She was feeling worse by the minute, but she didn’t say anything. There was nothing she could do to help herself right now, and she knew that even if Hurd started a posse tonight, they’d get nowhere in the dark and rain. It was black as the back of this cave beyond the little fire except for an occasional flash of lightning. The icy drops still poured down in sheets. She watched him open the can of stew with his big hunting knife and put it in the glowing coals. With his wet black shirt clinging to him, she could see every muscle and sinew of his broad shoulders. His waist was almost as narrow as hers, and his hair was black as a raven’s wing. She realized then that he wore knee-high moccasins. He might only be a half-breed, but inside, he was as savage as his warrior father.
Now he dished up the stew in two tin plates and handed her one. “Nothing fancy like Kruger’s been feeding you, but this is all a poor cowboy can offer.”
She took it. “You’re not a cowboy—you’re a killer.”
He shrugged and began to eat his stew. “A lot of cowboys are killers; they just sneak around to do it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
She began to eat the stew. “I’ll live to see you hang.”
“Maybe. That’s what happened to my father at Fort Lincoln back in ’62.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. She ate her stew and felt a little better, then began to shiver again.
He looked concerned and put down his plate for the dog. “You really are cold. You need some dry clothes.”
“I’ll be all right.”
But he was already digging in his saddlebags. “I’ve got an extra shirt. As tiny as you are, it will reach down past your hips.”
“I’m not going to change in front of you.”
“You can go to the back of the cave.” He gestured.
She turned and looked. It looked shadowy and scary. “Suppose there’s a bear hibernating back there?”
“No, there isn’t. Wolf would have found him by now.”
At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head and wagged his tail. Diablo petted his ears.
“That’s Hurd’s guard dog,” she suddenly realized.
“Used to be, but he was mean to him, so I took him.”
“And that horse you’re riding, that’s his prize stallion.”
“He was beating the horse, so I took him.”
“You’re lying. Hurd isn’t mean.”
His face turned stern. “Princess, if you were a man, I’d kill you for calling me a liar.”
“A killer with honor?” She sneered.
“Princess, you are trying my patience. Now change out of those wet clothes, or I’ll take them off for you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Would you like to try me?”
This was a real man, a stallion of a man. She realized suddenly that one did not argue with a man like this, and besides, she was feeling worse by the minute. “I’ll—I’ll put on the shirt.”
She grabbed up the shirt and retreated back into the cave. It was cooler there, but she felt like her skin was on fire. She began to take off her wet dress.
“If you’ll bring your blanket and come up here, I’ll rub you dry,” he called.
“Not likely.”
“Suit yourself.” he shrugged and poured himself another cup of coffee.
She was shivering violently as she pulled off the wet dress and reached for the black wool shirt. It swallowed her small form, hanging halfway to her thighs. The shirt smelled of him—male, smoky, and salty. The sleeves hung down past her fingertips.
“Bring me your wet things, and I’ll hang them up near the fire to dry,” he called.
“All right.” She tiptoed barefooted back to the fire and handed him her wet dress.
He looked her up and down admiringly. “Looks better on you than it did on me.”
She looked down, saw that she hadn’t buttoned it completely and the curve of her breasts showed. She buttoned it up, sat down on her blanket, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
“You’re sick,” he said.
“No, no, I’m not,” she said, but she coughed and shivered again. If he thought she was sick, would he think she was too much of a burden and kill her? She had to stall for time until Hurd could come to her rescue. Looking out at the driving rain she figured that might be sometime tomorrow, and who knew what this killer would do before then?
“Here, take down your hair, and I’ll dry it for you.”
“I can dry my own hair, thank you,” she said, but she began to take out the hair pins. He was right: if she got her hair dry, she wouldn’t be so cold. It fell in wet waves down her shoulders and back.
Diablo stared at her. “It’s the palest, finest hair I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m Danish and Swedish,” she said and began drying her hair with the edge of her blanket.
