by Linda Broday
“Are you speaking of Ford?”
“Among others. But yes, him for sure. I think he or some of his associates may have kidnapped Rocky.” Was he alive? Or dead? Though a sob tried to rise, she raised her chin, determined to meet whatever came head-on.
“When did your brother go missing?”
Memories swept her back to the chaotic scene in the newspaper office and the little room above it with Rocky’s bed not slept in. “Two days ago.”
“Did you report it?”
She nodded, holding her hands to the fire that didn’t seem to warm her. “First thing. I can’t say for sure Ford bears the blame, because I didn’t see him take my brother, but it seems logical.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Yep. He probably thought Rocky had that treasure map, and when he didn’t find it, Ford took you, hoping to make you talk. Or Ford could have planned on using you as leverage against Rocky. I wouldn’t put anything past that outlaw.”
A lump blocked Sierra’s throat. “Look, Ranger, I can’t ask you to solve this.”
“You’re not asking—I’m volunteering. While Ford had you, did you see Rocky?” The firelight brought out Sam’s strong profile that seemed to have been chiseled from a piece of granite.
How long it had been since she’d had someone to talk to who would listen? Even Rocky had shut her out with his distractions. She’d been alone for so long. Confiding in Sam and releasing some of her troubles felt nice.
“No. He wasn’t in the cave where the outlaws took me. But I overheard Ford mention Rocky’s name when talking to one of his men.”
“What do you think? Could your brother, or someone else in your family, be involved in anything illegal?”
“No, absolutely not. Our father is an explorer. He and my mother traveled the far reaches of the American West, cataloguing what they found.”
“And Rocky?”
Sierra gave her head an emphatic shake. “My brother is many things, but a lawbreaker is not one of them.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you find him. We’ll get to the bottom of this. But how did Ford come in contact with you and your brother?”
A shiver passed through her even though she stood in front of the warm blaze. “It all began last week. You might as well know our sordid secret. Rocky is…” She paused for a second, wishing Sam didn’t have to know how far her family had sunk. “He’s a bit of a drinker. He frequents the saloons…looking for worthy news, he says, though I know better.
“He stumbled across some details that bore proof of Ford’s crimes and, while quite inebriated, foolishly published them.” She dragged the overturned barrel closer and sat down again. “Ford was enraged. He and his men busted into the office, beat Rocky, and threatened to kill us both.”
Sheer terror flooded her mind. She took several deep breaths, fighting tremors, remembering the feel of that gun pressed to her head. “I got loose and ran out screaming for help. They escaped out the back way.”
“I’m sure you were terrified. So they came at you twice.” Sam’s quiet reflection banished some of the chill. “When did you last see Rocky?”
“Two nights after that incident. We closed the shop, and he walked me to my room at the boardinghouse. He told me good night, and that’s the last time I saw him. When I went to open the next morning, his bed hadn’t been slept in. I didn’t notice anything missing. I haven’t seen him since.” Now it was too late. Everything was too late. That foolish, foolish article had put them in untold danger. Oh, Rocky, what have you done?
Fear knotted her stomach. She’d spoken with the sheriff, but his interest had waned once he’d learned of Rocky Hunt’s restless feet. When she found her brother, would he be alive? Or dead?
Rocky shared her father’s obsessive nature, except that her brother’s passions were drinking and the newspaper. Was it possible he’d ridden out following a story and gotten waylaid? Or had he simply forgotten the way back? Forgotten about her?
He’d been overjoyed to see her when she arrived a few weeks ago. She’d settled into a nearby boardinghouse and immersed herself in her work, feeling as though she’d truly left her past behind. Or had she? Maybe a person never outran their mistakes. Maybe problems simply followed behind on an invisible leash.
At any rate, now Rocky was gone, and she was running for her life.
The door banged open, and Andrew Evan tried to maneuver inside with another load of wood. Sierra hurried to help.
Water gushed from his hat when he dropped the wet logs. “No sign of letting up. Found a woodpile out back, just like I thought there would be. Maybe this will have time to dry some before we use up the other.”
“With luck it will.” Sierra grabbed for a piece that tumbled from the top.
“Gracias, amiga.” Evan took it from her. “For your smile, I would walk barefoot across hot desert sand.”
Sierra blushed.
“The lady doesn’t want to listen to a bunch of foolish drivel,” Sam growled. She could tell that Sam itched to say more. Judging by his black glower, eating the unsaid words appeared to leave a bad taste on his tongue. She appreciated the effort.
That tension was back, stretching Sierra’s nerves. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and spotted the rope mark about his throat. She yearned to offer sympathy but didn’t know how. Maybe it was best to pretend she hadn’t seen it. She returned Sam’s bandana and thanked him instead.
With a grin, Evan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out six apples. “Found an apple tree within spitting distance of the shack. Lots of fruit on the ground.” He handed her one. “A special one for you, amiga.”
Sierra gave him a bright smile. “This is wonderful. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Seems you’ve saved our bellies, along with our lives,” Sam drawled, catching an apple Andrew pitched. “Miss Sierra, earlier you asked where I was taking you. Where do you want to go? Name it, and I’ll make it happen.”
