“So help me, please!”
Delaney shrugged again. “He was ranching with his father back in Missouri, back before the beginning of the war. His father took an active stance against the bushwhacking goin’ on, and anyway, some Red Legs come down and killed the elder McKenna and Blade’s wife.
“Wife, yes, ma’am,” Mr. Delaney said in response to Jessica’s gaping mouth. “She was expecting a little one at the time. Anyway, Blade done joined up with Quantrill and his men—until he seen what they did in a raid. That kind of brutal violence wasn’t what he was after. He just wanted to kill the men involved. He couldn’t find them what with the war beginning and all. He traveled east and joined up with Mosby. Fought out the war. And then came back.”
“To find the men?” Jessica whispered.
Mr. Delaney hesitated a minute. “We’d heard tell that a lot of the men had joined on with the Union, and that they’d be in one of the forts in this vicinity. I imagine that’s why he was coming this way when he ran into you.” He hesitated again, then said very softly, “Yes’m, Mrs. Dylan. That’s why he’d ridden out here—to find the men.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you.” Jessica started to walk back to the boardinghouse, her mind reeling. He was an outlaw.… No, he wasn’t an outlaw. He’d ridden with outlaws. And he’d had a wife killed. A pregnant wife. Jessica fought a sudden rise of tears. He’d never told her. He’d said that he loved her, too.…
But not enough. And that was why he had ridden on. Sure, he wanted to make sure that she was safe—his end of the bargain. But then he was going to ride away again. After those men. She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the riders at first. And then …
Then it was too late. When she looked up, she saw a cloud of dust coming down the street. Then the men. Ten of them, armed, wearing blue, atop cavalry mounts. The first of them, a grim-looking man with dark eyes and mustache, leapt down and came toward her. “Jessica Dylan?”
“What do you want?” she demanded. She knew. Her heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. He’d told her to stay in the boardinghouse! Mrs. Peabody would have lied for her, found her a place to hide. The men could have ripped the place apart, but now …
“You’re under arrest,” the man told her, reaching for her.
She snatched her hand away, taking a swift step backward. “Arrest! We are not in a state of military control here!” she cried angrily. “You can’t arrest me. I haven’t done anything—”
“We have reason to believe that you were engaged in traitorous activity with your late husband, a conspiracy that cost many lives during the recent War of Rebellion,” the man said.
“You’ve no authority with which to arrest me. Don’t touch me. I’ll scream so damned loudly it will be heard all the way to Washington!” she cried.
His hands were on her. He wrenched her toward him. “I’m Colonel Harding, Mrs. Dylan. Harding. I want what you’ve got from your late husband, and I’ll do what I have to in order to get it from you. Do you understand?”
“I don’t have anything—” Jessica began.
“Lady, you’re a liar!” Colonel Harding fired back.
She wasn’t lying, she didn’t have the damned letters, they were in Blade’s hands as he crossed the plains. Right into the hands of the Union army. A man who had been with Mosby. With Quantrill.
Her mind raced. She didn’t dare give Harding the least hint that someone else was holding the damning evidence against him. She had to let Harding believe it was still buried on her property somewhere.
She lifted her chin. “You’re the lying, murderous traitor, Harding. You killed Charles, I’m sure. You probably shot him in the back once you found it was the only way to frame him. They say a Reb did it, but you and I both know. You killed him.”
Harding lowered his head, his eyes burning into hers. “All I can assure you, ma’am, is that I will kill his widow, slowly, if I don’t get what I want.”
“And how will you explain that?”
“I’ll find a way. Come willingly now, or it will be the worse for you.”
She stared at him, gritting her teeth. Then she began to scream. “This man is taking me unlawfully! He’s a murderer, he was a traitor to his cause—”
Harding’s hand slammed across her cheek. Stunned, she nearly fell. He lifted her. She gathered what strength she could muster and began beating him, fighting him. She found herself thrown, stomach down, over a horse, then gagged and tied there, like a beast ready for the slaughter.
Harding caught her hair, lifting her eyes to his. “We’ll have time to talk, Mrs. Dylan. Lots of time.”
