Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  “C’mon, Shadow. Faster.” Clay’s heartbeat was quicker than Shadow’s hooves as he raced toward the ranch. Soon. They’d be there soon. His eyes scanned the road mechanically, looking for snakes and holes. He listened for the sound of predators. Nothing could delay him. He had to reach Sarah.

  “Just one more hill,” he told Shadow. “Then we’ll be there.” But when they reached the top, Clay’s heart stopped. No! Please, God, no! It couldn’t be!

  21

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. Standing a mere five feet away was Mary, a pistol in her hand. What was she doing? The woman was ill. She should have been in bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. Had Mary heard an intruder? Did she fear that Ladreville’s thief had come to take her valuables? Mary had no way of knowing that even now Clay was at Gunther’s, attempting to catch the thief.

  “You’re what’s wrong.” Mary took a step closer, keeping the barrel of the gun pointed at Sarah. “Give me your earrings.”

  Something was desperately amiss. Though Mary had appeared ill a few minutes ago, unable to stand without assistance, now her posture bore no sight of frailty. Only her eyes glinted with unusual brilliance. What was happening? Sarah thought quickly, remembering the oddities she’d attributed to Mary’s fever. She’d claimed she’d gone to the Bar C to find Clay, and yet she already had medicine from Dr. Adler. She’d claimed all the servants were gone, but Jake was here. And now she was demanding Sarah’s earrings.

  “I won’t give them up.”

  Mary shook her head. “You will. They’ll be mine, just like the locket and the watch.” With one hand, she pulled a gold locket from inside her collar. Mary had been wearing it the day Sarah had met her. Sarah’s heart sank as she recalled how she’d admired it, how Thea had wanted to play with it, how Mary had claimed it was a gift from her husband. Mary had lied.

  She didn’t have to examine it, for the sickening feeling deep inside her told Sarah this was Patience’s locket. Bile rose to her throat as she considered how it must have come to be in Mary’s possession. Sarah clutched the edge of the table as waves of horror washed through her. The locket and the watch, Mary had said. Only one person in Ladreville had lost a watch.

  “How did you get them?”

  Mary laughed, a laugh that sent shivers down Sarah’s spine. “I think you know.” She laughed again. “Look in there.” Mary gestured toward a carved wooden box on top of the bureau. “The baubles were little enough compared to all that I lost.”

  Her legs weak with fear and horror, Sarah moved to the bureau. As she expected, the box contained a man’s watch open to reveal her miniature. “How did you get this?” she asked again. Surely what she feared wasn’t true. Surely Mary wasn’t the person who’d killed Clay’s brother.

  “The same way I’ll get your earbobs. When we’re done here, you’ll put my little pills in the cup and drink that tea. They worked for Patience; they’ll work for you. The only difference is, she didn’t know what was comin’. You will.” Mary waved the gun as she shook her head. “I liked you, Sarah. I really did. If you’d agreed to marry David, I wouldn’t have to do this. But you wanted to be a Canfield bride, so now you’ve gotta die just like the others.”

  The woman was mad. It was the only explanation. Sarah gripped the edge of the bureau as her leg began to buckle. “What did they do to deserve this?”

  “They took what shoulda been mine. Now they’ve gotta die. All of them.” Mary waved the gun again. “You’re next.”

  Help me, Lord. Sarah said a silent prayer. Somehow, some way she had to escape. But how? With her injured leg, she couldn’t go far, especially without the cane. She had no choice. She had to get out of here. She had to find Clay. Perhaps if she distracted Mary, she could reach the cane.

  “I don’t understand,” Sarah said as she inched toward the edge of the bureau. “What was stolen?”

  “Land!” Though nothing was amusing, Mary laughed. “All the land oughta been mine and David’s. Mine, not theirs.”

  Sarah nodded, hoping Mary would focus on her face, not her legs.

  “It weren’t fair. My husband died in the war. He oughta been rewarded, but he weren’t. Robert Canfield got the land.” Mary’s voice rose until she was shouting. “It weren’t fair. I deserved that land. Michel Ladre shoulda paid me for it, not Robert.”

