No. She shook her head. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t picture herself killing someone. Not in cold blood. But then she thought about what she knew of this man who was knowingly leading her, like a lamb to slaughter, to certain death in Mexico. For money. And he’d killed Mama and Papa. They were still Mama and Papa to her, even if they weren’t her real folks. And he’d killed them. And caused Hannah and Jacey to be in danger.
He deserved to die. That awful truth had her tearing at the ropes, trying desperately, mightily to get a finger under one coil, just one. Her fruitless efforts only fueled her temper, her determination. Maybe if she was mad enough, then just maybe—She gasped. The rope gave. She stared at it, frowning. Did it give, or was it her imagination? She shot a glance at Justice. He rode on, unaware. Keeping her fingertip locked in its lifesaving place, Glory breathed shallowly, terrified the least movement from her would undo this tiny bit of hope.
Then bravely, she looked down and flexed her finger. And almost burst into tears when it slipped easily under the rope. Blinking, grimacing, totally rapt with what she was doing, she crooked her finger and tugged. What she saw slumped her shoulders in relief. The coil she’d managed to loosen was the one that sported the knot, the top one looped over the saddle horn. If she could work it loose and slip it over the horn, then she could get loose. All she needed now was time.
Just then she realized that Daisy was circling and slowing. No! She jerked her head up to see Justice reining in his buckskin and pulling in the slack on her reins. No, not yet. Glory frantically yanked on the rope … and watched the knot draw tighter. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Look what she’d done—her rash actions had only made things worse. Like everything else I’ve done since Jacey left. That thought did it.
Glory stilled and closed her eyes, thinking that maybe she wasn’t supposed to escape. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to live. It was just too darned hard and nothing she did was right. This was hopeless, the whole thing. Opening her eyes, she saw Justice handling his canteen of water. Glory ran her tongue over her dry lips, watching the tracker take a deep swallow and then stare at her.
Refusing to let him see the need in her eyes, Glory cast a secretive look down at her finger looped through the rope. And then, with a complete swing in emotions, nearly burst out laughing. Could she be more pathetic? She looked up at Justice, saw him grimly squinting at her. Suddenly he didn’t look as threatening as he did funny, what with his receding chin, skinny neck, and oversized hat. Glory swallowed convulsively, again to keep from laughing. She couldn’t give in to it. For one thing, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop. For another, if she laughed at him, he’d most likely shoot her.
So she wisely looked away, seeking the low and distant horizon as a distraction. It then occurred to her that she’d just reaffirmed for her flagging spirit that she did, after all, want to live. Because she’d looked away to keep from laughing, to keep from getting shot. That had to mean something. Yes, it did. It meant for her to live, Justice had to die. She exhaled, bit at her lower lip in concentration. There it was again. She was going to have to kill him.
Could she? Glory considered her … victim. A cold-blooded, merciless killer by trade. Her eyes narrowed, her lips firmed into a grim line. If it came down to him or her, then she could do it. Because she had plenty of reasons to live. She had Biddy and her sisters. She also had the ranch—Mama and Papa Lawless’s dream of a good life for their daughters … including her. She dreamed of making the ranch even bigger and better, and of filling the house again with the sounds of love and laughing children.
Which brought her steadily warming heart around to the love she bore for Riley Eugene Thorne. Right now he was out there somewhere, she just knew it, trying to find her. Because he loved her. It was that simple. Glory raised her chin as she blinked back tears she didn’t want to shed. Who wouldn’t want to live to be with a good man like Riley? Who wouldn’t want to be worthy of him?
“You want a drink?”
A taut jerk of her head and Glory looked into Justice’s brown eyes. No more than ten feet away, having drawn her mare close to his buckskin, his expression was open and asking, a simple question. Glory cut her wary gaze to his canteen, which he held out to her. And decided there was no sense in being stubborn and stupid. So she nodded. “Please.”
