Bride On The Run

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.

Chapter Four

Anna 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.

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.