Claiming Mariah

by Pam Hillman

  A hollow feeling washed over him. “What if—?” He couldn’t say it out loud. What if Giff violated Mariah? He couldn’t stand to sit here and wait. He shook his head. “No, I have to go now.”

  “Please, Slade. You’ve done all you can tonight.”

  Slade knew he wouldn’t sleep, so he nursed a cup of coffee in the cookhouse all night. Several times he stopped himself short of jumping up and running to the corral. He’d saddle his horse and hunt Giff Kerchen down. He’d take Mariah back by force.

  But reason kept him from running off into the night without a hope of finding her. Reason and the niggling thought that he needed to ask God to help him. He stood and raked a hand through his hair before pacing back and forth across the room. What had Mrs. Malone said that day at the picnic? That God was the only one he could depend on? That God would never betray him?

  What else had she said? He couldn’t remember, but he did know he needed God’s help in the worst way. He wanted God’s help. He stopped pacing and braced himself against the sturdy oak table in the center of the room, hands splayed across the rough surface.

  “I’m not exactly sure how to go about this, Lord, but I need You to help me find Mariah.” He gritted his teeth, desperate to find the right words. “Lord, I want to believe in You like Mrs. Malone does and like James Denton is learning to do. What I’m trying to say is that I’d like You to come into my heart and life. I’m tired of trying to figure it all out on my own.”

  He stood silent and still, waiting. Nothing happened. What had he expected? Trumpets? Angels? He didn’t know. But he’d expected . . . something.

  He stood like that for a long time, braced and waiting.

  Cookie shuffled in long before dawn and started preparing breakfast. One by one the other hands joined them, silent and anxious.

  Rio looked solemn. “I want to go with you.”

  “You and Cookie stay here and watch after Mrs. Malone.”

  The kid’s face fell, but for once he didn’t argue. “Yes, sir.”

  Cookie rattled pots and pans. “I don’t need any help taking care of Mrs. Malone. Been doing it for years. Why, the day you rode in, you young whippersnapper, I had you in my sights the whole time.”

  Slade had no doubt Cookie would have shot him, but where the lead went would be anybody’s guess. “Why didn’t you shoot me then, Cookie?”

  The old man snorted. “Miss Mariah didn’t give me the go-ahead, and I figured you might come in handy.” He smiled—thin and grim. “Seems I was right.”

  Soon Cookie had an early breakfast on the table so the men could eat. No one had much of an appetite, except for Rio, the bottomless ravine.

  Cookie offered Slade a bundle wrapped in cheesecloth. Slade shook his head. Food would just churn in his belly.

  “Take it. For Mariah.” Cookie cleared his throat and pushed the bundle toward him before turning quickly away.

  Slade grabbed the bundle and pushed back his chair. “Buck, go on down to the Dentons’ and see if Elizabeth can come stay with Mrs. Malone. Duncan, you ride into town and tell Sheriff Dawson what’s happened. I’m going to see if Mrs. Malone is up.”

  “She’s up, mark my words,” Cookie said.

  “I’ll saddle your horse,” Rio volunteered.

  Slade tossed him the bundle of food. “Put that in my saddlebags.”

  He found Mariah’s grandmother in the kitchen, trying to make a pot of coffee. Her gnarled hands trembled, and dark circles shadowed her eyes.

  “Here, let me do that.” He moved forward.

  “I’m just a useless old woman. Can’t even make a pot of coffee on my own.”

  Slade stoked the fire until a good blaze roared. “You’re not useless, and you know it.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Soon as the men get saddled up. Buck’s going to fetch Elizabeth. And I’m leaving Cookie and Rio here, in case you need anything.”

  “We’ll be fine. You just find my girl.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  “I’ll find her.” The aroma of coffee wafted from the pot, and he reached for a mug.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  How had she guessed? He’d only recently admitted it to himself.

  “She’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.” His gut churned.

  “Have you asked her?”

