by Starla Kaye
“Any news on Marino?” Chase asked angrily.
“No. A couple of sheriffs had returned wires, but all they had was rumors.” Taos blew out a breath. “The U.S. Marshal’s office down in Texas wants Morgan back on the job. Now.”
Her hand flew to her heart. No! He promised me.
Chase said in dismissal, “He got a wire a couple of days ago about that. He already wired back that he’s heading to Texas after the wedding.”
Her knees threatened to buckle. She felt faint. He had lied to her, told her what she’d wanted to hear. Her eyes filled with tears and she ran back across the road, nearly getting run over by a wagon that managed to miss her.
She’d no sooner stepped on the other boardwalk than Brandy caught up with her. “What’s wrong?” her sister asked, seeing her dash at the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“He’s going to Texas, right after the wedding.” She gulped down the pain. “He never really intended to give up marshalling. He lied to me.”
Brandy frowned. “I don’t… How do you know this?”
She glanced toward the Dusty Trails. “I overheard Taos and Chase.”
She couldn’t stand to stay put another second. She would go back to the ranch and then, if that lying marshal wasn’t there, she’d ride out until she found him. She was going to take her gun with her. She was going to shoot his lying head off.
Storming down the boardwalk, she ignored Brandy calling after her to slow down, and refused to acknowledge anyone calling out in concern to her. She ached from her head to her toes. Especially around the heart area.
Tyler came happily out of the general store, but lost his smile when she barely even noticed him and began running down the boardwalk. From well behind her, she heard him worriedly ask Brandy, “What’s wrong? Why is she so upset?”
“Hold up, Whiskey,” Brandy called out.
She couldn’t. She didn’t want to stop and let them catch up with her. She wanted to be alone right now. She ran faster until she reached the front of the last building on the edge of town, Wright, Beverly & Co. For just a second she hesitated to catch her breath, pleased that there wasn’t any wagon or horse traffic to keep her from crossing Front Street to get to the livery stable where they’d left the ranch wagon. Her brothers could take care of getting her sister and Tyler back to the ranch.
Suddenly she tensed. She heard a heavy breath, smelled something foul, and felt that twinge of unease again. Stronger this time. Now she wished she’d waited for her sister, wished there was street traffic.
A man’s muscled arm snaked around her waist before she could move. How he’d come up behind her so fast she didn’t know. But he had firm hold of her and pulled her roughly back against him. The air went out of her in a loud whoosh. “Not so fast, senorita.”
In that instant she knew who had her: Rafe Marino. Morgan had been worried about this man coming to town to harm his son, or kill him. He’d warned her time and again to be careful. So had her brothers. As always, she’d done as she wished. Now she just might pay with her life.
She struggled within his hold but he had amazing strength. His stale breath nearly made her gag as he breathed down her neck. Furious, she shouted, “Let go of me!” She grabbed at his constraining arm, clawed at it.
He merely laughed and refused to release her. “A real hell cat, aren’t you, little one? I like that in my women.”
She felt nauseous at being so close to this evil man. She kicked her booted foot forward and then backward connecting with his shin.
He cursed her in Mexican and gripped her tighter, nearly cutting off her breath.
She swayed and the world became fuzzy. “Let me go,” she gasped.
“I just wanted me a little kiss. Now you’re going to pay for being such a bitch.”
He went still, listening and then glanced down the road seemingly pleased that no one had noticed them. “Yes, you’re going to pay. The things I will do…”
“You’ll have to…kill me first.” It was getting harder to talk, harder to keep from slumping in his arms.
Again he laughed. “That would be all right with me, hell cat. It would not stop me from…”
Just when she was about to give up hope, she heard movement coming up behind them. Too late she realized it had to be Brandy and Tyler. She wanted to call out to stop them, but she couldn’t find the breath to speak.
Brandy barreled up behind him and launched herself at his back. “You let my sister go!” she screeched in his ear, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
He shook right and left in an attempt to fling Brandy from his back, but she refused to be flung off. All the while his hold on Whiskey remained strong.
