Marianne's Marriage of Convenience Page 19

  “Why don’t I show you that tomorrow morning? Today is the Fourth, and Collingwood Boots is sponsoring the horse races, remember? Abe and Sammy will need help.”

  Lance watched her run a fork through the eggs in the pan until they began to look scrambled. She kept looking up at him and smiling, and once she put down the fork and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips over his cheek. That made him so happy he felt he could fly.

  “You, um, wouldn’t want to go back to bed before the races start, would you?”

  Her cheeks turned the most enticing shade of rose. “I—I don’t think there is time.”

  He was disappointed, but he guessed it didn’t really matter; there was always tonight. Maybe they’d skip the fireworks down by the river when it got dark and come home early.

  The rest of the morning he spent in a daze. After breakfast he found Abe and volunteered his services, but even when Abe assigned him the simplest job of the day, firing off the starting gun before each race, Lance found himself grinning at the older man like an idiot.

  Abe sent him a puzzled look. “Ya don’t mind jest standin’ there with my revolver?”

  “Nope. Don’t mind at all.”

  The older man shook his head and marched off to find Sammy. Lance went out for a walk until the first race. He didn’t really feel like walking. He felt like dancing a jig, but he figured the townspeople would think he’d gone crazy.

  When he returned to the shop, it was almost time for the ladies’ race, and Abe and Sammy were heading out to their stations on the race course. Abe handed him the revolver.

  “Careful, son. It’s loaded.”

  “Where’s Marianne? Upstairs?”

  Abe’s face shuttered. “Like I said, you be careful with that gun.”

  All at once he began to feel uneasy. “I thought Marianne and I would watch the races together,” Lance said.

  Abe laid a hand on his forearm. “Ya better get on out to the startin’ line, son. I’m goin’ out to the meadow where the course veers off toward the river. Sammy’s stationed out at that big oak tree by the church.”

  Lance nodded. “Yeah, but where’s Mar—?”

  “’Member what I said ’bout that revolver,” Abe interrupted. “Go on, now, Lance. Better get out there.”

  Abe slammed the shop door behind him, and with a shrug, Lance followed the older man outside and strode behind the stable to the starting line.

  The women riders were already lining up, checking their saddles and nervously patting their horses. Young Annamarie Panovsky grinned and waved at him. Her older brother, Ivan, stood beside her caramel-colored mare, his eyebrows lowered in an apprehensive frown. Lance knew Ivan was nervous about his sister’s riding in the horse race.

  Next to the girl, Sammy’s mother, Rosie Greywolf, sat on a handsome gray gelding, looking calm and controlled as she always did. On the other side of her was Eugenia Ridley, her face tight with disapproval. Then Linda-Lou Ness, the mercantile owner’s wife, walked her horse up to the starting line, and the gathered riders moved closer to make room. Linda-Lou sat her shiny bay mare with the assurance of a seasoned rider.

  Lance stepped forward to start the race, carefully pointing the revolver at the ground. Just as he approached the starting position he heard another horse approach and turned to see a black mare walk into position next to Eugenia Ridley. Sitting stiffly erect in the saddle was—

  Good God, it was Marianne! He blinked to be sure he wasn’t imagining it. She was wearing a split riding skirt and a boy’s shirt, and she had a look on her face he’d never seen before. She looked nothing like the Marianne he knew. Or thought he knew. What in God’s name was she doing on that horse?

  And then he realized she had been deceiving him all this time about riding in the race.

  Chapter Thirty

  Keeping her head down to focus on every step, Marianne walked Dancer up to the other four lady contestants who had arranged themselves at the starting line. Annamarie Panovsky’s brother, Ivan, boosted the girl into the saddle and stood talking to her. Probably still trying to talk her out of riding, from what Annamarie had previously confided.

  Next to her light brown horse sat a perfectly immobile Linda-Lou Ness, looking so unruffled she might have been setting out for a quilting bee instead of lining up for a horse race. Rosie Greywolf’s gelding was just moving aside to make room for Eugenia Ridley, mounted on a large white horse with a dark blaze on its forehead. Mrs. Ridley apparently said something to Rosie, because the woman shot her a surprised look and edged her gelding away. Marianne deliberately inserted Dancer between Rosie and Mrs. Ridley.

