The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anything except getting Isabella back.”

  Matt felt his heart stop, his blood run cold. “Getting her back? Where is she?”

  “She’s gone, Pa.”

  “Gone?” For a moment his face went completely blank. This couldn’t be happening again.

  Then, as if from a great distance, his daughter’s words broke through his thoughts. “Sergeant Cutler caught me coming out of the root cellar. He said he was going to hurt me and Isabella. So she made a bargain with him. She said she’d go with him, if he’d promise not to hurt me.”

  Matt’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “Go with him? Where? Where was he taking her, Del?”

  The little girl was crying again, sobbing against her big brother’s shoulder. Her words were barely coherent. “I don’t know, Pa. He just said to tell you he’d come for his revenge. And that when he was through with Isabella, there’d be nothing left. Oh, Pa.” Between choking hiccups she managed to say, “He’s going to kill her, isn’t he?”

  “No, Del. He isn’t.” Matt touched a hand to her hair, then strode into the bedroom. When he returned he had strapped on a pistol and holster and was carrying a rifle and a pouch filled with bullets. In his eyes was a steely look that was all too familiar to his children.

  He turned to Aaron. “You’ll see to the others, son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bring her back, Pa,” Del cried.

  He stalked to the door. “You can count on it.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The horse climbed steadily, passing through snow-covered forests, fording icy streams.

  Izzy’s gown and thin shawl offered no protection from the bitter cold. She had long ago lost all feeling in her hands and feet.

  Cutler, huddled inside his army-issue winter parka, seemed to take no notice. He guided his mount with a steady hand.

  It occurred to Izzy that he rode like a man with a destination in mind. This was no random race to put as much distance as possible between himself and Matt’s cabin.

  “Where are we going?” She found even those few words difficult through chattering teeth.

  “Impatient for me, huh?” His shrill laughter scraped her already raw nerves. “Not far now. Up there.” He pointed and she peered through a curtain of snow to a stand of trees in the distance.

  It wasn’t until they had passed beyond the trees that she caught sight of a small, primitive lean-to built into the side of the mountain. One wall leaned at a precarious angle. The roof appeared to be caving in. Evergreens had grown up around it, making it almost invisible until they were nearly upon it.

  “Cozy little place, don’t you think? I found it a few days ago, while I was out scouting around.” Cutler halted his horse and slid from the saddle, dragging her from the back of the animal like a sack of flour. Her shawl drifted to the ground, where it lay forgotten.

  After so many hours in the saddle her legs refused to support her. She dropped to her knees in the snow. With a curse he hauled her to her feet and shoved her, tripping and stumbling, ahead of him through the doorway.

  She felt the brush of cobwebs across her cheeks. Heard the rustle of creatures fleeing in the dark. And then Cutler struck a match and held it to a lantern, dispelling the gloom.

  The dank earthen floor was littered with animal bones carried by predators. Snow had blown in through chinks in the walls.

  “It’s not much shelter, but nobody will be able to find us up here. And it’ll give me a chance to—” he grinned “—take care of a little business.”

  The tremors started again, and this time she couldn’t stop them.

  “Sit down,” he commanded.

  She stared around. When she didn’t move quickly enough he gave her a rough shove that sent her sprawling. Straddling her, he yanked her arms behind her back and secured her wrists with a strip of rawhide, before binding her ankles, as well. Then for good measure, he threaded a length of rawhide between the two sets of bindings and drew it so tightly her knees were bent and her body arched like a bow. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  “We call this hog-tied, city girl. You’re trussed up just like a hog for butchering.” He leaned close and gave a vicious tug on her hair. His fetid breath made her wince. “Think you’re brave, don’t you? This is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you later. Then we’ll see how brave you are.”

  He saw the color drain from her face. Pleased, he sat back on his heels.

  “That’s better. You just keep remembering where you are now, Miss High-and-Mighty. There’s no law in this godforsaken wilderness except the law of the gun. And right now, I’m the one holding the gun.”

  With a peal of high-pitched laughter, he sauntered away and stepped out into the snow. Minutes later he returned carrying several logs. In no time he had a fire started.

  Izzy lay in a heap, grateful for what little warmth she could absorb. The sleeves and bodice of her gown were soaked, the hem crusted with snow.

  She watched Cutler’s every move. When he stepped outside she began struggling to maneuver her bound arms toward her boot. If she could reach her knife, she could cut the rawhide and at least have a chance to fight him. Like a contortionist she twisted, turned, wiggled, writhed. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach the knife, which remained tantalizingly just out of reach.

  With a hiss of pain she gave it one last try. A shadow fell over her, and she stilled her movements.

  “What’s this?” With the butt of his rifle he lifted her skirt and drew it up to her thighs. Seeing her flinch, he caressed her flesh with the rifle. “I guess you just can’t wait to get out of those clothes.”

  He was looking at her in a way that made her skin crawl.

  “Well, don’t you worry. I’ll have you out of your things in no time.” He dropped the saddlebag he’d been carrying. After rummaging through it, he lifted out a jug of whiskey and took a long, slow pull. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued staring at her.

