Liz Ireland - Millie And The Fugitive

With some trepidation, she pushed open the door of the little store. Once she got a look at the dark, dusty place, she was doubly certain that she needed to be rescued soon. She couldn’t imagine them buying anything there that she would actually want to eat.

“Well, hello there!” a voice cried out.

Millie looked around, but could see nothing — nothing besides old warped shelves stacked with dusty cans and jars, barrels full of who knew what, and bolts of mildewy cloth propped up against the walls. Finally, a head peeked over the long counter to her right — an old, wrinkled, bald head.

“You’re Ned Sparks?” Millie couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. This was the man who was supposed to overcome her kidnapper and rescue her? Not likely! The man was seventy if he was a day — not to mention the fact that he was at least two inches shorter than she was.

Sam’s hand clamped firmly around her arm, a reminder of his don’t-speak-unless-spoken-to rule.

“Sure, I’m Ned,” the man replied genially, plainly not realizing his reply sank Millie’s hopes completely. “How do?”

“Just fine,” Sam said, his manner equally friendly. “We just stopped for a few provisions.”

“Are you the only person here?” Millie asked boldly, ready for gunfire. At this point, she hardly cared. She couldn’t believe her bad luck.

“Sure am, little lady. Would ya’ll be headed east or west?” Ned asked curiously.

“West,” Sam replied.

“Well... I just come from the east myself!” The man beamed a partially toothed smile at them. “Fort Worth. You folks are lucky you found the store open. Just got back this morning.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yessir. Got me a ride on a fast wagon yesterday. Drove all night.”

Sam nodded. Millie could feel the tension in his hand on her arm, the fear that this brush with the store proprietor was costing him. Was he worried that the man had heard about the kidnapping, Millie wondered, or was he concerned that she might blurt something out to the old man? If it was the latter, she would be perfectly willing to put Sam’s mind at ease. She didn’t see much point in trying to enlist the old fellow’s aid.

When Sam failed to respond further, Ned continued, “I was off visiting my married sister. Lives in Fort Worth. How ’bout you? Where out west are you headed, exactly?”

Sam hesitated, his mouth slightly opened, then blurted out, “We’re eloping.”

Millie shot him a shocked glance, her mouth agape. Not only had he not answered the man’s question, he’d come out with something totally unexpected. Yet she soon saw the wisdom in Sam’s improvisation. If he’d intended to get the proprietor’s mind off precise destinations, he couldn’t have said anything better. When she looked back at Ned, he was all smiles.

“How ‘bout that!” he cried. He let out a little whoop, then winked at Millie and leaned forward to whisper confidentially, “I was wonderin’ why he was holdin’ on to you so tight, but now I know. He’s scared a handsome fellow like me’s gonna steal his little bride away!”

He chortled merrily and winked again as Millie laughed limply along with him. Even Sam managed to force out a chuckle or two.

“Well, well,” Ned went on. “What can I get for ya?”

Sam smiled, relaxing a little at Millie’s continued silence. “Well, Ned,” he said, shooting her a satisfied smile, “we just stopped by to get the wife a little grub.”

“Don’t want to take time off from the honeymoonin’ to go huntin’, is that it?”

“How did you guess?” Sam replied, squeezing Millie around the waist.

Millie felt her face flame at the implication — as if she would honeymoon with a desperado! Yet at the same time, she kept her tongue. This poor old man didn’t know about her predicament, and couldn’t do anything about it even if he did. The best she could hope for at this point was some good food.

She scanned the dusty shelves, full of jars with questionable contents, hoping to see something that caught her eye. Instead, her gaze alit on something far more interesting.

“A newspaper!” she exclaimed.

Ned turned to it with interest. “Just brought it back from Fort Worth.”

“Would you mind if I read it some while my husband does the shopping?” she asked, squarely returning Sam’s unamused stare. “I’d like to see if anything was written about our elopement.”

Sam’s eyes sparked in warning, but Ned remained oblivious as he handed over his precious paper. “Go right ahead,” he urged. “Me and your husband will round you up some real nice vittles.”

Millie’s heart raced excitedly as they moved away, leaving her to leaf through the pages in private. There was sure to be news of her kidnapping from Fort Worth. If she could just figure out a way to scrawl a message across the newspaper, maybe the old man could help after all....

She didn’t have far to look. Prisoner Escapes in Chariton , the story beneath the fold on the first page began. The next line in bold read, Young Lady Abducted, Two Deputies Escape Attack Unharmed. Millie quickly scanned the story, looking for her name, which wasn’t mentioned. Just that she was a daughter of Old Lightfooted Lively. Now wasn’t that silly? How was anyone expected to find her if the paper didn’t print her name?

Her eyes were moving quickly across the page when suddenly she stopped, then looked back up, certain she had misread. Two Deputies... Unharmed.

Unharmed. But how could that be?

