Chapter Four

Whit wiped the sweat from his forehead as he tested the latch on the pigeon cage. Briggs had asked him to stop by Mrs. Brown's house to fix a faulty latch which might lead to her prized pigeons escaping. Mrs. Brown relied on these pigeons to deliver messages to and from town, so it was crucial she properly contained and trained the birds.

He double-checked each cage, making sure the latches were secure and the birds were comfortable. One false move and they could be lost forever, their trained flight skills no match for the wild unknown beyond the safety of their cages. Once he was satisfied, he turned to Mrs. Brown and gave her a thumbs up. She smiled in relief, knowing her important communication system was safe once again.

"I think that is it, ma'am," Whit said, his hand resting against the tower of wire and wood.

Sarah Brown held tight to the basket of eggs clutched in her hands. Her dark hair was falling from its neat bun, wisps framing her delicate face. Though she was nearing thirty, her smooth complexion and bright eyes gave her a youthful glow.

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Moore. I rely on these birds more than you can imagine," she said.

Whit tipped his hat politely. "Of course, ma'am. Happy to help."

He studied her for a moment, detecting a hint of sadness in her smile. Though he knew little about the widow who kept to herself, he sensed a lingering grief over her husband's passing years ago. She had no children of her own but had taken in several boys who had lost their parents because of the fever.

"Well, I best be going. You take care now."

"Are you sure you can't stay for dinner, Mr. Moore?"

"Not tonight. I have a few things I need to do."

"Take these eggs. There aren't many, but I can only eat so many, and the boys have begged me not to make any more for a while."

Whit held up his hand. "I can't take them with me tonight, but I can stop by tomorrow and pick them up."

Mrs. Brown gave a half smile and a sad laugh. "It's fine," she mumbled.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Brown?"

She nodded, and her lustrous dark hair swayed with the movement. Strands of loose hair caught the light, giving off a golden hue. Her complexion was flawless, but there was a sadness in her eyes which couldn't be hidden. They were bright, yet tired from carrying the weight of her emotions. "I've just been worried about the trouble around town."

"Trouble?"

"There have been rumblings about outlaws, and I've heard several steers have gone missing from the neighboring farms."

Scratching the whiskers on his chin, Whit thought about a response. He didn't want to worry the widow. "I don't think they are missing. They have probably just wandered off. Will most likely be back in a day or two." He knew it was a lie. Those steers had wandered right into the Richards gang's bellies.

"What about the rumors of outlaws?"

"Nah." Whit made his way over to his horse. "I think they are long gone by now." Putting one foot in the stirrup, he lifted himself up into the saddle. "I'll stop by tomorrow and check on you. Just don't go outside after dark."

"Sounds like trouble. Is there something I should be worried about, Mr. Moore?"

Whit tipped his hat to her. "No, ma'am. I'm not aware of any. I know Briggs wants you to be safe." He tapped Topper on his flanks, and the horse started from the barn down toward the path to the river.

It was a full moon, which meant Brodie was going to want to ride for another steer. Whit could avoid most of the cattle thieving by being in town when it happened, but Brodie was getting suspicious. Whit had to partake in the last rustling operation when they took a yearling from the Pickett ranch. The young bull was enough meat to feed the men for nearly a week, and now they were grumbling they were hungry again.

Whit's jaw clenched as Brodie continued to test him, but with each successful completion, Whit saw the trust growing in the outlaw's eyes. One night, over a bottle of whiskey, Tom mentioned a big job coming up. Brodie immediately shut down any discussion about it, saying it needed to be quick and involve as few people as possible. Despite his curiosity, Whit couldn't pry any more information out of Tom without risking his standing with the gang, so he reluctantly mentioned it to Briggs, the local lawman, who could do nothing without concrete details.

Whit rode through the chilly night air, pulling his jacket collar up to shield himself from the biting cold. His breath came out in hazy puffs as he guided Topper along the winding river toward the dense trees in the distance. It was a half-hour ride to reach the tall pines and tangled underbrush, which formed a maze of shadows, with their looming shapes casting eerie patterns on the ground. Whit could feel the crisp November air nipping at his cheeks and smell the familiar scents of pine and damp earth filling his senses.

The steady flow of the North Platte River could be heard in the distance, as it supported the wildlife inhabiting the area and acted as a hiding place for outlaws seeking refuge from the law. With his sharp eyes, he scanned the landscape, noting tracks left by deer and smaller animals. However, it was the faint traces of horse hooves and broken branches which caught his attention. He was getting closer. The Richards gang had chosen their hideout wisely, deep within the thick forest where nature itself formed a barrier, concealing their movements from prying eyes.

