The Outlaw's Bride (8 page)

“I always think clearly.”

He held his tongue about that comment as he continued. “Last night after I left you at Patrón’s house, I went to McSween’s place. Dick Brewer and I sat out on the porch jawing about this and that. I led him around to
telling me about the day he came across that massacre on the trail.”

“And?”

“And Dick let out a secret he’d never told. When he found the coach, the guard who was still alive gave him a good description of the man who shot your father. Dick knew right away who it was. The assassin would be long gone by the time the story came out, Dick knew, so the law would drag him back to Lincoln where no one wanted him. ’Course now he’s back in town whether we like it or not.”

“Who, Noah?”

“The Horrell Gang attacked your father’s party—the same bunch that killed Juan Patrón’s dad. But the guard told Dick that the man who pulled the trigger on your father had a heavy jaw, a flat nose and spiked-out red hair. His eyes were narrow slits.”

“Snake Jackson,” she whispered.

“You’d be hard put to find a man to match that description better than Rattlesnake Jim Jackson. This morning, Juan confirmed that Snake was riding with the Horrells back in seventy-three.”

Isobel had shut her eyes, the expression on her face filled with pain. Noah could guess how it felt to learn the name of a man who had murdered someone you loved. He fought the urge to put his arm around the woman and hold her close.

But to Isobel, he thought, he wasn’t worthy to give her comfort. He was just a no-account cowboy, and he had to keep his hands off.

“Now, Isobel,” he said, crossing his arms to keep from touching her. “Look at this situation straight-on. Snake Jackson murdered your father, but he just murdered John
Tunstall, too. He’s in a heap more hot water about that. He already has his eye out for a Mexican woman who saw him put a hole in Tunstall’s chest. If he ever pins you as that woman, you don’t stand a chance. And if he links you to the Horrell business, honey, your days are numbered.”

Her eyes filling with tears, Isobel said nothing. Noah knew that she was remembering the moment Snake Jackson had shot the Englishman…and imagining the same man killing her father.

“Take me back to town, Noah,” she said suddenly. “I must kill Jim Jackson.”

“Kill him?” It was the last thing in the world Noah had expected her to say. He shook his head. “Lady, I just told you your life is in great danger, and you want to ride into Lincoln and try to hunt down a killer? A man who’s in league with Dolan and Evans and the rest of those sidewinders?”

Her eyes flashed. “He murdered my father, Noah. What choice do I have?”

“Choice? Take your pick. You can head for Santa Fe and marry your fancy don—or sail back to Spain and settle down with your family.”

She looked away. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a telegram from Guillermo Pascal.”

“Not yet, but the Pascals are busy folk. Ranching, politics, you name it. If I were you, I’d go home. I bet your mama would be tickled pink to have you back.”

“I’m not wanted in Spain. No more than I’m wanted by Guillermo Pascal.”

Noah let out his breath. Here was a fine to-do. She wouldn’t go to Santa Fe because the don she’d come all this way to marry didn’t seem to want her. She wouldn’t
go to Spain because her family didn’t want her. So what did she plan to do—stay in Lincoln? Who wanted her here?

Not Noah Buchanan, that’s for sure. He took off his hat, leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. He had enjoyed that kiss the other night, but if she thought she could treat him like dirt and still expect him to protect her…

“What do you see?” she asked. “In Lincoln. What makes you stay?”

He studied the vast terrain. “New Mexico Territory has elbow room, fresh air, blue sky and plenty of sunshine. It’s a tough land. Tough people, too. I like that.”

“I see little about the people to admire.”

“Most of them are hard as old boot leather. They’ve worked hard and lived hard. They’re either good or they’re bad. It’s not hard to tell ’em apart. The way a man’s heart is—the state of his soul—starts creeping out onto his face. The older he gets, the more he looks like the person he is inside.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Isobel said. “My father had golden hair, and his smile was gentle. Dr. Ealy’s face is filled with peace. Susan Gates is lovely.”

