An Unwilling Husband (18 page)

Milling about in the herd, she kept an attentive eye and rode to the edge of the numbers to check the tree line for any unexpected movement. How they would ever keep track of all the cattle was beyond her. The animals tended to wander wherever the wind took them, completely uninterested in staying in an easily manageable group, despite the cowhands combined efforts to keep them together. Garret muttered it was because the beasts were dumb, and though she strove to be more charitable in her thoughts, one evening with the herd had her inclined to agree with him.

Maggie was grateful for darkness. Her stomach proved to be an impatient little companion, and by nightfall she had tied a string of tight knots down the extra length of Bucks reins out of boredom. Her gaze was drawn to her untouchable husband’s strong athletic form more and more often, and she was relieved when Cookie started a fire some small distance away in the waning evening light. Burke disappeared into the trees and Garret kept his position with the herd, but she happily joined the men at the campfire. She hoped to pick up a few tips on outdoor cooking, and was glad when Cookie patiently answered her questions and let her help. Dinner was simple. Beans and ham with a loaf of freshly baked bread she’d brought. The bottom was scorched and it hadn’t risen properly, but no one complained.

The night was beautiful and clear. The sheer number of stars was nearly aesthetically overwhelming. Billions of tiny diamonds decorated the deep purple sky. Wells graciously gave up his seat on a fallen tree, which was a fortunate thing because from the looks of it, Garret had no intention of sharing his space on it. Still mad, then.

The men’s easy banter with each other made her chuckle, even when evident the bulk of their amusement stemmed from Garret’s relationship, or lack thereof, with her. The jabs didn’t make her uncomfortable. They bothered Garret, though, by the perpetual grimace he wore and the clenched set of his jaw.

Well, hang it then. Let them tease. What they said was mostly true and she could use a good laugh.

Maggie shoveled the last bite of dinner into her mouth as Burke announced he had a present for her. She turned to look at him and came face-to-face with a spiny lizard. Squeaking, she dropped her plate and hopped onto the log, which elevated her exactly one foot off the ground, and made her no safer. Garret’s shoulders shook with the effort to hold in his laughter. At least he tried. The others were hootin’ and hollerin’ remorselessly.

She threw her husband a slit-eyed glare and snatched the lizard from Burke’s outstretched hand. That successfully surprised everyone, including herself. Seated again, she cradled the reptile between her hands. It was the size of her palm and spiny, though not painful to hold.

“What is he?” she asked as she rubbed her finger down the folding spines on its back.

“Horny toad,” Garret answered. “Can’t take a step out here without finding one.”

“He’s a cute little rascal. When he isn’t shoved in one’s face, that is.” She gave Burke a mock glare and returned her attention to the horny toad. After she released the tiny creature, she unfolded her bedroll and eventually drifted off, the deep timbre of the men’s voices and the cattle’s song filling the background.

* * * *

Maggie awoke some time later, though what caused her to abandon slumber she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The fire had burned to embers, giving off just enough light to see her immediate surroundings. Wells and Burke slept soundly across the fire from her but when she looked in the immediate vicinity, only an empty bedroll lay shockingly close to hers.

Garret’s. He and Cookie must have been taking a turn watching the herd while the rest of them slept. She couldn’t keep her gaze or thoughts from the empty bedroll. At some time in the night, Garret had lain beside her and she hadn’t even known it. Had he found trouble sleeping?

Sleep was such a vulnerable state for one’s body. What could it mean that he would let himself rest so close to her? Most likely he was protecting her from a rogue cow hoof to the face, but she couldn’t let go the romantic implications of the empty pallet. He cared.

There it was again. The sound that woke her. A man’s movement in the dark. The softest whisper of leaves and kindling giving under careless footfall. It had to be Garret. No way would Cookie let himself make such noise. He and Lenny were as startlingly quiet as a thought.

Eyes closed, she feigned sleep, afraid if Garret knew she was awake he would move his bedroll further away. The thought of the potential absence made her ache.

A soft click of a gun sounded, cold metal met her temple and a large calloused hand went over her mouth.

A gruff voice rattled like gravel in Maggie’s ear, sour breath hot on her face. “Make a sound, and I’ll put a hole in that pretty little face o’ yourn.”

Her eyes shot open and her breathing picked up as fear slithered down her spine. This was most definitely not Garret Shaw.

The man yanked her roughly to her feet, never letting the pressure of the gun at her head relax. A few more yards, and a second pair of hands lifted her feet off the ground. She kicked wildly in panic. Muffled sounds escaped her, and the first man grunted with effort as he brought the butt of the gun down unforgivingly onto the back of her head. Her skull screamed and threatened to break into a million tiny pieces.

Maggie tried to hold onto the stars. Those beautiful pinpoints of light could mean her salvation if she could only keep her eyes open. The edges of her vision blurred and collapsed inward. Then everything went dark and she gave into the darkness.

Chapter 12

The thudding of Maggie’s heart became louder and louder, then almost a deafening roar in her ears. Not the rhythm of her heartbeat, but of a horse under her. She’d been thrown over the withers of a large horse like a sack of flour. Her throbbing head banged limply on the horse’s shoulder as it galloped. A strong hand on the small of her back kept her body steady, but her skin chilled where the man’s palm hit the thin fabric of her dress. Somehow, some way, she must escape this monster’s touch.

She needed time to think and was desperate to act as if she were still unconscious, but when the pain in her head became excruciating, she retched.

“Ah, she lives,” the man said, but sounded like he didn’t care either way.

