by Jill Gregory
To her dismay, he stayed and watched as she fumbled into jeans, a plaid shirt, and her boots. She thought yearningly of the gun under her pillow, but there was no way to reach it. As he once again drew his gun and ordered her to pack a small suitcase, she complied silently.
When she finished, he grabbed the case and pushed her ahead of him out of the room. All her hopes of reaching the derringer were gone.
Jessup was waiting for them at the gates leading into the Circle H grounds. He had three horses with him. Matt hoisted Bryony into the saddle of a gray gelding, and promptly tied her hands to the saddle horn. Then he and Rusty mounted their horses and led her gelding southward at a fast trot.
Holding tightly to the saddle horn and trying to maintain her balance, Bryony’s mind raced as she tried to imagine what had gone wrong. And what would happen to her now.
She knew one thing—she wasn’t about to tell Matt Richards anything.
Pressing her lips together with determination, she glanced about, trying to figure out where they were headed. After some miles, she realized that they were on the Twin Bars property. They’d by-passed the ranch house somehow, and were riding further east. The land was hilly and bright with the night-blooming cereus, but she could hardly appreciate the flowers now.
Her heart was filled with dread, and she was reminded of the day she’d been kidnapped off the stagecoach. She’d been panic-stricken that day, too, but she hadn’t had any idea what was happening to her or why. Now she knew the reason for her capture, and she knew just how ruthless those responsible for it could be.
Her skin was clammy with sweat as she glanced at the hard faces of the two men.
Soon they began to climb a mesa on the eastern edge of Twin Bars property. Clouds now shrouded the moon and stars, leaving the countryside dark and eerily quiet. Bryony didn’t even notice the little cabin stuck into the rocky plateau until Matt and Jessup slowed the horses. Then she saw the small, rough-hewn cabin set amidst rock and scrub brush and cacti.
She bit her lip as she heard the sounds of horses who must have been tethered behind the place, but she didn’t say a word as Jessup deftly untied her hands and yanked her roughly down from the horse.
Jim, I’ll probably never see you again, she thought as Jessup shoved her toward the cabin, and Matt grabbed her arm.
All such thoughts died instantly as Richards dragged her into the cabin. Because as she stumbled past the heavy wooden door, the first and only thing she saw was Texas Jim Logan’s battered, unmoving body crumpled on the floor in a sticky pool of blood.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A terrible anguish rushed through her, worse than anything she’d ever known. She couldn’t think of anything except that Jim was dead, and she’d never told him that she loved him.
Numb, stricken, she wished in that instant that she was dead too.
Pulling away from her captors, Bryony rushed across the barren room to Jim, kneeling over his inert body. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she touched his face, his hair, murmuring his name again and again, heedless of the blood on her hands and clothes.
And then she saw what she hadn’t dared to hope for—he was breathing. Barely. But he was alive.
With a gasp of thankfulness, she grasped his hand and pressed it to her heart.
“Jim.” She smoothed his hair back from his brow. “Are you all right? Please wake up. Jim?”
He didn’t respond, and she saw that his breathing was very shallow. His lean, sun-browned face was bruised and there was blood running from the corner of his mouth.
More blood, though, was flowing from his left shoulder. She tore his shirt away with shaking hands, sickened at the sight of the raw, ugly gunshot wound.
With anguished eyes, she turned to the people in the cabin, intending to insist that they help him. But before she could speak, she noticed for the first time Zeke Murdock’s burly presence.
And then she saw the woman.
“Bryony, meet Meg Donahue—my partner,” Matt Richards announced.
Bryony stared in shock at the flame-haired saloon-keeper as Zeke Murdock and Rusty Jessup grinned from ear to ear.
Matt continued conversationally. “Meg’s always been a big help to me in my business affairs, Bryony, honey. And she was a help to your pa, too, when he was alive. The three of us had a mighty lucrative partnership, but now, it’s just us two running the show—with a little help from some of the boys, of course.”
Meg Donahue? The third partner?