He dropped her hair and hurried to his mount.
“See here!” someone cried. It was Mr. Delaney. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t do that to a lady. What kind of officer are you—”
“She’s part of a conspiracy, dangerous as a rattler!” Harding told Delaney.
“Bull crap!” Mr. Delaney announced indignantly. There was a crowd gathering around him. Jessica couldn’t see the people because her hair was blinding her, but she could hear them. She heard Mrs. Peabody’s voice.
“Don’t you dare think to take that young woman, you barbarian! We’ll have the law on you! We’ll—” Mrs. Peabody shouted.
“Good day!” Harding roared. “Men, ride!”
And beneath her, Jessica’s horse began to move. To walk, trot and gallop. Racing her out of town.
And far, far away from Blade McKenna. …
Chapter Nine
The sun was high, and it seemed as though they had been riding forever. Jessica had been barely conscious, but now she was suddenly aware of one of Harding’s men speaking to him.
“We ain’t taking her to the fort, right?” she heard him ask. “Colonel Harding, we’re your men to the last breath, but if you take her back to the fort, some of the guys there just might not think it’s right, they might feel some sympathy for her, they might just … well, sir, they might just protest!”
“Dooley,” Harding said with a trace of exasperation. “I am not taking her to the fort.”
“Then—?”
“We’re heading back for her place.”
“Her place?”
“The land Charles Dylan bought when he was out here and left her, Dooley. Where the hell else would he have left anything of value to him!”
Dooley fell silent.
Harding chuckled softly and continued. “No one will see or hear her there. She can scream until the sun sets and rises again, and no one will hear her.”
They kept riding.
When they reached her property, Jessica was so stiff from being in such an awkward position during the ride that she couldn’t stand when Dooley came to lift her from the horse. She fell against the creature, her feet and ankles numb.
Harding didn’t care. He quickly had a hand on her elbow and started to drag her to the house, calling orders to his men. “Tear apart the barn, the stables. See what you can find.”
Jessica longed to tell him that he could dig from here to Kingdom Come and he wouldn’t find anything. But she didn’t want him to know or even suspect that someone might be riding away with his evidence. If he did start suspecting, he’d probably begin asking questions in town. God forbid if he found out Blade had the evidence … and that he had also killed the man who had never come back. But … but if Blade had found Sherman and managed to walk into the army camp, then maybe …
Then what? He’d come back to town. She wouldn’t be there. Mr. Delaney and Mrs. Peabody would tell him what happened, and he would come for her.
Except that he wouldn’t know where to come. …
Yes, yes, he might! This was the logical place for Harding to have brought her. To the ranch Charles Dylan had loved so much, the place that was his, the place he had come whenever he’d had a few spare minutes away from the fort.
Could he come in time? Jessica wondered.
She stumbled up the step
s to the front door. Harding wrenched her to her feet. He kicked the door, still dragging her.
The house seemed so strange. No fire burned in the hearth. There was no aromatic scent of coffee in the air, no feel of life today. Yet it was still different from when they had first come, Jessica realized. It was neat, it was clean, it had little touches of home in the drapes, in the afghan over the sofa, in the cloth on the table, the vase there. It was a house that waited. Empty, and a little cold because of that, but waiting for them. For her and Blade.
Because they had, strangely enough, made it a home.
Harding shoved her into the chair before the cold hearth, then gripped the edges of the hearth and stared into her eyes. “Where are they, Mrs. Dylan?”
She lifted her chin. “Where are who, Colonel Harding?”
“Don’t get wise with me, Mrs. Dylan. They. The letters. My property. Stolen by your husband.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”
“No? Yet in Jackson Prairie, you called out to everyone that I was a murderer!”
“Charles wrote home, of course, Colonel. He told me that you were a vile traitor and murderer, and that some of the Confederates had the money to buy that break they made. That is why I know that you are a traitor and a murderer.”
“Colonel!” Dooley called impatiently.
Harding forgot Jessica for a moment. He turned to Dooley—who had apparently been sticking his nose around the house.
