Luke's Cut

by Sarah McCarty

  “It looks like my friends have found some strangers roaming our land.”

  “This is Montoya land.”

  “It is no longer.”

  Sam would have something to say about that.

  “It might be your novio.”

  Luke!

  He let her go. She ran over to the ledge and looked down. It was pointless without her spectacles. Pulling them out of her pocket, she settled them on her nose and gasped. There was Luke being pushed along before a group of men. She would recognize that arrogant swagger anywhere. His hands were tied behind his back. With a hard shove he stumbled into the middle of the circle. One man stepped forward. She assumed he must be in charge. Words appeared to be exchanged.

  Don’t be aggravating, please.

  It was a vain hope. The man struck Luke down. He fell to his knees.

  Stay down. Stay down.

  But she knew he wouldn’t. Luke wasn’t a quitter. He was more the type to stand up and spit in his enemy’s eyes with his last ounce of energy. Reality settled in with grim clarity. They’d been captured.

  She turned back and squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving without my wagon.”

  She’d managed to sound calm when in fact she was terrified. She’d never done anything like what she was planning before. Up until now, the biggest deceit she’d ever pulled off was pretending she wasn’t resentful while kneeling in church, and honestly, no one ever truly believed they were fooling God.

  “You will have to.”

  “I can’t. It’s too valuable.”

  “The wagon stays.”

  “I can’t possibly fit all those boxes on a horse. And they’re far too valuable to leave here.” She put extra emphasis on the word valuable.

  He stilled. “What is in the boxes?”

  “Gifts.” That wasn’t a lie. Some she was planning to give away as presents.

  “Wedding gifts?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would see.”

  No!

  “Jefe, we have delayed too long.”

  Saved by impatience. She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving my wagon.”

  He bit off a curse. With a snap of his fingers he summoned the pointy faced man. “Jorge, check the wagon.”

  He got halfway in and grabbed a box. Fortunately, it was the heavy one with the iron tintypes. “It’s heavy. Too heavy for the horses.”

  “Basta. We will bring the wagon back to camp and sort it out there.”

  With a jerk of his thumb, Jorge asked, “What about her?”

  “She can drive the wagon.”

  They highly overrated her skills. She had to back up three times during which she angled the wagon the wrong way twice. Then she did it a fourth time just because she could. Their exasperation was palpable.

  “You!” Jefe barked to a heavyset man. “Take over.”

  The man leaped from the horse onto the wagon seat. She blinked. Luke was right. It apparently was a useful skill to have. She scooted over as he took the reins.

  “Thank you.”

  All she got in response was a grunt.

  She made it a mile down the road before her stomach started rolling. She didn’t fight it. Putting her hand over her mouth, she groaned. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Fat Man swore. Opening the window behind the cab, she scrambled into the back so fast she kicked the driver in the head. He swore again and lashed out. She didn’t even care about the glancing blow to her hip. Diving for the bucket, she grabbed her puke pot and heaved into it so loudly no one asked what she was doing. Between heaves, she could see the box where she’d put the gun. Just six short inches to her left. Her fingers tingled with the need to open that lid and lift it out. Did she dare?

  Before she could decide, Jefe snapped at her to come out. She curled her fingers into a fist. Darn.

  She didn’t need to fake unsteadiness as she climbed out the front window and sat on the seat. Leaning her head back against the rough wood, she took slow steady breaths.

  “You do not ride well in wagons.”

  That was the understatement of the year. Eyes closed, she shook her head. “No.”

  “I like this.”

  Cracking a lid, she glared at him. “I could ride with one of you.” It was a gamble that they wouldn’t take her up on it, but she didn’t want them suspicious. The beginning of a plan was forming. But for it to work, she would need her gun. And she would need them to continue to see her as weak and harmless. She never thought she’d be grateful for a weak stomach.

  “I believe I will keep you where you are,” Jefe said. “The sickness will keep you quiet.”

