Badland Bride (24 page)

A clatter from above made her turn toward Jessie. They glanced at one another before rushing to the steps. Ma had been taking a nap in her room and beat them both to the door of Bug's room. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head with both hands.

"What are you doing?” Ma scrambled to his side.

"I gotta go to the privy,” Bug said.

"I got a chamber pot right here.” Ma pulled a flowered, porcelain bowl out from beneath the bed.

"I ain't using that.” His pale cheeks grew pink. “I'll go outside."

Ma wrapped her arm under his arm pit. “Kid installed that new fancy one downstairs. I'll help you to it."

"Where are my boots?” he asked.

"I don't know. You didn't have any when they hauled you in,” Ma said.

"That bastard stole them didn't he?"

"Who?"

"The man who hit me. Bet he stole my horse too."

"I don't know, the boys didn't say anything about your horse either,” Ma answered. “Come on, I'll help you to the wash room."

"I ain't using that one either.” Bug stood, took a moment to gain his balance. “I don't care what Kid says, I ain't,” he glanced toward her and Jessie, “doing my business in the same house I eat in."

"Bug, that's silly,” Jessie insisted.

Lila hid a smile and stepped forward. That was the same thing Skeeter had said when Kid suggested he order the new toilet. “Come on, Bug, I'll get you a pair of Skeeter's boots and help you to the outhouse."

"Thanks, Lila.” Bug offered a slight smile.

With Ma on the other side, they got him down the stairs, and after he slipped on a pair of boots, helped him out the back door and into the little house with a half moon shape cut on the front door built on the far side of the back yard. She had insisted on the cut out, and again everyone thought her crazy. She assumed since the beginning of time the little shape had been cut into the wood on outhouses. Now it seemed she was starting a trend because Snake claimed he was going to cut one in the door back home.

"Oh, that gall-darn wind. It's got my sheets twisted around the line again,” Ma said, pointing across the yard.

"Go ahead, I'll wait for Bug,” Lila said, sitting down on a stump a few feet from the outhouse.

Ma started walking toward the sheet, saying over her shoulder, “I'll be right back. Don't try to walk him back to the house by yourself."

"All right, I won't."

Lila watched until Ma disappeared amongst the huge white sheets flapping this way and that. The wind tossed the grasses about, rustled through the small grove of trees behind the outhouse. An odd sound caught her attention, and she turned. The men hadn't rolled the grass down all the way to the trees, in places it stood over three feet and swayed like waves. The branches of the trees and even the trunks bobbed and weaved in the strong gusts. She brushed the hair from her face and turned back. “You okay in there, Bug?"

"I'm fine,” he grumbled through the wood.

She chuckled, realizing she shouldn't have asked.

All of sudden, her head snapped back and a hard hand covered her mouth. A vile stench filled her nose. She tried to scream, but a fat palm wouldn't let any sound emit. Fear raked her body. Kicking and flaying her arms, she tried to break the hold. A deep, nasty, whispered chuckle hit her ears—made her body freeze.

She twisted her neck. Her heart stopped as she stared into the most menacing eyes she'd ever seen.

"Yes, it's me, Lila.” Pete Hawkins’ mouth was so close to her face, his lips touched her cheeks when he spoke.

Bucking like a wild horse, she flopped about fighting against his brutal hold. She tried to bite at his palm, but couldn't open her mouth wide enough. The stump beneath her wobbled and then fell, knocking them both to the ground. The air swooshed from her lungs. By the time she sucked a full breath back in, his hand had landed on her mouth again. The tiniest bit of a scream emitted.

"Lila? Lila, you all right out there?"

Pete jerked her to her feet. She clawed at his hands, kicked like a mule at his knees, all the while screaming into his stinking palm. The rotten stench of his skin made her stomach churn. The hand tighten, pulled her head back, tucking it beneath his chin, and one of his fat legs wrapped around hers, stifling her kicks.

Something shiny flashed sunlight into her eyes. Her body tensed, grew stiff as a tree when the long blade of his knife lowered to her neck. A sharp pinprick of pain stung the skin below her chin, and the cold steel of the blade settled heavily against her neck.

The door of the outhouse flew open, and Bug wobbled as he grabbed the doorframe. His mouth opened but before a sound emitted, Pete instructed. “Don't say a word, or I'll slice her throat."

