Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (4 page)

Too many, Anna lashed herself. This was no time to be dwelling on what she had once had, and lost. The past was dead and buried, and a new life awaited her in California, as soon as she could find the means to get there. She would be a fool not to look ahead, to hope for better times.

The darkness around her quivered with sound—clicks, croaks and squeaks from a myriad of tiny creatures displaced by the storm. The small cries of life filled Anna with a melancholy so deep that it threatened to burst her heart. Desperate to ease it, she spoke into the sullen void of Malachi’s silence.

“How much farther?” she asked, knowing she sounded like an impatient child.

“Not far. Another mile or so.” His tone was flat
and impersonal, as if he were reading some stranger’s obituary in the newspaper. “Why? Do you need to stop?”

Anna chose to ignore the question. “You must be anxious to get back to your children,” she said, pressing against the barricade of his reserve. “Can you tell me more about them?”

He sighed wearily. “Not that much to tell. Young Joshua’s a typical boy. Likes to ride and fish and help with the stock. Carrie…” he paused, as if conjuring the girl up in his mind. “She does a fine job of running the house. She’s getting tall. Going to be a pretty woman one day, like her mother.”

Anna felt the tremor in his chest as he swallowed. She could not doubt that Malachi’s drowned wife had been beautiful, nor that he still loved her deeply.

“What do you do about their schooling?” she asked, shifting the talk to safer ground.

“They school themselves—with help from me when the ferry traffic’s slow. We’re not as uncivilized as you might think. There are plenty of books at the ferry—Shakespeare, Dickens, Plutarch. There’s even a piano that I bought off a Mormon family in Kanab and hauled down to the house. Carrie plays a little—but only by ear. Can’t read the one music book we’ve got.”

“I could teach her—” Anna gulped back the rest of the offer. There would be no time for piano lessons. As soon as Malachi could clear the road and repair the buckboard she would be gone.

“It sounds as if you’ve done a fine job of raising them.”

“Credit their mother for that. It’s been a struggle
for me just to keep them fed and schooled this past year, let alone dress them decently and teach them proper manners. They need the touch of a good woman at home.” He hesitated. “We all do.”

A good woman
, Anna thought, feeling the sting of his words like brine in a razor cut.
But certainly not this woman
!

Suddenly it was all too much. She wanted to wound him, to ravage his pride as he had ravaged hers. “So, how many others have their been?” she asked casually.

“What?” She felt him jerk.

“How many other women has your cousin, Mr. Wilkinson, sent down to you?” she pressed him. “How many others, before me, have left because they couldn’t measure up to the perfect wife you lost?”

Malachi’s body had gone rigid beneath her hands, and Anna knew she had pushed him too far. But then, what did it matter? She had endured the long, punishing ride on the freight wagon, the dust, the flies, the blinding desert sun, only to come face-to-face with a man who’d despised her on sight. A man who’d by turns ignored her, insulted her and treated her like a tramp. She was soaked, frozen, half-starved and so sore she could barely move without wincing. If he didn’t like her question, the high-minded Mr. Malachi Stone could go skin himself with a rusty hatchet!

“How many do you think?” She could almost hear his teeth grinding as he bit back his irritation.

“I asked you,” she shot back. “You certainly can’t expect me to guess about such a delicate matter.”

He growled something Anna couldn’t understand. “Blast it, you know you’re the first, don’t you?”

“The very first?” Anna feigned shock. “But surely not the last! Do you plan to try again and hope for better luck?”

“Not until I’ve wrung Stuart Wilkinson’s neck and hired myself a new matchmaker.”

“Why not give me that job?” Anna needled him. “I could find you the ideal wife! All I’d have to do is look for a woman the exact opposite of me—as big as a barn door, as strong as a lumberjack and as proper as a nun! Now that would be worth the fare to San Francisco, wouldn’t it?”

Malachi swore under his breath, probably thinking that he would cheerfully pay her passage to hell and back if she would just leave him alone. Surely a railroad ticket to California wouldn’t be too much to ask of him.

Anna was about to push her request once more when a glimmer of light, far below the road, caught her eye. She strained outward, peering down into the darkness of the canyon. Malachi, sensing her excitement, said quietly, “It’s the ferry. They’ve hung out the lantern.”

Both of them fell silent as they wound their way into the depths of the great chasm. Anna could hear the hissing rush of the swollen Colorado. She could feel the air warming around her, growing as damp and heavy as a muggy New Orleans night.

