The Bond Unbroken

by Bond unbroken (NCP) (lit)

  "That's what friends are for," Katlin agreed, stepping back. Spotting her jeans on the floor beside the bed, she quickly pulled them on. "What happened, Sarah. How did you know where to find me?" she asked as she slipped off her blouse, discarded her now useless bra, then replaced the blouse. Only one button remained at breast level, she fastened it then tied the lower portion of the blouse in a knot at her waist.

  "I overheard Rick and Gant talking about what they planned before they rode out this morning. When Rick returned alone, I knew they had you." Sarah took a deep breath, trying not to think of how angry and helpless she'd felt. "There was nothing I could do until Rick and his father left the ranch for town, taking most of the men with them. I'm just sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

  Katlin looked down to Gant's nude body, and her jaw clenched. "You got here in time. That's all that matters," Katlin insisted then reached down and pulled one of Gant's Colts from his holster.

  "Katlin, what are you . . . ?"

  "What I am is damn pissed off. That cowardly bastard, Westfield," Katlin spit out the name like a vile swear word, "shot my dog. He might not have been the one who pulled the trigger, but he's responsible, and he's going to pay for everything he's done." Without further explanation, Katlin turned and stalked out the door. Sarah followed Katlin outside and watched wordlessly until she mounted Gant's horse.

  Reaching into her pocket, Sarah extracted a folded piece of paper and handed it up to Katlin. "This is written proof of the motive behind the murder of Mitch's father. When Richard and Daniel Cameron came west together, they had an agreement that should one of them die without leaving an heir, the other man would receive all his holdings and possessions."

  Katlin carefully unfolded the paper already becoming brittle with age and scanned the crudely written but undeniably legally binding document. She refolded it and stuck it in her hip pocket. Before Katlin could comment, Sarah added another unexpected piece to the puzzle.

  "Richard also murdered Mitch's mother."

  "What? Mitch told me she had been captured by the Indians."

  "Richard set it up to look that way so no one would suspect him. I heard Rick and his father arguing about it last night," Sarah explained, still able to vividly recall her fear as she stood on the stairs listening.

  "Why? What would he have to gain by killing her?"

  "He wanted her, and she was in love with Daniel. That's reason enough for a Westfield. They take what they want."

  "Not any more, they don't." Holding the reins tightly in her clenched fists, Katlin looked down at the anxiety etched into Sarah's pale features. "Will you be able to get back to the ranch all right?"

  "I'll be fine. It's you I'm concerned about," Sarah responded.

  Then, realizing she didn't know where the hell she was, Katlin asked for directions back to Abilene. Katlin reined the horse around in that direction. "Go back to your home, Sarah. You have my word on it, neither Rick nor his father will be coming back," Katlin promised, absolute resolve glittering in the depths of her icy green eyes.

  Sarah watched Katlin ride out, hell-bent-for-leather, headed back to Abilene, wondering if she'd done the right thing by not attempting to stop her. If she had indicated that she wasn't feeling well, or was concerned for the baby, Sarah was pretty sure Katlin would have stayed with her. Sarah knew what it was like to be manipulated, and she couldn't bring herself to do that to Katlin. Besides, she suspected dealing with Rick on her own was something Katlin had to do.

  As much as Sarah wanted to get back to the ranch, she was wise enough to know she needed time to calm down and to rest first. She had to think of her baby. She tried to sit outside in the shade cast by the sod dwelling, but the heat was making her feel nauseous. Even though the thought of going back inside sickened her, it was cooler, and she saw no other option. Careful to keep her back to Gant's body, Sarah walked to the table, sank down onto one of the stools, then rested her head upon her folded arms.

  That was how they found her a short time later when Mitch and Ben stormed through the door, side by side, pistols drawn. Both men took in the scene. The bare legs of a man could be seen sticking out from the other side of the bed, cut ropes at each corner of that same bed, and Sarah was looking up at them through wide, startled eyes.

  Ben went to examine the body, and Mitch went to Sarah. Noting her unnatural pallor, he squatted down beside her, balancing on the balls of his feet, and took her cold hands in his. "What happened here, Sarah?" Mitch asked, forcing a calm, soothing inflection into his voice. "Do you know where Katlin is?"

