“I’m sorry ’bout what happened to that old man and your sister.”
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. “When did you see Leah?”
“We went huntin’ you at the Double Diamond. Boyd started askin’ questions, but your ma wasn’t givin’ him any answers. Then that old man, Corwin Marshall, turned up in the chicken coop. He wouldn’t talk, either. Boyd got a little rough, I guess.”
“You guess?” Ethan interrupted curtly. “Where does Leah come into this story.”
“Well, Boyd was threatenin’ your ma, and Leah come outta nowhere and jumped on Boyd’s back and started scratchin’ him like a she-cat. Can’t blame a man for defendin’ hisself.”
Ethan stiffened. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Boyd hurt Leah?”
Careless realized suddenly that he was looking death in the face. He swallowed hard. “He let her go ’fore it come to that.”
Ethan was on his way out the back door when he stopped abruptly and said, “Have you seen Merielle Trahern today?”
“Yeah. She was with Frank, both her and Miz Kendrick, when the lynch—uh, when the posse got to the Tumblin’ Tbrandin’ fire. That’s where Miz Hawk told Boyd we’d find you. Course, we didn’t. Boyd sent us all back here and stayed to visit with ’em.”
Ethan was gone before Careless could finish his sentence. From what Trahern had said, Merielle was in mortal danger. He was already spurring his horse before he acknowledged his fears for Patch. If Merielle had told Patch about Boyd—and why wouldn’t she?—Patch’s life was in just as much peril. Ethan’s chest squeezed tight, and he fought to draw breath.
All the questions in his mind concerning how he felt about Patch Kendrick were answered in the moment Ethan realized he might lose her forever. Life without her was unthinkable. He wanted a chance to explore all the different facets of her personality—the lady and the hoyden. He wanted the chance to love her in all the ways he never had.
Ethan knew that fear made a man too careful. He needed every advantage he could find if he was to win against a villain as ruthless as the one he chased. He swallowed back his terror for Patch as he raced toward a showdown with Boyd Stuckey.
Patch was searching desperately in her mind for a way to disarm and capture Boyd without someone getting shot. She could see it wouldn’t take much provocation for Frank to draw his gun, but the danger to herself and Merielle constrained Frank from acting. The two women were bound to get caught in the crossfire if there was a gunfight.
“I’m going to head on back to town,” Boyd said. “Why don’t I take these two ladies off your hands so you can get back to work?”
Patch watched Frank’s gray eyes darken like storm clouds. Before he could speak and ruin everything, she said, “Frank’s going to take Merielle home. But I’d be grateful for the escort.”
“It’s no trouble to take both women,” Boyd assured Frank.
Frank tightened the protective arm he had around Merielle. “I’ll take care of Merielle.”
Again, Patch was afraid Frank would say too much and provoke the gunfight she was trying so desperately to avoid. She took the few steps that separated her from Boyd and linked her arm through his. Just let him try to get the gun out of his holster now! she thought.
Boyd realized that he had lost whatever chance he might have had of going off alone with both women. At least he had Patricia. He could take care of Frank and Merielle while they were on their way home.
Patch watched Frank open his mouth to object to her going off alone and hurriedly said, “Don’t worry about me.” The rest of what she had to say, she spoke with her eyes as she met Frank’s worried gaze. Find Ethan fast! Come and get me, but be careful!
Patch looked over her shoulder once as she rode away with Boyd. Frank and Merielle were already headed for their horses.
Boyd remained broodingly silent until they were well away from the Tumbling Tampfire. Then he said, “Ethan won’t get to you in time.”
Patch jerked her head around to stare at Boyd. “What did you say?”
Boyd’s lip curled up. It was his charming smile, but with a cruel twist. “I said Ethan won’t be in time to save you.”
“Save me from what?”
“Don’t play stupid with me,” Boyd said curtly. “I think you understand very well what’s going on here.”
“Why don’t you spell it out for me? Just so there’s no misunderstanding.”
