Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “Done.”

  “You did it!” Betsy said. I heard rustling behind me. “My hands hurt.”

  “I’ll bet they do. Can you undo mine now, please?” Urgency strained my voice. The process had taken far longer than I’d hoped, and now that I could see the door, I expected it to burst open any moment with Tanner and Skinny Guy. All this would be for nothing.

  I felt her fingers go to work. “Too tight. I can’t.”

  Of course. Her little fingers weren’t as strong as mine. I scanned the empty room, looking for some kind of tool. But it was just us, four walls, and a concrete floor. I frowned, concentrating as I took inventory, then I smiled. I did have something. Saved by my own vanity and how oblivious men are to all it takes to make a woman a goddess.

  “Reach up into my hair and pull out one of my bobby pins. You can slide one into the knot to help you loosen it.”

  “Bobby pins?”

  “Hair pins. Pins in my hair.”

  Small hands picked through my hair. Even in these circumstances, it was a lovely feeling. I felt a pin pull free.

  “Got it.”

  “Great. See if you can stick the whole thing between the edges of the top knot.”

  She made little grunts and I felt pressure, this way and that. “I did it! I got it!”

  “Good girl. Okay, wiggle it and move it around to make the knot looser. You can keep doing it until it’s big enough to pull open.”

  More pressure. I listened for footsteps outside our door, my mouth dry as wood shavings. The pressure on my wrists changed and I felt grating as one strand of twine slid its way out of the first knot.

  “I do it again.”

  “You’re awesome. Thank you.” The tension of listening was making it hard to breath. Faster, I prayed. Faster.

  “One more.”

  Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing Betsy and me together. Help me to help her. Amen.

  The rough twine abraded my wrist as Betsy pulled it off altogether.

  “You did it! Now I’m going to have to give you a big hug.”

  I wheeled around and saw for the first time the girl I’d been working with and talking to. Pink Barbie pj’s, big black eyes, and long black hair. One of the three little girls I had watched giggle on a couch in Amarillo, the one who had shown me her favorite doll, a child whose picture Victoria sent me and I kept on my phone. Valentina Perez, who it seemed was calling herself Betsy. My heart roared.

  She threw her arms around me. “You the lady who knows my mommy, right?”

  There was no time for questions now. I hugged her tightly for a brief second, my emotions raw and swollen, then let her go. “I am, and I’ve been looking for you. I’m so glad to see you! Now, we need to hurry, so let’s untie our own feet.”

  I grabbed one of my bobby pins to help me with the knots this time, because, as I had suspected, my thumb was pulp. I made fast work of them.

  Valentina aka Betsy had made good progress on her own knots.

  “Want me to finish that?”

  She nodded and I quickly freed her legs.

  “Okay, now, stay close behind me, and don’t make a sound.”

  I palmed the bobby pins and dropped them in my skirt pocket for later, just in case. We stood and faced the door. I held my breath as I tried the handle. Locked. Time for the bobby pin after all? I eyed the door handle but there was no lock in it. I looked closely at the jamb and just made out the dark presence of a thrown deadbolt, from the other side. No bobby pin was going to solve this problem. I stood staring, thinking, despairing, when the lock snapped back and the handle turned. I clapped one hand over my mouth to stifle my scream and threw the other in front of Betsy as the door opened slowly toward us.

  ***

  A ghostly figure stood in the doorway, light behind it, a finger across its lips. Male or female, I couldn’t tell, but it was slight and tall for a woman or short for a man, with some kind of enormous thing on its head. Its body was clad in a white mesh suit, with a black skirt nearly to the top of knee-high buckskin moccasins. Its face was ghostly white with an animal hide mask over the nose. The drawing, I realized. It was like the figure from Valentina’s—or Betsy’s—crayon drawing in the apartment back in Amarillo.

  Behind me, Betsy clung to my skirt, her head against my hip. My arm slipped around her shoulders like I’d been protecting her all her life.

  “It’s okay,” Betsy said. She stepped around me. “She’s my friend.”