That voice. The familiarity niggled at the edge of her frayed mind.

The horse jerked to a stop, throwing her balance off. As she pitched head-first toward the unsympathetic ground, she cried out.

“Steady, lass!” the man exclaimed and lifted her to a sitting position, facing him in the saddle. Such strength made her fear of the man all the more potent. The saddle horn dug painfully into her backside and she struggled to escape the unbreakable grip ensnaring her arms. The man kicked the horse, giving her no choice but to still her struggles and try as best she could to maintain her balance.

The man’s front rubbed rhythmically against hers. He laughed, the foul beast, such a grating and cruel sound, it raised the hair on her nape and sent gooseflesh across her arms.

“Now that’s more like it. Stop struggling, girl. You’ll fall and break your neck. It’s probably your fate anyway, but I’d like to enjoy you a bit more before then. Such a pretty girl shouldn’t go to waste.”

That voice. If she could see past the rag he wore over his face, she was sure she would recognize it. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of night, she would indubitably be staring into the feral eyes of Wyatt Jennings.

When Wyatt decided she had settled in her exertions, he loosed his grip on her arms. Even through the fabric between them, she felt him harden as they raced farther and farther away from the Lazy S. Away from home.

She couldn’t bear it a moment more and slapped him as hard as she could, fingers clawed. Some of the force was lost on the fabric covering his face, but she caught him soundly across the exposed part of his cheekbone.

Wyatt yelped in surprise, and Maggie went limp, let herself fall off the horse and tried her best to roll as she hit the ground hard. As soon as she was able, she dragged her aching body to the forest brush.

The horses turned around and the men shouted as they searched for her in the dark. She had fallen in thick woods full of shrubs and undergrowth between the trees. Unfortunately, chock full of brambles and cactus, which tore at her fragile skin as she crawled for the heaviest growth.

Her dress and arms were being shredded. Ignoring the pain, she pushed further into the thicket. The jangling cadence of boot spurs approached slowly, and she froze, terrified they would hear her. Her captors sounded so close.

Maggie curled into a ball and closed her eyes, unable to do more. She held her breath but her heartbeat sounded so loud. Could they hear it? Surely they would, and find her. It was beating so fast, she’d surely die of fear.

A hand grabbed her ankle and she screamed Garret’s name. All her terror came out in that one word. Where was her safety? Was her fate to die in those woods among such cruel strangers?

The men dragged her, kicking, flailing her limbs and shrieking, out of the thicket and into the clearing, free of the thorns that had so desperately cleaved to her.

“Found a cactus patch, did you?” Wyatt asked.

The half moonlight outlined her attacker’s form, and she connected her foot with his groin. A sickening crack rang out as a blunt object met with flesh. One of Wyatt’s men dropped lifelessly in the dark. A gunshot followed, then chaos as another body dropped. She strained to see but could no longer make out where Wyatt was. Furious hoofbeats told her he was on the run.

She sat up with the conflict of confusion and battle readiness vying for her attention.

“Maggie?” Garret’s voice came from a short distance away.

She let her breath out shakily. “I’m here.”

Garret kneeled in front of her. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Do what? I didn’t kidnap myself—”

Then she was crushed to him in a rough hug that shoved the air from her lungs and made her croak in pain. The cactus needles piercing her hands and arms tingled and burned the length of her limbs.

“Are you hurt?”

Her body jerked rhythmically as the adrenaline wore off, leaving her shocked and exhausted. “I’ll live,” she said. “Hey, Cookie.”

“Mrs. Shaw,” the man said as he pulled some sort of long weapon from the body of one of her attackers.

The squelching sound made bile rise in her throat. She turned her head away and put the back of her hand against her mouth.

Garret squinted in the direction in which Wyatt had disappeared. “Cookie, I’m going to take her to the house. You head back to the boys. One of ’em got away so I want you all alert. Send Wells into town for the sheriff. He should know what has happened tonight.”

The man grunted and silently melded into the woods, probably to retrieve his horse.

“Can you walk?” Garret asked her.

“Think so,” she replied through chattering teeth.

Once he’d mounted Rooney, he hooked an arm in hers and pulled her up easily into the saddle behind him. As he pointed the stallion toward home, she wished fervently that she could rest her aching hands more comfortably around Garret’s strong waist.

Surely the ride back to the house wasn’t as long as it felt. Her arms smarted, and the burning sensation in them became so all-consuming, quiet desperation for the first rays of light, when she might begin ridding herself of the tiny irritants, filled her. They rode in silence, but Garret’s thoughts must have been churning. Neither his frame nor his attention relaxed at all on the ride in.

Deep blue streaks on the horizon appeared, signaling the last of darkness before dawn, as he pulled Rooney up to the front of the house.

Garret let out an ear splitting whistle, and she jumped. If she hadn’t been fully awake a moment before, she was now. Lenny appeared around the side of the house like a shade, faster and quieter than she would have thought possible. Garret gave the girl minimal explanation, pulled Maggie off the horse and hustled her into the house. A fire was started while Lenny gathered ingredients for what probably would be another rancid poultice. Smell held no weight over the desperation to alleviate her irritated arms though, which, by the light of the fire, looked to have an angry rash from fingernail to elbow. Lovely.

Seated at the table, she laid her head on the board, rested her elbows on the worn wood planks and held her hands in the air. It didn’t feel good by any means, but it felt a hell of a lot better than letting her sensitive, cactus-needle-pumped skin rest on anything other than air.