The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  There came another round of laughter.

  “Be sure to pick up our dead so no one finds out they are not Comanche,” the one called Lobo said then. Lobo was a big man with skin so dark that it made his teeth seem whiter than they really were. His almost black eyes danced with the excitement of the raid, and his thick, black hair hung past his shoulders, grown long so that he looked from the distance like an Indian. He wore buckskin pants and no shirt, but weapons belts were crisscrossed over his chest, and he had painted his face. “Did someone pick up Enrico? He was wounded.”

  “Sanchez has him.”

  Lobo took a moment to gaze around at the broken fences and burning house. “Set fire to the barn, too,” he said. His keen eyes scanned the remains of the ranch, but he saw no movement. “We lost two men today. That oldest one, he is a good shot. But he will shoot no more, hey?”

  They all laughed again. Some of the other men picked up the two dead men and gathered the remaining horses, while another set fire to the barn. They rode off, quickly disappearing beyond the next rise.

  The air hung silent, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire that lapped at what remained of the house and barn. Matthew’s dead and mutilated body lay near the steps of the crumbled Rivers ranch house, waiting for someone to come and bury him beside his mother and father.

  In the distance Joshua Rivers moved again, consciousness returning. He groaned as he again struggled to get out of the hole. He told himself he had to get up. He had to help Luke. Someone had to pay for this! And it would be Brand Selby! He had to survive, had to somehow get to Austin and get help. He would find Jason. Jason would help him. Together they would go after Brand Selby. Selby would hang for this! He dug his fingers into the loose gravel, straining to rise.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sun hung high and hot in the azure sky, beating down on Joshua Rivers as he made his way toward Austin. Loss of blood and the blow to his head made him dizzy at times, but he continued on, with a stubborn determination to get to help and to Jason Brown, even if he had to ride all night.

  Joshua was not sure how long he had lain in the washout beside the toolshed, but the realization that Matthew lay exposed to the sun and animals gave him the strength he needed to finally climb out of the hole. He knew he had to get to his brother and somehow bury him. Inside the toolshed he had found a hatchet, a shovel, and a spare bridle. The bridle had been hung where it didn’t belong, probably by Luke, but now Joshua was grateful, as the barn, where all gear for the horses was usually kept, had been burned down.

  Now, as he rode on in spite of his pain, he wept again over Matthew and Luke; wondering if he would ever be able to close his eyes again without seeing Matthew’s body, chopped up beyond recognition; or if he would be able to get out of his mind the memory of the Indians riding off with Luke. Had they killed him, too, or would they torture him just for the fun of it? The Comanche were good at that. The thought made him grasp his stomach.

  “Luke,” he groaned.

  He sat up straighter on his mount and winced at the intense pain in his right side where an arrowhead was still lodged. With the hatchet from the toolshed, he had managed to chop off most of the shaft of the arrow. The rest of his body felt on fire from deep scrapes and cuts, but he had ignored the pain and had taken the shovel from the toolshed and managed to start digging a hole. When he realized pain and weakness would prohibit him from ever digging a hole large and deep enough to protect Matthew, he had been forced to give up the idea. Instead, through tears and pain, he had dragged Matthew’s body over to the toolshed and put it inside, then had the grim task of going back with a crate and putting into it the pieces of the body that had come loose as he dragged it. He put everything into the shed and closed and hooked the door.

  He continued to pray that the shed would protect his brother from scavenging animals. There was nothing more he could do until he could send someone out to give the boy a proper burial. He wasn’t sure how many times he had vomited from the memory of the sight, and the vomiting had left him even more drained. A few horses had been left behind by the raiders, and Joshua had managed to coax one to him, slipping the bridle he had found in the toolshed over the horse’s neck and managing to climb up onto the animal’s bare back. He headed first to the area where he had been hit with the arrow, and to his relief he spotted his rifle still lying on the ground. He had dismounted and picked it up, wondering what other few things he would end up being able to salvage.