  Sarah took another step toward the cane. “I understand.” She used the voice that calmed Thea’s tantrums. What Sarah understood was that Mary’s grievance, which should have been directed at the State of Texas, had taken on maniacal proportions, and she had turned Clay’s family into scapegoats.

  “It shoulda been mine,” Mary repeated. “I knew that. That’s why I tried to get Robert to marry me. He refused. The old fool refused me.” The laughter that burst from Mary chilled Sarah. “He got his punishment. Look at him now, helpless as a baby in that chair.”

  Sarah nodded slowly as she took another step. All doubts about Mary’s sanity had disappeared. The woman was mad, and that made her doubly dangerous, for there was no predicting what she would do. There was also no stopping her, for she would not listen to reason. It was only by God’s grace that Mary didn’t appear to realize Sarah was moving.

  “When Robert refused me, I knew what I had to do. If I couldn’t become a Canfield, I would make sure the bloodline died.” She fingered Patience’s locket again. “I couldn’t let Clay’s wife give him a child. She had to die before the baby was born. That’s why I poisoned her bowl of chowder. I thought that would be the end. But then Austin decided he’d marry, and it was his time to die.” Mary let out another blood-chilling laugh. “It was easy to kill him. Even when he saw the gun, he didn’t try to escape. He was as much of a fool as his father. Nobody figgered a woman could kill. They were wrong.”

  Mary waved the gun. “Clay weren’t no problem at first. He was going back to Boston. But now he’s fixin’ to marry you and stay here. I can’t let that happen. I didn’t want to kill you. You were s’posed to get scared by the wagon wheel, but you didn’t. That’s why I had to dig the hole.” She looked at Sarah, bewilderment in her eyes. “Why didn’t you leave? You were s’posed to.”

  Mary gestured toward the bottle of pills. “It’s too late now. Put the pills in the tea, Sarah. It’ll soon be over. Then only Clay will be left.”

  “And his father.” If Mary killed her, at least Clay would have Pa. But she wouldn’t let Mary kill her. Somehow she would escape. Another two steps was all she needed to reach the cane.

  Mary shook her head. “Robert will be dead in minutes. I left him a little present when I visited the Bar C. By now the cheroot shoulda set the whole house on fire.” She glanced at the window. “If this faced east, you’d see the flames. I thought of everything. In an hour, Clay won’t have nothing. No house, no father, no wife.” Mary laughed.

  Sarah closed her eyes. Please, God, help me. I can’t let Clay lose everything. She opened her eyes and took the final step, wrapping her hand around the cane, then moving through the door.

  “Stop!”

  But Sarah would not. This was her only chance. She had to escape. She had to reach the Bar C. She had to save Clay’s father. Sarah ran. Though she feared the sound of Mary’s finger on the trigger, it never came. Another yard and she’d be outside. She heard footsteps and felt Mary’s hand grip her arm. No! She would not remain here. Sarah raised the cane. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she brought it down on Mary’s head. The older woman crumpled to the floor, moaning. Please, God, make her stay there.

  Though her leg throbbed with each step, Sarah ran toward the barn. She had to reach Pa. She had to. And that meant . . . a horse. Sarah tried not to cringe at the thoughts, but the images rushed in. Flying through the air. The sickening thud when she’d hit the ground. The unbearable pain when Daisy landed on top of her. The months of lying in her bed, certain she would not walk again. She couldn’t. She couldn’t ride a ho
rse. But she had to.

  I can’t do it alone. Sarah’s hands were trembling as she opened the barn door. Help me, Lord. Give me strength. She took a deep breath and felt peace flow through her. Resolutely, she opened the stall and walked inside. Horses sensed a person’s fear. Sarah knew that, and so she willed herself to show no fear. Somehow, she managed to get the bit into the mare’s mouth. There was no time for a saddle. Though she’d never done it before, she would have to ride bareback. Somehow she found herself mounted. An instant later, she was out of the barn. Thank you, Lord. Sarah bent low over the mare’s neck, urging her to gallop. They had minutes, perhaps only seconds, if they were to reach the Bar C before it was too late.

  The air was still, but there was no mistaking the smell of smoke and burning wood. Mary had not lied. Please, God, let Pa still be alive. Let me reach him in time. Sarah gripped the reins tighter, urging the horse forward. Soon. Soon she’d be at the ranch.

