She swallowed down the bile and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. Could it be the stranger had returned?
But had he even seen her before? She’d been in the house when he’d walked up leading his horse, but perhaps he’d been watching them before that.
But why would he return after Oba pointed the gun at him? Unless he knew Oba had left and knew she was here, alone. She shuddered.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she silently admonished herself again. Hadn’t her tears been wrung dry years ago? What was wrong with her? Until yesterday, it had been years since she’d cried. Tears were useless.
She sucked in her breath when the whistling stopped.
“Miss?” a man’s voice called. “Miss? Are you in there?”
She clamped a hand to her mouth, a cry of fear almost tearing free from her throat. No one had ever shown up while Oba was away.
The voice kept calling but moved farther away. She breathed a little easier and forced her muscles to relax. But then the voice returned closer and louder. Banging sounded.
“Miss? Are you in there? Are you hurt?”
His voice sounded genuinely concerned, but she refused to be lured in. She remained quiet.
The chain on the door rattled. “He’s locked you in?”
She bit her lip. Surely, he’d go away, but the rattling got louder.
“Where’s the key?” he called.
Melly remained very still, holding her breath, and prayed he’d go away.
“Lady? If you can hear me, let me help you. Where’s the key?”
Melly began to count. When she made it to one hundred, he’d be gone. Her lips moved silently, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she no longer heard the man. He’d given up. As quietly as possible, she lay back on the cot and closed her eyes and tried to still her fears.
THATCHER TOOK OFF HIS hat and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d searched everywhere, and the woman was not to be found. The only explanation was that the old man had locked her in the shack. But why didn’t she answer? Had he killed her before he left?
Thatcher placed his ear against the outside wall of the shack and listened carefully but heard nothing. If she was alive, would she be able to maintain such silence? Wouldn’t he hear her breathing?
He left the shack and walked to the cabin. The door opened easily on its hinges when he pushed. He paused and glanced in before crossing the threshold.
The interior surprised him. Someone, he supposed the woman, had made an effort to bring a feeling of coziness to the cabin. Brightly colored quilts were on the two cots, in the front corners of the room. The house was as neat as a pin, the dishes put away on a shelf above the dry sink, clothes hanging from pegs on the wall. A cabinet stood next to the dry sink, its surface wiped free of crumbs. A plate was on the table, and Thatcher picked up the red-checkered cloth that covered it, although his nose told him what was on it. Biscuits. His mouth watered, and his fingers itched, but he refrained from taking one and dropped the cloth back in place.
He took a moment to breathe in the clean, fresh scent before moving to the sleeping area. Two single beds. He contemplated them for a moment before searching the shelves next to them. In a small bowl filled with sundries, he found a key that looked like it might fit the lock.
He hurried back out, and when he reached the shack, he knelt next to the small half-sized door. A plank set firmly in place, latched with an eyebolt through which a threaded chain ran to another bolt on a nearby plank. It was secured better than most prison stockades he’d seen during the War.
A lock fastened two sections of the chain together. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The lock clicked open. He hurriedly got the chain unthreaded and pushed open the door. He didn’t like the way he had to enter, but he’d come this far. He might as well see what was inside the shack.
He crawled on his hands and knees to enter, the skin on his back prickling. He braced himself as he straightened to his full height. He looked around in surprise.
The shack was empty.
Chapter Five
Thatcher walked around the shack, wishing he had a candle or even a match. The small door let in very little light, and as he had noted yesterday, there were no windows. Even the cracks between the wall boards had been plastered over.
The gloomy interior held nothing he could see. He moved around the shack, checking every square inch, including the walls. Nothing, and yet, he hesitated, reluctant to leave. Why have this shack, difficult as it was to get into, for no reason? Not for storage, not to house animals. He looked in the rafters, but again could see nothing of note. He leaned back against one of the wall posts and crossed his arms, contemplating the mystery. Where had the woman disappeared to? And what was the purpose of this shack? The two things had to be connected.
He’d seen candles on a shelf in the cabin. He’d go get them, return, and search more thoroughly. He crawled out and stood, stretching his back. He hesitated a moment before kneeling, putting the board back in place, and threading the chain through again. He locked it together, got to his feet, and put the key in his pocket.
His skin again prickled when he felt warm breath on the back of his neck. He swung around, his hand already on the handle of his gun.
He chuckled. “Johnny Bell! You scared the daylights out of me. Should’ve known you would follow me.” Thatcher allowed the horse to push against his shoulder for a moment. His heart slowed to a normal speed as he rubbed Johnny Bell’s muzzle. “Come on. You can join the mare in the pen over there. You won’t mind that a bit, will you?” He chuckled again, and Johnny Bell obediently followed him to where the mare waited.
ABOVE MELLY, THE FOOTSTEPS fell silent. He’d gone away. Good. Now, she could relax. But she did not lie down. Instead, she braced her hands on the boards lining the enclosure and listened.
