The Lady and the Lawman (24 page)

Grant
turned to Maggie and Tom. “I’ll be back as soon as I escort this
low life off the property.” Picking Hunt up by the collar of his
fancy black coat, Grant dragged him to his horse. All the while, Hunt
clutched his broken nose.

Leading
the bastard and his horse toward town, he took one last look over his
shoulder to see Tom standing with Maggie, looking intently at her
reddened cheek. Fine! Let him comfort her. He gave a hard shove to
Hunt’s shoulder to get him to move faster.

Emotions
ch
urned
his gut like too many shots of whiskey. He was angry. Angry at
himself for not being able to protect Maggie from Hunt and his abuse.
Since he couldn’t seem to do his job and protect her, no wonder she
sought comfort from Tom.

Th
e
feeling s
wirling
through him like a summer tornado was jealousy. He was green with
envy of his brother and the bond he had with Maggie. It seemed there
was nothing the two hadn’t shared. During his convalescence, they’d
become close while leaving him out of their friendship.

Not
until after he’d left Hunt in town with a stage ticket in hand did
he feel ready t
o
return
to
the ranch. Instea
d
of handling over Hu
nt’s
horse to the livery, he rode it back to Tom’s. Time in the saddle
was spent mulling over his feelings for his new bride and how he’d
let her down. By the time he reached the house and found Tom and
Maggie washing their lunch dishes in the sink, he was so angry with
himself, he was ready to explode.

Stomping
into the room, he shouted, “Why the hell did you get near him? He
hit you!”

Maggie
stopped drying and her eyes, big as saucers, flew to his.

“
I
think she knows that.” Tom replied. He went to the pot on the
stove, poured coffee into a mug, and handed it to Grant.

Maggie
remained by the sink, still holding a dishtowel and plate.

Grant
grabbed the cup, mind focused on Maggie and his anger.

“
Maggie
knew he might do something like that.” Tom poured himself coffee as
well and sat down at the table.

“
Then
why—” he ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair and
rubbed his palm over his face, whiskers rasping at the contact. She’d
expected it? “Then why the hell didn’t you stay away from the
bastard? I couldn't get to you in time to prevent it.” His angry
voice boomed in the confines of the kitchen, making Maggie jump and
gasp. Her head lowered, eyes fixed on the plate she continued to
unconsciously dry.

“
Drink
your coffee, Grant,” Tom said, as if he hoped Grant would swallow
his anger.

“
Stay
out of it!”

“
Sheriff,
leave Tom alone. He’s done nothing,” she said, her voice filled
with anguish.

“
It’s
back to Sheriff now?” She’d all but ruled him out as husband
material. No wonder, he couldn’t even protect her from his anger.

She
flinched, backing up against the sink, cowering, remaining silent.

“
She
might call you by your name if you acted like a husband instead of a
big brute,” Tom countered. He stood and put his arm around Maggie.

Husband.
There the word was again. Tom was right. What kind of husband was he?
He glanced at Maggie, who appeared ready to cry, her face red and her
eyes glassy. Tom offered her the comfort Grant couldn’t give, the
protection he couldn’t provide.

“
He’s
hit her before. Verbally abused her. He could never imagine—”

“
It
didn’t matter,” she added in a whisper, still looking down at
some invisible spot on the floor.

“—
how
his belittling behavior hurt her,” Tom finished.

Grant
slammed down his mug, the hot contents sloshing onto the table. “He
hit you before? Damn it, then you should have known not to get near
him! You knew—”

She
turned her face into Tom’s
shoulder.

“
It’s
over now. He’s gone. Like Maggie said, it doesn’t matter.” Tom
squeezed her arm and glared at Grant to get him to stop, to leave her
alone. But he couldn’t.

“
Doesn’t
matter? You’re my wife. It
matters
to me.”

She
lifted her head and looked at Grant, her eyes filled with unshed
tears. “Why? Why does it matter to you?”

He
didn’t respond to her question, couldn’t, because he didn’t
know the answer.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

“
Damn
it, I’ve got a job to do. I’m going back to town to find Arden’s
killers. And it appears, Maggie, you consider our marriage over ever
before it started.” Grant glared at his brother, his arm slung
around Maggie. His wife. Not Tom’s. “So be it.”

Grant
rubbed his face, his mouth a thin line of fury. “With me gone, Tom
can comfort you all you want,” he snapped. Grabbing the dish from
her hands, he threw it to the ground, where it smashed into hundreds
of pieces. The kitchen door slammed shut behind him, leaving her
awestruck in his wake, standing amid shards of china.

Men!
She never could understand them, and clearly she never would. Grant
didn’t want her. He’d made that clear, not only with his words,
but his actions as well. He yelled at her more than not. He was moody
and angry in ways she couldn't even understand. What she did know was
that chasing murderers was more important to him than she was.

No
man wanted her for her. To be loved and cared for. Cherished. It was
more than obvious now that their marriage was a sham.

