Logan's Outlaw (7 page)

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Authors: Elaine Levine

BOOK: Logan's Outlaw
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Chapter 5
Sarah's eyes shot open. She held herself still, waiting for the fuzz of sleep to clear her head. She felt disoriented, trying to recall why she was sleeping outside, if she was still on the run with the warriors who'd taken her a year ago. Her coat rested over her, as did half of a man's coat. There'd been no coats that first trip. She ventured a look at the heat source next to her under the blanket. Mr. Taggert. He was awake, but lying still. Watching her. She pushed up on her elbows to search for Cloud Walker and his men.
“They didn't come back,” her traveling companion said. His breath condensed in the cold morning air.
“Are we safe?”
“For now. Let's get moving. I think we're in Wyoming Territory now. With the horses, we should make Fort Laramie by midday tomorrow. Are you up for a hard ride? We've no saddles.”
“Anything to get off this prairie.”
“Then go wash up. I'll get our horses watered.”
She took advantage of the privacy he offered. They ate a quick meal of the cold skewers from last night, then got the horses ready. Mr. Taggert spread their bedrolls across the backs of the horses as padding for the long ride ahead of them. One of the horses also had his saddlebag on it. He bent over, his hands cupped to boost her atop the pony. Her skirt was wide and covered most of her legs. He ignored the stretch of black stocking her skirt exposed.
He smiled up at her. “I got a bargain last night.”
“How so?”
“I would have paid thirteen horses for you.”
She frowned at him. “Mr. Taggert, I have no way of adequately thanking you for what you have done for me. No funds with which to reimburse you—”
He leapt up to the back of the second horse, her satchel in hand. Spreading the straps, he slipped them over his arms and settled it on his back. “There's no need to reimburse me, Mrs. Hawkins. You were in need of rescuing and I was in need of a wife.”
Sarah tapped the sides of her mount, bringing him even with Mr. Taggert's. “I thought I made it clear that I do not intend to marry you.”
He kneed his mount forward. “It seems only polite that you wait until I actually do propose before you refuse me.”
 
Nearly an hour later, they crested a hill and came upon the ashen remains of the stagecoach. Sarah drew to a full stop and stared at the ghastly sight.
“Keep moving,” Mr. Taggert ordered, but she was unable to comply. Two bodies lay near the coach, a man and woman. Naked and untouched by the fire, bloated in death. Several arrows were sticking out of them, their skulls bloodied. Mr. Taggert took hold of her reins and pulled her forward.
“We should at least bury them.”
“I don't have a shovel. And I don't want to waste a day seeing to their final resting spot if it means we may have to find our own. This ain't a good spot to dawdle. When we get to Fort Laramie, we'll let them know what happened to the carriage.”
Sarah couldn't tear her eyes from the still-smoking wreckage. As they came round the front of the carriage, they found the driver pinned to the coach with an arrow through his throat. His body was blackened, his slack jaw exposing a ghastly smile of white teeth.
Mr. Taggert kneed his horse to a trot, drawing hers along with him. Fear sliced through her hurt. Violence had become the fabric of her life, and every thread that unraveled terminated in blood, pain, and loss. She let him hold her reins, emptying her mind of everything but the rhythm of her mount, a fast rocking motion. Forward and back. Wind. Sun. These things were real. Only these things.
 
That night, as they lay side by side again between their opened bedrolls, Sarah held herself utterly still. She waited for Mr. Taggert to reach over to her, to use his strength against her. The blanket was not very wide. They couldn't lie on it next to each other and not touch. Every time he moved, she tensed. An hour passed. She stared up at the stars, waiting for him to do what men did to women. Waiting for him to disappoint her, too.
“I've been wondering something, Mrs. Hawkins,” he said, breaking the silence.
Sarah gave up pretending to sleep. “What's that?”
“Where did you live before you got married?”
Before Swift Elk, before Eugene, before the terrible accident that took her parents' lives, before her father's fateful decision to emigrate from Pennsylvania to the Dakota Territory, she'd had a fairly normal, calm life. “Philadelphia.”
“Do you miss it?”
Sarah considered whether she did. “I miss not living in fear more than I miss my childhood home. But a dream's an important thing, don't you think?”
“Yes. Was it your dream to come west?”
“My father's. He was a newspaper man. Over the years, he'd seen so many stories of the great adventures men had out west. He'd always longed to move here.
“We weren't a large family. There were only my parents and me. I had an older sister, but she died before I was born. My brother died in the war. Two years ago, when my father retired, he was ready for a change, an adventure. He bought a tract of land outside of Yankton.”
She looked at Mr. Taggert. “My parents were so excited. They were going to realize a dream they'd held their entire lives. I was nineteen at the time. We rode the train out from Philadelphia to St. Louis, a city my father had always wanted to see. They spent some time gathering the provisions they'd need to begin their ranch. And then the accident took them.”
“What accident?”
“They were trampled by a runaway freight team on a busy road. They died instantly.”
Mr. Taggert sucked in a sharp breath of air. “Aw, honey. I'm sorry. Why didn't you go back home?”
“There was no home to go to. And I met Eugene then, at their funeral.”
Mr. Taggert said nothing for a long minute. “Did you love him?”
Sarah sighed. The truth was, she didn't love him. Marrying him had simply been a practical decision. “Perhaps I could have. In time.” Had things been different. Had
he
been different.
She looked over at Mr. Taggert. He was lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. Her eyes had acclimated to the darkness of the moonlight. She could see there was no humor in his eyes. Nor lust. Only something that might be interpreted as fierceness.
“I'm not like any of the men you've known, honey. Not a damned one of them.”
Life had broken faith with her, but this man had not. Not yet. “Good night, Mr. Taggert.”
“Good night, Mrs. Hawkins.”
 
