by Linda Broday
“Violet sees the good in everyone.” Her voice was soft. “She loves you, you know.”
“Don’t know why in the hell she does.” The outlaw barked a laugh. “I ain’t no prize.” Montana clicked to his horse and galloped ahead.
Something her father had said a long time ago drifted across her mind. It’s best to remember, girl—even the most saintly people have a past, things they’ve done wrong, regrets aplenty. And every sinner has a future.
Except for her stepmother Lucinda and Tarver—their lives as they knew it were over.
While Tally rode, she thought about people like Montana and Rebel. When it all came down to brass tacks, everyone just needed to be loved and accepted—by someone.
Midafternoon, the landscape began to grow familiar. Groves of live oak trees dotted the plains, and little bluestem grass covered the hills. They skirted the small town of Stephenville around sunset. Her father’s ranch—now the property of Lucinda—was less than five miles away. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. If she could take Lucinda to court and get her ranch back, maybe her father’s spirit would be at peace.
They rounded a grove of live oak and rode up on top of a bluff. She gasped and shrank back in the saddle.
The black stone building of Creedmore lay poised down below like a horrible, giant bird about to take flight. The asylum stood two stories high, the windows like hollow eyes, staring.
Tally sucked in a breath, releasing a little cry.
Clay stopped his gelding beside her and dismounted. He came around and lifted her from the mare, holding her with arms of steel. “It’s only a building, darlin’. Just a building.”
She inhaled the scent of the man she loved and buried her face in the hollow of his throat. She wasn’t brave one bit. She was a coward through and through, letting horrors shake her to her bones. She could do this. She had to.
Paying Montana no heed, Clay held her for a while, murmuring against her ear, rubbing her back. Finally, she stepped from his arms. “I’m fine. We should make camp.”
They silently went about the chore of readying for nightfall. Each had a routine and Tally did it by rote, feeling the magnitude of the storm about to engulf her.
She gathered wood to make a fire and made coffee while the men hunted. As darkness swept across the land, she swung around to find Clay staring at Creedmore, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed. The red glow from his cigarette illuminated a face of stone. The warrior in him was gearing up for the fight.
Tears stung her eyes, knowing he might not walk away from this one.
From his strange actions, he seemed to feel it too.
Oh God, she couldn’t lose this man. He’d shown her what it was like to be loved.
He clenched his Remington and raised it, quarter-cocked the hammer, squinting the length of the long barrel. Then he twirled the cylinder and released the hammer, the metallic click echoing in the stillness.
The deadly sound sent a shiver down her spine.
Clay lowered the Remington to his side, then before she could blink, he jerked the weapon up again and put the hated stone building down below in his sights. All that pain and suffering, and they were only a half mile away.
Thirty
No one had much of an appetite that night, with the enemy so near. An impending fight always played havoc with Clay’s stomach, knotting it like a hangman’s rope. Only this was much worse.
He was suddenly back at fourteen in a ragged uniform. A war-torn captain took him aside and gave him and his friend the important mission of leading the group of women and children to nearby caves above the town to escape the shelling. The sound deafened him. Pure chaos was everywhere as people ran for their lives. One woman was swollen with child and clutched her stomach as though her hands would protect her unborn. Children sobbed and yelled. Buildings burned around the group. Dogs barked. Horses screamed. He’d take them to safety, Clay promised.
The next instant, it was all over and the world eerily quiet and his life forever and unalterably changed.
Clay emerged from the memories shaking, sweat rolling down his face. To fail again would destroy him. Of that much, he was positive.
Thin clouds drifted over the moon, giving it a ghostly appearance. Clay drank cup after cup of coffee and stood beyond the circle of light in the darkness, mulling over all the things that could go wrong. Sorting them out according to the level of danger.
Finally, he turned and sat down with Tally and Montana. “We’ve got to make a plan. We need a diversion to draw the men’s attention while we get the women out.”
Tally raised her gaze to him, worry and fear in her eyes saying so much more than words. “There’s one other problem that we need to discuss.”
“What’s that, darlin’?” Clay added another stick to the fire.
“Some of these women in Creedmore really do have mental problems. What are we going to do with them? Who’ll take them?”
Montana poured a liberal amount of whiskey into his coffee cup. “Now you tell me.”
Clay snorted. “No one asked you to come. That was your idea, remember?”
Tally jumped to her feet. “Stop. We have to stand together or this isn’t going to work. Clay, I think Montana may be the key to us getting inside undetected. Since Tarver and his cronies know him, they won’t be suspicious when he rides up. We’ll use that to our advantage.”
Hell, she was right, but it irked him. Somehow, he had to put aside his personal feelings. Pushing to his feet, he took Tally’s arm. “I don’t know how far I can trust the man. Montana has betrayed us time and again.”
Her winter gaze pierced him. “You either do or you don’t. Personally, I think he’s changed. He’s not the same man you brought in to patch up. Violet changed him.”
Clay pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Our lives depend on you being right.”
