A Reckless Love, page 27
Nobody else moved.
Then an elderly female voice said quietly, “But I will. With your own gun.”
A gun went off over Aurora’s head, crashing into her eardrums. She fainted.
It took him less than ten seconds to reach her. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the mess that had been Sam Jones’s head and the robed miscreant who had shot him. There was blood dripping down the side of Aurora’s neck, remnants of gore sprinkled on the top of her head.
Oh, God, let her be alive.
He lifted her, held her limp body against his own crashing heart. Putting his mouth on the pulse point under her chin, he felt the steady throb. Relief flooded him.
Standing with Aurora in his arms, he turned and headed for the porch at a run. “Doc!” he shouted. “I need you!”
The noise of the crowd on the lawn—black, white, robed, armed or not—now signified less than nothing. Taking the porch steps two at a time, he stumbled past Riggins and Beaumont into the sitting room. He laid Aurora on the sofa and knelt there looking frantically at her grandfather, who had dropped his gun and rushed to meet him.
Pushing Zane aside to crouch beside the sofa, Dr. McGowan looked up at Doc Kidd, who had grabbed his medical bag from a corner. “Stethoscope?” Kidd produced the required instruments as McGowan asked for them and examined Aurora.
Praying, Zane watched, staying as close as they would allow him. Dr. McGowan gently cleaned her face, taking particular care as he examined her ears. Blood streaked her hair and spotted her dress, but Zane couldn’t see obvious wounds, except for a red welt across her milky throat, left by Jones’s knife.
At last McGowan sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a clean cloth ThomasAnne had handed him.
Zane suddenly realized the women had come out from under the table to offer aid and whisper prayer. Selah now stood behind the sofa, held in her husband’s arms, with Rosie and Bedelia hovering in the dining room doorway. Joelle and Mrs. McGowan were nowhere in sight. Questions clamored for answers, but Aurora came first.
He looked at her grandfather. “Why isn’t she waking up?”
“Trauma.” The old man looked worried. “Her eardrum burst, so there’ll be some hearing loss. Other than that—she seems to be fine.” He looked around. “Does anyone know what happened? Where’s my wife?”
“Right behind you.”
Zane kept his place beside Aurora but turned in time to see Winnie McGowan enter the room. She cast off a dark hooded cloak and tossed it across the back of a chair.
“Grandmama!” Selah eyed her grandmother in suspicious astonishment. “What have you been up to?”
“Shooting villains.” The old lady stalked over to lower herself creakily to her knees and lean over Aurora. “Is she all right?”
Aurora’s lashes fluttered, then her eyes opened wide. She looked around wildly until she found Zane. Reaching past her grandmother, she flung her arms around his neck.
And nearly strangled him. He didn’t care. He pulled her close, cupping the back of her head, pressing his cheek to hers. “I love you,” he muttered in front of everyone. Another thing he didn’t care about. “I love you, I love you.”
She pulled back. “What?”
He looked at her blankly. She hadn’t heard a thing he said. So he repeated it, mouthing the words slowly. “I. Love. You.”
She gave him her Aurora-grin. “I thought so. I just wanted you to say it again. Second wish just came true.”
“You’re yelling.”
“What?”
He laughed and climbed onto the sofa, where he drew Aurora into his lap. He was so giddy with relief, he had trouble focusing on the dwindling violence on the lawn. Bemused, he stared at Winnie McGowan. “How did you do that? Please explain to me what just happened.”
The old lady gave her hand to her husband, who helped her to her feet and shepherded her into the nearest chair. Maintaining her usual disciplined posture, she regarded Zane with eagle-eyed approval. “While you cowboys were shooting things out, I went upstairs for a cloak and Aurora’s pistol.” She frowned at Aurora. “I’m surprised at you, young lady. One never knows when a gun might be required at a dinner party.”
Aurora looked confused. “What?”
