A Place Called Harmony, page 28
He picked up one. Roots, he almost said aloud. If she planted these, they’d both be planting roots and would never leave this land.
He tried not to stare when she walked into the room that served as their living space, but he figured she knew he was watching her.
For a moment she looked confused, turning the letter over and over in her hands, and then she moved to the one lamp and opened it slowly. Her face was worried as if she somehow thought a letter might hurt her.
He stood in the dark, watching. If she told him she wanted to go back home, could he let her, could he stop her? He knew the answer. He’d promised to be kind. He’d let her walk away even if it shattered what little sanity he had left.
For a while, she didn’t move. She just sat at the table and stared out into the night just beyond the window. Clint tried not to think about what was going through her mind. Lighting a fire, he decided to unpack his saddlebags. He placed his rifle on the hooks above the mantel and touched her brush when he put his shaving gear by the washstand.
He was settling in at the same time she was probably thinking about leaving.
When she still hadn’t moved, he washed up and shaved simply because he couldn’t stand and stare at her. Not that she would notice. Moonlight framed her as she sat as still as stone, the letter tight in her hand.
Her choice, he kept thinking. Her choice, not mine. He was strong and probably double her weight. They were married by law. She’d promised him she’d be his wife. But he wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to leave.
In the mirror, he watched her finally rise and walk to the fireplace. She tossed the letter atop the fire and walked into the bedroom. When she came out again, her hair was down and brushing over her shoulders. The hair he’d thought so lifeless that first night moved in midnight waves. When she stopped a few feet in front of him, he had to fight to keep from touching her.
“Will you unbutton my dress, Clint?” she asked, as if unsure of the answer.
She hadn’t said she was going. What she asked was a simple request.
He closed the space between them and slowly began opening the front of her dress. “I love doing this,” he whispered as he bent and kissed the first button, then let his mouth slide to her throat.
If this was her way of saying good-bye, he’d make it a memory they’d both hold.
She stood straight and still as he continued, her chin high. “The letter was from my father,” she finally said.
“I know. Sheriff Lightstone gave it to me.” He moved his hand beneath the cotton of her dress and felt her warm skin. She was shaking slightly, nervous, but she didn’t step away as his touch grew bolder.
She took a long breath as Clint kissed his way down her throat, suddenly far more interested in her than any letter.
“He says I can come home,” she whispered.
Clint paused and straightened, hating to leave his work with the job of unbuttoning only half done. “What will you tell him?”
His beautiful Karrisa looked up at him and whispered, “I’ll tell him I’m already home.”
Clint slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her so high above she almost touched the ceiling. He circled around, laughing. “You’ll stay with me, then?” he finally asked.
“Yes, not because you’ll let me but because you want me to stay.”
“I do.” He carried her the few steps to the bedroom, where the candlelight made her glow as he kissed her hard and fast. “I want you to stay forever with me right here.”
To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hesitantly on the mouth. He felt her full lips spread into a smile. “And what will we do right here, forever?” Her words whispered between them.
With a laugh, he tumbled atop the bed, taking her with him. “I want you here with me every day and night of our lives. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He rolled atop her, loving the feel of her body beneath him. With each intake of breath he felt her every curve as she shifted, stretching.
“Yes. I’m your wife, Clint. This is where I want to be.”
Before she could catch her breath he was kissing her wildly and removing her clothes so rapidly several buttons popped off and tinged on the floor. He needed to hold her close, so close no clothes remained between them.
The sense that this place, this time, this woman was exactly where he was meant to be filled Clint as he held her close, loving the way she melted against him.
Timidly her hand moved over his chest as she unbuttoned his black shirt. “I like this shirt, but I want to touch you.”
He stood and removed his clothes and watched her eyes fill with desire. A surprising passion, newborn and strong, flickered as she studied him. They’d spent so much time walking around one another, touching only when necessary. A fire between them had built slowly, encouraged by kindness and thoughtfulness. Now both were lost in the need for the other.
When he returned to her he rolled atop her, letting his weight push her into the soft feather bed. Then he laughed as he rolled over, taking her with him. As she rested on him, he spread his hands out wide and moved along her back and lower until he’d learned her gentle curves. She rested her head next to his, letting him take his time.
“I should tell you, dear, that I was wrong,” he whispered against her ear as he made lazy circles along the small of her back. “I said I’d never love you. I think you were already in my heart that first night we met, but my whiskey brain wouldn’t let me think it true.”
“I know, Truman.” She smiled, cupping his face with her hands. “I’ve always known.”
He ran his fingers along her body that was not quite as thin as it had been a month ago. Every dream he’d had about her when he was away couldn’t compare to the woman with him now.
He had to say the words. The words he’d sworn he’d never say. “I love you, Karrisa. Whether you sleep with me as my wife tonight or not, that fact won’t change.”
He could already see the answer in her eyes. He knew he couldn’t name the color of another woman’s eyes for a hundred miles, but he knew hers. Moonlight blue. His Karrisa had moonlight blue eyes and it was time to show her just how he felt about her.
