CASSIDY HARTE AND THE COMEBACK KID

by Reanne Thayne

  Damn. What kind of idiot takes a muddy, steep trail like this at such a pace? Either the animal was out of control or its rider had some kind of a death wish.

  He spurred his own mount as fast as safety dictated to catch up with the rider. As he burst around the bend, he saw a muscular buckskin being urged hell-for-leather down the trail. At first he thought the rider was a foolish boy who had been caught out in the weather unprepared, judging by the lack of rain gear and the short dark hair plastered to his head.

  Then, as the rider turned around to see who followed, Zack had a quick impression of delicate, pale features, and realized the rider was no boy.

  It was Cassie. And she looked scared to death.

  He thought for a moment she was going to keep hurtling down the mountainside, but she finally reined in the buckskin. The horse skidded to a stop then stood, sides heaving, while Zack caught up with her.

  He dismounted and rushed to her, his arms out. She slid almost bonelessly into them, stumbling when she reached the ground. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her so tightly to his chest. He realized she was trembling, from cold or shock, he wasn't sure, and his gut clutched with dread.

  "What is it? What's happened?" Urgency sharpened his voice.

  Her voice sounded dazed, thready. "He killed her. We have to get out of here. I think I heard him following me."

  She tried to pull away from him, her face tight with fear, but he held her fast. "Who? Slow down!"

  "Wade. He ... he killed Melanie. I stumbled onto proof at the Rendezvous. I tried to hide it from him, but I couldn't and he...I think he was going to hurt me, too. I threw a pot of soup at him and ran. All I could think about was coming here, to the Lost Creek. To you."

  His arms tightened around her, and she rested her cheek against his chest only for a moment, then drew back frantically.

  "We can't stay here. I think he's crazy. Who knows what he'll do if he finds us. Come on. We have to get to the ranch and call Jesse."

  And she needed to get out of this rain and her wet clothes before she caught pneumonia. Already he could see signs of hypothermia in her bloodless lips and dazed expression. He pulled off his oiled slicker and wrapped her in it. She was trembling so much he didn't think she would be able to stay in the saddle much longer. "I think you and your horse are both done for. You can ride with me."

  She opened her mouth as if she to argue, then closed it again, obviously deciding there wasn't time.

  Grateful for the strength of the big, rawboned bay he'd been riding since his arrival at the ranch, he mounted first, then reached down and helped her up behind him. She clung tightly as he urged the horse down the trail, the buckskin plodding tiredly behind.

  She wrapped her arms around him, soaking in the heat that emanated from his powerful back. Although deep tremors still shook her body, for the first time since that gruesome discovery—no, for the first time since the week before, when Jesse had growled out the news about Melanie's death and Zack had pushed her away—she began to feel safe and warm again.

  As they rode, she explained her discovery to him, about stumbling onto that terrible box and the story Wade had told her of Melanie's death.

  "How did you get away?" he asked, shifting in the saddle so he could see her through the gathering darkness.

  She winced. "I, um, threw a pot of hot beef and barley soup on him and ran out the door."

  "Soup? You threw soup at a man threatening to kill you? A man who has already murdered at least one person who stood in his way?"

  Feeling warmer by the second, she clenched her teeth at the stunned disbelief in his voice. "Yeah, I know. It was a waste of good soup. How about the next time a murderer comes after me, I'll ask you first before I make any kind of move to protect myself?"

  Before he could answer, they heard a loud rustling in the thick brush twenty yards or thirty yards ahead of them. Both horses alerted, tails raised. With a soft command to the bay, Zack reined in the horse, his head up like a tawny mountain lion scenting danger.

  Although there was a good hour of daylight left, the steady rain created a thick, misty curtain that limited visibility. All she could hear was the heavy pounding of her pulse and the musical drip of raindrops plinking off the leaves.

  "Is it Wade?" she whispered through the fear in her throat.

  He squeezed one of her hands wrapped around his middle. "I'm not sure. Probably not. A man doesn't quickly recover from having a pot of beef and barley soup hurled at him."

