Beaumont kept his stout bay pointed toward the center of town. It was easy to see the tough little Ranger was sweet on Victoria. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.
They slowed the horses to a trot down the long hill coming into town from the north. Beaumont pulled his bay to a sliding stop in front of Harwood’s blacksmith shop. Morgan followed suit and shot him a questioning look.
The Ranger nodded at a piebald paint mare with flop ears and a huge hammer head that was tied to a trough next to the smoky building. The mare had a rear leg cocked up and it looked like she’d thrown a shoe.
“Deputy Grant’s horse,” Beaumont said.
The rotund deputy came out the open double doors a moment later. He was gnawing on a chunk of hot bread the size of his fist and melted butter dripped down his series of chins. His face fell when he saw Morgan, and his mouth hung open.
“Hey, Frank.” He tried to smile, and gave a weak wave with his bread-free hand. “My horse needs a new shoe.” He pointed as if he needed some sort of reason to be there. “I had to beg Jesse to stay late and fix it.”
“Grant.” Morgan nodded as he dismounted. “Have you seen the sheriff around today?”
The deputy shook his head. “Not too much.” His face was so free of guile and mischief, he didn’t seem capable of telling a lie—not even a little one. “Danged old Jesse’s upped the price of a shoein’ by twenty-five cents. He gave me some fool story about how the price of shoein’ is pegged to five times the price of a haircut, and since the barber on Main just went up a nickel, he’s gotta go up too. I was pretty honked, I don’t mind tellin’ you. I expect he gave me this here piece of hot bread to shut me up.”
“Fancy that,” Beaumont said under his breath.
“Bob, listen here. I need to know when you last saw Rance Whitehead.” Morgan’s voice was pointed and hard as flint. It shut the deputy down a lot faster than a piece of hot bread.
“He’s been away a lot lately,” Grant said. “I saw him for just a minute about an hour ago. He asked me to go by and check on the Monfores and make certain they were home and safe.”
“Are they?” Beaumont asked.
Grant began to relax when he realized Morgan didn’t intend to shoot him on the spot. He took another bite of bread. “Mercy was there. She says she doesn’t plan to go anywhere else this evening.”
“Does the sheriff know that?” Morgan was already back on his horse.
“Told him so myself,” Grant said between chews.
“What about Victoria?” Beaumont asked from the back of his jigging bay. The Ranger was full of nervous energy and the animal could sense it.
“Her mama said she was out for an evening buggy ride with Reed Whitehead, the sheriff’s boy.”
“Did she say where they were going?” Morgan eyed the man carefully to let him know this was important information.
Grant looked panic-stricken while he racked his feeble brain. After a mighty struggle, he smiled and let out a long sigh of relief. “Diamond Creek—they were headin’ out of town a ways toward Diamond Creek. Don’t seem proper, them bein’ alone and all, but I reckon she ain’t a spring chicken and he is the sheriff’s son.”
* * *
Morgan and Beaumont left Deputy Grant to finish his hunk of buttered bread, and rode on toward the center of town. The sun was just below the brushy line of oaks toward Palo Pinto and a cool wind was beginning to blow.
“Diamond Creek is southwest of town toward the river,” Frank said when they got to the courthouse. He pointed up Lamar Street with the tail of his leather reins. “Mercy’s house is that way. I’m the kind of man who likes to do things myself, that’s certain. But I don’t see how we can get this done without splitting up.”
Beaumont nodded, touching the butt of his pistol. “Me neither.”
Stormy was beginning to jig and prance as much as the little bay, and Frank had to spin him on his haunches so he could look Beaumont in the eye as he spoke.
“I haven’t been able to figure out for certain if she’s my own flesh and blood, but the odds are damn sure in favor of it.”
The Ranger started to say something, but Morgan put up his hand to stop him.
“I’ve got a son, and I suppose that’s more than some men ever get. But the thought of having a daughter sobers me down to my boot soles. There’s nobody I’d trust more than you to make sure she’s safe.”