They returned to the fire. Tally told them about the horses and wagons on the property that they could use to haul the women to safety. Clay listened to each word. She figured there were around two dozen or more women who were actually insane, and probably close to thirty like her who had been put there to die. Over fifty women? Clay had never stopped to think how many there actually were imprisoned there. Or how much money Tarver and his goons made off the families who wanted people to disappear. It boggled his mind how rich they were getting.
And they said outlaws were animals.
Shaking his head, he drew his thoughts back to the situation. Their task was larger than he’d first thought.
Tally stared into the fire, her face carved from granite. “Some have been here since they were young girls and remember little of the outside world. Adjusting to freedom will be difficult.”
Clay laid a hand on her tense shoulders, shaken by the reality she was describing. He’d never forget what she’d been through. This mission wasn’t about him or Montana or even Susan Worth. They were here for Tally and her one goal, the one thing that haunted and kept her fighting.
The bigger picture, that was the important thing. Saving the rest of these women, not how Montana had tried to wreck Clay’s dreams.
“Thank you for reminding me why we’re here.” He leaned to kiss her and let the fragrance of the night air and her gentle warmth cool his anger.
Montana drained his cup, but instead of pouring more whiskey and getting liquored up good, he set it down. “Just tell me what you need me to do and I’ll get ’er done.”
Clay nodded at the outlaw across the fire. “Create a diversion so we can slip inside.” He turned to Tally. “Is there any other way out except through the front doors?”
“There’s the kitchen, which will be dark this time of night.” A little grin formed. “There’s also a secret passage I found by accident. Someone had blocked it with rocks about ten years ago. Over many months of working at night, I unsealed i
t and escaped. If they haven’t blocked it again, we can use that.” She shivered and drew her shawl closer, recalling the darkness and scuttling sounds of nighttime creatures that had played on her nerves. “I have a friend on the inside. Edith works as a matron over the women, and although she pretends to side with Tarver, she is totally against everything he and the others do. She helped me get Violet out before she suffered too much abuse.”
“Then she’s my hero.” Clay’s words came out gruff. “As soon as we gain entrance, I want you to find her.”
“She’ll be a big help.” Tally swung to him, excited. “Clay, I just thought of something. Edith once told me that there’s a very good asylum at Austin and said that when she had done all she could at Creedmore, she was going to go to work there. I think she knew or was related to one of the higher-ups. She talked like it would be no problem getting hired. Edith had such a soft spot for these women here, and that’s why she stayed. She’s a saint if ever there was one.”
“Perfect. We’ll see if she’s willing to take a wagon full of the worst cases.” Clay glanced at Montana, who’d stayed quiet, brooding as he gazed into the fire. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. Clay hoped it wasn’t a plan to stab them in the back.
He and Tally discussed the many little details they had to smooth out as they waited for midnight.
When they lapsed into silence, Montana leaped to his feet. “There’s an orphanage over at Abilene. I lived there for a while. Never had any parents. Some of the women might go to work there. From what I saw, they’re always shorthanded.”
He grew pensive, as though he was peering back in time. “They had women to help with the kids. I remember this one who did nothing but rock the babies. She’d sit and rock for hours, humming a song. I used to hide behind her chair and pretend she was singing to me.” He jerked off his hat and crushed it, drawing in a ragged breath. “Used to pretend she was my…mother. Maybe I was a fool even back then.”
Tally rose and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Mothers don’t always have to be the ones that give birth to us. Some just give everything they have—their hearts.”
“Hell!” Montana stalked away, wiping his eyes.
“Clay, he has a good idea. The women have options.”
“If any want to come live at Devil’s Crossing, they’ll be mighty welcome.” Except the ill ones who needed special care that they weren’t equipped to provide. “I meant what I told Hester at the canyon. They can all find a home there.”
Now that they had a plan in place for afterward, and Montana’s distraction for the beginning, they only had to wait a bit longer. It was the middle part that was filled with nothing but danger. A million-to-one odds were stacked against them.
Clay sat in silence, smoking and staring at the black hulk of Creedmore, praying everything would go according to the strategy they’d laid out. He strode to his horse, took an extra gun from his saddlebag, loaded it, and stuck it into his waistband, then turned his attention to the one in his holster. Montana and Tally checked theirs too.
All were quiet.
It was time. They’d said all they needed to.
Finally, Clay tossed down his cigarette and stomped the fire out. “Let’s ride.”
He hugged Tally close. “If I don’t make it, just know that you were the best thing to happen to me. I give you all the love that I have in me.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re not dead, so don’t even say things like that.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t believe in sugarcoating anything. He helped her onto her mare. Turning, he stuck a boot in his stirrup.
Montana took his bottle of whiskey and emptied it on himself, drenching his clothes. “A waste of good whiskey,” Montana murmured. “Damn.”
“Yeah, but it’s for a good cause.” The saddle leather creaked as Clay settled himself. “We’ll celebrate when this is over. Now let’s make these bastards regret they were born.”
“Amen to that.” Montana’s horse shied away and turned in circles, but he calmed the animal at last and swung up.
Tally and Clay rode silently, side by side, through the thick blackness, and Montana brought up the rear. Once at the asylum, where lights burned in two of the front windows, he cut away and dismounted at the front doors.