Her arms wrapped around him and held on tightly. “Make love to me tonight. Love me so completely that all time before this night vanishes.”
And he did. He loved her as he’d never loved a woman. She became a part of him. By dawn the house was their home and she was his.
* * *
When he woke he could hear her in the kitchen and he couldn’t stop smiling. She’d been shy during their loving, and hungry for more. When they’d finished and were curled in each other’s arms, she’d cried.
When he’d asked why, she’d whispered that sometimes happiness spills out. He’d held her close all night and, as he dressed, thoughts of the night to come were already on his mind. He might never show his affection in public, but he’d never stop showing his love in private.
As he walked into the kitchen, she was busy making bread. “Morning,” she said, without looking up at him.
He moved behind her and moved his arms around her waist until his big hand spread out over her middle.
She straightened and leaned back against his chest.
“I’ll never get enough of you.” His words brushed her ear.
His shy wife turned slowly in his arms and kissed his cheek. “Luckily we finally have our own house.”
Before he could kiss her senseless in the morning light, he heard the bell tolling from the trading post and every relaxed muscle tightened.
“Something’s wrong at the trading post.” He pulled away and reached for his gun belt. “I need to get there fast.”
She ran for Danny. “I’m going with you.” It wasn’t a request.
“I’ll get the team.” He could have made it faster riding bareback and she’d probably be safer staying here, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. By the time she wrapped the baby and put on her coat, he was waiting.
She climbed in the back and huddled down behind the bench as he covered her with the tarp that had protected their furniture. “Stay down until we get to the trading post, and then run in the back and stay there. If there is gunfire, no matter what, don’t come out.”
He took the reins and headed toward Harmony.
Chapter 39
Matheson watched Truman heading toward him as fast as the horses could run. Most of the settlement hid in predawn shadows, but trouble was out there; Gillian could feel it. His Daisy and the boys were tucked into their house and probably hadn’t even heard the bell.
He prayed not. Truman was the only one he needed. They’d both faced battles before, and together they’d face the one he feared he saw coming.
Like the soldier he always would be, Gillian took count of his troops. Patrick and Shelly had left before dawn with a full crew, including the Roma boys. Now that his sisters were here, Patrick wanted to finish his house as fast as possible. Their place was farther out than the others, so he’d take longer to get here even if he did hear the alarm.
That left Ely and Harry, still sleeping off a hangover in the store. The four McAllen women and Momma Roma were upstairs. They’d promised to cook breakfast, but no one must have told them it was served at dawn.
Gillian wasn’t sure if Momma Roma’s youngest boy had left with the men or stayed around to help with his mother’s projects. Since there was no movement from the tents down near the creek, he guessed that the soldiers-turned-carpenters were at work with McAllen as well as the blacksmith. There were others scattered around, but he didn’t know whether he could depend on them to fight when danger rode in.
Truman pulled his wagon to the side of the building and bounded over the railing on the front porch. He wore his Colt and carried a rifle—exactly how Gillian hoped he’d show up.
“Trouble?” Clint asked.
Gillian tried to keep his voice low. “I rode over early from my place wanting to check on one of Momma Roma’s horses. To the north, where no one is camped, I saw a thin line of smoke as if someone put out a fire just before dawn. Too many years tracking outlaws made me suspicious. I spotted six men traveling light, but there could have been more. A wide bull of a man was giving orders in low tones, like he didn’t want anyone around to know where they were camped.”
“Outlaws.” Truman was already ahead of Gillian. “They’re watching us. May have been waiting for me to get in or maybe for a chance to catch the men gone.”
Gillian nodded. “I didn’t want them to see me, so I stayed out of sight and rode here along the creek bed. All the other men are gone and Ely isn’t in any shape to return fire, so looks like it’s me and you if they try to hit us this morning.”
Both men studied the open land to the north as he added, “What I can’t figure out is why they seem to be planning a raid here. We’ve little stock and most of what Ely has in the store wouldn’t be worth the time it would take to load up and haul away.”
“They’re here for me,” Truman said in a whisper. “I can almost smell Dollar Holt near. He’s coming to even the score after I destroyed his raid on the first wagon caravan I brought in.”
“Maybe if you left, or we told them you had, he might go away.”
Truman shook his head. “They’d just burn the place down. Dollar Holt has hated me since the war. I knew when I didn’t kill him that night on the road that eventually he’d come after me. I not only spoiled his raid, but I captured one of his men—a witness who’s already turned against him. If we catch Dollar this time, he knows he’ll go to prison for life, so he’s got nothing to lose by holding up this place and killing me.”
“But why would men follow him just to kill you?” Matheson needed logic even though he knew outlaws didn’t always follow any.
“Something’s bothered me since I heard it the first time I was in Dallas. Folks think Ely is rich and is building a town to prove it. Maybe they’re after his money?”
“Looks like we’re about to find out,” Gillian said as he watched four men riding slowly toward them. Three were young, green to the bad life, he’d guess. The other looked more hardened.
