The Outlaw's Bride (16 page)

“Are you afraid of Snake Jackson, Isobel?”

“I’m afraid of losing the ones I love.”

He reached up and took the hand that held the comb. “You lost your father. I lost Dick. You hide your fear. I hide my pain. What’s so bad about that kind of anger, Isobel?”

She searched his bright blue eyes. “Once a man taught me that there was more to life than fear and pain and anger,” she said. “That man showed me how to laugh at bubbles in dishwater. How to weep over a beautiful story. He taught me that God loves me…that because the Lord is my shepherd, I need fear no evil. That His Spirit comforts me—even in the valley of the shadow of death. Because of you, Noah, I am learning how to really live.”

He stood suddenly, knocking back the chair as he moved away from her to the window. Isobel watched as he leaned an arm against the sill, his fist clenched.

Stepping to his side, she laid her hand on his back and ran her palm down the taut muscles. He let out a breath and turned to her, his eyes red.

“That man died, Isobel,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “The moment that bullet hit Dick Brewer’s forehead, the old Noah Buchanan died. Buckshot Roberts’s bullet blew away that part of me. I feel anger now, nothing else.”

“Come, Noah,” she said, taking his hands and drawing him near. “Let me remind you of other things.”

Isobel shut her eyes as their lips touched. He kissed her cheek, her neck, and she felt protected in his arms. “Noah, we could be so good together.”

She slipped her arms around him, but when her fingers threaded through his hair, he stiffened and pushed her away.

“No, Isobel,” he growled, his eyes icy, distracted. “I can’t. I’ve got things to tend to.”

Pushing away from her, he strode across the room. She heard the door slam as she stood alone, needing her husband.

O
n the long ride to Lincoln, Isobel pondered her future. Though she knew Dick Brewer’s murder had changed the silent man who rode at her side, she had no doubt that deep in his heart Noah would remain the same. The intense pain he felt over the loss of his friend proved that his gentle nature had not been erased.

“I’ve been considering,” he said as they neared Lincoln. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words for three days, and his declaration surprised Isobel.

“What have you considered?” she asked.

“I think it’s time we ended our arrangement.”

She tried to squelch the dismay that rose inside her. “Why is that?”

“We’ve pretty much wound things up. I helped you find the name of your father’s killer. I protected you from Snake Jackson and the others. You can’t testify against Evans and Snake, because the Regulators didn’t name you as an eyewitness in their first report. So you’re off the hook on that. District court will put an end to Lincoln’s troubles. Dolan might go free because
of his connections in Santa Fe, but his men will wind up behind bars.”

“And I helped you get the land you wanted from John Chisum. So our contract is fulfilled.”

“Reckon so.”

Isobel nodded, but inside she felt frantic to sort out the real meaning behind Noah’s words. Did he want to be rid of her? Did all that had passed between them mean nothing? Or did he love her and fear for her safety as he carried out his plan to avenge Dick Brewer’s death?

“What will you do now?” she asked. “Continue as Chisum’s trail boss?”

He scowled at the sun-dappled road. “You know what I’ll be doing.”

“Buckshot Roberts is dead. What more do you want, Noah?”

“I want to bring Jimmie Dolan down.”

“Will you ambush him on the street like the Kid did Sheriff Brady? Will you become a bounty hunter like Buckshot Roberts?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Isobel. Dick wouldn’t let Tunstall’s death rest. I’m not going to let Dick’s death rest. And the man behind both murders is Jimmie Dolan.”

“What’s to become of me while you wreak your revenge?”

“Look, I didn’t take on your entire future the night I married you, Isobel. We struck a temporary bargain. Do whatever you want.”

“Then I shall ride with you in pursuit of Jimmie Dolan.”

“No, you won’t!” He whirled on her, his blue eyes flashing. “I’ve already lost Dick, and I’m not going to
lose…” He bit off his words. “Stay at McSween’s house through the trials. Susan Gates will be in a fix over losing Dick. She’ll need comforting.”

“And what about you, Noah?”

“I don’t need your comforts, Isobel. You saw that three days ago.”

“Three days ago, I saw a man whose best friend had been murdered. One day you’ll wish me near.”

“No, I won’t. If I need a woman, I’ll find one with no strings attached. I don’t want to be tangled, Isobel.”

“And I tangle you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“So, you will throw away your stories, take down the lace curtains, let the kitchen garden go to weeds. Those days with me meant nothing. You’ll forget our laughter, my burned eggs, the typewriter—”

“Don’t. Just don’t talk about that, Isobel. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You said you wanted to make our marriage real. You took me to Chisum’s house to buy land for us.”

“That was before Dick got killed.” He reined his horse and studied her, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry I steered you wrong, Isobel. Sorry I made you think there could be a future for us…like I was good for you.”

