Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  His heart breaking for her injuries, for the swelling bruise on her jaw, for the multitude of scrapes and scratches that dared mar her china-doll face, Riley lifted her off the ground, pressing her beloved body to him and swinging her around and around. She clung tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, nestling her soft but cold cheek against his.

  Nothing had ever felt so right to Riley in his entire life. He emptied his heart of words. “I love you, Glory. I was so damned scared for you. I swear I’ll never let you out of my sight again—never. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. Ever. I swear it.”

  “Oh, Riley,” Glory cried, pulling back until she could look into his face. Riley lowered her to the ground and roved his gaze over her precious features, loving each and every one, as she stared up at him, cupped his cheek, and cried, “I was so seared. I thought I’d never see you again. When I didn’t think I could go on, when I didn’t believe I was going to live, I’d picture your face, Riley. And I’d hold on. Because I love you, too.”

  His world completed by her words, by her nearness, Riley lowered his head to kiss her, but before he could capture her lips, a big, reddish, bloodhound head nosed its whining way between them, wriggling until it separated them. Still holding Glory by her arms, Riley stepped back and teased, “Dammit, Skeeter, can’t I even kiss my woman?”

  Tail wagging—alternately slapping against Riley’s leg and then Glory’s skirt, Skeeter arr-oohed his baying opinion of that. And got himself laughed at for his efforts. Glory pulled out of Riley’s embrace to kneel down beside the dog and hug his great head to her chest. She laid her cheek atop his furry brow and turned her green eyes up to Riley. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for him. Skeeter saved my life.”

  Riley firmed his lips and stroked the big dog’s back. “So would my mother and Miss Biddy be, if not for Skeeter’s nose. He led us right to them.”

  A gasp of relief brought Glory to her feet. “Then you found them? They’re okay?”

  “Yeah. They’re fine. Maybe a little sore from being bumped around. But fine. My father and Mr. Rankin took them back to your place. We’re to meet them there.”

  Glory nodded her agreement to this plan, but something else bothered her, narrowed her eyes, tugged at her mouth. She quickly looked down and absently fondled one of Skeeter’s long, soft ears. “And … Carter Brown? You saw him … there?”

  Riley pressed his lips into a grim line. “I did. I take it Justice did that, that these two are in cahoots?”

  Glory nodded, still with her gaze lowered to the dog’s head.

  Riley feared the reason she wouldn’t look up at him. Did she blame him for all this, for hiring those bastards in the first place? He needed to know. “I brought on a lot of this, Glory. I know that. I can only say I’m sorry.”

  A taut jerk of her head had Glory staring up at him, her emotions exposed in her clear, green eyes. She shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault. Not any of it. You didn’t know.” She paused, her eyes teared up. “It was me, Riley. Papa got killed because … because of me. They were looking for me. Justice said so.” She lowered her head to stare at her boots. “I don’t see how Hannah and Jacey can ever forgive me.”

  Riley was suddenly very afraid for Glory’s heart and mind. His own heart hung heavy in his chest as he stared at her. He reached out to squeeze her coat-covered arm. She still wouldn’t look up at him. Riley died a little inside but persisted. “This is not your fault, Glory. You can’t believe anything Justice says, and you know it, honey. He’s just trying to hurt you. Don’t let him.”

  She raised her head, showing him a face so scraped-up, and yet so beautiful, so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable, framed as it was by baby curls at her hairline, by long wisps of reddish hair that had escaped her braid. Her mouth quirked, her chin trembled. Riley prayed she didn’t cry. Her tears right now would drive him to his knees. But she didn’t give in to tears. She started to say something, but Skeeter’s sudden movement stalled her.

  The bloodhound jerked, his ears pricked. He turned his head to look up the hill behind Riley. Riley felt his heart pick up speed, his gut tighten. He sent Glory a warning look as he slowly reached for his gun. Settling it in his grip, he jerked around, aiming his deadly Colt at … Pride. The winded gelding, alone at the top of the hill, arched his gray neck in surprised reaction.

