Billy and Emilio were fighting for their lives.
“We’ve got to get down there!” McIntyre shoved his hat down tighter. “Ian, did you get the one above us?”
He watched the tree line for a moment more then nodded. “I believe so.”
“All right, you and Beckwith try to work your way around to the corral and draw the fire from those men at the wagon.” He leapt to his feet, kept his head down and hollered over his shoulder, “Matthew, come with me!” Matthew cocked his rifle and followed.
Bullets whizzed past McIntyre’s head, ricocheting off the rocks and pines as he ran. He heard gunshots, screams, and a piercing war cry from inside the cabin. Then, the screeching, splintering sound of wood as a big, heavy warrior crashed through the front door. He flailed wildly for two steps but momentum carried him off the porch and he fell backwards into the dirt, a red stain spreading on his chest. That left four Indians and their four trading partners. The boys still apparently had no idea there were three renegades holed up against the exterior wall.
McIntyre zigzagged through the scrub brush to the spot where Billy and Emilio had crossed to the cabin, likewise stopping at the juniper. The back door opened and Billy, his Winchester raised, peered outside, checking for enemies. As he turned his head, an Indian leapt out from the other side of the cabin, rifle at his shoulder. McIntyre snatched up his .30-30 and fired. The Indian stumbled back and collapsed. Billy pressed himself against the door post, eyes wide as full moons. McIntyre waved his rifle at the boy and nodded reassuringly.
One more down …
Knowing that he had compromised his position by shooting, McIntyre motioned for Matthew to get ready. He eyed the side of the cabin for more movement. Nothing, either the other two were waiting or had run and joined the men at the wagon. A burst of gunfire seemed to argue in favor of that theory.
Aware that Ian and Beckwith couldn’t see him or Matthew, he prayed Wade could and sprinted for the open door. Matthew followed, moving like the injury to his side was only a bad dream. Nearing the entrance, a shot rang out, followed by a garbled howl from the other side of the cabin. Wade had hit someone, thank God. McIntyre dove through the door and landed on his stomach, followed almost simultaneously by Matthew. Relieved they’d made it this far, McIntyre gazed up into a face smeared with blood.
~~~
Fifty-Five
McIntyre scrambled to his feet and snatched Naomi away from the girls who were clutching her. “My God, are you all right?” he asked, his relief nearly choking his voice.
Naomi threw herself into his arms and hugged him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. “I knew you’d come for us.” She kissed him like she hadn’t seen him in a hundred years. For a moment he held her just as tightly, gripping her like she might keep him from going over a cliff.
But this reunion had to wait. He pulled away. “We have to get you out of here.” He didn’t want to think about why she was smeared with blood, and whether it was hers or someone else’s.
The three other girls hunkered down in a corner, while Billy and Emilio crouched at each entrance. A bullet whizzed through the open window, spraying splinters on the girls. “Down! Everyone, down,” McIntyre ordered as he released Naomi and shoved her toward the girls. He cocked the Winchester, turned and joined Billy at the back door. “Any second now an Indian on the other side of this wall is going to charge in here to get away from Wade.” He nodded at Emilio, alone at the front door. “Get ready.” Out of the side of his mouth, he told Matthew, “Get these girls out of here. We’ll bring up the rear, maybe get the one on the outside.”
The big man nodded and quietly gathered the girls. “When I say run, ladies, run like a pack of wolves is after you.” Wide-eyed like frightened children, they nodded and let Matthew bunch them closer to the door. With the injuries to this party, McIntyre knew they wouldn’t move like greased lightning, but between Billy, Emilio, and himself, they should be able to give the cover necessary to get the girls into the brush so they could scurry up the mountain.
A storm of gunshots started up again. McIntyre could tell it was Ian and Beckwith firing and it sounded as if they’d made it to the corral. Rifle blazing, a brave exploded through the cabin’s front door. McIntyre saw a blur of buckskin and fringe. He and Emilio and Billy fired. Guns roared, wood splintered. The Indian jittered like a convulsing bug in the hail of bullets. Before he fell to the floor, Matthew yelled, “Go, go, go!” shoving the girls out the door.
