She rushed over to him and bent to take hold of him. “Lord have mercy, Luke, what happened? How did you manage to fall?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he snapped, furious at himself for letting her distract him. “Just help me up.”
He saw the quick flash of hurt in her eyes and wished he could call back the sharp words, but they were already out there. He couldn’t do a thing about them except add in a softer tone, “Please, Emily.”
As she lifted him, he reached up and grabbed hold of the table. With it to support him, she was able to get him back into the chair.
“I’ll pick up your crutches.”
He held out a hand to stop her. “I can get them. Thank you.”
She looked at him with a slight frown. “Were you trying to walk, Luke? I’ve told you, I don’t care about that, not for me. I want it for you, but it’s not going to make any difference how I feel—”
“Of course it makes a difference. It’s bound to.” Luke frowned at her.
“No,” she said as she leaned closer to him. “I swear to you, it doesn’t. I’ll prove it to you.”
Before he could stop her, she lowered herself onto his lap, her arms clasped around his neck, and her mouth pressed hungrily to his.
Luke bit back a groan of mingled despair and desire. His arms went around her. She was such a little bit of a thing, yet the curves of her body were those of a woman. Her lips worked urgently against his, their taste sweet and hot.
As he held her and kissed her, he felt something, no doubt about that.
She did too. Pulling back slightly, her eyes widened. He was about to apologize, but a pleased glow sprang to life in her eyes. “See, Luke,” she whispered. “I told you it didn’t matter.”
She kissed him again, then slid out of his arms and stood up.
“Grampaw might be comin’ in any time, so we’ll save our sparkin’ for later.”
Luke nodded. After everything Linus Peabody had done for him, he didn’t want to offend the old-timer.
Peabody hurried in a short time later, all right, as Emily had predicted. He wore a worried expression on his face, and it quickly became obvious the last thing on his mind was who was sparking his granddaughter. “There’s a buggy and some riders comin’.” He reached for the rifle hanging on the wall near the door.
“Yankee soldiers again?” Emily asked, her body tensing as she stood next to the stove where she had started supper.
Peabody shook his head as he checked to make sure the rifle was loaded.
“Nope. It’s that fella Wolford, and unless I miss my guess, the men he’s got with him are hired guns.”
CHAPTER 20
“Get my revolver,” Luke told Emily.
“What’re you thinkin’ about doin’?” She looked at her grandfather. “What are the both of you thinkin’ about doin’?”
“Nothin’ we don’t have to,” Peabody told her. “Could be Wolford just wants to talk. If he does, I’ll listen to him. Won’t do him any good, but I’ll listen.”
“Is this about the folks who have been losin’ their farms to the carpetbaggers?”
Peabody frowned. “You know about that?”
“How the hell could I
“I need my revolver,” Luke said again. He was trying to stay calm, but the same tense feelings he had experienced before every battle were going through him. He might soon be fighting for his life, and the lives of Emily and her grandfather as well.
But that wasn’t exactly likely, he told himself, not just yet, anyway. From what Peabody had said about Wolford’s attempt to take over Bud Harkness’s farm, the carpetbagger was using quasi-legal means in his land grabs, relying on corrupt judges and what passed for the law under Yankee occupation.
Wolford would have hired guns in reserve, though, and if he couldn’t get what he wanted peacefully, he would use force to take it. Luke had no doubt about that.
He looked intently at Emily until she sighed and went to the cabinet where the Griswold and Gunnison revolver was kept. She took it out and brought it over to Luke. “I can use this gun.”
He held out his hand. “You need to stay inside.”
A quick flash of anger lit up her eyes. “Luke—”
“Luke’s right,” Peabody said. “You stay in the house, girl, like you did when the Yankees came.”
“Men!” she said in exasperation. “You’re the most stubborn critters on God’s green earth!”
Luke stuck the revolver in the pocket of his overalls and grasped his crutches. “That’s because we’re raised by women to be that way.” With a smile, he lifted himself to his feet.
She still looked mad, but rested a hand on his arm for a second. “Don’t start trouble with them.”
“I don’t intend to start trouble with anybody,” Luke assured her. He didn’t say anything about finishing it, if things came down to that. He looked out through the door Peabody had left open. “Here they come.”
“Be careful,” Emily whispered to Luke. “We just . . .”
She didn’t finish, but he knew what she meant. They had just admitted how they felt about each other. She didn’t want him going and getting himself killed.
Luke didn’t want that, either. He nodded to show her he understood as much.
Peabody went out onto the porch. Luke followed him, moving fairly easily on the crutches. He wished he could have walked out there bold as brass, but that was something for the future if his legs continued to improve.
With a clatter of hoofbeats and wheels, Vincent Wolford drove his buggy up to the cabin and brought the vehicle to a halt, reining in the two fine black horses pulling it. Luke found himself wondering who those horses used to belong to, and how Wolford had gotten his hands on them. He was willing to bet the carpetbagger hadn’t bought them fair and square.
Three men on horseback accompanied Wolford. As they reined in, Luke studied them. Back home he had seen Jayhawkers from Kansas on several occasions, and these men reminded him of those ruthless guerrillas.
One wore a derby and a flashy eastern suit. He was big, with broad shoulders and a rough-hewn face dominated by a rusty handlebar mustache. His hands were huge, with knobby knuckles broken more than once in various brawls. He wasn’t carrying a gun that was visible, but Luke figured there was probably a revolver in a shoulder holster under that tweed coat.
The other two riders were dressed more like frontiersmen in boots, work clothes, and broad-brimmed hats. They wore their guns out in the open, carrying holstered pistols on their hips. They had rugged, hard-planed faces and cold eyes.
Luke knew all three men were probably killers, paid by Vincent Wolford to enforce his will and help him take what he wanted. They would be fast on the draw. If Linus Peabody raised his rifle, one or more of the gunmen would drill him before he got a shot off.
Luke was pretty handy with a gun, but knew he wasn’t a match for those three. Not with the Griswold and Gunnison stuck in his pocket. If he had a regular gun rig and a pair of revolvers, he might manage to down a couple, maybe all three, but they would get lead in him, too.
It wasn’t going to come to that. He couldn’t allow the carpetbaggers to kill him and Peabody, leaving Emily at their mercy.
“Take it easy,” he said under his breath to Peabody. “Stay calm.”
The old man nodded, but the tense way he stood and the urgency with which he gripped the rifle told a different story. He was ready to fight. He
Luke levered himself forward on his crutches, putting himself between Peabody and the buggy. He nodded to Wolford. “Howdy. What brings you out here from town?”
“Mr. Smith, isn’t it?” Wolford asked with that phony smile of his, without getting down from the buggy. “I came to speak with Mr. Peabody there. I have a business proposition for him.”
Peabody moved up even with Luke. “I ain’t interested in doin’ business with the likes of you.”
“You should hear me out,” Wolford said. “That’s just a smart rule of thumb. Always listen to the other fellow’s proposal. You never know when he might offer something you want.”
