Shotgun Vows (18 page)

He saw the path leading into the woods and hoped to God it was the right way. He ran as if the hounds
of hell were after him. His footsteps, pounding in the dry leaves on the hard ground, echoed the prayer that played over and over in his head.
Let her be all right.

Although it seemed a lifetime, only several minutes passed before he saw her—collapsed on the ground at the base of a tree. Not moving.
Oh, God, please don't take her from me.

He skidded to a stop, then went down on one knee beside her still form. With the threat of more gunfire, he couldn't stay out in the open. He scooped her into his arms and hunched his body around hers, trying to protect her as best he could. He ran with her a short way to a shallow ravine lined with rocks. He ducked behind them and slid the short way down the embankment, cradling her against him. His heavy breathing was the only sound he heard as he waited for more shots.

A few seconds later, he heard the snapping of twigs and the crackle of dead leaves. Someone was running through the trees. As the noise grew more faint, he realized whoever it was—Clint Lockhart, no doubt—was moving away from them. Then he heard nothing but silence and the occasional calling of a bird.

“Mattie?” Still holding her, he brushed silky blond hair back from her face as he scanned her from head to toe. Other than a nasty scrape on her cheek and a bump on her temple, he saw no blood or other sign of trauma. No gunshot wound. Her chest rose and fell, telling him that she was breathing. He sighed with relief.

He ran his hand over her arms and legs in a cursory examination. “Mattie? Sweetheart? Please wake up.”

He heard the desperation in his own voice, and asked any god who would listen to an insensitive mo
ron like himself to bring her back to him. He loved her. Although he didn't deserve to have his prayer answered, he begged for her to be all right.

He pleaded for the chance to tell her he loved her.

 

“Betsy Keene, small and mean.” Clint Lockhart smiled.

Betsy shivered, as much from that creepy smile as his nasty little rhyme that he seemed to find so funny. It was a fact that she was small; some folks called her mousy. But she wasn't mean. She'd had a hard, lonely time of it was all. Now it was her turn to have something or someone.

She'd thought her luck was changing when Clint stumbled into her life months earlier. Men as handsome as sin didn't just fall off the turnip truck. But he had done practically that. Only difference was, it was a prison vehicle and he'd been wounded in the escape. But that didn't matter since he'd been framed by the Fortunes. Once he got even with Ryan Fortune, she and Clint could finally be happy.

Only, she had to tell him she'd screwed up that revenge.

She put her hand in the pocket of her worn jeans to hide the shaking. It had been like that ever since she'd fired off several shots at Matilda Fortune in the woods. At Clint's insistence, she had followed the couple from their house to the cabin.

Betsy closed her eyes at the memory. She still couldn't believe what she'd done. Now she was even more afraid. She had to tell Clint she'd failed to do as he'd asked.

She lowered her gaze, but managed to lift her eyes just enough to study him without his knowing. He was
just about the best-looking man she'd ever seen. His blue eyes and reddish-brown hair and six-feet-tall muscular body set her heart to fluttering something fierce. In her forty-odd years, no man had paid her any mind. She still couldn't hardly believe that a man like him could be interested in a nobody like her.

She was scared to death that he wouldn't give her the time of day when she told him she failed at the latest errand he'd sent her on. She'd been frightened to do it, but more afraid not to. Now she pictured her future without Clint in it, and didn't like what she saw. She had no one without him. Her folks were dead and her brother was on the run from the law. She hadn't seen or heard from him in years.

She'd tried her best to do whatever Clint told her to do. But when she'd pointed that gun, her hands had been shaking so. No way could she hit anything she aimed at. How in the world was she going to tell Clint and make him understand? More important, make him still love her?

“So, Sugar, don't keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened. Tell me how you got even with the Fortunes for me. I want to hear all of it, every last detail. Then I can leave this country a happy man. Just you and me, Sugar. You followed them, right? They didn't spot you, did they? Did she see you? Did she know what was coming? Was she afraid?”

She licked her dry lips. Suddenly her legs wouldn't hold her. She dropped into one of the gray vinyl dinette chairs. She felt as old and worn as the chair with the stuffing leaking out the back. As old and worn as the scratched metal cabinets in her tiny trailer. As ugly as the orange-and-gold sofa that Clint told her was the most godawful piece of furniture he'd ever seen.

“Clint, I—” she looked down at her fingers twisted together in her lap “—it's like this—”

He turned away, rubbing his hands together in glee. “It would have been better if Ryan could have seen her get it. Or if she'd died in a hospital with him at the bedside, with nothin' he could do to save her. That would've been the best. But he's got that ranch so tight with security, you couldn't have done it there.”

“Clint you gotta listen—”

He whirled around, startling her. But the hardness in his blue eyes made her cold all over. “Spit it out, woman. You did take care of her like I asked? Right?”