Late in the afternoon of the next day, they descended into a wide, shallow valley. In the distance, several large, white buildings stood in regimental precision around a parade ground. Cattle and horses dotted the pastures surrounding the complex. Fort Laramie. At last. Sarah pulled a long draw of air into her lungs—her first easy breath in days. She straightened her gloves and pulled the cuffs of her sleeves down over her wrists. Mr. Taggert's alert gaze followed her movements. She forced a surface expression of calm.
They stopped outside the Officers Headquarters building. Mr. Taggert dismounted, then came around to help her down, his touch brief and entirely proper. “Would you like to come in with me? I'll just be a minute.”
“Thank you.” She shook her head. “I'll wait here.”
When he disappeared inside the building, she took a look around. Heat shimmered in waves, distorting the dirt path around the grounds. No exercises were being conducted at the moment, perhaps due to the searing temperature. Nonetheless, soldiers moved around the buildings, busily seeing to their duties. A couple of women swept their porches. In shady side yards, children played a game of chase.
The office door banged shut. Sarah looked up to see Mr. Taggert following an officer who hurried over to her. “Mrs. Hawkins! Can it really be you? What a great pleasure to meet you and see that you are whole and hearty. Several of the men now assigned to us here were involved in your search. They feel their inability to recover you was the greatest failure of their careers. They were close to the devils who took you until that late spring storm swallowed the trail.”
“I thank you and your men for their labors on my behalf, sir.”
“Heavens, here I'm prattling on and I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Colonel Miller. Logan says he's escorting you to Cheyenne. Would you do my wife and me the great honor of being our guest while you're here at the fort?”
Sarah sent a quick look to Mr. Taggert. Would he try to stop her from staying with the Millers? What did it mean that he had claimed her? He said nothing, but gave her a small smile of encouragement. “I'd like that. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Very good. Very good indeed. I'll just take you over to the house then and introduce you to the missus.”
They walked down the dirt road that led to the row of officers' homes. Before they could even approach the front steps, a woman stepped outside. She smoothed her hands over invisible wrinkles in her starched apron as she smiled a welcome to the trio. “Logan Taggert! What brings you out our way? Is it time for trading once again?” She took his hands and leaned forward for a kiss. Logan gave her cheek a quick buss.
“It is. White Bull is bringing some goods in for me to look at. Then I'll be accompanying Mrs. Hawkins to Cheyenne.”
Mrs. Miller's eyes widened. “Mrs. Hawkins?” She took hold of Sarah's hands and studied her features a little too critically for Sarah's comfort. “This is a miracle.” Her eyes misted up. “Truly a miracle. We'd heard you'd been recovered at last. What a terrible tragedy. Colonel, I insist they stay with us.”
“Not me, Mrs. Miller,” Logan declined the offer. “I need to ride out and see if White Bull has gotten in yet. I'll bunk down with the men in the bachelors' quarters. But I would request that you take good care of Mrs. Hawkins.” He set Sarah's satchel on the top step, then paused in front of her on his way back to the horses.
Sarah felt a little panicked that he wouldn't be near at hand. Strange. She hadn't felt anything like that since her parents' deaths two years earlier. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
He smiled at her. “You will. If you like, you can come to the trade with me. The women of White Bull's village produce beautiful pieces of beadwork clothing.”
She didn't want him to leave, even as much as she feared he would stay. Anyone near her was in danger. She wondered if Eugene's enemies could find her here, and if they did, would they be foolish enough to try something? They hadn't found the papers at Fort Buford—maybe they'd given up. He stood close to her, close enough that if they whispered, the Millers would not be able to hear them. “Mr. Taggert, I don't know why you came with us, but you saved my life. I cannot find sufficient words to thank you for your selflessness.”
“No thanks are needed.” He stood silently before her, his pale eyes watching her.
“I cannot further delay you from reaching your intended destination.” Finding his eyes too disturbing, she looked at his throat. “I shall have no trouble getting to Cheyenne on my own from here, I'm quite sure.”
He leaned toward her. “Honey, you are my destination. Now, go on with Mrs. Miller. Get yourself to bed early. And sleep tonight. There are no stars to stare at inside a house, and nothing to worry about here anyway. You're safe.” This last he whispered for her ears only.
He waved to Mrs. Miller, then picked up the reins to take their horses to the livery.
“I'll just walk with you a bit, my boy,” Colonel Miller said. “You weren't by any chance on the stage from Fort Buford that we've been expecting?”
“We were. It was hit by Indians. Did you know Chandler's running a stage between Deadwood and Cheyenne? What's being done about that? He's causing trouble for every white man, woman, and child in the entire region—and any passenger who thinks he's safe on Chandler's stages.”
“What happened? Were there other survivors?” A breeze pulled around the corner of the house, muffling the rest of their conversation.
“Oh, my dear! You were on that stage?”
Sarah nodded, seeing again the blackened carriage, the burned body of the driver. She closed her eyes, absorbed the feel of the breeze, forcing herself to block out yet another memory. If she were invisible, the wind would blow right through her. She imagined herself disappearing, in little pieces, until she was no more substantial than a spiderweb.
An arm settled about her waist, startling her. “Come inside, dear.” Mrs. Miller smiled at her. “I have a new
Harper's Bazaar
just in from New York. Well, it's several months old, but it's new to me! Why don't we have a cup of tea and see what fashion statements we could make? I'll put some water on for a bath. You can soak off the trail dust while I wash your clothes.”

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