by Cassie Hayes
He never for a minute expected Tully to actually be hiding out at Carson’s ranch. Griff had passed this way at least four or five times in his search. What were the odds? So he’d relaxed his guard and let a woman who couldn’t even ride a horse properly join him. Look where it got them. What a fool!
“As I told your totally loyal and faithful men,” Griff sneered, “the Weatherford Sheriff should be here any minute now. You don’t think I’d be such a fool to not send word, do you? That really would make me a third-rate Marshal, not fit to wear the badge.”
Tully’s eyes narrowed at him, trying to figure out if he was bluffing. Griff adopted a relaxed, almost amused air. Catherine remained stiff, staring into the corner where the chicken bones lay, but she gave nothing away, one way or the other. He’d hate to play poker against her.
“You’re lyin’,” Tully finally said. “Ain’t no one comin’ after ya, nor us.”
“If you think that’s the case, sir, perhaps you could be so kind as to untie us,” Catherine said, still staring into the corner as if she were a statue. “The rough rope hurts. If I’m meant to die tonight, perhaps you could afford us that small kindness.”
Almost as if he was seeing her for the first time, Tully’s beady eyes rested on Catherine. Griff’s teeth felt as if they’d crumble to dust in his mouth from how hard he was grinding them but he remained still. If Tully got the slightest inkling that she meant something to Griff…
“You look familiar,” Tully said, tilting his raggedy head one way, then the other.
“We’ve never met.” Still cool, still stoic.
It looked like thinking wasn’t a habit Tully was used to, from the scowl on his ugly face. But then his eyes widened and he gave her a mostly toothless grin. She leaned closer into Griff, barely enough for him to notice. Yeah, that smile scares me, too.
“Got it! You was that girl at ol’ Carson’s place that day, ain’t ya?” His evil cackle filled the rough cabin, setting everyone else’s nerves on edge. “You were sewing your fingers off in a corner, not payin’ us no mind. But you were listenin’ to us that whole time, weren’t ya? Crafty little vixen. That’s why the Marshal here brought ya along. To show him where I was hidin’. Dagblame fool!”
Griff couldn’t argue.
Tully skulked over to Catherine and tipped her head up with a crooked finger under her chin. Griff tensed, ready to lunge at the devil if he looked at her the wrong way. But his appraisal was all business.
“Don’t mind killing the lawman, but it’s a shame to have to put down such a fine lookin’ gal.”
“You won’t get away with it, Owings,” Griff growled. “You kill a U.S. Marshal and you’ll have the full force of the federal government rolling down on you like a herd of stampeding buffalo.”
Tully simply laughed. “What’re they gonna do, hang me two more times?”
Rage overpowered Griff’s self-control. “Fine! Kill me, but let her live.”
“Why?” Tully asked, using a thin chicken bone to pick at the few remaining teeth in his head. “Why should I keep such a schemin’ harpy alive?”
“Because I love her!”
The blood drained out of Catherine’s face, presumably because her heart was suddenly pounding as fast as Curtis’s imaginary herd of buffalo. Was this a ploy to make that horrible Owings man release her? It had to be. He couldn’t really mean…
He loves me?
Curtis turned to look deep in her eyes, the fierceness in them softening almost to a smile. Warmth bloomed inside her and her cheeks flushed. It was true. He loved her.
“I couldn’t go to my grave without telling you how I feel, Catherine.”
“Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Owings sneered. His henchmen snickered, drawing a black glare from Curtis. The world felt somehow colder without his eyes on her, but she had no idea what to think about his proclamation.
Forcing herself to turn her gaze back to those disgusting, moldy chicken bones in the corner, Catherine’s mind spun circles on itself. Owings and his men finally stopped their chortling, giving Curtis an opening to speak.
“Tully, I know you better than you think. You’re not the type to kill a woman. All your victims have been other bank robbers and the lawmen chasing you. In some circles, that might even make you something of a hero.”
