Bride On The Run (Historical Romance) (5 page)

And yes, by heaven, she would survive this experience. As soon as the road was open she would be gone. She would put this place and this great, brooding hulk of a man behind her and she would never look back. California lay ahead of her with its glittering promise of fame, fortune and freedom. All that and more—maybe even happiness.

She squared her shoulders and began to sing.

“Love, oh, love, oh careless love. Love, oh—”

The song died in her throat as a shaggy, wolf-like form parted the willows ahead of her and glided into the open.

What was it?

Panic rose in Anna’s throat as the creature lowered its head and padded toward her, snarling as it came.
She forced her leaden limbs to move, to turn her body and propel it back along the path to her only known chance of safety—the tree.

She ran, gasping with terror and effort, her boots splashing water, her arms stretching, her muscles tensing for one last, desperate leap.

As Joshua’s footsteps faded into the night, Malachi sagged against the workbench. His stomach felt knotted and his knees were as wobbly as a newborn calf’s. The conversation with his son had undone him in a way that he could never have imagined. What business did Sam Johnson and his tobacco-chewing teenage son have, putting such ideas into the head of an innocent boy like Joshua? Josh was only eight, barely out of diapers, or so it seemed. What had happened to the years? Where had they gone?

With an impatient sigh, he jammed the cap onto the tin of Hoskins’ Salve and began gathering up the bloodstained rags he’d used to clean Lucifer’s wound. The mule’s wet coat steamed in the darkness, filling the barn with the odors of blood and animal heat. A bead of sweat broke and trickled down the hollow of Malachi’s neck. He could smell his own sweat, rank beneath his filthy clothes.

Hellfire, had he really meant what he’d told Josh about sleeping with a woman? Or had his words been nothing but self-righteous, hypocritical drivel? Back there on the trail, when he’d held Anna in his arms and felt his flesh rise and harden against her, he’d wanted nothing more than to take her then and there, to fling her on her back, part her thighs and bury himself to the hilt in the moist satin depths of her. Even now, as he thought of her, Malachi felt his body
respond, making lies of all his high-sounding words. Even now he wanted her—wanted those slim, pale legs wrapping around his hips while he drowned himself in her sweet hot honey with no thought of promises, tomorrows or honorable intentions.

He would not do it, of course. He was seeking a mother for his children, not a fast, easy roll in the hay. And any entanglement with Anna, or whatever her real name was, would be a sure recipe for regret. The woman was nothing but a tawny-haired, curvaceous bundle of trouble. For his children’s sake and his own, the sooner he sent her packing, the better.

The mule snorted and rubbed its head against a timber, sending down a shower of loose bark. Malachi blew out the lantern and let the animal into the corral with the other stock. Only as he was turning back toward the house did he realize that the dog, who usually hung close at his heels, was nowhere in sight.

“Doubtful?” He whistled softly, the sound blending with the shrill night music of frogs and crickets. “Doubtful? Here, boy!”

There was no answering yelp from the big wolf-shepherd cross he’d bought as a half-starved pup from band of wandering Paiutes. Maybe Doubtful had taken off after a gray fox or a rabbit. Or maybe he’d simply followed Josh to the house and was waiting on the porch. Doubtful was a one-man dog, but he tolerated the children and took it as his duty to protect them. Malachi encouraged that protectiveness, knowing it might well save their lives one day.

“Doubtful?” He whistled again, his instincts stirring cautiously. If the dog had been close by, he would be here by now. Something had drawn him away.

Malachi took a moment to fetch the loaded Winchester rifle from the shed. Then, with the weapon cocked and ready, he slipped through the willows and onto the path that meandered down toward the flooded river.

Anna was still not sure how she’d managed to clamber up the dead tree. She was even less sure how long the dry limb from which she hung, gripping with both arms and legs, would hold her before it snapped under her weight, sending her plummeting down into the jaws of the beast that paced the ground below. As long as she kept still, the wolfish animal remained quiet and calm. But every time she stirred in an effort to ease the strain on her limbs, the awful creature would lunge upward, snarling and snapping, its fangs tearing at the hem of her skirt. She knew she should scream for help, but her throat was so constricted with fear that she could manage little more than a whimper. Even if she were able to shout, Anna realized, the sound of her voice would likely be lost amid the rush and tumble of the Colorado.

