by Nancy Bush
Tremaine nodded. The sheriff stole around the side of the house to inform Cullen and Jace walked up to Tremaine. In the darkness the two men eyed each other with dislike.
“If you plan to make Lexie your wife, in the future don’t ask for my help,” Jace said.
“I didn’t ask for it now.”
Jace shrugged. “You’ll never make a lady out of her,” he threw over his shoulder like an epithet as he strode into the inky blackness and disappeared.
Jace, Tremaine realized in donning surprise, had come as close to offering his blessing as he ever would.
For a moment Tremaine was undecided on what to do. Though the other men seemed to feel he’d overstated the danger, Tremaine had been there when Gainsborough’s gunmen had shot his father. The threat still existed. It was real. And none of this family would be safe until Gainsborough was dealt with once and for all.
The flare of a match glowed from the windows of Pa’s den. Someone was awake! Tremaine melted backward, into the shadows. He couldn’t see the features of the person inside, but he watched the direction of that tiny, wildly flickering flame.
Inside the room, the golden tip of fire reflected against a glass panel. Glass… Whoever it was had stopped in front of the guncase.
Gainsborough! Tremaine’s blood froze. With the silence of a stalker, he slipped inside the house through the back door.
¤ ¤ ¤
Lexie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to a fir bough scratch delicately against her windowpane. They’d all pleaded with her to reconsider, even to the point of growing furiously angry with her.
“I won’t let you go with him!” Pa had roared, but Lexie hadn’t turned a hair.
Even Eliza’s hollow-eyed plea to wait for the Good Lord to interfere hadn’t persuaded Lexie. The Good Lord might take His own sweet time.
Besides, what did she have to stay in Rock Springs for? Her dream had been to become a horse doctor. No one here had ever supported her. Not even Tremaine.
She ground her teeth together and blocked out Tremaine’s image, remembering again her mother’s telling words. “Didn’t Tremaine find you?” Eliza had asked anxiously as soon as they were out of earshot from Ramsey Gainsborough.
“Yes, he found me. Why? Did you send him after me?”
“We didn’t want you to come home! We thought he’d keep you away until Ramsey got tired of waiting for you.”
Lexie hadn’t told her mother how nearly successful Tremaine had been. His method for “keeping her away” had the power to hurt her worse than any imagined miseries Ramsey Gainsborough might have in store. Yet she wouldn’t give up a moment of it. She might need those memories to savor in the near future.
Heart aching, she slipped from beneath the downy comforter and crossed the cool oak floor barefoot, stopping in front of her dresser. In the oval mirror her reflection was ghostly: long untamed hair, a white cotton shirt, bare ivory limbs. What she wouldn’t give for a midnight ride to soothe her tormented soul, but when she thought of Tantrum the pain in her chest threatened to suffocate her.
A sound beyond her door pulled her out of her private hell. Someone was walking stealthily down the hallway. Could it be Gainsborough? He and his men stayed in the empty rooms downstairs, but she could believe he patrolled the house at night.
Lexie grabbed her silk wrapper, then flung it aside and pulled one of her cotton dresses over her head, fumbling with the buttons. She crossed the room soundlessly, wishing she still had the pistol she’d been forced to leave in Tremaine’s care, and quietly opened the door.
The murmur of voices sounded from the upper stairway, a hushed murmur. Lexie crept along the wall, recognizing the low, chilling drawl of Ramsey Gainsborough.
She reached the top of the stairs and saw through the French doors that Gainsborough was on the widow’s walk — with her mother! Eliza’s blond head was bent, as if in deep sorrow. Carefully Lexie crossed the cool floor to within earshot of their hushed conversation.
“…if you want me to beg, I’ll beg,” Eliza was saying in a dull, flat voice. “You can prosecute me and let me rot in jail. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Ah must admit, the idea holds attraction for me.”
“You don’t know Lexie.” Eliza’s head came up proudly, a faint smile curving her lips. “She’s stubborn and smart. She will do as you bid and shall thwart you any way she can.”
“She’ll come to learn my ways,” Gainsborough answered confidently.
Eliza actually laughed. “She’s your daughter, Ramsey. She’ll do as she pleases.”
Somewhere below her, Lexie thought she heard the dull sound of a softly shutting door. One of Gainsborough’s men? She shivered.
