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Authors: Lauri Robinson

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BOOK: Guardian Bride
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the Quinter family. Then again, she'd known that ever since

Jonas had died in her arms—the day July Austin had killed

him.

"You coming?"

Summer, brought back to earth by Stephanie's question,

glanced up.

"Someone just rode in. You coming to see who it is?"

Stephanie moved to the door.

Summer snapped the bean in her hand, throwing the ends

in the scrap pile and the center in the bowl as she stood.

Wiping both hands on the long apron covering her green

striped dress, both gifts from Stephanie, she followed the

other woman out the door and onto the small porch.

August and September ran around the corner of the house

and bounded onto the porch to stand behind her. The children

were wary of strangers, rightfully so given the life they'd lived

the past few years. She stretched her hands behind her and

drew them to her sides like a mother hen does her chicks in a

rain storm. Arms draped around their thin shoulders, she held

them as three men dismounted near the water trough.

The children, who looked healthier than she'd ever seen

them before—due to the fact they now had plenty of food and

were able to sleep, feeling safe and sound—glanced up. She

offered them each a smile.

Their gazes, cautious and questioning, settled on her face.

"It's all right," she assured, though her insides swelled with

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heavy doom. The metal badges pinned on two of the men's

vests were impossible to overlook.

"Mrs. Quinter," one said as all three walked toward the

porch.

"Malcolm," Stephanie nodded. "What brings you out here?"

He tilted his head toward the men on either side of him.

Summer knew both of them. One was Pat Sughrue, the

sheriff of Dodge City, and the other was George Hinkle, the

past sheriff who acted as a deputy every now and again. The

one who'd spoken was the sheriff of the small town a few

miles from the Quinter place, Scott City, formerly known as

Nixon. The town had recently renamed itself after an army

man of some sorts.

"We're on official business," Malcolm Turley said. His gaze

then settled on Summer. "Miss Austin, we need to speak to

you."

"What for?" Stephanie asked, none to friendly.

"Perhaps we could speak to you," Malcolm said, his gaze

briefly touching on August and September, "alone for a

moment."

Summer trembled so hard she had to plant her heels on

the floor to keep her knees from knocking.

Stephanie Quinter huffed and folded her arms across her

amble bosoms. "Her name ain't Miss Austin. It's Mrs. Quinter.

Mrs. Scott Quinter."

Malcolm looked surprised. "Snake's all right? He's

recovered? I thought Doc said he was still unconscious."

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"Of course he's still unconscious." Stephanie threw her

arms in the air. "He was shot up worse than a rabid coyote.

Bullet holes all over him."

Malcolm frowned. "If he's still unconscious how are he and

Miss Austin married?"

Stephanie propped her hands on her hips. "The usual way,

by a preacher."

The sheriff took off his hat and ran a hand over his

thinning hair. "Stephanie," he said, shaking his head. "You

can't marry off an unconscious man."

"I didn't," she said. "He agreed to it. Ask Reverend

Kirkpatrick if'n you don't believe me."

"How—" the lawman shook his head, stopping his own

question. "Stephanie," he said a moment later. "You can't

keep marrying your sons off in the middle of the night. One

day one of those boys is gonna shoot you with that old

cannon you got. And there isn't a thing anyone's gonna do

about it."

"Malcolm Turley!" Stephanie screeched. "You little

whipper-snap! I oughta—" she took a step toward the man,

"I'm gonna smack—"

George Hinkle stepped between Sheriff Turley and

Stephanie Quinter. "Break it up." His sad eyes looked at her.

"Summer," he said, "maybe August and September could go

in the house for a few minutes?"

Summer let out the breath she'd been holding. "Children,"

she tried to sound calm, and assuring, "there's a basket of

beans on the table that need to be snapped. Please see to it."

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August and September, used to minding when strangers

came around, scampered into the house without a hint of

disappointment. George Hinkle lifted a hand. Summer took it,

letting him lead her down the steps and across the dirt.

Stephanie, as well as the other two men followed. When

George stopped in the shade of a large cottonwood, the rest

gathered around.

"What you need to talk to her about?" Stephanie asked,

placing an arm around Summer's shoulders.

"I'm afraid we have some news," George said, removing

his hat.

"What is it, Mr. Hinkle?" Summer asked. A thousand

thoughts raced through her mind. Snake had never made it to

Dodge. Had never been able to claim the win. Were they here

to take her and the children back, give September to

Wainwright? Her throat burned. She wouldn't let it happen.

Couldn't let it happen.

"I'm afraid Miss A—" George paused when Stephanie

cleared her throat and then continued, "Mrs. Quinter, that

your father, July Austin, was found dead earlier this week."

Her legs went weak, would have collapsed beneath her if

Sheriff Sughrue hadn't stepped forward and took her elbow. It

was news she'd known would someday be delivered, but still,

like a wagon wheel one knew would eventually let loose, it

shocked her beyond belief now that it had happened.

A thump sounded behind her. "Here set her down."

She glanced over her shoulder. Malcolm Turley had set a

bucket upside down and gestured to Sheriff Sughrue to let

her rest on it. The sheriff on one side and Stephanie on the

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other eased her until she sat on the bucket. It wobbled as her

weight settled.

Summer lowered her head, squeezing her temples with

one hand. "What happened?" she asked.

George crouched down in front of her. The man had always

been nice to her, especially over the last couple of years when

she took to cleaning at the Long Branch. He'd watched out for

her, kept an eye out as she made her way home after work.

