Winning the Schoolmarm: Wyoming Legacy (Wind River Hearts Book 14)

by Lacy Williams

  But the fact that he had made no attempt to keep Ruth warm showed how little he cared for them. What would he do once they arrived at their destination, wherever that was?

  If they jumped, even if they did get away, they’d be hopelessly lost. She was new to Granbury and awful at directions, besides. Ruth spent so much time out of doors… Ruth explored and hiked all over, both with John and with her friends. Perhaps she could find a house nearby or even run home, if they hadn’t traveled too far.

  Ever so slowly so as not to attract attention, Cecilia began the painstaking process of extracting herself from her coat. She sent up a prayer of thanksgiving that she had been dressed for traveling in the cold, that she had just entered the house when she discovered Torres and interrupted his kidnapping.

  The cold air bit her exposed face and made her shiver as the fabric slowly slipped off. Ruth watched her without attempting to move. The girl must have been terrified, and with good reason. Cecilia had never seen her so quiet or so obedient.

  When Cecilia freed herself from the coat, she shifted slightly toward the back corner of the wagon, where Ruth lay.

  Ruth was shivering violently and didn't protest as Cecilia draped the coat over her. Cecilia gently tucked the garment around Ruth and helped her get her arms inside it. Every tiny movement amplified the pounding in her skull.

  The wagon seat creaked, and Cecilia froze, closing her eyes. Maybe he would believe she was still unconscious. If he looked over his shoulder, he would see only their shapes in the darkness, and Ruth's face was turned away from him.

  Please, God. The desperate prayer winged heavenward from inside her.

  When the wagon kept rolling, Cecilia slowly worked to button up the coat. She edged as close as she dared.

  The frigid wind had Cecilia shivering already. She didn't know how much longer they would be in the wagon or where they were going to end up. And they needed to escape before they were too far away to get home. This might be their only chance.

  “Can you find help?" Cecilia barely dared to breathe the words, and she prayed that Ruth could understand them.

  The girl nodded slightly.

  Cecilia squeezed her icy hands. "I'm going to create a distraction."

  She didn't give herself time to think about it, but groaned loudly as if she was suddenly coming to. She sat up and practically threw Ruth over the tailgate.

  Torres twisted in his seat. "Settle down back there or I'll shoot you."

  "Please don't." Cecilia snatched the canvas from around the barrel and pulled it over herself. With one arm underneath it, maybe she could make it look as if Ruth were covered.

  She didn't dare raise her head again to see whether Ruth had managed to scurry into some brush or otherwise hide herself.

  Torres looked over his shoulder again, and perhaps the darkness and the snow helped hide Ruth’s escape. Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he thought Ruth would freeze to death.

  He didn't stop the wagon.

  The icy canvas offered no protection from the wind. Cecilia lay shivering and frightened, praying John would come for her.

  John stumbled over Mrs. Fitzgerald when he walked into the house late Sunday night.

  He’d spent several hours with Collins and Tellers at the latter’s home. The two men had wanted to rehash everything John had said at the schoolhouse. And at the end of the night, he didn’t know whether he was still a part of the school board, but he was done explaining.

  Flo was awake but barely coherent. She appeared to have a broken wrist.

  “Where’s Ruth?” John asked.

  “Ruth?” Mrs. Fitzgerald parroted in a trembling voice. Her eyes showed her confusion.

  He hated to leave her there, but rushed through the dark house, calling for Ruth.

  There were signs of a struggle in the kitchen. Broken dishes on the floor. An overturned chair.

  John called out again, but the house was empty.

  He needed help.

  He carried Mrs. Fitzgerald upstairs and settled her into bed, then ran into town, where his furious knock rousted Bart from his bed. “Mrs. Fitzgerald’s hurt, and Ruth is missing. The kitchen was ransacked.”

  His friend rubbed a hand over his face, obviously trying to wake up. “You sure she’s not with Miss White? Saw her ’n Michael earlier.”

