Sawyer gaped, stunned, his .45 still unfired in his hand, as Bess Turner stepped out of the darkness and into a thin spill of moonlight, lowering a shotgun, both barrels still smoking, and prodding at Duggins’s unmoving form with one foot.
“Reckon he’s dead?” she asked calmly.
Sawyer approached, crouched to get a better look. She’d blown the back of Duggins’s head off. “Reckon so,” he replied.
“Good,” said Bess Turner, with a sigh of resignation.
Meanwhile, Piper flew toward them on a run, her feet bare, her hair loose. “What—?” she began, but her words fell away when she looked down and saw old Chester lying there.
Sawyer wanted to send her back inside, but she wouldn’t go and he knew it, so he saved himself the aggravation and stood, wrapping his good arm around her, holding her against his side.
“Varmint,” Bess said, and gave the body another poke with her toe, harder this time. The woman’s yellow hair was down, and she seemed to be wearing some kind of silky going-to-bed getup, though Sawyer couldn’t be sure because the moon had slipped behind a cloud and the stars weren’t shining all that brightly.
“Let’s go inside,” Sawyer said. “Half the town will be here in the next few minutes.”
Bess nodded and favored Piper with a thin smile. “You all right, Teacher? This varmint here, he didn’t hurt you none?”
“Er—no—I’m—” Piper choked on whatever it was she’d meant to say after that, and fell silent.
Sawyer steered both women toward the gaping door of the schoolhouse. The puny light of a single lantern spilled through it, a kind of faltering welcome, it seemed to him.
Inside, Piper rallied a little, lit several more lamps, and got busy making a pot of tea.
Bess leaned her shotgun against the wall, near the door, and sat down on top of one of the smaller desks, looking as though the events of the past few minutes might be catching up with her at last.
Sawyer took a blanket from Piper’s bed, went outside, and draped it over the dead man. It wasn’t much—just a gesture, really—but he couldn’t leave the damn fool uncovered, staring blindly up at the night sky.
As he’d expected, folks had heard the shots, and some of them were already gathering at the top of the schoolhouse road, a cluster of moving lantern light and muffled noise.
Sawyer sighed and went back inside, where he found Piper still fussing with tea and Bess Turner still sitting on that desk, her gaze fixed on something far away.
“What brought you here tonight?” he asked Bess, very quietly.
Piper paused in her tea-brewing to turn around. Her hair fell around her shoulders, a waterfall of dark curls, and she wore a flannel nightgown. There was mud on her feet, though she didn’t seem to care.
“That feller yonder,” Bess said, with a toss of her head toward the front of the schoolhouse. “He got one of my girls to hide him, the night of the big snowstorm. She didn’t know it was him that shot you—didn’t even know it had happened, there at the first—but then, well, these things get around—and Sally Mae, she finally figured out why that galoot was hiding out. She was scared to tell for a while—guess he must have threatened her—but tonight when he got his rifle and lit out on foot, she came and told me. I got my shotgun and followed him, but I was sure wishing Clay McKettrick didn’t live way the heck and gone out in the country.” Bess paused to draw a shaky breath. “I was here, when that feller called you out, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I reckoned if I yelled at him to put the rifle down, he’d probably turn right around and kill me where I stood, so when I saw that he meant to gun you down for sure, I shot him.”
Piper’s mouth was open. Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer saw her close it, very slowly.
“You think they’ll put me in jail?” Bess fretted, looking over one shoulder as the voices drew nearer. “My Ginny-Sue can’t do without a mama—”
“No,” Sawyer said. “Nobody’s going to put you in jail.”
Piper moved to Bess’s side, without a word, and slipped an arm around her shoulders.
A vigorous pounding sounded at the door.
Exclamations were raised when somebody evidently stumbled over the blanket-covered body in the schoolyard.
“Hold your horses,” Sawyer said, crossing to open the door.
Doc Howard spilled into the room, closely followed by several other men.
“Great scot,” Howard nearly shouted, “there’s a dead man out there!”
“Yep,” Sawyer said.
Attention shifted to Bess, and to Piper, standing stalwartly beside her, chin raised.
Sawyer would forever remember that that was when he realized he was in love with Piper St. James McKettrick, though he supposed it would be a while before he got around to saying so.