The mules, in their eagerness to be home, had broken into yet another bone-jarring trot. This time Malachi made no effort to hold them back. Anna clung grimly to his waist, her jaw clenched against the agony
of her strained hip joints and raw thighs. Drugged by exhaustion, she forced herself to stay awake, to think of the hot coffee and clean bed that would surely be waiting for her at the end of the ride. She would strip off her wet clothes, crawl between the sheets and sleep for hours—maybe for days. Malachi Stone had already declared their contract null and void. She was under no obligation to clean his house, cook his meals or wash his clothes. She could take her leisure while he repaired the road and the wagon. Then she could put this awful experience behind her once and for all.

The floor of the canyon had leveled out now, and the sound of the river was very close. Eight-foot clumps of spring willow and feathery tamarisk lined the road, obscuring whatever lay ahead. Minutes crawled by, each one an eternity, before Anna caught the flare of lamplight through the brush. An instant later her view opened wide, revealing a log fence with a lantern hung from a nail on one post. Beyond the fence, the light revealed shadowed glimpses of a barn, a corral, an open ramada and a rambling adobe house with a roof of Mexican tile.

As the mules clattered through the gate, the door of the house burst open, casting a long rectangle of light on the sandy ground. Silhouetted by that same light, two figures, one small and wiry, the other taller, willow-slim, stood framed by the doorway.

As they started forward, the smaller one bounding toward the gate like a terrier, the taller one—the girl—hesitant, hanging back, Anna’s heart shrank in
her chest. She had done her best to put this first confrontation out of her thoughts. But that was no longer possible. Ready or not, she was about to meet Malachi’s children.

A
nna saw that the girl was holding a lantern. She raised it high as her father pulled Beelzebub to a halt, but she made no move to come closer. As Malachi had mentioned, she was tall, nearly as tall as Anna herself. But she was as thin as a willow wand, her eleven-year-old figure just short of budding into womanhood. Her hair was braided into frizzy black pigtails, and the pale flannel nightgown she wore barely reached her knees.

“Papa?” The uncertain voice was thin and musical. “Papa, is that you?”

Anna heard Malachi’s low breath of relief as his body slackened. Only then did she realize how worried he had been about leaving his children alone—and how important it had been to find them a mother.

As the girl hesitated, lantern raised high, a smaller form shot past her like a Pawnee arrow. “Pa!” Only Malachi’s carefully extended boot kept the boy from running headlong into the mule’s legs. “Is she here? Did you bring her?”

Anna’s spirit shrank from the eagerness in his
young voice. She tried to avoid looking directly down at the boy, who appeared to be wearing nothing but one of his father’s old work shirts cut off at the sleeves. The long tails hung nearly to his small bare ankles.

“I brought her.” Malachi’s reply was flat and weary as he swung a leg forward over the mule’s neck and eased himself down the animal’s shoulder. Anna was left sitting alone on Beelzebub’s back with her skirts hiked above her knees. “Josh,” Malachi said without looking up at her, “this is Anna.”

The round, upturned eyes were dark brown and as friendly as a puppy’s. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Josh piped, ignoring Anna’s bedraggled hair and mud-soaked clothes. “Can I call you Ma yet?”

Anna’s mouth had gone chalky. She clung to the mule’s rain-slicked back, wishing she could melt into the darkness and disappear. She knew the boy was waiting for an answer, but for the life of her she could not speak the hurtful words.

In the awkward silence, the boy turned to his father. “Pa, can I call her—”

“Ma’am will do,” Malachi said gruffly. “She doesn’t plan on sticking around long enough to warrant being called Ma.” He turned and reached up to help Anna down from the mule. The hands he offered her were cool and rigid. His eyes were like silver flints in the lamplit darkness.

The boy edged backward as Anna slid wearily to the ground. She gazed straight ahead, trying not to look down at the small, dejected face, the drooping shoulders. Guilt gnawed at her. She willed herself to ignore it. The boy’s disappointment was Malachi’s
problem, not hers. All she wanted right now was a hot tub, some dry clothes and a good night’s sleep.

Malachi’s daughter had remained on the stoop, her shy gaze darting up, down, anywhere but directly at Anna. Only now, as she caught sight of Lucifer’s gashed flank, did she react. With a little cry she ran across the yard to the injured mule. She pressed close to the big, muddy animal, her long, white fingers probing the gashed flank. “What happened to him, Papa?” she demanded. “Is he badly hurt? Wait—I’ll get some salve.”

“I’ll see to the mules,” Malachi said curtly. “You show Anna inside, Carrie. Get her something to eat and show her to the privy if she needs it. Is her room ready?”

“Yes, Papa.” Carrie turned reluctantly from the mule and strode past Anna, head high, in the direction of the house. Anna followed the flash of white nightgown across the yard, her own legs raw and rubbery from the long ride. Clearly the girl did not want her here. But hostility was easier to handle than Josh’s puppyish need for affection, Anna reminded herself. She would not be here long. The less she entangled herself with Malachi’s children, the better for all concerned.