  Relief coursed through Riley. He relaxed, holstered his pistol, and called out to the top of the hill, “Dammit, Pride.” That was all the provocation Skeeter needed. With a last nosing of Glory’s hand, the bloodhound loped up the hill, as if to visit with an old friend. Riley shook his head and started to turn to Glory, only to realize she’d stepped up beside him.

  Seeing the worry lines that etched her brow, he turned to her and used a thumb to smooth them out. “You feel up to a ride? It’s going to be dark soon. We need to find shelter.”

  Glory nodded. “I’m fine. But what about him?”

  Riley pivoted, saw Abel Justice hadn’t moved. He turned back to Glory. “I’d like to put a bullet in him. Or leave him here for the wolves. But I reckon we’d best take him with us. There’s plenty of time later for dealing with him—when we’re rested and you’re safe at home.”

  Glory blinked up at him and then turned away to face the hill. She looked down at her hands, picked at a fingernail. “I’m not sure I’m going home, Riley. Well, maybe I need to for some rest and some supplies. But I’m not staying. There’s something I have to do … in Mexico.”

  “Mexico?” Riley blurted in surprise. “What do you have to do there?”

  At his side, Glory said, “I have to even a score. I have to … kill Señor Calderon. For killing Papa. I swore it with Hannah and Jacey.”

  He’d heard all he needed to. “Dammit, Glory.” He gripped her arms and turned her to face him. She raised grass-green and troubled eyes up to him. Seeing them, Riley’s deep anger, tempered with the very real fear that he could still lose her, warred with his need to handle her gently and yet to speak firmly. “Listen to me—you’re not going to Mexico. It’s over, Glory. Enough. This revenge oath between you and your sisters. Look what it’s done—it’s torn your family apart. It’s taken you away from each other when you need each other the most. You can’t even say if Hannah and Jacey are still alive. Now, do you really think this is what your folks would want, Glory?”

  She looked down, shook her head the least little bit.

  Heartened, Riley pressed on. “Too many people have died, Glory. Or have come close to being killed—my own mother among them. How many more will be enough? Are you not going to be happy until you’re dead and my heart is broken, too?”

  She slowly raised her head to look up at him again. Impossibly huge tears rolled to the edges of her black lashes, spiking them together like glistening stars. Riley’s knees weakened. In her hands, faced with her tears, he admitted he had as much spine as one of her big soggy balls of pie dough. But any sign of weakening on his part and he’d lose her, perhaps forever. So, he shook his head no and narrowed his eyes at her. “Cry all you want. You’re not going to Mexico. I won’t let you.”

  Glory opened her mouth, as if to say something. But a metallic click cut her off. Riley frowned at her, and then stiffened with the dread of dawning realization. He knew that sound. That was a gun being cocked. Behind them. Abel Justice had the drop on them. Riley stared hard into Glory’s eyes, squeezed her arms in a parting gesture … and shoved her backward.

  Chapter 21

  Yelping with shock at the sheer unexpectedness and force of Riley’s shove, Glory stumbled backward, her arms windmilling. A part of her brain recorded that Riley was falling in the opposite direction. Glory screamed, wanted to reach for him, but couldn’t. Her heel caught, her ankle turned. She lost her balance and fell, meeting the unyielding ground with a grunt of pain and a flurry of flying skirt. Landing on her back, she lay there for a stunned second, unblinking and staring up at the sky.

  And then she heard it. The pop-pop-pop of a
gun being fired. Fright fisted her hands, digging her fingernails into the prairie’s soil. She turned her head, bit at her lip, and huddled against the ground, trying instinctively to make herself a smaller target. As if to prove she’d failed, the gun barked again and a bullet scudded into the ground not ten feet from Glory’s hip. Gasping, her heart pounding, she rolled in the opposite direction.

  When she did, something hard in her coat pocket gouged painfully against her pelvic bone. Glory grimaced as she levered herself up enough to turn her head so she could see and assess what was happening. Frantically, she searched the boulder-strewn and uneven ground of the small valley between the two hills. Off to her right, she found Abel Justice.

  Protected by an exposed and jutting ledge of rock, he peered out from behind its safety and was firing away—to her left. She didn’t need to look to know he was gunning for Riley. Glory’s face twisted with hatred. She would kill Abel Justice herself if she only had a gun. Finally looking to her left, she saw who she knew she would. Riley. Lying on his stomach on open ground—totally exposed and firing back. But blessedly, he was alive.