“I’ll do my best,” Beaumont nodded.
“Do what it takes, Tyler. That’s what I’m expecting of you,” Morgan said. “Just do what it takes and bring her back.” He spurred Stormy up the street without another word.
29
Diamond Creek was a tiny, spring-fed stream that joined the Brazos River. Where the river was a slow, tepid thing, full of sand and red clay, Diamond Creek bubbled along over a polished bed of gravel making it one of the few clear-water streams in north Texas. Bordered on both sides by a row of towering pecan trees, so tall their canopies touched across the water in a sort of an arch, the creek ran through a shadowed tunnel.
In summer, when the pecans were covered in leaves, it was a favored spot for young couples to slip away and spend some time out from under the watchful eye of the nosey but well-intentioned parents and clergy of Parker County.
Victoria had been surprised when Reed had asked her to accompany him to such a place. He’d shown up dressed more like a cowboy than someone reading law. She’d never seen him in any other kind of hat but a bowler, and the broad-brimmed Stetson made her smile when she saw it.
He’d been nervous and behaving strangely, stepping on his words and glancing up and down the road as if he didn’t want anyone to see him doing the asking. She was too flattered to say no. No matter what her father thought of him, Reed Whitehead had always been nice enough.
She was afraid, though, that he thought of her in a way far different than she felt about him. A week ago she might have settled for a life with Reed. He wanted to be an attorney, and was reading law with one of the Hansen brothers. His future in Parker County was set.
Then Tyler Beaumont had ridden in with her mother’s old flame. She’d taken one look at the Texas Ranger’s broad shoulders and pale eyes and decided that that was the man she wanted to spend her life beside. Beaumont appeared to share her feelings. Though he’d not said as much, a woman could tell such things.
Sitting on the bouncing buggy beside a humming Reed Whitehead, she decided it was an incredible mistake to lead him on by going with him to Diamond Creek. She had to tell him how she really felt before they got there.
Reed clucked at the grey mare and jingled the reins to keep her speed up. When he turned to look at her, his eyes had a funny glow she’d not noticed before. He’d grown quieter, hardly ever looking in her direction. It was almost as if she wasn’t there with him at all. Perhaps he sensed she was about to give him some hard news.
The sun was dipping below the horizon, and a cool wind whispered through the cedars and live oaks along the winding wagon road that led out of town toward the Brazos River. Victoria pulled her cream-colored woolen shawl up around her shoulders. This was her favorite time of day. The fresh scent of the green grass and succulent plants that grew along the spring-fed creek drifted up on the evening breeze. They were close.
“Reed.” She cleared her throat and tried to sit up straighter. The wagon seat was narrow and it was difficult not to appear that she was trying to sit close. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Whitehead glanced at her, then turned back to the gray mare. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got something I need to say to you too.”
Sweetheart? He’d never called her anything but Victoria before. “Really, Reed, I think you should just pull over.”
“You do, do you?” He continued to stare ahead, a wry smile twisting on the corners of his lips. “Why’s that?”
He’d never acted this cold. It was a good thing Beaumont came along when he did, or she might have made a terrib
le mistake.
“I told you. I need to talk to you and I want your full attention.”
He clucked again at the horse and the buggy sped up.
“Reed, I’m asking you to stop the horse now.”
“Can’t,” he said. “I’ve got a surprise for you up here in the trees.”
“Oh, Reed, listen to me.” This was what she’d feared. “Really, I don’t want to hurt you, but I think you need to let me talk to you before we go any further.”
Whitehead leaned back against the heavy leather reins to slow the gray mare. The buggy seat was on leaf springs, and rocked back and forth for a few seconds even after the wagon came to a standstill. He turned abruptly in the seat to face her.
“Let me tell you something.” His eyes blazed and his words came out from between his clenched teeth like a cruel hiss.
Victoria shook her head and tried to speak, but he cut her off.
“You think this, you think that. I’ll save us all some trouble and tell you what I think.” He stared at her and drew air slowly through his nose like he always did when he came to some decision. “I think you should shut the hell up.”