“I will kill you both!” he raged, still shaking about.
Then Tyler, too, flew at him and pulled at Marino’s arms holding her.
“You let her go!” Tyler shouted, terrified.
Her ribs hurt. She was almost on her last breath, but she had to hang on and hope. For her sake, for Brandy’s sake, for Tyler’s sake.
Brandy tried to dig for his eyes and he lost all control of his temper. In fury, he moved backward until he could smash her against the wall of the building.
She cried out in pain yet somehow remained in place.
Whiskey tried to use her numbed fingers to tug at his arm, but she might as well not have bothered. Her effort just made him madder.
He thrust his body backward once more, harder. This time Brandy didn’t cry out. This time all Whiskey heard was a loud Thunk! Then Marino’s body shifted and Brandy landed in an unconscious heap behind them.
Tyler had been tripped up by Whiskey’s feet dragging along. He’d landed on his face, scrapped his cheek raw. Now he looked up dazed and horrified.
She could barely think straight she was so light-headed. But when her captor reached for his gun and she knew he was going to shoot Tyler, somehow she managed to croak, “No! He’s just a boy!”
“Don’t rightly care.”
He tightened his hold again around her waist and she sensed him looking more closely at Tyler. His voice lowered, darkened. “Ain’t you Rydell’s son?”
Tyler’s eyes widened and he paled. He didn’t say a word.
But the man lost interest in Tyler. He grabbed her head and forced her to look at him. They studied each other for a second. He was filthy dirty. Shoulder-length, scraggly black hair that hadn’t seen a cleaning in a while blew in the breeze above the collar of his long-unwashed red shirt. Beady, dark eyes focused on her.
Finally he snarled, “You’re the marshal’s woman, ain’t you? Heard rumors about you. Red head with a spitfire temper.”
He sneered and drew his gun to hold it against her head. “Unless you want me to put a bullet in that boy’s head,” he nodded toward the crumpled body of her sister, “and in that twin of yers, you’ll come with me. One bit of struggle out of you and they’re dead. Understand me?”
Tears streamed down Tyler’s scratched and bleeding face. He looked both horrified and helpless. Brandy was helpless. She didn’t want to think about what this man might have in mind for her. All she knew was that she would do anything to save both Tyler and Brandy.
She gasped, “Yes. I…I’ll go with you.”
“Good decision.”
Gun still held against the side of her head, he dragged her with him to the far side of the building. His horse was tied to a post and he picked her up with little trouble to toss her face down over the saddle. Then he climbed up behind her and whipped his horse into movement. They flew in a cloud of dust around the building and off away from town.
Chapter Eleven
Morgan rode into town to find a large gathering of men on horseback and people standing around someone evidently on the boardwalk. His gut churned. Trouble, big trouble. He’d felt an urgent unexplainable need to leave the men rounding up cattle and to get back to the ranch. After learning from Manuel that Whiskey, Brandy and Tyler had gone into town earlier, that urgent need to see Wh
iskey had grown even stronger. Dread had filled him for the last couple of miles. He’d ridden Demon hard to get here, and now…
“What’s going on?” he barked, driving his horse closer, forcing aside some of the other riders.
No one answered, although several of the men he’d seen around town before gave him cautious glances. What the hell was that about?
He pushed even closer. “What’s happening?” he demanded again. His stomach tightened, with each second he sensed that some kind of danger was increasing.
Wyatt stood on the far edges of the crowd with Bat and Doc, too far away to have heard his questions over the mutterings of the crowd. Whiskey’s two dancer friends were trying to see through the throng of people at whoever was on the boardwalk.
From behind him one of the riders nervously said, “It’s bad, Marshal Rydell.”
His heart nearly stopped as he suddenly knew it had to be something to do with Whiskey. Something horrible had happened to her. God, don’t let her be dead!
Trying not to think the worse, he wondered where was Brandy? Where was Tyler? The man hadn’t mentioned of them. Frantic for answers, he yelled out, “Where’s Brandy? Tyler?” He looked around in puzzlement. “Where the hell are Taos? Keno? Chase?”