  “I’d share my food and drink.” He removed some dried meat and a biscuit from the saddlebag and began to eat as he hunkered down in front of the fire. “But there’s no sense feeding someone who won’t be around to see the light of morning.”

  “I thought—” her throat was so dry she could scarcely form the words “—you’d be taking me with you.”

  “Did you, now?” He speared her a grin, then polished off the rest of the hardtack. That done, he lifted the jug for another long drink. “When I leave here, I’ll be traveling alone. See, I figure this business between us will be over tonight After that, I’d be a fool to take you along. You’d only slow me down. And I want to stay far ahead of that avenging husband of yours. Though I surely would like to see his face when he finds you. Or what’s left of you.”

  He removed his parka and tossed it aside, then began nudging off his boots. He paused long enough for another long drink of whiskey, then slipped his suspenders from his shoulders and reached to the buttons of his shirt.

  With each movement, Izzy’s throat tightened, and the hard knot of fear grew.

  Matt knelt by an icy stream and studied the remains of a hoofprint. He knew, by the slight irregularity, that this was Cutler’s mount. The sergeant had been clever, crossing and recrossing as many as half a dozen times to confuse anyone tracking him. There were a dozen different trails he could have taken from here. And a fresh snowfall was already obliterating any tracks.

  Matt swore in frustration. Every delay would cost Isabella dearly. He got to his feet and studied the surrounding woods, trying to think like the sergeant. Where was Cutler heading? Which way had he gone?

  A tiny flutter of yellow caught his eye. Walking closer, he saw that it was a bit of yarn, snagged to the branch of a tree. He caught it and rolled it between his fingers. Could it possibly be…?

  Pulling himself into the saddle, Matt urged his horse up the steep wooded trail. Befo
re he’d gone very far he caught sight of another length of yellow yarn. And then, up ahead, yet another.

  He plucked the thread from the snow and held it to his face, needing to smell Isabella. But there was no trace of her scent. All he could smell was fear. It wasn’t fear for his own life. What clutched at his heart was fear for Isabella.

  Would he be in time to save this brave, clever woman who had bartered her own life to save his daughter? Would she be forced to revisit all her childhood nightmares? Would she have to endure at Cutler’s hands those things she had most feared?

  Would the cost be even greater? Would she be forced to pay the ultimate price, as well?

  He couldn’t allow himself to think about that now. His eyes narrowed as he followed the trail. All his thoughts, all his energies were focused on the task that lay before him.

  He’d thought, after the war, that he’d put the killing behind him. Now, suddenly, it had become necessary to do it again. He was very good at it. His jaw firmed. Too good. He had no doubt that he would kill Sergeant Harlan Cutler without a twinge of regret. But would he be in time to save the woman he loved?

  “Wonder what ole…Otis would say if…see me now.”

  Cutler’s words were badly slurred as he lounged in front of the fire and took another long drink of whiskey. It sloshed down the front of his shirt and he absently wiped at it, then tipped the jug again, nearly missing his mouth.

  “Me and Izzy the Gimp.” He snorted with laughter, followed by a loud belch. “Only this time you don’t have that knife.” He shook his head. “You really carved him up good. Bled like a stuck pig.” That had him laughing harder. “Stuck pig. Just like you. Hog-tied.” He laughed so hard at his own joke, he had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

  “This’ll be even better than my revenge against that…sniveling lieutenant.” He looked up, eyes glazed. “Did I tell you he ordered me out of the army? After all the years I’ve given, just ordered me off the post. Called me a drunk. Said I brought dishonor to his troops.” The laughter was gone. Wiped instantly from his face. In its place was a dark scowl. “But I got him for that. Turned all the damned mustangs loose. Opened every corral before I left, so’s that snot-nosed Trowbridge won’t even have enough horses to send out a search party.”

  Izzy’s arms and legs had gone numb. At first the rawhide biting into her flesh had caused nearly unbearable pain. But now, thankfully, she had moved beyond it.

  Her voice seemed almost detached from her body, but she had to keep him talking. Talking and drinking. “Aren’t you afraid of a court-martial?”

  Cutler laughed. “They have to catch me first. And by the time they round up enough horses to chase me, I’ll be panning for gold in California. Or maybe Alaska. Hell, I could be halfway across the country and Trowbridge will still be trying to figure out how to act like a soldier. The only reason he’s an officer is because of his name. His uncle was some big general. Lieutenant Trowbridge is always quoting him. Said, when he was dismissing me in front of the entire company, that your husband, Captain Prescott, was the kind of man the army needed. Distinguished himself at Chancellorsville. Risked his life for his men. And even after taking a couple of bullets, wouldn’t leave the field of battle until all his men were accounted for.” His agitated tone became suddenly icy calm. “Well, we’ll see how much of a hero he is when he finds out what old Harlan Cutler did to his woman.”

  He stretched out on the dirt floor and pressed a hand to his eyes. “Too damned warm in here.” He tried to drink, but this time he missed his mouth completely and the whiskey trickled across his cheek, down his jaw, circling around his neck before pooling on the floor.

  Izzy remained very still, watching. Was he really asleep? Or was he testing her?

  Every instinct told her to move cautiously. Cutler was like a sleeping bear. If anything should trigger his rage, she would be helpless against him.

