1933563060-Devils-Pact-Cruise

by Devil's Pact (lit)

  He saddled up one of Reed’s stallions. Whether it was an act of bravery or gutlessness, he decided against going into the house to retrieve his rifle.

  Outside of the barn, he mounted the black stallion and stared at the ranch house for a good long while.

  No need for goodbyes.

  Who knew if he would ever return?

  One thing for certain, he wasn’t one to run. In the past, he would have stayed and fought. Not now. Not with the girls nearby. Today, he’d face his future head on. With the decision settled, he flew north to whatever lay ahead.

  * * * *

  Megan heard a horse gallop off and ventured outside to investigate. Devin was nowhere to be found. Deuce was in his stall, and Shadow, Reed’s favorite horse, was missing, along with Devin’s saddle.

  The wagon was already hitched and ready for her and the girls. He had given his word that he would follow them to the funeral. With the services to begin less than an hour from now, her imagination ran rampant. If he showed up smelling of stale flowers again, she’d shoot him on sight and bury his whoring remains next to Reed. In a huff, she climbed the steps leading to the porch.

  As she reached the front door, she heard the rumbling of hooves charging wildly through the bend and swung around. Her heart stopped the moment she saw Leroy Hardin riding in her direction, with eight of his men following closely behind.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Spawn,” he stated abruptly, pulling to a stop in front of her while a few of his men spread around the yard, their trigger hands perilously close to their firearms.

  “Reed has passed on. Funeral is this morning.” Her eyes swept over the men. A few of them she didn’t recognize. A couple used to work for Reed. And the one by his side, Rusty, she hated almost as much as she hated Hardin.

  “My business is with Reed’s son, Devin Spawn.”

  “I expect him back shortly,” she lied, but his sort of scum didn’t deserve the truth. Hardin’s left ear was bandaged, and she couldn’t help but speculate Devin’s involvement. She would have felt a sense of morbid satisfaction, except upon hearing Devin wasn’t there, Hardin’s guarded gaze turned malicious.

  Her stomach churned.

  At a half shake of Hardin’s head, Rusty leapt from his saddle and joined her on the porch.

  “Nice to see ya again, Megan.” Hardin’s right-hand man grinned, displaying his tobacco stained teeth as he leaned in to pass her an envelope. His foul onion breath and squalid odor assailed her nostrils. She turned her face away from his, and took a step back.

  Rusty gave a raucous laugh that raked Megan’s ears.

  Inwardly, she flinched. That laugh echoed in the deep recesses of her memory. Her teeth clenched. She fought to hold back the tears threatening her eyes.

  Rusty leaned in closer to drop the plain white envelope by the hem of her skirt. He whispered, “You’s a widow now. Lots of lonesome nights ahead, huh?”

  Without waiting for a reply, the red-haired gunslick jumped back on his horse.

  “Tell Mr. Spawn I hope it is to his satisfaction.” Hardin’s cool tone sounded forced, and the evocative look he gave her was anything but cordial.

  As soon as they turned the reins on their horses, she ran inside and heaved her breakfast in the chamber pot.

  * * * *

  It wasn’t long before Devin reached them. From his estimate, there were closer to one hundred riders, an entire well-armed regiment of blue sitting straight in their saddles.

  Now, that’s mighty strange, Devin thought. He was expecting a U.S. Marshal and a shitload of trailing posse, not the United States Calvary. He was fully aware the army abstained from civic affairs, concentrating mainly on Indian and Mexico relations in these parts. That’s when they bothered to venture this far south, since there weren’t very many white settlements in what was still considered Mexico.

  As soon as they spotted him, the first squadron followed orders, prepared to fire. Their rifles jerked in a straight row like a tightly strung clothesline, every barrel pointed at him.

  Without a break in stride, he held his course until he reached what he assumed was the commanding officer off to the side of the front line. He brought the black horse to a snorting, dusty stop in front of a stern, gray-haired man in full military garb. Devin grinned. “Mornin’.”

  “Devin Spawn, you’re under arrest.” The captain faced his second-in-command by his side and ordered their prisoner be searched, stripped of all weapons and hands bound.