  He gave her that lopsided grin she loved so much, then it slid away. "Damn. I wish I'd brought a revolver with me."

  A revolver? Did he really think he might need a weapon? She had never wanted to put Zack in danger. All she had been thinking about was escape. Now her mind reeled with a dozen scenarios, each more grim than the last.

  After a moment they heard nothing else down the trail so Zack cautiously urged his horse on. Before they could make it even ten yards, Wade stepped out of the brush, holding a shiny black handgun aimed right at them.

  Cassie swallowed a shriek, and her grip tightened convulsively around Zack.

  All signs of the benign, friendly man she had known had disappeared, replaced by an angry stranger. Wade's face was a dusky red, as if he had spent way too much time in the sun. Odd, since it was so cloudy. It took her several seconds to realize he must have been burned by the soup broth.

  "Oh, this is perfect," he drawled. "It couldn't be more perfect. I can take care of two problems at once."

  Horrified, Cassie stared at him. What had she done? She had led Wade right to them, now here they were unarmed and completely at his mercy. Dear heavens. She should have escaped to the Diamond Harte. It was several miles farther, but Wade wouldn't have been able to storm into the ranch house.

  And even if he had managed to catch up with her, at least Zack would have been safe.

  "How did you find me?" she asked, and cursed her voice for trembling.

  "It wasn't hard. When you stole my horse, I knew you would come here. To him. Slater." He said the name like the vilest curse. "Besides, you left a trail a mile wide for me to follow. I just can't figure out why you're still so hot for him after what he did. I would have been so good to you."

  "Like you were for Melanie?"

  The words tumbled out before she could swallow them down, and she winced. When would she ever learn to shut her big mouth?

  If possible, more color suffused his face. "You don't know anything about that. I loved her." He gestured emphatically with the hand holding the gun, and she held her breath, waiting for the bullet to dig into her flesh. Or worse, for Zack to be hit.

  He appeared to be struggling to regain control. A moment later he pointed the gun at them again. "Get down. Both of you."

  Inside the circle of her arms, Zack's already taut frame tensed even more. "Why?"

  "I'm the one with the gun. Because I said so, damn it. Now get off the damn horse."

  Her legs were shaking just like the rest of her, and she had to grip Zack's hand tightly to keep from falling as she dismounted. Once she reached the ground, he climbed down from the horse to join her, then moved in front of her, shielding her body with his.

  Wade noted the gesture with a cold smile. "You really think you're going to take me on? It looks to me like I'm the one holding all the aces here. My Colt .45 trumps your bare hands any day."

  The bare hands in question clenched convulsively. This must be horrible for Zack. Forced to stand helplessly and do nothing while they both literally stared death in the face.

  Wade pointed the gun at Zack suddenly. "Cassidy, you tie up the horses. Mine, too. We wouldn't want them to wander back to the ranch and raise any suspicions. Oh, and make sure those knots are tight, too, unless you want to watch your loverboy die right here."

  With cold, shaking hands, she obeyed then stood aside while Wade double-checked her knots.

  "All right. Now walk," Wade ordered, his voice hard.

  "Where are you t
aking us?" Zack asked.

  She suspected even before Wade answered.

  "There's an old, abandoned cabin between the Rendezvous and the Lost Creek," he said. "Jean and I keep it maintained for the tourists to see what an authentic Western homestead was like. It's the perfect place for a lovers' tryst."

  His laugh raised her hackles. "And for a lovers' spat."

  They walked single file through the heavy timber on what looked like little more than a deer trail, Cassie in the lead, Zack a few steps behind her and Wade coming up the rear, his gun trained on them both. Even with the warmth of Zack's oiled slicker, she was still wet and cold.

  What did it matter if she was shivering? She was going to die in a few moments, anyway.

  "So you're going to kill us both and make it look like a murder-suicide?" Zack broke the silence, his voice almost casual. She marveled at his grit—how was he so calm when she could barely make one foot move in front of the other?

  "That's the general idea."