Dragging her tired feet, she crossed the low porch and stumbled over the threshold. One muddy hand groped the door frame as she staggered into the house, eyes blinking in the sudden brightness of a brass lantern that hung from the low ceiling. The house opened into a long common room, furnished with a heavy pine table in its center. One end was occupied by a cluttered kitchen, the other by a massive stone fireplace, three well-worn armchairs, a tall set of shelves
overflowing with books, and the piano Malachi had mentioned on the way down the trail. Three doorways opened along the far wall leading, Anna presumed, to the bedrooms. There would be one for Carrie, one for Joshua, and one—

Anna’s throat closed in an audible hiccup as the possibilities struck her. But no, the contract had specified that she would not be expected to share Malachi’s bed. Her sudden attack of stomach flutters was quite unwarranted.

“Are you hungry? There’s a pot of beans on the stove.” Carrie’s voice was strained, her posture tense. The full light showed magnolia skin and huge dark eyes that dominated her heart-shaped face. The girl would be a beauty one day, Anna mused, especially if she could outgrow the shyness that caused her to shrink into herself like a cornered animal.

“I’m too tired to be hungry,” Anna replied. “But some hot coffee might taste good.”

“I can make some.” Carrie turned hastily away and began rattling pans and utensils, making far more noise than necessary. Anna was on the verge of telling her not to bother with the coffee, but she held her tongue. The girl had lost her mother less than a year ago. It stood to reason that she would not take kindly to another woman in the house.

“You don’t have to worry about my taking your mother’s place, Carrie,” Anna said, warmed by impulse. “Your father and I have already agreed that this arrangement isn’t going to work. I’ll be leaving as soon as the road is cleared.”

Carrie did not answer. Her elbows jerked as she pumped water into an enameled coffeepot. Her pretty mouth was set in a grim scowl that made her look
startlingly like Malachi. Brooding, Anna surmised, seemed to run in the Stone family.

“Your father said something about a privy.” Anna did not really need one right now, but any excuse was better than standing here in the kitchen making polite, one-sided conversation with this sour child.

“Out the door and to your left. You won’t need a light. Just follow the path around the back of the shed.”

“Thank you.” Anna made a hasty exit, closing the screen door behind her. The yard lay muddy and trampled, silent beneath the moon, with no sign of Malachi, the boy or the mules. Welcoming the nighttime solitude she stepped off the porch and veered to the left.

Her steps slowed as she found the path and followed it through a stand of willows. Cricket songs filled the warm darkness. Anna could hear the rush of the river and smell the sweetness of rain-soaked earth. Above her, on all sides, the walls of the canyon rose like a towering fortress. Anna’s breath eased out in a long, ragged sigh. Her arms dropped to her sides, tension flowing out of her fingers. Here, for the first time in months she felt safe.

How long would it take Malachi to clear the wagon road? she wondered. How long before the chase began again, the haunted nights spent listening for the creak of a floorboard, the terror every time she walked down a public street, heart pounding with the fear that someone would recognize her? The sketch on the Wanted poster was taken from her performance picture—Anna DeCarlo in low-cut satin, her hair piled high on her head, her face artfully painted, her rhinestone earbobs sparkling with light. Her present, subdued
appearance had fooled Stuart Wilkinson. But it would not fool a seasoned bounty hunter. One chance encounter, one careless slip, and she would be hauled back to St. Joseph in irons to face Louis Caswell’s own brand of justice—and Anna’s instincts told her she would never live to tell her story in a court of law.

She had spent long hours speculating why Harry had been murdered. Caswell had all the earmarks of a lawman in the protection business. Had Harry threatened to expose him with evidence? Was that why the safe had been rifled? Had Caswell found what he was looking for?

Anna ran a hand through the muddy tangle of her hair, pushing it back from her face. She was tired of questions, long since sick of fear and uncertainty. But even here, in this deep, isolated canyon, there could be no refuge. Her time here would be nothing more than an all too brief respite from terror.

The path meandered through the willows, then curved back behind the barn. Lamplight danced and flickered through the open chinks between the boards. Anna heard murmur of voices and the low, wheezing snort of a mule. This, she swiftly realized, was where Malachi had taken Lucifer to dress his wounded side.

“Well, I don’t care what Carrie thinks. I say she’s pretty and I like her.” Joshua’s voice piped through the wall with bell-like clarity. “Why do you want her to leave, Pa?”

“I didn’t say I wanted her to leave.” Malachi’s shadow moved, blocking the light as he worked. “I said we talked it over and came to an agreement. Anna’s not the kind of woman who’d be happy in a place like this.”

“How did you know? Did she tell you?”

