Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

by Emma Lang

  Fury ripped through him. Shane stopped short and wasn’t surprised when Buster cursed behind him. No doubt he almost ran into him.

  “If you ever call her that or any other name again, I will rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth. I don’t care if you empty your pistol into me, I’ll die with your goddamn tongue clenched in my fist.” He looked at Lettie’s shocked expression. “She is not a bitch and doesn’t have a fat ass. She is a lady and deserves respect.”

  A few moments went by before Buster responded. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’ve been joshin’ with her for a year.” The petulant tone in his voice meant he took Shane’s threat seriously. Good. He was serious.

  Shane would not disappoint his woman or let her down. This was his chance to redeem himself, at least in part, for his past sins. Even if he died trying.

  They arrived at the wagon, which was a sorry-looking rig that had been misused for some time. There were jagged and missing boards, dirt and spots of God only knew what coated the bed, and the horses strapped to the front were swayback nags. A stained tarp hung off one side. It would not be a comfortable ride, that was certain.

  Shane set Lettie in the bed of the wagon in the cleanest spot he could find. He took a few deep breaths and got the first whiff of the stench surrounding the rig. It made his eyes water, and he wished he hadn’t chosen that spot to catch his breath.

  “What is that smell?” Lettie wrinkled her nose.

  “I don’t smell nothin’.” The skinny one looked at them as though he’d never heard such a strange question.

  “Myron, you can’t smell nothing anyway.” Buster pushed him aside and reached into the wagon beneath the tarp. When he pulled out a handful of rope, he heard Lettie’s intake of breath.

  “You are not tying me up, Buster.” Her voice sounded strained.

  “Oh yes I am. Ain’t no way I’m letting you ride back there without making sure you cain’t go nowhere.” Buster shook the rope at Shane. “Your man here already wants to yank out my tongue.”

  It was true. Shane wouldn’t sit docilely in the back while they drove to Benson to rob the Gundersons. As it was, he was looking at their weapons and judging how he could possibly overwhelm all of them. If there had been only two of them, he could have had a chance, but three of them were armed with weapons and their own stupidity.

  Buster had come around with the ropes and reached for Lettie. She slapped at his hands and tried to scramble backwards, hindered by her wounded legs. Shane moved to get between them, but Myron and the silent third man took hold of his arms. Someone had shoved a pistol in his back, preventing him from elbowing them in the face.

  Frustration ate away at him as he watched Lettie struggle. She scratched and punched Buster, but he was stronger than she was. Shane growled as the other man used his knee to hold her down on her stomach in the filthy wagon.

  “Let her go.”

  “Shut up, Murphy. I could kill you both and get me what I want.” Buster grunted as Lettie kicked him in the back. “She’s gettin’ tied up and then you are too. I ain’t takin’ no chances. I want that money.”

  That was all the men wanted. Money. It was the reason most men killed or worse. He pulled against the arms holding him, but they were iron tight. Helpless fury swept through him, and all he saw was red.

  Buster finished tying Lettie’s wrists and feet. When he started to hogtie her, Shane managed to free one arm and punched Myron in the balls. Momentarily free, Shane leapt at Buster, who still held down Lettie with his knee. Shane would not allow him to hurt her any more than the son of a bitch already had.

  “Stop him,” Buster snarled.

  Shane got one punch into the big man’s face, pleased to hear a satisfying crunch of his nose. Then something hit him in the back of his head and everything went black. The last thing he saw was Lettie’s stricken face, her cheeks stained with tears.

  Don’t cry, Lettie.

  Lettie wanted to kill Buster. Not for tying her up but for trying to kill Shane. He was still alive and breathing beside her in the wagon beneath the tarp, but he was pale. There was dried blood on his hair and neck. That idiot Norman had used his rifle to knock Shane unconscious, and judging by the sick pleasure on his face, Norman had enjoyed doing it.

