Flora's Wish (55 page)

Lucas thought only for a moment. “All right. If you agree to say nothing about any of this, I will do what I can to see that you alone will have an exclusive interview with my bride and me. And, more importantly, you and your paper will never, ever refer to my fiancée as Fatal Flora again, or you will risk my wrath and legal action. Will that do?”

He nodded far too quickly. “It will indeed.”

“And if you breathe a word of any of this, Carlton,” the deputy said, “you'll be back here and on the wrong side of a cell door before you can blink twice. Do you understand?”

The reporter scribbled something on the paper and handed it to Lucas. “Here's how to reach me. Now I will bid you a good day.” With that, he was gone.

“Seems like there's always a reporter or a lawyer sniffing around here.” The deputy gestured to his desk. “Speaking of lawyers, Miss Brimm's man was here yesterday and is in fact down at the judge's house right now getting a signature on the release papers. The judge is going to call when he—”

The telephone rang just then, and the deputy nodded toward it. “Likely him now.” He picked the receiver up and listened a moment. “Yes, sir. Might I save him the trouble by releasing her to Mr. McMinn? He's standing right here.” The deputy looked at Lucas. “You willing to take Miss Brimm home?”

“I am.”

The deputy relayed the information to the judge and hung up. “All settled. I'll just go get the prisoner.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “You sure you want her? Her lawyer said he'd come fetch her home. Might be safer.”

“No,” Lucas said on an exhale of breath. “I started this. I might as well finish it.”

To his surprise, Flora stepped out to greet him looking only slightly worse for wear. Someone had styled her hair, and she'd changed her clothes to wear a frilly dress that matched her eyes. Eyes that, upon close inspection, spared him little sympathy as he began his hastily prepared speech.

“Flora, I had no idea Kyle worded the telegram that way. Then I decided you'd be safer here than anywhere else, so I—”

“Lucas, can we just leave now before that awful reporter finds me?”

“I handled him.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “How? Did you have him thrown in jail too?”

“No. I promised him the exclusive story of our wedding.”

Flora groaned. “You're not funny.”

“I wasn't trying to be.” He escorted her out into the morning sunshine. By habit, he searched the windows of the buildings around them for the suspect, and then he scanned the horizon. Once he was sure all was well, Lucas released his grip on Flora's arm. “Your carriage, Miss Brimm,” he said with a nod toward the buggy.

His hands spanned her tiny waist as he lifted her up onto the seat. Had he allowed himself, Lucas might have taken a long look into those impossibly blue eyes. Even now he couldn't believe the pretty girl with the sky-colored eyes was his Flora.

His
Flora.

Lucas let out a long breath. No, he couldn't think of her as anything of the sort.

A few kisses and a declaration of some feelings of attraction did not a relationship make. Not exactly a statement worthy of Shakespeare, but it certainly fit the bill.

Now, if she loved him…well, that would be something altogether different.

But she was too busy solving the problems of the world—or at least the problems of her world—to consider marriage to a man who would well and truly love her.

Marriage. Where had that come from? Other than the obvious fact everyone outside of the people who truly knew them believed he was about to make Flora Brimm his wife.

He looked down and saw his knuckles had turned white from gripping the reins so hard.

“You look awful, Lucas. Didn't you get any sleep?”

“No,” he said as he gave the reins a gentle slap and set the buggy in motion. “We were hoping we'd get Lennart. No one wanted to go home.”

Her expression softened. “I appreciate that.”

“Part of the service, ma'am,” he responded with an exaggerated drawl that he hoped would continue her light mood. “How did you spend the night in a jail cell and end up looking so pretty?”

“According to Grandmama, a lady never goes out in public unprepared. So she made sure I was prepared.” Flora paused. “Or rather the half dozen members of the Brimm staff who were sent over for the purpose made sure of it.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, though that was preferable to any distractions a conversation might bring.

Flora leaned back against the buggy seat and closed her eyes.

“Tired?” he asked as he returned his attention to the road. With Lennart still on the run, he could be anywhere. One good shot and…no, he would not let that happen.

“Yes, actually. I'm completely tired of men.”

“Of men?” He lifted a brow as his gaze continued to scan the perimeter. “All men or just a few in particular?”

“I suppose I could blame a few in particular. Such as my grandfather for putting me in this mess, or my cousin Winny for being such a poor handler of his money. Then there are Lennart and Tucker, two men I don't ever want to see again. Add in the reporter, the entire jail staff, and…” She let out a long breath before swiping at an errant strand of hair that had come loose from her elegant updo. “Or maybe I could rest the responsibility on you.”

