"Get Yellowboy. The Firestick," she bit out through chattering teeth. "Be lynx. Stay silent."
Unnerved by words that might have come straight from his grandmother's mouth, he threw on his clothes, buckled on his revolver, and hurried for his Winchester.
Sera had tethered Tempest near Kavi, in the shade of some cottonwoods, where horses were unlikely to twist an ankle on the limestone shards that littered the region.
This side of the riverbank had been ravaged by some ancient avalanche, and its remnants had formed a rugged panorama of hideaways, coves, and caves. From the base of the hill—which had once been a cliff—to the water some forty feet away, the roots of oaks, willows, cedars, and poplars battled enormous slabs of limestone for dominance.
When Jesse had first found Red River six weeks ago, he had chosen this spot for a campsite because the rocky terrain made it easy to water his horse, hunt for a meal, hide his belongings, and walk without leaving boot prints.
He dragged his Winchester from his saddleboot. He untethered Tempest and gathered Kavi's reins.
But when he turned to lead the horses back to his bedroll, his uneasiness climbed another notch.
Sera had disappeared.
Chapter 20
"Cousin Cass?"
That sweet, childlike query boomed like a foghorn in Cass's tortured head. He groaned, digging his fingers into the oddly shaped lump protruding from his skull. He figured if he tore out his brain, it would stop hurting.
"Don't touch, Cousin Cass! That's the knot mama tied in your bandage."
A small, tentative hand removed his probing fingers from the strip that was binding his forehead. He got a whiff of freshly laundered calico and strawberries.
"Where am I?" he croaked.
"The woods. You must've crawled a spell. We found you in a hollow log."
That's right. Cass remembered dimly now. Someone had shot him from behind, and he'd figured his best chance of survival—because he'd been certain he would pass out—was to hide from the bastard who would come looking for his corpse.
Cass dared to crack open an eye. He regretted it instantly. A vision of a three-headed child with bulging hazel eyes and a basket full of bruised berries swam before him. His gut heaved. Somehow he managed not to vomit in Becky's lap.
She wrinkled her pert, freckled nose at him. He rolled feebly to his side, squeezing his eyes closed against the pinwheels of fire that were flashing in the sky.
"Um..." He heard Becky fidget in the leaves by his head. "Mama's getting your horse. I'll call her back."
Before he could wheeze the command, "Wait," Becky bellowed two feet from his ear:
"Mama! He's awake!"
Cass gritted his teeth so hard, he was sure that a few of them cracked.
"Don't... shout," he gasped, closing clawlike fingers over Becky's wrist. "Be very... very quiet."
"How come?"
"Bad men. Bad men are near."
"Mama says you're a bad man, Cousin Cass. Is that true?"
Cass grimaced. Every movement, every breath, made the hammers in his head pound even harder. To make matters worse, his gun arm felt like wild horses had trampled over it—right after they'd ripped it from his shoulder socket.
Gingerly, he flexed his hand.
By some miracle, it still worked.
"Yes," he hissed, struggling to rise.
"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "I thought maybe you wore a gun 'cause you're a lawman. Like my papa was."
The irony of this observation wasn't lost on him.
"Why are you here?" he growled. "These woods aren't safe."
"'Cause you're kin. And Mama says blood is thicker than water."
So that was her excuse when she betrayed Bobby and Lynx?
Cass pulled himself to his knees by dragging himself up the surface roots of a gnarly, old maple. Clinging to the trunk for dear life, he waited for Becky, her basket, and the forest to stop spinning like a carousel.
Above the sounds of his panting, he heard the muffled clopping of hooves on peat and the jingle of a bridle. He smelled a whiff of lavender mixed with roses. He knew Allison had arrived even before her shadow slid over his face.
Becky jumped to her feet. "Mama! Cass says the woods aren't safe!"
"Hush, child. Everything's fine. Here. Take the reins. Hold your cousin's horse."
"Yes, ma'am."
Cass forced himself to open his eyes. To glare at the woman whom he'd hated for so long, whom he'd plotted to ruin in so many ways, that he couldn't remember them all now.