  "You used to be a cop. I'm sure you're aware those kind of crime scenes aren't easy to fake."

  "I'll make it look good. Trust me. It won't be too hard. Everyone knows you and Cassie are on the outs now, that she and everybody else think you murdered Melanie. I've got the proof right here."

  Eyes focused on the trail ahead of her for some kind of weapon, she barely heard a thump as he patted the pocket of his slicker. He must have brought the box with Melanie's picture and her jewelry.

  "Your poor grief-stricken brother will be smart enough to put it together, Cass. The minute the police chief sees this in your cold, dead hands, he'll know you found evidence that your lover killed Melanie. Even he'll be able to figure out you must have confronted Slater with it, forcing him to kill you. Then, unable to live with his crimes, he turned his gun on himself. It's very romantic, really. The perfect setup."

  It was perfect. Given his overwhelming animosity toward Zack, Jesse would be quick to jump to such a conclusion.

  She couldn't let Wade get away with it, she thought fiercely. Not only because she didn't want to die here on this cold, rainy mountainside, but for Zack's sake.

  It wasn't fair. He had been unfairly blamed for too many things, only because he was an outsider.

  Through a break in the trees she saw the outline of a structure ahead and knew they were almost at the old cabin. They didn't have much time. She had to figure something out.

  She was just wondering if she could create a diversion long enough for Zack to get away when he coughed behind her. She surreptitiously turned her head to look at him and their gazes met. The sun had almost slipped behind the mountains to the west but she had enough light left to see him mouth a single word to her.

  Run.

  She stumbled on the trail, then righted herself with a small, emphatic shake of her head that sent drops of rain flying from her wet hair. No. She wouldn't leave him here at Wade's mercy, even if she had more than the slightest chance in hell of escaping.

  Turning her gaze back to the trail for some kind of a weapon, she felt rather than heard his resigned sigh.

  An instant later the world erupted into a flurry of motion. She felt something shove her off the trail—Zack, she assumed, trying to get her out of harm's way. She rolled through the slippery grass and looked up just in time to see Zack smash his elbow into Wade's face. The other man sagged to his knees from the impact, blood spurting wildly from his nose, but he didn't drop the gun.

  While Wade still reeled from the unexpected attack, Zack dived in low, hoping to catch him off guard. For long terrible moments the men grappled for the weapon. They were evenly matched, both hardened by years of ranch work. Wade was an inch or two taller and maybe thirty pounds heavier, but Zack didn't have an ounce of spare flesh on him.

  Besides, he was fighting for his life. For their lives.

  She crouched in the wet grass for long moments while the two men fought for possession of the revolver. Without even really focusing on it, she managed to pry a rock the size of a frying pan out of the mud and waited for a chance to use it as a weapon if she had to. It was slick and heavy in her hands and she only prayed she could hang on to it.

  She wanted to help—do anything—but she was afraid whatever she did might distract Zack enough to give Wade the advantage.

  Zack seemed to be gaining the upper hand. They were locked so closely together she couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but she could tell Wade was hampered by the blood still gushing from his nose. With one powerful lunge, Zack tumbled him to the ground, his hand on the wrist holding the gun. They rolled again until both of them were covered in mud and she could no longer see the gun.

  Wade was tiring, she realized. Zack almost had him overpowered.

  And then the gun went off.

  Her breath tangling in her lungs, Cassie could only stare at the two men still snarled together as the echo of the gunshot boomed across the mountainside.

  Which one had been hit?

  She felt a scream build up inside her an instant later, when Zack slumped over on his back, a crimson stain blossoming across his chest. The breath she had been holding escaped with a hollow gurgle and she swayed, her vision dimming around the edges.

  Wade stood over him, wiping the blood that still seeped from his broken nose with the back of his hand.

  "Stupid bastard," he growled, his breathing ragged.

  The words and the angry disdain behind them spurred her to action. Praying for strength, she hefted the stone high above her head and rushed toward him, bringing the heavy weight crashing down against his head with her last ounce of energy.