“She’s easy on the eyes.”

“You should marry her.”

Noah sat up straight. “Marry Miss Gates?”

“She likes you. She would make you a good wife.”

He gave a snort. “You’ve got two problems with that little notion. One is that Miss Gates has her cap set on Dick Brewer, and he’s returning the compliment. Last night when we were alone, she asked me about him. I had only good things to say, of course. I don’t imagine it’ll be too long before we hear wedding bells.”

“A wedding? But they barely know each other.”

“They know enough—for sure more than you know your don.”

“Don’t speak of Guillermo Pascal,” she said, knotting her hands in her lap. “It’s not your concern.”

“But the second hitch in your scheme to marry me off to Miss Gates
is
my concern. I’m already married—in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” she said.

“Neither did I.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Isobel swallowed and glanced away. “How do I look to you, Noah?” she asked. “Does my face show a hardness of heart?”

He took her hand from her lap, opened the fingers and studied them for a moment. “When I first saw you hiding behind that juniper, I thought you were a mite chilly looking. All those shiny green ruffles. Now I have you pegged as hardheaded, afraid of tying yourself down, scared to trust folk. That shows on your face, Isobel. It does.”

She lowered her head.

“On the other hand,” he continued, “being strong minded and gritty serves a woman well here in the West.”

Taking a breath, she spoke in a gush. “Noah, last night you heard me say harsh and cruel things about you. They were lies. All of them. You’re the best man I have met since the death of my father. You’re gentle but also strong. And brave, intelligent, kind…”

“Whoa, I seem to have improved.”

She smiled. “You are a good person. Noah, I’m sorry. What I said last night was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

He studied her for a moment. “Isobel, if you didn’t mean what you told Miss Gates, why’d you say it?”

Nervous, she lifted the hair from the back of her neck. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to voice her feelings. “I…I can’t allow myself to think too well of you, Noah.”

“Because I’m low class?”

“That has nothing to do with it. What is here for me? Nothing. I have no future. My paths to Santa Fe and Spain are blocked. My only hope now is to find Snake Jackson and get my land titles from him. I have nothing. I am nobody. How can I allow myself to look at anything but
revancha?
”

“Listen, Isobel, you can forget about revenge. I’m not letting you near Jim Jackson. The man wants to kill you, and he wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“What will you do with me?”

“After Tunstall’s funeral tomorrow, I’ll take you to Chisum’s ranch. That’s final. No arguing.”

“And then? What then, Noah? What is to become of me? You can’t hold me there forever. You don’t want me any more than Don Guillermo or my family and—”

“I want you, Isobel. I don’t understand why, but ever since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve cared about you. The future is in God’s hands, but one thing’s for sure. Everything’s about to blow sky-high in Lincoln. I’ve got to get Chisum out of jail and keep Snake from getting his hands on you. All I can think about is right now. And right now, what I know I can’t deny. The only truth I can see is that I want you.”

Isobel let out her breath slowly. “If you want me, Noah, hold me. Kiss me now.”

H
e could hardly believe she had said it. But she was a temptation, and at this moment, Noah could not resist. A woman who looked as Isobel looked, who spoke as she spoke, could not be ignored.

Thoughts of the uncertain future went clean out of his head as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“Isobel, darlin’,” he murmured. “What are you doing to me?”

She stared up at him, her face filled with tenderness.

With a sigh, he took her in his arms and kissed her sweet lips. And kissed them again. A cool breeze playing off the stream mingled with the warm sunlight shining on this patch of green grass. In the silent haven Noah felt as if he was a world away from the fear, bloodshed and anger pursuing them.

When her arms came around him, he knew they were in dangerous territory. Gritting his teeth, he drew back and forced his breathing to steady.

“I haven’t had much schooling,” he told her, “but I learned one thing a few years back. Put a hungry man
and a willing woman together, and you’ve got trouble. I’ve read the Bible cover to cover a few times, and I figured out the smart thing to do is stick with God’s plan for a man and a woman to get married before they do too much kissing.”

