Escaping Love

by Debra Smith

She made her way back inside and scooped out Old Gus’s grain and placed it in his indoor trough.

  He watched but didn’t move.

  “Good morning, Gus. I’m sorry to say this will be my last day with you. I’m leaving tonight when Clint falls asleep.”

  Gus snorted.

  “Hey, don’t judge me. I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go someone’s going to get hurt. I couldn’t bear it if it was Clara or Clint. The presentation is in a couple days. I’ll find my way to town and call my father. He’ll find a way to get me home.”

  She sniffed as tears ran waterfalls down her cheeks. Gus stopped eating and stared at her with his big, soft, brown eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to leave the only man I’ve ever loved just to be married off to a complete stranger, possibly a complete asshole.”

  He stepped closer to the flimsy gate separating them almost within reaching distance. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. Bit by bit she felt heart break while she was talking to a donkey.

  “I hate feeling this way. I’d take Clint with me but my father would have him harmed just for being with me. I don’t have any other choice.”

  Gus pushed against the gate.

  “What? I’m not letting you out with me. I learned my lesson last time.”

  He pushed his muzzle through the slats and just waited. She used the jacket to wipe away some of her still present tears.

  “Fine, I will pet you, but if you bite me, there will be a very nice donkey-shaped rug in my future.”

  If he was able she’d bet he would be rolling his eyes. She wouldn’t hurt him but still she liked having five fingers on both hands. She watched him waiting for any hint he might turn into Satan’s pet again. But he didn’t. He just sat there with matching sad eyes. Lightly placing her hand on his head, she began a tenuous petting. His fur proved to be surprisingly soft, making the petting less uncomfortable. Her tears kept falling in spite of her best efforts.

  “I love him so much it hurts,” she whispered.

  Her body trembled as she fought the urge to go into the pen and hug the little creature that seemed to be offering her comfort. But instead she just sat there silently crying until feeling sorry for herself just pissed her off.

  “You know what? I’m going back, but not to surrender. I’m going to change my fate. I shouldn’t have run in the first place. I can do this.”

  Gus whinnied and stomped his foot, seeming to agree then went back to munching on his grain. She placed two leaves of grass in his feeder and headed outside to clean up shit, Gus’s and hers.

  She walked tall and proud, knowing she could handle anything life threw her way. Maybe a small part of her was still afraid, but her inner bitch had the weak little female bound and gagged.

  “Ria, I found you,” a heavily accented voice rolled behind her.

  Bile burned the back of her throat and she gripped the handle of the shovel. She poised herself for attack, not knowing what to expect. She slowly turned, searching for more danger.

  “Carlos,” she spat. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you.”

  “I could say my view is quite pleasurable.”

  “How did you find me?” Her knuckles turned a ghostly white against the wood as she struggled to form a plan. Her gaze shot from the house to the yard, looking for any signs of Clara.

  “Are you looking for your female friend? She’s in the house, but if you don’t remain complacent I will be forced to harm her.”

  She shook her head, silently answering him and denying his words. Clint wouldn’t let any harm come to his mother. Two more men came from behind Gus’s shed. She was surrounded. Blood rushed past her ears as adrenaline answered her fear.

  She could hear her heavy breathing while she struggled for answers.

  “You wish to know how I found you? I have to say it was more of a challenge than I expected. I followed your trail to a bar in Colorado. I met a bear but he was less than hospitable. He wouldn’t help in my search from you so I was forced to impair his health.”

  Oh God, Clay.

  She covered her mouth with her hand to keep her scream at bay. Rational words escaped her. All she could think about was Clara and Clint. She could scent more of Carlos’s men in the area, but she had no way of telling how many.

  “Don’t worry, Ria, the man is alive…for now.”

  She was going to be sick. The sight of Carlos in a white Italian suit with slicked back hair and eyes blacker than his soul didn’t help settle her nerves. She’d know he was a mistake the moment she slept with him. But being young, a bad boy was like a sickness she couldn’t be cured from. He pulled a knife from a leather holder from his belt and began casually playing with it.

  She knew he was serious—he had no morals.

  “Now will you come with me like the lady you were raised to be or do I have to get the bastard dog out here to show you who’s boss?”

  He knew about Clint. Ohgodohgod.

  He continued with a vile sneer, “I saw him fuck your mouth in the back of that piece of shit truck of his. I could tell you liked it by the way you moaned around him. Maybe I’ll have you do that to me before I take you back to dear old Santos.”

  Her stomach recoiled as the feeling of sticky blackness covered her skin. He’d seen her expressing her love. The moment had been spoiled by uninvited vermin.

  “You wouldn’t dare touch me. If my father found out he’d have your head.”

  He shook his head at her.

  “Poor, Poor, Ria, didn’t your daddy tell you? He’s losing control. He hoped by marrying you off to some influential Clan he would gain the power he needed to stay on top. But since you ran everything has been falling apart—piece by delicious piece. It’s all thanks to you. The rare white panther will be the downfall of her people. Don’t worry, I’ve been there to pick up the remains.”

  “No, you lie.”