Victoria gasped. “Reed . . .”
Whitehead sent a heavy right fist crashing against the side of her face. Her eyes slammed shut and a thousand pinpoints of yellow light exploded inside her head. She’d never in her life felt such searing pain. For a moment she thought she might throw up, then everything went black.
She never even had time to scream.
* * *
The jingle of bit and harness as the gray mare nosed at the green buds on a pecan branch jarred Victoria out of a sickening unconsciousness.
She was on the ground, leaning against a buggy wheel. Her left ear felt like it was on fire. When she tried to move her jaw, she thought she might understand what it would feel like to be shot in the head.
Male voices drifted over from the other side of the buggy, nearest the gurgling creek. One of the voices belonged to Reed Whitehead; she couldn’t place the others, but she thought she’d heard at least one of them before.
She cast her eyes back and forth without moving her head, partially so no one would know she was awake, but mostly because moving hurt so badly. She considered trying to make a run for it; she could outmaneuver the gray mare towing the buggy through the thick tangle of trees. But she heard other horses snorting and pawing over by the voices. With her head pounding like it was, she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to walk, let alone outrun a man on horseback.
This whole situation was beyond her imagination. She racked her brain trying to figure out what had caused Reed to go so crazy. She didn’t have to wonder about it long.
“I see you’re still among the living.” Whitehead snickered as he knelt down beside her. His voice was almost gentle—almost like it was before.
Victoria wanted to plead for an explanation, but she had never been the pleading type. Instead, she just sat and looked at him through blurry, bloodshot eyes.
“I’ll say this for you,” Reed said, shaking his head. “You’re a tough little princess. Most women I know would have been boo-hooing their guts out by now.”
Victoria realized she was too mad to cry.
Reed went on talking behind his crazed grin. “It’s only a matter of time, though. I suppose that before long you’ll be shedding a tear or two. Ol’ Pete here says he’s got a little score to settle with you.”
A dark, oafish man with an ugly purple bruise over an equally ugly face stood over her and held up a bandaged hand. It was missing two of its fingers.
“You remember me, Little Princess?” The man leered at her. “You and I need to have a little talk about the way you treated me the last time we met.”
Victoria held back a gasp when she recognized him as one of the men who took her father. Instead, she railed back at them.
“What have you done with my father?” She struggled to get to her feet. The fact that a man she once trusted had something to do with the kidnapping of her father filled her veins with renewed fire. “What have you got to do with all this, Reed Whitehead?”
“You know.” He stood in front of her, his arms folded, looking smug. “Over the last two years you and I have spent a lot of time together. All the while I listened to everything you wanted to talk about. All the while I did the things you wanted to do. I thought you would at least have the decency to see it through to the end.” He was raging now. “My father said you were just leading me on. He told me about the damned Ranger runt you’re so sweet on lately.”
Victoria opened her mouth to protest. She shook her head, but stopped because it made her dizzy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. . . .”
“My father said you were nothing but a worthless little tease, just like your mother used to be. First I didn’t believe him, but I know now.”
“You watch your mouth, Reed.” Now she did gasp. “I’ve never treated you anything but proper. And up till now you’ve always returned the favor. I don’t understand what’s gotten into you to get involved with men like this. They have my father, for heaven’s sake.”
His fist caught her low in the gut and drove the wind from her lungs. Reed grabbed at her shoulder with his left hand while he hit her again with his right. She fell to her knees and fought for air, opening her mouth like a fish flopped up on the bank. The sleeve and half her blouse had ripped away, leaving her exposed, but too stunned and weak to do anything about it.
When she caught her breath, she tried to cover herself with her arms. She looked up to see him holding the torn remnant of white cloth to his nose, smelling it.
Pete Crowder and another man with a long red beard and a soot-smudged face stood to the side of Whitehead.
“Give us a minute or two alone, boys. I have a few important matters to finish up with our little princess here.”
All the men chuckled. Victoria’s blood ran cold.
