Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
A scream caught in Grace’s throat as she stared at her father's prone form. Blood seeped from his chest, staining his coat in a wide crimson circle. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Couldn't move.
Dimly, she heard McPharland speaking, his voice low and urgent as he addressed Jess. "I won't make you come with me. You can stay with Coulter if that’s what you really want. But you can come home anytime.” He paused, gaze flicking to the barn door. “I have to leave before that shot brings people. I’ll take my men back, and I won’t bother the Coulters again. I give you my word."
Jess murmured something Grace couldn’t understand, and Grace forced herself to blink. To come out of this stupor so she could do something. Say something.
She barely caught the flash of Jess’s father as he sprinted past her. He slipped into the stall that led to the corral. And then he was gone.
Jess appeared in front of her, hands resting on Grace’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
Grace forced herself to focus on the question, then shook her head. Not outwardly. Inside, she couldn’t tell how bad things were. Could a person be numb and in agony at the same time? Cold had settled in her bones.
Gil would be here soon, surely. He must have been distracted when her father and McPharland slipped into the barn, but he couldn’t have missed the gunshot.
“Can you stand so I can untie you?”
Grace nodded and let Jess help her to her feet. Then Jess leaned down to focus on the knot in the rope around Grace. The rope her father had bound her with.
Jedidiah. Not her father. No true father would treat his child like that.
Jess's fingers trembled as she worked, her breath uneven.
Grace could feel the other woman's panic, a mirror of her own, as they both tried to avoid looking at Jedidiah’s lifeless body.
The barn door pushed open, and Grace's heart leaped into her throat. Had McPharland come back around the front? Surely not. That must be Gil, coming because of the gunshot.
As a figure peered inside, she strained to make out the features.
Her heart knew the difference even before her mind realized it.
Sampson.
A half-cry, half-sob surged from her chest.
The door pushed wider as he stepped in—nay, charged in. Another figure came behind him. Dinah.
“What happened?” Sampson ran to her, his gaze taking them in. When his focus snagged on her father, he nearly stumbled to a stop, but then his eyes moved back to her. His look was so intense, just like the man she’d known before her father had had him nearly killed.
"My father and Jedidiah were here." Jess stepped back from her focus on the knot to face the newcomers. "Jedidiah was going to kill us, but my father…he stood up for us. He shot Jedidiah."
Emotions surged across Sampson’s face as he comprehended Jess’s words. Shock. Anger. And then something Grace had never seen on him—on any man. He focused on her with a look that held so much…possessiveness. His eyes sharpened into something almost feral.
He closed the final stride between them and wrapped his good arm around her, pulling her tight against him. With his broken arm still wrapped, he couldn't fully envelop her, but she nestled into his warmth anyway. His scent, his strength, the steady drum of his heartbeat against her cheek—it all said home in a way she'd never known before.
Just minutes before, she'd thought she would never see him again, never feel his embrace. Her hands were still bound, preventing her from returning the hug, but she pressed as close as she could.
"Are you hurt?" Sampson's voice was low and urgent in her ear.
"No." Not physically at least. Her heart…well, she’d have to deal with that later.
The barn door swung open again and she tensed, but it was Gil rushing in, his expression wild. "I heard a shot. What—" He froze, taking in the scene before him.
“We’re all right,” Jess called out to him, and Gil surged toward her. She met him partway and he wrapped her in his arms.
Jess murmured something to him, probably telling what happened. Gil pulled back to look at her face, his expression transforming the same way Sampson’s had. From relief to simmering anger. He pulled away from Jess and ran toward them, pulling out his knife and handing it to Dinah.
"I have to go after McPharland." Gil started toward the stall that opened to the corral.
“Gil, wait!” Jess sprinted after him.
Gil paused and turned to her, and Jess grabbed his arm.
"Please. My father promised he would leave us alone. Can we just…let it be over?" Her blue eyes shimmered with tears.
For a long moment, Gil stared down at her, clearly torn. Then finally he nodded. "If you're sure that’s what you want."
Jess nodded, her whole body sagging with relief as Gil pulled her into his arms again.
He held her close, his body surrounding her as if he could shield her from the world. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I saw a man at the edge of the woods, but then he was gone. He must have been a distraction, so I didn’t see them come in. I didn’t know anyone was here until I heard the shot.”
Dinah managed to slice through the ropes binding Grace's hands, and as soon as she was free, Grace turned fully into Sampson's embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. She didn’t squeeze in case it hurt his ribs, just relished the contact. The feel of him settled the last of the tremors still running through her body.
Sampson's face pressed into the hair at her neck, his good hand sliding up and down her back as he held her tight against him. Neither of them spoke. Maybe he needed to feel her as much as she did him.
Dinah had moved to crouch beside her father’s body. She would know what to check. A moment later, she stood and moved to Grace’s side, rubbing a gentle hand across her shoulders.
Grace adjusted her head against Sampson’s chest so she could see Dinah’s expression. The sadness in her eyes said everything.
“I’m so sorry, Grace.”
Grace wouldn’t have thought the words would bring such a rush of tears, but she did her best to hold them back as she nodded. If she spoke, she’d lose control completely.
Dinah gave a final rub across her shoulders, then stepped back. “We should head up to the house. Probably the both of you should be in bed.” She gave a pointed look between Sampson and Grace.
Grace forced herself to straighten and pull back a little so she could see Sampson’s face. “How did you make it all the way down here?” She could see the pain lines around his eyes, but he looked so much better than when his brothers had carried him into the house. “You weren’t conscious the last time I saw you.”
One corner of his mouth tugged a little. “Dinah can work wonders.” He slid a look at his sister-in-law.