The creature glared up at her, its pale eyes reflecting miniature moons in the darkness. Was it a wolf, a very large coyote or some hellish denizen of the canyon, unknown to the outside world? Anna had no wish to find out. She only knew that her hands were bleeding and her arms were getting weaker by the minute. It would only be a matter of time before she lost her grip and fell.

“Doubtful!” Malachi’s low voice came from somewhere beyond the willows, barely rising above the sound of the river. Anna’s pulse leaped. Clutching
the limb, she filled her lungs with air and poured her remaining strength into one desperate cry.

“
Malachi
!”

She could hear his boots splattering water as he ran toward her. For an instant she glimpsed the flash of moonlight on metal. Relief gushed through her body, leaving her weak. Malachi was coming. He had a gun. He would shoot the monster and she would be safe.

The willows rustled as Malachi burst into sight, then stopped in his tracks. The next sound Anna heard was the deep rumble of his laughter.

“Doubtful, you old rascal, what have you treed here? Is it a fox, or maybe a wildcat?”

The creature that had been threatening Anna’s life turned and bounded toward him, tail wagging. Anna was so astounded she almost let go of the limb. The slavering beast was a dog—a blasted pet!

Malachi walked to the foot of the tree and stood scowling up at her. “It’s a mite dark for tree climbing, wouldn’t you say?”

“This isn’t funny!” Anna gripped the rough bark, her nails jagged and broken, her palms bleeding. “Your shaggy friend there tried to attack me!”

“Doubtful’s just doing his job. He’d have done the same to any stranger he caught sneaking around in the dark. You should’ve stayed close to the house. What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“That,” Anna snapped, “is no question to ask a lady! But then, you’ve never thought of me as a lady, have you?”

Malachi ignored her question. He stood scratching the wretched dog’s ears, as if to show her how gentle the beast really was—but only with people worthy of trust. “If you’re talking about the privy, that path
branches off twenty yards back,” he said. “This is the path to the bathing place.”

“The bathing place?” Anna blinked in disbelief, almost losing her hold. “You’re saying you don’t even have a bathtub in this miserable place?”

“We’ve got the biggest tub in these parts—the Colorado River. But it’ll be no good for bathing till the flood goes down. Too muddy. If you want to wash, you’ll have to do it at the pump.” He gazed thoughtfully up at her, his fingers working the thick fur at the crest of the dog’s neck. “So, do you plan on spending the night in that tree? I’d be happy to fetch you a quilt.”

Anna clenched her teeth, biting back a hot retort. She was at his mercy. He knew it, and he was toying with her, making a game of her humiliation. As soon as she got her feet on the ground Malachi Stone would pay. He would pay for every taunting, sarcastic word!

“Well?” he asked, waiting.

“I can’t get down,” she muttered.

“What’s that? I couldn’t quite make it out.”

“Damn it, look at me!” Anna exploded despite her resolve to hold her tongue. “I’m hanging from this branch like a blasted possum, and there’s nothing else for me to grab! If I try to climb down, I’ll fall!”

“Then fall, Anna.” Malachi spoke so softly that she could barely hear him above the sound of the river. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had lowered the rifle to the ground and was holding out his arms beneath her. “Let go,” he said. “I’ll catch you.”

Anna clung stubbornly to the branch, her pain-numbed fingers weakening by the second. “No,” she
said, grinding out the words. “You’re still teasing me! You’ll let me fall. I’ll land in the mud, and even if I don’t break my neck, I’ll be at the mercy of that snarling monster you call Doubtful!”

Malachi exhaled wearily. “You,” he said, “are the most mule-headed woman I ever met in my life! Just let go. Do it now.”

