by Linda Broday
“Well, this is my lucky day,” Yuma Blackstone crowed. “Knew you wouldn’t be far away from Legend.” He turned to Frank Farley. “Glad you got free. You can help me.”
The spit dried in Lara’s mouth as she tried to swallow. She stared at the large X cut into the side of his face. The wound was still angry and seeping blood, and she knew satisfaction, even if she hadn’t put the cut there herself. For once, Yuma had gotten a small taste of what he deserved.
She held her breath and glanced at Frank. Whose side would he take? If he chose Yuma, they were done for.
Frank shifted, his gaze shooting from Yuma to her. “Sorry, Blackstone. I ain’t going to be no help to you at all. Legend didn’t capture me. I gave myself up. And I was happy to be shed of you at last. You’ll get nothing from me. These people are my friends and I’m glad to fight with them.”
“The hell you say!” Yuma hollered.
Quaid pointed his gun at the hated murderer. “I’m going to kill you.”
“And if he misses, I’ll get you,” Frank said with his weapon raised. “In fact, we may use your sorry hide for target practice.”
Yuma yawned and dismounted. “I don’t think so.” He gave a shrill whistle and an armed accomplice scrambled down from the rocks. “Take their guns,” Yuma ordered.
Hate and fear settled in Lara’s chest as she watched Quaid give up his weapon. The silent outlaw tossed the gun aside, then cracked the back of her brother’s head with his pistol. Lara gave a cry, watching him fall to the ground, only vaguely aware of Caroline pressing against her side.
“I hate you,” Caroline screamed. “I hope you rot in hell.”
Before the outlaw could direct his attention to Frank, the loyal man got off a shot before he took a bullet. Blood covered his chest as he fell. Lara couldn’t tell if he was alive.
Caroline screamed again, the sound bouncing off the walls of the little canyon.
This time would be it. This time no help was coming. And this time Lara would not cower. She lifted her chin and slowly moved toward the man she hated with every fiber of her being.
Houston’s words sounded in her head. Maybe what helps is forcing myself to stare danger in the face and move toward it even when I want to run.
Lara straightened her shoulders. This time she’d fight with every ounce of strength she had. She told Caroline to stay back then forced herself to march to within two feet of Yuma.
Just then the gunfire ceased. The war Houston and the drovers hadn’t sought was probably over. Maybe he was dead—maybe all the drovers had lost their lives.
Because of her. Guilt nearly buckled her knees.
In the deadly silence, she heard her frantic heartbeat, felt it hammering against her ribs.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Lara spat. “You’re despicable.”
“You belong to me, girl. Only me.” Yuma’s cruel smile curved his mouth, and he smoothed his thin mustache with the tip of a forefinger. His glance went to the buttons undone at the top of her dress and his eyes glittered. “You expected me.”
He closed the distance to stand inches from her. Up close, the slices Houston had made to his face were still gaping and wet, hideous. A shiver ran down her spine, but she didn’t back away.
“Looks like that hurts.” Her voice was oddly sarcastic. “How does it feel?” She watched his look of confusion. His forehead wrinkled as though trying to figure her out.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she went on. “I’m different. Tougher. Smarter. Braver. You can’t hurt me.”
“We’ll see about that, girly,” he snarled.
She spat on him and in his moment of shock, as the spittle ran down his cheek, she brought her hand across his jaw. The slap rang through the canyon like a rifle explosion, bouncing off the rock walls.
Behind her in the wagon, Gracie wailed. The fact that she couldn’t comfort the frightened babe pierced her heart.
Yuma grabbed Lara’s face, pinching it cruelly between his fingers. “I’m killing that brat and I’m going to make you watch. I put a bullet in that husband of yours too. He’s dead. You’re a widow now. I’ll kill every man who looks at you.”
Pain ripped through her, taking her breath. Houston was dead. They’d never share any more kisses in the moonlight or make love on a cushion of grass. She swallowed a sob. Yuma had murdered the man she loved. Though she felt her knees crumpling, she willed herself to remain standing. Gracie’s crying filled the silence.
