Anita Mills (13 page)

She hadn’t said much since they’d left camp almost an hour earlier. Every attempt he had made at conversation had died in short answers, until he’d given up on expecting much company out of her. She was probably still mad about that little tiff he’d had with her over the junk in back. And damned if he hadn’t seen better in slave cabins.

At least Laura Taylor wasn’t like Liddy, he decided charitably. Liddy wouldn’t have been stoic at all about the discomforts of a journey like this. By now, Liddy would have already filled his ears with a myriad of complaints, real and imagined. Her back was tired from the constant jostling. The rain had encouraged a late batch of mosquitoes. The sun was burning her skin. Her head ached miserably. The whole of Nebraska was godforsaken and unbearable. She sure hadn’t been a woman to travel much beyond Crawford County, he knew that much. It made him wonder how much grief she’d given Ross on the way to California.

Looking back now, he had to wonder if he would have married her had he had more time to get to know her—if he’d been too bedazzled by all that beauty to realize what he was getting. He didn’t even know if he’d ever really loved her. One thing was for damned sure—it had been she who’d wanted to get married before he left for the war, then she’d left him before he could even get home from it.

Casting a sidewise glance at the Taylor woman, he couldn’t help seeing the contrast between her and Lydia. Unlike Liddy, she wasn’t always posturing, fiddling with her gloves, the tilt of her bonnet, the drape of her skirt. Lydia had always been so aware of how she looked, of how pretty she was, and she’d wanted every man she ever met to know it. She’d known how to cock her head just so, flash those dark eyes, and smile at him, until she had him making a fool of himself. And he’d sure been easy to lead, he realized now. Instead of being a treasure, the glittering beauty had turned into fool’s gold at the first inconvenience.

Laura Taylor, on the other hand, seemed pretty unconscious of her looks, as if she didn’t realize how pretty she was. With half the damned railroad camp hanging after her, she was sure it was because they were just plain hungry for a woman, not because they’d never seen anything like her.

She was hanging on to the board under her with no thought given to the horror of freckles on that straight little nose of hers. She had no bonnet, no gloves, no jewelry, except a narrow gold wedding band, and certainly no fancy clothes. Her shoes were plain black with serviceable soles and laces instead of little jet buttons. But with the sun shilling down on it, that brown hair had red and gold in it.

His gaze dropped lower, to her rounded abdomen, to the callused hand gripping that seat. She’d known hardship, disappointment, and loss, but she’d clung to her pride, and he had to admire her for it. There weren’t many women who could face what the future held for her. Widowhood. Poverty. Isolation. A child to rear alone. God, he wouldn’t want to walk in her shoes for a minute.

He had to wonder if Jesse Taylor had even realized what he’d had. The man sure hadn’t given much thought to her comfort when he’d brought her out here, then left her alone for weeks without another decent female for company. But that was the way things went, he supposed. A man tended to take the good things that came his way for granted, while he cursed the bad.

For Spence, whatever joy Lydia had given him had turned to bitter gall, and her betrayal had left him with a festering sore that wouldn’t heal. And the more he picked at it, the worse it got. Thad Bingham had once told him that hate feeds on its host’s guts until it kills him. He hadn’t understood what his stepfather had meant back then, but he knew now. Only before it killed him, it was going to take Ross and Lydia, too.

“I see something over there.”

Laura Taylor had said it so calmly that he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right, but the tense hand gripping his arm was real. Pulled from his morose thoughts, he looked around.

“Where?”

“I thought I saw movement behind those trees ahead.”

“Probably leaves blowing in the wind,” Nonetheless, he drew the Colt and handed it to her before he retrieved the Sharps under the seat. As he straightened up, he realized there was no wind, not even a faint breeze, and he felt his skin crawl. Staring hard, he thought he could make out a lone rider.

“You’ve got good eyes,” he murmured, his finger closing around the trigger. “I’m not sure I see anything.”

“Out here you have to.” Turning around on the seat, she looked back. ‘There’s not many, but they could be scouts for a war party. Mr. Russell says sometimes they fool you and there’ll be a whole passel of ‘em over the next hill.”

“Yeah. And we couldn’t make a quick getaway if we had to.”

