Liz Ireland (20 page)

Another gasp went around, and Barton could almost read the shock in everyone’s eyes.
Two men in love with Emma Colby?

Lorna related in her quiet, halting voice the story of the kidnapping, tears gathering in her eyes when she came to the part about Emma looking back one last time as she galloped away.

“It’s my fault,” she confessed miserably. “When Mr. Archibald first arrived, I told Emma he could be the outlaw
that everyone was talking about. But then he started being so nice and helpful. We just assumed he was who he said he was!” She blinked. “Emma was so kindhearted! She’d never think bad of anybody!”

Everyone assembled responded with nodding heads and murmurs of agreement.

“Emma was always so helpful,” said Mrs. Nathan Pitts, one of the church ladies.

“Emma told me I should take whiskey for my lumbago, and darn it all if it hasn’t worked!” Joe Spears said in testimonial.

Rose Ellen scowled at their premature eulogies. “Well! There’s no sense talking about Emma as if she were dead. We simply need to go after her.” Her blue eyes lit on Barton, who had been hanging back a little, trying to think it all through. “Assuming this man is the outlaw Lang Tupper, aren’t you going to organize a posse, Sheriff?”

Barton shifted his feet. This sure as hell put him in a spot. He shouldn’t have left Emma alone, should have insisted she marry him yesterday, but he’d figured there was nothing she could do to foil his plan. That was women for you! They could always figure out a way to spoil everything. And very clever of her to arrange it so that it appeared she’d been kidnapped, instead of in cahoots with a desperado!

The little Winters boy with Rose Ellen pointed excitedly at Barton and said in a piercing voice, “Of course you’ve gotta have a posse! You’re the sheriff. That’s what lawmen do, ain’t it?”

Barton tried not to glare at the noisy little brat. God, he hated kids!

One thing was certain—he couldn’t let people find out that he’d known Emma had been hiding an outlaw. That would be the end of him. Just by looking into the faces in
front of him he could tell that it already struck some folks as peculiar that he’d courted Emma and hadn’t recognized something untoward about that boarder of hers. But if he organized a posse and went chasing after Emma and her outlaw, and actually had the bad luck to find them, what then? Once they got back to town, those two would spill the whole story of the deal he’d made with Emma, and that would be the end of him anyway.

“Well, Bart?” Joe Spears asked. The whole room was growing impatient for his decision.

Barton felt frozen. It would be better for him if the two of them got away. Maybe the posse wouldn’t find them…but how could he be sure? He could misdirect the group, but what if they figured out what he was doing? That would be bad. He could hope that another arm of the law in a far-flung county would find Lang Tupper and Emma, but those two could blurt the whole story of what Barton had done in that case, too, and sure as shootin’, word of his disgrace would get back to Midday.

His fat was in the fire now. Fine thing for a man to think he’s on the brink of the good life, only to have his hopes ripped out from under him! The disappointment was crushing.

Disappointment…

Just that quickly, an idea occurred to him.

He shuffled forward slowly, head bowed, then stopped next to Rose Ellen and took a long, halting breath. Then, dramatically, he collapsed his head in his hands and let out a wail. “My God, I feel responsible…why didn’t I see? Why didn’t I
do
something?”

For a moment, as nothing but stony silence met his outburst, Barton feared his charade wouldn’t come off. Finally, however, old Constance O’Hurlihy fluttered forward, taking the bait. She patted him comfortingly on his shuddering
shoulders. “There, there, Sheriff…You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Who else?” he sobbed into his hands.

“Blame the outlaw, damn it, if that’s who took your fiancée,” Joe Spears suggested.

Mutters of agreement spread through the room.

“The man had me hornswoggled, too.” He heard his brother move forward. “C’mon, Bart, let’s go after the varmint. He can’t have that much of a head start.”

He looked up, hoping his eyes seemed suitably red. He’d rubbed them hard enough. “Will, it’s your wedding day.”

William looked at him, aghast. “But Bart, it’s partly my fault for not seeing through Mr. Archibald. I can’t get married now.”

