High Mountain Drifter (36 page)

"Let's go, Handsome," she said, giving the thick leather straps a gentle shake. "We have a busy day. Two deliveries."

Marlowe seemed encouraged as he lunged forward, pulling the buggy down the rolling slope, head up, tail swishing. He'd come a long way from the frightened, hopeless animal they'd rented from the livery owner in Deer Springs that summer day. Wow, that felt so long ago now. Although whip scars from previous owners and rental drivers crisscrossed his shoulders, back and flanks, he no longer dragged his feet when he walked, he no longer plodded along with his head down.

These days Marlowe trotted along with his eyes bright, ears pricked, interested to see where they would go. His gait was snappy as he turned onto the road without needing much instruction from her.

Driving him was so easy, and it felt great to be out, to be free even in the biting wind. The sun was fading but still cheerful as clouds moved in. She was free from Ernest, Aumaleigh's story and advice had eased some of the anguish in her own heart and she thought of Zane, knowing he was out driving in this same cold somewhere on the high plains or mountains. She hoped he was thinking of her too.

Suddenly the rhythm of Marlowe's clip-clopping gait became scrambled, chaotic, a clip there, a clomp there, the buggy rocked to a stop. She blinked, realizing her thoughts had wandered and she hadn't been watching the road. A shadow emerged from the shady grove of cottonwoods at the edge of the road.

Fear beat through her, kicking up her pulse, spilling adrenaline into her veins even before her eyes could see the face of the man on horseback who galloped up to the side of the buggy, trapping her. The slant of his hat hid most of his face, but she recognized the set of his shoulders, shoulders that could never be as impressive as Zane's, and the long, slender soft hands of a man raised in the lap of luxury. Ernest?

No, it couldn’t be. But the adrenaline spiking through her shot up a notch. Her throat went dry, her palms went damp, her mind started spinning. This wasn't happening, she had to be wrong. The marshals had taken him away.

"Get out of the buggy," he growled, jamming a gun toward her head. "I'd rather not kill you like this, but I will. Don't mess with me."

"Ernest." Acceptance rolled through her. He really was here. "But how did you get here?"

"Do you think two stupid, country-bred marshals could outsmart me?" He hooked an arm around her waist and tried to lift her off the seat.

He didn't smell so good--like desperation and malice. She planted her feet, but he strong-armed her, hauling her across the seat in his direction. She planted her feet, trying to stop him.

"Those backwoods hicks thought I was too weak to fight them," he spat out with disgust and yanked on her harder, zipping her across the seat to the edge of it. "So they let down their guard. Now they're dead."

"Let go of me." Even more horrified, she grabbed onto the braces that held up the buggy top.

"Stop fighting," he commanded, knocking her knuckles with the nose of his gun, breaking her grip. She fell, suspended in mid-air, caught in one of his arms. He growled. "I told you not to cross me."

"I'm not going with you." She shot out with her left elbow, hitting him in the throat. He grunted, momentarily unable to breathe and she wiggled out of his grasp, falling straight to the ground.

She landed on her knees. Pain rocketed straight up her thigh bones, and she ignored it, put her feet on the ground and grabbed the buggy's running board to haul herself up. Run and escape, that was her plan, but she hadn't taken more than one step when something caught her by the scarf and hauled her off the ground.

The pressure against her windpipe and throat was excruciating. Choking, gasping, unable to breathe, she dangled there, strangling on her own scarf. She clawed at it, yanking at the knitted yarn, stretching it as much as she could, trying to get her chin under it, but Ernest grabbed the back of her coat with his other hand, hefting her up and along the animal's shoulder trying to get her onto the saddle.

Not going to happen. Determined, enraged, she reached behind her, fisted her hand and started hitting with all her might. Every ounce of it, pummeling any part of him she could reach. He swore, gave her scarf a vicious twist, tightening it so much that spots danced before her eyes. The edges of her vision turned black and she fought it, trying to throw her body at the ground even as he hauled her onto his lap and clamped an arm around her, and retrieved his revolver.