“Suit yourself,” Pete rasped. “My pa said to bring her; he didn’t say not to touch her on the way. I don’t mind waitin’ my turn.” He looked to his redheaded companion. “That okay with you, Kelly?”
The man grunted and leered down at her, showing a crooked row of yellow brown teeth. “I ain’t the particular sort,” he said.
The other two men stepped back a few paces, laughing and elbowing each other as they went—they wanted to see the show.
Reed laughed. “Pete said you were dangerous. He said he had to bring Kelly along so you wouldn’t kill us all.”
He gave her a swift boot in the ribs that flipped her over and sent her into a gasping, coughing fit. She felt his presence as he knelt down beside her, even doubled her fist to hit him, but couldn’t get enough air to move her arms.
Cruel hands grabbed her shoulders, pushing, pinning her to the ground. Reed laughed low in his throat, hollow and coarse, like he was inside a well. She gave up trying to keep her chest covered, and put all her efforts into the struggle. In the end, he was too strong for her and banged her head against an exposed root to calm her down.
With the other men standing by and waiting their turn, she knew it was foolish to fight. She could not win. But that really didn’t matter. She didn’t have it inside her to give up. Reed Whitehead and the others might have their way with her dead body, but that would be all they would get.
He tugged at the hem of her skirt, ripping the outer layer away. She pushed at his hand and sank her teeth into the flesh along his upper arm, tasting blood. He fumed, jerking back to hit her in the face again.
She fell back, unable to see clearly enough to know what was going on around her anymore. She could feel the cool breeze on her exposed skin, but her arms wouldn’t work anymore. She vomited on the ground beside her, and heard the men laugh at her pain. She saw a shadow looming over her, and knew it was Reed.
Then, the pounding in her head turned into hoofbeats and the world around her erupted in a volley of gunfire.
30
Pete Crowder tu
rned from his cheering to catch a .44 slug straight through the bridge of his nose. The red-bearded outlaw spun in time to see Tyler Beaumont shoot his partner. He clawed for his gun, but the Ranger shot him twice in the chest.
Men who would stand by and cheer while anyone treated a woman like this didn’t deserve more warning that the click of a hammer coming back on the pistol.
The Ranger breasted the rise on the near side of the creek, and splashed his horse across it without pausing to watch the dead men hit the ground. He slid off the bay before it came to a complete stop, landing only a few feet from a dismayed Reed Whitehead, who knelt over a badly injured Victoria.
The sight of what they’d done to her—and what they were about to do—sent a lightning bolt of fury through the young lawman’s body. He’d never in his life felt as ready to kill as he did at that very moment.
Two quick strides brought the lawman close enough to administer a brutal kick to the kneeling man’s ribs. The blow sent him flying off the beleaguered girl and nearly caused Beaumont to loose his footing. The wind left Whitehead with a grunting woof and several ribs snapped from the impact of the Ranger’s boot.
Whitehead was no slouch when it came to fighting. His father had seen to that. He pushed himself to his feet, cursing.
“Beaumont, you son of a bitch. You’ve ruined everything!”
Victoria looked up, tears in her eyes. She was dazed and frightened, like a wounded child. Beaumont’s anger burned as she tried to cover herself where half her clothing was ripped away.
The pitiful look sent a shock of rage through the Ranger’s veins. Whitehead threw a strong right, but Beaumont deflected it, letting it slide off his jaw without much effect. It didn’t matter what the man did now; nothing was going to stop Tyler Beaumont from what he was about to do. Justice had to be done.
Whitehead groped for the pistol at his side. Before he could bring it up, Beaumont knocked it to the ground.
“Uh-uh,” the Ranger panted. “You’re not gonna get off that easy. I coulda shot you when I rode up.” Beaumont drew Whitehead to him and gave him a fierce head-butt to the nose with his forehead. “No, sir. What you need is an ass-whippin’.” Beaumont’s right fist slammed into Whitehead’s already shattered nose. “I’m just proud to be the one to give it to you.”
Manhunt Page 17