Owings puffed out his narrow chest and smirked at his men. “Ain’t that the truth?” They all had a good laugh at that one. But Curtis had more on his mind.
“Those circles don’t cotton to murdering women in cold blood, though, do they? If you kill Catherine, you’ll be forever known as a coward. There goes that reputation you spent so long building.”
A crease formed in Owings’s brow as he puzzled on Curtis’s argument. Finally, he gave his head a sharp shake.
“Can’t be helped. She knows too much. Knows where we’re hid out.”
“You’re not going to stay here, and we both know it. You suspect I was bluffing when I said I’d sent word to the sheriff but you don’t know for sure, do you?”
Owings’s frown grew deeper but he remained silent.
“As soon as you take care of us, you’ll light out of here like you’re on fire. Won’t even wait for daybreak, is my guess.”
“So what’s your point?” Owings barked, irritated but also a hint curious. The arguments Curtis lobbed at him held weight she never suspected. He would have made a fine lawyer.
“My point is that you could let her go and you’d be no worse off than if you took her life tonight. You’ll be halfway to Mexico before she makes it to any kind of civilization, if she makes it back at all. Remember, she’s new to these parts and doesn’t know many folks.”
Regret filled Catherine’s heart that she hadn’t made a point to get to know more people in the area. As much as she wanted to move away from the ranch and be on her own, everyone she’d met so far had been kind and welcoming. It was only now, as she looked down the barrels of two guns, that she realized that most people were good. She forgot that in the aftermath of her kidnapping, even though it had been proven to her on a daily basis ever since. She’d been too blind to see.
“Even if she’s questioned by lawmen, she won’t know anything. The only thing she could tell them was that you three rode off together into the black of the night. That’s no risk to you at all.”
To Catherine’s ears, Curtis wasn’t arguing to save her life. He was trying to talk these murderers into only killing him. Bile rose in her throat to the point she wasn’t sure she could choke it back, but she managed. Barely.
“Besides, even a man like you wouldn’t want to deprive the world of such an amazing woman as Catherine James.”
Owings narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? Do tell.”
Panic seized her. Owings was paying attention. That meant Curtis might actually talk him into sparing her life. But that would mean Curtis would…
No, I can’t think of it.
“Well, I don’t need to tell you she’s one of the most beautiful women in Texas, maybe the entire country. Just look at that alabaster skin, Tully. The chestnut hair, the green eyes. Why, she’s an exotic flower, a masterpiece, a priceless objet d’art.”
“A what?”
“A work of art, Tully. But beyond that, Catherine is a good person, not someone who deserves to die in the dirt. She’s kind and generous with her friends, who all love her without fail.”
Guilt wrenched her. Curtis wasn’t speaking from personal experience because it seemed she’d always given him trouble, even when he tried to be nice. Tears sprang to her eyes but she refused to let them fall or Owings might think he was the cause. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“And boy, is she smart! There’s not many people in the world who can talk a Marshal into doing something against his better judgment but she somehow managed the impossible.”
“Fat lot o’ good it did her,” Horace snorted. She hated that he was right.
“Last but not least, her bravery matches any sheriff, Mar
shal or Texas Ranger I’ve ever met. How many ladies do you know who would help track a bunch of killers such as yourselves? Not many, is my guess, though none of you have probably ever met a proper lady.”
Catherine couldn’t stop herself from turning to Curtis and staring at his strong profile. She’d never heard anyone describe her like that. Was that really how he saw her? Not as a smart-mouthed, stubborn shrew who alienated everyone around her? How had she gone this long without knowing?
“Huh,” Owings chuffed.
She glanced his way and found him staring at her with an interest she found disconcerting. A horrific thought popped into her head. If he agreed, what was to stop him, after Curtis was out of the way, from killing her anyway.
Or worse.
She opened her mouth to argue, to tell them to simply kill her as planned, when Owings spoke.
“You know what, Marshal? I think you’re right.”
