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Tynan was across the room in seconds, barring her exit. “You will not leave without me. I swore to your father that I’d deliver you and I plan to.”
“Of course, the Western man always keeps his word. He may kill people on a daily basis, prison may be a way of life to him but healwayskeeps his word. Deputy, you may let me out now.”
Tynan slammed the door shut, startling the boy against the wall. “You can’t leave tomorrow morning. You can’t go across this country with just that man, he doesn’t know anything about surviving.”
“I have to agree that he doesn’t know how to shoot innocent men at church picnics.”
“He didn’t shoot Sayers,” the deputy said. “Sayers attacked him from behind.”
“I knew you were innocent,” Chris said. “A man like you doesn’t get caught when he does something illegal. Deputy, please open this door.”
Ty held it shut. “Chris, you can’t leave until I get out of here. You need—”
“Mr. Tynan, if I waited for you to get out of one jail after another, I’d never get home. Let me make myself clear. I am going to leave tomorrow morning and start home to my father. You will have your precious pardon and you will get rid of me in the bargain.” She grabbed the door and jerked, stepping outside quickly. “When you make your way to my father’s, via the jails of Washington, however falsely accused you are, he may even have the ten thousand dollars you’ve worked so hard for. Good-bye, sir, and I hope we never meet again.”
Chapter Eleven
Asher led the way out of town the next morning before the sun was up. She’d mumbled answers to his many questions on the night before, saying her engagement to Tynan had been a farce, something to save him from Rory’s barbs. Asher seemed satisfied that she was properly contrite.
As they passed the jail, Chris saw the dark shadowy outline of Tynan standing in his cell watching them. She kept her head up high and didn’t return his stare. By the time he got out of prison, she’d be far away.
Neither she nor Asher had much to say as they rode, not really running, but not giving themselves time to enjoy the scenery either. At noon they stopped to rest the horses and eat the stale biscuits they’d brought.
As the sound of thundering hooves came down the narrow little road, Chris’s heart nearly stopped beating. But it wasn’t Tynan or anyone else interested in them. Three big men on scraggy horses went tearing past them, their heads down, their faces hidden under their hat brims.
“I’m glad they aren’t looking for us,” Asher said when they’d passed.
Asher didn’t talk to Chris much and she remembered how she’d sometimes been rude to him. As he helped her onto her horse, she took every opportunity to smile at him. Now that Tynan was gone, and Chris was no longer blinded by that man’s light, she could look at Asher with new eyes. This was a man her fatherwantedher to marry. This man wasn’t likely to pull a gun and kill for the smallest offense.
It was nearly sundown before they saw the overturned wagon, and even then they wouldn’t have seen it except for Chris having noticed the way the ground had been torn up. There were deep, fresh gouges in the earth, leading off into the underbrush.
“Let’s stop here for a moment,” she called, dismounting and running down into the bushes. She hadn’t gone but a few feet when she saw the big old wagon on its side, and what looked to be a woman’s hand protruding from under it.
She ran back up the bank, shouting for Asher to come and help her. “Under there,” she pointed. “We have to get the wagon up and get her out.”
He only hesitated for a second, then ran forward.
When they got to the far side of the wagon, they could see only part of the woman’s arm. Her head and the rest of her body were buried under the wagon.
“Can you lift that?” Chris asked, pointing to a broken part of the wagon. “I’ll try to pull the woman out.”
Asher used most of the strength he had as he propped himself against the side of the wagon then squatted until his legs could work to lift the weight.
“Now!” he shouted and the wagon moved.
Chris lost not a second pulling the woman out to safety.
Asher, kneeling, lit a match because the evening was growing very dim, and studied the woman. She seemed to be covered in blood. “She’s been shot at least three times,” he said quietly.
“But she’s still breathing.” Chris took the woman’s bloodied head into her lap. “We’ll get you to a doctor,” she whispered to the woman as she began to thrash about.
“My husband,” she gasped. “Where is my husband?”
Chris looked up at Asher but he was already searching the surrounding area. Chris could see where he stopped. Turning, he shook his head.
“Your husband is fine. He’s sleeping now.”
“Can you tell us who did this to you?” Asher asked when he came back.