Ramsey Gainsborough had the awesome nerve and bad sense to actually reach out and caress Eliza’s smooth chin. “Ah could make you come with me, too, wife,” he said silkily.
Eliza’s gaze was stony. “Only by force.”
He chuckled softly, drawing closer. Horrified, Lexie watched him lower his head for kiss. Her stomach churned. She ran forward, prepared to stop him, when Eliza suddenly jerked back and slapped him full across the face.
“Bitch!” he spat, slapping her with all the force of one brawny hand. Lexie screamed. Eliza stumbled against the rail, gasping. Lexie charged for Gainsborough. He turned, eyes wild, nostrils flared, and backhanded Lexie with one lethal blow.
Lexie went sprawling. Her head reeled. She tasted blood. “Mother!” she screamed, and then screamed again when she saw him grab Eliza by the hair and hit her again.
¤ ¤ ¤
The man reaching for the Winchester rifle in the gun case was a dark shadow outlined by the thin light of the candle, but Tremaine recognized him instantly. “Pa,” he hissed softly. “What are you doing?”
Joseph Danner whirled around, his face unreadable in the blackness. “Tremaine?”
Crossing the room, Tremaine peered into his father’s face. “You can’t shoot Gainsborough in cold blood.”
“He’s kidnapping my daughter.”
Tremaine’s blood froze. “He’s taken Lexie away?”
“She’s upstairs asleep but he intends to take her back to Kentucky with him.”
Relief crashed over him. “The hell he will,” Tremaine growled. “I’ll kill him first myself!”
“Stand in line.”
Joseph’s grim resolve made Tremaine smile. “Lexie won’t go. She’s—”
The sound of a thud and a short, pain-filled scream shattered the stillness. Of one mind, Tremaine and Joseph ran from the den into the foyer. A crash sounded.
“They’re on the walk!” Pa yelled and tore through the front door.
Tremaine dug into his pocket for the pistol. Unlike his father, he mounted the stairs three at a time, cresting the last one at the same moment Jesse’s door flew open. Tremaine ran for the open French doors, Jesse at his heels. Lexie was just staggering to her feet. Gainsborough was furiously beating Eliza with his fist.
“Let her go!” Tremaine roared, taking careful aim.
Before he could pull the trigger, a streak of silver-blond fury slammed full body into the small of Gainsborough’s back. “You bastard!” Lexie screamed, hitting and crying.
“Christ! Lexie!” Jesse yelled.
“Lexie!” Tremaine cried simultaneously.
The shock of Lexie’s weight sent Gainsborough barreling into Eliza. For a heart-stopping moment Eliza’s fragile body was crushed against the railing.
“Lexie. Ma—” Tremaine choked out, stepping forward.
The ominous cracking of rotten wood rent the air at the same moment Pa’s Winchester’s exploded. Wood splintered into shrapnel. Eliza’s terrorized scream wailed like the wind. The rail disappeared behind her and she teetered precariously on the edge.
“Mother!” Lexie sobbed, reaching for her as Gainsborough pitched forward into Eliza, their bodies whirling in the sultry blackness.
In a slow-motion trance Tremaine Danner
witnessed a replay of his own mother’s death, as Eliza plunged to the ground two floors below.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lexie’s ears rang. She didn’t know it was from her own screams. She ran to the rail. Strong arms encircled her and she fought like a mad woman, kicking and growling and trying to inflict as much damage as possible on her attacker.
“Mother… Mother…” she cried in anguish, scratching the arms that held her.
“Lexie,” Tremaine uttered brokenly. “Stop.”
“Let me go!” she sobbed, kicking backward.
“I’m going down,” Jesse said from somewhere in the blackness. Lexie couldn’t see. Tears blinded her. Fear choked her.
“God damn you! Let me go!” she screamed.
“I’ve got to go down,” Tremaine said in her ear. “Come with me.” She nodded jerkily. When he finally released her, her legs felt detached. “Can you walk?” he demanded tersely.
“Yes.” She pushed him away, but trembled so violently that Tremaine grabbed her hand, pulling her gently behind him. At the bottom of the stairs she found her legs again and ran into the windswept night.