Dinah’s snort told Grace what she thought of that. But then she stepped closer and rested a hand on Sampson’s good shoulder as she spoke to Grace. “This, my dear, is a combination of laudanum, a good stiff bandage, and a very stubborn husband who had to lay eyes on his wife as soon as he was coherent enough to realize she wasn’t at his side.”
Sampson’s hold on Grace tightened, telling her that Dinah’s teasing wasn’t far off the mark. He spoke lower. “I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. I just needed to see you.”
She snuggled in closer, letting herself relish this feeling of safety. Of having someone who would push through pain and anything else to protect her. Or even just to see her.
“All right, everyone. To the house. Now.” Dinah’s voice took on a no-nonsense tone.
Grace let Sampson and Dinah guide her out of the barn, Jess and Gil following. The short walk to the house felt surreal, her mind still struggling to process all that had happened. Her father was gone. Truly gone this time. And the man beside her—the man she'd been forced to marry—had become her anchor in the storm.
As they approached, the front door opened and the rest of the family spilled out onto the snow, their faces etched with worry. Naomi held Ruby, bundled in a cocoon of blankets and drinking from her feeding bottle. Safe and content.
"What happened?" Sean demanded as he ran toward them.
Gil relayed the events in the barn, and the others listened in stunned silence.
“How awful.” Patsy broke the quiet first, and it seemed to release a dam of questions and exclamations from the others.
Sampson still had his arm around Grace, as hers were around him. Was he swaying? She glanced up at him, taking in the beads of sweat on his brow and the tight lines of pain around his mouth. He was pushing himself too hard.
She leaned closer to his ear. "You should go back to bed. We’re all safe now and you need to rest."
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."
Tears pricked her eyes at his words, at the fierce protectiveness in his gaze. She had never had someone put her first, not like this.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she tightened her grip around his waist. "Then I’ll stay with you."
His gaze softened and he nodded, letting her guide him past the crowd.
They made their way slowly up the two steps into the cabin, and Sampson breathed heavier by the time they maneuvered through the main room. Once in the bed chamber, he eased down onto the mattress.
“Do you want to take off your boots?” With the other men still out fighting, he might want to keep fully dressed so he could be ready at a moment’s notice.
But he shouldn’t be going anywhere. And with McPharland calling off his attack, hopefully the rest of the Coulters and braves would return soon.
Sampson nodded and reached with his good hand to pull off the first shoe.
She crouched to take care of it for him.
“You don’t have to do that.” He gave a half-hearted protest. But he probably knew as well as she did that he needed help.
“I want to.” She kept her focus on tugging off the first boot, then placing it neatly by the bedpost. This felt like such a wifely duty, helping her husband to bed, removing his clothing. Heat flamed up her neck. Not his clothing, just his boots.
When she finished, Sampson let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you."
She stood and fluffed his pillow as he eased back. His face twisted in a grimace, and he hissed out a breath as his body sank into the mattress. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, and his breathing lightened, like he was focusing on tiny inhales.
“Are your ribs hurting a great deal?” She pulled the quilts up over his legs.
“A little.” So yes .
She settled the blankets at his middle, then stepped back to look over him. “Would you like a drink of water?”
He opened his eyes, taking her in. Then he lifted the side of the blanket to reveal the empty mattress on his good side. “Will you…stay with me?”
She glanced at the bed. He didn’t mean sit. He meant…lie with him. Everything in her wanted to fill that empty place, to snuggle into his side and let him hold her. To soak in his comfort. His strength. To be there for anything he might need.
They both wore clothes, and he was too hurt to do much but breathe. And they were married, after all. It felt like much should be said before—or rather if —they ever became married in the full sense of the word, but she wouldn’t deny him her presence.
For now, she would simply lie beside him.
Sampson must have thought her silence meant refusal, for he started to let the blanket fall back into place.
She stepped closer and took the cover from him. She needed to slip her own boots off first, a process which she fumbled her way through. Her pulse had picked up its pace again. Maybe she should just pull up a chair to sit beside him.
But her shoes were off now. She had to be careful not to lie where she would put pressure on his injuries. She sat and pulled her feet up onto the bed. This mattress was far too narrow for two grown people, especially when one of them possessed the broad shoulders of Sampson Coulter.
He held out his arm though. “Put your head on my shoulder.”
She obeyed, lying on her side with her temple resting on the solid bulk of his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, settling his hand on the small of her waist. Cradling her in his strength.
She let her body relax, one breath at a time. She didn’t have enough room to put both her hands between them, so she moved one to rest on his chest. Up high, where hopefully it wouldn’t hurt his ribs.
Her pulse thrummed through her ears. But the longer she rested there, the more her body settled.
Sampson’s thumb stroked up and down the back of her arm. A slow steady rhythm that soothed her insides little by little.
But though her body relaxed, her mind refused to follow.
Images of her father flashed through her thoughts. That cold hatred in his eyes when he’d said she was no daughter of his. The rough way he’d gripped her wrists when he’d jerked her out of the stall. The raw burn of the rope as he tied her. Each image pulled the tears closer to the surface. Each memory ripped a new gash in her heart.
One tear slid free, scalding a path down her cheek to land on Sampson’s shirt. Then another. A ragged breath shuddered out of her chest. The tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over.
Her father was dead.
The man who was supposed to love and protect her had tried to kill her.
And now, he was gone forever.
Sampson's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. He tucked her head under his chin. "I'm so sorry, Grace." His deep voice rumbled through his chest. "I'm here. I've got you."
She couldn't speak past the emotion in her throat, so she just nodded against him. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and quiet sobs shook her frame.