Isobel relaxed in his arms, her cheek on his shoulder, her dark gold hair soft against his chest. “I have read many books, but never the Bible. The Scriptures are read to us in church. For me, such things as prayer, the Bible, the sacraments are of the old ways—respected but insignificant. Religion is a guide, not a law.”

This surprised Noah. Most of the Mexicans and Spaniards he knew took their faith seriously. “Without those
old ways,
I’d have made a heap more mistakes than I did. Fact is, I don’t put a foot out of bed every morning without praying first. I try to never make a decision unless I check it out with God first.”

“You married me very quickly. Did you check with God?”

He shook his head. “Nope, and that’s how come I’m as tangled up as a bull with its horns caught in a barbed wire fence. Only thing I can do now is pray that God will reach down His hand and untangle me.”

She fell silent for a moment. “Noah.” Her breath stirred his skin. “The day we met, you searched Dick Brewer’s cabin for paper.”

He tensed. “Yeah…I did.”

“What do you write, Noah?”

His touched a strand of her hair, his fingers tracing the golden waves as he pondered her question. Finally he let out a breath. “Not much yet.”

“The moment I first saw your hands—when you saved me from the bullet’s path that day on the trail—I
knew you were more than a vaquero. I knew you were an artist. Your hands are those of a poet.”

He smiled at that. “I’m no poet, Isobel.”

“Tell me what you write. Please, Noah.”

“Just stories, mainly. They’re all up here. In my head. Stories about life on the trail. About things that can happen to a man when he’s living off the land, when he and God and the cattle are his whole world. Yarns the men spin while they’re sitting around the fire after a long day.” He sighed. “It’s probably a crazy notion.”

“It would be crazier not to write down your stories.”

“Maybe so, Isobel.”

A white butterfly drifted over their heads. Noah watched, wondering how it had emerged from its cocoon so soon. Too soon. An early frost would likely end its life before summer. The white wings trembled, and the butterfly alighted on Isobel’s shoulder. She didn’t notice. Noah smiled.

He liked Isobel this way, he mused. She was soft and feminine in a way that made him want to do things he’d tried to put clean out of his mind. Things like protect, honor and provide for her. He wanted to keep her at hand so he could touch her hair and brush his lips across hers. He’d like to know her sweet arms were waiting for him at the end of the day.

“You must take me to town now, Noah,” she cut into his daydream. “I must find Jim Jackson before dark. I cannot be denied
la venganza
.”

It took him a moment to sift through the sunlit imaginings that had spangled his reality.
“La vengan—”

“I must avenge my father’s murder and retrieve the land-grant titles this Snake stole from the
familia
Matas. I know the name of the assassin, and I have no choice.”

Noah stiffened and eased Isobel’s shoulders away until she was at a safe distance. “I want you to hear me once and for all, girl. You’re not a Matas any longer. You’re a Buchanan. I swore an oath to keep you safe, and I always abide by my word. I’ll go to Tunstall’s funeral tomorrow, and the minute it’s over, I’m taking you to South Spring River Ranch. No arguing. And none of this revenge nonsense, understand?”

“I understand, Noah,” she said.

She would not obey him, he thought to himself. Not at all.

That evening in Lincoln, Isobel eagerly listened to Juan Patrón’s account of the day’s developments. He was worried that Dolan’s gang would attend the funeral the following morning. With Alexander McSween’s party there—along with Tunstall’s friends and employees—violence could be expected.

As predicted, McSween had demanded Squire Wilson charge Sheriff Brady and his bunch with the unlawful appropriation of property for using Tunstall’s hay to feed Fort Stanton horses.

Brady was arrested and bound over to the grand jury for the coming term of court. Everyone in town, Juan explained, knew that the sheriff now sided squarely with Jimmie Dolan.

