From The Heart 7 Little Words
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“How do you know he won’t come back?” Morgan asked as they sat down to dinner in the kitchen. He took a seat next to her at the table. She had already poured him a glass of water. “He has no reason to come home now.”
“No, but we do,” she said, and then looked up as Mrs. Smith came in with another tray for them. They each took a glass and drank some water before placing their dishes in the dishwasher. After dinner was over, she went upstairs while he finished washing his own plate. As soon as it was done drying, he brought it to her room where she was still waiting.
“I’m going out again,” he said, setting the plate on the nightstand beside her bed. “And I’ll be gone until dawn if not longer.”
She turned away from him and stared at the wall across from him as though she didn’t care one way or another about what he did. It made him furious that she’d let her guard down so far after only knowing him for a few days.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” he said, standing over her.
“Yes!” she shouted. She pulled the sheets up to cover her chest. “I think this is ridiculous! What are you trying to prove by coming here anyway? You can’t make me marry you, even if your father thinks so.”
“What’s wrong with proving anything?” He leaned forward and put both hands on her shoulders, turning her around toward him. “It makes my blood boil when you say things like ‘his opinion doesn’t matter.’ My feelings have nothing to do with this.”
The intensity in his face scared her more than the thought of being tied to a stranger for life would have. But he wouldn’t give her any time to talk herself into marrying him. If he was determined to do it, she’d just have to go along with it.
“Why don’t you try thinking like an outlaw instead of a businessman?” she said. “If he hadn’t sent us a note, there would be no reason for either of us to show up here.”
She tried to twist free of his grasp. He grabbed hold of her arms and pulled her closer. With all the strength in his body, he shook her. She flinched at first but then stood her ground. His fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “Don’t play hardball,” he warned. “That’s something I’ve never been able to understand about you.”
“This isn’t playing hardball,” she replied. “I’m doing exactly what he wants. I don’t know how else to get you out of my life unless I make myself look like an easy target.”
“Then let me help you,” he said and lowered his lips to hers.
For such a powerful man, he seemed weak against her. The passion that flared between them frightened her. When they broke apart and gasped for air, he stepped back and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Now, I believe I owe you an apology.”
“Apology accepted,” she said. For a moment, he almost smiled. Then, the anger returned and he started pacing across the room.
“So tell me, who are these men you work for?” he finally asked.
“Just call them bounty hunters,” she said, taking a sip of cold water to ease her burning throat. “They’re hired by the government to find criminals and bring them back to face justice.”
“Bounty hunters?” He laughed. “Are you telling me the law won’t help you? That’s funny.”
“Maybe it is funny to some people,” she said.
His laugh stopped. He turned to her and studied her face closely as though he were trying to read every line etched onto her features. He walked to stand right in front of her. She wanted to step aside but he blocked her.
And for once, she wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, she could feel a strange sense of relief at having found someone who would challenge her on her terms. “Tell me everything,” he demanded.
“Everything?”
“Yes, absolutely everything.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she said, wondering what game he was playing. “I work for one of the bounty hunters in Arizona, but I haven’t seen him in years.”
“You’ve never met him in person?”
“No.” She frowned, wondering why he had brought up seeing the man if he hadn’t known any details about the job she was doing. Why would he be asking such questions?
“Did he hire you?”
She nodded and took another drink of water. This was going to take hours if she gave him a full report. But it wouldn’t hurt to humor him for the time being. After all, she needed him to leave before she told him anything important.
He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her, waiting. She waited, too, but her mind wandered from the bounty hunter to the night before.
He’d kissed her passionately, but that was hardly surprising considering all the times he had done just that since they’d arrived in Colorado. But now, after the shock of his sudden proposal, it felt different.
The kiss was no longer an act of desperation; it was an act of possession. She tried to push him away, but he only tightened his grip on her hair and forced her mouth closer to his. It was a struggle to break free of his hold, especially when she didn’t want to break away.
His kisses were so soft and gentle that she couldn’t stop herself from responding. Her head fell back to his shoulder. He moved to the other side and pressed himself against her. She could feel his desire through their clothes as though he had already taken off his own undergarments.
“Let me go!” She struggled harder to break away, but he kept her trapped and lifted her shirt over her head without any sign of embarrassment or regret. Then he dropped his pants, stepped free of his boots and socks, and stripped off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving his chest bare and glistening with sweat.
He bent to remove his trousers, but she grabbed his hand. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “We’re in your bedroom—on your bed.”
He shrugged as though it was no big deal and pulled off his pants. When he kicked aside his socks and stepped free of his shoes, she realized his eyes held none of the anger she expected. They were filled with lust. And she knew exactly what that lust meant.
Her heart raced at the thought of sex with this man. How could he ever expect to seduce her in the midst of a war zone? What kind of woman would agree to sleep with him in such a dangerous place?
“Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of privacy,” he said and removed his shirt and undershirt while still standing beside the bed. As he stood naked in front of her, she could see that he was fit and muscular beneath all those scars.
“Why aren’t we leaving?” she asked, staring at his bare chest and wondering what it would feel like against her skin.
“Because you don’t know enough about me yet, and I’m not sure how much more information I can give you,” he said, reaching out to touch her cheek with one hand while the other trailed across her waist and around to the small of her back.
“But I am a good judge of character,” she said, looking into his eyes for the first time. She saw something there she couldn’t identify. Was it love? A need? Or was it just hunger for blood? “And I’ve already made up my mind that you’re not worth my life.”
He leaned forward and captured her lips in a hot kiss. “That doesn’t matter to me. You mean nothing to me.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To kill you.”
***
When Morgan left his room early the next morning, she had to hurry to catch up with him on horseback, riding alongside him on her mare. She had planned to take a carriage to get her there faster, but the idea of walking past a carriage with a man inside seemed unthinkable after last night.
So she’d saddled her own mount and rode along behind him on the trail, hoping he would notice. But he hadn’t. By the time he stopped to let her off, she could barely walk. If he had given her a few more minutes before he left, she would have been able to manage it, but she wasn’t about to complain. He might decide to put her on a stagecoach after all.
After getting back on the road to Denver, Morgan asked her again where she was headed. She answered truthfully: “South.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“A family member?”
“Yes, a family member. Someone who has gone missing.”
“How old is he?” he asked.
“Young—maybe twenty-five or thirty years old. I don’t really know,” she replied. “It’s hard to tell with these things.”
Morgan chuckled and then turned serious. “You should try the telegraph office,” he said. “The mailman might be able to help you.”
She nodded, wondering why he hadn’t offered before to send a message for her if he suspected she was searching for someone. It would have made sense. And he would never have known which relatives to mention anyway. The only people he would know were her brothers. “Thank you for letting me ride along,” she said, feeling awkward that he hadn’t done so sooner.
“Of course,” he answered. He took a few more steps down the trail and looked up at the sky. “It’ll be another week until we get to Colorado.”
“What?” She reined the horse to a stop, realizing that they could easily get to Denver by train before winter set in. “Are you taking me to Fort Kearney?”
His eyebrows drew together, and he looked back at her. “Where did you hear about Fort Kearney?”
“My brother gave me an itinerary.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about your brother?” he said, shaking his head. “Or the itinerary.”
“Maybe he forgot to tell me that part,” she suggested, knowing how easily men like this made mistakes. And how many times had her brothers told her about their mistakes?
“No,” he said. “Your brothers wouldn’t forget to include something important like that.”
“Well, maybe one of them did,” she said. “It’s possible. After all, they are men.”
They rode quietly for a while, and Morgan seemed lost in his thoughts. Finally, he spoke again, saying, “Tell me about your brothers. Maybe you’ll remember some little thing that will give us clues as to what happened to them.”
As he asked more questions about the two men, she grew increasingly irritated by his lack of sympathy toward her search for the missing man. She had no intention of mentioning her father’s death; after all, that was the one thing that she knew for certain and would want kept secret from anyone else. And Morgan probably already knew what had happened.
If it had been just one person, she would have ridden on to Denver by herself. But she wanted the whole family reunited. “Did your brother say what he did when the man went missing?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
He shook his head and sighed heavily. “We had hoped that maybe it was a mistake on the part of the police, but it seems unlikely. We sent word out to friends in Texas and New Mexico, and most everyone said he was seen in their towns.
Then we tried contacting the police in the cities he’d visited, but they couldn’t give us any information either. That’s why I came west. To see if there was any trace of him in these territories.”
“And if you find him?” she asked. “Will the law punish him for killing a fellow officer or something?”
Morgan smiled sadly and shook his head. “No. Not if the shooting was accidental. No matter what the circumstances surrounding a gunfight, an officer doesn’t kill a superior, even with an accident.”
So that was why they had to stay away from lawmen, she thought. She wondered if her brothers ever realized how careful they had to be with guns. But then, neither of them liked guns anyway. They’d been raised on their father’s ranch and had hunted rabbits and small game in the woods around his home, not big game like deer and buffalo.
When they stopped at Fort Kearney in Nebraska, Morgan found it easier to keep watch over her, and she soon learned why: He was afraid of losing her to some criminal element or other. She had never been out of town for longer than two days before.
Now she was traveling hundreds of miles and had a man she barely knew watching over her. The idea disturbed her, especially since she felt like she had to guard against every possibility, including Morgan himself.
