Tucker bolted out the door and returned with a bucket of water he’d scooped from the water trough and heaved the contents up on the window, dousing the small flames. As he did, John struggled to his feet and Lily rushed to his side.
“Are you hurt?” The words gushed from her as she took his arm, steadying him. “Oh, your poor, poor face.” Her hands softly examined the punishment his face had taken, and her face blanched when she touched his scar. “I am so thankful he did not shoot you, John. I could not have stood that.”
Gently, John took her hands in his, holding them close to his chest. “Good to see you, Brandon,” he said, never taking his eyes from Lily’s. “You’ve the knack of showing up at just the right time.” Finally, he turned. He motioned to Boone lying on the floor, grasping his bloody side. “Let’s get him locked up. Charity’s in trouble.”
***
The sun was just coming up when they finally stopped. The Mexican slid from his horse and jerked Charity’s arm so that she fell into the dirt. Bloody and bruised from her attempted escape, she blinked several times, trying to focus. Earlier, she’d leapt off the galloping horse, figuring the fall would be better than what her captor had planned. But he’d caught her easily and slapped her around. Thank God he’d been in too much of a hurry for anything else. Her main regret was that she’d lost her coat, and the little protection it gave.
Through squinted eyes she watched her captor hand his reins to a woman, then drink from the jug he was offered. Several other women gathered, waiting to see what was going to happen.
Another man approached. When he saw Charity in the dirt, he stopped short, anger darkening his eyes. He was older, with sinewy arms and long black hair. He glanced at her again then cursed furiously at the younger man, spitting into the dirt.
Scrambling to her feet, she met her captor face to face. He spun her around, then pushed her forward. They climbed a rocky hill where more of the outlaw’s encampment was visible. A few small fires still burned and horses were tethered about.
They stopped at a structure half carved into the rocky hillside. The man opened the door and shoved her in, closing the door and snapping the lock. She tried to block her fall, but she hit hard, taking gravel on her face and in her mouth. She lay there, giving into the luxury of a groan as she looked about the room. It was small, a ten by ten box at most. The ceiling would barely clear her head if she stood. She shivered. The images of her loved ones back in Montana flitted through her mind in jagged pieces. Her mother and father. John. Luke. The rest of her family.
Brandon.
Oh, how she loved them all. Would she live to see them again? Would she ever have another chance to tell them just how much they meant to her?
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dustin bolted into the jail just as John and Brandon swung the cell door closed. Winston wasn’t far behind his son. “What’s going on? We heard a shot. Saw the lights from the alley.”
“Boone’s killed the sheriff,” John answered, motioning to the back of the sheriff’s office where the body of Sheriff Dane was laid out on the cold stone floor. Pete Miller, the deputy, looked dazed, and Harland sat in his cell, watching.
Winston sucked in a big draught of air, his expression shifting from sleepy to alarmed. “Why the hell…”
John held up his hand for silence. “It’s a long story, Uncle Winston, and one we don’t have time to go into right now. Charity’s been taken by a Comanchero and we need to rescue her. How many men can you round up quickly?”
Brandon started for the door.
“Hold up, Brandon,” John barked.
“I’m going after her. The longer we sit here talking—- the likelier—”
“You’re right.” John jogged to his friend’s side and Dustin followed.
“Go on,” Winston agreed with a wave of his hand. “I’ll gather together a posse and follow as quick as I can. My best guess would be to head north-west. To the boarded up ghost town. It’s been rumored on and off for years that the Comancheros sometimes use it for a hangout. Could be a goose chase but without any other direction, at least it’s a start.” He looked uncertain. “Don’t know...”
When the three men exited the sheriff’s office they found Tucker and Theodore waiting with John and Dustin’s mounts, saddled and ready to ride. The boys had also retrieved Brandon’s horse from around back. Theodore was mounted on his own horse and Tucker swung aboard another, clearly intending to come along. Brandon mounted up, as did John and Dustin.
