The Outlaw's Bride (21 page)

B
efore Colonel Dudley and the soldiers could take positions, Isobel saw several Dolan men run to Alexander McSween’s house and begin pouring coal oil around the wooden window frames.

“What do they mean to do?” she asked Ike, clutching his arm.

“I reckon they’re gonna try to burn out the McSween bunch.”

“Burn them!” Isobel rose to her feet, but Ike pushed her out of bullet range.

“Don’t worry yerself none, ma’am,” he drawled. “That house is made of adobe brick. It ain’t gonna burn worth a lick.”

“But the window frames. And the roof. Oh, Ike, you must take me across the street at once. I have to save my husband.”

“Settle down, now. Tell you what. I’ll step outside and see if I can find someone who can tell me what the soldiers is plannin’.”

The moment Ike left the room, Isobel pushed at the window casing in an effort to dislodge it. But the stout
wood frame was embedded in adobe, and it refused to give. She ran to the door and tried the knob, but Ike had locked it. Frantic, she raced to the window again.

“Noah!” she shouted. Taking up a chair, she began smashing it against the window. “Let me out, Jimmie Dolan!”

“Hey, there!” Ike barged into the room. Isobel flew at him, fists pummeling as she tried to push past him. He grabbed her arms and shoved her back from the door. She stumbled and fell to the floor, sobbing.

“What’s all this, ma’am?” Ike said after he’d locked the door behind them. He bent over her and laid a hand on her back. “You know I can’t let you out, Mrs. Buchanan. I got my orders.”

She shrugged away from his hand. “My husband is in that house! I must see him.”

“You wouldn’t get near McSween’s place even if I did set you free.”

Her heart breaking, Isobel struggled up from the floor, ran to the window and looked out.

Ike spoke softly as he joined her. “When McSween’s men saw Colonel Dudley was back in town, they hightailed it out of here. He ain’t got nobody left but the men in his own house. I hear they’ve stacked adobe bricks inside to make a barricade.”

Isobel leaned her forehead against the window frame. Noah was inside Alexander McSween’s house. Noah and a few others. How could they hope to hold out against an army?

“Where is the colonel?” she asked. “I must speak to him. If he fires those guns at McSween’s house, he’ll kill everyone inside.”

“He’s setting up camp down the street. Dudley may
be a hard-drinkin’ man, but he’s got some smarts, too. He sent messages tellin’ McSween and Dolan that he’s in town to protect the women and children. He said if anyone fires on his soldiers, he’s gonna blow ’em to kingdom come.”

Isobel moaned. “That means Dolan’s men can fire on the McSween house without fear of hitting a soldier. But with troops everywhere, no one inside the house can shoot back. It’s not fair.”

“’Course it ain’t. That’s war for ya.” Ike patted her arm. “Now let me bring in yer breakfast, Mrs. Buchanan. There ain’t nothin’ you can do. Anyhow, you won’t be the first widow in Lincoln County. Believe me.”

Sauntering away, he unlocked the door, slipped through and relocked it from the outside. She could hear him whistling as he banged around the stove, preparing her breakfast.

Isobel was given no opportunity for escape. Shortly after noon, Dolan’s posse filled the house. The men outside the locked door were laughing about their sure victory as they loaded their rifles.

Unable to keep still despite the throbbing pain in her shoulder, Isobel drew a chair to the window. Some of Dolan’s men approached the McSween house and began to pry loose bullet-torn shutters, and smash windowpanes with their rifle butts.

She had no doubt that Alexander McSween must die. How many would die with him? Noah Buchanan…Billy Bonney…Sue McSween? She had barely thought of the woman when out of the house marched Mrs. McSween herself.

Head up, she strode down the street toward the
tor
reón
. If anyone could stand up to an army colonel, it was Sue McSween with her sharp tongue and quick mind.

But the moment she was safely away from the house, Dolan’s men began pouring coal oil over the windows. A flame sprang up at the back of the house near the kitchen. A pillar of smoke rose as the fire crawled from one room to the next.

Isobel sat helpless at her window. Her throat ached from choking back tears. Several times she was certain she saw Noah’s silhouette, but he took cover before she could call out to him. Smoke poured from the windows as hazy figures moved around inside.

Murmuring prayers, Isobel saw images of Noah flicker through her thoughts. The evening he had lifted her onto his horse and carried her into the shadows of the pines. She could recall the smell of him…leather and dust. She remembered his clean-shaven face, the handsomest she had ever seen. She thought of the tender way he had held her, kissed her, loved her. His clear voice rang through the valley with hymns. His strong hands wrestled cattle…and wrote stories.

