Sean tried to grin. “It isn’t over, Renshaw.”
“It’s about to be.”
Panic froze Sean’s face. He didn’t want a fair fight. He never had. He raised his rifle, but his hands were shaking. His head turned in one direction and then another, looking for help. He backed away, and his feet crunched on Jed’s bones. He flinched.
“What’s wrong, Sean?” Heath asked. “You wanted it to happen here, didn’t you?”
Sean retreated until he was well out of Heath’s reach. “I see you don’t have a gun,” he said.
Heath crouched beside the bones and rested his hand lightly on Jed’s skull again. You’ll get justice now, old man. “I don’t need a gun,” he said.
“You won’t get away with this, Renshaw. I have men—”
“They ain’t here, are they? But you always was a stinkin’ yellow belly. Maybe you should start yellin’. Or shootin’.”
The taunt shut Sean up just as he opened his mouth to shout. He aimed the rifle again.
“I won’t shoot you yet, Renshaw. Or should I call you Renier? I expect my men will be here any moment, and then I’ll tell them who you are and how you killed my uncle.”
It wasn’t any surprise to Heath that Sean had figured out who he was. He’d already guessed as much.
“Now, why would I kill Jed?” Heath drawled. “Wasn’t me who had the motive to do him in.”
“You had motive. And I can prove it.” Sean laughed nervously. “I have the will my uncle wrote, the one leaving everything to you, the one he rescinded when he decided to marry Rachel.”
So Sean had found another copy. That was why he’d been so confident yesterday.
“There was a will made out to you, too,” Heath said, “only Jed figured out just what you were and crossed it out.” He bared his teeth. “Did you find him here and argue with him over your future at Dog Creek? Did Jed tell you was through?”
“You’re crazy, Renshaw. You’d never convince anyone of such a wild story, even if you lived to tell it.”
“That’s funny, McCarrick. I would have figured by now you’d know you’re the one who won’t be tellin’.”
Chapter Nineteen
IT HAD ALL gone wrong.
Sean tried to hold the rifle steady as he grinned at Renshaw, knowing that any sign of weakness could be fatal. For a little while he’d actually believed that Renshaw wasn’t coming, that he’d turned coward again and run rather than face his certain fate. It wasn’t what Sean had wanted, but he could still blame Jed’s death on the outlaw Heath Renier and make sure he was pursued until he was taken and hanged.
But Renshaw hadn’t run. Sean had been careful to keep some of the other men around him during the hunt, but he’d lost his sense when he’d seen the wolf so close, too intent on showing the others that no mere animal could defeat him.
Now the joke was on him. There was a connection between Renshaw and the wolf. Renshaw had used the beast to lure Sean away, right to where the bastard wanted him. Renshaw had succeeded in ruffling him so badly that he had revealed that he knew Renshaw’s real name and accused him of killing Jed with no witnesses present to hear.
All Sean could do now was distract Renshaw until the men wondered where he had gone and came looking. Shooting Renshaw would bring them running, of course, but if he missed…
Renshaw had no weapon, at least—although he might have one hidden, and he was fast. Too fast.
“You think you’ve won, Renshaw,” Sean said, filling his voice with the confidence he had come dangerously close to losing. “But your guilt will be revealed whether or not you kill me…and then what will happen to Rachel and the baby?”
He thought he’d gone too far when Renshaw lunged at him, but the outlaw stopped just short of grabbing him by the throat. “What do you mean?” he snarled.
It was time to bluff as he’d never bluffed in his life. “I know how much you care for them,” Sean said. “I also know that Rachel is a fraud. The two of you have been deceiving everyone. You knew my uncle was dead, and that he’d be found eventually. You wanted everyone to think that Rachel had a right to whatever he left behind. That’s why you conspired with her to pretend she was already married and forged Jed’s signature on the will to—”
“I never forged no signature.”
“But you did, Renshaw. And when that is discovered, as I’ll make sure it will be, your conspiracy will be evident to everyone. No respectable person in the county would allow such a woman to care for a foundling child.”
