She had killed a man. Shot him, not once, but four times. Worst of all was the knowledge that she would do it again.
What kind of a person was she? She had always abhorred violence of any kind, had been revolted by bloodshed, and sickened by cruelty. And now she had killed a man. Why wasn’t she sorry?
She let out a long sigh, wondering at her lack of emotion. She felt nothing. Not sadness, not grief, not sorrow. It was as if all her feelings had died with Manuel Ramos.
Time passed ever so slowly. The light filtering into her cell gradually grew bright as the sun climbed in the sky, and she wondered if she’d ever walk in the sunlight again.
Shortly after noon, a man brought her a large bowl of vegetable soup, two slices of buttered bread, and a cup of hot black coffee, but she couldn’t eat. The food tasted like ashes in her mouth.
Lying down on the cot, she stared at the narrow slit of sky visible through the opening in the wall. She had killed a man. People were hanged for murder. But surely they would not hang her, not now, not when she carried a new life. Surely the law would be merciful and withhold sentence until her child was born. Rafe’s child.
Rafe. She felt the tears well in her eyes, felt the ache in her throat, but the overwhelming numbness that overpowered her kept her tears at bay.
Poor Rafe. He would never know what had become of her. Ramos had erased their tracks so that no one could follow them. She placed her hands over her stomach. Poor little baby. Perhaps it would never know life at all, and if it did, it would never know its mother. She was hanged, people would say, hanged for killing a man, and her child would be ashamed.
Exhaustion spun a web around her and as she drifted to sleep, she wished that she had killed Abner Wylie, too. After all, they could only hang her once.
It was dusk when Rafe rode into Greenwater Junction. He left his lathered bay stallion at the livery barn with orders to rub the animal down and give it a generous helping of hay and grain. And then he walked slowly down the street, his eyes searching for some sign of Caty or Wylie or a dark-haired man with an eye patch.
Greenwater Junction was a small town, one that had little to offer. There was the livery barn, a small hotel, a smaller restaurant, and a mercantile store. No post office. No sheriff’s office. No telegraph office.
The hotel seemed his best bet and he went their first. A balding, middle-aged man sat behind the front desk, reading a mail-order catalog. He glanced up as Rafe entered the room.
“Help you, Mister?”
“I’m looking for a woman.”
“Sorry, this is a hotel, not a brothel.”
“Not that kind of woman,” Rafe said.
“Don’t matter what kind you’re looking for. We don’t have any here. Not even a chambermaid.”
“I’m looking for my wife,” Rafe said irritably. “She might have stopped by here sometime last night or maybe this morning.”
“Blonde woman?” the desk clerk asked. “Pretty, with green eyes?”
“You’ve seen her?”
The man snorted. “I’ll say. She killed a man last night. Shot him four times.”
“Where is she now?”
“Behind the mercantile store. We got a place there where we keep prisoners.”
“You got a lawman in this town?”
“Wendell Monroe acts as town marshal.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone. He rode off to the county seat to get Judge Hastings. Won’t be back until tomorrow sometime.”
“I want to see my wife.”
The desk clerk lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “Afraid I can’t help you there.”
Rafe swore under his breath, then muttered, “Thanks for your help.” and left the hotel.
He quickly found the small stone building located about twenty yards behind the mercantile store. He felt his gut tighten at the thought of Caitlyn locked inside, like an animal in a cage.
“Caty?” He called her name when he reached the heavy oak door.
There was no answer from inside.
“Caty?” He called her name again, louder this time.
Caitlyn came awake at the sound of her name. Had she been dreaming? She glanced out the window and saw that night had fallen. And then she heard it again, Rafe’s voice calling her name. She slid out of bed and walked toward the door. “Rafe?”
“It’s me. Are you all right, honey?”
“Yes.”
He placed his hands on the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.
“Rafe? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. What happened, Caty?”
“I killed a man. Heaven help me, Rafe, I killed a man.”
“Take it easy, honey. Everything will be all right, don’t worry, I’ll—” He broke off as he heard footsteps behind him.
Turning, he saw a huge man coming toward him, a tray balanced on one meaty hand, a gun in the other.
“Who the hell are you?” the giant demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“My name’s Gallegher,” Rafe replied warily, “and I’m talking to my wife.”
“Your wife!” Lem Moody exclaimed. “Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t know she was married.”
“Who are you?” Rafe asked, his gaze fixed on the gun in the big man’s hand.
“I’m the blacksmith, Lem Moody. Monroe left me in charge of the prisoner while he’s gone.”
“Can I see her?”
Moody’s thick black brows bunched together. “I don’t know.”
“Please.”
Moody pursed his lips. It was obvious the half-breed wasn’t used to begging. “Take off that gunbelt and knife and I’ll let you in,” he decided. “How long do you want to stay?”
“As long as she does.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“She’s pregnant,” Rafe said. “I don’t want her to be alone.”
Moody’s expression changed from doubt to sympathy. “Okay. Shuck that iron.”
The huge man took a step back as Rafe removed his gunbelt and knife, then he thrust the tray into Rafe’s hands. “Don’t try nothing funny,” he warned. “I’m a good shot.”
