“Look,” Michael began wearily as she crossed to the door, “why is it when I try to explain myself, you take it in your head to shut me out? Just like at the party. You don’t listen, Sabine. You hear only what you want to hear.”
“I do, too, listen,” she shouted in denial, turning back to him. “You don’t understand.”
“If you gave me a chance, I just might.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she replied, her words dripping with biting sarcasm. “Pity the poor mulatto girl and listen to her problems for a while. Pretend you care. Of course, that’s after you’ve taken everything there is from her. Don’t make me look like a complete fool, Michael.”
“You’re not,” he said tiredly, holding his head in his hands.
He realized the entire confrontation was pointless. She wasn’t going to listen, and he wasn’t going to continue to beat his head against the wall. He was going to tell her, and then she could decide whether or not to believe him.
“I killed a man, Sabine,” he spoke, his raspy words subdued as they carried in the weighty stillness that fell over them. “It was an accident, and it was in self-defense. Unfortunately, he had some friends, and they didn’t seem too thrilled by the decision handed down by the sheriff in Lawrence, Kansas.
“They tracked me as far as here, and I want you gone before something happens. I can’t bear to even imagine what they’d do if they found you with me. Just the thought of you makes me sick.”
Michael drew a breath and waited for a response, but his expectation was only met with the same silence as before. Couldn’t she just say something – anything – to let him know that she had heard? Give him some sort of sign that she understood the painful indecision that ripped through him whenever he thought of losing her?
“Are you finished?” Sabine finally asked, her manner distant, almost unbearably cold. “I’d at least think you could come up with a better lie than that. You sound like a serial in a ladies periodical.”
“Sabine – “
His voice broke as he called out her name desperately.
But she left him, the solitary click of the door separating them forever, and Michael leaned into his hands and wept. Wept for himself. Wept for the future he would never have – the future he had counted on having when this whole mess was cleared up and Sabine was back in his arms for a lifetime.
Dammit, everything was wrong. The world was wrong. Life was wrong. He was wrong.
And none of it even mattered anymore.
“Michael?”
Enrique’s inquiry came from the doorway hesitantly, and Michael merely remained where he was, his hands hiding the shame of his weakness as the tears continued to seep through the tightened lids of his eyes.
“She thinks I’m lying,” he said raggedly, and a half-hearted laugh of disbelief escaped him. “I need you to get her out of the country. I don’t care how you do it, or where she goes, but you’ve got to get her out of here. Take everything I’ve got – the house, the land. Advance me on my wages if you need to. Just get her some place safe.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Yes, I can tell you where he is.”
The man was obscured by darkness, but the moonlight glinted ominously off the gold of the ruby ring he wore on his left hand.
“Well,” the wiry man prompted impatiently through his moustache as he leaned against the wall and kicked the alley muck from his boot heels.
“About ten miles south of here,” the man in the shadows instructed. “But I advise you not to ride hard. The way is rough and your horses will go lame.”
The small, lean man grunted in agreement and shifted his weight against the crumbling wall.
“He has a girl with him now,” came the heavily laced, practiced Castilian accent. “A mulatto with green eyes. If you want to get to him, use the girl. He will do anything for her.”
The American gave a short laugh as he drew his pistol and inspected the smooth, ivory grips closely, his fingers obscenely stroking the length of the barrel.
“Well, I s’pose me and the boys can find a number of uses for any woman of Pierson’s.”
The Cuban took a long draw on the lit cigarrito he held, its smoke curling into the pale moonlight, and said, “I hope you finally manage to put the little whore in her place, and rid the face of this earth of Michael Pierson once and for all. I am tired of the carrying on about him by the woman who now shares my bed.”
“You won’t have a thing to worry about. I intend to see that justice is finally served,” the American said without a hint of emotion, and slipped into the Havana darkness.
XXX
Sabine stood at the window, her fingers crushing against the plush velvet of the burgundy draperies as she blankly looked past the decorative ironwork that protected the glass panes, and onto the lush greenery that enshrouded the white-washed brick home.
She should have been deliriously happy to be in Havana, free from the gripping fear that had torn at her insides whenever she thought of having to return to New Orleans; in fact, she had thrown her arms around Marta’s neck in gratitude when the older woman had opened her city residence to her.
“I will not,” Marta had whispered conspiratorially in her ear, “tell a soul where you are.”
Sabine thought the secrecy odd at first, especially when she overhead Marta Luís that “their ship” would be departing in the morning, but her brain had been too jumbled with other concerns and anxieties to worry about such things; for a full twenty-four hours she drifted through a fog of nonexistence – as though everything around her was no more than a stage play that she had concocted in her sleep. Real, but not really real. Imagined, yet far too tangible to be a dream.
That had been three weeks ago.
Now she was here, and she ought to feel safe for she was free from Troy’s claim on her and the insidious lies Michael had so audaciously expected her to believe.
Vigilantes, indeed. How much of a gullible fool did he think she was?