The tension vibrating through Curtis eased some and she heard him breathe a sigh of relief. She wasn’t breathing so easy. The look that wicked man was giving her set her hairs on end. She’d seen it before.
“A gal of that quality? I could probably get a couple hundred dollars for her from a Mexican general I know.”
10
“No!”
Curtis lunged toward Owings, who simply stepped back and watched him fall on his face. His wicked grin made Catherine’s skin crawl. When she’d been kidnapped before, all she remembered was the fear. This time, she felt none. All she felt was hate.
“You can’t do that!” Curtis screamed as the two henchmen pulled him upright.
He stomped on one’s foot at the same moment he threw his bound hands into the face of the other. Horace hopped around holding his leg, while blood gushed down the front of Rupert. A grim satisfaction filled her.
Owings’ bony but strong fingers gripped her arm and tugged her into his disgusting body. The click of a pistol being cocked nearly deafened her, it was so close to her ear. When the ice-cold steel of the muzzle pressed into her temple, her breath caught in her throat. She still wasn’t afraid, but she also wasn’t stupid.
“Enough!” roared Owings.
The moment Curtis saw the gun at her head, he froze. Horace and Rupert danced around him like marionettes she once saw in Beckham. If it hadn’t been for the fact she was about to die, Catherine would have laughed at their antics.
“Stop all that nonsense and take care o’ him!”
“Yes, boss,” groaned Horace, limping up behind Curtis and giving him a hard push.
Curtis turned with a fierce snarl curling his upper lip but Owings pushed the gun harder into her head. Much to her frustration, a small whimper of pain slipped through her lips. Curtis eyed the gun hard.
Catching his gaze, she tried to pour everything she wanted to say into it. The only trouble was, she didn’t know what that was. Everything was happening so quickly. All she knew was that she would force her captor’s hand before she willingly became the property of some strange man.
“Catherine—“ Curtis started, but Rupert had finally gained his wits. He punched Curtis in the back of the head, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees.
“Curtis!” she cried, but Owings held her firm.
“Uh uh uh, little lady. You ain’t goin’ nowhere, and believe you me, you won’t wanna see him after my boys get through with him.”
Her heart clenched and, in that moment, she knew another thing. She didn’t want Curtis to die. He didn’t deserve it. Curtis Griffith was a good man who only wanted to see justice done. And he loved her.
A fiery ball burned in her belly. She glared daggers at Horace and Rupert’s backs as they half-dragged a dazed Curtis from the shack, leaving her alone with Tully Owings, known murderer and kidnapper of women.
Owings gave her a push but she managed to keep her footing, grateful not to be near the foul dog any longer. Glancing around the room, she searched for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. She only had a few minutes before they’d kill Curtis, and she had to stop it. But anything useful was behind where Owings perched himself on the edge of the table, only half watching her. Knives, forks, a lantern, a chair. All behind him.
“What you looking for, girly? Something to kill me with?” Owings chuckled, clearly amused at the notion. “Why don’t you settle down, like a good little girl, huh? Gonna be a long couple days for ya. That ride to Mexico ain’t easy, and it ain’t short. Hmm…which of us should I have you ride with, I wonder?”
Little did he know that she wasn’t leaving this cabin. Not alive, anyway. But first she would do whatever it took to save Curtis. Panic bubbled up inside her as the seconds ticked by. He’d die if she didn’t find a way to stop them.
BLAM!
Catherine’s entire body spasmed from the shock of the blast. A choked cry burst from her throat as understanding threatened to drown her from the inside out.
He’s dead. Curtis is dead.
She swayed where she stood, not wanting to believe it. But the contemptuous smirk on Owings face drove it home. Curtis was gone. It was too late to save him. Tears filled her eyes and the temptation to throw herself on the ground nearly got the better of her. But then Owings spoke.
“Aw, ya gonna cry, little girl? Your boyfriend’s dead and you ain’t got no one to help ya. I might cry, too, if I was you.”
