Brazos Bride (9 page)

Micah dragged her onto the floor as a bullet ripped into the mattress.

Chapter Nine

The explosion waked Micah from a sound sleep. For a minute he thought he was back in the War. Reacting purely on instinct, Micah yanked Hope off the bed and pushed her between him and the wall.

"You okay?" he asked.

She pulled one arm free and brushed at her cheeks. "Just splinters I think. You?" Her body trembled.

He rubbed a hand across his face. "I’m fine. Stay here while I see if the gunman is still around."

In a crouch beside the bed he searched the room, waiting for another blast. Though he'd acted without conscious thought at first, the second explosion had sounded like a rifle.

She gasped. "Maybe it was just a drunken cowboy shooting up the town."

"A bullet fired from a pistol on the street would likely have hit the ceiling, not the bed. No, someone aimed into this room. And it sounded like a rifle to me."

She clutched his shirt. "Then do not go out there.” Her voice filled with panic. “Whoever did this might be waiting for you to show yourself--"

Banging on doors along the hallway interrupted her and the innkeeper called loudly, "Everyone okay up here?"

Micah made a low dash to the door and unlocked it. Herman Stevens stood in the hall, rifle in hand and his britches' suspenders pulled over his nightshirt. His gray hair stuck out in all directions and left no doubt he'd been asleep until a few minutes ago.

Micah pulled the man into the room. "Stevens, guard my wife. Don’t let anyone but me in, will you?" He stomped his feet into boots and shoved his pistol into his belt. "I'm going to find where that shot came from."

Micah pulled the door closed behind him and raced along the hallway. Taking steps two at a time, he hurried down the stairs and outside. He met the sheriff on the boardwalk.

"Aw, hell, Stone. I might of known this had something to do with you being in town. Can’t you stay out of trouble?"

Micah walked into the street and pointed to the room above, though all appeared tranquil from here. "Two shots through that open window while my wife and I slept. Just missed both of us."

"Heard you and the Montoya girl tied the knot today.” Ryan said as they walked to the building across the street. “Reckon someone didn't like you winning her hand?"

"Right. Guess it could have been aimed at both of us, but my gut says they were meant for me. First shot came in and hit low on the headboard, not the ceiling. Second one came lower, hit the mattress."

Micah turned to stare at the hotel's corner windows then gauged where the shot would have come from. He saw Ryan do the same.

"Roof of the Mercantile," Ryan grumbled then strode off around the corner to a stairway that led to Bowman’s second floor living quarters. Micah followed fast on the sheriff's heels.

Their booted steps clattered on the wooden treads and made enough noise for an army. "Surely Bowman would have heard someone on the roof? Doesn't he sleep upstairs?"

Ryan said, "Old man would sleep through a dynamite blast. Unless his dyspepsia acts up, he won't wake until just 'fore sunup."

When they reached the landing at the second floor entrance, the sheriff climbed on the railing and peered over the flat roof's edge. "No one's there now. Come morning I'll check every inch and out back, too."

"Then you'll take this seriously, even though I'm involved?"

“
Don't reckon it'll do any good but, yeah, I'll check into it.” Ryan jumped down to the landing. "Law’s the law. My personal opinion don't come into it."

They descended the stairs and paused in the alleyway.

“
Maybe someone saw the culprit.” Ryan studied both sides of the now deserted street. Rubbing his jaw, the sheriff looked at Micah. "You can go back to your bride, Stone. I'll take over from here."

Micah hesitated and wondered if he could trust the lawman who despised him. If someone had launched an attack, this time Micah wanted the law on his side. It galled him, but he figured he’d better take this man into his confidence. He lowered his voice so only the sheriff could hear.

"My wife has reason to think someone’s been poisoning her. That makes it even more likely someone wants her—maybe both of us—dead."

Ryan grimaced, his gaze roaming to search corners and crevices. "Hell, man, why didn't she come tell me?" His narrowed eyes flicked to meet Micah's. "She have any proof?"

Micah went over the ploys Hope had used to check out her suspicions. He added, "Look, Sheriff, I know you think I shot her father, but I swear I didn't. What if whoever killed the old man wanted to wipe out more than him? You know anyone who has a grudge against the whole family?

Ryan shook his head. "Alfredo Montoya didn’t have any friends, though a lot of folks kowtowed to him. He was a powerful man hereabouts and wealthy as Solomon, but mean and tight-fisted. Either one of those causes enemies. No one in particular comes to mind, though--except you."

Micah let the slur slide. He needed the lawman's help.

Ryan's forehead crinkled in a frown, uncaring or unaware he'd insulted Micah again. "Jorge Montoya isn't as rich as his big brother, but reckon he has enough wealth to arouse plenty of envy."

Micah said, “Word of our wedding seems to have spread through the town fast."

"Yeah, Bowman told me when I went for my mail." Ryan stroked his chin and scrutinized Micah. "That’s too bad, Stone. Don’t know the lady well, but it’s a shame someone’s out to kill her.”

"Damn right. I aim to see no one hurts my wife, but so far I'm not doing too well."

When Micah reached the Presidential Suite, Herman Stevens patrolled outside the door like a sentry. When he spotted Micah, Stevens stopped and stood at attention. Micah expected a salute any second.

"Your wife asked me to step out, but I been guarding her like you said."

"Thanks, Stevens, but reckon whoever shot at us is long gone. Could we move to another room—one with less exposure?"

Stevens nodded. "You go on in and I'll bring you the key to this here room back of yours."

Micah thanked him and went inside. If he kept his gaze from the bed, the room looked deceptively peaceful. Hope wore a wrapper and had lit the lamp, but she sat away from view through the windows. If possible, she looked even paler than earlier today.