  “No.” He glanced out the window. “It’ll be daylight soon. I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll be praying for you, Slade. And I’ll be praying that you find Mariah safe and sound.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  He stepped out on the porch and breathed in the damp air. A faint glow lit up the eastern sky. It would be light enough to track Giff and Mariah within the hour. Somehow knowing Mrs. Malone would be praying made the task ahead a little less fearsome.

  Daylight found Slade and Buck on the trail where Slade had left off the night before. But it was painstakingly slow. They lost the trail twice and had to backtrack to find it again.

  They topped a rise and reached the edge of Lazy M land. An expanse of barbed wire had been cut. Slade calculated the distance. Several hundred feet. Posts just pulled up out of the ground and tossed aside like driftwood. Slowly he rode down the steep incline, squinting at the churned-up earth. Cows, hundreds of them, had passed this way during the night. His jaw clenched. These men had made a run at the cattle too.

  A piece of cloth fluttered in the wind a hundred yards to the right. He rode over and plucked it from the fence. A small square of brown cotton from Mariah’s skirt.

  Dread clutched at his stomach as he scanned the horizon. One—no, two pieces of cloth waved in the distance. There wasn’t any need to even search for tracks.

  The rustlers had gone in one direction.

  Mariah and Giff in another.

  “What do you make of it?” Buck asked.

  “They’re offering me a choice. Go after Mariah or save the herd.”

  “That’s no choice.” Buck scowled, pointing his horse toward the cloth flags waving in the distance.

  “Buck, find Duncan and the sheriff. Tell ’em not to worry about the cows. Mariah’s safety comes first.”

  “All right.” Buck paused. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going after Mariah.”

  “Do you think he’ll come after you?” Frederick asked.

  Mariah ignored him.

  “It doesn’t really matter.” He laughed. “We’ve got a good head start, and we’ll be in Cheyenne long before he catches up with us.”

  “Then what?” She dreaded asking but needed to know.

  “As soon as Red wires me that the cows have been sold and we’re in the clear, I won’t need you anymore.”

  Mariah stared at his cold-blooded eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to let her go. She shuddered and looked away. What if Slade chose to go after the herd? What if he didn’t come after her?

  No, he wouldn’t do that. Slade would come. She was sure of it. God, protect him. Don’t let Frederick kill him.

  Even though she’d put on a brave face in front of Frederick, inside she was terrified. She didn’t know what he was capable of, and she didn’t want to find out.

  She bowed her head and prayed silently. Lord, help me to be strong. I accept Your will for my life, Lord. A vise squeezed her chest as she thought of her grandmother. Please give Grandma strength to face whatever happens. And keep Slade, Buck, and the rest of the men safe. Help them to seek Your will and to make the right decisions.

  Mariah continued her litany of prayers as Frederick led them farther and farther away from home and all she held dear.

  Noon passed, and the sun marched resolutely across the sky, marking time. Mariah squinted against the glare. By her calculations, they had another two to three hours of daylight left. Frederick stopped and fear kicked her hard in the stomach. Without a word, he uncapped his canteen and took a long swig.

  She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to bring a little moisture
into her mouth. Would he offer her water? She wouldn’t beg. Panic bubbled up as she realized that she might have to. If no one came, she’d be forced to plead for water—for her very life, even.

  “May I have some water?” She croaked out the words, the request almost choking her.

  Frederick considered her, then rode close and tipped the canteen into her mouth. Only a swallow, but it was enough. For now.

  He capped the canteen and started off again, the ground sloping upward at a sharp angle. Mariah braced her feet in the stirrups and attempted to hold on to the pommel, but it didn’t do any good: her hands had gone numb hours ago.

  Suddenly Mariah’s horse stumbled, and she screamed.

  Mariah’s horse had gone lame.

  Slade breathed a prayer of thanks for the chance it gave him to catch up. He topped a rise, his heart thudding in his chest when he spotted two horses ground-hitched in a copse of trees. He slowed, eyes squinted, searching the area for Mariah and Giff.

  A man moved out from behind the horses, arm wrapped around Mariah, holding her tight in front of him, a pistol at her head. Slade kneed his horse closer, blood curdling in his veins.