“What happened?” Doc demanded.
Sawyer explained, and Piper’s eyes seemed to widen with every word he said.
“He’s the one that shot you?” Doc said, with a shake of his head. Sawyer had already told them as much, but these were peaceable men, and they had trouble taking it in.
“Well, where the devil are we going to put him?” another man asked. “We don’t have an undertaker here in Blue River.”
“The jailhouse will have to do, for the time being,” Sawyer said.
“Better get him buried first thing tomorrow,” Doc put in. “Can’t have Christmas spoiled. Do we have to report this to somebody?”
Sawyer nodded. Since he hadn’t been sworn in yet, Clay was the logical choice, and he said so. A certificate would have to be drawn up, signed by Judge Reynolds and probably Doc Howard, too.
One of the men agreed to ride out to Clay’s place and tell him what had happened.
Sawyer would have preferred to make the visit himself, but he didn’t have his horse and, improved though his condition was, he wasn’t sure he could make it all that way, anyhow. All this activity had riled up the wound in his shoulder, and it was raising three kinds of hell. Besides, he couldn’t leave Piper alone, especially after all that had happened.
When the men went back outside, Sawyer went with them.
Somebody ran to the livery stable, hitched up a buckboard and drove it back to the schoolhouse, and Chester Duggins’s mortal remains were hoisted into the back and hauled away.
Doc agreed to make sure Bess Turner got back to the Bitter Gulch Saloon all right, though he seemed nervous about it. Little wonder, Sawyer concluded—that wife of his would kick up some dust if she caught wind of the courtesy.
Inside the schoolhouse, Bess and Piper were sitting there in their nightclothes, calmly sipping tea like two spinsters at a garden club meeting.
The sight touched Sawyer—he thought of how differently this night could have ended. What if Duggins had been startled, and swung that rifle in Piper’s direction when she came running out of the schoolhouse door? He might have panicked, pulled the trigger, and killed her.
A headache pounded between Sawyer’s temples, and his stomach did a slow, backward roll.
“Let’s get you on home now,” Doc said to Bess, blinking at the way she was dressed. Evidently, he hadn’t noticed until then.
She set aside her cup, smiled graciously, and stood up. “I’ll just fetch my shotgun,” she said, turning to Piper. “Thank you very kindly for the tea, Miss St. James. I do appreciate your hospitality.”
“You’re—you’re sure you’re not hurt?” Piper asked the other woman.
Bess nodded again, looked briefly at Sawyer. “I’m sure,” she told Piper.
Doc had averted his gaze to Piper, but it immediately bounced away again, landing square on Sawyer’s face. “I’ll stop by in the morning,” the dentist said. “Have another look at that shoulder. You in any pain right now?”
“No,” Sawyer lied. He wanted to be alone with Piper, that was all, and reflect on the glorious fact that they were both still alive.
Doc looked skeptical, but he escorted Bess and her shotgun out into the night, resigned to walking her home.
Sawyer latched the door behind them, turned, leaning against it, and closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to stay upright.
“Sawyer?” Piper said, very softly. “You look terrible. I’m going to call Doc Howard back.”
But Sawyer shook his head. “I’m just—tired.”
She slipped an arm around Sawyer, as if to hold him up, which might have been laughable, given her small stature, if the act itself hadn’t eased so many things rioting inside him.
“I’m going to require a lot of answers in the morning,” she warned, as they made their slow but steady way across the schoolroom.
Sawyer chuckled at that. “And I’ll give them to you,” he promised. “In the morning.”
* * *
S
AWYER
LANDED
HEAVILY
on the bed, and barely objected when Piper pulled his boots off his feet and covered him, fully dressed, with the quilts she’d once prized so greatly. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and bent to kiss his eyelids, first one, and then the other.
He fell asleep so quickly that she worried he’d lost consciousness again, but his breathing was steady and deep, and when she laid her head against his chest, she heard his heart beating with a rhythmic
thud-thud-thud.
She left him just long enough to put out the lanterns still burning in the schoolroom and bank the fire for the night. He’d set his pistol on one of the desks when he came in earlier, after the shooting, and she picked it up carefully, carried it into the bedroom, and set it on the night table.
