by Jodi Thomas
Bar straightened as if proving he wasn’t afraid. “It could be them ghosts Azile used to tell us about. She said they walked these halls because so much wrongdoin’ has gone on in this place. Maybe when we locked the door a month ago, we trapped one of them down there in that cellar.”
Cherish smiled, hoping he couldn’t see her face in the darkness. “Bar, there are no ghosts. And if there were, they could pass through things like a door. A lock wouldn’t stop them. Also, ghosts like dark places. They wouldn’t be afraid of the cellar. It would be a great place for them.”
Bar shrugged his bony shoulders. “It don’t comfort me none when folks always start off tellin’ me there ain’t no such thing as ghosts and then proceed to list their habits. How come everyone knows all about them if there ain’t no such thing?”
Cherish saw his point, but wanted to ease his fears. “Maybe it’s wind traveling through the tunnel and making the tapping sound.”
Bar nodded, accepting that as a possibility. “Well, if the door by the barn is open a little, I’ll go out back and close it.”
“No, that could be dangerous. Remember, we both encountered Westley out by the barn.” She tried to make her voice sound like the problem was only minor. “I’ll go through the tunnel and close the outside door. I can find my way in the dark without any problem.”
Bar looked worried. “You’re not goin’ down there alone. I’m comin’ along.”
Cherish didn’t argue. She touched her fingers to the Colt in her pocket and unlocked the door before her courage dwindled. Both froze for a moment and leaned backward slightly, as if bracing themselves for something when she opened the door. But only the cold blackness of the basement greeted them.
They were as close as Siamese twins when they passed onto the landing and closed the door behind them. Bar took the lead, feeling his path from step to step as they inched their way down the dusty stairs. Cherish lost her ability to judge how far apart the steps were. If it hadn’t been for Bar’s guiding hand on her arm, she would have felt lost in the blackness. They crawled down the stairs on their hands and knees, like two-year-olds afraid to risk stepping from one step to the other.
Cherish tried to remember how many steps it had been across the room, for she knew the entrance to the tunnel was on the opposite wall, hidden in the shadows between two rows of shelves. Once at the tunnel entrance, they’d only have to cross maybe thirty feet and they’d reach the outside. She silently decided she’d risk the run back to the house across the courtyard, then remembered that the house would be locked against her.
As they neared the end of the steps, Bar suddenly shoved her down, covering her shoulder with his thin arm. His breath brushed against her face as he whispered, “Quiet! I hear somethin’.”
Cherish turned her head toward where she knew the tunnel was and listened. For a moment, her blood throbbed so loud against her temple that she couldn’t hear anything. Then sound crept to her from somewhere in the darkness. Someone was feeling his way along the wall of the underground passage. They could hear his feet shuffling and his fingers sliding along the uneven corridor. His breath was labored and his footsteps clumsy.
A match was struck and for an instant the passageway glowed as orange as a harvest moon on a frosty horizon. Then all was black again and a voice swore, “Damn, that was my last match.”
Cherish bumped heads with Bar as they both moved toward each other. He whispered the name already forming on her lips: “Westley!”
Somehow, Westley had found the entrance to the tunnel. Her mind thought back to the night in the barn. Maybe that was what he’d been looking for when she’d stumbled upon him. Fear twisted in her spine as she thought of what might have happened if he’d found the tunnel and the door unlocked while they’d been asleep upstairs.
Bar started inching his way up. Cherish followed suit. They had to get to the top and lock the door before Westley made it out of the tunnel. And they had to do it without a sound.
Halfway up the steps, Cherish stopped. She could hear Westley’s breathing. He’d reached the end of the passage and was stepping out into the large, empty space. The air was already thick with the smell of his sweat. She inched her way up another step, afraid now to open her eyes, even though she knew she wouldn’t even be able to see her hands in front of her. It would only be a matter of minutes before he found the stairs.