“Kill the brat, I said!” Yuma screamed to his man. “Now.”
Yuma’s iron grip brought tears to her eyes. Though fear lodged in every part of her, she raised her chin in defiance. “Anyone touches her and I’ll scratch your eyes out first chance I get.”
“That kid is nothing to me—just a squalling brat.”
“You’re gutless. You can’t do anything yourself. You have to order it done. You’re a coward. You shake in fear when confronted by anyone different from you.” Lara glanced for something to use as a weapon. All she saw were rocks that littered the ground. He’d release her eventually.
But would she have time to grab one?
Where was Caroline? Did the other outlaw have her? Yuma still held her face tight. She tried to look out of the corner of her eyes but saw nothing.
“Those Bible-toters thought they were better’n me. Go around praying all the time, sending folks to hell.” He yanked Lara’s nose to his. “My men showed them.”
“Those aren’t the only ones you’re scared of,” she spat.
The stench of his breath gagged her. Bile rose into her mouth as memories of all she’d suffered at his cruel hand swirled inside her head. Gracie’s frightened cries ripped into her. Oh God, her child couldn’t die! But the loud wails would only make Yuma more desperate to shut the babe up for good.
“Let my sister go!” screamed Henry. He’d climbed from the wagon and came toward them with a rock in his hand.
Yuma’s eyes bulged. “Get back, boy.”
Henry threw his rock, striking the outlaw’s bald head. Blood trickled from the wound. Distracted for a crucial moment, Yuma released his hold on Lara. She turned to see Caroline inching toward Frank’s gun. She didn’t see the other outlaw. Where had he gone?
“Get back, I say!” Yuma swore as he staggered.
“No! You’ll hurt my friends! You’ll kill the baby.” Henry drew back and launched another rock.
The second missile hit Yuma’s chest with a thud. He shuddered, letting the pearl-handled pistol fall from his hand. Spittle ran down his chin. “The wicked shall be turned into everlasting hell! You’re devil-possessed, boy.”
Caroline was almost to the gun.
But then Lara saw Yuma’s man and her heart froze. The outlaw climbed from the wagon, dangling Gracie by one leg. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
“Get away from that gun,” the man barked at Caroline.
Gracie’s screams of terror seemed to fuel Henry more. Lara had never seen her brother so full of rage. Maybe the traumas he’d survived, the constant fear, had snapped something in his brain. She could certainly understand that. He stalked toward them, picking up rocks and throwing them. A good many struck the hated outlaw.
Yuma growled low like an animal.
The gun he’d dropped glinted in the sunlight.
Could she get it and fire before Yuma pulled the second one hanging in the holster?
Her glance slid to Caroline. Anger glittered in her eyes, tightening the girl’s mouth.
“The devil’s in the brat too! I said kill her.” Madness glittered in Yuma’s crazed eyes.
The words froze Lara’s heart. She had to act or they’d all be dead.
Without considering the possibility of failure, she darted to the pearl-handled pistol. Regardless of what happened to her, maybe Gracie, Henry, and the others would live.
She yanked it up, thrusting her finger onto the trigger. Rage flooded over her and fear too. Shaking, she jabbed the silver barrel into Yuma’s chest. Her next words were for the outlaw dangling Gracie upside down. “Lay the babe gently on the ground or your boss is a very, very dead man.” The steel in her voice seemed to spring from a place deep inside.
Maybe it had been there all along. She’d just needed to find it.
“She’s bluffing. Shut that goddamn brat up!” Yuma’s gaze met hers, boring into the depths of her being. Daring her. “She doesn’t have it in her to kill me.”
An angry roar filled the inside of Lara’s head. Without breaking eye contact, she spoke to the other outlaw. “Hurt my daughter, and trust me, it’ll be the last thing you will ever do. As soon as I shoot this piece of filth, I’m swinging the gun to you.”
Henry launched another rock, this time striking Yuma’s face. “I’ll kill you!” the boy screamed.