In a flurry of calico, they scurried like mice, followed immediately by the men. As he hurried toward the exit, McIntyre glanced down at each of the dead. One-Who-Cries was not among them. A battle still raged between the men hiding behind the wagon and Beckwith and Ian. Perhaps if he could make sure the girls were getting away, he could get in position to help them.
As McIntyre stepped outside the cabin, Billy and Matthew glanced over their shoulders at him, but their gazes jerked to something behind him. While Matthew almost smiled, Billy’s eyes rounded in shock. The hair on McIntyre’s neck stood up.
“Where did he come from …?” Billy whispered. McIntyre started to turn. “Look out!” Billy lunged for McIntyre, spinning him around as a rifle fired. Eyes rounding in confusion, the boy clutched McIntyre’s lapels and slid to his knees. Sounding far away and almost surreal, Naomi screamed the boy’s name. An instant later, Hannah screamed. As Billy fell to the ground, McIntyre saw the spreading bloodstain on the boy’s side.
Horror turned to fury as the sound of a rifle cocking brought his gaze up to One-Who-Cries. Smoke wafted from the end of the renegade’s rifle and he glared at McIntyre. Matthew had seen the Indian, too, yet he hadn’t uttered a sound.
Sneering, the Indian started to raise the rifle for another shot. In a blur of motion, McIntyre dropped his Winchester and whipped out his revolver. Before One-Who-Cries could blink, the Colt was pointing at his head. The Indian froze.
Finally …
The hunger for revenge raged in McIntyre’s heart. The blood on Naomi. The bullet in Billy. Friends from long ago, skinned alive and hung out for the bears to eat. “Ned Bess, Leo Frey, and Warren Cornelius. Three good men you butchered.” Squeezing the rifle in his left hand with a death grip, he cocked the .44 and picked a spot in the middle of the brave’s forehead.
His finger tightened on the trigger … the steel was cold and eager to kill.
But the will to pull the trigger suddenly left him.
And he knew why. The answer shined before him as brilliantly as the sun that burns away the clouds after a hard rain. If he killed solely for vengeance, then he was a murderer and nothing had changed. But he wasn’t the same man. God had changed him. He had forgiven him. He felt it in his soul, finally. Now McIntyre had to forgive himself, let the past go. Staring down the barrel at his enemy, he could make that choice now.
You said anything, the Lord reminded him. Give Me your hate.
The moment hung between them.
One-Who-Cries was imprisoned by his past, shackled to his hate. But McIntyre wasn’t anymore. “I will not murder you.” Filled with an amazing sense of peace, he dropped the hammer, holstered his gun and let his hands fall to his side.
A muscle in One-Who-Cries’ jaw ticked. His eyes darkened and he smiled, a dark, bitter thing better left under a rock. “Fat Buffalo, Two Moons … Hopping Bird. My family, butchered by whites.”
The muscles flexed in One-Who-Cries’ shoulder as the Indian jerked the rifle up. McIntyre snatched the .44 free from the holster faster than lightning arcs from sky to earth. Fire exploded from the barrel. The fatal bullet knocked One-Who-Cries back a dozen feet. The Indian landed spread eagle on the ground, staring up at the sky with cold, dead eyes. McIntyre took a step back from the once-vicious warrior and lowered his gun.
~~~
Hannah, Mollie, Terri and Naomi scrambled into the safety of the brush like panicked rabbits. Refusing to think about what might be happening behind them, Hannah surveyed the scrub and juniper ahead, trying t
o determine the fastest path to the tree line, only fifty or so feet beyond them.
She turned to the girls following her: Mollie, marching with determination; Naomi, skirt gathered in her hands, fully poised to run; and Terri, on her feet but quivering wildly with fear. Resolute, she grabbed Terri’s hand. “Come on, we need to make it to the trees.” She spun, prepared to lunge for the cover when an Indian rode out of the forest above them. Joseph Black Elk sat atop Cochise, Emilio’s horse. Freezing all four of the girls in their steps, his baleful glare sent slivers of ice through Hannah. Slowly, he raised his bow and aimed the arrow at her heart.
