The Horseman's Bride (4 page)

Would it matter if he died trying?

The whistle shrilled a deafening blast. The stallion screamed, leaping and twisting in terror. Flung out of the saddle, Jace felt himself flying, falling, tumbling toward the rushing wheels
…

He woke with a jerk, damning the dream that haunted so many of his nights. The room was dark, the stars glowing faintly through the gauzy curtains. His body felt chilled, his skin paper dry. Only when he tried to sit up and felt pain shoot down his arm did he remember the knife wound and how he’d come by it.

Sinking back onto the pillow, he eased himself to full awareness. He was lying on the bed in Mary’s sewing room, where she’d insisted he stay. A lacy crocheted afghan covered his legs. His shirt was cut away and his boots were missing, but otherwise he was fully dressed.

The rank herbal odor of the poultice seeped through the dressing on his shoulder. Whatever Mary had concocted out of those mysterious jars had yet to work its
wonders. The soreness was no worse, but he was beginning to chill. Not a good sign.

Damnation, what a time to be laid up!

Too uncomfortable to go back to sleep, he slid his legs off the couch and pushed himself to his feet. The light-headedness was better, but Jace felt disoriented, like a child awakening in a strange room.

Somehow he needed to get out of here.

His boots were nowhere to be found. For all he knew, Mary could have hidden them to keep him from leaving. Stocking footed, he padded to the front door, opened it quietly and stepped out onto the porch.

The gibbous moon rode low in the west but the sky was still dark, the stars still bright. Insect-seeking bats swished through the moonlight. From the brushy hillside beyond the pasture, the plaintive cry of a coyote rose and faded into stillness.

Someone had put the stallion in the corral with Mary’s two geldings. He could make out their shifting forms and hear the soft snorting sounds they made as they dozed. He’d be smart to saddle up and leave now—ride off into the peaceful darkness with no one the wiser. He could make his way into the hills, maybe find somewhere to hole up until he felt strong enough to move on.

It was a tempting idea, but not a practical one. He would need his boots, and he didn’t want to leave without the .38 Smith & Wesson. He recalled seeing the gun on the porch, but it was no longer there. The knife and the .22 taken from the robbers had been put away as well.

Leaning on the porch rail, Jace stared out into the darkness. Tomorrow would be Wednesday, the day Mary had said she made her weekly trip to town. What were the odds she would see the marshal there and mention the robbery attempt? And what were the odds the marshal would show her his collection of Wanted posters to see if there was anyone who looked familiar?

The posters were out there—in the big towns, at least. Jace had seen one himself. He looked like a dandy in a suit, vest and tie, his hair and mustache immaculately trimmed.

He had since shaved off the mustache and let his hair grow longer. Even so, his picture would be easy enough to recognize. When Mary discovered her new hired man was wanted for murder, all hell was bound to break loose.

He would wait until she’d left for town, Jace resolved. As soon as she was out of sight, he would find his boots and pistol, pack his bedroll, saddle his horse and make tracks. By the time Mary returned, with or without the law, he’d be long gone.

As for the luscious Miss Seavers, she’d be disappointed about the stallion. But even a face as pretty as hers wasn’t worth the risk of getting arrested. Clara would just have to find herself another stud.

The cool night wind raised goose bumps on his bare skin. A shiver passed through his body as he turned away from the rail. A few more hours of sleep might be a good idea. He was going to need his strength tomorrow.

The coyote howled again, a lonely, distant sound
like the far-off whistle of a train. The cry echoed in Jace’s ears as he went back inside and closed the door.

By the time Clara finished her breakfast, the sun had risen above the peaks. She whistled snatches of a ragtime tune as she tied the two mares into a lead rope and saddled Tarboy, the steady black gelding she would ride. If things went as hoped, by this time next year she’d have two of the finest foals in the county.

The mares, Belle and Jemima, usually came into estrus at the same time. The changes in their bodies tended to make them cranky. Jemima became a biter when she was in season. Belle’s specialty was digging in her hooves and refusing to be led. Today, both of them were their usual sweet selves, a sign that nature had yet to take its course.

“Just wait till you see who’s waiting for you, ladies,” Clara chattered as she checked the knots. “If this handsome fellow doesn’t make your hearts flutter—”

“Clara, what in heaven’s name are you up to?” Her mother stood in the doorway of the barn. The stern expression on her face was one Clara knew all too well.

Lying, she knew, would only get her in more trouble. “I’m on my way to Grandma’s,” she said. “There’s a man doing some work for her, and he has this beautiful stallion. I’m taking the mares over there and leaving them to be bred.”