Edging his buckskin in even closer, the tracker fitted the canteen’s mouth to hers and tilted it up. Glory drank down gulp after gulp. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. Justice pulled the canteen away before she was done. Water sloshed down Glory’s chin and dripped onto her coat. She turned her head and raised a shoulder, clumsily trying to dry the water from her chin, but to no avail. Justice ignored her efforts while he stoppered his canteen and then looped its long strap over his saddle horn.
Done with that, he then didn’t do as Glory expected, which was to set out again, heading ever westward toward the Cimarron Cut-Off to the Santa Fe Trail. Instead, he just sat his horse and stared at her. Her heart picked up speed. What now? Tied up and helpless as she was, all she could do was wait him out. And be ready. A moment later, Justice frowned, lining his leathery brow as if in reaction to some thought or realization that clearly nagged him.
Had he noticed that her finger was crooked around the rope, that she’d been loosening it? Only an effort of sheer will kept Glory’s expression neutral, kept her from glancing down at her saddle horn and thus drawing his gaze there.
“I ain’t got nothin’ against you personally, Miz Glory,” the tracker blurted, breaking the silence.
Glory’s eyebrows winged upward, her mouth dropped open. She stared stupidly for long moments before repeating, “Nothing personal?”
Justice had enough of a soul to look uncomfortable, to lower his gaze to the reins fisted in his hand. He made a pretense of straightening them out.
An overwhelming urge to spit in his face seized Glory. Don’t make it worse, her conscience screamed. Later—when you’re not tied up—then you can fight him. But not now. If he wants to talk, then talk to him. Find out what you can to help yourself. Glory narrowed her eyes. All right, she’d talk to him. But that didn’t mean she had to be polite. Even Biddy wouldn’t require that, under the circumstances.
So, into the taut silence between them, Glory repeated—this time in a voice tight with anger, “Nothing personal? Look at me.” She waited for him to comply before making her point. “I’m tied to a horse and being led to a slaughter. By you. And this is only the latest in a string of sins that you’ve committed against me and my family. If there’s nothing personal in this, then it’s only because you didn’t know anything about me before you came here.”
Abel Justice nudged up his felt hat’s stiff brim. No trace of his former contrition or shame now marred his expression. “That was a mighty fine speech, Miz Glory. But I expect I know more about you than you do.”
Glory tensed. “What do you think you know?”
A smug leer split his lips open, exposing the crooked teeth in his mouth. “I know you ain’t no Lawless at all.”
Glory’s pulse quickened. This was exactly what she wanted him to talk about. “I know that, too. I also know that my real name is Beatrice Parker. That my real parents were killed by Kid Chapelo. And that J. C. Lawless brought me home to be raised as his daughter.” Glory paused, gloating over robbing Justice of his thunder. Seeing on his pinched-up face just how much he didn’t like it either, she added, “But I expect you know that, too.”
Justice eyed her a moment. But then some sly thought sharpened his expression, pulling the skin taut over his cheekbones. “I do—that and more. But here’s something I’ll bet you don’t know. Saving your life near to twenty years ago is what finally cost J. C. Lawless his.”
His words stabbed at Glory’s very soul. Her stomach pitched sickeningly. “You’re lying,” she cried, the words ripping out of her on an anguished sob.
Clearly pleased by her reaction, Justice arched an eyebrow. “Now what reason
would I have to lie?”
“You’re just trying to hurt me … to unnerve me. It can’t be true. It—”
“It is true. Every word.”
Just the way he said it made it sound true. She searched his face … and saw the truth in his brown eyes, in his sober expression. Then … it was as if the life drained right out of her, slumping her over her horse’s neck. Glory closed her eyes, tried to will away consciousness. How could she go on living? Mama and Papa dead. Because they’d taken her into their family. Hannah and Jacey would never forgive her.
How could she ever hope to make this up to them? For long moments, Glory thought of nothing. Instead, she concentrated only on feeling alive, on feeling the cold on her face, the heaviness of her braid as it hung down her back, Daisy’s shifting under her as she stamped the ground impatiently. But slowly, Glory became aware that she was indeed thinking, despite not wanting to. She realized too that, somewhere in the space of the last few moments, she’d reached a decision, one that changed everything. She opened her eyes, stared at Daisy’s coarse chestnut-colored mane, and formulated a plan.
