by Paty Jager
Maeve put her hand on her pistol. Strapping the holster back on her hips this morning helped her gain normalcy after the last few days. She tied her horse to a tree, letting it graze while she stretched her back and willed the dull throb between her legs to ease. She wished it was the sensation Zeke brought instead of the ache brought on by the constant rocking in the saddle.
The group ahead had rounded a bend. Good. A few moments to herself. She found a spot behind a cloying bitterbrush bush to answer the call of nature. She studied the small, yellow flowers on the bush and tried to hold her breath. The sickly sweet scent of the flower made her nauseous.
She stood and hurried back to her horse. Just as Zeke rounded the bend a rope looped over her, capturing her arms against her body before a hand clasped her mouth. She struggled, but the rope remained tight around her arms, hindering her use of them. Maeve dug in her heels as someone dragged her backward into the denser trees and brush. From the height of the person, she knew her assailant. Jack Marsh.
“Quiet or I’ll put a bullet through your man.” His breath opposite of the bitterbush was just as nauseating.
She tried to stomp on his toes, but he kept his feet well out of reach. Her hand touched the butt of her gun. She couldn’t shoot him, but she’d warn Zeke. The barrel barely slipped from the holster before she pulled the trigger.
At the shot Zeke raced his horse forward. He couldn’t be killed, not now. She wiggled and stomped to keep Marsh from getting a good aim at Zeke. His hand slid from her mouth.
“Stop!” she screamed and wrenched out of Marsh’s grip. Facing the man, she raised the pistol the best she could with a rope anchoring her arm to her side. Marsh curled his lip in a sneer and aimed the gun at Zeke still riding like his horse’s tail was on fire.
“No!” She pulled the trigger shooting the gun from Marsh’s hand. He yelped and tugged on the rope around her, knocking the pistol out of her grasp. She dropped to her knees in an attempt to reclaim the weapon.
“I’ll show you.” Marsh jumped on a horse and wrapped the rope around the saddle horn. Jabbing the horse in the ribs, he pulled her onto her back and took off dragging her through the trees and brush.
Maeve grabbed the rope and tried to hold her back up off the ground, allowing the heavier material of her riding skirt to slide along the ground. The speed at which she traveled frightened her as much as the ground, rocks, and sticks battering her body. She stared back the way they’d come.
Tears blurred her vision of Zeke. He’d stopped his horse.
Why didn’t he pursue and stop the crazed man? Something solid struck her in the back, she winced and tried to keep her eyes on Zeke, but soon lost sight of him in the trees. Marsh continued for over a mile dragging her and cussing. Every time he swerved, her body rammed into a rock or was sliced by sticks and thorny bushes. The man was trying to drag her to death.
Her body trembled from the effort of keeping her head from hitting a rock. She couldn’t take much more. Where was Zeke? He could have easily caught up to them by now. Why did he stop? It was pretty clear—for all his talk—she was the only person she could trust to get her away from this maniac. Or die alone—just like her father.
****
Zeke stared at the lunatic dragging the woman he loved through the trees. Every muscle in his body wanted to charge forward, but to follow would only cause Maeve more harm. His throat burned with the need to scream his frustration. He’d not give the man that satisfaction. He took a deep breath, calculated the direction Marsh was headed, and reined in his emotions. He needed a clear head if he were to outthink and outmaneuver the man dragging the woman he loved. Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to Maeve’s horse. He leaned down and untied it from a tree. She’d need the animal when he found her.
He scanned the area, noting with a grimace the easy to follow trail of Maeve’s towed body. Something shiny glinted as the limbs of the trees moved in the slight breeze. He urged his horse to the spot.
Maeve’s pistol.
He dismounted, picking up the gun. The warm steel and faint gun powder scent eased his thoughts some. It was Maeve’s shots, he’d heard. She could have wounded the bastard. If so, her odds of getting free multiplied.
The vision of her being pulled through the trees flashed. Damn, the man that did this to her. He shoved the weapon in his saddlebag and remounted.
