A Most Inconvenient Marriage (28 page)

As if they’d ever invited anyone on their property besides kin. But sure enough, the tracks were still clear, following the trace that traversed their mountain.

“You think we should just ride up to the cabin?” Hiram asked. “It might be safer to send a message that we’d like a word with him.”

Jeremiah ground his teeth. He’d figured on having this settled one way or another by sunset. He didn’t relish putting the confrontation off another day. He turned to Hiram just in time to see the trunk of cedar next to him explode into splinters.

He landed, both feet on the ground, running, pulling Lancaster behind a boulder before he had time to feel the nicks in his face and neck. Ducking, he saw Hiram, Calbert, and Hopkins all taking cover, even though no further shots were fired.

From across the pass, Hopkins turned a white, sweat-drenched face to him. Scared, but the man hadn’t lost his senses. He held
up one finger. Yes. One shot. Didn’t feel like the work of the outlaws they’d been tracking.

“Fowler?” Jeremiah’s voice echoed against the rocks.

“Who’s asking?”

Hopkins nodded his support as Jeremiah raised his pistol above his head and let it hang from his thumb.

“You know good and well who’s asking. You saw me clear enough to draw a bead on me.”

Silence. Jeremiah rose slowly. He stepped from around the boulder, praying his leg didn’t buckle and get him killed for making a sudden move. “We’re tracking bushwhackers.”

“That’s rich, Calhoun.” The voice floated disembodied down to them. “Last I heard you and the bushwhackers were one and the same.”

A familiar burning flared in his chest. “I was not a bushwhacker. You know I joined the army proper.”

“Any army that takes up arms against their countrymen isn’t a proper army. It’s an army of traitors.”

“Would you say the same of George Washington? You call him a patriot—”

“Jeremiah!” Calbert warned as he left his hiding place behind. “Look, Fowler, we aren’t here to debate. We’re tracking some men who crossed here earlier. Good chance they’re the ones who’ve been causing mischief around here.”

Fowler emerged from the forest wall like a specter. A giant of a man, he looked like he could grow even bigger eating nothing but nettles. “Get off my land.”

“Mr. Rankin was a Fed. You don’t care to avenge—”

Calbert grasped his arm. “Come on. This trail isn’t going to lead us anywhere.”

But Jeremiah wasn’t through. “What about your neighbors? Those men have killed. They are murderers, Fowler.”

“What proof do you have?”

“Three men chased me down, stole my horse coming home from Pine Gap. Before that they set a steel trap on my property and caught another mare of mine in it. Ask yourself where they’re getting their herd. Ask Varina to describe her horse, if you don’t believe me.”

The giant swung his jaw to one side. “I heard you out. You go on now and I’ll check into it.”

“But we’re here now,” Jeremiah protested. “How do we know you aren’t going to warn them and let them get away?”

Fowler’s sharp brow lowered. “I reckon we’ll just have to trust each other, huh? Now get.”

Ridiculous. Too busy brooding to notice Hopkins’s inspection, Jeremiah stalked back to his horse, mounted, and headed to cross the stream as quickly as possible. “What he did just then was criminal. Aiding bandits—”

“But if you take on Fowler, you take on all his kin,” Calbert said. “Innocent people would get hurt on both sides. Let’s give him a chance.”

If it had been anyone else, Jeremiah would’ve suspected they were being cowardly, but Calbert was merely stating the obvious. Fowler hadn’t attacked him or stolen his horse. If he didn’t know what those men were up to, he couldn’t be held responsible. But now he knew.

The tension began to ebb as they realized no confrontation awaited them. Not today. And perhaps Fowler would find the evidence they sought. They stopped at the next spring to fill their canteens and munch on the vittles riding in their sacks.

“I’ve got to say, Jeremiah, I’m impressed with your recovery.” Hopkins took a crunchy bite of a green apple. “Someday you must tell me what remedies you used.”

Jeremiah swigged the cold spring water in his canteen. “It
wasn’t any remedies. Abigail just worked the old leg over until it got limbered up.”

“She manipulated your leg?” Hopkins lowered his apple and leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

Jeremiah straightened his leg. He enjoyed the feeling of strength that had returned but didn’t relish the speculation in Hopkins’s eyes. Funny how being with Hopkins made him want to win Laurel, but when Hopkins wasn’t around, he spent a lot more time thinking about Abigail.