  Relief swamped Glory, had her head sagging between her shoulders, her forehead resting against the ground. Tiny sharp rocks poked against her skin. She knew if she could find a rock big enough, she’d throw it at the hateful Abel Justice. And then she’d throw one at Riley for what he’d done. He’d shoved her out of the way, hoping to draw Justice’s fire to himself. And for the most part, it had worked.

  Glory cursed Riley’s noble act as stupid, stupid, stupid. If he sacrificed himself like this, if he got himself killed, did he really think she’d want to go on living without him? She’d no more than thought it before a deafening quiet descended on the prairie. Glory divided her darting gaze between Justice and Riley. Had one of them been hit? Was one of them—? No! Riley was trying to reload. He was still alive. Glory sucked in a huge breath—which whooshed out of her when she saw Justice jump up and begin running. For Riley.

  She cried out to warn him. He spared her a glance as he fumbled frantically at his gunbelt. Sheer terror seized Glory. He didn’t have enough time to reload before Justice would be upon him—so close there’d be no chance of him missing. Glory shot a look Justice’s way. There he was. Running, leering, aiming. “No!” Glory screamed, scrambling to her feet. “No! It’s me you want. Me! Leave him be!”

  She didn’t realize she was running toward the hired killer until he turned to stare at her and called out, “Stop right there. Stay where you are.”

  But she couldn’t stop. Panic and fear for Riley pushed her, carried her stumbling and crying toward the killer. “No! Don’t kill him.” But she suddenly lost her footing and fell face-first to the ground.

  Again, whatever was in her pocket threatened to embed itself in her belly, so hard was it. Glory flattened her palms against the ground and tried to push herself up. But found she couldn’t. Something, someone was holding her down. Slowly she realized what … who it was. Abel Justice had his foot in the middle of her back. And his gun cocked at her temple.

  “Like I said, stay where you are, Miz Glory.” Then he called out to Riley. “Throw yer gun down and get up, Mr. Thorne. Nice and slowlike. One wrong move and I’ll kill her. You know I’ll do it, too.”

  “No, Riley—don’t! He’ll kill me anyway. Don’t listen to him.” A sob wrenched out of Glory. She managed to raise her head and swipe her hair out of her face. Only to see Riley throwing his useless gun down and hauling himself up. “No,” she cried again. “I love you, Riley. Please don’t.”

  But he did. Unarmed, he stood tall and still, his hands raised. Glory couldn’t look away from his face, even though what she saw reflected there was too awful to bear. His expression was grim, calm … fully prepared to die for her. Helpless to stop him, Glory gave up. Crying, she sagged back to the ground, her cheek against the hard, unsympathetic earth. With each shuddering sob, she choked on grit and grass.

  But the sound of Riley’s voice broke through her sorrow. Quieting instantly, she raised her head, tried to strain upward. But couldn’t. Justice pressed her down more with his boot against her spine. Stabs of nerve pain shot down the backs of Glory’s legs, rendering her all but paralyzed, reducing her to nothing more than an unwilling witness to whatever happened next. And so, against her will, she listened.

  “Let her go, Justice,” Riley was saying. “Pick on someone your own size for once, you yellow-bellied coward. Or can you only fight defenseless women?”

  “Shut up,” came Abel Justice’s snarl. He cruelly ground his bootheel harder against Glory’s spine. She jerked and cried out, but more from the sudden jab against her pelvic bone than from Justice’s actions. What was that in her pocket and tormenting her so?

  The thought was fleeting as she again strained to hear Riley’s words, his unrelenting taunting of Justice. “Go on. Shoot me. What’s stopping you? The fact that if you do, I’ve got four brothers and a father who’ll hunt you down and kill you? They’re out there right now, hunting for us. They could be just over that hill. Why else do you think Skeeter isn’t down here chewing on your leg? You think it might be because someone’s holding him up there?”

  “Shut up, Thorne. And stay where you are. You think I’m stupid? There ain’t nobody up there. I said stay there. One more step, and you’ll get to watch Miz Glory die.”