She swallowed hard. “The gun you gave me—” Just a little white lie. What could it hurt? “It— It wasn't real accurate.” The truth was, the Fortune woman had dropped before she'd fired. Then there wasn't a clear shot.

His handsome mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “You didn't kill the Fortune bitch?”

“No. She was walking so fast. Sh-She was crying.”

“Damn you, Betsy. If you went soft on me, so help me I'll make you regret the day you were born.”

“I—I wouldn't do that, Clint. I love you.”

“At least tell me you hit her. If she hurts, Ryan Fortune will hurt.” The narrow-eyed look he leveled at her was cold, hard and ugly.

“You gotta understand, Clint. It wasn't easy. I— I'm not real good with guns.”

“So she doesn't even have a scratch.” Angrily, he brushed his arm across the kitchen table and sent newspapers, beer bottles and day-old dirty dishes flying.

Betsy jumped as they crashed to the floor, glass shattering. “I'm sorry, Clint. I can—”

“You can't do anything right, you cow. You're so stupid, you can't walk and chew gum at the same time. I don't know why I trusted you to do anything so important.” His chest heaved from his outburst. He took a menacing step toward her. “How could I love a woman as dumb and ugly as you?”

“I'm sorry. Please don't be mad, Clint.”

Fear clawed her insides. Not fear of Clint. Fear of being alone if he left her. The thought terrified. Maybe if she'd never met him… She had to think of something. She needed a plan that would put her back in his good graces. A way to get even with the Fortunes. The best way was through someone Ryan cared about. Someone he cared about who didn't live at the Double Crown. Betsy remembered the way Ryan had fawned over his godchild, Willa Simms. And she lived in College Station. And maybe there was a way no one had to die. Maybe just make the Fortunes worry. A kidnapping. She remembered a movie she'd seen where kidnappers demanded a whole pile of money. That just might work.

“I've got a better idea, Clint,” she said. She licked her lips. “We can't get Matilda Fortune now because they'll be guarding her like Fort Knox.”

“So?” There was a hint of curiosity in his expression.

“So, what if we kidnap that Willa Simms girl?”

“What the hell good will that do?” he asked, exasperated. He rested his hands on slim hips.

Betsy warmed to the idea when he continued to look at her. It was a good sign. “Think about it. We take her, and let Ryan stew for a spell. Then we send him a note and ask for a whole lot of money so's we'll give her back.” She stood up and took a step forward,
trying to think fast. To come up with details she knew would appeal to him.

Slowly, thoughtfully he nodded. “Betsy, you just might have something there. With Double Crown security so tight, I can't get to a Fortune. Next best thing is someone Ryan cares about. Not only can I get even with him, but he'll pay to get her back. And I'll have me some money. The ultimate revenge, let Ryan Fortune bankroll my new life when I hightail it outta here. It's perfect.”

“The trick is to ask for enough. Then you can take me with you.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, hoping she would see agreement.

Clint smiled the deadly smile that meant he approved. Whether it was the kidnap plan, or her suggestion to take her with him, Betsy wasn't sure.

He walked over to her and stroked her cheek with one finger, then lifted her chin with one knuckle of his fisted hand. He smiled down at her. “Sugar, I just might keep you around, after all.”

“H
ow many times do I have to tell you I'm fine?” Mattie shook her head in exasperation as she stared at a pacing Dawson. She sat in the middle of their big bed in San Antonio. He had fluffed the pillows behind her back more times than she could count. “The doctor at the ER said I'm fine. There's no need for you to hover over me like a mother hen.”

Silently she prayed that he would ignore her token protest. She liked all the attention he'd showered on her. She was storing up the warm, fuzzy memories for the long lonely days and nights that stretched in front of her. Days and nights without Dawson.

He stopped pacing and met her gaze, the look in his eyes making her heart pound.
“Au contraire,”
he said. The side of the bed dipped as he sat beside her, his bent knee just an inch from her thigh. “There are several excellent reasons for me to hover. I left you once, and someone took a shot at you. If Clint Lockhart tries anything else, he'll have to go through me. He is not going to get near you again.”

The expression on his face was intense, angry and pretty darn fierce, she thought, going all gooey inside.

She couldn't help smiling. “If he knows what's good for him, he should be afraid, very afraid. And if he comes anywhere near Kingston Estates—” she
pointed at him “—one look at that face will send him running for cover.”

“If he comes near you again, I'll take him apart.” He never raised his voice, but threads of steel ran through it. She'd never heard that particular tone before.

She looked at him and tipped her head to the side as she committed his features to memory. The intense hazel eyes. Tense, square jaw. Muscular body. She decided what she would miss most was his wonderful smell. Her hero. Her husband. Hers for this moment only. How she wished she could stretch it into a lifetime.

“Still,” she said hedging, “we don't know for sure that he was the one who shot at me.”