"Let her go, Craddock." A man's familiar baritone boomed from a ways down the road behind them. "Or I'll drop you where you are, I swear it."

Zane. She squeezed her eyes shut. Still strangling, her lungs burning, her body spasming, desperate for air, but warmth filled her. He'd come to save her. Tears burned her eyes, hope lifted her soul.

"The bounty hunter." Ernest laughed, she felt the vibration rock through his chest and into her, felt the mocking of it. He wheeled the horse roughly around to face his adversary and grinned. "I was going to come after you when I was finished here. I have some scores to settle and one of them is with you."

"I have a score to settle too." Zane towered astride his horse, rifle aimed, pure contained and controlled masculine fury, his face lined with concentration, his intent deadly. "Put her down. Last warning."

"Okay, you got me. Don't shoot. Don't hurt me. Guess I'll just let her down nice and slow, then." Ernest sounded beaten, so deeply sincere, but she felt his intent. Tension rolled through his body, his grip tightened on his revolver. He was lying, she knew it, trying to trick Zane, into letting down his guard.

Terrified, she fought with every last scrap and shred of strength she had, to knock against Ernest, to deflect that bullet that he intended to launch through the air whizzing toward Zane. But it wasn't enough, she couldn't make any difference as she felt Ernest release her from his chest, but not his hold on the scarf. She fell, the scarf turning into a noose, and heard the
pop-pop-pop
of simultaneous gunfire.

The last thing she saw was the red blossom of blood on Zane's shirt as the darkness claimed her. She was tumbling through that black until she hit something hard--the ground--and she lay there unable to move, with tears on her face, gasping in air. Not dead after all.

Someone struck the earth beside her. Ernest, eyes open, on his back with a bullet hole in his forehead.

"Verbena!" Zane's voice, Zane's footsteps rushing up to her, his strong arms wrapping around her, lifting her up, holding her safe against his chest. "When you fell, I thought you were dead."

The relief on his face, the terror, the love. She looked into his eyes and saw his infinite, unassailable love for her. Moved beyond words, she touched his unshaven jaw with her fingertips, just drank in the amazing sight of him alive, thankfully alive, her one true love. With a wrenching sigh, he pulled her against him, rocking her, cradling her to his chest. He held her with such desperation, as if he never wanted to let her go. She clung to him, so thankful for the solid feel of him, for the reliable thud of his heart against her ear, for this man who had saved her in every way.

"You're bleeding." She rasped out, saw the red again now that her mind was clearing. "You've been shot."

"It didn't hit anything vital." Unconcerned, though he had to be in tremendous pain, he wiped away her tears with his thumb. So tender. He was such a good man. "As long as you are all right."

"Me? I'm fine. Just your typical morning." She pulled off one of her gloves. "You know, breakfast with the sisters, a chat with Aumaleigh, a fight with an outlaw."

"You were pretty fierce." He didn't even wince when she pressed the glove against his shoulder, covering his wound. "It confirmed what I suspected about you the day we met."

"Really? Like I'm stronger than I look, that I can take care of myself?" She arched an eyebrow at him, feeling his blood warm her fingers.

"No. I decided right there and then when you were waving your cane at me that whatever happened I'd be wise to stay on your good side." An amused twist of a smile. Forever shining in his eyes.

She so wanted to keep this man, to hang onto him always. Bittersweet, that thought. She turned her attention to his wound. At least his bleeding was slowing. The poor man, so tough and capable and rugged he could do anything or die trying. But he had no one to take care of him, to make sure he was safe and warm when his work was done, no one to see that he was all right. Everyone deserved that.

"I want to take care of this for you." At least it would give her more time with him. She feared a little more time would be all she would ever have with him. Her words grated out of her raw, battered throat, terribly hoarse. "We'll get this wound cleaned up, get you warm and fed and have one of the cowboys fetch the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor. I can dig the bullet out myself." He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth twisting upward. "Besides, a doctor can't fix what's really wrong. You took ten years off my life, seeing you with Craddock like that."

