by Jodi Thomas
The pain in his body was nothing compared to the wound to his pride. Angela had been part of his dream . . . the only part that hadn’t died at the Red River when he’d watched two years of work vanish in one stormy stampede. He’d loved the ideal of her, a proper wife and family, though he hadn’t loved her. They would have made a good match. But he’d never have that chance now, for the dream or the woman.
He gripped the slat tighter, his pride forcing him to straighten despite the pain.
Timid fingers moved from within the darkened cage and closed over his.
Wes raised his gaze to the woman on the other side of the boards. Kneeling inside her prison, she faced him. Her chains pulled tight against her wrists so she could touch his hand.
All the anger and hurt left him as she raised her hand and gently traced the scar along his face.
A tear bubbled in her eye and fell, cleaning a streak down her cheek.
Wes opened his hand and let her thin fingers lace through his. The world shifted as her cool palm pressed against his. The broken engagement didn’t matter, or the beating, or even his lost wealth. All that mattered as he looked into dark blue eyes was this creature dressed in rags.
If it cost him his life, this woman would not be pulled through a crowd tonight!
TWO
WES SHOVED AN IRON STAKE BETWEEN THE CHAIN and the cage and twisted. Even hurt, his powerful strength rocked the wagon with his effort. There was no time to pick the lock. He knew it would only be moments before someone noticed him and he not only had to get the cage open, he had to convince the poor creature inside to come with him.
Wes glanced at her. She backed as far away from him as she could.
‘‘Now wait a minute!’’a familiar slurred voice shouted from the entrance to the alley. ‘‘Don’t break that lock. Louis won’t like it.’’
Wes straightened, his right hand an inch from his Colt, his left gripping the iron tool. He turned slowly as the driver ran toward him with a full bottle of whiskey in his good hand.
Without warning, the man’s drunken laughter polluted the night air in a breathless hiccuping sound. ‘‘I know you want her, mister.’’ He raised his bottle as if in salute. ‘‘Some men have the taste for a little wild seasoning in their women. I guessed you was one of them by the way you stared at her. She’ll give you a fight for what you take, if that’s what you like. But don’t break my lock. The reverend will make me pay to have it fixed.’’
Wes stepped back, knotting his fists to keep from clobbering the drunk. ‘‘Open the cage,’’ he whispered between clenched teeth.
The driver hesitated. ‘‘I don’t like to do this kind of business till after the service. Last crazy woman we had killed herself one night after the boys from the saloon took turns dancing a few rounds with her. How about you wait until later? Then I’ll give you this throwaway.’’
When Wes didn’t answer,the man raised one eyebrow as if weighing Wes’s worth. ‘‘I’ll only charge you five dollars for the night. I won’t ask no questions, long as she’s back in the cage by dawn.’’ He winked at Wes. ‘‘Ain’t none of my concern what you do with her.’’
‘‘Open the door.’’ Wes fought down the bile in his throat. He felt like he was bargaining with the devil, but he knew time was running out for her. The church bell stopped ringing. It would only be a matter of minutes before she’d be pulled across the street. ‘‘I’ll give you a twenty-dollar gold piece.’’
Wes pulled the last of his money from his pocket and shoved it into the driver’s withered hand. ‘‘I want her unchained. Now!’’
‘‘All right.’’The driver tested the weight of the coin.‘‘I got to get her out anyway. It’s almost time.’’ He glanced in the direction of the church and slipped the double eagle into his vest pocket. ‘‘You can feel of her while I remove the ring from her chains. But you’ll have to wait until after the show to have her. She’ll be all tired by then and not so hard to handle. She’s tiny, but she’s got big, ripe . . .’’
The cage door swung open, and Wes felt his heart stop in midbeat. Suddenly there was no air, no town, no drunk beside him. All he saw were her eyes staring at him with total hate. The blue depths that had been filled with kindness only minutes ago now were wide with panic and fear. The terror of a child blended with the hatred of a woman as she watched him.