“Me?” He spared her a quick but direct look. “Why me? I'm the one trying to keep you safe.”

“No, you're the one doing your job, which just happens at the moment to be keeping me safe.”

Oh, that did it. “That is enough, Flora Brimm.”

He gave the area a thorough scan and then veered off in a sharp right onto a dirt road that bisected a stand of cottonwoods. When he was fairly certain of the safety of their location, he pulled the carriage to a quick stop and then swiveled in the seat.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'm trying to decide whether to kiss you or take you back to jail and swear out another warrant.”

“You wouldn't dare.” She looked ready to bolt. “Would you?”

“What is it about you, Flora? You're the most irritating, agitating, beautiful…” He reached to haul her against him. “Do you really believe you're just a job to me? After all we've admitted in regard to our feelings?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, and something she saw there made her heart melt. “Oh, Lucas. Let me show you what I believe.” Before he could respond she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

A shot rang out. Cursing himself for a fool, Lucas pushed her onto the floor of the carriage and covered her with his body.

“Do not move!”

“Lennart,” she whispered.

“Probably.” He leaned up on one elbow, his weapon at the ready. Another shot rang out, this one ricocheting off the back of the carriage and causing the horses to spook.

The carriage lurched forward as the terrified animals ran for cover. Somehow Lucas managed to capture the reins and halt their progress. When the next shot zinged past, he lifted his gun and fired twice.

Someone in the copse of trees cried out. Flora cowered on the carriage floor, all too aware of their near miss with death. Even more aware that her selfish tirade had landed them in this mess.

Silence reigned. Overhead a hawk circled and then called out.

“Give it up, Lennart,” Lucas shouted. “You're already good as caught.”

Nothing.

“Is he dead?” Flora whispered.

“Might be. Or he could just be reloading.”

“But you hit him. I heard it.”

A nod, and Lucas returned his attention to the direction where he'd last shot. “I'll believe he's dead when—”

Lucas fell backward, blood staining his shirt. Another bullet zinged by, this one ricocheting off a tree somewhere nearby.

Flora reached to grab the reins. “Lucas!” she cried, but he didn't answer.
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

“Thank You, Lord.” Brimmfield was too far away yet, so Flora turned the carriage around and urged the horses back toward town as fast as they could go. “Lucas, don't you dare die before I get you to the doctor. Do you hear me?”

But the color was already fading from his face, and those long black lashes refused to move from the spot where they dusted his pale cheekbones. She reached over to place her hand atop his, but only for a moment.

Save him, Lord, please. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

She slapped the reins and the carriage lurched forward.

Once they were back in the midst of the traffic that made up Natchez's main street, her prayers became more fervent, more immediate.

Let him live. I love him, Lord. Please let him live.

Finally, the doctor's office was just up ahead. “Thank You,” she said as she drew the carriage to a halt. She jumped from the wagon and practically dragged the protesting doctor out of an examination and into the street to tend to Lucas.

Returning to the buggy, she pressed past the few bystanders who had already begun to gather. “Let the doctor through,” she demanded as she kept a tight grip on the man's coat.

Lucas's shirt was soaked now, blood staining his chest bright crimson. If he breathed, she couldn't see it. And then he gasped.

“You're alive,” she said as she pressed her palms to his face. “I've brought help.” His eyes fluttered open but his attention did not immediately fix on her.

“You there,” the doctor said to a pair of men standing close by. “Help me get this man inside.”

They complied, making short work of moving Lucas from the carriage to the operating table.

“Flora?” she thought she heard him say as the doctor used a pair of scissors to cut away his shirt.

“Yes, darling,” she answered as she swiped at tears now freely falling. “It's me.”

“Excuse me, Miss Flora,” the doctor said. “Or, forgive me. Are you his wife?”

“No, but I am his fiancée.”

“Close enough. What I'm about to do is going to hurt something fierce, so I'd advise that you hold his hand.”

What the man did Flora couldn't say, for she turned her head. Lucas's screams, however, told her that the doctor hadn't lied in his warning.

“The next three hours will be critical,” he said when he was finished. “And should he survive those, the next few weeks it will be essential that he remain as inactive as possible.”

She pulled the watch from his vest pocket and wiped the bloody splotches off with his handkerchief. The time was straight up ten o'clock. Three hours would be one in the afternoon. Easy for God but an impossibly long time to wait.

Save him, Lord, this man of mine.

I
hope you're listening to me, Lucas McMinn,” Flora said as lightly as she could. And then came the crash of emotion, the strength of which sent her crumbling. “I absolutely cannot lose another man I love. Do you understand me?”