Her first sight was Gainsborough, a bloody, crumpled mass from the combined efforts of Pa’s bullet and his fall. He was still alive and groaning. Lexie tore her numb gaze from him and searched for her mother. Eliza was a small huddled form. Pa was bent over her, examining her. She was still as death.
“Pa,” Tremaine said gently, placing his hands on his father’s shoulders.
A tearing sob rasped from his father’s chest. “I broke her fall but I couldn’t save her. Just like your mother. Just like your mother.”
“Let me examine her.”
“She’s dead,” Joseph said, staggering blindly to his feet. “She’s dead. She’s dead.” He bent to pick up his Winchester.
A red haze of misery descended on Lexie. Mother, I love you, she thought in anguish. I wish I could’ve told you.
Pa stumbled toward Gainsborough’s rising form. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, his fingers trembling on the trigger.
“No!” Lexie screamed.
Everything happened at once. Men ran from the house. Guns roared. Someone yanked Lexie’s arm nearly from the socket. She saw the silvery flash of a knife. Vaguely, she recognized Harrison bearing down on her. And Jesse, gun in hand, a dark blur.
The Winchester blasted again and glass shattered. Lexie struggled. The grip on her arms was bone-crushing. Tears coursed silently down her cheeks.
She felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed against her temple. A voice snarled near her ear, “Get back or I’ll kill her!”
It was the gunman called Pete. All motion ceased except for Gainsborough, still writhing on the ground. A last whistling rasp of air passed through his windpipe as he mercifully died.
“If you want a hostage, take me,” Tremaine said quietly.
Pete had her head pulled back by the hair. Lexie couldn’t move. The other gunman was kicking the gun Jesse had dropped out of reach. His face was slashed open from Harrison’s knife. Harrison, Pa, and Jesse stood still and wary. Tremaine advanced slowly toward Lexie, his hands raised.
“Gainsborough’s dead,” he said quietly.
“Then so are you, Doctor,” Pete snarled in rage. He lifted his gun and shot, the blast a yellow stream of fire. Tremaine fell backward.
Lexie twisted and bit into Pete’s hand. He howled and hit her with the butt of his gun and she fell by her mother. Dimly, she saw the even rise and fall of Eliza’s chest. She wasn’t dead! Her mother wasn’t dead! Pa, in his anguish, hadn’t even checked.
Grunts and groans and the sickening crunch of bone connecting with bone sounded around her. Tremaine, she thought with sharp pain. Tremaine!
Harrison was nearest her. The glint of his knife flashed in the moonlight but it was held tightly in the hamlike fist of the other gunman. The man slashed viciously downward and Harrison sucked in a breath of pain.
Lexie didn’t remember moving, but she leaped on Harrison’s attacker, ripping at his hair. Blood spurted from Harrison shoulder. The man clawed at Lexie. Then Jesse slammed his pistol across the side of the man’s head and he went down cold.
A rifle blast nearly split Lexie’s eardrums. Samuel, standing small and fierce in the doorway, was taking aim at the now fleeing Pete. Calmly, he shot again. But Pete disappeared behind a leafy frond of fern and melted into the blackness.
Harrison groaned and slipped into unconsciousness. Lexie placed her hands on the wound near his shoulder, holding with all her might, fighting sobs, until Pa relieved her. Her hands were sticky with blood.
Tremaine lay still. Blood smeared his temple. The bullet had struck him in the head.
“Pa.” Lexie’s voice shook.
Her father was pulling back the blood-soaked wad of Harrison’s shirt. Nausea scalded the back of Lexie’s throat. Her brother’s arm was nearly severed from his shoulder.
“Go to the Garretts, Samuel,” Pa said. “Get help.”
Jesse was gathering Eliza into his arms. “Mother’s alive!” he cried, chokingly.
“Take her upstairs,” Pa said, his face transformed by joy and disbelief.
Lexie’s own heart was heavy with dread. Tremaine lay quiet as death. She knelt beside him and touched his cheek. There was so little she could do for him. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
She laid her head on his chest and cried, great rolling sobs that couldn’t be stopped. She cried for all the wasted time. For all the pointless misery. It couldn’t come to this. It couldn’t. “I love you. I love you so much,” she murmured brokenly. “Don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me.”
To her amazement he suddenly inhaled deeply and his eyes opened. He stared blankly around, as if he didn’t know where he was. “Lex…?”