“Zeke, wait!” Barton rode up alongside of him both his horse and himself out of breath.
“Go back and help Gil get those men to the authorities.” Zeke looped a rope around Maeve’s mare and then fastened the rope to his saddle horn.
“Where’s Maeve?” the older man questioned, staring at the riderless horse.
“Marsh has her.” He nearly bit through his cheek as he held back the oath and anxiety burning in his throat. No sense getting this man all worked up. Gil needed his helped.
“Which way did they go?” Barton scanned the area. His brows formed one continuous line when he noticed the wide area of flattened plants. “That looks like—”
“Yep. That’s why I’m taking my time. If he isn’t being followed he won’t drag her as far.” I hope.
Barton peered at him. “You’ve got better nerves than I would if my lady was being hauled behind a horse like a downed log.”
“The only thing keeping me here is knowing it’s best to keep my distance until I find them, then sneak in. Alone.” He stared at the man pointedly.
“I agree. I’ll go help Gil. We’ll wait for you and Maeve in Monument.” Barton put a hand on his shoulder. “Marsh isn’t fit to live.”
Zeke nodded and Barton turned his horse. When the sound of hooves faded, he took a deep breath and urged his horse forward. If he was lucky, Marsh would have stopped by now and hopefully either be planning his next move, or at the very least, put Maeve on the horse with him.
****
Maeve lay on the ground curled in a ball. He’d finally stopped. She ached all over from her head, which had taken some blows, to her toes clenching in her boots. She’d known when something worse was going to happen. Marsh would cackle, and she’d hit a rock or be dragged over a thorny bush or log with protruding limbs.
It didn’t feel like any bones broke, but her back burned from raw skin, cuts, and bruises. Something trickled down her head. Where was Zeke? She needed him. Wanted him. Where were his strong arms to cradle her and ease the pain? And oh God, the pain… Nothing could hurt this intense.
“You ain’t such a tough female now are ya?” Marsh stepped up to her. His wide eyes glanced about frantically. He leaned down, grasping the rope and pulling her to a sitting position. Maeve cringed and hated herself for showing fear.
“Come on, you’re gonna wait right here for that man to come get you.” He hoisted her to her feet. “Then I’ll take care of both of you and not be looking over my shoulder no more.” Marsh tossed the rope over a tree limb and hoisted her up with her feet barely touching the ground. When he stepped close, she tried to kick him, but her leg didn’t cooperate. Her body just swung back and forth working the rope tighter about her arms and body.
She wanted to cry out in pain and frustration, but she’d rather die than give the man the satisfaction of knowing he’d reduced her to a blubbering mass of hysteria.
“Zeke won’t come after me.” She smiled as he stared at her.
“I seen the way he carries after you. He’ll be here.” Marsh walked to his tied horse and pulled hardtack out of his saddlebag.
“He won’t. No one cares enough about me to give a hoot what you do.” As she said the words the vision of Zeke sitting on his horse watching, as this lunatic towed her away brought on a despair worse than when her mother told her Pa was dead. Did she love Zeke more than her father? There it was. The word she’d tried so hard to hedge around. Love. She’d told herself years ago, she’d never love anyone. It hurt too much when they left.
Yet, here she was about to die and all she wanted was to tell Zeke she loved him. Tears
burned her eyes. She gulped air to keep from sobbing. He abandoned her—and she still loved him.
Just like her father.
Chapter 21
Zeke spotted Maeve and Marsh. He turned to the right, moving farther away from the two, circling around to approach from the opposite side. When he was comfortable with the distance between his horses and his objective, he slid off and tied the two.
He slipped through the cover of brush and trees silently. Maeve’s sagging body suspended from a tree stopped his heart. Damn the man! He’d be more than happy to carve Marsh into a million pieces. Shaking his head to clear away the haze of rage, he stared at the woman he loved to determine not only how bad her injuries, but how to get her away.