"I know just how you feel," she confessed. "I thought he was going to kill you."

She saw the impact of her words in his eyes. He leaned in and caught her lips with his, kissing her with all the love in his heart. So she gave him all of hers. Everything she had in her soul. She never knew a kiss could be so much--a binding moment, she felt so close to him.

Then the drum of horse hooves beat toward them down the road. Burton, hefting his rifle, followed by a posse of cowboys.

That put an end to the kiss. Regretfully. Verbena sighed as Zane moved away, climbed to his feet and helped her up. She would have wanted that kiss to go on forever.

"Howdy, there. We heard gunfire." Burton dismounted as his mount skidded to a stop. "Not something we hear much of around here. Is that Craddock?"

"Yes, sir." Zane cleared his throat, casting a sidelong look at the body lying face up, arms spread, empty eyes open. "Can't believe I got here in time."

"You surely saved our Verbena." Another cowboy, Kellan, dismounted, moseyed over to see for himself that the criminal was dead. "Anytime you're in this area, anything you need, you look us up."

"That's for sure," John nodded from atop his horse. "We owe you one."

"And we won't forget." Shep gave a chin jut. A promise he meant to keep.

It felt good, being accepted like this. Zane blew out a breath, let the troubles of his past go. He'd been on the outside so long, he'd forgotten how acceptance felt. He didn't know how much he'd been wanting it.

"Verbena!" A distant shout from the other direction drew his attention. A pack of women raced into sight, skirts flying, long hair bouncing. The McPhee sisters, coming for Verbena. It wasn't easy letting go of her hand. She hardly noticed as she took a wobbly step toward them.

"I'm all right. Honest." She ran to them, arms out, falling into a group hug. Women's voices rose and fell saying they were so glad to see her, happy she was all right. The sisters looked her over, worried over her bruised and raw throat, at the blood all over her--none of it hers.

"That's quite a shot you took," Burton said, drawing Zane's gaze back to the half dozen men standing in a half circle around him. Burton shook his head, impressed. "Exactly between the eyes. Judging by those tracks, you weren't all that close, either."

"I've been shooting since I was ten." He shrugged. "Lots of practice."

"Well, you saved that girl's life." Burton cleared his throat, choking up. Easy to see he cared about the sisters. Every man standing did too. "Hate to think what could have happened if you hadn't gotten here in time."

"You can thank Winchester for that." He checked over his shoulder for his horse. The dutiful gelding stood where Zane had left him, head up, eyes taking in the scene, his coat white with lather. "That horse ran full out, pushed as hard as he could. No other horse could have done it."

Winchester gave a casual nod, as if no problem, all in the line of duty.

But this wasn't just a job, and it had become more than the favor he'd owed Milo. Much more. It had changed his life. Look at her standing there, beautiful in her unconscious elegance, sweeping away from her sisters, leading them in the quest to check on the old, swaybacked horse. The gelding visibly quaked, as if traumatized by the ordeal, and Verbena, caring Verbena, was all too ready to be the first to wrap him in a hug, smother his face with kisses, praising him for being such a good, brave boy.

How was he ever going to walk away? He shook his head. He didn't know. Just didn't. Couldn't bear to think about it. Best to concentrate on what needed to be done right now. First things first. Milo needed to be alerted. This bullet needed to be dug out. After that, he'd figure out a way to leave, even if it would cost him. No matter what, he had to do the right thing.

Verbena sipped the medicinal tea Aumaleigh had brought. While it tasted like old leather and weeds, the five generous dollops of honey kept her from gagging. In the peaceful kitchen of McPhee Manor, the stove heated the room, the smells of freshly brewed coffee and regular tea (not the medicinal one) scented the air, and the room was stuffed with the people she loved.