Anna willed herself to disobey him, but her fingers had grown so slippery and sore that they could no longer hold her weight beneath the branch. Little by little she felt her grip weakening. At last, with a furious little cry, she lost her hold altogether. The moon spun in her head as she plummeted down, down into the uncertain darkness below.

She felt the shock as he caught her, and for a moment she could only lie still, gasping for breath. His chest was as hard as an anvil, and the musky, sensual man scent of his body made her head swim. True to his word, Malachi had not let her fall. Here in his arms she was as safe as she had ever been in her rough, tumultuous life.

So why did she suddenly feel so vulnerable? Why was she shaking like a newborn calf, her eyes blinking back hysterical tears?

She reminded herself how he had taunted her while she clung to the tree, how she had vowed to make him pay for everything he said. Where was her anger now? Why wasn’t she clawing the wretched man’s eyes out?

Her hand lay lightly on his chest. Beneath her palm Anna could feel the steady drumming of his heart like the cadence of an army marching to battle. Her own pulse leaped and skittered erratically. She felt like a child in his arms, he was so large, so powerful.

“Are you all right?” he murmured thickly.

“I—think so.” She groped for the simplest words, struggling to reconnect the link between her mind and her tongue. “Just shaken, I think.”

“I can put you down.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “Yes, I know.”

The coyote’s mournful call rose again from a distant mesa, the sound echoing down the moonlit hollow of the canyon. Anna fought its melancholy spell, fought its power to tug at her heart. She needed no one, she reminded herself, least of all this man who held her as if she’d been dipped in snake venom. He had insulted her, humiliated her, dragged her through rain, mud and danger to a place fit for nothing but lizards, coyotes and vultures. All of this for a oneway ticket back to Salt Lake City.

Yes, she would hurt him. She would make Malachi Stone curse the day of his birth. And she would start now, by doing the very thing he feared most.

Driven by cold rage—and a simmering desire that even she could not deny—Anna slid her hand up Malachi’s chest to his shoulder, then, with a quick motion, hooked the back of his neck and jerked his head down toward her face. Before he could react, her moist, yielding lips had captured his mouth in a kiss calculated to melt granite.

She felt the resistance in him, the rigid lips, the straining muscles. Then, as she’d hoped, need overcame pride. With a low moan he crushed her in his arms. His hot, hungry mouth opened to hers, demanding, devouring, awakening responses that surged through her body like rivers of heat. Fighting for self-control, Anna willed the tip of her tongue to invade his mouth in tiny, darting licks, like a bee seeking
moisture. Once again he moaned. His arms tightened around her, molding her to his chest as he claimed that tongue, drawing it deeper, meeting its thrust with his own.

Anna felt the seething heat in her body, and she realized, with a shock of dismay, that she was no longer the one in charge. Malachi was master now, and, heaven save her, she needed this man. He was her lawful husband, and her whole being ached for what he alone could give her.

Her hands raked his hair, pulling him deeper, demanding more. His breath rasped as his hand skimmed her thigh. Then, as if sensing he had gone too far, he stiffened against her. She felt his resistance return, felt the pride and self-righteousness that would not let him cross the line he had drawn between them. She felt his loathing as, with a single rough gesture, he tore her away from him and set her firmly on the ground.

Anna swayed dizzily, the darkness surrounding her like a clammy blanket. Frog and cricket calls shrilled in her head, an irritating blur of sound. She looked up to find Malachi glaring down at her, his eyes as hard as flints.

“How many men have you kissed like that, Anna?” he said in a flat, cold voice. “And how much did they pay you for more?”

T
he sting of Malachi’s words was as sharp and raw as if he’d slashed her across the face with a razor.

Reeling with shock, Anna stared up at him. Her throat moved in an effort to form words, but no sound emerged from her mouth. She was choking on her own pain and rage. What if she were to tell him the truth about herself? Would he believe her, or would he simply hog-tie her like an animal and haul her off to the nearest lawman to claim the reward?