The rage in Renshaw’s eyes burned so hot that it took a supreme act of will for Sean to hold his ground. “No one’s takin’ the boy,” Renshaw said. “Not if I have to—”
“Kill everyone in the Pecos?” Sean shook his head. “Even you, with your apparently well-earned reputation, can’t manage such a feat. And if I should die at your hands, Rachel won’t merely be disgraced and disinherited, she’ll find herself accused of being the accomplice of a wanted killer.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing complete comprehension transform Renshaw’s face. At last you begin to understand, Sean thought. You know I may be bluffing, lying to save my own skin. But you can’t be sure. And even if I have no direct proof that Rachel knew who you were all along, you know I’m capable of seeing that she’s blamed for harboring a dangerous fugitive.
“You see how it is,” Sean said casually. “You wouldn’t be in such a quandary if you hadn’t allowed yourself to care for your employer’s intended and a foundling brat.” He chuckled. “Ironic, is it not? You’re the ferocious outlaw, I’m the educated gentleman, yet you have allowed yourself to bestow your affection on those weaker than yourself, and that has made you vulnerable. You have made the mistake that I never have and never will.”
“You’ve made a mistake, all right,” Renshaw said. “I can take you right now and keep you as a hostage until Rachel and the boy are a hundred miles away.”
“And confirm to the world that she was your whore and your confederate? Set the law on her and force her to run for the rest of her life?” Sean tapped his chin as if in thought. “I have another proposition for you, Renshaw. Give yourself up now. Admit to being Heath Renier, and to killing my uncle. If you do, I will personally see that your lover and the infant are supplied with enough money to get them out of the county, where they will be free to start a new life.”
He saw Renshaw waver, undoubtedly weighing his own life and freedom against the welfare of those he supposedly loved. Sean was betting that the emotional rot went deep, and he would give in.
But something happened he had no way of anticipating. Renshaw took a dozen steps back, his hands loose at his sides. He didn’t reach for a hidden gun, or attempt to escape. Instead, he threw down his hat and began to remove his clothing, kicking off his boots, unbuttoning his vest and trousers, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it aside. The bandanna came last, revealing the jagged scar.
He’s gone mad, Sean thought, and lifted his rifle, waiting for some wild action that would force him to shoot.
Renshaw didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He seemed to become almost transparent, the air shimmering around him, darkening, wreathing him about like smoke. His body began to change, hunching, settling low to the ground. When the mist cleared away, a black wolf stood where the man had been.
Sean got off one shot before the lobo reached him. The animal’s weight dropped him and knocked the rifle from his hand. Powerful jaws snapped in his face, while vicious nails raked at his chest and tore his waistcoat. The wolf’s eyes glared into his.
Renshaw’s eyes.
Sean tried to scream. Teeth like razors closed on his collar, ground down, pierced his skin. Sean whimpered and emptied his bladder. All his plans had been for nothing, all lost to a creature that should not exist. He prayed for the first time in his life.
Then the man-beast hesitated for a breath, as if remembering the man it had been a few moments before. An explosion of hoofbeats echoed in the draw. The crack of a rif
le deafened Sean, the bullet whizzing past his head. The wolf jerked and grunted in pain. Suddenly the weight was gone from Sean’s chest. Rough voices shouted warnings, and someone knelt beside him.
“You all right, Sean?” George Saunderson asked, laying his hand on Sean’s shoulder. Sean cursed in pain, and George withdrew his hand.
“I can see you’re not,” he said. “Boys, get on over here. Mr. McCarrick’s hurt bad. We need to—”
“The wolf,” Sean croaked. “Where is it?”
“O’Hara thinks he hit it, but it got away. We got to get you back to Blackwater.”
“No. The wolf…” Nausea choked Sean’s throat with bile. “You…you’ve got to—”
“Easy now.” John Powell crouched beside George and draped a blanket over Sean. “Do you think you can ride?”
“Jed…Jed is here.”
George’s breath gusted into Sean’s face. “Jed? You’re shaken up, son. Just—”
“God in heaven!” Powell swore. “There’s bones here.”