But still, no matter how hard she wanted to fight or ignore it – no matter how hard she tried to hate him – the sick, empty feeling that settled in her stomach stubbornly refused to dissipate. Desperately she missed the home she had come to think of as hers…the lovely things Michael had given her…
Michael.
Oh, God she missed him most of all. The way he looked at her, the way he made her laugh. How many times had she found herself thinking of him over these past weeks as the idleness of her existence pressed at her anxious mind? How often had she caught herself pondering how she had heartlessly called him a liar and walked out as though he weren’t even fit to share the same room with her?
Sabine blinked back the tears that settled in the corners of her eyes as she turned back to the library. She should have been happy with all the lovely stories and needlepoint projects she had at her disposal, and the extravagant garden party she had attended yesterday afternoon…and even the three fancy gowns Marta had sent – including a seamstress to assure perfect fits.
She should have been happy – but she wasn’t.
Another woman might have snatched up the rich offers without so much as a second thought. A regular Cinderella, they would have said, complete with the generous affections of a fairy godmother whose guise came in the form of a tiny, elderly Spanish woman.
Only, Sabine didn’t care much for those dreams anymore. They were simply the senseless wishing of a ridiculous schoolgirl who refused to believe that dreams never really did come true, and life wasn’t made of princes and happily-ever-afters.
Hadn’t she seen to that already with her cutting words and stifling silence?
Sabine rubbed away the chills of guilt that crept up her arms and settled uncomfortably in her heart.
Michael’s words…
Inklings of doubt pricked her conscience, and her memory brought forth his troubled image the night he had walked out. Defeated. His voice imploring her to believe, to have faith in him.
A liar would not have come to her so plainly, his voice breaking with emotion as he told his story. A liar would not have demanded she listen, chastising her for ignoring his pleas. A liar would have just let her walk away without so much as a word to hold her back.
But he was a liar…wasn’t he?
Sabine wasn’t quite so sure anymore.
XXX
The red and white heifer calf had been off her feed for over two weeks now, and nothing Michael did could convince the stubborn cuss to eat. Maybe if he persuaded Sabine to set aside those breakfast dishes for a few minutes to come out and…
“Damn,” he muttered curtly and rested his head on his forearms, shutting his eyes against the realization that swept his thoughts aside.
Why couldn’t his mind just accept she was gone? She was not inside. She not finishing the breakfast dishes. She wasn’t there. And she wasn’t going to be there ever again.
Angrily he scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt, idly kicking at the stall slats as he bit back another curse. There were days he wished he had never laid eyes on her in the first place; never saw the frightened girl who had managed to run off with his heart and any semblance of dignity he had. He had never shed tears for a woman in his life – not even close – and in the short span of a few months – Sabine had managed to reduce him to a blubbering idiot.
But he missed her, and every time he found a new reasons to be glad she was gone, two new ones pushed their way into his consciousness, contradicting his rejection of her as they boldly reminded him of the way she looked, the way she felt. There were even nights he had dreamed of her soft touch against his chest…the brush of her lips on the curve of her jaw. And when the feeling jerked him to awareness, he was alone – left in the darkness with an emptiness in his heart that reached to his very core.
Well, Michael conceded as he forced the memories from his mind and tossed aside the chewed bit of straw he held in his mouth, there was no sense dwelling on her. He hadn’t been the one to walk out this time – that had been all her doing. She hadn’t listened to him – not one sentence, not one syllable.
Most of it was his fault, he supposed morosely. Half the time he was aggravating her with his outbursts, and the other half was spent walking out on her whenever the littlest thing bothered him. He couldn’t’ blame her one bit for walking out –she probably should have left him a long time ago.
But the least he could have done was come clean with her about his situation in the first place. Perhaps, then, she would have willingly left with no animosity between them, and the hope of a brighter future in her heart – his heart.
It wasn’t going to happen now, and his future sailed out on the Bonnie Amelia a short time ago. Sabine was on her way to New Orleans, and off to wherever it was her home lay.
“You Mike Pierson?” a gruff voice behind him questioned.
“Yeah, why?” Michael answered instinctively as he swung around, the thoughts of Sabine slowly fading to the recesses of his mind.
The click of the pistol’s hammer was the only reply, and Michael looked down to see the barrel pointed dangerously at his midsection. Instantly his gaze met the cold grey eyes of the man who stood opposite him, and his heart froze solidly in his chest.
“You ain’t forgotten ‘bout ole George Morrison, have you, boy,” the tall man commented through a bushy moustache. “We ain’t.”
Two others stepped into the open doorway, weapons strapped to their sides; in addition, the pock-faced redhead cradled a rifle casually against his forearm.
His heart starting in wild leaps, Michael stood, his muscles tensing as his gaze met the murderous eyes of the three men before him.
How had he let his guard down? He had never heard the horses…or the men…or anything. All because he couldn’t keep that image of Sabine out of his head. All because of that haunting sweet memory of laughter, of softness, of the very thing that made him feel whole…
“Señor Pierson, los buyes están – “
The burly fieldhand never stood a chance as the pock-faced man turned and fired, hitting him square in the chest. His large body dropped motionless in the dust as a growing stain of red broadened across the cloth over his heart
Michael lunged as the shot fired, grabbing desperately at the pistol the man before him held, its cold steel wrenching violently n his hand as both men fought for its possession.
