Promises Prevail

by Sarah McCarty

  “This isn’t necessary.” She couldn’t lose him.

  “It is.” He didn’t pause or flinch. Clint ushered the boy out the door before turning back to her. He filled the doorframe the way he filled her heart to the brim, a big powerful man who always did right.

  “I know you don’t agree, Jenna, but Gray is right. He’s not a kid, and he’s got a bellyful of hate he needs to let loose. If I leave him here, he’ll just light out on his own.”

  “You don’t know that.” The sheets tightened painfully around her fingers as she twisted them.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “How?”

  “Because that’s what I’d do.”

  The reality sank past her fears and her denials. If their places were switched, he would. Which meant Gray would, and if Gray had to go at all, it would be better if he was with Clint.

  “You’ll take care of him?”

  “Yes.”

  She caught his hand, and using his strength, pulled herself up. Clint’s arm around her waist helped her the last painful thirty degrees to upright.

  “And take care of yourself. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. No matter what. Promise me you’ll come back to me.” She dug her fingers into his upper arms. “No matter what.”

  “I’ll take care of myself.” He kissed her slowly—hot and sweet—his tongue rubbing hers in an easy rhythm. As if they had all day, as if he wasn’t riding out with her son to chase down a madman. He pulled back a hair’s breadth. “No matter what.”

  The shift of his weight told her he was leaving. Despite her resolve to be brave, her hands clung to his as he stood. She was clinging to him when he needed her to be strong.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “If you tell me worrying makes you a lousy wife, I’ll beat you.” He bent down and kissed the backs of her hands.

  The laugh caught her by surprise. “You’re always threatening me with that.”

  “And one of these days I will, too.” His eyebrow arched up.

  She touched the back of his hand, running her finger along an old scar, before looking up.

  “But not today.”

  “No.” His gaze softened with emotion as he looked at her, studying her features as if he were memorizing them one last time. “Not today, Sunshine.”

  One last kiss on her hand and he headed for the door. She held back the words she wanted to say, the pleas she wanted to make until he reached the door. The instant his hand touched the knob, she lost her grip and one slipped past her guard.

  “Clint?”

  She knew from the set of his shoulders that he was ready to fend off her tears. Under his arm she could see Gray waiting, rifle in hand, expression solemn.

  “Remember, I love you.”

  “That’s not something a man forgets.”

  Jenna waited until she heard the horses leave the yard and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. There was a demon out there. He’d haunted her nightmares, and almost ruined her future. She couldn’t leaving her son and husband to face him alone.

  * * * * *

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Just to be sure, she crept closer to the edge of the rock ledge, squinting against the gloom to find the edge.

  Below her, in the glow of a large encampment were seven men. Four of them she recognized. Clint, Asa, Cougar, and Mark. Three were strangers, but from their unkempt appearances, she had to assume that they were acquaintances of Mark.

  Mark himself was leaning face-first up against a tree, hands above his head, his fingers digging into the bark. Cougar stood beside him. From the reflection winking off of something in his hand, Jenna assumed that he was keeping him there with that wicked blade of his against Mark’s neck. Cougar’s face was hard as stone. A little to his left stood Asa, a rifle in his hands, his face impassive as he pointed the barrel at the three men she didn’t recognize, his easy smile giving the impression that all he needed to make his night was for someone to twitch toward one of the guns tossed at the men’s feet.

  And Clint. Her Clint, the gentlest man she’d ever known, was methodically laying into Mark with a whip, his expression cold as he brought the lash down across Mark’s shoulders, leaving a bloody welt that cut diagonally across his back. From what she’d seen in the mirror, pretty much a duplicate of the wound Mark had left on her, which explained the satisfied smile on Clint’s lips. The sound of leather meeting flesh reached her ears a split second before Mark’s agonized cry.

  Beside her, Danny growled.