“Tucker. Theodore,” John said, quickly taking stock of the rifles and ammunition the two had gathered together. “I know you want to come, but too many riders will be conspicuous. You’re needed here to watch over the women. Until we know why Charity was taken, the rest of the town could still be in danger too.”
When Theodore opened his mouth to protest, Brandon intervened. His face was stern. “John Jake is right. We may not make it back. If that’s the case, you’ll be the next line of defense.” With that, he turned his horse and took off at the gallop, John and Dustin fast on his heels.
From her bedroom window Lily watched the men ride away into the night, then said a silent prayer for their safe return. She squelched a shiver at the thought of Charity in the hands of those horrible men. “God speed,” she whispered, her hand against the cold pane of glass. She wasn’t sure if her desire for John was creating something out of nothing, but it seemed as if things had changed between the two of them. She’d seen it in his eyes. Felt it in the way he’d held her hands next to his chest. She’d wanted to stay like that forever and just let the world pass them by. But time had been of the essence, and they needed to find Charity.
The tumult Boone had caused in the shop had awakened Tante Harriett. She’d been so scared that Lily had helped her up even though it was the dead of night, settling her in her chair next to the window, wrapped in a warm quiet. She was there now, still agitated, with a pair of knitting needles forgotten in her hands.
Tante Harriett had been terrified after John and Brandon had taken Boone away. It was as if her worst nightmare had come true right before her eyes. She’d heard the screaming and the fight. And then the gunshot that rattled the walls and sent the acrid smell of gunpowder throughout the place. Confused, she’d called to Lily by Lily’s mother’s name, alarming her tremendously. And there had been no convincing her otherwise. Finally, Lily had had to agree with her, affirming she was someone other than who she was, just to calm her down.
The tea kettle was on the fire and as soon as the water was hot, Lily would make a cup of tea for both of them as there’d be no sleeping again this night. She expected Emmeline, Becky, Winnie and Madeline to be coming over to the shop at any time. She peeked into her aunt’s room and asked, “Tante, are you doing okay?”
Tante Harriett’s head jerked up with a start, as if she’d been deep in thought. “Oh, it’s you, Gretchen. Yes, I’m fine.”
Lily felt a niggle of unease creeping up her spine. “It’s me, Tante. Lily.”
“I’ve been thinking about all the things I have to do this day. So many I fear I will never be done. Just look,” she said, holding up the knitting needles, the ball of string forgotten on the rug. “I may never get this sweater done in time for mother’s birthday. It’s taking me forever. And the carpets need beating and I promised to take some fresh milk to the market.”
Lily nodded and backed away, her heart breaking. When she saw the kitten she picked it up and took it into Harriett, laying it the older woman’s lap. “She will keep you company until I return with our tea.”
“Thank you. I’ve always said you’re the most thoughtful sister anyone could ever have.” She stroked the kitten, now curled in her lap like a donut, with shaking hands.
A noise by the alley door drew Lily’s attention. “The others are here. I’ll go down and let them in, and bring you back a nice cup of tea.
Relieved to have company on this strange night, Lily hurried to let the others in. When she turned the knob the door fle
w open, and hit the wall with a bang. Boone burst in, holding his side.
“Hold up,” John shouted to Brandon, still riding hard in the lead. “It’s not going to do Charity any good if we run our horses to death. We have to stop. Let them breathe.”
A few seconds went by before Brandon’s large bay gelding began to slow down. John reined in Bo, and Dustin followed suit. Soon the three sat their mounts side by side in the early morning light, an amber yellow glow limned the horizon. The horses’ chest heaved and frothy white lather dripped from their sides. John was the first to dismount and loosen his cinch. He walked his horse slowly in a circle.
They’d been following Dustin’s directions and would be to the ghost town within a quarter hour. “How’re you feeling about this town Uncle Winston has sent us to?”
“Hopeful,” Dustin answered. “Without this lead, we’d be buggered up. I just have a feeling he’s right about this.”
