered how dire Miranda’s circumstances might be. Her sister didn’t have only herself to worry about. She was also responsible for their two brothers.

Hannah’s eyes welled with tears as she rubbed a hand over the dry dirt and stones that were mounded before her. For all she knew, Miranda and Nick and Harry might be buried somewhere between Chicago and San Antonio. She might never know what had happened to them.

Hannah glanced at Flint, who was examining the wagon. She shuddered at the thought of what he might find there. There had been no signs of life as they approached the wagon. Were Hetty’s remains inside?

Hannah brushed a scalding tear from her cheek. She was done crying. Crying didn’t help. She had to
do
something. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and shrugged it off, refusing Flint’s support as she struggled to her feet.

“The wagon’s empty,” he said.

She was glad he’d looked, because she couldn’t have done it herself. She glanced at the pitiful grave and the shallow mound of dirt above it. “Could someone have buried them both here?” she wondered aloud.

“It’s possible two bodies could be under there,” Flint said. “The only way to know for sure is to dig.”

Hannah shuddered. “No.” She turned to face him at last and asked, “Did you find any kind of note in the wagon?”

“It’s empty, Hannah. Picked clean.”

Hannah moaned.

“Except …” Flint stopped speaking and cocked his hip.

She bravely met his gaze and asked, “What did you find?”

“This.” He opened his hand.

Hannah stared at the bloodstained arrowhead attached to a broken-off piece of wood. She reached for it and set it in her palm, staring at it with wonder. “Where did you find this?”

“In the bed of the wagon.” He hesitated, then added, “Along with a lot of dried blood.”

“What do you think it means?”

“You tell me.”

Hannah felt a surge of hope. “I broke the shaft off this arrow myself when it was still in Hetty. Someone must have dug this out of her and then took her somewhere.”

“Or buried her there,” Flint said, gesturing to the grave.

Hannah shook her head. “The pile of dirt would be bigger.”

Flint lifted a skeptical brow.

“If Hetty lived long enough for someone to dig out that arrow, she’s still alive,” Hannah said with certainty. “I’ve told you before, we Wentworths are stronger than we look.”

“And took her where?” Flint asked, glancing around at the endless prairie.

“To Fort Laramie, of course.”

“Holloway was there yesterday, remember? There was no report of a white woman at the fort, especially not a wounded one.”

Hannah’s fisted hands found her hips. “Then what happened to my sister?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. If she was rescued by white folks, I presume she’ll send word once she’s recovered her senses.”

“Send word where?” Hannah said, suddenly realizing the futility of the situation. “Hetty doesn’t know what happened to me, either. She may think I’m dead, since I never returned.”

“She’ll do the same thing you’re doing,” Flint said. “She’ll look for you in the place closest to where she knew you were last, which is—”

“A place I never reached—Cheyenne,” Hannah finished for him. There was nothing more she could do about Hetty until her twin sent a message about where she was. Assuming she was still alive. “What about Josie?” she asked.

“Until someone reports seeing a white woman with the Indians, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Nothing?” Hannah pointed to the tracks left by the oxen that had been herded away by the Indians.

“You said we could follow the trail if there was one. There it is.”

Flint’s lips flattened into a stubborn line. “I’m not taking you into that wilderness, Hannah. It would serve no purpose.”

“We might find my sister,” Hannah argued.

“Renegades reckless enough to raid this close to the fort won’t leave witnesses. Your sister is—”

“No!” Hannah didn’t let him finish the sentence. Josie wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. “I can’t believe you’re scared of a few Indians,” Hannah said scornfully. “I never took you for a coward.”

His face tightened, and his eyes narrowed before he spoke. “You’re damned right I’m scared, and I’m not too proud to admit it. One lone man and a woman are sitting ducks.”

Hannah stared at Flint with disdainful eyes. What he said made perfect sense. But she couldn’t believe he wasn’t willing to take a little risk when the reward—finding Josie—was so enormous. “Why are you so afraid, when I’m not?”

“Maybe because I’ve seen the carnage these savages can wreak on human bodies—burning them over a fire like a spitted beef, skinning them alive, using them for target practice, cutting off eyelids and burying them up to their necks in an anthill. Maybe because I know this is a wild-goose chase, even if you don’t.”

“But Josie—”

“Is dead,” he said brutally. “Dead to you, anyway. If she’s found at all, she’ll already be some young buck’s squaw.”

“Don’t say that!” Hannah cried in horror.

“I’m telling you the truth, so you won’t imagine some happily-ever-after fairy-tale ending for your sister. Indians can be cruel to their captives, assuming your sister lived long enough to reach whatever village up north that raiding party might have come from.