“A man? A stranger?” Hannah was instantly on the alert. “What’s he doing there?”

“Just some fixing and mending. He came by last
week looking for work. He seems trustworthy enough, and Grandma seems to like him.”

“But a stranger off the road! Why didn’t she let us know she needed help?”

“You know how Grandma is. Sometimes she likes to do things on her own.”

“Yes, I know. I’d go over there myself, right now, but the seamstress is coming in half an hour to measure Katy for three new dresses. That girl is growing so fast, I can’t keep her in clothes.” Hannah made a little huffing sound. “After that I’ll be driving into town for a meeting of the Women’s League. We’ve already started planning the July Fourth celebration. What’s this hired man like?”

“He’s a perfect gentleman, Mama. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.” Clara avoided her mother’s eyes. Sometimes a daughter had to fudge a little.

“Well, do be careful, dear. You mustn’t allow yourself to be alone with the man. That could be dangerous.” She turned back toward the house, then paused. “Katy’s going with me to visit her friend Alice. I’ll expect to see you here when I get home.”

“Certainly, Mama. Don’t worry about me.”

Clara sagged with relief as her mother walked back to the house. Why did her parents have to treat her like a child? She was nineteen and already doing her share of the ranch work. She broke and trained the horses, looked after things in the tack room and helped with the roping, branding and herding when her father was
shorthanded. She even knew how to manage the accounts. Yet her mother was still telling her where she could go and what time to be home.

Her parents loved her, Clara reminded herself. They had nearly lost her on that long-ago visit to San Francisco, and they’d never gotten over it. How could she blame them for wanting to keep her safe?

Pushing the thought aside, she mounted Tarboy and rode out of the barn with the mares trailing behind. It was a relief that she didn’t need to sneak. Her mother knew where she was going and why. But the hidden secrets were already weaving their web—the two robbers, Tanner’s injury, her own suspicions and her compelling attraction to a man who had trouble written all over him.

This morning the sky was overcast, with sooty clouds brooding above the peaks. As Clara took the horses across the pasture, a flock of blackbirds rose from the grass, swirling and sweeping like the folds of a magician’s cloak. Their harsh twittering filled her ears as they circled north to settle on a neighbor’s freshly plowed field.

Maybe she should share her suspicions with her grandmother, Clara thought. Mary liked and trusted Tanner. She would probably dismiss what she was told. But she needed to be alerted to the holes in Tanner’s story. Otherwise he might take advantage of her kindness and the old woman could end up being hurt. If that happened after Clara failed to speak up, she would have no one to blame but herself.

She would talk to Mary as soon as she could get her alone, Clara resolved. She wasn’t looking forward to broaching the subject of Tanner, but it had to be done.

Only as she reached the opening in the fence did she remember that today was Wednesday, Mary’s marketing day. Mary liked to hitch up her buggy and leave early to get to town, do her errands and visit a few friends. Unless she’d stayed home to look after Tanner, she could already be gone.

And if Mary was gone, Tanner would be there alone.

Clara held the horses to a brisk walk, but her pulse had begun to gallop. The memory of those eyes riveting hers, demanding an unspoken promise, triggered a blaze of heat from the core of her body. She felt the burn in her belly, in her tingling breasts and hot cheeks.

Don’t be a fool!
she lashed herself. Tanner wasn’t like the boys she flirted with at summer dances. He was a man—a secretive and dangerous man. She’d do well to heed her mother’s advice and stay away from him.

On the far side of the pasture she could see her grandmother’s farm. If Mary wasn’t there, Clara resolved, she would deliver the mares to the paddock, turn the stallion in with them and check on Tanner’s whereabouts. If she spoke with him at all, it would be the briefest exchange. After that she would take her leave and go home.

On approach, her grandmother’s place looked even quieter than usual. Only one horse, Mary’s dun gelding, remained in the corral. The other gelding and the stallion were missing.

Perplexed, Clara rode into the farmyard. Mary must have taken the second gelding—she needed just one horse for her old buggy. But where was Galahad? Surely Tanner wouldn’t have ridden the stallion into town. If he was sick enough to need a doctor, Mary would have taken him in the buggy.

Dismounting, she hitched Tarboy to a fence post, led the mares into the empty paddock and untied their lead ropes. The feeling that something was wrong nagged at her as she strode across the yard.

