Desert Captive (Doc Beck Westerns Book 4)

by Sarah Elisabeth Sawyer

  His lips turned down into a mocking frown. “Oh, I forget! You do not speak English, do you, Sister Rebekah? Nor Spanish? I will teach you the words to say when you would like something to drink. They are, ‘Please, Senior Guerra, I beg you to give me a drink of water.’ Now, can you say those words, Sister Rebekah?”

  Rebekah pressed her lips tight. Sancho would not give her a drink even if she begged.

  Sancho cocked his head as though confused at her silence, then he smiled and re-corked the canteen. “Maybe later, yes?”

  Hoofbeats sounded behind her, and within moments, Edgardo trotted up beside them. He spoke to his father rapidly in Spanish, telling him there was no sign of a posse.

  Sancho Guerra directed them to the shade of a butte. Being shielded from the sun on her bare head was a tremendous relief. Sancho and Edgardo wore sombreros, but even Rebekah’s darker skin wouldn’t keep her from suffering the effects of direct sun for so many hours.

  Once in the shade, Edgardo dismounted. He came to her horse’s side and took hold of her waist, pulling her from the saddle. She slipped off faster than either expected and Rebekah hit the ground backwards with a cry.

  She moaned as she tried to push herself to a sitting position, hand still tied behind her back. Sancho tsked at his son and spoke in English. “You must take more care with a señorita, my son.”

  Sancho lifted Rebekah by her shoulders. She held in tears at the pain in her shoulder, and in her inability to stand on her own. Sancho kept a grip on her and she raised her face to look up. He was smiling, very calm, but she knew he was a rattler poised to strike. The next time he struck at her, it would be for the kill.

  Sancho pulled her through creosote bushes, their yellow blooms adding a delicate touch of beauty to the area, and lowered her to where she could rest against the red rock wall.

  Edgardo began unsaddling the horses. He took great care in watering, putting their feed sacks on, and thoroughly rubbing them down. He had a natural way with horses that Rebekah wished translated to people. He would have bright potential if not for his father.

  Sancho set about preparing a meal of hard tack and beans. Rebekah noticed he was putting together only two servings.

  When Edgardo finished with the horses, the two bandits sat twenty feet away and began eating. Edgardo glanced at her, and she was almost certain there was a flash of remorse in his eyes. But he blinked and it was gone.

  Rebekah closed her eyes and leaned her head against the coolness of the shaded rock. She turned to press her forehead against it, trying to bring her body temperature down. Though the bandits had brought her medical bag along, there was little in there that would help her. Except her pepperbox pistol.

  What she must have was food and water, and it seemed these two had no intention of giving that to her.

  Rebekah didn’t recall falling asleep, but the next thing she knew, someone nudged her booted foot and she jerked awake. All her body ached, and her neck was so stiff she could hardly turn her head to look up at Edgardo towering over her. He had a disgusted look on his face, dampening the hope Rebekah had of mercy from him as she had received at the mission.

  Of course then, she’d worn a nun’s habit from a religion he greatly respected.

  Edgardo got her to her feet. She stumbled forward, trying to get her legs to work. He guided her to the horses, which were saddled and ready to go.

  It couldn’t have been more than two hours since they stopped. Had the posse gotten any closer? They would have to rest as well, and waste time back tracking, whereas Sancho knew exactly where he was going.

  They set out again, Rebekah struggling to stay in the saddle. They went on at the walk/ trot pace throughout the day, tramping around mesquite and yucca.

  Rebekah’s head got lighter with each hour. She could hardly keep her eyes open against the sun and the grit and the pain and the thirst and the hunger.

  The desert swirled around, and then stopped when Rebekah hit the cracked earth. She let her eyes sink closed. As a medical physician, she knew death wasn’t far away.

  But someone scooped her up and put her back in the saddle. A rope went around her waist and bent her forward, the horn of the saddle stabbing her in the stomach. The rope tightened and moments later, they were moving again.