She heard the gasps from behind her, but for Hannah, the moment hung in eternity. No fear, no thoughts. In the back of her mind a prayer drifted heavenward, but she was entranced by his eyes, dark orbs of pain and hate … and weariness. She heard the gunshot down near the cabin, followed by Naomi’s scream, “No. Billy!” Now, heedless of the brave and his arrow, Hannah whipped her head around and saw Billy fall.
No, no, God, please, no!
Determined that whether an arrow was flying toward her or not, Hannah was going to get to Billy. But she had to know. She turned back to Black Elk.
He hadn’t moved. The arrow hung in the bow, poised for death. She thought of the man whose back Black Elk had filled with arrows. It didn’t matter. He would not stop her from getting to Billy. Hannah shook her head and spun away from him, flinching, ready for the arrow. Mollie and Terri stood transfixed. After a moment, Hannah heard pounding hooves fading off into the mountains.
“Billy,” she skidded to a stop and dropped down on her knees. Shot in the side, bleeding profusely, he lay facing the sky, his breath coming in hitched exchanges. She didn’t know if she should move him or even touch him. Her hands hovered over him. “Billy, hold on. Everything is going to be all right.” Tears choked her voice and the stark terror that he might die froze her mind … except for the realization that she didn’t want to live without him. “Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for being so prideful.”
His mouth worked, opened, closed, finally he managed, “I love you, Hannah.” He swallowed, flinching as if something hurt. “Emilio …”
“He’s right here.”
Emilio touched his arm. “Si. I am here.”
“If I don’t make it …” Billy struggled to speak, his voice weakening with every syllable like a child dozing off. “If I don’t make it, promise me you’ll take care … take care of them.”
“No, Billy,” Hannah squeaked. “Don’t you say that.” Her tears gushed. “Don’t you say that!”
Emilio leaned closer to Billy and whispered, “You have my promise, but you don’t need it, my friend. You will make it.”
He will make it. Anger swallowed Hannah’s fear. She was a nurse and she was capable of more than crying like a simpering fool. Billy needed her. She slapped her hand to his side and closed her mind to the warm liquid seeping between her fingers. “We have to stop the bleeding. Emilio, rip a piece of cloth from my skirt.”
Please, God, make it stop.
~~~
Shots rang out again on the other side of the cabin, reminding McIntyre of the lives still on the line. He knelt down to the unconscious Billy and touched his shoulder, grateful for the boy’s sacrifice. “You came a long way to take a bullet for me,” he whispered. “Thank you. Now, hang on and we’ll get you out of here.”
Wondering if Billy had heard any of that, McIntyre pulled the stick of dynamite from the boy’s pocket and inched along the outer wall of the cabin. He glanced around the corner. He could see movement behind the wagon, but no clear targets. “Wade, can you hear me?” he shouted at the deputy.
“Yessir!”
“We have these boys surrounded on three sides now. Let’s end this. Move in and toss a stick of dynamite at them with your previous accuracy.” What was that in Spanish? “Lanzala … dinamita!”
“Yessir!”
Quick, shuffling sounds and anxious mutterings came from behind the wagon. McIntyre peered out once more and scanned the bloody, obliterated remains of the four men and their horses, a strong argument for these banditos to give up the fight. Shortly, from behind the wagon four pairs of hands rose toward the sky and someone yelled, “¡No más! No más!”
~~~
Fifty-Six
“Near as I can tell, the bullet hit a rib and bounced off,” Hannah said, leaning close to the hole in Billy’s side. The men had laid Billy on the back of the wagon where she cleaned the wound with whiskey from the gun traders. Billy had hissed and told her that hurt worse than getting shot. She hoped his sense of humor was a good sign. “He’s got a good, clean exit wound and the bleeding has stopped.” She peered closer at the injury. I don’t think it damaged anything too important.”
“I’m glad you’re so sure,” Billy said, stopping her hand from its not-so-gentle-probing.
She tightened her lips, unhappy with his sarcasm. “It could have been much worse.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and turned to the group that watched her so keenly. “I’ve never done this but I think I should sew him up before we move him.”
What she wouldn’t give for Doc Cooke to be here to do this.