“Tremaine!” She was beside herself with joy.
“God,” he moaned, drawing air through his teeth. Lifting a hand, he tenderly touched the side of his head and winced. The bullet had grazed his temple rather than entering his skull.
Lexie’s tears ran unchecked. “How dare you walk in front of a gun!” she exclaimed furiously, nearly hysterical with relief and rapture.
“It wasn’t — one of my — brightest ideas,” she panted, struggling to sit up. Seeing the chaos surrounding them, he muttered grimly, “Help me to my feet. Pa needs us.”
¤ ¤ ¤
“I need a surgical nurse,” Tremaine told her in the kitchen half an hour later as she handed him his bag. “Can you handle it?”
Lexie nodded. She was worried sick about all of them: her mother, Harrison, Tremaine. But Harrison was bleeding to death in front of her eyes. He needed help now.
Lexie glanced anxiously at Tremaine. He’d bandaged his own head, assuring her testily that he was fine. Harrison lay on the table, pallid as death. Jesse, who had helped carry Harrison inside, stood near the doorway, his shirt covered with Harrison’s blood. Pa was upstairs with Eliza. Knowing his own skills were rusty, he’d reluctantly allowed Tremaine to perform surgery on Harrison. Even though Tremaine was injured, there was no time to wait for another surgeon. Harrison would bleed to death before he arrived.
“Hand me the carbolic, then thread me a needle,” Tremaine muttered tersely. “Pray to God he doesn’t wake up before we’re finished.”
Lexie’s hands felt fat and numb. This was Harrison. Her brother. Her best friend. Please, God, save him.
Tremaine worked with incredible efficiency and single-mindedness. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his face grew white. Lexie swallowed her fear. Tremaine stitched the torn muscles and vessels together, periodically using a scalpel to cut away any tissue he couldn’t save.
Lexie worked by rote, obeying his commands, mentally detaching herself from her task. She couldn’t think that this was Harrison, otherwise she would fall apart completely. She couldn’t think about Tremaine’s injury. She couldn’t think about anything.
It seemed an eternity before Tre
maine was stitching Harrison’s skin together. Jesse was sent for fresh bandages. Tremaine’s eyes were dark pits in his pale face.
Hoofbeats sounded outside. The front door burst open. Samuel and Dr. Marshfield appeared as one.
“Check my mother,” Tremaine said without looking up. “Make sure she’s all right.”
Marshfield didn’t argue. He went upstairs just as Jesse returned with sheets. Tremaine took the sheets, ripped them, and wound Harrison from neck to waist, pinning his right arm to his side. “Help me move him to the couch,” he told Jesse in a tired voice, then ordered, “Stay with him. I’ve got to check on Eliza.”
“No. You’ve got to rest!” Lexie cried.
“In a minute.”
Lexie went with him. They entered their parents’ bedroom together. Eliza lay on the bed, quiet and peaceful. Pa sat beside the bed, anxiously holding his wife’s limp hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Marshfield was saying. “Just needs rest.”
Tremaine didn’t listen. He checked Eliza’s pulse himself and lifted the lids of her eyes.
“No broken bones,” Pa said gruffly.
“You saved her life, you know,” Tremaine remarked, his fingers exploring the swelling at the base of Eliza’s skull.
“Tremaine,” Dr. Marshfield said quietly. “Let me look at that head injury.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re about to fall on your face. As a doctor, you ought to know that—”
The look Tremaine sent him would have turned a lesser man to stone. As it was, Marshfield clamped his lips into a tight line and shook his head.
Pa drew a breath and asked fearfully, “What about Harrison?”
“I think he’ll live, but he may lose his arm. Time will tell. But we Danners are tough,” Tremaine added, his mouth twisting.
Marshfield went downstairs to check on Harrison, and Lexie walked Tremaine back to his room. “You’ve got to lie down,” she ordered gently.
This time he didn’t argue. He collapsed on the bed and fell instantly into a sleep that frightened her. “Tremaine?” she whispered.
His quiet breathing encouraged her but she couldn’t shake the fear in her breast. “I love you, you know. I love you so much.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry for everything. For all the terrible, stupid things I’ve done. All I ever wanted was you. Just you. If I could do anything to change things I would. I love you. My God, how I love you.”