  Rebekah tried to pull herself upright, but the rope held fast. She struggled to breathe as her face pressed against the sorrel’s hot neck. The scent of horse hair, sweat, and dust filled her nostrils.

  If she didn’t survive this, who would give Jimmy his first birthday party, or teach him how to read?

  Chapter 2

  They rode late into the night, the pitch black darkness engulfing the Chihuahuan Desert and turning it cold once again. Rebekah shivered, trying to keep her body warm and remain awake. She wasn’t sure if she was entirely successful, but her senses were aware when they finally halted around midnight.

  The rope around her body loosened and she took one normal breath before she was pulled off to collapse on the ground. Edgardo half-carried her a short distance in the darkness, then lowered her to a rocky floor. She cracked open her eyes to see Sancho starting a fire not far away.

  The thought of a warm blaze touching her cold body was inviting, but it also struck fear in her heart. If the pair was comfortable lighting a fire, it meant they no longer worried about the posse catching them.

  Rebekah’s tongue was swollen from the cold and lack of water, making her mouth feel stuffed full of cotton. She raised her head to get her bearings, but all she could see was a rock wall behind Sancho and above them. A cave?

  Edgardo reappeared, squatting next to the fire as it blazed to life. He removed his gloves and spread his hands to enjoy the warmth.

  It wasn’t long before that warmth thawed Rebekah’s lips enough for her to whisper, “Water…please.”

  Both Guerras looked over at her, and Sancho answered with his calm smile, “It seems our Doctor Rebekah speaks a little bit of English. She is working on saying the words I taught her. Remember them, Doctor Rebekah? ‘Please give me water, I am begging you, Señor Guerra.’”

  Rebekah laid her head on the solid rock ground and closed her eyes, trying to think of what she should do, what she could do. Nothing came to her thirsty mind.

  Liquid splattered by her face and she felt moisture running over her cheek. Her mouth instinctively opened, tongue feeling for the precious liquid.

  More dribbled. She opened her eyes to see Sancho standing over her, canteen tipped above her head. He let water run out and onto the ground by her face.

  Rebekah tried to catch some of the falling water with her tongue, barely succeeding before he stopped.

  “Tell us, Doctor Rebekah,” he said, squatting beside her, “how long could a person live in a desert with no water?”

  Edgardo appeared at his father’s side, looking down at her, his eyes dark with an anger that made him unrecognizable to Rebekah.

  He spoke, his voice deep with a coldness beyond the desert night. “You are not a doctor. You are a dog. You violated the holy cloth and the symbols I was taught to respect by my mother. It was the only thing I had left of her and you destroyed it with your lies and deception.”

  Rebekah turned her head, trying to look at him better, trying to comprehend his words. Up to this point, she thought it was Sancho who orchestrated her kidnapping and punishment for his gang being destroyed by the Mexican army. Now she realized it wasn’t that at all. This was Edgardo’s idea, to exact revenge for her trampling his mother’s memory.

  The realization came slowly to Rebekah, but there was no need to rush. The last few days of her life would be long and hard and then they would be over.

  She’d never been afraid of death even though she didn’t know what was beyond it. She’d lost that fear when her life lost its meaning. There was little point in living without meaning.

  That was why she traveled the country and went into any situation, no matter the danger, searching for that meaning. She never
dreamed it would lead her to this place.

  Edgardo glanced at his father and spoke in Spanish. “My regret is that I could not make a plan to save Pinto, too.”

  Sancho swiped the droplets from the rim of the canteen and flicked them in Rebekah’s face. He answered in English, “This was more important, my son.”

  Rebekah felt a blessed coolness over her eyes, bringing her back to consciousness. Someone was wiping a bandana over her face—gentle, caring. How was that possible? Thoughts started firing through her mind.

  The Chihuahuan Desert. Sancho and Edgardo Guerra. Trotting horses.

  Pain.

  Had the posse found her? Jimmy?

  Rebekah cracked open her crusty eyes to see a row of silver medallions stitched to a vest, illuminated by the dawn. One of the medallions was missing.