“Just don’t act like you notice anything out of the ordinary while I get the box of cartridges. How fast do you think you can clear the breech and reload?”

“Pretty fast.”

“I’d better warn you not to drop the gun when the fire runs up the breech—it’s just a flash and it’s over, but it tends to startle if you’re not expecting it. Jesse said the seal leaks, and that’s why it does that. I just know there’s a flare when you shoot it.” Sliding the box onto the seat between them, she added, “It’s an 1853, so Mr. Russell just gave it to us. The newer ones cost thirty-six dollars, and Jesse didn’t think we could afford it. This one’s accurate enough, anyway.”

“Where did you learn so much about a gun?”

“There was just Danny and me, and we had to eat. But we didn’t have anything like this—we just had Daddy’s old Hawkens.”

“I see. I guess you must’ve been a real Diana back then.”

“The Romans didn’t have rifles, Dr. Hardin,” she said dryly. “I couldn’t hit the wide side of a barn with a bow and arrow.”

He looked to the stand of trees again and cursed under his breath. He could see three Indians now. Trying not to frighten her, he said, “It looks like you’re going to get a chance to use the Colt.”

“They’re still out of range.” Shifting her weight on the seat, she casually rotated the cylinder. “I don’t suppose you’ve got another bullet handy, do you? You’ve got an empty chamber.”

“To keep from shooting myself in the leg or worse.”

“Yes, I know that, but I’m holding it in my hand right now, and I’d like to start out with all I can get.” Seeing that he was about to raise the Sharps, she suggested, “I’d hold my fire until I knew what they aimed to do. If three’s all there are, they might just let us go by. And if there’s more waiting up ahead, you might not want to start anything just yet.”

“It’s a hell of a place to make a stand, that’s for sure,” he muttered. “We can’t make a run for it, and there’s no place to hide,”

“I’d say so.”

“Are you always so calm, Mrs. Taylor?”

“No.” She turned her gold-flecked brown eyes to him. “Hysterics wouldn’t help much now, so I figure I’ll be worth more to you if I keep my hand steady. But I can’t vouch for what I might do when the fight’s over.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a horse moving. “Now’s the time to show the Sharps, Dr. Hardin——they’re headed this way.”

He could feel the hairs stand on the back of his neck as Indians emerged from the trees. She sat very still beside him, but the only fear he saw was the stiff way she held herself now. He rested the big buffalo rifle across his knees in full view, ready to take aim at the first sign of hostility. Her finger was crooked so tight around the Colt’s trigger that the knuckle was white.

A big buck separated from his two companions and rode forward. His face wasn’t painted, but he didn’t look friendly. Stopping about twenty yards ahead of them, he raised one hand and shouted something. Whatever it was, it wasn’t polite.

“You have any notion what’s going on?” he asked Laura Taylor.

“No. Just don’t let him see you’re scared, and keep going. If they’re going to make any trouble, I’d say it’s about to happen.”

“Yeah.” His mouth was so dry, it felt like it was full of cotton. “If all hell breaks loose, I’ll take the farthest one, and you can have the fellow staring at us. If the last one doesn’t run, you’re the one with bullets left, and you’ll have to fire while I reload.”

“I understand.”

The thought crossed his mind that he’d made it through four years of war without firing a shot, and it’d be a shame if after the hell he’d been through, it was a damned Indian that got him. His hand rested uneasily on the Sharps’s breech, ready for his finger to take the trigger, and his heart pounded while his brain told him that whether he was ready or not, this was it.

“Hello!” Laura called out, forcing a bright smile.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spence demanded furiously. “This isn’t a Sunday picnic, and they’re not after fried chicken.”

“I’m not showing fear. I don’t know much about Indians, but I’ve heard they respect that.” Keeping a tight grip on the revolver, she raised her other hand to wave at the scowling brave. “We’re just passing through!”

“Are you insane?”

“I don’t know yet. If it’d help, I probably would be. I read somewhere if they think you’re more than a mite tetched, it’ll spook them, but I think the article was about Comanches.”

They were less than twenty yards from the rider when he raised his war lance belligerently with one hand, while the other one brandished what looked to be an old musket. The gesture brought his companions out of the trees, one of them charging, raising a war cry.

“I’d say we’re in deep trouble,” he muttered under his breath.