Mrs. Winnie shook her head. “Never mind. Then I went out through the cellar and slipped around the house and into the crowd. I knew Jones wouldn’t be able to resist insinuating himself into that mob. Nor would Alonzo Maney. So I simply watched for one or the other to make his appearance.” Her glance fell on Zane’s knuckles gently stroking Aurora’s cheek. “Didn’t count on Miss Sunshine here taking matters into her own hands.” The old woman shuddered. “We almost lost her.”
Zane tucked Aurora closer, wordless at the very thought.
“Where’s Joelle?” Aurora said loudly. “She was right behind me.”
“On the porch with Schuyler,” reported Kidd from the dining room, “dealing with Mr. Jefcoat and the marshal. They managed to get the crowd to disperse and go home.”
“The marshal? When did Pierce get here?” Recalled to his duty, Zane beckoned Bedelia. “Please, Deedee, take Pete upstairs and help her get bathed and put her to bed.” He looked at Aurora, letting her see his affection. “I don’t want to see you again until morning.”
She cupped a hand behind her ear. “I’m sorry I can’t—”
He kissed her, cutting off the apology, then said slowly, so that she could read his lips, “I love you. See you in the morning.”
She smiled and let him go.
Zane rose and followed the sound of voices to the front entryway. Shattered glass and splintered wood lay everywhere, and bullets had pierced the walls in several places. A massive clean-up operation would be necessary to get the place back in condition again, but he had no doubt his Aurora would be up to the task before long.
Only a small group remained in conversation on the porch—Pierce, Schuyler and Joelle, plus Spencer and a glassy-eyed Jefcoat. Zane noted the conspicuous absence of local law enforcement. No doubt they had been among the robed trespassers.
As Zane stepped outside, Schuyler saw him first. “How is Pete?”
“Deaf as a post, but otherwise as feisty as ever.” Zane addressed his boss. “Marshal, I did my best to control the violence. Do you think that crowd will stay gone for the night?”
Pierce eyed him with approval. “I’d say you did a good job of impressing them with what would be for their own good. By the time I got here, Beaumont had wrapped up the matter and sent them on their way.” He shook his head. “Mrs. McGowan is quite the virago. I think this bunch of cowards were afraid to cross her further after what she did to Jones. The militiamen have agreed to take shifts guarding the property for the rest of the night.”
Zane looked around and realized that what he’d thought were shadows of trees in the dark were armed sentries stationed at intervals around the house. “Huh. Then it’s over. Jones is dead.” Hardly able to make it seem real in his own head, he looked at Jefcoat. “I know you wanted him to come to trial, but—”
“I wanted him dead,” Jefcoat said flatly. “I would prefer to have killed him myself, but . . .” He hunched his shoulders, looking away. “I suppose you understand how I feel, Sager. Beaumont says you do.”
Zane didn’t answer. There had been a time when he certainly did understand the thirst for revenge. But now that Aurora had come into his life, everything was different.
He was different. Now he just had to convince her that was so.
twenty–seven
AURORA’S FIRST THOUGHT upon waking Sunday morning was that the world had gone mighty quiet. Even the birds neglected to sing on this bright, shiny Lord’s day. The sun streamed through Charmion’s charming filmy white curtains, laying puddles of light across the sheet and making her squint and blink. Even Zane Sager would have a hard time worrying on such a—
She sat bolt upright. Now she remembered why this feeling of peace and well-being suffused her spirit. And she remembered why she felt as if cotton wadding stuffed her ears. Her grandmama had shot that vile Sam Jones, right across the top of her head, deafening her for the time being.
Jumping out of bed, she listened hard. Maybe she could hear a bit of noise coming from downstairs. She hoped it wasn’t her imagination. She very much wanted to hear Zane repeat those three magical words a few hundred times today.
As she hurriedly got dressed, she tried to remember falling asleep last night. Bedelia had helped her wash her hair and get into a clean nightgown—mercy, her entire body had ached in every muscle and joint, as if somebody had run over her with a wagon—and she’d climbed between fresh sheets hoping to stay awake long enough to get another kiss from Zane. Before she knew it, though, everything had jumbled into a silent, cloudy dream. Probably Grandpapa had dosed her with something to make her sleep, which also explained why she didn’t have a migraine.