  All the horses were jittery, tossing their heads and sidestepping, except for Linda-Lou Ness’s handsome bay, which stood quietly at the starting line and didn’t flick an eyelash.

  Ivan Panovsky’s face was a mask of concern, but Annamarie bestowed a wide smile on each competitor in turn. Not all the ladies smiled back. Linda-Lou preserved her stately, stone-faced aspect, and Eugenia Ridley was so intent on scowling at Rosie Greywolf she didn’t even look up. But nothing dimmed young Annamarie’s sunny expression.

  Something about the expression on Eugenia Ridley’s face sent a chill up Marianne’s spine, and she made sure there was sufficient space between Dancer and Rosie on one side and Mrs. Ridley’s white mare on the other. The older woman clutched a braided rawhide riding whip in one hand. Linda-Lou Ness also carried a whip, but she kept it securely tucked under one arm.

  Marianne kept her head down, purposely not looking at Lance. She knew he must be staring at her, and she didn’t want to see the accusation in his eyes. She was doing something terrible, she knew that. It was a betrayal. Her heart began to thud against her ribs, and she found it hard to breathe.

  Then she sensed the mounted riders beside her go still and understood that the race was about to start. Oh, God, she was terrified!

  “On your marks…”

  Lance’s voice.

  “Get set…”

  The gunshot exploded, and the horses on both sides of her dashed away. She dug her heels into Dancer’s flank and jolted forward. Dimly she heard voices as the throng of townspeople gathered along the way began to cheer.

  The noise of pounding hooves rolled over her, and for a moment she wanted to close her eyes and blot everything out. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to keep her attention on what she was trying to do.

  The riders streaked away from the starting line and thundered past the train station, where the course made a gentle turn into a grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers. Here they spread out, some galloping two abreast across the green vegetation, their hooves tearing up the grass and flinging bits of earth into the air. A clod struck her cheek, and Marianne shut her eyes.

  When she opened them the horses were halfway across the meadow, approaching the woods where the trail narrowed. The wind snapped strands of hair into her face, and when she looked down, the grass was a fuzzy green blur. She fell in behind Linda-Lou’s bay and risked a peek ahead. Three riders were jockeying to be the first to enter the woods, Rosie on her gray gelding, Annamarie Panovsky, and Eugena Ridley. Marianne guessed that the minute they were out of the woods Linda-Lou would try to move forward. Marianne resolved to stick to Eugenia Ridley like a cocklebur. She put her head down and fought to keep up with Linda-Lou.

  Tree trunks flashed by, then tangles of shrubby undergrowth. The stretch through the woods seemed to last forever, and when they emerged, Marianne was gasping for air, but she managed to stay on Linda-Lou’s tail. All at once she realized the woman’s strategy; she planned to hang back until the course widened out, and then she could make her move to take the lead.

  Dust stung into Marianne’s eyes. The route veered toward the river, and she wanted desperately to see which horse was in the lead, but everything in front of her was a gray blur. She gritted her teeth and continued to dog the flashing heels of Linda-Lou’s bay mare.

  Suddenly the air cleared, and she could see the meadow
ahead and hear tumbling water. The horses were strung out single file, but she couldn’t tell which rider was ahead. She narrowed her eyes against the sun, and once more clouds of dust obscured her view of the leaders. She prayed one of them was Rosie Greywolf.

  The route along the river was long enough that many yards developed between the riders. Marianne strained to see ahead as the path curved where the river widened, and she swung out to the left and saw Linda-Lou move forward and overtake one of the riders.

  But which rider was it? Annamarie’s mount churned ahead of her, and Marianne could see the girl bending low over her horse’s neck. She wasn’t giving up! Good for her.

  Far ahead a three-way battle raged for the lead. Linda-Lou was pressing ahead toward Rosie’s gray gelding and the white mare ridden by Eugenia Ridley. The riders started up the long hill, pounding toward the oak tree next to the church, and Marianne’s chest began to ache. She fought to keep going. At least she could see the leaders more clearly now, and that told her she must be gaining on them.

