The Horseman's Bride by Elizabeth Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

went back for so much as a toothbrush the police would close in and he would finish his life at the end of a rope. He had no choice except to run and keep running .
    The train whistle screamed through the darkness. Jace pressed forward in the saddle, cursing as he lashed the horse with the reins. On the far side of the field, the headlamp glowed like a great yellow eye as the engine raced toward the bridge. A ghostly plume of steam trailed from the stack .
    Even then, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. But something drove him on. Maybe it was the madness of what had happened tonight—what he’d seen and done and all it implied. Or maybe he was just in shock. The rhythm of hoofbeats pounded through his body. The moon blurred. The wind moaned in his ears .
    By the time he neared the bridge, the engine had reached the far side of the creek and picked up speed. Boxcars and flatcars rattled along behind it, going fast, too fast. Could he still do it? Could he fling himself out of the saddle and make the leap? Catch something and hold on?
    Would it matter if he died trying?
    The whistle shrilled a deafening blast. The stallion screamed, leaping and twisting in terror. Flung out of the saddle, Jace felt himself flying, falling, tumbling toward the rushing wheels …
    He woke with a jerk, damning the dream that haunted so many of his nights. The room was dark, the stars glowing faintly through the gauzy curtains. His body felt chilled, his skin paper dry. Only when he tried to sit up and felt pain shoot down his arm did he remember the knife wound and how he’d come by it.
    Sinking back onto the pillow, he eased himself to full awareness. He was lying on the bed in Mary’s sewing room, where she’d insisted he stay. A lacy crocheted afghan covered his legs. His shirt was cut away and his boots were missing, but otherwise he was fully dressed.
    The rank herbal odor of the poultice seeped through the dressing on his shoulder. Whatever Mary had concocted out of those mysterious jars had yet to work itswonders. The soreness was no worse, but he was beginning to chill. Not a good sign.
    Damnation, what a time to be laid up!
    Too uncomfortable to go back to sleep, he slid his legs off the couch and pushed himself to his feet. The light-headedness was better, but Jace felt disoriented, like a child awakening in a strange room.
    Somehow he needed to get out of here.
    His boots were nowhere to be found. For all he knew, Mary could have hidden them to keep him from leaving. Stocking footed, he padded to the front door, opened it quietly and stepped out onto the porch.
    The gibbous moon rode low in the west but the sky was still dark, the stars still bright. Insect-seeking bats swished through the moonlight. From the brushy hillside beyond the pasture, the plaintive cry of a coyote rose and faded into stillness.
    Someone had put the stallion in the corral with Mary’s two geldings. He could make out their shifting forms and hear the soft snorting sounds they made as they dozed. He’d be smart to saddle up and leave now—ride off into the peaceful darkness with no one the wiser. He could make his way into the hills, maybe find somewhere to hole up until he felt strong enough to move on.
    It was a tempting idea, but not a practical one. He would need his boots, and he didn’t want to leave without the .38 Smith & Wesson. He recalled seeing the gun on the porch, but it was no longer there. The knife and the .22 taken from the robbers had been put away as well.
    Leaning on the porch rail, Jace stared out into the darkness. Tomorrow would be Wednesday, the day Mary had said she made her weekly trip to town. What were the odds she would see the marshal there and mention the robbery attempt? And what were the odds the marshal would show her his collection of Wanted posters to see if there was anyone who looked familiar?
    The posters were out there—in the big towns, at least. Jace had seen one himself. He looked like a dandy in a suit,