As she mounted the porch steps, a new and ghastly possibility struck her. What if the two road bandits had returned? With Tanner drugged and sleeping, they could have overpowered Mary, recovered their weapons, ransacked the house and left with the two horses.

What would she find inside the house? Sick with dread, she opened the door and stepped into the shadows.

The parlor was cool and silent, with nothing out of place. Mary’s shotgun was missing, but she often took it with her, tucked under the seat for emergencies. Likewise, the kitchen was in order, the table cleared, the breakfast dishes washed and put away. A glance into Mary’s open bedroom revealed a neatly made bed. The door to the room where Tanner had slept was closed.

Heart pounding, Clara opened the door far enough to see into the small sewing room. The rumpled bed was empty. The pungent odor of Mary’s poultice lingered in the quiet air.

Tanner was gone.

W
heeling in her tracks, Clara raced back outside. Maybe the barn would give her some answers. If the buggy was gone, she could be reasonably sure that Mary was on her way to town. And if Tanner’s gear was missing…

As the pieces slid into place, her worry turned to a simmering anger. It was the only explanation that made sense. The wretched man had waited until Mary left. Then he’d packed his things and hit the road, taking the stallion with him.

So help her, she would hunt him to the ends of the earth!

The barn door stood ajar. Seething, Clara flung it open and strode inside. The first thing she noticed was the absence of the buggy. The second thing she saw was Galahad, standing in the open space between the door and the stalls. He was bridled and saddled, with Tanner’s bedroll lashed into place behind the cantle.

The stallion snorted at her approach. His elegant
head jerked upward, a hint that something was wrong. Moving slowly, Clara held out her hand and spoke in a soothing voice. “It’s all right, boy. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I’ll just—”

The words died in her throat as she caught a glimpse of a plaid shirt and saw the long, still form lying facedown in the straw.

It was Tanner.

For an awful moment she thought he’d been trampled. But as she dropped to a crouch beside him, she saw no sign of hoof marks, bruising or blood. A light touch of her palm on his back confirmed that he was breathing, but his body felt surprisingly warm. The back of his neck was flushed above the soft flannel collar.

She took a moment to lead the stallion to a safe distance, then crouched beside him again. “Tanner!” She shook his uninjured shoulder and heard a feeble groan in response. “Tanner, wake up!” He muttered something she couldn’t understand. Maybe the man was delirious.

“Come on! I’ve got to get you back in the house, and I can’t do it without your help!” Working her hands beneath him, she rolled him onto his back. He groaned again. His eyes blinked open. There was a flicker of recognition.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

“You’re sick, Tanner. I’m guessing you passed out. You’ve got to get up.” Seizing his hand, she tried to pull him. He shook free of her clasp.

“I can do it,” he growled, bracing on his good arm and working his legs beneath his hips. Clara bit back the impulse to rail at him for trying to leave. Tanner would get an earful later on, when she judged he was out of danger.

If he survived.

He staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunkard. His face was flushed, his skin dry. With a puncture wound, fever was the worst of signs.

“Can you walk?” she asked him.

Tanner’s jaw tightened. He took two steps. On the third step, his knee buckled and he stumbled forward. Clara caught him, bracing against his side.

“You’re getting good at this, Miss Clara,” he muttered.

“Just be quiet and move your feet. I’m too upset to listen to your charming blather!”

His body was rock solid against her side. Its heat radiated from the line of contact, sending shimmers along her nerves. With every step the awareness grew stronger. This wasn’t good, Clara lectured herself. She’d resolved not to rail at him but her only hope of distraction was fury.

“What were you thinking?” she stormed. “You could’ve passed out and died on the road! And even if you hadn’t, I’d have tracked you down and whipped you within an inch of your worthless life!”

His laugh was raw edged. “Now that I’d like to see. You might look right fetching with a whip in your hand.”

“This isn’t funny, Tanner. Did my grandmother know you planned on leaving?”

He swayed to one side. Clara had to clasp his ribs with her arms to keep him steady. “Your grandmother is one fine lady,” he growled. “But I don’t need anybody’s permission to go. Not even yours.”

“Of all the arrogant, underhanded—” Clara bit back the rest of the sentence. “What about the stallion? I brought my mares over this morning. You said—”

“I said you could use him if I was still here.”

“Yes, you did. And then you ran out on me.”

“Well, hell, I don’t seem to be going anywhere now, do I?”

“Stop joking! You’ve got a fever. If your wound’s infected, you’ll need a doctor.”

He stiffened against her. “No. No doctor.”