  “Donovan!”

  The shock of hearing Cooper’s voice, not Giff’s, brought him up short.

  “Ride in slowly, hands up. And don’t try anything foolish.”

  He drew closer, his hands where Cooper could see them, but he had eyes only for Mariah. Her wide, terrified gaze met his. Her thick mane of hair had come undone and flowed unchecked down her back and over her shoulders, but other than a rumpled, grass-stained dress, she looked unharmed . . . and just as beautiful as ever. He shifted his attention to Cooper, his gut twisting with rage. If he could get his hands on the snake, he’d kill him.

  “Stop right there. Get off your horse, and drop your gun.” The cold, no-nonsense tone convinced Slade that Cooper would shoot first and ask questions later.

  He did as he was told, holding both hands up. “I should have known you were involved.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. Cooper recommending Red when Mariah’s father got sick. The slow siphoning of cattle a few at a time, so nobody would get suspicious.

  “I guess you know about the cows?”

  Slade knew enough. “What does that have to do with Mariah?”

  Cooper smiled. “Yeah, Giff did me a favor by grabbing Mariah.”

  “You won’t get away with this.”

  Cooper laughed, a sharp bark of amusement that grated down Slade’s spine. “Of course I will. Why do you think I’m riding Giff’s horse?”

  Slade tried to think of a plan, anything to get Mariah away from Cooper. But he came up empty. He looked deep into her eyes and saw fear there, but he glimpsed trust shining in their depths too. Fear squeezed the air right out of his chest—the pain so hard and brittle, he felt like he’d shatter if he took another breath.

  Save her, God. Whatever it takes, keep her alive. Let me die in her place if need be.

  He inched one foot forward, his only hope to distract Cooper and gain the upper hand.

  Cooper thumbed the hammer back, the ominous click loud in the tense silence.

  Slade froze, his senses attuned to Cooper’s every move. The twitch of his eye, the subtle flex of his arm wrapped around Mariah’s neck, the telltale sign of when he was about to turn the gun on Slade.

  Because he would shoot Slade first, possibly keep Mariah for insurance until he got to where he was going. Slade might get shot, might even get killed, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

  The thundering sound of a horse’s hooves registered just as Cooper’s gaze shifted and focused over Slade’s shoulder. Hope beat anew in Slade’s chest as the rider drew near, but the gun at Mariah’s temple kept him frozen in place. Something akin to anger flashed across Cooper’s face, then was gone. His gaze flicked back to Slade, steady and relentless in his purpose.

  Slade’s brief flash of hope died a quick death.

  The man’s reaction made clear whose side the rider was on.

  A tear trickled down Mariah’s cheek. There was nothing he could do to reassure her.

  Not one blasted thing.

  The rider pulled his horse to a stop a few feet to Slade’s right. Slade slowly turned his head, not giving Cooper any reason to fire, and spotted Red, his face streaked with dirt, clothes dusty and sweat-stained. Haunted eyes met Slade’s for a split second before focusing on Cooper.

  “This has gone far enough, Emmit.”

  Emmit? Slade studied the two men, eyes narrowed. How long had Red known that Cooper and Emmit Frederick were one and the same?

  “What are you doing here?” Cooper scowled.

  “I can’t let you do this.” Red kneed his horse forward.

  Slade shifted one foot farther, taking advantage of the distraction and closing the distance between himself and Cooper.

  “It’s too late. They know too much.”

  “I won’t let you do this. Think about what it will do to Ma.”

  “Ma’s dead.” Cooper laughed. “Has been for months.”

  “Dead?” Red’s voice cracked on the word. “How?” The silence thickened as he stared at Cooper, the man he’d called Emmit. “What . . . what happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone, so you can stop worrying about what she’d think or what she’d say. We’ve got a job to do.”

  The words flung between the two men barely registered as Slade focused on Cooper and the gun. He’d only get one opportunity to save Mariah, and he’d better make it count.

  “It does matter.” Red flushed. “Tell me.”