  It struck with the same hollow, thumping sound of a car driving over a pumpkin.

  He crumpled to the ground, out cold, and she snatched the gun out of his motionless hand, then rushed to Zack.

  The wound was bleeding profusely, seeping out in all directions, and she did her best to stanch the flow with his sweater.

  Dear God. Please let him be all right.

  "Why did you have to be such a damn hero?" she growled.

  His breathing was irregular, and beneath his tan, his face wore an unnatural pallor. He grabbed her hand and his grip was weak. "Cass, I'm sorry."

  "For what?" she asked.

  "For making you cry. I hate making you cry." He coughed and more blood bubbled out of his wound, then his eyes fluttered shut again and stayed that way.

  "You are not going to die," she vowed, only vaguely aware of the tears seeping down her cheeks to mix with the rain. "I'm not letting you leave me again."

  She had to get him dry and go for help but she knew she didn't have much time. Wade could wake up any moment. He wouldn't have the gun since the cold weight of it was tucked into the waistband of her jeans, but he could still finish Zack off if he regained consciousness before she returned with help.

  Although she knew it would take precious moments, she knew she had to secure him somehow. How? she wondered, near frantic. The horses! Zack's horse and the buckskin both had coiled ropes hanging from their saddles.

  With fear for Zack coursing through her veins, she ran down the deer trail, slipping and sliding through the mud in her haste. When she reached the horses, she grabbed as much rope as she could find, then untied the reins of Zack's big blood bay and vaulted into the saddle.

  He was much more surefooted than she had been as they rode up the narrow trail toward the cabin.

  She wanted to rush to Zack first but she could see that Wade was already beginning to stir. He hadn't regained full consciousness and she contemplated hitting him again with the rock. But it was one thing to bean a man who had just shot the man you loved. It was quite another to strike an inert figure who was still only half-conscious.

  Before he could come back all the way, she quickly shoved him over with a knee in his back and trussed his hands together behind him, deeply grateful for all the time Matt had spent with her teaching her how to hitch a good knot.

  She left him with his face i
n the mud while she tied his legs together then used the other rope to bind him to the nearest tree, a sturdy pine.

  Only after he was secured could she turn her attention to Zack. She skidded toward him, sick to see how much the angry red stain on his sweater had spread in the five minutes she'd been gone. "Zack. Come on. Wake up. We've got to get you to the cabin so you can stay dry while I go for help. Please! Wake up."

  Her breath came out in heaving sobs when he didn't even flutter his eyelids and she whispered a plea for help. What could she do? Even on a good day, she didn't have the strength to drag two hundred pounds of hard-muscled man that far—especially not one bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound to the chest.

  And this had not been a good day.

  She had to get help fast, but she couldn't leave him here like this in the rain. Her mind whirled through her options for a few seconds, then she somehow managed to haul him a few feet until he lay under the spreading branches of a nearby spruce tree.

  He didn't move at all while she situated him but she blocked her mind from the very real possibility that his gunshot wound might prove fatal.

  She wasn't going to let him die.

  Quickly rifling through the bay's saddlebags, she found the emergency survival kit Jean always insisted the Lost Creek guests rode with. Inside among the other supplies was a thin plastic rain jacket and an emergency space blanket.

  She worked as fast as she could, wrapping his own slicker—the one he had lent her—around him along with the rain jacket, then she constructed a primitive rain shelter over his upper body by draping the silvery material of the blanket over the branches just above his head.

  That would keep the worst of the rain away from him, at least.

  It was only after she finished that she realized her vision was obstructed not from the elements but from the steady tears that still coursed down her cheeks.

  The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur as she bowed low over the horse's head and raced through the darkness toward the Lost Creek. Fortunately, Zack's horse was as eager to be home as she and he knew the trail far better.

  By the time she reached the ranch, the adrenaline rush that had carried her through the last hour, since that horrible discovery in Wade's kitchen, began to ebb. Every muscle in her body strained and ached and she could barely manage to breathe past the cold ball of helpless dread lodged in her throat.