So, Bryony thought numbly, that was what had gone wrong. Her mind leaped to yesterday, when she’d given Buck the note for Jim, the note Buck instead delivered to Meg Donahue.
And Meg must have turned it over directly to Matt Richards, she thought in horror.
With a chill, she realized that she’d never deceived Matt for a minute during that ridiculous charade with Roger. He’d known all along she didn’t love Roger, that she planned to meet Jim Logan in the morning, and tell him where to find the missing letter.
And Jim?
He must have never even received my note. Instead, they’d done this to him.
Suddenly, she tore off her bandana and began wrapping it tightly around his wounded shoulder.
“What’s she doin’?” Murdock demanded. “We don’t got time for her to play nurse. Let’s find out where that paper is, pronto.”
“He’s right, Matt.” Meg frowned. “We’ve waited a long time for this.”
Sauntering toward Bryony, she grasped the younger woman’s arm and yanked her to her feet.
“You just forget about him, honey. Jim Logan’s as good as dead. And so are you, if you don’t tell us what we want to know.”
Bryony shook herself free and slapped Meg as hard as she could across the face.
“As good as dead? How can you say that, you horrible old witch? You were his friend. He liked you. He trusted you! You must be some kind of a monster—and so are all the rest of you. I hope you all rot in hell, and if I can speed up that day by so much as one hour—or one minute—you can be damned sure I will!”
The smug smile disappeared from Meg Donahue’s lips. Her eyes glimmered like chips of ice in her heavily rouged face.
“Honey, you just made a big mistake,” she pronounced slowly, eyeing Bryony the way a puma does a rabbit. “No one lifts a hand against me and gets away with it. No one. And as for your speeding up anyone’s appointment on Judgment Day, well, honey, all I can say is, I hope you’re real prepared to meet your Maker! Because you sure don’t have long to go on this earth!”
Bryony’s heart was pounding. What were they going to do? And what should she do? Should she tell them where the paper was hidden? Then they’d have no reason to keep her alive, she realized quickly. And the same held true for Jim.
She couldn’t reveal the whereabouts of the letter—it was their only chance.
Warily studying the saloon-keeper, she noticed for the first time the woman’s heavy array of jewelry, which added unnecessary decoration to her bright blue taffeta gown with its black sequined trim and feathers. Bright diamond and ruby rings sparkled on her fingers. Her earrings were long, brilliant sapphires. And at her throat...
Suddenly Bryony’s mouth went dry. At Meg’s throat was the antique cameo brooch that had been stolen from Bryony months ago. Her mother’s brooch. It was simple and lovely—an island of quiet good taste in an ocean of gaudiness.
Meg noticed Bryony’s shocked expression, and she fingered the brooch coyly. “Oh, you recognize this, don’t you, honey? Zeke told me he stole it from you that day when you first came to town.” She chuckled. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been dying to wear this pretty little thing, but I was always afraid to wear it in town, in case I ran into you somewheres. Now it doesn’t matter, does it? And soon I’ll be able to wear all my pretty things, and folks will know they’re real and not fake like they think in town.”
She touched her earrings with pride. “See these? They’re worth a real handsome sum, and
I’ve worn ‘em dozens of times in the Silver Spur, but no one would guess that they’re real. Where would good old Meg get genuine gems, after all? Well, honey, they’re real, all of ‘em. And soon, I’m goin’ to move away from this hayseed town, maybe to San Francisco or New York or Paris, France—someplace fancy, that’s for sure! And I’m goin’ to start all over. Folks will know they’re dealing with a lady as rich and fancy as anyone who ever went to a private boarding school.”
She spat out the last three words in disgust.
“Is that what you want?” Bryony stared at her. “To prove that you’re a lady? I’m afraid you’re doomed to failure before you even begin. You’ve taken on an impossible task.”
Meg laughed in her face. “All I want, honey, is to wear my pretty clothes and jewels, to find myself a string of good-looking men to keep me company, and to live a life of leisure. I sure don’t want to spend the rest of my days playing trail boss to a bunch of lazy whores, fetching whisky for drunks, and cleaning up that damned saloon every night! I’ve had six years of doin’ that on my own, and nine years before that working with my husband. I put in my time at hard labor! And now I’m going somewhere where I can put my feet up and enjoy my hard-earned money.”