  “All right. She broke her leg. Gangrene set in, and she didn’t make it.” Cooper’s flat black eyes bored into Red. “Satisfied?”

  “Gangrene?” Red’s face turned pasty white. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “What good would it have done?”

  Red’s horse sidestepped, and Slade took his chance, diving behind the nervous animal. Cooper twisted, jerked Mariah to the side, his pistol swiveling toward Slade. The discharge blasted through the air as the bullet plowed into Red’s chest. His horse reared, and Red toppled to the ground.

  Slade scrambled for his own gun, got his hand wrapped around the grip, and rolled just as Cooper’s pistol blasted again, the bullet kicking up dirt inches from his face, spraying him in the eyes.

  Somewhere he could hear Mariah screaming his name.

  He blinked.

  Once. Twice.

  Then he took aim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SLADE’S SHOT DRILLED through Cooper’s shoulder but didn’t bring him down. Cooper aimed again, black eyes narrowed with an intent to kill.

  Slade’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  Mariah threw herself at Cooper, swinging a chunk of wood at his head. Slade jerked the tip of his pistol up just in time. His shot went wild.

  Cooper’s next shot sent Slade’s pistol flying. A white-hot burn clawed at his right arm.

  Then the earth tilted into slow motion as Cooper slapped Mariah away like a rag doll. Slade launched himself forward, growling. He’d kill the snake with his bare hands.

  Cooper drew down on him, so close Slade could see the rage in his eyes. The blast nearly deafened him, but he didn’t feel a thing. Had Cooper missed? At this distance?

  Cooper looked away from Slade and down to where blood pumped through a hole in his chest. He lifted his gaze past Slade, horror-struck shock on his face. “Red?”

  His eyes glazed over, and he fell and lay still.

  Slade spun toward Red, who lay on his side, staring at Cooper. Blood coated his shirt and his breathing came in shallow, raspy gasps. Slade put his hand on Red’s shoulder, his touch conveying his gratitude for what Red had done.

  Red held out his gun, butt first, then nodded in Mariah’s direction. “Go. Take care of her.”

  Slade took the gun from Red’s unresisting fingers, then strode to Cooper and kicked his gun away. But th
ere was no need to be cautious with Cooper. He wouldn’t bother any of them anymore.

  Mariah threw herself into Slade’s arms. He held on tight, never wanting to let her go. He took her tearstained face in both hands, his thumb grazing the darkening bruise where Cooper had backhanded her. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” Her lips trembled.

  He tucked her head underneath his chin, savoring the warmth emanating from her, knowing both of them could be lying on the ground this very instant, bodies growing cold. He focused on the clear blue sky overhead. The sun was shining, and they were alive. He couldn’t ask for more. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but there would be time enough for that later, after he got her safely home. He’d take her on a picnic. They’d find a new spot, and they’d make new memories.

  He’d tell her he loved her.

  And he’d ask her to marry him.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the blood coating his sleeve. “You’re hurt.”

  “Nothing serious. Just a flesh wound.” He glanced at Red. “I need to see about him.”

  “Soon. Let me see how bad you’re hurt.” She rolled up his sleeve and winced at the torn flesh where the bullet had plowed across his arm. At that moment, a dozen men rode into the clearing, led by Sheriff Dawson.

  Chaos reigned as the sheriff and his men asked questions, loaded Cooper’s lifeless body onto Giff’s horse, bandaged Slade’s arm, and saw to Red. Slade led Mariah away from the carnage, helped her mount, then swung into the saddle behind her. She’d been through enough, and he was taking her home.

  “Donovan?” Sheriff Dawson strode across the clearing, hat in his hand. He cleared his throat. “Harper didn’t make it.”

  Slade shook his head and glanced at Red’s lifeless body. No matter what Red had done to Mariah and her family, he tried to make up for it in the end. “If it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead by now. We both would. May God have mercy on his soul.”

  “Ma’am?” The sheriff twisted his hat and squinted up at Mariah. “Right before he passed, he asked me to tell you he was sorry.”