  He clung to the rifle now, heading again for the river. He had stopped beside the river several times before to dismount and lay in the cool water for relief from his many superficial wounds. He had removed what was left of his torn shirt and had tied it around the arrow wound, but as he looked down at it he could see the wound was still bleeding slowly. He dismounted again, stumbling into the water, taking a good, long drink. Then he just sat in the water for a while, the tears coming again. Gone! Everything his mother and father had worked for was gone. Things had been peaceful for so long that he had become careless, and it had cost Matthew’s life, and probably Luke’s by now. And if he couldn’t get back his cattle and horses, he was ruined; but then it didn’t matter if both his brothers were dead. And Rachael might as well be dead, too, for she was dead to Joshua Rivers as long as she stayed with the bastard half-breed who was responsible for this. Even if Rachael saw the light and realized Brand Selby had destroyed her family, Joshua was not sure he could ever feel the same about his sister, could ever love her or give her shelter again.

  He climbed out of the river and picked up his rifle, crying out with the pain in his side when he again mounted the horse. Stubborn pride, the strength of youth, and a dogged determination to get revenge were all that kept him going. He rode out again toward Austin, determined to get there by Saturday night. He would go straight to the dance. Everyone would be there, including Rachael. He would show her in front of the whole town of Austin the kind of man Brand Selby really was!

  Rachael dipped a ladle into the punch bowl, and poured a drink into Harriet Miller’s glass. It seemed the whole town had turned out for the dance. Flowers decorated refreshment tables and were tied to barn posts; paper decorations hung everywhere; and a sign hung overhead that read: “AUSTIN! PERMANENT CAPITAL OF THE GREAT REPUBLIC OF TEXAS—SOON TO BE THE BIGGEST STATE IN THE UNION!”

  Rachael handed the drink to Mrs. Miller, hardly aware of what she was doing. She wanted nothing more than to be with Brand, to have this dance over with and to get through the next two days until finally she and Brand would be together, never to be apart again. Her whole body felt tight with tension from the memory of her encounter with Jason. She worried that somehow he would find out about Brand before they could get away.

  “Isn’t it terrible about the raids?” Mrs. Miller was asking Rachael.

  Rachael turned her attention to the woman. “What?”

  “The raiding that’s been going on in outlying areas. Isn’t it terrible?”

  “Raids?” Rachael’s heart quickened.

  “Why, yes. Haven’t you heard?”

  “No. I was gone for a couple of days, visiting my brothers. I’ve been at the boardinghouse ever since, resting.”

  “Why, I’m surprised your Jason didn’t tell you about it.”

  Rachael glanced over at Jason Brown, who stood talking and drinking with some of the more prominent men of Austin. Local musicians began playing a waltz with a piano that had been hauled from the church to the Miller barn by several men, two fiddles, a banjo, and a guitar. Jason looked over at Rachael, his eyes hard and threatening. She knew he would ask her to dance, and she also knew that for just this night she would have to oblige him to appease the curious public. Her threat to publicly deny their relationship would have to be just that—a threat. She realized that to actually humiliate Jason Brown in front of others would not only make Jason more suspicious, but also would start tongues wagging and cause her to be watched more closely than she cared to be watched.
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  “Jason didn’t tell me,” Rachael answered Mrs. Miller. She poured a glass of punch for another woman. “There has been raiding close to Austin?”

  “Yes. Why, it frightens me to death. Two different families came in today, or at least what was left of them. Their homes were burned, crops destroyed and stock stolen, all by those horrible Comanche. And in one case a woman was stolen away!” Mrs. Miller waved a handkerchief in front of her face as though she might faint. “Oh, dear heaven, I dread to think what they will do to that poor soul. And the worst part is even if she survives and is brought back, she will be shunned by her own kind. After all, who can be seen in the company of a woman who has been with Indian men?” She leaned closer. “If you know what I mean,” she added in a near whisper.

  Rachael felt sick with anger. So, such would be her own treatment if people knew about her and Brand.

