Merline Lovelace (23 page)

“Should you mind if we add a small step to the proceedings?”

“No, not at all.”

“As I understand it, we must tie a red string around two cups of wine. The bride and groom take a sip, then exchange cups and drink again. I
believe this ritual ensures harmony in the marriage.”

“I expect I could locate cups,” the chaplain said, “but I don’t have any wine here at hand.”

“We brought some with us for just this occasion. Jack, will you assist me?”

If anyone had ever told Jack that he’d one day stand in a chapel smelling of fresh-cut pine, wearing a tin star and holding two china cups while a doe-eyed female fiddled with a bit of red string, he wouldn’t have believed the man. Any more than he would have believed that he’d find himself wishing he and that same female were the ones exchanging vows and sipping wine.

He’d never thought about marriage before Suzanne. Had never had cause to think about it. Looking at her now, with her hair swirled up all smart and smooth under her hat and her lashes fanned against her cheek, he let himself imagine a future. Imagine a time after Charlie Dawes.

Maybe, just maybe…

“There, they’re nicely tied. Sam, do you have the wine?”

With a wide grin, the youngest member of the Garrett family produced a stoppered bottle.

“It’s not plum wine,” Suzanne told Ying Li apologetically. “I’m afraid there wasn’t any of that to be found. So we mixed together a bit of Mrs. McCormack’s dandelion wine and Dr. Morgan
stein’s Cough Elixir. It has quite the same taste, I think.”

Ying Li evidently thought so, too. Her face held the glowing happiness of every new bride as she sipped from her cup before passing it to Matt. The red string wrapped around their wrists, binding them both physically and symbolically.

On a sigh of pure sentiment, Suzanne let her glance drift from the young couple to the man standing beside them. She’d thought him handsome as sin when he first climbed aboard the stage. Seeing him now, so tall, so casually urbane in his suit and tie, she realized his handsomeness had nothing to do with his devastating impact on her senses. It was the man who set her pulse to hammering and curled her toes in her boots. It was the man she’d come to love.

He caught her gaze. For a moment, only a moment, she was sure she read in his eyes the same absolute certainty that filled her heart. A slow, glowing warmth began in her chest and hummed through her veins.

When the wine-sipping ceremony was concluded and the newly wedded couple and their witnesses had signed the registry, Jack stood beside Suzanne while the rest of the guests came up to offer their congratulations.

“Is that what you’d expect of a groom,
Miss
Bonneaux?” he murmured. “Red string and lines from Shakespeare?”

She hiked a brow. “A man could do worse than recite lines from
Romeo and Juliet
to his bride.”

“Maybe I should hunt down a copy.”

Her pulse skipped. She couldn’t breathe, could barely gather her wits enough to dip her head in a regal nod.

“Perhaps you should.”

Slipping a hand under her elbow, he drew her aside. “I did some thinking last night. I have to go after Charlie Dawes, Suzanne. This badge gives me the authority to track him anywhere in the territories, but even without it, I couldn’t rest until he answers for what he did to my folks.”

“I know.”

“But when I’m done with him, I might just do what you said. Deck myself out in this fancy suit, head down to Cheyenne and beg.”

“What about your worry that those around you might become a target if someone came gunning for you?”

“It’s still a worry, but…” His glance flicked to the colonel, came back to her. “Between the two of you, you’ve convinced me it’s a risk worth taking.”

Happiness burst inside Suzanne, as sharp and pointed as the star pinned to his vest.

“Is that your way of saying you’ve developed a tender regard for me,
Mr.
Sloan?”

“No. It’s my way of saying I’ve developed an itch that won’t go away. I guess I’ll have to learn to live with it.”

His smile said more than he could at the moment. A dozen emotions piled on top of Suzanne’s bubbling joy, not the least of which was chagrin.

“How like you to pick a time like this to tell me so! We’ll continue this conversation later, when we’re alone.”

In a daze of joy, Suzanne indulged in a few private visions of another wedding, in another post chapel, sometime in the not-too-distant future. Her parents would be there, of course, her mother beautiful and serene as always, the colonel resplendent in his dress blues. And perhaps the McCormacks, if they wished to make the journey down to Fort Russell so Suzanne and her mother could return their generous hospitality. Matt and Ying Li, too, assuming they hadn’t left for the gold fields yet. And all her friends, with the regimental band hired to play at the banquet after the ceremony.