“Don’t worry, Lara!” Caroline yelled. “I have Gracie. And I have a gun on this outlaw. Kill the bastard. Do what you hafta do.”
She didn’t know whose weapon the girl had, but she knew Caroline would use it. “Be careful—don’t look away for an instant.”
“I ain’t,” Caroline replied, then crooned to Gracie to comfort her.
Lara reached for the second pistol in Yuma’s holster and tossed it aside. Then she slid the .45 in her hand down and shoved it into the one thing Yuma prized more than any other body part. She jabbed the barrel into his flabby flesh. He winced, staring at her in a mixture of fear and disbelief. She noticed an odd light come into his eyes, and his breathing grew harsh.
Power filled her. No one would ever take from her again in this way.
Her voice grew quiet and she moved closer to his ear. “I’ll blow you right into the pits of hell and not bat an eye. That fire is awfully hot. Feel it licking around your legs?” She shrugged. “Of course, there’s a chance you won’t die. In fact, that might be even better. To live without your family jewels would be most fitting.”
But could she settle for that? He’d killed Houston. He should pay the ultimate price.
“My men will be here in a minute,” he answered in a strange, faraway tone. “They’ll take care of you.”
“A pity they won’t get here in time. I can’t imagine living only half a man, eaten alive with hunger, unable to satisfy the need.” Lara smelled his fear.
Sweat rolled down his face and he licked his dry lips.
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “This isn’t just about me, you know. I’m doing this for all the women you’ve done the same thing to, and others you will never get a chance to. You’re scum, trash to burn. One of us won’t leave here.”
Yuma licked his lips again. His eyes darted back and forth and he babbled something that sounded like Scripture, but no verses she had ever heard. He seemed to be slipping into a different person. Yuma really was crazy.
Lara listened in stunned disbelief. Frank Farley was right. The man was a lunatic.
“Come back here.” She jammed the gun deeper into the soft flesh. “There is no escape for you. None.”
“What’s going on?” Caroline yelled.
“I’m not sure exactly. Thank you for quieting Gracie.”
Sudden yelling came from the girl then Lara heard Yuma’s man scream, “Put down that gun or I’ll shoot you dead.”
Panic swept through Lara. Caroline had Gracie in her arms! Oh God! What was happening? She wanted to turn but she couldn’t take her eyes off Yuma.
“Mister, I’ve just about had enough!” the young girl yelled.
“What’s going on, Caroline?” Lara couldn’t bear not knowing. “Caroline!”
A loud blast rent Lara’s hearing.
A man screamed.
Gracie let out a piercing cry.
Horses snorted.
“Caroline, answer me.” But all she got was the sound of a struggle.
“I think you’d best go see, girly,” Yuma said, his eyes glittering wildly.
Lara shoved the gun into his privates harder. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sorry, I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second.”
Just as her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, Quaid spoke. “It’s all right, sis. Everything’s all right.”
“I shot him, Lara. I shot his dumb leg and Quaid came to and tied him up. We’re all okay!” Caroline yelled.
Henry appeared to the right of her vision. “Don’t worry, sis. Just shoot him!”
Yuma gave Lara a sudden shove and lunged for the twin .45 still on the ground.
Before he could lift it, she fired. The bullet tore into his midsection. Yet he kept coming for her, that mad light in his eyes. With smoke still curling around the barrel, she fired again, and this time the bullet struck a bit lower.
Tears streamed down her face. She kept pulling the trigger until she’d emptied the wheel.
As though from a long distance away, she felt Quaid gently pry the gun from her fingers. “He’s dead, sis.”
Vaguely, she heard another rider enter the canyon but she couldn’t even look. She had no more strength left to fight anyone else. Houston was dead and she’d turned into a murderer.
Henry kicked Yuma’s leg. “We did it. He’s not gonna hurt us anymore.”
“Lara!”
The voice sounded like Houston’s. Only it couldn’t be. Maybe she’d gone as mad as Yuma.
“Lara, are you hurt?” Arms went around her.
“Houston?” she asked dully, the voice still not registering.