  Her despair returned.

  Sancho Guerra was on one knee beside her as he tipped his canteen over his bandana to allow more water to soak it. He wiped Rebekah’s face again and she managed to suck one corner of the cloth into her mouth.

  He chuckled. “See, Edgardo? The art of torture can take many forms.”

  Rebekah kept sucking on the bandana, drawing in as much moisture as she could. If only her physical body wasn’t so overpowering in its demand to keep her alive, she would have refused it and died.

  Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again…

  The scripture verse from the Gospel of John that she learned in childhood felt taunting in this thirsty land.

  But she did want to live. She didn’t know if that was possible, but she made up her mind then that she would do everything in her power to not die.

  Chapter 3

  The scene of the Mexican village before Rebekah might have been one of tranquility, if she could fully open her swollen eyes to see. After four days of hard riding, the trio had halted at the head of a road leading deep into a valley that sheltered a small village.

  The day before, Rebekah sensed the moment they crossed the Mexican border, leaving behind any hope of rescue. If she wanted to survive this ordeal, she had to find a way on her own.

  But she’d never doubted her abilities as much as she did while gazing at the valley before her, a natural rock fortress.

  Three sheer walls of red granite surrounded the valley. The fourth wall, where they sat horseback, was unmanageable except for the road that came up it at an angle. There were guards standing atop rock formations on either side of the road, allowing them full view of anyone approaching from inside or out of the valley. This was the third set of guards Rebekah had seen.

  When they had passed the first set of guards, Sancho told her there was only one way in and one way out of this place, called Los Abrigos, the shelter. No one entered or left without the valleys’ permission.

  The trio had it. The guards had already let loose shouts and were waving their hats to welcome Sancho and Edgardo Guerra back to Los Abrigos.

  One of the guards jumped down from the rock and onto a horse, bareback. He galloped down the road into the valley, swinging his sombrero in a circle and whooping.

  The illusion of a tranquil scene melted before Rebekah as figures in the valley ran out of buildings spread throughout the village.

  She didn’t have a chance to see anymore before Sancho trailed after the galloping man at a trot while Edgardo followed, pulling Rebekah’s horse along. The horses were spent, but they had made it and miraculously, she had too.

  Her hands were tied behind her back, though the bandits had untied her throughout the journey, and given her just enough food and water to keep her alive. The rope snagged on the raw flesh on her wrists, and she had blisters from clothing rubbing her skin and the saddle.

  Rebekah had questioned her commitment to stay alive more than once. But she was alive and she would find a way to escape.

  As celebratory gunfire sounded, Sancho looked back at his son with a wide grin. Edgardo returned it and they kicked their horses up into a wild gallop down the steep road.

  Rebekah gasped, clenching with her legs, even though it was the rope wrapped around her that held her in the saddle. Still, she felt as if she would fly off and meet her death beneath trampling hooves.

  Shouts of celebration joined the gunshots as Sancho and Edgardo Guerra reached the bottom in a cloud of dust and barreled through the village. It was a wild parade as the village people waved and blew kisses, or scrambled out of the way.

  Sancho didn’t slow the mad pace as he maneuvered across the valley floor, dodging farm implements, corrals, and worn adobe buildings. They started up another incline. Rebekah hadn’t seen this rise in the valley, the hill they were now climbing and the mansion at the top.

  It was like a medieval castle sitting on the highest point, overlooking the kingdom. A white terrace ran the length of the front, a short marble wall fencing it in. A variety of yucca scrubs trimmed it neatly in rosettes of evergreen, sword-shaped leaves and large white flowers.

  Sancho and Edgardo brought the horses to a stop, facing the terrace. The dust settled and Rebekah blinked to clear her vision from her watering eyes. The air around her grew very still, and she realized the people, who had followed them up the road, were making a semi-circle behind them.

  But they were silent now. Rebekah glanced back to see the joy on their faces were momentary. Now they looked exhausted, hungry. Fearful. They were all staring at the terrace.