  Still, if she didn’t act quickly, she might miss her only chance for freedom.

  He had decided not to take her along. That meant he would kill her here. And soon.

  For the past hour she had been testing the strength of the rawhide that bound her. It was impossible to break free. Her wrists and ankles were raw and bloody from the effort. But there was a way. The only way she could think of.

  She glanced nervously at the fire. If she could crawl close enough, she could burn the rawhide bindings. Of course, there was a good chance that she would burn herself, as well. And if the flame should catch her hair or gown, she could face a very painful death. But she was going to die anyway. And death at Cutler’s hands would be more painful than anything else she could imagine.

  In order to pull this off, she mustn’t allow herself to cry out, no matter what.

  This was not a time for weakness, she told herself. With a madman like Cutler, there would be no second chance.

  Matt pulled his hat low over his forehead and urged his mount into the driving snow. The trail had been climbing steadily for the past hour. A trail covered with drifts that reached nearly to his horse’s belly.

  He’d rarely been to this part of the mountain. There had been no need, since the mustang herds stuck to the lower meadows. But he recalled, on his rare sojourns, steep cliffs, narrow trails and deep, dangerous ravines.

  Cutler had chosen well. A woman like Isabella wouldn’t stand a chance in such primitive countryside, should she manage to escape. But at least, Matt consoled himself, they were still moving. That meant that Cutler couldn’t do too much harm. But if they were to stop…

  Matt pushed aside the disturbing thought. Up ahead he spotted the tiny strip of yellow yarn fluttering from the branch of an evergreen and whispered a prayer of thanks for Isabella’s resourcefulness. Without it, he’d have never been able to track her this quickly.

  He lifted his head, then reined in his mount and drew in a sharp breath. There was just a whiff of wood smoke. It had to be some distance away. But it started his heart racing, his blood heating. Cutler had taken shelter.

  That meant that Isabella was now in grave peril.

  He urged his horse into the drifts. There was no time now for caution. He had to find them. Before it was too late.

  Izzy inched her way along the dirt floor. Because of the way she was bound, every movement was sheer torture. Never before had she used so much energy to make so little progress. But at least she was closer to her goal.

  She could feel the heat of the fire now. Could see the flames licking along the log.

  Cutler’s snoring stopped, and he muttered something in his sleep.

  Izzy froze, her heart pounding.

  When the snoring resumed, she rocked and swayed, inching closer to the heat.

  It was her intention to back up to the fire in the hope that the flames would find the strip of rawhide that connected her wrists to her ankles. Once that was burned away, she would be able to retrieve her knife from her boot and cut away the rest of her bonds.

  Sweat now beaded her forehead as she wriggled closer to the flames. Heat seared her flesh and for a moment she lost her nerve. What had she been thinking of? Did she really think she could expose herself to such pain without a whimper?

  Cutler rolled to his side, muttering a string of oaths.

  Without giving herself time to consider, Izzy arched her back to the flame and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The heat was so intense she had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out The air was filled with the pungent odor of burning leather. In an instant the leather strip fell away and her body straightened.

  On a hiss of pain she rolled aside and reached for the knife in her boot. In one quick motion she cut through the rawhide at her wrists and ankles.

  “What are you…?” Cutler, still groggy from whiskey and sleep, rubbed a hand over his eyes. Then, seeing her getting to her feet, he sprang at her.

  The force of his body knocked the knife from her hands and all the breath from her lungs. Dazed, she lay beneath him, struggling for air.


  “Why, you little…” He swung his arm and brought it against her jaw with such force it had her head spinning. “You thought you’d sneak away from Harlan Cutler? Now I’ll show you what happens to people who think they’re so smart.”

  Pinning her with his body, he had no trouble imprisoning both her hands in one of his. Then he reached over her head and retrieved the fallen knife.

  His eyes, which only seconds earlier had been dulled by sleep, now glittered with madness. “As I recall, you always kept this blade honed sharper than a man’s razor.”

  To prove the point, he pressed it to her throat. She sucked in a breath, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

  A trickle of blood oozed, forming a ribbon of red.

  “This should prove to be real handy.” He held the knife aloft so that the blade reflected the glow of firelight. Then, watching her eyes, he lowered the knife and in one smooth motion slit her gown from throat to waist. The remnants fell away, revealing a delicate chemise.

  “All these fancy clothes.” His eyes narrowed. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under them. Must be pretty fancy, too, since you’d never let any of us have a look.”

  Before he could raise the knife again there was a rush of wind that sent the flames leaping, the sparks flying. The door was kicked in with such force it tore from its hinges and sagged against the wall.

  Standing in the doorway was Matt. His voice was colder than the storm raging just beyond their range of vision. “Step away from my wife, Cutler.”

  Despite his bulk, Cutler was on his feet and dragging Izzy along with him.

  In one quick stroke he held her in front of him and pressed the knife to her throat.

  “We’re not playing by your gentleman’s code of honor now, Prescott If you want her to live, toss down your gun.”

  “Don’t, Matthew.” Izzy was close to hysteria. “If you do as he says, he’ll kill us both.”