The Wedding Ransom (29 page)

Maggie tried to recall their discussions on the trip to the Caribbean. Hadn’t Rafe told her Luke lost his first wife during the war?

He cleared his throat before adding softly, “I gave him my word that I would protect them, Maggie.”

The pain in his voice made her want to groan. He obviously felt responsible for Luke’s dreadful losses.

“I let my brother’s talk of liberty and justice get the better of me. I left with him. I left Rachel and Daniel and Sarah Prescott to drown in the Colorado River as they fled the rumors of the advancing Mexican army. That’s my sin, and it’s one I’ll have to live with forever.”

“Wait a minute,” Maggie protested. “You’re not being fair to yourself. It’s awful what happened to Luke’s first family, but you can’t take the blame for their deaths.”

“I know that. And I don’t take all the blame. My dear brother Nick gets to share the culpability. Before I left with him, he gave both Rachel and me his promise to send two of his men back to the Prescotts to escort Rachel and her children to safety.”

“He didn’t do it?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Oh, Rafe.” Maggie wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. Now she better understood his emotional response when she asked him to steal the treasure. Stealing wasn’t what he balked at; breaking his word to Luke again was the problem he couldn’t overcome. And now that she understood, she couldn’t say she blamed him.

One question in particular continued to plague her, and she tried to put it gently. “You said something to him about slipping a noose around your neck again. Did that have something to do with Luke’s wife?”

“No, that had to do with Nick’s wife. His bad judgment got her killed, but he tried to lay the blame on me.” Rafe’s mouth clamped closed. He rose from the bed and walked swiftly toward the door. “I promised Martha I’d chop her some wood. I’d best get to it or she won’t be serving me any of her cobbler for desert.”

Maggie sat up. “Rafe, wait. Tell me what happened. Please?”

He paused, head bowed. Then he walked out of the bedroom, out of the kitchen without another word. Blast the man. Didn’t he know her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t put up with being ignored? She walked gingerly toward the wardrobe and pulled her favorite cotton print from the hanger. Had she not been so upset on Rafe’s behalf, she’d have welcomed more enthusiastically the marked improvement in her condition.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to make herself presentable. She wasted another five minutes hunting for her shoes, then finally gave up the search. Barefoot, she walked out of the kitchen and into the sunshine, pausing to lift her face to the sky. The sun’s heat kissed her cheeks and soaked into her skin. Then, the rhythmic thud of an ax to wood drew her gaze to the woodpile, and a different type of heat flushed through her.

Rafe stood facing away from her, his discarded shirt lying beside him upon the ground. Sweat ran in rivulets down his broad corded back, his muscles bulging then releasing with every swing of the ax. His movements were smooth and skilled and angry. Maggie thought he must have chopped a week’s worth of wood already.

She breathed deeply, inhaling the tangy fragrance of pine and the pleasing scent of newly cut wood. She stepped closer, stopping some ten feet away from him, and waited. He knew she was there, Maggie could tell. One little flinch gave him away. But he continued to chop and she continued to stand, determined to wait him out. She didn’t speak, simply waited. Finally, as she had known he would, Rafe gave in.

He chucked the ax across the clearing and it flew a good fifty feet before falling to the earth with a thud. Bending, he scooped his shirt off the ground and used it as a towel to wipe the sweat from his torso as he slowly turned around. In a controlled voice, he asked, “What are you doing out of bed?”

“You ignored me.”

“Maggie St. John, you are stubborn as a rusty lock and impossible to ignore.”

“Tell me.”

He scowled and raked his fingers through his dark and damp hair. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“If I tell you will you go back to bed where you belong?”

“Actually I’d like to go up to the inn and visit with Martha for a bit.”

“You’re feeling better?”

“I am.”

“Good. Lucky thing I had a bottle of Bliss water in my saddlebags. It may be days yet before your papa gets back with more.”

“Lucky thing indeed. What did your brother do to you, Rafe?”