  And then she heard it, the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats behind her. She wouldn’t look, for if she turned, she might lose her balance and fall. She couldn’t risk that, not when Pa’s life depended on her. The horse was closer now. Perhaps the rider was Clay. But it was not. A second later, the horse was beside her. A hand snaked out and grabbed Sarah’s reins, tugging her horse to a stop.

  “Get off. Now.” Mary had caught her.

  Clay had heard people claim their blood chilled. As a physician, he had thought it an impossibility. Now he knew otherwise. Blood drained from his face and pooled around his heart, forming an icy shroud as he stared at the scene before him. While two horses grazed peacefully, Mary Bramble held Sarah at gunpoint in the middle of the road. Clay’s last doubt vanished. This was the woman who’d killed his brother, and now she was threatening the woman he loved.

  “Sarah!” He let out an anguished cry as he drew his six-shooter. Mary had to be stopped. She couldn’t hurt Sarah. A bullet in the arm would keep Mary from shooting Sarah. He was too late. Before he could aim, Mary grabbed Sarah, pulling her in front of her, a human shield. Clay’s heart sank as he considered the possibilities. Though Sarah had the advantage of age, Mary was bigger and stronger and was not burdened by an injured leg. The woman he loved had no chance of escape unless Clay could find a way to disarm Mary. His gaze moved quickly, searching for a weakness he could exploit.

  “Go, Clay! Save your father.” Sarah’s words echoed through the night. Though his heart remained frozen with terror, warmth began to spread through his veins at the realization that this woman—this wonderful woman—cared more for Pa than her own life. “I’ll be all right,” she said.

  “That’s right, Clay. Go.” Mary’s laugh chilled his blood another ten degrees despite the warmth Sarah’s love had generated. “I’ll take care of your bride.” Mary’s laugh left no doubt how she proposed to care for Sarah.

  “I can’t do that.” The acrid stench of smoke burned his eyes, filling his heart with pain at the thought of what his father was suffering. Dear Lord, spare Pa the agony, he prayed silently. He had made his choice. No matter how high the cost, he could not leave Sarah with this woman.

  I love you, Pa. He sent the thought winging toward the Bar C. I know this is what you would have wanted. The day he’d returned from the war and stood at his wife’s grave, Pa told Clay and Austin that the future belonged to the next generation. Sarah was Clay’s future. If he were given the choice, his father would tell him to save Sarah, even though it meant his own death sentence.

  Clay’s eyes narrowed as he tried to find a way to free Sarah. “Let her go, Mary.”

  Mary laughed again. “If you want her, toss me your six-shooter. If’n you don’t, I’ll shoot her.”

  There was no choice. Mary had killed once; Clay knew she’d do it again. He dropped his gun.

  “Good.” Mary cackled. Keeping her arm tightly wrapped around Sarah, she trained her gun on Clay. “Now, get off the horse.”

  Again, there was no choice. As he slid from Shadow’s back, Clay measured the distance between him and Mary. Without a weapon, he would have to tackle her, but only when Sarah was safe. He looked at Sarah. Though her eyes were filled with fear, she managed a small smile for him, as if she sought to reassure him that everything would be fine. It wouldn’t, unless he could find a way to overpower Mary.

  When Clay was on the ground, Mary smiled, a smile devoid of all mirth. “This is more than I coulda hoped for. Now I can be rid of all of you.” She laughed. “First Patience, then Austin, now you, your father, and your pretty bride.”

  For a moment, the words did not register, but when they did, rage deeper than anything he’d ever known slammed through Clay. This woman was evil, pure evil. She had killed his brother and his wife and their unborn child, and now she threatened Pa and Sarah. Mary was a murderer. Worse than that, she was a monster who enjoyed killing, and there was nothing so horrible on the face of the earth. With every fiber of his being, Clay knew she could not be allowed to live.

  I will repay, saith the Lord. The words Clay had memorized echoed through his brain. He clenched his hands, wanting nothing more than to wrap them around Mary’s throat. He could not, not without disobeying his God. Help me, Lord. Give me strength.

  As the rage began to subside, Clay stared at Mary. Perhaps if he convinced her to talk, Sarah would be able to break free. “Why are you doing this? I thought you were our friend.”