“If those bucks were from an agency camp around here, the likelihood is they raped your sister, killed her, and dumped the body. Unless we find her bones on the trail—”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Hannah pounded her fists on Flint’s chest, desperate to cut off the gruesome tale he was telling.

She felt his arms surround her but she wanted no comfort from the person who’d painted such a horrible picture of Josie’s fate. But his hold was inexorable, and she finally leaned her head against his pounding heart and closed her eyes, letting the sadness and loss overwhelm her.

Hannah didn’t know how long they stood there, but at last she became aware of the hot sun on her back, of flies buzzing nearby, of the rush of the ever-present wind in the tall grass. She took a step away, and Flint’s arms fell free.

She met his gaze with narrowed eyes and said, “I hate you for filling my mind with those awful images.”

He didn’t defend himself or excuse what he’d done.

“If we’re not going to look for Josie,” she said. “I want to go home.”

“We could stop by the fort and see if any word of Hetty has come in overnight.”

“She’s probably halfway to California by now,” Hannah said. She lifted her chin and said, “At least, that’s where I’m going to imagine her whenever I think of her. As soon as she gets where she’s going, she’ll send a message to Cheyenne for me General Delivery. And when she does—”

Hannah sobbed, which cut off her speech. Flint reached for her, but she turned and ran toward her horse. She slowed before she reached the animal, so she wouldn’t spook him, then mounted the chestnut and kicked him to a gallop, back in the direction from which they’d come.

She could hear Flint riding hard to catch up to her and whipped her horse with the end of the reins to stay ahead of him. She didn’t want to talk to him. Especially since she was going to have to do a lot of fancy talking to make him believe she wanted to marry a man she’d all but called a coward.

She would rather not marry again, but she no longer had that choice. When Ransom and Emaline said their vows, she planned to be standing alongside them with Flint.

“Hannah, stop!” he called from behind her. “You’re going to kill that horse.”

Hannah pulled her mount to a quick stop and whirled to face Flint. “I see no reason to wait. Yes. My answer is yes, I’ll marry you. You’ve got the bride you wanted,” she snarled at him. “Don’t expect me to love you, and we’ll get along fine.”

His mouth flattened to a thin line. His gray eyes turned hard as stone. A muscle worked in his jaw before he said, “Don’t expect me to love you, either, and you’ve got a deal.”

Flint hadn’t realized until Hannah responded to his proposal of marriage that he’d been cherishing a hope that he’d somehow end up with Emaline. That hope had died in a single syllable.

Yes
.

It was one thing to suspect, in his heart of hearts, that Ransom would never give up Emaline. It was another thing entirely to give up hope—forever—of having her for himself. His heart hurt, physically ached in his chest, as though someone had struck him with a heavy stone.

This was what heartbreak felt like. He didn’t like it.

It didn’t help that Hannah had suggested he was a coward. The accusation shouldn’t have bothered him like it did. Despite the label that had attached to him during the war, Flint knew he wasn’t lily-livered. He was cautious. He was careful. Nevertheless, he’d suffered a blow when she’d thrown that word at him.

This was what distrust felt like. He didn’t like it.

Not for the first time, Flint wondered whether marriage to Hannah was really going to solve his problem. He might be better off suffering in silence. He swore under his breath. It was too late to change his mind now. Here in the Territory, contracts were seldom written down. A promise was a promise. When a man gave his word, he kept it, or he could forget ever doing business again.

The time to back out had come and gone. He was committed. When Ransom married Emaline, Flint would marry Hannah. That meant he had a long, cold winter to get through while living in the same house as the other couple. He’d better start figuring out how to get along with the woman who would, very shortly, be his wife.

Hannah hadn’t said a word since she’d agreed to marry him. She was riding a little ahead of him, so she didn’t have to look at him. It also made speaking difficult, so they’d been riding in silence.

The wind blew through the wheat-colored grass so it looked like rolling ocean waves around Hannah. She sat straight in the saddle, her shoulders squared, which made him wonder if she was really as unhappy with the prospect of wedding him as she’d seemed when she’d accepted his proposal.

He hadn’t let himself think too much about her reluctance to marry him. He supposed she would have been loath to marry any man, since she was so recently widowed. At least she’d ended his torment by giving him an answer. Now that she’d said yes, he could stop agonizing and accept his fate.

He trotted his horse to catch up to her and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the fort to see if there’s been any word about Hetty since yesterday?”

“You told me it’s a waste of time,” Hannah replied.

It probably was, but at this point, he was willing to waste the time to please her. So he said, “I could use some supplies from the sutler’s store.”

“Then by all means, let’s go to the fort.”

He heard the irritation in her voice. Maybe going to Fort Laramie would only remind her of how desperate her sister’s situation was. “I can wait,” he said. “There’s no rush. If I go another time, I can take a wagon and get everything at once. I can only buy now what I can carry on horseback.”