Encased in her happy cloud, she couldn’t know that her dream would shatter that very afternoon. Or that the destruction would be engineered with a string of firecrackers similar to the ones tucked in her brother’s pocket.

T
he wedding procession attracted a great deal of attention as the participants made their way across the parade ground. Skirting the flagpole, the bridal couple and their guests filed past the headquarters and followed the dirt track leading to the cavalry barracks, where Troop C had generously granted Suzanne the use of their mess.

In China, Ying Li had explained, dancers bearing a long, fearsome silk dragon on sticks would have led the way to frighten off evil spirits, with firecrackers popping constantly as added protection. Bearers would have carried her shoulder-high, majestically seated in a carved chair festooned with red and gold streamers. Flutes and cymbals and paid criers would have announced to all within hearing distance that Li, of the house of Ying, had this day become a wife.

As “good fortune woman,” Suzanne had done
her best to comply with all these requirements. She’d hired the regimental drummer to beat a stately tattoo. The guests all carried strips of cherry-red silk left over from Ying Li’s dress. Sam and the McCormacks’ oldest boy did their part by gleefully setting off strings of firecrackers.

Naturally, everyone they passed turned to gawk. Soldiers performing Saturday drill on the parade ground halted at their officers’ commands. Cavalry troops putting their mounts through their paces drew rein. Children skipped alongside, and dogs barked fiercely every time another string of firecrackers began to pop.

Through the corner of one eye Suzanne caught sight of a scruffy, bearded individual among the scattering of civilians who’d paused to watch. Frowning, she recognized him from the night before. Oh, dear! She hoped neither he nor the man with him would dare repeat their rude remarks about Ying Li within hearing of the wedding party.

To her relief, the younger of the two yanked his hat down and turned away when he saw her watching him. Thank goodness! It wouldn’t do for an ugly incident to occur mere moments after the marriage ceremony.

Another series of pops and a shrill, honking bray drew her attention from the crowd to a freight wagon rumbling toward the quartermaster’s warehouse. The cavalry mounts were trained not to re
act even to rifles and pistols fired just beside their ears, but the mules drawing the freight wagon took violent exception to firecrackers sizzling and popping just a few feet from their hooves. The right leader bucked into the left, who kicked out in the bad-tempered way of mules and entangled his rear hooves in the traces. Cursing, the driver gave Sam a ferocious glare, set the brake and climbed down to untangle his team.

“No more firecrackers,” the colonel instructed his son calmly as he went to aid the struggling driver. “Take the right wheeler’s bridle and hold her still, Sam. I’ll take the left.”

Order was restored quickly enough, and the wedding party proceeded to the Troop C mess to celebrate with punch, green tea, fish soup, rice cakes and oat bars stuffed with dried pears and baked in honey.

It wasn’t until after the party that disaster struck.

The Widow Overton had graciously agreed to bunk with friends for the night to give the newlyweds sole occupancy of the tent. After a final round of good wishes, Ying Li left the Troop C mess accompanied by her “good fortune woman” to prepare the nuptial chamber.

“Half hour, Matt Butts come,” she informed her new groom. “Ying Li boil tea…”

“More tea?” he groaned.

“Very important. Drink tea, make dragon dance, have sons.”

“I’ll come with the kid to escort you home,” Jack told Suzanne.

“Yes, do. Perhaps we might find a private spot to finish the conversation we began at the chapel.”

He didn’t try to disguise his feelings. They were right there, warm and rueful in the smile that slipped into his eyes.

“Perhaps we might, sweetheart.”

Dusk was already descending, but Suzanne didn’t feel the bite of the evening air as she accompanied Ying Li through the maze of tents. Hiding her impatience, she performed her designated duties.

More red streamers were required, along with the obligatory pot of tea. While Ying Li hunkered by the cook stove to steep the tea, Suzanne hung the streamers on the bridal bed and lit the required number of joss sticks. The fragrance of oranges soon floated through the tent, pleasant at first, but gradually growing so strong she moved discreetly to the front of the tent to fold back a corner of the flap.

She was dragging in a breath of cold, crisp air when she noticed a figure standing in the shadow of another tent, his hat pulled down low. She recognized him immediately. He’d watched the hair-
combing ceremony last night, then observed the wedding procession this afternoon.

