Wyoming Bride (39 page)

“We’ll see about that. Your brother called out my man. I’m only here to make sure it’s a fair fight.”

Flint heard Tucker say to Ransom, “What do you say, boy? You ready to finish this?”

“Better go get those women out of there,” Patton said. “Otherwise, somebody’s wife is liable to get hurt.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Flint said.

Patton said, “Wouldn’t I? Accidents happen all the time.”

Flint’s heart jumped to his throat and his stomach churned. Patton was a man who’d dared a great deal over the past year. Killing and burning and stealing with impunity. Still, Flint wondered if he was bluffing. No one was going to shoot a woman in the West. That was an invitation to a hanging.

But Patton was pushing for a confrontation. Why?

Because he has another gunman hidden somewhere to ambush me. He isn’t worried about Ransom. He’s sure Tucker will take care of him. He wants me dead, too, and he knows I’m too cautious to get drawn into a gunfight like my brother
.

Which meant the instant Flint went for his gun, he was going to be a dead man, and Patton was going to come out of the situation smelling like a rose.

Flint kept Patton talking as he began searching each darkened corner for that other gunman. “You’re done around here, Patton. No decent person will have anything to do with you now that the Association has thrown you out. Word will get around, and you’ll find yourself unwelcome in the Territory. You should leave now, while you still can.”

“You Creeds talk big,” Patton said through tight jaws. “When you’ve got your women to protect you.”

“Flint, look out!” Hannah cried.

To Flint’s horror, Hannah was running straight for him, all the while pointing to a spot behind him to his left.

Everything happened at once.

Flint drew his Colt and dove for Hannah. First and foremost, he wanted her safe. He ignored her cry of outrage, shoving her down and putting his body between her and the danger as he searched for the gunman she’d spotted.

Flint found him in the next alley over. He shot at the same time as the gunman. The sound was deafening, but not loud enough to keep him from hearing Hannah cry out in fear as a bullet blasted past his head.

The gunman missed. He didn’t.

Flint heard Emaline scream and turned his attention to the confrontation in the street.

Tucker was down. Ransom was still standing.

“You goddamn son of a bitch! How the hell did you beat him to the draw?”

When Flint heard Patton swear, he realized the threat wasn’t over. He rose and saw that Patton’s gun was aimed at Ransom’s back.

“Patton!” he shouted.

The wealthy rancher turned to confront Flint, his face a mask of fury. “You’re a dead man, Creed. You and your brother both!”

Flint’s reflexes were so heightened, he saw everything in slow motion. Patton took hours to aim his gun, took aeons to finally fire.

Flint bolted left the instant he saw a flash of gunfire. In that same moment, he thumbed back the hammer on his Colt and fired.

Patton’s bullet missed.

Flint’s did not.

He saw Patton’s eyes widen in surprise, saw the look of agony contort his mouth, saw him stumble forward.

Even so, the miscreant’s gun came up, and he shot twice more. His first bullet went wide, shattering a picture window in a nearby saloon. The second kicked up the dirt at Flint’s feet.

Flint’s own gun had not been silent. Both of his bullets found a home in Patton’s chest. He watched as a look of stunned disbelief crossed Patton’s face before he dropped to his knees and fell forward.

Flint stood frozen for an instant, before his body began to tremble. He knew it was only the aftereffects of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. His hand was visibly shaking as he returned his gun to the holster.

Flint met his brother’s gaze and saw the thanks there. He could feel his heart pumping hard and took a deep breath and huffed it out, trying to settle himself down. He felt dazed, unable to believe both he and his brother—and their two silly wives—had escaped unscathed.

He turned and found Hannah still in a heap on the ground. He helped her to her feet and said in a voice made harsh by leftover fear, “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

She dusted off the back of her skirt and replied pertly, “I trust it will never be necessary to do it again.” Then she took a look at his face and said, “You’re white as a ghost.”

“A ghost is what I nearly was,” he shot back.

She placed her hand tenderly against his cheek and said, “What you were was amazing.”

Flint realized he was smiling. He took her into his arms and hugged her tight. “So were you.”

“You’re squashing me,” she said breathlessly.

He held on tight, his heart thundering with relief, now that the worst was over and they were all alive and well. “That’s the price you have to pay when you decide to put your life on the line for somebody.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

She looked up at him, her face flushed, and he realized,
She hasn’t said she loved me, but would a woman risk her life for a man she didn’t care for at least a little?
Maybe there was hope for him yet.

She winced, and he asked anxiously, “Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt,” she protested when he began to search her body for some sign of injury.

He shook her and said, “What were you thinking, Hannah? What possessed you to put yourself in the middle of a gunfight?”

“I know I shouldn’t have done it,” Hannah said. “It was foolish. And I can see, in hindsight, that it was completely unnecessary. But I didn’t want to lose you.”

Flint was stunned into silence. It was the closest she’d ever come to saying she cared for him. He wanted to pursue the conversation, but Emaline marched over and announced, “Ransom is furious with me!”

She glanced at Ransom’s stiff back as he spoke with the deputy sheriff, who’d arrived to hear explanations and collect the dead.

Hannah winced again.

Flint frowned. “Something’s wrong, Hannah. What is it?”

Emaline took one look at Hannah, met Flint’s gaze with large, anxious eyes, and croaked, “I think she’s in labor.”

“Hannah? Is that true?” Flint asked anxiously.

“Of course not!” Hannah replied. “If it’s anything at all, it’s false labor again. Let’s get the buckboard and go home.”

Flint didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Her forehead and the space above her upper lip were dotted with sweat. Her whole body looked tense. But that was hardly surprising, considering what they’d just been through. “Don’t lie to me about this, Hannah.”

