They rode until almost dark before they spotted movement ahead of them. Then, without a word, Cunningham signaled and the four men spread out, leaving no trail of dust big enough to notice if one of the outlaws glanced back.
McCord took the center, riding in the open, daring them to look back. He rode fast, but not full-out; he had to give the others time to move into place. As he climbed, he closed in on four riders, one in what looked like a blue dress. Anna, he thought. His Anna.
One outlaw led the line, pulling the two captives behind him. The other outlaw rode drag, but he wasn’t on guard like he should have been. Not once did he look back, and from what McCord could see he held no weapon at the ready.
The captive next to Anna slumped in his saddle. It had to be Clark, but he was either asleep or hurt.
When they crossed over a ridge, McCord saw that the outlaws were moving toward two men camped out near a stream in the bottom of a shallow canyon. Both men were waiting, watching the riders approach. If they’d looked beyond the riders, they might have seen McCord in the long shadows, following.
He waited as the day aged and the outlaws slowly wound their way around rocks and streams toward the camp.
In the campfire light McCord swore one of the men had to be the gambler. He even noticed the flicker of gold from the watch chain on the gambler’s vest. The other man in camp was tall and dressed in black. If this was an outlaw camp there would be one, maybe two men in the shadows on guard, but the Ranger had no time to worry about them now. Anna’s and Clark’s lives might be measured in minutes.
McCord knew his part. He could go no closer without the men in camp seeing him, and when they did he needed to be ready. He drew both his Colts, not bothering with the rifle, circled the reins around his saddle horn, and kicked the tired horse into a full run. With Anna and Clark halfway between him and the camp, Wynn knew he’d reach her long before the outlaws could make it to the others watching from the shadows.
The minute the outlaws, with their captives in tow, spotted him, McCord opened fire. He hit the man leading the two prisoners with his first shot. The other outlaw grabbed at the rope on Anna’s horse. Clark shouted something as he tumbled off his horse, hands still tied behind his back. A second later, Anna also tumbled and rolled from a horse gone wild from the noise.
The outlaw with Anna was so busy fighting to control the horses he didn’t notice that he’d lost his captives. Both men at the camp grabbed their weapons and shouted orders.
Suddenly, shots exploded from every direction. The men standing at the camp jerked in a fatal dance with bullets. The outlaw on horseback tried to ride away.
A dozen more shots rattled across the sky and then the night fell silent. Both men at the campsite lay dead. The mounted outlaw screamed as his horse bolted, and tumbled. One of his feet remained in the stirrup dragging him behind his horse. One shot from somewhere left of McCord silenced the screams, but the outlaw’s body still bounced over rocks as the horse ran.
The screams and the last shot echoed into the canyon until they were only whispers on the wind. McCord took a deep breath. He’d felt the peace after a battle many times. One more time he’d survived, but tonight his thoughts were for another.
McCord holstered his guns and headed toward Anna. He found her sitting beside Clark, wrapping what was left of her apron around the kid’s arm. Both of them smiled as he neared.
“She said you’d come,” Clark groaned. “Drove the two fellows crazy with her threats of what you’d do to them when you came.”
McCord didn’t look at her; he couldn’t, not yet, not till he knew it was over. “You all right, kid?”
“I’m fine. They shot me in the right arm this morning because I told them I was a crack shot. But Anna made them let her bandage it. She says I’m lucky the bullet went right through.”
McCord saw Cunningham and his men moving into the campsite, making sure the others were dead.
Clark’s voice shook a little. “They told us they were going to hang us tonight, then gut us like we was fresh game. They knew you’d be coming and they figured when you found our bodies, you’d be foolish enough to do something stupid.”
Anna stood. “Which you did.” Fists on her hips, she faced him. “You rode straight in here like a madman. It’s a wonder you don’t have four bullets in your chest.” Her voice was fired with anger. “When I saw you barreling straight toward us, Wynn McCord, I almost had a heart attack.”
McCord finally looked at her. “Startled men don’t take the time to aim. I knew I could kill one, maybe two before they’d get a shot close to me. I was giving the sergeant and his men time to step out and open fire from other directions.” He hesitated, fighting down a smile over her finally using his first name. Damn, if she wasn’t adorable all covered in dirt and twigs. “Glad to see you, Anna.”
When she straightened up as if planning to give him a lecture on being careful, he raised his hands in surrender and closed the distance between them. He couldn’t very well grab her and kiss her in front of the other men, but he could at least get close.
The click of a rifle cocking sounded from somewhere in the night. It had to be the lookout the outlaws posted. The outlaw McCord had forgotten might be hidden in the night.
He dove at Anna, knocking her down a second before the bullet meant for her blasted into his back. He felt her beneath him, then pain exploded all other thought. The last thing he heard was another round being fired. He waited for the second bullet to hit, but before he realized it hadn’t been meant for him, blackness washed over him, carrying him under like a huge wave.
In the silence of dying, he drifted back to the battlefield years ago when he’d fallen. The arms of the nurse who’d stopped to help him circled him and whispered, “You’re going to be all right, soldier. You’re not going to die.”
Only this time McCord knew she was wrong. He’d finally drawn the short card.