“She didn’t have to tell me.” Malachi muttered a curse as some unseen object clattered to the floor. “Blast it, Josh, she’s not what I expected, let alone what I wanted for you and Carrie. And I’d wager I’m not what she wanted, either. The only thing I can do now is clear the road, drive her back to Kanab and put her on the stage.”

The silence that followed Malachi’s outburst was broken only by the low, wet breathing of the mule. Anna stood frozen to the spot, knowing she should leave at once, but strangely unable to move.

“Well, why don’t you sleep with her for a while before you decide?” Josh’s voice cut through the stillness like the sound of a tin whistle.

Malachi first response was a half-strangled groan. Then, finding his voice, he demanded, “Who the devil put that idea into your head?”

“Eddie Johnson’s pa. When he was here this spring I heard him tell you that the only way to really get to know a woman was to sleep with her.”

“You’ve got big ears,” Malachi growled, “almost as big as Sam Johnson’s mouth.”

“But what about it?” Josh persisted with maddening innocence. “You slept with Ma. And Anna’s your wife now. What’s your bedroll doing laid out here in the tack room?”

Was Malachi grinding his teeth or had Anna only imagined hearing the sound? She bit her cheeks to hold back her amusement as she imagined Josh’s earnest eyes and Malachi’s reddening face.

“Pa?”

She heard the exasperated hiss of Malachi’s breath and waited tensely for the explosion that was bound
to follow. Instead, Malachi’s shadow moved lower against the light, as if he had dropped to his son’s eye level. When he spoke his voice was so low that she had to press close against the wall to hear him.

“Son, it isn’t that simple,” he said, stumbling over the words. “When a man and woman share the same bed it’s supposed to mean something.”

“Like what?”

“Like—” Malachi cleared his throat. “It’s like a promise, that they’ll always love each other and stay together. It means they want to be a family—”

“I slept with Cousin Katie when I was six and we went to her house,” Josh interjected. “I didn’t know it meant any of them things, or I’d have climbed out and slept on the floor.”

“Those things.” Malachi pounced on the grammar mistake like a drowning man clutching a life preserver. “It’s those things, not them things.”

“Those things,” Josh corrected himself. “But anyway, I don’t see what all the fuss is about sleeping with somebody.”

“You will when you’re older.” Malachi’s voice rasped with unease. “Anna and I aren’t much more than strangers. Even if she did plan to stay, I wouldn’t be sleeping with her anytime soon. I’d give her some time to get used to me.”

“Oh.” Josh sounded crestfallen. “But what you say can’t be true all the time. Eddie Johnson says there are ladies in Kanab who’ll sleep with anybody who pays them enough money. You don’t even have to—”

“That’s enough!” Malachi cut in irritably. “Hand me that big tin of salve, and stop asking so many questions.”

“But, Pa, how will I ever—”

“I said that’s enough. Go and see if Carrie needs any help with supper. Go on.”

Anna heard the boy moving away. Then he seemed to hesitate. “I didn’t mean any harm by it, Pa, saying you ought to sleep with her.”

“I know you didn’t son. Run along, now.” Tenderness muted Malachi’s voice. Anna pushed herself reluctantly away from the wall. She’d done enough eavesdropping for one night. It was time she found her way back inside before she stumbled into quicksand, got bitten by a snake or carried off by marauding bandits. Some women took wild, dangerous places in stride. Unfortunately, she was not one of them.

Malachi’s tender, stumbling words echoed in her memory as she picked her way through the mud. Would she ever meet a man to whom lovemaking was a promise, a vow to stay together forever and build a family? Not likely, Anna reminded herself. Such blessings came to women who deserved them, not women who’d made the kinds of mistakes she’d made—and certainly not women who were wanted for murder.

Had she taken a wrong turn? Anna gasped in sudden surprise as she stumbled into a muddy hole and felt water seeping into her fragile kidskin boots. The swollen river had spread into the willows here, rousing myriads of small creatures that squeaked and splashed in the darkness. To her left, the massive trunk of a dead tree, its roots likely drowned in some long-ago flood, rose against the sky like a gnarled and twisted hand. She would have remembered such a tree
if she’d come this way before. Clearly, she had stumbled onto the wrong path.

As she turned to go back the other way, she heard, on the wind, the now familiar call of a coyote. Faint though it was, the sheer lonesomeness of it prickled the skin on the back of her neck. It was only an animal sound, she knew, but that long, haunting wail seemed to contain all the sorrows of the world. It seemed to rise from the very depths of her own battered, frightened heart.

She listened, her throat tightening as the sound faded away. Then, lifting the sodden remnant of her skirt, she began trudging back along the path. The smell of coffee drifted to her nostrils on the night wind. Giddy with relief, Anna sucked the rich aroma into her senses. Yes, this was the way back. Minutes from now she would be sitting in the warm, cluttered kitchen, holding a hot mug and laughing at her own foolishness.