  “She would need her family and friends more than ever,” Rachael answered. “Why shouldn’t others be seen with her? It isn’t her fault what might happen to her. She should have sympathy and kindness, not be shunned.”

  Mrs. Miller sipped her punch. “Well, I suppose. But surely you know what I mean. It would be very difficult to befriend such a woman.”

  “Not for me.” Rachael poured herself some punch, struggling to keep her temper in check.

  “Oh, but you’re too young and innocent to understand, dear,” the woman told her. “At any rate, Jason Brown has promised the raiding will end soon. He’s quite convinced that the man behind it is that half-breed living north of town—Brand Selby I believe they call him.”

  Rachael felt herself paling as she slowly set down her punch. “Brand Selby?”

  “Yes. Jason says since all the raiding started just recently, he thinks Mr. Selby came here to scout things out for his Comanche friends. Jason says ever since Mr. Selby left the Rangers he’s had a grudge he’s wanted to settle. Jason thinks this is all Selby’s doing, and he intends to go after the man.”

  Rachael breathed deeply, forcing herself to remain calm, but her hand shook as she filled another glass with punch and set it on the table. Although she was tempted to run out this very moment and warn Brand, she knew she didn’t dare do it. Jason would follow, wondering why she was leaving so quickly. “When will he go after Mr. Selby?” she asked, trying to appear casual.

  “Who knows? Jason says he’s going to do some scouting around first—try to catch the half-breed in the act, so to speak. But he says either way, he’ll bring him in very soon. The whole town is buzzing about it, asking to see Brand Selby hanged right now, proof or no proof. That man has made this whole town nervous, skulking around here, pretending to need supplies. I say Jason is right. The man is just scouting us out and sending messages back to his people. Oh, it’s dreadful what those poor settlers beyond our help are suffering.”

  Rachael moved her eyes to Jason again. “Yes, isn’t it?”

  “I do hope your brothers will be safe, Rachael, dear.”

  Rachael looked back at the pompous woman. “Yes. So do I.” Rachael didn’t doubt Joshua would be just fine. After all, Brand had asked the Comanche to leave the Double “R” alone. She looked over at Jason again, wondering at the man’s sudden accusations of Brand. Was it really Comanche who were committing the crimes against the settlers? It seemed so convenient—the sudden raids, the quickness with which Jason blamed Brand.

  More people came to the punch table, and suddenly Rachael found herself being introduced to some of them, exchanging niceties with them while all the time her mind whirled with worry over Brand’s safety. She knew how much Jason hated Brand and would like nothing better than to see him dead. Was it possible Jason himself was behind the raiding? After all, he had friends among the Comancheros, and Brand had already told her how good Jason was at deliberately keeping the fires of hatred stirred. Brand! As soon as this dance was over, she decided she must find a way to warn him of the talk going around town. Whether it was really Comanche, or men hired by Jason to do the raiding, Jason was making sure Brand Selby got the blame.

  It seemed everyone standing around Rachael then was talking about the raids, voicing their anger at the hated Comanche. Rachael didn’t want to believe Jason could truly go so far as to deliberately allow outlaws to raid the very people he was supposed to be protecting, but she did not underestimate the lengths to which he would go to get rid of Brand. Still, he surely wouldn’t let any harm come to her brothers.

  “I say Jason is right,” one man nearby said. “I think the breed is behind some of it, maybe all of it. The sooner Jason goes after that troublemaker the better.”

  Rachael faced the man, handing him some punch. It was the storekeeper, Mr. Briggs. “Does anyone have any proof Mr. Selby is the culprit?” she asked now. “From what I know, he’s been quite peaceful. Has he ever actually started any trouble around town?”

  “Well, no,” he answered. “But everybody knows how breeds are. You should be glad yourself to see the man disposed of, Miss Rivers. I remember how he looked at you the day he saw you in my supply store. And you should remember how belligerent he was that day.”

  “What I remember is how belligerent you were, Mr. Briggs. And I believe we are taught in church not to cast the first stone.”