"You okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with fright, and pointed to the mattress. "Thanks to you."

He examined the rip across the top, right where he and Hope had lain.

Would the bullet have killed both of them? Probably. He recalled hearing about Cole Younger tying Union soldiers together in the War to see how many men one bullet would pierce, but he didn't know the truth of that story. He knew one rifle shot could kill two people, though, for he'd seen it happen.

Running a hand over the hole in the splintered headboard barely above where their heads had lain, then across the exposed cotton stuffing that popped up through the torn sheet and ticking, he whistled softly. "This wasn't just to scare us, Hope. Someone meant business here. Deadly business."

He moved to the window and looked across the street. The Mercantile's façade offered a good three feet of cover to hide an assassin. From the roof’s West end, a rifleman had a perfect line of sight to the bed.

"Can we please get out of this room now?" Hope asked, clutching her bundled clothes to her chest. Visibly trembling, she jumped at a rap on the door.

Stevens called, "I have that key for you."

Micah opened the door carefully.

Stevens pointed to the room behind theirs. "Number three. Won't charge you extra or nothing, but you folks got to pay for that ruined bed. Reckon it was you being shot at."

Hope rose and walked to stand near Micah. “Anything, just get us out of this room.”

Micah took the key Stevens handed him. "Thanks." He scooped up the rest of their belongings.

The innkeeper shuffled away and Micah checked the hallway, then motioned for Hope to follow him. The new room’s view revealed only the top of the one-story bank across the alley.

Hope turned back the bed. Lord, she looked ready to drop. He doused the lamp. Moonlight silhouetted her as she removed the wrapper and slid between the sheets. Without asking or waiting for an invitation, he tugged off his boots and lay down atop the bed.

"You didn't find anyone, did you?" she asked in a whisper.

Her trembling tempted him to cuddle her near and soothe her fears, but he didn’t reckon she’d take kindly to him doing so. "No. Sheriff said he'd look more tomorrow and let us know. Don't figure he'll find much."

"Micah, I am trying to be brave, but I am really frightened. I did not expect anything like this, and nothing so fast."

He turned and spooned himself to her and slid his arm across her tiny waist. She sucked in her breath but didn't resist. Breathing in her scent, he moved his mouth near her wonderful hair.

"You are brave, and smart to figure out about the poison. It'll be all right now. Go to sleep and don't worry. We'll soon find out who's behind this."

Dang, he sure hoped he spoke the truth.

Chapter Ten

The sheriff stopped them on their way out of town to let them know he'd checked the area.

"Found two spent cartridges on the Mercantile's roof. There's dozens of boot prints and tracks behind the building. No telling which belonged to your man."

Micah said, "We'll be on the lookout, but it's hard to plan for a bushwhacker."

"Your brothers staying around?"

Micah nodded. "Until this is settled. They're moving to my wife's ranch long as they're needed. One of us will stay with her while the other two work."

Sheriff Ryan nodded his approval. "That's good. One man can't be on guard twenty-four hours a day."

Ryan stared hard at Micah, arms folded judgmentally across his chest. "Normally I don't hold with folks taking the law into their own hands. That's my job. But you and your brothers have been lawmen, so reckon you know what to do. All the same, better look sharp until this here trouble’s cleared up."

Micah clicked to the horses and they drove off, his mare tied to the back of the rig. When Micah glanced back, the sheriff stood in the street watching their departure, a frown on his face. Micah couldn’t help wondering what Ryan was thinking. After all, a short time ago the sheriff had accused him of murder.

As they left town behind, Hope stared left and right as if searching out anyone who waited to waylay them.

Micah did the same. He thought ahead to the best places for an ambush. When they slowed near the dry creekbed. Near the ravine before the turnoff to his place. The cedar brake. All those were places they’d be most vulnerable. But he figured the mangy coyote would wait until they dropped their guard to strike again. Micah would have to make sure that day didn't come.

Sunlight had brought another scorching day. Not a cloud rode the sky and only an occasional light breeze offered any relief. Grass had turned yellow and in many places the ground cracked from lack of moisture. Even the birds looked tired.

When they passed the turn off to Hope's ranch and headed for the low hills, she looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“
Where are you going?” She used her parasol to indicate the other road. “That is the way to my home.”

"Need to fill in Joel and Zach, then we'll head on to your house.”

She frowned at him, clearly not happy about the diversion.

He hated to increase her fatigue, and it would add hours to their day. “My brothers need to know about the attempt to shoot us.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then fixed her attention forward. “You should have consulted me.”

“
Would you like to stop and rest a spell?”

“
No,” she snapped, as if he’d dome something wrong.

She appeared put out. But why? Hell, did she expect him to give a running commentary of his plans? He didn't know much about being married, but so far it was no picnic.

Hope wanted to smack Micah with her parasol for bypassing the turn off to her home without even asking her. Not that she minded the trip to see his brothers, for she found herself curious about where he lived. But she minded plenty not being consulted about the decision, as if her opinion didn’t matter.

They probably had another hour in this buggy and already her body ached and she needed to lie down and rest. Heat wilted her, and her yellow silk dress and petticoats stuck to her skin. Drat his hide for being so highhanded. She wished he'd at least say something to break the trip’s monotony.

As if he read at least a portion of her thoughts, he said, "Lucky for us Eduardo left the buggy."

"Yes, at least it offers a little shade." Still inclined to smack him, she kept her parasol aimed to the side and blocked the sun's rays. "I wonder how Eduardo got home?"

"I reckon your cousin hired a horse from the livery stable. Still, it shows more consideration than I expected from him. Figured I'd be the one to have to rent a rig."