The Devil's Own Desperado (29 page)

“Yes,” Archer said. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m not sure.” Taylor shook his head and shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But I’m going to take a hard, fast ride down to Laramie and depending on what I find out there, catch the train into Rawlins Springs.” He paused next to Amelia. “I want your word, Amy, if he wakes up before I get back to talk to him, you won’t let him leave. I don’t want to have to spend a couple of months tracking him all over the damn territory.”

“I can’t promise you that.” Amelia lifted her hands. “I couldn’t stop him from leaving a year ago. If he thinks he’s wanted for killing…”

“Then don’t tell him. Besides,” Taylor said with a smile, “he’s got a lot more reason to stay for a while, this time, hasn’t he? I’ll be back in a couple of days. Keep him alive, Amy.”

“So you can hang him?” Amelia hated the aging marshal at that moment more than she ever thought she could hate anyone.

An enigmatic smile crossed Taylor’s mouth. “Just keep him alive.”

****

Colt jerked awake, gasping. He’d shot and killed two lawmen in Rawlins Springs, as well as two other men that George had probably deputized.

Where was he? He scanned the room. The familiar sights of Amy’s bedroom, the low ceiling, the short chest of drawers, and even the battered nightstand slowed the terrified pounding of his heart. He licked parched lips and let a moment of relief cascade over him.

Amy dozed in the rocking chair in the corner of the room. His heart wrenched. Even in sleep, she appeared exhausted. Dark circles smudged the smooth skin under her eyes, and lines had etched themselves into her face.

“Amy.” His voice was little more than a croak.

She sat upright, her eyes lightening when she settled her gaze on him. A tremulous smile broke over her mouth and she leaped from the chair. She sank to her knees, and ran a trembling hand over his brow. She stared at him, awe and relief coloring her expression.

He caught her hand, and pressed it to his lips. Still gripping her hand, he lowered it to his chest. “How long have I been here?”

“Ten days.” Her voice broke. “Dr. Archer and I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I can’t stay, Amy.” He tightened his hold on her hand when she tried to pull away. “I shot and killed a couple of lawmen in Rawlins Springs. If Taylor hasn’t been here, he soon will be.”

Anger filled her eyes. “So you’re going to run again?”

He shook his head. “I’m tired of running and tired of looking over my shoulder. I can’t stay because as soon as I can stand, I’m going to turn myself in. Maybe that will rate me a new rope in his tally book.”

“I see,” she said, in a voice so soft Colt strained to hear it. She pulled her hand free of his hold and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Amelia left the room. She stopped at the table, braced herself on her hands, and gave in to the tears she had wanted to cry for the past ten days.

In his bassinet, Michael waved his chubby arms at her. Amelia scooped him up and hugged him fiercely. Instinct shouted to carry him in to meet his father, but she didn’t. If she had to keep Michael hidden for a few more days from Colt, she would. She wanted to know he was going to stay because it was what he wanted, not because of an obligation he might feel to their child.

She went to the door and called for Saul.

The thirteen-year-old boy ran from the barn. Amelia couldn’t stop the smile breaking over her face. “He’s awake. Go into town and tell Marshal Taylor.”

****

Amelia opened the door and stood just inside, allowing Taylor into the bedroom.

Before Taylor could say a word, Colt said, “I’m not going to run, Marshal. At this point, I couldn’t. I give you my word, as soon as I can, I will come into town and turn myself in.”

“I don’t think so, Evans.”

Colt’s gaze dropped to the coiled rope in Taylor’s hand. It was old and frayed. Weary resignation filled him. Even offering to turn himself in hadn’t earned him a new rope. He tried to push himself up. “Let’s make this quick then, Marshal, and as painless as possible for Amy and the kids.”

Taylor barked, “Don’t get up.”

Colt frowned. He looked from Amelia to Taylor. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been to Laramie to talk to Billy Matthews. He had an older brother named George. Last Billy heard of George, three months ago, George was a faro dealer in Deadwood. I then made a real fast trip to Rawlins Springs. Seems no one had ever heard of George Matthews when he rode into town with three other men. I sent a wire to a judge I know in the Dakota Territories, asking him if George Matthews had been sworn in as a marshal. He never was.” Taylor leaned a shoulder into the doorjamb, and slapped the rope in a slow, steady rhythm against his leg.

That coiled rope held Colt’s gaze.

“But he was wanted for the killing of a federal marshal over at Council Bluffs several years ago. George took the man’s badge as a trophy, it seems, because when I was in Rawlins Springs, I got that badge. Several folks there were amazed that you survived that ambush. They said it was over in less than ten seconds, and most of them had never seen shooting like that.” Taylor spared the rope a glance. “I also had a long talk with the two deputies in town who claimed they shot you while you were leaving town. They admitted they hadn’t, and they also admitted they stayed out of sight while George and his three hired guns bushwhacked you. They’re not wearing badges anymore.”

Amelia edged closer to the bed. Colt finally pulled his gaze from the rope and glanced up at her. He couldn’t read her expression. He tried to push himself up again.

Taylor barked, “Damn it, Evans, I said don’t get up. I sure as hell don’t want to hear about it from Doc Archer and Amy if you start bleeding again. Doc said he’d shoot me himself if that happened.”