Oba had been right. Any men who ventured into the shack wouldn’t tarry. When they found it empty, they’d be confused and go away. It had worked with this cowboy. She’d heard the chain rattle, and knew he’d locked it back when she heard the click. Good. Oba would never even know he’d been here. She remained standing, her ears straining to hear.
All was quiet for several minutes, and she finally perched on the edge of the cot, muscles still tense, when sounds reached her again. He was back, or someone was. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. She placed a hand to her mouth to keep from making a sound.
It only took a few minutes for the cowboy to find the trapdoor. It creaked open, and she gained her feet, her back pressed against the wall. She threw her forearm up to block the light and blinked. A choking sound escaped her lips.
She blinked again and stared into the strange man’s eyes and fought down panic.
The cowboy frowned down at her and held out a hand, palm down, in a calming manner. “Don’t be frightened, miss. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she cleared her throat. She realized her stance belied her words, and she stepped away from the wall and spoke louder. “Please leave.”
“Ma’am, I’m not going away. That fellow put you down there, in that hole, in a shack that was locked.” His frown deepened, but the concern in his eyes was evident.
Unless he was playacting, acting like he cared when he didn’t. Hadn’t Oba warned her about men like that? And hadn’t she experienced it herself?
A headache pounded at her temples, and she looked down. “That’s none of your business. It’s between him and me.” She spoke quietly, but firmly.
The man made a sound, a grunt, as if in disbelief. He ignored her words. “Ma’am, where’s the ladder? I’m getting you out of there.”
Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she raised her head to stare at him. “I am not going up there. Not with you!” When the words escaped her lips, fear washed over her. What if he came down instead?
His thumb pushed his hat off his forehead, and he placed his hands on his hips. “Why
would you rather be locked up, in that hole? That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”
She blinked up at his face, illuminated by the candle, wondering how she could make him leave. When nothing came to mind, she simply shrugged.
His lips thinned, and he shook his head slowly. “Ma’am, before I leave, I need to understand why. You see, I find it hard to understand the reason a man would shoot a dog, make a woman cry, and the next day, put you down there. Locked up down there.” His eyes studied her steadily and intently. “I can’t leave without a satisfactory answer.”
The strange man had a kind face with eyes that sparkled in the light of the candle, but she knew how easy it was to act kind with a heart of evil. She tried to smile and nodded her head. “Yes. I understand your need to know. It was to keep me safe. Thank you for your offer of help, but I’m perfectly contented here.”
“Perfectly contented? Down there, in the dark, all alone?” He took a step back as if her words had staggered him. His face was no longer visible.
“Yes. I have all I need. A candle, my Bible, some food ...” Her voice trailed off. She tilted her chin toward him, what she could see of him. She did not have to explain herself. The less said, the better.
He stepped closer and bent down, letting the candlelight sweep around her enclosure. His brows drew together. “Ma’am, you ain’t got more than a six by six-foot area down there, if I’m any judge.”
“Enough for me.” She straightened her shoulders and hardened her voice. “I suggest you be on your way. My husband will be back shortly, and he will be upset to find you here.”
The cowboy fell quiet for a moment, as if he was considering her words, but no fear showed in his face.
She nodded vigorously. “Very upset. More than he was yesterday.”
The man continued studying her calmly. Obadiah threatening him with his pistol had not fazed him, not one bit.
The man grinned briefly, his teeth flashing white by the light of the candle, before he sobered. “No, don’t reckon he’d like it at all. But I ain’t leaving until I understand this situation better. Where did he go? Why didn’t you go with him? Why did he leave you?”
She had said all she planned. If he wanted to be here when Obadiah returned, that was his business. She clasped her hands together in front of her.
The cowboy sat down cross-legged. “I’m waiting, ma’am. I’m not leaving until I find out.”
She cleared her throat. “Suit yourself. As I said, my husband will return shortly.” She took a seat on the cot and tried to pretend he wasn’t above, watching her. Her hand strayed to her pocket, but she stopped before she pulled her handkerchief out. For some reason, she was reluctant for this man to see it. She sucked in her bottom lip and smoothed her dress.
They sat in silence as several long minutes ticked by, until she could endure it no longer. Enough was enough. She glared into the eyes that still watched her. “Don’t you have some other business to attend to?”
“Well, no, ma’am. My horse has a stone bruise, and he needs two or three days of rest. He’s visiting with your mare. Thank you for asking, but I’ve nothing better to do.” His face was smooth and composed, as if he had infinite patience.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t care that my husband will come home and catch you here?”
He flashed his smile and ignored her words again. “So, how long have you and your husband lived here?”
“That does not concern you.” She bit her bottom lip. Her hand again searched in her pocket for the handkerchief. This time, she pulled it out and allowed the feel of the lace beneath her fingers to soothe her and remind her of happier times. This strange man stirred up so many emotions in her that it was difficult to think straight. Tears hovered and threatened to fall. Her heart yearned to accept his help, but she gritted her teeth.
She angrily stuffed the piece of cloth back in her pocket. No one would save her. All men were evil, not to be trusted. She was alone, utterly alone, except for Oba. He took care of her and kept her safe.