“Here, let me—you’ll never get it dry the way you’re dabbing at it.” He took the edge of the blanket away from her, despite her protests, and began to dry her hair.
In the firelight, it looked almost like cream-colored silk. Her skin was as pale as milk in contrast to his dark hands, and her eyes were as blue as a Texas sky. She was delicate and fragile, but her full breasts made the black wool shirt stand out from her slender body. She had missed the top button, and he could see the rise of her breasts in the vee of the neck.
He wanted her then as he had never wanted a woman before, and she was his captive, his plaything for the taking. If he died tomorrow, he could certainly count this night worth it if he made love to her. She was so very young and innocent. Her mouth looked full and moist, and it trembled slightly, as if she knew what he was thinking. He reached out and put one big hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up with fever.”
She pulled back against the cave wall. “Don’t touch me, or Hurd will kill you.”
“It might be worth it.”
“What have you got against Hurd? What has he done?”
“That’s not your business. It’s between men.”
“And I’m just a pawn in this war?”
He nodded, then smiled. “Or maybe a prize.”
She caught his meaning and gasped. “Don’t you even think about it, you—you paid killer.”
He ran his hand through her long hair. “If I want you, you can’t stop me.”
He was right. She was his captive, his toy for the night if he so chose. She was too sick to be terrified anymore. “What—what are you going to do with me?”
He shrugged. “You’re my hostage to draw Kruger out. Don’t worry; I don’t intend to hurt you.”
She didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified. She shrank back from him. He was a big, powerful man. If he decided to take her virginity, there was no way she could stop him. She would go to her marriage bed disgraced, and Hurd might not—no, he would adore her anyway. He had always seemed almost obsessed with her.
In her mind, she imagined it, Diablo so powerful and big as a stallion, she spread with his virile body between her slender thighs.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered. “You’re sick, and I’m very tired. The princess is safe.”
He was so cocksure of himself that she wanted to slap him, beat on his chest, but he could easily overpower her and he was half savage. She was too sick to do anything except lie down on her blanket. The dog curled up next to her.
Diablo watched her a long moment. She was the most beautiful, fragile thing he’d ever seen. If she was his woman, he’d protect her, cherish her, and never let her go. Then he chided himself. You poor, ugly bastard, she’d shrink from you and your scarred face. You’ll always be alone; no woman will ever love you.
After a while as she slept, he pulled a blanket over her bare, slender legs. He could imagine them wrapped around him, returning thrust for thrust as he buried his disfigured face in her full breasts. His manhood rose at the images, but he knew that cou
ld never be. If he took her, she would be screaming and fighting him, not returning his love like he wanted. In the fairy tale, the princess had kissed the frog or the beast, and they had turned into handsome princes. Diablo would always be scarred and frightening, and so of course, he would always be alone, drifting from town to town until some younger, faster gun took him out and he died in the dust of a frontier street or the sawdust floor of a dirty saloon.
That didn’t matter, he told himself stubbornly as he spread out at the mouth of the cave. What mattered now was getting Kruger after all these years of waiting. The girl was only the bait in his trap. That was what he told himself. Deep inside, he realized now that he had taken her because he couldn’t stand the thought of this fragile beauty ending up in Kruger’s bed.
Joe galloped the old buggy horse home, but in the rain, the road was sloppy and slow. It was late before he reined up before the K Bar house and jumped off, shaking because he was going to have to face a man in a fury and he had seen Kruger when he was in a blind rage.
He ran into the entry hall, leaving a muddy track behind, and he heard Maria coming out of the kitchen, clucking in annoyance over the mess he was making. He didn’t care. He ran into Kruger’s bedroom where the rancher paused in pacing up and down before the fire.
“Thank God you’re home!” Kruger whirled. “Where in the name of heaven—”
“He—he took her,” Joe tried to shake the water from his soggy hat as he stood dripping on the carpet. “He took her. I tried to stop him, but—”
Kruger grabbed him by the arm. “What the hell do you mean? Where’s Sunny?”
