Bride On The Run. Elizabeth Lane
heart.
She listened, her throat tightening as the sound faded away. Then, lifting the sodden remnant of her skirt, she began trudging back along the path. The smell of coffee drifted to her nostrils on the night wind. Giddy with relief, Anna sucked the rich aroma into her senses. Yes, this was the way back. Minutes from now she would be sitting in the warm, cluttered kitchen, holding a hot mug and laughing at her own foolishness.
And yes, by heaven, she would survive this experience. As soon as the road was open she would be gone. She would put this place and this great, brooding hulk of a man behind her and she would never look back. California lay ahead of her with its glittering promise of fame, fortune and freedom. All that and more—maybe even happiness.
She squared her shoulders and began to sing.
“Love, oh, love, oh careless love. Love, oh—”
The song died in her throat as a shaggy, wolf-like form parted the willows ahead of her and glided into the open.
What was it?
Panic rose in Anna’s throat as the creature lowered its head and padded toward her, snarling as it came. She forced her leaden limbs to move, to turn her body and propel it back along the path to her only known chance of safety—the tree.
She ran, gasping with terror and effort, her boots splashing water, her arms stretching, her muscles tensing for one last, desperate leap.
As Joshua’s footsteps faded into the night, Malachi sagged against the workbench. His stomach felt knotted and his knees were as wobbly as a newborn calf’s. The conversation with his son had undone him in a way that he could never have imagined. What business did Sam Johnson and his tobacco-chewing teenage son have, putting such ideas into the head of an innocent boy like Joshua? Josh was only eight, barely out of diapers, or so it seemed. What had happened to the years? Where had they gone?
With an impatient sigh, he jammed the cap onto the tin of Hoskins’ Salve and began gathering up the bloodstained rags he’d used to clean Lucifer’s wound. The mule’s wet coat steamed in the darkness, filling the barn with the odors of blood and animal heat. A bead of sweat broke and trickled down the hollow of Malachi’s neck. He could smell his own sweat, rank beneath his filthy clothes.
Hellfire, had he really meant what he’d told Josh about sleeping with a woman? Or had his words been nothing but self-righteous, hypocritical drivel? Back there on the trail, when he’d held Anna in his arms and felt his flesh rise and harden against her, he’d wanted nothing more than to take her then and there, to fling her on her back, part her thighs and bury himself to the hilt in the moist satin depths of her. Even now, as he thought of her, Malachi felt his body respond, making lies of all his high-sounding words. Even now he wanted her—wanted those slim, pale legs wrapping around his hips while he drowned himself in her sweet hot honey with no thought of promises, tomorrows or honorable intentions.
He would not do it, of course. He was seeking a mother for his children, not a fast, easy roll in the hay. And any entanglement with Anna, or whatever her real name was, would be a sure recipe for regret. The woman was nothing but a tawny-haired, curvaceous bundle of trouble. For his children’s sake and his own, the sooner he sent her packing, the better.
The mule snorted and rubbed its head against a timber, sending down a shower of loose bark. Malachi blew out the lantern and let the animal into the corral with the other stock. Only as he was turning back toward the house did he realize that the dog, who usually hung close at his heels, was nowhere in sight.
“Doubtful?” He whistled softly, the sound blending with the shrill night music of frogs and crickets. “Doubtful? Here, boy!”
There was no answering yelp from the big wolf-shepherd cross he’d bought as a half-starved pup from band of wandering Paiutes. Maybe Doubtful had taken off after a gray fox or a rabbit. Or maybe he’d simply followed Josh to the house and was waiting on the porch. Doubtful was a one-man dog, but he tolerated the children and took it as his duty to protect them. Malachi encouraged that protectiveness, knowing it might well save their lives one day.
“Doubtful?” He whistled again, his instincts stirring cautiously. If the dog had been close by, he would be here by now. Something had drawn him away.
Malachi took a moment to fetch the loaded Winchester rifle from the shed. Then, with the weapon cocked and ready, he slipped through the willows and onto the path that meandered down toward the flooded river.
Anna was still not sure how she’d managed to clamber up the dead tree. She was even less sure how long the dry limb from which she hung, gripping with both arms and legs, would hold her before it snapped under her weight, sending her plummeting down into the jaws of the beast that paced the ground below. As long as she kept still, the wolfish animal remained quiet and calm. But every time she stirred in an effort to ease the strain on her limbs, the awful creature would lunge upward, snarling and snapping, its fangs tearing at the hem of her skirt. She knew she should scream for help, but her throat was so constricted with fear that she could manage little more than a whimper. Even if she were able to shout, Anna realized, the sound of her voice would likely be lost amid the rush and tumble of the Colorado.
The creature glared up at her, its pale eyes reflecting miniature moons in the darkness. Was it a wolf, a very large coyote or some hellish denizen of the canyon, unknown to the outside world? Anna had no wish to find out. She only knew that her hands were bleeding and her arms were getting weaker by the minute. It would only be a matter of time before she lost her grip and fell.
“Doubtful!” Malachi’s low voice came from somewhere beyond the willows, barely rising above the sound of the river. Anna’s pulse leaped. Clutching the limb, she filled her lungs with air and poured her remaining strength into one desperate cry.
“Malachi!”
She could hear his boots splattering water as he ran toward her. For an instant she glimpsed the flash of moonlight on metal. Relief gushed through her body, leaving her weak. Malachi was coming. He had a gun. He would shoot the monster and she would be safe.
The willows rustled as Malachi burst into sight, then stopped in his tracks. The next sound Anna heard was the deep rumble of his laughter.
“Doubtful, you old rascal, what have you treed here? Is it a fox, or maybe a wildcat?”
The creature that had been threatening Anna’s life turned and bounded toward him, tail wagging. Anna was so astounded she almost let go of the limb. The slavering beast was a dog—a blasted pet!
Malachi walked to the foot of the tree and stood scowling up at her. “It’s a mite dark for tree climbing, wouldn’t you say?”
“This isn’t funny!” Anna gripped the rough bark, her nails jagged and broken, her palms bleeding. “Your shaggy friend there tried to attack me!”
“Doubtful’s just doing his job. He’d have done the same to any stranger he caught sneaking around in the dark. You should’ve stayed close to the house. What were you doing out here, anyway?”
“That,” Anna snapped, “is no question to ask a lady! But then, you’ve never thought of me as a lady, have you?”
Malachi ignored her question. He stood scratching the wretched dog’s ears, as if to show her how gentle the beast really was—but only with people worthy of trust. “If you’re talking about the privy, that path branches off twenty yards back,” he said. “This is the path to the bathing place.”
“The bathing place?” Anna blinked in disbelief, almost losing her hold. “You’re saying you don’t even have a bathtub in this miserable place?”
“We’ve got the biggest tub in these parts—the Colorado River. But it’ll be no good for bathing till the flood goes down. Too muddy. If you want to wash, you’ll have to do it at the pump.” He gazed thoughtfully up at her, his fingers working the thick fur at the crest of the dog’s neck. “So, do you plan on spending the night in that tree? I’d be happy to fetch you a quilt.”
Anna clenched her teeth, biting back