Boyd chose actions, rather than words, to make his point. Before she realized what he had in mind, Boyd shoved her out of the saddle. She hit the ground hard and was still trying to catch her breath when he arrived beside her with a short piece of rawhide, which he used to tie her hands in front of her. Then he yanked her to her feet.
When she tried kicking him, he swept a boot under the leg she was standing on, and she found herself flat on the ground again. He grabbed her by her hair, which had fallen free, and pulled her painfully to her feet.
“Try that again, and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” he said in a nasty voice.
“Ethan will kill you!”
“Not before I have a chance to enjoy your charms.” Boyd looked her up and down with lust in his eyes. He dug his hands into her buttocks hard enough to bruise her. “I like you in pants, Patricia. I can see what I’m getting.”
Patch ignored him.
He roughly fondled her breast through her blouse and grinned as he pinched her nipple.
Patch spat in his face.
Boyd slapped her hard. “Don’t play high and mighty with me! I’d be willing to bet Ethan’s been between your legs. You’re no lady, that’s for sure!”
“You’re not even human!” Patch retorted.
Boyd barely restrained himself from hitting her again. He wiped the spittle from his face with his sleeve. “Don’t make me angry, Patricia. I’ve discovered I have a bad temper. Sometimes it gets out of control and bad things happen.”
“Like Merielle’s rape!” Patch accused.
“Like Merielle’s rape,” Boyd confirmed.
Patch shivered. When Boyd was done with her, he would kill her and bury her where no one would ever find her. This was a time when she needed to use her wits instead of her fists. Especially since her fists happened to be tied up at the moment.
“All right, Boyd,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill me.”
Boyd smirked. “I might be tempted to keep you around for a while if you’re a lot nicer to me.”
“Oh, I will be,” Patch assured him.
“How about a little test.”
“What kind of test?” Patch asked warily.
“Give me one of those kisses you’ve been guarding so carefully.”
Patch swallowed back the gag that rose at the thought of kissing Boyd Stuckey. Better a kiss than a bullet. Given that choice, Patch figured she could suffer through it.
“All right,” she said. “Untie my hands first.” She held them out in front of her.
“Sure. Why not? I like a little spit and fire in a woman.”
Patch watched while Boyd untied her. Her hands were still numb as his mouth lowered toward her. Her body tensed, and her spine went rigid. She kept her mouth firmly shut.
Boyd wasn’t having that. He grabbed her cheeks with his hand, forced her mouth open, and thrust his tongue inside.
The skills Patch had learned fighting boys as a hoyden of twelve stood her in good stead now. She bit him at the same time as her clawed fingers scratched at his face and her knee came up hard between his legs. While Boyd was bent over bleating like a new-sheared sheep, Patch ran for her horse. The animal had been ground-tied, which meant the reins had been left trailing so the horse could graze, but wouldn’t go far.
Unfortunately, one of the dragging reins had caught between two rocks, and refused to come free. Her desperate tugs only seemed to lodge it more firmly. At last, she yanked it clear.
But it all took too much time. She managed to get a foot in the stirrup, reached for the horn, and
lifted her other leg halfway over the horse before she was hauled back out of the saddle.
Boyd’s temper had obviously gone a degree past hot. He was still bent over from the pain of her attack, and he was out for revenge.
“As long as I’m bent over, you might as well join me,” he snarled. He hit her in the stomach with his fist as hard as he could.
Patch fell to her knees and curled into a ball. He didn’t try to pick her up to hit her again, he just kicked her.
“That’s enough, Boyd.”
Boyd cursed the fact that Patch was so doubled over with pain that she couldn’t stand on her own. She would be more of a liability to him as dead weight than useful as a shield. He turned to face Ethan with nothing more separating them than twenty feet of Texas grass.
Ethan had his Colt in his hand. It was aimed at Boyd’s heart.
“Hello, Ethan. You’re a little early. I’m not finished with her yet.”
“You’re finished, Boyd. I’d say you’ve done quite enough damage for one lifetime. Get rid of your gun. Do it nice and slow. I won’t need much provocation to shoot you like the rabid dog you are.”