  Mary’s lips curled with anger. “The land shoulda been mine. You Canfields don’t have no right to it.”

  Dimly Clay recalled her complaining that she hadn’t received a land grant to match the one the state had given Pa. It appeared that the slight had festered and that she now blamed his family for everything that had gone wrong in her life. Clay couldn’t change that. He wouldn’t even try. All that mattered was saving Sarah. If Mary wanted the ranch, she could have it, so long as she freed Sarah.

  Clay’s thoughts whirled. There had to be a way to distract Mary long enough for Sarah to break free. He looked at the woman he loved, hoping she could read his expression, hoping she knew why he shifted his eyes to the right. “Killing us won’t give you the Bar C,” he told Mary. “Only I can do that.” Though Mary kept her gun pointed at him, Clay saw her eyes flicker with confusion. “Let Sarah go.” Sarah nodded almost imperceptibly. “If you do, I’ll deed the ranch to you. That’s the only way you’ll get it. If I’m dead, it will go to the state.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Clay glanced to the side again, not daring to look at Sarah, lest he alert Mary, but hoping she would understand. “What have you got to lose?” As he pronounced the final word, Clay bent down, as if reaching for his gun. Enraged, Mary took a step forward. The distraction was momentary, but it was all Sarah needed. She lurched to the side and broke free. Thank you, Lord.

  The instant Sarah was safe, Clay lunged. Wrapping his arms around Mary’s legs, he dragged her to the ground, then pulled her arms behind her. Though she was kicking and struggling, she could not escape.

  Clay twisted his head and looked at Sarah. “There’s a rope on Shadow. Will you get it?” The woman he loved might limp, but she moved toward the stallion with confidence. Gone was the fear that had characterized her interactions with horses. Suddenly the implication of the two horses he’d seen grazing at the side of the road hit him. “You rode,” he said, wonder in his voice.

  Sarah acted as if overcoming her fear was of little importance. “It was the only way to save your father.”

  “It’s too late now.” Mary cackled as she pronounced the words. “Too late. Too late. Too late.”

  She was mad. As a student, Clay had seen enough patients to be certain of the diagnosis. Though she’d hidden her illness for years, Mary had stepped over the brink tonight. There was no turning back.

  Clay wrapped a length of rope around her wrists, then tied her ankles. For her own safety as well as others’, Mary could not be allowed to escape. A deep sadness filled him at the thought that this woman who h
ad once been a friend would spend the rest of her life in an asylum, a tragic, pitiful figure.

  “It’s over,” he said softly. “The killing is over.” Mary’s only response was another mad laugh. The poor, poor woman. Clay swallowed and prayed for strength, knowing there was more to be said. She wouldn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter. Zach and Sarah were right. Clay was doing this for himself. He took another deep breath as he looked at the struggling figure on the ground. “I forgive you for what you’ve done.” As he pronounced the words, Clay pictured Austin’s smile.

  Sarah’s legs buckled, and she sank to the ground. Perhaps it was relief; perhaps it was fatigue; perhaps it was sorrow over Pa’s death. She didn’t know the cause. All she knew was that she could no longer stand. She’d handed Clay the ropes, and then she’d collapsed. Sarah watched while Clay restrained Mary. Though he was speaking, she could not distinguish the words. All she saw was his bowed head and then the confident way he straightened his shoulders as he bent to pick up Mary. Something had happened, but Sarah did not know what it was.

  Clay draped Mary over the horse’s back, tying her so she could not fall off. When he turned and saw her, Sarah read alarm in his eyes. “What happened?” Clay cried as he crossed the distance to her in a few long strides.

  “It’s nothing. My leg gave out from the strain. That’s all.” Though she knew tonight was indelibly etched on her brain, it was one of God’s miracles that she had not been harmed.

  “Oh, Sarah, I couldn’t bear to lose you too.” As tenderly as if she were a child, Clay gathered her into his arms and carried her to Shadow. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promised as he mounted in front of her.

  The horse that bore Mary walked next to them. It was a pitiful sight, the once strong woman broken, her words reduced to babbling. Sarah said a prayer for the woman who’d done so much harm and for the man who’d lost so much.