Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) (13 page)

“So, Mrs. Ames, how does it feel to be married again?” he teased as their cab headed back to the hotel.

“I hardly know what to think,” she admitted. “Everything’s happened so fast! Only a few weeks ago I was facing the loss of my farm. Next thing I know, a handsome young man whisks me off to Nashville, buys me the finest clothes I’ve ever owned, and escorts me to St. Louis. No sooner have I started teaching school and living with a good friend than she evicts me from her house; then by the greatest good fortune I meet him again, and now… this!”

Walt squeezed her hand. “I’ll do my best to make you happy… darling.” It was the first time he’d used that endearment to anybody. It felt strange, but good.

“I know you will, dear.” She squeezed back. “I’ll do my best, too.” She stared into his eyes with an intensity that made his heartbeat speed up.

The hotel laid on a celebratory meal for them, compliments of the management, and offered them a larger, more comfortable room for the remainder of their stay. After supper they adjourned to their new quarters, going out onto the balcony to look out over the city street below, listening to the sounds of passing traffic as the light faded into darkness.

“I still can hardly believe that we’re married,” Rose murmured, leaning into him as he put an arm around her waist.

“Well, the piece of paper proving it is on the dresser, if you need to confirm that,” he teased.

“Oh,
you!
”

She reached up and kissed him lightly; then the kiss turned into something much deeper as she turned in his arm and melted against him. Their breath began to come faster as they embraced. She shivered as he ran his hands up her spine, then around to the front of her body to caress her breasts beneath her dress.

“Walt… oh,
Walt…
I’ve missed this so much, for so long! Let’s go inside… please?” He could feel her rising, breathless excitement.

Walt grinned and kissed her forehead, then brushed back the hair behind her ears. “Your wish is my command, Mrs. Ames.”

She giggled.

Through the avaricious industry of Sergeant Wallace at the depot, Walt was offered the chance to buy a Rucker ambulance in good condition. Designed to carry up to four injured men lying down or six to eight seated patients, its spring-suspended wheels and seat would be far more comfortable when traveling than the two freight wagons. He also bought a two-horse team to pull it.

On Wallace’s advice, he also bought a spare axle and two spare wheels for the ambulance, and the same for each of his wagons, plus tools and supplies to make running repairs. “There aren’t any neighborhood blacksmiths or wheelwrights out on the prairie,” the sergeant pointed out. “You either fix your wagon yourself, or you abandon it and everything it’s carrying.” Walt had invested too much in his guns and gear to countenance that.

Walt drove the ambulance out to the barn. Samson and Elijah stripped out the litters and painted it, then helped him install a sturdy wooden shelf across the rear of the wagon bed, two feet above the floor and braced with struts. Rifles, ammunition and other items would be stored beneath it. On top of the shelf he laid two narrow horsehair mattress pads next to each other, then topped them with two more filled with cotton, and finally added a feather tick, for which he ordered a canvas protective cover. He and Rose would spread their bedding on top of the triple layer.

Walt bought two big, stout trunks for their more delicate clothes and possessions. They would ride in front of the bed, where their lids would do double duty as benches for seating. Carpetbags would hold their traveling clothes. He returned to the army depot to buy a conical Sibley tent and groundsheet, then took Rose shopping for all the bedding, cooking and camping gear they needed, including a folding canvas bath, with a privacy screen to erect around it. Walt wasn’t overly concerned about his own modesty, but he was pretty sure his new wife would be worried about hers.

When everything was ready, Walt and Rose settled into the tent next to the barn, while Samson and Elijah continued to sleep in the hayloft. Rose took over the cooking, much to the men’s relief, as she was much better at it than they were. Walt asked her to prepare a shopping list of food and other necessities for the journey to Kansas, and added to it sturdy, hard-wearing clothing for the trail for all four of them. He made several trips into town to buy everything and bring it back to the barn.

It occurred to him that Rose might not be entirely comfortable being left alone with the two servants, but when he asked her if she’d feel safer accompanying him on his errands, she merely smiled. “I’ll be fine with Elijah and Samson,” she told him. “They’re good men. I can tell.” She tapped the revolver he’d given her in Nashville. “If anyone else bothers us, I can deal with them, too. Now go, and don’t worry!”

Reassured by her confidence, Walt went into town alone to collect the last orders, driving the wagon around to the loading dock at the rear of the store. He checked off each item on his list as they were loaded, then nodded to the clerk. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“It was my pleasure, sir. Thank you for your business.”

Walt watched the clerk go back into the store and close its door behind him. He turned to mount the wagon seat—but froze in shocked astonishment as he found himself staring into the muzzle of a small single-shot pistol. It was held by the burly assistant of the gambler he’d unmasked on the riverboat. His boss was standing just behind him, holding a similar weapon.

“Thought you were clever, did you?” the gambler growled. “Thought your lady friend was going to get away with five hundred dollars of my money, did you? Thought you could hand us over to those soldiers to be beaten half to death, did you?”

Walt’s blood ran cold.
Dammit, how could I have been so stupid? I know better than to take my mind off what’s around me, yet here I just walked into this, careless as can be!

“Yeah.” The big man’s voice was a snarl. “I left four teeth on the deck of that damn boat, thanks to those army bastards. I’m gonna enjoy pullin’ every one of ’em out of
your
mouth, real slow, while I listen to you scream!”

“Not yet!” the gambler warned. “We need to ask him some questions first. I want to know where to get my hands on that woman. She owes me five hundred greenbacks, and satisfaction besides. I know just how to take it out of her hide.”

“What about his gun?”

“Hold on. I’ll get it.”