  “No.” Cecilia was home? She wouldn’t have taken Ruth anywhere on a frigid Sunday evening, not without John’s permission. And neither of them should be gone past Ruth’s bedtime.

  Where were they?

  He convinced Bart’s wife Dorothy to return to the boardinghouse with him, where she tended to Mrs. Fitzgerald. Bart went for more help, arriving quickly with Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. Both looked as rumpled as Bart had.

  “What happened?” Jamison asked as his wife hurried upstairs.

  He hated to say it, but… “It had to be Torres. I don’t know why. He was never violent when he worked with my father. I would never have let him stay at the boardinghouse if I thought this would happen…”

  This was John’s fault. Would Mrs. Fitzgerald ever forgive him?

  Jamison and Bart went with John. They scoured Granbury and walked the land around the boardinghouse.

  No sign of Torres. No sign of Ruth or Cecilia.

  It was past midnight when John returned to the house. Snow was falling. Bart and Jamison were taking one more turn scouring the field behind the house. John had a gut feeling it was pointless.

  He was struggling against helplessness as he stumbled into the kitchen to warm up.

  Dorothy was waiting for him in the kitchen, with Lucy and Michael.

  “Lucy was up in the night and saw lanterns. We came to help,” Michael explained.

  Dorothy jumped out of the seat and thrust a sheet of paper toward him.

  "It’s a ransom note. It must’ve been on the table and been knocked off when..." She shook her head, unable to finish the sentence. When whoever had been in this kitchen had fought back.

  Only then did he realize that someone—Dorothy herself?—had righted the room and swept the kitchen floor.

  Exhaustion overtook him. He slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

  He handed the letter back to her as shame heated his cheeks. "You'll have to read it to me. Cecilia has been tutoring me, but it will take me all night to decipher it."

  Michael and Lucy were silent.

  Dorothy blinked at him, then shook herself slightly and picked up the paper again.

  "You took what was mine, and now I have what's yours. Bring five hundred dollars to the empty house five miles west of town or I'll kill Ruth."

  Shock and fury swept through the numbness that had overtaken him as he’d searched outside.

  Bart banged in the door, heading straight for the coffee pot. He must be as frozen as John felt. What were the girls feeling? Had they taken shelter?

  "His ransom note only mentions Ruth," John said.

  “There was a lot of broken glass in here,” Lucy said. “Like someone fought back. What if he got Cecilia, too?”

  "We parted ways at the mill," Michael said, “but she’d planned to come straight here.”

  He didn't want to think it, but it was the only thing that made sense. They’d knocked on every door in town, and no one had seen either Ruth or Cecilia.

  "Do you have that kind of money?" Bart asked.

  John picked at the edge of the table with his finger. "I've got a couple hundred stashed in my mattress upstairs." A holdover from the first months he and Ruth had moved to Granbury. He’d worried someone would come after them for the robbery.

  Michael squeezed his shoulder, only compassion showing on his face. John was so thankful that his friends had come to his aid, even if they didn't trust him anymore. Even if he and Ruth had to leave, he was grateful that Bart and Michael and Jamison were trying to get them back.

  "What about the bank?" Lucy asked. "In a few more hours, it’ll be open."

  John shook his head. "I can’t wait that
long. I never thought Torres would do something like this.” If Pa sensed that a con was going bad or that he’d been found out, he made tracks. Torres had taken a big risk in kidnapping Ruth—and possibly Cecilia. He had to know John would come after him. What had him so desperate that he’d make this choice instead of moving on?

  John had been so intent on keeping his distance from Torres. What if he would’ve taken the time to have a conversation with the man? Would it have made a difference?

  Rapid hoofbeats thundered outside, and John bolted to his feet. Michael was at his back when he went to the door and wrenched it open.

  Ruth was already at the steps, flying toward him. John gathered her close in his arms. What was she wearing? It had to be Cecilia’s coat. Ruth’s narrow form was swallowed up in it.

