by Jill Gregory
Her wrists burned as the rope chafed her skin mercilessly and the sun beat down upon her from a peaceful blue sky as Ratlin led her mare in silence and Jenks followed.
Jenks had searched back along the pass until he’d found her grazing mount. The two men had cleaned up the small camp they’d made in the clearing and headed out quickly, smoothly, so efficiently that Emily had the impression that Ratlin and Jenks had worked together before.
But how Uncle Jake and Pete and Lester had fallen in with them, she had no idea. All she knew was that those dearest to her in the world were planning a crime so hideous she could barely comprehend it.
And there was no way to stop it. Not unless she could escape. Even then, every hour that passed would make it that much more difficult to prevent the holdup. Clint was in Denver somewhere, Uncle Jake and Pete and Lester were on their way to some rendezvous there, and she had no idea where precisely the holdup and murder were going to take place.
Despair pierced her heart. It was all she could do to choke back tears. Tears wouldn’t help her now.
She needed to stay calm, to stay alert for any mistakes from the men who held her—and to be ready to run if she had the chance.
Thank God Joey was going to the Smiths for supper and wouldn’t be coming home after school to an empty cabin. But what would happen when he did come home? From what she’d heard, it sounded as if Uncle Jake and Pete and Lester were all leaving for the rendezvous—the Smiths would eventually bring Joey home, and he’d find no one there to greet him but a vacant cabin.
Helplessness twisted through her.
If she didn’t get away and get word to Clint or someone in Denver about the holdup, everyone on the stagecoach returning to Lonesome would die.
And so will you, she thought. She had no illusions about what Ratlin had decided to do. She’d heard the hard truth in his voice. He would kill her the moment he no longer needed her as a possible trump card against the Spoons—the moment the holdup was completed and he knew the job was done exactly as he wanted it done.
No matter what it took, she had to find a way to escape.
Reaching the rim of the mountain, the horses widened their strides, heading across fairly level ground at a good gallop, winding their way through fragrant stands of pine. It was cooler up here and the sun was blocked by the trees. Emily tried to assess her surroundings, but she no longer had any idea where she was.
They halted once to rest and eat jerky and hardtack, then continued on as the sun slid toward the west and thin low clouds rolled in.
It was hours later when they at last came to a halt and made camp in a shady clearing. Beyond some trees, a clear stream hurtled down the mountainside into a steep canyon full of brush and rock.
“Bet you’re ready for some grub,” Ratlin remarked as he yanked her down from the saddle and pushed her toward a tree.
“I’m not hungry.” Every bone in Emily’s body throbbed, and her throat was so parched it ached. But the thought of food made nausea bubble in her stomach. “Could you please … untie my hands—just for a while? I can barely feel my fingers, and I… I need a few moments of privacy,” she murmured. She hated to beg this man, but she’d try anything that might help her get away.
“Please,” she added softly, trying to sound piteous.
She thought he’d refuse, but after a slight hesitation he made a grunting noise and set to work at the knot. He ordered her to remove her boots, then told her grudgingly she could venture into the woods, but not for long.
“You’d have to be a damned fool to try to run off barefoot in these parts—your feet would be bloody stumps before you’d get twenty yards. And if you don’t come back right quick, I’m coming in to look for you—and I’ll drag you back by the hair,” Ratlin warned.
Emily knew he meant what he said. And she also knew that it would be impossible to escape him and Jenks here in the mountains, without her boots, without a horse. She’d have to wait and watch for another opportunity, a chance to catch them off guard.
When she returned, she asked him to leave her hands free a while longer, claiming her wrists were painfully sore, but Ratlin apparently decided he’d been generous enough, and promptly tied her wrists again, doubling the knot.
“We don’t have time to keep an eye on you, missy, and we can’t take a chance you’ll find a way to shoot us or take one of the horses. You’ll just have to bear it.”
He pushed her down onto the grass beneath a tree and ordered her to stay put. Then he set about starting a campfire, while Jenks tended to the horses and fetched water from the stream.
