Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  Devon was standing behind a shed, the setting sun glowing orange on his face. He was void of expression, lost. “What have I done?” he said softly, staring into the horizon.

  “You’re not to blame.”

  He snuffed. “No? Then who is?” He shook his head wearily. “Cal didn’t want us there. He knew. I didn’t listen and now he’s dead. Poor Sadie. I can’t just leave her. She’s my responsibility now.”

  “What if you go to her and it’s a trap?”

  “Chance I’ll have to take.”

  “Devon, you’ll be no use to either of us if you’re dangling from the end of a rope.”

  “Maybe that’s just where I should be. Then no one else will get hurt.” He turned slightly, the shadows concealing his face.

  “Well, that’s just plain stupid,” Brandi scoffed. “Listen to what you’re saying. Shame on you for wallowing in self pity.”

  Devon stiffened. For the first time he looked at her. She took a step backwards because she didn’t recognize the enraged man who glared down at her.

  “Then what do you suggest, Miss Lady-Outlaw?” he snapped. “I can’t stay here and have the same thing happen to Antonio.”

  “It’s different here,” Brandi said meekly. “Antonio has an army.”

  “That’s why yer stayin’. I got to go but you don’t.”

  A huge chasm opened up in Brandi’s chest. It rumbled with nothing but panic. “I can’t live without you,” she managed to sputter out.

  “You ain’t gonna live with me. They’ll hang you if we’re caught together. No, Brandi. This time yer gonna do exactly what I say.”

  “Oh, Devon. Don’t you know by now how much I love you? I’d go to the ends of the earth with you. Give me a gun. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you.” She choked back a tear.

  Devon wilted, the fury subsiding. He rubbed his forehead and blinked several times. “No, darlin’,” he whispered. “Not this time.”

  Brandi folded into his chest, luxuriating in his hard embrace. Kisses fluttered over her hair and she gasped, holding back a flood of tears. He held her as the unleashing emotion grew to a crescendo and then faded. His body was tight with determination. Even her tears weren’t going to weaken his resolve. Not this time. In the morning he’d be gone and she might lose him forever. The horror of it was too much to bear.

  “Budd might be wrong,” she said, grasping at straws. “What he heard might have been just talk, to get you out in the open.”

  But there was no way of knowing. No telephones. No faxes. No email. Only snatches of secondhand news. This was a primitive place and it was making Brandi sick. She never believed it could, until now. Because now the love of her life was basing everything on word from a man she abhorred.

  “What I love about you is your strength,” Devon said, his mouth against her hair. “I never knowed a woman who could be so brave.” He cupped her cheeks in his warm palms, peering directly in her tear-swollen eyes. “You think I don’t want to come back to you? Darlin’, I want to live now more than ever. It’s my dream that we have a home and children. When I die I want to be an old man in yer arms, content in the life I’ve lived to the fullest…”

  “Then there must be another way,” she pleaded. “We just have to think about what.”

  He tugged her close again, his chest lifting with a long sigh. “Sadie’s lost Cal cause she stood up fer me. I got to stand up fer her now. There’s no other way.”

  Of course, Brandi thought. What else could she expect from Devon? He was an honorable man, wearing integrity like most wore a holster. He loved her, it was true, but he loved his only sister as well. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” she said aloud. A line from some movie she had seen in a place and time so different--yet not so different.

  She felt Devon smile. His arms tightened around her.

  “Go back to the house,” he said, gently pushing her away. “I need some time alone.”

  “I love you so much.” She prayed he’d hear how deeply she felt. The words just didn’t seem to be enough.

  “I know, darlin’. And that’s why I’m going to get through this. We both are.”

  Brandi started back across the wide courtyard, her mind buzzing with options, a better plan, but nothing seemed to wiggle out that made any sense. Budd was still sitting on the porch finishing off the jug of whiskey. Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have disappeared and left them alone? Romy was by far a better friend to Devon.

  She froze on the spot. Romano. If he knew what had happened he might have a suggestion about to what to do. Devon listened to him. Her heart leapt, skipping several beats before starting again with a crash that left her dizzy. The stable doors were open, and she saw Devon’s horse inside. There was enough light left in the day to ride out to the cottage. She wasn’t certain as to exactly where the cottage was but she could find it.

