In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  Death hovered over him. She sat near him and drew her knees up to her chest. She’d been witness to a man dying only once before in her life, and then, it’d been Pa. The horror of the memory still lingered, the violence, the awful sense of failure she’d endured when she’d been unable to help him.

  And now she couldn’t help Landry.

  She tilted her head back and gazed up into the black sky. Stars sprinkled the night. The cold air nipped her nose and cheeks; in the distance, a coyote howled. The yipping sound sent quivers of unease down her spine.

  Desolation settled over her. She fretted for Father Donovan. For Sister Evangeline. She hoped they’d left the prison by now and were safe back at the convent, that they didn’t worry for her overmuch, and that they prayed diligently for her return.

  Surely they’d done all those things.

  Hannah grasped her rosary beads, seeking the peace she needed, but her own prayers wouldn’t come. Not this time. Nothing could give her solace after the horrific events of the night, and she huddled into a tight ball, taking what warmth and comfort she could from the folds of Fenwick’s blanket.

  “Hannah! Wake up!”

  She clawed through the depths of a fitful sleep. A large hand clasped her shoulder and gave her a rough shake. She made a protesting sound and curled into a tighter ball.

  “Get up. The dogs are coming,” Landry said hoarsely.

  The events of the past night rushed to her brain. Her eyes flew open. She scrambled to sit up and blinked at him in the morning sun. Confusion swarmed through her that he still lived when she’d been so sure he’d die.

  He tossed aside the cloak and pushed himself to his knees.

  “Briggs.” He swayed, as if his world was spinning. “He’s got the dogs after us.”

  Only then did she hear the barking, frenzied and thick. A whole pack, it seemed. Her heart lurched.

  “Oh, no,” she breathed in terror. It was all her fault. She’d tumbled down the hill, then walked back up again. Her scent would lead Briggs right to them.

  She swung a horrified glance through the trees. The dogs sounded closer.

  “Get up.” Landry reached for his club. Beneath several days of dark stubble, his skin was deathly pale. He managed to stand.

  “What can we do?” she asked.

  “Make a run for it.” He took her blanket and cloak and tossed them both in Fenwick’s rig.

  How could he flee in his condition?

  “We can take the carriage,” she said quickly.

  “There’s no time.” He unhobbled the horses, slapped each one on the rump. They bolted away.

  He was right. It’d take too long to hitch the team; the dense growth of trees would only hinder their escape, and the rig would be an easy target for any animal.

  For Briggs.

  She hastened to her feet. Landry leaned heavily on the club and gripped her wrist, whether to keep her near or to use for support, she wasn’t sure.

  “This way,” he said.

  They fled up the hill, zigzagged their way from the carriage, dodged the rocks and tree roots and jutting branches. They climbed and climbed, until the thin air stole their breaths, until Landry couldn’t go any further.

  He fell against a tree, wrapping an arm around the trunk to hold himself up. Sweat rolled off him, soaking the thin fabric of his prison uniform.

  “We’ll never make it,” he panted.

  Hannah fought a wave of panic. Landry was shoeless and weak. He didn’t have a chance for escape. The odds were against him.

  Against her.

  “We can split up,” she said. “I’m stronger. I can lead them away from you.”

  “No.” His hard gaze darkened over her. “We’re not separating.”

  “I can delay the warden.”

  “The dogs are trained to kill. You wouldn’t have a chance in hell.”

  The barking reached them, the frenzied pitch growing in intensity with every heartbeat. She tossed a furtive glance through the maze of junipers below, and there, in the clearing they’d left only moments before, the pack broke through.

  Five, maybe six dogs. Wild. Frantic. Part wolf, part mongrel, pawing the area with great agitation, their noses to the ground, their red-brown bodies taut from the stimulation of the scents she and Landry had left behind.

  Hannah stared.

  Landry swore.

  One dog burst from the pack and loped up the hill toward them. Hannah sucked in a breath. Landry bettered his grip on the club.

  “Take your veil off,” he ordered and stepped away from the tree.

