Chapter 15

15

" Y ou're being an idiot."

Edgar didn't react to Ricky's statement. He stayed in his squat, bent over his horse's hoof. The animal had picked up a stone in the last few minutes of the day's drive and Edgar needed to remove it and let the horse rest for a while.

"She's up in the wagon, crying. Wants to talk to you," Matty added.

Edgar shifted, edging his shadow out of the weak moonlight. He was working mostly by touch, but he'd asked for no fires, so he was doing the best he could.

He ignored his brother's mention of Fran crying.

"Edgar—"

"I heard you," he burst out, head against the horse's flank. "Aren't you supposed to spell John about now?"

Grass crunched, like his brother was pacing a circle, but Edgar didn't turn to look. He'd gotten enough accusative looks from both Ricky and Seb all afternoon. He didn't need one more.

"Edgar—" Ricky started.

"If I was going to take advice, it wouldn't be from you!" he burst out. He couldn't take the both of them ganging up on him.

"You think you know everything!" Ricky countered. "No one else can ever be right?—"

"Because that's the way it is!"

Ricky threw a punch.

Edgar caught it in his palm, Ricky's fist smacking against his flesh. His brother's eyes were a little wild, about like Edgar felt right now.

"Right ain't always right," Ricky muttered after a long, hard stare passed between them.

"This ain't solving anything!" Matty exclaimed from behind them.

"What's to solve?" Edgar asked. He turned away, kept his head low, so his brothers wouldn't see the emotion welling up in him. "She lied to me."

"You sure about that? Underhill could be the one lying."

"With a federal marshal along for the ride?"

It seemed preposterous. And if it was an unfounded accusation, why wouldn't she have told him sooner?

Even if she hadn't outright lied, at the very least, she'd omitted some very important information.

He couldn't trust her.

And he obviously couldn't trust himself. She'd grown on him with her non-complaining attitude, her protectiveness of her sister…but maybe it was all an act. Or maybe she really was willing to do anything to save Emma.

"You talk some sense into him yet?"

The third voice—Seb's—had him on his feet almost instantly.

"What're you doing out here? You're supposed to be with the wagon," Edgar barked.

Both Seb and Ricky looked at him, faces serious, and he turned away, taking off his hat with one hand and shoving his other hand into his hair.

It just reminded him of Fran, how she'd washed and cut it.

"We know you care about her," Seb said. Low and soft, like Edgar was some flighty filly to be brought around by gentle speech. "Kinda hard not to notice."

"I don't want to," he growled.

"You can't just let them take her away," his youngest brother pushed.

"She says Underhill wants Emma. If that's true, then he doesn't have any reason to push for her to be incarcerated." Unless she really had stolen from him.

"You're gonna make that gamble? What if he gets so mad about being thwarted that he tries to punish her?"

"I don't know!" he thundered, spinning to face his brothers. "I don't know anything anymore. She's got me all mixed up and turned around!"

He threw up his hands, and his Stetson went flying into the night.

"We started out four days ago with a job to do. We've still got to get the cattle to Pa's buyer. That's what I want to focus on."

Cattle were easy, even if it was going to be a challenge to get them to the buyer on time.

Cattle didn't tie him up in knots, didn't turn everything from black and white to gray.

Or rainbow-colored, like looking at the sun behind closed eyes.

"Will you please go back to the wagon?"

Seb considered him for a long moment. Finally, the younger man crossed his arms across his chest. "No."

"What?"

"I'm not going. If you want to make sure Fran and Emma are protected, you go."

He turned to Matty, but found no help there. Ricky was trying to hide a faint smile behind one hand, but not succeeding.

"I guess you're not going either," he said, disgusted with their maneuvering.

"I'll just get one of the other hands to do it," he threatened.

Seb shrugged. "If you want to be that big of a coward. She's just one woman. Nothing to be scared of."

"A woman who wants to talk to him," Ricky threw in. "That can make for a dangerous creature, indeed."

Edgar wasn't laughing. Neither was Ricky.

He wasn't up to seeing Fran. He was afraid she would be able to convince him of her innocence and convolute his thinking.

But he couldn't leave Emma unprotected, either. He'd made a promise.