“Don’t be a fool! You could lose your arm, even your life!”

They had reached the bottom of the porch steps. Tanner’s breath rasped with effort as he dragged his feet up each one. “Tell you what, Miss Clara Seavers. If I don’t pull through, Galahad’s yours. Can’t think of a better life for him than Colorado grass and a steady supply of willing ladies.”

His voice had begun to slur. Clara eased him through the front door. If he passed out again, there was no way she’d be able to get him into bed. “You’d better not say that,” she joked feebly. “I might be tempted to get a gun and shoot you.”

“I have no doubt you’d pull the trigger without even
blinking.” His voice seemed to float out of his body. His boots stumbled across the floor.

“Just a few more steps. Stay with me, Tanner.” By now she was supporting much of his weight. Sweat dripped down her body, soaking through her underclothes. Thankfully she’d left the door to the sewing room open. Crowding close, they staggered to the foot of the bed.

“Hold on, we—Oh!” Clara gasped as Tanner toppled like a felled tree onto the bed. With no time to pull away, she landed flat on her back with his body on top of her.

She pushed and squirmed, trying to wriggle free. Her frenetic motions produced startling waves of pleasure in her lower body—not what she ought to be feeling at a time like this. Having grown up around ranch animals, she knew about sex, and she knew the nature of the hard ridge inside Tanner’s jeans. He was too sick to be dangerous, she told herself. He was just acting on instinct. Her reaction, on the other hand, was much harder to explain. All she knew was that she was rapidly losing control. Whatever was happening, it had to stop. Now.

“Blast it, Tanner, move!” Working her hands free, she hooked his jaw and lifted his head. His eyelids twitched and opened. His first expression was a puzzled scowl. Then his face transformed into a drowsy grin.

“I don’t know how this happened, but I’m not a man to refuse an invitation,” he murmured, settling himself more firmly between her legs.

“Get…off…me!” She slapped him hard enough to
smart. With a rough chuckle he braced his good arm, raising his body enough for her to roll free. Clara tumbled off the bed and scrambled to her feet. “I can’t believe my grandma thought you were a gentleman!” she huffed.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one who started this.”

“If you weren’t so sick I’d slap you again,” Clara retorted. “Turn over so I can take your boots off. Then I’ll need to look at your wound.”

Shifting on the bed, he turned over, stretched out his legs and lay still while Clara worked the boots off his feet. “It looked fine when your grandmother changed the dressing this morning.”

“Well, something’s going on.” Clara tossed the boots under the bed. “How long have you had a fever?”

“Not sure.” He was lying back on the pillow now, looking exhausted. “Didn’t feel too bad before she left.”

“So you thought you’d just saddle up and go.”

Tanner managed a feeble shrug. He was drifting away from her again. Working in haste now, Clara attacked the buttons of his clean shirt, peeling back the upper part to reveal the fresh bandage her grandmother had laid in place earlier. Tanner watched her with heavy-lidded eyes as she untied the wrappings and lifted away the dressing. This morning Mary hadn’t bothered with the poultice. The wound appeared clean and free of infection.

“How does it look?” His voice slurred slightly.

“Fine on the surface. But that blade went in deep. The germs could have gotten into your bloodstream.”

His mouthed response—likely a curse—trailed off as his eyes closed. Clara laid a cautious hand on his forehead. His skin was burning.

Clara replaced the dressing over the wound. If only her grandmother hadn’t gone to town! Clara had only a cursory knowledge of Mary’s mysterious dried herbs. Some of them were potent cures; but misused, they could be dangerous, even poisonous. Experiment too freely, and she’d be as likely to kill Tanner as to heal him.

Rushing to the kitchen, she put the kettle on to boil, opened the cupboard and began rummaging through the jars, bags and little pots her grandmother kept on the top shelf. Just to be safe, she would use only the herbs she recognized. If she could just manage to keep Tanner stable, Mary could do more for him when she arrived home. For now, she could simply pray that Tanner’s body would be strong enough to fight the infection.

Willow bark…everyone knew it was the best thing for fevers. But would an unchecked fever be best for fighting the infection? Deliberating, Clara decided not to take that chance. Tanner’s temperature felt dangerously high. At least some willow bark tea might make him more comfortable.

She crumbled the dried bark and tossed it into the boiling water. Then she went back in to check on Tanner. She found him shivering on the bed, his teeth chattering.

She leaned over him. “Tanner, can you hear me? You’re chilling. We need to get you out of your clothes and under the covers. You’ll have to help me.”