On Sunday morning, as they rode to church, Morgan asked her to take the lead position for once. She obeyed reluctantly, wondering how the day could possibly go well now. But he had a knack of getting through to people, and his smile made her feel less nervous as she led the horses to the front door of the church. A man opened the heavy wooden door and welcomed them inside.
Morgan walked right past the pews and up the center aisle. The man followed him, leaving her alone at the front of the building while he talked to some of the other people standing near the altar. She sat back down and let her eyes wander across the sanctuary.
It reminded her of churches in Europe where the architecture blended into nature and offered an escape from the busy world outside.
She caught the eye of a woman sitting in the second row. “How do you like Fort Kearney?” she asked.
The woman glanced at her husband, who nodded and answered, “It’s nice here.”
“I wish we had come sooner,” the wife added. “But I’m sure the kids would have complained about being so far from home.”
“You’re right about that,” said the mother. “That’s why I decided to stop only for a few days. If we stayed much longer, it might be hard on the children.”
“Children?” Morgan interrupted. “What age are yours?”
The woman frowned slightly as she searched her memory. “Ten and eight,” she finally said.
“Are they boys or girls?” he asked, looking up toward the rafters. “Do they resemble either one of you?”
She laughed softly at the unexpected question. “My daughter does look exactly like me. My son looks more like my husband, which is why I can’t tell them apart sometimes.” She smiled wryly as she recalled the time she’d gone to the hospital room to visit a sick friend and ended up walking the corridors of the hospital until one of the nurses pointed them out.
“And they’ve always looked like their father,” she said, “which has given our family a lot of laughs.”
Morgan turned and faced her, and the woman noticed how handsome he was when he wasn’t trying to be. Her smile faded abruptly as she considered all those years when she had spent so little time with him because of the demands of her job. She still hadn’t forgiven herself for that. She knew that he didn’t understand. But what did he expect?
“Where are your sons?” Morgan asked.
“They went back to the hotel with my husband after breakfast.” She hesitated and then added, “There’s a special meeting this afternoon for the officers and their families. We’ll be going to it later.”
He nodded and then moved on. When they left the church, he took the lead position again. As they continued on, he glanced at her and asked, “Did you enjoy the service?”
She shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes.” She wished she could talk to someone besides him. “I’ve never attended church services before.”
“We should attend together sometime.” He grinned. “Maybe you can introduce me to some of the ladies.”
The thought of being introduced made her laugh aloud. “I doubt that will happen,” she said.
He chuckled. “Why not? You’re very pretty, and a lot more appealing than most women I know.”
She tried to remember all of the times he’d complimented her and wondered if he really meant what he said or was just trying to get rid of her. But she found it hard to believe any man would want to make her life miserable. She couldn’t understand how a man like him could turn out so differently from his father and brothers.
What had happened between his upbringing and adulthood? Was there no one to guide him away from such destructive behavior? Did he think his actions were acceptable simply because everyone else around him seemed to ignore them? Or did he see himself as something special and deserved to treat others as he wanted them to treat him?
A loud cry came from behind them. Morgan spun around and pulled the pistol free as he raced back toward the sound of the scream. They reached the corner of the building and found a child lying on its side. His feet kicked against the ground, but his body remained motionless.
Morgan knelt beside the boy and lifted him carefully by the shoulders until he lay flat on top of his chest. He held his hands over the heart and felt for a pulse. There was none. The young boy’s skin was already cold, and it seemed strange how quickly death could occur after such a short illness.
Morgan stared at the lifeless child, wondering what could have happened. Had someone struck him with their fist? Maybe the poor kid had run into an alley and slipped and fell. Whatever caused him to fall, it couldn’t be anything good. He glanced up at Morgan and shook his head sadly.
The boy’s father rushed forward and cried out. Morgan laid his hand gently atop the man’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said quietly. “He might still be alive today if he’d had proper medical care. But instead, he died because no one cared enough to help.”
The man turned pale and stared down at his dead child, then turned to stare up at Morgan, stunned by what he heard. No one had ever spoken to him in such a way before.
Morgan rose slowly to his feet.
“What’s your name?” the father asked.
“Morgan,” he said, turning toward the other street. “If you need anything—”
“No,” the man shouted. “I don’t want anyone to say a word! I’m done asking for help.” He lowered his face and sobbed uncontrollably as Morgan walked away.
Morgan paused only briefly before returning to the church where the rest of the group waited. By the time he got back, the funeral director had come and was standing next to the grieving father.
“Mr. Jones,” Morgan said, approaching them. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“It doesn’t matter now, Mr…Morgan.” A tear rolled down the man’s cheek. “You’ve taken everything else away from me. I won’t let you take this too!”
Morgan stepped closer and looked at the small coffin resting on the floor of the church. It was a child-sized casket, probably designed for children about five or six years old, which would put this boy’s age at eight or nine.