Walt stood motionless as the gambler reached into the left side of his waistcoat and drew the short-barreled Colt from its holster. “Nice,” he remarked, hefting it. “I’ll put it to good use on the river. You won’t be needing it anymore.” He slid his own pistol into a clip inside his left sleeve, then climbed into the load bed of Walt’s wagon and cocked the revolver. “Now, get up on the seat and take the reins. Don’t try anything, because if Big Jim doesn’t get you, I will! Jim, wait until he’s up, then get in behind me.”

Walt sat down, stomach churning with anger, fear and apprehension.
I’ve got to find some way to get the jump on them—but how?
Trying to mask the tension in his voice, he asked, “How’d you know where to find me?”

“You told everyone on the riverboat you were heading for St. Louis. It was easy enough to trace you to the Lindell Hotel. Stood to reason someone dressed like you would stay at a fancy place like that.” The gambler’s tone was gloating, triumphant. “We knew your name from that letter you had the steward read aloud. The desk clerk told us you’d left the hotel driving a wagon, and were planning to go west. You didn’t have supplies for that on the riverboat, so I knew you’d have to buy them. We visited all the stores in town supplying travelers heading west, and asked the sales people whether they’d heard your name. One of them said you’d be collecting a big order here this morning.”

“How did you get away from the law in Clarksville?”

Jim answered as he climbed into the wagon bed. “Some riverboat gamblers look out for each other. One of them paid our fine to get us out of jail, and loaned us some money. We’ll pay him back double next time we meet, and do the same for him or another gambler sometime.”

“Yeah,” his boss agreed. “It took us a few days to get over the beating those soldiers gave us; then we caught the next riverboat to come along. Been here a week now, making some money in the saloons while we looked for you. Now, drive down that way, slow and easy.” He pointed further into the narrow alley, away from the road in front of the store. “No tricks!” He jabbed the abbreviated barrel of Walt’s revolver into his back.

Walt picked up the reins and clicked his tongue at the four mules. They leaned into the harness, and the wagon creaked away from the loading dock. With both of the men behind him, he knew they could not see the front of his body. He held the reins in his lap and slowly, carefully, eased his right hand down to his waistband. Sliding its fingers beneath his belt, he pulled the flat little Green River knife from its concealed sheath and reversed the twine-wrapped tang in his palm, holding the blade backwards along his wrist to conceal it.

After several blocks the gambler said, “Turn into those open doors on the right.” They led into an empty, run-down stable. It had a musty, unused air to it. Wisps of straw lay haphazardly across the floor, as if no one had swept it for some time.

“What is this place?” Walt asked as he halted the wagon.

Big Jim answered, “Once we found out you’d be coming here this morning, I looked for someplace nearby where we could ask you questions in peace and quiet. I found this. No one uses it right now, or the buildings around it.” He sniggered. “No one’s gonna hear you scream except us.”

While he spoke, his boss jumped down from the wagon and closed the creaking, groaning doors. Dark descended upon the stable as the sunlight was shut out, leaving only a few glimmers from cracks in the doors, walls and roof. Walt blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the suddenly Stygian gloom.

The gambler walked up next to the wagon’s left side. “All right, get down,” he ordered. “I’ve got this gun pointed right at you, so don’t try anything stupid.”

“Do it,” Big Jim affirmed from behind him. “We both got you covered.”

Walt tensed. If he was to have any chance at all, he had to take advantage of this sudden darkness at once, before their eyes adjusted. Right now, they probably couldn’t see the sights on their guns—or the knife in his hand. He slowly rose to his feet, turning towards the left side of the wagon. His eyes measured the distance to the gambler as best he could. It was a matter of only a yard or two, and the man was holding the revolver at arms’ length, pointing it up at Walt’s face.
That’s a stupid thing to do, so close to me,
he thought grimly,
but I surely thank you for it.

As he put his left hand on the wagon’s side to steady himself, he let the knife slip down in his right hand, holding the blade below his fist. He jumped to the ground. In the instant his feet landed he grabbed the gun in his left hand, pushing the barrel away from his body while he slashed across the gambler’s face with his right. The man screamed as the sharp blade carved deep into the bridge of his nose, its point cutting into his left eyeball and scratching his right in passing. His finger reflexively tightened on the trigger, but by then Walt’s thumb was between the hammer and the percussion cap. The sharp edges of the hammer cut into it, drawing blood and sending a sharp pain up his arm, but it prevented the gun from firing.

From the wagon bed Big Jim shouted,
“What the–!”

Walt spun around as the gambler released the revolver. He ducked beneath the edge of the wagon bed, dropping the knife and grabbing the gun with his right hand, re-cocking it. Above him there came a blast, thunderous in the echoing confines of the empty stable, as Big Jim pulled his pistol’s trigger. A flash of flame shot out of the muzzle, but the ball missed Walt, ploughing into the dirt floor of the stable. No sooner had he fired than Walt sprang out from beneath the wagon. Jim was desperately grabbing at his right wrist with his left hand, presumably trying to draw another weapon. Walt couldn’t see well enough to line up the sights on his revolver, but he didn’t need to. He simply reached up, pressed its muzzle against Big Jim’s left kneecap and pulled the trigger. The man screamed as his leg collapsed under him. He toppled headlong over Walt’s head to the ground.

Walt ducked to let Jim pass, then whirled around. The gambler was on his knees, wailing, holding his eyes with both hands, and Jim was lying doubled over, writhing, clutching his knee. Without a moment’s hesitation, he put the muzzle of his Colt to the back of Big Jim’s head and fired; then he walked over to the gambler, held the muzzle against his right ear, and pulled the trigger once more. Both men collapsed, lying limp and silent on the dirt floor.

Walt sagged against the wagon, breath rasping in his throat, feeling his heart pounding like an out-of-control trip hammer.
How the
hell
did I get away with that?
he asked himself.
I sure didn’t deserve to, not after being such an
idiot as to let myself get
taken by surprise
like that!