  “We’re not beat yet,” she mumbled, casually stepping towards the open barn. “Not by a long shot.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Romano! Sara! Come quickly!”

  Romy was first outside. There was a terrible urgency to Brandi’s call, and Sara sensed that something awful had happened. Although they hadn’t heard anything unusual in the quiet evening air, her first thought was that Antonio’s ranch was being raided.

  Brandi was slipping from the horse’s bare back before it stopped. She stumbled right into Romy’s arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, picking her up.

  “Romy, Budd’s here.” There was terror in her eyes, her hair tangled from the wind. “He says that Cal is dead, shot down by Horn and his men.” Her words darted out so quickly she sounded breathless, nearing hysteria. “And Devon wants to leave again, find Sadie. It’s a trap, Romy, I feel it in my heart. It’s a trap.”

  “Slow down,” Romy said, ushering her to the cottage steps.

  She repeated her news, this time adding that Budd had persuaded Devon to leave with him, that they were planning to head back to the border come morning. “Don’t let him go, Romy. He’ll listen to you. Don’t let him go!”

  Romy had taken hold of her shoulders, giving Brandi a gentle shake. “Calm down,” he soothed, although the strain of her news was apparent in his drained expression. “Where’s Budd now?”

  “Sitting casual as you like, on Antonio’s porch, helping himself to whiskey.”

  “Help her,” Romy said to Sara. Then he dashed inside the cottage, returning with his revolver.

  Sara felt numb, sharing the anxiety. With crystal clarity she remembered Bear’s haunting words about not trusting Budd. Bear had referred to him as the useless finger that needed to be severed, and as much as she had dismissed the mysticism at the time it had suddenly become a very important piece of advice.

  “Stay here,” Romy ordered. He was moving towards Taboo. The horse shuffled to one side, agitated with all the hasty movement.

  “What are you going to do?” Sara asked. She wasn’t comfortable with Brandi and her being alone at the cottage. Close as it was to Antonio’s ranch it was still virtually isolated.

  “Find Devon. I’ll send someone over to collect you,” he added, seeing Sara’s hesitation.

  The click of a hammer being pulled back interrupted them. Budd strode around the corner of the cottage, his mouth twisted in a malevolent smirk. The gun in his grip was pointed directly at Romano. Sara couldn’t believe her eyes. What madness was this? He was supposed to be their friend.

  “Drop the gun,” Budd said. “And step away from the horse.”

  Romy slowly reached for the gun he had tucked in his belt. It dropped to the ground with a thud, a small pillow of dust twirled from the impact. Then he stepped backwards, positioning himself between Budd and the women. He held up his hands, in as non-threatening a stance as possible.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Romy said through gritted teeth. Never once did he take his glare off Budd who continued to smile inanely.

  “What am I
doin’? Securin’ a fortune, that’s what I’m doin’. I done decided there weren’t no future in riding any longer with you boys. Just ain’t worth the trouble. ”

  “Then it is true,” Romy growled. “Bear was right about you being a traitor to us.”

  “Bear?” Budd laughed. “That silly old breed. He still round?” Budd kicked Romy’s weapon through the dust. It was well out of reach now.

  “Why?” Romy asked. He was standing directly in front of Sara and Brandi, who clutched each other’s arms.

  “I got an offer I couldn’t rightly refuse,” Budd said cheerfully. He was thoroughly enjoying being in control. He winked over Romy’s shoulder at Brandi. “Things coulda gone smoothly if the lady here hadn’t a decided to be a Good Samaritan and plant silly ideas in yer head. I figured I’d best follow along when I saw she was headed this way, and convince you all to come along nice and quiet. We ain’t got far to go. Mr. Horn is camped on the other side of the river, waitin’ fer yer surrender.”

  Sara dug her fingers into Brandi’s sleeve. She stifled a whimper; neither of them took their frightened stares from Budd.