Fran clutched the pistol in the folds of her dress, sitting awake in the dark.

Seb hadn't come back, and neither had Ricky.

Beside her, beneath the canvas wagon cover, Emma was wide awake too. Fran couldn't see her, but she could hear her sister's near-panicked breathing.

"How come one of them isn't back yet?"

But what Fran heard was her sister's fear. Fran reached out a hand in the darkness and Emma clasped it painfully.

"Edgar promised to take care of you," Fran said. "And I trust him."

Because she still did, even if he let Underhill take Fran. He'd given his word.

"Well, I don't!"

The vehemence in Emma's voice surprised Fran. "What?"

"When you married him, he promised to take care of you . If he lets that Mr. Underhill and that marshal take you, he's breaking a promise."

The sound of Emma's soft sobs prompted Fran to tug her closer and put her arms around her younger sister.

"Oh, Emma. God's going to work all this out." She had to believe it. Otherwise what had all her effort been for? "He must've put Edgar right in our path, and must've surrounded us with all these cowboys for something, don't you think?"

Emma quieted. "I don't know."

"Well, I do."

And thinking like that made Fran realize something else, too. What if God had put her in Edgar's path for a purpose? To open his heart from those wounds of his past?

She held Emma until the girl quieted, and then left the weapon with her sister.

She had to talk to Edgar, now, tonight, even if it meant saying her piece in front of his brother.

Hopping onto the wagon seat, she hissed, "Ricky! Seb! Matty!"

There was silence, but she had an awareness that she wasn't alone. There was someone out there. Why didn't they answer?

"Ricky!" she called again, this time a little louder.

She stepped out of the wagon into the waist-high grasses, intent on finding whoever was out here and making them take her to see Edgar.

"I know you're there! Matty!"

Grasses rustled, and for a moment she was frozen with fear. What if she'd gotten it wrong and it was one of Underhill's men?

"It's me."

Edgar came out of the darkness, the moon's weak light falling on his broad shoulders and illuminating his Stetson, leaving his face in shadow.

"Oh. Good."

He looked ominous in the moonlight, tall and unapproachable. "What's the matter?"

She swallowed the lump of fear and emotion that seemed lodged in her throat. "I need to talk to you."

"You should get back in the wagon. Get some rest."

Unspoken, his message was that she could talk, but he wouldn't listen.

He took her elbow in a very impersonal way and turned her back toward the wagon, but she dug in her heels. They were only feet away, she didn't want Emma to overhear everything that was said.

"Do you really think I'll be able to sleep?" she asked.

He let go of her elbow and moved back a step. Distancing himself from her.

"There are others around, keeping a lookout over you and Emma." His voice was cold, distant.

As if he'd already cut himself off from all emotion concerning her.

Tears burned the back of her throat.

"Not because of that," she said, and had to clear her throat to try and dislodge the tears.

"You said, more than once, that I've turned your life upside-down. Did you never stop to think that maybe God put me on that train in Wyoming, for just that reason? It wasn't a coincidence that we met and married?—"

"That was a mistake." He'd gone tense, muscles taut. Closed off to her.

"No it wasn't," she breathed, tears now blurring her vision.

"It should never have happened. I should've found some other way to fix things back in Bear Creek."

She shook her head, held on to her middle with both arms. She took a shaky breath, and she knew he heard it because he shifted his feet as if he were uncomfortable.

She wished she could see his face, so she could better tell if he was just pushing her away or if he really had completely shut off his emotions.

"I never lied to you." She said the words as softly and levelly as she could. "Underhill is the one lying about me."

He didn't answer, staying distant in the dark.

"You can say what you want, but I know what really happened," she said. "I got too close, didn't I? You've kept yourself isolated out here on the ranch. You claim to want independence, but I think you've really been hiding all these years."

He flinched as if she'd struck him.

She went on. "You were so hurt by what happened in your childhood that you didn't want to let anyone come close again, so you made excuses. You claimed not to trust women, claimed you never wanted to marry… All because you were afraid of falling in love."

"What—"

She interrupted him this time, pushing on his chest with the force of her emotion.

"You're afraid of letting me in—and that's a fool thing to be, because I'm here and I'm…"

She stopped.

