The Outlaw Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides) (4 page)

Tanner had made the wrong choices in life, but he had made them of his own free will. And he hoped to God his own nightmares weren’t as easily exposed as Miss Anderson’s.

***

Through a misty haze Elizabeth saw the dark, coffee-haired man hovering over her, his face anxious, worried. She wanted to reach up and soothe his troubled brow, but her arms felt constricted and heavy. She thought she was moving her limbs, but they went nowhere.

She tried to open her mouth and request a drink, but only a groan escaped.

“Water,” she finally managed to croak.

The touch of cool wetness bathed her lips, and she drank from the glass, grateful for the refreshment.

Only after the wetness eased her parched throat was she able to get coherent words out. “Where am I?”

“A hotel room in San Antonio,” he acknowledged, pushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She shook her head, becoming agitated. “Fort Worth. I must get to Fort Worth.”

“Once you’re well,” the man soothing her burning brow stated.

“Can’t wait. I need to go.”

He bathed her face, trying to soothe her.

“What happened?” she asked, wondering why she hurt.

“Your shoulder. You were shot during a holdup.”

Groggy, she glanced at her shoulder, bare except for the white gauze bandages covering the wound. She tried to move the joint, and pain assaulted her in undulating waves.

With a cry, she lay back against the pillows, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to ease the throbbing.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Stupid question.”

She nodded her head, feeling dazed from the pain and fever.

“You’re the man from the stage. You were sitting across from me.”

“Name’s Tanner.”

The memory of sitting across from him and the elderly woman who had talked most of the journey slowly returned. She remembered thinking he was a handsome man in a unique sense. Not classically handsome but more rugged and rough. There was an edge to him that spoke of danger and defiance. The evidence of a man who had lived a hard life showed on his face. No, he was certainly no pretty boy, at least not like the boys back home.

“I’m going to get you some soup. I want you to take a few sips, at least. I’ll be right back,” he said, walking out the door.

Beth dozed off, but minutes later Tanner came back into the room, a tray in his arms. The aroma of beef broth teased her long-denied stomach, which insisted she open her eyes.

“I got you some broth. You need to eat a little, just to keep up your strength.”

“Must get to Fort Worth,” she whispered weakly.

“Later, Miss Anderson, when you’re well.”

But she didn’t have later. She needed to be there on Wednesday. It was her only chance for the future.

With a great effort she reached up and pulled on his arm. “Have to be in Fort Worth.”

He shook his head. “You’ve been shot. You’re not well. You can’t travel until that arm is better.”

She shook her head, but he ignored her and lifted her gently to a sitting position in bed. The slightest jostle caused her to moan, and she closed her eyes until the pain subsided.

Pulling a chair up next to the bed, he sat beside her with a bowl in his hand. He dipped the spoon into the broth and gently put it to her lips. The aroma was delicious, and she sipped from the spoon.

“Stage,” she croaked.

“Yes, you were on the stage, but you were shot during a holdup.” He brushed her fevered brow. “You’re safe now. Eat some more broth.”

He put another spoonful to her lips. She sipped, the warm liquid somehow soothing. He held the bowl of hot broth in his hands, which were large and strong, rugged from hard work. She glanced up at him and noticed the way his long, dark lashes seemed to shield his blue eyes. She wondered if the brief flashes of pain she seemed to sense in him were real or just her feverish hallucinations.

It felt so odd to have someone feeding her when she’d taken care of her family members all their lives. Never the patient herself, she was the one who spoon-fed the others. But for a man to be taking care of her, a complete stranger, seemed odd and certainly out of character for the men she’d known.

Yes, Mr. Tanner was certainly dangerous looking, but handsome and pleasant to look upon also. Quickly, she reminded herself that she was all but engaged to a man she’d never met.

He continued spooning the soup to her until she’d eaten almost half of the bowl’s contents and pushed his hand away.

“No more.” She grabbed him by the arm; her eyes felt droopy with fatigue. “Fort Worth. Must get to Fort Worth.”

“If you’ll relax, I promise you I’ll find a way for you to get to Fort Worth. Now, rest and get well.”

The strain of so much talking and her first meal since the accident overcame Beth. As she drifted off to sleep, she mumbled the same words.

“Fort Worth. I must reach Fort Worth.”

***

The early-morning sunshine was warm against Beth’s face as she slowly opened her eyes and glanced around the hotel room.

It was then that she saw Tanner sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. The muscular man was sprawled out, asleep, in a chair close to her. His brown hair grazed his forehead in a curl that defied being combed away. His eyebrows were bushy and dark, and a full mustache covered his upper lip from view. He had the look of a man who even in his sleep looked more like an outlaw than a banker.

Gone were the stiff, formal banker’s clothes. He was dressed differently, and somehow his clothes seemed more fitting than the three-piece suit and bowler hat he’d worn previously.

He still wore the same black vest and white shirt, but the tie and hat were gone, and his pants fit his muscular thighs and legs. A worn gun belt was slung low across his hips, the holster filled with not one but two Colt Navy revolvers.

Beth recognized those guns. They were from the Civil War. Confederate guns. She shivered, determined not to think about the war. Yet how had Tanner gotten those handguns? Certainly he had enlisted just like every other available man. The question was: Which side had he fought on?

She didn’t care as long as he took her to Fort Worth. She had to get there and marry the man who had sent for her or starve.

Bits and pieces of the last week started to drift back. After leaving Jonesboro, Georgia, she’d caught the train in Atlanta and headed west. In Houston, she’d taken a stagecoach bound for San Antonio, where they’d changed drivers and continued on toward Fort Worth. Her mind slowed, and she swallowed. On the stage had been two passengers, an older woman and Tanner, who now sat sleeping in a chair across from her.