Dawson slid her a wry look that shattered his worried expression just for an instant. “Who else could it be?” He held up his hand. “And don't give me your half-baked hunter theory. The cops dug a pistol slug out of that tree trunk. No self-respecting hunter would use a pistol. Not in Texas.” He reached over and covered her cold hand with his warm one. “That bullet hit the tree right about where your head would have been. If you hadn't fainted—” He stopped and took a shuddering breath. “I don't even want to think about what would have happened. Which brings me to the other reason I feel the need to hover.”

Knowing what was coming, she rolled her eyes. All the way home in the car he had asked every few minutes if she felt all right. Did she feel dizzy? Was she woozy? Was she awake? Maybe she shouldn't go to sleep. What if she had a concussion?

“I never faint,” she said, heading off the barrage of questions. “In all the years I've worked with
horses, I've had much worse injuries, and I have never passed out in my life.”

“Then how do you explain it? One second you were standing there, the next you dropped like a stone.”

That was the question of the day. Maybe her small drugstore purchase would give her the answer.

Dawson had insisted on bringing her home to San Antonio when the police finished questioning them. She had asked him to stop at a drugstore for something she desperately needed. She'd only managed to stop him from accompanying her when she claimed embarrassment at buying some feminine items in front of him. Besides, she'd told him, even if Clint had ambushed her, it was unlikely he was anywhere around. And certainly not inside that particular store. Even at that, Dawson had stood guard at the automatic doors, and didn't relax until she and he were barricaded inside the house. Before they'd even arrived, he'd been on the cell phone to Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk and arranged for law enforcement around the home.

Home.

She sighed. How quickly she'd come to think of it that way, in spite of the fact that she knew very soon she would have to leave it. And Dawson. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes—a frequent occurrence of late. If it was hormones on account of—

She wouldn't go there. Not unless she had to. If she found out for sure that her fainting spell had happened for the reason she suspected, this marital situation could get a whole lot more complicated. Dawson's noble streak had gotten them into this situation in the first place. His mother-hen syndrome told her his heroic hat was still firmly in place. If he found out
this
news, he would never agree to a separation.

More than anything, she wanted to be his wife and grow old with him. She loved him, more than she'd thought possible. But she didn't want him to stay with her out of a misguided sense of duty. He'd been the one who told her everyone around an unhappy couple suffers—especially kids.

“Aren't you planning to go into the office today?” she asked, anxious for some privacy.

“Are you crazy?” He looked at her as if she were. “Now who needs to have their hearing checked? I just spent the last five minutes explaining why I feel the need to hover. I am not leaving you by yourself.”

“But I'm fine—”

“I don't care,” he interrupted. “I mean, of course I care. I'm glad you're fine. But I am not leaving this house, or you. Besides, Ryan gave me an executive order not to be at the office for a week. When I called him about what happened at the cabin, he reminded me of his order. You can't get rid of me, Mattie. I will not leave your side.”

“Well, I'm going to have to leave yours,” she said, sliding off the bed. As she did, their thighs brushed and she could almost see sparks, almost feel the flames of desire lick her from head to toe. More than anything, she wanted to be in his arms.

But she forced herself to keep going.
Practice,
she thought. She would need to remind herself every day without Dawson to just put one foot in front of the other.

She walked across the room and, without looking back at Dawson, shut the bathroom door between them.

 

Dawson had insisted Mattie rest all afternoon. Her color looked strange to him, her cheeks were white
compared to the usual rose. He had taken the opportunity to make a few discreet phone calls. He'd been planning a surprise for Mattie. Partly to take her mind off the danger surrounding her, but mostly because he'd been given another chance and he wasn't about to blow it. He just needed to set the stage.

While Mattie slept, he'd set up a table in front of the fireplace. He'd used candles, crystal and china. Nothing but the best for his bride. That meant he needed help with food. He'd called a restaurant in town and ordered dinner, which had been delivered a few minutes earlier. Now all he needed was Mattie.

He knew she would always be all he needed. If his luck held, he would find the right combination of words to convince her of that.

As if on cue, she walked into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing her eyes. His heart started to pound at the sight of her—silky strands of blond hair tousled from sleep, sweatpants hugging her luscious curves, T-shirt pulled tight across her breasts. He ached with need for her.

She yawned. “Who's coming to dinner?” she asked, sniffing the delicious aromas while looking around at all the preparations.

“I hope you are.”

Suddenly the drowsiness vanished, replaced by wariness. “You did all this for me?”

“I did. Now go sit down by the fire where it's warm. I'll bring dinner in.”

“Okay,” she said in a voice that told him she didn't trust everything not to disappear.

Dawson fixed two plates—lasagna, salad, garlic bread. He tucked a bottle of Merlot under his arm and
took everything into the family room. Mattie sat there in front of a roaring fire, the flames' glow turning her hair to burnished gold. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

He set the plates down then opened the wine and poured them each a glass. He picked his up. “Let's drink to second chances,” he said.