  Rebekah faced forward again to see an ancient woman coming across the terrace with natural grace as if she descended from centuries of royal breeding. She wore her silver hair in a tight bun held in place by a black shell comb inlaid with turquoise, and a gold tapestry dressing gown that revealed little of her skin. The skin that was exposed on her face and hands was soft; wrinkles revealed her age but in a dignified way. Her face looked timeless, as though she had always been. Perhaps that was why she didn’t appear to move her feet as she glided across the terrace.

  For the moment, the woman didn’t even look at Sancho or Edgardo. Her eyes bore into Rebekah.

  In that instant, Rebekah felt her destiny was tied to this woman, as though she had the power to give life as a mother would for her young. But there was nothing motherly in the woman’s gaze, only the power. To give life or take it.

  Sancho swung down from his horse, his back ramrod straight as always and his black charro suit looking in good condition despite the long journey. He strode up the center steps of the terrace and through an opening in the low marble wall. The ancient woman finally turned to him. He took her hand and bowed to kiss it.

  Sancho straightened and she observed every inch of his face. When she nodded, he leaned forward and she offered her cheek for him to kiss.

  They were close enough for Rebekah to hear him say, “I am home, Abuelita.”

  Rebekah felt a shock. This was Sancho Guerra’s grandmother.

  The woman observed Edgardo and then Rebekah. The first words she said to her grandson Sancho were, “Who is this woman?”

  Sancho glanced back and for the first time since Rebekah met him, she saw he was under someone else’s authority.

  His smile was the same but tighter as he answered, “It is a long story, Abuelita. May I tell you at dinner?”

  His grandmother moved nothing but her eyes, observing every part of Rebekah. Finally, the woman said to Sancho, “You will have her cleaned up. I do not wish dirt inside the Grande Colina hacienda.”

  While Rebekah contemplated the ridiculousness of the statement, surrounded by nothing but desert dust, Edgardo swung down from his horse. He untied the rope from around her and pulled her from the horse. He knew to hold onto her but she still collapsed to her knees.

  The grandmother rattled something off to someone in the crowd and in a few moments, Rebekah was being lifted on either side by soft hands. Two older girls, one on either side of her, were supporting her as they maneuvered away from the horses.

  Rebekah didn’t know where they were taking her or what would happen next. She
only knew anyplace was better than under Abuelita Guerra’s stare.

  Chapter 4

  The next few hours were hazy. Rebekah was aware of being in a small adobe dwelling and stripped of her clothing to settle in a tub of cool water. As far as she knew, the dwelling was private with only the two girls. They set to work at scrubbing Rebekah down, but too harshly for her chafed skin. Rebekah let out a cry that let them know, and they eased up.

  The girls didn’t speak as they washed her hair and cleaned her wounds. She wanted to ask them to fetch her medical bag from Edgardo Guerra so she could treat her cuts, blisters, and raw wrists, but Rebekah couldn’t get her lips to form words. They did give her sips of fresh water, which she was careful not to become greedy in.

  After four days in the desert, she felt guilty about the water they used to bathe her. But at the same time, she recalled seeing more than one water well in the wild ride through the village. This was a desert oasis and through the bath and care of the two girls, Rebekah felt like it was paradise.

  When she was bathed and in a robe, the girls tried to seat Rebekah at a table on a wood bench. She couldn’t stay upright. They moved her back to the bedroom where the tub of water was and settled her on a cot, propped up with a pillow.

  They massaged red-orange sap over her wounds. The sap came from the branches of mesquite trees. Rebekah had used the remedy on patients before, but now she was the patient and content to let them treat her however they could.

  One of the girls began emptying the tub while the other went to an adobe oven in the other room. She put a pot on the ledge and pulled tortillas from a basket.

  Neither girl smiled. Their faces held the same expression Rebekah had seen of the other villagers, though tinted with innocence.

  Rebekah sipped from the clay cup of water they left by her bed, savoring the clean coolness of it.