Rebel Outlaw

by Carol Arens

  Henry Broadhower shoved her aside, not seeming to care that he had thrown her into a stall door. Susan cried out in pain and grabbed her shoulder.

  “Henry Broadhower, get out of my barn.” Holly Jane rushed him. It was a foolish thing to do, the man was three times her size, but he could not be allowed to threaten children.

  He made a wide, balled-up swipe at her, but she ducked beneath his fist.

  “Ain’t your barn no more,” he snarled.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bethanne rush to Susan. She knelt beside her friend, holding and rocking her while she wept.

  “Folsom girl, get back to your own kind.”

  “Or what?” Holly Jane stood in front of both girls, presenting a frail barrier between them and Henry. “You’ll throw little Bethanne against the barn wall, too?”

  “I’ll hang her from the rafters by her dirty bloomers!” His ugly laugh pounded off the roof.

  The other children fled the barn, crying.

  “Here’s an idea,” he barked.

  He came toe-to-toe with her, so close that she could see the fine red veins in his bulbous nose as he stared her down. As much as she wanted to run for Colt, she couldn’t. One step to the left or right would give him a clear path to the girls.

  “You leave with me...we visit the preacher, and I don’t do a single thing to reprimand the girls.”

  “Don’t do it, Miss Munroe,” Susan gritted through her pain.

  “Here’s a better idea, Sap Head. You don’t reprimand the girls and I won’t kill you.”

  Henry spun about. With his attention distracted, Holly Jane hurried to the girls and grabbed a pitchfork leaning on the inside of the stall.

  Why had she insisted that Colt go without his weapon? It had been foolish. Now it might be up to her to fend off this crazy Broadhower with a rusty tool. She wasn’t certain she had the strength.

  “How you aim to do that, seein’ as you ain’t armed?”

  “I’m smarter than you are.” Colt walked in a circle; Broadhower pivoted, following his movement. Colt stopped when he had positioned himself between her and Broadhower. “Stronger, too.”

  From behind, she watched Colt’s posture begin to subtly change. He was going to attack, but his enemy was blustering too pompously to notice.

  “Too bad for you.” Henry reached into his pocket. “I brought my sidearm.”

  Colt sprang. He grabbed Broadhower at the knees. The big man tumbled backward and hit his head on the barn floor. Colt dived on top of him, with a knee to his groin. He snatched the gun from Henry’s fist.

  “Too bad for you, you’re stupid.” Colt extended the gun to her. “Dump this in the water trough, Sunshine.”

  Holly Jane dropped the pitchfork and grabbed the gun. She held it away from her and hurried to the trough. The gun gurgled through the water then hit the bottom with a thunk.

  Henry shoved Colt off him then lumbered to his feet. What the man couldn’t see, and Holly Jane could, was Colt’s grin.

  He snarled and lunged, but Colt caught his arm, yanked it behind him and slammed Henry into the barn wall.

  The snap of bone made her cringe.

  “Looks like you broke your shoulder, Slim.” Colt took a position between Henry and the girls. “If I were you I’d get on home. Make sure you’ve got water running through your place in the morning.”

  Henry stumbled out of the barn, his yowl screeching until the woods absorbed the sound.

  Colt stooped down and inspected Susan’s shoulder.

  “Don’t think it’s broken, miss, but we better have the doc take a look at it.” He gathered her gently in his arms and stood up.

  “I’m going with you,” Holly Jane said.

  “Grannie and Aunt Tillie are uneasy. Will you stay and see to them for me?”

  She nodded.

  He set off toward town carrying Susan because it would be gentler than riding a horse. Bethanne walked beside them, gazing up at Colt like she was falling in love.

  Well, Holly Jane sighed, closing the barn door then walking back toward the house, who wouldn’t fall in love with him?

  * * *

  Colt walked around the edge of the carousel platform. The echo of his boots striking wood was muted by the curtain of snowfall drifting past the roof.