After dinner Noah insisted on patrolling Patrón’s home and store. He circled the house through the night, checking windows and doors. Isobel could not sleep. She listened to his footsteps until dawn.

When breakfast ended, they joined the crowd gathered
for the funeral. McSween had selected a burial plot east of Tunstall’s store, just behind the land for the church that Dr. Ealy planned to build.

“John Henry Tunstall,” Dr. Ealy said to begin the solemn service, “a mere twenty-four years of age, met an untimely death. The son of John Partridge Tunstall of London, England, our friend was brother to three sisters, whom he loved with an extreme devotion. Many are unaware that John was blind in his right eye, but he overcame this difficulty with the determination of the gentleman he was.”

Isobel studied the row of heavily armed men who made up the Dolan faction. Snake Jackson was not among them. They stood beyond a pile of newly turned earth beside the open grave. The casket, a simple pine box, sat unopened on the ground.

As the service began, Noah slipped one arm around Isobel. She glanced at Dick Brewer standing protectively beside Susan Gates. Like all the McSween men, they rested their fingertips lightly on their holsters.

The detachment of Company H, the Fifteenth Infantry, from Fort Stanton kept watch at a distance. Isobel surmised that Lieutenant Delany had instructed them to be a respectful but obvious presence. No doubt the soldiers were the only thing preventing a clash between the two angry groups.

“My text today is from the Gospel of St. John, Chapter eleven, verse twenty-five.” Dr. Ealy cleared his throat as he opened the heavy black Bible.
“Jesus said unto Martha, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believeth in me, though he die, yet shall he live.’
We are to understand by these words that those who believe
in Jesus Christ unto salvation will abide with Him in heaven after their earthly death.”

Recalling Noah’s declaration of absolute faith in God, Isobel reflected on the beauty and grandeur of the New Mexico Territory. At such a display, who could discount the power of the Creator?

“I’d like to ask now,” Dr. Ealy said, “that we close this service with a hymn. Noah Buchanan, I’m told you’re blessed with the best voice among us. As we stand here by the Rio Bonito, would you lead us in singing ‘Shall We Gather at the River’?”

Isobel glanced at Noah in shock as he began to sing. Yet another surprise from this man. His deep voice drifted over the stream and across the grassland toward the distant mountains.

“Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have trod,” Noah sang, “with its crystal tide forever, flowing by the throne of God?”

The entire company, even the Dolan men, joined in the chorus.

Not knowing the words as the others did, Isobel shut her eyes and absorbed the vibrations in Noah’s chest. Though it was a funeral, at this moment she felt more peace than she had known in the entirety of her life. She was folded in the arms of a man who had sworn to protect her. Sweet golden sunlight warmed her. The
anger that had driven her to this land faded, leaving in its place the gentle lull of tranquillity.

“Soon we’ll reach the shining river, soon our pilgrimage will cease,” Noah sang.

Dick Brewer was weeping, his head bowed and his curly hair resting against Susan’s. Alexander McSween mopped his eyes with a white handkerchief. When the song ended, the lawyer cleared his throat and announced that he had a message from Billy Bonney.

The Kid, Isobel recalled, was still in jail. A murmur of discomfort rippled through the crowd as McSween began to read. “Though I cannot be present for the burial of John Henry Tunstall, I want it known that he was as good a friend as I ever had. When Mr. Tunstall hired me, he made me a present of a fine horse, a good saddle and a new gun. He always treated me like a gentleman, though I was younger than him and not near as educated. I loved Mr. Tunstall better than any man I ever knew. Signed, William Bonney.”

McSween folded the letter and placed it on the casket. As the pine box was lowered into the ground, Noah turned Isobel away from the scene.

“There’s a meeting at McSween’s house,” Dick Brewer whispered. Noah had left Isobel’s side for a moment to
confer with his friend. “Folks are spitting mad that Sheriff Brady won’t arrest anyone for John’s murder. I think we ought to ask Brady outright what he means by it.”