Like dawn’s first glow, a light radiated from somewhere deep in the tunnel. Within seconds it filled the entrance with an unnatural yellow-orange radiance. Bar once more covered her as completely as he could with his arm. They were far enough up the stairs to look down on the light, but if someone looked up, he couldn’t help but see them, even in the shadows.
“Who is it?” Westley shouted as if someone were entering his land unlawfully.
A thin man in black stepped through the tunnel with the skill of one who’d walked it many times. “I wondered how long it would take you to find this entrance.” The stranger’s face was still a mystery, but his voice was low and familiar. The light reflected off his highly polished knee boots.
“The others told me about it at the poker game, but they didn’t bother with details,” Westley answered. “This house and everything in it is mine, so don’t start bothering me. I rigged the game to win it, but the banker started to get suspicious. So I passed the winning hand and the deed to the old man. I figured I could buy it back if I got him drunk enough, but I finally had to kill old Tobin when he wouldn’t see reason. I know there’s a treasure in this old place and I aim to find it.”
“There’s no treasure. The men at the game just wanted to up the pot that night. They knew you wouldn’t be interested in this place without the lure of the treasure. Only problem was you believed it—enough to kill for it. So you can stop looking. The only treasure lies in a dying woman’s insane hopes and dreams.”
Westley huffed up like a toad swelling to sing. “If there isn’t any treasure, how come you and the other Knights are so anxious to get your hands on this house? You’re the ones trying everything to frighten the women away. I’d be mighty happy to let the women live here once I get the treasure.”
The stranger set the lantern down. “Sure, you’d let them live here. Tell me, Westley, how many times do you plan to catch Cherish in the barn and beat her, until she dies from one of the assaults like the girl at Holliday’s almost did?”
Westley snorted. “Hell, I can think of other things than a beating I plan to give that uppity girl. She didn’t ever press charges, so I figure I can do whatever I want to. When I get tired of riding my bony wife, I might just give Cherish a time or two. It’ll be quite a setup: two women to keep me happy and all that gold Hattie hid before the war.”
The stranger moved so fast it seemed like it all happened in only a blink of the lantern. A long, silver blade flashed as he pulled it from his boot. A moment later, Cherish heard the unmistakable sound of metal being thrust into flesh … Westley’s flesh.
The overweight man dropped to his knees, blood flashing in the light as it dripped through his fingers onto the already damp floor. His eyes were wide with shock and unrestrained fear.
The blade struck again from behind. Cherish covered her ears as the metal hit his spine. When Westley slumped forward, a gloved hand gripped his hair and held his head back. Without hesitation, his killer slid the knife across his throat, plowing a deep row of crimson from ear to ear. Westley’s eyes screamed of pain, but sound could no longer pass his throat. As blood flowed like a waterfall, his eyes froze open in a death stare.
With a flick, the stranger wiped his knife on Westley’s shirt and replaced it in his boot. “I should have aimed for your throat the other night instead of your gut.”
For a moment his wrist flashed in the low lamplight. The scars of the boy betrayed the man.
Cherish stared at the scars crossing his wrist and fought back a cry that started so deep inside her it would have pulled out her heart if she released it.
&n
bsp; With powerful grace and speed, the stranger was gone, taking the light with him. Cherish opened her mouth to scream, but Bar’s fingers closed over her lips in a firm grip. His hand was shaking with fear, but he held tight. “Don’t scream, Miss Cherish. Don’t scream or he’ll come back and kill us too.”
It was several minutes before they could make their limbs work to climb the rest of the stairs. They slipped through the door and locked it. Then they slid to the floor as if their backs would keep out the horror they’d witnessed.
Bar let out a long sigh. “I reckon he killed Westley.”
Cherish nodded, not trusting herself to speak. There was no reason to check the body. She’d seen men look into death’s face too many times for her not to know the stare from which no man ever blinked.