She'd almost blurted, I'm in love with you .

But she couldn't give that to him, couldn't declare her love when he was standing stone-still, silent, determined not to let her in.

"I won't hurt you," she said instead.

And she waited.

He assessed her in silence, for a long time, and she began to hope.

But he only said, "I've got to spell John with the cattle. Seb will be here shortly. Tell Emma to keep that weapon close. I don't want any surprises."

And gave her a nudge toward the wagon.

She was blinded by tears as she fumbled her way into the covered space.

Emma was there, holding on to her. Comforting her. She should have been doing that for her younger sister instead.

She didn't have any hope left. Edgar had taken it all with his callousness, with his refusal to believe that she was more than her circumstances.

What now?

Emma would have her happy ending, but for Fran only darkness remained.

Edgar made his way back to his horse, chest hot like he had a spike of fire through his sternum.

There was a reason he'd wanted to be far away from Fran.

Seeing her tears, her face white in the moonlight, pleading.

It was enough to give a man permanent heartburn.

How could he trust a woman like her? He couldn't. Running away made her look guilty. The presence of the federal marshal compounded it.

If she was innocent, why all the hullabaloo?

He knew the story of how the insane man who'd become obsessed with Penny had attempted to get Penny's pa out of the way and tried to kidnap her as well, but what if this situation wasn't the same?

He didn't know anymore.

And he had a job to do.

He passed Seb on his way to the wagon to guard the girls. Edgar would spell John and at least two of their guys could get an hour or so of rest.

Edgar wouldn't sleep anyway.

The cattle were edgy, restless when he took a slow circle around the herd. He ranged out further but didn't come across any of Underhill's men.

Then a bunch of coyotes started yipping off in the distance and he thought that was probably what had the cattle spooked. It didn't take much.

He warned the other riders and then spelled John. He ground-tied his horse and walked a bit, swinging his arms to create some warmth in the cooling night air.

The girls would be all right.

He'd take Emma home to his ma and…then what? How would he explain that he had a wife but she was in custody of a federal marshal, awaiting trial?

His ma would not be happy.

And she would probably demand he go down to Tennessee and see what happened with the trial.

He thrust a hand through his hair.

His own decency would demand he go after her. Even if he didn't want her in his life, he would have to finish it.

He'd promised to get her a start, hadn't he? He was man enough to provide at least that for her.

His horse nickered and he turned. In the dark, he could barely make out the form of his animal. He'd wandered farther than he'd thought, just like his thoughts.

He had one job to do. One.

Get the cattle to Cheyenne. He could worry about his wife and all the trouble following her after that point. Whether that meant going to Tennessee or staying here with Emma for now, he didn't know.

He couldn't think about the things Fran'd accused him of—of using his pa's ranch as a place to hide.

It rankled.

His brothers had said the same thing.

He wasn't a coward.

Was he?

Between all the emotion of the day and knowing Underhill was somewhere close-by, Fran couldn't sleep.

Judging by Emma's rapid breathing, she wasn't sleeping either.

"It feels like we're too exposed in this wagon," Fran whispered.

"I know."

Fran sat up. "If we aren't sleeping anyway, maybe we should just be out with the cowboys."

Rustling came from Emma's side of the wagon bed and she popped up. "Can we?"

They scrambled to find their shoes in the dark. And Fran had an idea.

"Do we still have Seb's trousers and shirt?" she asked.

There was a long pause before Emma responded. "I think so. Why?"

"You should put them on. If the men are looking for you, it could make a difference to what they see in the dark."

Emma didn't argue with her, which told Fran the depth of her fear. It was a struggle getting her dress off and the trousers on in the dark confines of the wagon bed.

Fran helped her pin her hair as closely to her head as she could and then they were ready.

Fran stuck her head out of the canvas first. "Seb? Ricky?" Somehow, she knew Edgar would've left.

No answer.

Had they fallen asleep? Or ridden farther out?

Or worse, had they detected a threat?

Sudden fear, real and physical, lodged in her throat.

"Emma!" she barely breathed the name, and was relieved to the point of tears when her sister appeared at her elbow.

They clambered out of the wagon as silently as they could. Two dark forms, larger than men, moved in the grass nearby. The horses, unhitched from the wagon and ground-tied.