Bandits had chased the coach until they pulled over. She remembered getting out of the stage and then a loud explosion.

She stirred restlessly in the bed, and a sharp pain stabbed her in the shoulder. She tried to rise, but a moan escaped her as pain ripped through the tender flesh of her shoulder, and she remembered. She’d been shot.

Mr. Tanner’s eyes opened, and she stared into the bluest gaze she’d seen since leaving Dixie. A tremor of awareness rippled through her, yet she felt almost fearful. She was alone with a strange man in a hotel room, hurt and eager to get to Fort Worth.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” he questioned.

“Sore, tired. What happened?” she asked.

“We were riding on the same stage when it was robbed,” he said, brushing his hair back. “The stage went on to Fort Worth. I brought you back here to San Antonio, to the doctor.”

“Oh, no! What day is it?” she asked fear paralyzing her.

“Tuesday.”

“Oh, my God! I’m not going to be there on time.” She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed but found they felt more like dead weights than her own legs.

“Whoa! Just lie back. You’re not going anywhere.”

Beth lay her head back against the pillow, the tears hovering right below her lashes. This was her last chance at happiness, at a respectable future with a husband and a family. She had invested all her money into getting to Fort Worth. Now she was broke, destitute, hurt, and inside a strange hotel room with a man who looked more like an outlaw than a nursemaid.

Bitter disappointment at once again being dealt a bad hand in the card game of life consumed her. It wasn’t fair.

“It’ll take a while for that shoulder to heal, but you’ll be okay,” Tanner said gruffly.

Beth could barely nod her head. She knew if she opened her mouth, the tears would start to flow, and a sob would escape.

She swallowed hard and rapidly blinked back the tears. She couldn’t think about this right now. But there had to be a way she could fix this latest incident in a life gone awry. There had to be some way for her to get out of this town and find her way to Fort Worth.

“I bet you’re hungry. You’ve only eaten that little bit of broth I brought you yesterday,” Tanner said, jumping up and heading for the door.

“Actually ... I need to use the ... the slop jar,” she said, mortified that she was forced to depend on a stranger to help her.

He glanced at her and then at the porcelain bucket sitting over in the comer. He looked uneasy, but she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Uh, sure,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

It was then she noticed that her good white blouse had been cut away. It looked as if scissors had snipped away the material, leaving her chemise exposed, her right shoulder carefully wrapped in a gauze material. Yet the bruising could be seen streaking down her arm.

She lifted the covers and anxiously peeked to see what else she was wearing. The rest of her clothes remained the same. Her shoes had been removed, her corset loosened, but everything else was intact.

Beth tried once again to swing her legs over the side of the bed but was just too weak.

She was bedridden, dependent on a man she’d met briefly and about to miss what she’d hoped would be the biggest day of her life.

This time there was no holding back. Everything looked bleak. She had no money, no way to get to Fort Worth; she was sore and weak and couldn’t even perform bodily functions by herself.

The tears welled up and overflowed, running down her cheeks. She sniffed, and the tears fell faster as a little sob escaped.

“Hey what’s the matter?” Tanner asked. “You’re going to be okay.”

He leaned down beside her. “Are you hurting?”

She shook her head, the tears falling faster, almost out of control. “It’s everything. I was supposed to be in Fort Worth tomorrow.”

He took her in his arms and held her, being careful not to hurt her shoulder. As he pressed her to his chest, Beth cried for everything that had brought her to this point in her life. And there was so much that she felt she’d had no control over, including the bullet that had taken her off the latest road she’d chosen, the one that would have promised her a good future.

“Shh.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and cried, her tears falling on his black silk vest as his hands rubbed small circles on her back in a comforting gesture.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he said against her neck.

Slowly, the tears subsided until there were only small hiccupping sounds, but she made no move to withdraw from his embrace.

It felt good to have a pair of strong arms holding her, to smell the clean scent of a man, and to be held only for comfort.

The room finally became silent except for the steady rhythm of their breathing, which Beth was acutely aware of.

Eventually, he drew back and looked into her tear-streaked face. “Feel better?”

She nodded her head, unable to speak, awed that this big, strong man was still holding her, comforting her. His gruff mannerisms didn’t give credence to the fact that he could be tender and concerned. It surprised and intrigued her about this man she hardly knew but was so dependent on.

Tanner glanced over at the slop jar and then at the bowl the doctor had left behind. “What if I brought over that small metal bowl that the doctor used to remove the bullet? Do you think you could use that for a bedpan?”

“I think so,” she acknowledged.

He handed her the small metal dish, his eyes not meeting her gaze.

“I’ll step out in the hall for a few minutes,” he said awkwardly. “And give you some privacy.”

She sniffed. “Thank you.”

He hightailed it out the door, and Beth knew he felt as uncomfortable with this arrangement as she did.

Beth waited for the door to close, and then she struggled for a good five minutes to pull down her pantaloons. Only able to use her left hand, she tried to get a good grip on the pesky pantaloons to pull them down. Weakened from the bullet wound, she soon tired of struggling with the drawers. Frustrated by her inability to complete even this small task, she threw the metal bowl. It hit the wall with a clang and fell to the floor, where it rolled.

Mr. Tanner opened the door cautiously and peered in-side. “You all right?”

“Uh, no. I have a problem,” she said, embarrassed, the tears right below the surface, her modesty in serious jeopardy.