Wyoming Bride (26 page)

Emaline would gladly accept whatever punishment her father meted out, if she and Ransom survived. Not that the punishment would be severe. Her father was as lenient with her as he was rigid in disciplining his troops.

That was probably why she’d felt free to forgo her aunt’s supervision. She was used to doing what she wanted without paying the consequences. Only, this time, she’d been caught, and the price for her disobedience might be Ransom’s life.

Emaline was aware of the terrible danger they were in. Other than a shovel, a folding knife, and the fire, she was utterly defenseless. She didn’t think the Indians would come back, but there were other drifters on the plains, both of the two-legged and four-legged variety.

She’d never imagined her life being cut short by anything except pregnancy. While she knew there were dangers for a man on the range, she’d never imagined anything bad happening to Ransom. She’d thought the two of them would have the rest of their lives to love each other, especially if she didn’t get pregnant.

She’d also been certain that making love was not necessary to living happily ever after, certain that she was right and Ransom was wrong. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. She wasn’t sorry for sneaking away with Ransom, but she would forever regret not making love to him.

Emaline sighed. How foolish she’d been. If he lived … She sobbed and forced the sound back down. Self-pity was an emotion she couldn’t afford. She had to stay strong. She had to take care of Ransom.

Was he unconscious? Or was he merely sleeping? She rested her hand against his cheek, which was fiery hot, and leaned close to listen. His breathing was slow and even. He’d only taken a couple of swallows of the soup she’d made for him, but she’d been glad to get even those few drops of liquid down his throat.

His wounds were grievous, and he’d lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much. She’d already done everything she knew to nurse him. Besides, she’d seen enough wounded men in military hospitals to know that the fever was far more likely to kill him than the wound itself.

She wet the cloth again and used it to cool Ransom’s fevered brow, but it felt like she was fighting a losing battle.

“You’re not going to die, sweetheart,” she said, as though speaking the words could make them true. “You’re going to live. Of course, the wedding will have to be postponed until you’ve recovered your strength, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Or maybe, when he found out what she’d done, her father would insist—at the point of a gun—that Ransom wed her, healthy or not.

Emaline shivered and pulled Cookie’s blanket tighter around her shoulders. The warmth of the day had fled. It was getting colder. Please, God, no more freakishly frigid weather. All she needed was for it to snow.

Ransom’s hand moved restlessly, and she took it in her own and continued, “I want to make love to you, darling. I’d give anything now for a chance to grow a precious life inside me and deliver a son or daughter into your hands. If I die in childbirth …”

Emaline shivered. She knew she would die. There was no “if” about it. Her mother had endured long enough to deliver her and then bled and bled until she was as white as parchment and as cold as ice. There was no reason to believe she would be any more capable of living herself, although she could hope to give Ransom the gift of a living child to love after she was gone.

Because she loved him, she would have his child. If only God gave her the chance.

Emaline knew if she didn’t think happier thoughts, she would go crazy with fear. Shadows loomed large beyond the campfire. She thought she saw glowing eyes in the darkness. Wolves? She was sitting here as though she’d spent a great many nights out-of-doors, when the truth was, this was the very first. Even when she’d followed her father to the battlefield during the War Between the States, he’d made sure she at least had a tent over her head.

She brushed a stray curl off Ransom’s forehead and said, “Do you remember the first time you kissed me?”

Emaline smiled as she leaned over and tenderly kissed Ransom’s cheek. “Shall I tell you what I was thinking? What I was feeling?”

To Emaline’s surprise, Ransom made a grunting sound. Could he be aware of what she was saying? Had he heard what she’d said about bearing his child? Had it given him a reason to fight harder to live?

She’d been acquainted with Ransom for exactly one hour before he’d requested permission from her father to court her. She’d been giddy with excitement, even though there were plenty of other beaux who’d taken her for a ride in her buggy, who’d shared dinner with her family, and who’d strutted before her like preening cocks, before Ransom had come into the picture.

The hardest part of their courtship was how little time Ransom had to pursue it. He was busy on the range, and the only day he was willing to take off was Sunday. She had church with her father in the morning, which left only Sunday afternoons for them to get to know each other, under the watchful eye of Aunt Betsy. Emaline had lived for those Sunday afternoons.

“I wondered for three long months what it would be like to kiss you,” Emaline said, smiling as she recalled all the times when she’d thought Ransom might kiss her but hadn’t.

Emaline remembered that momentous spring day in every detail. They’d taken along a picnic of ham sandwiches and deviled eggs and pickles, with iced tea to drink. The two of them had left her aunt taking a nap on a blanket in the shade of a cottonwood and walked away hand in hand along the river.

They had passed a bend that took them out of her aunt’s sight when Ransom stopped and took both her hands in his, gripping them almost too tightly.

“I thought you might break my fingers,” Emaline recalled. “Then you laughed at yourself and raised my hands to your lips and kissed them, one at a time.”

Emaline smiled. “You were so gentle. And I was so disappointed! I thought you’d chickened out again.” She shivered as she remembered what came next. “Then you lifted my hands to rest on your shoulders, and you set your hands at my waist. If I’d taken a deep breath, our bodies would have touched.”

Ransom made another sound, a moan, and Emaline leaned down to brush her lips against his, then kept her face close as she said, “Your lips were so soft when they touched mine. I could feel you trembling. I was trembling, too. Then you slid an arm around my waist and pulled me close so I could feel you everywhere.”

She hadn’t expected his tongue to touch her lips. She’d been so surprised, she’d opened her mouth to protest. Before she could, his tongue had touched hers and withdrawn, surprising her with how good it felt. She’d gasped, and as she did, his mouth had captured hers again, his tongue making another foray that she’d welcomed and then returned.

