Warm wind brushed across her cheeks as Connie rode next to Hel, her gaze on the far horizon. Rolling hills, dry arroyos, scrub brush, and the open vastness of blue sky surrounded them. Five days had passed since leaving her life in El Paso behind, striking out into the unknown with a man she barely knew but yet, trusted completely. The girls at the saloon had bidden her a tearful yet giddy farewell, most of them happy for her luck, but jealous too. Everything she had fit into one small suitcase packed behind her saddle.
Travelling light, Hel hadn't purchased a pack mule for supplies, just the bare essentials to get them to the next town. 'Indian country', he'd told her seriously. 'It's better to move quick and fast than tempt them with provisions that will make them big men in their villages.' It didn't bother her, because the future waiting for them at Port Isabel was worth a bit of discomfort. Missus Asahel Morgan-
"What?" Hel was looking at her curiously, a teasing glint in his eye.
"What?"
"I thought I heard my name."
"Ah don't think so," Connie lifted her chin, embarrassed to admit her very girlish musing. "Ah thought we was stoppin' for the night?"
"We are," he indicated a patch of grass near a trio of ash trees. "Just there."
"Good, Ah'm starvin' an' my back is achin'."
"Been a while since you were in a saddle," Morgan stepped down, reaching up to help her off the gelding. "We should have stopped sooner."
"Stop that." Slapping his hands away, she shook a finger under his nose. "Ah ain't broke, weak, nor complainin', Hel Morgan, so mind to your own affairs."
"I'm just trying to-"
"Ah know what you were tryin' to do, Hel, an' Ah'm grateful, really, but Ah ain't helpless."
"I know that," he sounded hurt but respectfully gave her space. "Hungry?"
"Yes, thanks," upset at herself for lashing out, Connie got busy unsaddling the horses and rubbing them down while Hel cooked. She'd made it clear right out of the gate that she wasn't any good at cooking. She'd warned him she wouldn't be doing any domestic chores until she had a house and set up of her own things to get used to using. Until then, he'd have to make do with his own cooking. His laugh had been amused, but Morgan had taken it in stride. Just as he seemed to do with everything else.
It scared her in a strange way, like this was all a dream that could suddenly shatter and leave her stranded and heartbroken. Just like- with a sharp intake Connie shook her head, inwardly scolding herself. This was different. Hel was different. Sliding a look over her shoulder, she watched as he knelt over the small campfire, the light dancing with the shadows across his face.
"Hey handsome," she called, smiling when he instantly looked up. "Need a hand?"
"You offering?"
"Ah guess so," finishing up, she carried their blankets over and laid them out. "Ah can make coffee."
"Yeah?" Interested, Hel balanced on his haunches, flipping the bacon in the pan. "I'd like that."
It turned out it was the best coffee he'd ever had, and she made a second pot. Supper was simple, fried bacon, pan biscuits, camp beans, and canned peaches spiced with cinnamon and rum. After cleaning up, they rolled into their blankets, full, content, and tired. As the firelight died, Connie reached out to put her fingertips on his sleeve. Her lips curved into a smile as Hel's finger twined with hers.
Two days later found them cutting across a track that had Hel leaning off the saddle to study. His frown gradually slid into a grin and with a laugh he turned to Connie.
"That's old Preacher John's mule, I'd bet my life on it."
"Preacher John," one fine eyebrow lifted. "The old drunk that used to give them awful two-hour sermons south of Hornsbee 'bout ten years ago?"
"The same," chuckling, Hel turned them to follow the trail in the grass. "He wasn't always a drunk. Crawled into the bottle after his wife died giving birth to their second child. Never found his way free."
"What happened to the other child?"
"Dead. Stillborn, I heard."
"No wonder he drinks," Connie's mutter was soft. "Poor man."
"That may be, but guess what?" His smile was widening. "He's still a preacher."
"No!" Aghast, she stared at him. "Not Preacher John!"
"Why not?"
"He's a drunk!"
"Only because he didn't have someone like you to save him, Connie." Hel's tone had dropped, his gaze serious. "He wasn't that lucky."
"Ya wouldna, Hel,"
"Yeah," rubbing his neck, Morgan shook his head ruefully. "I think I would have, just to spare myself from feeling. I was tired of feeling, but you changed all that."
"Alright, enough," Her smile was shy but happy. "Ah'll agree to him marryin' us on one condition."
"We sober him up first?"
"You're not nearly as dull as ya look, Hel Morgan."
"I thought I was handsome."
"Only at night," keeping a straight face, she stared at him. "Durin' the day, Ah can see all the trouble ya get into marked on your face. Takes somethin' away from your good looks."
"Swell," his laugh was rich and they rode on after Preacher John, teasing each other until the scent of woodsmoke told them they'd come across his camp. Ahead of them was a flat, grassy space where the creek made a wide curve, trees growing together in a tight cluster, screened off by brush.
"Wait here," lifting a hand, Morgan gave her a stern look. "Let me go first."
"Fine."
Riding toward the nest of trees where the scent was coming from, Hel lifted a hand.
"Hello the camp! Anyone to home?"