  “Mind if I ask why the military has taken a fancy to me?” Devin inquired directly, maintaining his calm demeanor as several soldiers approached him cautiously.

  “You may take it up with my superior officer, Colonel Thomas O’Roake.”

  “Where is this Thomas fellow?” He asked informally, just to piss off the stuffy officer.

  Captain Derby sneered at him. “Colonel O’Roake is at Camp Griffin. We shall arrive tomorrow evening.”

  * * * *

  The following evening, Devin and his captors descended upon Camp Griffin. A bugle rang out, heralding their approach. Immediately, Captain Derby rushed him inside the colonel’s office. Colonel O’Roake sat behind a large maple desk, with several officers seated nearby.

  “Mr. Spawn, have a seat, please.”

  Devin glanced around the room. He was the one with a ten-thousand-dollar hide. Nonetheless, the tension these rigid military men exuded couldn’t be sliced with a razor-sharp knife. The fine hairs on the back of his neck raised in heightened awareness. The bounty money, the Indian trader, and the twist of fate tied to Reed’s decline—it all boiled down to this.

  Like a good soldier, shackled, weaponless, and out of uniform, he plopped in the chair indicated directly in front of the colonel’s desk.

  Without delay, the colonel placed the wanted poster in front of him. Devin eyed it dismissively.

  “These posters have been forwarded around the country.”

  “I have one. Don’t like the drawing much. Doesn’t quite capture my eyes.”

  The colonel regarded him fleetingly and continued to speak. “As noted, it states alive. The constraint can easily be revised.”

  “Why bother? You already have me under arrest.” He shrugged his shoulders and rattled the shackles binding his arms behind his back to prove his point.

  “Mr. Spawn,” the Colonel stated heatedly, “my orders come from the top. Personally, I am appalled to sit across from a lawless, vicious killer who has no regard for human decency. I wouldn’t trust you with my worst enemy’s mangy mutt, let alone your word, but your skills are legendary.”

  Were all prisoners treated this way? Devin wondered. His gaze darted to the other men seated in the room, who were listening very intently while scrutinizing his every move. Tied up and unarmed, what did they really expect him to do? Well, he could think of a few things.

  Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled deeply to give the impression he was bored. It didn’t sit well with the colonel, whose tone grew agitated.

  “Your association with the Laredo Gang is why you are here. Although you haven’t ridden with them for a few years, you may be aware of their actions. Your reputation as a fearless marksman and tracker exceed—”

  “Quit fluffing my feathers,” Devin interrupted gruffly. “What is it you want?”

  “My directive is to petition you to track down the Laredo Gang.”

  “Why.”

  “They raided a wagon shipment of ours. Murdered the entire garrison of fifty men. The wagons carried enough rifles and ammunition to arm the entire Cheyenne nation. That’s where we suspect they’re headed. The Chickasaws and Choctaws are refusing to sign a treaty to cede their land in Mississippi and relocate to a reservation. We have word if the Cheyenne get hold of the arsenal beforehand, the other tribes, along with the Potawatami, will join them. We’ll have a bloodbath on our hands. Hundreds of innocent lives, women and children, will be lost.”

  “What’s my part?” Devin didn’t fault the Chickasaws or
Choctaws. No man wants to be run off his land. He figured the men in the room hadn’t dragged him here for his opinion.

  “Track them, dispose of them and return military weaponry.”

  “And?”

  “If you agree to assist your government in this very delicate matter, you will receive the reward money for the return of the weapons and each member you bring to justice. In addition, President Adams will grant a full pardon.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “In the event you consent and fail to follow through, then “dead” will be added to the poster, and the award will be increased. You’ll spend the remainder of your days looking over your shoulder. We both know there won’t be too many of those.”

  Devin quirked a brow. The Colonel didn’t know him too well.

  “You’ve gone through an awful lot of trouble to find me. I missed my own father’s funeral.”

  “We hope it’s been worth it. What’s your answer?”

  “Why the hell not? I could use the target practice.”