  The figure nodded. It pointed down the hall and whispered in a low voice, “Go, quickly, out and left to the stable. There’s a horse ready for you there.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “My backpack?” Betsy asked.

  “Do you know where it is?”

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll look for it later. Now, we have to go.”

  Betsy ran to the figure and hugged it hard. “Bye, friend.”

  I snatched her hand before she’d removed her arms from the apparition. “Let’s run.”

  But as I stood close to the figure, I suddenly realized I knew her, and as our eyes met she knew it, too. Stella. Paul’s daughter. I didn’t have time to analyze the hows and whys. I nodded at her, and we ran.

  I pulled Betsy behind me so hard that she was practically aloft. I tried to run silently in my high-heeled cowboy boots on the concrete floor, but they clomped alarmingly. I fought through the cobwebs in my brain, trying to shake off the lethargy of Tanner’s drug. It felt like I’d spent days as a captive in that room, but I realized only hours had passed. Lights still twinkled from the back patio of Paul’s house, and party sounds floated toward us .We raced through the dark out of the office building and to our left.

  “Hey! Stop right there!” a deep male voice yelled.

  It sounded like Tanner, but I wasn’t turning around to verify. My boots were so loud I couldn’t hear his steps, but he had to be closing in on us. I couldn’t go faster than Betsy was able. Suddenly, the stable loomed ahead, close, its opening a black cutout in green metal sides. We burst in, and a startled nicker to my right stopped me short. A saddled horse. I pulled the reins from a hitching post and jumped on. I held out my hand to Betsy.

  “I’m scared,” she cried.

  “I’ve got you,” I said. “I promise.”

  She grasped my hand and I pulled her up with strength I didn’t know I had. The horse snorted and hopped as Betsy’s small body landed belly first across the saddle horn in front of me. She cried out, and I pulled her upright and slung her leg across the horse. A figure grew larger in front of the backlights from the ranch house. I would have to rush him with the horse, but I knew he’d go for help after we got away. I scanned the barn frantically for a club or a whip or, or, or . . . but all I saw was a lasso hanging from a peg on the wall. Well, it would have to do. I wheeled the horse, grabbed the rope, wrapped its end around the saddle horn feverishly, whacking poor Betsy over and over in the process, but the brave little girl didn’t make a sound. I gave the horse a sharp kick.

  “Yah!”

  The horse bolted from the barn, straight at Tanner. I held onto the reins and Betsy with my left arm and swung a loop around and around over my head with my right. I guided the horse with knee pressure and my body weight as I leaned to the left, and Tanner scrambled away from us. The horse responded, moving in unison with me. I could thank God later for a well-trained quarter horse, but for now we were nearly upon Tanner. He ducked, reaching for his hip.

  Gun.

  I let my loop fly, the hiss of rope gliding off my fingers. In slow motion, it sailed through the dark and over the unsuspecting Tanner. I gave it a jerk as it settled over him, and wrapped the lasso around the saddle horn.

  “Back, back,” I ordered, throwing my weight against the back of the saddle, pulling firmly with the reins.

  The horse all but sat on its rump as it stopped, then began backing quickly. Tanner hit the dirt, his arms immobilized. He grunted, loudly, then cussed me
at the top of his lungs as the horse dragged him through the dust and gravel.

  “Betsy, sit here, and hold on to this horn. I have to tie him up so he won’t follow us.”

  I could see the huge round whites of her eyes. She nodded, speechless. I ripped the tie-down rope from where it was fastened. Later, I’d have to thank God for well-outfitted tack. I ran to Tanner, who was still slowly being dragged by my new favorite horse.

  “You bitch,” he said.

  I lashed his feet together, then dragged them up behind his rump and caught his hands in the same tie-down, rendering him helpless. When I’d finished, I jumped up and threw both hands in the air automatically, to signal I was done, but there was no official dropping the flag and timing my efforts, and this was no rodeo. I pulled my arms down and pretended I hadn’t just done that.

  I looked down at Tanner. “Looks like you’re the bitch to me.”

