Page 38 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)

B rock’s gaze narrowed.

Abby contemplated his impassive expression.

“Wolves kill calves, Abby,” he told her.

She knew. “Yes.”

“I’ll only get one and the others will run.”

“Don’t kill the mother,” she pleaded.

“I really should, you know.”

“I know,” she said again.

Without seeming to take aim, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot reverberated loud in Abby’s ears.

Barks and yelps echoed. The horse whinnied and sidestepped and Abby hung on.

She had squeezed her eyes shut, but opened them to see the male wolf lying lifeless on the snow, a neat hole in his head, the others nowhere in sight.

Her heart raced as though she’d been running, but relief sliced through her cold limbs.

Brock holstered his gun and calmed the horse.

Abby looked from the dead predator to Brock’s grim face.

The regret in his eyes made it plain he hadn’t wanted to do it, but shooting the wolf had been his only choice.

She’d seen that look once before—the day he’d shot Guy.

How had she ever imagined Brock and her brother as being the same?

Her only excuse was foolishness, youth. Brock wasn’t the man she’d made him out to be all those years.

“I—I heard shots this morning,” she said, and her words sounded funny in her ears.

He nodded once and met her eyes squarely. “I was teaching Jonathon to shoot a rifle.”

A resigned sadness filled her chest and her heart.

A year ago—a month ago—she would have shrieked and stormed and accused him of leading her son along a deadly path of destruction.

She’d heard all of Brock’s arguments and they had never made a difference—until now.

After this, after seeing the need for safety, which she already knew, but had denied, she understood the necessity for self-defense.

What if Jonathon had been with them and Brock hadn’t been wearing a gun?

What if the horse had run off with the buggy and they’d been left here without protection?

She’d always known. A man could be thrown from his horse and left on foot.

There were a hundred dangers in this untamed land, the least of them wild beasts.

“A boy should learn how to take care of himself,” she said finally.

Brock’s usually stoic expression revealed his surprise at her accepting words.

Of course he’d be shocked; she’d berated him at every opportunity for carrying a gun.

A person could get hurt with a knife or an ax, too, but that didn’t mean they weren’t necessary tools.

She’d been a foolish, spiteful, hurt girl for a lot of years.

For her son’s sake, she had to let the fear go.

Once the mare was calm, Brock lifted Abby into the buggy and headed back to the ranch. She waited in the barn with him while he unhitched the horse, brushed and fed her. Jonathon’s gelding nickered on the way past.

“Jonathon rode to the reservation with someone else?”

“With John,” Brock answered.

Abby stopped to greet the horse. “Has he named him?” she asked, scratching the animal’s forehead.

“He wanted to name him Jack. I told him to think some more.”

“Why’s that?”

“Jack,” he explained. “After the gunfighter in the dime novels.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “And you wouldn’t like that?”

“I didn’t think you would. Besides, those stories are just glorifying a job that isn’t all that glamorous.”

“Spoken like one who knows.”

He shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the stall.

“You’ve read them?” she asked. “The books?”

“James loaned me one.”

“I asked Asa to stop reading them to Jonathon,” she told him. “Do you think that was wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Boys like to hear about adventures. Robin Hood was an outlaw.”

“You don’t think the stories would influence him to want to take up that kind of life? Like…like Guy did?”

Brock’s blue eyes were penetratingly dark in the shadowy barn. “You’re asking me as though you care about my opinion, Abby.”

Ignoring him, she looked back at the horse and gave him a final pat on the neck. Brock took her hand and led her from the barn.

The family returned within the hour. Jonathon wore a beaded necklace given to him by a new friend on the reservation. He excitedly showed Abby and proceeded to tell her about the food and the tents and the fires, and described the children Zeke had introduced him to.

“I hope it’s okay that Jonathon went with us,” Ruth said as Abby helped her prepare a meal. “Brock thought you could use the rest.”

Wondering if Ruth knew Brock had been with her in her room last night, Abby’s cheeks grew warm. “I didn’t mind a bit.”

Many of the townspeople snubbed Ruth and John, but the Kincaids surely knew by now that Abby wasn’t one of them.

After supper, Caleb helped his wife clean up the kitchen. John and Zeke played a game of checkers, and Brock showed Jonathon a treasure trove of wooden toys stored in a window seat. “They belonged to me and my brothers when we were your age.”