  “We’ll discuss the plans tonight. I’ll have supper brought in for you.” With a brief a nod from Colonel O’Roake, a low-ranking officer left the room to fulfill the meal request. “How many troops will you require? Lieutenant Allen will assign them immediately.”

  A young man stood, tall and stiff as a pine tree. Devin eyed him disapprovingly, assumed the spiffy toy soldier was Lieutenant Allen. He shook his head. It amazed him how the colonel didn’t even have to snap his fingers, and yet, these boys still jumped at the slightest provocation. If he ever joined the army, he doubted not more than an hour would pass before he punched someone’s nose in at the first order.

  “How many wagons?” Devin’s eyes narrowed on the colonel.

  “There are four wagons. Three loaded with rifles and one with ammunition. We estimate one hundred, perhaps two hundred troops should suffice?”

  “Four.”

  “Four hundred? We don’t have that many troops available. It will—“

  “Do you have a doctor here?” Devin glanced up at the straight-arrow Lieutenant Allen, standing a few feet from him.

  “Yes, do you feel ill?” A worried looked creased the Lieutenant’s face.

  “Colonel O’Roake needs his hearing checked.” He faced O’Roake. “I said four, as in four men. Best shots available, if you want them back alive.”

  “Four men? That’s preposterous. We have reports there are nearly thirty men riding in the Laredo Gang.”

  “Four men,” Devin repeated. “Take off these damned cuffs, and we’ll leave within the hour. After I collect my horse back at the ranch, I’ll go after ‘em.”

  With a nod from the colonel, Captain Derby quickly removed Devin’s shackles.

  “You’ll need to eat and rest after the journey, and we have plenty of horses,” Colonel O’Roake said matter-of-factly. “You may choose—”

  “My horse or the deal is off. We leave tonight, or the deal is off.”

  * * * *

  Later that evening, Megan still hadn’t managed to dress for bed. Settled on the couch for the past hour, frowning with worry, she stirred her spoon in the cup of cold coffee. The girls were snuggled in their beds, and she’d sent a persistent, yet thoughtful Caleb away earlier that day.

  With Reed laid to rest yesterday afternoon, there was no reason for Caleb to call daily in the pretense of a medical capacity. The only thing his presence accomplished was to feed the rumor mill.

  Leroy Hardin’s bank draft was deposited. Mr. Pierson, the banker, told her it would take several days before the money cleared. “Bank regulations,” he said with a smirk. More like Hardin up to his old tricks, she figured after hearing the rumor. The army had arrested the notorious outlaw, Devin Spawn, just outside of town. It was all the townsfolk paying their last respects to Reed wanted to discuss. If it were true, she’d never see a cent of the money Hardin earned from selling off Reed’s cattle.

  The money would really come in handy. Debts paid sooner than expected, insuring her and the girl’s safety. With enough money left over to move if she decided. At least the issue of remarrying could be dealt with in due time.

  Caleb Walker was her childhood sweetheart, best friend, and a kind, gentle man who loved her in return. She’d loved him since the moment she laid eyes on him as he slinked down the stairs the day Doctor Keeling dragged her, kicking and screaming with shock and fright, through the Walker’s front door. It was the day after a rescue team searched the raided stagecoach and found her, the only survivor. She lost her father, pregnant mother, and younger brother, including the two drivers and a few other passengers. She was scared, dirty and downright scrawny. He was all arms and legs, with a mop of blond curls in permanent disarray and a smile filled with hope and joy. But his eyes, like brilliant sapphires, touched her heart instantly.

  They became joined at the hip.

  Only thirteen and alone in the world, she felt safe, secure, and loved with him. A love that intensified as the weeks passed. Deep and profound, strong enough for a young girl to risk her belief in propriety and do the inconceivable.

  Her parents had been deeply in love, eager for a large family. Why couldn’t she and Caleb have the same? Sometimes late at night, when her parents thought she and her brother were asleep, she’d sneak a peek at them cuddling in their bed. Or she lay awake and listen to their subdued moans as her body warmed.

  Privacy in their one-room house back east was non-existent. Once in a while, the covers would slip off their joined bodies, giving her a good idea how she and her baby brother came to be.