“But you have to,” Barton insisted. He couldn’t believe that fool Emma had put him in the position of actually advocating this marriage between his brother and some little immoral nobody from Little Sandy. Or maybe he could. He began to hate Emma more with each passing minute. “Think of your young bride, on the brink of…”

He meant to say her happiness, but as he nodded toward the McCrae woman, who was about to pop the sash on that wedding dress of hers, he didn’t have to finish the sentence. The woman looked like a cow fixing to drop a calf, and given her imminent impending motherhood, no one raised a peep to suggest that William should put off his wedding another day.

Wincing at what a fool his brother was, Barton shook his head again, then lifted his chin and explained, “No, this is my tragedy. I alone must go after Emma and that outlaw who’s stolen her from me.”

“But you can’t go alone!” Rose Ellen cried.

He sent her a stony glare, hoping to intimidate her into
complicity. “I have to,” he said. “Don’t worry, Rose Ellen. I promise I’ll bring your sister back safe and sound.”

“But wouldn’t it be better—”

“This is my responsibility!”

Barton rushed out of the small house and away from the crowd, and went directly to his horse. He needed to get out of town quickly, away from overeager townsfolk and especially Rose Ellen, who’d been looking at him with something akin to suspicion.

Lord save him from troublesome Colby women!

A good long time passed before Lang thought it might be safe to stop. And by the time he took the gag off Emma, the woman was spitting mad and wasted no time tearing into him.

“This is outrageous! You’re mean and low-down and every horrible filthy thing I could think of to say about you! You’re a snake and a rat! How dare you point a gun at my little niece and Lorna on her wedding day and—”

Lang had a feeling she’d go on this way forever if he didn’t stop her, so he shoved a canteen of water in front of her nose. “Here, wet your whistle so you can keep howling at me some more.”

Green eyes glared at him and then she grabbed the canteen and tossed down what had to be half the container, letting streams of water dribble down the sides of her mouth and splash down to the skin left exposed by her low-cut dress. As she drank her fill, Lang felt his own mouth go bone-dry.

Not that her dress was shockingly revealing or anything near it by most standards, but for Emma it was. And much as he hated to admit it, it galled him to think the display had been meant for Barton Sealy. Even her silly hat, with the damn grapes on it, which was now flopped over on one
side of her head, made him green with jealousy. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way. He thought he’d had this all figured out. Only, he’d expected Emma to attend her wedding to Barton in something black and miserable—not looking daisy fresh.

He gritted his teeth as she tossed his canteen back to him and started yelling some more. “You’ve got nerve to beat the band, Lang Tupper! How dare you run off with me like a barbarian! Don’t you know that the law will be after me? After
both
of us? I was about to marry the sheriff, for heaven’s sake! You think he’s going to let some outlaw just ride in and steal me away?”

Letting out an exasperated breath, Lang reached up, grabbed Emma around her tiny waist and yanked her off her horse. It felt as though he’d grabbed hold of a bird cage. “What do you have underneath that dress, iron plating?”

She grimaced. “Never mind my underwear!” Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and she slapped at her head to take off her ridiculous hat. She looked at the thing with disgust and then threw it to the ground in frustration. “Christopher Columbus, Lang! You could have gotten away—you should be halfway to California by now!”

He shook his head. “Did you honestly think I could leave you like that, Emma?”

She slammed her hands on her hips. “And do you think Barton Sealy is just going to let Lang Tupper make a fool of him?”

“How would the sheriff know I’m Lang Tupper, Emma?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again, realizing she’d been caught. Finally she blurted out, “He just does. I know he does.”

“Who told him?”

She shook her head. “Nobody.” Her rigid straight posture collapsed in that moment. “Annalise drew your picture at the picnic.”

Lang barked out a laugh. “I knew that girl had talent.”

“Oh, Lang.” Emma looked up at him with the most heartbreaking expression he’d ever seen. “I wanted you to get away!”

He stepped forward, wishing he could throw his arms around her and kiss her senseless. Unfortunately, there were some things they needed to get out in the open first. “Is that why you made a bargain with the sheriff?”

Her lips parted as if she might try to deny it, but then she shook her head again. “Yes. Oh, why couldn’t you let well enough alone!”

“You call marrying the sheriff ‘well enough’?”

Her chin jutted stubbornly. “You would have been safe.”