Boyd slowly pulled his gun out of the holster.
“Throw it as far as you can,” Ethan instructed.
Boyd hesitated an instant, as though he was deciding whether to take a chance on using his gun.
“Don’t try it,” Ethan said. “You’d be dead before you hit the ground.”
The gun went flying in a shiny arc as sunshine reflected off blue metal. It soared high but didn’t go far, maybe fifteen feet, and slid to rest under a mesquite bush. Boyd noted where it landed.
“Patch, are you all right?” Ethan asked.
“I’m not going to be dancing a jig anytime soon,” she gasped.
Ethan smiled briefly. “Move away from Boyd,” he instructed.
Patch crawled painfully away from Boyd a few feet, toward where his gun had landed, until she was out of the line of fire.
Boyd lifted a hand and Ethan said, “I wouldn’t move a hair, if I were you.”
“We’re best friends, Ethan. Surely you’re not going to kill me over one slightly used woman.”
Ethan bit back a retort. If he had learned one thing in all the years he had been on the run, it was that the man who stayed in control of his emotions was the man who survived. “It isn’t just Patch you have to account for, Boyd.”
Ethan paused and waited for Boyd to start confessing his sins and pleading for mercy. He should have known better. Boyd hadn’t survived all these years by worrying about the wrongs he had done. Ethan looked right at Boyd and said, “Trahern is alive.”
Ethan marveled at how little Boyd’s expression changed. His mouth flattened slightly and his eyes narrowed, but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle.
“You know, then,” Boyd said.
“About the rape, yes. About how you blackmailed the Felbers, too.”
That surprised a raised brow out of Boyd. “You know about that?”
“Mrs. Felber confessed everything, including the fact Chester was responsible for raping Merielle. Only that turned out not to be the truth. Trahern told me how Merielle remembered everything. You raped her, Boyd. Why?”
Boyd glanced at the gun, fifteen feet away, then focused his gaze on Ethan. “It just happened.”
“Why accuse Chester?”
“I hated Horace Felber. It was a way to make him suffer.”
“And the blackmail?”
“He offered me the money before I asked for it.”
“You could have turned him down.”
Boyd’s lips curled downward. “Could I? He offered me what amounted to a fortune. More money than I could make in ten years of riding herd. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut. You know what my life was like. I saw a chance for something better.”
“What about me?”
“How could I know you would be accused?” Boyd said. “I was damn sorry about that, Ethan.”
“Not sorry enough to take the blame yourself!”
“You have to understand, Ethan. With that money from Horace, I had a chance for a new life,” Boyd explained. “I could have everything you had.”
“Including my parents!” Ethan snarled. “When I think how I asked you to take care of them—I get sick to my stomach, Boyd. Were you a good son? As good as I was?”
“Better,” Boyd said sharply. “I appreciated them more, because I knew what it was like to do without.”
“Then why did you poison them?”
Boyd cocked his head sideways. “How did you know I did that?”
“I didn’t. Until now.”
Boyd shook his head in disgust at how he had been tricked.
“Why?”
Boyd tried to look at Ethan, but found his stare too intense for comfort. His gaze dropped to his feet. He kicked at a tuft of grass with his boot. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Your father caught me rustling cattle. He was going to turn me over to the law.”
Ethan frowned. “But Pa didn’t die right away. It took a while for the poison to kill him. So why weren’t you arrested?”
“Oh, I promised I’d pay him back the money I got for the cattle and that I wouldn’t do it again, and he gave me a second chance.”
“Then why did you have to kill him?” Ethan asked in an agonized voice.
Boyd looked up at Ethan, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I found out the railroad was coming through Double Diamond land. I knew he wouldn’t sell to me. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “there was always the chance he would change his mind.”
“Dear God.” Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest. His ears buzzed. His eyes glazed, and he blinked to clear them. His gunhand wavered, and he tightened his grip, forcing himself to keep his finger away from the trigger.
“And my mother?” he said in a hoarse voice. “What good thing did she do for you that you figured she ought to die?”