  I searched the ground behind him for the gun I’d seen him draw. I caught a glint of light ten yards back. I trotted out and grabbed the six-shot pistol. 357 Magnum. I checked that the safety was on and then stuck it in the tight waistband of my skirt. I took the horse by the bridle and guided him as he dragged Tanner into the barn. That was better, but still, the man could squeal for help. I needed something to use to gag him. I took off a boot and hooked two fingers through the tear in the knee of my tights and ripped until I had the whole lower section off. I jammed my foot back into the boot then leaned over and pinched Tanner’s nose shut until he had to open his mouth to breathe, and I shoved my stocking in, moving fast to avoid his teeth. Then I unfastened the lasso from the saddle horn, tied it to a post, and pulled the barn door shut as I led the horse out with Betsy astride him.

  I remounted behind Betsy and gave her a squeeze. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was getting out of there that presented the next problem. I couldn’t go barging in on Paul’s house party, since I no longer had any idea who was friend or foe. Except for Judith, who had long since left, and Jack, who might not be there anymore, either. I didn’t have my phone so I couldn’t call them. A really hideous possibility occurred to me: Paul knew about the Collin fiasco last night. Who was I kidding? He probably knew about this morning, too. All Paul had to do was tell Jack I’d left with Collin. When I didn’t show up at Wrong Turn Ranch, Jack wouldn’t worry about me. He’d make the natural assumption. Spit.

  Well, I knew the way home, and I had a good horse and a gun that I wasn’t afraid to use, so I’d just ride. The only problem with this plan was that when Tanner was discovered where I’d left him hog-tied and gagged, he’d tell them I’d fled via horseback, and they wouldn’t have any trouble guessing which way I’d gone. Okay, so that meant I’d have to move quickly, and maybe even be a little bit sneakily.

  I leaned down toward Betsy’s ear and whispered, “You ready to go real fast?”

  Betsy nodded, her silky hair rubbing under my chin. “What’s the horse’s name?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you give him a name?”

  Again the silky caress of her nod. “Thunder.”

  “Yah, Thunder,” I shouted into the night as I smacked him lightly on his shoulder with the reins.

  He responded by leaping forward in a quarter-mile sprint that would have earned Jarhead’s approval, then settled into a ground-eating gallop. I steered us wide of the house, down the dark side of the entrance, the only way I knew to get off of Paul’s land.

  True to his name, our mount’s hooves thundered on the ground beside the road. I caught sight of the highway ahead, but as we neared it, headlights swept across the pasture in front of us to our left. It was a vehicle, behind us, and it would catch us in its beams when the curves of the road aligned in its favor. There was nowhere to hide.

  “Yah, Thunder, yah.”

  “Yah, Thunder,” Betsy echoed.

  The horse ran faster, panting but eager and fleet. The pavement ahead would be slick and treacherous under his hooves. I had to pull him up and let him trot across, but not too soon. I tried to judge the distance in the dark as the headlights swept across our backs and to our right. If they’d seen us, we were goners no matter what I did. We had almost reached the highway, and I pulled Thunder up short. He whinnied, but obeyed, and I urged him into a trot to cross the road at an angle away from Jack’s place, trying to get far enough east that a vehicle turning toward Wrong Turn Ranch wouldn’t see us. When we reached the grass on the other side of the highway, I guided Thunder to the right and gave him his head. He galloped easily. I turned back to look at the vehicle exiting Paul’s ranch. Thunder’s tail flew high behind him. Turn left, I willed the car. Turn left.

  And it did. As soon as its taillights disappeared, I slowed Thunder and wheeled him back around.

  “Where we go?” Betsy asked.

  “To my friend Jack’s house.”

  “How far?”

  “A little far. We’re looking for a gate so we can turn off this road onto his ranch. Can you help me look for a place on the fence where two posts are close together?”

  She pointed ahead of us. “There?”

  Her young eyes were far better in the dark than mine, and I strained to see two posts close together. I found them; she was right.

  “Yes, good job. You hold onto the saddle horn and stay on Thunder while I open the gate.”