“You are good for me.”

“No. You don’t know what kind of people I come from. I told you about Mrs. Allison and her library. But my daddy was a gambler. He left after I was born. My mother sold herself to keep food in our bellies. Then she died of a fever and left all us kids orphans. I’m no better than Snake Jackson. His folks left him an orphan, too. It was only the luck of the draw that got me on as a stable hand with the Allisons.”

“Luck? Don’t you mean God? Didn’t He put you with Mrs. Allison? Are you not the man who reads the Bible and prays each day? The man God shaped to write ‘Sunset at Coyote Canyon’? Who was that man, if not you?”

“But I’ve got my daddy’s roving blood, Isobel. I’m a wanderer. Chisum didn’t want to sell me land because he thought I couldn’t sit still long enough to care for it. I may have fooled you into thinking I was a good man, but the truth is, I’ve got an outlaw’s heart.”

Isobel blinked at the tears blurring her vision of Lincoln’s dusk-shrouded road. So this was how Noah would end their union.

“It is your choice,” she told him. “I am now both Isobel Matas and Belle Buchanan. You are a good man and a rootless drifter. Neither of us can continue to be both. We must choose. Choose well, Noah.”

Lest he see the tears that spilled down her cheeks, Isobel dug her heels into her horse’s sides and rode for the home of Alexander McSween.

When Isobel arrived, she found Susan Gates very ill. Dick Brewer’s death had come as a terrible shock, and nothing Dr. Ealy had tried helped.

While Isobel wept with her friend, she cried her heart out to God. How could Noah let her go so easily? How could he turn his back on what they had begun to build?
La venganza
was not worth such sacrifice.

Days passed, and Isobel saw nothing of Snake Jackson or the wounded Jesse Evans and their bunch. Though the town swarmed with people, she often escaped to sit beside her father’s grave. Don Alberto Matas really
had died, she accepted finally. She would never see his golden hair or hear his laughter again.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of Noah, she stopped at the courthouse several times. He was nowhere to be seen in the crowded room.

Isobel breathed a sigh of relief when district court concluded on April 18, and that evening Dr. Ealy brought a summary of the news. Most of the trials, he said, had turned in favor of the McSween faction. For the killing of John Tunstall, indictments had been brought against Jesse Evans, Jim Jackson and several others as principals, along with Jimmie Dolan as accessory. But of the principals, only Jesse Evans could be found. He was put under a five-thousand-dollar bond. Dolan was arrested and placed under a two-thousand-dollar bond. The judge continued his case.

For the killing of Sheriff Brady and his deputy, four indictments had been handed down—all to Regulators. For the killing of Buckshot Roberts, only Charley Bowdre had been indicted. Since neither Bowdre nor any other Regulators were to be found, no arrests could be made. The sheriff held the warrants.

Alexander McSween was cleared of criminal charges, and Fort Stanton released him. The grand jury indicted Jimmie Dolan for encouraging cattle stealing.

Sitting in a rocker beside Susan’s bed later that evening, Isobel recognized that Noah’s prediction of peace in Lincoln had come to pass at last. But when someone began hammering on the back door, she tensed, remembering the day she had helped hide Billy the Kid under that very floor.

Dr. Ealy opened the door. “Noah Buchanan—good to see you again!”

Noah stepped into the room and swept off his black Stetson. “I need to talk to Isobel,” he said. His focus flicked to her. “Would you step outside for a minute?”

Isobel glanced at Susan. The ache in her friend’s face mirrored what she saw in Noah’s. Taking her white shawl from the peg by the door, she stepped onto the back porch and looked up at the sliver of moon hanging just over the roofline.

“I’m riding for Santa Fe tomorrow morning,” Noah said. “If you want, I’ll take you to the Pascals’.”

Isobel ached to feel Noah’s arms around her. But she saw that his intentions toward her had not changed.

“Why Santa Fe?” she asked him.

“This afternoon, Dolan left Lincoln headed that way. Rumor has it he’s planning to talk to Governor Axtell and Tom Catron, the U.S. district attorney for the territory. Catron holds a lot of property mortgages and loans around these parts. Axtell and Catron are both in the Santa Fe Ring, and if Dolan gets their help, he can turn things to his favor pretty quick.”

“And you mean to stop him?”

“Legally, if I can. If not…” He shrugged.

“Why must you be the one to pursue Dolan?” she asked. “Billy is always hot for blood. Let him do it.”

“The Regulators are in hiding, and nobody’s after me. Besides, I know how to talk to men like Catron.”

Isobel pondered the painful consequences of riding with Noah again, bearing his rejection day and night. And what of Guillermo Pascal? Her betrothed had never responded to the telegram sent so long ago. Surely he would not want Isobel to appear on his doorstep like some windblown beggar.