  “Now I woulda preferred Dev come along with us, but I’m countin’ on that famous honor of his to come after you, once he realizes we’re all ... missin’.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Romy said with solid defiance.

  The absurdity wasn’t lost to Budd. He chuckled, waving his gun from side to side. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because I’m going to kill you.” Romy spoke with such sincerity that it knocked the grin from Budd’s face, but only for a second.

  Sara couldn’t swallow. There was no spit left in her mouth. Romy was foolishly brave for being at gunpoint. How could he possibly think he’d get the upper hand? Brandi nudged her gently. The handle of a Bowie knife protruded from the back of Romy’s trousers. It did little to soothe her fears, however. Bullets were faster than knives.

  Budd laughed wickedly. “I thought you were smarter than that,” he scoffed. “But you are just a dumb greaser after all, ain’t you? Maybe I’ll just shoot you and take the ladies. Poster says ‘dead or alive’, don’t it? Either way I get my share of the money.”

  Romy had lowered his hands. Sara felt the intent. He was going to make a grab for the knife, and when he did she’d drop to the ground and take Brandi with her. But then the unexpected happened.

  Taboo nickered fiercely, her huge eyes rolling at the perpetrator. She rose on hind legs, a flurry of pawing hooves and bared teeth. Loyal to her master, she must have sensed the impending danger.

  The attack threw Budd off balance, even though the horse hadn’t actually made contact. Seizing the moment Romy drew the blade, flashing so quickly Sara couldn’t focus. In the next instant the knife was planted, with a sickening thud, into Budd’s shoulder.

  He screamed with pain and shock, and staggered. Romy made a dive, fists curled. Taboo continued to rear up, adding to the confusion with her angry nickering. Sara lay stunned, watching the scene unfold like the conclusion to some surreal wrestling match. The two men rolled on the earth; she couldn’t distinguish between either. The struggle seemed to go on forever.

  Even wounded Budd proved to be a formidable fighter. Worse still, he continued to keep a firm grip on his gun. Romy was desperately trying to knock it out of his hand.

  When the gun went off, everything stopped. No sound. No movement. No air. Taboo nodded her head, the mane shimmering in the twilight.

  Now it was Sara’s turn to scream. Romy had clutched his stomach and rolled, weightless onto his back. A crimson stain was seeping through his smoldering shirt.

  Instantly Budd was staggering to his feet. He cursed loudly as he yanked the knife from his shoulder and threw it down on the ground. Sara crawled towards Romy, who moaned softly, immobilized by the wound. And from the corner of her eye she saw Brandi make a mad dash for Romy’s gun.

  Budd saw it, too. He stumbled, but was fast enough to block her intent. Snatching a fistful of Brandi’s hair he yanked her to her feet, and planted a blow to her jaw. She cried out, weakened by the assault.

  “You’ll have to do,” Budd snarled, lugging her towards his horse.

  Sara felt the vibrations of the horse’s hooves as Budd made good his escape. She had reached Romy, frantically tearing open his shirt, swallowing the horror from the sight of so much blood. “Oh, God, no please,” she uttered. Romy’s cheeks had gone ashen, his jaw dropped. There was a pulse, but he wasn’t moving.

  Her hands fluttered over his hair and shoulders. Panic had set in. She couldn’t think through the heavy cloud; her mind seemed to shut down completely. “Romy,” she cried over and over. “Wake up. Please, you’ve got to wake up.”

  An eerie calmness washed through her chest. Nursing instincts prevailed. Stop the flow of blood. Blinded by tears she ripped off her blouse, folding it into a pad to press into Romy’s stomach. He groaned, lids flickering.

  “Sara,” he rasped so faintly she could barely make out what he was saying.

  “Shush,” she soothed, mustering a comforting tone even though she feared the worst. “Lay still. You’re going to be fine.”

  His eyes cracked open, the pupils dilated. “Sara,” he repeated, ignoring her request. Either that or he couldn’t hear her.

  “I’m here darling,” she sobbed, holding the makeshift bandaging as best she could.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  Streaks of hot tears flooded down her cheeks. She took his hand, wrapping her bloodied fingers round that perfectly sculptured wrist. Lifting his palm to her mouth she kissed it.

