He pressed forward, snow sticking to his Levi’s. A swirl of smoke in the distance caught his attention and his stride lengthened. Lou’s car was heading toward them.
For the second time that day, God had answered his prayers.
* * *
Gracie could barely remember the automobile ride home, if her parents met her at the door, or when the shivers stopped. Eight hours later, according to the clock in her room, the only clear remembrance of her journey home was Trevor’s strong arms and the sound of his voice, heavy with relief.
She stretched toasty warm toes against the heavy blankets on her bed and sat up. Edith dozed on the window seat, lightly resting against the curtains. Gracie whipped the blankets off, and then raised her arms above her in a full stretch. She swung her legs over the bed and, limbs shaky, dressed in a simple blue dress. She pulled on wool stockings and boots, tugged a brush through her hair until it resembled something presentable and left the room.
Legs weak, she slowly took the stairs to the first floor. She pressed a hand against her stomach. Food first? She should’ve stayed in bed where her mother’s presence had been unexpected and strangely tender. But she wanted to relive Trevor’s rescue quietly, alone.
In the icy morning, he had been out searching for her. It said more to her than a thousand kisses, and she was glad he wasn’t nearby because her response to him might be uncontrollable and she couldn’t allow that.
She sighed. After snagging a thick slice of cheese from the kitchen, she walked to the stables. Fresh air, familiar scents. Maybe they’d erase the horror of what she’d found in that cave. Of what she’d dragged home. Hopefully the others kept their distance. Her kidnapper must have suffered from influenza and, judging by the waste and vomit accompanying the dead bodies in the cave, so had the others.
She swallowed hard, memory spoiling her appetite. She tossed the cheese to the side and slid into the stables. Raised voices welcomed her. Hugh’s swelled the loudest, soaring over the others. The noise came from the tack room at the other end of the stable.
Apparently Hugh was confronting someone about her stolen jewels. She pressed against the office door, noting the quieter tones of her father’s voice and the cold rumbles of Trevor’s. Her spine stiffened. Was Hugh accusing Trevor of stealing her jewels?
“Ludicrous,” she muttered, and pressed her ear closer.
“It doesn’t matter,” William was saying. “We’re leaving on a train tomorrow. Now that we have them back we’ll not press any charges against you. I only ask you to refrain from ever doing business with Mr. Cruz again.”
“Forget it,” Uncle Lou said flatly. “Trevor didn’t steal anything and if I’m reading things right, pretty boy here is the culprit. He planted them in Trevor’s house for whatever reason. Nice try, Hugh, but it was an infantile move. We know this is a big setup.”
“Now see here, I’ve known this boy for years and he would never do anything so dishonest or sneaky. He is an upstanding example of Christian virtue. Take your hands off him, Lou.” William’s tones rang with indignation and Gracie grimaced. She should have told him about Hugh’s previous lack of self-control, then maybe he wouldn’t be espousing nonexistent virtues.
She wished Trevor would say something but imagined that he lounged against some wall, granite-faced. Perhaps she ought to march in there and set her father straight as well as defend Trevor’s honor. But if Uncle Lou thought Hugh had stolen the jewels it might be more beneficial to Trevor if she found some evidence to support the charge. Besides, if she rushed to his rescue Father might not believe her, especially if he still thought she had feelings for him.
Yes, hard evidence would be better than any emotional plea, she decided as she pushed away from the door.
She turned and met the long shiny edge of a dagger. A black-haired man she’d never seen before held the blade to her stomach and grinned a yellow smile.
“Going somewhere, princesa?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
A scream froze in Gracie’s throat, and to her horror all she managed was a mangled squeak before the man hauled her to his side. The dagger’s blade pressed against her neck. Foul breath washed over her as he whispered, “Not a peep, princesa. One scream and I’ll slice that creamy skin of yours.”
He pulled her toward a stall, opened it and shoved her in. She stumbled and quickly righted herself, hating the paralysis of her vocal cords.
“You’ll fetch a good price in Mexico, despite your dark hair. There’s good money in women, you know.” His eyes traveled down her form and a leer stretched his thin lips. He tipped the blade against her throat and with his other hand grabbed some rope hanging against the stall. The mare beside her already wore a saddle. Dread tripped a heavy foot down Gracie’s spine.
Perspiration trickled down the man’s forehead as he brought the rope near. “Remember, no sound or you’re dead. Give me your hands.”
Gracie lifted them and forced herself to watch the man carefully. Damp spots stained the fabric beneath his arms and an unnatural flush hovered on pale cheeks. He looked like he would pass out, just as her captor had.
The man removed his knife from her neck and she stood very still, resisting the urge to bolt. He pushed the knife into the waistband of his sagging trousers and advanced upon her, eyes fused to her face.
Gracie gulped as fear turned her limbs into numb extensions of her body. No doubt this man could draw his knife quickly if she tried to escape, and then she would be dead before she could scream. She swallowed tightly as his clammy fingers pulled her wrists together and wound the rope around them. His irises were very dark, almost as black as Trevor’s, but the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. A tremor coursed through him as he tightened the rope. Then another.