"Ride on in, son," the slurred voice answered him from the fireside. "Step down, sit a spell to rest yourself."
"Can my girl come in with me?"
"You ridin' with a female? In this country?" Red-rimmed eyes looked up from over the rim of a mug. Hel suspected it wasn't full of coffee.
"We're looking to get married. It's pure luck to cut across your sign."
"Light and set," a shaky hand waved him on. "We'll talk it over."
Once they were all settled, Connie made a pot of coffee, eyeing Hel to let him know it was pretty much tar and would strip the hair off a buffalo. Picking up on her cue, Hel tipped a healthy portion into the preacher's mug.
"How's business these days, padre?"
"Slow," he took a swig then screwed his face up tight, refusing to spit it out in a lady's presence. "Land sakes, Miss! That's strong!"
"Is it?" Her sweetness was pure honey. "Sorry, father."
"You said," coughing, the old preacher shook his head. "You said somethin' about gettin' married?"
"Yeah. I got a job lined up, but it'll take some time to get there, and I don't want to arrive in a new town without having her as my wife. Otherwise, people might talk, and I won't have gossip involving my girl."
"I ain't done the Lord's work for anyone but heathens and savages in years, son," he took another gulp of the coffee whiskey mix, shuddering. "I can't promise I even remember the words."
"Can you make us husband and wife?" Connie interjected, leaning forward slightly. "Somethin' to make it legal?"
"Sure, I got a pencil and paper. We can fill it out and all sign it, but..."
"Good enough, padre," Hel winked at Connie. "What'll it cost?"
"Ten bucks," wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the preacher looked at Hel for the first time. "You got ten dollars, son?"
"I have ten dollars."
"Let me get myself ready," he climbed unsteadily to his feet, heading for the cold creek running a few dozen feet from his camp. "You'll be husband and wife by supper."
Watching him walk away, Connie glanced at Hel with a frown.
"Are ya sure 'bout this?"
"Marrying you, or him?"
"Him. He's so drunk Ah don't think he can see." To prove her point, right then a splash and a hearty cry of dismay turned them. Preacher John was sitting in the creek, soaked through, hair plastered to his scalp. "See?"
"That's ice-cold water, Connie," Morgan soothed. "It'll sober him."
"This is crazy."
"Are you sorry?" Looking at her from under the brim of his hat, Hel's green eyes were full and soft. Reaching out, her fingertip traced his jaw.
"No, not yet."
"That's my girl."
Preacher John was dried, dressed, and mostly sober by suppertime, so the three of them stood together as a well-worn Bible with tattered pages was produced. Clearing his throat, the preacher looked at the couple.
"Y'all hold hands, and repeat after me... I take this person, with God as my witness, to be partner in life... I promise to be faithful... I promise to be kind... I swear that in bad times and good, I'll stand fast... nothin' is goin' to break the vow I just made before God and each other." He waited until Hel and Connie finished, then looked at Morgan. "Say your name."
"Asahel Joseph Morgan.
"Do take," he looked at Connie, who obliged with her name. "As my wife, when ailin', in health, rich, poor, thick and thin, so help me God. Amen."
Hel obliged, his fingers tightening over Connie's as she went through the same process. When Preacher John asked for the rings, the couple looked at each other with embarrassment but smiling.
"Sorry padre," Hel shrugged guiltily. "I think we forgot that part, but I'll make good with my first paycheck."
"Good enough. Kiss her, son." Hel kissed her. Long and loving until she started laughing and pushed away from him. "Congratulations you two, now if you'll pay my fee, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to move along. I ain't feelin' at my best, and this is your special night."
"The paper?" Hel wanted to know, and Preacher John shuffled to his bags, pulling out the needed items. Writing in surprisingly legible script, he recorded the sermon, their names, and his name, then they all signed it. At the bottom was the day and time.
"File this at the county clerk's office when you get to the next town, and that'll make it all legal. Ya might want to have a judge make sure I did it right, but you're man an' wife."
"Obliged, padre." Hel paid for the services and the two left the preacher at his fireside, happily sipping whiskey from his coffee mug.
At their own camp that night, Hel lay on his back, Connie nestled in his arms, her heartbeat soft against his ribs. Silky smooth skin was under his fingertips, her cheek on his bare chest. Thoroughly tired but unable to sleep, he was awake, staring up at the night sky. Sometimes, especially in the dark, he'd see Beth's face, that terrified, desperate look carved into her eyes in those final seconds.
He'd never said goodbye. Or I love you. Or I'm sorry. Pride, jealousy, blood, and murder had gotten in the way, stealing those last, precious few hours he'd had with her. 'Not this time,' he promised himself, cupping Connie's shoulder. 'Never again, old son.'
Something woke him, the skin behind his ears tight, scalp tingling the way it did when Apache were on his backtrail. Holding still, Hel listened to the night. Crickets calling, the horses champing on grass, and Connie's soft breaths. When it suddenly went still he was already moving, rolling his wife aside as he stood up. A sharp whistle followed by a dull thud came from where he'd just been lying. Spinning on his heel, Morgan came face to face with a looming shadow.