His wife was the school teacher, and Summer had no doubt

the couple knew the hard life August and September had. It

was bad enough to have the town drunk as your father, but a

half-breed for an older sister caused many more problems for

the children.

"He was shot," George said sympathetically. "Most likely

by the same men that shot Snake. The card game was never

settled. Snake never made it to Dodge."

"I know," she said, nodding. "It was Wainwright, wasn't

it?"

"We think so," Pat Sughrue said.

"I told them you didn't see who shot Snake," Malcolm

Turley offered.

Sheriff Turley had questioned her after she brought Snake

home. Summer covered her face with both hands, attempting

to rid the images of Snake's blood encrusted body. She'd

been afraid he was dead by the time she'd led his big horse

into the yard. Terrified the men would catch up to them, she'd

barely covered his wounds before she'd forced their mounts

to the limits racing back toward Stephanie's house. When

Jonas had assured no one followed, she'd slowed their pace,

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by Lauri Robinson

but never once had she allowed the animals to completely

stop until they'd arrived at the barn late that night.

"You didn't see anything?" George asked.

She took a breath and wiped at her eyes and nose before

lifting her face. "They were too far away. All I saw were two

men on horseback. I couldn't even make out the color of their

animals."

"No one's seen hide or hair of Wainwright. We're assuming

he headed back down to Texas, but we can't be sure," Sheriff

Sughrue said.

"What's going to happen now? Do I need to go back to

Dodge to bury—" Choking on her words, she couldn't

continue.

"No, that's already been taken care of," George said.

Thankful she didn't have to attend to the task, she realized

something else. "The undertaker will want money."

"July had some, enough to bury him." Sheriff Sughrue then

asked, "Is there anything at the house you need, want? The

landlord wants to rent it to someone else."

"No. No, I took everything the children need when we left."

George patted her shoulder. "You're safe here. The

children are safe here, and we'll put out some posters for

Wainwright. We just had to come and tell you the news. I

know it doesn't sound like much, but I'm sorry Summer. So

very sorry."

"Thank you," she said. "All of you, for riding out, for telling

me." She squared her shoulders, and her gaze went to the

house. "I best go talk to the children now."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Stephanie asked.

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Summer stood and let out a shaky breath. "No, thank you.

This is something I have to do myself."

[Back to Table of Contents]

36

Guardian Bride

by Lauri Robinson

Chapter Three

This time when he woke up his mind wasn't quite as fuzzy,

at least that's what Snake thought when he first opened his

eyes. Moments later, the nagging suspicion of being watched

made him twist his neck. Two bright blue eyes gazed at him.

The child—a boy—knelt beside the bed with his chin on the

edge of the mattress.

"Hi," the kid said with a grin that showed his front two

teeth were surprisingly large.

"Hi," Snake responded, somewhat cautiously. He glanced

around the room, taking a double check that it was in fact his

bedroom. The curtains, the dresser, the bed, all were familiar.

It was his room, but who was the kid?

"You awake?" the kid asked.

Snake took a moment to contemplate, making sure he was

indeed a wake. "Yes." His voice crackled like a bullfrog's.

"'Cause I'm supposed to holler for Sissy if'n you wake up."

A thick blanket of blond hair hung around the kid's round

face. It was somewhat disheveled and reminded Snake of his

own hair when he was growing up. Ma had forever been

greasing it down. He could still remember the stench of the oil

she used.

The kid spoke again, and Snake turned to him. "What?"

"Should I holler for Sissy, or are you gonna go back to

sleep?"

"Sissy?" Snake asked. "Who's that?"

"My sister. September."

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Memories hit Snake like a spring flood. The card game.

Summer Austin and her little sister and brother. The ride to

Dodge. He glanced down. A thick, white bandage held his left

arm across his chest. With his other hand, he lifted the sheet.

His left leg had a bandage wrapped around it. The glance also

let him know he was as naked as a newly hatched bird.

He laid the sheet back down and scowled at the boy who'd

been peering underneath the covering as well.

The boy grinned. "So, you awake?"

"Yes, I'm awake." He tried to swallow, but his mouth was

drier than straw. He pointed to the glass sitting on the table.

The boy handed it to him. Snake downed the water in one

swallow. "Thanks." He handed the glass back.

The boy set it down. "I'll go holler."

Snake snatched his arm. "Not so quick there fella. Where's

my mother?"

"She and Summer are out in your garden."

He stretched to see out the window on the far side of the

room. The movement hurt, but he strained harder. Little

more than the tops of far off trees could be seen through the

glass. "The vegetable garden out back?"

The boy shook his head.

He plopped back down, flinching with pain. "The flower

garden out front?"

"No, your big garden. The one that's got all the wheat

growing in it."

"What are they doing out there?"

"Thrashing."

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"Thrashing?" He breathed past the pain his new

movements caused. "How long have I been asleep?"

The kid shrugged.

He pointed across the room. "Get me some britches out of

that dresser over there."

The boy frowned. "I don't think I'm supposed to do that.

Summer said if'n you woke up I was supposed to holler at

September, and she'd take Maisy and go get Summer."

Snake used his good arm to scoot into a sitting position.

Pain poured down his arm and leg, and though he imagined,

it had lessened some since the shooting, it hurt like hell. He

clenched his teeth until the knife-stabbing throbs eased a

mite.

"August?" he asked, "You're name's August, isn't it?"

"Yup."

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