  The lamps in the house had flickered out an hour ago.

  If Holly Jane were coming, she ought to have been here by now.

  He huddled into his duster and stared at her bedroom window.

  He couldn’t blame her for not showing. He was a rough man, sometimes violent. She had witnessed that firsthand a few hours ago.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have said that thing about not riding the elephant. It must have pushed her away.

  Hell, she was probably shivering in her bed for fear of him. Being sweet and gentle like she was, she wouldn’t understand that there were men in the world who didn’t respect anything but a strong hand.

  The fact that he’d simply given Broadhower a broken shoulder showed his restraint. The man deserved to have all his bones broken for the way he had treated his niece.

  Colt had carried Susan to town as carefully as though he were toting a bag of eggs. The pain in her shoulder had to be intense, but she hadn’t cried out over it.

  The same couldn’t be said of her uncle, who had gotten to the doctor ahead of them and wailed his lungs out while his shoulder was set.

  It worried him that Holly Jane had not even come out to find out what had become of Susan. She might at least have met him on the porch.

  As it turned out, the girl would be black-and-blue for a good long time, but as far as the doc could see, nothing had been broken. The doc and his wife had insisted that she spend the night with them, or forever, depending upon how long it took Henry Broadhower to become halfway reasonable.

  Colt waited, shivering under his coat for another half hour before he figured that Holly Jane was not going to meet him.

  Couldn’t blame her, really. The rough side of him had been let loose this afternoon. As necessary as that had been, it made him feel dirty...cursed by his bloodline.

  Chances are, Holly Jane had not shown up because she’d seen a man she didn’t want.

  * * *

  Colt decided two things during the night. One was that the barn was too cold for a human to sleep in when he had a perfectly good bedroom in the house.

  The other was that he was going to talk to Grannie and Aunt Tillie and find out what to do about Holly Jane. He meant to plead his case to her and those wise old women might know how to go about it better than he did.

  He came inside through the kitchen mudroom, dusting the snow from his hat and stomping it from his boots.

  The scent of flapjacks and melted butter greeted him. So did Lulu. Her small feet tapped across the kitchen floor. She chuffed at his boots then nipped his pant leg. The pig tried to yank his leg toward the back door.

  The animal’s behavior was odd. So was the fact that she was still here. Normally, she would have accompanied Holly Jane to The Sweet Treat.

  It was unusual for Holly Jane to stay home from work, no matter what the weather. She was dedicated to buying back the ranch; she never let a foul day stand in the way of earning the next dollar toward that cause...as futile as the cause was.

  “Hey, Bacon, let loose or you’ll pay for the mending.” He reached for the pig but she scuttled to the back door and sat down in front of it. She grunted.

  “Holly Jane sick?” he asked as if the animal could understand him. To give the porker her due, she was a smart critter and seemed to understand when Holly Jane spoke to her. “Is that why she didn’t go to work?”

  Or show up at the carousel?

  He found Grannie and Aunt Tillie sitting at the dining
table.

  “You seen Holly Jane?”

  “Not since bedtime.” Aunt Tillie set down the knife she had just dipped in a pot of honey. “I heard the door close late, but I assumed she went to meet you.”

  Colt turned toward the hall with Lulu trotting beside him. He took the stairs two at time.

  He knocked on Holly Jane’s closed door.

  Silence... No rustling of bedclothes, no even rise and fall of breathing to indicate that she was sleeping.

  Fear began a slow cramp in his belly.

  Broadhower had been in no condition to take her the way he had threatened to, but what about one of the Folsoms? They wanted Holly Jane, too.

  He opened the door. A sleeping gown lay across the bed, fresh and unused.

  “I don’t believe she slept in her bed last night,” Grannie observed.

  “Maybe she’s at The Sweet Treat.” Aunt Tillie went to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked out. “The snow isn’t too deep.”

  Colt crossed to the wardrobe and yanked the door open. “If she did, she was wearing the same dress as yesterday. It’s not in here.”