The man cleared his throat. “I plum forgot to introduce myself. My name is William Thatcher Rainer.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair. His smile seemed genuine as he tilted his head toward her.
Was it a sign? Had God sent her this stranger? “William? Do people call you Billy?”
A sadness fell over him but was gone in a flash. “Before the War. I go by Thatcher now. And you are?”
“My name is Miss ... I mean, Mrs. Jones.”
A smile played around his lips. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones.”
She didn’t respond. It was strange she had named the dog Billy, and now this man named William showed up, on the day Oba shot the dog. But that didn’t mean God had sent him. It was a coincidence. But was it a coincidence he’d been nearby when his horse went lame? They were hidden so deep in the woods, what were the chances of that? God led him here. That was the only explanation.
But the man had to go before Oba returned.
The man was speaking. “Do you have neighbors nearby? You and your husband have any children?”
She frowned at him. “I don’t see why I should answer your questions, Mr. Rainer. You’re on our property without invitation. You need to go.”
“I’ve explained to you that I need to understand this situation. I’m not leaving until I do.”
She sighed deeply. “How my husband and I live is none of your business.”
“It’s my business when I see a pretty young woman locked up. Something doesn’t add up here. As soon as you can clarify why you live like this, I’ll be on my way.”
She knew no other way to get him to leave. She lowered her head. “It’s to keep me safe.”
“Keep you safe? Safe from what?”
His voice sounded genuinely concerned, and her heart ached for a moment. She looked up, frowned, and hardened her voice again. “From men like you. Now, go away.”
“Men like me? What sort would that be?” His eyes crinkled when he smiled.
She looked away and licked her dry lips. “Most men are scoundrels.” She sent him a quick glance when he laughed.
“Luckily, there are one or two of us who are not.”
The sound of his laughter washed over her, and somehow, it made her want to climb out of the darkness. She shook her head at herself. She would not go with this man, this Mr. Rainer, not now. Oba would hunt him down and kill him. But she longed to join her own laughter with his. It had been so long. The memory of happiness was faded, blurred around the edges, and all but forgotten.
Her throat ached with longing, and her voice hoarse when she spoke. “How do I believe you? Would you tell me if you were a scoundrel, Mr. Rainer?”
He sobered and looked at her. “You do have a point. Lying comes easy to most.”
“So, you understand why I choose to stay here.” She gripped the sides of a cot as if it was a means of deliverance.
“No, ma’am. You have not explained anything. Why not travel with your husband? Did he go pick up supplies? Most women would gladly travel to town, to visit with other folks, or just for a change of scenery. Are you afraid someone would see you? Maybe you are hiding from the law? Or maybe the other sort.”
“No, Mr. Rainer. I am not hiding from the law. I just don’t like mingling with people. I prefer my privacy.”
Again, he laughed with abandonment. When his laughter ceased, he swiped at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Well, this is taking it to the extreme, ain’t it? To hide in the ground, inside a shed that’s chained and locked. Doesn’t that seem a bit unusual to you, ma’am?”
“There are eccentric folks in the world. Some folks are shy, afraid of being in public. Perhaps I’m one of them.”
His smile remained firmly planted. “Perhaps you are eccentric, but you seem fine speaking to me. I don’t think you’re afraid of people like you say.”
Her tears threatened even more. “You’d be wrong, Mr. Rainer. Very wrong.”
Chapter Six
Thatcher looked down at the woman, his hand resting on his chin. Why was she so unyielding? He was tired of this, but there was no way he would leave a woman in a dangerous situation, and she’d given him no indication that she wasn’t in danger. He considered his options. He could continue to try to persuade her, or he could rescue her whether she wanted rescuing or not.
Mrs. Jones had fire in those eyes. Would she fight him, and if she did, what would he do then? Trying to get a fighting woman out of a pit wouldn’t be easy.
And even if he got her out, would she ride off with him? Not likely. He’d probably have to hogtie her and throw her over her horse.
And take her where? He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. If he only knew where the nearest sheriff’s office was located, he’d take her there. Let the law handle it. “Mrs. Jones?”
She tilted her head, and the candlelight glittered on the gold and red highlights in her hair. “Yes?”
“Where’s the nearest town?”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t know, Mr. Rainer?”
He didn’t answer but continued observing her. That wasn’t hard to do. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
After a moment, she spoke. “There’s a town southwest of here, about fifteen or twenty miles. I don’t know exactly.”
He nodded. “Because you’ve never been?”
Even in the darkness, the tinge of red in her cheeks was visible. He didn’t see a safe way to take her. At least, not if she fought him. It would be a day or two, before Johnny Bell would be sound. Her husband was sure to come looking for them. How far would they get?
But she had a horse. He’d ride into town and tell the sheriff of the situation.
He stood and moved closer to the edge. “Mrs. Jones, I’m going to borrow your horse.”
“No, sir. You are not!” Her eyes were wide, not with anger, but with fear.
Melly, Unyielding (Lockets And Lace Book 4) Page 3