Maeve moved her head. Tears washed a clean path down her dirty face. His blood boiled with anger. He wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s throat and not let go until Marsh hung limp. He’d never seen her look so lost and helpless. The sight ripped at his heart and twisted his gut. It wasn’t something he’d forget. Where was the strength he loved about her?
Skimming her body with his gaze, he noticed the blood, cuts, and bruises through her shredded blouse. He grasped a tree to keep from hurtling his body onto the man sitting on the stump, watching the opposite direction. He had to take his time. If he rushed in, Marsh could shoot Maeve before he could take him down. He had to get the man’s attention focused toward him.
To step out in full view would put a bullet in him. He glanced at Maeve. Her dangling from the tree made it hard for him to concentrate on a foolproof plan. Maybe he should get her free then concentrate on Marsh? But to free her would make them easy targets.
He scanned the tree and how the rope was tied.
Marsh stood.
Zeke stepped back behind a tree, keeping his gaze trained on the outlaw. The man surveyed the area, and with one hand holding his rifle, he unbuttoned his pants. Not even turning his back to Maeve—he peed.
Now. Zeke burst from hiding and hit the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Being larger, he straddled Marsh, shoving his face in the dirt with one hand and pushing the rifle away with the other.
“Mmph!”
He jerked the man’s hands behind his back and looked around for something to bind them. Zeke held Marsh’s arms behind his back, using the technique he’d picked up from Barton, and yanked him to his feet.
“Ow!” hollered Marsh.
“What’s a matter can’t take what you give out?” He propelled Marsh toward the horse and used the reins to tie the man’s hands behind his back. Once he was secured, Zeke hurried to Maeve.
He slipped his knife out and cut the rope, dropping her into his arms. Holding her with one arm, he carefully removed the rope from around her body. His fingers dipped into the indentions the cord made and touched the sticky blood oozing from her wounds.
Zeke glared at the man sulking by the horse. It took all his willpower to not walk over and plunge his knife into the deserving man and twist.
“You came.” The whispered disbelief shattered his heart.
“I’ll always come for you,” he said, lifting her into his arms.
“Ow!” The pain in her cry sliced through Zeke. He placed her on the ground in a bed of soft grass. She rolled to her side, and he witnessed the injuries to her back up close.
He rose, walked over to Marsh, and punched the man in the face as hard as he could. Marsh’s head snapped back, and his knees buckled. Zeke didn’t bother making sure the man was out of the way of the nervous horse’s hooves as he retrieved the canteen from the saddle horn and returned to Maeve.
“I want you to lean against me.” The pain in her eyes made him hanker to go back and inflict more pain on the man moaning behind him. He helped Maeve to her knees, facing him. He tucked her against his chest and used his knife to cut the torn remnants of her blouse and chemise away from her gashed, scraped, and bruised back. Her sharp hiss as he picked the pieces of fabric out of her wounds ripped at his insides. He hated her pain. Hated the fact he couldn’t save her from Marsh and Cutter before him.
Satisfied he’d gotten it all, he leaned back. “Sit up a moment.” He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the tails out of his trousers. With his knife, he cut the bottom off the shirt and doused it with water. “This’ll hurt, but I need to clean those cuts.”
Maeve leaned forward, placing her hands on his muscular shoulders clad in the familiar red-flannel drawers. She nuzzled the unfastened buttons apart and rested her cheek against his warm, solid chest. If not for the pain from her wounds she would be in heaven, leaning against his strong form and inhaling his masculine scent.
A tear slid down her cheek, slipping between her face and his chest. He came for her. She ran his words over in her head. “I’ll always come for you.” He’d proven that over and over, again. Her heart had known he would come. It was her stubborn head that insisted she didn’t need his help or anyone’s.
She clutched his shoulders as he dug into a cut.
“Sorry. That one is deep and has a lot of dirt in it.” The crack in his voice sounded as though he held back tears. “I need more water. Our horses are just a ways up there.”
Maeve clung to him, snuggling her head tighter against his strong body. She didn’t want to be left alone with Marsh even for a moment. “Take me with you,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart, I have him tied tight, he isn’t going to hurt you, again.” He grasped her upper arms, setting her away.