She dared to kneel at his side, to offer him a lace handkerchief, dripping with river water. Tears glistened in her cornflower-blue gaze. "Who did this to you?"
Cass closed his eyes again. He thought he might be sick. A hangover, a bullet crease, a dislocated shoulder—none of these torments compared with the agony that he'd felt when he'd found his cousin's head smashed in. Or when he'd seen Bobby's brains smeared over a rock. Or when he'd realized that the woman whom he hated had found the compassion to bind his wounds.
"Take Becky home." Somehow he forced the words past a throat that had nearly swelled shut with the old, violent grief. "Straight home," he rasped. "I don't want her in danger."
"Let me help you stand—"
"Allison." To utter every word required a Herculean effort not to retch. "Find Lynx. Warn him. Tell him... I'm hunting."
"You're in no condition—"
"You want to help? Don't argue."
He could smell her worry. Worry for him.
Now ain't that a kick in the head?
"You're not immortal, Cass."
He forced his eyes open again. He tried to smile. He suspected the sight was gruesome.
"Sure I am. As immoral as they come."
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" she hissed. "You have a concussion! And you're bleeding all over the forest! Even I could track you, if I had to!"
"Allie." His lips twisted mirthlessly. "If anyone dies today—I promise you—it won't be me. Now go home. Don't look back. Don't turn around. Go."
She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of her protest, then shook her head. "Here." She was rummaging through the leaves and twigs in the bulging pockets of her berry-picking apron. "Chew this. It's a white willow twig. You should always carry some of these. They help relieve the pain."
"You're as bad as Lynx." His chuckle was hollow as he used the maple trunk to haul himself to his feet. "On second thought, Lynx doesn't use rose-scented petticoats for bandages."
She had the good grace to blush. "Unmentionables really aren't practical for much else."
To his amazement, the willow twig did help. So did the water he sucked from Allie's handkerchief. He wouldn't say he felt as good as new, but he felt good enough to face the mountain that was Jelli and muster the nerve to start the climb.
Hauling himself into his saddle was not a pleasant experience. The only reason he didn't curse like a muleskinner throughout the entire trial was because Becky was watching everything he did with anxious eyes. He spared a wan smile for the child, who'd held the gelding so steadily while he'd mounted.
"Much obliged, Miss Cassidy."
Tears glimmered in that hazel-green stare—a stare that reminded him so poignantly of Bobby.
"Are you coming back, Cousin Cass? I don't have any brothers, or uncles... or anyone else."
Guilt lanced his chest. "You have your mama."
"That's not the same."
He glared at Allie.
Allie fidgeted. "Becky asks about her father all the time," she confessed. "She has always wanted to meet her Texas kinfolk. To meet you, William."
Cass blew out his breath. He wrapped his reins around his fist. He avoided Becky's eyes.
Finally, he made up his mind.
"'Course, I'm coming back," he rallied for the child's sake. "When I do, I'll teach you how to play Tiddley Winks. Would you like that?"
She nodded, beaming.
"Which way should I
tell Lynx you're riding?" Allie asked, looking relieved by Cass's change of heart.
"North. Wouldn't surprise me if there's a rat's nest of bushwhacking bas-... er, vermin on that ridge," he corrected himself to spare Becky's innocent ears. Vermin like Taggart.
Allie's worried gaze locked with his. "Be careful, Cass."
Squaring his jaw, he nodded, struggling to make peace with the knowledge that he and Allison Ainsworth, his long-time enemy, had just struck a truce.
"Giddyap," he barked at Jelli.
* * *
Sera was walking behind a waterfall in a kaleidoscopic haze. Through the cloud of rainbows that swirled around her, she could see isolated pockets of horrific scenes:
Collie getting pistol-whipped.
Cass getting shot.
Jesse getting lynched.
Kit getting murdered.
"From any one point in time, there's a minimum of three futures," Hiawassee whispered in her ear. "You can stop the madness. But first, you must stop Kit."