"Let's ride out," she whispered to Emma.

"But—"

"It'll be quicker."

"But there aren't any saddles. And the horses are huge."

She was right on both counts, but the increasing urgency Fran felt had her tugging her sister toward the animals.

There was a rustling behind them, close to the wagon. Fran's heart pounded in her ears, drowning out their footsteps, making her strain to hear.

If it was one of Edgar's brothers or one of the cowboys, why hadn't they called out? Surely they would know she and Emma were frightened and seek to reassure them.

The only answer was that it wasn't one of Edgar's men. It had to be one of Underhill's.

Fran pulled Emma to the nearest horse. She reached out to touch the animal's shoulder and it neighed softly. She didn't dare whisper a greeting to the horse.

It took one step away from Fran.

Edgar had told her the animal could sense fear. No doubt it was picking up the chills that were running through her that very moment.

But they didn't have time for her to comfort the animal.

Fran made a cradle out of her hands to boost Emma onto the animal's back.

"Fran!" Emma squeaked.

"Ssh!" she hissed.

The trousers made it easy for Emma to straddle the animal's wide back, but Fran knew well how awkward it felt.

She curled her sister's hands around the horse's mane, barely able to reach.

"Hold on tight," she breathed.

"They ain't here," a man's voice said quietly.

Fran scrambled to where the horse was tied. Her hands shook so badly that she couldn't get a good grip on the leather ties. And in the darkness, she couldn't see what she was doing.

"Please, God," she whispered the fervent prayer, unable to find words but hopeful that He understood her urgency, her fear for Emma.

If Underhill took her, Fran could lose Emma forever.

The ties loosened, and Fran flipped the leather reins over the horse's back.

"Fran!" Emma cried softly.

"They've got to be here somewhere." That was another growly male voice, not one Fran recognized.

The grass rustled, getting closer. She was out of time to spirit Emma away.

"You've got to go," she told her sister.

"Not without you."

She attempted to reach to the horse's back, but her foot caught in her skirt and there was no way she could pull herself up on the large animal without help or a stepping block.

"Emma, go!"

She slapped the horse's rump at the same moment that a yellow square of lamplight shone on them, lighting Fran's form and the horse's backside.

Blessedly, Emma remained in shadow as the horse thundered away into the night. Fran prayed it ran fast and right to Edgar.

"Hey!" an unknown male voice called out.

She lifted her skirts and ran. The long grasses clung to her.

She could hear the loud huffs of someone, several someones following her.

There was nowhere to hide. In the open prairie, there were no trees or bushes.

She was disoriented, trying to remember in which direction the cattle were located.

She dared not call out. What if Underhill's men had done something to Edgar and the cowboys? If she made too much noise, it would be a beacon for the men behind her to find her.

Her breaths came in gasps. She tried to stifle them, trying with all her might to be silent as she ran through the night.

"Get her!" came a shout from behind—closer than before?

Could she just lie down in the grass? What would keep the men from finding her?

She kept running, desperate.

Where were Edgar's cowboys? Surely she should have run right into them by now?

Lungs burning, mind spinning, she cried out when someone grabbed her arm and twisted it brutally.

"Gotcha now, girl," said an angry, huffing voice.

She struggled, jerking and kicking and spitting. Trying everything she could to get away.

She connected with something—the man's shin maybe?—and his hold loosened. She ripped her arm away, and tried to run again, but smacked into a hard body. A second man.

She screamed as loudly as she could.

Until a dirty hand clapped over her mouth. "No one close enough to hear ya, missy," said a smooth, cold voice.

She struggled again, but it was no use. One of them cruelly yanked her arm behind her back, sending a spike of pain up through her shoulder and making her cry out, the sound muffled behind the hand blocking her breathing.

"She ain't going nowhere," the man holding her grunted. "What about the other one?"

"She wasn't at the wagon. Abe thought he saw a boy rushing away on a horse. Hard to see in the dark."

"Let's go see if Abe caught up to the kid, then."

Fran struggled frantically as they dragged her back toward the wagon.

Thoughts screaming, she couldn't find air and the edges of her vision began to blacken.

Emma. Did Emma get away?