“You people don’t need Wade or me for this,” Beckwith said, sizing Hannah up with a respectful nod. “But you might can use this.” He tossed her a small, leather case. “You should find everything necessary for fixing a bullet hole in that.” Quickly, his eyes sought out Mr. McIntyre. “Since you need the wagon, you see those rifles make it back to town. And take care of digging the graves.” He pointed a bony finger at Emilio. “You come with us, to get these banditos back to town. Si?”
Emilio’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “Si.”
Beckwith tipped his hat to the group and marched off. Wade started to follow, but Mr. McIntyre touched him on the shoulder. “Wade, you saved our—” He stopped, and then started over, “You saved us today. Thank you.”
Everyone else muttered their thanks and Hannah grinned at the blush that crept up the deputy’s neck all the way to his forehead. When the men were gone, she turned to Mollie. “I could use your help.”
“Nobody starts anything until I get a few shots of the liquor,” Billy pointed at his mouth, “in here this time.”
~~~
Naomi moved Terri away from the surgery, figuring the poor thing had seen enough blood. She gazed up at Naomi as they walked. “You really should wash all that blood off.”
Naomi touched her cheek, felt the dry, crusty blood on her cheek. She had completely forgotten what a sight she must be. Eager to get the Indian’s blood off her, she tucked Terri under the porch roof of the cabin and smiled reassuringly at her. “They found some jerky in that wagon. I’ll get it and a canteen of water. That should fix us both up.”
She headed back to the wagon and saw Charles leave Ian to intercept her. She was so relieved to see him and so confused. After all of this, she just wanted to forget the vision of him in the arms of another woman and pretend it never happened. But could she?
“Naomi.” He approached her carefully, hands behind his back. His white shirt wasn’t white anymore and grime filled in the small lines around his eyes and on his neck. Unspoken thoughts flitted across his face, every muscle in him tensed. After several seconds of searching for the right words, he settled on, “You didn’t see what you thought you saw. I swear it. And it’s that simple.”
Willing to accept that, but not willing to discuss it at the moment, she took a deep breath. “Charles, I feel so overwhelmed right now. We’ll talk about it later.”
He raised his hand to her cheek, the one her captor had slapped, and a moan escaped her. The flesh was tender and no doubt several shades of black and blue. “One-Who-Cries?”
She nodded.
The battle between who Charles McIntyre was, and who he wanted to be, played out in his eyes. She touched his beard, stubbly, less than perfect, and then let her fingers drift to his chest. “Let the dea
d bury their dead.”
He swallowed and touched her hand. Sadness filled his eyes, but he blinked it away. “Speaking of which, Ian and I are going to bury these dead.” He lingered a moment longer, opened his mouth as if to add something, but pulled away from her instead. Naomi watched him as he rejoined Ian. The storm of emotion raging in him troubled her. She supposed it could be a million things. Regret over the incident with the hussy in the saloon. Disappointment he hadn’t protected her from One-Who-Cries.
But it had looked like good-bye.
~~~
Fifty-Seven
Once back at Sarah’s, Naomi cried over the reunions. She cried willingly and without shame. Rebecca threw herself into Ian’s embrace, nearly knocking him off the porch. He spun his new wife around like a precious treasure dropped into his arms.
Sarah met the wagon in the yard so Little Billy could greet his parents. His arms went out to them and as Billy crawled slowly, gingerly off the tail gate, they all heard, “Dada.”
Billy froze, gazing at his son with stars in his eyes. Grinning, Sarah handed the boy to his father. Hannah and Billy hugged their baby till the child must have thought his parents were going to smother him.
As Naomi watched from beside the wagon, a hand slipped into hers, fingers entwining. Deaf and blind she would’ve known him and she squeezed his hand in recognition.
“Naomi … we need to talk.”
Charles’ smooth, velvety voice was filled with misery. Dirty, untrimmed, a bit disheveled, he stole her heart all over again. She nodded, and he pulled her away from the group. They wandered for several minutes through a field of sweet-smelling timothy. Beneath a canopy of emerging stars and a rising, sliver-of-a-moon, he stopped and turned to her. The western sky still held enough light that she could see him well. She was startled by his troubled brow and tight lips. “Naomi, I can’t marry you.”
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 33