“Did you think once I figured out your plan I’d let you sacrifice yourself for me? Is that what you think of me?”

She stamped her foot in the dirt. “You weren’t supposed to figure it out!”

“But I did almost as soon as I left. Nothing you said to me yesterday made sense, given what had happened before with Barton Sealy. I knew there was something wrong.”

She scowled up at him. “And now there’s a lot more wrong! We’ll both have heck to pay now.”

Lang chuckled. “Such language! That’s what comes of consorting with outlaws, Miss Colby.”

She gaped at him, astounded. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? Don’t you know it’s only a matter of time before we’ll be hauled back to Midday?”

“Nope.” He leaned back on his heels. “In fact, I think we’re well out of it now.”

“Well out of what?” She looked around almost as if
expecting Barton Sealy to jump out from under a sage bush or prickly pear.

A creek was nearby, and Lang strolled toward it. “He’s not coming after us, Emma. From here on out we have to worry more about other sheriffs than your thwarted fiancé.”

Emma stumbled after him. “But that’s crazy! Of
course
he’ll be coming.”

“You sound almost as if you want him to.”

“I don’t, but I know him, Lang.”

He bent to fill the canteen from the clear stream, then took a long draw himself. Damn, but it had been an exhausting day. It might be early spring, but with the sun beating down, after three hours of hard riding it seemed like August. And Emma had to feel even worse than he did. A wave of guilt hit him—not his first of the day. It had almost killed him to take her hostage like that, but he’d been compelled to so that the others wouldn’t think she was in league with an outlaw. She’d done so much for him—had almost given her life for him, actually—the least he could do for her was protect her reputation.

“He knows he’s licked, Emma,” he explained. “If Barton finds you and hauls you back, you could run around Midday telling everybody that the sheriff knew there was an outlaw in your house and did nothing about it. You could tell everyone that the sheriff blackmailed you into marrying him. You think the sheriff wants that?”

“He could also put me in jail for helping you.”

“You’d still have a trial. You could tell the whole story then. Even better—you’d have a captive audience.”

She worked her jaw back and forth in amazement. “I never thought of that.”

“I think it’s in the sheriff’s best interest to let ‘Mr. Archibald’ get away.”

“But what about…” Emma blinked. “Well, now that I think about it, I wonder who would come after me?”

“There might be someone—maybe William, I was thinking—but let’s just keep riding and hope they don’t find us. At least we can be fairly well assured that there’s not an angry Barton Sealy tailing us. If anything, he’ll be trying to make sure we’re
not
followed.”

“Hmm, the sheriff working on our side.” Emma smiled. “That’s comforting.”

Lang grinned back and handed her the canteen again, watching in wonder as Emma took another long drink. She never failed to amaze him. His own brother had betrayed him, yet this woman he’d known for such a short time had risked so much to save him. He could never repay her, but if they ever got out of this mess, he intended to spend a lifetime trying.

“Pretty dress,” he said, feeling a surge of pure desire hit him. Every curve on her body was outlined by the thing, especially after a day of sweating in the saddle. He was glad Barton wouldn’t see her.

“It’s Rose Ellen’s.” His raised eyebrow response brought a laugh from her. “My sister and I have a peace treaty, I think. Though I don’t know how
she’ll
react to my kidnapping.”

“Dare we hope she’ll go back to Galveston?”

Emma giggled, then covered her mouth. “I shouldn’t laugh. Poor Rose Ellen. She’s had a more unhappy life than I imagined.”

It was hard for Lang to get himself worked up on Rose Ellen’s behalf right at the moment. He was plenty worked up as it was just over her sister. Against the harsh, uncleared landscape, she looked like a fish out of water, vulnerable and worn. It didn’t help that she was wearing the finest dress he’d ever seen her in, and that just a half day
of riding had brought out an ugly blister on her hand—hands that weren’t immune to work. But work was one thing, living as a fugitive was quite another.

Another wave of guilt crashed over him. He’d never known Emma outside the comfort of the house she’d lived in all her life. She’d never known hardship. And now he’d taken her away from all that, and what could he offer her in return? All he had to his name were the clothes on his back and two stolen horses…one of them hers.