Dooley threw a shirt across the room. One of Blade’s. Harding caught it, and stared at Dooley.
“My husband’s—” she began in exasperation.
“I don’t think so. I think she’s living here with someone,” Dooley said. “There’s a shaving mirror and a razor in that bedroom. Looks all nice and cozy and domestic. Seems the widow here is into a little bit of entertainment.”
Harding looked down at her with a sardonic smile. “That’s good. Why, I won’t have to feel half so guilty now. Raping old Dylan’s widow might be kind of a cruel thing. But since she’s just some cattle herder’s whore, well, then it won’t be quite so bad. We can have lots of fun until she decides to talk, or before we get to the real violence. Dooley, you go ahead and start a fire. I’m going to question my prisoner a little further in the comfort of her bedroom. I do want her to feel at home. But I need some good hot pokers. If I can’t gently persuade her to turn over the letters, she’ll have to lose one eye, and then the other. Dear me, Mrs. Dylan! You are going to be a mess before I leave you. And such a beautiful woman! What a pity.”
He reached for her. Jessica struck out, slapping him hard, her nails raking across his face. Harding swore, wrenched her up, and threw her. She stumbled for balance and turned to flee. He caught her around the waist, lifting her. She clawed at his hands, but he didn’t seem to care. “Get the damned fire going!” he ordered Dooley.
She fought. She fought even as Harding dragged her toward her bedroom. She gripped the frame to the door and flung her weight wildly around.
Harding shouted for Dooley again. “Get over here! Leave the damned fire for a minute and help me get this witch in here!”
Dooley obliged, prying her fingers away from the doorframe. She was a fighter. Blade had told her that. But she couldn’t fight them forever. Her heart seemed to constrict within her breast. No, this was her home, her place. It was where she lived and loved with Blade. Where she had discovered hope and desire and happiness once again. Where she had even dared to dream of a future, here, in this wilderness. She’d fight for it even if it killed her.
“No!” she shrieked. She heard her skirt rip and saw Dooley reaching for her bodice. “No!” she shrieked again. And then, amazingly and suddenly, Dooley was gone. Plucked from her, thrown across the room. She followed the motion of his body, saw him crash against the far wall, eyes go wide, then close, all consciousness stolen from him in one swift second.
She looked above her. Blade. He had come for her. In time.
She stared at him, into his dark, passionate eyes. She touched his cheek, bronzed, handsome, so rugged, so very appealing and arresting. She ran her thumb over the tight pad of his lower lip, and thought his was the most noble face she had ever seen. “You made it,” she whispered softly.
“The army made it, too. A troop is right behind me.”
“And—”
She broke off as she suddenly heard gunfire from outside, and then a bullet whizzed by them both, making a very strange sound as it sank into the bedding.
“Roll!” Blade shouted to her. He was on top of her, rolling with her. They both crashed down to the floor on the side of the bed. “Stay!” he commanded.
Well, she would stay, all right, but she had to see what was going on. She inched up, gazing across the bed, watching as Blade leapt up, jumping, spinning, avoiding the next bullet Harding sent flying his way, then pitting himself against the man. The gun went flying. Blade lit into Harding, his knuckles crunching into his cheek. He raised his fist to slam it down again. Then he paused. “He’s out,” he said, and rubbed his fist. “Out cold.”
Blade lifted him up, hiking him over his shoulder. He turned to Jessy. “I wanted to kill him,” he said huskily. “I wanted to kill him for touching you. I should turn him over to Lieutenant Gray. Gray is a good man, and Sherman wants Harding to stand trial. It is best—it will clear Charles Dylan.”
“Yes, yes! Turn him over to Lieutenant Gray!” Jessica cried.
Blade nodded, and left her. There had been a skirmish outside, too, Blade realized. Yet, by the look of it, it had ended as quickly as it had begun. The Union troops who had followed Harding had been quick to surrender to Lieutenant Gray.
Jessica rose stiffly and walked to the window. She could see Blade handing the man over to a good-looking man. Gray. He was in control. It was over, she thought. At last. All over.