  Hannah hurried to dismantle it, her fingers fumbling in their haste to find the pins holding the chin strap and wimple together. The linen fell away with the brown wool.

  The wolf-dog was nearly upon them. Hannah cried out in terror. At the sound of her voice, the animal halted, his slanted, yellow eyes finding them both. With a vicious snarl, he broke into a full run, slashing the distance between them.

  Landry was ready for him and swung the club. The beast lunged and caught it between his teeth, his growls raging, the sharp points of his fangs embedded deep into the wood.

  Landry gripped the weapon with both hands. The creature swung a sharp-clawed paw and caught Landry’s forearm with the swipe. His uniform ripped open, and long rows of bright crimson erupted on his skin.

  Hannah’s pulse pounded.

  “Throw him the veil!” Landry bit out.

  She tossed it toward the dog. The fabric fanned out and splayed over him, covering his head and furred body. For an instant, he faltered at the trap.

  The club fell from his lethal jaws. He swung his head back and forth amidst a new round of frenzied snarling, his paws working to free himself from the blinding wool.

  Landry’s fingers snatched hers, and they sprinted toward a wide ribbon of water grooving the land, a feeder from the Pecos River. He pulled her into the stream with him. The cold water swirled around her ankles, her shins. The freezing depths stole her breath.

  She stumbled, falling to her knees with a splash. The brown wool soaked up more water, tangled between her legs. He pulled her upright again, and she trudged onward, her skirts heavy and awkward, her ankle aching, her nerves at the breaking point.

  “Got to rest,” Landry huffed.

  He stumbled, too, but caught himself before he fell. She knew sheer adrenaline kept him moving, but he couldn’t go on much longer. She feared he’d keel over dead, right here in the water.

  A willow tree grew outward from the bank, its roots dangling naked from the earth and hanging into the water. Long branches leaned toward them. Landry grasped the strongest and hooked his arm around it, keeping himself upright.

  A man’s shout reached them. Landry pulled her with him closer to the muddy bank. Hannah strained to see through the branches.

  Their vantage point provided a clear view of the valley below. The wolf-dog freed himself from her veil and yapped and growled at the warden’s arrival. Briggs reined his horse to a hard stop, the coiled cat o’ nine tail in his hand. The whip cracked across the dog’s flanks; he yelped and limped away.

  Briggs stared at the ground. Retrieving his rifle from the scabbard, he leaned over the side of the horse and scooped up the length of brown wool from the ground with the barrel. He studied the fabric, shredded beyond repair from the wolf-dog’s assault.

  Hannah’s heart hammered. Briggs stood in the stirrups and twisted about, his gaze probing the hillside, his features harsh even in the distance. Another man rode up beside him.

  She recognized Titus, the scar-faced guard from the penitentiary. They spoke together and scanned the area again. The warden pointed toward the stream.

  Landry pressed her roughly into the bank and clamped a hand over her mouth, his fierce expression warning complete silence. The horses galloped to the water’s edge and halted.

  “They’re around here somewhere,” Briggs said. “They ain’t had time to go far.”

  “The dogs picked
up their scents pretty strong. Where do you reckon they’d head for?’

  “Damned if I know. Could be anywhere.”

  “Yeah.” Titus swore in annoyance. “Landry’s gotta be hurtin’ bad by now. He ain’t gonna be able to run much longer.”

  A match struck flint; the smell of sulfur reached Hannah’s nostrils.

  “Trouble-makin’ sonovabitch,” Briggs spat. “No one escapes from my prison and gets away with it.”

  Hannah shivered at the venom in his tone. A taut savagery radiated from Landry, his hate for Briggs evident.

  “No one ‘cept that Mexican a few years back,” Titus said, exhaling smoke. “That band of his cut him loose, but clean.”

  Briggs fell silent, as if he just now recalled the incident. “Except him, Landry’s the first to escape, and by God, he’ll be the last.”