Sean sighed and closed his eyes. They’d found Jed. One of the men would see his gold tooth and identify him. He had regained the upper hand. Everything he’d said to Renshaw would come to pass.
“George,” he rasped. “Listen to me. Renshaw…is—”
Before he could form the word, he heard a voice he had never expected.
“Where is Mr. Renshaw?”
Rachel. Sean tried to sit up and felt a gout of fresh blood spew over his torn shirt.
“Lie still,” George said. “We’re goin’ to bandage your neck. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is…”
His words ceased to have meaning. Sean sank into darkness.
ALL WAS CHAOS. Rachel held the gelding still among the stamping horses and shouting men, knowing that Holden was gone.
But he had been here. Rachel saw the ugly wounds on Sean’s face, neck and chest. Something had attacked him, savaged him, nearly killed him.
She closed her eyes tight and opened them again, as if she might change the world by sheer will. But it was all too solid. A few of the men hovered over Sean, binding his injuries. Another group bent over something on the ground, speaking in low, urgent tones. The rest huddled atop their mounts, and argued about the wolf and what it would take to bring it down once and for all.
Holden had escaped them once again. His brother was on his way back to Dog Creek and Gordie, prepared to do whatever was necessary to save the baby. She had no goal now but to find his father.
“Ma’am!” a voice said behind her. “What are you doin’ out here?”
She recognized the rider as one of the Blackwater hands, a thin-shouldered cowboy with a hound dog’s face. He looked genuinely alarmed, and she knew she had to set him at ease immediately.
“I went out riding,” she said quickly, “and lost my way. I saw riders in the distance and followed them.”
The man frowned with patent disbelief. “You’ve come a long way from the house, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll take you on back, and—”
“My horse is very tired,” she said. “He needs rest before he can go on, and I require rest, as well. Perhaps in an hour or two…”
“It’ll be dark then, ma’am. I think—”
Whatever he thought, Rachel never learned, for the hand’s attention was caught by the raised voices of the men looking at the ground. Intent on escape, Rachel edged her horse toward the bank of the draw, riding in a wide circle around them. She caught a glimpse of something white; then one of the men shifted, and she saw the skull grinning up at the darkening sky.
Jed. Her stomach heaved, but she kept going. There was nothing she could do for him now. There had never been anything she could do, not even to punish the man who she was sure had killed him.
She had reached the foot of the nearest hill when the mounted men broke apart and set their horses into a run over another hill to the west. She didn’t have to ask where they were going. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, she rode after the hunters. None of them looked behind to object or send her back, but they moved too quickly for the weary gelding to keep up, and she quickly fell behind. Only when she heard a distant shout did she urge her mount into a gallop, bending low over his neck and holding on for dear life.
The wolf was trapped in a small canyon between steep walls of earth and stone. Blood seeped from a wound in his shoulder, matting the black fur; he snapped and snarled as the riders urged their horses closer and encircled him, their rifles bristling like spears.
Only one thought came to Rachel’s mind. She slid off the gelding’s back, her boots landing hard on the ground, and fumbled for the gun. She slipped and slid her way down into the canyon, her skirts dragging at her feet. She scrambled over shifting stones and low brush, and finally reached the bottom.
The wolf lifted its head and looked directly at her. His eyes seemed to plead, Go back.
She ignored the message and ran as fast as she could toward Holden, clutching the gun so hard that her fingers went numb. One of the hunters exclaimed in surprise and horror as she skidded to a stop between Holden and the riders. She lifted the gun and aimed at the nearest man.
“Stay where you are!” she warned him. Heath snarled behind her.
“Run,” she whispered to him. “Go!”
He hesitated, a sound between whine and growl coming from his throat. Then he heaved himself up the steep incline, his claws scrabbling as they sought purchase. One of the riders—John Powell, she remembered—took a shot, and Rachel heard it strike the earth just above her head. Three of the hunters broke away, ready to set off in pursuit. Rachel pointed the gun toward the sky and fired.