  With a teenaged exuberance, she longed to share the same intimacy with Caleb.

  By the time they reached fourteen, they were cuddling like her parents used to. At least, at the time, she thought it was the same. Mr. Walker caught them in the horse stable. Mrs. Walker put Caleb on the next train to Europe to live with relatives, threw her out of their house, and warned every decent family in town not to take her in unless they wanted to board a trollop. Their husbands and sons would become ensnared by the witchery of a temptress with sin in her soul and lust on her mind and become tainted with mercenary desires. With a claim like that, no one dared take her in.

  If not for Mrs. Walker’s bitter hate and Megan’s memory of the outcome of that fateful afternoon, there wasn’t a doubt she and Caleb would be married at this point. As it was, Caleb never learned the entire lurid details of what transpired after he was dragged from the house.

  Ten years later, she still didn’t have the strength or desire to tell him.

  For the next four years, her life had been full of dread and uncertainty, back-breaking work, and later, indoctrination. A true test of her trust, faith, and moral fiber, she resigned herself to live behind the only door opened to her, a sinkhole of depravity—Jazelle’s Place.

  And so it was as she sat on the couch in deep thought, unsure why Devin Spawn rode off two days ago. Certain there wasn’t a man alive who could take on Devin, she refused to believe the rumor. It didn’t seem like him to give up so easily without a fight. It just had to be sensationalism. No matter what, it didn’t explain why he missed Reed’s funeral, deserted them without a word. From the beginning, he said he was only passing through and was neither baby sitter nor protector. At least he could have said goodbye.

  Her parents never had the opportunity to say goodbye. Reed passed away, unable to speak. Now, Devin was gone.

  If the rumors where true, she’d be left with only one conclusion. Hardin’s check would never clear. With her debt unpaid, she’d be left no choice but to return to Jazelle’s.

  Caught up in musing, the sharp knock at the door made her jump. When the Sheriff’s voice rang out, her first consideration was Devin. Her next was the absurdity of Sheriff Tucker showing up with news of Devin Spawn, when no one other than Leroy Hardin was certain he was Reed’s son.

  The alarm going off in her head was too late as she opened the door. To her wide-eyed shock, a bold hand shoved her in
side while another aimed a pistol at her, and a booted foot kicked the door wide open. As the scream left her mouth, a familiar red-headed figure rushed inside. His large, calloused hand covered her mouth as he pinned her arm behind her back and pushed her against the wall.

  “Soon, you’ll be screaming for a different reason, Megan,” he snickered against her throat, his whiskey and tobacco breath throttling her senses, chilling her blood. She shook her head furiously, her eyes wide with fear as the sheriff and two more men pushed their way into the house.

  The girls! Her heart pounded against her chest. Not the girls!

  She kicked and clawed, biting the hand ground into her face as all four men pinned her to the floor, gagged her, and tied her up.

  Please, dear God, not the girls!

  Once subdued, Rusty tossed her hog-tied body over his saddle, mounted, and settled her deviously across his lap. He rode off, talking about old times, her skirt flying in the breeze. Tears of shame, humiliation, regret, and unknown fear spilled from her eyes.

  This was her fault. Whatever happened to her was the least of her worries. But the girls. Whatever happened to the girls was her fault. She was the only one to blame. If not for her wanton nature, none of this would be happening. A flood of raw, angry, frightful emotions bubbled deep inside, tightening her throat as she choked on her sobs.

  Rusty urged his horse into a brisk trot. He started laughing when the jarring sensations forced her belly against his erection. Disgusted, she could taste her stomach fluids as they descended through her upside-down body. Her body stiffened as she felt his calloused palm trail down her back through the layers of fabric.

  Chapter 11

  The moon, a faint sliver, hung amid the changing hues lingering in the sunset. A magnificent display of colors danced over the pinons and grassy slopes. Oblivious to the serenity, Devin flew at breakneck speed across the wild, brushy country toward the ranch. The four baffled, uniformed soldiers and packhorse kept the frantic pace at a modest distance.