Oh, Noah! If only she could change the past.

“Naw, she’s Buchanan’s wife!” Ike’s protest carried into her room. “Leave her be, fellers.”

“C’mon, Ike. Let’s have a look at her. Ain’t she the one sent Snake Jackson hoppin’ over coals?”

“Yeah, Ike! Let’s take a gander at Buchanan’s woman.”

“Boys, if I did that, ol’ Dolan would skin me alive.”

Someone guffawed. “He means to string her up for murder, don’t ya know?”

“Murder?” another hooted. “Hoo-wee!”

Isobel swallowed at the thick knot in her throat.
Murder? But of course. What chance would she have to prove her innocence? Dr. Ealy had treated her wounds, and the surgeon had felt no compunction over lying about the condition of John Tunstall’s corpse. He could certainly make it look as though she had not acted in self-defense but had stabbed Snake Jackson to death.

Feeling ill, she studied Mac’s house—enveloped in raging flames. Now Sue McSween marched back down the street to her burning home and went inside, seemingly oblivious to the conflagration.

Moments later, Sue left again and crossed to John Tunstall’s store, where Susan Gates and the Ealy family had hidden. At once, the Dolan posse began to set fire to that building. Mary Ealy ran out of the store carrying the two children and set them on the road. Her husband followed with a stack of Bibles in his arms. Susan raced outside with textbooks in hand and slates under one arm.

“Susan!” Isobel cried, pounding on the window. “Susan, please look at me!”

But now soldiers drove a wagon to the front of Tunstall’s mercantile. The troops quickly loaded the Ealys’ few possessions into the wagon. The Ealys and Susan climbed on board, Susan clutching one of the little girls in her arms, and the wagon rolled away.

“Susan!” Isobel yelled her friend’s name one last time, but the petite red-haired schoolteacher evidently had seen too much. White-faced, she stared blankly ahead, her large gray eyes fixed on nothing.

The wagon made a final trip from the Tunstall store as darkness fell over the valley. It carried Sue McSween’s organ, more of Dr. Ealy’s books and a large sack of flour. By this time flames had raged through the entire
McSween house. The blaze lit the mountains on both sides of town. Shooting increased until all Isobel could hear was the crack of gunfire and the roar of flames.

She hung against the window frame, not caring whether she died by a random shot. No one could still be alive inside the burning house. Noah was surely dead. She ached with hopelessness. But just then, she saw several figures suddenly run from the back of the house. Gunfire intensified. A silhouetted man crumpled to the ground.

For a moment the shooting halted.

“McSween said he’d surrender,” someone shouted outside her door. “Bob Beckwith is goin’ in after him.”

From the window Isobel tried to make out what was happening. She heard a voice cry out from the yard of the burning house. Alexander McSween?

“I shall never surrender!” he roared.

At his words bullets flew. Bodies tumbled to the ground. Rifles blazed away. Dolan’s men poured out of the Cisneros house, leaving Isobel completely alone.

She saw more men—Regulators who had tried to save their friends in McSween’s house—jump from the window of the Tunstall store. Dogs barked. Flames leapt higher.

Sounds of victory erupted from the McSween courtyard as Jimmie Dolan’s men began to prance about and fire their guns in jubilation. Isobel sank onto her chair, watching the devilish dance around the fire.

“McSween’s dead!” someone crowed as he ran past her window, a jug of whisky in his hand. “McSween’s dead! McSween’s dead!”

“How many killed?” another man cried from the porch of the Tunstall store.

“Got ’em all. All the Regulators are dead!”

“Six dead in the courtyard!” someone else called out. “Naw, five. All shot dead. McSween’s one of ’em!”

“Wahoo! We got ’em all. Every last one of them blasted outlaws!”

Isobel covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Noah…beloved Noah. Dear God, let him rest in peace.

I
sobel slumped in her chair, her arms folded on the windowsill and her head resting on them. The acrid tang of smoke filled her nostrils. Shots continued to ring out, as they had most of the night. Someone had broken into Tunstall’s store, and men were still carrying away the looted goods. Isobel could hear them laughing as they drank whisky and boasted about their victory.

Sniffing, she shut her eyes. She had not slept, and now the first purple light of dawn was beginning to streak the sky. How could she sleep? How could she ever go on? But, of course, it wouldn’t be long before Jimmie Dolan remembered her. She would face her own death soon. It hardly seemed to matter.

Memories of Spain and the rich pastures of Catalonia drifted through her thoughts. Horses cantering over green hills. White cliffs. A crashing blue sea. Grapes. Grazing sheep.