Malachi’s eyes glittered with contempt beneath the jutting crags of his brows. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, slurring the words as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. His lips were still wet and swollen from their soul-searing kiss. “How much did they pay you, Anna? If I get desperate enough I may make you an offer—strictly business, you understand.”

She struck him then. The slap resounded like the blow of an ax on a hickory log, stinging her hand as smartly as it stung his the side of his face. Malachi showed no more response than a granite pillar. He
stood without moving, one restraining hand on the dog’s neck, as Anna pushed furiously past him and fled back up the path.

The house would be enemy territory as well, she knew. But at least, for the children’s sake, there would be a veneer of civility. Malachi would not say such terrible things in front of his son and daughter.

The lamplight glowed yellow through the hot blur of her tears. She stumbled onto the porch and bent briefly to unlace and remove her mud-caked boots. The aromas of beans, onions and coffee wafted through the open doorway, but Anna’s stomach was a clenched knot. The very thought of eating made her feel ill.

She stepped into the kitchen, conscious of her blazing face, her wantonly bruised lips. Would Malachi’s children guess what had happened when they saw her? Would they say anything?

Carrie glanced up from washing dishes. “Coffee’s ready,” she said, turning swiftly back to her task. “There’s a cup and saucer on the table.”

“Thank you, but I’m not feeling well,” Anna murmured, keeping to the far side of the kitchen in hope that the girl would not notice her appearance. “If you’ll point out my room, I’ll just go on to bed.”

“It’s the one nearest to the fireplace.” Josh spoke up from the table where he was hunched over a page of arithmetic problems, working them laboriously on his slate. “Carrie laid out one of Pa’s clean nightshirts for you, since you don’t appear to have brought along any clothes. Wherever you came from, you must be pretty hard up. But Pa won’t mind that. He says he’s not looking for a wife with money.”

“My trunk is in the wagon.” Anna would have laughed under happier circumstances. “Your father will be bringing it down tomorrow. But the nightshirt will do for now, thank you kindly.” She slunk along the wall, wanting only to reach the bedroom before Malachi came into the house. Her spirits sank when Josh pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

“I’ll show you the way,” he said. “You’re a guest, and we have to be polite to you. That’s what Pa said.”

“He also said you were to finish your schoolwork before bedtime,” Carrie put in sharply. “You’ve dawdled over it too long already.”

“I’ll only be a minute.” Josh came bounding over to Anna wearing a friendly grin that drove a barb of guilt into her heart. The boy was her only ally in this place, she knew. But right now she would have gladly traded him for a bevy of backstabbing enemies.

“This way, ma’am.” He ushered her toward a wide, hand-hewn pine door with iron hinges and a handle made from a section of curving tree root. The door swung open to reveal a simple, almost monkish room from which every trace of femininity had been stripped. The single high window was bare of curtains and shuttered against the night. The tall mirrored wardrobe was missing a door on one side and appeared to be empty. The massive double bed was made from skillfully joined pine logs which had been stripped of their bark and polished to the sheen and hue of wild honey. Someone had once lavished time and attention on that bed. Had it been Malachi?

The quilt that served as a coverlet was, in contrast, a dark piecing of squares cut from what looked to be
old winter coats. It lay slightly askew on the bed, as if the person who’d laid it there had not cared enough to straighten it. Carrie, perhaps?

A long flannel nightshirt, stiff from washing and faded to the color of river mud, lay across the foot of the bed. At least it looked clean, as did the pewter pitcher and matching basin that sat on the washstand with a folded cloth beside it. Beside the basin sat the only touch of color in the room—a wilting bouquet of crimson wildflowers arranged in an empty bitters bottle.

“I picked them myself,” Joshua said, “for you.”

The cold barb of guilt twisted deeper into Anna’s heart. Tears scalded her eyes. She blinked them swiftly away before the boy could see. Why had she come to this place, to stumble so ineptly into the lives of these people? She’d have been better off taking her chances with the bounty hunters!