“Sorry it’s not under more pleasurable circumstances,” he muttered, fumbling with his belt buckle and buttons.

“Being sick’s no excuse for that kind of talk!” Clara caught the legs of his jeans and jerked them down past his feet. His gray cotton underdrawers revealed barely a glimpse of what lay beneath. All the same, she averted her eyes as she pulled the covers out from under him and tucked them over his body. “We’ll leave the shirt for now. I’ll get you more quilts. By then your tea should be ready.”

His eyes fluttered open. “What kind of tea? I’ll be damned if I’m drinking more of that knockout potion your grandmother gave me last night.”

“Stop fussing. It’s just willow bark, for the fever.” She hurried into Mary’s room, stripped the quilt and coverlet off the bed and brought them back to lay over Tanner’s chilling body. He had stretched out on his side, his profile starkly beautiful against the white pillowcase. Who was he, this man of secrets? Why had he risked his life to leave here this morning?

One tawny curl had tumbled over his forehead. Impulsively Clara brushed it back into place. Dear heaven, what if she couldn’t save him? What if he was fated to die, right here in this bed?

By now the tea was brewed. As she stood by the open kitchen window, straining out the bark, a low rumble reached her ears. Leaning over the sink, she peered through the screen. Angry, black clouds were pouring over the mountains to spill across the sky.

Anxiety formed a knot in Clara’s stomach. A heavy storm could keep her grandmother in town for the rest of the day, longer if the creek flooded the road. For Tanner, the delay could mean the difference between life and death.

Adding milk and sugar to the bitter tea, she carried the cup into the bedroom. Tanner was still shivering. Maybe the hot tea would help the chills. In any case, he was going to need plenty of fluids to fight the infection.

She touched his cheek. “Here’s the tea. I sweetened it for you.”

His bloodshot eyes blinked and focused on her. With effort, he raised his head, then fell back onto the pillow.

“Here.” Sinking onto a bedside chair, she lifted his head, cradling it in the crook of her arm. His stubbled jaw rested against the curve of her breast. “Careful, it’s hot.” She held the rim of the cup to his lips.

He took a careful sip. “Hot and sweet,” he mumbled. “Like you.”

“You’re out of your head. Just drink.” Clara was acutely conscious of his heat through her shirt. Her nipples had contracted to aching nubs that showed through the thin fabric. She could only hope he wouldn’t notice.

When he’d drained the cup, she lowered his head to the pillow and slipped her arm free. His fevered eyes burned into hers. Sick as he was, Tanner had a look of sharp-edged danger about him. He was like a wounded hawk, submitting to her care only because he had no choice.

As she rose and turned back toward the kitchen, the
storm struck. Chain lightning cracked across the sky, each flash followed by a cannonade of thunder. The clouds split open, sending a deluge of rain. Water pounded the roof and streamed down the windowpanes. Outside, the yard was fast becoming a sea of mud. Only then did Clara remember.

The horses!

Heaven help her, she’d left Tarboy tied to the corral. The mares were in the paddock, and Galahad was loose in the barn, still bridled and saddled. The animals would be terrified.

Without bothering to grab a slicker, Clara raced outside. The black gelding was snorting in fear, eyes rolling, nostrils flaring red. “It’s all right, Tarboy. You’ll be safe in a minute.” Clara untied the reins and sprang into the wet saddle. Water fell in solid sheets as she drove Mary’s horse into the barn and headed for the paddock to round up the mares.

Lightning struck close, splitting a huge cottonwood on the far side of the road. The sound of it crashed across the sky like the hammer of doom. By the time Clara reached the paddock, the two mares were wild with fright. But Tarboy, an experienced cow pony, knew his job. Galloping, shifting and pushing in response to Clara’s touch, he soon had the mares galloping for the open corral. From there it was easy enough to close the gate and herd them into the barn.

With the horses safely inside, Clara closed the barn door behind her. There were only two stalls. She led the nervous Galahad into the first one, taking time to
remove his saddle and bridle. Tanner’s bedroll, lashed behind the saddle, seemed unnaturally heavy. Reaching inside she pulled out the .38 he’d used against the two robbers. She hesitated, then tucked the pistol into her belt. Having a gun in the house might not be a bad idea.

Tarboy went into the other stall. With much praise and petting, she lifted off the saddle and bridle and rubbed him down with a towel. By the time she’d finished doing the same for the two mares and Mary’s gelding, her teeth were chattering. She was soaked to the skin. And she would get wet all over again going back to the house.