The Independent Bride (25 page)

“She’d be better off with a slug of whiskey,” Collier suggested.

“My sister’s not in the habit of indulging in spirits,” Moriah said.

“I don’t imagine she’s in the habit of shooting thieves, either,” the unblinking Collier responded.

Bryce ignored both of them and guided Abby into her parlor and eased her down on the couch. “Do you have any brandy in the store?” he asked Moriah.

“Yes, but—”

“Bring me a bottle and a glass.”

“I told you, my sister doesn’t drink spirits.”

“I’m just trying to help her over the shock,” Bryce said, impatient with Moriah’s resistance.

Moriah didn’t move, but Collier arrived carrying a bottle.

“Where’re the glasses?” he asked Moriah.

When she didn’t answer, he opened cabinets until he found one. He poured an inch of brandy and handed it to Bryce. “I’ll put the body in the stable. Do you need anything else?”

“Have some men check around the post. I want to know if anyone else came with him.”

“I think you’re a mighty brave lady to face a worthless bum like Spicer by yourself,” Collier said to Abby. “Any one of my sisters would have screamed and fainted dead away.”

“That’s what I feel like doing right now,” Abby said.

“You go right ahead if you feel like it. The colonel’s got a good hold on you.” With that piece of cheerful advice, Collier took himself off, thereby sparing Bryce the necessity of ordering him to leave before his mouth got them both in trouble. Bryce raised the glass to Abby’s lips.

“It smells awfully strong,” Abby said doubtfully.

“Just take a sip. Hold it in your mouth a moment, then swallow.”

Abby took the glass and warily lifted it to her lips. She took a tiny sip, held it in her mouth for a moment, then swallowed. Her eyes grew a little wide and her mouth opened in surprise, but all she said was, “That wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

“Good. Now keep taking tiny sips while Moriah tells me what happened.”

“I was asleep,” Moriah said. “The first shot woke me. I rushed in here to find Abby standing just where you found her, staring at Spicer’s body.”

“Has Spicer been around the store recently?”

“We haven’t seen him since Abby said she wouldn’t pay him until he gave her the rest of the money the store had taken in.”

“Have you heard any rumors about him threatening to get his money back on his own?”

“No. I’d forgotten all about him.”

Bryce felt uneasy. Spicer was no-good, lazy, and loudmouthed, but he’d never heard of Spicer being angry at Abby or threatening revenge. Maybe he was just breaking in to get liquor. What surprised Bryce most was that Spicer had shot at Abby. He’d never known the man to carry a gun. But he supposed a man would take unusual risks when he thought he could get his hands on money or free liquor.

“Are you feeling any better?” Bryce asked Abby.

She nodded.

“Good. Now drink the rest of your brandy.”

Only then was Bryce surprised to realize Moriah was looking at him with an expression that was either anger or severe disapproval. One trouble with his marriage had been that he couldn’t read his wife’s moods. Apparently he wasn’t any better with Moriah. He supposed she disliked his sitting with his arm around Abby almost as much as she disapproved of the brandy, but he didn’t intend to move. He’d seen soldiers go into shock the first time they killed an enemy. He was certain the shock would be even greater for Abby.

“Both of you are coming back to my house,” he said to Moriah “We’ve just moved in here.”

“I doubt either of you would get any sleep if you stayed here. I’m not certain Spicer was alone. I’ll have Collier set guards on the post for the rest of the night. Tomorrow morning we’ll decide what to do next.”

“This is our home,” Moriah said. “We have to live here.”

“Fine, but you’ll stay in my house until we figure out how Spicer got in and if anyone else knows his secret.”

Moriah didn’t look at all pleased, but after a slight hesitation she left the parlor. “Are you feeling better?” Bryce asked Abby.

“A little.”

She still looked pale and completely unlike her usual energetic, decisive self. She’d drunk half the brandy.

Bryce didn’t find it a hardship to continue sitting next to Abby, his arm around her. He’d been thinking about her all evening. It had started even before each mouthful of Zeb’s supper reminded him that Abby and Moriah were no longer staying in his spare bedroom. He missed the feeling of expectation that greeted him after a long day. He missed Pamela running to meet him with a hug and kiss, excitedly telling him what Abby and Moriah were preparing for supper and how she’d been allowed to help.

He missed the animated conversations at dinner, discussions that ranged from trapping and gold mining in the Rocky Mountains to the latest style of dress in St. Louis to discussing the pros and cons of where to establish the trading post’s line of credit. He missed lingering at the table while Zeb cleaned up, enjoying his coffee and brandy, unwinding from his day. The evenings had had a way of helping him forget he was stationed at an outpost of civilization, a point where two ways of life collided, a conflict in which it was preordained that only one could survive.

As much as he loved his daughter and enjoyed being with her, he missed the companionship of an adult who could understand the strain of his work, the worry of a father for his child, the pitfalls of a stressful career. He missed female companionship, that special something no man could provide, no matter how close the friendship, no matter how many shared experiences.

The sound of a burp scattered his thoughts.

“Sorry,” Abby said. “It’s the brandy.”

“It’s all that sipping,” Bryce said, amused at her embarrassment. “You get air in your stomach.”

“Next time I’ll swallow it in one gulp.”

“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time.”