  She let her moan convey the proper response. Leaning to the side, she fumbled for the ladle in the water bucket. She almost toppled off the seat.

  Falling back against the seat, she took a sip. No sooner did the water hit her stomach than it started rebelling. Jefe motioned with his hand. He couldn’t want what she thought he wanted.

  “What?”

  “Stand up.”

  “I can’t when the wagon’s moving.”

  Fat Man pulled on the reins. Glory came to a stop. Grabbing the metal rein wrap post, she stood. Jefe nudged his horse up close to the wagon. Before she realized what he intended, his hands were all over her, feeling her breasts, between her legs, down her thighs. The men laughed and offered encouragement. Clenching her fist, she gritted her teeth and strove for meek. When he was done, he grunted and sat back in the saddle.

  “You may sit back down.”

  Dear heavens, he’d been checking her for weapons. Her knees gave out and she sat. Thank goodness she hadn’t picked up the gun.

  Fat Man shook his head. “You are a weak woman. Too weak for this land.”

  She might be too weak for the wagon rides, but the rest? He was wrong. So very wrong. Like a heroine in one of Savage’s novels, she had hidden grit. And as soon as she discovered it, they were going to regret kidnapping her.

  Another half mile and her stomach revolted again. This time Fat Man scooted clear when she dove for the back. When she was done and returned to the front, they went through the same procedure. Jefe patted her down. And Fat Man made comments.

  “You should stay back there.”

  “It’s too hot.”

  He grunted.

  She got another sip of water. The warm liquid felt good against her raw throat.

  Jefe took the ladle back from her. Instead of hanging it on the hook, he dropped it in the bucket.

  “What’re you looking for when you search me?” she asked him.

  “To see you don’t bring a gun out of there.”

  She looked at him. “I can’t ride a horse, what makes you think I can shoot a gun?”

  He spat to the side. “You really are useless.”

  Her stomach heaved. This time she retched over the side, aiming for his leg. Swearing, Jefe yanked his horse away just in time. The spasm was over quickly. There wasn’t much left in her stomach.

  “No more water for you.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “You only throw it up.”

  She nodded. The next time she came back out of the wagon he didn’t search her. She could tell from the tension they were getting closer to their destination. Covering her mouth, she moaned, “How much farther?”

  Fat Man cast her a wary glance. “Five minutes.”

  It was now or never. This time when she headed for the back, he practically threw her through the opening. She almost puked for real when she landed. The revolting stench of vomit overpowered everything. Feigning retching noises, she opened the box where she’d hidden the gun. Unbuttoning her dress, she took the gun out of the box and gingerly tucked it into her camisole between her breasts, tying it there with the strings. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing a corset. It would have been too tight to fit. She wasn’t going to ever tell Luke that. He’d never let her hear the end of it. She then tucked a small knife in her garter and then there was only one
thing left to do before going up front. Her knees quaked.

  Please don’t let him search me.

  Feigning more retching, she opened the trunk containing her chemicals and paused. Was she doing the right thing? She wasn’t even sure how long these things took. With no other option, she opened the jars, letting the air in. She looked at her tintypes one last time. So much work. So much beauty. Her future in layers of tin. She could only save one. Regretfully setting Rascal’s image aside, she studied the remaining two options. This was so hard.

  “What are you doing back there, woman?”

  Heart pounding in her chest, Josie made retching noises again before moaning, “Yes.”

  She was taking too long. They were getting suspicious. Making a decision, she slid the tintype up under the back of her skirt. Working it beneath the waist band, she tucked it into the waistband of her pantaloons. As the sharp image bit into her skin, panic set in. This was never going to work. The gun was too obvious. The tintype poked out. She should put everything back before it was too late. Taking a breath, she summoned Luke’s face. Then Bella’s. Then Tia’s. She didn’t have the luxury of fear. She was the only hope they had. Very slowly she arranged the chemicals one last time and closed the box from which she’d retrieved the gun.