“Hard-earned? By stealing, you mean!”
Meg planted her hands onto her hips and regarded Bryony mockingly.
“Well, I couldn’t save up enough from the saloon to live the way I’d a mind to, so I decided years ago I’d better start planning for my future. Everything fell into place when Matt and your father moved into the territory. The three of us—we hit it off right away.” She grinned. “We saw how we could all help each other out—and working in the Silver Spur, I sure picked up a lot of useful information for the both of them. But, honey, even with the rustling deal, it’s taken me years to get to a point where I can think about retiring and moving away. And that time has come. I reckon I deserve a nice, soft life now.”
Bryony thought of the Blake’s modest ranch house, and the way Annie and her father worked their fingers to the bone trying to make a meager living off their ranch, just like dozens of other small industrious ranchers in the valley.
And here was Meg Donahue bragging about stealing from them so that she could set herself up like a queen.
“I think you’re disgusting.” Bryony’s eyes blazed. “The whole filthy lot of you. And you—”
Her gaze flicked to Matt Richards, who’d plunked himself down on one of the few rickety chairs in the sparsely furnished cabin. He was watching her dispassionately, though she sensed he was growing impatient because he kept tapping his booted foot against the floor.
“As for you, Matt Richards, the most deceitful, reprehensible man in Winchester, I’m very grateful I didn’t accept your marriage proposal that day because I’d rather be dead than be married to a man like you—or should I say, a no-good, stinking skunk like you!”
An unpleasant gleam flickered in his black eyes. “Be careful, Bryony. You’re in enough trouble already,” he said softly.
“Then what difference does it make? You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you? Well, Matt, if you ever decide to get out of the rustling and murdering business, you can always give the acting profession a try. You play a fine, upstanding gentleman most convincingly, I assure you.”
He stood slowly and advanced toward her. His hand brushed her cheek with mock gentleness, and she instantly recoiled.
“Aww, Bryony, honey.” Amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “Now look at the trouble you’re in—all because you refused me. I’m being forced to take actions I never wanted to take.”
His tone hardened. “Nevertheless, I will take them, honey. I have a business to protect, to say nothing of my own life. So, yes, I’ll settle this matter at any cost.”
She stared at him with outward calm, though inwardly she trembled at the ruthlessness in his hooded eyes.
“Don’t be so sure.” It was difficult to keep her tone steady. “You still need to find that paper, and I have no intention of telling any of you where it is.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed as he flicked a glance at Jim Logan, still sprawled unconscious on the floor. “No, but you’d tell him, wouldn’t you? The man who killed your father? A dirty, bloodthirsty gunslinger—”
“He’s a finer man then you’ll ever pretend to be!” she broke in furiously. “He’s honest, and kind and decent, and you’re nothing but a lying, cheating, murdering rattlesnake!”
Matt seized her roughly and hauled her up against him, his usually handsome face ugly in its viciousness. “There’s one thing you ought to know about rattlesnakes, honey. They’re deadly.”
Suddenly, he twisted her arm behind her back and dragged her with him toward the cabin door, ignoring her gasp of pain.
“Let’s go, boys, it’s time we found out what we need to know. When we’re done, this little lady is all yours.”
Rusty Jessup shoved his hat on his head and sauntered toward the door with relish. Zeke Murdock grinned as he followed Matt and Bryony outside.
When Meg took a few steps to join them, Matt Richards paused and glanced back at Texas Jim Logan’s unmoving form.
“You stay here with Logan, Meg. His gun’s in that pile on the table. Grab it and keep an eye on him. A sharp eye. If he comes to and tries anything, you know what to do.”
“You bet I do, Matt, but I sure hate to miss all the fun.” Meg’s mouth twisted into a satisfied smile as she watched Bryony struggle to free herself from Richards’s vise-like hold.