Amelia sank to the edge of the bed, and took his hand into both of hers.

Colt demanded, “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to ask you a question, Evans, and I want a totally honest answer from you,” Taylor said. “If you had an ironclad guarantee no one was ever going to come looking for you, and you knew Amy and the kids would never be put into harm’s way because of your past, would you stay here with her?”

Colt shot his gaze to Amelia’s face. He shook his head. “It’s not possible, Marshal. If it was, I would have married her a year ago and stayed. But we both know it isn’t possible.”

“It is if we buried Colt Evans two days ago,” Taylor said.

“What?” Colt’s gaze skipped from Amelia’s sudden smile to the marshal’s poker face and back to Amelia. “What the hell is this?”

Amelia’s smile grew. “The whole town turned out for Colt Evans’ funeral according to Saul. Of course, Jenny and I weren’t there, because I was too distraught and Jenny stayed here to take care of me.”

“I’m asking you again, Evans, if you had an ironclad—”

“Who the hell did you bury?” He glared at Taylor. “Who did you bury two days ago?”

“Colt Evans was in that pine box.” Taylor tossed the rope onto the battered trunk at the foot of the bed.

Ignoring Amelia’s attempts to hold him flat on his back, Colt pushed himself up. “Who did you bury?”

“More like what,” Taylor said, a satisfied grin breaking over his face. “We buried a sizable chuck of Medicine Bow granite two days ago.”

Colt fell back into the pillows. His head spun with the possibilities opening up. Being able to spend the rest of his life with Amy, never having to look over his shoulder again, never worrying about another bullet with his name on it in another man’s gun. He squeezed Amelia’s hand.

“It’s the closest anyone is going to come to an ironclad guarantee for you, Colt. Are you going to stay?” Amelia asked in a small voice.

“If you had a preacher-man here, I’d marry you now.” He paused, searching her face. “That is, if you want me.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. “Yes, I want you. I want you to stay. If I’d been honest that last night you were here, I would have told you I never wanted you to leave in the first place, but I was just too scared to find the words.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “Want me to send in Reverend White, Colt?”

Amelia sat still as a marble statue, breathless. Slowly, Colt nodded. “Yeah, if she doesn’t mind being wed to a man flat on his back. I know this isn’t how most ladies see their wedding day, but I told you the day I left here I was doing the only decent thing I’d ever done in my life. I was wrong. I’m finally getting around to that decent thing.”

****

Amelia stood in the doorway, Michael in her arms. Colt lifted his head. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing, and then his expression went blank. He pushed himself up against the thick pillows.

Amelia waited for him to say anything. His gaze skipped from her face to Michael’s chubby countenance and his eyes widened as he gulped a ragged breath. A body would have to be blind, Dr. Archer had said, not to know the boy was Colt Evans all over again. Even with her eye color, Michael was just a younger, gentler version of Colt. At long last he breathed, “Did you know when I left?”

She shook her head. “Not for two months after.” She didn’t move closer.

“Why didn’t you tell me before Marshal Taylor got here?” A flicker of anger glittered in the depths of his gray eyes.

“I had to know you wanted to stay with me because it was what you wanted, not because it was out of a sense of obligation.”

“Obligation? What makes you think I’d feel any obligation?”

“Don’t you? Isn’t that why you left in the first place, because you felt if you stayed here, we’d all be in danger?” She shifted Michael in her arms. The infant chewed on his fist, drooling onto her dress.

Colt’s features softened. “How old is he?”

“Four months. His name is Michael. I gave him your middle name, if that Bible you carried had your name right.”

“It’s right.” He looked again from her face to Michael’s. At long last a smile broke over Colt’s face. “This is a hell of a way to meet your old man for the first time. Tell your momma to bring you here, Michael.”

At his name, Michael twisted toward Colt. Colt held his one good arm up to the boy, and carefully, she lowered Michael onto his lap.

Colt cradled his son, looking down into the baby’s face. “An ironclad guarantee.”

“What?”

“Taylor asked me if he could give me an ironclad guarantee that I’d never have to worry about you and the kids again, or have to look over my shoulder, if I would stay.”

Michael gurgled happily, chewing on his fist.

“I know he asked you that.” Her heart was swelling so full it should be breaking open. “Marshal Taylor and Dr. Archer both told me I should tell you right away about Michael, but I had to know that you were staying this time because you wanted to, because when they buried that granite, they buried your past with it.”

Colt smiled down into the infant’s face. Michael latched onto Colt’s finger and pulled it into his mouth to gnaw on it. “They buried my past and gave life to a future, Amy.”

To her amazement, he was trembling. He lifted his head and the gray of his eyes was soft as the dawn. “They gave life to a future with you.”

Lynda Cox earned both her BA in English and history and MA in English from Indiana State University. She is an adjunct instructor of English, teaching mainly freshman composition.

Growing up on a steady diet of John Wayne westerns and the television series
Lassie
, Lynda has incorporated those influences into her life. Her historical romance novels are set in the Wyoming Territory and when she isn’t writing or teaching she can be found on the road to the next dog show to exhibit her award-winning collies.

She loves to talk books and can be reached at
[email protected]
.