Chapter 9
Anna frantically bandaged the Ranger, trying to slow the bleeding as the others built a travois to pull him home.
“Don’t you die on me, Wynn. Don’t you dare die on me.”
He didn’t respond.
Angry, she continued. “I don’t care if my voice irritates you. You’re not going to die. Do you hear me? You’re not going to die.”
Blood soaked the strips of cotton that had once been her underskirt. She pulled the bandage tighter, hoping to keep the blood from flowing out the hole in his back. When the men came to lift him onto the travois, she followed a step behind, giving unneeded orders for them to be careful.
Once they were moving, Sergeant Cunningham ordered one of his men to ride ahead with her and Clark. With luck they could be back in camp by dawn.
She didn’t want to leave her Ranger, but Anna saw the logic. She hadn’t sat a horse since her days as an army nurse, but she hadn’t forgotten how to ride hard, and Clark, despite his wound, rode as easy as he walked. McCord’s wound was too deep to risk traveling fast, and Clark’s arm still needed proper care or the infection could kill him. The practical side of her she’d always depended on overruled her heart.
Clark signaled that he was ready and they were off. They rode fast across flat land, with only the moon for light, and reached the camp at first light. Anna swore half the garrison turned out to help.
While she cleaned up, three men washed a few layers of dirt off Clark. Another lit a fire in the examining room and spread out a buffalo hide on the table for the Ranger.
Anna doctored and bandaged Clark’s arm with the roomful of men watching. They groaned with the kid, like midwives at their first birthing. Anna grinned at Clark, guessing he was complaining more than necessary just to hear the echo.
As she wrapped the wound, one of the men who’d ridden with Cunningham asked Clark, “How’d you shoot that one hiding in the shadows without your firing arm?”
Clark thought for a moment, then started slowly into a story he knew he’d tell more than once. “When I
heard the shot coming out of the night, I grabbed a rifle lying in the dust. The bandit, who’d been riding behind us all day yelling obscenities, must have dropped it when he was knocked out of the saddle. I raised it toward where I’d seen the flash of fire. It was so black I couldn’t see anything but his eyes. I just shot between them.”
“With your left hand?”
“My father always said, ‘You got two, might as well learn to shoot with them both.’” Clark smiled. “I didn’t want to mention that to the outlaws earlier. Thought they might decide to blast away at my left arm as well.”
Anna smiled, doubting any of the men would call Clark a boy again. He had a wound he’d heal from and a story he might live to tell his grandchildren. He’d not only killed an outlaw, he’d saved other lives. If he hadn’t fired when he did, the outlaw would have picked them off one by one.
Everyone fell silent as Sergeant Cunningham and one of his men arrived with the Ranger. There would be no laughter, no telling of stories now. A Texas Ranger was down.
They placed him on the buffalo hide, face down. He didn’t make a sound. Then the men stepped back and watched as Anna cut off his shirt with shaking hands. Blood seemed to be everywhere.
Cunningham and one of the others she didn’t know stepped up to help. Both took orders from her as if she were a general. They could make him comfortable, clean him up a little, but then it would be up to her.
When the Ranger’s star hit the floor, everyone froze.
Anna took a step and picked it up. She shoved it into her apron pocket. “I’ll keep this safe for McCord until he needs it again.”
No one believed he ever would, but they all nodded as if agreeing that she should be the one to keep it safe.
When Anna had the wound cleaned, Cunningham seemed to think it was time for the audience to leave. He ordered everyone out except Clark, who’d fallen asleep in the corner.
Anna set to work, doing what she knew best. Years of working under all kinds of conditions kept her hands steady. She’d done her job when cannon fire still filled the air, when it was so cold that bloody bandages froze on the wounds, when sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She could do what had to be done now.
“Listen to me,” she whispered to McCord as she worked. “You’re going to live. You’re going to come back. I don’t care if you like my accent or not, you’ve got to hear me. You’ve got to come back to me.”
Sergeant Cunningham returned with whiskey he claimed was for McCord when he woke up. Anna hardly noticed the sergeant moving around the room trying to find a comfortable spot. She talked only to Wynn as she worked, telling him everything she was doing and what kind of scar he’d have when she was finished. Over and over, she said, “You’re going to make it through this. Hang in there. You’re going to be good as new once you heal.”
Finally, when she leaned back to rest her back a moment, the sergeant placed his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll come back to you, Anna.” He barked out a laugh. “Hell, if a fine woman like you ordered me to, I’d come back from hell itself, and I reckon McCord feels the same way.”
An hour passed. Cunningham began sampling the whiskey. Clark slept on a cot in the corner, snoring away. Anna worked, with memories of a hundred hospital camps after a hundred battles floating in her mind. All of the horror she’d worked through, all the exhaustion, all of the skills she’d learned, all boiled down to this day, this time, this man.
If she could save him, all the years would be worth it.
“I’m never giving up on you, Wynn, so you might as well decide to live because I’m not letting you die,” she whispered. “I hear Rangers are made of iron. Well, you’d better be. You’re going to come out of this. Hear me good.”
Finally she finished and wrapped the wound where a bullet had dug its way across Wynn’s back. He’d lost so much blood she was surprised he was still breathing, but she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of his skin against her touch.