The moment the door shut behind the little group, Meg scooped up the black-handled Colt and hurried eagerly to the window to watch.
Dawn was breaking as Matt hustled Bryony out onto the mesa. She cried out as he jerked her arm, forcing her along with him. Murdock was on one side of her and Rusty Jessup—gleeful as a fox in a rabbit hole—marched along slightly behind on the other side.
What are they going to do? Bryony wondered as they dragged her along with them. When the men veered suddenly toward the edge of the plateau, she stiffened, panic coursing through her.
“No!” she gasped. “Please, no! You can’t!”
“We shore can,” Jessup hooted, clearly enjoying the expression on her face. This would teach the stuck-up bitch a little lesson. She’d not only tell them what they wanted to know, she’d beg them to let her live by the time they finished this little game. And afterwards...
He grinned in anticipation of the fun awaiting him.
Matt brought her up short right at the very brink of the plateau and forced her to stare down. It was a sheer dizzying drop and Bryony trembled at the sight.
She saw nothing below except rocks, cacti and a few slithering lizards. Sweat drenched her skin as she gazed through widened eyes down, down, down to the jagged rocks far below. She felt herself growing faint, swaying. Desperately, she closed her eyes. Matt’s voice rasped in her ear.
“You’ve given us a lot of trouble, Bryony, honey. Too much trouble. The boys and me wouldn’t mind seeing you lying down there on those rocks—dead—or maybe just all bent up and broken. The thing is, even if the fall didn’t kill you, I reckon you’d be dead before long.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, almost pleasant. “You see, if a rattler didn’t kill you, or starvation, well, the heat would—or else the buzzards. One way or another, it wouldn’t be too pretty or too pleasant, that’s for sure. Now, honey, are you going to tell me where that paper is or do I send you flying down onto those nice, sharp rocks?”
Bryony couldn’t speak. She swayed helplessly in his arms.
“Talk, Bryony!” Matt shoved her closer to the cliff.
`No... I won’t tell you,” she gasped.
Spinning her about, he backhanded her across the mouth. She staggered to her knees at the cliff’s edge, her head exploding with pain. The next thing she knew, Zeke seized her, shoving her toward Jessup, who held her by her hair and warned, “Talk, boss lady, or you’ll be damned sorry!”
She
struck out at him blindly, but he delivered another stunning blow, and this time Murdock caught her before she fell. He jerked her to the very brink of the cliff once more, and only his huge hands prevented her from hurtling down onto the sharp rocks far below. Bryony screamed, a high, piercing wail echoing across the bleak landscape.
“Well, honey?” Matt’s voice was cold. “Ready to talk or does Zeke let you go, here and now? I don’t have time for any more games. This here is your last chance.”
She gasped for breath, dizzy from the blows and the dizzying height of the ledge she was so precariously balanced upon. Her thoughts flashed to the cabin where Jim lay shot, beaten, and unconscious on the dirt floor.
“Where’s that paper, dammit?” Matt shouted. “Answer me!”
She slumped brokenly against him, tears streaming down her face—tears of fear and rage and despair. She didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. She just didn’t have the strength...
***
Jim waited tensely until the men had left the cabin with Bryony. Cautiously, he opened his eyelids slightly, enough to see Meg Donahue settling herself by the window, his gun held loosely in her hand. He closed his eyes again for an instant, bracing himself.
He’d regained consciousness shortly before Bryony arrived at the cabin. His head ached and his shoulder vibrated with a pain so intense it made lights dance in front of his closed eyes. But he’d fought the agony with every ounce of will power he possessed, and had pretended to be unconscious, though every nerve in his body screamed for action. He knew that if he was to overcome the odds against him, he had to wait for the right moment to make his move.
As he lay there, his mind was keenly filing and sorting information, making sense at last of the puzzle that had mystified him all this time. Meg Donahue. Her involvement, he realized now, was the key element in the whole damn mess! It was Meg who’d walked in on his conversation with Daisy just when the girl had been about to tell him where Hill’s confession was hidden.