She needed to know what Justice knew. Every detail. Then, armed with that knowledge, she’d rid herself of him—and thereby save Riley from having to do it. That part hadn’t changed. Then on her own terms, not like this—tied up and helpless—she’d find and face the man who’d ordered all this tragedy. And then she’d kill him. Or die trying. For Hannah and Jacey. She couldn’t bring back Mama and Papa, but she could avenge their murders. And if she lost her own life in the process? Who would care?
Riley’s handsome face popped into her head. Then she saw him raise his hands to her, as if begging her not to do this. Glory shook her head. No, Riley, don’t try to stop me. I have to do this. Don’t you see? It’s the only way. Just know that I have always loved you.
Done then with her good-byes, Glory raised her head, narrowed her dry and burning eyes, and met Justice’s gloating gaze. She’d gone through so many emotions in the past few moments that she’d almost forgotten his presence. Amazingly, he’d waited her out, hadn’t moved or said a word. Amazingly? Or because he enjoyed watching people suffer? Glory felt she knew which one. “Tell me how you know all this.”
A smirk of superiority lit his muddy eyes. “I’ve worked for Señor Calderon for more’n ten years. That’s how I know. I know everything about you.”
“Then tell me what you know. All of it.”
He pulled back, ducking his chin, looking askance at her now. Perhaps he belatedly weighed the wisdom of sharing his boss’s secrets with her, of giving her this proof of the señor’s guilt. Or perhaps he’d noted the change in her. The dead calm. The quietness. The unblinking stare. Or perhaps she gave him too much credit. Maybe he was just gathering his thoughts. Because he eagerly blurted, “Back then, after J. C. killed Kid Chapelo and pulled you out of that wagon and headed for home, it took a while for word to get back to the old don down in Sonora—”
“The old don? Who’s that?”
“Señor Calderon. He’s a don—some Spanish noble title. Rich as all get-out. Powerful mean, too. As like to shoot you as look at you.”
Some of the dead emptiness lifted from Glory, sharpening her intuition. Here it was. She could feel it—what she’d not been able to figure out before. This Calderon’s connection to her. Before, she’d been trying to figure out his connection to Mama and Papa. But now, thanks to Justice, she knew better. “What does he have to do with me?”
Justice frowned, managing only to look prissy. “I’m getting to it. Now, like I was saying, word got back to Señor Calderon and his daughter. Well, she took to crying and moaning something awful. Carried on like that day and night. Said she didn’t want to live no more.”
Glory thought she could understand the feeling. But not the reason—not for this Calderon daughter, anyway. “Why? I don’t understand.”
“Ain’t it obvious? Because she loved Kid Chapelo. Well, her pa put up with her antics for a spell. But then he arranged a marriage for her to some rich Spaniard. When the man came for her, she’d have none of him. And he sure didn’t want her like she was—all crying and crazylike, so he left. That’s when the beatings began. After one particular beating, she took her own life.”
Justice paused there, as if he expected Glory to be upset or saddened. She was both, but she showed him nothing. He shrugged and went on, this time almost thoughtfully. “Well, that put an end to it for years. Kid Chapelo was scum, and the old don hated him, but his daughter purely loved him, I suppose. But she was the only one. Still, I would’ve thought that his boy’d turn out better.”
Another prick of intuition quickened in Glory. Tidbits of Jacey’s letter began coming back to her. “His boy? What boy?”
“Kid Chapelo’s bastard by Señor Calderon’s daughter. Named him Zant. The old don loves that boy. Raised him himself. But Zant’s a wild one, like his pa—always in trouble. Fought at every turn with his grandfather. Until the last time. About five years ago, I suppose, Zant just up and told the old man he didn’t want nothing to do with him and then rode away. Señor Calderon hunted all over for him. And finally found him in a jail in Mexico a few months back. Paid his way out. But the boy wasn’t grateful. He told the old man he still didn’t want his money and his title. And left again. Shoulda let him rot in jail, if you ask me.”