“If he’s not?” Brandon was distracted. He gazed out over the quiet landscape as if he could see Charity through the miles and darkness.
“We have to go with it, for now,” John said. “I have a feeling that it’s right, too.”
Brandon felt his horses’ hide to see how he was cooling. “Or, could turn out the same as it did for your ma, John Jake. Held captivity for a year, was it? It was a miracle Flood got her back at all. History may be repeating itself.”
John placed his hand reassuringly on Brandon’s back. “That’s not going to happen. We’ll get her back, Brandon. I’m betting my life on it. I’m not returning to Rio Wells without her. She’s always been there for me, and now I aim to repay her.”
All three tightened their cinches and remounted. “We need to take it more slowly from here,” Dustin said. He pointed to the rise above the abandoned road that they were traveling on. We’ll go up and stay behind the rise until we get closer. Then, we should split up and make a quick sweep of the town, then re-group.
“Sounds good.” Brandon’s horse tossed his head in agitation, then pulled on his bit. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Lily gasped as Boone grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth, backing her into the kitchen. A gun hung threateningly from his other hand. Closing the door behind him, he never took his eyes from her face.
“Now,” he whispered. “I’ll have the jewel. I haven’t come all this way and worked all these weeks to leave empty handed.” He winced in pain.
John’s words of warning ripped through her mind. “Once he has the jewel we’re all dead.” Was he right? If she gave it to Boone would he leave without hurting her or her aunt? She wasn’t sure.
“We can do this the easy way—” he reached around and grasped the back of her hair and yanked down, bringing her upturned face within inches of his, “—or not. Your choice.” He quickly let her go, his gaze darting around. He opened the drawers and dumped them out, scanning the contents. He fingered through her cupboards. She glanced to the closed door to the alley and wondered if she dare try an escape.
“Forget it,” he chuckled. “You know you’re going to give it to me. May as well make it easy on yourself.”
“How did you escape?”
“The old man thought I was hurt worse than I was. Came in to doctor me.”
Her blood pulsed. “Is he…dead?”
“Shut up. I’m asking the questions.” He’d already moved rapidly about, searching all he could downstairs, pulling the bolts of fabric and lace from the walls and dropping them into a pile on the floor. “I want that jewel,” he shouted. After rifling through her book of sketches, he threw it across the room in a fit of rage, raining pages down like leaves in the fall. He clenched his side and groaned.
After a moment he grasped her arm and propelled her up the stairs, bumping the walls in the confined space as they moved. At the top he shoved her down, then began searching. He ran his hands through the seams of the upholstered chairs, turned things over, and left nothing unexplored.
Lily wanted to run to Tante Harriett, make sure she was okay, but Boone kept her close to his side. In Lily’s room he dumped out her highboy drawers, picking through her things. When he found her box of personal keepsakes he all but shook with excitement, but again was disappointed. All that was left to check now was her aunt’s bedroom. Harriett gasped when he pushed open the door, one Lily felt sure she had left open when she’d gone downstairs. Her aunt, still sitting where Lily had left her, blanched when she saw Boone.
Angrily, he opened her closet, pulling out her aunt’s belongings, then tossing them to the side. Tension crackled in the air and Lily felt sure he was ready to explode. When he spotted Tante Harriet’s satchel next to her chair, he stopped. “Here,” he said, in a frenzy. “It has to be here.”
When that didn’t produce the gem he turned on Lily, murder glistening in his eyes. Pushing her roughly to the bed, he towered over her as she strove to remain steadfast. She would not cower.
“I don’t think you want to give your old mother here a show that will shock the life out of her.” He reached for his belt buckle. “You better start talking.”
Pop. Pop. Pop. The sound didn’t register to Lily until she saw Boone’s eyes go wide. He tried to turn to see what had happened, but instead pitched to the right, hitting the wall and sliding down until he was on the ground, motionless.
