Whirlwind Wedding (21 page)

“They burned me.”

“Oh, no.” She immediately pulled him close. His arms went around her and he shuddered. “Are you burned anywhere else?”

“No.”

She set him back and drew up his shirt, running her fingers lightly over the mark. “It's scabbing, but I need to look at it, make sure it isn't infected.”

“I doctored it with some of that ointment you use on the Ranger's hand.”

“It's not really for burns, but I guess it's done no harm. I wish you had confided in me. I could've helped you.”

“There's four of 'em, Catherine. They would've hurt you, too. Just like they said.”

“It will be all right now. We'll tell Jericho—”

“No!”

“The sheriff then. He'll protect you.”

“No.” Andrew pulled away, terror etched on his face. “They'll do what they said, Catherine. They'll hurt you, too.”

“We have to do something, Andrew. We can't allow them to keep bullying you into helping them.”

“If you tell, they'll come for me. And you. And the Ranger.” His voice thickened with fresh tears. “I don't want you to go, Catherine. I finally like you and I don't want anything to happen to you.”

He liked her. In spite of the situation, she smiled at his wording. “I like you, too.”

“Please promise you won't tell the sheriff. Or Lieutenant Blue,” Andrew pressed.

“You can lead Jericho and Davis Lee to the gang's hiding place. Then they won't be able to hurt you anymore.”

“But I don't know where they're hiding. I haven't known since the posse went after them. They told me to leave the food in the usual place.”

“You can tell that to the sheriff. He can go with you and set a trap for them.”

“Only one comes, and if something happens to him, they'll know I told. They'll hurt you, Catherine. Please don't say anything. If something happens to you, it will be just like when Ma died. Then I won't have anyone.”

He touched her heart with that. She knew he had suffered far worse than she had.

“I can't promise.” He looked so stricken that she squeezed his shoulder. “But I won't tell Davis Lee right now.”

“You mean it?” Relief was stark in his shadowed face, his swollen eyes.

“For now. I'll figure out what to do.”

Her brother clasped her waist in a tight hug. “That's good.”

She rubbed his back as he stepped away. “When are you supposed to leave the food?”

“As soon as I get it.”

“You'll have to find a way to pay Mr. Haskell and Mr. Doyle back for the things you took.”

“I will.”

The thought of her brother being near those outlaws made Catherine queasy. “I'll go with you.”

“You can't!”

“You're not going alone.”

“I'll be all right. They're never there when I leave the food. Besides, what if the Ranger gets back home before we do?”

“You were listening when he came to the door tonight?”

He nodded.

Andrew was right. If Jericho returned to find Catherine gone so late, he would surely become suspicious.

“I can do it, Catherine.”

Her brother wore the same determined look he had the night he'd rushed into her bedroom with the shotgun pointed at Jericho. He was only twelve, but he hadn't been a little boy for a long while now. Not with their mother's illness and death, and now this. Still, Catherine didn't like him going alone.

“You must go as quickly as possible. Take Moe and get home fast.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“Don't come in through your window. Use the back door and be as quiet as you can.”

“I'll be like a mouse. Last time I used the door, the Ranger heard me. He said y'all both heard a noise.”

The night she had told Jericho about her attack. She ruffled her brother's hair as they walked behind the livery and started home. “I don't want you to be near those men ever again.”

“After tonight we'll figure something out, won't we?” He looked at her with desperate hope.

“Yes.”

She longed to confide in Jericho, but Andrew really believed the McDougals would kill her and the Ranger if Andrew didn't do what they wanted. Knowing what she did of
the outlaws, having seen the burn they'd inflicted on her brother, she had to believe he was right. If Jericho knew any of this, he would go after the McDougals immediately. There were four of them against only him, and he had yet to regain full use of his gun hand.

The risk was too great. She closed her eyes as fear snaked up her spine. She couldn't let Jericho know what she'd learned.