  He looked up to see Mr. Hamilton, a rancher who lived a ways out of town. The man stood next to his horse, the animal winded.

  "She walked up to the house in the dead of night," the man said. "Said she'd been kidnapped. She begged me to bring her back to you."

  The man’s expression was full of suspicion, but all John could feel was gratitude that his sister was back in his arms.

  “Bring her in,” Lucy urged. “It’s frigid out there. I’ll get a blanket.”

  Ruth was too big for it, but he picked her up like he had when she’d been a little thing. He cupped the back of her head, and she winced. His fingers brushed against a knot beneath her hair, and fury roiled in him. Torres must have hit her.

  "He's got Cecilia," Ruth sobbed into John's chest.

  In the parlor, he set her back and clutched her trembling shoulders.

  Lucy returned with a quilt, and John wrapped Ruth in it.

  He got the story out of her in spurts and fits. Torres had ambushed Mrs. Fitzgerald and Ruth when they’d entered the house. Mrs. Fitzgerald had been hurt—he reassured Ruth that the older woman was alive and resting—and Torres had been sneaking out the back door with Ruth when Cecilia had come inside and called out.

  John wasn't one whit surprised when Ruth told how Cecilia had attempted to stop Torres from abducting her. Fear rolled through him in a massive wave when she told him about the gun and the threats.

  She broke down in tears when she explained how Cecilia had bundled her up in her coat because Ruth didn't have hers and had created a diversion so Ruth could escape.

  There was no time to waste. John kissed his sister on the side of the head. He turned to Lucy. "Can you stay with her? I have to rescue Cecilia."

  Ruth didn't argue. She was shaken up as she let the woman gently lead her up the stairs.

  "Check her for other injuries," John called after them. "She's got a bump on the back of her noggin."

  When they were safely upstairs, John looked at Michael.

  "I'm going with you," the man said.

  “Us too.” Bart indicated Jamison.

  John felt hot emotion rise inside him. He was glad of the help.

  He had to get Cecilia away from Torres as quickly as possible.

  Did she already have hypothermia? Had Torres harmed her?

  There was no time to lose.

  19

  John and Michael found the abandoned house where the rancher, Hamilton, had said it would be.

  The rising sun was streaking the sky with silver.

  Worry gripped him. Was Cecilia inside? Was she all right?

  The two men had left Bart and Jamison to gather a posse. John hadn’t wanted to wait. He was afraid for Cecilia. Torres was acting desperate and John didn’t want to know how far he would go. And there was part of him that thought the men from Granbury wouldn’t come to his aid. He’d instructed Bart and Jamison to remind the townsfolk how much Cecilia had done for them. Surely the men would ride together in aid of their beloved schoolteacher.

  John figured he and Michael had at least an hour’s head start on the posse. Michael had been making noises about waiting for the other men, but John was afraid that if Torres found himself surrounded, he’d hurt Cecilia.

  They took cover in a copse of trees not far from the shack. What they needed was a closer look.

  “I’ll scout it out,” he murmured to Michael. “If he makes a run for it, you follow him.”

  Michael’s frown showed what he thought of that. “And if he shoots you?”

  “He’s probably sleeping.”

  Michael shook his head.

  But the woman that John loved was in danger. He couldn’t wait.

  He dismounted and crept down the hill toward the house, staying as low as he could.

  Several yards away from the house, a horse was tied to a rickety-looking fence post. A dilapidated wagon was unhitched several yards away. His heart pounded. Did that mean Cecilia was inside?

  He was creeping toward the house, nearing the wagon, when a shot rang out in the early-morning stillness. He dove for cover, though the wagon didn’t offer much.

  “That you, John?” That was Torres’s voice, calling out from inside the shack.

  So much for catching the man sleeping.

  John knelt behind the wagon, breathing hard. He peeked over the top, trying to see where Torres was shooting from. There was a broken pane in the front window. Was that a shadow moving behind it? The front door was in shadow, too. It might be open. Where was Torres?