  "She's all right, " Sarah answered.

  Her response was followed by Ben's, "It's Gant, Mitch. He'd dead."

  "I killed him," was Sarah's simple, blunt reply. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stiffened her spine. When she met Mitch's eyes, there was a quiet strength in her Mitch had never seen before. "I found him here with Katlin. He was . . . ."

  Before she could finish what she'd been about to say Mitch swore savagely, bounded to his feet, and turned to slam his fist into the wall. "Oh God," he groaned. He didn't have to see Gant's entire body to know he was nude. Just imagining what Sarah had found when she entered made him want to bellow with rage. His eyes were closed, and he was taking deep, shuddering breaths when he felt Sarah's gentle hand on his arm.

  "He didn't, Mitch," she assured him gently. "I got here in time." Sarah felt there was no need to tell him exactly what she did find when she arrived, that she had almost been too late. If Katlin wanted him to know the details, that was her decision to make. She glanced toward Ben who held Katlin's cut undergarments in his fist, his jaw was clenched, and the deadly expression in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. Holding Ben's gaze, Sarah once again insisted firmly, "I swear, Katlin is all right."

  Nodding his understanding, Ben quickly stuffed the undergarments into his pocket before Mitch could see them.

  After hours of enduring gut wrenching fear for Katlin's safety, it took a moment for Sarah's words to sink in. "Where is she?"

  Knowing neither man was going to like what they heard, Sarah answered, "She went back to Abilene. She's gone after Rick."

  "Damn," Ben muttered.

  "How long ago?" Mitch demanded.

  "I'm not sure exactly. Probably twenty minutes or so."

  Without another word, both men raced through the door and leapt upon their horses. Before they headed out, Mitch glanced down at Sarah who was standing in the opened doorway. As if he'd suddenly remembered her delicate condition, Mitch bit out a vicious oath. "Damn it, Ben. We can't leave her here. See that she gets back to the ranch."

  Sarah suspected Ben wasn't happy with the idea but knew he would do as Mitch had asked. "That won't be necessary," she insisted. "I can take care of myself. Now go, both of you." As she watched them race toward Abilene, Sarah knew for the first time in a very long time she could indeed take care of herself.

  * * * *

  Katlin brought Gant's horse to a screeching halt in front of the Bull's Head, leapt from the saddle, and rushed through the swinging batwing doors. Phil Coe was behind the bar, speechless with surprise at her sudden entrance.

  "Have you seen Mitch or Ben?" she demanded.

  Taking in her disheveled appearance, the green silk blouse tied at the waist which did little to conceal her clearly defined, unencumbered breasts, and the figure hugging blue jeans with a pearl handled Colt tucked into the waistband, Phil had to swallow before he could speak.

  "They rode out several hours ago looking for you," he answered.

  "What about Rick Westfield? Has he been in?"

  There was something about the hard, determined glint in her green eyes and the unbridled anger in her voice which made Phil pause before answering. "What happened, Katlin? Where were you?" he asked instead.

  "I don't have time for that right now. I want to know where Westfield is."

  "I don't rightly know for sure," Phil hedged, wishing to hell that Ben or Mitch were here to deal
with her. Damned if he wouldn't rather come up against a band of renegade Comanches than one pissed off female packing a pistol.

  She wasn't stupid. Phil was stalling. Not willing to be stonewalled, Katlin stepped up close to the bar and placed her hands on either side of his upon the glistening surface. Lifting her chin defiantly, she fixed him with her coldest, most inflexible glare. When she had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch, she snapped, "How about an educated guess, Phil. Where is Westfield?"

  "I saw him at the Alamo saloon about fifteen minutes ago," offered a drover who was standing at the end of the bar. Phil shot him a quelling, "Shut up you fool" look.

  Katlin turned on her heels and stalked from the saloon, leaving the batwing doors swinging behind her as if they'd been caught in an angry wind.

  Rick Westfield was standing at the bar of the Alamo saloon, laying it on thick, playing the role of concerned friend for anyone close enough to hear. "I just can't understand it. The woman had me buffaloed too. I'd have bet my best breeding steer she was head over heels in love with Mitch." He picked up his drink, took a sip as he glanced at the men nearest him to make sure he had their undivided attention. "I was shocked when I heard she just up and disappeared on him. Guess I shouldn't be surprised though. I haven't met a man yet who's been able to figure out the workings of a female's mind."