He cleared his throat. “Abigail assured me there wasn’t nothing improper.”

Hopkins lifted an eyebrow. “Abigail may have been innocent of any untoward thoughts, but I doubt you were.” He laughed at his own joke. “Don’t worry. I’m interested for purely scientific reasons. Perhaps she’d be willing to perform the same maneuvers on me, just so I could better understand.”

Trouble boiled in Jeremiah’s heart, bubbling slowly like hot sorghum. The thought of Abigail sharing her time with Hopkins set his world akilter. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“She wouldn’t? Whyever not? Abigail has an interest in healing people. If she could perform the procedure on you, then she should be able to work with any man, woman—”

“But not you.” Jeremiah screwed the cap on the canteen with unnecessary force. Calbert and Hiram chuckled at the exchange. Well, he couldn’t help it if there was tension between him and Hopkins. They’d both set their sights on the same prize. Someone would win and someone would lose. He didn’t intend to ever lose again, even if it cost him . . .

Jeremiah stood. His legs were stiff but they worked well enough to carry him away from the spring. He bumped into a tree trunk and stopped as the thought finally found words. Winning Laurel would cost him. If he kept fighting this battle
for her, kept trying to beat the doctor, he would forfeit the one woman who understood him, the woman he most cherished. He would lose Abigail.

How long had he loved Abigail? Some part of his imagination—the part unshackled by his stubbornness—had tried to show him. His dream that morning had pushed his heart where he hadn’t allowed it to go. Abigail as his wife? But instead of offering, he’d hesitated, still unsure of what she had hidden.

Jeremiah roughed his hand across the scaly bark of the pine tree. She had secrets, but if he couldn’t weather them, then he had no right to her affection. Abigail was shielding an injury, and Jeremiah knew how that felt.

He also knew how much he appreciated Abigail’s listening to his hurts. Although he’d bungled every encounter so far, surely he could pass this test.

Once Jeremiah had a goal, he could hardly think of anything else, and at that moment the most important task of his life was to tell Abigail of his discovery. He loved her. Whatever she needed from him—understanding, patience, a sympathetic ear—he was ready to give. If only she’d let him.

C
HAPTER 19

Although the sun had dipped behind the mountain ridge, Abigail could still count on half an hour of daylight. She rubbed her burning eyes, willing the image of the barn to fade from her corneas. All day at watch and no sign of the men lurking about. Laying the rifle across her lap, she stretched her arms above her head. Jeremiah should’ve returned by now. He wouldn’t leave them alone at night, not by choice. What was happening out there in the woods? How she envied them for getting to face their adversaries. She’d prefer anything to this anxious waiting.

A horse whinnied, the noise echoing off the walls. Abigail suppressed a smile. Jeremiah needed to come home safely, else he’d never know that she’d stabled horses in his room. Initially she felt guilty, knowing that well-fed horses would foul the room in a matter of hours, but as the day progressed she had time to appreciate the humor.

Where did he find the nerve to assume she wanted to marry him? The cad. He might be dead set on pining after someone who didn’t give two rats for him, but that didn’t mean she suffered
the same ailment. No, she didn’t care what he thought. She couldn’t afford to.

“Abigail!” Rachel called from upstairs.

Abigail bolted to her feet and ran to the stairwell.

“What is it?”

“Someone is here. Two people just ran across the field to the back side of the house.”

A stone formed in her stomach. So she wanted to face her adversaries? Here was her chance. Abigail wiped her hand on her skirt before swinging the rifle stock into her grip. The shutters were pulled to, but she eased past them just the same.

“Should I come down?” Ma whispered, but Abigail couldn’t answer, not when she heard a rustling just outside the kitchen door.

Could it be Jeremiah? No. He wouldn’t sneak around to the back door. She placed her hand on the knob and leaned her ear against the wooden panel.

A giggle. Her eyes narrowed and she pressed even closer. Definitely not men. It sounded more like . . .

She pulled open the shutters and stuck her head out to meet Josiah and Betsy’s startled expressions.

“What are you doing?” Refusing to wait for an answer, she deposited the rifle on the counter, threw open the door, grabbed fistfuls of their clothing, and dragged them inside.

“You’re pinching me,” Josiah cried.

“What are on your feet? Are those your father’s shoes?” Abigail asked.