  Leather creaked, protesting Titus’s shift in the saddle. “Jesus, you didn’t have to shoot that priest and nun dead, Briggs,” he said, his tone heavy with reproval, with disgust. “They wasn’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”

  . . . shoot that priest and nun dead . . .

  Dead. Father Donovan and Sister Evangeline.

  The words swam in Hannah’s brain, thundered inside her breast.

  Dear God.

  Her knees buckled in horror. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sagged against Landry. His grip tightened over her mouth.

  “They was trying to escape!” Briggs snapped.

  “Hell. They was just tryin’ to get to their rig. Maybe they was gonna try to help that nun Landry took with him.”

  “And maybe they was goin’ after the sheriff.”

  Titus grunted. “Maybe.”

  “They knew too much anyways.” The warden’s voice turned hard. “Fenwick’s newfangled drug was secret. He was going to get rich off it when his experimenting was done. And it’d be my ass the prison inspectors would come after for letting him do it.”

  “You wasn’t complainin’ when he gave you that purse full of gold coins.”

  “Shut up, Titus.” A cigarette stub arced in the air and landed in the water with a tiny plop.

  “So now what?”

  “So we tell everyone that other nun shot ‘em. That she was in cahoots with Landry and helping him make his getaway.”

  “ ’Cept for Fenwick, ain’t no one around to say different.”

  “She’s gonna pay for what she did to me,” Briggs said bitterly, reminding Hannah of how she’d hit him with the jar of preserves. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Landry’ll kill her for us.”

  “Sonovabitch was in for murder. Killin’ a nun ain’t no different than killin’ his brother’s wife.”

  Murder.

  Hannah’s chest heaved. The nightmare whirled around her.

  “We’ll stake out the convent in case she goes back.” Menace dripped from the warden’s tone. “Besides Landry, she’s the only one outside the prison who knows about the experimenting. She’ll squeal for sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Landry ain’t going to want to live when I catch up with him,” Briggs snarled. “That’s for damn sure.”

  “Unless that poison Fenwick calls his miracle drug got him first.”

  A faint whinny from horses in the distance followed the grim comment. The men’s conversation halted. Saddle leather creaked again.

  “There. On the ridge.” Titus pointed.

  “Fenwick’s horses. And no riders. Ain’t that strange.”

  “Anyone with a lick of sense would take them fine animals and hightail it clear into Texas. Landry must be too sick to care,”

  “Or dead,” Briggs scowled.

  “ ‘Cept we ain’t found no body.”

  “Damn it, Titus, I know that!” the warden shouted. “Now you just let me worry about Landry’s carcass and you get those dogs together so we can keep moving!”

  “Don’t yell at me, Briggs,” Titus warned, his tone ominous.

  A moment passed, as if the warden strove to control his temper. “Look, Titus. On top of all the other problems he’s causing me, Landry lost me a helluva lot of money when he broke out. No one wants his body found more than me. ‘Cept maybe Fenwick. Y’hear?”

  “Yeah, I hear you. Just don’t yell at me.” His boots jabbed the stirrups. “You leavin’ the rig behind?”

  “If Fenwick wants it, he can get it himself. Let’s go.”

  Bridles jangled, and the horse hooves pounded into the ground as they descended the hill. The sounds receded into the distance. Landry cautiously released his grip on Hannah’s mouth and straightened.

  Hannah stared dully through the branches. The cat o’ nine tails cracked, and the pack of wolf-dogs dashed ahead of the two men. Soon, they moved out of sight and earshot, and once again, the hills were silent.

  “Let’s get out of this damned water,” Landry muttered. He stepped away from her and sloshed through the stream, his stride heavy, weary.

  She held back and fought a wave of hysteria.

  “Did you murder your brother’s wife?” she demanded.

  He turned and faced her. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead. He needed a shave, a hot bath, a fresh change of clothes. He looked every bit a ruthless murderer.

  His black eyes glittered over her; his features unfathomable. “She’s dead. They said I did it.”

  “Did you?”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Under the circumstances, does it matter?”

  “To me it does.”