  He smiled like a snake lulling its prey into a deadly calm. “I am not telling a falsehood. You will see how far the Santos family has fallen.”

  She ground out her next words bitterly, “Let me guess, you’ve been using my father’s downfall to climb your way to the top.”

  “I have taken the proper steps to maintain my status and with you as my wife, the last of those that oppose me will fall in line.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  Her response was a bit dramatic but it was how she felt at the moment.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like your dog is getting up. We shouldn’t dally any longer unless you want his blood on your hands too.”

  She’d thought she was all cried out but a fresh batch of tears burned her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She’d never give Carlos the satisfaction. Putting on her best show of indifference, she dropped the shovel at her feet and walked to Carlos’s side.

  “I’m glad you saw reason.”

  She felt as if her true self was looking down on the events from the sky. It wasn’t really happening, she was still nestled next to Clint in bed and it was just a horrific nightmare. Every step she took brought reality hurling back to her. She wasn’t dreaming.

  “She isn’t going anywhere with you.”

  Oh God, Clara.

  Carlos’s eyes narrowed, “I have to compliment your stealth. I didn’t hear your approach.”

  Alex’s gaze fell on Clara. The older woman held a sawed-off shotgun. Her face seemed carved by a lethal calm.

  “That’s not surprising the way you just kept jabbering on. Now let her go before I give you another way to breathe air.”

  Alex flinched when Clara cocked the shotgun. Air seemed to lodge in her throat as the events unfolded.

  “Pity we have to meet this way, Clara. I really had intended to spare your life, but now you leave me no choice.”

  Carlos signaled to the men Alex had scented earlier.

  They lunged for the woman that had become like a second mother to her, but not before she got a shot off. The world seemed to move
in slow motion. A spray of crimson filled the air like a fine mist. Thunder echoed around her and one of the goons dropped to into a bloody puddle.

  Clara cocked the gun again but the other man fell upon her, wrestling for the weapon. He wrenched her hand back, and she yipped. The other panther held her by the throat.

  Carlos nodded and with a sickening crack, the light in Clara’s eyes faded.

  “No!”

  The word burned her throat like acid. Her stomach tried to relieve its contents but there were none to be disposed of.

  She collapsed to the ground one hand folded over her stomach, the other clawing at the ground. With her eyes filled with hate and disbelief, she snarled at Carlos.

  “Monster.”

  He just laughed at her, making her claws prick at her fingertips. She remembered how much his pretty face meant to him. Her secret wasn’t worth protecting if she could claim a small tendril of justice.

  Her hand partially shifted, turning into a mix between her cat form and her human one. Her nails turned dagger-like as she brought her hand across Carlos’s face.

  His horrified eyes widened as realization hit.

  His beautiful face ran with four rivers of blood where her claws left a mark.

  “What have you done?” he spat.

  A satisfied smile filled her face. “I just made your face match your heart—Deformed and ugly.”

  His face contorted with anger as he smacked her across the face. Agony exploded under her skin and blackness clouded her vision. The cold sting of the pain was swiftly replaced by a raging inferno. It still didn’t compare to the torment of losing the woman that made the world a better place. She was probably bruising, but it was worth every second of discomfort. She only wished she could do more for Clara.

  A menacing growl sounded to her right and she stared in horror. Clint had come outside.

  ~****~

  “That’s no way to treat a lady. You okay, Little Cat?”

  His heavy heart lost some weight as Alex nodded. But surveying the area, his heart seized when he saw Clara crumbled on the ground.

  He gazed at Alex as she answered his silent question.

  “You sonofabitch. You’re mine.”

  He lunged for the greasy bastard as white-hot rage consumed him. One thought repeated in his mind.

  Protect.

  Two sets of large hands gripped his arms, slowing his progress but only a little. He would not be denied his vengeance. A loud banging near Gus’s stall drew his attention for the briefest moment.

  “Stop him, you imbeciles.”

  Clint’s vision turned red as he crushed one of the hands holding him back. The urge to shift pulled at his subconscious, but he managed to hold his wolf back.

  Another asshole lifted Alex off the ground and started dragging her toward a blacked-out SUV.

  “Do not touch her,” he snarled, sounding more like an animal than a man.

  The greasy bastard had the nerve to look unaffected by Clint’s presence. Well almost. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

  “I will rip you limb from limb.”

  He looked at Clint and shrugged. “Will you take care of him already?”

  More men circled him as he finally gave into the urge to shift.

  “Clint, the gun!” Alex screamed.

  Blistering heat seared his side as he collapsed to the ground. Faintly he could hear Alex calling for him, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t call out to her. Whines conveyed his discomfort. Another bang sounded from Gus’s shed, but then everything turned hazy and he could barely breathe. The sound of doors shutting and the smell of exhaust filled his nose. Was he really going to die?

  Clint groaned as someone put a soft cool cloth on his forehead.

  “Hush now, son. Don’t try to get up. You lost a lot of blood and had a nasty hole in your shoulder.”

  Light nearly blinded him as he tried to get his eyes to focus. His head felt as if someone was trying to use it to split wood not to mention the hollow ache burrowing into his shoulder.