 

The next morning, Catherine worked in the garden. Feeling jittery, she looked over her shoulder every few seconds, not sure if she was anxious about seeing Jericho or frightened that one of the McDougals might appear. Andrew had come in very late last night, long after Jericho had knocked on the front door and let her know he was back. Jericho and Davis Lee had been unable to find any identifiable tracks. That bit of news had hitched her panic even higher. She had been out of her mind with worry, fearing that the outlaws had hurt her brother or taken him.

Her concern wasn't unfounded. After Andrew returned, he crept into her room and told her that Angus, the oldest brother and the gang's leader, had been waiting. Relieved to have her brother home safe, she had finally gone to sleep, only to be plagued by dreams of Jericho getting shot again, this time in front of her. Her heart had been beating too fast all morning.

Andrew walked into the garden and came over to kneel beside her.

She took in his wan features, the shadows beneath his blue eyes. “Are you all right this morning?”

He nodded, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Jericho wasn't around. “They want you to come today, Catherine. As soon as you can.”

“I'll have to make an excuse.” Last night Angus McDougal had coerced Andrew into finding them a bed somewhere
indoors. They had also demanded that he bring Catherine to check on Ian. “Jericho knows I'm not needed at the fort today.”

“I don't want you to go,” Andrew said fiercely. “I wish I'd had the shotgun yesterday. I would've killed—”

“Shh.” She squeezed his knee. “It's okay. I'll be all right.”

He looked doubtful. “I'll be with you.”

“No. You can direct me to where Widow Monfrey lived.” Andrew had told her he'd taken the outlaws to the empty house of a woman who had died about a year ago.

“Angus said I had to come, too. He's the meanest one. He's the one who burned me.”

Along with her other fear was the fact that Andrew had been exposed to tuberculosis. Of course, he hadn't become ill after all those months with their mother. “I guess if you haven't gotten sick by now, he's not contagious.”

Dread knotted her throat. What if she couldn't help Ian McDougal? Would the others make good on their threat to do something to Andrew? To her? To Jericho?

“So what do we do?” Andrew whispered.

Catherine stopped pulling weeds and wiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead. “You and I will say we're going to take a pie to Davis Lee. I owe him one, and Jericho won't try to come if he thinks we're only going to town.”

“Okay.”

“If I knew how sick the man was I could stop and get some supplies at Haskell's. I can't very well walk out of here carrying supplies.”

“Angus told me last night that Ian was coughing a lot,” Andrew said helpfully. “But I don't know what that means.”

“It's lunger's cough.” She jerked at more weeds, frustrated and nervous at how she and Andrew had been drawn in by the outlaws.

She did not want to obey Angus McDougal's orders, but she was more afraid not to. Fear scratched at her steadily. Fear for Andrew and herself. Fear for Jericho. She had hardly been able to look at him today because she wanted to fall against the broad shelter of his chest and tell him everything.

“We have to go, Catherine,” Andrew whispered urgently. “They'll be mad if we don't go now.”

“We can't make Jericho suspicious,” she whispered back, her hands cold and trembling as they had been ever since last night. “I'll finish weeding, then wash up. Take these potatoes to the root cellar for me?”

He filled his arms with the vegetables, then turned away. “Uh-oh,” he said in a low voice.

Catherine looked over her shoulder, following his gaze. Jericho leaned against a porch column, arms folded across his chest, his hip cocked as he bore his weight on his good leg. He watched them quietly, his gaze piercing and speculative.

Her stomach plummeted and she looked away. “Go on and put up those vegetables. Try and act calm.”

“Okay.”

As Andrew walked out of the garden to the root cellar, she heard him speak to Jericho. She should probably do the same, but she didn't think her tongue would work at all. As she rose, she could feel his gaze on her, and her body tightened in response. Yesterday she had practically begged him to pay attention to her. Now his quiet scrutiny sawed at her thin control.

She felt as if he could see right through her, as if he could read her mind. She'd better pray he couldn't. His life might depend on it.