  “And if I told you the truth, what would you do then?”

  She wanted to scream at him, to pummel her fists against his chest. “I have a right to know.”

  A muscle moved in his jaw. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, as if he delved into the nightmares in his past.

  “To hell with my guilt or innocence,” he said finally. “I have a score to settle. And I won’t die until it’s done.”

  Chapter 4

  His resolve chilled her more than the water swirling around her legs. He turned and made his way to the bank. He didn’t look to see if she followed.

  What score did he have to settle? Would he murder again?

  She stabbed a glance downstream. A wild, insane desire to flee him gripped her. She could run after Briggs and Titus and convince them she had nothing to do with Landry’s past or future. She could be free of him now, this minute.

  But she couldn’t, of course. Briggs had killed two of the kindest people she’d ever known. He would kill her, too.

  And as she stood in the water a part of her died. The foolish part that had hoped she’d be safe for the rest of her days. In its place, her own past came to life, with all its guilt and dark complexities and the skills Pa had taught her to survive.

  Any way she knew how.

  The warden had closed off her avenues of escape. Wanted for the deaths of a priest and a young nun, she was a woman on the run now, no better than Landry. It was so ridiculous. And unfair. Hot tears of frustration welled in her eyes.

  Mother Superior alone knew of Hannah’s past, of her crimes. Would she believe Briggs’ claim that Hannah partnered with Landry at the penitentiary, that she’d killed to survive?

  How could she believe otherwise? Hannah’s sins were . . . innumerable. Her past was . . . abominable.

  Hannah swallowed hard. She must tell the abbess the truth, that she hurt for the loss of Father Donovan and Sister Evangeline as much as the rest of them. She had to go back to the convent and convince Mother Superior the warden had lied.

  But Briggs and Titus would be waiting for her to do just that.

  She vowed to find a way. Somehow, she had to prove her innocence. And only one man could help her do it.

  Landry.

  He hauled himself out of the stream and collapsed onto the ground face down. Resolute, Hannah followed.

  She stood over him with her skirts dripping onto the winter grass. She nudged him with the toe of her sandal, then nudged him again, harder.

  He
rolled over and glowered at her through bloodshot eyes.

  “Did you hear what the warden said?” she demanded.

  His eyes closed again. “I heard him.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  He gave no response.

  “Do you hear me? Nothing.”

  Still he ignored her.

  In a fit of pique, she bent over and grasped him by the shirt front. “Damn you! Listen to me!”

  His eyes opened. His skin had grown ashen. She released him just before he twisted to his side to retch, his stomach empty but his body still heaving from the devastating drug.

  She bit her lip and resisted the sympathy building inside her. When the vomiting ended, he fell heavily back against the ground. Perspiration dampened his hair into ringlets against his forehead. His chest rose and fell in labored breathing.

  Hannah stepped to the water’s edge and re-soaked her skirt hems. Kneeling beside him, she slipped an arm beneath his dark head.

  “Drink, Mr. Landry,” she said and squeezed the wool in her palm. The water trickled into his mouth, and he swallowed. The heat of his raging fever touched her skin through the sleeve of her habit.

  “You need a doctor,” she said and dabbed at his temples with the cool fabric.

  His gaze clashed with hers. “No.”

  “You’re very sick. You’ll--.”

  He grasped her wrist hard, his strength still evident despite the drug’s effects. “We keep moving. No matter what. Y’hear me?”

  “You’ll die without help. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  He released her. “I’ll live.”

  “For what? A life on the run? To forever look over your shoulder for Briggs and his pack of dogs?”

  “I have a score to settle,” he said with a scowl.

  “A score.” Her lip curled. “We’ll see.”

  He watched her closely but said nothing. She withdrew her arm and stood.

  Hannah perused the distant hills and worked the plan in her brain. She faced him again and took pleasure in looking down at him.

  “You need me, Mr. Landry. You’ve hardly the strength of a newborn pup, but you’re hunted by men who will shoot you dead. It’s only a matter of time before they find you.”