“There’s clean pump water in the pitcher so you can wash up,” Joshua said. “If you need anything else, just call me. Pa won’t be able to hear you, since he’s sleeping outside. But I will. My room’s just through that wall.”

Anna swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. Why couldn’t this love-hungry little boy have gotten the mother he needed? Someone warm and open and competent, instead of a jaded saloon singer on the run from the law? “Thank you,” she said, choking slightly on the words. “I’ll remember that.”

“Joshua Stone, you get in here and finish your take-aways, or you know what Papa will say!” Carrie’s strained, young voice called from the kitchen. Anna struggled to ignore a jab of pity. Malachi’s
daughter had too much responsibility for her tender age. A girl like Carrie needed fun and pretty dresses and the laughter of friends. She needed time to enjoy her growing-up years, instead of being shoved into adulthood as Anna herself had been. What would become of her if no one cared enough to ease her way?

“Joshua—” Carrie’s voice carried an implied threat.

“Coming!” The boy scampered out of the room, leaving Anna to latch the door and sink wearily down on the edge of the bed. No, she admonished herself, she could not allow herself to get involved with these appealing youngsters. She could not allow herself to look at their father and wonder what he really needed in a woman. Tomorrow, or surely the day after, she would be gone from this miserable place. She could not afford to leave any part of herself behind—least of all her heart.

Aching with weariness, she stood up, stripped off her muddy gown and petticoat and let them drop in a sodden circle around her feet. Long thorn scratches and itchy red mosquito bites covered her arms. She wet the washcloth and, starting with her face and neck, began to scrub away the worst of the mess. Once, turning, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. The face of a wild-woman stared back at her, eyes laced with red and sunk into dark pools of exhaustion, hair plastered to her skull except for a few mud-stiffened locks that stood straight out from her head.

Anna jumped back with a startled gasp. Then, as she recognized herself, she broke into silent, half-hysterical laughter. What a mess she was! She’d probably
scared Malachi Stone half to death when she’d kissed him. Well, so much the better!

Her hand still stung from the vehement slap she’d delivered to his face. Malachi had deserved that slap and more. If she could apologize, it would only be for not having hit him harder.

Anna shuddered, remembering those contemptuous eyes and the words that had sent her reeling. No, she could not leave this place too soon. Coming here had been just one more mistake in a life filled with mistakes. Another bad dream in a life filled with nightmares.

Gingerly she peeled her underclothes and stockings off her bruised body. Her feet, skin puckered from the dampness, were so sensitive that she winced when they came in contact with the plank floor.

Malachi’s flannel nightshirt was rough against her bare skin, but Anna was too tired to care. She used the washcloth to sponge as much mud as she could from her hair. Then she blew out the lamp, crawled between the worn sheets and closed her eyes. Through the gathering fog of sleep, she heard the heavy tread of Malachi’s boots in the kitchen and his deep voice speaking to the children. Then the darkness swirled around her and she sank gratefully into it.

The crow of a rooster woke Anna from a slumber so heavy that her memory of the night seemed no longer than a breath. She jerked awake, eyes wide-open, muscles tensed for flight. Only as she remembered where she was did she allow herself to sink back onto the pillow and ease into the morning.

The bedroom was dim, but bright sunlight filtering through a crack between the shutters told her the morning was well along. Where were Malachi and the children? Why hadn’t anyone awakened her?

She sat up groggily, her hair spilling over the shoulders of Malachi’s old nightshirt. The garment all but drowned her petite body, neck askew, sleeves hanging over her hands. Impatiently she pushed the cuffs up to her elbows and flung back the coverlet. Ready or not, it was time she got up and faced the day.

Her sore muscles screamed as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. So much for riding bareback astride a mule. Likely as not she’d be hobbling around like an old woman all day.

Grimacing, she groped for her clothes, only to discover that her dress and underthings were gone. Only a damp spot on the plank floor marked the spot where she’d left them. Someone, it appeared, had stolen into the room and gathered them up to be laundered. Carrie, Anna surmised, since she could not imagine either Malachi or the boy doing such a thing. It was an embarrassing act of kindness, proving as it did, her own utter uselessness. But the least she could do was go outside and express her thanks.