“It’s me.” He hugged her against him. “I was so afraid I’d lost you. It’s over, darlin’. It’s all over.”
She gazed up into her husband’s coffee-brown eyes. Blood smeared the whole side of his face, the trail running down his neck into his shirt. She sucked in a breath. “You’ve been shot!”
Houston tried to work up a grin but the effort appeared to be too much. “I did my best to stay out of the way of bullets.”
“Sweetheart, you talk too much.” She rose on tiptoes to press her lips to his.
She barely heard Caroline squeal and yell Nick’s name, or notice Luke manhandling the remaining outlaw, or Quaid tending to Frank, who was thankfully alive. Happiness settled through every inch as Lara molded her body to Houston’s. Somehow, through everything, they’d survived.
Without breaking the kiss, Lara slid both arms around her husband’s neck and drank in all she’d nearly lost. “I love you, my cowboy,” she murmured against his mouth.
Forty-four
Battered but not beaten, Houston and his drovers finally arrived in Dodge City two months after leaving the Lone Star. They’d had to lay over ten days at Fort Supply to let him and his men heal and rest. The lull had given them time to fatten the cattle a bit.
Frank Farley was recovering from his gunshot, and instead of turning him over to the military, Houston had offered him a job. He couldn’t repay the man enough for helping them and keeping Lara safe.
The sun hovered low on the horizon when they rode into town. The drovers wasted no time in driving the cattle to the huge stockyards, where milling longhorns stretched as far as the eye could see. The sight, combined with the din of all those bawling cattle, boggled Houston’s mind. Growing up on the Lone Star, he was accustomed to large numbers, but the yards held more cattle than he’d ever seen.
Even after the losses along the trail and during the fight, he still had a sizeable herd, taking days to round them up following the battle. Once the herd was inside the gates of the stockyard and counted by the tally man, the drovers scattered like a wad of buckshot. Lara had issued a stern warning to Quaid and Virgil not to let Henry out of their sight.
Now pausing on Dodge’s Front Street, Houston steadied his horse. They’d made it, and in one piece. It was a wonder he didn’
t drop Gracie. The babe was in perpetual motion, trying to take in all the chaos. She kept her pointed finger very busy, scolding everything and everyone. He breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Lara beside him on the little mare she’d ridden before.
His last glimpse of Sam, Luke, and Clay found them making tracks into the nearest bathhouse. Nick and Caroline had stopped to inquire about Nick’s uncle. Who knew where Pony Latham and the remaining drovers had taken off to? Sorrow washed over Houston. They’d had to bury four following the fight. Of the eighteen they’d left Texas with, only twelve had come through. Leaving the loyal men who’d given their all on the windswept prairie had crushed him. Now he’d have to face their loved ones. And Stoker.
Somehow, he’d have to find a way to live with their deaths. He already knew he’d bear the scars the rest of his life.
The first thing he’d do once he got back was make sure their families got the money due the drovers, including the bonus for making it to Dodge. Though that was precious little at best and couldn’t begin to fill the holes those men had left behind. He also meant to see what he could do for the Cherokees who came to their aid and turned the tide. Maybe Clay could suggest the perfect thing.
Pushing away the gloomy thoughts, Houston turned his attention to a hot bath, a good meal, and private time with his lady.
It took some doing to weave through the packed street and he was glad they’d left the chuck wagon parked at the edge of town until they could restock it for the return trip. Adding to the noise, scantily clad women hung over the balconies, yelling their prices to the men below. Nothing about them interested Houston. He had what he wanted right beside him. He moved closer to Lara to keep them from getting separated, aiming the horses toward the Dodge House Hotel. Tying up, he dismounted.
A gunshot erupted from the Silver Dollar Saloon across the street as he swung Lara from the mare. She jumped, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Let’s get you and Gracie inside, darlin’.” Houston put a protective arm around her. “We’ll see if they have some rooms.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.” She wearily raised her eyes to his. Hers were the color of a green field under the morning sun. “And I need to feed Gracie.”