  “Miss Rivers, can I have this dance?” The question came from a young man to whom she had been introduced during the buzzing talk over Comanche. Rachael moved her attention from the frowning Briggs to the young man, who appeared to be perhaps no more than Joshua’s age. But Joshua was built much bigger than the slight young man before her, who seemed like a mere boy compared to her brother and Brand.

  “Of course,” she told him, wanting nothing more for the moment than to get away from talk of raids. As they walked together into the middle of the dance floor, Rachael realized how incredibly different the young man with her was from a man like Brand. Now that she had been in Brand’s arms, no one else could compare; and it seemed ironic that not long ago back in St. Louis she had dated young men like this one. But she was a girl then herself, not the woman Brand had made out of her.

  “The name is Lester Rogers,” he was telling her, “in case you forgot.”

  “Oh yes.” She took his thin hands and they whirled around with the other dancers. Rachael was glad the tune had turned to a rapid square dance so that there was little opportunity to talk. She had to think about how she could warn Brand to get away. Perhaps if she went to him tonight, they could go away together right away.

  The dance soon ended, and Lester started to lead her back to the punch table. “Uh-oh,” he commented. “I hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” he told her. “Here comes Jason Brown.”

  She deliberately gave the young man a kind smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Lester. There is nothing serious between myself and Mr. Brown. Thank you for the dance. Maybe later we can dance again.”

  By the time she got the last words out Jason was within hearing distance. Lester Rogers paled at the look on Jason’s face and he quickly left without saying another word. Rachael could feel people watching as Jason put a hand to her waist and took her hand as a slower dance began.

  “I don’t care to dance, Jason,” she told him.

  She felt an angry power as he began sweeping her around the straw-covered floor. “Oblige me this much, Rachael. At least let’s end this gracefully. Don’t put the final closing on it right here at the dance.”

  Their eyes held as he whirled her around, and she tried to see into his dark gaze.

  “Mrs. Miller tells me there has been a lot of raiding going on,” she told him, watching those eyes. “You didn’t mention it when you came to see me.”

  “I had more important things on my mind, if you will recall.” His eyes fell to the milky skin of her breasts where the bodice of her dress was cut gracefully and bordered with lace. Rachael felt a shiver go down her spine. “My men and I will rustle up the renegades who are doing it, don’t worry about that,” he continued, moving his eyes back to
meet her own again. “I have a good idea who is behind it all.”

  “Brand Selby?”

  He frowned. “What made you mention him?”

  “The others already said you’ve been blaming him. But one of Lacy’s boarders mentioned once that you and this Mr. Selby had a personal hatred going. You shouldn’t blame the man just because you don’t like him, Jason.”

  “The man is a half-breed who couldn’t even cut it as a scout. I never trusted him then, and I don’t trust him now. My men and I will ride out to his place tomorrow and have a little talk with the breed.”

  Rachael didn’t need to ask what he meant by “a little talk.” And she didn’t dare say anything more for now without stirring suspicions in Jason’s mind. Either way she knew she could not wait until Monday. Brand had to be warned, and she vowed she would risk darkness and danger to get to him and warn him yet tonight. How she wished she could boldly tell Jason Brown right now that she was Brand Selby’s woman! She struggled against tears of terror for Brand, wondering how she would get through the rest of the evening. She didn’t dare leave early. She would have to endure the entire dance.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve given second thoughts to my proposal?” Jason asked her.

  “Not really.”

  “Rachael, let me apologize for my behavior. I’m really not the mean person you think I am. I could never hurt you, Rachael.”

  There was a gentleness to his voice that Rachael told herself was an act. But she realized that if she gave Jason Brown the tiniest ray of hope, he would forget about plans for going after Brand, at least for the night.

  “But you did hurt me. I have a bruise on my arm. That’s why I wore this long-sleeved dress.”

  He frowned, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry, Rachael. Truly I am. It’s just that you frustrate me so. I’ve wanted to marry you since before you went to St. Louis.”

  She sighed deeply. “Jason, you know it would never work. We’re just too different.”