“You think if he’d found us, he’d have killed us too?”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to even imagine what would have happened it he’d seen them. With a jerk, she nodded, and suddenly they were hugging like two children sharing the same nightmare.
Bar finally whispered, “You know who it was, don’t you?”
Cherish looked at the boy and thought he looked older than he had at supper a few hours ago. “Yes.” She fought back the tears. “I know.”
Chapter 26
It took Brant almost two weeks to get Grayson back to Fort Worth. The huge man was as hard to haul as a grizzly across a waterfall. He never complained about the pain he was in, but he yelled about everything else. Brant thought several times about slugging him again, but he knew part of the problem was simply that they were two loners accustomed to picking their own trail at their own speed.
When he finally succeeded in reaching the outskirts of Fort Worth, Brant said a silent prayer of thanks and decided that no matter what he’d heard about Maggie, she didn’t deserve a bear of a man like Grayson Kirkland. Brant vowed if he ever came upon the Yankee wounded again, he’d shoot Grayson and save himself a lot of misery.
Since there was no way Brant could get Grayson to Hattie’s place in broad daylight without being seen, he took the Yank to Holliday’s. He trusted Grayson as far as he trusted about any man, but not enough to show him the tunnel into Hattie’s.
Holliday welcomed them with her usual warm hospitality and open palm. It took her several minutes to get a room emptied out. With the men from a cattle drive in town, she was having to double up on every room’s activity. Brant could tell by the noise coming from below that they would be safe as long as he had money.
While Holliday got Grayson settled into a room, she sent word for Cherish to come. In less than an hour, Cherish was tapping on Holliday’s back door.
As she entered, Cherish smiled an honest greeting to the older woman. “‘Morning, Miss Holliday. How are you today?”
Holliday crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m as busy as a three-dollar whore during a half-price sale and now I got a man up there who’s been telling me there ain’t no woman that will suit his fancy but you.”
Cherish tilted her head. She’d known Holliday long enough to realize when she was kidding.
“He come riding in here telling me that it had been over a month since he’d seen the likes of you and he wanted to see his lady.”
“Brant?” Cherish shouted.
“And …” Holliday didn’t finish, for Cherish was already up the stairs.
She ran to the last room on the landing. When she flung the door open, she saw her outlaw standing by the window, watching the street. His hair was longer and in need of a trim and his clothes looked as if they had a pound of soil layered into them. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were hungry with need.
For a moment the nightmare from the night before flashed in Cherish’s mind. She saw the knife and the wrist with scars on it. Had it been the right or left hand? Brant or Daniel? Her fear and the horror of what she saw made her uncertain.
But when she looked into Brant’s warm brown eyes there could be no doubt of one thing, and that was her love for him. No matter who he was, or what he’d done, she loved him. She loved him totally, without reason. Right or wrong, good or bad, couldn’t color that fact. For the first time Cherish couldn’t stand watching, but had to feel.
Dropping her bag, she ran into his waiting arms. For one moment the world stopped and there was only Brant. All the nights of lying awake thinking of him disappeared as she clung to him. He’d opened the door to all her locked-up feelings, and with the pleasure had also come the pain of missing him. There were many fears and questions in her mind, but doubt that he loved her was not one of them.
He lifted her tiny body off the floor and swung her around, loving the way she came to him. Never had anyone opened her arms and heart to him. She’d been on his mind every minute of every day since he’d been gone. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “I love you, baby. God help us both, I love you.”
She seemed to be laughing and crying at the same time as she held his face in her hands and kissed him. “I’m so glad you came back to me,” she whispered. “I was so afraid.”
“Afraid?” Brant laughed. “Not the girl who threatened to kill me if I didn’t make love to her.”
Cherish wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back to me.”
Brant’s words were lost in their kiss. He knew that someday he wouldn’t return, but for now she was in his arms. For now, he’d live the dream of happiness, if only for a moment.
A loud baritone voice shook the couple back to earth. “I hate to interrupt this homecoming, but I’m dying over here.”