For a moment he hesitated, wondering if she truly was insane and if he’d do her any good by setting her free.Maybe this life, as terrible as it seemed, was better than her dying if left on her own.
She backed away as he and the driver stepped into the cage. Her dress caught in her movements, pulling the material from one shoulder. Bruises were plain even in the shadowy light. Wes closed his eyes. With all he’d seen in the war and since, he wasn’t sure he could bear to know how completely she’d been harmed.
The drunk knelt and began unlocking the ring that held her wrist chains. ‘‘Go ahead, get yourself a good feel. She ain’t going to do nothing but scream and that’ll let them know we’re coming. It don’t matter if you bruise her. She don’t talk none. She ain’t going to tell anyone. Grab you a good handful.’’
Wes took a step toward her.
The creature looked as if she might bolt and run the moment her chained wrists were free. She raised her hands and shook her head wildly.
The driver laughed. ‘‘Go ahead. Slap her a good one to let her know you mean business. There ain’t nothing feels better then getting a tight hold on a ripe woman. Since you paid twenty, I’ll even hold her if you like. That way you can slip your hands up her dress.’’
Without thought Wes swung toward the man. With one blow, he knocked the drunk out the open cage door and onto the ground.
The woman let out a soft cry and covered her face as though she thought she would be his next victim.
Wes backed out of the cage and tapped the driver with the toe of his boot. The man was out cold. Unswallowed whiskey blended with blood and dripped from his open mouth, but his withered fingers still held the bottle tightly.
Glancing into the cage, Wes met her stare once more. She still shook, but no longer looked at him with hate. The fear was there, the panic—but he’d won an ounce of respect in her eyes.
‘‘Come on,’’he whispered as he raised his hand slowly to her. ‘‘I’ll get you out of this mess.’’
Wes had no idea where he would take her, or how he would handle her if she truly were crazy. Only one fact remained certain: he couldn’t leave her here. Not alone. Not with this man. Not as a curiosity for the town.
‘‘I won’t hurt you.’’He tried to make his voice calm.‘‘I’m only trying to set you free.’’
She hesitated a second then bolted toward him. In a heartbeat, she’d jumped into his arms, holding him so tightly Wes wasn’t sure if she was hugging him or trying to choke him.
‘‘It’s all right.’’ Through his rage at her captors, he forced out the words. ‘‘It’s all right.’’ Awkwardly, he patted her back and felt her tense beneath his touch. He didn’t have to look to know there would be whelps beneath her dress.
‘‘I’ll get you out of here.’’He wrapped one arm about her waist and lifted her a few inches off the ground as he moved around the wagon. ‘‘Do you understand?’’
She didn’t answer or lessen her hold on him.
As he felt her tears on his throat, someone from the street yelled, ‘‘Hey you! Turn loose of that woman!’’
Wes swung around. A huge man in black was running toward him. The bearded man waved a long staff over his head like a weapon. His great coat flew around him, reminding Wes of the wings of a bat flying through the darkness.
‘‘Let her go! She’s my ward.
Wes wrapped his arms around her legs and lifted her as he turned away. He felt her fear pounding against his heart and couldn’t help but wonder how many times the long stick had been used across her back. She shook with terror, telling Wes plainly that this man in black was the preacher who
planned to put her on stage tonight.
‘‘Let her go!’’ The minister reached the alley entrance with several men only a few feet behind him. ‘‘Stop him! He’s kidnapping her!’’
The creature’s weight did little to slow Wes down. She clung so tightly, he knew she wouldn’t leave his arms if he let go of her. She was far more afraid of the huge man with the stick than of him.
Years of battles during the war served him well. He’d stayed alive by never hesitating. His movements now were swift and purposeful.
Just as he reached his horse, the preacher ran past the wagon. ‘‘Shoot him! He’s stealing my property!’’
Wes swung onto his saddle with the sound of metal clearing leather. He kicked his mount into action as bullets danced past his head and ricocheted off the brick wall in front of him.