  An old wrinkled face with brown eyes shifted into focus.

  “Who are you?”

  “Not surprised you don’t recognize me. I don’t recognize myself.”

  Strands of matted gray hair fell in messy clumps from his head.

  The old man had the decency to look ashamed.

  “I know I look a bit disheveled but in the state I was, I didn’t really care about the way I looked.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but who are you?”

  “Oh I’m sorry, you called me Gus, but my name is Bartholomew. You can call me Bart or Gus whatever you prefer.”

  “Gus the donkey?”

  Something must be really wrong with his head if he thought he was talking to Gus in human form.

  “Yeah, I have to say I was a bit surprised too but after that sweet girl started talking to me about love I felt myself kind of wake up. I remembered I had something important to do. Then I heard the commotion and knew something was terribly wrong.”

  “Gus?” Clint still couldn’t believe it.

  “It’s going to take some getting used to, but yeah it’s me. I know you have a lot of questions, but I really need to clean up now that you’re out of the woods. There’s some warm broth on the table next to the bed.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  The old man er… Gus played with his overgrown beard.

  “A day. I have to say I’m quite impressed with your healing. It must be all that noble blood in your veins. Your father was the same way.”

  “My father? How do you know my father?”

  “Now, now, you need to finish your soup and I will tell you all about our story when I get out of the bath. Your friend Clay, I think it was is in the next room. I found him bound and gagged, partially starved next to the road. They must have pushed him out when they left.”

  Sadness pooled in the old man’s eyes as he gripped Clint’s good shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about Clara. She was a good woman. I took the liberty and buried her under the large pinion tree. I figured we could hold a proper ceremony when you are on your feet.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  He pushed all the raw emotion away and locked it up. It wouldn’t do Clara’s memory or Alex any good if he wasn’t on the top of his game.

  Clint wanted to make the old man sit down and tell him everything. He wasn’t in the shape to do anything but sit there and listen. So he watched Gus walk out of his room as he set himself to the task of getting better. He needed to get to Alex so he drank the broth and ate the bread.

  He risked a glace under the bandage and was great but angry red skin. The buckshot made his shoulder look like minced hamburger but Gus was right. It was healing pretty quickly.

  By the time he was done eating a new but still aged Gus stepped through the threshold.

  “Good job, that will help get your strength back. Here drink this.”

  Clint grasped the foul-smelling liquid and stared at the fluid reassembling algae filled pond water. If it would help get him on his feet he would not only drink it but he would bathe in it as well.

  “That is nastier than the bottom of a pig’s foot.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll help you get better. We have a girl to bring home. Now there’s a long story I have to tell you. I have to warn you though this isn’t a bedtime story and none of it is happy.”

  Clint steeled his nerves and nodded. If life had taught him anything it was when to be quiet and listen. It was better to have more knowledge than your enemy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alex had made it home. She had yet to see her father but a servant promised her mother would see her before the Presentation. She felt numb. The days that took her to get there all blurred together filled with crying and heartbreak.

  Clara was dead and it was her fault. The kindest woman she had ever met fell lifeless before her eyes under the orders of Carlos. Clenching her jaw, she fought the urg
e to scream. Clint had been shot and the last time she saw him he fell in pool of his own blood. She hadn’t heard a word and assumed the worst.

  Each day her heart shriveled up, knowing she could never feel for another the way she did for her cowboy.

  She should have told him. At least he would have known how she felt. He could have died knowing how much he would be missed in the world. Even the days seemed less bright like a special light no longer burned.

  She tried to escape the first day, she had to get back to the ranch but each time she was caught and Carlos threatened her with death. She told him to do it—she was dead inside anyway. But despite her best efforts he calmly shook his head and patted her hair as if she was child throwing a tantrum.

  She pulled the expensive duvet over her head. Staying bed, lost in a sea of overpriced softness seemed the only way to go. She hadn’t eaten or left her room. What was the point? She was doomed. Her parents hadn’t even come to see her—the bastards. She hated them.

  A gentle knock sounded at the door.

  “Go away,” she groaned.

  “Miss, I’m here to get you ready.”

  “I am ready.”

  “But miss, I must prepare you properly for the ceremony.”

  “No.”

  She tossed the covers down, exposing her clothes she had on the day they took her from the ranch. She smelled, and her hair stuck up every which way. But not taking care of herself kept Carlos at bay. She wasn’t about to cooperate.

  “If I’m forced to go I won’t wear the damn dress.”

  Her gaze shot to the couture gown. If you could call the sheer white frock a gown. It was more like a peep show outfit.

  “Your language my lady, It doesn’t befit your station.”

  Alex unleashed a tidal wave of curses, enough to make her dearly departed grandmother roll over in her grave.

  The maid’s face tuned a bright pink as she bowed and shuffled out of the room.

  She pulled the covers over her head and prayed for the darkness to end her misery. But instead misery loved company.

  The covers flew off the bed, and she gasped in shock.

  “Now this is no way for my future wife to act.”