Bug's eyes turned as cold as ice, but he clamped his mouth shut.

Pete tugged her backwards. Tears of fear poured down her cheeks. The wind, whipping about as usual, splattered them back into her eyes, making them sting harder.

"Not quite as talkative this time, are you Quinter?” Pete said. “That little head butt I gave you got you scared or something?"

Bug stepped away from the outhouse. Eyes dancing left and right, he braced his legs like a man ready to fight. He shook his head slowly. “There's only one person I'm afraid of."

"Oh?” Pete sneered.

Bug raised an eyebrow and nodded once. “Yup, I call her Ma, and she's standing not ten feet behind you."

Pete twirled her around so fast Lila became dizzy. The world seemed to spin out of control. Vomit rose up her esophagus. She gagged trying to swallow as the double barrels of Ma's giant shotgun appeared before her eyes.

"Put it down old lady or she's dead!” Pete bellowed.

Her ears rang from his shout, and her stomach revolted again. She couldn't hold it in. Half-digested breakfast spewed between her teeth out her lips. It hit his palm, splattering back onto her face.

"Shit!” Pete exclaimed. His hand left her mouth, and she doubled over, emptying the rest of her stomach on the ground.

A loud crack filled the air, followed by a thud. Glancing up as the last bout of foulness left her mouth, Lila saw Pete sprawled out on the ground.

Ma stepped closer, lifted her pink, paisley skirt to kick his boot. “Sorry bastard picked the wrong family to mess with.” Then she lifted her gray head and shouted, “Good shot, Jessie! You got him right between the eyes."

Lila pivoted. Her sister-in-law, followed closely by her dog, ran across the yard. A rifle was tucked beneath one arm as she held the roundness of her stomach with the other. Weakness rippled Lila's body, and her vision blurred before she slumped to the ground to easily accept the blackness closing in on her.

The ranch was in sight when the unnerving pop of rifle fire hit his ears like a cannon. Skeeter whipped the gelding with the ends of the reins, kicked at the horse's belly with the heels of his boots. Men ran from the barn toward the backyard, and he almost trampled a couple of them as he steered the gelding around the house.

His heart stopped dead in his chest when he saw her. Lila laid flat on the ground, his mother, Jessie, and Bug knelt beside her. He all but fell from the flying horse, stuck his boots in the hard ground to keep upright. His heart kicked back in, thudding with pain, it threatened to beat right out of his chest. He ran and stumbled at the same time.

"She's all right,” someone said. It could have been Ma, Jessie, or Bug, the ringing in his ears couldn't decipher the voice—just the words.

He knelt down, gathered her in his arms. “What happened?"

"She fainted. Hawkins had a knife to her neck..."

As they talked, he cradled her limp body and assessed each inch with his eyes. Someone told him the story of Hawkins, the knife, Jessie shooting him. They were still talking when he stood, began to walk to the house.

Buffalo Killer stepped aside, and Skeeter met his dark eyes. “Scalp him."

The Indian's head snapped up, his eyes wide.

"Dispose of the body. I don't want it anywhere on my land."

Buffalo Killer waved a hand, motioning his braves to step forward, and Skeeter carried Lila to the house.

Someone held the door open. He stepped in, and Ma rushed past him. “Here, lay her on the couch,” she said.

He shook his head, walking toward the stairs. The fear and anger that had consumed his body slowly seeped out, but he couldn't talk yet. If he did he'd either break down crying like a baby or lash out screaming like a madman.

All he wanted was to be alone with her. She was alive. Soft gusts of air slipped from her parted lips and fluttered against the sensitive skin of his throat. He needed to lay her down, run his hands over her body, make certain nothing was broken or injured.

She was still out when he settled her on the bed. Her body was limp as he positioned a pillow under her colorful curls. He ran his hands up and down, over every limb, making certain the flesh was warm and unmarred.

Ma scurried in the room as he straightened. “I have some fresh water and a cloth for her head."

He held out his hands, took the items. “Close the door on your way out.” The words burned his throat.

Ma handed him the items. “I'll go see how Bug's doing."

He moved to the wash station, poured water from the bucket into the wash bowl and the rest into the pitcher, then dipped the rag in the bowl, wrung it out, and moved to wipe her face. He rinsed it out, folded it and laid it over her forehead.