After a futile minute spent attempting to tame the wild curls snarling about her head, she gave up and wadded the whole mess into an old-fashioned snood she found in a bureau drawer. Calling it a job well done, she stuffed her feet into slippers and pelted down the stairs.
She found the family in the dining room, finishing a large Southern breakfast. Her stomach responded to the lovely aroma of oatmeal, bacon, and toast with a rumble so loud that even she heard it. However, food would wait.
“Where is he?” she demanded of nobody and everybody.
“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” Schuyler said, slathering fig preserves on his toast. “I win. Levi said noon, Joelle thought eleven. But I”—he crammed the toast into his mouth and chewed—“I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait past eight before inflicting yourself on the poor fellow. Don’t pout, he’s gone down to the hotel to see Mr. Spencer about a marriage license.”
“I’m not pouting, and I can hear you,” she said, taking a bowl off the bar and helping herself to oatmeal.
“What have you done to your hair?” Joelle frowned. “Even I know snoods have been out of fashion since 1863.”
Aurora sat down next to Grandmama. “I may cut it off like yours. All these curls are so tiresome.”
“Don’t you dare!” Joelle looked horrified. “I’m growing mine back as fast as I can.”
“Let me know how you’re coming along with that,” Aurora said. “I can help with a little pulling, if you like.”
Everyone laughed except Grandmama, who placed a gentle hand on Aurora’s arm. “Did you sleep well, love? How do your ears feel?”
“Stuffed up, and I slept well.” She tried to sound cheerful and not pouty. Zane would eventually come back. “Are we not going to church?”
“I think we’re going to become Baptist,” Joelle said. “I’m pretty sure Gil Reese was in that mob last night, and I don’t like the idea of my pastor standing on my front lawn in a black robe, holding a torch. I don’t think there’s a penny’s worth of difference between Baptists and Methodists anyway.”
“I don’t like the idea of listening to Gil Reese pontificate under any circumstances,” Schuyler growled. “Self-important twit. I hope he’s convicted and put in jail with the rest of those bigots.”
“Now, Schuyler.” Joelle patted his hand.
“And another thing,” he continued, warming to his topic. “I don’t want him pronouncing our wedding vows. What do you think about getting married in Reverend Boykin’s church, Jo?”
Joelle’s lovely smile bloomed. “That’s a brilliant idea! Let’s do it today!”
“Today?” Schuyler glanced at Grandmama. “What do you think about that, Mrs. Winnie?”
“What difference does it make what she thinks?” Joelle demanded. “No disrespect intended, Grandmama, but we’re the ones getting married. We’re both adults.” She shoved back her chair and stared at Schuyler. “But maybe you’d rather wait? Your brother and sister wouldn’t be here—”
“No, of course I don’t want to wait.” He laughed. “After all, I didn’t attend either Jamie or Camilla’s wedding. I always thought all this wedding-dress, bridal-wreath hoopla was unnecessary.” He took Joelle’s hands and kissed them. “The sooner the better. Let’s get married today!”
Aurora looked at the front door, through which Zane would arrive at some point. She would like to get married today too, but as she tried to remember what her last interaction with Mr. Sager had been upon the subject, things got very fuzzy. Grandpapa had insisted she say yes to some proposal, but when she’d pressed Zane in the kitchen, he’d said something like I wish I could spend the rest of my life with you, not just the next few days.
In fact, those had been his exact words. What had he meant? It occurred to her that he’d only agreed to marry her because he was being forced to spend all of the next few days, including the nights, as her protector. Which implied that when the crisis was over, he’d consider himself free to leave.
Would he take off and never return? He certainly could. She knew plenty of women who’d had their men go to war and never come back. Zane might even think he was doing her a favor, considering his sense of his own “damage,” as he put it.
But . . . but . . . the crisis had come and gone before they’d said any vows. Now he wouldn’t have to marry her.
On the other hand, he said he loved her last night. Four times. Although that might have been part of her wonderful relaxed dream.