  She and Annamarie were dead last, and then all at once the girl’s mount shot forward. Marianne watched her overtake Linda-Lou, and then all three of the front runners swung wide around the oak tree and headed back toward her. Here was where the course doubled back and the two paths ran parallel but in opposite directions. As the horses galloped toward her, she realized the riders would be almost face-to-face as they passed each other.

  Rosie Greywolf was in the lead! She was followed closely by Eugenia Ridley, and then came Annamarie. Marianne glimpsed Rosie’s face as she thundered toward her, her head down, her eyes intent on the course. Behind her, Eugenia Ridley was lashing her white mare to get more speed. Annamarie’s tan mount was so close as it passed by that Marianne could have reached out and touched its hindquarters.

  Inexplicably, Linda-Lou’s bay faltered and fell back. Marianne overtook her and raced onward toward the oak tree. Ahead of her, the two leaders, Rosie and Eugenia Ridley, were jockeying for position. Both riders swung around the turn near the oak tree, their mounts neck and neck, fighting for the lead. Annamarie was behind and slightly to the left of Rosie’s gray.

  Suddenly Eugenia raised her whip, and in an instant Marianne saw what the woman was about to do. With a cry, she veered off the course, heading straight toward the oncoming riders. Rosie raised her head and motioned her out of the way, but just as the Indian woman leaned forward in the saddle, Eugenia bent and slashed at the gray gelding’s front legs. Rosie’s horse faltered.

  Eugenia pulled up even with Rosie’s mount and lifted her whip again.

  Without conscious thought Marianne rode straight for Eugenia’s white mare, and at the last second, she put her head down and drove Dancer between the two lead riders. She would never forget the fury and hatred on Eugenia Ridley’s face.

  With a cry, Rosie veered off-course to get out of the way, and Eugenia’s white mare thundered past, taking the lead. Just as she passed Marianne, the woman raised her whip and slashed it across Dancer’s face and the horse plunged sideways.

  Half a head behind both women came Annamarie. She slipped between Rosie’s faltering gray and Eugenia’s horse and streaked forward toward the finish line.

  Marianne fought to stay in the saddle as Dancer twisted under her. The last thing she remembered was a puffy cloud in the patch of blue sky overhead and then blackness.

  Abe reached her first. And then Rosie, who circled back around instead of finishing the race.

  “Get the doc!” Abe yelled. Rosie pivoted and raced off toward town.

  Lance watched Annamarie streak across the finish line on her sleek tan mare, but instead of reining to a stop she turned her horse in a tight circle and headed back on to the course. Then Linda-Lou Ness galloped up. “Get help!” she screamed. She, too, raced off the way she had come.

  Lance stared after the woman, and then he started to run.

  By the time he arrived, a circle of people surrounded the figure on the ground, and with a sickening jolt he recognized Marianne’s red plaid shirt. Just as he approached, Rosie rode up with Doc Dougherty.

  “Don’t move her!” the doctor yelled as he slipped off the horse. He knelt over the still form on the ground, and someone—Annamarie, he guessed—began to cry.

  Abe stepped into his path. “Don’t look, son. Doc’s takin’ care of her.”

  He shoved the older man out of his way. “Marianne!”

  The doctor looked up. “She can’t hear you, Lance. Stand clear and let me do my job.”

  He stared down at the still form on the ground. Her face was dead white, and a trickle of blood ran across one cheek. He started to kneel beside her, but Abe caught his shoulder.

  “She ain’t dead, Lance. Best give Doc some room.”

  His legs went weak. “What happened?”

  “Not exactly sure,” Abe said.

  Suddenly Annamarie gave a cry and flung herself into her brother’s arms. “I saw it all,” she sobbed. “That lady, Mrs. Ridley, tried to whip the Indian lady’s horse. Marianne ro-rode right between then to try to s-stop her.”

  “Ya mean goin’ in the opposite direction?” Abe queried.

  “Y-yes,” the girl choked.

  Sammy ran up. Rosie met him with an order. “Get wagon and blanket,” she commanded. “Make stretcher.” She slipped off her horse and handed him the reins; in the next instant Sammy was in the saddle and racing toward town.