Tante sat in her chair, the tiny derringer still smoking in her outstretched hand. “You won’t hurt my Lily,” she said calmly as she started to shake uncontrollably. Her eyes, set deep in her wrinkled face, were riveted on Boone’s body, her contorted expression one Lily had never seen. “You filthy dog.”
Voices boomed from downstairs, followed by the sound of someone running up the stairs. Tucker, Theodore and Emmeline burst into the room before Lily could even move to get herself together.
“What happ—” Tucker began, gaping first at Boone’s body, then at Harriett.
“I killed the man in black,” Tante Harriett whispered. “He was going to hurt my Lily.”
She’d be ready for that black-hearted bas—. Charity stopped the direction of her thoughts. Luke always said anger hampered one’s thinking. Be smart. Think. She was a McCutcheon. And McCutcheons didn’t die easily. She’d not be distracted when the door finally opened. She’d be ready for anything.
Charity felt around the floor. She almost smiled when lady luck placed her hand over a rock that fit perfectly in her palm. Tenaciously, she began scrapping under the door in the hard-packed earth. Over and over she pummeled with vengeance, then brushed the dirt away. Shellston’s words rankled. He wanted her dead. She’d heard too much in the candlelit bank. For some reason, Shellston had had the stagecoach attacked. Innocent people had died. John, Lily and Harriett could have been killed, too. After what seemed like an eternity, she had to stop to catch her breath. Perhaps they were planning to leave her here forever, to die of thirst where no one would even know. In the heat of the day that wouldn’t take long.
Again she attacked the ground. Sweat poured down her face and stung her eyes. Her arms throbbed. The dull ache radiated from her wrists up to her shoulders. She pounded and scraped the earth, but it seemed part rock, too. Frustrated, she flung the rock to the side and, like an animal, scratched with her fingernails until the pain was too much. She stopped, then felt the insignificant dent she’d made under the door.
Charity collapsed against the wall, panting. She closed her eyes, and fingered her sore jaw, then let her hand drop down to the dusty earth floor. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of cool water. She licked her dry lips. Tried to swallow.
For several long minutes she just sat. Her heart slowed. Time passed. A prayer of deliverance took flight. With so much going on in her head, she never heard the soft shifting of pebbles and sand beneath the door beside her.
Dustin was already back from his search of the west end of the ghost town when John came running in to their meeting place. They’d left the horses and had ventured out on foot. �
��Nothing,” John said, feeling desperate. He reached for the canteen on his saddle. After a long drink he swiped his arm over his mouth and stood looking at the town in the early morning light. “I found nothin’. You?” His anxiety-turned-fury was getting the better of him. He didn’t know this area. He felt impotent, useless. Charity had been gone too long. She could be dead. Or, on the back of some horse headed for Mexico, never to be seen again. He wouldn’t let that come to pass. She was his baby sister. It was his job to keep her safe.
“I got nothin’ either,” Dustin said crossly. He paced back and forth like a caged wolf, rings of sweat on his shirt, anger blazing in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking, though.”
“And?”
“If I were those Comancheros I wouldn’t hang out here. Too easy for raiders to swoop in and kill everyone. But living out on the desert all the time would get old. Maybe they’re close. Somewhere where they could get to the town easily when they wanted to, but not live in it all the time.”
John gave him a look.
“Up on that hill.” Dustin walked through the group of horses and pointed up behind the town.
“You may be right. Let’s go check it out.”
“What about Brandon?”
“It’s been over twenty minutes since we split up. I don’t feel comfortable waiting any longer. I think he’ll figure out where we went and follow.”
It took ten minutes for the two cousins to climb the hillside overlooking the deserted town. With Winchesters in hand and their guns strapped to their thighs, they crouched behind some rocks and took in the Comanchero’s camp, just waking from the night.
“There’s a lot of ‘em,” John whispered, scrambling up farther onto a big rock, careful to stay hidden. He removed his hat and wiped the excess moisture from the inside hatband. “Any sign?” She had to be here. If not, they wouldn’t have any idea of where to start looking.
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