  Rick's drink was halfway between the bar and his lips when he realized the saloon had become unnaturally quiet.

  "Westfield." Rick heard his name called out behind him in a voice which sounded like the warning hiss of a rattler about to strike. He looked up into the mirror behind the bar and found himself caught in the murderous glare of Katlin McKinnen's eyes. She was standing just inside the door, feet braced slightly apart, hands clenched at her sides, her face an expressionless mask. " pearl handled Colt he recognized as Gant's was sticking out from the waistband of her jeans.

  "You're a cowardly son-of-a-bitch, Westfield, and I'm calling you out."

  After tossing his drink back, Rick turned around to face her. He leaned back casually with his elbows on the bar and hiked one booted foot up on the brass rail at the bottom. "You are calling me out?" he asked with a grin, still figuring he would be able to bluff his way out of the situation. She was a mere female. Not someone any man need be overly concerned about.

  "That's what I said, Westfield. I'm taking you down."

  "Now, why would you want to do that, sweet thing?"

  "How about murder, rape, kidnapping, and because, you bastard, . . . you shot my dog!"

  Rick glanced around, catching the eyes of several men who were watching the scene unfold. He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "I'd say my friend Mitch got off easy. The woman is as crazy as a steer munching on loco weed." His comment was rewarded with uneasy laughter from the masculine contingency.

  Katlin had more than enough of Rick's games. She pulled the Colt and took aim. "I'm giving you the option. Either you come outside and take me on, one on one, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

  Rick laughed outright, "You're crazy."

  "What's the matter, Rick? "re you afraid to take on a woman who isn't tied down or beaten into submission?" Katlin taunted.

  His glass hit the bar with such force it shattered. "That's enough," he warned as he straightened into a fighting stance and took a step forward. The rest of the men in the bar were thoroughly enjoying the show, at his expense. "I'm not fighting a woman."

  "You mean a woman who's capable of fighting back, don't you?" Katlin took in the amused faces of the men in the room. "Just as I said men, Rick Westfield is a sniveling coward who doesn't have enough balls to take on a woman in a fair fight."

  Deep down Rick knew it was over, that the meddling bitch had destroyed everything. She wanted a fight? He'd be more than happy to oblige. If he was going down, he intended to take her with him. "You asked for it, bitch."

  Wild Bill Hickok who had been playing poker when Katlin entered, sighed and tossed his cards into the center of the table. "Deal me out boys. I think it's time to keep the little lady from gettin' herself killed."

  Katlin turned, walked out the door, and didn't stop until she was standing in the middle of the dirt packed street. Turning, she faced the door, waiting for Westfield to join her. She didn't have long to wait. Rick exited, followed by every customer who had been in the saloon.

  The marshal pushed his way through the crowd. "That's enough," he demanded. "I'm not putting up with another shoot-out in my town. Especially one involving a woman."

  "Fine," Katlin agreed reasonably, then tossed Gant's Colt to the ground at his feet. "I'm unarmed. Any law on your books that says two people can't have a fair fight, unarmed?"

  "No, but . . . ," Hickok began.

  "Good. Then stay out of it." Katlin met Wild Bill's eyes in a showdown of wills. He was the one who backed off, cursing under his breath.

  "I'll take your weapons, Westfield," the marshal demanded of Rick. If the little lady was hell bent on a fight, he'd damn well keep it as fair as possible. As if a fist fight between a man and a woman could possibly be fair under any circumstance.

  As Katlin waited for Westfield to hand over his side arm and holster to Hickok, spectators were already beginning to line the sidewalks on both sides of the street, leaving Katlin to wonder if these people had some kind of built in radar when it came to a show-down. True, except for the saloons and bawdy houses, Abilene had little to offer the average citizen by way of entertainment. They reminded Katlin of the people who watched in macabre fascination at the scene of fatal car accidents or for alarm fires.

  If the people of Abilene wanted a show, so be it. Westfield got off on humiliating women, and she wasn't above giving him a taste of his own medicine for the benefit of an avid audience.