A shiver crawled up Suzanne’s spine. This was no casual encounter. The man was there to make trouble, for what reason she couldn’t guess.

“Ying Li,” she called softly. “Come look and tell me if you know this man.”

The girl tripped over and peered through the tent opening. “No can see.”

“Over there, in the shadows. Do you recognize him? Perhaps from Rawhide Buttes?”

The new bride gave a little shrug. “All men there same same, no matter.” Her brow wrinkled. “Except…”

“Except?”

“Except honorable husband,” she admitted slowly, as if trying the words on for the first time.

Encouraged by this first sign of tender regard on Ying Li’s part, Suzanne let the tent flap drop. Really, there was no need for alarm. One scream would alert Mrs. Overton’s neighbors to trouble, and Jack would be along at any moment.

“Matt’s a fine man,” she concurred.

“Like Mister Jack,” the girl added with a sly glance. “He and missee do dragon dance?”

“Well…”

“Do dragon dance with Mister Jack, make fine sons.”

“Yes, I rather think we might.”

They’d have Jack’s strength, Suzanne thought with a smile, and her stubbornness.

“When missee, Mister Jack marry?”

“We intend to discuss the matter a little later, after…”

She broke off, startled by the sudden whip of the tent flap behind her. Before she could turn around, something hard and cold crashed into her temple. She crumpled without a sound.

Jack and Matt strolled through the deepening dusk. They kept to a slow pace in deference to Jack’s walking stick, but anticipation put a hitch in both men’s step. Smoke from stoves and cook fires curled through the deepening dusk, filling the air with the scent of frying meat.

“It won’t be bad,” Matt mused, “bein’ married ’n all.”

Jack slanted him a sardonic glance. “Who are you trying to convince, kid?”

A grin worked its way across the new groom’s face. “Both of us, I reckon.”

“You think I aim to follow in your footsteps?”

“Why else would you be totin’ tin?”

Why else indeed?

Hooking a finger in his collar, Jack yanked at the constricting material. Damned if his whole life hadn’t turned every which way but backward these past few days. A month ago, he’d been riding with
one purpose and one purpose only in mind. Now the need to avenge his parents had taken a turn he hadn’t envisioned…one with a brown-eyed, strong-minded female waiting at the end of it.

With a queer little catch at his heart, he quickened his step.

Suzanne smelled oranges. Burnt oranges.

Joss sticks. Ying Li. The wedding.

On a haze of splintering pain, she opened her eyes. Fear grabbed her by the throat, thick and suffocating, until she realized the snarling fangs above her belonged to a carved wooden temple dog. A slight movement of her neck brought the pawing, thick-necked horse into her line of vision.

She was in Mother Featherlegs’s bed. Limp with relief, Suzanne drew in a ragged breath…or tried to. Only then did she grasp that her suffocating sensation wasn’t due to fear alone. Someone, she discovered, had stuffed a rag in her mouth and tied it in place with another strip of cloth.

And her arms. She couldn’t seem to get them out from under her. Finally, she realized they were tied behind her at the wrists.

She lay still for long moments, willing away the agony in her temple, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to understand what had happened. A rustle of straw beside her brought her head around.

When the dancing spots cleared, she saw that
Ying Li’s face was only inches away, hideously distorted by the cruelly tight gag cutting into her cheeks. Fear and incomprehension filled the bride’s eyes. For a moment the two women simply stared at each other, then Ying Li gave a small jerk of her chin. Her glance darted to something behind Suzanne.

Still dazed and uncomprehending, Suzanne gritted her teeth and rolled over. The slight movement dragged a groan from behind her gag.

A figure appeared in her line of vision, blurred and indistinct, but definitely not carved of wood. Using the barrel of his gun, he forced up Suzanne’s chin.

“Awake, are you?”

Blinking away the haze of pain, she gazed at the man hovering over her. In the flickering light of the oil lamp hanging from the tent pole, she recognized the watcher from the night before. He’d shoved his hat back so it no longer shadowed his face. It was an ordinary face, thin and somewhat pockmarked, with gray stubble roughing the cheeks and chin. She knew she’d never seen it before.

The stranger seemed to take a perverse pleasure in her confusion. A grin stretched his mouth.

“You’re sure a pretty little thing.”

She made a sound behind the gag, and he
dragged the gun barrel along the underside of her jaw.