The powerful animal beneath him jerked wildly in panic. Shots echoed down the alley and back. With one hand around the woman’s waist and the other twisted firmly in the reins, Wes leaned forward, protecting her as he kicked the horse into a run.
Ride! he screamed in his mind as the voices faded in the background. Ride! he commanded himself as hot fiery pain shot through his back. Ride!
The night loomed black and silent, with no sign of civilization in sight. Allie felt as if her arms might fall off at any moment. She’d held the tall man in the saddle for hours. Judging from the sky, it would be dawn soon. But she wasn’t sure he had enough life left in him to see its coming.Somehow he’d managed to stay in control of the halfwild horse until they were well away from the town. But she felt the blood, warm and thick along his back, and knew with each pounding of hooves his life passed.
With all her strength, she pulled on the reins. To her surprise, the horse obeyed, stopping in a wooded area with tall undergrowth all around. It didn’t matter where they were; they had to rest.
Allie slipped from the saddle and tried to catch the man who had taken her from the cage.
But his body weighed too much for her, and they both fell to the ground as he toppled over. With sudden panic, she shoved him from her and rolled away.
He didn’t move.
Run, she thought. Now might be her only chance to get away. She could survive off the land. She’d done it before. This might be her only chance at freedom. She would live once more without cages or chains.
The man has passed to the next life, she told herself. He doesn’t move. She could take his horse and be into the hills by nightfall. He would have no use for a horse. If he lived, the preacher’s men would catch up to them soon. If she kept running, maybe the posse would be satisfied with catching him and leave her to her hills.
Allie moved toward the horse, forcing herself not to look back. She didn’t even know if he was a good man or a bad one. After all, the Rangers who’d captured her had said they were good and treated her kindly. But they gave her over to the reverend. The women at the first fort had given her this dress, then laughed at how she looked in it. She couldn’t tell good from bad anymore. It was safer to be alone.
He’s dead, she thought, without looking at him. He must be dead. He won’t mind my taking the horse and supplies.
Running her hand along the leather of the saddle, she felt where he’d worn down the design. It was a fine quality saddle, she guessed. And a fine horse. The gun he wore strapped to his leg looked worth a fine bargaining also.
She glanced at him. If he didn’t need the horse, he wouldn’t need the gun.
Slowly, she retraced her steps. He was so still he might already have stopped breathing. She moved to his side and knelt. If she had anything to give him, she’d trade. Even if he were already dead, she would leave a trade if she had something.
As Allie touched the cool handle of the weapon, he moved slightly. She jumped back.
For a long moment she watched him. He still breathed, she decided. Watching closely, she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. He might live. If he’d been planning to hurt her last night, he deserved to die. But if he’d been helping her, if his whispered words to her were true, she owed him her life.
She had to take the chance. She must help him . . . at least until she knew.
THREE
WES FOUGHT THROUGH THE PAIN AS HE SLOWLY opened his eyes. He tried to remember what he’d done this time in his endless efforts to get himself killed, but too many scars, from battlefields to barrooms, clouded his memory.The words of an old sergeant he’d known back in ’63 drifted through his mind. ‘‘If you can hear yourself breathing and don’t see your brains splattered beside you, there’s a good chance you’ll make it to fight another day.’’
Wes took a deep breath. That’s half the test, he thought. Slowly, he forced himself to focus and look around.
The air seemed thick, foggy, as though a cloud were resting on the ground. And colors, from the dark green of late summer to the blue-brown of aging foliage, surrounded him in varying hues of clarity. Wes guessed it was evening or just before sunset. He couldn’t be sure. The trees distorted the light, and his mind blocked out a sharpening of his senses.
He felt along his side. First order, check his Colt. Still in place. Then his ribs. Painful to the touch.
Slowly, he forced his hand to his back as he closed his eyes in dread. He hated the feel of his own blood. The memory of the fiery pain returned, and the night ride, and the woman.
Wes glanced up. The woman! He opened his mouth to call out, but to who? He couldn’t very well yell, ‘‘Hey, crazy lady!’’ or ‘‘creature’’ or ‘‘wild woman.’’ The best he could think of was ‘‘blue eyes.’’ He doubted she’d answer to that.