Hope surged through her. The man looked as if he would pass out any minute. His face had gone pasty-white.
A door opened and he shoved her down onto the cold dirt floor. “Not a word.”
Shivers rippled through her, and she bit her lip against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“We’ll be packing our bags tonight.” Hugh’s frosty speech floated over, followed by the telltale creak of William’s wheelchair. “I have never been so insulted. Having Mr. Cruz in your employ is a huge mistake.”
“Trevor’s my friend and a valued business partner. Moreover, I’ve known him for years and trust him with my life. I’m gonna escort you to the house, just in case anything else winds up missing.”
“I always knew you were stubborn, but I didn’t take you for a fool,” came her father’s tired voice. “I wanted to work things out between us. I suppose that shall be impossible.”
No one answered his last remark and Gracie listened as her hopes for rescue left the stable. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed the fear down. Later she could cry. Now she needed a plan of action, something to keep her sane.
She would wait on this man passing out. She shifted so she could stretch her legs.
In front of her, the stranger rose slowly and peered over the edges of the horse stall. He looked down at her with a crooked sneer. “C’mon, princesa, stand up.”
“Who are you?” She obeyed his order to stand and boldly met his leer. He appeared not only sick of body, but sick of mind. A chill goose-bumped her arms. How would his diseased soul affect her?
“I am called Mendez,” he answered as he led first Gracie and then the horse out of the stall.
Mendez? Somehow she wasn’t surprised. “How did you find this place?”
A sneer twisted his lips. “Idiots. Too busy burying Smith to see me coming.”
“Smith.” The man who’d kidnapped her. The one she’d dragged home. Had he died? Deep breaths. Keep him talking. “Why should they care you’re here?”
“They fear me.”
&nb
sp; Her mouth dried. “What do you need with me? Am I so important to you?”
His gaze flicked over her, and then he spat on the floor, close to her shoe. “You, a woman? I seek Striker and I will use you to draw him from his cowardly hole.”
“Striker? I don’t know who or where he is.” Terror loosened her tongue and she stumbled over the words. “Have you met him? He’s a hero, you know, though not many believe it. I do because I have inside sources. Do you perchance know what he looks like? I intend to find him myself, one day.”
Sweat beaded Mendez’s upper lip as he listened to her prattle. “What are you saying?”
She gulped, keeping her trembling voice as light as possible. “I am saying I’d be most happy to help you find Striker. He has been an object of my interest for quite some time. It is said by certain contacts of mine that he’s rescued over one hundred women who were kidnapped by reprobates seeking to sell them across the border. No doubt you know all about the Mann Act.” Since she could not put her hands on her hips she lifted her chin. “Horrible criminals. I would love to help you—”
“Kill Striker? For that is my intention.” Mendez placed a hand on the stall behind him and she could tell he was leaning against it for support. Her wrists were not tied tightly, either.
“Get on the horse before I kill you, as well.” Mendez pushed off the wall and walked around the front of the horse.
“You cannot kill Striker.” Gracie licked her lips, sweat trickling down her neck.
“I can…and I will. He has humiliated me among my peers, he has ruined my business. I will have my revenge.” His voice strengthened on revenge. He yanked the rope around her wrists up and over the horse’s head, tying it so she would be forced to walk alongside the horse. “He took something from me. No one steals from Mendez. No one.”
“I understand why that would upset you. I have recently had something stolen from me. It is a disturbing sensation. Perhaps I could help you get the stolen item back.”
“I’ll get her myself. Smith messed up with you but that can be fixed. Now I know where she is, I’ll be back.” He shoved her. “Vamanos.”
They stepped out of the stall and into the stable aisle. Mendez swayed heavily and fell to the ground, jerking the rope and pulling Gracie forward. A slight groan and cloud of dirt accompanied his fall. Wrists burning, she tugged her hands free and, kneeling down, used the rope to tie his arms behind his back. He didn’t move and for a moment she worried he might be dead.
She prodded him with her foot. He moaned, and she sighed with relief. The man might be wicked but she certainly did not wish death upon him now, not with the obvious state of his soul.
She stood and brushed the dirt off her hands, wincing at the stinging in her wrists.
“I guess I’m not needed here after all.”
Gracie whirled around as Trevor stepped out of the stall opposite her, holstering his revolver.
“Did you know Mendez was here?” An inane question, but her relief was so acute she could hardly think.
“I should have.” His eyelids flickered down to Mendez’s prone form. “Stable the horse while I take care of him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just stable the horse.”
“He’s sick. He needs to be taken to the house and cared for, probably by me since I have already been exposed to his influenza.”
“You’re not going near him. Now go to the house.” Something in his tone alerted Gracie to his intentions. Her hands trembled and she pressed them against her sides, fighting the nausea trying to overtake her.
“I am not going if you plan to kill this man. His soul is in need of healing. Please, Trevor.” She hated the groveling tone of her voice but could not help it. Even if Mendez was more evil than Julia and even if the insane gleam in his eyes scared the wits out of her, she still felt responsible to do what she could to help him. “If we nurse him back to health then at least he can stand and face the law.”