Betsy beamed at her brother. “Isn’t he clever? He made those big footprints this morning by the barn. You should’ve seen how scared you looked when you saw them.”

Josiah smiled through his grimace. Abigail shook him. “You made those marks? That was a prank?”

“I told you we’d get you back. I never did think you’d put the horses in the house, though,” he guffawed. “What’s Mr. Jeremiah going to say?”

Abigail released him, fearing she might wallop him if he didn’t get out of reach. Suddenly hiding Josephine and the mare in Jeremiah’s room didn’t sound so heroic. And to make matters worse, she heard someone approaching the front of the house.

“You two better get home.” With a little shove she pushed them away from the house. “You don’t want to be here when Jeremiah sees his room.”

They sped away, Josiah barely hampered by shoes too large. Abigail saw them safely to the trees, then locked the door and prepared to take her medicine. From the fluttering and carrying on in the front of the house, she could tell that Jeremiah had arrived home without harm. She skimmed her hands over her hair and went to join them.

Jeremiah seemed to have been watching for her. Over his mother’s head and her repeated questions about his welfare, he beckoned Abigail closer.

He didn’t know about his room. He wouldn’t look at her with that bizarre expectant look if he did. Abigail approached cautiously. Stable smells assaulted her. She squeezed her hands before her.

“Abigail.” More intense than ever, his eyes fixed on hers, begging her not to look away.

“Jeremiah.” Had something happened? Had he a message to impart that he couldn’t share before his mother and Rachel? His worn face made her ashamed that she’d secretly exulted in the mess she’d made of his room. If only she could clean it before he found out.

“I’m sorry, but we didn’t find Ladymare. The bushwhackers were gone by the time we found their hideout. Fowler promises
that he’ll let us know if they’re on his land, but hopefully we won’t hear from them again.”

So Ladymare was gone? She smiled bravely. “I’m glad no one got hurt.”

“Do you smell that, Jeremiah?” Rachel had finally made it downstairs. Her ruddy face looked even worse in the crimson evening light. “Those smells aren’t coming from the stable.”

His nose wrinkled. “My boots are clean. I didn’t track in—” He jerked his head to look past the staircase at the closed door to his room. “Ma?”

Ma wadded her apron in shaking hands. “Those men were snooping around the barn this morning. We knew we couldn’t guard the barn and the house, so we—”

He darted past her. Rachel called out, “It wasn’t Ma. Ma tried to stop her.”

No sound, which scared Abigail worse than the hollering she’d expected.

He turned, his face hard, his nostrils flared. “Have you seen this?” Josephine stuck her head out the door and nuzzled his hand. “Of all the monkeyshines,” he muttered.

“What’d you do to make Abigail mad?” Rachel asked.

Besides accuse her of proposing to him? “It wasn’t revenge,” Abigail said, “although I did smile when I thought—”

Jeremiah’s eyebrows shot up.

When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? “I’ll get a shovel.” With her chin tucked, Abigail sped to the barn. The clinks of bridles from behind let her know that Jeremiah had the horses. She fished the key out of her pocket while he caught up. He held the lock tilted so the last light could fall on the keyhole. Their fingers brushed as she tried to jam the key in.

“Steady,” he said.

But it was his fault her hands were shaking.

She pushed the door open wide so the horses could pass. She’d do her best to make amends.

“Ma said there were men here today,” he said. “Were they the same that took Ladymare?”

Abigail twisted her toe in the dirt. “This morning I found boot prints at the door—fresh prints and not yours. I guess I panicked. I dragged the horses inside, and since they couldn’t go upstairs and they couldn’t get near your mother’s bell collection or her rugs or—”

“And my room was the closest thing to a stable you could think of.” Was he mad or weary? She couldn’t tell.

“My biggest regret is bringing them inside in the first place. Turns out Josiah and Betsy left those tracks. I caught them with Calbert’s boots, traipsing around leaving prints to scare me.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Their pa better get a handle on those young’uns.”

“Are you angry?”

“I’ll get over it.” His eyes flickered down. “But I wouldn’t turn down an offer of help on the cleanup.”

Abigail grabbed a bucket and the shovel. “Absolutely. And I’ll stay up to sit watch if you’d like.”

“I don’t reckon it’s necessary. It’d probably be best if we went to bed tonight.” He suddenly cleared his throat, possibly choking on an inhaled piece of straw, and turned a red face away as he fastened the stalls.