Exhausted, she pulled a stool beside the table and leaned her face near his. “You’re going to be all right, soldier. Hang on. I’m not going to let you die.” Her fingers dug into his hair and made a fist. “I’m expecting you to come knocking on my door one day, and when you do you might as well plan on staying because I don’t think I can let you go.”
She fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, with McCord’s shallow breath brushing her cheek.
In what seemed like minutes, someone woke her to tell her breakfast was ready. It took her a minute to realize that twenty-four hours had passed since they’d brought McCord in.
Anna left her meal untouched as she walked around Wynn, checking the wound, feeling his skin for fever. Wishing he’d open his eyes.
Finally, at Cunningham’s insistence, she ate a few bites and drank a cup of tea. Clark ate everything in sight. Men took over the sergeant’s watch by the door so he could get some sleep, and the day passed in silence.
Lieutenant Dodson tapped on the open door to the office just before dark. He waited until she nodded for him to enter, then removed his hat. She had no doubt he’d heard about what had happened, probably including small details like how she’d stabbed one of the outlaws with her scissors when he’d tried to tie her hands after she’d pulled free. Hopefully Clark had left out the ways the outlaw called Luther had threatened to rape her before they killed her. The words he’d used still made her cheeks burn.
Pushing aside the memory, she stared at the pale officer her brother had said couldn’t afford to be too picky in finding a wife. That dinner her first night in camp seemed more like a hundred years ago rather than just a week.
Lieutenant Dodson began talking as if giving a speech. Anna barely followed along. The man liked to hear his own voice.
Anna didn’t say much. Dodson had been politely cold to her both times they’d met and had obviously seen her only as a possible solution to his problem. Now he seemed to look at her quite differently. He even told her he had always admired tall women who could carry themselves well. It appeared, since she’d survived a kidnapping, her value had gone up in his eyes.
The change in the lieutenant bothered Anna far more than his flattery did. She was glad when the sergeant showed up for his nightly guard duty before Dodson lied and said that she was pretty. Anna had always known she was simply plain.
She didn’t want to hear words she knew weren’t sincere; she wanted to see the way a man felt in his face, and read the truth of his compliments in a touch.
All in all, she’d been lucky: two men in her life had been blind enough to see her as beautiful. One had been young and in love with love. The other lay on the table before her. She had no doubt, despite their shortsightedness, that both men had believed every word they said.
The lieutenant invited her to dine with him and Anna declined. She didn’t even give a reason. She just said, “No, thank you.”
The moment he’d gone, Cunningham closed the door. “Anna,” he began in his slow, polite way that hinted they’d been friends for years and not days. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll stay awake tonight and if McCord so much as twitches, I’ll yell out for you. With the tent so close you’ll probably hear him anyway.”
Anna shook her head. “I’d like to have a proper bath and a clean change of clothes, but after that, I’ll be back.”
Cunningham looked like he thought it would be a waste of time to argue.
Chapter 10
McCord felt his body moving through layers of muddy water, floating slowly to the surface. He forced himself to take a deep breath and swore he smelled buffalo. He hated buffalo. Orneriest creatures God ever made. The only thing worse than having them roam over the plains, eating every blade of grass for miles, was seeing the thousands of carcasses rotting after the hunters shot them.
He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. His mouth felt like it was packed with sand.
Opening one eye, he noticed he was lying on what looked like a buffalo hide, and just
beyond that was a mass of midnight hair. “Anna,” he whispered.
She raised her head and looked at him with eyes heavy with sleep. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Wynn,” she whispered, as if she’d just been dreaming of him.
She looked delicious. He moved to kiss her and felt the stab of a dozen knives in his back.
“Don’t move,” she ordered, her hand on his shoulder.
Memories came back with the pain. The feel of her beneath him a moment before fire crossed his back. Floating in darkness, unable to open his eyes. The sound of her voice constantly talking to him, pulling him closer to shore, not letting him sink away from the pain…away from life.
He closed his eyes and tried to think. Maybe he had died. It would be just his luck that hell would be full of Yankees and they’d all be talking.
He opened one eye again. No. He was alive and Anna was sitting beside him. He caught her fingers when she touched his hand, gripping tight, needing to know that she was real. Almost losing her had tortured his mind for days, and when he’d watched her fall off the horse he swore his heart stopped until he saw her rolling on the ground.
The fingers of her free hand brushed through his hair. “You’re going to be all right, Wynn. Just rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Sleep now.”
He smiled and closed his eyes, thinking of how he liked the way she said his first name. He hadn’t heard a woman say his name in years.
When he woke again, morning shone through the windows, but the face in front of him was Dirk Cunningham’s. The sergeant looked tired, but a smile spread from ear to ear.
“’Morning,” the sergeant said. “You look terrible.”
McCord groaned. “Where’s Anna?”
Cunningham laughed. “She’ll be back. I’m not surprised that my face wasn’t the one you wanted to wake up to, but you could at least act like you’re glad to see me. Anna said if you wake I’m to roll you over like you was a newborn and prop you up.”
Give Me A Texas Ranger Page 7