And Blade was alive and safe, and she was alive and safe, and there was nothing left except—
“Don’t make a move, Mrs. Dylan.”
She had forgotten Dooley. Forgotten that Blade had thrown him across the room, that he had seemed to be as out cold as Harding.
“Listen to me. All that I want to do is get away, and fast. I didn’t have anything to do with your husband’s frame-up, lady, honest. I never wanted to hurt you, but I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t let that crazy half-breed get a good look at me. Wave! Wave quickly. Let them see that you’re all right. Then you’ve got to find some way to get me out back. I’ve got a knife against your spine. Feel it? I can slice right into you in a matter of seconds. You’ll be dead before you fall. Do you hear me?”
She nodded. She heard him. She heard the death of hope, of life, of love.
Outside, Blade finished saying something to Lieutenant Gray. He turned to her. She tried to smile. She lifted a hand.
“I’ll kill him,” Dooley whispered suddenly. “I’ll hurtle this knife at him the second he steps through the door. Then I’ll throttle you. I won’t go down alone, I won’t let him get me, I won’t let him get me!”
It was Blade! The man was terrified of Blade. She swallowed hard. Blade had come here, Mr. Delaney had told her, because he had heard that some of the men out of Kansas were at the fort.
And Blade was staring at her. She was trying so hard to smile, to look normal! But he knew her, knew her so very well. He looked at Gray again. “I’ve a few things in the barn, Lieutenant, that I need for the general. If you’ll wait here for just a moment …”
His voice seemed to fade away. Lieutenant Gray was obviously confused, but he was also quick, and he acknowledged Blade’s request with a nod. Dooley, behind her, exhaled a sigh of relief. “Get me out of here now!” he commanded Jessica.
She nodded. She turned away from the window. “There’s no back door. There’s a window—”
“Get me there!”
She turned from the window and started to walk. She had barely taken two steps before she screamed, spinning at the sound of s
hattering glass.
Blade. Crashing through the window, his hands around Dooley’s throat, was Blade. He wrenched Dooley from her, throwing him to the ground. He straddled the man, his knife drawn, a savage look upon his face.
“God!” he raged suddenly. “You!” He grasped hard at Dooley’s hair, wrenching it up. He raised his knife. He was preparing to scalp the man. And then … kill him, in cold blood.
Jessica watched, frozen. The bastard probably deserved it. But somehow, that didn’t matter. What mattered was Blade. “Blade, no! No!” Jessica cried.
Blade paused, his knife held high, hatred burning darkly in his eyes. “You don’t understand, Jessy,” he cried out “He was with them. Three of them. They came on my property. They shot down my father. And they came after Mara. They killed her—and our baby. She was running and running and they just shot her down. And they thought they’d killed me.”
“Blade! I do understand what happened, Mr. Delaney told me. But Lieutenant Gray will take care of him, the army will take care of him. The war is over, I swear, we can see to it that he’s prosecuted, I know they’ll see justice done. He’s down, it’s all right, we’re safe. Blade, I know how you were hurt, but Lieutenant Gray is outside, right? Let’s give this man to the army, let him face the law. Please, God, Blade!”
“This is him,” Blade said softly. “Frank Dooley, worked for Lane back in Kansas, so long ago now, eh, Dooley? This is him. I saw his face. Saw him shoot down Mara, then he came for me. Lord, I’ve waited forever for this moment. I swore that I’d kill him slow. That I’d take his scalp before he was even dead.”
“Blade!” Jessy cried, rushing to him, falling down by his side where he straddled Dooley so tightly. She gripped his arm. The arm with the knife. It was like holding steel.
“Blade, you can’t! You can’t. You’ve got to turn him over to Lieutenant Gray. You have to! Please! If you don’t, you’ll have to run again. They can’t let you take your vengeance, even if they think you’re right. Gray will be obliged to come after you. And more men will die. Let him go to trial. Let Lieutenant Gray take him. Blade, I love you more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life, you’ve got to feel the same way! It’s the only chance that we’ve got!”
Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Page 9