She hesitated a moment before picking up her glass. “Whatever you say,” she answered.

When she didn't drink, Dawson was afraid his come-to-realize had come too late. Still, there were a few things he had to get off his chest.

Dawson put his glass down and covered her hand with his own. “Mattie, there's something I have to tell you.” She stared at him and he knew she was listening intently. He took a deep breath. “You didn't let me finish what I was saying in the cabin.”

“When?” she asked, her brow wrinkling.

“I told you my parents were mismatched, and in your usual impetuous, wonderful way you jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“Okay. Then tell me the right conclusion.”

“My mother shared with me something that she discovered about her and my father. She said when you find the great love of your life, don't let go. Don't let pride or anything else tear you apart.”

“But you said they were wrong for each other. That she demanded more time than he had to give.”

He nodded and nervously twirled his wineglass. “She found out too late that she would have been happier with the small amount of time he could give than not having him at all. She told me not to make the same mistake.”

Mattie's gaze narrowed on him. “What are you trying to say?”

He drew in a deep breath as he rubbed his jaw. “When I heard that gunshot and found you on the ground—” He shook his head. “I've never been so afraid in my life. I thought I'd lost you. My life flashed before my eyes—a life without you—and it was worse than anything I could imagine.” He shook his head. “No, only one thing would have been worse—not telling you how I feel.”

She turned her hand palm up and linked her fingers with his. “Tell me now, Dawson. How do you feel?”

“I love you, Matilda Theodora Fortune Prescott.” The words came out easily, after all.

Her eyes widened. “You picked a good time to call me that. I'm too stunned to retaliate.”

“It's true. I fell in love with you the first time I set eyes on you, I just didn't know it. I love your spirit and your courage. Not a day will go by for the rest of our lives that you won't know how very glad I am that you're mine. I want to grow old with you.” He laughed. “Older than I am now, anyway. I want to have children with you. As soon as possible. I'm not getting any younger.”

Mattie stared at him. She blinked three times to make sure she wasn't dreaming. He had just said he loved her. Who knew that out of something so violent and frightening, a fantasy so wonderful and beautiful could come true?

“If I'd known it would take getting shot at to bring you around, I'd have done it sooner,” she joked. “I have something—”

“That's not funny.” He scowled.

“Lighten up, Dawson. Don't you see? I love you, too. You need to know—”

“Then why didn't you drink to second chances?” he asked, staring at her untouched wineglass. “If we're okay, it's customary to drink to the toast.”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you.” She squeezed his hand. “It's about all those children you want. I think we…got a jump start. It could be sooner than you thought.”

He stared at her for a moment, then a slow, sexy, wonderful smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

He actually looked happy.
Life just doesn't get any better than this,
she thought, grinning back. She nodded. “Why do you think I made you stop at the drugstore?”

“So the female stuff was a pregnancy test? You should have told me.”

“I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. But I've been feeling sort of sick for the last few days. And when I fainted—” She stopped, realizing the magnitude of it all.

“The baby saved your life,” he said, putting her thoughts into words. He was beside her in a heartbeat, down on one knee with his hand gently, protectively covering her abdomen. “This tiny miraculous result of our love actually saved your life—” His voice cracked. “I can't believe you were talking about a divorce.”

“It was all that respect malarkey. I thought it was your way of saying you could never love me.”

“You were wrong. I was just afraid to tell you I love you. Big difference.”

She covered his hand with her own as together they
protected their child. “I can't wait to meet your mom. She's a very wise woman, and I think I'm going to like her very much.”

“And she's going to love you. She'll be thrilled about becoming a grandmother.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jeweler's box.

Mattie's smile grew wider. It was a small box—the best kind. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You one-upped me with the news about the baby. But I'd planned to do this, and I learned the hard way that there's no time like the present.” He opened the box, then lifted her left hand and slipped on a diamond engagement ring. “This ring was my grandmother's. It symbolizes to me that love has no beginning and no end. It's as strong and precious as the diamond at its center. For a methodical man, I've managed to do everything backward—mating, marriage, courtship. This proposal is a little backward and a bit late, but the sentiment is heartfelt and sincere. Will you be my wife?”

“Yes. I had just about given up on my fairy tale.” She grinned down at him—the wavery him that she saw through tears of happiness. “I don't just mean the bent-knee proposal. All I've ever wanted is a loving relationship and children. You've given me both. Without a doubt, I am the happiest woman on earth. I love you with all my heart, husband.”

“I love you more, wife.”

“I plan to spend every day for the rest of my life making you happy. Here's a sample.” Mattie leaned down and kissed him. She pulled back and smiled. “That first time in your arms was a night I'll never forget.”