She bit her lip. It was foolish to be afraid. And she hated the weakness. Zeke tipped her chin up. She looked up into his eyes. The deep brown glistened with concern and love. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I promise you, he can’t hurt you. Sit here. I’ll be back so fast you won’t even know I left.” His head dipped, brushing her lips with his.
A sob hiccupped when she couldn’t control the emotions swirling in her chest. Tears scalded the side of her cheeks. His tenderness unraveled the last of her control. Her body shook as the fear she’d ignored while being dragged overcame her.
“Shhh, don’t cry. Everything’s going to be fine.” He drew her into his arms, careful of her back, and held her as she sobbed. She fought to stop, but the tears and chest wracking sobs couldn’t be controlled.
His strong hand held her head against his muscular chest. Licking her lips, she tasted her tears and his salty skin. She wrapped her arms around his torso, absorbing his warmth, solidness, and strength. The tears dried and she sighed—content. He was all she would ever need.
“I really should get more water.” He set her away and wiped at the last of the tears dampening her face.
“I’m better now.” She offered him a weak smile.
“That’s the woman I love.” He kissed her briefly and stood. “Be right back.”
Maeve watched him walk through the trees. He was strong, handsome, and would never leave her. Why had she been so slow to see she would never find another to love her as he did?
Movement by the horse jerked her attention to the man who wanted her dead. He’d stopped moaning and stared at her with more hatred than one person should ever harbor. I will never be safe unless this man is dead. As the thought swept through her head the man lunged, snapping the reins from the headstall on the horse and falling to the ground.
The horse reared and nickered. Marsh struggled to his feet and started toward her, hatred etched on his face and glinting in his eyes.
Maeve’s heart pounded. Her gaze darted to the rifle on the ground half way between them. Could she get to it faster? She tried to push up onto her feet. Her back stung from the effort and her legs were as fragile as the soft grass under her.
She had to get to the rifle first. Swallowing the tang of fear, she crawled on her hands and knees toward the gun. The action made her back burn and sting, but she couldn’t stop. Her life depended on it.
Marsh growled and shot forward.
They reached the rifle at the same time.
The g
lint of hatred in his eyes stalled her. Marsh lunged, knocking her over with his body. He straddled her, his knees pinning her to the ground. His weight and the wildness reflected in his eyes gave her the added strength to lash out. She dug her nails into his face, drawing blood.
“You bitch!” He awkwardly kicked her in the side of the head with his boot. Her ears rang as white lights flashed before her eyes.
Her vision cleared, and she scrambled to get away, scraping her back on the hard earth and enflaming her throbbing injuries. Desperation dispelled some of the agony, but fear held her frozen as she realized he held the rifle in his hands behind his back. He twisted his body, and the cold barrel pressed under her chin.
She wasn’t ready to die, but to move with him holding the gun in such a precarious manner would surely be her death. She’d be dead when Zeke came back. No! When he came back, this monster would shoot him as well. Her mind raced trying to think of a way to save the man who had opened her heart to love.
Marsh smiled and the gun wobbled slightly.
“No!” the shout registered at the same time Zeke came into view, throwing his knife.
The gun bounced up. A shot boomed—ringing her ears and filling her nostrils with the acrid scent of burnt gunpowder. Air rushed across her face as the bullet whizzed by.
Before she could register the turn of events, Marsh tumbled forward, his eyes wide. His body sprawled over her, gasping for air, his face inches from hers.
Hysteria seized her.
She shoved out from under him, crawling backward on her hands and feet. Her lungs and throat burned from the scream searing from the pit of her belly to reach the air and emit her outrage and fear.
Maeve broke free of the man’s dead weight as Zeke gathered her in his arms.
“I’m sorry. I truly didn’t think he could get loose.” He clutched her like a drowning man. “I would have never…”
Maeve clung to him, staring at the knife protruding from Marsh’s back. And Marsh’s finger poking through the trigger guard. He’d been close to killing her.