  Blood swelled in his veins, hot and angry. It thudded in his ears; it sounded like a drum...a war drum. There might be a Folsom or a Broadhower who wouldn’t see a healthy sundown.

  “Must have been Cyrus, after all,” Grannie said. “He told me to tell you that you can have her back when you take your rightful place in the family.”

  “Cyrus was here?” Colt spoke gently to Grannie, even though his temper had him needing to shout.

  “I said so, I’m sure, only yesterday.”

  “But we thought...” Aunt Tillie sat down hard on the bed. “With the alligator and the monkey... I’m sorry, Rose... I thought Cyrus was the same.”

  “I should have listened to you, Grannie. I’m damn sorry I didn’t.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “Well, she’ll be safe from the Folsoms and the Broadhowers for the time being.”

  “And we know where he is taking her,” Aunt Tillie said.

  To the Broken Brand...a ranch just this side of Hell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Poor Colt...poor little boy, was the only thing that Holly Jane could think of when she saw the Broken Brand in the distance. Knowing what he had gone through as a child in this place made it look all the more miserable.

  She sat on one of the horses that Cyrus Travers had stolen from behind a saloon in Brownsite, Nebraska and wanted to weep for the first time since Colt’s cousin had snatched her on her way to the outhouse.

  How this collection of ramshackle sheds could have produced a man like Colt was hard to imagine.

  “Almost home, Miss Munroe.” Cyrus’s stale breath fouled the air, even from a distance of five feet. “Once Colt Wesson marries you, you’ll be queen of all this.”

  “What if he doesn’t come?” She breathed in shallow breaths hoping that he would turn his face away.

  “I was watching when you didn’t notice. I saw how things were. Wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of escorting you here if that weren’t true.”

  Escorting was not quite the word she would have used. He had overcome her by locking his arm around her neck and squeezing until she passed out.

  She had come to in the back of a buckboard. When she tried to climb out, he’d done it to her again.

  At one point she’d heard him telling someone that his wife was asleep in back, ailing with the monthlies.

  She’d struggled to rise from the splintered bed but her head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Judging by the nasty taste in her mouth she suspected she’d been drugged with some disgusting brew.

  She hadn’t been able to tell how much time passed since she’d been aware of anything, but it seemed to be early afternoon. As her mind had cleared, one thing had become perfectly apparent...she had no idea where she was. She might try to escape, but what would come of it? She had no money, no means of getting anywhere, even if she knew where it was she ought to get to.

  There was only one hope...that Colt would come for her. While she didn’t know where she was, he very likely did.

  Her best chance of getting home was to stay with Cyrus, so she had crossed miles of desolate land without a struggle.

  “He left this place behind,” she said. “He won’t come.”

  “I’ve picked my bait well. He’ll come.” Cyrus scratched his ear.

  “Why do you want him back so bad when he doesn’t want to be here?”

  “It’s his obligation. As Pappy Travers’s only son, it’s his place...and yourn’.”

  “My place is in Friendship Springs.”

  “Not anymore, it ain’t. You’re the bride, kidnapped good and proper. Nearly so, leastwise. Ought to have been my cousin took you, himself.” He looked at her with a frown. “Doesn’t make any sense why you would want to stay there and be snatched up by that big Broadhower fellow. My cousin has his shortcomings and I won’t deny it, but he’s a better choice.”

  “It was you who hit Henry with the rock?”

  “Couldn’t very well let him take you when I meant to do it myself.”

  “Thank you, Cyrus...I think.”

  “No need to. Once my cousin marries you and takes his place as leader, I’ll be bound to do whatever you say.”

  “Why?”

  What would make him say such a thing?

  “Haven’t you got ears, girl? Blood obligation—that’s what this whole thing has been about from the get-go. Some’s obliged to lead, some’s obliged to follow.”

  “What happens if he doesn’t marry me and take his place?”