For a long time, she sat on the side of the bed, watching him sleep, periodically checking his bandages to make sure he hadn’t reopened the wound in his shoulder, but there was no bleeding.
The little room grew colder, and then colder still, and Piper knew she ought to get some sleep herself, but she found she couldn’t leave Sawyer, even for the other bed, near as it was.
Finally, shivering, she crawled in beside him, on his right side, snuggling up close for warmth, resting one hand on his strong chest. Again, she felt the thump of his heart against her palm, matched her breathing with his.
And after a while, lulled, she drifted off into sleep, a sound one this time.
The next thing she knew, morning light flooded the room.
Remembering the events of her wedding night, Piper sat bolt upright.
She’d thought Sawyer was still asleep, but she knew by the slow curve of his lips and the way he eased an arm around her that he was very much awake.
“Good morning, Mrs. McKettrick,” he said.
“Who was that man and why did he want to kill you?” Piper replied.
Sawyer chuckled and opened his eyes. His chin was stubbly with gold. “I can’t say you didn’t warn me you’d have questions,” he said, “but I
did
expect we’d both be dressed at the time.”
Piper clutched at the quilts, drew them up to her chin in a belated effort at modesty, but did not relent. “Tell me,” she said.
Sawyer sighed. “His name was Chester Duggins,” he said. “He and I worked together once.”
“Why did he want to kill you?” Piper reiterated.
“He was sent by a man named Henry Vandenburg—my former employer.” He paused, sighed again, but, to his credit, he held her gaze. “Vandenburg believed—mistakenly, as it happens—that I’d enjoyed a dalliance with his wife.”
“Josie,” Piper breathed, troubled. She couldn’t help recalling the way Sawyer had said the other woman’s name, like a plea, in the hours after he was hurt.
“Josie,” Sawyer confirmed.
“You cared about her,” Piper said.
“I was beginning to,” Sawyer replied. “That’s why I decided to accept Clay’s invitation and come to Blue River.”
The admission caused Piper a distinct pang, but she found comfort in one thing: Sawyer was telling her the blunt, unembroidered truth. “Do you still care for Josie?” she asked bravely. “Because, if you do, we can have our marriage annulled. Since we haven’t—consummated it yet.”
He reached up, stroked the line of her cheek very gently with the back of his right hand. “Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. “An annulment?”
Piper considered that. “I don’t know,” she said, when a few moments had passed. Then, primly, she added, “Answer my original question, please.”
Sawyer grinned, like a choirboy caught being wicked. “I do not hold any tender feelings for Josie,” he replied.
“But you were
beginning
to—”
He sighed again. As he lowered his hand from her cheek, it brushed briefly over her flannel-covered breast, causing the nipple to turn button-hard and bringing a flush to her cheeks. “There have been other women in my life, Piper,” he said. “I don’t deny that. But you’re the only one I’ve ever married.”
She blinked. Was that supposed to be reassuring?
Was
it reassuring?
“How do I know—?” she began.
He laughed.
“‘What if’?”
he teased.
“Are there other jealous husbands out there who want to have you killed?” Piper persisted.
“A few rejected suitors, maybe,” Sawyer conceded. “But no husbands, at least as far as I know.”
“That isn’t funny,” Piper objected, flustered.
“If they’d wanted to call me out,” he said reasonably, “they would have done it by now.”
“What happens next?”
Sawyer’s mischievous expression turned more serious. “I get well, and then I deal with Vandenburg,” he said.
“Let Clay do that,” Piper said quickly, though she knew even as she spoke that it was a futile request.
“It’s not Clay’s responsibility,” he answered, regretful but earnest. “It’s mine.”
“No,” Piper argued, in the face of certain defeat. “It isn’t. This is why there are laws, Sawyer, and men sworn to enforce them—”
“This is my problem,” Sawyer said, “and I’ll be the one to set it right.”
Piper was almost breathless with panic. She’d thought this waking nightmare was over, now that Duggins was dead, but it clearly wasn’t. “By doing what?”
“Never mind that,” Sawyer told her, drawing her down beside him, holding her close. She resisted at first, but he felt so warm and strong and solid, and she lost herself in that.
They lay together for a long while, both of them engulfed in a kind of sad silence, thinking their own thoughts.