  Marianne’s face looked sick-white, but Lance could see her chest rise and fall, so he knew she was breathing. But she didn’t open her eyes.

  Minutes passed while Doc Dougherty worked over her and Lance sweated. Then Sammy clattered up in the wagon and tossed down a blanket. The doctor motioned Lance down beside his wife. “Talk to her,” he ordered. He began folding the blanket in thirds.

  Lance picked up Marianne’s limp hand and leaned over her. “Marianne, wake up. Open your eyes, honey, and look at me.”

  No response.

  “Keep talking to her,” the doctor urged. He began feeling along her legs, then pressed his hands along the length of each arm. When he touched her shoulder, she moaned.

  “Marianne,” Lance entreated, his voice unsteady. “Can you hear me? Please, honey, wake up.”

  “Sammy,” Abe ordered. “Go get the mattress from my cot at the shop.”

  The boy nodded, and the wagon rattled off.

  “Good thinking,” the doctor said.

  Lance brought his mouth close to Marianne’s ear and began to talk. He didn’t know what he said, just kept calling her name and urging her to open her eyes. When Sammy returned with the mattress, Doc carefully rolled her on to the folded blanket and then he and Lance lifted her on to the mattress in the wagon bed. Lance and the doctor climbed up beside her, and Abe joined Sammy on the driver’s bench.

  “Take it slow, son,” the doctor cautioned. “Don’t want to jostle her too much.”

  It seemed like hours before they reached the Smoke River hospital, and still Marianne hadn’t opened her eyes. Lance began to suspect there was more wrong with her than the doctor was admitting.

  “Doc?”

  “Concussion,” the physician answered. “Her collar bone’s bruised, and she’s got three broken ribs. I also suspect her sternum might be cracked.” He sent Lance a quick look. “Try not to worry.”

  Lance snorted. “Are you kidding?”

  “No, I am not kidding. Keep talking to her but don’t touch her. She’s banged up pretty bad.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  She was swimming under water, but it hurt. Was she dead? No, she reasoned. She hurt too much. It wouldn’t hurt if she were dead, would it? Death was supposed to be painless.

  Everything hurt. She could hear Lance’s voice, but it sounded far, far away. How strange. He must be near, because she could smell his pine soap, but his voice was coming from somewhere way off.

  He was saying things. Sweet things, like how much he loved her. He’d never said that before, that he
loved her. Maybe she was dead after all.

  “Marianne, open your eyes,” he said. His voice sounded funny. Quavery. “Wake up and look at me. Please, honey. Please.”

  He kept on talking, but his voice was odd. Kind of clogged-up.

  Then there was another voice, and someone was feeling her shoulders and her chest. It hurt.

  Lance was back, saying her name. She liked it when he said her name. She liked it when he touched and when… There was something else she liked, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Something nice.

  She felt awareness slipping away, and Lance’s voice in her ear grew fainter and fainter until she couldn’t hear it anymore. A hand was gripping hers. A strong, hard hand. She decided she would hold on to that hand as tight as she could and let herself fall into a quiet place.

  *

  Lance sat by Marianne’s bedside at the hospital until he could no longer hold his head up. Very carefully he stretched out beside her, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid jostling her. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, he lay beside her still form and tried not to think.

  Abe had come, and Rosie Greywolf and Sammy. Abe said they had postponed the other races until tomorrow, and he’d had some strong words with Eugenia Ridley, but the town fireworks display would go off as planned. Later, through the window of the hospital room, Lance watched the bursts of color light up the sky.

  Every hour or so Doc Dougherty stepped into the room, listened to Marianne’s chest with his stethoscope and peered under her closed eyelids. He didn’t say anything, just pressed Lance’s shoulder as he passed.

  Toward morning he fell asleep, and when sunlight flooded in through the window he opened his eyes to find Marianne looking at him.

  “Lance,” she said in a drowsy voice. The next words out of her mouth left him wondering about the state of her mind.

  “Is the horse hurt?”

  “What?” He struggled to grasp her question. “You mean the horse you were riding? The mare is fine, Marianne. It’s you who is not fine.”