He flicked the chicken bone he’d been using to pick his teeth at her and she saw red. All the terror and pain and loss and ridicule she’d suffered in her life coalesced into a blazing pinpoint of fury. And Tully Owings stood in the center of it.
Catherine’s life was forfeit now, one way or another. Either she followed orders and lived the rest of her life in misery, servitude and the good Lord only knew what else, or she could fight and almost certainly die. At this point, she had nothing left to lose.
BLAM!
A second gunshot echoed through the shack, followed quickly by a third.
BLAM!
Owings pushed off the table, his eyebrows knitted together in a puzzled frown. If it hadn’t been for his reaction, she would have simply thought that his men had put two more bullets in Curtis’s lifeless body. But the man’s narrowed eyes and tense stance actually gave her hope where she thought none existed. Was it possible Curtis overpowered his would-be killers?
The thought had barely flitted through her mind when Owings reached for her. She pulled away but he managed to snag her sleeve and yank her toward him. Without thinking about it first, Catherine jerked her knee up hard into his giblets.
A pained squeak was all he could manage as he crumpled to the floor in a ball, his pistol tumbling to the floor at her feet. She’d learned the trick at the orphanage, when the boys would try to manhandle her, so she knew she didn’t have much time before he regained some of his senses. Enough to kill her with, anyway.
She quickly stooped and collected the gun, but her bound hands made it hard to cock the gun. The way they shook didn’t help matters. Twisting them this way and that, she finally managed to pull the hammer back until the loud click stilled his writhing.
Peeking up at her, he spotted the gun and grunted. He tried to uncoil himself but the best he could do was a half-hearted slump. She took a few steps backward, her back to a wall so she could also watch the door, and trained the gun on his forehead. She sent up a silent prayer for her hand to remain steady. She’d been lying to herself before — she was plenty afraid. The rage coursing through her only masked it.
“Girl, put that thing down before ya hurt yourself,” he groaned.
He had a point, not that she would admit it to him. Bonnie had shown her how to shoot a rifle, but not a pistol. But, really, how hard could it be? He was sitting on the floor a few feet away from her. If the weapon bucked half as hard as Bonnie’s rifle had, she’d still hit her target.
“I don’t think I will, thank you very much,” she replied, her voice as cold as the steel in her hands.
His eyes narrowed with anger
. He clearly hadn’t expected her to be so defiant and willful. Did he really think she would simply hand over the gun and go with him willingly?
“Your fella’s dead and my boys are about to walk through that door. If you don’t put that thing down, I’m gonna let ‘em do whatever they want with ya before we truss you up like a hog and sell you at auction in Monterrey. What’s it gonna be?”
Images of Curtis lying cold and dead in the dirt outside the cabin curdled her blood. The heavy trigger moved slightly under her twitching finger.
“I told them earlier and I’ll tell you now. I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch me…or I’ll die trying.”
Owings snorted at her. “Girl, you don’t got what it takes to kill a man like me.”
She only said one word. A word he never expected her to say. A word that would be the last he would hear before the little bit of a woman standing before him shot him in cold blood.
“Wrong.”
And then she pulled the trigger.
Griff tugged a pocketknife from Rupert’s trouser pocket. He half-expected the chubby dolt to grab his hand but that was impossible. The man, along with his cohort in crime, lay dead at Griff’s feet. His first kills. Cold coursed through his veins, and he hoped he was never forced to kill another man again.
With great difficulty thanks to his restraints, Griff jimmied open the knife and started frantically sawing through the rope. He had to go save Catherine before Tully—
BLAM!
His head jerked up at the sound of a pistol crack coming from the cabin. Catherine! His heart was already thumping pretty fast after his tussle with Horace and Rupert. Now it ran double time.
Bolting for the cabin door, he slashed at the rope until it fell free. Tossing the knife away, he pulled and cocked the pistol he took off Horace — the one the outlaw had taken off him earlier — ready to blast Tully all the way to Hell, right where he belonged.