  Again, we were exposed to any vehicles leaving Paul’s ranch. I hopped down and pulled on the tight wire with all my might. My arms shook, but I was able to get it just clear enough that I could slip the top loop off and pull the post out of the bottom loop. I threw the gate aside and led Betsy and Thunder through. I hated to take the time to close the gate behind us but, if I left it open, it would be an easy clue for anyone following us.

  I pushed us faster again now, following the eastern fence line to the north, straight away from Paul’s ranch and the highway traffic. I kept a hand on the saddle horn with Betsy’s, fearful that Thunder would lodge his hoof in a prairie dog hole in the dark, but he ran on at a three-quarters pace without faltering.

  Betsy shouted, “Fence.”

  Again, she was right. The quarter moon gave her just enough light to be our eyes. Another thing to be thankful for, I noted. We cut left along the fence and soon came upon a west-facing gate. I stopped, wavering. As much as I wanted to cut farther north, we could go west here, then north at our next opportunity. I wavered, then chose. West and north it would be. We hurried through and resumed our journey northward along the eastern fence. I slowed Thunder to a lope and his breathing settled with it. He nickered. His hooves drummed the ground rhythmically. We spooked some horses as we ran past their sleeping figures, and they jumped to their feet, snorts and whinnies following us. Betsy’s head began to sag against my arm until she slumped in a dead weight. With my adrenaline ebbing, drowsiness sank over me, too. It wasn’t so long ago I’d been unconscious and drugged. I shook my head vigorously. I had to stay alert.

  As I rode I started thinking through all I’d learned and what might lie ahead. Assuming Paul and his buddies were looking for me, they’d go to Jack’s. They could be there now, passing the mescal bottle around, waiting for me. That meant I needed to come from the direction opposite the entrance—north to south—and find a phone to call Jack from, to let him know what was up.

  I came upon a north-facing gate. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” I said to Betsy.

  She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the saddle horn. I opened the gate and let us through. We rode north again. I tried to think of where I could find a phone. I pictured the barn and fixed my mind’s eye on the closed door at the end of the stalls. It had a sign on it. Mickey Begay, Ranch Manager. A business office. It had to have a phone, or a fax, or a computer. Well, it didn’t have to. Everyone carried cell phones these days. But it might.

  Thunder must have sensed the ranch headquarters with all its stabled horses before I did because he tossed his head and sped up again. A few minutes later
, I saw the lights and the dark shadows of the Wrong Turn Ranch buildings on my left.

  I bobbed my head. “Heck yeah.”

  We’d managed to end up on the north side, in the dark and everything. I patted Thunder’s flank. He was sweaty and warm and magnificent. A final gate was just ahead— an iron one with a latch, which was far easier for me. I roused Betsy for the last time and told her our plan, then pointed Thunder toward the stock tank for some long overdue sips of water.

  Once we were through the gate, I held Thunder to a walk and we picked our way to the back entrance to the barn. I hopped down, and this time I set Betsy on the ground beside me. “Hold Thunder’s reins for me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  There were two doors: the big one to the center aisle between the stalls, and a small one into a room with a window. The one with the window was the office. I pulled at that door, but it didn’t budge. Locked. I had tools though: bobby pins and a gun. The gun was too loud and too much tool for the job, so I pulled out the bobby pin and set to work. The lock didn’t yield.

  I put the bobby pin away. Guns were good for more than shooting bullets. I pulled it from my waistband and held it by its barrel. I gave the windowpane nearest the door a thwack with the butt of the handle. The glass emitted a high-pitched crack as it splintered inward. I stuck my hand through and tried to reach the doorknob. It was too far away, and the opening was too small for me to crawl through.

  But I had one more tool at my disposal. A slim little girl. “Betsy, I’m going to help you crawl through that window, okay? When you get inside, you need to unlock the door. But don’t turn on the light.”

  She nodded, her eyes silver dollars.

  I used the gun handle to whack out the rest of the glass, the bits clinging to the window frame. Betsy gave me Thunder’s reins, and I dropped them, securing them under my boot. I picked her up and boosted her through the window, shaking with strain as I held her in the center, away from any shards I might have missed.