Sera felt numb. Insanely calm. She didn't doubt her visions. She didn't question Hiawassee. She merely followed the Medicine Woman's spirit as it glided before her, sweeping along a tunnel. Flickering water reflections danced upon the walls and the roof, which was rife with orange lichens and green algae. Some 20 paces ahead, she could see the tunnel's end through the mystical, silvery glow of Hiawassee's body.
"We are forbidden to interfere," the ghost told her.
"We?"
"All of us."
Sera frowned, halting beside Hiawassee and squinting into the sunlight at the tunnel's end. She gaped at the scene that stretched before her. Floating in and out of the falls, perched upon the cliff ledges, swinging from the trees, and splashing in the river were hundreds of ghosts. Most of them were women and children.
Ywahoo Falls.
"Sacred Cherokee burial ground," Hiawassee confirmed mildly.
Sera nodded uncomfortably. The legend was known to her, of course. Some 70 years ago, Cherokee women had journeyed with their children to this spot, rendezvousing under the full moon. Under the leadership of Comblossom, daughter of the great war chief, Doublehead, hundreds of innocents had gathered here, accompanied by only a handful of braves.
The women and their children had intended to walk the 125 miles to a school in Chattanooga, where they had been promised protection and a White man's education. But the Cherokees had been betrayed. A contingent of Tennessee soldiers had intercepted the innocents at Ywahoo Falls and massacred them.
"You were barely six years old," Hiawassee told Sera gently. "Jesse, he was eight. You were meant to find each other in that lifetime, too. And you did—for the last few minutes. He tried to protect you."
Tears rolled down Sera's cheeks. "Why?" she whispered. "Why must there be so much hatred?"
"Men are allowed free will," Hiawassee answered. "You, too, will choose between compassion and hate. Choose wisely."
Sera dashed away tears. In the rising sun, beyond the tunnel, she could see signs that the madness had already begun. A badly bruised Collie sat gagged and bound to a cottonwood that protruded between two boulders. Vandy, his pet raccoon, hunkered inconspicuously beneath one of those limestone slabs, gnawing at the ropes that bound Collie's wrists and chest to the tree trunk.
Not far from Collie and Vandy was a smoldering campfire with a pot of coffee. Strewn nearby were a bedroll, saddle, shovel, hatchet, coil of rope, and what appeared to be Kit's battered, brown slouch hat, perched on top of his boots.
Kit himself stood barefoot in the shallows of the river, taking a whiz. A Winchester was propped beside the fishing pole that was trolling for his breakfast. As usual, his hips were girded by his cartridge belt and holster. His back was facing Sera's cliff and the tunnel entrance.
But Collie spied her immediately. He gave a short, sharp shake of his shaggy head. His message was clear, "Stay away."
Sera glanced uncertainly at Hiawassee.
"Kit is in as much danger as you and the boy," Hiawassee insisted. "He bargained with the bounty hunter, Taggart, to save himself from arrest. But Taggart has no intention of taking Kit alive for Gunther's murder. Kit knows too much about Taggart's wrongdoings. You must persuade Kit not to trust Taggart."
"Where is Taggart?"
"Close. Act quickly. I must return to Jesse. Gabriel is here."
"But Gabriel can't talk in my head the way you—"
Sera sucked in her breath. Hiawassee was gone.
Trembling violently beside the deer trail that wound 20 yards to the grasses, below, Sera squeezed her eyes closed and prayed. She prayed like she'd never prayed in her life. She asked for courage. She asked for wisdom. She asked for God's protection for Jesse, Collie, Kit, and herself.
When she opened her eyes, Gabriel was standing beside her. Only this vision of Gabriel wasn't the tousled-haired, freckle-faced 12-year-old in overalls, who loved to make mischief in the house.
This Gabriel was a ten-foot tall apparition with lightning-flecked eyes and storm-colored, raptor wings that extended 40 feet when he stretched them. She quailed a little when she blinked up into his dark, grim face.
But she sensed his love for her. She guessed that the storm was his anger, that his size and wings were his protective nature, wanting to shield her from harm.
And yet he is forbidden to interfere.
He scowled and nodded, confirming her thought.
"I'm just grateful you're here," she told him meekly.
She gulped a fortifying breath.
She began the descent.