Clutching the whiskey bottle, he pounded on the heavy wooden portal. “Slade Tarver, let me in. I’ve come to offer my services.”
Clay waited long enough to see Tarver welcome the smelly outlaw. A group of men crowded around, slapping him on the back like a long-lost friend. He heard one of them holler they could always use one more without a conscience. Then Clay motioned to Tally to follow. They kept in the deep shadows of the trees and made their way around back to a barn and the wagons and horses. Clay swung to the ground and helped Tally from the mare. He saw no one, the low cries of human misery seeping through the cracks in the stone walls providing the only noise.
“Is it always like this?” he asked.
“You sort of get used to the sound after a while.”
The wails of despair grew louder as they moved the wagons close to the kitchen door of the stone prison.
Sudden loud grunts reached his ears. Clay jerked his head around. “Hogs?”
“They keep around twenty or so. For food and to keep the women in line.”
“What?” Had he heard right?
“They threaten to throw the women in there with the hogs when they give trouble.” Her voice lowered. “I’ve actually seen them follow through.”
“Unbelievable.” Clay had come across a lot of things in his life but nothing ever like this.
Tally spoke low. “Prepare yourself for what you’re about to see. Just remember, these women can’t help their circumstances.”
“Got it. When we get inside, keep moving but don’t leave my sight. Montana can only buy us a short time. We go in and try to locate Edith, get the women out, and get them safely away. Montana and I will handle the men.” He raised Tally’s chin to stare into her shadowed eyes. “Understand? You’re not to try to get Tarver and the others by yourself.”
Her glare stripped off a layer of hide. “I have debts to pay and justice I promised to so many friends.”
“Leave that to me, darlin’. That’s why I’m here.” Clay knew how it felt to burn with the need for satisfaction, but he also knew how quickly things could turn sour. “I’d never risk them getting their grimy hands on you again. Understand?”
Anger carved deep lines in her face. She jerked away but nodded once.
The kitchen door suddenly opened and a man stumbled out. He wore an apron. No visible weapon. Clay yanked Tally back into the deep shadows. The man stuck a cigarette into his mouth and rifled through his pockets for a match.
“Who is that?” Clay whispered at Tally’s ear.
“Cook. Plays both sides of the fence.”
He’d met plenty of those kind, who could turn on you in a split second, depending on which way the wind blew.
“Stay.” Clay worked around behind the man, who puffed away on his cigarette.
The cook scratched himself, muttering, “Just wait ’til I catch Tarver alone. Do this. Do that. Empty the piss buckets. Mop up the blood. By God, I’m the cook. My only job is to fix their damn food. I oughta hack up a big glob of tobacco spit and cover their meat next time before they eat it and see how they like that. It ain’t my job to take care of these crazies.”
Clay carefully raised up, struck the back of Cook’s head with his gun. He ground out the cigarette and dragged the limp form to a cellar door next to the kitchen.
The creak was far too loud when Tally opened it wide enough for Clay to toss Cook in. She dusted off her hands. “That should hold him awhile.”
“Come on.” Clay slid his Remington from the holster, took her hand, and pulled her along. “We don’t have time to waste. T
hey might’ve heard that cellar opening.”
For a moment, Clay considered entering the house of torture through the tunnel Tally had mentioned, but it would take too long. And if it turned out to be blocked after all, they’d waste precious time. This mission called for swift work in order to succeed. He cracked the kitchen door and listened before stepping inside. After a quick check assured him the coast was clear, he motioned to Tally. On the way through, she grabbed a loaf of bread and stuck it inside her jacket.
He didn’t ask what it was for but knew she had some purpose.
Without breaking stride, she led him down a dark, musty corridor, past locked rooms from which horrible sounds came, to one cubicle with an open door. A short, solitary candle burned on the floor, casting a dim light.
“Edith,” she called in an echoing whisper. “Edith, it’s me.”
The small circle of light revealed no one, and to Clay, the room appeared empty. Finally, he made out the dark figure of a woman slumped against the wall. A moan slipped past her lips.
Tally ran to her. “Edith? What’s wrong?”
Clay grabbed the candle and held it to illuminate the woman’s face. Both of her eyes were swollen almost shut, and blood trickled from the corners of her mouth.
“You shouldn’t be here, Tally. Dangerous.” Edith tried to rise but couldn’t. She accepted their help and finally struggled to her feet. “Go. Get as far from here as you can, girl. I heard them talking, and they’re gonna start slaughtering us one by one come daylight.”
“Not while I’m standing.” Clay set the candle down. “What happened?”
“Pollard Finch caught me loosening Crazy Cora’s restraints. The straps had cut into her poor flesh and she was bleeding.” Edith wiped the blood from her mouth. “Finch, Tarver, and Abram came back about ten days ago, all of ’em shot. Lordy, they were mad. After a few days’ rest and getting patched up, they started in on the girls worse than ever.” She clutched Tally’s arm. “Not sure what all’s broken on me yet.”
Rage filled Clay. Tally had been here and borne every torture imaginable. He steadied Edith, cursing their luck. She wasn’t going to be able to provide much assistance.