With that, Justice surprised and frustrated Glory by wheeling his horse, playing out Daisy’s reins, and setting them off at a westward walk. Glory glared at her captor’s back. He hadn’t told her the one thing she needed to know the most. Namely, how any of this was connected to her—directly and with enough force to nurse a twenty-year grudge that evidently just exploded one day. What could have happened?
Obviously there was more to it than what Justice had just told her, some one thing that made this Señor Calderon hate her and all things Lawless. Which brought her thoughts to Jacey. Thinking of that brave little spitfire in Señor Calderon’s clutches, and wondering if she was still alive, if she suffered horribly, evoked a whimpering cry from Glory. In the prairie’s otherwise quiet, marked only by the horses’ plodding hooves, her gasp pierced the air, echoed loudly.
Justice pivoted in his saddle and stared at her. Glory stiffened her spine and met his gaze with a level stare. After apparently satisfying himself that she wasn’t up to anything, he faced forward, toward the west and the lowering sun.
Sighting on it herself, Glory spared a thought for their eventual destination. Sonora, Mexico. It hit her then with considerable emotional force, like it hadn’t before hearing Justice’s tale, that if she didn’t free herself soon, she’d be facing this Señor Calderon in the same circumstances as Jacey already had. A prisoner. And at the mercy of a man with no mercy in his soul.
Chapter 20
Glory’s heart thumped heavily around that eventuality. She peered around her at the lengthening shadows that slipped slowly over the surrounding hills. Long, fingery shadows that seemed to be closing in on her with malicious intent. Fingery shadows. Fingers. That reminded her—she glanced down at her tied hands, smiled at her finger still looped under the rope.
And began in earnest to work on freeing herself. Several minutes of surreptitious tugging and pulling, made all the more difficult by the steady numbing of her fingers and the raw chafing around her wrists, finally produced results. The rope gave. Glory sucked in a breath. She jerked her head up, waited a moment, and then exhaled in relief. If Justice had heard her, he gave no sign. Not daring to look away from him now, Glory eyed him as she slowly, steadily raised her wrists.
And nearly fainted dead away when the rope uncoiled itself from her pommel. She was halfway free. In her excitement, she nearly unseated herself. Glory tensed her legs around Daisy’s belly and clutched at the saddle horn. She took the few seconds she needed to settle herself into the swing of her mare’s gait, to steady her balance with her knees. Then she brought her wrists up to her mouth and worked the knots with her teeth.
If Justice turned around now, she was dead. That certitude kept her sighted firmly on his bobbing head as she gnawed like a little mouse on the rough coils of the thin rope. More than once she scraped her gums. More than once she bumped her bottom lip between the rope and her teeth. More than once she tasted her own blood. But not once did she stop, not once did she allow any second-guessing to undermine her determination.
So intense was her concentration that she didn’t immediately realize what it meant when she pulled her wrists away from her mouth … and the rope remained captured between her teeth.
For a split second, Glory stared at her hands. Shock caused her to bite down on the rope that dangled limply, like a dead snake, from her mouth. She was free. To prove it to her disbelieving mind, she flexed her fingers, straightened out her cramping arms. Then the enormity of what she’d done struck her like a blow. She really was free. Her belly quivered with victory. But the giddiness was short-lived. She was also now committed to her plan to kill Abel Justice. Just thinking his name settled her gaze on the man’s neck.
Hardening her heart to what she had to do, Glory plucked the rope out of her mouth and coiled it in loops, like she would a lasso, around her hand. She’d have to be careful to make Justice think she was still tied up. Because her only weapons, against his superior strength and his gun, were this length of rope and the element of surprise. With Daisy tied to the buckskin, Justice controlled her every movement. So, Glory reasoned, her one and only chance would be when he stopped them again—probably for camp tonight—and came unsuspectingly back to untie her so she could dismount.
Seasons of Glory Page 30