Evan lowered to the floor in front of the fire and stretched out his long legs. “Have a husband waiting?”
“No.”
“Parents?” Evan pressed.
The old panic climbed up her spine. Why wouldn’t they change the subject?
Thoughts of her father flashed through her head. Avoiding the ranger’s questioning stare, she polished her apple on her wet skirt. “Like I said, I have no one, no place.” No life.
“Then I’ll take you to my family’s ranch, the Lone Star, until I find your brother. You’ll be safe there.”
His gaze steadied her. “Again, I’m not sure such a place exists, but thank you.”
“Just makes sense.” Sam leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees.
Could he also save her from other perils? She wanted to ask if they’d have to cross any rivers to get to the ranch, only the words were stuck in her throat.
With this heavy rain, creeks and rivers would be swollen.
Dangerous.
Deadly.
A cold shiver ran up Sierra’s back.
Evan swung his attention to Sierra. “I’d like to hear about your life.”
Sierra frowned, wishing they wouldn’t ask. “I don’t like to talk about it, but I can see you’re not going to let it go. From my earliest memory, my parents dragged us from pillar to post. William and Daisy Hunt saw no need to let a bunch of small kids tie them down as they traveled the American West. I quickly found unpacking to be a useless endeavor.”
She focused on the thick layer of dirt on the floor, remembering how she used to beg to have a normal home, permanence…friends…a suitor. “The longest we ever stayed in one spot was high in the Sierra Nevada. We wintered there only because we got snowed in and couldn’t leave.” Four lovely months spent in that one place had sparked a fierce dream that refused to die. She knew she couldn’t live as a wanderer.
Sam leaned toward the fire, warming his hands. “How do you like Texas?”
Sierra lifted her gaze and fell headlong into his stare. “It’s beautiful. Nowhere is the sky this big and the sunsets as vivid. The wide-open spaces enchant me. Although I’ve seen amazing things others can’t begin to dream about, I’ve had more than enough. From now on, I’ll settle for nothing less than permanence and putting down deep roots.”
And a chance for her dream to become a reality. A chance to forget and learn how to live with the pain of her choices.
“Roots are good.” Sam tossed his apple core into the fire. “Let me see your hand. I want to check the bleeding.” He spoke as he examined the cut, holding her hand in his. “Your experiences prepared you for everything life will throw your way. I admire you, Sierra. You showed real gumption today.”
“You give me far too much credit.” She studied the hand that held hers. He wouldn’t think her worthy of admiration if he learned what she’d done.
She was a coward and despised herself for it.
A coward didn’t deserve to be safe and warm with shiny apples to eat.
Five
Sierra glanced at her fingers curling inside Sam’s large palm. Hands told so much about a woman. Or man. Sam’s had thick calluses, telling of a good portion of life spent outdoors. Whereas Andrew Evan’s had seemed smooth and more suited to saloons, gambling dens, and the ability to quickly draw a pistol.
Two men. Total opposites.
She drew a shaky breath, noticing that even her fingers showed her cowardice. They hid, cowering inside the warm pocket he’d created. She swallowed the choking lump in her throat.
Andrew opened the door and stood looking at the raging storm. Every few minutes, lightning slashed across the sky and thunder rattled every board of the cabin.
Sierra leaned closer to Sam so Andrew wouldn’t hear. “What does ‘amiga’ mean, and why does he call me that?”
“It’s nothing. Want me to tell him to stop?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll be happy to set him straight.”
No doubt. But she didn’t want trouble. Changing the subject seemed best. She prayed it erased his stormy expression and that piercing gray stare that saw too much. “What time do you suppose it is?”
The ranger released her hand. “I figure early afternoon.”
“It’s so gloomy in here with only the fireplace. And the heavy clouds outside block any light that might drift through the chinks in the walls.”
Where would she…they sleep? She felt Sam’s gaze follow her as she poked around the ramshackle one-room dwelling that had probably once served as someone’s homestead. Thick spiderwebs hung from the corners like gray ghosts, watching her. A shiver raced along her spine. She knew how it was to have eyes following her every move.
“You’re worried about your brother,” Sam said.
Was Rocky out in this rain, cold and hungry? Her chin quivered. She desperately needed to know he was safe. “No matter the cost, I’ll do anything to save him,” she whispered.
Like an old letter that was read and reread, she’d been over everything until it wore thin. If she had a map, she’d gladly turn it over to Ford and his gang. In saving Rocky, maybe she could find some sort of redemption. But if he died, her father would be right.
“I’ve been mulling this over, and something doesn’t fit. If they have Rocky, why did they kidnap you?” Sam’s stare made her fidget.
“I can’t say. Look, I can’t ask…” Fear spread through her. Sierra swallowed the last of the sentence as her throat closed around the words.
Sam rose. Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her against him. Unable to resist, she leaned her head on his chest, if only for a moment. “It’s all right,” he murmured, smoothing her hair. “I’m not going to let Ford near you. I’ll keep you safe while we figure things out.” His voice had a hard edge as he added, “But there will be a reckoning for Ford in the end.”