A mockingbird’s chatter filled the silence as he stared at her a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was hard and bitter. “I learned what had happened to Rachel Prescott and her children shortly before the battle of San Jacinto commenced. I started drinking, and I got angry—riled up, spur raking, pawing the dirt mean. I waged war on the Mexicans with a vengeance. The Texians won the battle in eighteen minutes, but the slaughter went on for more than an hour. It was a carnage, Maggie, and I was right there in the midst of it. I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not making excuses. It was war and war is an ugly thing. But I wasn’t the only crazy fool out on that battlefield, and some men committed acts much more vile than mine.”

Rafe bent over and scooped his hat off the ground. He set it atop his head and pulled the brim low on his brow. “I admit the circumstances looked damning, and I know Nick wasn’t himself at the moment. But I told him I didn’t do it. I looked him in the eye and swore on the graves of our parents. He should have believed me. He should have accepted my word. And he damn sure shouldn’t have done what he did the following day.”

“What was that? What happened, Rafe? What did Nick do?”

Rafe shut his eyes. “Nick’s wife Rosa was following the army. He kept saying he’d send her home, but he never did. Ol’ Nick enjoyed the comforts of having his wife nearby too damned much. She was there at San Jacinto during the battle. And afterward, when it became a slaughter. She died.”

“And he blamed you?”

Rafe opened his eyes and pinned her with a stare. “He went to the other officers. He spoke to General Houston himself. My brother, that bastard, stood on the San Jacinto battlefield and swore before the whole damned Texian army that I raped and murdered his wife.”

S
he’d used up all her energy.

Rafe scrutinized Maggie’s appearance as she visited with Martha Craig in the summer kitchen while the widow prepared supper for the inn’s guests. While he savored the aroma of roasting ham, he frowned at the dark circles under Maggie’s eyes. He took careful note of the strength of her voice and intensity of her smile, and decided he’d give her five more minutes. Then, he’d make her go back to bed even if he had to carry her.

He should never have told her about Nick. She’d gotten so angry on his behalf that he feared she’d surely set back her recovery. It was a good thing the widow Craig had come scurrying down the hill when she had, or Rafe might have finished the story about his rendezvous with a tree limb and a noose. That would have stoked up her temper even worse.

Rafe swallowed a sigh. Too bad she wasn’t asleep when his brother rode up. She would never have learned about Callahan and the trouble he’d caused Rafe in the past. As much as he appreciated Maggie’s stirring defense on his behalf, and as little as he liked secrets between people who cared for one another, he found he didn’t like her knowing the more humiliating details of his past. It stung his masculine pride.

He’d never been one to worry about what people thought of him. He couldn’t remember ever caring quite this much before. But then he’d never loved anyone quite this much before, either. “Maggie, that’s enough,” he said when she volunteered to peel some potatoes. “I want to get you in bed.”

“Why, Rafe Malone!” Martha Craig said in a scandalized tone.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Martha, and you know it. Look at her. She’s still sickly. I’m just trying to take care of her.”

“Malone!” Maggie protested, narrowing her eyes and sitting up straighter in her chair.

Considering how tired she looked, Rafe was surprised she had that much vinegar left in her. He flashed her an encouraging grin. “I figure we have three more doses of Bliss water left in the bottle. Do you think you should take one of them now or save it ‘til later?”

She muttered something about dumping it on his head, and Martha clicked her tongue. “I swear you two act like old married folk.”

Maggie’s gaze flew up to meet his. Now she looked worried as well as tired, and Rafe shot her a teasing wink to distract her. As he did so, the idea of marriage settled through him like fine whiskey. Marriage. To Maggie. The notion had hovered on the edges of his mind for a while, but he’d never actually looked at it straight on. Maybe he should think about it. Think about it seriously.

Something told him he’d find more adventure in marriage to Maggie St. John than he would if he set out to explore the entire West.

“Come on, love,” he said gently, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet. “I want you to rest up real good so you can harangue me properly later when I tell you what I have planned for tomorrow.”

“I’d rather hear the rest of the story you were telling me out by the wood pile.”

“Oh, I think I covered all the high points already. I’d just as soon leave the low ones out of it. Now, you never answered my question. Do you want a snort of Bliss now, or do we save it for later?”

He saw the argument in her eyes, but when she took a step and grimaced, she apparently changed her mind. “Later. I think I will lie down for a bit. But don’t think I intend to allow this matter to drop. I want to hear the rest of the story, Rafe.”