She had seen the “attack” with her very own eyes — had seen Sam brutally fell the two men, beating them repeatedly. They hadn’t moved a muscle after that. Not when he’d dragged them over to that tree and—

The blood drained out of her face so quickly that she thought for a moment that she might faint. She refolded the paper, then leaned back against the counter, attempting to gather her racing thoughts.

First he’d beaten the deputies. Then he’d dragged them to a tree and tied them up. Tied them up! Why would he have bothered to tie up two dead men? Or shoo away their horses?

The answer was so simple. They had never been dead at all. Sam hadn’t murdered anyone.

Oh, how could she have been so silly? How could she have made such a terrible misjudgment?

Across the small room, Sam and Ned conferred over various jars and kegs. At one point, Sam sent her a worried glance, as if he could tell that all was not right with her. But then he was forced to haggle with Ned over some sadlooking dried meat that made Millie’s stomach lurch once again.

This new development threw everything into confusion. Sam was innocent of what she’d accused him of. She had proof of that now. Was his story about his brother being innocent also true?

She looked again at Sam. His proud, straight back. His head of dusty hair, his sun-darkened skin, his intelligent gray eyes. Was he an honest man, as he had claimed? Could she have misjudged him so completely?

It appeared she had.

She blushed to think about the hateful things she had said to him, the names she had called him. So many times he had told her the truth and she had turned a deaf ear, unswerving in her certainty about what she had witnessed. Only what she had seen had been entirely wrong.

His gray eyes were watching her again, and his forehead was creased with worry. He was worried about her? Something in her breast fluttered, and she looked away, stunned by the suddenness of it all.

Sam was innocent. That didn’t change the fact that she was his hostage, of course, although it seemed to change practically everything else. How strange to think that she really had nothing to fear from Sam Winter after all. How strange... and how wonderful!

Chapter Four

“Isn’t this just the loveliest day you’ve ever seen?”

Sam sent his charge a doubtful glance. Up till now, Millie had said not a word after they left Ned’s little shack — just hummed and smiled — and though he appreciated the novelty of her silence, he knew the gears of deception must be grinding away in that twisted feminine mind of hers. The perky tone she chose when she finally spoke confirmed it. Something was up.

“I don’t know when I’ve seen such a lovely day,” she went on enthusiastically, sending him yet another of her beatific smiles.

That was another thing. Why was she looking at him in that simpering, cockeyed way? “You were cranky enough this morning.”

Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn’t attempted some sort of escape back at the store. She’d had ample opportunity to try to get Ned Sparks to hear her story, or to leave him some furtive message. Not that the old fellow could have been much of a help to her.

He frowned as they neared the place where he’d deposited her saddle. After knowing Millie only two full days, the idea of her not having an ulterior motive behind all this sudden complicity struck him as unlikely. These rich girls learned to use all sorts of roundabout tactics to get what they wanted from men.

Unfortunately, forewarned wasn’t always forearmed. He found himself increasingly vulnerable to those thick-lashed dark eyes of hers. While he rode, he often thought about them — and how they would look just before he kissed her. Which wasn’t going to happen, although his rambling thoughts did explain why he’d told that old man back there they were newlyweds. And probably why the old man could believe it, too. When Sam put his arm around Millie, there’d been nothing fake about the fierce stab of desire he felt for her.

Poor kid. She’d probably go screaming into the horizon if she knew what a case he had for her. He glanced warily at her.

Millie beamed. Her dark brown eyes seemed almost to sparkle at him with something that he would have sworn resembled admiration...if he hadn’t known better. That was why it was so important to get his mind off her lips and focus on what was going on inside that brain of hers.

At the top of the hill, Sam reined in his horse. Millie stopped right next to him, and slipped off without his even having to ask her. Carefully he dismounted himself, certain now that she must have some trick up her sleeve.

He walked over to the saddle and lugged it back over to Millie’s horse.

“Here, let me help you with that, Mr. Winter,” she said, coming forward with outstretched hands.

This was too much. “Don’t let’s stand on formality, Millie,” he answered politely. “You can just call me Mr. Murderer.”

She blushed and cast her eyes modestly toward the dirt at his feet. “Oh, no,” she said earnestly, “I would never call you that.”

He let out a sharp laugh as he hefted the silly saddle onto Mrs. Darwimple’s back. “Changed your mind about me, have you?”

She batted her thick black eyelashes twice before looking back at him. “Yes, I have.”

What kind of game was this? “If you think a lie like that is going to make me let my guard down, think again.”

That pointy chin lifted a little higher. “It’s not a lie. I know with perfect certainty that you didn’t kill those two deputies.”

“Did a little bird tell you?”

“No, the newspaper did.”

He looked at her in alarm.

“There was a whole long article on the front page about us — only I guess they didn’t mention my name because that would have been detrimental to my reputation.” She planted her hands on her hips in irritation. “Now I ask you, does that make sense? How else do they expect me to be found?”

Sam’s brows knit together worriedly. Being front-page news didn’t flatter him half as much as it did Millie. “Did the paper have a description of us?”