  Where was Cecilia?

  Another shot rang out and John ducked. He didn’t hear any wood splintering. Torres must’ve missed the wagon completely.

  “You got my five hundred dollars?” Torres called.

  John glanced back toward the copse of trees. He imagined he could hear Michael cautioning him against this very thing and willed the man to stay out of sight. He knew Michael wouldn’t have wanted to wait if it was his wife in danger.

  John was stuck now. He couldn’t run away. It was too open around the shack. Torres could shoot him.

  But maybe he could buy some time.

  “What happened, Torres?” he shouted across the open space between his hiding place and the shack. “Why’d you do this?”

  There was an ugly laugh, a low sound that John barely heard. “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just kept your trap shut. I stood outside that church yesterday listening to your sniveling little speech. Your pa would be rollin’ over in his grave if he could see you now.”

  The words hit a soft spot. John had never gotten the chance to tell his pa what he really thought of the life their family led. Maybe Pa would’ve disowned him if John had confessed that he’d wanted something different. He would never know.

  “Pa didn’t condone violence,” he shouted to Torres.

  There was a long pause and John worried that his words had reminded Torres that Cecilia was vulnerable. Had he put her in more danger?

  “I don’t have five hundred,” John said. He needed to keep Torres’s attention on him. “But I’ve got two-fifty. It’s yours if you leave now.”

  “Not good enough!” Torres sounded angry now. “I could’a walked away from this dinky town with over a grand. Easy pickin’s, that’s what those folks were. They trusted you. All I had to do was mention ol’ Johnny boy’s name and they were beggin’ to give me their money. And you messed it up!”

  Another shot rang out. This time, the bullet smacked into the back corner of the wagon, only a foot from John’s head. The conveyance rocked from the force of it.

  Adrenaline punched through John. He was keeping Torres’s focus, but at what cost? The man was getting more riled. How much longer until the posse arrived?

  Too long, John realized.

  “You can still walk away,” John said. “With two-fifty.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Torres snarled. “I needed a big score. Your pa duped me out of two grand. I got debts to pay.”

  There was the reason for Torres’s desperation. He owed money. Probably to someone who’d collect from his flesh if he didn’t pay up.

  “You owed me!” Torres spat the words.

  Someone as twisted as Torr
es was never going to see reason. No matter what John said, Torres would find fault with it. John had ruined his plan. John was the bad guy.

  He needed to get Cecilia out of there.

  Or get Torres away from Cecilia. “You need cash? Let’s ride on to the nearest town. I’ll phone my bank in Granbury and they can wire it over.”

  There was a long pause. Maybe Torres was considering it.

  “We can go right now,” John called. It meant taking Cecilia’s place as hostage. So be it. Michael could swoop in and help her, get her back to town. Maybe the posse would catch up to them en route.

  But it seemed Torres’s thoughts had swung the same direction. “You’ve been awful talkative for somebody who didn’t want to give me the time of day. What’re you stalling for?”

  John didn’t answer.

  And Torres sent two wild shots in his direction. “You got the law on my tail?” A string of curse words erupted from the man. “You want me to kill your pretty little gal? That what you want, John?”

  What if he’d already killed her? John realized he should’ve asked for proof she was still alive. Maybe it was the pressure of the moment or maybe his heart had simply wanted to hope.

  Heart in his throat, John worked to keep his voice steady. “Leave her out of it. This is between you and me.”

  Torres didn’t answer and John knew he was going to have to give the man something. Information. “There’s a posse on my tail. If you leave now, you can get away.” He didn’t mention Michael, still hiding in the woods.

  “Or maybe I just shoot your little gal.” Desperation was leaking from Torres’s voice now.

  “You’re not a murderer.” John could only pray it was true. He couldn’t risk Torres making good on his threat. He straightened and stepped away from the wagon, into plain view. He held up his hands.

  “Let’s get out of here. Right now. My horse is just up the hill. They’ll be here soon if we don’t get a move on.”