Almost in answer to his shout the crowd parted. Dr. Peterson looked grim as he stepped back from Brandy, who sat propped up in Chase’s arms. She appeared glassy-eyed and swayed slightly as his brother held her.
He sighed with relief that it wasn’t Whiskey, and then felt immediately guilty. It was bad enough that Brandy had somehow gotten injured. Still, he tensed even more, not seeing Whiskey or Tyler.
Forcing his horse forward again, he asked warily, “Will she be all right? What happened?”
The crowd grew silent, tension radiated from everyone there. His gut knotted. This wasn’t the worst of whatever had happened, he sensed that and braced himself for the answer.
Taos and Keno came walking through the back side of the crowd, from the alley. He’d only once before seen such rage on Taos’s face. This had something to do with Rafe Marino. He was dead set certain of that.
Dr. Peterson helped Chase get Brandy to her feet, but she swayed and would have collapsed if he hadn’t scooped her into his arms. He held her gently and growled at Morgan, “You find that sonofabitch Marino. You cut out his damn heart.”
Tyler popped out from beside Camelia, who looked pale as a ghost and had tears streaming down her face. She could barely speak yet she managed to say, “He took her, Morgan. He took Whiskey.”
She crumpled into her father’s arms as he stood next to her. “Oh, God, he took Whiskey!”
Whiskey’s gone. Marino has her. The words tumbled through his mind but he had a hard time comprehending them. He sat numbly atop Demon and watched his son make his way to him. Tyler’s face was scratched and bleeding in a couple of places, like he’d fallen or been pushed. It made him sick to think his son—the boy he loved so damn much—had been anywhere near that murderous, outlaw bounty hunter.
Tyler looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “Brandy’s got a bad head bump. Doctor Peterson, he’s worried, but Chase swears she’ll be all right.”
He sucked in a breath and tried to act so much older than his young years. “I tried, Pa. I tried to protect ‘em.” He swallowed hard, glanced at his dusty shoes and back up again. “He couldn’t be stopped. He hurt Brandy.”
Morgan struggled with a rage as fierce as he saw on the Wakefield brothers’ faces. Evidently Tyler thought he was angry with him, blamed him, because he stepped quickly back. “I’m sorry, Pa. I tried. I failed.”
Taos and Keno moved protectively beside Tyler. Keno said firmly, “You can’t blame the boy.”
What kind of man did they think he was? It hit him even harder now just how much he’d hurt his son, continued to hurt him. He’d have to deal with that later.
“Hell, I don’t blame Tyler! I’d never blame him,” he gritted out. “I blame myself. I should have killed Marino long ago.” He sat so stiff his shoulders hurt. “I should never have brought such danger to your family…to Brandy, to Whiskey.”
He cursed a blue streak and the crowd moved further away. “I’ll bring him down this time or die trying.”
Tyler regained his courage to face his father and inched closer again. “He took Whiskey. Said he’d kill me and Brandy if’n she didn’t go with him.” He shuddered, looked defeated. “She said she’d go. She never even hesitated.”
She wouldn’t have. His woman protected animals nobody else would want, her family…his son. She just might have given her life to keep Tyler safe. He wanted to cry out his fury, his fear. But he held it tightly within him.
“We’ll get him, Son. And we’ll bring her back.” There were wanted posters out on Rafe Marino, dead or alive posters. He would bring him in dead. There was no other acceptable choice. Maybe he wouldn’t bring the outlaw back at all; just let the vultures have at him after he made sure the worthless bastard was dead.
“We’re all riding with you,” Wyatt said and drew his attention as he strode up with Bat and Doc.
That was when Morgan looked up and realized the couple dozen mounted men were ready to ride posse. But he knew from experience that too many men riding together in fury could be more dangerous than helpful.
“I appreciate the offer, but no!” He saw their confused expressions and explained. “Too many men make it hard to travel quickly. And Marino gets jumpy easily. A big posse would make him anxious, make him more dangerous.”
He looked at Taos and Keno, who nodded agreement.