  The smell under the tarp had become bearable only because her nose was clogged. She’d been crying, something she’d vowed never to do again. Big words for a cowardly woman. As soon as Buster had started to tie her up, memories washed over her and Lettie had panicked. She’d fought against him, but he was too strong. All she’d managed to do was make him angry and put Shane in a position that ended in another injury. He’d also taken their shoes, presumably so she and Shane couldn’t run away even if they were untied.

  The scratchy rope rubbed at her wrists. Buster had tied them too tight on purpose as he whined that Shane had broken his nose and stained his shirt. Lettie asked him how he could tell, judging by the filth already encrusted on his damn shirt. That notched up his anger to fury, and he not only tightened the ropes until she started to lose feeling in her fingers, but he also made sure he hogtied her too tight.

  Her back arched because there was barely two feet of rope between her ankles and wrists. She felt like a piece of wood bent into an unnatural circle, ready to splinter or break. Her wounded legs were screaming in agony. She shook from the pain coursing through her as though a river of anguish rolled down her back with every breath. Lettie had endured such pain before, but she had hoped it would never happen again. The key was to distract herself from her own discomfort. She had to focus on the man in front of her who’d tried valiantly to save her.

  Shane might have started out their relationship by puking on her shoes, but he had since proven himself a gentleman, one who deserved better than this. Buster had tied him the same way—the vicious jerks on the ropes on an unconscious man had made her flinch. Buster was out of control, and she had no doubt their hog-tied bodies would end up in a ravine somewhere, shot through the head and left for scavengers.

  She accepted that she’d found what she didn’t know she was looking for—love. She’d fallen in love with Shane. Lettie hadn’t recognized it for what it was until now, when their lives were at risk and time was more precious than any treasure. Shane was as broken as she was inside, a man who had endured his own private hell but survived. He was strong, brave, considerate, gentle and the only man in the world she ever wanted to be with.

  She closed her eyes and thought of their lovemaking in the stream. The cool water had lapped around them as his hot mouth pleasured her breast. She’d experienced incredible joy she’d never known existed until he had opened the door to it. Lettie could still feel his hands, his wonderful hands, on her skin. When she’d first seen him, his gray eyes had appeared dead, but now she knew better. They churned with passion, their swirling depths full of life.

  Until this moment, when she stared at his unconscious, bloody face, she hadn’t realized how much he had come to mean to her. Or that what she was feeling was love. Now she understood Sam and Angeline and their devotion to each other. She understood the affection they showed and the private looks they shared. Finally, Lettie understood.

  And now it might be too late.

  She wouldn’t let the impossible situation deter her from trying to find a way to beat the bastards who held them captive. Somehow they had to escape from the three men, and it wasn’t going to happen while they were tied. Buster was smart but not as smart as Lettie. She was dirty, disheveled and wore the evidence of the wagon accident. How were they going to explain all that, plus the rope, to the bank in Benson?

  Her one advantage was that the money wasn’t in the bank. It was sewn into the waist of her skirt in pouches she had added herself a year ago. It kept the little money she had safe, and thank God she’d used it for the Gundersons’ money this time. Buster was too stupid to realize she was lying.

  When they arrived at the bank for money that wasn’t there, she could only hope they w
ould give up and run for the hills. The other possibility, that they would rob the bank or kill Lettie and Shane, was not what she wanted to consider. There had to be a way to get free of the ropes and sneak away before Buster and his men realized anything was wrong.

  Of course at that moment she couldn’t scratch her nose if she wanted to.

  Shane’s rusty voice startled her. “I hope you’re thinking about how to escape.”

  He was awake. Thank God! Relief coursed through her. She had been afraid another injury to his head would do permanent damage to his brain. She’d heard of such a thing before, and the possibility was very real.

  “Of course I am. I haven’t thought of any brilliant plan yet though.”

  “Keep trying. You’re smart enough to figure it out.” Shane moaned when he tried to move. “Did he make sure the knots were tight enough for me to lose feeling in my hands and feet? Jesus Christ, my head hurts. And why am I barefoot?”