Abby smiled at Jonathon’s delight at playing with the miniature carved soldiers. He built a fort from notched blocks, and Brock helped him with the stockade.

“I’d better get you home,” Brock said at last, ruffling the boy’s hair and glancing up at Abby.

Jonathon turned a pleading gaze on his mother.

“You have school tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“Can Mama come back again?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and sincere. “She likes it here, I think.”

“Your mama can come back anytime she likes.” Brock gave Abby a warm smile.

Coming back probably wasn’t a good idea. She was already terrified of Jonathon becoming too attached to Brock. They needed to put a safe distance between them for a while—she needed to distance herself because she had no stores of reserve when it came to the man.

Abby thanked the Kincaids and accompanied Jonathon to the yard, where Brock had stopped the buggy.

“I thought we’d ride!” Jonathon said.

“It’s cold tonight, partner,” Brock replied. “We need to keep your mama warm.” He helped them into the vehicle and tucked blankets around mother and son.

The moon reflected from the glistening countryside, while a light dusting of new snow fell and created a magical world. They drew close to town and, for the first time in years, Abby felt as though the streets and buildings were an imposed restriction.

With a bittersweet feeling in her heart, she approached the hardware store, the place that had been home for nearly eight years, but that now seemed like an end to something she had hoped for, but had never been able to grasp.

With Brock standing on the boardwalk below, she and Jonathon climbed the stairs.

Jonathon pulled his hand from Abby’s and clambered back down to throw himself against Brock and hug him. Abby couldn’t see Brock’s face, but she didn’t miss the tender gesture as his huge gloved hand pulled Jonathon against his chest.

The embrace ended, and with a wave, Jonathon returned to Abby. She turned the key in the lock and entered their quarters.

For two days, Abby thought of nothing except her part in what had happened between her and Brock. She’d been an eager participant, just as he always accused her, only this time she didn’t blame him. She blamed herself.

Everett played on her mind, too, and she was glad he didn’t show up to ask her why she hadn’t been in church on Sunday. None of this was fair to him. She was going to have to do something.

Wednesday night, she bundled up Jonathon and went to visit Laine.

Abby hadn’t slept well since Sunday. She had pledged to marry Everett.

The entire town expected them to say their vows on the appointed day.

She had lied to herself and done a pretty good job of it.

She’d believed that he was everything she wanted.

She’d convinced herself that marriage to a man like him was her desire.

At least Jed had been kind and loving and considerate, a wonderful father to Jonathon. Everett had shown himself only to be tedious and bigoted and self-serving, and maybe he’d been that way all along, but it had taken Brock to make her see it.

Even if the man had been on fire for her, she could have seen some potential for their future, but not this way. Not with nothing between them.

She could never thank Brock for opening her eyes, because she hadn’t wanted them opened, but now that they were, she had to deal with the cataclysmic results.

Laine welcomed them in and gave Jonathon a set of carved ships he loved to play with. She heated water, and she and Abby took seats on comfortable cushions on the floor.

“What troubles you, my friend?” Laine asked.

“How do you know something is troubling me?”

Laine smiled and poured green tea into tiny cups. “Call it intuition.”

Abby made certain Jonathon was occupied. “I’ve been pretty confused lately.”

“I have noticed that you were quiet. Is your confusion created by Mr. Brock?”

“It certainly is.” Collecting her thoughts, Abby took a deep breath. A decision had been clear to her for the last few days. Now she had to face it. Voice it. “I can’t marry Everett.”

Laine blinked, her lovely almond-shaped, dark eyes puzzled. “You cannot?”

Abby shook her head. “I was fooling myself. He’s not what I want at all.”

“I am happy you realized that now—before the wedding.”

Abby agreed. “But it will be so humiliating to call it off.”

Her friend raised an ebony eyebrow. “What would be worse?”

“Marrying him, I know.”

“So you’ve come to me for…reassurance?”

“I’m doing the right thing.”

“If you do not love him.”

“Is love always so important?”

“Not to a father,” Laine scoffed. “My father wanted me to marry as a young girl. One less mouth to feed. I resisted and managed to bring in enough to pay my own keep. I believe love is important.”

Abby observed her son playing quietly.

“Mr. Matthews is not what you want. And you do not love him, is that correct?”

“I don’t love him,” Abby agreed.