Truman lowered his rifle but kept it in easy reach. “Holt isn’t among them,” he said simply.
The door to the post opened and Ely stumbled out, his rifle by his side. Drunk or sober, he’d fight with them.
“How you want to play this, Captain?” Truman asked.
“You’re the sheriff. I follow your lead.”
“Cover me.” Clint stepped off the porch and into the morning light. “Stand ready, but stay in the shadows of the porch until I lift my rifle to take aim; then be ready to fire.”
Gillian guessed Truman could probably raise his rifle and take down all four men even from this distance before one bullet could strike him, but the new sheriff waited to see what they wanted first.
When they were thirty feet away, Clint called out, “That’s far enough, boys. State your business.”
“We’re not looking for trouble, Sheriff,” one said. “Just came to shop.”
The two younger ones laughed.
“Hand over your guns and you’re welcome to go in and look around.”
Gillian gripped his rifle. The men were far too well armed to be just traveling. They had no bags of food or supplies tied to their saddles, and all wore double gun belts.
The older one pushed his tan hat back and grinned a wide, toothy grin. “I don’t believe we’re going to do that. See, we heard this place is just like a bank. All we have to do is ride up and make a withdrawal.”
Ely limped forward. “You boys need to keep on riding. The store’s closed. I’ve seen your kind before. Ain’t nothing free here.”
The smiling man tried again. “Now, we don’t want any trouble, especially with the womenfolk here. Way I see it, it’s four against three and one is an old man.” He pointed with his head toward the barn. “I’ve got two men in the barn loft who’ll shoot the first one of you who raises a weapon. So, how about we do this peacefully?”
“I’m all for peace.” The preacher walked out of the store eating an apple.
“Stay out of this, Preacher.” Clint’s voice was low. “This isn’t your fight.”
One of the outlaws pointed at the tall, thin preacher. “He ain’t even got a gun and he’s so skinny we could use him as a rope.”
The other outlaws laughed, but there was an edge to their laugh as if they were nervous, or afraid and in a hurry to get on with the business of killing.
Matheson couldn’t see this ending well. If anyone fired, half the men would be dead in seconds. Truman might get two of the outlaws before he was hit, but casualties would be suffered on both sides. He’d seen it before. Too many guns and not enough reason to go around.
Truman didn’t look the least bit worried. He was just as unfriendly as always. “Where’s Dollar Holt? He sent you out here to do his dirty work, but he’s nowhere around.”
“I’m right here,” Dollar said as he shoved Karrisa out the door in front of him. “And I’m through listening to all the chatter. This is how it’s going to be. The old man gives us his money and we walk away without hurting anyone. Of course, we’ll take your wife along with us for insurance.”
“No.” Clint’s one word was a roar of rage. “Take me. Leave her.”
Dollar looked like he was considering the possibility. “How about I take you both? A wife has a right to see her husband die, and, Truman, it’s about time you died.”
Seven men to two, Gillian thought. Not counting the still-drunk Ely and the unarmed preacher. He had to think of something, anything to increase their chances.
About the time he was sure Truman was ready to start firing, a strange rattling sound came from the road.
Everyone turned and watched as a wagon that seemed to be covered with pots and pans and tools came around the bend. One wheel was smaller than the others, so the cart bumped along even on a flat road.
“Morning,” a chubby little man yelled, and waved as if delighted to see them awake. “You folks are up early. This a welcoming party or something? If so, I’m mighty glad I came.”
Before anyone could stop him, the man rolled his wagon between Clint and the store and bounced down from his seat. The clatter of the pots almost sounded like faraway gunfire.
Gillian watched through the forest of pans and tools as everything seemed to happen at once.
Behind him, Karrisa jerked free and fell onto the ground, disappearing as she rolled off the porch.
Ely swung at Dollar’s gun and the outlaw’s first bullet fired wild. His second missed them but sent one of the pots hanging from the old wagon spinning.
Gillian raised his rifle to fire, but he was afraid he might hit one of the others on the porch. So, before Dollar could fire another round, Gillian jabbed his rifle into the man’s gut. The huge outlaw let go of his weapon as he yelled in pain but before he could shout any orders to his men, he was hit on both sides by Ely’s rifle butt to his chest and the preacher’s apple to his nose.
Dollar continued to scream as the preacher knocked him down and sat on him while Ely pounded on his face.
Gillian grabbed both his guns and hurried around the tinker’s wagon.
Truman stood, his feet wide apart, his rifle raised. The men on horseback hadn’t had time to draw their weapons. “I can drop you all before you’ll have time to pull a gun,” Truman said, almost calmly. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll miss one of you, but the captain won’t. So what do you think? Do you fight or leave, swearing you’ll never be back to Harmony?”
“We’ve got men in the barn,” the one in the hat said, as if pulling the only ace left.
Gillian heard two thuds hit the dirt by the barn opening. “You mean those two who just fell out of the barn loft?”
All four outlaws looked worried. Between the two shooters out cold on the ground and Dollar screaming, the winds of chance had turned against them.