“Too bad I ain’t got time to take a taste of you. You ’n that Chinee whore. Be interestin’ to see which one of you squeals the loudest when a man puts it to you.” The cold steel traced a line down her throat. “I like it when a woman squeals.”

At the look in his eyes, bile rose in Suzanne’s throat. She swallowed convulsively, trying to force it back.

“Now, don’t go spewin’ up,” the stranger snarled, digging the barrel into her throat as if to cut off the foul taste. “You’ll choke on your own vomit. I seen that happen to a sod-buster’s woman down to Colorado once. Damned if she didn’t die right while me ’n the boys was puttin’ it to her.”

Suzanne went still. Absolutely still. Terror, icy cold and numbing, seeped into her veins. In her mind, she could see a narrow slice of moon hanging over red rock canyon walls, hear Jack’s low voice as he described the horror of his mother’s death.

Dear Lord above! This was Charlie Dawes, the man Jack had been searching for for so many years! The hunted had now become the hunter.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a callousness that knifed into her soul. “I’ll make sure you go cleaner than she did. You ’n the whore here. Soon’s I take
care of Sloan. He’s comin’ for you. I heared him say so. Just like I heared he was comin’ after me.”

Withdrawing the gun barrel from under her chin, he moved to the front of the tent to peer through the flap. The light from the oil lamp cast his shadow against the thick canvas, but Suzanne knew better than to hope he’d appear as anything more than an indistinct blur from the outside.

“Big Nose said Sloan’s got some unfinished business that involves me. I don’t know what that business is, but Charlie Dawes ain’t letting Black Jack Sloan get the drop on him, no sir!”

A muscle worked in his gray-stubbled cheek. “I been watching him for days, tryin’ to figure out how to bushwhack the bastard without drawin’ yer pa and the whole damned fort down on me. When I seen Sloan this afternoon without his Colt, I figured I weren’t gonna get no better chance.”

He was right! Jack wasn’t wearing his gun. Both he and Matt were unarmed. Fear clawed at Suzanne’s throat as she watched Dawes lift the tent flap open another inch or two with the tip of his gun barrel. With his other hand, he dug what looked for all the world like a string of firecrackers out of his pocket.

“I still might not have chanced a shoot-out if not for these,” he muttered, more to himself than her now. “Soon’s I heared them goin’ off this afternoon, I knew how I could bring Sloan down
without anyone knowin’ it was me. By the time folks figure out it were gunshots they heard and not these poppers, ole Charlie Dawes will be halfway to Deadwood.”

It was just devious enough to work, Suzanne thought frantically. Sam’s firecrackers had created near chaos this afternoon. Another string tossed out into the darkness would set the dogs to yelping and cause sufficient confusion to cover Dawes’s escape.

Icy fear prickled her skin. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, or when Jack and Matt would make an appearance. Soon, she suspected. Too soon! She had to get free, had to work the gag out of her mouth, had to do something. Anything!

Clenching her jaws against the pain still hammering in her temple, she twisted her hands, pulling desperately against the strips of cloth binding her wrists. The futile effort left her dizzy. Sucking air in great gulps through her nostrils, she swept the immediate vicinity for a sharp projection she could wriggle up against and saw through her bonds. She found none.

Her ankles weren’t bound. If she inched to the side of the bed and swung her legs over the side, maybe she could lunge for Dawes, knock him over or at least off balance….

So intent was she on her desperate plan that the
butterfly touch of Ying Li’s fingers at her wrists startled a grunt from her. Luckily, Suzanne managed to swallow most of the sound. The gag took care of the rest.

Her skin crawling with terror that Jack and Matt might appear at any moment, she forced herself to relax her taut muscles, to let her wrists go limp and give Ying Li’s small fingers room to work.

Suddenly, Dawes stiffened. Eyes narrowed to slits, he leaned forward to peer through the opening.

“That’s right, boy,” he muttered. “Amble on in. Your whore’s awaiting fer you.”

The click when he thumbed back the hammer on his revolver sounded as loud as a rifle shot in Suzanne’s ears. So did the tinkle of glass when he removed the lamp chimney and tossed it aside. The open flame danced on the night air.

“Ying Li?” Matt called a moment later from outside the tent. “Can we come in?”

Frantic, the bride yanked at Suzanne’s bindings. Her nails scraped away skin, gouged into flesh. The knot loosened but not enough. Not enough, dammit.