“It’d be best if just the three of us went after them,” Taos confirmed, which as her older brother, convinced the other men to not ride along.
Chase stepped forward, still holding a barely aware-looking Brandy in his arms. “I’d ride with you, but I’m staying here to watch after Brandy and Tyler.”
“You take good care of them.” Morgan focused on Tyler as he moved next to Chase. “Which way did they go, Son?”
Tyler pointed to the West. “Be careful, Pa.” His lower lip wobbled and he was clearly fighting back tears.
Emotion clogged Morgan’s throat. How many other times had Tyler worried he might never see him again? What the hell had he put the boy through all these years? He owed Tyler a lot, a real father who was there day in and day out. By damn, he would be that father!
Taking a final look at the men asked to remain behind, he saw their disappointment and their understanding as well. Most of them knew and adored Whiskey. Everyone wanted her back, safely, and hopefully unharmed. They would do as he instructed.
Wyatt met his gaze. “I have to agree with you on the posse matter. We just wanted to help. But we’ll keep a sharp eye out here in case the bastard decides to circle back.” His expression turned steely. “Marino won’t be sneaking into town to do harm to Brandy or your son. I can promise you that much.”
With a curt nod of appreciation, Morgan wheeled his horse around. The three of them rode out of town in a hurry, already a good hour or more behind Marino. He would get Whiskey back. He just hoped like hell she didn’t do something to irritate the outlaw. And that was asking a lot of a woman who specialized in irritating a man.
* * *
It was good to have a horse of her own to ride. Although they had only gone maybe thirty miles, traveling earlier at a brisk pace while lying draped over the hard saddle had nearly shattered all her ribs. Even now it hurt to breathe too deeply. At least she could still breathe. Whiskey tried not to look at the spots of dried blood on the horse’s neck, blood from the man Marino had shot out of the saddle. The unfortunate man had been riding toward them as they rode over a rise near Cimarron.
She planned to escape the first chance she got. And if she got a chance, she would kill the cold-hearted Comanchero. She’d never killed anyone and it went against her nature, but she could and would take a life in this case. He’d made the mistake of hurting her sister. Please, God, let Bran
dy be all right. And he’d threatened to kill Tyler as if the boy were no more than a pesky fly. She also now knew that he had, in fact, murdered Morgan’s father. He had bragged about that almost from the second they’d ridden away from Dodge City. His pleasure in having done so sickened her.
“Awful quiet now,” Marino said as he looked in her direction. He grinned cockily, revealing tobacco-stained teeth and a big gap in the front where several teeth were missing. “You sure done a damn lot of threatening for a spell there. Not that it mattered. Little thing like you threatening to kill me.”
He laughed and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.
“Promises, not threats,” she countered, although it cost her pain to speak at all.
In those few seconds while he’d been busy getting her off his horse and tried to shove her onto this horse, she’d managed to get away from him. Unfortunately she’d been too weak at that point and he’d easily caught up with her. For her daring, he’d slapped her around a few times, leaving her with a bloody nose and a bloody lip. She’d still fought him. Finally in order to subdue her enough to get her on the other horse, he’d hit her hard in the jaw. Her head still spun with stars every once in a while. She was lucky he hadn’t broken her jaw.
“You’re a powerful lot of trouble. If’n I didn’t take pleasure in knowing I’m torturing that marshal of yours, I’d slit your throat now. Be done with you.”
His eyes flashed with heat, with lust. He chuckled and it sounded dirty to her. “Bet you’re the type of woman who’ll be hell fire in bed.”
He chortled again. “Reckon poor old Rydell don’t know about that yet. You been savin’ yourself for your husband, haven’t you?” He grinned evilly. “Guess I’ll be the one takin’ you first. Gonna enjoy it, too. Getting’ a firsthand taste of all that passion.”
She shuddered at the very idea of this man’s filthy hands intimately touching her. It had been horrible enough to ride close to him for that first hour or so. His smell alone had been enough to gag her. She would rather die than have him… No! She did not want to die. She would survive whatever he did; survive so she could slit his throat with that big knife he wore strapped to the side of his leg.