Neither men spoke over their supper of jerky and beans. Emily noticed that Jenks drank greedily from his flask. She knew she should try to eat something, to keep her strength up, but she couldn’t. She did drink water when Jenks offered it to her, and after he’d repacked his canteen, she was surprised when he returned to sprawl out on the grass beside her.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to loosen the rope a little.” Much as it galled her, she forced herself to gaze pleadingly into his face. “Please. My hands are almost numb.”
Jenks frowned and took another swallow from the flask he dug out of his pocket. He threw a quick look over his shoulder.
Ratlin had disappeared into the trees that led toward the stream.
“Lemme see,” Jenks grunted.
She flinched as his hands touched her, but he loosened the knot slightly, though it still dug into her flesh. Then his gaze ran over her, lingering on her pale face, dropping down to the outline of her breasts beneath her wrinkled yellow shirtwaist. He took another swig of liquor. “A shame you came up to Cougar Pass the way you did,” he muttered. “A real shame.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Emily said. He grinned. “Bet you do. And you know what, it’s an even bigger shame that you took up with that sheriff. This didn’t have to happen, none of it.”
Emily watched him gulp down another swig from the flask. She flexed her wrists—the rope was still tight, but it did give a bit. What she really needed was a sharp rock or a stick.
“I didn’t take up with Barclay. I hate him. He arrested my brother—for fighting with you.”
Jenks gave a snort. “Yeah, he did. But only because my pards backed me up when I said Pete started it.” He stuffed the flask back in his pocket and from his other pocket dug out a misshapen block of wood. Then he pulled his knife from its sheath.
Emily went very still, hardly daring to breathe as he began whittling at the wood, pursing his lips as he worked.
“That’s something I don’t understand,” she told Jenks, trying to appear casual as she watched the glittering blade of the knife. “Pete told me he got arrested after you picked a fight with him.”
“So?”
“Why did you fight with him—I mean, if you knew each other and were working together…”
“So you did hear us back there in the pass,” Jenks said sharply. His eyes glittered as brightly as the blade of the knife.
Emily moistened her lips and nodded. “I heard enough to know that you’re all planning a holdup,” she acknowledged.
“Yep, I knew it.” His lips twisted into a triumphant smile. “Well, the fact is, little Miz Emily, neither of us had any notion we’d be working together back then. I sure as hell didn’t. All I knew was that Ratlin was on his way to town—that we were going to pull a big job …” He broke off suddenly and scowled. “But I didn’t have any notion the Spoons were going to be in on it. Ratlin was the one who brought them in, seeing as he met your uncle when they were both in prison.”
Pain squeezed around her heart.
“So,” she continued doggedly, keeping her voice even, “you just happened to have a fight with Pete that night?”
“Damn straight. He stuck his nose in between me and Florry.” Anger mottled Jenks’s face. He suddenly stuck the knife into the grass beside him and tugged out the flask again. “He didn’t have no call to do that. I had to keep her quiet, keep her in l
ine, because she found out a few things.” He took a quick gulp from the flask. “Things she shouldn’t have—about this job. So I pushed her around a little, to make sure she knew what would happen if she blabbed. It wasn’t nobody’s business. But your brother didn’t see it that way.”
Once again Jenks raised the flask to his lips, this time draining every last drop of it. “So I had to pay him back—and that’s where you came in.” He studied her appraisingly, insolently, with a drunken gleam in his eyes that made Emily’s stomach lurch. “That day I took you into the alley. And when I saw you at the dance. Remember? And then I bid on your box lunch at the social.”
As if she could forget. Emily nodded, saying nothing.
She forced herself to sit perfectly still, as Jenks licked his lips. “I just wanted to get back at ol’ Pete. Make him mad. You sure were pretty. And,” he added, his eyes skimming over her again, “I had a hankering for a taste of you. So I figured, why not? Figured you’d go running and crying to your brother, and he’d learn what happens when someone gets on my bad side. I always pay back my debts.”