Still somewhat shaky, he leaned down, brushed a kiss over her lips. As long as he lived, he'd never forget that split second he thought her dead. He'd wanted to die himself. Right then and there he'd felt as if his life was over. Straightening, he glanced toward the window, thanking the good Lord she'd survived.

Movement tugged his gaze to the bed. One of her hands was reaching for the cloth covering her eyes.

He sat down beside her, lifted the rag. “Lila, honey?"

Her eyes snapped open. “Skeeter?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

She pushed herself upright, and threw her arms around his neck. “Skeeter!"

His lips brushed her forehead, fluttered over her eyes. When they lowered, she twisted away, hiding her face in his shoulder. “Honey. Honey, are you all right?"

She nodded.

His hands combed into her hair, lifted her face to look at him.

"Don't kiss me,” she whispered.

His heart slammed into his ribcage. “W-why not?"

"Because I have to brush my teeth.” Her cheeks turned bright red. “I threw up."

He chuckled. Kissed the tip of her nose.

She took a deep breath. “Pete—"

"You'll never have to worry about him again."

"I know,” she said. “Jessie killed him."

Skeeter nodded. “She had to."

"I know. It all happened so fast. He grabbed me. He had a knife. Ma had her shotgun, and, and Jessie had her rifle.” She glanced at his face. “Bug? Is Bug all right?"

He nodded. “Yes, Bug is fine."

She twisted, tried to climb off the bed. “I better go see, make sure his wound didn't open back up."

"Ma's seeing to him."

"Oh.” She slipped her feet onto the floor. “Well, then, I better go check on Jessie."

"Kid's doing that.” He stood, walked to the water basin and pitcher stand near the window and began to gather items.

"Oh. Well, I probably should go check on my bread."

He shook his head. “Hog's probably putting it in the oven as we speak."

"The laundry on the line needs to be carried in."

Carrying a glass, her toothbrush, and the tin of brushing powder he said, “Willamina and Eva will see to it."

She scratched her head, as if she was trying to come up with another excuse to leave the room. Glancing between the items in his hand and his face, she said, “So there's nothing I need to do?"

He dipped the brush into the tin, handed it to her. “Nothing except brush your teeth so I can kiss the daylights out of you."

She giggled, took the brush. “Oh, well, that's sounds more fun than anything I suggested."

"It certainly does. Now hurry up, you have exactly fifteen seconds. I'm counting."

She shook her head, talked around the brush in her mouth as she rose. “A dentist once told me you have to brush for a full three minutes."

"Three minutes?” He didn't think he could wait that long.

Lila giggled, took a mouthful of water and swished the cinnamon tasting powder from her teeth, then spat the water back into the glass. Setting it and the little bristle brush on the water basin stand, she twirled around and leaped into his arms. “I'll brush a full five minutes tonight to make up the difference."

"Thank you,” he murmured as their lips met.

She knew she should go downstairs to check on the others, maybe even act a bit more distraught over what just happened, but at this moment in time, she wasn't going to do any of that. Right now she was going to be very selfish, and keep her husband all to herself—maybe for an hour or more.

Four days later, standing on the front porch, Skeeter hugged Lila close, her tears dampening the front of his shirt as his family, including Willamina and Eva, and the ranch hands, pulled out of the yard. The wagons they drove were empty, except for personal possessions, including Ma's sewing machine which weighed more than a full grown steer. “Shh, don't cry,” he encouraged. “We'll see them again before we go."

She stiffened in his arms. “Before we go?"

He nodded.

"Where are we going?"

He hadn't yet told her about the tunnel, that he hadn't found the portal. Buffalo Killer had said he'd have some braves work on it, dig a few more off shoots of the main channel. He let his gaze settle over her head, searching for the right words to break the news.

A flash caught his attention, he tilted his head. The sun reflected again before he realized it was a rifle held over a rider's head. “Looks like we have more company riding in,” he said, thankful for the distraction.

She twisted, glanced up to follow his gaze. “Who is it?"

"Buffalo Killer,” he said, now able to make out a painted pony.

The bareback rider bee-lined toward the wagons, they stalled for a few minutes in conversation. The group looked like painted silhouettes on the prairie. Still, he knew the Indian was bidding farewell to the new friends he'd made.