Josie: Bride of New Mexico (American Mail-Order Bride 47) by Kristin Holt Page A

tattered clothing in one long sweep. Once Adam had taken the seat beside Josie, said his thank-yous and downed his water, Gertie said, “Now, suppose you two tell me who tried to kill you?”
     

     
    “Now don’t look at me like that. I read.” Gertie dropped into a chair that had been awkwardly fashioned and upholstered, perhaps out of rough lumber and denim fabric. “In fact, I read the newspaper about you two being in the territory, on a wedding trip. But by the looks of the state of your fancy clothes, and the fact you’ve already been so helpful providing your names, it’s obvious as a smeller you two are on the run.”
    Unsure exactly how his altercation with the woman had turned from foe to friend, Adam thought it best to get as much information from Gertie as possible before she decided to point a gun at them again.
    “What did the paper say?” he asked.
    “Stuff and nonsense, mostly.”
    But he needed to gather as much information as possible, and rehydrate. “Mind if I refill my cup?”
    “No, now you go right on ahead.” Gertie turned her smile on Josie.
    Adam filled his own cup, then Josie’s, watching the older woman’s wheels-a-turnin’, ready to ask a question.
    “What?” Josie didn’t seem put off by Gertie’s unconventional welcome or anything she’d done thus far. “What is it?”
    “Tell me something Mrs. Taylor. ‘Cause I’m wondering if it can possibly be true. The newspaper article said you poisoned your husband’s knife wound and when that didn’t work, you tried to suffocate him in his sleep.”
    Josie surged to her feet. Her chair toppled over backward, clattering on the floor as if she’d thrown it there. Her eyes rounded and her face suffused with color. “ Me ?” She gasped. “I did no such thing. I stitched him up after some fool attacked and sliced my husband’s ribs, but it was a superficial wound.”
    “Settle down,” Gertie said in the most gentle, feminine tone Adam had heard her use. “Settle yourself down.”
    “But I didn’t do any of those vile things.” Anger choked Josie’s voice, made her sound nearly as choked up as she’d been when in full-blown tears. “Why would someone write lies about me?”
    Having lost all worry over Gertie and her guns, Adam rounded the table and put his arms around Josie. He cuddled her close and tucked her face against his chest. He kissed the crown of her dusty hair.
    Even beneath the rubble of the day, the craziness of their circumstance, she smelled like Josie… like the beautiful memories of the woman he loved.
    “I know you didn’t poison me, and that’s all that matters.”
    “What I want to know,” she managed between sobs, “is why anyone in… this place… where are we?… even knows about the knife wound. How is that possible?”
    Adam didn’t know.
    “Thank you.” He smoothed a few stray hairs back into line and simply absorbed her sweet face. He’d nearly lost her. More than once.
    No matter what, he had to find a way to ensure no more accidents happened. He took his role as her protector seriously, and thus far, their whole wedding trip had been a disaster. It sure seemed like someone was out to get them.
    Speaking of that someone… what had Gertie said in her first question about those they ran from?
    Suppose you two tell me who tried to kill you?
    “Gertie,” Adam waited for the older woman to meet his gaze. She might be a little on the crazy end of the spectrum, but she was the best they had. “If you know the paper’s full of stuff and nonsense, why did you ask who tried to kill us?”

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Seventeen
     

     
    Josie nearly jumped through her skin when a noise erupted from the second room in the house. Clicking and clacking and making the most unnatural commotion she’d ever heard.
    Heavens to Betsy.
    A telegraph station.
    In Gertie’s home .
    “Why do you have a telegraph?” Weren’t telegraph offices in the railway stations? Or at mining camps?
    “Hold your