Everything came to a stop. Astonished, angry eyes pierced her like cactus spines. Finn O’Hara and George Saunderson dismounted and jumped down into the canyon.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Mrs. McCarrick?” Saunderson demanded, snatching the gun out of her hand. “You could’ve been killed, or hurt someone!”
She didn’t even attempt to answer. The two men half dragged her back up to level ground and got her onto the gelding. They pinned her mount between theirs, muttering about her apparent lapse into madness and wondering at the reason for her “fit.” When they got back to the draw where the other men waited, Sean was sitting propped up against a pile of bedrolls, his wounds bound, pale but alert. Powell helped Rachel dismount and remained close, clearly determined not to let her commit any more rash and incomprehensible acts.
Rachel knew she must either come up with a reasonable justification for her actions and demonstrate that she was over her lapse into “insanity,” or they would hold her prisoner until morning.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Powell,” she began. “I don’t know what came over me. It must be the heat and the long—”
A shout cut off her desperate explanation. Holden was riding down the hill, fully clothed and as casual as if he’d just come back from a leisurely amble along Dog Creek. There was no sign of a wound anywhere on his body. He looked straight at Rachel, taking in the men around her. Then his gaze fell on Sean.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asked. “I heard shots. What’re you doin’ here, Mrs. McCarrick?”
Sean tried to sit up and gasped, his face as white as Jed’s bones. “He killed Jed!” he cried.
The hush was profound. Everyone stared at Holden. George Saunderson murmured something to Sean.
“He did it, I tell you!” Sean cried. “He admitted it to me himself! His name is Heath Renier, and he’s wanted for murder!”
Renier, Rachel thought. Like Gavin.
Belatedly, Saunderson and Powell started toward Holden. “I’ve heard of Heath Renier,” Powell said, his eyes narrow in his deeply tanned face. “I’ve seen the poster. He’s wanted for more than murder. There’s a bounty on his head.” He drew the gun at his hip. “H.R. Holden Renshaw.”
Conflicting voices rose in argument. Heath moved so swiftly that Rachel hardly had time to regi
ster the fact that he’d dismounted before he was at her side. A gun flashed in his hand, and the muzzle came to rest squarely against her temple.
“Nobody move a muscle,” he said softly. “I’m Heath Renier, all right, and I’ve killed plenty of men. Won’t bother me at all to kill a woman.”
He backed away, one arm around Rachel’s chest as he dragged her toward his horse. She struggled instinctively, confused and more than a little afraid of this sudden violent change. He threw her up into the saddle, ignoring the hunters, who were urging each other to go after him, and mounted behind her.
“Any of you come after me,” he said, “and she dies.” He gave the gelding a kick, and Apache sprang away like a jackrabbit. Rachel clung to the saddle horn, the wind bringing tears to her eyes.
As soon as they’d descended the other side of the hill, Holden holstered his gun and shifted his arm to her waist. Apache kept running, and her hair came free of its loose knot. She found it difficult to breathe.
“Are you planning to kill me?” she asked, the bitter words out of her mouth before she could stop them.
His breath gusted sharply against her hair. “I had to do it,” he said. “He wasn’t only goin’ to tell everyone that you ain’t married and been betrayin’ Jed with me. He was goin’ to make it look like you knew who I was all along and was hidin’ me at Dog Creek.”
Rachel’s heart stuttered wildly. “So you are Heath Renier,” she said.
“And I’m wanted, just like they said. That’s why it needs to look like you never knew who I was.” She could feel the heat of his hand penetrating her bodice like a blade of fire. “You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have interfered.”
Laughter rose, then died in her throat. “So I should have let you be killed?”
“If it weren’t for—” He clenched his teeth with such force that she could hear his jaw crack. “If I’d finished Sean, he wouldn’t be able to hurt you or Gordie.”
She tried to twist in the saddle to see his face. “Hurt Gordie?”
“He threatened both of you. That’s why you have to leave the county. I’m takin’ you to Dog Creek. There’s someone there who can help you get away.”
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