T
he sky was a perfect blue with a few wispy clouds. Morning sunshine baked her neck, yet she shivered from the apprehension slicing her nerves like a razor. She couldn't forget the intensity of Jericho's gaze before she and Andrew had told him they were going to town to deliver an apple pie to Davis Lee. As she'd expected, he didn't insist on accompanying them, though she could feel him watching as they walked toward Whirlwind.

Andrew carried the dessert, and they delivered it in short order, Catherine's heart pounding harder and harder. She was so nervous that Davis Lee's simply asking what they planned to do today had her nearly blurting out everything. But the pinched look on her brother's face kept her silent.

After they left the jail, she rented a buggy at the livery and drove southwest of town about five miles, as Andrew directed. He told her that Riley's ranch was two miles farther west and two miles south of the widow Monfrey's place. The small unpainted frame house, barn and chicken coops were plopped in the middle of the flat prairie, the only structures visible in any direction.

Unease sliding under her skin, Catherine followed her brother onto the shallow porch. He rapped twice on the front door, then three times in rapid succession. The door swung open and she tightened her grip on his hand.

As they walked in, her gaze skipped around the large front room with a fireplace in the far corner and stove in the middle of the room. Dirt and bits of grass were scattered across the weathered pine floor. Faded calico curtains hung at the windows; dust-covered dishes sat on the simple wall shelves in front of her. A scarred kitchen table was flanked by three straight-back chairs, and a doorway opened to their right. Andrew stuck close as they moved toward the room.

He had told her to expect Ian, the sick one, to be pointing a gun at them when they walked in, but that didn't stop her heart from skipping a beat when she saw the barrel aimed right between her eyes.

“This is my sister,” he said, his hand clammy in hers.

Ian, his thin face waxy, lowered his weapon. Andrew had said there were four McDougals, but only two men flanked the sick one in the small bed, which had been stripped of its linens. A tall narrow wardrobe backed into the opposite corner, and nailed into the wall next to it hung a shelf holding a washbasin and pitcher. A thin layer of dust coated everything in here, too.

Andrew pointed to the big-armed man on the right side of the bed. “That's Donald and the other one's Bruce.”

The man in front of the room's only window squinted as if he couldn't quite make her out. She said nothing; she didn't want to know them at all. All three brothers had brown eyes and thick brown hair with a healthy tint of red.

The front door slammed behind them and Catherine jumped.

“Well, well.” A hard voice came from behind her.

“That's Angus.” Her brother scooted out of the doorway, pulling her with him.

The one who had burned Andrew. Catherine's stomach knotted. A man with shoulders and a chest like a bull moved in front of her. None of the McDougals was more than three inches taller than her five foot six. Angus was the most stocky, but Ian was the only one who could be considered slender.

“So this is Catherine.” Angus's eyes, brown like his brothers', were shrewd and cold. His gaze slid over her like clammy fingers, and she struggled to keep the repulsion off her face.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he circled her. The smells of sweat, dirt and tobacco rose around him. He reached out and touched her skirt, bumping her hip suggestively.

Reflex had her slapping his hand away, and she sucked in a breath when anger deepened his already ruddy complexion. His fingers tightened on her dress. Beside her, Andrew went still as stone.

One of the brothers laughed. “Can we keep her, Angus?”

He turned and Catherine let out a wobbly breath, edging back slightly. Angus silenced his brother with a glare. “Don't be stupid. Every lawman and bounty hunter in Texas would be after us for sure.”

Ian, who looked no older than her, covered his mouth and coughed. It was severe and from deep in his chest, she noted.

“Well, there's plenty of 'em already after us,” Donald muttered.

“Yeah, but we know the comings and goings of Lieutenant Blue.” Angus shot Andrew a look. “Don't we, boy?”

Foreboding formed a knot under Catherine's ribs. The oldest McDougal reached out and pinched Andrew's cheek hard enough that her brother winced. A red spot bloomed on his face.

Catherine put an arm around his shoulder. “I should probably check your brother now.”

Keeping his gun on the bed beside him, Ian coughed several times, watching her from narrowed eyes.