He’d broken the kiss to look into her eyes, speaking without words.

Emaline had seen his desire, and for the very first time in her life, she’d felt it in return.

She’d been surprisingly innocent when they’d shared that first kiss. Over the following months, Ransom had introduced her to other kisses on her neck and ears and fingertips. He’d introduced her to other touches on her breasts and belly and made her want to touch him in return.

She’d pleaded her innocence as an excuse for not doing more, an excuse for not giving him the ultimate pleasure, and he’d accepted her reasons for not wanting to go further. She’d kept mute about her unwillingness to make love even after they were married. That had been far too intimate a conversation to have with a man to whom she was not yet engaged.

Their occasional escapes from Aunt Betsy’s eagle eye hadn’t allowed for undressing, but Ransom had touched her and kissed her and given her pleasure she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams.

“Emaline?”

“You’re awake!” Emaline could see the shine of Ransom’s eyes in the moonlight. “How are you feeling?”

“Rotten.” He cleared his throat and continued, “But I suppose this is better than being dead. How did you get here?”

“I came looking for you when you didn’t come home. And saw the vultures.”

He made an anguished sound in his throat. “Is anyone else alive?”

“No. Only you. Who would do something like this, Ransom?”

“A dozen or so renegade Indians. Every damned one of them had a brand-new rifle.”

“How do you know they were new?”

“We shot a couple of them and got a good look at their weapons.”

“There were no Indians, or rifles either, by the time I got here. Do you think someone at the fort is selling rifles to the Indians?”

“I didn’t think of that,” he said. “I thought they were given the rifles in exchange for attacking us.”

“That would be stupid,” Emaline said. “Whoever gave a bunch of savages brand-new rifles would never be able to control where they used them after they attacked you.”

“Whoever gave them those guns is probably counting on more attacks—on ranchers who can’t defend themselves against Indians with rifles,” Ransom said. “The fewer settlers left out here, the more land men like Ashley Patton will be able to gobble up.”

“You think Mr. Patton gave guns to the Indians?” Emaline said, aghast. “My father will have something to say about—”

“I can’t prove it,” Ransom interrupted.

“We have to warn folks,” Emaline said anxiously. “We have to get word to my father.”

“Fine. Let’s go. Why are we still here, by the way? I would have thought you’d rig up some way to get me home.”

Emaline dropped her chin to her chest in shame. “I didn’t tie my horse, and he bolted. I don’t have any way to get you out of here.”

He tried to sit up, groaned, and lay back down. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I can’t get up.”

“Don’t be foolish!” she snapped. “You’re lucky to be alive. Lie down and be still, so you don’t rip out those stitches. I had enough trouble getting them in the first time. I don’t want to have to do it again.”

She saw a shadow of his charming smile, the one that had won her heart the first time she’d seen it, before he said, “When did you get so bossy?”

She heard a sound in the distance that kept her from answering. Hoofbeats. Lots of them. That meant more than one man on horseback. She met Ransom’s anxious gaze and knew he’d heard the same thing. In the next few moments, their fate would be decided.

Were they going to be rescued? Or were they going to die?

Flint lay beside Hannah in his bed and stared at the ceiling. This was his first night in his home with his wife. He ought to be holding her in his arms. He should have made love to her. She’d pleaded fatigue again, turned over, and promptly fell asleep.

Flint slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Hannah. There was plenty of moonlight from the bare window to see without a lantern. He crossed around the bed and pulled the covers up over her shoulders. After he did it, he realized it was a strange thing to have done, when he hardly knew the woman.

Except the night had turned cold, and they hadn’t lit a fire in the fireplace before they’d gone to bed. It wasn’t that he cared for her, it was simply that he’d spent a lot of time and effort nursing her back to health, and he didn’t want her to get sick.

He grabbed his jeans, shirt, socks, and boots and left the room. It was dark in the hallway, but he knew where he was going. He found the rail along the wooden stairs and avoided the creaks as he headed down to the kitchen. He lit a lantern to provide more light than the moon gave him and got dressed.

He wanted a cup of coffee and felt the half-full pot on the stove, which was still a little warm. He opened a lid on the stove, added wood and coal to the remaining embers, and waited for the coffee to heat up.

Flint chewed his lower lip. What the hell had happened to Ransom and Emaline? He couldn’t imagine any scenario where Ransom would have agreed to take a woman as delicate as Emaline Simmons out to spend the night on the prairie. Which meant one or both of them was in trouble.

The only question was how much?

There was always the possibility they’d had an argument, and Ransom had returned Emaline to her father before joining the roundup. But when Flint had checked, Emaline’s clothes and personal effects were still in Ransom’s room. Again, if the argument had been serious enough, she might have taken off without her things, expecting to retrieve them later.

He didn’t think it was a case of foul play here at the ranch, because the house was neat and clean, feed had been left out for the chickens and pigs, and the cow had been milked.

Flint felt like a man trying to scratch his ear with his elbow. Helpless. Frustrated. Wanting to give up, but so irritated by the itch that he had to do something.

He poured himself a cup of steaming coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, knowing that if he drank it, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Hell, he wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Not until he knew what had happened to his brother.

And Emaline. Beautiful Emaline. Perfect Emaline.

He told himself he had no business worrying about the colonel’s daughter. He had a wife of his own. Emaline was Ransom’s problem.

Which still left Ransom for him to worry about.

Flint left the cup of hot coffee sitting on the table and retrieved his flat-brimmed hat and shearling coat from the antler rack beside the kitchen door. He stopped himself right there, turned and dropped his coat and hat on the table, grabbed the lantern, and headed to the room off the parlor that he and Ransom used as an office.