Rafe nodded, and Moody stepped toward the door, the gun still aimed at Rafe as he put the key in the lock. For a moment, Rafe was tempted to make a grab for the gun, but he fought the urge. There was no point in doing something rash until he found out just what Caitlyn had gotten into.
The door swung open and Rafe hesitated a moment before he stepped inside. He did not like small spaces and this place was hardly bigger than a closet. But then he saw Caitlyn. Placing the tray on the floor, he pulled her into his arms.
“Say, Moody,” he called over his shoulder, “how about bringing me something to eat? I’ll pay for it.”
“Okay.” The big man stared at Rafe and Caitlyn for a moment, then closed the door.
Rafe shuddered when he heard the key turn in the lock. The room was dark, dreary, and small. So damn small.
“Rafe?”
Her voice was filled with anguish and when he looked at her, he saw the despair in her eyes.
“It’s all right, Caty. I’m here.” He pulled her toward the bed and sat down, drawing her into his lap. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”
“I went fishing with Paulie. He walked around the lake and I was sitting there alone when Abner rode up. He said he’d give me the money to pay off the bank loan if I’d divorce you and marry him. I told him I didn’t want a divorce, and he got angry. He drew his gun and I thought he was going to kill me, but just then Paulie came back and Abner shot him.” Tears welled in her eyes. Poor Paulie, dead because of her.
“He’s alive, Caty,” Rafe said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He did not tell her that Paulie was badly wounded and probably dead by now. There would be time for that later, when she was out of this place. “Go on. What happened ne
xt?”
“Abner took me into town. He locked me in a hotel room, tied to the bed, and when he came back, there was a man with him.”
“Who?”
“Manuel Ramos. He asked Abner how much he wanted for me, and Abner said a thousand dollars. Ramos agreed and we left the hotel and came here to meet someone named Maldonado.”
“Juan Maldonado?”
“I think so.”
Rafe swore. “When were they going to meet?”
“Tonight. Across the river.”
“Did you kill Ramos, Caty?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice filled with regret. “He was…he was going to… He’d told Abner he wouldn’t touch me, but as soon as we were alone, he told me to get undressed. And then he hit me. I guess I grabbed his gun. I don’t remember. But I remember pulling the trigger. I shot him again and again and…”
Tears flooded her eyes and poured down her cheeks. “There was blood everywhere, and I just kept squeezing the trigger…”
“It’s all right, Caty,” Rafe said. His hands stroked her hair and back, his words calm and soothing even as he felt the anger building inside him. Wylie would die for this, and he would not die easy.
Caitlyn buried her face in Rafe’s neck. She had not asked how he found her, and it no longer mattered. He was there and that was enough. She snuggled against him, welcoming his strength, the warmth that turned away the room’s chill.
“Rafe, I’m so afraid.”
“Don’t be. I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I killed a man. They hang people for that.”
“It was self-defense, Caty.”
“No. I wasn’t fighting for my life, only to keep Ramos from touching me. Surely he didn’t deserve to die for that.”
“Like hell. If you hadn’t killed him, I would have.”
“What if a jury decides I’m guilty? They won’t hang me until after the baby is born, will they?”
She drew back so she could see his face, her eyes filled with torment. She didn’t want to die, but she had killed a man and she would pay the price the law demanded. But how could she leave this life and face the next knowing she had caused the death of her child, too?
“Dammit, Caty, you didn’t do anything wrong! You’ve got every right to defend your honor as much as your life. And if a jury doesn’t see it that way, then to hell with the law. I won’t let them hang you.”
She sobbed his name as she threw her arms around his neck and began to cry.
Rafe held her tight, knowing she needed to let it all out, all the fear, all the guilt and remorse. He had killed men, and no matter what the cause or provocation, it was not an easy thing to accept. The weight of taking a human life was a difficult cross to bear.
He murmured to her, telling her he loved her, caressing her hair, and then just holding her close. He had planned to stay with her until the judge returned, but not now. He would go when Moody brought his dinner. Wylie was meeting Maldonado tonight, and he intended to be there. Wylie had a lot of explaining to do, and he was going to do it in front of a judge.
Rafe lay beside Caitlyn on the narrow cot, his eyes resting on her face. She was asleep, her lashes like dark fans on her pale cheeks. He had insisted she eat something, and then he had held her until she fell asleep in his arms. His gaze moved to her belly and he placed a gentle hand there, his heart swelling with love for his unborn child, and for its mother.
The minutes passed slowly; the inside of the stone cell grew cold and Rafe drew a blanket over Caitlyn. How could he leave her there alone?
He heard the key in the lock and he slid out of bed.
“Gallegher?” It was Moody’s voice. “I’ve got your dinner. Stay away from the door. I’ve got a gun, so don’t try anything.”
“I hear you,” Rafe replied.
Slowly, the door swung open, and Rafe saw Lem Moody outlined in the darkness. “I’m coming out,” Rafe said.
Moody frowned. “Thought you were staying the night?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Rafe!” Caitlyn scrambled from the cot. “Don’t go!”
“I’ve got to, Caty. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Where are you going?”