“I’m okay. Really.” She attempted a smile but it was cut short by a wince. “Please,” she said. “Can we go home?”

She was clearly more afraid of one of Patton’s cronies coming after them than she was of labor, if that’s what was going on with her. He thought of taking her to the doctor anyway, then remembered he wasn’t in his office. Besides, the sooner they were out of Cheyenne, the better.

“Are you all right, Emaline?” Flint asked.

She nodded. “But Ransom is mad at me.”

“He’ll get over it,” Flint said. Patton was dead, but there would be other Pattons in the future. Before that next confrontation arrived, he was going to have a long, hard talk with his wife. He could fight his own battles. If Hannah really cared for him, she would trust him to take care of them both.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s collect Ransom and get the hell out of here.”

Hannah was in labor. Not false labor, the real thing. The twinges she’d felt in Cheyenne had gone away. But this morning, on their last day of travel before reaching home, she knew the baby had decided to come early. Contractions had started in earnest.

She was surprised, because she’d thought when labor started, it would mean constant pain. The pain came at regular intervals, but it didn’t last long, maybe ten seconds, and the contractions were far apart, only three in an entire hour.

At least, that was true in the beginning. As they drew closer to home, the pains were longer, stronger, and they came more often. Hannah had said nothing, because she knew from her mother’s experience that the time from the beginning of labor to birth was likely to be as much as twelve hours. That was plenty of time to arrive home before the child was born.

The weather was beautiful, sunny and surprisingly warm, considering that the ground was still patched with snow. It had been necessary for Hannah to drive the buckboard because she didn’t want to ask for any special favors, thereby revealing her delicate condition.

She had to keep her labor secret until they’d passed by all their nearest neighbors’ ranches. Otherwise, she was sure Flint would have insisted they stop somewhere until the baby came. Hannah intended to give birth at home. She wanted this baby to be a part of Flint’s life from its very first breath.

Assuming it had a first breath.

She hadn’t allowed herself to focus on the fact that the baby was coming three-and-a-half weeks early. Flint had made it clear that his family would start with the
next
child. Mr. McMurtry’s child was welcome in his home, but it would be “McMurtry’s kid.”

Hannah couldn’t allow that to happen.

She wanted Flint to acknowledge this baby as his own. She wanted him invested in the child’s survival from the very beginning.

Hannah did her best to keep from wincing as she felt another labor pain begin and held her breath until it was over. They weren’t far from home now. She decided to wait until they arrived to announce that she was in labor.

She wished Flint wasn’t so angry with her. He hadn’t spoken another word of rebuke for her venture into the street to break up Ransom’s gunfight, but his lips had been pressed into a flat line for most of the journey.

Ransom, on the other hand, had been chastising Emaline without relief every hour of the way.

“Please,” Hannah said, bracing herself as a hard contraction kept going … and going. “Stop. That’s enough.”

Her plea caused Ransom to turn on her and snap, “You two could have been killed!”

“But we weren’t,” Hannah replied, her rigid shoulders slumping as the contraction finally ended. “Can’t you leave it at that?”

“No,” Ransom said. “Not when my sister-in-law and my wife—two pregnant women—felt it necessary to come to my rescue in front of the whole town.” He turned cold blue eyes on Hannah and demanded, “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it would be better if you didn’t get yourself killed!” she snapped as another contraction came right on the heels of the one that had finished. It was too soon. Too soon! “I was thinking it was stupid to get yourself into a gunfight that might leave your wife a widow and your brother alone to run a ranch too big for one person to manage. I was thinking you’re an idiot to take that kind of chance!”

Ransom’s jaw dropped.

Flint’s mouth curved with the hint of a smile. “I have to agree.”

“Et tu, Brute?”
Ransom said.

“What?” Hannah gasped.

“It’s Shakespeare,” Emaline explained. “My idiot husband doesn’t appreciate his brother siding with you.”

“Idiot husband?” Ransom protested.

“I don’t agree with what you did, either,” Flint said, speaking to Hannah at last. “I think you were every bit as foolish as Ransom.”

“Foolish?” Ransom interjected. “Now I’m a
foolish
idiot?”

“Yes,” Flint said, a hard edge to his voice. “Because you played right into Patton’s hand. Another gunman was waiting to see if you survived your showdown with Tucker, so he could put a bullet into you, if need be. If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, things might have ended very differently.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ransom flared.

“You can’t think only of yourself anymore,” Flint argued. “You have a wife and a baby on the way.”

Ransom glanced at Hannah, and she saw the blame in his eyes for her interference. “I’d do it again,” she said. “I’d rather have people think you’re hiding behind skirts than have you dead.”

“I wouldn’t be dead,” Ransom argued. “I’m a good shot. And Flint had Patton covered.”

“Only because we showed up in the nick of—” Hannah stopped in mid-speech, dropped the reins, grabbed her belly, and moaned.

“What’s wrong?” Flint asked, angling his horse closer to the buckboard.

“Oh, my goodness,” Emaline said as she picked up the reins Hannah had dropped.

“What’s going on?” Ransom said.

“I think this time she really is in labor!” Emaline cried.

“Are you, Hannah?” Flint demanded.

Hannah didn’t answer because the contraction hurt so much it robbed her of speech. She waited endlessly for it to pass. Then she met Flint’s gaze and gasped, “Yes. I am.”

Flint swore, using epithets Hannah had never heard. At last he said, “How close together are they?”

Hannah went rigid again, and Flint had his answer without her having to say a word.

She glanced at Flint and saw the look of stark terror in his eyes before his gaze shifted to Ransom.

“Don’t look at me,” she heard Ransom say. “It’s your baby.”

“Not mine. McMurtry’s,” Flint corrected.