“A—a monster came out of the darkness riding a horse straight from hell! It was rearing and neighing, and there was a wolf with red eyes and gleaming teeth—”
“Damn it, are you telling me she’s not with you? You let someone take her?”
“He—he was not human, I tell you! He was like one of those Injun spirits out of hell we been talkin’ about for years.”
Kruger took a whiff of the cowboy’s breath. “I knew it! You been drinking!”
“I only had a little, Boss, while I was waitin’ for Miss Sunny, and—”
Kruger had never known such fury. He slammed the man back against the fireplace and hit him in the face. “Then how’d you get away? You let a man take her and you get home safe?”
“I—I couldn’t help it, boss,” he threw up his hands to defend himself while rain and blood ran down his face, “He reached out and grabbed her with her screamin’, and I cut loose the buggy horse and took off to get help.”
“You cowardly bastard!” Kruger raged and hit him again, knocking him against the wall. “You yellow dog! You let some outlaw take my fiancé, and you ran away?”
“I was comin’ for help,” Joe babbled. “I swear, there was nothin’ I could do, I had to come for help.”
“Better you should have stayed and died to protect her,” Kruger snarled and hit him again, “I would have.”
“I’m sorry, boss,” Joe gasped, “I—I couldn’t do nothing, I tell you.”
“You didn’t try, you yellow bastard!” Kruger was in a red rage. He hit the cowhand again and again until Joe was a babbling wreck, smearing blood all over walls and furniture. He knew Maria had come out in the hall to clean up the mud and the maid would hear, but he was past caring. “Get up, Joe!” He dragged the man to his feet. “Go get the boys out of bed. We’ll start a search.”
Joe stumbled backward toward the door. “But the rain will wipe out the tracks—we won’t have no luck in this darkness.”
“We got to look for her anyway,” Kruger said. “I can’t bear to think of my darling in the hands of some rapin’ bastard.”
“Maybe in the morning there’ll be a ransom note,” Joe gasped and wiped his bloody mouth.
“We can’t wait for tomorrow, we’ve got to find her before . . .” In his mind, some vile farmer was tearing off Sunny’s dress and ravaging her while she screamed for Hurd to rescue her. Tears came to his eyes. He adored the girl almost to the point of worship. Nothing must happen to her. He had waited all these years, made all these sacrifices, even killed her father, to possess her and he would not be denied.
If some lout dared deflower his pure bride, he would kill the brute himself, slow and sure. He ground his teeth together. “You heard me, Joe: Get the boys out of bed, and let’s look for her. Then spread the word. By tomorrow morning, we’ll have every rancher in the county on the alert. No nester is going to insult Hurd Kruger by stealin’ his bride right out from under his nose. That’s an insult I will not take, and I’ll make a final example out of the man who dared do this.”
“I told you—it ain’t a regular man, it’s some kind of Injun spirit, an ugly one, coming to get you for all the Injuns you’ve killed over the years.”
“I ain’t done nothing I didn’t have to do to hang on to this land,” Hurd yelled, “and I did it all for her, so I could lay it all at her feet. We’ll get her back unharmed, or I’ll turn this whole county into a big prairie fire! Tell me again what he looked like.”
Joe backed away, his weasel face turning black and purple with bruises. “He—he was big, and dressed in all black. He was dark, too, maybe Injun.”
Hurd paced up and down. “A hired gunman of the farmers, maybe. Well, don’t just stand there—get movin’!”
In less than thirty minutes, they were riding through the pouring rain back down the trail to Krugerville. Several of the men carried lanterns, but it was difficult to see through the driving spring rain. Hurd was in such a rage, he spurred his horse needlessly, thinking of how he’d do the same to the man who took his darling. No, he promised himself, he’d do more than that—he’d geld the bastard with all the cowboys looking on. Word would spread across the whole state that Hurd Kruger was not a man to put up with insult and no man should even give an admiring glance to the future Mrs. Kruger. Sunny was his to love and protect.