  “Quiet,” she whispered as her stomach roiled at the sight and sounds of the ongoing whipping. She knew her husband was a dangerous man, knew he could be single-minded in his revenge, but it disturbed her to witness the reality. From the determination on Clint’s face, it didn’t look like he intended to stop until the man was dead. Killing a man that way would leave a scar, no matter how well deserved. Clint had enough scars. She didn’t want him to have even one more because of her.

  “Stay,” she told Danny, not trusting him to remain calm amidst the violence.

  He whined, his attention on the scene below, but he lay down. She searched the scene again. Where was Gray? She sincerely hoped that Clint had left him someplace where he couldn’t see this. He was too young for such things. She crawled back from the ledge. The whip cracked again and another scream filled the night. She redefined her thought. No one was old enough for such cold-blooded revenge. She had to put a stop to it. For Clint’s sake as well as her own. She couldn’t live with a man being whipped to death in her name.

  Her body aching, her leg screaming in protest, she worked her way down the small hill, the sounds of the whipping a rhythmic accompaniment to her uneven steps. She stumbled several times, the descending night obliterating her ability to see the uneven ground. She made it to the edge of the clearing, close enough to smell the sweat and blood when a hand clamped across her mouth, dragging her back into a foul-smelling embrace.

  “Don’t even breathe,” the man holding her ordered. The hard rap of metal against her temple sent stars shooting across her vision.

  His knee in her thigh urged her forward. “Walk.”

  She did, guilt and failure swamping her in a debilitating rush.

  The man made no effort to mask their approach. As he pushed her into the circle of light from the campfire, she looked up to see the barrels of three guns trained on them, and three equally disapproving frowns.

  “Son of a bitch, Jenna” Clint groaned while Asa and Cougar muttered things she couldn’t make out.

  “Put down the guns or I’ll put a hole in her pretty little head,” the man behind her ordered, the gloating in his voice as offensive as his breath.

  She caught Clint’s eye. “Don’t” she whispered, as the muzzle of his revolver dipped.

  “Not much choice, Sunshine.” The gun fell to his feet.

  Similar thuds punctuated Asa’s and Cougar’s acquiescence with the order.

  She closed her eyes as the man behind her shoved her forward. She’d thought it was safe. She’d only meant to stop the whipping, not to leave them all defenseless.

  “Good job, Simon,” Mark wheezed. She opened her eyes to see him limping toward her, his gun trained on Cougar and Clint as he shrugged his coat over one bloody shoulder. “You guys have these three covered?”

  “They aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Good.” Mark reached her side, shrugged his other arm into his heavy duster, his breath hissing through his teeth as the material made contact with his lacerated flesh. “Go tie those three up,” he ordered the man beside her.

  A quick glance revealed him to be filthy, potbellied, and just generally ugly, with lank brown hair and a pockmarked face. She shuddered as Mark yanked her toward him. Her leg gave out. Her fall took them both by surprise, freeing her from his grasp.

  “Son of bitch, Sunshine, I’m going to beat you!” Clint swore as she hit the ground, and this time he sounded like he really meant it.

  “Y
ou’re going to have to get in line,” Mark grunted in a distortion of his normal voice.

  Jenna cracked her right eye. Through her lashes she saw his face. It wasn’t a pretty sight. His mouth and cheeks were grotesquely swollen. His nose was plastered halfway across his face. She didn’t know how he even spoke, let alone issued threats.

  “You are a very ugly man,” she whispered on the first breath she could take after the pain faded.

  “And you are a very stupid woman.”

  “Who’s going to get her ass beat as soon as I get her home,” Clint growled from across the fire.

  Mark nudged her with his foot when she’d been expecting him to kick. “Get up.”

  Look for weakness. You never know when an advantage will come your way.

  As if he stood beside her, Jenna could hear Cougar’s instructions. At the time it had seemed inconceivable that she’d ever have the advantage, but it just went to show how little she really knew about how things worked. Mark was clearly favoring his ribs, moving slowly, staying hunched over. He prodded her again.

  “Get up, bitch.”

  She stayed where she was. A bullet hit the ground beside her cheek, sending a spray of dirt into her eyes. The report came from just above her head, making her ears ring.