Whit followed the winding path to the gang's hidden camp. As he rode, his thoughts turned to Esther. Though they barely knew each other, there was something about her which stirred him. He remembered when she first stepped off the stagecoach with her parents and sisters, her hair tousled from the bumpy ride.

Reverend Billings, her father, made a brief stop at the mercantile to introduce his family to the townspeople, and Whit lost his heart. He tried to act uninterested, but nothing could be further from the truth.

How he wanted to approach Reverend Billings to ask for permission to court his daughter properly or ask to meet her after church on Sunday, bringing a basket of homemade treats to share at one of the town's harvest events. Instead, he had to steadily build a reputation he knew her father would never accept.

Instead, he watched her from afar and relished the small conversations when they happened. If he had known she attended Marmee's annual dance, he would have been there, even if it meant hiding in the shadows just to glimpse her beauty.

He didn't know when he might see her again as the gang was going to move further north for the winter. Brodie mentioned something about meeting up with family and wintering closer to Lincoln, but Whit didn't have any of the details.

He wondered how he could find out more information.

As he neared the camp, he dismounted, leading his horse through the last stretch of dense underbrush. The camp came into view, a crude assembly of tents nestled in a clearing by the river. Smoke from a campfire curled into the sky, blending with the evening mist. Men lounged around the fire, their laughter and rough voices breaking the tranquility of the forest.

Whit's eyes scanned the camp, slipping over the tents and crates. His sharp eyes landed on a familiar figure bound to a tree near one of the larger tents.

It was Esther.

Her tear-streaked face was hidden beneath her usually neat hair, which had become matted and tangled. A grimy bandana had been shoved into her mouth, silencing any cries for help.

Whit noticed her purple paletot was torn and dirtied, but she didn't seem to have any visible injuries. Fear filled her eyes as she locked gazes with him, pleading silently for rescue.

Anger surged through him. A hot, searing rage threatened to consume his carefully maintained facade. He hadn't known the gang had planned to take her. Her wide eyes and trembling hands spoke volumes about her fear. Her family must be worried sick.

With a deep breath, Whit stepped into the clearing and approached the fire without looking at Esther. He couldn't give any emotion away. Adopting the swagger and confidence which earned him a place among the outlaws, he pushed Tom's hat forward and gave the man a light slap on the shoulder. "Evening, Tom. Any grub left?"

Heads turned in his direction, and a few men nodded in acknowledgment. Brodie looked up from sharpening his knife, a glint of recognition in his eyes. "Whit, you're back," he said, standing up and sheathing the blade. "Get him a plate of beans, Austin. Did you find out anything about where the marshal will be tomorrow?"

Whit forced a grin. "Yeah, he's going…" He flicked his eyes to Esther before turning to Brodie. "What's going on here? Are you playing some kind of game with me?"

Brodie's gaze darkened as he looked from Esther to Whit. Then he let out a low chuckle. "This was what we were doing when you disappeared this afternoon." He strode over to Esther, grabbing her chin roughly. She flinched at his touch, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged cheeks.

"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" Brodie sneered. "Reverend's daughter, I hear. Can't imagine he'll be too pleased when he finds out we've got her."

Esther's eyes, wide with fear, met Whit's. His fingers curled into tight balls, knuckles white with tension as he fought the urge to lash out at Brodie. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the man, his jaw clenched in anger.

"Let my wife go," he hissed.

Brodie's hand dropped, and he turned on his heel, closing the distance to Whit in three long strides. "What did you say?"

Whit struggled to maintain his composure. "You heard me. I said to let my wife go."

"Your wife, eh?" Brodie looked back at Esther, who was struggling against her bonds. "When did you get married?"

Whit's thoughts raced in his mind as he tried to think of a plausible story which might appease Brodie. "Last month. Shortly after her family arrived in town." Glancing over Brodie's shoulder, Whit saw Esther had stilled and was looking at him, her eyes glaring at him against the campfire. He prayed she wouldn't say anything. "It was a harvest dance, and there were several couples getting married. We were one of them."

Brodie scratched at his grease-stained shirt before throwing his head back and laughing. "You sly, dog. You didn't tell us you were hitched. We brought your wife right to you. Why didn't you say nothing?"

The men around the campfire joined in, shouting their well wishes and lifting bottles of whiskey in his direction. Whit walked over and started tugging on the rope binding her arms. "I don't want her mixed up in this life."

"Too late for that now," Tom snorted.

"I wouldn't untie her." Austin approached and put a plate of beans with a thick slice of cornbread next to the fire. "She's going to run."

"No, she won't," Whit assured them.

Once the restraints around her wrists were removed, Esther quickly reached up and pulled at the bandana tied tightly around her mouth, ripping it off with a sense of relief.

Gasping for breath, she watched as Whit untied the ropes around her ankles. He stood up and offered a hand to help her up. With a fierce scowl, she pulled her hand back and slapped him across the cheek.