And then she saw New Mexico. Blue sky arching heavenward. Fragrant piñon trees. Gurgling streams. Yuccas covered with thick white blossoms. Spiny cacti garlanded in pink blooms.

She imagined she was bending to pick one of those cactus flowers. Leaning forward, her hair fell over her shoulders. She straightened and placed the blossom in a pair of strong, sun-weathered hands.

“Noah,” she whispered. “Noah.”

“Isobel…” The voice came from somewhere outside herself. She tried to turn her head to see his face, but the wound in her shoulder hurt too much.

“Isobel…” She heard her name again. Or was it the wind whispering through the junipers? “Isobel…”

A warm hand stroked down her neck. She jumped. The chair tumbled backward on the floor as she struggled to her feet. And there he was…the tall hero of her dreams. Noah Buchanan.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’,” he said, “but we don’t have much time. Got to get out of this place while Ike’s keeping watch.”

Isobel blinked. “Noah? Are you alive?”

“Me, Billy Bonney and a couple of others made it out of McSween’s house in the dark just before the shooting got really hot. I’m not sure who made it and who didn’t because I took off in this direction to find you. I didn’t even know you were in Lincoln till I heard you shouting for Susan this afternoon.”

He stopped and rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Mac got killed, you know. Dolan’s men shot him. I saw it all.”

“Noah…” It was the only word Isobel could force out of her mouth.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ike won’t be able to steer those drunkards away from the house much longer. Let’s head out.”

Isobel moaned as Noah lifted her into his arms and
carried her from the room that had been her prison for five days. She tilted her head to see Ike Teeters standing in the doorway.

“Good luck, Mrs. Buchanan,” he said, giving her a friendly wave. “You’re fine company, ya know? Easy to talk to. Say, send me a letter when that first little one gets borned. Juanita can read it to me. She knows her ABCs real good.”

For the first time in many days she was able to muster the trace of a smile. “Thank you, Ike. I hope Jimmie Dolan won’t harm you. He’ll come looking for me to hang me.”

“Hang you? Naw, I just made that up. Didn’t want them drunks to get their hands on ya, is all. Dolan might’ve forgot he even had you. I shore ain’t gonna remind him.” He gave her a snaggletoothed grin. “Well, so long. Guess it’s time for me to go join the boys.”

As Ike stepped out the front door of the Cisneros house, Noah carried Isobel out the back. His horse was waiting, and Noah settled his wife against his chest before spurring the horse away from the scene of murder, bloodshed and mayhem.

They rode through the hills, skirting the road as the morning light filtered through the trees. When they had reached a clearing safely away from danger, Noah reined the horse.

“Ike told me Snake tore into you,” he said gently.

Isobel gazed into eyes the color of the New Mexico sky. “I killed him, Noah. I was wrong to do it, even though I was fighting for my life. It’s not my place to take a life. I know now, revenge is not the way.”

“And I won’t need to make Snake pay for what he
did to you.” For a long time he gazed at the gray smoke marring the sky over Lincoln Town. “The minute I figured out it was you yelling at Susan Gates through the window of that house across the street, all the bluster went out of me. I just wanted to get to you—protect you. The push to avenge Dick’s death seemed downright worthless compared with the chance to build a life with you.”

“Oh, Noah, I was sure you had been shot or burned alive,” she murmured against his neck. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

“I couldn’t let that happen, darlin’. I love you too much.”

A smile tilted her lips. “And I love you, Noah Buchanan.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a hug. “Love’s about all we’ve got, because I don’t intend to take you anywhere near Lincoln County again. I’m going to write John Chisum and cancel the purchase of the land. We’ll go north somewhere and start over. I can run cattle for someone up there. We’ll build us a little place—it may not be much—but it’ll be ours and it’ll be clean and safe. Isobel, I’d like to give you children. I’d like to provide for you and protect you—”

“And write stories for me?” With the hint of a giggle, she drew out the New York letter she had transferred to the pocket of her yellow dress. “‘Sunset at Coyote Canyon’ is to be published, Noah. And the magazine wants more of your stories. I’ll type the second one you wrote, shall I? I’ll use my Remington. Maybe we’ll live on the land I won back from Snake Jackson. It’s beautiful, rich pasture just north of Santa Fe. Green country with mountains covered in whispering aspens.”

But Noah heard nothing. He bent and kissed Isobel’s lips. His arms tightened around her, seeking solace for all those empty days…enfolding the woman with whom he would share a lifetime in this land of enchantment.