Her hand crept to the box of linen cartridges, easing the lid off so he could get at them. “Yes, she said simply. “They’re in range now.”

At that, she brought up the revolver and pulled the trigger, shattering the lance in the big buck’s hand. He jerked as though he’d burned his fingers, then he leveled the musket on her. Before he could shoot, Spence fired the Sharps, dropping him. Laura Taylor’s second shot hit one of the others, and he pitched forward, then slumped over his pony’s neck. The third Indian zigzagged, trying to lessen his chances of taking a bullet. Leaning out, he scooped up the wounded man’s reins, spurred his own horse, and tore out of there at a full gallop while the injured warrior flopped like a rag doll but managed to hold on.

The Indian in the road lay where he’d fallen, and as the wagon passed by him, Laura looked away. When that fifty-two caliber bullet had torn through his brow, the rest of his head had exploded. Spence heard her gag, and he felt sorry for her. It wasn’t any sight for a woman to see.

“I just hope there aren’t any more of ‘em, he muttered.

“Yes. I don’t much believe in killing anything I can’t eat.”

Her voice was so quiet that he turned to look at her. She had her eyes closed and her chest was heaving, but the Colt was still in her shaking hands.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, she said, shuddering almost convulsively.

Laying the Sharps across his knees, he found her hand. It was as cold as ice beneath his fingers.

“Laura—”

“I’ll be all right,” she managed, her voice quavering now. She swallowed visibly, then raised her eyes to his. “I’ve never been more frightened in my life—never ever.”

He slid his arm around her shaking shoulders and held her until she calmed down. “You could’ve fooled me, that’s for sure. I thought you were magnificent. All the women I know would’ve been cowering under that seat”

“I wanted to, but then you’d be standing them off by yourself, and that wouldn’t be right.” Squaring her shoulders, she sat back, “We’d better reload. As loud as that Sharps is, everybody within five miles had to hear it.” She took a deep breath, then let it escape slowly. “I’m fine now,” she announced.

“My heart’s doing double time,” he admitted.

“You wouldn’t be human if it wasn’t. It’s the fools who rush in where angels fear to tread—Alexander Pope said that, or at least something very like it. If a body’s not scared by that, he’s a fool.”

“Where did you ever get all those books, Mrs. Taylor?” he asked softly.

“I worked for most of them. When Daddy was alive, he used to read to us from the Bible and a collection of fables. When it was too cold to work in the fields, he’d get out the old lantern, and Mama and I would sit on the floor with Danny between us, and we’d just listen to the same old stories over and over. His voice and the fire in the stove made us forget that the wind was blowing across the floor, and the windows were rattling like they’d break. My daddy would’ve made a good preacher, but he said there wasn’t much of a living in it.”

“I was raised by a preacher myself,” he admitted. “You know, when I was a little kid, I used to think he wasn’t much of a man for hiding behind that Bible instead of earning a man’s living. Now I know I was just dead wrong. If anything, Thad Bingham was the finest man I’ve ever known, and I’d be a hell of a lot better off now if I’d listened to him.”

“I’d say being a doctor is doing all right.”

“Not if you’ve lost the heart for it.”

“It was the war that did that, wasn’t it? Once you get to where you can forget all that carnage, you’ll remember the satisfaction of saving lives,” she predicted.

“Which fable did you get that from?”

“If you weren’t called to medicine, you wouldn’t have made it through medical school.”

“That was a long time ago.”

The way he said it made her look up at his closed face and the tight jaw. His expression was bitter, almost hard. “You know, you weren’t like this when you came through Salisbury,” she said slowly. “All you could think of was getting home to your wife and little boy.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t live up to my expectations.”

The tone in his voice told her he didn’t want to discuss it Sighing, she sat back on the hard seat. “I guess I understand. There’s things I can’t bring myself to talk about either.”

“Yeah.”

He saw the cluster of buildings, the United States flag flying over them, and he knew they’d finally reached Fort Kearney. Squinting into the sun, Spence studied those Stars and Stripes as the slight wind unfurled them against the sky, and he couldn’t help thinking of the thousands of men who’d fought and died for and against the country it stood for. His country now, he had to remind himself, but like damned near everything else, it was a bitter thought. The struggle had cost him everything but his life.