  She wanted to comfort him, pull him into her arms and kiss his wounds, especially the one he’d received trying to save her. His courage had been inspiring, and now she would do her best to show the same kind of courage. She had to beat back the scared Lettie and find the brave one who would do her man proud.

  “They took our shoes. I guess to make sure we didn’t run away. Maybe if we flipped over and our hands were close enough, we could untie each other?”

  Lettie had no idea if she could move, much less turn. That was beside the point. Untying each other was still a good idea.

  “That might work if I could make my hands move. I don’t know if I still have all ten fingers.” He made a strangled sound. “Nope, I can’t feel my arms either. Fucking bastard.”

  “He’s smart but not that smart. If we can get free, I know we can outwit him and the two fools with him.”

  “How do you know him?” Shane’s voice held a hint of what she thought might be jealousy. How extraordinary.

  “They work on a ranch near Forestville. Come in every Sunday for breakfast while other folks are in church. Buster’s big, mean and ornery. Norman and Myron are just dumb cowpokes. But Buster, he likes to bully people, like Alice.” She would find out exactly what Buster had done to the girl when they got back to Forestville. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  “He’s a son of a bitch who deserves to swing for what he did to you.” Shane nearly snarled his threat, full of vengeance. It surprised her at the same time it made her feel better. Someone cared enough about her to seek revenge because of wrongs done to her. No one had looked out for her before Angeline. No one had protected her until Shane.

  “Don’t do anything you could swing for yourself.”

  “Stop fighting me, Lettie. I know this is hard to believe, but I used to be a soldier. I know how to wage war.” His voice had lost its edge and sounded flat, disturbing to hear.

  She tried to make out his face in the shadows of the tarp. “Tell me.”

  “Not now.”

  “You have something that needs doing?” Lettie snorted softly. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You know I’m a drunk.”

  “You know I’m a bitch. Is that who you think I am?” Her voice took on an edge, and her panic began to creep in again. She needed to be distracted, and fighting with Shane would work.

  “No, I think you’ve been hurt bad enough to punch first and talk later. I think you have a big heart that you hide behind the walls around you.”

  She managed not to try to bite him, but it was a near thing. “At least I’m not a drunk.”

  His laugh was anything but humorous. “Punch first, talk later.”

  “Stop it.”

  “No I won’t. You can be a mean bitch, but I’ve seen you be an angel.” He shifted closer. “Stop pushing me away, Lettie. A little while ago, I was inside you. I know who you are underneath all that.”

  “Stop it.” Her voice wavered as her heart wept silently.

  “Who hurt you?”

  She couldn’t begin to tell him. How could he like her if he knew?

  “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, been to hell and back more than once. Believe me, there is nothing you can tell me that would be worse than my crimes.” He sounded profoundly sad, as though he had been responsible for the evil done across the world.

  “I don’t believe that. You aren’t that bad.”

  There was that horrible laugh again. “After the war I came home and became a drunk. Any money we had went to whiskey. I cared more about a drink than I did my wife and daughter.”

  Wife and daughter.

  “You have a daughter?” Her heart pinched. Hard. The idea he had a child somewhere stole her breath.

  “Not anymore. She’s dead because of me, just like her mother.” He leaned in close. “You see, I was rip-roaring drunk in the barn, passed out in the loft, when a group of ex-soldiers came to my ranch. I imagine she screamed for me for a while before I came to.”

  Lettie was transfixed by the sound of his voice and the agony in his story.

  “What happened?”

  “She was the daughter of a rich man, stuck in a dirt farmer’s ranch with a child, while I fought in the war. When I got back, she tried to force my daughter to like me. The girl was too smart for that, she knew Daddy was bad news. I stayed out of their way, and they did their best to fool people into thinking I was worth a shit.” He blew out a breath. “The day they died was cloudy, so the loft was darker than usual. I remember thinking I was dreaming she called me, then I realized it was her voice. When I stumbled out of the barn, I heard what she said.”