She was probably long gone anyway, he figured as he swore aloud and fought to stand. Judging from the pain in his back, the bullet was still lodged just above his waist. If he didn’t get to a doctor fast, it wouldn’t matter about his loss of blood—the bullet’s poison would kill him.
The forest became a merry-go-round as he stood. Wes staggered from one tree to another. Corrected and stumbled again.
From nowhere, an arm moved about his waist and straightened his path. Gentle hands guided him as she made her body his crutch.
When he looked down at the tiny creature helping him, blue eyes met his gaze. She was still dirty, with hair flying around her and a face that seemed made of more mud than skin. But her eyes were filled with a kindness that touched his soul.
‘‘Where are we?’’ he asked, not expecting an answer.
Silently she helped him to his horse. He guessed that she’d taken care of the animal while he’d slept. The mane looked freshly brushed. Maybe he could cross off crazy from her names. She was smart enough to take care of the animal, knowing that the horse would very likely be the difference between life and death.
‘‘I have to get to Fort Worth, Blue Eyes,’’ he mumbled, hoping she’d prove even smarter. Fog fought to overtake his mind. ‘‘I have a brother there who’s a doctor. I have to get to him.’’
She pushed Wes into the saddle.
‘‘Do you understand?’’ he asked through teeth gritted from the agony of moving. He’d climbed into a saddle a million times, and reasoned he’d be able to hold on even if he passed out. After all, he’d spent months sleeping atop a horse during the cattle drives.
The tiny woman jumped up behind him without showing a sign of understanding anything he said.
‘‘Find Doctor McLain.’’ Wes fought for a few more moments of clear thought. ‘‘Find him. If I don’t make it, make sure he gets my saddlebags.’’
‘‘There’s a map he must see even if I die.’’ Wes knew he was mumbling, but he had to fight the darkness closing in. ‘‘Doctor in Fort Worth named McLain.’’
Allie heard his words, but she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she knew how. It had been so many years since she’d spoken the language of her people, she wasn’t sure she remembered. When she’d been captured by the Rangers, none of the words had made sense, but now she understood many of them. She liked the
low voice of this stranger and wished he’d talk more to her.She’d thought the man would be dead by the time she watered the horse. Then she could have given him a burial in exchange for his supplies. But he hadn’t known her plan, for when she returned, he’d been stumbling worse than the man with the crippled hand who drove her cage.
He was still alive, still bleeding. This stranger would not be buried here in the quiet of the woods tonight.
She’d have to think of a new plan, for planning what she would do had been the only thing that had kept her alive these past few weeks.
Much as she hated to go toward a town, the only way she could be rid of him was to drop him in Fort Worth, as he apparently wished. Then she would vanish back into the hills. He had saved her from the preacher and she owed him for that.
She knew the way to the place called Fort Worth. She’d crossed the road many times. If the man had family there, it would be only right to take him home to die. Once he was with them he wouldn’t need his horse or gun. He’d probably give them to her if she asked. In fact, she was sure he would, so there was really no need to ask. She’d just take him to his family and vanish with his unspoken gifts to her. With a horse and a gun the Rangers would never capture her again and call it ‘‘a saving.’’
Allie worked on her plan all the way to Fort Worth, fighting down the fear that grew with each mile. She’d go back to the hill country where she’d lived alone for the past five winters. She had no tribe, no people. If she wanted to stay alive, she must stay away from everyone.
In the darkness before the stars appeared she rode into Fort Worth. The man was mumbling out of his head about a map and a treasure hidden long ago. He managed to hold himself in the saddle. Sometimes he’d call out names of people or yell orders as though he were in battle.
Keeping her arm around him, she leaned against his back more for warmth now than need to hold him upright. The day had turned from cloudy to rainy. Her cotton dress did nothing to keep her warm. She could no longer tell if the dampness against her abdomen was from rain or the stranger’s blood. It no longer mattered, for their journey would soon end.