Thankfully,
she was free of William, and obviously Grant no longer wanted her.
She could continue on with her original plan, traveling to California
and start a new life. She was leaving men behind, and meant it this
time. They were nothing but trouble.

She
felt guilty for making Grant leave, but he’d scared her. His
shouting, his actions, like his hands shaking in anger and how he
broke the dish, were signs she’d recognized from years of abuse
from William. She couldn’t prevent her fear. All men she knew were
abusive, angry. Except Tom.

Because
of that fear, she’d turned to him, her safe harbor in the storm
Grant brewed. Because of it, Grant was gone, leaving her alone.

It
was her fault. She should have been stronger and stood up for
herself. A coward, that’s what she was. And because of her
cowardliness, he didn’t want her. So be it. She was better off
without him.

After
reassuring Tom she was fine, he headed to the stable to feed the
horses. Alone with her thoughts, she convinced herself leaving
Cranston was the best solution. As the sun lowered behind the barn,
she finalized her plans for running away. Again.

She
had to keep her departure a secret. If Tom learned the truth, he’d
talk her out of it, or prevent her from going.

Grant
didn’t want her. William was just a memory. It was time to move on.
Unfortunately, she had to wait until morning, afraid she might get
lost in the dark.

Sneaking
out with a small bag of food from the larder and a canteen of water,
she saddled one of Tom’s mares at first light, and led the horse
away from the stable on foot. Feeling guilty, she'd left a note on
the kitchen table for Tom, thanking him for his kindness, his
friendship, and where to find his borrowed horse. Hopefully, he’d
understand.

She
rode west toward the mountains, heading to the town after Cranston on
the stage line. In Ames, she planned to take the next stage heading
to California. With the money she’d sewn into her dress now secure
in her pants pocket, she’d buy a new ticket to San Francisco, the
last one lost during the stage robbery.

An
hour past Cranston, she should have ridden into Ames, but it had been
over three and there was no town in sight. The mountains loomed
closer. Turning, she put them at her left shoulder and followed them
north until she was too hot and too hungry to continue.

Stopping
to eat at the edge of a small stream, she let the horse graze and
drink her fill while Margaret enjoyed a ham sandwich and an apple.
The sun had climbed high in the cloudless sky, making it another warm
day. Her bonnet blocked out the strong rays, but sweat still trickled
down her neck and back. Her hair was damp and clung to her forehead.
The water looked invitingly cool.

Admitting
she was lost, she pondered her options as she finished her apple. No
one would search for her. She’d left the note. From it, Tom would
assume she was safely on her way to California. And Grant? He didn’t
care what happened to her.

She
was alone.

“
Stand
up and turn around!”

The
shout from behind made her jump, her canteen sloshed water onto the
hard ground where it fell from her lap. Looking over her shoulder,
she slowly rose, canteen all but forgotten. She recognized the man
immediately and gasped. He was the kidnapper from the stage.

He
stood not ten feet from her, gun pointed at her chest. Still wearing
his worn hat low over his face, he looked as filthy as before. As he
spit a brown wad of saliva and tobacco, she jumped back so not to get
it on her boots.

She
gulped. “What do you want?”

“
What
I didn’t get last time. You.” He wiped his chin with his sleeve.

Walking
backward to his mount, he kept the gun and his gaze trained on her.
He pulled out a length of rope from his saddlebag. “You’re all
mine now, and I ain’t sharin’ you with no one.” He returned to
her side to tie her up. Needing both hands, he holstered his gun. As
he grabbed hold of her wrists, she kicked him squarely in the shin,
trying to use as much of the hard heel of her boot as possible.

He
shouted in pain and bent down to rub the wounded area. She grabbed
his gun from the holster and stepped back, never taking her eyes off
of him. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” Could she? She’d never
fired one before.

“
You
won’t shoot me. You don’t even know how.” He was mocking her,
laughing as he spit again, but his hands were raised nonetheless.

Remembering
the weapon needed to be cocked in order to fire,
she glanced at t
he
cold steel in her hand. She pulled back on the safety. He must have
recognized the sound and lifted his hands a bit higher, clearly
changing his mind about her shooting abilities.

With
sweaty hands and frazzled nerves, the gun veered on and off her
target with each of her quick breaths. Slowly, the man began to close
the distance between them.

“
Don’t
get any closer!” Her voice wavered, as did her confidence.

He
slowed his pace, but didn’t stop. He crept closer and closer.

“
I
mean it!”

He
took another step, almost able to reach the gun.

“
Don’t
make me shoot you!” she shouted.

The
man didn’t listen.

She
had no choice. It was either him or her. Petrified, she squeezed her
eyes shut and fired, the sound deafening. She stumbled backward, the
deafening noise surprised her. She tripped and landed hard on her
bottom. The man was on top of her just as fast as she had fallen. She
fought against him, but he was much heavier.
Struggling to break free, she flailed her arms hoping to hit
something, anything.
She
heard several grunts and groans, but nothing serious enough to stop
his hands from snaking in and grabbing both her wrists, pinning her
to him.