Kit heard her boots scrabbling on the rocks. His head jerked in her direction, his hand on his Colt. Suspicion vied with the surprise, and then with the amusement, that flickered over his bearded face.
Sera forced herself not to think of him as Gunther's murderer or Collie's abductor. She forced herself to think of him as someone whom she'd loved, once. Someone who needed her help now.
"Kit!" she called in a low, urgent voice. "Thank God I found you! I've been so worried about you!"
She threw herself into his arms. Her worry was genuine. She didn't have to pretend.
"Well now. What have we here?" He grinned, but his gray eyes were wary.
She swallowed. She tried to steady her voice. "You didn't come back for so long, I... I thought you never would."
"Aw, ain't that sweet."
"Kit, I had a vision. A terrible vision. I saw a scarecrow of a man shooting you. A man with iron-gray mustachios and dark, crazed eyes. This was the river. This was the spot. You're not safe here. Please come away with me."
She grabbed his hand to drag him up the bank. He resisted.
"You smell like tobacco," he drawled. "And sex."
She froze. She didn't know how to respond to that.
"Kit, you have to believe me! You're in danger from Taggart!"
"So where's Quaid?" Kit demanded, tightening his grip on her hand as she tried to pull away.
"W-who?"
"This marshal you've been humping."
Sera quailed.
"Th-that's ridiculous. I don't know what you're talking about."
He chuckled. "You never could lie for shit." He ran a measuring eye over her tweed jacket. "Lookie there," he taunted, reaching for her bodice. "You missed a button."
In reflex, she slapped his hand away. A heartbeat later, she wished she'd had the good sense to restrain herself. The predatory gleam in his eyes made every hair on her body stand on end. Gabriel was sending her chills to warn her, just like he had when she'd been lying in Jesse's arms, by the riverbank.
"Kit, I'm sorry. I just... we just don't have much time, okay? You need to stop playing cowboys and Indians with Collie. You need to untie him, so we can all get out of here."
"You think I was born yesterday?"
"Kit, please don't argue. You'll be killed. I couldn't bear it if you were killed."
"Quaid sent you to lure me into a trap." Kit's face was dark with menace. "To avenge his dea
d pal."
Sera blanched. "C-Cass is dead?"
"That's right." Kit sneered, grabbing her hair. "Aren't you going to thank me? Aren't you going to hump me, too, for making your backwoods town safe from outlaws?"
Grinding his arousal into her hips, he forced her head back. He tried to shove his tongue down her throat.
A rifle breechblock snapped. The sound reverberated ominously off the cliff face.
"Freeze, McCoy. Don't move, or I'll blow your head off."
Sera half-sobbed to hear Jesse's voice, coming from an outcropping of boulders near the tunnel.
The look on Kit's face was terrifying. Sera had no doubt that he would have beaten her—or worse—if Jesse's Winchester hadn't been trained on him.
"Back away from her," Jesse snarled. "Slowly."
Even if Kit had been able to draw his revolver fast enough to outshoot Jesse's trigger finger, the stand of rocks where Jesse had taken cover was beyond the effective firing range of a Colt.
Kit released her.
Sera hastily backed away.
"Hands on your head," Jesse barked.
His face darkening to purple, Kit ground his teeth and obeyed.
"On your knees."
Kit's chest heaved. "You ain't got the balls to—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a cartridge drilled into the grass at Kit's boots, spewing dirt into the air.
"On your knees," Jesse snapped, "or the next one will rip an eye out."
Kit scowled, dropping to the ground.
Slowly, warily, Jesse edged away from his cover. Sera began to breathe easier, then. She began to think the ordeal was nearly over—until she spied a metallic flash higher on the trail. It came from the brass receiver of a Winchester.
"Jesse, behind you!"
She saw the puff of smoke even as the rifle blast echoed through the hills.
"No!" she screamed as Jesse fell forward, rolling down the embankment.
* * *
Cass struggled to see. To focus.
Between the blood and sweat dripping into his eyes, and the sun rising behind Jesse's head, he was having a hard time drawing a straight bead through his rifle sight.
Seduced by an Angel (Velvet Lies, Book 3) Page 28