"You uncultured brute," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You ruffian. I wouldn't marry…"

Whit's powerful hand wrapped around her arm, his grip firm as he pulled her close. Without hesitation, he crushed his lips against hers, leaving no room for questions or protests.

The sound of a little kitten's cries caught his attention, and he noticed it was coming from Esther. As she finally surrendered to him, her body became soft, and she relaxed in his embrace.

Just as quickly as it began, the kiss ended. Whit pulled back, his piercing blue eyes searching hers. Her cheeks flushed crimson as they noticed the hoots and laughter from the watching outlaws. She ducked her head, smoothing her disheveled skirts with trembling fingers.

"Come now, darlin'," Whit said gently, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. He brushed his lips gently against hers. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about." He pulled her close before turning to address the rambunctious men. "This is my wife, Esther, and I expect you to treat her with the respect she deserves. I will hunt down anyone who causes her harm. Do I make myself clear?"

He felt Esther's hands clinging to his coat, trembling like fragile leaves in a storm. He longed to wrap both his arms around her, to shelter her from the leers and jeers of the lecherous outlaws. He dared not show such tenderness here in the vipers' nest.

Leading Esther over to the campfire, he guided her to a log secluded from the rest of the group. He handed her the plate Austin prepared, and she accepted it with shaking hands, avoiding eye contact.

"Eat," he whispered. "You must be hungry."

Esther picked at her food, occasionally taking small bites while keeping her gaze fixed on the mesmerizing flames. The men returned to their boisterous conversations and drinks, barely acknowledging the couple's presence.

"I need to get her back to town," Whit said, walking to Brodie. "She can't stay here."

"She can, and she will." Brodie pulled out his knife and used the tip to clean his fingernails. "Ma wants to meet her."

"Ma?"

"She's arriving tomorrow, and then we'll make plans to move out."

"We're headed toward Lincoln?"

"Plans change, Whit Moore. Ma will decide where we are going." Brodie walked off in the darkness. "Lucky, you have first watch. Sundown, you watch the horses. I'm going to bed."

Whit returned to the fire and plopped down on the log next to Esther, their shoulders brushing as they gazed into the crackling flames together. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for what just happened, for the kiss. I had to make them believe we're married."

Esther's eyes flashed with anger. "It was highly improper. My father will be furious."

"Furious is better than dead," he countered. "We have to play along if we're going to get out of this alive."

He watched as Esther bit her lip, considering his words. She handed him the plate. "I'm not hungry."

"You need to keep up your strength."

"I can't eat right now."

Whit shrugged before clearing the plate. He sat with Esther as the men started retiring for the night. "Let's go to bed, honey," he mumbled.

"No. I'm not your honey, so don't use that term of endearment." She pulled her paletot tighter around her.

"You'll catch a cold if you stay out here. It is warmer in the tent. I promise you'll be safe."

"If it is God's will, I catch a cold then… Oh!"

Whit scooped her up and started walking toward his tent. "I doubt God wants you to catch a cold."

"Put me down, you buffoon." Her tiny fists pummeled his shoulders.

"Once we are inside, you can do whatever you want." He dropped her just outside the pup tent. "Crawl inside."

"I don't want to…"

"Remember what I said about behaving?"

She peered at him, her eyes wide with surprise as she blinked twice. Without a word, she ducked into the small tent, narrowly avoiding brushing against the sides. Whit followed suit, squeezing in beside her and feeling cramped in the tiny space. It was a tight fit for one person, let alone two.

"It's cold in here," she whispered.

"Take off your coat and use it as a blanket."

Esther climbed out of the tent. She stood there for a minute before taking off her coat and tossing it inside the tent.

"Don't think of running," Whit warned. "I'm not chasing you in the dark."

"I wasn't."

He watched her crawl back into the tent and silently handed her coat over. She lay down with her back to him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. He could barely make out her silhouette in the dim light. He draped her coat over like a makeshift blanket and scooted as far away as he could to give her some space. "Goodnight, Esther," he whispered, his heart heavy with unspoken words.

There was a long pause before she shifted closer to him, seeking comfort in his warmth. "I want to go home," she choked out through sobs. Without hesitation, Whit reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her hair tickled his face, but he didn't mind as he tried to comfort her in the small space of the tent.

"I know, honey. I promise I'll get you back home."

"You don't think those men will hurt me, do you?"

Whit brushed his lips against her hair. "No. I won't let them. They'll have to get through me first."

"Thank you, Mr. Moore."

"Whit. You need to call me Whit and pretend we are married until I take you home. Believe me when I say I'll protect you, Esther."

"I believe you, Whit."

He closed his eyes, thankful he had arrived when he did. He would protect her. He'd lay down his life if he had to.