  Katlin's eyes never left Rick as he walked into the street with a cocky swagger and stood facing her.

  * * * *

  Upon reaching the Bull's Head, Mitch and Ben leapt from their horses before they came to a complete halt and were met by Phil Coe almost before their boots hit the ground.

  "She's gone to the Alamo after Westfield."

  Mitch and Ben looked at each other and groaned simultaneously, "Oh shit," before they turned and headed up the street at a dead run, Phil Coe at their heels.

  "Looks like old man Westfield is dead," Phil panted behind them. " remark which stopped them in their tracks.

  Mitch turned back toward Phil. "Did Katlin get him?"

  "In a manner of speaking," was Phil's vague reply.

  "What the hell does that mean?" Mitch demanded.

  "One of Westfield's men stopped in the saloon looking for Rick, just before you got there," Phil explained. "Seems the old man was looking out a window at the Drovers' Cottage when Katlin rode into town. Seeing her put him in such a state he went into a rage and collapsed. By the time anyone got to him, he was wide eyed, staring out the window, dead."

  They arrived in time to find Katlin and Rick in the center of the street in front of the Alamo, staring each other down. If they'd been armed, this would be the point of anticipation, waiting to see who would go for their gun first. As it was, Katlin made the first move. Her lips curved into a smile, one calculated to seduce and disarm.

  "You wanted me, you sick bastard. Come and get it," Katlin taunted.

  Rick charged.

  She pivoted on her left foot and delivered a roundhouse kick to his solar plexus with the right. He grunted, doubled over, and went down to his knees. Recovering quickly, Rick came up and swung at her with his right fist. Katlin sidestepped, caught his arm mid-swing, turned her back into him, braced herself and leaned forward, using his own size and momentum against him. He went flying over her, landing on his back in the dirt. There was a collective gasp form the spectators, then stunned silence.

  "Christ Almighty." Ben whistled , then gave Mitch a sidelong glance of utter amazement. "Did you know she could do that?"

  "I've never put her in a position that forced her to demonstrate.
Nor do I think I want to." Mitch answered, fighting the proud grin tugging at his lips. She was magnificent. His red headed little firebrand, boldly squaring off against a man who had near a hundred pounds on her. Rick hadn't so much as lain a hand on her, and she wasn't even winded. And he'd be dammed if she didn't seem to be enjoying herself.

  Rick rolled to his feet and remained crouched. Katlin watched, waiting for his move. He roared with fury and charged, head low like an enraged bull. Sidestepping at the last instant, she delivered a karate chop to the back of his neck. Rick kissed the dirt.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Katlin caught a glimpse of a woman dressed in drab brown muslin and a wide brimmed bonnet as she clenched her hand into a fist, punched the air, and shouted "Yes!" Proving the act of triumph was not original to her time in the future. Then she heard another feminine voice shout, "You get him, girl." For their part, the men began taunting Rick back into the battle.

  Katlin had known Mitch was here without even seeing him. She could sense his nearness. She turned as he stepped onto the street. Their eyes met, and he took a step toward her. "No, Mitch. I have to do this. Don't interfere."

  "Damn it, Kat," was all he could say before his eyes widened in alarm.

  Even while appearing distracted by Mitch, Katlin knew exactly where Westfield was. She'd simply been waiting for his next move. She grinned and winked at Mitch. This time Rick came at her from behind. Before he even touched her, Katlin pivoted with her right leg and brought her elbow up, catching him under the chin. His head snapped back. She reached up with both arms, clasped him behind the neck, and, using her hip for leverage, she tossed him onto the ground at Mitch's feet.

  Mitch grinned and quirked his eyebrow at Katlin. "You having fun yet?"

  Katlin chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. "I needed the practice. I was getting out of shape."

  "Far be it for me to keep you from enjoying yourself," Mitch agreed amicably. He reached down, hauled Rick to his feet, and pushed him in Katlin's direction.

  For the most part, the battle lines had been drawn. Women who had never before considered the possibility that they could actually stand up for themselves were now applauding and shouting encouragement to Katlin. Men who were beginning to fear the precedent which could be set if the female actually won, were becoming more vocal at goading Rick on.