She pushed away from the table. “Excuse me,” she mumbled. “I have someplace I need to go.”
He had looked for her everywhere. When Zane came back from the Gum Pond Hotel at nine o’clock with the marriage license in his coat pocket, he’d burst into the dining room, hoping to find Aurora settled at breakfast with the rest of the family.
Yes, they said, she’d come down a little after half past seven, wide awake and making jokes, back to her normal sunny self. Somebody thought they’d been talking about Schuyler and Joelle tying the knot that very day at the Negro Methodist Church when Aurora said she had to go somewhere.
Nobody remembered where.
So he’d rushed throughout the house, calling her name like a fool. He even went down into the cellar with a lantern—though he couldn’t imagine Aurora voluntarily pursuing any errand down there alone—and then all the way up to the attic. Again, the bloodstains on the floor made that a crazy idea for a hiding place. Finally he returned to the dining room and sat there alone, hoping she might realize how worried they all were and come back on her own.
The rest of the family didn’t seem concerned. Joelle checked the bedroom, said she wasn’t there, and none of her belongings seemed to be missing. So he didn’t know what else to do but wait.
An hour went by, then two. Now genuinely concerned, he decided to take a walk around town. Maybe she’d decided to stretch her legs and got lost.
In her own hometown. That was absurd, but he couldn’t sit here any longer. He trudged up the stairs to his room for his Bible. Maybe he’d go sit in the empty church—surely church was over by now—and read and pray. And worry.
He started to open the door to his room but paused with his hand on the knob. It was ajar. He always closed the door when he left the room. It was a personal habit, and he never changed habits, a fact that had saved his life on more than one occasion.
Sliding his gun out of the holster, he pushed the door open a little at a time.
He stared at the bed, where Aurora lay curled on her side, fast asleep, with his Bible flattened open beside her. Her hair was loose, spilling like flame across his pillow, and he was stricken with a surge of longing so deep he nearly fell to his knees. Before he could do anything so dunderheaded, he returned his gun to its holster, then unbuckled the whole thing and dropped it on the bedside table. It made a large thud, which caused Aurora to turn over with a ladylike little snort.
Which made him laugh and sit down beside her hard enough to bounce her nearly off the bed.
She sat up, wide-eyed. “Zane! I fell asleep!”
He nodded. “You’re not shouting. Your ears must be better.”
She yawned and knuckled her eyes. “Some. You still sound like you’re in another room. I think Grandpapa drugged me good. I tried to stay awake.”
“I’ve been calling and calling. Did you not hear me?”
She gave him a reproachful look. “I just told you—”
“Right, right. It’s just that I was worried. I was about to go look for you in town.”
“Why would I go to town?”
“Why would you come up to my room and go to sleep like Goldilocks? And what are you doing with my Bible?”
“I was reading the parts you marked. And what you wrote in the margins.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, her cheeks flushed like a rose. “I found my name several times. Are you angry with me?”
He looked at her, that beautiful hair curling into her eyes and over her shoulders, golden eyes still drowsy, and he couldn’t find one iota of anger within a hundred miles. “I’m very angry. I’m afraid I’m going to have to marry you to make you pay.”
She grinned. “Oh, goody. I was hoping you’d say that. Especially since we’re sitting on your bed and you shut the door. Grandpapa wouldn’t like that at all. Also, since you mentioned it, Joelle and Schuyler have arranged to get Reverend Boykin to pronounce their vows this afternoon, and we might as well kill two birds with one—”
He took her lips with his, burying one hand in that glorious red mane tumbling down her back. Coming up for air, he said gruffly, “You talk entirely too much, Miss Pete.”
“Well, if you’re going to be critical, maybe you can think of something better to do.”
He could. And he did.
“I might have known I’d have to share the altar with you,” Joelle grumbled as she pinned Aurora’s curls into a simple knot at the back of her head. “I should have bought that monstrosity you made me try on, in your size.”
“Now you’re just being mean,” Aurora said, craning her neck to see the back of her hair in the mirror. “Besides, there isn’t going to be an altar. We’re getting married in a saloon.”