They rode through the mud until they reached the disabled buggy. The glow of the lanterns showed packages scattered everywhere and the box containing the fine wedding dress lay on the trail. The dress itself had been trampled into the mud as if by deliberate insult, but there was no trace of the girl. “Spread out and see if you can find a track!” Hurd bellowed, “a hundred dollars in gold to the man who finds a clue!”
A murmur ran through the wet, tired cowboys. A hundred dollars in gold? He worshipped that girl more than anyone had realized. They all spread out and dismounted, holding up lanterns to see the muddy ground, but the tracks were gone.
“Boss,” Joe said through swollen, bloody lips, “It ain’t no use—the tracks have been washed out.”
“Damn it, keep lookin!” Hurd ordered. “Two hundred dollars to the man who finds the trail!”
They searched for another hour, and the lanterns began to burn out for lack of oil. Hurd himself was soaked through, and rain dripped off his Stetson and ran down his beefy neck. He tried not to think of what might be happening to his darling at this very moment. “All right, I reckon we’ll have to quit until daylight; then we’ll start again. I’ll give five hundred dollars to the man who captures this bastard and I mean alive! I want to kill him myself an inch at a time.”
“Boss, I still think it’s one of them Injun haunts,” Joe insisted. “No man alive would dare to take something that belonged to you!”
Hurd cut him across his face with his quirt. “They’ve taken my horse and my guard dog and my fancy rifle, and burned down my new house. Takin’ my woman is the last straw. Just wait ’til I get my hands on him! Dale, you ride into town and alert the sheriff so he can get a posse together at dawn. Joe, you ride to the fort and see if the captain can turn out a patrol. Bob, you ride down to Cheyenne and let the Stock Growers Association know what’s happened. They need to know these damned farmers are fighting back.”
“It’s a long way to Cheyenne,” Bob protested.
Hurd slashed at him with his quirt. “What the hell!
You think I don’t know that? I want every lawman, soldier, cowboy and rancher out scouring the county. Get the newspaper to do some notices and hang them from every tree from here to the border. I’ll give a thousand dollars in gold for Sunny’s return . . . and the man who took her. If you men never seen a public torture and execution, you’ll see one now!”
The rain continued to pour down, and Hurd was so weary and angry that tears came to his eyes. “All right, you’ve got your orders. We’ll lock Johnson County up so tight a flea can’t get through our lines. Now everyone move!”
The men scattered, and Hurd spurred his horse as he galloped back up the trail to his ranch.
Chapter 10
It seemed as if the rain would never end. Diablo watched it from the mouth of the cave, then looked toward his captive. She lay bundled up in her blanket, but from here, he could see that she shivered. Noiseless in his moccasins, he crept back and put his hand on her forehead. Her pale skin felt burning hot. She was sick, really sick, and now he felt guilty, knowing taking her through the deluge into no more shelter than a cave had added to her misery. The dog raised its massive head and thumped its tail, but he motioned it to silence.
He knew an old Indian medicine for fever; Trace Durango had used it to save Diablo’s life. Hunching himself against the cold rain, he went out into the night near a small stream where he knew a stand of willows grew. He cut several branches and carried them back to the cave where he got a pot of water boiling and dropped the peeled bark into it. The steeped tea would lower her fever. In the meantime, he was cold himself. He stripped off his wet shirt and hung it over a rock to dry. She was wearing his only dry shirt.
He started to wrap himself in his sleeping blanket, but after seeing her shiver he instead spread the blanket over her. Her face in repose was so soft and gentle, her lips full. He resisted the urge to kiss those lips, reminding himself that she was part of his revenge and he must not let down his guard. Still, he could not resist stroking her pale hair. He had never felt anything so soft, and he wanted to tangle his fingers in it. Of course if she woke up, she would scream, so he backed away. While she slept, he could pretend that she might smile at him if she awakened, instead of screaming at his misshapen, burned face.
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