Trevor stepped closer. “I’ll take care of him, Gracie. He’s not fit to live.”
“Maybe he isn’t,” she admitted, “but he needs to live because once he dies there’s no other chance for him.”
“You think he deserves forgiveness?”
“No. Forgiveness by definition is undeserved.” Her gaze slid down to the man at her feet. “Even killers can be forgiven by God. I only ask that we give him a chance.”
A strange look crossed Trevor’s face. A grimace of sorts. “Go to the house. I won’t kill him.”
“Thank you, but I still feel you should keep as far away as possible. I could not bear it if you died from this influenza.”
“That won’t happen,” he said, eyes locked on her.
He bent and hoisted Mendez across his shoulders. “Let’s go, Gracie, before your mother discovers you’re missing again and her hair turns gray.”
She followed Trevor to the house, carefully dodging her mother at the door.
Praying the influenza would not spread to anyone else in the house, she watched as Trevor settled Mendez on a makeshift cot in Uncle Lou’s office. The man’s skin was pasty and the stench of death hovered around the unmoving body. James allowed no one into the room but himself, Trevor and Gracie, much to Mother’s displeasure.
Gracie washed Mendez’s fevered brow with a cool cloth while James examined him. He straightened from where he’d been leaning over the prone figure. “He doesn’t have influenza.”
“How do you know? Looks like it to me.”
“I’ve got my ways, Trevor. He’s been poisoned and I’d say that’s what killed off the rest of them outlaws.” James scratched his whiskers thoughtfully. “Poison’s usually a woman’s method. I gotta think Julia might have something to do with this.”
Gracie looked up, surprised. “Why Julia?”
“Some sort of twisted penance to make up for what she did to Mary? Maybe to stop Mendez in his tracks. Who knows?” Trevor leaned forward. “Look at the skin.”
She glanced at Mendez and saw that indeed, his skin was turning a bluish color.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“Based on the cyanosis and respiratory distress, ricin poisoning,” James said.
“Is it contagious?” She scooted away from Mendez.
James took out his stethoscope and listened to Mendez’s chest. “No. Lungs are full of fluid. He’s not got much longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if Julia poisoned their water as well as the air. You saw waste in the cave?”
“Yes, but after my abductor dropped to the ground outside in a faint, I only stayed long enough to grab some coats.” Briefly she closed her eyes to block the image of her kidnapper. She’d rescued him for nothing. Throat moving, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “How could Julia poison them so easily? What’s ricin?”
“Castor beans,” Trevor said. “It’s easy to make and there’s no cure. She kept a jar in her bedroom and since she’s done business with him and his men before, he probably thought she was coming for a friendly little visit.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
His hands dropped to Gracie’s shoulders and she resisted the urge to turn into him and hold on forever. Instead her gaze lingered on Mendez. “You said it’s not contagious?”
“No, as long as you didn’t inhale anything. She probably did this before hopping the train. If everyone is dead, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” James tucked the stethoscope into his pocket. “I’m going to get some coffee. Best remove your hands, Trevor, before her parents come in.”
The warmth on Gracie’s shoulders left as Trevor stepped away from her.
“I want to stay in here, James, until he passes. Is there nothing I can do?”
�
�He’s too close to dead.” Just as James spoke, Mendez shuddered and then lay still. “Guess he’s gone now. I’ll be back.” James let himself out as Gracie’s breath sucked in.
“He’s gone? Dead?” Her voice sounded shrill in the quiet room. Trevor moved behind her and touched her arm.
“C’mon, Gracie. There’s nothing more we can do now.”
She followed him out, a little dizzy. “I’ve never seen death so close before. It’s unnerving.”
“It can be worse. Much more ugly than that.”
“Have you seen many deaths?” She reached for his arm and he stopped in the hallway. She heard murmuring in the sitting room and knew at any moment someone would come out and see them together, but she couldn’t look away. She studied Trevor’s face, memorizing the details so that when her parents took her from this place perhaps his image would keep her heart from breaking.
“I have seen things you can’t imagine,” he answered grimly. “I’ve done things that would shock you and yet, I’m beginning to believe those things are not enough to keep me from God.” The hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I want you to know that sometime between yesterday and today I realized I want to believe what the Bible says about Jesus dying for my sins. About His loving me. I want to be a Christian, Gracie.”
Gracie’s chest tightened and she blinked tears from her eyes. “I am so glad for you. Have you told Mary?”
“I will.”
Their gazes locked and she could hardly breathe. How would she ever leave him?
His eyes glinted, knowing. “Your parents want to head out tomorrow. I guess you heard Hugh accusing me of taking your jewels.”
Indignation shot through her. “A preposterous accusation. I am quite positive he took them. He is out for my money, that’s the only reason he wants to marry me. Don’t worry, Trevor.” She inclined her head and whispered, “I’ll find evidence he took those jewels and planted them at your house.” She straightened. “Why was he there in the first place?”
Love on the Range Page 23