“I’m with you, Dick, but I can’t stay for the meeting. I’ve got to get Isobel out of town. I told her about Snake Jackson murdering her father, and she’s hot for blood. The woman’s a spitfire, Dick, and—”

“Noah!” Dick grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “Over by the tree. It’s Snake. He’s talking to Isobel.”

Noah swung around, fingers sliding over the handle of his six-shooter. “Snake!” he shouted, half-sick with fear. “What do you think you’re doing, talking to my wife?”

The heavy-jawed man straightened. “Buchanan, this Mexican ain’t your wife.”

“She sure is.” Noah reached the tree just as Isobel opened her mouth to speak. He grabbed her arm, stopping her words and pressing her toward Dick, who hauled her quickly out of earshot—and pistol range.

“You stay away from my woman, you hear?” Noah growled. “If I see you near her again, I’ll bore a hole in you big enough to drive a wagon through.”

“Forget it, hombre. The jig’s up with your little Mexican
chiquita
now. This morning the stagecoach dropped a pile of fancy trunks at the hotel. The name on ’em was Miss Isobel Matas. Later on, that uppity Mexican so-and-so Juan Patrón came a-wanderin’ into the hotel. He took one look at the trunks and then, all sneaky-like, he wrote a new name on ’em. Mrs. Belle Buchanan.”

Snake gave Noah a triumphant smirk. “All through this sorry funeral, I been studyin’ your so-called wife. She’s the
señorita
who was in the woods the day Tunstall
got laid out, ain’t she? She was wearin’ this Mexican veil.”

He shook the fragile white mantilla in Noah’s face. “And you know what your woman just told me? She thinks I’m the man who done in her Mexican papa a few years back. Well, guess what?”

Noah glanced behind him at Isobel. She was staring, white-faced, her eyes luminous with rage. “What have you got to tell me that I don’t already know, Snake?”

“Just this. I’m the man who made her papa a free lunch for the coyotes. And I’m the man who’s got what she came to Lincoln lookin’ for—her package of fancy papers. And I’m the man who’s gonna pull her picket pin the minute your back is turned. So get ready, Buchanan. The next funeral you sing your pretty songs at is gonna be hers.”

“Why, you lowdown—”

“Now, just a minute here, gentlemen.” The burly Lieutenant Delany stepped between the men. “Haven’t the two of you got better things to do this morning? Especially here in the presence of the dearly departed.”

Noah glanced at Tunstall’s grave. It was nearly filled with dirt now, and the reality of it was a punch in the gut.

“Listen up, Lieutenant,” he barked. “This man shot down John Tunstall in cold blood.”

“Now, you don’t know that, Buchanan,” Delany countered. “You weren’t even there.”

“I was there, all right. And I’ve got a witness who’ll swear the man who pulled the trigger on Tunstall was Jim Jackson.”

“Aw, Buchanan, quit your jawin’.” Snake laughed. “Tunstall’s own men swore out a statement about who
was at the killing, and your name weren’t on it, nor the name of your witness. If Tunstall’s men didn’t say neither of you was there, how you gonna convince a judge of it? Huh?”

“Don’t sell me short, Jackson,” Noah retorted.

“Go on your way, Mr. Buchanan,” the lieutenant spoke up. “You, too, Snake. Captain Purington charged me with the protection of life and property around here. Now, get along, the both of you.”

Chuckling, Rattlesnake Jackson lumbered across the clearing. He gave Isobel a sideways glance and formed his hand into the shape of a gun. As he walked past her, he aimed at her heart and pulled the imaginary trigger. Tossing his head back in laughter, he sauntered along the side of Tunstall’s store toward the Dolan Mercantile.

“If you know something about him, Buchanan,” the lieutenant said, “watch your back. He used to run with the Horrells. Now he’s in deep with Jesse Evans and the Dolan bunch. Steer clear of him, that’s my advice.”