  “Do as he says, Sunshine,” Clint ordered calmly as she blinked and rubbed the dirt from her eyes.

  “I’m trying,” she called, imitating his calm as best she could, groaning as every muscle in her body screamed against movement.

  “If you’d stayed home where you belong,” Clint offered conversationally, as if they all weren’t within seconds of dying, “you wouldn’t be in worse shape than when you started.”

  “Lord grant me patience, I married a told-you-so man,” Jenna muttered as she rolled to her side. The knife she’d stashed in the sheath dug into her hip.

  “A soon-to-be-dead man,” Mark corrected, with too much satisfaction for her peace of mind.

  “No!”

  Mark laughed at her outcry and kicked her in the side. “Get up.”

  Between her back, her ribs, and the new bruising from the kick, getting up was easier said then done.

  “Do as he says, Jenna,” Clint told her again.

  She jerked to her side. Pain speared through her back. She moaned.

  “Nice and easy, Jenna,” Clint admonished when she gathered her strength. “Take your time.”

  She did exactly as Clint ordered, drawing out the process as long as possible. She only got her knees under her before Mark lost patience.

  “Boy, get over here and get her up.”

  Boy? Oh God, not Gray. She turned her head, wishing she knew better curse words as Gray came toward her, except he didn’t look like the Gray she knew. His shoulders were hunched, his gaze downcast, and his steps hesitant.

  “What did you do to him?” She pushed to her hands and knees.

  “Fox and I are old friends.”

  The hair, knocked free of her bun when she fell, covered her face, obscuring her view. “I’ll kill you if you hurt him.”

  “Jenna, shut up.”

  She ignored Clint’s order. She was never shutting up again. “Stay away Gray!”

  “Get over here, Fox.” Mark motioned Gray forward. He went.

  “Oh Gray,” she sighed, the last of her hope gone.

  In no way did the boy acknowledge her, keeping his face hidden from her gaze as he tugged her up. And while Clint swore when she moaned, Gray didn’t even flinch.

  “Look at me, Gray.” He raised his head. She reached for him when he let go of her arm.

  Mark backhanded him across the face. She had a quick impression of Gray’s shock before he went down hard. Mark’s “You know better than to pander to a woman” followed him to the ground in a disgusted snarl.

  Everything within Jenna froze as she stared at her son as he tried to get up, drops of blood spattering the hand he braced under himself. She looked at the gun in Mark’s hands, at the malice in his eyes, at the scene before her, the good men now hostage because of her impulsive decision. The cold ball of emotion in her stomach gathered tighter and tighter, compressing into a hard knot even as it sent equally cold tendrils of energy through her extremities.

  “I’m going to kill you for that,” she whispered to Mark.

  “You aren’t going to do shit.” Mark’s body shifted against hers as he raised his revolver. Jenna followed the trajectory of the smooth back barrel. He was aiming at Clint.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” he told Clint, the words distorted as he forced them through his swollen lips. His finger tightened on the trigger. The cold knot in Jenna’s gut exploded outward into a hot ball of fury.

  Jenna launched herself at the gun, grabbing it in both hands, throwing her weight on Mark’s arm, hanging on with everything she had as he beat at her, pulling the gun down and away. A bullet tore a hole in the dirt between her feet. She held on harder. Only five bullets left.

  Clint’s “Let go” barely penetrated the red haze blurring her vision as she fought Mark for the gun. This man had taken everything from her. Her pride, her respect, her peace. She’d be damned to hell before she let him take her husband and son. Another shot went wild. Mark swore. Clint hollered.

  She blocked his voice, blocked everything but the need to get the gun. She screamed in frustration when her leg gave out and her hands slipped. Before she hit the ground, Mark had her by the hair, dragging her up, dangling her for a spilt second before he wrapped his arm around her stomach and yanked her back against his chest.

  “You goddamn bitch,” he panted, his voice loud in her ear. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re going first.”