  Crawling back to the front, the clunk of the gun against the side was shatteringly loud to her ears. The tintype cut into her back. They had to notice it tucked there. How could they not notice? Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Fear cut into her breathing. It was crazy. She was crazy. This was never going to work.

  Fat Man cut her a disgusted glance. She hunched over as if her stomach hurt, folding her body over the gun so they wouldn’t notice the bulge, hoping her hair, which had long since fallen out of her bun, would cover the points of the tintype. She moaned again. How long did she have?

  Jefe looked at her and shook his head, but he didn’t ask her to stand and he didn’t search her. So far, so good. The wagon continued to bounce and sway. Sickening fear blended with bitter nausea until she couldn’t tell the difference.

  “How much farther?” she asked Fat Man again, licking her dry lips.

  “We’d be there already except for this nag.”

  She hoped he suffered for that disrespect. “Glory is a good horse.”

  “He is nothing.”

  There was a clearing ahead. From that direction came the sound of men’s voices. They were almost there. Oh God. She wrung her hands together. Oh God.

  Please don’t let Luke be dead.

  Please don’t let me be wrong about the timing.

  The wagon hit a bump. Terror swept under her skin in millions of tiny pin pricks. She wanted to scream, to jump, to run. She sat there and moaned again.

  Please don’t let me die.

  Please, please, please.

  Please let this work.

  The group entered the clearing. Men immediately surrounded them. Ahead, against the rocks sat the Montoya men. Luke swore. Zach shook his head. Only Stefano smiled.

  Behind her the chemicals fermented.

  Please. Please. Please.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE FAMILIAR JANGLE and rattle coming closer and closer pulled Luke’s head up. It couldn’t be. He’d told her…

  But it was. From out of the stand of scrub brush Glory emerged, hat bobbing, ears twitching, plodding along like his owner was in her right mind.

  “I thought you told her to stay put?” Zach asked, the words slightly slurred by his bloody lip.

  “I did.” And once he settled this, he was going to paddle that delectable ass of hers for not paying attention. As the wagon entered the yard, the men stood and surrounded it, funneling the occupants to the center of the small area. “I might have to bring up that whole obedience thing again.”

  Josie was looking a bit green around the gills. Her hair hung in a straggle around her wan face. As he watched, she leaned over the side and retched.

  “Perhaps you should wait until she’s feeling better,” Zach said.

  She must have been puking for a while because she was down to dry heaves. The bastard driving the wagon didn’t even help her back up. Sick or not, however, her presence was causing the desperados to perk up. Shit.

  “Do you know the young lady?” Doc Shane asked. Though he was bound like the rest of them, the only thing damaged on him was his hat. Dented with the crown listing at an odd angle, the jaunty bowler had definitely taken a beating, but the rest of him was relatively unruffled. Either the bandits had a respect for doctors or the bandits needed him. Luke was betting on the latter.

  He forced the “Yes” out between gritted teeth.

  Josie was upright again. Sort of. Luke didn’t like the way she stayed mostly hunched over. Had the bastards punched her? Broken her ribs? He renewed his work on his bonds. The rope was thick and strong. He wasn’t making much headway.

  “I thought you gave her a pistol?” Zach asked again in that dry way he had.

  “Apparently, my instructions weren’t clear enough.”

  “She appears injured.”

  “I noticed that.”

  Doc Shane cocked his head to the side. Luke realized he was probably just a few years younger than himself.

  “Do you suppose they hurt her?”

  “For their sake, they’d best hope not.”

  Doc nodded. “I understand. I don’t approve of gentlemen laying hands upon women.”

  What good was his disapproval? Shane was an average-sized man with soft Eastern ways and a calm, understated manner that suited his profession. He’d moved into the area six months ago. According to Bella, people had talked for days about his hair. Luke could see why. It was so deep a red it resembled the banked embers of a fire. Bella’s letters had been littered with tales of young ladies trying to get the new and very eligible doctor’s attention. Tia had looked forward to those letters. So had he. Bella had a way with words.

