The Horseman's Bride. Elizabeth Lane
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it. But something drove him on. Maybe it was the madness of what had happened tonight—what he’d seen and done and all it implied. Or maybe he was just in shock. The rhythm of hoofbeats pounded through his body. The moon blurred. The wind moaned in his ears.
By the time he neared the bridge, the engine had reached the far side of the creek and picked up speed. Boxcars and flatcars rattled along behind it, going fast, too fast. Could he still do it? Could he fling himself out of the saddle and make the leap? Catch something and hold on?
Would it matter if he died trying?
The whistle shrilled a deafening blast. The stallion screamed, leaping and twisting in terror. Flung out of the saddle, Jace felt himself flying, falling, tumbling toward the rushing wheels …
He woke with a jerk, damning the dream that haunted so many of his nights. The room was dark, the stars glowing faintly through the gauzy curtains. His body felt chilled, his skin paper dry. Only when he tried to sit up and felt pain shoot down his arm did he remember the knife wound and how he’d come by it.
Sinking back onto the pillow, he eased himself to full awareness. He was lying on the bed in Mary’s sewing room, where she’d insisted he stay. A lacy crocheted afghan covered his legs. His shirt was cut away and his boots were missing, but otherwise he was fully dressed.
The rank herbal odor of the poultice seeped through the dressing on his shoulder. Whatever Mary had concocted out of those mysterious jars had yet to work its wonders. The soreness was no worse, but he was beginning to chill. Not a good sign.
Damnation, what a time to be laid up!
Too uncomfortable to go back to sleep, he slid his legs off the couch and pushed himself to his feet. The light-headedness was better, but Jace felt disoriented, like a child awakening in a strange room.
Somehow he needed to get out of here.
His boots were nowhere to be found. For all he knew, Mary could have hidden them to keep him from leaving. Stocking footed, he padded to the front door, opened it quietly and stepped out onto the porch.
The gibbous moon rode low in the west but the sky was still dark, the stars still bright. Insect-seeking bats swished through the moonlight. From the brushy hillside beyond the pasture, the plaintive cry of a coyote rose and faded into stillness.
Someone had put the stallion in the corral with Mary’s two geldings. He could make out their shifting forms and hear the soft snorting sounds they made as they dozed. He’d be smart to saddle up and leave now—ride off into the peaceful darkness with no one the wiser. He could make his way into the hills, maybe find somewhere to hole up until he felt strong enough to move on.
It was a tempting idea, but not a practical one. He would need his boots, and he didn’t want to leave without the .38 Smith & Wesson. He recalled seeing the gun on the porch, but it was no longer there. The knife and the .22 taken from the robbers had been put away as well.
Leaning on the porch rail, Jace stared out into the darkness. Tomorrow would be Wednesday, the day Mary had said she made her weekly trip to town. What were the odds she would see the marshal there and mention the robbery attempt? And what were the odds the marshal would show her his collection of Wanted posters to see if there was anyone who looked familiar?
The posters were out there—in the big towns, at least. Jace had seen one himself. He looked like a dandy in a suit, vest and tie, his hair and mustache immaculately trimmed.
He had since shaved off the mustache and let his hair grow longer. Even so, his picture would be easy enough to recognize. When Mary discovered her new hired man was wanted for murder, all hell was bound to break loose.
He would wait until she’d left for town, Jace resolved. As soon as she was out of sight, he would find his boots and pistol, pack his bedroll, saddle his horse and make tracks. By the time Mary returned, with or without the law, he’d be long gone.
As for the luscious Miss Seavers, she’d be disappointed about the stallion. But even a face as pretty as hers wasn’t worth the risk of getting arrested. Clara would just have to find herself another stud.
The cool night wind raised goose bumps on his bare skin. A shiver passed through his body as he turned away from the rail. A few more hours of sleep might be a good idea. He was going to need his strength tomorrow.
The coyote howled again, a lonely, distant sound like the far-off whistle of a train. The cry echoed in Jace’s ears as he went back inside and closed the door.
By the time Clara finished her breakfast, the sun had risen above the peaks. She whistled snatches of a ragtime tune as she tied the two mares into a lead rope and saddled Tarboy, the steady black gelding she would ride. If things went as hoped, by this time next year she’d have two of the finest foals in the county.
The mares, Belle and Jemima, usually came into estrus at the same time. The changes in their bodies tended to make them cranky. Jemima became a biter when she was in season. Belle’s specialty was digging in her hooves and refusing to be led. Today, both of them were their usual sweet selves, a sign that nature had yet to take its course.
“Just wait till you see who’s waiting for you, ladies,” Clara chattered as she checked the knots. “If this handsome fellow doesn’t make your hearts flutter—”
“Clara, what in heaven’s name are you up to?” Her mother stood in the doorway of the barn. The stern expression on her face was one Clara knew all too well.
Lying, she knew, would only get her in more trouble. “I’m on my way to Grandma’s,” she said. “There’s a man doing some work for her, and he has this beautiful stallion. I’m taking the mares over there and leaving them to be bred.”
“A man? A stranger?” Hannah was instantly on the alert. “What’s he doing there?”
“Just some fixing and mending. He came by last week looking for work. He seems trustworthy enough, and Grandma seems to like him.”
“But a stranger off the road! Why didn’t she let us know she needed help?”
“You know how Grandma is. Sometimes she likes to do things on her own.”
“Yes, I know. I’d go over there myself, right now, but the seamstress is coming in half an hour to measure Katy for three new dresses. That girl is growing so fast, I can’t keep her in clothes.” Hannah made a little huffing sound. “After that I’ll be driving into town for a meeting of the Women’s League. We’ve already started planning the July Fourth celebration. What’s this hired man like?”
“He’s a perfect gentleman, Mama. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about.” Clara avoided her mother’s eyes. Sometimes a daughter had to fudge a little.
“Well, do be careful, dear. You mustn’t allow yourself to be alone with the man. That could be dangerous.” She turned back toward the house, then paused. “Katy’s going with me to visit her friend Alice. I’ll expect to see you here when I get home.”
“Certainly, Mama. Don’t worry about me.”
Clara sagged with relief as her mother walked back to the house. Why did her parents have to treat her like a child? She was nineteen and already doing her share of the ranch work. She broke and trained the horses, looked after things in the tack room and helped with the roping, branding and herding when her father was shorthanded. She even knew how to manage the accounts. Yet her mother was still telling her where she could go and what time to be home.
Her parents loved her, Clara reminded herself. They had nearly lost her on that long-ago visit to San Francisco, and they’d never gotten over it. How could she blame them for wanting to keep her safe?
Pushing the thought aside, she mounted Tarboy and rode out of the barn with the mares trailing behind. It was a relief that she didn’t need to sneak. Her mother knew where she was going and why. But the hidden secrets were already weaving their web—the two robbers, Tanner’s injury, her own suspicions and her