“Yeah.” Angus waved her toward his youngest brother, and she noticed that Bruce and Donald moved to flank Andrew.

Dread pricked her. What were they doing?

“Go on.” Angus gave her a push and she walked to the head of the bed.

The straw-filled bed tick wasn't too badly soiled. Ian sat propped up against the wall behind him. His shirtless, hairless chest was lightly sheened with sweat, and a couple of blankets covered his lower half, for which she was grateful. At least she wouldn't have to check anything below his waist.

She realized the blankets were probably the ones Jericho told her had been stolen from the Baldwins. She reached out a trembling hand to see if Ian had fever. He did. Another spate of coughing seized him and he turned his head into a balled-up bandanna.

“Has your cough become more frequent lately?”

“Not really. It's my chest that hurts. So bad I can't breathe.”

“Have you coughed up any blood?”

“No. Is it gettin' worse, do ya think?”

“I don't know. How long have you known you were ill?”

“About three years.”

Still feeling Angus's irate gaze on her, Catherine kept her attention on the McDougal who seemed the least dangerous right now. “And none of your family has come down with it?”

“No.”

“That's good.” She breathed a little easier, knowing chances were good that neither she nor Andrew were at much risk. “Do you have heavier sweats than this?”

“Not really.”

“Any chills?”

“Look, lady, I already answered these questions for a quack
doctor, so why don't you just give me something to help my chest not hurt so bad?”

“I have to ask you these questions so I can determine what you need,” she said steadily.

“Well, get on with it.”

“At this point the best thing you can do is eat regular meals and rest.”

“Is that gonna make him well?” Angus demanded from the foot of the bed.

“No. There's nothing that will.”

“That's what a doctor in Galveston told me.” Ian leaned back against the wall, coughing again.

“If you can, you should give him milk every three to four hours,” she said to Angus. “It's been reported to help some people.”

“Yeah, boys, get that milk,” Angus said mildly. Then he snarled, “Do you see a damn cow around here, lady?”

She drew back at his vicious tone, lacing her fingers to keep them from trembling. “The other things I suggested are more important.”

She had no idea if that was true, but she didn't want to encourage them to steal a milk cow on top of everything else they'd taken.

Another series of coughs shook Ian's chest, and his eyes were bright with pain. “Can't you give me something? It hurts.”

“He had some laudanum and that seemed to help,” Angus said. “Give him that.”

“I don't have any with me.”

“Why not?” he snapped, stalking around the bed to stand in front of her. “You knew he was sick.”

“I didn't know how sick.” Her insides were a mass of nerves. Somehow she managed to keep her voice from shaking. “It's not typical to administer laudanum until you know
if there's pain. Besides, I couldn't walk out of the house carrying medicine. Jericho—er, the Ranger—would've really been suspicious about that.”

She was hoping Angus hadn't noticed her familiar use of Jericho's name, but she could tell by the cunning speculation in his eyes that he had.

“Go get him some then,” the oldest McDougal ordered in a razor-sharp voice.

She rose and turned, but he planted himself in her way, his eyes menacing.

“You should let me go for Dr. Butler,” she said. “He'll—”

“No.”

“Your brother really needs to see a doctor.”

“You're the one who's gonna help him.”

“My skills are limited.”

His eyes went flat and cold. “You.”

She swallowed. “All right. I'll go get something.”

“Laudanum.”

“Yes, I'll try.”

“You have two hours. And we'll keep your brother here until you return.”

Alarm shot through her. “No! Please let him come with me.”

“You bring back the medicine and he can go with you.” Angus paced to the window beside the bed. “And don't take no longer than two hours.”

She hesitated. She couldn't just leave Andrew here with these monsters.

“You're losing time,” Angus mocked.

There was laudanum at her house—the bottle Jericho had never used—but she couldn't risk going there. Haskell's General Store sold laudanum and the
Dr. Kilmer's Indian Cough Cure Consumption Oil
that Andrew had bought for Ian. But if she went back to town she risked running into Davis Lee
or Jericho. One look at her face and they would know something was wrong.