  Luke wasn’t expecting much help from him in a fight.

  “Neither do I. Especially my woman.”

  “Speaking of injuries—” Doc nodded toward Zach “—that lip needs stitching.”

  “No offense, Doctor, but no one gets near my face with a needle and thread.”

  Doc sighed. “We don’t actually use thread, you know.”

  Zach just looked at him. With a shake of his head, he repeated, “No.”

  With a shrug, Doc let it drop. “So, since we’re not the center of attention right now, are we going to attempt a rescue?”

  The men were closing in on the wagon. Josie inched her way to the edge.

  “Dammit, Josie. Don’t get down,” Luke ordered quietly, willing her to hear. “You’ll be too vulnerable.”

  Josie half slid, half hopped to the ground.

  “She really doesn’t listen well,” Zach observed.

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  Josie was standing now. Still hunched over. The big boss who’d introduced himself as Santino walked over to the little group. He started talking with the newcomers’ leader. Clearly they knew each other. There were a few gestures toward the wagon. Raised voices. A note of incredulity carried.

  Santino probably wanted to know why the other man was bringing a hat-wearing horse pulling a peddler’s wagon and a sick woman into their midst. More words. The exchange got heated. Luke caught the word for gold. Maybe it was riches. For whatever reason, they thought the wagon was valuable.

  Oh, Josie, what have you done?

  Luke had no doubt she’d done what she’d had to in order to save herself, but in the long run, promising bandits wealth and not delivering was a risky option.

  “Shit.”

  At this point, her only way out was to wait for the right opportunity and then to run like hell. No heroics. No looking back.

  As if she heard him, Josie looked up. She was a mess, pale and wan, her dress hanging oddly, her hair dragging down her back. But she was somehow still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.


  Unbelievably, she gave him a little smile. If he hadn’t been attracted before, he was now. She blinked. Once. Twice. A couple times in succession. Damn. Was she about to pass out?

  He mouthed the words Hold on.

  He worked harder at his bonds. His wrists ached. His shoulders burned. His ribs throbbed. They weren’t getting any looser. Frowning at him, she braced her hand on Glory’s hip, leaning against the horse. No one paid her any mind. They were too busy arguing among themselves.

  “It looks like there might be a challenge for leadership,” the doctor offered.

  Maybe. Now they just needed a way to take advantage of it.

  “How are you doing over there, Zach?” Luke asked.

  “Not so good. The ropes are not giving.”

  Josie started fiddling with Glory’s harness.

  “What is your woman doing?” Stefano asked.

  “It appears to me that she’s unhitching that odd-looking horse. Do you know why it’s wearing a hat?”

  “It keeps him calm.”

  Doc raised his eyebrows. “Any calmer, and he’d be dead.”

  She moved around to the other side.

  “Now, what is she doing?” Luke muttered.

  “I think Doc’s right. She’s unhitching Glory,” Zach said, his muscles bunched as he strained to loosen his bonds.

  “Glory is the horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “A very impressive name for a very unimpressive animal.”

  “Don’t let Josie hear you say that. She sets a store by that horse.”

  “Are we rescuing her yet?”

  Luke had to admire his pluck.

  There were twenty bandits all told. And four of them if he counted Josie. Even if they weren’t bound like hogs waiting for the slaughter, it would be an impressive feat to pull off a rescue. “Yup. Just as soon as I get my hands free.”

  “Would you like help?”

  He’d like his guns, the Hell’s Eight and five minutes with the bastard who’d killed their men and hurt Josie, but right now he’d settle for his hands being untied. “If you’re so inclined.”

  It was a rhetorical statement.

  To his shock, he felt the unmistakable saw of a blade against his bonds.

  “I’ve been waiting for our opportunity,” Doc explained.