He wondered how long it would be before another child was buried inside and why there was nothing done to stop it from happening. If he could find out who owned the church property, it might give him the answer.
“Please wait here while I check things out,” he told the men gathered around the boy’s father.
The other men moved away from the two adults, leaving Morgan alone with the family. After a few minutes, he returned and handed a letter to the man.
“What is it?” the father asked as he read through the letter.
“This should explain things.”
The father frowned at the words written by a lawyer in San Francisco. The lawyer had demanded that the boy’s mother return the child to the orphanage and then pay off the balance on their remaining debt, including interest and attorney fees, before the boy’s remains could be shipped home.
They both looked up as the sound of horses’ hooves rang out and several men rode up on horseback. The riders dismounted and walked into the church followed closely by the undertaker, who carried the little boy in his arms.
“Well,” Morgan said when the funeral director finally left with his charge. “That answers a lot of questions.”
***
When Morgan went into town the following day, he noticed a new sign hanging above the saloon. It announced: “Hired Guns Now Wanted.” Most of the buildings were empty as families fled the area, hoping to avoid becoming a part of any more tragedies.
The streets were quiet as the sun sank low beneath the horizon. At times like these, Morgan often wished he’d been born in a better time and place—a time before all these horrible events plagued the country. But even though he wanted a peaceful life, he didn’t feel sorry for himself. That was something he wouldn’t allow. Not anymore.
He took the letter out of his pocket and unfolded it before putting it back into his shirt pocket. He thought about going back to the hotel so he could spend some time with Mary, but she hadn’t returned from the mission house yet, and he didn’t think she would be back for hours.
So he decided to walk around town. His job required him to see the towns he protected on a regular basis and learn about each community.
His first stop was the sheriff’s office, which was across the street from the church. As soon as he entered, he spotted Sheriff Burt waiting in his chair in front of a table loaded with reports and papers.
“Sheriff,” Morgan said, approaching the desk. “Did I miss the funeral?”
Burt glanced up from his work and grinned. “I saw the hearse pass by earlier, but I figured you’d get here later than expected.” He chuckled. “And after yesterday, you certainly deserved a drink. What do you say? Will you join me in the saloon for a few?”
“Thanks, I’d enjoy that.”
Burt stood up and led the way outside where they headed for the sheriff’s office. “I have a bottle of whiskey ready,” he said when they reached their destination.
As they walked toward the jail, Morgan asked, “Where is Mr. Johnson?”
“He came into town last night,” Burt answered as they crossed the street to the saloon. “But don’t worry. We’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Do you think he’ll be a problem?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Burt replied, pulling open the saloon doors for Morgan. “I sent my deputy with him and made sure he knew what we were doing.”
They sat down at a table, ordered drinks, and then waited for the bartender to bring them their orders. When he did, Morgan picked up the bottle and poured two glasses full before handing one glass to the sheriff. They both tasted their drinks and smiled. “Now, that’s how a man should drink.” Burt handed over his glass.
The bartender set both glasses aside as another man walked up to the bar. The newcomer’s hat and boots were covered with dust, which gave him away instantly.
“Sheriff,” the man greeted Burt before turning to Morgan. “You’ve come back just in time. There’s a gang of killers on the loose and—”
Before the man could finish speaking, his face exploded in a spray of blood. Burt had drawn his gun and shot the man in the forehead. “What the hell are you doing?” Morgan cried as he jumped up from the table and drew his pistol.
The sheriff aimed at the dead man. “It seems someone hired these thugs to kill us and then steal our horses,” Burt explained. “They got lucky because I only had two deputies working tonight and Johnson wasn’t in his room when the shooting started.”
“How many others were killed?”
“Just one other,” the sheriff answered. “We captured another outlaw, but he didn’t have much information to share about the killings.”
Morgan pulled out his pocket watch, wondering why they weren’t using their horses to track down the criminals. He couldn’t believe they’d let such a serious situation go unchecked. But maybe he was being too critical. Maybe the sheriff hadn’t wanted to alert the murderers that someone was tracking them.
Then again, there was no telling how well-trained these men were. “What’s the name of the gang leader?”
“I’m not sure.” Burt shrugged. “Maybe the sheriff will know.”
A short while later, a deputy stepped inside and told Burt that Johnson was awake. “He wants to talk to you.”
After ordering food from the kitchen, they went outside to the sheriff’s office. Johnson looked terrible. His hair hung down in long strings as he struggled to sit up straight in his chair. Burt took his revolver away and put it next to his desk. “Don’t even think about reaching for it,” the sheriff warned.
Johnson glanced at Morgan. “What can I do for you, Marshal? Are you arresting me or something?”
“No,” Burt answered. “You’re under arrest for murder.”
The End