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

horses.” Gertie bounded to her feet and ran for the other room. She pushed the door open so hard it rebounded off the wall and bounced nearly closed.
    The clatter kept coming.
    Josie could barely read the printed word in English. She’d had no exposure to Morse Code and couldn’t have told one message along the wire from another… but she did comprehend one thing.
    This wasn’t a short note.
    Somebody kept up the transmission.
    Josie turned to Adam, who still had his arms about her, his hands at her waist. She loved it when he stood near like this. It was like he gave her something to hold onto, an anchor, support. He had the kind of sturdiness of hundred-year-old oak trees.
    One glance at the steadiness in his too-blue eyes and she somehow knew they’d find a way out of this. He’d figure it out. She trusted him.
    He’d noticed the stark difference between Gertie’s first question and the report she gave from the newspaper.
    “Not gonna happen.” Gertie’s voice had pitched low again, threatening, full of menace. “Not gonna happen.”
    She clung to Adam, shared a brief worried glance. Oh, yeah. The minute that transmission stopped, if Adam didn’t ask her what kind of information had to come along the wire at this late hour, then she most certainly would.
     

     
    Gertie came charging out of the second room, her telegraph-and-bedroom, Adam could see by the glimpse of a neatly made cot.
    She grabbed a pouch of ammunition, made apparent by the single bullet that fell out of the leather draw-string bag and rolled over the floor. Much to his surprise, she thrust it at him, ripped the rifle off the wall and pushed it into his hands. “Douse the light.”
    Adam swallowed, hard.
    The light tunneled, then disappeared into the darkness. Josie must’ve obeyed Gertie’s order.
    “Gertie?” Adam called to the woman who’d darted back into the bedroom— at least he thought she had. You want to tell me what’s going on? What did that message say that has you so riled up?”
    Just then another transmission came clicking across the wire in a barrage of dots and dashes. If he lived through this crazy week, he was going to learn Morse.
    Not that he’d ever need it again.
    Because he and Josie were going to live a long, prized, quiet life somewhere.
    But first they had to survive this.
    He fumbled his way through the rifle, ensuring it was loaded. He slung the pouch of ammunition over his head to make for easy access. The bag hung open, right at his breastbone. A little high for comfort, but it would do.
    “Gertie?” He called.
    “I’m kinda busy.”
    He found his way to the door, wished for the slightest bit of moonlight to see her by. He couldn’t be sure in the near pitch-black, but he thought she might have been operating the telegraph key rather than just listening.
    “Gertie— so help me, if you’re telling somebody where we are I might have to hold you at gunpoint.”
    “Shush up.” Gertie kept clicking away.
    Josie touched his arm.
    A rush of protectiveness, every bit as powerful as it had been those last minutes in the rail car, in those moments where he’d stared death in the face and had leaped, on the off chance of saving Josie’s life, struck him and he nearly swayed.
    He kissed her brow, her cheek, her eyelid. “I love you, Josie Taylor. No matter what happens, you’ve got to believe that.”
    She grabbed his collar, tugged his head down for a kiss and touched her lips to his. Something told him he didn’t have the luxury of time to stand there, kissing his wife, that he ought to have his eyes and ears trained on the perimeter of Gertie’s homestead, ought to be watching for any signs of riders.
    Or gunmen sneaking up like thieves in the night.
    If Gertie had seen or heard something to alert her to his approach with Josie, chances were, if he focused his attention, he’d be able to see someone else creeping close.
    But… Josie’s kiss. Hot and powerful and full of an emotion he could