  “I won’t have any cause to see to your safety.” He looked at her, his expression hard. In his stare she saw that a lifetime of crime had snuffed out the man’s moral fiber, had there been any to begin with. “Better hope he comes.”

  An hour later they reined up in front of a building that looked like it wouldn’t last through the winter.

  A woman came out of the house to stand on the slanted porch, her hands fisted on her hips and her smile as welcoming as a rattlesnake’s. Old clothing hung from her shoulders, the color washed out of the fabric long ago.

  “This is what you brought back, brother?” The woman approached her. She came close and fingered the hem of Holly Jane’s warm wool skirt.

  “Her and the horses.” Cyrus dismounted and strode over to the woman, the leather of his boots squeaking as he walked.

  “Like to see her last the winter.”

  “She don’t have to, Edith, just long enough to bring Colt home.”

  “We don’t need him. He never was a Travers worthy of the name.” She yanked on Holly Jane’s hem. “Get down off the horse so we can see to its care.”

  Holly Jane dismounted, stroking the animal’s jaw and whispering in its ear. With a snort, it nuzzled her ribs. The poor thing probably missed home. It would be a shame to see the creature become as skinny and swaybacked as the few standing listlessly in the corral.

  Frigid wind blew over the land. It caught her skirt, swirled it up to reveal her lacy petticoat.

  Edith’s eyes widened for a second, then hardened.

  “You’ll be staying over there.” She nodded her head at what, in kindly terms, could be called a shed.

  The splintered building was all the way on the far side of the corral. At best it would keep out some of the wind.

  “Well, get moving.” Edith nudged her with an elbow in the back. “I don’t have all day to socialize.”

  Holly Jane walked toward the shed, wondering if this was the same building from which Colt used to free the captives. The thought gave her comfort.

  A man and a woman came out of what she guessed t
o be a bunkhouse. The woman cocked her head, staring in open curiosity. The man stared, too, but his glare was cold.

  “Butcher!” Edith yelled. A huge, hairy dog rounded the corner of the bunkhouse.

  The wolflike creature tore across the ground growling like it might be mad.

  Edith opened the door. “Get inside. This is where you’ll stay until Mr. Wonderful comes to claim us all.”

  She stepped into the box of a space. There were no windows, but light fingered through several gaps in the wall. So did the wind.

  “Take off that dress and be quick about it.” Edith shed her frayed gown and tossed it at Holly Jane. “Hurry up, girl. A body could freeze to death while you take your time.”

  “No.” She would not give up her gown.

  “Oh, you’ll give it over, Miss High and Mighty. You see that child over yonder? You give me that dress and it won’t get a whippin’ for feeding your horse a carrot.”

  “You are not a kind woman.” Holly Jane’s anger only made the woman smile. Since she believed that Edith would whip the child, she took off her pretty new gown and handed it over.

  Edith Travers snorted. “Kind doesn’t get you anywhere out here. Hand over them petticoats, too. You can keep your drawers.”

  “Guard,” she commanded the dog. “Butcher is half dog, half wolf and three-quarters wild. He might not bite if you keep still.”

  Edith slammed the door. A bolt slid into place on the outside.

  “I reckon we’re stuck in here together, Butcher.” She shimmied into Edith’s stained gown then sat down on the bare floor. She motioned the dog forward. He hesitated. “Poor pup, I don’t suppose you’re used to a friendly voice.”

  Butcher cocked his large head and considered her with wary-looking yellow eyes.

  “Come on, fellow. We’ll need to keep each other warm.”

  She opened her arms and he lumbered forward. His fur felt lush under her fingers, warmer than a thick coat.

  “That’s a good boy. We’ll get on fine, won’t we?”

  The dog lay down beside her and she curled about him the best she could. A vicious wind shook the shed. The constant creaking made her wonder if the rickety shelter would hold up. If it didn’t, if it came apart about her head, she would be able to escape, but to where?