She leaned on him as he helped her into the bedroom. As she climbed into bed, he fluffed her pillow. When she lay down, he murmured, “That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your girl, Malone,” Maggie said tiredly.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “But soon. Real soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The hearse arrived at sunset.

Having already tucked Maggie into bed following a light supper, Rafe had moseyed up to the inn. He was seated on the veranda sharing a smoke and conversation with a pair of buffalo hunters who were indulging in a rare night on a real mattress at Gallagher’s when the funeral wagon rolled into the yard.

“Why, lookie there,” said the burly hunter around his pipe stem. “I haven’t seen a coffin carriage that showy since the last time I passed through New Orleans. Looks like a fancy fish tank on wheels, don’t it?”

Stripes of vermilion and gold outlined the large rectangular windows that spanned all four sides of the shiny black lacquer carriage. Brass lanterns swung from the two front corners, while ornately carved wood vase holders occupied the back. Black crepe curtains trimmed with black tasseled fringe concealed the interior.

Every person on the porch watched with interest as it lumbered past the inn and toward the summer kitchen. “Hot damn, would you look at that!” exclaimed the scrawnier of the hunters when one of the drivers tipped his hat. “Wonder where that fellow got his scar? What do you think? Comanche? Apache?”

“Maybe he tangled with a corpse who wasn’t ready to give up the ghost,” suggested his partner.

Rafe skidded his gaze off the vases and toward the driver’s box. He recognized the hat first. “Gus?” He blinked hard and looked again. It
was
Gus. And Lucky rode beside him.

Lucky, the same son of a bitch who was supposed to be on his way to Lake Bliss to replenish Maggie’s supply of water.

Anger lashed Rafe like a whip. What the hell were those old men doing? Lucky couldn’t have made the trip to Lake Bliss and back in three days, and where in the world had he met up with Gus? And what about Snake? Had Ben returned to Lake Bliss from Rafe’s ranch already? Or had Gus left Snake home alone despite his heart ailment? Rafe didn’t even want to think about why they were driving a hearse.

Grumbling beneath his breath, Rafe descended the porch steps and strode toward the summer kitchen where the wagon had rolled to a stop. When Lucky and Gus climbed down from the driver’s box, walked around to the back of the hearse, and swung the door down, Rafe’s steps slowed. He spied the end of a polished rosewood casket. Oh, no. Snake. It had to be Snake. Rafe broke into a run. This would kill Maggie.

The two old pirates reached into the wagon and slowly slid the casket from its shadowed interior. They angled it toward the ground, and for the first time Rafe saw that the coffin had no lid.

It did, however, have a corpse.

Well, hell, Rafe thought as he identified the body. Sorrow rolled through him. Snake. That poor bastard. For all the threats and fire in his words, he’d been a man who sat tall in the saddle.

Rafe reached toward his head to remove his hat when something happened that pulled him up short and damn near had him tripping over his own feet. Gus had extended a hand toward the burying box…

And the corpse lifted a hand to take it.

For a moment, Rafe’s mouth went dry as a west Texas desert. Then with a grumble and a groan, Snake MacKenzie climbed out of the box. He appeared amazingly pink-cheeked for a dead man.

When Rafe was certain he wasn’t about to expire from a heart attack himself, he thanked God that the aging buccaneer was alive. Laughing without humor, he slowly shook his head and pinned the three pirates with his gaze. “What are you sea mules up to now?”

Gus looked at Lucky. “Sea mules? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of them, have you?”

“Never. I’ve heard of sea urchins, but not sea mules.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Snake, glaring at Rafe. He held out his hand. “Gus, give me a weapon. I have me a polecat to kill.”

Gus shot a stream of tobacco juice toward the ground. “You can’t kill him, Snake.”

“I sure as shrimp can.” Snake squared his shoulders, shaking only a little at the effort. “I told you what he told me. I told you what he did to our Maggie.”

“Don’t get so worked up,” Lucky said. “You’ll keel over, and we’ll have to use this coffin for real. The fact of the matter is that despite your promises, you can’t kill Malone unless Maggie gives you the go-ahead. Besides, Malone doesn’t matter. It’s Maggie we’re here to help, so let’s get about it.”