Abby picked up the brandy bottle, which Collier had set on a table next to her. “I think it’s unfair for men to keep this to themselves. I might like a little more.”

Bryce took the bottle from Abby. “You’ve had enough for your first time. Brandy can sneak up on you.”

“You drink more after dinner.”

“I’m used to it, and I’m twice your size. It takes twice as much to achieve the same effect.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“If you’re still feeling the need for something to buck you up when we get back to the house, I’ll let you have a sip or two more.”

“Get back to what house? I’m already home.”

“Bryce has decided we have to go back to his house,” Moriah said as she entered the parlor. “I’ve packed only what we’ll need for tonight.”

“I want to stay here,” Abby announced.

‘It’s not safe,” Bryce said. “We don’t know if there was anyone with Spicer and we don’t know what he was after.”

“He was alone,” Abby said. “I’m sure he was after money.”

“I expect you’re right,” Bryce said, “but how did he get in? The door was barred from the inside.”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t stay here until we find out. Do you feel able to walk, or do you want me to carry you?”

“You will not carry my sister across the parade ground,” Moriah said, a look of horror on her face.

“I can walk,” Abby said. “I’m feeling fine.”

Bryce wouldn’t have minded carrying Abby, but he knew it would be impossible to stop the gossip that action would cause. “On the way over you can explain exactly what happened,” Bryce said to Abby.

But Abby’s explanation didn’t answer Bryce’s two questions: How did Spicer get in and why did he try to shoot her?

Pamela met them at the front door. “I knew you’d come back,” she said, practically dancing with happiness.

“We’re only here until it’s safe to go back,” Abby said.

“You’re safe here,” Pamela said.

“That’s why I brought them back,” Bryce said. “Now get back into bed. You shouldn’t be up.”

“Everybody’s up,” Pamela said. “They thought it was an attack.”

“It was only two shots,” Bryce said. “That’s hardly an attack.”

“It sounded like one,” Pamela insisted.

“Well, since you’re up, you can help us get ready for bed,” Abby said. “We’ve kept your father up much too late. I’m sure he’s exhausted.”

“Daddy never gets tired,” Pamela said. “He’s indyfa… indyfat… table” she added. “I never can say that word.”

“Do you mean indefatigable?” Abby asked.

“That’s it!” Pamela said, delighted. “Sarah’s momma says he’s indyfa … well, you know what I mean.”

“Apparently the Fort Lookout oracle has spoken,” Abby said, grinning at Bryce. “I hope you’re able to live up to it.”

“Nowhere near it,” Bryce said.

“Then we’ll go to bed before your secret is exposed,” Abby said. “You’d better show us the way,” she said to Pamela. “I’m not sure I remember.”

Pamela headed off, followed by Moriah, whose disapproval was apparent by her silence.

“Thank you for your concern,” Abby said to Bryce. “And for the brandy. Now I think I’d better follow Pamela. I’m feeling very tired and a little light-headed. I may truly have forgotten how to find my way.”

Bryce watched her go, aware of an unfamiliar set of emotions at work inside him. He had the odd but good feeling that suddenly everything was all right, now that Abby was back in his house, that the sight of her disappearing up the stairs on her way to bed was the way things ought to be. Some unidentified tension inside him eased. He felt relief, knowing she was safe, but there was something more fundamental going on, something he’d never had the opportunity—or the need—to identify.

He had no trouble understanding one set of emotions. They mostly boiled down to fear. Fear that he was becoming too attached to Abby for his own good. Certainty that Pamela was.

Then there was the other set, the set that compared her to the kind of wife he needed for his career, found her wanting, and didn’t seem to care very much. The set that said his family, especially his mother, would call him a fool for allowing someone like Abby to cross his threshold, much less spend weeks sleeping in his spare bedroom. The set that said if he thought as much about his promotion as he did about his work at the fort, he probably would have had his promotion by now.

Then there was the set that said he ought to put it all out of his mind until tomorrow, that he ought to get himself a cigar and a glass of brandy and enjoy it on the front porch.

Bryce liked the last set best of all.

Dorrie came hurrying from the store into the parlor of the trading post. “There’s a man outside who wants to see you. He says he heard you need somebody to deliver beef to the Indian reservation.”

“Thank goodness,” Abby said, getting up from her desk. “I was beginning to get desperate.”

Dorrie clutched Abby’s arm. “You can’t see him.”

“Why not?” Abby asked.

“He’s a killer.”

Abby blinked. “How do you know?”

“Everyone knows. He was convicted and sent to prison.”

“Whom did he kill? And why?”

Abby didn’t know why she was asking such questions. The fact that the man was a killer ought to be enough for her, but she also had to find someone who would deliver this month’s shipment of beef to the reservation.

“It happened before the war,” Dorrie said. “My husband says all his ranch hands are killers, too.”

Abby had never been called on to face a killer before, but the situation didn’t feel quite as perilous as it sounded. The killing might have been a tragic mistake, a crime of passion, even an accident, she told herself. Whatever the facts, the man had paid his debt to society and was now the owner of a ranch. Abby didn’t feel he should be punished for the rest of his life for what could have been the result of a youthful inability to make the correct decision. Besides, there were several soldiers in the store.

“I’ll talk to him,” Abby said to Dorrie. “I owe him that much courtesy for coming to see me.”

“I’ll warn Moriah to stand near the guns.”