She would have to go to the fort. But how to get the medicine without arousing Dr. Butler's suspicions?

She gave Andrew an anguished look.

“I'll be okay.” He looked as pale as she felt.

“Don't hurt him,” she said fiercely.

All of them except Ian laughed.

She threw an apologetic look at her brother, who tried to smile. He looked so small and helpless between the two thick-fisted men. “I'll hurry.”

Catherine drove the buggy as fast as she dared over the prairie, heading straight north for the fort. Fear and worry pelted her about what the outlaws might do to Andrew, about Jericho becoming suspicious, about what she was going to tell Dr. Butler.

In the end, she told him the truth. That a man passing through town was in the middle stages of tuberculosis and needed some laudanum to ease the pain in his chest.

She couldn't believe the doctor said nothing about her unsteady voice or shaking hands. Her fingers and toes had gone cold with fear. Trying to quell the panic that clawed through her, she thanked him and drove away, forcing herself to think only about getting back to Andrew. She kept the horse at an easy trot until she was out of sight of the fort, then she let the mare have her head.

She reached the widow's house with thirty minutes to spare, stumbling over her skirts as she lunged out of the buggy. Angus opened the front door and she rushed inside, desperate to assure herself that Andrew was okay. He appeared fine. Relief flooded his features when he saw her.

Thank the saints. She handed Ian the bottle of laudanum, holding up her thumb and index finger to show him how much to take. Instead he downed a big swallow.

If he drank it all, he would go into a stupor. Too bad she couldn't get them all to drink it.

She motioned to Andrew. “Let's go.”

Angus edged up to her. “In case you're thinking about siccin' the Ranger on us, we ain't stayin' here.”

“I told you we wouldn't say anything.” She hated that her voice was wobbly.

She cried out as Angus grabbed her hair in his fist and yanked, jerking her head back and destroying her chignon.

Andrew lunged. “Let go of her!”

Bruce grabbed her brother's arms and Donald jabbed an elbow into Andrew's ribs, then landed a blow to his stomach.

He moaned and Catherine automatically reached for him, coming up short when Angus yanked again. Her scalp stung and tears burned her eyes. She pressed a protective hand to the roots of her hair. “Don't hurt him! He's just a boy.”

“He knows not to get in my way.” The outlaw's breath, musty with tobacco, burned her cheek.

She tried to see Andrew; he was bent double, still restrained by Bruce. Anger and fear boiled inside her. “I won't help you if you hurt him again.”

Angus chuckled. “Yeah, you will, or your little brother is going to get more than a good thumping. And if the Ranger finds out about us, if you say one word about Ian or any of us, you and I are gonna have ourselves a long talk.”

He leaned into her and before she could recoil, he flattened his tongue against her skin and dragged it up the side of her face. Biting back a cry of outrage and disgust, she flinched, immediately wiping away the repulsive feel of him. Nausea churned in her stomach and she thought her heart would pound right out of her chest.

The others laughed as Angus grinned. “You'll be getting some more of that if you don't do like I said.”

His words turned her stomach, but she kept silent.

“If that Ranger gets within smellin' distance, I'm coming after you, dumpling.”

“He won't.”

Finally Angus released her. She faltered as she straightened, reaching for Andrew. When Bruce and Donald released him, her fingers closed unsteadily over his shoulder and the two of them rushed out, the sound of Angus's laughter scorching the air behind them.

Andrew vaulted into the buggy. Catherine's skirts tangled around her legs as she scrambled up in turn, and a whimper of distress escaped her. Before she even sat down, she snapped the reins against the horse's rump, urging the mare faster and faster. Andrew kept turning around to make sure they weren't being followed.

Her skin felt dirty and she thought she might retch. But she wasn't doing it here.

She didn't ease up on the horse until they were nearly a mile away. Shaking uncontrollably, feeling hot tears roll down her cheeks, she reined the buggy to a stop.