“I wanted the Double Diamond,” Boyd said bluntly. “I always have. I figured if she were dead, you’d have no reason to stay in Oakville, and you’d sell the ranch to me.” He shrugged. “I guess I miscalculated the dose.”
“Too damn bad for you,” Ethan said bitterly. “What about Chester? Did you shoot him, or have him shot?”
“One less person to tell tales if I did the job myself.”
“I don’t understand you, Boyd. What makes a person like you tick?”
“You only had to walk a mile in my shoes,” Boyd retorted. “All my life I had nothing! I was nothing! Just poor white trash, son of a drunken sot, with nothing but the shirt on my back to call my own. Nobody gave a damn what happened to me!”
“I cared! You weren’t nothing to me!” Ethan cried. “You were my friend, the brother I never had. I loved you!”
Boyd smiled sadly. “I never knew.”
Ethan stood stunned. “How could you not?”
“Maybe I did,” Boyd conceded. “I guess it just wasn’t enough to fill up the hole inside me.”
“Did all that blood money make you feel like something?” Ethan demanded.
“It gave me power,” Boyd said. “It made people listen to me. It bought me respect and respectability. I’m someone, something, in Oakville.”
“Were something,” Ethan corrected. “Things will change a bit once the truth is known.”
Boyd smiled grimly. “I’ll be nothing again? I don’t think I could stand that, Ethan. I’d rather die.”
“That can be arranged.”
“If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with.”
“A bullet in the heart is too quick and easy a death for you, Boyd.” Ethan holstered his gun and began unbuckling his gunbelt. “I figure it’s time we settled things between us once and for all.”
Boyd was smiling as he took off his Stetson and hooked it on his saddle horn. “A fair fight?”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word fair,” Ethan said. “Just a fight. To the finish.” On the last wor
d, Ethan dropped his gunbelt on the ground and walked—long step, halting step—toward Boyd.
When Ethan was only a few steps away from him, Boyd ran for the mesquite bush where his gun had landed. He had the advantage because Ethan was prevented by his awkward gait from getting back to his gunbelt before Boyd would get to his gun.
But Boyd hadn’t reckoned on Patch, who stuck her foot out and tripped him.
Or on Ethan, who knew his limitations, and launched himself at Boyd rather than trying to reach his gun.
The two men landed in a heap and rolled several times before they came to a breathtaking stop.
That was when Patch realized Boyd had a knife.
“Ethan, look out! He’s got a knife!”
Patch’s warning came barely in time for Ethan to keep Boyd from cutting his throat, and the two men went rolling over and over in the dust. The underhanded attack made Ethan furious. It was further proof that the man who had been his best friend was every bit as deceitful and treacherous as his actions in the past had proved him to be.
“You fight dirty, Boyd,” Ethan said through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep the knife from his throat.
“You didn’t ask for a fair fight,” Boyd replied through equally clenched jaws.
It was a contest between two men who, physically, were evenly matched. But even though Boyd was a bad man, he had spent his life in a much more civilized world than the one Ethan had inhabited. Outlaws and derelicts, killers and thieves had taught Ethan a few tricks that Boyd had never learned.
Ethan delivered a quick punch to the throat that, if it had been harder, would have killed Boyd. As it was, Boyd dropped the knife and grabbed his throat, trying to catch his breath through his bruised windpipe. Ethan recovered the knife and held the tip of it under Boyd’s car.
“I ought to slit your throat.”
“Go ahead,” Boyd taunted. “Murder me. And live with it the rest of your life.”
Ethan smiled wolfishly. “When did you get so good at manipulating people?”
“It’s a talent I’ve always had,” Boyd said. “You were just too gullible to see it.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right about how I’d feel later if I killed a defenseless man. Even if you do deserve to die.” Ethan stood and left Boyd on the ground still holding his throat. He threw the knife so the point landed in the bark of a mesquite, then gave Boyd his full attention. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t feel a damn bit guilty about beating the hell out of you before I turn you over to the sheriff.”
Outlaw’s Bride Page 28