  Riley’s voice lowered with deadly intent. “You don’t want to do that, you sniveling little bastard. Because if you do, I’ll be on you before you can raise that gun again. Only I won’t kill you. Not for a long time. I’ll keep you alive and carve pieces off you—one chunk at a time. I’ll see that you suffer. After a while, you’ll beg to die. And only then will I kill you.” He paused to glare at Justice and then added, “Let Glory up. And just maybe I’ll let you go.”

  “You’ll let me go? Are you loco? I’m the one with the gun. And that bein’ the case, I’m through talking.”

  Fright surged through Glory. She felt the gun move away from her temple. In only a second, that same gun would take Riley’s life. She arrowed a quick prayer for strength heavenward and then wrenched hard to one side, crying out, “Now, Riley!” as she did. It worked—she’d caught Justice off guard. His yelp of shock accompanied his bootheel lifting off her back. Glory completed her roll and scrambled to her feet, expecting to see Justice on his back and Riley atop him. But no. Not today. Not on this day of alternating hope and despair, minor miracles and major setbacks.

  Justice had obviously regained his balance before Riley could move. Because there he stood, snarling and cursing, swinging his pistol’s bore from her to Riley and back to her. “You shouldn’t have done that, Miz Glory. And now yer goin’ to pay. You can watch him die.”

  Again the threatening pistol was swung toward Riley. Panicked, Glory clutched at Papa’s coat she wore—and felt that hard something in her pocket. She instantly fumbled for it. She’d throw it at him, maybe hit him, knock his aim off. Plunging her hand in the deep pocket, she yelled out, “Justice!” Amazingly, he turned to her, pistol and all. She froze. Riley’s flying body entered her field of vision. He collided with Justice.

  The gun discharged. Glory screamed, bringing her hands to her mouth. Had Riley been hit? Her wide, unblinking eyes forced her to watch, to see the men hit the ground together and instantly fall apart. They both lay on their backs, still and unmoving. Glory couldn’t be sure that her heart beat in that tense second of suspended time. But then … both men wrenched, grabbed for the other one. Glory stiffened. Riley was alive. So was Justice—but did he still have the gun in his hand?

  That fearful question galvanized Glory into action. She took off at a run, intent on reaching the fighting men, determined to do something to put an end to this most awful of afternoons. As she ran, ignoring the agonized protesting of her abused muscles, she felt that hard something bumping against her leg, that same object that had gouged her belly when she fell. Not slowing down, she plunged her hand into her coat’s right pocket�
��Papa’s sheepskin coat. Her fingers closed around the cold steel she found there.

  Glory stopped as suddenly as if she’d hit a barn wall. She stared vacantly toward the horizon, not seeing the deep shadows of afternoon or the browning tallgrass all around her. Because every fiber of her being focused on what she felt in her hand. Could it be? Snapping out of her shock, she jerked her hand out of her pocket. Her mouth dropped open. Sure enough … Papa’s pistol. The very same one she herself had loaded and put in there weeks ago. And had forgotten. She’d had it all this time.

  Cursing herself for such forgetfulness, she clutched at her weapon and turned her attention again to the men. It’s time to die, Abel Justice. Two steps closer, Glory again stopped. She stood there, her arms hanging loose at her sides at she stared at Riley lying on the ground. On his stomach and unmoving. She was too late to help him. Just then, Justice moved, began staggering to his feet. He was bloodied. His thin coat lay open. A smear of red covered his chest. But whose blood was it—his own or Riley’s?

  Glory’s heart sank. She refused to allow any thought to form that might try to tell her Riley was dead. She’d know soon enough. But right now, she had some unfinished business to attend to. Stepping closer to the two men, she called out, “Justice?!”

  The man righted himself and turned to her, his fists raised as if he expected another fight. Glory clutched her weapon in both hands and raised her arms stiffly, sighting on this killer of innocent people. With no thoughts of mercy in her heart, she watched his eyes and smiled in a purely grim way when she saw what she wanted. When she saw the realization dawn—that exact moment when he knew that she held a gun. His muddy-brown, flat, and soulless eyes widened until white showed all around their dark irises.