The Horseman's Bride. Elizabeth Lane
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the peaks. As Clara took the horses across the pasture, a flock of blackbirds rose from the grass, swirling and sweeping like the folds of a magician’s cloak. Their harsh twittering filled her ears as they circled north to settle on a neighbor’s freshly plowed field.
Maybe she should share her suspicions with her grandmother, Clara thought. Mary liked and trusted Tanner. She would probably dismiss what she was told. But she needed to be alerted to the holes in Tanner’s story. Otherwise he might take advantage of her kindness and the old woman could end up being hurt. If that happened after Clara failed to speak up, she would have no one to blame but herself.
She would talk to Mary as soon as she could get her alone, Clara resolved. She wasn’t looking forward to broaching the subject of Tanner, but it had to be done.
Only as she reached the opening in the fence did she remember that today was Wednesday, Mary’s marketing day. Mary liked to hitch up her buggy and leave early to get to town, do her errands and visit a few friends. Unless she’d stayed home to look after Tanner, she could already be gone.
And if Mary was gone, Tanner would be there alone.
Clara held the horses to a brisk walk, but her pulse had begun to gallop. The memory of those eyes riveting hers, demanding an unspoken promise, triggered a blaze of heat from the core of her body. She felt the burn in her belly, in her tingling breasts and hot cheeks.
Don’t be a fool! she lashed herself. Tanner wasn’t like the boys she flirted with at summer dances. He was a man—a secretive and dangerous man. She’d do well to heed her mother’s advice and stay away from him.
On the far side of the pasture she could see her grandmother’s farm. If Mary wasn’t there, Clara resolved, she would deliver the mares to the paddock, turn the stallion in with them and check on Tanner’s whereabouts. If she spoke with him at all, it would be the briefest exchange. After that she would take her leave and go home.
On approach, her grandmother’s place looked even quieter than usual. Only one horse, Mary’s dun gelding, remained in the corral. The other gelding and the stallion were missing.
Perplexed, Clara rode into the farmyard. Mary must have taken the second gelding—she needed just one horse for her old buggy. But where was Galahad? Surely Tanner wouldn’t have ridden the stallion into town. If he was sick enough to need a doctor, Mary would have taken him in the buggy.
Dismounting, she hitched Tarboy to a fence post, led the mares into the empty paddock and untied their lead ropes. The feeling that something was wrong nagged at her as she strode across the yard.
As she mounted the porch steps, a new and ghastly possibility struck her. What if the two road bandits had returned? With Tanner drugged and sleeping, they could have overpowered Mary, recovered their weapons, ransacked the house and left with the two horses.
What would she find inside the house? Sick with dread, she opened the door and stepped into the shadows.
The parlor was cool and silent, with nothing out of place. Mary’s shotgun was missing, but she often took it with her, tucked under the seat for emergencies. Likewise, the kitchen was in order, the table cleared, the breakfast dishes washed and put away. A glance into Mary’s open bedroom revealed a neatly made bed. The door to the room where Tanner had slept was closed.
Heart pounding, Clara opened the door far enough to see into the small sewing room. The rumpled bed was empty. The pungent odor of Mary’s poultice lingered in the quiet air.
Tanner was gone.
Chapter Four
Wheeling in her tracks, Clara raced back outside. Maybe the barn would give her some answers. If the buggy was gone, she could be reasonably sure that Mary was on her way to town. And if Tanner’s gear was missing …
As the pieces slid into place, her worry turned to a simmering anger. It was the only explanation that made sense. The wretched man had waited until Mary left. Then he’d packed his things and hit the road, taking the stallion with him.
So help her, she would hunt him to the ends of the earth!
The barn door stood ajar. Seething, Clara flung it open and strode inside. The first thing she noticed was the absence of the buggy. The second thing she saw was Galahad, standing in the open space between the door and the stalls. He was bridled and saddled, with Tanner’s bedroll lashed into place behind the cantle.
The stallion snorted at her approach. His elegant head jerked upward, a hint that something was wrong. Moving slowly, Clara held out her hand and spoke in a soothing voice. “It’s all right, boy. Nobody’s going to hurt you. I’ll just—”
The words died in her throat as she caught a glimpse of a plaid shirt and saw the long, still form lying facedown in the straw.
It was Tanner.
For an awful moment she thought he’d been trampled. But as she dropped to a crouch beside him, she saw no sign of hoof marks, bruising or blood. A light touch of her palm on his back confirmed that he was breathing, but his body felt surprisingly warm. The back of his neck was flushed above the soft flannel collar.
She took a moment to lead the stallion to a safe distance, then crouched beside him again. “Tanner!” She shook his uninjured shoulder and heard a feeble groan in response. “Tanner, wake up!” He muttered something she couldn’t understand. Maybe the man was delirious.
“Come on! I’ve got to get you back in the house, and I can’t do it without your help!” Working her hands beneath him, she rolled him onto his back. He groaned again. His eyes blinked open. There was a flicker of recognition.
“What the hell.” he muttered.
“You’re sick, Tanner. I’m guessing you passed out. You’ve got to get up.” Seizing his hand, she tried to pull him. He shook free of her clasp.
“I can do it,” he growled, bracing on his good arm and working his legs beneath his hips. Clara bit back the impulse to rail at him for trying to leave. Tanner would get an earful later on, when she judged he was out of danger.
If he survived.
He staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunkard. His face was flushed, his skin dry. With a puncture wound, fever was the worst of signs.
“Can you walk?” she asked him.
Tanner’s jaw tightened. He took two steps. On the third step, his knee buckled and he stumbled forward. Clara caught him, bracing against his side.
“You’re getting good at this, Miss Clara,” he muttered.
“Just be quiet and move your feet. I’m too upset to listen to your charming blather!”
His body was rock solid against her side. Its heat radiated from the line of contact, sending shimmers along her nerves. With every step the awareness grew stronger. This wasn’t good, Clara lectured herself. She’d resolved not to rail at him but her only hope of distraction was fury.
“What were you thinking?” she stormed. “You could’ve passed out and died on the road! And even if you hadn’t, I’d have tracked you down and whipped you within an inch of your worthless life!”
His laugh was raw edged. “Now that I’d like to see. You might look right fetching with a whip in your hand.”
“This isn’t funny, Tanner. Did my grandmother know you planned on leaving?”
He swayed to one side. Clara had to clasp his ribs with her arms to keep him steady. “Your grandmother is one fine lady,” he growled. “But I don’t need anybody’s permission to go. Not even yours.”
“Of all the arrogant, underhanded—” Clara bit back the rest of the sentence. “What about the stallion? I brought my mares over this morning. You said—”
“I said you could use him if I was still here.” “Yes, you did. And then you ran out on me.” “Well, hell,