It had been so long since anyone had held her or spoken comforting words. Still, she couldn’t let him get too close, or he would see all the pain. Men like him tried to fix things and right wrongs. Nothing could fix this. With an upward glance, she attempted a smile that wavered and died before it formed. “You’re a good man, Ranger.”
A sudden grin deepened the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, softening his features. “I’ll bet you tell every banged-up lawman that.”
Sensing Andrew watching, she pushed away.
Sam buttoned his coat. “I’ll go check on the horses. This storm is probably making them nervous.”
“I’ll go with you,” Andrew said.
The fire crackled and popped, breaking the silence in the wake of their departure.
Sierra sat beside the fire. With her hair now dry, she tried to braid it, but it had become a tangled mess. The task was hopeless without a comb, and she gave up. She faced an uncomfortable night ahead. Her wet clothes made her cold and miserable; rain had drenched the many layers and would take a long while to dry on her.
She glanced at the thick layer of dirt on the floor. Well, she supposed she’d slept on worse. A blast of thunder made her jump. Where were the men? She wished they’d hurry back.
After what seemed like an hour, the door swung open, and Sam strode in with rain running off his coat and hat onto the floor. Bedrolls and saddlebags loaded him and Andrew down.
Sierra went to help. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“The horses,” Sam said. “We unsaddled the mounts and removed the gear. The overlapping branches of the trees kept most of it pretty dry.”
“All for you, amiga.” Andrew gave her a grin, pulling out a shiny ribbon.
“That’s wonderful! You’re amazing, Andrew Evan.”
“Yeah, downright amazin’, all right,” Sam said dryly.
Sierra pulled back her hair and secured it with the ribbon. The strip of satin helped immensely, even though tangles still made her hair nigh unmanageable. “How long have you known each other?” The ranger and the gunfighter mixed like oil and water.
Sam snorted. “Not until today on the train. Although I believe I know him from somewhere.”
“Nope,” Evan murmured. He’d squatted down and was rummaging through one of the saddlebags he’d brought in. Bedrolls, nine in all, lay on the floor. That would help pass the night in comfort. Sam sat down and reached for one.
Sierra didn’t know what to believe. Utter strangers didn’t get their backs up at each other for no reason, but plainly they weren’t going to discuss it.
Several times over the last two hours, she’d caught Andrew staring at Sam with an odd look on his face. And why did he wear his hat all the time, even in the dim room lit only by the fire? Her certainty that he was hiding something became stronger with each passing moment.
Releasing an exasperated sigh, she turned to the bounty Andrew had brought in. They didn’t hold secrets.
The saddlebags from the Ford gang yielded the most: jerky, a beat-up coffeepot with the makings for more, extra ammunition, and two bottles of whiskey. Some of which would come in handy.
Out of one saddlebag, Sam lifted an oilskin-wrapped piece of frayed burlap. Removing the layers, he brought a big stack of currency into the light.
“How much do you think is there?” Sierra asked quietly.
“Got to be at least five hundred dollars, maybe more.”
Andrew gave it a glance. “Outlaw loot.”
A piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Sierra picked it up. “Looks like a telegraph.” She opened it and read aloud:
BRING THE PACKAGE TO ME IN TEN DAYS STOP FIND THE MAP STOP YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DON’T STOP FB
The threat tightened her already fragile nerves. That blasted map! It came up every way she turned
. Her life and that of her brother’s hinged on that one mysterious item.
“Sounds like the Ford gang answers to a boss.” Sam turned to Sierra. “You don’t have to speculate any longer on why they took you and Rocky.”
“I wish I knew what the sketch looked like or where it is. I’d give it to them in a heartbeat.”
Evan leaned forward. “What map are you talking about?”
“One Ford thinks I have and will do anything to get.” Sierra stared into the flames, wondering if Rocky had one and didn’t tell her. It would hold true to form.
“How come the person who sent this telegram thinks you have it?” Sam asked.
Sierra met his gaze. “I wish I knew.”
The scowl on Evan’s face shot fear through her as he passed a hand across his eyes. “The gang will come after this money. And you, amiga.”
“Without a doubt,” Sam agreed.
Chills raced along Sierra’s spine. Her hand flew to her throat, where she felt the rapid thud of her heartbeat. The time she’d spent as their captive flooded back. The hardness of their eyes. The thin blade against her throat. The cold steel of the gun pressed to her head.
If they got her again, they’d kill her.
In an effort to take her mind from the looming threat, she opened two more saddlebags and found clothes. With a little squeal, she stood, holding a pair of pants against herself. They looked to fit her petite frame. They must belong to a very slight man. There were other trousers also. A pair of longer ones appeared close to Sam’s six-foot-plus size.
“We can get out of our wet things,” she said, grinning.
The tall Texas Ranger smiled back. “I’ll go for that.”
While she hugged the treasure to her, Andrew pulled a fancy set—black trousers that had silver conchas up the sides and a black shirt—from his own saddlebag. Then, without a word, he gathered one of the bedrolls and got to his feet. Striding to a corner, he draped the fabric on nails sticking from the wood to create a tiny dressing area.
“Your privacy awaits, dulce.” Evan stepped back, bowing from the waist with a flourish.