Brant didn’t release Cherish as he looked toward Grayson. “Hell, he’s too mean to die.”
Cherish pushed away from Brant, her cheeks red with embarrassment that someone had witnessed her show of emotion. She grabbed her bag and hurried to Grayson’s bedside. He had more dried blood and dirt on him than she’d ever seen on a man.
Holliday entered with a huge tub of water. She sat it down on one of the chairs and propped her bulk on another as if getting comfortable for the show she knew was going to take place.
Cherish checked his wounds and agreed with Brant that he was in little danger of dying. Both his leg and his shoulder needed to be cleaned and bandaged again, but neither showed any sign of infection. He had no fever and his color was good despite the loss of blood. She closed her bag and stepped back from the bed.
Grayson looked confused. “Aren’t you going to do something? I’ve had to put up with this madman’s doctoring for two weeks.”
“You put up with me!” Brant yelled. “I’d as soon bunk with a buffalo than spend any more time with you. You’re about the most ungrateful …”
“A blind, three-legged dog could pick a better trail than you,” Grayson interrupted. “We must have ridden over every ridge and through every tree line between here and Canada.”
“Well, at least I pick a trail and not just leave one. You had the thoughtlessness to bleed for ten miles.”
Suddenly both Brant and Grayson were laughing, a rich, full laughter that filled the room. They realized that they sounded like two children complaining to their mother. Cherish looked from one to the other and wondered if madness might be contagious. She wasn’t sure whether they were friends or bitter enemies.
Grayson finally stopped laughing and looked at her. “Can you get these makeshift bandages off? I think Brant used the horse blanket, the way they itch.”
Grateful that Grayson could take her mind away from her disturbing thoughts of Brant, mischief danced in Cherish’s green eyes. “Why should I, when you have a perfectly good nurse in Maggie to take care of you?”
Grayson rubbed his beard. “I don’t want Maggie nursing me. She’s so mad at me she’d probably cut a pound of hide right off me.”
Cherish folded her arms. “Well, I’m not nursing you, so that only leaves Brant or Maggie.”
Grayson growled like a bear. He’d already had all he wanted of Brant’s none-too-light t
ouch. In fact, he’d had all he wanted of everyone and everything in Texas. General Sheridan was right when he’d said that if he owned Texas and all of hell, he’d rent out Texas and live in hell.
Before Grayson could finish telling everyone exactly what he thought, Holliday yelled out the door for two of the many drunks who always seemed to be at her place.
“These boys will deliver him right to the door of Hattie’s Parlor for a free drink.”
“Like hell!” the Yankee yelled.
With one mighty twist, Holliday covered Grayson in the quilt and motioned for the men to haul him off. They could hear Grayson cursing and threatening revenge as the drunks carried him down the stairs, bumping into about every third rail.
Holliday stepped to the doorway. “I’ll see that no one bothers you for a while. You two look like you might have a lot to visit about.”
Cherish started to say something, but the door closed before she could get a word out. A heartbeat later she was in Brant’s arms. His need for her was a liquid fire that flowed through his lips and into her veins. With him she was alive, completely alive. But her heart was slowly dying, inch by inch, as she tried to remember any detail that would make Westley’s killer Daniel and not Brant. The voice was Daniel’s, she kept repeating to herself as Brant held her, but logic told her that the whisper could have come from either man.
When he broke the kiss, she could see the need in his eyes. He knew nothing of her questions. “I want to love you,” he whispered against her mouth, “but not here. Not in this place.”
Cherish shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She knew she couldn’t stop loving him, even if he had been the one who killed Westley.
Brant pulled her arms away. “It matters to me. I need to clean up. The thought of lying with you in a bed that has been warmed by half the cowhands on the Chisholm Trail is not to my liking. I’ll come to you tonight, through the tunnel.”
He could feel her tense in his arms. “Not through the tunnel,” she whispered.