  Lettie leaned in close to hear. His voice had gotten softer with each word. “What did she say?”

  “She offered them E-Elizabeth, her daughter, our daughter. She traded our child to save her own life.” If words could cry, his would have been weeping. The raw emotion was potent, full of self-loathing, regret and heartache. “I remember screaming and reaching for her throat. I don’t know what happened after that, but when I came to, they were both dead. I left the farm that day, told the sheriff what happened and never went back. You see, I destroyed them sure as if I had killed them myself. I didn’t deserve a wife or a daughter.”

  “I’m sorry.” It was the best she could do, although it couldn’t possibly convey how she felt. His misery was akin to hers. Her tragedies were numerous and as colossal as his.

  “Violet should never have married me.”

  Lettie’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?”

  “My wife, Violet Simpson. She should never have married me.” He cursed softly. “I can’t even bear to speak or hear their names. Burns like poison on my soul.”

  She contemplated telling him that her real name was Violet Elizabeth, but she couldn’t. To know her name, her real name, would cause him such agony was unthinkable. Another time, another place, she would tell him. The coincidence was eerie. For now, she would comfort him the best way she knew how. By telling him some of her own nightmares.

  “I was born in Utah, raised in the ward. You probably don’t know what that is, hmm? It’s part of a religion called Latter-day Saints. Most folks go about their days and lives just fine. I was born to a weak woman and an overbearing man. She died giving birth to me, and my father sent me to live with strangers until I was five.” She could picture the tiny corner she slept in at the Michaels household, a hazy image that had lost its detail. “They were good people, but when I was five, I was able do chores and my father wanted me back. I lived in terror of him, cleaning the house, burning myself while I tried to cook, doing laundry even though I couldn’t reach the top of the wash bin.”

  “You had no one else to help?”

  “No one. My father was an only child, and his parents were dead. My mother was an outsider, a woman he had brought in. It was his punishment that she died and that he had a lazy, ugly child.”

  “You are not lazy or ugly.” Shane scoffed. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And you’re beautiful, honey
.”

  “Kind of you to say, but I don’t know if I can ever believe it. Twenty years passed that I worked until my fingers bled and I would fall asleep exhausted in bed each night. Eventually I figured out how to do everything I needed to. No one would teach me because I was only half-LDS. The women shunned me, and the men ignored me. Other children were forbidden from playing with me. I had nothing and no one until I was twenty-five.” She swallowed the huge lump in her throat at the memory of such a silly, naïve girl. “When Josiah Brown offered for me, my father refused, but I pleaded with him, endured extra beatings, until he relented. I was so shocked to be chosen by a high-ranking member of our ward that I ignored any warning signs. I reckon I didn’t figure being second wife was going to be too taxing.”

  “Did you say second wife?”

  “One of the basic covenants of LDS is that a man may have multiple wives. It works out well for the women because they share the burden of taking care of him and the children. I know of many happy marriages, but not mine.” Bitter memories of her first days of marriage crowded her mind. “I didn’t realize the extent of Josiah’s sick ways for a week. By then it was too late and I was truly his wife.”

  “What did he do to you, Lettie?” The concern and love in Shane’s voice gave her courage to keep going.

  “For five years, I was married to a monster. He only found pleasure in hurting others or watching women pleasure each other. His first wife died, and I think it was because she wanted to escape and that was the only way. Then he wanted Angeline. He had to have two women or there was no fun, you see. And Angeline is so beautiful it makes my eyes hurt.”

  “She is stunning, but she’s not you,” Shane pronounced. “I’d rather have my dark angel than one I’m afraid I’ll break.”

  Lettie barked a laugh. “She is stronger than anyone I ever met. That girl at eighteen endured whippings that would have broken any man. She was the first person to care about me, the only person to hug me, and my first friend. Without her I’d still be under Josiah’s thumb, surviving, because that’s what I know how to do.”