But before he managed to gain control, a crushing forearm bore hard against his throat, strangling the life from him as he thrashed violently against his attacker. The rifle. Why the hell did he have to forget the rifle in the house? Today of all days –
“Now, boy,” the moustached man commented calmly as he pulled back his pistol’s hammer, “we’ve about had enough of you.”
A violent shove propelled him from behind, forcing him face first into the straw bedding of the barn floor, and his breath escaped with cruel force as another man’s knee pinned him to the ground. Purposefully the unyielding barrel of a gun against the base of his skull, and Michael stiffened, his heart hammering in his chest.
“You might think we’re gonna let you die real fast and get it over with,” someone’s sour breath whispered close to his ear. “But we ain’t.” The sound of a gunblast tore through his ears as his left shoulder screamed out in agony from the fire that engulfed him.
They had hit him. Dear Lord, Michael realized as the life began to seep from him; he was shot, and the pain sliced through him like nothing he had ever experienced.
They released him, and with fumbling fingers he attempted to press the thin cotton of his shirt against the bleeding wound, his shoulder searing with a burning agony.
“We ain’t done with ya yet, boy,” said the wiry man again as a boot came down heavily on his back. “Where’s the girl?”
Fighting for breaths that stubbornly refused to come, Michael bit back the tortuous pain that tore through him.
“There isn’t anyone else here,” he stiffly managed through clenched teeth.
“The hell there ain’t.”
Michael let loose an involuntary scream as the butt of a rifle connected sharply with his injured shoulder, then the base of his skull, and he succumbed to the twilight that enveloped him.
XXX
“You find her?”
“Naw, he probably got rid of her. Ain’t been a woman in that house for a while.”
“Well, what we gonna do with him?”
“Dunno. Ain’t decided yet.”
“Bringin’ him back to the Kansas Territory?”
“Hell, no. You think I’m stupid?”
The confused haze of voices filtered through Michael’s consciousness, mingling with the excruciating ache that throbbed mercilessly in his shoulder. He shifted in the crackling straw, wincing as the pain ripped through him.
Lightheaded, he rested his forehead tiredly against a barn support and glanced bleary-eyed at the dried track of dark brown that trailed down his chest. Blood…so much blood. How much as he lost in the time they had held him?
Weakly, Michael attempted to loosen his hands from the ropes that bound him, but succeeded only in intensifying the agony that tore at his shoulder. When he finally struggled to an upright position, a booted foot pressed him forcibly back to the floor, the air crushed from him as he bit back an anguished cry.
“Hey, Boyd, come here and check this out.”
Michael bit back a scream as the lit end of a cigarette ground into the naked flesh of his back, and he arched away, the harsh laughter of three men ringing in his ears.
“Well, he ain’t so tough,” commented the short, wiry man as he swung a foot heavily into his side.
Michael grunted as his breath escaped him. He hurt. Oh, God, he hurt so bad he thought he might pass out from the blinding agony that raked at him with its blade-sharp claws. Why didn’t they just kill him? Get it over with so he could escape the pain?
“What are we gonna do with
him, Boyd?”
“I suspect,” came a gruff, matter-of-fact voice close at Michael’s side, “we’re gonna do ‘im in, Jeff. Seems only fair. What you think, Mr. Pierson,” Boyd asked as he took a firm hold of his hair and jerked his head up.
“I think,” Michael responded through gritted teeth, “you can go to hell.”
Boyd’s foot drew back again and connected with his bruised and broken side. He laughed contemptuously as Michael writhed helplessly, gasping for air that again refused to come.
“Hate to do this to you, Pierson,” the man named Boyd said with a snicker, “but the law ain’t no good. Guess we’re gonna take care of that, though. Sam, gimme that.”
Michael heard the lash of a bullwhip behind him. No more, he thought as his breath returned to him. He couldn’t take any more. And none of it was his fault. He was just…just doing what was right. And Morrison hadn’t. Dammit, Morrison hadn’t. He had no right to rape that woman…and these men had no right being here…and –
And he was going to die knowing Sabine had heard him say the words he had held back so long. He was going to die knowing that he never told her he loved her - loved her more than he had ever loved anything.
Suddenly Michael wanted to go back and change it all. He wanted to tell her, wanted to hold her close and feel her yielding softness and smell the sunshine freshness of her hair. He wanted to fill his hands with t hose dark curls of hers that fell down her back in a never ending cascade. He needed to see her one last time – just once – to tell her the words he regretted keeping to himself.
Then they could do whatever the hell they wanted with him.
“Sabine. Oh, God, Sabine.” The words were heard only by him. Uttered through his dried and cracked lips. “I’m sorry.”
“’Sorry,’” Boyd said, his voice dripping with sarcastic concern. “You shoulda thought of that two years ago. But don’t worry, Pierson, you ain’t gonna last much longer, anyway.”
Surrender to Love Page 23