But when she looked into Noah’s blue eyes she heard herself whisper, “Yes. I will go with you to Santa Fe.”

The sun had not risen when Isobel rode through Lincoln Town at the side of Noah Buchanan.

“Don’t let him get away from you,” Susan had whispered as she had hugged her friend goodbye. “He’s a fine man.”

But what good had it done Susan to fall in love, Isobel wondered. Dick Brewer had been killed as easily as Noah might be. Now Susan had to live with loss for the rest of her life.

Loss and rejection seemed to hound the women of Lincoln County. It would not be long before Isobel had to face the rebuff of Guillermo Pascal and his family. She could no longer deny her land grants had been lost forever. She would return to Catalonia with nothing but heartache to show for all her months in New Mexico.

Yet—against all better judgment—Isobel loved Noah Buchanan. She knew she could live without him. She also knew she didn’t want to. God had given her one week in which to win the heart of her husband. Would He help her mend the rifts between them?

Noah chose a difficult passage over the mountains to Santa Fe. He hoped Jimmie Dolan might have opted for a longer but safer route up the Pecos River. If Noah had his way, he would beat the Irishman to the capital and speak with Catron first.

Climbing the mountainous trail with Isobel only a few feet behind gave Noah time to think. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to the McSween house to propose such a venture. The moment he had stepped through
the front door and had seen Isobel sitting on the rocker by Susan’s bed, he knew he ought to back right out the door and run.

Great stars, she had looked beautiful that night! Waves of golden hair had hung shimmering over her shoulders. She must have sewn a new dress, a pink confection with ruffles at the wrists and around the neck.

On seeing him, she had risen from the rocker with her hazel eyes shining. When he had taken her out in the moonlight, it had been all he could do to keep from gathering her up in his arms and kissing her the way he wanted to.

He turned around now to check on her. She wore fancy Spanish riding clothes—a black outfit that covered her neck and swung down to her boots. She had swept her hair up into a tight knot high on the back of her head.

But Isobel was no
marquesa
on this ride. Around her waist hung a belt studded with a row of bullets. Dick Brewer’s old hat dipped low on her brow, and she looked ready for battle.

Letting out a breath, Noah focused on the winding trail. He had to force away memories of their days in the little adobe house by the river. He had to forget the letter that had come to him in Lincoln saying his story had been passed to a magazine editor in New York.

There was no room for dreams in the real world, and he’d better not forget it. For too many years he had believed people were better than they were. He had prayed for a peaceful future. He had expected to become a writer.

Nonsense, all of it. It had taken the death of his best friend to show him. People were liars, cheaters,
murderers. A man in the West could bet his bottom dollar a bullet would put him in the grave.

It was no good getting attached, Noah reasoned—especially not to a pretty Spaniard who made a fellow lose sight of the facts. He clenched his jaw and made up his mind he could last one week on the trail alone with Isobel and not get tangled. He had to.

With the help of the Good Lord, he would keep his mind on the job at hand—bringing Dolan down. He had to resist taking Isobel into his arms…and into his heart.

On the first day of May, 1878, Noah and Isobel caught a glimpse of the Pascal hacienda. As they approached the house in the rolling foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Noah struggled to swallow the lump of grit in his throat. The Pascal spread was a grand affair—much grander than his ramshackle home and milk cow. This house had a roof of red tiles and a deep, shady porch. From its perch on a pole near a flowering lilac bush, a green parrot eyed the two riders.

Sleek black horses pranced for their trainers in a nearby corral. Fat cattle, belly-deep in green grass, dotted the foothills. Caballeros in leather chaps and wide-brimmed hats rode among the herds.

As Isobel and Noah dismounted, a man in a blue uniform greeted them.

“I’ve brought Isobel Matas,” Noah explained. “The Pascals are expecting her. I sent a wire from Lincoln almost two months back.”

The man’s dark eyes swept up and down, taking in Isobel’s dusty riding clothes, pistol and battered felt hat.
With a taut smile, he extended a hand. “Won’t you come inside?”

Isobel waited on the sofa in a grand salon while Noah paced, his hat swinging in his hand. Through large glass windows he studied the hills. Then he focused on the interior of the elegant home.

“Looks like your dream’s about to come true.” He halted, his deep voice echoing off the wooden vigas on the ceiling.

“The Pascals have a fine home,” Isobel noted.

“I expect you’ll be happy. I’ll send your furniture and trunks—if you still want them.”

She fiddled with the string that bound her holster to her thigh. “How long will you stay in Santa Fe?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be busy bringing Dolan down…and getting our marriage annulled.” He started pacing again. “Just do your best to get this fellow to keep his end of the bargain he made with your father.”

“Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

His eyes darted to her face. There was a moment of silence as each gazed at the other.