“Then you must’ve been disappointed.” The words spilled out more sharply than she’d intended and she quickly softened her tone. “I mean—I never told him.”
“Then I reckon you weren’t as against the idea as you acted. Maybe you really wanted it all along,” Jenks said slyly.
“No!” The word flew from her mouth before she could stop it, and she cursed silently. She took a breath as Jenks’s eyes narrowed on her. The knife was still stuck in the grass, only a foot or two away. “I mean … I didn’t want him to end up in another fight with you. That’s all. I didn’t want there to be any more trouble.”
He laughed then, an ugly sound, at odds with the beauty of the sky as the sun sank in a sea of rose and lavender and gold.
“Oh, there’s going to be trouble, all right, Miz Spoon. When all those nice folks on the stage from Denver get held up. That Sheriff Barclay, he’s a dangerous man. And he’s going to come after your kin. Course, Ratlin cooked up a story—some men in a Denver saloon are going to swear your uncle and the Spoon boys were there the whole time when the stage was being held up. But with Barclay, you never know. Now me—he doesn’t know me as anyone other than Slim Jenks, hired hand on the WW Ranch. He’ll never even look my way. But the Spoons—they’re going to have to be real careful.”
Her throat tight, Emily spoke in a low tone, but she couldn’t keep a throb out of her voice. “Why does everyone on that stagecoach have to die? Robbery is one thing, but killing—”
“So you did hear all of it, not just about the holdup.” Jenks inched closer to her and clamped a hand on her knee. “I knew you were lying,” he said triumphantly.
It didn’t matter anymore. They were going to kill her anyway. But Emily suddenly had to know. “You’re planning to kill Carla and Agnes Mangley—and all the others on the stage. Yes, I heard. But I don’t know why.”
“No reason you need to.”
His hand slid up her knee, moving along her thigh. Emily tried to flinch away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. “What’s the matter, Miz Emily? We’ve been having us a nice little chat. Now you’re turning shy and innocent on me, all of a sudden?”
“No … I’m … I’m thirsty …” She tried not to let her gaze slide to the knife. If she could only get him to walk away, to get his canteen, giving her a chance to get hold of that knife …
“Could I have some more water… please?” she asked in a rush.
“Please. I like that.” Jenks beamed. “Maybe,” he added, with a slow nod. “Maybe I’ll get you some … after a while, when we’ve finished … chattin’ …”
He suddenly yanked her closer and with a chuckle deep in his throat he squashed his lips to hers. Emily lifted her bound hands and tried to push him away, but he only gripped her tighter, his fingers pressing painfully into her shoulders and his mouth sucking at hers. Desperately she bit him, and he swore, but as he drew back he only laughed at her.
“Wild little thing, ain’t you? That don’t bother me, honey. Because you taste so good. Sweet and hot, just like I knew you would—”
“Get away from me!”
“Like hell. You didn’t fight off Barclay, I’ll bet. No reason you should fight me. Unless you think I’m not as good as him. You white trash slut, you think you’re better than me—”
“Get away from me! Stop!” Emily gasped as he pushed her down on the grass and straddled her. A sharp stone beneath her dug into the small of her back as Jenks lowered himself onto her. “Get—off—”
She broke off as suddenly Ratlin loomed over Jenks and hauled him clear to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing, Jenks?” Ratlin’s dark-bearded face was suffused with fury.
“Havin’ a little fun, Ratlin. So what? It’s got nothing to do with you!”
“We’ve got a job tomorrow—the biggest job we ever pulled.” Ratlin shoved him back a pace, away from Emily. “We’ve got to pay attention. We’ve got to be ready.”
“That don’t mean I can’t have myself a little fun tonight.” Jenks’s gaze slid toward the woman lying on the grass, her face streaked with sweat and dust, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“She’s asking for it,” he muttered.
Her skin crawled as he edged closer to her. She struggled to sit up.