Steeling herself for the next encounter with Malachi, Anna squared her shoulders, padded stiffly through the empty kitchen, hobbled out onto the porch and stopped short, stunned by what she saw.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the canyon in full daylight. Rocky walls rose upward on all sides to crest in towering buttes and pinnacles in shades of fawn, gray, mauve and terra cotta. Their
size dwarfed the house to the proportion of a toy, the people and animals to the size of ants. Even the river was no more than a chocolate ribbon, trailing through the narrow lowland, cutting ever deeper on its slow journey into the depths of the earth.

High above, billowing white clouds drifted in a sky of pure turquoise. Their moving shadows cast a kaleidoscope of subtly changing color on the rocks—lavenders deepening to umber, browns brightening to gold. A pair of ravens, inky black etchings against the brightness, spiraled on updrafts of warm air.

A low growl jerked Anna’s attention back to earth. Malachi’s big wolf dog crouched in the dooryard a dozen paces away, its teeth bared and its ears laid flat against its massive head.

Anna’s throat had gone dry, but she willed herself not to back away. The beast was tame, she reminded herself. She had seen Malachi scratching its ears. Last night she had panicked, but no common cur was going to make a fool of her a second time.

Looking into the wild, pale eyes, she reached to one side and picked up a stick of firewood from a stack on the porch. Not that she planned to use it as a weapon—Anna had a higher regard for animals than she did for most people. But she did want the dog to know that she was through being intimidated.

“Easy boy,” she coaxed, stepping off the porch. “Let’s make a truce. You don’t growl at me, and I won’t run when you come around. What do you say?”

She took a tentative step forward, the firewood held lightly at her side. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “I’m not asking for love. Just a bit of civility.”

The dog lowered its head. A warning growl rumbled in its throat. Then, suddenly, it lunged, snapping and snarling with such fury that Anna dropped the firewood and staggered backward, stumbling against the edge of the porch.

“Doubtful! Shame on you!” Carrie came out of the willows carrying a basket of wet laundry. The dog broke off his attack and bounded to her side, romping like an overgrown pup.

“Please tell your dog I’m not a prowler,” Anna said. “He still doesn’t seem to know that.”

“You shouldn’t have threatened him.” Carrie scowled down at the fallen chunk of wood. “Doubtful doesn’t like being challenged.”

“I wasn’t threatening him last night.” Anna struggled to her feet, hot-faced and irritated.

“But you were sneaking around in the dark. Papa told me all about it.”

All
? Anna wondered, deciding she wouldn’t lay bets on that likelihood. “Where’s your father now?” she asked, rubbing a bruised hip through the long nightshirt.

“Papa went up the road at first light to get the wagon.” Carrie shifted the laundry basket to one hip. “He took Josh along to help with the mules—not that Josh is all that much help. But at least, without him around to pester me, I can get some work done.” She adjusted the basket once more, then turned and strode around the corner of the house, the dog frisking ahead of her.

“Let me help you!” Anna burst out impulsively. She had planned to keep her distance from the children,
but suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was sit idle until Malachi returned with the wagon.

The sharp rocks bruised her bare feet as she sprinted around the house. Catching up with Carrie, she snatched the basket from the girl’s awkward grasp. “I’ll take this,” she said. “It’s too heavy for you.”

“I carry it all the time,” Carrie retorted. “And I don’t need any help.”

“Maybe not, but I could use some company. Where’s the clothesline?”

“Over there, between those two trees.” Carrie pointed indifferently. “But you don’t have to work. You’re a guest.”

“I know. But even as a guest, I like to pull my own weight.” Anna flinched as her heel came down on the tip of a cactus spine. The dog had circled back to sniff her legs and growl.

“That’s enough, Doubtful.” Carrie spoke sharply and the dog veered away. “If he was going to bite you, he’d have done it by now,” she said. “He’s probably just curious.”