  “I love you,” he said, a short smile creasing his dry skin. His breath was harsh.

  “Don’t you dare die on me,” she choked. “Don’t you dare.”

  She slumped over him, so he could feel her heart beating. Her heart would beat for both of them. “Don’t leave me, Romy. I need you too much.”

  Fight, she pleaded. Fight harder than you’ve ever fought before.

  “I’ve got to go get help,” she whispered into his ear.

  His hand gripped hers. “No,” he croaked, his voice parched, dull. “There’s no time.”

  He believed he was going to die. And he didn’t want her to go because when his eyes dimmed he wanted her there. But Sara wouldn’t let him surrender. She couldn’t.

  “Please, God,” she prayed. “You brought me into this forsaken place, don’t let him die. This can’t be what was meant to happen.”

  So fervent was her prayer Sara hadn’t heard the approaching horses. Not until hands were helping her up did she realize Antonio and Devon were both by her side. Alerted by the shot that had felled Romano, the shot that had echoed through the growing darkness, they rode fast and furiously, flanked by several of Antonio’s guards, to the cottage.

  They didn’t need to ask what had happened. They knew. Antonio scooped up his brother, carried him inside the cottage, and stretched him out on the bed, the beautiful bed that had been their place of refuge and bliss. Now horror had crept in. Its silent voice screamed in every ear.

  Antonio washed the blood from Romy’s wound, studying it with care. He snapped several orders to the anxious guards, one left, riding off. The others went outside to watch for further danger. But, as far as Sara was concerned, the worst had happened.

  “He’s alive, Sara,” Devon said, holding her shivering body against his. “We got to try to get the bullet out. If he survives the night, he just might make it.”

  “Oh, Devon,” Sara said weakly, her energy spent. “Brandi…”

  “I know. And I’m going after her. But first, you got to see to Romy.”

  “Yes,” she said, collecting her emotions. Smoothing down her shirt she made a determined decision to hold any further tears till another time. “Yes. Get me some whiskey to clean the wound. And a knife. A long thin one.”

  His brow furrowed. “Can you do this?”

  “You bet your sweet ass I can.” She had had experi
ence with gunshot wounds before, but in a hospital with sterilized equipment and then only with a crew of medics, in assisting a doctor. She was no doctor, but Romy’s life might depend on her skill.

  Every available light source was flickering inside the cottage. Shadows danced over Romy’s contorted face. He was muttering in Spanish now, and Antonio answered, soothingly, hopeful, while meticulously cutting off the bloodstained shirt. Sara washed her hands, each finger trembling so violently she doubted she could be of value. “Get a grip,” she scolded herself. “You can do this.”

  She picked up a knife. Another quick prayer as she held it over a candle’s flame. Then she went to the bed. Romy was still conscious, his eyes had widened in anticipation; sweat trickled like glistening ribbons down his temples. She wished there was some way he could be rendered unconscious. What she was about to do would cause unimaginable pain. She cast a frightened look at Antonio. He nodded, placing a folded towel into Romy’s mouth, something to bite down on.

  “Focus,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  The wound was about two inches from the left side of his belly button. She reached under, feeling the sweat soaked skin of his back. The bullet was definitely in there lodged within the muscle. She prodded as gently as possible trying to find where it had become wedged. Romy bit the towel and squirmed. Antonio held down his shoulders, keeping him from writhing.

  She poured whiskey over the wound. A muffled cry penetrated the towel. “Hold him as quiet as possible,” she said to Antonio. He did, by pressing his shoulders over Romy’s. And Romy had balled the blankets in his fists, his knuckles white.

  Training, skill, dedication, it all paid off. She made the incision, the tip of the knife cutting through skin and flesh. As though a spectator to her own work, a warm confidence kept her strong and centered. Farther. A gush of blood seeped out. Her fingers felt slick. They manipulated the wound guided by an unknown force. There it was! She saw the tiny lead ball and with a skill she feared she could never achieve, it popped out, like a malevolent kernel of corn.