“After the job is done—before we kill her,” Ratlin was saying calmly, his voice a deep steady growl, “you can do whatever the hell you want with her, Jenks. But not now. No more damned liquor tonight and no women. That stage is going to roll past Boulder Point at ten in the morning. We’ve got one chance and only one—there can’t be any mistakes.”
A muscle twitched in Jenks’s jaw as he stared down at the dark-haired girl seated upon the grass. “Yeah,” he said at last, reluctantly. “All right, Ratlin. You win. Hear that, honey? It’s going to be you and me—after the job.”
“My family will come after you.” Emily glared up at them both, her eyes shimmering with rage and hatred. “They’ll kill you if you touch me. You don’t want Jake, Pete, and Lester Spoon for your enemies.”
“They’ll never know.” Ratlin shrugged. “We can fix it so they never find your body.” As a shudder ran through her, he sighed. “None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up where you didn’t belong. It’s your own fault.”
As his calm words and chilling indifference sank in, the sun slipped below the flaming horizon. A cold wind suddenly whisked through the clearing, sending Emily’s hair fluttering. She felt icy despair pierce the center of her soul.
Jenks stepped forward and stood over her, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But don’t think about that part, honey,” he said softly. “Not yet. We’re going to have us some fun first. After the job’s done, I’m going to feel like celebrating. You just think about that”
I’ll think about it, all right. I’ll die fighting you, Emily thought.
The moment they walked away toward their horses, she began edging her body along the ground, toward the knife. But suddenly Jenks swung around. He stalked back toward her and, reaching down, grabbed the knife from the dirt.
“Forgot something.” A nasty grin split his face as he sheathed the blade. “You weren’t planning to steal my knife now, were you, honey?”
“Not unless I could stick it through your heart,” Emily said through clenched teeth.
He laughed, picked up his block of wood, and sauntered away once more.
Emily sat perfectly still a moment longer and then, very slowly, as the men busied themselves checking their ammunition, she inched along the grass once more. She scanned the place where Jenks had pushed her down on the ground—and then she saw it: the small sharp stone that had been digging into her back.
She crawled forward two more steps on her knees and then she had it, clutched tight in her hands.
Not as good as the knife, but it was all she had.
Gritting her teeth, she began scraping the edge of the stone across the rope—back and forth, back and forth.
Again and again. And again …
HE NINE O’CLOCK STAGE RUMBLED out of Denver at precisely two minutes past nine the next morning. The interior of the coach was crowded, as Bessie and Hamilton Smith found themselves wedged alongside a portly hardware salesman from Iowa. Across the aisle, Agnes Mangley and her daughter, Carla, were squashed at close quarters with a loud-voiced man named Simon Sylvester who was seeking investors for a traveling theater troupe.
Agnes Mangley and Bessie Smith chattered at length with one another as the coach jolted along the steep, rutted road. Agnes wished to detail all the attentions the governor had so kindly paid to her and Carla, and Bessie was full of pride and pleasure because the dress Miss Spoon had sewn for her to wear at Ham’s banking convention had drawn innumerable compliments all through the evening.
But all conversation ceased when, only an hour into the journey, the sounds of horses’ hooves thundered down upon them.
Glancing out the window, the startled passengers saw a group of men galloping down from the rocky slopes to surround them, and Agnes Mangley let out a piercing scream.
“Outlaws! May the angels preserve us, we’re being held up! Shoot them—somebody shoot them!”
Ham grimly tugged a gun from a holster beneath his jacket as Bessie went pale and the other two gentlemen in the coach froze in consternation.
“Mama,” Carla Mangley exclaimed in a stunned tone, “be still. They’re not outlaws. They’re not wearing masks and … that looks to me like Sheriff Barclay!”
“What’s that?” Agnes shrieked. “Sheriff Barclay?”
Just then there was a shout.
“Driver—hold your fire. Stop in the name of the law!”
Agnes thrust her nose up against the window, peering out as the coach rumbled to a creaking halt. To her astonishment, Sheriff Clint Barclay, dressed all in black, his sheriff’s badge glinting in the sunlight, rode right up to the driver’s side of the coach.