He turned to face her, his eyes warning her to be silent. “I’ll see you as soon as I get back.”
She shook her head, her eyes begging him not to go. He was going after Abner. She knew it and dreaded it. Rafe was no match for Abner’s gun. “Please don’t go.”
“I have to, Caty.” He placed his hand behind her head and pressed his lips to hers. “I’ll be back.”
He gave her a final hug and then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rafe moved silently through the darkness, his bare feet making no sound as he picked his way along the riverbank. He had shed his boots, shirt, and hat—and civilization.
He was Stalking Wolf, the warrior, again. Armed with his Colt and a knife, he drifted noiselessly through the night, pausing every now and then to listen to the sounds of the land and sniff the wind.
Earlier, he had gone to the hotel and picked up Wylie’s tracks only to lose them at the outskirts of town where the ground was hard and strewn with gravel. There was always a chance he could pick them up again, but he was betting that Wylie would keep his appointment with Juan Maldonado rather than have Maldonado come looking for him when Ramos failed to show up.
He paused, his fingers tightening around the butt of the Colt, as he smelled smoke. Step by slow step, he followed the acrid smell.
He found Wylie and Maldonado hunkered around a thrifty fire a good two miles from Greenwater Junction.
“Where’s Ramos?” Maldonado was saying. “And the girl?”
“Where’s the money?” Abner countered.
“You’ll get it when I get the girl,” Maldonado retorted. “Not before.”
“But it’s here? You have it with you?”
Suspicion flared in Maldonado’s eyes. Too late, he reached for his gun.
The report from Abner’s Colt was sharp and loud, shattering the stillness of the night. There was a muffled thud as Maldonado’s body struck the dirt.
Abner was going through the dead man’s pockets when he felt the jab of a gun barrel in his back. He froze instantly.
“Stand up,” Rafe ordered curtly. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
With a nod,” Abner raised his hands over his head and stood up. He grimaced as his gun was plucked from his holster.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“Who are you?” Abner demanded. “What do you want?”
“Do it!”
Rafe lashed Wylie’s hands together, making sure the knots were good and tight. “Turn around.”
“You!” Abner exclaimed. “I should have known.”
“You know any prayers, Wylie?” Rafe asked. He slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants and withdrew his knife.
“What’re you gonna do?”
Rafe grinned wolfishly. “What do you think?” Rafe slid his thumb over the blade. It was razor sharp.
“Let me go,” Abner said, stifling his fear. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
“There’s six thousand dollars in my saddlebags, and another thousand in Maldonado’s pocket.”
“Where’d you get six grand?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“And if I refuse?”
Rafe’s expression didn’t change as he stepped forward and drew the edge of the blade across Wylie’s left cheek.
Abner yelped with pain, his eyes showing white as he felt the blood trickle down his face. “All right, all right!” he hollered as Rafe raised the knife again, “I stole her cattle and sold them. The money’s hers. Take it.”
“I aim to.” The blade sliced into Wylie’s other cheek. “What were you going to do with Caitlyn?”
Abner backed away
from the rage glittering in the half-breed’s eyes, certain the man would kill him if he told him the truth.
“Answer me,” Rafe said, and his voice was as cold and quiet as the grave.
“Nothing,” Abner said, his mouth dry with fear. “I…nothing.”
Rafe snorted. “The truth, Wylie, or I’ll slit your lying tongue.”
“I…” Abner swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the knife in the half-breed’s hand, and the blood, his blood, dripping from the end. “I was just trying to scare her into leaving you and marrying me.”
“The truth, dammit!”
“All right!” Abner shrieked. “I was jealous! Jealous because she loved you. I decided if I couldn’t have her, neither would you. I was gonna sell her to Maldonado for a thousand bucks and then leave the territory.”
“Caitlyn’s in jail,” Rafe said, his voice thick with anger. “Locked up like a damn dog, and it’s all your fault.”
A long shudder ran through Abner, and he knew he was as close to death as he’d ever been. Gallegher’s eyes were deep and black, like bottomless pools in the pits of hell.
“We’re going back to Greenwater Junction,” Rafe said. “We’re going to wait for the judge from the county seat, and when he shows up, you’re going to confess everything. And you’d better hope they turn Caitlyn loose, because you’ll wish you’d never been born if they don’t.”
Wylie nodded. A cell in the nearest jail looked a hell of a lot safer right now than where he was.
Rafe glared at Wylie. He thought of the Circle C cowhands Wylie had killed, of the cattle he had stolen, and of the terror he had caused Caitlyn. The desire for vengeance ran hot in his veins. This man was the enemy. He had taken cattle that were not his. He had kidnapped Caitlyn. He deserved to die a slow, lingering death.
Rafe grimaced, his expression deadly and filled with the lust for blood, as he contemplated the many ways he could torture Abner Wylie before he let him die. So many ways, and each more painful, more terrible, than the last.
But he needed Wylie alive and that thought filled him with an overwhelming sense of frustration. Muttering a wordless cry, he drove his fist into Wylie’s face, experiencing a deep sense of satisfaction as he felt the man’s nose break, felt the quick flow of warm blood on his hands.
Forbidden Fires Page 26