  The muzzle of the gun touched her temple as she reached in her pocket. Across the way, Gray’s head jerked up, his eyes wide over his swollen cheek. As he jumped to his feet, a fresh drop of blood welled and pooled in the corner of his lip.

  Jenna screamed and threw herself back. As Mark stumbled she let her weight fall, driving the knife down and back, exactly as Cougar had taught her, but with all the strength she could muster. She felt it slice through skin, bite through muscle, and bounce off bone as Mark’s body jerked in shock.

  Gunshots and cries echoed all around her as she fell. When she hit the ground, she slashed at his ankles, missing but not caring. She didn’t want to get away. She wanted to kill the son of a bitch. She rolled over, diving for Mark’s heart, uncaring of the gun pointed at her face. Uncaring of anything except making sure that he never hurt her son again. Ever.

  A flash of light ruined her aim while a deafening explosion and splash of red obscured her vision. A hand caught hers as she tried to bring the knife down again. As much as she tugged, she couldn’t move. Beneath her Mark was still. Unnaturally so.

  She wiped her eyes with her shoulder and looked up the length of her arm. Gray stood staring down at her, a smoking revolver still in his hand, the other wrapped around her wrist. As she gazed at him uncomprehendingly, he shrugged.

  “I did not want to lose another mother.”

  She didn’t want to lose her son.

  “He’s why you don’t want to be called Fox, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” In a fair imitation of Clint he arched his right brow, “You are unhurt?”

  She wasn’t sure. As she did a mental inventory the cacophony of noise filling the clearing pushed through the perimeters of her mind. She became vividly aware of men hollering, and a dog snarling. A high-pitched scream was suddenly cut short, followed by three gunshots in rapid succession.

  “Is she okay?” Clint called, sounding strained, but alive. So very alive.

  Gray lifted his brows in inquiry. She swallowed and nodded, more and more sure the body she was lying on was dead.

  “Yes,” Gray called.

  “Keep her there.”

  Jenna did not like that note in Clint’s voice. She tugged her wrist. Gray didn’t let go, just shook his head when she tried again.

  “Pa said to keep yo
u here.”

  She froze. “You called Clint pa.”

  “What else would I call my father?”

  “And me, mother.”

  He shrugged again. “What else would I call my mother?”

  The bruising made his smile lopsided, but it was the first one she’d ever seen on his face and it was beautiful. So beautiful that she forgave him for for holding her for Clint.

  The clearing dropped to quiet.

  Two seconds later, Clint dropped to his knees beside her. His expression was pure fury. “What in hell did you think you were doing?” He rubbed at her face with his sleeve. “I’ve never seen such pure foolishness in all my born days.”

  She pushed his hand away. He swept her resistance aside with a curse and renewed his efforts.

  “Clint?”

  “What?”

  “Please tell me I’m not lying on a dead man.” The horror of it was beginning to get to her.

  His “son of a bitch” told her all she needed to know. He scooped her up and just as quickly turned her over as her stomach heaved. He held her head and supported her as he swore at her, calling her foolish, impulsive, rash, and yelling at her for messing up their plan, yelling at her for almost getting herself killed and quite a few other things that she thankfully missed due to retching.

  When the last of her heaves faded to lurching hiccoughs, Clint scooped her up and carried her over to the rocks, as far away from Mark’s body as they could get. She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve.

  “Here.” A canteen was shoved in her face. She took it gratefully, smiling up into Cougar’s stern face as she first rinsed out her mouth and then took a long drink of the cool water.

  “You were right,” she said. “I did have it in me.”

  “I’m rarely wrong.” A hint of a smile crinkled the corners of his fascinating eyes.

  “Do not encourage her.” Clint glared at them both as he ran his hands over her body, unmindful of their audience as he lifted her dress to check her legs, her hip, her back. When his hand slid over her buttock she shrieked and pulled away. Clint’s response was a curt, “Don’t push me, Jenna.”

  He hauled her against his chest, swearing when she flinched away from his gentlest touch. Over his shoulder she saw the wicked twinkle in Cougar’s eyes and his smile spread from a hint to full-blown.